#think I’ll go back to using my other brush

[kateschi]

through the cold, with you

synopsis: amid the biting cold of patrol, katsuki finds his own way to keep you warm.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: was listening to a song and it went "i would burn my words to warm you up" and i want that kinda devotion tbh

the night air is sharp, biting at your skin as you walk through the quiet streets on patrol. the chill settles into your bones, making your fingers stiff and your nose go numb.

you pull your jacket tighter, but it feels like the cold is winning, no matter what you do.

beside you, katsuki strides ahead, his steps purposeful and his posture as commanding as ever. he doesn’t seem bothered by the weather at all.

you try to shake off the discomfort, but the cold is relentless, seeping through your clothes and making it harder to focus.

you force your steps to keep in line with his, but your movements are slower now. every breath feels like it could be your last.

he doesn’t even notice. or so you think.

another few minutes pass, and you feel your teeth start to chatter.

you glance over at katsuki, his fiery gaze locked straight ahead, his usual scowl firmly in place. h

e’s always been the type to push through anything—cold, pain, exhaustion—and now, it feels like the wind is just another enemy to him.

you, on the other hand, are starting to feel the weight of it all.

just as you’re about to speak up, to mention that you’re starting to freeze, katsuki stops walking without warning. his shoulders tense, and you can hear his breath cut through the air.

you blink in confusion as he turns to face you, his eyes narrowing slightly as they sweep over your figure, taking in the subtle signs of discomfort you hadn’t voiced aloud.

“you good?” he asks, voice still rough but softer than usual. his eyes linger on you for a moment, like he’s waiting for you to admit something, to ask for help.

but he doesn’t push.

you hesitate. he’s been protective of you since you first got together, but there’s a difference between that and actually asking for help.

you try to brush it off, giving him a small smile. “yeah, just a little cold. I’ll be fine.”

katsuki eyes you skeptically. “bullshit.”

you don’t have time to react before he steps toward you. before you even realize what’s happening, his hand is reaching for the collar of your coat.

his fingers brush against your skin as he unzips your jacket without a word, then pulls off the heavy scarf wrapped around his neck.

you open your mouth to protest, but before you can say anything, katsuki is already wrapping it around you, tightening it just enough to offer some protection against the cold.

you blink at him, confused. “katsuki, what—”

“shut up,” he mutters, cutting you off. he adjusts the scarf so it fits snugly around your neck, tucking the ends in carefully. “you’re freezing, and I’m not having you catch a cold.”

he steps back, his hand brushing against your shoulder as he assesses his work.

then, without another word, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a thermos—when the hell did he put that in? “here,” he says gruffly, holding it out toward you.

you take it from him, still caught in the bewilderment of what just happened. the warm liquid inside is a welcome relief to your frozen fingers as you take a sip.

katsuki watches you for a moment, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. it’s like he’s silently making sure you’re okay, his watchful eyes never leaving you.

“better?” he asks, his tone a bit soft. there’s something protective in his voice, the kind of thing you never used to hear from him. you take another sip of the drink, nodding.

“yeah, much better. thanks.”

he huffs, his lips twitching in that small, familiar smirk that only you get to see. “you better be, or I’ll drag you back home and shove you under a heater myself.”

you laugh, the sound warmer than it’s been in the last hour. his eyes soften for a second, and for a moment, you swear you catch a flicker of something affectionate in them before it’s gone.

it’s like he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but there’s no mistaking the care he’s showing.

you glance up at him as the silence stretches, a little unsure of what to say next. but he’s already taking a step forward again, his body language a silent invitation for you to follow.

“come on,” he says, his voice commanding as ever. “let’s get this patrol over with.”

you start walking beside him again, feeling the warmth of the scarf wrap around your neck like a promise.

the cold is still there, but it’s manageable now. it’s bearable. and, somehow, his presence seems to push it away, too.

you can feel the heat from his side, the way his body radiates strength, and the knowledge that he’s always looking out for you, even when he doesn’t say it out loud.

as you walk beside him, you try to ignore the soft smile that’s tugging at the corners of your lips.

he might act like he doesn’t care much for these things—gestures of affection, quiet acts of love—but he shows it in his own way. and, in the end, that’s all that matters.

katsuki steps forward again, his arm sliding around your waist and pulling you into his chest with surprising force.

“stop shivering, damn it,” he mutters, the rough edge in his voice doing nothing to hide the concern underneath. his body heat surrounds you as he keeps you pressed close, his hand firm against your back.

you stiffen for a moment, unsure of how to respond to the sudden proximity, but his warmth is undeniable. your body relaxes against his, letting the heat from him seep into you.

there’s something comforting in the way he holds you, like he’s willing to bear all the cold, so you don’t have to.

you tilt your head up slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, which is softer than usual. his face is still serious, but you can see the care in his eyes, the way he’s watching you closely.

for a second, the two of you just stand there, his arms wrapped around you, your body pressed against his.

“and—uh you’re welcome,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

his gaze softens, just slightly, before he turns back and starts walking again, already heading toward the next stretch of their patrol.

a grin makes its way up your face, and it makes your husband blush furiously and press a firm kiss on the top of your head. he is trying to hide—you know that much.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[luveline]

Hii, Jade 🤍 please bring back singledad!spencer, reader and Amanda 🥹 they r so special

—Spencer experiences your first Spencer-brought-upon baby fever, to his shock. fem, 2k 

(cw: reader is written as enthusiastically wanting kids) 

Spencer’s been reading to Amanda since the moment she could open her eyes. By two months she was cooing in delight whenever he spoke, and that included during story time. He didn’t mind that she didn’t understand, he just loved being with her. He still does. 

So when Amy interrupts your conversation to beg for him to read her something, he gives you an apologetic look, asking, “Do you mind?” 

“Of course I don’t mind.” You wouldn’t, you’re like an angel, leaning back on the couch with little urgency as Amy climbs into Spencer’s lap.

“Thank you. Sorry for interrupting,” Amy says. 

“Gosh, you’re so smart,” Spencer says, tucking a curl of her hair behind her ear. “Interrupting, that’s a big word.” 

“Go ahead,” you say, getting comfortable in front of one of Spencer’s woven cushions. “I’ll listen too, if that’s okay.” 

Spencer opens the storybook to the first page. Amy likes this one. The corners of the pages are soft with use. “Cerys’ Brave Day,” he begins, grinning as Avery pushes herself up his chest to look down at the illustrations. “Cerys wakes up without mommy. Cerys makes her own way out of bed. There is no mommy to wipe her face or brush her hair. My mommy, she thinks, is not there.” 

Amy smiles into Spencer’s cheek. He wraps an arm around her, as if to say, I know, angel, it’s exciting. “Her mommy must be having a slow day. She doesn’t appear to give Cerys any help. And Cerys says–”

“No way!” Amy finishes, pointing at the drawing of a bathroom sink and toothbrush. “I don’t want to brush my teeth by myself!” 

It goes on like that for some time. Spencer notices you getting closer as he goes on, your arm pressing to his side. 

Cerys finds that her mommy is having a slow day. Cerys’ mommy is just as loving as the other mom’s, but sometimes she takes longer to help Cerys brush her hair, and get dressed. Cerys has to be a brave, smart girl, and help her mommy with the small things. Spencer enjoys it, and thought it was a great expression of empathy for Amy to one day understand.

“Later, when mommy feels better, she says I’m sorry for being so slow. Mommy didn’t mean to forget her, she just struggles to get up and go. 

“Cerys doesn't want her to be sorry. She loves helping her mommy out. Because mommy loves Cerys, and Cerys loves mommy, and that’s never been in any doubt.” 

Amy turns her face to Spencer with a huge smile, somehow bigger than when it started. “I love that story,” she says. 

Spencer lets the storybook fall closed in her lap. “It’s a good one, huh?” 

“What do you think, Y/N?” Amy asks. 

You’re delighted by Amy in a way Spencer’s used to seeing in the mirror. “I loved it. Daddy’s a good storyteller, and you’re such a good assistant. You know lots of the big words.” 

She preens. “Thanks.” 

You can’t resist her, pushing against the top of her head with a nice palm. “You’re welcome.” 

“Can we have another one?” she asks. 

Spencer checks the time on his watch. Amy realised it was bedtime before he did, it seems. “Come on, lovely girl. Let’s start getting ready for bed, and you can have any story you want.” 

He’s obviously not expecting you to leave, but at the same time, things are new enough between you that when he asks if you want to sleepover, your grinning “Yes, please,” throws him for a loop. 

You have spare clothes and toiletries in the bedroom. You ask to take a quick shower and get all smiley and shy when he says you never have to ask. 

“So dad,” Amy says. 

“So Amy,” he says, pulling down the blankets on her bed. She has five layers because suddenly November is cold. He wonders if she needs a sixth. 

“I can’t sleep in the big bed tonight.” 

“Well, that depends on how badly you want to.”

“Really?” 

“You’ve known Y/N for a long time, right? She’s been my friend for a long time, before she was my partner. I think she’d be okay with having you sleep in the big bed again if you need to. It was your place before it was her place, and she knows that.” 

“Well…” 

He grabs her under the arms and places her in bed. She could use her stepping stool, but he likes picking her up and putting her down. It makes him feel super paternal. “Just think about it, angel. If you change your mind, you can just come and knock the door. 

“Promise?” 

“Honey.” He kisses her forehead twice, before pulling the blankets up over her, and turning on her mushroom night light. “How’s that? Okay, I promise you can still come knock my door. Cross my heart.” 

“Can you stay for a little?” she asks. 

Spencer sits on her bed by her legs. They feel weirdly small under his hand despite the padding he’s given her. “Babe, are you sure you’re warm enough? This does not feel like enough blankets.” 

“It’s loads. Give me a hug.” 

Spencer lays down in her bed, almost falls off, and covers her with his arm. Their curls tangle together on the pillowcase. 

“Like this?” he asks. 

“Exactly.” 

“Amy, you’re using such big words, you’re so smart.” He’s gonna take her for an assessment at some point. He doesn’t care if she’s super intelligent or not, but lately it’s like she’s so much older than she is. A few days ago she said the word discombobulated. “My smarty-pants.” 

“I like big words,” she says. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Remember what Amanda means?” he asks. 

Amy giggles as he shakes her by the tummy. “She who must be loved.” 

“Exactly. Loved by everyone, deserving of love. Always, from the second you were born!” He leans down to kiss her cheek, meeting her eyes as he pulls back. “Okay?” 

She certainly feels loved, he’d wager. He loves her so much it’s like an extra part of his soul in another person. “Story?” she asks. 

“Yes, I did say we’d have one, didn’t I?” He’d almost forgotten. Spencer grabs a couple of her soft backs from the book stand and lets her choose. 

After he’s read a few books and given her a couple of cuddles, Amy begins to list. She presses her nose to his shoulder and mumbles something he doesn’t hear. 

“What did you say, sweetpea?” he mumbles. 

“Just goo’night.” 

“Goodnight. I’ll tuck you in, okay?” 

“Spence?” 

He’d almost forgot you were here. You’re standing in the doorway, arms still damp, pyjama pants stuck to your calves. “Where’s the fire?” he asks. 

“What?” 

“In a rush?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to hear story time. Did I miss it?” 

Spencer kisses Amy again. “I think so. I’m just saying goodnight.” 

You lean against the door. “Goodnight, then, lovely girl.” 

Spencer forces himself up to tuck her in. “Goodnight,” he says again, stroking the hair from her eyes, though they’re closed already. She doesn’t manage to say goodnight back, just touches his arm before he goes. 

You take his hand when he’s close enough. He follows, pressing his face to your shoulder from behind. 

“I like watching you be a dad.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mm, you’re good at it. It’s… I don’t know, I know Amy isn’t my baby, but I do love her, so it’s never not gonna be nice to watch you, and… I’m worried to say this.” 

“Just say it.” 

“Maybe one day, I…” You catch his eye and give him a panicked smile. 

You climb into bed together. He tries to get you to finish what you’d been saying but doesn’t succeed, no matter how nicely he draws that shape you love into your neck. It’s alright, though. It doesn’t matter. He nearly forgets you’ve brought it up at all until you’re lifting yourself up from your place on his chest. “Spence?” you ask, so close it makes him nervous, his stomach twitching of its own volition. 

“What?” he asks. 

“I know it’s soon. I know we’re not… locked in. I was just thinking about our future and our family, and I’m really happy. And– and if you did want to, I guess I wanna know if… would you ever have more?” 

“More kids?” he asks, dumbfounded. 

Your pupils are massive, staring down at him, giving your eyes this darkness so rare in your gaze. “Have you ever thought about it?” 

“Of course I have, especially with you.” 

You fluster but push through. Your laugh warms his lips as you lean down. “Don’t say that.” 

“Isn’t that what you just said?” 

You kiss him. He lifts his chin too fast to follow you and ends up pushing you away. His cheek is burning in your hand, your index finger to the corner of his eye and so, so tender where it touches an eyelash. “Amy’s so much like you, honey,” you say, tucking a long flyaway strand behind his ear. “And it’s all you.” 

Spencer wonders if you’re perhaps entering the ovulation stage of your period, but forbids himself from asking, should he sound like a freak. But surely you can’t be feeling as strongly as you are about this from story time alone. He’s not that good at telling them. 

“It’s not all me. Amy’s herself, and she’s parts of everyone she’s ever met. I think she’s been a lot braver since she met you,” Spencer says. 

He’s not sure what he said there, but you peer down at him like he’s entirely new. 

“Spencer,” you murmur, drawing a line across his cheek.

“I’d love to have a baby with you, I just thought saying that might be too much too soon.” 

“Well, it is,” you say, sounding insanely pleased, at odds with your words, “that’s so soon. You shouldn’t say stuff like that.” 

He thinks he gets it. Spencer covers your hand where you’re been caressing his cheek and brings it to his mouth, giving your knuckles a kiss. “You’re already so caring, you’ll make an amazing mother.” 

“Not just if we have babies though.” 

“No, I know.” His hand acts for itself as he tucks your hand against his neck. “Amy loves you.”

“She’s brilliant, Spence.” And whatever adoring you’d been ladening on him comes to an end. “Her vocabulary is insane for her age, she really is her father’s daughter.” 

You lay yourself across his chest again for a hug. 

Spencer applauds himself for surviving whatever that was. You, eyes dark and imploring, asking him about babies and touching him like that. “Amy would love a baby sibling,” he says. 

“How many should we have?” 

He laughs loudly. The taboo of everything being too soon is forgotten as you and Spencer talk about babies, houses, what middle school Amy might go to, what daycare you could send your babies to. It’s so exciting it makes his chest pang, thinking about living with you, about marrying you. And your enthusiastic answers make it worse. It’s clear you’ve thought about some of this stuff at depth. 

You could really get married one day, Spencer thinks. There’s a real possibility you might say yes. 

“Do you really think Amy wouldn’t mind a sister?” you whisper. 

“She’s asked me a couple of times how she can get one, so yeah. I think we can safely assume she’d like that.” 

“She asked you that?” you coo. “Aw, lovely girl, what did you tell her?” 

“Well, I told her she came from a pumpkin.” 

“You did?” 

“Mm. It was my fault then when she got very excited at Halloween.” 

You giggle into his neck. “When we have a baby, we’ll buy her a pumpkin.” 

“Or a squash, but I don’t think we could fit a baby in a butternut.” 

You hug him nice and hard. Spencer isn’t sure, but he suspects this is the beginning of a very new, very enjoyable chapter of your lives. Even more so when you nose at his jaw and mumble something about his ‘kissability’. 

[littlespoonevan]

your hand in my pocket to keep us both warm

post 8x08 because i'm SAD in a way that can only be eased with buddie hurt/comfort 💔 title from abstract (psychopomp) by hozier

-

Buck is the one to drive him to the airport because who else would it be?

It feels a lot like deja vu as he approaches the glass doors of Departures but his step only falters for a moment before Eddie’s hand is catching his sleeve at the elbow and leading him through them. It’s further than Abby ever let him get.

Eddie lets him go as far the security line and he almost looks regretful when he turns to face Buck.

Buck would like to think he’s handled this well so far. He’s been supportive, helped Eddie choose his new home, listened to his fears about his parents, reassured him about Christopher, promised to oversee the shipping of the rest of Eddie’s stuff next week. He’s done everything right.

It hasn’t made any of this feel less wrong.

They look at each other now, awkward in a way they never are, until Eddie drops his bag and pulls him into a hug without saying anything.

Maybe because there’s nothing to say. Buck’s heart has been lodged in his throat since he parked the car; he’s not even sure he could say anything if he wanted to.

Eddie’s arms around him are a familiar weight though so Buck allows himself to sink into them. To tuck his chin into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder and to fist his hands in the back of his jacket like if he holds on tight enough he might be able to convince Eddie to stay.

When Eddie does pull back he makes no attempt to leave the circle of Buck’s arms. Instead one of his hands goes to that same spot at the juncture of Buck’s neck – always the same spot – and when his thumb makes contact with the divot in Buck’s throat he seeks out Buck’s gaze.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Buck croaks, the tell-tale burn behind his eyes becoming more pronounced by the second.

“Like I’m Abby,” Eddie sighs. “Or Ali. Or Tommy. I’m not leaving you, Buck.”

Buck tries to laugh but it comes out too hysterical and Eddie’s hand tightens on his neck.

“I’m leaving,” he allows. “But I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you,” Buck says, the words wobbling in the middle. His hands are still twisted in Eddie’s jacket.

“And you think I do?” Eddie asks with a half-laugh. “Who am I gonna talk to when my folks are driving me crazy? Who am I gonna talk to when I do anything? Besides, you think Chris will accept you not visiting at least once a month?”

Truthfully, Buck has no idea what Chris wants right now but he clings to Eddie’s words anyway.

“Everyone at work is gonna find me insufferable. It was bad enough that last time you weren’t there.”

Eddie laughs again, thumb brushing Buck’s neck seemingly absentmindedly. “No they won’t. And I’ll be on Facetime so much it’ll be like I never left.”

Buck ducks his head but nods anyway, gathering up the courage to say what he wants to say next. “I know you have to go,” he starts, steeling himself as he makes himself meet Eddie’s gaze. “But please don’t go forever.”

Eddie’s expression blanks, his mouth parting over nothing. Buck can only stare back, hoping that just this once it might be different. That he won’t get a, ‘Take care of yourself, Buck,’ and a hand to the cheek before the person in front of him disappears forever.

Eddie doesn’t touch his cheek. Instead he presses their foreheads together hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Buck’s breath catch and rush out of him on a shaky exhale.

“I won’t. I promise,” Eddie breathes and his hand moves from Buck’s neck to the back of Buck’s head and Buck can’t help wondering for a moment what would happen if he closed the distance between them. If Eddie would kiss him back.

It’s not a thought he’s ever entertained before but he’s thinking it now and it feels…like it makes sense. Like an inevitability.

And what a time to have a realisation like that.

Eddie leans back then and Buck forces himself to unclench his hands, attempting to smooth out the back of Eddie’s jacket with trembling hands.

“You should go,” he says because Eddie won’t.

Eddie nods faintly in agreement and it looks like it takes every ounce of effort for him to take a step back. Buck picks up his bag for him, offers it to him, and tries for a weak smile so Eddie will know it’s okay. That he can go and Buck won’t cause a scene.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get to my parents place.”

Buck nods. “Give Chris a hug for me.”

“I will.”

Eddie starts looking towards the security line again and Buck blurts out, “Tell him I love him.”

Eddie looks back to him, a devastating smile of understanding on his face. “He knows already. But I will.”

Buck nods again and then there’s nothing left to say. Eddie turns to go and Buck does the same because he can’t watch until he’s out of sight. It hurts too much already and he can barely hold his tears back as it is.

He doesn’t need to watch himself get left behind again.

~

He’s just unlocking his car when his phone rings. He doesn’t check who it is as he climbs in, just shoves the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he reaches for his seatbelt.

“Keep me company while I wait for my flight?”

He straightens so quickly the phone almost falls into his lap but he catches it just in time. And he tries to laugh but he thinks it might come out more like a sob. “Keep me company on the drive home?”

“Always,” Eddie says like they’re driving home from work after a long shift.

Buck switches his phone to speaker mode and looks down at the keys in his hand, at the keys to the loft, Maddie’s place and Eddie’s house respectively, considering his options before turning on the ignition.

“So there’s the guy at the gate-“ Eddie starts and Buck lets the sound of his voice wash over him. Allows himself just one singular moment where he closes his eyes and holds his hand to his chest before he pulls himself together and drives out of his space.

Eddie is offering him a play by play of the guy at the gate who’s insisting his luggage is not chirping and Buck gets his breath back enough to make a quip about how that made it through the security scanner.

When he reaches the freeway it takes hardly any thought at all for him to take the exit that’ll get him to the Diaz house fastest.

He’s going home after all.

~

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Daytrip.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (Hunter x Hunter).

Word Count: 5.6k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Prolonged Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Animal Death, Semi-Public Sex, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Isolation, and Stalking.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was, per usual, Illumi’s face.

His dark eyes wide and unblinking, his skin bloodlessly pale, his lips pulled into a thin, neutral line – and all of it no more than three inches away. You were too numb to his off-putting proximity to scream, but you flinched back into your pillow on instinct, and Illumi took the hint, lingering for another half second longer before drawing back. A few months ago, you might’ve scrambled away, barricaded yourself in the smallest corner of your lavish bedroom, but now, you only rolled onto your side, regarding him with the same exhausted resignation that you used to pay to your cat, when she woke you up three hours early for no other reason than her own selfish desire not to spend the small hours of the morning alone.

“What’s up?”

It might’ve been a little too casual of a greeting for your kidnapper, but he didn’t seem to mind. “There are clothes waiting for you on your vanity. The butlers will help you dress as soon as possible.”

 So this was going to be an out-of-bed thing, after all. Reluctantly, you started pushing yourself up. “Are we in a hurry for a reason, or…?”

There was a brief moment of consideration, then a resolute nod from Illumi. You let out an inward sigh. “Okay, whatever, that’s my fault. Why are we in a rush, ‘lumi?”

“I have something planned for the two of us.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought you saw his expression light up. “A daytrip, I believe.” And then, as if as an afterthought, “I’m very excited.”

Illumi’s excitement was normally something you tried to avoid, but your mind seemed to glaze over that and settle on the word ‘daytrip’ instead. Daytrips meant traveling. Daytrips meant activities.

Most pressingly, daytrips meant getting to leave the empty, lifeless, murderer-infested wasteland that was his family’s estate for the first time since he carried you through its gates. You knew better than to say that in as many words, though.

“And for this daytrip, we’ll be going…” You trailed off, gesturing in the direction you felt most strongly would lead back to civilization. “…out there?”

“We’ll be leaving the mountain, yes.”

“And we’ll be going place where other people are?”

“I suppose so, if it can’t be avoided.”

“And your family wasn’t involved with this at all?”

“They don’t think it’s right for you to be given so much freedom so quickly,” he explained. “I disagree. Even well-trained dogs have to be walked.”

For the first time ever, you had to resist the urge to kiss him.

Instead, you only let yourself smile, casting your sheets aside and settling for a brief but bone-crushing hug. “Thank you thank you thank you!” You pulled away abruptly, sliding off of the mattress. “I—I’ll get dressed!”

Illumi didn’t move, didn’t react, but his eyes followed you as you stumbled across the room – happier than you’d been in months.

~

A little less than an hour later, you were spread across Illumi’s lap in the back of a surprisingly conspicuous black car, the divider raised to block a faceless driver from view. It took a concerted amount of effort to keep your attention on anything but the window, but you managed, only sparing the occasional glance towards the passing scenery.

You watched the mountainside spiral downward as Illumi’s hands settled around your waist, measuring the widening gaps between dense patches of forestry as his mouth ghosted over the side of your neck. It’d always surprised you – how tactile he was, how someone so cold could be so fond of peppering feather-light kisses into your collarbones and groping at your thighs. It’d been weeks since the last time you tried to brush off his affection. As far as you were concerned, there were worse things he could do to you than mimic the behavior of a more conventional boyfriend.

(At some point, you’d come to think of Illumi as the unclimbable, unmovable, twenty-foot-tall wall that separated you from freedom. You didn’t like him, sure, but you had to recognize that on your own, you had no chance of getting past, over, or around him. If something happened to render him a little weaker, a little less tall, a little more susceptible to opening his gates, then things might change, but you couldn’t rely on elusive possibilities. The way you saw it, you could either waste your time trying to overcome an insurmountable obstacle, or you could save your energy and try to make things as pleasant on this side of the wall as was humanly possible, given your below-standard working conditions. Until you met someone willing to offer you a ladder, at least.)

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and your eyes flitted back to the window. You were passing buildings, now – houses and apartments, people dotted in front of them blurred mannequins. “Can you tell me where we’re going, or am I not supposed to know?”

He seemed to think for a second, but answered quickly enough. “Brunch, first,” he said, not bothering to pull away from you. “The rest is a surprise.”

You pursed your lips. You used to like surprises, but Illumi had managed to change a lot of things about you. “Is ‘the rest’ something I’ll like?”

 “It’s something you’ve been known to enjoy.”

It took everything you had not to roll your eyes. You’d been ‘known to enjoy’ a lot of things, most of which Illumi had taken away from you.

There was one more open-mouthed kiss pressed into your collarbone, one more stolen glance of the outside world, and then, the vehicle was easing to a steady halt in front of a rustic, almost quaint building. A café, you realized, as Illumi stepped out in front of you, holding the door open while you stared wide-eyed at the perfectly idyllic, perfectly normal restaurant. The cute type, with a triangular roof and a greenery-laden front porch and chipped paint on either side of the front door.

Subconsciously, some part of you must’ve decided that you’d never see anything more charming or more homey than the lifeless grounds of Illumi’s estate again. You opted not to linger on that, as you stepped out of the car.

The interior was similarly fairytale-esque. There weren’t any other customers or wait-staff, which you’d expected, but string lights hung from the rafters, fresh wildflowers sitting in pitchers on each table. Illumi let you choose where to sit, and you shot for a spot closest to the front windows – bay-style and freshly cleaned, the kind of thing you might’ve stared longingly out of while nursing an overpriced latte for the better part of an hour. Suit-clad butlers stood guard on either side of the door, but if you were lucky, you’d still be able to catch the occasional pedestrian walking by. You would’ve given anything to sit in a room filled to bursting with other people, but since you couldn’t have that, you’d settle for being able to watch a handful from a distance.

“You’re staring.”

“So?” You responded to Illumi without looking away. “You stare at me all the time.”

“That’s different. I have a reason to look at you.”

“Which is?”

“I love you.”

It might’ve been easier to believe if he hadn’t said it with all the warmth and all the affection of a corpse, already given time to cool.

You changed the topic swiftly.

“It’s a little nostalgic, honestly. I used to come to places like this all the time, especially before I made any friends in the city. It was nice to feel lonely in a aloof-and-mysterious kind of way, instead of an anti-social-and-depressed sort of way.”

“Oh, you were never really alone.” You didn’t say anything, but you made the mistake of shifting your gaze onto him, of spurring him forward with the reward of your attention. “It was a guilty pleasure of mine – spending time with you before we met. I preferred it when you sat outside. It was easier to smell your perfume, in the open air.”

You grit your teeth. It wasn’t the most disturbing thing he’d ever admitted, but it definitely made the list. “…I think I would’ve remembered sitting next to someone like you.”

If he’d been more expressive, you could’ve imagined him smirking. “You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

There was a brief lapse, a moment of uncertainty on your part. Finally, you asked, “Did I smell… nice?”

“Very.” Illumi didn’t share your sense of trepidation. “Like cinnamon.”

You hummed, and as if by magic, a waitress appeared from the door to an unseen kitchen – white knuckling her pen with one hand and driving her nails into her notepad with the other. She took your orders with a terrified sort of professionalism, and before you left, you convinced Illumi to give you all the cash he was carrying at the moment (a sum that easily added up to half a year’s worth of rent, handed over without so much as a passing question) and left it on the table for her to find.

~

Your second stop was as surprising as Illumi had promised. If anything, he’d undersold it.

If the quaintness of the café had been enough to throw you into a stupor, then the sheer scale of the building in front of you could’ve sent you to an early grave. A mall – a nice mall, either recently built or nestled so far into the upper-class shopping district that you never would’ve come across it organically, the type with glass where there should’ve been walls and a fountain without any coins at the bottom. You were tempted to try and pester loose change off of one of the butlers flanking you, but decided against it. The café, you could’ve stumbled into on your own, without Illumi’s intervention. It just didn’t feel right to leave a mark where you so obviously didn’t belong.

More similarly to the café, though, the inside of the shopping complex was startlingly empty. Butlers and hired security were posed in front of exits, but other than that, it wasn’t hard to believe that you and Illumi were the only people on the property. As soon as you were past the initial entryway, you ducked into the closest store – a high-end cosmetics retailer. The door was unlocked, but there was no cashier at the register. Like someone had already come through and cleared it out.

“This is some backrooms shit,” you mumbled to yourself, and then, to Illumi, ever-hovering just over your shoulder. “You didn’t… you know, do what you normally do to people you don’t like, right?”

“Are you asking me if I killed everyone in this shopping complex prior to our arrival?”

“Well, not everyone,” you clarified. “Maybe just the employees?”

He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth turned ever-so-slightly upward, as if you’d said something funny. “No, that would’ve taken far too much time.” The unnecessary loss of life went unacknowledged. “The building’s rented out, and the stock’s been purchased in advance. You’re only deciding what you’d like to keep.”

Huh.

One day, you were going to sit him down and have a long, long talk about class privilege and resource waste. If you were feeling generous, you might even throw generational wealth onto the lecture, just to make sure he got the full picture.

One day, but not today.

“The third floor always has the best stores,” you said, turning on your heel and grabbing Illumi’s hand, too distracted to think anything of the gesture. “Let’s start there.”

You weaved in and out of stores with reckless abandon, hyper-aware that you had no one’s time to waste but your own. Essentials were overlooked entirely, makeup and self-care supplies limited to eyeshadow pallets with no less than several dozen eye bleeding colors and bath-bombs that were more glitter than pigment, and clothes made up the bulk of your adoration. Everything that wasn’t in your size had already been removed – something as worrying as it was convenient. The only thing you refused to try on was loungewear. It would’ve been practical, sure, but you didn’t need to be reminded that this was likely the last time you’d ever leave Illumi’s sprawling home.

“You know,” you called from a dressing room, pulling a gingham dress over your head. You couldn’t see Illumi, but you were sure he wasn’t far. He didn’t seem to have much of an interest in shopping, but his favorite hobby was looming over your shoulder like some blank-eyed, haphazardly domesticated bird of prey, so it balanced out. “If this had been our first date, I probably would’ve married you.

You heard him hum as a weight settled against the dressing room door. “I enjoyed our first date. It was endearing – how long you rested your head in my lap.”

“Well, yeah. The paralytics you used were so strong, I couldn’t move for three days.” You’d still lose feeling in your left arm, if you held it at the wrong angle. It reminded you a little of your cat, after she first came around to the idea of sitting in your lap. You’d been so afraid of scaring her off, you’d let your legs fall asleep before you so much as thought about moving her. “I just meant that the whole ‘kidnapping’ thing probably wouldn’t have been necessary, y’know? I wasn’t exactly in a place to be picky when it came to creepy rich men.”

There was a brief lapse of silence, and you finally managed to drag the bodice of the dress into place. “I never considered that.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you to hear that Illumi wasn’t the dating type, and yet, you let out a breath of a laugh. “You never thought about asking me out? Not even once?”

“…no, I didn’t.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded shy. “It was hard to be practical. I was distracted. You were perfect, and contained, and I thought touching you would be—” For the first time, his voice seemed to dip, to grow just a little quieter. “—vulgar. It would’ve changed you, to know I was there.”

The skirt was layered, and you bit back the urge to curse as you smoothed over the layers of cotton and lace. “I think being abducted might’ve changed me, too.”

“It was the better option. Something would’ve fallen out of place eventually, but like this, I could save you. Only your environment had to be altered.”

He made it sound like he’d sealed you behind glass, rather than underneath a mansion occupied by the world’s most dangerous killers. You’d known better than to hope he’d be able to come up with a selfless reason for your prolonged captivity, but still. Hearing that you were miserable because he needed a ballerina to decorate his music box with stung more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“…it’s unlocked. You can come in, if you want.” Immediately, you heard the dressing room door creak open, and turned your attention towards your reflection. Out of the countless you’d tried on, there was a reason you’d saved this dress for last. You used to fantasize about being able to afford something so wonderfully needless, something you wouldn’t have had to justify with things as joyless as ‘function’ and ‘practicality’. Even now, the puffiness of the sleeves and the lace detailing around the collar and the tiny, almost impossible-to-see hearts printed onto the checked pattern felt exorbitant – borderline garish. You still didn’t have any reason to wear it, any place you could’ve gone to show it off, but then again, you didn’t have much of a reason to do much of anything when you were with Illumi. You guessed, in a roundabout kind of way, that meant you got to do whatever you wanted to.

Illumi came to stand behind you, and you leaned back, kissing his cheek gingerly. “I’ll add it to the pile. Thanks for this, ‘lumi.”

His hands found their way to your hips, settling there as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Keep it on. It suits you.”

You tried to laugh, but fell short – your smile falling into something more strained. You really shouldn’t have said anything, but you were talking before you could stop yourself, before you could think better of it. “The cinnamon,” you started, speaking against the dryness in your throat. “When I first moved to the city, the only apartment I could afford was flat above a bakery. The ventilation was awful, and the landlord was impossible to get a hold of, and everything I owned smelled like sugar and cinnamon and bread. I couldn’t touch anything sweet for months, after I moved out.”

It was all you could do to bite down on your tongue and force yourself to stop, to shut up, to remember who you were talking to. Illumi’s response was less dramatic – as instantaneous as it was muted.

“How fitting,” he said, with a chime of a laugh. “Sweet things belong in sweet places.”

…

You could only be mad at yourself, really. What else were expecting? It wasn’t like he was going to get down on his knees and apologize, for fuck’s sake.

You sighed, melting into Illumi’s chest. Of course, he welcomed you with open arms.

~

You didn’t end up keeping any other dresses. A few other articles of clothing, a couple pairs of shoes, a small fortune’s worth of little luxuries that’d help you pass the time when you were returned, kicking and screaming, to solitary confinement, but no dresses. Well, aside from the one you were wearing, of course.

It wasn’t long before Illumi started gently ushering you to the nearest exit, and already thoroughly defeated, you didn’t try to resist. You only got distracted once on your way out, and not for very long. Illumi made sure of that.

It was kiosk-type stand – the glass cabinets filled with high-end pet toys and animal-themed tchotchkes. You couldn’t stop yourself, gasping as you broke away from Illumi and darted to the first thing that caught your eye: a bright pink collar with silver spikes, adorable and cliché and so, so cute. It was clearly meant for a dog, but it could’ve fit a cat. Or, you probably would’ve tried to make it fit a cat, rather.  

Illumi appeared at your side, as always, and you started talking without looking up. “I’m sorry, I know we’re in a rush, but it just—” You paused, trying and failing to bite back a smile. “I had this cat before you took me – her name was Ghost. She used to be the neighborhood stray, but she was getting pretty old, and I think other cats were picking on her. Eventually, I just started letting her in, and after a while, she stopped leaving. She would’ve hated something like this.” You held up the collar, gesturing dismissively before forcing yourself to set it back down. “She never really liked me. Whoever took her in shouldn’t have had too much trouble winning her over, after I disappeared.”

“Ghost,” he repeated. “Was she a black cat?”

“Yeah, that’s where her name came from. I couldn’t see her at all at night, and she could knock over anything that wasn’t nailed down. It was like living with a poltergeist.”

“She’s dead.”

You felt something small and vital tear open and start to bleed. “…excuse me?”

“You two were quite close. Had she been given the time, she would’ve woken you up the night I came to get you. I didn’t want that.” It took an embarrassing amount of time for you to make the connection, to form the link, to realize why the pain in your chest was quickly becoming so unbearable. “We can get another, if you’re upset. As a couple.”

The shock was numb, if there was any shock to be had at all. “It’s fine,” you managed, eventually, and despite the strain behind your voice, Illumi didn’t argue.

Instead, he glanced towards the nearest glass wall, to where the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon. “We should go.”

“I didn’t realize we were on a schedule.”

“You weren’t supposed to. I told you earlier – the last stop is a surprise.” This time, he was the one to take your hand, squeezing gently as he laced his fingers with yours.

It might’ve been a nice gesture, if his touch hadn’t been cold enough to burn.

~

You weren’t really sure what the third and final stop was supposed to be, at first.

An old sort of a dream knotted and coiled in your chest as his driver ferried you out of the city, metropolis shuttering into mountain backwoods. You’d never really been afraid of Illumi killing you (not when there were so many things that were so, so much worse than death), but as the car eased to a stop on the side of single-lane road, it was hard to imagine why else he would’ve taken you so far from the nearest scrap of civilization, another reason for him to wear such a bright expression as he ushered you outside - the most impatient he’d been all day. It wasn’t until you saw the trailhead – unmarked save for a wooden post and break in the foliage – that you started to relax.

“Oh,” you mumbled, your relief audible. “I’m not really dressed for hiking, ‘lumi.”

“It isn’t far.” And then, taking your hand in his, “I can carry you.”

It sounded more like a matter-of-fact statement than an offer, but you shook your head, edging forward. He was right, in the end. It couldn’t have been more than half a mile of level ground, Illumi holding your hand all the while. It wasn’t like you weren’t allowed outside on Illumi’s estate, but you spent so much time in the woods that surrounded his mansion and his mother’s gardens – it would’ve been impossible not to go numb to the absence of bird song, the treacherous slope of his mountain, how little sunlight managed to break through the dense canopy of tangled branches and leaves that seemed to lie a little closer to black than green. It was nice to be somewhere else, somewhere with humming insects and a gentleness to the landscape and just enough dappled sunlight to make you forget who you were with. You kept your head on a swivel, quietly eager to soak in as much of it as you could. If you were lucky, you’d actually get to see some life – a deer, or a wildcat, or—

Something caught in your throat, and your head lulled forward, eyes dropping to your feet. You stared at the ground for the rest of the walk.

Your destination was, similarly, storybook levels of idyllic. The forest thinned and fell away entirely, breaking into a lake that stretched on as far as the eye could see and glittered pink in the light of the setting sun. Stretched over the lake’s shore was a blanket piled with platters of chocolate-covered fruit, breads and cheese, bottles of wine with a matching pair of glasses for each option – everything you might’ve once drunkenly listed off to a friend while fantasizing about your perfect, fairytale date. You glanced around you, looking for the butlers who must’ve only just finished setting up, but Illumi was quick to call your attention back to him. You felt him let go of your hand, your body shift before you could process why you were moving, and then, you were no longer on the ground; one of Illumi’s arms hooked under your knees and the other behind your back, your side pulled against his chest in an effortless bridal carry. You made a passing attempt to squirm, but Illumi didn’t seem to mind – keeping you tucked against him as he made his way to the only unoccupied corner of the blanket and all-but dropped to the ground, leaving you splayed across his lap and safely caged within his arms.  It was hard to tell if he was trying to be romantic in his own, blank, heartless sort of way, or if he’d simply decided you weren’t moving quickly enough. For your own sake, you leaned towards the former.

“It’s awful,” you muttered, and then, correcting yourself, “Not the picnic, I mean – that’s perfect. It’s just, I can never tell what you’re thinking.”

He seemed to consider that, for a moment. A chocolate-covered strawberry was plucked out of the nearest bowl and held to your lips, and to appease him, you bit into it. Your throat still felt too knotted for you to actually enjoy eating, but it was good to keep Illumi happy. “Most of the time, I think about you,” he admitted, any hint of shame absent from his voice. “It’s an issue. It doesn’t affect my work, but it’ll start to if left unchecked.”

He thought about you while cutting down innocent civilians. Great. “And you’re not going to fix that by drowning me in a lake, right?”

“No, I’m not.” Like your question, his answer was too sincere for comfort. The way his free hand toyed with the hem of your skirt did little to ease your nerves, either. “I’ve tried keeping an amount of distance between you and I, but that hasn’t yielded much progress either.”

If he’d ever tried to keep himself away from you, you hadn’t been able to tell. His hand slipped under your skirt properly, and you twisted, reaching for the neared wine bottle. “There’s so much food here, we should really—”

“It can wait.”

It was awful, just how even his voice was. For the first time, you were tempted to give him a reason to raise it.

You’d never resisted Illumi, but he’d never tried to—tried to do this, either. There’d always been an unspoken barrier when it came to sex – your resounding horror shadowed comfortable within his apparent disinterest. Now, though, he didn’t seem very disinterested, and your lingering terror was brushed neatly to the side as his fingers grazed over your thighs, your hip, before slipping underneath the thin, silken fabric. You wanted to thrash, to bolt, but you were suddenly unable to move; paralyzed save for the reflex to clench your legs shut and sink that much deeper into Illumi’s chest. The former was undone with only as much effort as it took him to ease your thighs apart with his knee, though, and the latter only seemed to bring a soft smile to his lips – just barely prominent enough to feel as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve thought to look for his butlers, to worry about passing hikers or concerned locals he wouldn’t think not to hurt, but Illumi had done his job well. It was impossible not to consider yourself wholly and entirely alone in the world, when you were with him.

He was less clinical than you would’ve expected. Illumi did most things with surgical precision, but touching you seemed to call for a more experimental skillset. His chin came to rest on your shoulder as his long fingers spread and explored underneath your panties, the tautness of the fabric ensuring that he always moved against you, rather than over or around. Undressing you never seemed to cross his mind; instead, his attention was trained on dragging the pad of his thumb over your clit, on using his ring and middle fingers to trace the slit of your cunt. You weren’t turned on – who could be, with their stoic kidnapper fondling them like a child learning to handle their first doll? – but your body and your mind were on two different tracks, one eager to make the best of a bad situation and the other too distraught to stop it. It wasn’t long before you could feel yourself dripping around him, your arousal adding a damp heat to your already claustrophobic point of connection. Illumi hummed. “You’re sensitive.”

You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was drowned out by a hitched gasp as he thrust two digits inside of you with a wet click. “Tight, too,” he muttered, almost absentmindedly, immediately falling into a pattern of pumping and scissoring; spreading you open and pulling back only to fuck his fingers that much deeper. When he paused, it was only to curl against something particularly sensitive inside of you, to leave you shrinking that much further into his chest. “Is this uncomfortable?”

The practicality of the question caught you off-guard. You couldn’t call it considerate, but it was more than you’d expected, more than you ever would’ve hoped for. Unable to speak, you nodded furiously, and Illumi clicked his tongue. “You’ll be alright,” And then, slightly softer, “It couldn’t be any worse than what I had to deal with, waiting for you.”

There was no bitterness, no remorse, no pity; just Illumi’s cold rationality and the feeling of his palm grinding into your clit. The only warmth you could feel was the ghost of his breath on the side of your throat, the dip of your shoulder – not quite panting, but a world apart from his usual absence of expression. You tried to steel yourself, to think about anything aside from Illumi’s presence where it draped across you like a funeral shroud, but it’d been months since the last time you so much as thought about touching yourself, and for all his apathy, you could feel heat pooling in your core and recognize that your attempts to stave off the inevitable were only prolonging the insufferable. Still, it would’ve been impossible not to try and choke back your whimpers as that heat brewed and solidified into something more tense, something more breakable; as Illumi’s cheek pressed into the curve of your neck and his fingers curled against something soft and unprotected inside of you. Your climax was drawn out of you slowly, painfully, with a ragged whine in place of a moan. You kept your face buried in Illumi’s chest, your hands balled around the bodice of your dress. It felt like an eternity passed before it was over, before Illumi’s hand drew back, but no relief accompanied the distance.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to hate Illumi for it, not really. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel much of anything. The only thing you could think, as hard as you tried not to think at all, was that you missed your dead cat.

It was pathetic, honestly. A sob tore past your lips as he pulled you away from his chest and lowered you onto your back, tears burning twin tracks down your face. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d made you cry, and this shouldn’t have been your tipping point – not Ghost, not your awful shoebox apartment, not the fact that you could hear fabric tearing as he pulled your dress apart, too impatient to so much as consider a less destructive solution. You were in hysterics by the time he glanced up, the faintest possible frown coaxing the corners of his lips downward. “You’re crying.” And then, when your only response was another jagged cry, “Why?”

You opened your mouth, but only managed to force out another incoherent sob. Illumi softened, leaning over you, his dark hair forming a curtain that seemed to replace the rest of the world with unending void. Eventually, you managed to scrap up the only thing you could, even if it wasn’t what you really meant. “I—I want to go home, Illumi.”

He cocked his head to the side, staring down at you with a sort of blank focus. A moment passed, then another, before his expression brightened. “Oh.”

He leaned down, and you felt his lips brush over your forehead. His smile bit into your skin like a blade.

“We will, love.” He pulled back. You heard fabric shift, felt something hot and terrible slot against your cunt. “Just not yet.”

 You moved to respond, but gave up quickly. His mouth crashed into yours as he thrust into you and your blood ran cold.

~

Later on, in the dark, things became bearable again. Illumi was cruel, psychotic, delusional, but he was dutiful, too, and with the most beautiful dress you’d ever seen reduced to scraps, he wrapped you in his jacket and gathered you in his arms. The picnic was untouched, the breath-taking view painted over by night. None of it mattered, of course. You were too exhausted to keep your eyes open, and a bottomless pit occupied the space your stomach used to. You wouldn’t mind going the rest of your life without taking anything of the filthy, unfeeling outside world inside of you ever again, but you knew better than to swear off eating because of Illumi. Or, at least, you hoped you’d know better in the morning.

You were only half-conscious of him pulling you against his chest and starting back into the forest, following the same path you had an eternity ago. It was a stupid question, but you found yourself asking anyway, your voice low and hoarse. “Are we… Are we going somewhere?”

“Of course.” Illumi bowed his head, kissing the top of yours. “We’re going home.”

He didn’t know he was lying, but he was. He might’ve been, but you weren’t.

Slowly and with no small amount of effort, you managed to nod, slumping against his chest. No sooner had you went slack in his arms than the final tether to consciousness thinned and fell away, leaving you to be consumed by the darkness.

[infamous-light]

The Witch's Game Ch. 2 (End)

Agatha Harkness x Maximoff! Reader

Ch. 1

AO3: The Witch's Game

Summary: Life in Westview had always been dull and uneventful until Agnes, a charming and mysterious woman, arrived.

Her presence brought a spark to your otherwise monotonous world, and you quickly found yourself drawn to her, developing an undeniable crush. But as you grew closer to Agnes, you began to realize that there was much more to her than meets the eye.

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: Manipulation, smut, strap-on use, oral, fingering, loss of virginity, mind manipulation

You stood before Agnes’s door, your heart fluttering with nervous energy.

The tin of cookies in your hands suddenly felt heavier, your palms clammy against the metal as you raised a fist to knock. The sound of your knuckles rapping against the front door was sharper than you intended.

The door swung open a moment later, revealing Agnes, her smile as radiant as ever. She stood framed in the doorway, her figure draped in a lavender sundress with a white belt cinched around her waist. You couldn't help but think she looked beautiful.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor!” Agnes greeted, her voice warm and full of cheer, as though your arrival had made her day a little better. “What brings you here, hon?”

You held up the cookie tin, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “My mom baked these and she thought you might enjoy them.”

Agnes’s gaze flickered to the cookie tin, her eyes widening with delight.

“Why, aren’t you two just the sweetest!” She exclaimed. As she reached for the cookie tin, her fingers brushed against yours – a fleeting touch that sent a subtle tingle up your arm, the warmth lingering longer than it should. “Well, don’t just stand out there like a stranger – come on in!”

Agnes stepped back, her hand sweeping in a welcoming gesture that urged you inside.

Her house seemed to embrace you the moment you entered, a warmth in the air that clung to your skin. The walls were adorned with a collection of antiques, each piece more unique than the last, while odd little trinkets sat scattered atop shelves and tables. There was a coziness to the space, the kind that made you feel welcome, yet there was an edge to it. It was as though every object had been carefully placed for reasons you couldn’t quite understand.

“Why don’t you take a seat, sugar plum?” Agnes’s voice brought you back to the moment, sweet and easy. She gestured toward the couch. “I’ll make us some chamomile tea.”

You nodded and sank onto the couch, the cushions giving slightly under your weight. Only a few minutes had passed before Agnes reappeared, gliding into the living room with a silver tray in hand, steam rising from the teacups resting atop it.

“Here we go.” She said with a small smile, placing the tray carefully onto the coffee table.

Agnes adjusted her skirt as she lowered herself onto the seat next to you, far closer than you had expected.

“So,” she began, her voice gentle but probing. “How are things? Is everyone doing alright?”

Agnes's gaze lingered on you, and it felt as though she were reading you more deeply than you would like. Before you could respond, Agnes reached for the teacups on the tray, picking up her cup and yours.

“Here,” she said with an easy grace. “You must be thirsty.”

You took the delicate teacup from her outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

Lifting the cup to your lips, you took a tentative sip, feeling the warmth unfurl through your chest and settle low in your stomach. Beside you, Agnes shifted in her seat and leaned back with an air of relaxed ease, crossing one leg over the other. The movement caused the hem of her dress to ride up, revealing more of her bare thighs. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, focusing on the tea.

“Ah, where are my manners!” Agnes blurted out with a theatrical wave of her hand. “I apologize for cutting you off earlier, sweetheart,” she said, her mouth curling to an almost coy smile. “So, tell me – how have you been? Not stirring up any trouble for your dear old mother, are you?” Her tone carried a teasing edge.

She raised her cup and took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes still fixed on you. The intensity of her gaze made the air feel heavier, and you found yourself suppressing a nervous chuckle at her playful words.

“I’m doing fine,” you replied, setting your teacup down on the coffee table with a soft clink. “I've just been reading and watching TV mostly.”

Agnes’s smile stayed perfectly in place as she set her teacup down as well.

“Reading and watching TV, hm? Sounds rather... dull.” She leaned forward, her fingers grazing the top of your left thigh, the featherlight touch sending a jolt of warmth throughout your body. “Perhaps I can spice things up for you.”

Your breath hitched, catching in your throat.

“I – uh, A-Agnes – what are you –” You stammered.

Your mind went on a fritz, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

Agnes reached up, her fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that felt anything but innocent. Her blue eyes bore into yours, half-lidded, smoldering with an intensity that made the space between you shrink.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” she murmured, her voice husky. “I see it in the way you look at me. You’re attracted to me, aren’t you, darling?”

Her words struck like a sudden storm, and heat flared in your cheeks, burning your skin with embarrassment. The way Agnes caught onto your crush so easily made your heart stutter and falter in its rhythm. It left you speechless.

As Agnes leaned in closer, the air between you seemed to thin, your throat going dry under the weight of her gaze. Her lips hovered mere inches from yours, soft and inviting, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“You’re so... innocent,” Agnes purred, her breath tickling against your cheek. “So easy to read.”

And then, before you could even process what was happening, her lips were on yours – warm, insistent, and utterly consuming. For a moment, you were frozen, shock flooding your body. But her lips were impossibly soft, coaxing you into something deeper, something that made your mind spin, and you found yourself melting into the kiss.

Agnes gently guided you back onto the couch as she moved to straddle you. Her lips broke away from yours and found the sensitive skin of your throat, peppering long, tender kisses that turned into firm sucks, each one leaving behind a burning mark. Meanwhile, her hands roamed with purpose, tracing the dip of your waist, and the curve of your hips until her fingers worked their way to your jeans. Slowly, she undid the button before tugging down the zipper.

Suddenly, you stiffened, your nerves rising to the surface in a way that was impossible to hide. Agnes noticed immediately and pulled back just enough to study you. Then, her lips quirked into a sly, predatory smirk.

“Do you need me to slow down?”

You shook your head. “No, it's just –” You paused, your chest tightening with a mix of anxiety and longing. The thought of losing your virginity to a much older woman, your neighbor – especially your mother's friend, felt surreal, almost forbidden, but at the same time thrilling. Deep down, you knew you wanted this. You wanted her. You were just... scared. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” You finally admitted.

Agnes chuckled softly as her fingers brushed against your jaw.

“I can tell,” she said, tilting your chin to meet her gaze. Her smile softened, her teasing tone giving way to something more reassuring. “But that's okay. I'll take care of you. I won’t do anything that you don’t want me to.”

Her words eased some of the tension in your chest, making it easier to draw your next breath.

“O-Okay, you can keep going.” You managed to say, your voice trembling but resolute.

Her lips curved, a flicker of pride in her expression. “Good girl.”

Your cheeks warmed at the praise, a flutter of unexpected shyness overcoming you. Agnes’s eyes twinkled in delight at your reaction before she refocused her attention back to your unzipped jeans.

Her hands inched their way toward the top of your pants and with a firm grip, she hooked her fingers into the waistband and pulled them down. A satisfied smile played on her lips as the fabric pooled around your ankles. Next, she turned her attention to your underwear and slid it off, leaving you exposed and vulnerable before her.

“There we go,” Agnes cooed as she tossed the garments aside. “Much better.”

With gentle pressure, Agnes spread your legs, her touch soft yet insistent. Ever so slowly, she lowered her head, allowing her warm breath to ghost over your clit, making you gasp a little. Then, the tip of her tongue flicked out, teasingly light at first, tracing the tiny nub before circling it slowly. Your hips bucked involuntarily, and Agnes chuckled, the vibration sending another sharp wave of pleasure through you.

“So responsive.” She crooned.

Her tongue continued its rhythmic dance, swirling around your clit with increasing intensity. Each pass brought you closer to the edge, the pressure building like a dam inside of you. Your body tensed, every muscle tightening as anticipation coiled within. However, nothing could have prepared you for when Agnes wrapped her lips around your clit and gave it a harsh suck. Stars burst behind your eyelids, hips jerking violently as a loud moan broke past your lips.

The feeling was made even better when one of her fingers slipped between your wet folds, sliding into you slow and steady. Your walls clenched around her, so tight from the onslaught of sensations that you felt almost full, even with just one finger inside. Your hips continued to move, bucking against her mouth, seeking more, needing more. Agnes matched your rhythm, her tongue and finger working tirelessly, relentlessly in their pursuit of your pleasure.

The dual stimulation was almost too much to bear – her finger plunging deep inside of you while her mouth worked magic on your clit. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping onto the couch for support as you cried out, your voice breaking as you finally came over the edge.

Agnes’s mouth never left your clit, her tongue working furiously to prolong your release, drawing out each spasm until you thought you might shatter into a million pieces. When the intensity finally began to subside, Agnes eased off, her tongue moving with lighter, comforting strokes. Your body felt boneless, completely spent. She pulled away and licked her lips, savoring your essence.

“How was that?” Agnes asked, her voice laced with satisfaction.

You could barely form any words, your mind still reeling from the experience.

“Amazing.” You panted.

Agnes flashed you a devilish smirk as she pushed herself off the couch.

“I believe it’s your turn to make a girl feel good,” she said playfully. “What do you say?”

You nodded eagerly, feeling a surge of excitement and nervousness at the thought of being able to please Agnes in return.

“Yes.” You breathed out.

With a mischievous smile, Agnes reached behind her back and began to unzip her dress. It fell to the floor in a pool of fabric, leaving her adorned in nothing but black lace lingerie that clung to her figure. She reached up to unclasp her bra, revealing the soft curve of her breasts. She let the straps slide down her arms before allowing it to drop by her feet. Her fingers then slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, slowly pulling them down her smooth legs before she gracefully kicked them away. You couldn't help but stare as you took in the sight of Agnes, standing tall, naked, confidence oozing from every pore.

Closing the distance between you, Agnes reached out, grabbing the collar of your shirt with a firm grip. She pulled you toward her with a quiet but commanding force.

“Take the rest of your clothes off.” She demanded in a low tone.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Once done, Agnes hummed in appreciation as her gaze swept over your naked form, a slow, satisfied smile curling at the corners of her lips. Without warning, she shoved you back onto the couch and swung her right leg over your head as she settled herself on top of you. Agnes gazed down at you, her piercing eyes gleaming with wicked delight as she drank in the sight of your flushed cheeks and wide eyes, clearly relishing your reaction to this new position. It was quite adorable, really.

“Oh, this is precious,” Agnes purred. “I think I’m going to make you beg for it.” Her fingers threaded through your hair, the motion slow and deliberate, before her grip tightened sharply. “Go on,” she ordered. “Beg.”

Your scalp tingled under the strain.

“Please, Agnes,” you gasped. “Please, let me taste you!”

Agnes tilted her head and hummed, pretending to think. The sound lingered, low and taunting, before she finally chuckled.

“Alright, hon,” she said, her tone dripping with mock leniency. “You may. I'll go easy on you, just this once – since it's your first time and all.”

You licked your lips in anticipation as Agnes finally lowered herself onto your face. Your hands immediately wrapped around her thighs, the smooth skin feeling warm and alive under your fingertips. As the tip of your tongue made contact with her slick folds, she let out a low moan and shifted her hips, urging you on. You tried your best to explore every inch of her, your tongue tracing sloppily over sensitive spots but she still gasped and trembled above you.

Agnes’s fingers weaved through your hair again, tugging you closer as she adjusted her position. Her hips rolled forward, grinding down onto your mouth insistently, demanding more. You obliged, your hands sliding up to grip her ass, squeezing the flesh as you shoved your tongue deeper into her folds. Your mouth opened wider, taking in as much of her as you could. You alternated between long, languid licks and quick, darting flicks.

Agnes's breath faltered, a wanton moan escaping her lips as she arched her back, pressing herself even harder against your face.

“F-Fuck!”

You felt a surge of pride at her reaction, knowing you were doing something right.

Your tongue curled around Agnes’s clit, sucking gently as you continued to lap at her wetness. Her slickness flowed freely now, coating half of your face as she rode your mouth. Her hips moved faster; the rhythm erratic as she chased her high.

“I'm so close,” Agnes said breathlessly. “Keep going.”

Encouraged by her words, you redoubled your efforts, your tongue flat as you pressed it hard against her clit, circling it rapidly. Your hands moved back to her hips, guiding her movements as you worked to bring her over the edge. Agnes responded immediately, her body shuddering, her hips bucking wildly as her release crashed over her.

Agnes moaned uncontrollably, her nails digging painfully into your scalp as she held you in place, grinding her cunt against your face. Her juices flooded your mouth, the flavor overwhelming as she came hard. You drank her down, swallowing every bit of her as her body shook with the aftershocks. Agnes finally collapsed forward, her weight pressing you deeper into the couch as she hovered over you, her chest heaving with each ragged breath.

“Well done,” Agnes murmured. “You did pretty good for your first time.”

A small smile touched your lips as her fingers slid through your hair again, softer this time. She exhaled deeply, her breaths gradually evening out. With a smooth, almost feline grace, Agnes eased herself off you.

“But we’re not done yet,” she said, her voice laced with mischief. “I've got a surprise for you. Go ahead and close your eyes, and don’t even think about peeking until I say so.”

Your curiosity grew as you wondered what it could be.

Still, you complied, letting your lashes flutter shut. The faint rustle of fabric reached your ears, followed by an odd series of muffled sounds – a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in the stillness, paired with a soft whoosh, like air displaced in an instant. The combination was strange, almost unnatural, and you furrowed your brows.

“Alright,” Agnes finally said, her voice carrying a sense of anticipation. “Open your eyes.”

You followed her instruction, and your gaze immediately locked onto her. The sight before you made the breath freeze in your throat. Agnes stood by the coffee table, a harness wrapped securely around her hips, its dark leather straps hugging her form while a purple dildo jutted out between her legs.

How did she get it on so fast?

Your mind grappled with the new visual stimulation. Yet, beneath the initial wave of surprise, an undercurrent of nervousness rippled through you. “Oh wow…”

Agnes tilted her head slightly, her expression calm but observant as she arched a single eyebrow. “Are you okay with this? If it's too much, we can stop.”

Her concern stirred something reassuring within you, and you shook your head, swallowing hard. “No, it's fine,” you said quickly. “I’m okay with this.”

Her smile widened, stretching just a touch too far.

“Good,” Agnes soothed. “Now, just relax.”

You inhaled deeply, her words grounding you, steadying the racing beat of your heart. The tension in your muscles gradually dissipated, replaced by a growing sense of curiosity and eagerness.

Agnes moved closer and shifted slightly, positioning the toy at the entrance of your arousal. You felt its cool surface press against you, sending goosebumps across your flesh. Her hand guided it gently, not pushing, just teasing. The friction built, your body responding positively, betraying your earlier nervousness.

“That’s it,” Agnes whispered. “Feel it.”

The sensations were overwhelming – the pressure, the coolness, the wetness. It made your back arch a little as she began to move forward, the toy sliding into you inch by inch. Her lips curled into a satisfied, almost predatory smile as her gaze lingered on your expression, savoring the way your features contorted with unrestrained pleasure.

“I hope you're ready, doll,” she husked. “Because I intend to take my time with you.”

You bit your lower lip as Agnes finally bottomed out inside of you, sending a sharp thrill through your body. She started slow, testing the rhythm, but soon her movements quickened, each thrust purposeful and precise. Agnes seemed determined to bring you to the edge, to make every second of this moment feel intense.

“You’re taking me so well.” Agnes praised, sounding slightly breathless.

Her purple cock shone with your wetness, sliding in and out of you with a slick sound that drove your arousal higher.

The pressure inside of you grew, coiling tighter and tighter, searching for release. Agnes leaned forward, her body pressing against yours, the soft swell of her breasts brushing along your chest as she quickened her pace. In one fluid motion, Agnes reached for your wrists, her fingers wrapping around them with a firm, almost possessive grip. She pinned them beside your head, the weight of her touch leaving no room for resistance or escape.

“Agnes,” you moaned, your voice sounding shaky. “Please...”

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing along your earlobe. “Please what?” She taunted. “Tell me what you want, honey.”

Your heart raced, pulse quickening as you struggled to find the words. “I need... I need to come.”

Agnes grinned, her eyes glinting with a dangerous, playful light.

“Oh, do you?” She said mockingly.

Agnes’s grip on your wrists tightened, her fingernails digging into your skin as she continued to hold you down.

“Please.” You begged, your voice on the verge of cracking.

It was becoming too much to handle – each ridge, every subtle curve of the toy, felt impossibly good as it plunged deeper into you. Your body quivered, each breath a struggle against the rising pressure between your legs. Finally, Agnes relented, her pace quickening, force intensifying with each thrust, driving you closer to the edge.

“Come for me.” Agnes demanded.

Her words acted like a trigger, releasing the pent-up pressure. With a cry that echoed throughout the living room, you came undone, your body trembling underneath her. As the tremors began to subside, you lay spent and sated, your chest heaving with exertion.

“You’re such a good girl.” Agnes cooed, reaching out to smooth away the stray strands of hair that clung to your damp forehead. Her fingers lingered, tender and affectionate as they caressed your skin.

“I try to be.” You joked, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Agnes smirked in response.

“So,” she began, drawing out the word, “how was your first time with me? Be honest – I’m dying to know if I lived up to all your wildest dreams.”

Agnes’s expression was mockingly sweet, but there was an unmistakable edge of humor in her voice that made it impossible to tell if she was genuinely curious or just enjoying making you squirm.

You felt your cheeks warm, but you managed a small, sincere smile. “I… enjoyed it. More than I expected, honestly.”

Her grin widened, and she let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, I knew you'd enjoy it,” Then, with a dramatic sigh, she withdrew from you. “But we both look like we've been through hell. Come on – we need to freshen up. I’ll be upstairs. The other bathroom is down the hall, first door on the right.”

“Okay.” You replied.

Agnes cast you one last lingering look, her eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. Then, she rose from the couch and turned toward the staircase. The quiet sound of her footsteps gradually faded as she disappeared from view. Alone now, you took a deep breath, allowing yourself to process the moment before eventually rising to tend to yourself. You gathered your clothes and made your way toward the bathroom to clean up.

***

Once dressed, you step out of the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you.

As you made your way back to the living room, something caught your eye – a flash of purple light, sudden and sharp, flickered in your peripheral vision. It was fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye, but it drew your attention. Turning toward the source, your eyes caught sight of a door you hadn’t noticed before. It stood slightly ajar, a faint purple glow slipping through the crack.

Your brow furrowed, curiosity and unease prickling at the back of your mind. What could that be?

After a moment’s hesitation, you pulled the door open, its hinges groaning in protest, and stepped cautiously into the narrow passageway. Along the walls, faint purple markings, intricate and almost alive, snaked along the surface, glowing dimly as though they held some kind of hidden power. At the far end of the basement, an ancient-looking book rested on a pedestal, its cover cracked and worn with age.

You couldn’t help but wonder: Who was Agnes, really?

Goosebumps rose across your skin as the question lingered in your mind, unease coiling tighter with each passing second. Something about all of this felt wrong – deeply, irrevocably wrong.

Turning to leave, you froze mid-step, your breath stuttering as you spotted Agnes standing at the base of the stairs. She now wore a form-fitting purple sweater paired with sleek black pants. Her piercing gaze locked onto you, sharp and unrelenting, while a sardonic smirk appeared on her lips.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to go snooping around in places where you don’t belong?” Agnes drawled, her voice oozing with a mixture of amusement and scorn.

The air around you grew heavy, humming with a charged energy that raised the fine hairs on the nape of your neck. Before you could react, an unseen force wrapped around you like a pair of vines, snaring your wrists behind your back and anchoring your ankles together. Your feet left the ground, the sensation both jarring and disorienting as you were lifted a full foot into the air. A strangled gasp escaped your lips, your throat tightening with panic.

Agnes' laughter rang through the air. “What's wrong? Afraid of a little height?”

It was then that the full weight of what was happening hit you. You weren't just dealing with some regular old nosy neighbor – Agnes was a witch. The thought sent a chill down your spine, every nerve alight with unease. She had hidden it so well.

But now, the questions gnawed at you: Who is she? And what does she want?

You blinked rapidly, trying to steady the wave of dread that threatened to choke off your breath.

“W-Who are you?” You managed to force the words out, your voice quivering with uncertainty. “What do you want?”

Agnes's eyes gleamed with a cold, unsettling amusement, as if she had been savoring this exact moment. She took a few deliberate steps closer, her heels clicking ominously against the concrete floor.

“The name’s Agatha Harkness,” she said, each word dripping with quiet menace. “As for what I want,” she tilted her head slightly, a shadow of a grin playing at the corners of her mouth. “I want your mother’s powers.”

Your breath hitched, and your eyes widened in disbelief. Why would she want your mother’s powers?

Agatha cast you a knowing glance, as if she could read your thoughts as clearly as an open book.

“Your mother has something I’ve been seeking for years. Her powers are unique, rare... and I intend to take them,” she paused, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her lips. “Though, I must admit, you’re making this far easier than I anticipated.”

A flicker of confusion crossed your face. “What do you mean?”

You tried to struggle against the magical restraints, but they held firm.

“Do you recall last week?” she asked, her voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “When I mentioned a certain little secret I knew about you?”

Your stomach twisted uneasily as the memory resurfaced. You gave her a hesitant nod. Agatha leaned in, her face hovering inches from yours. Slowly, a cruel smirk appeared on her face, as if savoring the discomfort she was about to provoke.

“You have no powers.”

A cold rush of dread slammed into you, raw and suffocating. She… she knew. Agatha knew that fact about you, a truth you hadn’t even dared to fully understand yourself. Why? Why did your mother, father, and even your two brothers possess powers, but not you?

Agatha pulled back, her eyes never leaving yours.

“I have to say, I was surprised when I sensed that about you. The daughter of the Scarlet Witch – powerless.” Her voice was mocking, but there was an odd, almost amused edge to it, as if she found some strange satisfaction in the irony.

What? The Scarlet Witch? Your mind raced, confusion gnawing at you. What was she talking about?

Agatha began to circle around you.

“I don’t know what Wanda was thinking, making you so… ordinary,” Agatha mused, more to herself than to you. But then, her eyes glinted with something far darker as she rounded on you. “Do you want to know something interesting? Your mother kept a secret from you all. A big one too.”

Horror flickered across your face as her words sank in, but Agatha was far from finished.

“Westview isn’t a normal town,” she began. “Your mother’s no innocent little housewife. She created you and your brothers in this so-called hex. A twisted, pathetic little world, shaped by her grief. She couldn’t bear to face the loss of your father, so she trapped the entire town in her delusion. She just couldn’t let him go, so she built this cage. A cage of her own making, and you… you are nothing more than a product of that sorrow.”

Her words hit like a slap to the face, leaving a sting that lingered long afterwards. This was not possible… and yet, it would explain the strange behaviors you had witnessed from all the people living here.

“My mom… created all of this? Trapped us?” You said, your voice frail, barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears. “And me? Are you saying I’m not even real? That I’m just… some manifestation of my mom’s grief?”

Agatha’s cruel smirk deepened.

“Yes,” she purred. “It’s ironic, really. Your mother wanted to keep you safe, to hold on to something, but instead, she trapped you inside a hex where you can’t exist beyond its borders. It won’t be stable forever.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you tried to make sense of it all. “But… but why tell me this? What do you want from me?”

Agatha tilted her head, feigning innocence as her eyes glittered with malice. “Oh, darling, I don’t want anything from you. You’re just a simple little target, something to wield against your mother,” her grin stretched wider. “And that’s precisely why you’ll make this so easy for me. To answer your earlier question.”

Agatha stepped closer, her presence overwhelming as she raised two fingers near your temple. A low chuckle rumbled from her chest, deep and unsettling. “But that’s enough for now. It’s time to put you down for a little nap.”

“No! Wait!”

Agatha’s eyes gleamed with an eerie purple glow, and the world around you began to warp, blurring at the edges. Your thoughts became a tangled mess, slipping further out of focus with each passing second.

“And by the way,” she added, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “I can’t wait to see the look on mommy dearest’s face when she finds out I popped her daughter’s cherry.”

Agatha’s cackle bounced off the basement walls as your memories twisted and faded into nothingness.

“Sweet dreams, pet.”

The words lingered in the air like poison, a final kiss before the darkness fully consumed you.

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Run, Rabbit, Run

Fred Weasley x reader

Requested by: @fuckyeahphelpstwins-blog

Request: “Fred Weasley with Playboy reader”

A/N: Thank you for the request! I didn't know whether to go down the ‘reader is a playboy model’ route, or the ‘reader dresses as a playboy bunny’ route. So I just thought “I’ll start writing and see where it takes me”. For one of my earlier twin shorts, I added ‘Bunny’ as a nickname given by George, but I think it's time for Fred to steal it.

T/W: Unprotected sex, Bathroom sex, Mirror sex

Being a businessman had its perks. After paying Harry back for the loan on the shop, the twins felt as if they were rolling in money. For the first few months, all they did was travel and enjoy the perks of having their first taste of freedom and a paycheck. They travelled across the south of England, showing their wares and merchandise to both the young and old, the rich and poor. They were even invited to have lunch with some of the big name toy companies to discuss branching out.

They didn't pay attention to the posters aligning the clubs walls, thinking it to be regular tat about prices and menus. But if they had, they would have seen the promotion of a ‘playboy party’. Maybe then they wouldn't have been so shocked to see various beautiful women strutting around the venue in skimpy leotards and bunny ears. They seemed to have taken the place of the wait staff, some were even flirting with the business men who drooled over their youth and beauty. The businessmen fawned over these young women like they were the first flowers of spring.

The hostess (also adorned with bunny features) led the twins to their booth where a gentleman sat in a crisp suit, a whiskey glass resting in his hands. The twins had had plenty of business meetings before, but this one felt contradictory. It was professional, yet the giggling bunnies that surrounded them felt almost like having a meeting in the middle of a themed strip club night. Maybe Fred would have kept his thought track on the business straight and narrow if you hadn't wandered over to his table.

That tight little black leotard and that irresistible pom pom of a tail just drove him wild. You even reminded him of a bunny. Innocent, tender. The picture of naivety that just called to him. Sure, you weren't dressed so innocently, but he could tell by that little glimmer in your eye that you didn't walk as big a walk as your heels suggested. Fred could hear your heels before he even laid eyes on you, and he fell hard.

You had always dreamed of being a model, to see your photo in the latest magazine or even on a big billboard. Some told you to dream on while others decided to open the door for you. Sure, prancing around in a bunny costume wasn't exactly modelling, but these were the type of people that could hand you your dream on a silver platter. And besides, flaunting never hurt anyone.

The ginger pair that came through the doors of the club didn't exactly look well to do. Their dull orange suits stood out in a sea of black pinstripes and navy linen. They didn’t scream money, but your legs carried you to their table before you could even stop them. You leaned down, your elbows on the table.

“See anything on the menu you like, gentlemen?”

While George and the potential investor gave their orders, Freds eyes stayed glued to you. Your eyes, your face, your curves, your legs. Anything that wasn't hidden was a feast for his eyes. He didn't need a menu to know what he wanted, but taking his order home with him would take some persuading. Fred’s eyes looked back up at yours only to find them looking right at him, an expectant look at your face. He kept his cool, a sly grin on his face.

“Well rabbits not on the menu, but i'm sure a pretty bunny like yourself wouldn't mind making an exception if I fancied a little taste”

Although you were used to comments like these, they made you blush every time. You let out your usual giggle and brushed your hand against his arm.

“Oh stop it or you’ll make this bunny blush”

Fred knew how cliche this was. He was no better than a hound dog. But instead of barking at this bunny, the bunny was driving him barking mad. He watched you saunter off, that fluffy little tail on your leotard capturing his attention. When the round of drinks came out a moment later, he couldn't believe his eyes when he lifted his glass only to find a note tucked into the fold of the napkin.

‘Meet me by the bathrooms X’

Now that was an offer he couldn’t turn down. Fred excused himself and left George to discuss business. The sight of you leaning against the wall beside the women's bathroom made his smirk widen. He pushed the door to the women's room open and gestured inside, following you in after.

Luckily for the both of you, the door had a lock. Meaning that no tiny bathroom stall was needed. As soon as that lock clicked, his hands went to your waist to lift you onto the sink counter. No words were needed as your lips found his. Red lipstick smeared and transferred, painting his own lips. Your hands snaked around his neck to pull his face closer. You wanted to see just how many lipstick kisses you could leave on his skin.

Fred pulled back and lifted you from the counter to turn you around and bend you over, your face inches from the mirror. Your hair was slightly messed up but your lipstick took the most of the carnage. Fred really couldn't help himself as his hands massaged their way up your thighs. That soft little bunny tail was just sitting there, he couldn't not tug on it.

The tight leotard fortunately wasn't too tight around your crotch, meaning that he could pull the gusset to the side and give himself access to the thing he craved most in this moment. Considering you had people fawning over you every day, he was honoured to find you wet for him. Fred’s fingers trailed through your folds, collecting your juices like a man finding water in the desert. He brought those fingers to his lips and sucked your sweet juices from them. This little bunny was sweeter than strawberries and cream.

He unbuckled his belt and pulled his throbbing cock out before his hands returned to their natural place on your hips.

“Maybe if you beg nicely, little bunny, I’ll give you a nice big cock to hop on”

Fred may have been just as eager as you were, but he just knew you'd sound so pretty if you begged him to fuck you. He wanted to hear you say his name…which he had yet to tell you. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, his breath hot.

“Beg Freddie to fuck your little bunny cunt and I’ll let you cum before I go”

He could hear the soft whine that slipped from your lips, making him chuckle and press his lips behind your ear. He had to hold himself back from sliding deep inside of you. Good girls begged for what they wanted.

“Please fuck me, Freddie. Fuck my little bunny cunt until I soak my little cotton tail”

Fred’s eyes lit up when you did as he asked. How could he refuse such pretty begging? He lined his tip up with your eager entrance and thrust in with such force, you nearly kissed the mirror screwed to the wall before you. It was hard to stop the moan that was threatening to escape your throat, one that could alert any passing patrons to your unprofessional activity. There was most likely a queue already forming outside of the ladies room.

His cock pummelled your insides, making more of your juices coat his shaft. His grip on your hips was tight while his other hand tangled in your hair to pull your head up.

“Look at that pretty face. I bet you wouldn't let those other guys smudge your lipstick. You wouldn't bend over the counter for them, would you bunny?”

You looked at him in the reflection, trying to keep your eyes from closing in bliss. Every thrust of his hips made it hard to talk in anything other than whines and moans. His cock pulsed inside of your tight hole.

“No, just you, Freddie. No one else. Please, I need to cum”

Fred chuckled and gripped your hair tighter, using it to fuck himself deeper.

“Well, well, well, turns out my little bunny is actually a minx. You wanna cum on my cock, you’ve gotta be a good girl and look at me while you make a mess”

Your eyes stayed glued to his, watching every expression that crossed his face as he pummelled your insides. The way his brown eyes glazed over and his mouth fell open with every squeeze of your walls. His grip on your hip tightened before he came, his cum painting your insides as your own orgasm hit. The scent of sex permeated the air, the sound of your panting bounced off of the tiles.

Fred pulled his cock out of you before readjusting your gusset back into place. He was determined to keep a little piece of himself inside of you while other men undressed you with their eyes. He smirked at the sight of your face. Your mascara had started to run from just how good it felt. He stroked his hand along your hips, holding you up as you came down from your high. He tucked himself back into his trousers before pulling something out of his pocket and stuffing it into your bra.

With one last wink, he left you in the bathroom. You pulled the item out of your bra to find the napkin you gave him earlier. Flipping it over, you found something that made you grin.

A phone number, followed by ‘Call me, Little Bunny’

[grainscharacter]

read on ao3

There are a few things that Grian has been… too preoccupied to think about, with all of his worries about making the desert defendable, but not hazardous (because surely either he or Scar will forget about any traps he sets, and trigger them, and he is only green, technically).

His to-do list is long enough that, if he were to put it to paper, it would probably fill up a whole book. So it’s understandable that something has to fall to the wayside.

It’s not bad—really, it’s not!—it’s just slightly annoying, when he’s building and his hair falls into his face, or when he’s making his way through a forest and it gets caught in a stray branch, but it’s nothing terribly inconvenient.

It’s just—in the desert, he hasn’t really have the time to cut it, and now it’s getting long enough to be truly dangerous if he were to get in a fight, and he never learned to style long hair.

He can put it up in a messy ponytail, but it always comes out quicker than he’d prefer. So. What’s even the point?

He’s weighing the merits of chopping it all off, dagger in hand, when Scar comes into the fortress and gasps.

“Grian!”

He pauses.

“Don’t cut off your hair, Grian! It’s just too pretty, and I never get to see your hair all grown out and long like this!”

Grian lowers the dagger away from his hair, but doesn’t put it down, “It’s too long. There’s no point in keeping it if it's just going to get in my way.”

“It won’t get in your way! And, really,” and here Scar puts his merchant voice on,“if you think about it, all cutting it is gonna achieve is make it awkward in a week or so when it’s too long to do anything with.”

Grian tilts his head and shrugs. He already can’t do anything with it; he doesn’t know how to. He likes the feel of his hair long like this, but it really, really is not worth it. “I guess.”

“Oh!” Scar says, “I get it! You don’t want to do your hair! Well don’t you worry, Mr G-Man, I have got that 100% covered! Scar’s hair services, coming right up!”

“I—Scar, no!”

“What?” and now he sounds sad.

“I just. I don’t know how, Scar. It’s not worth it.”

“Awh, come on, I’ll do it for you!” and then, as if worried Grian won’t let him, Scar says, “I’ll even teach you! Easy and simple!”

“Alright, alright,” Grian relents.

Scar beams, and gestures for him to go sit on the bed. Grian goes, and sits with his back to scar as he bustles around looking for… something, Grian’s sure.

He feels Scar’s presence behind him right before he speaks, “Well, G, we’ve gotta start with brushing all of your tangles out, which, mister, I’ve only seen you do a few times. Really, it’s easier if you do it more often.”

Grian hums as Scar drags the brush lightly through his hair. It pulls some, and is a little painful, but Scar seems to be doing something to make it hurt less than when Grian does it, so it’s not even unpleasant.

They sit in a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the brush, before Grian fees Scar’s hands in his hair again.

“Okay. We’re not going to do anything fancy here—you need to be able to do it by yourself, and you haven’t ever braided your hair before—which is a shame, because you would look uh-mayyyy-zing with those wonderful elven braids I used to have.”

Grian can feel him… parting? his hair. He thinks that’s correct. He does know the basics of how a braid works, at least.

“Okay. We’re gonna take three even strands of hair—just separate it all out, for the simplest braid—and layer them over each other. You’ve done this before, for rope. It’s just like that, only you do it more by feel than sight.”

Grian hums again.

“Here, you try.”

He reaches back and finds the strands of hair, then tries to clumsily weave them together. He doesn’t do well, but he’s not doing terribly, so there’s that.

“Yeah! Like that!” Scar says, and then, “But I wanna do a Dutch braid, which is a tiny bit more complicated, on you today. That way you can probably leave it in for a few days, if you’re careful with it.”

Well, okay. That’s fine. Scar’s hands in his hair have a calming effect, so Grian doesn’t even feel a little bit bad about nodding and settling back into the bed with his hands in front of him.

Scar keeps up a gentle narration as he unbraids the part of Grian’s hair they had braided together, and then as he separates Grian’s hair out again. Grian’s not listening at all, and, as Scar establishes a rhythm, he can’t keep his eyes from slipping shut, for a moment.

It’s nice. Scar’s hands in his hair are gentle and warm, and he’s pulling at it softly, at a steady rhythm, and gradually, Grian finds he isn’t at all worried about his long to-do list, or about thinking up any fun traps.

Scar’s voice gradually gets quieter as he goes on, but he never stops talking entirely. Not until, an indeterminate amount of time later, he ties a ribbon at the end of the braid he’s made and tells Grian he’s done.

Grian hums back sleepily, but he doesn’t make any move to get up. He does the opposite; now that his head doesn’t need to be accessible he can slump back against Scar’s chest, which makes Scar laugh.

“Yeah?” He says.

“Yeah,” Grian says back, and doesn’t feel even a little bit stressed as Scar gently moves his head to the side to settle into the bed himself and runs his fingers over the braid he just made.

“It suits you.”

“Mm?”

“Long hair. The braid. It suits you.”

“Oh,” Grian says, sleepily, and then turns over with his head in Scar’s lap, “Of course it does. You made it.”

[ghostgirl-22]

what was patrick’s reaction to seeing art in his skimpy briefs for the first time? 👀 he’s only ever seen him in baggy boxers so how do you think he’d react seeing art’s thighs and ass in those panties?

Oh he definitely went crazy…

CW: 18+ !NSFW!

—-

Patrick’s sneaking into their hotel room because he woke up to a message on his phone saying: come now Lily’s still sleeping. Luckily enough he was hard when he woke up. Well that wasn’t so much luck as it was a day ending in y.

Tashi smiles at him, easing her panties back on as he walks in. It’s all she’s wearing, black lace panties and she pulls a grey t-shirt over her head.

“Wait, no…you guys couldn’t wait for me,” Patrick says exasperated, tugging at her t-shirt and pulling her close to him.

Arts lying on his side, slightly flushed under the blankets staring at them.

“We texted you 20 minutes ago,” Tashi says.

“I just woke up. First thing I did was brush my teeth and come over.” Patrick looks her over, she’s glowing. Beauty that takes his breath away especially when she’s this close, full lips that look so soft and her doe eyes gazing at him. He kisses her, he can’t help himself and as her lips part for him, he eases his tongue inside. She pulls back curling her manicured fingers into his hair.

“Give me a minute I’ll be right back and then we can— you know,” she says.

“Where are you going?”

“My mom called, I’m gonna take Lily over there and then I’ll be back.”

Patrick glances back at Art, he’s still laying there, chewing his bottom lip.

“I should’ve slept in here, no text was gonna wake me up after that fucking grueling match.” He grumbles.

“It’s too confusing,” Tashi sighs. “We introduced you as Uncle Patrick. And her other uncles don’t sleep with mommy and daddy.”

Patrick grins. He knows it’s not appropriate but he loves when they refer to themselves as mommy and daddy. He sighs and attempts to slide his fingers inside her, her panties are already soaked.

“I said… wait,” She bats him off playfully and he licks his finger tips.

“Mmkay mommy,” he smirks and she rolls her eyes. A million years later he’s never forgotten the way she tastes, it melts like candy on his tongue. “You should’ve told her I’m scared of the dark and need mommy and daddy to protect me.” Patrick says.

“Yeah, tell her that and there would’ve been four of us in bed.” Art says, coolly.

“Exactly,” Tashi says. She grabs a pair of jeans that were draped over the chaise lounge and steps into them. Patrick still can’t believe that she’s real. That any of this is real.

Tashi leaves the bedroom and Patrick lingers a moment, pondering whether to come back later or stay. He still hasn’t talked to Art. Not in the way they should. He would have fucked them both last night if he could, but they were both too busy being mommy and daddy and daughter and son in law while they all went out for a celebratory dinner so Patrick was forced to be on his best behavior.

Art rolls over to look at his phone, he’s stretching out on the bed and that’s when Patrick gets a peek.

His ass in tight little briefs.

That was never Art’s thing before but now he’s all grown up. And good god did he grow up. Instead of boxers he’s all packed into that slutty barely there fitted underwear.

Patrick rubs himself idly through his boxers as Art turns back to look at him. “So this has to be your dream come true?” Art says.

“Uh huh,” Patrick says distractedly, thinking Art must be talking about his ass in those panties. Now that Arts on his back, the blanket no longer covering him, Patrick can see the line of his cock in the briefs. He’s not entirely hard but he isn’t soft either.

“This works out just perfectly for you,” Art continues dryly, oblivious to the way Patrick is fixated on him. “You get to keep fucking my wife and now all I get is to know when your doing it. Maybe this was your plan all along.”

“Sure,” Patrick smirks, he’s not really listening to him. The words he’s saying. It just nonsense. None of it stings the way it did 48 hours ago in the sauna when Patrick simultaneously wanted to fuck him and fuck him up. Now it just sounds like meaningless words in his familiar know-it-all lilt.

All while Art’s body is making so much noise. His thighs, creamy white contrasting with the dark blue underwear, peeking out from beneath the blanket. Solid, toned, just like his perfect fucking abs. Patrick wants to bite at the cut of his waist. He’s so clean shaven Patrick knows he won’t find much hair there if any, when he gets those fucking briefs off. Maybe he doesn’t want to take them off. Maybe he wants to push them to the side, suck him off while they're still on. Hear Art moan as they’re pulled too tight squeezing his balls.

“You know you can’t just get rid of me that easily.” Art is still talking, talking, talking.

“Uh huh,” Patrick climbs on the bed.

“Like even if she likes you more I’m still her husband. And I beat you yesterday which means—”

”What?” Patrick asks, pulling the blanket down so everything is exposed. “What does it mean?”

“It means— w-what are you doing?” Art asks.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“She’s— she’s probably talking to her mom, she’ll be back in a minute.”

“Yeah I know,” Patrick nudges his thighs. Art’s cheeks are suddenly blooming with color. “Is that all you wear when you go to sleep? Hm?” Patrick asks, softly.

“I uh— some nights.”

“It’s so—“ Patrick pulls at the briefs trying to get a good look inside.

“Patrick.” Art breathes, pushing his hands away. But he’s going from kinda hard to the fabric stretching so far it’s just barely able to contain him.

“What? I hear you Art. Blah blah blah. It’s my dream come true that I get to fuck your wife. Blah blah blah. I can’t get rid of you. You think I want to get rid of you? You really think that’s what I fucking want? That I’ve been waiting over a decade just to get rid of you.”

Art’s staring at him. He’s trying to go for confusion but his eyes are hooded. His chest is heaving.

“Does she fuck you like a slut?” Patrick asks gently, Art takes a breath and tries to look away but Patrick touches him again which makes him push back.

“God look at you,” Patrick sighs. Art’s gripping the sheets next to him, the flush has spread down to his chest. He looks like he belongs in a museum. Something too beautiful to touch. It just makes Patrick more eager to take him apart.

“You walk around in those and you’re really gonna pretend she’s never fucked you?” Patrick continues. “Or that in all those years since we kissed, in all those locker rooms filled with hot naked boys you’ve never let anyone just… slip it in.”

Art shivers. “I mean—just because I— it doesn’t mean I’m— it only happened when—-” The know-it-all tone has been replaced by silly attempts to figure out how to tell Patrick the truth or what the appropriate lie might sound like. Patrick rubs him through the cotton till he’s pitched a bit higher. Teases where the fabric has started to dampen with his precum and Art’s stammered words turn into full bodied moans.

Drunk with the sound Patrick moves to start mouthing the outline of his cock through the fabric of the briefs. Breathing him in, tasting him while he continues to palm him and rub him off.

“Oh god, Patrick. oh my god,” Art loses it moments later, moving his hips, moaning like a cat in heat. It’s ridiculous how quickly it happens. Patrick is throbbing in his boxers as he sits back to watch. Gently rubbing as Art comes all over the briefs. The wet spot expanding wider and wider. Art bucks his hips helplessly in the after shocks as more and more spurts out. Soon it’s so much come it’s soaking through in a way that’s just fucking obscene. Patrick makes a mental note to get the briefs off and pocket them, the way he’s done with women’s panties in the past.

“Mm,” Art sighs. He doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed when he’s all done. He just climbs on Patrick’s lap and starts kissing him. Like it’s this thing he’s always wanted to do but never felt like he had permission until now. He takes a minute to rub his face against Patrick’s cheeks like he just wants to feel the hair there. It’s actually kind of adorable. But Patrick can also taste Tashi all over Art’s lips which is actually kind of… filthy.

Patrick ruts into him, a few times, not even on purpose, it just happens because he’s so fucking hard. Art seems to take the hint. He starts grinding. Patrick’s lap, his mouth, his brain is all full of Art. Only the thin fabric of his boxers and the briefs are keeping Patrick out. It’s so juvenile and yet so fucking hot, letting Art ride him like this. He must have done this before. Patrick just knows he’s been fucked before. The way he’s humping and moaning like a little fucking slut.

Patrick’s muscles still ache distantly from the way they played yesterday and the ache feels so delicious. It’s enough to bring Patrick over the edge.

“Mm fuck,” he groans in Art’s ear, stilling as wave overtakes him. Art hums, moving his hips a little slower.

“Oh fuck,” Patrick says again breathlessly. He takes Art’s face in his hands and Art grins at him. “Yeah… speaking of my dream come true,” Patrick whispers. Art licks his lips before Patrick kisses him again.

[paigesbasketball]

Under Oath

Prologue

NEW YORK CITYThe buzz of the city below barely reached the quiet sanctuary of my office, high above the chaos. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a sprawling view of Manhattan, but I was too busy typing away at my desk to notice. At 25, I had accomplished what most could only dream of—an undergraduate degree from Syracuse, a law degree from Yale, and a career as one of New York’s rising legal stars.

I was in the zone, preparing briefs for my next high-profile meeting, when my secretary, Sammy, knocked on the doorframe. “Ms. Johnson, you have a call from UCONN on line two.”

I froze. UCONN. Just hearing the name stirred an old, bitter ache. It wasn’t my pain, exactly—it was my sister’s. Her time there had been a nightmare, filled with humiliation and hardship. Picking up this call felt almost like a betrayal of everything she’d endured. But duty called. I sighed, composed myself, and answered, “This is Catayela Johnson, Esq. How may I help you?” My voice was professional, but there was a tinge of annoyance. People rarely called my office without an appointment—it was practically an unwritten law.

The voice on the other end made me pause.

“Hey, girl! How’s it going? Are you free right now?”

I blinked in surprise. “KK Arnold?”

Most people knew KK as a lively, chatty social media personality, but I knew her differently. She was my childhood best friend, the one who had been my rock through thick and thin. Without her, I doubted I’d even be here today.

“Girly, I’m never free,” I teased, “but I think I can make an exception. What’s up?”

Her voice shifted, becoming unusually serious. “Would you come to UCONN?”

I laughed nervously. “KK, I told you I’d catch one of your games someday. It’s just been hard—”

She cut me off sharply. “It’s not about that. It’s a legal matter.”

The shift in her tone immediately put me on edge. Concern crept into my voice. “Does this need to be handled at UCONN, or can you come to my office?”

There was a muffled sound on the line—whispers I couldn’t quite make out. My worry deepened. “KK? HELLO?”

“Oh, sorry!” she said, snapping back. “I think it’s best if you come up here tomorrow.”

“Alright,” I said, already mentally rearranging my schedule. “I’ll clear my day. See you tomorrow.”

As I hung up, I leaned back in my chair, staring out the window. What could KK have gotten herself into? “Sammy,” I called out, “cancel my meeting tomorrow. Just one, right?”

She nodded and immediately set to work.

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

AT UCONNKK’s POV

The team stood around me, their expressions a mix of anticipation and skepticism. I tucked my phone away and turned to face them.

“She said she’ll talk to me tomorrow,” I announced, shrugging. “So I guess we’re driving to New York.”

Confusion rippled through the group. Jana tilted her head. “Wait—did she say we all could come to the office, or just you?”

I hesitated but brushed it off with a grin. “Okay, fine—she technically said just me. But trust me, she won’t mind. I’ve known her my whole life.”

Jana didn’t look entirely convinced, but before she could argue, I threw my arms up. “Alright, Huskies! Next stop: New York!”

The team broke into excited chatter, but I noticed one person hanging back. Paige sat in the corner, her expression distant and sad.

“What’s up, Captain? You look like you just lost a game,” I said, nudging her playfully.

Paige glanced at me, her blue eyes glassy. “I need a different lawyer,” she said softly.

I blinked, confused. “Wait—I just got us one. And trust me, she’s good. Top-tier. Yale graduate. One of the best in the city!”

“It’s not about that,” Paige said, shaking her head. “It’s…personal.”

I frowned. “Personal? What are you talking about?”

She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I knew her when we were kids. It didn’t end well. She’d never willingly help me—not after what I did.”

“What could you have possibly done?” I asked, stunned.

Paige’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “Something unforgivable. And the worst part? I still have feelings for her.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “I wish I were. But trust me—what I did was bad enough that she’d refuse to help me, even under oath. ”

[silluuuu]

Keep you safe and keep you dreaming

hi friends! wrote a quick lil sickfic for ficwip's 1000-word challenge (write a fic with exactly 1000 words) that doubles as a gift to my no-longer-sick friend @anxietybard!! thank u to @toweroftunes for the beta!! pls give it a read under the cut or on AO3 <3

She hates when he’s sick, and he can’t help feeling guilty about it.

Soul tosses another tissue into the trash-can heap, watching as it tumbles down the mound of bunched-up microbes and nestles itself against the rim. He lets out a sigh that is noisier than usual, mucus corroding the sides of the exhaust pipe that is his throat.

He understands the root of her discomfort, of course. It’s not so much the present cough and sniffles as it is the memories it brings back. It’s the past that eats at her soul, for lack of a better word. Because when he’s sick, she makes herself sick with her own consumption, her own acidic bile of regrets. He knows what she sees, when he’s lying in his own bed in the apartment: the Soul of ten years prior, bedridden and feverish in an infirmary cot, looking like the first cut into an ultra-rare steak.

He tries to remember this, to empathize with this, when she’s being the way she is now, three hours deep into a WebMD rabbit hole and shoving both remedies and conspiracies in his face.

“An orange is a perfectly reasonable thing to eat when you’re sick!” she’s saying from the foot of his bed, holding a plate with a full-on pyramid of them balanced in her left hand, the other hand defensive on her hip.

“S’not the idea of oranges that’s unreasonable, it’s the fact that you’re giving me twelve ,” he grits out. He wants to lie back dramatically, but he’s too clogged up to do so. 

Many moons ago, he would’ve thought of the orange onslaught as a thinly-veiled attempt to keep Blair out of his room, having heard way too many warnings and factoids about cats and their aversions to citrus over the years. As if on cue, Blair yells out a grateful “Thaaank you~!” from the living room, her keen nose having registered the oranges’ absence.

Years prior, Blair would have been way too happy to ‘play nurse’ for him in his vulnerable state - something that had always irked Maka, obviously. To be fair, he sort of feels like having someone lie in bed with him might be pretty helpful for his recuperations, though he has a strong first choice for this assignment, and it certainly has never been Blair.

“Twelve oranges might be good for you!” Maka insists, pinking in the cheeks at his mental suggestions. Their link is always more open when he’s sick; it takes too much effort to keep his walls up that he doesn’t want to expend, and all she usually hears is vague sniffling and doom-and-glooming, so. “Besides,” she adds, suddenly serious. “Scurvy’s making a comeback.”

“You think I have scurvy? ”

“I’m just saying that an orange or twelve couldn’t hurt!” she exclaims, moving to place the plate on his bedside table. He snatches his phone off its charger just in time to avoid death by Annoying Orange, and makes good use of it to pull up the symptoms for scurvy.

As he scrolls, he starts to grin. “Hah. Maybe I caught it from you.” At her curious glance, he adds: “Apparently one of the main symptoms of scurvy is being chronically irritable.”

She huffs, rolling her eyes at him as she exits. Guilt renewed, he sends out an apology on the airwaves, one that she meets with a brush of mental fingers.

M’not going anywhere, okay? he thinks, sending the words through the gap in the door, a love letter. Promise.

There’s a sound like a sigh in her soul, followed by a montage of emotions. An old, deep, burning fear. An undying flame, smothered by time, suddenly reborn. And then - relief. Comfort. And then… guilt of her own, for being the one who needs the comfort.

Go sleep s’more , she thinks back, voice growing weaker as she heads deeper into the house. I’ll be here when you wake up.

The reciprocal I promise that she tacks on is a mere whisper of a thought, but he hears it nonetheless. It’s an effective anesthetic, lulling him into a nap.

He dreams of orange peels and dark cathedrals, the old ache across his ribs tugging at something still-unhealed in his psyche.

When he awakes, it’s to a new smell - a bowl of chicken soup, steam rising and catching the late afternoon sunlight through his window. Next to it, a cascade of saltine crackers arcs along the accompanying plate. A mug of tea sits at its side, steaming slightly as well. The oranges are still there, moved slightly back. She’s left him a tiny space on the table for his phone to sit, which he sheepishly plugs in.

He reaches out for the soup and takes a sip, the ache in his chest slightly soothed. He smiles a little, savoring it, taking in the quiet of the room, the way the steam clears his head, opens his sinuses.

Once he’s almost done, the door clicks open - she’d felt him wake up, of course.

“Is it okay?” she asks.

“S’delicious,” he says, clearing his throat a little.

“Good,” she says, business-like, taking the empty bowl and placing it on the table. And then, slightly less businesslike: “Can I come in?”

He looks up at her, gaze soft as he takes in her embarrassment, as if they haven’t been doing this for years. “Duh.”

She lifts the comforter and clambers in, getting settled and resting her head on his chest.

“You sure you wanna stay?” he asks after a few minutes, poking at her shoulder. “Might get sick.” “S’worth it,” she mutters, ducking her head. “Besides. I’ve had plenty of vitamin C.”

“You sure?” he asks. “Got some oranges I could lend you.”

She scoffs in response, squeezing at his side. 

For the rest of the afternoon, they lie wrapped in each other, comforted by the fact that, amidst the steam and the scent of oranges and the promise of not going anywhere - that suddenly, it’s slightly easier to breathe.

[chaoticrockmusic]

A Little Light in the Dark

Synopsis; Bruce Wayne invites you to Wayne Manor for an intimate dinner, a rare glimpse into his world beyond the mask. But when a sudden blackout plunges the mansion into darkness, his chaotic family takes over the evening, and you see the unpolished, human side of the Wayne household. Amid the teasing, laughter, and chaos, Bruce’s quiet moments with you shine brightest, proving that even Gotham’s Dark Knight has a soft side reserved just for you. Warnings; Damian being a little sassy brat

Bruce invites you to Wayne Manor for dinner, promising a quiet, intimate evening. When you arrive, the sprawling estate is even more magnificent than you imagined, but Bruce’s warm smile and the way he takes your coat quickly dispel your nerves.

The dining room is grand, yet the table is set simply, with just two settings and soft candlelight. It’s a surprising contrast to the billionaire’s public persona, and the subtle care he’s put into the evening makes your heart flutter.

"Not as intimidating as you expected?" Bruce asks, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he pulls out your chair.

"I wouldn’t go that far," you reply, but your smile is teasing. "It’s... cozy, in a billionaire kind of way."

The conversation flows easily as the two of you eat, laughter mixing with the soft clink of silverware. Bruce is more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him—his usually guarded demeanor slipping just enough to reveal glimpses of the man behind the mask.

But just as dessert is being served, the lights flicker—and suddenly, the room is plunged into darkness.

"That’s odd," Bruce mutters, standing immediately. "Stay here. I’ll check the breakers."

Before he can even leave, chaos erupts.

From the hallway, Damian’s sharp voice cuts through the dark. "Grayson, stop bumping into me! You’re going to break something."

Tim appears next, holding his phone up like a flashlight. "Did Gotham’s most powerful man forget to pay his electric bill?" he asks, smirking.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Not now, Tim."

Then comes Dick, cheerfully stumbling in with a handful of candles. "Who needs power when we have ambiance? Romantic, right?" he says with a wink, grinning at you.

"Romantic?" Damian scoffs, stepping into the room and giving you a critical once-over. "Father, your standards are slipping."

"Damian," Bruce growls in warning, his tone sharp.

The teasing only escalates when Jason arrives, flashlight in hand, shining it directly at Bruce’s face. "Relax, Bats. Power outages build character. And hey, it’s not my fault you didn’t warn them about the chaos they were signing up for."

Bruce shoots him a glare that would terrify anyone else, but Jason just smirks and leans back against the doorframe.

In the midst of the family’s antics, Bruce is uncharacteristically quiet, his focus flickering between them and you. When the others drift off to investigate the outage—arguing and teasing each other the whole way—Bruce returns to your side, the shadows from his flashlight dancing across his face.

"Sorry about all of this," he says, voice low and almost hesitant. "I wanted tonight to be… better. Less chaotic."

"Bruce," you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. "This? It’s perfect. It’s you—all of you. I don’t think I’d want it any other way."

His gaze lingers on you, and for a moment, the weight he carries seems to ease. "You’re something else," he murmurs, almost to himself.

As he steps closer, the space between you shrinks, the candlelight casting a golden glow over his features. You feel his hand brush yours—a tentative, unguarded gesture—and when your fingers intertwine, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

"Next time," he says softly, his voice a low promise, "I’ll make sure it’s just us."

"Next time," you agree, your smile warm.

The power finally comes back on, the lights revealing Damian glaring at Jason, Dick grinning triumphantly, and Tim tinkering with the breaker box. Alfred breezes into the room as if nothing unusual has happened, asking if anyone would like a fresh pot of tea.

Bruce lets out a quiet sigh, giving your hand one last squeeze before releasing it.

As the family chaos continues around you, Bruce’s attention remains on you—his expression soft, his smile rare and private, meant only for you. And as much as you enjoy seeing this side of him, you can’t help but look forward to the quiet moments when it’ll be just the two of you.

(God Damian is a little shi-)

[happyandticklish]

Morning Breath

Summary: Nancy is worried for her upcoming job interview, and Steve tries—inadvisably—to lighten the mood.

Notes: Commission for @ultimatelee19. I don't often write for Stranger Things, so I hope this is up to par! I had fun writing it nonetheless. I love these two dorks <3

“You’re up early.”

Nancy stiffened from her position on the couch, her hands immediately flying to her chest. She cursed herself for the involuntary action afterward. She was still in pajamas, after all, thus leaving anything that would have been there thoroughly protected by a thin tank top. Not to mention, it was nothing Steve hadn’t seen before. She still wasn’t quite used to knowing that it was only her and Steve in the apartment. She kept expecting annoying little brothers or overprotective parents to barge in at any moment.

She turned around to find Steve leaning against the railing midway down the stairs, his mouth quirked in a half smile. He was, noticeably, dressed only in some thin shorts. Nancy’s gaze roamed his torso for a moment before she caught herself and smiled in return.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re going to be fine. It’s only one job interview. I'm sure you'll do great, and if you don't, there will be others, I promise."

“A job interview that I only barely secured,” Nancy corrected as Steve made his way down the stairs. “A female reporter is a ridiculous notion according to this society we live in. I mean, they could cancel right now. They hardly need to keep their word, after all. Sure they may think it’s an ‘interesting concept’ now, but—”

“Nancy.”

She broke off mid-rant as two arms wrapped around her from behind. Soft lips pressed into the back of her neck, peppering her shoulders with featherlight kisses so she couldn’t help but shiver. “You’re going to do great. You are incredibly smart, a verified badass, and you can articulate yourself better than half the dying old men in the profession. Not to mention, I’ve never met anyone so skilled at getting into other people’s business as yourself—”

“Hey.” She elbowed him lightly, but turned her head to grin back at him. “I suppose I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

He leaned forward to kiss her and she sighed a little as her lips meant hers. Her and Steve’s relationship had never exactly been a stable one, but five years had passed since the craziness that Hawkins had brought about; things were different between them—calmer. And she often found herself in moments like these realizing how lucky she truly was to have found him.

“Although, Nance, no offense, but if anything is going to throw them off, it’s this bad breath.”

…or not.

“Seriously, I love you babe, but it smells like something gross died in there.”

Nancy’s brows twitched in irritation, and she squirmed out of his embrace, whirling around on him. “For your information, I haven’t had time to brush my teeth just yet. And who are you to judge? Your breath doesn’t exactly smell like roses either.” She opened her mouth, breathing at him and he lurched back. “How does that smell, hmm? Since you’re such an expert.”

Steve held a hand up to his throat, faking a gag as he fell back on the couch. “Gross! Ach, the smell! I may never recover.”

“You—!” Nancy smacked a pillow lightly on his stomach, and he grinned over the top of it.

Steve held up his hands in mock surrender, though the shit-eating grin on his face didn't make him look all that apologetic. “Relax, I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You know, make you less tense.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t I just make you ‘less tense’?”

“What is that supposed to mean—woah!”

Steve grunted as Nancy tackled him back against the couch, clambering quickly atop his waist.  He opened his mouth to retort something back, perhaps an apology or some further continuance of the bit that had gotten him here in the first place, but a bark of laughter escaped instead as Nancy dug her fingers into his ribs.

“W-Woah, woah, woah, Nance—shit, not thehehere!”

Nancy tried hard to fight back her giddy smirk. Steve’s ticklishness had become apparent not far into their first relationship, though she had forgotten about it for a while once they reopened things. She had made sure to make good use of the information once it had reappeared after cuddling during a movie night had led to its revelation. Nancy was hardly immune to it, but Steve was ticklish enough that it was easy to make him forget that revenge was a possibility. Convenient for her.

“How’s about it, Stevie?” she crooned, gently climbing her way up his ribcage. “Are you feeling the tension leaving yet?”

His hands shot down to latch around her wrists at that, but they didn’t do much to actually shove her off. “This is cruhuhuel!” he whined, yelping the closer her fingers grew to his underarms. His legs kicked against the cushion, attempting to push his body further up the couch to failing results.

“This is payback.” She teased the edges of his armpits, scratching against his top rib without actually leaving the area just yet. Steve shook his head, letting out noises that could only be described as giggles. “Besides, I have to get out my nervous jitters somehow, and you’re the perfect subject to release them on.”

One of her fingers inched ever so slightly higher. Steve yelped. “Don’t."

“Don’t what? Tickle you?”

“D-Don’t go thehehere!”

She raised an eyebrow, this time unable to hide her smirk. “Ahh, just don’t go there? But not, ‘don’t stop tickling’? Interesting bargaining. One could be led to believe that you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Nohohot lihihike thihis!"

“But there’s another way you could enjoy it?”

A flush had begun to creep its way up Steve’s neck and he groaned, glancing away. “S-Stop twisting my wohohords! And—fuck, get ohohout of there!”

Nancy had gone in for the kill, allowing her hands to free roam under his arms now in quick, spidery motions that were quickly destroying his composure. Steve’s arms twitched violently, struggling not to jerk down but to stay up in the air. He had let go of her hands in favor of gripping the back of the couch, his face twisted up in expression of helpless mirth.

Honestly, Nancy thought, Steve had only himself to blame for getting tickled like this so often. She couldn’t be faulted for taking advantage of someone who was so obviously leaving themselves vulnerable on purpose.

He continued to let her tickle him like that for another few minutes before it finally became too much for him. Nancy’s eyes widened as he lurched forward suddenly, grabbing her hands and pushing back until she was lying trapped underneath him on the couch instead.

“Too much for you?” she asked innocently, knowing she was digging her own grave, but unable to help it. And it did have wonderful results as Steve’s flush darkened even as he transferred both her wrists to one hand, leaving his other free to sue.

“How long do you have before your interview again?”

She frowned. “An hour. Why—”

“Ten-minute car ride, fifteen minutes to get ready, fifteen to eat—I believe that leaves us twenty minutes.”

Nancy’s pulse quickened in her chest, from fear or excitement she couldn’t tell. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d consider putting this whole thing behind us?"

“Ask me in another ten minutes.”

Nancy’s laughter rang through the house as Steve followed through on his promise. In reality, he only kept her there for another five minutes before a particularly effective strategy against her hips had her shrieking for mercy in mere seconds, though to Nancy, it felt like much longer. Not that she would learn her lesson for the next time she decided Steve needed to be taken down a peg.

After all, standing down was not within the nature of Nancy Wheeler.

[amity206]

Trying out new brushes

Warning for beta spoilers cause I did put beta cosmetics on this skykid

I don’t like the brush I used for the outline a ton but I do really like the way the skykid turned out, I think using less textures was a good thing

can you tell I’m excited for the new season and it’s cosmetics

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[toji-bunny-girl]

bartender toji fucking the living daylights out of us after a nasty breakup ? also have a nice day

ON THE H★USE !!

#𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐆 ⟢ bartender!Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader #𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 ⟢ riding the hot bartender after a break up is the least expected thing you’ll ever think of #𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⟢ alcohol, pet names, foreplay, fingering, teasing, grinding, pre-cum, no protection, creampie, car sex, nipple play, squirting, size difference, big dick toji papa, alpha toji with xxxxxxxxl dick, multiple orgasm, one-sided drunk sex (?), power play, I’m so lazy to do tags, who even reads content warnings tbh #𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻 ⟢ 4k #𝑨/𝑵 ⟢ don’t let this flop guys I spent way too much time on this when I should be studying for my exam 😭

“Plus, he literally had to beg me to act like I was cummin’ when he stuck his sorry excuse of a dick in me!” your eyelids hung heavily over your eyes as you exclaimed, brows shooting down in a frown. “Get a load of that guy, am I right?”

“He doesn’t pay for your stuff, and he can’t fuck good?!” Toji teasingly mirrored your tone as he manoeuvre behind the bar, uniform taut from the way he natchly flexed his arms; the bottles clinking as he worked deftly to craft out the beverage you ordered. “What a man.”

It has been 2 hours since you’ve been rambling on about your ex-boyfriend, and the ravenette felt like he’d known this stranger for years—all of his secrets and traits aired into his ears. Albeit, it was getting a bit boring, with the same repeated stories tumbling out of your voluble mouth. But still, he enjoyed chuckling at your adorable insobriety, fuelled by drunken mania. 

“Here you go, princess,” a small tug lifted the ends of his scarred lips when your eyes patently glimmered at the newly served alcohol. “It’s the last I can give you, we’re closing…” Toji’s eyes momentarily flickered to his watch, “in 7 minutes.”

“Oh, okay!” you deliriously yawped, downing the beverage into your liqueur-brimmed system before handing him your card, which you aimlessly threw at him, not even lucid of your motions. “Just swipe it.”

Toji simply brushed it off, taking it towards the other side of the counter. He's used to unintentional antics like yours, as long as the tab was paid off he has no problem with them. 

15,900 yen. 

The digits flashed past his eyes like stars, igniting a luminous glint in his dark emerald orbs. Hell, was it a sum to casually splurge on at some mid-high bar? He’s got a pretty girl with probably an equally pretty amount of personality in her wallet, sprawled on the bar top wailing about her broken heart. 

Oh, how he would love to play saviour. 

“Here, princess. Time to go home,” he tapped your card onto the counter after the successful transaction. His gruff voice was low as you drifted further from your haywired consciousness and towards a delicious drowse. You didn’t move when he neared your face, attempting to marshal up your scattered coherence by calling into your ear. 

Toji sighed as he leaned back onto his feet, and crossed his bulky arms, pondering the ways to get you out of the otherwise empty bar. 

It was 12:58 am and the other inebriated customers had gone out by themselves or with their friends dragging them along. Except for you, softly snoring on the sticky counter. 

His coworker shrugged at him when the ravennette glanced at the shorter male for help. “Just get her out of here. I’ll clean up the rest, and you owe me this one,” always so kind—how Toji wished he could smooch that man right then. 

“Thanks, man,” Toji’s eyes curved in moon crescents, before settling his sight onto your dozed frame. His finger pressed against your temple, and your head lolled to the side in suit of a light push; a trail of drool slipping past your plump lips. You were completely and utterly out of it, huh?

Grasping onto your arm, the male lightly shook you awake, the warmth from his calloused palm stimulating your nerves vivified. “Hey, Mr. Bartender…” you had an uneven smile on your crooked lips, sleepiness bubbling into the air with every laggard blink as you breathily chuckled. “Are you gonna bring me home?”

“I don’t know about that, princess,” his tone was syrupy sweet and it licked the ends of your lips upwards into a velvety grin. “But we gotta go now. Come on,” Toji’s hands came to yours, gently pulling you off of the bar stool. You followed after his guide, slipping your card into your pocket before frisking behind him like a lamb to the door. 

The burly male turned to his wrist after the door swung close in the wake of your exit, checking his watch; it read 1:04 am. The train station is closed and it’s going to kill his conscience if he leaves you by the streets like he always does with intoxicated male customers. He has no idea where you stay anyway—best to call a friend of yours to take you home. 

“(Y/N)?”

A grating, vexatious voice called. The two of you swivelled your gaze to the source to find your cheating, insipid creature of an ex with an arm thrown over some chick’s shoulders, chortling at the unstable mess you were. Your eyes were puffy and tumid from the hours of crying slash ranting session, and you were anything but lucid from the way you looked. 

How fucking lucky.

“What you got going on here? Getting kicked out of a bar?” your ex taunted, nearing his face to yours as you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Y-You…as—”

“Have the lady some of her space, buddy,” Toji’s authoritative voice prevailed over yours as he pushed the male away, rendering him to helplessly stumble backward into a fall. The woman in his arm hid her giggle with a gasp before helping his fuming ass up, his face beet red from his ignominious tumble. 

“Who are you?” he barked, eyelids flying open to show the hidden whites and teeth bared in belligerence. 

“A man who can make her cum, without begging her to fake it,” the woman burst into a half-concealed snicker when the ravennette broke the air with his unanticipated words. Your face grew to be saturated with ardent red, from both the intoxicant that coursed through your veins and the sentence you thought you had heard.

“I call it bullshit,” your ex spat with his upper lip pulled up in disrelish. There’s a flash of humiliation in his glare—he knew Toji seemed better than him and it killed him to know you’ve got suitors who are way out of his league. 

“It’s true,” you tapped Toji’s metallically stiff chest with a twisted, satisfied smirk on your rat-arsed face. “He toootally didn’t just stick his dick in me and call it a day, y’know?”

“Fucking whore.”

“What d’ya say?!” you screeched, ready to pounce on the asshole. “I sent you to the ER once, and I’ll do it again!”

“Alright, that’s enough, princess,” Toji tenaciously held onto your arm, and you’re stuck by him even without him using much strength. “We don’t want you dirtying your hands, do we?” 

A nasty shove met the male’s chest, knocking the air out of his lungs when he hit the ground. It was merely a fraction of Toji’s force, and it already had the male choking to breathe on the ground. 

“Speak to her like that again, and it’s not going to be just a push,” you could hear the rise of a dour, serrated threat in his tone, and it begot the asshole to cower back in trepidation. 

Pussy, Toji grimace. Albeit he was no saint himself but he absolutely despises the ilk of guys your ex filtered into—boisterous and a bully to women, yet nothing but a trifling mutt in front of men.

A tug of his arm, and your limbs wrapped around his wretched him out of his state of visceral contempt. “Take me home!” you ineptly exclaimed, a gruntled grin on your adorable, roguish face. 

Briefly riveting his baleful gaze onto the splayed male on the bitumen, Toji steered you uphill towards the parking lot as you clumsily tottered aside him. 

The encounter with the small-dick fucker sure rendered him more understanding of your evening of outburst. Plus, for you to be cheated on that piece of work was truly the icing on the cake. “Poor you, huh?”

“Forget ‘bout him! You were so cool I almost cummed right there and then,” you teasingly giggled as you peered at him through your heavy eyelids. 

Fuck—it’s no good for you to be saying that with that look on your face. 

His eyes rest ahead the road as you soon come to near the bright red C8 Corvette the woman he’s estranged with had previously gifted him, the car standing out amongst the parked vehicles like a sore thumb. 

Your eyes scintillated in awe when the car luridly flashed and beeped in the night, “That’s yours?!” you cried aloud, frisking all the way to the car, before stumbling over thin air and nearly jolting forward into a fall. Luckily, Toji was quick enough to catch you by your arm, saving your knee a painful event of bloody excoriation. “Oopsie daisie.”

Cute, Toji chortled. 

Jumping into the vehicle, the potent roar of the engine cut through the midnight air after you’ve settled neatly in the passenger seat, the only thing missing was the safety belt that was supposed to secure your form. Reaching to your side, Toji’s hand briefly brushed over your exposed thigh, the hem of your short dress riding up to merely cover your panty. 

A soft, almost inaudible noise fled your lips, and his eyes laid on your face, the faint, intimate gold beam from the street lamp illuminating your glowing features. Your orbs were luminous through the dark, and it roused an innate lasciviousness that lay dormant in his core. 

The liquor that flowed through your blood vessels had not quelled through the lapse of time, but it did not take away your clarity to feel the tension that electrified the air molecules into sweltering magnetism. And gosh do you want to snatch the constriction in the atmosphere and tear it through your canines. 

“Touch me,” you whispered, so soft and vulnerable Toji could seemingly snap you in half with just a touch. 

“You’re drunk, princess,” he reminded, yet he remained unshifted over your smaller frame, his hand merely a molecule from your tempting flesh that sang for his warmth. 

“No,” you were firm. Something in you purled, bubbling a heavy, demanding need to have him devour you. “I want you,” your breath was hot, scorchingly so; airy and desperate. 

“You want me?” his hand fell to your wrist, grasping your soft skin under his heavy hold, and guiding you over to his seat, straddling his lap. His gaze cut through your eyes, daubing pressure against your jumbled nerves, his intensity threatened to slice through the silky jugular of your vulnerability. And you nearly moaned under his eyes.

You gingerly nodded at him, and you thought the knit between your brows was enough to speak for your neediness. 

His grip on your wrist tightened a fraction before you missed the heat radiating from his palm. “Careful, princess. You might regret this,” he had paved a way out, it’s a leave it or fuck it situation served beneath your fingertip—and all the atoms in your body leaped into the growling blaze in the abyss residing in his essence. 

“Please,” your voice was barely a note above a mumble, yet the weight of your single word mitigated any marshalled resistance in him. 

His hands slid up your thighs, inching under your dress, sending tingles to your throbbing core. The intensity that radiated from him ceased to waver as he leaned against your neck, brushing against your skin as you gulped. Dark, ashen clouds drew above the emerald forest of his before he spoke, almost threateningly against your throat, “I want you to remember every single detail of this in the morning.”

With a breathless nod, you had swung the floodgates of your amenability open to his guttural thirst. The heavy, rapacious waves of your desires crash into superposition. You were the fuel and he was the fire, together the air detonated into space. 

His wet lips met yours in a whim, sucking onto your flesh until it stung, greedily tasting every crook and cranny of your wet cavern with the bumps of his tongue. You moaned into his mouth as your hands flew to clutch onto his head, deepening the kiss to reach his insides while his rough fingers sank into the plump flesh of your ass. 

Your lips burned with his saliva, and his tongue fluttered with yours. The atmosphere felt all-consuming, gripping onto your throat and restricting the air from flushing down your windpipe. Yet, your core pulsed between your thighs, an excited blaze slowly roaring into something bigger than you could handle. 

Your chest rose and fell in a quick tempo when you snatched your lips away from his, grasping as much air as you could within a second before you dove right into him. Albeit your sight was hazy, you caught sight of the luminous flush that panned over his cheeks. 

Pretty, pretty. You chanted in your head as your hands slid down to his clothes, clumsily popping the buttons off of the garment that kept the warmth of his skin away from your touch. You want him, you want him. 

Your fingers nearly melted when they met his hot, sinewy chest, and Toji’s teeth sank a little too hard into your bottom lip when you teased his nipples under your touch, innervating them hard with every flick. The salient bulge in his pants rolled against your folds, merely separated by an annoying piece of your underwear, and your moans jumbled into each other’s mouths

“Fuck, princess. You’re driving me crazy,” Toji breathily groaned when your sloppy lips sundered apart, a hot string of mixed saliva connecting your swollen, red lips together. His large hands lifted your ass up into the air as he palmed them, the warmth from him sending a snuggly sensation through your body. “It’s no fun when only you get to tease.”

Your eyes playfully gleamed, before the light shot out of the crater of your orbs—his finger pressed against your sodden panty, damp with arousal. The tingles shyly reached through your belly as he rubbed your hardening bud, and your body shuddered against his. 

“You’re not playing fair,” he murmured against your jaw, leaving trails of bruised kisses down your jugular. His hand left your heat just as the high came close to your clutch, leaving you with nothing but the lingering cold touches of his. 

With a defeated sigh, you ground your knee against his growing hardness, your finger shyly rubbing against the clothed tip of the constrained mount, the spot slowly growing dark from amativeness. 

Toji sunk deeper into the headrest as you touched him, his exposed chest ceaselessly rising and falling. His breath hitched in his throat when you twirled his sensitive nipple between your fingers; your heated exhales warming the side of his neck as his grip almost painfully firmed onto the fat of your ass. 

You didn’t allow his peaking orgasm to come through, forcing yourself off of his sore, throbbing erection, and your teeth bared into a dirty smile. “I am playing fair.”

“You want to test me, princess?” he chuckled, the bassy timbre of his scratching the knot of an itch inside your ears. A gasp leaped out of your throat as your body jolted forward, his seat clicked backward to its maximum taut, “I’ll make you cry for more.”

You found your back nestled in his stead, your thighs spread open with his calloused hand slipping down your supple flesh. His fingers tapped nearer and nearer to your heat, before slipping off your soiled panty. 

“So fuckin’ wet,” Toji sucked an inhale through his teeth as he leered at your dripping sex—thick, rough thumb fluttering friction on your clit once again. Your eyelids flitted shut as you softly moaned against the air, the smell of your arousal filled the confinement of the car; the scent nearly making him growl when it panged hard against his nostrils. 

You watched as Toji slipped a thick finger into your velvety folds, feeling it trodding past your walls. Your heat snugly enveloped him as he filled your inside with another digit, his two fingers pressing, and running themselves over your slick cunny. “Gotta stretch you good for me, princess.” 

Your back inched into the seat with a contented sigh, enjoying the build-up of ticklish pressure stacking up your tummy. Toji was ridiculously dexterous with his fingers—deftly stroking your cunt, and quick to find the spot in you that innervated your pure senses with a ting. 

“S-Shit—” your body was subservient to his touches; your spine curved into an arch, your toes curled tight and your fingernails dug into the flesh of his arm. “M’feel so good. Toji—fuck,” it was as if his fingers were gilded in Eros’ heavenly blessing, the godly grace spilling into your pleasure. Tears began prickling at the sides of your eyes from how hard you were squeezing them, your flailing legs kicking against the dashboard of his car. 

“So pretty when you cry,” Toji groaned under his breath, his damp restraints painfully throbbing from the way your squelching walls tightened around his fingers—oh, how he fucking wish it was his cock in you right there and then. 

His touches were singing your walls into melting squirts of drool, pearls of arousal weeping between your thighs in the wake of his careful strokes. Never were you touched in such a way, and you felt like balling from how good it felt. “M’ close! M’gonna cum! Oh my gosh—!”

“Come on. Cum for me, princess,” you could hear his smirk in his voice as pleasure kissed your senses, fluttering through your electrified nerves and sending a jolt of tingles all over your body. Your mouth was lax open into an ‘o’, nails marking his skin as they sank deeper into his arm, and your walls tightly spasmed with a wave of rough euphoria cracking your bones weak. You fucking came from his mere fingers. 

Your eyes bat open with your lips sundered from your pants, your face ardently glowing from your subduing high. “Fuck…” your wet thighs quivered from the sheer force of your orgasm, and you blinked in disbelief. 

Over 2 decades of living and it was the first time cumming from a real man, not your fingers nor toys. But the brawny, sex-dripped male slipping your dress off of your spent body. 

You almost fell in love. 

Pushing him down the driver’s seat, you crawled over Toji’s firm thighs, running your finger from his chest to his muscle-packed abdomen, then down to the wristband. You were flickering to take charge, and he sank down to your guidance, rough palms resting on your hips. 

Your dress was off, divulging the bare curves of your body, sweat-glazed skin iridescent under the moonbeam and your sex-flushed features were begging for him. You look so, fucking, perfect that he had to bite down the need to ruin you on the spot. 

His hips impatiently thrust upwards into your sticky cunt, grinding his pack against you, urgency in his essence demanding your heat. “Don’t keep me waiting now,” he purred, with a silent warning tagging behind his words. 

Your fingers tugged the waistband of his pants along with his briefs, a drive in you matching his pacing hastiness. His shaft sprang out of its painful confinement, and your eyes nearly popped out from the sheer look of his cock. 

He was oozing with sticky pre-cum from his angry, red tip, throbbing veins ran from the base of his length to the curved head—the size of him bigger than any you’ve seen. The smell of his masculine essence hit your senses and a new pool of arousal began drawing in your tummy, your pussy walls squeezing in empty neediness.

“There’s no backing out now, princess,” Toji’s fingers firmly gripped onto your ass, lifting you over his cock, hovering.

“Who said I’m backing out?” you gulped, before lowering yourself down, his fat cockhead kissing your pussy lips before your hips greedily sank down his length, oblivious to the crackle of tingles it would send to your nerves.

“Careful there,” he teased with a chuckle as you let out an instinctual gasp from the way his girth stretched past your velvety walls, the slick sound of your arousal-dripped cunt, and his heavy shaft bubbled into the air, and scorched your cheeks red.

“M-My gosh…” you cried as your hazy gaze fell to the bulge jutting from the inside of your tummy, your walls taut with his heavy cock buried inside you. “I’m s’full, Toji.”

“Mhm,” he cooed, brushing his hands over the sides of your smooth thighs. “But you gotta start moving, baby.”

Gingerly, you lift your hips up before slowly inching them down his length. Your walls clenched as your sex rubbed friction, and you could feel every pulsing vein of his just as he could feel your fluttering warmth.

“Feel good, princess?” Toji asked breathily, your head faintly nodded, but there was a hint of a dubious glint in your fallen gaze, your knees lifting and sinking your weight.

“I need your help…” your voice cracked in disappointment as you paused, tears of frustration edging by your eyes. You couldn’t seem to grasp a steady pace no matter how long you painfully rode.

“What d’ya say?”

Your orbs looked as though they were melting off of your sweat-glazed skin, blinks of fervourish plea clawing from your drunken gaze into his. “Please, Toji,” your voice hitched, and you’re humping his pelvis. “Please…I want to feel good.”

Aww. How fucking adorable.

You yelped when you felt yourself being raised and slammed down his cock, your folds burning with every stretch of your walls. And it feels so good. “Y-Yes…” your eyes closed shut, fingers scrambling to grip his locks. “T-Toji��mhaa!”

“You’re so fuckin’ cute screaming my name,” the curve of his tip perfectly kissed your g-spot with each piston of his hips, and every time the twitching head of his meat met your gummy part, it sent a flash of electricity up your spine.

“S-Sho good—” you slurred through your words, weighed head lolling idly to every thrust of his fat cock.

“No one can get you dripping off their cock like this, huh?”

“Mmh—yes!” the space between your brows was crumpled into a tensed frown, your hips bouncing up and down his thick girth with his hands guiding your pace. “I love it! I love your cock!”

Toji let out a low groan when you cried, bucking himself deeper into your sloppy mess of a cunt and kissing the surface of your cervix. “Fuck—I love an honest girl.”

Your muscles nearly melted off of your bones as he continued to fucked himself deeper than you’ve ever felt, reaching the parts you didn’t know could be touched and your features dropped with his touches on your deep intimacy. A fierce sear of heat burned through your tingling womb, and it threatened to consume your body whole. “M’ cummin’! Toji—!”

“I know, I know, let it out f’me. Come on,” he grunted, keeping his grip firm on your arms as he fucked himself hard and deep into you. He could feel your squelching cunny clench, so tight as for the purpose of milking him on the spot. “Keep bouncin’ on my cock, yeah?”

“Nngh—No more!” you squealed. “N-No—” his thumb drew between your shaking thighs and greedily swiped over your blushing clit. Your fingernails sank into your palms as you gripped for dear sanity, his cock continuously violating your fluttering spots until they grew sore.

“I can make you feel better, princess,” he mumbled tinglingly against your neck, sinking his teeth down your flesh to hold back a shaky moan. His pleasure was inching to fly to release, and your tight clutch onto his shaft was nothing but a catalytic lure.

“S’ hurts—please!” your babbles were almost indecipherable as he rammed into your sore cunt, his fingers digging into your soft flesh holding onto you tenaciously; pushing you right to the edge of oblivion as he clung onto his nearing release.

“Cum f’me again, baby?”

“M’can’t! Still sensitive—!” you cried before another orgasm shot through your core. You felt as if you were sent up into the ether, stars teeming through your body as the waves of pleasure sent you on a vertigo ride. Your gasps dragged through your lips, your eyelids hung heavily over your bleary eyes, with tears slipping down your hot cheeks.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—M’close too, baby,” Toji swore through his bared teeth, his cock painfully twitching as thick semen surged through his tip—his hips rolled as your cunt squeezed his remaining sanity, popping them like fireworks before they burst into nothingness.

Your essence squirted out of your tensed cunny, shooting with his mixed cum that dripped down his belly. Your breaths shaky and hot with heightened senses, your sticky sex pulsing in overstimulation.

Exhausted, you fell prostrated on top of his hard muscle-built body, head undulating with the ups and downs of his heaving chest. And slowly, your cognisance drifted back into your mind, the aftermath of everything—the alcohol and the sex, pummelled into you like a heavy truck. Unforgivingly so.

“Toji…I really feel like pukin—”

© toji-bunny-girl ― all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, plagiarise or repost my work

[i-love-ptv]

Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Goin’ On ˚̣̣ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣

Pairing: Husband!Rafe Cameron x Soccer-mom!Wife!Reader

It’s not easy being a soccer-mom, especially when dads hit on you at every game as if you’re not married to Rafe.

Wc: 1,596

Fluff, Protective Rafe making an appearance, kinda pushy guy (idk what to say)

An: I’ve really wanted to write a fic based on this song, and this idea randomly popped into my head so! Am I using the names I wanna name my kids? Yes, yes I am.

Not proofread tbh

Feedback always appreciated lovelies!! xx

“I’ll be back, ‘mkay doll?”

You hum in acknowledgement, eyes peering back at the field after looking up.

Your husband, Rafe leant down and places a firm kiss on your forehead.

“Yeahhh, Daddy’s gonna be back, baby.” Rafe coos at your two year old, who was sitting on your lap, babbling freely while peering at him with her big doe eyes.

Rafe walks off the bleachers; in search of the concession stand to buy food for the three of you.

You brush your hand over your young daughter’s head, making sure her somewhat oversized hat is still covering her head entirely. Her hand wraps around your index finger.

It was oddly humid today, if you continued moving, you’d break a slight sweat. You can't even imagine what your daughter -Stacy must be feeling, running around on the large grassy field under the beaming bright sun.

You were proud of your baby girl though, nonetheless. And so was Rafe, of course.

You shout loudly when you notice the game is about to start, bellowing out a “Go Stacy!”

Stacy’s eyes easily found yours, for you and Rafe would always sit in the same spot on the bleachers.

Her eyes were slightly wide due to your shout, despite you and Rafe always cheering for her during her games.

She’s motioning for you to ‘shh’, putting her fingers to her lips before getting into her position.

“Which one’s yours?” You hear to the left of you, the unknown voice makes you tear your eyes away from the field.

You smile shortly at the unfamiliar man next to you, “Number 22.”

You can’t help but notice how he’s rather scruffy looking, an odd contrast to your upkept husband with his neatly buzzed hair.

“Mine’s number 13.” He says, flashing his teeth at you.

You gasp and shoot up a little, making you look down at your daughter on your lap. “Valerie’s yours? Oh she’s just the sweetest!”

The man chuckles, looking deeply in your eyes. This makes your eyebrows raise, slightly in confusion, but mostly in discomfort.

He hadn’t done anything out of the norm, you’d randomly talk to the other moms around too, but something about him made you uncomfortable.

“My name's Brandon, and yours?”

You introduce yourself briefly, before turning back towards the game.

His eyes dart to your left hand, looking for a ring, for any indication that you belong to someone else. He smiles sharply when he finds your fingers bare. This goes unnoticed by you.

Little does he know, you do have your ring on, just around your neck.

Your biggest fear was your youngest accidentally pulling off your ring, resulting in you losing it. Or, even worse: it pokes her eye or something of that nature.

You suppose you could be considered a ‘Helicopter-mom’ at times, simply going to the extremes to make sure your kids are happy and healthy at every point in time.

Rafe is the exact same way, maybe even a little worse. But you knew he was just protective, he loves this life that he has with you, since he had no idea the two of you would’ve been together for so long.

You had started dating Rafe when you were 18 and he was 19. It was good for the first few months, disregarding the few arguments that you had. But then, you had caught Rafe doing cocaine.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to shake the look on his face from your memory.

You weren’t supposed to be at the party, you said you were busy filling out college applications.

So when he was mid-line, and he saw you standing there all dolled up, watching him with glossy eyes, he felt his heart shatter into pieces.

You weren’t supposed to find out, he wanted to keep this away from you, to keep you close to him.

He promised that he would try and stay sober for you, but eventually he’d give in every time the opportunity was in front of him. This resulted in several arguments, and surprisingly, a break up.

But things are different now. You both are in your 30’s, you got married, and of course, had two beautiful babies together.

Rafe knew he’d be crazy to fuck things up now, when he has the perfect life right in front of him.

Speaking of which; you’re really starting to wonder what the hell is taking him so long just to get some goddamn hotdogs and drinks.

You’re bouncing your knee anxiously, which makes your daughter giggle. You wish she wasn’t finding this amusing, but you know she can’t help it.

“Well who’s this cute girl, huh?” The man coos, tickling your daughter’s side.

“Her name is Noelle.” You huff, your mood quickly

shifting to do this stranger touching your daughter.

He lets out another chuckle, you wish you never had to hear it again. “Sounds like you’re quoting Teenage Dirtbag to me.”

You give him a pointed look, you’re really getting sick of his pestering. “That’s where I got it from.”

Abruptly, the crowd starts cheering madly. You look around and see Stacy's team celebrating briefly; they had just scored a goal.

You cheer and clap, grabbing Noelle’s chubby hands and making her raise her arms wildly while giggling with her.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we could-” Before Brandon could finish his sentence, none other than Rafe Cameron comes stomping up the bleachers, huffing and puffing angrily.

He sits down and sighs, “God, I’m sorry babe. The line was so long! I swear I’m going grey right now.”

“And I missed the goddamn play!” Rafe exclaims. He looks over at you and immediately goes quiet once he sees those wide baby eyes that look at him curiously.

“Da?” Noelle mutters, reaching her tiny hands towards Rafe’s larger ones.

“Yeah. Da’s here babygirl, do you want your food? Huh sweet girl?”

Rafe hands you your food, setting his food aside so he can put Noelle in his lap. He begins to split half his hotdog in pieces for her.

You glance to the left, you notice Brandon looking like a fish out of water.

Rafe is the CEO of one of, if not the biggest business company around. And Brandon had just borderline harassed his wife, who was holding his child.

Brandon sneers at the two of you in silence while the game continues, nearly boiling at the fact that he couldn’t have you.

Your head is laying on Rafe’s shoulders, you’re rubbing circles on Noelle’s shoulder as she settles down.

“Everything alright babe?” Rafe asks, trying to peer down at your face.

You untuck your necklace with your wedding ring from your shirt, fiddling with it. “Yeah, now that you’re here Ray.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a few seconds.

“…What does that mean?”

You hesitate to answer, but you do regardless, “Nothing! It’s just uh..That guy next to me, was kinda like hassling me I guess.”

This makes Rafe straighten his back.

“He do somethin’ to you doll?” Rafe questions in a whisper. You know you have about 30 seconds to try and calm him down before he’s banned from every soccer game left in the season.

“No, okay? I’m fine, it’s cool. I need you to calm down Ray.”

Rafe’s nose is flaring, “What about Ellie? Did he touch her?”

You feel your throat closing up, your heart is damn near pounding out of your chest.

You don’t say anything to Rafe, but that look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know.

You grab his bicep, trying to keep him grounded. Even though he’s changed, some parts of him haven’t.

Rafe speaks lowly in your ear, but not too much to frighten you in any way. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Don’t worry y’pretty little head about it.”

Rafe presses a firm kiss against your cheek, then presses a softer one to your lips.

After 30 more minutes, and 2 more goals, Stacy’s team wins.

You and Rafe cheer loudly, letting out “That’s our baby girl!”

You meet Stacy at the bottom of the bleachers, holding Noelle in your hand as the littlest claps her hands between Stacy’s face.

You’re too busy congratulating your daughter to notice Rafe pulling Brandon aside while his daughter, Valerie is off talking to her friends.

Rafe puts a firm hand on his shoulder, “Hey man.”

Brandon lets out a nervous laugh, “Hey there, Rafe Cameron, right?”

“Yeah, let’s keep this short. I better not see or hear you talking to my wife again, do you hear me? I don’t give a shit what happened.”

Rafe continues shortly, “And keep your fucking hands to yourself, if I find out you touched my either of my daughters again, I swear to God himself I’ll put you under.”

The two men are holding eye contact, one looks with confidence and borderline rage, while the other looks with fear.

Rafe walks down the bleachers, meeting you and your girls.

“You were amazing out there sweetheart!” Rafe smiles while pulling Stacy into a bear hug.

“Jesus dad, you’re crushing me!” Stacy laughs with a slight wheeze.

Rafe ruffles her hair and puts his arm around your neck.

“All good to go?”

You nod your head, and with that, the four of you begin to walk to Rafe’s parked car.

Rafe realizes that this isn’t the first time you’ve been hit on at a soccer game, or anywhere in fact. And this definitely won’t be the last.

Cause everybody’s in love with Stacy’s mom.