#coffee house without limits

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Home Bliss | The Salesman x Wife!Reader |

Summary: He may be a psychopath but he pouts when his wife does not respond his messages.

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Suggestive - Soft moments - S1 Salesman personality with S2 personality - Obsessive!Salesman - Soft!Salesman

He liked to follow a routine, wake up besides you, your soft snores filling the room and your sweet natural aroma.

Take a moment to aprecciate your features, face, body, see the marks he had left behind after a rough night of sex.

If some were fading away then he would take a mental note to give you some new ones later.

Then he would move, letting you sleep some more, sometimes he would nudge you so you two would shower together, an activity he enjoyed a lot.

Washing your body, feeling the soap against your skin, water falling between your breasts and down your collarbone.

Did it lead to him being late becuase he could not control himself under the image that resembled a goddess? Yes.

But he never cared, he made it up by getting the double amount of names crossed from his list.

Preparing his briefcase for work was a private act, the password for the safe know only by him, even if the content itself was not grotesque, he prefer for you to know very little about what he did for work.

After it he would have breakfast with you. A black coffee with no sugar and a red appel, you would often make some bread for him, another thing he loved. Home coked food. He would teast the love you poured when making it. And would leave the house feeling full and loved.

Oh, and with a kiss. He could never leave the house without getting a kiss from you.  A sweet long kiss, soft lips and cold hands caressing his face and hair.

And that look, a look that made him feel less of a monster and more human, a look only someone deep in love could give.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The Salesman had just ended another day at work and at the park where he would entertain himself by offering bread or fair tickets. Most would choose the second and find out they had lose.

After it he would go to a near bakery and buy some sweet desserts for you, he knew how much of a sweet tooth you had.

He pulled out his phone while he waited for his order, pouting when he saw no new messages from you.

What was his little wife doing?

Were you mad? He did not notice something different in the morning. You acted as you usually did, doting him like he was a starved man for affection.

For your affection? Maybe he was. But only yours.

Was about last night? He knew he was quiet rough, harder than most nights. He could not help himself when he saw you in one of his old shirts, showing your precious legs to him and your half closed eyes.

You looked cute and hot after a nap, he always told you to not wait him awake if he told you he was going to be late. But you were admant about it and wanted to see him before sleeping.

So, instead of going straight to sleep he had took you to his special room, where he showed you just how aroused he was, how much he liked pushing your limits. Making you scream his name and cry. Licking your tears and edging you over and over. Pain and pleasure blurring the line, as he spanked you, making you count and thank him for them.

Oh, your red ass looked so cute with his printed hand on it, he could cum in his pants by it.

Of course he also made you ride himself while he kept a strong hold on your neck, giving you different pressure, cuting out the air that went to your lungs and then letting you breath. He loved to see your eyes roll back, when he would hit that special spot inside you with the sensation of lost air.

Your life was in his hands and you gave him all the control over it.

Even if you were too tired this morning and with more marks than usual...he knew you had liked it.

So no, that could not be the reason.

"Order six!!"

Well, he would have to return home and see for himself what was happening.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Back at home the kitchen was a mess. You had decided to prepare your husband a well deserved dinner (even if walking did hurt like hell). In order to focus your phone was long forgot in your bedroom, were it rested with messages from him.

Not like you could know, too focus in the task at hand, the rice rested in a near plate, the meat being made at medium just like he liked it.

A small salad was also ready and waiting, you even went out to get a nice wine for both. Friday nights were the best nights to get drunk together.

It was all ready, you made your way to the dinning room, serving the plates in a fancy way, two glasses full of red wine.

You checked the hour and nodded to yourself, he would be home soon. You still needed to change.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The Salesman opened up the door of his home, he frowned when he noticed the lights were off.

Slowly he moved towards the dinning room, were a flick of light was coming from. He started to get worried, did someone break in and hurt you? Just the idea sent rage into his body.

His lips formed a thin line, eyes now sharp and calculated as he walked in.

As he circle the corned his worried flew away, there you were, drinking a glass of wine, wearing his favorite clothes just for him and with the smell of home made dinner that made his heart beat fast and his body relax.

"Love, I kept texting you all day" He greeted going to hug you and kiss your head. "Why did you not respond?"

He gave you a pout, his eyes sad, he was a lot of things and one of them was being a softie for you, his dear wife.

"I was making you dinner, left my phone away so I would not get distracted"

He nodded but still looked over you with worry.

"One, one text its all I need to keep going" He said in a soft whisper "Dont ignore me again"

You had to bite down your smile, for someone who could get freaky and even sadistic in bed, he also had his lovable side, a bit possesive and obsessive but still lovable and yours.

"It wont happen again, now why dont you get out from these clothes and join me for dinner? I did your favorite"

His mouth watered at the sight, he was indeed hungry, and seeing the food was making him even more.

"Of course my love, and later I will show you how grateful im for it" He smirked kissing your temple.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

[katakaluptastrophy]

I think what's so interesting about Gideon as a narrator at the anniversary dinner is the fact that there's clearly tensions that she's just not picking up on because she's only there to eat a dessert.

But these people are all the immensely powerful leaders of the Houses and consider themselves to be in competition for literal godlike powers and the favour of the emperor.

There's so many little snippets that are potentially intriguing: why is Teacher trying to prime the Ninth to consider the Fifth a threat? Why are the Third and the Sixth "sizing each other up like prizefighters"? The Fifth absolutely knew what they were doing when they sat the teen heads of the opposing cults near each other.

Through Gideon's lens, Magnus' speech is a little awkward jokey thing. But...the seneschal of the House that is known to be actively trying to absorb another House is saying it's such a shame they're all so remote from each other and what do they all have in common (and it's so quiet you "could have heard a hair flutter to the floor") - that had to feel a bit different to people who aren't Gideon.

Palamedes' is dissecting the meaning of "Master Warden" and at one point compares it to a prison warden. 'Dulcinea' asking about whether Magnus and Abigail have children is perhaps less small talk and rather more pointedly political. Harrow's apparently stilted conversation with Protesilaus is clearly her actually probing his limitations like he's a bad Chat GPT-run chatbot.

And then 'Dulcinea' tells Gideon she liked the dinner because it was "useful". In her typical "I never lied to you" way, Cyth wasn't lying when she said Abigail had to die because of her hobby - Abigail Pent let loose on the Facility would have risked blowing Cyth's cover sky high. But what does a Canaan House look like where after the dinner party, the Fifth go down to the facility, get a key, and survive to continue their 'the Houses are going to get along or else' agenda? We've seen Fifth House soft power on a smaller scale in HTN: and it looks like inviting a teenager round for coffee, lulling her into a false sense of security with small talk, and then physically preventing her from leaving the room until she does what you want, while smiling the entire time. A series of little coffee chats could probably have led to a lot of cooperation in Canaan House, one way or another.

Gideon jokes about Silas marrying Ianthe because of their similar colour pallete, but it does raise the fact that there seems to be some tension around the Third, its succession, and the *point* of Ianthe. Why is Silas openly saying Ianthe should have died at birth? Combined with Judith's comments in the Cohort Intelligence Files about succession on the Third, it feels like there's something else being said here that Gideon isn't picking up on.

And of course, Harrow wasn't the only one desperate to become a Lyctor because her con was unsustainable. Presumably at some point Corona and Ianthe would be expected to marry, or at least take on more separate roles as Corona prepared to take over the throne and Ianthe was funneled off elsewhere. At some point, their package deal would have become unsustainable and Corona's cover would have been blown. But much as Harrow wants to become a Lyctor so she can reveal the state of the Ninth without repercussions, Ianthe is probably in part motivated to become a Lyctor for the same reason. Because otherwise, what would Ianthe's expected role have been? Amidst the suggestion of anxiety about the Idan succession, the dinner party also presents the fact that the reason Abigail and Magnus' infertility isn't a succession crisis for the ruling family of the Fifth is that Abigail's younger brother dutifully married in his early 20s and had kids. We know there are branch families in Ida - Babs is from one. He may be a prince, but he's not treated well, and you do get the sense that the stakes to stay in power in Ida are high.

We don't learn anything about the political situation in the Houses themselves during HTN or NTN, but in the wake of Canaan House, you have to suspect there are a number of tensions and concerns.

[txrully]

I'M SO STUPID IN LOVE!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ summary lovey-dovey things they'd do for you!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ characters isagi yoichi , bachira meguru , itoshi rin , nagi seishiro , mikage reo , chigiri hyoma , hiori yo , shidou ryusei , itoshi sae , michael kaiser , alexis ness .

·˚ ༘ ꒱ warning lowercase intended

·˚ ༘ ꒱ song inspo stupid in love - max ( ft. huh yunjin of lsrfm )

·˚ ༘ ꒱ isagi yoichi

you know how isagi’s brain is basically soccer, soccer, soccer? well, this man rewires his ENTIRE system for you. suddenly, every time he scores a goal, he dedicates it to you. like, mid-celebration he’s shouting your name in front of thousands of people. embarrassing? a lil. cute? definitely.

he’s also the type to leave you notes everywhere. you’ll open your locker, and boom: "i hope your day is as perfect as your smile. also, pls drink water. - yoichi 🩵"

or you’ll find random sticky notes around the house with stuff like: "you're cuter than my dog. and that’s saying a lot." ( i hc he's a dog person, fight me 🫠 )

"yoichi, did you seriously compare me to your dog again?"

"is that bad?? you’re both my top priorities!"

·˚ ༘ ꒱ bachira meguru

bachira is a walking ball of chaos, and it only gets worse when he’s in love. he makes you weird handmade crafts—like a necklace with your initials carved into a random rock he found because “the vibes were immaculate.”

he’s also the king of grand gestures. once, he showed up outside your window in the middle of the night blasting your favorite song from a boombox. and no, he didn’t think it through—he got yelled at by your neighbors, but he swears it was worth it.

"meguru, why is there a rock with my name on it?"

"because i love you. duh."

"…you couldn’t just buy a necklace??"

"where’s the FUN in that?? D:< "

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi rin

soft tsundere energy incoming. rin doesn’t say much, but when he’s in love, he SHOWS it. like, he’ll memorize your coffee order, your favorite book, and the exact way you like your hoodie sleeves rolled up. you swear he’s psychic, but he’s just that attentive.

he also sends you texts at random times:

"don’t forget your umbrella. it’s going to rain."

"i noticed you like this song. added it to my playlist."

you’re 99% sure his search history is “how to take care of someone without being obvious.”

"rin, did you... did you learn how to make my favorite food?"

"shut up and eat it."

"you’re so sweet it’s disgusting."

"i said shut up."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ nagi seishiro

nagi’s love language? pure, lazy dedication. he may not seem like the romantic type, but trust me—he will move mountains for you... as long as it doesn’t require getting up too much.

once, he spent HOURS figuring out how to build you a playlist of all your favorite songs, complete with a cover photo of you two. he even labeled it: "for my player 2 🕹️"

"sei, this playlist is amazing!"

"mm, yeah, it was exhausting. now can we nap?"

"you literally just sat there and clicked buttons."

"exactly. so tiring.."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ mikage reo

reo goes all out for you—no budget, no limits, no second thoughts. one time, you mentioned how pretty cherry blossoms are, and the next thing you know, he’s flying you to a festival in japan. casually might i add.

but the sweetest part? he remembers the little things. your favorite snack? stocked in his pantry. your favorite flower? delivered to your doorstep every friday. he spoils you rotten but somehow makes it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

"reo, this is too much—"

"no, it’s not. nothing’s too much for you."

"you’re literally insane."

"only for you, babe."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ chigiri hyoma

chigiri is the definition of 💌romantic aesthetic💌. he writes you poetry and leaves it in random places, like your bag or your coat pocket. sometimes, you don’t even notice until hours later.

he also takes you on dreamy dates—picnics in scenic fields, long bike rides at sunset, and slow dances in your living room when it’s raining outside. everything he does feels like it’s straight out of a romance movie.

"hyoma, did you just quote a shakespeare sonnet to me?"

"maybe."

"oh my god, you’re so dramatic."

"and yet you’re still here."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ hiori yo

hiori is the sweetest, softest boy in love. he keeps a journal where he writes down all the little things you do that make him happy. once, you caught him scribbling, and he turned BRIGHT red.

he’s also the king of quiet acts of service. your phone’s always fully charged, your favorite snacks magically appear in your bag, and you never have to ask for help because he’s already two steps ahead.

"yo, were you writing about me again?"

"no... maybe. okay, yes."

"you’re adorable."

"please don’t look."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ shidou ryusei

oh boy. shidou is CHAOTIC in love. this man would probably fight a wild animal to impress you. he’s all about making you laugh, even if it means doing the dumbest stunts imaginable.

one time, he literally climbed a tree to get you a flower. it wasn’t even a nice flower. but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

"ryu, you’re bleeding. what did you do??"

"got you this flower. cool, huh?"

"you FELL OUT OF A TREE FOR THIS??"

"worth it."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi sae

sae is the definition of quiet but deadly romantic. he doesn’t show his feelings often, but when he does? damn. like, he’ll casually fly in from another country just to spend the weekend with you because “it’s no big deal.”

he also sends you fancy gifts out of nowhere. but if you call him out, he’ll play it cool like it’s nothing.

"sae, did you just buy me an entire designer collection?"

"it’s just clothes."

"just clothes?? this cost more than my rent!"

"and you look better than rent."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ michael kaiser

kaiser loves showing off, especially when it comes to you. he’ll buy out a billboard just to plaster your picture on it with the words "the love of my life 🩵."

but he’s also surprisingly sweet. like, he’ll carry your bag, fix your hair when it’s windy, or randomly pull you into a dance in the middle of the street just because he can.

"michael, did you seriously put my face on a billboard??"

"obviously. everyone needs to know you’re mine."

"you’re ridiculous."

"ridiculously in love with you, yes."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ alexis ness

ness is a total softie. he writes you little love letters and leaves them in your mailbox, signed with his initials like he’s a secret admirer. you obviously know it’s him, but you let him think he’s being sneaky.

he’s also BIG on cuddles. whenever he sees you, it’s like he can’t function until he gets a hug.

"ness, you know i know it’s you, right?"

"…you’re supposed to pretend you don’t!"

"why?"

"because it’s romantic!"

© txrully

do not copy/translate/plagiarize/repost my works in any way. ( i will find you 😶‍🌫️ )

likes + reblogs appreciated ‹𝟹

[girlgenius1111]

learning curve part 2

alexia putellas x reader [& r's nephew] will tries to adjust, and so do r and alexia. a phone call and a nightmare dampen will's spirits, but alexia and r try prove that they are there for him. very soft fluff. angst. kidfic. shorter chapter but wanted to get this out before finals kill me hope you enjoy❤️‍🩹

There were so many good moments in being… well, not a parent. Being whatever you were to Will. Moments that you swore made your heart grow, like when Alexia would give him a piggyback ride around the house and he’d giggle until he was out of breath, or when he’d lift up his plate at dinner to very proudly show you he’d eaten all his vegetables. 

The reality was, however, that Will was a traumatized kid, living in a foreign country that spoke an entirely different language to him. Far away from his favorite person in the world, far away from everything he’d ever known. And while Will mostly trusted you, you were still practically a stranger to him, and Alexia was a stranger to him. 

Will was an anxious kid, with a lot to adjust to, and some days he didn’t want you. He didn’t want to be in Spain. He wanted to go back home and be with his Dad. That was just the one thing in the world you couldn’t give him. 

—

It was only the end of the first week of having Will living with you, and you hadn’t quite perfected your routine. It was Saturday, and he was due to start school on Monday, and though he hadn’t said anything, you could tell he was dreading it. Even with the new backpack and new light up shoes you’d gotten him, his little face grew so solemn whenever the topic of school was brought up. 

It had been an oddly calm week, which you were more than grateful for. Pere had taken you both out of the traveling squad for the weekend without either of you even asking. He insisted family was the most important thing, and you guys were facing a team at the bottom of the table anyway. So, with only a few training sessions and several days off, you and Alexia had been trying to get Will settled. 

One of the first things you’d done upon arriving back in Spain was finding Will a child psychologist. He hadn’t met with her yet, but she’d listened to the situation and given you a few tips on how to help Will adjust. And though there was a hoard of teammates and friends very eager to meet your nephew, one of the psychologist’s tips had been to take things slow, especially with introducing him to people. Too much, all at once, would just remind Will how much had changed. He didn’t need to be overwhelmed right now. 

Taking her advice, Will hadn’t met anyone before yesterday, when you and Alexia brought him over to Alexia’s mami’s house for dinner. He met Eli and Alba, instantly taking to Alexia’s sister. It wasn’t surprising; she was a teacher for young kids, and was already sitting on the floor at the coffee table coloring when the three of you had walked in. He’d spent most of the evening silently playing with her, his wide eyes flickering over to you every few minutes, as if to ensure that you were still there. 

It had been a late night, and even the limited conversation that Will had engaged in had seemed to drain him. He’d fallen asleep in the car on the way home, as you’d found he was very prone to doing. Alexia had carried him inside, his face smushed into her shoulder as her arms wrapped around him protectively. He woke, very grumpily, when you had him change into his pajamas and brush his teeth, passing right back out the minute his head hit his pillow. 

Will liked his sleep, you’d learned, and it wasn’t a surprise that after such a draining and long day, he’d slept in. It was nearing 10, though, and you didn’t think kids this little were supposed to sleep this late. Alexia and you had had a slow, quiet morning, enjoying the time alone together more than you would have just a week ago. Now, as you lay on the couch snuggled against your girlfriend’s side watching the team play on the TV, the now very familiar anxiety began to invade your every thought. 

“Should we wake him up?” You wondered, shifting to look at Alexia’s face. Her eyes remained locked on the TV, and it took a few seconds for the question to process. 

“I’m not sure, amor. If he’s tired, should we let him sleep? It’s been a long week.�� 

“I know, but–”

“Tia?” Will’s voice called from the doorway, small and trembling. Your head whipped around to look at him, hesitating in the doorway as he rubbed at his eyes with his fists. He was crying, or trying not to cry, you couldn’t tell. 

“Hey, buddy. What’s wrong?” You asked gently, opening your arms and gesturing for him to come closer. The TV turned off as Alexia tore her attention away from the match and looked to Will with concern. 

“I-I want my Dad.” Will mumbled, taking a step further into the room but not taking you up on the unspoken offer for a hug. 

“Do you want to call him, sweetheart?” Your heart truly broke at the sad look on his face, and as much as you wished you could just fix it for him, you knew you couldn’t. 

Will considered for a moment, taking another half step forward before nodding. “Yes, please.” 

Luckily, the prison Leo was incarcerated in allowed inmates to receive phone calls, though it took a while for the call to get connected. You had to call the prison, request to talk to Leo, and if he was available, they’d bring him to the phone area. The process could take anywhere from 10-20 minutes, but Will wasn’t looking especially patient at the moment, his eyes wide and filled with tears as he watched you grab your phone off the table. 

“Will, cariño, why don’t we go get you some breakfast while we wait for your Papi to pick up?” Alexia asked, standing and holding her hand out towards the boy.

“‘M not hungry.” Will murmured, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his pajama shirt. 

Alexia hummed, moving cautiously towards Will and squatting down so she was eye level with him. “You might be hungry when you get off the phone, and if we start making pancakes now, they will be ready just in time.” 

The suggestion seemed to pique Will’s interest, even in his very solemn mood. “Okay. Pancakes.” 

He wrapped his hand around two of Alexia’s fingers and she smiled happily, leading him into the kitchen. 

They got to work making the pancake batter, Alexia allowing Will to help her measure out the ingredients as you waited to hear the sound of your brother’s voice come over the phone. 

Just as Leo came over the line, you heard a faint giggle come from the kitchen, and you smiled despite yourself. Alexia could always seem to get Will to laugh, no matter what mood he was in. You said hi to your brother, before calling for your nephew. His steps padded quickly from the kitchen into the living room, reaching for the phone with a somewhat desperate air to him. 

“Hi Dad.” Will greeted, sitting down on the edge of the couch. You couldn’t quite hear what your brother was saying, and you wanted to give Will some privacy, so you headed for the kitchen. Trying to tune out the conversation in the other room, you headed right for Alexia, who was stood at the stove, waiting for the perfect moment to flip the pancakes. You wrapped your arms around her, pressing your front to her back and sighing heavily. 

Alexia didn’t say anything in response at first, just placed her free hand over yours and squeezed. 

“Does this look like a heart, amor?” She inquired after a moment. You peeked over her shoulder, smiling despite yourself at the vaguely heart shaped pancake in the pan. 

“It does.” You lied, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Although I think Will would prefer a dinosaur.” 

Alexia chuckled. “I do not think I am that talented yet. Besides, he only cares about the syrup, not the shape of the pancake. The heart is for you.” 

Your cheeks flushed because no matter how much time passed, you were quite sure Alexia would always stun you a little with her sweet gestures. 

“I love you.” You murmured, a bit overwhelmed with softness for your girlfriend at that moment. Whether it was the barely heart shaped pancake or the gentleness and kindness she showed Will, you weren’t sure. 

“Te amo más.” Alexia replied, and you didn’t have to see her face to hear the small smile in her voice. 

As soon as you heard Will’s faint goodbye, you headed back into the living room. Your nephew didn’t look any happier, still perched on the edge of the couch, though now he was fully crying into his hands. 

“All done, buddy?” You called, feeling your chest tighten as Will jumped a bit and hastily began to wipe at his face with his hands. 

He nodded, handing your phone back to you without looking in your direction or saying a word. 

“Are you okay, Will?” You inquired, sitting next to him on the couch. 

He shrugged, lip quivering as he tried to hold in his cries. “Sorry.” 

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to be sorry about being sad.” You told him, reaching over and lifting him into your lap. He curled into you, his hand twisting into the fabric of your shirt. “You can be sad, and you can cry. This is really hard and you’re being so brave, but it’s okay to cry.” 

Will began to cry in earnest now, and you tried not to tear up yourself at the pain he was feeling, pain that was much too big for such a young kid. 

“I want my Dad.” Will whispered brokenly, clutching tighter to your shirt. 

“I know, I know you do. I’m sorry sweetheart.” 

There wasn’t much else you could do but whisper reassurances and try your best to comfort him. It wasn’t enough, you knew. Because you weren’t Leo. And Will just wanted his dad. 

—

It had been a long week for everyone. The emotional weight that you were carrying was taking its toll, and you’d never been more desperate for a good night's sleep before in your life. Alexia could see it on your face, the physical and mental exhaustion, and she insisted you get in bed when just after Will had gone to sleep.

Much too exhausted to really put up much of an argument, you showered quickly and threw on some pajamas. Alexia brushed your hair for you, something she knew always made you sleepy, before tucking you into bed and flicking the light off. You frowned at that, grabbing her hand when she tried to rise from the bed. 

“Where are you going?” 

“The living room is a mess and I was going to finish the laundry–”

“Alexia, you’re tired too. Please just come to bed. I won’t be able to fall asleep without you.” 

A small smile flickered across her face, and she realized how utterly powerless she was to say no to you when you asked something of her, especially something this needy. Alexia knew better than anyone how hard it was for you to be vulnerable. She’d promised herself long ago that she’d be here if you needed her, especially when you asked for her. 

So, she nodded, kissing you softly on the lips. “Okay, mi amor. If that is what you need.”

Alexia made quick work of locking the front door, running through her nighttime routine and checking to make sure Will was soundly asleep before crawling into bed next to you. Her body molded into the back of yours, arms holding you tight against her. 

“You stole my favorite pajama shirt.” She whispered into your ear, hand sliding up the front of the stolen shirt to rest across your abdomen. 

You turned in her hold, pressing your face into her neck and adjusting until you were comfortable. “It smells like you.” 

Alexia grinned into the top of your head at your sleepy voice, settling back into the pillows. “You can keep it, then.”

She was sure she looked like a lovesick fool, holding you tightly against your chest, smiling hugely in the darkness, but she didn’t care. She really loved that she got to love you. 

—

Alexia wasn’t a very heavy sleeper, which normally was a point of annoyance for her. However, when she woke up just a few hours after falling asleep, she wasn’t upset. 

It was a quiet whimper coming from down the hall that pulled her awake, and it only took her a minute of confusion before she realized the source. 

Will. 

You’d been leaving both his bedroom door and your bedroom door open in an attempt to convince him to come wake you if he needed you. Will was independent, insisting on doing everything himself because he was a ‘big boy,’ but you never wanted him to feel deterred from seeking you out if he needed comfort. 

Alexia sat up, rubbing at her eyes and listening just to make sure she’d heard correctly. When a small sob reached her ears, she slipped out of bed, making sure not to disturb you.

If Will needed you, she wouldn’t hesitate to get you. But if this was something she could help with without waking you, she’d prefer that. You were so tired. More than that, she didn’t want you to feel like Will was just your responsibility. She’d made it clear she was staying, that she was here for both of you, and she intended to prove that to you through her actions. 

So, she padded down the hall towards Will’s room, her heart dropping when she found him sitting up, the covers scrunched up at the bottom of his bed, his face wet with tears. He was hugging one of his dinosaurs close to his chest, and Alexia could tell even from the doorway that he was trembling. 

“Hey cariño.” She whispered, stepping into the room. “Are you okay?” 

It was a stupid question because it was very clear that Will was not okay, but Alexia asked anyway, frowning sympathetically when the small boy shook his head back and forth rapidly in response. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” Alexia wondered, walking over to Will’s bed and sitting on the edge of it. He didn’t reach for her, so she didn’t reach for him, though she left her hand on the bed right in front of him, palm up in case he wanted to grab it. 

This time, Will nodded, using the soft fur of his dinosaur to wipe the tears off his cheek. 

“A really bad one,” Will mumbled, his voice shaky and thick with tears. 

Alexia was quiet for a moment, not quite sure what she should do. Should she get you? Should she try to talk it through with him? She hadn’t realized until this moment how much taking care of a kid came down to the smallest decisions. 

“Would you like a hug?” She offered finally, opening her arms. To her surprise, Will quickly slid out from under his covers and scrambled into her lap, wrapping his arms tightly around her neck. She held him carefully, rubbing her hand up and down his back as he sniffled. “Okay. Okay, we’re okay. You are safe, cariño.” 

Miraculously, Will seemed to be calming down, and it wasn’t much longer before he loosened his grip on her and rested his head against her chest. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” 

“You… you and my Tia went away. Like my Dad. I couldn’t find you guys and I was all alone again.” Will whispered, his voice quiet as if speaking any louder would make the nightmare come true. 

“That sounds really scary, Will.” Alexia said carefully, feeling Will nod into her. “You aren’t alone. Me and your Tia are not going anywhere. We’re here to take care of you, and we aren’t going to leave you alone, ever.” 

It was the best she could come up with. She marvelled at how you always seemed to know what to say to Will, not having realized how hard that seemingly simple task could be. The midfielder was unsure if her words had helped at all especially when Will was quiet for a few long moments. 

“Promise?” He whispered finally, his hand twisting into the fabric of her shirt. 

Alexia bit her lip, fighting a wave of tears that threatened to fall. A 5 year old should never have to feel this way, should never have to be this scared that he was going to be left behind. 

“I promise.” Alexia replied, leaving a kiss on the top of Will’s brown waves. 

“Alexia?” Will asked. 

Alexia fought back a smile, this time, because it was the first time Will had addressed her by her name. She hummed in response, nodding for him to ask his question. 

“Can I sleep in your bed? With you and my Tia?” His voice was quiet, tentative, and he seemed almost resigned, as if he was sure the answer would be no. 

But Alexia couldn’t say no, not when Will was sitting in front of her with tears still wet on his face. So much was changing for him, and he was doing a remarkable job adjusting to it all. Still, if he needed some extra comfort… who was Alexia to deny that? Especially when she knew you’d say yes without a second thought. 

“Of course you can. Your Tia is still sleeping and she’s very tired so we have to be quiet.” 

Will nodded fervently, tucking his dinosaur under one arm and reaching up for Alexia’s hand with his other. Together, they walked back down the hall, feet padding softly on wood. 

Alexia lifted Will into her arms as they walked through the door, in the darkness misjudging the distance she had between her and the foot of the bed. Her toe collided with it painfully, and she yelped quietly, freezing to make sure you didn’t stir.

“Shh.” Will said, brows furrowed as his small hand moved to cover Alexia’s mouth. She fought back a smile, nodding and placing Will onto the bed. He moved slowly over into the middle of the bed, letting Alexia tuck the covers up around him before climbing in herself. 

She’d expected Will to snuggle up against you, but her heart melted when she felt him scooch closer to her, resting his head on her arm. 

“Goodnight Alexia.” He whispered, so quiet Alexia had to strain to hear him. 

“Goodnight cariño.” Alexia whispered back, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. 

She was wide awake even as Will’s breaths began to even out, and the boy fell asleep, but she didn’t mind. 

She’d stay up for a while. Just in case he needed anything. 

—

not the biggest fan of this but the next chapter is already planned and i'm very excited about it

thanks for reading ❤️

[hannieoftheyear]

drinks or coffee (c.vn)

the bad party takes a turn when you end up competing in a game with the friend you've been secretly hooking up with

✧˖* pairing: vernon x fem!reader

✧˖* w.c: 5k

✧˖* genre: friends with benefits, porn with plot. MINORS DON'T INTERACT.

✧˖* content warnings: one use of y/n, vernon's a waist grabber, pet names, alcohol consumption, teasing, car sex | smut warnings: softdom!vernon (but lowkey a switch), public and semi-public shenanigans (club bathroom, parking lot and inside the car), mutual masturbation, desperate dry humping, fingering, choking, unprotected penetration, cream pie.

🎧: drinks or coffee — rosé

"standing in the corner of a crowded place this is boring, till i heard your name and now i'm staying for you, we're just friends it's okay we don't have to talk, i know that you want me"

check out my main masterlist ♡ dividers used

✧˖* note: the second half was not proofread. also, this was supposed to be done for his bday, but hey, a few days later is not that bad!

don't be shy! share your thoughts!

“This party's ass." 

You side eye your friend before replying, “I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but…” 

“Fuck.” Chan sighs as he leaves his drink on a tiny table by his side. “I’m sorry I brought you here.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” You chuckle and put your hand on his shoulder, jokingly comforting him. “Wherever you go, I go. That’s our friend code.” 

When Chan asked you to be his plus one to his coworker’s birthday party so he wouldn’t be alone, you didn’t think twice about it. He’s done the same for you countless times. 

“Still, thank you. I wouldn’t have survived this long here without you.” He replies, defeated. 

“We’ve barely been here for over an hour.” You can’t help but chuckle at your tired friend. It seems even extroverted people have their limits. 

“What do you say if... in half an hour, nothing interesting happens. We’ll leave.” Chan pleads with his eyes that you agree with his escape plan, but someone gives you no time to. 

A shout from across the house draws both of your attention. 

“Who wants to play the jeopardy game Giselle made!? There’s a prize for the winner!” 

The interesting thing you were begging to happen calls you in the form of a deep-voiced frat boy, and you both lock eyes with raised brows, knowing how you’re going to spend the night from now on. 

Your competitive spirit takes over you as you walk towards where you think the game is being held. Passing between the sweaty bodies dancing to the terrible electronic music blasting from a speaker placed on the corner of the kitchen, you feel like the win's already yours, not even taking into consideration whoever you might be up against. 

It’s when you’re about to cross the door to the kitchen that you hear it. 

“C’mon, Vernon! Don’t be a chicken!” 

Your ears perk up at his name being called so close to you, there, at a random party. Neither he nor Chan had told you he was going to be there. 

A hand drags you away from the door you were obstructing and into the kitchen, where a cardboard box with blue pieces of paper sticking to it is clearly meant to be the game. 

“Are you okay?” Chan asks with a slightly concerned face. 

“Vernon’s here.” Whatever excitement you feel bubbling up inside you, you try to hide as to not be too obvious to your best friend.

Chan and you are concrete proof that friendship between a man and a woman can stay purely platonic. As cliché as it sounds, it’s closer to a sibling bond than anything else. You’d trust him with your life, and he’d also trust you with his. Being friends with him is a constant in your life. He’s present even in your earliest memories, and you can confidently say that being anything more than that has never crossed any of your minds. That's not the case with Vernon and you. 

College allowed you to broaden your circle of friends, from being just the two of you to a whopping 14 people. The synergy is top tier, and all the different types of friendships within the group coexist to find a perfect balance. 

With a group that big, it’s normal for you to form small groups when all of you hang out together. Most of the time, you sit completely opposite to Vernon. You barely even talk to each other on nights like those. It just looks like you choose to hang out with other people in the group before one another. Secretly, the stolen glances from across the room tell otherwise. 

It didn’t start that way, your bond with Vernon. You first started talking more after being paired up together for a project in one of the electives your entire group decided to take for fun. You didn’t have the chance to talk much before, and working together, even if neither of you cared much about that class, really cemented your friendship. 

You always thought he was hot. The way he went on with life, so calm and sure of himself, really attracted you to him, but you didn’t expect it to go beyond that. A group of friends so big, even after surviving a long time and managing to stay together, is still fragile. The last thing you wanted was to make everything weird. 

But months passed, and the tension you felt every time you’d end up alone with him finally reached a peak where it was unbearable. Vernon felt it as well, and he decided he couldn’t resist it any longer. 

You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t set any rules after the first time it happened. Neither of you told any of your friends, then it happened again, and again, and again, and it was clear neither of you wanted to stop it. He was irresistible, and you weren’t trying to find a cure for that growing addiction.

Vernon would be manspreading on a chair, paying attention to whatever anecdote is being told, so nonchalant one would think he doesn’t understand how hot he is. And from time to time, when no one was looking, he’d sneak a glance at you, catching you red handed with your eyes already on him –you’re sure you look at him more than he does. He’d raise one of his thick eyebrows ever so slightly, only for you to notice, and that feeling at the pit of your stomach would burst into flames. 

When the hang out stretched until it was too late in the night, he'd offer to take you to your place, using the late hour and your need to take the public transport as an excuse, you’d get on his car with no suspicions, and you’d always end up in the apartment that’s closer, ripping each other’s clothes off in between desperate kisses that you’d been suffering to hold out on.  

Other times, when instead of a chill hang out, the group decided to go out to the club, both of you would mysteriously disappear at the same time, hiding in any available toilet stall with no care in the world, moaning into each other’s ear hoping the music drowns out the sounds. 

Unless you’re just bad at disguising your meet-ups, Chan's the only one who knows of that other aspect of your friendship with Vernon. The only time he ever spent the night at your apartment, Chan showed up to your building unannounced and caught Vernon leaving in a hurry with the same clothes as the night before. 

“You asshole! You told me you had other plans tonight!” Chan sees him first, entering the very same room just behind you, and he goes for a man hug after raising his eyebrows at you. 

Chan had his concerns at first, same as you, about the wellness of the friend group, but he quickly realized nothing much had changed in the dynamics except your late night activities, so he just moved on to tease you about it any chance he got.

“Sorry, bro, I didn’t think it’d be the same party.” His low voice quickly stirs something inside you. The party’s not boring anymore and you’re staying until you get what you want.

“Good thing we know someone else here!” With your best friendly smile, you turn around to say hello. “Hi Vern.”

You’ve always greeted your friends with a kiss on the cheek, so it's not out of the ordinary to do it with him too. But when his hand tightens a little more than normal on your waist, and your lips remain a millisecond longer on his cheek, the temperature inside the room rises noticeably. 

“Are you guys playing?” Vernon asks after letting go of his grip on you. He looks at Chan to wait for his answer as well, but you want to believe the lingering of his stare on your form before turning to your friend means something.

“Of course.” The teasing roll of your eyes matches with the appearance of Giselle in the kitchen. “And I’m ready to beat whoever stands in my way.”

Noise erupts as Giselle begins drawing the names that’ll play against one another, and you and Vernon end up on opposite sides of the dashboard. 

“Sounds good.” The defying stares you share hold something behind them only you two, and Chan, know about. “Let’s meet in the final.”

Even Giselle, the birthday girl who planned the whole game, was impressed by the interest everyone showed in playing. After a while, even the people who refused at first started joining to watch the matches, whispering the correct answers to their friends and laughing at anyone who doesn’t know basic facts.

“What is the real identity of the Marvel character known as Deadpool?” Giselle reads the question under the last blue sticker.

“Shit, I don’t know! I don’t watch marvel movies!” The long-haired girl shouts, defeated as all of her friends boo her, losing at the last question.

“You can take it!” Giselle points to Vernon, who she was up against.

“It’s Wade Wilson.” Vernon answers with a smirk and nods while everyone claps at him, even the girl’s friends.

“That’s cheating! He didn’t say ‘what is’!” You’re pretty sure she’s Giselle’s girlfriend, judging by the way she grabs her hand and attacks her with puppy eyes.

“You didn’t say that for any of your questions, dummy.” Giselle kisses her on the cheek as she pouts. “Okay! Let’s see who’s the finalist against…”

“Vernon.” He chuckles, reminding her of his name.

“Vernon! Who’s going up against Vernon!” She reads her list, adding the points you hope she annotated correctly.

She looks around, drunk enough to have forgotten your face already. “Y/N?"

“Woohoo!” Chan shouts behind you, also too drunk. “Go crush him!”

Vernon throws Chan a look and he just shrugs, finishing the drink in his hand.

While Giselle tries to set up the last board on the counter, in between all the people doing tequila shots and others annoying her on purpose, Vernon rests his hips beside yours on the island, too close for it to be a coincidence.

“What do I get when I win?” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath tingling down your neck.

“You mean when I win? And she said there would be a prize.” It’s been at least an hour since your last drink, but turning your face and seeing his so close almost makes you pass out.

“If I win, you’ll spend the night at my place.” The corner of his mouth lifting just slightly has something of a mesmerizing effect, and you can’t take your eyes off his lips.

“That’s no punishment for the loser.” You only reply, trying to keep going with his game.

“I didn’t say it had to be a punishment for you, only what I want.” There’s no arguing that logic, and luckily, Giselle calls your names before you have to figure out what to answer.

“Fair game?” You stretch your hand forward, and he shakes it slowly, electricity flowing through your veins as your cold skin melts with his.

“You haven't said what you want if you win.” Giselle's voice trying to get your attention is barely a murmur in the background.

“I'll think about it.” Now it's your time to smirk, registering Giselle deciding to choose the questions herself and asking Vernon the first one. “You should focus on answering correctly.”

“Game on, princess.” When he turns to answer, so fast he had clearly heard the question before it was repeated, you can’t help but keep your eyes on the side of his face.

“What song has spent the most weeks at number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100?”

“Old Town Road!” You hear his answer before you’re even done registering the question yourself.

It's ruthless. You both fly through the questions as if your lives depended on it. Every correct question you answer, you cheer as if you just won a million dollars, and everyone celebrates with you.

“Which country won the 2022 FIFA World Cup?”

“Argentina?” Scratching the back of your brain trying to find any clues, you’re pretty sure you remember seeing too many tiktok edits of Messi that year.

“You have to be certain!” Giselle helps you, not wanting a man to win.

“Yes! Yes, Argentina.”

The game’s head to head, neither of you answering anything wrong, until…

“What is the highest-grossing film of all time?”

“Is it Endgame?” Vernon thinks out loud after a few seconds.

“Wrong!” Giselle doesn’t give him a second chance, and you just scream.

“It’s Avatar!” With your hands in the air, you jump excitedly with Chan as he mocks Vernon. “How does a self-proclaimed cinephile not know this?”

He looks too relaxed to be losing, hands in his pockets as he just watches you celebrating the steal.

Between the two of you, you’re definitely the more competitive one, but it’s a little too suspicious for him to not even argue with your taunting. He’s getting his points back, and you have to get your head on the game again.

“What is Eminem’s real name?”

The question takes you by surprise, and not even your extensive tiktok knowledge is helping you with this one. Your eyes drift to Chan, but he seems just as confused as you.

“Is that not his last name?” You ask, knowing you just lost that question. Giselle says nothing and just stares at Vernon.

“Marshall Mathers.” The male audience cheers for him, seemingly a boy versus girls game now.

A hand pats your shoulder, and Chan spawns to your right, sighing as if you already lost. “It was a good game.”

“There’s one more question left, asshole.”

“Yeah and it’s his.” He says, like it’s obvious. “There’s no way he won’t know it.” 

Giselle doesn’t help the situation as she reads the last question and exclaims, “fuck! I left the easiest for the end!”

A choir of drunk shouts telling her to change it and others telling her to just read it out loud fill the room. From the corner of your eye, you see Vernon raising an eyebrow at Chan, feeling like he’s already won.

“Which Jonas brother has Taylor Swift dated?” All the boys around you cheer, knowing the answer and trusting Vernon knows it too. The girls ‘boo’ him as he’s thinking. 

“Nick?” Vernon answers doubtfully, scratching his neck and furrowing his eyebrows.

“It was Joe!” You don’t even let Giselle speak, rejoicing in your win and jumping excitedly once again.

Some people clap, some people go back to wherever they were in the house before they got called in to watch the game. Behind you, Vernon claps slowly, watching Giselle trying to get your attention to give you the winner’s prize.

A white thong as wide as a thread. So small, you almost don't notice Justin Bieber's face in the center. The cackle that escapes out of you jolts your head down, your stomach contracting as tears begin forming at the corners of your eyes.

“I'll make good use of it.” You tell Giselle, who finds it even funnier than you, between laughs.

Now that the game, your main reason to stay at the party, is done, you should be getting ready to run off the house and get inside your bed as soon as possible. But a pair of eyes staring up and down your body keep you from finding Chan and force him to drive you home. It’s that kind of look that your legs can barely handle before turning into jelly. A kind of look that leaves only one thought on your mind.

The kitchen clears out intimidatingly quick, the empty bottles and cups on the counter being the only company to the silence between Vernon and you. The white fabric in your hand serves as a temporary stress ball, taking your mind off the hot body hovering too close.

“What goes on the winner’s mind?” He turns to the side, hip resting on the edge of the island.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know that last question.” A chuckle to hide the nervousness doesn’t really work with him.

A man of few words, but as observant as they can be, he realized your attraction to him before you could even think of the possibility that your anxiousness to sit beside him during class was because of something else than having a new friend. He reads your body language too well for your own good.

“Maybe, I just wanted to let you win.” He lies, the smile slowly forming at the sight of your frown telling you that much.

“If that’s what’ll help you sleep at night.” You feel his eyes on you even as you pretend to analyze the backsplash on the wall.

“Did you come here with Chan?” He doesn’t move from his spot, but you suddenly feel warmer, the kitchen too small and the air too thick.

“Maybe… Why?” The answer is obvious.

The answer materializes in the way he tilts his chin down so his eyes can rest on your parted lips, in the corner of his mouth lifting at your hitching breath, and in his hand scattering in his pocket to find his car keys.

“Just thinking he’s going to miss you when you leave with me.”

It’s always a different kind of anticipation when he talks about having you out loud. The little secret between the two of you being out in the open, even if it was only for you to hear, paints the whole of your cheeks a faint pink.

“This party sucks anyway.” You’ve started walking away from him, looking back to find him on the same spot behind you with a knowing smile. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll see you outside.” His free hand finds its way to the side of your waist, the flimsy fabric of your dress doing nothing to hide the heat emanating from you. “Let him know so he doesn’t worry.”

Vernon walks past your frozen body standing by the edge of the door, crossing the nearly empty living room, passing where Chan’s sitting with a couple of men you know you should know the names of, saying goodbye to him too.

“Should I ask?” Chan questions when he lays his eyes on you, with your jacket on and suspiciously ready to leave after Vernon.

“We're just getting more to drink! People drank everything already.” The dumb excuse gets past Chan’s friends, but he naturally doesn’t buy it.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive!” Chan shouts as you head to the entrance, mocking the blatant lie you told.

“We'll get some coffee then.” With your hands on the doorframe and half your body already out the house, you wink his way and he just rolls his eyes.

The parking lot beside Giselle’s house is full of her guests’ cars, but not a soul’s visible at this hour in the night. The music can still be heard even as you get further away from the source, searching for the familiar car and the all too familiar friend of yours.

“Lost?” Vernon’s voice reaches you from the side, and you turn to find him resting against his car, waiting for you like a gentleman.

“You should get a red car. That way, I can recognize it from further away.” The slow steps you take towards him cause no visible reaction. But when you’re within arms reach, he’s trapping you against the backseat door in no time.

“Duly noted.” Vernon’s hands wander inside your jacket, attempting to slip it off you without breaking eye contact.

“You really can’t resist me.” You wrap your arms around his neck, and he does his best to throw your jacket through the driver’s window and inside the car.

“I don’t try to.” His dark eyes hypnotize you into being unable to utter a witty reply, solely focused on his face so close to yours you could count his eyelashes.

But his lips go nowhere near yours, heading down your neck in a teasing trail of kisses leaving you gasping for air. You moan as his arms press your body further against his, as if leaving marks on your sensitive skin wasn't enough for him.

“You haven't told me what you want as your prize.”

His voice reverberates down your spine, followed by a groan as your fingers thread with the hair at the back of his head. You're a mess of tangled limbs against the cold metal of his car, his hands roaming your body in their quest to make you crave him even more.

“For you to stop teasing me.” At that, he halts his assault on your neck, raising his head to pierce through you with his fiery gaze.

“Oh,” he tilts his head to the side, one eyebrow raised as he taunts you, “but you like that, don't you?” One hand slips between your chests, finding its way inside your dress to let his fingers feel the wet patch on your panties. “You like how it feels when I tease you?”

The back of your head hits the car window just behind you at his touch, and his fingers slide over your covered core, making you gasp over essentially nothing.

His body’s still so close you barely have to move to finally connect his tempting lips with your needy ones. Your lips melt instantly with his, moving over yours the way he knows will have you sighing in his mouth. One swipe of his tongue on your lower lip and you're done for.

The sheer lack of shame he has as he presses his body harder against yours, moaning against your lips when you tug at his hair, only burns the fire inside you hotter. It's as if he wanted for every stranger that dared to wander around to know you're his.

Vernon’s hand between your legs plays with you like his favorite toy, knowing exactly where to press, graze, and circle, but stopping the second you grind on his digits, asking for more. He makes it easy to want him, to render to his touch as the world around you dissolves into a meaningless void.

How could you care about anything else when his fingers sneak into your bare core, your dress hoisted up your legs far more than what’s considered publicly decent, smearing your arousal in circles as his mouth does a lousy job at drowning your sounds.

But Vernon’s no innocent man. He pushes you to the edge while the grind of your hips against his hand breaks down his calmness. His legs slot between yours in a desperate attempt to hold you closer, for you to feel his growing hard on the crevice of your inner thigh. He’s as hungry for your touch as you are for his.

His coated fingers tease your opening, ready for him since you heard his name, and invite you to do the same.

Somehow, between the pressing of your chests against one another, the frenzy kiss sucking all the air from your lungs, and your leg wrapped around Vernon’s hips to try and impossibly push him closer to you, your hand sneaks under the layers of clothes hiding him. Your fingers grazing his hot skin contract the muscles in his abdomen, preparing himself to be touched where he needs it most.

When he finally slips two fingers inside you and you wrap your hand around his length, both of your mouths stop working, parted lips soft over the other, in awe at the other’s touch. The rush of adrenaline dies down, time stopping as you each savor the other’s strokes.

It’s not long before Vernon decides he needs to be inside you or he’ll explode.

“I want you to ride me, princess,” his breathless whisper brushes against your gasping lips, “can you do that?”

Your answer comes in both of your hands rushing to unbutton his goddamn shirt and trying to zip down his jeans in one movement. Vernon just chuckles at your eagerness, dreadly removing one of his arms from your body to unlock the car and open the door you’re standing against.

The leather seat caves under your weight, Vernon sitting under you, his both hands feeling your back as you try to close the door for a silver of privacy.

He can't get enough of you, his hand slotting on the side of your jaw to guide your face back to his. You chase after his bruised lips, melting on top of him with your hands on his bare chest, soft grinds on his growing hard, making him groan against you.

With your hair a mess because of him, he brushes it back, making you halt your movements to see what he does next. You swallow hard as his hands drift down your body until they reach where you’re almost connected, where your wet panties are beginning to stain his lap. But he doesn’t stop at your core. Instead, he unbuckles his belt in record time, lowering his jeans and boxers just enough for his hard to spring out.

“You look so good on top of me.” He dares to say, and you might argue he looks even better under you.

Bloodshot lips from your teeth giving into their desires, shirt half open down to the buttons you never reached, slightly scratched abs that welcome the slap of his angry red cock. A sight you'll never get tired of seeing.

“I think I know what I want as my prize.” You declare, getting a hold of his length and lifting your hips to line him up with your entrance.

“Whatever my girl wants.” He almost stutters at your doing, his nonchalant persona faltering with your touch.

You ignore the butterflies erupting at the pit of your stomach at his words, concentrating on sliding down his hard until you're sitting on him and his tip reaches the deepest parts inside you.

“I want you to cum inside me,” you whisper into his ear, the filthy words being a secret between you two, “fill me up.”

His hands squeeze your hips, urging you to move and get what you want, helping you bounce on him as hard as you can.

“How long do you think you can last?” You can feel the car jumping at your rhythm,  and Vernon fights to not let a loud moan get out as he asks. “Because I won’t last long if you keep going like that.”

The straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, hypnotizing the man below you and driving him to try and fix them, but he quickly finds his hand going up your neckline, wrapping his fingers around your neck as you moan at the stimulation.

“Shit.” He mutters under his breath as your walls clamp impossibly harder around him, and he has to thrust his hips up to match your pace.

When he realizes the pressure of his fingers on your neck, he mumbles a quick apology, but you stop his hand on its way down.

“Do that again.” You see his lust filled eyes turn into something more, darker, as he understands what you want.

The air going into your lungs is quickly restricted, Vernon’s hand below your jaw applying the pressure that has another wave of arousal flushing out of you. The grind of your hips restarts as best as you can, as he keeps thrusting up with more force each time.

Every thrust, every touch, and every sound  from him combine to accelerate your pending orgasm. Your legs quiver with tiredness, and he has to let go of his grip on your neck to wrap his arms around your waist and finish the job.

With your chests flushed, his unrestricted moans right against your ear, and his cock hitting relentlessly that exact spot that has you screaming, you cream on Vernon’s cock as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck, princess, you’re so fucking tight.” His hips stutter as you clamp around him purposely.

“I want to feel you, Nonie,” the nickname slips out of you, and judging by the guttural groan he lets out, he likes it. “Cum inside me.”

You always loved the feeling of him twitching inside of you, dizzying and addicting, and when he paints your insides with his cum at your request, you know you'll never want it any other way again.

There's a beat of silence after you get off of him and sit by his side, the ruffling of his jeans as he zips it back up, being the only sound filling the steamy car. And you can't help but chuckle.

“Are we always that desperate?” The casual talk comes out easy in the midst of your breaths regulating.

“I think we went all out tonight.” He turns his head to your side, and your laugh turns into a soft smile, replicating his.

It’s always a mess of different feelings running around your heart as your post-sex mind finally realizes what just happened. And you always hope that what you see behind his gaze is a similar thought process.

“Do you still want to get some coffee?” He asks, smile not leaving but definitely teasing you with an eyebrow raised.

“You heard that?” The pink blush comes back to your cheeks after being caught red-handed.

“I'm not the fastest walker, I was barely a few steps away from the door.” His admission is for sure turning your whole body red in embarrassment. “But I am down for a cup of coffee if you want.”

He shows that warm smile he knows can get him anything he wants, and you nod without even thinking.

“You can drop me off at my place after.”

He doesn't take you to your apartment after. His place is closer anyway.

thank you for reading! you can check out my masterlist for more of my works and my wips list to see what’s coming next!

and don't forget to leave your thoughts ♥︎

[lee-laurent]

In Your Shadow - Luke Hughes

Summary: In which Madi Sheridan hates Luke Hughes with every bone in her body. Or in which Luke bickers constantly with the hottest girl he's ever seen.

content: angst, arguing, underage drinking, not quite smut... but close

wc: 10k

notes: enemies to lovers, he falls first! sooooo this isn't the one that got voted to come out first... but i had more inspo for this one soooooo here we are!!! enjoy!! quinn fic in progress

The whistle blew, it's sharp trill filling the air.

"Let's go, Sheridan! I want fire under those spikes!" Coach Mallory barked from the edge of the track, clipboard in hand and zero sympathy in her voice.

Madi didn't respond; her feet were already moving.

The air was cold enough to burn in her lungs, but that didn't matter. Neither did the sting in her thighs, the pounding in her ears, or the way the lane lines blurred as she hit top speed. Just the next fifty metres daring her to quit.

She didn't.

Coach yelled again, something about pushing past limits, but it faded into the background. Madi hit the finish line and slowed only when her legs threatened to buckle. Her breathing came in short, measured gasps. She folded forward, hands on knees, sweat dripping down her back.

"Good pace," Coach muttered as she passed. "But don't get cocky. You've got two more sets."

Madi just nodded, still catching her breath. She was used to the grind. Thrived on it. She didn't run for applause or Intagram likes. She ran because she had to, her scholarship depended on it. Her degree depended on it. The life she was building, the one no one could take from her, depended on it.

That was enough to keep her running.

~~

By noon, she was two workouts deep and dead-eyed in the back of her econ lecture.

She sat in her usual seat, third row from the back, directly under the overhead vent that always blaseted Artice wind. Her laptop was open, notes scrolled in neat, bullet-pointed order. Her hair was braided tight against her scalp, hoodie sleeves pulled over her fingers, earbuds in. Not for music, but for the illusion of being unapproachable.

Next to her sat her holy trinity: a large iced coffee, a half-eaten protein bar, and an energy drink she'd already forgotten buying. Survival mode.

Professor Dawes clicked through slides at a painful speed.

"Inelastic demand curves reflect products that remain essential regardless of price fluctuations..." he droned.

Madi sipped her coffee and typed with ruthless effciency. She didn't glance at the two girls whispering in front of her or the guy on her left who kept trying to catch her eye. She wasn't in econ class to make friends. She was there to get the grades she needed to walk across a stage in two years with zero debt and multiple options.

He phone buzzed against her thigh.

Beckett: Wanna grab food after practice later?

She stared at the message for three seconds, expression flat, then locked her phone without answering.

He'd ask again.

~~

The house smelled like eucalyptus and leftover takeout when she got home.

Maia was in the kitchen with a clay face mask on and a spoonful of peanut butter in her mouth. Izzy was curled up on the couch, buried under an anatomy textbook and a heating pad. Val's shoes were already at the door, track bag open and spilling contents like a crime scene.

"You look like you got hit by a bus," Maia said cheerfully as Madi dropped her backpack by the door.

"That's because I did," Madi muttered. "Its name was Coach Mallory."

Maia grinned, peanut butter still in hand. "Tell me she made you run the pyramid."

"Twice."

Izzy looked up with a groan. "Why are you like this?"

"I'm funded by the university to sprint in a circle like a glorified lab rat," Madi said, toeing off her sneakers. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

Val emerged from the hallway, towel around her neck, sports bra soaked. "Honestly? She was kiling us too. I thought that one lanky kid was gonna throw up on the turf."

"I wouldn't have stopped him," Madi said. "Natural selection."

Maia raised an eyebrow. "You're so mean. It's hot."

Madi shrugged, pulling her hair loose from the braid. "You either burn out or you make it out. No in-between."

"That sounds like a quote you'd find on Tumblr with a graphic of a wolf running through fire," Izzy said.

"Whatever. I'd rather die successful."

Maia dramatically clutched her peanut butter like a mic. "And there it is, folks. The thesis of Madeline Sheridan."

"I'm gonna shower before I start on my econ project," Madi said, ignoring them. "Also Beckett texted."

"Ooooooh," Val sang from the fridge. "Are we still playing that game?"

"There's no game."

"Sure," Maia said, already texting someone. "And I don't have a list of list of every cute guy I've seen on campus."

"Sher," Izzy said in a fake-Beckett voice, "you're the only girl I know who could break my heart and my legs at the same time."

Madi flipped her off without looking back.

~~

Her phone buzzed again after dinner.

Benders + Bitches Eddy: pregame at ours tonight Nolan: 8 sharp... don't be late Maia: if i get stuck talking to that one guy who smells like axe and sweat again i'm jumping off the roof Izzy: shotgun not dealing with Luke and Madi's sexual tension this time Madi: there's no tension. he's just annoying Maia: you say that, but you're already typing again Madi: because I have to mentally prepare to be in the same room as a dude whose ego could crowd out the whole team Val: let her cook

Madi tossed her phone face down and groaned into her pillow.

Of all the people she had to tolerate on a weekly basis, Luke Hughes topped the list of "least likely to survive if she were left alone with him in a locked room." Something about him just... grated. It wasn't that he was bad at hockey--he wasn't. He was good. She'd admit that. But the golden boy status? The name? The coverage?

Overhyped. Overcelebrated. Over it.

And he knew it. That was the worst part. The smug little smile when he got chirped on campus. The way he leaned into the whole "Hughes Dynasty" thing like he didn't care, but definitely did. She'd seen enough of TikToks of him to last a lifetime.

She scrolled up in the chat.

pregame at ours tonight

Gold help her.

Because she'd be there. Of course she'd be there. Everyone would be.

And if Luke opened his mouth one more time, she was absolutely going to break the no-fighting-inside-the-hockey-house rule.

~~

Pregame? More like party.

The house was LOUD by the time the Madi and the girls rolled up.

The living room smelled like Febreeze. Someone had dimmed the lights just enough to make the mess less obvious. Beer pong cups stacked on the table, bluetooth speaker fighting to be heard, at least three-finished Natty Lights laying around.

Madi took it in with the same energy she approached everything: calculated.

Val beelined for the pong table. Maia started chatting up a guy in a Michigan hoodie she'd definitely ghosted two months ago. Izzy wandered off to hunt down tequila. Madi found a spot in the corner, wedged between the arm of the couch and a shelf stacked with empty bottles.

She nursed her cooler, eyes scanning the room, already clocking how chaotic the night would be.

"Sheridan," Ethan called as he passed, giving her a little salute with his beer. "You looked thrilled to be here."

"I'm about to set this place on fire."

Nolan walked by next and clapped her on the shoulder like they were teammates. "Try not to kill anyone until after beer pong."

"No promises."

She didn't hate the hockey guys... most of them, anyway. They were loud, sure, and always smelled vaguely of Gatorade and testosterone, but they were fun. And, to their credit, they hadn't treated her and her friends like groupies when they met during frosh week. They were just... their friends. Madi knew how to handle them. She liked how easy it was. The mutual respect they all had for each other.

Except for Luke.

Luke was a different breed of infuriating.

And as if right on cue, the front creaked open.

He walked in with Luca and Mark, nodding at a few people, eyes sweeping the room, completely relaxed in his own skin. That whole effortlessly cool thing? It would've worked on her, if she hadn't already built a mental firewall to block it.

Madi raised her can.

"Well, well. The prodigal son has returned," she said loud enough for him to hear. "Did you trip over your ego on the way here?"

Luke didn't even blink. "Still faster than you."

There it was.

A few heads turned. A couple of laughs bubbled up from nearby. Madi's smirk sharpened.

"Bold talk for someone who spends most of the game glued to the bench," she said.

He shrugged, completely unbothered. "I only need one shift to make it count. You wouldn't know anything about that."

"Oh," Madi said, stepping forward, "if I had your PR team, I'd be on a fucking Wheaties box by now."

Luke smiled, and not the friendly kind. The "I could fight you or fuck you and I'm not sure which is worse" kind.

"Keep dreaming, Sheridan."

She rolled her eyes and turned away, pulse annoyingly elevated. He always did that. Always got the last word, like it was competition only he knew the rules to. And she always let him.

~~

Twenty minutes and a vodka soda later, Madi had settled into a buzz. The music got louder, the bodies packed tighter, and the familiar haze of house party chaos started to dull her irritation.

Maia came up beside her, cheeks flushed. "Okay, hot take: that guy I was talking to definitely cried during The Notebook."

"He looks like he owns a guitar he only knows how to play Wonderwall on," Madi muttered.

Izzy reappeared. "Okay, mean girls. Chill."

"No mean," Madi said. "Accurate."

"Speaking of accuracy," Val said, sliding in from the kitchen, "Eddy just told me he thinks Luke and Madi are gonna hook up before the semester ends."

Madi nearly choked on her drink.

"Absolutely the fuck not," she said, coughing. "That man gives me hives."

"Sexy hives," Maia offered.

"Stress hives," Madi shot back.

Izzy raised her eyebrows. "He's hot though."

"Statistically? Maybe. Personally? He's a walking migraine."

Maia leaned in close. "Yet somehow, he still gets under your skin faster than Beckett."

The name didn't hit her the way it used to. That was... interesting.

"Speaking of," Izzy said, glancing toward the door, "look who just walked in."

Madi turned her head, and there he was. Beckett, all tan and grins, shoulders draped in a windbreaker like he was in a Nike ad. His blond hair was messier than usual. He spotted her instantly.

"Sher," he called, moving through the sea of bodies.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders like it was second nature. Madi didn't push him off, but she didn't lean in, either.

"Hey," she said, her tone neutral.

"You look good," he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her temple. "Missed you at the game last week."

She shrugged. "Coach had us running circuits."

He nodded, not bothered. That was the thing about Beckett... he never got bothered. Never asked too many questions. Never pushed too hard. He was safe, predictable, easy.

She let him stay there, arm draped casually, while her eye flicked across the room.

Luke was at the kitchen counter, half-listening to Nolan talk, red solo cup in hand. His jaw was set, shoulders tight. He hadn't looked over once.

But Madi knew he'd seen.

Ten minutes passed. Beckett was off catching up with someone from the soccer team. Madi stayed where she was, a new cup in hand, cheeks flushed from the heat.

Luke walked by, brushing past her without a word.

She didn't even know she'd been waiting for something until he gave her nothing.

It irritated her more than it should have.

She turned to find Maia already watching her.

"What?"

Maia tilted her head, voice low. "He gets so weird when Beckett's around."

Val nodded. "Jealousy looks good on Hughes."

Madi scoffed. "Please. He's not jealous. He's just mad I'm not impressed."

Maia smirked. "You sure you're not?"

"Positive."

But her stomach was doing something weird, unsettled. She hated it because she didn't like Luke. Not even a little...

Right?

~~

The locker room was quiet. Not silent though, it was never silent.

Luke sat in his stall, elbow resting on his knee, towel drapped over his shoulders, curls wet. Practice had been fine. A little sloppy. He wasn't in his zone. Coach hadn't mentioned it, but Luke could feel it in his movements.

He knew why, he just didn't want to admit it.

He leaned forward and rubbed a hand over his face. The buzzing in his head wouldn't stop.

Madi fucking Sheridan.

He pulled his phone from his bag and stared at it. No notifications or messages. Just the time and the way it mocked him. Four hours until conditioning. Probably six until he'd run into her again.

And she'd look right through him. With that sharp little smirk and her eyebrows cocked like she was perpetually unimpressed.

It had all started before he even knew what was happening.

He remembered the first time he saw her.

Everyone was still new, new campus, new teams, new people to pretend to be chill around. There was a mixer at one of the dorm rec rooms. Someone had ordered pizza, someone else had brought a speaker. Everyone was awkward in that freshman "we're all pretending not to be terrified" way.

Luke had been talking to a couple of guys from the swim team when she walked in with her (now) roommates. Confident, not trying at all. She was wearing bike shorts and a hoodie that said "St. Georges Track and Field" in peeling white print.

She didn't even look at him. That alone should've told him.

Eventually, someone had introduced them. Her name was Madi. Short for Madeline. She said it like she didn't care if he remembered it or not.

"You play hockey?" she asked, sipping root beer from a solo cup.

"Yeah," he said. "My name's Luke. Hughes."

She blinked once. "Cool."

That was it.

No follow-up. No "Oh my God, Hughes like Jack?" No fake excitement or name-dropping or asking what position he played. Just a flat, polite cool and then she turned back to Val to talk about which bathroom had the best lighting.

He'd never wanted someone to look at him twice so badly.

He remembered other things too.

The time he made a joke about sprinters being short-distance specialists because they were scared of endurance and she replied, "Don't be mad that my entire event lasts less than your warmup and still requires more skill."

The time he tried to cut in line at the on-campus café and she'd stepped in front of him with a, "Who told you that you could stand with me?"

The time she absolutely bodied a guy on the intramural field during a co-ed dodgeball game and didn't even celebrate. She just turned and walked off like it was nothing.

She didn't attention.

Madi wanted control.

And she had it, always. Perfectly. Except when she was arguing with him.

That was the only time she cracked.

~~

A week ago, he'd gone to her meet.

He didn't tell anyone, just pulled a hoodie over his hat, grabbed a protein shake, and stood near the bleachers where none of the team parents were sitting. Her event was the 200. He knew that, had Googled it more than once.

She exploded out of the blocks like her feet were made of fire.

Arms tight, form clean, controlled chaos. She didn't lead until the curve, but by the final stretch she was untouchable. The rest of the heat faded behind her.

She crossed the line and didn't even smile.

Just bent at the waist, hands on knees, and breathed through it like it was all routine. Like winning was the bar.

He left before she saw him.

~~

He wasn't used to be being subtle. He didn't know how to do it. With everything else, he just showed up, played hard, let the results speak. And yeah, okay, sometimes the name helped. He wasn't blind to that. He just didn't let it define him.

But with Madi?

With Madi, the name meant nothing.

Wore than nothing. She hated it.

Which made no sense. Because if it were about fame, she could've just ignored him. Most people who thought he was overrated just kept it moving. Not her.

She hunted him like a sport, gave him shit in front of everyone, picked him apart like she was trying to prove a point to the universe.

It should've pissed him off. And it did. Sometimes.

Bust most of the time?

Most of the time, it made him think about the way her mouth looked when she said his name. The way her tone always landed somwhere between sarcasm and challenge. The way she never smiled at him unless she was about to gut him.

He could deal with hate. He couldn't deal with indifference.

And she rarely ignored him.

~~

The other night at the party?

She'd looked good.

Not trying-good. Just her usual ponytail, jeans, crop top, usual drink in hand. But when she'd raised her voice from across the room to mock him, something in his chest snapped.

He didn't even think. Just shot back, easy as breathing. "Still faster than you."

She smiled. Not nice. But real.

And then Beckett showed up.

Fucking Beckett.

Luke had no issue with the guy in theory--nice enough, decent soccer player, one of those effortlessly chill dudes who got by on charms and abs. But the way he said "Sher"? The way he wrapped his arm around her like he had access?

Luke had bailed to the kitchen before he did something stupid. And that's when it hit him.

He wasn't just annoyed. He was gone.

No version of normal crush territory would have him memorizing her event times or noticing the exact cadence of her laugh when she was having a good time.

She didn't like him. She'd made that clear.

But he still wanted her to look at him like he was more than just a name.

Madi hated him. Maybe not in the "wish you were dead" way, but enough to make it impossible to say anything real to her without getting sucker-punched emotionally.

And yet, he couldn't stop looking at her, like she had him in a headlock he didn't want to escape.

~~

The living room looked like a Pinterest board. Textbooks were stacked on the coffee table, highlighters bled through paper, half-eaten snacks in mismatched bowls. Someone's laptop was blasting a Spotify "Focus Mode" playlist that wasn't helping anyone's focus.

Madi sat cross-legged on the floor, her notes spread in front of her like a crime scene.

Across the room Maia and Nolan were playing footsie instead of studying. Val had her laptop open but hadn't typed in twenty minutes. Ethan was half-asleep against the armrest, earbuds in, hood up.

Fake study night. Classic.

She needed caffeine if she was going to power through this next chapter without stabbing herself.

She stood, stretched her legs, and made her way into the kitchen.

The second she stepped in, she regretted it.

Luke was already there.

He had his back to her, rummaging in the fridge like he lived there. Which, to be fair, wasn't far from the truth. The hockey guys were over often enough that their beer took up a drawer on the bottom shelf.

Madi inhaled once, calm and centered, and stepped around him to grab a mug.

"I'm not in the mood," she said flatly.

"For what?" he asked, still not turning.

"Whatever stupid comment you're about to make."

He finally looked over his shoulder. "You think I wake up every day thinking about ways to piss you off?"

"No," she said, pouring water into the kettle. "I think it just comes naturally."

He let the fridge close with a thud. "Cool. Thanks for the insight, Dr. Sheridan."

She arched a brow. "Did you just call me a doctor because I'm smarter than you, or because you're hoping I'll diagnose you with whatever makes you such a dick?"

Luke smiled. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"That defensive little jab. Every time."

"Maybe it's less defensive and more observational," she said, dropping a spoon into her mug. "Like noticing how you only ever show up with your boys and a half-assed opinion."

His eyes narrowed. "Why're you always on my ass?"

Madi didn't flinch.

"Because I don't like frauds with press coverage."

The air changed.

There was no one else around. No music or Val's cackling laugh. Just the two of them in the dim kitchen light, surrounded by the hiss of the kettle and buzz of the fridge.

Luke didn't move, his jaw twitching once.

"You don't know a thing about me," he said quietly.

Madi looked up, holding his stare.

"Don't need to."

They were close now. Not physically, there was still a sliver of space between them, but the kind of close that made goosebumps form on the back of her neck.

It wasn't flirtation or heat.

It was pressure.

He looked at her like he wanted to say something. Maybe scream it, throw it in her face. She wasn't sure which and she wasn't sure she cared.

The kettle clicked off behind her.

Madi didn't turn around. She walked right past him instead, mug in hand, and didn't pause until her shoulder clipped his arm hard enough to jolt them both.

He didn't say anything.

But when she glanced back over her shoulder, just for a second, he was still standing there.

Fists clenched. Jaw tight. Eyes completely unreadable.

~~

Another week, another party at the hockey house. Another night of shitty music, too much alcohol, and too many people Madi disliked.

She was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, nursing a solo cup of something vaguely lime-flavoured and far too sweet. Her cheeks were flushed, her ponytail a little looser than it had been when she left the house, and her buzz was just strong enough to mute the part of her brain that kept her from running her mouth.

"Sher!"

She turned as Beckett appeared, golden and grinning as always, like he was the model in an expensive cologne ad. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing tan forearms that were probably illegal in some countries. He slid up beside her like he hadn't been flirting with half the girls in their one shared class earlier that week.

"Figured I'd find you near the alcohol," he said.

"Figured I'd find you still pretending you're not a lightweight," she replied, tipping her cup toward him.

He smirked and leaned in, way too close, breath warm on her cheek. "Admit it. You missed me."

Madi gave him a slow look. "I missed quiet."

He laughed and grabbed two shot glasses from the counter. "We're celebrating. Take one with me."

"They tied," she said flatly.

"A moral victory."

She rolled her eyes but didn't say no. They clinked plastic and tossed them back. Tequila, cheap and brutal.

He grimaced. "Yeah, I still hate it."

"That's because you're weak," she said, tongue scraping across her teeth. "Grow up."

Beckett just laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Luke watched the whole thing from the other side of the kitchen. He was near the wall, drunk untouched, jaw set. Nolan was talking next to him, something about the second period and missed calls, but Luke wasn't listening. He hadn't been listening for the past twenty minutes... not since Madi had walked in wearing black jeans and that cropped Michigan track shirt that made his blood temperature shift.

She looked good. Annoyingly so. Confident, relaxed, loose in a way he never got to see her. Unless it was aimed at someone else.

Someone like Beckett.

And when she threw her head back laughing at whatever the hell he said? Luke thought, briefly, about walking out the front door and never coming back.

But instead, he stood there, watching and waiting. His fingers curled tight around his beer.

Across the room, Madi climbed up to sit on the counter, leaning back against a cupboard, her girlfriends had come to talk with her.

"Okay," she said fairly loudly, eyes scanning her group, "honest question."

Izzy groaned immediately. "No."

"Yes," Madi insisted, grinning. "Important cultural debate."

Maia laughed. "God, here we go."

"If," Madi said, drawing out the word like a dare, "you had to choose one Hughes brother..."

Beckett booed. Some girl shouted "don't make me choose!"

"I'm just saying!" Madi went on. "One night. One chance. Who are you choosing?"

"Jack," Val said, sipping her drink.

"Wrong," Madi replied.

Maia shrugged. "I'd climb Quinn like a tree."

"Thank you," Madi declared. "See? Finally, someone with taste."

Across the room, Luke's expression changed. Just barely.

She went on. "Quinn Hughes? Now that's a man I'd risk it all for."

One of the girls giggled, "Someone text Vancouver!"

Luke didn't laugh.

"I mean, come on," Madi added, tequila coating her tongue. "If I got just half an hour with him--"

She didn't finish the sentence.

Didn't need to, her friends were already laughing.

Luke downed the rest of his drink and disappeared into the other room.

~~

Fifteen minutes later, Madi stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing her hands dry on her jeans.

The hallway was empty. Just dim string lights overhead and music muffled by the door behind her. She didn't even see him coming at first... not until he stepped forward from the shadows by the coat rack, blocking her path.

She blinked. "Jesus. You lurking now?"

Luke's voice was low.

"Say it again."

Madi frowned. "What?"

He stepped closer. "What you said earlier. About Quinn."

She tilted her head. "Are you seriously still mad about--"

"Say it again," he repeated.

Her mouth curled up. "Quinn. Is. Hotter."

It happened all at once.

One second he was glaring at her, chest rising and falling like he was trying to calm down, and the next... his hand was in her hair, and his mouth was on hers.

Hard.

Not sweet or careful. Just full-on, pissed-off, tension-snapping chaos.

Madi froze.

Every nerve in her body lit up like someone had flipped a switch she didn't know about.

And then--against all logic, all sense, all everything-- she kissed him back.

Furiously.

Their teeth clashed. He backed her into the wall, one hand still in her hair, the other braced next to her head. Their mouths moved like they were trying to erase every insult, every eye roll, every "you're so fucking annoying" they'd ever thrown at each other.

She hated how good it all felt.

Hated how badly she wanted more of it. Hated him.

But she didn't stop. Not until reality slammed back in.

Madi shoved him off with both hands, breath ragged, chest heaving.

He stumbled back, blinking like he didn't know where he was.

She stared at him, fury sparking like static on her skin.

"You're such a fucking asshole," she said, voice shaking.

He didn't speak. Didn't move. She turned and walked away, not bothering to look back.

And Luke?

He just stood there, alone in the hallway.

~~

The kiss never happened.

That was the rule.

Madi decided it the second she walked out of that hallway, still breathless, lips stinging, skin buzzing like she'd touched an exposed wire. She went home, peeled her shirt off like it was choking her, stared at her ceiling, and by morning?

It didn't happen.

That was that.

No one mentioned it. No one knew. And Luke sure as hell hadn't tried to bring it up... not that she gave him the chance.

She ghosted him. Effortlessly, professionally. Like it was her Olympic event.

At the next group hang, she made sure to sit at the far end of the room. Didn't acknowledge him. Didn't even look in his direction when he coughed just loud enough for her to hear.

When he passed her on the way to the kitchen and said a low, "Hey," she reached for the salsa and acted like the air had spoken.

Ice him out mode. Activated.

It wasn't that she regretted it--the kiss. Not entirely.

What she regretted was that she kissed him back.

Worse: she wanted to. Like, actually wanted to. Like some sick part of her had been waiting for it.

And that? That couldn't happen.

Because Luke Hughes was the exact kind of guy she didn't have time for.

The cocky, media-groomed, perfectly tousled poster boy of Wolverines hockey. The guy everyone loved because of his name and his stats and his shiny, effortless charm. The guy who had never once had to work for attention... until her.

She didn't want to be one of the girls in his comments. Or his DMs. Or in some whispered story after a party. She didn't even want to like him.

So she didn't.

Problem solved.

~~

The days that followed were filled with controlled chaos.

Madi buried herself in training. She stayed late after track practice, doing extra intervals until her legs screamed. She told Coach she was prepping for a new time trial, even though there wasn't one. She left the house early. Avoided the usual run-ins. Dodged group texts with, "sorry, busy" even when she wasn't.

She picked fights with her roommates just because.

One morning, Maia knocked on the door of their shared bathroom, groggy and half-dressed. "You've been in there forever. Are you doing your taxes or shaving your legs?"

"I'm trying to shower without commentary," Madi snapped, flinging the door open.

Maia blinked. "Okay. Jesus."

Madi rolled her eyes and brushed past her without an apology.

Later, she sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and three empty iced coffee cups and chewed at the end of her pen until the plastic cracked. She scrolled through her econ notes three times and retained none of it.

All she could hear was his voice.

Say it again.

All she could feel was his hand in her hair, his mouth on hers, the way her heart jumped out of her body like it wanted to sprint from the room first.

She slammed her laptop shut and grabbed her keys.

Luke saw her across the quad two days later.

She was walking fast, track girl pace, earbuds in, sunglasses on, hair braided so tight it looked inpenetrable.

She didn't see him.

Or she did... and she ignored him.

He couldn't tell anymore.

He sat on the edge of the stone fountain, thumb running over the seam of his coffee cup. He hadn't said anything to anyone. Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know what to say.

They'd kissed. She kissed him back. Then shoved him off like he'd spit on her.

And now?

Now she wouldn't look at him.

At practice, he'd snapped at two teammates and missed an easy drill. At lift, he added extra weight just to push himself. At night, he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling replaying the exact second she said, Quinn. Is. Hotter.

It wasn't even about Quinn.

It was about her looking at him like he didn't matter.

And that? That messed him up more than he could explain.

~~

"Dude," Ethan said the next morning, stepping into the locker room, "what's with you lately?"

Luke didn't look up. "What?"

"You've been all weird and quiet and... intense." He tossed his gear down. "Did you piss off Madi or something?"

Luke paused.

Then shrugged. "No idea."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You guys are usually fighting by now. Now you're just... silent. It's freaking everyone out."

Luke didn't answer. He didn't have one.

~~

There was a Jenga tower on coffee table, a charcuterie board on the kitchen counter that no one had touched. A half-played game of Uno in one corner and a speaker playing Izzy's playlist in the other.

Group hang.

One of those things where everyone pretended it was just for the vibes but half the people there were just waiting to see who would crack first.

Madi sat near Val, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. Her entire body language screamed don't start with me.

Luke was on the other side of the table with Mark, sprawled in a beanbag chair like he didn't have an insane amount of tension in his shoulders.

They hadn't looked at each other once.

But the air between them was thin.

"Alright," Nolan said, clapping his hands together. "Everyone's here. Time for a real question. Let's get straight into it."

"Oh god," Maia groaned, curling up against a pillow. "If this ends in trauma dumping, I'm leaving."

"No trauma," Ethan promised, shuffling a deck of cards.

"Perfect," Val nodded.

"Okay, first question." Nolan grinned. "If you had to fight one person in this room--"

"Luke," Madi said immediately.

Heads turned.

Maia made a sound that was mostly air. "Damn."

Luke didn't move.

"Wow," Nolan mumbled. "Didn't even let me finish."

"Didn't have to."

Luke finally looked up. "You're obsessed with me."

"In the way people are obsessed with plane crashes," she replied. "It's the horror."

Maia shot Val a look. Ethan whistled lowly.

Luke sat up straighter. "You've been on my ass for two weeks."

"I've been avoiding your ass for two weeks."

"Oh, avoiding? That's what you call it?"

Madi arched an eyebrow. "Jesus. Do you need attention that badly?"

Luke stood.

The room got quiet.

"Jesus," he snapped, "do you ever shut up?"

And just like that... silence. The kind that makes your skin go cold.

Madi didn't even flinch.

"Only when I'm not near clowns with NHL dreams and zero personality."

It was sharp enough to bleed.

Maia slowly stood up.

"Okay!" she said too brightly. "Game night's over. Everyone go... do something else."

Izzy frowned. "I didn't even get a turn, I--"

Val grabbed her wrist. "We're leaving before someone flips the fucking table."

Luke stormed into the kitchen. Madi stayed exactly where she was.

The rest of the room scattered, pretending they hadn't just seen two people emotionally detonate in front of a game of Jenga and a charcuterie board.

When the girls got home, the living room was quiet. Just Val and Madi on the couch, the others already in bed.

Val didn't say anything for a while, just scrolled on her phone.

Madi finally exhaled, putting her phone down.

"Was I out of line?"

Val looked up slowly. "Do you want the answer that makes you feel better or the honest one?"

Madi groaned. "Forget it."

Val shot her a look. "Why are you like this with him?"

"Because he's Luke."

"Okay, but like... why are you like this with him?"

Madi didn't answer and Val decided not to push.

"Night, Sher."

~~

Luke stared at his phone. The message sat there on his screen in blue, taunting him.

Luke: We need to talk

He watched the three dots appear, then disappear. The read receipt popped up and that was that.

After a minute, he unsent it.

Then tossed his phone on his bed and yanked a hoodie on. By the time his feet hit the sidewalk, it was past midnight. But Luke didn't care, he just needed to clear his head.

~~

It had been a long practice. Sprints on dead legs, hurdle drills that just felt like punishment. Her tank was soaked through by the end, her patience buried somewhere back at the start line.

She just wanted a protein bar, a hot shower, and to not think about Luke Hughes for five goddamn seconds.

So naturally, he was waiting outside the fieldhouse.

Madi's breath caught, then she tightened the straps of her backpack and kept walking, like maybe if she didn't break stride, he'd evaporate into the sidewalk.

No such luck.

"Sheridan."

She ignored him.

"Hey." His voice was closer now. "We need to talk."

She didn't slow down. "No, we don't."

"Madi--"

She stopped and turned around so fast it startled him.

He stepped back half a pace, but not enough.

"There's nothing to talk about," she said flatly. Final.

Luke looked at her like she'd just slapped him... which, to be fair, was still on the table.

"You kissed me like a joke," she went on. "And now what? You want a reaction? A conversation? You want to process it together like we're on some after-school special?"

His jaw tightened. "It wasn't a joke."

"Yeah? Could've fooled me." Her arms crossed over her chest, fists curling in her sleeves. "You didn't even say anything. Just ambushed me. Like you couldn't handle one more second of not being the centre of attention."

"That's not--"

"You don't get to do shit like that," she snapped, cutting him off. "Not when I've made it very clear that I'm not interested in playing your little golden boy games. You think you can just kiss whoever you want and walk away like you did something brave?"

Luke's face went blank. But his eyes were still lit. Still watching her like she was something he couldn't stop studying, even if it was tearing him apart.

She hated it.

Hated that he was listening. That he looked like he wanted to explain himself. That some part of her was still curious what he'd say if she let him talk.

So she didn't.

"Next time," she said, voice like frostbite, "find a puck to make out with. Maybe it'll be impressed."

He didn't move, didn't speak. Just stood there, stunned... blinking at her like she'd winded him.

Madi turned on her heel and walked away.

~~

Maia was eating dry cereal out of a mug, legs tucked under her on the couch. Izzy was halfway asleep on the floor and Val was scrolling through her phone like she was getting paid to.

Madi stood by the kitchen, pretending to read something on the fridge that had been there since August.

"You good?" Maia asked casually, not looking up.

Madi shrugged.

"Gym looked brutal," Maia added.

"It was fine."

Maia didn't press, just let the silence hang for a minute. Then, as if out of nowhere: "So are we just not gonna talk about the fact that you and Luke are acting like you've got Cold War level beef and shared custody of a secret?"

Madi's spine went stiff

"I'm serious," Maia continued. "You don't even look at each other anymore. And you used to, like, actively hate each other. That was engagement. This is silence. This is, like, avoidance. It's weird."

Izzy looked up from the floor, bleary-eyed. "Something definitely happened."

Madi rolled her eyes and grabbed a water from the fridge. "It didn't mean anything."

Maia turned slowly. "So something did happen."

"I didn't say that."

"You just did."

"I said it didn't mean anything."

Maia stared at her.

"I don't care," Madi added.

Nothing.

No response. Just Maia's eyes, unblinking.

"You're such a liar," she said softly, getting a huff in return.

~~

Beckett texted her two nights after run-in with Luke.

Been a minute. You still alive?

madi: barely

Beckett: Wanna come and not talk about it?

She didn't have to think twice about that. Just: omw

It was muscle memory. Beckett was easy, familiar. He was predictable in a way that didn't make her blood pressure spike. He never cornered her to talk about feelings or looked at her like she was a puzzle he had to solve in a time limit.

Beckett didn't make her feel nervous. In fact, he didn't really make her feel anything.

So she let him make her feel nothing.

The hookup was what it always was: casual, good, and forgettable the second it ended. No messy silence or fallout. Just a sleepy, low-commitment kiss on her shoulder before she pulled her hoodie on and left.

He texted again the next morning. Then again the day after that. They fell back into a rhythm, quick coffees, late-night couch makeouts, her name saved in his phone with a fire emoji.

She didn't call it anything. Didn't tell anyone either.

At least not until Maia cornered her in the kitchen and said, "You've been walking around with post-sex smugness for three days. Spill."

Madi blinked. "What are you even--"

"I know the difference between a protein shake glow and a 'someone just rocked my shit' glow," she said, grabbing a banana from the counter. "Don't play me."

Madi shrugged, trying to be casual. "It's not a thing."

"What's not a thing?"

Nothing.

Val walked in just in time to see the look on Maia's face and groaned. "Did she finally admit she's back on the Beckett train?"

Maia gasped like she'd won a game show. "I KNEW IT."

"It's not a train," Madi mumbled.

"It's a carousel," Izzy called from the other room. "Same scenery every time, but you're still dizzy."

"Girl's been getting the same dick for two years," Maia added. "Must be good."

Madi chucked a raspberry at her head. "It's consistent. That's all."

"Consistently what, though?" Val deadpanned.

~~

That night, they were all crashed in the living room watching Pitch Perfect for the hundredth time when Val hit pause mid-song and said, "Real question."

"Again?"

"No," Madi shook her head.

"You don't even know what I was gonna ask!"

"You were gonna ask about Luke."

Maia sat up with scary speed. "Aha! Something happened!!"

Izzy raised a hand. "Wait. Shut up. No way. Are you telling me you and Luke like kissed?!"

Maia gasped so loud the neighbours probably heard it. "I knew it! I FUCKING TOLD YOU THAT ENERGY WASN'T PLATONIC!"

"WHEN?" Val demanded. "Where? What--how?"

Madi groaned and covered her face. "It was nothing. We were at the party. I made a stupid joke. He kissed me. That's it."

"That's it?" Maia shrieked! "You two have been dancing around each other like you're in a fucking made for tv drama and he just kissed you?"

"It was a mistake."

"His or yours?"

Madi didn't answer.

Maia leaned over and grabbed her face. "Tell me right now... was it hot?"

She stared at her, deadpan. "Disgusting."

"You're such a liar!"

"You're telling me you've been hooking up with Beckett post-kiss with Luke Hughes and you haven't gone fucking insane?!"

Maddi shoved her face in a throw pillow. "Goodnight."

"Admit it!" Maia cried.

"No!"

"Then say you'd never sleep with him!"

"I would never sleep with him."

The room went silent.

And then Izzy said, "You're so gonna sleep with him."

~~

Luke saw them together outside the library.

It was 9:05 a.m., and he was walking back from class, earbuds in, half-distracted, when he saw Beckett's hand slide into Madi's back pocket like it belonged there.

She didn't shove him away.

They laughed about something and Beckett kissed her cheek. She leaned into it.

Luke walked faster.

At lift, he snapped at a freshman for dropping a dumbbell too loud. He showed up late to film, didn't speak to anyone except to curse when he missed something on the whiteboard.

Ethan pulled him aside after. "Dude. What the hell is going on?"

Luke just scowled.

The next time he saw Beckett, the soccer player was leaving the girls' house. It was early, sun still low. He had his hood up as he kissed Madi on the forehead before walking down the block back to wherever he lived.

Luke saw it from his car, parked a couple houses down.

He wasn't really supposed to be there. He had been dropping Nolan off to "see Maia." But when he saw the door open, he sat there like an idiot until the guy finally left and Madi went inside.

He was going to lose his fucking mind.

~~

"You know what you're doing, right?" Val said, knocking her shoulder playfully against Madi's.

"What?"

"Hooking up with a guy who seems to actually want you," Val crossed her arms. "And pretending it's about him."

"Better than hooking up with a guy that doesn't."

"Madi..."

~~

Madi's whole body buzzed with the afterglow of her last race. She'd PR'd in the 200, gold medal around her neck. Her coach had nearly cried, Maia had screamed herself hoarse.

Now her legs ached in a good way, her curls were slicked back with sweat and hairspray, and there was a cup of jungle juice in her hand that tasted like warm sprite and way too much vodka.

She was glowing and she knew it.

Maia kept grabbing her arm and yelling "fastest bitch ALIVE" while Val filmed it all for their group chat. Even Izzy was dancing. The hockey boys were scattered around, freshly showered from their own win earlier that afternoon. Spirits were high.

Except for Luke's.

He hadn't spoken to her all night. Hadn't even looked her way. Which was fine. Great, actually.

She didn't need him too.

Didn't care.

Didn't--

She saw him from across the room.

Ball cap backwards, black tee, leaning against the wall with a beer bottle in hand, watching with the quiet, brooding look he always had when he wasn't really in the conversation.

He looked good.

An hour later, she found herself alone in the kitchen. The noise was distant, muffled by the walls.

She leaned against the counter, sipping a new drink that was 90% tequila and 10% lime. Her medal clinked softly as she moved.

She felt a shift in the air before she even saw him.

Turned her head.

Luke.

"What?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

She rolled her eyes and pushed off the counter. But as she moved to pass him, he reached out and caught her wrist.

"What're you doing?" she grimaced.

"You're not even mad at me," he said quietly. "You're mad you liked it."

She pursed her lips for a moment before kissing him, hard.

It was setting a match to dry grass. Instant, violent, and desperate.

His hand slid behind her neck, pulling her closer like he'd been starving. She pressed into him.

Their mouths collided. He tasted like whiskey and pure frustration. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, yanking him forward, needing him closer and hating herself for it.

They stumbled, bumped into the doorway, and laughed bitterly against each other's lips.

He backed them into the hall, half-blind, gripping her hip, walking them until they hit a door. She fumbled for the handle, shoved it open, and they tumbled inside.

It was a spare room, barely lit, with no else around.

The door clicked shut behind them but they didn't even make it to the bed.

His hands were under her sweatshirt, rough palms on smooth skin, while hers found the hem of his shirt and dragged it up over his head. He ducked down, lips on her neck, collarbone, biting just enough to make her gasp.

"Shut up," she whispered when he groaned "Don't talk."

He didn't.

He kissed her harder, knees hitting the floor. Her back hit the wall with a thud. They were both breathing like they'd just a finished a sprint.

Jeans shoved down, hoodie tossed somewhere, fingers tracing the waistband of her underwear like he was daring her to stop him.

She didn't. She wanted this. Needed it like air.

Her hand found the back of his neck, nails digging in as he moved. Their mouths met again, clumsy and hot, teeth knocking, hands everywhere.

His name slipped from her mouth.

She hated that but she didn't stop. He didn't either.

When it ended, they were both wrecked. Breathing like they'd run five miles uphill. The air was thick with sweat and something that felt close to honesty.

She didn't speak, just pulled her underwear back up, fixed her jeans, and grabbed her sweatshirt, not bothering to look at him.

"Don't think this means anything," she said.

Luke, still catching his breath, didn't meet her eyes either.

"I won't."

Both of them were lying.

~~

He ghosted her.

Not literally. Not like he blocked her or changed his number or dropped off the grid. But Luke Hughes disappeared in the most infuriating way: he went quiet.

No texts. No looks. No glances. Nothing.

They were in the same friend group, for god's sake. Same house parties, same campus circles. He had no excuse to vanish like that.

But he did.

And Madi?

She was losing it.

Not outwardly, of course. Outwardly, she was fine.

She woke up early, went to practice, blew past everyone in sprints like her lungs didn't matter, hit the weight room twice a day, and took on extra sets just to punish her legs.

She was sharp in lectures, sharper with her friends, snapping over nothing.

Maia coughed too loud during Love Island? Madi tossed a pillow at her head.

Izzy finished the oat milk without replacing it? Madi wrote a passive aggressive sticky note.

Val looked at her wrong once and Madi stormed out of the room.

So... maybe she wasn't completely fine outwardly.

The worst part wasn't that Luke wasn't talking to her.

It was that he wasn't reacting to her.

Not even a side-eye.

At their next group hangout, she looked good and she knew it. Beckett was there, throwing his arm over her shoulders, whispering dumb things in her ear. She let him.

Luke didn't even blink.

Didn't roll his eyes, didn't mutter a single snide comment, just leaned back in his chair and scrolled through his phone like the room didn't include her at all.

Which pissed her off more than if he'd screamed.

~~

"Spiralinggg," Val sang out.

"I'm not spiraling," Madi said, scooting over on her bed to make room for her best friend.

"You iced out Beckett for like two weeks and now you're hanging off him like he's made of nicotine patches."

"We're friends."

"You think he's boring."

"I-"

"Mads. Whatever happened with Luke, you don't have to pretend you're fine."

"I am fine," she said, too fast. "He's the one acting weird."

"He's not acting. He's just... done."

That hit harder than she thought it would.

~~

That Friday, the group met up at a bonfire party hosted by some people on North Campus. It was chilly out and Madi wore her team jacket over a tiny tank top that barely held her boobs. She was halfway through her second glass of cheap wine. Beckett handed her another and she took it.

The girls hovered nearby, whispering.

Luke was there too. He didn't look at her.

He stood by the fire, quiet, arms crossed, hood up.

At some point, Maia nudged Madi. "He hasn't said a word all night."

"Who?" she asked, playing dumb.

"Don't."

Val added, "You know you could just talk to him."

"No thanks. I like being ignored. Super hot."

Izzy rolled her eyes. But just as she was about to speak, someone suggested a round of Kings.

People sat in a circle, legs tangled over blankets and beer cans. Madi sat on one side, Luke on the other.

He barely participated.

Beckett made her laugh once and she exaggerated how loud she was.

Luke stood up five minutes later and tossed his half-finished drink into the bushes.

"Dude, you good?" Ethan asked.

"Yeah. I'm out."

He didn't say goodbye.

Madi stared after him until someone asked her to pick a card. She didn't hear the question. She just felt... stupid.

~~

She hadn't meant to tell them.

It was supposed to be a regular girls' night. Candles, sweats on, eating Thai in the living room while watching trashy reality TV. The normal.

But Maia had a certain look in her eyes.

And Val kept glancing at Madi like she was tracking her movements.

And Izzy had lowered the volume on the TV.

"Okay," Maia said, crawling down to the floor to be eye level with Madi. "What the actual fuck is going on with you?"

Madi looked up from her noodles. "What?"

Val leaned her chin onto her palm. "You're being extra weird. Like extra extra."

"I'm literally just eating Pad Thai."

"I think I've seen you take about two bites since we sat down."

"I'm focused on the show."

"Correction. You're focused on something in your head.

Madi stabbed at her food. "I'm. Fine."

Val snorted. "Sher. Come on."

She hated when they used her last name in moments like that.

She sighed. "Okay, maybe I'm not fine. But it's not a big deal."

Pause.

Madi looked down at her bowl, then set it aside.

"Luke and I..." she started, then stopped.

"You didn't."

Izzy practically dropper her chopsticks. "You did."

Maia just blinked. "When?"

"After the meet," Madi chewed on her bottom lip. "The party. We were alone. I don't know. We just... happened."

"Sooo," Val said slowly, "was it good?"

"Val," Madi hissed.

"What? I'm trying to gauge the emergency level."

"It was..." She ran her hand through her hair. "It was messy. An fast. And intense. And..."

Maia leaned forward. "And?"

Madi exhaled. I liked it."

Silence.

"I liked him." She stared at her hands. "And I hate that I liked him."

Maia was the first to speak. "You just hate not having the upper hand."

Izzy nodded. "Or he made you feel something and now you're freaking out."

Val tilted her head. "And now he's ghosting you."

"He's not ghosting me."

They all looked at her.

She groaned. "Okay, maybe he is. I don't know. He hasn't said anything. He hasn't looked at me. It's like he flipped a switch."

"So talk to him."

"No."

"Why?"

Madi shook her head. "Because then it becomes real, and I don't want it to be real."

Izzy leaned back, arms crossed. "Because if it's real, it can hurt you."

No one said anything for a moment.

Then, quietly, Madi added, "I don't want to get hurt."

But she already was.

~~

She made it clear what it meant.

That's what Luke told himself. Every morning. Every second he found her across the quad like reflex he couldn't seem to shake.

She made it clear.

It was just a hookup. Just a mistake. Somethig she wanted to forget.

So he let her.

He'd gone quiet before, sure. But this time was different.

This wasn't about ego or being mad. This wasn't about giving her the silent treatment to see if she'd crack first.

This was about survival.

Because if he kept looking at her the way he wanted to? If he let himself hope?

It would ruin him.

So he pulled back. All the way.

He stopped sitting across from her when the group was together. He skipped certain hangouts he knew she'd be at. He unfollowed Beckett on Instagram, then blocked him, and then unblocked him like a coward.

He shut down the part of him that cared.

Or at least he tried to.

But she was everywhere.

She was in the gym, muttering about how they were out of frozen strawberries. She was at the crosswalk outside his lecture, bouncing on her heels while waiting for the light. She was on the track, numbers posted on the athletic board like a punch to the chest. 200m: M. Sheridan. 23.02.

Her name haunted him. Her voice echoed. Her laugh hit him like a bullet every time he heard it.

It didn't help that the guys noticed.

Ethan had cornered him. "What's your problem now?"

"I'm tired."

"No, you're not. This isn't tired Luke. This is like full criptic mode Luke. Is this about Madi?"

Luke didn't respond.

"So it's about Madi."

Nolan had walked over to them, clapping Ethan on the shoulder. "You good?"

Luke shrugged. "She wins. I'm done."

Neither of them asked what that meant.

They just nodded.

~~

It was Thursday, Luke had just finished practice, shirt still damp, headphones in. He walked into the rec centre, hoping the gym would be empty.

It wasn't.

Madi was there.

Leg press. Ponytail. Bike shorts.

He thought her could feel her before he saw her.

He should've turned around. Left. Come back later.

He didn't. He kept walking. Straight past her.

He didn't glance, didn't slow, just walked by like she didn't exist.

Her head turned, just slightly. Enough for him to catch it in his periphery.

She said nothing.

But when he looked back, just for a split second, her hands were still on the machine, unmoving.

Like she'd frozen.

Like it hurt.

He turned back around and kept on walking.

~~

It wasn't about Luke.

That's what she told herself when she opened the door at midnight, hair damp from her shower, hoodie zipped up all the way.

Beckett stood there in a backwards hat and that dumb grin that used to do something for her.

Used to.

"Hey, Sher," he said warmly.

She didn't cringe or roll her eyes, just stepped aside and let him in.

It wasn't about Luke.

Beckett didn't look at her the way Luke did. He didn't kiss her like it was a dare. He didn't make her feel like the floor had disappeared under her feet.

He was routine. Safe.

She didn't have to think.

They didn't talk much. He didn't ask questions, just leaned against her headboard like he belonged there.

He rolled onto his side and tugged at the blanket after.

"You want me to stay?" he asked, not pushing, just casually.

She hesitated but ultimately nodded. "Yeah, it's fine."

But when he reached for her, she shifted onto her side, back to him, pretending to scroll through Instagram.

There was a full six inches between them the whole night.

And she didn't sleep.

~~

Luke saw him leave.

He really hadn't meant to.

It was a morning walk, something he'd started doing just to clear his head before classes, music on.

He turned the corner past the girls' house, not thinking, not expecting...

And there he was.

Beckett.

Walking down the steps, shirt wrinkled, hoodie slung over his shoulder.

Beckett didn't see him.

But Luke saw everything.

The way he adjusted his snapback, the satisfied smirk, the relaxed saunter down the sidewalk.

Luke didn't flinch or scowl, he just kept walking all the way to the rink and straight into the worst practice of his season.

He missed passes, line changes. He was late to warmups and didn't say a word unless someone asked directly. And even then, it came out clipped.

At one point, his coach had barked, "Are you even awake, Hughes?"

Luke just nodded.

Ethan tried to talk to him about it again.

"Alright, what the fuck is up?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You haven't been fine since the track party. And now you're showing up late, looking like you haven't slept in a month?"

Luke shrugged.

"Whatever happened with Madi..."

That did it. Luke looked up, sharp.

Ethan continued. "I'm not saying fix it. I'm saying get your fucking head on straight."

Luke exhaled through his nose. Then, after a beat, he said, "I don't think she wants me to."

~~

Madi saw him sitting in the corner of the little cafeteria in the gym building. He was sat with his headphones on, hat pulled low, stirring something into his coffee, jaw tense.

And somthing in her cracked.

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't looked at her in two weeks. Maybe it was the way he acted like everything didn't happen. Maybe it was just that she missed him.

But whatever the reason was, she walked right up to his table.

He didn't look up.

"That the new thing now?" she asked. "Pretending I don't exist?"

Luke blinked slowly, pulling out an airpod.

"Hi, Madi," he said flatly.

She tilted her head. "Wow. A greeting. Progress."

"What do you want?"

She crossed her arms. "Nothing. Just checking to see if you're still sulking."

"I'm fine."

"You're always 'fine.'"

Luke stood, grabbing his coffee. "I'm not doing this here."

She stepped in his way.

"Of course you're not. Because that would involve dealing with something instead of running away from it."

He stiffened.

Madi smirked. "What? Too close to home?"

Luke didn't respond.

And she wasn't done.

"You know what's funny? For someone who acts like he's so above it all, you're actually the most dramatic person I know."

Still nothing.

So she said it.

The line she knew would cut.

"Maybe you should go back to being your brothers' shadow. At least then people will like you."

That did it.

His eyes snapped to her.

And finally, finally, he let loose.

"You act like you're too good to feel anything," he snapped. "But you do. You just hate that it's me."

Silence.

Madi didn't speak.

Didn't blink.

She just stood there, the wind knocked out of her, all her armour suddenly weightless.

She didn't deny it. Didn't throw something else back.

She just walked away.

~~

Their next conversation was quiet.

No yelling, no pointed jabs.

Madi sat on the bottom row of the empty stands beside the track, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. The sun was setting, castling a golden glow across the rubber lanes. She could hear her teammates laughing on their way back to the showers.

Luke didn't say anything when he walked up, just dropped his bag and sat two feet away.

Neither of them moved for a good five minutes.

"You weren't supposed to matter," Madi said finally.

It wasn't as bitter as he'd expected.

Just honest. Raw.

He exhaled. "You weren't supposed to matter either."

Her fingers fidgeted with the fraying edge of her sleeve.

His hands stayed clenched between his knees.

Neither of them moved closer or reached out.

But something had softened.

Finally, she spoke again. "I don't know what this is."

Luke didn't even look at her.

"Then figure it out," he said quietly. "I'll be here if you do."

She looked down at her shoes.

She didn't nod or run.

Just sat there.

With him.

And for once, she didn't want to punch him in the face.

~~

Game night wasn't dramatic-loud for once. Not fight-loud. Just normal, pre-finals, everyone's-burnt-out-and-living-off-caffeine-loud.

Cards scattered the coffee table, chips in a bowl, Mark yelling at Ethan over a rule he absolutely made up. Luca had put on a playlist that sucked but nobody could be bothered to change.

Madi walked down from her room like she hadn't spent the last half hour trying to decide if she should come down or not.

Iced coffee in hand, track hoodie half-zipped, hair braided. She was trying to give the illusion of being calm.

The other girls had already been down there.

And so had Luke.

He was sunk into the left corner of the couch, hands behind his head like always. He looked up at her when she walked in.

She didn't hesitate or hover. Didn't wait for him to ask.

She just walked over and sat... right in his lap.

Luke didn't flinch or blink. He adjusted slightly, one arm coming to rest casually around her waist like it was nothing new.

Because it wasn't. Not anymore.

The room went still.

Maia's eyes here huge. Val's jaw actually dropped. Rutger looked between the two of them like he was waiting for the punchline.

Mark shook his head, "So... you two finally fucked and made up?"

Madi took a sip of her coffee, deadpan, "That's a bold assumption."

Izzy smirked, "So not a denial."

"Not a confirmation either."

Val cocked a brow. "Madi."

Luke said nothing. He kept his arm where it was, fingers lazy against the hem of her jacket, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

Maia leaned forward dramatically. "I just wanna thank god and Luke's actions for this moment."

They played some dumb game Luca had invented halfway through a game night a couple months before. Something with timers and too many cheating accusations to actually work.

Madi usually hated it.

Tonight, it was fine.

Better than fine.

Luke kept murmuring shit in her ear just loud enough to get her to elbow him in the ribs.

She stole food from his plate and he let her.

The thing was?

It wasn't performative. Wasn't about proving anything to anyone. They weren't making a scene.

They were comfortable. Real.

Finally.

Izzy raised her glass. "A toast to these two getting their shit together."

"I hate you," Madi muttered.

They weren't perfect. There were still sharp edges, still things unsaid. Still days where she wanted to punch him for looking at her for too long and days he wanted to shake her until she understood it wasn't a joke to him.

But they were trying. And that felt... good.

Real.

[crimsonbubble]

Off Limits

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, implied age gap, best friend’s dad!hongjoong, couch sex, quickie *not proofread, just pure horny*

[im just a whore leave me alone]

taglist (dm to be tagged); @sidusvenari @sugarnspice630 @ravenempress101 @autieofthevalley @linearities @wisejudgedragonhairdo @madiexuberant @mifuelarts @straytiny127 @yun-fangz @huen1ngk41 @juyeonshour @uniq-tastic @hongjng8 @miyaluvvsyou @everyonewooeverywhere @hongjoongtime117 @oddracha @kingbloopter @jay-0n3s @ane1o2 @shinyj3lly @aftertherain-atr @k-zuzu

“Fuck𑁋 She’ll be home soon-!”

“Then we better make this quick, sweetheart.”

You know you shouldn’t be doing this. He knows you shouldn’t be doing this. Yet you can’t bring yourselves to part; not when you can finally have each other like this. The couch sank under your knees as you straddled the older man. His hands immediately tugged at your sodden panties, tugging them to the side as he pressed you flush to his hips.

You’ve waited so long to kiss him, and now it’s finally happening. The kiss was rushed, full of unbridled want and depravity. Hongjoong rocked his hips against your wet cunt, groaning against your lips. “Just put it in already.” You grumbled against his mouth, making him chuckle at your desperation. “Yeah, you want it that badly, baby?” His hand slipped between you to rub at your clit, making you jolt in his lap.

You groaned into the kiss, taking matters into your own hands. You lifted yourself, reached under you to stroke his achingly hard cock. Hongjoong winced as you thumbed over his slit, his hands moving to your hips. You watched his head fall back against the couch, his eyes fluttering shut. You tapped his leaking tip against your throbbing clit before sinking onto him. Hongjoong choked out a gasp as your movements started immediately.

He shuddered as his cock was engulfed in your tight heat, burying his face in your chest as you rode him like it was your last day on earth. His eyes are rolling back into his head as you ride him. His hands clasp your hips, and his thighs tense beneath you. His shirt, previously tidy, was now crumpled and hastily unbuttoned. Your nails dug into his biceps as you bounced yourself on his cock. Hongjoong's nails sunk into your hips, allowing his hands to freely follow your movements. You paused for a second, moving to rest your hands on his shoulders.

You watched his mouth open as you forcefully fucked yourself on his cock. "Fuck, just like that𑁋 make me cum, baby, c’mon." Hongjoong shifted a hand between your bodies, circling his fingers over your pulsing clit. Your pussy clenches around his cock, sucking him in as your release crawls under your skin. Hongjoong growled through his release, his mouth gaping. You quickly split yourself open on his cock without stopping. As you rode him into his climax, his hold on your hips grew more firm.

His hips bucked off the couch, meeting your bounces halfway. Your legs burned with each movement, desperate for release. Hongjoong held you against him tightly as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your head falls against his shoulder as he helps you ride off the waves of your orgasm. His shorts are soiled with a mixture of cum, and your arousal. However, the mess just makes you want more.

Behind the sounds of harsh breathing, you hear bags rustling and keys jingling. This prompts both of you to scramble for your clothes. You rushed upstairs to the washroom, opting to jump in the shower. Hongjoong barely had the time to clean up before his daughter walked into the house. She quirked a brow at her dad’s frazzled and dishevelled appearance. He sputtered something about a food spill, hoping that she wouldn’t peer too much into it.

She seems to accept his answer, heading upstairs to hand you some clothes to change into. Hongjoong fell onto the couch with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before the phone buzzed on the coffee table. He peered at the notification from you, his breath hitching as he groaned into his hand. You dared to send him a selfie of you fresh out of the shower. Hongjoong glanced down at his lap, letting out a grunt as he can feel his cock twitching in his shorts.

Should you have had sex with your friend’s dad? No.

Were you hoping it would happen again? Absolutely.

[kxsagi]

1 last req from me :3

Bllk boys with a dominant strong (not meant in a kinky way..) s/o who when they cause trouble will not only threaten to put them on a leash on them but will go through with it. Like she will not hesitate to treat them like a dog if they annoy her. ( pls kaiser, shidou and karasu + whoever you want.)

This idea was inspired by the German song böser junge by ikkimel...

“𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐘!! 𝐚𝐫𝐟!”

a/n: i love this

need to teach men how to behave these days 🙄

ft. kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, ness alexis

kaiser michael

he’s smug until he’s not. 

honestly, he lives for being annoying, like poking your cheek repeatedly while you’re trying to read, or blowing kisses while shirtless after a workout like he’s doing you a favor. but the second you pause, look him dead in the eye, and say “keep going and i’m putting a leash on you again,” he falters. slightly. 

he definitely says “you wouldn’t dare,” because he’s all bark. 

and then 10 minutes later, you’ve got a designer collar around his neck – custom-made, gold-plated, with “k. michael – property of his girlfriend” engraved on it. 

he glares. you smile. he grumbles, “this is so humiliating,” as you walk him around the house, leash in hand. 

but the moment you call him a good boy? oh he’s blushing. he denies it, but he’s down so horrendously bad for your dominance that he wears the collar even when you’re not home. 

if anyone else tried this, he’d throw hands. with you? he barks on command. (but only for you. only you.) 

shidou ryusei

see, the problem is… he’s too into it. 

you threaten him with a leash and he straight up grins like you offered to make out. “do it. i dare you. choke me a little, too–” “ryu. i’m not doing this for fun. this is because you tried to light the toaster on fire.” “… i said it was an experiment.” 

he gets leashed a lot. because he causes chaos a lot. but he somehow enjoys the leash too much. he’ll nuzzle your shoulder like a damn golden retriever and wag his metaphorical tail. 

worst part? he barks in public. loudly. 

once you clipped the leash to his collar and he moaned. like theatrically. “nghhh yes, mistress–” 

you smacked him upside the head. he wagged harder. 

you're 98% sure he annoys you on purpose just to get put on the leash. so you made him wear pink glittery ears next time. now he behaves. mostly. 

karasu tabito

this man tests limits for sport. 

you’re arguing over him skipping his cooldown stretches when he mutters “what are you gonna do, leash me?” 

your silence is his doom. five minutes later, he’s getting dragged around your apartment like an unruly puppy while protesting, “yo, this is slander. i’m a catboy, not a dog.” 

you add a bell to the collar. 

karasu is a menace but he respects power, and when you glare at him across the room with the leash looped around your finger, he shuts up real quick. 

… unless there are people around. 

in which case he loudly says, “you’re such a responsible owner, babe. make sure to take me for walks twice a day.” 

he gets smacked with a rolled-up magazine and immediately whines like you killed him. 

but when he actually messes up and you leash him without a word? he walks behind you quietly like a guilty little mutt. tail between his legs. metaphorically. mostly. 

itoshi rin

you warned him. you warned him multiple times. but nooo, rin just had to act like he wasn’t the most leashable man alive. 

"you can't control me," he mutters while knocking over your iced coffee for the third time this week. 

you make direct eye contact. say nothing. walk away. rin thinks he’s in the clear. 

until you return five minutes later with the black leather leash he thought you threw out, and you wordlessly clasp it onto his hoodie collar and yank. 

“let’s go.” “where–” “obedience school.” 

he’s speechless. you’re dragging him to the grocery store like it’s completely normal. 

some woman compliments your “well-behaved pet.” he nearly combusts on the spot. 

he refuses to speak for the whole trip. but he lets you hold the leash. 

you catch him later secretly googling "can a leash ruin your public image" and "leash-safe materials for sensitive skin." 

his pride may be in shambles, but his heart? totally, absolutely yours. 

itoshi sae

you say “if you say one more sarcastic thing i’m gonna put you on a leash.” 

he smirks. says, “oh no, how will i ever recover.” 

next thing he knows, there’s a gold-plated collar around his neck with “sae itoshi – belongs to his gf and no one else” engraved on it. 

you even bedazzled it. you literally made it sparkle. 

he blinks. “is this a punishment or a kink?” 

you tug the leash with zero emotion. “neither. you just don’t shut up.” 

he glares at you the whole time you make him sit on the couch and listen to your TED talk on “why you can’t keep ghosting your nutritionist.” 

sae looks like he’s being held hostage. but he doesn’t take off the leash. even worse, he later adjusts it himself. like. tightens it. you raise a brow. 

“… was falling off,” he grumbles. 

he never admits it, but the leash keeps him weirdly calm. like. weirdly obedient. he might’ve even purred when you called him a good boy. (you have video proof. use it wisely.) 

isagi yoichi

you’ve never seen a man panic so fast. all you did was jokingly pull the leash out after he droned on for twenty-five straight minutes about high press tactics. 

"yoichi," you say sweetly. "if you love the ball so much, maybe i should treat you like a soccer-obsessed golden retriever." 

he goes full blue screen. "NO. I CAN CHANGE." 

but it’s too late. you've already attached the leash, wrapped it around your hand, and gently tugged. 

he squawks. like, audibly. isagi.exe has crashed. 

you drag him across the living room floor while he flails and whines like a soggy towel. 

you sit on the couch and pat your lap. "c’mere." 

he hesitates. then. he obeys. and now he's curled up like a little loaf, wearing your hoodie and trying not to make eye contact. 

"this is character assassination," he mumbles. 

you scratch his head and call him your good boy. he starts vibrating. 

later that night, you find him looking up leash reviews on amazon. 

“no reason,” he insists, blushing violently. 

mikage reo

he tries to sass you one time after practice. 

"wow, you really woke up girlbossing today, huh?" 

you don't respond. just quietly pull a satin purple leash out of your bag and raise an eyebrow. 

“wait. no. babe. baby. sweetheart. angel. light of my life. this is public defamation.” 

clip. the collar is on. he’s now on a leash. reo.exe has stopped working. 

you walk into the gym lobby holding it, and everyone stares. reo covers his face with his entire duffel bag. 

someone whistles. someone else claps. karasu takes a picture. 

he’s whining like, “i am a billionaire. a respected man. i drive a bugatti.” you go “a bugatti with a leash on.” 

he sulks all day, but doesn’t take it off. later, he asks if it comes in velvet. 

you order five more in different colors. he ranks them by outfit compatibility. 

nagi seishiro

you only used the leash because nothing else worked. 

you begged him to get off the couch for four hours. you tried bribing. threatening. promising him snacks. nothing. so finally, you loop the leash through his hoodie and yank. 

he grunts. “ow. so aggressive.” "get up." "no." “get. up.” “fine.” 

he stands. walks. but like. zombie shuffles. he drags his feet on purpose to make it harder. 

you tug again. “faster.” he groans. “can i just teleport.” 

you eventually plop him on a bench at the park to get sun. he lays across it like a fainting victorian child. 

then mutters, “this is comfy. i’m never moving again.” 

you say nothing. just dangle the leash like a warning. his eyes narrow. 

“… i hate it here,” he pouts. 

but later he’s wearing the leash while playing mobile games on your lap. 

“just leave it on,” he yawns. “too lazy to take it off.” 

sure, nagi. sure. 

ness alexis

because he enabled the menace. that’s why. 

he watched kaiser try to swordfight with golf clubs in the kitchen and didn’t stop him. you caught them mid-duel. 

"alexis," you say slowly, "get the leash." 

his soul leaves his body. “you can’t be serious.” 

you snap your fingers. he’s collared and leashed faster than he can blink. 

you make him do apology laps around the house. every time he whines, you make the leash shorter. 

"next time," you say, sipping your coffee, "you’ll remember to use that brain of yours." 

he’s just pouting dramatically on the floor, tugging halfheartedly. “kaiser’s laughing. he likes this. this isn’t fair.” 

you pat his head. he melts. “… okay maybe a little fair.” 

a week later, he walks into your room holding the leash. “… do you wanna… maybe… just put it on again for five minutes. for educational purposes.” 

kaiser claps in the background. you leash them both. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[nik0nk1]

I’m sorry to ask but can we please have more Beerus! Reader x mark content😩🙏🏾

There was this one scene from Dragon Ball I’m not sure which one tho where beerus meets cheelai and he kinda falls for her like instantly😭 can we have some moments between reader and mark and how they stop villains together and he attempts at making food for her but it’s not the best best but Debbie helps him make it more manageable and reader knows he tried and she eats it no problem and just overall sweet yet still crackhead moments with mark and maybe how she interacts with Debbie and Oliver :3

Author's Note: honestly nddbshssjss nddjdsjddj love it, also this will be the second to the last Beerus![Name] and the last will be the reactions of Mark's variants on Beerus![Name] please suggest other more ideas in my inbox(⁠^⁠.⁠_⁠.⁠^⁠)⁠ﾉ

So without further adu, here are some Beerus![Name] moments with some of the invincible characters( mostly Mark lol Also sorry if there isn't any romance moments jdjjjddjs:( )

Beerus![Name] Moments

[Name] Just Wants Food, Mark is Her Unpaid Butler Now, Cecil is Developing Stress-Induced Baldness, Debbie is the Only One She Listens To, Earth is Off-Limits Because She Said So, Mark Keeps Getting Dragged Into Fights, Everyone is So Tired, [Name] Moved In Without Asking, She’s Claiming Planets Like Trading Cards, Cheetos Saved Earth, Canon? Don’t Know Her

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

[Name] Claims the Planet & Moves in With Mark (Cecil Is Bald Now)

Cecil had never been more stressed in his entire life.

"YOU CAN’T JUST—" He inhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as his headache intensified. "YOU CAN’T JUST CLAIM THE PLANET!"

[Name], sitting on Mark’s couch, kicked her feet up onto the coffee table. "I just did."

Mark, standing next to Cecil, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are we at my hou-"

He gets cut off by Cecil "Why would you do that?!"

[Name] shrugged. "Because it was there?"

Cecil looked like he was on the verge of a stroke. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?!?!"

[Name], sipping from a juice box, tilted her head. "Yeah. It means I live here now."

Cecil inhaled deeply. "No, it means every government on Earth is PANICKING because some unknown Viltrumite just casually declared ownership over the entire planet—"

[Name] waved him off. "Oh, that’s dumb. I don’t want their government stuff, I just wanna live here. That’s your problem."

Cecil visibly aged ten years in that moment.

Mark groaned. "Where are you even staying—?"

[Name] smirked. "Here."

Mark blinked. "…Excuse me?"

[Name] gestured around. "Your house. I’m moving in."

Silence.

Cecil stared. "I need a drink."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Meeting Debbie: The Unexpected New Roommate

Debbie had just walked in, holding groceries, when she was met with the sight of:

1. Cecil looking like he was on the verge of an aneurysm.

2. Mark rubbing his temples in pure exhaustion.

3. A complete stranger lounging on her couch with a juice box.

Debbie blinked. "What the hell is going on?"

[Name] turned, grinning. "Hi. I live here now."

Debbie froze. "…What."

Cecil groaned. "SHE CLAIMED THE PLANET, DEBBIE."

Debbie slowly turned to Mark, eyes narrowing. "Mark. Explain."

Mark sighed. "Mom, meet [Name]. She’s…technically a Viltrumite, technically super strong, technically declared Earth as hers, and—" He sighed deeply. "—she’s apparently moving in."

[Name] grinned. "Nice to meet you, Debbie."

Debbie stared at her. Then at Mark. Then at Cecil, who looked done.

Then she sighed, set the groceries down, and walked into the kitchen.

Cecil blinked. "Where are you going?"

Debbie didn’t even turn around. "To pour myself a glass of wine before I deal with this bullshit."

[Name] smirked. "I like her."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Settling In (Mark’s Personal Hell Begins)

Mark had no idea how his life spiraled into this mess, but here he was—watching [Name] casually make herself at home.

She stole his room.

She stole his bed.

She stole his snacks.

She was just…there. Constantly.

Like now, for example.

Mark walked into his own room only to find [Name] sprawled across his bed, eating his bag of Cheetos like she owned the place.

Mark sighed. "Why are you in my room?"

[Name], not looking up from her phone, casually replied, "Our room."

Mark choked. "WHAT?"

[Name] blinked at him. "I live here, Mark. This is our room now."

"YOU CAN TAKE THE GUEST ROOM!"

[Name] shrugged. "Nah, this one’s better."

Mark groaned. "I hate you."

[Name] smirked. "No, you don’t."

Mark left the room and walked straight into the kitchen, where Debbie was making coffee.

He sighed. "Mom."

Debbie, without looking up, replied, "She’s your problem now."

Mark groaned, dramatically collapsing onto the counter. "Cecil’s gonna kill me."

Debbie smirked, sipping her coffee. "Cecil’s already dead inside."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Mark & [Name]: The Most Chaotic Duo Ever And Stopping Villains Together

Mark had long since accepted that fighting alongside [Name] was not a normal experience. He was used to strategy, teamwork, and at least some level of planning.

And [Name]?

Pure, unfiltered chaos.(As usual)

Like today, for example.

A B-list villain named Overload had been terrorizing downtown, his electricity-based attacks shorting out power grids and causing city-wide blackouts. Standard superhero work.

Mark was mid-air, dodging arcs of electricity while trying to get close. "[Name], can you—"

BOOM.

The entire street shook as Overload went flying into a billboard, face-first, before tumbling down onto a car.

Mark turned, sighing.

[Name] stood there, cracking her knuckles. "What? He zapped my bag of Doritos."

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. "You just punched him through a billboard—"

"Yeah, ‘cause he was being annoying. You were taking too long."

"He was mid-monologue!"

"Exactly. Annoying."

Overload groaned, barely conscious. [Name] walked over and nudged him with her foot.

"Hm. Not dead. Cool. What’s for lunch?"

Mark stared at her. "We’re still in the middle of a fight!"

[Name] shrugged. "I dunno, seems like we won."

Mark turned back to Overload, who weakly raised a hand. "…I surrender."

Mark sighed. "I hate that you’re always right."

[Name] grinned. "I know."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Mark Attempts Cooking (And Fails, But It's the Thought That Counts)

Mark had exactly one mission today: make [Name] a meal.

The problem?

Mark couldn’t cook for shit.

He’d tried. Really, he had. He even watched a few YouTube tutorials on how to make something decent. But by the time Debbie walked into the kitchen, it looked like a war zone.

The stove had suspicious burn marks, the counter was covered in ingredients (somehow including things that weren’t even part of the recipe), and Mark was standing there with flour in his hair, staring at a pot like it personally insulted him.

Debbie took one look and sighed. "Oh my god."

Mark groaned. "Mom, help. Please."

Debbie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mark, what is this supposed to be?"

He gestured vaguely to the…thing. "…Pasta?"

Debbie stared. "You burned water."

Mark winced. "…Yeah."

She sighed. "Move over, I’ll fix this before she arrives."

After a lot of motherly intervention, the dish was technically saved. It wasn’t perfect, but it was edible. Which was a huge improvement.

When [Name] arrived, Mark was visibly stressed while she sat at the table, inspecting the food.

Mark coughed. "So, uh. I made this for you."

[Name] blinked. "Why?"

Mark hesitated. "…Because I thought you’d like it?"

[Name] stared at him. Then at the food. Then back at him.

Without hesitation, she grabbed a fork, scooped a bite, and ate it.

Mark watched her carefully.

She chewed. Swallowed. Paused.

Then nodded. "Not bad."

Mark exhaled, relieved. "Oh, thank god."

Debbie crossed her arms, raising a brow. "You’re way too nice. That was barely passable."

[Name] shrugged. "I’ve eaten worse. One time I had to survive on a planet that only had meat that regenerated while you chewed."

Debbie and Mark both stared.

Mark hesitated. "…I don’t wanna ask."

[Name] nodded. "You really don’t."

Debbie sighed. "Mark, if you ever cook again, I’m supervising."

Mark groaned. "Noted."

[Name] grinned. "Don’t worry, I still think it’s cute that he tried."

Mark turned red. "Shut up."

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

[Name] & Debbie: The Most Unexpected Friendship

Debbie never expected to befriend a Viltrumite Goddess of Destruction, yet here she was.

[Name], despite her terrifying power, was surprisingly respectful toward Debbie. And by respectful, that meant she actually listened whenever Debbie scolded Mark.

Like when Mark forgot to take out the trash.

"Mark, I told you to do it before heading out."

Mark sighed. "I was busy—"

[Name], lounging on the couch with a bag of chips, turned. "Mark, just do it. She’s right."

Mark groaned. "Not you too."

[Name] nodded. "She made me food, so she wins this argument."

Debbie smirked. "See? She gets it."

Mark threw his hands up. "Oh my god."

Another time, Debbie had been stressed from work. [Name] had noticed and, instead of saying anything, simply plopping onto the couch beside Debbie.

Debbie blinked. "What are you doing?"

[Name] shrugged. "I dunno. You looked tired, so I’m keeping you company."

Debbie stared. "…Huh."

[Name] then grabbed the remote. "Wanna watch bad reality TV? I heard humans find it entertaining."

Debbie hesitated, then sighed. "…Yeah, actually."

[Name] smirked. "Nice. Let’s watch people make terrible life choices."

And that’s how Debbie ended up watching The Bachelor with a god-tier Viltrumite who could destroy planets but instead spent the evening judging contestants like a drama-loving auntie.

Debbie decided she definitely liked her.

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Cecil’s Hairline Is Gone

Cecil genuinely considered retirement after this.

[Name], somehow, had hacked the system of life itself. She claimed the planet, got a free house, free food, and a free personal punching bag (Mark).

Debbie, at some point, just accepted it.

♪•|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|•♪

Overall: Chaos, Friendship, and Cheetos

Mark had no idea how his life ended up like this. His team-ups with [Name] were less about strategy and more about damage control.

And his mom somehow got along better with [Name] than he did.

But at the end of the day, when [Name] casually threw an arm around him after another insane fight, stealing his fries while grinning, he figured…

Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Even if he was never getting his snacks back.

And Mark?

He was never getting his bed back.

Author's Note: HOPE YALL LOVE THIS ONE DJJDNJDDJ

ndbshshhshsjsejjeeejebddjssjjjddj a g. g h. hh h. hh. h. h h

[skarpetaspodnapleta]

Without limits, without pauses, without mercy. From dusk till dawn, from dawn till dusk. From the kitchen counter, where dishes tremble at every movement, to the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, where every trembling breath echoes against the walls. From the walls that fail to contain the moans, to the cabinets that shake in rhythm with moving hips. From the bedroom mirror that mercilessly reflects every taut muscle and every trace of nails down your back, to the shower where water mixes with sweat and saliva, soaking everything: bodies, walls, and souls alike.

On the table, on the chair, on the floor, on the couch, on every piece of furniture that stands in your way. Missionary, with nails digging into your back. On top, with hands wrapped tightly around a throat. Reverse cowgirl, where the view alone drives you insane. From behind, with raised hips begging for more. Sideways, backwards, upside down, in every position that shifts with the rhythm of desire. On the dining table that groans under the weight. On the washing machine, vibrating in perfect sync with your movements. On the stairs, where every thrust reverberates like an echo through the house.

In the kitchen, where steam rises above pots, and the smell of spices mingles with the scent of overheated skin. On the windowsill, where moonlight illuminates every motion, every drop of sweat, every bite mark left on shoulders and necks. Against the fridge, its cold surface a stark contrast to the fire in your body. On the kitchen island, where hands grip the countertop and legs wrap around hips in a desperate plea for more.

In the living room, where the couch becomes a battlefield. Pillows thrown to the floor, the rug crumpled, furniture shifted, and the air thick with moans. On the coffee table, barely sturdy enough to handle the force. By the window, where curtains sway in time with your movements, the city lights outside flickering in rhythm. On the armchair, balancing on the edge, every tilt and angle pushing your pulse faster and faster.

Outside, where the cold air bites at your skin, but the heat of your bodies makes it irrelevant. On the terrace, where the night sky becomes your only witness. On the car hood, still warm from the day’s sun. In the trunk, where every movement feels like breaking the rules. On the motorcycle, where balance is a challenge, and every moment feels like defying gravity.

In the car, where fogged-up windows shield what’s happening inside. On the back seat, where hands pull bodies closer. In the front seat, where the steering wheel barely stays in place. In a parking lot, where the risk of being caught makes your heart race even faster. By the side of the road, where the sound of passing cars merges with ragged breaths and muffled moans.

In the forest, where the scent of earth and dampness blends with the scent of skin. In a tent, where the thin fabric barely conceals the movements, and every sound carries through the trees. On the beach, where sand sticks to sweaty skin, and the crashing waves match the rhythm of your hips. In the water, where the waves cradle your bodies, every surge amplifying the pleasure.

In a hotel, where the bed never stays in one place. Where the mirrors on the ceiling reflect every moment. In the elevator, where time seems to freeze, and the space between floors becomes your entire world. In the restaurant’s backroom, where kitchen tools tremble on the shelves, and your bodies pulse with unrelenting desire.

In the bathroom, where the mirror fogs up, and the floor is slick with water. In the shower, where hands glide over wet skin, mouths never ceasing their search for each other. In the bathtub, where warm water envelops you, and the foam becomes the only veil between you and the heat.

Every inch of skin, every hidden curve, every nerve pushed to its breaking point. Fingers sliding across sweaty flesh, teeth sinking into lips, bite marks left on necks, shoulders, hips. Backs arching into impossible shapes, legs trembling with tension, toes curling with every wave of pleasure. Breaths quickened, shallow, broken by endless screams and moans.

From the first touch to the final shudder, when your body quakes and your mind dissolves into pure bliss. From the first look that sparks the fire, to the final embrace that leaves you both spent. Without limits, without pauses, without mercy.

And then, there’s him—in uniform, the sight enough to ignite every nerve in your body. The crisp lines of his police uniform, the badge glinting under dim light, the holster at his side holding his weapon, a reminder of the authority he wields. The weight of his presence pins you in place, his voice low and commanding, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands, firm and unyielding, trace your body as if asserting control, the leather of his belt brushing against your skin, the cold metal of his cuffs a silent threat and promise all at once. Against the wall, with his body pressed tightly to yours, his breath hot against your neck, the uniform and everything it represents only heightening the tension, the power dynamic pulling you deeper into unrelenting desire.

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Chapter 7

Summary: You struggle to relax as you recover from an injury.

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

This chapter contains some badly written smut

Wanda is enjoying this far more than you. Having you home 24/7 seems like a luxury that won’t last long and she’s relishing every second of it.

You, on the other hand, are acting like a caged lion, restless and always looking for ways to pass time, though options are limited with your healing shoulder and bruised body.

This morning, you opted for a stroll while Wanda worked on some sketches. The woman has to do a double take when she’s on a coffee break, because it’s been 40 minutes since you left. And there’s only so much walking a person can do in this neighbourhood.

The answer lies a few houses down the block. Wanda’s walking and looking for you when she spots you in the porch of Agatha’s home. Mrs. Hart and Dottie are there as well, cups of tea and biscuits in a table.

You’re taking Mrs. Hart blood pressure, while she keeps talking about her latest medical appointment.

“Sweetheart” Wanda calls for you. “I need your help in the kitchen”

“Oh, Wanda, I’m so sorry. Y/N here was just walking by and we got talking. She’s so brave for saving that man’s life” Agatha places her hand in your bicep, slightly hoping it annoys Wanda.

“Yes, she is. But now she needs to rest”

“Ladies” you greet, standing up and sighing as you go down the steps. “Sorry” you mutter to Wanda.

“No need to apologize” she stands on her toes to peck your lips. You smile, taking her hand as you both walk back home.

“Next time you’re around I’ll need a physical exam, Doc” Agatha calls and Wanda is about to turn and tell her off when you pull her.

“Nu-uh. Let’s go” you say, sincerely afraid of Harkness.

Wanda remains silent for the rest of the walk and you think she might be upset. That is, until you close the door behind you and are abruptly pushed against it, Wanda’s hand pulling down on your shirt possesively.

“Do I need to tie you up?”

“I wouldn’t mind”

“That’s not what I meant”

“But, baby…”

“You’re still recovering” she warns, but you can tell she is considering it.

“My mouth is fine”  you whine as her lips approach yours. “Please, I have all this pent up energy, and I need some release”

“Is that what you need? Release?”

“Mhm” you nod, your nose bumping against hers.

“Fine” she finally kisses you, and it turns frantic. Wanda starts leading you upstairs, but you shake your head no, going for the couch instead. With the hand that isn’t in the arm sling, you tug at her yoga pants and she slips them down her beautiful legs, panties following suit.

“Come on, here’s your seat” you say, laying down on the couch. Wanda lowers herself, and almost screams when she feels your tongue working quickly around her bundle of nerves.

Without thinking, you suck harder and let your teeth graze her clit, but the feeling of pleasure is so unexpected that Wanda’s legs close around your neck, her knee digging in your bad shoulder.

“Ow, time out” you plead, pain shooting down your arm.

“I’m sorry, I…” Wanda pushes the hair out of her face, looking at you worriedly. “Are you ok? Should we go to the hospital?”

“I’m fine. No need to go and ruin Darcy’s day with the details of our sexcapades, my love”

“You sure?”

“Yes, come here” you ask, and she hesitates, until you pull her down to lie next to you on her couch. Realising she’s naked from the waist down, your hand travels to her ass, looking to squeeze the soft flesh.

“Stop” she warns with her mom voice. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. I thought I broke your neck a second ago”

“What a way to go” you joke, smiling as Wanda laughs against you.

—

Billy writes down in his notebook and you squint your eyes. Fractions are horrible, and how you wish you were helping Tommy with his art project instead.

So, you check the exercise again and sigh.

“I think that’s right, kiddo”

“You sure?”

How bad would it be to say “not at all”? You figure it wouldn’t be wise considering you’re the adult in the room, so you rub your eyes instead.

“I’ll check again after dinner, ok?” you promise, Wanda telling them to go wash their hands.

Going down the stairs, you find your girlfriend in the kitchen. She’s made an effort to cook anything you’re craving, and tonight’s feast is roast beef with potatoes.

“Delicious” you comment, pulling her so she’s pressing against your front.

“Thank you, I think you’ll like it”

“Wasn’t talking about the food” you pull her hair to the side, clearing the path to litter her neck with open mouthed kisses. “I’m not giving up on this even after what happened earlier”

“You mean how I almost broke your neck?”

“Almost being the key word, baby”

The protest dies in her lips as the kids join you in the kitchen. They set the table for the four of you, doing everything they can to keep you from hurting yourself.

Even as Wanda insists on slicing your portion, you drop the armsling, because you’re very picky about the way you cut your meat.

“Childish” she mutters under her breath and you glare, but smile the same.

Dinner is the usual stuff about classes, the upcoming school trip and how Billy thinks you’re so good with fractions.

They’re in the process of getting ready for bed when you Google the answers to the math exercises, and you’re only wrong twice.

Oh, well.

Once the kids are tucked in, you go back downstairs to clean up, Wanda following suit.

“Please let me”

“Come on, I gotta do something around the house”

“You already helped with Billy’s homework”

“Oh, that. I can’t wait for them to start doing square roots so I’m banging my head against the table”

Wanda laughs at that, settling on the countertop as you wash dishes.

“Yeah, I guess you missed the time where homework was easy. Like coloring, or learning vowels”

“Sounds better than fractions” you recognise.

“Don’t be long” Wanda asks, kissing your cheek and going upstairs.

Your shoulders drop a little, and you eye the armsling, but you’re tired of it and feel like it does more harm than good. Leaving it downstairs, you walk up to find your girlfriend preparing a bath.

“Might help relax” she says, and truthfully, you do feel a lot better when she’s taking off your clothes, hands delicately going over your skin. As she walks behind you to place a small kiss in your shoulder blade, her hands stops in a spot you’re always trying to hide.

“What happened to you?”

“Car accident” you say, not in the mood to delve deeper. Turning in her embrace, you unbutton her shirt, kissing down the valley of her breasts. Next are her pants, and you look up with a smile, helping her step out of them.

You sit in the bathtub, letting Wanda rest between your legs. Your hand goes up and down her arm, but your mind is elsewhere.

Especifically, in the pain that hasn’t stopped.

What if it’s something serious? What if you need surgery? And can’t do your job ever again?

It’s all you have, it’s who you are. You don’t know yourself outside of an OR, outside of grueling shifts and hospital walls.

“Can I ask you something?” Wanda interrupts your spiraling thoughts.

“I do think you’re the most beautiful woman on the planet” you say, kissing the spot between her neck and shoulder.

“No, it’s… uh” she hesitates, looking at her hands. “Did you ever think about having children of your own?”

“Oh” you say, frowning. “I don’t know, honestly. I guess all I ever figured out was what I wanted to be, you know? And it’s so demanding that I never thought I’d be a good mother”

“I just… talking about those early years. I love my kids but I don’t know if I’d do it again, start over with a new baby”

“I’m not holding my breath for that, sweetheart” you promise, kissing her temple. “And I’m a workaholic so it wouldn’t be fair to put you through it so you’re alone for a big part of the time”

“Are you sure? If it’s something you want, I can…” she turns around in your embrace, the water splasing a little. “I can try, maybe it’ll be nice”

“I love the way things are” you promise her, looking distractedly at her breasts. “Especially right now. Can you sit closer so I can pay attention to those two?”

“You’re incorrigible” she laughs, her hands going around your neck.

“And yet, you love it”

—

It was hard to sleep with the shooting pain down your arm, but you refused to take anything for it.

By the time you got some rest it was almost 4 AM, so you completely missed breakfast and driving the kids to school.

Probably for the best, since you’re in a foul mood.

“Hey, I have a meeting with Laura. Wanna come with?” Wanda says when you walk downstairs, changed into jeans and a t-shirt.

“Can you drop me off at the hospital?”

“Sweetheart, I know it’s driving you insane but you can’t go to work right now”

“It’s not… that” you say, struggling with your words. You’re so used to solving everything on your own, it’s hard to share that you have any discomfort.

When you were younger, it added to your mother’s stress because she had other things to deal with, so it only made everything worse at home.

“Are you ok?” Wanda asks softly, finally noticing the bags under your eyes.

“I’m just in pain and would like to check everything’s fine”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We should have gone to the hospital as soon as…”

“Wands” you say, overwhelmed at how much she cares. You pull her close, kissing her softly, and she melts against your lips. “It’s nothing serious, promise”

“Ok. Let’s get going, then”

She insists on going with you, but the meeting with Laura is happening, so you just convince her to pick you up as soon as it’s over.

Greeting the people at the front desk, you walk to the staff area, looking for any familiar faces. It’s empty, so the next place is the ER. The sound and rustling make you nostalgic, and there’s gotta be something really wrong with you, because it’s been five days only.

“Can I help you?” Darcy says behind you.

“Looking for a leprechaun”

“I have not missed you” she remarks, and you wanna say something back, but then you notice your ER board.

“Uh, what the hell did you do to my board?”

“It’s color coded!”

“This is an ER! Not arts and crafts, Lewis” you say, feeling like your heart is breaking at the sight.

“Fury likes it”

“Fury can go to… oh, hello, sir” you say, and he glares at you.

“You’re supposed to be resting”

“I have some pain… wanted to check with Carol if everything’s ok”

“Danvers is in the middle of surgery. Will be an hour or so before she’s free” he explains. “How bad is it?”

“A four, maybe” you lie, and he still looks concerned, because in all the years you’ve worked here, you never get sick or complain if you have anything bothering you.

“Get a CT, I’ll go tell her you’re here” he instructs, patting your good shoulder.

Darcy walks with you to get the CT, and once you’re done you both go to the cafeteria.

“Hey, you didn’t bring any cookies” Darcy complains as you pick up a muffin.

“Wasn’t planning on stopping by”

“How’s domestic life? You ready to retire?”

“It’s fine” you say with a smile, but as always, she can see through the bullshit.

“You look miserable. So, you’re either in a lot of pain or there’s something else”

“I just… feel bad that I don’t know how to rest. You know? I’m a workaholic, and Wanda knows it, but it used to be nice to get breaks and spend time with her and the kids. And now, I should just be relaxing and enjoying this time off but I’m so restless. And I wonder if I’m good for them. If I’ll enjoy going on holidays and spending a few days without work or I’ll promise to be there for something and then let work get in the way”

“Ok, first of all. Every surgeon is a workaholic, you know it. This was the only way we could survive and get as far as we did. But you’re acting as if you’re on an indefinite break. Your CT looks fine. In a week you’ll be back”

“Right. It was just so unexpected…”

“You’ve been working less, haven’t you? Spending more time with Wanda and her kids. That’s a major change. So don’t worry about still loving your job and wanting to do it. It’s who you are. And if Wanda loves you she’ll understand”

"Well, good thing she seems to be done having kids, too” you scratch your neck, thinking about last night’s conversation.

“I thought you wanted kids” your friend frowns.

“I never made up my mind… but if she says she’s done, it’s done”

“Interesting…” Darcy holds her chin, examining you. “I do remember you having baby fever when you did your Peeds rounds”

“Ages ago” you insist, smiling. You were good and you almost decided to focus in that area. But Trauma was always where your passion was.

Darcy’s pager beeps and you look at her with some jealousy, wishing you had somewhere to be.

“Gotta go. Danvers should be done soon. Chill, watch some tv, you’ll be back in no time”

“Thanks, mate. And I know, I’ll ask Wanda for some cookies”

You look around the cafeteria, and then wander the hallways. There are a few people in the ER, sitting and waiting for someone to call their names. Without knowing a thing about Darcy’s system, you pick up a file and say a name out loud.

The little guilt you feel at working when you’re clearly not supposed to is quickly forgotten as you help several people, looking at their X-Rays and writing prescriptions, the armsling tossed away.

That is, until you hear someone calling you across the room.

“Y/N Y/L/N” Wanda hisses. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You squeal, hiding behind a curtain. She pulls it and grabs the file from your hands.

“Did Doctor Danvers see you yet?

“She was in surgery and I was bored!” you complain like a little child.

“We’re finding her and then going home”

Doing all but pulling you by the ear, Wanda drags you around the front desk and asks for Carol, the nurses hiding a smile as you remain in the background, silent.

They tell Wanda that Carol will be in a few minutes, and you wait in one of the examination rooms, you sitting in the bed dangling your feet while Wanda answers an email from Laura.

“How did the meeting go?” you try to make ammends.

“Fine”

“Mmm” you nod, thinking it might be better to drop it.

It only gets worse when Carol walks in, thinking you’re the only one in the room.

“How’s it going, Princess?”

Wanda clears her throat, glaring at the blonde and you want to crawl in a hole and die. Not this again.

“Hey, Wanda. Didn’t see you there” she starts speaking in a rush. “What’s the matter? CT looks fine. Except for that horrible surgery they did on you”

“It was twenty years ago, Danvers” you roll your eyes, avoiding Wanda’s inquisitive stare.

“Ok, take your shirt off. O-or not, don’t” she says when Wanda glares.

“Make up your damn mind” you complain, oblivious to everything.

Wanda stands up, looking you in the eye. She smiles, taking your shirt in her hands and pulling it up. Might as well fucked you right then and there, with the way she looks at you.

Maybe it’s not so bad that she’s jealous of Carol.

“There” she says, and all you can do is focus on her lips. She stands back, sitting on the couch and waiting for Carol to examine you.

“The pain has been recurring, right? What changed?”

“It’s more persistent and intense”

“Have you been taking painkillers? Anything else?”

“Nothing, Doc”

Carol sighs.

“We really are the worst patients” she grumbles. “You have nerve damage, we knew that already. The armsling might be making it worse. Use this instead”

She passes a brace that supports your shoulder and allows you to move freely.

“Wooho, this one is way cooler!”

“Wanda, can you make sure she takes these meds? It will help with the swelling” Carol turns to you. “If you rest properly, you can go back to work in ten days”

“Ten days? I want a second opinion”

“A second opinion would be to try surgery and fix that nerve” she says, knowing Stark would agree.

“Fine. Meds and rest” you grumble, putting on the brace.

“One last thing” Carol says and you’re about to ask what is it when she blind sides you, inyecting something on your muscle.

“That’s low even for you” you complain, feeling the burn.

“That will relax you for a few hours, pal”

“Mmm. Thanks, Carol”

“Anytime. Bye, Wanda”

Your girlfriend thanks her, taking your hand and walking you to the exit, hoping you’ll finally get some rest.

“Who did this?” Darcy fumes from the ER and you rush, dragging Wanda.

“Run, now”

For the second time in the day, someone calls you by your full name, this time sounding less forgiving.

“You messed up the system!” Darcy says, watching you run like a coward. “You’re dead to me”

Wanda laughs at that, and you smile, hoping her mood has improved ever since she caught you working.

“Want anything special for lunch?” Wanda asks as she drives back home and you can’t really think of anything.

“Cuddles and a nap with my beautiful girlfriend” you say, feeling the medicine relaxing you. “Damn it, Carol probably gave me a horse tranquilizer”

“That’s what you get for being so stubborn”

“I am not stubborn” you insist, proving her point.

By the time you’re home, your feet feel heavy. Wanda almost has to carry you to the bedroom, where you plop down.

You feel her taking off your shoes and you honestly try to sit up and help, but Carol really outdid herself with whatever it is she gave you.

Lucky she’s a doctor and not a dealer.

“Wands” you mutter.

“Shh, I’m here. Get some rest”

—

Your mouth feels dry, limbs heavy. Like a hangover, but without the fun part.

“M’gonna kill Carol” you sigh, rubbing your eyes. Wanda’s laugh by your side makes you turn and you smile. “Hey, gorgeous”

“Feeling relaxed?”

“Very. I’m just thirsty”

As if she was a mind reader, Wanda nods towards the nighstand next to your side of the bed, where a glass of water is waiting for you.

“You’re so perfect” you say once you gulp it down, breathing and stretching. “Where are the kids?”

“Soccer practice.”

“Oh, sorry about falling asleep. We could have been watching a movie or something” you try to sit up, but Wanda pulls you down, scooting closer to you.

“I just want you to rest”

“I’m not gonna break if I do other stuff”

She doesn’t answer and you lie down, looking at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry” is all she says and you frown. “For everything that happened with Steve”

“You already apologized. It’s in the past”

“I just want to give you everything, and take care of you. I wish I knew how to make you feel better when you’re in pain”

“You’ve been cooking and helping me do everything for the past week, love”

“Anyone could do that”

“No, you’re the only person who could make it all better by just being here” you say, your hand moving the hair out of her eyes. “I’m damn lucky to have you on my side, Wands”

“I… can I ask about the accident? I feel like I know bits and pieces. Though if it’s too painful”

“I was with my Dad” you say, sighing. “Someone else ran a red light and crashed into us. He didn’t make it. It’s just… there’s no point in dwelling on it. It happened, and no amount of grieving can change it. So I don’t”

“Ok”

“I’m not the best person to be with” you admit. “I’m very much addicted to my job, I don’t have a family that is worth talking about. It’s just me, and whatever happens that day in the ER. Maybe that’s why I struggle with being away from the job. There’s nothing else besides that”

“It’s not just you, not anymore. You have us” Wanda promises, kissing your hand. You smile, nodding.

“I know. I love you”

“Love you too.”

—

You finally found some things to do. Wanda would give you drafts to read, surprised at how good your literary insights were.

“Laura might have competition” she joked once.

As for other forms of entertainment, you were currently picking up on your Project Runway obsession even though you were just rewatching season 8, arguably one of the most dramatic ones.

The arm was a lot better and the pain subsided, which was great news. On the other hand, Carol would never shut up about being the best Ortho surgeon in the whole country.

Still, there was one thing you were hoping to do, taking advantage of all the hours you had alone with Wanda.

Thinking it would be better to just catch her off guard, you were in bed, reading another one of her drafts when she came by the room, stretchig her back.

“Tired, my love?” you say with a sympathetic smile.

“A tiny bit. I was thinking we could get pizza tonight? I’m not in the mood for cooking”

“I’m paying for it”

“You’re paying for groceries and everything else these days” she protests.

“What can I tell you? I like to spoil my girl”

Wanda blushes at that, straddling your lap and leanig down to kiss you. You smile, eager to feel her lips on yours, but also, anticipating her reaction as she feels what’s hidden in your pants.

The way she gasps against your mouth sends a shiver down your spine.

“What are you…?”

Your good arm wraps around her waist, making her rub against the strap on.

“A surprise for you” you say, your nose against her neck, leaving open mouthed kisses. “Unless you don’t want to try it. We can just forget about it”

“No, I- but your arm”

“Well, you could be a good girl and ride my dick” you half joke, not expecting the words to have such an impact on her. Before you can react, she’s reaching down between your bodies.

“I wanna see you” she asks, out of breath. You let her pull your pants down, revealing the harness briefs you’re wearing and the plastic cock attached to them.

“What do you think?” you say, one of your thumbs traveling to her mouth, and she eagerly accepts the intrusion, sucking on your finger. She bites it as you pull out, pupils dilated.

Operating on her desires, Wanda moves down your body, until she’s eye level with the strap. Even though you can’t feel it, the sight of her tongue darting out to lick the tip makes your hips buck, pushing inside without a warning.

But she’s a good girl, and takes it all with enthusiasm, her hands on your hips as you fuck her mouth. The friction against your clit makes your breath quicken, and aware that Wanda’s gagging, you stop moving, pulling her away by the hair.

“Show me how good you can take it, baby” you say, smiling. Wanda doesn’t waste any time, discarding her own pants and placing both hands on the side of your face.

You move your hips up a couple of times, teasing her entrance, until you pull her hips down, and you have to look down, admiring the way her hole swallows every inch, Wanda’s face contorted by pleasure.

Once you bottom out, you give her a few seconds to adjust, and only move when she rocks forward, moaning at the way it feels to be so full.

“Look at you, made to take my cock. Fits so fucking perfectly inside that tight cunt” you taunt, squeezing her neck.

Wanda clenches as you choke her, overwhelmed by all the pleasure she’s feeling.

“Come on, fuck yourself on my dick” you challenge, and she begins moving, slow at first, and then faster, her hips finding a rhytm as you let go of her neck, hand going down to pinch her nipples.

The touch catches her off guard, and she somehow changes positions in your lap, the strap going deeper and hitting just the right spot.

“Oh, God…” she mutters, losing herself in the feeling of being full, riding you as your hands roam around every inch of her beautiful body. “I’m close, please”

“Please, what?”

“Please, make me come” she stutters, her hips moving erratically as she approaches her climax. You let your hand travel down, and as you play with Wanda’s clit, the woman lets out a moan, juices spilling down her legs and between your bodies.

Wanda collapses on top of you, breathing heavily. You wait until she calms down to pull out, trying to do it without hurting her.

“Stay inside” she pleads, and the desperation in her words makes you want to fuck her again.

“You did so good, baby” you smile against her temple. “Just relax, I got you”

—-

You had created a horny, hot, insatiable being.

Whenever you were alone in the house, you were usually packing because Wanda would just barge into the room, kiss you like she was running out of time, and then would just push her underwear aside, moaning and panting until she was satisfied. She went at it two or three times each day, even at night though you had to be quiet to not wake up the twins.

How you loved being used for her pleasure, and watch as she was all disheveled when she came, breathing against your neck and repeating how much she loved you and how much she needed you.

Once, you are almost caught by Agatha. This time, you initiate it, approaching Wanda as she makes lunch in the kitchen. Your arm snakes around her middle, hand going up and down until you pinch her nipple through the fabric of her t-shirt. When Wanda arches her back, her ass rubs against the strap, and she moans, allowing you to take her from behind.

“Look at you, taking me so fucking well” you say, spanking her. She moans against her arm, enjoying the new angle and the way your hands grab handfuls of her ass, the soft flesh turning red.

 In that precise moment, there’s a knock at the door. You turn at the same time, and while Wanda seems to be trying to gather her thoughts, you keep pushing inside of her.

“Wanda, are you home?” Agatha says.

“Go on, answer her. Tell her you’re getting fucked from behind, baby” you taunt, determined to make her come.

“If she sees us…”

“Better hurry then” you mutter, hips moving faster until you feel Wanda’s legs shake, hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming.

You pull out, and force Wanda on her knees. She can’t stand up, as Agatha looks through the window, waving at you. The lower half of your body is hidden by the countertop.

“Do you have any eggs I can borrow?”

“We’re out of those” you lie, moving your hips forward until Wanda gets the hint and licks the strap clean. “I’m going to the store later today, I’ll get some extra for you”

“You’re such a dear. Is Wanda working?”

“Oh, yes. She’s hard at work” you say, smiling.

“If you ever feel lonely, come by and visit me, dear” the woman winks, turning to leave. You keep Wanda in place, fucking her mouth until the pressure on your clit makes you get some release.

“I’m not done with you” you say, pulling her up. “It’s a damn shame you couldn’t be as loud as you wanted before”

Wanda looks confused, or maybe it’s the orgasm she just had. Either way, you guide her upstairs, and she quickly gets on all fours, ass up in the air again.

“Better be screaming my name when I’m done with you”

Of course she did. And you’re pretty sure those screams could be heard all the way to Agatha’s house.

—

“I’m gonna be late for work” you say, not really caring. Wanda’s on your lap, grinding against you. There’s nothing under your scrubs today, because, well, it would be awkward to work while packing all day.

Who knew you’d end up wanting more free time, and all because Wanda can’t go five minutes without getting fucked.

“I’m gonna miss you” she whines, biting down on your earlobe and you moan.

“Baby, you’re not playing fair”

Maybe calling in sick won’t be such a bad idea. Your colleagues will understand. It’s not like they’ve been covering for you for two weeks.

Right.

“I have to go” you sigh against her lips, searching her eyes. You hope she can understand.

“I know, I’m sorry”

Wanda smiles and the way she runs her hands down your cheeks melts your heart.

“I love you. Thank you for helping me heal these past weeks. And I’m sorry for being so difficult at times, my love. I’ll make it up to you”

“I love you too” she smiles, leaning her forehead against yours.

With that, you get ready to drive to the hospital. You’re still wearing the brace Carol gave you, more as a precaution. Wanda also gives you a whole batch of cookies and you suspect Darcy will steal most of it.

You say goodbye at the front door, promising to call her when you have time.

“Welcome back, doctor Y/L/N”

Kate Bishop is the first to greet you, waiting in the ER.

“Thank you, Kate. Did I miss anything big these past few days?”

While you go over some files, she makes the rounds on patients that have been here for the past days and are getting discharged soon.

You go back to the ER to review paperwork and she sticks around, which seems weird.

“Shouldn’t you be around the halls to see if you can scrub in on something?”

“Uh…”

“Look, if they told you to babysit me, don’t worry about it. I can handle this alone”

“That’s not… remember how I hadn’t made up my mind about a specialty? Well, I did. I want to be a Trauma surgeon” she smiles, hoping you’re happy about it.

“Wow! Congrats, Bishop” you can’t help but bring her in for a hug. “Everyone else had their student, but me”

“Well, you have yours now. I can’t wait to learn, Sir. Ma’am. Doctor” Kate stumbles with her words and you pat her back.

That very second, two people walk in, screaming something about their Halloween decoration and a freak accident.

“Let the lessons begin, kid”

And so, you spend the better part of the shift stabilizing a patient and working with Stark to stop a brain bleeding from a falling pumpkin.

“It’s that time of year again” he says, and you sigh.

“What is?” Peter looks around the table.

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of freak accidents when holidays are around” Stark says. “Well, Dr. Y/L/N knows better than me, she’s the one treating everything”

“Cuts while carving pumpkins, blazing Jack-O-Lanterns, food allergies for kids”

“Tripping with their too long ghost costumes” Stark adds. “Learn that the hard way with Morgan”

“Gotta warn Wanda about that” you grimace.

“Ah, yes, the missus” Stark says, and you can’t see a lot of his face but you can tell by his tone that he is ready to tease you.

“Careful, Doctor Stark”

“I’m just saying, everyone thinks it’s cute. Morgan loves her and their art lessons too. Plus, it’s nice to see a doctor dating someone outside of the hospital. I’m so done with all the hook ups, it’s nearly impossible to find an on call room to rest”

“You own the hospital, can’t you do something about the rooms?”

“Not without causing a meltdown for HR” he says and you both chuckle.

“It is nice to be with someone who thinks you’re crazy for wanting to be working for two straight days. Gives you perspective”

“Precisely” Stark agrees. “Well, Peter can close him up”

“Meet you back at the ER, doctor Bishop”

You nod, going to the scrub room to wash your hands.

“Carol told me about your little nerve thing”

“Of course she did”

“There’s a great chance for the procedure to work, it’s also non invasive. Recovery time is…”

“I’ll think about it. But it hasn’t been bothering me anymore. Maybe it was just the shoulder injury”

“Yeah, maybe. But you know how it is. Wouldn’t you want to be completely sure you’ll be fine holding your baby one day?”

“Wanda is done having kids so that’s not a particular concern of mine” you say in an even tone.

“Really? With the way she looks at you, it almost seems like she wants you to knock her up”

“Tony” you elbow him, and he cackles.

“Just saying. Your kids would be cute”

“Are you having baby fever and trying to drag me with you?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Maybe” he winks as you leave the scrub room.

Still, the conversation leaves you thinking about Wanda and as soon as you’re out of the OR you call her.

“You’re on speaker, my love” she says, making you smile.

You can hear Billy and Tommy rushing to her side, speaking over each other.

“Woah, woah, one at a time”

“I got an A in my Science paper!”

“I scored a goal in practice”

“Way to go, kiddos. Can’t wait to hear all about it”

“We miss you” Tommy says, which makes you strangely emotional.

You never had someone say that to you.

“Miss you too” you admit.

“Go wash your hands, say bye to Y/N” Wanda waits a little and then talks to you again. “You’re still on speaker because I’m finishing dinner”

“No dirty talk, got it” you chuckle.

“How’s the day so far?”

“Oh, we had a freak accident with Halloween decoration which reminds me, don’t put anything until I’m there to help?”

“Ok, I won’t” she agrees.

“And Kate, you remember her? She’s a resident and today she told me she wants to be a Trauma surgeon so I guess I am officially her teacher”

“Congratulations, she got the best one”

“Yeah, it’s just a lot of responsibility, I guess” you chew on your lip, thinking about everything you’ll have to teach her. It’s not just the medical side, it’s about handling the stress and the pressure of helping people in the worst situations.

“I’m sure you’ll do great” Wanda says, knowing your sudden silence means you are overthinking. “Is the shoulder ok? Promise me you’ll eat something and get some rest”

Your pager interrupts the moment and Wanda groans.

“I’m afraid I can’t keep that promise, love of my life. Will talk to you later”

“Love you”

“Love you too”

Kate meets you in the ER and you’re suddenly dealing with a car accident and four patients, two of them children.

“Page Maria and Carol, this is gonna be a long night”

“And my shift is just starting” Darcy says behind you and you turn, excited to see your best friend.

“Missed me?”

“Not a bit”

But you know she’s full of it. You scrub in together, and she updates you on all the gossip you missed, using codenames no one else knows about.

“Did you hear Doctor Bishop is my new apprentice?” you say when you let her close the patient.

“Congrats, you finally got a minion”

“Wanna get one for you?”

“Ugh, no, you gotta water them twice a week and it’s too much trouble. I’m fine just being an attending” she rolls her eyes.

You’re about to go on a lecture about the importance of teaching and mentoring when Kate curses, and the patient begins to crash.

“Move” you say, stepping in to check what’s wrong.

“See?” Darcy says.

Though Kate didn’t do anything wrong, you ended up an hour more in the OR to make sure everything was ok.

When you’re done it’s close to dawn and you’re exhausted. Darcy finds an empty room and you plop down in one of the beds, sighing. It’s too early to call Wanda. You remove the brace to rest your shoulder.

“Do you think people ever considered we were hooking up?” you ask your friend, remembering the conversation with Stark. It’s just a funny thought, but Darcy let’s out a groan.

“Ugh, I hope not”

“Excuse me?” you sit up. “It sounds like you’re offended by the idea”

“You’re just not my type”

“So hot and successful is not your type?”

“You’re too tall!” she shouts.

“You’re too small!” you say, turning around so she only sees your back. “Garden gnome”

“Big foot” she whispers and you both laugh.

—

“Wanda, baby” you moan, kissing the… pillow?

Your pager wakes you up, and you look around the room, confused.

“I’m trying to sleep” Darcy complains.

“So was I” you say, checking your phone. It’s nothing related to the ER, so you go to the room where you’re called to.

“How can I help...” you walk into the room, and are surprised to see Wanda sitting in the bed. “Baby, hey! Wait, are you ok? Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m fine” she says, appreciating your concern. Still, you check every inch of her body, hands holding her face gently. “I drove Agatha here”

“Why?” you frown.

“She cut herself while carving out a pumpkin”

“Halloween is always like this. I hate it” you mumble, and Wanda laughs.

“Don’t be such a party pooper. What’s wrong with dressing up and getting candy?”

“Trust me, spend a night in the ER with people who thought it would be a good idea to bring a real chainsaw to a party and you’ll agree with me”

“Well, I’ll have to change your mind about it” Wanda bites her lip, pulling you closer. “Maybe wear something real nice to cheer you up”

“I’m listening” you say, moaning against her mouth when she finally closes the distance. God, you forgot how good it feels to have her in your arms. “I should go check on Agatha”

“Your little student is taking care of her. Plus, I have a few symptoms of my own I’d like to ask about”

“Ok, what is it?”

“I have heart palpitations… and something like a flutter in my stomach. It’s hard to focus sometimes, too”

“When does this happen?” you play along, smiling as Wanda pulls you in between her legs.

“When I'm thinking about my girlfriend fucking me real hard”

“Babe” you sigh against her lips.

“Nu-uh. You’re working” she smiles, happy to see you so worked up.

“Mean”

Wanda laughs against your temple, her hands running up and down your arms.

“When does your shift end?”

“Tomorrow morning. Which would give me enough time to get ready for Laura’s party”

“You remembered” Wanda says, shocked.

“Well, yeah”

“I told you a month ago”

“And I wrote it down so I didn’t forget. You told me it was important for me to be there” you smile, unaware of the impact a little gesture like that could have in Wanda.

“I changed my mind, I need you to fuck me here”

You open and close your mouth a few times, looking at the door and then at Wanda. Yeah, you’d be crazy to let that chance slip.

Undoing the butto of her jeans, your hand moves as much as possible in the confined space, rubbing her clit through her underwear until Wanda is panting against your ear.

The woman finishes with a groan that you muffle with your lips, worried someone might come in.

Still, when you both leave the room, a bit disheveled and blushing, Stark glares and you wink.

“At least it’s not an on call room, Tony”

Wanda follows you to the ER, where Kate is finishing with Agatha’s stitches.

“Took your sweet time, Wanda” Agatha says, and you try to hide your smile.

“Sorry, that was my fault. But I’m here now and I’ll make sure everything is fine. Nice work, Doctor Bishop. Mrs. Harkness is a vital member of our community”

“Oh, darling, aren’t you a dear?” Agatha laughs, patting your arm. “Careful, Wanda, I might steal her from you”

You’re pretty sure Wanda’s response is not gonna be a nice one, but then you’re interrupted by the forensic that works at the morgue.

“Yo, Y/L/N. Can I get your name here?” Rio asks, her tone even and deadpan expression making her look bored, as usual.

“Sure, Death. There ya go”

Rio looks at Agatha for a second too long and then smiles to herself.

“I love to play with knives too” the brunette says, winking at your neighbour.

Wanda and you share a look, as if you’re wondering if Rio is the answer to all your problems.

“Who was that?” Agatha says, enthranced.

“Rio Vidal. We call her Death because she’s at the morgue, doing autopsies. Seems like she likes you”

“Could I… can you give her my phone number?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll go straight to the morgue and make sure she has it, Agatha” you promise.

Once Kate finishes with closing the wound, Agatha tells Wanda they better go, so you’re free to find Rio.

“See you in 24 hours, my beautiful girlfriend” you promise, kissing Wanda.

“Lovebirds, wrap it up. Vámonos”

“Ugh” Wanda rolls her eyes. Maybe she liked Agatha better when she pretended to be nice to you to upset her.

“Smile, darling. Let’s hope Rio keeps her busy for the next few weeks”

“Or centuries” Wanda jokes and you laugh, kissing her softly.

—

A 48 hour shift when you just got back to work was not your best idea. As you park in your driveway, you text Wanda to let her know you’ll shower and rest a bit before you leave at noon.

You almost fall asleep standing in the shower, but snap out of it and clean yourself up so you can get a nap.

Once you wake up, it’s a little before noon so you get some time to change into pants, a t-shirt and sneakers.

“Well, hello there” you admire Wanda’s figure in a sundress. “Am I underdressed?”

“It’s a barbecue, baby, you’re fine” she smiles, pulling you inside and cornering you against the door. “Missed you”

“Missed you too” you sigh against her lips.

“Mom, have you seen my shoes?” Tommy says from upstairs and you laugh.

It takes the twins a couple more minutes to get ready, but once they go down and see you, they’re both buzzing with excitement.

The whole car ride is spent asking them questions about their day. As soon as you park, though, they are out the door, eager to greet Cooper and Lila.

You carry the pie Wanda made and put it on a table full of food.

“Wow, it’s kinda nice to live outside the city” you say admiring the entire property. Wanda had told you they lived in a farm, but you thought it was a figure of speech. “Maybe we need to get something like this, babe”

“Wanda, glad you could make it. You must be Y/N” a brunette approaches you, and you squeeze her hand.

“Nice you meet you, Laura”

“I hear you already know my husband”

“Yeah, we’ve had our share of work stuff” you nod, hand going to your shoulder.

As if on cue, Clint shows up holding a baby that is getting restless.

“Sweetheart, did you feed Nathaniel? Oh, hey Wanda. Y/N”

“I just fed him. Can you take care of him for a bit? I gotta make the mashed potatoes”

“Why don’t I…” you suggest when the baby starts crying. His eyes widen at the shift and then stares at you. Holding your breath, you expect him to begin hollering but he just laughs, curious about your hair. “There we go”

“Oh, wow. Wanda, you should have mentioned this sooner” Laura says, amazed at how Nathaniel seems to be so at ease with you.

“Come on, little prince. Let’s walk around the party for a bit. Say bye to Mom and Dad”

“I’ll catch you later, gotta help Laura for a bit” Wanda says, finding it hard to look away from you.

“Ok, darling” you say, balancing Nathaniel in your arms.

You walk around the Barton’s property, waving at the twins and their friends. Nathaniel bounces around in your arms, wanting to play with his siblings.

“What are you up to, kiddos?”

“We’re gonna play hide and seek. Wanna join us?” Billy says.

“Gotta look out for Nathaniel, but enjoy”

Across the field, some of Clint’s friends are playing soccer. Nathaniel seems interested in the ball, so you stand on the edge and let him follow it with his eyes. At one point, one of the guys throws it your way by accident and you’re able to stop it with your foot, without dropping Nathaniel.

There’s a chorus of whistles and one of the man approaches.

“Hey, you must be the cutest babysitter I’ve seen”

“I’m a guest of Clint and Laura” you say, ignoring his advances. “And you are a hazard to babies. Goodbye”

Wanda is following your every move from the kitchen, and she’s reluctant to admit that the image of you holding a baby so confidently is doing things to her.

“There are kids present” Laura teases and she laughs.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Can’t say that I blame you. She looks good with a baby”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know, we talked about it and she seemed to be indifferent to the idea. Or maybe it was because I tried to brush it off” Wanda sighs, cutting up more fruit. Truth is, she did wonder what it would be like, to have a partner that was with her every step of the way.

She loved her boys, but she had done everything on her own. Sometimes Pietro and her parents would help, but she didn’t have a spouse that would be her companion in every sense of the word.

“Well, I don’t think she’s completely convinced about it either” Laura points your way, and you’re making Nathaniel giggle with silly faces.

“Diaper change” you announce a moment later; walking to the living room. “I can do it”

“Thanks, you’re a sweetheart” Laura says, pointing at the diapers and wipes. Wanda takes a break from the cooking, to check if you need any help.

To her surprise, you’re changing the diaper expertly. In one swift motion, it’s all done and cleaned. Your girlfriend joins in, talking to Nathaniel while her hand runs up and down your back.

“We’re missing a player, wanna join us?” Clint calls from the door. Wanda takes Nathaniel from your arms, and you kiss her cheek.

When you walk to the field, the same man that spoke to you before approaches.

“Hey, we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Sam Wilson” you arch an eyebrow, staying silent. “Come on, can I at least get your name?”

“I’m Y/N”

“Ok, Y/N. Why don’t we make it interesting? If I score a goal, I can ask you something about yourself”

“Well, what do I get if I score?” you say, smiling.

“Whatever you want, gorgeous”

You look around the field, spotting Lila playing with some nail polish.

“Lila gets to do your nails”

“Alright. Let’s go”

It’s funny, how Sam and his team think they have to go easy on you. It takes them two goals to catch up and realise they’re not letting you win.

You’re making them lose big time.

Throwing some turns and dribbles, you make Sam lose his footing, jumping over him to kick the ball one last time and score another goal.

“That’s three versus zero, Sam” you pat his back.

“One last shot” he says. You roll your eyes, too tired to argue with him. This time, you run around with the ball but do a simple kick that he can intercept.

“Yes. Goal!” he stops mid dance to turn to you. “My question is, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope” you answer, smiling as you can see Wanda approaching you. She walks past Sam, jumping into your arms and putting her legs around your waist. She kisses you, groaning against your mouth when you bite her bottom lip.

“She does, however, have a girlfriend” Wanda says, getting down. “Food’s ready”

“I’m starving” you say, letting Wanda pull you to the table, leaving Sam behind, confused and exhausted.

—

It was a wonderful party. There was plenty of food, playing and cleaning to do. In the end, the twins wanted to stay over to play with the Barton children.

Laura said it would be no trouble, and you voluntereed to pick them all up the next day to go to the movies or anything else.

“Had the best time today” you say, stretching in Wanda’s bed. She stays silent for a second and you sit up. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, I’m just…” she interrupts her beauty routine to turn and look at you. “Would it be a mistake to tell you that maybe, I still want to have another baby?”

“Am I that irresistible holding a toddler?” you wiggle your eyebrows and Wanda let’s out a laugh, relieved that you’re not freaked out by what she just said. You stand up, kneeling in front of her. “I think having a little baby girl that looks like you would be the best thing ever. I also know having a kid involves a lot of changes and planning. But I can’t think of anyone better to do it with”

“So… why don’t we just leave that door open?” Wanda says, looking at her lap where your hands are clasped together. “For now”

“Yes, my love” you nod, kissing the tip of her nose. You’re about to stand up when she pulls you down by your shirt, this time in a rougher kiss.

“I got us something” she says, breathing heavily.

“Oh?”

“We don’t have to use it if you don’t want to”

“Now I really need to know what it is, Wanda” you say, the exhaustion of the past days leaving your body at the idea of having sex with your girlfriend.

“Get in bed and close your eyes”

You nod, excitedly waiting for her to reveal what she got. You hear her drawer open and close, and your heart beats faster.

“Ok” she says, and as you open your eyes you don’t notice anything different, until you look at her hand.

“Oh” you pick up the strap, arching an eyebrow.

“It’s a…”

“I know what it is” you say with a smile, checking that it is indeed hollow. Out of curiosity, you squeeze it and a stream of lube shoots out of the tip. “Shit. Sorry, love. I’ll last longer next time”

“You’re an idiot” she laughs, hiding her face in her hands.

“So, wanna try it?”

“I do, yeah… uh, it’s a fantasy of mine to feel you, as if, finishing inside. I mean, I know it’s just something different but… yeah” she turns red, looking between you and the strap.

“No need to feel ashamed, my darling. I like to be tied up, if you want us to share some kinks”

“That would be amazing” she says, a little out of breath. “But if we do all of that, I might not survive, so, just one thing at a time?”

“Of course” you smile, placing the strap on the nighstand. “Come here”

You let Wanda sit on your lap, and you begin to kiss her, taking your time and alternating between running your tongue down her lip and letting it explore the inside of her mouth.

“This toy is a bit bigger than what we’ve used before, so why don’t I… get you nice and ready, huh?” you whisper hotly, pulling her underwear to the side. Without waiting for an answer, you collect Wanda’s juices in your fingers, prodding at her entrance and stretching her. When you bring a finger to your mouth and suck, Wanda’s mouth opens, hypnotized by your movement. “Lie on your back and get that dress off. I wanna taste that pussy”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, and you watch with a smile as she discards the dress, waiting in her matching lace set.

“What a good girl” you purr, crawling until you’re close to her center. You kiss the inside of her thighs, and then pull down her panties, slick coating the fabric.

Wanda arches her back when she feels your mouth on her cunt, holding your head in place. You let her dig her nails in your scalp, moving against your face until you have her arousal on your chin and lips.

“Feeling ready to take my cock?” you say, standing up to take off your clothes. Wanda is so worked up that she barely listens to you, watching as you adjust the strap around your hips.

Before you can get back to bed, Wanda leans forward, licking the shaft.

“Fuck” you say, admiring how the cock disappears inside her mouth, and she looks so pleased licking it that you’re tempted to squeeze and have the lube run down her throat.

Maybe later, you decide when she breaks apart, gasping for air.

“I’m not waiting any longer to be buried inside you” you say, pushing her so she’s on her back again. “Ready?”

“Please, just fuck me already” she says, canting her hips up.

“So desperate. And all just so you can have my cum inside you, is that right?” you taunt, letting the tip in and watching for any sign of discomfort.

Wanda bites her lip and the way she looks at you makes your hips jerk, introducing more of the toy. The woman moans, her nails digging in your sides.

“That’s it” she sighs, while you move in and out, starting a slow and steady ryhtm. You lift her legs and put them over your shoulders, going deeper and hitting that perfect spot that makes her see stars.

“Harder, I want you to fuck me so hard”

“How hard, huh?” your hand goes to her neck and you squeeze. Wanda moans your name, enjoying the pressure. “Want me to come inside you?”

“Yes, please fill me up”

“So pretty when you beg” you mutter, pounding harder and letting the hand that was chocking her travel to her nipples. You pinch one and then the other, enjoying Wanda’s sensitivity.

As you change your angle, Wanda’s legs squeeze you, pulling you closer. You thrust harder, erratically, knowing you’re close and so is she.

“Wanna get you nice and full”

“Fuck, yes” Wanda cries out, biting the spot between your shoulder and neck. “I’m gonna…”

As soon as she says those words, your hand travels between your bodies, squeezing the strap on so it can shoot the load inside of her.

Wanda lets out a loud moan at the feeling, pulling you until you can’t hold yourself up, collapsing on top of her.

For a few minutes, all that can be heard is your heavy breathing. Once you come to your senses, you move to the side. While Wanda is still trying to recover, you look down, clenching at the mess between your bodies.

“Give me a second and we can…” Wanda says, coming back to her senses. You smile, kissing her softly.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere”

Once her breathing evens out, she scoots closer, hiding in your arms.

“Was it good? We appreciate honest feedback here”

Wanda laughs, kissing your neck.

“It was so good I think I might be pregnant”

“Well” you say, rolling so Wanda’s on top now. “That will be one beautiful baby”

—

This has been the best night of your life. You’re usually quiet when having sex, because you never have the house to yourselves. After that, you cuddle and call it a night.

Not this night, though. You had been at it for a couple of hours when you got hungry, so now you’re having a midnight snack, Wanda wearing your shirt and you in the usual tank top.

“Food’s almost ready” Wanda says.

"While we wait, let's..." you trail off, playing some music.

I used to love like a lovesick puppy Loving on anyone who'd throw me a bone I didn't care if they weren't good for me 'Cause it was better than being alone

“What are you doing?” Wanda asks with a smile when you reach out for her hand.

“Can I have this dance?”

“I’m a terrible dancer” she warns you, but you shrug your shoulders.

“You’re not wearing heels right now, so we’re safe. Come on, I’ll lead”

Without waiting for her reply, your hands go around her waist. Wanda puts her arms over your shoulders, letting you sway her to the music.

Now I've grown up to be a pretty cool person Loving myself and I know my worth I think I'm ready to find my person 'Cause I won't accept less than I deserve

“I’m not looking for a girlfriend, I’m looking for a wife” you sing, making Wanda laugh.

“Is this you proposing?”

“What? Nu-uh. When I do it, it’s gonna be awesome. And unexpected. But mostly awesome”

“When you propose? You thought about it”

“I’m here for the long run, baby”

Wanda smiles, leaning against your chest, while you keep rocking gently to the music.

“I love you”

“Love you too, Wanda”

Ooweeoowee My emergency contact Want a love like that No sweat 'cause I know you've got my back Ooweeoowee My emergency contact Want a love like that, want a love like that

A/N: Song is Emergency Contact by Corook. Please listen to all her music.

Last year I told you all to listen to Chappell Roan and none of you did and LOOK WHERE WE ARE NOW

[mintmatcha]

cw: death

Everything in your house is the same as it ever was. All of your dishes are stacked in the sink, your mail is piled on the hall, the floors need a good polish: Sero kicks off his shoes and quietly observes it all, soaking in the familiarity.

Because the second he sees you, things will no longer be normal.

The usual was thrown out the window months ago, when you strolled up to his apartment and announced you were dying.

"Terminal," you had said. "Less than a year, probably."

Neither one of you had cried in that moment. Nothing had been tangible yet. He thinks, maybe, he had even laughed at the thought. The idea of his longest friendship ending so abruptly, so early felt impossible.

Today, as Sero walks into your living room, it's real.

From your indent on the couch, it takes a moment for you to even process he's entered the room. You full body jump, scrambling to grab the television remote.

"Oh-" you throw a hand over your heart. "You can't scare me like that."

Sero cackles as he leans against the wall. A rerun of your least favorite show is playing. Turns out, even when your time is limited, you still like hate watching things.

"Did you think I was that fox again?" Sero asks and you gasp indignantly.

"Oh my--" You toss your hands up in the air with an insulted scoff. "I swear to god that actually happened. Cross my heart!"

The animation returns to your face when you laugh. It makes Sero's heart ache to see that you haven't faded, even as your body goes.

"I told you. I literally left my front door open to take out the trash and I turn around-" Sero's heard this story at least a fozen times, but he nods along like it's new. "That fox was in my doorway! Just looking at me like-"

Your eyes widen and bulge. It's a familiar lyrics good for impression, Sero thinks. He can picture it's red eyes boring into his.

"It just watched me and I watched it watching me. Then it turned around and calmly walked away, like it was no big deal." The spike of energy in your voice is fading. You settle back into the couch with a placid look, watching him with a passive interest.

Sero strolls over and joins you on the couch. You move your legs to give him room, but he pulls them back over his lap.

"You're so full of shit," he says. "I've lived in this city my whole life and I've never seen a fox."

The smile on your face splits wider. The two of you sit with it for a long while, watching the subtitles on the television flip by. Sero keeps his hands on your ankles, squeezing them as if it's a shape he needs to remember.

What are the things he should be holding on to now? Should he be having grand conversation with you, something kind of final, impossible talk that's going to make the inevitable easier?

"When I die-" you say suddenly. "I'm coming back as a fox and I'm going to sneak into your house."

"Really?" Sero asks. He's no longer playful, just genuine. "You're gonna be a fox?"

You shrug with one shoulder, never looking away from the screen. It's getting close, he thinks. There's nothing he can truly pinpoint, but there's something about you that's slipping away.

"Yeah, why not?" you muse. "There are worse lives."

"Okay." He squeezes your ankles again. "I'll keep an eye out for you."

Sero considers saying that he loves you, or that he can't imagine the world without you, or that the grief he's already carrying feels so ridiculous because you're still here, still in reach but all of it feels unfair to say. Instead, he holds it in until the corners of his eyes burn and his breathing hiccups.

"Or maybe an oarfish," you say. "That'd be sick."

Sero palms away his tears. "You just wanna play Animal Crossing."

"Busted." You crack a smile. "Can you grab another carton of ice cream for me? The last one melted."

Yesterday's container is half full and completely melted, sitting on your coffee table, but Sero gets up anyway. He tosses you your switch, then strolls to the kitchen.

"You can't just eat garbage, you know," he calls back. "It'll kill you."

Your guffaw rings throughout the whole apartment. "I'll eat garbage all I want."

.

It's three weeks later when he passes your place again. A big, red sign is in the window declaring it's for sale. Your parents had placed your furniture on the curb and the neighbors had already claimed all of the pieces, including your misshapen couch. Sero knows there is no piece of you in any of those items, but it feels cathartic, like spreading your ashes across the street.

There's one trash bag on the curb, filled with things your family didn't want. He wonders if you threw out your vibrator before you died, or if it's in that black bag, fully charged, never to be used again. An animal is picking at the plastic, rustling at the plastic.

"Pst," Sero calls out to scare it away. "Scat-"

A head peeks up and he catches red eyes, wide and bulged, boring into his. A fox, with bits of garbage stuck to its muzzle. It regards him for a long while, watching him watching it.

"Hey," he says. "You're supposed to be at my apartment, not yours."

The animal doesn't blink.

"I'll-" A wave of sorrow hits all at once. Every tear he didn't shed, every joke he didn't tell or story he didn't share, every little moment that'll never happen. It hits like a train, right into his forehead. It's the calm kind of cry, the one without gasps or sobs, but an abnormal amount of tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I'll keep the door open for you, okay?" he whispers. "Just visit soon."

The fox turns and lopes off into the dusk.

[angelx]

Get Even - Chapter 2

word count: 1.9K

cw: frat prez!katsuki bakugou x fem art student!reader. manipulation, emotional tension, morally gray behavior, and a non-verbal kiss initiated without explicit consent (though not portrayed as assault), slow-burn, psychological conflict, blurred intentions, suggestive physical intimacy.

The days following the Sigma Vex party crawled by slower than usual, each one folding into the next like pages in a sketchbook, waiting to be filled.

For most people, the party was just a wild night to forget or brag about. But for Katsuki Bakugou? It was a spark—an itch he couldn’t ignore. The sting of rejection from a quiet girl who’d barely said two words to him gnawed at his pride like acid.

And he never let things go unanswered.

So, over the next week, Katsuki transformed into something new: an observer, a silent shadow trailing just out of sight. Not the creepy kind—at least not yet—but a calculated watcher who memorized the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you concentrated, how you carried your sketchbook like a secret treasure, and the faint limp in your step when you thought no one was looking.

You didn’t expect to see him again. Not after you ditched the party like your social anxiety was on fire. Not after you’d basically sprinted out of that frat house like the ghost of hookup culture was chasing you. But there he was—Katsuki Bakugou—shoulders broad, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, standing like he had every right to be outside the art building on a Wednesday afternoon.

You squinted at him.

“Lost?” you asked, not trying to hide the suspicion in your tone.

He scoffed. “Tch. Just lookin’ for someone.”

You arched a brow. “In the fine arts department?”

“Maybe.” A smirk tugged at his lips like he knew something you didn’t.

Of course, he did.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that for the past week, Katsuki had been running silent recon like your life was a mission in a video game. He had questions. Who the hell were you? What made you so bold, so different, so mysterious, so... off-limits? You didn’t care about his title, didn’t laugh at his jokes to gain clout, didn’t try to sleep with him for status. You were just you. Sharp-tongued, quiet, weird little art girl who left a party without giving him a second glance.

And that? That shit was a problem. Because he needed to win. And winning meant playing the long game.

“You like coffee?” he asked casually, jerking his chin toward the small cluster of indie cafés that framed the edge of campus.

You shook your head. “Can’t. Stomach’s weird.”

He already knew that, but his eyes lit up like it was brand-new information.

“Huh. What about matcha?”

You blinked. “Only if it’s oat milk.”

“No shit?” he drawled, like it was a happy accident. “That’s what I get, too.” (Lie.)

But you went along with it, even though something buzzed low in your gut like an alarm bell. It wasn’t like Katsuki Bakugou to go out of his way for someone like you. He was loud, popular, the fucking frat president. You were quiet, constantly covered in graphite dust, and allergic to social norms. Your idea of a good night was crying over a sketchpad and watching emotionally devastating anime.

Still... you walked with him. Let him buy you that overpriced matcha from the hipster café that spelled your name wrong but got the drink right.

And then he kept showing up. Every week. Like clockwork.

After your Thursday figure drawing class, he’d be leaning against a lamp post outside. Casual. Like he hadn’t timed your exit down to the minute. Some days he brought pastries. Other times he offered to drive you to your studio, always playing it cool like he was “just passing by.” You weren’t stupid—far from it—but you were curious. And when he looked at you like that, all intense and unreadable and interested, it got harder and harder to push him away. He made you laugh, sometimes. Which pissed you off.

He let you rant about your professors and how one of them said your installation piece was “visually aggressive.” He listened. Actually listened. And when you mentioned that your favorite café had just sold out of their pistachio croissants again, he showed up the next day with two in a bag and a smug little tilt to his mouth.

“What’s the catch?” you asked him one afternoon, sipping from your lukewarm matcha while his stupidly expensive car idled in the parking lot.

He looked at you sidelong. “What d’you mean?”

“You’re nice all of a sudden. Buying me drinks. Driving me places. Listening to my tangents about gender in postmodern sculpture. You’re not trying to get back at me for leaving your party early or something, right?”

His jaw flexed. Just slightly. Just enough.

“No,” he said, voice low. “I’m not.” (Another lie.)

You wanted to believe him. Wanted to ignore the tug in your chest that screamed too good to be true. But he was persistent, damn it. Not pushy—never that—but steady. Present. There. Like he’d decided that if he was going to get under your skin, he was going to earn it. And goddamn it, it was working.

One day, when you were standing outside your studio, keys in one hand and half-eaten croissant in the other, he leaned against the hood of his car and said:

“Y’know, I kinda like you.”

You almost dropped the pastry.

“What?”

“You’re not like the other people I usually hang with.”

“That’s... because I don’t hang with people.”

He chuckled, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Exactly.”

Your stomach flipped. It shouldn’t have. You didn’t know it then, but every moment—every matcha, every ride, every sarcastic comment exchanged between stolen glances—was part of something bigger. A game he wasn’t supposed to lose.

And you? You were the last person who’d ever let yourself be played. But even black sheep get lonely sometimes.

Even you.

Time passed, like paint drying over a canvas you hadn’t realized was already finished.

What started as something strategic—manipulated, observed, handled like a well-planned heist—shifted. Slowly. Almost imperceptibly. Until it wasn’t just about winning anymore.

You and Katsuki Bakugou… became friends. Somehow.

The kind of friends who shared playlists and critiques on other people’s coffee orders. Who texted during class, sent stupid memes at 3AM, and argued over whether matcha was actually good or just Stockholm syndrome in a cup.

And the weirdest part? It didn’t feel fake.

It wasn’t just that he showed up. It was that he remembered things you didn’t even mean to tell him. The way you hated silence in the car, so he started making you custom mixes. The way your fingers always fidgeted with your necklace chain when you were nervous, so he held your hand during your art presentation critique without saying a word. The way you hated when people stood too close while you painted, so he gave you space—but never too much.

And every time you smiled at him, tilted your head, laughed behind your sleeve like you were trying not to show it—his stomach did that thing. (A/N: mf that's tapeworm.)

A flip. A twist. A fucking somersault.

It annoyed the hell out of him. Because what the fuck was that? It wasn’t love. Couldn’t be. Right?

Love was messy. Uncontrollable. Weak. He didn’t do love. He did plans. He did control. He did bets.

But you weren’t playing by his rules anymore. And somewhere between the gallery visits and the long drives where you talked about everything and nothing, the line blurred. The script flipped. He was supposed to reel you in, collect his win, and be done.

But then you looked at him one day, cheeks flushed from the gallery lights, eyes wide and honest and soft in a way he wasn’t built to handle—and he couldn’t shut up.

“I think I’m fucked.”

You blinked, tilting your head like you didn’t hear him right. “What?”

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. The air between you smelled like rain and gallery antiseptic. His jaw clenched like he wanted to punch himself.

“I don’t know what this is,” he muttered. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Silence. You stared at him. Your throat went dry.

“But then you kept… being you.” His voice dropped. “Kept laughing and looking at me like I’m someone worth knowing. And now? I’m not even sure if I’m in control of this anymore.”

“Is this a confession?” you asked quietly.

He winced. “I think it is. But—hell, I don’t even know if it’s love. Probably not. It’s something. It’s... something that’s wrecking all my plans.”

You didn’t speak right away. The cars outside kept passing, blurring into streaks of color behind the gallery windows. When you finally looked up at him, your voice was low. Honest. Maybe a little scared. “Then what now?”

And for the first time since the bet began, Katsuki didn’t have an answer. You waited. Maybe for him to backtrack. To turn it into a joke. To call you stupid for believing anything he said.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked at you like he hated this—hated that you made him feel anything at all. And then, like the last of his self-control finally snapped, he reached forward—and kissed you. No warning. No permission. Just pure need.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Wild and hungry and bruising, like he’d been holding it in for weeks and couldn’t stand another second of pretending. His hands tangled in your coat, fists clenching fabric like you might disappear if he didn’t hold on hard enough. Your back hit the brick wall of the gallery entrance, breath catching in your throat, and still—still—he didn’t stop.

Because it wasn’t just a kiss. It was an admission.

A quiet, furious surrender.

You kissed him back. You don’t even remember deciding to—but your hands were in his hair and your mouth was on his and the world went mute around you.

Time hiccupped. And when he finally pulled away—barely, just enough to speak—his voice cracked around the edges.

“Sorry... I didn't mean to-”

You stared up at him. Lips swollen, thoughts scattered like charcoal dust on the floor.

“It's okay,” you whispered.

And neither of you knew what came next. But for the first time, it wasn’t about games anymore.

Katsuki’s eyes searched yours like he was still catching up to what he’d just done—like part of him couldn’t believe it either. Then he spoke, voice lower now. Rougher.

“You wanna come home with me?”

You didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t. Your chest was still tight, skin still buzzing from the kiss. But you nodded—slow, deliberate—and he exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for hours.

The car ride was quiet. Not the awkward kind. Not really. He didn’t put on music. Didn’t talk. Just drove with one hand on the wheel and the other… slipping into yours.

You glanced down at the contact—his fingers wrapped around yours, thumb tracing slow circles across your knuckles like he couldn’t help it. Like he needed to touch you just to stay grounded.

And then, that same hand moved—casual at first, then deliberate—his palm grazing your thigh.

You tensed. Not in fear. In anticipation.

His eyes flicked toward you, then back to the road. No smirk. No cocky comment. Just quiet, thick tension filling every inch of space between you.

By the time he parked, your heartbeat was knocking against your ribs like it was trying to escape. The door shut with a soft click.

You followed him up to his apartment. No words exchanged. Just breaths. Just glances.

And when the door closed behind you—when you were standing in his entryway, shoes still on, jacket half-zipped—you turned to look at him.

Katsuki Bakugou.

The boy who was supposed to play you.

The boy who kissed you like he meant every second of it.

He didn’t move. Not yet. But his eyes were on you like he was waiting for a sign—anything to tell him he hadn’t just completely undone himself for nothing.

You took a step closer. And neither of you said a word.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

PART 3 IS OUT NOW: Get Even - Chapter 3

Check the full series here: Get Even - MHA AU SERIES

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST

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Don't forget to reblog this yall i love you guys so much ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎°｡⋆♡‧₊˚

[rae-writes]

⊹ Candles [reversed] ⊹

since it's my birthday, I wanted to do a little special self-indulgence, so here's this! || 2.k || written with poly!Mc in mind + our son Luke

4 am 

Early in the morning, before the faux light has even spread across the Devildom, Mammon is in your bed. He’s pushed his way through your door, half asleep himself, stumbled over and climbed underneath your covers (that he swears are softer than his), and has pulled you into his arms. 

Every year, he insists on being the first person to wish you a Happy Birthday, and if not that, then the first who gets to tell you in person— so he's found that coming to your room before the day even begins gets him his title of ‘first’ and gives him alone time with you.

It’s much too early to be awake right now, so he’s content with falling back to sleep with you. His body is in complete contact with yours and he sleepily swears not to let go because he loves you too much. 

5 am 

An hour later, or maybe even less than, Asmo comes to sneak you from his brother’s grasp, gently hauling your barely conscious frame to his room. He wants you to keep getting as much beauty sleep as you can, but he still wants to start getting you ready for your big day! 

Of course, Azzy’s been planning this for weeks, so he has everything prepared and laid out. His alone time with you consists of him lowering you into the steaming bath and massaging you well, scrubbing your hair and body until you’re squeaky clean and practically shining, before toweling you off and dressing you in the clothes he’d set aside. 

Your skin care is done and your hair is fixed flawlessly, nails cut, filed, and painted; everything is all done up by the man himself and he tops it all off with excited kisses and pictures now that you’re [mostly] awake. 

6 am 

After you’re ready for the day, Lucifer takes over and hides you away in his study, selfishly holding you on his lap as you both drink coffee to get properly started. The drink is as bitter as ever, lips glossy with the remnants of it as you both chat quietly. 

He’s your soft start to the day, the calm before the lovable chaos, and the first born makes sure to whisper sweet words alongside the comforting crackle of the fireplace. His hour of alone time is lazy and physical, because he can’t go more than a few seconds without running his gloved hands over you. 

If anything, he’s unwilling to let you go, but Lucifer knows it would throw a wrench into the day’s layout and cause more fuss than necessary— plus, he has some things to do before tonight, so he’ll let you go with a slow kiss.

7 am

You’re handed over into Beelzebub’s capable hands, ensured to be served with a filling breakfast. He’s more than excited to show you what he, personally, cooked for you (even if there are just a few bites out of some of it). His cheeks are stuffed and a cute little smile is spread across his cheeks as he points to all the things on your plate. 

When  your plate is spotless, and your tummy is full but not too full, Beel guides you on a small little walk around the house corridors to make sure you digest properly. He’s still eating, of course, but his pleased hums are filling the air comfortably, making for a nice atmosphere. 

Your little walk ends at the entrance hall, where he bids you goodbye with a cozy little hug, and a promise that you’ll love every second of your special day.

8 am

With a hand at the small of your back, Satan leads you out of the house and straight to a bookstore, wanting to keep a slow start to the long day. With it having just opened, only the two of you and a few others are inside, giving plenty of room to stroll and browse (and goof around). 

He points out things you’ve had your eye on, new editions that weren’t there the previous visit, or special copies that were for limited time. The fourth born wants at least two books in your hand and a little collectible maybe- or a bookmark. Can’t have too many.

Once he’s spoiled you a little, and after you’ve both pet the local cats outside, he’s reluctantly handing you over with a lingering kiss to your hand, and a promise to read one of your books together soon.

9 am

Levi took his place, fingers lacing with yours, as he raved about a nearby anime store, gushing over the items he saw online that reminded him of you. By the time you get there, you know every section that’s going to be inside, yet it’s still exciting as you get pulled in. 

You both get lost in the cool merch, having to wave your hands over the stands or jump in place to find each other occasionally, but end up staying side by side for the most part, whisper-shouting with big smiles. 

Leaving the store, there is a pretty good sized bag on your and his arm, but he couldn’t be more thrilled about the lightness of his wallet since he got to spend money on you. He takes your bag, and your previous bag, in a promise to tuck them safely in your room, before giving you a location.

10 am 

Waiting for you outside of a small little amusement park is Diavolo, who is positively beaming in anticipation. He’s already got two colorful wristbands in hand, which he latches around your wrist, and lets you do the same to him, before heading inside. 

There are rides of all kinds and he lets you choose each one of them, pointing out ones he thinks you’ll like as you pass. You play a few booth games, getting a pretty flame salamander plushie as a prize, or totally failing and having a good laugh. 

His only request is the photo booth, which you both do two different times, to get a silly border and a normal border. He pouts a little as he walks you out, assuring you’d see him later, before leading you a few blocks back into the townsquare. 

11 am

For lunch, Simeon takes you off the paths and to a somewhat secluded gazebo, where a sweet little picnic was spread out; celestial realm dishes were rationed onto baby blue plates, two shiny cups on either side, with polished silverware. 

The breeze is just right as the two of you eat, chatting and sitting closer than usual. Butterflies go by, and your eyes follow, as you both take turns pointing out different kinds you see and what flowers they seem to like better. 

You take your time neatly packing everything up, fingers brushing and shoulders bumping, before he parts with a, dare you say it, angelic kiss to your forehead.

12 pm

Luke, naturally, is in charge of dessert, promising a light, yet satisfying, treat as he leads you down the sidewalk and into a cute looking bakery. He wants you to save room for the many things that were cooked and baked for your party, so he gets a little pile of oreo balls and other small things like that. 

He holds nothing back as he tells you how happy he is to be spending your birthday with you, how he’s so very glad he met you, and anything else along those lines. He has to get them all out now, just in case he doesn’t get the chance to later! 

The sweet angel is nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he leads you to your next location, waving excitedly as he promises to help make your party one of a kind.

1 pm

You’re actually given to Raphael next, who’s standing outside of a library with that barely perceptible smile on his face. He explains that he wanted somewhere quiet and cozy to wind down with you, suggesting that you shouldn’t do too much before the big celebration. 

The very back corner of the library becomes yours for now, complete with a pretty view of swaying trees. The archangel almost shyly asks if you’d sit closer, loosely holding your hand as he begins reading to you. 

He stalls a bit at the end, toying with your fingers, before telling you that he’ll see you later…but he’d like to do this again, sometime, okay?

2 pm

Hocus Pocus becomes your next destination, Solomon wasting no time in wrapping an arm around you as you browse the store. It’s slow and unhurried and drawn out as he talks about certain items, explaining a few origins, and listens to how your day’s been so far. 

He dabbles a bit in glittery, washable, body paint, joyously painting random shapes onto your skin (even rolling his sleeves up so you could return the  favor). The sorcerer makes it a point to paint his name along your wrist, taking a picture of it, before helping you wash it all off. 

With a quick spell, he takes away any aching your feet might have, or any sort of headache, teasingly kissing at your jaw, before wagging his fingers as he teleports you somewhere new. 

3 pm

A familiar shade of gold greets you as you're sent sprawling out onto the Castle’s floors. Barbatos chuckles and chides Solomon’s delivery as he helps you up, dusting you off gently. He makes sure you’re alright, boldly carrying you anyway, regardless of your answer.

A soothing, palate cleansing, tea spread is set out on the table as he settles you into the chair, pouring it as delicately as ever, before joining you. Instead of adjacent, he sits beside you, eagerly listening to anything you have to say. 

He may or may not cheat time, prolonging his alone time with you just a little, unwilling to let you go now that you both finally have a minute together. He does have much to get done still, however, and with a [deep] kiss, he politely escorts you through one of his portals. 

4 pm

In the heart of the forest, amongst a wave of flowers, lies Belphie. He’s not asleep, but it’s clear he’s just woken up, as he gestures for you to come lay down, offering a peaceful break. 

Instead of star gazing like usual, he settles for cloud gazing, lazily pointing up and whispering descriptions here and there. It’s serene and quiet and, in his opinion, the perfect way to kill time. 

While he doesn’t want to get up, he does at least hug you and nuzzle close in a send off, watching you go, before flopping back down.

5 pm

Mephisto is more than ready, and honored, to be the one escorting you to your big birthday bash. He takes you on the long path through the forest, deciding that if the others got time alone, surely he could have his own slot, too. 

He keeps close, talking about daily matters, continuing to take small detours as you both make your way through the Devildom. His eyes don’t leave your face much at all as he basks in the moment. 

With a grand, flourishing gesture, he officially announces your arrival, and presents you to your birthday party!

6 pm

Confetti, balloons, changing led lights, and glitter are everywhere. There’s a long table with many presents littering the surface, and another one next to it with small party snacks and desserts. Music plays faint in the background, not really needed over the fun and chaos that comes from the party games picked out, or from the karaoke. 

When the time comes, a cake as astonishing as the previous ones is brought out and magically lit up prettily. Voices harmonize as they all sing you happy birthday , none being able to fight the smile on their faces, but…you couldn’t either. 

And as you circled around the cake, blowing out each of your candles, you wished for what you did every year since coming here: to always be able to stay with your boys. 

With cake and presents over, it delves into more chaos as they all argue over a) who you’re going home with tonight (and that it would be no fair if Mephisto took you, since he’d have you alone), and b) if you went home with a group, who’s room you would be staying in (Solomon taunted Mammon so much, you swore he’d blow a gasket). 

Oh, yeah. You loved them to death.

[aventurineswife]

Hmmm in the mood for something platonic. Can we get Jing Yuan with a young Reader who works for the Ten-Lords Commission as a Wraith Warden? Reader usually works night security and so typically leaves the house in the evening and comes back int he morning; but because of the whole fiasco with the borisin, the Preceptors and Sanctus Medicus, Reader ended up working overtime to catch any stragglers even after the Wardance ended. And one weekend morning, Jing Yuan wakes up to find Reader totally asleep on the living room couch instead of in their room, recently showered (evident by slightly wet hair) and dressed in warm pajamas. Their empty teacup on the coffee table is cold, their phone’s battery is down to 17 percent, and there’s a note from Hanya asking to make sure Reader drinks some water and has a snack when they wake up.

They’re also kind of drooling in their sleep. 😆

A Quiet Morning

Summary: After working overtime to track down remnants of the Borisin and Sanctus Medicus, you finally return home exhausted, barely making it to the couch before falling asleep. When Jing Yuan wakes up and finds you in such a state—hair still damp from your shower, phone nearly dead, and a note from Hanya reminding him to take care of you—he ensures you get the rest you deserve.

Tags: Jing Yuan & Reader, Platonic Relationship, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Mission Exhaustion, Domestic Fluff, Overworked but Stubborn Reader, Jing Yuan Being a Dad Friend, Soft Moments.

Warnings: Mentions of overwork/exhaustion, Implied past combat/stress (no graphic details), Jing Yuan being lowkey parental (I love dad Jing Yuan 🙏).

Jing Yuan was used to waking up at his own pace—slowly, luxuriously, without urgency. It was a habit befitting his reputation as the "Dozing General." But this morning, something was different. The stillness of the house felt... occupied.

He pulled on his outer robes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stepped into the living room. And there, sprawled across the couch, was you.

Your head was half-buried in a pillow, cheek squished against the fabric, mouth slightly parted—just enough to allow a small trail of drool to escape. Your breathing was steady, deep, completely undisturbed. His gaze flickered to the coffee table beside you, where an empty teacup sat untouched for hours. A note, neatly written in Hanya’s hand, sat beside it.

'Make sure they drink water and eat something when they wake up.'

Jing Yuan sighed, running a hand through his unbound hair. Of course. The Borisin fiasco had stretched past the Wardance, and you—being stubborn, meticulous, and far too dedicated to your job—had pushed yourself to the limit again.

He crouched beside you, studying the way your hair, still slightly damp from your shower, clung to your forehead. You’d been so exhausted that you hadn’t even made it to your room. Instead, you’d collapsed here, in the warmest part of the house, as if the very act of making it to bed was too much effort.

Jing Yuan exhaled through his nose.

He left for a moment, returning with a soft blanket which he carefully draped over you, mindful not to wake you. His fingers briefly brushed your wrist, noting the way your pulse beat steadily beneath his touch. Tired, but not feverish. That was a relief.

Then, he turned his attention to your nearly-dead phone. Seventeen percent battery. He shook his head, retrieving a charger and plugging it in before placing it carefully beside you.

Only once he was satisfied did he pour a fresh cup of tea and set it near the first, its steam curling in the morning light. Then, he settled into a chair, watching the slow rise and fall of your shoulders.

You’d wake eventually—probably grumbling, groggy, and annoyed that you’d been caught like this. But for now, he let you rest. After all, foresight wasn’t just about strategy and battle. Sometimes, it was knowing when someone needed a quiet morning, uninterrupted.

[badathumanemotions]

Hi! How are you? If you're taking requests, I have one: Emily Prentiss × female! Oc. It's a dirty request, where I want Emily Prentiss to be submissive and the female! Oc/SN to be dominant. A context behind it, so it's not just sex, is after the "Honor Among Thieves" case, from the second season, more specifically after a dinner between the two with Elizabeth Prentiss (Emily's mother) that managed to push the female! Oc/SN to the limit. That's it, thank you :)

The Weight of Expectations

Emily Prentiss x Reader MDNI Masterlist CW: Angst With a Happy Ending, Smut, Sub Emily, Dom Reader, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Tribbing/ Scissoring, SubSpace, Love Bites, Aftercare. WC: 12,503

(Not Proof Read)

The house was as immaculate as you had expected, but somehow more sterile than you had imagined. Not cold exactly, but curated in a way that made the warmth feel artificial. The expensive fixtures gleamed, the lighting was soft and carefully arranged, and every piece of furniture looked like it had been placed by a designer rather than lived with. Nothing here felt touched.

You noticed the way Emily paused just inside the doorway, like stepping into this space required her to become someone she had worked hard to leave behind. Her hand found yours for a brief moment, her grip firm before she let go to slip out of her coat, her expression already composed.

Elizabeth greeted you both with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, air-kissing Emily’s cheek before offering you a polite nod. She was perfectly dressed, perfectly poised, and already perfectly condescending without saying a word. Her tone was smooth and measured as she led you into the dining room, offering a compliment on your outfit that sounded more like a subtle appraisal.

The moment you stepped inside, Elizabeth announced that dinner was just being served, her tone brisk like she had timed it perfectly on purpose. There was no chance to settle in, no invitation to get comfortable. Coats were taken, pleasantries were thin, and within minutes you were seated at the long, gleaming dining table.

The table was set like something out of a lifestyle magazine, all gleaming silver and delicate crystal, arranged with such precision it felt like a performance. You had always known Emily grew up in an affluent, high-society world, but seeing her placed back inside it felt strange. It made the version of her you knew, with her feet on the coffee table, hair tied back, laughing with a beer in hand, feel even more like the real one.

The food was plated with delicate precision, the kind of meal that looked more like it should be in an art exhibit than in front of someone planning to eat it. Emily sat across from you, already holding her wine glass, her posture stiff and practiced. She hadn't said much yet, and neither had Elizabeth, but something in the quiet tension between them was already pressing in. Like a storm waiting for the right comment to crack the sky open.

Elizabeth settled at the head of the table as if it were a throne. She commented on how nice it was to finally meet you, then added that Emily had taken her time bringing someone home.

“You know, Emily,” Elizabeth said lightly, as if commenting on the weather, “I still don’t understand why you didn’t pursue something more… sustainable.”

Emily didn’t look up. “Define sustainable.”

“Something with long-term vision,” Elizabeth continued, resting her fork on the edge of her plate. “Something that builds toward something greater. The Bureau is fine for now, I suppose, but don’t you ever think about the future?”

You glanced toward Emily, watching her expression flatten just a little more. She drank again, deeper this time, before placing her glass down too carefully.

“She is thinking about the future,” you said, tone calm. “She’s doing something that matters.”

Elizabeth gave a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course. I didn’t mean to belittle what she’s doing. I just worry sometimes. There’s no real longevity in chasing serial killers.”

Emily’s fork hit her plate a little harder than necessary.

Elizabeth’s tone didn’t change. “But I had always hoped for more stability. Prestige. And I did try to give you every advantage. Boarding schools, language programs, summer internships with real potential. I thought I was opening doors, not watching you walk right past them.”

Emily set her wine glass down with deliberate care.

“You did open doors,” she said, voice clipped. “I just didn’t want what was behind them.”

Elizabeth turned her attention back to her plate, cutting another precise bite, then dabbing her mouth with her napkin.

You held your fork a little too tightly, trying not to react. It wasn’t your place, not here. Not now. Emily hadn’t asked you to bite your tongue, but you could feel the ask in the set of her shoulders, in the calm she was forcing herself to wear like armour. So you stayed silent, even as the urge to defend her curled hot in your chest.

Elizabeth went on. “You know, I still get asked about you. People wonder what you’ve been doing with yourself. They remember your potential. That time you spoke at the youth diplomacy summit, people were certain you’d end up in Geneva or Strasbourg, maybe even the UN.”

Emily gave a dry smile, no amusement in it. “I guess I disappointed a lot of people.”

Her mother didn’t deny it. “Well. There’s still time.”

Emily reached for her wine again, the movement slow, measured. She didn’t drink this time. Just held the glass.

Elizabeth looked at her daughter as though she were something to be gently corrected, not understood. “You were meant for more than this.”

Emily’s voice was quiet. “Maybe this is more.”

Elizabeth didn’t speak, but her silence echoed louder than any dismissal.

Elizabeth lifted her wine glass again, studying the colour with polite interest, then took a slow sip. She hadn't touched most of her food, but that didn’t seem to matter. The meal was theatre, not sustenance. A stage, like the furniture and the lighting and the immaculate arrangement of the table.

“You were always too quick to run from discomfort,” she said after a moment, her gaze still directed at Emily. “Never liked criticism. You’ve always called it pressure, but that’s such a dramatic word, don’t you think? I gave you opportunity. Structure. The kind of environment where excellence could flourish.”

Across the table, Emily sat with her fingers loosely curled around the stem of her glass. She wasn’t drinking anymore. Just holding it, like a weight she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to put down or throw. Her expression hadn’t changed, not really, but there was something brittle in it now. A crack under the surface.

Elizabeth set her glass down. “Other children would have been grateful. Most parents don’t know how to navigate diplomatic circles or secure elite internships for their daughters before they’re even out of school.”

You didn’t speak. You could feel the way Emily had gone still across from you, the silence she was holding like a shield. It wasn’t your place to break it, not yet.

“I gave you everything,” Elizabeth continued, as if speaking to herself, though her voice was deliberately pitched to carry. “And somehow you always managed to choose exactly the wrong thing.”

Emily’s voice came then, low and careful. “Wrong by your standards.”

Elizabeth’s expression didn’t shift. “My standards aren’t arbitrary, Emily. They’re based on results. On outcomes. And I’m sorry, but I fail to see how sprinting after violent men across the country for barely passable federal pay qualifies as a sound return on investment.”

“Then stop thinking of me as one,” Emily said, her voice sharp now, the words precise.

Elizabeth blinked once, slowly. “You’re being emotional.”

“I wonder why,” Emily said flatly.

There was another silence. One of many that had stretched across the table since the night began. But this one was heavier. Elizabeth’s knife moved against her plate with soft precision, rearranging rather than eating. She brought her napkin to her lips, dabbed once, then folded it again in her lap.

“You always had an eye for chaos,” she said lightly. “Even as a girl. You were drawn to it. You liked mess, like it proved something. Even your friends. There was always someone troubled. Someone in need of saving. I assumed you would grow out of it eventually.”

Emily didn’t move. She didn’t speak.

Elizabeth looked across the table at her daughter, then at you. “But now you’ve built a life around it. You must be tired. All that travel. All that emotional residue. It’s a job that ages you quickly.”

Emily’s jaw tightened. Her hand flexed around the glass.

“I mean, really,” Elizabeth went on, tone smooth and unbothered. “You’re not getting any younger. These are the years where you should be consolidating, not chasing. Do you even think about what comes next?”

“Constantly,” Emily replied, clipped and firm.

“Then perhaps it’s time to make some adjustments,” Elizabeth said, sitting straighter. “I don’t mean to imply that you’ve wasted your time. But you haven’t exactly positioned yourself well. No lasting relationship, no children, a job that doesn’t translate into anything beyond fieldwork…”

Her glance toward you was brief. Not cruel, just clinical. Observing rather than attacking.

You saw the way Emily’s throat moved as she swallowed hard, still not drinking from the glass she held.

“I have a partner,” she said, so quietly it almost didn’t register as defiant.

Elizabeth gave a faint smile, too polished to be kind. “For now.”

Her tone carried the kind of passive dismissal that didn’t require correction. The implication was clear. You weren’t real. Not in the terms Elizabeth had defined as acceptable.

Emily’s chair shifted suddenly, the legs scraping against the floor with a sound too loud in the curated quiet of the room. She stood, pushing the wine glass away as she did. She hadn’t touched her plate. Her posture was sharp, upright, too rigid to be calm.

“I’m not doing this.”

“Emily,” Elizabeth said, feigning surprise, “honestly, this is—”

“A waste of time,” Emily cut in, voice low but clear. “I came here trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. I thought maybe, if I just played along for one night, it would be different. But it’s not. You haven’t changed. You’ll never see anything I do as enough, and I’m tired of trying to make you proud when you’re not capable of being proud of anyone who doesn’t live by your rulebook.”

She moved toward the doorway without looking back.

Elizabeth gave a soft, incredulous laugh. “My god, Emily. Do you ever stop performing? You could at least have the decency to sit through dinner like an adult.”

Emily didn’t respond. The doorframe swallowed her, heels hitting the polished floor with measured, furious steps until they faded into the hall.

Elizabeth turned to you with a cool sort of exhale, shaking her head like this was all some exhausting display. “She’s always had a flair for scenes. One little comment and the whole evening unravels.”

You didn’t stand right away. You met her gaze across the flickering candle light and spoke in a voice that was quiet but crisp. “It wasn’t one little comment. It was a series of calculated insults, framed as concern, dressed up just enough to maintain plausible deniability. But I imagine you’re used to doing that.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her expression stayed composed. “Excuse me?”

You stood then, slow and unhurried, pushing your chair back with less care than Emily had. “You didn’t want dinner. You wanted confirmation that she still orbits your approval. And when she didn’t, you did what you always do. You punished her for it.”

Elizabeth stared at you, still holding her wine glass. “That’s an unfair interpretation.”

“No,” you said simply. "It's the truth, you've just always counted on others being too polite to point out."

Elizabeth didn’t respond, but the flicker in her eyes said she heard it for exactly what it was.

You stood there a moment longer, the stillness sharpening around you like glass. Every instinct screamed to tear into her, to say everything Emily never got to. But you held it, kept it coiled tight in your chest where it burned clean and cold.

“She’s extraordinary,” you said, each word precise. “Brilliant. Stronger than you’ll ever give her credit for.”

Then, after a breath, quieter, darker:

“And if you can’t see that, that’s not her failure. It’s yours.”

You didn’t wait for her to answer. You just turned and walked out, not bothering to shut the door gently behind you. Letting the silence speak for everything you didn’t say.

The car was dark except for the soft glow of the dashboard, and Emily hadn’t said a word since pulling out of the driveway. Her grip on the wheel hadn’t loosened, her posture too straight, like she hadn’t let herself exhale yet. You didn’t try to fill the silence. You could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw kept tightening and loosening, how her eyes stayed fixed ahead but weren’t really focused on the road. She was somewhere else entirely, playing every second of the evening back through a filter of self-doubt and barely buried resentment. You knew she was tearing herself apart from the inside, turning her mother’s words over again and again, wondering if she should’ve said more or less or nothing at all. But you also knew she didn’t want to talk. Not yet. She just wanted to drive, to put space between herself and that house, and maybe to sit with someone who wouldn’t ask her to explain why. So you sat there beside her, quiet, solid, and close, letting the silence do what it needed to.

Emily dropped her keys into the bowl by the door like they weighed more than they should. She didn't say anything, just moved through the space like someone performing muscle memory. Shoes off, coat hung, lights flicked on with fingers that trembled just slightly before steadying. She didn’t look at you once. Not because she was upset with you. Just the opposite. She was trying too hard not to fall apart.

She moved to the kitchen, opened a cabinet, stared into it like something inside might offer her a script. When nothing did, she closed it again. The fridge was next, the door hanging open for a long moment as she stood there with one hand on the handle and the other pressed flat to the counter like she needed grounding. She wasn’t hungry. She didn’t want anything in there. She just didn’t know what to do with herself.

You stayed in the doorway, watching the quiet unravelling in real time. Her movements were too careful, her breathing too even, like she was afraid to make a sound that might betray her. You saw the way her jaw was set, the way her eyes didn’t focus on anything, just moved restlessly from one spot to the next, as if trying to outpace whatever was crawling up the back of her mind.

When she finally shut the fridge, her hand lingered against the stainless steel, head bowed slightly. You could see it. The tight coil in her spine, the way she was holding herself so still it ached to look at. The silence stretched on.

She needed something. She wouldn’t ask. She never did. There was too much pride in her, too many years of being taught that needing was weakness. But she was exhausted, pulled thin, the weight of the night pressing down on her with nowhere to go.

So you stepped forward without a word. Closed the distance slowly, deliberately, until you were just behind her.

You didn’t touch her right away.

She was still standing there with her back to you, one hand pressed to the fridge door like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her shoulders were rigid, arms locked in that military-trained kind of stillness, the kind that tried too hard to look in control. But you knew better. You saw the way her throat moved when she swallowed, the small falter in her breath. The way she hadn’t said a word since unlocking the door. She wasn’t standing still because she was composed. She was standing still because she was barely holding together.

“Close the fridge,” you said quietly.

There was a pause, just a second too long. But then she did, without a word.

“Turn around.”

This time, she hesitated. You could feel the pride dragging at her, the instinct to resist, to prove she didn’t need anything from anyone. But her body betrayed her. She shifted, slow and stiff, until she was facing you, her hands now crossed in front of her like a shield.

You stepped closer, slow and measured. Your voice stayed calm. Grounded. The opposite of how she was feeling.

“Put your hands on the counter.”

Her eyes flicked up to yours for the first time. Something sharp and defensive moved behind them, but underneath it was what you’d been waiting for. That flicker of want. Not desire. Not yet. Just the aching need to not be in charge for once. The need to stop thinking.

She opened her mouth like she might object. Like she might joke it off or pretend she was fine. But she didn’t say anything. Just turned and placed both hands on the counter, fingers spreading slightly over the cool surface.

You came up behind her, close but not touching.

“Stay there,” you said.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t try to regain control. And that silence from her, so rare and so loaded, told you everything you needed to know.

She was ready. She needed this. Even if she’d never ask for it.

You watched her shoulders rise with a breath she didn’t seem to notice taking. She was holding tension everywhere, even in the way her hands pressed into the counter. Like she was bracing herself against something unnamed.

You stepped in behind her and let your palm skim slowly up her spine, not soft, not teasing. Just steady. Her body gave the faintest response, a shift in weight, a flicker of something deeper grounding into her heels.

“You’re doing fine,” you said, voice low and even. “Exactly like that.”

She didn’t speak, didn’t nod, but the way her hands settled told you she heard it. The way her breath caught at the top before sliding out again. You trailed your fingers back down, slow, ending at her hips, then tightened your grip just enough to anchor her there.

“Don’t move unless I tell you.”

A pause. Then, a barely-there whisper. “Okay.”

It wasn’t surrender, not yet. But it wasn’t resistance either. You could feel her pulling inward, slipping out of her head by inches, letting your words do the thinking for her.

You leaned in, mouth at the curve where her neck met her shoulder, not kissing her, just letting her feel your breath.

“Take off your shirt.”

Her hands moved. Not perfectly. One caught on the hem, like her body was still catching up to the instruction. But she got there, arms lifting, the fabric peeling away. You waited, letting the silence stretch until she was still again, bare and quiet in front of you.

You ran a hand up her arm, over the muscle, the tension, the effort she didn’t know she was making just to stay still.

“Good,” you murmured, and her fingers curled slightly against the counter. That one word did more than anything else.

You reached up and gathered her hair loosely in your hand, not pulling, just holding.

“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” you said, voice calm, certain.

Another breath from her, this one slower. She nodded.

“No,” you said gently, “use your words.”

“…Yes.”

You smiled. Not smug. Just sure.

“Good girl.”

You saw it in the way her shoulders softened, the barest shift in her weight. That phrase wrapped around her like something she hadn’t realized she missed until it landed. It stripped a layer of defence clean off her.

Her breathing was deeper now, but not rushed. She wasn’t waiting for pleasure. She was waiting for direction. For purpose. For the next instruction that would let her be useful. That would give her something she could get right.

You let your hand move down, smoothing over the curve of her ass, not teasing, not testing, just reminding her that you were here. That she wasn’t carrying herself alone anymore.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmured, and her fingers curled again against the counter. A soft shiver passed through her.

You leaned in, not touching with your body, just letting your mouth brush the edge of her ear. “Tell me you’re ready.”

A pause. One breath. Then, quietly, “I’m ready.”

You didn’t answer right away. You stepped in behind her instead, close enough that the warmth of your body brushed hers without contact. Her breathing had gone shallow again, ribcage shifting in small, measured pulls. You let your hands trail up the curve of her back, over her shoulder blades, fingers tracing the straps of her bra. She didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, but you felt the smallest tremble run under her skin. Not fear. Restraint.

You reached for the clasp.

It came undone with a soft click, the straps loosening at once. You didn’t pull them away right away. Let them linger, trailing down the backs of her arms until they slipped free and dropped to the floor without a sound.

“Drop it.”

She let it fall from her hands. You watched it hit the tile beside her feet, a soft little heap of fabric.

You didn’t speak. Just laid your palms on her now-bare back, dragging them down the length of her spine. She was so warm. All soft skin and carved tension. Your fingers traced the line of her ribs, the curve of her waist. She wasn’t breathing deeply anymore. Just short, stilling inhales, like anything more would draw too much attention to herself.

You palmed over her hipbones, thumbs brushing the tender skin there, then smoothed down again, barely grazing the backs of her thighs.

You didn’t tell her she looked beautiful. Didn’t need to.

Every second of stillness from her, every quiet shiver and obedient shift, told you she knew she was being seen. Known. Claimed.

“Skirt next.”

She moved immediately. No hesitation. Hooked her thumbs into the waistband and eased the fabric down her hips, past the swell of her ass, over her thighs. You stayed quiet, watching her hands. She stepped out of it slowly, folding just slightly to keep her balance. The way she moved told you everything—how deeply she was inside herself now, how focused. No pretense. No attempt to pose. Just bare skin and compliance.

Then came the last piece.

She didn’t wait for the instruction this time. Just reached for the band of her underwear and drew them down too, letting them slide all the way to her ankles. Another careful step out. She was fully nude now. Not posed. Not guarded. Just standing there in your kitchen, spine straight, hands loose at her sides.

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked at her. Her bare back, the curve of her thighs, the little dip at the base of her spine, all held under the quietest thread of tension. She was trembling again. Not from cold. From restraint. From being seen this way, this fully. From being allowed nothing to hide behind.

“Perfect.”

She let out a breath, long and quiet. Like that one word had pulled something loose.

You stepped in again and laid your hands on her hips. Ran your palms slowly over her ass, down the backs of her thighs, then back up again, slower. The weight of your hands was steady, deliberate, not teasing, not tentative. She didn’t make a sound, but her body shifted under your touch. Like she was trying not to lean into it too hard. Like she didn’t trust her own restraint.

“Bend.”

Her hands came up, planting firmly on the counter. She leaned forward, folding at the waist with that quiet, composed grace she carried even now. Her hair slid over one shoulder, baring the long line of her back. Her ass was exposed fully now, parted slightly from the way she was standing. Vulnerable. Waiting. Her weight settled into her heels again, body straining to hold still.

You watched her a moment longer. Then you brought your hands back, running your fingers over the full, bare curve of her again. You cupped her. Squeezed. Felt the tension spike, then fade. You gave her one short, firm smack on the side and felt the way she tensed, then let go.

“Good girl.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just took it.

You stepped back, slowly, peeling your own clothes off one by one. Not rushed. Not showy. The rustle of fabric, the soft drag of it against your skin, the shift of your weight on the tile. You let the silence build again. Let her feel it. Let her stew in it, naked and still and waiting.

You let her wait like that. Bent, silent, exposed. Her breath had settled into something slower, deeper. Not quite relaxed, but muted. Stripped down. Every part of her still, held there by choice.

“Kneel.”

The word dropped into the space between you like a stone in still water.

She moved without question. Hands left the counter. She lowered herself with that same controlled elegance, her knees touching the tile, bare and unprotected. Her back straightened as she settled, arms loose at her sides, her chin tilted just enough to suggest pride that hadn’t fully left her yet. But everything else had quieted.

You stepped forward, filling the space where she’d stood. You climbed up onto the edge of the counter, right where her palms had pressed down moments ago. The surface was faintly warm. She’d left part of herself there.

Your knees parted slightly in front of her. She didn’t look up. Just stayed perfectly still, bare skin flushed, breathing soft and even, the tile beneath her knees unforgiving. The pose was simple, but nothing about her looked casual. Her body was a held breath.

You reached down and touched her face, brushing your thumb lightly across her cheekbone, then over the slope of her jaw. She leaned into it, just slightly.

“Perfect,” you said.

You let your fingers trail down from her cheek to her chin. Tilted her face up, just enough to bring her focus where it belonged. Her lips were parted, breath warm against your skin, eyes lowered like she already knew what was coming.

You held her there for a moment, not forceful, just firm.

“Use your mouth.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands stayed right where they were, resting on her thighs, steady and obedient. Her mouth moved first, lips brushing against the inside of your knee in a kiss so soft you almost wouldn’t have felt it if you weren’t watching her. Then another. Higher. She mapped a path up your inner thigh, her pace slow but deliberate, reverent in the way she offered herself.

You didn’t move. You let her work for it. Let her earn every inch.

When she reached the heat of you, she paused. Not from doubt, not from nerves. Just a breath, a single beat before she gave herself over fully. Then her mouth opened, tongue sliding between your folds, gentle and sure, like she already knew exactly how to take you apart.

You inhaled through your nose, fingers finding her hair without pulling. She moaned softly the moment you touched her, the sound vibrating straight through you. But her hands didn’t move. She kept them still, exactly where you’d left them, needing no more instruction than what your voice had already given.

She licked you again, slower this time, like she wanted to feel every part of you against her tongue. Her breath came fast now, warm against your skin, but her rhythm didn’t falter. She chased your taste with something close to hunger, her mouth messy, greedy, but careful too, like she knew just how much pressure to give.

You parted your knees a little wider. That was all it took. She leaned in closer, tongue flattening against you, dragging slow and deep from the bottom up. Her lips closed around your clit at the top, suckling gently, then harder, just once, before pulling back and starting over.

“You're doing so well,” you murmured, fingers sliding a little deeper into her hair.

Her whole body responded. A slight shiver ran through her, her back straightening just a touch, like your praise had pulled something from her spine. She made a sound then, low and aching, buried against your cunt. Her hips rocked subtly where she knelt, but still, her hands didn’t move.

“Keep going,” you said.

She obeyed instantly, mouth wet and eager, licking you like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Her cheeks were flushed, her face slick, her tongue tireless. You felt her moan again, and this time she pressed in deeper, the angle firmer, her nose nudging your pubic hair as she mouthed at you like she couldn’t get close enough.

She wasn’t trying to be good for the sake of it. She needed to be. Needed to make you come, needed to feel it, needed to hear you say she’d done it right. Everything about her body said so. The way her mouth worked harder each time you let your breath catch, the way her fingers curled slightly against her thighs, fighting the urge to touch you.

But she didn’t.

She stayed still, devoted and desperate and waiting for your permission, even as she lost herself between your thighs.

You could feel everything.

Every flick of her tongue sent sparks running up your spine, sharp at first, then melting into something warm and unbearable. The deeper she pressed, the more the heat in your belly tightened, thick and slow and crawling outward like molasses. Her mouth was relentless. She moved like she was memorizing you, like she needed to earn every sound you made with the drag of her tongue and the soft pull of her lips.

Your thighs trembled a little where they framed her shoulders. Not from weakness, not yet. From the steady build of it. The pressure she worked up in you was precise and consuming. It didn’t peak all at once. It climbed. Grew. It curled through you in waves that made you press your heels tighter against the counter, needing to stay grounded.

She circled your clit with her tongue, slow and unhurried, again and again until your hips started to roll against her mouth, small and instinctive. She didn’t change her pace. She kept licking you like that was exactly what she’d wanted. Like she’d drawn it out of you on purpose. Her tongue flattened, then lifted, then flattened again, always returning to the same rhythm, the same spot, until the ache between your legs deepened into something slick and hot and endless.

You let your head tip back as your fingers curled tighter in her hair.

“Just like that,” you said, voice rough with it now. “Don’t stop.”

Her moan was immediate, hungry and eager, the vibrations pressed right up against you. She was chasing it too. Not her own pleasure—yours. The way she licked you, the way she sucked your clit back into her mouth and rolled her tongue over it like she wanted to wring it out of you, it was all for that.

The pressure inside you twisted, sharp and deep. Your stomach clenched, hips rocking into her mouth now without hesitation. You could feel how soaked you were, how slick her chin must be, how messy you’d made her, and she didn’t care. She wanted it. She stayed buried in you, lips parted and mouth open, drinking it in like she was desperate to taste every part of you.

You gasped, quiet but broken. The coil inside you pulled tighter, so tight it was starting to burn. Her pace stayed steady, exactly the same rhythm, exactly where you needed it, like she’d found the perfect way to unravel you and was clinging to it.

Your thighs twitched. Your breath caught.

Then you said her name, low and wrecked, and everything inside you started to give way.

Your hips jerked forward into her mouth, your grip tightening in her hair. The pressure inside you didn’t unravel slowly. It tore itself loose, raw and overwhelming, dragging your body with it. Your moan came sharp and low, punched out of your chest before you could catch it. Your thighs tensed, your stomach clenched, every nerve burning through the release.

And Emily didn’t stop.

She kept going just as you’d told her. Her mouth stayed locked to you, her tongue working you through it without pause or hesitation. There was no flicker of thought behind it. No hesitation. She was just doing what she was told. Completely focused. Completely yours.

The sensation stayed sharp. Wet, tender, almost too much. Your legs trembled. Your back arched. Pleasure kept pulsing through you in smaller, broken waves that left you open and twitching and soaked against her mouth. You could feel everything. Her breath. The texture of her tongue. The soft, persistent suction she never once let up.

She was still on her knees, still upright, her face buried between your legs with no concern for anything else. She didn’t need to know if she was doing it right. You’d already told her she's a good girl.

So she kept going.

Your body jerked again, sensitivity rising high into something sharp. You didn’t pull her back. She didn’t slow down. You clenched around nothing, stomach tightening again, breath caught and stuttering. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You looked down at her, hair mussed from your grip, jaw moving in steady rhythm, eyes half-closed and unfocused.

Still chasing your pleasure. Still waiting to be told what to do.

You swallowed, hand resting heavy in her hair.

“Stop.”

You kept your hand in her hair for a moment longer, fingers gently threaded through the strands, holding her close not because you needed to, but because you didn’t want to let go of the warmth still radiating from her skin. Her mouth was soft and wet, lips swollen, her breath ghosting over your thighs in shallow little exhales that made it clear just how hard she’d been working to please you. Her obedience wasn’t stiff or hesitant. It was molten. Pure heat pressed into shape.

“Good girl,” you said, voice thick with satisfaction.

Her whole body shuddered like the words struck something deep in her. She didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. She stayed where she was, perfectly still, perfectly quiet, like she was waiting for whatever came next, like that praise was enough to keep her right there on her knees.

You slid off the counter slowly, letting your feet find the tile, your muscles humming from the release she’d pulled out of you. You were still warm between your thighs, still sensitive, still open from the way her mouth had ruined you, and the moment your eyes dropped to the floor in front of her, your breath caught.

There, between her knees, were small droplets of slick catching the light. Not a mess, not a flood, just distinct beads of arousal, slipping down her inner thighs and falling to the floor beneath her. Her cunt was wet, impossibly so, her pubic hair damp and tangled, glistening with it. No part of her was hiding it. She wasn’t even trying. Her thighs were glossy with the evidence of how desperately turned on she was, how much obeying you had affected her. Her folds were flushed and visibly pulsing, slick still gathering there before another drop slid free and joined the rest.

You moaned without thinking, the sound low and wrecked. The sight of her like that—kneeling, completely exposed, dripping from being so good for you—sent another wave of heat rushing through you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the mess between her legs, from the shine of her skin, from the way her pubic hair was wet and dark with arousal, her need painted all over her in a way that felt obscene and perfect.

“God, Emily,” you breathed, your hand tightening in her hair again. “Look at you.”

She didn’t move, didn’t reach for anything, didn’t even shift her weight. She just stayed exactly where you’d left her, soaked and waiting, ready for your next command.

You reached for her, hands slipping beneath her arms, and pulled her up in one unhesitating motion. Her body followed without resistance, pliant, bare skin pressed to yours. She barely had time to find her footing before your mouth was on hers, rough and claiming, nothing delicate about it. Your hand gripped her jaw, holding her steady as you kissed her hard, lips parting hers, your tongue pushing deep, demanding everything she had left.

She moaned into your mouth, body arching into yours, caught in it. You didn’t let her settle. Your hands slid down her sides, over the curves of her waist and hips, firm and grounding, keeping her close as you started walking her back, step by step, out of the kitchen.

“You’re going to be good for me,” you said against her lips, barely pulling away between kisses.

“Yes,” she whispered, breath shaky.

You pushed her another step, then another, until her back hit the doorframe. You kissed her again, slower this time but no gentler, your hands exploring every inch you could reach. Her body trembled under yours, heat radiating off her in waves.

Every step made her thighs brush, made more slick trail down. You could hear it, faint and obscene. It only pushed you further.

She hit the doorframe and you didn’t stop. Your mouth stayed on hers, wet and deep, your tongue claiming every inch she offered. She kissed back like she didn’t care if she could breathe, like she was chasing whatever you gave her without thinking, just pure obedience strung tight around hunger.

Your hands didn’t leave her body. You pushed her back again and again, walking her into the room, her bare skin catching the faintest chill in the air but never pulling away from you. She moved only when you did, letting you guide her, control her, press her exactly where you wanted her.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to.

Her thighs hit the edge of the mattress and you didn’t give her time to catch her breath. You bent, hands sliding under her legs, lifting her with a firm grip at the backs of her thighs. Her arms flew up to brace around your shoulders, more reflex than thought, as you hoisted her up and laid her back onto the bed.

She landed softly, hair spread out over the sheets, skin flushed and marked from your mouth. Her legs stayed parted where you'd placed them, knees falling open with ease. You climbed up after her, mouth finding hers again in a hungry tangle, tongues slick, lips catching, your body stretched over hers.

Your hands roamed, palms dragging up over the sides of her ribs, fingers sweeping the curves of her waist. Her skin was hot to the touch, damp where your mouth had already been, thighs sticky where you'd felt her dripping against you. You let one hand slide lower, down the length of her stomach, dragging slow until it found the heat between her legs.

She moaned into your mouth and you swallowed it, deepening the kiss, fingers sliding through the wet mess below as your hips pressed flush to hers. Her body arched but she didn’t move away, didn’t reach for more, just lay there open, breath stuttering against your lips as you kept kissing her like you couldn’t get enough.

You shifted your weight, settling between her thighs. Her legs were already open, but you wanted more. You hooked your hands behind her knees and pulled them up, spreading her wider, guiding her exactly how you wanted her. Her breath caught as you adjusted her, her body pliant under your touch.

You kept her like that, hands gripping behind her thighs to hold her open, and lowered yourself until your hips pressed flush to hers. The first grind sent a jolt through both of you, wet heat meeting wet heat, slick against slick. Your breath caught, and hers broke into a quiet, gasping sound that barely reached your ears before you moved again.

You rocked into her, slow and deliberate, your cunt dragging over hers with each press of your hips. It was messy, hot, everything slippery and flushed, and you could feel how soaked she was, how easily you both slid together.

Emily’s thighs trembled under your grip, but she held position, just like you’d placed her. Her fingers dug into the sheets beside her, gripping tight, trying not to move even as her hips twitched with every grind of your body against hers. She was soaked, hot, the slick glide of her cunt against yours making it impossible not to gasp.

You pressed in harder, the friction more intense now, your clit catching on hers just right. Emily cried out, her breath ragged, but she didn’t shift out of place. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the sheets, muscles tensed like it was taking everything in her not to thrust up and meet you.

“You’re doing so well,” you breathed, your voice low as you moved against her again, slower this time, dragging it out. “Just like that. Let me use you.”

Her head tipped back into the pillow, mouth open in a moan. Her hips jerked up before she could stop herself, a desperate little stutter, and then she froze, chest rising in a sharp breath as she forced herself still again. You watched it all, every ripple of restraint across her body.

“You want to move,” you said, voice warm and wrecked, “don’t you?”

“Yes,” she panted, eyes fluttering open, pleading without words.

“But you won’t.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll be good. I promise.”

You leaned in, kissed her again, deep and filthy, grinding your cunt against hers harder this time, wet and messy and perfect. Her moan vibrated against your mouth, her body straining underneath you without ever breaking the rules you set. It was obedience wrapped in need, discipline soaked in desire. And every second of it made you ache for more.

You didn’t slow down. The steady grind of your cunt against hers stayed just as deliberate, just as wet, each slick pass dragging another moan from her throat. Her body stayed where you’d left it, thighs spread, arms taut at her sides, shaking with restraint.

You sat up slightly, just enough to get your hands on her chest. Your palms slid over her breasts, thumbs brushing slowly over her nipples. They were already hard, begging for attention, and the second you touched them, Emily whimpered, her fingers clutching the sheets tighter.

You rolled one nipple between your fingers, firm but careful, then leaned down to kiss the other, mouthing at it while your hips kept moving. She gasped beneath you, hips twitching again, caught between staying still and the instinct to move with you.

Her moans were getting higher, less controlled, like each pass of your cunt against hers was chipping away at what little she had left. You dragged your tongue over her breast, then bit lightly, just enough to make her cry out. Your hands were everywhere now, squeezing, playing, pressing her deeper into the bed with every grind of your hips.

“That’s it,” you said against her skin, voice low, breath hot. “Take it. Let me feel how good you are.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. Her body arched, but still she didn’t lift her hips. She just lay there, trembling, breathing hard, slick coating both of you, overwhelmed and obedient and desperate to be good.

You ran your hands over her slowly, palms gliding over the smooth expanse of her body, taking in every detail. Her skin was pale and impossibly soft, like it hadn’t been touched enough, like it had been waiting just for this. Every place your fingers passed left a faint warmth behind, but it was your mouth that truly marked her. You leaned in and kissed the swell of her breast, then scraped your teeth over it, and when she whimpered beneath you, you bit down hard enough to leave a deep flush in your wake.

The red stood out starkly against her skin, heat blooming under your tongue. You moved lower and left another. Then another. Along her ribs, her hip, the side of her stomach. You were deliberate about it, kissing first, then biting just enough to make her gasp, not cruel but undeniable, painting her with your mouth until she was dotted with proof of how much she belonged to you.

Her breath hitched every time your teeth caught. Her hands clung to your shoulders, to your arms, to anything she could reach without breaking the position you'd put her in. You felt her trying to stay still, trying to obey, her thighs trembling just slightly under yours as you rolled your hips again, slow and deep, grinding against her. Her slick was everywhere now, hot and wet and messy between you, and still she didn't chase, didn't take, just waited for whatever you gave her.

You brushed your fingers down her side, over the curve of her waist, and watched goosebumps follow in your wake. Then you leaned back just enough to take in the sight of her laid out beneath you, flushed and panting and covered in the marks you’d left behind.

“Look at you,” you said softly. “All mine.”

Emily let out a soft, desperate sound at your words, her fingers tightening against your back like she needed to hold onto something solid. Her hips rocked up instinctively, trying to follow the rhythm of your body, though she caught herself before she gave in too much. The restraint made you smile.

“Yours,” she gasped, the word slipping out between moans. “I’m yours.”

You ground down harder in response, catching the perfect drag of her soaked cunt against yours. The friction was hot and messy and perfect, every grind sending sharp bursts of pleasure through you both. Her head fell back against the mattress, exposing the long line of her throat, flushed and trembling.

You leaned down to kiss her again, slower this time but just as deep. She opened for you instantly, moaning into your mouth, her hands sliding up to your shoulders, then back down your sides, clutching, needing. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab your hips, wanted to pull you in and fuck up into you, but she didn’t. She kept her hands where they were, obedient even now.

You felt how close she was. Her whole body was straining for more, her thighs twitching with every roll of your hips, her breath stuttering every time you pressed in just right. And still she waited for you to give the signal, every part of her pleading without a word.

“Good girl,” you whispered into her ear, voice rough with need. “Keep taking it just like that.”

Emily was a mess beneath you, flushed and trembling, her skin damp with sweat and hot to the touch. Her fingers gripped the sheets in tight, shaking fists, knuckles white from the effort of keeping them in place. You rocked against her slowly, keeping the rhythm steady, dragging your pussy over hers in long, wet strokes. Her breath caught every time your clits aligned, hips jolting like she could barely stop herself from chasing more.

You cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, watching her back arch and her head tip into the pillows. Her thighs twitched around your hips. She whimpered, the sound high and helpless.

“Don’t move,” you reminded her, voice low.

She nodded quickly, breath stuttering. “I won’t. I won’t. I’ll stay still.”

Her voice was ragged, words trembling with effort, like every part of her was focused on obeying. She moaned again, louder this time, unable to stop it, her thighs slick where they pressed against yours. Her body gave everything away—how close she was, how badly she wanted more—but she didn’t beg. Didn’t buck up into you. Just lay there trembling, panting, trying so hard to be exactly what you wanted.

“Perfect for me,” you murmured, letting your fingers roll her nipples between them, watching the way her face twisted with pleasure.

That praise broke something loose in her. She cried out softly, hips flinching, her whole body straining for more. Her moans kept coming, louder now, raw and needy, each one punched out with every grind of your hips.

She didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t beg to come. She just stayed obedient, stayed open, and let you use her the way she was meant to be used.

You held her steady, firm grip on her thighs keeping her wide and open beneath you. Your hips moved with purpose, every grind deliberate and deep, your slick catching against hers in hot, soaked friction. Her skin was flushed everywhere you touched, her body pulled so taut you could feel the tremble in her legs with every press.

Emily was falling apart under you. She tried to hold herself still, tried not to buck up and chase it, but her body betrayed her with every breath. Her grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your back, anchoring herself to the one thing she couldn't ask more from. Every time you circled your hips down, her mouth opened in another moan, louder than the last, desperate and sweet.

You could see her trying. Her thighs flexed, her abdomen shuddered with the effort it took not to fuck herself up into you. She was panting now, sweat at her temples, lashes damp as her head tipped back against the pillows. “Please,” she whimpered, voice cracking. “Please, I— I need to—”

You didn’t give her the permission she thought she needed. You just kept grinding down, kept your rhythm steady, made her feel every second of it. “You can come,” you finally said, voice low and rough, right into her ear. “Be messy for me. Let me feel all of it.”

And she broke.

It ripped through her with no elegance, no composure. Her whole body arched up into yours, thighs tensing in your hands, cunt clenching hard as she cried out, loud and raw. It echoed in the room, her voice shaking with it, nothing held back anymore. Her hips jerked uncontrollably, dragging herself against you even as you kept her pinned, making her ride the wave to its edge.

She sobbed your name, not from pain but from sheer relief. Her breath came fast, catching on the sound of her own release, thighs slick and trembling, her face flushed to her chest. Her orgasm came in waves, one after the other, body wracked with it, overwhelmed by how much she’d held back until now.

You stayed with her, grinding slower, dragging her through the aftershocks, feeling every twitch of her cunt against yours. Her nails raked blindly across your back, and then her hands fisted in the sheets, clinging to anything she could. You kissed her shoulder, her throat, the corner of her jaw. You gave her your voice again.

“There you go,” you whispered against her skin. “So good. So perfect like this.”

Her mouth parted, lips trembling with the afterglow. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, but she turned her head just enough to chase your mouth. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you…”

You smiled, still holding her thighs, still feeling her pulse under your touch.

“Anything for you, sweet girl” you murmured.

She was still trembling under you, her thighs twitching where your hands held them apart. Her body had gone soft and shaky, but her eyes stayed on you, glassy and reverent, mouth parted like she didn’t know how to close it again.

You didn’t stop.

Your hips kept moving, slick grinding into hers, dragging every aftershock out of her and using it for your own. She was so wet beneath you, swollen and sensitive, but she let you take what you needed. Gave you everything, again and again.

The tension in your own body had been building for so long, you hardly recognized it anymore. Your thighs were tight, muscles burning as you rocked down onto her, chasing friction, chasing release. Her skin was still hot, her breasts rising against your chest, her breath catching with every pass of your cunt over hers.

You could feel the heat coil, sharp and low. The sounds of her soft moans, still fucked out but eager, pushed you closer. Her praise. Her obedience. Her eyes on you like you were the only thing she needed. All of it built under your skin like pressure that had nowhere left to go.

Your rhythm broke for a moment, hips stuttering as the first wave caught you. A sharp gasp slipped from your mouth. Then your body locked up, muscles clenching tight as it ripped through you, sudden and overwhelming. You buried your face in her neck, moaning against her skin as your orgasm crashed down.

It hit hard, grinding slow and deep against her as you came, cunt pulsing where it met hers, slick mixing and smearing between your bodies. You barely registered the way your nails dug into her thighs or how your back arched so hard it nearly lifted you off her. You just felt.

Emily held on. Arms wrapped around you now, fingertips pressing into your back, her mouth moving in soft, breathless encouragement that you could barely hear over the blood rushing in your ears. You rode it out against her, grinding through every wave, until your body finally eased, your hips slowing, your breath catching in your throat.

You were still trembling when you sank down into her, completely spent.

You pressed a kiss to the damp curve of her shoulder. Took one breath, then another. Let your hand trail up her side, over the sharp edge of her ribcage, until your palm rested above her heart.

"You were so good for me," you murmured, your voice low and still wrecked from your own release. You lifted your head just enough to look at her. Her eyes were wide, glassy with arousal, her lips parted. You smiled, slow and fond. "You’ve earned a reward."

That made her swallow hard. She didn’t speak. Just nodded once, like she couldn’t trust her voice.

You kissed her again, softer this time, and then began easing her back onto the mattress. Your hands never left her. You guided her down until she was laid out beneath you, limbs open and pliant, chest rising fast. Her skin was flushed and slick with sweat, strands of dark hair sticking to her temples.

You trailed kisses down her throat, then lower, your mouth catching the edge of a fading bruise above her collarbone. You felt her shiver. Her thighs shifted, restless, already anticipating.

"Stay still," you said, barely above a whisper.

She did.

You kissed the valley between her breasts. Mouthed at the softness of one, then the other, your hands sliding down to hold her waist steady. You could feel how tightly she was holding herself together. Not from tension. From need. From wanting so badly to be good, to take everything you gave her and show you how much it meant.

You smiled against her skin and kissed your way lower.

"I'm going to take my time with you," you said, voice warm. "You deserve that."

You kissed her one last time, then pushed up, trailing your hands down her sides as you moved. She stayed as she was, legs still parted, hair a mess around her flushed face, her body damp with sweat and slick. She looked completely undone.

You shifted lower, moving down between her thighs, kissing a slow path down the centre of her body. Her stomach tensed under your mouth, a soft sound slipping from her as you got lower. She didn’t even try to hide it. You watched her chest rise with each breath, watched the way her hands curled into the sheets like she was holding herself together by a thread.

When you reached the curve of her hip, you slowed further. You let your lips graze over the soft skin there, let your nose brush through the damp, messy curls that covered her. Her pubic hair was still slick, glistening faintly under the low light, darkened in places where your grind had left her soaked. It wasn’t neat anymore, wasn’t styled or groomed into anything tidy. It was raw and real, the way it should be—sticky and wild from how worked up she was, from how hard you’d both gone.

You moaned softly at the sight, the scent, the sheer heat of her. She twitched, her hips barely lifting off the bed like her body was still chasing more.

“Look at you,” you whispered, voice dark with hunger. “Messy and wet. All for me.”

She whimpered, and your hands moved to her thighs, gently parting them even wider. Her folds were slick, swollen, flushed with arousal, and you didn’t rush. You leaned in and kissed the inside of her thigh first, slow and indulgent, then the other, letting her feel your breath against her without giving her what she craved just yet.

You kissed the crease between her thigh and her cunt, and she whimpered. Her hands fisted the sheets again, her hips twitching just slightly before she stilled herself.

You looked up at her, watched her chest rise in short bursts.

“Keep still for me,” you said softly. “Let me take care of you.”

She nodded quickly, eyes wide, mouth parted, completely focused on you.

You brushed your thumbs across the edges of her folds, spreading her slowly. Her slick glistened in the low light, gliding easily over your skin. You bent lower, kissed along the seam of her, then flattened your tongue and licked her fully, slow and deliberate, from bottom to top.

Her cry was instant, high and breathless.

You stayed with it, licking her again and again, never rushing. She tasted rich and hot, her arousal thick on your tongue. Her hips tried to move, but she caught herself, holding still like you’d asked. It made you groan against her.

“That’s it,” you murmured. “Just like that.”

You brought one hand higher, fingers pushing gently down on the slick hair over her mound to hold it out of the way while you focused on her clit. The pressure made her moan, hips arching, body straining for more.

You circled her clit slowly with your tongue, letting her feel every careful movement. You sucked it into your mouth, then let go, only to do it again, firmer this time. She gasped, legs shaking around you.

“Please,” she whispered, voice tight. “Please don’t stop.”

You didn’t. You locked your arms under her thighs, holding her in place, and worked her steadily with your mouth. The muscles in her stomach fluttered. Her moans turned higher, messier, louder. She was unravelling, coming apart from the inside out, but still trying so hard to stay still.

You pulled back just a fraction, breath brushing her soaked skin. “You’re being perfect for me,” you whispered. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

That was all it took. She cried out, a ragged, desperate sound that tore through her as her body seized under your mouth. Her thighs trembled violently, toes curling, and her hips jerked up into your face before falling back down, overwhelmed. You didn’t let go. You stayed with her through all of it, licking her gently as she came, then softer, slower, easing her down when she couldn’t take more. Her body jerked once more under your mouth, a final twitch of overstimulation, before she went utterly still.

You kissed her inner thigh, then again, higher, then trailed your way up the soft planes of her stomach. Her skin was flushed and damp, trembling faintly under each kiss. You moved slowly, taking your time, worshipful even now. She tasted like sweat and the heady sweetness you’d left all over her. You brushed your cheek against the inside of her leg, held it there a second longer, then finally climbed back up over her.

Her scent clung to your skin, her slick drying on your thighs, every inch of her marked by the way you’d taken her apart. You smoothed a hand over her hip, then up her side, anchoring yourself in the quiet rhythm of her body. Her pulse was still racing under her skin, but she didn’t flinch when you settled over her again. She just let you come back to her. Let you hold her close.

Your breath was still uneven, your pulse still loud in your ears, but the moment you felt her body shift beneath yours, you refocused. She was limp but not unconscious, her arms loosely curled at her sides, eyes fluttering open then drifting closed again. Her mouth was parted, lips still kiss-swollen, a flush still high on her cheeks. You didn’t move away right away. You stayed pressed to her, skin against skin, one arm cradling the back of her neck as you murmured against her hair.

“You did so well for me.”

She let out the smallest sound in response, almost a whimper. You kissed her temple.

“I mean it. You were incredible. So good.”

You were both a mess. Sweat clung to your skin. The slick heat between your legs had left a wet sheen against her inner thighs, and your own had started to cool. Her breasts were flushed and marked, love bites standing out against pale skin, and her hair was wild with sweat and motion, sticking to her cheek.

Your hand moved slowly, tracing the damp strands of her hair away from her face. She was still far down, her expression soft, vulnerable, too hazy to form words but still trying to stay connected to you. You could feel her wanting to stay close to something solid, something safe. You kissed her again and gently pulled back, just enough to shift beside her.

You leaned in, kissed her slowly, and whispered, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She blinked up at you with a tiny nod, not yet fully back but still trying. Her hand brushed yours in a quiet plea not to go too far. You kissed her again, slower this time, then slipped from the bed.

The bathroom light was soft and gold. You dampened a fresh cloth with warm water, then another. You added a little soap to the second one and worked it in gently. A clean towel rested over your arm. When you returned, Emily was still lying where you left her, limbs heavy, eyes open but dazed with the edges of subspace.

You climbed onto the bed and leaned over her, pressing a light kiss to her forehead.

“I’ve got you.”

She barely nodded. Her skin was flushed and glowing, strands of hair stuck to her temple, chest rising slowly, still marked with love bites and the faint red prints of your hands.

You started with her face. The warm cloth passed gently over her forehead, then her cheeks, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that clung to her skin. She sighed, soft and nearly soundless, and tilted her face into your touch. You traced the cloth under her jaw, along her throat, and down the centre of her chest.

Her skin there was damp too, flushed from exertion, her sternum catching the light. You were slow and careful around her breasts, letting the cloth smooth over the soft curves, tender with the parts you’d grabbed and kissed. Your free hand anchored her, fingers spread low across her ribs as you cleaned her down to her stomach. She breathed deeply through it, like the sensation was easing her back into her body piece by piece.

“There we go,” you murmured. “Just like that.”

Only once her upper body was fresh and dry did you shift lower, the other cloth now in your hand. You kissed her thigh first, the soft inner curve, before gently nudging her legs apart.

“You’re alright,” you whispered, cupping the side of her knee. “I’m just going to clean you up now.”

She nodded again, and you moved with quiet care, wiping away the remnants of her release with slow, reverent strokes. Her folds were flushed and sensitive, slick still glistening where it had pooled, her skin tacky with the heat that had passed between you.

She flinched once from the oversensitivity and let out a tiny gasp. You stopped and soothed her with a hand to her hip, then kissed her thigh again.

“You did so well,” you said softly. “Let me take care of you.”

She exhaled shakily but didn’t pull away. You resumed with the same slow rhythm, cleaning every inch with warm, steady hands, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her body stayed relaxed, open and trusting.

Once she was clean, you took the towel and patted her dry from her inner thighs upward, then down the line of her hips and legs. You worked with patience, never rushing, never speaking louder than a murmur. You set the towel aside, then wiped your own body down quickly, cleaning away the sweat and slick that clung to your inner thighs, your chest, the curve of your back. Her eyes never left you, even half-lidded and heavy.

When you were done, you returned to her fully and reached out.

“Come here.”

She came into your arms like she belonged there, face buried against your neck, her breath warm where it landed. You pulled the blanket over both of you and cradled her close, hand drifting up and down her back.

“You’re alright,” you whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She didn’t say anything, just curled tighter against you, one arm slipping around your waist like she couldn’t bear a single inch of distance. Her body was warm, still faintly trembling. You adjusted the blanket higher, tucking it beneath her shoulders, and kept your touch steady, smoothing over her spine in long, even strokes.

Every so often, you whispered something. Simple, grounding things.

“You’re with me.”

“You’re safe.”

“You’re doing so well.”

Each one seemed to sink into her, easing the tension from her shoulders bit by bit. Her breathing started to slow, the edge of her trembling softening. You kissed her temple, then behind her ear, lips barely brushing her skin.

She didn’t say anything, just curled tighter against you, her breath warm against your collarbone, one hand gently gripping at your side. Her body was still lax, pliant from the weight of it all, but you could feel the soft flutter of her pulse beginning to steady again. You adjusted the blanket up around her shoulders and rested your cheek against the crown of her head, letting her feel the shape of your breathing.

Neither of you rushed it. There was no need. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of her inhaling against your chest and the occasional shift of the blanket. You kept one hand gliding over her spine, slow and reassuring, the other wrapped securely around her middle.

“You’re alright,” you whispered again, just to anchor her a little more. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me.”

It took a few minutes before you moved. Gently, so gently, you eased her back onto the pillows just enough to slip your arm out from beneath her. Her brow knit slightly, but you murmured, “I’m not going anywhere,” and she stilled again.

You leaned toward the nightstand and opened the lower cabinet. The small stash you kept for times like this was right where you’d left it. A fresh bottle of water, stored there intentionally for when neither of you had the energy to make it to the kitchen. You twisted off the cap and reached for her again, nudging her carefully into the cradle of your arm.

“Here,” you said softly, bringing the bottle to her lips. “Small sips.”

She didn’t resist. Her fingers curled loosely around your wrist and she drank, slow and obedient, her throat moving with each swallow. You watched her closely, brushing a thumb across her temple when she paused for breath.

“There you go,” you murmured. “Just like that.”

When she’d had enough, you lowered the bottle and set it back on the nightstand. Her head fell softly against your shoulder. You kissed her hair, lips lingering there as your arms folded back around her.

There was no tension in her body now. Only that slow return to herself. You could feel the shift in her breath each time your hand moved, the way her chest rose more deeply, like she was reclaiming the shape of it. You stayed quiet, letting your presence fill the space she might not know how to ask for.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” you whispered, your mouth brushing her hair. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

She shifted, not pulling away, just adjusting, her nose brushing your neck. You didn’t know if she could hear every word. That wasn’t what mattered. You just needed her to feel them, in your voice, in your arms, in the way you kept holding her without expectation.

Your hand came up to her face again, thumb stroking her cheekbone.

“You are so much more than enough,” you said quietly. “Exactly like this.”

Her breath hitched, just once. She buried her face further into your skin and you felt the faintest tremor move through her. You didn’t pull back. You didn’t ask if she was alright. You just held her. Like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like nothing about her needed to be reined in, reshaped, or corrected.

You kissed her forehead once, then again, slower, and pressed your cheek to her hair.

“You should be proud,” you whispered. “You were incredible.”

There was a small, almost inaudible sound in her throat. Not quite a sob. Not quite a breath. You closed your eyes and held her through it, your hands steady, your body quiet and present, giving her all the room she needed to come back gently.

“You’re safe,” you said again, your lips close to her ear now. “You’re safe with me.”

Eventually, her breathing settled into something soft and even. Each inhale slower than the last, exhale brushing your collarbone like a secret. She hadn’t let go of you. One arm still curled around your waist, her leg hooked loosely over yours, like if she just stayed close enough, the rest of the world could wait a little longer.

You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything left to say, not in words. Just this quiet, unhurried peace between you. You let your palm drift in slow, grounding circles over the middle of her back, tracing the soft line of her spine like it was familiar and sacred both. She felt warm and weightless in your arms, but there was something else there too, something settling under her skin. Not just relief. Something steadier.

When her eyes blinked open again, they were clearer than before. The vulnerability was still there, but so was a flicker of something new. A softness, yes, but something firmer beneath it. You held her gaze until she dipped her head, burying it into the crook of your neck like she was shy about being seen.

You pulled the blanket tighter around you both and kissed the top of her head. Your hand stayed in her hair, smoothing it gently, and your other hand rested low on her back, keeping her close.

“I'm proud of you.”

Her breath caught, not a sob, not quite, but something raw enough to make your own throat tighten. She didn’t speak, only nodded slowly against your skin. Eventually she exhaled, soft and deep, like those four words reached someplace she didn’t have language for yet. You felt her fingers twitch against your skin. Her mouth brushed your collarbone as she breathed again, slower this time. There was still a trembling at the edges of her, but it was the kind that came after release. After surrender.

You watched the faint rise and fall of her body, felt her toes brush your ankle. Her presence felt so immediate, so here, and yet somehow delicate too, like a thread you didn’t dare tug too sharply. You could feel how close she was to drifting off, but still right on the edge, hovering in that quiet space that comes after giving so much of yourself away.

She had given you everything tonight. Let you in completely. Not only to her body, but to all the quiet, careful parts of herself she usually kept buried. The parts she was still learning to trust in someone else’s hands. You held her a little tighter, not because she needed it, but because you wanted her to feel it, to know it was real.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered again, not because she needed reminding, but because you needed her to know it wasn’t just for tonight. It was a promise. One you meant to keep.

There’d be time later to talk. To untangle the rest. But this, this was enough.

And somewhere deep in that quiet, something else was blooming. Not just peace, but something stronger. You saw it in the way her breath evened out. In the way she stayed close instead of retreating. She was starting to believe in herself again. Not in the way others demanded, but in a way she chose.

Her breathing had evened out against your skin, her body loose and heavy with the kind of tired that didn’t just sit in the muscles but deep in the bones. You weren’t far behind. Every part of you ached, used and spent, but it was the best kind of ache. Earned. Shared.

You shifted only to tuck the blanket higher over her shoulders. She mumbled something too quiet to catch, but her hand slid across your side like she was making sure you were still there. You answered by pulling her in a little closer, tucking your chin above her head.

Her leg curled tighter around yours. Your fingers stayed at the small of her back, moving slow, lazy strokes that barely counted as motion. The air between you was warm and quiet, filled only with breath and the weight of everything you didn’t need to say.

Eventually, her body went still. Sleep found her first. You felt it in the way her hold loosened just enough to be unconscious but not enough to let go.

You didn’t bother fighting the pull of sleep when it came. Not with her still wrapped around you, her breathing deep and steady against your skin, your arms full of her warmth. You just let go, the weight of the night fading, and drifted with her into a soft peaceful sleep.