#good god this looks terrible but AT LEAST IT'S FINALLY DONE

[ellecdc]

can i formally request something? (i have no idea if you take smut requests so please ignore me if not😭) a barty x reader smut where everyone already thinks they’re together so they’re like 🤔?? maybe they’re onto something

and maybe if they try to tell people (read regulus) they’re just like -_-¿ this is new

and well done on your exams!! i’m sure you aced them

hahaha omg this is so Barty and reader coded fr. thanks for your request (I hope I did it justice)

Barty Crouch Jr x afab fem!reader who has sex for the first sodding time, Evan

CW: smut - like straight up porn people, p in v intercourse, pussy slapping cuz apparently I'm a freak, soft choking, a slap in the face if you squint, 18+

This conversation had been going on for so long that you were truly fighting the urge to throw your head back and let out a guttural scream out of pure frustration.

But Barty never fought his urges.

“For fuck’s sake!” He screeched. “How many sodding times do you need me to say it: we - are - not - to - geth - er!” He shouted at Evan, emphasising each syllable with a stomp of his foot. 

Evan smirked and shared a look with Dorcas before rolling his eyes.

“Sure. And what exactly is this?” He asked, gesturing with his book at your tangled forms.

Okay, so maybe you and Barty were physically affectionate with each other - but that didn’t mean anything.

“What?” Barty asked simply.

“The way you’re sitting, Junior.” Dorcas drawled in a bored tone.

You both looked at each other like you were only just now realising your proximity to each other. 

You were positioned on the cushion of the sofa between Barty’s thighs with his arms wrapped around you and his hands weaselled under your shirt and tucked under your breasts.

What?

It was for warmth; he has terrible circulation, you know.

“We always sit like this.” You replied.

Evan scoffed. “You always sit like you’re one sneeze away from having his dick slip inside of you?”

“Okay, you know what?” Barty said, slipping his hands out from your shirt and patting your thighs to say ‘get up’, and standing up behind you. “I didn’t come here to be spoken to like this, least of all by someone who has his head shoved so far up his arse that he could check for tonsillitis.”

Evan shut his book he’d been pretending to read up until that point causing Barty to screech and shout at you to ‘save yourself’ as the two of you took off in the direction of his dorm room. 

You were laughing and breathless by the time you made it into Barty’s room and he shut the door behind you, casting a locking charm for good measure should Evan come looking for retribution for the slander.

“Honestly, I think they’re just jealous.” You said breathlessly.

Barty nodded as he sucked in a few deep breaths himself. “I mean, it’s kind of sad he’s never had a best friend that he felt so comfortable with, you know?”

“Exactly!” 

“And I don’t know why everyone has to make it so sexual. Do you have great tits? Sure. But that’s not why I put my hands on them!”

“Of course.” You agreed readily. “And I mean, are we two of the hottest people to walk these fucking halls? Of course we are -”

“Absolutely.”

“- but that doesn’t mean we’re shagging!”

“Right!” Barty said with finality as he finally sat down on the chair at his desk. “I don’t know why they have to make everything so weird.”

“Me either.” You groaned as you fell backwards onto Barty’s bed and stared up at the green velvet bed curtains draped over the four poster bed. “They’re probably just jealous.” You repeated. “I mean, we would make a really hot couple; I’d want to be with us too.”

“You know, that’s exactly what I was just thinking.” Barty agreed quickly. “And if we were having sex, they’d bloody know it. It would be hot.”

“Gods, it really would be, wouldn't it?”

“Without a doubt; I’m great in bed, and you’re great at everything.” Barty said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You know what.” You said as you sat up to face Barty. “It would be hot. Great sex comes from trust-”

“Check.”

“- communication,”

“Check.”

“Familiarity,”

“Duh.”

“Confidence.”

“Obviously.”

“We’d be sodding lucky to be shagging each other!” You proclaimed.

“I agree!” He responded. 

You both stared at each other; breathing slightly laboured having gotten yourselves so worked up pleading your cases (to no one, seeing as you were both clearly on the same page).

“Huh.” Barty said finally, giving your body a once over. “You know, maybe it is weird we haven’t fucked before.”

“Yeah.”

Your eyes met his green ones that held an intensity you’d not seen from him before.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna fuck?”

“Yeah.”

And like a flip had been switched, the two of you were launching yourselves at each other. 

No time was spent savouring touches or testing waters. It was all teeth clashing, tongues dancing, heavy breathing, and tearing each other’s clothes off.

It felt somehow both forbidden and oh so right.

You’d truly never thought about Barty like this; you really were just that comfortable with one another.

But as you pulled his shirt over his head and started fussing with his belt, a fire roared to life inside you screaming we should have been doing this the whole bloody time. 

You nearly tripped over the waistband of your trousers as Barty backed the two of you towards his bed where he sat on the edge.

You broke apart for air as he moved his sinful mouth down the expanse of your torso and took to marking up your breasts.

“Salazar they’re even better like this.” He murmured to himself before taking one of your nipples in his mouth whilst he pinched the other.

You ran your finger through his hair, an action you'd done many times before, but never like this.

You pulled at it roughly and brought his lips back to yours as you pushed him to lay back on his bed so you could straddle him.

“Merlin, Y/N. No foreplay?” He chuckled breathlessly as you gave his cock a few strokes and whispered a lubrication charm.

“Next time.” You sighed as you lined him up with your entrance and slowly sank down onto his cock, causing the two of you to moan in unison.

“Next time, huh?” Barty teased as he smoothed his hands up and down your sides, allowing the two of you to adjust to the feeling of one another before you experimentally rolled your hips.

“What? Don’t you want to fuck me, Junior?” You taunted right back.

Barty thrusted his hips up roughly into yours, causing you to cry out and place your hands on his shoulders to stabilise yourself. “I think it’s very obvious I want to fuck you.”

“Yeah?” You whispered, bringing your mouth back to his and biting gently on his bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

You breathed a laugh out through your nose before you bit down harder.

“Then fuck me.”

And before you could tell which way was up, Barty had flipped the two of you over so he now hovered over top of you and had his hand wrapped around your neck.

“You want to be fucked, doll?” He groaned as he hooked one of your legs around his hip allowing himself that much deeper in you.

If there was one thing you could thank the fucked up breeding habits of Purebloods for, it was apparently the size of their cocks. 

“You want me to ruin you?” He continued as he added more pressure to your throat, still grinding into your now sopping cunt. “Make sure no other wizard is ever good enough for you?”

Your entire body felt like it was on fire; the feeling when you’re sitting on the poolside in the sun after a swim; the beads of water only make the sun’s rays feel that much warmer against your skin.

“Oi.” He demanded, giving your cheek a chastising tap. “You gonna be good for me?” He asked more seriously this time.

His beautiful green eyes were nearly fully eclipsed by his pupils as he continued moving in and out of you with what you realised now was a very controlled pace. But you were eager to see where he’d go from here.

“I’ll be good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.” He ordered.

“I’ll be good.”

“What was that?”

“I’ll be good, Barty.” You whined, pulling at his arms in an attempt to bring him closer.

“Who are you going to be good for?”

“You.”

“Yeah?”

You hummed in agreement as he hiked up your other leg and wrapped it around his hip.

“Tell me.”

“I’ll be good for you! Promise. I’ll be so good for you, please.”

Barty chuckled and let out a taunting cooing sound as he fell to his elbows and brought his face to yours.

“There’s no need to beg, sweets.”

And just like that, he was pulling away from you again.

Suddenly, his hands were on your hips and he lifted them into the air, holding them there as he began slamming into you. 

“Gonna be so fucking good for me, aren’t you angel?” He grunted.

You scrunched your eyes shut at the feeling of his throbbing cock pounding into you; adjusting his angle every few thrusts in search of something.

“I bet you’re a fucking screamer, huh? You always got so much to say babygirl; don’t go quiet on me now.”

His fingers dug further into the fat of your hips as he adjusted his grip on you, causing you to let out an embarrassing keening sound.

Apparently that was close, but not quite what Barty had been looking for.

“Close. How about we try…”

And he pulled out of you completely before landing a hard smack against your pussy, forcing a surprised scream to tear from your throat. 

“There’s the pretty sounds I was looking for.” He celebrated, rubbing placating circles on your clit before repositioning himself and sinking back into you. “Think you can keep that up for me, Princess?”

“Yes!” You cried quickly, grabbing helplessly at the bedding as he once again lifted your hips up into the air, finding that sweet spot inside you that he’d been in search of before his interruption.

He knew he found his mark when you let out another strangled sob.

“Alright pretty girl, there we go, huh? Does that feel good?”

You were babbling affirmatives nonsensically as he groaned at the sensation of your walls clenching around him; yesses and pleases spilling from your lips.

“Fuck you feel so good.”

“Please Barty.” You cried, reaching a hand up to his wrist.

He let your hips fall to the bed as he brought one thumb to your clit and his other hand took yours in his.

“What is it, princess? Hm?”

“Please.” You whined, and it sounded pathetic even in your own ears in your current state.

But Barty only tsked and pulled two of your fingers into his mouth which he began to suck.

You could feel the tension building in your core as he quickened his pace with his thumb and his hips before letting your fingers go with a pop.

“I’ll take care of your princess, you know that. When have I ever let you down?”

Never.

“Never.”

He smiled triumphantly down at you; and though his mouth was cocky, his eyes were sincere. 

“Exactly. I’m not about to start now, yeah?”

And suddenly his thumb was gone from your clit, your ankles were thrown over his shoulders and he was leaning his weight against the backs of your thighs as he began thrusting into you with an air of desperation.

“Atta girl; so good, huh? S’good.” He grunted as his thrusts became somewhat sloppy. “S’fuckin’ good for me. Perfect for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes.” You chanted with each thrust of his hips. “Please, oh gods, please, please Barty.”

“I know, I know.” He grunted, clearly as close to teetering over some sort of edge as you were. “I know, I feel it. You’re alright, yeah? Go on, sweets; I’ve got you.”

And his hands were holding onto your thighs for dear life and he was kissing at your knee like even that silly little part of you was something worthy of worship, and he did have you and he never let you down and he wasn’t going to start now and you saw stars as you finally fell over the edge.

The room fell quiet as Barty locked his lips on yours, and you realised you’d been screaming. 

His hips stuttered as he thrust into you once, twice, three times more before he followed you over the edge; letting your legs fall from his shoulders as he fell to his elbows on top of you and the two of you fought to catch your breath.

In complete contrast to the Barty who was only moments ago pounding mercilessly into you, he started placing, slow, lingering, gentle kisses over your face as his thumbs rubbed idly at your temples.

He pressed a kiss to your neck, your jaw, the tip of your nose, over your eyelids, your forehead, your ear.

You knew Barty could have a soft side, but you never imagined it so tender.

“I knew you’d be a screamer.” He whispered, breaking you out of the serene moment and surprising a bark of laughter from you, which caused both of you to groan in discomfort before Barty slowly pulled out of you. 

“Stay here, princess.” He instructed as he walked away from the bed and returned a few moments later with a warm cloth and one of his (read: your favourite of his) t-shirts.

You watched him carefully as he cleaned you up - and once again, what probably should have felt awkward or embarrassing felt nothing but natural as he doted on you. 

“Can you sit up?” He asked; not one hint of condescension in his tone as he held the neckhole of his shirt open for you to slip your head into.

As it poked through, he pressed a kiss to your lips before helping to thread your arms in.

“Is it safe to assume we’ll be doing that again?” You asked with a smirk, causing him to scoff dramatically. 

“We’ll be doing that the rest of our lives if I have anything to say about it.”

After a shower and a change into comfies, the two of you returned to the common room, and though Dorcas was long gone, Evan could be found where the two of you had left him, now in the company of Regulus. 

“Well boys.” Barty sang dramatically as he swung his legs over the back of the sofa and landed on the seat with a bounce. “We just fucked.”

You rolled your eyes at his blatant goading as you sat beside him.

“Yeah? And I had potions today; so what?” Regulus muttered without looking up from his novel.

“What do you mean so what? This was the first time!” Barty argued.

“This is new.” You insisted severely.

“You know, I always knew Barty was a liar; but I expected better from you, Y/N.”

Your mouth dropped open as Regulus and Evan stood up and walked away from the seating area.

What you didn’t see as they walked towards the Slytherin dungeons was Regulus passing Evan five Galleons for their bet on who could convince the two of you to finally get over your “just friends” bit.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #barty #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #slytherin skittles #the slytherin skittles #smut #barty crouch jr imagine #barty cr #barty crouch jr x reader #Barty Crouch jr x #barty crouch jr x you #barty crouch jr smut #barty crouch jr drabble #barty crouch jr headcanons #barty gate #if you give the fans a barty #they’re going to ask for smut

[crewel-intentions]

#main-story #crewel-intentions #yuko akiyama #lucipurr espurr #lance pokemon #good god this looks terrible but AT LEAST IT'S FINALLY DONE #good lord i am rusty #oh well #i'll get LOTS of practice finally answering all those old asks

[randomshyperson]

Party Monster - Wanda Maximoff Kinktober #01

Summary: A Halloween party takes an interesting turn when Wanda reunites with her ex-girlfriend. Maybe she'll learn a lesson or two, or maybe she'll still be terrible at following orders.

Warnings: (+18), Dom!Reader with Brat!Wanda, ex-girlfriends who are not over each other at all, really rough smut with teasing and orgasm denial, a lot of cursing, power dynamics, toxic behavior, unhealthy relationship (implied), the “cheating vs we are on a break” dilemma, mentions of a party atmosphere but no explicit alcohol consumption mentioned, Ghostface mask during smut scene ‘cause I’m a simp for Amber Freeman. | Words: 2.688k

A/N- Someone needs to get slasher movies away from me, but I thought this would be a good theme for kinktober. And we started with dom!Reader too because it’s a tradition. Good reading by the way, your horny people.

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

It was definitely a bad idea.

Terrible, poorly thought-out, and reckless.

But Wanda finished putting the costume together and the final touch - the black gloves - made her take a deep breath, trying to gain a little confidence in her Halloween costume.

In the bedroom mirror, there was still a photograph that she knew she should have taken from there to at least fool herself that she could move on, but just as she had done dozens of times before, Wanda adjusted the item to prevent it from falling. 

Your smiling figure stares back at her, and Wanda sighs softly, ready to party.

She crossed the campus in half an hour, alone because the girls went ahead and honestly, Wanda wasn't that close to her friends nowadays. Not since the break-up anyway.

"Hey, Wanda!" The male voice shouting her name startles her for a moment. But she forces a smile as she is enveloped in a strong hug, Steve Rogers entering her field of vision in the next second. He looked drunk when she got a closer look. "Glad you could make it."

The forced smile begins to bother her face, so Wanda stops, swallowing dryly and trying not to look so uncomfortable. 

"Yeah, thanks." She mumbles awkwardly, nodding towards the open door, where the party seems even fuller and livelier. "Stark sure knows how to throw a party."

Steve laughs. "That he does." He says, looking ready to start small talk. Usually, he's as out of place as Wanda in crowded environments, but now he's got enough alcohol in his system to seem cool compared to the rest of the team's jocks, who stand out at parties with their eyes closed. "The guys are inside, come say hi and we can get you something to drink."

The non-existent details of the exact people who constituted the " guys " Steve was referring to made Wanda's stomach turn. But the blond had already grabbed her hand and was pulling her into the crowd, and frankly, Wanda wasn't going to make a scene.

She could handle the possibility of you being at the party, even if she hadn't seen you for four weeks. And three days, nineteen hours, and according to the clock by the beers, fifteen minutes.

"Guys, look who showed up!" Steve announces to the group at the ping pong tables. Wanda remembers the first year when you first visited the fraternity house and you made a joke about the number of expensive objects in the place, and she laughed even though she didn't really get the joke. God, she was so whipped back then.

The whole group looks at them at once. Wanda almost giggles at the scene, all the creative costumes are a sight to behold. Natasha in leather outfits similar to her sister's, or Tony in some kind of colorful armor. Thor dressed as the god after whom he was named, and Clint as a green archer. 

And then there was you, with a ghostface mask around your neck so you could get to taste your drink.

You almost choke on the liquid when you meet Wanda's gaze, and she could consider it a personal victory. At least you looked as affected as she was.

It's obvious that the atmosphere gets heavy. Everyone there knows that you two broke up and that it wasn't a pretty thing. Or easy.

And maybe that's why Yelena hides a tense laugh behind her glass of drink and Natasha rushes over to greet Wanda and put an end to the scene.

The only person Wanda really wants to greet tonight puts her mask back on. You drop the glass and leave without saying anything, making the mood even worse. 

Natasha clears her throat and strokes Wanda's arm gently. "Don't mind her, I, we, are happy to see you, sweetheart. I'll talk to her, enjoy the party."

It's sweet of Natasha to worry, but as the night goes on and you don't exchange a word, and you keep ignoring her, Wanda doesn't feel a bit better.

She tries to have a good time, but her gaze keeps seeking out your figure, which manages to evade her curiosity masterfully. 

You disappear for a good few minutes after beer-pong, and Wanda begins to consider leaving. So she dismisses Bucky Barnes' story about a mess with the rival team and decides to be miserable in her bed instead of at a party full of strangers.

She turns into the corridor and there's a Ghostface cornering a pretty girl at the bottom of the stairs.

Anger blooms and dominates her actions before she can think about it. She lunges forward and grabs the figure by the cap of the costume, hard enough to almost knock the couple over.

The male's shout makes her wince.

"Are you fucking mental?" Complains the stranger in confusion and indignation.

"I-I, shit, I thought it was someone else" She stammers with wide eyes, walking backward, away from the confused couple. 

The scene attracts the attention of a few people around, but she feels her back hit somebody and before she can turn around, two hands come around her waist and push her away from the angry guy.

Wanda blinks, and you shove him away harshly. "Back the fuck off, motherfucker." 

The man snorts indignantly. By now, half the party is staring at the scene.  "What the hell? She started it."

"And I'm finishing, fuck off." You cut him off coldly, and you probably wear that costume better than he does, because the guy hesitates and turns away to grab the girl's hand behind him, leaving without saying another word.

You turn your masked face to Wanda, and she feels hers burning with shame. All you do is shake your head in disbelief and take the hard way upstairs.

Wanda follows you without thinking about it.

She stops the bedroom door from closing with her hand and ignores your protest.

"I'm sorry-"

"I don't want to talk to you." You cut her off, holding up a finger. "I don't even want to look at you, Maximoff. Get the fuck out." You advance but Wanda is quicker. She closes the door behind her, and you end up pressing her into the wood by the arms. 

You sigh heavily, as affected as she is. 

"I thought it was you." She confesses in a shaky whisper, her hands trapped behind the body you kept squeezing. "I don't know what I'd do if I saw you with someone else."

You chuckle dryly, taking a step back. "Apparently you'd try to throw me to the ground."

Your attempt to pull away completely is interrupted - Wanda grabs your wrists, trying to get you to wrap your arms around her again. It becomes a struggle of pushing and impatient grunting. Until Wanda is forced against the bed, and her apologies break down into a dirty moan.

Your hand around her neck - in an attempt to get her to shut up and stop repeating what you don't want to hear - has a very different effect. 

You're on top of her, pinning her to the mattress with your own body. Wanda thinks you can feel how wet she is against your thigh.

"Don't make a fucking sound. I don't want to hear you, understand?" You warn, the loosest grip on her throat to allow her to breathe. Wanda nods obediently and has to bite her lip hard when you pull up her skirt, only to grope for her panties. 

Silence is an impossible task, especially when your fingers, so eager and familiar, thrust into her without warning. She squirms, throbbing in your fingerprints, and the sigh of pleasure is yours.

"Fuck, I've missed your pussy." You pant, fucking her carelessly, hard, and deep. The sound of Wanda's soaked arousal makes her ears burn - but she doesn't mind. She's busy trying to keep still, even when you're driving her over the edge so quickly. You notice, of course, and pull out as soon as she's ready to let go, and Wanda breaks into a loud whimper, her hips thrusting restlessly into the air.

You let go of her throat to grab her cheeks. "You're not going to come, Wanda. You don't deserve it. And you know why, don't you?"

Her pussy is throbbing, enough to be almost painful, knocking her out of orbit. All she can do is whimper, nodding; you let out a wicked chuckle. "And why don't you deserve it, darling?"

Of course, you'd make her admit it. Because everything so far hasn't been hell enough. Wanda turns her face away, and with her silence, a slap hits her pussy. She spasms, moaning loudly, her back arched in the mattress. 

She almost came in one go. Holding onto the edge at the last second.

"Oh god please." She whimpers shamelessly, and you grunt, watching the wetness ooze down her thighs, her pussy clenching against the emptiness in front of you. Wanda wants to come so badly that you almost feel sorry for her. "Just... one time. I'll do whatever you want."

You chuckle, and spread her legs a lit more to fit your body, pressing her against the bed. The friction between your joined hips makes her groan, trying to grind up onto you, but you remain firm, holding her still.

"Tell me." You demand. "Why aren't you allowed to come?"

She shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "I... I can't."

You sigh impatiently and walk away at once. Wanda almost cries at the lack of contact.

"Get out of my room."

"N-no, please-"

"Then say it!"

Despite her shame, Wanda swallows her tears. "I fucked up."

You chuckle coldly, busy opening a drawer. "Clarify it." You command, and Wanda only obeys because she knows very well what's in the last drawer of your bedside table, she can feel herself clenching for the feeling. With a dry throat, and looking brazenly at what you're wrapping around your waist, she retorts: "I fucked someone else." She murmurs, biting her lip when the hardness is properly fitted. You laugh dryly.

"Hm, and why did you do that?"

Wanda spreads out on the bed, a bait. You don't fall for it. She pants in anticipation. "I wanted to get a reaction out of you. We're on a break. I wanted you to regret it."

Your hand begins to slowly masturbate the dildo and Wanda lets out a shuddering breath, becoming even more aroused by the image. 

“I’m the one who will make you regret it.” It is your final clarification. But Wanda gasps.

"Take your mask off, I want to look at you."

But you chuckle again, darkly enough for Wanda to shudder. "What you want doesn't matter to me anymore."  You retort, and Wanda has no room for hurt now, the lust and longing for the feel of your body on hers taking over all her senses. "Get on all fours, you’re gonna watch yourself."

Wanda moves on trembling limbs, her face burning. She tries to ignore the mirror in the corner of the room, but as soon as you're behind her, your hand grabs her hair and forces her head up. 

The Ghostface mask stares back at her. "You're going to watch me fuck your needy pussy and you're not going to cum, Wanda. No matter how much you want it, how much you beg for it." You warn sternly, your free hand adjusting the toy at her entrance. "Because petty, selfish girls who ruin a three-year fucking relationship don't deserve to come, do they?"

She shakes her head, at this point, she thinks she'll agree to anything you say. And you must understand that pleasure has gotten the better of her because you start masturbating her entrance with the tip of the fake cock and it's enough for her knees to give way. She whines in a plea.

"Please-"

You sink into her at once, filling her to the brim and Wanda moans throatily, her hands clutching the sheets. The last time you were this deep, playing power games, Wanda squirted on the new sheets, and she's not sure that after going a month without touching you, she can stop it from happening again. "God."

You chuckle hoarsely, seeming to have the best time in the world with this. You pull out of her only to enter again, slow enough for Wanda to let out a sob. "Hold it."

"I-I can't." She cries out, choking on her own breath, and instead of taking pity, you sink in again, picking up a rough pace. Wanda would have fallen onto the mattress, but you grab her hair again and force her to watch what's happening.

"Look how beautiful you are when you're being properly fucked." You tease, your hips never failing against her. Wanda can only moan in return, each second more impossible to stop the knot in her belly from bursting. "I know no one makes you this wet, Wanda. No one knows your body like I do." To prove a point, your hand slips between her legs, and eager fingers flick her neglected clit exactly in the way that makes her squeal to the ceiling. 

Thank God for the loud sound of Tony Stark's parties.

Wanda is sure she's going to cum by now, and you can tell because you've been through this hundreds of times, and you know her body like the back of your hand. The fake cock slides out the second she's ready to let it go, and Wanda collapses flaccidly onto the bed with the lack of your hands while unable to hold back her tears.

"Fuck you, I hate you, I fucking hate you, you bitch." She babbled breathlessly, the frustration of her second stolen orgasm of the night making her groggy. You chuckle as she squirms on the bed, hugging her own body, and Wanda doesn't even notice that you've moved away just to lock the door.

Wanda is still trying to catch her breath when you remove the mask in one pull and kneel in front of her on the bed, between her legs which you pull open. 

You don't give her a chance to prepare, you move in and start eagerly fucking her pussy, ignoring how Wanda writhes on the bed and muffles her moans in the mattress. 

"Oh my god." She meows, her knuckles clutching the sheets, and the only thing stopping her thighs from closing against your head are your hands holding her tight. "I c-can't hold it, detka! 'can't-"

You stop again, and Wanda thinks she might kill you. This time, you sigh into her. "Hold it, or I swear to God I'll switch to another college."

Wanda is forced to chuckle at that. It's stilted and hoarse, and she knows there's a grain of truth in your words, but she does it anyway. Even more annoyed, you stand up. 

She despairs but is giggling nervously. "No, wait, babe, I'll behave, I promise."

It's your turn to chuckle, in disbelief at the scene. Wanda clung to you as if your departure was the worst thing in the world. 

"You're a lying brat, Wanda." You say, and despite the harsh words, your hand gently strokes her hair. Wanda sighs shakily, the redness in her cheeks showing how much she enjoyed the words. You push her hands away and take two steps back. Far enough, you quickly untie the item from around your waist. "I'm going back to the party. And if you want to cum tonight, you'll stay here. Waiting like a good girl."

She opens her mouth to protest, but you hold up a finger in warning, and the seriousness in your gaze is enough for her to know that if she disobeys now, you'll send her away.

Swallowing dryly, she lets you go, and when the door closes, she throws herself back on the mattress. 

Her body’s on fire, and the traces of your shampoo on the pillow don't help. She moans low, adjusting to touch herself. 

Maybe, just maybe, you won't mind if she comes while looking at your picture on the bedside table. 

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff oneshots #kinktober 2023 #wanda maximoff #marvel imagines #elizabeth olsen x reader

[bigfatbimbo]

I’m a Bad Liar with a Savior Complex —

Part two,, 2k words,, Vox x reader

a/n — THIS IS A FOLLOW UP FIC OF THE FIRST ONE BY THE WAY. For those who didn’t know even though I literally spelled it out in the title.

warnings — Angst, toxic relationships, mild fluff, discussion of injuries, read the first part first!

summary — Part two of ‘I’m a Bad Liar with a Savior Complex’ where Vox comes to the reader after a particularly bad fight with Val.

“I love you.”

The words echoed throughout your mind as you drifted in and out of consciousness. I love you. 

What a load of bullshit. Vox didn’t love you, he just loved your attention and wanted to keep it for as long as possible. That had to be it.

But he was so tired, he couldn’t have possibly had control over what he was saying. And besides, the idea that everything Vox says is perfectly calculated is giving him way too much credit.

Isn’t that what got him into this mess in the first place? Of course, it was the sloppiness of his words that cause that crack in his screen.

But you didn’t want to underestimate him. He could get what he wanted easily in most circumstances.

His emotions usually got the best of him, yeah. But in this case? You weren’t sure. Is that what happened?

You wonder vaguely if he got caught up in the moment and blurted out the first thing he thought. But that would imply that, at least a part of his subconscious meant it.

No, you didn’t want that. In fact, you hoped it was just a tactic to get more out of you. That would make things a whole lot easier. 

Oh well, an issue for the morning, you supposed. In his sleep, Vox had turned over on his side, back pressed up to your stomach.

You gave into the fatigue and snuggled in closer to him, resting your head in the crook of his neck and wrapping your arms around his middle.

With one final sigh at the events of the night, you shut your eyes and waited for sleep to take you.

When you awoke, Vox was still asleep. But you were sure it was morning, maybe even past noon.

Patiently, you waited for a little while for Vox to wake before going to get coffee. However, after a good ten minutes, you figured he wasn’t done sleeping.

God, it had to be about tem hours now, you thought lazily as you stretch on the end of the bed. Poor guy had a rough night. 

With that, you head to the kitchen, pouring yourself and Vox, just in case, a cup of coffee. You do your usual morning routine, brushing your teeth, watching TV on the couch, things like that. 

After about an hour, and after reheating Vox’s coffee, you decide to head back into your room to check on him. 

He was sound asleep, screen completely dark and still curled up on his side. You sigh at the sight, he looked adorable. 

Once again, you climb into bed with him, holding him close to you. You plant a kiss on his neck and, finally, he stirs.

He arched his back, stretching and yawning as his screen powered on. Without thinking, he sleepily turned over in your arms and nuzzled into your neck.

He winced when your chin bumped the bandages on his screen. You rub his back and kiss his forehead, soothing him awake.

“Morning, sleeping beauty. How you feeling?” You speak softly, voice still gravely from not having spoken all day.

He hummed quietly, “Not great considering half of my face is gone.” 

And we’re back to snarky comments, but it was better than him crying. 

You nod your head and breathe out a laugh, “Yeah, well you look like you’re holding up pretty decently. Oh, I got you coffee.”

He doesn’t sit up, “Not yet.” 

“Are you sure? It might get cold—“

“Just not yet,” He looked up at you longingly, subconsciously holding onto your shirt tighter. “I just woke up, give me a minute before you shoving liquids down my throat.” 

In reality, Vox didn’t want a reason to get up. Although he appreciated the thought, he’d rather you not have gotten him coffee in the first place.

He had a terrible sinking feeling. One that told him, if you get up, you’ll never get this moment back. And he liked this moment; waking up in your arms, exchanging banter while still tired.

It all felt so domestic. Something that, usually, Vox wouldn’t like. But with you it felt different. It contrasted so heavily with his usual life, Valentino aside, just the stress of running Voxtech in general. 

And yeah, he didn’t feel perfectly right now, but he felt okay being taken care of like this. The idea of getting up and leaving was weighing on him.

Although with lack of better judgment, Vox waited for you to pick up on this. 

If you did, it wasn’t shown.

“You don’t have to run into work soon, do you?” you inquire, tracing up Vox’s back with your nails.

“Not today, no. Well, I mean, if I want a new screen then yes,” Vox paused, “But I don’t have to do that for a while.”

The last part was added quickly and uncharacteristically hesitant. You were starting to pick up on it now, his reluctance to leave.

You think for a moment, “You know, you could hang around the apartment for as long as you want too.”

He nodded, “Well, I don’t know if i’m in much of a state to leave, anyways. Damn… fucked up face.”

And with that it’s decided, Vox wasn’t going to leave until he felt like it. Which, for all either of you cared at the time being, could have been never.

The day passed in small sequences. Just as you suspected, Vox acted almost completely normal, as if his head injury had never happened. Even though it was clearly bothering him. 

However, he did surprise you in a couple ways. One, he was still here instead of in Valentino’s arms ‘making up’ and, more accurately, making out. And two, he was far more touchy than usual, in a physical sense. 

Every pat your back or hand on your shoulder lasted five seconds to long, lingering in an unbearably noticeable way. 

Although you continued the day fairly normally, despite these setbacks, Vox faced a dilemma.

A simple one, on the surface at least; the question of why you were helping him? If Vox wasn’t mistaken, and he so rarely was, you were supposed to be just a sex thing.

Then why did this feel like more? Why did he feel a deep desire for you, one that goes past getting his dick wet. He wanted you like this, kind and caring. He felt as if, at the moment, he needed it.

Almost a foreign feeling. Almost.

He knew all of the pride ring needed him for electricity, that was simple. He needed them for power in a more metaphorical sense.

And similarly, Valentino needed him too. And it was abundantly clear the feeling was mutual. What’d they get out of that? Sex, the support of a powerful individual, eachothers less-than-ideal company.

Much like that, he couldn’t quite place the origin of his need for you. But this felt different, it wasn’t codependency. It was a sense of unwarranted generosity, the lack of any overarching deal or necessity for one another out of greed or toxic attachment.

You treated him with kindness simply because you were kind. Now, that was a foreign feeling. He wondered vaguely if he would do the same for you. He hoped he would. In reality, he knew he wouldn’t.

Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this kind of life. But maybe, at this very moment in time, he didn’t care. He wasn’t really planning his every step from this point on, nor did he want to be.

Of course, usually, yes that would be the actions taken to ensure nothing bad comes of this. But a large part of him didn’t want to think about anything bad happening because of this.

That would make your relationship, whatever it was, just like everything he was holding it above. 

“You good there, Vox?” You smile over to him, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

You two sat on the couch together, watching tv lazily. Your knees were pulled up onto the couch, touching the base of his thighs. He on the other hand, didn’t look comfortable at all.

In fact, he looked tense.

You rub his shoulder encouragingly. He frowns deeply and diverts his gaze. Your smile. He was already getting used to your smile.

Although, he didn’t know how much time he had left with it. Knowing himself, no matter how hard he tried, Val would enter the picture again, just like he always does.

Just like how Vox always lets him. More than ‘lets,’ fully embraces, more like. He not only enables that behavior, he encourages it.

“I’m fine,” he answered shortly. Oh, very nice, he thought, i’m sure that snippy response wouldn’t push anyone away.

“Hey,” you say so softly that Vox winces at your gentleness, “Tell me what’s bothering you. Maybe I can try to fix it.”

Vox breathes out a bitter laugh and then points to his broken face, “Wow, I fucking wonder.” 

You frown and pull back, “I know that’s not all.” 

Vox stayed silent before leaning towards you and out stretching his arms slightly. It was a perfect indirect way of inviting a hug.

You accept, pulling him in and wrapping your hands around his middle, rubbing his back. He slinks his arms around your neck and scooting closer to you.

“I could go with you, you know?” You say quietly.

“Um, where?”

“Your office. To get the new screen? So you wouldn’t—“ so he wouldn’t have to be alone, but you don’t say that. You just imply it. “—so you wouldn’t have to drive there with half a face. Feels dangerous.”

He sunk deeper in your arms, almost letting out a sigh of relief, “That’s a good idea. Not exactly in the state to drive, if you can’t tell.”

You drive him to the Vees building and offer to wait in the car, but for whatever stupid reason, he insists you come in.

His not even particularly sure why, he just does. Vox is, in every other scenario, sure about everything he does. There’s always a reason for every move. 

But with you, that wasn’t necessarily true. That bothered him. 

The walk in is easy enough, same with the elevator ride to his office. Once you step into the terrible machine, you can’t help but get a terrible sinking feeling in your stomach. 

As if a fire-breathing dragon awaits the other side of the door to snatch Vox up and take him away. 

However, when the doors open, there is no dragon. There isn’t anyone. Just Vox’s office, to which he leads the way as you two walk in.

“This should just take a second. I know I put the fucker around here somewhere,” Vox shifts around in his desk cabinets for his new parts. 

That’s when you hear him. The silent calm in the room is broken when a voice calls from down the hall. 

You don’t hear what it says, nor do you really care about the specifics. The specifics don’t matter when you see the look on Vox’s face. 

It isn’t a fire breathing dragon, it isn’t even a monster. Simply, a moth. But oh, how you hated it.

Vox spares you a glance before calling back to the voice. In your mind, it doesn’t matter what he said either. In fact, it’s all relatively muffled. You know that was it, you know you just lost him. 

Whatever today was, it was over. Just as you suspected, the routine would kick back in. A good fuck, maybe some cuddling, not seeing each other for days at a time, rinse and repeat.

In truth, Vox was gone the second he stepped into his office. This was his environment, not the softly lit surroundings of your apartment.

The love he felt for you last night would be absent from his mind until the next time he comes to you to lick his wounds.

You shove your hands in your pockets. Vox spares you a hesitant glance before walking away to follow Valentinos voice. 

That was the difference between you too, Vox’s love was conditional, yours was not. 

It was as simple as that and, unfortunately, you both knew that. While as a part of Vox hated himself for it, you accepted it with an empty dullness.

You knew his ‘I love you’ wouldn’t last, just like you knew he wasn’t being truthful about how his screen broke.

After all, he was a bad liar.

a/n — What if I said this fic takes place in the same timeline as my ‘I Could be a Better Boyfriend’ fic. And then what if I lied and said I was planning that all along?

What then?

also last minute edit but pretty sure @imsoboredlmfao wanted to be tagged so here it is!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel vox #inbox open #vox x you #vox x reader #vox hazbin hotel

[barbiiecams]

daddy’s girl

dad!drew starkey x mom!reader, kinda trash but obviously i had too cus im in love with the video of drew and his niece oh my gosh <33

it was a peaceful morning. the sun was shining, the weather was warm, and it was a perfect day for a family date.

looking at the clock, you saw it was 8 am. you were a little surprised aaliyah hadn’t woken up yet, but she just started sleeping through the night. and you definitely weren’t complaining at all.

you sat up in bed while drew was still knocked out. he was still on go all night just in case she started crying in the middle of the night, so he was reasonably tired.

letting him sleep for a little bit, you got up to check on your baby. you made sure to keep your steps quiet, just so you didn’t wake drew up or potentially wake aaliyah up either.

opening the door to her nursery, a wide awake baby looked at you as you walked in.

you smiled at the position of her on her back, holding her feet. “is that my liyah girl up?”

she flashed you her infamous gummy smile. she loved to smile at anyone and everyone, and you just always had to thank god for your happy baby.

she kicked her legs around, more than excited to see her mommy in the morning again. picking her up from her crib, you smothered her in kisses. “my pretty girl, we’re gonna have such a fun day!”

you played with her a little more in your arms before you decided it was time to get yourselves ready for the day. walking into the bathroom, you brushed your teeth while you made sure she had one of her teething rings.

the wailing wasn’t happening now, but it would definitely happen later. better safe than sorry.

she was so calm and bubbly as you did your morning routine, it was perfect. she was really the definition of a “trick baby”.

you were almost done when drew walked in, clearly just woke up from bed not even a minute ago.

“good morning sleepyhead.” you grinned at him through the mirror.

he rubbed his eyes “g’morning,”

hugging you from behind, he gave you a kiss on the cheek then your lip. he reached over to aaliyah to rub her head comfortingly.

“this big girl slept throughout the whole night huh? didn’t she?” he started cooing at her, but that eventually turned into all of his attention. if there was someone that could “steal” your man, it’d be no one except his other princess.

he tickled her a little bit which made her start giggling, then gave her her morning kisses. a sight that would never get old to you.

“best sleep of my life,” you said while styling your hair, and it made him laugh.

“and you deserve it,” he said while wrapping an arm around your waist. “carried her for so long, s’the least i can do baby.”

you smiled at his words, “well she’s sleeping finally, so that means we can both start too.”

“and the stuff we used to be able to do almost every night,” he says into your ear, mainly so that liyah won’t hear.

giggling at his words and shaking your head, you finished with your hair. “it’s too early for you. this is the reason why she’s here in the first place.”

while cleaning your space up, he carries aaliyah off the counter. “you know i want another one.”

“me too,” you respond. “when she’s 2!”

he just smiles at this. he definitely doesn’t have a problem with that, but it just made him laugh that you were so adamant about the specific age. “you wanna be pregnant and dealing with terrible twos?

“you wanna deal with a baby and terrible twos?”

he throws his head back and laughs while bouncing aaliyah. “i’ll go get her ready, take your time baby.”

before walking out the bathroom he gives you a final kiss on the cheek. it feels nice being able to just have a morning to yourself after becoming a mom, but you always still cherished the mornings with liyah.

picking out your outfit, you settled on this for the fact that it was comfy enough to take aaliyah around the city as you planned.

when you were completely done getting yourself ready, you went to check on what your husband and baby were up to since it didn’t take you very long to get ready.

walking into her nursery once again, you saw a completely dressed and ready to go aaliyah.

“woww, that was quick. i’m impressed.” you praise drew.

he throws you a wink, “super dad.”

you giggle at his words while he hands her to you so he can get himself ready. the both of you were probably thinking about doing a brunch, so you packed liyah’s bag so you guys could leave as soon as he finished.

as drew walked out, liyah wasn’t having it. she started to get fussy and start whining when he was completely out of eyesight.

because of this, you paused packing some of her things. instead, you bounced her and patted her back, “ohh i know sweat pea, daddy’s just leaving the baby huh?”

although it could be a handful, you loved to see the bond she had with drew. she could be crying all night one second, but completely fine the next if she sees him right next to her.

calming down only a little, you were able to continue packing her bag. after 20 minutes of trying to keep her occupied, drew finally was done.

he takes the bag from you, “where we headed first, mama?”

“well i know she’s gonna get hungry soon and i definitely am, so let’s stop at our spot for brunch.”

before he can make another move, liyah reaches out for him and he takes her, “it’s clear who the favorite is.”

he smirks at you and all you can do was roll your eyes. it was the truth whether you liked it or not. “whatever. let’s go.”

laughing at your sentence, he puts his hand on the small of your back as you guys walk out of the room and out of the house, him also locking the door behind you too.

it’s the way he was able to multitask and do so much, while looking soo sexy, with a baby in his arm. it did really make you wanna give him another one earlier.

you made your way to the car and so did he, putting liyah in her car seat before entering the drivers seat. you guys headed down to the cafe that you and drew considered “your spot”, and you guys both planned to have your kids practically grow up with this cafe. it’s where you and drew both met for the first time, and all the memories you’ve made so far have been beautiful. you definitely weren’t going to stop making those memories anytime soon either.

—

arriving at the cafe, he grabs the baby bag and your purse while you put aaliyah in her carrier that was connected to you. eventually you would start putting her in the high chairs that the restaurants provided, but currently she was still in the phase where she needed to touch either mommy or daddy in public.

fastening the carrier, you and drew both walked in and saw familiar faces behind the counters.

“ah look! it’s my favorite person and her parents!” the owner jokes.

this makes you giggle and drew roll his eyes, “good morning to you too.”

you both find a spot and order your usuals. days like these you always appreciated. being surrounded by the people that make you happy and surrounded by peace.

drew started chatting with the owner while you chatted with his wife who also worked there. their daughter who was around your age had just had a baby herself, so there was already enough to go and chat over.

everything was going well, until of course you guys heard the whining. it was surely feeding time.

they watched you with smiles as you positioned her off your chest, but cradling her as drew handed you a bottle. as soon as you put it to her lips, she was completely calm again.

“that is really your twin, y/n!” the woman says.

“you think so?” you really only said this to hear her say it again, knowing how much she looked like you. you didn’t just cook her up for 9 months and pop her out for her not to look like you.

“most definitely,” she smiles.

“she may look like me, but that’s her true favorite right there.” you pointed at drew.

“really?” the owner asks.

“oh for sure,” drew says as he just admires the both of you. “i always tell her, mommy’s twin but daddy’s girl.”

he makes your eyes roll for what seems like the 50th time this morning, but he just laughs and kisses your cheek.

“when you have a son, he’ll most likely be a mamas boy.” the owner affirms.

“well, i guess we’re just gonna have to test that theory out.” drew says as he wraps an arm around you.

and that was just your main goal in life, to expand your growing family even more with him.

#barbiiecams #drew starkey #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey drabble #drew starkey fic #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey angst #drew starkey headcannon #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #NO LONGER! #but it is only a two-parter sorry. this is it #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

[talaok]

omg that dad!pedro post gave me an idea

dad!pedro and reader trying a second baby, and when they finally get pregnant they go to a check up and find out they’re having twins, and he’d be so excited 🥹

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

a/n: ahhhh stop making me fantasize about having children im too young for that shit!!

You had made a pact after Emma,

One year. You were gonna wait at least one year before you'd grant her a sibling.

Now that promise... that promise hadn't exactly been kept. As it turns out, having a baby only made the both of you even more desperate for another one.

that's why when your daughter was only a few months old, with a simple "8 months is basically 12" murmured to your ear by your desperate husband, all promises went out the window.

And that's how only a month later, the pregnancy test came back positive.

You would have expected the second time to be less emotional, but god if you were wrong.

Pedro kissed you as long as he could, as long as his lungs allowed, while neverending tears of joy fell down your cheeks.

From then on Pedro had been just perfect, he had to take on a few more tasks with Emma, and he did so gladly, always with a smile on his face, always reminding you just how happy you were making him, just how you were making all his dreams come true, reminding you that he loved you more and more every day.

He was your biggest supporter, and not a day went by that he didn't make you fall in love with him all over again.

Today included. It was time for the first check-up, and you were terribly nervous.

Which meant he took his time calming you down, kissing you softly as he promised how "everything's gonna be alright" over and over again, until finally, you were in the gynecologist's office, lying on the table as the nurse performed the ultrasound.

All the while gripping Pedro's hand for dear life.

And it was then, when the nurse's movements on your belly stopped, when you watched her examine the screen more carefully, it was when she pulled away the device from your body completely, that your heart started beating out of your chest.

"what is it?" you asked, your voice trembling, already expecting the worst.

"I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to say, I'm gonna go call the doctor" the nurse, smiled, trying to be reassuring and failing miserably

"w-what do you mean you can't say? What is it? Is it bad?"

But all she could do was shake her head slightly, answering "I'll be right back, Let me go call the doctor"

The moment the door clicked behind her, the moment you were alone, tears started filling your eyes as your brain filled with images of all that was inevitably gonna happen.

"hey, hey, hey" Pedro cooed, noticing your reaction "it's ok"

"no it's not" you whimpered "There's something wrong"

"no there isn't" he promised, stroking your cheek "Nothing's wrong, I'm sure it's nothing, I'm sure she went to call the doctor so that he can tell us that we've got the most perfect baby in the word"

"Baby..." you murmured, melting into his touch "You know that's not true, I-I must have done something wrong- I-"

"don't you even think something like that sugar" he shook his head, crouching down to be at your level "You are the most amazing mother anyone could ask for, you did absolutely nothing wrong, I promise"

"I-I don't kno-"

But before you could finish the sentence, the doctor had entered, with the nurse right behind him.

"good morning, if you don't mind I would like to take a look myself"

And with a shy nod from your part, that cold instrument was on you again, while the tall, white-haired man looked attentively at the screen.

"yes" he murmured to himself "yes it seems so"

"w-what?" you couldn't stop yourself from asking, squeezing Pedro's hand tighter

"yeah, what?" he joined

"well" the man cleared his that, checking the monitor once again "the ecograph is picking up two heartbeats" 

Your heart sank, 

Your baby has two hearts? You haven't even seen that on greys anatomy

"W-what do you mean two heartbeats?"

A soft smile now ghosted his features as he saw the worry on your face "Oh sorry" he apologized "I meant to say that you're having twins"

And just like that, your heart was racing again, actually not racing, it was going as fast as the fucking speed of light.

Your hearing became muffled and your mouth fell open as you turned to your left, finding in Pedro's eyes all your surprise and excitement perfectly mirrored.

His eyes were glimmering, and his lips were turned into one of the biggest smiles you'd ever seen, the same one he had on the day he proposed, on your wedding day, the day that Emma was born, and now... now the day you found out you were gonna have two beautiful babies at once.

"w-we-" you stuttered, gripping his hand and forgetting all about the company you had in the room as you got lost in his eyes

"we're having twins" he laughed, not able to stop himself from kissing you "We're having twins" he repeated "We're having twins sweetheart" he breathed once again, looking into your eyes 

"god I love you so much"

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #dad!pedro pascal #pedro pascal blurb #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x fem reader #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #the last of us #joel miller #tlou #the mandalorian #javier peña #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #Pedro Pascal #fluff #daddy pascal #pedrohub #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedrito

[rainylana]

“I’m not ever gonna stop.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: reader and eddie are new parents. reader struggles to keep everything together for eddie.

warnings: dad eddie and mom reader, postpartum depression, new baby and all the things that go with it, language, stressed reader very emotional, breastfeeding.

“Oh, God.” You moaned in exhaustion, back against the closed door to your baby’s nursery after finally getting her to sleep after hours of crying. You opened your eyes, the trailer an absolute wreck. You knew you should listen to your doctor. When the baby sleeps, you sleep, but you had so much to do. Laundry, dishes, dinner. It had been days since you showered, absolutely covered in spit up, formula and piss.

Baby Johanna was only five weeks old, and as amazing and life changing those weeks had been, they’d also been the hardest and most challenged. You were physically and emotionally drained. Completely exhausted. She was the best thing to ever happen to you, without a doubt, but damn, did you miss sleeping a full night. Eddie of course, helped when he could, but he worked full time. Everyday 9 to 5.

Eddie knew you were having a hard time. He felt terrible he couldn’t do more, spend more time at home, but he carried a big responsibility by supporting the finances. You’d called Joyce almost everyday with questions. Why she wouldn’t stop crying? Why she never seemed happy? She fussed all the live long day. You felt so behind on everything. Your house, your life, your husband. You missed showering and wearing deodorant.

Your eyes fixated on your messy home, brain so exhausted and cluttered you didn’t know where to start. Wiping your sweaty face, you pushed yourself off the door to the living room, picking up trash off the floor and cold coffee cups. You cringed when you caught your reflection in the mirror hung above the table. Your hair was falling out of your bun atop of your head. You were pale as snow and had craters under your eyes, lips chapped and cry. Your t shirt was stained and torn at the arm, your black shorts on underneath. You looked horrendous, but house work was more important than a shower.

You were extremely depressed. Well, you didn’t know if you were more exhausted or depressed. Either way, you didn’t feel good. You felt yourself disassociating from your own body, having trouble concentrating and staying focused with your own mind. Half the time, you didn’t feel real. It made you feel crazy, but you couldn’t help it. You’d read about postpartum, Eddie had too, but you legitimately were struggling. Your daughter made it worth it, however. Father hood looked good on Eddie, you hoped he thought the same for you. 

Your baby looked just like him. She had dark curls already at her young age, a head full of hair. A little button nose, which Eddie says she got from you. Big brown eyes, from dad. A birthmark on her shoulder, from you. She was the most perfect thing you’d ever seen. It was hard to believe that you made her. It made you incredibly proud.

It had been just ten minutes. You’d gotten a small portion of the living room picked up when she starting screaming again. You had angrily thrown down the trash in your hands to the floor, groaning into your hands as you followed the cry. You’d held her in the rocking chair, trying your best to sooth her. You’d tried feeding her, which hurt badly. You’d never imagine your breasts would be so ginormous.

Another thirty minutes of her crying sent you into a wave of snotty tears until she finally fell asleep in your arms. You’d carefully put her in her crib, tiptoeing and praying to god above she wouldn’t wake up. You full heartedly believed she hated you, or at least was out to get you. She was never happy with you or what she did. Oh, but daddy? She loved him. He never did anything wrong in her eyes.

For the next two hours you tried to settle your baby while you attempted to clean. You never got much done, then she would start to cry again. She wouldn’t touch your boob, her diaper was clean. All she did was cry. You’d called Joyce and she assured you that nothing you were doing was wrong. Babies cried, they went through fits and phases. You just had to let her cry it out.

It was 5:30 when Eddie walked through the door, waving a bundle of red roses. “How’s my best girl!” He cheered, throwing his jacket on the couch.

“Shh, shh!” You panicked, running to cover his mouth. “I just got her back to sleep!”

He cringed under your hand. “Sorry.” He chuckled quietly. “Got ya flowers.”

You smiled softly, taking them in your hands and admiring them. “Thank you. They’re pretty. How was work?” You turned to lay them on the table, stepping over the baby mobile.

“Good. Boss says I’ve got a raise in the future if I pick up more hours.” He opened the fridge for a beer, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“More hours?” You frowned, tucking a hair behind your ear. “Don’t you think you work too much as is?” You tried speaking quietly, collecting all the dirty dishes to put in the sink.

“Yeah, I know, baby, but with little Joey now we could really use the money.” You would have smiled at the endearment he used for your daughter, but the idea of him picking up for hours made your throat grow thick. Eddie was your rock. You yearned for five o’clock at the start of each day.

“Yeah, okay.” You sighed, pushing a curl with your breath. You got out the broom from the closet to sweep the floor.

Eddie took a look around his home, watching how angsty and exhausted you were. He didn’t want to seem like a dick, but he was hungry. “When’s dinner, babe?”

“Oh, fuck.” You stopped your sweeping, head looking up to the ceiling as you closed your eyes. “Damn it, Eddie, I’m sorry,” You threw down the broom, not caring whether or not it made noise. “I’ve been so busy trying to get that…I’d say our daughter but I’m halfway convinced I have birth to some- some- spawn of satan, to sleep!” You stressed, running your hands through your hair.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie chuckled, placing down his beer as he stepped toward you. “Come here,” He pulled you into his arms and you melted into them. “Sorry you had a bad day, baby. Wanna order pizza?”

You mumbled a quiet yeah into his shirt, stifling a yawn. You wanted him to hold you all night, but you had so much to do. You pushed yourself away, grabbing the phone off the counter to hand it to him. “You order pizza and I’ll finish sweeping.”

“Honey,” Eddie peered down at you. “No sweeping. Take a break and sit down with me, yeah?”

You shook your head, sniffling. “No- no, I’ve got too much to do before she wakes up again, I-”

“You can do that tomorrow.” He picked the broom off the floor and put it in the closet. “I’ll order pizza and you go put on your cute little pj’s, alright? Have dinner with me.” He flashed you a million dollar smile.

You frowned, however, looking over the dirty home before you have a singular nod.

•

Today had been a good day. You’d been able to get a half decent night’s sleep, and Johanna wasn’t near as fussy as she had been yesterday. You’d gotten some house work done, cleaned the living room and did the dishes. All you had left was to catch up on laundry and clean your bedroom. You’d taken a shower in the morning before Eddie had left for work, even had breakfast with him.

Right now, you were nursing your baby girl in your arms, neck propped up on a pillow as you sat on the couch, eyes fixated on the game show on the tv. “Ow.” You winced lightly, chuckling as you looked down. “You don’t go very easy on mommy, you know?” Your nipples were extremely tender these days, swollen like a bunch of watermelons. Eddie adored it. It made you waddle just like when you were pregnant.

She’d fallen asleep after nursing for another twenty minutes, allowing you to sit there peacefully after you’d pulled your tank top back over you. Your eyes dropped tiredly, your head just lightly pounding from exhaustion. You looked down at your daughter, her face snuggled against your boob. You took your finger and gently caressed her cheek. She looked so much like Eddie. Her purple onesie was snug, her little belly poking out and her dark curls were messy at the top from all the wiggling around she did. When she was quiet like this, you could think. It really was worth it, all the work and lack of sleep. She made it worth it. Her and Eddie.

Carefully, you laid down on the couch and adjusted her on your chest. She moved just a little bit, her tiny fist gathering your dirty tank top in her hand. You smiled, pulling a blanket over top of you. You weren’t going to sleep. You were extremely paranoid about co-sleeping. Eddie assured you that you were being over dramatic, but you’d read horror stories about it.

You have her a kiss atop of her head and enjoyed the rest of your show.

•

“There’s my girl.” Eddie said in a childlike voice, front door still open from his arrival. You smiled widely as little Jo squealed in her baby mobile on the floor. Eddie threw his stuff down and went to her, lifting her out of her seat and kissing her cheek. “Baby, baby, baby, how’s my baby?” He repeated, lifting her up into the air to blow raspberries on her bellow. “How’s my little Joey Jo?” He tucked her into his side, face red from how hard he smiled, finally turning to you.

“How’s my other girl?” You laughed as he came over to give you a peck on the lips.

“I don’t remember the last time I was thrown into the air like that.”

“Oh, yeah?” He raised a brow, pulling on Jo’s onesie. “You’re in for a fun night, then, little lady.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning into his chest to cuddle him and your baby. “How was work?”

“Good.” He kissed the top of your head. “Next week I’m up to another hour. Should be getting home about six o’clock then.”

You sighed, locking eyes with Jo. She didn’t like it either.

“I know, sweetheart, but you know we need the money.” He said remorseful, leaning back to see your face a bit. “It’s just one more hour. Not too bad, right?”

You nodded, pushing yourself away to turn to the sink, turning on the hot water. “Dinner’s on the table. Joyce brought over a lasagna.” You blinked back tears as you waited for the sink to fill up so you could clean the numerous baby bottles.

Eddie looked from the table to you. “You gonna eat with me?”

“Got too much to do.”

He sighed, knowing you were upset about the news, but what else was he supposed to do? Money was essential, and he would do anything to support the both of you.

He gave Jo another kiss before putting her back into the mobile, leaning up against the counter to get a look at your face. He frowned at the sight of your tears. “Baby,”

You sniffled, your hands red from the scolding water. “I’m fine.” You said dismissively. “Just eat your dinner.”

“Hey,” He sat up straight. “Don’t be like that. Talk to me.” He cupped your shoulder.

“I don’t feel like talking.” You brushed his hand off. “I’ve got too much fucking work to do, but you wouldn’t know since you’re not ever fucking here, because you’re always fucking working.” You snapped, throwing a baby bottle at the floor, bubbles splattering across the counter.

Eddie’s eyes widened in shock at your outburst, mouth falling ajar. His pride wanted him to snap right back, but he knew you were right. You got the brunt of parenthood. He wasn’t going through what you were. He heard about the bad days. He didn’t experience them.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice broke, placing your soapy hands on the counter. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean that. I’m just tired, I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart,” He swallowed, trying to bring you close.

“Just-” You brushed him away again. “Just eat your dinner, please.” You looked to him with tearful, pleading eyes. “I got too much to do.”

He looked at you in disbelief, while you looked at Joanna. He gave a sad nod before leaving you be.

•

You were sobbing on the floor, baby girl in your arms, propped up by your knees. She’d been crying all day, had barely ever stopped. The house was now again an absolute wreck and you’d gotten nothing done. You had spit up on your neck, dried and irritated. Your breasts were throbbing, sore and tender. She’d about sucked them dry and you cried the entire time. You’d had enough and put her in her crib, hoping she’d cry it out like Joyce said. She had to hate you, why else could you not get her to stop crying. Her feeding schedule was normal, she never had trouble, and while nursing hurt badly, you’d had luck with not getting any clogged ducts.

“Fuck,” You cried after shutting the door. Your chest was bubbled with emotions, teary eyes scanning the mess of your small home. It was hard to move around in there, especially with a baby, but you didn’t want to bother Eddie with requesting a more expensive home. He did enough as is. You’d felt guilty for snapping at him like you did, but you were at your absolute wits end. You were on the floor folding laundry an hour later when Eddie came home.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie smiled, looking around for his daughter. “Joey asleep?”

“Finally.” You glanced up at him briefly. “She’s been crying all day. I haven’t had time to do anything at all.”

“Well,” He sat down beside you, grabbing the clothes from your hand. “I want to take you out tonight. I called Robin and Steve and figured we could all go out to dinner. It’ll be good for you to see them.”

You laughed shortly before continuing your work. “Sounds nice, Eddie, but I’m too busy.”

“Nonsense.” He dismissed, taking the clothes yet again and pulling the both of you off the floor as you protested. “Go take a shower, baby. Joyce is going to babysit. She’s on her way over now.”

He was serious. Your face fell. “Eddie.” You swallowed, sighing heavily. “Please, I- honey, thank you, that’s sweet, but I can’t.”

“Why not?” He raised his hand. “You’ve not been out in weeks. You’re too cooped up in here, doll. You need to get out of the house. Steve and Robin are on their way too.”

“What?” You widened your eyes. “Eddie! No, this place is a disaster!” You panicked, your hair falling out of your messy, lazy braid. “God damnit, Eddie!”

“Oh, come on, don’t start getting mad again.” He sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. “Y/n, I’m trying to help here, okay? No offense, but you’re not making it very easy on me.”

“Oh, my god.” You squeezed your eyes shut, running your hands through your hair. “I’m so damn sorry that you’re having a hard time, Eddie!”

“You don’t have to be so rude all the time, you know?” He threw down his work jacket, taking a step with his heavy boots. “I bust my ass all day and have to worry about the money because I don’t want you worrying about that shit! You’ve got enough on your plate, I know you do, but so do I! Now, will you just let me please take you out?”

“Eddie,” You sobbed, your internal damn breaking. “Eddie, I can’t. The house is such a mess and I have so much to do.” Your face crumpled into tears of hysterics, your hands moving from your sides to your belly. “I’m sorry- I’m trying s-so hard to keep everything together for you but I can’t- god, she hates m-me!” You sniffled, node snotty and red.

“Y/n,” He sighed, face relaxing into a frown.

You shook your head, crossing your arms. “I love her so much but- but it’s just..how am I supposed to do this everyday! I’m so exhausted and I smell and my boobs hurt so bad!” You sobbed, shoulders shaking from the weight of your heartache. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bitch, I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, hey, hey, shh,” He gathered you close, arms entangling around you tightly, hoping to ease your pain. “It’s alright, it’s alright, baby, calm down, shh,” He rocked you, large palm smoothing your hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“I don’t feel pretty anymore.” You wept into his shoulder.

“You’re beautiful.” He squeezed you. “You’re always beautiful to me. I’m so sorry you’ve been struggling so much. I should’ve been paying more attention. I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad.” He kissed your shoulder, then your cheek.

“I just want you to be proud of me.” You sniffled. “I feel like such a mess and this house, this house that you pay for, I can’t ever keep fucking clean.”

“Honey, I am proud of you.” He took your face in his hands. “I’m so proud of you. The things your body can do is incredible. The things you do every day is incredible. Watching you be a mother is the most amazing thing I know I’m ever going to witness. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“Credit for what?” You groaned, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “For complaining? For being ungrateful?”

“You’re not ungrateful.” He softened his brown eyes. “You’re having a hard time. It doesn’t make you ungrateful.”

“I’m just sorry.” You whimpered. “Do you still love me?”

He couldn’t help but smile at your innocence. “I’m not ever gonna stop.”

He wound up calling Steve shortly after and told him it would be another time, and that he needed to take care of his girls. He pampered you all night and made sure you didn’t lift a finger cleaning the house. He fed the baby with her bottle while you took a shower, tidying things up along the way. Your shower was almost forty five minutes. He’d ordered chinese food and had it ready when you got out. Joanna sat in her playpen while you both ate.

It really wasn’t much to Eddie, but these actions to you meant more than he could ever say. You laid on his chest on the couch, watching wheel of fortune until you both drifted off to sleep.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson angst #eddie munson oneshot #eddie x new mom #eddie munson x y/n

[tasteleeknow-remade]

— bunny

pairing: minho x fem!reader genre: smut, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers, neighbours!au. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 7.2k

summary: after leaving your toxic relationship, you and your bunny are completely alone in the world—until your soft spoken neighbour slowly brings down your walls.

a/n: reached 1k since i last posted. thank you for following, i appreciate you. this is my longest yet, i really hope you like it.

afab!reader. protected intercourse. strength kink. subtle praise kink. hand job. thigh riding. protective behaviour. emotional hurt/comfort. reader has a toxic emotionally abusive ex (he doesn't make an appearance apart from a short phone call). reader is jumpy around loud noises as a result.

You weren’t alone, you had Jack. Your pet rabbit was the only good thing to come out of your relationship with your ex. He’d given you the baby bunny for your last birthday and you’d quickly fallen in love, naming him after the only family you’d ever known—your grandpa. After he’d passed your ex had come along and—in your vulnerable state—you’d sapped up the affection without hesitation. It was a mistake. He was loud, quick to anger and you’d ended up feeling like you’d taken on another responsibility rather than finding someone to free you from your loneliness. It had taken you far too long to work up the courage to venture out into the world alone, but you’d done it. You were here. Your small ground level apartment had a tiny enclosed patch of grass out the back. It was enough for Jack to have some outside time and it was enough for you to finally get some peace. You weren’t alone, you had Jack. You and your bunny in your small ground floor apartment. 

You’d only moved out from your ex’s place a week ago. He was still calling at least once a day. He wanted to know where your place was so he could ‘check up on you’. You were working up the courage to block his number. You knew he couldn’t find you and you wouldn’t have to deal with any shouting when he realised—but the logic didn’t override your anxiety. So, you were working up to it. 

Downsides to your new move? It was much farther away from your work. You also had to drive a route which was renowned for having terrible traffic. You’d been late more in the past week than you had in the previous 6 months. It was for this reason you were rushing down the driveway, eyes on the maps app in your phone to check the latest traffic conditions. You weren’t looking where you should’ve been, in front of you. It was entirely your fault when you collided with the man unfortunate enough to find himself in your path. He grunted as you collided with his chest, cold liquid spilling from the cup in his hand—soaking the both of you. 

“Oh, shit! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, ” you rushed out as you scrambled to fish the small tissue packet from your bag, “I’m so stupid. I’m so sorry.” You dropped your bag on the ground, dropping into a crouch as you frantically searched. You threw random belongings out onto the ground around you as you dug. Where the fuck were they? A soft touch on your arm startled you. You looked up at the face of the man you’d crashed into for the first time. He was crouched down in front of you, his doe eyes showing no trace of anger. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” his tone was soft, so soft and calm compared to your frantic muttering, “I’m fine, really. The coffee was crap this morning anyway.” He offered you a small smile before beginning to collect your scattered items and tucking them gently into your bag. 

“I-I spilled it all over your shirt.”

“It’ll wash.” He handed you your phone and you gingerly took it from his fingers—careful not to touch him. “You’re in a rush, so I won’t hold you up. I’m Minho, I think we’re neighbours.” 

You grabbed your bag and stood, looking back to the apartment neighbouring yours. 

“Number 55?”

“Mm.”

“Oh.” You rocked back and forth, failing to look him in the eyes again. 

“You’re in a rush,” he repeated again, noticing your fidgeting. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. 

“Have a nice day, then,” he said, grabbing his cup from the ground. You managed to look at his face to offer him a polite smile and then you made a run for it. It wasn’t until you were sitting in the car, gripping the steering wheel, that you realised you had coffee all over your white work shirt. 

Jack loved his little garden. The day you moved in you’d neglected unpacking for inspecting the fence for any gaps or spots he could dig his way out of. You wanted to let him explore while the sun was still up. He’d explored the small yard as you watched, a small smile on your face. You made time everyday to sit outside in the afternoon sun and watch him explore his little patch of earth. He’d always bounce over to you when he was ready and you’d scoop him into your arms. 

Minho greeted you every morning as you left for work. He was always sitting on a bench in front of his apartment, iced coffee in his hand. He never looked like he had anywhere to be and on days when you weren’t rushing to beat traffic you’d stop and entertain his small talk. You’d managed to recover from your initial blunder, introducing yourself properly and apologising again for your clumsiness. He always spoke in soft tones, easing you into a sort of familiarity and comfort with him. He was the only person you saw regularly outside work. All your friends had also been your ex’s friends. You’d left them behind along with the relationship, not wanting to risk your new address getting back to him. You were used to being alone anyway.

“Morning,” he greeted, taking a sip from his oversized cup. He had one arm up over the back of the bench, his legs spread apart—looking like he had no worries in the world. You hadn’t asked him what he did for work. You figured he’d offer up the personal information he was comfortable sharing. So far you knew he had three cats—you’d quickly asked if they were outside cats, worried about your bunny’s outdoor time. He said he let them out to sunbake occasionally but he supervised and they’d never attempted to climb the fence. That was when you’d told him about Jack. His eyes had lit up, leaning forward on the bench and asking you what breed he was, how old, promising he’d kept his cats inside when Jack was out. That was the day you’d truly softened to him, letting your stubborn walls down a little. 

“Good morning,” you greeted in return, handing him one of the blueberry muffins you’d made the afternoon before. 

“Blueberry today?”

“They were on sale at the market.”

“I love blueberries,” he commented before taking a huge bite. “It’s good,” he mumbled around his mouthful.

“Good,” you smiled, watching him close his eyes as he finished chewing.  

“You can’t move out suddenly and leave me without your muffins, I've formed an dependance,” he said casually before taking another bite. 

“They aren’t that good,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed. He talked them up too much. Your grandpa’s baking? That was good. Movement out the corner of your eye drew your attention to the end of the driveway. A group of kids were hovering. One of them pointed in your direction. 

“Hey!” Minho’s shout made you jump, dropping your car keys. “Get out of here!” He stood up and waved them off, muffin in hand. You snatched your keys off the ground and backed up down the two small steps, away from the bench Minho was standing at. He directed his attention to you as you took another small step back—his brows drawing together a little as you made eye contact. “You alright?” he asked, taking a small step towards you. 

“Yeah, I-I’ve gotta go.” You rushed to your car, throwing your bag into the passenger seat and quickly glancing into the rear view mirror. He was still standing there, coffee in one hand, your blueberry muffin in the other. 

You were stupid. So, so stupid. You wiped your eyes with your sleeve and took a deep breath before banging on Minho’s door. It was about to get dark and you needed all the help you could get. You sniffed as the door swung open, Minho stood with one of his cats in his arms. 

‘I left the door open, I-I’m so stupid, I don’t know how-I didn’t—” 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, placing the cat down and taking a step towards you, “What's wrong? What happened? Take a deep breath, you’re alright,” his voice was gentle, as soft as you’d ever heard it. You took a slow deep breath, in and out. 

“I lost Jack. I went out to get something from my car and I guess I didn’t shut the front door properly and I can’t find him and I think he’s gone and it’s getting dark. I’m so stupid, I can’t—” 

“It’s alright,” he interrupted as you began to panic again, “we’ll find him. Just—Just give me a second, okay?” He rushed back into his apartment, leaving the door open as you stood in the doorway. The cat he’d been holding in his arms sat a few steps into the apartment—watching you attempt to hold back your tears. 

“What’s your name?” you asked, your voice shaky. He blinked at you and then walked over to nuzzle his head against your leg. You crouched to scratch his chin, coaxing out a soft purr. You’d always wanted a cat when you were little. Your boyfriend was allergic so you’d quickly put it out of your mind, and then Jack came along. 

“That’s Soonie,” Minho said, reappearing wearing a fleece jumper and carrying a torch, “You ready to go?” 

“Yeah,” you replied, looking back down at the purring cat, “Do you—Do you think we’ll find him? I-I can’t lose him.” 

“We’ll find him,” he sounded confident, like he really believed it. 

You pressed your face into Soonie’s fur before standing, watching Minho tie his laces. His hair was ruffled, like he’d woken from sleep. One small tuft stuck straight up from the centre of his head. You resisted the urge to smooth it down. 

“You searched your whole place?” he asked as he stood, grabbing the torch and pulling the door shut as he stepped outside. You watched him lock the door. 

“I keep all the doors shut so he’s only loose in the hallway… the only way out was the front door…” 

“You’re sure?”

“I was sitting in the hallway with him with all the doors shut, my phone started dying and I remembered I left my charger in the car… I-I thought I closed the door but when I got back it was cracked open.”

“Okay, let’s check around here first.” He offered you a small smile then stuffed the torch in his coat pocket and hopped down the steps to begin searching. “Jack,” he called, hunched over so he could scan through the bushing lining the driveway. You searched the bushes on the other side, calling your bunny’s name periodically. He was very affectionate. The way he’d hop over to you when you took him out in the yard gave you a sliver of hope that he’d appear any second, finished with his adventure. When you reached the end of the driveway with no result you looked down to the end of the street, the cul-de-sac offered at least an end point. If he’d gone the other way and ended up on the main street…

“Let’s go this way,” Minho announced, finished with the search down his side of the driveway. He began walking down towards the dead end, calling out Jack’s name in his soft tone. If the bunny would come to anything, it would be his placating tones. 

The further you got to the end of the street the more your panic grew. Your heart felt like it would beat out of your chest any second. When the end came and Minho turned to find you grasping your chest and struggling to control your breathing he took three quick steps towards you. His hand came up towards you before dropping back to his side. 

“We’ll find him,” he said. He didn’t sound sure anymore. 

“Oh god,” you sobbed, covering your face. “I can’t—” 

“Please—Please don’t cry. We’ll find him.” 

“He’s gone.” 

“You’re his family, he won’t go far. He was probably following you and got distracted, hm? He’ll come home when he’s ready.” 

You lifted your hands from your face to find him much closer than you expected. He pulled the sleeve down on his fleece jumper and used it to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You watched his eyes as he worked, they were always so expressive. Like he was so full of feeling all the time they couldn’t contain it.  

“We’ll walk to the other end of the street and then head back, yeah? It’ll be getting dark soon,” he said when he was done, smoothing his hand back over his hair. The little tuft was flattened. 

You followed him down the street, taking turns calling out. Minho would turn around occasionally, as if you’d somehow get lost walking to the end of your own street. By the time you got back to your driveway Minho had pulled out his torch, flicking it on and scanning around as he called. You stopped half way down the drive, not ready to face entering your apartment alone. You took a deep breath, attempting to calm yourself, as you watched Minho reach the two small steps up to your front doors. He dropped into a crouch and pulled something from his pocket. You took a small step forward and then he was standing again, turning to face you. He was holding something. You ran. 

“He was scratching at your door,” Minho spoke softly, feeding Jack a stick of celery he must’ve been keeping in his pocket, “Told you he’d come home,” he smiled, handing the small rabbit over to you gently. 

“I’m sorry,” you held the bunny to your chest, “I’m sorry, baby. You’re such a good boy.” Tears burned your throat as you held back your sobs—sick of crying. You looked up at your neighbour. “Thank you,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to speak any louder. 

“I didn’t do anything, he came back on his own,” he smiled. “He must love you.” 

“No I-I really mean it. Thank you. I… I would’ve had a total breakdown without your help. You make me…feel calm.” 

“You cried,” he said, a small smile still on his face. 

“That was calm compared to how I would’ve been otherwise, trust me.” You looked up at your apartment, then to the man in front of you. “Would you… like to come in for a bit? I have some muffins left—to say thank you.” 

“Alright,” he said after a moment, reaching over to pet Jack softly. “I can’t say no to one of your muffins.” 

He was sitting at the other end of your small couch, Jack in his lap and muffin wrapper on the cushion beside him. “I wanted to ask you about this morning. I think—I think I made you uncomfortable,” he said, eyes fixed on the bunny in his lap. 

You adjusted yourself a little at your end of the couch. “I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just—I don’t… like loud noises, I guess.”

“When I shouted at the kids?” he said, looking up at you.

“Mm. Shouting specifically gets me, I think.” 

He stroked Jack softly before speaking, “They threw pebbles at one of my cats.” 

“What?” 

“Dori was sleeping out the front with me and I went inside for a minute and when I came back those kids were throwing pebbles at him,” he said, still looking at you. It was the first time you’d recognised anger in his eyes. 

“Was he alright?” 

“Yeah, just a little spooked,” he said, dropping his eyes back to the small bunny in his lap, “I chased them down the driveway and said… a few things to scare them off.” 

“Well… I can see why you shouted this morning then.” 

“It won’t happen again. I don’t—I didn’t like the way you looked at me after.” 

You dropped your eyes to the cushion in your lap before speaking, “I wasn’t—I wasn’t afraid of you, just a little startled.” 

“Still. I won’t shout again.” 

The next morning there was a knock on your door as you were making your morning coffee. On Saturdays you enjoyed doing absolutely nothing. You puledl your sleep shorts down your thighs a little as you walked to the door. They were short enough that they hid under the hem of your oversized shirt. You peeked through the spyhole. Minho stood on the other side, rocking back and forth on his heels. You pulled your shorts down as much as you could, hoping he wouldn’t think you weren’t wearing pants at all. 

“Morning,” you greeted as you swung the door open. His eyes dropped to your legs before snapping back to your face. 

“Uh, sorry. I know it’s early but I just got back from the market and I went a bit overboard on the veg. I thought… Jack might like some?” He held up a grocery bag. “They’re organic.” 

“Oh! That’s… really nice of you. Thank you, he’ll love it.” You reached out to take the bag from him, it was heavy. Overboard? It was enough vegetables to feed you and a family of rabbits for a week. 

“No problem,” he said, arms dropping back to his sides. 

“I’m just making some coffee if you wanna come in?” 

His eyes flicked down to your legs and back up again, “I-I don’t wanna disturb you.”

“No, it’s really fine. I’m not busy,” you held the door open and stood aside. 

“You got any muffins left?” 

“Blueberry.” 

“Alright, then,” he said, offering you a small smile as he stepped inside—kicking his slippers off to reveal a pair of socks with little cat faces covering them.

Apparently he had a routine—every Saturday after that he knocks on your door with a bag full of vegetables. He keeps you so well stocked you’ve stopped having to buy any at all, there’s enough for both you and Jack. You make sure you have enough muffins to offer him with his iced coffee every week. 

Today your phone has been ringing non-stop. You assume something must’ve happened in your ex’s life to trigger it. You hadn’t had a call from him in weeks. Minho looked at your phone each time you silenced one of the calls until finally he spoke up, “Spam calls?” 

“No, just… someone I need to block.” 

“Why haven’t you?” he asked, fiddling with a muffin wrapper.

“I thought—I thought maybe I was working up the courage to block him but… I think maybe I’m working up the courage to answer. I think I need to say something before I can block him.” 

“Would me being here help?” 

“I… don’t know. It might get ugly,” you cringed. 

“I can handle it.” 

Your phone vibrated again. You looked between the phone and Minho. His lips curved into a small encouraging smile. You picked up the phone and answered, holding the phone up to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

“We broke up. I’ve been living my own life.” 

“Can you just—just tell me where you are, I need to see you. You need me, too. I know you do. You’re alone.”

You took a deep breath before unloading, “No, I’m not giving you my address and I don’t want to see you. You’re an angry, lazy fuckhead and I hope the next girl who comes across you sees right through you. Fuck you. I’m not talking about this again. Don’t call me, ever. This is done. We are done. I don’t need you anymore…and I’m not alone.” 

“Don’t be a—” You ended the call and blocked his number quickly before dropping your phone on the table. You took a slow deep breath, attempting to calm your racing heart. 

“You did good,” Minho’s soft voice broke through your building panic. You looked up at him across the table. He laid his hand over yours gently—you were shaking. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Later that week you were wearily walking towards your front door—completely exhausted—when you noticed your front door cracked open. You’d been at work all day, there was no one else with a key. You took a small step forward to push it open before stopping yourself. What if someone was inside? Your ex? You backed up towards Minho’s door. You were scared to knock, the noise might alert someone in your apartment to your presence. You pulled your phone out and texted him, asking him to come to his door. He read your message seconds after you sent it and then a minute or two later he was at the door. Before he could get a word out you pushed him inside—palm pressed to his chest—and shut his door quickly behind you. 

“There’s someone in my apartment,” you rushed out, “Jack, I need to check Jack.” 

“What? What do you mean someone’s in your apartment? Are you okay?” 

“I just got home and the door’s open, I definitely locked it. I locked it.” 

“Okay, okay. I need…” He turned and disappeared out to his backyard, returning with a shovel. He’d shown you his small vegetable patch just after your phone call with your ex. You helped him garden the rest of the afternoon. The calming activity and the easy conversation eased your anxiety completely. 

“What are you gonna do with that?” 

He looked at the shovel in his hand then back to you, “I-I dunno. Just in case.” He pulled his door open and you followed him to your door. He held his hand out behind him, keeping you a few steps back. You watched him push the door open and waited a moment, both of you silent as you listened carefully for any movement. Nothing. He crept inside—you following close behind. You both headed straight for the living room, Jack was fine. He was in his pen, chewing on a piece of hay. You pulled him out, holding him against your chest as you followed Minho through the rest of your apartment. You took note of anything valuable as you went, everything seemed to be in its place. You’d locked the door. You were positive. Everytime you stepped out the front door you replayed the night Jack got out—making you hyper aware of your actions. 

“I locked it,” you reiterated as you finished your search. 

“I believe you,” Minho answered, shovel still in hand. “You should stay at my place tonight—get your locks changed tomorrow. Do you think it could’ve been your ex?” 

You hesitated before speaking, “I-I didn’t tell him where I live.” 

“But if he did know…is this something he’d do?”

“Maybe,” you answered, no hesitation this time. 

He moved the shovel to his other hand and ran his fingers through his hair. “Where does he live?” 

“What?” 

“This guy. What’s his address?” 

“Why?” 

He sighed and then collapsed onto the couch behind him, dropping the shovel on the floor as he went. “I’ll make sure the cats are kept in a room overnight if you wanna grab Jack’s stuff. Do you need help carrying anything?” 

“No, I've got it. I’ll just bring his travel cage.” You watched him drop his head into his hands, leaning forward. “I can stay somewhere else, I don’t want to bother you.” You didn’t know how you’d sneak a rabbit into a hotel but you’d manage. 

He lifted his head, expression soft again. “No, no. Stay with me.” 

You held your breath, attempting not to read into his words. “Alright,” you breathed. “Can you hold Jack for me?” 

He reached up to gently take him from your arms, placing the small bunny in his lap and leaning back into the couch. You left the two of them there to collect everything you needed overnight. 

Minho had locked his cats in his living room as you set Jack up in the laundry. Three different doors separating them. You spoke to Jack as you set up his travel cage with everything he’d need, “We’ll just be here tonight, okay? You’re safe here, promise. Maybe tomorrow Minho will let you have a look at his garden.” 

“If he promises not to dig it up,” Minho’s voice behind you made you jump. He laughed a little, “Sorry.” 

“God, you're always slinking around like a cat. I never hear you coming.” 

“They’re confined and grumpy about it but they’ll survive,” he said, having returned from confining his three babies for the night.

“Will they ever forgive me?”

“It’s not your fault. They love you anyway.” 

“It’s a bit my fault.” 

He took a small step into the cramped laundry room. “It’s not, at all.” 

“Thank you for this… and for everything else. You’re always—I mean I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“You’d have more muffins,” he smirked.  

“If the price I have to pay is a few muffins, I’m getting a very good deal.” 

He was quiet for a moment. You tried to decipher the look in his eyes before he spoke again, “I’ve got you—you know that, right? Muffins or not, I’m here.” 

You smiled, “Even if I quit baking tomorrow?” 

“Even then.” 

“Why?” 

“Because we’re friends, I care about you.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“And I thought you were just hanging around for the muffins,” you grinned.

“Maybe at first. They’re like catnip.” 

He grunted, putting on a show as he caught the punching bag. “There you go, you’re getting it,” he laughed. 

You rubbed your knuckles, “I am not. I feel like my hands are about to drop off.” 

He gently took one of your hands and inspected your knuckles. “You’ll live,” he announced, thumb brushing lightly against your skin before he let go. 

“You have a go,” you said, holding the bag for him. He gave it two light jabs. “Do it properly,” you insisted. He smirked, giving it a few more, slightly harder this time. “Is that it?” 

He took a step back, “You want me to hit it properly?” 

“Go on.” 

He changed his stance, and then delivered two punches strong enough to knock you back a step. You laughed as you regained your balance. 

“You right?” he asked, grabbing the bag. 

“Do it again,” you said, spreading your legs apart a little to steady yourself properly as you held the bag. He didn’t let go from the other side, your eyes fixing on the small freckle at the end of his nose. “Your freckle is cute,” you muttered. 

“Hm? My freckle?” 

“Nevermind,” you said quickly.  

“You think my freckle is cute?” he said, a lopsided grin forming on his face.

“Just hit the bag.” 

He said nothing, eyes flicking across your face. “What?” you asked. 

“Nothing,” he said, stepping back and resuming his stance. You braced yourself just before he began, keeping your balance this time. You watched his face as he jabbed, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration. He kept at it for a few minutes and then stopped, his breathing heavy as he looked at you. “Did he ever hurt you?” he said after a moment, breathing still uneven. 

You frowned, where did that come from? “What? No. He just—He yelled a lot. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I’m not—I didn’t have anyone.” 

“That’s why you looked at me like that when I shouted.” 

“I just don’t like loud noises.” 

“Have I done anything since then that made you uncomfortable?” 

“No.” 

His eyes flicked between yours. 

You continued, “I think… you’re the one person on earth that makes me feel completely safe. I forget I’m alone.” 

“You aren’t alone.” 

It had been a reflex to say that. Something you were so used to, sometimes you forgot it wasn’t true anymore. “I know,” you breathed. You stepped around the bag, hesitating a second before stepping closer to him. “I have you and Jack.” 

“Soonie, Doongie and Dori too,” he amended.

You smiled, “Them too.” You reached up to smooth down a tuft of his hair, then—unable to resist—touched the freckle at the nip of his nose lightly. His warm hand wrapped around your wrist before you could withdraw completely. 

“You have to tell me… tell me how you feel. Please,” he whispered.

“About you? Haven’t I made that clear?” He shook his head slightly. You took one small step closer to him, chests almost touching. “You’re my favourite person in the world,” you breathed. You watched his eyes drop to your lips, giving you the courage to lean the rest of the way in and kiss him. He was still for the first few seconds, hand still grasping your wrist. When you pushed your chest into his fully he dropped your arm, wrapping himself around you—taking control of the kiss. He held you to him tightly, tilting you back a little as he deepened the kiss. It was all consuming. When he released you long enough for you to get a word in you spoke, “I’m a little sleepy.” 

“Mm?”

“I think I’m ready for bed,” you offered him a small suggestive smile.

“Yeah?” He smirked before scooping you up, arms under your knees as he carried you through the apartment to his bedroom—laying you gently on the bed. “I’ll be right back,” he said, kissing you softly before leaving the room. You sat up against his pillows, looking around the room you were seeing for the first time. He had fairy lights wrapped around his bed frame. You’d once brought home some very similar ones and had to return them after your boyfriend complained about them. When Minho returned he was carrying a small box, wrapped in baby blue paper with a ribbon around it. “I-I bought this a few weeks ago but I wasn’t sure when to give it to you.” He handed it to you and crawled onto the bed, sitting up against the pillows beside you. You looked down at the small blue box. No one remembered your last birthday. It had been years since anyone had gifted you anything apart from your bunny. You pulled at the ribbon carefully, then tore the paper and opened the small box. You lifted a delicate bracelet out, it was silver with a simple chain, the only embellishment was the two small charms dangling from one end. A bunny and a cat. 

“I saw the charms in the window,” Minho said, “I think of you whenever I see rabbits now and the cat… that one is selfish.” 

You looked up at him. “Selfish?” 

“I just wanted you to think of me when you saw it.” 

“I would’ve thought of you anyway, why did you—I mean what’s this for?” 

“I saw it and I wanted you to have it.”

“That’s it?”

“Mm.” 

“Could you?” You held your wrist out so he could help you put it on. He took the bracelet from your hand then gently fastened it to your wrist, his fingers brushing against your skin. You inspected it on your wrist when he was done, turning your wrist back and forth to watch the small charms dangle against each other. 

“Do you like it?” Minho asked, voice just above a whisper. The side of his face was lit softly by the fairy lights along the headboard. You climbed into his lap. 

“I love it,” you said, fiddling with it once more before wrapping your arms around his neck. “It’s been… a long time since anyone gave me anything. I think the last thing anyone gifted me was Jack.” 

“I’m not sure I can top that.” 

“I love Jack despite the man who gifted him, I love the bracelet more because it’s from you.” 

“Like how I feel about your muffins.” 

“I thought they were the best you’d ever had.” 

“Mm, they were nudged to the top spot because of their baker. It was a very close competition between yours and this cafe near the market I get Jack’s veggies from.” 

“They’re my veggies too, they feed me for a whole week.” 

“You eat Jack’s veggies?” he said, mock disapproval in his voice.

You chuckled. “Don’t tell him.” 

“Why should I keep your secret?” 

You gave his lips a short soft kiss.

“Mm, persuasive,” he mumbled before attaching his lips to yours again, hand at the back of your neck to keep you close. You rolled your hips against him, prompting him to moan into your mouth. With one hand holding your head and the other wrapped around you, holding you against him, you couldn’t help thinking about how he looked earlier—muscles flexing as he hit the bag. The combination of his gentle nature and physical strength flicked a switch in your brain, making you feel like someone had designed him just to lure you. Your own personal, walking catnip. You wondered what you could offer him in return. He’d done so much for you in the short time you’d known him, helped you in your most vulnerable moments—and the only thing he’d asked for in return was an honest admission of your feelings. 

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair. A soft, almost whine, escaped from his throat. You pulled back, his lips were swollen and wet. His eyes were shiny as he gazed back at you, flicking over your face. You ran your hands down the back of his neck to play with the collar of his t-shirt. “Can I take this off?” you asked, fingers brushing against his skin gently. 

“Yeah,” he breathed. You pulled it over his head, getting a little stuck at one point. Once you’d thrown it away you placed your hands gently on his shoulders, then slowly, you ran your hands down to his pecs. You watched his chest rise and fall with each breath.  

“You’re so kind…and beautiful…and strong…” you spoke as you ran your hands over his skin. The tips of his ears were slowly turning a pretty shade of pink. “You’re gentle and warm and you make me feel so safe.” His chest was rising and falling faster under your palms. “You know how you asked me to tell you how I feel?” He nodded. “Will you let me show you instead? Let me show you how grateful I am for you…” He blinked slowly, then swallowed. 

“Whatever you want,” he breathed.

You pressed your lips to his softly then pressed a gentle trail of kisses from his mouth to his neck—just below his ear. The tips of his ears were red now. You climbed off his lap to pull your sweats down your legs, then climbed over him again—rolling your hips slowly as you reattached your mouth to his. His arms wrapped around you, one hand splayed on your lower back to help you move against him. The longer you moved against him the more often little sounds would escape him. Some of his moans were quiet and soft, some deeper and drawn out. They spurred you on, rolling your hips until you felt him harden beneath you. You wanted to feel him properly. “Off, take them off,” you muttered against his lips as you tugged at the waistband of his pants. You took your weight off his lap, lifting yourself onto your knees so he could pull them down over his ass. You tangled your hands in his hair as he pulled them down to his knees. When you lowered yourself back onto him you moved your hands from his hair to cup the sides of his face. You held his head there, his eyes fixed on yours as you rolled yourself against his hard cock again—separated now only by two layers of underwear. His lips were slightly parted, his two front teeth peaking through. You pecked his lips and then pulled your shirt over your head. His thighs were warm against your skin—his boxers riding up from your movements. “Will you take this off for me?” you asked, playing with the bra strap at your shoulder. 

“Mm, you’re so beautiful,” he said, voice a little breathy. He leaned forward to press his mouth to your shoulder as he reached to unclasp your bra behind your back. His lips left little wet patches on your skin as he covered your shoulder and neck with small kisses. “Couldn’t believe it when I first saw you…looking up at me with those eyes…” He sat back and watched as you slipped the bra off down your arms. His hands fell to your hips, guiding you to move against him again. “Wanna see you bouncing on my cock…will you do that for me?” he asked.

“Anything,” you gasped as he brought one hand to cup your breast. “Anything,” you repeated, watching his face as he focused on where his hand was kneading you. He leaned forward and attached his mouth to your tit, his wet tongue flicking out to lave over your nipple. You tangled your fingers in his soft hair, holding his head to your chest as he sucked on your breast until you were completely breathless—head thrown back. Then he switched to the other. “So good…so good to me,” your muttered praises encouraged him, his pretty moans making a reappearance. The vibrations against your sensitive nipple coaxed a whine from your throat—your thighs clenching against him. “Need you… need you now,” you gasped, attempting to pull his head back from your chest—your fingers still tangled in his hair. He groaned one last time against you before releasing you—the cold air against your wet nipple making you shiver. 

He lifted you off him gently and reached over to pull a condom out from his bedside drawer. You couldn’t help wondering when he’d last used them, who he’d used them with. You took it from his hand, “Let me do it.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and then you watched as he pulled his boxers down over his ass. His hard cock once freed bounced against his stomach as he settled himself back against the pillows. You placed the wrapped condom gently between your lips and held his gaze as you slid your underwear down your legs. You sat back and spread your legs, tracing one finger up your cunt—displaying how wet he’d made you. He held his arms out towards you, wordlessness asking you over to him. 

You crawled up the bed and settled yourself over one thigh, sucking in a quick breath at the feeling of his warm skin against your throbbing cunt. You gave one quick roll of your hips before reaching to grasp his cock in your palm. His breath hitched as you gave him a few slow strokes, thumb brushing over his slit each time you reached his tip. You watched his face as you worked, his cheeks blushing to match his ears. You leaned forward to press a gentle kiss on each cheek then tore open the condom and rolled it down his length slowly. “Is that alright?” you asked once you were done. He nodded, mouth parted—breathing heavily. You lifted up onto your knees and shuffled forward a little so you were hovering over him. You looked down into his eyes, glazed a little as he looked up at you. You reached behind you and held him to help guide him into you. You held his gaze as you lowered yourself, watching his mouth close— jaw clenching as he filled you. You stilled as he bottomed out, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chest into his. 

“Got you,” he murmured before pressing his lips into yours. 

“Make those pretty noises for me,” you whispered between kisses as you clenched your walls around his cock—attempting to coax a moan from him. His hands grasped your hips gently, the same hands you’d watched him use to hit the bag earlier—gentle and strong. You bit his lower lip gently as you lifted your hips a little—sinking back down again slowly. “You wanna see me bounce on your cock?” you asked, raising yourself a little higher this time. He moaned as you lowered yourself. “Yeah?” you continued. “Want me to ride you?” 

“Please,” he groaned.

“Anything you want,” you said, brushing the hair from his face. You lifted yourself to his tip, then slowly lowered yourself down to his base again. “Like that?” 

“Faster,” he breathed, head falling back against the headboard—eyes closed. 

You lifted yourself again, dropping back down faster—your tits bouncing a little as you continued. His hands on your hips guided you, his hips beginning to lift off the bed to meet you as you fell. You watched his biceps flex as he guided you up and down his cock. “So good to me,” you said again, you couldn’t help it—telling him how good he was. How well he treated you. He lifted his head from the pillows, eyes opening to meet yours. You took in his flushed face…his glassy eyes. You pressed your lips to his, overwhelmed with the feeling of his cock filling you completely. “Watch me, hm? Watch how good you make me feel,” you spoke against his lips before pulling away to begin bouncing yourself on him properly. 

His eyes flicked between your face and your bouncing tits—your name slipping from his mouth in a soft whine. You moaned his name in return, reaching up to grasp your own breast as you bounced. Without warning he pulled you down hard, his cock bottoming out as he came. You watched his face as he milked himself inside you, moving your hips a little to help him. You reached down to circle your clit as you kept your eyes on his blissed out expression, cheeks still flushed red. You rolled your hips against him, falling forward and trapping your arm against him as you came—mouth pressing to his skin as you moaned his name one last time. You slumped against him, his chest rapidly rising and falling against yours. You closed your eyes as you both caught your breath. 

“Thank you for moving next door,” he broke the silence eventually, cock softening inside you. You fell sideways onto the bed, laughing lightly.  

“Thank you for sitting on that bench every morning. Why do you do that? You’re always up so early with nowhere to be.” 

He was quiet for a moment, maybe still catching his breath. He shuffled down to lay his head on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “To see you…” he said eventually, “I only started after the day you crashed into me.” 

You frowned, there was no way. “But—You were up early that day, too.” 

“I had to pull an all nighter, I went out to grab a coffee when my favourite place opened. I just…wake up early now.” 

You took a second to process the revelation. “You…have been setting an alarm and waking up early everyday just to speak to me for a minute or two?” 

“And for the muffins,” he grinned, turning to look at you.

You rolled on top of him. “Can you go again?” you asked, overwhelmed with the need to be as close as possible to him again. 

He chuckled softly. “Whatever you need. I’ve got you.” He gently placed his hand at the back of your neck and guided your lips to his.

a/n: the bunny escape story is taken directly from my childhood, my bunny got out one day and after searching the neighbourhood in tears i got back to find him scratching at the front door. he was a good bun.

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

↳ masterlist | part two

#kpop smut #stray kids smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #x reader

[strawberryforks]

drunk fools to lovers // jj maybank x reader

summary: a drunken hookup has a bettering ending than anyone expected (terrible summary but i’m exhausted)

warnings: swearing, allusions to sex (nothing too crazy i still have no clue how to write smut), underaged drinking

word count: 1098

the first thing that registered in your mind was that the light was too bright and someone needed to shut it off. the hand you draped over your eyes was reflex just like what you shouted, when hands started pounding against your door, trying to knock it down or at the very least get your attention—which they had. “shut the fuck up!” you screamed in response. your head was throbbing, mind lagging behind, and thoughts still suspended in whatever liquid you’d drank way too much of the night before. fuck, you felt like you were the door. “jesus! alright, alright, i’m coming,” you groaned and shoved at the comforter. it wouldn’t budge. you kicked a bit, winding your legs up, because they were trapped. trapped under a blanket, trapped—someone groaned.

awareness returned, your hand stopped covering your eyes. fingers kneaded into the mattress as you pushed yourself up, bending at the stomach. you looked down at yourself first—missing your bra and no doubt panties, and with a boy in your bed, quite literally on top of you. it wasn’t the forst time this had happened and probably wouldn’t be the last, but the embarrassment slammed into you like a wave anyways. the kind that would knock you from your board and bully you underwater for awhile… fuck, you weren’t proud, but this was… it was manageable. the knocking never ceased but you were getting used to the pounding. if the door didn’t break becore you figured out what mistake you’d taken home with you, you’d be fine. john b was a protective bastard but he wouldn’t have to know. push the nameless one-night-stand out your window and be done with it. yeah, that would work.

looking down at the mess of blonde hair, you prod the boy. your eyes are still blurry, your head still hurts but unfortunately, the light you need turned off is the fucking sun, and you’ll have to deal with it for another 12 hours. “hey,” you whisper. “hey. wake up. you gotta go.”

the figure who’s figure you take the time to admire groans again. ringed fingers swipe through their hair, messing it further, as you shove harder. “my brother’s going to kill you if you don’t get out of here. kill, as in… murder.” there’s not many other ways you can explain this but the boy seems to finally understand. he startled, and when he lifted his head up, your eyes met and fuck. woah, okay. it was jj. jj maybank.

your jj. your brother’s bestfriend jj. that jj.

your brother really was going to kill him.

now you’re panicking.

“y/n i swear! let me in or i will kick down this door!” your brother threatens.

“i’m fine john, shit! give me a minute to get dressed!” you’re staring at your brother’s bestfriend with wide eyes but at least you’re not lying. you get up, scramble to put on an oversized t-shirt, and make crazy gestures with your hands.

jj, like you, is freaking out. he’s slipping on his shirt, putting on his boxers and then jumping into a pair of sweats. he looks good, really good, and your tongue darts out to wet your lip. you can see how this happened—what you can’t see is where to go from here. “oh my god oh my god.”

you’re nodding, agreeing, because this is crazy and unexpected and you’re not sure that either of you remember what went down last night. goddamn keggers.

“the window!” you’re whisper-hissing, helping him hoist it open and holding it that way as he crawls out. “we’ll talk about this,” he tells you while you all but chant “go, go, go.”

then you’ve got to open the door. to face the music. “hey john… couldn’t have been a bit quieter?”

“its lunch time, y/n/n.” he peers around you, into your room, as if not truly believing your alone and okay. “and you were wasted last night. i had to make sure you weren’t lying dead in a puddle of vomit”

“yeah, yeah. you’re not one to shirk your brotherly duties. did you happen to make breakfast?”

“eggs and bacon, plus, i made you some of that vitamin c drink you swear by.”

“you’re the best,”

“i know.”

john b leaves, he and jj hangout, as always, and then, a few hours later all of the pogues are meeting up to go surfing. john b, kie, and pope are in the water while you’re hanging back on the beach. jj jogs over to you—he’s been trying to find an opening to talk to you and now is as good as any. unfortunately for him, you’ve had hours to overthink. hours and hours to myll over the fact that you finally slept with your crush and didn’t even remember it aside from some day-after-aching. you’ve had hours to agonize over the fact that he doesn’t want you, doesn’t remember you, and probably can’t stand to be around you anymore. after all, you had to have embarrassed yourself. drunkenly professed your love or something crazy.

“jay i’m so so sorry.” you rush out, “that was a mistake, a drunk mistake, and we can pretend that nothing happened—no one has to know and i swear i won’t tell my brother.” your words spill everywhere, fast and full of panic. you can’t lose a friend and you can’t make things awkward withing the group. no-pogue-on-pogue-macking was like, the one rule, and you went and broke it.

jj isn’t wearing a shirt and that isn’t good because having this conversation, you need to focus on his face, how he’s reacting, and responding. his arms are crossed over his chest and he doesn’t look mad—he looks confused, maybe? worried? “is that what you want?”

“is that what i want?” you echo

“because it’s not what i want, but i can respect it, if you’re sure. i’ll have made an ass out of myself because i spent the afternoon begging john b to let me take you out on a date—“

“we’re going on a date? you asked john? for permission?”

jj smiles, almost shyly, and palms the back of his neck. “it felt like the right thing to do.”

you laugh, smile lightning up the sky, and brightening his entire day. “jesus jj, we’re going on a date, not getting married.”

he wraps you in his arms, hugs you tight. his hands are on your lower back, yours are wrapped around his neck, one threaded through his hair, “but we will someday.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. the most sure about anything i’ve ever been.”

#outer banks x reader #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #john b routledge #routledge!reader #the pogues #obx fanfiction #outerbanks imagine

[littlejuicebox]

Bruised.

Summary: School is not going well for Gale. Astarion and you rush to pick up your child after an unfortunate event leads to his injury. This is really just a little bonus blurb to the other piece I posted earlier today titled “Camping for beginners.”

Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, Astarion being Astarion, parenthood, childhood, school bully, injury to a child, minor angst, this is unedited so there may be grammatical errors etc

Traffic on Wyrm’s Crossing is at a standstill. The two of your are in the carriage, rushing to pick up Gale after a sending spell announced recess went terribly wrong. Your eldest was injured by another child.

“Gods below, can we go any faster?” Astarion complains before sticking his head out the window and pounding angrily on the roof of the carriage to catch the driver’s attention. He barks an order and then ducks back inside the caravan just as the vehicle is forced into high speed.

Wyrm’s Crossing isn’t particularly long, but in this moment, it feels like the crossway between you two and your son’s school is further than a mere 2000 feet.

You sigh as you attempt to placate your husband, “Astarion, we have to try and be reasonable when we walk in, we can’t—“

“Reasonable!” Astarion hisses with a wry laugh, turning to look at you for the first time since you two rushed into the carriage, “Is it reasonable, darling, that our son has been attacked for the second time this year?”

“Of course not! But we have to—“ You start, but your husband cuts you off with a seething glare. You are not at all used to being on the receiving end of his vitriol; it’s shocking.

“I wanted tutors, but you insisted it would be good for Gale to be with other children closer to his age and look how bloody well that’s going, Tav!” He snaps, his hand slamming against the side of the carriage again in his rage.

That stung. Tears begin to well in your eyes as a reaction to your husband’s cutting remark.

Astarion groans and then pinches the bridge of his nose with a leather-gloved hand as he works to regain control over his emotions. He sighs and rubs his hand down his face before opening his eyes and looking at you, “I’m sorry, my love. That was unfair. I just— gods, let’s just get Gale and take care of this.”

You nod, still blinking away tears and unable to say anything further as you turn your face away from your husband and gaze outside the carriage window.

Astarion closes his eyes and chastises himself as he leans back into the carriage seat. The rest of the journey is made in silence.

*

When the two of you enter the headmaster’s office, you immediately spot Gale holding an ice bag over his eye. Astarion rushes to inspect the six year old and instantly fills with wrath, spinning on his heels to address the headmaster.

“Who did this, Alaric?” Astarion questions, stepping far too closely to the half-elven headmaster and jabbing an accusatory finger into the man’s chest, “Who did this under your watch?”

Headmaster Alaric Frostborne is no stranger to upset parents; he’s been in charge of the school for nearly fifty years. The half elf calmly holds his ground as he addresses Astarion, explaining he does not know who gave Gale a black eye but is working to find out.

You pull your six year old into your lap and help him hold the ice pack against his eye as you whisper a healing spell. The damage is done, and surely the school nurse has already used more than one healing potion, but you do it regardless. It might not help heal the bruising past this point, but you hope it will at least comfort your child.

In the safety of your lap, Gale finally begins to cry. The tears are silent, apart from the occasional sniffle, and you pull your eldest tightly against you, whispering words of comfort into his ear. He continues to weep as his father speaks to the headmaster.

“This is the second time this year, Alaric. I am sure I don’t need to remind you that my wife’s name is on an entire wing of this school,” Astarion continues, far too measured for the rage boiling inside as he spits his words at the headmaster, “So unless the Ancunins are to pull the donations you so desperately solicit from us each year, I suggest you work harder to fix this issue.”

Astarion turns and reaches for your son, knowing himself well enough to realize that if he does not leave the situation now, Alaric Frostborne will have a shiner matching Gale Ancunin’s.

You release the boy from your grip, allowing your husband to hoist the child into his arms and carry him out of the office. You watch through the window as two silver-haired heads enter the carriage.

You stand and linger for a moment longer, turning your cool gaze to Alaric as you assess him.

“I am a patient woman, Headmaster Frostborne,” You begin, your arms coming to cross your chest, “And perhaps viewed as more kind and less reactive than my husband… so let me be explicitly clear here. Should this problem continue, I will have you removed from your role faster than a Leviathan swims. Because should this matter continue, you’re clearly unfit to keep the students of this school safe. Understood?”

Alaric nods, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Is that a yes, Alaric? Am I clear?” You press, your eyes narrowing at the half-elf as you struggle to control the growing anger inside your own body. Sparks of magic threaten to fly from your hands before you regain control over yourself.

“Yes, Counsellor Ancunin. Crystal.” The headmaster responds, “We will continue our investigations until the matter is resolved.”

You nod but do not say anything further before you exit the headmaster’s office and breeze out of the school to rejoin your husband and son.

Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned.

#astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #dadstarion fic #papastarion #dadstarion #astarion x female reader #astarion reader insert

[blueteller]

TCF Theory: What If God of Death Had a Reason for Kidnapping Minors?

(Hey, @murasaki-cha, I might have a theory that could sorta maybe redeem your pathetic little meow meow! 😂)

[Also: SPOILER WARNING for... basically everything in TCF?]

So, here's the thing:

It's no secret I always had… issues with the God of Death for kidnapping the Chois.

Let me clarify a bit.

What he did to Kim Rok Soo, aka. Cale, was not okay either – however! I can see it justified somewhat by circumstances: he was cursed, his life was generally depressing and terrible, and there was a world in need of saving. Honestly, the deal with the Original Cale Henituse to switch the two of them was best for all parties involved. (I'm still angry he did not ask Cale himself for permission, though! All the God of Death needed to do was tell him: "Look, this is the world where your BFF Lee Soo Hyuk reincarnated into. And the world is going to be destroyed in about 20 years if nothing is done about it. Would you mind cleaning that up for me?" You bet your butt Cale would have agreed fair and square, even if he were EXTREMELY miffed about the deal. But it's so much easier to simply hide your involvement in the transmigration, so that Cale doesn't have a personal vendetta against you once he gets OP, right…? Not that it succeeded, lol. Cale still ended up cursing the God of Death a lot)

However – all of what I just said? NONE of it applied for the Choi family member.

First, we have Choi Jung Gun, aka. Nelan Barrow. Let me remind you, the kid was FIFTEEN. Freaking 15!!!! The God of Death kidnapped a literal CHILD with no combat experience, and dropped him in the middle of an active war zone! Sure, technically Super Rock was there and presumably took care of him – but still, that was an objectively a terrible thing to do, God of Death! Bad boy!! 🧹🧹🧹

Then we have Choi Han, and ohhh boy, he had even worse somehow! Even though he was 2 years older than Choi Jung Gun when he got transported, he still ended up in the freaking FOREST OF DARKNESS. Weaponless, isolated, under constant threat of death. It's a miracle Choi Han did not die or completely lose his mind – and in a sense he did – but he was still able to retain a piece of himself, NO THANKS TO YOU GOD OF DEATH. My goodness! What a way to treat your "chosen hero ", mister!

...as you can probably tell, I was pissed enough at the God of Death for kidnapping poor Choi Jung Gun, but I am NEVER forgiving him for what Choi Han went thought. Should have given him something! A letter, a sword, or at the very least – A FREAKING MAP!!!

Aaaand finally we have Choi Jung Soo. Which was a bizarre case in comparison to the previous two. Even the God of Death remarked how unusual it was.

First of all, consent was asked – WHAT A TWIST! 🤣

Secondly, Choi Jung Soo was already an adult, and experienced fighter. He'd have a much better time in Nameless 1 world than any of his predecessors (excluding the fact that he'd have a TERRIBLE time trying to fight the White Star; who may I remind you possessed Kim Rok Soo's face... Also, did he even get to read "The Birth of a Hero"...?). He was also on the verge of death. AND he allowed to say no!! It was much more fair than what happened to the other two.

...But why though? Why the special treatment, God of Death? Why not kidnap Choi Jung Soo as a kid as well? The timing was kind of strange.

So here my theory comes in.

What if, it wasn't the God of Death who determined the timing of the transportation? What if there was an outside factor involved? Just because there seemingly wasn't a strict pattern to WHEN the Chois got transported, that doesn't mean there couldn't be one.

An outside factor like, let's say.... the Hunters? 🤔

From his behaviour in the Sloth Test, we know that Choi Jung Gun absolutely hates the Hunters. And it seemed very personal too. Even if we take it for granted that the Hunters were responsible for the existence of the Original White Star and the war and all that... It was still VERY personal. Like, "I will tear you to bloody pieces with my bare hands and chew on them with my teeth" level of personal. So, what gives?

Then it hit me.

The Five Colored Bloods Hunters are Wanderers who can freely travel across dimensions. They targeted young Kim Rok Soo, because he had a "mark" of the God of Death on. They assumed it could be a sign of a Single Lifer, and it did not matter to them if it necessary to kill him just to "check". The only reason why Kim Rok Soo survived was because Choi Jung Gun was there (even though I have issues about his execution – using a minor as BAIT?! Not cool man! Almost as bad as the God of Death!). Without him, young Kim Rok Soo absolutely would have been killed. And the way Choi Jung Gun was acting in the Sloth Test made it seem like it wasn't the first time something like this happened either.

Meaning: the Hunters were already on Earth 1. They have been there.

So, what if... the Hunters had already targeted the Chois in the past? Including Choi Jung Gun himself?

Think about it. If the Hunters had any clue that this particular lineage could produce Single Lifers... they'd certainly keep an eye on the Choi family, right? There would be no need to directly interfere. Just, watching them from the sidelines and let them produce next generations. Spying on their kids – like the total creeps they are.

And perhaps, there was a particular sign of a potential Single Lifer to watch out for, that could manifest around adolescence? What if Choi Jung Gun showed such a sign at the age of 15?

Instead of simply using him as a weapon to save another world... was the God of Death actually trying to save Choi Jung Gun? By transporting him into another dimension??

It would... kinda make sense, right? By transporting Choi Jung Gun, his "Single Lifer power" activated. His lifespan became much longer, he developed an Ancient Power too. He was initially weak, but he grew stronger overtime. Strong enough to stand up to the Hunters and protect himself; and also taking him away from their immediate reach.

...What if the same happened with Choi Han? What if Choi Han became a target at the age of 17? And the only way to save him was to transport him as well? I mean it worked with Choi Jung Gun, why not try it a second time? If the first one became a powerful ally who could fight the Hunters, the God of Death would certainly like another one on his payroll, right?

And then there's Choi Jung Soo, of course. Maybe he escaped the scrutiny of the Hunters? Or maybe because he developed powers which made him a harder target? Why would the Hunters bother with difficult opponents when they can always play dirty and go after literal children, instead? There is also the issue of the Monster Apocalypse, as Cale suspects the Hunters were behind it as well. Maybe the Hunters had a different plan for Earth 1, and so they had to stop using it as hunting grounds for Single Lifers?

If I'm right about this, then the God of Death's actions became a liiiiitle bit more understandable.

I will forever criticize the man for not asking at least three of his victims (and don't try to give me some bull about him being "unable to", God of Death used various means to communicate through the story; Choi Jung Gun even freaking wrote "The Birth of a Hero" books for the sole purpose of giving necessary exposition to a transmigrator – more than that, if he had enough space to simp for Whales and provide Harol's backstory for no reason! He could have included ANY type of message in there, to ANYONE!), but if Choi Jung Gun were to literally die if he did not get kidnapped and transported into a war-torn dimension in need of saving... Well? Saving someone's life via transmigration might be unconventional, but I've seen it happen a lot in many isekai. I can roll with this.

...But seriously tho, I hope Choi Jung Gun makes that broom beating a regular thing. The God of Death certainly can use it. You know – for emotional intelligence improvement! 😏

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of the count's family #god of death #tcf god of death #theory #tcf theory #tcf meta

[waitingonher]

hi there!! congrats on 100 followers,, could you do prompt 17 for leo valdez? i love ur writing so so much you write characters just how i imagined them

EMMY'S 100 EVENT CELEBRATION

leo valdez + this reminded me of you.

content warning: nothing

authors note: HI THANK YOU SO SOSOSOSO MUCH!!! that really means a lot to me <33 thank youuu

your only regret about joining camp-half blood—besides the lethal quests issued every once in a while—are the monthly cabin check-ups. why chiron had to implement this incredibly useful, yet incredibly stupid system? you wish you knew. well, you do suppose it’s come in handy against your siblings who’d prefer to live in a complete pigsty. but other than that, it’s proven to become everyone’s least favorite day. a day full of cleaning, very irritable campers, and the overpowering scent of every detergent on the market isn’t exactly what someone would want to wake up to.

but here you are, unfortunately put on laundry duty. damn your terribly cruel siblings. they get assigned the fun things like sweeping, and dusting! well actually, those still aren’t very fun but it’s way, way better than doing laundry. the process of separating, washing, drying, and then folding isn’t your ideal way of spending your afternoon. but, the only benefit of laundry duty is that you’re basically completely alone, which also means no one’s there to pester you about your quality of work. yay to no one screaming in your ear about better sweeping techniques!

that’s why you find yourself half-assing the color sorting. you absentmindedly toss somebody’s light pink hoodie into the colored laundry basket. light pink and black? basically the same thing. but your focus comes back as you realize that you’re onto the last basket that requires sorting. you really have to fight yourself from doing a victory dance. 

while your focus does come back, it doesn’t necessarily go back to the clothes though as you hear the door of the laundry room slam open. a sweaty, disheveled-looking boy enters, a grin plastered on his face that makes it seem as if he’s relieved to have found you. and he just so happens to be your boyfriend, “babe, i’m here to rescue you from laundry duty.” 

“thank the gods,” you toss the sock in your hand into a random basket and make your way to leo. he chuckles at your carelessness before pulling you in for a kiss. you really needed that, “now tell me, how do you plan to rescue me from laundry duty?” 

leo makes a face that tells you he hasn’t really thought that far, “um. well, i brought you temporary relief,” he responds, fishing something out of his jean pocket. and out comes a tiny red satin pouch. 

“oh?” your head tilts out of curiosity, “did you find and steal something while cleaning?” the thought of leo doing something like that wasn’t totally out of the question. so that’s why you’re a little more confused when he simply shakes his head and offers you the bag in silence. 

with the pouch in your hand, your boyfriend makes a motion for you to open it, “okay, i might’ve hyped it up a little too much,” leo gives you a sheepish smile as you pull out two absolutely adorable matching cat keychains, “but they reminded me of you, so i bought them. plus, i also thought they’d make a good gift of encouragement for today.” 

“oh leo, these are so cute!” you put the cats side by side and you almost scream, once connected, they form a heart! all of a sudden your hatred for laundry duty and everything else bad in the world washes away. who knew two little cat keychains could have this effect on you? apparently leo did, “thank you so, so much babe,” you kiss him on the cheek, “i swear, as soon as i’m done here,” a smooch on the other cheek, “i’m putting my half on my bag,” finally, one for his lips. 

leo’s features form a lopsided, lovesick smile, “wow. if i knew two little keychains would earn me this many kisses, then i would’ve just bought you two real cats,” he says, a teasing tone laced within his words. 

you laugh at the idea of leo walking into the laundry room carrying two random cats. as much as you’d love to see that come to fruition, cat hair and clothes do not mix well. you pocket your keychain and hand the other to leo, “you should probably go, chiron would lose his shit if he saw you here with me.” 

“wait, more kisses, then i’ll leave,” your boyfriend’s lips begin to turn comically downwards as his brows raise, and you realize what he’s doing: his stupid puppy dog eyes, “you can’t resist this can you?” 

you quirk your brow, “oh, i can,” but the way he looks so incredibly dumb and desperate makes you give in, “fine. let’s make it quick.”

#[🍵] emmy's 100 event #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x you #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez fluff #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez headcanons #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson fic #percy jackson fluff

[huenyang]

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn reader / genre: meet-cute, fluff / word count: 1k / notes: very self indulgent im not going to lie, if theres any spelling mistakes no there aren't

summary: after having a terrible day, the handsome stranger you meet seems to know just how to lift your mood.

The smell of coffee - the cup which was previously in your hands, now all over your shirt and the floor of the convenience store - feels like it burns on the way down to your lungs. Accompanied by the frustrated tears that sting your eyes, you almost want to sink to the ground and rip your hair out.

Today was not your day.

As if having an already stressful day and dropping the coffee you’d paid for wasn’t enough, you had bumped into someone else. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the stranger seems to want to burn himself into your brain while doing nothing at all.

Gazing up at him, you feel your eyes linger a little too long. Maybe gods are real, because this man looks like he’s been sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Good god, you wince. You don’t even know his name and you’re acting like this. 

If you weren’t still stunlocked by the events prior, you would’ve made a conscious note of how his dark brown eyes widen in surprise and how his fringe looks just a tad bit too long. Or how his lips curl in a gasp.

It’s not just anybody who looks good under convenience store lighting, you reason.

“Oh my god-” he exclaims hurriedly, reaching out as if he wanted to try and save the cup from spilling. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking when I turned.”

You mumble something, it’s okay, probably. It’s like this one man has completely stolen your ability to be normal. But that’s stupid, he hasn’t done anything but apologize for running into you, like anyone with a drop of sense would.

He looks around, leaning a little to look past the many aisles and motion to the clerk that something had happened.

While he’s doing that, you crouch to finally pick up the cup you had almost forgotten while thinking about the pretty, nice stranger right in front of you.

Ew. None of that.

With a sigh, you hold the plastic carefully, trying to avoid the sticky coffee running down along one of the sides, and begin to make your way to the nearest trash can before it drips more and makes an even bigger mess for the poor employees.

It doesn’t take long for him to come back around, message delivered to the store clerk.

When the stranger talks to you again, he looks like he’s about to apologize, but you silence him with a shake of your head and a mirthless laugh.

“Man…” he sighs, shuffling his hands into his coat pockets. “At least let me make it up to you for ruining your coffee.”

You almost want to cry. Over the coffee, over this stranger who keeps being so kind to you, over everything.

“No no, you don’t have to. It’s just coffee.” but it isn’t. “I couldn’t possibly make someone else pay for my own mistake.”

Now it’s his turn to wave his hand dismissively at you, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s nothing! In fact, I insist. I think I’d like to know you better - without the coffee staining both of our shirts, this time.”

The mention of it brings you back to reality, the sticky beverage all over the front of your shirt feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds on your chest, now. You’re not sure if it’s the memory of spilling your coffee everywhere, or the air inside the store, or something else, but suddenly your cheeks feel significantly warmer. You hope the stranger doesn’t notice.

“I don’t have your name.” You say after a second of consideration. “How can I share a coffee with someone I don’t know the name of?”

The question catches him off guard, too, if the way you can see the realization dawn on his face is anything to go by.

“Choi Yeonjun.”

With a grin, you introduce yourself too. An employee with a mop and a bucket interrupts you then, saving you from an awkward conversation with the pretty stranger- Yeonjun. You both step outside, the small ding of the door opening and closing the only sound between you.

“So,” you start, shuffling your feet anxiously. “Can I have your number- for the coffee, of course.” No other reason. No other reason at all.It feels like the single beat between your question and his answer is an eternity. Maybe you sprung the question up on him too suddenly, or maybe he didn’t even mean it to begin with. But before you can think of even more reasons to go and change your identity entirely, he’s fishing for his phone and handing it to you.

“You can put yours in.” he breathes out. Maybe you’re more far gone than you thought, because it sounds almost dreamy. “I’ll put my contact in yours, too, if that’s okay?”

With shaky hands - from the cold, obviously - you quickly tap in your number, setting your own contact as your name and a little sun emoji. You can see him doing the same to his contact, his emoji choice being the fox instead.

Cute.

“We can set up a date later, whenever you’re free.” He says, handing you back your phone and tucking his own back into his pocket. “Just let me know!”

With that, you go your separate ways. On the way home, your mind wanders. It’s almost hard to believe that your shitty day turned into whatever this is. From spilling overpriced coffee you’d bought to cheer yourself up, to meeting a handsome stranger who not only offered to make up for said overpriced coffee, but also gave you his number? If this was a dream, you don’t want to wake up from it.

The dream doesn’t last long, however, because a ping rings from your phone, startling you out of your fantasy and back into reality.

You hope that the multiple people passing by you on the street don’t notice the way your face breaks into a dumb smile as you read.

From: Yeonjjunie 🦊 Hey!! Just making sure this is the right number!! haha Don’t feel pressured to pick yet btw, we can decide later

#txt x reader #txt fluff #txt imagines #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x gn reader #yeonjun soft hours #yeonjun fluff #writing tag

[sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw]

Day 31 | Gangbang - Pantalone, Tartaglia, Pierro, Dottore, and Scaramouche

Kinktober Masterlist

AFAB Reader

Word count: 4,791

18+, dubcon/noncon, manipulation, lovebombing, blowjobs, vaginal sex, rough, spanking, gangbang, reader ends up spending a lot of time with Pantalone, not proofread

A/n: just a quick note, lovebombing and isolating (as well as guilt triping) are real tactics used by abusive people, remember that this is a dark fic and this is not sexy irl. Also, it's 4:41 am. This will be posted in about 3 hours. I rushed to get this done in time so the last third is rushed. I might go back and edit it.

You walked in the streets of Monstadt. You swallowed and tried to keep down the building sobs. Blurred colors filled your eyes, but it was easy enough to tell where you were going.

You looked down and shook your head. You were okay. Everything was okay. Don't cr-

A sudden force slammed into you. Or probably the other way around. You stepped back and focused on the person you bumped into. You hadn’t realized you had started walking faster with each thought.

He had long black hair and glasses on a thoughtful face. The accessories he wore looked fairly expensive. Overall, his appearance was a unique blend of beautiful and handsome.

“Sorry. I guess I wasn’t looking.” You turned your face away. You didn’t want him to see the tears in your eyes.

His eyebrows raised. “Is something wrong?”

"It's nothing." You take a breath in, but it turns into a sniffle.

He hummed and watched you for a moment. He began to walk. “Follow me.”

“Huh?” You look at him.

He paused his walk to look back at you. “I’m going to treat you. Good Hunter’s?”

Your eyebrows scrunched together. “Why would you do that?”

He smiled. “Do I need a reason?" He sighed. "But, if you don't want to, I suppose I'll have to go alone."

You guessed it wouldn't hurt. "Okay."

You followed him and sat across from him. He inquired about what you wanted and bought it for you. You felt the stares of passers by, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. The delicious flavor of the food helped to calm you down. But now that you were calm, you were tired.

You were a little over half way done with your meal when he said something again.

"Is everything alright?"

You shrug. You just met him, but you really wanted to get it off your chest. It was killing you to have no one to vent to. To just listen and be there for you. It wouldn't be the end of the world if you told a stranger you'd probably never meet again.

You let out a heavy breath. "I… lost someone important to me."

It hurt to even think about, but it felt good to finally say it. Like a literal weight had been lifted.

He nodded with an apologetic smile. “I see. I’m sorry to hear that.”

You nodded and your eyes rested on the food that was growing cold. Your hands rested on either side of the plate. “It’s,” you swallow, “not nice.”

“As I would expect.” He sat back and glanced up at the sky. “If you could say anything to the gods right now, what would it be?”

You freeze at the sudden unrelated question. Confusion turned into contemplation as you genuinely considered the question. You turn it over in your mind until one phrase solidifies itself in your mind.

“It’s not fair.” You take another bite and chew.

“Unfortunately, life isn’t fair.”

“It shouldn’t have to be,” you mumble.

“You’re right.”

You look up at him. He wasn’t giving you a lecture. Or telling you that it was just the way things were. Like you were used to.

“It’s a terrible thing that shouldn’t have happened to you,” he added. There was a sadness in his eyes. “If you could have anything, materialistic at least, to make you feel better, what would it be?”

You thought for a moment. It would be something to distract you. Something you loved. You answered with something you wanted for your hobby. Slowly you elaborated. Why that item would distract you and be fun. Why this made you so happy and everything about it that you thought was cool. And he listened. For a little bit, you forgot your troubles. You felt better.

Eventually, you had to part ways

Later, you find a package at your door and open it up to find the thing you mentioned and a letter.

You opened the letter. It said, "I saw this on sale and thought of you. I hope it brings you joy and that you feel better soon." From there it asked a few questions about your hobby. It ended with the signature. "-Pantalone, Regrator" There was also a return address.

The Fatui Harbinger? Was that who you spent your afternoon with? It would explain the stares. Your temporary shock of fear was replaced with comfort. Despite the things you'd heard about the Fatui, he was so kind and truly seemed to understand you.

You hugged the letter as gently as you could. A huge grin appeared on your face when you looked back at your present. You scooped it up on your arms and walked inside.

Pantalone walked down the halls. Back in Sneznaya for instruction from the Tsarita. Your letter in his pocket. He'd write a reply that evening and send it off. It was quite a treat meeting you.

He couldn’t help but smile. Apparently it was noticed.

“What are you smiling about? Swindle someone out of their money?” Tartaglia, who had been walking in the opposite direction, said.

“No,” he said, smile ever present. “I simply found a cute, little person.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’d like you to come with me back to Sneznaya.”

It’d been a few months since you started exchanging letters. Those letters and kind words and small gifts were the best things in your life. They filled you with so much joy each time you received them, even more so when you read that he was visiting again. You barely restrained yourself from hugging him. He put his hand on your shoulder and smiled at you. And during your conversation, he mentioned wanting you to come back with him.

“I think you’d like it, but you’d best bring your best coat.”

“Mmm.” You bit your lip. “I don’t know.”

“I’d like it if you would. It’ll only be for a little bit.” He watched you. “Is there anything you need to stay here for?”

You bit harder. Your eyes rested on the ground. You didn’t… have a reason not to go. And it would probably be fun, right?

And now you were there. In a world of stark, cold white. The only color was in the city you finally arrived in.

Sneznaya was about as cold as you expected. What you didn’t expect was exactly how hard it was to handle the cold. You shivered in your heaviest coat you owned. Thankfully, Pantalone noticed your state and draped his large coat over you.

He showed you the markets. Your eyes lit up at the sight. All of the different things for sale. He noticed whenever something caught your eye and bought It for you. You always told him that you didn’t need them, he insisted. He would have shown you more, but you were too cold for it. He offered to let you stay inside the rest of the day and you accepted.

You walked side by side to somewhere he promised would be warmer. On the way, a red haired man locked eyes with you. He looked between you and Pantalone and walked up. You shrank away, nearly tempted to step behind Pantalone.

“Hey,” he casually waved.

“Childe,” Pantalone stopped in his tracks.He stared at the intruder with his lips pressed into a thin line with a strained smile. This was the first time you’d ever seen him like that. “Hello. To what do we owe the honor?”

“I just wanted to welcome you back and welcome your friend here,” he turned his gaze to you. “Is this your 'cute, little person' you were talking about?”

Despite the cold, your face burned.

"I've heard many great things about you." He winks.

You shrank back in embarrassment with an awkward smile.

“Don't pay him any mind,” Pantalone said. "This is Childe, the eleventh Harbinger."

Your eyes widen and look him up and down.

"You look like you've never seen a Harbinger before," he teased.

"I just wasn't expecting it," you said.

"What? Do I not look like one-?"

"Childe, as much as I appreciate your friendly manner," Pantalone sharply inhaled, "we best get going."

"I'll join you," Childe said, walking beside you.

"Really? Don't you have things you need to get done?" You were fairly certain the life of a Harbinger was busy

"I got time."

"Joy," Pantalone said quietly.

"Glad you think so," Childe said.

You snorted. Childe's mischievous smile grew and he patted your shoulder. You turn your head to Pantalone. Every time you were happy he seemed to share in the joy. But his expression stayed the same. Almost looking at you with… disappointment. Or anger. He turned his gaze in front of him, leaving you to wonder if you had imagined it. Or maybe you misinterpreted it. Or maybe he was just mad at Childe. That was probably it.

Childe made some light conversation on the way there. Eventually you entered a fairly large building. Thank the the Archons it was warm inside, or at the very least warmer. Near the entrance was a room with a fireplace. You rush to it and stand by the fire. Rotating your hands. You backed your hands away and rubbed them when they felt like they were burning from the sudden temperature change.

You looked around the room. There was no one there. However, you heard, who you believed to be, Childe walking in the next room.

You sat on the couch closest to the fire while rubbing your arms. The furniture looked expensive. The couch's wood frame was smooth and reflected light like glass. The fabric was white and accented with images of flowers.

Childe came back with a cup that steamed. With a free hand he took a blanket from a stack. He walked up and handed them to you.

"Thank you, Childe" you said.

"No problem. You're one of the few guests here in a while. And call me Tartaglia." He sat down next to you.

You looked around the room again. "Where did Pantalone go?"

"Oh, probably went off to get some records, or maybe to count his stacks of money again," Childe said lightheartedly.

You nodded. You would have liked it if he told you before leaving. You shiver again as a cold settles in your bones.

You would have started a conversation, but you couldn’t think of much to say. You took a sip from the cup.

"So," Childe took the initiative, "how did you and the banker meet?"

"Oh, I was walking and happened to bump into him. In Monstadt," you added.

"That's all?"

"Well, I guess we talked a little bit, over some food, and we started sending letters."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow. "He's never that friendly with anyone else. Then again, you are attractive." He smirked.

You shrank into yourself slightly and smiled. "Oh, we're just friends, but thank you for the compliment."

"I was just telling the truth." He leaned back and stretched his arms. He let them rest on the back frame of the couch. "But seriously, I'm surprised you were actually brave enough to come to Sneznaya. And that you would call a Harbinger a friend."

"Is there a reason why someone wouldn't?" You tilted your head.

Childe held back a laugh and covered his mouth before waving his hand. "You know what everyone thinks of us. Everyone always assumes the worst when it comes to the Fatui."

"Yeah. But I gave you the benefit of the doubt and took a chance and you and Pantalone turned out to be really nice." You smiled but it quickly faded. "If only my friends and co-workers could do the same."

"Hm?" He scooted in closer and looked genuinely interested.

You continued. "The second they found out, they never liked it. They keep telling me it's a bad idea and that I need to stay away, but those letters were the best thing that happened to me and they don't even want to think about the fact that they might be wrong. All they care about is that it's the Fatui and keep-" Tears welled up in your eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey." He put his hands on your shoulders.

He pulls you in for a hug, taking your drink and setting it down, and you accept. Holding him close. The arms around you felt like anchors and more comforting than the warmest blanket. You feel yourself melt.

"There, there." He patted your back.

"I haven't even talked to them in a while," you curl in closer. "Why can't they let me have this?"

"I don't know, but you did the right thing. A true friend would want you to be happy. If they tell you to stay away from something that makes you happy, they're bad friends."

The tears fall faster. Your body shakes in small tremors. The whole time, Tartaglia rubs your back and comforts you. It felt so nice. Like all of your problems had evaporated.

You didn't even notice when you fell asleep.

Someone nudged you awake. Your eyes drifted open. You heard footsteps then saw Pantalone. You immediately sit up.

"Have you warmed up yet?"

You barely even nodded when he started talking again.

"Good. Follow me. Unless you haven't rested enough."

Your face burns again and you nearly run to follow him. You quickly waved goodbye to Tartaglia.

"See you." He waved back.

Pantalone led you to an office. You sat while he organized and signed papers. He showed you the trinkets he collected. He then led you to a library. The bookshelves stretched to the height of the ceiling. You had once been in the library of the Knights of Favonius, but this library was so much bigger.

"I'm going to the Tsarita to receive instructions. Stay here until I get back."

"You're leaving again?" Your disappointment leaked into your voice.

He sighed. "As much as I'd like to spend all of my time with you, I still have responsibilities. I doubt the Tsarita would be pleased if I brought someone she did not permit. Afterwards, you can join me for any other task."

You sucked it up and nodded.

The Harbinger seemed content and left, leaving you with nothing better to do than read. You skimmed the titles. Picking up a few and reading a few lines.

In your search for something that peaked your interest, you looked up and saw someone watching you. A short boy in a funny hat. You wondered why he was staring at you, then you remembered Tartaglia mentioning something about not not a lot of guests.

You tried to ignore his gaze, but it was difficult.

He walked up to you. His sharp eyes judged you up and down. You shrank back in confusion.

"So it's you," he finally said.

"What about me?"

"You're the one Regrator's been wasting his time on."

You stood there awkwardly and hugged the book you'd been holding.

"I can't imagine why. Are you some toy of his? Something he finds interesting?"

"I'm not a toy, I'm his friend," you shot back, with some anger.

He looked at you with doubt. His eyebrows raised slightly and examining your expression.

You took a breath. "Did he talk to everyone about me?"

"No. Rumors and hearsay fly." He turned away. "And the fact that idiot Childe must have met you. For how much he talked my ear off about you, I was expecting more."

You shook your head and stared at the ground. "I honestly don't understand why they like me so much too."

He grins and snorts before walking away.

Shortly, Pantalone came back. You walked side by side with him down the hall.

"Someone I hired is securing a room for you to sleep in. They'll come to show you to your room by the end of the day," Pantalone said.

You nodded. "Thank you."

You glanced back in front of you and noticed someone walking the opposite direction in the hall. A large man with silvery white hair.

He noticed you as well. He stopped in front of the two of you and Pantalone stopped too.

"Hello, Pierro. Fancy running into you."

"Hello, Regrator. Who is this with you?" He turned his gaze to you and you suddenly felt very exposed.

“This is my guest. I met them in Monstadt.”

You introduced yourself.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Pierro said with a smile. “I assume this is your first time in Sneznaya. What do you think?”

“I think it’s very pretty,” you said. “And impressive, but it’s a little cold for me.”

He glanced down at your clothing. You remember you’re still wearing Pantalone’s coat. “You should get a heavier coat for yourself.”

“I was going to get them one tomorrow,” Pantalone interjected.

Pierro nodded. “I have to go now. Sneznaya welcomes you. You can stay for however long you want, and if you need anything, just come see me.”

You both said goodbye and continued on your way. You wore a bright smile. Everyone seemed to really like you.

It had been months since then. When you got home, the people in your life exploded at you for going to Sneznaya. Telling you how dangerous it was. How you could have been killed. Why would you go with a Harbinger? To never do that again. Were you insane? Did you have a death wish?

Your final cord of patience snapped. You flew into a rage. Every angry thought you ever had about them erupted out of you. Why were they so concerned about this? Why were they suddenly so concerned about you? Why did they suddenly have to poke their goddamn noses in your business? Why couldn’t you go where you wanted? Why couldn’t you be friends with who you wanted to? Since when did all of the people you talked to have to be approved by them? Why couldn’t you just be happy? Did they want you to be miserable? Why couldn’t they just see you were happy and leave you alone?

You completely cut them off after that. And they finally left you alone. It was great. Until there was no one around you. The loneliness ate at you like a disease. Everyday felt so bleak and gnawed into your chest. And you couldn’t tell why. All you knew was that you wanted someone. The only good things in your life were the letters. Childe and Pierro were sending some now, though Pierro’s came less often. They were your only joy and lit up your world, filled that hole in your chest, even if it was only temporary. You longed to see them again, to talk to them more.

Eventually, it was suggested that you move to Sneznaya. There was a job they could guarantee you would get too. You would have everything you wanted, you could actually see them every single day. You didn’t like the cold, but that was a small sacrifice to make in order to be closer to them.

You didn’t get to see each of them every day, as they sometimes left for missions the Tsarita gave them, but there would always be at least one. You later come to learn that the person you met in the library was Scaramouche, the sixth Harbinger. You also came to meet other Harbingers you’d never met before, such as the Doctor, who you occasionally interacted with.

It was Autumn now. Though, not that you could tell. In Sneznaya there were no trees that changed colors, or signs of the final harvest for the year. The only sign was that it became colder. And you told this to your new friends. About the things you missed. It hurt, but you were happier now.

You got to learn about Sneznayan traditions too, which were always interesting to learn. Apparently, during mid Autumn, instead of indulging in a harvest, the Sneznayans told ghost stories and terrifying tales. They also had activities that were a test of courage of sorts, where an individual or group would have to walk through an area where people would scare them. It sounded so much fun, but you were heartbroken to hear it was done outside and in the dark. It would be too cold for you to want to stay out for long.

On the night that was the height of storytelling and spooking others, the five Harbingers you were the closest to invited you to see a surprise. The entire room was decorated in a way that mixed tradition from where you were from with yours. Spooky decorations that featured a lot of orange. There were large plates of food for you to choose from, and there were games that were nearly identical to the ones you played at home. It was like a party, just for you and them.

The more reserved ones like Pierro and Pantalone didn’t play any of the games, instead would stand by the cider barrel and talk and tell you stories. Scaramouche and Dottore would play games if they got competitive about it.

It was so much fun, and you felt so happy. But, something about it didn’t feel right. There was something strange about there only being six people in a place that looked like it should have been open to more people. Like an actual party. They’d done a lot for you, but this too? There was a small discomfort in you knowing they imported all of this from Monstadt and attended just for you. Like you were in debt.

During the night, when the hour hand nearly pointed directly up, they had another surprise. They manage to get someone to move one of those test of courage things inside. Just for you.

There were several genuine scares. They made you jump into the closest person and cling onto them. The entire time they crowded around you, making you feel claustrophobic, like it was hard to breathe.

When it was over, you all piled into a lounge. Sitting on the couches and laughing with each other. Was it your imagination, or was everyone staring at you?

You sat next to Tartaglia. Having a conversation between him and someone else on the other couch. You freeze briefly when you notice his hand on your thigh. You brush it off. He was always a little touchy around you. Nothing strange about it. But he squeezes, and you try to swallow down a lump.

You heard your name being called and it pulled you out of your daze. From Pantalone’s tone, you guessed this wasn’t the first time he said your name.

“Come over here,” he said.

You excuse yourself to Tartaglia and walk over. You sit next to Pantalone. There’s a conversation, you were exchanging words, but it was hard to hear once he started rubbing your shoulder with his thumb. The blood rushed in your ears. Why was your body reacting like this? There was nothing weird about this.

He guides you onto his lap, and in your confusion you do it without thought. You sat there stiffly. His hands were all over you.

“Your mind seems to be elsewhere.” He pulled you closer in. There was something pressing into your butt. “Did you enjoy our surprise?”

“Yes,” you said. Much more quietly than usual.

“Did it make you tired?” He teased. His lips grazed against your neck

The other Harbingers seemed to move in closer. You suddenly felt so small.

“Yes,” you said.

“Poor thing,” Dottore said.

Pantalone’s hand wandered into the inside of your thigh. He messaged your leg. His other hand stroked every inch of you that wasn’t sitting on him. His lips were on your neck. Someone’s hand touched your hair. He whispered in your ear.

You shrank away from all contact, adjusted yourself, and closed your legs. Pantalone’s hand clenched.

“What’s wrong?” His other hand held your neck. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” you said. “But I don’t feel comfortable with this. I-” Tears start to well up. You look around the room for someone to back you up. They only stared back.

“Why so cold? And after everything we’ve done for you. Do you not care? Were you just going to take my money and run?” The hands grew slightly tighter.

“No. Of course not,” you plead.

“Then can’t you do one thing for us?”

You’re not sure why, but you find yourself nodding. He continues where he left off. His fingers pushed on and rubbed your pussy through your clothes. You shift uncomfortably.

Someone sits down beside you, making the cushions and you bounce. It was Tartaglia. He smiled at you. He takes your arm, his hands rub and squeeze as they go down. He holds your hand in his, close to his face as he leaned in closer. He kissed your knuckles. You stared into his eyes.

A gloved hand grabs your chin and turns your head. Pantalone pressed his lips onto yours in a stolen kiss. You froze. He pressed further, tightening his grip until it hurt. You kiss back. It was a soft, sensual kiss, at least you thought it was. It was also greedy. And it only made you feel cold.

He finally pulls away and you gasp for air and want to wash your mouth with soap.

Pantalone tugs on the clothes covering your chest.

“Take it off.”

You do what he says, pulling it over your head. Suppressing the urge to cover up. Trying to forget everyone watching you. That seemed to make him happy and he kissed your cheek.

Scaramouche stood up and walked to you. He grabbed you by the hair, forcing you to lean forward.

“Are you just going to hog them the whole time?” Scaramouche said.

“Fine.” Pantalone shrugged and let go of you.

Scaramouche pulled you off of his lap and on your knees on the floor. Before you could comprehend anything else, a dick was against your lips. You looked up at him. He glared down at you. You opened your mouth. The second you did, it was filled with cock. He used your hair to shove you down his cock, over and over again. Making a line of saliva at the base of it. Your throat already hurt and clenched around him.

Someone behind you takes off the bottom half of your clothes, leaving you exposed. The hard appendage pokes into your backside. It makes its way to your hole and thrusts in. The snap of skin reverberating in the air. You yelp, making Scaramouche shove you all the way down unexpectedly. You felt a hot substance pour down your throat. But he didn’t stop.

Dottore stands up and stops next to you. He grabs your hand and puts it around him. His hand squeezes yours and moves it the way he wants. You do your best to fulfill his needs while being stuffed at both ends. You thought you heard him praise you, but you couldn’t quite catch it.

Judging by the grunts behind you, you guessed it was Tartaglia plunging into your hole. His hands anchored on your hips.

Thoughts try to push themselves into your mind. To try to figure out what you even thought about this, but you push it away. Just keep going. Don’t think.

Tartaglia’s hips stutter and he moans loudly, filling you with his load. He pulls out of you with heavy breaths. Immediately, Dottore takes his place. He was much rougher. Abusing your hole. Each thrust shoves you forward. Hard smacks landed on your ass, making you cry out.

Scaramouche cums again and finally withdraws. A pink dusted his face and he walked back to the couch. Your arms nearly felt too weak to hold your top half up.

Heavy footsteps walk around you to your front. Pierro. He shoots a look to Dottore who calms down for just a moment, making you feel relieved. Pierro gently guides your mouth to take him. You suckle on him, doing your best to fit him in your mouth. Dottore returns to his rough pace from before. This time the first Harbinger doesn’t stop him. In fact, he seems to enjoy you jerking forward from Dottore’s handling.

When they both cum, you fall to the floor.

Yet, Pantalone waved you over. You weakly crawled over to him. He helped you up and back on his lap. He thrusted up into you. Pushing you into the air and pulling you back down over and over again. Tears leak from your eyes. Until finally he finishes too.

You lay on him. Exhausted. Warm tears still pour out of your eyes. Overwhelmed, but not knowing what to do. Things wouldn’t go back to normal again, would they?

#kinktober #kinktober 2022 #tw:dubcon #tw:noncon #pantalone x reader #dottore x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #scaramouche x reader #pierro x reader #genshin smut #smut

[xfgpng]

𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 -

— : [ nsfw ] infidelity, mutual pining, unprotected sex, sorta drunk sex but it’s very much consensual, pet names, choking + mentions of blood

— : wc : 1k

sober you might look back at your text log and feel slightly guilty. you had made a promise to yourself that you’d be done with him. it was one night and it was a mistake. a terrible one.

| you : cme c me

| you : [ address ]

he already knew where you stayed. he knows because he’s been there a few times with his girlfriend, one of your friends.

you’re obviously drunk. you’re not making any sense but he can still make out what you’re saying. he doesn’t want to end things with you, already hooked.

it was a mistake, at least that’s what you’re both telling yourselves. he always has fights with his girlfriend and he doesn’t understand why you feel bad. you’re only friends with her by extension of your actual best friend and they don’t even get along that well.

he wants you. he’s wanted you since the first night you met and you spilled apple juice on his jeans. he finds your mannerisms adorable and funny and you make him feel good about himself. you listen when he talks and god he feels like he’s floating on cloud nine when he’s deep inside you.

your pretty acrylic nails dig into the meat of his shoulders and scratch down his back and he finally presses into you. he’s so fucking big and you can’t get used to the feeling of being stretched so much that it hurts.

he groans, back arching a little when he feels the stinging sensations caused by you scratching him. he can tell it’s bleeding and he’s so turned on it takes everything in him not to cum so fast. he feels like a virgin and he should be embarrassed but the way you gasp and whimper for him? he doesn’t care.

he’s tipsy, having taken a few shots of whatever you had been drinking when he arrived. you’re both feeling the buzz and everything feels heightened. he wonders if this is what satori meant when he said smoking before fucking made everything so much more enjoyable.

“toshi” you moan, biting his jaw and leaving very visible marks on his neck. he doesn’t want to stop you, loves the feeling of your teeth against his hot skin.

“i know baby, i know” he kisses your temple, “i’ve got you”

it’s so intimate, far more intimate that him balls deep inside you but you crave it. it was easier to deny your feelings for him when you weren’t around each other but you couldn’t deny the way your heart raced whenever you heard his voice or saw his adorable half smiles.

you wanted him.

he wraps the hand that’s not gripping your waist around your throat. you’ve noticed he’s fascination with your neck, spending a lot of time kissing, biting and touching it.

“fuck, you feel so good” he whispers, staring right into your eyes as he thrusts into you harder. the headboard bangs against the wall and you’re grateful your neighbours aren’t home for the weekend because they’d definitely hear how loud you’re being.

“need more” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. you don’t need to elaborate, he knows what you want and he’s more than happy to give it to you.

he tightens his grip around your neck, causing your eyes to cross as he pounds you into your bed. it’s going to be sore but you don’t really mind. this is exactly how you like it and no one’s been able to hold a candle to him since that night you two first had sex.

he’s a fast learner, playing with your body like he’s been studying it for years. it should be unfair but you weren’t going to complain if it meant he’d always make you feel like this.

he was no better. you felt like heaven around him, the way your pussy gripped him so tightly like you were scared he’d pull out. your soft skin against his own, hot and sweaty.

your lips against his or his jaw. he especially liked when you’d moan right in his ear, not shy to let him know just how good he makes you feel. he didn’t care about anything other than you and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get enough of you.

“cum for me baby please, give it to me” he begs sweetly, voice an octave lower as he kisses your lips, your cheeks and then right below your ear. “please pretty girl, wanna feel you”

that’s all you really need, he doesn’t even need to touch your clit as you tighten up around him, head thrown back as you cum for him. loud and hard.

“fuck.. thank you baby” he moans, biting down on your shoulder as he chases his own high. he’s so close and the way you whimper and kiss his cheeks isn’t helping him keep composure.

“inside toshi” you whisper, “make me yours”

he’ll deny the sounds he makes as he cums inside you, painting your gummy walls white with his hot and thick cum. it’s so much that it gushes out and drips down onto your bed sheets.

“shit” he gasps, opening his eyes to look at you.

“yeah” you breath out

he leans down to close the distance but he waits for you to kiss him. he doesn’t want to get his hopes up because the last time you wouldn’t kiss him after and you ignored his texts.

he’s not ashamed to admit that he wants you. he’s selfish and he knows that but he’ll have you in anyway he can have you. this was enough for him.

“kiss me toshi” you say softly, not as tipsy as you were when he first kissed you that night. your body feels floaty but you like the feeling of him pressed against you.

“i don’t want you to ignore me again” he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours, “i can’t—”

“i know” you cup his face in your hands, “i won’t, i’m sorry”

he smiles and it leaves you breathless. you’d have to talk about it in the morning when you were both a lot more sober and coherent but he knew he was going to leave his girlfriend.

#[ 🪼 ] xfg writes #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima smut #hq ushijima #haikyuu ushijima #haikyuu ushiwaka #ushijima x reader #ushijima x you #ushijima x y/n #ushijima wakatoshi smut #hq ushijima smut #haikyuu ushijima smut #hq smut #haikyuu smut #haikyu smut #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x you #ushijima wakatoshi x y/n