#duck pull along toy

[goobersplat]

1987 Yellow Mom Duck Pull Along toy with Three Babies

[hyperprosexia]

cw: 18+ | omegaverse; pregnancy; bonded mates; jealousy; alpha!ghoap x fem!omega!reader

your alpha mates, simon and johnny, who go through a strange kind of behaviour once you do end up carrying their pups.

suddenly, there seems to be an imbalance between your beloved mates the sweet affection and mutual respect they shared now withered like rose petals, despite your efforts to keep the stem watered.

perhaps your love isn't enough, though?

perhaps you're not loving on them equally?

or perhaps it's the fact the other can sense who has managed to knock you up during your last heat just as well as you can already tell?

you do feel especially drawn to simon since that night. even more so since you figured out what's been causing your hormones to go haywire along with that morning sickness and fatigue.

while simon keeps claiming that he knew he's finally done it the moment his knot had lodged itself inside your eager cunt, johnny keeps challenging him every chance he gets taunting and snapping and growling at him from his side next to you.

and johnny is especially clingy now that your bump starts showing at five months pregnant, carrying not one, but two pups at that.

he's ushered you into the bedroom again, helped you arrange the large nest to your liking before pulling you right into his loving arms as you rest with your back against his bare, furry chest.

it's nice, peaceful. you feel loved and cared for in a way that has you purring, though it's not the lack of attention or affection that's been stressing you out, it's

"my turn," simon grumbles lowly as he enters the shared bedroom. he's been looking for you for a minute too long for his liking, and finding you curled up against johnny again leaves his wolf snarling and his stomach churning with the acidic need to protect and possess his pregnant omega.

"move, mactavish."

behind you, johnny stiffens. "negative. ah need this."

the tension rises at once as they snarl at each other; air thickening as their usually calm and soothing scents turn bitter, nearly causing you to gag.

"stop," you trill, squirming in johnny's embrace as the puppies move inside your bulging belly, sensing your distress. "no more fighting. i need you two to start getting along again."

johnny's growling almost stops completely when he senses your shifting mood; it lowers to a soft warning that vibrates against your back while simon approaches the nest, towering with his broad shoulders squared in a display of alpha dominance.

and even though he's not meaning to intimidate you, you duck your head naturally.

"he's been hogging you for days, love! i miss you," simon huffs, pinning johnny with a sharp glare; tawny eyes glinting with fury as he watches the other alpha's hands caress over your bump. "these pups are mine and so are you."

you wince when johnny's growl rises again.

"she's mine, too! the fuck are ye on about? ye can rest with her later."

"i want to rest with her now."

"johnny." craning your head back to gaze at him, you let out a soothing chirp. "make some space for simon, please."

johnny tuts and huffs, melts underneath your stare when you blink your eyes up at him so prettily, and he relents with an annoyed chuff.

and simon looks all too smugly about it, when johnny obeys your request.

you're shifted and moved carefully, manhandled with the utmost care by the roughest pairs of hands on this planet, until you're laying on your back, staring at the ceiling in the dimly lit bedroom while both of your massive mates sandwich you between them.

yet they're still acting like a pair of petulant toddlers, fighting over who gets to have their favourite toy as they keep growling at each other, holding eye-contact over the ample swells of your breasts.

as you let out a deep sigh, johnny nuzzles your shoulder apologetically.

"ah cannae have one moment with ye without tha' big geezer bloody growlin' at me."

"one moment? tch," simon countered, rubbing his mammoth palm over your baby bump self-soothingly. "you've been spending way more time with her than me."

while they continue to growl at each other so quietly, anyone else wouldn't be able to hear it, you keen softly: "i just want you two to get along again."

eventually, you reach up to cover their eyes with your hands respectively; blinding them like one would a predator to calm them down and cutting off the view of each other.

"enough," you hiss warningly, their sour stench agitating your omega and maternal instincts. "no more fighting, you're upsetting me and our pups, and i cannot deal with it anymore."

both men go silent immediately once they can hear and smell how much their behaviour is affecting you. they take deep breath, nuzzle against your warm palms, and start to relax into the mattress of the nest at last. for now.

as you lower your hands again, johnny scoots even closer to you.

"ah jus' wan' tae be with ye, bunny."

on your other side, simon wraps one heavy arm around you, careful as he rests his hand on your pregnant belly. "and i need to be with you, pet."

"and i need you both equally," you remark emphatically. "this pregnancy is already taking a toll on me and i need you both to take care of us."

whining softly, you squirm between them on the mattress, trying to get more comfortable.

"i'm scared as much as i'm excited."

finally, realization seems to dawn and click inside their thick skulls, and then your alphas share a long look full of understanding and raw determination something you haven't witnessed in months.

suddenly, a concoction of wet oakwood, warm brandy, and featherlight soot mixes with that of sugarplums, clean cotton, and dried cloves, and you inhale it deeply as you feel a new wave of fatigue seep into your limbs; turning them heavy and full of lead until you're practically pinned to the mattress.

and while johnny gently nuzzles your sensitive scent gland, simon continues to rub and feel up your swollen belly, cherishing every single tiny kick and flutter of his growing pups as you arch into their gentle ministrations with a happy, content purr.

"can we turn off the light? i'm tired already," you keen and yawn throughly, snuggling even closer to both alphas to steal their warmth while scent marking them as well.

they can't help themselves but coo at the sound of your yawning, finding it both endearing and adorable; all too aware that you're growing tired more easily as pregnant and ripe as you are now, and needing more attention and tender, loving touch all things only they can provide.

neither of them can quite handle how precious you are, especially now. it fills them with a strange, possessive pride to know that they're the cause of it though one of them in particular.

johnny pulls the duvet over you, making sure to keep you warm and comfortable next to him, before flicking off the bedside lamp.

"lemme hold ye, hen," he mumbles under his breath. "cannae sleep if ah don't."

he curls himself around you like a needy mutt, and buries his nose into the crook of your neck, nosing along your skin, determined to leave no space between you two while simon nuzzles the crown of your head, inhaling and huffing your scent like an addict, his muscular legs all entangled with yours.

"rest now, pet," he rumbles with his hand still splayed over the curve of your bump possessively below the duvet.

[moonlight-prose]

ask for joaquín ideas and you shall recieve ma'am 😌 SO HERE YOU GO giving torres nasty head under his desk as he he's working on a debrief with sam on the phone, that at one point his eyes roll back

fall apart

a/n: this put me in a chokehold so tight i am pretty sure it’s why i am having issues breathing. the way this man had me acting up at ALL TIMES. and well i had vodka in my veins when i started writing this and had absolutely no issues being horny on main. so enjoy what is probably an unedited mess. but i was thinking fast at the time and somehow managed to finish it.

summary: distractions were best kept under wraps. even as joaquin blindly allowed you to toy with him at the worst possible moment. OR giving joaquin nasty head during his phone call with sam.

word count: 1.1k+

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, oral (m receiving), honestly fully porn without plot anywhere to be found, giving messy head, cussing, spit, cumplay, cumeating, face fucking, choking, slight exhibitionism, fluff, they're nasty people.

He’s supposed to be glued to the screen in front of him, eyes peeled and bloodshot as he searched for what Sam requested. He’s got a job to do. One that called for acts of heroism and skills beyond what he was capable of at this very moment. A task that should have felt like a breeze. Quick, easy, over and done with before the phone beeped relentlessly. Sam’s name popping up on the flashing screen.

But his head remained stuck in the clouds, mind coated in that thick gray fog—tipped back into his chair as he grasped at the handles. He needed to answer the fucking phone. Pick it up, clear his throat. Sound put together and professional.

He could barely see straight, entirely sure that if he opened his eyelids entirely he’d go cross-eyed. The feel of your wet hot mouth pulled him into the snare of your web. Tantalizing and dark—thick with the enticing heat that curled along the base of his spine. Wrenching his stomach into a fluttering hold. Speeding the steady beat of his heart until he began to tremble, thighs shaking where they were placed on either side of your head.

“Nena-”

Another suck had his back arching up, hand scrambling to curl along the back of your neck. The phone buzzed again, sliding with force along a clean wooden desk. All it would take was one press of his finger and Sam’s voice would fill the room.

“He’s calling-”

Your hand curled tight around the base of his spit soaked cock, precum dribbling down the sides as you came up for air. “So answer.”

“I can’t fucking answer,” he balked.

“Why not?” Swollen lips twisted up into a smile—one he’d seen before. One he knew like the back of his hand. “I thought you were capable of anything,” you purred.

“But it’s…” It would be so easy. Such a quick task to get done. Tell him the information, debrief what he’s learned through hours of research. He curled a hand around your chin, thumb pulling at your slick bottom lip. And the words slipped out before they registered in his mind. “Do it quietly.”

You lit up at his demand, head ducking down to swallow him down with a moan—the head of his cock brushing the very back of your throat. The mistake had been made and with a choked grunt, he picked up the phone.

“Got anything?”

Joaquin swallowed thickly, palming your head as he pulled up what files were labeled the most important with a shaky hand. “Uh….yes.” You swallowed around his length, throat working tight, spit dripping onto your hand that still held him in place; his mind went white.

“Joaquin. You good?”

No. He wasn’t.

He was so far down your throat he could see the bulge, the sticky wet sounds of your tongue slipping beneath his pulsing vein had him jolting his hips with a pained groan. Concern etched into Sam’s voice with questions he couldn’t answer, words that held no meaning in the depths of a mind gone dumb. You choked on him, spluttering for air as a sheen of spit smeared along your chin and cheeks.

“S-Shit-”

“What happened?” Sam called into the speaker, a rustle of him turning the car echoing into the spacious office.

Joaquin shuddered, hand clambering to cup your throat and keep you at bay—the dark glimmer in your eyes nearly sent him over the edge. He coughed, situated himself in the chair with adrenaline thundering beneath his buzzing skin. Eventually you’d fight him on this. Pull his twitching cock back into your mouth with a greedy moan—desperate for his taste to slide down your throat. And he’d let you. Without question.

He was only a man in the end; wrapped tight around your finger that cleaned the mess along your cheek.

“Nothing,” he cleared his throat. “Got a cramp. I managed to decode what documents you found at the scene. Shipment logs and whatnot.”

You huffed, thighs clenching at the sound of technical words rambled from a mouth you burned to kiss. “Baby-”

His hand clamped over your mouth, sealing your jaw shut with an audible click. "A group of them are meeting five minutes outside The Wharf. Looks like the trade is happenin’ over international waters.”

“They’re hoping not to get caught. Alright. Send me the time and exact location. And call whatever law enforcement is closest. They’ll want in on this too.”

“Already on it,” Joaquin rushed out, releasing what hold he had left as the line went dead. “Sorry nena-”

A loud sigh filled his ears beneath the thundering echo of his racing heart. Dreamlike in its breathy tones, as if you couldn’t wait to finally taste him again. The tang of it a delicacy on the back of your tongue. His groan was loud, emanating off each wall and window, when your mouth sucked him back in. Hand pumping fast with the slide of your spit.

“Fuck,” he gasped, eyes rolling back.

The sounds were obscene. A squelching echo of your tongue and mouth bobbing along his painfully hard cock. He could feel it rush along his spine, pulling tight enough to splinter with pain right down to his toes. Ruining him with ease seemed to come naturally—your body entirely in tune with his. You read him effortlessly as he trembled in the chair, blunt nails digging into the back of your neck as he fucked into your awaiting mouth.

“G-Gonna- Fucking I’m gonna cum.”

You hummed, swallowing around him once, twice, until your fingers curled around his pulsing balls and he was extinguished in the flames. He spurted down your throat with a raw shout, hips shoving up and into your face. Any other time he’d carefully keep his distance, make sure you could breathe properly.

But he was barely able keep track of his own name. Let alone where he was.

A garbled string of words spilled past his lips when you slowly came up for air, tongue licking gently at what still dripped down across your knuckles. He wanted to kiss you. Taste himself from the heat of your mouth. He wanted to lick into your cunt with a veracity he’d never known before your name became his favorite prayer.

He just couldn’t fucking move.

“Again?” you breathed, climbing into his lap with a soft grin.

“Shit,” he rasped, thumb pushing the pearly drips of his cum along your tongue. “I think you killed me.”

Light fractured along the edge of your iris and Joaquin felt the word love burn itself into his ribs. “You can kill me later,” you breathed, looping your arms around his limp form.

“I like those odds.”

[ilovemarvel97]

Back to You

Elizabeth Olsen x G!P Reader

Summary: Y/N is going on a tour for a month and Lizzie has to shoot her next movie during the same time. Being apart for so long for the first time is very hard for both of them. So, Y/N decide to surprise her wife.

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: fluff, smut, (18+)

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

The late afternoon sun filtered through the wide windows of their kitchen, casting golden rays on the marble countertops. Y/N, still in her cozy post-shower hoodie and sweats, was leaning against the counter, eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Okay,” she began, watching Lizzie stir oat milk into her coffee, “I have news. Big news.”

Lizzie smirked as she set the mug down and turned. “You’re pregnant,” she teased, then added with a wink, “Which would be scientifically impressive.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “Not quite. But pretty close.”

She crossed the space between them, slipping her arms around Lizzie’s waist and kissing her cheek. “I got confirmed for the European leg of the tour. It’s happening.”

Lizzie froze for a second, then her eyes lit up. “Wait—the tour? The one you didn’t think would happen this year?”

Y/N nodded, smile growing. “We’re talking Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Milan… They want me headlining for twelve weeks. It’s the biggest thing I’ve done. Ever.”

Lizzie squealed, pulling her into a full hug. “Baby, that’s incredible! I’m so proud of you.”

They stood there wrapped up in each other, the soft hum of the city outside, the kitchen warm with the smell of cinnamon from the morning’s muffins.

Lizzie pulled back just enough to look at her. “You know I’m coming with you, right? Europe? With my gorgeous, sexy, brilliant wife on stage every night? I wouldn’t miss it.”

Y/N grinned, but her fingers toyed with the hem of Lizzie’s shirt. “It’s gonna be a lot of travel. Not exactly glam.”

Lizzie waved her off. “I’ve been on movie sets in remote deserts. I can handle a five-star hotel in Paris.”

They both laughed—until Lizzie suddenly hopped up onto the kitchen island with a sly smile.

***

“Come here,” she said, curling a finger at Y/N.

Y/N stepped closer, and Lizzie tugged her in by the hoodie strings, settling her wife firmly between her thighs.

“Wanna celebrate?” Lizzie murmured, voice low and wicked as she rolled her hips slowly, deliberately, against the growing heat between them.

Y/N’s breath caught, her hands flying to Lizzie’s bare thighs, gripping them just above the hem of her sleep shorts. “Here?” she asked, voice husky, already leaning in like gravity itself was being rewritten.

Lizzie arched an eyebrow, wrapping her arms loosely around Y/N’s neck. “Kitchen's clean,” she said with a shrug, brushing her lips along Y/N’s jaw. “Mostly.”

Her mouth found the spot just below Y/N’s ear, kissing, then nipping gently as she rocked her hips again—more insistent this time. Y/N groaned softly, grinding back before ducking down to claim Lizzie’s mouth in a kiss that was far from sweet. It was deep, breath-stealing, full of need.

Lizzie moaned into it, legs tightening around Y/N’s waist as her fingers slid beneath the hoodie, skimming over bare skin until they rested on the small of her back, drawing her in closer.

Y/N pulled back just long enough to whisper, “You're dangerous when you're proud of me.”

Lizzie smirked, pupils blown wide. “Then you better keep doing incredible things.”

Y/N’s lips crashed back onto hers, hands slipping under Lizzie’s thighs and lifting her slightly, enough to press even closer. Lizzie gasped, head tipping back, the exposed line of her neck begging to be kissed—and Y/N gladly obliged.

Tongue, teeth, heat.

It was dizzying, desperate, but laced with something soft too. Like even in the middle of their lust, they both knew this was their kind of love: wild, worshipful, and a little unhinged.

Lizzie’s fingers were tugging at the waistband of Y/N’s sweats now, breath shaky. “We have a bed, you know,” she whispered between kisses.

Y/N grinned against her skin. “I thought you wanted here.”

Lizzie's eyes darkened, her legs tightening around Y/N’s hips. “I do,” she whispered. “God, I do.”

Y/N leaned in, kissing her slow and deep, her hands moving under Lizzie’s shirt to trace over soft skin. She took her time, even through the haze of need—because Lizzie deserved to be worshipped.

But then Lizzie rolled her hips up again, grinding against the unmistakable pressure beneath Y/N’s sweats, and it pulled a low, raw sound from Y/N’s throat.

Lizzie gasped. “Fuck, baby…” Her hand slid lower, palming Y/N through the fabric with a confident ease that only came from knowing every inch of her. “You’re so hard for me already.”

Y/N’s breath shuddered. “I can’t help it. You climb up on a counter and start grinding on me—what do you expect?”

Lizzie gave her a wicked smile, fingers slipping under the waistband to wrap gently, lovingly, around her. “I expect my wife to give it to me right here.”

Y/N groaned, hips twitching into her touch. “You really don’t fight fair.”

“I’m not trying to.” Lizzie leaned in, nipping at her bottom lip. “I just want you inside me.”

That undid her.

Y/N pulled Lizzie to the edge of the counter, yanking her own sweats down just enough to free herself, her heart pounding at the sight of Lizzie—flushed, ready, needing.

She held Lizzie’s gaze as she guided herself to her entrance, rubbing teasingly against her folds, both of them trembling with anticipation.

Lizzie whimpered, nails digging into Y/N’s arms. “Please, baby.”

Y/N pushed in slowly, watching Lizzie's lips part in a soft cry as she sank into her inch by inch. The tight heat, the way Lizzie clung to her—it stole the breath from her lungs.

Lizzie wrapped her arms around her wife’s shoulders, anchoring them together. “God, yes—don’t stop.”

Their bodies rocked in rhythm, the marble counter cool under Lizzie’s thighs, the heat between them burning everything else away. Each thrust was met with a gasp, a kiss, a whispered I love you.

Y/N buried her face in Lizzie’s neck, murmuring her name like a prayer, each movement deeper, more desperate. She reached between them, circling her thumb over Lizzie’s clit until Lizzie cried out, head thrown back, body trembling hard around her.

Watching Lizzie fall apart like that, because of her, always felt like magic.

And when Y/N finally let go, spilling deep inside her wife with a groan and a shudder, it was less release and more surrender—like giving everything she had to the one person who knew how to hold it.

They stayed tangled there, chests heaving, lips brushing in soft, messy kisses.

***

Lizzie chuckled against her mouth. “Okay... that was the hottest tour announcement I’ve ever heard.”

Y/N smiled, nose brushing hers. “Guess I’ll have to break big news more often.”

Lizzie grinned, pulling her close again. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t leave for Europe without fucking me on every surface in this house.”

Y/N laughed, still breathless. “Challenge accepted.”

---

They made good on that promise—every surface in the house. More than once. The weeks leading up to the tour were a blur of suitcases, setlists, and stolen moments. They counted down the days with sticky notes on the fridge and late-night planning under the covers, falling asleep in each other’s arms like they always had.

But life had its own plans.

A few months before the tour, Lizzie’s shoot got moved up. Her production dates now overlapped with Y/N’s European leg. Neither of them said it out loud at first, but they both felt it—the weight of what it would mean.

It would be their first time apart for more than a week since they got married.

There were tears. There were reassurances. There were phone alarms set across time zones and shared calendars meticulously color-coded to make sure they carved out every possible moment to connect.

Y/N left first.

Lizzie drove her to the airport before sunrise, wearing one of Y/N’s hoodies and clutching her hand until the last possible second. The kiss they shared at the gate was long and silent, full of promises they already intended to keep.

And then she was gone.

Three weeks later, Y/N wrapped the final show in Milan with confetti in her hair, sweat on her brow, and her heart beating a little too fast—not just from the encore, but from the ache to go home. To her.

Lizzie didn’t know yet. As far as she was aware, Y/N still had one more week of press and travel.

But plans could change. And Y/N? She needed to see her wife.

---

Lizzie tugged at the zipper of her jacket, irritation flaring in her chest. Wanda’s costume was heavy, her feet hurt, and she was emotionally drained from a particularly harrowing scene with Paul. She’d just finished take twenty-three and was desperate for a break—physically and mentally.

The director called for a 15-minute pause. Lizzie wandered toward the edge of the set, phone in hand. She had a new message from Y/N:

“Hope today’s going smooth. I miss you like crazy. I know it’s only a few more days, but God, babe, I just want to come home.”

Lizzie smiled, bittersweet. She responded quickly, fingers flying across the screen.

“I miss you more. We’ll survive this. We always do.”

"Hey, Liz," Sebastian’s voice called behind her.

She turned, expecting him to tease her or invite her to coffee. Instead, he was grinning in that over-the-top way of his.

“What?” she asked warily.

“I brought you something,” he said, stepping aside.

And there she was.

Y/N. Dressed in a leather jacket, hair a little messy from the plane, guitar case slung on her back, and that familiar smile that melted Lizzie’s world like it was made of ice.

Lizzie’s heart stopped.

Then her whole body moved.

She didn’t walk—she ran. Through the lot, past crew, past cameras and cables, into Y/N’s arms with a force that nearly knocked them both down. The guitar case hit the floor with a thud, forgotten.

Y/N caught her. Held her like it had been years, not weeks.

Lizzie wrapped her legs around her wife’s waist and buried her face in Y/N’s neck. “You—are the worst—for not telling me,” she whispered, voice shaking with tears.

Y/N smiled into her shoulder. “Surprises work best when you don’t see them coming.”

“I hate surprises,” Lizzie murmured, laughing and crying.

“You love me,” Y/N countered.

Lizzie leaned back just enough to cup her wife’s face and kiss her—slow, hungry, real. A kiss that made the crew collectively forget what professionalism meant for a second.

When they broke apart, Y/N whispered, “God, I missed you, Lizzie.”

Lizzie pressed their foreheads together. “I missed you more. Don’t you ever do three weeks again.”

“Never,” Y/N promised. “Next time, I’m packing myself in your suitcase.”

“Or I’m flying out to your next show. I don’t care where. Antarctica? I’m there.”

They laughed quietly, wrapped in each other. Time paused.

Then Lizzie glanced around, suddenly aware of the dozen people watching.

Y/N grinned. “Guess I stole the scene, huh?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Well, you are my favorite view.”

Lizzie kept her arms looped around Y/N's shoulders, unwilling to let her go just yet. But awareness of their audience finally kicked in as a wave of murmurs and amused chuckles rippled across the set.

“Is that…” someone whispered.

“That’s Y/N,” another confirmed.

“The Y/N?”

“Oh my god, I love her music.”

Y/N chuckled softly against Lizzie’s hair, then gently lowered her back onto her feet. Lizzie adjusted the collar of Y/N’s jacket with an affectionate tug, smoothing down her hair like she was still trying to process that she was actually here, in the flesh, after three painfully long weeks.

Sebastian approached first, clapping Y/N on the back like they’d been friends for years. “And the mission is complete. Welcome to Berlin, Rockstar.”

“Thanks for the assist,” Y/N grinned, bumping fists with him. “I owe you a drink—or five.”

“Hold you to that,” he said, then turned to Lizzie. “You should’ve seen her in the terminal. Girl looked like she was walking into battle.”

Lizzie beamed. “She kinda was. My heart’s been a war zone since she left.”

Scarlett walked over next, arms crossed but a huge smile on her face. “You must be the wife we’ve heard all the love songs about.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her hand. “Guilty. And you must be the legendary Natasha Romanoff.”

Scarlett gave Lizzie a teasing look. “She’s got charm, Olsen. I like her.”

One by one, the cast and some of the crew trickled over—curious, kind, and in awe. Anthony Mackie gave Y/N a bear hug and immediately launched into a full review of her latest album, asking about the production on track three. Paul Bettany was all warm politeness and British humor, asking if Y/N would ever consider scoring a film. Even the director stopped by to greet her, joking that if she ever wanted to try acting, she could contact him.

Y/N took it all in stride—humble, funny, endlessly gracious—but her hand never left Lizzie’s. Their fingers stayed twined like gravity couldn’t pull them apart again.

At one point, a young crew member shyly approached with a folded piece of paper and a pen.

“Um… Miss Y/N? Could I… maybe get your autograph? My sister’s a huge fan.”

Y/N smiled gently. “Of course. What’s her name?”

“Isla.”

“To Isla,” Y/N wrote, “your sister’s amazing, and so are you. Stay loud. Love, Y/N.”

Lizzie leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, watching with pride so visible it might’ve been neon. She whispered, “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

Y/N looked down at her. “Takes one to marry one.”

Lizzie laughed, light and bright. “You’re seriously staying the rest of the week?”

Y/N nodded. “I rearranged everything. I’ll fly back when you do. I didn’t want to miss another night without you.”

Lizzie’s eyes glossed with emotion, but she blinked it back quickly.

“Lunch break’s in twenty,” someone called out from across set.

Y/N raised a brow. “Wanna sneak away for twenty-one?”

Lizzie grabbed her hand. “Let’s go before Mackie tries to third-wheel our reunion.”

They laughed as they jogged off hand-in-hand, slipping into Lizzie’s trailer. The cast watched them go with soft smiles, and someone muttered, “They’re disgustingly perfect.”

Sebastian just smirked. “Yeah. And totally in love.”

---

The door slammed shut behind them, and before Y/N could even drop her guitar case to the floor, Lizzie was on her.

She pushed Y/N gently but firmly against the door, hands tangled in her jacket, eyes wide and full of fire and longing. Y/N barely had time to gasp before Lizzie crashed her lips into hers—no hesitation, no room for words, just raw, hungry need. 

It wasn’t a soft reunion kiss. It wasn’t careful or choreographed. It was messy, overwhelming, desperate—like Lizzie was trying to make up for every missed second, every lonely night, every phantom touch that hadn’t been enough.

Y/N groaned into the kiss, arms wrapping tightly around Lizzie’s waist as their mouths moved like they’d never been apart. Lizzie’s fingers gripped at Y/N’s collar, pulling her closer, closer, like she needed her inside her skin. 

When they finally broke apart for air, both were panting.

“Three weeks,” Lizzie whispered, her forehead resting against Y/N’s. “Three goddamn weeks without you. Do you know what that did to me?”

Y/N cupped her cheek gently, brushing her thumb across Lizzie’s flushed skin. “Felt like I was missing oxygen, Liz. Every show, every night—I couldn’t sleep without your heartbeat next to mine.”

Lizzie let out a shaky breath, eyes already tearing up as she stared at her wife. “I kept reaching for you in bed. Waking up to nothing. I’d just… lie there. Hoping your voice would show up in my dreams.”

Y/N pressed her lips to Lizzie’s temple. “I’m here now. For as long as you want me.”

Lizzie pulled back, just far enough to see her face. “Always. I always want you.”

Then she kissed her again.

This time slower, but still just as full of heat. Her hands slid under Y/N’s jacket, palms mapping the familiar shape of her wife’s body, needing to *feel* her, not just see her. Y/N’s hands roamed too, holding Lizzie like she was fragile and precious and everything that ever mattered.

Clothes stayed on—for now—but the emotion between them was utterly naked.

Lizzie guided them toward the tiny couch without breaking the kiss. They collapsed onto it, tangled limbs and soft laughter as they settled in. Lizzie curled up half in Y/N’s lap, fingers now laced gently with hers.

“Promise me something,” Lizzie whispered, kissing the inside of Y/N’s wrist where her pulse still raced.

“Anything,” Y/N breathed.

“No more three weeks. Ever.”

Y/N nodded. “Never again. We’ll figure it out next time. If I have to sing to you from the back of a set or sleep on tour buses parked outside your trailer, I will.”

Lizzie smiled, heart too full, eyes glassy again. “You’re insane.”

“I’m in love,” Y/N corrected, brushing her nose against Lizzie’s. “Deeply. Stupidly. Helplessly.”

Lizzie kissed her again—gentler now, like she finally felt safe again. Whole.

Outside, the world kept moving. But in that trailer, time bent just for them.

The kiss had settled into something slower now—softer presses of lips, lingering touches, and the kind of silence that only came when hearts were beating in sync again. Lizzie was curled into Y/N’s side on the tiny couch, one leg draped over her lap, fingers lazily tracing circles on the singer’s thigh.

Y/N’s eyes, though, kept wandering to the corner of the trailer… to the rack of wardrobe pieces hanging near the vanity.

And more specifically—to one bold, dark red corset with leather details and a plunging neckline that practically screamed chaos magic dominatrix. 

She raised a brow. “Is that Wanda’s new costume?”

Lizzie followed her gaze and immediately groaned, dropping her forehead to Y/N’s shoulder.

“Oh God. Don’t even start.”

But it was too late. Y/N was already smirking.

“No, I’m not judging—” she began, clearly judging just a little, “—but that thing has more cleavage than an awards show after-party.”

Lizzie looked up, mock-serious. “Marvel’s idea of ‘tactical gear,’ apparently.”

Y/N snorted. “What’s it meant to protect? The power of boobs?”

“Exactly. I weaponized them.”

Y/N gave her a slow, dramatic once-over. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure if Wanda looked at me in that thing, I’d forget how to breathe. She wouldn’t even need powers.”

Lizzie grinned and leaned in close, her voice dropping. “Is it because I’m the one wearing?”

Y/N licked her lips, eyes darkening just slightly. “Exactly!”

“Wanna help me out of it tonight?” Lizzie teased.

Y/N leaned in until their lips were a breath apart. “Only if I get to help you into it first.”

Lizzie laughed, loud and warm, then kissed her again—short and sweet this time.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You married ridiculous,” Y/N reminded her.

“And I’d do it again tomorrow.”

They both smiled, their foreheads pressed together. The weight of weeks apart had finally lifted, replaced by flirty banter and the quiet hum of love rekindled.

After a moment, Y/N glanced toward the corset again and muttered, “Still, though. That thing’s basically lingerie with a cape.”

Lizzie smirked. “Funny. I said the exact same thing at my fitting.”

“And they kept it?”

“They said, and I quote, ‘Wanda’s evolving.’”

Y/N blinked. “Into a Victoria’s Secret model?”

Lizzie giggled, burying her face in Y/N’s neck. “God, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, my magical lingerie-wearing wife.”

Lizzie smacked her lightly on the chest. “Shut up.”

“Never,” Y/N said, wrapping her tighter in her arms. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Good.”

---

***

Back at the Hotel

The suite door slammed shut behind them, but they barely made it two steps in.

Lizzie crashed into Y/N with a kiss so fierce it knocked the breath from her lungs.

Fingers tangled in hair. Teeth caught on lips. Hands gripped, pulled, clutched like they were afraid the other might vanish again if they let go for even a second.

Three weeks apart had left them starving.

Y/N dropped her bag blindly to the floor as Lizzie shoved her backwards, lips locked, until they hit the nearest wall. Y/N groaned, gripping her waist, pulling her closer, like there was any space left between them.

“I’m gonna lose my mind if you don’t fuck me,” Lizzie whispered, panting between kisses. “I’ve needed you so bad.”

Y/N’s voice was wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me these past weeks.”

She grabbed Lizzie’s ass and lifted her off the ground—legs wrapping around her instinctively, mouths crashing again as they stumbled toward the bedroom, knocking into the doorframe, laughing and moaning at the same time.

They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and need.

Lizzie rolled them over, straddling Y/N with her hair wild and eyes dark with hunger. She ripped her own shirt off, tossing it blindly, then reached for Y/N’s. “Off. Now.”

Y/N sat up, yanking it over her head as Lizzie attacked her neck with kisses and bites that would definitely leave marks.

Lizzie pulls up the sports bra Y/N was wearing throwing it away behind her. And soon her lips were back to Y/N neck, going down to her breasts. 

When her lips wrap around Y/N nipple, she grinds down on the hardness under her at the same time, making Y/N moan. “Fuck…”

The singer flipped them without warning, pinning Lizzie down with her hands and hips, their breaths hot against each other’s mouths.

Lizzie moaned, arching up. “God, I missed your weight on me.”

“You’re gonna feel all of me tonight,” Y/N growled, her hand slipping down between Lizzie’s thighs, fingers finding her already wet and throbbing.

Lizzie gasped, hips bucking. “Please—please, just—fuck—”

They kissed like it was killing them not to. Like the space between their bodies was a war they refused to lose.

Y/N shoved Lizzie’s leggings down with shaking hands while Lizzie tore at her wife’s jeans like she couldn’t get them off fast enough.

“Need you,” Lizzie gasped, desperate, flushed. “Need you inside me. Now.”

Y/N finally kicked the last of her clothes off and knelt between her wife’s thighs, her breath catching at the sight of her laid out—panting, legs open, eyes wild with want.

She slid inside her slowly—deliberately—watching Lizzie come undone instantly, head thrown back, back arching off the bed.

“Fuck—yes, baby, yes—” Lizzie clutched her tighter, wrapping her legs around Y/N’s waist and dragging her in deeper, hips moving in frantic rhythm.

Y/N buried her face in Lizzie’s neck, her thrusts growing fast, rough, needy. They couldn’t stop kissing—between moans, between groans, between every ragged breath. Hands were everywhere—gripping, scratching, holding like they couldn’t get close enough.

The bed creaked beneath them, the air thick with sweat and sex and the sound of skin meeting skin.

Lizzie clawed at Y/N’s back, dragging her nails down hard. “Harder—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

Y/N growled against her skin and obeyed, slamming into her deeper, harder, until Lizzie was shaking, crying out, clinging to her like she’d fall apart without her.

“Come with me,” Y/N gasped, her voice low and desperate. “Please, baby—come with me—”

Their hands found each other, fingers laced tight. Lizzie locked eyes with her—wide, wet, full of so much love it burned.

And then they came—together, hard, loud, overwhelmed by everything they’d held back for twenty-one aching days.

They collapsed, a tangled mess of limbs and trembling bodies, breathless and soaked in each other’s sweat and pleasure.

But even then, Y/N didn’t pull out. Lizzie didn’t let go.

“Again,” Lizzie whispered after a beat, kissing her jaw, her shoulder. “Please.”

Y/N groaned, already hardening again inside her. “As many times as you want.”

“Good,” Lizzie said with a smirk, rolling them over. “Because I’m not done with you either.”

Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before Lizzie was on top of her again—straddling her hips, nails trailing down her chest, lips swollen, eyes wild with hunger. Her thighs pressed tight around Y/N, grounding her, claiming her.

“You really thought you could show up after three weeks and not be ruined by me?” Lizzie whispered, her voice low, rough, devastating.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as Lizzie grinded down against her, slow and purposeful. “I came here hoping everything.”

“Good.”

Lizzie leaned down and kissed her—sloppy and deep, tongues tangling, teeth scraping. She sucked a mark into Y/N’s neck, groaning when she felt her twitch underneath her.

Then she reached between them, guiding Y/N back inside her—slow, deliberate, both of them moaning at the contact like it physically reset their hearts.

Lizzie moved her hips slowly at first, teasing, savoring the stretch, the pressure, the way Y/N looked up at her like she was the only thing in the universe.

“You feel so good,” she gasped, her hands pressed to Y/N’s chest for balance. “I forgot how full you make me feel…”

“Fuck, Lizzie,” Y/N growled, gripping her hips, trying to hold on, but Lizzie batted her hands away.

“No. Let me ride you.”

Y/N’s mouth parted, her voice caught in her throat.

She obeyed.

Lizzie started moving faster—messy, desperate, riding her hard and deep, head thrown back, breasts bouncing with every thrust. The room was thick with moans, the slap of skin, the bed creaking beneath their rhythm.

Y/N’s hands hovered at her sides, twitching to touch her, but she held back.

Until Lizzie looked down at her, hair a halo of chaos, and moaned, “Touch me. Please.”

That was all she needed.

Y/N sat up, arms wrapping tight around Lizzie as she started thrusting up into her, matching her rhythm, their chests pressed together, sweat-slicked skin sliding, gasps turning into cries.

Lizzie buried her face in Y/N’s neck, her voice a broken whisper, “I’m so close… don’t stop… please—don’t stop—”

“I’ve got you, baby,” Y/N murmured, kissing her shoulder, her jaw, her mouth. “Let go for me.”

Lizzie shattered in her arms—shaking, crying out her name, clinging to her like her body was the only thing holding her together.

And Y/N let go with her, falling hard, deep inside her, breath caught in her throat as she came with a shuddering groan against her skin.

They collapsed together, still joined, still pulsing with aftershocks, hearts pounding like war drums in their chests.

Minutes passed in silence except for their breathing.

Lizzie finally lifted her head and kissed her softly—slow, lazy, full of love. “I missed you.”

Y/N smiled sleepily. “I don’t think I’ve ever missed someone the way I miss you when you’re not there.”

Lizzie laid her head on Y/N’s chest, still catching her breath. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”

Y/N chuckled, brushing her fingers through her damp hair. “That’s okay. I’ll kiss it better.”

“Mm. Deal.”

They stayed like that—tangled, satisfied, quiet—for a long time.

And for the first time in weeks… they both finally slept.

***

---

The sun was out, birds chirped somewhere behind the trailers, and Lizzie Olsen looked like she hadn’t just spent half the night being thoroughly and repeatedly ruined by her wife.

Correction—she looked exactly like someone who’d spent the night being thoroughly and repeatedly ruined by her wife.

And everyone could see it.

“Morning,” one of the makeup artists said as Lizzie walked into the trailer.

“Morning,” Lizzie replied, voice a little raspy and warm, her oversized coffee in hand. She smiled dreamily, then winced the slightest bit as she sat down in the chair.

“You okay?” the artist asked, pulling her hair back gently.

“Totally,” Lizzie said, a bit too fast. “Just… stretched weird in my sleep.”

A beat.

“You sure it wasn’t your wife doing the stretching?” came Scarlett’s voice from behind them, with a classic grin on her face as she leaned against the doorway.

Lizzie gave her a flat look in the mirror. “You know, it’s weird how obsessed you are with my sex life.”

“I’m just saying,” he gestured loosely, “you came in like you were walking on clouds. Which is wild considering how much you were complaining about your back yesterday.”

Lizzie muttered under her breath, cheeks pink. “Mind your business.”

The makeup artist tried—and failed—not to laugh.

Just then, the trailer door opened again, and Y/N stepped in. Black jeans, boots, her vintage band tee barely hiding the bite mark at the base of her throat. Aviators perched on her nose. Calm. Cool. Gorgeous. Effortlessly rockstar. 

Scarlett blinked. “Oh. Wow.”

Y/N smiled, slipping her arm around Lizzie’s chair and pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Morning, love.”

Lizzie reached up to touch her wife’s hand, soft and subtle, like a reflex. “Hey. You sleep okay?”

Y/N gave a lazy grin. “Eventually.”

The makeup artist had completely stopped moving.

Scarlett leaned sideways, whispering to no one in particular, “She’s way hotter in person. No offense.”

“None taken,” Y/N deadpanned, then looked at him over her glasses. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t seen her in bed.”

Lizzie choked on her coffee. “Babe.”

Scarlett looked like she’d just been spiritually ejected from the trailer.

As Y/N leaned down to whisper something in Lizzie’s ear, the red on her cheeks bloomed deeper. She bit her lip and shot her a look that was half affection, half don’t you dare make me walk funny on set. 

Y/N only smirked and backed away, walking out like she hadn’t just made a professional crew question their career choices.

The moment the door shut behind her, the trailer burst into chatter.

“Oh my God,” the hairstylist whispered.

“I thought she was gonna be cool,” one of the costume girls mumbled. “She’s dangerous.”

“I’m suddenly rethinking every romantic decision I’ve ever made,” Scarlett said, still staring at the door.

Lizzie just sighed, hiding her smirk behind her coffee. “That’s my wife.”

---

The sun beat down on the lot, but no one noticed—not with Elizabeth Olsen in costume, hurling imaginary debris like a goddess of chaos.

The camera crew stayed focused. Anthony Mackie was mid-line. The stunt doubles were prepped and waiting.

But Y/N?

Y/N didn’t even pretend to be subtle.

She stood off to the side, arms crossed, sunglasses on, watching her wife work like it was a private show. She’d seen Lizzie in movies. Watched her dominate red carpets. But something about seeing her in action—in full Wanda mode, confidence radiating with every move—made something low in Y/N's chest curl hot.

Lizzie tried to focus.

Really.

But every time she turned her head, Y/N’s smirk was right there. And God help her, it made her spine tingle.

“Cut!” the director called. “Take five!”

Lizzie walked off set, grabbing a water. “You trying to distract me?” she asked under her breath, brushing past Y/N.

“I don’t have to try,” Y/N murmured, lips near her ear. “You keep looking at me like you’re starved.”

Lizzie shot her a glare that was half threat, half plea. “You know what last night did to me.”

“I remember. Vividly.”

---

A half hour later, the entire crew stared in stunned silence as two food trucks pulled in—one serving gourmet Mediterranean bowls, the other dishing out fresh flatbreads, grilled skewers, and handmade desserts.

“Is this a mistake?” someone asked.

“Nope,” a PA called out, waving a hand. “It’s from Y/N. For everyone.”

A murmur rippled through the lot.

Lizzie walked over mid-bite of fruit, stopping short when she saw the setup. “You didn’t.”

Y/N, sitting on a folding chair with a bottle of lemonade and her feet kicked up, gave her a lazy grin. “You’ve been living off sad wraps and burnt coffee. I couldn’t let that stand.”

Lizzie lowered her sunglasses, giving her wife a look that said you're ridiculous, and I love you.

“Plus,” Y/N added, standing to meet her, “I wanted to thank the people who put you in tight leather and threw fake buildings at you. That’s love.”

“You’re going to cause problems,” Lizzie muttered, stepping close. “Half this crew already has a crush on you.”

“Let them,” Y/N whispered, brushing her hand along the small of Lizzie’s back. “I’m taking you home.”

---

Everyone ate like it was their last meal on earth. Mackie was three plates in. The grips were in heaven. Someone shouted, “She’s a legend!” as they dipped warm pita into house-made hummus.

But Y/N?

She didn’t eat much.

She was too busy watching Lizzie—face flushed from the heat, hair pinned back, lips curved into that soft little smile she only gave when she felt safe.

They locked eyes across the lot.

Y/N mouthed, Later.

Lizzie smiled.

And mouthed back, Can’t wait.

---

The city outside hummed with distant traffic, but inside their room, it was quiet—lamplight golden, sheets slightly rumpled from the morning’s rush, and the lingering scent of Y/N’s cologne still clinging to the pillows.

Lizzie stood by the window, freshly showered, damp hair tucked behind her ears. One of Y/N’s band tees hung loose on her frame, swallowing her curves, sleeves brushing past her elbows.

Y/N watched her from the bed—still in jeans and sports bra, half-sprawled across the comforter, one hand resting on her stomach. She looked tired but happy. Content. Her gaze hadn’t left Lizzie since they walked in.

“You’re staring,” Lizzie murmured.

“I missed staring at you,” Y/N said softly.

Lizzie turned, slow, eyes warm. “You missed more than that.”

Y/N sat up, shifting toward the edge of the bed. “I did.”

A beat passed between them. And then Lizzie walked over, climbing into Y/N’s lap like she belonged there—because she did.

Y/N exhaled against her temple as their bodies melted together.

“I kept waking up in the middle of the night,” Lizzie whispered, arms around her neck. “My hands would reach out for you. And when I realized you weren’t there, it felt like I forgot how to breathe.”

Y/N closed her eyes, forehead pressed to hers. “I know the feeling.”

Fingers ran along jawlines. Palms found familiar places on skin. There was no urgency now—just the ache of having gone too long without this. Without them.

“I hated being apart,” Lizzie said, voice cracking just a little. “I hated all of it.”

Y/N nodded, thumbs brushing tears that never quite fell. “We won’t do three weeks again.”

“Promise?”

“Swear it.” A pause. “I’ll move mountains next time if I have to.”

Lizzie settled over Y/N like she belonged there, thighs straddling her hips, hands never still—roaming over the face she’d ached for, down the chest she’d dreamed of curling against again.

Their mouths didn’t part for long. When they did, it was just to whisper breathless things like “God, I missed you,” and “You feel like home.”

Y/N’s hands found Lizzie’s waist under the oversized tee, fingertips spreading against warm skin like she needed to memorize every inch all over again. “Three weeks,” she breathed. “How did we survive it?”

Lizzie shook her head, eyes glassy but hungry. “I didn’t. I—I couldn’t sleep right. Eat right. Breathe right.” She rocked into Y/N with slow, needy pressure, their bodies syncing like muscle memory. “I needed you.”

“You have me,” Y/N said, voice low, reverent. “You always have me.”

***

Their kisses turned messy again—urgent, deep, full of longing. Lizzie tugged Y/N’s bra up, revealing skin she hadn't touched in too long, her hands sliding across familiar dips and lines with a desperation that made her gasp.

Y/N groaned softly. “You’re shaking.”

Lizzie nodded, not embarrassed. “I’ve wanted this every night since you left.”

They undressed each other slowly—but not gently. Fabric hit the floor with a little too much eagerness. Fingernails scratched down spines. Teeth grazed skin. Every inch they uncovered came with kisses that turned into sighs that turned into gasps.

When Lizzie sank down onto Y/N at last, they both stilled—just for a breath, foreheads pressed together, the weight of all those lonely nights suddenly dissolving in the heat between them.

Lizzie whimpered, her lips brushing Y/N’s. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Y/N promised, hips moving in time with her, hands gripping her thighs, her waist, her heart. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

They moved like they were trying to make up for every lost second—rocking, clutching, gasping each other’s names like mantras. Lizzie’s moans turned ragged as she arched above Y/N, riding wave after wave of everything they’d been holding in.

“I love you,” she sobbed when she came, collapsing into Y/N’s chest, arms tight around her, body trembling. “I love you so much it hurts.”

Y/N held her, kissed her hair, whispered her name like a prayer. “I love you more. Always.”

They stayed tangled together, catching their breath, skin damp, hearts pounding in sync again.

No distance. No silence. Just the sound of love rediscovered in the dark.

***

---

Next Morning 

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft gold across the tangled sheets. The bed was half-empty, Lizzie’s side slightly cold, but her scent lingered—lavender and warm skin, like a dream Y/N didn’t want to wake from.

She stirred slowly, stretching with a quiet groan. Muscles still sore from the last leg of her tour. Sore from last night, too—though that ache was the kind she didn’t mind carrying.

Her hand reached instinctively for Lizzie, only to find a note on the pillow.

Y/N blinked and smiled.

“Didn’t want to wake you—you looked too peaceful. I miss you already. Come find me when you’re up? I need a kiss. — L”

She sat up, running a hand through her hair. Her body felt heavy but content. Soul full.

A few minutes later, after a long shower and throwing on a hoodie, loose jeans, and her favorite cap, she headed out. But not to set—not just yet.

She had a different stop in mind first.

---

The bakery smelled like heaven. Warm butter. Vanilla. Espresso.

Y/N scanned the case with a small grin. She knew Lizzie’s favorites: those lemon-glazed scones, that tiny, rich chocolate tart she always claimed she “only wanted a bite of” and finished in two. And of course—extra hot coffee with oat milk and two pumps of honey syrup. No more, no less.

The girl behind the counter blinked when she recognized her. Y/N smiled politely but didn’t stop. She was on a mission.

Boxes in hand, coffees secure, she texted Lizzie.

“Guess who’s bringing lunch, Mrs. Maximoff? 😉”

The reply was almost instant.

“You’re evil. I’m starving. Trailer or set?”

“Your trailer. Knock twice.”

---

Crew buzzed in every direction. There were wires, green screens, and the low hum of tech and camera gear. Y/N passed unnoticed at first— hoodie up, coffee carrier in one hand, pastry bag in the other.

She got to Lizzie’s trailer just as they were resetting for the next scene.

She knocked—twice.

The door flew open a second later.

Lizzie stood there still in costume—corset, leather, hair curled and pinned back—eyes wide, smile wide and hungry.

“You’re insane,” she said, dragging Y/N inside before anyone could blink. “I’ve been thinking about food—and you—all day.”

Y/N held up the bag like an offering. “Scones. Tart. And the coffee you love enough to marry me for.”

Lizzie took the coffee and kissed her instead. “Still would’ve married you without it.”

They settled on the small couch in the trailer, Lizzie curled up beside her wife in full Scarlet Witch gear, munching on a lemon scone with visible bliss.

“You spoil me,” she mumbled through a bite.

Y/N grinned, brushing a crumb from Lizzie’s lip. “I was gone too long. Gotta make up for it.”

“You’re doing a damn good job.”

Outside, they called for setup. Lizzie sighed.

Y/N nudged her gently. “Go save the world, Mrs. Olsen. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

Lizzie kissed her cheek, then her lips. “Promise?”

“Swear it.”

---

Later

The hum of air conditioning and soft tapping of Y/N’s laptop keys filled the space. She sat cross-legged on the little couch, Lizzie’s scent still lingering on the pillows beside her. A few half-eaten pastries sat on the coffee table. Her phone was on speaker.

“…yes, move the London radio interview to next week. No, I don’t want to zoom in from here. I’m here to rest—and be with my wife. Let’s keep my calendar light.”

On the other end of the line, her PA laughed. “Got it, boss. So, no surprise promos?”

“Not unless someone’s dying”

They hung up just as the trailer door creaked open and Lizzie stepped in, tired but glowing.

Y/N looked up and immediately smiled. “There’s my superstar.”

Lizzie let out a breath and leaned against the door. “There’s my entire world.” She walked over and dropped into Y/N’s lap with a groan. “I missed you.”

“You saw me three hours ago.”

“I still missed you.”

They kissed, lazy and soft, foreheads resting together after.

“Wrapped up your empire?” Lizzie murmured, nodding toward the laptop.

“Mostly. Just told them I’m not working while I’m here. I’m officially your groupie until you wrap this movie.”

Lizzie laughed, full and warm. “I like the sound of that.”

Then she sat up a little straighter, eyes sparkling.

“So—Paul’s throwing something tonight. Small club. Most of the cast and crew are going. He said you’re totally invited.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Me? At a club full of Marvel stars? Will the world survive?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Lizzie said, grinning. “Come with me?”

“You even have to ask?”

---

Sunset spilled honey-gold light into the room, casting long shadows across the bed. The playlist Y/N had picked pulsed low, velvet beats vibrating softly through the air. She stood in front of the mirror, straightening her black button-up shirt. It clung perfectly to her frame—broad shoulders, narrow waist, sleek lines—and the black pants hugged her hips and thighs with just the right amount of tension. She knew she looked good, but she wasn't thinking about herself.

Not when her wife was still in the bathroom.

The door creaked open behind her—and Y/N turned.

Lizzie stepped out barefoot, hair slightly damp, slipping earrings into place with a glance toward her wife.

She wore a deep burgundy dress—barely-there straps, low neckline, silk that caressed every curve like it was made to be touched. Her skin glowed golden in the dying light. She didn’t even look at Y/N at first—until she felt her gaze.

Y/N’s breath caught. “Fuck,” she whispered, eyes raking down Lizzie’s body. “You’re unreal.”

Lizzie looked up and froze. Her lips parted. Her eyes dipped—slowly, deliberately—to take in the way Y/N’s shirt stretched across her chest, the way the pants outlined her hips and the growing tension between her thighs.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Lizzie said quietly, but there was a wicked smirk tugging at her mouth. “We have to leave in twenty.”

Y/N crossed the room in two strides, hands sliding around her waist. “Then let’s make it fifteen,” she murmured, already hard, already burning for her.

Her mouth found Lizzie’s neck, kisses quickening, hips pressing forward, trying to grind against her.

Lizzie let out a soft sound—but she pulled back, laughing breathlessly. “Nope.”

“What?” Y/N stared at her in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Lizzie bit her lip and smoothed down her dress, still looking her wife up and down like she was barely holding back. “We’ll be late. You know how Mackie gets when people show up after he’s drunk.”

“I don’t care if Feige gets mad,” Y/N growled, trying to grab her again.

Lizzie dodged her touch with a playful grin. “I said no, baby.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, the ache between her legs sharp and urgent now. “You’re evil.”

“I know.” Lizzie leaned in, brushing her lips just barely against Y/N’s jaw. “I want you to spend all night watching me. Wanting me. Thinking about what you could’ve had before we left this room.”

Y/N groaned low, jaw tight.

Lizzie stepped back, grabbed her clutch, and winked. “Now come on, rockstar. Let’s go make everyone at that club jealous.”

Y/N adjusted herself with a frustrated sigh, already plotting revenge.

“Fine,” she muttered, grabbing her wallet. “But the second we get back…”

“You won’t even make it to the bed,” Lizzie promised over her shoulder.

And God, Y/N believed her.

---

At the Club

The private section of the club was buzzing with energy. Music thumped low and sexy, lights pulsing gently, and laughter rang through the room as the Marvel cast loosened up after a long shoot week. Drinks flowed, stories were shared, and the vibe was effortless—like a reunion of friends who genuinely liked each other.

Y/N had drifted away from Lizzie’s side for the first time that night, pulled into conversation by Robert Downey Jr. and Scarlett Johansson, who immediately took to her with warmth and curiosity.

“So you’re the Y/N,” Scarlett said with a knowing grin, nursing a drink and leaning in. “I’ve had your song stuck in my head for weeks.”

Y/N chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Hopefully one of the good ones.”

“It’s the one that sounds like sex,” RDJ chimed in. “The one with the heavy bass and that line about—what is it? Midnight bruises and silk?”

“Yup,” Y/N said, trying not to grin too wide. “That one’s about Lizzie.”

Robert raised his brows. “Good lord. You’re a menace.”

Y/N smirked. “I try.”

Not far off, Lizzie stood with Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan, watching her wife with sly intent. Her drink dangled lazily in her hand, her eyes locked on Y/N’s frame as she laughed with her co-stars.

Her gaze was dark. Possessive. Dangerous.

She moved slowly through the room, hips swaying in that burgundy dress, every step deliberate. She didn’t go to Y/N. No—she circled her. She’d let her wife feel her from a distance, catch glimpses of her while pretending to be immersed in conversation.

Y/N noticed. Of course she did.

While Chris Evans pulled her into a warm hug and joked about something, Y/N’s eyes kept flicking toward Lizzie.

And Lizzie? She was whispering something to Sebastian, hand on his arm as she laughed—just a little too close, a little too playful.

Y/N’s jaw ticked.

Scarlett nudged her. “You’re being hunted.”

Y/N tore her eyes away from her wife. “Yeah,” she muttered. “And she knows exactly what she’s doing.”

“She’s driving you crazy on purpose,” Chris added with a laugh. “Can’t say I blame her. You two are…” He gestured vaguely between them. “Kinda intense.”

Lizzie finally approached, slipping between conversations like silk. She didn’t touch Y/N right away—no, she let her fingers graze the small of her back as she passed by, just enough to make her flinch.

Y/N’s breath caught. Her pants were already tighter than comfort allowed.

“Having fun, baby?” Lizzie asked sweetly, now standing beside her and taking a sip of her drink.

Y/N looked down at her, eyes hungry. “I swear to God, if you touch me like that one more time—”

Lizzie leaned up on tiptoe and kissed her cheek. Just her cheek.

“Behave,” she whispered. “I want you squirming until we get back.”

Y/N exhaled harshly, barely keeping it together.

---

Nearby, Sebastian leaned over to Mackie and whispered, “They’re either about to go home… or start something in the damn hallway.”

“Place your bets,” Mackie grinned.

But Y/N didn’t move yet.

No. She stayed. Sat right back down with the rest of the crew—because if Lizzie wanted to tease, Y/N could play that game too. Two could set fire to a room without lifting a finger.

So she let Lizzie sit beside her on the low velvet couch, one leg crossed over the other like nothing was wrong. Like she hadn’t just spent the last hour driving her famous, desperate wife insane with every glance, every touch, every graze of her fingers along skin that had gone far too long without being touched.

The cast kept talking—Sebastian teasing Chris, Scarlett recounting a moment on set that had everyone laughing—but Y/N’s focus narrowed. Lizzie leaned in, laughing at something Mackie said, and her hand settled on Y/N’s thigh again. Innocent. Casual.

Except it wasn’t.

Y/N's leg tensed. Her jaw clenched. Lizzie’s thumb traced slow circles over the fabric of her black pants—right where she knew it would do the most damage.

Y/N reached for her drink and downed the rest of it in one go.

“Hey,” Chris said, leaning closer, “how’s the tour going?”

Y/N blinked. “Hm?”

“The shows,” Chris laughed. “Your tour. You just wrapped, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Y/N rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, willing herself not to look down at Lizzie’s hand. “They were great. Exhausting, but great.”

Robert leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Still writing while you’re out there?”

Lizzie’s hand inched higher.

“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, voice going hoarse. “Always.”

Lizzie smiled to herself—pleased at the strain in her wife’s voice, the twitch in her thigh, the way she sat perfectly still while her body screamed to move.

“You look warm,” Lizzie murmured under her breath.

Y/N turned to her with a dangerous glare. “You think this is funny?”

Lizzie’s lips brushed her ear. “I think I want you so desperate you forget how to speak.”

Y/N bit her cheek, hard. Her arousal was a live wire now. She couldn’t even shift in her seat without drawing attention to just how tightly her pants clung to her.

Sebastian caught the tension—smirked. “You good, Y/N?”

“Peachy,” she gritted out.

“I think we should go,” Lizzie said sweetly, rising from the couch with one last little squeeze to Y/N’s thigh. “It’s late.”

Y/N stood fast—too fast—mumbling goodbyes while Lizzie hugged the others like she wasn’t dragging her wife to the edge of sanity.

As they walked out, RDJ called after them, “Try not to break anything expensive!”

Lizzie waved, utterly unbothered. “No promises!”

Y/N didn’t speak until they hit the car.

Then she turned, grabbing Lizzie by the waist and pressing her up against the inside of the door before it even closed. “You think teasing me in front of all your friends is a game?”

Lizzie laughed breathlessly, lips brushing hers. “No. I think it’s foreplay.”

Y/N’s growl was low, dangerous. “You’re not gonna walk tomorrow.”

Lizzie’s grin spread slowly, eyes gleaming. “Good.”

---

***

The second the door clicked shut, Y/N spun Lizzie around and pressed her up against it, mouths crashing together in a kiss that was pure need.

No words.

Just heat. Tongues. Teeth. Hands already tugging at fabric.

“You think it’s funny?” Y/N growled against Lizzie’s lips. “Spending the whole night turning me on like that?”

Lizzie gasped, breath hitching as Y/N’s hands gripped her hips tight. “I wanted you like this.”

“You got what you wanted.”

She was already working open the buttons of Lizzie’s dress, lips dragging hotly along her neck. Lizzie’s hands slipped under Y/N’s shirt, nails raking across her stomach.

Y/N hissed. “Bed. Now.”

“No,” Lizzie whispered with a smirk, dragging Y/N back by the collar. “Here.”

She dropped to her knees in front of her wife like she’d been waiting all damn night to do it. And she had.

Y/N's breath caught, one hand bracing against the door as Lizzie undid her belt, slow but purposeful. Her tongue flicked at the corner of her mouth, eyes dark with hunger.

“Fuck—Lizzie—”

“Shh,” she smirked. “You were such a good girl all night. Just let me.”

Y/N’s head hit the door with a soft thud, a broken moan leaving her lips as Lizzie took her into her mouth, slow and deep. Her hands found Y/N’s thighs, gripping tightly, guiding the rhythm, relishing every shaky breath and curse.

It was messy. Desperate. All heat and noise and need.

Y/N couldn’t last. Not with the way Lizzie moaned around her. Not after hours of Lizzie brushing against her, whispering filth in her ear, staring at her across the club with eyes that promised exactly this.

She pulled Lizzie up before she lost her mind entirely, cupped her jaw, and kissed her hard, tasting herself on her wife’s lips.

“You like making me lose control?” Y/N whispered against her mouth.

Lizzie nodded, breathless. “I want you to.”

She didn’t even make it to the bed. Y/N pushed Lizzie onto the chaise near the window, slid her dress up in one swift motion, and stepped in behind her — pressing close, chest to her back, one hand flat against her stomach to hold her there.

Lizzie gasped, eyes fluttering shut as her hands gripped the arms of the chaise. The city lights spilled in from the window, throwing gold across her skin. Her breath fogged the glass in front of her as Y/N’s body molded to hers, firm and shaking with restraint.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Y/N whispered into her ear, voice thick with need.

Lizzie arched into her. “Then take me. Please.”

Y/N groaned softly and slid a hand down, over her hips, in between her thighs — fingers trailing over her with a kind of reverent hunger. Lizzie whimpered, her head falling back onto Y/N’s shoulder.

“You’re soaked,” Y/N breathed, teeth grazing her neck. “All night you’ve been teasing me, looking like that… and you’re this desperate already?”

Lizzie moaned in response, shifting back against her wife’s hips with purpose. “I’ve been waiting. Just like you.”

The moment cracked like thunder. Y/N guided herself inside Lizzie, holding her steady with one arm around her waist. The first slow push made both of them gasp — not just from the sensation, but from the sheer intimacy of it, the pressure of finally being joined after a night full of tease.

Lizzie trembled, one hand reaching back to clutch at Y/N’s thigh. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

Y/N didn’t. She moved with purpose, with hunger, hips driving forward as Lizzie cried out into the night. The sound of skin against skin echoed softly in the room, paired with whispered curses, desperate moans, and the occasional break of Y/N’s name from Lizzie’s lips like a sacred word.

They moved together like they were trying to erase the weeks of absence — like they could memorize each other’s bodies all over again in one night. Every thrust, every gasp, every grind of hips was soaked in longing and love and wild, reckless desire.

Y/N slipped a hand down again, rubbing slow circles against Lizzie’s clit that made her fall apart, gasping, trembling, shuddering. The climax hit her hard — her body arching as she let go with a cry, clutching the edge of the chaise, legs unsteady.

Y/N held her close through it, her own breath ragged, forehead pressed to Lizzie’s back. Her cock still fully hard inside Lizzie.

Lizzie, chest rising and falling, let out a soft breath. “Wait,” she murmured after a moment, looking back at her wife with glassy eyes and a flushed face. “You didn’t finish…”

Y/N shook her head, her voice a little hoarse. “Didn’t want to yet.”

That made Lizzie smile — slow, dazed, but hungry again. “Come to bed.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She pulls out and followed Lizzie across the room, hands never quite leaving her skin, eyes locked on her like she still couldn’t believe she was real again.

Lizzie dropped onto the bed, lying back with arms open, hair wild against the sheets. “Come back inside me.”

Y/N climbed over her, settling between her legs, her body hovering just slightly above.

Then, she push slow, deliberate — a deep, aching slide that pulled a soft gasp from both of them. Lizzie’s hands flew to Y/N’s back, pulling her closer, deeper.

The intensity hit them both hard.

No teasing now. No games. Just the desperate rhythm of two people who had waited too long — who knew every curve, every sound, every tremble of the other’s body.

Lizzie clung to Y/N, panting against her ear. “Harder. I want all of you.”

Y/N groaned low in her throat and gave in — hips rolling harder, lips seeking out every inch of exposed skin, breath mingling in heat and sweat and whispered curses.

It wasn’t slow for long.

The tension built fast — the kind of hunger born from three weeks apart, too many late-night calls, and dreams that ended too soon. Lizzie cried out again, her body trembling from oversensitivity but refusing to stop. She needed this. Needed all of it.

“Y/N,” she gasped. “Don’t stop—please—”

She didn’t. Y/N drove into her until her own release tore through her with a sound that was more raw than controlled — a sharp gasp against Lizzie’s neck, her body shuddering as she came deep inside her wife.

They stayed like that for a long moment — skin on skin, hearts pounding, breath syncing slowly back to normal.

Lizzie eventually let out a shaky laugh. “So… still not done?”

Y/N kissed her shoulder, then her jaw, then her lips. “Not even close.”

Lizzie smirked lazily. “Then get some water. I want you again… but this time, I’m on top.”

Y/N chuckled softly against Lizzie’s skin, still trying to catch her breath. “You’re insatiable.”

Lizzie grinned, running a hand down her wife’s back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine. “You were gone for three weeks. That’s 21 nights without you. You do the math.”

She rolled them over smoothly, straddling Y/N’s waist, and sat up, hair tousled and falling in soft waves around her flushed face. The moonlight framed her like a painting, and Y/N could do nothing but look up at her in awe.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Y/N murmured, hands settling on Lizzie’s thighs.

“And you,” Lizzie whispered as she leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips, “are mine.”

Her mouth trailed lower — over Y/N’s jaw, her neck, her collarbone — leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that made Y/N shiver. She rocked her hips just enough to remind them both that Y/N hadn’t softened yet, and Lizzie smiled against her skin.

Y/N’s hands gripped her hips. “You’re playing a dangerous game, babe.”

“I know,” Lizzie whispered as she rose up again, guiding her wife inside her with practiced ease.

The moan that escaped them both was quiet but wrecked — full of need and the kind of relief that came from being home in each other’s bodies. Lizzie moved slowly at first, rolling her hips in a steady rhythm, her hands resting on Y/N’s chest for balance.

Y/N watched her, completely lost in the sight. “You feel like heaven.”

Lizzie leaned down, brushing her lips over Y/N’s again. “Then don’t stop worshipping me.”

Her movements quickened, a rhythm that grew more desperate as their bodies synced — gasps and soft curses filling the room. Y/N met her every motion with a thrust of her hips, hands now gripping Lizzie’s waist like she’d come undone without her.

It didn’t take long. The intensity built fast, the second round shorter, sharper. Lizzie cried out Y/N’s name as she came again, her body trembling as she collapsed against her wife.

Y/N followed seconds later, groaning into her shoulder, arms wrapped tight around her as she spilled inside her again.

They lay there in the aftermath, tangled together and breathless, skin slick with sweat and kisses.

Lizzie smiled lazily, cheek pressed to Y/N’s chest. “Okay… now I’m done.”

Y/N laughed softly and pulled the covers over them both. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

And in the quiet of their hotel suite — city lights flickering in the distance — they finally slept, tangled in each other, fully at peace.

***

---

Sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, casting a soft golden hue over the room. The quiet hum of the city outside barely reached them, muffled by the luxury hotel’s thick windows. Inside, all was calm — the only movement was the slow rise and fall of two bodies curled together under the covers.

Y/N stirred first, blinking open sleepy eyes to find herself wrapped in a familiar warmth. Lizzie was tucked tightly against her, head resting on her chest, one arm splayed possessively across Y/N’s stomach. Their legs were tangled, her bare skin pressed to Y/N’s in that effortless, intimate way that came only from years of loving someone deeply.

Y/N didn’t move at first — didn’t want to disturb the peace. She let herself feel: the warmth of Lizzie’s breath against her skin, the occasional twitch of her fingers as she dreamed, the scent of her still clinging to the sheets. She was home.

Lizzie murmured something incoherent and nuzzled in closer, her lips brushing the side of Y/N’s breast before she finally cracked open one eye. “Morning.”

Y/N smiled down at her. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Lizzie blinked up at her with a slow, lazy grin. “What time is it?”

“Does it matter?”

That got a soft laugh. Lizzie stretched, the movement making the sheets shift and reminding both of them just how little they were wearing. She didn’t move away though — just looked up at Y/N like she was the sun itself. “You always wake up this pretty?”

“Only when I’ve got you in my arms,” Y/N teased, brushing a bit of hair off Lizzie’s face.

Lizzie rolled her eyes fondly and kissed her collarbone. “Cheesy.”

“True,” Y/N murmured, dipping down to kiss her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips — soft, slow, and unhurried.

They stayed like that for a while, kissing in the gentle stillness, hands roaming in that sleepy, affectionate way — not with hunger this time, but comfort. Familiar. Needed.

Eventually, Lizzie pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s stay like this all morning.”

“No arguments here,” Y/N murmured, arms tightening around her. “Room service later?”

Lizzie smiled against her skin. “Later. Much later.”

She nestled back down, eyes fluttering shut again, and Y/N followed suit — not caring about alarms or plans or anything beyond the warmth of her wife, safe in her arms.

---

Leave your comments everybody!

[buckyalpine]

Chicken nuggies.

Crack thought with all the fluff. ALL the fluff. Maybe a tiny dash of angst at the start but it's to set the plot.

Everything that could have possibly gone wrong went sideways as soon as the mission started. The team was ambushed. Bucky was separated from everyone else. His trigger words blared through the speakers and there was nothing anyone could do to stop the soldier from awakening.

Worst of all, you were badly injured. Steve groaned in pain, struggling to pull himself up when he saw the solider lock his eyes on your limp form, taking long strides towards you with purpose.

That wasn't good.

"Tony-I-I need back up, y/n is-what the hell"

Steve blinked watching his friend pick you up with the utmost care, holding you securely in his arms. A hydra agent attempted to order him, only to be silenced with a knife thrown to the throat. The soldier made his way towards the exit with you along with a limping Steve trailing behind him.

"Buck-

"Быстрее" [move] he ordered, carrying you close to his chest and sitting in his designated on the spot on the jet. He didn't say a word as the others filed in, growling when Tony didn't start the engine up fast enough. No one dared look in your direction, not wanting to make the wrong move and happy that Bucky had busied himself with looking over your injuries, mumbling in Russian while letting his hand brush over your cheek.

As soon as the jet touched the ground, he was on his feet and carrying you over to the medbay, refusing to set you down until he saw a doctor ready to help. While it wasn't exactly protocol to have him in the operating room while the doctors worked, no one was interested in arguing back with him when he placed himself in a corner, watching intently. His blue eyes which were normally filled with warmth and softness were now stone cold, eyeing every single movement of what was being done to you, his gaze relaxing when the surgeon gave him a shaky thumbs up.

He sat by your side the entire time, gear still strapped to his body, watching the steady beep of your heart monitor while you slept, the rest of the team quietly waiting outside. Sam peered in, quickly retreating back when Bucky glowered at him, getting up and closing the door so you could rest. He and Steve continued to peep through the little glass window, immediately ducking when they could feel steel blue eyes watching him.

"Do we try and help or-

"I don't want to die yet, also based on what I'm seeing, y/n in the safest place she could be"

You sighed happily as you blinked awake, feeling hazy as if you were floating upon the softest of clouds. The room was bright and clean, you could have been in heaven for all you knew.

Or you were just high as a kite from all the pain killers.

Then you saw him beside you.

Such a gorgeous man.

Handsome.

One who gave you butterflies with shy smiles.

"Soldat" You giggled, reaching over to stroke his scruffy cheek, brushing your thumb over the scowl on his lips, "Hi" You admired his sharp jaw, idly tracing over his features while his mouth twitched into something of a smile, all his muscles finally relaxing seeing you awake.

You yawned, stretching yourself out like a kitten out before rolling over with a flop to face the very pretty man who was sitting at your bedside. Your admiration was cut short with the rumble of your tummy.

There was only one thing you wanted now.

"Soldat, I want chicken nuggies" You demanded, the growl of your stomach solidifying your request. He simply nodded, getting up and out of his seat, making his way over to the one place he knew you'd want your "nuggies" from.

"H-how may I h-help you" The Mc Donald's cashier stared at the numerous guns and knifes strapped to the infamous soldier, his metal arm pointing to a kids meal combo that came with a 6 piece nugget.

A little red box was placed in front of him at lightening speed but that wasn't good enough. He peered into the bag, frowning when he saw a toy that you already had. He grabbed it and placed it back onto the counter, staring at the trembling employee while they rummaged to find a new one, grabbing fistfuls and stuffing into the bag instead. The soldier nodded when he was given one you didn't have before, making his way back to ensure you were fed.

It didn't take long for the news outlets to catch on that the Winter Soldier was out buying Happy Meals.

*Tony's suit, Thors hammer, Steve's now broken shield and some gentle deprogramming later*

"Still want more nuggies" You murmured against Bucky's chest, still a little hazy while he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I'll always get you chicken nuggies, doll"

[accidentcache]

okokokokok so i immediately brainrotted after seeing the tags on @rueclfer 's post and honestly, why not have some self indulgent dad!keigo???? bye this was AUGH.

since your daughter was a year and a half old, she's been babbling nonstop. just like her father. she constantly talks, and keigo encourages it-- unfortunately. most nights it takes over an hour for her to go to bed because she wants to debrief to her dad about the day she's had, and then ask about his-- even if she doesn't listen to it.

by four years old, she was able to hold a steady gossip session with keigo every night.

korra is currently weaving inbetween the two of you while you make a joint effort to make dinner-- keigo had already told her twice to go back in the living room with her toys and whatever movie was on the television; but she was keen on staying right inbetween the both of you. you can hear his teeth grit before the third "korra." leaves his mouth.

your daughter is standing in front of the fridge, her blonde curls pulled into pigtails that have since been mussed from a day of play and naps. she's holding her duck plushie that keigo gifted her weeks ago tight against her body, chewing on a random plastic toy of hers-- she's in the way and she knows it, with the way she stares up at her father when he reaches for the handle.

"korra, baby, you need to move," keigo tries to be gentle, but it's clear he's starting to loose his paitence.

there's a brief silence, and then your daughter points to a random sticky note on the fridge and says, "keigo."

her pronunciation is way off. 'key-go' is what came out, but it's clear she tried purely based off reading what was in front of her. she looks proud of herself-- a wide toothy grin on her expression that contrasts heavily with keigo's frozen stature.

you're not sure what he's thinking. his hand is loose on the fridge handle, and you swore some of the color drained from his face.

"korra, give daddy a minute, yeah? let mommy get you a snack and watch the movie?"

keigo's hand releases from the handle and jolts like your voice pressed a reset button to his whole system. he watches you lead your daughter from the kitchen, but it's impossible to miss to confusion and concern laced in your gaze and expression as you round the corner, your eyes trained on him until you leave.

keigo's not against his real name as much anymore. sure, to the public he's still hawks, and he's the president of the commission and a war hero and all that-- but to you; he's your husband, the love of your life, the missing puzzle piece, your favorite piece of work-- keigo.

that's a name reserved only for you. a name he's had to get used to hearing again, and had to learn to like. and he loves the way you say his name. so sweetly, sometimes scolding-- when the two of you banter with each other-- (when you moan it) but it took him a while to come back around to it.

when you return back to the kitchen after getting korra situated, keigo sighs at the gentle touch of your hand against the small of his back. "'m sorry," he mumbles almost immediately.

"for what?"

"reacting like that," keigo sets the utensil in his hand down and places both of his hands palm down on the counter. he bows his head a little and chews on the inside of his lip before continuing. "i'm not upset with her."

"i didn't think you were," you respond hesitantly, rubbing soothing circles against his spine over the fabric of his shirt. after a couple beats of silence, you speak up again. "what're you thinkin'?"

keigo sighs again, but he's not tense as he was before. loose, relaxed-- comfortable. he picks up the knife he was using earlier and continues to chop the vegetables as he was. "i'm okay with it. key-go. eventually she'll learn to say it right."

the corner of your mouth lifts a bit. "and if she doesn't?" your voice is light, teasing.

"guess i'll be key-go along with keigo," he shrugs after the words leave his mouth, feigning nonchalance, but you can tell its genuine. he's okay with it.

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

[pichichuu]

Sweet Dreams

MDNI!

tw: somnophilia

m.list

the plush blanket wraps warmly around you as you come into consciousness, vaguely aware of the movement behind you. rolling over, you see him slowly rolling his hips into the bed, breaths heavy and slow in his slumber. the band of his boxers works itself down with every thrust, exposing the tip of his blushing cock. he looks so pretty, eyebrows knit together and eyelashes fluttering as soft moans tumble from his mouth.

you feel a tightness form between your thighs at the mere sight of him. gingerly, you lift the band of his boxers and wrap your hand around his length, letting him rock into you as you pull the fabric down. its weight is comforting in your hand as you duck under the covers, the air underneath thick with sweat and his scent.

you part your lips, taking his leaking tip into your mouth as he emits a low, pleasurable groan. careful not to wake him, you suck on the head of his cock, pausing only to dot kisses along the shaft. you slowly take more and more of him into your mouth, caressing the underside with your tongue. he twitches in your mouth as you suck. your fingers form a ring around the base, giving languid pumps to the inch you can't fit, while your free hand toys with his heavy balls, full and awaiting release. he shallowly thrusts into your mouth in his unconscious state, moans getting louder and louder as he nears his high.

he stirs, reaching his hand down towards his cock, and you take the opportunity to take his hand in yours. his eyes flutter open, lips parted mid-moan, and he entwines his fingers with yours. you take his last few inches into your mouth, savoring the comforting stretch in your throat. suppressing a gag, you suck him harder, working your tongue faster and faster as he bucks his hips into your mouth. he's shuddering and twitching uncontrollably, uttering heavenly whimpers and pleas to keep going, that he's s-sooooo clooose. with his free hand, he weaves nimble fingers between your hair, pushing your head towards him as he practically fucks into you, hips twitching frantically as he resists the urge to wreck your throat so early in the morning.

releasing his hand, you play with your clit, wet with your slick, as you try to relieve the painful tension that's been building in your fluttering cunt. he flexes his abs as he feels a tightening in his core, heavenly moans reverberating throughout the room as he brokenly wimpers that he's cumm-mingggg just seconds before you feel his sticky cum coat your mouth. you bob your head, sucking him through his high as he gives a few final weak thrusts, the grip on your hair weakening.

you look up at him, swallowing as he smiles down at you.

"good morning, beautiful"

GOJO, choso, nanami, sampo, xavier, RAFAYEL, higuruma, and my brain is blank so i'll be back with more soon :)

reblog with your favs!

m.list

[saltnsugarbear]

OKAY LAST ONE IM SORRY

“Oh fuck me, you’re learning so well, aren’t you?” "Open your legs for me, baby. I wanna see you."“Let’s find out what you like together, alright?” My whore self is thinking about inexperienced reader w/ experienced Carmy 🧎🏼‍♀️ ( also feel free to omit any of those, I know three is a lot)

word count: 1.5k, went a little crazy

content warnings: smut MDNI!!! oral (m!receiving), kissing, inexperienced reader <3

side note: okay fr last time, don't ask for bj fics ever again

To say you had a limited amount of sexual experiences, would be an understatement. You had less than limited, you had almost none.

Now, that's not to suggest Carmy had many, but he had a few more than you did. His list of sexual escapades was longer than yours so that made him, ultimately, the more experienced partner of the two of you.

So, when Carmy's hands start to travel to your waistband it's enough to give you pause, pulling back from the kiss to catch your breath. He trails after your mouth, placing kisses to the corner of your mouth and your cheek as you breathe heavily.

"Wha's wrong, baby?" Carmy mutters into your skin, his hands toying with the button and zipper of your pants. You hum softly, trying to collect your racing thoughts. It's not that you don't want to go all the way with him... You just don't know how.

"I don't.." You trail off. "I don't know, um... Well, y'know I never..."

"Oh, baby, hey," Carmy's alert in a moment, bringing a hand to your cheek.

"But I want to," You continue. "I really want to, with you, Carm.. I just don't know um... Don't know how.. Or like.. what'll feel good.."

"Hey, hey," Carmy holds your face gently, rubbing his thumb over your cheek as he holds your eyes. "Gonna find out what you like together, okay?"

His words are gentle as he suggests it, cradling your face so softly you can't help but lean into the touch. You let your gaze wander over him, taking him in. When your eyes land on the low tent in his sweatpants you can't help but tucking in your lower lip. Carmy hums softly at your expression, slowly following your gaze.

It's as if he doesn't realize it's his hard-on. Not until his eyes land on the half erection in his lap. The 'oh' that falls from his lips sounds puzzled, like he didn't know how that go there.

You can't help the snicker that falls from your lips, grinning at his slightly bemused expression.

"Sorry.." He mutters softly, making you giggle as you place kisses to the corner of his mouth and cheek.

"'S nice," you assure him, pressing several kisses to his lips before kissing his other cheek. You notice how he leans his face towards you when you pull away, giving him a last parting kiss.

"Can I um.." You duck your head down towards his crotch.

"Oh- You don't have to-" Carmy starts.

"I want to." You assure him, bringing your hand up to hold his cheek. "I want to, Carm. If that's okay.."

Carmy nods quickly as the words leave your mouth. "Yeah, of course, 's more than okay."

You grin at him before kissing him quickly. He can't help but chase your lips when you pull away, turning your gaze to his pants. Carmy leans back as he shoves down his sweatpants, helping you push them off his legs.

You give him another kiss, as a thank you. However this time he's quick to grab on, placing a hand gently along your jaw and taking control of the kiss. His enthusiasm makes you huff against his mouth, sliding down to the floor. His thighs are broad as you place your hands on them to steady yourself, leaning into him. The way he grinds his erection into your stomach feels almost instinctual and automatic, like he doesn't have to think about it.

"I've never uh..." You roll your eyes, it shouldn't be a surprise but it sounds dumb.

"It's very uh...." Carmy trails off. "It's very self explanatory?"

You huff, rolling your eyes as you settling down in front of him. The tent in his boxers makes your stomach twist, arousal making your core feel warm. You can't help but push up against the heel of your foot, hooking your fingers into his waistband. Carmy helps you by lifting his hips and pushing the elastic with his thumbs.

You can't help but inhale sharply when his cock slips free, ducking your head back. Carmy chokes above you, and you can see the flush working over his face when you look at him. His ears are bright red in the endearing way they do when he's embarrassed. It makes you chuckle, biting back your grin only a little.

"Carmy..." You whisper softly, staring transfixed where precum buds at his slit. He can't choke down the whine that escapes his throat. You glance up at him quickly, taking in the way he covers his mouth with his hand. A tic he had when he was particularly flustered.

You suppose it is self explanatory, following your own intuition and leaning forward to lick softly at his tip. He inhales sharply at the feeling, hips twitching in what must have been a restrained movement. Such a positive reaction encourages you to trace your tongue lower. You drag your tongue along the underside of his length, following the prominent vein there. Carmy's thighs flex on either side of your face, hips bowing back to arch his back off the couch.

You don't pay attention as you slip both arms under his thighs, bringing your left hand to rest on his hip and your right to rest along his thigh. You surprise yourself with how much of him you take into your mouth, tracing the underside and tip with your tongue as you pull back. The groan that leaves Carmy's mouth as you sink lower on him makes your heart flutter, glancing up at him with wide eyes as if you don't nearly have your nose buried in his pubic hair.

Carmy's thighs are half resting on your shoulders by now, half-lifted off the couch slightly as you push further to take him in your mouth.

"Oh, fuck me," Carmy whines, thighs tense where they sit. You hum, glancing up at him and rubbing softly at his hip. Carmen grunts above you at the vibrations from your throat, rutting his hips up a little and pushing further into your throat.

"You're- fuck- You're learning so well, aren't you?" Carmy pants out, glancing down at you. As some form of agreement, you grab for his hand, bringing it to rest with yours against his thigh. He exhales shakily at the motion as you pull back, running your tongue over his slit, holding his hips down against the couch.

"Oh, fuck-" Carmy chokes out above you, squeezing his thighs around your head. You can't help but squeal at the feeling, trying to tug his hips impossibly closer.

Carmy looks like a vision above you, chest rising and falling with his head falling back against the couch cushion. He's trying to form words, trying to tell you before he paints your fucking throat, but nothing comes together coherently. He's a mess of grunts and whines when you feel his release coat your tongue.

You pull back enough that just his tip is in your mouth, coaxing out all he will give you. His cum coats your tongue as you teeter him over the edge of overstimulation, groaning as you flick your tongue over his slit.

Carmy's thighs tighten around your head even more, keeping you in place as you watch how his hips buck up into your lips. His stomach is tense as he jerks upwards, muttering incoherent words under his breath and all you can do is watch.

When his thighs loosen, you let them fall back to the couch and pull off his dick. He exhales heavily as you rest back on your feet, catching your breath as you watch him come back together.

His hands are grabby as he reaches for you, pulling you up easily and putting you on the couch. Carmy trades spots with you instantly, settling on his knees in front of you. He places quick, soft kisses to your knees and calfs, thinking it'll coax you to open your legs for him.

"C'mon, open your legs f'me, baby," Carmy trails his hands up your thighs. "I want t'see ya.."

His words make your face flush, pausing and studying his pleading look. His eyes are all but begging you to open up to him. Without much further pleading, you slowly move your legs apart, letting him take in the wet patch on your underwear.

"Look at that..." He sighs, bringing one of his hands to trace his thumb over the spot. You can't help the whine that slips out of your mouth, biting down on your lower lip. "Got ya all worked up over suckin' my cock, huh?"

Your face feels impossibly hot, covering your cheeks with your hands as you watch him with a pout on your lips. "S'embarrassing.."

"Not embarrassing," Carmy shakes his head, looking up at you. One corner of his mouth quirks up, squishing his cheek when he speaks. "S'kind of hot.."

You huff slightly, leaning further into the couch cushions as Carmy hooks his thumbs in your waistband. He tugs softly, making you lift up your hips as he slides them off your legs.

"'S my turn to make you feel good.." Carmy's eyes have a light in them that let's you know you're in for a long night. "Jus' relax, baby..."

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Miss You✨

Summary: Lucifer can’t help but tease you with his sexy new outfit while you’re away; you decide he needs to be taught a lesson…

Yeah, that Valentine’s Day outfit got me barking like a dog, so I’m dragging you all back kicking and screaming!

Happy Father's Day ig, have fun fucking the devil!

Warnings: 18+, smut, sexting, teasing, masturbation, toys, orgasm denial, use of safe word, oral (f receiving), p in v, Lucifer is a bit of a brat

Ring ring ring

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you walked along the streets of Hell. Pulling it out, you saw Lucifer's adorable rubber duck icon pop up on the screen. You smiled and hit the answer button.

"Hey Luci, what's going on?" you answered cheerfully.

"Oh, you know, just waiting for my darling to return home to me," he sighed dramatically on the other side of the phone.

"Hon, it's only been an hour!" you scolded playfully. "I had to pick out something special for tomorrow, you know."

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day; one of Lucifer's favorite mortal holidays. The chocolates, the flowers, the romantic setting, everything about it excited the little devil! And of course, he always treated you to a special candlelit dinner, complete with dessert and champaign. But you knew Lucifer always looked forward to the end of the night; that time he gets to worship you as the goddess he saw you as.

This year, however, you decided you wanted to spice things up a bit. Which is why you made it a point to visit the Entertainment District which housed the best collection of sex apparel in the pride ring. Lucifer insisted on giving you anything you wanted, but new lingerie wasn't all that you were looking for; some new toys were definitely needed. It took a while to convince him since you knew he didn't like being left alone for too long, but you promised him that you would be as quick as you could. Nevertheless, that didn't seem to stop him from calling you up after only a short amount of time.

"I knoooowwwww," Lucifer groaned on the other end. "But I miss you! Is there any way I can convince you to come home sooner?"

His proposition intrigued you, so you decided to play along. "And how would you do that, I wonder."

You swear you could almost hear him smile. "Well, my dear, since you got to go out and look for a special outfit, I thought I would try my hand at creating one just for me! Gotta say, I'm pretty happy with it! Tight in all the right places!" You heard the static-filled snap of the fabric hit his skin as he spoke.

"Wait," you paused, moving yourself up against a building. "Are you wearing it right now?" He was doing this on purpose, you knew he was. He knew how to tempt you. And picturing Lucifer in something less than decent did nothing to help keep your composure out in public. You could already feel the heat in your face begin to rise.

Lucifer chuckled lightly. "Would you like a sneak peak, love?" Before you could answer, there was a buzzing on your phone. He already had a picture queued up just to tease you. You opened the message with a gasp, fumbling your phone in your hands. The picture showed of his exposed stomach with the rest of his body covered in a lovely black. It looked as though he shot this photo from the waist up because you could make out his forked tongue that was sticking out through his sharpened teeth, smiling wickedly at the camera.

Quickly, you closed the picture hoping no one else had seen what was on your screen. "You ass, I almost dropped my phone!"

"Hey, you're the one who opened it!" he shot back. "But I can tell you like it, isn't that right?"

He was right, of course he was! How could you not?! But he was getting too cocky for his own good. If he wanted to be a brat today, you had no trouble giving him exactly what he wanted. Even if it meant cutting your outing a little bit short. You were going to surprise him with his favorite chocolate candies, but perhaps you could get them after you taught him a lesson.

"I'll be home in 15 minutes," you responded in a hushed tone, trying your best not to draw the attention of others. "If you aren't handcuffed to that bed by the time I'm back, you're gonna be in for it."

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Lucifer murmured, sending shivers down your spine. What a fucking tease, but God, did you love him.

“You have 14 minutes now,” was all you said before hanging up the phone as you pushed yourself away from the wall and began to walk back towards the Morningstar mansion, paying no attention to the onlookers who noticed your brisk pace as you passed them. There was someone who needed to be put in his place.

By the time you made it back to his place, you still hadn't decided how you were going to approach him. On the one hand, he was being a brat, but he was being a brat on purpose. It's like he wanted to know how many buttons of yours he could push. But on the other hand, you knew he couldn't be left by himself for an extended period of time. Even an hour seemed to be a bit of a struggle. Either way, you weren't upset, far from it. Spending any amount of time with Lucifer brought you joy.

You opened the door to his bedroom and placed your shopping bags on the vanity, not fully aware of your surroundings before you spoke. "I'm back! Okay, Lucifer, let me see this snazzy little outfit you-" You lost your voice when your eyes finally landed on the man shackled to the bedframe. Well, half-shackled. One hand was cuffed while the other laid across his exposed stomach. The innocent yet shit eating grin he gave you felt like a flashbang. Oh, this man was going to pay.

"Hi, honey," he greeted playfully, wiggling his fingers as he waved.

You took a deep breath in, trying to quiet the very loud voice in your head that begged you to pounce on him. "Is there a reason you have a free hand?" you spoke sternly, doing your best to keep up the disappointed facade.

"What do you mean?" he tilted his head, "How could I possibly handcuff both of my wrists by myself!" Both you and him knew damn well he could do so easily, he was an angel for Heaven's sake! He was magic incarnate.

If this is how he wanted to play, then it was game on.

You took a few steps closer, softening the scowl you had plastered on your face just a minute ago. "Hmm, guess you're right," you falsely agreed. You stood at the side of his bed, running your hand down his stomach, stopping just above his crotch. You could tell from a quick glance that he was already worked up in anticipation. "Eager already, are we?"

Lucifer laughed cautiously. It seems as though he hadn't expected the response you'd given. Before he could muster up an answer, you threw your one leg over his body, perfectly straddling him. A soft gasp escaped the angel as you began to shift your hips along his clothed length. His free hand found your hip, helping you steady yourself as your heated core began to rile him up even further. "I-I have to say, sweetie," Lucifer spoke up at last, "you're a lot gentler t-than I thought you might be."

You smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his parted lips, removing his hat in the process. "Oh Luci, I just want to give you everything you deserve." Your lips left his as you began to trail kisses down his pale neck and collar bone, earning soft whimpers from the man beneath you. His hips stated to match your movements as he desperately used his body to beg for more friction, more contact. He was putty in your hands and you've barely begun. "You want more, my sweet boy? I can feel how hard you are."

"Y-Yes," he babbled, "P-Please..."

You hummed contently, shifting your body down further to straddle his legs. You reached for the hem of his pants and pulled them down past his waist lethargically, savoring the sight of exposing each inch of his engorged member. You pulled the fabric to his knees and moved your face inches away from his twitching cock. Lucifer nearly whined since you were taking longer than normal to touch him. You pressed a quick kiss to his leaking tip before crawling back up his body once more. Your smile turned wicked as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his ear. "I would love to give you more, Lucifer," you whispered teasingly, "but where's the fun in that?" Immediately, you removed yourself from the bed and sauntered over to where you had left your shopping bags.

"W-What?" the poor man sobbed.

"Aww, baby," you cooed cruelly, "you didn't think I was going to give in so easily, did you? If you don't want to listen to me, why would you think I would reward such behavior?" You watched as Lucifer gulped at your words that were laced with a certain intensity he was not used to. "And besides, you have a free hand, don't you? I suggest you use it, because I'm not going to touch you anymore until you've been properly punished. Do you understand?"

Lucifer's hand visibly trembled as he reached for his neglected cock, gripping it timidly as he began to rock his hand back and forth. Small cries emanated from the bed, but you weren't going to back down. You turned away from your saddened lover and began to rummage through your things for the brand-new lingerie set you had purchased; the white thin lacy fabric with red accents that left little to the imagination.

"Close your eyes," you commanded, holding back a smile as you watched your lover struggle. "It's indecent to watch a lady change." You could have easily locked yourself in the bathroom to throw on the new outfit, but torturing Lucifer by withholding your gorgeous form from him was much more entertaining.

"Love, p-please," Lucifer began to beg. "You're teasing me too much..."

"You know the safe word, Luci," you responded calmly, refusing to give him an inch. "What color?"

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Green."

He was perfectly fine. The color system was the perfect way to gauge each other's boundaries, all discussed previously, of course. The man groaned as his hand continued to pump himself furiously, his precum now leaking over his darkened hand. "Ah, ah, not too fast now," you reprimanded. "Can't have you have too much fun without me." Lucifer whined but complied, slowing his movements at your command. "Now, be a good boy and close your eyes." He nodded and did as you asked, watching his eyes scrunched tight. You made quick work of discarding your dress, making sure to keep an eye on the ravenous man on the bed. You slipped into your lingerie with ease, giving yourself a quick glance over in the vanity mirror. Lucifer's colors looked good on you.

You began to go through the other bag and took out some of the new toys you had purchased on your very short outing, a small vibrating bullet and a brand-new vibrating flesh light. You sauntered over to Lucifer, who was behaving and keeping his eyes closed for you. You ran your hand gently down his flushed face before pressing a soft kiss to his needy lips. He forced his head up as much as he could, desperate to deepen this kiss. But you pulled away way to quickly to leave him satisfied. "Greedy," you mocked playfully. "Keep your eyes closed, I'm almost done."

You pulled a small bottle of lube from your nightstand, dabbing a generous portion to your fingers. You heard Lucifer's breath quicken as he no doubt realized what you were about to do. "H-Honey?" he squeaked.

"Relax," you chuckled as you made your way to the foot of the bed, placing your free hand on his pants and pushing them even further down to rest as his ankles. Lucifer's hand continued to keep a steady pace around his shaft even though your ministrations were pushing him closer and closer to the point of no return. "You're being so good for me," you praised. "Lift your legs for me. Don't stop stroking." Lucifer complied, giving you easy access to complete remove the bottom half of his special outfit, leaving the lower half of him completely exposed now.

"S-Sweetie, please..." he groveled, "Please touch me...I-I'm sorry I teased you! I'll do anything! A-Anything you want!" The strain in his voice was nothing short of tantalizing. Part of you wanted to end his torment, to satisfy your own desires as it became increasingly hard to ignore the pulsing between your own legs. But the other, more sadistic side of you was drowning out any sympathy you had for the little devil.

"Spread your legs," your ordered. "We've hardly begun. And I'm going to make sure you learn your lesson."

Slowly but surely, the devil's legs fell apart now fully exposing himself to you. You pressed your fingers against his tight hole before lethargically working them inside. Lucifer's strangled yelps only prodded you further, delighted by the needy sounds that escaped his throat. After a minute or two of preparation provided b your digits, you reached for the small vibrator, switching it on the lowest setting.

Lucifer gasped.

"O-Oh God, no..." the angel lamented, his eyes still closed. The soft sounds of the buzzing toy must have tipped him off. "My love, you're not going to-"

"Oh, but I am," you interrupted. "Now stay still, Luci."

“B-But…”

“Shh, behave now. I think it’s about time you started listening to me.”

You slipped your fingers out of him without warning and quickly replaced them with the bullet, pushing it inside of Lucifer's tight ass to the hilt. The man began to thrash on the bed, his hips jerking every which way from the new stimulation he was receiving. "Calm down, sweetie" you instructed, reveling in the way he was responding to your antics, "you can remove your hand, but keep your eyes closed. I have one more surprise for you." Your words echoed in his mind as more of a threat than a surprise.

Babbling out a less the coherent response, Lucifer's hand immediately gripped the bed sheets as he attempted to keep himself as still as he could. You hummed in approval, sneaking a quick glance at his dripping cock; precum now coating his stomach. He was was on the verge of losing control, you both knew it. But you weren't quite done with him just yet. You walked over to the side of the bed with flesh light in one hand as the other reached for his neglected dick. A breathless scream erupted from your lover as soon as you touched him. You pumped him a few times before lining up his cock with the other new toy. You forced the flesh light down his length slowly until it enveloped him completely.

"G-GAAAAHHH," Lucifer cried out in a state of overwhelming pleasure that teetered on pain. Almost at a torturous pace, you stroked the flesh light up and down as you watched Lucifer writhe on the mattress below you.

“How’s my little pet doing?” you asked, your voice laced with a sadistic tone.

Lucifer shook his head as he desperately tried to regain control of his body. “I-I gaaahhhh f-ffffuuaahhh…t-too much…”

“Aww, poor baby," you teased, "Do you want to cum, Lucifer?”

“Mm-hmm…” he whimpered.

You halted your movements immediately as Lucifer wailed at the loss of friction. “Hmm, let me rephrase…do you think you DESERVE to cum?”

“N-No…” Lucifer swallowed hard as he gasped for air.

Your hand began to move once again, pleased with his answer. “Glad that we’re on the same page, love. Brats shouldn’t get to cum, should they?”

Oh, the way Lucifer squirmed was something to behold. If you could replay this moment in your head for the rest of time, you would do so in a heartbeat. He was losing himself and it was all thanks to you. His demonic horns burst from his forehead as his tail found its way around your thigh. You had a thought of reprimanding him for touching you without your permission but putting him in this state was already more than enough punishment. Plus, you were starting to feel neglected as it was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the pulsing between your legs. His touch was a more than welcomed one.

“Y-You’re lucky I’m even doing this f-for you," you scolded, small stutters slipping through your dominant facade. "Given how you’ve acted today, teasing me while I’m out in public, making me come home early from my day out, not listening to my simple instructions…" You took your free hand and held Lucifer's chin in your fingers. "Now, what do you say?”

“T-Thank you, l-love…," the angel stuttered in response. "Thank you s-so much…you’re too g-good to me…”

“Good boy."

Lucifer nearly went limp from your praise. His babbling was incoherent now. There was a shift, but you couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was. When you looked at him, it was as though he wasn't all there.

"Color, Luci?" you asked. No response. At least, none that you could understand. But you did feel his tail tighten even more around you, to the point where you know it would bruise later.

Bad sign...

Your motions slowed as you waited for his answer. "Lucifer, can you give me a color?" Still nothing. Your heart sank when you realized he was in no condition to continue. Your hand completely stopped, removing the flesh light from him and tossing it on the mattress followed quickly by the vibrating bullet. His body continued to tremble as your hands flew to his face, wiping the excessive drool that spilled from his mouth. "Hey, Lucifer, honey, look at me. I need you to open your eyes for me now. Please..."

Finally, a sign of life. His eyes squinted open after having them shut for so long. It was hard to see, but you could tell his eyes were glassy. "H-Honey?..." Lucifer finally managed to speak, his tail at last loosening the grip it had on your thigh.

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief as one of your hands removed the strands of hair from his sweat covered face. "Shh, it's alright. It's okay. You scared me there for a minute. Seemed like you fell too far."

" 'M sorry..." he blubbered.

"Hey hey hey," you scolded softly, "none of that. You did nothing wrong. Are you able to give me a color?"

Lucifer sniffled, a single tear rolling down his cheek which you easily wiped away. "Red..."

"Okay," you breathed, your worry finally starting to dwindle. "We're done." You kissed his forehead before heading to the night stand to retrieve the key the unlocked his restraints. His hand feel to the bed with a thump. You picked it up and ran your fingers over his darkened skin. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm going to get you some water. Just relax for me. You did very well, Luci. Very well."

As you promised, you returned quickly with his drink along with a towel you doused with some cold water. Lucifer laid on the bed nearly lifelessly, his horns and tail had vanished as well. But at least his breathing was steady. You handed him the cold glass as he gave you a soft smile. But you noticed a twinge of sadness in his expression; you knew he still felt guilty about ending the session early. But what mattered to you was that he was alright, no matter what he would say otherwise. He gulped the water rapidly as you ran the cool towel across his forehead.

"Let's get this off of you, shall we?" You tugged at the black jacket that still remained. Lucifer nodded and let you remove the coat. "You must have been overheating, huh?"

He chuckled lightly. "Just a little. Maybe black wasn't the best color choice."

"You look really good in black, though," you teased, tunning the towel down his exposed chest. He sighed deeply as he watched you through half-lidded eyes.

"Thank you, love," Lucifer spoke softly as he put the empty glass on the night stand. "You're too good to me. I-I'm really sorry about-"

"None of that," you responded hastily, "Lucifer, you don't need to apologize for anything. If you're not having a good time, then neither am I. It's as simple as that. You did nothing wrong."

Lucifer sighed. No matter what you said, it wasn't going to change how he felt, even though you wish it did.

"It wasn't that it didn't feel good," he said, finally sitting up  "it did, it felt amazing! I just...spaced out, I guess. I mean, really spaced out. That's what scared me..." He pushed his knees to his just, resting his head on his arms. "But I know you're disappointed..."

You scooted over beside him and gave a tender kiss to the side of his temple. "I'm never disappointed when it comes to you, Luci. Never. I-MMPH!"

Your words were cut short by Lucifer's lips on yours. He dragged his tongue languidly across your bottom lip, begging for permission. And you happily granted him access. The way he explored your mouth distracted you enough to where you didn't even notice his hands grabbing a hold of your hips. You were hoisted into his lap before you could protest, earning a surprised squeak from you. Lucifer pulled away and leaned his forehead into yours as you both tried to catch your breath.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he praised, his fingers tracing the lacy hem of your panties, "especially in my colors. And to think you deprived me of this, now that was the real punishment." It was only then that he noticed the small slit in your garment that gave him free access to your needy core. "And what's this?" His digits traveled south, but his hand stopped just before making contact. "May I?"

You let out a small sigh. "Are you sure?"

Lucifer responded by pressing a chaste kiss to your supple lips. "You spent so much time taking care of me today. Let me take care of you now."

You bit down on your lip and relented to his request. There was no hesitation with his fingers after that as they quickly found their way your lower lips, already soaked in anticipation. You sucked in a deep breath when he finally made contact, goosebumps littering your body as he touched you where you needed him most. Your head fell on his shoulder within a matter of seconds. He knew everything about you and your body; it was child's play getting you to such a desperate state.

"So wet already and I'm only now touching you." You could hear the smugness in his words as he spoke. Truly the sin of pride. "Does torturing me turn you on this much, my darling?"

"Y-you know, f-fuck..." you tried to speak through your gasps, "you know I w-wasn't trying to t-torture you."

"I know you weren't" he cooed, his thumb now running gentle circles against your clit. Your breathing became rigid and your heart felt like it was going to burst from your ribcage. Your little whines only egged him on further, feeling him push two fingers into your aching hole. The air caught in your throat as he began thrusting the in and out of you a slow pace. "You feel so good, so warm. God, I could spend the rest of the day like this."

And you'd let him. He knew this. But straddling his lap and feeling his hard cock pressed against you did not make it easy. But you'd never push him for more, not after the state he was just in moments before. Not unless he-

"I want you," he pleaded. "Please, love..."

"Lucifer..." You knew what he was doing. He wanted to make up for what happened. Not that you didn't believe he didn't want you, in fact, he probably wanted you more now than ever before. He needed you, starving for you, if  the way his body reacted was any indication.

"Green," he murmured in your ear. You lifted your head and looked into his soft yellow eyes. "Green," he repeated. "Please..."

The last of your resolve faded away, now shifting your body to where your soaked folds teased the head of his cock. You both moaned in unison as you sunk yourself down his shaft, taking him to the hilt. Fuck, did he feel good, your neediness at last being satiated. The joy on Lucifer's face was unmistakable, elated to finally feel you after so long.

"You're still alright?" you asked still trying to remember how to breathe properly. The way he felt was dizzying, no matter how many times you've felt his cock buried deep inside you. It was a constant battle to stay conscious.

"More than alright," he laughed lightly, "now that it's just you and me. No toys, no games, just...you. All I ever need is you. N-Not that I don't enjoy the toys o-or the games! I like them! I-I just mean-"

"Lucifer!" you interrupted.

He cheeks flushed a soft tint of yellow. "I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

"Just a bit." You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned in for a deep kiss. "Now be a good boy and let me fuck you."

Lucifer did a motion with his hand, simulating zipping his lips closed. He chuckled as you started shifting your hips. That non-existent zipper didn't last very long as soft moans and whimpers began to pour out from Lucifer. The man gripped your waist, steading you as you picked up the pace. Riding him was one of your favorite ways to bring him pleasure, because you were in control. Of course, Lucifer could more than easily overpower you at any given point and have his way with you if he wanted. But he didn't. He was letting you use him, and he loved every second of it.

"You're s-so good for me, Luci," you praised, your body slamming itself up and down on his thick cock. "You m-make me feel so good. Tell me what y-you want, baby."

"I-I...fffffuck..." he stammered out. His mouth latched onto your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your tender skin. He tried his best not to bite down too hard, but you loved when he left marks on you. He let go, his breathing becoming more and more staggered. "W-Wanna fill you...fuck, PLEASE...need to cum...s-so close, I-I can't..."

You were close yourself. Having Hell's most powerful being at your mercy and begging to cum filled you with such unholy desire that your body had no power to deny him. "I'm close too, Luci. I just n-need you to do one thing f-for...shhhit...for me."

"Anything! Anything for you!" he cried out. He was losing himself and it wouldn't be long before he reached the point of no return.

You smiled and pressed your lips to his ear. "Fill me, Lucifer."

That was all he needed.

He cried out your name in pure bliss as he finally came, filling you with his hot seed. At this point, your body was not moving on its own. Rather, Lucifer was using it for himself, making sure you finished with him. His actions had you barreling towards your own orgasm, your pussy clenching on his cock that continued to pour more and more cum into your needy hole. You could feel it leaking it out of you after a few more moments, sliding down your inner thighs and pooling onto his lap. The poor thing was denied for so long today, he had more than enough to fulfill your request. At last, the two of you stopped moving altogether, your head's resting on each other's shoulders as you both caught your breath.

"Lucifer?" you whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

Lucifer picked his head up, his half-lidded eyes felt as though they were peering directly into your soul. "I love you more."

You scoffed jokingly. "The nerve, sir! I don't think you can just-H-HEY!"

Before you could rebuttal, Lucifer has pulled you from his lap, shifting his body down in the process so that your full cunt was inches away from his ravenous mouth.

"What the hell are you doing?!" you asked, your flustered voice making Lucifer grin mischievously.

"Cleaning you up," he replied before his lips met your clit without warning. The near scream that escaped from you echoed throughout the room. Lucifer was insatiable. You couldn't fight back even if you wanted to, not with the way his clawed hands dug into your hips to keep you in place. Through your teary eyes, you watched as he devoured you as well as the mixed fluids of both of your cum.

You bit down on your lip trying to keep the little composure you had left. "Y-You...GOD-...why do you a-always have to one up me?" His forked tongue slithered across your tasty cunt, making sure not a drop  of you or him was left.

He smiled up at you, peppering kisses along your thighs. "I'm the sin of pride for a reason, dear. Can't have anyone out do me. Not even you." His tongue felt incredible inside you, hitting that little bundle of nerves that he knew drove you crazy.

"But I wanted t-to be full!" you pouted.

"Well then," he chucked, his lips ghosting your clit once more "I guess I'll just have to fill you again. Can't have my pretty girl empty now, can we?"

You spent the rest of the night being worshipped by the King of Hell in every sense of the word; truly it was the best Valentine's Day a girl could ask for.

****

You can stone me to death, it's fine, this shouldn't have taken 4 months...

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[starshideurfics]

Little Steve who gets lost on a shopping trip in Chicago once. He’s bored and wanders towards a window display while his mommy is at the perfume counter, everything is so neat and perfectly in place. By the time he turns around, he can’t see his mommy anywhere.

Steve takes a deep breath and starts walking, ready to go looking for her, only to realize just how big the department store is. He’s overwhelmed and ducks into the middle of a clothing rack, curling up into a little ball, his lip wobbling as he makes peace with the fact he will have to live at the department store. He knows there’s food there because they already had lunch, and they walked past a whole department full of candy. There are little beds in the home department that will be just the right size for him, even if Mommy always says he shouldn’t climb on them and not to embarrass her. There’s even a giant teddy bear in the toy department, so really, living here won’t be so bad!

“Steve! Stevie! Oh my god! Steven!”

Steve perks up. That’s his mommy. He crawls out from under the rack, through a curtain of suit coats.

“Mommy!” He runs to her and she crouches down to pull him into her arms.

She cries as she holds him and apologizes, words more for herself than for Steve. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I thought you were right next to me. Oh god! What if something had happened to you?”

He gets a new toy truck, a nice one with working doors, and Mommy holds his hand the rest of the trip. They get ice cream. It’s the best day ever, and Steve was only scared for a minute.

A month later, Steve is bored at home. Daddy is in his office and Mommy is on the phone.

Every time he tries to talk to Mommy she says, “Not now, Steve. Mommy’s busy.” Daddy’s office door is locked.

So, Steve decides to run away. If he’s missing, Mommy will want to find him and hold him close. He puts on his shoes, carefully tying the bows on his laces, and leaves.

The sliding door into the backyard is quiet as he closes it behind himself, and he sets off with a determined gait.

Steve makes it far enough into the woods that he can’t see his house anymore. Then far enough that he comes out on a field that he doesn’t recognize. Another little boy is in the field, very focused as he stares at a patch of clover. “What are you doing?” Steve asks as he approaches.

“Catching moths!” The boy points to an open mason jar with leaves and twigs inside, then to the clover, a handful of white and yellow moths among the plants. He smiles at Steve, a gap where one of his baby teeth has already fallen out, then turns back to the clover, taking slow steps and crouching, trapping a moth between his cupped hands. “Can you grab the jar?”

Steve does, holding it carefully as the older boy places the moth inside, holding a hand over the jar’s mouth. “Thanks! My name’s Eddie, what’s yours?”

“Steve.”

“Wanna help me catch some more?”

“Yeah!”

Together, the boys catch a few more moths (Eddie catches all of them, Steve keeps scaring them by moving too fast). Eddie puts them in the jar, closing the lid, holes already punched in the metal, and they watch the little insects walk along the twigs and languidly flap their wings. Then Eddie unscrews the lid, giggling as the moths fly away.

“Why’d you do that? We worked so hard!”

“Moths can’t live in jars. Mama always says I can look but I can’t keep ‘em,” Eddie answers with a smile. Then Steve’s stomach growls loudly, and Eddie looks up to see how low the sun already is in the sky. “I’m hungry too. It’s almost dinner time, so we should head home.”

“I don’t know how to get home,” Steve says softly, suddenly realizing he got pretty turned around in the woods and home could be anywhere.

Eddie takes Steve’s hand. “That’s okay, you can come with me!” Eddie knows exactly what to do, leading Steve with all the confidence of a six-year-old, ready to start 1st grade next month. They quickly arrive at the trailer park, Eddie knocking at a door before walking straight inside, tugging Steve after him. “Uncle Wayne!”

“Hey there, Bug, who’s your friend?” Eddie’s uncle is tall, with kind eyes. Even if Eddie hadn’t brought him there, Steve’s pretty sure he would like Uncle Wayne.

“This is Steve.”

“Steve’s folks know where he is?”

“He doesn’t know how to get home.”

“Ah, shhh—” Wayne winces, cuts himself short, and Steve’s pretty sure he was gonna say a bad word. “Steve, do ya know your phone number?” Wayne asks, crouching down to be eye-level with the boys.

“No…” That’s a lie. But he needs to make sure Mommy and Daddy are worried about him. If he gets sent home too soon, they’ll just be mad.

“Your address?”

“No.”

“How about your last name?”

Steve just shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes. He had so much fun with Eddie, and now everything is falling apart. He should have stayed home…

Wayne ruffles his hair. “It’ll be okay, kiddo. We’ll get you home.” Steve’s stomach growls again. “How about we have a snack? Everything looks better on a full stomach.”

Eddie is still holding Steve’s hand, and brings him over to the little table, letting go so they can climb onto chairs. Wayne gives them chocolate-covered mini donuts and orange soda, asking them about their afternoon, Eddie doing most of the talking.

Then the phone rings, and Wayne answers. “No, he’s here, Bets, Eddie’s with me. — What?” He turns to look at the boys, staring at Steve, before continuing, “Nope, you saved me some trouble. You know Eddie, he picked up a stray. — Pretty sure it is. Yep, I’ll drop Eddie off after.” He hangs up, smiling again. “Hey, Steve, I think I know how to get you home now, so don’t you worry.”

Wayne loads the boys into his truck. He drives the backroads, quickly arriving outside Steve’s house, his mommy throwing open the door when she notices their arrival. “Thank you,” Steve says quickly, scrambling out of the truck and running to his mother.

She holds him close and cries, yells her thanks. Steve waves goodbye to Eddie as he is carried inside. Mommy kisses his hair and tells him he isn’t allowed to go outside without telling her, that he scared her half to death.

Steve just hides his face against her shoulder, snuggling close.

When Daddy gets home he yells, scolds Steve for causing so much trouble, for scaring Mommy and making them call the police. He gets a spanking before be sent to his room for the night.

Steve never runs away again.

[earthlyangelbby]

Hii! Your writing is so cute 😭 idk if you take requests but could we get Eddie x reader when she plays her secondary music taste? Like she enjoys mainly metal, but then she starts playing The Smiths and The Cranberries, and Eddie's a little bit caught off guard because he didn't know she liked much other music? Tysm, and I'm excited to see what you do with this!! 🤍

Words Count: 565 Warnings: None just fluff :) A/N: Oh my god !This is such an honor! thank you for the request!! Feel free to send stuff my way I'll try to come up with something:) Come out of the shadows dear anon so I can kiss you! THAT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME!!!! I did my due diligence and listened to the smiths and the cranberries to prepare for this ask! I got this immediately as you sent it and heres what I came up with.

You’re lying on Eddie’s bed, your mixtape low in the background as The Smiths fill the room with that bittersweet sway. Eddie just sat beside you, one arm slung lazily across your back, fingers toying with a strand of your hair.

“I had no idea you were a Morrissey girl,” he says with a lopsided grin, kissing your temple gently. “Hiding your gloomy British side from me?”

You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Not hiding. Just… not leading with it.”

He leans back dramatically, hands clasped to his chest, and in a painfully accurate Morrissey moan, croons “I would go out tonight… but I haven’t got a stitch to weaaaaar…”

You groan. “Oh my god. Stop.”

He grins, not stopping. “This man said it's gruesome that someone so handsome should ca-”

“Eddie!” you smack him with a pillow, half-annoyed and half-laughing. “You’re too good at that, and it’s making me mad.”

“Oh, don’t be jealous, sweetheart,” he teases, laughing as he ducks another swat. “If I start quiffing my hair and whining about existential loneliness, you’ll dump me for a real Brit, won’t you?”

“Keep it up and I will.”

He cackles, then throws his arms around you and pulls you close. “Please, I’m way too hairy to be Morrissey.”

Before you can fire back, the tape clicks and the opening to “Dreams” by The Cranberries floats into the air. The mood shifts instantly lighter, sweeter. Eddie stills, glancing at the stereo.

“Ooh,” he says, nodding along. “See, this is more my speed. They’ve still got a killer drummer. And her voice?” He closes his eyes for a second, appreciating. “Yeah. That’s real nice. I’ll take an Irish woman beautifully singing her heart out over a whiny British guy any day.”

You lean into his shoulder, a little shy. “The Song. Kinda reminds me of you.”

He looks down, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nod slowly. “You’re kind of my dream, Eddie.”

His grin fades into something softer, more fragile around the edges. He leans in and kisses you, slow and warm, his hand curling into your hair.

When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours. “I like this side of you,” he says. “Your music. Your mush. All of it. Makes you all sweet and cuddly.”

You go quiet, heart tripping over itself in your chest.

He just smiles, thumb brushing your cheek. “Even if your music taste makes me feel like I need to wear eyeliner and sulk on a rainy train platform.”

You groan again, but you’re laughing as you curl into him, the both of you wrapped up in soft music, warm limbs, and something that feels a lot like falling. After a moment, you murmur, “So… if this music makes me all mushy and dreamy… what does our usual stuff make me?”

Eddie huffs a soft laugh, eyes flicking to yours with a spark. “Oh, easy. Violent. A little mean. You get that look in your eye like you’d punch God if he looked at you wrong.”

You snort, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “And you like that?”

He kisses the top of your head. “Hell yeah, I do. Sweetheart, I like all your flavors. Soft, angry, spooky, weepy, dreamy. Bring 'em all.”

You hum, eyes fluttering closed as you melt deeper into him. “You’re such a sap.”

He grins against your hair. “Takes one to love one.”

Thanks for reading :^)

[fanficsat12am]

The Prince and the Handmaiden

Born of blood and forbidden longing, the red anemone blooms in Ithaca—this time within a handmaiden who was never meant to love a crown-bound prince. wc: 2.7k warnings: mentions of hanahaki disease, blood and death credits of the art goes to the wonderful @duvetbox and thank you once again to @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️

Telemachus pulls you along by the hand, his hold tightening as you both take another turn in the winding forest. You duck, narrowly missing a branch to the face.

“My prince, where are we going? Your mother will be worried sick!” Despite your words, his pace doesn’t falter.

“We're almost there! Just a bit more” he calls over his shoulder, breath hitching with excitement.

You were a bit hesitant when the young prince eagerly came to you as you were about to clean the queen’s quarters. You had lived within the palace walls for as long as you could remember, having helped your mother tend to the queen as chief handmaiden before her passing. From an early age, you had grown familiar with the Prince of Ithaca, watching from afar as he grew from a boy into the man he was today. He was kind—always offering you a smile when your paths crossed, never failing to greet you warmly. Often, you would sneak glances at him, and sometimes, you caught him staring back at you.

As one of the queen’s loyal handmaidens, you knew your duties came first. But with that all-too-familiar spark in his eyes, how could you bring yourself to refuse him? And so, here you are now, weaving through trees and vines, chasing a secret destination he has yet to reveal.

He suddenly halts, letting out a soft grunt as you bump into the back of his chlamys.

“We’re here…” he heaves, a little breathless.

You peek over his shoulder and gasp. In front of you lies a field of red anemones, blooming wild from edge to edge. You walk closer and watch as they sway with the wind, as if dancing just for the two of you. Kneeling down, you take one into your hands, admiring its delicate petals.

“It’s beautiful, My lord,” you whisper, awestruck.

The boy grins, “Please, Telemachus will suffice” he says, settling onto the grass. “I found it by chance. The world was too loud… I came here seeking stillness. But when I saw the flowers, I thought—what is beauty, if not shared?” 

He pats the ground beside him, beckoning you to sit. You pause, still uncertain, but your feet move before your mind can protest. For a moment, you both sit in silence, relishing the cold breath of the wind and the hush of leaves overhead.

The sunset’s glow falls upon you and only now do you truly take in the boy's form. He was carved in the shape of kings and wanderers — sun-warmed skin, dark curls tousled by salt winds, and eyes that held both storms and gentleness. To look at him too long was to forget yourself. 

“My apologies for taking you away from the palace, Despoina (Y/N). I promise I shall speak with my mother, should she grow concerned. I simply… wished for a moment for us, away from watchful eyes and endless duties.”

You gasp softly. “There is no need for such titles, Prince Telemachus. It is of too much regard for a handmaiden such as myself. And it is my honour and purpose to serve the crown… including the one who may one day wear it.

A small laugh slips from the prince’s lips. “My mother taught me to see all as equals. You see yourself as only my mother’s handmaiden, to me you are the closest thing I have to a friend.”

You toy with the hem of your chiton, fingers restless as the hush returns between you.

After a beat, he speaks again, quieter this time—like he’s not just talking to you, but letting something slip out of him.

“You have a habit, I’ve noticed — when your mind wanders, your fingers weave and tug at the very hem where the thread begins to fray.”

Your fingers still. You blink.

He notices.

“Forgive me,” he says, a little sheepish now. “I didn't mean to…”

You shake your head slowly. “I just didn’t think…”

“That I noticed?” he finishes.

Your breath catches.

“You were always there,” he says, eyes fixed not on the flowers, but on you. “At my mother’s side. Quiet. Graceful. But not unseen.”

He plucks a red anemone, twirling the stem slowly between his fingers.

“You’d smile at the younger girls when they were afraid. You’d smooth the queen’s cloak before she entered the hall. I watched you carry more weight than any girl should have to. And still… you never faltered.”

His voice is barely above a whisper now. 

“We are two souls born of the same loom, merely woven on opposite ends”

The breeze catches your hair and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I did not think my name was known to you,” you murmur, voice fragile like the petal he holds.

He looks at you then with a small smile, eyes lit like the fading sky.

“You are like a candle in a dark room. Not loud, but impossible to ignore…”

You felt your cheeks grow warm, breaking your gaze. 

“It’s growing dark. We should get back to the palace” Rising and brushing the grass from his chlamys, he offers you his hand, palm open, gentle.

You hesitate just a breath, then place your hand in his. His fingers curl around yours—not tight, but warm. Familiar. As if this wasn’t the first time… and wouldn’t be the last.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you murmur as he pulls you up, your voice barely above the rustle of the wind.

He holds your gaze for a second too long.

You look away, heart thudding.

As the two of you walk back through the forest path, your fingers brush now and then—but neither of you pulls away.

From then on, your newfound friendship with the prince began to blossom. What once were fleeting smiles and polite greetings soon turned into quiet conversations and shared glances across the corridors. His presence seemed to make even the dullest of days feel sun-touched, and his laughter—light and unguarded—often chased the gloom from your thoughts.

The other handmaidens had begun to take notice. Whispers followed you through the halls—soft, teasing remarks about how the prince’s gaze lingered a little too long when you entered a room, or how he always seemed to find you no matter how busy the palace became. You brushed them off with a shy smile and returned to your duties, unwilling to feed into something that could never truly be yours.

You knew your place. A handmaiden—no matter how loyal, no matter how kind—would never stand beside the Prince of Ithaca. And yet, something about him continued to draw you in. Perhaps it was the way he spoke your name like it was a secret he wanted to keep, or the way his touch, light as it was, would linger a heartbeat longer than it needed to. You told yourself it meant nothing. You tried to believe it.

But your heart betrayed you.

It leapt at the sound of his voice. It ached in his absence. And with every tender glance, every brush of fingers, the feeling inside you grew—sweet, painful, and unspoken.

And then… came the cough.

At first, it was nothing. A tickle in your throat. A small irritation you blamed on the changing seasons or the dust from the linens. You swallowed it down, ignored the discomfort.

But it worsened.

The coughs grew deeper, more forceful, like your body was trying to rid itself of something it could not contain. There were moments when your breath caught, your chest tightened, and a strange, sharp ache settled beneath your ribs. You began to excuse yourself more often, hiding behind columns or ducking into empty chambers to recover in solitude.

When the first petal fell, you stared at it in your hand, heart thudding in your chest. You recognized it instantly—the red anemone, unmistakable with its brilliant scarlet hue fading into ghostly white at the tips. It was impossible. And yet, there it was, soft and trembling in your palm.

You didn’t dare tell anyone. Not yet.

Telemachus had started to worry. You saw it in the way his eyes followed you when you thought he wasn't looking, how his brow furrowed when you vanished from your usual place beside the queen. He’d noticed how you grew quieter, weaker—tasks you had once done with ease now left you breathless. Your once-bright eyes had dulled, and the warmth of your skin had paled to something almost fragile.

He had tried to ask, more than once. His voice soft, filled with that boyish concern he could never quite hide. But every time, you gave him the same gentle smile and turned away, pretending all was well.

But you knew it was far from the truth.

You had heard about it once, whispered from your mother’s lips like a ghost story. The Hanahaki. A curse borne of unspoken love so great that it could ill. It was said to be a punishment from Eros himself—a cruel trial where the heart bloomed flowers, and the lungs wept petals of longing. The deeper the feeling left unreturned, the more vicious the growth. Vines would creep along the rib cage, thorned and merciless, until at last it strangled the breath from the beloved.

Worst of all, no one had ever survived it; for no one knew the cure.

And so for months, you suffered in silence. Alone. You would retreat to the hidden corners of the palace—the abandoned garden shed, the far end of the servants’ courtyard, or the dry bathing rooms long out of use. Anywhere you could cough unnoticed, retching petal after petal, staining your palms with color and sorrow.

Sometimes it was only a few. Other times, it was full blossoms, slick with blood, clinging to your throat. Breathing began to feel like drowning in a sea of silk and thorns. Each breath a battle, each gasp a storm raging in your chest.

As Telemachus wandered the marble halls one late morning, he caught the sound of his mother’s voice drifting through the corridor. She was speaking with one of the handmaidens before dismissing her gently. Her eyes turned to him with a knowing smile.

“Telemachus,” she said warmly, “Have you seen (Y/N) today? It’s well past midday and I’ve yet to catch sight of her.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “N-no! I—I haven’t, why would you think that” he stammered, too quickly.

Penelope chuckled, shaking her head as she studied her son’s poorly concealed fluster.

“Don’t mistake me for a fool, my child,” she said softly. “I see how you look at her.”

Despite her calm expression, there was an edge to her voice—worry carefully veiled behind a mother’s grace. Telemachus could see it in her eyes. After all these years, (Y/N) had become more than a handmaiden to the queen. She was something closer. Like a daughter.

His brows knit together, a quiet storm of worry beginning to stir in his chest. Without wasting a moment, he scoured the palace from end to end, asking every handmaiden he passed if they had seen you. Each gave the same answer—a shake of the head, a look of uncertainty. No one knew where you had gone.

After hours of fruitless searching, a heavy truth settled in his gut: you were nowhere within the palace walls. That familiar fear crept in, curling cold around his heart.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fire and rose, a thought dawned on him—one final place he hadn’t yet searched.

His feet carried him before his mind could catch up, retracing the path through the forest with frantic urgency. Leaves tore beneath his sandals, branches scraping against his arms as he pushed through the thicket. Then he saw it—a familiar flower, its crimson petals blooming defiantly against the green of the forest.

Red anemones.

He halted, eyes narrowing. Something was off. He knelt to inspect one closely, and his heart dropped.

A smear of deep red.

Blood.

He swore he could rival Hermes himself, for his body moved as if possessed by the wind god’s blessing. He sprinted through the trees, dodging brambles and roots, his heart thrumming like a war drum in his chest, panic clawing its way up his throat. The forest blurred around him.

And then—there you were.

Collapsed among the sea of flowers.

At first glance, he thought you might have been asleep. Peaceful, even. But then your body trembled with another fit of coughing, and he saw the blossoms—bloody, broken anemones strewn around you like a wreath of death.

“No…” he whispered, rushing to your side. He dropped to his knees, cradling your head in his lap, staring in horror at the blood that painted your lips, the petals clinging to your dress, the tremor in your limbs.

“By the gods… What happened to you?” His voice cracked, thick with disbelief. “What is this? What illness—why didn’t you tell me?”

You tried to smile, but it faltered beneath another cough. “My prince,” you rasped, voice barely audible. “I’m sorry… you had to see me like this.”

His eyes burned. “Stop. Stop with such nonsense.” He cupped your cheek, his touch trembling. “We’re going back to the palace. I’ll call for the best healers in Ithaca, in all of Hellas, I—”

You placed a weak hand on his arm, shaking your head ever so slightly.

“There’s nothing they can do,” you whispered, a soft sorrow blooming in your gaze. “It’s too late for m—” A violent cough tore through your chest, doubling you over as more crimson-stained petals spilled from your lips. Your body shook with the effort, each breath shallow, each second feeling like it could be your last.

“No,” he breathed, voice cracking. His grip on you tightened, desperate, as if he could anchor your spirit with the sheer force of his will. You looked up at him, the last rays of sunlight catching in your eyes—eyes that once shone with quiet fire, now glassy and dimming. Staring into the windows of your soul, Telemachus prayed—no, begged—to every god and titan in existence, pleading for one more moment. One more breath. One more heartbeat.

How poetic, she thought bitterly, that it would be the red anemone to mark her end—a flower said to have been born from Aphrodite’s tears mingled with the blood of Adonis, a symbol of love that was beautiful, but doomed. A flower birthed by gods, steeped in sorrow and longing. It was only fitting that such a bloom would take root in her own lungs, fed by a love just as forbidden. What cruel symmetry—to die not by blade or illness, but by the weight of loving the Prince of Ithaca in silence. A love as sacred as it was impossible.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I tried—I tried not to love you. But I couldn’t stop.”

Your eyes fluttered shut like petals falling in slow surrender.

“No, no, no—” Telemachus repeated, over and over, like a prayer, like a curse. “Please… I don’t—I can’t live without you.” His voice cracked. “I love you, (Y/N)...”

A tear traced the curve of his cheek as he cradled you tighter. He leaned down, lips trembling, and pressed the gentlest kiss to your mouth—one full of sorrow, and desperate hope. “Please… stay,” he murmured against your lips. “Come back to me.”

And then—he felt it.

The softest breath, barely there, brushed against his face. His eyes widened, hope snapping through him like lightning.

Your chest rose. Then again. And again.

Your eyelids fluttered open slowly, confusion and life flickering in your gaze. “Telemachus…?”

“(Y/N)!” he cried, laughter bubbling with tears, hands cupping your face like something precious returned from the dead. “You came back—thank the gods, you came back to me!”

He pulled you to him, holding you as if he’d never let go again. The red anemones swayed around you in the breeze, no longer a symbol of death, but of love that defied it.

In that sacred clearing, kissed by fading sunlight and trembling prayers, the boy who would become king held the girl who had once only served. And somewhere, far above, even the gods were silent—for even they could not write a tale more aching or more divine.

[kwilquib]

Naori

Rei (🐥) X Male reader (📖)

word count: 3.2k

T.W.: This story contains themes of terminal illness, talks about death, and emotional distress.

A/N: Played around with the formatting, formatted for mobile reading.

"I'm home," you call out into the dark room, eerily quiet, starved of light. The dark was unusual, unexpected—unnatural.

Few steps forward, each footfall weighed unease. You found yourself in the living room

"Darling?" Again your voice is swallowed by the empty living room.

Then—suddenly—light floods the space, blinding you. Before your eyes adjust, sharp pop cracks through the silence.

"Surprise!!"

A familiar voice rings out. You turn, heart pounding, only to see her peeking out from behind the kitchen counter—apron still on, gloves half-removed, hair loosely tied back. Her laughter, that unmistakable laugh, spills into the air, filling the once-eerie silence with warmth.

"For what?" The tension in your chest eases, you smile, bewildered, as you continue toward the couch.

She pulls off her gloves, untying the apron with practiced ease before rounding the counter to meet you. "For the birthday, of course."

"Birthday? That's tomorrow?" Bewildered but exhausted, you drop onto the couch.

Rei follows, sinking beside you before resting her head on your lap. "Yeah, I wanted to surprise you."

You blink down at her, still trying to piece together her logic. "Yeah, you did... but it's your birthday."

She grins smugly, eyes oozing with pride—like she'd ‘got’ you.

“So, what did you cook?” You play along.

“Surprise me.”

She hands you her phone, screen already open to a delivery app, order page waiting.

You glance back at her, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

She shrugs. "I used up all my energy deciding what to cook."

You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head. dialing your orders, "We've been married for how many years?"—a rhetorical question—"and I still haven’t figured out how your mind works."

"You’re just not reading hard enough."

Before you can protest, she reaches up, fingers threading through your hair, and pulls you down.

Her lips meet yours—soft, familiar, and laced with quiet laughter.

Excitedly, you blindly reach for the paper bag beside you, pulling out a stuffed toy, small, but enough to cover her face. “It’s a bit early, but…” You present it to her, holding it up beside her face. "Here. Doesn't it look like you?"

A yellow duck, its tiny fabric twintails mirroring hers.

She squints at it, then at you. The resemblance is uncanny—even she can’t deny it. Instead, she pouts.

You chuckle, gently patting her hair. She naturally leans into your palm, settling there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"So, what do you want to do for tomorrow?"

She blinks, off guarded by the question.

"I requested a day off, of course. Simple picnic by the river?"

She scrunches her nose. "No… too many people exist these days.”

“Then… fancy dinner, just you and me?”

She snorts, eyes half-lidded with amusement. "You can only say that if you actually have money to spend."

"Ouch." You clutch your chest in mock offense. "Dinner at home it is then, let's—no, I'll cook for you this time."

She smirks. "Is that a mating display? Because it's working."

“Is that so?” You lean down, internding a gentle peck, but she surges forward, her lip’s hunger devouring any softness you’d planned. The kiss deepens, urgent and consuming, until you both pull apart, breathless and flushed.

She smiles—a triumphant, knowing curve of her lips. This time she really got you. “You think I was joking?”

Rising from your lap, she holds your gaze, her eyes sly, alluring. With fluid grace, she settled back into you, stradling your thighs. Her arms are already working your belt. 

“You’re tired. Relax” She kisses you again, just as drawing as before— a pull you can’t resist. When she finally breaks away, her breath touches your face as she whispers, “My gift to you. I need to remind you why you need to pay the bills.”

Her hands are already done with your pants, pulling down your briefs, releasing your cock. Now her hands stroke your length. 

“Rei…” your body surrenders.

Fully erect in her grasp. Rei shifts, lifting her hips, her fingers setting aside panties beneath her skirt. She guides your tip pressing in into her slick folds, teasing just at her entrance—coating you with her arousal, warm and wet.

“Fuck… Rei…”

Satisfied with her teasing, she lowers herself, hips sinking down to yours. Her walls clench around you, tight and welcoming, enveloping your cock in heat. She pauses, letting the moment to settle, her breath hitch faintly. Then, with a slow roll of her hips, she begins to grind, drawing you deeper. 

Small whimpers from her lips are enough to fill the room. Her hands cradle your face, drawing you closer to her lips, muting her moan as you kiss. ”Give it to me darling.” her voice full of need. Her forehead pressed against yours, her breaths hot and ragged. “Fill me up….”

Her pace quickens, hips grinding with desperate need, her walls tightening around you. “Rei…” The pressure builds fast, the nearing you limit faster than you expect. She nods, breathless—”Do it.” One final thrust shatters you both: she cries out, trembling as she clenches around you, and you release inside her, a sharp, dizzying rush.

Panting, she slumps against you, her body pressed close, the air heavy with your mingled breaths. Then, a soft laugh rumbles in her chest. She lifts her head, meeting your puzzled look with a mischievous smile. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect us both to be in such a rush.”

Her point draws a grin from you, and you lean in toward her lips.

“You missed,” she teases, tilting her head just out of reach. “Try again.”

Rei. Your wife. The love of your life.

As eccentric as she was, she was the sunshine in your every day.

Life wasn’t perfect. But with her, every day was.

Almost a year has passed since then.

You swore to do your best, to stay with her for the rest of her life, to stay with her until the end, to stay with her until her final year. 

Timed by her Ill fate.

—-

You walk—dragging your steps from work to the hospital, pausing just before the door. You take a deep breath, forcing a half-smile onto your face. A routine you've practiced in a year’s time.

You slide the door open.

Rei sits on the bed, pillows stacked behind her back—an effort to ease the pain with comfort. Her gaze is distant, locked onto something far beyond the window. Her frame looks even smaller against the sterile white sheets, the IV lines hanging high trailing down to her arm like threads tethering her to this world. A headset covers her ears, a barrier between her and reality.

The hospital room now is the usual yet unexpected—unnatural.

"Rei…" you call, waving just at the edge of her vision.

"Shit!" A muttered curse, barely audible but meant to be heard. She doesn’t turn to you. Instead, she pulls out her phone, avoiding your face. "Didn’t I tell you to knock?!"

"Ah, sorry! I—" You hold onto your smile. "Have you eaten yet?"

She clicks her tongue, impatient, clearly letting you know she’s annoyed. With a sigh, she pulls her headphones down to her neck.

"The laundry is over there. Take it and leave." She gestures toward the foot of the bed.

You step forward to grab the basket—only for a cloth to be thrown over your head.

It doesn’t hurt. It shouldn’t. Yet—.

You peel the fabric off and toss it into the basket, looking up to meet her glare. Her eyes are sharp, dark, as if warning that she would throw harder if not for her condition.

She quickly turns away after meeting your eyes.

The best you can offer is a smile.

What you feel is insignificant compared to what she’s going through.

"Then I’ll get going so you can rest," your smile widening—perhaps to cover the pain swelling in your eyes. "Keep fighting, okay?  Your schedule for your next treatment is soon."

She turns away, curling into her blankets.

"You don’t have to tell me," she mutters. "That’s all I can do. Fight… only to die later."

The words sting, finally cracking your false smile. But worse than the words themselves is the fact that you have no comfort to offer her. Nothing that would make a difference.

All you can do is walk away.

"Wait." Her voice stops you just as you reach the door. Still turned away, she adds, "Leave my allowance in the drawer."

You check your wallet, counting the bills. In the end, you leave most of the money, only keeping just enough for yourself.

Just before leaving, you hesitate.

"Hey, Rei—" But before you can finish, she’s already on the phone.

"Can you believe my husband?!" she complains, voice laced with frustration. "He’s the worst. Can’t he be a bit more considerate? Everytime, I have to explain to him… ugh, all men are the same."

You stand there for a second longer.

Then, quietly "Ah… sorry. I’m going home."

And you close the door behind you.

—-

“I’m ho—” The words die in your throat.

The dim home greets you in silence. The same home that once brimmed with warmth, with laughter, with the light of the person who made it all feel alive. 

Now, it stands hollow, as usual, as expected, yet it feels unnatural.

You drop onto the couch—the same couch where the two of you used to laze around on slow weekends, tangled in blankets and each other.

~~~~

“If I stare hard enough, you think the meaning of life will show up?”

Rei’s voice, soft and amused, drifts through your memory. She lies by the couch, absently staring at the ceiling, her expression caught between curiosity and boredom.

“What are you up to now?” you ask, approaching with two cups of coffee.

She straightened up with your voice, reaching for the mug with both hands. You sit beside her, your eyes drifting toward the morning view beyond the window.

She takes a careful sip, then pauses. “…Why are you staring?” A suspicious look crosses her face. “If this kills me, you’re paying for my funeral.”

She drinks anyway, watching you over the rim of her mug.

“Not bad.”

“That’s it? I paid extra for this,” you huff, taking a sip from her cup just to confirm. “My co-workers swore this was “‘the’” coffee.”

“Why are you pretending like there’s a difference?”

~~~~

And she's right, there wasn’t. As now, you sit in the same spot, sipping the same coffee, in the same silence, the only thing illuminating the room is the dim glow of a single lamp.

You don’t need a bright room. It’s just an extra expense.

You don’t need the internet, or cable, or dinner.

You finish your coffee muted in its taste, convincing yourself it’s enough.

You don’t need a meal.

You don’t need—

You close your eyes, gripping the empty mug in your hands.

…You don’t need to think about it.

You shift your focus to your phone, scrolling through your expenses. Your balance barely hovers above zero. A quiet sigh of relief escapes you—at least for now, you’ve made it through. Your abstinence hasn’t been for nothing.

Your eyes scan the list, searching for anything you can shave off.

Hospital bills? Out of the question.

Bus fare? Maybe you could walk some distance.

Groceries? You’ve been stretching meals thinner each week—maybe instant noodles again.

Allowance?

A significant amount. Rei would always ask for it during every visit. You gave it without question, but even now, you don’t understand—why would a patient need that much money anyway?

No. You quickly shake off the thought. Now isn't the time for that. You’re just exhausted. The constant headaches aren’t helping, making your mind wander into places it shouldn't go.

You close your eyes again, hoping sleep will clear your thoughts as easily as it dims your vision.

Sleep—it’s your only escape.

Clear from problems.

Clear from worries.

Clear from responsibilities.

Clear from exhaustion.

Clear from her—

R e i ,  W h e n  w i l l   y o u   d i e ?

The thought jolts you awake, scared.

Not because it was a nightmare to be afraid of.

But because you’re terrified it might have been a dream.

A fantasy that someday you fear you might say out loud.

—-

A buzz from the edge of your desk pulls you from work. Even from afar you recognize the sender instantly.

You press on your temples attempting to press back your splitting head. Skipping lunch to save money—bad idea. You regret it, but regrets won’t help. The afternoon is only halfway through, and you still have hours to go before you can rest.

 With a sigh as you tilt your head back, resting your eyes for a second. 

Rei.

~~~~

“I thought of you”

~~~~

You relive the time from before this ailing plight, when a single message from her was enough to push you through work. 

You open your phone, yearning for that illusion.

“Just bring me a cake later, I don't want to hear any of your superficial cheering.”

Your heart sinks deep with her demand, more disappointed to yourself, expecting something more. Regardless you move forward, you had no choice, even if you had you couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't.

—-

You find yourself walking the same hospital corridor again.

As you near the nurses' station, their voices drift into earshot.

“…Have you seen Mrs. Naoi’s husband?”

 “He never fails to visit her. Tragic, she’s so young yet, constant treatment…”

 “She just did one, out of all days it has to be at her birthday—”

They stop when they notice you.

You offer a small, awkward smile. “For my wife… Is her treatment done? I’m a bit early today.”

One of the nurses brightens. “She just got transferred back to her room. I can let her know you’re here—”

“No,” you cut in gently. “Let her rest. I’ll wait outside.”

Your steps halt just before her door, mistakenly left slightly open.

Tying to close the door, your eyes naturally peered inside.

Rei lies on her side, facing the wall. Her breathing, slow, serene. Asleep, you assume. Sapped by the therapy, lost in some dream removed from her decaying sitch.

You start to pull the door shut, slowly so as to not make a sound.

“It hurts.”

Your hands freeze on the handle.

A voice, you easily could’ve missed if it was not from inside, if it was not from pain, if it was not from hers.

You should close the door. Let her rest. Pretend you didn’t hear.

But before you can step away, a quiet laugh follows. Careful. Restrained. Afraid.

“Ah… that's annoying, even laughing now feels painful”

You know she would want you to ignore it, to walk away like you heard nothing. But your body refuses to listen. Instead, you step inside.

“You know what's more annoying? My husband.”

Rei shifts slightly, sitting up, still unaware of your presence. Her gaze is fixed downward, her fingers curled around the small stuffed toy you gave her on her birthday.

“He looks so pathetic, it's so annoying.”

She exhales shakily, as if saying the words aloud solidifies the reality she's been trying to swallow.

“It makes me mad, I can't help but throw a tantrum because I know the reason why that is… Me. His ailing wife.”

Her thumb idly traces the plush toy’s fabric.

"I know I’ve been mean. Selfish. Asking for everything, even though I'll leave." She speaks to the toy, her voice trembling. "I’m a bad wife, aren’t I? Making him suffer with me."

You see her forced smile wavers, then fades completely.

"When I learned about my illness, I first thought of the future… Not mine… His." 

She tightens her grip on the toy. "And I decided. I’m going to be the absolute worst. So that when it’s over, he’ll think—" a breath, a pause, then—

"'Ah, I’m glad it’s finally over.'"

A grim joke, yet she laughs. Tears slipped down her cheeks, soaking into the plush fabric.

"I want him to enjoy the rest of his life. Not be a widower."

Her voice is barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of her confession. "Pathetic, isn’t it? Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t look him in the eyes… otherwise, I’d break."

She buries her face into the toy, once again Rei obstructs her face from your sight, as she had always done all this time.

"But… It's working. Little by little, I can feel it—he’s losing his feelings for me."

She clutches the plush tighter, sobs muffled against the fabric.

"So please." Her voice is strained, desperate. "Please… keep this a secret between us."

Before she can say another word, you rush forward, as you try to snatch the toy away.

"Rei!!"

Your voice comes out sharp, raw with emotion. Are you angry? Hurt? Betrayed? You don’t know. You don’t care.

All you know is that your wife—the love of your life—is breaking right in front of you.

And you refuse to let her do it alone. Not after what you've heard. Not anymore.

She flinches as you step forward, quickly turning away.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Knock before you come in!”

She still won’t look at you. Even now, when you finally understand why.

“What you just said—”

"I don’t need the cake anymore." Her arms tighten around the stuffed animal. "Just leave. You’re disturbing my rest."

If she’s going to keep playing pretend, then so will you.

“If you're just going to stand there, then just leave already”

You ignore her. Instead, you step forward and wrap your arms around her from behind, holding her close.

"Listen carefully." Your voice is steady, even as everything inside you trembles. "This is what you wanted to hear, right?” 

“‘I hate you.’” 

“‘Why are you still here?’” 

“‘Just die already.’" 

You press your forehead against her shoulder, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"I’m begging you.’”

She shatters.

So do you.

Tears fall. Her grip tightens. Crying echoes through the small hospital room. Emotion flows in choked sobs, in words neither of you fully mean but can’t stop from spilling.

"I wanna die right now…"

"Okay."

"You’re the worst."

"I see."

"Let go of me. Just leave already."

"Sure."

Neither of you move.

At that moment, it feels as if the time has turned to what was a year ago.

Maybe because that was the day when your wife—Rei’s greatest shenanigans—came to an end.

—-

You step into the house, slipping off your shoes at the entrance.

"I'm home," you call out, your voice carrying into the quiet. The afternoon light filters through the windows, painting the walls in warm, golden hues—soft, familiar, inviting.

The scene of your home, usual, expected, natural.

You can't help but take a deep breath out of relief.

Your feet move on instinct, following a path you’ve walked countless times before. But this time, you stop just short.

A small shrine sits before you.

The plush duck sits at the center, its small form nearly lost beneath the weight of her headphones. You remember how you pout whenever you tell her it looked like her. Now, it leans against something held close in its embrace, something smooth, something quiet.

You pat the duck’s head, just as you once did with her. But it doesn’t fit your hand the same way. It doesn’t lean into your touch, doesn’t ask for more. It only sits there—steady, unmoving, permanent.

You exhale slowly, a smile tugging at your lips—gentle, aching.

"I'm home, Rei."

A/n: Part of suchsweetstories' prompt event! This one's for Valentine Drifter. (This is the smut version.)

[revelboo]

Any tips for getting over nerves for posting writings or headcanons in the transformers fandom... I'm trying my best to not be do nervous

In my case, I tend to think of these short form fics as first drafts- I’m telling myself a story and it doesn’t have to be perfect (that’s what they were always meant to be, but things got a bit out of hand), but that mentality helps so I don’t fret and stress about whether it’s good enough. If it makes you happy, go for it!

Bad Idea Pt 20

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Sprawled flat on your back, staying out of the pool is harder than you’d have thought. Mostly because when he leaves, you’re bored out of your mind. Really need to ask him if there’s anything you can do. Doubt you can actually help him in any way, but it’s infuriating being directionless. Useless. Glancing at the pool, you catch big bird shuffling slightly on his perch. Watching and waiting for you to screw up so he can tattle. Or so he can try to drown you. Figuring out what the drone’s thinking as his head tips, staring at you, is beyond you. Though, you’ve been trying to play nice for Soundwave. To pretend you don’t hate his awful brat.

• Tendrils drawing closer to his frame as he works to repair a console, Soundwave goes out of his way to pointedly not look in the direction of Megatron’s throne. Specifically the warlord’s little human since aside from a faintly jingling harness and a short little mostly sheer covering, they’re bare. Already one of the Vehicons had glanced at the human, attention drawn by the faint, silvery sound of the harness and Megatron had smashed them face first into a console. Repeatedly. Making more work for him. Knows his oldest friend’s moods are ever shifting. That he’d dressed the human that way knowing someone would look and knowing he’d lash out. Amusing himself by causing chaos.

• “Hey, big bird,” you call out and his plating ruffles up in jagged, offended angles. Well. You’re off to a great start. “Look, you could tell me your name if you don’t want me to call you that. I mean, we should get along.” Especially since you’re banging his alien daddy. Which, come to think of it, is probably most of why he hates you. Shuffling further away from you on his perch, he turns his back to you in an obvious dismissal. Alright then, so much for that. “Don’t be that way. I can call you worse things.” And he’s glaring hatefully at you again. “Like Tweetie Pie.”

• Stilling as Megatron slips up beside him, idly toying with a loose wire as he surveys the damage he’d done without any guilt, Soundwave waits. “You have a human, too,” Megatron says swapping to Cybertronian and it’s not really a question, but he inclines his head anyway. Studying the warlord, there’s something like uncertainty in his optics and the grim set of his mouth. And he wonders what Megatron’s human is to him. A toy? A distraction? Or do you actually matter? “Does yours care for you?” Tendrils flicking restlessly, it clicks. Megaton’s so used to just taking, conquering. But genuine affection? That’s not something he can demand and just seize for himself. It’s something he has to earn, so you must matter to him. Isn’t sure what to make of that.

• Shrieking and ducking when big bird dives at your head, you run away swearing. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone? But no, you had to antagonize the little psycho. Had known the second his optics had dimmed that he was somehow looking up the name the way Soundwave had done when the little brat had blabbed that you’d called him a DILF. And big bird slams into your back, knocking you flat. Grabbing and pulling your hair with his beak while you smack at him and curse. And a shadow falls across you both. Eyes wide, you realize there’s a masked and visored mech you don’t know looming over you. And he awkwardly lifts a hand. “Question,” he says and big bird pinches your ear hard, before turning to face the stranger, wings flared aggressively. Protecting you? The stranger backs away immediately, both hands up submissively.

Previous

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[spicyschemmenti]

NOT SO INNOCENT ➫ emily prentiss

pairing: emily prentiss x shy best friend!fem!reader

synopsis: you surprise emily by taking care of her after a long day at work

warnings: the usual smut - 18+

word count: 2.8k

author's note: dedicated to @prentiss4life cause she's honestly amazing!

Emily has always known you were shy. It was part of what she liked about you—the way you ducked your head when she threw a teasing comment your way, the way you hesitated before speaking, as if always weighing your words carefully. You were gentle, soft-spoken, but steady. Always there, waiting at her door with takeout when she had long nights at the BAU. Always the one to listen, to soothe her when she came back from a case that had drained her, left her too raw for anything but the quiet presence of someone who understood without her having to explain.

She had you figured out. Or so she thought.

But tonight… tonight you were proving her wrong.

It started the way it always did—with Emily exhausted after a brutal case, shoulders tight with stress, exhaustion pinching at the corners of her eyes as she let you into her apartment. You’d brought dinner, like you always did. Let her vent over a glass of wine, listened patiently as she ranted about politics, bureaucracy, cases that didn’t end the way they should have. You didn’t say much, but you never had to.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t see it coming.

She didn’t see it when you reached for her hand, fingers curling around hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn’t see it when you shifted closer on the couch, your knees brushing hers, your body warm against her side. And she sure as hell didn’t see it when you suddenly pushed her back against the cushions, your weight settling in her lap.

“What—” Emily’s breath caught in her throat as your fingers toyed with the knot of her tie, tugging it loose. Your usual shyness was still there, written in the pink staining your cheeks, the hesitation in your touch—but beneath it was something else. Something deliberate. Something she’d never seen in you before.

She exhaled a slow, unsteady breath. “Look at you, baby,” she murmured, her lips curving into a smirk as her hands slid instinctively to your waist. “Not so innocent after all, huh?”

You swallowed, your fingers trembling slightly as you unbuttoned the top of her shirt. “You’ve had a long week,” you whispered, eyes flickering up to meet hers, shy but determined. “I just… want to take care of you.”

Fuck.

Heat coiled low in Emily’s stomach, her grip tightening on your hips. She’d imagined this before, in the quiet, vulnerable hours of the night when her mind wandered places it shouldn’t. She’d imagined what you’d feel like, how you’d sound if she ever got you beneath her. But this? You, straddling her, taking control in a way she never expected?

That was something else entirely.

Her smirk deepened. “Yeah?” she murmured, trailing her hands up your thighs, slow and teasing, savoring the way you shivered under her touch. “Then take care of me, sweetheart.”

Your breath was shaky as you leaned in, lips brushing against hers in a kiss that started out tentative—testing, unsure. Emily let you, her hands resting warm and steady on your waist, letting you set the pace. But when she sighed softly into your mouth, a quiet, pleased little sound, something in you shifted.

The shyness was still there, lingering at the edges, but now it was tangled up with something else—something bold. Something hungry.

Your fingers curled in her tie, using it to pull her closer as you deepened the kiss, swallowing the pleased hum she let out. Emily’s grip on your hips tightened as you kissed her harder, needier, as if suddenly desperate to see just how much she’d let you take.

When you pulled away, she was breathless, eyes dark, lips parted. “Well, fuck,” she murmured, her smirk lazy, teasing. “Didn’t expect that from you, sweetheart.”

You didn’t answer. You just dipped your head, dragging your mouth along the sharp line of her jaw, then down to her throat. You felt the way she shivered, the way her breath hitched when you kissed a spot just below her ear. Emboldened, you bit down, just enough to make her feel it, and she groaned, hands flexing on your waist.

You smiled against her skin, letting your lips wander lower as your fingers tugged at her tie. The silk loosened easily in your hands, and you let it slip free, your heart pounding as you started on the buttons of her shirt. Your fingers fumbled, just slightly, but you didn’t stop. You wanted this. Wanted her.

When you finally pushed her shirt off her shoulders, your breath hitched.

Emily wasn’t wearing a bra.

Your eyes flickered up to hers, wide, stunned. She smirked, reclining back against the couch, watching you with amusement. “First thing I take off when I get home,” she said, voice low, husky. “Never liked them much.”

You barely heard her. Your attention had already dropped back down, taking her in—the smooth curve of her breasts, the way her nipples hardened under your gaze. Your hands trembled as you traced up her ribs, brushing the sides of her breasts before finally, finally, you leaned in.

You kissed her there first, just to tease yourself as much as her. Lips soft, lingering. But then you grew bolder, your tongue flicking out, circling one nipple before taking it into your mouth.

Emily groaned, her head tipping back against the couch.

You sucked, slow and deep, your spit trailing as you pulled away just enough to move to the other side, repeating the same attention until her nails were pressing into your waist. The sound she made sent heat pooling between your legs. She liked this. Liked what you were doing to her.

It made you want to do more.

You pulled back, licking your lips as you dropped to your knees in front of her, your fingers already moving to her belt. You glanced up, breathless, still slightly flustered but determined. “Is this okay?” you asked softly.

Emily’s dark eyes locked onto yours, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice thick with amusement and want. She reached down, threading her fingers into your hair, tugging just slightly. “You have no idea.”

Your fingers worked at Emily’s belt with a newfound confidence, the metal buckle clicking open before you flicked open the button of her slacks. The sound of the zipper being dragged down filled the space between you, but you didn’t hesitate. You hooked your fingers into the waistband and pulled, yanking the fabric down her toned legs in one swift, fluid motion.

You barely spared her discarded clothing a thought as you tossed it aside, your entire focus dropping to what was left—Emily, sprawled out in nothing but a pair of black lace panties, the sheer fabric barely concealing the slickness between her thighs.

You were about to lean in, lips parting as you aimed for the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, when Emily let out a quiet tut, her fingers gripping your chin between her fingers, tilting your face up to meet her gaze.

Her dark eyes were sharp, filled with heat and amusement as she smirked down at you. “Mm-mm,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You’re still way too overdressed for this, sweetheart.”

Your breath caught.

She was right—you were still in your jeans, your shirt, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to your heated skin. But the idea of undressing under Emily’s heavy, wanting gaze sent another wave of nervousness rushing through you, making you bite your lip.

Still, you obeyed.

You pushed yourself to your feet, fingers fumbling slightly as you reached for the hem of your shirt. A deep inhale, a slow exhale, then you pulled it up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor. Your bra followed, the cool air pebbling your nipples instantly.

Then, you hesitated.

Emily’s eyes had darkened even more, her smirk growing as she leaned back slightly, dragging her fingertips slowly along her own bare thighs as she watched you.

“You gonna keep teasing me, sweetheart?” she drawled, voice low and knowing. “Or are you gonna show me what I’ve been dying to see?”

Heat pooled between your legs at her words.

Something in you shifted, your own arousal overpowering your nerves, and for some reason, you decided to give her a show.

You moved slower now, hands gliding down your body as you unbuttoned your jeans. You shimmied them down your hips, dragging the process out, a slow roll that had Emily’s jaw tightening, her fingers flexing against her thighs. By the time you hooked your thumbs into your panties and eased them down, you were blushing, fully exposed under her gaze.

Emily groaned.

“Fuck,” she muttered, her eyes trailing hungrily over your naked form. Her gaze lingered between your thighs, drinking in the way your slickness glistened under the dim light. “Look at you, baby. Fucking soaked for me.”

Your breath hitched at her words, a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs, but you didn’t let yourself falter. You dropped to your knees again, hands settling on her thighs as you spread them open just a little wider, letting your lips ghost over the delicate skin.

“Is this okay?” you whispered against her, teasing your tongue along the crease of her thigh.

Emily’s response was immediate—a hand threading into your hair, fingers tightening as she pulled you closer, her breath shuddering. “God, yes,” she groaned. “Don’t you dare stop now.”

You didn’t.

You dragged your tongue over the lace covering her, feeling how drenched she was, how her wetness had already soaked through. Then, unable to hold back any longer, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and pulled her panties down, your breath catching as her glistening cunt was finally revealed to you.

Fuck.

You leaned in, kissing the inside of her thigh again, then another just beside where she wanted you most, teasing.

“Sweetheart,” Emily growled, voice edged with impatience. “Don’t—”

Before she could finish, you licked a slow, flat stripe up her pussy, collecting her slickness on your tongue.

Emily cursed, her thighs twitching as her grip in your hair tightened. Encouraged, you did it again, your tongue pressing deeper this time, swirling over her swollen clit before pulling away just enough to blow cool air over it.

The reaction was instant—Emily moaned, her hips bucking slightly, her free hand clenching into the couch cushion beside her.

You smirked. You liked this. You liked how she was unraveling for you.

So, you kept going.

You wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking lightly, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves with your tongue, rolling it in slow, deliberate strokes. Then, you eased two fingers inside her, her walls clenching greedily around the intrusion.

“Fuck, baby,” Emily gasped, her voice raw, wrecked. “You—oh, fuck, just like that.”

You curled your fingers, pressing against that perfect spot inside her as you sucked harder, your tongue relentless against her aching clit.

Emily’s body tensed, her thighs trembling against your cheeks, her breath coming in quick, desperate gasps.

“Shit—” Her voice broke. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You moaned against her, letting her feel the vibration of it, and that was all it took.

Emily came with a ragged, shuddering moan, her thighs clamping around your head, her hips rolling up into your mouth as her orgasm crashed over her. Her juices coated your tongue, your lips, your chin as you kept working her through it, drinking in every last drop.

When her body finally sagged back against the couch, her breathing heavy and uneven, you pulled back, your lips and chin shining with her slickness.

Emily opened her eyes, still hazy with pleasure, and let out a breathless chuckle as she took you in.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, her smirk returning, albeit lazier now. “Remind me to never underestimate you again.”

You blushed, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. “You—”

Before you could say another word, Emily grabbed you, dragging you up onto the couch and flipping you onto your back with ease.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, her lips ghosting over your ear. “Now, it’s your turn.”

Emily didn’t waste time.

Before you could fully catch your breath, she had you flipped onto your back, her body covering yours, her mouth pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Her weight was intoxicating, her scent—smoky vanilla and the lingering musk of sex—clouding your senses as she worked her way down your body.

You barely had time to register what she was doing before she nudged your thighs apart, shifting until she was straddling your face, her slick heat hovering just above your lips.

The realization sent a fresh wave of arousal rushing through you.

Fuck.

You shivered, your legs spreading wider instinctively, already craving the feeling of her mouth on you. Emily chuckled, a dark, knowing sound as she glanced down at you over her shoulder.

"God, look at you," she murmured, trailing her fingers up your inner thigh. "So desperate for me already."

You wanted to snap back, but your breath hitched as she traced her fingers through your soaked folds, gathering your slickness and spreading it over your clit in lazy circles.

Your hips jerked up into her touch.

Emily hummed approvingly. "So sensitive," she mused, rubbing just a little harder, teasing. "Let's see how you taste, sweetheart."

Before you could respond, she leaned down, licking a slow, deliberate stripe through your folds.

Your moan was immediate, high and breathless.

But you didn’t let yourself get lost in the pleasure—not yet. You had her right where you wanted her, and you weren’t about to waste it.

Bracing your hands against her thighs, you pulled her hips down, letting her settle fully onto your mouth. She gasped at the contact, her body jolting slightly—still sensitive from her first orgasm—but she didn’t stop you. If anything, she pressed into you more, her hips rolling against your tongue as you flicked over her clit.

"Shit," Emily groaned, her breath coming in shaky gasps.

You smirked against her, pleased, and then—because you wanted to wreck her—you slid two fingers back inside her, pressing against that perfect spot as you sucked her clit into your mouth.

Emily choked on a moan, her body tensing above you. "Fuck—"

The sound of her wrecked voice sent another jolt of arousal through you. You wanted to hear more.

So, you didn’t let up.

You worked her with your fingers, curling them just right, your tongue teasing her overstimulated clit with slow, relentless strokes. Her hips jerked, her thighs trembling, but she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she groaned, low and desperate, before diving back between your legs, her mouth latching onto your swollen clit, her fingers thrusting deep inside you.

You gasped, your back arching as pleasure shot through you like electricity.

Emily was good—too good.

Her tongue was sinful, moving in perfect circles, flicking and sucking with practiced precision. Her fingers pressed deep, curling in time with every movement of her mouth, fucking you open, stretching you until all you could do was take it.

The room filled with wet, obscene sounds—the slick slide of fingers, the soft suck of mouths, the breathy moans and gasps that spilled from both of you as you devoured each other.

Emily whimpered against you when your teeth grazed her clit. You keened when she dragged her tongue lower, teasing your entrance before swallowing you back into her mouth.

The pleasure built fast, too fast.

Your body was tightening, your thighs trembling as heat coiled deep in your core, threatening to snap. You tried to hold back, to make this last, but then Emily moaned against you—moaned, like she was the one falling apart—and it shattered whatever control you had left.

You came hard, your whole body tensing as the orgasm crashed over you, sharp and blinding. Your cry was muffled against her pussy, your fingers tightening on her thighs as you rode out every wave of pleasure.

Emily wasn’t far behind.

Feeling you clench around her fingers, hearing the wrecked sounds you made as you fell apart—it sent her straight over the edge. She gasped, a desperate, broken sound as she came on your tongue, her slickness coating your lips, your chin, dripping down your jaw as her body trembled above you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you still panting, still shaking.

Then, finally, Emily slumped against you, her body pressing warm and heavy into yours, her lips trailing lazy kisses over your inner thigh before she let out a breathless, satisfied chuckle.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, rolling off you and collapsing onto the couch, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Where the fuck have you been all my life?"

You laughed, still breathless, your skin damp with sweat and Emily’s slick. "Right here," you murmured, turning your head to look at her. "Just waiting for you to notice me."

Emily’s smirk softened, her fingers reaching out to trace over your lips, her touch uncharacteristically gentle.

"Well," she murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your mouth, "you've definitely got my attention now, sweetheart."

[deathbyhertouch]

kinktober day 18: thigh riding

pre-crash! Jackie Taylor x gn! reader

warnings: smut (18+, mdni), thigh riding, kissing, slight praise, fingering, Jackie Taylor in a miniskirt

word count: 746

kinktober masterlist

Your girlfriend knew what she was doing, prancing around in her cute little mini skirt. She saw the way your eyes trailed up her legs as she danced around the campfire. You sipped on your beer and watched Jackie sway her way towards you. You chuckled, her exaggerated dancing always put a smile on your face. Your hands moved up to grab her hips and pull her onto your lap. She giggled and pressed her forehead to yours.

“Feeling frisky, babe?” She teased, her eyes twinkling. You smirked, pressing a soft kiss to her nose. 

“Just thinking about getting you home, having you ride me in nothing but that little skirt of yours.” You murmured, squeezing her thighs as you spoke. Her cheeks flushed as her grin widened. 

“Well what are we waiting for then? Let’s get out of here.” Her chirpy little voice rang out as you nodded and stood up, wrapping her legs around your waist as you carried her back to your tent. As you walked her over, you heard plenty of whooping and cheering from your fellow teammates. 

“Get it, Jackie!” Van yelled as Taissa pulled her towards their own tent. You looked at Jackie as she kissed you and flipped them off.

 You quickly unzipped the tent before ducking in and setting her on top of the flimsy air mattress. You zipped up the tent and turned back to see Jackie perched back on her elbows. 

“Look at you sweetheart, so fucking hot.” She praised, watching you pull off your sweatshirt to reveal your bare chest. You blew her a kiss and moved to shimmy out of your jeans.

“Wait!” Jackie bursted out, grabbing your hands. You cocked an eyebrow at her as she pulled you down onto the mattress. She giggled, brushing your hair out of your eyes, as she moved to stand up in the small tent. She pulled off her own sweatshirt to show her perky tits and lifted her hands under her skirt to pull off her panties. 

“I wanna try something with you, lay back.” She instructed, kicking her discarded clothes behind her. 

“Yes, ma’am.” You replied, leaning back onto your elbows, mimicking her earlier pose. Jackie straddled her legs over your covered leg. She wrapped her arms around your neck, leaning in to give you a kiss. You moaned against her lips, flicking your tongue across her lower lip. She sighed into your mouth, bucking her hips against your clothed leg. 

Your eyes shot open, finally realizing what she was doing as you felt her wet pussy against the denim. She chuckled, watching your reaction before capturing your lips with hers once more. 

Her hips slowly started to grind down against your leg, sliding her dripping cunt up and down your leg. Her breathy moans started to gain volume, and you moaned into her mouth, feeling your own arousal begin to grow in you. You moved one hand to her ass, grasping her cheek harshly before smacking it. Jackie let out a yelp, before sucking down on your lower lip. You growled into her mouth, using your hand to guide her along faster. 

Her juices were starting to leave a noticeable stain on the fabric. You nudged your leg up against her, applying pressure against her swollen pussy. Her moans were slurring together as her head fell back. You took this opportunity to sit up, gripping your girlfriend’s hips and move her up and down faster. She whined, her mouth open and you attached your lips to her neck, sucking purple bruises into her hot skin. 

“Fuck, baby, i’m so close, i’m going to fucking cum.” Jackie whispered, her breathing uneven as her hips bucked helplessly. You bit down on her neck, making her moan rip through her lips even louder. 

“Come on, pretty girl, let go for me.” You cooed against her skin, snaking a hand down to toy with her aching clit. She whined, burying her face in your neck. Her slick coating your fingers as her orgasm washed over her. You slow your fingers a bit, helping to ride her through her release. When she came to grips with reality, Jackie lifted her head and pressed a kiss to your lips.

“That was great, you were killer.” She praised you, and you smiled, wrapping your arms around her waist as you moved to lay down. Her head laid on your chest as your breathing came down, lulling Jackie and yourself to sleep.

Love, A