#how do you clean frosted glass

[bruhstories]

sweet like honey ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

summary: logan ended up spending his evenings in the bar across the street from your bakery, watching you do your job. he never approached you, never talked to you, but he always kept an eye on you, until he has a bad feeling. pairing: logan x fem!reader warning & content: swearing, violence, reader almost gets assaulted (but logan saves the day), she/her pronouns for reader, wade being wade, unprotected p in v, fluff, angst, lots of baking and mentions of food, slightly ooc logan (if you squint), slow burn, sex in a bakery wc: 6k

a/n: i don't always write, but when i do, it's a fucking thesis. unedited.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Logan was never a fan of sweets. He hated chocolate, cheesecake, gummy bears — literally anything sweet. The only thing he could barely stomach was tiramisu, and only because it had coffee in it. Other than that, he steered away from sweets like they were the fucking plague.

Yet despite all that, he found himself enjoying the smell of freshly baked croissants, custard donuts, brownies, and whatever goods you baked in your little bakery, conveniently situated across the street from his go-to bar.

Cleverly named Flour Power, it was all pastel both inside and out, with little pots of hyacinths hanging from its window and a big sign above the entrance. Not that Logan ever went there, but he always walked past it when he went for a drink. Flour Power stood out from all the shops with its baby blue windowsills and bubblegum pink door. As much as he disliked vibrant colours, his eyes were always drawn to the bakery. But not because of how it looked or the way it smelled.

No, Logan strategically sat down by the window in the bar to see you. Every evening, he watched you sell everything you had on display, from wedding cakes to éclairs, greetings customers with a warm smile on your face. He watched you turn the sign from open to closed, lock the door, clean the display shelves, the counters, the only two tables and four chairs inside, and sweep and mop the floors. Then you disappeared in the back for a while, perhaps doing the dishes or preparing dough and frosting, before you walked out, locked the door again, pulled down the blinds over the big window on the right side of the door, and left.

It became a ritual for Logan to watch you. In a way, it brought him some peace, despite him never speaking to you. To him, you were innocence personified, the type of girl who made others feel better simply by being there, and he didn't want to disturb that peace.

Tonight was an ordinary night for the 200 year old mutant. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, drank it all, then went to the bar to ask for another round, killing time until you closed the bakery, then he could finally go back to the apartment. You closed at 7 for clients and left at 8:30 every evening except for Sundays, when you didn't work. Logan knew your schedule a little to well, even knew you opened for clients at 8 in the morning, but you were there much earlier, because he could smell the pastries at around half 6. This time, however, you seemed to have a bit more work. It was past 9, it was dark, and you still hadn't left, and Logan was slightly concerned.

He watched you like a hawk, how you tucked rebellious strands of hair behind your ear when you mopped the floor, how you wiped your hands on your cute little apron after you finished scrubbing the countertops. Logan thought you had extra orders from customers, perhaps a wedding cake. He scrunched his nose at the thought of having to try so many flavours only to pick a damn cake that he probably wouldn't enjoy anyway.

But finally, you were done.

It was almost 10 when you locked the door to the bakery, double checking to make sure it wouldn't budge. Then the blinds and off you went. Logan was satisfied to see you go, but the hairs on his back suddenly stood up, his nostrils filled with the scent of danger. Bitter, sour, it went straight to his brain, and so he finished his drink and left the bar, following you down the street but keeping a safe distance.

You walked past a group of drunk men, gripping your tote bag with your left hand and your keys with your right one. You've learned to place the keys between your fingers, like claws, in case someone attacked you. Going home at that time wasn't something you enjoyed, and you always tried to avoid working late, but sometimes that was inevitable. When you heard footsteps approaching you, you picked up the pace, but paranoia kicked in, and you didn't want whoever was following you to find out where you lived, and so you took a detour.

Logan was like your shadow, going everywhere you went, until he heard something drop in a dimly lit alleyway and he sped up, finding you round a corner, pinned to a wall by a man while another guy had his hand up your dress. It was too dark to see, but Logan didn't need eyes to know that was you. He could smell the vanilla extract and icing sugar and fear.

"Take my wallet!" You told the men, but they weren't there for the money. They wanted something else from you.

"Nah, doll, I'll take something else from you. Somethin' more precious than money." One of the men said, his breath reeking of alcohol, the cheap kind.

"Hurry up and fuck her, bro, I need my turn-"

Something flashed, then a shadow lunged at the second guy who couldn't even finish his sentence before he was struck down.

"Mike?" The man who pinned you against the wall asked, his hands trembling on your body. "Stop fucking around."

But Mike was seeing stars somewhere on the alleyway. It happened so quickly you couldn't understand what was going on. When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you saw him, rough, handsome and very, very angry.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man asked, but all he got in response was a guttural growl. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble. My girlfriend and I were just talking. Stay out of it." He grabbed you by the neck, dragging you away from Logan.

You seized the opportunity and wrestled out of his grasp by biting your assaulter's hand, dashing behind a bin.

"Ow! Fucking bitch!" He lunged at you, but Logan was quicker, piercing his claws through his shoulder and holding him in place.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." The mutant snarled, and you watched how his claws retracted before he punched the man in the face, effectively knocking him down.

He was the Wolverine. You had seen it all over the news, how he saved your universe, how he came from a different world. You couldn't believe he was the one helping you when you thought no one would save you in that moment.

"You alright, kid?" His raspy voice startled you and you barely nodded, still too shocked to move or speak. "You sure?"

You shook your head and tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally started to process what just happened. Logan scrunched his nose — comforting someone wasn't his strongest skill — and instead he picked up your bag and keys from the pavement.

"Shit, um, don't cry." He handed you your belongings, and you looked up at him with a frown.

How could you not cry when you saw your entire life flashing before your eyes? Logan swallowed a lump in his throat and offered his hand to help you stand up. You looked at his hand, reluctant to grab it. The only thing he could compare you with was a cat — cautious, yet curious.

"No claws." He said when he understood the meaning behind your eyes. "Come, I'll- um, I'll walk you home."

The invitation had you perk up and gain courage, and you quietly took the bag from his hand. He walked with you in complete silence, until you stopped in front of a building. You lingered, unwilling to go in. Logan asked if that was your place, and after you nodded, he offered to take you all the way to your apartment, which made you feel relieved. He could see it on your face when you sighed. You guided him up the stairs, constantly looking behind you to make sure he was there.

You stopped in front of a tall wooden door, keys in hand.

"Go on. I'll wait until you lock the door." Logan encouraged you.

"Can you stay?" You finally spoke, and your voice was sweet like honey, fitting for a baker.

"I don't know, kid-"

"Please." You looked at him with glossy eyes, pupils blown from the fear that hadn't left your body yet. The fear he could still smell.

"Yeah. Okay, I'll stay."

"Thank you."

Logan followed you in, and you flipped the light switch on before locking the door behind him. He looked around and, just as he expected, the apartment was a direct reflection of your bakery — clean, colourful and calm. There were recipes stuck to the walls with pink pins, and between them little paintings of sunsets, skies, flowers, cats. All things cute. They weren't framed, and so Logan figured they were hand-made, his assumptions confirmed by the easel in the corner of your living room.

Of course your sofa had to be colourful, too — mustard yellow with sage green cushions and blankets. Even your curtains were sage green. Despite the explosion of colours, Logan found himself enjoying being there. Not everything had to be brown, black and grey, he thought. Probably the only vibrant thing in his life was his suit, since the only people that brought colour were his friends, and they were gone.

"Drink?" You cracked the walls he put up around his heart with that sweet voice.

You shook a bottle of gin to get his attention and he nodded. Logan wasn't a fan of gin, but he didn't expect you to have any hard liquors. He watched you pull out two blue glasses from the kitchen cabinet, and of course they had to be funky, with white flowers on them.

"Where'd you get these?" He asked, swirling the drink in his hand.

"I made them. Kind of." You said. "Bought them from a charity store and painted the flowers. Do you want some tonic water?"

"Fuck no." Logan choked on his gin when you asked him that question. Simply being in a place so... colourful was enough. He didn't need a girly drink.

"I'm Y/N, by the way."

"I'm-"

"The Wolverine!" You cut him off a little too eager.

"-Logan. Call me Logan." He cringed when the beverage tickled his taste buds. It wasn't bitter enough for him.

"Logan. Thanks for tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?"

The question was riddled with innocence, but he couldn't stop the degenerate thoughts that popped in his mind when you asked him that. You were just so pure that he wanted to both protect you and ruin you.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't just walk past without doing anything." Logan lied, because, really, he wasn't just walking by, was he? No, it was downright stalking.

"I could bake something for you." You offered and he shook his head.

"I don't like sweets, kid."

"What?" You were baffled. "Everybody likes something sweet."

"Not me." He shrugged. "All I like is tiramisu and only if those biscuits are doused in coffee."

"Ladyfingers." You corrected him with a chuckle. "They're called ladyfingers."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious! Here!" You rushed to your pantry and pulled out a whole box of them, showing Logan the name.

"That's just stupid." He shook his head. "Who calls them ladyfingers?"

"Uh, everyone?" You laughed at his surprise, and the thoughts of your bad evening slowly dissipated, like a bad dream.

Logan truly was clueless about baking, but spent hours listening to you talk about types of sugar, extracts and their uses, and the difference between baking soda and baking powder in cooking. You rambled on and on and not once did he get bored. He could listen to you talk for hours with your voice soothing. Logan thought about it, and he genuinely never met someone like you before. The women in his life were all so different, but you took the cake. You were special in ways he couldn't understand. And he was just so drawn to you.

"I'm sorry, I haven't stopped talking once!" You apologised, realising how safe you felt with him there. You would never let a stranger inside your house, let alone talk about baking while having gin. But Logan wasn't a stranger. Not after he saved you.

"'s alright. It's not every day I learn about baking." He chuckled, finishing his drink. "Listen, I should get going."

"Right." You sighed, eyes darting at the floor. "No, of course. I've kept you too long."

Logan got up and you walked with him to the hallway. He was slow to put his leather jacket on, as if he was waiting for you to say something, anything, but when you didn't, he unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hey, Logan?" You tugged at his sleeve, whispering so you wouldn't wake your neighbours. "Are you sure I can't bake you something? Not now, I mean. I really want you to try something besides tiramisu. And that way I can repay you."

"Hell, why not?" He shrugged.

"Great!" You beamed at him like a child on Christmas day. "Stop by my bakery tomorrow at twelve. It's on Granville Street."

"I thought you didn't work on Sundays."

"Oh, how'd you know?" You quirked a brow at him.

Caught red-handed.

"Educated guess."

"Fair enough." His answer satisfied you. "Be there or be square!"

Sleep was for the weak. All night, Logan tossed and turned and abused his poor pillow with with punches. The mere thought of seeing you, no, interacting with you, had him wriggle like a worm on the mattress. It didn't help that Wade instantly noticed something was up.

"Oh, my, did you shower, peanut?"

"Not today, Satan." Logan poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Mmm, and what do I smell?" Wade sniffed the air. "Wait, is that my perfume?"

"Forgot to pack mine when I swapped universes." The Wolverine barked back.

"Hah!" Blind Al chimed in from the living room. "I think tall, dark and handsome here has a date!"

Logan rolled his eyes while Wade pouted, plopping on the sofa next to Al.

"You never called me that."

"That's cause you’re a degenerate." The woman snorted.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it- ow! Stop hitting me with your cane, I know where you hide your nose candy!" Wade fought back.

"Touch it and I'll bust a cap in your ass!" Al scoffed.

"And I'll regenerate."

Logan used the opportunity to slip into the hallway, but his roommate was quicker, and blocked the door.

"You're not going anywhere until we have the talk."

"The talk?" The Wolverine snorted.

"Ah, they grow up so fast." Wade told Al. "Now, son, when a man and a woman love each other-"

"I'll give you three seconds to fuck off."

"Oh, but I need to know everything! Who is he?"

"She." Logan rolled his eyes.

"Oh my god, is this you coming out to us? Al, he's straight! I promise we love you anyway." Wade went for a hug and all Logan could do was accept it. He learned to live with Wade, even though he dislocated his jaw a few times after he moved in.

"Alright, that's enough."

"Nooo, we're just getting started. Name? Age? Occupation? We could do a double date with Vanessa-"

"Absolutely fucking not." Logan pushed Wade off of him.

"Okay, okay. Just make sure you wrap your willy, and if you need any advice, daddy's here." Wade opened the door for his roommate.

"Actually." Logan lingered in the hallway. "What kind of flowers do girls like?"

The blinds to the bakery were closed but you were inside, pastries in the oven and dessert in the fridge. You couldn't help yourself and prepared something savoury as well, in case he didn't like the lemon cake. A knock on the door startled you, and you rushed to check who it was.

Logan stood there, a bouquet of peonies in his hand. You welcomed him in with a smile, but he could tell it was different than the one you flashed your customers. It seemed more genuine. And it felt like a date.

"These are for you." Logan handed you the flowers, taking in the scent of pork pies. "I thought you were gonna bake something sweet." He flared his nostrils.

"I did, I just thought I should have a plan B in case you didn't like my cake." You placed the bouquet in a vase on one of your tables. "How did you know I liked peonies?"

Logan couldn't believe Wade was right about those damn flowers. And there he was, thinking roses would be better. Maybe the Merc with a Mouth wasn't so bad after all.

"I had a hunch." He shrugged. 

"Well, Logan, I love them! Now sit, sit!" You ushered him to his seat. "I hope you're hungry, because there's a lot for you to try."

"A lot? I thought you'll make me a cupcake or somethin', bub."

"A cupcake?? Don't be silly." Just as you said that, the oven made a loud ding sound, and you turned on your heels, heading in the back.

Logan waited patiently, observing every little detail from the front of your bakery, from the spotless display shelves to the neatly organised paper bags, to the fairy lights around the window. It was obvious to him that you had put your mind, body and soul into this bakery, and his expectations were quite high after all the fuss you made. But he decided to be nice not matter how the food tasted. He couldn't bear seeing you upset if he didn't like what you made.

You reappeared with a tray in your hand, and on it two plates, one with a small pork pie, one with a croissant, and a cup of coffee. Hell, even the cutlery was cute, with swirls engraved on the handles of the fork, knife and teaspoon.

"I decided to leave the cake for last." You said, placing the tray in front of him. "This is a simple pork pie, start with that." You urged him. "Careful, it's hot."

The Wolverine struggled with the cutlery, too small for his large hands, and the brief thought of slashing the pie with his claws crossed his mind, but he decided to be civil. You watched him butcher the food, eager to see his reaction, but he was taking his time.

"I'll let it cool off a bit."

"Ooh, that's probably a good idea." You nodded.

"Aren't you having some?" Logan asked.

"Noo, no. I like to bake for others, not for myself."

"So what do you eat, then?" He sipped on the coffee.

"Instant noodles usually. I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I do occasionally have leftovers, but whatever isn't sold I take it to the local shelter." You explained.

Christ, you couldn't be any kinder. Logan was stunned by your beauty and your soul, which was why he decided that after today, he will stop any interaction with you. He couldn't ruin you, not with his lifestyle, not with the danger that followed him everywhere.

The only problem was that the conversation flowed naturally, and he felt safe with you, just as you did with him. Like you were the missing piece to his puzzle. Logan pushed away those thoughts and decided to try the food. He took a large mouthful of the pie, chewed and swallowed, and you waited expectantly.

"Shit."

"What? Is it bad?" You jumped from your seat.

"Fuck, this is the best pork pie I've ever had." Logan wiped his mouth with a tissue you provided. "I'm serious, kid. Did you put drugs in it?"

You laughed, shaking your head as he finished the rest of the pie. He truly seemed to enjoy it, and you felt so satisfied. But the real test came after.

"Pistachio croissant." You said. "I thought about making almond ones, but I figured pistachio wasn't that sweet."

"Right, let's see." Logan took a healthy bite out of the pastry, and lo and behold, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. If heaven had a taste, it would be that damned croissant.

"Is it good?"

"Good? Jesus, this is the best one yet." He finished the rest of it, the pistachio cream tickling his taste buds in all the right ways. "Who taught you to bake like this?"

"My grandma. She was the best cook I knew." You smiled.

Logan noticed your use of past tense, and he didn't want to bring up any bad memories. He wasn't the nosy type, but something possessed him to ask you about your life, your family, your favourite colours. He needed to know more about you, and you answered all his questions, opening up to him like a flower in bloom. But when it came to him talking about himself, Logan was reluctant.

Talking to Wade was easier, because Wade didn't take anything seriously, nor did he ask personal questions. Well, he did, but in his own stupid way that provided Logan some distraction, as well as a reason to punch him. But with you it was different. He felt like he owed you serious answers that he wasn't yet ready to tell a stranger who made a mean pistachio croissant.

"The cake!" You spun on the chair, changing the subject when you saw Logan dodging your questions like bullets.

Although he didn't say it, he was grateful that you didn't put any pressure on him to talk. He wasn't a talker. That was definitely Wade. You came back with the whole cake, and it looked so good that Logan didn't want you to cut it. Perfectly round, a layer of cream in the middle and white frosting on top. You even went so far as to decorate it with all kinds of yellow flower petals and what seemed to be mint leaves.

"Alright, hit me. What's this one called?"

"I call it the Mojito Cake. The sponge cake has lemon zest, the cream is made of lime, mint and rum syrup, and the frosting is buttercream with a dash of actual rum." You explained.

"Shit, I can't tell if that sounds disgusting or incredible."

"Only one way to find out." You cut him a thick slice, and Logan wasted no time trying it.

"I think you found yourself a new customer."

"You're too nice."

"I'm anything but nice, kid." He took three more spoonfuls. "But I ain't a liar. This is delicious." Logan spoke with his mouth full and it made you chuckle.

"Oh, there's a bit of frosting on your face."

"Hm?" He used the tissue to wipe his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No, it's still- here, I'll get it." You leaned forward and delicately ghosted your thumb over the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with his.

Without thinking about it, you dragged your tongue over the frosting, and Logan couldn't look away from you even if he wanted to. A gesture so innocent, but it destroyed any form of restraint. He pressed his lips onto yours, tasting the rum and the cream, but before you could kiss him back, he pulled away.

"Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

You gave him no time to finish his sentence when you placed your hands on his shoulders and kissed him with fire on your tongue. God, he hated being touched, but when you did it, he melted in your hands. Lust battled reason and prevailed, and you found yourself straddling Logan's lap, arms around his neck and chest pressed against his.

His large hands found their way under your dress, fingers digging in the plush of your thighs until a moan escaped past your lips. Logan could've sworn you were pure in all ways — a virgin — so, naturally, he was surprised to see you eager to jump his adamantium bones.

With the last shred of reason left in you, you glanced at the door and window to make sure they were covered, and pushed Logan's jacket off his shoulders, peppering his neck with soft kisses. He wasn't the gentle type, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't need to be when he felt your hips grind in his lap. It was more than obvious that you wanted him then and there.

Logan lifted you up as if you weighed nothing and slammed you down the empty table. His roughness sent a chill down your spine, because you really wanted him to manhandle you from the moment he stepped foot in your bakery. He kissed you again, pressing his whole against yours until your back hit the table. You felt like a cornered animal with nowhere to go, and the thrill of it turned you on.

"Are you sure you want this?" Logan asked despite you unbuckling his belt.

"I don't want this, I want you. I need you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." You unzipped his jeans, and although he was taken aback by your sudden use of filthy words, he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing that side of you.

"Greedy little girl." Logan's hand slithered between your legs, fingers rubbing circles over your clothed clit. "Shit, you're soakin' wet. Can feel it through your fuckin' panties already." He flared his nostrils, taking in the scent of your arousal.

With his jeans loose around his waist, you palmed his cock through his boxers, and it didn't shock you for a second that he was rock hard. What did shock you, however, was the size of it. It was probably the biggest you've ever taken, and you didn't want any other man anymore.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, making it clear that you didn't want to waste any more time. Not that you didn't want to suck his dick or explore every inch of his body and worship it the way a man like him deserved it, but you were impatient.

Logan got the hint when you whined and scoffed, and he tore the pink panties off of you, tossing them on the floor. At least he had the decency not to put them on the table, which you were going to disinfect anyway. He pushed his boxers down, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look at him, and it was a sight for sore eyes indeed. He had perfectly sculpted abs, you could see them under the half-lifted t-shirt, but it was his cock that made your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" Logan was smug, confident in his good looks.

"I need to permanently imprint this image on my retina." You told him, and he couldn't help the chuckle.

"Likewise. Now spread 'em."

"Yessir!" You very quickly obeyed, parting your legs for him, and Logan couldn't deny that he enjoyed being in control.

He wasn't one to take orders, nor give them, but watching you comply scratched an itch he couldn't get rid of. Logan pressed the tip of his cock against your slick folds, earning another whine from you. You bucked your hips, craving more, and he scoffed.

"That desperate, hm?"

"You have no idea." You dug your manicured fingernails into his shoulders, bracing for temporary pain, because you knew damn well it would hurt.

"I don't know, I didn't hear you say please." Logan frowned, and you understood what game he was playing. A game you yearned to be part of.

"Oh, please, please, please fuck me, Logan! I'll be so good for you! I'll do anything you want." You clung to his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. "I'll even take it in any hole you want." You whispered, dragging your tongue over his lips.

"Shit." Logan was weak in the knees from your words, and the worst part was that he believed everything you said. But there was a time and place for everything.

You were the perfect mix of sweet and spicy, and you begged so nicely that the Wolverine just couldn't say no. You felt the leaking tip of his cock push past your folds and you audibly gasped at the size of it, drawing blood from his skin with your fingernails.

"It won't fit-" You whined with lust in your voice.

"I'll make it fit." Logan promised, painstakingly slowly thrusting into you.

He gave you time to adjust to his girth, constantly checking if you were alright, if you wanted him to carry on or stop, and while you loved that he was so caring, you needed him hurry up and fuck you.

To assure him that you would survive his monstrous cock, you planted a soft kiss on his nose, and there it was again, the change in your personality, from sultry to innocent. It was as though you embodied everything he ever wanted, and his desire to never contact you again went down the drain. How could Logan ever leave someone like you?

"I'm ready." You nodded, and he pressed his forehead onto yours, slowly rolling his hips.

You weren't ready, because it hurt like a bitch when he stretched out your velvety walls. But the pain was soon replaced by pleasure, and Logan picked up the pace when your whimpers turned to moans, and the slight frown on your face disappeared.

"So tight." He hummed, forehead resting against yours.

Were you tight, or was he just so incredibly big? Either way, you were a panting mess already, clinging to him for dear life, and Logan forgot his worries, even if it was just for that one moment. You were too good to be true, with your parted lips and glossy eyes — a beautiful sight for his sore eyes.

"Fuck, I- fuck!" You wrapped your legs around his waist, the table screeching under you. Not a single coherent sentence could come out of your mouth. "Logan, shit, I-"

"What's the matter? Need something?" He cooed, fingers bruising into your hips. "Use your big girl words."

"Need it ha-harder!" You cried out but he slowed down, confusion written all over your face.

"Where are your manners?"

"Please, daddy, please give it to me harder!"

The term of endearment had Logan quirk a brow at you, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that you had a daddy kink. And he basked in being called that.

"Are you sure you can take it?"

"Yes!" There was no hesitation in your response. "Fuck, yes!"

Logan growled when he felt your pussy clench around his cock, and he delivered, thrusting deeper, harder and faster into you, until the sound of skin on skin echoed in the bakery, and your breathing became heavier.

"Fuuuuck, I can feel it in my gut!" You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix.

"Filthy. Little. Slut." Each word came with a thrust and a groan, and he filled you up so good, you became addicted to him.

Your toes curled up, and your legs began to twitch when you felt your orgasm build up. Each push and pull made your vision blurry, and Logan's grip on you tightened as his hips stuttered. He was feral, and he was close, you could feel it in your bones.

"Fuck, Logan, do- oh- don't stop!" Words spilled from your mouth incoherently, and after a few more thrusts, pure bliss rushed through your body.

"That's it, let go." Logan buried his face in the crook of your neck, slamming hard into you until all you could do was chant his name like a prayer.

You felt him fill you up, pussy hot and sticky and sore, and he slowly pulled out, eyes darting at the tissues on the table. He grabbed them, gently cleaning you up, and you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was just something about a man like him be so gentle. And you were absolutely delighted to have him take care of you.

"You know," Logan said licking his lips, "I'm beginning to think you didn't want me to just taste your pastries."

"True." You told him smugly. "But you liked them."

"I like you more." He blurted out without thinking.

You felt your cheeks burn at his sudden honesty, and after sliding up your underwear and fixing your dress, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I like you too, honey badger."

"Don't ever call me that again." Logan chuckled.

"Not happening. Now, could you pleaaaase help me clean up this place? The last thing I need is a surprise hygiene inspection tomorrow."

He couldn't even imagine what the inspectors would do if they found out you had sex in a bakery, and with a nod, Logan zipped up his jeans and began disinfecting the tables and chairs while you swept the floor.

In less than half an hour you were done, and the shop was squeaky clean. You were satisfied with the end result, and told Logan that you wanted him to have the rest of the cake, pies and croissants. He thought Wade and Al could eat something, and decided to accept your offer.

"Can I come with you? There's quite a few boxes of food." You told him, a sheepish grin on your lips.

"Is that your way of finding out where I live?"

"Maybe. I'll go home if you don't want me with you."

"No, you're good." Logan assured you. "Besides, I'm sure my roommate's gonna devour everything. He'll probably lock you up in our apartment and force you to bake for him."

"I don't know if that's a threat or a promise." You laughed.

"Both. It's both."

You walked with Logan down the street, boxes in your arms, and you were surprised to see him open up to you more. He answered almost every question you had, and you felt him more relaxed. And he was. Logan forgot how much he needed that kind of connection with someone. You were so easy to talk to, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you listened.

He guided you up the stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door, because he couldn't reach his keys with so many boxes in his arms. You baked for a damn army.

Wade opened the door, and you were taken aback by his appearance, but it didn't scare you. Instead, you introduced yourself as Logan's personal baker, earning a chuckle from him.

"Come on in, Martha Stewart." Wade opened the door enough for you to walk through it with the boxes and not drop them.

"Wade." Logan came back from the kitchen with a croissant. "Eat. Seriously, eat."

You watched Wade wolf down the pastry without hesitation and his eyes lit up. He chewed and swallowed, then moaned, eyes rolling back. The look of disgust on Logan's face was priceless.

"Holy fucking shit, Y/N, what the fuck did you put in this?" Wade grabbed your shoulders, giving them a good shake. "It's so flaky and creamy and buttery, like a bunch of unicorns came in my mouth."

"I'm glad you like it." You giggled. "Try the cake."

"There's cake?!" He ran to the kitchen, leaving you and Logan in the hallway before coming back, a slice of half-eaten cake in his hand. "I am officially impressed. Can you make Rocky Road?"

"Yes."

"Dulce de leche?"

"Yep."

"Baklava?"

"Uh-huh."

"Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte?"

"Yes, Wade!" You rolled your eyes, then turned to Logan. "Sugar rush?"

"Oh, you have no idea. And this is him on a good day."

"Listen, sweet cheeks, if old man fuckface here won’t marry you, I will. Just don’t tell Vanessa." Wade whispered.

"Don’t even think about it, you degenerate limp dick."

"Ugh, fine. And here I was hoping all four of us could be a happy dysfunctional family. Five if you count Al. Six with Colossus. Wait, actually, eight with-"

"Wade, have you tried the pork pies?" You asked, effectively shutting him up.

Yeah, Logan could definitely get used to being around you from now on to sweeten up his life.

[jinwoosungs]

12/21/24; 05:07pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you join them in the shower ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

you pretend to be distracted by your phone, mindlessly scrolling through it. yet the moment sylus enters your shared bedroom, you became aware of him and his every move.

“i’ll be taking a much needed shower.” he tells you while loosening the collar of his dress shirt, “if you need me, you know where to find me.” you let out a hum of acknowledgment, trailing your gaze toward his beautifully sculpted back as he disappears into the privacy of the bathroom.

shutting your eyes, you listen closely for the sounds of running water, hearing it just a mere few moments later as you could practically envision the way the droplets of water cascades down his beautifully sculpted form. setting your phone off to the side, you took off the rest of your clothes, allowing them to fall beneath your feet as you step closer toward the bathroom.

gripping at the doorknob, you felt a slow smile spread across your lips at how it remained unlocked, giving you full access when you step into the steamy bathroom. sylus's hum echos throughout the wide space as you could see the silhouette of his body against the frosted glass of the shower stall. with careful movements, you step into the shower stall, ready to pounce on him when he suddenly faces you.

"i was wondering when you were going to join me, sweetie."

your gasp quickly morphs into giggles when he playfully pins you against the slick shower walls, giving you a devilish grin when he places his powerful thigh between your legs, further stimulating your swollen clit as it hardens against his skin. breathy moans escapes from your parted lips when sylus greedily licks the droplets off of your skin before stroking his cock against your slick folds.

"were you waiting for me?" you complete your sentence with a sudden moan, feeling the way sylus steadies you before sliding every inch of his cock within your walls, setting an almost brutal pace as you felt his every thrust pounding into you.

"of course, as if i could ever resist having you here with me." you shiver upon feeling sylus lick at the base of your throat, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist as you enjoyed your 'shower' together with your beloved.

needless to say, neither one of you got much cleaning done that night.

being with zayne for so long now, it came almost as second nature to do everything together with your lover. and this included doing your usual morning routine together.

when you both woke up, you followed zayne into the bathroom, brushing your teeth as zayne turned on the shower faucet so that you could both enjoy a nice, hot shower together. with your breath minty fresh, you peel off your pajamas and step into the shower spray first, letting out a soft moan while basking in the heat.

zayne joins you moments later, shutting the glass door before proceeding to lather your body with your favorite scented body wash. he left no inch of skin untouched, ensuring that you were thoroughly washed before helping you rinse off beneath the water. when his large hand was felt cupping at the spot between your legs, you nearly fell over had it not been for his arm wrapped around your waist.

"sssh, i'm simply cleaning you." his middle finger manages to pierce through your slick walls, tracing at your outer lips momentarily before entering inside of you. the sudden intrusion of his finger completely sheathed inside of you causes your moans to echo throughout the shower stall.

"hm, not good enough. looks like i need to take some drastic measures." with a click of his tongue, zayne kneels in front of you, keeping you balanced against the slick shower walls when he suddenly spread your legs wide open for him, placing both of his hands on your thighs as he left you in a vulnerable position for him.

"zayne- ah..." his name trails off in another loud moan the moment he kisses your center, thrusting his tongue inside of you while drawing out even more of your honeyed arousal. just seeing his muscular back remaining so taut as he devoured you causes you to cry out to him, hands gripping at his damp strands of hair.

the steam from the shower and the sinful way his lips moved against your core was almost too much to bear when you cried out to him, climaxing directly into his mouth as his grunt was felt vibrating against you. zayne ends up delving his tongue even further inside of you, as if wanting to drink up all you had to offer when he continues with his ministrations on your body-

making you realize that this would be one of the longest shower sessions you ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

xavier's phone was heard ringing on his desk, alerting him of a call from the hunter's association-

yet the young hunter found that he didn't care about whoever was calling him, as the sounds of rushing water felt pelting on his skin and the sensation of your hot mouth surrounding his cock were all too much to bear.

he was gripping at your hair, allowing your head to move back and forth on his cock. your hands worked on stroking whatever part of him that couldn't fit in your mouth, making him toss his head back in response.

"so... good." xavier pants, clenching his eyes shut as he basks in the silky feel of your mouth wrapped so sweetly around him. almost in a drunken haze, xavier forces himself to open his eyes and look at you, feeling his cock twitch upon seeing just how pretty you looked with your lips wrapped around his dick.

basking in his attention, you allow the tip of your tongue to trace at the underside of his cock, following the pulsating vein before giving him a gentle suck-

successfully making the philos prince fall apart for you.

he lets out a gasp of your name, stilling his hips while shooting his seed down your throat. with a pleased hum, you eagerly swallowed everything he had to offer, making sure to let out an audible gulp while licking your lips. xavier was left trembling in the aftermath, watching with an almost dazed expression when you stand back to your full height.

acting like you hadn't just gifted him the best orgasm of his life, you proceed to wash your body while standing beneath the shower spray. yet before you could truly cleanse yourself, xavier was felt gripping at your waist before pinning your front against the shower wall.

"not yet..." he whispers into your ear, "not done yet..." you were about to ask him what he meant, yet the moment you felt his cock sliding into you from behind, you lost all sense of coherency.

now, it was your loud moans and the sounds of skin slapping against skin while beneath the shower spray that further hinders the incessant ringing from xavier's phone.

"you always smell so good without even trying, princess."

your mind was going hazy, the steam from your hot shower made rafayel appear even more alluring to you. his breath traces over your neck as he latches on to it, further pinning your body against the shower wall. his cock was slowly felt hardening against you when the lemurian purposely strokes it against your center, causing you to gasp while clinging to him.

a pleased hum was heard coming from your lover, watching as he hid his face against the curve of your neck as his hands helped with spreading your legs wide open for him. you tremble, feeling the tip of his cock continuously brush against your swollen clit, making you further ache and yearn for him.

yet the moment he slides his cock inside of your scorching heat, sheathing every inch inside of your walls, you raked your nails down his back. letting out a grunt that was a mixture between pleasure and pain, rafayel sets an almost breakneck pace, with the single goal of pounding you against the shower wall his sole purpose.

"and you always feel so good wrapped around me like this." rafayel admits in a breathless manner, with his eyebrows drawn together in intense concentration, "heh, showers are more fun when they're spent with you..."

giving you a lingering kiss against your skin, rafayel makes sure to press his body even closer to yours, basking in the way your soft form seemed to complement his body so well. as he continues to make love to you, the squelching sounds of it all echoing throughout the shower, you nearly fainted upon hearing his next words:

"i'm going to make sure i'm imprinted into your very soul, princess, where you'll forever ache for me alone."

end notes: another unedited thirst post 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠 hehehe i'm so proud to be a LADS girlie.

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[sdmnpact]

"Is that my shirt?"

George Clarke x Reader ff

[] Good Friends with Arthur Hill

[] Arthur Hill invites you to film a drunk cooking videos, things get messy, and you end up in George's shirt.

~~~

"Hey you guys, I'm here with one of my best friends, Y/n!" Arthur pointed at you as you came into the frame waving your arms around. "Hey!! Thanks for inviting me!" You said cheerfully. "Glad you're here! So, today we're gonna be baking a cake BUT we're gonna be getting drunkkk!" He said in a singing song tone. "AND only one of us gets to see the recipe!" He said excitedly showing off the bottle and paper.

You were sorta of excited for this because you always enjoy a good drink with Hill. You two began getting everything in order, setting up the ingredients, shot glasses and cleaning the surfaces. "Okay lets begin." He said clapping his hands together.

You both started off with a shot each. You whinced as the liquid burned your throat. Arthur insisted that he give the instructions and you would mainly fix the ingredient proportions. "Okay pour all your dry ingredients~" he went on listing them as you tried pouring the correct measurements. "New rule! Each time you spill something, thats a shot! Aside from the 1 shot every 20 minutes!" He said in a matter of fact tone raising a finger.

You looked down at the giant mess of flour you made before he said that. "Oh thats just not fair!" You tried contending. "Drink up!" He semi shouted. You sighed as you poured yourself another shot, his eyes focused on you making sure you dont under pour. You poured it back whincing once again at the sensation. "Oh! Look at that, 20 minutes passed, another shot!" He said snickering to himself. You groaned as you poured two more shots.

After a while, you were starting to feel the effects, spilling more as you felt more tipsy. Arthur was getting noticeably drunker as well as you lot were just laughing and making a huge mess instead of making the cake and homemade frosting, well attempting to at least.

By the end of the video, the cake was a lopsided mess and you two were hammered. You were both covered in flour, your clothes somehow dripping with some liquid. "Ew, Arthur, do you have something I can wear?" You asked trying to pull your shirt off. "Oh yeah, give me a second." He said walking off down the hallway leaving you standing in the living room with a sports bra. He returned wearing some fresh clothes and tossed you a large tshirt. You quickly pulled it over yourself.

"Wanna stay here for the night then?" He said lazily as he plopped on the couch. "Sure, cant get an uber like this." You said pointing at yourself. "Im gonna throw my clothes in the wash" you said as he nodded.

You stumbled to the washer machine and took off your pants placing both your clothes inside turning it on. You were quite comfortable with Arthur, you guys tried dating a while back ago but you weren't right for each other. You guys became good friends after that and you frequently hang out. You're also somewhat good friends with his roommates but you dont hang out with them unless Arthur is there. He said they were out tonight so you shouldn't expect them home too soon. That was good news for you because you were just walking around in a large tshirt and underwear.

You were walking back towards the living room until you heard another voice. You slowly creeped around the corner and saw George. You felt yourself get nervous because you didn't want him to see you like that. Either way you were gonna have to walk out eventually. You walked towards the couch hoping he didnt notice how you were dressed.

"Oh hey Y/n! -Um, is that my shirt?" He asked. You turned to look towards him, he looked really nice. He had on a loose fitted shirt that revealed a lot of his chest and his hair was especially curly. "Oh- is it? My bad." Arthur said turning to face you then turning back towards the tv. You mentally scolded him for not telling you that it was George's shirt. "Im sorry, I can change if you'd like!" You said nervously.

"No- its alright. It actually looks better on you than me." He chuckled causing a blush to rise to your cheeks. "I thought you weren't gonna be here until later." You asked George, finally sitting on the couch near Arthur. He seemed sort of out of it and was focused on whatever was on the tv. "Yeah, it was sort of dead tonight so I thought I should just go home. Im glad I-" he stopped himself. "Yeah just wanted to come home." He finished, changing his words.

You found it slightly strange but chose to ignore it. "Well, do you wanna join us? Im staying over tonight so we were-" I paused and looked towards Arthur, who was struggling to stay awake. "Well we were going to watch movies but it looks like Mr. Hill here, can't handle his liquor." You giggled looking at the red cheeked boy passed out on the couch next to you. "Sure! Might as well have someone keep you company." He said laughing at Arthur, who's head was now leaning back with his mouth open.

George walked over, sitting on the other side of you, making himself comfortable. "Looks like you two had a good night, at least." He said, his focus still on Arthur. "Yeah, we filmed a video and you know how it goes." You giggled feeling slightly embarassed and self conscious that you were slurring your words. "You dont seem as bad- I guess you can actually handle your alcohol." He laughed as you nodded. "Yeah, Im slightly out of it but Im alright." You said.

"Well- are you hungry? I can order us a pizza or something?" He asked. You were kind of hungry and nodded your head. You watched as he pulled up his phone seeing a text from Chris.

Can't believe you ditched me for a girl 😠

A girl? You wondered who they were talking about but looked away once he began asking what you wanted. You both agreed on pizza and some toppings as he made the order. Your attention went back to the tv, you were watching Rush Hour as Arthur had put it on before he passed out.

"Do you like this movie?" George asked. "Yeah, its funny." You responded, he just nodded. You two spent the rest of thirty minutes watching the movie until the food arrived. He brought it over to you and brought you some plates. "I dont suppose you want another alcoholic beverage?" He asked with a smile. You shook your head. "No, just a soda for me please." He nodded and brought you one, grabbing a beer for himself. Arthur was still there, his sleeping body just adding to the ambiance.

You both continued watching the movie while eating until it was over. "So, what do you wanna do now?" He asked scrolling through the selection of movies. "We could makeout?" You said jokingly. You noticed how he stiffened, now sitting upright. You regreted your little joke. "Im kidding." You said trying to save yourself from the awkwardness that was seeping in.

"I know... but..." he started leaving you wondering what his next words were going to be. "What if you weren't kidding.." he said, fiddling with his fingers. You went wide eyed thinking about what he meant. Your mind was spiraling now. "What do you mean?" You asked nervously. "You don't understand, do you?" He asked, standing in front of you now. You shook your head slowly.

"He likesss youuuuuuuuugh!" You heard suddenly, both of your heads whipping to look towards Arthur, his eyes still closed and his head still titled back. "Is that true?" You asked, looking back towards George. "Thanks a lot, Arthur." He said as Arthur just waved him off. George came closer, grabbing your hand, beckoning you to stand up. You struggled a bit, but he held you tightly. "Yes. I like you, Y/n." He said with an awkward chuckle. "I've actually liked you for a while-"

"He watches all your videos, he always asks me to invite you over, he-" "OKAY! Thanks Arthur, Ive got it from here!" George said, trying to get Arthur quiet. "Out with it then!" Arthur responded, turning in his seat, hugging a pillow in a fetal position. "Yeah, you dont think I'm weird now, do you?" He asked for reassurance.

"Of course not." You said, placing a hand on his cheek. "I think it's quite sweet, actually." You grinned widely. You felt your heart flutter at this sudden confession. You never really had eyes for George, but you always found him so interesting and funny. You have to admit, you also watched most of his videos and would occasionally steal a glance or two whenever you're in the same room.

"Do you think you'd fancy a date with me then?" He asked sheepishly. "I would love to!" You replied, smiling from ear to ear. "Yay..." You heard a very low but cheery sound coming from the ball on the couch. "Thanks, Arthur!" You beamed happily. Suddenly, he sat upright. "You're welcome, BUT I want to be the best man or maid of honor at the wedding." He said seriously. "You've got it, mate." George chuckled, looking at you. You spent the rest of the night basically curled up with George while Arthur mustered up enough energy to head to his room. "This doesn't count as a first date, just so you know." He said, his head resting on yours. You smiled melting further into him, feeling safe and comfortable in his arms.

[luveline]

hii hope youre doing well! could i request coworker!james where r comes in to work sick and he gets worried?

fem!reader, 1.3k

It’s getting old, the whole charade. James didn’t like you and now he does. You used to piss him off, now you don’t. Somehow, someway, he’s seen parts of you he couldn’t help but love, in your voice, how you talk; in your hands, your touch; in your emails worst of all. Who ever thought that James could fall in love on Outlook? 

Dearest desk mate,

Where are you? It’s 9.45 and you aren’t here. You realise work starts at 8.30? Besides my worry, I need the invoice for Lang and Co. and Remus doesn’t have them either.

You’re my only hope, 

James

You email back a stringy fifteen minutes later. 

James, 

I’ll be there soon. I can’t attach the file from my phone but I will send it to you the second second I get there, I know you asked meyesterday. I’m sorry for holding you up .

James reads your email with a frown. Your typos are unlike you. He wonders if perhaps you’re texting and driving, which is abhorrent, but you walk into the office a minute later, so you must’ve been responding to him as you walked. 

You duck straight into the manager’s office. James can hear you say sorry before the door is fully closed, craning his neck for a good look at you. 

Remus laughs shamelessly. “Worried about her?” 

“About who?” he asks, even as his chair creaks and threatens to snap under his weight, leaning back to see you through the frosted glass. 

“She’s not going anywhere now she’s here, James. Nobody stops by for social visits.” 

James relents when he realises you may be in there for a little while. The rain today is aggressive against the window, condensation dripping down the windows to pool atop the radiators. You hate it; you love the radiators when they’re working in the winter, but sad summer days with rubbish weather bog you down. Either way, the condensation wets your elbows or gathers on your desk —it’s not nice. James grabs a wad of tissues from the box on his desk and begins his quick mission. 

“Oh, my god. Jamie, you can’t be serious.” 

“I'm avoiding electrocution.” 

“You’re cleaning up for her,” Remus says, putting his face in his hand to watch him with a softer smile, “it’s nice of you, really, but you can’t expect me to pretend I believe you when you say you don’t like her for much longer if you’re going to do stuff like this.” 

“Now say that five times fast.” 

His heart drops when you clear your throat, caught, sodden tissue in hand. You don’t eyeball him, there’s no scorn, you clear your throat again and all but collapse into your seat. 

“Hey,” James says. 

You tip your head back. “Hi, James.” Your eyes are bloodshot, and, to James’ surprise, you aren’t wearing a lick of makeup. You look very pretty but very tired, too. 

“You okay?” 

Remus bends around the desktop. “Yeah, are you okay? 

“I’m fine,” you drop your head back with some vertigo, and press your hands to your eyes. “I’m not very well, is all.” 

“What’s wrong?” Remus asks. 

“Just poorly. Um, I have a bad headache, and my ears are ringing, but it’s not unmanageable. I’m full of sudafed.” 

“Can’t you go home? We can manage without you until you’re better,” Remus says.

“I had all that time off a few weeks ago,” you say. You’d been ill not so long ago. 

“You can have some of my sick days,” James says immediately. 

You rub your eyes hard enough to make James’ ache in sympathy. “Doesn’t work like that.” 

“You really shouldn’t be here if you’re sick,” James says. 

“I won’t get you sick, I promise. I brought hand sanitizer, I’m not sneezing or coughing, I’m just aching.” Your movements are lethargic as you lean back in your chair, the slow roll of your shoulders and the limp cross of your arms over your stomach hard to ignore. 

James rounds the desk to chuck his tissues in the little bin beneath it. “I don’t think either of us are worried about you getting us sick, lovely.” 

Your face crumples quickly and neatens up again just as fast. “My head just hurts,” you say, rubbing your forehead. You manage to summon a wobbly smile despite your pinched brows. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” 

If it were Sirius, James would thrust a bottle of water and a pack of ibuprofen at him and tell him to chill out. It it were Remus, the expression would turn his heart, and he’d give his friend a good pat on the back. You aren’t Sirius nor Remus, you’re not so close to him that James knows what to do, but what use is he if he doesn’t try?

“Can I make you a cup of tea?” James asks. 

“That’s cruel,” Remus says, “your tea is like milky disappointment.” He stands with a smile James hates, some playful conniving mixture with good intentions deep, deep down. “I’ll make it. James, why don’t you turn the radiator?” 

“Is that okay?” James asks. 

“What?” 

“Do you think that’ll make you feel better, the radiator?” James asks. 

“I can do it.”

“No, it’s okay, it hurts your hand. I’ll turn it up.” He weaves back in between your chair and the radiator. Your desk is close enough to be faced with your thighs, but James doesn’t get half as distracted by them as he does your twitchy face. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks. 

“You and Remus worry too much.” You give him the side eye. “Why do you care?” 

“I think we’re a little bit past pretending we don’t like each other, aren’t we?” 

He turns the radiator on with less struggle than he’s anticipating and holds his hand to the bottom until he feels the metal warming. “Tell me if that gets too hot for you,” he says, standing. 

“Thank you.” 

“It’s no problem.” 

“No, really,” you say, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “thanks for worrying about me. I’ll feel better in an hour.” 

“Did you eat breakfast?” He brings his hand up to wipe a stray fibre from your cheek, “Why were you late?” 

“I…” Your eyes follow his hand as he lowers it. Emboldened, James raises it again, wiping at a phantom fibre. “What is it?” 

“Little hair on your cheek.” 

“I slept late, and I felt strange in the car so I parked for a bit, and… I don’t know. I should’ve stayed home, but you know what he’s like about sick days.” 

“You feel alright now, other than the headache?” 

“Just heavy.” 

James spots Remus coming back and steps away. “You’ll be alright, okay? Don’t worry too much. Do some of the top spreadsheets and we can manage the rest.” 

“You don’t have to do that for me.” 

James does, really. Remus gives you your mug of tea and one of the plastic wrapped muffins from the kitchen, both boys keeping watch over you like a vigil. If you were well enough to notice you’d complain, but you spend the next few hours sipping at your tea as it turns cold, and nibbling at little bits of muffin, clearly tired. 

You email James the Lang and Co. invoices four hours after he’s asked for them with a sorry and a frowny face emoticon. James wants to kiss you on the forehead, feels it so strongly it becomes a different kind of wanting, to look after you and for you to want him to do that. He’s in way too deep. There’s not much he can do. 

“You want some more tea?” he asks, leaning over to grab your discarded mug.

“Yeah, please, Jamie.” 

James’ fingers wobble around the mug. 

Remus glances up from his phone. 

“Of course,” James says, smiling, “coming right up.” 

Jamie, he thinks. Friends call him Jamie. He can be your friend, he’d love to be your friend, but Jamie. Even sick, you say it sweetly. He trips over himself trying to get what you asked. 

[unholyhelbig]

please please please mary x reader

Title: I Miss the Way Things Used to Be [18+]

Part One | Part Two| Main Masterlist

Ship: Female!Reader x Mary (Sinners 2025)

Summary: It's been twenty years since you've fallen out with Mary, the same woman that changed you all that time ago. Though you're not shocked to see her, you miss her more than you're willing to admit.

Dt💕: @luciferdidwhat, @thinking1bee

Warnings: Blood, biting, cannon-typical violence, pet names (Darling, sweet girl, all the fun southern dialects), Grinding/ dry humping (Mary Recieving), slight dom/sub tones, use of good girl, blood drinking, implied death, mentions of murder, funeral, angst, drinking, and horrible grammar, I don't proofread.

[A/n: Alright, I'll admit it, I've got Mary brainrot. I'm going to see the movie again tomorrow night with some friends, and I'll have the keep the secret that I write about this woman to dicking me down! Let me know what you think!]

The café was open later than it used to be in the 40’s. It had taken over the bookstore when physical media went out of fashion, somewhere along the line changing from leather-bound books to something that held the knowledge of the world behind a device that sat heavy on a desk. You prided yourself on staying current- up with the times, but something that would never change was the ache you felt in the pit of your stomach each time you saw the everchanging storefront of Monarch.

They’d kept the name, at least. A homage to the rich history of the city. The apartment you used to share with Kate had been turned into offices in the 80’s when renting on the block had become too steep for anyone but the owners of the brownstone, but the windows stayed the same. The exterior and the floors and the walls were all the same. Built to last.

The light fixtures had been updated to something modern and sleek. Bursts of dark roast filled your lungs and hints of floral white tea curled around you. Music played from a boombox behind the counter. Something soft and languid.

You ordered a black coffee for the simple fact of wanting to feel something warm in your stomach, something human, and settled in a booth by the windows. The edges were frosted from the temperature change. The script against the glass was preserved by the historical society. A woman you’d never had the pleasure of meeting named Lisa had hand-painted it, according to legend.

You breathed in the oaky, spiced scent of the blend. Despite the lack of books in this place, you had to admit that they offered up a good drink. More than that, it opened up a moment of peace in the Mississippi Delta that was always evaded.

The bitter drink never touched your lips. You set it down and slowly opened your eyes to the occupied seat across from you. There was no jolt of anxiety that skyrocketed through you, no, not with this one.

She’d been following you for days. Keeping her distance with her hands deep in her pockets and her head ducked as if you would actually turn around and nail her with a stare. You went about your business because there was nothing else to do.

Instead, you’d leveled her with an unimpressed stare and leaned back into the plush of the booth. The silence tumbled in the empty vacuum of space that rested between you both. Neither wanting to acknowledge how close you were to a treasure of memories just a floor above.

Mary.

She wore a leather jacket like a second skin, open to a black t-shirt that hugged her figure. Her hair was longer, pushed to the side. A dark swath of makeup lined her eyes. She was admittedly stunning. 1990 was treating her well. A little too well for your liking. The moisture was effectively zapped from your mouth.

You’d taken on a clean-cut look yourself. A sweater to combat the cold, or to at least keep up the appearance of such. Something soft and classic and a mix of neutrals that fit you just fine in Boston but made you stand out here. You ached for the cobblestone and the red ivy, and the constant flow of rain. Even in the dead of winter, the heat was too startling here.

“When I heard you were back in town, I thought, there was no way.” She leaned forward, taking your mug from the neutral ground and taking a long, slow sip. Her lips left a red tint behind on the rim. “Because my girl? No, my girl wouldn’t walk the streets of Mississippi without lettin’ me know she was here.”

You swallowed back a groan at her antic, instead clenching your jaw and lifting your eyebrow. She was livid. Despite the calm rasp to her voice, there was anger lingering just beyond the brewing storm.

“But here you are, enjoying a cup of coffee at the Monarch of all places.” She lowered her voice to a hush “Does it bring back memories for you? Make you uncomfortable?”

A long sigh escaped you as you picked up the mug and placed your mouth over the same spot Mary had, enveloping the pink stain with your lips and gulping down the scalding liquid, not pulling your eyes away from hers. An act of defiance that rivaled the warmth in your stomach.

“I’m not here for you. I’m here out of respect for Sammie.”

Her face softened at this, but only for a moment. “Could’ve sent a letter.”

“To whom? His cello player? She stopped responding to me the second she found out I had anything to do with the likes of you and Stack. Doesn’t matter how close Sammie and I became. What happened that night was none of my business and never will be, but it’s hers.”

“The Cello player?”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

She scoffed at you but didn’t correct you in her line of thinking. You saw it in the deep brown of her eyes, wondered if they flickered a deep scarlet now, not the same blinding and kind white that you’d known. As kind as she could be.

The context weighed heavily on you both. Preacher Boy was the last connection to Mary’s life before the sticky taste of blood was all she could remember. A tether that reminded her of the night at the Juke Joint all those years ago. The one person who had made it out with a pulse was about to be bones in the ground with the rest of them.

Your fingers twitched and you moved them to your lap, not figuring yourself strong enough to keep your hands away from hers in an act of learned comfort. It would be so easy to run your thumbs over her calloused knuckles. To hold her flush against you while she mourned the loss of a friend.

Over the scattered years, Mary would take you to see Sammie’s shows. He was a brilliant musician. He was past that, if you were being honest. Listening to him play was like swallowing a warm cup of tea, the bottom of the cup coated in melted hot honey. The first two decades, she’d grasp at your hand and pull you away before he could notice her presence. The third decade, she introduced you.

He was as kind as his lyrics. Even those who only listened to Preacher Boy Sammie sing, felt the waves of his death. A string on the devils fiddle snapped. The flames burned a little less hot, just for one day. Just to mourn the loss.

“I don’t want you here.” Mary said pointedly.

“You’re a real charmer, you know that? Twenty years and you still know how to flirt flawlessly.”

“This isn’t a joke, y/n.”

You took another sip of your coffee, taking in her stance over the rim of the cup. Mary flashed an expression that you’d only seen once before. Mary was scared. It tumbled away the second it appeared but it was there nonetheless. The same as it had been the night you decided you had had enough.

“What’s going on, Mary? Are you in some kinda trouble?”

“Trouble? No.” She shook her head, pursed her lips and averted her stare from your own as if she couldn’t tell a lie straight to your face. “No trouble, angel. Forgive me if I’d rather not see the woman who walked out on me when things got rough.”

“Rough? Mary, you were ripping through people left and right. I still have the newspaper clippings about the Delta Demon. You were out of control.”

“And you were a coward.”

You snapped your jaw shut, adjusting yourself against the vinyl seat. She watched you carefully as you stretched your arm over its length, shifting your ankle to your knee. Mary was deflective, an angry scrunch to her nose, admittedly adorable.

 “I might have been a coward, but I made you feel something all the same. Mary, you don’t think that was hard for me?” You swallowed the dryness in your throat, the bitter coat of coffee. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. You gave me life and I had to walk away from the one we created together just to snap you out of it”

She stared at you silently, the low hum of music from behind the counter mixed with a steam exhale of the espresso machine. Both of you were so accustomed to the background grind of noise that constantly surrounded the air.

“Unless I didn’t and you’ve spent the last two decades slaughtering anything with a pulse and forgetting that we had something at all.”

“You’ve grown bold in Boston.” Mary leaned forward, the ghost of a smirk pulling her lips upward. “It’s fucking sexy.”

You weren’t exactly proud of yourself for your next actions, though, you were proud of the Monarch for having a bathroom door that locked not once, but twice. The chain slid into place easily. It was natural, much like the way Mary fit flush against your body.

You pushed her against the bathroom door, mouth hot on her own. It wasn’t a graceful kiss. It was hungry and desperate and tinged with the sour taste of coffee that was way too expensive for what it was. When she let out her first moan, swallowing the sound was a new brand of heaven.

Both of your hands were against her hips, holding her in place with a bruising grip. Mary moved to flip the two of you around, but you held firm, moving back and leveling her with an unimpressed stare. “Still have issues with control, huh?”

She growled deep in her chest “What do you think?”

You scoffed and returned your full attention to her, attaching your lips to her neck as if you were a starved animal. She let out a stuttered breath and tilted her head to the side, allowing you more access. The tips of your fingers grazed the warmth of her thighs, the hem of her jean skirt.

You placed your knee in between both of her legs, feeling the instant heat of her. You’d worked her up, wondered how long it had been since she felt a satisfying touch. She gasped and it bled into a stuttered moan.

“Mm, so sensitive.” You hummed against her skin, letting your fingers slide under her shirt, nails dragging against her toned stomach. “You’re so worked up, baby. So desperate.”

“Shut the hell up,” Mary pressed down to generate more pressure against her core, wasn’t quite satisfied “Stop teasing and fuck me, already.”

The chuckle escaped you naturally and infuriated her more, your other hand grasping her chin and angling it towards you, lips ghosting her own. “If you want to come so badly, why don’t you grind against me and fuck yourself?”

Mary’s hand splayed against your chest and a scoff left her. Though, her flushed cheeks and heavy pants gave her desperation away. You loved this look on her, felt a thrill from being in control. Having her under you after all these years.

“You can’t be serious, babydoll.” She whined, jutting out her lip in a pout. “That’s humiliating.”

“That’s the point.”

Mary swallowed hard, let her head thump against the door, but you felt her grind down all the same, her stuttered breath warming your collarbone. The sensation must have been satisfying enough because she did it again, back and forth, and then again.

Soon, Mary was bracing herself against your shoulders and falling apart on your tensed thigh. You felt her heat, her wetness, soak through the fabric of your pants. She fell forward and tucked her forehead into the small of your neck, breathed you in desperately.

“That’s it, sweetie, take what you want.”

You coaxed her easily, earned a grunt in return as you pressed her hips down, creating more tension. She was trembling now, so close. Her fingers curled into the fabric of your sweater as she picked up the pace, breaths rapid.

“You don’t have to fight it,” You whispered against the flushed color of her cheek. “Let yourself come undone like the desperate little slut that you are.”

Mary tensed against you, muffling her moan in the fabric of your shirt. You could feel the drool, the slick on your leg. She’d looped her arms around your midsection and held you close, closer than she had in years. You worked her through her high, even as she slowed her movements to a stop and breathed through her release.

She swallowed the dryness in her throat, nose cold against your pulse point and hands gripping you as if you were the only thing keeping her steady. If she weren’t so close, you wouldn’t have caught her words. “I don’t want you here.”

“No, you want me inside of you.” You shot back quickly, a flash of anger washing through you despite the fact that you didn’t want her to let you go. She made no move to. “Don’t get snarky because I made you work for something.”

She pushed her head against the door, a fucked-out expression on her face. “I work for plenty. You know how hard it is to keep my patience around you?”

“Mm, I don’t, but you can tell me.”

Mary let out a frustrated grumble and shoved you off her, pulling the bunched-up fabric of her skirt back down before crossing to the mirror to check her makeup. It had smudged from the tears that streaked her cheeks, left charcoal lines behind. You were thankful that the reflective surfaces were nothing but a myth.

“Fucking infuriating.” She dragged her finger against the pigment at the corner of her lip. “Eternity has made you a brat.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the obnoxious puke green tiles. “Listen, I wasn’t lying when I said I was only here for Sammie. Stack called, asked if I would attend a memorial. I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

Mary’s eyes met your own in the reflection. Instead of disdain, there was sadness. A certain level of affection that rushed straight to your gut, reminded you of the old Mary. The Mary that was tangled up in the moonlight just upstairs, all limbs and love.

“Alright,” she murmured, “alright, I know. I just… didn’t want something like this to happen.”

“Some things are inevitable.”

She turned and faced you, her palms resting against the granite of the countertop. Hair fell into her stormy eyes. They were captivating, beautiful in a way that was inhuman, just as she had made you under her own volition all those years ago.

“Even if we’re stuck in one place, one age, one lifetime, the world moves around us just the same. Maybe it’s better to be forgotten.”

She let out an uneasy breath, white-knuckled the ledge. Her eyes still glowered darkly at you, but there was a softer, quieter edge to it. “How do you mean?”

Your body moved forward on your own volition, out of habit and not because you’d thought anything through. Most times, with Mary, you stopped thinking and let the energy edge through your veins instead. The pull made you hook your fingers into her belt loops and pull her against you. Mary didn’t resist. She melted against you instead, peered down with a petulant frown.

“Legacy is subjective, Mar.” you traced a finger against her jaw, so tender that she nuzzled against the inside of your wrist, the same routine that brought you to where you are now ghosted her breath against your pulse point. “The detective that’s after the Delta Demon will pass his hat to the next the second he retires, if you’re lucky. And the next.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? You worry so much about what people will remember of you. Of the mark you left behind when someone is right in front of you who would never dare forget.”

There was a tense silence between the both of you that seemed to drag on for a few seconds, or perhaps it was eternity. Her breath was hot on your lips. You could see the gold specks that pockmarked her iris’s, and it made you ache for the memory of the memory that was the sun.

A rushed knock at the door pulled the two of you apart, Mary’s discontented stare enough to burn a hole through the wood. You could hear the nervous heartbeat of the employee on the other side. She didn’t’ have to say anything for you to know that you’d spent much too long in here to be conspicuous.

But, then again, nothing about Mary ever was.

Time moved at an even pace when eternity was filled with routine. It had been easy enough to secure a job teaching night school, easier still to find a rhythm in teaching the basics to students who were searching for their GED’s, worn by the day and sleep mussed enough to listen without fail.

You leaned against the edge of the desk at the front of the small lecture hall, eyes languidly following along as one of the students read aloud through the dense paragraphs of the Grapes of Wrath.

Though you’d read John Stienbecks novel time and time again, and had assigned countless essays and subsequent tests to follow the content, you always found your mind drifting to the actual time in history. The sharp sting of dust in your eyes, and the heavy taste of dirt on your tongue. It had been easier to find a meal. Too easy, perhaps. The time pulled listlessly at your withering soul.

You’d glanced up when the door creaked open at the back of the room. It was silent, not stealing the focus of any of your students as one wrapped up a page and the other took over seamlessly, the timbre of their voice rusted with exhaustion and boredom.

She slipped into the seat at the very back, shrouded by a cloud of darkness. It was impossible for you not to clock everything in any room you stepped in. You were built like a predator, designed to hunt and kill and swallow people whole. Of course, Mary’s scent filled your lungs as easily, steeled them with longing all the same.

The rest of the class went by in a steady lull of reading, but you hardly paid attention. Not with dark eyes blinking at you behind shaded features. You swore you could catch the flash of something animalistic there, a flash of silver in her petit stare.

“Right, that’s enough for tonight.” You cleared your throat, prying yourself away from the desk and setting your worn copy down, the pages bent with love. “Make sure you come in on Thursday with chapter twenty read and analyzed. You know my office hours if you have any questions.”

You waved them off lazily, and they were more than ready to file out. Mary got a few stinted looks, but nothing of suspicion, nothing that weighed heavily on them the way that it rested on your own shoulders. Her mere presence, just three months after you’d fucked her against the door of the Monarch, was enough to root you in your place.

“Livin’ it wasn’t enough?” Her accent sounded out of place, but smooth and beautiful all the same. Mary stood, bundled in a coat thicker than you’d ever seen her in before. But, you supposed she was much out of her element. “You had to teach it too.”

“It’s in the curriculum. People never cease to be fascinated by suffering.”  

The irony was not lost on you, and by the flat look in Mary’s eyes, you figured she picked up on the same thing you did. The way the two of you gravitated towards one another despite the agony you both endured.

Her proximity alone made your stomach hot, goosebumps rising on your skin. You hadn’t seen her since Sammie’s funeral, only two weeks before. It was nothing compared to the twenty years that passed prior, but somehow, the ache ran deeper and rougher than before.

“What are you doing here, Mar?”

You went to your desk and started straightening paper that didn’t need to be straightened. Filed them away in a bag that was made of leather that carried a certain old and oiled smell. She allowed the desk to be a buffer, pressed her perfectly manicured fingers against it and watched you carefully.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said.” She paused, swallowed whatever dryness was in her throat. “it’s easy to forget yourself when you’ve lived for as long as I have. The nights, they blend together into a numbness that… that I was fighting hard to break. And killing, killing gave me that rush.”

You peered up at her. This was the first ounce of honesty you’d gotten out of her in a long time. A rush of warmth that came with words like I love you, you’re all I’ve ever needed, we have eternity together. Something you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Something only your sire could provide. Mary stuttered a breath as if she felt it too.

“It was scary for you, wasn’t it?”

“Watching you spiral? Of course. You were the only love I had ever known, and you were slipping every day. What scared me more than anything is that I was ready to fall with you, Mary.” Your voice cracked, you covered it by clearing your throat, squeezing the bridge of your nose before meeting her steady stare, glossy with emotion. “I didn’t leave because I cared for you any less. I left because if I didn’t, we’d both be drenched in blood.”

Mary opened her mouth, closed it and opened it again before she thought better of it. The two of you stared at one another in an electrically charged heat. Even under the fluorescent lights of the classroom, she was stunning. A dangerous trap for you to fall directly into.

Finally, she spoke. “It woke me up, believing that I had disgusted you enough for you to leave. Stack had stayed, because Stack always stays but he wasn’t quiet about how much I’d fucked up by losin’ you. Pushing you away.”

She’d found your hand over the surface of the table, fingers a burst of comfort against your own. Out of reflex and desperation, you squeezed back, wanted to destroy the barrier that separated you, but held steady and strong.

“I knew you were too good for me the second I walked into your bar, and I still couldn’t stop myself. Even though I knew it was unfair to you, to pull you from the life you’d built for yourself. I needed to have you and then… shit, then I ruined it all and left you in my wake.”

You laughed sadly, pulling her hand up to your lips and laying a tender kiss to the base of her palm. “Believe it or not, Mary. My life does not hinder on your own. My happiness however, would improve greatly if I didn’t have to return home to an empty apartment and a dog that I think only tolerates me.”

“Are you asking me to stick around?”

“Maybe for a little while.” You gave her an easy smile. “If you’re up for it, that is.”

The smile that Mary wore was stunning. It bloomed across her features in a way that reminded you of spring rain, of what you remembered a day stretched on the lakeshore with the sun beating against your skin would feel like. Everything special you cherished from being human, and everything eternal you desired from being anything but.

Her lips were against your own, a tender kiss that was intimate in it’s delicacy. Her fingers traced your jaw, touching you as if you were glass. Fragile in the way that she’d made you. She tasted slightly of metal and citrus. But more than anything, she tasted of home.

[angel5ofp0rn]

♡ part one ♡

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

been thinking ab this post 4ever and need to get it out tbh.

**I’ve never done something like this b4 and I haven’t proofread so pls be nice 2 me ._. **

You have been divorced from your ex husband John Price for two years. Still, he comes over and shovels your driveway for you every time it snows.

He’s come inside and warmed up in the mudroom nearly every 15-20 minutes, puffing hot breath into his hands and rubbing them together for warmth before stepping back out and shoveling again.

You meet him in the mudroom for his fourth warm-up break and hand him a mug of hot coffee. Dash of cream, one sugar.

“Still how you take your coffee, right?” You offer a small smile, hugging your arms around yourself as John takes a sip from the mug.

“Still the same.” He nods before he takes another sip, the small smile that had appeared at the corner of his mouth quickly fading.

He leans up against the doorframe, the shovel leaning against the wall next to him. He peers out of the door's window, checking over his work.

“I'll get goin' soon enough. It ain't snowing right now, the drive's nearly clear.”

You thank him again, even though you never asked him to do this in the first place. You can’t help but look up at him, meeting his blue eyes for just a moment.

Before he could reply, your two children came running around the corner cheering and squealing when they saw their dad.

John's smile brightens at their presence, his body language immediately softening as he squatted down to their level.

“Hey, my little monkeys. Come give yer ol’ dad a hug.” He opens his arms out wide, inviting both of them to come to him. It doesn't take long before they both go crashing into him, squealing, smiling. Their giggles filled the small room.

You just smile. Even if you and John aren’t always on the best of terms, you can’t deny that he’s a great father.

“Daddy’s cold.” Your youngest shivers a bit from hugging their dad, who still had snow on his clothes and frost on his beard from shoveling.

John tries to shrug it off, but you ask him to stay and warm up for a while.

For the kids, of course.

Plus dinner is nearly ready, and you definitely made too much for just you and the kids, anyway.

More cheering, more squealing, more giggling as John finally agrees and kicks his boots off, hanging his coat on the hook.

John’s blue eyes scan the new decor and different paintings on the wall, but he doesn’t comment on how much the place has changed since he moved out.

After dinner, the two of you stand in the doorway as you watch the kids play together in their playroom, that used to be John’s “man cave”.

“They're gonna make you tuck them in.” You mention, sipping your glass of wine.

John smiles, a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Maybe you can convince them to go up and brush their teeth?” You lower your wineglass and offer a fake, pleading pout.

He looks down for a moment, pretending not to see the gesture. Instead, he looks back to the children.

“Right then, you two little monkeys. It’s gettin’ late. Go on up and brush your teeth. I’ll come tuck you in.”

Both children protest for a while, but eventually give in without too much of a fight. That’s a new one.

John lets out a chuckle as the children roll their eyes and go up the stairs. He watches them disappear from view before turning and meeting your eyes again, still smiling for this small victory.

As if he had just realized he was staring, John’s eyes darted down into his now empty mug.

"Let me take that." You reach for his mug but he shakes his head.

"I haven’t forgotten where the kitchen is," He smiles a bit. "'ll clean up and then tuck the kids in."

John makes his way over to the kitchen, placing it in the sink and starting water. You follow, and notice that he was also washing the dishes from dinner as well.

“John, you don’t have to-“

“I know.”

And that’s that.

You chew your bottom lip. This looked too familiar. It felt too familiar.

"I'm... gonna go check on them and get them in their pj's." You gesture to the stairs in the hall.

He looks up at you briefly and nods; "Be up in a bit, love.”

Once the water is emptied from the sink, he starts loading the dishes into the dishwasher. Once completed, he starts to wipe down the counters and stovetop, wanting to make sure he left no mess behind. Then he trekked back up the stairs to tuck in the kids.

You’re downstairs again, on the living room sofa. You wanted to let John have a moment alone with the kiddos before he left again.

He makes his way down the stairs and sees you sitting there in the dim lighting. He clears his throat a bit as he walks through the living room and back into the mudroom.

“They're tucked in. Not a whisper from ‘em.” He mentions casually as he gets his snow boots back on.

You thank him, turning to watch him leave, but notice him looking out of the door window and pause. So you make your way over to the door to see what he’s seeing.

It's started snowing and the driveway is completely covered again. It looks like he hasn't even shoveled.

John lets out a grunt of disbelief and sighs, pulling on his beanie and reaching for the shovel once again.

“Don't-“ You shake your head, placing your hand on the shovel. “It's snowing hard, there's no point in shoveling it all up just for it to be covered again. Why don't you... stay on the couch or something tonight.”

He stares down at the shovel for a moment, debating it. After a beat, he sighs a bit, nodding.

“I... could do that.”

You go upstairs to the bedroom and bring John some extra pillows and blankets to make a bed on the couch with.

You set everything on the coffee table and the two of you sit on the couch for a moment, just catching up and chatting about the kids.

“The kids both want to do soccer in the spring.” You mention, your cheeks a bit rosy from the wine you had with dinner.

“Football.” He corrects with a small smirk. You roll your eyes.

“Let me pay for the lessons.” He says; not asking.

Of course you refuse.

Of course he insists.

You settle on splitting it.

Then it happens again. Your eyes meet his. Neither one of you speaks. Suddenly you’re transported back to the first night you met; you were newly 21 and already tipsy when your eyes met those of an older man in his fatigues as he sat at the bar. You remember drunkly telling the older man that he had the prettiest blue eyes, and that you wanted a hundred of his babies that looked just. like. him.

You have two, at least.

“Oh!” You sit up a bit straighter, snapping out of your daydream. “I was going to ask you to look at something on my laptop. It's doing that thing again. It's upstairs.” You get up and head to your home office, John right behind you.

You open your laptop and hand it to John. He knew how to fix it last time, so it should take him no time.

He sits in your office chair and you step away into your bedroom across the hall to get into a pair of pajama shorts and a hoodie, since it's getting late.

The laptop whirred softly before he got it running again. Only took a minute. He sets it on the desk, leaning back in your chair with his hands behind his head as he looks up through the open door where you can be found, changing in the bedroom.

You were his wife at one point, anyway. Isn’t something he hasn’t seen before…

After you’ve changed, you lay on your bed, scrolling through your phone as you wait for John to fix the issue with your laptop, unaware that he was watching. Unaware that the laptop has been fixed for a while now, and he was just wasting time.

Eventually, his voice wafts through the doorway.

“Think I got it, love-“ He pauses for a moment. “Er, Y/N.”

“Ugh, thank you.” You sigh and sit up, taking the laptop from him and setting it on your nightstand. “Stupid thing always acting up.”

John sits on the edge of your bed as you take the laptop back from him.

“Not a problem. It was a quick fix.” He offers a small smile, rubbing the back of his head.

He takes a glance at you, noticing the pajamas you had put on.

"...Is that my sweatshirt?"

You blush a bit sheepishly, looking down at the oversized, grey 2XL Special Air Service hoodie you’re wearing. "Um..."

Another small chuckle escapes his lips. He shakes his head a bit, trying to contain his amusement.

“S’what I thought. You look... comfy." He reaches his hand out towards your leg, running his hand lightly over your bare legs, exposed by the shorts you were wearing.

Without realizing what he's doing, he has his hand on your thigh, and he gives it a light squeeze.

Eventually his hand travels higher to rest on your sex over your pajama shorts.

Usually, you'd tell him off. Monologue about how this isn't how things work because it complicated things and you both need to set boundaries.

But tonight you don't.

Maybe it's because you had two heavy-handed pours of your favorite wine with dinner. Maybe it was seeing him with your kids again. Maybe it had just been too long since you'd felt anything other than a cheap bullet vibrator.

So you let him slip his hand down your panties.

But it's a bit jarring to feel his wedding band still on his finger.

You look down at his hand for a beat when you feel it.

You look back up and place your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in and crashing your lips together.

John wastes no time in laying you back on your bed and tugging your shorts and panties off, tossing them somewhere behind him.

His lips are on your neck, his hands spreading your soft thighs apart. You can smell the musky scent of himself on him, mixed with that familiar cologne of his, and you breathe a sigh.

“Take this off f’r me.” He mumbles against your skin, sliding your his hoodie up your body.

Your body aches for this to continue, and John doesn't plan to disappoint, but he takes a moment to admire what's sprawled out in front of him. He lets out a satisfied smirk as he pulls you closer by your thighs. He's undone his belt and shrugged out of his jeans in no time.

You pull his shirt off over his head before you close your eyes and tilt your head to give him easier access to kiss your neck.

His scruffy beard tickles your neck, his calloused hands gripping your thigh and rubbing your slick, dripping pussy.

“So needy.” John observed as your back arched and your body squirmed at his touch. "Poor thing... No one's been keepin’ you satisfied, hm?”

You shake your head a bit. You hate that he’s right. You hate that he can tell. That he knows you too well.

But he’s right; no random Tinder hookup and no blind date that your friends have set you up with could ever compare to your ex husband.

“Should’a told me...” He murmurs as he leans lower, positioning his head in between your thighs, pressing desperate kisses to your aching clit.

He’s got you figured out completely. He’s always been good at that.

A smile forms as his hands move to grip your thighs. He lets out a quiet groan as your legs instinctively clamp around his head. The look of his veiny hands gripping your plushy thighs with that damn wedding band still around his finger is doing things to you.

His tongue slowly plays in circular motions, teasing you, loving the game. He takes his time, enjoying himself, as you continue to squeeze your thighs against his head. Hell, he’d let you suffocate him if it meant he could eat your pussy this one last time.

You try not to, but you let out a desperate moan of pleasure. He knew exactly what you like, exactly where to lick, exactly where to kiss, exactly where to nibble.

Damn him.

“You sound s’pretty, lovey. S’pretty f’r me.” He pants, his praise ending with a whimper.

Your eyes roll back. Fuck, he has you. He knows he has you. Your moans and whimpers are uncontrollable as he picks up the pace, all but slamming his thick cock into your pretty little hole.

You’re his, and he knows it, and in the moment, it’s true. Just him. Just you. The rest doesn’t matter right now.

John pulls out for just a moment while he swiftly flips you over, roughly gripping your hips and pulling your backside into him. He’s got the angle just right now, and your breath catches in your throat, followed by a needy whimper.

“Mine… All mine… Isn’t that right?” He whispers, more of a command than a question.

Your face is pressed against the mattress as John’s grip on your hips tighten. This angle, this position, John is so familiar with it. He knows what it does to you. He knows the way it makes you respond.

John lets out a loud groan as your whimpers and moans get more needy, desperate. He knows that you’re about to come.

He finishes right then and there, along with you.

You gasp a bit, surprised by the synchronization. Should you really be surprised, though? Only he would know your body like that. You’re his. He’s yours.

John slowly pulls his softening cock out of you, lying on the bed and pulling you into his chest. His hand grabs your thigh, draping your leg around his waist in an attempt to hold you closer.

He lets out a few deep breaths, letting the adrenaline and endorphins just fade away. Neither of you wants to move right now, both just content being in each other’s arms. Both content feeling the heat of each other’s bodies, just listening to each other breathing.

“Better than I remembered it.” John murmurs, his voice laced with a smirk.

You catch John’s left hand after he reached up to push your sweaty hair from your forehead. You hold it in yours, playing a bit with the wedding band.

next >>

[bohemianrapshawty]

Acts

Dr. Robby’s love language wasn’t loud. It wasn’t flashy or poetic or showy. He didn’t write sonnets or sweep you off your feet with grand declarations. That wasn’t him.

What he did do—what he always did—was quietly take care of things.

He’d get up early on your workdays, just ten minutes before you, and start the kettle. He’d warm up your car in the winter without saying a word. You never asked. You never even saw him do it. But the frost was always melted, the seat always toasty.

He’d take your laundry out of the dryer before it had the chance to wrinkle. Refill your vitamins. Clean your glasses when you left them smudged on the coffee table. You just assumed the world was weirdly in sync those days. You never quite put it together.

He never said, “Look what I did.” That wasn’t his style.

You didn’t notice when he started stocking your favorite snacks in the pantry before your cycle hit, like some kind of low-key oracle. Or how he figured out you always left your phone charger in weird places and started coiling it up neatly next to your pillow every night.

You didn’t see him tighten the screws on the wobbly chair or swap out the dying batteries in your remote. The bathroom light stopped flickering and the weird leak under the sink disappeared like magic.

It just felt like… things were easier when Rob was around.

You didn’t notice the acts, not really. But you felt the effect. The softening of your days. The edges smoothing out.

You only really saw it when he wasn’t there.

The one weekend he was gone for a medical conference, the house felt different. Not messy. Not chaotic. Just… a little more effortful.

The heater made that weird noise again. Your laundry sat in the dryer too long. Your laptop cord went missing for hours.

And when you got home from work, tired and cold, you walked into a dark kitchen and realized no one had made sure the light was left on for you.

You didn’t cry, exactly. But your chest ached in a way it hadn’t in a while.

When Rob came home, late Sunday night, suitcase in hand and tie loosened, you just melted into him. Wrapped yourself around him like gravity had finally remembered what it was supposed to do.

He laughed into your hair. “Hi. Missed you.”

“I didn’t realize how much until just now,” you whispered.

And maybe that’s when it really hit you—how much he did. How his love wasn’t in flowers or fireworks, but in action. In thoughtful, invisible rituals.

He’d never say, “Look at everything I do for you.” He never needed to.

But now, you saw it.

And the next morning, when he was still half-asleep, you packed his lunch for work. Toasted his bagel just the way he liked. Filled his travel mug.

You didn’t say anything. Just handed it to him with a kiss on the cheek.

He looked at you with that crooked, sleepy smile and said, “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you said, brushing a crumb from his collar. “That’s kind of the point.”

[pomefioredove]

can I have uhhhhh, a sugar cookie, sugar order 5 , with frosting, sprinkles, and powdered sugar :D

(i hope i did this right, love ur writing <3)

ofc and thank you!!

order #5, sugar with frosting, sprinkles, powdered sugar

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ runaway, runaway

summary: you take in a runaway, not knowing he's the son of the richest man in the land tropes: hurt/comfort, only one bed (kinda), coffee shop au characters: kalim additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu, pre-nrc so both reader and kalim are younger, had fun writing this :)

Heavy is the hand that holds the OPEN/CLOSED sign.

Stained are the sleeves that wear the apron, sore are the arms that grind the coffee, and so on.

Your family had fallen asleep hours ago, and you had only now finished cleaning the cabinets, sweeping up straw wrappers and stirring sticks, wiping the windows, and seeing to the stock.

When you promised your parents you would close the coffeehouse, you... well, weren't counting on this much work.

It's half-past twelve, and you think you could sleep for two years after this. There go your aspirations of being a business owner... but, at least nothing is broken. No trouble. Right?

You wander to the wide windows to close the curtains, one by one, shrouding the deserted coffeehouse in darkness. No one is out at this hour, and so you can take your time, admiring the night sky and all its sparkling stars through the-

ACK!

You startle, stumbling back into a low table and falling flat on your butt. Something moved out there- stray dog, it had to be- but it's right against the window, standing on two legs, palms pressed against the glass-

It's a boy! Not a child, but not yet grown, in a brown robe, hood pulled over his head.

You stand, bracing yourself with a broom. "We're closed,"

You were hoping he'd leave, though you were expecting him to shout profanities and pound against the glass.

Rather, he smiles. "Oh, hello! Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just smelled something delicious, and I had to see what it was!"

You blink. This isn't a rough neighborhood, but you weren't expecting a polite chat with a boy in rags at midnight.

"What's your name?" he asks, smiling as if he'd just made a friend.

You tell him, and he laughs. "Wow, pretty! You don't hear names like that in my home. I'm Kalim al- uh, I'm lost, I mean. Where am I? It's too dark to read the signs,"

He can read, too. Still, he's wearing what looks like a burlap sack, baggy and brown, beads of sweat on his forehead from the dying heat of the desert, or perhaps from wandering, walking to nowhere all night.

He must be really poor, you reason. How sad, to not have a home to go home to! No bed to bundle up in! You wouldn't know what you'd do without your family, or your coffeehouse, or your room, your music, your clothes...

You balance your broom against the wall and let him inside. The door closes behind him with a thud.

"North, near the edge of the desert. Where are you from?"

"Oh, I'm..." he starts. "It's not important. I'm not going back. What do you guys make here?"

"Coffee and tea,"

"Oh, I love tea!" he smiles. "And coffee! Well, I love everything delicious. Jamil brews me this really good kind..."

"Who's Jamil?"

"He's- oh, right. He's, um, no one," Kalim says, crossing his arms and pretending to be disinterested. "Thank you for letting me in- you're really nice."

"Well... I wouldn't have let you wander out there. The desert here isn't the safest at night,"

His eyes widen. "Is it? I had no idea,"

How strange. He's so... happy, for someone who's led such a hard life. You suppose there's something admirable about that- smiling in the face of suffering.

"You can stay in my room," you say. "Just don't take anything, okay? My family doesn't have a lot."

Kalim nods and lets you lead him to another door, his voice dropping low. "I would never,"

There's something strangely familiar about this boy. Maybe you'd seen him on a milk carton, or something. You'd heard adults say that they do that in some towns. But not here- what are you thinking?

Kalim looks around your room, eyes wide at your clothes, your books, your desk full of paper and splattered with ink. He only sits on the bed when you ask him too (seeing him spin around the room was making you dizzy).

"So, what brings you here?" you ask, drawing your knees to your chest. He does the same, imitating you.

"I ran away from home,"

He admits it in an ashamed sort of way, as if he had committed a crime- you're not sure someone so sewn with guilt could do such a thing.

You tilt your head to the side. "Why? Were your parents cruel?"

"Oh, no, they were the best,"

"Were you being forced to marry someone you didn't love?"

"No, but that sounds scary,"

"Were they going to send you away to become a man?" you'd read that in a book, once.

"Oh, no!" Kalim says. "Worse than all of that. I did something awful."

As you'd suspected. "What did you do?"

He hugs his knees tighter to his chest, his head hung low. "I hurt someone I care about,"

"On purpose?"

"No,"

"Then why do you feel bad about it?"

"It was my fault," he says. "If I wasn't... who I am, then it never would have happened. Jamil is sick and it's all my fault."

There's that name again. His eyes glisten, reflecting the light of the stars in his tears. His hair is white, like the midnight moon. Where have you seen him before?

"I think Jamil will forgive you if you tell him how you feel," you offer. You'd also read that in a book, once. "If he cares about you like how you care about him, then he'll understand."

Kalim sniffles, wiping his nose on his burlap sleeve, pushing it up to reveal a sliver of silken white beneath. "But what if it happens again?"

You don't know how to answer that. The dark of the room makes everything feel more serious, solemn, as if you're at a funeral for someone you don't know.

"But what if it doesn't?"

Kalim is quiet, mumbling that question to himself. "But what if it doesn't...?"

You place a hand on his shoulder, almost protectively so, to give him peace of mind for the moment.

And then he hums. "But what if it doesn't? I like that," he wipes his tears on his sleeve and looks at you with that smile again. "You're really smart, you know. If I had to marry anyone, I'd hope it'd be you."

The sentiment, as sick with emotion as it is, stirs something in you.

Kalim is gone by morning. He might have left so as not to disturb you, but you know that he had gone home running, eager to see his friends again.

His family will be happy to see him, you wager. And you wonder if you'll see him again- will he be a boy at a bakery in another town? An apprentice at a blacksmith? Will his family own the next farm you find?

You can't be sure.

All you know, for now, is that somewhere in the world, there's a boy named Kalim, with a friend named Jamil, and you can only hope that they're happy.

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Unexpected things you did that delight them:  

Riddle Rosehearts, Azul Ashengrotto, Trey Clover, Ruggie Bucci, Malleus Draconia

Content: Fluff

You learned proper tea etiquette for Riddle  

It starts out with you just listening to him correct others as they go throughout the various teatimes of Heartslabyul. How it leads to you thrifting a tea set from a local shop is hard to say, and it’s chipped a bit on the plates, but it holds, and the lady gave it to you for a far cheaper price than she should have. But it cleaned up beautifully, you filled in the cracks with some leftover clay and didn’t even have to repaint it! It was already in Ramshackle blue and green.  

It is embarrassing when he finds you quizzing yourself on the different spoons and plates, but the smile that blooms is worth it.  

You have no idea that when you invite him over for a tea party a few weeks after, it’s the first one that he hasn’t hosted himself. He borrows the same book from the library to brush up on his guest etiquette.  

“Prefect, what are you-ah! A lovely set. If you were needing to learn I would be happy to assist! What teas do you prefer? I will bring complimenting savories or sweets.”  

You carry glasses cleaner for Azul  

Assuming you don’t carry it already or if you don’t wear glasses. You and Azul usually spend a lot of time at Octavinelle but occasionally he will come to Ramshackle. He has since seen the work that you put into fixing up the place and the furniture you've built and appreciates it a way that the others can’t. Afterall, many of his own pieces are repaired or thrifted antiques for authenticity.

Lounging on the couch while listening to one of the jazz records he brought, you take the glasses from his hand when he realizes that he forgot his own cleaner.  

“Prefect, why would you have glasses wipes, you don’t wear any. Ah, you carry them for me. How thoughtful of you, my friend! I hope I’m not putting you out any.” 

You baked him a birthday cake for Trey  

Everyone gets nervous when Trey’s birthday comes around. How do you bake for a baker? He got past the disappointed feeling a long time ago though, perfectly prepared to make his own birthday cake.  

What isn’t accounted for you is pushing him out of the kitchen, declaring it against the rules for him to bake his own birthday cake. He could fight you on it, but he’s intrigued at this point on what you will make.  

What he doesn’t anticipate is a simple vanilla cake with a blueberry filling, a light buttercream frosting and candied violets and almonds scattered on the top. It’s simple but delicious and clearly just for him.

“You’ve got some real potential here. Where did you learn to make candied violets? You foraged and learned how just for me? Ah, that was too much for me. Thank you.”  

You clean Ruggie’s ears 

Ruggie does a lot of things to ensure everybody else gets taken care of, which means sometimes he neglects himself a bit. The showers got trashed over at Savanaclaw so he asks to use yours after a particularly messy Spelldrive Practice. As long as Grim can play with the disk in the backyard with the ghosts, it’s a deal for you.  

He comes out fluffy, hair sticking out in all sorts of places, which means you can see inside his ears and see the dirt still stuck in there. Offering to clean them wasn’t a big deal to you, you have to for Grim all the time.  

It gets awkward for a minute when he lays his head in your lap, but as soon as the cotton hits the inside and starts wiping up all the dirt and grim, he’s putty in your hands  

“I swear they weren’t that bad but-oh. Oh that’s nice. I think I can hear colors now. And your heartbeat. What’s got you racing, huh? I didn’t moo. I did not!” 

You got pictures of his family for Malleus  

This man has pictures of himself and his parents up on the walls, but none of the rest of his family. So, you work with the ghost for a long time, getting candid shots and other bit and pieces and slowly pulling them together. When Malleus’s birthday rolls around, you actually feel nervous about it.  

When he opens his present, to see the photo album, he gets unexpectedly quiet and soft, scanning through the quotes and stories written off to the side. You give little tidbits of how you get some shots, especially the times where you were sure that Lilia knew but didn’t say anything.  

Some even had him! Silver putting him in a headlock during some play wrestling, Lilia tapping his nose while playing chess, a rare moment of him and Sebek reading together where the half fae is actually relaxed.  

At the bottom are small, framed photos of what you thought were the best ones. Silver in his armor, surrounded by animals and birds alike, his sword gleaming with sunlight, looking gentle and graceful and alert. Sebek on horseback, wind streaking his hair to his skull and grinning like a madman, his favorite stead racing fearlessly. Lilia leaning against the railing of the balcony of Diasomnia dorm and watching the sunset, eyes fond and pink in the dying light. 

“I can’t think of a single present I have ever received that has been as thoughtful as this one. Your heart truly knows a kindness that is rare, my friend. But you are missing. Let us take one together. A selfie, yes?”  

[mermaidchansons]

Warm In December

Terry Richmond x Black Reader

Story Summary: You convince your husband, Terry, to slip away during your annual Christmas Eve party.

Words: 2500+

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ minors do NOT engage (you’ll be blocked), pre-established relationship, married reader, cursing, unprotected sex, P in V, fingering, squirting, slight mentions of breeding kink if you squint a little, breath play, good ole fluff

Author’s Note: Short and sweet. Dedicated to my sweet little bby @megamindsecretlair 💕. It’s still Christmas in my heart! - Ashanti

Christmas time at the Richmond house was always a big celebration. As soon as Thanksgiving dinner was cleaned up, Terry was out gathering the decorations from the garage. It always tickled you how quickly your love of the holiday season had infected him. When you first met your husband, he never had much of a yearning to celebrate. But that all changed when you first confessed your love to him at a local tree lighting ceremony. Every year since, Terry added the tree lighting ceremony onto his evergrowing itinerary of holiday related events. Driving around to look at the lights, gingerbread house competitions, and of course, tonight’s main event; the annual Christmas Eve dinner party. 

You waltzed between your guests dancing in your colorful living room. Terry’s friend Mel was DJ’ing a set of black holiday hits, coaxing folks out of an incoming case of the itis. A few people stopped you on your way to the kitchen; waxing about how delicious everything was. An invite to a Terry x Y/N dinner party was coveted amongst your community. You were practically a young Ina Garten in your own right; pulling off elaborate 3 and 4-course dinners with the likes of curried oxtail, whole fried tilapia, and king crab gumbo. Some of your friends would change their entire flight schedule to eat at the Richmond house on Christmas Eve.

“Ooo T, if these folk keep gassing me up, my heads gone get too big,” you said as you balanced a few empty glasses. 

“Let ‘em gas you. You really outdid yourself this year, baby.”

Going all out was expected of you, and Terry was determined to match your fly this year. Eight months ago, his therapist suggested he take up baking as a way to spend time with his thoughts. And now, he was ready to show your guests what he had been perfecting all this time. You leaned against the door frame and watched your gentle giant pull a pan of steaming hot cinnamon rolls out of the oven. He placed the pan down with cautious hesitation, making you bite back a giggle. 

Although you loved that Terry had cultivated a hobby that worked for him, you couldn’t help but still be tickled by it. Your 6’3, former marine, no-nonsense husband was a home baker. And he looked mighty fine doing it too. He wore his nice fitted polo that hugged every part of his muscle lined frame. He stared down intently through his gold-rimmed glasses that sat at the bridge of his nose as he whipped frosting in a bowl. Placing your tray down, you wrung out your hands; biting your lip as you watched his biceps flex with each whip of the whisk. Flashbacks of your quicky before the party popped into your mind. You’d shown him your dress for the night: a short black dress with dusty pink feathers lining the bottom. He must have liked it, the way he made quick work of hiking the dress over your thick thighs; commanding you to watch yourself in the mirrored ceiling while he greedily lapped at your pussy on the staircase. Jolting back to the present, your middle pooled with desire. Terry spread the cream cheese frosting over the freshly baked pastries and you practically moaned at the sight of it. God, I wish that was me.

“If you finna ogle me like that, you may as well give me a hand.” He playfully shook his head under your stare. It wouldn’t be the first time he feigned disapproval at your lust for him. You were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Hastily, you crossed the kitchen to press your chest against his back, hugging his waist. Your gold-adorned hands roamed his chest as you hummed along to the music floating in front of the living room. Terry chuckled and the depth of his voice was like honey in your ears. The wine from dinner made your body hum with lust. Probably should have stopped after the second glass. Red wine always made you horny. Your clit was beginning to hurt from how badly you wanted him. With dinner finished, your hostess duties had been mostly completed. Who would notice if you slipped away?

“Here, taste this,” he commanded.

Terry held up a frosting covered finger and you wasted no time in wrapping your pretty pouty lips around it. Nutmeg and cinnamon danced on your tongue as you sucked down to the base of his knuckle. You watched as his bottom lip raked between his teeth, his stormy eyes flashing with desire. 

“Baby, you’re gonna get in trouble playing around like that.” Terry’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed a groan. Releasing his finger with a pop, you looked up at him with your brown sugar eyes and pulled him in by his belt. 

“You promise, lover?” You bat your eyelashes wistfully, causing him to take a precautionary look around. Making a show of ensuring no unsuspecting guest was in eyesight. 

Terry practically melted when you smiled at him, your multi-faced grill illuminated by the warm lights. You were irresistible and you knew it. Perching on your tippy toes, you puckered your lips at him, causing him to smirk. He leaned down and gave you a small peck, much to your dismay. Greedy.

“Terryyyyyyy,” you whined, dragging out the syllables in his name. He leaned down with his lips to your neck, planting an open mouth kiss right where you liked it. His large hands gripped your thick hips, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Y/N,” he whispered into your ear, “you know we have guests. Don’t start something you can’t finish, princess.” His cologne mixed with the smell of the pastries, making you woozy with lust. He was a cinnamon, citrus, and coconut dream. You just wanted a bite.

“I could say the same thing to you. You talking all this shit when I know you’re hard for me.” Straightening back up to look at you, his eyes met yours. You watched as a flash of deviance glazed over those blue-gray eyes. Terry spun you away, pressing his hardened groin against your plump behind. 

“This what you wanted? You wanted to feel this fat dick against that ass, huh?” You could only nod in response, feeling light as air from your husband’s touch. The bass of the music mixed with your ever-quickening heartbeat, filling the spaces in your ears. His touch only worsened it, every caress and squeeze set your skin ablaze. You couldn’t go on like this. You desperately needed friction and he knew it. 

“Mhm, I see them wheels turning in that pretty head. Go set these out and meet me upstairs.” 

“Yes, sir.”

You picked up the glass pan of treats with glee before turning to your husband with your lips puckered. He chuckled deeply and pecked your lips; spinning you around with a smack on your plump behind. Your giggles filled his ears as you walked out. Terry grabbed a jingle bell stirring stick and headed to your shared room. 

After worming your way out of conversations downstairs, you kicked off your feathered heels and hastened up the stairs. Once you entered the room, the sounds of Boyz 2 Men wafted in from below. You bit your lip in anticipation and you stopped to slide down your panties. They were soaked beyond recovery, a usual dilemma that occurred around Terry. Your husband had just wrapped up his teeth routine when you walked in. Already shirtless and ready to please. He made a spinning motion with his finger and you turned with a quickness. Unzipping your dress with one hand, he slipped a thin rod into your right hand. It jingled when you shook it and you rolled your eyes. This game became a tradition ever since your honeymoon at the Christmas markets in France. But with everything that happened this year, you’d almost forgotten about it. A strong hand wrapped around your neck, bringing your attention to the mirror. Your eyes met his and you could have come right then and there. 

“You better keep your eyes straight. You know the rules; every time you come, I need to hear that bell. Understood?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you cooed. Terry made quick work of sliding the dress over your pretty hair, working carefully to preserve all your hard work. He hoisted you onto the cool counter and sighed as he opened your legs. 

Leaning down, he took your bottom lip between yours and lightly sucked. You couldn’t help but moan against his mouth as he kissed you with vigor. His hand slid up from your plush tummy to your chest, kneading and grabbing at any and every part of you. He loved every bit of you. He always had and it drove you crazy; being desired by him was euphoric. 

Breaking the kiss, he put two fingers in your mouth. You sucked them with excitement, making him stifle a chuckle. You couldn’t help it. Your poor pussy was dripping with want; squeezing around nothing. He popped his fingers out of your mouth and slid them inside your dewy walls with no hesitation. You both let out a drawn-out fuuuuuuuuck in unison. 

“I’ve been thinking about this pussy all night, baby. So damn gorgeous in that little dress, working the room. I’m tryna work you.”

“You play too much- oh!” You giggled in between your moans as your husband slightly bent his fingers inside of you. He watched you intently as he worked you into submission. The building tension in your tummy made you clench around his two digits.  Terry smoothed his hand over your breast before squeezing and twisting your left nipple. Your back arched away from the cold mirror as much as it could without inducing a cramp. 

“Look at this pretty pussy gripping me. Let me see it, baby.” Grabbing your face with his large hand, he turned you to the side. You watched your reflection in the mirrored cabinet, with Terry’s thick arm pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your ears grew hot as you watched with your mouth agape. The sight of it made the coil in your middle tighten before snapping completely. You came with stuttered squirts, moaning out his name.

“Good girl. Go ahead and ring that bell, princess.” 

You weakly shook the stick and his mouth covered yours once again. The sound of the jingling bell mixed with the clanking of his belt. He pulled you to the edge and lined up his hardened member with your entrance. You cradled his chiseled chin in your hand, staring into his eyes as he worked himself inside of you. Your pussy stretched willingly to accommodate his size, just as it did before the party. He rolled his hips at a painfully slow pace, making you feel every inch of him. 

“Fuck, I missed you. You good, Y/N?” Terry smirked at your face contorted in pleasure. You bit down on your lip and nodded wildly, failing at holding back the oncoming orgasm. 

Just the stretch alone was enough to get you there. With just a few pumps into you, the jingle bell echoed in the bathroom. It was astonishing to see how quickly the man could make you come. An evil chuckle bubbled out of his chest as he adjusted his hold on you. Hooking his left arm under your knee, he closed in the space between you. You raked your hooded eyes over his body and sent a quick thank you to the ancestors. God, was he pretty. His pace quickened and he wrapped his free hand around your throat, lightly pressing the sides. 

“Yes, just like that Terrence,” you yelled, turned on from the lessened airflow. 

“Just like that, baby? Just like that, huh?” Your eyes rolled back into your head while you nodded. All sense had gone out of the window as he fucked you dumb. Guests be damned. Both of your moans mixed with the muffled singing of Anita Baker and the cacophony of clapping and lewd squelches. He playfully timed his strokes to the beat of Sweet Love and a mixture of giggles and groans erupted from you. 

“Ease up, Y/N,” Terry groaned stiffly, shutting his eyes tight, “if you keep squeezing me like that, I’ll come.” What a silly man. That’s everything you wanted. You craved the feeling of him filling you to the brim with his seed. The man had you fantasizing about carrying his child for Christ's sake. 

“Come for me then, daddy.”

His thick brows furrowed and you shook your head, giggling more. The tables had turned and you weren’t about to let up. Watching your 6’3 husband writhe from your touch was so much more than satisfying, it was a drug. You craved seeing him in utter ecstasy, watching it overtake him. What a sight to behold. Gripping the edge of the counter with one hand, you steadied yourself and rolled your hips against him. Terry locked eyes with yours and moaned your name, overtaken by the feeling of you wrapped around him. You got lost in his stormy pools as he quickly rutted into you, chasing his undoing. You squeezed around him once more as an orgasm ripped through you. 

“Fuuuuuuck, Terrence,” you groaned out, ringing the bell sloppily. 

He fucked you through the orgasm, overstimulating you until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. His hips stuttered to a stop as he came, white-hot strands coating your insides and filling you up. Fuck’s and I love you’s trailed into the air while you both caught your breath. You gave the bell rod one more shake, sending the both of you into a fit of laughter. Sharing a peck or two between smiles. He slipped himself out of you with a contented sigh and moved to clean you up. 

Once you made yourselves presentable, you headed down the stairs to rejoin your party hand in hand. Guests were slow dancing to the velvety voice of Samara Joy in the light of the Christmas glow. DJ Mel shot the two of you a knowing look and Terry shrugged before hugging you close to him. 

“We grown, Mel,” Terry said, eliciting a shrug from them. You could only smile and shake your head at the man’s antics.

“We throw a good party, baby. Maybe too good.” Spinning you slowly, he pulled you into him. You pouted while you watched him gently kiss the tops of your manicured hands. 

“Way too good. All the cinnamon rolls are gone and I didn’t get one,” you whimpered sadly and laid your head against his hard chest. He rubbed your back as he swayed you to the music. 

“Mhm, that’s why I made you another batch,” he hummed, the bass in his chest vibrating against your ear. You looked up at him with stars in your eyes and he kissed your forehead. You brought your hand up to caress his face and he pressed a kiss against your palm.

“You’re so real for that, Terrence. Merry Christmas, baby.” A soft smile took over his face when you squeezed his waist with all your might.

“Merry Christmas, princess.” 

Thanks For Reading!

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[queerteapie]

Please, I Beg (18+)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness/Rio Vidal/Reader

Rating: Mature

Fic Playlist: Spotify

Summary: You recieve a late night text asking for an emergency babysitter, and with the cost of LA, you take the job. The job, however, ends up being far more than the money.

Tags: 18+, angst, smut, NSFW, femme reader

Masterlist | Ao3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Chapter 1

The sun’s warmth begins to fade outside, giving way to a quiet breeze that whispers through the open window. It dances across your bare skin with a cool touch, raising goosebumps in its wake. Soft music plays in the background, and you hum along without thinking. Sitting on the edge of your bed, hair still damp and clinging to your neck from the shower, you hear the familiar buzz of a text. You reach for your phone, water still trailing down your arm, and glance at the screen - a message from the babysitting agency: an emergency request for a sitter tonight. Double Pay. 

Since moving to California, money is tight. Not the best financial decision you've ever made, but the right one nonetheless. The timing of this job is perfect. You type back quickly, confirming you can take it. A few seconds later, the agency responds with the address and a brief note about the family. You sit up a little straighter, already shifting into work mode. Time to get ready. You stand, towel slipping from your shoulders, and head to the closet to find something clean but comfortable. Your mind races through a mental checklist: ID, keys, snacks for the road. In the background, the music plays on, soft and steady.

You quickly change into a pair of workout leggings and a loose tee, comfortable but practical. After a quick blow-dry, you gather your hair into a messy bun, not bothering for perfection. You throw your overnight bag over your shoulder, taking a moment to glance around the room before heading out the door to your car. The drive to the family isn’t far, but with LA traffic, it’s going to be a close call.

With seconds to spare, you pull into the driveway of a house, grand in size. What could these people possibly do for a living?

Grabbing your bag from the back seat, you make your way to the front door and press the doorbell. Silence. You give the wooden frame a couple of quick taps, just as the sound of approaching footsteps breaks the stillness.

A woman’s silhouette appears behind the frosted glass, visibly fumbling with an earring as she moves closer.

“Coming, coming, sorry!” the woman calls out as she opens the door, stepping aside to usher you in.

“Evening! You must be Y/N. Lovely to meet you, I’m Agatha.”

You're drawn to her the moment she opens the door. There’s something commanding in the way she carries herself; confident, grounded, and unapologetically sure of who she is. Her hair falls over her shoulders with casual ease, and her dress fits in a way that shows she knows how to own a room without trying too hard. She has a presence that feels both warm and in control, like someone used to being listened to. As you inhale, a hint of floral perfume lingers in the air, subtle, but impossible to ignore, much like her.

"Y-yes, yes, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you too," you manage to say, stumbling over your words. "I... wow, you look lovely."

It feels like an understatement. She looks phenomenal.

"Oh, why thank you, dear. How kind of you," she replies with a warm smile, and for a moment, the air around you feels heavier, charged. "Let me introduce you to Nicky. He’s pretty great, though as his mom, I suppose I have to say that."

She laughs, easy and genuine, and you find yourself smiling back as a quiet chuckle escapes you. You follow her down the hallway toward the lounge, still trying to gather yourself.

The décor along the walls catches your eye, unusual and unlike anything you’ve seen before. The furniture carries the weight of history, each piece rich with character, while the wallpaper speaks of quiet luxury.

Your gaze shifts to a collection of family photos, carefully arranged and lovingly displayed.

One image holds your attention. Another woman. There’s something about her, a quiet intensity that draws you in. She’s beautiful in a way that feels timeless, with a shadow in her eyes that hints at stories untold.

You linger, perhaps longer than you should, unable to look away. A soft smile finds its way to your lips, unbidden.

"That's Rio. She’ll be down in a minute. She only just got out of the shower," Agatha says with a sigh, her voice tinged with mild irritation at her partner’s lateness.

"You have a beautiful family," you reply, stepping toward the young boy sitting cross-legged on the floor with a colouring pencil in hand. He looks to be about seven, maybe eight. His tongue pokes out slightly in concentration as he fills in a bright red cape on what appears to be a superhero.

"Hey there," you say gently, crouching down beside him. "That’s a cool drawing. Is he flying or getting ready to save someone?"

The boy glances up at you with wide, curious eyes. "He’s flying. He’s got fire powers," he replies, holding up the picture with a touch of pride.

"Fire powers? That’s awesome. I’m Y/N, by the way."

"I’m Nicky," he says, then returns to shading in flames with an orange pencil.

You smile and watch for a moment, the quiet energy between you settling comfortably. Just then, another set of footsteps approaches, joining you in the lounge.

"Do you know where my suspenders are? I can't seem to find them anywh-oh, we have a guest," she says, appearing suddenly in the doorway, her movements hurried and distracted. Her eyes land on you, and she straightens slightly, surprise flickering across her face.

You rise to your feet and offer your hand. "Hi, I’m Y/N. I’m the babysitter for the evening.”

She takes your hand with a firm grip, her touch lingering just a moment longer than expected. A slow smirk tugs at the corner of her lips as her eyes sweep over you, deliberate and unhurried. "Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing," she says, her voice low and playful. There’s a glint of amusement in her gaze, and something else too, something that lingers like heat in the air between you, before she finally releases your hand.

Agatha raises an eyebrow as she watches the exchange, arms crossing loosely over her chest. “Rio, really?” she says, her tone light but laced with a hint of mock disapproval. “You’re meant to be getting dressed, not eyeing up the babysitter.”

Rio chuckles, clearly unbothered. “Can’t I do both?” she tosses over her shoulder as she heads for the stairs.

“Your suspenders are in the top drawer of the chest, try not to tear the place apart looking for them this time,” Agatha calls after her with a knowing smile.

Once Rio disappears upstairs, Agatha turns back to you with a warm but more focused expression.

“Okay, so Nicky’s already had dinner, he just needs a snack before bed. He’ll ask for chocolate, but try to keep it light or he’ll be bouncing off the walls. Bedtime is at eight, though he’ll try to push for eight-thirty if you let him talk you into one more story.” She pauses, then adds with a smile, “He’s good, honestly. Just a bit of a negotiator.”

You nod, taking it all in as Agatha reaches for her coat and bag. “We shouldn’t be too late, but feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. If there’s any trouble, my number’s on the fridge.”

Just as she’s adjusting her coat, you hear Rio’s footsteps returning from upstairs. 

Just as Agatha slips her coat on, Rio reappears, now fully dressed and tugging her suspenders into place with a little flair. She gives you a wink in passing before turning her attention to Nicky.

“There’s my little man,” she says, kneeling beside him. “You going to be good tonight?”

Nicky nods solemnly, but there’s a cheeky sparkle in his eyes. “I’ll be good if I can have two stories.”

Agatha laughs softly and bends down to kiss the top of his head. “One story, and no bargaining. Don’t make Y/N call us, okay?”

He sighs dramatically but nods. “Okay. One story.”

Rio leans in, ruffles his hair gently, then glances at you with a smirk. “If he gives you trouble, bribe him with marshmallows. Works every time.”

“Rio,” Agatha says in warning, but there’s no real weight behind it. The two women share a look - half amused, half fond - before Agatha straightens up.

“Alright, we’re off. Thanks again,” she says to you, reaching for her keys.

“Don’t have too much fun without us,” Rio adds with a grin, and then the front door clicks shut behind them, leaving the house quiet for the first time that evening.

***********

Between entertaining, feeding, and eventually settling Nicky into bed, your mind never strays far from the two women who left you in a haze of perfume and flirtation. Images of Agatha’s dress clinging perfectly to her waist flicker behind your eyes, each detail burned into memory. And then there’s Rio - her smirk, her eyes, the deliberate way she looked at you just before stepping out the door. That one glance has been echoing in your chest all night.

The hands on the clock read 1am when you hear the soft hum of a cab pulling up outside, followed by the unmistakable sound of giggling and whispered shushes as they make their way along the path. You draw in a deep breath, hoping the extra air will steady you, maybe stop your thoughts from tripping over themselves.

It doesn’t.

The front door creaks open moments later, the soft shuffle of heels and the occasional laugh filling the hallway. Agatha and Rio are home.

“Oh, look who’s still awake,” Rio teases, her voice a little slurred, but no less alluring. She leans against the doorframe, eyes glinting with mischief as she scans you, her gaze lingering just a second too long on your lips. “I thought for sure you’d be in bed by now, all tired out from the little one.”

Agatha steps in behind her, her movements smooth and easy, but there’s a playful tilt to her lips as she sees you. “Don’t mind Rio. She’s had a little too much fun tonight,” she says with a knowing smile, brushing past her partner to pour herself a glass of water from the kitchen.

Rio pushes off the doorframe and moves toward you, her steps slower than usual, but just as confident. She stops a few inches away, leaning in close enough that you can feel the warmth of her breath against your skin. “But I think you should stay awake a little longer,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing. “I bet we could make it worth your while.”

Agatha chuckles softly from the kitchen, evident that she’s listening, the tension building between the three of you. Rio’s hand brushes against your arm as she straightens, clearly waiting for your reaction.

“I-um, well…” you fumble, eyes making a quick glance toward the kitchen.

Rio’s smirk deepens as she watches you, her gaze steady and filled with mischief. The air between you crackles with tension, her nearness setting your skin alight. She leans in just a little closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth of her body and the sweet, spiced scent of her perfume.

“You know,” she murmurs, voice honey-smooth and heavy with suggestion, “Agatha and I don’t mind sharing... if you’re interested.”

Your breath catches before you can respond. Her words hit you low in the stomach, igniting something raw and wanting. Your mouth opens slightly, but nothing comes out right away. You can only stare back, heartbeat thudding, heat creeping up your neck. You weren’t prepared for this, how direct she’d be, how good it would feel to have her attention so focused, so intimate. A part of you aches to lean into it, to say yes, to let her take you apart slowly right there in the soft glow of the hallway light.

But before you can say anything, Agatha, who has been quietly observing from the kitchen, steps in. She folds her arms, the curve of a smile playing on her lips as she regards the two of you. “Rio,” she says gently, “you’ve had a bit to drink, love. Maybe... maybe it’s not the best time for this.”

There’s no judgment in her voice, just a calm certainty that grounds the moment. You glance at her, feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. It’s clear she’s looking out for everyone - Rio, herself, and you.

Rio pouts, clearly not ready to let the moment slip away. “Oh, come on, Agatha. What’s the harm?” she says with a little laugh, then turns her attention back to you. Her eyes sweep over you again, slow and deliberate. “I’m sure she’s just as curious as we are.”

You swallow hard. She’s not wrong. Your body hums with tension, with want. But there’s also a part of you that appreciates the restraint, the respect humming beneath the flirtation.

Rio moves closer, and your breath hitches again. Her hand grazes your arm, light but electric. “Maybe just a little taste?” she whispers, her lips dangerously close to your ear. Her voice curls around you like silk, sending shivers down your spine. “We can save the rest for another night.”

Your body responds before your mind can form a full thought. Every nerve feels on edge, aching. But before anything more can happen, Agatha steps forward and gently rests a hand on Rio’s shoulder.

“You know I’m all for fun,” Agatha says, her voice softer now, almost intimate. “But I think tonight’s…not the right moment.”

She looks at you then, and you feel seen, not just desired, but considered. It catches you off guard, that subtle care beneath the suggestion.

Agatha smiles, her touch still on Rio’s arm. “We can wait. There’s no rush.”

Rio sighs, exaggerated and theatrical, but there’s a hint of affection in her eyes when she glances at Agatha. “Fine, fine,” she mutters, then shoots you one last look, hungry, promising. “But this isn’t over.”

Agatha chuckles, linking her fingers through Rio’s. “We’ll see you again soon,” she says to you, and her voice wraps around you like a secret. “And next time, maybe we’ll all be in a better state of mind.”

As they head upstairs, Rio casts one final glance over her shoulder, mischief still dancing in her expression, before they vanish from view.

You’re left alone in the quiet, the air still buzzing from their presence. Your body thrums with leftover heat, your thoughts tangled with everything that could have happened... and everything that still might.

[admrlthundrbolt]

Danger To Myself (Krampus x Chubby Easter Bunny Reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After reuniting with his brother. Krampus didn't think his life could get any better. How will he deal with meeting a cute chubby bunny on top of that. Will he be able to keep his instincts under control?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey guys, I'm back at it again. I have a confession, I love Krampus. Ever since learning about his legend, I've been a huge fan. So when Red One showed him in such a different light, I knew it was my time to shine.

Anywho, hope you enjoy.

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

He frowned at the mirror in front of him. Don't get him wrong. He was happy to rekindle his relationship with Nick. But a reintroduction dinner wasn't something he had been expecting. Still he was happy the other man wanted him in his life.

A knock came from the bathroom door. Breaking him away from his contemplated thoughts. Combing a hand through his already tousled hair. He opened the door, seeing the man on his mind.

His brother was cheerful as always. Slapping the taller man jovially on the back. That quickly turned into a tight hug. Nick was always one for physical affection. “What are you doing all cooped up in here. The guest are arriving.” His smile was wide and inviting.

Everything that the goatman wasn't feeling. Running a hand across his face, he shook his head. “Nicholas, I do not understand why you wanted this. Is it really a necessary thing. To introduce myself to all of these people?”

Taking the man's shoulders into his hands, he faced him. “Look at this as the start of a new thing. No more being holed up in your castle. I know you enjoy everyone's company there. But this is a golden opportunity. Broaden your horizons and all that.” Patting his shoulders a few times. He led him to the dinning room.

All the while he grimaced and regretted agreeing to his brother's offer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok, so maybe his brother was right. There were a lot of new people to pop up since his banishment. It hurt to admit that they were also more interesting than he would have guessed. Jack Frost was a prankster, that he already made plans with to torment Nick. Garcia had finally grown out of his awkward teenage phase. It was still fun to tease him about it though. All in all it was a good time and dinner hadn't even started.

Then you walked in. He always knew he had a thing for larger women. But you were a different kind altogether. You were wide and plush, the perfect picture of fertility. It made his fingers twitch at the thought of how they would sink into your pliable flesh. His pulse was pounding as he took in your other more animalistic features. The flopping bunny ears, button nose scrunched, and cotton tail poking out of your pants. It was enough to have him gripping his drink to hard. The sound of shattering glass caused many eyes to swing his way. But the only ones he cared about was yours.

Your face became concerned as you rushed his way. Shifting the large dish you held to one hand. You grabbed his palm and looked it over carefully. Your touch was gentle and warm. Like a fire on a chilly winter night. Shifting his hand in your own soft one, relief washed over your face. Looking up at him you beamed. “Seems like there wasn't any harm done. But what else should I expect from the great Krampus.”

He flushed under his fur. Between your compliment and having to stop himself from reaching out for your touch. It was an intensity that he hadn't experienced before. One that he wasn't sure if he should give into or shun.

Before he could speak Nick's wife was coming over with a broom. “Oh, must have been a faulty glass. Let me clean this up.” Sweeping the broken bits into a festive dust pan, she smiled. “Eostre it's been to long.”

Bringing the smaller women into a one arm hug, you nodded. “Far to long. Especially if your using that outdated name. You know I prefer (Y/N) now.” Keeping your arm around her, you join her. Leaving the room for who knows where.

If he had an excuse he'd follow as well. Until then he'd have to wonder what was in your arms. Savoring the feeling of your name on his tounge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't long after that that dinner was served. It was quite the spread. Many of the items were Geman in origin. His bother did always know his favorites. Including the different varieties of alcohol. Piling his plate high, he sunk into the feast.

Everyone tucked into the food. Enjoying bits of conversation between bites. As he finished off his serving, eager to go in for seconds. Something caught his eye. A large dish half filled with a familiar dish. He wanted to kick himself for not noticing it sooner. It was a childhood favorite, Geman Baked Eggs. Ignoring all if the other platters, he scooped a large portion onto his plate. Bring a spoonful to his mouth, he had to pause. It was enough to make him hold back a moan. Butter, cheesey, and like velvet on his tounge. Better than any he had ever tasted before.

He quickly went for another bite. Only to be startled by your gaze on him. You were smirking and had raised an eyebrow at his obvious enjoyment. A part of him was defensive, while another was intrigued? He wasn't sure what to make of your attention.

Nick interupted the tension building between you. “Oh, I'm glad you noticed the casserole. The first time (Y/N) brought it over I told her how much you would enjoy it.”

His gaze snapped from you to his brother and back. You made this delicious dish from his homeland?

Your smirk seemed to widen at his confusion. Shrugging your shoulder, you leaned forward. As if you wanted to share a secret with him. Without a second thought he copied your motion. “We do share a similar history. Animalistic legends bound to a holiday. Just differing in attitude, that's all. Plus I always have plenty of eggs on hand.” You ended your statement with a wink.

Slumping a bit in his chair, he pondered you words. It was obvious you were tied to Easter. But he had never thought to visit the other legends from his own country. Always opting to stay tucked away in his keep. Or in the old days, with his brother. Maybe he had missed out on good times.

Returning your smile, he said. “It is a wonderful dish. You do our homeland proud.” Tapping a fist to his chest, he tips his head in your direction.

This causes your expression to become more sincere. Your foot begins to thump rhythmically on the ground. Something you hadn't done since a young age. Taking a gulp from your glass, hoping to cover up your embarrassment. “You should come by sometime.” His face shifts to one of surprise. “I can you know, show you around the farm. Give you a tour of the operation.” You hope that it didn't come of as desperate as you thought it sounded.

Nodding again he went for another bite. “That would be nice.” He would take his brother's advice. His horizon did seem to be broadening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had given him directions to a vast glenn. It was filled with various flowers. Shrouded within a large thicket of old trees. It was a sight he hadn't enjoyed in quite some time. Looking around the beautiful scene before him, he grew nervous. What if you regretted allowing him here? Would he do something to offend you. Causing you to kick him out. Yet another place he would be banished from.

Shaking his head, he frowned deeply. How had you wrapped him around your finger after only a single meeting. He felt like a boy with a school crush. As his eyes landed on you across the field. He couldn't find it in himself to care. It just mattered that you wanted to spend time with him.

Jogging over to him, you smiled brightly. “I'm glad you could make it. It wasn't to hard to find was it?” You shuffled your feet a bit. It was always felt awkward the first time you invited someone over. The anxiety of it all made you foot want to bounce.

His heart flutter, between your concern and flustered appearance. He was sure this day would overload his senses. “It was no trouble, kleines Kaninchen. I am looking forward to today.”

You had to steady yourself. Little rabbit, you had never been called such a thing before. It was this moment that you were thankful for your fur. Not wanting the embarrassment of him seeing your blazing cheeks. “That's good. Now let's head down the rabbit hole.”

Snatching up his hand, you took off. He was startled at the strength your soft hand held. Sure he had expected speed. But the power in your hand wrapped around his own. If he had to guess, he belived it would be no challenge for you to carry him. Even at the hastened pace you were going at. You were practically lifting him off the ground.

He would have continued marveling at your strength. If it wasn't for the fact that you were pulling him towards a very small hole in the ground. Before he could call out, the burrow widened. Easily large enough to fit the two of you. Jumping in, you gave him a mischievous look over your shoulder. His breath caught as he plummeting down with you. And he could confidentiality say it wasn't the fall that caused his breath to stutter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn't take to long for the tour. Even if the farm was large, how else could you provide so many eggs and chocolates. There were only a handful of key buildings to show off. You offered to tell him all of the hens names. But the suggestion overwhelmed him. So you moved on from the vast field.

Coming up to a large building, you leaned towards him. In a low voice you said. “Don’t let the ladies know, but this is my favorite pass time. I could spend plenty of time with their feathery rumps. This though, will always be my passion project.”

Heading through the entrance, he could see what you meant. The sweet smell of chocolate filled the air in a delightful way. You made your way through the facilty. Nodding to the fellow woodland workers as you went. He knew being a goatman himself, it could be hard getting along with others. So it was a shock to see so many other animalistic humanoids. It made him feel oddly at ease. Though as he looked down at you. It seemed that was a feeling he was experiencing more and more.

Finishing up your conversation with a fox woman you nodded. Grabbing his arm, you wrapped it with your own plush one and continued forward. “I think you’ll enjoy our next stop as much as I do.”

The warmth of you body spread into him. If you were taking him there, he was sure he would enjoy every moment of it. “I will hold you to that, kleines Kaninchen.”

There it was again. The way it rolled from his tounge had you fighting off shivers. Your smile softened as you guided him deeper into the building.

Opening the door to your final destination, you glanced at him. Taking in his wide eyes and surprised expression. Stepping away from him you swept your arms wide. “This is our quality assurance room.” Candy was lined up, from wall to wall. It was organized by type and batch number, showing the sheer amount of variety. Making you way over to a smaller table, you waved him over. “I thought you might be interested in some of the more traditional chocolates. Though there is plenty more to try. If your taste is a bit more exotic.” You didn't miss the way his eyes seemed to dilate at your suggestion.

Heat pooled in his belly and he had to pause. You were a temptress, no a goddess of seduction. His muscles burned to pick you up and indulge in your taste. Bringing his face closer to yours his eyes become half lidded. “What would you recommend?”

In a flash your eyes lit up. Grabbing a speckled egg shaped chocolate you placed it to his lips. He was a bit shocked at your sudden change in demeanor. Still it was hard for him to resist your excitable nature. Closing his lips around the small confection, his eyes widened. It was creamy and smooth. As he bit into it he was surprised at the rush of spiced liquor flooding his tounge. “You are full of many surprises kleines Kaninchen.” Steping closer, he pressed his body against yours. “Show me more.”

You wasted no time, jumping up and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your lips moved feverish as they collided with his. He met you with just as much ferocity. Bringing his up hand to firmly grasp your plush bottom. He reveled un the way his finger sunk into you malleable flesh. Your bodies were flush against one another. Thrumming in the throws of passion.

When the door suddenly swung open. A deer man was looking over a clipboard as he entered. “Hey (Y/N), we need your….” As his gaze lifted from his work he gasped. Lifting the papers to his face he backed out of the room. Stammering out apologies profusely along the way.

Breathing heavily, he gently lowered you back to the floor. The both of your pulses were hammering in your ears. You sheepishly looked at him through your lashes. Admiring his rugged features as he gazed down at you. “I guess we could have picked a better place for something like this”

He smirked and nodded. “Perhaps I could return your hospitality. Have you ever explored in the depths of a castle?” His eyebrows raised suggestively as you giggled.

Resting your hand on his firm chest, you beamed. “I'm always up for a new experience. I've heard of a castle that has eternal Krampusnacht. I wonder if they can keep up with a bunny there.”

Your taunt got his blood boiling. Hefting your plush body up with one arm, he grins. Your lips met in another scorching kiss. “We will have to see, kleines Kaninchen.”

With that the two of you made your way out. Hoping that you hadn't mentally scarred you worker. But eagerly anticipating what your next meeting might bring.

[ktsumu]

18+ NSFT MDNI. SHOWER ACTION.

You already know that Atsumu's in the shower before you hear him in it, nudging the front door shut behind you, heels falling off of your groaning feet. The first matchup of the pre-season has ensured that.

Muscle memory makes you step over the routine dufflebag he drops in the very middle of the entryway, shaking the strap off of your ankle when it catches. His sweater's on the back of the couch.

You'd take it down the hallway with you, but you follow the clothes like a roadmap instead. Toeing along, kicking his track pants out of the way with a scoff, rolling your eyes and wondering how he completely missed the hamper.

An athlete, he calls himself.

The shower turns your bedroom hot, steaming up the windows from the open ensuite door, the mirror dripping with water. You can feel the humidity ruining the hair you worked so hard to keep tidy this morning.

"Atsumu?" You sigh, tugging it loose and glancing at him through the mirror.

It's more so what you can see of him— the frosted glass of the shower punishes you mostly, keeps you to watching his blurry body turn, his head twist to your voice. You can see him turn to face the water again.

"Hey baby. How's work?"

"I'm gonna guess better than the game today?" You pick up his sweaty jersey with your foot, taking in the distinct yet familiar smell of sharp pines and locker room. "Judging by the state of our home."

Atsumu breathes out sheepishly, but it sounds like a grin. "I'll clean it all up, don't worry."

"I know you will."

"Yeah, for sure." He hesitates, humming when he rubs at the crook of his neck. "Maybe tomorrow morning? Swear."

You don't care when he cleans it up, really. Your eyes haven't left the shower.

Quietly, you start to undo your blouse, shrugging it off of your shoulders and peeling it off of your sticky skin. You toss it near Atsumu's abandoned shorts.

"Been in there a while?" you huff, blindly turning on the fan. "Hot as hell in here."

"Everything hurts," he groans. "Fuckin' hate coming off the off-season— not used to it."

You purse your lips. "Gonna stay in for a little while longer?"

It's quiet, aside from the shower running. His shadow moves, leans closer to the glass before standing upright again. His hands tease you over the top, combing through his hair.

"If someone wants to keep me company, can't really say no."

(He must sense your eyes rolling, because he chuckles and slips the door open a crack.)

You shimmy your tight skirt down your legs, stepping out of everything embarrassingly fast. Your cami ends up hanging off the sink and your pantyhose are in a ball, but Atsumu's waiting hand has you getting inside the shower as fast as you can manage.

Where he isn't drenched in water, he's painted by a thin sheen of heat, the steam of the shower dripping down his temple. His hand welcomes you first, guiding you closer so his lips can greet you next.

Atsumu rests a hand on the side of your face, droplets of water swarming down your chest like snakes. He kisses you sloppily, tongue trying at yours the second you let him, teeth grazing your lip when you pull away like he's begging you to stay.

"Sore, huh?"

His eyes travel down— over your chest, sternum, hips. His hands follow in the same order like a drill— tits, chest, beautiful, beautiful hips. "Forget I said anything 'bout that,"

"You should rest, really,"

"Stop teasin' me, it's just cruel," he frowns, "need you to give me a cure tonight,"

"Yeah? It's called eight hours of sleep and Voltaren."

He rolls his eyes, lidded with said sleep— the hand holding yours that pulls you closer and his half-hard cock between you say something entirely different.

Atsumu's hand gropes your ass, fingertips dinging into fat until you get impossibly closer, until he's basically against your stomach and you're basically just looking at his lips.

"You should—"

"Should," he emphasizes, murmured against your mouth as he kisses you again, chaste but lingering, "but this is what I'm actually gonna do."

"What?"

"You," he hums, tucking a strand of your half-wet hair behind your ear, blocking the water and hoarding you to himself. "Gonna be my cleanse."

You snort, fingers smoothing over his abs and down to the base of his cock, nails gently running over the dark trail of hair. "That right?"

"Mmmyeah," he says through a groan, yawning before he slots a hand in between your legs, trailing it up your inner thigh as you finally get him in your hand. It's the only place he's wanted to be all night, besides your bed. "Feel so fuckin' good, fuck,"

You sigh against his chest, tilting your head up to taste him again. Like spearmint, like the gum he must've chewed on the drive home just knowing you'd end up here.

"Shit, alright," he sighs, hips lazily rolling into your palm as you look up at him with eyes that make him wanna pass out.

"Gotta choose now— you wanna be on your knees first or do ya want 'em over my shoulders?"

You breathe out a laugh, sliding your hands over his slippery arms, over every muscled ridge as you lower yourself to the tile floor, kissing his hip when you get there. "Romantic, really."

Atsumu's body tilts your way, chasing your lips down, leaning into your touch as he brushes a thumb over your cheek. The kiss you place on his flushed tip is greatly appreciated— he lets you know it.

"Yeah, honey, I try," he breathes. He smiles so warmly down at you that it's almost like you're not about to suck him off. "Just wait until I get you to bed, yeah?"

"We both know you're falling asleep."

"Well, after we get outta here you will be, too."

"Mm, we'll see."

Atsumu barks a laugh, delicately running his hand up your nape before taking a stronger hold on the base of your hair.

"Oh, you're so on."

[adore-laur]

CAKE

——

Harry pulls into the parking lot of the bakery he used to work at irregularly, the faded burgundy bricks a familiar sight. It hasn't been revamped much from when he was in his mid-twenties and struggling to earn a livable wage by juggling pastry-making, bartending, and training to be a chef. While he's not necessarily fond of those stressful workplace memories, the one that stands out the most is when he saw your pretty face again in the bakery. It was fate at its finest, and the rest is cherished history. He'll always be grateful for this place.

Over five years later, he is back with exhilaration thrumming in his chest. He's older now, his life wildly different than before he met you—now, he has a steadfast romance that keeps getting better, two precious daughters, and another baby on the way, all in a house where the ocean breeze kisses his skin every morning. He never envisioned being lucky enough to live out his dream so profoundly.

Harry steps out of the car, enjoying the subdued sunshine. He spins his key ring around his pointer finger, a smile already lifting his lips as he shoulders the front door open. The scent of baked bread and hints of vanilla greet him, along with the bakery's owner, Doreen, who gives him a cordial wave. She's a short woman in her sixties who has been running the place since before Harry was born. The long grey braid tapering down her back swings back and forth as she wipes the storefront windows with a rag. An apron is tied around her waist, the well-worn fabric dusted with flour and smears of blue frosting. She hasn't changed one bit.

"Hello, dear," Doreen says, briefly pausing her cleaning to kiss his cheek. Even on her tiptoes, Harry has to bend down to close the gap. "I know something you don't!"

He inhales deeply, that warm thrum returning. "You sure do."

She grins mischievously. "It's in the fridge, top left shelf. Help yourself."

Harry walks toward the two-section glass fridge behind the counter. A week ago, you did a blood test that could detect the baby's gender earlier than an ultrasound. At your request to keep it a secret for now, the obstetrician wrote the results down and sealed it in an envelope, which Harry then brought to the bakery and ordered a two-tier vanilla cake with either pink or blue frosting inside. Only the baker would know until it was sliced into by you and him. You both wanted a different type of reveal this time around. Last pregnancy, it was kept a surprise until birth. You're both too excited to wait this time.

"Thank you again for doing this," Harry says, taking the white bakery box with a yellow sticky note that has Styles Family scribbled on it. "If you ever need extra help around here, don't hesitate to give me a call."

"Oh, don't worry about me." Doreen places her hands on her hips, winking at him. "I'm sure you have your hands full at home."

He laughs softly. "I do, but they're wonderful little helpers. I could always bring them in, even if it's just to taste test."

"How old are they now?"

"Four and one. Our oldest is in her first year of preschool."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "Goodness, how time flies. Plus a bun in the oven?"

"She's eleven weeks," he replies, smiling proudly.

"How is she feeling?"

Harry thinks back to when he left this morning, leaving you lying in bed sandwiched by the kids still in their pajamas. "Pretty fatigued, but she knows what to expect by now. She's doing everything she can to stay motivated."

"Well, I was happy to hear the news and so honored to be one of the first ones to know such a special secret," Doreen says, pinching his earlobe affectionately. "I baked my best cake for you. Oh, that reminds me!" She scurries over to a nearby table to retrieve a wrapped plate with an assortment of desserts, no doubt baked by her. "These are for you and your girls."

Harry's heart swells, and he pecks her cheek with gratitude. "We appreciate it so much. And I'm serious: I'll put my old apron back on if you need me to. I still know how to make a mean batch of macarons."

She shoos him away with her cleaning rag. "Go on, you silly boy. Be with your family."

He beams on his way out of the bakery, wanting nothing more.

——

Harry arrives back home in the late morning, feeling grateful that it's the weekend. The house is quiet, and he'd bet money that his girls are in the same position he left them in an hour ago. Arguably, that's what Sundays are for—cuddles under warm sheets and no obligation to be anywhere else.

The front door snicks shut, and he walks the short distance to the kitchen to set the cake box on the island. His fingers itch to open it and sink a knife into the layer of frosting, but he refrains. The time will come.

Instead, he heads to the bedroom, keeping his footsteps light. Sure enough, you're curled up with two little girls tucked into the outline of your body. Harry commits the view to memory before sitting on the edge of the mattress. You stir awake from a light sleep, your eyes opening and finding him. The first-trimester fatigue is obvious, and it's as endearing as it was the first time.

"Morning, lazybones," he says softly.

You yawn, stretching your arms, and the fierce urge to hold you close and never leave this bed rushes through him. "Hi. Did you get the cake?"

"I did." He strokes the bridge of your nose with his knuckle, sensing your lethargy. "Feeling okay?"

"So-so. I was a little queasy earlier."

"Did you eat yet?" he asks, and you shake your head in response. "Want me to make something?"

"I don't have much of an appetite, but I'm sure the girls would love a big breakfast," you say. Harry smiles, taking a moment to admire their innocent faces still deep in sleep. He hopes they're having pleasant dreams.

"Okay. I'll be in the kitchen."

"Wait for me, please." You carefully sit up with a dazed and adorable look in your eyes.

Harry sighs fondly and says, "You need to listen to your body. Don't resist rest."

Pouting, you shed the blanket and swing your legs over the bed, ignoring his sensible advice. "But my body's telling me that it misses you."

"Sweetheart..." He cuts himself off, realizing he has no way to refute that. He knows wholeheartedly because he feels it too. Working full-time and coming home to parent with you leaves little room for quality time together. Consequently, there was never time to squeeze a babymoon in the past four years. He'll have to ponder that idea more in-depth, especially now that your pregnancy is swiftly heading to the halfway mark. Probably smart to plan a trip during that sweet spot, when you're not too physically uncomfortable. He wants to have fun with you, away from the kids. Explore an exotic place and luxuriate in romance with no one around.

"Harry?" you say, pulling him out of his titillating trance. He was just beginning to envisage you naked on a canopy bed in Fiji, the evening sun casting over your dips and curves. Lying there all majestically, waiting for him to feast on you. Paradise personified.

"Sorry, just musing." He clears his throat and thinks of innocent things, like buttermilk pancakes and hash browns.

"Uh-oh," you reply playfully before standing up and leaving him with a tempting view of your bare legs. As you freshen up in the bathroom, Harry leans over his daughters and kisses their heads. They both stir minimally, their disheveled curls rustling against the pillows. He wonders if his genes will ever have mercy in that department when the next baby arrives.

Eventually, you follow Harry into the kitchen, and there's a familiar thrill in having a brief window of alone time before the kids require attention. He smoothly pulls you into his embrace and asks, "How's our baby?"

You look down at your stomach and lift the silk camisole covering it. "Finally making an appearance, I think."

Pulling back slightly, Harry assesses the tiny protrusion—it's much tinier than the last two were around the same eleven-week mark. "Oh, hello there," he murmurs with a winsome smile. The proof of you carrying a child is nearly unnoticeable, at least in a physical sense, but the smallness keeps it a secret from any outsiders. Inside this home, it's his to savor.

You laugh, silently marveling over it with him, then glance at the cake over his shoulder. "We could have cake for breakfast."

Harry pulls you close again and waddles your conjoined bodies forward until your back meets the island. "That depends on if you want to find out now or later. It's up to you."

Looping your arms around his neck, you contemplate for a few seconds before saying, "Let's wait until later tonight—at least until I'm feeling better."

"Absolutely. Maybe we can head down to the beach at sunset with the girls. Have a mini celebration."

You nod. "I'd like that."

"Done deal." The thin strap of your silk camisole slips down your shoulder, and Harry groans when the curve of your breast peeks out. He cups it in his palm, and your body reacts by pressing into him even further. "So, what's your final prediction?" he asks, kissing the tender flesh there and readjusting the strap. Focus, he tells himself. The girls need breakfast.

You make a show of thinking long and hard. "Unforeseen quadruplets? I'd be a medical mystery."

Harry narrows his eyes, suppressing a grin. "Hysterical." He widens his stance until he's the same height as you. "C'mon, give it to me."

"Final prediction is... girl," you say assuredly. That word tugs at his heartstrings, the ones belonging to the instinctive protectiveness he has toward his daughters.

"I'm sticking with boy," he says for the sake of a friendly husband-wife competition.

You quirk your brow and slowly back out of his embrace. "I can't believe you're not trusting my womanly intuition."

"I've guessed correctly the last two times," he reminds you. "Don't underestimate my mojo."

"All right. Best of luck, baby."

——

Harry shivers in an overdramatic fashion while holding his youngest daughter, and she giggles, thoroughly entertained. He always enjoys the walk down to the private beach, where the expansive view never ceases to amaze him. At sunset, it's even more phenomenal. The wind carries a coolness to it, and the sky transpires into heavenly hues of lavender, teal, and marigold. No matter the weather, he makes an effort to watch it fade into the night alongside his family.

Tonight is extra special, and as he glances back at you trailing behind with the cake box and two empty champagne glasses in one hand and your eldest's small hand in the other, his excitement intensifies. He was patient all afternoon, even crawling back in bed with you and the girls to bask in a catnap under the warm sheets. Afterward, the laziness continued as you all watched a movie together on the couch and ate takeout. Now it's time for dessert.

Near the shoreline, Harry sets down his youngest and removes the quilted blanket from around his shoulders. He shakes it out and watches her toddle on the sand. She just started walking on her own last month, and he can never be too cautious with her curious nature. There's nothing more bloodcurdling than a child wandering off without a sound.

The girls go off to play with their dolls near the sandcastle they built near the hammock. It's far enough from the waves for them to be semi-unsupervised.

Harry lays the blanket down and sits. You join him, passing over the glasses. He brought a bottle of grape juice as a substitute for wine.

After pouring juice into each glass, Harry hands one over to you and lifts his in the air. "Cheers to growing our beautiful family. Cheers to being happy, healthy, and perpetually sleep-deprived. We make an amazing team, and... I just love you. Inexplicably so." He clinks his glass with yours and takes a hearty sip, never taking his eyes off you.

"Cheers," you say, letting the tart liquid travel down your throat.

Harry rubs his palms together and says, "Ready?"

You give him a smile only he knows the meaning of. "Let's have some cake."

He slides the box over and fingers open the seal. When he lifts the top, you shuffle forward and melt into his side, staying there as he stares at the coating. It's only plain white buttercream frosting with swirly pink and blue dollops caressing the circular edge, but the part that makes him teary-eyed is the cursive icing that reads Baby Styles. Although it's his third and most likely last child, the feeling never gets old. Each experience challenges him in an entirely new way. It's unexpected, enlightening, and emotionally rewarding. And to do it by your side is the greatest accomplishment he'll ever know.

Wiping the corners of his eyes, Harry picks up the knife. You place your hand over his grip on the handle and kiss his bicep. "No peeking," you say, closing your eyes.

Harry does the same and rests his forehead against yours. Slowly, he maneuvers the knife to blindly cut a triangular slice. His heart pounds in anticipation. The bet he made with you doesn't matter anymore. Either way, he'll be ecstatic.

"You look first," he whispers, his lips brushing yours with each syllable.

"No, you do it," you whisper back.

"You know, we never discussed what the prize is for whoever guessed correctly," he says, shifting the knife so the slice breaks free.

"I know what I want."

"Yeah?" he murmurs, nudging his nose with yours. "Tell me.”

"I want to go on vacation somewhere far away, just me and you."

"Remember what happened last vacation?" His eyes are still closed, and vivid memories play behind his lids.

"Yes, I do,” you say. “You got me pregnant, but that was only because there was something in the Italian air."

He laughs and captures your lips in a quick kiss. "Is that the only reason? I seem to recall you—"

"Daddy, what flavor is the pink stuff?"

Harry's eyes shoot open, and for a split second, he sees that yours are still shut as his head whips toward his eldest daughter skipping over with her favorite doll in tow. His youngest follows her, picking up handfuls of sand along the way.

Brows furrowed, he looks at you again to find you staring at the cake with a dumbstruck expression. He honestly forgot it was there, too caught up in the intimate moment he was sharing with you, where the darkness enhanced the warm sensations of his skin touching yours, the grape scent of your breath, and the way your sensual words sent shivers down his spine.

All that floats away when he sees creamy pink frosting in the middle of the sponge cake. It's a delicate shade of pink similar to the newborn hospital hat they put on his firstborn daughter. Similar to the sunrise the day his second daughter decided to come into the world.

Pink. Another baby girl.

Making a spontaneous choice, Harry pulls his sweater off and sprints full speed toward the ocean, shouting with glee. He hears your shocked guffaw as he tumbles forward into the shallow water. The coldness is a shock to his system, but it doesn't compare to the fact that you're having a girl. He hoped for it deep in his heart. He dreamt it.

You walk over to him, eyes glassy and holding a large forkful of cake. "I was right!"

Harry heaves big breaths, adrenaline rushing through his blood vessels. His sweatpants are soaked, but it's the last thing on his mind. He clumsily reaches you and places his palms on your stomach, kissing it repeatedly. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he says, overwhelmed with emotion. He looks up, his next words intended for you. "You made our dreams come true, baby. And I don't know how to repay you, but I’ll try. I swear it.”

"You've already repaid me, Harry, by being the most devoted and dependable father to our girls."

He smiles, his cheeks hurting. "Three girls now. Holy shit.”

You collapse in his arms, crying and laughing with happiness. He catches you and gently brings you down to the sand. The wind whips around both your bodies, not able to penetrate the heat of this unforgettable moment.

Amidst bites of cake and promises of a couple's vacation to wherever your heart desires, a shout of "It's strawberry-flavored!" carries over, nestling deep in Harry’s heart.

Life couldn't be sweeter.

——

[monzamash]

to be loved — carlos sainz

carlos sainz x you — “i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me.” requested by @dancininseptember masterlist

The short stroll from your office to the apartment never really bothered you. In fact, you typically enjoyed the fresh air and the chance to enjoy the city you loved. But it was early February; rain was threatening the Spanish skies and the frost bitten breeze stung your already tear-filled eyes. It was a crappy end to an even shittier week, your energy wasted on people who didn’t deserve it.

You practically flung yourself through the door of the apartment and shed all remnants of the day – coat, beanie and scarf, all strewn haphazardly, and in that order, on the floor of your small entryway. It took every ounce of energy you had to kick off your heavy boots, each one hitting the wall much harder than you intended. Maybe it was an unconscious way for you to let out frustration, the scuff marks on the white wall a stark reminder of your last straw.

The smell of fresh bread and bolognese sauce hit you as you slunk down the hallway, your tummy grumbling on instinct. You hadn’t eaten since yesterday, a terrible habit you had fallen into lately and Carlos had noticed. He was home more during the cooler months, easily picking up on your little habits that both endeared and worried him. So he made sure, while he was close to you, that you came home to a warm meal every night – because looking after you was his calling in life.

“That smells incredible.”

Carlos briefly glanced over his shoulder and gave you a bright smile before turning down the stove and grabbing a washcloth to clean his hands. You loved him like this; soft and relaxed, in his element. The kitchen was his playground and you remember the sigh of relief that left your lungs when he told you he loved to cook on your first date, because you weren’t particularly gifted when it came to the pots and pans.

“Hope you’re hungry,” He sang, circling the island in the middle of the kitchen to say a proper hello to his beautiful girlfriend, “How was your day?”

A rigid sigh fell from your lips as you fell into his arms, the loving embrace triggering tears to spring to your eyes for the third time today. Carlos held you tight and brushed his hands down your back, comforting you through the sobs wracking your aching body.

“Ay, mi amor,” He soothed, “Breathe for me please.”

Carlos guided you through a couple of deep breaths, chests rising and falling together in synchronicity until your sobs subsided, air finally filling your lungs again. A tight squeeze around your waist brought you back to the man holding you in his arms, worried eyes searching yours for a sign that you were okay as you pulled back and gave him a soft smile.

“I’m okay, I’m sorry.” You sniffled, head shaking.

Carlos tutted as he thumbed away the trail of tears from your face, “Do not say sorry, my love. Talk to me…”

Anger replaced sadness as you told him about how your sister had completely disregarded your feelings for the millionth time, accusing you of only caring about yourself while she’s all alone and stressed about wedding planning. Carlos has managed to get you to sit up on the counter beside him while he finished dinner, but not before pouring you a glass of red wine to nurse while you purged all the negativity from your day.

“She called me a bitch and then uninvited us from the wedding, which by the way I didn’t want to go too to begin with,” You huffed, hands animatedly flying around while he tried to keep up with the drama.

“And all I said to her was that work has been stressful and that us trying for a baby hadn’t been… fruitful, I guess. She flipped out when I said that because her dickhead fiancé doesn’t want kids and she thinks she can change his mind…”

You took a sip of wine and noticed Carlos' eyes rolling like they always did when the topic of your sister came up. He was as sick of her shit as you were, unapologetically scoffing at her selfishness. Making you feel bad when all you needed was someone to confide in was one thing, but lashing out on you was something he couldn’t stand by and watch. He knew he couldn’t do anything right now; maybe he would make a stern phone call tomorrow once the dust had settled.

So instead of getting upset, he put down the wooden spoon coated in the most delicious sauce you had ever tasted and nestled himself between your swinging legs. His warm chocolate eyes stared into your soul as he planted his palms on your thighs, tethering himself to you.

“You know I can take care of you, mi vida,” He said, voice deep and barely above a whisper, “No matter the problem, you won't need anyone but me, I promise.” 

For the first time in weeks, you felt your heart slow down and return to a normal rhythm as Carlos pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. You softly moaned in unison and gripped the grey shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders, pulling him in closer – not that he had any plan on going anywhere.

No, all he wanted was for his girl to feel heard and to be loved because all he needed was you.

a/n — loved writing carlos again. inbox detox is still open !!

[drabblesandsnippets]

Imagine... ('the way the frost forms on the window')

Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female reader

December Daze Challenge - Day 14 - @the-slumberparty

Warnings: (450w) possessive Bucky (willing reader), spanking (as punishment), rough oral, implied PiV

Imagine possessive Bucky having to punish you for misbehaving. It’s the last thing he wants of course, but it’s the only way you’ll learn not to break his rules. None of your apologies or promises to do better would sway him, the consequences of your regrettable actions coming swiftly. He puts you in one of his favorite positions, your tear-stained face pressed against the mattress, your luscious ass raised high, growing redder with every resounding slap. Bucky rubs your heated skin in between the stinging smacks, soothing you with soft praises about how well you’re taking your punishment. The spankings don’t stop until your trembling body can’t handle any more, his hand stilling the second you reach your limit, his fingers tenderly brushing away your fallen tears. He’s far from done with you though, momentarily allowing you to gather your bearings, the enticing evidence of your arousal filling his senses. The pain of having to deny you pleasure only adds fuel to the fire you’ve ignited, Bucky taking his time to guide you over to the window, the noticeable frost giving him a wicked idea. Once he’s settled in an armchair in front of you, he makes you bend over and press your sore ass against the cold glass, his smile growing at your shuddering sigh. After ensuring that you know how much he loves you, that his rules are only meant to protect you and enhance your life, he forces his leaking cock past your parted lips, driving straight into your throat without warning. Your only option is to hold onto the arms of his chair, your grip tightening as he quickly picks up the pace, chasing his own pleasure, praising you the entire time. He's soon slick with your saliva, your pooling spit mixing with the fresh tears spilling over your lashes as he gags you with his thick cock. And when Bucky asks if you’re ever going to disobey him again, there’s no reprieve from his relentless thrusts, your muffled answer forcing an appreciative groan out of him.  At the very last moment, he decides not to spill himself down your throat, choosing to take pity on you instead, deciding you’re beginning to learn your lesson. That doesn’t mean he goes easy on you, taking the opportunity to remind you how good he is to you, fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re limp and in need of a much deserved break. Bucky's only priority in life is to keep you safe and happy, and as he finally cleans you up to put you to bed, he knows your promises to behave are sincere, tonight sure to keep you in line. At least for the foreseeable future.

Day 13 | Imagine... Masterlist | Day 15

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