#but that was always a stretch to begin with

[moonlightwritingf1]

Starved | LN4

𓂃۶ৎ summary ━━━━━━━ After three weeks apart, Y/N and Lando finally reunite in a frenzy of teasing, need, and uncontrollable desire. He tries to pace himself, to savor every second, but she knows exactly how to make him come—whispering filthy words, dragging her nails down his back, squeezing around him just right. Lando, breathless and wrecked, gives in completely, fucking her like he’s been starving for it, like he needs to make up for every second they’ve spent apart. 

𓂃۶ৎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𓂃۶ৎ word count ━━━━━━━ 6.7k

𓂃۶ৎ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, teasing, double creampie?

Based on this request.

The front door swung open with a creak, and before Y/N could fully register the rush of excitement coursing through her, Lando was already there—bag in hand, hair messy from travel, his eyes lit with an almost fervent need. The energy in her apartment shifted the moment he stepped inside. It was late, nearly midnight, and the city hummed quietly outside the windows. Y/N’s heart stuttered at the sight of him.

He set his luggage against the wall and straightened, looking at her with that hungry, burning gaze he’d worn ever since their early days of flirting. The difference now, after a year of dating, was that the tension was more intense than ever. Distance had stretched the longing between them like a tight elastic band—and it threatened to snap the second they touched.

Y/N stood barefoot in her cozy living room, wearing a pair of snug sweatpants and a slightly oversized hoodie. There was something about how Lando looked at her, even in that mundane outfit, that sparked an electric current across her skin. He seemed to devour her with his eyes.

His voice came out as a quiet rasp. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

She offered a slow, teasing smile and let her eyes drag along the planes of his face. “Oh, I think I might have an idea,” she teased, a little smirk curling her lips. “You look half-crazed with desperation.”

“Desperate doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he breathed. The weight of his stare lingered, unapologetically roaming over her body.

She gestured him closer, but deliberately inched backward, coaxing him to follow. Ever since they’d gotten together, she’d found a sort of magnetic pleasure in making him chase her. Lando always went along with it too—like he craved the thrill of being pulled right to her edge and then reeled back in slowly.

He dropped his coat on a nearby chair and caught her wrist gently, thumbing over her pulse. It was racing, and his grip tightened the slightest bit as he leaned in.

Her breath fluttered. “You could’ve at least pretended not to have missed me too much,” she teased, as he began planting soft kisses along her jawline.

He gave a low chuckle against her skin. “Trust me, I’ve done enough pretending on camera. Smiling for the fans, interviews, media days. But thinking of you was… dangerous.” He exhaled, warm breath ghosting over her ear. “I kept picturing your face, remembering the way you tease me, the way you say my name in that stubborn little tone you’ve perfected. It drove me mad.”

She practically purred at his confession. “So you want me to make it up to you, then?”

“Every day. Every hour. Right now,” he replied, tone edging on a plea. His lips found hers in a slow, sensual kiss that carried weeks of pent-up desire.

A needy hum slipped from Y/N’s mouth. He tasted faintly of mint gum, and the edges of his lips cracked into a half-smile as they kissed, like he found it strangely amusing to be so utterly at her mercy. When they finally pulled back, both were breathing hard.

“Missed me that bad, huh?” she whispered, nibbling her bottom lip in that way she knew drove him crazy.

Lando groaned softly. “You love torturing me, don’t you?”

She only answered with an impish grin. “Possibly.”

His chest tightened at that playful spark in her eyes. “But we have to move this somewhere else,” he murmured, glancing pointedly at the couch, then the door leading to the bedroom. The effort to remain calm was evident. His voice, though laced with need, carried a distinct note of self-control.

She raised a brow. “Feeling impatient already? Big day tomorrow?” Her playful tone jabbed at him.

“Y/N,” he murmured, pressing the syllables of her name slowly. “It’s been weeks since I last saw you—properly. I’ve had to settle for phone calls, FaceTimes…not enough.”

Her heart throbbed with sympathy and arousal all at once. He reached for her waist, but she sidestepped him in the smallest, most maddening way, letting his fingers slip over her hip without fully connecting. Then she turned and started walking toward the bedroom, tossing a glance over her shoulder.

“Come on then,” she invited, voice laced with teasing.

He tried to hide how quickly he was following, how urgent his strides were. The bedroom light was dim, a warm glow casting shadows on the walls. Y/N pulled off her hoodie and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. Underneath, she wore a simple cropped tank top that hinted at the curves Lando knew all too well. He swallowed hard.

She gave him an unhurried once-over. The crisp T-shirt and jeans he wore clung just right. His shoulders seemed broader than the last time she’d seen him in person, a testament to relentless training, and it made her mouth go dry with anticipation.

He strode closer. “You’re about to kill me,” he muttered against her lips, hooking a finger under her chin to bring her face back up to his.

She let out a low laugh. “You’re so dramatic,” she teased, eyes dancing with mischief.

He brushed his mouth over hers. His hands found the hem of her tank top, lifting it slowly. Skin against skin, everything was scorching—like her body remembered the heat of him. As the soft fabric slid up, goosebumps rippled over her arms. He paused just before fully removing it, his thumbs circling the sides of her waist in a torturously gentle motion.

“That’s because I am,” he whispered, catching her gaze. “I’m lovesick, and I’m about to break if you don’t let me have you right now.”

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure at his words. She let her arms rise, letting him tug the tank top off fully. Once discarded, her bare skin was exposed to the gentle glow of the lamp, and Lando’s eyes roamed over her with a reverence that made her pulse hammer.

He captured her lips again, deeper this time, and she hummed into his mouth. As his fingertips drifted up her ribs, she arched just enough to let him know she wanted his touch. But something in how he was moving felt restrained, cautious—and she understood why. He’d hinted at it more than once over their late-night calls—his voice low, edged with need. After weeks apart, he was afraid he’d barely last, that the moment he finally had her beneath him, wrapped around him, he’d come undone too fast.

When she slipped her hand over the front of his jeans, he inhaled sharply, body going rigid under her palm. “Careful,” he rasped, exhaling through clenched teeth. “I’m on a fragile edge, princess.”

“Princess?” she echoed with a low laugh, leaning up to nibble gently at his jaw. “That’s new. I like it.”

He let out a strangled chuckle. “You can make fun of me all you want, but you’re not helping my… self-control.”

Her lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Who says I want to help that?”

His breath hitched again as her hand roamed lower. She was only half-teasing, but the effect on him was immediate. He tried to focus on reigning in the rush of sensations. He was determined not to finish in what he jokingly referred to as “three strokes and a heartbreak.” Still, the desperation in him built. Every inch of him blazed as if starved for her.

“You’re absolutely lethal,” he breathed, capturing her mouth in a series of hungry kisses. He struggled to keep them slow, to drag them out when all he truly wanted was to lose himself.

Her responses were equally heated, equally needy. Her fingernails grazed lightly across his chest as she pulled his T-shirt up. She wanted every second of this, yet found a thrill in matching his struggle—knowing he was hoovering on the brink, but wanting to draw it out, to savor every moment of this union that they’d both waited far too long for.

He moaned quietly into her mouth when she slid his jeans down over his hips, grazing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his boxers. “I need you,” he whispered, a raw edge to his tone. “But I’m trying to—God, I’m trying not to—”

She silenced him with another kiss, swallowing his groan. “Shh, you’re fine,” she reassured softly. There was a gentle tease in her voice, but also a note of real affection. She loved that he cared so much about not rushing, about savoring every touch.

She reached behind herself, letting her sweatpants slip off. Lando couldn’t help but stare, throat bobbing, voice strangled with desire. “You’re perfect,” he managed to say.

She gave him a look that was warm and amused. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He trailed his hands along her waist, fingertips pressing into flesh that was already sensitive under his touch. Their kisses became a frantic dance of tongues and whispers. Her hand crept around his neck, and she guided him onto the bed, pushing him gently until he was lying back against the pillows.

Climbing on top of him, she leaned down, hair falling like a curtain around their faces. “Lando?” she murmured, voice honeyed with both affection and playfulness.

“Yeah?” His hands settled on her hips, kneading softly.

“You realize how adorable you are when you’re this desperate?” she teased, a mischievous spark lighting her gaze.

He let out a mock groan of frustration. “Adorable is not the vibe I’m going for,” he mumbled, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Fine,” she relented with a smirk of her own. “How about ‘hot as hell’ then?”

“That’s more like it.” He lifted his head enough to catch her mouth with his, losing himself momentarily in the sweetness of her lips. But the moment she straddled him, the heat of her pussy pressing along the rigid length of his cock, his breath hitched—sharp and unsteady. He gasped, tilting his head back against the pillow before dragging his eyes to hers, voice raw with desperation. “Sorry,” he panted. “Give me���give me a second.”

She stroked his cheek with unexpected tenderness. “We have all night,” she murmured, though her own voice shook with barely contained desire. “No need to rush.”

A shaky laugh escaped him. “Easy for you to say.”

She braced her hands on his shoulders, feeling the tense muscle beneath. “Let me take the lead for a bit, hmm?” Her tone was simultaneously soothing and heavy with suggestion.

His eyes fluttered shut at the mere offer, a shiver of anticipation running through him. “God, yes,” he whispered.

Y/N trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, down to his chest. The soft sighs escaping him fueled her confidence. She used the tip of her tongue to trace small patterns, peppering each touch with a light graze of her teeth. Meanwhile, his hands remained at her hips, occasionally gripping, occasionally loosening, as if he couldn’t decide whether to let go or hold on tight.

Every breath he took sounded labored. She could practically feel his heart pounding against her palm when she slid her hand across his chest. “You okay down there?” she teased.

He swallowed, eyes fluttering open to find hers. “Just struggling to hold back a bit,” he admitted with a self-conscious grin. “Last thing I want is to pass out from excitement.”

Her laugh was low and husky, dripping with wicked intent. She leaned in, pressing her lips against his ear, her breath hot and teasing as she whispered,

“You know, I was gonna be good tonight… but then I felt how fucking hard you are for me, and now all I can think about is how deep I can take you down my throat before you start begging me to breathe.”

Lando let out a sharp, ragged exhale, his hands gripping her hips like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. She smirked, letting her nails scrape down his chest before sliding back up to his throat, her fingers curling just enough to make his Adam’s apple bob.

“And you keep saying you’ll finish too fast,” she went on, voice syrupy and sweet, “but baby, I want you to. I wanna feel you lose control, make a mess of me, then get hard again while I’m still licking your come off my lips.”

His whole body shuddered beneath her, his head pressing back into the pillows as he let out a strangled groan. She grinned, shifting her hips just enough to drag her soaked pussy along the length of his cock, the sensation making him curse under his breath.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she cooed, tilting her head mockingly. “Don’t tell me I’ve got you speechless already. We haven’t even gotten to the part where I bend over and spread myself open for you… or where I make you watch while I play with myself, nice and slow, until you’re desperate enough to shove me down and fuck me stupid.”

Lando’s grip on her tightened—hard enough to bruise. His breath was ragged, his jaw clenched, and when he finally looked up at her, his eyes were dark, blown wide with lust.

“You think you’re in control, don’t you?” His voice was hoarse, shaking with restraint.

She smirked, leaning down until their lips were just barely touching. “I know I am.”

She decided to ease the tension a bit and murmured dirty jokes in his ear, half-laughing between each whisper, making him grin and groan all at once. The more she joked, the more he relaxed, letting himself smile even as raw need clawed at him from the inside.

Eventually, she guided him to switch positions, rolling him gently so she was beneath him. He braced himself on his forearms, pressing his forehead to hers. His breathing was ragged. “Y/N, I swear I’m trying to play it cool.”

Her lips brushed his earlobe. “Then don’t,” she whispered. “Just be with me.”

He swallowed thickly. “But I want this to last.”

“It will,” she promised, skimming her fingertips over his back.

Lando’s breath hitched as he positioned himself between her thighs, his eyes dark with hunger and restraint. His hands trembled slightly as he guided himself to her entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against her wet heat. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one agonizingly perfect stroke. A deep, guttural groan escaped his lips, muffled against the curve of her neck. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he rasped, his voice thick with need.

He withdrew almost completely, his cock slick with her arousal, before sinking back in at a torturously slow pace. Every inch of him seemed to strain with the effort to maintain control. His hips rolled against hers in a rhythm that was both maddening and mesmerizing, each thrust deeper than the last. His fingers dug into the sheets on either side of her head as he fought to keep the rhythm steady, his breath hot and ragged against her skin.

“Lando,” she gasped, her hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles. He groaned again, his forehead pressing into hers as he continued to move with that same slow, deliberate pace. “You’re killing me,” he whispered, his voice trembling with restraint. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t go any faster or I’ll lose it.”

He paused mid-thrust, his body still buried deep inside her, his forehead resting heavily against hers. His chest heaved with labored breaths, his eyes closed as he struggled to regain his composure. “I need to slow down,” he panted, his voice barely audible. “If I don’t, this is gonna be over before I get to ruin you properly.”

Her hands drifted down to his abdomen, her fingertips brushing over the taut, trembling muscles there. She could feel the way his abs contracted with every shaky breath, the way his body fought against the overwhelming urge to lose control. “You’re doing so well,” she murmured, her voice soft and encouraging. Her nails raked lightly over his skin, and he hissed through clenched teeth, a curse slipping from his lips.

“You—that’s not helping,” he growled, his hips twitching involuntarily. He pulled out completely, his hands gripping the base of his cock as he fought to hold back the tide of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as he whispered, “I need a second, or I swear—”

She reached up to cradle his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheeks as she kissed him softly. “Take your time,” she whispered against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against hers once more. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice tinged with both desperation and affection. “But fuck, what a way to go.”

Lando’s body shuddered as he guided himself back inside her, the heat of her slick walls wrapping around him like a intoxicating squeeze. His breath hitched, and his hands trembled where they braced on either side of her head. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, his voice raw and strained as he sunk in inch by torturous inch. She clenched around him instinctively, and he let out a sharp, breathless curse, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Jesus—Y/N, please—” he rasped, his forehead pressing against hers as his body fought to stay in control.

His lips brushed her temple, his warm breath ghosting over her skin as he whispered, his voice wrecked and trembling with need. “I thought about this every night—about being buried inside you, feeling you squeeze me like this. You’re unreal, sweetheart.” Each word was a desperate confession, his voice breaking slightly as he spoke. His hips moved in slow, deliberate thrusts, the rhythm faltering as he struggled to keep his composure.

He dragged his lips down to her collarbone, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. His breath was ragged, his movements careful and measured as he tried to focus on her instead of the overwhelming pressure building inside him. His tongue traced a path along her collarbone, his lips pressing firm and insistent, as if trying to anchor himself in the feel of her body beneath him. “You’re too good,” he muttered against her skin, his voice muffled and strained. “Too fucking perfect.”

Y/N tightened around him deliberately, her walls pulsing in slow, rhythmic clenches that made his hips stutter. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that tore from his throat. “Fuck—Y/N, don’t—” he begged, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as he fought to hold on. But she didn’t stop, milking him with every pulse, and he let out a strangled curse, pulling out of her completely before he could lose control. His chest heaved, his body trembling with the effort to calm down.

But it didn’t last long. With a shaky breath, he guided himself back inside her, his thrusts slow and deep once more. His lips found her throat, and he mumbled against her skin, his voice hoarse and broken. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” The repeated curse spilled from his lips like a prayer, his grip on her tightening as he struggled to keep his rhythm steady.

His eyes stayed locked on her face, watching the way her lips parted with every thrust, the way her brows knit together in pleasure. It was nearly enough to undo him completely. He groaned, his voice breaking mid-moan as she clenched around him unexpectedly. “Fuck—Y/N,” he gasped, the sound desperate and breathless, his hips jerking forward as he lost himself in the sensation for a moment.

Then he let out a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against hers as he tried to catch his breath. “You—fuck—you’ve got me completely fucked up, you know that?” His voice was tinged with both desperation and affection, his hands trembling as they brushed her hair back from her face. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her nails dug into his back as she arched against him, her body practically vibrating with need. God, he was teasing her, not fucking her properly, and it was driving her insane. Every slow, deliberate thrust of his cock inside her was sending waves of pleasure rippling through her, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted him to lose control, to give in to the raw, primal need she could feel simmering just beneath his carefully maintained restraint.

Her hips rolled against his, trying to coax him into a faster pace, but he only groaned, his forehead pressing against hers as he fought to keep his movements slow and steady. "Lando, please," she whimpered, her voice breaking as her fingers tangled in his hair. "I need more. I need you to fuck me properly."

He let out a shaky laugh, his breath hot against her lips. "Sweetheart, if I start fucking you the way you want me to, I’m not gonna last," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "You feel too fucking good."

She clenched around him deliberately, feeling him shudder against her as a moan tore from his throat. "Then don’t last," she urged, her voice a desperate plea. "Let go. I want to feel you come undone inside me."

His hips stuttered, and he let out a strangled curse, pulling out of her completely as he fought to regain control. His chest heaved, his body trembling with the effort to calm down, but the look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated desire. "You’re gonna be the death of me," he muttered, his voice thick with need.

"And you love it," she shot back, a wicked grin spreading across her lips as she reached for him, pulling him back down to her. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for more, and she wasn’t about to let him stop until he gave her exactly what she wanted.

He slid into her again, the thick length of his cock stretching her in the most delicious way. For her, the sensation was overwhelming—a perfect balance of fullness and heat, every nerve in her pussy lighting up as he buried himself to the hilt. He felt like he belonged there, like her body had been made to take him, and the ache of needing more only grew as he stayed still inside her. For him, it was pure torture. The velvety tightness of her walls clung to him, hot and wet, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from thrusting. His cock throbbed, desperate for release, and every second he stayed buried in her without moving felt like both heaven and hell.

Her lips found his in a soft, tender kiss, her tongue brushing against his in a slow, teasing rhythm. Just as the kiss deepened, she squeezed around him deliberately, her walls pulsing in a tight, irresistible grip. He groaned into her mouth, his control slipping as his hips jerked involuntarily. “God, Y/N,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark and desperate. “You’re trying to ruin me, aren’t you?”

She smirked, her lips swollen from his kisses. “Move, Lando,” she begged, her voice breathless and pleading. “Please. I need you to fuck me. I can’t take this anymore.” Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she arched against him, trying to coax him into motion. But he was determined to hold out, to savor every second, even if it was killing him.

She pressed her hips back against him, trying to force him to move, but he stopped her with a firm grip on her waist. “Patience, princess,” he murmured, his voice strained but teasing. Then he began to move again, slowly at first, each thrust deliberate and deep. The drag of his cock inside her was agonizingly perfect, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through her entire body. He groaned, his forehead pressing against hers as he fought to keep the pace steady.

But she wasn’t about to let him win. Just as he found a rhythm, she pulsed around him again, her walls fluttering in a way that made him falter. His thrusts became erratic, his control crumbling as he let out a low, guttural curse. “Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice trembling with need. “You’re making this impossible.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Good,” she whispered, her voice dripping with wicked intent. “I want you to lose control. I want to feel you come inside me, Lando.” Her words were too much for him. He was already on the edge, and when she squeezed around him one last time, he was done for. His thrusts stuttered, his rhythm completely broken as he groaned her name, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her.

For her, the feeling was intoxicating. The warmth of his cum filling her only made her wetter, her pussy clinging to him greedily. She didn’t come, but the sensation of him spilling inside her, combined with the way his cock twitched against her walls, left her even more desperate for release. “You feel so good,” she whispered, her voice husky as she teased him. “I can feel how hard you came. Did I ruin your plans, baby?”

For him, it was overwhelming. The pleasure that ripped through him was almost too much, every pulse of his cock sending waves of ecstasy crashing over him. He groaned, his body trembling as he tried to catch his breath. “You’re fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of adoration. “I swear, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

She laughed softly, her fingers brushing through his hair. “You love it,” she teased, her voice sultry and full of promise. 

Lando let out a shaky chuckle, his hips still pressed firmly against hers. His cock, still semi-hard but undeniably sensitive, remained buried inside her, throbbing faintly as she clenched around him. He kissed her temple, his lips lingering against her skin. “And I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with lingering desire. His body trembled slightly with the aftershocks of his orgasm, but the feeling of her tight heat wrapped around him kept him on the edge, unable to pull away.

He groaned softly, his forehead resting against hers as he whispered, “Fuck, you’re still so perfect. Can’t even think about leaving you.” His hips shifted slightly, a small, involuntary movement that sent a jolt of pleasure—and sensitivity—through him. He hissed through his teeth, his hands gripping her waist as he fought the urge to move again.

Y/N smirked, her legs still wrapped around him, keeping him close. “Sensitive, huh?” she teased, her voice dripping with playful mischief. She squeezed around him gently, just enough to make him groan and his hips jerk forward instinctively.

“God, you’re a menace,” he muttered, his voice strained but laced with adoration. He pressed a kiss to her lips, his movements slow and tender, as if reveling in the feel of her still around him. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”

His words were a promise, and it was one she intended to hold him to.

His words were a promise, and she intended to hold him to it. Before he could say another word, she surged forward, capturing his lips in a searing, hungry kiss. Her mouth moved against his with a fierce urgency, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip before her tongue swept inside, claiming him with a possessive dominance that made him groan. She kissed him like she was determined to remind him exactly who owned him, her hands tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless.

And then she began to squeeze, her pussy clenching around his cock in slow, deliberate pulses that had him moaning into her mouth. He was still sensitive, his body trembling as his cock twitched inside her, the overstimulation leaving him breathless and aching. She didn’t stop, her walls fluttering rhythmically, milking him in a way that made his hips jerk involuntarily. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against hers. “You’re killing me.”

She smirked, her lips swollen from his kisses, and reached up to tug gently at his hair, guiding his mouth down to her breast. “Suck,” she commanded, her voice low and husky with need. He obeyed without hesitation, his lips closing around her hardened nipple, his tongue flicking over it in slow, teasing circles. She arched into his mouth, a soft moan escaping her lips as his teeth grazed her sensitive skin.

As he sucked, she began to grind, her hips moving in slow, sensual circles that made his cock slide deeper inside her. He groaned against her breast, his hands gripping her hips tightly as she took control, her movements deliberate and teasing. But then, unable to resist, he began to thrust, his hips rolling against hers in a rhythm that was both rough and tender. He fucked her with a desperation that left him breathless, his cock moving in and out of her slick heat with a wet, obscene sound that only fueled the fire between them.

He finally pulled back from her breast,and stared into her eyes as he continued to thrust. “Mmm, is this what you wanted?” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Me sucking on you while I’m still inside you?” His tongue flicked over her nipple one last time, making her whimper, before his gaze dropped to where their bodies were connected.

His cum was still slick on the length of his cock, glistening in the dim light as it disappeared into her with every thrust. The visual was almost too much to handle. “You feel that, baby?” he breathed, his voice trembling. “My cock’s still drenched in you—covered in my cum.” His eyes stayed locked on the sight, completely mesmerized by the way she took him, her pussy glistening with their combined arousal.

“Look at that—fuck, look at how messy we are,” he groaned, his fingers gripping her jaw and forcing her to watch as his cock slid in and out of her. She moaned at the sight, her eyes widening as she took in the way his cum coated his length, leaking out of her with every thrust. “Shit, that’s my cum leaking out of you. You like seeing what you do to me?” His voice was a low, desperate rasp, his fingers smearing the evidence of his release along her thighs before gripping her ass tightly.

“I can’t stop watching—you’re taking me so well, fuck,” he muttered, his thrusts growing more erratic as the sight of his cock disappearing into her soaked pussy drove him closer to the edge. She moaned again, her hands gripping his shoulders as she met his thrusts, her body trembling with need. “You’re fucking perfect,” he growled, his voice breaking as he lost himself in the heat of her, in the way she felt around him, in the way she looked, completely wrecked by him.

And she was perfect—every gasp, every moan, every clench of her pussy around his cock only proved it. He couldn’t get enough of her, and he knew he never would.

Lando’s thrusts were deep and relentless, his cock filling her completely with every stroke. She could feel the way he stretched her, the way his cum from earlier still coated his length, making each movement slick and intoxicating. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Her hand slipped between their bodies, her fingers finding her swollen clit with ease. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she began to rub herself in slow, deliberate circles.

“Lando,” she moaned, her voice trembling with need. “Watch me.”

His eyes snapped to where her hand was working between her thighs, and what he saw made his breath catch. Her fingers were slick with his cum, the evidence of their earlier union glistening on her skin as she spread the warmth across her clit. The sight was almost too much to handle. His thrusts faltered for a moment, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as he watched her play with herself.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with desperation. “You’re actually spreading it… you’re playing with my cum while I’m still inside you?”

She smirked up at him, her fingers never stopping their slow, teasing movements. “Mmm, look at that—your cum’s still dripping out of me, Lando,” she purred, her tone dripping with mischief. She dipped her fingers between her thighs again, deliberately rubbing his release into her swollen clit. “You see how messy we are? How much you’ve already given me?”

Lando’s cock throbbed inside her at her words, the sensation of her tightening around him nearly making him lose control. His thrusts became more erratic, his rhythm faltering as he struggled to keep his eyes on her fingers. “Shit, baby, keep going—let me see you make yourself come while I fuck you,” he begged, his voice breaking on the last word.

She moaned, her head falling back against the pillows as she let him watch her. Her fingers moved faster now, her clit pulsing under her touch as she neared the edge. “Come on, baby—watch me,” she whispered, her voice breathless. “Watch how I play with your cum while you fuck me.”

Lando’s hands gripped her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her skin as he fought to keep his thrusts steady. “You know what that does to me?” he rasped, his eyes locked on her fingers. “Watching you play with yourself while I’m inside you? It’s fucking insane.”

But she wasn’t done yet. Just as he seemed to find his rhythm again, she stopped him, her hands pressing against his abs to halt his movements. “Wait,” she whispered, her voice soft but commanding. His body stilled immediately, his cock throbbing inside her as he tried to catch his breath.

With a slow, deliberate movement, she reached down and wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, pulling him out of her. The sensation was almost too much for him, his cock twitching in her hand as she guided him free of her slick heat. He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment as he fought the urge to thrust into her hand.

But she wasn’t done. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she dipped her fingers inside her pussy, gathering the cum that was still leaking out of her. His breath hitched as he watched her, his cock jerking in her hand at the sight. “Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re killing me.”

She smirked, her fingers spreading his cum across her swollen clit, making sure he could see every second of it. The sensation was electric, her clit pulsing under her touch as she worked herself closer to the edge. “You see that, Lando?” she moaned, her voice low and husky. “You see how wet you’ve made me? How much of you I’m still holding inside me?”

Lando couldn’t look away, his eyes locked on her fingers as they moved over her clit. “Holy fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough with need. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

She reached for him again, her other hand wrapping around his cock as she guided him back to her entrance. “You’re gonna give me more, aren’t you?” she whispered against his lips, smirking as she pressed him deeper. “You feel that? How easy you slide in after you’ve already come inside me?”

He groaned, his hips jerking forward as she took him completely. “Y/N,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t take much more of this.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as she began to rub her clit again. “Now fuck me, Lando,” she moaned, her voice breathless and needy. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel you deep—make a mess of me again.”

His thrusts were desperate now, his rhythm completely lost as he watched her fingers work her clit. “Fuck—Y/N, I can’t take my eyes off you,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. “You’re fucking unreal… you’re gonna make me come just from watching.”

She tightened around him, her walls fluttering as she neared her own release. “That’s it, baby—give me everything,” she whispered, her hands guiding his hips deeper as he shuddered above her. “Fill me up again.”

Lando’s body tensed, his thrusts growing shaky as his pleasure consumed him entirely. “Oh, fuck—fuck, Y/N, I’m coming—” he gasped, his voice strained as his orgasm crashed over him. His hips slammed against hers in broken strokes, his cock pulsing inside her as he spilled himself for the second time.

She felt his release filling her, the warmth spreading through her as his body twitched with overstimulation. “Fuck, Lando, I can feel you throbbing—so desperate for me,” she moaned, clenching around him as her own orgasm ripped through her. Her clit pulsed under her fingers, her body trembling as she came on his cock, the sensation of him still inside her only intensifying her pleasure.

Lando whimpered, his thrusts faltering as the sensitivity overwhelmed him. “Shit—take it all, baby, take every drop of me,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “Jesus Christ—look at that, look at how much I’m filling you up again.”

He didn’t pull out immediately, too lost in the moment, too addicted to the warmth, the wetness, the way she was still wrapped around him. His forehead rested against hers, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he tried to calm his racing heart. “So fucking full of me, sweetheart—fuck, take it all, take every drop,” he murmured, his voice trembling with adoration.

She smiled up at him, her fingers still lazily tracing circles over her clit as she savored the aftershocks of her release. “You love it,” she teased, her voice sultry and full of promise. “And you’re mine.”

Lando let out a shaky laugh, his lips pressing against hers in a soft, tender kiss. “Always,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Always yours.”

They stayed like that for a long time, lost in the warmth of each other, the world outside forgotten. For Lando, there was no place he’d rather be, and he knew, without a doubt, that he’d never get enough of her. She was his addiction, his obsession, his everything. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Long moments later, Lando finally pulled himself out of her, his cock slipping free with a soft, wet sound that made him groan. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before murmuring, "Be right back," and disappearing into the bathroom. She lay there, legs still trembling, her body humming with the aftershocks of their shared passion.

He returned a moment later, a warm, damp towel in his hand. Gently, he knelt beside her, his touch tender as he cleaned her up, his fingers brushing over her skin with a reverence that made her heart swell. "You’re perfect," he whispered, his voice a little hoarse, as he wiped away the evidence of their union.

When he was done, he tossed the towel aside and slid into bed next to her, his body still radiating heat. He settled onto his back, pulling her with him so she lay half across his chest, her head nestled against his shoulder. He was still out of breath, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, and she brushed it aside with the back of her hand, her fingers lingering as she gazed up at him.

“See?” she whispered, a teasing grin lighting her face. “You survived. Didn’t finish in three strokes.”

He gave a short laugh, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. “Barely,” he admitted.

She smoothed her hand through his hair. “I like that you were so worried.”

“Because it’s been so long since we’ve been together like this,” he breathed, looking at her intently. “I didn’t want to ruin it by letting it slip away too quickly.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she said softly, nuzzling closer. “It was perfect.”

He exhaled, relief flooding his expression. “I love you,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

She felt warmth bloom in her chest—she’d never get tired of hearing that. “I love you too,” she echoed, soft but sincere.

They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, each reveling in the steady rhythm of the other’s heartbeat.

[lay-z]

Simon 🤝 forced orgasms

Given his violent canon background, I’m not sure how I feel about “forced” anything and “Simon/Ghost” in the same sentence—especially not him doing it to you, but how about some good ‘ol overstimulation and premature ejaculation instead, hm? :)

Synopsis: Simon comes home from a mission and needs you to take care of him.

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x gn!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | established romantic relationship; domesticity; cussing; smut; cum eating; praise kink; aftercare/fluff

It is early evening, when the front door opens and closes again, and you can breathe a heavy sigh of relief—air that feels like you’ve been holding inside your lungs forever since he left for another deployment.

Simon has kept you up to date since he had cell service again, stuck far away in a foreign country and waiting for a plane home; informing you of a mission done, no major injuries, no need to worry, a rushed few texts.

couple more hours luv

give o take

dont stay up fr me

i love you

You’re curled up on the couch, barely paying attention to one of the comfort shows you’ve been re-watching for days now, rather listening to his heavy duffel bag hitting the floor, his muffled grunts and groans as he makes his way down the hallway towards you—not running towards him, flinging yourself into his arms like you used to in the beginning of your relationship, knowing how anxious your excitement has always made him back then.

No, you let him come to you; dragging his sore legs into the living room and making your heart skip several beats when he pulls his balaclava off with a soft sigh as soon as he approaches the couch, leaving his dishwater blond hair dishevelled and crazy, short strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, the buzzed undercut he’d left with now growing out once more.

There’s a lot of non-verbal communication going on as soon as he sinks down into the cushions next to you—leaving an arm’s length of space between the two of you, not wanting to soil you with his stank and muck (his bygone words not yours) as he leans back, head tipping back against the backrest with a low groan, tawny eyes fluttering closed with exhaustion.

He falls asleep within seconds, your quiet presence enough to calm his mind and ease some of the tension, and soon enough his snores fill your ears, making you feel lighter, an adoring smile ghosting over your lips.

You let him sleep on the couch; adjusting his position with practiced manoeuvres, so his neck won’t get stiff. He merely grumbles some gibberish under his breath while you take off his boots and strip off his combat fatigues—to make him more comfortable and do first damage control, tracing fading bruises, green purplish-blues, dotting his pale skin—a Dalmatian pup getting its first spots, though this is way less pleasing.

Still better than a gunshot wound, broken bones or some gnarly cuts.

At 2:39 in the morning, you’re awakened by the sound of the shower stream turning on in the ensuite bathroom, and for a moment you consider joining him before rolling over, stretching with a yawn and deciding against it.

Simon will come to you when he’s ready, and he does not shortly after, drawn to you like an invisible force in the dark; mattress dipping under his weight as he slips underneath the preheated covers—thanks to you.

His skin is still slightly damp, towelled off in a rush, and he’s completely nude when he finally curls himself around your body, spooning you from behind and pulling you impossibly close.

And he knows you’re still awake, when his rough palm snakes under the front of your sleepshirt to press flat against your thudding heartbeat. His breath is minty with freshly scrubbed teeth, a cool puff against the back of your neck, when he brushes his lips over your skin.

“Missed you, pet,” he murmurs gravelly, nosing along your rapidly thrumming pulse point. “Always miss ya s’bloody much.”

As if to underline his whispered confession, he grinds his pelvis against your clothed ass, and you can feel how hard he is already—how hard he’s been since boarding the bloody plane back home. It sparks your own body with buzzing arousal and skin-crawling need—a need to assure yourself that he really made it home safe.

Rolling around in his embrace, you face him in the darkness of your shared bedroom, barely able to make out the silhouette of his chiselled features and massive frame.

“I missed you, too, baby.” You stroke your palm over his pecs, feeling a tuft of coarse chest hair. “So much.”

His skin twitches at the gentle contact, squishy muscles flexing and firming under your fingertips, rough breath stuttering in his throat when you lightly pinch and tug on a tiny nipple.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groans, “don’t you fuckin’ stop.”

He rests his forehead against yours; breaths mingling hotly as you slot your leg between his muscular thighs, and Simon knows the drill—starts humping your own thigh slowly, his weeping cockhead leaving a sticky trail of precum on your flushing skin.

The covers rustle when his hand grips your waist, fingers dipping below your underwear with increasing urgency to feel your flesh give under his fingertips when he gropes and squeezes.

“Touch me, pet,” Simon grunts, chapped lips brushing over your temple as he speaks, and it’s more a desperate plea than anything else while his prick leaks heavily. “Need t’feel ya.”

You capture his lips in a slow kiss, tongue delving into his needy mouth, and you feel his heart slam against his ribcage before you caress your hand along his torso, down the planes of pude-covered muscle and scar tissued skin—to cup his heavy sac, full of cum, and feel his hips jolt with a sharp gasp.

“Ngh, please–!” His jaw clicks when his teeth grit together; buff chest heaving with a deep inhale. “Won’t last, lovey, not ah–fuck–not like this–”

“I know, baby,” you coo, “–‘s okay.”

The covers slip and lift as he squirms and the scent of his arousal hits your nostrils—clean skin, fresh linens, and the heady musk of his cum—making your head spin and your own desire pool deep and searing in your guts.

When you do finally swipe your thumb over his sensitive, drooling slit, you bring your fingers back up to lick at the milky essence coating your fingers with a pleased hum before slipping them past his lips, feeling his slick tongue swirl around your digits as you press down on sharp-edged teeth and silky gums.

A guttural moan is muffled and it dissolves into a low whine while he swiftly pulls you closer against the length of his body; hand fisting into the back of your shirt with growing desperation, bed rocking as he ruts against your thigh more fervently while his thick cock drags along supple skin, his ruddy, swollen tip nudging against your soft abdomen.

You keep your fingers in his mouth, his strong jaw slack and relaxed now—a loving handler trusting its feral dog to not get mauled—while he drools steadily, spit trickling down your wrist.

His hips stutter, thrusts faltering, and Simon cums with a broken string of whimpers and moans; panting while his fat prick gushes a generous load against your stomach that soaks into the old fabric of your shirt—his shirt—painting your skin where he’d rucked it up to feel you.

It’s a warm, sticky mess, one that will surely dribble down into the sheets if you’re not careful, and it goes on for a moment; cock throbbing and spurting cum that he couldn't get rid of for days, his balls pulsing as the pressure and frustration finally eases some.

You pull your fingers out only to cup his face and seal his wet lips with yours, kissing him with unbridled passion as you rub your thigh against his spend cock, feeling it twitch as his whole body shudders with aftershocks.

“Fuck… fuck, I needed that,” he mutters against your lips, his voice wrecked and hoarse now.

“I know.” Your eyes flutter closed with a soft smile, emotionally satisfied and fuzzy inside, while Simon peppers your face with saccharine kisses, nuzzling into your hairline, hands roaming greedily to explore the curves of your pliant body, branding the feeling of you in his arms into the crevices of his brain like countless times before.

“Gonna make it up to you, pet,” he grumbles, cheeks flushed under his stubble. “Jus’… gimme ten minutes.”

[leclerity]

you're mine now

Charles Leclerc x Best Friend!Reader count: 3.1k words summary: Charles invites you over for a movie night, that ends on his kitchen counter, no clothes involved. a/n: explicit smut, so strictly 18+

It isn’t supposed to be anything more than friends hanging out. You know this, and you remind yourself of it as you pat down your dress, ignoring the winter chill your bare legs give you. Maybe sundress wasn’t the best option, but it was the most chill-but-still-sexy option you had in the closet.

You rang the bell and Charles opens the door.

He looks good, to say the least – his hair has grown out a little and the curls are making their way back, alongside the ease in his shoulders that he regains during the off-season months. He pulls you in for a hug, and you suppress the shiver his cologne gives you.

Charles kisses your cheek. “Stunning, as always.”

“You’re outdoing me.”

“You’re putting a dress against sweatpants and a tee? Sure.”

“Sweatpants and a tee on you are a different story,” you argued.

He laughs and leads you through the house, even though you could’ve made your way to the living room in the dark, if you had to. The conversation takes you to the bar where he pulls out a bottle of champagne too expensive for the occasion, and tells you about the week since the last race.

You are listening—you pull yourself out of your thoughts a few times—but all you can think about is how good he looks. It’s like you haven’t seen him in years, not months. His hair’s messy and you know he was taking a nap shortly before you arrived because there’s red marks on his face, and he hasn’t shaved in a few days and great, now you’re looking at his lips—

“Do I have something on my face?”

You down the champagne in your glass. “No.”

“Want a refill?”

“Yes. Please.”

He takes the bottle and begins pouring, and your eyes are glued to his biceps, and the way they’re stretching the shirt—

“There you go.”

“Are you going to judge me if I finish that one, too?”

Charles laughs. Your legs go jelly.

“Only if you let me catch up, first.”

Three glasses of champagne down—each—later, you’re sitting on the couch. It’s a little bit cold and you complain, and the heating’s turned up within moments. He returns to the couch and looks at you; you catch him adjusting his sweatpants as he retakes his seat.

“Your sofa’s not small, you know.”

“What’s the point of sitting further away?” he asks. “I need to be able to annoy you during the movie.”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

It’s Charles’s turn to pick a movie. He scrolls through the list, asking you if you’ve seen this one, or that one, and you respond with your mind half there, half on the champagne resting against the side of the couch. You pour yourself another glass and one for him, too.

“We’re going to need another bottle.”

Charles shrugged. “We could start doing shots.”

“Charles!”

“What?” He looks at you so innocently, so full of something, that you feel a shiver. It doesn’t help when he puts a hand on your bare calf, thumb moving just slightly. “Shots are for later, alright. Do you want more champagne or wine?”

You hesitate: champagne would be perfect, because that was absolutely delicious, but you also know how much it costs.

“Wine,” you say.

Yet when he returns with the bottle, it’s not wine he’s holding.

“Charles—”

“We can have more champagne if we want, okay? We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

He smiles as you clink your glasses together; something in your gaze grounds you, making you aware of every millimetre where his skin is touching yours.

“Us,” he says, and drinks to it.

He slots back into the spot at your side as his fingers absentmindedly brush your calves. It’s enough to keep you distracted – the way he’s sitting, or half-lying, you can clearly see the outline of the bulge in his sweatpants. He adjusts himself a few times, when he thinks you’re not looking, but it’s all you can see.

That, and the biceps, and the hair, and the slope of his nose that would feel so damn good against your—

You clear your throat. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Do you want an itinerary? The bathroom.”

“Don’t take too long,” he says. “The movie’s getting good.”

Ah, the movie. The one you’re definitely watching.

In the bathroom, you splash some water over your neck. Your face would’ve been better but you spent an hour doing a no-makeup makeup look and you’re not foolish enough to ruin it.

You think about it. It would be a lie to say you don’t.

You sit on the closed toilet and breathe, your hands on your thighs, itching to slip under your dress.

Behind closed eyes, you picture Charles on the couch, waiting for you. His hands are in his hair, making it messier, and you can just make out the outline of his—

Something cold touches the inside of your thigh. Your hand. You were about to—

It’s tempting. You can feel the pulsing, the need, the way your core responds to Charles’s every movement. If you took care of it here, and now, you’d be able to go through the movie without distractions. It wouldn’t even take long, considering how fired up you already are, and the image of your best friend so clear in your mind.

The outline gave you enough of an idea of what you’d expect. Of how it would feel in your mouth, between your legs, and maybe you could slip a finger in and think of it some more and—

“Y/N, you alright?”

Your hand flies to your mouth, masking the gasp. The other hand comes out from under your dress, the tip of your finger slick with your wetness.

“I’ll be out in a minute!”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, just… Just give me a minute.”

“I’m here if you need anything.”

The words made you leave out a long, controlled breath, willing your heart to stop racing. You promise you’d be out in a few seconds and when you hear his footsteps getting quieter, you wash your hands.

In the reflection, the woman looks as if she’s judging you.

“Shut up,” you tell her. “I know it’s bad.”

More water ends up on your neck and you dap it off with a bit of toilet paper. If Charles didn’t knock when he did, you probably would’ve gone more than just put a single finger in, and the thought of doing that while he sat across the wall is…

Exciting.

The whole place feels warmer as you make your way back to the living room. There’s a falter in your step – he’s sitting exactly the way you were picturing him. Even with the bulge still visible, if not as big as you supposed he could get.

If he knew what you were doing in his bathroom…

You slot back into your place, but make it so that no parts of your bodies are touching. If Charles notices, he doesn’t say anything.

He laughs along to the movie, and he’s enjoying it, for the most part, but it’s taking you every bit of self-control to keep your hands to yourself, when he’s so close. It’s not like you haven’t thought about this before—hell, you two even kissed on a dare when you were twelve—but this is different.

His attention is back on you as the movie ends. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. You’re a bit quiet.”

“I was watching the movie.”

“Sure,” he says, though it’s clear he doesn’t believe you.

He’s close – so close you feel his breath on your lips. Your gaze flickers to his before you can help it and when you look up, your cheeks burning, he’s smiling.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

His hand’s on your calf—has it always been there?—and you swallow the lump in your throat. You hear the noise from the TV, the high-pitch of the fridge, and your own heart trying to beat its way out of its cage.

“We should, um.” You clear your throat. “Drinks?”

Charles follows you to the island counter, placing the glasses on it. You pour the champagne this time and your hand’s shaky enough you wonder if he’ll comment on it, but he doesn’t.

You look at his hands—his fingers—and remember that less than an hour ago, you were taking care of yourself in his bathroom thinking of these.

“Truth or dare,” you blurt out.

Charles laughs. “What are we, twelve?”

“Truth or dare. No backing out.”

“Fine,” he says. “Truth.”

“Boo. Pussy.” You swirl the champagne around your glass, thinking. “When’s the last time you had good sex?”

“Three weeks ago,” he answers.

“Good,” you repeat. Three weeks ago, he was texting you about a girl he hooked up with, who could barely hold a dick in her mouth without gagging. “Answer honestly.”

He leaned against the counter, blowing air out of his mouth. “I don’t know. It’s been a while. A few months, maybe? What about you?”

You smile. “The question was for you.”

“Fine. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“That’s not fair! You knew what I was about to ask.” When all you do is shrug, he shakes his head, but he’s smiling. His cheeks are a soft tint of red, and you wonder if they’d feel warm against your touch. “I can’t think of any good dares.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Seriously!”

“You’re boring,” you say. “I can think of one.”

“For yourself?”

You hum in response. “It’s getting hot in here.”

Charles was quiet for a few moments – you left the ball in his court, and it was up to him to accept it. If you weren’t already tipsy, you could’ve sworn his cheeks had gone redder.

On the counter, your hands were touched just the slightest bit, but the sensation ran down your spine.

“Okay,” he says, stepping the tiniest bit closer. “I dare you to take off your dress.”

Aware of your eyes on your body, you grab the hem of your sundress. It’s not often you can see him take you in piece by piece, cheeks reddening, eyes hazing over as if unsavoury thoughts are running across his mind. You slow down, stick your hip out a little, trailing your hands on your thigh higher, higher, higher—

You watch his Adam’s apple bobble as he swallows at the sight of your lacy underwear.

“Y/N—” he tries, but his voice gives out, deep and husky and so, so needy.

You tug the rest of the dress over, throwing it on the floor between you. His eyes are on your chest, with his tongue brushing over his lips. Even without needing to check, you know there’ll be an outline on his trousers – not once has a man looked at you like this without wanting to jump your bones.

You smile. Innocently. “Your turn.”

Charles hesitates, but only for a moment. His eyes dart to your face and whatever he finds there must agree with him, because he grabs the bottom of his shirt and tugs it over in one movement, dropping it on top of your dress.

Your heart beats in two places, looking at him like this. The light is dim and you could trace the abs on his stomach, the firmness of his pecks, even the shoulders, memorising it to make a statue of him in his mind.

The thought of him, bare, makes your mouth go dry.

“Sweatpants too,” you say.

He quirks an eyebrow.

“I’m in my underwear.”

“We’re both wearing two pieces of clothing.”

There’s the moment—the opening you’ve been waiting for—and you look at him in the eye, searching, until you see the way his lips are parted, the speed of his chest rising, the outline of his dick screaming to be let out, and you make your decision.

“Why,” you say, “when we could be wearing none?”

Charles’s eyes darken in a way you haven’t seen before. Gone was the gentleman, the strong man with a kind heart, and you think of him looking at you like this with his hands on your throat, pounding into you, and your knees buckle.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“We’ve been dancing around this long enough.” You hook your thumbs in the waistband of your panties. “I can do it, or you can.”

He crosses the distance between you in a moment, his body crashing against yours as he snatches you by the wrists, pulling them around his back. His mouth is against your neck and his breath sends shivers down your spine as he murmurs, “It would be my pleasure.”

He kisses you, then. His lips are soft against your skin they trail towards your collarbone, between your breasts. His hands are on your waist, now, just above the waistband, but travel behind your back as his mouth finds your nipple over the fabric of your bralette, pulling it in, the mixture of sensations making your body relax into his arms. Your hands are in his hair, now, tugging at it the way you’ve pictured yourself doing a million times, and he’s moaning against your breast, and you feel unravelled and you haven’t even done anything yet.

Charles pushes you against the counter and he pulls you up by the waist, and your legs wrap around him as if they were created for this. One hand on your chest tries to push you down but you shake your head, pulling one finger into your mouth, twirling your tongue around it as if it were a lolly.

“No,” you whisper. “I want to watch.”

“Fussy,” he says, dropping to his knees with a smile.

Your hands go back to his hair as he spreads your thighs with his hands, kissing the skin behind your knee, travelling inwards with soft kisses.

“Charles,” you moan. “I need—”

You gasp as his teeth sink into your thigh, followed by a kiss. “We’re doing this my way, princess.”

You’d protest—you’ve thought about this moment too often for it to go wrong—but his hand found your centre over your panties with soft, but confident strokes, with his mouth peppering kisses closer, and closer, and closer—

He kisses you over the fabric. He teases you, tongue flicking at your clit, and you tug his hair to tell him to hurry the fuck up and he parts your legs wider, pulling your panties to the side with his teeth and holding them there with his thumb. You feel his hot breath against your core, bare and exposed like this.

He looks up at you and you feel yourself melting into the sight. Those big green eyes, darkened with desire, his mouth an inch aware of your most private part…

You breathe out his name as if it were a prayer.

He smiles, satisfied, and burrows himself between your legs.

If heaven is real, you sure have died and gone to it, because your best friend is a master of the art of pleasure. He holds you steady against the counter as his tongue does the work even with your writhing and pleading for more, more, more, until he pushes a finger inside you, pumping and curling and it could be a minute or it could be an hour and your thighs are clenching his face and shaking, warms rushing through your body, and you breathe out his name again and again and again as he kisses you through your high, only pulling himself up from between your legs when your breathing steadied.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he says, smirking.

You shake your head, with what little energy you had left, but the sight of him like this—the bulge still trying to escape his sweatpants—has you yanking his clothes down until his cock springs free, every bit the thing you’d hoped for and more.

You kiss the head, lightly, teasing, hearing Charles’s moan. His hand moves to the back of your head and you take him into your mouth, bobbing your head on it. He even tastes good.

He moans, again, grabbing a fistful of your hair, urging you to go faster, sloppier, and you do. You let him into the back of your throat, not gagging, and he starts moving into you, shivering as his eyes meet yours.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He lets out a moan, loud, and pulls out. “Get back on the counter.”

You do as told and then he’s between your legs, lining himself up at your entrance. Both of you are too needy, too excited, too drunk to worry about a condom, and he pushes himself in, but you’ve been waiting for this the whole night, and he slides in with little to no resistance.

He moans, again, in the crook of your neck. You arch your back into him and he starts pumping, head buried against you and hands planted on the counter behind you. Your nails dig lines into his back and he bites and sucks on the skin below your chin as he fills you up to the brim, over and over and over again.

“Charles,” you say against his ear, half-whisper, half-moan.

You feel him shiver.

“Yes?”

“I want you,” you whisper. “All of you.”

He looks at you and you give him a nod, and then he’s pumping into you faster, harder. You take his hand and drag it to your neck while lowering your back against the counter, biting onto your hand to suppress a moan as the new angle hits even deeper. Charles’s hand curls around your neck, just like you were imagining not too long ago, and his eyes bore into yours as you whisper his name, feeling yourself close, again.

It’s a few more pumps and a light squeeze on your neck and then your legs are shaking around him again and he moans, loud, guttural, as you feel the warmth of him spread inside you.

Charles does one last thrust and melts against your body, replacing your neck with more kisses, lazy this time, weary. Your hands are in his hair and you pull him up, your lips less than an inch away.

He kisses you. It’s tired, too, and sloppy, but you feel him twitch still inside of you, and his tongue explores your mouth. You can still taste yourself on it, and you remember how it felt, to have him buried between your legs, and you think, how could anyone give this up?

You couldn’t. You won’t.

“Charles,” you breathe out.

“Mhm?”

“You’re mine now.”

[gilbertscurls]

more than this — matt sturniolo

Matt had never questioned his relationship with you.

You had been a constant in his life for as long as he could remember—his best friend, his partner-in-crime, the one person who never made him feel like he had to be anything other than himself.

He didn’t have a single memory that didn’t include you in some way.

You were there for his first day of school, clutching his hand with a nervous but determined look as you both stepped into the classroom.

You were there for his first bike ride, laughing when he wiped out on the pavement but helping him up anyway.

You were there for his first heartbreak, sitting beside him on his bed with a pint of ice cream, threatening to throw rocks at his ex’s house to make him feel better.

Every milestone, every moment—you were there.

Matt had always thought that was just the way things were. That you were meant to be a permanent part of his life, but in a best friend kind of way.

Until now.

Until this summer day, with you walking beside him on your way to the beach, the warm sun painting golden streaks in your hair, the salty air making your skin glow.

Until you laughed at something dumb he said, tilting your head back, eyes shining, like the whole world was just a little brighter because you were in it.

Until he looked at you and felt something shift inside him.

Like all the puzzle pieces of his life had rearranged themselves into a picture he hadn’t seen before.

A picture that looked a lot like love.

And suddenly, Matt wasn’t sure how he had gone so long without realizing it.

The waves crashed against the shore, the water stretching endlessly in front of you as you kicked off your sandals and stepped into the sand.

Matt followed, watching as you twirled in the sun, arms outstretched, looking happier than he’d seen you in a while.

“You’re weird,” he teased, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

You turned to face him, smirking. “And you’re boring.”

He scoffed. “I am not boring.”

“You literally refused to go in the water last time because you said, and I quote, ‘I don’t trust the ocean. It’s too big.’”

“I stand by that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re getting in today.”

Matt raised a brow. “Oh, am I?”

“Yup.”

“And what if I refuse?”

You grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Then I guess I’ll just have to drag you in myself.”

He smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

And that was definitely the wrong thing to say, because the next thing he knew, you were lunging at him.

“WAIT—”

You tackled him, both of you toppling into the sand in a mess of tangled limbs and breathless laughter.

Matt groaned, trying to prop himself up on his elbows, but you were already scrambling to your feet, grabbing his wrist.

“Come on, coward,” you teased, tugging him toward the water.

“No—”

But he didn’t really try to stop you.

Because the truth was, he liked the way your fingers curled around his wrist, liked the way you didn’t hesitate to pull him toward adventure.

Liked the way being around you made everything feel a little more exciting.

The water was cold when it lapped at his ankles, but he barely noticed.

All he could focus on was you.

The way you grinned triumphantly as the waves hit your legs.

The way the sun lit up your features, making you look like you belonged here, like you belonged everywhere.

The way his heart clenched so suddenly, so completely, that it nearly took his breath away.

He was so screwed.

Later, after hours of splashing in the water, after drying off and collapsing onto a beach towel beside each other, Matt found himself staring at the sky.

The sun was beginning to set, the sky turning soft shades of pink and orange.

You let out a content sigh, stretching your arms above your head. “I love it here.”

Matt turned his head, watching as you closed your eyes, your expression peaceful.

And just like that, it hit him all over again.

How much he loved you.

Not in the way he always had, not in the casual, comfortable best-friend way.

But in the real way. The terrifying, life-altering, this person owns my entire heart kind of way.

And suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You opened your eyes, looking over at him. “Yeah?”

His heart pounded.

This was it.

The moment he changed everything.

He swallowed hard, then finally—finally—said the words he had been too blind to see before now.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

A beat.

Then—

You smiled.

Slow and sweet and certain.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I know.”

Matt blinked. “You—wait, what?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Matt, I’ve always known.”

His mouth opened and closed. “Then why didn’t you—”

“Because I was waiting for you to figure it out.”

He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “You knew this whole time?”

You grinned. “Yup.”

“You let me suffer?”

“Pretty much.”

Matt lifted his head, giving you a flat look. “I hate you.”

You just laughed, leaning in until your face was inches from his. “No, you don’t.”

And he didn’t.

God, he really didn’t.

Especially not when you closed the space between you, pressing the softest, sweetest kiss to his lips.

And just like that—

The puzzle pieces finally clicked into place.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming

[littleprinces]

Sexcretary 2

Ichillin E:Ji x Male Reader

Cheating Sex

The rain pounded against the windowpane, a symphony of nature's fury that seemed to echo the storm brewing within me. I, Alexander Kane, a 35-year-old man of power and prestige, was not used to being kept waiting. Yet here I was, my eyes glued to the clock, anticipating the arrival of my new secretary, Jiwon.

Jiwon, a 25-year-old Korean woman, had started today. Her resume boasted an impressive array of skills, but it was her photograph that had truly caught my attention. Her almond-shaped eyes, framed by thick lashes, seemed to hold a secret, and her full lips, slightly parted in the photograph, hinted at a passion I was eager to explore.

The intercom buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. "Mr. Kane, Miss Jiwon is here to see you," my receptionist announced. I straightened my tie, a smirk playing on my lips. The game was about to begin.

Jiwon entered my office, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She was dressed in a conservative blouse and skirt, her hair pulled back into a neat bun. But I could see the curves hidden beneath the professional attire, and my imagination ran wild.

"Good morning, Mr. Kane," she said, her voice soft yet confident. She held out her hand, and I took it, lingering a moment longer than necessary. Her skin was soft, her grip firm.

"Welcome, Jiwon," I replied, my voice low. "I trust you're ready to make my life... easier?"

She blushed slightly, but her gaze didn't waver. "I'm here to serve, Mr. Kane," she said, her voice laced with a hint of challenge.

Over the next few weeks, Jiwon proved to be an excellent secretary. She was efficient, organized, and always one step ahead of my needs. But I found myself more and more distracted by her presence. The way she bit her lower lip when she was concentrating, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the way her blouse clung to her when she leaned over to pick up a pen... I was obsessed.

One evening, as I was leaving the office, I found Jiwon still at her desk. She looked up as I approached, her eyes meeting mine. There was a moment of silence, a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch on forever.

"You're still here," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I could say the same for you, Mr. Kane," she replied, her voice steady.

I leaned against her desk, my eyes never leaving hers. "Why don't you call me Alexander when we're alone, Jiwon?"

She swallowed hard, but her gaze didn't falter. "And what makes you think we'll be alone often, Alexander?"

I smirked, pushing off from her desk and walking around to her side. I leaned in close, my lips brushing against her ear. "Because, Jiwon, I can't stop thinking about you. About us."

She shivered, but her voice was steady when she spoke. "I'm married, Alexander."

I pulled back, looking into her eyes. "And I'm not asking you to divorce him. I'm just asking you to give in to this... this tension between us."

She bit her lip, considering my words. Then, she stood up, her chair scraping back loudly in the silent office. She walked around to my side of the desk, her heels clicking on the floor. She stopped in front of me, her body mere inches from mine.

"And what if I say no?" she whispered, her eyes challenging me.

I smiled, a slow, predatory smile. "Then I'll just have to convince you otherwise."

I leaned in, my lips capturing hers in a searing kiss. She gasped, her lips parting, and I took advantage, my tongue delving into her mouth. She tasted like coffee and desire, a heady combination that made my head spin.

She moaned, her hands clutching at my shirt, pulling me closer. I obliged, my hands going to her ass, lifting her onto my desk. She wrapped her legs around me, her heels digging into my back.

"Fuck, Jiwon," I groaned, my hands going to her blouse, popping the buttons open. She wore a simple white bra beneath, her breasts straining against the fabric. I reached behind her, unhooking the bra with expert ease. Her breasts spilled out, her nipples already hard.

"God, you're beautiful," I murmured, my hands going to her breasts, squeezing them, feeling their weight in my hands. She moaned, her head falling back, her hair coming loose from its bun.

I leaned down, taking one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard. She cried out, her hands going to my hair, holding me to her. I switched to the other nipple, giving it the same attention, as my hands went to her skirt, pushing it up her thighs.

She was wearing a simple pair of panties, the fabric damp with her arousal. I ran a finger along the edge of her panties, feeling the heat of her pussy. She moaned, her hips bucking against my hand.

"Alexander," she gasped, her voice ragged. "We... we shouldn't."

I looked up at her, my finger still tracing the edge of her panties. "Why not, Jiwon?" I asked, my voice low. "Because you're married? Because it's wrong? Or because you don't want it as much as I do?"

She bit her lip, her eyes meeting mine. "Because... because I do want it," she whispered. "I want it so much."

I smiled, a slow, satisfied smile. I hooked my fingers into the edge of her panties, pulling them down her legs. She lifted her hips, helping me, her eyes never leaving mine.

I leaned down, my tongue tracing a path up her thigh, making her shiver. I reached her pussy, my tongue delving into her folds, tasting her. She cried out, her hands going to my hair, holding me to her.

"Oh, God, Alexander," she moaned, her hips bucking against my face. I held her down, my tongue exploring her, tasting her, feeling her. She was sweet and salty, a heady combination that made my cock harden even more.

I felt her legs tense, her body stiffening as she came, her pussy pulsing against my tongue. I licked her through her orgasm, my fingers joining my tongue, fucking her slowly, drawing out her pleasure.

When she came down, she looked at me, her eyes filled with desire and something else. Something softer. "Alexander," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I want you inside me."

I stood up, unbuckling my belt, my eyes never leaving hers. "Are you sure, Jiwon?" I asked, my voice low. "Once we do this, there's no going back."

She nodded, her eyes filled with determination. "I'm sure," she said, her voice steady. "I want you, Alexander. All of you."

I pushed my pants down, my cock springing free. I was hard, aching with desire. I stepped closer to her, my cock brushing against her pussy. She moaned, her legs wrapping around me, pulling me closer.

I leaned down, my lips capturing hers in a searing kiss. I pushed into her, feeling her stretch around me, feeling her heat. She moaned, her nails digging into my back, her legs tightening around me.

"Fuck, Jiwon," I groaned, my hands going to her hips, pulling her closer, pushing deeper. She moaned, her hips meeting mine, thrust for thrust.

"Yes, Alexander," she gasped, her head falling back, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. "Fuck me, Alexander. Harder."

I obliged, my thrusts becoming harder, faster. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a symphony of our desire. She moaned, her body tensing, her pussy pulsing around me as she came again.

I felt my own orgasm building, my balls tightening, my cock hardening even more. I leaned down, my lips capturing hers, swallowing her moans as I came, my cock pulsing inside her, filling her with my cum.

We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies pressed together, our breaths ragged. Then, she looked at me, her eyes filled with a softness I hadn't seen before.

"Alexander," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. "That was... that was amazing."

I smiled, my thumb brushing against her cheek. "It was," I agreed. "And it's just the beginning, Jiwon. Just the beginning."

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x F! reader, established relationship, PIV sex, period sex!!! you've been warned. WC: 3.8K

A/N: Still alive. Still writing filth. Well, trying to at least. Finally managed to finish one of these so, enjoy!

His brow furrowed at the same time that his smile deflated to form a frown.

Steve had found you exactly as he had left you – curled up on your side on the couch with your eyes squinting at the TV screen. Your arms are still wound around your stomach boa constrictor tight too, your trembling lips parted enough to let out the occasional groan or shaky whimper.

Though the sight of you like this is enough to make him feel concerned, he's relieved to spot the empty plate dusted with sandwich crumbs resting on the coffee table. Even if it did sit a little too close to the edge for his comfort, it let him know that you'd upheld your promise to eat something while he was away at work.

Taking a few quiet steps closer into the living room, Steve approaches you from behind and leans over the back of the couch to get a better look at you, his shadow stretching long to cloak you from the light coming off the TV.

"Any better?", he asks gently in lieu of a hello, slipping the question between laugh tracks as another episode of The Golden Girls commenced on screen. Your comfort show.

Steve watches patiently as you turn much too slowly and carefully to meet his eye from over your shoulder. That's when he notices how glassy they've become, unshed tears growing fatter and fatter behind your lash line, verging on spilling down your puffy cheeks. A little pout pushes your lightly chapped lips out too, mustering up enough strength to shake your head ‘no’.

Steve’s heart always hung heavy in his chest whenever he saw you like this, all pained and panting. Wanting to be closer to you, he rounds the couch and gladly takes the hand you unwind from around your sore belly and hold out to him, encouraging him to sit beside you.

To the relief of you both, there's no awkward fidgeting or clueless gestures exchanged at this stage of your relationship when Steve takes a seat. Instead, he moves with the quiet confidence of someone whose been through this very situation enough times to know exactly how to soothe you. To begin, he carefully gathers you into his lap, not wanting to trigger any more pinching pain or another cramping crick that might shoot up your back whip crack quick.

Your mood begins to shift for the first time that day, perking up as you let him cradle you, nuzzling into his chest as you settle sideways in his lap. He doesn't even have to question you when he feels your fingers circling his wrist either, letting you pluck his hand and guide it underneath your t-shirt. Steve remembers to spread his warm fingers over as much of the soft skin of your belly as possible, smiling when he sees you sigh with some relief.

He'd sit there all night with you like this if not for the little plastic shopping bag you’re yet to notice still grasped in his other hand. The shifty little sound it makes when he shakes it five minutes later draws your attention once you’ve made yourself comfortable in his lap. You blink your eyes open, curiously squinting at the bag and its familiar logo printed on the front.

"Figured I'd stop by the pharmacy before I headed home. Just to be safe", Steve explains with a kind smile, pretty crescent dimples making impressions on his cheeks. The thoughtful gesture is enough to make your body turn warm with adoration.

"So, I've got pain killers and heating pads and– ‘want me to open one up for you?", Steve offers before he lists the rest and you make sure to match his smile with one of your own that's just as sweet before you politely decline. "Can I use your hands a little longer?", you ask instead, practically purring from the way his large palm rests on you. "It feels so nice".

Once again, you're reminded of how lucky you are to have him when Steve's eyes catch the light and glitter like they always do when he does something you like. Just like a labrador lighting up at the sight of a bone.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course", he answers, so eager to please. He frees his hand by setting the bag down, once again letting you wrap your smaller fingers around his wrist and pull it closer to your chest.

You place it over your left breast and without needing to tell him how, Steve settles into a routine he's pretty much memorized by now. He grasps the shape of your breast under your t-shirt and begins massaging it gently like he’s done so many times before, aware of how sore they get when you're on your period, switching over to the other sensitive breast and then back again to the first for more.

He can tell that he's touching you the right way when he's treated to the sounds you begin to let slip out, contented sighs and soft groans, even that pinched little space between your eyebrows becomes lax enough to turn your face into a picture of bliss.

"Pills didn't do much today did they?", he guesses, earning another shake of your head.

"Neither did the hot water bottle?", he asks when he spies it lying on the carpet by the couch, knowing full well it'd probably been discarded there out of frustration.

"Just made me feel sweaty and gross", you whined back softly in reply.

"Is this helping? what I'm doing?", he asks hopefully.

"Yes, still crampy but It's already better having you hold me", you tell him sincerely, adjusting yourself in his lap so that your lips can reach his cheek and show your gratitude with a quick peck.

The next few minutes that pass with you perched on his lap is the closest you've felt to relief, his hands soothing your sensitive skin and much of the pain you'd dealt with all day.

Though not all of it.

Despite all Steve's done he can't quite snuff the pain out for you through touch alone. Your cramps continue to jab and twist and flare angrily inside you, less frequently but just as unpleasant as they had been this morning.

"Um, so listen", he clears his throat abruptly, noticing your unyielding discomfort.

When you look up at Steve you can almost feel the way his thoughts are stirring rapidly in his head, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip in the same way he does when he's deep in thought.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else I could do?", he asks eventually.

You think on it for a few short moments, shrugging when nothing comes to mind.

" I don't know... like what?"

---

"You really don't think it's gross?", you check for the third time, bare thighs squeezing together as if they were bound under lock and key. "We don't even know if it'll work", you add nervously, afraid of the kind of mess you're making on the towel that's been placed under you. At least the charcoal cotton will hide most of it. You hope.

Steve pops back into sight at the sound of your wavering voice, his hair messily fluffed up in all directions from pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it into a corner of the bedroom floor. He cranes his neck and rests his stubbled chin on your knees as your heels dig deeper into the mattress. "Baby" he sighed, smiling. Loving and reassuring all in one exhale of breath that tickles your perspiring skin. "It's not gross. You know that", he squeezes your thighs reassuringly, climbing over your bent legs to kiss you quick and thaw your inhibitions.

"I just want to make my poor, sore girl feel better".

The way he says it is enough to make you feel your heart beat between your legs.

It's nothing new. Your hormones have always had a nasty habit of kicking your libido up more than a few notches whenever it was your time of the month. But this was new territory for the both of you. As much as you would have liked to in the past, you never let Steve get this far before, never acting on the urge to have him be the one to pleasure you while you bled. You usually saw to that persistent ache on your own, always in private and in the shower without Steve's involvement.

And while it was him who insisted on 'helping' you today, part of you couldn’t stop worrying if he'd really desire you as you are right now. If maybe his sweet intentions to make you feel better had gotten the best of him.

All of that and more swarming thoughts had you questioning if maybe letting him get this far was a mistake. If maybe you ought to stop him now before it’s too late, your mind becoming a winding spiral of uncertainty but that was until you felt it – an unmistakable firmness brushing against your hip while Steve helped you out of your clothes.

It made your cheeks burn hot to know that Steve’s bulge had turned swollen and hard because of you, contained behind his boxers for the time being but still very evident as he tenderly laid you down on your back again, effectively quietening some of the doubts that howled sonorously inside your head.

It makes your knees tremble next when he places his large hands on each one, gently encouraging you to let him pull them apart and see what lies between your legs.

To you, letting your legs come apart for him feels too much like you’re stepping off the steepest ledge and plummeting into a freefall. Your heart shoots up out of your ribcage and into your narrow throat, your eyes squeezing shut because you can't handle watching how your boyfriend will react.

Your weak, jelly knees make it all the easier for him to peel them apart and once he does, the blood in your veins freezes over when all that elapses is silence. Not one single word out of Steve.

Each second ticks by as painfully as the last, like scraping bone until you try to clamp your legs shut once again but Steve's too quick for you, keeping your legs pried open with his hands placed firmly on your inner thighs.

"Oh sweetheart...", is all you hear him utter, a deep, raspy rumble that curls up and out of his throat like a lazy tendril of smoke. “Just needed a moment to really look at you, pretty thing”

You make a noise too, somewhere between a gasp and a hiccup when you feel his course fingers graze your bloody folds. It's enough to make you force one eye open as he pulls them apart to observe the bleeding between your legs.

Carefully you read every little expression that dawns on his face, relieved when you notice that Steve doesn't wince. He doesn't flinch. And he doesn't turn away from the sight of your blood, completely unblinking and focused. Maybe even a little enamored if you were to guess by the way his lips lift up into another smile.

You feel it’s safe enough to ease both eyes open now and fix them on Steve as he watches you quietly and closely back. This time his silence has the opposite effect on you. Instead of frigid, piercing worry, you shudder warmly with sunny excitement while he explores you.

His gaze descends the length of your body to find a moderate amount of blood on your inner thighs. You know because you can feel the warm, thick stains cooling on your skin, smudged there like wine stains and brush strokes painting your body. It’s what pulls his focus first, his eyes lingering there before they roam between your puffy folds and over to your hole. There he finds you leaking with a glossy crimson mix of blood and slick. Bringing his face closer to it, he's able to tell that your scent's different now too. Sharper. More coppery underneath your usual soft musk. The way his mouth pulls up into a broader smile tells you that he likes it just as much.

"Can't believe we didn't try this sooner", he tells you playfully with a waggle of his eyebrows though you know he's being very sincere as you both recall all the times you’d laid in bed and in pain whenever you were menstruating.

Out of habit you very nearly ask him a fourth time if he's absolutely certain he wants to be intimate with you while you're bleeding but you’re able to stop abruptly before you can get the question past your lips, suddenly hit with a much-needed wave of clarity.

This was Steve. A man no stranger to a little blood. Be it a split lip, a blackened eye or a broken nose among other bones. The same Steve who took a bite out of a writhing demobat and spit its filthy viscera out at his dirty feet, its thick blood tainting his pearly teeth with an angry snarling red.

He's never cowered at the sight of blood before. So why would he start now? why would he when it means getting to be with you in a whole new way? when it means getting to make love to you and give you some much needed relief?

"Looks like my girl's ready now", he winks at you knowingly.

You can feel the pure magnetism practically radiating off of him like puffs of hot steam, shedding his boxers off quickly to join you in the nude. Watching his erection spring free and thwack against his lower stomach makes your tummy flutter and flip especially when you notice the splash of precum it leaves behind on his blushing skin.  

He wanted you, very much and there was no way to deny it, making you feel both eager and a little silly about how you'd fussed earlier so self-consciously.

It made you feel sexy again too. Desirable during a time you didn't consider yourself as such. With your confidence sprouting again your legs make more space for him, inviting him closer before your ankles lock in place behind the small of Steve's back. His rigid shaft settles snugly between your bloody folds as he teases you by rubbing the slick, spongy head of his cock against your swollen clit. He’s satisfied when he gently pulls whine after pretty whine out of you like unravelling a delicate flower bud by hand, petal by petal gently tugged open to reveal the beautiful blossom lying inside.

"Steve?"

"Yeah? this making you feel good?", he looks back up to search your face attentively.

"Can't you tell?", you roll your hips with a giggle, your clit catching on his tip and shaft perfectly though still not enough to quell your cramps and satisfy you.

"I want you to put it inside now. Please"

More than happy to oblige Steve smiles as he reaches between your bodies so he can guide his cock towards your waiting hole. You feel it first when it nudges at your entrance and you hold your breath as you always do when Steve begins to work his cock inside you, the thick tip of it making your hole give way and stretch until it's just about wide enough to let him pop inside.

For Steve It's a whirlpool of gooey warmth and buttery smoothness as he slowly feeds every veiny, throbbing inch inside you. Your silky walls stretch into the familiar shape of his cock, sucking him in and wrapping around him tight like ribbon.

You can't lie, as good as it feels, you can't quite shake one last whispering concern about how it'll look when he pulls back enough to see his cock all red with you – who wouldn’t be worried about that?

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you have a look for yourself, a cold chill spilling down your spine because it's exactly as you feared it would look. A generous coating of deep, dark syrupy red drips from Steve’s pale length but before you can attempt to convince him to please look literally anywhere else while he fucks you, you're pressed deeper back into the mattress as he leans forward to lightly pin you back in place.

"It's okay, baby. 'Can see you getting in your head again", he whispers soothingly, so close his lips brush yours.

"You need to understand that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, okay? you feel how fucking hard I am for you? it's all because of you. Now are you gonna be good for me and let me take care of you?"

For a moment, all you can do is blink back at him like you’re coming out of a daze.

The fuzz of his sweat matted chest hair tickles your nipples when you manage to nod back with a soft 'yes’. Now that your nerves have been settled for good, he leans down to let his tongue lap inside your mouth again, so gentle yet somehow still so ravenous. The kind of kiss that screams how much he wants you.

There's no more room for any doubt to encroach your mind again like a violent thunderstorm. It's clear Steve doesn't think the sight of you both connected like this is gruesome. He slips inside and out with ease and excitement, his cock gliding against your walls in a way that starts to make your head spin in the most delightful way.

"That’s my girl. Nothing better than having a sweet thing like you wrapped around my cock"

And that's how he starts to fuck you. Slow and deep. Push and pull. Your breath becoming shorter. Your eyes staring into his with longing as he begins to fuck into you more firmly when he thinks you’re ready for it, in every spot you cry out for it.

The cramps that plagued you for most of the day are practically being wrung out of your overwhelmed body, a much more pleasurable, pulsing ache taking its place instead. The sticky slap of your bodies meeting echoes within the confines of your shared bedroom, gasps and moans winding around each other like creeping vines as you climb further and further towards the peak of pleasure.

It’s a slower climb for Steve and that’s only because he’s desperately trying to maximize your pleasure before he can even think of his own climax and spilling into you. Your heels stay fixed behind his back, nudging at his spine and your teeth sink into his shoulder which while both a little uncomfortable, he wouldn’t dare dream of asking you to stop, not when the signs of your impending orgasm begin to shadow your face.

Steve delights in watching you trying to fight it off but fail to do so pitifully. Face contorting with arousal, slurring your words as you cry out his name, garbling as the smallest trail of drool leaks out the corner of your mouth. He chuckles into your neck when you fail to keep your eyes from rolling back too, hissing happily when he feels the heat of your nails raking at his biceps and back.

When you cum on Steve’s blood splattered cock your body turns electric, sparks and bolts erupting just like fireworks beneath the thin layer of your soft skin. All the throbbing, all the spasming waves of pain and soreness – gone. Driven out of your writhing body with pang after pang of pleasure, your clit fat and twitching uncontrollably between your legs.

He fucks you through it and when it begins to verge on too much, you will yourself to take the many thrusts that follow as Steve continues to hump into you, taking it like the good girl he keeps moaning that you are, mumbling nearly incoherently into your skin.

“Just a little longer – I know ,baby, I know. Just keep taking me like that, just a little more – yes…yes…yes", Steve grunts before his body starts to quake, shuddering through his own orgasm, shooting hot and sticky all he has to give you deep inside.

The feeling of it all collecting within your pussy is unlike any other that you’ve felt before and you can’t help but linger on it – exactly what your body had been crying out for all day. It’s made easier too because Steve’s body lay draped over yours, the weight of him on top of you is comforting. He keeps you plugged up nice and full with his softening cock still inside you, panting while you gently stroke the damp nape of his neck until you’re able to catch your own breath and thank him with words.

When Steve does finally unsheathe himself from you, he does so a little reluctantly, peppering you with kisses, making silly comments about how he’d rather just stay in you all night than part, have you cockwarm him till the sun comes up. You snicker in response and roll your eyes back at him playfully, eventually coaxing him and convincing him to pull out.

Slowly your combined discharge strings from his cock to your folds and pearly clit like a spider’s web, unable to tell where yours begin and his end. You still feel sensitive there too, the little bundle yet to cease throbbing and swell down after grazing perfectly against the thick hair that grew from Steve’s bellybutton to the base of his scarlet cock.

As more of it begins to leak out of you, you both look on curiously, mesmerized by its deep shade of rosy pink – such a pretty thing made by the two of you.

No longer bashful about the whole thing, you swipe a finger between your folds and closely observe the secretion on the pad of your index finger, wondering why, just an hour ago, you’d been so afraid of giving yourself to Steve like this.

Sure, it’s a mess but you don’t feel the least bit unclean. All the sweat and cum and blood – you're glad for it in fact, turning onto your side and resting your cheek on Steve's chest once he repositions onto his back, wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer.

"Better?", he asks expectantly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Better than better" you assure him, basking in the afterglow with an ever so satiated smile gracing your lips.

Steve’s got one just like it shaping his plump pink lips, placing his hands behind his head as he stares dreamily at the ceiling.

"So, six more days huh? I can get used to this"

[stareiiez]

omni-invincible hates you. there's no love, there's no room for your drunken admissions when he mouths at the crook of your neck.

omni-invincible is the dude lying on his back and making you do all the work. he doesn't touch you much, like his fellow headcap variant. he lacks the emotions or facial expression to show how much he likes your sappy pussy throbbing around his shaft. like all men, he has needs. But watching you with that bored flat look will meet his needs. his bare chest stuttering with how you go down on him to clean your combined messes off his softening mass of a penis. he's had better on some other far-off planet, with an alien species that was far uglier than you; so congrats? I guess?

there's no after care, there's no degradation. there's only your moans and the springs of the mattress from your less-than-adequate home for his tastes. when he gets too out of his head, and he finds you lacking in making him come.

prepare to be suffocated in your pillows, and bent over with your ass high in the air. his gloved hands cage either side of your head while he pounds away with strict and coordinated thrusts. he's chasing a high that was barely there, to begin with, and you're lucky ( as always) to be taking his cock that breaks past your cervix to fuck your womb to completion. whether you pass out from the lack of oxygen or die of asphyxiation altogether. omni-invincible doesn't bat an eye, only stares at your splayed-out form and his cum weeping from your incredibly stretched pussy overflowing from the two rounds he graced you with.

[masorciereviolette]

You Can Find Me In The Space Between

Pairing: AU Agatha Harkness x Reader, Past Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Warnings: Soft Domestic Themes, Fluff, Vulnerable Reader, Reassurance, Slight Angst, Comfort, Soft Agatha, Jealous Rio, Possessive Agatha, Defensive Agatha, Happy Endings.

Word count: 15.8k

Summary: Agatha Harkness has finally found happiness again. As a powerhouse district attorney in New York City, she's built a life she's incredibly proud of-with a woman she loves deeply. You, a sharp and intuitive NYPD detective, have become her home, her solace. But loving Agatha means accepting that parts of her past will always linger, and one part in particular comes with piercing dark eyes and a smirk that still holds too much power.

Rio Vidal-high-end art dealer, Agatha's ex-wife, and the mother of their six-year-old son, Nicholas. Rio's presence is constant & unavoidable. She and Agatha share a child, a history, a familiarity that you can never touch. And as you watched the perfect little family interact-Agatha brushing a wave from Nicholas' forehead, Rio laughing at an inside joke from years before-doubt begins to takes root. No matter how much you love her, will you ever truly belong?

A/N: Ngl rio is kinda a raging bitch in this one so i honestly understand if it’s not your cup of tea. Everyone’s got reading preferences. These are just ONE of mine—✋🏽😭 Ts is unreasonably long, so it stretches over several days. My apologies I fr got carried away. I’ll warn you now there is a some light pov switching but not too bad. (More note at the end to avoid spoilers)

Taglist: @ambessas-doll @milflovers4 @graceful-witch07

There were rare moments in life when everything felt still—when the weight of the world, the noise of the city, and the unrelenting press of time all seemed to pause.This much to your appreciation, was one of them.

The world outside continued its relentless churn—sirens echoing in the distance, the muffled thrum of life pressing against the city walls—but in here, in the quiet hum of your shared space, time stretched into something languid and unhurried.

You’re currently stretched out on the couch resting your head against Agatha’s chest, your legs tangled together under the blanket. The TV flickered in the dimly lit apartment, but neither of you were truly paying attention to the out dated comedy drama playing on the screen.

Agatha’s fingers danced absently along the length of your arm, drawing lazy circles that sent tendrils of warmth skittering beneath your skin. Her other hand rested low on your hip, fingers curled just enough to remind you she was there. The slow, even rhythm of her breathing against the crown of your head was as familiar as the city skyline beyond the window, a steady presence in a life that had once felt anything but.

“You falling asleep on me?” you murmured, your lips curving as you felt her chin still on top of your head.

A soft, almost reluctant hum came from her chest. “Mmhmm. But in my defense, I’ve had a long day and a bottle of wine.”

“You’ve had two glasses” you corrected pulling back to tilt your head up slightly. Catching the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips.

Agatha arched a lazy brow, her fingers pausing against your arm to give a light pinch. “Are you calling me a lightweight?” There was mock offense in her voice, but the way her lips brushed softly against your hairline betrayed the teasing lilt beneath it.

You chuckled, shifting just enough to tighten your hold around her. “Oh counselor, I would never.” You teased softly. The truth was, Agatha Harkness was not a lightweight in any sense of the word. She moved through life with an unshakable confidence, commanding it and any courtroom unlucky enough with the same precision she used to navigate the tangled mess of your heart.

There was a sharpness to her, an edge honed by years of experience, yet here—away from the ruthless battles of the legal world, away from the weight of expectation—she was softer. Still sharp, still quick-witted, but warm in a way that felt like something only you were allowed to see.

A rare, well-kept secret.

She exhaled against you, her fingers brushing your shoulder as she pressed another soft, absentminded kiss to your head. “Y’know” she mused, voice thick with teasing. “The more I think about it, I’m pretty sure you were the one who fell for me first….”

You scoffed, twisting slightly to look up at her. The amusement in her eyes was unmistakable, dancing like the flicker of the TV’s light. “Oh, please. You were looking at me like I was the answer to a question you didn’t even know you were asking—”

Agatha smirked, tilting her head. “Detective, if I recall correctly, you were standing over a mutilated body when we first met.”

You grinned, settling back against her chest. “Precisely.” She let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “I did think you were quite the pain in the ass.”

“Incorrect, you were the one getting in my way,” you shot back, your fingers tracing over her arm in slow, deliberate strokes. “Always looming, always arguing with me in those ridiculously— distracting high heels.”

Agatha chuckled softly. “I was just doing my job.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?” You arched a brow, shifting to the side slightly, wedging your body between her own and the cushions, allowing you to face her now more comfortably. You kept your leg slotted between her own, enjoying the close contact. “It honestly felt like you were trying to bully me into letting you do whatever you wanted.”

Her fingers tightened around your hip, a pleased, knowing smile curling her lips. “And yet, here you are, tangled up with me on my couch.” She tilted her head down, brushing a slow, lazy kiss against your jaw. “Guess my tactics worked.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. “You’re so insufferable.” you muttered softly.

“And you’re so in love with me” she countered, her voice impossibly smooth as she dragged the words over your skin. Your breath hitched slightly—not much, but just enough for her to catch. Agatha, ever observant, pulled back just enough to study your face, her smirk softening into something more genuine, something that made your heart ache in the best way.

“Seriously,” she murmured, her thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone, slow and unhurried. “I think about it sometimes—how we got here. You and me.”

You swallowed, bringing you hand up, fingers threading through her own. “You mean how we went from arguing over an active crime scene to you hijacking all the blankets every night?”

“Exactly.” Her lips quirked at the corner. “I like this ending much better.”

You exhaled, letting your forehead press up against hers. “Me too.” Her grip on you tightened momentarily, as if she could press the moment further into permanence. There was something in her touch that felt like gratitude, like a quiet acknowledgment of the long road that had led you here. You settled back into her chest, nuzzling your cheek into her sweater.

The case on which you both had first met was high profile—a gruesome homicide that sent shockwaves through the city. You had been the lead detective assigned to the case, and Agatha had been the assigned ADA. Your first encounter had been a clash of sharp minds and sharper tongues. Your captain damn near had to separate the both of you within the first fifteen minutes, neither party would stop bickering like petulant children.

She had accused you of overstepping; you had accused her of being a bureaucratic nightmare, too clinical in a case that demanded something more human. She had scoffed at your bleeding heart sentimentality, you had bristled at her bold arrogance.

But somewhere between the heated debates and the begrudging late-night case reviews, something had shifted. Somewhere in the wreckage of your stubbornness and hers, the lines had blurred. And now, here you were. Curled up against her, wrapped in the warmth of something that had once felt absolutely impossible. The weight of the day melted away beneath her touch, the steady rise and fall of her breath settling against you like a quiet reassurance.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your the top of your hair. “That usually means you’re thinking too much.”

You huffed out a laugh, giving her waist a squeeze. “Just appreciating the moment.”

Agatha hummed, content. “Well, for the record, I like this moment too.” Her voice was softer now, laced with something private, something only for you. Her hand slipped up underneath the back of your shirt, fingertips skating slowly along your spine, drawing lazy patterns that sent a shiver up your back. The way she touched you wasn’t idle—it never was. It was intentional, a reassurance wrapped in the weight of her presence.

You smiled against her touch, allowing yourself to sink further into her warmth, into the rare stillness of this place, of this moment. Outside, the city continued its ceaseless march, cars moving in a constant rhythm, lights flashing, voices blending into an indistinct hum. But inside, in the quiet bubble of your apartment, wrapped in her arms, the world felt smaller, Softer.

It was then that the phone rang. Agatha groaned, an exaggerated, disgruntled sound, letting her head drop back against the couch with theatrical flair. “No. No, I refuse.”

You smirked, shifting slightly off of her to grab both of your cell phones from the coffee table, your fingers brushing against hers as you passed over her device. “It’s not me love.”

Her shoulders, once lax and at ease, stiffened the second she glanced at her screen. The shift was instantaneous, the moment shattered before it could fully settle. The small smile that had been on her lips moments ago disappeared, and in its place, the familiar lines of tension pulled at her features. You didn’t have to ask—you already knew who it was.

You hesitated, already starting to move off of her, intending to give her privacy. But before you could completely move away, an arm slipped around your waist tightening its hold, keeping you anchored down, a silent refusal.

Agatha exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a fraction of a second before swiping her thumb across the screen. “Rio” she said, her voice carrying that sharp edge it always did when she spoke to her ex-wife. A pause. You couldn’t make out the words on the other end, but the tone was enough—low, measured, insistent. Agatha’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the smooth expanse of her skin.

“Are you serious?” she hissed, her grip tightening on the phone. “First It’s my weekend, Second we got him settled less than half an hour ago. I agreed to—”Another pause. The muffled response was firm, unwavering. You could practically hear the smirk in Rio’s voice without having to make out the words.

Agatha rolled her eyes, dropping her head back dramatically against the arm of the couch. The exhaustion, the weight she carried so carefully beneath layers of dry wit and stubborn resilience, slipped through the cracks. You saw it, the way her posture stiffened, the way her fingers curled tighter around the device “Fine,” she bit out. “Give us fifteen minutes.”

She hung up with a sharp press of her thumb, the silence between you stretching taut as she tossed the phone aside, flexing her fingers as though shaking off the remnants of the conversation.

You knew what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth. “Let me guess,” you murmured, keeping your tone carefully even. “Rio needs something.” She didn’t answer immediately, but her silence was all the confirmation you needed.

You swallowed, shifting slightly, the familiar, unwelcome knot beginning to form in your stomach. You hated feeling this way, it felt juvenile. The way it always seemed to happen like this—your peace interrupted, stolen by the one person who seemed to know exactly how to wedge herself between you and Agatha, sometimes you swore she was doing this on purpose….“What is it?”

Agatha flexed her hand against your hip, fingers pressing absently into your skin as though grounding herself. “She’s leaving for an auction down state early tomorrow morning and will be gone for the week. She wants to stop by and say goodbye to Nicholas before she goes.”

The weight in your chest pressed heavier, sinking deep. You had always known that being with Agatha meant accepting that part of her life, that Rio would always be there, woven into the very fabric of it. You had told yourself over and over again that it didn’t bother you, that it didn’t matter. But knowing it and feeling it were two very different things. Your grip on the blanket tightened slightly. “Its kind of late, you’re just going to let her—”

“She’s his mother.” Agatha cut in, voice tight.

The finality in her tone made you flinch, and you hated yourself for it. Of course she was. You had no claim there, not really. For all that you and Agatha had built together, for all the love that existed between you, Nicholas was theirs. A bond you couldn’t touch. And Rio? She was a reminder that no matter how much you loved Agatha, no matter how much she loved you, there would always be a space between you. One you weren’t sure you could ever properly fill.

Agatha must have noticed the way your expression shifted, the way your fingers curled just slightly tighter into the fabric of the thick blanket, because her body softened beneath you. She reached for your hand, prying it free with gentle insistence before threading her fingers through yours.

“Hey,” she murmured, coaxing your gaze back to her. “I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop.”

You tried to force a smile. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.” Her lips quirked, though there was something sad in it. “Liar.”

You swallowed hard, looking away. “I just… sometimes I don’t know if I’ll ever fit.” The words felt fragile, vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to. You didn’t like it.

Agatha sighed then, shifting your body so that she could cup your face between her hands. Her thumbs brushed absently along your cheekbones, her touch grounding. “You do” she said softly, pressing her forehead to yours. “You do, sweetheart. I promise you do.”

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes for a moment, letting yourself lean into her warmth. Agatha wasn’t one for soft reassurances, not in words, but in this—her touch, her presence, the way she held you like you were something precious—you knew she meant it.

“I don’t want to be the outsider in my own life” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to wonder if I’ll ever truly belong here… or if you’ll ever truly belong to me—”

Agatha tilted her head, her lips ghosting the corner of your mouth. “You’re not an outsider. You never have been.”

You huffed, skeptical. “She—”

“Is just Rio,” Agatha interrupted, her tone firm but without malice. “And Nicholas—he’s ours. All of ours, do you hear me?” She pulled back enough to look you in the eye, her expression steady, unwavering. “You are not temporary. You are not some place filler. I chose you, and I will keep choosing you.” Your throat tightened, your mind grasping onto her words like a lifeline.

Agatha’s voice softened then, a rare kind of tenderness threading through it. “I know it’s not easy. I know she gets under your skin, makes you doubt. And I know I don’t always say things the way I should. But listen to me—this?” She gestured between the two of you, her hands moving from your face to rest over your heart. “This is real. You and me, we built something, something no one else can touch. Not her, not the past. You are mine, just as much as I am yours. I need you to believe that.”

Something inside you cracked at her words, the weight of your insecurities momentarily lifting under the certainty in her voice. She never just said things to make you feel better—Agatha Harkness was many things, but sentimental for sentimentality’s sake wasn’t one of them. If she said it, she meant it. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater as you whispered “Then make me believe it.”

Her breath hitched, her hand tightening ever so slightly on your face. And then, slowly, deliberately, she leaned in, pressing her lips firmly to your own. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was warm, lingering, filled with unspoken things neither of you had found the words for. She kissed you like she was sealing a promise, like she was anchoring you to this moment, to her.

When she finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours again, her voice quiet but certain. “You fit, my love,” she murmured. “You always have, And you always will.”

Her hands slipped down your arms, squeezing gently as she added, “So I’ll say it as many times as it takes. Every day, if I have to. I’ll carve it into the damn sky if that’s what you need.” Her lips brushed your temple, lingering. “You are not replaceable. You are not something I could ever grow tired of. You belong here—with me, with him, with us.”

A lump formed in your throat, your chest aching in the best and worst way. Agatha had never been one for grand declarations, but this—this was a promise written in her every touch, her every breath. Your fingers tightened in the fabric of her sweater, as if holding onto her securely could somehow make the feeling last longer. The warmth of her breath ghosted against your skin, the scent of her—something dark, something familiar—grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I hate that you know exactly what to say” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady.

Agatha huffed a small laugh, her fingers tracing a slow path down your arms before settling at your waist. “I don’t always,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “But when it comes to you, I really try.”

Your chest ached at that, the weight of her words curling around your ribs, making it hard to breathe. She wasn’t perfect—God, she wasn’t perfect, but neither were you. And maybe, maybe that was okay.

Your fingers released their hold trailing up, tracing the line of her jaw, your thumb brushing over the curve of her bottom lip. She was watching you—watching the way your breath hitched, the way your pulse betrayed you beneath her touch. Agatha’s hands tightened on your waist, drawing you closer until there was little space left between you. “You don’t have to try so hard…just stay” you had whispered

Something flickered in her eyes then, something deep and unreadable. And yet, there was no hesitation when she replied, “I’m right here.”When she looked at you like this—like you were something sacred, something only she had the right to hold—the rest of the world blurred into irrelevance. Her lips found yours again, but this time, there was something different in it.

Something sharper, something that tasted like possession. She kissed you like she needed to remind you, like she needed to make sure you felt every word she had just said. You were hers. Just as much as she was yours.

Your hands slid back, fingers wrapping around the back of her neck as she deepened the kiss, her tongue slipping past your lips caressing your own languidly. Her hands roamed—up your back, down your sides, fingers pressing in like she needed to feel every inch of you, needed to make sure you understood. This was real.

Slipping one hand up your back, her fingers tangling in your hair, body pressing firmly against your own. A whine escaped your throat, something soft, something surrendering, and Agatha swallowed it greedily.

As Agatha’s lips moved against yours with a slow, possessive hunger, her grip tightening to keep you close. The weight of you settled against her, legs tangled and bodies pressed together so there was no space left between you, only warmth and the rapid beat of your hearts. And then like clockwork—Theres a rapid knock at the door.

Agatha froze beneath you, her fingers still buried in your hair, her breath coming just a little heavier than before. Another knock followed, more insistent this time, breaking through the haze of the moment like a cruel interruption. You groaned against her lips, your forehead dropping to her shoulder in exasperation. “Of fucking course.”

Agatha’s grip on you didn’t loosen. “I might actually set something on fire.” she muttered, voice low and full of irritation

You huffed out a quiet laugh, nuzzling against her neck for just a moment longer before reluctantly pulling back enough to meet her gaze. “Tempting, but I think Nicky would be very disappointed if you burned our home down.”

Agatha exhaled sharply through her nose, her hand moving lower down to your hip, fingers flexing like she wasn’t quite ready to let go. “He’d get over it.”

You smiled, brushing your nose against hers before pressing the softest kiss to her jaw. “Agatha” you drawled.

She tilted her head back with a huff , clearly not pleased about any of this. “What.”

“We can finish this later.” Your voice was a quiet promise, your hand slipping down to rest over hers. “I swear it.”

She studied you, her sharp blue eyes searching yours like she needed to be certain you weren’t just saying it to placate her. After a long moment, she let out a dramatic sigh, fully dropping her hands back against the cushions stubbornly. “You better mean that.”

You smirked. Leaning in to nip lightly at her bottom lip before finally sitting up, resting a hand on top of the back of the couch, still straddling her thigh. “Oh I mean it.” You purred, adding a teasingly roll of your hips hoping to incentivize her, which really on your part was dumb a mistake.

Her hands immediately snapped back into position, tightened on your hips as she raised her leg quickly, pressing it firmly between your own. Slowly she grinds you down against her flexed muscle, a firm but deliberate motion, guiding your hips.

Your breath hitched softly as your hands scrambled to her shoulders, fingers digging in roughly to ground yourself. The friction between her thigh and your leggings rubbing achingly slow across your already sensitive core was providing was absolutely delicious feeling. You could slowly feel your resolve slipping, maybe you could pretend you both fell asleep and she would just disappear.

Agatha smirked at you triumphantly voice dropping to a seductive purr “We could always just-“ she began to whisper when another knock, sharper and louder this time rang through the apartment cutting her off mid sentence. Agatha groaned ceasing her guided movements of your hips, throwing a glare towards the door.

You sighed, with a quick kiss to her cheek you pushed yourself off of her with no small amount of reluctance, shifting to sit on the cushion beside her “Let’s just be civil, this shouldn’t be long” You muttered softly.

Agatha sighed beside you, rubbing a hand over her face before sitting up. “No promises. Another knock on the door came louder than necessary. You had expected Rio to show up with the effortless ease of someone who belonged, but there was something almost pointed in the way she knocked—as if she was already staking her claim before even stepping inside.

You straightened up properly, smoothing down the wrinkles in your shirt. Agatha huffed pushing herself up from the couch before dragging her feet to the door. It swung open, revealing Rio Vidal in all her effortlessly put-together glory.

Dressed in a tailored black coat and knee-high boots. Her dark shoulder length hair was swept back, accentuating sharp cheekbones and the ever-present smirk tugging at her lips. “Well,” she drawled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Don’t you two just look cozy.” Your spine stiffened.

Agatha didn’t waver. “Was this necessary, Rio?”

Rio hummed, casually undoing the buttons of her coat as she surveyed the space with an air of practiced indifference. “Saying goodnight to my son? Which, by the way, I did text about. Yes. So please, let’s not act surprised.”

Agatha’s lips pressed together. “He’s asleep by now.”

“And whose fault is that?” Rio countered smoothly, dark eyes flickering past Agatha—toward you. “You could have let me come earlier, but I understand. Timing is everything.”

Her gaze swept over you with the kind of casual assessment that wasn’t outright dismissive but carried just enough weight to make itself known. A subtle pressure applied without force—enough to see if you’d flinch. You didn’t. Agatha, however, stepped in before anything could settle. “You don’t get to do this and then act like the wronged party.”

Rio’s lips twitched, almost amused, before she tilted her head slightly. “I didn’t say I was wronged. Just that I could’ve come earlier, before it was so crowded. Maybe I should have insisted.”

Agatha scoffed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. “Oh, please.”

Rio’s smirk widened as she unbuttoned her coat further, as if making herself comfortable, even in the face of Agatha’s barely concealed anger. “Well, I do try to be polite when it suits me.” Her gaze flickered toward you again, as if the statement was meant for you as much as it was for Agatha.

Agatha’s jaw tightened. “And yet, here you are, proving otherwise.”

Rio exhaled a soft, knowing chuckle, unbothered by the venom in Agatha’s voice. “Oh, Aggie always so dramatic.” She finally turned her full attention back to Agatha, tilting her head in faux consideration.

“You can drop the act, you know. I’m not here to steal your time. I just wanted to check on Nicky.” There was something deliberate in the way she spoke, like every word was placed exactly where it needed to be, not a single one wasted.

Agatha let out a slow, measured breath. “You’re going to say goodnight to Nicholas, and then you’re going to leave. If you’re looking to stir something up, do it somewhere else.”

Rio sighed, shaking her head as if Agatha were being unreasonable. “You always think the worst of me.”

Agatha’s arms crossed. “Because I unfortunately know you.”

There was a pause before Rio’s gaze flickered back to you, her expression unreadable. “I imagine that must take patience.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “What?”

Rio offered a small, easy smile. “Just that she’s always been… particular. About everything.” She gestured loosely toward Agatha. “That kind of intensity can be overwhelming in the long run, if you’re not used to it.” There was nothing outwardly cruel about the words, nothing sharp or direct. But they lingered just long enough for you to feel them.

Agatha exhaled through her nose, irritation creeping into her expression. “That’s enough.”

Rio lifted her hands in mock surrender, all charm and ease. “No offense meant. Just an observation.” The smirk didn’t fade, but there was something satisfied in the way her eyes flickered over Agatha’s stance, like she had gotten exactly what she wanted. A reaction. A tell.

Agatha shifted, stepping in front of you slightly—not quite blocking, but just enough that the intent was clear. The movement was subtle, instinctual, protective. “I’m not repeating myself,” Agatha said, her voice steady, low. “Go.”

Rio exhaled through her nose, shaking her head in a way that almost looked amused. “You really are no fun anymore.” Agatha’s expression didn’t change. A beat of silence. A stare-down.

Something passed between them, something quiet and unspoken, built on history, on a language neither of them had to speak aloud. You hated it. Then finally, Rio let out a small, almost wistful sigh before tilting her head toward the hallway. “Fine. I’ll be quick.” She peeled her coat off her shoulders, tossing it onto the chair before disappeared down the hall, leaving you and Agatha alone in the tension-choked living room.

Silence. The kind that lingers too long, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on your ribs. You exhaled slowly, trying to will the tightness in your chest away, but it clung to you. Agatha was already looking at you, Her face softened. “You okay?”

You forced a bitter smirk, leaning back against the couch. “Oh, sure. Love feeling like an afterthought in my own home.”

Agatha sighed and closed the distance between you. She sat beside you, reaching for your hand—but you hesitated. Just a second too long. Her fingers hovered, then curled into her palm before she let them rest on her lap instead. Her lips pressed together. “Don’t do that.”

You swallowed. “Do what?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Push me away.”

You almost laughed, Almost. Because it wasn’t her you were pushing away. It was the gnawing, relentless feeling in your gut—the whisper of doubt that refused to be silenced. The part of you that constantly screamed you don’t belong here, a voice that conveniently sounded like rio….But she wouldn’t understand that. Not fully. You sighed and shook your head. “I just—” You stopped, words catching in your throat. Agatha waited. She was always good at waiting for you. Finally, you whispered dejectedly “She fits Agatha.”

Agatha let out a breath, her expression shifting—not frustration, not anger, just something softer. Something sad. She reached for you again, slower this time, like she was giving you a choice. When you didn’t pull away, her fingers found yours, squeezing lightly. “You honestly think love is about fitting perfectly into each other’s lives?” Her voice was quiet, steady. “You think that’s what that was?”

You hesitated. “I—”

She shook her head softly cutting you off. “No. It’s about choosing. Every day. Through the easy parts and the hard ones. Through the doubts and the arguments.”

Your throat tightened. “I know. But what if—”

She didn’t let you finish. Agatha shifted closer, her free hand moving to cup your cheek, her touch grounding. “No. Not ‘what if.’ Not with us.”

Your breath caught. “But she—”

“Is not you.” Her voice was firm. “I need you to hear me when I say this. She could be a thousand unsavory things, but she’s not you. And I—” She swallowed, voice dipping into something quieter, almost vulnerable. “I don’t want a version of this that doesn’t have you in it.”

You blinked, startled by the intensity of her words. Her fingers brushed against your jaw, thumb tracing soft, slow circles. “I love you” A small, wry smile tugged at her lips. “And frankly, you piss me off sometimes. But I still love you.”

That startled a weak chuckle from you, and she took the opportunity—leaning in, her nose brushing yours before her lips met yours in a kiss. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft. Intentional. A reassurance pressed into you, meant to settle the storm in your chest. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. “I really need you to believe me.”

Your fingers curled around hers, holding tight.

“I’m trying, I promise.” She was watching you so intently, eyes searching yours, waiting for you to believe her words. To believe that her love was enough. But before either of you could break the quiet, Rio’s voice cut through the air.

“Well,” she mused, her tone smooth as ever. “Wasn’t that sweet.” You tensed as Rio strolled back into the living room, moving like she owned the place, like she had the right to comment on whatever she’d just walked in on. Her gaze flicked lazily between you and Agatha, lips curling at the corners, like she’d found something amusing.

Agatha, to her credit, didn’t so much as flinch. “Is he back asleep?”

“Of course,” Rio said, slipping her coat back on. “Not that I expected anything less. He’s always an angel with me.”

Agatha’s brow twitched, but she let it go. “Then you can leave now.”

Rio’s smirk deepened. “Why must you always be so eager to kick me out?” The air between them was sharp, carrying an old familiar ease that came from years of knowing someone too well. It made your stomach turn. Rio’s presence had a way of settling over the room like smoke, curling into spaces it didn’t belong, clinging to the air. Maybe that was what Rio found so amusing—the fact that you were standing here, trying to carve a place for yourself in a life that had already been lived, lived in by her.

Her gaze slid to you, sharp and assessing, flickering over you like she was trying to place you in the picture she had of Agatha’s life. Her smirk widened though it seemed angrily “So, how long have you two been—playing house?”

You clenched your jaw, pulse kicking up. “Not that it’s any of your business, but long enough.”

Rio’s brows lifted, feigning innocence. “Oh? Long enough for what?”

“Long enough to know I’m not going anywhere” you said evenly, holding her gaze. For the briefest second, something passed through Rio’s expression—something quick and sharp, like a crack in an otherwise flawless mask. But then, just as easily, it was gone. She chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, Detective. I’ll give you that one.”

You didn’t know what irritated you more—the way she said it, like this was a game, or the fact that Agatha obviously hadn’t told her you were officially living here yet, Had she deemed it not worth mentioning? Despite everything, Rio assumed you were still just a visitor in the space, And that realization settles in your chest like lead.

Agatha shifted closer to you, her fingers curling tightly into yours—not for show, not to prove anything to Rio, but because she wanted to. For you. Rio’s gaze flickered downward, noticing the gesture. “You really do like making things permanent, don’t you Aggie?”

Agatha’s grip tightened sharply around your hand. “Don’t push it.”

Rio raised her hands in mock surrender, but her smirk remained. “Relax. I’m just making conversation.” She adjusted her coat, taking a step back toward the door. “But since you both seem to be getting so comfortable, I suppose I should get going.”

Rio’s smirk lingered as she turned sauntering away, reaching for the door handle. Just as she was halfway out, she turned over her shoulder. “By the way” she mused, eyes flickering toward Agatha, “Nicholas asked about our wedding today. Thought you might want to know.”

Agatha barely reacted. If anything, there was the faintest arch of her brow, as if the comment was dull, hardly worth addressing. “And?”

That single word was sharp. Indifferent. Rio’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second. “Just thought it was interesting” she said, tone still light but missing its usual bite.

You leaned into Agatha slightly, letting the warmth of her presence settle against yours. “Kids are curious” you said easily, flashing Rio a small smile. “But I wouldn’t overthink it too much.”

Rio’s jaw tightened just barely, but she smoothed it over so quickly that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But you did, Agatha did, And that made victory so much sweeter. Rio adjusted her coat, giving you both one last unreadable look before exhaling. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to whatever this is.”

Agatha’s lips curled, just slightly. “Yes. You should.” Rio didn’t rise to it. Didn’t let anything crack. But as she stepped outside and shut the door behind her, there was no doubt—it had gotten under her skin. And that? That felt really damn good.

As the door shut with a satisfying finality, you exhaled, letting your head fall back against the couch. Agatha’s presence beside you was a solid warmth, something steady after the whirlwind that was Rio Vidal. Agatha stretched her arms over her head with a dramatic sigh before settling back into the couch, tilting her head to regard you with a lazy smirk. “Well, that was exhausting,” she drawled, shifting so she could lay back against the cushions, making herself comfortable. “You should come over here and comfort me.”

You scoffed, pushing yourself up to sit straighter. “Excuse me?”

She hummed, opening her arms invitingly. “Come on, darling. It’s been a long night. Let’s not pretend we don’t both want to curl up and pretend we don’t exist for a while.”

You eyed her, unimpressed. “You’re awfully demanding for someone who just had their ass verbally handed to them.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “That was not an ass-handing. That was a minor inconvenience.” She reached for you then, tugging at the sleeve of your shirt with a small pout. “Come on. Just lay down.”

You didn’t budge. “Why didn’t you tell Rio that I was living here now?” Agatha stilled, fingers curling slightly where they still rested against your sleeve. You watched as her eyes flickered away for a moment, her lips pressing together in something unreadable before she sighed, pulling her hand back.

She let out an exaggerated sigh, tipping her head back against the cushions before glancing at you with a look that was equal parts tired and exasperated. “Because I didn’t feel like dealing with her shit” she said flatly. “You’ve seen her—she’d either turn it into a melodramatic soap opera or make some passive-aggressive dig about how tragic it is that we ended up here. Frankly, I wasn’t in the mood for either.”

You gave her a long, unimpressed stare. “So you just… didn’t tell her?”

She scoffed. “What, was I supposed to send out a formal announcement? ‘Dear Ex-Wife just a heads-up, y/n is residing here for the foreseeable future. So please, feel free to drop by and ruin my day at your earliest convenience’?” She waved a hand, sarcasm dripping from her words. “No, thank you.”

You folded your arms, still watching her, waiting for more. And Agatha—Agatha always noticed when you were waiting. She exhaled, letting her head roll back to the side to look at you, something in her gaze a little less flippant now. “Look,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face, “I didn’t want her showing up here, sniffing around, trying to get a read on things. On me, on us…on you.” She paused, her voice dropping just slightly. “She’s already got enough power in my life. I wasn’t about to hand her more.”

That landed. You didn’t say anything right away, just watching the way she now stared at some indiscernible spot on the ceiling like she was regretting saying anything at all. It was rare that Agatha admitted when something unsettled her—when someone unsettled her. You let out a slow breath. “Fair enough,” you murmured.

Agatha perked up immediately, reaching toward you with a triumphant grin as she opened her arms once more. “Excellent. Now, are you going to stop being stubborn and come here, or do I have to start fake-sobbing about how heartless you are?”

You scoffed but didn’t fight her this time as you shifted down, letting her pull you down into her arms. “You are exhausting.”

She hummed, her fingers lightly tracing along your arm as she smirked against your hair. “And yet, you’re still here.” She hummed pressing a soft kiss to your temple as you settled against her.

——————————

The first thing you registered was warmth. Not just the kind from the thick blanket draped over you, but the kind that seeped into your skin—the steady, familiar heat of Agatha pressed against you. Your eyes fluttered open, the dim glow of morning light filtering through the living room curtains. It took a second to orient yourself, to push through the grogginess clinging to your mind.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep out here. The last thing you remembered was curling up with Agatha on the couch, her arms wrapped around you as some old sitcom was playing on the TV. You must have drifted off somewhere between her teasing commentary and the soothing cadence of her voice.

Now, she was still asleep behind you, her breath warm against the back of your neck, her arm draped over your waist as if even in sleep, she refused to let go. The apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of steady breathing, the gentle rise and fall of Agatha’s chest against your back. Your legs were tangled together beneath the blanket, the soft scent of her lingering in the space between you.

You were warm. Safe. Home. For a moment, you let yourself sink into it. And then—Tiny hands gripped your shoulders, shaking you with all the strength of a six-year-old on a mission. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

You let out a groggy hum, barely opening your eyes before being met with a pair of bright, mischievous ones staring back at you. Nicholas. You blinked at him, voice still thick with sleep. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Pancakes,” he declared confidently. “I want pancakes.” You chuckled, rubbing your eyes. “What, no ‘good morning’ first?”

Nicholas sighed dramatically. “Good morning, my favorite person in the world,” he amended, flashing you a cheeky smile. “Now please make me pancakes.”

You feigned consideration, glancing over your shoulder toward Agatha. She was still asleep, her face relaxed in a way you rarely got to see. Carefully and with much skill, you slipped from her grasp without waking her—one you had perfected over the months of sleeping beside a woman who endearingly clung to you like a damn octopus in her sleep.

“Alright, my little prince,” you whispered conspiratorially, ruffling Nicholas’s hair. “Let’s go make some pancakes.” His face lit up, and in that moment, you felt nothing but pure love.

Once In the kitchen, You lifted Nicholas placing him on the counter beside you, little feet swinging as he stirred the batter with exaggerated focus. You kept a steadying hand on the bowl, watching as his tiny hands worked the oversized spoon. “You’re getting better at this,” you mused, nudging him lightly.

“I am,” he agreed, brows furrowed in concentration. “I think I’m like a chef now.”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely. A pancake master, even.” Nicholas beamed, clearly pleased with himself, before turning his attention back to the batter. The two of you worked in perfect rhythm—you pouring, him stirring, you flipping, him counting down the seconds until the pancakes were golden brown.

And in the midst of it all, you felt a pair of eyes on you. You glanced over your shoulder. Agatha stood in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame as she watched the two of you. Something in her gaze made your stomach flip—something soft, something unreadable. But before you could ask, before you could decipher what was behind those alluring blue eyes, she blinked, shaking off whatever thought had rooted her in place. Her lips curled into a smirk. “You’ve traded my expertise for my own sons, I see.”

Nicholas grinned. “Yup!”

You laughed, flipping another pancake onto the growing stack. “To be fair, he’s a better sous chef than you.”

Agatha scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and making her way toward you. “Excuse me? I am exceptional at breakfast-related endeavors.”

Nicholas giggled. “No mom, you’re really not.”

“Utter betrayal—” Agatha muttered, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest.

You smirked, handing her a plate. “You gonna eat, or are you just here to make unnecessary commentary?” Agatha took the plate but didn’t immediately move to grab a pancake. Instead, she hesitated—just for a moment before her gaze settled on you again. That same look. That same unreadable expression. You tilted your head quizzically. “What?”

Agatha blinked, as if snapping out of it. “Nothing,” she said smoothly, rolling her shoulders back. “Just thinking.”

You didn’t push, But you noticed. As the day stretched on, the three of you moved through it in an easy rhythm. Nicholas, ever the ball of boundless energy, insisted on playing outside after breakfast, and you indulged him, bundling him up in his coat before stepping out into the crisp air.

Agatha lingered just inside the window, sipping her coffee as she watched you chase Nicholas across the small playground. He shrieked with laughter when you finally caught him, scooping him up and spinning him around in the air before depositing him back onto the ground. He stumbled, dizzy but delighted, and immediately started plotting his next escape.

You turned your head up just in time to catch Agatha watching again. It had become a pattern throughout the morning so far—the glances, the long stares, the way she’d snap out of it whenever you caught her. You wanted to push, to ask, but every time you did, she would smirk, shrug or simply say nothing. This time a small smile before retreating from the windowsill, and away from view.

Lunch was a casual affair—grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, something simple that Nicholas could still help with. He sat on the counter again, happily buttering the bread (with far too much enthusiasm), while you grilled the sandwiches on the stove. Agatha leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, observing.

You sighed, looking at her over your shoulder. “Are you going to help or just stand there and make me nervous?”

Agatha smirked. “Oh, I don’t need to help. You’re doing such a wonderful job.”

Nicholas nodded sagely. “The best grilled cheese maker.”

You hummed, flipping a sandwich. “At least someone here appreciates my talents.”

Agatha chuckled but didn’t stop watching. That same thoughtful look flickered across her face again, but just as quickly, she masked it. You let it slide, For now.

The day carried on, filled with small, quiet moments of domesticity. Nicholas played, you and Agatha cleaned up, and the three of you spent the afternoon sprawled on the couch watching some animated movie that Nicholas insisted was the best thing ever.

At some point before the film even ended, Nicholas had curled up against Agatha, drifting into a light nap. You stole glances at them as Agatha absentmindedly smoothed a hand over his wild waves, fingers light and gentle. The sight did something strange to your chest, but you pushed it down, unwilling to linger on the feeling. Instead, you stood, stretching. “Dinner?”

Agatha arched a brow, her hand still resting against Nicholas’ hair. “Feeling ambitious?”

“Always.”

She smirked softly shifting Nicholas to rest on the cushions, before following you into the kitchen. Nicholas eventually wandered in a few minutes later, groggy but eager to help. You tasked him with something simple—ripping basil leaves while you and Agatha worked side by side, chopping vegetables, simmering sauces, moving in and out of each other’s space without effort. It was easy. Too easy.

Every time you glanced up, she was looking again. Every time you brushed past her, you swore you felt her hesitate, just for a second, before stepping aside. By the time dinner was ready, your patience was running thin.

The three of you sat at the table, plates full, wine poured for the adults, and conversation flowing naturally. Nicholas was happily chatting about some grand adventure he had concocted in his head, going on about dragons and wizards and heroes, and you were content to listen, nodding along as you ate.

But no matter how hard you attempted, your mind couldn’t completely focus on the wild story, It was on Agatha. She wasn’t eating so much as picking at her food, twirling her fork between her fingers. Every so often, her gaze would drift to you, linger, then shift away. Finally, you set your fork down with a sigh. “Alright. What is it?” Agatha blinked, looking up. You leveled her with a stare. “You’ve been watching me all day and now you’re being all weird”

She smirked, tilting her head. “Have I?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned.

Nicholas glanced between the two of you momentarily, clearly sensing something but too preoccupied with his meal to show much interest. Agatha hummed, taking a slow sip of her wine before setting the glass down. And then, with that infuriating smirk still in place, she simply said, “Nothing.”

You exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to throw your napkin at her. “Liar.”

She chuckled, but didn’t elaborate. Didn’t say a word. Just watched you over the rim of her glass, eyes twinkling with something secret, something unreadable.

After dinner, the three of you moved through the familiar routine of cleaning up, each settling into their unspoken roles—Nicholas setting his plate in the sink, you washing, and Agatha drying. The house was warm with the lingering smell of dinner, and the steady rhythm of it all felt… natural. Comfortable. Something that had been done a thousand times before.

Once the kitchen was tidy, Nicholas tugged at your sleeve, looking up at you with sleepy eyes. “Bedtime?” he mumbled around a yawn.

You smiled, brushing his curls back. “Unfortunately it is my dear, Let’s go get you tucked in.” Agatha followed as you led him to his room, the three of you moving in quiet synchrony. Nicholas climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin as you and Agatha settled on either side of him.

“Story?” he asked, blinking up at you both.

Agatha smirked. “Didn’t you just tell us an entire saga over dinner?”

Nicholas pouted. “That was different.”

You chuckled, smoothing a hand over his forehead. “Alright, alright. A short one.”Nicholas snuggled deeper into the blankets, content. You glanced at Agatha, arching a brow. “You wanna do the honors?”

She hesitated. Just for a second. Then, with a small sigh, she shifted, leaning closer to Nicholas. “Once upon a time,” she began, voice softer than usual, “there was a little prince who thought he was a dragon.”

Nicholas giggled, immediately enraptured.

“And this little prince who was definitely a dragon—was the fiercest, bravest creature in all the land,” Agatha continued, her voice dipping into something almost melodic. “He had fire in his heart and magic in his veins, and no one could stop him.” You listened, watching her as she spun the story, watching the way Nicholas hung onto every word. And maybe, just maybe, you hung onto them too.

By the time she finished, Nicholas’ eyes had begun to droop, his little hand curled into the blanket. You reached out, brushing his hair back once more. “Goodnight, my little prince.”

“G’night,” he murmured sleepily, already half gone. Agatha leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, something soft, something natural. “Sleep well, baby dragon.” He hummed in response, already lost to sleep.

As you quietly shut Nicholas’ bedroom door, the warmth of the moment still lingered between you and Agatha. For a long second, neither of you spoke, standing side by side in the dim hallway, listening to the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing through the door.

Then Agatha let out a quiet exhale, the kind that carried more weight than it should, and you turned to look at her. “You okay?” you asked, voice hushed, not wanting to disturb the stillness of the apartment.

She tilted her head, gaze flicking to the door before settling on you. “He really is something, isn’t he?” You softened. “Yeah. He is.”

She nodded, lips pressed together as if she were holding back something else, something bigger. But then, as if deciding against it, she simply sighed, shaking her head. You nudged her gently with your shoulder. “Come on, let’s get some rest before he wakes us up at an ungodly hour demanding more food again.”

Agatha let out a quiet chuckle but didn’t argue, following you toward the bedroom. The walk was slow, neither of you in any rush, as if stretching out the peace for as long as possible. The soft glow of a lamp in the corner cast long shadows, painting the space in warm, muted tones. The air between you had shifted—not tense, not uncertain, but something else. Something quieter.

When you stepped inside, you made your way to the dresser, to grab something more comfortable to sleep in. Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, rolling her shoulders back, stretching as if trying to shake off an invisible weight. And then, when you turned, you caught her staring. Again. You sighed, exasperated but not annoyed. “Alright. Spill.”

Agatha arched a brow. “Spill what?”

You crossed your arms, leveling her with a look. “You’ve been watching me all day. And before you say ‘nothing’ again, I swear I will throw this pill bottle at you.” She smirked at that, but there was something softer beneath it. She hesitated, and for a moment, you thought she’d deflect again. But then, after a long pause, she exhaled, fingers idly tracing the seam of the blanket.

“I was just thinking,” she admitted. “About today. About how… nice it was.” You arched a brow, waiting for her to elaborate.

She hesitated, her fingers lightly brushing against the bedspread as she searched for the right words. “I just… appreciate it.”

Your expression softened. “Appreciate what?” you asked slowly making your way to the bed, settling down on your side.

She met your gaze, something quiet and contemplative in her eyes. “You,” she admitted. “This.” Your heart thudded a little harder against your ribs. Agatha inhaled slowly, like she was steadying herself. “The way we move together. How easy it is. How we just… work.” She let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh. “Even after all these months, after everything we’ve been through, you still seem to know me better than most people. Better than I know myself sometimes.” You swallowed, something warm settling in your chest.

Agatha shook her head, a small, almost self-deprecating smirk pulling at her lips. “I used to think love was just—” She waved a hand vaguely. “Something complicatedly toxic. Something that came with rules and conditions, something that required you to constantly prove yourself.” She huffed, shaking her head. “But with you… it’s never felt like that.” Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what to say.

Agatha’s gaze flickered to yours again, something unreadable in those deep blue eyes. “I don’t just love you,” she murmured. “I choose you, Every day. Over and over.” You felt your breath hitch, caught in the weight of those words. She let out a soft exhale, as if she had just realized something herself. “And I want to keep choosing you.”

Your fingers twitched where they rested on the sheets, as if they were resisting the urge to reach for her. Agatha shook her head again, almost in disbelief, her lips curving slightly.

After a few moments in silence she blinked, as if processing what she had just said, then laughed softly, almost to herself. “I mean, I already knew that. But today—today just…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It made me sure.” You stared at her, warmth flooding through you like a slow-moving tide.

Agatha glanced down, as if suddenly aware of how much she had just confessed. Then, with a light scoff, she reclined back against the pillows, rolling her shoulders as if to shake off the weight of her own emotions. “Well,” she drawled, “that’s enough sincerity for one night.”

You let out a breath of laughter, shaking your head. “Yeah, wouldn’t want you to spontaneously combust from all the genuine emotions.”

She hummed. “Exactly.” You rolled your eyes but followed her lead, slipping beneath the covers, the warmth of her presence grounding. The room fell into a comfortable silence, the kind only the two of you could share. And then a hand, Light, Tentative. Brushing against your hip beneath the blanket before slowly pulling you closer, closing what little space remained.

Agatha’s warmth pressed against your back, the steady rise and fall of her breathing a quiet reassurance. She didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. Instead, she slipped an arm around your waist, her fingers curling against your ribs as if afraid you might slip away.

Just as sleep began to pull you under, you felt it. A soft press of lips against the curve of your neck—brief, lingering just long enough to leave a ghost of warmth in its wake. A silent promise. You hummed breath leveling out slowly, letting yourself sink into it, into her. And with that, Agatha sighed against your skin, her body relaxing into yours as sleep finally claimed you both.

——————————

The apartment was still draped in the quiet hush of morning when Agatha woke up. The warmth of your body pressed against hers, your steady breathing the only sound in the room. For a long moment, she simply lay there, absorbing the peace, knowing how fleeting it could be.

She turned her head, eyes tracing the features she had memorized over the time together. The slope of your nose, the way your lips softened in sleep, the way her pillow always managed to keep the faintest trace of your scent. A pang of something deep and certain settled in her chest.

Today was the day. She had been thinking about it for a while, but now, finally, she was ready. And she needed help.

Carefully, she slipped out from under the covers, moving with precision. She brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, resisting the urge to press a lingering kiss to your forehead before turning away. Silent as a shadow, she pulled on her hoodie and padded barefoot down the hallway, ensuring each step was measured—she couldn’t risk waking you.

Reaching Nicholas’ room, she eased the door open, peeking inside. He was a tiny bundle beneath the blankets, only his wild waves visible, his foot sticking out from under the covers at an odd angle.

Agatha smirked, stepping inside and kneeling beside the bed. With gentle fingers, she smoothed a hand over his back. “Wake up my little dragon.”

Nicholas groaned, shifting but not quite waking. “Nooo, to early” he mumbled into his pillow.

Agatha’s lips twitched. “Come on love bug. We’ve got important business.” That got his attention—barely. One bleary eye peeked open. “Important like waffles?”

She chuckled. “More important than waffles.”

That made him lift his head. “That’s impossible.”

Agatha smirked. “I need your help picking something out. Something very, very special.”

Nicholas blinked, clearly intrigued but still sleep-heavy. He rubbed at his eyes before murmuring, “Like a new toy?”

Agatha huffed a quiet laugh. “No, darling. Something shiny.”

Nicholas sat up a little more at that, the gears in his small brain turning. “Shiny?”

She nodded, tucking a curl behind his ear. “But we have to be very sneaky. No waking her up, okay?”

Nicholas’ eyes widened, as if sensing the gravity of the mission. He nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

“Good boy.” Agatha pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “Now, get dressed. We’ll talk more in the car.”

Nicholas scrambled out of bed, still half-dazed, but still determined. Agatha handed him his little sneakers and helped him into his coat, making sure to keep quiet as they crept through the apartment. She grabbed her purse, keys, and the market bag she had strategically left by the door the night before—an excuse if she needed one. Slipping on her shoes she softly opened the door, ushering Nicholas out.

Once outside of the building, as they stepped into the crisp morning air Nicholas finally looked up at her, curiosity buzzing behind his sleep-heavy expression. “What are we getting Mom?”

Agatha smiled, slowing her steps as they walked toward the car. “A ring.”

Nicholas blinked. “A ring?”

She chuckled. “Yes bug. A different kind of ring, A very special one.”

Nicholas furrowed his brows, trying to piece it together. Then his face lit up. “Like a wedding ring?”

Agatha’s chest tightened—not with fear, not with doubt, but with the weight of how right it felt. “Exactly like a wedding ring.”

Nicholas gasped, grabbing onto her hand with both of his tiny ones. “You’re gonna marry her?”

Agatha exhaled slowly, crouching down so she was at eye level with him. She smoothed a hand over his wind swept hair, her voice soft but steady. “Yes.”

Nicholas beamed unapologetically. “Forever?”

Agatha’s lips curled upwards. “Forever.”

Nicholas processed this for a moment, then tilted his head. “Does that mean she’s gonna be my extra mom?”

Agatha huffed a laugh. “I’d say she already is by now, don’t you think?”

Nicholas grinned, nodding eagerly. “Yeah.”

Agatha stood, taking his hand in hers as they continued toward the car. “That’s why I need your help. You’re one of the most important people in my life, I need you to help me pick out the perfect one.”

Nicholas puffed up with pride. “Okay! But how do we know which one is the perfect one?”

Agatha smirked, ruffling his hair as she opened the car door. “I think you’ll know it when you see it.”

Nicholas climbed in, still full of thoughts. “Do you think she’ll say yes?”

Agatha faltered only slightly, but her voice was firm when she said, “I think, I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t already know the answer.”

Nicholas nodded seriously, then grinned. “Okay! But then can we get waffles after?”

Agatha laughed as she buckled him in. “Yes, We can get waffles after.” Nicholas cheered, kicking his little feet in excitement. Agatha shook her head fondly as she shut the door and made her way to the driver’s seat. She exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before turning the key in the ignition. This was happening. And, for the first time in a long time, Agatha Harkness wasn’t nervous.

Nicholas’ tiny fingers curled around Agatha’s hand as they stepped into the jewelry store. His eyes widened as he took in the shimmering cases, the way the lights reflected off of silver and gold. “Are we buying a super shiny one?” he asked, voice filled with curiosity.

Agatha chuckled. “Something like that.”

She had known for a while that she wanted to marry you. But knowing and acting on it were two very different things. Now, standing here, staring at rows upon rows of rings, the reality of it settled deep in her chest.

She was going to ask you. She was going to ask you to spend forever with her. “That one,” Nicholas suddenly piped up, pointing at a delicate but elegant band with a dark blue gemstone in the center. “Its blue like your eyes mom.”

Agatha smiled, It did. And it utterly was perfect. She exchanged a look with the jeweler before nodding. “We’ll take it.”

Nicholas clapped his hands together excitedly, bouncing slightly on his feet. “Does this really mean we get to keep her forever?”

Agatha exhaled slowly, bending down so she could plant a kiss to the top of his head “That’s the plan my love.” She muttered softly into his crown of her hair.

Nicholas beamed, jumping up to throw his arms around her neck. And in that moment, Agatha knew—Because choosing you had never been a question. It had always been a certainty. Something about her son’s unbridled approval just solidified it that much more.

Now, she just had to figure out how to ask you. And most importantly— “Hey,” she said, pulling back slightly, looking Nicholas right in the eye. “You cannot tell her, okay? It’s a surprise.”

Nicholas’ eyes widened. “A surprise?”

Agatha nodded. “A very big surprise.”

He pressed his lips together, then mimed zipping them shut. “I promise.” Agatha smirked. “Good boy.” She only hoped he could actually keep the secret for the day.

The lack of noise was the first thing you noticed. Additionally the warmth of Agatha’s body beside you gone, no steady rhythm of her breathing against your shoulder—just empty space. The bed felt strangely vast without her, the sheets cool where her body should have been.

Your brows furrowed as you blinked awake, your hand instinctively reaching toward her side of the bed, but all you found was the lingering warmth she’d left behind. Fingers splayed against the fabric, you sighed, letting your head fall back against the pillow for a moment before your gaze shifted. Your eyes caught the small note sitting on her pillow.

Went out to get some essentials. Try not to miss me too much. —A

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you traced over the words with your fingers. Even when she was gone, she had a way of leaving pieces of herself behind, making sure you felt her presence.

You rolled onto your back, stretching lazily before finally swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. The apartment was quiet—eerily so without the usual morning chatter of Nicholas bouncing around, asking a hundred questions a minute, and Agatha halfheartedly scolding him between sips of coffee. You had forgotten what silence felt like.

Might as well make use of it.

Padding toward the bathroom, you stretched again, working out the stiffness in your muscles before stepping inside. You turned on the shower, letting the water warm as you undressed, then stepping in, sighing softly as the heat cascaded over your skin.

For a few minutes, you just stood there, letting the water run down your shoulders, washing away the remnants of sleep. The scent of Agatha’s shampoo lingered in the air—lavender and something darker, richer, unmistakably her. You reached for the bottle, working the lather through your hair, momentarily allowing yourself to be surrounded by the familiar scent.

By the time you stepped out, the quiet still prominent , wrapping around the house like a soft cocoon. You dried off quickly, slipping into a pair of loose sweat pants and an old university shirt before heading toward Nicholas’ room.

The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open, revealing the carefully cultivated chaos of a six-year-old’s world. Toys were scattered across the floor, books half-open on his bed, and a small collection of stuffed animals arranged in what looked like a haphazard battle formation on his dresser. You chuckled, shaking your head as you knelt to begin tidying up.

You stacked the books properly, smoothing out the covers before setting them neatly on the nightstand. The stuffed animals were returned to their rightful place on the bed, though you left Nicholas’ favorite—a small, well-loved dragon—right where it had been, knowing he’d probably search for it the moment he got back.

By the time you were done, the room felt more put together, though still lived-in, still his. You sat back for a moment, glancing around, a familiar warmth settling in your chest. This was home—the scattered pieces of it, the quiet in-between moments, the love woven into even the smallest tasks.

At the time they returned you had already finished cleaning, pulled on one of Agatha’s oversized crew necks, and were halfway through making lunch. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the kitchen, the faint sizzle of a pan the only sound in the apartment. It was then, the front door swung open.

“We’re home!” Nicholas called out, his little voice full of excitement. You turned, wiping your hands on a dish towel, only to find the six-year-old barreling toward you with way too much energy. You barely had time to brace yourself before he flung his arms around your waist, squeezing tight.

“Whoa,” you laughed, running a hand through his curls. “What’s all this for?”

He leaned back just enough to flash you a toothy grin. “Because i missed you!”

Your heart clenched in the best way possible. “You were only gone for few hours my little prince.”

“Very, very long hours” Agatha’s voice cut in smoothly. You looked up, and there she was—standing in the doorway, arms draped in several bags, but it wasn’t the bags that caught your attention. It was the flowers. A arrangement of deep purple petunias and soft cream lilies held delicately in one hand.

“For you, darling” Agatha said, lips curling into that signature smirk of hers. You raised an eyebrow, but there was no stopping the way your stomach flipped. “Flowers? What did you do?”

Agatha let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “Why do I always have to have an ulterior motive?”

“You quite literally always have an ulterior motive” you shot back, taking the bouquet from her hands. She smirked, but there was something soft in the way she watched you, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. You didn’t press. Instead, you turned your attention to Nicholas. “Did you help pick these out?”

He beamed, nodding enthusiastically. “I picked the white ones! Mom said they reminded her of you.” Your chest tightened. You glanced at Agatha, but she was already looking away, busying herself with the items bought, as if she hadn’t just casually melted your heart. Something about her felt… different. Not in a bad way, just different.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. But whatever it was, you knew it had everything to do with the way she had been staring at you yesterday. And the way she was avoiding your gaze now.

Lunch had become one of those easy, familiar parts of your weekends—one that blended seamlessly into the rhythm of life with Agatha and Nicholas. It was never just about eating; it was about being together, about existing in a space where the world didn’t matter for a little while.

The sun streamed lazily through the windows, casting warm, golden light across the table, and the sound of soft laughter filled the air—a melody you had unknowingly started to crave. You had just finished setting your plates on the table when a blur of movement in your peripheral vision barely gave you enough time to brace yourself.

Nicholas came running full speed toward you, little arms outstretched like wings, a determined glint in his eye that told you resistance was futile. With practiced ease like this was something he had been doing for years—he launched himself onto your lap, wiggling into a comfortable position as if he had always belonged there.

You barely had time to react before without so much as a pause for theatrics—he reached for your sandwich, taking an audaciously huge bite, his small fingers clutching the bread like it was the most natural thing in the world. The absolute nerve. You blinked at him, momentarily speechless, before finally managing, “Wow. No hesitation, huh?”

Nicholas beamed at you through a mouthful of food, completely unbothered by the crumbs now decorating his shirt. “You always share with me!” he reasoned, chewing happily, as if that simply explained everything.

You couldn’t even be mad. The sheer confidence was impressive. Across the table, Agatha had been watching the entire ordeal unfold with the kind of amused smirk that made you certain she was enjoying this far too much. With an air of smug satisfaction, she leaned forward, plucking an olive straight from your salad bowl, her fingers quick and deliberate. Your eyes narrowed at her. “Really?”

She met your gaze with an expression so unapologetic it bordered on smug. Popping the olive into her mouth, she shrugged, chewing slowly. “What? He took your sandwich. This only seems fair.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, but there was no real frustration behind it. If anything, this ridiculous, chaotic, borderline lawless dynamic—was something you had grown to love more than you ever expected, You honestly feel a bit foolish for ever questioning its permanence to begin with.

The unspoken ease of it, the natural way the three of you fit together as if this had always been the plan. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t something you ever would have foreseen for yourself, but sitting here, with Nicholas practically fused to your side and Agatha stealing bites of your food like it was her God-given right… It felt right.

Your gaze lingered on her for a moment, studying the way her eyes softened whenever they landed on Nicholas, how she seemed to be etching every second of this into her memory, like she was afraid she might forget it. Then, just as quickly, her gaze flickered to you—lingering, observing like she was committing you to memory, too. Like there was something else she was seeing, something she was holding onto.

It wasn’t the first time you had caught her doing it. Over the past few days, you had noticed it more and more—the way she would watch you in those quiet moments, the way her expression would shift, unreadable yet oddly tender. It sent a strange sort of warmth curling in your chest, a sensation you weren’t entirely sure you knew what to do with. But before you could ask, before you could tease her about it or even attempt to read her mind, the moment shattered.

Her phone buzzed against the table. Agatha’s posture stiffened just slightly, so subtle it was nearly imperceptible. But you saw it. You always did.

She exhaled, reaching for her phone with a practiced nonchalance, but the slight clench of her jaw betrayed her. As her eyes scanned the screen, something unreadable flickered across her face—gone in an instant. And then, before you could even think to ask, she stood.

“Be right back,” she murmured, already halfway to the other room.

Your brows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she called over her shoulder, too quickly. “Just work.”

It was a lie. Or maybe not a full lie, but certainly not the whole truth. You knew her well enough to catch the way she moved just a little too fast, the way she disappeared down the hall before you could press further. A deliberate retreat. And maybe—on another day—you would’ve let it go.

But something about the way she had been watching you lately, something about the way she had been… planning something, you could feel it, gnawed at the edges of your mind. So, before you could talk yourself out of it, you gently shifted Nicholas off your lap, murmuring, “I’ll be right back little man.”

You followed Agatha down the hall, careful to step lightly, keeping just enough distance to hear without being seen.

“Please tell me you confirmed it.” Her voice was low, hushed—but urgent. There was a pause, then a quiet sigh of relief. “Good. I was scared they didn’t properly reserve it.”

Reserve what? Your heart stuttered for a moment. Agatha rarely kept secrets from you—not ones that mattered. So what could possibly be important enough for her to be sneaking around about?

Before you could step closer— “Hey!” Nicholas’ voice rang out from the kitchen, loud and indignant. “Come back! We’re supposed to be eating together!”

Your jaw clenched. Damn kid.

Agatha turned just as you did, her eyes locking onto yours instantly, then just barely her lips curled into something amused, something knowing. You sighed, shaking your head. Fine. She wins this round, For now.

Later that afternoon the three of you had settled into the living room. The TV flickered in the background, its hum filling the space, but none of you were really watching. Nicholas was sprawled on the floor, his little legs kicking absently as he guy colored, tongue poking out in concentration. Every now and then, he’d hum a tune under his breath, the sound light and content.

Agatha had disappeared into the bathroom a few minutes ago, leaving her phone behind on the couch beside her. It sat there, face down, quiet and unassuming—until it buzzed. You glanced toward the hallway, listening for the sound of the sink or a door creaking open. Nothing. Your eyes flickered back to the phone.

It was right there.

You weren’t the kind of person to snoop. Normally. But after this morning? After the hushed phone calls, the careful glances, the way Agatha had been slipping off with vague excuses? It wasn’t paranoia—it was curiosity. And maybe a little suspicion. Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers brushed over the device, just enough to wake the screen. A text thread appeared.

Unknown Number: Everything is set.

Unknown Number: Sunset.

Your brows furrowed, a flicker of confusion twisting in your chest. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your brain scrambled to put the pieces together, but before you could read any further, before you could even blink, the bathroom door creaked open. In one fluid motion, Agatha snatched the phone out of your hands.

Your head snapped up the second Agatha’s presence shifted. She stood there, phone effortlessly balanced between her fingers, her gaze drilling into you—sharp, assessing, unreadable. A silent standoff. The air between you hummed, stretched thin like a wire ready to snap.

Then, the corner of her mouth twitched, just barely. “Find something interesting?” she murmured, voice smooth, casual. Too casual. Like she was already five steps ahead, enjoying the fact that you had no idea where this was going.

You exhaled slowly, settling back against the couch but refusing to look away. “Wouldn’t know,” you said evenly. “Didn’t get the chance to read much before you nearly shattered the sound barrier snatching it away.”

Her smirk deepened, dark amusement flickering across her face. “Fast fingers, darling. You should know that by now.”

Your eyes narrowed. She was hiding something. That much was obvious. And worse? She was enjoying this. Entirely too much. “Sunset?” you asked, watching her reaction closely.

Agatha didn’t so much as blink. No flicker of hesitation, no crack in her carefully constructed mask. Instead, she moved effortless, fluid—crossing the space between you in a way that always made it hard to breathe. Then, just as you prepared to press further, she leaned in, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a slow, lingering kiss.

Warm. Soft. Deliberate. You could feel her smile against your skin, the ghost of amusement curling at the edges. And just like that, she was gone, already drifting toward the kitchen as if the moment between you had never happened. Your stomach twisted, your pulse stumbled. Whatever this was—whatever game she was playing, it was leading to something big obviously.

You narrowed your eyes at her, but before you could press, Nicholas popped up from his spot on the floor, running across the room until he jumped onto the couch cushions, beaming brightly. “Are we still going to dinner tonight?!” he practically shouted, bouncing in his seat.

Agatha shot him a look from over the bar. “Inside voice, Nicky.”

He huffed but immediately turned to you, eyes wide with excitement. “We’re going somewhere super fancy!”

Your brows furrowed in mild confusion. “Fancy?” You turned to Agatha, noting the slight smirk playing at her lips. “Are we?”

Agatha hummed, swirling her tea in her cup. “I thought we could use a night out.”

“A night out,” you echoed, utterly unconvinced. “Since when do you voluntarily spend the evening in public?”

Agatha’s smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Since I decided you deserved to be spoiled.”

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping up your neck at the sudden sincerity in her voice. She was definitely up to something. But before you could get a word in, Nicholas latched onto your arm, tugging eagerly.

“You’re gonna love it” he insisted, practically vibrating with excitement. “I even picked my outfit! Mama says I look very cool.”

“I said you look like a prince” Agatha corrected, resting her elbow on the counter as she studied the two of you with an air of amusement.

Nicholas grinned, utterly pleased with himself. “Same thing.”

You laughed softly, ruffling his hair. “And what exactly am I supposed to wear to this fancy outing?”

Agatha tilted her head, lazily dragging her gaze over you. “Something nice, but not too nice” she mused. “Wouldn’t want you overshadowing me.”

You snorted. “As if that’s possible.” She arched a brow but said nothing, simply watching you over the rim of her cup. That smirk of hers hadn’t wavered.

Nicholas, unaware or simply uninterested in the subtleties of whatever game Agatha was playing, bounced excitedly. “Can I pick out your outfit?!”

You chuckled, nudging him gently. “I’d love your fashion expertise, but I think I can manage.”

Nicholas pouted dramatically but nodded, clearly satisfied just to be involved. “Okay, but can I at least help you pick your shoes?”

Agatha scoffed. “Why stop there? Why don’t you do her hair too?”

Nicholas gasped as if she’d just handed him the world. “Wait can I?!”

You shot Agatha a glare while she merely grinned, thoroughly enjoying herself. “You’re really getting a kick out of this, huh?”

“Immensely,” she drawled, finishing the last sip of her tea before setting the cup down with a soft clink. Then, with an exaggerated shooing motion, she waved you toward the hallway. “Now go, get ready. I would like my girl to be properly polished before we leave.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. “And what about you?”

Agatha stretched leisurely before strolling out of the kitchen, toward Nicholas who was already scampering off to pick out whatever accessories he deemed necessary for your ensemble. She shot you a wink over her shoulder. “I’ll be handling my own masterpiece.”

You huffed a laugh, but just as you turned to leave, you felt a gentle tug at your wrist. Before you could react, Agatha had pulled you in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft but teasing—just enough to leave you breathless.

Your pulse jumped, fingers instinctively curling against the fabric of her shirt as she lingered for a second longer than necessary. When she pulled back, her smirk was still in place, but there was something warmer beneath it, something real. “Now, be my good girl and go get ready” she murmured, her voice a quiet rasp against your skin.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you stepped back, ignoring the way your heart hammered against your ribs, cheeks growing warm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it” she quipped, turning on her heel as if nothing had happened.

You watched her go, exhaling a sharp breath before muttering under your breath, “Unfortunately.” And with that, you made your way toward the bedroom, still feeling the ghost of her lips against yours. Whatever Agatha was planning, you had a feeling tonight was going to be anything but ordinary.

After spending far too much time fussing over your shoes, you finally emerged from the bedroom, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as you made your way into the living room. You weren’t sure what reaction to expect, but the moment Nicholas turned and saw you, his face lit up like the Fourth of July.

“Whoa!” he gasped, practically bouncing on his heels. “You look so pretty!” He ran over, grabbing your hand You let out a soft laugh, touched by his enthusiasm.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Ruffling his hair, you glanced up—only to feel your breath hitch the second your eyes landed on Agatha. Standing by the door, arms folded with a knowing smirk, she was clad in a tailored maroon pantsuit that fit her like a dream.

The deep shade contrasted beautifully against her pale skin, and the open collar of her blouse teased just enough to be unfair. You swallowed hard, trying not to make it obvious that you were staring, but the sight of her radiant, confident, utterly stunning—made that simply impossible.

Agatha arched a brow, clearly enjoying your momentary speechlessness. “Cat got your tongue, darling?”

You opened your mouth, but Nicholas beat you to it, tugging your hand excitedly. “Look, I match Mom!”

Shaking yourself out of your daze, you finally noticed the tiny maroon jacket he was wearing, tailored just enough to be adorable but still formal. The resemblance between the two was uncanny, from the way they both stood with a natural air of confidence to the matching smirks on their faces.

“Oh, my god” you muttered, pressing a hand to your heart as you took in the sight of them together. “I’m never recovering from this.”

Nicholas grinned, puffing out his chest proudly. “I look cool, right?”

“You look beyond handsome ” you assured him, bending slightly to straighten the lapels of his jacket. “And incredibly adorable.”

He giggled, clearly pleased, and Agatha hummed in approval. “Not bad for a night out, hm?”

You straightened, crossing your arms as you took her in once more. “You…” You exhaled, shaking your head. “You look incredible.”

Agatha smirked but didn’t deflect like she usually did. Instead, she stepped closer, brushing her fingers along your wrist in an almost absentminded caress. “As do you.” Her voice dipped slightly, sending a shiver down your spine. “I knew that color would suit you.”

Your heart fluttered, but before you could respond, Nicholas grabbed your hand again, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can we go now?! I wanna see the fancy place!”

Agatha chuckled, stepping back. “Yes, yes, let’s not keep the little prince waiting.”

You let out a soft breath, stealing one last glance at Agatha before nodding. Whatever this night held, one thing was for certain—you were utterly, hopelessly doomed. Now, When you had suspected Agatha was up to something, what you hadn’t expected was her to reserve the entire rooftop at the Rooftop Refinery.

The moment you stepped out of the elevator, you were hit with a breathtaking view of the city skyline, bathed in the golden hues of sunset. The entire rooftop had been adorned with elegant, flickering candlelight, the warm glow contrasting beautifully against the deepening twilight. A soft, intimate melody played somewhere in the background, adding to the dreamlike atmosphere.

It was stunning. And way too much effort for a casual night out. Your eyes narrowed as you turned toward Agatha, who stood beside you with her hands in her pockets, watching your reaction with a too-casual expression.

“Okay,” you said, crossing your arms. “What is this?”

Agatha’s lips twitched, a telltale sign that she was holding back a smirk. “Dinner.”

Nicholas, however, had no interest in subtlety. He tugged on your hand, practically bouncing in place. “Do you like it?! Mom said it had to be perfect!”

Your brow arched, gaze flickering between them. “Perfect for what exactly?”

Agatha shot Nicholas a look a sharp, a quieting glance—and the little traitor quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, though his eyes still sparkled with excitement.

Your gaze slid back to Agatha, who shrugged as if the entire setup wasn’t screaming with ulterior motives. Instead of answering, she stepped closer, the scent of her signature dark vanilla and spice perfume wrapping around you as she gently placed a hand on the small of your back. The warmth of her touch was subtle, yet so incredibly grounding, a silent plea for you to just go along with it. “Humor me, please” she murmured, voice dipping into something soft, teasing.

You sighed, exasperated but unable to fight the way your body melted ever so slightly into her touch. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep me around.” Her smirk returned full force, this time dripping with amusement.

Before you could retort, she steered you toward the elegantly set table, her touch lingering a moment too long before she pulled away. Ever the charmer, she pulled out your chair for you, her fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder as you sat before she took her own seat across from you. Despite your lingering suspicions… you let yourself enjoy it.

Conversation flowed as easily as the wine in your glasses. Nicholas, between bites of pasta far too big for his tiny fork, chattered animatedly about everything and nothing, detailing his latest school project, a funny video he saw, and how he was so sure the dog at the park last weekend was actually a shapeshifter in disguise.

Agatha—in an uncharacteristically quiet moment—wasn’t speaking much. She was watching you again.

Not in the usual smug, teasing way—but like she was trying to commit every moment to memory. Like she was drinking in the way you laughed, how your fingers toyed absentmindedly with the stem of your glass, how your eyes softened when Nicholas said something particularly ridiculous.

Like she was terrified she might forget what this felt like. You met her gaze mid-sip, brow furrowing slightly. She didn’t look away. That was the first real sign that something was definitely up. Your foot nudged hers under the table, earning the slightest flinch before she recovered, smirking around the rim of her glass.

“You keep staring at me like that Harkness, and I’m going to start charging.”

A husky chuckle rumbled from her chest as she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow against the table. “You think very highly of yourself, darling.”

“You don’t exactly do a great job of hiding your obsession,” you teased, sipping from your glass.

Her smirk didn’t falter, but there was something deeper behind her eyes, something… unspoken. Still, even as the evening stretched on, as laughter and conversation filled the air, your instincts kept whispering that Agatha had something up her sleeve.

And judging by the way she was still watching you, fingers absently twisting the ring on her hand—you were about to find out exactly what it was. Dinner came and went, the sky deepening into a velvety shade of indigo as the city lights twinkled like fallen stars beneath you.

The warmth of the evening lingered in the flickering candlelight, the air filled with the quiet hum of music, the soft clink of glasses, and the occasional sound of Nicholas stifling a giggle over whatever mischief was forming in his little mind. It was beautiful.

But the feeling in your gut told you it wasn’t over yet, And you were right. Because just as you were about to stand, Agatha cleared her throat. “Nicky,” she said, voice smooth but with a slight edge of tension, “go grab what I asked you to hide.”

Nicholas gasped—as if he had just remembered—before scurrying off, his little shoes tapping against the polished rooftop floor.

You frowned, brow furrowing. “Where is he—” But before you could finish the sentence, Agatha turned to face you fully, reaching across the table. Her fingers brushed softly over yours, then curled around your hand with surprising gentleness.

And then—finally—you saw it. The nerves, The vulnerability that Agatha Harkness never let anyone see. Your chest tightened at the sight of it. “Agatha…” you murmured, her name barely a breath on your lips.

She exhaled slowly, the pads of her thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles over your knuckles, as if grounding herself in your touch. The candlelight flickered across her face, highlighting the delicate tension in her features—the way her usual confident smirk had been replaced by something softer, raw.

“I’m not an easy person to love,” she admitted, voice quieter than usual, tinged with something so achingly honest it made your throat tighten. “I’m stubborn. I overthink. I push when I shouldn’t, and I—” she paused, her grip tightening slightly around your fingers. “I don’t always say the right things at the right time.” You hated that she felt the need to say that.

Your grip tightened in response, silently urging her to continue. “But you?” She swallowed, her eyes locked onto yours like you were the only thing anchoring her to this moment. “You love me anyway. You love me despite all of it. And I—” she let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head slightly, like she was frustrated with herself. “I don’t always know how to say it. But I need you to know that I do. I love you more than I know what to do with.” Your heart ached in the best possible way.

There was something so fragile and real in the way she said it—like the words had been clawing at her from the inside, desperate to be spoken aloud. And then Nicholas returned, Clutching a small, velvet box in one his tiny hands, a large white lily in the other. Your breath hitched. He beamed, practically vibrating with excitement as he held it out. “Mom! Here! You almost forgot it!”

Agatha huffed a small laugh, the nervous energy breaking for just a second. “I didn’t forget darling.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs as she took the box from him. But she didn’t break eye contact. Didn’t waver. And then—with the smooth confidence only she possessed she slid from her chair, lowering herself onto both knees right in front of you.

Your brain completely short-circuited. Every thought, every suspicion, every fleeting doubt about the extravagance of this evening vanished in an instant.

Agatha Harkness—the Agatha Harkness—was on her knees in front of you, holding a ring, staring up at you like you were the most important thing in the entire universe. She smirked, a hint of her usual mischief glimmering beneath all the tenderness. “You’re gonna need to breathe, darling.”

A watery, disbelieving laugh escaped your lips, your chest rising and falling in a shaky breath as you blinked against the sudden burning in your eyes, she was serious. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment whim. This was Agatha offering you forever. Your gaze flickered down to the ring—and your breath caught.

The gemstone gleamed in the candlelight, a deep, rich blue with flecks of silver running through it. And for a second, your entire world narrowed to that one, impossibly perfect detail. Because that ring—God, that ring it looked exactly like her eyes.

That same stormy, captivating blue, shifting like the ocean on a restless night. Always deep. Always pulling you in. Just like her. Had she chosen it on purpose? Did she know that whenever you looked at it you’d be reminded of her, of every stolen glance, every teasing smirk, every moment where she had held you together when you didn’t even realize you were breaking?

Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached out, touching the delicate band as if trying to convince yourself this was real. Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Baby of course, I’ll marry you.”

Agatha exhaled sharply, like she had been holding her breath without realizing it. Her hands steady, careful, reverent—took yours as she slid the ring onto your finger, her thumb brushing against your skin as she did. Then before you could say another word, she pulled you down into a searing kiss.

It was deep, slow and utterly undeniable, filled with everything she couldn’t put into words. Her hands slid to your waist, pulling herself up, closer like she was terrified you might disappear. You could feel her heartbeat—wild and frantic beneath your palms as your fingers curled into the lapels of her coat, she tasted like red wine and eternity.

Nicholas lets out a dramatic gross, but you barely register it over the way your heart thundered in your chest. When you finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, Agatha’s voice dropped into something softer, rougher.

“You’re all mine” she murmured. A statement. A promise. You smiled, still breathless, still trembling with the sheer weight of this moment.

“And you’re mine”you whispered back. Your gaze dropped to the ring once more, the gemstone still glinting under the city lights. This was it.

Her, you, and Nicholas.

A family. Forever.

———————————————————

AN: Ngl i absolutely loved writing this so if anyone would like a part two involving the planning of the wedding // the wedding itself and the wedding night (yes it’ll be 18+) I’ll totally write one!!! Just lmk. I hope you enjoyed & sorry if you disliked it, I really just wanted a comfort // fluff fic for my girl yk.

[aquarius-johnny]

Baby Fever .ᐟ | Jeong Jaehyun

genre: smut | wc: 5.1k | deadly sins series | m.list navi pairing: husband! jaehyun x afab! reader warnings: breeding kink; pillow princess! reader; jaehyun is hœrny, needy, a soft dom; reader mentions that he's big; lots of praising; oral (f receiving); spanking, fingering (if you squint); multiple orgasms; unprotected sex; creampie; a little bit of overstimulation (m receiving) summary: you’re jaehyun’s pillow princess and he loves to please you, but this time with a twist — the goal to put a baby in you! | deadly sin: sloth a/n: it’s not a deadly sins series without falling into the temptation of writing a breeding fic; also i like to say it’s canon that the reader and jaehyun go for multiple rounds ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ these are for my bb’s who thrive on praise.

⌞ pinterest board ⌝ ≫ concept photos

Mindlessly running your fingers through your husband’s hair, he lays between your thighs with his head rests on your stomach. You both set your gaze on the tv screen that’s playing your current favorite show while you're both in bed on this Saturday morning. 

“Baby?” Jaehyun softly lets out, his finger tracing loose circles against your bare thigh. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” You lay your hand lazily on the crook of his neck, gently swiping your thumb against his cheek. “What’s on your mind?” Your eyes fall on the subtle movements Jaehyun makes as he shifts his body onto his side – his arm snaking under your thigh and pulling your entire leg against his body.

“Have you ever thought of having a baby with me?” He innocently looks up at you with big brown eyes awaiting your response.

You give him a soft giggle. “Of course I have, who else would I have a baby with if not my husband?” Pushing his hair back, he smiles shyly, realizing how silly he worded his question. 

“No, I mean,” he laughs, positioning himself next to you, legs stretched over yours as he shifts his weight into the palm of his hands, casually leaning backwards. “Have you thought about having kids, now that we’re married.”

You smile, your mind shuffling through the memories of when you came close to risking it all and letting Jaehyun shoot his load into you before he pulled out, like he always did, bringing you back to reality.

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” you nod. “Have you?”

“All the time,” he shyly replies as if it was such a sinful thought to want to have a child with your wife; although, he’s probably more embarrassed at the amount of times he thought about the many positions he would want to have you in when he releases into you. 

“Why the sudden interest in this now?” 

Jaehyun falls quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “You know how much I’ve always wanted to be a dad and,” he pauses, lowering his voice timidly. “I was curious to know how it feels to come inside of you.” 

You and Jaehyun are both very responsible with your sex life, even after getting married. When you two first got together, he was adamant about having condoms on him just in case something happened between the two of you, which it did and it happened a lot. With your very active, healthy, and regular sex life, condoms soon became a nuisance to replace when they would quickly run out. Eventually, you opted to go on birth control. Even with this decision, you both knew better to have him release inside of you until you both were ready to face the reality of what would happen if he did.

“Is this your not so subtle way of asking if we can try for kids, Jaehyun?” You arch a brow, watching your husband’s ears tint a bright red and the tip of his tongue poke the inside of his cheek as he coyly looks down.

“Is that a bad thing?” He questions, slowly looking up at you, wide eyed. His hand inches closer to your hand before his pinky slowly hooks onto yours, something he often does when his nerves begin to rear its head. 

You cup his cheek, tenderly stroking his soft skin with your thumb to comfort him. “Not at all,” you smile. “Do you want to try it now?” 

Jaehyun’s eyes widen in excitement before disappointment washes over him. “We have errands to run.” He sighs, listing off the things you both had planned today with a dramatic pout.

“Can we do it quickly?”

“While I would never turn down a quickie with the love of my life,” he pauses with a toothy grin stretched across his face. “I want us to take our time.” 

You give him an understanding nod, knowing how important this is to him. “Let’s do it tonight,” you reply, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Maybe before we get home, you can help me pick out a new lingerie set we can use.” 

“I’d love that.” He takes his bottom lip between his teeth. “But…” he trails off before throwing his head back and letting out an exaggerated groan.

“What is it now?” You playfully roll your eyes while you shake your head at his antics.

“How am I going to survive being out with you knowing we’re probably going to have the most amazing sex tonight?” He chuckles at his words, baffled at the idea of needing to keep it in his pants when he’s just so, so excited to start a new chapter in life with you. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to survive for a couple of hours, you big baby. Now come on,” you quickly check the time on your phone. “We need to get ready. The earlier we leave, the earlier we can get home.”

You take a mental note of how to get your husband to show you more affection in public: agree to let him impregnate you. 

Normally, Jaehyun wasn’t big on loud public displays of affection. He would hold your hand or place a gentle hand on the small of your back to guide you. He’d occasionally place a subtle kiss on your knuckles to keep his displays of affection to a minimum while still showing you he loves you and loves being around you. The most he’d do is kiss your temple when he notices another man’s stare linger a little too long for his liking. While he wasn’t the biggest fan of pda, you didn’t mind at all because you knew that he isn’t able to keep his hands off you at home, but today was different.

He could not, for the life of him, keep his hands off you as you both went about your errands. During lunch with his parents, his hands were planted on your waist as he stood behind you, pulling you into him as close as he could, while the four of you waited to be seated. When you’re seated, his warm palm rubs against your thigh, parking itself there the whole time — occasionally squeezing and pushing under the hem of your sundress ever so slightly. When his parents disappeared into the restroom after lunch, Jaehyun took this opportunity to place kisses on the crook of your neck while you both waited for the check. When it comes, you fully expected your husband to ease off of you – to your surprise, he didn’t.

“What has gotten into you?” You half-heartedly scold with a tiny giggle, pressing your hand against his chest to keep him at a distance.

“Can’t a husband be affectionate towards his wife?” His words are disingenuous as a wicked grin is plastered across his face. 

“Behave,” you warn, handing the check to him. 

Taking the check between his fingers, he gives you an impressed grin. “I see you’re already practicing your mom voice, huh?”

“Ha ha,” you sarcastically reply, although the smile on your face tells your husband you enjoy the comment as much as he did.

When you stop by your favorite lingerie store, your husband makes you browse a different part of the store while he chooses a new set for you. When he returns, he slings an arm over your shoulders with the shopping bag in the other. A smug look is painted on his face as you both walk out of the store. 

“Picked anything good?” You ask, eyeing the bag he’s holding. 

“Definitely,” he sucks air between his teeth, a toothy smile dancing on his lips as he pulls you closer to his side. “I think you’re going to like it.”

“Mm. I trust you.” 

He stops in his tracks in the middle of the semi-crowded mall. He gently lifts your chin with his index finger and gives you a deep kiss, nearly taking your breath away. “You’re gonna look so hot in it,” he winks.

During your final stop to the grocery store, you sense your husband’s patience dwindle as you walk up and down the aisles, slowly checking off the list on your phone. 

His arms wrap around your waist as you stand there to check for the correct brands to put in your shopping cart. Jaehyun rests his chin on your shoulder, watching in agony as you put the item back to pick up another. You feel his restlessness, desperate to finally get you home. 

“Are you okay, honey?” You question, eyes fixated on the label of the item you’re holding before you carefully place it in the shopping cart.

“It’s taking everything in me to not fuck you right here,” he whispers in your ear — voice low and gravelly. 

You halt your movements, surprised and slightly aroused at his lewd confession.

“Send me the list,” he clears his throat as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

You do as he asks and he quickly scans the list on his phone. 

“I’ll take the bottom half of the list, you take the top. We’ll meet in the frozen food aisle.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, smiling up at him. “I love when you take control like this,” you gush, pushing his cheeks together with the palms of your hands before placing a quick kiss on his lips. 

“Be quick,” he softly commands, his slender fingers cupping the side of neck before his thumb gently rubs the column of your throat. “Can you do that?”

Your knees grow weak at his words and you simply nod your head.

“Mm,” he smirks. “Good girl.”

On your way home, your husband’s hand lays on your thigh, his thumb circling your skin. A knot in your stomach tightens, slightly nervous under his touch yet you’re also yearning for this next step as much as your husband is. He pulls into the driveway and you begin unbuckling your seat belt. 

Grabbing the shopping bag with your lingerie set, Jaehyun hands it to you — the bag hanging off his index and middle finger. 

You carefully grab the bag, an excited smile creeping onto your face.

“I’ll worry about putting the groceries away,” he lets out, giving you a soft kiss on the back of your hand. “You can check out what I bought for you.”

You excitedly nod your head. “Thank you, baby.”

Jaehyun must’ve set a world record with how fast he put away the groceries as you tried on what your husband kindly got for you — but there’s nothing that gets your husband going more than knowing he’s about to finally have you in the way he so desperately wanted to the entire day. 

You call out his name eagerly as he swiftly puts away the remaining items left on the counter.

His attention turns in your direction as you emerge from the hallway in nothing but the skimpy set he got you. He freezes upon seeing you, blood quickly rushing to his cock, hardening it within seconds. 

“Do you like it?” You ask, giving him a quick twirl. “It’s really pretty!” 

Your husband’s eyes scan your body up and down as he carelessly stuffs the item he’s holding into the cupboard — his gaze never leaving you. 

“Fuuuck,” he drawls desperately, making his way to you. He sighs in satisfaction as his large hands pull you into his body. “Thank god we’re trying for a baby tonight, I don’t think I could pull out if we weren’t.” 

You giggle at his reaction, slinging your arms around his shoulders. “You’re right, I do look hot in this, huh?” You lick your lips, cocking your head to the side as your brows curve in innocence. 

Jaehyun’s pupils quickly dilate as he looks at you — the way the fabric clings onto your body perfectly renders him speechless. “So hot,” he manages to let out. His mind was already dizzy, completely enamored by his beautiful wife. 

Pulling him to your lips, you move them slowly — Jaehyun following your pace. He moves you backwards, trapping you between his body and the wall behind you. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” He questions between kisses. “I can pull out or I can try, at least,” he chuckles. 

“I want to,” you reassure, lifting his shirt over his head and allowing the fabric to fall onto the floor. “I want to have your baby.” 

Jaehyun deepens his kiss and a guttural groan parts his lips, his fingers frantically removing his belt and undoing his pants. The fabric bunches around his ankles before he kicks them to the side. “I’m gonna take care of you, tonight,” he reassures and you hum against his lips in agreement.

You know him well enough to understand that he’s going to do all of the work tonight, allowing you to enjoy every second of it without having to worry about going above and beyond to make him feel good.

He’s breathless as he pulls away from you. Taking your hand, he leads you to the bedroom.

Jaehyun lays you on your back. The pads of his fingers glide against your exposed abdomen, sending chills through your body.

“So beautiful,” Jaehyun purrs as he looks at you, his eyes scanning the pretty lingerie set. He places a loving kiss against your lips before deepening it, causing you to sling your arms over his shoulders to pull him in closer. Your fingers tangle in his hair causing him to smile against you. He slightly parts his lips, giving you an opportunity to slide your tongue over his, you take it and do exactly what he wants you to do — earning a tiny groan from your husband. 

He trails kisses against your cheek, then against your jaw, before settling on a tender spot on your neck. Rolling his tongue over your skin, you let out a tiny giggle, his breath tickling you. 

Jaehyun’s finger hooks into your bra strap, gently pulling it down your arms, allowing your breast to spill out. His large hands scoop them together, letting out a satisfied sigh before his tongue rolls over your skin and takes your nipple into his mouth. He flicks the tip of his tongue against your erect bud before gently pulling it between his teeth. 

“You’re literally perfect,” he praises. “I’m so lucky.” 

Flattening his tongue against your nipple, he rolls over it before giving it a nice suck, leaving it with a pop before doing the same on the other side.

His hands glide down your waist and his lips follow, pecking kisses against your stomach. You feel his long fingers glide against your clothed heat, wetness pooling against your cute underwear. Jaehyun places a gentle kiss on your core and proceeds to lick a strip against the fabric. 

You bite on your bottom lip, propping yourself up with your elbows to get a better look at Jaehyun teasing you. 

“Please,” you whine. “I need you.”

He smiles, dimples making an appearance as he places both of your legs over his broad shoulders. “I promise it’ll be worth it.” He flattens his tongue against your heat and begins sucking on your covered clit — a new and foreign experience despite the years you two have been together. 

Your underwear is soaked with your arousal and Jaehyun’s warm saliva, having the wet fabric outline your pretty folds. You push Jaehyun’s hair back, an endearing expression you often do to let him know he’s doing a good job.

Jaehyun pushes your underwear to the side; sighing in admiration at the sight of your pretty pussy. He quickly licks up your wetness before he slowly flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit over and over again. His movements are sensual and calculated — his eyes flutter open to look up at you between your thighs. A satisfied moan leaves your lips. Your hands opting to massage your breasts while your toes curl from the pleasure. The room fills with the sounds of his tongue slicking up and down your folds. 

Jaehyun picks up his pace, causing your walls to pulse in excitement, desperately wanting to feel him inside of you. His fingers grip onto your thighs, holding them apart as he continues to focus the tip of his tongue on your bundle of nerves between your folds. You hear him hum against your soaking heat, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

“It feels so good,” you praise softly, pushing his hair back to get a better look at your husband enjoying the taste of you. “Fuck,” You whimper, throwing your head back in pleasure. “ I love you so much.”

Jaehyun lifts his head and smiles, pausing his movements. “I love you too.” His hand pulls you to his lips, rolling his tongue over yours — allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue before returning to your nub, continuing his sensual movements. 

Jaehyun’s hands push against your thighs, opening your legs wider for him. You hear a slap against your skin, causing you to flinch in response before you let out a small giggle. Jaehyun soothes the spot with his hand and places quick, tender kisses before returning to your sensitive nub.

“Again,” you beg, biting down on your bottom lip. “Slap me again, please.”

He follows through with a smirk dancing against his lips, giving you another spank to the thigh causing you to moan at the sting before soothing it again. 

“I-I’m so close,” you desperately let out, feeling the coil in you tighten. 

Jaehyun closes his eyes, hyper focused on your clit and his only goal right now is to make you feel good. He begins to suck on your bud, holding onto your thighs as it quivers. 

You’re a whimpering mess. You bite down on your bottom lip as you feel a shock of electricity run through your legs and up your thighs. Heat spreads under your skin, your heart races, and you feel your orgasm slowly creeping up. The tension in your stomach suddenly snaps and an overwhelming sense of pleasure hits you — causing you to cry out your husband’s name as white creamy substance slowly leaks out of your pretty cunt. 

You push Jaehyun’s head away from your heat, bringing your knees together as a blissed out look paints your face. 

Jaehyun’s pink, plumped lips peck your knees before he slowly spreads your legs open again. He places kisses against your inner thighs before his fingers gently rub against your sensitive slit. 

The movement causes you to shudder, your nipples hardening at the tingles that’s sent through your body.

Pushing your underwear to the side again, he carefully dips his middle finger into your entrance and pumps his long finger into you before sliding in his index finger with ease. 

You hold onto your thighs, keeping them apart for Jaehyun. He pumps and twists his fingers into you, creamy white rings forming against his knuckles. Slowly lifting your hips to grind against his fingers, he pushes his fingers deeper into you, curving them and feeling his digits move against the sensitive spot inside of you causing your legs to lightly quiver. 

“Such a good girl, but you’re already shaking,” he teases — his voice hinting fake concern with a sly grin dancing in his lips. “Will you be able to take my cock?”

You stumble on your words, giving him a pathetic whimper with a rapid nod. “I want you inside of me,” you plead. “Please.” 

Your husband melts at your words. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and helps you rid yourself of the lingerie that’s already served its purpose. Jaehyun softly orders you to get into one of his favorite positions. 

Laying on your stomach, you prop your upper body with your elbows and watch your husband’s movements in the full length mirror in front of your shared bed. 

Jaehyun helps slide a pillow under your pelvis, slightly lifting your bottom half for easier access. Your legs in between his knees, pressed together ever so slightly.  His hands squeeze your ass cheeks, allowing your supple skin to pillow his fingers before dragging his nails against your backside, earning a giggle from you. 

His leaky tip moves against your folds before settling on the fats of your ass. Gripping his heavy length, he slaps his erection against your skin — smiling from ear to ear at the sight of one of his favorite parts of your body. Jaehyun aligns his erection with your entrance before slowly pushing his tip into you. Your body inches forward as he sinks into you, Jaehyun’s hands clench onto your waist to keep you in place. 

You both moan at the delicious stretch — your tight entrance adjusting to his lengthy size. He watches your reflection — biting down on your bottom lip before your jaw falls open and feeling your warm, velvety walls wrap around his hard length. 

“So fucking big,” you whisper under your breath, brows furrowing together at the pleasure.

Your husband leans forward, his lips pressing a kiss against your shoulder before lifting your chin and turning your head to kiss him. His movements cause him to bottom out inside of you — balls against your slit while you feel his tip kiss your sweet spot inside of you. The feeling is so exquisite it forces you to gasp into Jaehyun’s mouth. 

“That’s it baby,” Jaehyun coos into your ear. “You’re taking me so well.” His free hand tightly grips your waist. “You know, I’m yours, right?” A deep, low groan leaves his lips when he feels your walls pulse around his bare cock. 

You nod your head, dazed by the feeling of Jaehyun filling you up so perfectly and so well — a feeling that always amazes you despite your years together. 

Your pretty lips press against his before he deepens it, parting his to have you perfectly place his bottom lip between yours. You hum at the sweet taste of strawberries that lingered on his lips, enjoying the feeling of every crevice of his member as he warms himself in your walls.  

Without warning, Jaehyun harshly snaps his hips into you, causing you to loudly gasp in surprise. A devilish grin tugs the corners of his lips, relishing in your reaction. 

His cock pumps into you relentlessly, jerking your body forward with every thrust. He holds himself up with his arms, eyes locked onto the mirror in front of him. His gaze falls on your hands, desperately clawing at the beige cotton sheets under you. 

“D-don’t stop,” you repeat over and over again, your words beginning to slowly slur together as your mind goes fuzzy — your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your jaw slacking open, crying out in pleasure. 

He chuckles at your clouded state, seeing how cockdrunk you are because of him. His attempt to kiss you fails as your mouth falls open every time Jaehyun’s cock jabs that sweet spot inside of you.

The sound of skin slapping against each other mixed with your whimpers, moans, and incoherent mumbles bounce off the walls of your bedroom. 

“You’re so pretty,” Jaehyun whispers in your ear, holding your chin and forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. 

There’s a glaze look in your eyes and you feel your cheeks burn as you see yourself completely fucked out, jerking forward with every sharp buck of his hips — mouth agape and nearly drooling from ecstasy.

“Say it.” Jaehyun smirks, placing soft kisses against your cheek while sliding his thumb into your mouth and against your tongue. “Tell me you’re pretty, baby.” 

“I-I’m pretty,” you whimper, words distorted.

His hand moves from your mouth and slivers down to your neck, giving the sides of your neck a squeeze. “Again,” he orders, voice low and gravelly. 

“I’m pretty,” you repeat, grinning at your strained words parting your lips. 

“So fucking pretty, right?”

You nod, repeating his statement. You grip onto Jaehyun’s wrist as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, your orgasm rapidly inching closer with every single one of your husband’s thrust. 

“That’s my girl.” He praises, peppering kisses against your temple.

“Baby, I’m about to c-come.” You warn, nearly sobbing as Jaehyun’s hands press down on the arch of your back helping his cock hit your g-spot over and over again. “Right there, don’t stop, please.” You mewl, your nails scratching the wrinkled sheets underneath you before your breath hitches and you begin to see stars in your line of vision.

He mercilessly pounds into you, gripping tightly onto your waist. “That’s it baby, come all over my cock. You deserve it.”

His words of encouragement sends you over the edge, your body writhes under his as he fucks you through your orgasm, helping you chase your high. You’re gasping for air and you bury your face into the pillow nearest you, muffling the tiny whimpers and sobs you’re letting out. 

You take a moment to recollect yourself as Jaehyun slows his movements before stroking your hair and trailing kisses up your spine to your shoulders. You weakly lift your head and he places a tender kiss against your soft lips — taking it slow as your body recovers from your intense release.

“Think you can hold on a bit longer?” Jaehyun asks, the palm of his hands roaming up and down your hips, further soothing your body. 

“Mm,” you lazily smile, nodding your head.

Jaehyun slowly pulls himself out of you and gives you space to move around to reposition yourself, pumping his length as he watches you.

You slowly push yourself up and adjust your position to lay on your back. Your legs spread open for Jaehyun as your fingers slowly rub circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves ensuring you’re still soaking wet for your husband.

He realigns himself with your pulsing cunt, lifting your hips for access. You give him a squeal followed by a giggle as he roughly pushes up and into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly and he smiles at the sound that leaves your lips. It encourages him to rock his hips back and forth, crudely. Your hands press against his toned abs in a failed attempt to slow him down. 

A low groan escapes him followed by a shaky breath, feeling you clenching around his long shaft as if your warm, slippery walls are molding to the shape of him. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Jaehyun groans, pushing his hips further into you, attempting to dive deeper into your soaking cunt.

“Can’t wait for you to come inside me,” you weakly grin, your nails raking over his abs. “Fill me up please, I want your baby.” 

Your begs cause Jaehyun to go feral. He opens your legs wider, hooking his arms behind your knees and pinning your wrists down to your sides. His hips frantically slam into you, bottoming out with every single brutal thrust into you.

“Say it again,” he growls, eyes darkening at the sight of you. 

“I want your baby,” you pant. “I want to make you a daddy.” Your cries fill the room. Your back arches and your skin prickles from pleasure. You mindlessly repeat your words over and over again, Jaehyun clearly getting off on the idea of getting you pregnant. 

His fingers digs into your hips, tilting your pelvis up and hungrily hammers his cock into you. 

A choked out sob leaves your lips from pleasure and bliss, clawing into Jaehyun’s wrists before your eyes loll back, your back arches, and your mouth falls open from satisfaction. Your face grows hot and your thighs begin to shake seconds before you become undone, nearly screaming out in euphoria — your climax washing over you like a tsunami. 

You’re a whimpering mess from sensitivity between your legs. Jaehyun slows down and places open mouth kisses against your chest as his hands rub against your skin — soothing your trembling body. 

“Good job, baby.” Jaehyun kisses, trailing his lips up towards your neck. “I’m proud of you.” 

You simply hum in response. Your body goes limp and you’re panting, heart nearly ready to jump out of your chest. Your eyes shut and your mind blurs. You clutch onto Jaehyun’s arm, trying to keep yourself grounded in reality. 

His hips slowly begin to move again, kissing your cheek to keep your mind on him.

“What’s my name, baby?” Jaehyun whispers into your ear, something he always asks to keep you focused when you mind is clouded and hazy. 

“Jaehyun,” you weakly reply, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“There you go,” he coos as he continues to plunge into you, slowly and harshly. “I love how my name sounds when you say it. Keep talking, baby, I’m almost there.”

You do as he says, repeating his name after every brutal thrust, causing you to jerk up and down. 

Jaehyun’s hips stutter as he feels your walls flutter around his cock. “I’m gonna come.” His voice hitches. “Tell me where you want it.” He begs, wanting to hear you say it one more time.

“Inside me, please. I need it. I need to have your baby,” you whine, pulling him closer to your chest. You cross your legs against his back.

After a powerful thrust, Jaehyun freezes — pads of his fingers pressing hard into your skin and he spills his seed into you, flooding your walls with his creamy ropes. Pressing your heels against his lower back, you muster the energy to keep him in place as you roll your hips — milking him of every drop of his come. 

“F-fuck!” He hisses, pushing your waist into the mattress. His cock twitches inside of you and he lets out a shattered breath. “Too m-much,” he softly whimpers, begging you to stop moving your hips. 

“But I need every drop,” you pout, causing him to let out a tiny chuckle before you let your legs drop onto the mattress under you.

He pulls out of you — his thighs shaking from his intense release. 

Looking down, he sees the trail of his essence oozing out of your pretty cunt and sighs happily. His fingers gently push his creamy ropes deeper into you before he brings his digits to your lips, gladly taking his long, slender fingers into your mouth and sucking his fingers clean. 

“How’d it feel?” You question, propping yourself with your elbows. 

Your husband chuckles, bringing his hand to your cheek before stroking your heated skin with his thumb. “Fucking amazing,” he happily sighs. 

You giggle at his reaction, falling back into your mattress. There’s a dip before seeing your husband laying next to you. 

You turn to face Jaehyun who does the same. He rolls to his side and slings his arm over your waist, easily pulling your body closer into him. 

“I think you’re going to be a great dad.” You gently push his hair back, earning you a shy smile. 

“I know you’re going to be a great mom,” he smiles against your forehead followed by a tender kiss against your skin. 

“Do you think it’ll be enough to get pregnant?” You ask, feeling the thick liquid slowly dripping out of you.

Your husband pauses for a moment before a cheeky grin appears. “We should do it again,” he smiles. “You know, just in case.”

[mustlovelou]

Pairing: Bucktommy

Rating: Explicit

Read here or on AO3!

Buck’s not sure how he manages to get the door open and he doesn’t care because as soon as he takes one step inside, Tommy is on him, kissing him passionately. He walks him to the nearest wall and pins him against it. Buck has enough sense to stretch his arm and push the door closed but then he just loses himself in the feel of Tommy kissing him and of his body against his. 

Tommy trails kisses along Buck’s jaw and down his throat. With a gasp, Buck tips his head back and shudders when Tommy drags his teeth along the tendon of his neck. 

“Tommy…” Buck breathes out. 

“Evan,” Tommy moans, before taking Buck’s mouth in his again and rocking his hips against him.

Their hands begin to roam each other bodies and Tommy slots his thigh in between Buck’s legs, producing a delicious and torturous friction. 

“Bedroom,” Buck gasps out, needing to feel Tommy on top of him. 

Tommy nods, so Buck starts to lead them backwards towards the bedroom, their hands fumbling with their clothes. 

Buck can’t lie to himself and pretend that this isn’t how he’d imagined the night ending. They had decided to meet up as ‘friends,’ but over the course of the evening, the casual glances between them started to simmer with something more. They kept giving each other flirty looks and there were lingering touches. The desire and lust kept growing and growing until it reached a breaking point and they couldn’t ignore it anymore. And now, here they are. 

Taking hold of the back of his shirt, Buck gets rid of it in one smooth move, and Tommy wastes no time in raking his blunt nails against Buck’s skin. His hands travel lower down his back until he can push against the material of his jeans. Buck lets out a whimper and spreads his legs farther apart.

Needing to feel Tommy's skin, Buck tears open Tommy’s shirt and traces the muscles underneath, reaching down to rub the growing bulge in the front of Tommy’s pants. Tommy gasps at the sensation and his mouth starts a sinful path down Buck's abs, licking, sucking, and biting. He slides onto his knees and pulls Buck’s jeans and briefs down with him. 

Looking up at Buck with hooded eyes, Tommy kisses the tip of his cock but then -as the tease that he is- gets up. He kisses Buck on the mouth while his hands go to his ass, using it to lift Buck onto his arms. Buck wraps his legs around Tommy’s waist and lets him take him to bed. 

As Tommy lies him down on the bed, with one hand he pushes off his own trousers and briefs until he’s as naked as Buck.

They both moan when their naked bodies touch and they both start to rock their hips, desperately.

“Get inside me,” Buck demands, panting. 

“But I have to…” 

“I’m ready,” Buck admits. “I prep myself before going to the bar.”

“Were you that sure we will end up like this?” Tommy asks him with a smirk.

Shaking his head, Buck whispers, “Not sure… just, wishing and hoping.”

Tommy’s gaze goes incredibly soft. It's the kind of look that Tommy used to always give him: one filled with so much fondness and adoration. Seeing it now, after all this time, males Buck's breath catches in his throat. His heart seems to freeze for a second, before it starts racing wildly in his chest.

“Get in me,” Buck tells him, sliding his hand around the back of Tommy's neck and pulling him down for a kiss. 

Tommy must be as desperate as he is because he quickly grabs his cock and slowly enters Buck, waiting for Buck’s nod once he’s completely inside to begin moving. 

Having missed feeling Tommy inside of him, Buck allows himself to let go and he screams in pleasure when Tommy starts to thrust into him. 

“Yeesssss,” Buck moans, his thighs clinging to Tommy’s waist and his ankles crossing behind his back to lock him between his legs. 

“Fu-fuck,” Tommy groans, moving faster and harder, and Buck pushes to meet Tommy’s thrusts, squeezing him with his legs.

Between the tension that had been building for hours in the bar, how long it has been since they had sex, and Tommy pushing against his prostrate with every thrust of his hips, Buck knows he won’t last long. And based on how fast Tommy is moving and how loud he moans when Buck flexes and squeezes around his cock, Tommy will be right behind him. 

“I- I’m… I’m clo-close,” Buck pants and Tommy nods, thrusting harder.

Buck’s body arches, his breath breaking as he spills between them. Tommy follows him seconds later, shuddering as he releases inside him. 

With his forehead pressed to Buck’s shoulder, Tommy drops messy and wets kisses on Buck’s collarbones before slowly moving to the side and lying down with a hiss when he slips out from Buck’s body. 

They lay there, panting, trying to catch their breath. 

Buck feels as if he's floating on the clouds. He has missed this.

However, once enough blood has returned to his brain, Buck starts to feel afraid. Will Tommy leave now? Is this it?

He sighs, dejected, when Tommy stands up but instead of going for his clothes, he goes to the bathroom. 

Buck waits with bated breath for his return, thinking about what to say to make him stay. 

When Tommy returns, he does it with a towel, which he uses to tenderly clean Buck’s stomach. Buck looks at him while he does it, noticing the small smile on his lips and that same soft look in his eyes. 

Once he’s finished, Tommy throws the towel in the direction of the bathroom, and then gets inside the bed again, and Buck releases a relief breath, glad he didn't have to say anything.

Tommy cuddles up to him, snuggling close, and Buck smiles. 

“Evan,” Tommy mumbles against Buck’s neck. 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t want to be friends… I want more… I want all of you,” Tommy confesses. 

Buck’s hand clasps Tommy’s, gently weaving their fingers together as he pulls him closer. “You have me… you’ve always had me… and you always will.”

Tommy kisses his neck and squeezes his hand. “You have me too.”

“Good,” Buck beams and closes his eyes, knowing that he will finally have a good night’s sleep. 

(sorry for any mistakes... this just came to me)

[fel-09]

You are his problem

Tommy Shelby x reader

Author's notes: Caring Thomas Shelby This is my own separate Roman empire

Plot : You are his problem, one continuous headache, an irresponsible woman whom he loves madly.

Words :1.3к

The night in Birmingham covers the streets with a thick, lingering gloom, and only the light in Thomas Shelby's house is on. Dim, amber, staining the old wallpaper, it barely breaks the twilight in his room. His desk is littered with papers: contracts, invoices, unresolved issues, each line weighing on him more than the bronze storm lantern next to it.

And on his bed, stretched out in lazy tenderness like a cat, lies she.

Her light breathing almost merges with the rustle of paper, her arms spread out in carelessness, and on her face an expression of serenity he can never reach. The perpetual chaos she carries with her is strangely peaceful to him.

Her clothes are lying somewhere in the corner of the room, and if anyone had said she had even a shadow of neatness, he would have only laughed. Stockings-one on the back of a chair, the other must have gotten lost in the folds of a blanket. The garter, the one he'd fastened on her pale skin himself, was gone without a trace, as was the earring she'd bemoaned last week.

She doesn't care about order, doesn't bother with things, hardly remembers where she puts them. He's used to picking up her brooches off the floor, picking up forgotten gloves from the dresser, and searching for her hairbrush, which invariably gets lost between the pillows. He's used to the fact that every morning begins with her searching for missing items and ends with her wearing the first thing that comes to hand anyway.

Thomas runs his hand over his face tiredly, bringing himself back to reality. Long fingers transfer the ink stain from the paper to his temple, but he doesn't care. He needs to finish his work so he can drift off to sleep as easily as she does - as if she doesn't have to think about anything, as if this world requires nothing more than the lazy movement of her hand to once again take possession of everything she desires.

He looks at her and feels a slight weariness, but there is a strange, quiet pleasure in that weariness. He shouldn't be babysitting, shouldn't be taking care of a man who can't even find his own stockings. But apparently that's what he had become.

She rarely did anything on her own. Not because she was lazy (though she was lazy too), but because whenever she did, it turned out to be a disaster. Inept was the word that best described her. If she tried to fix something, the result was always something completely different, most often for the worse.

She could sleep half the day, forgetting all her chores, she could lose her things without leaving one room, or she could try to help, and in doing so she could drive the situation to the point of absurdity.

Like that morning when she had suddenly thought of helping Thomas tie his tie.

He was standing in front of the mirror, frowning at his shirt and the carelessly thrown on piece of cloth. She stretched lazily, yawned, and, seeing his hesitation, suddenly suggested:

- Let me do it.

He only raised an eyebrow, but apparently he was too tired to argue.

So the tie was in her hands.

She took hold of the knot confidently, trying to pull it tight, the way respectable people do. The problem was, she'd never had a talent for this sort of thing. With each new movement, the fabric twisted into something unimaginable, and the harder she tried, the worse the result became.

By the time Thomas suddenly began coughing, she realized she was literally choking him.

His hands immediately flew to her neck, trying to loosen the deadly noose she had so diligently tied.

- God, I'm sorry! - she released the tie so sharply that it tightened even more, and now Thomas was looking at her as if deciding whether to let her live.

He loosened the noose abruptly, took a deep breath, and turned around slowly, very slowly.

- Don't move," he said, burning her with his gaze.

She did the only thing she could do in a situation like this - she put her hands up, feigning complete innocence.

- I'm sorry. I just wanted to help.

He looked at her, then shifted his gaze to his tie, which now looked like it had been used in a fight, and back at her again.

- Did you really want to help or were you trying to kill me?

She laughed nervously.

- If I wanted to kill you, I would have found a more subtle way.

He rubbed his temples and seemed to mutter something quietly to himself.

She concluded that helping was not her forte. Better to lie on the bed, entertain herself with harmless thoughts, and let Thomas deal with things on his own.

At least it was safer for his life.

And for some reason it doesn't annoy him at all.

Thomas had never said it out loud, but he seemed to have accepted that he wasn't just her lover-he was her guardian, her nurse, her controller, the only person who could keep her safe from herself.

She couldn't even take care of her own clothes.

Once he had left her alone for five minutes, and that had been enough for her stockings to disappear into the abyss of the room and her corset to somehow end up tightened on the wrong side. No one could explain how it happened, but the fact remained that if left unattended she inevitably turned herself into a mess.

So he dressed her himself.

At first he just helped - adjusting the straps, pulling up the stockings, buttoning the buttons. But then he realized that if he wanted to leave the house in the next hour, he'd have to take

he'd have to take matters into his own hands.

She sat on the bed, yawning and stretching as he carefully arranged her underwear in front of her as if he were dressing a porcelain doll.

- Lift your leg," he said briefly.

She lazily complied, and he confidently pulled the thin silk stocking over her.

- The other.

She smirked, but complied.

When he was done with it, she ran her finger along the edge of the lace.

- You tie them better than I do.

- Because I don't turn simple things into disasters.

She grinned wider.

- 'You don't trust me too much.

He looked at her, assessing her disheveled hair, the pillow mark on her cheek, and the chaos around her. His gaze dropped to her hands, which were carelessly going through the folds of her skirt.

- And have you given me any reason to trust you on this?

She shrugged her shoulders.

- Probably not. But it's still nice to have you take care of me.

He silently pulled his shirt over her and buttoned it, not even bothering to comment. He was used to it.

Used to the fact that she could go through the day without realizing she'd put her dress on backwards. Used to the fact that every morning started with him looking for clothes for her while she sat lazily on the bed, legs dangling.

And he knew he'd keep doing it.

Because she couldn't survive otherwise.

You couldn't say he was looking for trouble. They found him on their own, as if there was an invisible sign on his shoulders: "You get in trouble, you don't get out."

But then, that day, on the narrow street with the smell of fresh baked goods, he hadn't realized he was in trouble yet.

He nodded and paid.

Thomas hadn't realized what a mistake he'd made. He hadn't realized that the girl's parents would just as easily sell her to him, and she would be like an ownerless cat, cautious at first, and then just stay.

And he wouldn't be able to kick her out, of course.

Thomas wasn't sorry. Wasn't angry. Wasn't really angry.

To be honest, he encouraged her behavior himself.

Sure, he scolded her, spoke sternly, arched his eyebrows and gritted his teeth that she'd managed to lose her hairpin again, knocked over the inkwell again, stepped on her hemline again, and nearly tumbled down the stairs.

But as soon as he left the room, he froze outside the door.

And listened.

How she grumbled to herself, how she mocked him, how she tried (unsuccessfully, of course) to cope with another disaster on her own.

Sometimes he peeked out.

Standing in the doorway, watching her try to button the buttons of her dress and then give up and sit on the bed, frowning frustratedly. How she climbed under the bed for her lost earring but got stuck there, and only her muffled exclamation told him that the operation had failed.

And at times like this, he found it hard to hold back a smile.

But as soon as she turned around, his face became stern again, his voice steady, his steps confident.

- Why did you go under the bed? - he asked calmly.

- I lost my earring.

He nodded, walked over, bent down, and after a few seconds pulled out her find.

She looked up at him with slight indignation.

- You mean you found her right away?!

- I did.

She rolled her eyes and looked away, and he smiled imperceptibly again as he walked away.

She was a disaster. But somehow a disaster for him.

He loves her.

Not just loves her - madly, desperately, to the very edge where love becomes obsession.

He loves dressing her. Smoothing the hem of her dress, buttoning the tiny buttons, pulling her stockings over her soft skin. He loves tying ribbons in her hair because he knows that if she tries to do it herself, the knot will be so tight that the devil himself can't untie it.

She's his problem.

A cheeky, cunning, lazy cat who always loses her things, stumbles over things, and can't tie his tie without trying to strangle him. The cat he scolds and then eavesdrops outside the door, listening to her mumble something to herself.

And when her parents came back to get her...

He didn't even let them finish their sentence.

No.

They'd left her when she'd been a helpless girl at the doughnut counter. They abandoned her like she was worthless. And now that she was his, now that he was used to buttoning her dress, stroking her hair, sorting out her morning mishaps with her and watching her throw her stuff all over the house, they decided to remember they had a daughter?

Too late.

- She's staying.

A simple phrase, said without too much emotion.

She lives with him now. She is now his concern. His disaster. His curse.

And damn it, he loves her

her like he's never loved anyone before.

[kenpachissluut]

You know what? Fuck it. How about headcanons sfw and nsfw with poly! Toji and Naoya?

The strangest thing of all? They're really good husbands.

They were probably both forced to marry same girl because the Zenin clan wanted a new future heir more powerful than any other, but they ended up finding the love of their lives.

It was difficult at first, but while Toji admits he likes watching his wife get fucked by another big cock... Naoya will never admit that.

Maybe in this timeline, not only Toji will leave the clan, but Naoya will too, all for their sweet girl. :')

So that’s a request i absolutely loved to write. I hope i could fulfill your expectations but don’t be so hard on me, i never did a poly fanfic before🫣🩷

Headcanons Naoya & Toji Zenin (Poly Marriage) ꨄ︎

warning: smut fanfiction, explicit content and language, 18+mdni

Toji and Naoya had been forced to marry you both as the Zenin Clan wanted powerful new heirs. You are coming from a powerful clan aswell, that’s why they have choosen you. At first it was weird having two husbands at once, but they soon learned to love you endlessly just like you did, even though you never thought it would be possible to love two men.

Toji and Naoya love to fuck you both in one hole, completely stretching your poor hole out. While Naoya lays on his back with your back pressed on his chest, Toji fucks you from above. It did hurt at the beginning but you soon became accustomed to their fat cocks stretching your poor cunt out on daily basis.

Toji loves watching how Naoya pounds you in every fucking position roughly, while he sits nearby stroking his fat cock at the wonderful sight before him. Naoya would destroy your poor pussy, definitely wanting to show Toji how good he pleasures you, maybe even better than him. For Toji it’s just fucking hot to see you being fucked, while for Naoya it’s just a Competition to show his older cousin that his cock can fuck you better than Toji’s cock.

Toji and Naoya treat you both like a fucking Queen. They worship you and do everything for you. Buying you everything you want, doing everything you ask from them. No matter how perverse or expensive your request‘s are.

Toji and Naoya love to deepthroat you with their fat cocks while you are on your knees taking both their cock in your wet mouth. Deepthroating them like your life depends on them, you spit on their nasty cocks stroking them both and bringing them into ecstasy as soon their huge amount of cum spills everywhere in your mouth and on your face.

Naoya is so jealous when he has to attend meetings and he has to live with the thought how you are being rimmed by Toji. Toji would use that to his advantage, showing you that he is the one who fucks you better as he pounds you in every corner in the house while Naoya is away. He would purposely cum on the sheets a bit, so as soon Naoya comes home he would get out a reaction of him.

Toji and Naoya always fight over you, especially when you Guys want to have a date night out. They would always bicker about on where they want to bring you, while Naoya wants to have action like going to something like a rage room cause he can’t punch toji lol, Toji wants to treat you to a good romantic dinner. You would silently sit there giggling over their indecisive fight.

Toji and Naoya are both kinky as fuck. In this matter, they get along pretty well. They love doing bdsm with you, sometimes soft, sometimes rough. They both love to choke you and show their dominance over you. Sometimes they even love to humiliate you while you are being tied on the bed, tears streaming down your pretty face as they smirk on how desperate and needy you look for their throbbing cocks in your pussy.

Toji and Naoya even convinced you with good arguments to fuck your ass. Alternately switching their cocks in and out your poor holes. While Naoya is being more rougher with your ass, Toji always tries to manage to even make you cum while he fucks your ass. Naoya would be angry as fuck, thinking he can’t pleasure your ass properly. Your favorite position is while they both strong beefy arms hold you up in the air, naoya fucking your pussy while toji pounds your poor ass from behind, but the orgasm you get from it? Holy shit.

Toji and Naoya even would contemplate to leave their clan for you with you. They want to live a normal life with you, treating you like a Queen and making you the happiest woman you‘ll ever be. They would not care about how much of a fight the Clan would put on, they would go to Hell and back for you if they must.

Toji and Naoya obviously love to breed you every fucking day. Switching their cocks in your pussy making you squirt all over them, while each of them would fuck their cum into your womb coating your insides white, hoping they would make you soonly a beautiful mama.

kenpachissluut ꨄ︎

comments and reblogs appreciated ꨄ︎

[sailornymph]

dnd; sae itoshi

synopsis — the status of your relationship has been unclear for some time now, but showing up to the same event as him removed any confusion or doubt

content warning — agedup!sae, profootballer!sae, public bathroom sex

a/n — i’ve been working like crazy, but finally having a few days off soon, i’ll be able to post a little more

checking your phone for what felt like the millionth time, you could only sigh at the results. nothing. you hadn't talked to sae in nearly two weeks and you were beginning to think things were over. swallowing the dismay, you put on the best fake smile you could, as your friend talked.

"you okay? still nothing from sae?" yuki asked. there wasn't much you could hide from her, she always seemed to catch the slightest change in your mood.

"i’ll be okay," you shrugged, straightening your posture, as sana, your makeup artist came back into the room. you were an editorial fashion model, and while you technically were on a hiatus, you were modeling a close friend's new clothing brand.

yuki and sana began talking, laughing at whatever they had seen earlier on social media, while you sat quietly. sae consumed your thoughts, you wanted to be the bigger person and text him, but you couldn't - it was you who caused the rift to begin with.

"what are you doing?" you flinched, hearing his voice, you thought he was asleep.

"i need to get back to my room, my team will be over in a-

"you didn't want to get ready here?" he asked, sitting up, and stretching.

"no, i...i don't want them to talk," you mumbled. the choice of words seemed to wake him up a bit more, scoffing, before climbing out of the bed.

you bit your lip, shifting your eyes, as he stood tall, reaching for the boxer briefs. slipping into them, he approached you, as you wiggled back into the dress. wrapping his long arms around you, he groaned, taking in your scent.

"talk about what?"

"us? i don't-we don't need a scandal, you're here for your photoshoot, and i'm here for work-

"work? what work do you have in tokyo? you said last night you were here to spend time with me," he said, raising an eyebrow at you.

"i am, but as far as the media knows, i am here for work," you said, briefly poking his toned abdomen.

"you want to stay a secret?" he frowned lightly, shaking his head, as he moved past you to go to the bathroom.

"sae, try to understand, as far as your fans know, you are single and not looking for a relationship, i don't want to have to deal with crazy fans," you expressed.

"i couldn’t give a damn what anyone had to say about my decisions, so i don't see the issue unless you just wanted to remain a secret," he said, as he began to brush his teeth.

"you're making it like i am just purposely hiding you away, i'm not ashamed of our relationship, if that's what you're insinuating. i'm trying to prevent backlash, your fans will drag me through the mud if i don't fit their standard," you said, reaching to touch him, but he struggled your hand off.

"fine, i won't force you to understand," you said, grabbing your handbag, and leaving his hotel room, making sure to slam the door.

your behavior was immature and unnecessary, but you wanted him to see things from your perspective. his fans were a bit obsessive, and while you had thick skin, you didn't want to deal with harassment in the country he was born in.

he had been single for some time when you met him on a girl's trip in spain. you were familiar with him, seeing a few clips of him playing on social media, while his friends teased that you were his crush. you felt like a young schoolgirl, exchanging numbers due to his lack of social media and texting constantly. his responses were always short, but he stayed consistent. it wasn't long before he flew to london, meeting you in between your photoshoots.

your first kiss, your first time making love, visiting his homeland, meeting his family. he was a breath of fresh air, the perfect concoction of consideration and coldness - you had never experienced anyone like him. despite knowing these things, you were afraid, you hadn't been in any public relationship before and you weren't sure how you'd be treated.

while the football season was over, his team still found a way to continue to have him in the media, he had been in japan for last-minute photo shoots, being that he had recently become an ambassador for a sports brand. you planned to stay with him the entire time, but your schedule overlapping his, as well as paparazzi trying to inquire about your business in the city, forced you to be more secretive.

naturally, you pushed away from him and ended up pushing him too far. now well over two weeks later, you were sure you had ruined your chance at love over your anxious thoughts.

posing for the photographer, your eyes were clouded, as your form moved guilelessly. yuki stared at you, frowning, as your assistant and best friend, she had to do something about this. you seemed to be the only person stressing about what fans would think when you didn't have to. she had seen the way sae stared at you, how he'd bite inside his jaw, his gaze on you, watching you, eagerly, despite his dull expression, sharing his culture with you to guarantee you felt comfortable.

"once you finish, meet me back in the dressing room, we have things needing to be done," yuki smiled, going into the room, as she ordered your black dress.

"where are we going again?" you asked, climbing into the suv. you didn't know where you needed to be with the strapless form-fitting dress, and the dark hair and makeup look.

"a small event," yuki said, as you glanced at her. another week had gone by since the photoshoot and she had been working hard to make sure you would arrive on time.

"what event-

"a gala, it's mostly athletes who are going, but i figured you should go, there will be plenty of paparazzi," she interrupted, making you snap your head over at her.

"yuki," you shook your head, you knew what she was doing instantly.

"y/n, you need to see him, neither of you has texted each other, and face-to-face clarity is what you need, to know if things are over or not. plus, respectfully, he looked really good in his pictures, so when i saw that you had been invited, i accepted immediately," she cheered.

"and you look amazing, he won't be able to keep his eyes off of you," she told you, reassuringly. gulping, you nodded at her words, looking out the window.

feeling an uneasy knot in your stomach, as the black carpet came into view, yuki squeezed your hand.

"just focus on the camera and he'll come to you," she whispered before the car slowed down and the door was opened.

your heart sped up, seeing him a good distance away, taking pictures next to aiku oliver. they made casual conversation while posing for their pictures, well, he mumbled a few words, as aiku talked his ear off, smiling brightly.

"oh my gosh, y/n!" one of the many paparazzi members screamed, snapping a photo. instantly, it felt like all of the different cameras were flashing. they shouted praise at you, asking which team is your favorite? who was your favorite player? did you intend on wearing the brand? as security went to lead you away from the carpet, your eyes discreetly widened, seeing that he stood watching you.

"thank you," you told security, going to approach a few blue lock members.

"hi," you and bachira said, giggling, as you hugged each other. while you hadn't followed each other until recently, the two of you had been mutual on social media for some time now.

"i can't wait for this to be over, i need food," bachira whined to you, as you nodded in agreement. you could still feel his eyes on you, but you couldn't face him.

"y/n, do you want to sit with us?" meguru asked, already pulling you to his table.

"i-sure," you nodded as he giggled.

intertwining his arm with your own, you both began to make your way into the building, to your seats. talking with bachira eased the nervousness that once filled your stomach, and soon you found yourself enjoying the event, as the two of you shared commentary.

just as the event began to end, you excused yourself to the restroom. once you were finished, you stood washing your hands, before touching up your makeup. suddenly, the door opened, and sae waltzed into the women's restroom, locking the door.

"sae-

"were you going to speak to me, or just flaunt yourself around like eye candy?" he asked, approaching you. even with the high heels, he managed to tower over you.

"i didn't know we were on speaking terms, i haven't heard from you in almost a month," you said, wrapping your arms around your body.

"i have been busy, i hardly have any time with my phone, how have you been?" he asked.

"i’m okay," you shrugged.

"i've missed you," he confessed.

"i've missed you...too," you agreed.

"i don't want to be a secret, i'm not asking you to wear it on a shirt, but i don't want to hide you" he said, as his fingers went to your waist, pulling you closer. nodding at his words, your breathing was shallow as he kissed your lips.

"you look beautiful," he complimented, kissing you again, moving down to your jaw. humming as he kissed your neck, you looked up into his eyes, biting your lip.

"i want you," you whispered, and in an instant, he had you in his arms, leading you back into the large stall, as you kissed his soft pink lips.

lifting the dress, he passionately kissed your lips, as you lowered the black thong. immediately, he took them, shoving them into his pants pocket. his large hands explored your figure, missing every curve from your perfect body. unbuttoning his pants, you hungrily accepted his kisses, as he stroked his cock.

picking you up from the ground, your legs went around his waist, your hands around his neck, while he aligned with your entrance.

"y/n...i love you," he said, as his cock slid smoothly into your creaming cunt.

gasping in pleasure, you were silenced by his tongue going into your mouth. bouncing you in the air, your low moans were drowned out by his grunting.

"you're fucking me so good," you whimpered to him, feeling yourself unraveling.

"i want you to release all over me," he encouraged you, as you began clenching around him repeatedly.

breathing ruggedly, you nodded earnestly, trying to concentrate, as the knot tugged in your abdomen yearning to be released.

"i’m close," you cried out, the sound of your skin slapping filled the restroom before your face was buried in his shoulder, as you moaned. your body visibly vibrated a few times before you pulled away, looking at him.

his cheeks were flushed, as the corners of his mouth turned upward, kissing your lips as he pulled out, slowly letting your heels touch the floor. holding your waist, he leaned down, kissing you a few more times, before he pulled away, allowing you both to fix yourselves. lowering your dress, you went to reach for his pocket, when he grabbed your hand - kissing your knuckles.

"you can get them back later," he smirked, as you adjusted the dress and your hair. turning to leaving the stall, he held your waist once more.

"don't go that long without reaching out again, i thought we were done," he continued, his eyes widening, as you pecked his lips.

"come on, bachira invited me out for food with him and yoichi," you grinned, leading him out of the stall and out of the bathroom.

the two of you got a few questioning glances, but no one said anything as they headed out to their cars, some going home, to after parties, or food. holding his hand, you began heading out of the building, when he stopped you.

"what are you doing?"

"you said private, but not a secret right? i can do that," you told him, puckering your lips as he leaned down to kiss you. wrapping an arm around your waist, he bit his lip as the two of you exited the building.

"y/n, when did you and bachira meguru become friends?"

"sae itoshi, the two of you seem close, are you together?" they threw question after question at the two of you, but this one seemed to catch his attention.

"yes," he nodded, pecking your forehead.

"and how long have you been together?"

"a while," he replied stoically, walking away, and helping you into the suv.

"you're going to have an article out about us by morning," you laughed, as he sat next to you, shutting the door. instantly, he was kissing your lips once again.

"when we get to my suite, this dress is coming off," he groaned, feeling your hand pressed against his print.

"i need to text yuki and meguru-

"they’ll understand when they see the blogs, silence your phone silent, tonight is just us, no distractions," he told you. nodding in agreement, you put your phone on dnd, tossing it to the side, before laying back in his arms. oh, how much you’ve missed this.

[sunflowersonatas]

written in the stars: oneshot

sirius black x f!reader / flangst / whimsical!reader

summary: He has spent his life running from the name they gave him. But under the stars, with you beside him, Sirius Black finally stops to listen.

a/n: this was heavily inspired after reading @bartonomy's lovely work a glimpse between the veil, so i wanted to tag her here as thanks for writing that one in the first place! i love the whimsical!reader trope and i've always been an astrology girlie myself i really do believe (and call me crazy but) the stars do have an influence on how we feel, our moods, our lives. okay done rambling, hope you like it!!! <333 xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 1849

The stars have always been watching.

The moon watches too, thrumming with an unseen pulse. She spills her thin, silvery light over the earth, seeping into the spaces between breaths and between thoughts, a quiet witness to the night. You can feel the traces of something ancient, felt by every wanderer who has ever turned their face to the sky. The grass is damp beneath your legs, blades curling gently, as if the earth itself is holding you in place. Overhead, the sky stretches indefinitely, a great cosmic sea where stars drift like scattered embers, still burning long after their fire has gone.

You breathe it in, slow and deep, letting the night fill your lungs. The moonlight seeps into your being, turning your limbs ethereal, half-real, as if you, too, might dissolve into the constellations above. You are at peace here, in this liminal space between night and morning, between earth and sky.

And so, without thinking, you begin to speak.

You tell him about the constellations the way one tells old stories by a fire, familiar and worn at the edges, but no less magical. Your fingers trace invisible lines between the stars, connecting them into shapes, into myths, your voice weaving pictures into the darkness.

"That’s Orion," you say, arm outstretched, your fingertip drawing the belt in the air. "A mighty hunter, cursed to chase his prey forever across the sky. He thought he was unstoppable. Then the gods decided otherwise."

Sirius follows your gaze, his eyes tracing the constellations as you map them with effortless certainty. He watches the way your lips shape each name, each legend, as though they belong to you, as though you are the one weaving them into the night.

"And Cassiopeia?" you continue, shifting slightly so that your shoulder brushes against his. "She was too proud. Too vain. Thought she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs, so Poseidon made sure she’d never look at her reflection the same way again. He chained her upside down in the sky, just to remind her."

You pause, tilting your head toward him, a knowing smile playing at your lips. "Strange, isn't it? The stars don’t tell these stories—we do. We named them, shaped them into hunters and queens and fleeing sisters. We gave them meaning because we needed them to mean something. Because our ancestors looked up at the same sky and whispered their fears, their hopes, their warnings into the dark, and the stars have been listening ever since."

He doesn't answer, but he doesn’t look away, either.

Encouraged, you shift onto your side, propping your head on your hand. Your other hand lifts, fingers tracing another invisible line. "That one—there. The cluster? That’s the Pleiades. Seven sisters, running from a love they never asked for. They were so desperate to be free that the gods pitied them, lifted them from the earth, and set them here—far from grasp, far from harm. A sanctuary in the sky."

You let the words hang, let the weight of them settle. "Such a contrast," you continue, voice lower now, more measured. "One woman, bound to the stars as punishment. The Pleiades, seven sisters, cast into them as an escape. One sentenced. One spared. Both still written into the heavens."

Sirius exhales, a slow, quiet breath, his gaze locked on the vast sprawl above. His fingers twitch against the dewy grass, restless, as if they might catch on something unseen. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, but there’s a tension beneath it, a thread pulled taut, waiting to snap. He doesn’t know whether the sky is a tether or a noose, if its vastness offers escape or only makes him feel smaller.

His eyes flicker to you, thoughtful, hesitant. He never believed in fate. But right now, he believes in the way your voice bends around the stories, in the way your fingers move through the air, slow and deliberate, as though you are shaping the constellations yourself.

Sirius doesn't believe in fate. He doesn’t believe in divine intervention, or cosmic prophecy, or the nonsense his mother used to whisper over candle flames and tea leaves. He doesn’t believe in signs, doesn’t believe in destiny, doesn’t believe in anything that claims to know him better than he knows himself.

But he listens when you speak.

You lie beside him, arms outstretched, fingers gliding through the night as if plucking melodies from the stars. Your voice is quiet but assured, each word carrying the weight of something ancient. The stories of the stars are not just myths—they are memories, stitched into the sky by those who feared being forgotten.

“They named you after the brightest star in the sky,” you murmur, your breath warm against the night air. Your voice is different now, softer, as if the words are heavy with meaning, not just meant to be spoken but entrusted. “Did you know that?”

Sirius exhales sharply through his nose, turns his head just enough to glance at you, but he doesn’t respond right away. The mood has shifted, the playful storytelling dissolving into something heavier, yet somehow more fragile.

“Yeah,” he says at last, but his voice is shrouded behind something guarded. Careful. “I know.”

Your gaze stays on the sky, on the vast darkness where his name burns, distant but unwavering. “Sirius is a guiding star,” you continue, your voice carrying the slow reverence of a secret. “Sailors used it for centuries to find their way home.” Your fingers dance between the stars, drawing invisible maps in the air, tracing a path that has existed for millennia.

His eyes follow the movement of your hand, but his expression remains unreadable.

You press on. “It’s part of Canis Major. The Great Dog.” There’s a pause, just long enough for the words to linger. “A loyal companion.”

His laugh is abrupt, cutting through the quiet. But it isn’t real, not really. The sound is empty, edged with something bitter.

“Loyalty,” he repeats, tasting the word, like one might taste wine to test if it's spoiled. And indeed, it lies bitter and pungent on his tongue. He shakes his head, a slow, almost imperceptible movement. “Funny.”

You don’t flinch, or argue, or try to tell him he’s wrong. You just let the silence settle, let the sky breathe between you. And then, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it, you ask, “What do you think it means?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Because the truth is, he doesn’t know. He’s spent his whole life running from the name they gave him, the weight of it pressing into his bones, the chains of his bloodline clanking at his heels. The Black family had always spoken of the stars with reverence, with hushed voices and heads bowed as if they were sacred, as if their fates were written in them before they were even born.

But he doesn’t want to be written into anything. Doesn’t want to be another Black, another link in the chain, another name in a long list of cruel men with cold hands and empty hearts.

“They named me after the brightest star in the sky.” He pauses, just for a moment, as if weighing the words in his mouth, feeling their weight settle into his bones. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost resigned. “But they never wanted me to shine.”

The words hang there between you, fragile as gossamer, trembling under the weight of the truth. The night swallows them whole, but they don’t disappear. They linger, stretching out between the space of his ribs, curling in the back of his throat like smoke from a fire long extinguished.

You don’t speak right away. You let the silence settle, let the night air breathe around you. There’s no rush. No demand. Just time. Just the quiet hum of something unspoken threading between you, waiting to be understood.

Sirius swallows hard, tilting his head back toward the stars, searching their endless sprawl as if they might hold an answer he’s never been able to find.

“I wonder,” you say eventually, voice softer than before, contemplative. Your breath catches, just slightly, before you continue, “if stars ever get tired of burning.”

His eyes flick toward you, sharp but thoughtful, considering your words the way he considers so few things.

You continue, tracing slow, delicate patterns against the sky. “They burn for centuries. Millennia. Pouring their light into the universe, unraveling themselves in the process, until there is nothing left but the faint remnants of their glow. But eventually, even the brightest ones collapse.”

A pause. Then, softer, “Even the ones that guide people home.”

Sirius exhales, long and quiet, the breath leaving him like something unraveling, like a tether slipping free. His fingers twitch against the dewy grass, restless, as if they might catch on something unseen. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, but there’s a tension beneath it, a thread pulled taut, waiting to snap. He feels as if you’ve reached into the hollow of his chest and found a feeling he had locked away, hidden in the quiet corners of himself.

Then you turn to look at him, and your eyes are burning with an emotion he can’t quite name—wild, consuming, stretching beyond reach, reflecting the infinite sprawl of the cosmos.

“But,” you murmur, your voice carrying the weight of a truth so delicate it feels as if it might shatter if spoken too loudly, “they don’t really disappear, do they?”

His breath catches.

You watch him carefully, as if measuring each second that passes, as if willing him to believe you. “Even after they’re gone, their light travels. We still see them. Still follow them. They don’t stop shining just because they aren’t there anymore.”

Sirius doesn’t know what to say to that. Because no one has ever told him that before. No one has ever spoken of him like a presence that lingers, a light refusing to dim.

You shift closer, just enough for your shoulder to brush his, a steadying presence against the weight of his thoughts. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t speak. But the tension in his jaw eases, just slightly, as if the closeness anchors him to something real, something here.

“Sirius,” you say, like it’s a vow unspoken, a promise woven between the stars. “You are burning brighter than they ever will.”

For the first time, the words land with weight, pressing into his chest, firm and steady, an anchor against the pull of everything he’s been running from. They don’t scatter into the night, don’t vanish before he can hold onto them. They stay. They linger, heavy and certain, settling into the spaces he’s long believed to be hollow. A quiet warmth stirs in his chest, like embers coaxed back to life. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t disturb the stillness that has wrapped itself around the two of you. He allows it to exist, lets the night cradle the silence, and leaves none but the stars to bear witness.

And for once, he doesn’t feel the need to disappear.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[fourth-wing-stories]

In the Stillness

ship request rules || Masterlist

@lowytavis I ship you with Ridoc!

It’s early morning, just before dawn, and you’ve made your way down to the river that runs along the edge of the Riders Quadrant. You’re sitting on the bank, the cool water brushing against your fingers as you watch the sky begin to lighten, waiting for the sunrise. The soft chirping of birds mixes with the gentle rush of the current, and for a moment, you feel completely at peace.

Unsurprisingly, Ridoc finds you there, as he often does during these quiet moments. He’s leaning against a nearby tree, watching you for a few seconds before he approaches, a teasing smile already on his lips.

“Up early again, huh? You never sleep, do you?” he jokes, sitting down beside you without waiting for an invitation.

You grin, glancing over at him. “I like being up before everyone else. It’s peaceful.”

He hums in agreement, though his eyes flick to you, clearly more focused on your presence than the scenery. “You know, you’re always out here by the water. Something about it draws you in, doesn’t it?”

You nod, tracing small circles in the water with your finger. “It feels… natural, calming. It’s where I feel most like myself.”

Ridoc leans back on his elbows, his gaze turning thoughtful as he watches you. “You’re like that, you know. You’ve got this calm about you, but then you’re all fire and attitude when you need to be. It’s kind of impressive.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a blush creeping up your neck. “Yeah, well, someone has to keep you in line.”

He laughs, and the sound is warm, genuine. “I think you might be the only one who can.”

The sky is beginning to lighten now, the first streaks of pink and gold stretching across the horizon. Ridoc watches the colors reflect in your eyes, the soft glow of dawn catching in your hair. There’s a comfortable silence between you, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

“You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” he says suddenly, his voice quieter, more sincere than usual. “You’ve got this way of making people feel like they matter, like they’re seen.”

You glance at him, surprised by the depth in his words. “I just try to help where I can,” you say softly.

Ridoc smiles, but there’s something deeper in his eyes now. “Yeah, but it’s more than that. You’re more than that.”

The warmth in his gaze sends a flutter through your chest, and for a moment, the playful banter between you fades, replaced by something softer, something real. You look away, focusing on the rising sun, but you can feel Ridoc’s eyes on you, and it’s enough to make your heart race.

“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely above the sound of the water.

Ridoc shifts closer, his shoulder brushing yours, and in that quiet moment, you realize just how much his presence means to you.

[aquamarinemarie]

(This ask is in good faith)

I do think that most people criticizing the way games present solavellan (not how shippers interpret it but what’s factually in the game) say it’s meh because so much is not said or implied. That’s where it falls flat for me. I fear offering nothing but “he occasionally watches them through dreams” and extremely vague things at the Lighthouse contributes to the implicit “this feels very onesided and empty”, given they spent less than a year dating and ten years apart with visually no explicit contact. Or even keepsakes.

I honestly think most people who are very "meh" about solavellan as a whole were never truly into it to begin with; and that's fair. If the couple isn't appealing then it just isn't appealing.

For me, the content presented in both games (Inquisition and Veilguard), plus the Trespasser DLC was enough. In Veilguard specifically, solavellan gets quite a lot considering how the inquisitor was no longer the main protagonist. In such a reduced role, I knew to keep my expectations in check. Lavellan discussing her feelings with Rook was a welcome surprise, and I'm sure the writers felt a bit freer putting words into her mouth than Solas'. People, I think, tend to forget that this Lavellan is an inquisitor who chose to continue loving Solas during Trespasser and to not give up on him. So, in my opinion, her feelings for him in Veilguard really shouldn't have taken anyone by surprise. Nor, frankly, is she putting him first. It's save the world - then save Solas. So, I don't agree, as others have suggested, that Lavellan is simply being a lovesick fool here. She knows she might have to let him go, and is willing to make such a sacrifice. Even if it hurts her.

Now, from Solas' side of the relationship - I believe what we were presented with in Veilguard ultimately remained true to his character. He's a private person after all and isn't exactly the type to shout his love for her from the rooftops. A single letter reaffirming his love for Lavellan and his desire/wish to live his life with her, a reluctant admission of how much he cherishes his regretful & ultimately selfish relationship with her (more than some of his victories in fact), and of course, Solas & Lavellan's reunion in the final act. That they get to be together always. This is so much more than I ever expected to receive from Veilguard - and honestly I'm grateful. I thought they'd kill Solas in the end - that there wouldn't be any redemption.

To address the years of separation, the games tell us Solas occasionally spies on Lavellan in her dreams, and it explicitly reminds us (via the letter) that he truly wants to be with her. There is also strong implication within Trespasser & Veilguard to suggest Solas feels he doesn't deserve forgiveness and that he may even desire his own death.

"I walk the Din'anshiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become." - Solas

I don't think it a stretch of the imagination to believe Solas did not expect to survive tearing down the veil. That the act alone would cost him his life. If not physically then perhaps figuratively. Since deliberately ending the lives of most of the world's population would be an act beyond redemption.

Levallen for the last eight years has spent much of her time trying to find a way to change Solas' mind. She cannot even gaze upon her own reflection without being reminded of the man who removed her vallaslin. (If the player chose to allow this to occur.) Her keepsake is the vallaslin removal. She continues to reside within his castle and sleeps in the very bedroom that was likely his own. She couldn't put him from her mind even if she wanted to.

In conclusion, I've never needed headcanon to support Solas & Lavellan as a couple. The games give us plenty. Nor, have I ever had a problem with anyone who finds the pairing boring or just not to their taste. With that being said, I do believe many who insist the relationship is hollow or entirely one-sided, either say so in bad faith or just haven't been paying attention.

I don't mind engaging with critics (those who are polite anyway) and I appreciate you messaging me. I hope some of what I've written here helps make solavellan seem a little less... meh. If not, well, different strokes for different folks.