#but when I try to get them down on paper something just goes wrong and I end up with the wrong one. and I KNOW it's wrong. alas.

[lightsoutmatthews]

Hi Jo :) I have kind of a long request. Can you do reader x Willy started dating during the off season, so she’s never been to a Leafs game before. At her first game he says he left a pass for her at the gate or whatever, and when she goes to pick it up the pass is still under his exes name. Soooo reader is turned away and can’t get into the game because the names don’t match and she feels so embarrassed. Willy is clueless as to what happened, so he’s confused/concerned why she isn’t at the game. When he finally realizes what happens he feels SO bad and makes it up to reader. Lots of angst, and some fluff at the end? Thank you girly!

I´m obsessed with all those Willy requests I´ve been getting lately, I love all of your minds

A little treat before free agency starts in a few hours 🫣

Wrong name – William Nylander

You were genuinely excited, like full-on counting-down-the-days excited, for tonight.

William had asked you to come to the Leafs home opener about two weeks ago and you had been riding that buzz ever since.

It felt like a big deal, not because it was a game (though yeah, you had never been to one before), but because he wanted you there.

That meant something.

You weren’t just the off-season girl anymore. You were stepping into the world of suits and sticks and bright arena lights. You even bought a blue and white beanie.

You swore you weren’t going to be that girl who showed up decked out in merch, but then you were in a store and the beanie was staring at you and you couldn’t not get it.

“Just go the VIP gate,” William had told you over FaceTime, all casual like it wasn’t a big thing. “I already told them you´re coming. They´ll have a pass for you. Just give them your name.”

“Like…my full name?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, sweaty and slightly breathless from practice. “You´re the only one I gave a pass to.”

It made your heart squeeze a little. Not that he said it in a dramatic way, but because he meant it. It felt like you were becoming part of his life, not just someone tucked away during the off-season.

So, you got ready. You wore the beanie. You even curled your hair just because.

When you arrived at the arena, nervous energy swirling in your stomach, you walked up to the security desk outside the VIP entrance and told them your name.

The woman behind the check-in table scanned a paper list, then tapped on her iPad.

She looked up. “Can I see you ID?”

You handed it over without question. This was just protocol.

She squinted, frowned a little, and then looked back down at her list. “There´s no pass under your name,” she said flatly.

You blinked. “I´m sorry? I told me he left it under exactly that. William Nylander.”

“There is a pass under his name, yes, but it´s not for your name, it´s for a Sophie.”

You froze.

What?

The words barely registered at first. You stared at the woman, your smile faltering. “That´s definitely not me.”

“I´m sorry,” she said, still polite. “I can´t give you the pass if your ID doesn’t match.”

“I get that. I just – he told me it was under my name; Sophie is his ex.”

You said it before you could stop yourself. You weren’t even sure why. It just tumbled out. The name. The association to William. The horrible knot in your stomach.

The security woman glanced at you, then back down at her screen. “I really can´t do anything unless he calls and confirms it directly.”

So, you tried calling him and waited.

Nothing. He probably didn’t have his phone in reach in the locker room.

The arena was buzzing with energy now. Fans all around, security moving people along, the line growing behind you.

You felt exposed, like someone trying to crash a party they weren’t invited to.

Then people started to look and to whisper. “She´s trying to get in without a pass.”

“Wasn’t she just talking about Sophie?”

Your face burned, so, you stepped away from the table quickly, heart pounding, and ducked around the corner near a concrete pillar, where you paced for a few minutes, trying to breathe.

He didn’t mean to do this. You knew he didn’t. William wasn’t careless with your feelings. At least not usually.

But still. Of all the names, hers?

You waited for another twenty minutes for a reply but nothing.

Eventually, you left.

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

William felt off during warmups.

At first, he thought it was just nerves, first-game-of-the-season jitters, but when he glanced toward the glass – to the section where you were supposed to be – he didn’t see you.

Maybe you were running late?

By the first period, it was gnawing at him. Where were you?

He checked his phone during intermission. Two missed calls. No texts.

Weird.

By the second period, he was distracted. Missing passes. Skating like he was half-asleep. He got chewed out on the bench and Berube gave him a glare that could cut glass.

Still no message. So, he texted.

I you okay?

I did you make it here?

I babe?

No response.

They won the game. Barely and not with William´s help. He didn’t feel like celebrating. Instead, he pulled his helmet off and checked his phone again as soon as he could grab it in the locker room.

Then, finally, a message popped up: I didn’t get in. The pass was under Sophie´s name.

He stared at it. Heart sinking. Mind racing.

No. No. No.

He called immediately.

No answer.

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

By the time you picked up on the third call, William was already in his car, all but racing towards your place.

“Hey,” you said, quietly.

“What happened?” he asked, trying not to panic. “They said Sophie? That doesn’t – what? I didn’t…”

“I showed up,” you said, voice flat. “They asked for ID and then said the pass was under Sophie not me.”

“I didn’t…” he exhaled, running a hand over his face. “I swear I didn’t do that in purpose. I told them I needed a guest pass until your family pass would be ready. I just assumed…fuck, they must have pulled it from last season or something. That´s on me. I should´ve checked. I should´ve told them your name. They didn’t ask and I just forgot.”

You didn’t say anything for a beat. “I stood there while people looked at me like I didn’t belong, like I was trying to sneak in,” you said. “And then I heard her name, and it was like a punch to the gut.”

“I´m sorry, baby.”

“It made me feel like I didn’t matter, like I was some sort of placeholder,” you rambled.

“You´re not,” he interrupted. “You´re not. I swear to God. I only wanted you there tonight.”

You swallowed hard.

“I´ll be there soon.”

You didn’t reply before he hung up.

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

You didn’t hear him come in. The spare key you gave him a few weeks ago coming in handy at this moment.

The door opened quietly, his footsteps padded in without a word.

You stayed curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, arms crossed tightly over your chest in his hoodie. The one he gave you a week ago after a late night at his place.

“Hey,” William said, voice low.

You looked up. He didn’t put his suit back on after the game, just his hoodie, joggers and a Leafs cap pulled low. He looked exhausted.

“Can I sit?” he asked.

You nodded.

He sat on the edge of the couch, not too close, like he was afraid to cross the line.

“I didn’t know,” he started. “I swear to God, I didn’t realize they still had her name in the system. I just told them I needed a guest pass and…”

You held up your hand. “Don’t. Don’t start with that.”

He fell quiet.

You sat up straighter, heart pounding, voice tight. “Do you know how humiliating that was for me?”

“I can´t even imagine,” he said immediately, the again. “I´m so sorry.”

“No, I don’t think you get it, Wiliam.” You stood, pacing a few feet away from the couch. “I walked up there, gave them my name and they corrected me. Told me I must be confused and then they read of your ex-girlfriends name like it made perfect sense that it was on there.”

“I didn’t-“

“I was so embarrassed I left,” you said, cutting him off. “I didn’t even try to argue. I didn’t want to be the woman that begged to be let into a game where I was supposed to be your guest.”

He stood up too now, tension radiating off him. “I get that. I messed up, I do, but it wasn’t intentional. Do you think I wanted that to happen? Do you think I was trying to – what? Keep you away on purpose? Hide you?”

“I don’t know,” you snapped. “I don’t know what you think when I show up and you ex´s name is still on your guest list.”

“That´s not fair.”

“Oh, I´m sorry, is this hard for you?” you said, voice braking now. “I didn’t even exist on that list. I was just some girl who showed up with the wrong name.”

William dragged a hand down his face, his voice sharper now too. “I didn’t double-check. I was focused on the game. I didn’t think they would reuse an old name. I haven’t talked to her since we broke up and I told you that.”

“And you didn’t think maybe the first time you invited me, the first time I´d ever go to a game, you should have double-checked?” your voice cracked with emotion. Everything that built up over the course of the evening suddenly breaking down.

“You couldn’t take five seconds to make sure it was under the right name? What does that say?”

He exhaled, jaw clenched. “It says I was careless, not that I don’t care about you,” he spoke your thoughts out loud.

“Same difference tonight,” you shot back.

Silence fell between you.

You rubbed your face with both hands, feeling the sting of the tears you didn’t want to cry in front of him.

William stepped forward, quieter now. “I know this made you feel like you didn’t matter, but you do. You really do. I didn’t do this on purpose.”

You sat back down, suddenly exhausted. “It just brought up everything I was already scared of.”

He sat beside you, slower this time. “What do you mean?”

“That I don’t really fit in your life outside of the off-season. That I´m a temporary thing in your life. Someone you spend time with when you´re free of hockey, but not when it matters. I felt like a stranger at your game, William.”

He blinked, stunned by the honesty in your life. “You´re not temporary in my life. You´re not a stranger. You´re the person I think about in the locker room, between periods, on the plane, before I fall asleep. You´re it for me.”

“You forgot me.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he argued, eyes locked on yours. “I forgot to manage a detail, but I know who I want in that seat every time and it´s not her or anyone else.”

You let that sit for a moment. Then you looked away, quieter now.

“I don’t want this to become some stupid drama,” you mumbled. “But it really hurt, and I need to believe I´m not invisible in your world.”

He moved closer, voice softer. “You´re not. I´ll never let that happen again. You matter more to me than hockey and I really love hockey.”

That made you laugh, just a little. “Barely counts as an apology.”

“Oh, I´m not done apologizing,” he said, nudging your knee. “I´ll grovel if you want. I´ll get down on the floor. I´ll write your name on every pass in permanent marker.”

You let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You´re lucky I like you.”

“I´m lucky you still talk to me.”

After a pause, you asked, “Was she really the last person on your guest list?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Over a year ago. They must have saved her name in the system. I should´ve made sure it was wiped the second we ended things, but trust me, she´s not in my life anymore.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into him. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah. Just…don’t mess it up again.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Never again.”

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

The next home game, William made sure everything was perfect.

When you arrived at the VIP gate, the same woman from last time greeted you by name. “Hi,” she said, smiling. “Here´s your pass. Under the right name this time,” she winked.

You laughed and grabbed it from her hand. Attacked to it was a note written in blue sharpie and a familiar handwriting.

For the only girl I ever want on my list. W.

You were shown to a VIP lounge with catered snacks where you met other players partners and children. You sat with them and laughed, feeling right at home between women that were here for the same reason. To support the one that they loved most.

When William skated out for warmups, he spotted you immediately. You gave him a small wave, and he grinned behind his visor.

Later that night, you waited for him by the players exit. He came out in a crisp suit, hair damp, eyes soft.

“You looked good out there tonight,” you said after leaning in for a short kiss.

“You looked better,” he murmured, tugging you close.

[vunblr]

A Hand in the Dark (#7)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Hurt/Comfort. Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Fluff.

Summary: In a brief moment of lucidity, Soldat makes a choice. And some choices echo across time, shaping the future in ways no one could predict.

Word Count: 5.5k.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

She woke up to an empty bed, the other side was faintly creased and already cool. It didn’t surprise her. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and padded to the bathroom, then to the kitchen. Everything was quiet.

He wasn’t there.

She pulled on a cardigan and opened the curtains, enough to let the morning light spill across the floor. The kettle went on. Bread into the toaster. She moved through the morning ritual without much thought.

Then the lock clicked.

She turned her head from the table as he stepped in, with the collar of his jacket pulled high and the cap low over his face. Paper bags dangling from one hand.

“Hey,” she greeted gently.

“Hey,” he echoed, murmuring, not quite meeting her eyes.

“You want coffee?”

A beat passed before he nodded. Once.

He pulled off his jacket and hat in silence and hung them carefully on the rack. Then he disappeared down the hall.

She stood up and went to the counter, pouring him a mug. Set a bunch of cookies on a plate and set it beside the beverage across her spot on the table.

When he returned, he was empty-handed and sat stiffly, with his shoulders slightly hunched.

“It would be too nosy of me to ask what you bought?” she asked, referring to the bags now hidden in his room.

His eyes flicked to her, then back down to the mug.

“Just… stuff I needed,” he said.

She hummed a little. “Aha.”. Then picked up her phone.

He stared at her fingers moving over the screen, and something inside him felt wrong. He owed her the answer, more than this, probably. She’d dragged him, soaked and broken, from the alley. Sat outside the tub and scrubbed him while he sat there like an alienated person at a fucking mental asylum. Held him as he sobbed like a child and offered him her bed as if it were no big deal. He was pretty sure that normal "roomies" didn't have to do that kind of thing for someone who shared their roof with them.

So, he straightened in the chair a little. Cleared his throat.

“I’ve been remembering things,” he said, fixing his eyes on a scratch in the wooden table. “Some clearer than others. Some I’m not sure I want to recall.”

Her phone went still in her hand. Her full attention shifted to him, tilting her body slightly forward.

“Things from… before. And things I did.” His mouth twisted around the last word. “Stuff I can’t always tell apart yet.”

He forced himself to meet her eyes for a second. “It’s all mixed up. Comes and goes. So I bought some notebooks. To write it down. Try to make sense of it.”

She nodded slowly, not interrupting.

“I need to see it written… separate the things I did because of them, and the things that were just me. To figure… things out.”

She reached across the table and touched his wrist gently. “That’s a really good way to start.”

His arm went still under her hand, then relaxed.

Then she sat back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and gave a small, nervous smile.

“Well… since we’re being honest,” she said, glancing toward the hallway, “we need to talk about your accommodations.”

He went still.

“You’re sleeping in my hauling room,” she went on, watching him carefully, “and I think it’s time we tidy it up a bit. Make it more yours.”

He blinked. “It’s fine. I don’t need-”

“You deserve a real bed, not something that folds like a deathtrap,” she interrupted gently.

He stared at her like she’d suggested pulling out the floorboards.

“I- I prefer that cot,” he said stiffly. Too quickly. The words left his mouth before he could decide if they were true or just reflex.

She didn’t argue. Just nodded. “Still, I’m going to get rid of the clothes I’m not using and a few other things too, so you have room. If you’re writing now, you’ll need at least a little table.”

His fingers twitched on the side of his mug.

“I know it’s been kind of your bunker until now,” she added gently, “but you have to admit it’s a little… cluttered.”

Cluttered. That was one word for it. The room was layered in tension, items stacked with purpose, defense options mapped, and shadows at bay. It hadn’t been organized so much as fortified. Like a shell around his frayed mind.

“I put things the way I need them,” he said, but it came out quieter than he meant. Almost uncertain.

“I’m not gonna move your stuff… much. But if you want a table, if you want shelves, I can help you make space.”

His chest rose and fell, too shallowly.

“I just… It’s the only part that’s mine,” he admitted, barely audible.

“And it stays yours,” she said immediately, calmly. “I’m not trying to take it away. Just making sure you can breathe in it. And besides, there are things there I have been meaning to sell for a while now, to make extra cash. I doubt you have a use for women's clothes and footwear," she quirked a brow. “Let me get rid of my old clothing, and the rest of the things stay there, unless you want to put something in the room."

His jaw flexed. He didn’t look at her. Just stared at the mug between his hands.

She had a point.

It was her stuff. Her clothes. Her shoes. Her boxes. He’d been sleeping on a cot in her storage room, surrounded by things that didn’t belong to him. He just had nested there like a traumatized stray.

He could still hear her voice, calm, without pressure:

“Let me get rid of my old clothing, and the rest of the things stay there, unless you want to put something in it.”

Did he really have the right to argue? He’d been using her home. Her food. Her quiet. Her patience. And now he was using her time and her money, too. No matter how much he tried to contribute, no matter how many groceries he bought with Hydra cash, he knew it wasn’t evening out. The extra meat. The extra heat at night. The laundry items.

All of it, bleeding slowly from her wallet into his care.

So if she wanted to sell a few clothes she didn’t wear anymore to make up the difference...

How could he tell her no?

He hated it. Hated that every instinct said guard the den, don’t let anyone touch it, don’t lose the only safe place you’ve had in years. But this wasn’t a bunker. It was her guest room. And she was offering to make space, not erase him.

His fingers drummed once against the mug. Then stilled.

“Take away the clothes and…” he muttered, “maybe I could put a shelf.”

Her eyes lifted immediately, and for a breath, she didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just looked at him, like she saw all of that war playing out beneath his eyes.

Then her gaze softened.

“Deal.”

He nodded once, tightly and mechanically. Told himself to breathe. Told himself this was fair. She wasn’t taking the space. She was clearing it for him.

“If you need help lifting anything,” he added, forcing the words through his lips, “I’ll do it.”

This time she did smile. “Thanks, Bucky.”

He ducked his head again.

“Probably I'll start sorting the clothing when I come home from work, so I can go to a second-hand shop the day after tomorrow." She commented, stretching her arms.

He stilled.

She was moving fast. Like she’d made a decision and wasn’t going to leave it floating in the air, vulnerable to his retreat. No room for him to squirm out of it, to backpedal.

He didn’t look at her. Just chewed. The cookie felt like chalk in his mouth.

It was happening. The sorting, the clearing. He’d said yes. He meant yes.

But still, that lurch of old panic curled low in his stomach. That urge to protect the corner he’d turned into a shelter, even if it was built with someone else’s things.

His nod was tight. One flick of his chin, like a box being checked.

"Okay," he said, hoarse. Still not looking at her.

She didn’t tease him. Didn’t say “don’t get too excited” because of his demeanor, or “look at you, being useful.” Just sipped her coffee and added, casually-

“There’s a shop near the building, so I’m taking you up on your offer. Maybe you could come with me, help with some boxes.”

The phrasing was wiser than she would ever know.

It wasn’t a “I need you to.” It wasn’t a “You have to.”

It was “maybe you could.”

He could. He would.

“Sure,” he said quietly, brushing crumbs from his fingers.

And this time, he managed to look at her. Not long, but just long enough to see her nod.

She trusted him with this.

He’d carry the boxes. Damn, he’d carry them all.

----

When she came home, she just dropped her bag by the door, took off her coat, and rolled up her sleeves. Walked purposefully towards the spare room and greeted him, opening the closet and beginning to tug hangers free in swift motions. Skirts, blouses, a couple of old jackets she hadn’t worn in years, some pairs of jeans she knew won’t fit her again, the hope has been in vain. She moved like she knew exactly what had to go. Then went to the boxes, some of them empty, some of them not.

Bucky sat silently on the cot. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. His eyes followed the motion of fabric piling on the bed, but he didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really.

It wasn’t his place to touch any of it. It wasn’t his to decide what stayed and what didn’t. He felt like a guest at his own eviction, even if that wasn’t what this was.

Could’ve left the room. Gone to take a shower. Waited in the kitchen. But something in him… didn’t want to. Couldn’t, maybe. Not when things were already shifting. Not when his nest, the space where he’d collapsed those first nights, door locked, body curled tight in the smallest corner, was being breathed open by someone else's hands.

He watched her, fidgeting. Picked at a thread on the seam of his pants. His prosthetic fingers tapped quietly against his thigh in a slow, erratic rhythm.

“You okay?” she asked once, glancing back at him with an armful of sweaters.

He nodded too quickly. “Yeah.”

She then just kept going, folding, sorting into stacks. Keep. Sell. Somewhere near the bottom of one of the boxes, buried under a winter scarf and a tangled phone charger, she pulled out a wrinkled plastic bag and furrowed her brows.

“God, what even is this…”

She didn’t think much of it. Just tipped the contents onto the cot beside him.

Something crimson and lacy spilled out across the rumpled blanket.

She groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked sideways before he could stop himself. He hadn’t caught the full detail, just movement -color- and then it was there: red lace bra, crinkled suggestively on the cot’s edge. Delicate, impractical, and obviously meant for anything but support.

He blinked. She snatched it up immediately with two fingers and a scoff, like it burned.

“Can you believe this crap?” she said, holding it up. “My ex gave it to me for my birthday. Two sizes too small.” She shook her head, frowning. “Should’ve been a warning sign, huh? Probably he was already cheating me by then.” With a quick flick of her wrist, she chucked it into the garbage bag. “Don’t know why I still had it.”

Bucky looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. His back stiffened slightly. He tried to act unaffected, but his ears were red. So was the back of his neck. His hand crept up to scratch just beneath his jaw, an old, nervous tell.

Right. This was the twenty-first century.

He cleared his throat. “Is… is that a common thing now?” he asked stiffly, gesturing vaguely toward the trash bag with an awkward flutter of his fingers. “For… uh. Sweethearts to give each other those kinds of…” He trailed off, eyebrows knotted like he’d stepped into unfamiliar terrain with no map.

She paused, half-smiling as she turned to face him properly.

“Well,” she said, considering, “depends on the couple, I guess. Some people love that kind of thing. Some don’t.” She sat back on her heels. “But that was the first birthday we spent together. I mean, come on. A slutty red bra that doesn’t even cover your nipples? Not exactly the most thoughtful gift.”

She wrinkled her nose and reached for the next pile like that conversation hadn’t just torched the edges of his comfort zone.

She huffed, pushing the offending bra deeper into the trash bag like it might crawl back out. “And! I couldn’t even return it,” she added, offended all over again. “He’d bought it on clearance. No receipt. Probably got it for her, whoever she was, and when my birthday rolled around, went, oh right!”

She trailed off with a bitter little scoff, shaking her head.

Bucky blinked. Then again. His mouth opened slightly, then closed.

This was- this was too much information. On several planes.

First, the idea that it was normal now for a fella to buy his girl some racy lace contraption as a birthday gift. Not a brooch. Not a novel. Not perfume. Underwear. Bright, indecent underwear. On clearance.

Second, the mention of her ex. An abstract concept until now, but suddenly real, a guy with hands and a voice. A man who had touched her and laughed in her kitchen. Somehow, it irked him.

And third… the lace itself. That wasn’t the lace he remembered. Back then, lace was demure. Something a girl might wear under her Sunday dress, not on purpose for display.

He was spiraling in soft silence when her voice broke through.

“What would you have gifted to a girlfriend, you know… before?” she asked.

He shifted on the cot, and one hand came up to rub the back of his neck, his fingers digging into tense muscle as he considered. Not a comb. He wasn’t some wide-eyed schoolboy chasing girls with pigtailed dreams.

“Depends on the girl,” he said finally. “But I- I remember once I dated this… nurse. Annie. Real smart. She loved going to the movies.”

His mouth quirked. Not quite a smile.

“I bought her a pair of gloves,” he said. “White leather. Real soft. She worked nights at the hospital, her hands were always cold. Got ‘em monogrammed with her initials, too. Classy stuff.”

He cleared his throat and looked away.

She blinked at him, then smiled.

“That’s… really thoughtful, I bet she loved them,” she said.

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. It was ages ago, and it felt like… no, it didn’t feel like. It was another man. With a whole other life. One with warmth and windows and streets he knew by name. If he could even call himself a man now. Most days, he still wasn’t sure.

She cleared her throat, breaking the silence.

“Well,” she said, dusting off her palms and eyeing the three remaining boxes. “I guess I did most of the work today, so tomorrow I’ll sort the rest and we can go to the second-hand shop.”

Then, a careful pause.

“Are you sure you want to come?”

He didn’t look at her right away. His metal thumb rubbed absently against his fingers, tracing lines that weren’t there anymore. The memory of white leather still remained in his brain, the ghost of a smile from a nurse who smelled like antiseptic and powder.

“I said I would,” he mumbled finally.

His voice wasn’t sharp, just tethered to something he didn’t quite want to examine. He shifted on the cot and glanced toward the small stack of notebooks he had put near the wall.

He should write about it. About the gloves. About Annie. About how the man who gave her that gift used to mumble Peggy Lee under his breath and knew how to make a girl laugh without trying. Maybe if he wrote it down, he could figure out whether any of that man was still in him.

“I was thinking we could order pizza tonight,” she commented as she dragged some of the boxes to one side.

His ears perked at that, subtly, but unmistakably. The way his head tilted slightly, the faint flicker of attention lighting his eyes.

Pizza.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a slice. Couldn’t say he even remembered the taste clearly, but the idea of it… warm, cheesy, greasy comfort, it sounded enticing. Familiar, somehow. Safe.

“You up to it?” she asked, picking up on his silence.

“Yeah,” he said, after a second’s pause. His voice was low but sure.

She turned to him, half-smiling. “Anything you fancy? Just… nothing with some sort of charcuterie on top. I draw the line at mystery meats.”

He gave a small shrug. “Um… cheese?”

She laughed softly. “Of course it would have cheese, Bucky.”

Another shrug, a bit more pronounced this time. “Then… cheese.”

“Margherita, it is,” she declared, walking over to grab her phone. “Simple, classic. Can’t go wrong with that.”

He watched her as she scrolled through the delivery app, with one knee propped on the edge of the cot like this -this choosing of pizza- was something they’d always done.

“Well, I’ll take a shower while it arrives,” she said, stretching her arms over her head with a small sigh. Then, turning back at the doorframe, “Where do you want to eat it?”

He glanced up from where he sat, quirking one brow in mild confusion.

“It’s pizza,” she added with a little grin. “We can be creative.”

He seemed to genuinely consider it. His eyes dropped, and his brows knitted faintly like she’d presented him with a puzzle. Then, carefully, measured, “I… enjoy the table. As any other food.”

She almost teased. Almost told him he sounded like a man giving a military report on acceptable dining zones. But then she thought better of it. Of course, he’d choose the table. He would cling to something solid, familiar, structured. He needed that. A surface. A chair. A clear place and purpose.

“Table it is,” she said, gently. “Can you set it while I shower?”

“Yeah,” he said, already standing up from the cot, glad -maybe even relieved- to have something to do. His eyes flicked to hers for just a second, then away again as he moved toward the door.

----

The ring of the doorbell traveled through the apartment.

Bucky stiffened where he stood at the kitchen counter, a dish towel still in his hands. His eyes darted toward the hallway, toward the faint sound of water still running in the bathroom. She was still in the shower.

He froze for a beat -just a second- and then drew a slow, deep breath. It’s probably the pizza. He didn’t like the sound of the buzzer, didn’t like unknown voices through static, or anyone unexpected near the door. But this had a name. A reason. A purpose.

He walked over to the intercom and pressed the button. “Yeah?”

“Pizza delivery!” came the muffled reply.

He hesitated -still felt the pressure of old instincts, the demand to verify a hundred unseen variables- but finally said, “Be right down.”

The stairwell smelled faintly of old cleaner and warm cardboard. Bucky descended quickly, hoodie up. The guy waiting at the bottom looked young, early twenties maybe, bored and holding the insulated bag like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Apartment two?” the guy asked, already pulling the box out.

Bucky nodded and reached out.

The kid hesitated, then handed the pizza over, eyeing him up and down like something didn’t quite click. Bucky nodded his thanks and turned to go.

“Hey,” the delivery guy said. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Bucky paused, looked back. Blank. “No.”

“Seriously, dude? No tip?”

“She- it was paid online.” He answered stiffly.

“Yeah, but-” the guy scoffed, already irritated. “Everyone tips, it’s decency, man.”

Bucky’s brows drew in, unsure. He hadn’t known. No one had said anything about an extra payment. Where he came from -when he came from- food just didn’t appear at your door like this.

The silence stretched awkwardly, then the guy huffed and turned away, muttering loud enough to be heard.

“Fucker.”

Bucky blinked. His grip pressed harder on the pizza box. But he didn’t say anything. He just turned, shoulders squared a little more rigidly now, and walked back up the stairs.

----

The smell was rich, warm, and damn near intoxicating. Cheese, tomato, oregano, familiar, yet distant. Bucky set the box on the counter but didn’t lift the lid. Not yet. His fingers twitched with the urge to peek, but he just stood there, with his arms crossed, waiting.

She came out a few minutes later, her damp hair pulled into a messy knot. Soft cotton sweatpants, an old tee. Comfortable. Her gaze landed on the pizza box instantly.

“Oh,” she said, a bit surprised, “they must not have had many clients tonight.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just shifted on his feet.

“You… did alright with it?” she asked, eyeing the box.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Didn’t know I was supposed to give the guy some money. You paid on your phone, so I thought… that was it.”

She grimaced. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t think to tell you because I figured I’d be the one getting it. Was it very uncomfortable?”

He gave her a look, blank but pointed.

“Right,” she winced. “Okay, fair. I’ll take that as a yes.”

He reached up to rub the back of his neck, a little sheepish but mostly frustrated. “The guy looked at me like I’d pissed on his boots.”

“Well… now that we’re at it,” she said, moving to fetch a cutter, “every time you order food, it’s expected to… tip the delivery guy.”

He frowned at that. “Isn’t he an employee of the shop?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Technically. But they make shit money, so tips are kind of how they survive. Think of it like… standard courtesy.”

“Hm,” he muttered, clearly not sold. “That wasn’t a thing back then.”

“Nope. And neither was pineapple on pizza, but we all have to make peace with modern horrors.”

He snorted quietly, surprising even himself. She grinned and handed him a plate with a slice.

“Come on, sit. Here is your margherita.”

He took the plate and followed her to the table, still chewing on the whole tip situation like it was stranger than the idea of a pizza arriving hot at your door.

----

The next day, just like they’d agreed, they headed to the secondhand shop not long after she got back from work. She dropped her bag, changed into something more comfortable, and they began the careful balancing act of getting all the sorted boxes to the door without tripping over themselves.

The way her schedule rotated still threw him off. Some mornings she was gone quickly after breakfast, and other days she didn’t come in until the moon was up. When he’d asked, she’d explained it was something her boss had set up so employees could actually have real lives: plan appointments, errands, family things. Mornings off, afternoons off. Rotating freedom. It sounded nice. Too nice. Structured and unpredictable all at once. Made sense in theory, but it still left him uneasy.

He’d insisted on carrying most of the boxes, stacked awkwardly in his arms. She only took one, guiding him carefully with a hand around the sleeve of his jacket so he didn’t walk blindly into street poles or mailboxes.

She knew there was a lot, hell, there were even clothes from her granny in there, some other untouched since her last move, and she doubted she’d get much for it. A few bucks, maybe. The real goal was to clear the room out, but she didn’t tell Bucky that. He already walked around like any effort she made on his behalf was tipping the scale too far. He didn’t need to know it was more about making space than making money.

The secondhand shop was warm and smelled faintly of old denim, wooden hangers, and lavender sachets, trying to do their best. The clerk behind the counter looked up at the bell above the door, gave them both a once-over, and quirked a brow at the armfuls they were hauling in.

“Spring cleaning?” she asked, dry and unimpressed.

“Something like that,” she replied, shooting Bucky a look and a half-smile.

He stood stiff, scanning the place like there might be a Hydra agent crouching behind the dress rack. But he said nothing, and didn’t shift the boxes even once. Just waited for her to lead.

----

As she haggled gently with the clerk. Bucky let himself drift from the counter. Just a slow, careful wander meant to stay out of the way.

The store stretched deeper than he expected. A side-room opened off the main space, cluttered with more than just racks of clothing, there were tables covered in brass trinkets, crates stacked with mismatched kitchenware, and shelves crowded with lamps that hadn’t lit a room in decades.

They didn’t just deal in clothes, then.

He stepped over the threshold, letting his fingers skim the edge of a chipped enamel basin.

Some of the things he couldn’t place at all, odd plastic gadgets with tangled cords, neon-colored toys that looked radioactive, piles of things that he couldn’t imagine a use for. They seemed old and well-used, but clearly, they weren’t as old as him.

But then, he saw the corner.

A dusty table with a few shaving kits stacked in a wire basket, old double-edged razors, the kind he used to have in the barracks. A hand mirror with silver leaf peeling from the edges. A transistor radio with the RCA Victor logo faded but still visible.

His breath hitched, his brain assaulted with a memory.

One of the shelves held what looked like the skeleton of a mixer, bulky, steel-bodied, the kind his ma used to keep in the pantry, only hauled out for Christmas or when someone died and the neighbors brought over casseroles. It still had the same round dial, the chipped paint around the base.

And next to that, a battered box marked Vinyls - 10 each.

He crouched and let his hand travel over the stack. Things that once played on jukeboxes and radios before he was-

Well. Before.

He must’ve been crouched by that crate longer than he thought, because she showed up at his side eventually.

“Anything that caught your eye?” she asked, resting her hands on the edge of the table.

He gave a small shake of his head, his eyes still on the covers. “Not really.”

Most of the names meant nothing. Maybe they once had. A couple looked vaguely familiar, but it was more like spotting a stranger who reminded you of someone you used to know. And the few he did recognize… Well. He didn’t have a record player. Didn’t know if he even wanted one.

“Jus’ lookin’,” he muttered, clearing his throat. His knuckles brushed over a worn cardboard edge before letting go. “Are you done?”

“Yup,” she replied, stepping beside him. She picked up something from a cluttered tray, a silvery, chrome-toned brooch shaped like a curling vine. The lines were smooth, elegant, the way things used to be made when details mattered. Nestled between the swirling leaves were three tiny blue glass stones, imitation sapphires maybe, catching the light like dew.

One of those little coquetry items women used to pin on their blouses. Not flashy. Not cheap either. Just... feminine. She turned it in her hand, smiling faintly, brushing her thumb on the back where the pin mechanism still held.

He glanced at it, then at her.

And thought -unbidden- that it suited her.

Like it had been waiting there this whole time just for her to pass by.

He looked away before she caught him staring, and swallowed.

“Want me to carry the boxes back?” he asked.

“Oh no, the boxes stay here, we have no use for them,” she declared, setting the brooch back on the tray with a soft clink of metal against metal.

Bucky’s jaw twitched, his eyes remaining on the cardboard stacks near the counter. He didn’t like the idea of leaving them behind. Had stacked them against the walls like a shield when he first got to the apartment. They made the space feel contained. Like a perimeter he controlled. Maybe he had thought unconsciously that he could put them back. Reinforce the nest. Hole up again.

But they were staying. She was right. There was no point. They were just clutter now.

“Want to linger a little more or…?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

He dragged his eyes off the boxes, idly rubbing his thumb at the seam of his sleeve, and gave a small shake of the head. “No. I- I’d like to go home.”

Her eyebrows lifted, a smile pulling at her mouth, soft and surprised. “Home, huh?”

He ducked his head slightly, ears pink.

“Alright, big guy,” she said, patting his metal arm as she passed. “Let’s go home, then.”

He followed her out, keeping close as always.

----

“Oh!” She stopped just outside the second-hand shop, hand catching his sleeve lightly. “Wanna check if they have a shelf? Since you mentioned putting one up.”

He shifted his weight. “Not right now,” he muttered, glancing past her. “I- I’d really like to go back.”

She looked at his face for a moment, then gave a silent nod. “Alright then.”

She didn’t press.

He followed her down the street, this time consciously keeping his pace beside her instead of falling into step behind like a silent guard. But the shift didn’t come easily. Every few strides, his eyes flicked to the buildings, the parked cars, the strangers walking ahead. Always scanning. Always searching for a threat.

His mind drifted as they walked. To the room. Emptier now. He couldn’t think past that, not really. Not yet.

Even if the apartment felt safe now -even if he’d called it home- he still needed the perimeter. The foxhole. Some corner that felt like a fallback position. Somewhere to retreat if things tilted sideways again.

God, he thought. It’s so fucked up.

He exhaled through his nose, scanning the sidewalk again. A man with a too-long stare. A car slowing too close to the curb.

Whatever was broken in him, fine. He could live with it.

But if something touched her?

No. Not on his watch.

----

The hallway light flicked on as they stepped inside the apartment. She shrugged off her coat and tossed the keys in the bowl by the door, glancing at the clock.

“Think I’ll put on some MasterChef UK,” she said casually, already walking toward the couch. “The British one’s better. Less screaming. More actual food. I think you might like it.”

He offered a small nod but didn’t follow. His eyes followed the space ahead -warm and lived-in- before passing straight to the back instead.

“I’ll just…” he gestured vaguely toward the hall. “Gonna be in my room for a bit.”

“Sure,” she said, not pushing. “If you want snacks or something, I’ll be out here.”

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he closed his eyes.

His room felt bigger now. Not better. Just emptier. Exposed. The absence of the boxes made the walls feel farther apart, the corners darker somehow. Bucky stood in the middle for a moment, with his arms loose at his sides, and then moved.

He dragged the cot to a new wall. It didn’t scrape much; he’d lifted it slightly, mindful of the floor. Then the laundry basket, tucked beneath the window, now. The old lamp, once half-hidden, stood upright in the far corner. The chair, the mirror, both repositioned like he was setting pieces on a board, trying to define the space again.

It had to do. It wasn’t the bunker anymore, not really. But it had to be something. Something his.

He exhaled through his nose, sat on the edge of the cot, and reached for the notepad. The one he’d already started to write in. The cover was creased from where he’d gripped it too hard earlier that day.

He opened it and began scribbling. A list, a few half-sentences, and then fuller ones. Observations about the second-hand shop. The record sleeves. The appliance that reminded him of his ma. The radio knob, exactly like the one in his neighbor’s kitchen back in Brooklyn.

None of it hurt to remember. Not yet.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan @escapefromrealitylol @bodhisattva11 @kittieboo @iyskgd @stell404@lil-riddle-kiddle@maryevm @yindoesstuff @shaheea @maladaptive0romantic @cricket-reader @nynxtea @justalittlebitbored @icefox8155 @gloriousvariant @hiraethmae @ixopod @moth-mortuary @belladonnadarksshade @infinitepersuasion @frog-fans-unite @littlesuniee @sebastians-love @icantblink @stillnotsatisfied-blog

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[torchickentacos]

Ah, yes, Nelly Furtado's hit song Anteater. In completely unrelated news, several people have told me that I might be slightly dyslexic.

[abbotsanatomy]

Can I request a Jack x reader where reader gets hurt while working and Abbot goes insane trying to make sure she’s okay 🤭

⨳ HEART IN YOUR THROAT

pairing: jack abbot x wife!doc!reader warnings: workplace romance, descriptions of injury, depiction of an erratic patient, assault of a healthcare provider. author's note: y'all i wrote this man stressed! (reasonably) he CANNOT lose another wife...

There's a tune stuck in your head, from the drive to work. You're humming it as you look over your most recent patient's labs. But you can't hear yourself anymore when someone yells from somewhere near the ER's ambulance entrance.

'Yell' isn't really the right word, it's more of a shrill screaming that chills you to the core. You're still leaning on the station counter, when you spot Jack running towards the screaming, followed by Ellis.

The computer's immediately abandoned, as you make your way through the ER in a sprint. You pick up a paper gown on the way out, and pull it on, tying it in the back. The emergency entrance's glass doors open automatically, as you make your way through them and onto the road.

It's chilly outside, as can be expected on a winter night in Pittsburgh. You can feel cold air making its way deep into your bones, but you know you have to move quick when you see the patient thrashing violently on a hospital gurney. You can tell Ellis and Jack have already gotten a few kicks to the face, trying to steady the patient's legs, where the blood is making it difficult to asses his injury.

You make for his arms, which are free and way too close to grasping Ellis by the hair. You're pulling him back onto the gurney as gently as possible, pulling both of his arms into yours. There's no way to be reassuring in this kind of situation, but you try anyway. He isn't taking any of it, though. His screaming directly at your face makes you flinch a few times. His wife shouting in the background isn't so comforting either.

Somewhere throughout the struggle, the patient gains on you. You can slowly feel your grip over him slip. With a rough shove from him, you're down on the floor, face planted directly onto the pavement. You can hear a sickening crack when you try to move your face across the concrete. An intense pain shoots up from your nose, and you swear you can feel it in your brain.

"Fuck!" you shout into the ground, and even that hurts.

You can hear John make his way out of the emergency entrance, he almost leans down to check on you, but you give him a thumbs up. You just want this idiot on the gurney out of your sight, then you might get up. He makes his way to help restrain the patient.

Jack's voice is distantly shouting a question at Shen that you can't quite make out. Then, he's right in front of you, pulling you up by your arms before you can protest. There's an almost alarming amount of blood on the pavement where your face was. When he pulls your face up to get a good look, you can taste your own blood making its way down your throat.

You wipe away the blood from your top lip. Any expression you make is so painful you regret ever even having a face. Jack's eyes are going back and forth, analyzing every part of you to make sure there's nothing else besides the glaringly obvious broken nose.

"I think it's..." you take a deep breath in through your mouth, "broken."

The gurney passes you two, crouched on the side of the road. Jack shoots the patient the nastiest glare you've ever seen. He looks ready to kill the man. You're pretty sure he would've at least put him in the hospital if he wasn't already here.

The moment he looks back into your eyes, his face twists into a more comforting expression.

"Yeah?" he smiles, but it barely reaches his eyes, "I think so too, honey. Let's get you up. I'll take care of it."

You let him pull you up to stand. He's still observing you for any signs there might be something else wrong.

"You hurt anywhere else?" he asks, his tone soft.

You shake your head.

Even if you were, you're pretty sure the burning sensation in your face is clouding your judgement. "Nope. Legs just a lil' sore."

"Alright. We'll get 'em looked at."

By that, he means he's going to move you into the ER and damn-near yell at anyone who even suggests he go assist with the patient and let someone else take care of you. You always knew Jack had a protective streak, but seeing it in action is entirely different. You're sure you'd be laughing and making fun of him for it, if speaking and smiling and breathing didn't hurt so bad.

He guides you to one of the ER chairs, and pulls the cubicle curtain closed. The first victim of his very thorough physical examination is your nose, which he packs to stop the bleeding and then gives you a local anesthetic injection in. It dulls the pain and makes the manual realignment feel like barely a gentle pull.

When he's done, he checks you everywhere else. He does a million tests you both know are incredibly excessive. You let him turn your limbs every which way, check your breathing a hundred times, and perform a neuro exam more than ten times, probably.

"I'm fine, Jack," you kindly inform him, for the fifth time since you've sat down, as he flashes a light into your eyes.

He puts the flashlight away and nods, finally acknowledging you. His arms come to rest on your shoulders, his thumbs stroking the skin there. Your eyes meet. When you smile at him, he grimaces.

"Oh my god. Am I really that deformed?" you joke.

He shakes his head slowly, "You could never be anything short of gorgeous in my eyes."

You're about to make another joke, when you realize his eyes hold an intensity in them that's usually reserved for those terribly intimate moments you share, almost exclusively, at your apartment. He looks really fucking scared, too. It’s a proper notch down from how afraid he looked outside, so you’ll take it.

"Where doesn't hurt?" he asks.

You point to your cheek. It isn’t completely pain-free, but it's the only place you can tolerate any kind of pressure and actually feel it. He leans down and presses his lips gently there. It makes your eyes flutter shut instantly. Your hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, keeping him there.

"I think you'll need to perform an even more thorough examination. At home. In bed," you whisper into his ear.

When he laughs against your skin, you turn your face to the side, so you can press your mouth to the side of his jaw. You instantly regret it, though, because your freshly split lip burns.

"Ouch," you complain.

Jack presses one last kiss to your temple, before he pulls away. He grabs his phone out of his front pocket.

"We leave in an hour," he confirms.

"You can nap here. I'll make sure no one wakes you up until it's time to go," his voice is soothing, but you know he's not really asking.

Luckily, you can already feel your eyes droop, so you’re barely arguing anyway. Jack's footsteps are heavy, and when he pulls the curtain open you can tell he hesitates for a moment.

It sounds like he has a smug grin on his face, "And, uh, you're only slightly deformed."

Your eyes shoot open, but before you can grab something to throw at him he's already out of eyeshot.

"You can't say that to your patients, Doctor Abbot!" you yell after him.

The last thing you hear before passing out is his distant laugh.

[solxamber]

Holding Them and Not Letting Go with: Housewardens + Jamil

a little something before i go all in for the milestone events <3

Other parts: Vice Housewardens + Rollo, Neige ; First Years

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle goes bright red the second you wrap your arms around him, stiffening in your hold like he’s forgotten how to breathe. He tries to splutter something coherent—maybe a reminder about PDA rules, maybe a request to know what’s going on—but his voice gets tangled up, and all that comes out is a confused murmur.

You don’t let go, though. Instead, you squeeze him a little tighter, prompting him to look down at you, his eyes widening with soft confusion. “Is… Is something wrong?” he stammers, gently pressing his hand to your shoulder, trying to read your face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you answer with a warm smile. “I just love you, Riddle. That’s all.”

For a moment, he’s frozen. Just love him? He feels his heart stumble, so unfamiliar with this kind of simple, generous affection. In his childhood, hugs were formal gestures, love was measured and conditional—a reward to be earned, rarely felt freely. But here, with you… you’re holding him because you want to, with nothing expected in return.

Slowly, Riddle’s hands find their way to your back, and he pulls you close with a tenderness that surprises even him. There’s a quiet ache in his chest, an overwhelming mix of joy and disbelief, like he’s filling up with something he never knew he was missing. He clings to you, unable to speak, as though afraid that words might shatter the beautiful warmth settling between you.

You both stay like this, tangled together in silence. In this simple embrace, Riddle feels more seen, more loved, than he ever has before. It’s a feeling he wants to hold onto forever—a happiness he never thought he’d be allowed to have. For the first time, he feels completely at peace.

Leona Kingscholar

You wrap your arms around Leona, your grip firm as if you’ve decided you’re never letting go. At first, he’s as stoic as ever, arching an eyebrow in mild confusion. “Oi, herbivore…what’s this all about?” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

But when you stay silent, he lets out a chuckle, amused by your stubborn clinginess. “If you’re hoping to trap me, you might wanna try harder than that.”

After a few more moments, his teasing fades. You’re still holding him, your head resting against his chest, heartbeat steady against his. He tries to check if youre upset and realizes then that you’re not sad, nor do you seem upset; you’re simply content. When he starts to pull back to look at you, you give him a warm smile and quietly say, “I just…love you.”

The words wash over him, soft and simple yet deeply affecting. His expression shifts, from nonchalance to something much more vulnerable. To Leona, who’s spent much of his life overshadowed, unwanted, and fighting for recognition, the idea of being someone’s first choice feels like an impossibility.

And yet, here you are, holding onto him like he’s the only thing that matters. He swallows hard, not saying anything, but the look in his eyes says it all.

He finally allows his arms to come around you, drawing you in with more intensity than he’d probably ever admit aloud. His tail snakes around your waist in a protective loop, pulling you even closer, as if anchoring himself to you. “Don’t go getting mushy on me,” he mutters, trying to sound unaffected, but his grip tightens just a bit more.

But despite his usual attitude, he’s never felt this…full. Full of pride, full of warmth, full of something he’s struggled to admit he even wanted. And it’s all because of you, the one person who looked past his rough edges and stubborn exterior.

He chuckles softly, burying his face in your shoulder, whispering, “Guess you got yourself a lion for life, herbivore.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is hunched over his desk, papers and ledgers strewn around him, eyebrows furrowed as he works late into the night. He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t even notice you approaching until you gently climb onto his lap, resting yourself against him without a word. His body goes rigid in surprise, the usual control he wields over his composure completely shattered.

“Are you... feeling alright?” he asks, voice a little breathless, struggling to keep himself calm as you press your face into the crook of his neck. “Are you sick? Is there something wrong?”

You just shake your head, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “I just love you, Azul,” you whisper softly, a warmth in your gaze that sends his heart into overdrive. “And I’m so proud of you.”

With that, you wrap your arms around him again, holding him close, and suddenly, all the strength in him unravels. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this—how much he craved reassurance, wanted to know he was worth it.

All his insecurities, fears, and memories of feeling out of place resurface, but they’re softened by your presence, and with just one hug, you’re able to ease away all that self-doubt he keeps buried.

Without another word, he wraps his arms tightly around you, his grip firm and filled with an unspoken desperation. He clings to you as though you’re his lifeline, as though you’re the single steady point in his otherwise frantic world, and for a few moments, he allows himself to just feel—to let go of the worries, to set aside the constant weight of expectations.

The mountain of paperwork on his desk feels meaningless compared to the comfort you bring, and all he wants is to stay like this, holding you as closely as he can, reveling in the feeling of being loved for who he is.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is in his element, animatedly discussing ideas for his next big celebration. His hands gesture widely, his voice bright, detailing elaborate plans for decorations, food, entertainment—he's clearly in his happy place, and you can’t help but feel utterly captivated by his joy.

Without even thinking, you throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly mid-sentence. Kalim laughs, hugging you back with his usual enthusiasm, though a bit of surprise colors his expression when you show no signs of letting go. “Hey, is everything okay?” he asks, a smile in his voice.

You lean back just enough to grin up at him, eyes shining. “I’m perfectly okay. You just looked so radiant talking about the party—and I love you.”

He stares at you for a beat, completely dazzled, and then his face breaks into the brightest smile as he spins you around, laughter bubbling from both of you. When he finally sets you down, he pulls you close, cradling you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“I’m so glad you chose me,” he murmurs softly, his forehead pressing against yours. The simple joy radiates from him, a warmth and gentleness that wraps around you both. It’s a pure, unfiltered happiness that you feel too, knowing that you chose him, and he chose you.

You stay wrapped up in each other, reveling in that perfect moment, glowing with the warmth of shared love. For now, with his laughter filling the room and his arms securely around you, nothing else matters.

Jamil Viper

Jamil walks into his room, the exhaustion from managing Scarabia weighing heavily on his shoulders. But before he can even remove his shoes, you’re already there, waiting for him. Without a word, you step into his space, your arms winding around him in a gentle but firm embrace.

His body relaxes instantly, the stress of the day melting away as you run a soothing hand down his back. The warmth of your touch settles over him like a blanket, but after a few moments, he notices you haven’t let go. The silence stretches, and his concern grows.

He pulls back just slightly, searching your face with quiet intensity. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft, careful, as though bracing for something serious.

You meet his eyes with a smile, your voice tender but full of affection. “I’m fine. I just… I love you. I’m proud of everything you do. You work so hard, and I see all of it. I just wanted to be here, with you.”

A deep warmth spreads through Jamil at your words, the weight of the day almost forgotten as he pulls you back into him. This time, his hold is even tighter, more possessive, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go, this moment will vanish. His face buries itself into your neck, and he inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of you—your presence, your comfort.

For once, he allows himself to fully sink into the embrace, no longer needing to wear his usual mask.

With you, he doesn’t have to hold back his feelings. For the first time in what feels like forever, he lets his guard drop, the emotional wall he’s spent building his whole life crumbling in the warmth of your arms.

“I could stay like this forever,” he whispers, the words barely audible as he holds you close. His voice is thick with emotion, a mixture of tenderness and longing. “I never want to leave your side.”

In the comfort of your touch, Jamil realizes something. He’s never felt more at peace, more cared for, than he does in this moment. He holds you tighter, savoring the feeling of being loved so deeply, so completely. No matter what happens, he knows this is where he belongs—in your arms, and with your heart.

Vil Schoenheit

It’s been a long day, and by the time you reach Vil, all you want is to collapse into his arms. But before you can even speak, he’s already analyzing you, frowning at your slumped posture, the bags under your eyes, and the way you haven’t had time to take care of yourself. "Did you eat today? Are you even sleeping? Honestly, I can't—"

And before he can finish his lecture, you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

He catches you with his usual elegance, barely flinching. His lips curl in that slight, amused way, but the concern in his eyes softens as you cling to him, not letting go.

"Darling, What's wrong?" he asks, his voice taking on a gentler tone as he instinctively pulls you closer. You can feel the smoothness of his coat beneath your fingers as you bury your face in his chest.

"I missed you," you murmur. "I'm just happy to see you. I love you. And I love that you worry about me."

Vil’s chest tightens at your words, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him. He gently strokes your back, the movement slow, deliberate. “You’re something else,” he teases, his lips twitching, but there’s warmth in his voice. “You know you should’ve eaten something, and yet here you are, throwing yourself at me.”

His hands remain on you, though, pulling you closer, stroking your back with a tenderness he rarely shows in public. He may pretend to be exasperated, but the way his fingers gently brush the length of your spine betrays his true feelings. Deep down, he’s touched by how much you put up with him.

"You should be scolded for your own good," he starts, but it’s a half-hearted attempt. There’s no real bite to his words this time. Instead, he just holds you tighter, deciding that, just for tonight, you don’t need any more lectures.

“You’ll never be rid of me now,” he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re welcome to lean on me, always.”

In the comfort of his embrace, you let go of the day’s stress, finding peace in the warmth of his arms. There’s no need for anything else, just this moment, just him.

Idia Shroud

Idia’s explaining the intricate details of a new strategy, his eyes wide with excitement. But then, suddenly, you set your controller down and throw yourself at him in an unexpected hug, effectively cutting off his speech. His hair flares a brilliant shade of pink as his brain momentarily glitches, clearly unsure of how to process what's happening.

And he is in full panic mode. His mind, always working a mile a minute, goes into overdrive trying to figure out what he did wrong, or if he's somehow messed things up.

“Uh—are you okay?” he stammers, voice filled with concern but entirely thrown off by the situation. You don’t answer with words, just a soft smile as you bury your face in his chest.

“I love you,” you whisper, “and you’re adorable.”

He’s used to being alone, to being misunderstood, to retreating into his games and hiding from the world. But here you are, in his arms, embracing him for no reason other than that you love him.

Despite his anxious thoughts swirling, he awkwardly places his arms around you, his body stiff at first, unsure of what to do. It takes him a moment before he relaxes, and as he holds you, his mind starts to clear. All those fears—of not being enough, or of being too much—slowly fade away, replaced by something that feels warm and real.

You, who listen to him ramble about things no one else would care about. You, who understand when he’s not up for going out, who accept him as he is. He feels so undeserving of someone so kind, but at the same time, something deep inside him stirs. It’s happiness. It’s love.

His arms tighten around you as he buries his face into your hair, his heart racing with a mixture of overwhelming joy and disbelief. He’ll never understand why someone like you would choose him, but as long as you’re here, he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus stands before you, holding the gargoyle he crafted with such care, the stone masterpiece shimmering in the soft light. "This is for you," he says softly, his voice full of pride. His eyes shine with the unspoken hope that you’ll appreciate the effort.

Before he can say anything else, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. He freezes for a moment, unsure, before his own arms encircle you with surprising gentleness. He’s always craved touch, but the depth of affection you offer fills him with awe.

The two of you stand there, the moment stretching on in comfortable silence, until Malleus pulls back slightly, his eyes searching your face. "Are you alright?" His voice holds a hint of concern.

You smile at him softly, your words simple but filled with a warmth he rarely hears: "You mean the world to me. I love you."

Malleus's breath catches in his throat, and before he can think, his arms tighten around you. He pulls you impossibly closer, as if afraid you’ll slip away. His heart races as he feels the weight of your love, the pure acceptance and tenderness you give him. The loneliness he’s lived with for so long, the misunderstandings, the isolation—none of it matters now.

He’s here with you. You see him, not as a prince or a fae of great power, but simply as Malleus. And that, more than anything, fills him with a kind of peace he’s never known.

Malleus buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you tightly as if to make sure this moment doesn’t slip away. "I will never forget this," he murmurs softly. "I will cherish you... forever."

In your embrace, he finds something he thought was impossible—a sense of belonging. He smiles, feeling the warmth of your love seep into him, and he knows he is truly loved.

Masterlist

[virtual-bunny]

“ HEY NERDY BOY ! ”

random headcannons about nerdjo because he turns me on

pairings: nerd! gojo x chubby fem! reader

WARNINGS: SMUT but not too detailed, some body image issues, probably some writing errors :3

a/n: i might come back every now and then if a new idea pops up in my head hehe

ARTIST CREDS: @/N06ARA ON TWITTER

✧ nerdjo who can almost cry over how beautiful he thinks you are

✧ nerdjo who stammers over his words when you wear shorts that squeeze your thighs just right

✧ nerdjo who clings onto your body and inhales your scent and gets a boner instantly as he grips your love handles

✧ nerdjo who slouches so you can give him a kiss, his glasses slidding down his nose bridge as your lips touch his cheeks, his cheek warm from him being flustered, and when you pull away, nerdjo’s eyes are almost crossed eyed as he sighs deeply

✧ nerdjo who uses your tummy as a stress ball when you sit next to him while he does his physics homework

✧ nerdjo who lays on your tummy as you play with his hair while he sleeps, saliva spilling from the side of his mouth

✧ nerdjo whose so head over heels for you that he begs you to let him carry your books and backpack so he can trail behind you to see the way your ass and thighs jiggle

✧ nerdjo who helps you with your homework and pinches your cheek, side or thighs whenever you get something wrong

✧ nerdjo who holds onto your stomach when you’re riding him, his face flushed and glasses crooked as he looks up at you with drunken eyes

✧ nerdjo who stumbles to catch up to you because he was too caught up watching you walk infront of him

✧ nerdjo who rolls his eyes when his jock friend geto teases him when he sees that gojo isn’t paying attention to lecture “she’s got you wrapped around her finger doesn’t she?” ���wrapped around her thighs” nerdjo sighs without a second thought

✧ nerdjo who likes to put his hands around your tummy and gently squeeze it whenever you two are watching tv and you’re sitting between his legs

✧ nerdjo who fivershly pumps his cock at the thought of your round body jiggling when you ride him, or when you laugh, or when you walk

✧ nerdjo who makes snarky comments at you when you try to show him that “you’re way smarter than he is”

✧ nerdjo who reads out his physics notebook out loud just to make you mad because you hate physics

✧ nerdjo who goes all red whenever he brings you gifts on his way to your dorm

✧ nerdjo who doesn’t like going outside and rather stay home watching Teen Titans but still does because he knows you like to go out on dates

✧ nerdjo who used to bite his pencils out of habit but now bites your chubby hands if you’re sitting next to him as he does his homework or helps you with yours

✧ nerdjo who has to assure you he loves you and thinks you’re as beautiful as “The Euler-Lagrange Equation” (you have no idea what this means)

✧ nerdjo who puts his hands under your stomach, thighs and boobs to keep them warm

✧ nerdjo who bores you to death as he talk about quantum physics but you don’t say anything because you find it cute the way he sometimes spits by accident when he rambled and how his glasses slowly fall when’s he’s making movements as he talks

✧ nerdjo who likes to prove you wrong whenever you try to be a “smarty pants”

✧ nerdjo who softens when you go up to him while he was working on a project and tell him you’re worried about him because he looks like he hasn’t slept in three days

✧ nerdjo who mutters to himself in class when a stupid frat guy tries to answer the professors question, obviously saying the wrong answer but clearly only doing it to get laughs out of everyone. “what an idiot.” gojo grits to himself

✧ nerdjo who looks seriously shocked when he’s helping you with your homework and you get the wrong answer even though the right answer is CLEARLY right in front of your eyes “love… you seriously don’t know the answer…?”

✧ nerdjo who spends HOURS in the library to a room all by himself, books, papers, pens and pencils all scattered around the table while trying to get his work done, his hair messy and eyebrows furrowed, but when you text him saying you were gonna drop off food for him, his whole demeanor turns soft and giddy thinking about how he’s gonna be able to see you

✧ nerdjo who if he’s not doing homework or reading, is playing or watching digimon in your dorm, explaining everything he possibly can so you can catch up to the lore (you stopped listening a long time ago)

✧ nerdjo who doesn’t really talk much in class but when he does, the professors have to cut him off because gojo can talk for HOURS

✧ nerdjo who makes you sit on his lap as he codes on his computer

✧ nerdjo who can solve a rubix cube in a minute and always does when you ask him to (for your own entertainment)

✧ nerdjo whos into physics and computer science

✧ nerdjo who awkwardly puts his arm around your shoulder when the two of you are walking back to your dorm (he nearly trips)

✧ nerdjo who when you tell him a fun science fact, crosses his arms, leans back on the couch and goes “well ACTUALY-“ it’s too late to stop him, he’s already yapping to you on how the fact is wrong

✧ nerdjo who starts looking stupid now because you two have a class together when the new semester started and he can’t concentrate at all because he’s too concentrated looking at YOU

✧ nerdjo who tries to be freaky by putting his shaky hand on your upper thigh but you smack it away and he gives you a sad puppy look as he fixes his glasses, you swear you could see tears forming in his eyes

✧ nerdjo who runs to you when he finishes a prototype for whatever sciencey class he has and with full confidence says “you’re looking at the new science prodigy babe!” “uh huh” you say

✧ nerdjo who goes to the library again to study, he’s so stressed but he’s glad you came along, that’s until you went under the desk he was sitting at, undoing his belt and pulling down his pants and boxers JUST barely, hes literally gripping onto the table, face flushed hair messy crooked glasses and chest heaving trying so hard not to make it obvious you have his dick in your mouth

✧ nerdjo who makes you tag along with him to the nearest store to get the newest Digimon cards

✧ nerdjo who makes you gasp when you turn around for one second and look back to see him fighting a literal ten year old for a box set of Digimon cards

✧ nerdjo who doesn’t show you memes, but shows you reddit posts that you have no interest in looking at

✧ nerdjo who makes you sit on his face, but not to eat you out, but so your thighs can squish his face. he says that “it de-stresses him” and when you go to complain he says “it’s scientifically proven that it does”

✧ nerdjo who SOMETIMES is a cocky asshole in class, and when an acquaintance of yours who’s also in gojos’s class tells you how much of an asshole your boyfriend is, you straighten nerdjo up by riding his face nonstop to the point he’s crying because HE’S not getting any action

✧ nerdjo who you convince that overstimulating him will “de-stress him” and “make him focus better” so when you tied him up in your bed with a vibrator wrapped on the head of his cock, he’s whining, crying, squirming, eyes rolled all the way to the back of his head and pleading you to “let him do anything to you” (when you finally let him cum he tells you the next day that his focus is 97.56% better than it was the day before)

✧ nerdjo who’s so competitive when the two of you play video games he forgets you’re his GIRLFRIEND and is brutal with the insults when you loose

✧ nerdjo who’s actually really strong and likes to carry you around your dorm or outside when the two of you go for a walk. and even though you’re protesting and telling him you “don’t wanna hurt him” all nerdjo says is “just cause i’m smart doesn’t mean i’m not strong”

✧ nerdjo who likes to suck your clit while gripping your tummy

✧ nerdjo who likes to grip your fupa cause he’s weird like that

✧ nerdjo who ANALYZES your pussy and your actions whenever he’s fingering you or fucking you so he can make you feel better for the next time you two fuck (you always have a stronger orgasam each time after the other)

✧ nerdjo who bites his nails and gets told off by you (he immediately begs for your forgiveness)

✧ nerdjo who kisses your tummy whenever he lays down on your lap and turns his head so he’s looking up at you and says “you’re the most angelic thing i’ve ever seen, you know that?” he sighs contently while pushing his glasses up and giving you the stupidest toothy smile

[covenofagatha]

Birthday Girl

On your 21st birthday, your friends drag you to a bar to get wasted when you decide it's a good idea to drunk-call Professor Agatha Harkness.

Word count: 3400+

Warnings: smut, fingering, oral, intoxication, mentions of underage drinking, teacher x student (legal)

“One, two, three!” Wanda chants and you and your friends tap your shot glasses on the bar counter and quickly down them. 

You gasp at the burn and they laugh at you. It’s your 21st birthday and your best friends Wanda, Rio, and Natasha had dragged you out to the closest bar to get you wasted. They had all already turned 21 the year before; you were the baby in the group. 

“Fuck, that’s disgusting,” you groan. 

“Another round, please!” Rio motions to the bartender. He sets down four more tequila shots and one is shoved into your hand. 

“Think you can get to 21?” Wanda jokes and the thought of 20 more shots makes you want to gag. 

“I might puke after this one,” you say and your friends laugh. You were never a partier in high school or college, always preferring to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. You’d only had some sips of alcohol a few times, but you had never been drunk. 

“You deserve this!” Nat shouts in your ear. “Harkness has been working you to the bone!” 

You shrug and wave your hand dismissively, suddenly uncomfortable. Agatha Harkness is your History of Witchcraft professor at Westview University. She’s known around campus for being cold to everyone and rarely giving out A’s. She expected nothing short of excellence and would not put up with excuses. Everyone was terrified of her. 

Everyone except for you. 

Something about the older woman captivated you. You were obsessed with meeting her standards, dreaming of the day she would look at you with pride. You poured over your books for her class, rereading every sentence you wrote thrice, just to try to impress her. It had taken your friends days of begging to convince you to come celebrate your birthday with them because you had a paper for Agatha’s class due in a week and you were already worried about it. 

“I don’t know how you’re surviving,” Wanda says. “I had her last semester and got a C in the class. Third highest grade. She’s the worst.” 

“She’s not that bad,” you defend, not quite sure why. Something about Agatha getting so much hate for pushing her students rubs you the wrong way. 

“Yeah she is,” Rio joins in. “I heard that she’s a real witch.”

You roll your eyes. “Can we please stop talking about her? I thought you guys brought me here to get away from school.” You take the shot that’s still in your hand and it goes down smoother this time. 

“Yes, there we go!” Rio whoops. 

Two more shots later and your head has gone completely fuzzy. You feel as if you are floating on air and everything around you is happening in slow motion. You get off your stool and immediately stumble, Wanda catching you with her arms. 

“I think I’m a little drunk,” you tell her. She laughs like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“No shit, y/n, you don’t have to yell!” 

You didn’t even realize you had. “We should probably go back to the dorms!” You look around to see Nat chatting with some girl and Rio throwing darts at the board in the corner. 

“Not yet,” Wanda says, picking up her rum and coke. You’re not sure how she’s still drinking after she also did four tequila shots. “I’ll get you some water.” She signals to the bartender and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your vision to go back to normal. 

When you open them, you see dark hair in the corner. Is that–? You shift so you can get a better look and feel sorely disappointed when you realize the person is not Agatha. Why are you disappointed? The thought echoes in your head for a second, and then is replaced by a sudden urge to see your professor. 

“Drink this,” Wanda orders, pressing a glass of ice water into your hand, but you’re too busy scrolling through your phone. You know she put her number on the syllabus somewhere and you are too far gone to think that this might be a bad idea. 

You feel a thrill run through you when you find it. You read the number over and over, like you’re afraid it’s going to change somehow. 

“I’ll be back,” you slur to Wanda and then step out the side door into the alley. You type the number into your phone and your finger hesitates over the call button. You know you shouldn’t. But fuck it. You press the button and lift the phone to your ear. 

It rings. And then rings again. You’re about to hang up to spare yourself the rejection when the call connects. 

“Hello?” It’s actually her. 

Your breath catches in your throat and you stand up straighter. “Professor Harkness?” 

“Y/n? Is that you?” 

“Yeah.” Shit, this was a bad idea. Even with your head still swimming, you know that. You can’t just hang up though. 

“Why are you calling me at 10:30 on a Saturday night?” 

“Um,” you say, trying to think of something. You’re definitely going to have to drop her class after this. You’ll never be able to face her ever again. “It’s my birthday?” You offer lamely. 

Agatha scoffs. “Happy birthday. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, no, Professor, I just wanted – we’re at a bar – I thought you were – and just wanted to say hi,” you ramble, knowing you’re not making any sense, and you can almost hear her smirk through the phone. 

“Y/n, are you drunk right now?” Her voice perks up and it sounds like she’s finally interested. 

“No!” you protest. “Well, maybe a little. But I’m 21 now!” 

“What bar are you at?” 

“Jimmy’s.” It’s a local dive bar that is a popular place for Westview students to hang out at. 

“I’ll be there in ten. Wait out front.” There’s a click and then she’s gone. You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Is Agatha coming to pick you up? Why?

You walk back into the bar and order a Dirty Shirley. The call had sobered you up a bit and if you had already drunk-called your professor, why not get even more hammered. Wanda comes back over to you and giggles when she sees the new drink in your hand. 

“Alright, time to party!” she exclaims. You pick up on the fact that she’s a little drunk as well. You stand up, vision blurring for a second. 

“I actually called an uber,” you lie, even through your hazy mind knowing that your professor coming to pick you up might sound strange to them.

Wanda pouts and then throws her arms around you. “Happy birthday,” she says into your ear and your arms tighten around her. 

“Thank you,” you breathe back. You’re close with Rio and Nat as well, but they don’t have the same bond you and Wanda do. You pull back and then go say goodbye to your other friends. 

The wind outside does very little to sober you up and you shiver from the coldness. You’re wearing a purple crop-top and a black mini-skirt, something Nat had found buried deep in your closet. You watch the time on your phone, heartbeat picking up as it gets closer to ten minutes since Agatha had hung up on you. 

And then right on the dot, a slick black Range Rover pulls into the parking lot, and you immediately know it’s her. The car stops right in front of you, the passenger window rolling down, and your breath catches. 

It’s Professor Harkness, clad in a maroon suit, wavy hair falling over her shoulders. 

“Do you need me to open the door for you, too, princess?” Agatha says, sarcasm dripping over the words, when you haven’t moved. You shake your head, partly to answer and partly to clear the fog. You settle into the seat, not missing the way Agatha’s eyes rake over your skimpily clothed body.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” you mutter, putting real effort into not slurring your words. 

She glances at you and sees you struggling with your seatbelt. She reaches over and you freeze at her close proximity. Her breath is hot against your cheek and her fingers brush your stomach as she takes the seat belt from your hand and buckles it for you. “Thought I would spare the other people you drunk-called,” she says. 

Embarrassment runs through you. “You were the only one,” you say meekly, picking at a scab on your hand. You dare to peek at her, only to find her smirking, one eyebrow quirked. 

“Oh?”

“I shouldn’t have called.” This time, it’s harder to keep your words from running together. “We were talking about you and then I thought I saw you and I just wanted to see you.” You need to stop talking, now. 

Agatha hums. “Did you, now?” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears as she shifts the car into drive and you watch her fingers. 

“You’re really hot,” you blurt out and then clamp a hand over your mouth. Fuck. 

Instead of pulling over and making you get out, like you thought she would, Agatha simply reaches over and pats your leg. “And you’re really drunk, sweetheart.” 

The pet name makes you swoon inwardly. “Not that drunk,” you say unconvincingly. “I only had one…two…” You trail off, attempting to count the number of drinks on your fingers. Agatha stifles a chuckle. 

“Is this your first time drinking?” She asks, amused. 

“No, but it is my first time drinking this much,” you admit. “My friends dragged me out since it’s my birthday. I was going to work on the essay for your class.” 

“You were going to spend your 21st birthday doing school work?” 

“Your essay’s due in a week. I wanted to make sure I-it was good enough for you.” 

She notices your slip of tongue and her smirk sends heat down low in your stomach. “You’re always good for me. Your essays are some of the best I’ve ever read.” 

Your heart skips a beat and your face flushes. “I have a B in your class.” 

“You have an 88 in my class. That’s the highest I’ve had in years. Can’t make it too easy,” she says with a wink. 

“You could make it just a little easier,” you grumble, the alcohol clearly getting rid of any inhibitions. 

“You keep doing what you’re doing, sweetheart, and it’ll go up, I promise. I’m very impressed with the work you’ve been turning in.”

A hot flash runs through you. “Just wanna be your good girl.” And if it wasn’t clear how you feel about her now, it sure is. But she doesn’t look disgusted or creeped out, only intrigued. 

She finally stops the car and you peer out the window, expecting to see your dorm. You haven’t been paying attention to where she’s been driving at all, and you’re quite surprised to see you’ve arrived at a two-story house in a cute, suburban neighborhood. 

“This isn’t where I live,” you say dumbly. 

“No, it’s not,” she agrees, getting out of the car and walking over to help you. You stumble up the steps to the front door, Agatha’s tight grip on your shoulder keeping you upright. You can feel her fingers playing with the ends of your hair. 

She unlocks the front door just as a wave of nausea hits you. “Oh, god,” you say weakly, holding a hand in front of your mouth. Agatha doesn’t even seem phased; she leads you to a bathroom in the hall and leaves, only to re-enter with a glass of water moments later. You gulp it down and feel better. 

“You okay?” she asks softly, stroking your cheek, eyes tracing up and down your face. You’ve never seen this side of her and you really like it. 

“I think so. Thank you again,” you murmur and you realize that you’ve been staring at her mouth. 

“Anything for my favorite student.” 

And then, because you’re apparently determined to fuck everything up even more, you lean in and press your lips to hers. Agatha stands still for a second before you pull back, horrified with yourself. 

“Professor, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–” 

She draws you back in for a longer kiss this time, tongue licking into your mouth. You let out a long moan and she breaks away. 

“You’re drunk,” she tells you again.

You clasp the lapels of her blazer. “I know. But I want you.” 

She softly pries your fingers off her suit and smiles. “You need to sleep. And then we can talk about this in the morning.” 

You pout and she runs her thumb over your bottom lip, slightly pulling it down. You suck her finger into your mouth, delighting in the way her eyes darken. She steps back.

“Let’s go. You can sleep in the guest room. I’ll find you some pajamas and toiletries.” Her hand on the small of your back guides you up the stairs and to the room on the right. The guest room is simple but cozy and you immediately go to the bed and flop onto it. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” Agatha warns and then leaves the room. 

She comes back in a few minutes, an old shirt and sweatpants in one hand and a toothbrush and toothpaste in the other. She pats your legs in an effort to get you up but you can barely move, suddenly weighed down by all the drinks. 

“Come on, hon,” Agatha says and helps you stand up. You don’t move as she works to take your shirt and skirt off, your cheeks and upper chest flushing red. You try to cover yourself and she smirks. 

“M’sorry,” you mumble. 

“Don’t be. I’m enjoying the view.” You stare at her longingly, silently begging her to fuck you right there and then, but she helps you step into the sweatpants and pull the shirt over your head. She watches you brush your teeth and moves the covers so you can get into bed. “Do you need anything else?” 

Your hand grabs hers. “Just you,” you try again hopefully, but she chuckles and wrenches free of your grip. 

“Good night, birthday girl,” she whispers and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. And then she turns off the lights and leaves the room.

You fall asleep immediately. 

***

Sunlight streams through the blinds, waking you up. It takes you a minute to get your bearings and then the events of last night come back to you. 

The bar. Four shots of tequila and half a Dirty Shirley. Calling Agatha and her coming to pick you up and taking you to her house. Kissing her in the downstairs bathroom. Shit. 

You groan, head pounding. You see a container of Advil and a glass of water on the nightstand beside you. You take two Advil and drain the glass, heart warming at the thought of Agatha taking such good care of you. 

And then you remember that your relationship with her will forever be complicated by your actions. 

You solemnly brush your teeth and pull back on the clothes you wore to the bar last night, neatly folding Agatha’s pajamas and placing them on the bed. You hope she hasn’t woken up yet so you can sneak out without her having to tell you how inappropriate you behaved last night. 

No such luck. The second you get downstairs, Agatha perks up from where she’s typing on her laptop on the couch.

“Good morning, darling,” she purrs, shutting her computer. You gulp, taking her outfit in. She’s wearing a robe that ends mid-thigh and the neckline drops low. 

“Hey,” you say casually, trying to hide how much you’re internally freaking out. 

“Do you want something for breakfast? I can cook you something.” She stands up and walks to the kitchen and you follow like a lost puppy. You involuntarily lick your lips at the way her hips are swaying. 

“What are my options?” Your voice is raspy, still feeling hungover. She glances back at you and her eyes dart up and down your body. 

“I can make eggs. Bacon. I think I have pancake mix in the pantry. What would you like?” 

You’re a little confused that she hasn’t scolded you yet. And then you remember something else. She kissed you. 

You swallow hard. Whatever else you may have done last night that you can’t remember, she doesn’t hate you for it. She might even want you back. 

“Are you on the menu?” It comes out before you can even realize what you’re saying. 

Agatha freezes and turns around. You shift your weight nervously, but then you see her pupils blown out. Her eyes are so dark you can barely see any blue. “What?” She asks carefully.

“You kissed me last night,” you say, a little breathless. You have absolutely no idea where this confidence is coming from. “You wouldn’t do anything else cause I was drunk. But I’m not drunk now.” 

She steps toward you and roughly grasps your hair. She tilts your head back, exposing your neck just a tad. “No, you’re not.” She regards you for a second. “You know you’re not going to get extra credit for trying to sleep with your professor.” 

You laugh. “That’s not why I’m doing this.” 

She smirks. “Good.” And then she licks a hot stripe up your neck and bites down, sucking a mark on your skin. You gasp loudly and tangle your hands into her hair. 

“Professor,” you moan and you drag her into a filthy kiss. She backs you up until your thighs hit the table so she lifts you up onto it. Your legs wrap around her to pull her closer. Agatha pushes up your crop-top and kneads your breast, thumb stroking your nipple, never once breaking your kiss.

Her hand creeps under your skirt and cups your mound over your underwear. Your hips jump on their own at the stimulation. 

“Please,” you beg. Her lips curl into a smile. 

“What do you want?” Her fingers have pushed your underwear to the side and have started lazily stroking through your folds, spreading your wetness. 

“You,” is all you can say before she sinks a finger into your hole. 

“Like this?” She asks innocently, thrusting hard. 

“Yes,” you pant, quickly untying her robe so you can touch her. She’s completely naked underneath and you lean down so you can take a nipple into your mouth. 

“That’s perfect, baby,” she sighs, setting a relentless pace with her fingers after she slips another one in you. “Is this what you hoped would happen when you called me last night?”

“I’ve been hoping for this since the first day of the semester,” you answer, and she falters for a second, thrown off by your honesty. 

She pulls out of you and panic runs through you, terrified that you said the wrong thing. But she just pushes you down so your back is resting on the table and she pulls out one of the chairs from the table. 

“What are you–” Before you can finish your sentence, she leans forward and sucks your clit into her mouth. Your back arches off the table, hands rushing down to hold her in place. “Fuck, Professor!” 

She devours your pussy like she’s a starving woman, pulling all sorts of loud noises from you. 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum,” you chant, hips grinding on her face, trying to get the last bit of stimulation you need to send you over the edge. She knows what you need and presses her fingers inside you, curling them just right and gives your clit a hard last lick. You cum harder than you ever have before, her name on your lips like a prayer. She helps you ride through the aftershocks and then trails kisses up your body until she can kiss your mouth. 

“How was that?” she asks after you pull away to catch your breath. 

“That was probably the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” you say, which cracks both of you up. “But I’m not finished.” 

Her eyebrow quirks up and she smirks. “Oh?” You stand up, putting your hands on her hips and flipping her around so she’s leaning against the table. 

You sink to your knees in front of you, not even bothering with a chair. You slowly push her robe up so it bunches at her waist. “Can I return the favor?” 

A glint appears in her eye and she fists one of her hands in your hair preemptively. “I’d like nothing more.” 

[kxsagi]

I just saw the manga panel... I am definately not okay...

“𝐛𝐮𝐡! 🤍”

a/n: you will be now!

also baby name credits go to you yumi <3

you find him exactly where you expect to. on the living room floor. 

half-covered by a fuzzy white blanket, hair all messy and sticking out in different directions, your 9-month-old baby boy, seishu, asleep on his chest like a tiny backpack worn wrong-side up. there’s a pacifier dangling from seishu’s mouth, the TV is playing a paused video of some baby sensory thing with ducks and bubbles, and nagi is out cold. 

you fold your arms and lean against the doorframe. 

you’d asked him to watch the baby so you could do dishes. now you’re doing dishes and laundry and checking on your two sleeping boys. 

but you can’t even pretend to be annoyed. 

because your heart flips every time you see nagi like this. one arm around his son like a reflex, hand spread wide across the baby’s back, hoodie all scrunched up from baby drool and tiny fist grabbing. seishu’s cheek is squished against nagi’s chest, mouth open in pure peace. 

you tiptoe over and crouch beside them. 

“sei,” you whisper, brushing his bangs off his forehead. 

he groans quietly. “mm… i was just resting my eyes…” 

“sure you were.” 

his lashes flutter open, and he gives you that sleepy, lazy look that still makes your chest flutter. then he glances down at seishu. a soft smile spreads across his lips. 

“he knocked out mid-wiggle,” he whispers. “couldn’t even finish the episode.” 

you laugh. “he is your son.” 

“’course he is. look, he sleeps like me, too.” 

as if on cue, seishu lets out a tiny snore. 

you melt on the spot. “he’s been trying to say ‘dad,’ by the way.” 

“really?” nagi’s voice perks up a bit. 

“mhm.” 

your son shifts slightly in his sleep, letting out a soft babble. “buh.” 

nagi blinks. “... buh?” 

“yep. that’s you now.” 

“buh,” nagi repeats, like he’s trying it on. “kinda sounds like a pokémon.” 

you giggle. “you do kind of function like one. sleeps a lot. slow movements. powers up with snacks.” 

he leans over and nudges his face into your shoulder. “you forgot the strongest trait: cuddle attack.” 

“weakest defense, though.” 

“shh,” he whispers dramatically, as if seishu can hear you. “he’s listening.” 

your son stirs again and lets out another, softer “buh.” 

nagi beams. “okay. that’s it. he’s officially my favorite person.” 

“you say that every day.” 

“and i mean it every day.” 

you laugh and lean against him, kissing the top of his head. “you’re so soft now, you know that?” 

“you saying i was mean before?” 

“no. you were just... effort-efficient.” 

“i still am,” he mumbles. “this position’s max comfy. baby on chest. blanket. you here. TV paused on ducks. ten out of ten.” 

“what about diapers?” 

“what about them?” 

“he peed.” 

nagi’s eyes open just a little wider. 

you raise an eyebrow. “rock paper scissors?” 

“lazy people don’t play games,” he says. “we negotiate.” 

“fine. change him and i’ll warm up the bottle.” 

he pretends to think. “… do i get cuddles later?” 

“only if the diaper goes on the right way this time.” 

“no promises,” he mutters, but he’s already shifting the baby gently off his chest with the skill of a seasoned expert (and also someone who’s been peed on three times this week). 

you watch him carry seishu in one arm like he weighs nothing, murmuring, “c’mon, little guy. let’s get you into something less soggy.” 

your son blinks blearily at him and drools a little. “buh.” 

nagi’s whole face softens. “yeah, yeah. i know.” 

he disappears down the hallway, and you grab the bottle, smiling to yourself. 

you hadn’t expected parenthood to suit nagi so well. he’d once told you he thought having kids sounded “kinda exhausting,” back when you were just dating. he hadn’t been wrong. there are messy nights and long cries and spit-ups on every shirt you own. 

but somewhere in the middle of it all, he fell in love with it. 

with you. 

with the way seishu clings to him like he’s home. with the sleepy “buh” babbles that mean “dad” even if he’s not saying it perfectly. with the quiet joy of being the soft place his baby always wants to be. 

a few minutes later, nagi returns, holding a much more refreshed, very alert seishu in his arms. 

“he tried to roll away during the change,” he informs you. “almost wiped shit on my shirt.” 

“language!” but you can’t contain your laugh. “did he succeed?” 

“barely dodged. god-tier reflexes.” 

seishu wiggles in his arms, reaching toward you with grabby hands. 

“mama,” he mumbles. 

nagi’s jaw drops. “what?! he says that correctly?” 

you grin smugly. “i win.” 

“nah,” he says, sitting beside you and plopping the baby between you both. “we both win.” 

you pass the bottle, and seishu latches onto it happily, nestled between two warm bodies who love him more than anything. 

and just before his eyes start to close again, he lets out one last little sigh. “buh.” 

nagi grins. “that’s my boy, seishu.” 

you smile because love, it turns out, sounds a lot like “buh.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[mysterymachine67]

SO, i want you to hear me out.

i have to remember all my stuff for re, but let's say we have Leon when he's still just starting out as a cop before he even goes to raccoon city and our beloved reader is a captain in the police department. Leon is a little tired after it all, filing cases and spending nights at the station. eventually the reader catches Leon while he's finishing up documenting a case and they finally get to talking. sooner rather than later they discover they share a couple hobbies and slowly they begin to talk. Leon is stressed and who else but the captain of the station is going to help him and reward him for his hard work?

PAIRING -> Leon S. Kennedy x M!Reader

SUMMARY -> Leon’s new, a rookie. He does his best, stays late to do and catch up on work, and is one of the best men you got even for him to be new. What happens when he finally gets to have a full conversation with his captain?

NSFW. MINOR’S DNI.

I wanna bite him.

You’ve only known him for about a month and he’s already your favorite. Yes, you’re well aware you shouldn’t be picking favorites, but he stays late, gets papers done quick, and does things he doesn’t need to be doing until a whole month. Meanwhile all the other “older” cops think they get an extra week to do something just because they’ve been there longer. Which was not true whatsoever.

Back to Leon, you’ve spoken to him a bit. Probably not as much as you should, but the thought counts. As far as you know, he’s a hard worker and is dedicated to do his best. But you can also see that he try’s a bit too much. You’ll need to tell him he can take a step back every once in a while.

It was another night, Leon already knew he was gonna have to stay a few extra hours. Sighing he opened up a folder, taking out the notes and documents that were inside. He took a quick look at the papers, going over them yet again. Just as he was about to pull another thing out of the folder, he heard footsteps. Which immediately alerted him. Turns out the footsteps were yours, you were getting ready to leave the station and go home. With you standing there, looking at Leon without saying or doing anything, it was beginning to get awkward. Soooo, you spoke up. Clearing your throat first. “Well,” you begin, starting to walk up to him. “I think we haven’t fully gotten to know each other.” He stared up at you, blinking a few times before responding.

“Oh! Uh..” Leon started, but never seemed to finish. Not knowing what question to ask or how to start off. He stood up, though. Holding his hand out to shake yours, which you did as well. You then started a conversation, first asking a question then following up with a statement. Which this went on for at least fifteen minutes. The both of you going back and forth, asking questions about one another; finding out that you had some things in common and have similar interests. The conversation was sweet, interesting. Yet it took a turn when you got closer to him. It was friendly, not purposely meant to intimidate him or anything. He continued to look up at you, struggling to keep his composure. Why the hell was this so difficult? You kept up the conversation, tried to. You, yourself were starting to get a little amped up. You couldn’t stop stealing looks at his lips, which was a problem. You were his captain, not his fuck buddy.

The sexual tension between you guys was so obvious and strong, but neither of you made a move. That was until you couldn’t take it anymore. Your thoughts ran through your mind and eventually went down to your cock.

He was a stressed out, tired, hardworking man. If you two were to do something, this one night probably wouldn’t mean anything. He needed something—someone to help him. Being not necessarily pent up but in need of some sort of relief. And you were there with him, alone, in an empty police station possibly flirting with him. Yeah, this wouldn’t mean anything, right? Wrong. Things escalated, you moved things out of the way on his desk. Once in the clear, the two of you moved back. Lips connected while grabbing at each other. When he got close enough, he sat himself up on his desk. Hands then coming up to the sides of your face—holding while the two of you kissed. You angled yourself, pressing against him in a way that he could feel you’re hard-on. “Mm..” he groaned, muffled by your lips. Should he be doing this? Absolutely not. Is he going to do it anyway and savor this moment? Yes.

“Y’feel what you do to me? God—“ you huffed, against his mouth. “You work so hard—fuckin’ perfect.”

Leon whined, shifting his position so that he could wrap his legs around you and pull you impossibly close. His hands went down to your belt, starting to quickly undo it. After that was out of the way he started on your pants. Which in the process you bucked into his touch without even realizing. You captured his lips again, this time the kiss was nothing but tongue and teeth. The two of you needed each other so bad you kept messing things up. Fumbling with taking off clothes, knocking things over, accidentally forgetting to do something. But in the end, he still got your cock shoved into him as if he was gonna disappear within seconds.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sweet, sweet sounds that left Leon’s mouth were heavenly. Mouth open, eyes shut, and head back against the table. His legs were wrapped around your waist, purposely squeezing to pull you closer to him—get your cock deeper than it already was. “Such a hard worker, aren’t you? The moment you got here you worked, ‘n worked, ‘n worked.”

Leon whined, dick jumping and twitching at your words. He clenched around you—beginning to squirm. God, he was pretty. The way he reacted to your touch, praise, and whatever else you gave him. The sheen of sweat all over his body made him glisten in the dim light. Which just added onto the list of things that made him fucking beautiful. You dragged your hips back slowly, then pushed forward at the same pace. Your thrusts were slow, yes, but you made up for it by making sure you were deep inside him.

When you sped up your pace Leon cursed under his breath. The brutal pace catching him off guard.

“Shit!”

“Nothin’ you can’t take.” You cooed.

He breathed out a whimper—legs twitching. You leaned down over him, pressing your lips to his skin. His eyes were shut, it was all beginning to be too much. Your cock pushing into him at a relentless pace, your words, your touch. His dick leaked and throbbed—begging for some sort of attention. But it all felt good. It was something he deserved for working so much, so hard. “Oh- ohh..” Leon moaned. He clenched around you, gripping your cock. It caused a low groan to crawl from your throat. Your lips trailed up and up, pressing a kiss to his collarbone before sucking a hickey. Then moving on to his throat, forcing him to move his head up.

In a few minutes, Leon’s back was arching, his hands gripped the edge of the table he was on, and he was moving his hips up into the air as he came. Spurts of white shooting from his tip, and onto his chest; staining that area white. He huffed, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. It didn’t help when you kept thrusting into him, even when your hips started to stutter and fuck up the rhythm you’d set. He began to squirm. A whine slipping from his spit slicked lips.

You moaned, hips jerking as you finally came. You filled him up with your cum, and watched as it soon started to leak and drip from his hole. He felt so full. Stuffed with your cock and your cum. “Fuck..” he whispered. It was silent for a few seconds, well, aside from you two trying to control your breathing. But once you got ahold of it, you leaned back down and whispered straight into his ear.

“We ain’t done.”

[babyjinsu]

sungchan x fem!reader || 3.8k

౨ৎ nsfw! cheating, bestfriend's boyfriend sungchan, cowgirl, oral (m receiving), a lot of kissing, blowjob, fellation, nipple play (f and slight m receiving), lowkey sneaky fuck, betrayal, creampie, you both are assholes if you squint, non-proofread nor edited yet.

sungchan would be the biggest liar ever if he didn’t think you were the cutest, the prettiest one out of his girlfriend’s group of friends.

hell, he’s never even seen someone as close to his type as you. you’re practically his dream girl.

he tries to convince himself that it’s just a harmless, normal—natural thought that all guys have. 

but it never goes away.

not when you wear that specific shade of lipstick that makes his gaze on your lips linger a second too long. not when you lean out of habit towards him when someone cracks something funny. not when you sit beside his girlfriend, and he can’t help but to compare—almost everything. 

sungchan shouldn’t notice the way your voice and sighs makes his skin prickle. shouldn’t remember the smell of your shampoo after one hug.

in fact, he shouldn’t think about you at all.

but… sungchan is just a man. and isn’t it a man’s nature to wander? to want? to be attracted to pretty little things?

——

“oh—yn, nari’s not home yet…” 

sungchan’s voice was rough, still coated in sleep. He woke up early from the knocks on the front door. his hair’s messy, sticking up in different directions, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips as he just rolled out of bed—apparent by the pillow crease on his cheek. 

you blinked, caught in the doorway like you’ve been caught doing something wrong. “oh,” you said, lifting up the paper bag in your hand. “sorry—uh, nari just told me to come in. i didn’t know you’re in.”

he leaned his shoulder on the doorframe, arms crossed, one rubbing his eyes lazily, squinting down at you from where he’s standing. “no, no—it’s fine.” his lips curled into a small smile. “you should come in,” he said before you could think too hard. “nari should be home pretty soon. you can wait for her inside.”

you nodded and excused yourself inside, trying not to look at the way his gaze trailed after you. 

the door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality. you kept your eyes forward as you slipped off your shoes, but you could feel it—sungchan’s stare on the back of your head, crawling down your spine. 

“i really didn’t mean to wake you,” you said, half-turning to glance at him over your shoulder. 

“nah, it’s cool, yn.” he murmured, running his fingers through his hair. “nari didn’t inform me beforehand.” 

you took a seat on the couch, settling to get comfortable with one leg tucked beneath as you got comfortable. sungchan trailed behind you. “are you guys going somewhere later?” he asked, taking the tv remote off the coffee table and sitting next to you—at an appropriate distance, that is. 

you glanced over at him. “oh, no, no,” you shook your head. “i just wanna drop off the dress i borrowed from her last week.” for some reason, you reached into the bag and pulled it out, unfolding the dress carefully across the lap. sungchan noted that it smelled like you—he figured out you washed it beforehand. 

“cute, right?” you said, smoothing the fabric with your palm. 

sungchan looked over; he hadn’t expected you to show him. his eyes skimmed the dress, then flicked to your face. you weren’t looking at him. “yeah,” he murmured. “really cute.”

your gaze caught him for a moment too long, a flicker of something passing between the two of you. 

“nari has good clothes. i think we all like to borrow from her.” you gave sungchan a little smile, eyes dropping. 

sungchan replied with a small huff of laughter, leaning elbow on the armrest. “yeah, but…” he hesitated, then shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “not everyone pulls them off the same way.”

you raised an eyebrow at his remark. “what do you mean by that?”

sungchan avoided your gaze, his tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek as he leaned back into the couch, suddenly too relaxed to be casual. “nothing.” he said quickly, eyes fixed on the tv. 

but the pause that followed stretched too long.

“sungchan.”

your voice was quiet. just curious.

he glanced at you then, briefly. “what?”

“you meant something,” you said, shifting slightly closer—your knee nearly touched his thigh. “so say it.” 

you saw the way sungchan hesitated—his eyes flickered between you and the screen. “uh,” he muttered. sungchan exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping to your hand on your thigh, and the dress on your lap.

“you look good in her clothes,” he said, finally. voice quiet and low. “but i like the way you look in yours more.” 

your breath caught—chest rose. “you shouldn’t say things like that…” you murmured. sungchan’s eyes lifted to yours, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

“well, you asked…” 

sungchan clicked through a few channels before settling on something random—an old classic romance already halfway through. 

you tried to focus on the screen but failed to do so—you were too aware of how close sungchan was sitting next to you; his knees barely brushed yours.

“you like this movie?” you attempted, asking him suddenly. sungchan looked at you, his fingertips tapping absentmindedly his thigh. “not really.” he admitted. 

on-screen, the couple kissed—soft and slow and dramatic. but your attention was on him.

sungchan’s gaze dropped to your lips, just barely. your lips parted slightly, the tip of your tongue licking your lips without thinking.

it happened almost suddenly—your faces moved closer—as if drawn.

you were a breath away from him when it hit you.

you pulled back immediately, eyes wide and breath hitching . “oh—i’m sorry, i—i didn’t mean to—“ you stuttered, leaning against the armrest.

sungchan catched your wrist before you could shift further away from him, his slender fingers wrapped around your curved wrist. “yn—it’s okay,” he said quietly. “it’s okay… just… this once.”

his voice was soft, almost pleading as his thumb rubbed circles on your skin. his fingers slid from your wrist to your hand, gently tugging you toward him.

“just once,” he murmured again like he’s reassuring himself. 

you didn’t stop him.

and when his lips brushed yours, it was soft. tentative, at first—like he was fully expecting you to push him away. 

your eyes fluttered shut the moment sungchan deepen the kiss, tilting his head slightly to really kiss you—his hand slid from your hand to your jaw, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek as his mouth moved against yours. 

your breath hitched as he parted your lips, his tongue brushing carefully against yours. sungchan’s other hand drifted down, his fingertips grazing your thigh before settling there, grounding you. 

it was you who pulled back for air. but sungchan remained close, his lips still ghosting yours. both of you catching breath in the shallow space between. 

“we shouldn’t…” your voice was barely a whisper.

his hand was still on your face. “shouldn’t what?” sungchan leaned in again, attaching his lips once again against yours. this time was slower but somehow deeper than before, almost pushing you back against the armrest. 

you gasped a little into the kiss—wether from surprise or how good the kiss felt—but sungchan took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips.

you gripped his shirt instinctively, fingers curling tight as his hand on your cheek travelled down to your waist. sungchan held you like he wanted to feel what it's like to have your body arched into his. his mouth trailed lower—along your jaw, beneath your ear. 

“sungchan… nari—“ her name spilled from your lips.

sungchan merely hummed into your skin, lips brushing along your throat. “what about nari?” he murmured against your lips, catching it again. your hand tightened around his shirt—wanted to remind him that she’s his girlfriend, and she’s your friend. that this is wrong and insane.

but then sungchan’s tongue flicked just under your jaw again, and your head tipped back on instinct, lips parting around a quiet breath. your chest rose against him and he took it as a sign of continuation. 

“she’s not here,” he added, hand slipping further up your thigh and into your shirt, pushing the fabric along. “you are.” 

your heart hammered in your chest out of guilt—but it was drowned out by the way his voice dragged through your spine in that low and coaxing manner. sungchan pulled back just enough to look at you—eyes half-lidded and lips flushed and slick from the kissing. 

“i’m not going to stop,” he said. you stared down at him, breathless and torn between every line you’d just crossed. “so don’t tell me to stop.” sungchan kissed you again—harder and messier this time. his warm hands rested on your waist, pulling you into his lap without asking.

and you? you simply went, too easily. legs sliding around his hips as you settled over him, the two of you barely breathing now, mouths locked in a kiss. 

you felt the way sungchan breathed through his nose, desperate to keep kissing you and swallowing the soft sound you made when his lips moved. your arms moved to wrap around his neck, fingers curled in his hair, tugged slightly, and he groaned.

“yn,” and then you felt his hands—ghost beneath the hem of your shirt. 

you didn’t answer him. not with words.

instead, your hands reached for the hem yourself.

and you pulled your shirt up and over, discarding it behind you on the carpet. sungchan’s breath hitched at the view before him—the girl of his dreams—sitting on his lap, shirtless with an innocent, simple, white bra on. your cleavage pushed up nicely and sungchan had to fight the urge to grab them in his hands. 

sungchan felt himself heating up and hardened—as embarrassing as it sounded. 

“i’m not going to tell you to stop,” you finally said something, cheeks reddened and flushed at how bold you were. “so just do whatever you wanna do. just once.” 

sungchan froze for a second, like he was making sure he’d heard you right despite just sharing an intimate moment of kissing a few moments earlier. his eyes searched your face. “just once?” he repeated, almost bitter with disbelief. 

you nodded.

you swore sungchan rolled his eyes for a split second—before his mouth was back on yours. his hands skimmed up your waists before sliding over your covered breasts, cupping it. his fingers gently kneaded into your skin through the fabric. 

not being able to contain it anymore, sungchan pulled your bra up over your chest, letting it rest there. he bent just enough to wrap his mouth around your nipple. your mouth immediately dropped in a whine, back arching slightly in pleasure. your fingers tugged around his hair, almost pushing him deeper against your tit. “oh—sungchan—” you moaned, tugging on your bottom lip.

sungchan merely hummed against your skin, rolling his tongue around it and sucking it in his mouth like a pacifier. his other hand massaged and fondled with your other tit—rolling your perky nipple between the pads of his fingers. “you’re so cute,” he mumbled, leaving a kiss behind before he moved to your other breast—making sure she didn’t feel left out.

your arms tightened around his neck as you shifted slightly in his lap, instinct guiding you before you even could grasp what you were doing. the motion was slow—but enough for you to feel how warm and hard sungchan was beneath you. 

his breath stuttered, fingers tightening around your tit. “fuck—hey,” he murmured, tongue lapping around your bud. you rocked into him, pressing your clothed pussy against his growing tent. you could feel the way his body tensed but you didn’t stop. 

sungchan’s hands guided your hips, making sure he could feel every drag of your pussy against his cock. “i want you, sungchan—mhh,” you moaned, burying your face into his locks. your bodies moved together in sync as sungchan too, pressed himself hard against you. 

he pulled his mouth away from your tits with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your perky nipple and his bottom lip. sungchan tilted his head back slightly, not being able to contain his urge any longer. 

he hooked his fingers around the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head on a swift motion—tossing it somewhere on the couch. he was all warm skin and lean muscle. your hands hovered for a second—then settled on his chest, fingers splaying over his heart.

it was racing.

just like yours.

sungchan leaned in again, his forehead pressing to yours. “i have no regrets.” he said, his voice low and soft like he was letting you in on a secret. you nodded, swallowing hard. nari was still somewhere tucked far in the back of your head—but it’s too late to stop now.

sungchan helped you just enough—your knees pressing into the cushions as you rose slightly from his lap. his hands worked quickly, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants and guiding the fabric down over your hips. 

and then his hands were on your thighs again, pulling you back on his lap, only with your panties on.

sungchan shifted slightly on the couch to pull his pants down—and you gasped at the sight of his hardened cock, throbbing and twitching. he’s huge. a lot bigger than you’d ever expect sungchan to be—thick and long and slightly curved. he bit his bottom lip as he noticed you staring.

sungchan wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, using the head to move your panties just enough to line the head of his cock up with your entrance. but before he could sink your hips down, you wrapped your hands around his wrists. “wait—sungchan, i wanna…” you muttered, getting off his lap. 

you settled on your knees between his legs, using your hands on his knees to push his legs apart a little wider. you glanced up at sungchan through your lashes—watching the way his breath hitched, his eyes locked on you. 

the tip glistened with pre-cum as he gave his cock a few slow strokes before letting it go, allowing it to twitch in the air between you. slowly, you wrapped your hands around his shaft, giving it a few light squeezes before leaning forward, your tongue daring out to lick a bead of pre-cum from the tip of his cock. sungchan let out a ragged breath, his hands hovered at his sides, fists clenched in the cushions to stop himself from holding your head.

“fuck…” 

you wrapped your lips around the head of his hard cock, rolling your tongue across the tip to lick clean his precum before bobbing your head back and forth on his cock,. you’ve never given blowjobs to anyone—not your ex boyfriends nor your flings but the way sungchan looked—slightly flushed and swallowing the lump in his throat—only encouraged you to continue. 

your cheeks hollowed as you worked on sucking him, taking sungchan’s cock as deep in your mouth as you could. you can feel his pulse throbbing against your tongue. he watched you through hooded eyes, chest rising and falling hard.”yn, shit—” he muttered, half a warning, half a plea. 

sungchan eventually threaded his fingers through your hair, gripping it slightly as he started to thrust his hips shallowly into your mouth. “fuck, babe, take it all…” you shut your eyes tightly as he forced more of his thick cock past your lips. 

at one point, sungchan held your head still and used your mouth for leverage as he fucked your throat, his head thrown back against the couch, balls tightened at the feeling of your gags. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum, pretty,” he moaned, groaning. he fucked your mouth like a pussy. 

you nodded and tried to relax your throat, gripping and digging your nails into his skin. you slipped sungchan’s cock out of your mouth to wrap your hands around his shaft once again, moving them back and forth—jerking him off. you lolled and rolled your tongue around the bulbous head of his cock, swiping at the sensitive slit. “mmhm,” you hummed, bobbing your head back and forth, looking up to sungchan who had his lips parted slightly, breathing shallow in uneven rhythms. you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled tighter around your roots. 

your tongue laid flat against his shaft, dragging it from the base all the way to the head.

woah—nari never gave me a fellatio, sungchan thought. your mouth was warm and slippery and wet and his cock had never felt this good before. 

“fuck, baby, wait—i’m gonna—” sungchan stuttered as he felt himself getting close. he groaned—thick ropes of his cum spurted inside of your mouth, coating it white. sungchan threw his head back in ecstasy to catch his breath before looking down at you—lips smeared with spit and white beads of his cum. you didn’t wipe it off, instead, you darted your lips out to lick and clean the remaining liquid around your mouth before swallowing him cum.

“sorry,” you muttered, the words muffled behind the back of your hand as you tried to hide your mouth. your cheeks were hot and red, eyes flicking anywhere but his. “i’ve never done this before…” 

sungchan blinked, still catching his breath—his body lax but his eyes focused entirely on you. “...you’re kidding,” he said, voice hoarse around the edges. he sat up a little and reached out to pull your hand away from your face. “that was—shit, you’re amazing, yn,” he continued, guiding you back up on his lap once more. 

“i can’t take it anymore.” 

i’m really going to do it—sungchan’s really about to break his girlfriend’s trust. but it’s too late to stop, he had to let his guts and body take over. he promised himself he’s just going to put the tip in…

“don’t tell to stop, yeah?” he said, lining the head of his flushed and wet cock against your entrance, and slowly, sungchan sank your hips down to the base. you threw your head back and let out a moan as his cock stretched your walls. “ah—sungchan,” with a whimper, your hips came to rest against his’. you’re way tighter and wetter than nari is—sungchan had to hold himself back from cumming this quick. 

he lifted you off his lap before letting you slam back down on his thick cock. the head nestled against your cervix with each pounding thrust. “you’re so fucking tight, babe… how…” he moaned as his fingers dug into your hips, guiding your movements with deliberate rhythm. 

you felt it in the way sungchan held you as he coaxed you to move the way he wanted. every shift of your body drew another moan from him, raw and guttural, his grip tightening with each roll of your hips. 

“you’re so big, ‘chan,” you whimpered, leaning in, hands resting on his chest as you pressed your mouth to his’. sungchan kissed you back almost immediately, hands anchoring you to him as your lips moved together. 

you felt his cock twitching and you swore—he got bigger when you slipped your tongue past his lips. he must’ve liked kissing a lot—you thought. you brushed your thumbs over his nipples, and sungchan chuckled softly in your mouth. your light tugged and pinched his nipples between your fingertips, rolling it inbetween.

down there—his cock dragged against the sensitive tissue of your entrance. his thrusts weren’t messy, they were rough and solid with the curve and the head of his cock hitting the deepest parts of you. sungchan pushed your hips down, cock balls deep inside your tight pussy as he kept you there, burying his cock against your deeper spot. 

“mmh—!” you moaned and nibbled on his bottom lip, drawing slight blood that sungchan couldn’t care less for. he started pounding into you with no remorse, balls slapping your pussy and making wet noises across the living room. his cock only throbbed deep in your cunt as you cried into his mouth, pressing your nipples against his’. 

sungchan’s heart pounded in his chest when his girlfriend’s face came to mind. he almost questioned himself what he was doing—but the thought dissolved just as quickly as they came when you flicked your tongue across his teeth. 

who was he kidding—? he waited months for this. 

your legs were burning and your climax was so close you could taste it. you unlatched your lips from his and cried softly, the tip of your nose reddened. “chan, i—” 

“me too, love, fuck—” he let out a groan that softened into a breathy whimper. “kiss me, yn.” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips for the nth time. his thrusts were erratic—rough and deep and desperate and merciless. heat coiled in your stomach, deep and pulsing. 

“i can’t hold it back anymore.” you whimpered pathetically into the kiss, nails digging his flesh as you practically started bouncing on his hard cock to chase your own high. the contracting walls of your tight cunt sent sungchan over the edge as well. sungchan moved his hands to cup your asscheeks, fondling and spreading them apart. he used it to control your movements and bouncings on his cock. 

“cum—cum on my cock, babe.” he moaned and snapped his hips against you, hard and deep, in one final, powerful lurch—and that was when your muscles clenched and clamped tightly around his throbbing cock as he pumped and coaxed every last drop of his warm, thick semen straight inside of your pussy. sungchan whimpered against your lips as he unloaded everything inside, his seed leaked from your hole. 

“oh—mmh, fuck…” you whimpered as you let your body relaxed above him, pulling away from the kiss to bury your face into the crook of his neck. you could feel your sungchan’s cock pumping and throbbing as he spurted the last few drops of his cum inside. 

“i… i feel so bad for—hngh! too deep—nari…” you muttered against his skin, shaking your head slightly. the pleasure came in waves—your cunt twitching and thighs trembling as sungchan slowly and tiredly jerked his hips against you, pushing his cum deeper. the boyfriend clicked his tongue and gave your ass a slight squeeze. “you’re wonderful, yn… fuck,” he said in return, obviously pretending he didn’t hear what you just said.

what is there to regret?  

as sungchan came down, he let out a sigh and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. he placed his chin atop of your head, breath still uneven as he held you close—and still hadn’t pulled out—because he just didn’t want to let go just yet. 

the room was quiet, save for the soft sound of both your breathing, his fingers brushed lazy circles against your lower back. “did… you like it?” he asked quietly. you nodded against him, cheeks warm as you nuzzled into his warmth. “...mm yeah. did you?” 

god you're so cute.

sungchan exhaled through his nose, something between relief and regret flickering in his eyes as he looked up to the ceiling. relief that you enjoyed it as much as he did—but regret because he could see himself seek more from you. 

“i love it a lot,” he replied, kissing the crown of your head. “this really has to be just once?” 

his question hung in the air as you pulled back to look at him. “sungchan… you know nari is—” 

before you could finish, the sharp ring of the doorbell cut through the quiet room. both of you froze.

the ring camera flickered to life, showing nari standing just outside the door. 

💭 WOW. SUNGCHAN IS SOO SWEET HEREEE... if this is wack im so sorry i havent written smut in a while so it was honestly kind of hard for me to visualise positions and capture the essence and emotions of xxx :c

this wont be my last time writing cheating smut because i looooove it so much and im trying to write mean reader but i dont think i can write mean female characters but i'll try :( thank u sm!! as usual reblogs, comments, n inboxes r soo appreaciated. lmk what u guys think <3

[no-144444]

꩜summary: you can't risk it, even if you want to

꩜pairing: pierre gasly x fem! reader

“She’s not into it, don’t even bother.”

That’s all it took to pique Pierre’s interest. You were a legendary engineer. You asked the questions no one wanted to hear, gave solutions no one had thought of. You cared about the work you were doing, you cared about the cars, about the drivers, about it all. 

Switching from Indycar to Formula 1 mustn’t have been easy, but if it wasn’t, you surely weren’t making that known. You took everything in your stride, pushing the FIA to its limits, pushing the GPDA to its limits. It was impressive. It was hot. Pierre enjoyed every second of it. 

“Busy day?’ he asked, sitting beside you at the bar. You had a beer in hand. He had some French wine he was sure you were judging, and he loved every second of it. 

“You were there, you saw how it went,” you shrugged. “You?”

He shrugged. “Eh,” he took another sip. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” 

“Oh, putting it into the wall is ordinary for you?” you teased, an amused smirk on your face. “May I ask why you have a seat?”

“I don’t know,” he smirked right back at you. “Sometimes I don’t shove it into the wall.” 

“Wow, I’d love to see that,” you faked interest. “And how often does that happen, once in a blue moon?” 

He laughed. “You’re funny.”

“I try,” you smiled. “Do you have a reason to be over here or…?” 

“Just enjoying the view,” he smirked. You rolled your eyes, turned around, and left him sitting there at the bar. He hated seeing you leave, but loved watching you go.

Things escalated from that night onwards. Glances in the paddock, constant flirting even on camera, and that stupid smile that weirdly did it for you.

Technically, it was after paddock hours, but a turnstile wasn’t going to stop you from finishing up your work. You had deadlines to meet, and you weren’t super interested in not meeting them for the sake of the track’s closing time. You were sitting on the floor of the media pen, laptop in front of you as you stifled through pages after pages of notes. You knew it looked a little ridiculous, but you didn’t really care. 

He was just leaving the paddock, and somehow caught a glimpse of you in the media pen. Paper everywhere. Laptop open in front of you. Tired look in your eyes. He liked the paddock when it was empty, but he liked it even better when it gave him a shot to talk to you. It was a little pathetic how often he tried to talk to you, and he knew it was a problem for you, but a part of him didn’t really care. Yes, you might’ve been a Mercedes engineer, but you were interesting. If something was interesting, he was going to risk anything to get it.

“Still working even after the sun goes down, eh?” he smirked, walking in with his arms crossed. You looked up, then rolled your eyes.

“Gasly,” you nodded, going back to your work. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere apologising for your crash today?” 

He chuckled. “That was Franco, actually,” he took a step closer, putting a hand under your chin and making you look at him. You ‘ve laughed. “Don’t act like you don’t watch my every move out on that track.”

“I don’t have to act, I just don’t,” you shot back. “Maybe get into an interesting team and score some real points, and then I’ll care,’ you pushed his hand away. 

“You and I both know Alpine in more than interesting-”

“Not out on track. Maybe internally, but not on track. I analyse track results,” you bit back. You weren’t interested in this conversation, in offering him more of your time than he already took up. 

“You’re feisty today,” he chuckled. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m busy, and some annoying French guy is trying to talk to me,” your tone had a lot more bite than you had anticipated, and the air switched. You were properly annoyed. You didn’t want to talk. None of this playing hard to get bullshit, you truly didn’t want to talk to him. He recoiled, his expression turning to offence. “Just fuck off Pierre.” 

“Glady,” he scoffed before leaving. You groaned. You’d gotten where you’d gotten all on your own. You’d worked. You’d fought. You’d taken jobs that were below you. Learnt skills you never needed. Focused in on things that didn’t matter. Did all of it to get you where you were. And you did it alone, for a reason. You didn’t want those stupid rumours, the questions of how many people you had to sleep with to get where you were, the knowing glances so many mechanics and engineers gave you. Despite the rumours, you did it all alone. And you knew the second you so much as slightly entertained Pierre, he’d never let you go. Not that you wanted him to. The last few weeks had been fun. Flirting, catching him at different times, talking to him after races. But you couldn’t give up everything you worked for, and your integrity. So you couldn’t do it. If only he knew that you did like him, better than anyone you’d ever met. You liked his stupid jokes and shitty attempts at flirting. You liked his driving style. You liked his resilience. 

Pierre walked into his hotel room, stewing on your encounter. He didn’t mean to get in your way, he just wanted to talk. You’d never had a problem with it before. Yeah, maybe he came on a bit strong, but that hadn’t been an issue before. He dropped down on his bed, exhausted. The race had gone to shit, as usual, and he had just wanted to talk to the pretty girl he was clearly falling for. He opened his phone for the first time since the race, and saw the thousands of notifications, then groaned. 

Then he saw one in particular. From an unknown number.

If I cut you off, it just means I care. - the view. 

He smirked at his phone. Maybe it wasn’t totally hopeless after all.

navigation for my blog :)

alpine masterlist

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

[danikamariewrites]

Take Me With You

Bat boys x reader

Note: I didn’t really know how to end this but this is another Cassian centric one oops

Warnings: angst-ish

“Please, please, please, please!” You cry as you squeeze Cassian’s midsection. You weren’t squeezing hard, just a more aggressive hug. And you weren’t going to give up until you got a yes from your mates.

You just found out from the twins that Cass and Rhys will be going to Windhaven for a few days. Azriel had just left for the Mother knows where this morning and that means you would be home alone. You don’t mind being home alone but when your mates leaving is so sudden it gives some anxiety.

Cassian lets out a deep sigh, rubbing his face angrily. “Y/n, we’ve talked about this. Coming with us to Windhaven isn’t a good idea, sweetheart.” You let out a loud groan. Looking at Rhys with pleading eyes he meets you with his own sympathetic look.

“Please Rhys? Azzy just left, now you guys are going to leave me too?” If you should’ve snuggled up to anyone first it was Rhys. Cassian is the strict one and so rarely caves to your begging. Rhys and Azriel on the other hand, those two have no back bone when it comes to you and your precious doe eyes.

Cassian gives Rhys a look that screams don’t you dare. Rhys lets out a sigh, slumping back in his chair. “Cassian and I will talk about it, ok?” You nod against Cassian’s chest. Unwrapping yourself from him you leave Rhys’s office and wait patiently in the sitting room for their decision.

Your mind drifts to Azriel as you wait. He had you all to himself last night, making love to you softly, just taking each other in before he left for the next month.

Azriel held you all night whispering how much he loves you and he’ll miss you and your other mates. You had shed a few tears when Azriel kissed you goodbye that morning. You didn’t want to let go of him.

But you did. Watching them fly off to danger never gets easier. Especially Azriel.

Forty-five minutes later Rhys calls you back to his office. You rush back upstairs, ready for the decision your mates made.

Cassian is sitting rigid in the chair across from Rhys. His jaw clenched as if he’s biting his tongue. You approach slowly, taking a seat next to Cassian, trying not to look at him.

Rhys clears his throat to break the tension. “We,” he emphasizes, “have decided you can come with us. It’ll be a week long trip, we’re leaving in the morning after breakfast so make sure you’re packed.” Rhys says with a small smile on his face.

You grin looking between the pair. “Thank you,” as you turn to Cassian he gets up and leaves. The door to his own office down the hall closes lightly. You deflate in your chair wondering why he’s so angry.

Rhys lets out a tired sigh. “Don’t worry about him, darling. He’s just mad because I overruled him.” He smirks and goes back to the document laying in front of him.

As you head back to the sitting room you can’t help but feel dismissed by your mates. Something about Rhys’s decision just not sitting right with you.

You know Rhys didn’t mean anything by what he said about “overruling” Cassian. You could tell they had an argument. And the last thing you wanted to do was cause tension between Rhys and Cass when they’re about to go to Windhaven.

Turning around you head back upstairs, lightly knocking on Cassian’s door. Entering slowly, he doesn’t take his eyes off of the paper he’s scribbling on.

Clearing your throat you whisper his name. Cassian’s head shoots up, making uneasy eye contact with you. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head. “Nothing. I just wanted to talk.” You cross your arms looking away from your mate, uncomfortable by his borderline hostility.

Cassian relaxes into his high back chair to ease the tension between the two of you. “What’s wrong,” his tone was gentle. You look down at your feet, pushing at the carpet with the toe of your shoe. “If you don’t want me to go to Windhaven I’ll stay home.” You say solemnly. You expected Cassian to breathe a sigh of relief, not be silent.

Looking up at your mate you’re met with a frown pulling at his lips. “Come here, love.” You go to stand between his legs, Cassian’s hands hold yours to his chest. “It’s not that I don’t want you to go. More than anything I want you to be with Rhys and I. But I also want you safe, and I feel like it’s not safe for you there. I’m on edge whenever we go anywhere dangerous and it—I just,” he cuts himself off with a deep breath.

Slipping a hand from his grasp you tangle your fingers in his dark strands. “I didn't think this was going to be so stressful for you, Cass.” You place a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Cassian’s eyes take on a hard look, “Don’t. You do not need to apologize for how I’m feeling. If anything we should be the ones saying sorry. It’s not fair to shut you out while Rhys and I make decisions like that.” Cassian stands to fully embrace you. “Please come with us. I can’t leave you knowing how upset you’ll be, especially alone.”

You hug him tighter. “Only if you’re sure.”

“Of course I am,” Cassian kisses the top of your head.

You look up at him, batting your eyelashes at him. “I love you.” Cassian gently cups your face, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I love you more.”

[dannyriccsystem]

hey love, can I get a 10, 31 and 48 with yuki? plus if it's possible, the reader is chubby

HONEST, LET’S MAKE THIS NIGHT LAST FOREVER!

1K SPECIAL - YT22

Awkward first date + “I love the way you moan my name.” + “this is wrong,” “so wrong.”

SUMMARY: Your first date with Yuki goes awfully, but simmering feelings build up and one thing leads to another…

WORD COUNT: 1.5K

WARNINGS: Eventual smut, P in V, chubby & short reader, disaster date leads to sex

FEATURING: Yuki Tsunoda x Reader

NOTE: MEOWW I LOVE HIM. WOWZA.

THE NIGHT HAD GONE HORRIBLY. It wasn’t either you or Yuki’s fault, either. Instead it seemed like the universe was trying to send you signs and you just kept ignoring them. At the beginning, the night was lovely. For your first official date, after years of dancing around your attraction, Yuki took you to a candlelit restaurant with soft music for ambience. The menu was expensive and fancy, but nothing the two of you couldn’t handle.

The first mishap was something you could easily get over. The waitress was bringing out a bottle of Pinot Noir, a decently spendy red wine, when she unintentionally ended up spilling it all over your white top. She apologized profusely, offering the bottle on the house. Yuki showed his gentlemanly side when he said he’d pay for it nonetheless, and gave you his suit jacket to cover up the stain.

If it was just that, things would have been fine, but unfortunately the night continued to escalate. You were holding your menu, which held the texture of construction paper— It felt rather cheap for such a high end restaurant. You hummed, flipping the page. A burning smell hit your nose, and your head flicked up to find your menu on fire, having been lit by a table candle.

You squealed subconsciously, which obviously drew Yuki’s attention. He gasped, grabbing his water and splashing it onto the growing flames. They diminished quickly, revealing the charred corners of the menu. You sighed with relief, shaking your head. With his adrenaline still pumping, Yuki slammed the glass back down, shattering the bottom and sending the water flying onto his lap.

You tried to ignore all that, because the chemistry in the air was still sparking, aside from a few failed jokes and flirtatious comments from both ends. Those were expected, though. You two knew each other for a long time, but had never interacted in a manner of intimacy. You managed to make it to the end of your meal without any mishaps, but right as the two of you were leaving, the man at the table beside you began to choke.

Yuki jumped in quickly, performing the Heimlich like it was no big deal. He drove you back to your building, offering to walk you back up to your apartment. The dinky elevator came to a screeching halt, the dinging noise crunchy over the speakers. The doors squeaked open, and you shamefully walked with him to your front door.

“Sorry that this date was such a mess,” You giggled, turning back to face him. You still had his jacket draped over your body, covering the deep red wine stain.

Yuki just smiled, his hands buried in his pockets. “It’s not your fault. I think that restaurant was fucking cursed or something,” He rolled his eyes dramatically, and then looked back to you, his gaze softening almost immediately.

“Haha, right?” You shifted awkwardly, the silence settling in like oil on water. You cleared your throat, and right when he was about to excuse himself, you instinctively blurted out, “Do you want to come inside? Maybe, you know, enjoy some cheap wine that won’t stain your clothes…”

“Yes.” He replied instantly, nodding his head. “Yeah, that’d be great.” He tried to correct himself and act as if his initial reply wasn’t somewhat desperate, but that was hard to do when you were standing there in his jacket, looking so damn pretty.

“Great,” You fumbled for your keys, unlocking the door and pushing it open. You grumbled, “Sorry for the mess.” Not that Yuki cared, especially since the ‘mess’ in question was just a few bags thrown around, and a sink with some dirty dishes in it. “Uhm, make yourself at home, I can pour us a drink.” You gestured to the living room. You had a comfortable, worn in couch with a few throw blankets and pillows. Across from it was a TV on a wooden stand, and a rug beneath them both.

He slid his shoes off, just as you did, and then took a seat on the plush couch— He immediately sunk in, the amount of comfort coming off as a surprise to your date. He shifted around, getting comfortable in his seat. You entered from the kitchen moments later, holding two mismatched glasses full of white wine.

You tenderly set one on a warped coaster upon the coffee table for him, but kept yours close to your body, swirling the glass anxiously. “So, out of every date you’ve been on, what do you rate this one?” You asked softly, mostly teasing. You had an idea of what he’d say.

Except, he didn’t. “You know, I’d give it a ten.” He picked up his glass, sipping to test the flavor. After deciding he liked it, Yuki took a larger gulp.

“A ten?”

“It was real. I got to see a glimpse of the real you.”

You hesitated, nodding at his words. “And?”

“And I think she’s… Really charming.” You didn’t miss the way his eyes scanned you up and down. It was impossible to just brush by that sort of thing, because this was Yuki Tsunoda, and he looked like he was madly in love already. He took another sip, pacing himself this time. “I liked it.”

“All of it?” He nodded. “Even when I nearly set myself on fire?”

“Even when you nearly set yourself on fire.” He scooted just a bit closer, your knees knocking against his. It felt natural. “Can I kiss you?”

The question was unexpected, but that didn’t change your answer. You nodded vigorously, causing Yuki to laugh. He set his glass down, leaning it for a soft kiss. It was gentle at first, like a slow song that drew you onto the dance floor to begin with.

But around fifteen seconds in, you had to set your wine glass aside as well, fearful you might drop it in the haste of everything. His hands were holding your wide hips, thumbs caressing whatever skin he could get his hands on. You had your hands buried in his hair, pulling him closer greedily.

“Do you normally kiss girls like this after one date?” You inquired, your breath ticklish on his soft lips. Yuki grinned, pecking you once more.

“No,” He replied easily, like he didn’t have to think twice. “It feels wrong.”

“So wrong,” You agreed. “But yet, so right.” It had to have been him—If it were anyone but Yuki, you wouldn’t have gone from disaster to full on making out with on a few hours. Not that you were complaining because, again, this was Yuki.

The kissing continued, fading into something hotter. Yuki grabbed at her, taking hold of anything he could. For such a small guy, he was incredibly strong. His arms pulled you onto his lap with practiced ease, lips becoming needier—hungrier.

He explored every inch of you with his hands. Your waist, your back, your breasts—any part that made you squirm, which then made his growing erection becoming glaringly obvious. He pulled away, a string of saliva forming a bridge between your swollen lips. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, please— Don’t stop.”

The room was suddenly filled with shuffling clothes, soft moans, and the sticky slapping of his cock thrusting in and out of you, moving so carefully. You had your face buried in his neck, his hands squishing the soft flesh along your sides. “Yuki-” You stuttered out, and you felt his hips jerk up into you harshly.

“Fuck, I love it when you moan my name like that.” If you had known that God awful dates would lead to nights like this, you wouldn’t have been fucking things up for yourself more often. Yet, it had to be Yuki. Nobody else would find such a weird night to be charming.

He shuffled the two of you around, bodies pressed together warmly as he rolled you both over. You were on your back, your legs spread so he could continue pistoning his cock into your warmth. You held the couch cushions for stability your tits jiggling with every thrust from the sheer force.

“Yuki-” You whimpered again, your walls clamping down on him as your orgasm began to form. He continued, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “Please- Come inside,” You practically begged. Your voice was light and airy, making it impossible to resist. You were on the pill, so in theory it would be fine.

He listened, and right after you finally climaxed, Yuki spilled his seed deep inside your hole. He slid his cock out, allowing it to soften before he made any sort of movements. He helped clean you up.

Afterwards, both of you now dressed once more, he buried his face in your chest, arms wrapped around you. Looked like Yuki would be staying the night— Maybe that was for the best.

“For the record,” He began. “That was the first time a date ever ended with me coming inside of someone.”

You laughed uncontrollably, and the sound was music to his ears. “Whatever you say, big daddy.” You teased, referencing his one time nickname for Max once again.

“Shut up,” Yuki groaned into your neck.

[deaconusdelirium]

ᰔᩚ Older bf!Simon indulging his kid at heart

-

Simon never really minded the fact that his childhood was stripped from him, it happened, it’s over, what can he do about it? Nothing. Best move on to more important things. He thinks about it, but it no longer effects him. He’s human, so at some point he’s going to watch a kid play to their hearts content like it was a foreign thing to him

Simon who raises a brow at every little thing you do when he finally starts to love you. Watching you stare at the toy section a little too long before picking out a coloring book and even longer at the crayon section. The basket in the crook of his elbow as he crossed his arms.

“What’s the difference, luvie? They all color the same” he huffed quietly, earning a soft glare in return. “Oh hush, they’re not the same. See? These ones are pastels, these ones have glitter, this one has forty colors-” you go on as he rolls his eyes and stares off down the aisle. His attention immediately being brought back as you all of a sudden stop. Then he seen what you were eyeing. The colored pencils. He looked at them and then at you before sighing and walking over. Grabbing them and show them to you. “What’s the deal with this one?” He asks, trying to find the difference yet again between the crayons and then pencils. You step forward and then smile almost sadly. “I’ve never really had colored pencils, always seen them but my parents told me they’d go in the trash one way or another” you replied. He didn’t even think twice before putting them in the basket

Simon who watches you later on that night color in the first page that stands out to you. Seeing you color outside the lines but never really seeming to mind. “Inside the lines, darlin” he mumbled as he laid in bed. One arm propping him up as you laughed softly, “oh hush, leave me alone. I like it” you smiled, “you like it messy?” He asked, “well… when you put it that way it sounds sloppy. But everyone always got mad that I colored outside the lines. Found being too perfect was always boring and never really fun. But I like this” you leaned back, looking at the paper as he nodded. Picking up a pencil and then gave a small scribble to the paper.

Simon who finds comfort in walking beside you down a sidewalk. At first he was confused, one second you both were walking and the next he was yanked back, “what’s wrong?” He looked around for any sign of trouble, then looked down at you, realizing you were counting your steps in the large rectangles in the concrete. “I stepped four steps in the last block, if I take another step, this one will be five” you muttered. Deciding not to question it, he picked you up, setting you in the next block and started walking along side you again. Now every time you walk together, he counts how many steps you take in each one, stopping and waiting for you if you need to jump a little or if you mess up your numbers, “you’re at three, luv”

Simon who pretty much never questions anything you do anymore, you want something? He’ll get it for you. Even if it’s a little bottle of bubbles, he’ll grab an extra bottle just so that if you ever run out, you’ll have another. He won’t admit it, but likes seeing which bubble will last the longest before popping

Simon who goes shopping with you and helps you pick out a stuffed animal, which turns into stuffed animals. “Oh- look at this one Si, this one’s a seal” you picked up a chunky looking stuffed animal. Giving a squish before holding it out to Simon, who gives a squish and then takes it into his large calloused hands. Scrunching it a few times and lays his head on it, then nods. Looking at the others, “look at this one, babe, it’s a shrimp” he chuckles, picking it up and showing you. A smile blossoming on your face as you grab it. You both going home with stuffed animals of your own, who later get turned into cuddle buddies. Sedrick the Shrimp and Samuel the Seal

Simon who will bring you your favorite lunch with a nice drink on the side to your work. Walking in pass the reception desk and into your office, seeing that you’re on a call, he holds your food so he can personally give it to you as he walks around the place. Mindlessly playing with a few little trinkets you got lying around. He puts the bag of food between his chest and arm, the drink in his hand while his other squeezes the chicken stress ball. Giving a small chuckle as its eyes pop out with every squeeze. Then he finds another little toy. A crane of sort that has a string attached to the tip that’s holding a ring at the end. A small hook on the beam as he tries to get the ring onto the hook. Giving a quiet “yes” as he finally gets it. Then hands your food over with a kiss when you’re done

Simon who stays up with you one night, not having to worry about waking up early for work. So he has you get up, telling you he’s hungry and that he wants to get something to eat. Then when you tell him you have to get ready. He protests, pulling your hand and tells you that he’s not going out to impress anyone and that he’d rather you be comfortable than walking around fully dressed with your clothes you wanted to wear tomorrow, just to get fast food. Tells you that he feels better when you feel good. Both of you don’t have to worry about the burdens of adult life that early morning

Simon who goes to the Lego section with you- well, more like he drags you to the Lego aisle. Telling you that he likes this one he seen a few days ago. Pretends to look for it when he made it up as an excuse so you two could actually look for something to build together. “Look at this one love, it’s a picture frame” he holds up a box, showing you. “I like that one, but I also like this camera one” you also hold up the box, he looks between the two. Eyes darting to the side before something catches his eye. “Baby, look. These are bracelets, you put little legos on them”. He immediately grabs the box, dropping them all into the cart, not even minding the price it’ll come out to. “We should look at the friendship bracelets” he buys you the bracelets anyways, going home and building the legos together, putting a Polaroid of you two beneath the camera one. Putting a picture in the picture frame one, and you both wearing the lego bracelets

Simon who picks out baby clothes, not boring bland pink or blue ones. No, those are too cliche, no, he wants something that will make those beautiful eyes he knows your little baby have, pop out. Even if he has to special order a few clothes and blankets, he’ll do it. Little onesies that have pictures of Sedrick and Samuel that were obviously custom made by the best and most liked shop.

Simon who signs your little one up for whatever their heart desires. They want to try soccer? He’s going to buy them a small goal and a ball so they can practice in the backyard of your home. They see an event coming into town and they want to go? He’s more than willing to take them. They want money for a book fair? He knows the teachers are assholes so he waits until they get home so he can go back with them. Helping them pick out whatever their little heart wants. Erasers, book marks, little toys, it’s all theirs. They want extra cuddles for the heck of it? He’s bringing you down with the two of them.

Simon who ends up healing his childhood through you and his kid. Even if he was a little embarrassed about it all in the beginning, he realized that he’d rather make memories than skip them being shy and hurting you and your kids’ feelings.

(He totally has his own stash of toys and his own coloring books he’s accumulated over the years he’s known you. He even has his own blankets with hero’s and stuffed animals of his own) ᰔᩚ

-

not really proof read, but you get the idea. Just had this in my head for a bit

[slattlicker]

bf schlatt who hears the shower turn on from his office and then claws at the door like a cat trying to get in with u like doesn't even have to be sexual he just wants to hang out

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * enter at your own risk ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: you just want a shower in peace. your boyfriend sees that as a challenge. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: for the beloved anon who asked for feral, door-scratching schlatt—you are the reason this domestic chaos exists. thank you for inspiring what is possibly the most unhinged home infiltration fic i’ve ever written. i had too much fun.

warnings: contains brief sexual language · light nudity (non-explicit) · shower intimacy (clothed & unclothed) · lockpicking for romantic purposes

enjoy the madness (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

✧✧✧

schlatt's editing.

headphones on. chair creaking. mouse clicking. he's halfway through cutting a VOD when he hears it.

pssssshhhhhhhhhh.

the water.

his whole body goes still.

he pulls one ear of his headset off. freezes. listens.

pssssshhhhhhhhhhhhh.

the fucking shower.

he's out of his chair before he can think, socks skidding on the laminate floor as he yanks open the office door—

and it doesn't budge.

"what the hell?"

he jiggles the knob. locked.

he rattles it again, harder this time, but it doesn't give. and it's not just the lock—he recognizes the sound. the weight. something's blocking the other side.

"babe?" he calls. "did you—did you lock me in?"

no answer.

only water running.

"are you fucking serious?"

he shoulders the door once. twice. no good.

then he sees it: a slip of paper under his keyboard.

"shower’s hot. i’m hotter. earn it, loser."

his jaw drops.

“you bitch.”

he looks around like the solution might present itself, then clocks the window latch.

"NO FUCKING WAY."

✧✧✧

he lands hard in the backyard. limps for exactly two steps before shaking it off like a wounded soldier and busting in through the sliding glass door.

and that’s when he sees it.

the hallway.

it’s covered in legos.

he stops. stares down at them. at the vibrant plastic warzone sprawled across the floor.

“BABE?” he yells. “WHY DOES THE HOUSE LOOK LIKE A WARZONE?”

you shout back sweetly, “I AM BUSY!”

“you freak,” he mutters, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he’s praying for strength.

he takes off his socks. gingerly tiptoes through the chaos, wincing every time he so much as brushes a block with his toe.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??” he screeches.

"BOYS WHO BREAK INTO BATHROOMS GET BOOBY TRAPS," you call faintly.

"YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY??"

"I THINK IT’S EARNED."

he clears the final plastic piece and steps onto the first stair—

and his foot slides.

“OH MY GOD—”

his hands catch the railing, whole body jerking as he slips half a step down. he slams into the wall with a thud, heart jackhammering.

he looks down.

green.

slippery.

goopy.

✧✧✧

“you slimed the stairs?!”

“YOU SHOWED ME HOW TO MAKE IT,” you shout from upstairs, smug and shameless.

“FOR CONTENT, NOT MURDER!”

“IT’S NONTOXIC!”

“THAT’S NOT THE ISSUE!”

he drags himself up slowly, clinging to the railing like a soldier in a war film. every step squelches.

“you’re sick,” he grits, “you need professional help—”

“YOU NEED TO LEARN BOUNDARIES.”

“IT’S A SHOWER, NOT A FEDERAL ASSET—”

“IT IS WHEN YOU CAN’T STOP JOINING ME.”

he gets to the top.

then he hits the next obstacle.

the couch. full block. right at the top of the stairs.

✧✧✧

he groans. loud.

“I HATE YOU!”

“YOU LOVE ME!”

“I LOVE YOU, BUT I HATE YOU!”

he runs at the couch.

shoves it an inch.

"WHAT IS THIS, A BOSS LEVEL?"

you cackle.

he throws his weight into it. it moves an inch.

he groans. backs up. takes a running start, even on the tiny landing.

he throws himself again. again.

he squeezes through, breathing like a man post-marathon.

✧✧✧

bedroom door?

locked.

“baby, please—”

"YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE SHOWERS."

"I LIKE YOU IN THE SHOWER."

he fumbles for his keychain. tries the master key. it works.

but the second he opens it, a full laundry basket tips over, spilling a mountain of clothes onto him.

"WHAT THE FUCK, BABY—"

“LAUNDRY’S DONE! YOU’RE WELCOME!”

he fights his way free. throws a towel off his shoulder like it insulted him.

he stares at the en suite like it personally wronged him.

“one more door,” he mutters. “one more fucking door.”

he tries the handle. rattles it.

locked.

of course it’s locked.

✧✧✧

“baby.”

no answer.

he knocks, dramatic. rapid. like a cop.

“baby, open the door.”

you call back, chipper: “no!”

“Please?”

“you’re not allowed in here.”

“i’ve earned it. i’ve been through hell. i nearly died.”

“you slipped on slime,” you yell. “that you taught me to make.”

“that’s not the point!”

“what is the point?”

“that i’m cold. and bored. and unloved.”

“should’ve thought of that before you tried to barge in here and watch me shave my legs like it’s a live documentary.”

“you do it so gracefully,” he says, smacking the door gently for emphasis. “it’s like poetry. i get misty-eyed.”

you groan. “you’re not coming in.”

he lowers his voice, sultry. dangerous.

“what if i said i was already hard?”

a beat.

“liar.”

“…okay, not yet. but i could be.”

“mmm, no. stay that way. let it build character.”

“you locked me in my office like a dog.”

“because you follow me like one.”

“because you’re my favorite person!”

“so stop breaking and entering every time i try to shower!”

“let me in!”

“NO!”

a silence.

then—

he sees it.

bobby pin on the dresser.

a sign from god.

he grabs it, kneels down, muttering the whole time. “you wanna be weird? i can be weirder. you wanna play games? i’ll win.”

click.

the door swings open.

steam hits him in the face like judgment. his hoodie’s halfway off one shoulder, sweat-darkened and twisted from shoving the couch. his pants are slipping down his hips. and—most baffling of all—there are two socks dangling from his collar like weird little trophies.

you whip around, wet hair slinging water everywhere. eyes wide. scandalized.

“how the fuck did you—”

he holds up the bobby pin like a trophy. “shouldn’t leave these in arm’s reach, sweetheart.”

you gape. “you lockpicked me?!”

“you locked me out!”

“YOU DO THIS EVERY TIME—”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

“YOU HUFF MY SHAMPOO!”

“IT SMELLS LIKE VANILLA!”

you throw your hands up. water splashes the tile. he stares at you like you’ve hung the stars.

and despite everything—despite the slime and the barricades and the actual breaking and entering—

he smiles, sheepish. crooked. boyish.

“…can i come in?”

you glare. “you already broke in.”

he lifts one sock from his collar, flings it over his shoulder like it’s a cravat. “but now i wanna do it respectfully.”

you squint. “you’re literally glistening.”

“from love,” he says.

“from sweat.”

“i worked to be here, babe.”

“you stormed the house like a castle!”

“it was booby trapped like a castle! i sprinted through legos. scaled slime. breached the couch blockade. took a laundry avalanche to the chest—”

“because you can’t stand being away from me for twenty minutes.”

he points at you. “EXACTLY.”

you blink. “that wasn’t a compliment.”

he steps closer, hand pressed over his heart. “i’m not here to argue. i’m here to apologize. to reflect. to recover.”

“you’re disgusting.”

“i need this shower.”

you snort. “you’re not getting in.”

he pouts. “baby—”

“no. this is my time. you had your chance. you blew it when you exited your office.”

he raises both hands in surrender. “okay. okay.”

a pause.

a beat.

his eyes flick to your shoulders.

to the steam curling around your skin.

to the droplets rolling down your chest.

“…what if i just stand nearby and—”

“nope.”

“i won’t even talk—”

“you never shut up.”

“i’ll just lean in the doorway—”

“you’re already in the doorway!”

“you’re so mean,” he groans, collapsing against the wall. “i risked my life for you.”

“you risked sweaty pits and a bruised ego.”

“same thing.”

he watches you rinse shampoo from your hair. watches the soap slide over your collarbones.

his breath hitches.

“please?”

you sigh, long and exaggerated. “fine.”

“YES.” he strips faster than a man possessed. hoodie gone, pants kicked off, socks flung into oblivion.

and when he steps under the spray—sweaty, smug, slightly traumatized—he melts on contact. like all is forgiven.

“this is so much better,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist. “you’re warm. the water’s warm. we’re warm together—”

you slap a wet hand to his mouth.

“no narrating.”

he nods. licks your palm.

“EW—” you yank your hand back, spluttering. “you’re disgusting.”

“you’re mean,” he says again, grinning like he just won something. “i already almost lost my big ass feet to legos and then you slimed me.”

“you weren’t supposed to make it this far!”

“oh, sorry for being determined.” he rolls his eyes, ducking down to press a kiss to your shoulder, shameless. “maybe if you didn’t look so good covered in soap, I wouldn’t have risked it all.”

your laugh snags in your throat when he presses closer, steam curling around your bodies. his chest is slick with sweat and shower mist, all heat and pressure as it presses to yours. his hands trail down, fingers splayed wide over your ass, thumbs dragging slow, reverent.

you try to pull away.

he doesn't let you.

he noses along your jaw, teeth brushing just beneath your ear. “you taunted me,” he breathes. “you trapped me.”

his lips ghost across your throat.

“you baited me.”

you can feel him now, thick and hot against your thigh. and fuck, he’s hard—not from touching, but from chasing. from wanting.

his voice dips.

“so what now, baby?” he whispers, low and dangerous. “i followed every stupid rule you laid out. now i’m here. wet, bruised, and hard for you. you gonna keep pretending i didn’t earn this?”

✧✧✧ bonus ending ✧✧✧

you stare at him.

beat.

then you shrug.

“yeah,” you say. “i think i’m good.”

he blinks. short-circuits. “wait—what?”

“you got your shower. that’s all you wanted, right?” you lather your shampoo again. “hot water. quality time. no betrayal.”

he stares at you, slack-jawed.

“you’re fucking with me.”

you glance down at his dick, smug. “i mean...you wish.”

his mouth drops open. he looks between your face and your hand—the one now methodically working shampoo into your scalp, totally unbothered—like he’s witnessing the collapse of civilization.

“you’re a menace,” he breathes. “an actual war criminal.”

you hum innocently. “non-combatant, actually.”

he runs a hand down his face, water dripping from his lashes. “i scaled a slime-covered staircase for this.”

“and look! now you’re clean.”

“i lockpicked a door—”

“you stole my bobby pin—”

“—and you’re telling me this was the endgame?!”

you flash him a smile so sweet it’s practically a death threat. “sure is, soldier.”

he groans. drags a wet hand down your back, smearing soap as he goes. “you’re lucky i love you.”

“mmhm. and you smell like apples now.”

"you bought a new scent, too?!" he glares. “that is unforgivable.”

“hey, if you’re really mad…” you lean in, kiss the tip of his nose. “you could always go shower alone.”

he stares at you. slow. offended.

then he clutches his heart, dramatically. sinks to his knees like he’s been mortally wounded.

“tell my story,” he gasps. “tell the world how i died, balls heavy and heart broken.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re fine.”

he rests his cheek dramatically against your thigh, arms looped loosely around your hips.

“this is how i go,” he mumbles. “this is my legacy.”

“naked in the shower while your girlfriend does her routine?”

“betrayed,” he clarifies. “by my lover. and what was supposed to be vanilla shampoo.”

you snort, dragging your fingers through his damp curls.

he sighs again. but softer, this time. more relaxed. his eyes flutter shut as your fingers move gently through his hair, massaging his scalp with a quiet tenderness that betrays your earlier cruelty.

“you’re lucky i haven’t kicked you out yet.”

“no you won’t,” he says, eyes still closed, voice lazy. “you love me.”

you pause. your hand rests lightly on his temple.

“…yeah,” you say, soft. “i do.”

his eyes crack open.

“…wait. does that mean i get a blowjob now?”

you shove him backwards.

he slips, yelps, and lands on his ass with a wet slap.

“worth it,” he wheezes, grinning up at you.

[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 6)

Agatha surprises you with a visit

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: fingering, strap, sex, mommy kink, fluff, it's almost all smut

You’ve just gotten back to your dorm room Friday afternoon after all your classes when your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

It’s been a rough day with a pop quiz in Chemistry that you definitely failed and your group chat for the World History project has been blowing up, mostly with excuses as to why your other members haven’t been able to do their share of the work, so you can only imagine what it is now. 

And to make matters worse, you had gone to your dad’s last night for dinner and when you had gone to the bathroom, you had found a box of condoms under his sink when you were looking for more toilet paper. It hit you like a train but you had fixed your face in the mirror and not said a word to him or to your mom when she inevitably called you after it to ask how it went. You didn’t want to talk to Agatha about it either, just because she had been married to him and it felt weird to complain or vent about that. 

The only thing you want to do is collapse into Agatha’s comforting embrace and have her hold you. You are so fucking exhausted. 

When you pull your phone out, you breathe a heavy sigh of relief when you see that it is Agatha. Your stomach warms. You’ve watched the video she sent you on Tuesday more times than you can count—you’ve touched yourself to it more times than you could count as well. After you got back to your dorm after dinner with Carol, she had sent you the second half of the video, in which she filmed herself coming while moaning your name. 

You can still hear her breathy gasps and it’s been very distracting the past few days. 

Hey, hon! Hope your day has been good. Would you be able to go to your car and send me a picture of your license plate so I can get it registered for when you come to stay with me? 

You flop onto your bed and close your eyes for a few moments before whining quietly. She hasn’t texted you since this morning and now all she wants is for you to go back downstairs and take a picture of your car? Your mind is screaming at you to just do it tomorrow but you reluctantly sit up with a groan and trudge outside. At least now she’s talking to you.  

The sunlight blinds you and you squint, rounding the corner of the building, and trying to remember where you parked. It’s been a few days since you drove and now you accidentally walk down the wrong row about three times. 

Until you finally spot the front of it and you grumble as you walk around it and freeze—Agatha is standing right there in a casual gray blouse and black pants. Her hair is loose and catches the sunlight, making it appear a lighter shade than it is. Her blue eyes are full of joy. 

“What…what are you doing here?” you ask, completely dumbfounded, but your heart swells and you laugh, taking a step closer to her and reaching out your hand to touch her just to make sure you’re not hallucinating. 

She’s really there. 

“Surprise?” she says sheepishly, holding out her arms and you laugh, completely giddy, as you jump into them. The force almost knocks you both down but she catches you with an oomph. You breathe in her scent and feel her hair tickle your cheeks and her fingers gently stroke your back and you can’t believe that she’s actually here. 

Why is she here? 

You pull back and scan her face. “I thought you had meetings this weekend.” 

Agatha smiles and cups your cheek lovingly. “I did but then they got cancelled for tomorrow—something about the client having food poisoning? I was able to get out of work early today and thought I would come see you. And,” she leans in, a wicked grin on her face, “I got a hotel room.”

She slides her hands to your lower back so she can hold you tighter against her and with a sharp inhale, you feel a hardness in her pants. Your brain suddenly goes foggy and your knees almost buckle. 

“Fuck,” you breathe and she nods. You feel an ache start to grow in your cunt. “Can we go now?” 

Agatha chuckles and takes you by the hand to lead you to her car. You don’t have anything besides your phone and your keys, but the only thing on your mind is her. 

You know you should ask about her job and New York and how she’s been doing, but it’s hard to concentrate over the thrumming of arousal in your veins and you squirm restlessly as you watch her fingers curl around the steering wheel. It’s only been a week and it’s not that you haven’t had an orgasm at all—it’s just so much different, and better, now that she’s here. 

Agatha clearly feels the same urgency with quick glances to catch your eye and twitches of her hands like she’s trying to resist touching you. You have no doubt that she would already have her hand down your pants if it weren’t for the last time she tried to do that and almost crashed. She presses on the gas pedal harder than she needs to and the car shoots off down the road. 

It’s as if the stoplights know where you’re going and are determined to make you wait—you hit every single red light and each time, Agatha and you both groan like you’ve been denied the world’s greatest luxury. At one point, she gets so fed up with it that she makes a right turn, a U-turn, and then another right faster than the light changes. 

The air is thick with heat and tension and unspoken words brimmering just beneath the surface of the silence and finally, finally, she pulls into the parking lot of the Westview Inn, one of the nicer hotels in the town. 

You both throw open the doors and when you begin following her to the entrance, you can feel the stickiness between your thighs that has pooled from the anticipation. Your stomach begins to twist, butterflies fluttering for no reason, and your palms feel clammy. 

But then Agatha turns back to smile reassuringly at you from the front desk where she’s checking in and you push it away. You wipe your hands on your pants, eyes darting down to check out the swell of Agatha’s ass. There’s the sudden image of your fingers digging into her skin as she thrusts into you and you shift, antsy now with desire.  

“Thank you,” Agatha says, voice curt and short, to the receptionist, before swiping the keys from her hand and walking back toward you. She breezes past you and you jog to catch up to the elevators. Agatha taps the roomkey against her hand impatiently while you wait and finally, the doors ding open. 

She clicks the button for the fifth floor and the moment the doors shut, she’s pressing you against the side and her mouth is on yours. You moan and the sound is swallowed by her and her tongue is moving against yours and you close your eyes to soak her in. She tastes of cinnamon and coffee and you suck on her bottom lip to savor it. 

The elevator stops and Agatha practically drags you by the hand to room 513. Your shoes are soft against the plush gray carpet, low lights on the plastered walls, and you wonder how many other people come here for a romantic rendezvous with their lover. 

This is the hotel that Agatha stayed at after she moved out of the house she shared with your dad and walking down the hall gives you a sense of déjà vu. 

The room looks exactly the same. The fuzzy dark carpet, the small kitchenette, square table with two chairs, and the mossy green couch across from the television. Past the combined living room and kitchen is the narrow hallway to the bedroom, doors to the bathroom and the closet facing each other on the sides. 

The only real difference is the painting that hangs in the living room. The one in Agatha’s old room was of a dock on a lake. This one is a ferris wheel. 

You can’t help but think it’s almost fitting. Even though so much has changed since then, ending up back here like you have something to hide is a full-circle moment. 

Will you ever get off the wheel?

Once you move to New York, you assure yourself. There won’t be any more sneaking around, if that’s even what this is. 

“Just like old times,” Agatha says fondly. You smile halfheartedly, the thought of no real progress being made yet sobering you up just a little, but then she pulls you in closer and kisses you softly. The hardness in her pants presses against your upper thigh and you lose yourself in the feeling of her. 

She cups your cheeks to deepen the kiss and you wrap your arms around her shoulders. You pour all of your emotions into it—the joy at seeing her and how sad you’ve been without her and how much you’ve missed her and how much you love her. 

Agatha starts to walk backwards, pulling you with her, and you don’t ever want to let her go. 

The king-sized bed is so perfectly made that it almost feels wrong to mess it up. Agatha must be thinking the same thing because she pushes you gently against the wall and slots a thigh between yours for you to grind on. She tugs on your bottom lip with her teeth and you groan, slowly rutting against her leg. The pressure on your clit is delicious but fleeting and you hike one of your own legs up to get a better angle. Agatha’s hand slips to the back of your thigh to hold you up like that and she presses her thigh against you harder. 

“Agatha,” you pant, “I need you.” 

She smirks against your lips and her fingers slide up, now splayed against your hip, and she helps you move against her, helps you settle into a rhythm. The pleasure is dulled by the three layers of fabric separating your cunt from her leg but you grind down harder to feel more. Her other hand strokes up your side, her heat seeping through your shirt, and it makes your core feel like molten liquid. It feels like the room is spinning, like you’re drunk on her, and you whimper into her mouth. 

“What do you need, baby?” she murmurs. She pulls back from you, just a hair, so her gaze can smugly flick from your eyes down to your swollen lips and back up. 

You take her hand from your side and without breaking eye contact, drag it down your body until your fingers pause at the waistband of your pants. She toys with the hem, a smirk playing on her lips. 

“Is this what you want?” she asks innocently, dipping the tips of her fingers down inside. You moan at her bare skin against your public bone and nod frantically. She chuckles, breath heavy, and slides her fingers further until her middle finger is resting against your clit. You sharply inhale and she smiles. “How about this?” 

You keen when she presses against your clit and rubs a small circle around it, your hips jerking. Her hand is now sandwiched between your cunt and her thigh and you slightly pull up so she can have a little more room to work. 

She watches your face carefully as she moves her fingers to tease at your entrance through your panties, watches how your jaw slackens and your teeth find your bottom lip. Her eyes are hooded as they scan your face and the heat in them sends currents right to your cunt. 

“Please,” you whine. Agatha leans in to ghost her lips over yours as she pushes her fingers into your entrance slightly, soaking your underwear even more. You gasp. 

“I know you can do better than that,” she says in a low, taunting voice and expertly peels the gusset of your underwear to the side. 

Your hips rock but her fingers are hovering just out of reach from your cunt, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off them. “Please, Agatha,” you pant, chasing her lips with your own before pulling back, “I need you to fuck me, I’ve missed you so much, please mommy—”

Two of her fingers plunge into your cunt and your jaw drops with a guttural moan. Your eyes roll back in your head and your walls clench around her tightly. She lets out a small gasp and her forehead drops to rest against yours. 

“Fuck, baby, I’ve missed this—I’ve missed you,” she groans and draws her fingers out of you. Your hips buck to get her touch back and she quickly resheathes her fingers inside you. She curls them and finds your special spot, the spot she always intuitively knows how to find because she might know you better than you know yourself at this point. 

Her thumb swipes at your clit and you spasm, back arching off the wall and burying your hands into her dark locks. You hike your leg up higher against her waist with her help so she can get deeper and the pressure in your core makes you see stars. She’s moving fast and rough and you yelp when she twists her fingers inside you harshly. 

You pull her even closer against you, crash your lips onto hers, and moan into her open mouth. She returns it, tongue sloppily stroking yours, and you feel light, almost like you could float away. 

But you’re grounded when she starts to rub your clit and your core muscles tighten. Her lips trail down your cheek and to your neck where she sucks on your skin. A thrill runs through you at the thought of having marks from her, so when she goes back to New York you can look at your reflection and remember that she owns you. That you’re all hers. 

She scrapes her teeth along the length of your jugular and then bites at the juncture of your shoulder and neck and you make a strangled noise. 

And then Agatha stills her fingers inside you with a wicked grin and you struggle to keep the rhythm going, furiously grinding back and forth and trying to make up for the stimulation you just lost. With each roll of your hips, her fingers are forced deeper and she bites her lip while she watches you. 

“Agatha, please,” you beg, pleading with your eyes, and she smirks. 

“What is it, baby?” she coos and slowly begins thrusting into you again. Your head falls back against the wall, mouth agape. “Need mommy’s fingers to fuck you good? Need mommy to fill you up the way only I can?” 

You nod frantically and she smiles, satisfied. 

“That’s my girl.” 

She scissors her fingers and then curls and then pauses to fit a third one into you. You keen again, wetness squelching with each of her thrusts. You’re so full and tension is spreading throughout your whole body. You gasp each time she drives her fingers back into you and you’re a panting, shaking mess. 

Just for her. 

“Agatha, mommy, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come,” you babble and she huffs out a laugh and rubs your clit faster. Sparks fly in your stomach and up your spine and your cunt grips her fingers. 

She pulls your leg that’s bent at her waist up even higher and her fingers reach a new depth inside you and the tension in your body explodes and you come all over her hand with a long moan. Her fingers keep fucking you, slowing down only the slightest bit, until you have to weakly push at her shoulders to get a break. 

Agatha pulls her fingers out of you carefully but you still wince at the sudden emptiness before bringing her hand out of your pants and holding up her glistening digits to the afternoon light streaming in through the blinds. 

Without being asked, you grab her wrist and envelope her fingers in your mouth, moaning sultrily at the taste of yourself. Her pupils dilate even more, almost no blue left at all, and she tugs her fingers out and sucks them into her own mouth. It’s like the air gets kicked out of your lungs when she closes her eyes and hums, like the mixture of your pussy and your saliva is too much for her to bear. 

When her fingers slide out with a wet pop, you drag her to you again by her hair, connecting your lips in the middle and your faint taste on her tongue dances with the hint of cinnamon. 

She pulls back, spins the two of you around, and then gently pushes you toward the bed. You take the hint, stripping off your shirt, underwear, and pants in the process, and watch in awe, perched on the edge of the bed, as she takes off her clothes too. 

“Did you drive all the way here with that on?” you tease, nodding your head to the harness around her hips with your favorite purple strap-on protruding from it. 

Agatha chuckles and strokes the length with her wet hand and you can see the smears of your juices along it. “Don’t be silly. I put it on once I got here. But thinking about it the whole drive? Fuck.” She moves closer to the bed like a lion stalking its prey. She stops right in front of you and tilts your head up by your chin even though your eyes keep darting back down to the toy. “Almost had to pull over to take care of myself.” 

Your breath catches at the image of her in her parked car on the side of the highway, hand furiously working in her pants. 

She smirks. “But you’re going to take care of mommy, aren’t you? Once mommy takes care of you?” 

“Anything you want,” you say earnestly. Everything is already yours. 

“That’s my good girl,” Agatha says softly and your insides grow warm. She strokes your cheek, a moment of gentleness in the otherwise hot and heavy sea you’ve been swimming in. 

You yearn for more, but the ache inside your cunt is throbbing. The toy is only a few inches away from you when you look back down and you grab ahold of the tip and pull her to you. 

Slowly reclining back onto the bed, she follows until she’s looming over you, arms bracketed around your head. Your fingers are still wrapped around the strap-on and you start to stroke it. Judging by the way her face contorts with pleasure, she can at least feel the base rub against her clit with each drag of your hand. 

Agatha leans down to pepper kisses to your chest. She runs her tongue along the edge of your bra, a trail of goosebumps following in the wake, and you moan softly. You angle the toy so the tip is pressed against your clit and you raise your hips up to rub. It feels so good against your sensitive nub and you can feel how slick your inner thighs are. The wetness between them only keeps growing. 

It doesn’t take long for you to work yourself up again but Agatha either doesn't notice or wants to drag it out, as she merely moves to mouthing at your nipple through your bra. 

So you grip onto her shoulders and tense your body and flip so she’s on her back and you’re on top of her. 

Agatha chuckles adoringly and runs her hands up your sides and fiddles with your bra. “Take it off, baby,” she rasps. “I want to see you.” 

Heat flashes through you and you nod, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. Agatha swallows hard and cups your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

She’s still in her bra, a lacy green one, and you paw at it, desperate to see her too. She chuckles and sits up for a moment, unclasping it and then shrugging it off her shoulders. Her nipples are hard and pointing, a dusty rose color, and you can’t resist the urge to bend down and suckle on one of them. She moans and arches up beneath you, pushing the toy against your pussy and you grind down. You scrape your teeth against her, enjoying her sharp breath, before settling back onto her lap. 

You reach between you to position the tip at your entrance and sit down just slightly. The head of the toy pops in and your head falls back at the stretch. 

“Fuck,” you groan, slowly starting to bounce on the tip to get used to it. Your walls burn but eventually accommodate the length and girth and you’re able to slide all the way down. You stay seated, feeling how deep she is inside you and Agatha begins to rub at your clit soothingly. 

“Such a good girl, taking mommy’s cock so well,” she croons and you clench around her. Every breath you take, you can feel her filling you up deliciously. You nod, more to yourself than to her, because it’s been awhile since you’ve had anything so big in you. “Think you can start moving?” 

You rock forward in response to her pressing on your clit hard and moan when the toy presses against your g-spot. “Yeah, mommy,” you say breathlessly and slowly sit up, your cunt lips dragging against the toy. 

She looks at the strap once just the tip is left inside you and lets out a guttural sound—it is absolutely coated with your wetness. Heat flares inside you and you take the length back inside you, moving down easier this time. 

“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” she says when you begin to build up a steady pace of riding her. She thrusts her hips up with each of your drives down and you’re both panting and sweaty in no time. Agatha rubs your clit and you stop for a second to swirl your hips around, feeling her in every ridge in your cunt, and you groan loudly. 

“Mommy, feels so good,” you whine, resting your hands on her ribcage to get more leverage to continue moving up and down on the toy. You dig your nails in and when you slide your fingers up to play with her boobs, you delight in the indents in her pale skin. 

“I know, baby,” Agatha grunts, pistoning her hips up hard now and making you gasp each time. She’s hitting so deep inside you and there’s an intense, hot pressure feeling inside you. Your movements grow sloppy and gradually turn into short, shallow rutting because your muscles are starting to get stiff, but you try to persevere. “You’re taking mommy’s cock so well, fuck, honey, you’re so pretty—such a good girl for me.” 

Her words make you stutter and you whimper while you writhe on top of her. She sees your struggle and grips onto your hips before flipping you over, a role reversal mirroring your one from earlier. The toy never leaves your cunt but you clench around her tightly when she shoves your legs up and you bend your knees to cross your ankles around her lower back. Agatha drops to her forearms, face merely inches away from yours, and she begins driving the strap into you over and over roughly. 

There’s no thoughts in your head and you think you’re babbling something incoherently because she’s smiling down at you, cheeks red, forehead vein throbbing. Her nose brushes against yours and she’s breathing into your open mouth, you’re breathing her air right back, and she suddenly slows her pace down. Her eyes scan your face with a seriousness you haven’t seen before. 

“What—mommy—Agatha—” you gasp and she stops entirely, toy hilted all the way in you. Your walls clench around her, trying to get her to start moving again, but she has a strange look on her face. 

Agatha strokes your hair and meets your eyes. “I love you,” she whispers and your breath catches in your throat. 

“What?” 

She laughs like that’s a ridiculous thing for you to say and kisses you softly. Your clit throbs. 

When she pulls back, you study her. She’s not looking at you with any expectation, just honesty. “I love you, too,” you say softly. 

She smiles and thrusts into you, just once, but it’s deep. Your walls tighten and you inhale sharply. 

“I said it before, you know,” you tell her and Agatha thrusts again. “When we were on your couch.”  

She begins to pick up her pace, but keeps it gentle. Loving. “I know,” she admits and you gape at her. “I didn’t know if it was just a spur of the moment thing. You didn’t say it again and I didn’t want to freak you out by asking about it. But—” Agatha kisses you before nipping at your bottom lip, “—I’ve been wanting to say it for a while.”  

You roll your hips up to match each of her thrusts and feel a pleasure greater than almost anything you’ve ever felt before. She reaches down between you to rub at your clit again and your walls convulse. 

“I have, too,” you say and she smirks, scooting up closer to you which forces your legs up higher and allows her to get even deeper. Her fingers slip off your clit with how much of a soaked mess you are and you arch your back off the bed. Your vision blurs from pleasure and electricity races underneath your skin. 

“Fuck, baby, I love you so much,” Agatha groans, her other hand digging into your hip, keeping you angled up as she pounds into you. With the way she’s faltering ever-so-slightly, you think she might be getting somewhere too. “You’re so fucking perfect—fuck, you’re mommy’s good girl, want you to come all over my cock, honey, please—fuck, I’m gonna—” 

Your moan interrupts her as you come, any resolve you had left absolutely shattering, and there’s a gush of wetness from your pussy that soaks her stomach. She groans and falls apart too, her lips crashing onto yours, messy but perfect and even though you need to breathe, you don’t pull away. 

You never want to. 

She fucks you through both of your orgasms, whispering “I love you” over and over, but the words never lose their meaning. You say it right back and it overlaps until everything bleeds together and then her mouth is on yours again for what seems like hours. 

When you start to shiver, Agatha pulls out of you gingerly, smirking at the pool of liquid beneath you. You remain on your back, absolutely spent, while she climbs off the bed, unfastens the harness straps, and slides it down her legs. Your clit throbs weakly at the pink lines on her skin. 

She leaves the bedroom for a moment and comes back in with a washcloth. It’s warm and wet and you gasp when she cleans your cunt off. Agatha winks knowingly and you giggle. 

“Do you think you can get up for just a second?” she asks and you groan exaggeratedly before rolling off the side onto your feet. She playfully swats your ass before pulling the duvet down and gesturing for you to slide under the covers. 

You happily do and the moment she gets in next to you, you curl into her and she tucks an arm around you. Your eyelids feel heavy but you fight them because you want to spend as much time with Agatha as you possibly can before she goes back. 

But her warm fingers lazily stroke your back and she leans down to kiss your forehead before whispering again, “I love you,” and you fade off into sleep. 

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