#barring days of mischief

[little-birb-adventure-log]

Fellas the new version of days of rainbow is cooking my phone >:[

Like seriously this does not benefit from the concert treatment, I am not and can not socialize with this scale of people. They are just here to fill out space and heat up my phone.

Kinda worried I won't be able to play one of my two favorite events of the year, and worried for the future of all events being "massively multiplayer" now.

[azuzula]

plotting out my fics for roku week and i think i just gave myself a new multi chapter fic 😭😭😭

[shouyuus]

more college roommate hcs?? maybe reader tries to tease vi back for bein shirtless all the time which eventually leads to them getting together??

18+ (no sex, just a$$ and tiddies), mdni, college roommate!vi cinematic universe

you have taken to walking around in your underwear.

and at first, vi wonders if she's losing it a little bit, because she's pretty sure you haven't always been like this. no. if anything, in the past couple of months, you'd been strangely... jumpy. and sure it'd been fun to tease you (walking around with her top off all the time just to get a rise out of you made something warm nudge at the base of her belly) but she doesn't think you're the kind of person to hold a grudge.

(she's been wrong in the past though, and vi thinks that it wouldn't be the worst thing to be wrong about this either.)

at first, it looks like an accident, her waking up to you humming, making breakfast like you do, an earbud tucked into your ear, barefoot in the kitchen, sprinkling salt onto the scrambled eggs. but her eyes skate down the length of your body and her breath dies in her lungs as she realizes you're in nothing but a thin spaghetti strap top and baby blue panties. her eyes catch on the lace trimming against the soft of your skin and she swears her thoughts melt into something akin to tv static.

"uh --"

"oh! hey! breakfast is almost ready -- you don't have morning practice today, right?"

"no... i uhm -- i don't..." she blinks several times before tearing her eyes away from your very bare legs, fighting the urge too shake her head like a dog trying to clear it's ears of water.

"cool! oh, i think there's some orange juice left in the fridge, can you grab it?" you turn back to the pan with a bright smile, humming to yourself.

vi swallows, "yeah sure, princess --" she turns toward the fridge, feeling oddly robotic as she opens it to grab the juice jug. all her hairs startle to attention as you lean over the counter, reaching up into the cupboards for a plate, the motion making your already tiny tanktop ride up, a sliver of skin winking at her from above the waistband of your panties.

she nearly drops the juice jug.

three days later, she comes home to the damp cling of steam in the air. frowning, she drops her duffle and wanders towards the bathroom, where the shower's clearly just been turned off, but the door's wide open. and there you are, standing in the steam-ridden bathroom, in nothing but a bra and panties, toweling dry your hair.

"whoa -- sorry --"

"hm? oh! you're home! nice -- i was gonna ask if you wanted to come out to dinner -- i think mel found a really cute wine bar she wanted to try --"

vi stares; she can't help it. you're in a matching set, and even though it's nothing fancy, it still makes her brain feel oddly liquid as she watches your tits bounce slightly in the semi push-up bra.

"wine... bar?" vi asks, her voice slurring slightly even to her own ears.

your eyebrows hitch, a tiny smile tucked into the corner of your mouth as you cock your head.

"yeah, it's pretty close to that one hotdog joint you like so i figured i'd ask."

you make no move to cover yourself up, and distantly, vi thinks that a few months ago, you would've never showered with the doors open.

"sure i -- i'm down -- uh -- is anyone else coming?" vi asks, somehow forcing eyes away from your cleavage. you reach up to hang the towel by the door, dropping back down on your heels.

vi's eyes snap back to the way your tits just bounced.

(what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?)

"-- probably jayce, but other than that no one... vi?"

"huh?" she jerks back slightly, eyes slingshotting back up too meet your gaze. and this time, she sees it -- a flicker of something so very much like mischief caught in the light there before you're laughing, light and airy.

"nothing just... you seem a little out of it. everything okay?"

you squeeze by her into the hallway and she barely catches the way her own eyes trail the shape of you towards your room, the round of your ass cheeks caught in the simple black panties you're wearing.

"yeah -- just..." she swallows, her mouth suddenly very, very dry.

"a long day?" you offer, twisting around to glance at her over your shoulder half a second before you bend down to rummage for a dress in your chest of drawers.

vi feels a curse bubbling out of her --

"holy fuck --"

"hm?"

"no, nothing! i -- i'm gonna shower before we go."

"sure! i washed your towel for you today, so it's fresh," you say, seemingly unperturbed as you finally disappear into your room, though you still make no move to close the door.

"great, t-thanks princess! really... appreciate it..." vi lets her voice trail off into a soft grumble as she nudges the bathroom door closed with an arm and tugs her sweaty practice clothes off. her foot catches something by the bathtub, and she looks down to find a lacy thong with a bright pink butterfly ribboned in the front.

it takes her four whole seconds before she's reaching down to pick it up and hold it to the light. it's not her's, and it's been months since she's brought a hookup home (not since she's started to imagine you between her legs every time she tries to get off with someone else), so -- by elimination it has to be --

yours.

"sweet fuck."

it only gets worse after that -- she'd come home to find you sat on the couch in a veritable fortress of notes and textbooks, in a crop-top and heart-patterned undies, or walk by your room just in time to catch you tugging off your top, your back to the door (thankfully, vi doesn't know if her heart could take it if she saw you fully with your top off --)

"is our ac broken or something?" she asks one day, frowning at the wall controls. you look up, frowning slightly, a highlighter caught between your fingers, as you sit cross-legged on at the dining table, one of her shirts sloping off your shoulder (but you've tied the bottom up with a rubber band so it sits above your abdomen, cutting off right above where a pair of dark red lacey panties is oh so visible underneath).

"hm? no -- why?" you sound distracted, your eyes falling back to your notes.

vi blinks at you.

"you never wear pants anymore."

you freeze, your fingers poised over a line of miniscule text, the highlighter hovering above the page.

when you look up again, there's a fox-fire gleam to the dark in your irises, and a grin that would've made the god of trickers himself puff with pride slung crescent-moon sharp over the shape of your lips.

"what was it that you told me last time?" you ask, your voice sweet enough to slick the skin, "i just always run... hot?"

vi's expression flatlines. she closes the distance between the pair of you in three quick strides and before you can stutter out her name ("v-vi --?"), she's hauling you out of the dining table chair and onto the sofa, pinning you beneath her, one of your wrists caught beneath hers, her other hand skating down the length of your body to tease at the waistband of your panties.

"you little tease..." she murmurs, but there's no poison in her words, only a bone-deep wanting. it rumbles through her to you, shaking shivers down your spine as you whine beneath her.

"mmm you started it," you say, eyes flickering between hers and the shape of her parted lips; the tiny scar there makes your mouth water.

vi narrows her eyes, giving your wrist a warning squeeze as she leans in just a fraction closer. like this, you can almost taste her breath against your tongue.

"so what... are you gonna finish it then, princess?"

"i-if that's what you w-want --" you stumble over your words as vi presses a knee up between your thighs.

"yeah? you're gonna do what i want?"

you let out a pitched whimper; vi delights in the way your pulse jutters in the triangle of your throat. but you nod, a bit frantic, as vi digs her nose into the junction of your neck and breathes.

she lets out a thick groan, an ever-familiar warmth pooling at the base of her belly as she thinks about sinking her teeth into your skin, about seeing the shape of her teeth inked into your skin for days and days after.

it's nearly enough to drive her off the edge.

"but nothing's gonna happen if you don't ask for it first, pretty girl..." she pulls back, grinning when you immediately try to tug her back, the hand pinned beneath hers curling into a loose fist.

"vi... please --"

desire pulses deep in vi's gut. she wonders if things will ever be the same after tonight (it won't) but she also wonders if she still wants them to be the same after all this (she doesn't).

"yeah? please, what?"

you blink up at her, your lashes almost star-lit in the dim light of the dining room.

"kiss me," you say.

vi's breath comes out shaky, her pulse threading through her like some desperate, fluttering thing. she watches you beneath her, thinks to herself that if this is her undoing then so the fuck be it.

"is that what you want, princess?" she asks, and her voice is honest, the edges frayed with all the uncertainty she's ever felt when you've pressed in a bit too close, when she's lingered over the afterimage of your smile, cast against her eyelids at night.

you nod up at her, and in your eyes, she finds something akin to absolution as she leans down to graze her lips over yours, the touch so soft it's almost a memory.

"fuck, vi --" you groan, jerking her down with your free hand fisted at the throat of her shirt, "kiss me, kiss me, kiss me."

she lets out a debauched moan as she tips herself into the heat of your mouth to kiss you, and kiss you, and kiss you.

[berrryparfait]

cherry blossoms in edo japan ⋆˚✿˖°

➴ continuation: misty sunsets in edo japan

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: samurai! rafayel, caleb, zayne, xavier, sylus x fem!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: you are the sheltered daughter of a powerful clan leader in edo period japan. beneath the boughs of the cherry blossom trees lurks a mysterious shadow who keeps you safe... 「as long as you remain where i can see you, that is all i care about. ∼ tomoe, kamisama kiss」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: historical japan au, jealous / kinda manipulative caleb, mild(?) enemies-to-lovers xavier

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: love upon wings in your heart – hoyo-mix

✧ a/n: this was inspired by the otome game nightshade (2016), which i really enjoyed. i've always loved the setting of historical japan, so here's an imagining of our LIs as badass, mysterious samurai TT

RAFAYEL, the sneaky and playful samurai... He’s agile and swift as a breeze, always on the lookout for trouble. You spend half the day listening to your father berate him for toppling yet another basket of peaches, but he never stays angry for long. No one could—Rafayel’s tendency for mischief was annoyingly endearing. He was beloved by the whole clan, including you. You tease each other like crazy, which brings you an embarrassing amount of joy. Thanks to him, days spent locked up in the estate are less lonely. However, even good days come to an end. An assassin from an enemy clan escaped the notice of the guards one night, and you were snatched from your home like a bar of gold. Just when you were about to lose all hope of rescue, Rafayel burst through the doors and eliminated the whole squad of assassins, the look on his face one you had never seen before. “Anyone who touches you will have to face my wrath. There is nothing dearer to me in this world.”

CALEB, the protective and dedicated samurai... Being a few years older, he's always been like a big brother to you. He trains with the other young men, always cracking jokes and flashing that bright smile of his. But don't be fooled—this man possesses an unparalleled work ethic and commitment to his path. If anyone was destined to be a samurai, it's Caleb. He simply knows how to enjoy himself when he's off duty. If anyone were to ask him what he thought of you, he'd laugh and say you were like a little sister to him. You know better. Once, he caught you by the lake with one of his friends. He scolded you for being alone with a man who wasn’t him and frightened his friend so badly that he never spoke to you again. Sometimes he takes it too far, you think to yourself. But you don't know what you'd do without him. "You don't understand the dangers you'll be getting into if you leave. Trust me, I know better." When will he stop coddling me? "I can take care of myself." He sighs and pats you on the head. "And cherry blossoms are blue."

ZAYNE, the dutiful and reserved samurai... You see him from time to time, always in some kind of rush. He works for your father and spends most of his time dealing with the clan’s adversaries. He’s good at his job, and you understand that without him, your family would never be truly safe. You’ve tried to speak to him, to ask him what his favorite season is and how long he’s been working for your father, but he’s as serious and detached as a cold winter’s night. He merely stares at you as if deeming you unworthy of his time. This morning, you woke up at the break of dawn to catch the sunrise by the cherry blossom trees. How you long for some company—a friend or two. That’s when you see it in the corner of your eye, there one second and gone the next: the glint of a sword disappearing behind the nearest building. You don’t question who it was. “It was you, wasn’t it? Earlier this morning, by the trees?” He merely glances away, feigning disinterest. A blush creeps onto his face “If you’ll excuse me, I have important matters to attend to. Good day, my lady.”

XAVIER, the observant and efficient samurai... You’ve watched him train for years, the soft-spoken and no-nonsense mentor with a reputation for possessing the most impressive combat and stealth skills the clan has ever seen. He's usually sent on missions not to kill, but to spy—making him a silent but deadly threat to enemy clans and your father's most prized subordinate. As for you, you don't think very highly of him. Sure, he's an excellent fighter who also happens to be incredibly handsome and charming and cool, but what else does he have to offer? His answers are clipped, his tone condescending. He sure as hell doesn't care about you. He probably sees you as the troublesome, pampered daughter of his boss; just another disturbance he's forced to take care of. But why is it that you occasionally trade glances with him in crowded rooms, and wonder about how he's doing in the late hours of the night? "Oh. It's you," he remarks, unbothered by your appearance in his doorway. "If you're going to interrupt my sleep, the least you could do is come in."

SYLUS, the dangerous and elusive samurai... You’ve only ever seen him in the dark; an intimidating, ominous presence watching over you in the quiet hours of the night. You want so badly to get to know him, to understand him—you’ve called out for him to tell you his name a million times, but he refuses to share anything personal. You know he’s a menace, slinking in and out of the estate whenever he pleases to conduct his business, and you almost feel bad for the fools who stand in his way. One night, you sneak out into the forest to find him, yearning to escape from your life of boredom and solitude and become a samurai yourself. But first you’ll need to be trained. “Has the princess finally decided to come out of her castle?” You glare at him. “I hate it when you talk down to me like that.” He chuckles, then places a single cherry blossom in your hair. “Meet me here tomorrow night.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[lumiambrose]

✰ reflections of desire

kinktober 24 - day fifteen

featuring: michael kaiser x f!bartender!reader

summary: the infamous bunny night attracts many new customers to the eclipse, including the famed bastard münchen. serving the team seemed to fall on your hands for the night, attracting the attention of michael kaiser.

tags: smut, mirror sex, bunny suits, praise, p in v, breeding, kaiser is a slutty man, petnames (bunny), @/o-sachi cameo <3, kaiser is referred to as 'mihya'

wc: 2.6k

it’s the infamous bunny night at the eclipse royale. entertainers and staff alike are clad in bunny accessories and outfits, the estate is revamped to match.

“darling, can you serve table 20?” your colleague, chimi, calls out to you from across the bar, her tray piled high with empty glasses.

“give me a sec,” you answer, adjusting your headpiece and glancing over your shoulder at booth 20. it’s the busiest table of the night—bastard münchen’s under-20 team. the vibe around them is intoxicating—a mix of arrogance, power, and adrenaline. definitely celebrating a win.

you make your way over, weaving through drunken patrons as you approach the table with a smile. to be honest, you’re not even sure how to catch their attention over the noise, but luckily for you, a smooth voice cuts through the banter. a blonde man, lounging casually among his teammates, clears his throat. instantly, the chatter quiets down.

his presence is magnetic. he hasn’t even opened his mouth yet, but his gaze is tugging at your confidence. amusement dances in his expression as his eyes do a one-over on you, eyes sharp and calculating as he takes in your appearance.

“you’re here to take our order?” he asks, his voice dripping with arrogance that has his teammates chuckling.

“yeah,” you respond, trying your best to hold your own. “what’ll it be?”

instead of answering straight away, his eyes linger on your name tag as he leans forward, as if he couldn’t make it more obvious, a smirk playing on his lips. you attempt to divert your attention to his teammates, who are currently ordering. you scribble down their drinks, doing your best to ignore the heat that’s creeping up your cheeks. while the young athletes are all rowdy and loud, it’s the blonde who commands the space, every word laced with something more that you can’t quite put your finger on. although you’re sure that his focus never seems to leave you, even as you return to the bar.

but that’s not the last you’ll see of him tonight.

hours go by, and the night, which once started busy, has now thinned out. most guests either leaving the building or crashing for the night in their respective hotel rooms. you’re wiping down the bar when you hear chimi again, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. “room service is calling. a bottle of champagne, and they’re specifically requesting you to bring it.” she slides the bottle across the bar surface towards you. “room 702, wonder who the lucky man is.” she gives you a wink, and you roll your eyes in retaliation.

“get your mind out of the gutter, chimi.” you laugh, grabbing the bottle and preparing it in an ice bucket to take up. despite it being a common service for your job, you can’t help but feel a little excitement knowing somebody specifically asked you to serve them.

curiosity gets the better of you, and before you know it, you’re in front of room 702, bucket in hand, taking one more deep breath as you knock on the door. your pulse is anything but calm. before you could even process the sound of your knock, the door swings open, revealing the infamous blonde man from earlier.

he’s ditched the blazer and slacks he was once wearing, now replaced by the hotel's bathrobe that somehow manages to look expensive on him. his hair is slightly messy, but it only adds to his charm. his eyes flicker over you, from the bunny ears resting on your head to the bucket in your hands, his smirk returning in full force.

“room service,” you say. trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

“come in,” he says, stepping aside to let you pass. there’s something in his voice that makes you feel like his invitation is for more than just delivering a bottle of champagne.

you enter the room, taking in its luxury. it’s donned with velvety curtains, a lavish sofa, and mirrors adorning the walls and ceiling. despite working at the eclipse for a while now, your work has never expanded to inside the hotel. as much as you would like to enjoy the lavish suite and gorgeous view, you set the bucket down on the sleek coffee table, eager to finish up, and head back downstairs.

“champagne for one,” you quip, trying to ease the atmosphere. “strange, most people don’t drink alone after a win.”

“who said i’m drinking?” the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable as you suck in a breath.

you blink, confused. “you’re not drinking?”

he shakes his head, that devilish grin still playing at the edges of his mouth. “i ordered it for you.” his words hang in the air.

you laugh nervously, shaking your head. “oh no, I can’t, i’m still working. can’t exactly be drinking on the job.” you try to sound professional, but the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to keep your composure.

he steps closer, now just a few feet from you. the space between you feeling charged, the air thick with something you just can’t quite put your finger on. “i don’t care,” he says, his tone playful yet firm. “i just wanted to see my favourite bunny again.”

your breath catches in your throat. again? your suspicions now confirmed. he’s been watching you all night.

“come on, bunny,” he continues, grabbing the champagne from the bucket, his fingers brushing against yours as he leans over. “we have to celebrate, no? one drink. for me.”

you open your mouth to protest, but the words fall short when he pops the cork open with ease, pouring the sparkling liquid into a glass before handing it to you. his eyes never leaving yours, not at the casino, not at the door, and certainly not now.

you take a small sip, though to your misfortune, the cool champagne does nothing to calm the heat in your cheeks. he watches you profusely, his eyes darkening slightly as you lower the glass.

“good girl,” he murmurs, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

your heart races as you set the glass down, trying to regain yourself, but he’s already closing the distance between you. before you can react, his hand is at your waist, fingers curling around your hip, and he’s guiding you backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed.

“i— i don’t even know your name,” you stammer, your voice shaky. you should be gone by now, out the door and back to the bar, but the way he’s looking at you, the heat in his eyes, keeps you in place.

“mihya, bunny,” he whispers. “call me mihya,” his other hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

to your surprise, his touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the hunger is his eyes. “you’ve been working hard all night, haven’t you? let me take care of you tonight.”

your trembling, no doubt about it. but whether it’s from nerves or something else entirely is a mystery to you. mihya leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin, and before you know it, he’s pressing you down onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

“you’re quite cute like this,” he teases. “so nervous, and i’ve barely even touched you,” his lips inches from yours.

“i’m not—” you begin, but the words catch in your throat as his mouth unexpectedly meets yours, forcing it open to deepen the kiss while his hand slips under your waist, grazing the fabric of your bunny suit.

“don’t worry, bunny,” he pulls back, his voice sending a thrill through you. “i’ll be gentle.”

he leans back in, capturing your mouth once again. his free hand tangling gently in your hair while your hands dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks in place of your fingers. the champagne you sipped earlier now seemingly coursing through your veins, giving you the confidence you need to carry on. you let out a soft moan, body arching into his as you continue to sloppily make out. your newfound boldness makes you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer.

mihya broke the kiss, his voice hitching in between a low chuckle. “feisty bunny,” he coos, lips trailing down your neck, leaving wet kisses and sloppy hickeys that make you quiver. “how cute.”

the room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the air quickly thickens with lust. the hand which was once laced with your hair, made its way to the bottom of your suit, brushing against your crotch before hooking his fingers through, teasing the area underneath.

“no panties? my my, what a naughty little bunny, walking around with nothing underneath, i bet you planned this from the start.” he teases, his breath inches away from your chest.

“don’t be afraid, bunny,” he whispered, sensing your hesitation. “i’ll take such good care of you. tonight, you’re mine.” with that, you felt something sharp graze your chest. his teeth biting into the hem of your suit, pulling it down to reveal your bear chest to him.

he starts to suck and bite on the exposed skin like a starved man, playing with your nipples and eliciting angelic moans from you while the hand that was once grazing your core lightly is now playing with your folds.

you can only hold out for so long before the pleasure gets to you, moans getting louder as you grind yourself on his fingers. your hands trailing down his back, only to dig scratch the bare skin when he hits that one spot that feels like pure bliss.

that made something click in him, immediately tearing the thin fabric of your bunny suit before untying his robe, leaving you both naked before one another. he picks you up and sits you down on the massive bed, facing one of the many floor-length mirrors decorated throughout the suite.

"don't look away," he commands, gripping your chin and forcing you to face your reflection. mihya sits behind you, his body enveloping yours, granting him full access. "i want you to see how beautiful you look with my fingers deep inside you."

his eyes roam over your body, entranced by the way you look, caged in front of him. he pulls you closer, feeling his erection press against your back as he traces his fingers down your neck. they ultimately land on your breasts, giving your nipples a gentle pinch. his eyes locked onto yours the entire time.

he continues to play with your breasts with one hand while the other slides down to tease your entrance, his fingers once again slick with arousal. “you’re so wet for me, bunny,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

he slides first one finger, then two inside you, while his thumb rubs circles around your clit. you gasp, eyes rolling back as pleasure courses through your body. his fingers moving in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

he leans in, whispering, “look at yourself, bunny. watch as I pleasure you.” you hesitate, unsure at first, but the way his voice rolls off his tongue is enough to turn your head.

watching yourself in the mirror feels almost surreal. eyes half closed, mouth slightly parted, and your chest heaving with each breath while the cocky man pleasures you. his fingers continue their work, and you eventually feel your body tightening—the rush of an orgasm building.

he senses it too, as his fingers speed up, his thumb increasing the pressure on your clit while his fingers piston in and out of you rapidly. the room full of your moans and the slapping of skin on skin as he works your body.

“yes, bunny,” he encourages, “come for me.”

that was all it took to send you over the edge. you grind back into him as your orgasm crashes over you. you cry out in pleasure as your vision blurs, the pleasure hitting your entire body. mihya doesn’t stop though. he continues to work you, his relentless fingers milking every last drop of your release.

once you come down from your high, mihya helps you up and almost forcefully pushes you against the mirror, holding your body still with your arms locked behind your back. you yelp at his sudden movements, the cold glass hitting your bare chest like ice, making you shiver.

his free hand holds onto your hips, giving you a firm squeeze before guiding his cock to your entrance.

“look at me, bunny,” he commands. you can barely see him from the angle you’re locked in, but you can sense the intensity in his gaze.

you meet his gaze and he pushes into you harshly, stretching you out completely with his girth. he sighs as he finally bottoms out inside of you, pausing for a short moment, giving you time to adjust to his size.

“do you feel me, bunny?” he asks, “i’m so deep inside of you,” his tone low and seductive.

“ah~ i do,” you manage to get out along with a whiny moan, your voice breathy and shaky.

he begins to move, thrusting deep inside of you at a slow pace, getting used to your cunt sucking him dry. you feel every inch of him inside of you, as you do your best to accommodate his size. he slowly speeds up, still gripping your hips and keeping you locked under his body. his eyes never leaving yours through the reflection of the mirror.

the mirror reflects your entwined forms, your bodies slick with sweat as he fills you. every movement is powerful. each thrust driving you further into the glassy wall. your moans grow louder, your body arching to meet his every thrust.

“fuck bunny, you’re so tight. you going to let me breed this pretty cunt of yours?” he growls between thrusts, his hot breath lingering over your ears.

you nod, your breath catching in your throat as you struggle to respond. every thrust hits you deeper and deeper. he’s taking you to new heights, your body responding in kind.

“you close, bunny? can feel you milking me dry, gonna fill you up so well.” his grip on you tightens, and you cry out in agreement, on the verge of your orgasm. mihya’s thrusts grow more urgent and powerful, pounding into you with a hunger matching yours. the sight of your bodies reflected in the mirror only egging you on. the mirror in front of you shaking with each forceful thrust.

“fuck—yes, bunny” mihya groans. “cum for me.”

your orgasm hits you fast and hard. your body convulses as waves of pleasure wash over you, blurring your vision as you cry out mihya’s name. mihya continues to abuse your cunt through your orgasm, his own nearing as he gets more desperate, one of his hands snaking up to your neck, gripping the delicate skin.

“going to breed you so well, bunny. this tight cunt is mine, mine only.” he growls, rutting into you roughly before reaching his own climax, releasing his seed deep inside you.

waves of hot cum fill you up, marking and claiming you as his. as he slows down, the room is much quieter, only the sounds of your heavy breathing filling the room.

mihya pulls out and lifts you towards the bed, letting you recover from the intense orgasm. as you lie down, you look up, spotting another large mirror covering the ceiling above you. reflected in the mirror is your fucked-out state, hair dishevelled, and eyes watery.

you’re so distracted by your state that you don’t notice the blonde man creeping up towards the end of the bed, stopping at your now-spread legs.

“you see this, bunny?” he begins, teasing his already hard cock against your entrance. “i’m going to breed you again and again like a bitch in heat, and you’re going to watch every second of it from that mirror, understood?”

before you can reply, he enters you once again. filling you up for the second time of many to come tonight.

taglist: @ryescapades @iamjellyfish @143-ilyuu @maruflix @pixelcafe-network @strawchocoberry

©lumis kinktober 24' ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[player042]

A NIGHT FORGOTTEN | kang dae-ho.

pairing: kang dae-ho (player 388) x reader

summary: the aftermath of a one-night stand with a beautiful stranger (who just so happens to be kang dae-ho but shhh). or, as you’ll soon realize, a very different kind of walk of shame home.

warning: one night stand, alcohol, sexual but not explicit content, mention of debt and financial stress, emotional distress, slight hwang jun-ho cameo.

word count: 3k

You woke to the soft hum of a city not yet fully awake. For what felt like an eternity, you lay frozen, staring into the darkness, unable to move. Slowly, the world began to take shape around you, faint colors and forms bleeding into the void. A strange, droning hum filled your head, loud and unrelenting, like the wail of a distant siren. It took another long, grueling moment before you began to piece together your surroundings.

The sheets beneath you were cool, crisp, and smelled faintly of detergent mixed with something distinctly masculine, cedarwood, maybe. For a brief, disorienting moment, you thought you were dreaming, but right then, a chill crept down your spine, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. The slow, sinking realization set in: this wasn't your bed. And then you felt it, a warm breath against your skin, followed by the unmistakable sensation of a body pressed against yours from behind. Your breathing quickened instantly, tripling in pace as an icy shiver raced down your back.

Someone… was in your bed. Or rather, you were in someone's bed.

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, you told yourself, clinging to the thought that it could be one of your friends you stayed over. But the moment you realized that the body pressed against you felt distinctly naked, you bolted upright, spinning around to face the sleeping figure beside you.

Your jaw dropped, and your mouth went dry, as though you hadn't had a sip of water in days.

There was a man with you in bed. A very attractive, very naked, and most alarmingly, very unfamiliar man. 

Your eyes stayed fixed on him, panic clawing at your chest as you fought the overwhelming urge to scream. Who was this guy, for crying out loud? You couldn't remember a single thing about him, let alone going home with him, you'd never— 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You blinked as bits and snippets of your memories flashed before your eyes all at once as if waiting for your realization, as if your head wasn't already pounding slightly from the drinks you'd downed the night before. A dimly lit bar, the faint bass of the music, the way laughter had bubbled out of you in ways it hadn't in months. And then... him.

Your stomach flipped as the memories sharpened. His warm smile, the effortless charm in the way he'd leaned toward you, his words like a gentle pull. The way his voice had dipped, low and rough, as he murmured things that still made your stomach flutter. The way his dark eyes had pinned you in place, gleaming with something between lust, mischief, and desire, as if he knew exactly how to unravel you. Or the faint trace of stubble that had scraped against your inner thigh. And then his hands, oh, God, his hands, on your waist, on your skin, everywhere, guiding you and steadying you through the night, and—

Your breath hitched. You didn't even know his name.

Panicking slightly, you turned your head, taking in more of the room. It was small but tidy, with just enough personality to feel lived-in, an open laptop on a desk, a gym bag slouched against the corner, a few books stacked haphazardly on a nightstand.

Your hand searched blindly for the edge of the blanket, and you managed to push it aside. But when you tried to lift yourself from the mattress, your body refused. It felt as if you were made of lead, every muscle bound tight, the room spinning around you.

After a few careful breaths, you tried again and, this time, managed to sit up. You winced as the motion sent a dull throb through your temples. Your clothes were folded neatly on the chair by the window, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd done that yourself or if he had. Either way, you needed to get out of here before he woke up.

Sliding out of bed as quietly as you could, you wanted to gather your things. Your body felt alien to you, unsteady and unfamiliar. Your knees trembled as you groped your way through the room, pausing only when you couldn't find your bag. A quick glance around confirmed it wasn't there, and you cursed under your breath. You'd deal with it later. Right now, you needed to leave.

Your gaze flicked back to him, despite yourself. He lay sprawled on his stomach, the blanket twisted around his hips, his bare back rising and falling with deep, even breaths. How could someone look so completely at ease, so maddeningly perfect, even now? His hair was a mess, his breathing slow, his entire body radiating the kind of relaxed confidence that had drawn you to him in the first place. You could still hear his laugh echoing in your mind, soft and teasing as he'd leaned in close to whisper something you couldn't even remember anymore; because the heat in his gaze had consumed everything else.

"Didn't think I'd find a babycat in a place like this."

You turned, raising an eyebrow at the man leaning casually against the bar beside you. His smile was lazy, confident, as if he'd already won a game you didn't even know you were playing. Dark eyes glinted under the dim lights, and his tousled hair framed his face in a way that felt infuriatingly perfect.

"Babycat?" you echoed flatly, unimpressed. "That's the best you've got?"

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, like he wasn't fazed by your deadpan response. "What, you don't like it?"

"It's dumb," you shot back, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward just slightly.

"Nah," he grinned, leaning in a little closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle. "You're just not used to people seeing through that tough act."

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat. Because damn it, there was something about him, the way he looked at you like he wasn't afraid of the walls you'd built. Like he knew exactly how to slip through the cracks.

"What makes you think it's an act?" you challenged, lifting your glass to mask the sudden heat in your cheeks.

He shrugged, that same infuriating grin playing on his lips. "Because you're still talking to me."

You shook your head, trying to shake away the memory. You couldn't let yourself dwell on this. It had been a moment, a single lapse in judgment. That was all.

His face was turned away from you as he lay there on his bed, sleeping peacefully, but you didn't need to see it to remember how he'd smiled at you, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. The memory alone was enough to make your cheeks burn again, but worse was the way your body betrayed you, the dull ache of satisfaction mingling with a longing you didn't want to acknowledge. You pressed your thighs together, glancing away from the sight of him.

"Dance with me, babycat."

You should've said no. You were good at saying no. But something in the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room, made your heart stutter. So, against your better judgment, you set your glass down and slipped your hand into his.

The second he pulled you onto the dance floor, the world seemed to blur at the edges. The music thudded in your chest, but all you could focus on was the way his hands found your waist, the heat of his body pressing against yours as you moved in sync with the rhythm. The music was fast, but every brush of his fingers against your skin felt deliberate, sending sparks through you in ways you hadn't expected.

You weren't sure when the teasing stopped and the tension started to simmer, but suddenly his lips were just a breath away from yours, his dark eyes searching your face like he was waiting for permission.

"Still think it's dumb?" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the music.

"Absolutely," you whispered back, but your hands tightened around his shirt, pulling him closer.

You needed to leave before the rest of your memories came flooding back.

The apartment door clicked shut behind you, and you exhaled, the cool morning air hitting your face as you stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the heat of his room that still lingered on your skin. It was early, too early. Probably just before sunrise, the sky was still painted in deep navy hues, with the faintest hint of orange creeping along the horizon. The city felt eerily still at this hour, too early for the morning rush and too late for anyone sober to still be out.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, the chill biting at your bare legs. You cursed yourself silently. Your phone was dead, your bag was missing, you had no money, and the nearest subway station wouldn't open for another hour. Perfect.

Your feet ached in your heels as you walked briskly down the quiet street, arms crossed tightly over your chest, walking toward the nearest subway station to check if it was open yet. The nightlife had left its mark on the streets: empty soju bottles, cigarette butts, and the occasional drunk still stumbling home. You were hoping to blend into the background, just another ghost of the night, but your attire, and your circumstances, made that impossible. Honestly, you just wanted to disappear. To get home without drawing attention, without facing anyone who might give you a second glance. The events of the night before involuntarily replayed in your mind, and you shook your head, half-amused, half-mortified. What the hell had you been thinking? You didn't even do one-night stands. And yet…

You felt your cheeks heat at the memory of how he'd whispered "You can take more, can't you? Just one more, for me" against the shell of your ear, and how you'd answered with a breathless, trembling "Yes." God, you'd barely recognized yourself. You'd never thought you were capable of surrendering to someone like that; completely, shamelessly, and without reservation. But with him, it had felt... easy. Natural. Like he'd peeled away every layer of resistance until you were bare in every sense of the word.

"Look at me," his voice was low, commanding but not harsh, a gentle tug that drew your gaze back to him. His dark eyes burned with desire, and it made your pulse race in a way you couldn't control. "I want to see your face."

You tried to hold his gaze, but the way his hand slid down your waist, his fingertips pressing into your skin as he moved against you, made your head tilt back instead, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Don't look away," he murmured, leaning in to press his lips to your neck, "I want to see everything."

"You're-" Your voice broke as a sharp wave of pleasure rippled through you, your nails digging into his shoulders. "You're so... good at this."

He chuckled, the sound low and gravelly, his breath warm against your ear. "Good? Just good? Come on, beautiful, I think I deserve better than that."

Your thoughts were interrupted abruptly by the screech of tires, followed by the blare of a horn. You froze mid-step, headlights blinding you as a sleek black car screeched to a halt just inches from where you stood.

"Are you insane?!" the driver yelled out the window, his face red and voice slurred. "Watch where you're going!"

You stumbled back onto the curb, your heart racing as the car sped off. The adrenaline left your knees weak, and you pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing. You barely had time to collect yourself before you heard a voice behind you.

"Close call."

You turned to see two traffic police officers standing near a parked patrol car. The older one leaned casually against the door, his dark eyes fixed on you with an unreadable expression. He was sharp-featured, with an air of quiet authority that seemed to keep his younger colleague in check. The younger officer stood a step behind him, his posture slightly awkward, his gaze darting between you and the empty street.

"You alright, miss?" the younger one asked, his voice kind but hesitant.

"I'm fine," you replied curtly, brushing invisible dust off your dress. "Just need to get home."

The older officer didn't say anything, but his eyes lingered on you, assessing. It made your skin prickle, though not in an overtly threatening way. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to figure you out, and his silence felt heavier than any words could.

The younger officer stepped forward cautiously, his expression softening as he glanced at your bare legs and disheveled hair. "The subways don't run this early," he said gently. "Do you live nearby?"

"Not far," you lied, tightening your arms around yourself. The way they were looking at you, with a mix of concern and curiosity, made you feel exposed in more ways than one. You glanced at your reflection in a nearby shop window and winced suddenly hyperaware of your look. With your short dress, smudged makeup, and bare legs, you looked every bit like someone staggering home after a questionable night. And in a way, that wasn't far from the truth. You could feel their judgment, or at least you thought you could. Hooker. It was written all over their faces, even if they didn't say it aloud.

The younger officer hesitated, looking over his shoulder at the older one, who remained quiet. "Maybe we could give you a ride? It's really not safe to be out here alone."

You stiffened, your instinct to reject any offer immediately kicking in. "No, thank you," you said, your tone clipped. "I'll manage."

"It's not a bad idea," the older officer said, finally breaking his silence. His voice was calm, steady, but it carried an authority that made you pause. He gestured vaguely toward the empty street. "There aren't a lot of people around right now. Better to be safe."

His words weren't unkind, but there was a weight to them that made your stomach twist. He wasn't trying to convince you, not really. He was just stating a fact, one you couldn't ignore. You looked between the two of them, the younger one's earnest concern clashing with the older one's quiet detachment.

"You're not going to arrest me, are you?" you asked, half-joking but fully defensive.

The younger officer's eyes widened, his face flushing with embarrassment. "No, of course not! We just-"

"She doesn't want to take the ride," the older officer cut him off smoothly, pushing off the car door and stepping closer. His gaze met yours briefly, piercing and unreadable, before he turned back to his colleague. "Let's not make her uncomfortable."

You felt a pang of guilt, though you weren't sure why. He had given you an out, but there was something in his tone that made you feel foolish for rejecting their help. You glanced down the street, the thought of walking alone in the dark suddenly far less appealing.

With a resigned sigh, you relented. "Fine. I accept the offer. But no detours."

The younger officer broke into a relieved smile, nodding eagerly. "Of course! Just hop in, miss."

The older one didn't say anything as he opened the car door for you, his movements efficient but unhurried. You got a glance of his name tag then, Hwang Jun-ho, before you slid into the backseat, the leather cool against your skin. You tried to ignore the way your reflection in the rearview mirror made you cringe. The car smelled faintly of coffee and leather, and as the younger officer started the engine, you caught a glimpse of the older officer glancing at you in the mirror.

"What's your name?" the younger officer asked as they pulled onto the street.

You hesitated for a moment before answering, keeping your tone neutral. "Does it matter?"

"Just making conversation," he replied, his smile faltering slightly.

You leaned back in the seat, watching the city lights blur past. "Thanks for the ride," you muttered after a beat of silence, your voice barely above a whisper.

The older officer's gaze flickered toward the mirror again, but he didn't respond. The quiet tension in the car was palpable, stretching thin but never breaking. When they finally pulled up to your building, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

"Stay safe," the younger officer said, his tone bright but sincere as you stepped out of the car.

The older officer nodded once, his expression still unreadable. "Goodnight."

You watched them drive off, the taillights disappearing into the early morning haze. There was something about the older officer, officer Hwang Jun-ho, that lingered in your mind, but you pushed the thought aside as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, your body aching with exhaustion.

The sight that greeted you, once you opened the door, was painfully familiar: a sink full of dishes, a stack of unopened bills on the table, and the faint hum of the refrigerator struggling to stay alive. You were about to collapse onto the couch, too drained to even think about cleaning up, as your gaze fell onto your coffee table. A plain card with a circle, triangle, and square printed on the front was on it. 

Your stomach dropped as you picked it up, turning it over in your hands. You remembered. The man with the suit. It all came back and it felt like a fever dream. You remembered the day you had encountered him a few days ago. There was a number printed on the back of the card, nothing else. Your fingers trembled as you reached for your phone, plugging it into the charger and waiting impatiently for it to power on.

When it did, you dialed the number before you could change your mind. The line clicked, and a smooth voice answered.

"Would you like to participate in a game?"

a/n: sooooooo… would you? 🤭

[hazbinhotei]

drunken kisses.

read part two here

warnings: alcohol, detailed makeout session, alastor being a little (drunken) shit

word count: 1753

summary: What started as a harmless drinking challenge between you and Alastor quickly spirals into something far more scandalous—to the horrified dismay of the entire hotel staff.

alastor x gn!reader. thank you to the anon who requested this story! testing out how to write lukewarm spicy scenes because i currently lack the expertise to write anything steamier than fluff.

Laughter and music crackled through the lobby, the air thick with a cocktail of cigarette smoke, booze, and the lingering scent of whatever cake Niffty had insisted on making. It was a birthday celebration for… someone in the hotel. You honestly weren’t sure anymore.

The evening had started innocently enough—drinks poured, toasts made, laughter spilling as freely as the alcohol. You were all huddled around the bar, Angel Dust telling a story of some bitchy pornstar he had met the other day as Husk poured drinks for everyone.

You were in the middle of a sip when you felt a presence behind you, your neck twisting to find Alastor looming over you. He had reached over your shoulder to grab his glass from the counter, but as you leaned back to give him more space, his eyes locked onto yours. And suddenly, a second after analyzing your face and the drink in your own hand, he got that look. That sharp, devious look in his eyes, the kind that meant trouble. You remember the alarms in your head going off at the way his sharp yellow teeth glinted behind his wide—almost predatory—smile.

"Care for a friendly wager, dear?" Alastor had purred, twirling a glass of dark liquor between his fingers, the rich scent of whiskey wafting between you. "A little game to see who can hold their spirits better?"

And like an absolute idiot, you had agreed. You somehow even believed you'd come out of this little challenge unscathed, with the naive thought that you would win floating in the back of your mind. You never had been a lightweight before, why, you were certain you could hold some ground against this old geezer of a Sinner.

The first few rounds were smooth, easy even. You matched him drink for drink, keeping pace as he downed every glass with a flourish and a wicked grin. But the more you drank, the more absurd the challenge became.

(Why had you agreed to this again?)

Alastor remained eerily composed at first, his usual energetic sharpness undeterred by the steadily increasing volume of alcohol. But by the fifth—or was it the sixth?—round, his laughter started to turn loose, his grin wider, his movements just a little less controlled. And you? Oh, you were doomed.

(Doomed in all sense of the word. Despite your hazy vision, the way Alastor seemed to unwind with each drink made your knees weak. His perfect posture had slackened just a fraction, the mischief in his smirk that was usually coupled with the overwhelming sense of terror was now instead radiating with unbridled happiness. And his eyes—oh, those crimson eyes, half-lidded, foggy with amusement yet still glowing with a wild kind of energy—lingered on you in a way that made the heat in your chest rival the burn of whiskey in your throat.

You knew your returning gazes were embarrassingly eager, your sober thoughts of him being oddly attractive and charismatic amplified tenfold by the alcohol also coursing through your system. You wondered if he could hear your breath hitch every time he licked his lips?)

After he refilled your almost empty glass with a twirl of his fingers for the seventh time that night, everything blurred after that. Just the warm buzz of liquor in your veins, the sound of his laughter tangling with yours, and the absolute certainty that one of you was going to collapse.

And now?

You were both absolutely wasted.

Sitting side by side on the couch, the world swayed around you like a funhouse mirror, and even though you were clearly not the winner here, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your head was heavy, your limbs loose, and Alastor—normally so composed, so rigidly in control—was laughing. Like, actually giggling in that half-maniacal, half-melodic way of his, eyes unfocused but still bright.

“Ah-ha! My, my, you’re lookin’ awfully dazed there, cher,” he teased, tilting his head as he swayed ever so slightly. Your stomach churned at the way the whiskey made his Southern drawl slip through his usual Transatlantic accent. “Are you sure you can still stomach the competition?”

You sluggishly turned to face him, blinking slowly. Despite your breathy voice and flushed cheeks, you frowned at him in faux annoyance. "You're practically as drunk as me, asshole."

Your deadpan tone seemed to be the funniest thing Alastor had heard that night, resulting in him howling at your words. You almost jumped at the sudden sound of it, watching as he flew his head back and sank deeper into the couch. "Always such a spriteful one! I have to admit, dear—you're such enchanting company."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at his drunken amusement. "Yeah, yeah, keep talking, you smug bastard."

Alastor chuckled, swirling the last remnants of his drink in his glass before fixing you with a look that sent something dangerous through your already alcohol-flooded veins. "Oh, but I do enjoy our little conversations, darling. Such wit, such fire—it's rather... intoxicating."

His expression was smug, spiked fangs peeking boyishly from his grin, and suddenly you felt acutely aware of the situation you were in. You blinked at him, your mind blank as you realized how close you two were—even though the couch was big enough to fit 5 demons, somehow you and Alastor were still mere inches apart, so close your knees were touching. Your head spun with the scent of whiskey and him; a scent that suspiciously smelled of tall cedar trees, fresh blood, and the dirt from a graveyard. You don’t know what possessed you—maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was your itch to wipe that damn smirk off his face, maybe it was the way his voice slurred just so, but suddenly you weren’t thinking.

You were acting.

Your hands found the lapels of his blazer, gripping the fabric as you leaned in and—

Your lips were on his.

Time stopped.

You barely registered the sudden quietness from the usual white noise that surrounded Alastor the second your lips met his. It was awfully silent, save for the distant laughter from the rest of the hotel group still at the bar, your eyes closed as you gently locked your lips onto his. 

It took approximately three seconds for your brain to catch up with your body, and by the time it did, you were already feeling the heat of his breath against your face. Shit. Your eyes opened as you hastily pulled back, what the hell did you just—

But before you could spiral into a pit of embarrassment, a clawed hand shot out, grasping your waist.

“Now where do you think you’re going, darling?”

Your stomach flipped.

Because Alastor? He wasn’t pushing you away. No—he was pulling you closer.

And then? Oh, then he kissed you back.

It was clumsy at first, your lips quirking into an affectionate smile at the way he was clearly inexperienced in kissing, like he was trying to puzzle the act out as he went. But after a moment passed, something in him shifted. His hands gripped your waist harder, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothes, and suddenly, the kiss was anything but hesitant.

Your cheeks burned, your breath came short, and whatever restraint had existed between the two of you melted away entirely. His lips moved against yours with an eager curiosity, slow at first, but as he grew bolder, so did you. His sharp teeth nipped teasingly at your bottom lip, a low hum vibrating in his throat as you gasped against his mouth. The warm, rich taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue as it slid against yours, coaxing a sound from you that should not have been heard in a public setting. His body was warm beneath you, his blazer bunched under your fingers as you clung to him, entirely lost in the moment.

You felt his grip tighten, easily lifting you from your spot on the couch onto his lap with a surprising gentleness you did not expect from the Radio Demon himself. You were in his lap, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands—oh, his hands—gripped you like he needed you there, his claws curling into the small of your back. It was intoxicating, dizzying. You barely registered the way he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue teasing against yours, his laughter—low, husky—spilling into your mouth like it was his own personal victory.

Oh my God. You were making out with Alastor in the middle of the damn lobby.

And that's when you heard it.

The collective gasp of an entire audience.

“What the fuck–?!”

You didn’t even get a chance to process who screamed first because suddenly, you were being yanked away from Alastor so fast you swore you left part of your soul behind. Husk had grabbed the back of your shirt, pulling you off like a misbehaving cat, while Charlie and Angel Dust stood frozen in sheer horror.

“We left you alone for two freaking minutes!” Charlie shrieked, hands flying to her mouth.

“Oh my God, were you two aboutta fuck on the COUCH?!” Angel cackled, slapping his knee.

Charlie only gasped further, her voice shrill. “In the middle of the party?!” 

Vaggie rubbed the shoulders of her horrified girlfriend, clearly repulsed by Angel’s words as her face scrunched up in disgust. “Ew, Angel.” 

Alastor, still lounging on the couch, just laughed.

“I fail to see the problem!” he chimed, looking far too pleased with himself, eyes locked onto you even as you were forcibly dragged away like a crime scene witness. His smile was wolfish, his pupils dilated with mischief (and maybe a little more).

You, meanwhile, were fighting for your life.

“I– I– It wasn’t– We weren't–!”

Husk scoffed, dropping you on the couch opposite to Alastor and shoving a glass of water into your hands. “Jesus, kid, sober up before you start dry humping demons in the damn lobby.”

You groaned, burying your face onto the top of the glass, the cup strikingly cold against your feverish skin. You cursed under your breath as the others erupted into chaos, Angel laughing so hard he had to cling to Charlie for support as everyone stood between the two couches like a barricade, ensuring you wouldn't end up in the same situation from mere minutes ago.

And Alastor?

That bastard just winked at you, his smile lopsided as he drank in your horrified expression.

…Yeah, you were never living this down.

[littleprinces]

Day 6: Cheating Sex

Danielle x Male Reader

Day 6 Kinkvember

OC Reader

Tonight, I was meeting my best friend, Danielle, or Dani as we called her, at our favorite wine bar. As I stepped into the cozy atmosphere of the bar, I spotted Dani sitting at our usual table, her long chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders.

She looked up as I approached, her emerald eyes sparkling with warmth. "Hey, Jake" she said, her voice a soft melody. "You're right on time."

I smiled and sat down across from her. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," I replied, signaling the waiter for a bottle of our favorite Pinot Noir. As we clinked glasses, Dani's eyes never left mine. "To us," she said, her voice laced with a hint of mischief.

The wine flowed smoothly, and so did our conversation. Dani talked about her latest art project, her hands gesturing passionately as she described her vision. I listened intently, her enthusiasm infectious. However, as the night wore on, the conversation took a more intimate turn.

"You know, Jake," Dani said, her voice dropping to a low purr, "sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we were more than just friends."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh, really? And what makes you think about that?"

She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. "Because sometimes, when you look at me, I see something more in your eyes. A hunger."

I chuckled, taking a sip of my wine. "You're playing with fire, Dani. We both know you have a boyfriend."

She shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. "So? A girl can have a little fun, can't she?"

The air between us was charged with tension. Dani's hand reached out, lightly tracing the back of my hand. "I think we should explore this, Jake. Just once. What do you say?"

I looked at her, her eyes pleading, her lips parted slightly. I couldn't deny the pull I felt towards her. "Alright, Dani. Let's explore this."

Later that night, we found ourselves in my apartment. The mood was electric, the anticipation palpable. Dani stood in the middle of my living room, her eyes locked onto mine. "What do you want to do, Jake?" she whispered.

I stepped closer, my voice low and commanding. "I want to see you, Dani. All of you."

She bit her lip, a shiver running down her spine. "And what if I say no?"

I smirked, my hands reaching for the hem of her dress. "You won't."

Slowly, I lifted her dress, revealing her smooth, toned legs. My hands explored her thighs, her body responding to my touch. "You're so beautiful, Dani," I murmured, my hands moving up to her hips.

She moaned softly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Jake... I've never done anything like this before."

I smiled, my fingers moving to the zipper of her dress. "Don't worry, I'll make it worth your while."

The dress slid off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Dani stood before me in a black lace bra and thong, her body a symphony of curves. I reached out, cupping her breasts, my thumbs brushing against her nipples. She gasped, her body arching into my touch.

"You like that, don't you?" I growled, my voice laced with desire.

She nodded, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Yes... yes, I do."

I guided her to the bedroom, my mouth finding hers in a passionate kiss. Our tongues danced, exploring each other's mouths. I could taste the wine on her lips, sweet and intoxicating.

Dani's hands fumbled with my shirt, pulling it off. I kicked off my shoes and pants, standing before her in just my boxers. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of me, her cheeks flushing with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

I led her to the bed, pushing her gently onto her back. I began to kiss her, starting at her neck, working my way down to her collarbone, her shoulders, her chest. My mouth found her nipple, sucking and nibbling through the lace of her bra.

Dani moaned, her fingers tangling in my hair. "Jake... that feels so good."

I smiled against her skin, my hand moving to her other breast, pinching and rolling her nipple between my fingers. Her body writhed beneath me, her breath coming in short gasps.

I moved lower, my mouth finding the delicate skin of her stomach. My fingers hooked into the waistband of her thong, pulling it down slowly. Dani lifted her hips, helping me remove the last piece of clothing between us.

I settled between her legs, my mouth finding her pussy. She was already wet, her arousal coating my lips as I licked and sucked her clit. Dani's hips bucked, her hands gripping the sheets.

"Oh, God, Jake..." she moaned, her voice laced with pleasure. "That feels so good."

I continued to lavish attention on her clit, my fingers exploring her wetness. She was tight, her muscles clenching around my fingers as I slipped them inside her. I curled them, searching for that spot that would drive her wild.

Dani's moans grew louder, her body tensing as I brought her closer to the edge. "Jake... I'm going to come," she panted, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

I slowed my movements, letting her ride out the waves of pleasure. When she finally came down, she looked at me with dazed eyes. "That was... incredible."

I smiled, my cock throbbing with need. "And we're just getting started."

I positioned myself between her legs, my cock poised at her entrance. I looked into her eyes, a wicked grin on my face. "You ready for this, Dani?"

She nodded, her body trembling with anticipation. "Yes... yes, I'm ready."

I pushed inside her, her tightness enveloping me. We both moaned, our bodies adjusting to the new sensation. I started to move, slow and steady, letting her get used to the feel of me.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, my voice laced with concern.

Dani shook her head, her fingers digging into my back. "No... it feels full. So full."

I laughed, a low rumble in my chest. "Good. Because I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before."

I picked up the pace, my cock sliding in and out of her with ease. Dani's moans filled the room, her body moving in sync with mine. "Faster, Jake... harder," she begged.

I obliged, my hips slamming into hers. The sound of our bodies coming together filled the room, a symphony of flesh on flesh. Dani's nails raked down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Yes... yes, like that... right there," she panted, her body tensing as another orgasm approached.

I could feel my own release building, my balls drawing up tight. I knew I wasn't going to last much longer. I reached between us, my fingers finding her clit. I rubbed it in tight circles, pushing her over the edge.

Dani screamed, her body convulsing as her orgasm washed over her. The sight of her coming undone was too much, and I followed her over the edge, my cock pulsing as I filled her with my cum.

We lay there, our bodies entwined, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. Dani looked at me, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and surprise. "Wow, Jake... that was... amazing."

I smiled, my fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. "I told you I'd make it worth your while."

We spent the rest of the night exploring each other's bodies, our desires, and our limits. It was a night neither of us would ever forget.

[sosa2imagines]

Hiii please can I ask for a Steve x reader where they have broke up for some stupid reason and the whole Avengers team trying to make them up again? Maybe something like a team-trip and they get them "stuck" in a "only one-bed" situqtion or Bucky/Thor trying to flirt with the reader in a Tony party just to make Steve jealous and make a move. Thanks 🫶🏻

Hi thanks for this ask. I have used both of the suggestions and I hope you like it. Warning- Angst, fluff, idiots in love, misunderstanding.

The party was in full swing, the hum of conversation and laughter echoing through Tony’s sprawling penthouse. You found yourself in a corner, nursing a glass of something you weren’t entirely sure was non-alcoholic, avoiding Steve like the plague. After the last mission, it was easier this way, less awkward, less painful.  

That mission. Damn that mission!

It had started as a straightforward retrieval op, but things had gone south fast. You’d disobeyed Steve’s orders, convinced there was a better way to secure the asset without risking innocent lives. Your plan worked, but the fallout had been brutal. Steve had confronted you the moment you were back at the compound, his anger laced with something deeper, disappointment, frustration, hurt.  

“Do you even trust me?” he’d asked, his voice low and wounded.  

Your response had been defensive, born of exhaustion and stubbornness. “Do you trust me? Or do you just want someone who’ll follow orders without question?”  

It was the kind of argument that didn’t end in resolution but in silence, the air between you heavy with everything you didn’t say. Two days later, you broke up.  

Now here you were, trying to pretend you weren’t glancing at Steve every few minutes as he stood across the room, talking to Natasha. You wondered if she knew. Probably, Natasha knew everything.  

Unbeknownst to you, the rest of the team had noticed the tension and decided to take matters into their own hands.  

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Sam said, leaning over the bar where Tony and Bucky were gathered. Thor joined them, a gleam of mischief in his eye. “Steve’s too stubborn to admit he still loves her. So, we make him jealous.”  

“What are you thinking?” Tony asked, turning to look at Sam and Thor. Bucky raised an eyebrow, looking just as puzzled, “How?” Bucky asked, his tone skeptical.  

Sam grinned. “Thor and you are gonna flirt with her. Get under his skin, make him realize what he’s missing.”  

Thor’s booming laugh earned a few side-eyes from partygoers. “I am more than willing to assist in this endeavor. Who could resist the charm of a god?”  

“Subtlety’s key, big guy,” Sam muttered, patting Thor’s arm.  

It didn’t take long for the chaos to begin.  

Thor approached you first, his smile dazzling. “Lady Y/n,” he greeted, taking your hand and bowing dramatically. “You are radiant tonight, as always.”  

You blinked at him, a laugh escaping before you could stop it. “Thank you, Thor. That’s sweet of you.”  

From across the room, Steve’s posture stiffened, his jaw clenching. Natasha raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Interesting.”  

Next came Bucky, his approach smoother but no less deliberate. “Hey, doll,” he said, his voice low and familiar. His hand brushed your arm as he leaned in. “You look incredible tonight. Mind if I steal you for a dance?”  

Your cheeks flushed. “What’s going on with you two tonight? Did Tony spike the drinks or something?”  

Bucky chuckled, but his gaze flicked toward Steve for a brief moment. “Just saying what I feel.”  

Steve, who had been silently watching the exchange, clenched his jaw, his gaze on Bucky and you. He was clearly bothered by the scene unfolding in front of him. Steve’s glass hit the bar harder than necessary, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. His expression was thunderous as he shot Bucky and Thor a glare before abruptly turning on his heel and leaving the room without a word.  

“Steve?” you called after him, your voice lost in the music and chatter. He didn’t stop, the doors to the balcony swinging shut behind him before he disappeared entirely.  

“What the hell was that about?” you muttered, turning to Bucky, who looked sheepish.  

“Uh, maybe we went a little overboard,” Bucky admitted, scratching the back of his neck.  

“Overboard with what?” you demanded, your frustration growing.  

Sam approached with an innocent grin that didn’t fool you in the slightest. “Just trying to give Captain Grumpybear a little nudge in the right direction.”  

“What?”  

“You two are miserable without each other,” Sam said, shrugging. “We were just trying to help.”  

Your heart clenched as his words sank in. Miserable wasn’t the word you’d have used, at least not out loud, but it wasn’t entirely wrong, either.  

Tony, overhearing, smirked from the bar. “You’ve got to hand it to him…Rogers has perfected the art of storming out dramatically.”  

“Real helpful, Tony,” you snapped before turning back to Sam. “What do I do now?”  

Sam gave you a knowing look. “You go after him. Talk to him. The rest of us did our part, it’s your turn now.”  

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. Clutching your glass tightly, you headed toward the balcony, hoping Steve hadn’t gone too far.  

Behind you, Thor clapped Sam on the back with a booming laugh. “A most excellent plan!”  

Bucky shook his head, “Yeah, except for the part where I nearly got murdered.” 

The cold night air on the balcony seemed to cut through your resolve as you found Steve leaning against the railing, his shoulders tense and jaw tight. His gaze was fixed on the city lights, but you knew his mind was elsewhere, likely back in that room, reliving whatever had caused him to storm out.  

“Steve,” you started softly, approaching him.  

He didn’t turn around. “Go back to the party.”  

“I’m not leaving until we talk.”  

That earned a bitter chuckle. He finally turned to face you, his blue eyes sharp and guarded. “Talk? About what? How you let Thor and Bucky flirt with you like it’s some kind of game?”  

Your mouth fell open, incredulous. “Let them? Steve, I had no idea what they were doing! I thought Thor was just being, well, Thor, and Bucky...”  

“Don’t!” Steve interrupted, his tone laced with anger. “Don’t defend them. Do you have any idea how it felt, watching them act like that? Watching you laugh with them?”  

“Steve, that’s not fair,” you argued, stepping closer. “They’re our friends. And I…”  

“Friends,” he spat, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this, Y/n.”  

He turned away again, his broad back a wall you couldn’t seem to break through. Frustrated, you finally gave up and returned to the party, your chest aching.  

The next day, Natasha strode into the common area with a smug smile that immediately set everyone on edge.  

“I’ve got a plan…” she declared, crossing her arms.  

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Another one? Because the last one almost got us all killed.”  

Tony, who had been nursing a cup of coffee, raised an eyebrow. “What kind of plan?” he asked.

“Watch and learn!” Natasha said, smirking.  

The plan was simple, send you and Steve on a mission. Steve's eyes had widened when he heard the news. He did exchange a glance with you, the implication not going unnoticed. “Oh, great...”/ he muttered under his breath.

Before you knew it, you and Steve were assigned to a mission together. Natasha conveniently left out the detail that the safe house you’d be staying at had… limited accommodations.  

The tension was palpable the moment you and Steve arrived. The safe house was small, with a single bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a living area that felt more like a closet.  

Steve grunted as he set down his bag. “Not much, but it’ll do.”  

You ignored him, dropping your gear on the table and surveying the room. The bed caught your attention immediately.

One bed. Of course.  

“Don’t even start!” Steve muttered, catching your look.  

“I wasn’t going to!” you shot back, already irritated.  

The next few hours were filled with petty bickering. You struggled to reach the top shelf in the kitchen, refusing to ask for help. Steve watched you for a moment, then muttered under his breath as he came over to grab what you needed.  

“You’re welcome.” he said, handing it to you.  

“I didn’t ask for your help!” you snapped, cheeks heating.  

“And yet, here we are…” he replied, walking away.  

When it came time to gear up for the mission, you predictably forgot to strap your knife correctly. Steve, out of habit, fixed it for you without a word.  

“I can do it myself…” you grumbled.  

“You never could…” he retorted, his fingers deftly securing the blade.  

Later, when Steve came back with a shallow cut on his arm, you instinctively grabbed the med kit and started cleaning the wound. He watched you in silence, his gaze softening despite himself.  

“You don’t have to…” he murmured.  

“Shh…I always do.” you replied, your voice quieter now.

But the real test came, when it came time to sleep. That’s when the real battle began.  

“I’m taking the bed!” you declared, crossing your arms.  

Steve raised an eyebrow, like hell you are getting the bed, “We’re sharing it.”  

“Like hell we are.” you mumbled.

You then told Steve to turn around so that you can change your clothes. But Steve simply shrugged, seeing no point in turning around.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you without clothes before,” Steve said, smirking and your face turned crimson. “Steve!” you hissed, throwing a pillow at him.  

Eventually, you both relented, setting a clear line down the middle of the bed. “This is my side!” you warned.  

“Fine…” he said, lying down already dozing off to sleep.

But as the night wore on, old habits took over. You turned in the middle of the night and curled against his chest, his arm draped protectively around you. Steve instinctively pulled you closer.  

The next day, as the sunlight shined in the room, you stirred awake to the feeling of soft lips pressing against your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open to find Steve gazing down at you, his expression unguarded for the first time in weeks.  

“Steve…” you whispered, your heart pounding.  

“Morning…” he murmured, his voice warm and familiar.  

The moment shattered when you both realized the state you were in. Scrambling apart, you began arguing again, this time over who got to shower first.  

“It’s my turn!” you insisted, clutching your towel.  

Steve smirked. “We could always save time and…”  

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Rogers!” you snapped, shoving him aside, though Steve saw the way you blushed.

Later, as you sat across from him, the tension finally broke. Steve couldn’t take it anymore and neither could you. 

“I miss you…” he admitted, his voice soft. “Every damn day, I miss you.”  

You swallowed hard, your defenses crumbling. “I miss you too. But you have to trust me, Steve. I’m not your soldier, I’m your partner.”  

He nods, his blue eyes earnest. “I know. And I’m sorry. I should’ve trusted you then, and I should’ve listened.”  

Before you could respond, he leaned across the table and kissed you, his lips capturing yours in a way that made your heart race.  

When he pulled back, you smirked. “Tit for tat,” you said, as you pulled him in for another kiss.  

You and Steve talked. Talked about trust, understanding, communication, respect. By the end of the conversation, you and Steve decided to start afresh.

When you and Steve returned, hand in hand, the team was waiting. Natasha’s smug grin was matched by Sam’s triumphant cheer.  

“Finally!” Sam yelled, high-fiving Bucky.  

Even Tony clapped sarcastically. “Congrats, lovebirds. Don’t ever make us suffer through that tension again.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling, especially when Steve’s fingers tightened around yours.  

Everyone was happy, but not more than you and Steve.

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

@stellar-solar-flare @navybrat817 @steviebbboi

@emerald-writes @caplanbuckybarnes

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans @gracescor3

@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha @sebastians-love @saranghaey @greatmistakes @baw1066

@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt

@pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 9

Series Summary: In order to save money for law school, you accept a job working as a maid for high end clients. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in more than just your curiosity peaks.  Word Count: 5k CW: see small red lettering below the cut AN: I'm going to miss them!! I'm absolutely heartbroken that I'm done, but so fucking proud of myself for what I've created. Thank you to @lotusbxtch for being my beta from pretty much the very beginning. I am so grateful to you and so honoured (yes, with a u because I'm Canadian lol) to call you my friend. Also little shoutouts to @for-a-longlongtime, @alltheirdamn, @mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69 for listening to me go on about them for 80% of 2024. As always, graphics and dividers by @saradika-graphics

My Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: unprotected p in v, one spank, multiple orgasms and Overstim hinted at, pining, heartbreak

Eight Months Later

Joel

“I got yelled at by a feisty brunette last night at that gala,” Tommy says as the two of them sip whiskey at the bar of the club. 

“Probably deserved it.” Joel deadpans and closes the folder of invoices he’s looking over.

He should be doing this in his fancy, and newly renovated, office across the street. He was in the large office for all of three minutes the day after you left when he could only see the ghost of you. From the chair you sat in when you first asked him to teach you how to be a sub, to the door he pinned you against and confessed how out of his mind he was over you, everything was you, and it had to go if he had any chance of following what you needed from him. Joel hasn’t even been in his room at the club out of the fear of what it would do to him. Would I still be able to smell the lavender of her shampoo in there? Still be able to hear her beautiful cries of pleasure and pain bouncing off the walls?

“She thought I was you,” Tommy says, glancing over at his brother and interrupting Joel’s impending spiral.

Joel sighs, slipping his reading glasses from his face before taking a long pull of the amber liquor from his crystal glass. Tommy looks straight ahead as he continues.

“She’s doing great, by the way. Or at least that’s what her friend said when she was scolding me.”

 Joel winces at his words, “Of course she is, Tommy.” Even though it's been almost a year since you left, just the mention of you rips his barely-mended heart back in half. It doesn’t seem to matter how much time passes, he still feels like he did in his kitchen. 

The very fibers of his being ache just as hard for you now as they did then. He longs to see you and touch you, to feel your warm, soft skin under his hands again. Anyone before you was always, ‘Yes, Mister Miller,’ even when they weren’t in a scene; but not you. You weren’t afraid to be curious and unapologetically yourself. He hasn’t laughed as hard with anyone, including Tiffany, as he did with you. But the part that he misses the most is the way you look at him the first time you see him. Your eyes soften, velvety pink lips parting slightly before they curl into a smile that makes his heart hammer behind his ribs. Then, he watches your shoulders relax and it makes him feel like he hung the moon and stars for you, and if he could have, he would have.  

He clears his throat and then rasps, “She’s too smart to not be doing well.”

Tommy stands, bringing his hands to rub at Joel's shoulders. He squeezes his tense deltoid muscles and with a hint of mischief in his voice he says, “Lots of pretty girls here tonight if you feel like moving on.”

Joel shakes his head and pulls away from Tommy’s grasp with a grunt. “Never gonna happen. Get outta here before you get yelled at two nights in a row.”

“Just too bad for me that you aren’t a hot brunette,” Tommy says with a laugh.

“I have brown hair,” Joel replies defensively, running his fingers through the grown out curls. 

“Not to kick you when you’re down, but it’s mostly grey at this point.”

Joel holds up a single finger at Tommy over his shoulder as he laughs and walks away. 

Two and a half years later

You

You’ve been up to your eyeballs in studying as you prepare for your finals. These last few years in California have been the hardest yet most fulfilling time of your life. Two nights in a row now, you’ve fallen asleep in the library, only waking when your Spotify would switch from the white noise playlist you use to help you focus, to your “getting ready” playlist. After dragging yourself to your dorm room in the dead of the night, you’d get a few restless hours of sleep before heading right back to your favourite studying spot. You can’t believe that in just a few short weeks you’ll be graduating and stepping into the life you’ve always envisioned for yourself.

The unmistakable FaceTime jingle fills your AirPods. Jamie’s name is splayed across the screen of your phone, along with a photo of the two of you at Albany Beach when she visited this past Christmas break. You put your highlighter down and slide the answer toggle over. 

“Hey!” She says, her warm smile shining up at you. You squint, trying to place where she is. You don’t often let yourself think of Joel, but the cracks across your screen make FaceTiming difficult, and the selfish side of you always wishes you had grabbed that new phone before you left. Your head cocks to the side; broken screen or not, you don’t recognize the background.

“Where are you?” You ask.

“Oh, I’m good, thanks. How are you?” She jests with a mocking eye roll.  “I’m at a cabin.”

“What cabin?” You say, glaring at her jokingly. A deep laugh comes from the otherside of the phone and your eyes widen. “Who’s that?”

The man's voice comes from offscreen, “I can’t believe you thought she wouldn’t ask where you were. She’s going to be a lawyer, for god's sake.”

“Jamie, who is that? What is going on here? Blink twice if you need rescuing!” You joke. 

Jamie blushes, looking over the phone at whoever that voice is coming from. “I just wanted to call to see how the studying is going, and to let you know that I got the graduation tickets.”

A glass of white wine appears in front of Jamie and she smiles before puckering her lips in a kissing motion towards the man in the room with her. “Ok, seriously, who the fuck is that and where are you?”

“I was also calling to let you know that Laren can’t make it anymore and Odette is in New York,” she takes a small sip of her wine.

“Oh, well that’s ok,” you say, trying to squash the disappointment and hoping it doesn’t show in your voice or face. You wished that at least two of your three best friends would be there for you. “It can just be me and you, baby!” 

“Well…I’m wondering if I could maybe bring my boyfriend? Might be a good opportunity for you two to meet.”

“What? What boyfriend?” You say, officially abandoning all study materials until you get some answers. Jamie raises a perfectly manicured finger and calls the mystery man over. 

You swallow hard as Tommy Miller appears beside her. 

Jamie glances up at him, her bright green eyes full of admiration, his mirroring hers. The starry look in their eyes tells you everything you need to know; they’re so far gone for that even a search and rescue team wouldn’t be able to save them. She looks back at you. “Meet again, I guess.”

You try to push for answers, but either of them give in, claiming you need to focus on finals. Before you hang up, Jamie promises to tell you the entire story when you see each other next. You’re happy for your friend, especially seeing the way Tommy looked back at her. Even through your cracked screen you could see the love, but as you try to go back to studying you have a hollow feeling in your stomach.

Graduation Day

You

The late afternoon sun fills your dorm room, boxes of your belongings stacked haphazardly around you. After walking the stage tonight, you are going out to dinner with Jamie and Tommy, and then he has paid for a hotel suite so the two of you can have a girls’ night. You can’t wait to hear how Tommy went from, in Jamie’s previous words, “my dad’s new asshole friend” to her boyfriend. 

You step in front of your floor length mirror, zipping up the black graduation gown over your knee length, form fitting, deep emerald velvet dress. The California sun has been good to you, your tanned legs and sunkissed nose and cheeks are glowing. You place your blue and yellow Berkeley Law stole over your head and then grab your cap, ensuring the ‘Class of ‘28’ tassel is secure. You fluff your curls one last time as a light knock comes from your door. 

“Ready to graduate, gorgeous?” Ronan smiles at you, eyes trailing down your gown. He’s the type of handsome that’s almost painful to look at, but more importantly - you wouldn’t have made it through these last three years without him. You met the first day - the lock on your door wasn’t working, and he waltzed in on you half naked when he mistook your room as his. 

You smile at him in your doorway now; remembering the way you screamed at him that first time, trying to cover your chest, and him scrambling to close the door. His eyes were clamped shut, and he slammed his finger so hard that you had to take him for stitches. Now, several years later, he fills out his graduation gown perfectly with those wide rugby shoulders, a sight you couldn’t even have imagined back then. Whichever angel made him didn’t make a single mistake - he’s tall and insanely broad, with dark sandy blonde hair, and clover green eyes that in the right light are a golden hazel. He’s easily one of the smartest men you’ve ever met and an incredible athlete. The cherry on top, because of course there’s more: he’s an international student and has a panty-melting Irish accent. 

“Beyond ready. Let's become lawyers, babe.”

He steps aside, one arm out in a ‘ladies first’ gesture. Handsome, charming, and thoughtful - a dangerous trifecta. You slide your hand in the crook of his muscle-lined arm and walk across campus together.

Ronan jerks his head towards the coffee cart. “Remember when you spilled your entire coffee on your new puffer jacket?”

You glare up at him, you saved for weeks to buy that jacket. “No, but I remember you throwing up in that trash can after the Halloween party last year.” 

“Well, if Beach Party Barbie had helped Lifeguard Ken with all those shots we wouldn’t have had that problem, would we?” You laugh as Ronan puffs out his chest, but you both know he was more than willing to take your half of the ‘Best Couples Costume' shots. 

Finally, you reach the courtyard where the law students will be walking across a stage that acts as the symbolic bridge to the rest of their lives. I’m a lawyer, you think to yourself and try to force a smile. The magnitude of the day only really starts to sink into your bones as you see the friends and families of your classmates start to take their seats. The excited feeling you had earlier starts to morph. You’re proud of yourself for what you’ve done these last three years, and this was just the first step. You have so much to look forward to, so why do you feel a sense of dread building in the pit of your stomach? 

Ronan walks you to where you need to line up alphabetically, kissing your cheek and then, after leaning in and placing his large hand on your lower back, he whispers a joke about how you better not trip. You glance around the thick crowd for Jamie and Tommy. After realizing it’s hopeless to try and spot them in a group this large, you slip your cap over your hair and get in the procession line. 

You try to soak in every minute of the day, from the speeches to the birds chirping in the background, but something akin to loss flutters at the base of your spine. You’re just as sad to be leaving Berkely as you are excited to carve out your future. Leaving here isn’t what’s causing you to feel this way, however. You try to tell yourself that maybe it’s just nerves; even with all the job offers coming in from your internships, it’s normal to be nervous about what comes next. 

As the student union president gives his toast to the family and friends, you look down at your lap, pushing back the cuticle on your left thumb. Maybe it’s leaving Ronan. He’s been an anchor for you, grounding you almost every day of the last three years and you don’t know how you let yourself become this dependent on anyone, especially a man, again.  

You shake your head at yourself and try to move your focus to the cuticle on your other thumb. Seeing the skin clean from the nail bed eases the tension slightly for you. ‘I’m allowed to be nervous when leaning on people, but not everyone will leave me,’ you recite almost automatically in your mind, the mantra you’ve had these past few years whenever you feel yourself getting this anxious. Just as you finish the thought, a car revs in the distance and the realization of what - or who - you’re actually missing slams through you so hard that you almost feel winded. Your lungs ache, tears pushing behind your eyes as his name rings loudly through your mind.  

Joel.

You kept yourself busy since the minute you left Austin. The busier you were, the less time you had to focus on the void in your heart. During the school year, you didn’t have to find things to stay busy with; law school nearly chewed you up and spit you out. Over the summers, you worked as an intern and visited your friends. There was never a quiet moment, never too much time alone with your thoughts, and it was better this way. You can confidently say that you’d only thought of Joel six times since you walked out of his house that day: when you fell asleep on the beach and were so sunburnt you could barely move for three days; when you failed your first test; when your rusted SUV, that acted as your ticket to freedom at eighteen, died on the freeway in rush hour (from that point on you had to rely on public transportation to get you to the homes you cleaned). When you experienced your first earthquake; when you stayed up for forty-two hours straight after your partner in a group project didn’t have their side of the work done; and, lastly, this past New Year’s Eve when you were in Austin and thought you saw him at a party. 

“Is he here?”, that little box of feelings that you shut away in a vault long ago wonders. “Has anything changed for him in the last three years?” 

The small smile that pulls at your cheeks, and the excited flutter of your heart when you think about the possibility of seeing him again, proves that maybe nothing has changed for you. As the minutes tick by, your mind races with all the possible scenarios for after the ceremony. What if he is here? What will you say? What will he say? How will Ronan react, you know he has strong feelings about what happened between you and Joel. Even worse though, what if he’s not here? But maybe he’s at the hotel where Tommy and Jamie are staying?  

Before you know it, your row is standing and walking single file towards the stage. With each strike of your high-heeled strappy sandals against the concrete, a memory of Joel floods your system. The toast he made you in his kitchen, the kiss in that dimly lit hallway on your birthday, the way he walked you through his club and how calmly he talked about you being in charge before going into the voyeur room. The multitude of orgasms he gave you within the four walls of his private room. Him singing on the small stage of the dive bar you found, followed by him spanking you right there in the bathroom with his hand clamped to your face to keep you quiet. His strong hand grasping your thigh as he drove you to his house. The way he tasted on your tongue. The smell of his skin: all ash and leather, occasionally mixed with whiskey or mint. The feel of his body: hard, broad and hot. His shuddered breaths as he confessed so many things in so few words. 

‘It’s only you, sweet girl.’

‘Just call me Joel.’

‘I know, and I’m so proud of you, sweet girl.’

You carefully walk up the stairs, forcing the thoughts of Joel from your mind, just in time to hear your name announced as a graduate of Berkeley Law. You float across the stage, grabbing the piece of paper that acts as your degree until the real one comes, shaking the hand of the Dean who flips your tassel before you walk to the stairs on the other side; the stairs that symbolize the ending of your time here and the beginning of the rest of your life. 

As you reach the top of the steps, you look out into the audience and see Jamie. She pumps her fist in the air and before you can process the empty seat beside her, you feel it; a strong tug from behind your navel. It takes you less than a heartbeat to find him and the sight before you floods your body with a familiar warmth. Standing under a large tree at the edge of the audience, dressed in all black, and holding his Stetson hat to his heart, is Joel. For the first time in years you feel whole again.

 You keep your gaze on him, worried that if you so much as blink that he’ll be gone. You are supposed to follow your classmates, but you veer left, walking towards Joel. The closer you get, the more at ease you feel. He’s real, you think, he’s here. You stop a foot or so in front of him. 

“Hi, Freckles,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly. His eyes dance around your face, almost as if he’s trying to memorize this moment. You can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling exactly how you are.   

“Hi, Sweet Cheeks,” you say, the same tremble in your voice, as you try desperately to hold it together. “You’re here.”

He nods and you give him a tight-lipped smile as your mind races. There’s so much you want to say, but now that he’s standing right there in front of you after three years, you don’t know where to start. 

Joel breaks the silence, jutting his chin in the direction of the other graduates as he says, “I saw you come in with your boyfriend. When I saw you kiss, I was going to leave, but I made you a promise.”

You knit your eyebrows together and take a step closer. “Boyfriend?”

“The man you walked over here with,” Joel says, his black Stetson sliding down the chest you so desperately want to touch as he drops his hands to his sides. He’s left no barriers between the two of you except the heartbreak that’s evident on his face. 

You laugh quietly, “No, he’s - that’s Ronan.”

Joel nods. “Okay.”

“He’s my friend,” you clarify, and when Joel’s face stays the same, you add, “And he’s still as gay as the day we first met!”

Joel lets out a whoosh of a breath and closes the distance between the two of you, his free hand comes to one of your curls, twirling the end of it around his thick fingers. Soft and silky meets rough and calloused. “I’m so proud of you, Freckles.”

You don’t miss how he watches your tongue dart between your lips, “Thank you.”

“So? How does it feel?” He gives you a soft crooked smile, his dimple carving into the short facial hair of his salt and pepper beard. Between that smile, and the way his brown eyes wash over you, you’re overcome with affection. He let you go. He did exactly as you asked him. He didn’t chase you or try to convince you to stay. You told him if he really loved you, then he’d do exactly this; and in turn, he did what he said he would. 

He showed up. 

“I love you,” you state and the air between you turns electric, almost like this moment could either set you both aflame or act as a generator for your future together. Joel gives you that look, the one that makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe. He lets the curled end of your hair slip from his fingers, reaching up towards your graduation cap but hesitating.

“May I?” He rasps and swallows hard.

You nod, and knowing exactly what he’s going for, you take the Stetson from his other hand and place it on your head after he removes your cap. The brim of it blocks out everything but the two of you.

“Say that again, sweet girl,” he murmurs.

“I love you,” it’s barely a whisper this time. “Even after three years apart, you are everything to me. I asked you to let me go so I could accomplish this, and you did. You’ve always done what I asked, what I needed. I’m not sorry for what happened between us, but I am sorry that I missed out on getting to spend the last three years with you looking at me how you are now. I love you, Joel Miller.”

He brings his lips within a breath of yours, and your body practically vibrates with the knowledge that if you leaned just a bit forward, you’d finally have his mouth on you again. You can almost taste the mint on his tongue as the familiar fragrance of ash and leather surround you. “I have dreamed of hearing those three words leave your beautiful lips more times than I can count, baby. You’re it for me. I’ll do anything for you, even if it means breaking my own heart, but I’m always going to be here for you, rooting for you and encouraging you. I’m glad you’re not sorry, because I’m not, I’m so fucking proud of you. I love you, too, my sweet girl.”

Finally, he presses his warm, firm lips against yours while pulling you tight to his body. You wrap an arm around his neck, holding the black cowboy hat against your head with your other hand. It doesn’t matter that the ceremony isn’t done, or that there are hundreds of people to your right. For the first time in three years, everything goes quiet. He hums contentedly and you feel yourself melt against him, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss. He parts his lips, letting you take the first swipe of your tongue against his. Need floods your system, and based on the way he grinds into you, he’s feeling the same. 

He breaks the kiss, but doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours. “Take me home,” you practically purr.

“Where do you want home to be? I’ll go anywhere,” Joel rasps, running his nose down the bridge of yours. 

“Austin,” you respond, your breath catching as his lips ghost along the side of your mouth.

“I sold my portion of the club to Tommy and Tess. I don’t have anything holding me in Austin anymore, sweet girl. If you have a job offer you really want, that’s where we’ll go.” You pull back to look at him. You can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s serious. 

“I want to go to Austin. I have a job offer there.”

“Good thing I told Tommy not to touch my room at the club then.”

“That’s a very good thing,” you moan and then pull him in to kiss again. The audience behind you erupts into cheers, celebrating the accomplishments of every student in that crowd. 

You’re a lawyer, and suddenly, the future doesn’t seem so scary.

Joel

Taking you home to Austin that night unfortunately wasn’t an option. After finding Jamie in the crowd, and being formally introduced to Ronan, he called the car to pick up the three of you. You all met Tommy at the restaurant, celebrating with all the expensive homemade pasta and overpriced wine that you wanted; even though seeing you in that curve-hugging velvet dress was slowly killing him. Joel had kept at least one hand on you since seeing you again, and he doesn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. 

He didn’t want to rush you on your big night, so he waited patiently, listening to you tell stories of your last three years, and revelling in the evident joy that you and Jamie share over being together again. When dessert comes around he catches Tommy’s attention and gives him a small smile. It’s fitting that the two brothers, who have been so close their entire lives, would fall in love with best friends. 

Once in his room, he spent two hours stripping you down at an almost painfully slow pace. He kissed every inch of your skin twice over and has pulled five orgasms, and counting, out of you so far. 

Now, Joel is seated in the wide velvet arm chair in the corner of his hotel suite. His cock is buried deep inside of your tight cunt as you straddle him. Your skin feels like butter under his hands as he trails them along your back and the globes of your perfect ass. He’s missed tying you up, but this is what he longed for: the earth shattering intimacy he feels with you in these moments.   

“Please,” you mumble into his neck, desperate to move your hips.

“Not until you answer me,” he demands softly. “How many times was it that you needed me, but were too stubborn to reach out?”

Earlier tonight you told him about the six times you really needed him. He’d kissed you softly after each confession, returning the trust with a time he needed you. After the last one, he’d pulled back to look at you with dark eyes. He’d hated that you needed him and he couldn’t be there. He’d clenched his back molars twice before he said you’d be denied six orgasms the next time you were at the club, but tonight you have permission to come as often as you need to. 

He swats your already reddened ass cheek and your pussy flutters as you cry out. “Mister Miller, stop. Please, just let me move.”

“Do you need to use your safeword?”

“No,” you respond with a pout. 

“How many times?” He says again through gritted teeth, even though already knows the answer. 

“Six,” you sob. 

He tuts and then growls, “That doesn’t sound like my good girl, does it?”

You shake your head against his throat and moan a sound of disagreement.

“Do you want to come for me again?”

“Yes, Mister Miller. Please!”

He trails his fingers up and down your back again, the thin sheen of sweat on your skin makes it easy for him to caress you. He smiles to himself at the shiver that racks through your body at his touch. You react so beautifully to him. “Yeah? You wanna grind your swollen little clit on my piercing, baby girl?”

“Please,” you whine again, stretching out all the vowels in the word.

“Show me. Ride my cock, take what you need.” 

You lift your head from the crook in his neck and pull back slightly, rocking your hips back and forth; a sultry laugh leaves his lips at your eagerness. You look at him with hooded eyes, hair stuck to your forehead. His eyes trail down your neck to the bruises he sucked into your collar bone earlier and then to your breasts; both of which are covered in his marks. He watches the little gold nipple clamps, and the chain that connects them, bounce with each flick of your hips. 

“That’s it, sweet girl. You look like a goddess, my goddess. Who do you belong to?”

“I’m yours, baby,” you say through shallow breaths. He pulls at the chain and you cry out in pain. “S-sorry, Mister Miller.”

“Again, sweet girl. Tell me who you belong to.”

“Oh fuck, y-you, Mist -” his hands come to your face and when he whispers your name the rest of your sentence dies on your tongue.

“Just call me Joel.” The commanding voice of his alter ego is gone as he says it. 

Your hips slow, changing from a frantic back and forth to a sensual swirling motion. “I’m yours, Joel. Forever.”

He kisses you softly, a silent telling of how vulnerable he is at this moment. “Don’t ask me to let you go ever again.”

The smile you give him causes his heart to skip, “I won’t.”

“You might, sweet girl. I won't survive it if you do, so I’m going to remind you of this moment as often as possible for the rest of my life. Remind you how much you’re loved and supported. You’re mine, Freckles.” Your hips swirl and he feels you tighten up around him. “Come for me, my sweet girl.” 

“Fuck, fuck, Joel!” It’s a cry and moan all at once. 

“I’m here, it’s ok, baby.” With that, your body shudders and you fall into him as you shatter. Your pussy clenches and releases rapidly around his length. His cock twitches, and once he can’t hold it anymore he relaxes, letting his orgasm rock through him in time with yours.

“I’m yours, too,” he gasps as he melts into you.

The End

Coming Soon:

Curious how Jamie ended up with her "dads new asshole friend?"

Part 2 of the BDSMaid Trilogy coming mid 2025!

Also, stay tuned for the epilogue for Joel and Sweet Girl.

[mya-valentine]

Hi! it's me again! I'd like to request a few genshin men/boys and most of them are my favs like at least like 14 of them😂 fluff please

I wanted to request a Diluc, Razor (it's fine if you don't do him, but I'm pretty sure he's at least 16 or 17) Xiao, Wanderer, Cyno, Al Haitham, Neuvillete, Kinich, Ororon (there's lack of Ororon love) and Dainsleif. I wanted the headcannon to be like:

their friends asking fem!reader: What do you see in him?

reader: he makes me laugh

i wanted to see this kind of headcannon for so long (i hope it's okay if i can request this much character😅)

Headcanon: He Makes Me Laugh

Diluc

At a cozy café in Mondstadt, you and your friends sit around a small table, sharing stories over steaming cups of tea. One of your friends leans in, eyebrows raised. “Diluc? Really? What do you see in him?”

You take a moment to think, a smile creeping onto your face. “He makes me laugh,” you finally reply.

Your friends exchange skeptical glances. “Diluc? The serious, brooding one? How does that even work?”

You lean back in your chair, recalling a recent night at the tavern. Diluc had been tending bar when a customer made a ridiculous drink request. With a straight face, he had leaned over to you and said, “If I serve one more ‘secret drink’ request, I might just invent a potion to erase memories of it.”

You burst into laughter, and he shot you a quick, playful smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. The moment had felt electric, a fleeting glimpse of the softer side he rarely showed anyone else.

As you reminisce, you can’t help but grin, feeling warmth in your chest. “He’s got this dry wit that surprises me. You just have to know where to look.”

One friend rolls her eyes. “Okay, I can see it. But how do you get him to show it?”

You shrug playfully. “Maybe he just needs someone to break through the brooding exterior.”

Diluc, standing nearby, overhears your laughter and smirks, catching your eye with a knowing look, as if he appreciates the affection behind your words.

Razor

Your friends are gathered in your room, sprawled on the floor as you all catch up. Suddenly, one of them narrows their eyes and asks, “You’re with Razor? What do you even talk about?”

You can’t help but giggle at the question. “Oh, you have no idea. He makes me laugh!”

Your friends exchange confused looks. “Razor? The one who spends all his time with wolves?”

You nod, recalling a beautiful morning walk you took with him through Wolvendom. “The other day, we were watching the sunrise. He looked at it, wide-eyed, and said, ‘Looks like egg yolk spilled.’ And then he asked, ‘Why do people say ‘crack of dawn’? Dawn don’t break…’”

Your friends burst into laughter, imagining Razor’s serious face juxtaposed with his innocent, childlike observations.

“He’s not trying to be funny, but he has this way of looking at the world that’s just… refreshing,” you explain, a soft smile on your lips as you think about him.

One friend grins, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, I guess if you’re into that… unique perspective.”

Razor, who has been listening from the doorway, looks a bit confused but intrigued. “I like egg yolk. It is good food,” he adds earnestly, causing another round of laughter.

Xiao

In a quiet corner of Liyue Harbor, your friends sit across from you, disbelief painted on their faces. “Xiao?” one asks, incredulous. “But he’s so… intense and brooding! What do you see in him?”

You chuckle, leaning back in your chair. “He makes me laugh,” you respond, shaking your head at their expressions.

Your friends exchange skeptical glances, clearly struggling to understand how someone as serious as Xiao could ever be funny. “Seriously?” one of them challenges. “How?”

You remember a day when you and Xiao were training together on the mountain. As you stumbled over a loose rock, he caught you just in time, and without missing a beat, he said, “Are mortals always this clumsy?”

You had burst out laughing at his deadpan delivery, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “He doesn’t mean to be funny, but his honesty is refreshing,” you explain, smiling at the memory.

Your friends nod, starting to see your point. “Okay, I can see how that would be amusing.”

Just then, Xiao approaches, overhearing the conversation. He raises an eyebrow. “You laugh a lot around me. Is that good?”

You grin, meeting his gaze. “Absolutely! It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

Xiao looks slightly flustered but turns away, a hint of a smile breaking through his usual stoicism.

Wanderer

Strolling through a quiet clearing with your friends, one of them shoots you a concerned glance. “So… Wanderer? The same guy who’s known for his prickly attitude? What exactly do you see in him?”

You smirk, already used to the question. “He makes me laugh,” you say simply.

They look skeptical, one raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”

You nod, smiling at the memory of a recent encounter. Wanderer had once muttered something about the “absurdity” of people who thought they knew everything about him. He’d followed it up with, “Honestly, they know less about me than that rock does about erosion.” He’d pointed at a boulder, then turned to you, daring you to laugh. But you couldn’t help it—you cracked up, and he’d rolled his eyes, but with the faintest hint of a smile himself.

Your friends seem taken aback. “Wait, Wanderer said that?”

Just then, Wanderer appears, crossing his arms as he approaches. “Are you sharing my profound observations with these mortals?” he asks, feigning annoyance, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he glances at you.

You grin, meeting his gaze. “I can’t help it. You’re just so funny.”

He scoffs, muttering something about “annoying people,” but the faintest smile betrays him, earning a knowing look from your friends.

Cyno

After a long day, you and your friends gather at a cozy teahouse. One of them finally leans in with a curious look. “Cyno, though? Isn’t he a little… intense? What do you see in him?”

A grin spreads across your face as you think of Cyno’s well-meaning, if occasionally dreadful, sense of humor. “He makes me laugh.”

Your friends look surprised, clearly doubtful. “Cyno? Are you sure? He’s the General Mahamatra!”

You laugh at their disbelief. “Yes, that Cyno. Once, he tried to tell me a ‘joke’ about Teyvat’s elemental reactions. ‘Did you know Pyro and Hydro make steam…y results?’” You can’t help but laugh at the memory, and your friends blink at you, processing.

Then one snickers, and another gives in. “Okay, that’s actually—unintentionally funny.”

As if summoned, Cyno appears at the table. “Did I hear mention of… humor?” he asks with utmost seriousness, casting a proud look your way. “I have another one. What did the dendro traveler say to the withering zone?”

You grin knowingly, but your friends glance at each other nervously. “What?” they ask in unison.

“‘Leave it to me,’” Cyno deadpans, straight-faced. You burst out laughing, your friends struggling to hold back their smiles. Cyno raises an eyebrow, satisfied. “See? I told you humor is a valuable asset.”

Alhaitham

Gathered at the Sumeru Library, your friends can’t hide their disbelief. “Alhaitham? What do you even see in him?” one of them exclaims, shaking her head.

You grin, leaning back in your chair. “He makes me laugh.”

“Really? The stoic scholar?” they ask, bewildered.

You reminisce about a quiet evening when you found him deeply engrossed in a book. You had asked, “What’s so interesting?” He glanced up and replied, “The existential dread of characters in fiction is quite entertaining. They can’t even do anything about it.”

His deadpan delivery made you laugh, and he’d raised an eyebrow, confused by your reaction. “You find that funny?” he’d asked, genuinely perplexed, which only made you laugh harder.

Your friends start to nod, clearly amused. “Okay, maybe he has a point there.”

Alhaitham, overhearing your laughter, approaches with an amused glint in his eye. “I see you’re discussing literature. Should I be concerned?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Only if you’re worried about being funny.”

He smirks, unfazed. “Then I have nothing to worry about.”

Neuvillete

In the refined atmosphere of Fontaine’s opera house, your friends question your attachment to Neuvillette, the reserved Chief Justice. “So, what do you see in him?” one friend asks, an eyebrow raised. “Neuvillette’s so… solemn. He barely smiles.”

You chuckle, casting a glance at the grand stage. “But that’s the thing. He makes me laugh when I least expect it.”

Your friends exchange looks, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Neuvillette?”

You nod, remembering a moment from an evening much like this one. Neuvillette had been watching an opera, his typical composed expression in place, when he leaned over and whispered, “I find it curious that, despite its grandeur, this aria is about a fish lamenting her lost pond. Dramatic, isn’t it?” His understated humor and subtle wit had made you stifle a laugh, though he looked pleased with your reaction.

One friend’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, he actually jokes? In his own way?”

At that moment, Neuvillette arrives, having overheard the conversation. “I merely observe the world as it is,” he says with a faint, almost invisible smile. “I trust I’ve provided adequate amusement?”

You smile up at him warmly, while your friends look at each other, slowly starting to see his appeal. “Yes,” you reply, reaching for his hand. “You certainly have.”

Kinich

As you and your friends stroll through the bustling markets, one of them nudges you, raising an eyebrow. “So… Kinich? He’s got that cold, intense vibe. What do you see in him?”

You chuckle, picturing the man who, beneath his pragmatic exterior, occasionally revealed a dry, clever humor that caught you off guard. “He makes me laugh,” you reply, smiling.

Your friends blink, visibly unconvinced. “Kinich? The Kinich? The guy who talks like every word is a business contract?”

“Trust me, he’s funnier than you think.” You recall a time when you had teased him about always being so serious. He had given you a mock-stern look and said, “Seriousness is simply efficiency applied to communication. If I were to, say, laugh needlessly, it would be inefficient—unless, of course, you think I’m funny?” His tone had been deadpan, but you had caught the sparkle in his eyes, which only made you laugh harder.

One of your friends scoffs, half amused, half disbelieving. “He’s secretly funny? Now that I have to see.”

Just then, Kinich appears, drawn by the sound of laughter. He stands with his usual composed expression, his gaze steady as he glances at you. “Am I interrupting?” he asks, though his eyes linger on yours with a warmth your friends would never guess at.

“Not at all,” you reply, a mischievous smile on your lips. “We were just talking about how funny you are.”

A single brow arches, and he replies smoothly, “If efficiency in humor is what amuses you, then I suppose I’ve succeeded.”

Your friends stare, open-mouthed, as he gives a faint smile, the smallest show of his affection reserved just for you.

Ororon

Gathered in a quiet grove just outside the bustling village, your friends share stories, each of them glancing at you with barely concealed curiosity. Finally, one of them speaks up. “Ororon? Really? He’s so… unconventional. What do you see in him?”

You smile, looking down at the wildflowers in your hand. “He makes me laugh.”

They seem taken aback, sharing doubtful glances. “Ororon? But he’s so… odd. He even lives out in the woods by himself. Isn’t he a little too eccentric?”

You laugh softly, thinking of all the moments Ororon’s uniqueness had brightened your days. “Maybe. But he’s more observant than anyone I know.” You recount a day spent walking with him through the forest, where he had pointed out a bird with feathers the color of storm clouds and said, with absolute conviction, “Look at him, he’s judging us. Clearly, he’s unimpressed with our lack of feathers.” You’d laughed, and he had given you a small, playful smile.

One friend smirks, shaking their head. “You actually find him funny?”

Before you can answer, Ororon appears, emerging from the trees with his usual easygoing stride. “Are we discussing birds?” he asks, his expression calm as he settles beside you. “I could have sworn I saw a bird earlier that looked particularly snobbish. Perhaps it’s you it dislikes.”

You laugh, reaching for his hand as your friends chuckle, finally starting to understand his strange charm. “Exactly,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze.

Ororon gives a satisfied hum, his eyes meeting yours. “See? Nature understands us well.” And in that moment, your friends see how the quiet humor of this eccentric man makes him so dear to you.

Sitting on a rooftop overlooking the stars, your friends are still trying to wrap their heads around your choice. “Dainsleif? Really? What do you see in him?” one asks skeptically.

Dainsleif

You smile softly, reflecting on your experiences. “He makes me laugh.”

Your friends look puzzled. “But he’s so serious and mysterious!”

You recall a late night when you were stargazing together. He had shared tales of his travels and then abruptly said, “In the end, I find that stars are just like people. Some are bright, some are dim, and some are just… lost.” Then, after a pause, he added with a straight face, “But at least they all shine, even if it’s just for a moment.”

You had burst into laughter at his unexpected metaphor, and he’d turned to you, a hint of confusion in his eyes as he asked, “Is that amusing?”

You nod, a warm smile on your face. “Yes! It’s all about perspective with you.”

Your friends nod, starting to see the appeal. “Okay, that’s a bit poetic.”

Dainsleif, overhearing the conversation, walks over with an amused look. “If my musings provide amusement, then perhaps I should share more.”

You grin. “Please do! We could all use a little more humor.”

.

.

.

Masterlist

[buck-star]

Stuck with a God | Loki Laufeyson

// Pairing // Loki Laufeyson x Agent!Female!Reader

// Summary // Loki gets imprisoned by Shield and he loves flirting with you. As much as he annoys you, even more does the Shield technology annoy you.

// Wordcount // 2.488

// Warnings // Explicit Content // 18+, Minors DNI, smut, kind of enemies to lovers, being stuck with Loki, bit of dub-con, fingering, squirting, CMNF, finger sucking / cum eating kinda, bit of housewife kink, praises

// Authors Note // This is my first time writing for Loki, so thanks to my amazing friend @jiyascepter for encouraging me to write for him.

// Events // Slumber Party: Sundae Bar | French Vanilla (stranded, looked in) and Black Cherry (Enemies to lovers) | @the-slumberparty | Bingo of your own | N4 | Stuck together | @thebo3bingo |

// Masterlist | Loki Laufeyson //

     “Darlin’! Didn’t think I would see you today,” the black-haired man says, his smirk growing as you walk closer to the cell he is in. “Want to see me again before they bring me into another cell, my dear?”

     You roll your eyes, earning a chuckle from the man. Since they brought him into the cell earlier that day, he flirts with you whenever you’re around. Or at least it’s what you think he is doing; maybe he just tries to convince you to let him out and let him rule the world — something you won’t do unless your boss will force you to.

     “Didn’t miss you; I just have to get something, and then I will be back doing my work,” you answer him, walking further through the room.

     Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief — at least what he said — walks up and down his cell, his green eyes following every little movement.

     “Oh, darling—“

     “Stop that flirting and let me do my job. You’re annoying, and I’m done with you, Loki,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief about that man.

     His lips are still curled up, and his eyes are glistening. As much as he annoys you, he has something that makes your knees weak — mystic and magical.

     “My dear, come here. Look at me when you tell me that you’re done with me. Are you done with me, darlin’, or do you only want everyone to think that?” His voice is low, his head falling forward, and he looks up, looking even more handsome than before.

     “No, don't even think that. You’re not that interesting to me,” you groan, frustrated that you’re stuck in that conversation. Too nice to just ignore him and too annoyed to continue talking to him.

     “Not interesting to you? I’m Loki — god of mischief — from Asgard! Everyone wants me. Oh, that sweet maid in Asgard — you should have seen her, darling. She begged me, but she wasn’t interesting to me,” Loki says, chuckling softly at your expression.

     How can he dare to tell you such an intimate story about one of the maids who is working for them? But to finally let him know that you’re not interested in his idiotic ass, you make your way closer to the entrance of the cell. Loki is grinning at you and walking in his cell to the entrance as well.

     When you reach it, he places his hand against the glass, waiting for you to tell him that you’re not interested in him. His green eyes remind you of a snake, staring into yours and glistening mischievously.

     “I’m not inter— How?” You almost shout at him when he is suddenly in front of you — without glass in between you. “FUCKING SHIT! How do— GO BACK INTO THE CELL!”

     Loki laughs softly, his white teeth visible. His tongue darts out, and he slides it across his plump lips before closing his mouth and leaning a bit further down.

     “Make me, darling. I’m a god; you think that little cell stops me from breaking out? How sweet,” he says in a teasing tone.

     You place your hands immediately on his chest, feeling the muscles tensing underneath your soft touch, before you push him back into the cell. Actually, you learned to not do things like that — never touch a criminal or get too close to him — they could use it to their advantage.

     A loud sound behind you makes you flinch, and you look around. The door behind you shuts, and your eyes widen when you realize that you’re stuck in a cell with the enemy. And not just one enemy; you’re stuck with Loki.

     “Stay away!” You grumble, letting go of him to take a step backwards and look for your card, which opens literally every door in a shield compound. You reach your card, finally able to get out of the cell again — you just need to find out how he managed to open the door and walk out of the cell.

     “Darling, don't you want to give me some company? That hurts my feelings; I thought you changed your mind and wanted to stay in that cell with me,” Loki says, his eyes still following every movement of yours while you walk to the door and press your card against the small display next to it.

     His lips curl up when the door doesn’t open. You try again, pressing the card against the display again. Once again, the door stays closed, and you groan frustrated — why can’t the technology work like it should?

     “Doesn’t work, darling? Do you need my help?” Loki asks, his tone teasing, and you roll your eyes once again. At some point, you’re sure you can roll your eyes all the time, but right now you’re just annoyed about the technology and him being such a dick.

     “I don’t need your help! Can you just shut up for a moment?” You ask through gritted teeth. You turn around, wanting to face the black-haired man, but the cell is empty, and you wonder if he broke out once again.

     You hiss and almost jump when you feel a warm breath against your neck. Long arms wrap around your waist, and a broad but small chest is suddenly pressed against your back. You can feel Loki’s nose sliding over the soft skin of your neck; a low chuckle leaves his lips when he pulls you even closer.

     A shiver runs down your spine; you want to lean more into his embrace. His warmth and scent envelope you. Loki feels just so good that you want more of him and more of his touches.

     “You like that, don’t you, darling?” He asks, his breath hitting your skin and causing goosebumps all over your body. It shouldn’t feel so good; you shouldn’t stay in his embrace; he shouldn’t touch you like that — Loki is still the enemy, but the two of you look now like he isn’t just that; it looks like the two of you are so much closer.

     “L—Loki, let go of me. H—How did you escape here? Wh—“ You interrupt yourself when you feel his long fingers moving over your stomach, higher to your chest.

     “I didn’t escape, but I told you — I’m a god, darling. I never escaped here; you opened the door with your card; you pushed just an imagination of mine into the cell. And now that you’re here with me, stuck in this cell, don’t you think we should just continue where we stopped?” Loki asks, his voice quiet, and he presses his soft lips against your neck.

     You shake your head, even though you don’t feel like that. You just can’t be that close or intimate with the enemy. He grumbles behind you, pressing you even closer against his chest, and you can feel his growing bulge pressing against your ass.

     Your eyes widen, pussy throbbing, but you can’t just give in to him, can you? Loki is thrusting his hips forward, chuckling against you, when a soft moan escapes your lips.

     “You like that?” You nod lightly, his fingers gracing over the fabric of your t-shirt to your chest. Loki moves his hands over the swell of your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, and when you look down, your breath hitches.

     His hands are so big, thin, but long fingers — they cause the most filthy thoughts you ever had. You inhale deeply. A moment later, you think about pushing him away, telling him to stop that, and that there are cameras, but you know that they won’t work when the display to unlock the cell doesn’t work either.

     Loki feels you tensing in his arms; he kneads your soft breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back.

     “N—Loki, please,” you whine, feeling his hard cock still pressing against you. He thrusts his hips forward, making you squeal. His hands are squeezing your tits more.

     “Changing your attitude is exactly how I like it. What do you need, darling?” His tone is teasing. You nod your head, now knowing what to say. Loki laughs, suckling at your neck while his hands snake back to your waist. “Tell me, darlin’.”

     “L—Loki, please, n-need you,” you whimper. You feel so pathetic, begging the enemy to touch you, to fuck you. His hands and his lips feel like the softest thing you have ever felt, and you need him to continue touching you. You need to know how talented those fingers are.

     “Look at you, melting in the enemy's embrace, needing his fingers, don’t you?” He mocks you, laughing softly when he picks you up. He carries the two of you to the bench on the other end of the cell, sitting down before he places you in his lap.

     Loki’s hands hold you in place, his hard crotch pressing against your ass, and you wiggle lightly, earning a low groan from the man behind you. His fingers are digging into your sides, pressing you further down on him to keep you still.

     His lips trail along your neck once again, and he then smirks miraculously once again. And suddenly… you’re naked in his lap. Your clothes are nowhere around, and you can feel the leather of his suit underneath your sensitive skin.

     “L—“

     “Come on, spread those pretty legs for your favorite god, darling,” he grumbles, his fingers sliding along the inside of your thighs as he spreads your legs apart.

     Loki reveals your throbbing pussy; his left hand is holding your one leg, and he squeezes your thigh, while his other hand inches closer to where you need him the most.

     His long finger slides through your folds, and you moan softly, throwing your head back against his shoulder. Loki circles your clit, pinching it lightly between his fingers before he moves his long fingers further down to your entrance.

     “So wet, ‘s that all for me, dalin’? Pussy’s drippin’ for me,” he says, kissing his way along your neck to your ear. His fingers coated in your arousal, he slowly pushes one finger into your entrance. You moan loudly, arching your back. Loki’s finger slips deeper into your tight pussy.

    “Doing so well; look at you, sweetheart. Taking my finger like you’re made for that, aren’t you?” Loki praises you, pushing deeper into you while curling his finger. He starts pumping it in and out of you, earning soft moans and whimpers from you.

     Your hands gripping his thighs, the cold leather feeling perfectly underneath your hot skin. And having him completely dressed while you’re naked turns you on beyond belief.

     Lokis circles your clit with his thumb, adding another finger to your cunt. Your breath gets heavier, you rock into his hand, and the coil in your stomach tightens with every moment of his long fingers inside of you.

     The black-haired man hits your sweet spot every time, the pads of his fingers sliding over it, causing an intense feeling to build up in your lower stomach. A feeling you never had before, not when you fucked yourself with a toy and never with another man.

     “Doing so well, darling. Squeezing my fingers so good, can’t wait to fuck you, probably. Yeah, that’s what you like? Being fucked by a god, don’t you, darling?” Loki asks; his eyes darken lightly, but since you’re with your back toward him, you can’t see them.

     “P—Please, so close. LOKI!” You almost shout; you're just about to come all over his fingers. You don’t know how you ended up in that situation, but right now you can’t care about that. Everything you want and need is Loki, his fingers curling inside of you and bringing you closer to the edge.

     The sound of your wet pussy and his fingers pumping into you in a steady rhythm echoes through the cell. He speeds up, loving the way your walls cling around his fingers, sucking his thin, long fingers even deeper. “Come on, sweetheart, come all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”

    With that, you do as you’re told, your pussy clenching around his fingers. Loki massages your sweet spot with his digits while you come all over his fingers. Your juices squirt all over his palm and fingers, landing on the ground of the cell.

     “F—Fuck, please, keep going, please, Loki,” you beg, thrusting your hips against his hand while you ride out your orgasm.

     He can’t stop his movements just now; you need him to fuck you through your orgasm — and that’s what he does. Curling his fingers steadily inside of your pulsing cunt, he thrusts slowly into you while you breathe heavily.

     You have been moaning like a whore since he started to fuck you with his finger. But you don’t care; he feels too good to think properly.

     “Didn’t think about it, darlin’. Doing so good for me, gonna keep you and take you with me to Asgard; make you my sweet little wife and fuck you whenever and wherever I want,” he groans, his eyes rolling slightly back when he thinks about that idea. A low moan escapes his pink lips, and he smirks. “You’re already so cock drunk, you can’t even think about it properly. Just say yes, darling.”

     You nod your head, your hips still moving against this hand, while you don’t really notice what he is saying. As long as he keeps his fingers inside of you. “Yes, please.”

     “Whining and begging like a pathetic little housewife, that’s what you are. My sweet little housewife.” He kisses your neck once again, sucking a purple mark into your skin. “All mine, darling, and everyone can see it.”

     Even with your protests, Loki pulls his fingers out of you, holding them up to show you your arousal dripping down his fingers. You blush slightly, watching Loki bring his fingers closer to his face. You turn your head, looking at him while he takes them into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean.

     “Tasting perfect, darling,” he hums more to himself before he moves his hand, and you’re suddenly dressed again.

     Your eyes widen, reality hits you, and you jump off his lap. You immediately miss his warmth, a cold shiver running down your spine while you consider getting back into his lap or staying away from him. This is just a short moment, because as much as you should stay away from him, as much as you crave and need this black-haired man.

     “That’s my girl. Now let’s get out of this cell and make you my pretty little housewife,” he says, smirking at you when your back is pressed against his chest once again. And just as he tells you, he is doing exactly that, making you his wife — and luckily, you’re not the only one addicted to the other one. A god can be just as addicted and craving like a human.

// Taglist // @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles

[harrygoeswest]

Lazy Days

Featuring fiance!Harry, nail painting, bath smut, and general soppy shit.

Trigger warnings: [if there was a 6th Spice Girl she would've been called] soft spice

Word Count: 3,870

A/N: Hiyaaaa. Ages ago (and I really do mean like actual years ago, on a blog long since forgotten) I posted on here a head cannon of all the things I think Harry does during his down time. This is basically just that, but in fic version. Hope you likey like!

~~~

It’s the shifting of weight on the mattress that stirs you from slumber; the sudden absence of warmth from another body at your back; the whisper of fingertips over your hips and thighs. Still, your body is too tired, your limbs too sore to stay conscious for long, and once the rustle of sheets and padding of feet against the hardwood dissipates, you fall back into the darkness of sleep.

Not too long later, you’re awoken again—the click of a door, the soft clunk of clay on wood. Between sponged kisses up your spine where you lay on your front, you catch a whiff of coffee. You smile to yourself.

Those same fingers from before trace the curve of your sides, those lips now pressed lovingly against the nape of your neck. As tentative fingers make way for strong, capable, safe hands, a satisfied sigh leaves you. You’re gently tugged back into the solid embrace of your lover, his front to your back, skin to skin. His arms are a blockade, arresting you into submission.

“Good morning,” Harry practically slurs, his lips brushing and breath tickling your ear.

Melting against him, your response is a croaked, “Hi.”

That plush mouth of his ghosts across your shoulder and back to your neck in slow, tantric lines. While one hand—one arm—remains firmly in place to keep your body gripped to his, the other travels to his favourite places. He starts with small, spiralling circles on your hip, before migrating to the soft swell of your stomach, following the scars of stretch marks on your thighs. You can feel his barred hand testing the weight of your boob, a light-pressured knead.

A satisfied, breathy moan leaves you, and Harry’s grip tightens.

“When was the last time we did this?” he asks, still massaging your breast.

“Did what?” You barely open your mouth to speak.

“Just…nothing? Slept in? Cuddled?”

You grunt, thoughtful. You can’t remember. “Too long.”

His hum sounds like an agreement. “Shall we just…stay in today?”

You idly skim your fingers along his forearm. “Can you manage to sit still for that long?”

He pinches your waist, and you yelp. “I can for you.”

A fizzy kind of happiness begins to bubble its way through you. He achieves this feeling a lot, with his words. His actions. Sometimes just his face. He’s so handsome.

“Deal,” you finally agree.

You drift in and out of consciousness as Harry’s mouth and fingers map your body. He mumbles in your ear in gentle pries for attention, sometimes compliments and verbal loving. Subtle affections. And it’s also contemplation—what are you going to do with your day off together?—or future planning—do you sit your mean uncle next to his problematic third cousin at the wedding just to see who makes a scene first?

You elbow him for that one, even though he makes you laugh with his boyish mischief.

Sunlight filters in through the bedroom blinds, and even though it’s cold outside, it warms your skin where it touches. Harry notices the same thing you do—the way your engagement ring glints off the light—because his hand finds yours, particularly that one finger with his ring on it, and starts toying with it.

Saying yes was the easiest decision you’ve ever made, and for some reason, Harry struggles to believe it sometimes. Why he ever thought you’d say no is beyond you.

In the quiet room, the endless band recedes as the focal point of your attention while his hands continue to caress and travel around the plains of your body. You simply let him, snuggling back into his embrace, holding his arms around you so he doesn’t let you go.

Before long you feel the sensation of want growing, pooling between your legs. It appears much the same for Harry, whose length has stiffened at your back. With a slight adjustment you let it slip between your thighs, sliding against your bare pussy. You release equally tortured groans, his face shoving into your neck, his tongue tasting and his lips sponging kisses there.

You reach behind you, pushing your fingers through his hair and gripping, keeping him pressed to you as closely as possible. His mouth finds yours, tongue eager as it slips between your lips. The kiss is anything but innocent, and it causes the friction between your legs to heighten.

“Find a condom, H,” you beg breathily.

His presence slinks away, only briefly, and you turn over your shoulder to watch him clumsily searching for a foil packet in the drawer of his bedside table. Producing one, he gets to work.

Once he’s rolled it on he’s back with you, arms returning around your middle and his length squeezing through the space between your thighs. He lifts your leg up by the back of your thigh, and his cock sinks into the heat of your wet pussy.

“Fuck yeah,” he mumbles, nibbling his way down your shoulder, “y’always feel so fucking good.”

“So do you,” you huff out, as your body adjusts to the feel of him.

It starts slow, calm. All of your recent intimate moments have been rushed and sloppy because you’re hardly ever home at the same time and you’re too exhausted to do anything. But this…this feels like the opposite.

Harry takes his time. He keeps your leg aloft while he moves in and out of you, talking in your ear with his favoured phrases.

“Can we move?” you ask after so long. “My leg’s starting to cramp.”

“Sure.” He slows down and pulls out of you. “How d’you want it?”

Throwing him a devilish smile, you roll onto your front and lift your ass in the air.

Harry chuckles. He takes a firm grip on one of your round ass cheeks, squeezing and pinching, before landing a swift smack to that same place.

You groan, arching further into the mattress.

His dick sneaks back inside of you and he takes your hips in his hands. His thrusting starts off measured, timed to perfection to build the ache inside you. His cock really does feel sensational, the way it stretches your inner walls, filling you up. 

“That feel good?” 

“So fucking good,” you assure him. “But I need it faster, baby.”

“How fast?”

“Just…faster than this. It’s nice and all, but I like it when you’re a bit messy.”

“Funny, you never say that when I’m drunk.”

Drunk Harry trying to have sex is…an experience. And not necessarily in a good way.

“I want to feel my backside jiggling, and that ain’t happening at this pace.”

He smacks your ass again, his palm immediately soothing the sting. “I can do that.”

And boy does he deliver. With his hands back on your waist he pistons his hips with vigour. It feels sensational. Your body comes alive as every thrust reaches a deeper, more pleasurable place.

“Fuck, Harry, yes.”

He loves that—the praise you give him. Turns him on and builds him up. He gets faster, sloppier. He becomes uncoordinated, jostling your body forwards, backwards.

You reach under the pillows, fisting the sheets and the corner of the mattress, just looking for purchase on anything.

“You feel. So. Good.” He punctuates each word of his statement with a punishing pump of his hips.

A cry leaves you, and you bury your head further.

He smacks your ass again. And again. The sharpness of it, the crack of skin-on-skin echoes through the room.

You suddenly feel his weight over you, the warmth of his skin against your back. His cock shifts inside you, a strangled gasp garbling from your mouth at the bottoming feeling of it close to your stomach.

His teeth sink into the crook of your neck and then he soothes the bite over with his tongue. “You’re edible.”

“Likewise,” you choke.

Still thrusting away, he grabs a boob in one hand and toys with your clit with the other.

The noises you’re making become hysterical and disconnected. You’re a mad woman—you’ve lost your mind.

“Harry,” you pant.

“I know,” he grunts, his teeth in your neck again. “Fuck.”

“I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah?” His breathless question leaves perspiration along your shoulder.

“Yeah. Come with me?”

“I’ll certainly fucking try.”

You clench your pussy around him. “Please?”

“Shit!” he yells. “Do that again.”

So you do, your delicate muscles contracting around his thick, hard length. He rubs your clit faster, and you tumble over the edge as he follows.

Spent, Harry collapses onto you, his body a delicious weight.

“Fuck, that was good,” he pants.

“It really was.”

“I think I need a nap.”

“We’ve only just woken up.”

“You’re the one who wanted it fast and hard.”

“Yeah. And?”

He sighs, his lips grazing your neck and shoulder. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

— — —

Later that morning, as you’re pulling fixings out of the fridge for a cooked breakfast, Harry appears out of the pantry, tying an apron around his waist.

A laugh tumbles out of you. “What are you doing, H?”

He gestures down himself with both hands. “Getting ready to make breakfast.”

“You and I both know you will not be doing any of the cooking.”

“I will be here for moral support.”

“Right. Which involves sitting there,” you point to a stool at the island, “and looking pretty.”

He flashes a winning smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

In lieu of swatting him with a tea towel, you flip him the bird.

“Is there anything I can do?” he offers, even as he’s rounding the counter to take his usual seat.

On a sigh, you say, “No, Harry. Your company is all I need.”

“You’ll be sick of me by the end of the day,” he predicts.

“Impossible.”

The food is a poached egg and salmon affair, which you plate up and serve at the counter. You take a seat in the stool beside Harry, both turned towards each other with your knees interlocking. He eats his breakfast one-handed, his other resting on your knee, squeezing every so often.

Rumours by Fleetwood Mac drifts from a speaker on the windowsill—Harry’s choice—eventually bleeding into Rock Spectacle from the Barenaked Ladies—your favourite.

When you’re done eating, Harry collects up all your dirty crockery and leaves a peck to the top of your head as he passes. While he does the washing up, you take the clothes out of the washing machine and put them into the dryer, then add a second load to the washer.

You finish your task before him, so you head into the living room and start looking for something to binge for the day. When Harry does reappear, now only in his boxers, he snatches the remote out of your hand, wraps an arm around your waist and yanks you down onto the sofa with him. You yelp as you tumble into his lap.

“What do we need to catch up on?” he asks, barely struggling with breath as he rearranges you with ease.

You wind up with your legs draped across his lap, the rest of your frame curled into his side. You make an attempt to swipe the remote out of his hands, but he holds it aloft with a shouted, “No!”

Heaving a sigh, you give up. “Silent Witness is back on. Or there’s, like, ten new murder documentaries on Netflix.”

He gives you a funny look. “Anything that doesn’t involve death?”

You scoff.

“Please. You love it.”

“I’m concerned you’ve watched so many at this point you could easily murder me and get away with it.”

“And you’d be right,” you deadpan.

He barks a laugh. “Fine. Murder in the day, rom-coms at night.”

“Good plan.”

— — —

Some hours later, when the low January sun is just past its highest point, the two of you vacate your nest on the sofa for some lunch. While Harry puts something together from the scraps in the fridge, you find the bits you need to paint your nails. Once you’ve eaten, you set everything up on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?”

Peering up at him from your seat on the floor, you answer, “I’m painting my nails.”

He’s quiet for a moment, curiously studying his own nails. “Will you do mine too?”

You fight the twitch of your mouth. “Sure. Pick your colours out.”

He joins you on the floor to rifle through your polishes. “What are you having?”

“Blue. Dark glitter and pastel.”

“I want the same.”

“Alright,” you say with a giggle.

“Can I paint yours?”

“If you like.”

So, with your insane murder documentary on in the background, you take turns to paint each other’s nails over the coffee table. He’s meticulous and particular with his work—tidying your cuticles, filing your nails to an even length, and never painting outside the lines. He also applies cuticle oil when he’s finished.

“Only thing missing is the warm flannel massage,” you joke.

He gives you another of his funny looks. “Do you want that?”

“No,” you chuckle.

“I’ll do it,” he insists, “hang on.”

“Harry, it was a joke!” you call after him as he runs from the room.

A minute later, he returns with a steaming flannel in hand. Retaking his seat, he leans over the table and takes each of your hands in turn, massaging your fingers and palms with the hot cloth.

“How do they look?” he asks as you admire your fresh manicure.

“They’re perfect,” you declare. “In fact, I’m concerned my abilities aren’t up to scratch.”

Your fiancé scoffs. “Don’t talk bollocks. They’ve always looked good.”

Deciding to keep quiet, you snatch his hand in one of your own and the cuticle stick in the other. While you prep his nails for polish, you keep an ear trained on the TV and what’s happening in the story. Harry remains suspiciously quiet, but you can feel his gaze on you all the time—not what you’re doing to his nails, but on you. It should be unnerving. Maybe even disconcerting, but you actually find it oddly relaxing. You’re so used to having his eyes on you—though it has always boggled you why he’d want to—it’s a comfort. You feel safe with him.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter at something said on the telly, and you catch Harry’s nose wrinkle.

“That’s grim,” he agrees under his breath.

“You gonna do that to me one day?” you tease.

“What? Quarter up your dead body and shove it in a barrel?”

“Yeah.”

He barks a laugh. “No way. You’re no use to me dead, darling.”

“Aw. That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Fuck off,” he scoffs.

— — —

The sound of a cork being popped causes your head to lift from where you’d been staring thoughtless at the rising bath water. You find Harry standing in the doorway to the bathroom, two wine glasses slid between his long fingers and a bottle of something bubbly in the other.

“What’s that?” you ask, swirling the water around with your foot to even out the temperature.

Steam swirls seductively through the air, rising from the tub in wafts and waves. Lavender and chamomile candles burn in the corners and on the windowsill. Your bath time playlist fills the otherwise silent room, featuring pandemic Taylor Swift and early London Grammar tracks.

“Wine, duh.” Harry places one glass on the lip of the tub and the other on the floor.

You watch bewildered as he fills both. “What for?”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

He kisses his teeth and shakes his head, his response an exasperated, “So many questions.”

You roll your eyes as you strip out of your clothes, knowing well enough you’re not going to get an answer to any of them. Also, who really cares what the wine is for? You’re an adult with no work commitments tomorrow.

Harry sits beside the tub using a stolen pillow from your bed to cushion his backside. While you talk more wedding plans his hand dangles in the water, sometimes just swirling the water around idly, other times gliding a finger up and down your arm, your waist, your thigh.

His touch is intoxicating, and you find yourself sinking lower into the water.

His gaze trails to your legs where they’ve subtly spread for him. Expression hungry, he dances his fingers across your inner thigh and up to your pussy.

The conversation naturally drifts off as he starts teasing your clit, his chin now resting on the side of the tub to watch his work.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, he’s done it so many times—a talented man with talented fingers. Perhaps not quite like this, though, set up in the bathtub, but it works all the same. In fact it might be even better this way. 

He works his way around your needy clit and then into your wanting heat with his finger, causing your body temperature to spike. You moan and gasp your way through his clever ministrations, having to bite down on your own finger when he adds a second to take up more space.

What actually finishes you off, unbelievably, is when he leans in to kiss you.

When you’ve calmed down he slowly removes his fingers, and he’s about to wipe them on a towel, but you snatch his hand and clean them up yourself before he can. He groans and kisses you again.

With your legs like jelly, Harry helps you rise out of the bath and onto the solid, heated bathroom floor. He finds your towel and wraps it around you like a well-sated little burrito. He brings you into his arms, your body flush against his, and he pecks the tip of your nose ever so lightly. You can’t help but smile up at him, because you seem to have found the man who is the exact perfect mix of sweet and spicy. Your smile brings out his own—dimples and laugh lines and all.

“Shall we get a takeaway?” he asks, breaking the spell you’d found yourself in.

“I’ve bought stuff in for dinner!”

“Ah, we can have that tomorrow.”

“Harry,” you scold.

“I really want Thai.”

“You always want Thai.”

“That’s not true. Yesterday while you worked late I had sushi.”

“But was that really just a substitute for Thai while I wasn’t home?”

“Nope. I really wanted sushi.”

“Sure.”

“Come on, bab,” he starts nudging you towards the door, “go put your jim-jams on, and I’ll put the order in and set the lounge up for movies.”

“You don’t know what I want,” you argue, digging your heels in.

“You have the same thing every time, my love.”

“Well maybe I want something different.”

“No, you don't.” 

At the entrance to your bedroom, he whips off your towel and shoves you through the door. “Go on.”

— — —

Harry’s phone starts chirping on the coffee table when you’re nearly done with your first film. His head is in your lap, knees up with his white-socked feet pressed against the arm of the sofa. Your hands are in his hair, freshly painted nails scratching his scalp. You love the noise he makes when you do it—he purrs like a kitten.

Glen Powell and Sydney Sweeney bicker their way around Sydney on the telly, with Glen’s abs and Sydney’s chest on display for the entirety of Australia to see. Not that you’re complaining.

Harry blindly reaches for his phone while moving as little as possible, and lifts it high to check the caller ID.

You wince at his mother’s name on the screen because you know he’ll never turn her down if he’s free, even though it’s your first day off together in months and you’re in the middle of a film. This isn’t to say you have anything against the woman—you don’t. She’s amazing, kind, and generous.

But…

“Pause the TV, bab?”

Harry is a mummy’s boy.

And sometimes, just sometimes, you don’t feel up to listening to their conversation for an hour.

Still, you love the man and his mother, so you pause the movie and paste on a smile that portrays interest. Anne asks about your day, how work is going, how the wedding planning is coming along, and fortunately these are all things you can give invested updates on.

Conversation naturally turns to Harry’s sister, the baby, and the next time you’re all free at the same time. Your work is unpredictable, so as always you can only give the disappointing, unhelpful answer of “You’ll let her know soon.”

You’re not sure exactly how long you end up on the phone with your mother-in-law-to-be, but it’s approximately one whole glass of wine. As soon as the call ends, Harry curls up right back next to you, his head returned to its favourite place in your lap.

Another two full films later—10 Things I Hate About You and 13 Going on 30—you finally hit your limit and decide to call it a night. You do a quick tidy up, clearing the mess of your dinner and that second ‘celebratory’ bottle of wine. Not wanting to wake up to a mess, the two of you tag team the dishes, although Harry spends the first few minutes clinging to you from behind and feeling you up in lewd ways.

It’s late by the time you’re done. You can’t fight the yawning you’re doing, and your body is close to shutting down. The ascent of the staircase to bed looks like a mountain.

“Want a piggyback?” Harry offers with a peck to your cheek.

“Yes please,” you say, still yawning.

“Climb on, then.”

You scramble ungracefully onto his back, your arms fastened around his neck and your legs hooked in the crease of his elbows. He carries you up the one flight with criminal ease and straight into your shared bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Ready for bed?” he asks, settling you back on your feet.

Smothering another yawn, you nod as you stumble toward the bed. “I am. How can I be so tired after doing nothing all day?”

He smiles down at you, green eyes shiny and hooded. “You’ve worked hard recently. It’s probably catching up to you.”

You grunt in response. His hands paw at your clothes so you allow him to undress you. Once you’re both naked you tumble into bed.

Finding yourself back in an innocent tangle of limbs, you sink against the warmth of his body.

“What shall we do tomorrow?” Harry prompts, his lips brushing your temple.

Your finger traces the lines of tattoos on his chest—the swallows, the butterfly, the ‘g’ and the dates. “No idea.”

“Walk?”

“No.”

“Drive?”

“Maybe.”

“Noted.” He giggles, kissing your temple where his lips rest. “I know just the place to go.”

“Yeah?”

He hums. “I think you’ll like it.”

“If you’re with me, I’m sure I will.”

His arms tighten around you, and you reciprocate his grip, burying your face into his neck.

“I love you, H,” you mumble, on the cusp of unconsciousness.

And just as you slip into that dark, warm abyss, you hear his whispered, “I love you, too.”

[aphroditsdaughter]

AFTER HOURS

party p

paige bueckers x reader

sexual content, language, the hat stays on, save a horse ride a cowgirl

You watch her from across the bar, the music pulsing through your body like a second heartbeat, low and deep in your chest. It’s loud, thick with celebration and spilled liquor and voices raised just a little too high but it all fades. None of it touches you. Not when Paige is in the room.

God, she’s hot.

Not just “attractive.” Not just beautiful in some polite, acceptable way. No, she’s jaw-clenching, thigh-clenching, can’t-take-your-eyes-off-her kind of hot. She’s hot in a way that’s soft and dangerous all at once sharp jawline, collar popped, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, veined forearms you’ve kissed more times than you can count. Her shirt clings just enough to her chest to tease what’s beneath, half untucked like she got dressed in a hurry—or like she let you undress her before she even walked on that stage. The Dallas Wings draft cap sits low on her head, tilted with just the right amount of swagger. That hat shouldn’t be sexy. But on her? It is. Everything is.

She moves like she knows it, too. Like the world just shifts a little to accommodate her. Number one overall pick. The kind of headline that makes strangers toast her name, eyes lingering, hoping for a smile, a touch, anything she might offer.

But she’s not looking at them.

She’s looking for you.

Her eyes cut through the noise, through the bodies and the chaos, and when they find yours, something in your chest stutters. That look low, hungry, intimate makes your pulse flutter in places too deep to name. Her lips twitch, just the hint of a smirk, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. And of course she does. She’s always knows.

You shift on your stool, suddenly too warm, too aware of the way her gaze lingers like a hand beneath your clothes. It’s not fair. The way she can make you feel undressed with a single glance. The way she stands there, sweat glistening at her collarbone, shirt clinging to her back, radiating heat and power like she’s never doubted herself a day in her life.

You want her.

Not in some abstract, distant way but in the sharp, breathless, aching sense that makes you forget where you are. You want her mouth, her hands, her weight, the sound she makes when she exhales against your neck.

She moves through the crowd like a slow-burning flame, every step a tease, loose-limbed and liquid with heat, adrenaline, and the golden burn of tequila. The air seems to ripple around her, the room itself bending in quiet reverence, parting to let her pass as if even the noise and bodies know better than to interrupt her momentum. She’s magnetic, untouchable, dripping with the kind of confidence that makes people turn just to feel the wake of her presence.

That smile—God, that smile—is already tugging at the corner of her mouth. It’s lazy, full of mischief, arrogant in the most intoxicating way. A little uneven, a little wild. It hits you low, sharp and sudden, like a hook behind your ribs pulling you toward her. You feel it in your chest, your stomach, your hips every place she’s ever touched, branded.

And you love her like this. No you’re undone by her like this. Flushed from the high, her skin warm with the thrill of a moment seized, a dream tasted and swallowed down. She walks like she owns the night—like she is the night—and every look she casts says she wants to spend all of it wrapped around you, breathless and burning.

She spots the two tequila shots in your hands and grins like you’ve just handed her something sacred like you’re offering worship at her altar. There’s a glint in her eyes now, playful and wicked, and then she’s closing the space between you with a kind of gravity, her body brushing yours like she belongs there.

She smells like heat and adrenaline—salt-slick skin kissed by sweat, the bite of cologne still clinging to her from hours ago, and underneath it all, that electric scent of celebration and something distinctly her. She leans in until her lips hover just beside your ear, breath warm and humid, a whisper of contact that tightens every muscle in your body.

“What’s that look for?” she murmurs, voice rough-edged from yelling over the music, from laughing too loud, from the press of your mouth on hers earlier—still raw from wanting, from not having enough.

You raise one of the shots, offering it like a dare. Slowly, deliberately, you bring your hand up and drag your tongue across the line of salt at the edge—slow enough to feel her watching every inch of it. Your gaze never leaves hers, locked in and dangerous. “That look?” you say, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “That’s for the hottest girl in the league.”

Paige laughs—low, husky, ruined in the best way—and it slips out of her like smoke curling from a lit match. Her smile darkens, dips into something hungrier. “Say that again,” she breathes, like it’s not a request but a command laced with desire.

Her fingers find the small of your back, a light touch that ignites, like she needs skin-to-skin just to stay grounded. Like she’ll combust if she doesn’t anchor herself to you.

You let the silence build, thick and taut with everything unsaid. Then your tongue flicks across your bottom lip, slow and sinful, before you lean in—your mouth nearly brushing hers. Voice low. Dangerous.

“The. Hottest. Girl. In. The. League.”

She groans—deep and low, like the sound’s been dragged from her chest against her will. It’s raw, hungry, like she wants to tear the words from your mouth with her teeth, taste every syllable, and swallow them down like something that belongs to her. Her fingers dig into your waist, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to claim. Her gaze drops to your lips, slow and deliberate, and suddenly the bar vanishes around you. The lights blur into nothing, the music fades to a dull hum, and the crowd dissolves. It’s just her and you, suspended in the thick, electric air between two bodies that know exactly what they want.

She leans in, breath shallow and uneven, her mouth so close you can taste the heat of it. Her lips hover just shy of yours, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Keep looking at me like that,” she says, her tone rough with promise, “and we’re not gonna make it out of this bar.”

You don’t look away—not even for a second. Instead, you hand her the lime and salt like it’s a challenge, a dare wrapped in citrus and heat. “Who said I want to?” you murmur, voice steady, and tap your stomach in invitation.

Her eyes flare, slow-burning and ravenous. The corner of her mouth curves up, a dark smile playing at her lips. She gets it—oh, she gets it. And from the look in her eyes, she’s more than ready to play whatever game you’re playing.

You lie back against the cool, polished wood of the bar, the grain beneath you smooth and unfamiliar. The din of the room fades — the clink of glasses, the low hum of voices, the thump of bass — all of it dissolves into a distant blur. Your focus narrows to her. Just her.

She’s above you now, framed in the low light eyes dark, lips parted in a quiet, knowing smile. Her fingers move with deliberate care, trailing down your side, slow enough that your skin prickles in anticipation. She sprinkles the salt just above your hipbone, her touch feather-light, sending a ripple of heat across your stomach. You feel each grain land like a spark, each one a tiny burst of tension waiting to be set alight.

Then the tequila—cold as ice when she tips the shot glass, and the liquid cascades over your skin. You gasp softly at the shock of it, a shiver racing through you. It slides in a thin stream over the curve of your abdomen, settling in the dip above your navel. And then she leans in.

Her mouth touches you — hot, wet, soft. Her tongue flicks out, slow, deliberate, gathering the salt grain by grain. She moves like she has all the time in the world, savoring you, her lips pressing heat into your skin. She doesn’t rush. She lingers — her breath, her mouth, her presence and each second stretches out, suspended between your heartbeat and hers.

You feel her tongue trace the path of the liquor, following the chilled trail with molten heat. She kisses lower, tasting every inch, the drag of her lips almost too much to bear. Your stomach tightens, hips rising ever so slightly, involuntarily. When she reaches your navel, she pauses her lips pressing a single, lingering kiss there that makes you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for years.

And then… lower.

Just enough.

Enough to make your thighs tighten. Enough to make your pulse trip over itself. Enough to make your fingers curl against the edge of the bar in a silent, aching plea.

Finally, she rises, her face inches from yours. Her gaze holds yours hungry, unspoken things crackling in the space between you. You offer the lime wedge between your teeth, but she ignores it. Instead, she kisses you.

It’s slow. Deep. Open. Her mouth finds yours with a sweetness that smolders — lips parting, tongues meeting, the sharp bite of citrus between you, mixed with tequila and heat and want. It’s a kiss that melts you, that says this is only the beginning. You can barely breathe through it, but you don’t want to. You only want her.

And it’s still not enough.

The room swirls back into focus, but it’s too loud, too bright, too crowded for what’s burning between you. You reach for her, fingers wrapping into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer with trembling urgency.

“Come on,” you whisper, lips brushing her ear, your voice a threadbare plea. “Get me out of here.”

The hotel elevator barely pretends at privacy. The second the doors slide shut, she’s on you — breath hot, hands everywhere, kissing you like she’s already unraveling. You’re pressed hard against the mirrored wall, her thigh wedged between yours, grinding just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. Her fingers are under your shirt, impatient, rough, dragging along your skin like she can’t get close enough, fast enough. When her fingertips brush just beneath your bra, you let out a soft, broken sound you didn’t know you were holding back.

She groans into your mouth, like the sound drives her wild. The elevator lurches to a stop, but you barely feel it. You stumble through the hallway, half-blind, your hands tangled in her shirt, her mouth never far from yours — biting, panting, needy. The door slams shut behind you and then she’s on you again, pinning you to the wall like it’s instinct, like she couldn’t bear the inches between you for another second.

Her lips are relentless your jaw, your throat, your collarbone — licking, sucking, biting, marking like she wants to claim every inch. Her teeth scrape along your neck and it’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s desperate. She’s not thinking. Neither are you.

You yank at her shirt and she buttons it down in a hurry, skin flushed and muscles tense. Your eyes can’t stay still — the lines of her body, the heat radiating off her, the way her chest rises and falls like she’s trying to breathe you in. Then she lifts you without effort, your body folding into hers like you belong there. And maybe you do.

You don’t know if the heat in your skin is from the bar, from the tequila, or from her. It doesn’t matter. She carries you across the room and drops you onto the bed like you’re something sacred — worshipped, needed. She follows you down without hesitation, hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open like she’s already lost in the idea of you.

And then she pauses just for a breath hovering above you with that look, wild and intense. Like she’s drowning in it. Like you both are.

“You know how proud I am of you, right?” you whisper, voice almost shaking, because your body can barely hold everything you're feeling.

Her eyes are dark, her voice wrecked. “Show me.”

And then she’s between your thighs.

Her mouth is molten as it glides lower along your stomach, every slow pass of her tongue drawing fire beneath your skin. She moves like she’s rediscovering you—each sweep deliberate, reverent—tracing invisible paths over flesh she already knows too well, yet treats like a new map every time. The air between you crackles, charged with memory and hunger.

Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your skirt, nails grazing just enough to make your breath catch. You hadn’t noticed it riding up, only that the weight of it now feels intrusive, like an unnecessary barrier between you and the heat building where her mouth just left. You lift your hips in a silent offering, needing no command, and she accepts it with a slow drag of fabric down your thighs, knuckles brushing tenderly as she goes.

Her eyes never waver from yours. There’s something ravenous there, something worshipful.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” she whispers, the words rough and low, like they’re meant only for you—like saying them louder might shatter whatever sacred thing is building here. She’s said it before, a hundred times, in locker rooms, against closed doors, in the dark—but tonight, it lands differently. Tonight, it’s not a compliment. It’s a claim. It’s devotion. All that fierce, unstoppable energy—the drive that put her at the top of her game—now turned inward. Focused entirely on you.

And it feels like being chosen. Like being the only thing in her world that matters right now.

She parts your thighs with reverent hands, thumbs pressing gently into the soft flesh as she spreads you open like something sacred — something hers. When Paige settles between your legs, it isn’t hurried or hungry just yet. It’s worshipful. Patient. A slow unraveling. Her breath ghosts over your skin, warm and deliberate, and then her lips press a kiss to the inside of your knee — soft, almost chaste. But you know better.

She trails higher, leaving a line of heat in her wake, her mouth brushing, then sucking, the tender skin of your inner thigh. When her teeth graze just above the pulse there, sharp and teasing, your whole body jolts — back arching, a gasp slipping free before you can stop it.

She chuckles, low and amused, her voice a delicious rasp against your skin.

“You’re already shaking.”

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” you breathe, fingers curling in the sheets, knuckles white with the tension of wanting.

Her arm slides beneath your thigh, strong and sure, anchoring you to her. She pulls you in closer, deeper, and then — she tastes you. Her tongue is hot, slow, devastating — dragging broad, unhurried strokes over your clit like she has all the time in the world and every intention of making you feel each second of it. Your head falls back, mouth open in a moan that’s raw and real, the kind that breaks loose when pleasure blinds you.

One hand tangles in her now curls, the other clutching the sheets as if they’ll keep you grounded. You’re already floating — every nerve lit, your body thrumming with need.

Paige groans against you like she’s starved, like the only thing that matters tonight is the sound of you falling apart. Her cap is still on barely tilted from your tugging, the brim nudging against your belly with every movement. It’s dizzying, the way she devours you, tongue relentless, pressure perfect.

Then she shifts — faster now, tongue flicking in rhythmic pulses that make your thighs tense around her. You barely register her fingers until they’re sliding through your slick folds, teasing, spreading, then slipping inside — two of them, thick and slow. The stretch pulls a cry from you, hips lifting to meet the thrust as she curls her fingers just right.

“That’s it,” she growls, voice dark and wrecked. Her mouth stays on your clit, tongue circling, relentless, while her fingers fuck you deep and steady. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you lose it.”

And you do. With her name on your lips and your back arching high off the bed, you shatter loud, messy, every nerve splintering into pleasure as your orgasm crashes through you in waves. Still, she doesn’t stop. Paige holds you open, her mouth catching every twitch, every pulse, licking you through it until you're trembling, breathless, utterly undone.

When she finally rises, dragging her body up yours, her mouth is wet and swollen, her eyes wild with heat. She kisses you hard, messy and claiming, and when you taste yourself on her tongue, it turns you on in way you didn’t know possible. Something primal stirs in you, a second hunger, greedy and unashamed.

“I’m not done with you,” she whispers against your mouth.

You reach for her belt. “Good. Because I want to make the league’s number one pick scream.”

Still above you, flushed and cocky, but her breath comes in ragged little bursts now, hitching in her chest. Her pupils are blown wide, dark and lust-drunk, and her lips are slick — gleaming with a mix of your want and her hunger. You can feel her heat, see the way her bare chest rises and falls like a tide she can’t control. Her trousers hang dangerously low on her hips, teasing the soft line of skin just above. And somehow impossibly that crooked team cap still clings to her curls, wild and defiant, like her.

There’s something about the way she looks right now all swagger and softness, her beauty unraveling at the seams, wrecked and still just a little drunk on you — that strikes a match in your chest, something primal, something greedy.

“Lay back,” you murmur, your voice low and edged with command.

Her mouth quirks, cocky even now, like she’s about to throw something smug back at you but then you move. You crawl up her lap, your thighs straddling hers, and you settle your weight deliberately, purposefully. The look in your eyes stops her mid-breath. It says don’t

“You had your turn, superstar.” Your fingers go to her belt, slow and unhurried — teasing more than taking. “Now it’s mine.”

She groans low, guttural, and utterly wrecked — the sound vibrating through her chest as her head falls back, sinking into the couch cushions. Her lashes flutter like the wings of something trembling on the edge of surrender, and you take your time with the buckle, popping it open with a soft click that feels louder than it is in the thick hush between you. One hand slips beneath the waistband, fingers firm and deliberate as you tug her trousers down just enough to expose the swell of her hip, the elegant, aching line of the V that leads your gaze further down. Her skin is warm, smooth under your palm, and your touch turns possessive languid and claiming, like you already own her.

Her thighs twitch beneath your body, tension tightening them as she gasps, breath skipping and catching like she can't keep up with the pace you've set. You sit up higher, straddling her abs now, feeling the rigid strength of her core under your knees. She groans again, softer this time — breathy, almost desperate when the slick heat of your arousal glides against the flat plane of her stomach. The contact is enough to make her exhale through gritted teeth, eyes dark and hooded, hands tightening at her sides like she's fighting the urge to touch.

You drag your fingers slowly down, nails tracing each sculpted ridge of her abdomen. They flex for you, contracting under your touch, as though her whole body is leaning into the attention.

“You’re so needy,” you whisper, breath brushing against her jaw as your hips rock just enough to send a jolt of friction between you. She bites down on her bottom lip hard, eyes fluttering shut, jaw tense with restraint. “How long have you been thinking about me riding you, huh?”

“Since the stage,” she breathes, voice thick with heat, rasping like it’s scraped from somewhere deep. “Maybe before.”

You chuckle, the sound rich and knowing, dipping your head lower so your mouth can brush the shell of her ear.

“You really did it,” you murmur, more to yourself than her, letting your nails skim back up, raking lightly across her skin. “Number one in the league.”

Her body answers before her mouth does — hips rising, stomach quivering beneath you.

“Holy fuck…" Her breath catches in her throat, the words slipping from her lips in a soft, breathless moan.

You lean in close, your lips brushing against her ear as you whisper, "You like that?" Your hips roll with a slow, deliberate motion, pressing against the tight, sculpted muscle of her abdomen. Her skin is a molten heat beneath you, slick with the sweat of your shared passion, the sheen of your arousal mingling with hers. Every movement sends a wave of friction, the hard ridges of her body pushing against you in just the right way—perfect pressure, perfect sensation, as though she was made for this.

You feel the rapid beat of her pulse beneath your fingertips, the heat of her body rising to meet yours. You pull back slightly to look at her, the desire in your gaze unmistakable. "You like being used like this, Paige?"

Her eyes flutter, the words hanging in the air, charged with a quiet intensity.

She groans, eyes rolling back. “Use me. However you want.”

“You feel so fucking good,” you murmur, your voice low and filled with desire as you press closer to her, your body moving with a rhythm that’s all about pleasure. Each shift, each thrust is deliberate, taking your time to savor every moment. “All those workouts really paid off, didn’t they?” you whisper against her skin, your hands exploring her curves, feeling the strength and softness beneath your fingertips.

You grasp the brim of her cap, lifting it with a slow, deliberate motion before settling it onto your own head. A smirk tugs at your lips as you look down at her, catching the flicker of something intense in her eyes. You can almost taste the tension in her, knowing just how much this small gesture is driving her wild.

You brace your hands on her chest and start riding her harder dragging your clit along every contour of her abs, slick spreading across her skin, your thighs starting to shake from the way your body’s winding up again. The muscles beneath you flex every time she breathes, every time she reacts to the sounds you're making and the pressure against your clit is so perfect, so intimate, you’re already dizzy.

She’s watching you like she can’t believe it’s real. “You’re unreal,” she whispers. “You’re so fucking hot like this.”

You pull her head up just enough to kiss her messy, deep, desperate as your hips grind down faster, harder, chasing the edge.

“Fuck— Paige—” you whimper, mouth pressed against her jaw. “I’m gonna—”

She wraps her arms around your waist and flexes, tightening her abs under you and the pressure sends you crashing over the edge with a cry, your body clenching, thighs trembling, soaking her stomach as you come hard against her.

You collapse onto her, both of you panting, stuck together with sweat and sex and pride.

She strokes your back gently, voice a lazy rasp in your ear. “Might’ve just made that my new favorite workout.”

You laugh, lips brushing her collarbone. “Get used to it, superstar. This is what being number one gets you.”

[ferrarifinnick]

FULL CIRCLE! | THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x fem!reader

genre: smut (18+), suggestive content summary: no matter how hard you try, you always end up calling his number. even when you know it'll hurt. warnings: implied abuse (physical), fingering, dirty talk, implied abusive relationship, detailed injuries, blood. 0.6k

he never told you his name.

or much of anything else for that matter, even after all the times he’s visited you during the late hours of the night. was it in the twenties? must be in the thirties. even if it was more, it was never enough. he always left you wanting more, even if you were bruised and bloody from his touch.

but even with a busted lip and deep scratches on your throat, you always found yourself reaching into your bedside table. hidden behind your journal and headphones, in an empty jar of mints with layers of tape you could never keep from cutting open, was the piece of paper he gave you.

on one side, the digits to his phone number. on the other, three symbols. you stared at the circle, triangle and the square and wondered why the spots of your dried blood didn’t frighten you anymore. even as you lifted your thumb from the corner of the paper, the red stamp of every curve and crease of your bloody fingerprint didn’t faze you. if anything, it excited you.

he’d be so proud.

his poor girl, still not recovered from his last visit, but already wanting more. just like a loyal puppy. ready to look past his faults just to be called a good girl and be given the treat of his affection. even after six days, your skin was still littered with it. you could feel his affection in the ache of your ribs, just as you could feel it in your fingers as you punched his number into your phone.

once again. like clockwork.

the first time you ever called his number, you were put through to an operator. she would ask who you were trying to reach, and she always seemed to know exactly who you meant when you said the man in the suit. but after a few visits, the calls would go straight through to him.

no matter when you called, he would always pick up. late at night or in the middle of the afternoon, the ringing you had grown so accustomed to would always come to an end with the exhale of his breath, and then a chuckle. always deep and you knew his lips were stretched into a smirk.

just as it was now, as you held the phone to your ear and bit your lip. you were conditioned, like pavlov’s dogs, to know exactly what that sound meant.

the keys jingling and his apartment door clicking shut through the speaker was just confirmation.

“hurry,” you sighed, hand already slipping between your thighs. “i need you.”

the tsk on the other end of the line couldn’t convince you to retreat from underneath your panties, but it should’ve. the marks in your skin, from teeth and fingernails, were still sensitive to touch, and they should have warned you not to push your luck. but the slick coating your fingers as you merely ran your fingers through your folds fooled you into ignoring it.

“i can hear what you’re doing,” he said through the phone, the grumble of a car engine watering down the sharpness in his tone. “i won’t stop you, naughty girl, but remember this,” he said, and suddenly your fingers froze to hear him clearly.

he said, unclear if the mischief was something to be excited or afraid of. “your tears are just going to make me go harder.”

the tremble in your fingers led you to flick your clit unintentionally, and the whimper that followed only earned you another tsk.

“don’t say i didn’t warn you, baby.”

biting at the bars of my cage because i need him so bad. like, comment, reblog. love <3

[societyfolklore]

Plus One

Title: Plus One (Prompt- who invited them to the holiday party?) Pairing: Loki x SHEILD Agent!Female Reader

Summary:  Thor brings Loki along to the Avengers Christmas party, and no one-not even you-was prepared for it. A night of tension and unexpected moments leads to revelations that are far from festive.

Word Count: 4.5k (woah this got away from me…)

Warnings:  /Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, smut, DARK-ish (just Loki being Loki really) fingering, Unprotected sex Not Beta read.

A/N: Another entry for @the-slumberparty December daze challenge …. Day 21

The annual Avengers Christmas party was the kind of event that had its own gravitational pull. No one dared to skip it-Tony Stark’s reputation for ‘over-the-top’ festivities guaranteed a night to remember (and sometimes regret). The compound sparkled with festive charm, every inch of it covered in twinkling lights, tinsel, garlands, and a seemingly endless supply of mistletoe that Tony had strategically placed to stir up drama.

You’d been looking forward to the party for weeks. It wasn’t often the team had an excuse to let their guard down and embrace something as simple as holiday cheer. If you were honest with yourself, it was also a chance to see Thor. The Asgardian always brought a sense of camaraderie to these events with his booming laughter and stories of Yuletide traditions from another realm, plus who didn’t like a chance to swoon a little over an ‘God’.

The night began as you expected-Natasha at the bar, teasing Clint about his questionable sweater; Sam and Bucky in a competitive battle of holiday trivia that was growing increasingly loud and animated; and Steve doing his best to avoid being cornered by overly curious SHIELD interns. It was chaotic, warm, and exactly what you needed.

At least, until you saw him.

You’d been mid-conversation with Wanda when the room seemed to shift. A ripple of unease spread through the crowd, subtle but undeniable. Curious, you turned your head and there he was. Loki.

Standing by the bar, drink in hand, the God of Mischief looked entirely too at ease in a room full of people who’d rather not be in his company. He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit that somehow managed to feel more threatening than festive. His jet-black hair was swept back, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the room with a lazy confidence that set your teeth on edge.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, your drink momentarily forgotten.

Wanda followed your gaze, her brow furrowing. “Thor brought him,” she explained quietly. “Apparently, he didn’t want his brother to spend the holidays alone.”

“That’s… considerate,” you replied, though your tone dripped with scepticism. “But Loki? At a Christmas party? This has disaster written all over it.”

Wanda shrugged looking back at you. “He’s been calm so far, charming even. Maybe he’ll surprise us.”

You snorted. Loki wasn’t the kind of person who ‘surprised’ people in a good way.

As if sensing your thoughts, Loki’s gaze locked onto yours from across the room. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk that made your stomach twist. He raised his glass slightly in a mock toast, his expression equal parts amusement and challenge.

You turned back to Wanda, doing your best to ignore the flush creeping up your neck. “This is going to be a long night.”

Moments later, you found yourself seeking out Thor, hoping for some kind of explanation. You spotted him near the buffet table, a plate stacked high with what looked like an alarming combination of turkey and dessert pastries. He was laughing boisterously at something Steve had said, completely at ease despite the tension his brother’s presence was causing.

“Thor,” you said, cutting into the conversation. He turned to you with his usual wide grin.

“Ah! Seasonal Salutation! M’lady” he greeted warmly. “Have you tried the pudding? A most peculiar flavour but quite delightful.”

You waved off the question, getting straight to the point. “What is he doing here?”

Thor’s grin faltered slightly, and he glanced over his shoulder as if to confirm who you meant. “Loki? Well I- He had nowhere else to go for the holidays. It seemed cruel to leave him to his own devices.”

“Cruel to him or to us?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You seriously thought this was a good idea?”

Thor sighed, his expression softening. “I understand your concerns, but he is my brother. I could not bear the thought of him alone on such a joyous occasion. Besides,” he added with a wink, “he promised to behave.”

You raised a sceptical eyebrow. “And you believed him?”

Before Thor could answer, a shadow fell over the two of you. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The air seemed to grow colder, and a familiar voice, smooth and laced with amusement, cut through the festive noise.

“Talking about me already? How flattering.”

Loki stepped into view, his smirk firmly in place as his sharp gaze flicked between you and Thor. “I wasn’t aware I warranted such attention.”

Your jaw tightened, but before you could fire back, Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder, his usual jovial demeanour returning. “We were just discussing how you’ve managed to behave yourself so far. A true Christmas miracle!”

Loki’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a glint of something darker in his eyes as he turned his attention to you. “I aim to please.”

Your stomach flipped, though whether it was from irritation or something else, you weren’t sure. “Let’s hope it stays that way,” you said coolly, brushing past him before he could see just how much his presence was affecting you.

As you walked away, you could feel his gaze following you, burning into your back. This was definitely going to be a long night.

You drifted toward the far corner of the room, seeking refuge from Loki's piercing gaze that still lingered in your thoughts. The dessert table became your sanctuary, a whimsical display of Tony’s flair for the extravagant. Gingerbread skyscrapers stood proudly next to meticulously crafted snowman macarons, their glossy surfaces glinting in the ambient light. A fountain of eggnog, complete with a miniature motorized sleigh circling its base, gurgled in the background, adding a surreal charm to the festive scene.

You allowed yourself a brief moment to breathe, reaching for a chocolate-dipped strawberry and savoring the rich aroma of cocoa and ripe fruit. It was grounding, a small indulgence that pulled you back from the tension threatening to coil too tightly in your chest.

But the respite didn’t last long.

“Avoiding me already, darling?”

The familiar voice sent a jolt through you, smooth as velvet yet edged with a playful sharpness. Your hand jerked slightly, the strawberry wobbling precariously between your fingers. You turned your head sharply, meeting Loki’s unyielding gaze. He was closer than you’d expected, his tall frame looming with an ease that spoke of his predatory confidence.

His presence was suffocating in the most maddening way, and yet you couldn’t tear your eyes from him. Dressed to perfection, the crisp lines of his suit contrasted against the effortless way he commanded attention, even in silence. The faint scent of something rich and foreign clung to him-spices, leather, and an undertone of frost that teased at your senses.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you replied coolly, forcing your voice to remain steady despite the quickened thrum of your pulse. You deliberately brought the strawberry to your lips and took a bite, savoring the sweetness as a distraction. “I was enjoying the party. Something you seem to be incapable of doing without making it about you.”

Loki’s laughter rumbled low and deep, like distant thunder, curling around you in a way that made it hard to breathe. “Oh, I’m quite capable of enjoying myself, believe me,” he said, his voice layered with dark amusement. “I just find these… mortal festivities rather quaint.”

“Quaint?” You raised an eyebrow, the word dripping with disbelief as you gestured toward the decadent dessert spread. “Says the man who just interrupted my quiet moment at the dessert table.”

His smirk widened, the kind of expression that could unravel nerves and stir intrigue all at once. “Perhaps I wanted a taste of something sweeter,” he murmured, his tone infused with a deliberate intimacy that sent a rush of heat to your cheeks.

The strawberry caught in your throat for a moment, and you forced yourself to swallow, cursing the way your skin betrayed you. Loki noticed, of course he did. His keen gaze flickered over your face, amusement lighting up his sharp features. He tilted his head, the picture of faux innocence.

“Did I say something amiss?” he asked smoothly, the corners of his mouth twitching in barely concealed delight.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, the words escaping as you stepped away from the table, hoping to put some distance between yourself and the maddening force of his presence.

Yet Loki followed, his movements unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

“I’ve been called worse,” he quipped lightly, his voice as smooth as silk. His hands were tucked casually behind his back, yet his proximity felt charged, as if the space between you crackled with unspoken intent. “But tell me, darling, why are you so eager to escape me? Surely you don’t find my company that intolerable.”

“It’s not intolerance,” you shot back, turning on your heel to glare at him. “It’s self-preservation.”

He stepped closer, and the air seemed to grow heavier, the warmth of the room fading beneath the cool intensity of his gaze. His voice dropped, low and husky, the kind of sound that made your pulse stutter.

“And what, pray tell, are you preserving yourself from?”

The question hung between you, tangible and electric. His words weren’t a challenge, nor a taunt-they were a doorway, left slightly ajar, daring you to step through.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words dissolved before they could form, leaving only the sound of your breath quickening in the charged silence. Loki’s gaze lingered on you, his smirk softening into something deeper, something that threatened to pull you under if you stared too long.

“Do let me know when you figure it out,” he said, his tone almost gentle now, as though the shift had caught even him by surprise. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and brushed past you, leaving the faintest brush of his coat against your arm.

You exhaled sharply, suddenly aware of how tightly you’d been holding your breath. Your heart thundered in your chest, every nerve still attuned to where he had stood just moments before. The room felt smaller now, as though his presence lingered, an echo of something dangerous and enticing.

You spent the next hour doing everything in your power to avoid Loki, though it felt like he was everywhere at once. His presence seemed to saturate the room, no matter how crowded it was. Whenever you turned, there he was: leaning casually against the bar, exchanging sly remarks with Natasha, or simply watching you with that insufferable smirk that sent heat creeping up your neck. It felt deliberate, a calculated game where the rules were known only to him, and you were the unwilling prize.

Finally, the weight of his gaze became too much. You slipped out of the main hall and into one of the quieter hallways, the muffled hum of the party fading behind you. The air here was cooler, the festive decorations sparser, and you exhaled a shaky breath, leaning against the wall to collect yourself.

“Running away again?”

The low, teasing voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you spun around, heart leaping to your throat. Loki stood at the end of the hallway, his silhouette sharp and imposing against the soft glow of a nearby string of fairy lights. The warm glimmer of the lights only seemed to enhance his cool, detached elegance, making him look every bit the dark prince he often pretended not to be.

“This isn’t running,” you said, forcing a steadiness into your voice that you didn’t feel. “It’s called taking a break.”

His lips curved into that familiar, maddening smile as he began to close the distance between you, each step slow and deliberate. “And yet, here I am. Drawn to you like a moth to a flame.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms in an attempt to appear unruffled, though your pulse quickened the closer he came. “Do you practice being this insufferable, or does it come naturally?”

“It’s a gift,” he replied smoothly, the amusement in his tone only growing. “Though I must confess, your reactions make it all the more enjoyable.”

You took a step forward, unable to help yourself, despite the quiet voice in the back of your mind warning you to tread carefully. “Is that what this is? A game to you? Annoying me for your own amusement?”

Loki’s smirk faded, his expression shifting into something darker, more intense. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, it felt like he was looking straight into your soul. “Oh, darling,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “If I wanted to truly amuse myself, I’d do far more than simply annoy you.”

Your breath hitched, the implication hanging heavy between you, but you refused to let him see the effect he had on you. “Then what do you want, Loki?”

He stopped inches from you, the air between you charged and electric. His gaze was relentless, pulling you under like a riptide. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, “I simply want to see how far you’ll let me go.”

Your body betrayed you, heat rising as his hand brushed lightly against your arm. The touch was featherlight, yet it sent a jolt of energy coursing through you, igniting every nerve.

“You should be careful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Even as you spoke, there was no conviction behind the words, only a trembling uncertainty that made your heart pound. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Loki’s lips curved into a wicked smile, his confidence unwavering. “Danger is where I thrive, darling. Tell me… do you?”

Before you could respond, his hand rose to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the chaos he stirred within you. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, a maddening contrast to the storm raging in your chest.

“Stop me,” he murmured, his voice intoxicatingly low, his breath warm against your lips. “If that’s what you truly want.”

But you didn’t.

You surged forward, closing the gap between you as your lips met his in a kiss that was equal parts fury and inevitability. It was raw, consuming, and all the more maddening because of how long you had fought it.

Loki’s arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips claimed yours with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you reeling. His kiss wasn’t gentle-it was a battle for control, each movement demanding submission even as it ignited a fire within you.

One of his hands gripped your hip possessively while the other tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The cold wall at your back and the solid heat of his body against yours were the only things grounding you as you surrendered to the moment.

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Indulgence has never been this exquisite.”

Your protests dissolved into a shaky exhale as his hand slid beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along the sensitive skin of your thigh, moving closer to where you ached for him most.

A sharp intake of breath betrayed you, and Loki chuckled softly, clearly revelling in your unravelling. “Say the word, darling,” he purred, his voice like silk and sin. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, your hands fisted in the front of his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer. Your voice was barely audible as you breathed, “Don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened, the icy blue of his gaze now molten with raw hunger. That insufferable smirk transformed into something primal, almost feral, as his fingers ventured higher beneath the hem of your dress. He moved with agonizing precision, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh until you shivered against the wall.

“Such a delicate thing,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that vibrated against your skin. “And yet, so very responsive.”

Before you could form a retort, his fingers slid higher, grazing over the damp fabric of the lace underwear. The sharp intake of breath you couldn’t suppress only seemed to fuel him, his lips curving in wicked satisfaction.

“Already wet for me,” he observed feeling the damp fabric, his tone laced with sinful amusement. “I knew you’d be eager, but this, darling, this is delightful.”

Your cheeks burned with equal parts embarrassment and desire, but your body betrayed you, arching toward his touch. Loki’s fingers pressed against your clothed heat, his thumb finding your swollen clit with unerring accuracy. He applied the barest amount of pressure, circling slowly, and a broken moan escaped your lips.

“Do you like that?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “I do so enjoy hearing you mortals unravel for me.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But Loki wasn’t one to tolerate defiance. With a low chuckle, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of the lace and tugged them down with deliberate slowness, letting them pool at your ankles. The cool air against your bare skin sent another shiver racing through you.

“You’re even lovelier like this,” he purred, his fingers sliding between your folds, collecting the slick evidence of your arousal. “So wet.” He breathed the words out “So ready.”

His hand moved with a skill that left you gasping, two fingers plunging inside you with a smooth, practiced motion. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, drawing a pleased hum from his lips. His thumb resumed its torment on your clit, alternating between slow circles and deliciously firm pressure.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he pumped his fingers deeper. “So perfect, so pliant and all for me, no more running now pet.”

The sound of your laboured breathing mingled with the faint buzz of the party in the distance, though the world beyond this moment felt impossibly far away. Your hands clutched at the lapels of his jacket, desperate for something to anchor yourself as pleasure coiled tighter in your stomach.

Loki pressed his body against yours, his hard length evident even through the layers of his tailored trousers. He tilted his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that was every bit as consuming as his touch. His tongue slid against yours, matching the rhythm of his fingers as they drove you closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum.” The snarled whispered against your lips, his voice rough with need. “I command it.”

You cried out softly as the tension within you snapped, your orgasm crashing over you in a wave of blinding heat. Loki’s name tumbled from your lips in a breathless plea, and he drank in the sound like the most decadent wine.

He didn’t stop. His fingers slowed, drawing out your pleasure until your legs trembled, barely able to hold your weight. Only then did he withdraw, his hand glistening with your release. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with an exaggerated slowness that made your cheeks burn.

“Exquisite,” he said, his voice low and smug. “Every bit as divine as I imagined.”

You could barely catch your breath, still leaning against the wall for support as he adjusted the hem of your dress with almost mocking care. He straightened, brushing his fingers over your flushed cheek, and leaned in close once more.

“Don’t think this is the end, darling,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear. “I’ve only just begun.”

Loki’s fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch deceptively tender given the heat still radiating from his gaze. Before you could recover, his hands slid down to your waist, firm and commanding as he turned you effortlessly to face the wall. The cold surface pressed against your palms, grounding you for a fleeting moment before his body closed in behind yours.

“You didn’t think I’d be satisfied with just that, did you?” he murmured, his breath warm against the back of your neck. One of his hands smoothed over the curve of your hip while the other brushed your hair aside, exposing the sensitive skin of your neck. His lips followed, planting open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, nipping and sucking just enough to leave faint marks.

“Loki,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but whether it was a plea or a protest, you weren’t sure.

“Say my name again,” he commanded, his tone dark and heady, as his hands slid down to the hem of your dress, gathering the fabric in a deliberate, tantalizing motion. He bunched it around your waist, baring you to him completely. His hands roamed over your exposed skin, squeezing, caressing, and claiming every inch as his own.

You felt him then, hard and insistent against your lower back. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and a soft whimper escaped before you could stop it. Loki chuckled, low and predatory, clearly pleased with your response.

“You’ve no idea how exquisite you are,” he said, his voice a velvet caress as he undid his trousers with an unhurried ease. The sound of fabric shifting and the faint metallic click of his belt made your heart race, anticipation knotting in your stomach.

His hands found your hips again, gripping them with enough force to leave an impression as he positioned himself behind you. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your slick entrance, and he paused, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“This is your last chance, darling,” he purred, his voice rich with dark amusement. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You bit your lip, trembling with need and the intoxicating tension he created. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, the words barely audible but filled with certainty.

Loki growled low in his throat, the sound primal and triumphant, before he pushed into you in one smooth thrust. The stretch was delicious, a mix of pain and pleasure that made your knees buckle, though his hands kept you firmly in place. He filled you completely, holding still for a moment as though savoring the way your body molded around him.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “You were made for this.”

He began to move, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust calculated to make you feel every inch of him. His grip on your hips tightened as he picked up the pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing faintly in the hallway. The distant hum of the party felt like it was in another world entirely-this moment belonged only to the two of you.

“Do you feel that?” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Do you feel how perfectly you take me?”

You couldn’t speak, your words dissolving into broken moans as he drove into you harder, deeper, each thrust hitting a spot that made your vision blur. One of his hands slid around your waist, finding your clit with unerring precision. His fingers circled the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts, drawing you closer to the edge once again.

“That’s it,” he urged, his tone softening into a dangerous kind of sweetness. “Give yourself to me. Surrender, darling.”

Your body obeyed, the coil of pleasure snapping as your second orgasm tore through you. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him as he groaned in response, his pace growing erratic. With a few more punishing thrusts, Loki followed you over the edge, spilling himself inside you with a shuddering growl.

He stayed there for a moment, his chest pressed against your back, his breath warm against your ear as you both struggled to catch your breath. Slowly, he pulled out, his hands steadying you as your legs threatened to give way.

“Oh pet, you're magnificent.,” he murmured, his lips grazing the nape of your neck in a way that sent one final shiver coursing through you. His tone was softer now, but the unmistakable smugness lingered, igniting both irritation and something darker within you. “You've surpassed even my wildest expectations.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze, catching the glint of satisfaction in his piercing blue eyes. He didn’t bother to hide it-he looked like a man who had just won a prize he’d been chasing for ages. Loki smirked, his movements unhurried as he adjusted his trousers and smoothed the wrinkled fabric of your dress with surprising care, the gesture more mocking than tender.

“We should return to the party,” he said, his voice light and teasing, as though nothing significant had just transpired between the two of you. Before you could respond, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a handkerchief, pressing it into your hand with a devilish grin. “You’ll be needing that. Can’t have you making a mess all over the floor can we?”

You stared at the crisp square of fabric, your cheeks flushing anew as the implication settled over you. Loki’s gaze lingered, heavy with amusement, as you adjusted your dress and tried in vain to steady your breathing. He leaned casually against the wall, utterly composed, as if he hadn’t just unravelled you completely in the quiet shadows of the hallway.

“This stays between us,” you said, your voice sharp as you jabbed a finger in his direction. Despite your stern tone, the slight tremble in your hand betrayed the lingering effect he had on you.

His grin only widened, maddening in its audacity. “Naturally, darling. Consider it our little Yuletide secret.”

You glared at him, determined to hold your ground, but the warmth of his gaze, still smouldering with an intensity that made your knees weak, threatened to undo you all over again. With a frustrated huff, you pushed past him, your steps hurried as you made your way back to the party.

The hum of festive music and the cheerful chatter of your teammates enveloped you like a shield, but it did little to banish the lingering heat in your body. You tried to lose yourself in the crowd, smoothing your hair and grabbing a drink to distract yourself. Yet, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t resist a glance over your shoulder.

Loki was still there, leaning casually in the hallway entrance like a predator surveying its territory. His eyes found yours instantly, and the unreadable expression on his face sent a jolt of something you refused to name straight to your core. He raised his glass in a mock toast, his smirk returning, and then disappeared into the shadows, leaving you with a pounding heart and a sinking suspicion.

This wasn’t over- not by a long shot.