#my god i started bouncing in my seat from excitement

[dazedantics]

Mark wasn't the bragging type. At least, not all the time. He has pride in his comic collection, his action figures, things like that which he always talks about.

But when you finally went to his house for the first time, you realized how little you asked him about himself.

He was rich?!?!

Well, obviously not so high in the upper crust since you went to the same school, but well enough off that you were totally star-stuck just by walking through the front door.

You came from completely different worlds! Why were the rooms so big? There was so many of them too! And everything was such a sleek, modern design, inside and out! The windows were huge! And everything was cleaned to a shine! He had a second floor? Even his yard was so well kept! You bet even his garage looked amazing! That TV is huge! Look at that fridge!

You stared at him for a long while after crossing the threshold, gesturing wildly around.

"What?" He laughed out, rubbing his neck.

"You live in a mansion dude!" You declared, following him in. "Why didn't you tell me I had a rich friend?"

"What are you talking about? No, I don't. You're just being dramatic. C'mon, let's get a snack before we go upstairs."

You walked behind him as he rummaged through the kitchen. "Dude, you have a big ol' pantry. That just proves my point!"

A well lit and fully stocked one too. And is that a dishwasher?

"I thought everyone had one?"

"No!" You exasperated.

He handed you a few bags of chips. "Anything you want to drink? We have water, juice, a few sodas ...."

"Dude. Mark. How on earth are we friends?"

"Uh, cause you bullied me that one time then for some reason decided that I was interesting enough to start hanging around."

He turned off the pantry light, closing the door with a few beverages tucked under his arm. "Alright, my parents will be back in a few so let's get to my room before they start pestering you with questions."

You followed him up the stairs and down the bright hall to his door. "That's not what I mean. And I said I was sorry for that!"

He paused, giving a nervous smile before slipping into his room, "W-wait here for a sec."

"And do you know how long we've known each other? Mark, you are literally only a few streets away from me. How have I never got invited to your house? Do you know how easy coming over would've been?"

"Well, I dunno, why would you want to come over? D-do you want to start coming over?" He stuttered through the door.

You could hear the shuffling of fabrics and thudding of a closet door a few times.

Leaning against the wall, you continued, "I just mean that most people do that. Though my parents never used to let me go over to friend's places, so it wouldn't have really changed anything. But my point is that you've been holding out on me! William's been over plenty of times! And why didn't he ever say anything? Is he rich too? Is this really normal for you guys? God, you are never coming to my house. I live in a shed compared to this. If you got a connecting bathroom in there, I swear to god ...."

"You're overreacting. It's just ... new surroundings, you're excited. You'll realize it's nothing as big as you're making it out to be. Okay, you can come in now," he opened the door, beckoning you inside.

His room was spacy, but rather plain compared to the rest of the house. Minimal amount of furniture, posters, plus his collectables. Very representative of him.

You took a seat on the bed as he closed the door, bringing out the supplies he'd been holding for your project. "Yeah right. Gonna be dreaming of this place when I get home, shoot."

He jumped up next to you, the mattress bouncing under his weight. "Whatever. Let's just get started on this. You brought the research papers?"

"Of course," you dug out the folder from your bag, shifting into a more comfortable position before focusing on the project.

You worked diligently for a while, the two of you comfortable as ever before his parents came home. Their laugher ringing up the stairs as they came in. Mark didn't seem to notice though, jolting up when he heard the knock on his door, his mother's face peeking in.

"Hey, Mark? Do you- oh? You invited someone?"

"Mom!?" He flushed, reaching for the highlighters that had fallen. "Don't you know you're supposed to wait a bit before you come in?"

"Yes, yes you've told me before."

"Then?"

It took a lot to not whip your head at him for his mannerisms.

But his mother seemed to take no offense, merely smiling to you in greeting. "Hi, I'm Debbie or Mrs. Grayson, Mark's mom. He hasn't kept you in here all day has he?"

You smiled, nodding politely as you introduced yourself. "Hi, I'm Y/N. And no, I haven't been here too long. It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Grayson."

Her brows raised slightly, glancing over at her son for a second. "Oh so you're, Y/N. Mark's told me a lot about you. If I had known you were coming over I'd have made a nice dinner for you. Mark why didn't you say anything?"

"Because, Mom! It's not that important!" The boy huffed, getting up to usher her out the door. "Now, excuse us, big school project to get back to?"

Watching the two interact threw you for a loop, what was wrong with him!?

"So now you care about your homework?" She maneuvered around him, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes from the familiar movement. She was a happy person it seemed. Tired too. "It's nothing homemade, but we were just about to call Mark down for dinner if you'd like to join us? Ran into your father on the way home, we got your favorite from ... that takeout place you like."

She addressed the last part to her son.

Mark's tone softened a bit, glancing at you discreetly as if he was saying something embarrassing. "The place that puts the little prints on the toast?"

"Mhmm. We'll be downstairs waiting for you. You got five minutes, Mark!" She finished, her son quickly shutting the door the moment she turned around.

He blew out a sigh. Which quickly turned into slight yelp as you threw a pillow at him.

His head whipped around to glare at you. "What?"

"You're rich as heck, dude! No, sane kid would ever talk to their mother like that. Do you know what would've happened to me if I tried kicking her out like that? Privileged rich kids ...."

Sure he wasn't doing or saying anything as bad as he could have, but even his raised voice was pushing it!

Tossing the pillow back, he took a seat by the headboard. "Oh, c'mon, stop with that," he muttered. "We'll finish up that last paragraph then head down. Then ... I can walk you home before it gets too late?"

"You can't walk me home! My front porch will look like a baby's hut to you. And my family will not shut up if they see you next to me either. Is this what happens when you grow up without siblings? I don't even have my own room, dude!"

He gave you a look, seemingly done with all your exclamations, brown eyes fighting the urge to roll. "You're being weird. I'm sure it's not that bad. Let's just get downstairs already."

"If this takeout is more fancy than something from Burger Mart, I swear I'm gonna lose it. It's gonna be like ... A5 wagyu beef or something, huh?"

Your wild imagination wasn't too far off. The food, though in take out boxes, was definitely from some high end restaurant and still warm as if the trip didn't last more than a second. You were suddenly very conscious of your table manners.

But the family went along as if this was a simple ordeal, chatting casually and laughing.

His mother was really nice and friendly, making the act of sipping some wine -that you knew in your heart you'd never be able to afford- look so dainty and fluidly practiced. Not a drop was accidentally spilled onto her neat blouse or fresh pressed slacks.

She was very put together, jewelry minimal but pretty, and hair tied neatly in a well tamed bun. In the real estate business, she explained. It really showed, in her actions and her house. She was a business woman. You only wish to have an ounce of her grace when you were older.

And his dad?

Well ... okay maybe you were a little scared of his dad. I mean you could see the muscles practically aching to break free from the crop in his sleeves! You had no idea what he did for a living and you're not sure you wanted to find out.

But he was very well kept too. Dressed simple like his son, yeah, but you could tell he took pride in himself. He sat up a little too straight, his gestures firm and steady, smile far too charming, voice deep with a practiced confidence, blue eyes holding contact with whoever was speaking ... a bit too long ... kinda felt like he was staring into your soul ....

He had to have been a model or something when he was younger. One you had seen on a magazine in a dentist's waiting room or something.

Cause there was definitely something familiar about Mark's dad.

"Nolan." He'd introduced himself. Shaking your hand with a grip you were sure could've crushed bones if he tried.

Maybe it was the mustache. I mean, rarely anyone decided it was "the look" nowadays. But he wore it proudly.

Whatever it was that rang so familiar about him, you couldn't place. And you were far too scared to ask.

Anyways, the genes in this family were crazy. Mark literally had the cookie cutter perfection that the families in movies had. Was he even aware of that?

His parents even loved each other!

I mean, sure, maybe you were getting second hand embarrassment watching the two flirt so casually in front of your five star restaurant grade dinner.

But Mark was literally living most kid's dreams right now!

The rest of the night went on smoothly though, you watching the family's interaction with a strage feeling settling in your stomach. His parents even walked you out the door with a smile, Debbie offering for you to come again soon.

It wasn't until the two of you rounded the corner, out of sight from his parents, that Mark began to talk.

His cheeks were dusted pink, brown eyes fixed on the ground. One hand in his pocket, the other rubbing his neck. "I'm sorry about them. They're super embarrassing. All the time ...."

"Mark." You stopped. Standing in front of him, hands on his shoulders, shaking for emphasis. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

A statement you would only find out later would become such a cruel irony.

"You better not do something dumb and get kicked out of there. I will literally have no chance at seeing luxury again if you do."

He laughed lightly, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands down. "Hey, if you wanna trade seeing them be gross every second of the day for whatever you got going on in your life, I would totally do it. Did you get everything of yours? Before we're too far away to turn back?"

You nodded, tugging the strap of the bag on your shoulder. "Just so you know, I am so talking to William about you when I get home."

"You're being weird again." He stated, continuing your walk down the street. "It's not that big a deal."

"If you say so, Mister Rich Kid."

"You know ... you can come over again. Even we don't have a project to work on. I-if you want."

"Are you kidding me? Heck yeah I'm coming over again! I'm gonna slowly worm my way into your life. Watch, your mom's gonna be inviting me over to all your obscure family parties. Imma be in your family pictures soon. Won't be able to get rid of me."

He laughed softly, sucking his lip between his teeth. "Uh ... not what I was going for but uhm ... it's a start, right?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Turn here?"

"Yeah." You continued on for a bit longer before pressing a hand to his chest to stop him.

"What?"

"Turn around, go home."

"Oh, uh, is this your house?" He turned, looking at the building you stood in front of. "It's not that different than mine. Just a little smaller, but nothing like you're making it out to be."

You shook your head. "No. My house is further down the street."

"Then why did we just-"

"Because! You can't be seen dropping me off! I was serious about what I said, my family is probably peeking out the curtains right this second."

"I don't mind saying 'hi' if they're that interested."

"Well I do!" You braced both hands to push him back slightly. "They will literally torment me until they know everything about you."

A laugh bubbled up in Mark's chest as he smiled, taking hold of your hands with his. "Alright fine, you have a few days more until I show up at your doorstep randomly. Then I'll be invited to all of your family events."

"Not funny, Mark."

"Yeah it is. Just a little bit." He teased. "But I'll stay here till I see you go inside, okay? Don't get all stressed about it."

"Thank you." You sighed letting go.

You paused before turning away, head angled to watch him as you walked.

"G'night." He smiled, rasing up a hand in parting.

He was such a dork.

"G'night," you waved back, turning fully around till you reached your house.

When you looked back again, hand resting on the door handle, he was still there waiting. And you smiled, shaking your head before walking in.

At least he had a bit of manners to show for tonight.

But William was in for a long night of chatter on your end once you settled into your room.

[redeemingvillains]

of magic & mayhem - mattheo riddle

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter.

word count: 3k

a/n: this is like nine of my concepts all mashed into one! heavily influenced by my re-read of fourth wing in preparation for onyx storm coming out, anyone who wants to scream about that in my inbox, please do <3

The Great Hall echoed with the excited chatter of friends and classmates and the general cacophony of breakfast; the sounds of scraping cutlery and the clink of dishes and goblets. You and Pansy sat in genial silence as you read your book and she eyed the gossip column of the Daily Prophet.

You were so totally transfixed on your book that you didn't see the looming figure in front of you until he placed his hands on the oak table and leaned casually across it into your airspace.

"Good morning" he drawled smoothly in a deep voice that caused you to glace up only to see Mattheo Riddle's large amber eyes twinkling at you, matched with a smirk that made you feel like you had pixies in your stomach.

You could smell his cologne from this distance, an undeniable mix of woodsmoke, evergreen and cinnamon that made you feel heady.

"Pansy" he acknowledged, nodding at her as she glanced up at him with a surprise that matched your own.

"Mrs. Riddle" he said, acknowledging you as his electric gaze found yours. You felt a deep blush on your cheeks, even as your face scrunched in confusion and your eyes searched his face for a hint of a joke, finding none.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, cocking your head. As much as you tried to supress it, a small smile graced your lips, which didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" he said in mock surprise. "You don't like it? I think it's perfect."

A pause.

"It suits you" he said confidently. He winked at you as your eyebrows shot up and he turned and walked away without another word.

You turned to look at Pansy who was open-mouthed gaping after him before turning to look at you.

"What was that!?" she exclaimed, excited, like you knew something she didn't.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes despite the hammering of your heart in your chest.

"He's a complete flirt, Pans, I'm not putting a lot of weight in whatever he's woken up and decided to say today."

But even as the words came out of your mouth, you couldn't help but feel excited that you'd caught his attention, even if you knew how delicately dangerous it could be.

"But Mrs. Riddle?! Please. I am dying oh my gods!" she said.

"No, we're not even thinking about this. Not unless you want to listen to me cry myself to sleep in three weeks when I've completely fallen for him and he's moved on to someone else. We all know how this goes and I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

Pansy pursed her lips as she bounced in her seat with excitement, like she was going to explode.

"Okay, but maybe, just hear me out—" she started.

"—No" you said emphatically, as much to her as to yourself.

She stuck her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture.

It was no secret you were sought after; you had your fair share of dates and suitors. And it was no secret that Mattheo Riddle took the concept of incredibly hot fuckboy to another level, which is why, despite his comment and increasingly insistent stares you kept your distance.

Try as you might to forget what he said, or the way his dark eyes had twinkled mischievously as they drank you in, you found your thoughts drifting to him more times than you'd care to admit, and he had no intention of making it any easier for you, because now every time he saw you, he made a point of using your new nickname.

"Good morning, Mrs. Riddle" he said as he passed you in the Great Hall the next day.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Riddle!" he shouted from the opposite side of the common room, which garnered a significant amount of attention and whispers.

"Let me get the door for you, Mrs. Riddle" he said, pushing your classmates out of the way to do so.

"Mmm, gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Riddle" he whispered walking by you in the library in a way that felt like the words themselves danced over every inch of your body.

Pansy was nearly inconsolable over the situation, egging it on eagerly and even picking it up herself.

"Good night, Mrs. Riddle" she said to you as you crawled into bed in your shared dormitory.

"Lay off it, Pansy! Gods" you replied, even as you grinned like an idiot to yourself.

But then she wasn't the only one.

After less than a week of it, the rumor spread like fiendfyre and now Mattheo's friends were smirking at you in the corridor, waving teasingly to you in the common room and offering you every ounce of preferential treatment befitting of the name: knocking Potter off his chair when he took your seat in Potions, forcing a first-year to stand outside your dormitory holding your favorite latte every morning, and ensuring you had a coveted first row seat at their quidditch matches, including the House Cup, which you were excitedly getting ready for when Pansy burst into your room.

"You will never guess what I just heard" she said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"What's that?" you asked, humoring her frenetic energy.

"Astoria Greengrass having a sob in the girls lav. You know how she and Mattheo have hooked up a few times?—"

You didn't, in fact, know that and couldn't help the pang of jealousy that gripped your chest.

"—Well I heard her telling Penelope Clearwater that he says he doesn't want to anymore and he told Harmony Norman and Maria Warner the same thing!"

Your face tangled in disgust.

"How many girls is he hooking up with? And why do you look so happy about it? What a mess…" you said, sighing as you turned to resume your makeup.

"Why, all of a sudden is he breaking all of them off, hmm?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at you in your mirror.

"I don't know" you said shiftily. "Maybe he's trying to be a better person?!—"

"—Or maybe he has his eyes set on someone else?!" she said insistently. "You know, someone he's given a special nickname to, his name to?"

You opened your mouth to argue with her but you couldn't deny the logic of her statement.

The boys pulled it off, sweeping Gryffindor in the House Cup for the first time in years and the ensuing celebration was electric.

The music in the common room was loud enough to sway the chandeliers in the ceiling, to feel the bass vibrating in your body.

Every Slytherin you knew and quite a few friends from other houses were there, the normally cavernous room filled in a way that made it feel like some sort of night club, bodies covering every inch of space, melding and weaving between each other and raising the temperature of the normally dank dungeon air.

You couldn't help but search the flashing lights and otherwise utter chaos for Mattheo and you didn't have to look for long the way he stood a head taller than almost everyone in the room, even surrounded by his large teammates; not to mention the way they were walking around like kings, taking turns chugging champagne out of their trophy, raucous, rowdy and loud as people cheered around them.

Mattheo himself was in rare form, his handsome curls were slightly askew and his cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and general liveliness of the night. He was dressed in a fitted black tshirt and dark pants and was exuding an energy that was magnetic, even from where you were standing; undeniably, your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him.

Had you gotten a little dressed up? Of course. It was a celebration, an occasion, why wouldn't you? But as you wound through the sea of bodies, fingers twined in Pansy's, you garnered enough stares and double-takes that had you thinking you may have slightly overdone it.

"Oh, okay queen!" Pansy had said the minute she'd seen your outfit, the way you'd done your makeup and styled your hair, knowing, perhaps, exactly what or who had been on your mind.

You stopped to grab a drink and your cup had barely touched your lips before two guys came up to you that you recognized vaguely from the year below you. They were admittedly cute and you smiled as they compliment you and chatted with you. You leaned in closer to hear them over the music and the crowd and the one closest to you ducked his head toward you when you felt a tingle run from the base of your neck down your spine and a large, warm hand wound its way around your waist, pulling you firmly backwards into what felt like a pliable brick wall. You were startled for only a moment until you caught the undeniable scent of evergreen, of cinnamon.

"Brian is it? Blake? Blaire? Why don't you go get a drink, buddy?" his voice rumbled near your ear, more of a command than a suggestion as Bradley's eyes shot up over your shoulder to the shadow looming there and nodded quickly, retreating.

"Aww" you pouted sarcastically as you turned around. "He was nice, we were having fun!"

You met Mattheo's eyes which were so dark they looked nearly jet black as they glared at you. Had he been jealous?

And like he could read your mind his lip twitched and he rolled his eyes.

"Even if he had a chance with you, which, let's be very clear, he doesn't, he wouldn't know what to do with it."

"And, let me guess, you would?" you asked teasingly.

"Care to find out?" he asked matter-of-factly.

You felt a wave wash over you from your head to your toes, your body tingling with his proximity, with the way his eyes met yours directly, unfaltering despite the myriad distractions around him.

Gods yes you thought, even as you bit your bottom lip, teetering on the edge of a decision you knew you couldn't come back from.

His eyes shamelessly fell to your lips and you suddenly realized that his hands had never left you as they flexed at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was holding onto you for purchase.

"C'mon" he said, not waiting for a coherent reply from you, which you may never have been able to form had he kept looking at you that way.

His hands left your body only long enough to tangle his fingers in yours and hold them tightly, pulling you behind him as he headed into the sea of bodies on the dance floor, weaving between some as others offered him a wide berth and a congratulations when they realized who he was.

Then, like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face you, twining your fingers further in his as he pulled you into him, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you were flush to his chest, and his other hand found your waist again, his grip firm and unyielding as he held you to him as if you would argue or try to be anywhere but right here.

You could feel every dip and curve of his body against yours as you moved against each other in a way that felt perfect and also not nearly enough, even though you couldn't get any closer.

You let the hand on his shoulder wander to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls there and even though the music was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself think, you could feel as much as hear the growl that released in his chest as his hands tightened on you in a way you were certain would leave a bruise.

The lights flickered for just a second, and a few people stopped dancing and shouted but his eyes never left yours, the only acknowledgement he offered, a small grimace on his face, which made you want to kiss his lips back into his irritatingly perfect smirk.

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips hovered to your ear.

"You look stunning, Mrs. Riddle."

He leaned back and you could see his signature smirk gracing his lips again. You opened your mouth to reply as your eyes met his, but your head was swimming at this point. Everything was him all at once, his body against yours, taught and warm to your touch, his breath on you that smelled like cinnamon gum, his cologne, you felt yourself melting into him at his words, closing the only remaining inches between your hips as your hands came to his face and your noses brushed — and then the lights went out in earnest, drowning you in complete darkness.

"Fuck" you heard him mutter strongly before grasping your hand in his as he started to pull you through the imperceptible forms of people who were yelling and shouting, blazing a path through them, pushing people aside brusquely where necessary. He was on a war path and your feet moved quicky to follow him as he cleared most of the crowd and headed directly for the boys dormitory.

He pulled you into a maze of adjoining corridors before swiping his hand causing an approaching door to fly open as he pulled you in behind him. You were barely through it before he swiped his hand again and it slammed closed behind you, forcefully, the energy pouring off of him in a way that reminded you just how strong of a wizard he was, and exactly why absolutely nobody fucked with him.

He turned to you finally, his chest rising and falling as he gripped your waist and pushed you gently against the closed door with a thud. He let his other hand rest beside your head, caging you in. The look of lust on his face was still there, tangled with the same grimace from before, like he was angry, like he was holding something in.

"Mattheo...?" you whispered and he ducked his head away from you, his eyes squeezing shut as the hand at your waist squeezed again, the touch sending an electric tingle up your side that made you gasp.

His gaze came back to you and then he was leaning in, his nose brushing yours again and your hands came to wind around his neck. You caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as they hovered over yours, barely grazing them, and you could feel static electricity there between you, the air itself alight with energy, vibrating. The temptation was driving you mad, your chest visibly rising and falling against his own and then his lips fell to yours, warm, soft and urgent.

He took your face in his hands and pressed you into the door and you hummed against him. The lights in the room flickered once, then twice, and then rapidly like you were in a horror film before they went out completely, drenching you both in a velvet darkness that was somehow welcoming, like you could feel the shadows themselves dancing over your body, caressing you, enveloping you.

You felt his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened up to him. Your tongued flicked against his and a freezing gust of wind blew papers, books and quills off his desk, hurling them to the ground with a clatter and bang. Mattheo never stopped, his tongue continued to glide over yours and he kissed you like it was the last godsdamn thing he'd ever do.

He hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you back into the door before releasing your lips just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck that he lavished in a way you were certain there would be a violet bruise in the morning.

Your eyes fluttered in pleasure, lost in him for a moment until you caught sight of the room around you and you froze.

It was midnight black but for the moonlight coming through the window which cast everything in a ghostly shade of white, but what caught your eye was that every object in the room was floating, adrift in the air, the bed, the desk, the bookshelf, all hovering feet off the ground. Lightweight objects like clothing, quills and his books floated higher and higher and then you realized that it was cold enough to see your breath in front of you.

"Mattheo" you breathed, trying to get his attention. Your hand carded through his curls and the chair in the corner took flight.

Wait. Was this him?

"Mrs. Riddle?" he murmured in your neck.

"Mattheo" you said again, a stronger urgency in your voice causing him to relent and look up at you with a puff of air of his own.

"Fuck" he said. "It's – yeah. That's me. Well, that's you actually."

"What?"

"S'no secret that my magic is ... strong. And I'm well practiced at controlling it. With... one exception."

He took your hand and placed it over his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

You searched his eyes and his eyebrow quirked until he gestured to his room. As if to say 'see?'

This boy had quite literally lost his control at your touch.

"Wait, the lights? The music?" you asked, a small smile on your lips at the realization.

"When you touched me, I just—" he shook his head, exhaling another puff of cold air. "—See what you do to me, Mrs. Riddle?" he said.

"Gods, when are you going to stop calling me that?" you laughed, even as you looked at him and traced a finger over his lips.

"When it's true" he said simply.

You looked confused for a moment until he leaned into you again, his magic radiating off of him.

"What?" you breathed.

"When you're mine, and it's official and I won't have to spend all of my free time reminding everyone you're mine, they'll know. Until then, I'll hedge my bets."

He kissed you.

"Mmpf, but what if I didn't want you to stop?" you murmured against him.

He pulled back to look at you, scanning your face for any sign of a joke, and finding none as your eyes connected with his and his lip quirked in a smile.

"Well, princess,” he whispered against your lips, ghosting them with his, teasing you before biting your bottom lip gently in a way that sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“Whatever Mrs. Riddle wants—” he murmured, kissing you fully, luxuriously, “—Mrs. Riddle gets.”

ˋ°•*⁀➷ EPILOGUE

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Hits Different

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: Reader gets jealous when some women start hitting on Aaron at the bar on their team night out

CW: drunk!Hotch, jealous!Reader, mentions of an unsub and murder, drinking, confessions, makeout, Hotch being handsy, kinda needy!Hotch?

a/n: I’m literally obsessed with Aaron Hotchner rn

title track 🎶🥂

~~~

“No— I can’t,” you opposed as your coworkers decided to order another round of shots. Cheeks glowing as the alcohol seeped into you. Smiling as Derek put his arm around you and J.J. reached across the table to encourage you.

It was a Thursday night. You all had just gotten back from a week long endeavor in Utah. Local killer had his sight on some local young women. Killing them in some ritual style way that the drinks helped you fuzz the memory of. Luckily after you had addressed the public, he grew sloppy and was easily caught.

And now, back in your home state, you all crowded into a local bar to relax. And when the BAU “relaxed” it usually involved some heavy drinking.

“Shots! Shots! Sh-Shots!” Penelope and Emily chanted to the tune of the Lil Jon song. You laughed, a subtle snort escaping you. Rossi came back with the tray, beginning to pass them out to everyone.

Aaron Hotchner hovered behind him. Already having downed three glasses of scotch and beaming with alcohol on his face. It was a rare occasion that Hotch got drunk. Usually he just sipped at one drink while everyone else got themselves into trouble. But tonight he decided to let loose. Taking two glasses off the tray and squeezing in next to you in the already tight booth. Sitting them down in front of the two of you. Hooded eyes squinted upward in a closed-mouth smile as his eyebrows raised at you.

And you felt your face completely flush. Since your time at the BAU, you had developed a crush on your superior. Even if it was inappropriate and the age gap was a bit large, you still harbored feelings for him. And moments like this did not help.

Completely engulfed by the aroma of his cologne. Trying not to make it obvious you were smelling him. Hotch wrapped his arm around you absentmindedly. Leaning in and holding one of the glasses up to you. “Are you gonna do a shot with me?” His slightly slurred words melted against your skin. His voice somehow deeper and sultrier than ever. Everyone else was too distracted by the giggling of drunken excitement for more drinks to notice what was happening. It was like you two were alone for a moment.

You smiled, nodding slowly as he passed you the shot in his hand. Picking up the other and wrapping his arm around yours. Intertwined so that your hands were back against your own mouths. You were beyond flustered with the contact he was making with you. Hotch began counting down, both of you throwing the alcohol back on three.

Sucking your teeth as it burned down your throat. Hotch blew his breath out. You watched as his nose scrunched up at the taste. Shaking off the strong taste as Hotch leaned in against you. His head bumping against yours for a moment. Lips pressing against your ear in his drunk state.

“Want me to go get us som’more drinks? You like something more fruity, right?” Hotch suggested, deep voice ringing in your ear. The feeling of his lips grazing your skin had you sweating.

“Only if you’re buying,” you pulled at his tie softly. Causing his eyes to lock into yours, corner of his mouth curving up. His eyes scanned your figure momentarily before getting up and strutting over to the bar.

“Oh. My. God.” J.J.’s voice pulled you back from your staring problem you had with Hotch. You whipped your neck to face her, adjusting your posture in the seat. Shaking your head slightly, “What?”

“What was that about?” J.J. grinned brightly, eyes bouncing from Hotch to you.

“We were just doing some shots together,” you felt your face heating up again. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as your mouth ran dry.

“The only other instances of Hotch getting that close to any of us was when we were hurt,” Spencer chimed in with his analytical sounding tone. Still as smart as ever even while drunk.

“Oh God, you guys,” you shook your head and scooted out of the booth. Stretching your legs for the first time tonight. Hands resting on the table as you got closer to the opposing side. Being eye-to-eye with J.J. and Spencer, “You guys know he acts different when he’s relaxed. It’s nothing.”

Spencer and J.J. exchanged a look of uncertainty. Neither of them believing what you had just said. Rolling your eyes at their smirking expressions. Catching on easily to the feelings you had for your boss.

Downside of having friends who are profilers.

“Drop it,” you pointed at them with two fingers. Your friends began snickering and laughing. You could not help but smile back at them. Laughter was contagious when you were intoxicated. You turned to meet your crush at the bar.

You froze.

Some woman was cuddled up with Hotch at the bar. Breasts peaking out of the top of her thin shirt, curled hair falling below her shoulders, and a beautiful face of makeup. Your heart sank down to your ankles. Watching as her hand trailed his chest. Watching how her perfectly glossed lips popped as she spoke to him inaudibly.

Worst of all: his smile.

SSA Hotchner tended to be gruff and stern. Brooding and unreadable. Purely business around you and the other members of the BAU. Stoic and distant. Something you all agreed was so he did not get overly attached, just in case something happened to one of you. Rarely smiling other than seeing his sweet son, Jack.

Guess tonight was different.

Rosey cheeks and perfect teeth painted his expression. Eyes locked in on the woman before him. Your hands began shaking at your sides. If it was not a cartoon cliche, you would have had smoke coming out of your ears. Teeth grinding together behind tightly pierced lips.

Rethinking any hints he may have given you. Feeling like you had fooled yourself into a crush. Angry that some random bitch woman was getting too friendly with Hotch.

Unable to take it anymore. Jealousy brewing inside you, ready to overflow. You marched up to the bar, immediately pulling Hotch’s attention from the woman.

“Sorry to interrupt—“

“Hi, Y/N,” Hotch smiled at you. Causing butterflies to flutter in your intestines. Especially with the casualty of your first name.

God, he was drunk.

“SSA Y/L/N,” you extended your hand out to the woman, lip twitching when she shined her perfect smile. Flaring your nostrils and locking your jaw when your hand met hers.

“Hi! I’m Hope,” her peppy attitude made you sick to your stomach. Trying your best to fake your expression. Anger causing a slight shake to your demeanor.

“Right…” you trailed off, looking at Hotch whose eyes had not left you yet, “Hotch—“

“C’mon, Y/N. You can call me Aaron here,” he leaned in and whispered to you. Chills ran down your entire body when the heat from his lips radiated against your skin. Swallowing the lump in your throat.

Oh, he was REALLY drunk.

“Aaron,” you started, watching him smile at you saying his first name, “Did you get my drink?”

Hotch’s hand came up cupping his cheek as his eyes squinted, “Oh my God. That’s why I came up here. I totally forgot—“

“Don’t worry about it, Hotch,” your frustration took over your attitude. Fists clinching at your sides. Feeling tears beginning to burn behind your eyes. Deciding to storm off without the drink. Heading towards the long corridor to the bathrooms.

“Y/N—“ Hotch reached out to you with a confusion behind his tone. Not caring enough to listen to whatever excuse his drunken self was gonna give you. Trying your best not to make a scene so none of your coworkers would notice and come after you. Really just needing to be alone.

You leaned against the cold wall, hands holding onto each of your arms. Head resting against the brick of the dimly lit hallway. Fighting your eyes that begged to leak with your feelings. And you felt stupid. Did you really think your own boss would be interested in you? Enough to not get distracted by the beautiful woman at the bar? Please.

Feeling suddenly sober at the heartbreak in your chest. Hands coming up to cover your redening face. Embarrassed that you had even toyed with the notion. Knowing it was completely against protocol to fraternize with coworkers. Let alone with your superior—

“Y/N?” Hotch’s somber voice broke you away from the thoughts filling your mind.

You blinked your eyes open. Manually breathing as your shoulders rose and fell. Controlling the water that begged to pour from your eyes. Clicking your tongue as you spoke, “Hotch.”

“I told you, you could call me Aaron here,” he leaned against the wall beside you. Arms folded over his broad chest. Pondering the informality before looking back to him.

“I thought you saved that for pretty girls at the bar,” you half-heartedly smiled. Flaring your nostrils as you contorted your face to hide your frown.

Hotch laughed, bearing that smile that had you seeing stars. Eyes closing for a moment, giving you the opportunity to linger in it. Enjoying him being this casual with you.

“Is that not what you are?” Hotch asked.

You whipped your head to look at him again. Brows furrowed tightly together as your mouth hung open in confusion. “What?”

Hotch rose a brow, “Are you not a pretty girl? At the bar with me right now?”

You blinked as you stammered, “I— Not like… I mean— not like that girl at the bar…” You trailed off completely dumbfounded by his statement. Hotch watched you with a smile. His own cheeks still red.

“You think I’m pretty?” You finally formed a cohesive sentence unable to stop your mouth from curving into a smile.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Hotch’s hooded eyes stared into yours. Taken aback by that. Questioning for a moment if he was mocking you. Realizing by his expression he was not.

“You’re drunk, Hotch—“

“Aaron,” he corrected, “And, yeah I am drunk. But just drunk enough to finally be honest with you about that.” Hotch’s tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lip. Hand coming up and rubbing his neck at his confession.

“You didn’t have to come back here just to try and make me feel better. You were having a good chat with that woman at the bar. She was so beautiful, and made you smile, and not a part of the BAU, and—“ you covered your mouth getting embarrassed and shameful.

Hotch’s hand caressed your cheek. Pulling you back to him. His brows laid flat against his eyes. Lips pressed firmly together, watching his throat bob with the swallow he took. Thumb rubbing circles into your warm cheek, swiping away the singular line of tears that streamed down.

“I’m sorry— it’s the alcohol, that’s why I’m crying—“

Hotch cut you off by pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. Your eyes flew open. Hand gently resting against his chest as you savored the feeling of his lips on yours. Feeling your breath hitch in your throat and heart swell.

“You taste so sweet,” Hotch groaned, both hands gripping your face now. The primal noises he made causing arousal to swirl around your belly. Feeling its residue stick to your panties. His lips trailed down your jaw to your neck. Nipping against your soft skin as his hands roamed down the backside of your body. Gasping when his large hands groped your ass.

“I get chit-chatty when I’m drunk. That girl at the bar didn’t matter at all,” Hotch promised against your skin with kisses breaking up his sentences.

“You won’t even remember this in the morning,” you giggled when he took your earlobe between his teeth. Feeling a somberness sinking into your gut.

“How could I forgot this?” Hotch breathed into your ear. Sounding like he was desperate and almost completely out of breath, “Forget about you?”

Hotch pulled back to look into your eyes. Really taking in your face before him. Your eyes kept darting between his and his lips. Smiling when you could still taste him on your lips.

You pressed up on your toes, lips meeting his again. Tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Sloppily intertwining together. Huffs and grunts coming from Hotch as he pulled your front flush against his. You blushed at the feeling of his bulge.

“What about the team?” You questioned as the weight of the situation became suddenly apparent.

“I don’t care about them right now,” Hotch pressed his lips back to yours. Kissing away any fear or dread that was in your mind. Completely consuming you. Smiling as you both allowed hands to roam the other’s body.

You broke the kiss momentarily, “So— wait— you mean Rossi thinks I’m pretty too?” You teased him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Watch it,” Hotch smiled with a playful aggression on his tone, capturing you back in a kiss. Laughing together as you pressed lips together.

~~~

[END//?]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’m having such a blast writing for Hotch right now. Honestly, I’m think about making a smutty part 2 to this fic if anyone was interested. If you have requests or want to be tagged in any future Fics, let me know! //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @justyourusualash ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~

[magnagaruzenmon]

Accident

Karina looks too cute like this

You were on your way to the restaurant for your first date, stomach buzzing with nerves, when the universe decided to throw in a plot twist—by way of a speeding luxury sedan.

You didn’t even get a chance to swear before the front grill smacked you like a linebacker. You bounced off the hood and landed badly, ankle twisting with a sickening crunch.

“Ah, god—” you groaned, curling around the pain as your foot ballooned to nearly twice its size. The agony was sharp and immediate, then settled into something duller but constant—like your ankle had been replaced with a live wire.

A car door slammed. Footsteps rushed over.

“Oh my god—are you alive?! I swear I didn’t see you!”

You looked up, expecting some panicked auntie. Instead, you were met with the most disarmingly beautiful woman you’d ever seen—glossy black hair, porcelain skin, wide eyes full of panic and… chaotic sparkle?

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t texting, I swear—well, I was looking at the restaurants, but that’s not the same—wait, what’s your name?”

You blinked, still on the ground. “Malcom.”

“I’m Yu Jimin—but you can call me Karina! Okay, I feel terrible, so I’m taking you to the hospital. Can you stand? No? That’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, she crouched, looped your arm around her shoulders, and half-carried, half-dragged you back to the passenger seat of the car that had just hit you. You stared, dazed, as she buckled you in with the tenderness of a mom securing her toddler.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in the ER, staring at a doctor whose mouth kept twitching like he was holding back laughter.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, glancing between you and Karina, “she ran you over and then personally chauffeured you to the hospital?”

You nodded.

Karina stood beside the gurney, arms crossed like a scolded puppy. “It was an accident,” she mumbled. “And technically I clipped him. Just a little clipping. Barely a love tap.”

The doctor gave up and left the room before he could laugh in your face.

After you got a boot on and were waiting in to be discharged Karina laughed and said, “You know I was actually supposed to headed to a date before this. That’s probably ruined,”

You laugh and say, “if it’s any consolation I was supposed to as well,”

“I guess this can be our first date then,” Karina said with a goofy smile. You laugh and say

“Sure,”

Over the next few weeks, you spent more and more time with Karina—and learned one undeniable truth.

This girl? Absolutely insane.

Not in a bad way. Not the dangerous kind of crazy. More like… a fizzy soda shaken too much, a firecracker in a Hello Kitty box, a sunrise that forgot it wasn’t supposed to talk at 200 words per minute.

Karina was a whirlwind of sunshine: too energetic, too happy, too much—but in the kind of way you start to crave. She skipped instead of walked. She made up songs about brushing her teeth. She got excited about vending machines like they were ancient wonders of the world.

But here’s the thing no one warned you about: her body? Ridiculously sinful for someone so wrapped in pink chaos.

Every time she bounced around the room in one of her oversized crop tops—grinning, giggling, hopping like an overcaffeinated bunny—there was a real risk of divine intervention. One bend, one innocent lean, and boom: cleavage apocalypse. You’d try to keep eye contact, but it felt like a test sent straight from the heavens. And you were failing. Hard.

Then there were the lap moments.

Karina didn’t mean anything by them. That’s what made it worse. She’d plop down on you mid-conversation with zero warning, back wiggling against your chest like she was trying to unlock some ancient, primal curse. Sometimes she’d shift without realizing it, and your brain would short-circuit while she nibbled Pocky and asked if ducks had teeth.

She was, somehow, both God’s most adorable angel and the devil’s most tempting succubus—wrapped in one soft, giggling, maddeningly affectionate package.

And the worst part?

She had no idea what she was doing to you.

Or maybe she did.

But either way… you were hopelessly, blissfully doomed.

The plan was simple: a chill double date. Dinner, drinks, and maybe a board game or two at Giselle’s place.

The execution, however, was anything but chill—because Karina, bless her chaotic soul, had once again decided to dress like a Victoria’s Secret model pretending to be wholesome. Which was ironic because you knew Victoria secret models who were more modest and wholesome than Karina.

She wore a baby pink cardigan that only had two buttons fastened—right at the middle—and underneath, a lacy bralette that could barely be called clothing. High-waisted jeans hugged her hips like they were in a committed relationship, and her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail that made her look infuriatingly effortless.

Giselle’s boyfriend tried very hard not to stare which would have annoyed you but you had your own issues . You tried very hard not to combust.

The whole night, Karina was a golden retriever in human form. She bounced around the kitchen helping Giselle cook, humming pop songs and spinning in her socks like the floor was a skating rink. Or she clinged to you like a new puppy would.

“Do you want more wine, Malcom?” she asked, leaning across the table to pour you a glass—from the wrong side. Her chest hovered right in front of your face like a sentient temptation. Your soul briefly left your body.

“Oh my god,” Giselle muttered beside you, hiding a snort behind her hand. “She’s not even trying.”

“She never tries,” you hissed, face hot.

When dinner ended, Karina claimed your lap like it was her rightful throne. She wriggled slightly to get comfortable, which meant your life expectancy dropped by about five years. She stole bites off your plate and pressed her cheek against yours like a cat marking its territory, all while giggling at a dumb story Giselle was telling about her boyfriend getting locked out in boxers.

You didn’t hear a word of it.

All you could focus on was the fact that Karina’s bralette strap had slid off her shoulder. Her skin was warm against your jaw. Her hips were grinding against your thigh every time she laughed too hard.

She looked up at you with wide, oblivious eyes.

“You okay?” she asked sweetly.

“Peachy,” you croaked, voice cracking like a teenager.

Giselle made a strangled noise. “This is the funniest date I’ve ever been on.”

“I’m just sitting!” Karina protested, still perched innocently in your lap, pouting like a kicked puppy. “Malcom’s the one acting all weird.”

You met Giselle’s eyes over Karina’s shoulder. She grinned like the devil. You were never going to live this down.

Later that night, after you’d survived dinner, board games, and the lap of doom, you and Karina finally made it back to your place.

She flopped onto your couch, kicked off her shoes, and gave you the look—head tilted, brows scrunched, lips pursed. The interrogation look.

“Okay,” she said, pointing a finger at you like you were on trial. “Why were you being so weird all night?”

You blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah! You were jumpy and awkward and barely spoke during dessert. Did I say something dumb again? You’re not secretly allergic to lasagna or something, right?”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Karina… it wasn’t what you said. It’s you.”

Her expression softened in that open, trusting way that always made your heart lurch. “Me?”

“Yeah, like—look, you’re adorable and funny and insane, but also you’re just… really sexy. And you don’t mean to be, which makes it worse. You sat in my lap in that bralette like it was no big deal, and leaned over the table, and giggled with your boobs basically—okay, you know what I mean.”

Karina just stared.

Then blinked.

Then laughed. Hard.

“Nooo way. You’re just saying that to be dramatic!”

“I’m serious!” you groaned, collapsing beside her. “Giselle even gave me that look like, ‘bro, I’m so sorry for your suffering.’”

She narrowed her eyes. “I need to hear this from a second source.”

And just like that, she grabbed her phone and FaceTimed Giselle.

You tried to stop her. She smacked your hand away like a mosquito. The line rang once before Giselle answered, wrapped in a blanket, holding a popsicle.

“What’s up, chaos goblins?”

Karina shoved the phone in her face. “Was I sexy tonight?”

Giselle blinked. Then howled.

“Oh my god—YES. Babe, you were almost radioactively hot. I nearly had to throw a blanket on you for public safety. You sat in his lap like it was your throne and bounced like you were trying to get him to fuck you right there.”

“I wasn’t even trying!?” Karina cried.

“I know! That’s what made it worse! You’re like an adorable succubus and he was suffering in absolute silence. Honestly, it was impressive.”

Karina turned slowly to look at you. Her mouth was slightly open in disbelief. “Wait… you were turned on that whole time?!”

You gave her a flat stare. “Karina. I nearly bit through my cheek during Uno.”

She gasped like it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.

Then she burst out laughing again—and tackled you onto the couch, straddling you without a second thought.

“Aw, baby,” she cooed. “You should’ve said something.”

You groaned. “You think I didn’t try?”

Giselle was still cackling through the phone. “I’m hanging up before I hear something I’ll never un-hear. Good luck, Malcom. You’re gonna need it.”

The line went dead. Karina grinned down at you, straddling your hips like she was born to sit there—like gravity itself had conspired to put her in your lap and keep her there. That wild sparkle lit up her eyes, mischief blooming across her face like fire meeting dry grass.

“Oh?” she purred, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me show you what me actually trying to be sexy looks like.”

And then she kissed you.

Not the shy, fluttery kind. No. This was a kiss that didn’t ask permission—it took. Her lips met yours with a hungry certainty, all heat and rhythm, like she knew exactly where you were weakest and aimed straight for the center. Her hands cupped your jaw, keeping you exactly where she wanted you, and every time you tried to catch your breath, she pulled you back under—deeper, slower, harder.

You groaned into her mouth, clutching her waist like a lifeline, your brain fogging up with nothing but the feel of her.

By the time she finally let you go, you were panting, light-headed, your pulse galloping like it was trying to outrun your restraint.

She didn’t stop there.

Karina leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear with infuriating gentleness. Her breath was hot, intimate, maddening. Then her tongue flicked out—just once—before she slowly dragged it along the edge of your ear and finished with a teasing nip at your lobe.

You gasped, hips involuntarily twitching beneath her. She giggled at the reaction, soft and smug, like she’d just discovered your cheat code.

Her fingers trailed down your chest, feather-light, tracing invisible patterns over your shirt. She wasn’t rushing—no, this was deliberate. Torturous. Seductive in the most innocent-seeming way, which somehow made it even worse.

“I’ve been waiting for the right signal,” she whispered, voice all faux innocence wrapped in sin. “Didn’t want to scare you off.”

She leaned back just enough for her bralette to catch the light—those two ridiculous buttons on her cardigan threatening to pop at any second—as she tilted her head, her short fluff of hair bouncing playfully with the motion.

“But it seems like you’ve been ready for me…” she purred, running her nails lightly along your abdomen, “…for a very long time.”

You swallowed hard. She smiled wider.

You had absolutely no idea if this was heaven or hell, but one thing was certain:

You weren’t leaving her lap any time soon. She slowly began to undress first the cardigan, then the bralette.

You almost drooled at how hot her body was and then somewhere along the way. A red light turned green and you took the offensive. You kissed her as you fumbled with your pants and belt as she took off hers.

Before you could think or even consider anything you plunged into her tight wet heat.

Karina smirked in the smug knowing way as you entered her.

Your ears ringing as blood rushed down to your dick. She smiled and said, “fuck me” her voice soft and seductive in all the right ways as you slowly plunged in and out as she greedily sucked you in,

“Fuck yu, your pussy is a vice”

Karina smiles at your struggle before saying, “well I do love you,” her words send you down a spiral as her pussy tightens around you leaving you ragged and breathless before exploding inside her velvety walls. Your seed enters her greedy womb as her walls desperately try to drain every drop from you. She smiles after your spent and says.

“I’ll tone down my accidental sexiness,”

Still inside her you say, “no keep me hard because I want you to know how much I love you as well.”

Karina smiles then says” oh you sweet poor boy,”

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: HOT AIR BALLOON * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where at the Branson show of the Surprise Party Tour, Matt reveals his first surprise without his brothers: flying in a hot air balloon, and Y/N is part of it, except she's afraid of heights.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　fear of heights, PDA, and extreme fluff.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: I'm not sure if I liked this, so I'm so sorry if it doesn't reach you guys' expectations ☹️

"Okay, so." Matt started, his voice echoing around the theater through the speakers. He was standing in the center of the stage, hands holding the mic in both hands like it steadied him. "My first tour surprise in Boston was the fake Uber on Nick, right?"

Chris and Nick were already reclined on the left couch, each with a mic in hand, watching with attention.

The crowd laughed after the mention of his first surprise, Nick nodding in agreement.

"But Chris was with me." Matt pointed, gesturing toward his brother. "So this is the first one I’ve done completely alone."

Y/N, on the middle seat of the first row, bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too hard.

He was lying.

Kind of.

Because he hadn’t been alone. She had been there. She was there. With him the entire time.

"And I feel excited for it." Matt continued, and the crowd let out a collective aww, which he tried to ignore by glancing down at his brothers with a quick smile.

Y/N hugged her arms around her waist as she watched with eyes full of attention, heart fluttering stupidly.

"I went into this with the idea, and I was like, oh my God, I’m gonna be horrified." He continued, now pacing a few steps toward the right couch. "But I ended up having a really good time."

Nick and Chris both nodded, glancing out at the crowd while they cheered again. Matt was practically bouncing now.

"Alright, so." He said, holding out the mic. "Let's watch the video."

He collapsed onto the right couch, settling in, tucking one foot under his leg, messing with the sleeve of his jacket.

The video opened quietly. Just soft street noise, the gentle sound of wind brushing past a tree, a distant car humming by, and the sleepy rustle of someone adjusting their clothes.

The camera was set up across the street from a big, glowing house. Fairy lights clung to the porch, blinking lazily in the early morning dark.

It was just before dawn, and on the curb, backs to the house and fronts to the camera, sat Matt and Y/N.

Matt was bundled up in his red sweater, the soft one that he had used too many times to count. His usual cap was on his head, curls peeking out the sides. His legs were stretched long in front of him, ankles crossed.

And beside him, tucked fully into his side like she belonged there, was Y/N.

She was wearing an oversized jersey, one of Matt’s old ones from Boston, the sleeves swallowing her hands completely. Her head rested on his shoulder, hair slightly messy from sleep, eyes half-lidded in that dazed, dreamy way you get when you wake up too early and your soul hasn’t caught up yet.

Her cheek was pressed to the soft fabric of his sweater, and from the way she wasn’t even pretending to sit upright, it was clear she was one blink away from falling asleep right there on the sidewalk.

Matt’s arm was slung around her waist lazily, the fabric of her jersey bunched up under his hand.

"Alright everybody, what’s up? I hope you’re enjoying the show so far." He smiled at the camera, voice low and a little gravelly, like he hadn’t spoken much yet that day.

He gestured off-screen casually.

"I know future me is sitting right here..."

And from the stage, Matt grinned and raised a lazy hand in time with his past self.

Then, on screen again, he turned his head to look at the girl resting against him.

"And sleepy Y/N here is probably sitting right there."

He pointed toward the middle of the screen and chuckled, the sound soft and teasing. Out of screen, Y/N smiled shyly, cheeks burning while the audience screamed.

Nick leaned forward on the left couch, furrowing his brow, eyes bouncing between the screen and Matt. His mic came up slowly.

"So it wasn’t a solo surprise, huh?"

Matt just shrugged innocently, his smile smug and way too satisfied.

"Eh."

Back on the video, Matt turned his face toward the camera again, his expression softer now.

"I’m so excited to surprise everyone. I know this might not be the first surprise I show on tour, but this is the first one I’ve filmed." He started. "So the anticipation is there. I feel great."

Y/N nodded beside him, barely lifting her head from his shoulder.

"I’m so excited too." She mumbled, voice thick with sleep. "I want everyone to feel a bit of what we're going to in a few minutes."

Matt smiled like his whole body agreed, and he nodded slowly, his nose a little pink from the cold.

A breeze rustled past on-screen, and Matt’s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer.

"It’s currently 5:21 in the morning." He said, looking down the road as if a car might appear. "And that’s why Y/N looks like a zombie right now."

Y/N let out a tiny huff of protest.

"We woke up at 4:30-"

"You woke up at 4:30." She argued, lips barely forming the words. "I got up at 4. I showered first."

Matt looked offended in the most dramatic way.

"Okay, facts." He admitted.

He turned back to the camera, lifting his hand to point accusingly.

"But we went to bed at 2:30 because this one-" He poked her arm. "Wanted to watch one more episode of Bones. So we’re like... no sleep. The anticipation is killing me. It’s freezing. And we’re about to be in the sky in like twenty minutes."

The crowd lost it.

People screamed, gasped, clapped, pure chaos. Nick’s eyes went comically wide.

"What?"

The last word made video-Y/N tense a little into him, and Matt caught it immediately.

"Also, Y/N's terrified of heights." He explained to the camera with a small smile, rubbing her arm gently through the thick sleeve.

"Yeah." She confirmed, breath visible in the air.

Matt tilted his head until it touched hers, warm cheek to cold temple.

"So this is gonna be a bravery proof, too."

The video cuts for a millisecond before a landscape so wide and open it almost steal the air from your lungs illuminated the screen.

The sky held that soft in-between blue, dark but warming up, the world slowly clicking back into color as the hours pushed through.

Matt was standing in the middle of the screen with his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his sweater. The cold has made him hunch just a bit, spine curved, breath puffing out in soft white clouds.

Behind him, the air balloon still lies on the ground, fabric like giant waves of color, rippling across the frosty grass as one guy in a high-vis jacket messes with cables and the giant wicker basket.

And then there’s Y/N, standing a little ways off from Matt, arms tugged into the pockets of her jersey, her legs pressed close together like she’s trying to keep every bit of warmth to herself. She’s not looking at the camera. Her eyes are locked on the man working the balloon, all fascinated and sleepy and freezing.

Matt glances over at her, eyes soft, and turns back to the camera, in which Memo was clearly holding a little unsteadily, probably shivering behind it.

"I’m gonna pull a Dorothy and start looking for Toto." He mumbles, his voice so dry it practically crunches in the cold.

Y/N snorts, cold clouds puffing out of her mouth. She turns toward him, taking a few slow steps closer, her sneakers crunching against the frost-bitten grass, and when she finally gets to him, she mutters under her breath.

"You go, Dorothy."

Matt's lips twitched wide as soon as she said it, rolling his eyes playfully.

The camera unintentionally shifted, wobbling slightly to the side, catching a glimpse of the huge, colorful balloon still half-inflated on the grass.

"Oh my God." Nick whispered in the mic, shifting on the couch so he could look at Matt, who just shrugged, grinning.

Back in the video, Matt glanced between the balloon and Y/N, bouncing slightly on the heels of his shoes, trying to stay warm, then looking right into the lens.

"I don’t trust these people." He says dramatically, eyebrows raised. "We’ve just met these guys like twenty minutes ago, and they’re doing this insane operation."

He juts his chin toward the man fiddling with the balloon, the basket now upright and looking way too real for comfort.

Y/N looks toward it.

"Well, they’ll be piloting us to the sky today." She says, turning slowly to the camera. "On a fucking balloon."

Chris practically screams through the mic back on the stage.

"A hot air balloon?"

The crowd erupts, clapping, and screaming.

Video-Y/N kept going without flinching, still facing the balloon.

"So you better trust them."

The screen cuts again, now closer to the balloon. The colors look brighter now, with the sun starting to creep in from the edge of the sky, Matt’s hair catching the gold light in little strands.

He leans in slightly to the camera, whispering with a tired smile.

"It’s like 6 in the morning, Chris and Nick are one hundred percent sleeping while I go to the sky."

Memo quietly zoomed out and caught Y/N turning to the guy who was tightening ropes around the basket.

"How high do we go?" She asked him, her voice scratchy.

The guy laughed like he got that question all the time.

"Depends on the day." He said. "But usually around two thousand feet."

Y/N blinked. Her whole face went blank for a second.

Then she turned slowly to the camera, wide-eyed, jaw slightly dropped, shifting her right hand so her index finger was pointing right at Matt.

"If he doesn’t hold me with all his life two thousand feet up in the sky, I’m throwing him out of the basket."

The audience laughs, Nick and Chris's laughter echoing together.

And then, the next cut.

Matt’s left arm is draped over Y/N’s shoulders now, her body tucked under it. Her arms are crossed tight around her body, trying to trap the heat in, and Matt keeps her snug against his side like he’s a built-in human heater.

He’s looking to the side, lips pursed like he’s thinking too hard. Then his eyes shift up to the camera, and he speaks softly, a little more serious than before.

"My nerves are starting to kick in more and more as time goes on."

Y/N nods gently, her head bumping his shoulder a bit. She’s still staring out at the balloon behind the camera, her voice quiet and warm.

"I feel like we’re in the movie UP, you know?"

Matt’s head bobs in an immediate nod, so fast his cap shifts back slightly, laughing through his nose a little, looking at the balloon.

"Yeah, Carl did this with his house. He just... put a bunch of balloons on his roof and went up in the sky, huh?"

Chris’s laugh bursts through the mic.

"Oh my fucking god."

Matt’s eyes flicker down to Y/N, then back to the camera.

"Who’s in the movie UP now?"

Y/N blinks up at him, nose pink from the cold, the ghost of a smile on her lips. She doesn’t even hesitate.

"Us."

Matt nods, like that’s the only answer he wanted.

"Yeah." He murmurs. "Us."

The video flickered for a second, then cut to a super close shot of the massive, full balloon, its fabric fluttering in the morning wind. The flame roared as the burner system blasted fire into the balloon.

Everyone in the theater flinched a little with the loud sound.

In the video, Matt’s arm was visible first, then the camera panned as he turned to Y/N, gently squeezing her shoulder, his fingers lingering like he was silently asking 'you ready?', looking at her with that soft, cheeky grin of his before he stepped up and climbed into the basket.

The wicker creaked under his weight, the balloon wobbling a little. Matt, now standing inside, turned immediately, bracing himself on the rim and leaning halfway out.

"C'mere, angel." He said softly, his hands ready to catch her.

She clumsily lifted a leg up, and he caught her instantly, hands warm and wide, steadying her.

Her nervous laugh echoed as she climbed awkwardly into the basket.

"I look ridiculous." She mumbled, but Matt’s arms didn’t let her go even once.

As soon as she was in, fully upright inside the basket, her arms automatically slid around his waist like her body had been waiting for that exact position to feel safe.

Matt burst into laughter, his arms instinctively wrapping around her as he looked straight at the camera with a shake of his head before pressing his cheek to the top of her head, eyes closed for a heartbeat as he swayed them gently in an attempt to calm her.

The balloon started rising. It was subtle at first, only a sway, but Matt noticed it, opening his eyes and leaning over the edge then, slightly pulling Y/N with him as he peeked at the ground beneath them.

"Oh my Lord. We’re off the ground." He said, wide-eyed.

From inside the basket, Y/N yelped.

"We are?" As she tried to twist and see. But she couldn’t. Not from where she was, tucked safely in the middle, half-buried against Matt’s chest.

She craned her neck, eyes darting, only to feel Matt’s soft hair brush against her temple as he nodded enthusiastically, his jaw pressing gently to her head.

"We’re flying, baby."

The basket shifted, and she squeaked, making people back in the crowd giggle. Her eyes squeezed shut instantly, and Matt softly chuckled, tightening his arms around her.

The burner system roared again, louder this time. The sound echoed inside the basket like a thunderclap.

Matt’s head snapped up. Y/N startled with a sharp gasp, her whole body jumping before her eyes flicked up too, watching the sudden blaze of flame with this dazed awe, like she couldn’t decide if she was amazed or scared.

Back in the stage, Nick’s voice echoed from the mic.

"A dragon!"

The crowd lost it, laughter bubbling.

They were up.

Like, way up.

The sky behind them looked like a water painting, smudged blue and peach, and Y/N was still under Matt’s arms, folded in like a favorite hoodie. Her fingers were sweaty against the fabric of his sweater, and one of them twitched every time the basket swayed even a little. Her eyes stayed mostly ahead, but you could tell they weren’t quite seeing.

Matt looked down.

His chin brushed against her hair, some strands catching on his jaw and tickling it. The movement made her look up at him with big, glassy eyes that were trying so hard to be brave.

Matt smiled that specific smile that was only reserved for her.

"You’re okay. I'm right here." He whispered, a quiet breath against her. "Wanna get closer to the edge?”

She bit her lower lip, her eyes flicking sideways toward the vast view surrounding them. You could see the hesitation bubble behind her lashes. Then, she looked back up at him, her brows drawn with the softest little frown.

"Are you gonna hold me? 'Cause if you're not, just... let go now and let me fall."

She said it with such a fragile laugh, so sweet and unsure, and Matt immediately let out a full-body laugh, holding her tighter like she weighed nothing.

"I’m never letting go of you, dummy."

The crowd in real life cracked, and Nick's voice rang out loud, followed by Chris's.

"Y/N, yesss!"

The crowd hollered, clapping and cheering like they were all in the basket with them.

Back in the video, Matt carefully shuffled them toward the edge, step by step. He muttered little things only she could hear, 'almost there, you’re okay, I got you', his arms snug around her shoulders, hers tightening with every inch.

Finally, they reached the edge.

The basket swaying a little with their modem, and Y/N’s eyes slammed shut. Her face pressed against his chest, and her fingers dug into his back like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.

Matt turned to the camera with this hilarious painfully fake wince, and the real-life audience burst into laughter again.

Memo’s camera moved closer, carefully capturing every inch of them.

Matt ducked a little, bending his knees to line up with Y/N’s face, his cheek brushing hers.

"Hey." He whispered, low and calming, his voice barely a thread above the breeze. "Open your eyes, sweetheart. I’m holding you. It’s okay."

Y/N didn’t move right away.

Then, slowly, her lashes fluttered. One blink. Two. Her eyes peeled open like a flower in time-lapse, so painfully slow, and when her gaze finally focused, she gasped.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t fake. It was the softest, smallest 'wow', breathless and barely there. But it hit so hard.

Because the view around them was stunning. Miles and miles of rolling hills, tiny buildings like dollhouses, clouds stretching wide like frosting.

Matt kissed her temple like a reflex, his lips lingering there before he straightened up just enough to rest his chin on the top of her head. His fingers traced little half-circles over her hips like he was drawing invisible affirmations.

Her arms stayed wrapped around him, her head turning slowly against his chest, eyes drinking everything in before turning up to him, lashes shiny with tears she didn’t expect, and he immediately leaned in, brushing his nose against hers.

"You like it?" He asked softly.

She nodded, whispering back.

"It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

Matt laughed, pulling her in tighter.

"Same." He said.

"You're both so in love it makes me want to throw up." Nick's voice suddenly echoed around the theater, raising his eyebrows to Matt, who rolled his eyes at him, scoffing.

That’s where the video cut again.

Video-Matt then turned his attention to the man standing casually at the edge of the basket, one hand on a rope. He looked like someone who lived in the clouds, worn-in baseball cap, sun-wrinkled face, calm energy.

"How long you’ve been doing this?" Matt asked, his voice floating up like the breeze.

The man smiled, soft and proud.

"I’ve been around my entire life."

Y/N’s brows shot up at that. She dodged Matt's body a bit and turned to the man, curiosity written all over her face.

"Wow." She said, her voice low and full of awe.

Matt tugged her a little closer, his palm spreading warmly across her side when a soft gust of wind rustled through the air, blowing her hair across her face. She laughed quietly, brushing it back.

The man continued, eyes twinkling with memory.

"My dad started this company 42 years ago."

"Wow." Nick repeated into his mic on stage, the awe laced in his tone, making the crowd laugh softly.

Video-Y/N nodded, the wind brushing her cheeks.

"What’s the highest you’ve been up?"

The man didn’t even hesitate.

"Fifty thousand."

Her eyes went so wide, and she immediately turned to Matt, grabbing his arm with this half-scandalized, half-impressed look. Matt laughed at her reaction, nose crinkling like it always did when he laughed too hard.

Then the video cut again, and now they were way higher.

Y/N was holding onto the edge of the basket, eyes moving, soaking it all in. Matt was behind her, practically wrapped around her like a living blanket. His arms bracketed hers, hands resting on the edge too, his chin barely touching the top of her head. Her hair kept tickling his skin, and it was obvious from the way he kept twitching his nose and smiling into her hair that he didn’t mind at all.

"It’s much more peaceful than I thought." Matt murmured, voice thick with surprise. "I thought I’d be up here shitting myself."

Y/N burst out laughing, tilting her head slightly to look at him over her shoulder.

"You did a little bit."

Matt rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Oh, I was the one shitting myself, huh?" He asked with exaggerated offense, making her giggle.

Back in real life, Nick leaned toward his mic, eyes wide.

"I can’t believe y’all are not strapped in anything."

From her spot on the first row, Y/N nodded seriously, like she still couldn’t believe it either.

On the screen, Matt dipped his face into her temple again, his nose brushing over it before he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head, letting his cheek rest there after like it was his favorite pillow. He let out a content sigh, one of those deep, full-body ones.

────────────────────────────

The video cut again, now showing the balloon descending toward the ground, the dusty field growing larger as they floated closer to earth. Matt hopped out first, but his foot caught the edge, and he stumbled forward, catching himself just barely.

"I’m gonna break the damn basket." He muttered, arms flailing a bit.

Y/N laughed loudly, her whole body shaking before she leaned out of the basket, putting her arms out toward him, wiggling her fingers like a little kid, waiting for him to help her down.

"C'mon, Matt."

He rolled his eyes to the camera, reaching up and helping her down like she was made of glass, his hands firm but gentle as always. Once she was safely on the ground, he kept a hand on her lower back for a beat longer than necessary before turning to the camera.

"I feel like Katy Perry coming from space." He deadpanned.

The crowd in real life lost it, Chris crackling up with the reference.

Y/N was shaking her head, hiding her face in Matt’s shoulder as she giggled.

"This was so crazy." She said to him onscreen, looking around at the open field like she couldn’t believe they’d actually done that. "The whole experience."

────────────────────────────

Another cut of the video, and now they were sitting side by side on that same curb from earlier, the sunrise now traded for a soft blue sky. Y/N had her arm slung across Matt’s thigh, fingers drawing little patterns over the denim while his arm rested lazily across her shoulders, thumb brushing the edge of her jersey collar.

Matt looked into the camera, clearing his throat a little before speaking.

"Okay. My final remark." He started, tongue poking his cheek. "I have to say, that was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I never thought that I was going to do it."

Y/N nodded, grinning at the camera.

"When Matt came to me with this idea for a tour surprise and asked me to come with him, I was so ready to say no."

Matt looked at her, his smile crooked and knowing.

"But you couldn’t."

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully.

"But I couldn’t." She repeated with a dramatic sigh.

Real-life Chris, not missing a beat, leaned into his mic with a smug little smile.

"Of course she couldn’t. She can’t say no to Matt."

Laughter burst from the audience, and Matt shrugged like, glancing down at Y/N, who rolled her eyes at him.

Back in the video, Matt looked at the camera again, his expression suddenly more sincere.

"I hope that this was a surprise for you, Nick and Chris, and to everybody in the crowd. I’d love to come back if Nick and Chris are down. I just think this is such a cool experience. Nick would love it. I know he would."

Y/N leaned forward slightly, throwing a cheeky wink at the camera.

"All the guys here have mustaches." She said in this mock-whisper voice.

The crowd laughed again. A few people clapped while Nick sent a shocked gaze toward Y/N, who blew him a kiss.

Matt snorted on screen, looking down at her with a grin.

"So... is your fear overcome?" He asked.

Y/N turned her head slowly, squinting at him like he’d just grown a second head.

"Know your limits." She said seriously. "This was a one-time thing."

Matt threw his head back, laughing, shaking his head like he should’ve known better than to ask.

"Well, this was it. I hope everyone liked it and felt a bit of what we felt up there." Matt's voice echoed again after his laughter calmed down. "Now, let's talk about it."

© vanteguccir

[coldfanbou]

Getting to Home Base

So this one was inspired by a lewd thought I got, and with these pictures coming out, I just thought it would be a good place to set it.

Length 2K

Sana X Mreader

“Oh, you’re so handsome,” Sana pinched your cheek, tugging at it slightly. “How do I look?” Sana stands back, twirling to give you a good look at her outfit. She wore tight jeans; they hugged her body, showing off her shapely bottom. The top half was just as good as the bottom; Sana wore a white crop top that accentuated her bust and a jersey with her name on the top. The older woman looked good. Sana smiled at you, staying quiet as you admired her body. She walks to you, wrapping her arms around your neck. “I’m so glad you decided to take us out to this game. You sure know how to treat a woman.” 

You place your hands on Sana’s hips, pulling her closer. “You know, as much as I do, it’s not about the game.” You smile before planting your lips on hers. Sana giggles before kissing you again. 

“I know, but it’s still nice for her.” You pull away as you hear the upstairs door open. Running down the stairs was your girlfriend. “I’m ready!” She shouts. Sullyoon came rushing down the stairs; her hair bounced with every step, and her oversized jersey puffed out. You turn around, stretching your arms out and hugging her. You spin her around, looking at her mother whenever you reach her. Sana just smiles, knowing what you have planned. “Let’s go! I want to see our seats!” Sullyoon yelled as you placed her back on the floor. 

“Sullyoon, be patient; we have a lot of time,” Sana said, patting the younger woman’s back.

“But it’s the first game of the season! I want to take a bunch of pictures!” she shouts back, her voice full of excitement.

Sana sighs, “Alright, alright.” She gives you a sly smile before shifting her face to a tired look. “I hope you don’t mind getting there early.”

“Not at all,” you reply with a smirk. Sullyoon leads the way, skipping out of the house and to your car. Sana passes by you, following her daughter. As she does, you give her a slap on the ass, making her turn toward you. 

“Save it for the game, big boy.” Sana continues to the car, sitting in the back as you drive with Sullyoon riding in the front. As you drive to the stadium, you peer into the rearview mirror, finding Sana’s eyes staring back at you, a lustful look in them. You think back to how this all started, cheating on your girlfriend with her mother. The older woman had come onto you the moment she met you. It was only a matter of time before you broke. The older woman was better in just about every way. The best part of this situation was what Sana offered; you remember that part clear as day, and it wasn’t because Sana said it with one of your loads on her face. “You don’t have to worry about choosing between us; you can have me and Sullyoon. I don’t mind being the other woman.” Something about having both the mother and daughter only made you give it to them harder, and Sana was more than a fan of it.

Getting to the stadium, you see the amount of people getting ready for the game, and somehow, Sullyoon seemed to be the most excited. Never mind that most people were looking at Sana, Sullyoon moved quickly, dragging you both to the entrance and trying to get to the seats. She rushed you through people, but the commotion gave you the chance to play with Sana as you moved through the crowd. You grabbed the older woman’s ass, fondling it roughly. Sana bit her lip, trying to hold her moans. She could feel her panties getting wet; it never took long to get her in the mood.

Sullyoon gets more excited as you get closer to your seats. You were right behind home plate, and Sullyoon was losing her mind. “Oh my god! We’re so close!” She said, letting go of your hands. You let Sullyoon take in her sight as you look over at her mother. Sana’s face is bright red from your touch; she gives you a shy look before settling down in her seat. Sullyoon sits between the two of you, kicking her feet. “This is going to be great!” She yelled, bouncing in her seat.

When the game began, Sullyoon was entirely focused on the action, and you and her mother disappeared from her mind. She didn’t even hear you ask if she wanted anything from a vendor. You look over at Sana; the older woman bites her lip before standing. “I’m going to the bathroom; I’ll be back.” She tells her oblivious daughter. 

Together, you and Sana move out into the stadium halls. Sana sticks close to you, hooking her arm around yours and leaning on your shoulder. “So where are we going to do it?” 

“I know just the place. I saw it when we were coming in.” You lead Sana through the halls to one of the bathrooms, a big out-of-order sign in front of the entrance. You look out for people before sneaking in. It was empty, just as you had hoped. 

As soon as you come in, Sana wraps her arms around you, pressing her lips against yours. You spin her into the wall, pressing her against the cold tiles. Sana shivers and laughs. You nip at her neck and sneak your hands behind her. Sana moans softly, your hands gripping her ass. “Mmm, fuck I need this.” Sana reaches down, rubbing your growing bulge through your pants. The mother quickly pushes past it, though, reaching into your pants to stroke your cock. You grunt as her soft palm rubs against the head. “Give it to me, baby.” She whispers in a lustful voice. Sana grabs your arm, bringing it between her legs. 

Getting the hint, you slide your hand under her jeans, feeling her wet panties and rubbing her cunt. Sana moans softly as you tease her, your fingers moving in slow circles. “Oh, please,” she groans. You tug at Sana’s jeans, pulling them down and getting them around her knees before you do the same for yourself. You grab Sana, turning her around. 

Pulling on her waist, you get Sana to stick her ass out for you, slapping your length against her ass before aligning yourself with her cunt. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me already,” Sana says quickly, desperate for your cock. You push into her warm slit, her walls clinging to you as you go deep. Sana moans, her legs shaking. You spank the older woman, watching her ass jiggle before doing it again. Sana yelps with every hit, enjoying the stinging pain. You smile to yourself, rubbing your palm against the soft flesh before striking it once more. Sana's cheek was turning red before you got too caught up in turning both her cheeks bright red. You move your hands up Sana’s body, running over her flat stomach before reaching her breasts. You take one in each hand, finding that the mother of your girlfriend had chosen to come to the game without a bra on. 

“Oh, you’re a naughty mommy,” You tease, squeezing her tits. Sana bites her bottom lip, containing her moan for a moment before giving in when you twist her nipples.

“I’m a naughty girl. I’m a naughty girl for you.” Sana puts her head down and pushes her hips back, pressing her ass against your pelvis. “I’ve been a bad mommy. Please give me your cock.”

You smirk and bring your hands down to Sana’s waist. You hold her in place as you drag your cock out of her. Sana groans, shaking her hips to entice you back in. It brings a smile to your face. You tighten your grip, digging your fingers into Sana’s soft flesh before driving yourself against her womb. Sana cries out, the suddenness taking her by surprise. Her legs grow weak as she feels your cock start smashing into her. As you drive your cock into the older woman, you sneak your hand under her shirt, pulling it off of her so you can freely play with her tits. The cold wall turns her nipples hard, making them more sensitive to your touch.

You enjoy making Sana squirm as you tug and twist her nipples. She bites her lip; her hummed moans still coming through as your cock slides in and out of her slick slit with ease. Sana was starting to sweat as your activity continued. Her slick body only turned you on; you sped up, wanting nothing more than to fuck the mother of your girlfriend silly. Sana, for her part, was loving every second. Having her daughter’s boyfriend fuck her like she was a piece of cheap meat was arousing; she felt desired. That feeling was pushing Sana over the edge. Your cock throbbing inside her made her beg.

“Make me a mommy again!” Sana screams as your cock throbs deep within her cunt. You press her sweaty body against the wall, slapping her ass harder as you push closer to your climax. Your handprint was easily visible, and your continued strikes helped Sana along. “I’m cumming!” She yells, clinging to the bathroom walls, whining as she reaches her limit. Her knees bend, and you're forced to hold her up. Sana’s walls tighten around your cock, squeezing it as she cums. 

You continue to piston in and out of the older woman. On the verge of cumming, you drive yourself as far as you can go into her cunt and begin filling her with your baby batter. Sana groans, your hot cum pouring into her fertile womb. Her eyes roll back, and her body becomes still as her walls milk your cock, greedily taking every drop of cum from you. “Oh, fuck it’s so much,” Sana groans, your cum filling her cunt. You hold her tightly, keeping her pinned to the wall as you make small movements to coax everything out.

Slowly, you both come down from your high, and you begin to pull out, savoring the feeling. Once you're out, your cum begins to flow out of Sana’s cunt, running down her legs. “Mmm, it feels so nice,” Sana hums, reaching between her legs to scoop the leaking semen. She brings her dirty fingers to her lips, swallowing your cum. 

Sana looks over her shoulder once she finishes tasting you. Seeing your slick cock she kneels down and opens her mouth, sticking her tongue out for you. You smirk and tap her tongue with the tip before sliding it into her mouth. Sana moans softly as she uses her tongue to clean you off. It swirls around you slowly. Sana shuts her eyes, reveling in the sensation of your hot length moving further into her mouth and eventually hitting the back of her throat. The mother cups your balls, holding them gently as she bobs her head. “You still have a lot in here. After Sullyoon goes to sleep, how about you come over to my room and finish putting a baby in me?” 

You nod along, “Sullyoon deserves to have a sibling. I’ll make sure of it.” Sana wraps her lips tightly around your cock as she reaches the base and slowly drags her mouth back, sucking in every drop of your cum before popping you out of her mouth. 

Once you clean up, you both put your clothes on. You were tempted to go another round with Sana but decided against it in the end. You both worried that Sullyoon would start to question where the two of you had gone. It was an unfounded worry, though; Sullyoon was just as invested in the game as when you left. “You two are missing the best part!” She said, aware enough to say that at the very least. You and Sana give each other a look before sitting back and letting Sullyoon enjoy her game, completely unaware of what happened. You reach behind Sullyoon’s seat, grabbing Sana’s hand and rubbing it gently.

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected! Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Seven

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’m not sure if I’m satisfied with this. But, I doubt I’ll ever be satisfied with this. I want Reader to come off as more Bruce like with the emotional suppression and planning. And, this was my actual first and third attempt at dialogue. I’m gonna need some practice. But, I tried.

A/N: Up next we get some yandere!Bats vs. yandere!Smalltown action. (Holy frick is that gonna be hard to write.) I’m also going to start work on the Dick Obsession now. Gotta fight the temptation to write the Vigilante!Smalltown!Reader story while this is still in the works.

Warning: Yandere Themes.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

As the coming months passed by, Reader could feel Gotham starting to wear on them. Or, they at the least Wayne manor starting to wear on them. They haven’t been given permission to leave the manor since the kidnapping. Not even to drive their truck for some unhealthy, but soul healing fast food. Of course, that doesn’t stop the other residents of the house from leaving whenever they wish. 

They see the Bat Burger wrappers in the trash the morning after another soundless night in the manor. God, how they’d love to try it one day. 

But, as time moves on something draws closer. An important date. Reader’s legal eighteenth birthday. They’re excited, by all means. But, there’s something significantly more important coming sooner. 

Reader’s Younger Brother’s Birthday was just a week before Reader’s. There had been many fond memories made while growing up with the week between the two different dates being filled with fun and excitement. (And love.) 

With such an important date coming up, and with Momma and Daddy no longer being here, Reader had plans to make it a fun week. 

They just have to convince Bruce to let them go back to Smalltown. Just for the week. They’re all too busy to spend time with Reader anyway, besides this is important to them. They’ve stayed in the manor like asked. They’re grades are good. They do their chores. They don’t ask for much. It should be perfectly reasonable to request to let them visit back home. 

But, just in case, Reader approaches Dick next time he's in the manor and is smothering them in affection before he goes to disappear into the library. 

“Can you help me convince Bruce to let me go, please, Dick?”

It’s a simple request. And, it makes Dick’s heart melt a bit. Reader’s the only one in the family to easily give into his affection and to have them finally ask him for help in such a sweet polite voice was heart melting.

Wholeheartedly, he agrees and he is rewarded. With Reader bouncing into his arms with an impressive amount of enthusiasm that he hasn’t had a chance to see previously. Probably due to always being so busy. Maybe he should make more time for Reader if they shower him with such genuine gratitude and affection like this. 

The thought lingers in his head as he makes his way towards the Batcave. A spring in his step despite the glares he receives as he makes his way down the stairs. 

The manor cameras had caught the entire thing, leaving the occupants in the cave to get a front row seat to Reader being sweet on Dick. 

He can’t stop the tiny smug smile from forming on his lips as Barbara gives him a disapproving ~~jealous~~ look. Or, the look of straight bitterness on Damian’s face. The mild satisfaction from Duke’s face being as blank as Cassandra’s. Stephanie’s forlorn expression. The way that Jason looks like he wants to shoot him with the gun he’s cleaning that makes him want to laugh with glee.. 

Tim doesn’t even look at him. Too annoyed with Dick as he sits at the Batcomputer furiously clicking and typing away on something. 

Bruce had been out at the moment for League Business. But, the entire family now has a competition forming. Whoever could convince Bruce for Reader would win. The prize being the winner possibly getting showered in Reader’s affection. And, the hope of visiting Reader’s hometown with them. The very idea of it makes some of them shudder with some particular emotions. 

The bombardment of pleading and puppy-dog eyes began almost as soon as Bruce stepped back into the cave. It was nearly comical how everyone petitioned Reader’s case. 

Hell, Bruce was nearly convinced they should all make the trip when Tim threw his bid in.

Pulling up all the research on Smalltown and how apparently harmless it was. He even managed to remotely bug Childhood Friend’s Brother’s phone just to double check. 

That’s when things spiral. 

Right at that very moment, a call comes through to the phone. It seems harmless at first. The guy talking to his boss. The two had immediately talked about Reader returning to town. As if the two knew without a doubt that they were coming back.

That sparked suspicions, but it's not what ignited the fire.

The fire came when the two started talking about Reader's time in Gotham. The whole kidnapping incident. Childhood Crush admitted that Reader tried to down play the incident to Nana. After which his boss ask a horrifying question.

"Do you and Grand Daddy need some help killing this guy? It might be a bit harder than the last one y'all killed."

The last one.

Immediately the phrase makes questions arise. But, once again things get worse.

"Nah, we'll let him live. He's from Gotham. He'll probably never come out this way. And, if he does them we'll drag him out where we drowned the last sorry son of a bitch. He was just in it for the money."

"That's right. The other guy just wanted to kill Reader to keep 'em for himself. Still..."

It was difficult to give the rest of the conversation their full attention after that.

It was like the blood had crystalized in their veins. Both cold fury and hot rage filling them till it seemed to shred their minds apart.

There was no way in heaven or hell or high water that they were possibly going to let Reader go back to that vile little town filled with monsters. As if Gotham wasn't filled with abominations of it's own designs.

Without a moment to delay Bruce Batman jumps into action, barking orders for Tim, Barbara, and Cassandra to start digging up everything imaginable on Smalltown. Every resident, every social media post or mention, every single person that has ever lived there, visited, and gone missing. "Find me the name of the bastard that nearly took my child to the grave. I want the memory of them wiped of the face of the earth as their bones rot in it."

The other's are ordered to cover his patrol and redouble their efforts to capture the remaining Gotham Rouges by any and all means necessary The Court of Owls is low priority until more is uncovered about Smalltown and what the hell happened.

Reader's usual pacing around the unoccupied halls of the manor conversing on the phone is interrupted by Bruce Batman stalking towards with a violence simmering under the surface of an obsidian mask. Easy to shatter and sharp to the touch. Before a words is even spoken the phone the lifeline is ripped from their hands and shattered under a pair of designer loafers.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You could only stagger back as you watched his foot trample over the well used phone. You hadn't even chance to hang up the conversation you were having, when Bruce had come barreling down the extravagant hall way you roamed so often you 'd already practically memorized the brush strokes on each painting and the pattern of the wood grain on the walls. Not even the chance to put a hold on the plans you were making before it all came to an abrupt halt without your blessing.

For a moment your just baffled. Looking at the shattered phone screen with pieces of glass and plastic on the ground before looking up at the shattered facade your father Bruce wore.

His face was deathly still. Not even a twitch. It gave him an inhuman like visage that set off the same warning bells that Jason Red Hood had made you hear.

So that's where he got it from.

You can't help put think, trying to form the words to question his actions and confront him. It isn't long before he gives you the excuse explanation for his unwarranted action himself.

"You're not going." Is all he says. His voice was cold enough to burn.

It doesn't take a genius to know what he's talking about.

"If this is about me getting Dick to help convince you-"

"Dick agrees. Everyone agrees. You are not going." The interruption is rude, but the words sting. They thought that everyone else would be on board with it. Even the members of the family that didn't care for their presence should have been on board with it.

"I'm not asking for a vote. I was asking for your permission and yours alone." Another attempt.

"I am saying no. I am your father and you will listen to me about this." The totality found in his icy voice makes them finally feel that helpless. Like nothing they say will improve this situation. That continuing to smile will not solve a damn thing.

"What did I do?" The resentment that has locked up tightly inside beings to swirl. Ire churning into gales. The long withheld temper becoming a tempest. "What the hell did I do to make you treat me like this?"

"This has nothing to do with you. This is my decision on the matter. You need-" The sound of a notification going off interrupts his words, but they don't stop the ringing in you're ears. Even after Bruce abruptly dismisses himself, muttering about getting you a new phone, before moving towards the library. Again.

For once, you don't bother cleaning up the shattered pieces on the floor. Leaving them on the ornate carpet in the lavish and deserted hall. You have planning to do. Restraint is gone. Holding back is over. It's time to take things into your own hands. They want to ignore you, fine. You'll leave and you'll fucking live without them.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Consequently, incoming weather reports start showing some unusual patterns on the news that week. Meteorologist say there's a massive possibility of a potential hurricane brewing off the coast. Everyone is on edge. (Gotham is already a disaster as is. No one wants another one on top of it.)

Reader's not to worried. They grew up with Hurricane parties. Besides the manor has it's own power grid says Alfred. Gotham's power grid is a bit more vulnerable, but luckily the Hospitals and Arkham are on different power grids. Everything should be alright. (Everything should also go according to plan.)

The next time Dick comes by, Reader is a bit short with him. Giving him a disgruntled look that breaks his heart a little and makes it melt. Try as he might he gets nothing other than their annoyance. Even when he finally admits it was Tim's fault they had been denied the chance to go home. It does make them pout even more, how cute. Even when he gifts them a newer phone. Their not stupid, the damn thing is probably bugged to high heaven. And, it's missing all their old contacts since Bruce slammed the SD card under his big bat toe.

Their clearly in a foul mood and everyone is being subjugated to the silent treatment. As their birthday, and their younger brother's birthday, draws closer and closer, a dark cloud seems to hang over them and Gotham.

In a moment born from guilt and ignorance, Bruce buys them a car as an early birthday present. A grandiose little luxury model. With all the bells and whistles. It's even in their favorite color. Not that anyone in the family asked what it was. (Tim might have had something to do with it. After all he did get them banned from traveling. Not that he feels guilty. No way in hell was he letting you go. Especially without him or the others.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

"It seems kinda wasteful." You can't help saying it. To tired of putting on that pleasant people pleaser mask for once.

"I know it's a bit extravagant, but since everyone has their own car I thought you should have your own too." Bruce had such an eager smile on his face. Like the whole incident with the crushing your hopes and your phone never happened.

To bad you haven't forgotten nor forgiven.

"Still a waste. I'm not going to get to drive it anywhere." Vinegar coating your tongue as you look at the sleek design.

You can hear everyone around you stop cooing and praising the gift. There's no need to further elaborate your point. He gets it. The family gets it. The very earth you stand on gets it. You're not leaving this house. There's no need for the tank of gas to be filled. Or the damn thing to be charged since its some fucking electric hybrid, and probably filled to the brim with all sorts of nasty little tracking bugs.

You could have left it at that. But why not sink that needle deeper into his chest. Not a knife. Never a knife. You want your words to sting and stick. No taking the cut and letting it heal overtime. Let it be tattooed on the skin.

"Besides I already have Daddy's old truck. I don't need this." Don't those words hit like a strike to the soul. Bruce grows visibly still at them. That practiced mask going up and hiding the tells from all of them. Except Cassandra. There's no hiding things from her. They're all laid bare in front of her and she can tell everyone has somethings to say. While you have something to scream.

"You could at the very least be grateful for Father's gift" Damian spoke. He had been so well behaved to far. Keeping quite and watching with attentive green eyes. He could tell this wasn't going to go in the family's favor. He didn't necessarily blamed you for being disgruntled. But, would it kill you to give them a smile. They missed those. Hell, he missed those.

Something in you crackled, but you managed to hold you're tongue. The side-eye you gave him, however spoke enough volumes for you instead.

Astonishingly, it was Duke that set off the electric charge.

"I mean, it is a really nice car. You sure you don't want to take it for a spin?" You can here his attempt at trying to defuse the static in the are, but as fond of him as you are compared to the others, it just sets you off.

"Oh, and where to exactly?" You can't help but snort. "Down the driveway and back?"

"You're acting like a brat." Jason throwing in his two cents. Of course he would say that. And, he's rewarded with a voltaic look from you eyes and a snarl from your lips.

"I. Don't. Care." The words echo in the massive car garage. Bouncing of the walls and the other sleek fancy model cars in it. Your apathy and anger is reward with quiet.

It doesn't last long.

"Let's all just calm down." Dick steps between them, trying to play reconciler. All it serves to do is make you feel more isolated. The way he steps between you cuts you off from the rest of the group and makes it seem like he's singling you out.

"I am calm!" The words coming from your clenched jaw.

"They're the one acting like a spoiled little-"

"Jason, enough." Bruce finally steps in. That stoic look still on his face. Internally, he knows he miscalculated. He made a mistake, and it's humbling to know he can still make them at his age and with all his experience. Still, he wears the mask. He's too busy recalculating and coming up with another plan. Perhaps he was putting to much focus on the wrong thing. That didn't stop him from glaring at that classless truck in his garage.

"Of fucking course Daddy's princess gets away with acting like a brat." Jason doesn't stop though, looking directly at you. Always looking at you. Everyone is always looking at you. But never speaking these days.

"Fuck you." You whisper. Caution and hesitance thrown into the stirring winds.

"Uh-oh, looks like the princess finally snapped." That sickly green look appearing in his eyes. God, does he love this. He knew they had some fucking bite in them. Some spice. Something that made them even more delicious. That just enhanced their sweetness tenfold.

"Jason. Knock it off." Barbara murmurs after Cassandra places a hand on her shoulder. Signaling the direction this could easily head in.

"No, I don't think I will." He sneers, making an attempt to step around Dick and get in your face. It's Tim and Stephanie that try to stop him this time. Both muttering to him and trying to get him to calm down.

You can clearly see it. Their family dynamic. Clear as day. It's right in front of you for you to watch unfold while you stand on the outside looking in. Only getting stray remnants of it when they deem you worth it. You're always worth it though, silly little sugarplum. They’re just terrible at showing it, you poor poor thing. That'll change soon, don't worry. Actually, you should worry.

There's no need to stick around any longer. No fucking need at all. Your feet echoing as you leave the room filled with strangers family and cars. You're leaving. You're going home. And you're going home tonight.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

That night, the news is blaring over Gotham. A sudden hurricane off the coast is set to hit by nightfall. People are being asked to evacuate, already there is panic in the streets.

As much as they don't want to leave things unresolved, the family has no choice, but to respond. Making sure evacuations go smoothly. Keeping the mobs at bay in the stores. Checking that the Arkham inmates are both secure and safe.

It gets worse when the reports further come in. There was lightning spotted off the coast. A lightning storm predicted to hit before the hurricane. That would double the difficulties everyone in Gotham was dealing with.

Most everyone, but Reader.

With the family busy they had plenty of time to pack a few belongings and necessities for a long drive. Glowing eyes taking inventory as the electricity crackled under their skin and the distant skies. Brewing excitement in their chest as the skies filled with dark clouds. Some might think it ominous. But, for Reader it was freedom.

In Gotham that ominous feeling continued. It was as if Gotham itself knew what chaos was about to unfold. Chaos that it would have reveled in if not for the impending feeling of loss found not only in the empty streets, but in Wayne Manor.

As the wind started to wail, nightfall seemed to come earlier with how dark the clouds made the sky. Rain poured in sheets. Most of the Bats took cover, but when the lightning began to strike is when things really when to hell.

By luck or something else, the Gotham power grid was hit. Shutting down over half the city in the first moments of the storm. The downpour hadn't even soaked the concrete when it struck.

The darkness washed over the city and the family knew it was going to be a long long night.

Barbara, in Oracle mode in the Batcave, was focused on keeping everyone updated on new alerts and any looting. She didn't have a chance to glance at the manor cameras and see Reader walking through the halls with a bag on their shoulders before. Multiple strikes of lightning reverberated through the manor. They could be heard echoing all the way down in the cave.

And, they caused the power to go out.

It was only out for twenty minuets. Twenty long minuets of Barbara and Alfred trying to fix the power and get everyone back in contact with each other.

A lot can happen in twenty minutes. Like a garage door opening and closing manually. Like someone driving down the long driveway out of the security gate without being noticed. Like someone could escape without notice in those twenty minutes.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

@starsdotalk @sleepyghoster @maicenitas @box-of-kinderjoy @yandereheros @skwunkler @cl0esblogg @delias-stuff @rosecentury @lilyalone @addie-r-u-ok @space1crow @imaginarydreams @dhanyasri @rosalietodd013 @rissareader @rando2509 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @interobanginyourmom @heyitsaloy @myanyan-me @animegoddess15 @resident-cryptid @schaarfyx

[ijustwannabecool]

The Fifth Seat

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader

Summary... Four lucky fans win the contest of a lifetime: a chance to join the F1 grid for media week, shadowing drivers and getting the ultimate behind-the-scenes access. But what no one knows is that there's a fifth seat—a secret winner whose name never appeared on the announcement list. She’s not a fan. She’s his wife. And their entire relationship is a secret. But not for much longer. Hidden glances. Stolen moments. A marriage no one suspects—until media week turns into a pressure cooker, and secrets start to crack under the spotlight.

A/N: I don't know what I wrote. I wrote it at 2am and feeling a little delirious lol. request are open (:

I hope you guys enjoy it. Let me know what you guys think in the comments. I write for free but you can donate to support my writing over on my Ko-Fi!

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

They called it the opportunity of a lifetime.

The Fifth Seat Experience—sponsored by Formula 1, endorsed by every team, plastered all over social media like the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Four lucky fans, hand-picked from thousands of entries, flown in for Media Week to shadow the drivers, get exclusive access, live like insiders.

Except there were five of us.

And I wasn’t a fan.

Well. Technically, I was. Just not in the way everyone else thought.

The other four winners were bouncing in place as we waited for our credentials outside the paddock gates—talking over each other, gasping at every car that drove past, snapping selfies like they might blink and miss someone famous.

I kept my sunglasses on and my mouth mostly shut.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t excited. I was. But it’s hard to squeal over a driver when you sleep next to one every night.

"Y/N L.," the coordinator called, her lanyard outstretched. “Guest Winner #5.”

Winner. Right. Sure.

The plastic badge felt heavier than it looked as she clipped it around my neck. I could feel the name tug at my skin.

Y/N L. Like I’d never taken another last name.

I tucked the badge into my jacket, heart thudding harder than I liked. I didn’t have a plan beyond blend in and survive. No one—not the fans, not the other winners, not even the media team buzzing around us—knew the truth.

No one knew I was married to Charles Leclerc.

And if everything went smoothly this week, no one ever would.

-

They assigned each of us a driver pairing. Luck of the draw.

Callie, the girl with the Mercedes hat and long acrylics, screamed when she got Lewis. Tom practically wept when he got Max. The other two, Serena and Rachel, were with McLaren and Red Bull.

I got Alpine.

Safe. Distant. Harmless.

Not Ferrari.

Not Charles.

“Bit of a bummer, huh?” Serena said sympathetically, glancing at my badge. “Alpine’s been quiet lately.”

I shrugged. “Quiet’s kind of my thing.”

She laughed and wandered off, which suited me just fine. My heart was already crawling up my throat because I could feel him before I even saw him.

It always happened like that. Some sixth sense. Some magnetic pull.

He appeared at the edge of the garage bay—white polo, sunglasses, hair slightly messier than usual like he’d been dragging his fingers through it. He was talking to someone from the team, nodding, focused.

Until he wasn’t.

Until his head tilted just slightly and his eyes landed on me.

And stayed there.

Two seconds too long.

Three.

Four.

Then, like he remembered himself, he turned back to his conversation.

I swallowed hard.

God, he was terrible at this.

-

The rest of the day passed in a blur of team tours, media station walkthroughs, and overexcited chitchat. I smiled politely, answered questions when asked, and avoided cameras like they were fire.

But Charles kept finding me.

Not overtly. Not dramatically.

A glance as he passed in the hallway. A half-smile in the corner of the hospitality tent. Once, I could swear he deliberately lingered behind me in the lunch line just so he could whisper, “You’re torturing me.”

I didn’t turn around.

“Don’t make it obvious,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing a croissant I didn’t want.

“I’m not,” he replied. “You look incredible, by the way.”

“Charles.”

“Y/N.”

I took my tray and walked away before my face could betray me.

This was not going to work.

-

Later, when the sun dipped low and the paddock began to clear out, the five of us were ushered into a small media lounge for a casual welcome session—iced teas, branded notebooks, a low-key icebreaker game.

It was fine.

Until he walked in.

The room actually shifted. Like gravity pulled everyone forward.

Charles Leclerc, fresh from interviews, sunglasses pushed into his hair, smiled politely as the coordinator announced, “And here to welcome our winners—your fan-favorite Ferrari driver!”

My breath locked in my throat.

“Oh my god,” Callie whispered.

“Charles is so much hotter in person,” Tom mumbled, not even trying to be subtle.

He waved at the group, then sat down right across from me on the low couch.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.

“You all excited for Media Week?” he asked casually, accent curling around every word like sugar on the rim of a glass.

Everyone nodded. Gushed. Talked over each other.

I picked at the edge of my napkin.

Then came the icebreaker.

“Let’s go around and say one thing we’re most excited about this week,” the coordinator prompted. “I’ll start—I’m excited to see you all soak in the experience!”

Rachel: “The garage tours!”

Tom: “Meeting the drivers, obviously.”

Callie: “The paddock passes and maybe... a selfie with Charles.” She winked.

He laughed politely.

When it was my turn, I cleared my throat.

“I guess I’m just... excited to see the sport from the inside.”

Charles’s eyes met mine across the table. Just for a second.

I don’t know what I expected.

But I didn’t expect the corner of his mouth to twitch—barely—like he was holding back something.

A smile? A secret?

Something.

Then, the coordinator clapped her hands. “Perfect! You all are going to have the time of your lives.”

Everyone cheered.

And as we stood up to head back to the hotel, Charles brushed past me, just close enough to murmur—

“Careful, amour. They’re starting to notice.”

And then he was gone.

Leaving my skin buzzing, my throat tight, and my heart whispering: This week is going to ruin us.

-

I didn’t sleep much.

The hotel bed was comfortable enough, the room quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional shout of someone stumbling back from the bar. But my brain was loud. Too loud.

I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, still hearing his voice in my ear.

Careful, amour. They’re starting to notice.

He couldn’t help himself. That was the problem. Charles Leclerc was many things—charming, reckless, maddeningly romantic—but discreet wasn’t one of them.

My phone buzzed from the nightstand.

Charles: Are you awake? Charles: Room 314.

Goddamn him.

I stared at the message. I could say no. I should say no.

Instead, I was out of bed and tiptoeing down the hallway before I could convince myself otherwise.

-

He opened the door like he’d been standing on the other side, waiting.

His hair was damp from a shower, curls pushed back, shirtless in nothing but black sweatpants. A gold chain rested against his collarbone, and his smile tugged slow and crooked when he saw me.

“You came.”

“You texted.”

“That’s not a no.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped inside. “We said no sneaking around.”

“We also said no falling in love, and look how that turned out.”

He said it like it didn’t still knock the air out of me every time.

Charles closed the door softly behind me, then leaned his forehead against it, sighing.

“This is torture,” he muttered.

“Media week or marriage?”

“Being married and not being able to act like it.”

I turned to him, arms crossed. “You’re the one who wanted to keep it secret.”

“Because I wanted to protect you.” He looked over his shoulder, voice quieter now. “You know what they’d do with this. With you. The articles, the headlines, the dissecting every outfit and every expression. I just wanted a little more time.”

“And this is your idea of time?” I gestured vaguely. “Throwing me into the paddock with a badge and pretending we’ve never kissed?”

He pushed off the door and crossed the room in three steps.

“Pretending we’ve never kissed is impossible.”

He kissed me then—soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that said I missed you instead of I want you.

Though, with Charles, it was usually both.

I let myself melt for a moment, my fingers curling into the hem of his shirt before I caught myself.

I pulled back. “We can’t keep doing this.”

He rested his forehead against mine. “One more night.”

“You said that in Monaco.”

-

Flashback – Six Months Earlier Monaco. 10:41 a.m. Tuesday.

The Civil Registry Office smelled like lemon-scented floor cleaner and legal ink. The ceiling fans whirred overhead.

I wore a cream linen dress and held a bouquet of flowers I picked up from a corner stand on the way there. Charles wore a navy button-up and the softest expression I’d ever seen on a man.

We signed the papers in under ten minutes.

“Wait,” I said, just before he handed over the final page. “Are we really doing this?”

He smiled. Not wide. Not cocky. Sure.

“Yes,” he said simply. “And if you’re not sure, we can wait.”

I looked down at the page. Then at him. And suddenly, it didn’t feel scary. It felt like choosing the safest person in the world.

“I'm sure.”

He kissed the back of my hand as we handed it in.

We walked out married. No ring, no guests, no Instagram post.

Just... us.

-

I left Charles’s room just before sunrise. No one saw me. I checked. Twice.

By the time we got to the paddock, the PR team had split us up into pairs for the morning rounds. My assigned driver, Esteban, was nice enough—friendly, funny, not overly chatty. It was an easy match.

But every time we passed a certain garage, my lungs forgot how to work.

Charles was everywhere.

In the Ferrari garage. On the track walk. On the screen playing highlight reels in the lounge. I couldn’t turn around without seeing his face or hearing his laugh.

It didn’t help that he kept glancing my way. Subtle, but not subtle enough.

And it really didn’t help when Carlos came up to him after a media hit and clapped him on the back.

“So who’s the girl?” he asked with a smirk.

My blood turned to ice.

“What girl?” Charles replied, too quickly.

Carlos nodded toward me across the hospitality tent. “The quiet one. She’s pretty.”

Charles’s mouth twitched.

“Yeah,” he said. “She is.”

I looked away before I could throw something.

-

By late afternoon, the paddock had cooled, shadows stretching long. Most of the group had wandered off to post content or explore the garages. I stayed behind, sipping an iced drink I didn’t want, brain spinning.

That’s when the PR girl found me.

“Oh, hey! Just a heads up, a few people were asking who you are.”

My chest tightened.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no—just curiosity. You weren’t tagged in the winner announcement, so some of the fans are like, ‘Who’s Guest #5?’” She laughed, like it was nothing. “Probably just internet sleuths doing their thing.”

I forced a smile. “Right. Totally.”

But I could feel it happening—cracks forming in the glass, light leaking through.

And the worst part?

I didn’t know if I wanted to stop it anymore.

-

Later that night, just before I climbed into bed, my phone buzzed again.

Charles: They think I’m flirting with a fan. Charles: I’m going to lose it. Charles: I miss you.

I stared at the screen, fingers hovering. Then I typed:

Me: Then stop pretending.

I watched the message sit. Delivered. Read.

And then nothing.

No reply.

Not that night.

Not the next morning.

Not until it was already too late.

----

Group Chat – “Fan Five 💖🏁”

Callie: anyone else notice how weird y/n was yesterday?? 👀

Tom: like, quiet weird or secret-agent weird

Rachel: she def knows someone. you saw her talking to a ferrari guy right??

Serena: nah that was charles leclerc 🫢🫢🫢

Tom: YOU'RE LYING

Serena: not joking. i went back through my stories—she was with him near the media tent. paused the vid. they were talking close-close

Callie: hold up i’m checking tumblr

-

Tumblr Post 📸: [image attached] 👤: f1-unfiltered “who tf is this girl Charles is chatting with in the media lounge?? she wasn’t on the winner list 👀 anyone know her @?? #charlesleclerc #fifthseat #mediaweek”

🗨️ top comment: “he’s totally checking her out. look at his face omg”

🗨️ second comment: “are we getting a Charles soft launch????”

🗨️ third comment: “her lanyard says Guest #5… we missed one 😭”

-

Twitter (X) @f1teaofficial 👀 something’s brewing. who is mystery “Guest Winner #5”? we’ve confirmed she wasn’t in the original contest posts… #fifthseat #f1drama #charlesleclerc

⬇️ Photo Attachment: blurry screenshot of Y/N and Charles mid-conversation

-

Private Messages – Charles → Y/N 9:47 AM I’m sorry. I saw it. The post. They think I’m flirting with you.

10:02 AM I hate this. I hate not being able to tell them you're mine.

10:17 AM Please say something.

-

Voicemail – Left at 11:26 AM "It’s me. I know you’re mad. I don’t blame you. I should’ve protected us better. I let the cameras turn you into a stranger. And I hate that. I love you. I love you, and I don’t care who knows it anymore. If you want to end this, I’ll respect it. But if there’s even a small part of you that still wants me to fight for us—please, just... call me back.”

-

Text – Y/N → Charles (unsent) You said you’d protect me. But I’ve never felt more alone.

-

Drafted Notes App Entry – Y/N Title: If They Find Out

They’ll say I used him.

They’ll say I didn’t deserve him.

They’ll say it was a stunt.

They’ll tear me apart.

But I love him. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.

-

Instagram Story – @scuderiaferrari 🎥 “Behind-the-scenes at Media Week Day 2!” Pausing at 0:41 reveals Charles, standing off to the side, watching something—or someone—just off camera. Blink and you miss it: a small gold band on his left ring finger.

---

There’s a kind of silence that only happens in chaos.

Like when your ears ring after a crash, or when the world tilts just a little too far to the left. That’s what it felt like in the paddock the morning the photo dropped.

Not an explosion. Not a scream. Just a silence so loud I couldn’t hear anything else.

Everywhere I went, I felt it. The glances. The hush when I passed. The way even the media team looked at my lanyard a beat too long before waving me through.

Guest Winner #5 was no longer anonymous.

And Charles— Charles was furious.

I didn’t see him until the mid-morning break. I was on my way out of the Alpine garage when someone caught my wrist and gently pulled me around the corner.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at me like he hadn’t slept.

“Hi,” I said, softly. Too softly.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said. His voice was rough. Tight.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

He let go of my wrist. Stepped back like I’d burned him.

“I should’ve said something from the start,” he muttered. “We should’ve owned it.”

“No, Charles,” I snapped. “You said we should keep it quiet. You said—‘just one season, let me keep you safe.’”

“And I was wrong.”

That shut me up.

He raked a hand through his hair. “I saw the post. The edits. They’re tearing you apart already and they don’t even knowyou.”

My throat tightened. “They never were going to be kind.”

“I don’t care if they’re kind.” He stepped closer. “I care if they hurt you.”

God, he looked wrecked.

And I wanted—more than anything—to kiss him. To close the distance and forget the rest of the world existed.

But I couldn’t.

So I whispered, “Then let me go.”

His face broke open like glass.

“No.”

“Charles.”

“No.” His voice cracked. “You can’t ask me to pretend you don’t belong to me. Not after everything.”

“I’m asking you to protect me. And if the only way to do that is by stepping away—”

He kissed me.

Fast. Desperate. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission because it was already falling apart.

I melted. Fought it. Melted again.

But we were still in the paddock. Still surrounded by cameras, journalists, fans.

And I pulled away just before it became a headline.

“We can’t do this here,” I breathed.

“Then come with me.”

“What?”

“Now. Just—just come with me. Five minutes. No one will notice.”

I hesitated. The badge around my neck felt like a noose.

But I followed him anyway.

-

He led me through the back of the hospitality tent, past the fake plants and behind a row of stacked crates, where no cameras pointed and no PR eyes roamed.

A supply closet. Of course.

It was dark. Cramped. Smelled like rubber gloves and microfiber.

He shut the door behind us and leaned against it like he was trying to breathe.

“I feel like I’m going to lose you.”

I looked at him. Really looked at him.

“Why now?” I whispered. “Why is this the moment you suddenly want to tell the world?”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then—

“Because I watched you lie in that welcome lounge. I watched you say you were excited to see the sport from the inside like you weren’t already part of my world. Like you didn’t wake up next to me three days ago.”

He stepped forward, eyes burning.

“And I hated it.”

“Charles…”

“I hated pretending we didn’t mean something to each other. I hated hearing them talk about you like you were just some fan. I hated the way Carlos looked at you. I hated how beautiful you looked and how I couldn’t even touch you.”

I swallowed hard.

“I hated that too.”

“So then let’s stop.”

“Stop hiding?”

“Stop lying.”

My heart was beating like a drum in my ears.

“You really want to do this?” I asked. “You’re sure?”

He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

“Yes.”

And that’s when we heard it.

The voice outside the door. Someone calling his name.

“Charles? You back here?”

We froze.

He looked at me, eyes wide.

I looked at the floor. The walls. The door.

My fingers found the lock. Clicked it open.

And just before I stepped out, I looked back and whispered:

“Then do it. Say something. Or this is the last time I follow you.”

I left him standing there—speechless, shirt rumpled, heart in his throat.

And I didn’t look back.

-

By evening, the internet had moved on.

Sort of.

They’d stopped asking who I was.

Now they were asking something else.

“Why is Ferrari so quiet today?” “Where is Charles Leclerc?” “Is Guest #5 even a real fan?” “This week is feeling scripted.”

And just when I thought maybe things were calming down...

I saw the photo.

It was blurry. Candid. Taken from a distance.

Charles. Standing alone near the pit wall.

Holding something in his hand.

A ring.

My ring.

--

Flashback — Six months earlier Monaco, the night after the wedding

The courthouse was already closed. The florist stand where I bought my bouquet had packed up and gone home. The streets were glowing, just barely damp from a midday rain, and the city felt like it had exhaled.

And I was married.

To him.

To Charles.

We didn’t throw a party. No cake. No fireworks. Just a hotel suite high above the harbor and a bottle of champagne neither of us had planned on but somehow ended up with anyway.

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” I whispered, toeing off my sandals as he unlocked the room.

“I can.” His smile was lazy, wide. “I’d do it again right now if we hadn’t just paid the filing fee.”

The room was warm. Gold lamplight, cream linens, a view of the marina that looked like something out of a painting. I walked to the window and pressed my fingers to the glass.

Down below, life was buzzing. Music. Laughter. Everything too far away to touch.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. I think I just... didn’t expect to feel this calm.”

“Marrying me is calming? That’s a new one.”

“Shut up,” I said, but I was smiling.

I heard the soft pop of the champagne cork and turned around just in time to see the foam spill over his fingers.

“Smooth,” I said.

“I’m rusty. I haven’t had a reason to celebrate in a while.”

He poured two glasses and crossed the room, handing me one with a small clink.

“To what?” I asked.

He looked at me, then at the tiny band of gold now resting on my finger.

“To the quiet kind of forever.”

I blinked once. Twice. Then I clinked my glass to his.

“To us.”

We didn’t drink right away. He leaned down and kissed me first—slow, warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way I felt under his hands tonight.

“Mon amour,” he murmured. “Ma femme.”

His wife.

I kissed him back like that name had always been mine.

-

Later, I was wrapped in sheets, tucked against his bare chest, legs tangled and lips swollen, both of us laughing over something dumb we couldn’t even remember anymore.

The window was open, letting in the soft hum of the city and the faint smell of ocean salt.

Charles traced lazy shapes on my back.

“Do you think they’ll find out?” I asked.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

“They’ll guess,” he said. “Eventually.”

“But not yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

He kissed the crown of my head. “Because I want to keep this—you—to myself for a little longer.”

“Selfish.”

“Absolutely.”

I turned to face him, cheek pressed to the pillow.

“I don’t want to hide forever.”

“You won’t have to.”

“But when it starts—when they know—”

“I’ll handle it.” He brushed his knuckles along my jaw. “I’ll take every hit if it means you don’t have to.”

My throat tightened. “You can’t protect me from all of it.”

“Maybe not. But I can try.”

And then he pulled me close again, tucked under his chin, his voice barely audible.

“I want a life with you. Not just a ring and a secret. A life.”

My eyes stung.

“I want that too.”

He held me tighter.

“Then we’ll build it. Slowly. Quietly. Until one day... no one’s surprised to see you in my garage. Or on my arm. Or wearing my name.”

“Not even the media?”

He smiled against my temple. “Especially them.”

We didn’t fall asleep until after 3 a.m.

And just before I closed my eyes, I looked at the clock glowing faintly on the nightstand.

11:11.

Make a wish, I thought.

I didn’t need to.

He was already mine.

--

There were three microphones on the table.

Three cameras aimed straight at my face.

Four other fan winners.

Twelve journalists.

And one Charles Leclerc.

Seated exactly two chairs away from me.

I could feel him more than I could see him—his presence like a magnet I was desperately trying not to lean toward. His voice when he answered a question was low and measured, but there was tension behind it. Like he was holding his breath every time someone said my name.

Because yes—this press conference?

It wasn’t just about the drivers anymore.

It was about us.

“Let’s talk about the now-viral Fifth Seat post,” the moderator said, glancing at the cards. “There’s been a lot of speculation about Guest Winner #5—Y/N, right?”

I smiled, as calmly as I could. “That’s me.”

The room chuckled, polite but interested. Someone’s pen scratched loudly against a notepad.

“You’ve been paired with Alpine, but fans noticed some interaction with the Ferrari garage. Care to share what that’s about?”

I didn’t look at Charles.

I looked directly at the moderator, and I lied.

“I was lost. Someone pointed me in the wrong direction. That’s all.”

He smiled like he bought it. Charles didn’t move. But I saw the way his hands curled into fists on the table.

Liar, liar, ring finger on fire.

-

The rest of the conference passed in a blur. Questions about team dynamics, fan engagement, media perception. I said what I needed to say. Charles said very little.

And then came the final question.

“For all five guests—if you could spend a full day with any driver, who would it be?”

Everyone turned toward us.

Callie answered first. “Lewis, obviously.”

Tom said Max. Serena picked Oscar. Rachel said Carlos and then blushed bright red when he grinned.

And then it was my turn.

My mouth opened. My heart thundered. I looked straight at the cameras and said:

“Esteban’s been amazing. I wouldn’t trade my assignment for anyone.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it.

Charles flinch.

Barely. But it was there.

A fraction of a second. A wound split wide open on camera.

The moderator wrapped up. Everyone clapped.

The moment I stood to leave, a hand caught my wrist.

Charles.

We were behind the curtain, out of view but not out of range. His eyes were sharp, glassy with something that looked a lot like heartbreak.

“You don’t have to lie for me anymore,” he said. Quiet. Bitter.

I pulled my arm back. “You said you wanted to protect me.”

“Not like this.”

And then he kissed me.

In full view of the other fan winners.

In full view of the PR team.

In full view of the Ferrari social media intern, who audibly gasped behind her phone screen.

It was soft. Quick. But it was a statement.

When he pulled back, his voice didn’t shake.

“We’re done pretending.”

-

Ten minutes later, the Ferrari garage was in full-blown crisis mode.

“Are you insane?” the team manager asked.

Charles shrugged. “A little.”

I stood beside him, fingers linked tightly through his.

The PR rep was pacing. “Do you want to crash the website? Break the internet? Do you know what you just did?”

He looked at me. Then back at them.

“Yes.”

The intern finally spoke up from the corner. “Do you want us to, like... post something?”

Charles didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

I squeezed his hand. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

Then looked straight into the camera.

“She’s not a fan. She’s my wife.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

---

Instagram Post – @charles_leclerc 📸: black and white photo Charles, in a suit. Me, barefoot in that cream linen dress. Holding hands on the courthouse steps.

Caption: Monaco. Six months ago. We didn’t do it for the press. We did it for us. ❤️

-

Twitter/X Explodes

🔥 trending: CHARLES LECLERC 🔥 trending: FIFTH SEAT 🔥 trending: “she’s his WHAT?” 🔥 trending: MA FEMME

-

Back in the paddock, later that night

I sat next to Charles on the pit wall. No cameras this time. No fans. Just the low rumble of tires being rolled back to the garage and the buzz of lights overhead.

He nudged me with his shoulder. “You okay?”

I let out a long breath. “I don’t know.”

“Too much?”

“Maybe.”

“Regrets?”

I turned to him. Let my hand find his.

“No. Not if it means I can hold your hand in public.”

He smiled—really smiled. The kind that started in his chest and bloomed onto his face like sunlight.

“You’re stuck with me now.”

“I’ve always been stuck with you.”

And this time, when he kissed me, no one interrupted.

No flashbulbs. No questions. No more hiding.

Just him. Just me. Just us.

---

Epilogue

The Best Seat in the House Six months later — Monza Grand Prix

The roar of the crowd was thunder in my chest.

Pit lane buzzed with its usual chaos—mechanics darting, tires rolling, cameras clicking like shutters could stop time. I adjusted my headset and tried not to look too giddy as the Ferrari engineers handed me a branded clipboard.

I wasn’t technically staff. But I wasn’t just a guest anymore, either.

“Looking official, Madame Leclerc,” someone teased as I passed.

I smiled. “Don’t I always?”

It had taken time, but people got used to me. The media storm passed. The internet’s curiosity dulled into mild fascination. I stopped being “Guest #5” and started being his.

His wife. His person. His home base between podiums and paddocks.

And now, every few races, I joined him on the road—not as a secret, but as a fixture. Quiet. Steady. Gold band glinting under fluorescent lights and camera flashes.

“Y/N.” His voice crackled through my headset.

I turned toward the monitors, where his car blinked red and white on the map.

“Oui, mon amour?”

“Look up.”

I tilted my head just in time to see his car glide past the pit wall during the formation lap. The Ferrari slowed for just a heartbeat—and in the split-second he passed my section, he lifted his hand off the wheel and held up—

Two fingers.

A peace sign?

No.

A V.

I laughed into the mic. “Victory?”

“No,” he said. “V for Valentine.”

God, he was ridiculous.

“Focus, Leclerc.”

“Always. Especially when you’re here.”

He sped off.

I turned to the monitors, heart racing, hands tight around the clipboard I wasn’t actually using.

Beside me, the Ferrari PR girl grinned. “You nervous?”

“No,” I said honestly. “Not about him.”

The lights dropped. The crowd screamed. The cars launched.

And I stayed right where I was.

Watching. Rooting. Loving.

Because I didn’t need the fifth seat anymore.

I already had the best one—

Right beside him.

-----

The end.

[rosierin]

power play | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; (y/n) could've sworn "power play" meant something else. (aka she misuses it in a sentence and accidentally exposes one of atsumu's kinks)

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It was supposed to be a chill evening.

The volleyball match on TV was intense—national-level, high-stakes, and exciting enough to have the boys talking over the commentators.

Atsumu and Osamu were perched on the couch, already deep in a serious debate about serve formations. Suna lounged in his usual armchair, one leg hooked over the side, sipping from a half-empty can of Coke and muttering the occasional critique like a low-effort sports analyst.

(Y/n) sat cross-legged on the beanbag in front of them, a warm cup of tea in hand, eyes drifting between the scoreboard and the increasingly animated boys behind her.

The energy in the room buzzed—not just from the game, but from the commentary bouncing back and forth around her.

A particularly aggressive rally played out onscreen—fast, brutal, ending in a decisive spike that made Atsumu sit forward with an impressed “Oof!”

“S'about time!" he roared, throwing his arms up.

And then—completely unprompted—(y/n) turned toward Atsumu with a thoughtful crease between her brows.

“Wait—Atsumu,” she said, eyes shining with genuine curiosity. “You’re into power play, right?”

Even the world stopped to listen.

Three heads whipped toward her. At the exact same time.

Then slowly swivelled toward each other.

Then snapped back to her.

In the background, the referee's whistle could be heard.

Osamu’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

Suna looked like Christmas had come early.

Atsumu looked like he didn't know whether to feel immense pride or shame.

“I—I’m sorry, what?” he stammered, blinking like he’d just needed to reboot his brain.

(Y/n) blinked back, confused but earnest. “Power play? I swear you mentioned liking that once..."

Within the span of ten seconds, Atsumu went from pale, all the colour drained from his face, to a fierce shade of scarlet. The kind that crawled from the tips of his ears down to his neck. “I mean—I wouldn’t say into it, but—”

Suna was practically hanging off the edge of his seat.

Even Osamu had leaned forward, jerking his thumb towards the hallway with an impish grin. “Should we be leavin’ the room, or...?”

“I just mean,” (y/n) went on, blissfully unaware, “you’re always going on about fast-paced games and momentum shifts—so I figured power play was your thing.”

Atsumu opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.

He started putting the pieces together.

“What... do you mean by power play?” He asked cautiously.

She gestured innocently toward the screen. “You know. When one team’s got the advantage? More players at the net, tighter rotation, big swings—high pressure, high risk. Power play.”

She said it with full confidence. With absolute conviction and positively zero clue.

And that was what broke them.

Suna wheeze-laughed, slapping his hand against the couch. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “Who the hell told her that’s what it meant?!”

(Y/n) turned defensive. And frankly, a little confused. Very confused. "Nobody! As I said, i just assumed."

Osamu was doubled over. “There's no way," he said, shoving Atsumu’s shoulder. “Look at you—turnin’ beet red thinkin' she'd outed one of yer kinks."

“I thought she was callin’ me out!” Atsumu barked. “What was I supposed to do—deny it? Pretend I wasn’t into—ya know what, forget it.”

(Y/n)’s eyes went wide with creeping realisation. “Wait—kinks? I'm confused. What else does it mean, then?”

Suna, without an ounce of trepidation, smirked. “It’s a sex thing.”

(Y/n) went crimson. “Oh my god—really? No! I didn't—!”

Atsumu had officially recovered.

He grinned, teeth sharp, pride blooming now that the worst had passed. “Too late, sweetheart. It’s on record now."

Osamu was giggling. Actual giggling. Shoulders shaking like a schoolboy in sex ed.

“Oh, (y/n),” he said, wiping his eyes. “Bless yer little heart.”

“I swear I didn’t know!” she groaned, smacking a pillow into her own face. “I was talking about volleyball!”

“And yet,” Suna said, gesturing toward Atsumu like he was presenting a rare species, “you managed to expose this degenerate without even trying.”

"He's right," Osamu chimed in, eyebrows raised thoughtfully. "She said ya mentioned it to her once."

He tutted. "Ya filthy, filthy pervert."

The grin finally slipped off Atsumu’s face, replaced with something halfway between wounded pride and defensive panic.

“Okay, first of all,” he said, holding up a finger. “You all have your weird little kinks. Don’t act like I’m the only one.”

Nobody denied it.

And (y/n) cursed herself for noticing.

Her eyes flicked to Osamu—stoic, unfazed, arms crossed—and then to Suna, who just sipped his drink with that same old unreadable expression.

...Somehow that made things worse.

Her brain, against her will, began to spiral. Did she even want to know?

No. Probably not. Definitely not. But maybe...

God, her imagination was already filling in the blanks—

“(Y/n).”

Atsumu’s voice cut through her thoughts, and when she looked up, he was wearing that infuriatingly smug grin.

“If ya ever wanna talk strategy,” he said, all faux innocence. “Volleyball strategy, of course.”

He winked.

“Ya know where to find me.”

The boys howled.

(Y/n) groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Don’t start.”

[serendipitous-seven]

his entire world | min yoongi x f!reader | a serendipitous life series

summary: you and yoongi are trying to enjoy your friends' wedding with a very fussy baby pairing: yoongi x f!reader [kitt] tags/warning: baby-related things such as breast milk, general family mentions

a/n: sometimes the bug bites me and i feel encouraged to repost my fics. comfort fic for me, maybe comfort fic for you?

dad!bts series | a serendipitous life mlist

Everything is perfect. A blue sky, a balmy breeze, an intimate setting with friends and family. You smile with teary eyes, watching two of your closest friends recite their vows to one another.

Well, it's almost perfect.

If not for your fussy one-year-old, who has not stopped whining since the ceremony began. You and Yoongi have been playing hot potato with Dae, trying to settle him down, it only worked for a few minutes before your son started to squirm again.

Yoongi pats his son’s back, gently shushing him. “He didn’t nap like usual.” You whisper while the groom expresses his undying devotion to his bride. “His sleep schedule is off-”

A blood-curdling scream bellows out of your baby, causing those around you to jump. You feel your face heat up as you hurriedly take Dae from Yoongi’s arms, passing through and whispering apologies with a crying Dae. Before Yoongi can offer to take him, knowing you would want to see your friends end this sweet moment with a kiss, you are gone in a flash.

“I know, baby,” you groan, now hidden away in a secluded area, bouncing Dae in your arms. He cries from his deepest depths, rubbing his face on your shoulder. In your haste to escape, you forgot to ask for the keys to the car where you hoped to soothe your son to sleep. Hearing the guests clap and cheer for your now-married friends, your heart sinks.

Yoongi seeks you out once the ceremony ends, finding you pouting beneath a tree. He can hear Dae whimpering, taking him back into his arms but not before kissing your forehead; “I missed the best part,” you say, on the verge of tears yourself. With a breathy chuckle and sympathetic smile, Yoongi hands you his phone and you repay him with a grateful kiss. The video is great, but maybe your tired baby has you feeling sorry for yourself - you just wanted to see your friends seal their vows with a kiss in person.

“The drive to the reception area is about 20 minutes,” Yoongi begins to reason, wiping Dae’s tear-stained cheeks in the process, “maybe he’s tired himself out enough to knock out on the way there.”

You rub Dae’s healthy head of wavy locks while he hiccups the last of his tears away. “Please, for the love of God, sleep for mommy,” your tone is nothing less than desperate.

Call it wishful thinking or a request fallen on deaf ears.

Whatever it is, a peaceful baby is not on your side. Rather, you watch the guests you and your family are sat with dwindle the longer Dae cries. He isn't fussing anymore. He isn't whining. He is screaming.

“Honey,” Yoongi starts calmly. He's always calm and it drives you crazy sometimes. “I don’t think he wants his bottle.”

“I can see that,” you say, making another attempt to press the rubber tip against Dae’s pouted lips, “but I can’t feed him in this dress, I’d have to take it off completely!”

Frustrated. You are frustrated.

Yoongi sighs, rubbing his hand on your shoulder, “Let me try-”

Dae challenges the volume of excited guests and dinner music, screeching into the air and knocking the bottle out of your hand. Milk squirts out of the tip and all over the top of your dress, catching the ends of your hair. Yoongi clams his lips together and you can see his cheeks turn pink, “I swear Yoongi if you laugh-”

“Go.” Yoongi takes Dae, holding his tiny battering hands into his large one, “I’ll take care of him, just go clean up then find your friends.”

“I’m not leaving…”

“Go enjoy yourself, sweetheart. I’ve got this,” Yoongi insists as he pushes you out of your seat. You get up, heading straight for the bathroom with a sigh of relief and tears in your eyes.

Of all people, your husband knows best. Yoongi understands your frustrations, even more, he knows your limits. As first-time parents, the challenges can feel insurmountable. You both love your son - there isn’t a single doubt that you love your son. But there are days, like today when Dae seems to know how to push your buttons a little harder.

Yoongi continues in a calm timbre, kissing Dae’s hand that is simultaneously pushing against his cheek. He catches the sorry glance from a few of the members as he passes through the dining area, pinching a smile. “You can at least look like you love me, son.”

Dae cries. He pushes against Yoongi’s chest, his neck, and his chin. He wails to the point his cheeks turn bright red, stained from hot tears. Yoongi doesn’t let up, holding his son and even setting him on the ground, keeping his large hands around his son’s stomach. Just let it out, Yoongi thinks to himself. He blinks slowly, using his fingers to clear Dae’s tears now and then.

“You’re sleepy,” Yoongi chuckles when Dae starts to settle beneath his dad’s touch. “Yah, stop fighting it.”

Dae breathes in short bursts. Without a tissue or something from the baby bag, Yoongi wipes the remnants of his son’s tears with the inside of his suit jacket. No one would ever look there.

You are able to spend time with the bride and groom and a few friends(and a couple of glasses of champagne)all thanks to your husband. The dancing started an hour ago, to which you got a few in before missing baby. Who were you kidding, you missed him the entire time but the temporary separation was nice. This time, you have a smile on your face despite the faint stain of breast milk splattered across your dress.

Coming back from the restroom after freshening up, a mellow song is playing beneath the white canopy. Dusk is soon covered by a darkened sky. String lights twinkle above the guests and almost everyone is out of their seats, slow dancing on the dance floor. Your search for Yoongi and Dae isn’t long.

You have to bite your lip when you finally spot them.

A few more moments alone wouldn’t hurt. You stand next to a post, holding your hands together while watching the two greatest loves of your life.

Dae is asleep in your husband’s arms while Yoongi moves slowly, swaying from one foot to the other. Back and forth back and forth. Yoongi smiles into a kiss, pressing his thin lips against Dae’s head. Taking his pointer finger to rub against your son’s cheek. You watch his mouth move as he whispers something to your sleeping baby.

“Hey,” you stroke Yoongi’s back and he turns his head to follow you until you're standing in front of them. His smile is wide, it’s warm and it’s reflective of home. His large hand continues to pat Dae’s bottom while he sleeps in his arms. You peer around, Dae’s chubby cheek pressed against Yoongi’s shoulder. You kiss his nose before looking back at Yoongi.

“Did you have fun?” Yoongi asks, resting his cheek against Dae’s head, dark eyes sparkling down at you. You almost lose yourself in them, reaching up to run your hand back through his hair. You nod, thanking him with a soft kiss. Yoongi groans against your lips, another smile stealing you away.

“Come here,” Yoongi is pulling you in with one arm before you can say otherwise, securing it around your shoulder. You hold him by the waist, one hand resting over Yoongi’s that is pressed against Dae’s back. He has his entire world in his arms, the three of you slowly moving to the gentle music.

©serendipitous-seven, 2025. don't steal my content. it is illegal, it is rude, and portrays laziness on the part of the thief. so, please, enjoy my works, but do not steal.

[stottlemorgan]

Teamwork / Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Summary: Arthur helps you fish. Tags: 18+, MDNI! Pure fluff and suggestiveness. A little bit of flirting at the end. It's CUTE. Word count: 1,096. Author’s Note: This was a request for the lovely @fictionalcowboylover for my mini prompt writing sprint! I absolutely LOVED writing this, thank you for the wonderful prompt, dear! <3 Ao3 Link. All photos above are sourced from Pinterest.

"I got somethin'! I got- Arthur!" Your voice breaks as your reel starts to whizz and click rapidly.

Arthur's eyes widen and immediately, his own rod splashes into the water's edge as he discards it. Sloshing over to you, he squeezes one hand around your hip and brings the other over yours to clutch the handle as you desperately try setting the hook.

"Give it a swift upward tug," he instructs, pushing his hand down on your hip, silently telling you to flatten your feet into the mud, which you do. You tug to no avail. Frustration bursts from you in a tight breath as whatever you have caught tries to drag your reel and rod straight from your avidly grasping hands. Arthur frowns in a slight confused disapproval,

"A swift tug, girl. Like-" he shifts position, wrapping his arms around you. With a firm grip, he envelops your hands in his, halting the whirling spool and starting to turn it back. As he reels, he rests his chin on your shoulder, his breath puffing into your hair. Pressing his chest to your back and pushing his hips into your rear, making you yell softly, he tugs up and back in a quick arc but the effort seems to not phase the fish, "shit, you've caught a big one."

"I told you!" You huff back at him, turning your head to speak against his cheek, his stubble scratching your chin. Arthur grunts, giving another harsh tug, forcing your body to make the arc. His hips push into the layers of your skirts and you gasp, "Arthur!"

"You want the damn fish or not? Concentrate, woman."

Suppressing the shiver that wants to worm its way up your back, you take a deep breath and grip the rod, turning your head forward again. With a grit of your teeth, you turn back the reel with Arthur's help. He hums, "That's it, you got it, keep goin'." His arms tighten around you, and he bends his knees a little, tucking them into the backs of your own. Your mind swims with the solidity of his body encasing yours but atop that avidly skims the eagerness to catch this God forsaken fish.

"Get ready to pull, alright?" Arthur asks lowly, and you nod quickly. He sinks his feet further into the mud and gives a noisy huff into the crook of your neck, "Okay, pull!"

Performing an effortful draw, Arthur shoves his hips into your backside and pulls your arms up, motions which you mimic. Arthur laughs triumphantly as he feels the ardency of the fish give a little. Determinations sweats your brow, and attraction bubbles in your seat where Arthur's denim-clad groin is stiffly pressed. You squeeze the rod between your arm and ribs, lifting, groaning. Arthur gasps against your jaw, reeling roughly,

"Good girl, real good girl- Okay, okay, here we go-" He urges your hands to hold tighter, reeling steadily. You buzz with far too many forms of excitement.

"Arthur, it's gonna slip-"

"No, it ain't, jus' keep on. You got one more in you, c'mon, pull!" Arthur grits and with a simultaneous groan, you both pull. Almost stumbling backwards, the two of you squint as a large thrashing fish flips into the air, swinging on the end of the line and splashing cold water over your faces.

With a surprised croak, you sink the rod further back between your arm and side as the mighty fish causes your rod to bend southwards. Arthur releases you and snatches the fish from the air with his eyes wide and mouth agape, "Christ, what bait were you usin'?" He guffaws, flipping the fish over in his palms with a hefty slap, "S'a monster."

A pleased grin spreads over your features and you bounce on your feet, your hands clenching into excited fists, "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! Jus' look at that bastard!" Your boots squelch into the sopping mud and you place your rod down before moving closer to Arthur, peering down at the giant fish.

"I'm lookin', darlin'." Arthur smiles at you with a chuckle, scooping the hook from the fish's mouth, "S'a big ol' Pike you caught. Take a look." He holds out the fish and you take hold of it carefully, cradling its weight with your forearms and hands, your face the picture of pride and delight. Taking in a soft breath so as to not let the blooming affection in his chest overtake your moment, Arthur turns away and crouches toward his satchel. You tilt your head, watching him for a moment before speaking, excitement still stealing your breath,

"Hey, what're you doin'?"

"You jus' caught your biggest fish yet. I thought you might wanna document it," Arthur answers gently, retrieving his camera from his satchel and readying it. You giggle and stand a straighter, holding the fish a little higher and baring your teeth in a grin. Through the viewfinder, Arthur takes in your mussed hair, your breathless elation, the pinking of your cheeks from the effort and pride. He swallows, feeling the need to take another breath just to look at you before snapping a couple of photographs, one of which you purse your lips and lift the pike higher, pretending to kiss it. Barking out a laugh and shaking his head, Arthur leans down to pack away his camera.

Giving you a little squeeze at your waist, he looks at the fish, "You keepin' 'im or lettin' 'im swim?" He asks, his thumb rubbing up and down on your waist, moving the fabric of your dress against your skin. You take your turn to swallow, and start off the small distance to the water's edge.

"Think I'll let 'im swim, he gave me enough today." You reply fondly, bending forward in front of Arthur and letting the pike wriggle its way back into the water with wild whips of its tail, making you giggle as it wets your face. Arthur's hand remains on your waist as you straighten back up and tilt your head to look up at him, the shiver you had quelled earlier on fully rippling through your body at the sight of the shimmer of the sun reflecting off of the water and into his eyes, illuminating them. He gazes down at you for a long moment before deciding to plant a soft kiss to your temple, and you freeze. The tumult of feelings stirring within your gut grows wilder. He chuckles, patting your side, before speaking into your hair, "Wanna try 'n' catch another?"

You dumbly nod.

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @zae-heeyyy @pinescent-and-gingerbread @frillydolle @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thedilfdiaries - Apologies if I miss anyone, just dm me or comment below to have me tag you <3

[lueurjun]

poison candy challenge. b.chan.

est. relationship. reader x bang chan. in which chan indulges in a tiktok trend with you.

don’t ask where this idea came from, this trend has been all over my fyp and i just feel like chan would be so fun. this is also an in the spur of a moment post so… probably not the best lmao. everytime i do one of these i realize how chronically online i am- probably need to work on that 😬

bang certified simp chan.

the husband of all husbands.

the definition of i would quite literally walk on water if it meant getting to you faster.

he’s not the most tiktok savvy guy

so he’s not particularly up to date on the trends

he gives insta reels sending you a trend three years after it’s passed type of vibes.

which means it’s not a surprise that he has no idea what trend you’re talking about

“you wanna poison me?” followed by that endearing nervous laugh he does.

“no sit down ill explain in a second.”

you press down on his shoulder, guiding him to a seat and he’s more than willing to oblige.

this man would sit in fire if you asked him to.

so would i but you picked him 🙄 not salty. i get it 😒

he watches you wearily as you pour the skittles across the table, dotting the oak with colour.

“is that sanitary?”

you smile to yourself, offering no explanation as you prop up your phone, framing the two of you in its view.

you plop down beside him, barely settled before his arm slips around your waist, one hand finding its home on your thigh.

so happy for you! … ʜᴏᴇ

ignoring the tingling in your nerves that sparks whenever your boyfriend is within reach, you turn to face him.

“we each choose a sweet to be the ‘poison,’ then take turns eating the rest. whoever eats the poisoned one…dies.”

“okay… that sounds morbid hahaha. should i be monitoring what you’re watching?”

with a light tap to his chest, you turn away to start filming.

“i’ll pick first.”

you reach for a sweet, only to pause upon realizing he’s still watching.

“turn around, you cheater!”

you reach over, gently nudging his face to the side, laughing as he lets out an exaggerated sigh and turns away. still, with his back to the table, you cover his eyes as an extra precaution.

with your free hand, you lean toward the table, eyes scanning the scattered sweets before settling on a green one right in the centre. you point to it, making a mental note to circle it in editing.

“done!”

it’s Chan’s turn to pick, and your turn to face away. as you did, chan leans a hand back to cover your eyes, only he decides to be playful and clumsily rubs his palm all over your face.

“Chan!”

laughing, he brushes the hair out of your face, then delicately places a palm over your eyes, kissing your cheek as an apology.

con😭gratulat😭ions

chan picks a red one on the far left side of the scatter, giggling quietly to himself as if this is the most exciting game he has ever played.

you turn back around, his hand falling to your waist again and giving a light squeeze.

leaning down to the edge of the table, you narrow your eyes, scrutinising the spread before you.

a crease forms in chan’s forehead as he frowns, gaze bouncing between you, the sweets and the camera.

“what are you doing?”

the way i read that in his voice-

“trying to see if i can see any handprint residue on the skittles.”

chan’s mouth forms an ‘o’ shape before he bursts into loud laughter, curling into himself.

“are you a forensic? just pick one,”

“i don’t want to die, christopher.”

god forbid someone is thorough 🙄

abruptly sitting up straight, you pluck a yellow one from the right hand side and confidently pop it into your mouth.

chan watches you with a smile, his eyes dilated into the shapes of hearts.

when you turn to him, eyes big in expectation, his heart crumbles to dust and he can’t stop himself from grabbing your cheeks, plastering the biggest kiss to your nose

“you’re safe, my lovely forensic.”

throwing your hands up in victory, you cheer loudly.

chan is less thorough than you, deciding to just grab one and hope for the best.

he picks an orange one, the closest to you on the table and pops it into his mouth

you gasp, making him pause mid chew with wide eyes looking as if he’d just been caught red handed doing something he shouldn’t.

“am i dead?”

you relax with a grin. “no you’re safe.”

chan nudges you playfully. “why would you do that? i thought i was going to die.”

you remedy his hurt feelings with a sweet massage to his earlobe before leaning toward the table, steepling your fingers

the purple one draws your gaze, but you’re unsure so you glance back to try and gauge his reaction as you hand shifts over in that direction

realizing what you’re trying to do, chan cringes causing your hand to hover in mid air

“am i going to die?”

he quirks a brow. “i can’t tell you that’s cheating.”

“okay? don’t you love me enough to stop me from making a life threatening mistake?”

i do. 🙋‍♀️ I DO! take me instead.

“they’re skittles!”

frowning, you turn away from him with a humph causing a grin to spread across his face.

you decide to bite the bullet, fingers plucking the purple one and shoving it into your mouth.

chan stretches out the silence, prolonging the moment as you swallow the skittle.

now you might be dramatic but you swear it tastes bitter as the flavour coats your tongue.

“i’m going to die arent i?”

“no, you’re safe.”

you almost knock the chair over as you bounce in excitement, genuinely surprised.

“i am? i’m safe? really? i really thought that one was poison.”

chan laughs at your enthusiasm, suddenly overcome with cuteness aggression because there’s only you who could get this into a game revolving imaginary poison.

needing a release, chan squeezes your cheeks for a second before peppering several kisses to your chin before finally your lips.

“your turn!”

your cheeks are flushed, eyeing the camera sheepishly while Chan searches for a safe sweet, completely unfazed.

you’re not sure whether he’s forgotten about the camera or whether he just doesn’t care, either way, you’re very much aware of it and can’t help but pat your burning cheeks.

chan’s hand grazes the green one you chose, and your heart lurches

but it comes to a sudden stop, filling you with disappointment as he picks the yellow one next to it

you really thought you had that win the bag.

“safe.”

“try not to sound too thrilled about me living.”

his sarcasm earns him a tug of the ear, making him yelp.

confident that you will win the next round, you don’t really think too much into the one you choose, grabbing the red one on the far left side.

popping it into your mouth, you hum at the flavour failing to notice that chan has frozen beside you

“your go!”

when he doesn’t move to pick one, you turn to face him and see that he’s watching you with his mouth slightly hanging open

you know when bentley rubbed his eyes after touching onion and chan was just 😧 yeah that’s what he looks like.

“why are you looking at me like that?”

chan rolls his lips together, ridding himself of the victorious smile.

“you just died,” he whispered.

your jaw drops. “I JUST WHAT?”

“you ate the poison one…”

the two of you just stare at each other, though with vastly different expressions.

chan looks triumphant.

and you…

you look like someone just stole your first born.

“you almost ate the poison one! why didn’t you grab the green! your hand GRAZED it!”

chan looks toward the camera.

“it’s like they’re still here. i can still hear them talking.”

glaring, you lean back into the chair with your arms folded over your chest.

chan finds himself — and your reaction — utterly hilarious as he scoops up a handful of the skittles and pops them all into his mouth at once.

mouth full, he throws his hands up and cheers in victory at his win.

“glad to see you’re celebrating the death of your beloved.”

chan’s grin never falters as he scoops you up into his arms, peppering your face and neck in kisses.

“my favourite little sore loser.”

“i almost won! you literally touched the green one!”

[fearlessreid]

anyone else but you

dad!eddie munson x mom!reader

summary: on a grocery trip, ellie feels she is too grown for her father’s affection (she’s 4 and dramatic just like her dad). same universe as this fic

warnings: disgusting family fluff, not proofread erm

title is taken from the moldy peaches song

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

I smiled to myself as I pushed the stroller down the aisles of the grocery store, one hand clutching the handlebar while the other rested on the growing curve of my belly. At almost six months pregnant, I was starting to feel a bit more worn out, but nothing could spoil this moment—especially not with my little family all together.

Eddie, ever the picture of chaos and charm, was trailing behind us, pushing a cart filled with half the store's stock. I swear, sometimes I think he just enjoys shopping for the experience, as opposed to the need for food. As if on cue, I heard him mutter under his breath.

"Why do they even sell strawberries this big?" he grumbled, picking up a package that looked like it belonged in a giants kitchen. "Who needs this many strawberries? This is outrageous."

I let out a laugh, the sound of it nearly drowned out by the excited chatter of our four-year-old, Elvira, who was marching confidently ahead of us, we normally put her in the cart seat but we decided it would be good for her to walk with us. "Mommy, look! I’m a big girl!" she announced, running around eddies legs who’s standing next to me with the cart.

"You're sure are, honey," I replied warmly, my eyes following her as she navigated the store aisle with the kind of energy only a four-year-old could possess. "Big girls go fast."

"Fast like a cheetah!" she replied with a squeal.

Her confidence was contagious. I couldn’t help but smile as she strutted ahead of me, her curly brown pigtails bouncing with each step. "Alright, Ellie, slow down!" Eddie called from behind us, pushing the cart toward us.

"She's fine," I said, my voice laced with amusement. "She’s just being independent. Look at her go."

But Eddie wasn’t done. He moved quickly to catch up with her, an exasperated but loving expression on his face. Reaching out to grab her hand, he said, "C’mon, kiddo, hold my hand. We’re in a store, and I don’t want you running off like last time."

Ellie stopped dead in her tracks, looking up at him like he’d just asked her to eat a plate of broccoli for dessert.

"Nuh-uh, Daddy! I’m a big girl!" she declared firmly, pulling her hand away from him.

Eddie froze, his eyes wide, as though the idea that his little girl was growing up was hitting him a little harder than usual.

"A big girl, huh?" he said, trying to mask the hurt with his usual playful tone. "Well, big girls hold hands when they’re in public."

But Ellie just crossed her arms and shook her head, her small frown deepening in defiance.

"No! I can walk all by myself. No hand!" she insisted, her voice rising just a little bit, as if to prove a point. "I'm a big girl, Daddy."

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.

Eddie turned to me, eyes wide with disbelief. "Did you see that? She just-she just turned me down!" He shook his head, his lips twitching into a smile despite his feigned indignation. "My little girl is refusing to hold my hand? I’m ruined."

I continued laughing, leaning against the cart for support as I held my belly. "It’s cute. She's getting so independent. You should be proud."

"I’m proud," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just didn’t think it would happen this soon. She’s four, for god’s sake. I figured I’d have a couple more years of her being my baby girl."

Ellie continued to march ahead, oblivious to the emotional crisis she was causing her father. She was too busy pretending to be a superhero, flapping her arms as though she could take off at any moment. At the same time, Delilah our two year-old bundle of chaos, was babbling happily in her stroller, her chubby little hands reaching for a cookie we’d picked up earlier.

I gave Eddie a teasing look. "Guess you’ll just have to let her grow up. You cant coddle her forever you know." I try to reason

Eddie shot me a look of mock horror. "I know that! But she's still my baby! I’m not ready for this, babe. I wasn’t ready for her to be a 'big girl.'"

I smiled warmly at him, stepping closer to rest a hand on his arm. "Hey, don’t worry. She’s still our little girl. She just… wants to be more like you."

"More like me? How?" Eddie asked, his brows furrowed as if he were genuinely puzzled.

"Well, look at her," I said, gesturing toward Ellie, who was now attempting to lift a box of cereal off the shelf and struggling with the weight of it. "She’s already got the whole independent, ‘I can do it myself’ thing down."

"God help us," he muttered, pushing the cart forward. "I’m not ready for this."

I chuckled again, watching Eddie shake his head in mock disbelief as he followed Ellie down the aisle. He still wasn’t over it, I could tell. But as we reached the end of the aisle, Ellie turned and looked back at us, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Hey, Daddy!" she called, her arms raised dramatically as if preparing to tackle him. "Catch me if you can!"

Eddie’s expression softened. He rolled his eyes affectionately and then, with a grin, broke into a jog after her. "You better watch out, Miss Big Girl. I’m coming for you."

Ellie squealed with delight and darted down the aisle, her pigtails flying behind her as she ran as fast as her little legs would carry her. Eddie followed her with determination, but he was also laughing now, clearly relishing the chase. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them.

Delilah’s giggle broke through the moment as she tugged at my sleeve, her face lit up with curiosity. "Mama, play?" she asked, her eyes wide and full of wonder.

I nodded and lifted her out of the stroller, cradling her in my arms. "We’re playing, sweet girl. Look, Daddy and Ellie are playing tag."

She leaned her head against my shoulder, a content little sigh escaping her. "Tag."

"Yeah, tag," I whispered softly, squeezing her gently as I watched Eddie and Ellie laughing in the distance.

As much as Eddie might have been caught off guard by how quickly his little girl was growing up, I could see it in his eyes. He was proud. And even if she didn’t need his hand to hold anymore, she still needed him,just in a different way. And he’d figure that out, just like we always did.

"Maybe I am ready for this after all, that shit was fun" Eddie said, coming back toward us, out of breath but smiling from ear to ear. He bent down and kissed Ellie’s forehead, who was still grinning widely from the fun chase.

I looked at him and smiled, the warmth in my chest growing as I felt the little flutter of movement from the baby inside me. "Yeah, you’re ready. We all are."

And with that, Eddie scooped Ellie up in his arms and twirled her around, while I settled into pushing the stroller with one hand, still holding Delilah close. It was a beautiful, messy, complicated life and I wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

-

[whimsymoonpages]

poly!marauders blurb: you are not dating my sister

in which harry has a girlfriend, remus is a traitor, and nobody knows what canoodling is.

the train station is buzzing with families and students as you, sirius, and james crowd near the platform, eagerly looking for harry and ron's train to pull in. james is practically bouncing with excitement and sirius can't stop cracking jokes.

"our husband," he croons. "the professor."

as soon as the train screeches to a halt, harry, ron, and remus step out, their bags slung over their shoulders. harry looks like exhausted, and ron's looking far too pleased with himself for someone who's been on a twelve-hour train ride.

"there they are!" sirius shouts, waving like a madman.

you rush forward to hug harry first, ignoring his scowl. "oh, sweetheart! how are you? how's quidditch? you've been doing so well, you know."

harry grumbles, looking away. "i'm fine."

"you're doing amazing!" you say, smoothing down his hair. "quidditch, grades, everything! moons says your studies are going great. i'm so proud of you."

he scowls even harder, clearly mortified that you're doing this in the train station, but you're too busy fawning over him to notice. james has his hands clapped over his shoulders now, and sirius is tugging the bags from his hands.

"my god, haz," james beams at his son. "you look bloody amazing! you've been eating good at hogwarts, then? working hard during practice?"

"you only think he looks amazing because he looks like you, prongs." sirius says, ever the sassy one.

you turn to ron next, pulling him into a quick hug, too. "and look at you, mr. brilliant at everything," you tease, grinning at him. "how's your year been, ron?"

"good!" he grins, already making a beeline for the exit. "james has made food, hasn't he?" he's practically drooling.

"don't even think about it," james says with a laugh, shaking his head as he catches ron's eye. "i know exactly what you're about to do when we get back to the house."

"what? i'm just...you know..." ron mumbles with his hands in his pockets. "just have to make sure your cooking's still good."

"and nobody has anything to say to me?!" remus all but whines, his hazel eyes squinting at you all.

"ohhh remmy!"

"my poor dear."

"mr. lupin, you're home!!!"

"yeah, yeah." remus mutters with a smile before disapparating you all back to your cottage.

as you all enter, the smell of the food james prepared filled the room. ron groans and starts going in and on about how brilliant james is in the kitchen.

you pull out a chair for harry and usher him into the seat.

harry rolls his eyes as you sit down beside him and continue to fuss over him. "mum, i'm fine. really."

but you don't let up. "you're looking more grown up every day. i've just missed you, haz."

finally, he smiles at you and gives you a hug first. you can only squeak with happiness.

ron turns to remus, his mouth already full of food. "can you believe it, professor? all term, those stupid gits—especially malfoy—saying all this rubbish about us. 'ohh, they're gettin great marks because lupin is in some weird relationship with potter's mum. ohh, i'm miserable and sad and have nothing better to do,'" you can't help but laugh at the voice he puts on to mock draco. "like, come off it!"

"bloke doesn't realize he's my bloody cousin," harry mutters with a laugh, looking up at sirius. "he's perpetuating family drama."

"that's all everyone in the black family is good for!" sirius smirks and raises his glass at his son.

"don't forget that time ginny hexed one his cronies into sneezing bubbles out his nose," ron continues, totally ignoring harry's attempt to change the subject, his voice muffled by food. "it was brilliant. she's got a bloody good knack for hexing people."

"i'm sure you're very proud," remus says with a fond chuckle. he looks at harry with a knowing glance. "ginny's been impressive this year, hasn't she? in class, on the quidditch field."

harry shifts in his seat, a little uncomfortable with the way the conversation is going. "speaking of..."

he trails off.

you perk up, still looking at him with that proud smile. "speaking of what, darling?"

"i got a girlfriend." harry blurts out, like it's nothing. he immediately looks down at his food, as if hoping the earth will open up and swallow him whole.

there's a long pause.

ron freezes mid-bite. his eyes narrow suspiciously. "wait," he starts, leaning forward. "you've got a girlfriend? what do you mean speaking of—"

now, harry looks panicked.

ron's eyes grow wide as realization dawns. "hold on. wait a second." he looks over at harry, his face suddenly turning red. "are you dating my sister, mate?"

you, james, and sirius all turn to stare at harry, eyes wide with surprise.

harry's face matches his father's signature look of horror and embarrassment. "no, no. what? it's not—"

"wait a moment," james interrupts, scrunching his eyebrows. "harry has a new girlfriend, and remus never told us a damn thing? you traitor! you're meant to be our spy!"

remus' jaw drops. "how is this on me! it would be overstepping if i had told you all!"

you can only smile. "i want to meet her!"

"mum, you've met her already! like when she was literally ten years old!" harry defends, shoving a forkful of greens in his mouth.

ron drops his fork , and the clatter shuts you all up. he stares at harry with a mix of disbelief and confusion. "you're telling me, right now, that you've been out with my sister, ginny, and you didn't tell me?!"

harry swallows hard and clears his throat nervously, squirming in his seat. "it's not like that. it's...it's just—"

ron looks like he's about to explode. "you are not dating my sister!" he says loudly. "this is not happening! you're not spending another holiday break at my house! you'll be all...all...canoodling!"

"CANOODLING?!" harry practically shouts.

your face goes red and you grab sirius' hands. you whisper, "we never even taught him what canoodling is."

"darling," remus whispers back from across the table. "i'm nearly positive he knows what canoodling is."

your eyes widen and your head whips to look at james. "if he's anything like you were at hogwarts—"

"hey!" james throws a wadded up napkin in your face.

"i can't believe this." ron looks like he's seriously struggling to contain himself. "this is my bloody sister we're talking about. i've known her since she was a baby, harry!"

ron glares at harry, who's still avoiding eye contact.

"a younger woman, haz?" sirius says to break the tension, raising an eyebrow. "disgusting."

"i'm younger than all!" you say, swatting sirius on the arm.

ron stares at you, and then back at harry. "you're not going near her. not until i'm finished with her first."

you laugh as harry groans and slumps down in his chair, knowing the next few days are going to be interesting. and merlin knows what will happen when he gets to the burrow.

i wrote this to give myself more time to write the next chapter for my fic. that one’s gonna be a doozy.

[chuellas]

Evictions on Your Door | E is for Exhibitionism

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

V. A. L. E. N. T. I. N. E.

Warnings | Fem!Reader, N.SFW, 18+ only, use of the names “Doll” and “Baby”, exhibitionism, fingering with/out gloves on, spanking, finger sucking, gagging, unprotected sex, creampie, plugging, not edited like at all ajdjsjdjsjjds WC: 2.4k

A/N | Ik I’ve said it a million times today but Happy Valentine’s Day. This one i had to cut short bc I went way over my self allotted limit 🤡 Hope you all thoroughly enjoy <3

You should have known better than to tease Chuuya before a three hour long meeting. Normally, you wouldn’t sit next to him in the meeting, being Verlaine’s representative. The absent man’s seat was always across the table from Chuuya while Kouyou’s was next to the ginger. Outside of executive meetings you and Chuuya rarely interact while working, especially after Akutagawa took the position of overseeing the Black Lizard instead of Hirotsu reporting directly to Chuuya.

You had brazenly tossed your panties at him in the privacy of his office earlier in the morning, a pair of royal blue silk and lace high-cut underwear. You’d caught him eyeing you in the rare pencil skirt, something you only wear on days you know for certain you won’t be going into the field. You know that Chuuya’s favorite feature of yours is your legs. So, you thought you would pay him a visit — tease him a little. You were not disappointed by his reaction.

But now you’re paying for it as you sit right next to Chuuya at this crowded meeting table with not only the executives but with their second in command and even third in command. Mori isn’t here, doing some sort of damage control within the Armed Detective Agency’s President and the government. It was up to the executives to lead this meeting to figure out how to rebuild Yokohama after the devastation that Ame-no-Gozen brought onto the city. 

You’re almost two hours into the meeting and Chuuya’s gloved fingers are snuggly nestled in your drooling cunt. It started off as teasing of his own, leather gliding up and down the expanse of your inner thighs. You slapped his hand away a few times, trying desperately to pay attention to what Kouyou was saying but your self-control wilted at an alarming rate. 

Chuuya easily hides the flexing of his arm underneath his coat that hangs over his shoulders. Every time he opens his mouth to add to the conversation your stomach twists is both excitement and fear. You try your best to keep your composure but Chuuya is relentless.

The ginger bullies his middle and ring finger into your cunt, stopping every time you even hint at fluttering around you. 

You’re hunched over the table, the lower half of your face being concealed by your folded hands, hoping to god that you just appear to be really intrigued by whatever it is being discussed, when in reality you’re just crumbling under the touch of the man sitting beside you. Your concentration is fluctuating, you’re only getting bits and pieces of the solutions being shared and the opinions being bounced around. You’ve barely given any input yourself, which was a shame considering you had planned on contributing to this meeting at least once. 

You can hear the faint sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you and you hope once again that Akutagawa, who is sitting on your other side, can’t hear it. The way his body is stiffer than normal, jaw so taught it looks painful, tells you otherwise. Your thighs involuntarily squeeze in desperation to quiet the noise and you have to work double time to suppress a gasp when Chuuya slots his leg between yours and pries your legs back open.

You’re close again, eyes burning with unshed tears you’re desperately trying to hold back. Everything is buzzing, your chest is heaving, your stomach is in knots and your head is vibrating. You can’t tell if it’s hot in this room or if the dampness you feel underneath you on the seat is your slick pooling in the chair. 

You subtly move your index finger between your teeth to keep your mouth occupied with something so you don’t make any noise. 

You’re going to get caught in a room full of the Port Mafia’s most important members getting finger fucked by a man who is not supposed to be touching you, per Verlaine’s personal request. Just as you’re about to let the taut cord in your lower abdomen snap, Chuuya removes his hand completely, causing you to shiver from the sudden loss of his warmth. You bite down on your finger harder, just barely catching the whimper clawing at your throat. 

Chuuya loudly clears his throat and it catches everyone’s attention. “It’s been over three hours now, Kouyou. Don’t you think we should give everyone a break? Maybe we can revisit this tomorrow with less people, now that we’ve come up with a solid foundation of how we’re gonna fix this damn mess.”

Kuoyou stares at the other ginger for a moment before curtly nodding her head. “Fine, we’ll bring what we have to the Executives table tomorrow and finalize it with Mori.”

Chuuya slyly shoves his now ungloved hand in his pocket and rises to his feet, his head tilted as a way to point at you. “You can head out, she offered to help me clean up.”

Verlaine narrows his eyes at that statement, scrutinizing the two of you before letting it go and turning on his heel, probably going back to whatever hole he was allowed to crawl out of. You watch silently as everyone shuffles out in a hurry. You’re thankful for that, not wanting anyone to linger so you can finally compose yourself and actually clean up the mess Chuuya made. 

Akutagawa lingers and you give him a puzzled expression but he’s not looking at you, his gaze set on the remaining executive. “You don’t have to stay, Chuuya-san. I can help clean up in your stead.”

Chuuya lets out an easy chuckle, completely unbothered by Akutagawa’s offer. “Nah, don’t worry about it and how many times do I gotta tell you? Drop the damn formalities, it’s just Chuuya. Now go, I’m sure Gin is waiting for you.”

At the mention of his sister, the Port Mafia’s Black-Fanged Hellhound no longer hesitates to round the table and walk out the double doors, pushing them to swing shut behind him. Despite the flimsy effort, the door doesn’t quite latch closed all the way, you can still see out into the now empty hallway from the slivered gap between the doors. This boardroom is in a far corner that people rarely visit. You know for a fact that no one will be coming by for at least an hour, maybe more, because this room was booked for five and a half hours. 

Even so, when Chuuya bends you over the table and lifts your skirt up to bunch at your hips you let out a whine. “Chuuya- Wait…What if someone catches us?”

“Let them, not like they can do anything about it. Did you forget that I’m an executive?”

The gravity manipulator emphasizes his words by landing a harsh slap to your ass — immediately followed by him kneading and massaging the sore flesh. He repeats his actions on your other cheek and you finally let out a loud moan, losing all capability to hold them in any longer. Chuuya looms over you, leaning in and gingerly moving your hair to the side, his breath hot as it tickles the tip of your ear.

He grazes his teeth against the shell of your ear and you let out another noise, this one far more pathetic than the last as he simultaneously inserts his fingers back into your cunt. “That teach you to not tease me like that ever again, Doll? How’d it feel, huh? Knowing Akutagawa was aware of everything that was happening under this table? Could see how tight his pants were when he got up. Y’know, he has a little crush on you? It was cute how he tried to stop this from happening. Shoulda kept him here and let him watch as I fuck you dumb into this table.”

“Chuuya-” You let out a sharp gasp when his fingertips graze that sensitive spot, making your walls flutter around him already. 

You spent hours pent up thanks to him and now that you were finally alone you pray he finally lets you cum. Luckily for you, your prayers are heard. Chuuya quickens his ministrations and brushes his index finger against your clit messily.

Your mouth falls open and a string of moans flow out as your walls tighten around  Chuuya. The taut cord in your abdomen finally snaps and you’re seeing stars before your vision goes completely white. Your ears feel plugged, everything sounding like you're inside of a long tunnel. You feel something wet running down your chin and you distantly think it might be your own drool. You collapse onto the table, but you don’t get much time to think because you’re being yanked up by a pair of strong arms. 

“We’re not done yet, you still got at least one more in you, yeah?” Chuuya litters kisses across your jawline and brings his hand up to your mouth. “Suck.”

You’re barely lucid enough to understand what he’s saying but you get the gist when he impatiently taps his fingers against your mouth. Pink and swollen lips warp around his middle and ring finger, then you peer back at him as you suck and twirl your tongue around the digits. You hum around his fingers in appreciation and the vibrations go straight to his dick that is now free from his pants and nestled between your thighs. 

Chuuya removes his hands from your mouth when he’s sure you’ve cleaned all of your own juices off. When he takes his hand away he’s almost immediately bringing it back and stuffing something in your mouth you look down and your eyes widen — Your panties. He had kept them with him all day. Your eyes flutter at the thought and you can’t help but to press your ass into his hips.

The executive lets out a hum. “Since you’re so worried about getting caught. Can’t have anyone else hearing you now, can we, Baby?”

To keep you from removing the fabric from your mouth, he takes both your arms and holds them securely behind your back with one hand.

You moan but the noise gets lost in the fabric stuffed in your mouth. Chuuya smirks at your response and finally guides his cock to your entrance, bending you over the table again. When he sinks into your slick cunt, you both sigh out moans, his noises louder than yours since he can let them out freely. His hips stutter on their own and his free hand takes purchase on your hip so he can give himself a moment to ground his eager body.

“Shit, you’re s’fuckin’ warm and soft. God damn- Feel like ’m gonna cum already, the fuck are you doin’ to me, Doll?” The ginger’s head lolls back and he starts languidly thrusting in and out of you.

You whimper, trying to respond but resigned to simply look back at him with pleading eyes.

“Hah…Ok, ok. Don’t gimme that look, I got you.”

Chuuya’s pace picks up and it’s not long until his hips are slamming into you. The whole table rocks, loudly scraping against the marbled floors. You desperately try to keep yourself upright but one particularly harsh jostle has your core muscles loosening, giving out on you and you sink into the cold surface of the tabletop.

Muffled noises catch in your panties and Chuuya is letting out a string of curses. Your hips are twitching and thighs trembling from the oversensitivity and you’re embarrassingly close to cumming already. Though, from the way Chuuya’s hips are stuttering and losing their rhythm, you’d say he isn’t too far off either. 

As if he can read your mind, Chuuya voices your suspicions. “Fuck, fuck, Doll.  Gonna- shit- ‘m gonna cum, you close? Gonna cum with me, yeah? C’mon, Baby, cum with me.”

His hand sneaks around your hips and his fingers find your clit with ease. Just a few passes and pumps of his cock and your clamping down on him while wailing into the material stuffed into your mouth. Your vision goes white again, black creeping in at the edges, and your ears start to ring. You distantly hear Chuuya’s moans and his hips still as he spills into you, cumming just as hard as you.

You try to catch your breath and after a few moments your vision returns and the ringing turns into a slight buzzing. Still disoriented, your head becomes dizzy again when Chuuya flips you around so your back is now resting on the table. You don’t know how much time has passed nor do you remember where you even are at this very moment

All you know is Chuuya.

The man in question regains himself faster than you and removes the makeshift gag from your mouth. He carefully pulls his now softened cock out of your hole and quickly plugs you up with the very same panties that were in your mouth just seconds ago. The loss of him filling you up hits you and that’s when all your senses finally come flooding back and you return to the boardroom finally.

“What are you doing?” You croak out and you wince at the hoarseness of your voice. 

The ginger doesn’t respond. Instead he leans back down to rest his head on your chest. A grunt leaves your throat at the sudden weight and the pressure he puts on your stomach makes it hard to keep anything from spilling out of you.

You can’t believe you still have to tidy up when all you want to do is get into bed with him and sleep. After the stunt he pulled, you should be furious with him, but he was right in his confidence earlier. There would have been no repercussions because Chuuya is invaluable to the Port Mafia. 

That doesn’t stop you from feeling bitter.

“Chuuya-” You’re about to scold him, tell him to get off of you because he volunteered you both to clean up and all you’ve done so far is make a bigger mess, when he cuts you off.

“I know, I know. Just- Gimme a second, ok?” And how are you supposed to say no when he nudges his nose against your chin and rubs his fingers into your hips so soothingly?

[uhreo]

[🍎] yandere loser nerd oc x reader!

( cw. sub!character, dom reader, degradation, dry humping, hair pulling, spitting, lmk if I forgot anything. )

( oreo's notes — reader is mean-mean in this one.. not dubcon since both characters are in some sort of weird relationship that they're both aware of and consent to. I kind of imagine reader as a gyaru in this one. + my reqs are open! )

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He doesn't stand out much from the crowd, if one were to search for him in a crowded hall it'll be impossible to spot him due to how well he blends in. He was just that normal and mundane looking. maybe that was why he was always the target of nasty remarks, he looks like one of those typical loser nerds you'll see in cringy highschool romcoms.

Maybe that's why you took a liking to him.

He just looked so cute with his bouncy messy curls that always manages to hide some of his features, his large circular glasses that's too big on him and makes his already large eyes seem more larger, and his mannerisms similar to a hunted prey; always having his head down and never making eye contact with anyone else. He was always shaking in his seat and bouncing his leg as if something was going to happen to him.

And maybe there was.

“Hey freak-o, you've got a lotta nerve to try and take a peek under my skirt earlier.” You slung your arm around his shoulder as you notice how he tensed up immediately at your touch as if you were burning him with your skin.

“I asked you a question, didn't I? Or did all that attentive listening to the loud ass  teachers finally shattered your eardrums?” your fists knocked against the side of his head, your face going closer to his face to examine the expression he was making and just as you expected–he was breathing heavily now with a deep red hue present on his face as his eyes seemed to be clouded and glazed over.

Freak.

His eyes turned away from you in embarrassment and that made your frown deepen. his hands that was on top of his lap was clenching the fabric of his pants—the loser was obviously trying to hide the prominent bulge in his pants.

“ah-! uh-  I didn't.. uhm..” He clenched his eyes shut to try and avoid your intense gaze that was locked on his trembling figure. “speak up, dumbass.” your hand that rested on top of his head combed through his curly locks as you pet his head gently and he knew that shit was about to go down for him if you suddenly started getting gentle with your actions. 

“I- uhm.. I didn't try to– ah!” your hand fisted his hair, your long nails digging into his scalp so deliciously. “fuck– you couldn't even keep up a proper conversation without moaning and humping like a pathetic dog.” your mouth turned into a grimace as you harshly pulled his hair and turned his face around to face you– and then you spat at him.

oh god—the feeling of your wet spit traveling down his cheek was making his body vibrate with excitement and arousal. he was shaking with need and anticipation for what you'll do next— just imagining the possible scenarios that could happen to him was making him tether to the edge.

would you make him lick your shoes again? would you spit on the floor and lick it all up like a desperate thirsty dog? step on him while calling him a good-for-nothing and his only use was to be your dildo? just the thought of those happening was making him more and more closer to the edge—

“are you even listening? shit, we haven't even gotten started and you're already drooling.” he let out a pathetic needy whine at your words and choked out moan soon followed when your heeled shoe suddenly stepped on his hands that was covering his weeping dick, the amount of pressure you were applying was sending sparks all up his spine and into his mush brain.

“uh– ahn! hahhh...” one of his hands left its previous spot as he gripped the calf of your leg that was stepping on his cock, “hah- uh– please, m're..oh!” the hand gripping his hair suddenly got tighter as you hissed through your teeth. “who said you can touch me?” fuck, he gulped at the domineering tone of your voice.

“s-ahngh- sorry! didn't mean t-ah-to!” his teary eyes looked up at you, his lips trembled and opened and closed with each word he spouted–the poor guy looked like he was barely even coherent enough to speak and think, his face was flushed as little beads of sweat dribbled down his forehead but he still looked up at you with half-lidded eyes full of adoration. the sight would've all been cute if he wasn't desperately humping your shoe like a whore.

you digged the heels of your shoe a little bit harder into his cock–it was enough to make him cum from the stimulation and with a little bit more of humping from his hips his eyes suddenly rolled back as he was blinded by a white light that made his body tremble, his hips stuttering from the sudden burst of pleasure—he bit his lip to stifle the loud moan paired with a whimper signaling his orgasm.

The male heaved in breaths desperately as he moved his other hand and joined its pair that still held on to the calf of your leg to try and ground himself from the orgasm that muddled his brain, there was a visible wet stain now on his pants that made him feel sticky.

“who said you could cum?”

fuck, he was in for one hell of a ride...