#it's all in their eyes. and in their smiles

[lay-z]

Things you shouldn’t say around Task Force 141, unless you know how to deal with the consequences.

It’s a rare lazy day at the 141 HQ on base in Hereford.

Lazy for you, at the very least, due to an upcoming long holiday weekend and the blessing of being one if not the most efficient secretary around. 

Days like this mean it’s time for some groundwork, cleaning up messes from the past weeks, and doing all the filing you’ve been procrastinating for longer than you’d like to admit. 

But they also mean that either your boss or one of his men will approach you to ask for your lunch order at some point—more than happy to indulge in some much-needed downtime between training and paperwork. 

While Captain Price sits behind his desk with you standing next to him, signing some documents for you, the other three men all lounge around the room like they don’t quite know what to do with themselves if no orders are given. 

Kyle and Johnny manspreading on the leather couch in the corner, Simon is standing by the open window with his mask rucked up and a ciggy dangling between his gloved fingers. 

“What about shawarma? Haven’t had tha’ in a while,” Kyle suggests, scrolling on his phone as he continues to look for restaurants and chip shops nearby. 

Johnny groans next to him. “Aye, ’s good, but gives me the farts–” A loud smack. “Ow!” Your eyes flit up with furrowed brows, holding out another document to the captain. 

“Bruh.” Kyle kisses his teeth snidely, shaking his head as he drops his hand again while Johnny rubs the rapidly flushing nape of his neck. “There’s a lady present, Soap.” 

Simon snorts, flicking ash out of the window before taking another drag. 

“Muppets,” Price mutters under his breath as he takes the next document from your hold. 

“What do you want then, sweet’art?” Simon asks you directly, his voice even more gravelly before he exhale a plume of smoke.  

Smiling, you give a little shrug. “What do I want?” You chuckle, feeling bold enough to crack a joke for once. “How about a fat baby and a husband who’s utterly obsessed with me.” 

And suddenly, the office goes eerily quiet; tension skyrocketing as your face begins to heat up furiously within seconds. Now too embarrassed to even look up, you miss the severe look all four share with each other, as if you’d just spoken some forbidden words—or given the permission to cross a line they’d drawn themselves. 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat awkwardly, tapping a neat stack of papers on the captain’s desk, “I mean uh... just some chips and–and a sandwich maybe?” 

But it’s too late, they all heard you loud and clear—noticed the underlying truth and longing in your words, even if you tried to mask it with humour.  

Both Johnny and Simon stare at you like they’ve finally locked eyes on their target, and while Kyle can nudge Johnny hard, the young Sergeant can only debate to throw a boot at the Lieutenant to snap him back to reality, but then Price clears his throat and takes the lead. 

“Right,” he says gruffly, “sandwiches sound good, darlin’.”  

The leather of his office chair creaks as he leans back leisurely, regarding you with a strangely soft look and a friendly pat on the back of your hand, like he’s soothing a bristling kitten.  

“Would you be a dear and call the sandwich shop to have ‘em prepare our order? I’m positive Soap or Gaz will pick it up for us later.”  

“Yes, sir,” you answer tentatively, and you catch how both Sergeants nod all too obediently, flashing toothy smiles at you with a rather suspicious glint in their eyes while Simon lights another cigarette with his broad back now turned towards you, now holding an awkward tension in his shoulders. 

“Brilliant.” Price clears his throat again and you suddenly feel lout of place, like they’re having a fully non-verbal conversation about a secret you’re not briefed on. It’s feels entirely different than the times they talk about anything classified—like this is personal. 

“Now, darlin’, if you have all the signatures you need, I’ll have some intel to share with the team.” 

It’s his polite and roundabout way to tell you to leave, so you give a quick nod as you gather the files you’d brought, and you hate how your hands are trembling with adrenaline, feeling like you’re watched by four apex predators. 

And when the door to the captain’s office closes behind you with a final click, it echoes inside the empty hallway along with the shaky exhale of a deep sigh as you curse yourself for cracking that joke and making the men uncomfortable. 

Meanwhile, just behind a heavy door and thick walls, the core of TF-141 is already planning their upcoming mission, now determined more than ever since knowing you to fulfil your greatest wish— 

Giving you a fat baby, each, and four men utterly obsessed with you along with them. 

[seiwas]

just thought about stepdad bakugo being caught off guard the first time your teenage son calls him “dad” 🥺

it’s after years of being with you. their relationship isn’t bad by any means—it’s okay; it’s good. but your son has called him katsuki for the longest time, and he was happy with that, perfectly content even (at least, he thought he was).

it was enough that your boy dubbed his cooking “the best in the entire universe and beyond”; it was enough that your boy trusted him enough with a few harmless secrets that you may never know. it was enough that you’d both welcomed him into your home, into your lives, in a way that’s made him feel like he belongs.

it was enough (at least, he thought it was), until your kid comes home with a group of friends one day and they ask him, “who’s the guy in your backyard?”

between the scrapes of soil against his gardening shovel and mild hearing problems, katsuki shouldn’t have been able to hear anything—but he hears this loud and clear.

your kid tells his friends, “oh, that’s just my dad,” like it’s the most obvious, natural thing in the world and it hits katsuki square in the chest.

the next thing he knows, he’s smiling, eyes a little wet but not yet crying (—is what he’ll tell you later). it’s a small curve of his lips, but it stays plastered on until the moment you come home.

you wonder, when the three of you are cleaning up after dinner, “what’s got you all smiley today?”

he looks at you, back a little straighter and chest puffed out just a bit more. then, he glances at your son just an earshot away, wiping the table clean; he turns to you, mumbling, “tell ya ‘bout it later.”

(like he’s got all the pride in the world, like he’s got all the love in the world).

[hyoer]

Project: Get Over Bob

pairing. Bob Reynolds x reader

synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now it's up to you to begin Project Get Over Bob.

warnings. no use of y/n, not much angst right now, reader pining for Bob but pushing it all down!! Bob breaking my little y/n's heart.

word count. 2.7k.

Bob Reynolds was many things, but one thing he wasn’t, was subtle.

You knew it.

He knew it.

Everyone knew it.

So when he started batting his eyelashes at the owner of the local bookstore, you knew that you might have to get rid of your crush.

You and Bob had known each other now for at least a year, and had fallen into the perfect morning routine.

You’d wake up at 7am, stumble your way into the kitchen, knocking on everyone’s doors as you went. Of course, Ava, Bucky, and Walker would have already left for training, but it was nice to cause a bit of ruckus so early in the day. You’d pop some coffee on and by the time it brewed, Bob would be sitting at the island in the middle of the room with a grin and an extra Splenda packet for you.

But today?

Today, he was nowhere to be found.

“Coffee for me?”  Yelena asked as she wiggled her brows at you.

You smiled and scoffed “Knock yourself out”

“Have you seen my bowie knife, I think I left it in the sink but I came to grab it last night and it was gone.” She whined, her bottom lip jutting out in such a cute way you couldn’t help but grin and pinch her cheeks.

“You left your disgusting dirty knife in the sink?!! We practically EAT out of there”  Walker shouts.

“We don’t eat out of the sink stupid”

“Well, if we’re washing our dishes in the sink and we eat off of them then ��� yeah – we do”

“So what? You decided to throw my knife away because of that??”

Yelena’s accusation turns John bright red, the two bickering and throwing insults around at a rapid pace.

While those two are enthralled in a ‘spirited debate’  Ava and Bucky stroll in. The latter animatedly mimicking what you think? is some kind of old-school wrestling move. Bucky suddenly tunes into the two blondes’ argument, starts to smirk and you raise a brow at his reaction. His wink back was enough evidence that he definitely had something to with the disappearance of Lena’s knife.

Yeah, you need to learn how to rage bait effectively from the centurion.

The elevator chimes and you all turn to see Bob waving, carrying a very nice smelling paper bag which you can only hope are filled with some almond doughnuts from Supermoon.

You open your mouth to say something, until a small figure comes out from behind him. Long black hair, big eyes and-and wait it’s the lady from the bookstore?

You’d spoken to her before and honestly, she was lovely, super smart and made your day every time you stepped foot to her store. She'd recommended Dante's Inferno to you when you’d ask for an all-time classic so obviously you had to love her. You liked her so much you’d even taken her email so you both could discuss you guys’ excitement for the new Odyssey film.

And now here she was, the kind woman from the store clinging onto Bob’s side.

All you could see was his hand, Bob’s hand, your Bob’s hand covering hers so tenderly.

The way he did with you.

Everyone’s gaze seemed to zero in on you and your reaction.

“Hey guys um Lily and I are heading to the game room, you-you guys are welcome to join, we’re watching ‘The Shining’!” God, the way his eyes shifted to hers in such a soft way, assuring her that she was welcome here, killed you.

He stares at you for a moment; you know Bob was looking for some comfort from you, that yes he's made a good choice in finally trying to live a normal life.

Through your shock you pull yourself together, give a thumbs up and wink, mouthing the words ‘she’s cute’. You heart may be breaking but you care for him too much to not support something that makes him so obviously happy.

You can see him visibly relax and as the others rally to greet Lily a sudden flurry of steps from Alexei stole the group’s attention. The large leather clad (you’d have to have a conversion to him about the concept of lounge wear) man claps his hands together as he caught sight of the two in the doorway.

“Finally Bob, you ask Lily to come here. You know he asked me over and over and over advice on how to charm pretty woman with shop” he says, turning to the group with a smile on his face.

Yelena places her hand in the small of your back and glares at Alexei, the man looking absolutely bewildered at the others’ reaction to what he thinks is the best news he’d heard all week.

“So.. you both are together or –“ John questions, shooting an inquisitive look between the two.

“We haven’t really, well, haven’t put a label on it yet, we’re just hanging out, right-right?” he turns to face her, and every inch of her face lights up as she laughs.

“Yeah, this is his audition for boyfriend”, nudging him in a familiar way.

They’d only known each other a month why were they suddenly so buddy-buddy?

Ava, as kind as ever, decides to change the subject, asking about the team’s plans for next month’s mission. You hear the words safe-house and horses but can’t bring yourself to care.

The lovebirds take this as their cue to leave and Bob gives you a soft smile as he walks away with someone that’s not you.

Ok.

Time to get over Robert Reynolds once and for all.

Phase 1

You decided to split Project Get Over Bob into 4 phases = fill up your timetable and become busy - stop hanging out with Bob – stop thinking of Bob – reach the ultimate nirvana and make yourself invisible to him.

Ok, well the phases were vaguely something like that.

Simple right?

Phase 1 was easy; you’d used the guise of a new hobby (jiu-jitsu) as an excuse to be out of any kind of common area or team activity. Claiming to the team during the monthly debrief that you had to know the sport as an effective cover for your mission.

So, while half of your day was taken up by morning classes and sparring in the afternoon with Lena and Buck, there was still the entirety of the evening to deal with.

You and Bob spent most evenings cooking dinner, filling reports to send off to Mel and watching shitty French arthouse films until you were both knocked out for the day. This had to stop.

Ottolenghi could wait, you thought to yourself as you booted up your laptop and found the perfect pottery class that was on the other side of the city and about 2 hours long.

“Are you trying to replace all of our plates?” a voice says from behind you, causing you to jump and almost drop the drink you were holding in your free hand.

“Jesus John, learn to make some noise when walking into a room!”

Walker jumps over the sofa landing snuggly next to you, he reeks of sweat nothing too bad but you wrinkle your nose in faux disgust.

“You smell awful did you roll around in dirt before you got here or what”

“I’ll have you know I beat Bucky and Alexei while sparring today, hence the sweat”

You look at him incredulously. There was no way that Walker could beat them 1 v 2. Sure, he was strong he’d managed to rough you up plenty of times but James had the fancy hydra serum and well Alexei was just out of his mind Russian so how did the so called ‘second rate’ captain America manage to beat them?

As if catching onto your line of thought John grabs your head and brings his arm around your neck, playfully tickling you with the other. Your burst out in giggles, gasping and shouting at him to let you go.

While he has you in a headlock without mercy Lily and Bob walk in.

Their conversation stalls as Bob lays his eyes on the two of you messing around.

Walker straightens up and you stare at him confused with the immediate shift in behaviour.

“What are you both doing?” he questions his voice tight and his hands clenched at his sides.

“John managed to best the two greatest super soldiers on earth, apparently. I personally don't believe it” you state while winking in Lily’s direction. She holds her mouth with her palm, attempting to hide her laugh.

“Anyway, I’ve got some work to catch up on so I’ll see you guys later”,  you clap your hands while standing up and shuffle out of the room, bidding goodbye to them all.

Bob looks at your retreating figure, both John and Lily staring at him snaps him out of his daze and he leads her to the lab downstairs.

You couldn’t wait to leave the room, Bob’s reaction made no sense to you. You knew he was always slightly awkward with Walker but they had hashed out whatever issues they had months ago, so why was he so annoyed with him today?

The rest of the week goes by with you keeping as busy as possible, you can count on one hand how many times you’d even seen Bob and you wanted to keep it that way.

You told yourself all you had to do was make it to week 4, and you would be off to Mongolia with Alexei and Walker for at least 2 months, and by then the Bob-shaped hole in your heart would be filled up and pasted over.

Phase 2

All you needed to do for phase 2 of your plan was to wean yourself off the drug that was Bob. The aforementioned drug was not making it easy for you, even though you’d changed your habits, he hadn’t.

Every day he would wake up even earlier than usual and make your favourite breakfast of blueberry pancakes and an iced black coffee, leaving it on the counter closest to the elevator. He would stand next to your breakfast, almost militant in ensuring you ate every last bit because how else would you have enough energy for jiu-jitsu? He was so happy that you had decided to take on a new hobby and put yourself out there, you deserved to have fun so of course he wanted to show his support in any way he could.

You’d then decided to take the stairs around the back so you could avoid him but  he’d taken to waiting by reception with your breakfast in a small tin, like a wife waving her husband off for work. Was Bob your wife?

Never mind.

You’d decided to forgo even more sleep and join John in his 4am gym sessions, leaving for class after sparing with the super solider that spent 2 hours kicking your ass so hard that by the time you got to class you were aching.

At least it had limited your conversations with Bob.

One other problem needed to be solved.

Bob’s night terrors were almost daily and before Erica-gate you had allowed him to come to your room, he’d nestle himself into your sofa, you would wake up sometime after and speak to him until he felt at ease at which point he would whisper goodnight and tip toe back to his own bed.

You knew deep down that he only came to your room because it was closest to his, the comfort of your sofa was the most alluring part to him, you guess. It was bigger than Bucky’s, way softer than whatever the hell John had stuffed in his room, cleaner than Ava’s and Alexei and Yelena had declined any kind of comforts in their rooms so that wasn’t an option for him.

Bob loved your room.

So you would need to change your room.

It had to be sneaky, the others were already pestering you about changing your training timetable, but a big change like this would arouse suspicion from Bob. Maybe a burst pipe would be best.

You knelt next to your sink, gripping the hammer you’d stolen from the construction team plastering the entrance of the tower after an unfortunate parking incident at the hands of Yelena. You weren’t worried about the sound of you brutally slamming the hammer to the pipe, you’d forced Valentina to sound proof everyone’s bathrooms out of fear the others would hear you screaming your lungs out to Dionne Warwick every morning.

One final hit and water exploded across the room, soaking the floor and walls. Within minutes, the water seeped into the carpet of your room and once you were satisfied you changed out of your wet clothes and temporarily disposed of the hammer under your bed.

Running out your room you shouted for Ava – she was always locked in her room, tinkering away at her next project- you asked her to call maintenance up and with that phase 2 was well on its way.

The team sans Bob gathered round your room door as the very kind man who had fixed up your bathroom informed you and Mel that the flooring would need to be replaced because of the risk of Mold.

You struggled to hide your joy at the success of your plan so turned your face to grin at yourself. Quickly turning back and putting on a concerned face as you ‘brainstormed’ a solution to your-self inflicted dilemma.

 Ava tutted loudly as the group discussed where you would be staying. She locked eyes with you and gave you a look you couldn’t figure out, you’d have to chase her up on that later.

“Could I have the room next to you Buck?” his was the furthest from yours and would provide a respite from the man that you were attempting to avoid.

“Yeah course kid, need a hand with your stuff?”

You both spent the day moving every single item in your room into the one at the end of the hall, there wasn’t even a speck of dust that could have been traced back to you.

As you brought the last box out of your room Bob rounded the corner. It had been a few days since you’d last spoken to the man and even the sight of his face felt like too much for you to handle. But ignoring him now would be cruel and it wasn’t like you were trying to punish the guy.

Right?

His hair was up in a clip, something he normally only did when at self-care night with you and the other girls, tucked into Lena’s covers with a hyaluronic face mask and a hot chocolate. You liked it, he’d normally have his hair covering his face but you like seeing him, all of him.

“What happened? Why-why is your room boarded up, did something happen-“

“A pipe burst so I had to switch to a different room” you shrugged. “Buck offered the one attached to his so-”

“What-what about the one next to mine?”

Shit.

You hadn’t really thought about a good excuse for that, obviously, the one next to his would be the more reasonable option but you quickly spit out a lie.

“I was considering it… but the view from the other side of the tower is so great at night! It’s nicer to have a view of Central Park than Goldman Sachs when I’m working”

He nods in understanding, “Oh ok that makes sense”  He stills for a moment, and it looks as if he may say something, but he stops himself.

You take advantage of his hesitation. “I’m pretty tired, I’m gonna turn in m’kay, see you around Bob”

“Yeah-yeah I’ll see you, goodnight”

You walk past him as quickly as possible without looking back; if you had, you would have seen the absolutely devastated look on his face.

Bob wasn’t stupid.

He’d been trying to get your attention for the past two weeks and he knew that you were working hard to prepare for your mission, but you always made time for him no matter what.

Bob decided he would get to the bottom of your strange mood, no matter what it took.

Hey guys, hope you like the fic so far, It’s my first time writing fanfiction and not consuming it so if anyone has any writing tips pls let me know!

[reignpage]

State of Affairs

ꕤ Ever wondered how the room looks after a whole night of fun with each jjk men?

Gojo

ꕤ Scent: Fruity due to the strawberry mochi lube you used. How did he get strawberry mochi flavoured lube? He's Gojo Satoru; don't worry about it. There's an underlying saltiness in the air, more from his cum which stains the sheets, than anything else. It's an intoxicating smell reminding both of you of all the dirty things you got up to, and one sniff the morning after is all Satoru needs to get going again.

ꕤ Messiness: The mess is all over the house. Pots and pans on the floor in the kitchen, tower of rolls of tissue paper knocked over, towels on the floor, in the bathroom, throw pillows torn open with the stuffing all over the ground in the living room, and there are handprints and oily residue all over the windows, tables and walls. The party had spread to all the rooms in the house and ended in your bedroom.

ꕤ Toys: Quite fond of anal, there are beads hanging around somewhere, thoroughly used and thoroughly traumatised. Despite knowing how easily he could get out of them, fluffy handcuffs, broken in two, are on the bed — one on your ankle and the other on Satoru's wrist.

ꕤ Positioning: Spread eagle, Satoru's gangly limbs threaten to push you completely off the bed. He's got a foot shoved up your ass and a fist to your face, taking up more than three quarters of the space with the blankets kicked off, leaving you cold and shivering. Eventually, he'll groggily wake up at the crack of dawn, yawn and stretch, and then grin. He thinks you've never looked prettier still swollen from the night before and completely relaxed. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulls you into him and spoons you from behind, burying his nose into your hair.

Geto

ꕤ Scent: Oddly enough, there's not a strong overwhelming scent of sex. There's a tanginess to the air, for sure, but the clearest scent comes from the cigarette he's smoking or has just smoked, wafting in from the balcony. It also just smells like his precious hair mask.

ꕤ Messiness: Mildly messy, your shared room has certainly seen better days. Clothes are strewn haphazardly all over the floor, used condoms either just about hanging off the rim of the nearby trash can or lying at the foot of it, on account of Suguru throwing without looking, intent on keeping his eyes on you, devouring your beautiful expressions. The sheets are carefully placed on top of your body, shielding you from the coldness. Don't be fooled though — if someone shined a black light on the room, it'd look like a crime scene.

ꕤ Toys: A blindfold...folded neatly on the bedside table.

ꕤ Positioning: He's lying on his back with you tucked into his side, snoozing. Absentmindedly and unable to sleep, he pats your head, feeling comforted by your warmth. You've got a leg thrown over his, warm and wet pussy pressed to his thigh. He grinds it ever so slightly against your cunt and smiles softly when you moan in your sleep.

Choso

ꕤ Scent: There's a thick, toxic cloud of sex suffocating anyone who's unfortunate enough to wander in. It smells of pussy juice, dried salty cum, sweat from a marathon runner, and a wild mix of all sorts of flavoured lube.

ꕤ Messiness: Super messy. Disastrous even. Bottles of lube spill on the floor, on the bed, and on the bedside table. Clothes are all over the place, panties covering a plushie, boxers in a glass of water, blankets on the floor, and bedsheet clinging to just one corner of the bed. Scrunched up tissues cover the floor like rose petals on Valetine's Day. So do the used condoms. The legs of the bed have given up and the mattress has slid ever so slightly on the floor, completely soaked and unusable. There are even polaroid pictures of you scattered across the room, some stained with cum and the others just soaked through.

ꕤ Toys: Literal stuffed toys were used. The nose of your teddy bear is soaked...

ꕤ Positioning: Having fallen asleep in the sixty-nine position, your head is at his dick, balls up your nose, and his chin pokes at your pussy. He has a hand groping your ass in his sleep, drool down his chin and nose twitching. Still asleep, his senses lead him to the delicious scent he keeps smelling, lazily making out with your pussy again, making mhm noises.

Toji

ꕤ Scent: Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. It smells like someone was thoroughly fucked. It smells like tears, a flood of cum, and no regrets. There's nothing clumsy about the scent — no spilled lube or fancy, experimental condoms. This is man and woman meeting in the most raw way. Au natural baby.

ꕤ Messiness: Contained chaos, one could say. It's messy but only in the places you had sex at, which to be fair was...everywhere. Your clothes are all ripped up, so are your panties, and they hang like streamers on the lamps, on desks and drawers, even on picture frames of your family. Sorry Mom (I'd say 'Sorry Dad' too but let's be honest, if you're a Toji kinda girl, you probably don't have one). The thinnest condoms man could invent have been used and no attempts to throw them out have been made. In fact, you're pretty sure at some point, he made you suck on one of them...

ꕤ Toys: Again, au natural. Bay. Bee. The toys he used were those beefy arms of his, choking you into making slutty confessions like, you'll never want any other cock than his or how you want to be filled with his cum 24/7 in all your holes.

ꕤ Positioning: Toji's lying on his back, one hand on his balls and the other holding you to him. You're facing away, cuddling up on the arm he's wrapped around you just so he can hold a tit, jiggling it whilst asleep like the weight keeps him grounded. It's a great position to wake up in actually because then he can lift one of your legs and insert himself from behind.

Nanami

ꕤ Scent: Floral. It smells like heaven. No, really. He lit some candles to set the scene, not that he needed to, but he just wanted to find a time to use it. It barely covers up the smell of sex though— the kind of sex no married couple has. Just one sniff tells the story of two people filled with so much love and adoration fucking like they absolutely hate each other's guts.

ꕤ Messiness: Not very messy at all. The mess is mostly contained to the bed. The rest of the room is untouched — Kento never let you out of bed, not even for a second, not to pee or eat, and certainly not to take a break. Moreover, because no condoms had been used, most of the mess has pooled between your legs. Thankfully, your sweet husband remembered just how much you hate cleaning up so he kept you plugged all night with his fingers. It'll be a waste otherwise, he thought. Eventually, when you're both ready to start the day, he'll do all the clean up, starting with his tongue on your pussy.

ꕤ Toys: Does a costume count as a toy? Well, he did use a vibrator on you at one point. But the main event had really been the maid costume you put on, fit with a collar he couldn't stop looking at. It had stayed on for most of the time, the skirt flipped over your hips so he can ram inside you and hear the slapping of skin. By morning time, it was soaked in sweat and cum and hanging by a thread, barely covering any inch of skin.

ꕤ Positioning: You're cuddling into each other, his chin resting on top of your head, your face in his chest, legs tangled and arms holding each other tight. From the sight alone, none would know the nasty bumping and grinding your bodies had gotten up to the night before.

Sukuna

ꕤ Scent: Like something had been burnt the whole night. It almost smells like incense, with the smoke and subtle scent of sweet musk permeating the air. Overpowering and overwhelming, the entire hallway estate would have to be cleared like the radiation could somehow burn the servants' skin.

ꕤ Messiness: At this point, it's not messiness but rather complete and utter devastation. No furniture was spared. The entire decor would have to be replaced by expert renovators. There are holes in walls, dents in the floor, glass shattered on every surfaces, the bed looks like it's been disassembled by a giant baby, and there are scorch marks as far as the eye can see in every room, on every wall, and in every corner. It looks like the whole estate had been used as a rage room.

ꕤ Toys: A tangle of red rope hangs from the ceiling, just as you had been the night before. He doesn't care for vibrators (annoying little things) or handcuffs (useless inventions and if you wanted to be restrained so badly, he can, and does, use two of his four arms to keep your limbs tied up).

ꕤ Positioning: You're lying on him, using him as a bed, in the garden. One of his hands cradles your head, another is petting your back, one cups your ass, and the last is fitting his cock back inside your pussy. He's warm and was able to shield you from the cold of the outdoors and best believe his malevolent aura was warding off any bugs. The sun is rising and Sukuna curses it, irritated by the fact that its bright light will rouse you from slumber, but at least, he supposes, he can devour you all over again.

[madamechrissy]

Fucking Hiromi Higuruma's face <3

pairingss- Boss Hiromi x F! assistant reader

warnings- it's literally just a oneshot/drabble of Hiromi wanting you to fuck his face so he can de-stress from his busy day :') Oral (f receiving) some teasing, Hiromi being desperate for you, jerking off, panty stealingg

This is my first time writing for himm ahhh hope I do okayy!

Hiromi can't stop staring at his pretty law assistant - you - every time you bend over. He also can't help how irritated he gets when men in the office flirt with you. But, you're not his...

Yet.

"Mr. Higuruma, here." You're smiling as you hand him a stack of papers you've notated for him, looking too damn pretty in that red blazer and pencil skirt.

"Thank you, love," he murmurs softly, taking them from you, and you frown a bit. "What's wrong?"

"You look exhausted, everything okay?" He smiles a bit, thin lips crooking up as he eyes you, there are bags much more than his usual under dark eyes.

"I'm always tired." He mumbles, swiping a hand over his face.

"But you look very tired, is there anything I can do to help more?" You walk up to him now, a hand brushing his shoulder over his black suit jacket, his heart thrums in his chest at the contact.

If you knew the filthy things he thinks about you, the way he strokes his cock imagining you when he gets home, the way he glimpses those panties you wear when you cross and uncross those legs. He's thought of fucking stealing a pair, just to taste you, it's gotten that bad the obsession with you.

You're younger, you're bright and so energetic, perhaps the opposite of him, exhausted constantly from taking on far too many cases lately, throwing himself into his work. Your fingers are burning through the layer of his jacket, he faintly notices your breasts rising and falling with your breaths.

"I could rub your neck, it looks tense. Or is that too forward-"

"Can you fuck my face?"

"Huh!?"

"Huh?" You blink for a moment, so confused, your lips parted. "I said nothing," he clears his throat and yanks on that black skinny tie, veins pressing up under the tanned skin.

"Nothing, huh?" You lean down, tugging at the tie, yanking him just a bit so that he moans softly. "You sure it was nothing?"

"I'm very tired..." his breath is right against your lips now, you're tugging him right to you, making him lose it. He's already blurted it all out there, too.

Fuck he's so screwed.

"Say it again, Hiromi," the way that rolls off your tongue is way too sweet now. "Did you say you needed a massage?"

"No," he admits, cheeks more flushed the closer you get. "I said... I want you to fuck my face."

Your tummy clenches, letting go of the tie somewhat, he eases back in his office chair, you sit right up on his desk, shoving stacks of papers on each side. He licks his lower lip as you do, hands gripping your thighs and shoving up that pencil skirt. "Well, then, get down there and I will."

"Fuck, you're the best assistant ever, y'know that love?" You try to act bold, but when his breath is on your cunt over your panties, you whine out, his long nose bumping your clit over the cloth soaking. "Smell so sweet..."

"I do?" He moans, nodding, burying himself in your scent desperately, long tongue lapping as you grip strands of dark brown hair in one of your hands, head falling back as he soaks the fabric. "Mmnh!"

"Shh," he murmurs, a hand slipping up your calf gently, goosebumps rising along his touch in a trail, while he nuzzles your cunt. "Want people to hear you being so slutty?"

"Y-you're slutty," Hiromi chuckles against your skin, pulling back now, leaning in that seat, loosening the tie so part of his collarbone is exposed just a bit, watching you with dilated pupils under those lazy lidded eyes. "Mnh, get back there."

"Take em off, hmm pretty?" you can't tell if he's letting you take the lead or if he's keeping it. You bite your lower lip, shaking your head, making him raise a brow. "I said, take them off."

"Yes, sir." The way he commands you so gently has you trembling, thighs already sticky as arousal slips down from your little hole, aching from his teasing. You slip them down, leaning on your elbows and lifting your hips in the quiet little office, light filtering in through the blinds and casting shadows of your form and his on one of the cream walls.

He's exhaling when he sees your cunt for the first time, his cock leaking even more precum, glistening and puffy already. "Barely touched you yet," he taunts softly, dragging your panties down your ankles, right over your pretty black heels. "Why so wet already?"

You don't get to respond really, he's kissing you then, one because he wants to taste your lips, and two, he needs to sneak your panties into the pocket of his slacks. You are lost in his kisses, the lazy and leisurely way his tongue slips inside your mouth, your nails gripping his starch white dress shirt, fingers slipping between your thighs and rubbing your slit.

"Fuck, so wet for me, love..." he's whispering against your lips, leaving trails of saliva as his kiss gets messier, nose bumping against your before he leans back, sinking to his knees.

The sight of your boss like that is heady, his knees on the rug beneath you two, his hands spreading your thighs now, burying his face right back between them. He's hungry, messy, so desperate as he devours your pussy like he's starving, so intense how his tongue fucks your hole, how his nose bumps your twitchy clit, and you're grinding on him, so wet it's dripping all across his face.

Hiromi laps up every bit of wetness you have, his other hand palming his erection, throbbing and leaking, moaning against your slick heat and causing vibrations that have you almost screaming out. You bite down on your knuckles to prevent a scream, your other hand stuck in his hair as he moves his head side to side.

"H-Hiromi..." You're whispering his name, dragging him away from your cunt for just a moment, his eyes so lidded you can hardly see his irises.

"Yes, love, what do you need?" He's your boss asking you what you need, on his knees, the movement of two fingers slipping into your hole with a messy squelch making you whine out.

"Wanna cum, please," he smirks just a little, that tired smile he always gives you, face coated in your slick.

"Then cum for me, you deserve to, such a good law assistant, aren't you?" You eat up the praise as he eats up your juicy cunt, messy and sloppy with it. He's filthy in face, moaning into your hole as he spreads you so wide, and your hips arch up and down. "That's it, fuck my face."

You realize that is exactly what you're doing, fucking his face, his nose slips between your folds at certain points, tongue moving up and down in wicked stripes. You hear it, the wetness mixing with your soft whines and his hushed moans, buried against your cunt as he pushes you right over the edge.

"Gonna cum-" knock knock knock.

You curse, and Hiromi pulls back, scowling at the door. "I'm busy."

"Mr-"

"Busy." He says it so firm, making you even needier, throbbing around nothing as you stroke back his strings of hair falling over his now sweat covered brow. "Cum for me,"

You can't not cum, not when the knocks subside and the footsteps echo away, and Hiromi has his tongue curling inside your gummy walls, they convulse around the wet muscle, as you scream out into your palm, leaned back on the desk. Your entire body radiates from the sweet pressure in your core, until you're seeing black spots, back arching up as you ride it out against his long nose, his lips, his entire fucking face.

"Use me, fuck," you never expected those words, but you do just that, much to Hiromi's pleasure, pulling his hair so hard it's painful, just making him stroke his cock once, twice, so hard it's painful. You use him and ride out one orgasm into another, suffocating him between your thighs.

It's perfect.

"Oh my g-god..." you're shaking as you come to, movements halting, Hiromi pulls back and licks his lips, standing and hovering over you, pinning your hips to the desk while you swipe some of your cum off his face, cheeks heated at how much there was. "Did that really relax you?"

"Oh, it did." He tilts your chin up, kissing you, letting you taste yourself all along his lips, while one of his hands entangles in your hair, loosely fallen from its ponytail early. "Mmm, get back to work."

"Get back to work? what about you?" He just presses a kiss on your head, smiling.

"I'm well relaxed. Same time tomorrow?" You nod shyly, giggling a bit as he eases you down on wobbly legs. You're too fucked out to notice your missing panties, so Hiromi uses them to cum in right before his meeting with the new law interns, burying them in one of his drawer after busting his load, sighing and standing, stretching.

That was just the trick for his exhaustion.

Perm tags 1- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[humanjarvis]

three things

“oh my god, how is it already 6:50? it was 6:10 the last time i checked,” you ramble, practically shoving your left earring in.

fiddling with his cuff link, sylus chuckles unhurriedly. “that’s how time works, sweetie.”

“shut it. we’re gonna be late,” you whine, whipping around to rummage through your handbag. “we’re gonna be late, and…”

pausing your panicked search, you look around the room forlornly.

“keys,” he drawls mercifully, paying your lost expression no mind.

“right. keys,” you sigh in relief, snatching your discarded keychain from the coffee table. “now where is my—”

“wallet?” he teases. sauntering up behind you, he wraps an arm around your waist and slips the leather case into your hands. “right here.”

frowning, you lift it to eye level, glaring at it suspiciously. “i swear, i left you in my purse. how did you even escape?”

an amused hum sounds from behind you.

“well, that’s it, i think.” pausing, you scan the room around you to double-check and give him a frazzled nod. “okay, yes. i’m ready, let’s go!”

you make it a total of two rushed steps before sylus blocks your path, wordlessly cocking an eyebrow.

“what?” you wheeze, heartbeat pounding in your ears. “sylus, we have to hurry! our reservation is at 7:00!”

in front of you, crimson mist suspends something small and black in midair. “phone,” sylus says, voice dipping with a fond sigh.

“oh. yeah. i guess i do need tha—”

dangling helplessly above you, your phone blinks to life with a new message. but before you can grab it, it rises several inches higher in the air.

with a lazy smirk, sylus settles his eyes on you expectantly. “are you forgetting something else, kitten?” he asks, checking his watch with a playful tsk. “we don’t have all day.”

for a moment, you gape at him, too flustered to play his guessing game. but as your stalemate continues, the gleam in his ruby irises clues you in.

slowly, you approach him, running your palms along his chest. “you’re right. how could i forget?” you whisper with a small smile. standing up on your tiptoes, you brush his cheek with a sweet kiss. “thank you.”

[fanficgirl429]

Super Solider Stamina

Pairing: fem!reader x Bucky Barnes

Prompt: Y/N reveals too much information about her and Bucky's sex life to Yelena and Ava and Bucky get's revenge

Warnings: Mentions of sex, 18+ only, minors do not engage

-----

Y/N was lounging upside-down on the Avengers Tower couch, legs hanging over the backrest, hair brushing against the floor, and a knowing smirk plastered across her face. In front of her, Yelena sat cross-legged with a tub of ice cream in her lap, while Ava flipped through a magazine she clearly wasn’t reading.

"You two are so tense," Y/N declared, pointing a spoon at them. “You both need to go out and get laid. Seriously.”

Yelena didn’t look up. “And we’re starting here, why?”

“Because this is an intervention,” Y/N said, straightening dramatically. “You’re both walking nerve bundles. I swear I can hear Ava’s spine grinding. And Yelena, you flinched when the toaster popped this morning.”

“It was loud,” Yelena snapped.

“Exactly my point. What you need isn’t therapy, or more combat training. What you need is a hot, completely forgettable one-night stand with someone who knows what they’re doing and isn’t afraid to ruin your life for one night.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “And this is coming from the woman who’s dating America’s Broodiest Man.”

“Exactly!” Y/N beamed. “Bucky was broody. Now? He’s relaxed. Smiles more. Sleeps better. He even jokes.”

Yelena looked suspicious. “What did you do to him?”

Y/N leaned in with a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Oh no,” Ava said immediately. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

“I’m just saying,” Y/N went on, not afraid to share any details about her sex life, “there’s something exhilarating about being pinned down by a supersoldier.”

Yelena gagged. “Please stop.”

"I’m dead serious. One night with him, and I finally understood what super soldier stamina really means. He doesn’t stop. Not until your legs are shaking, your voice is wrecked, and your body forgets what rest feels like. Three orgasms? Minimum. Coherent thought? Not happening for at least twenty-four hours. He’s relentless, in the best, most devastating way possible."

Ava blinked. “Three?”

Y/N nodded. ""And that’s before he even takes the shirt off. Once it’s gone and you see all that hard muscle and barely restrained control, it’s over. He pins you with that look—hungry, possessive—and suddenly your back’s against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, and he’s fucking you like he has something to prove. His stamina is unreal—relentless thrusts that leave you shaking, his mouth everywhere, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re crying his name and can’t remember your own."

Yelena dropped her spoon. “That’s too much visual. Too much detail. I'm still a child in some countries.”

Y/N was on a roll now, unbothered. “One time? He…used the vibranium arm as leverage, braced me against the glass, and said—”

The elevator doors slid open with a gentle ding.

The man of the hour, Bucky Barnes stepped in, toweling off his hair, dressed in joggers and a dark henley, walking toward the kitchen but stopping when he heard the word “leverage.”

He paused.

Three sets of eyes locked onto him.

“...What did I just walk into?” he asked cautiously.

Y/N lit up. “Hey, babe! We were just talking about you.”

Yelena threw the pillow at her. “She’s telling us war crimes.”

Ava was smirking at Bucky, revealing she knew way too much about him. “Y/N said that you have amazing stamina and that you’re vibranium arm--”

Bucky turned bright red. “I—what? Wait. Y/N!”

Y/N shrugged innocently. “What? I’m helping! They’re stressed. They need to relax. I’m offering inspiration.”

“I did not consent to being used as Exhibit A in your sex-ed TED Talk!” Bucky barked, now clearly panicking.

“Too late,” Yelena muttered. “You’re a whole case study now.”

“I’m leaving,” Bucky muttered, already walking backward toward the elevator. “You’re all insane.”

“Love you!” Y/N called after him. 

Bucky paused, pointing at her. “You’re getting payback.”

“I hope so,” she smirked.

The elevator doors shut behind him.

Ava slowly turned to Y/N. “So... back to this leverage thing…”

Yelena held up her hand. “No. We’re going to a bar. We’re finding someone hot. And I’m doing whatever they say—as long as it doesn’t involve windows, or vibranium.”

Y/N pumped her fist. “That’s the spirit.”

---

The team was mid-briefing in the tower’s war room, the kind with the 3D holograms, the giant table, and an overwhelming amount of caffeine. Y/N sat between Yelena and Ava, twirling a pen like she wasn't already bored out of her mind.

Walker was talking and clicking through intel slides. Bob was silently judging everyone.

And Bucky?

Bucky was biding his time.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded casually, watching Y/N with a small, unreadable smirk on his face. She hadn’t noticed yet. But Yelena did. 

Something was coming.

Walker cleared his throat. “So our next op involves infiltration through a three-story compound—minimal cover, tight corridors. We’re thinking two-person teams. Standard breach and clear—”

Bucky casually raised a hand. “Can I make a team suggestion?”

Walker looked up. “What’re you thinking?”

Bucky smiled. “I should probably pair up with Y/N. She’s good at close-quarters work.”

Y/N arched a brow. “I’m flattered, babe.”

Bucky kept going. “And she’s excellent under pressure. Real flexible. Knows how to adapt to… tight spaces.”

Yelena immediately started choking on her water.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” Bucky innocently said. “Just giving the team some context for why I think we work well together. Like that time in Berlin—what was it you said? ‘You handle the top, I’ll take the bottom’?”

Ava’s mouth dropped open.

Walker blinked slowly. “I’m…gonna pretend that was tactical.”

Bucky smiled. “Oh, it was very… hands-on.”

Y/N’s face was flaming. “James Buchanan Barnes, I will kill you.”

“Oh no,” he said, leaning back. “You’re the one who decided to give my resume out like free samples at Costco. This is me… networking.”

Bob tilted his head, intrigued. “This is more entertaining than the actual mission.”

Ava tried not to laugh and failed. “You two need couple’s therapy or a reality show. Maybe both.”

Yelena was wheezing. “I told her payback was coming.”

Bucky turned to Y/N with a shit-eating grin. “You really should warn them about how loud you are during recon missions. Could compromise the whole operation.”

Y/N kicked him under the table so hard that Ava’s water bottle rattled.

“Oops,” she said sweetly. “Tactical reflex.”

Walker stared down at his notes. “I’m begging you. Keep the flirting PG until after we clear the building.”

“I can’t make promises,” Y/N muttered, glaring at her boyfriend, who looked way too pleased with himself. 

“Good,” Bucky said, cracking his knuckles. “I like when you’re angry. Makes the mission more… physical.”

Yelena stood up. “I’m leaving. I can’t do this. I need bleach. Or a priest.”

Ava followed, eyes wide. “We were not ready for this level of revenge.”

Y/N slumped back in her chair, groaning. “I liked you better when you were emotionally repressed.”

Bucky leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You’re gonna like me even better tonight.”

Her pen snapped in half.

Walker, already regretting his life choices, said, “Next time, I’m assigning you to separate continents.”

[littledes1re]

Hii love. Can you write something about Joel getting you pregnant.

Maybe at first he didn't want kids (but because of his age, he thought he wasn't gonna be the best dad for them). He always knew you wanted, and one day he saw how good you are with them, and desire in your eyes. Maybe some smut thaanks

Makin’ you a mama

Pairing: Old!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, BREEDING KINK, praise, pet names, soft!joel, talking about pregnancy, pinv, unprotected sex (obviously), age gap! (62 x 26), one time joel calling himself ‚daddy‘

A/N: thank you anon for making me write this. I‘ve always wanted to write something like this but never had the balls lmao

It‘s been two years since you and Joel came to Jackson. And you couldn’t believe how well everything was going. After surviving hordes and hordes of clickers, runners and raiders, having to put up with the temperature that keeps on changing, searching for a place to rest and the fear of losing Joel even tho at that time, you two weren‘t even together. He was a grumpy, mad, annoyed man who never let his feelings out. Surviving with him meant also surviving him.

In all kinds that was just the past and a story to tell whenever you were invited to gatherings. Joel and your relationship was strong, you were scared that people would get shy away from the age gap, but apparently they have seen worse in the apocalypse. Whenever you two were together, people looked at you with admiration, asking themselves why their relationship wasn‘t going that well. Joel was overprotective, always made sure you were well taken care of, always listened to you, never argued. Other men had none of that in them. You were happy, content but there was one thing swimming around in the back of your head that you—no matter what, couldn‘t forget.

„You really think I would fit into the father role with my 62 years once again, baby?“ his eyes were gentle, looking at you, searching for enclosure in your expressions.

„Yea, why not? You make me feel taken care of, you are a great man, I know that you would very well fit into that role.“ your voice was just above a whisper. There was a sigh leaving his lips and then he took his glasses of, running trough his hair at the same time.

„I—I don‘t think I can do that. Just give me some time to think about that okey?“

Yet, the answer never came. And you never wanted to push him. So you let it rest. He lost his child once, he once had all of that and went trough a traumatic event, you knew that he was still scared.

And if you were honest with yourself, did you really want to have a baby in this god forsaken place? You really want to have that baby go trough the same traumatic things you two went trough? It wasn‘t easy living here. It wasn‘t easy living else where.

Maybe it was the end of the world. You didn‘t know that.

So you forgot that idea. Out of your mind.

You concentrated on your job. Daycare. Not really the best way to let that thought out of your mind, huh? But you loved it, you loved the kids, the pretty toys that were scattered everywhere, the colourful rooms and the sweet parents that came in and picked their kids up. It was a great way to forget the outside world, to really come close with the humanity that was forgotten for some many years.

Joel was going to pick you up, like he always does after doing his construction work around Jackson. When he came to your workplace tho, he had to stop and was completely lost in his thoughts.

It was you. Having a toddler on your hip, while swinging from left to right, singing to him. Your eyes were full of love, the toddler was laughing with you. His small hands gripping your shirt, tangled in your hair, feeling comfortable with you. Joel subconsciously started to smile, standing there and really thinking about how you would look like as a mother. There was something so effortless about the way you moved, how you instinctively cradled that child with your warmth and certainty. As if motherhood always lived within you, waiting to be embraced.

What if it was your kid in your arms? What if your house was filled with the laughter of having a child. Joel stood there and pictured you, soft glow in your cheeks, carrying the baby beneath your heart. How perfect you would look with a belly, how perfect you would fit into that role.

Joel longed for that feeling. He would do everything in this world to make you happy, to make you comfortable. He would not let you work, he would be there and raise that child with you. He would love you two unconditionally. And suddenly— there it was. The longing to become a father and make you a mother.

„J-joel—what the hell has gotten into you.“ you muttered out, out of breath as joel abruptly pulled you to him, kissing you, just seconds after going inside the house. He didn‘t answer, too hungry to think straight. You yelped as he threw you into the coach, going on top of you and spreading your legs.

„Joel.“ you whined, his hands quickly unbuttoning your shirt, then your bra, his fingers landing on your nipples, gently pinching the nub. You whimpered, too lost in the sudden pleasure, your hips starting to move up against his crotch.

„Pretty breasts are gonna filled with milk.“ he groaned out, your eyes widening. What was he talking about?

„Joel, what the hell are you even talking about?“ his hands stopped on your tits, gently moving to your belly, stroking around, smiling to himself.

„gonna make you a mama, baby.“

„Wait, really?“ you weren‘t sure if you heard that right. The man who was just scared of being a father again, was telling you that he was going to make you a mother. Joel chuckled at your reaction, unzipping his pants, taking his cock out. It was all red, his tip pulsing as he started to jerk off, squeezing it and releasing a moan from his lips.

„Mhm. Ain‘t that what you wanted? C‘mon now, open up.“

„Joel, are you sure? Look I don‘t want to pressure you—”

„I‘m sure. Now don‘t make me wait or I ain‘t giving you anything.“ he teased, your face lighting up as you giggled. Quickly, unbuttoning your jeans, while joel focused on pumping his cock and kissing and biting down your neck line. You spread your legs further, pulling your soaked panties down and running your hands trough your mans hair.

„That‘s right. Look at you, already so soaked. Gonna let me give you a baby, hm?“

His cock rubbed along your slit, your breath coming to a stop as you looked into his lust filled eyes. He slowly fed his cock into your cunt, your mouth falling open at the stretch and fullness you were feeling. His thumb coming at your little clit, slowly rubbing, making you whimper into the silent room.

„shh, I know, I know. That‘s it. Look at you letting me in. Little cunt needs this, baby. Needs me to fill her.“

And you can do nothing but moan and whimper around him as joel sets a rhythm with his thrusts. His cock going in and out of your pussy, the squelching sounds filling the room. Your tits moving up and down, his thumb never letting up on rubbing your clit. His gaze never left you. Concentrated on your fucked out expression, while also focusing on the hard but gentle thrusts he was giving you. Your knees trembling, thighs quivering—he was fucking you with all he had.

Your heels dug into the couch under you, your hips going closer to him, wanting to feel him just a little bit deeper. His cock meets your spot this way, making you cry out.

„That‘s the spot, yea?“ he groans out.

„Mhm.“ you whimper as an answer, too lost in the pleasure to even look into his eyes. You squeezed them, putting your hands on your tits playing with them.

„Gonna be a gorgeous mother, I know it, angel.“

Joel knows you are close as he sees your tummy clenching, your thighs shaking. He feels himself coming closer too, so he pulls you just closer into him, his thrusts concentrating on that spot in you, his hands holding your back so he stays as deep as possible in you.

„Daddy‘s gonna fill you up, but I want you to cum with me. C‘mon.“

He whispers into your ear, your toes curling as you feel the orgasm coming closer to you in your tummy.

„Doing so so well f‘me aren‘t you?“

His thrusts were growing sloppy as he breathlessly whispered praises into your ear.

„Belly gonna swell, tits gonna be full of milk. Letting that old man fill her up to the brim. Yea, my good girl, baby.“ And that what it all took for you to snap. You cried out, gripping his shoulder, feeling his cock twitch in your cunt, releasing rope after rope of cum into you. You clench, squeezing him for all of his worth, while biting into his shoulder and coming down from your orgasm.

While catching his breath, he gently lays you down again, caressing your tummy but doesn‘t pull out. Without a word he suddenly grabs you, his cock still in you, he carries you to the bedroom.

„Need it to take, baby.“

And you know that it‘s going to be a long night.

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | you cant just kiss me

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : the trend where you kiss your partner in the middle of a heated argument just to see what happens

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy ୨ৎ : tws : slight angst? ୨ৎ : word count : 616

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : im so locked in omg... (ive been so tired lately lmfao i wanna sleep writing this...)

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

he's mid-rant, hands flying, accent thick. "you don't listen sometimes, you just—"

you grab his face and kiss him. hard.

he freezes. literally forgets what planet he’s on.

blinks a few times, then mutters, "that’s not fair."

forgets the argument entirely. starts dragging you toward the couch.

yuki tsunoda

arms crossed, ranting about how you left dishes in the sink.

you're like "mhm," then suddenly lean in.

yells a muffled "ehh?!" against your lips.

pulls back with wide eyes and red cheeks. "what was that for?"

giggling now. argument forgotten. yuki is shy mode activated.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

pacing like a whole dad. "i just think it was inconsiderate."

you stop him with a kiss that makes him stumble.

stunned silence. then he smiles, shaking his head.

"you can’t keep weaponizing your lips."

forgives you instantly. no notes.

kimi antonelli

baby boy is flustered already just from the argument.

you kiss him mid-sentence.

he stops. blushes. looks at the floor.

"you can’t do that... i was mad."

except now he’s smiling like a dork and pulling you closer.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

full hands-in-hair frustration. "you never tell me these things!"

you kiss him suddenly.

freezes. then kisses back like it’s life or death.

pulls away slightly, forehead resting on yours. "don’t do that when i’m upset. i’ll forgive you too fast."

lewis hamilton

calmly explaining his side like a grown adult.

you interrupt with a kiss that knocks the calm out of him.

blinks. "okay. what was that?"

starts laughing. "i can’t argue with you when you do that."

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

sarcastic. hands waving. being dramatic.

you kiss him mid-rant.

goes: "wait... wait what?"

absolutely loses track of the fight. probably forgets his own name.

grins, "do it again. i dare you."

oscar piastri

logical argument mode. stating facts.

you pull him in and kiss him.

very confused. "i… what were we talking about again?"

gives up. you're now cuddling. fight over.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

intense. staring you down. voice low.

you lean in and kiss him and his brain malfunctions.

pauses. then smirks. "clever little trick."

pulls you in again. "we’re still talking after this, though."

lance stroll

softly upset. furrowed brows. a little pout.

you kiss him unexpectedly.

shocked. then all melty.

rests his head on your shoulder. "that wasn’t fair... but okay."

ʚ・williams

alex albon

rambling while trying not to smile because he knows he’s losing.

you kiss him.

chuckles. "you little cheat."

wraps his arms around you, completely abandoning the debate.

carlos sainz

passionate argumenter. lots of hand gestures.

you grab his shirt and kiss him.

pulls back like "what just happened?"

then grins. "you’re evil. beautiful, but evil."

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

awkward and a little stiff when he's upset.

you kiss him in the middle of a sentence.

instantly blushes. stammers.

"i... okay. i forgot. what were we saying?"

too distracted now. cuddles ensue.

esteban ocon

talking in full paragraphs.

you just go for it.

stunned silence.

then he mumbles, "not a bad strategy..."

argument forgotten. he's now planning dinner.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

slightly sarcastic. mock-angry.

you kiss him.

instantly flustered. tries to recover.

"you can’t just... ugh fine. you're lucky you're cute."

kisses you back harder.

isack hadjar

super passionate when arguing.

mid-rant, you press your lips to his.

freezes. mutters something in french.

forgets why he was mad. kisses you again.

"you’re so annoying. and hot."

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

dramatic and expressive.

you kiss him.

fake-offended. "don’t think you can shut me up like that."

kisses you harder.

"okay maybe you can."

franco colapinto

slightly overwhelmed by the fight.

you kiss him.

all wide-eyed and breathless. "wow..."

hugs you like a teddy bear. won’t let go for 10 minutes.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

stern. classic german dad vibes.

you kiss him mid-sentence.

pauses. sighs. "you know that doesn’t solve the issue."

but he's smiling. and holding your hand.

gabriel bortoleto

passionate and a little dramatic.

you catch him off guard with a kiss.

he breaks into a grin.

"okay okay, you win."

pulls you into a hug and forgets why he was mad.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[undyingdecay]

Ughhh Bob with a breeding kink 😓😓😓

Like him just letting go and going all caveman brain about it after begging you to just let him pretend it'll take😖😖😖

bob’s pull-out game is genuinely awful. like, laughably bad.

which is how you ended up insisting on condoms in the first place—not that it ever stopped him. he’d find ways. not in a sleazy, frat-boy kind of way, not with lines like “i’m allergic to latex” or “it doesn’t feel the same”—no, bob’s excuses came soaked in something too sincere, almost sweet, if it weren’t for how calculated it ended up being.

“jus’ wanna be close to you,” he’d murmur, voice all thick and needy from where he lay slotted against you, his whole body tacky with sweat and arousal, a gleaming sheen of it covering every inch of skin like lacquer. his weight always followed—not rough, but whole. he liked collapsing on top of you after he slid in, his arms hooked under yours so he could wrap around your back, chest pressed to yours, breath fanning against your ear as if the closeness wasn’t just desire, but some primal need to merge. be inside and on top and around you all at once.

you never got the chance to argue. half the time the condom was off before you’d even realized he’d unrolled it—pulled off between sleepy kisses and soft “please”s, left sagging and useless somewhere near your hipbone. once, he didn’t even bother pretending. you caught him, right there in the bedroom light, jabbing something—his key? a paperclip?—into a row of condoms like he was testing for weak spots.

“bob,” you’d said flatly, and he blinked up at you, all wide-eyed innocence. like he might lie. like he might not lie.

“…thought i saw air bubbles,” he mumbled. his cheeks flushed. his fingers fidgeted. you knew damn well he was lying. knew it, and still did nothing.

because what were your options? fight? withhold sex? as if that would’ve been possible with the way he looked at you, touched you, moaned so gratefully every time he was inside you, like it healed something. instead, you started taking birth control—not as rebellion, but as quiet damage control.

you didn’t hide it. didn’t even think to mention it. why would you?

then came the morning—early, light still soft and blue through the windows, your legs sore, your thighs sticky with dried cum. bob behind you with one arm around your waist, trailing down the stairs like a sleepy barnacle. he didn’t even try to untangle, just followed, skin warm and clinging as you went through your morning routine.

you grabbed the small bottle of vitamins, handed him two, and he popped them without looking. a routine. natural. his chin rested against your shoulder as you reached for your birth control.

instinctively, he held his hand out again.

you hesitated. glanced at him with a faint smile.

“do you plan on getting pregnant anytime soon?” you teased.

his brows pinched, lips parted just slightly.

“birth control,” you clarified, still smiling.

and just like that, his expression shifted. confusion first. then something deeper—quiet, raw. hurt, maybe. or worse: betrayal.

his arm fell away from your waist.

“…you’re taking that?” he asked, voice low, soft. as if the question pained him to ask.

you turned, brows drawing together. “yeah. i didn’t think—”

“but why?” his voice cracked. “why would you do that?”

you turn toward him fully now, your lower back pressing against the counter edge, cool marble grounding you—but only barely. you can feel the way he watches you, gaze heavy and warm, like it might scorch you if you held it too long. he isn’t mad. not really. there’s no raised voice, no cruelty. just this awful, quiet hurt, like you’d taken something from him he didn’t even know he couldn’t live without.

and maybe you had.

the pill still sits between your fingers, tiny and pale in the soft morning light, like it’s nothing—just 3mg of synthetic hormone—but his eyes are fixed on it like you’re holding a loaded gun.

you open your mouth to explain, to give him something gentle and sane and logical, but the words clog up behind your teeth. the kitchen feels darker now somehow. close and still. like it’s holding its breath for you.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, the words barely there. you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. but you mean it. that’s the worst part.

“i—i don’t want you to be upset. i love you. you know i love you. i’d do anything to make this better—”

his voice slices through your chest, quiet but wrecked. “throw it away.”

you blink. “bob—”

“please,” he breathes. “just throw it away. right now. i’ll feel better. i promise. i’ll feel better if you just—just let me—” his voice cracks around the edges, fraying like old thread. “i need to.”

you glance at the counter. at the pill. and you set it down without a word.

he breathes in like he’s just surfaced from under water.

his hands are on you again—gently first, palms warm and reverent at your hips like he’s still afraid you might back away—but you don’t. you let him close the distance, let him slot his body between your legs as he leans in to kiss you, deep and messy and grateful.

“i wanna be inside,” he mumbles against your mouth. “don’t wanna wait. let me… please—let me stay this time.”

you nod, not even realizing you’re nodding until he sighs like it’s relief and drops to his knees.

your sleep shorts are gone in seconds. no teasing, no preamble—just his mouth on you, warm and wet and desperate, tongue working like he’s trying to unravel something inside you, hands wrapped around your thighs like handles, pulling you open as if you owe it to him.

he licks until your legs shake, until your voice breaks, until he’s practically whimpering into your cunt, nose buried so deep you wonder if he can even breathe. when you finally try to push him back—half from overstimulation, half because you need him in you already—he doesn’t budge.

“you taste different when you’re not on the pill,” he murmurs, drunk off it. “sweeter. like your body knows.”

you don’t even know what that means. you don’t care.

“bob—fuck, come on, please?— do it for mommy”

that does it.

he rises like a wave, chest flushed, breath ragged, cock already slick and leaking through his briefs. he tugs them down with a frustrated groan and nearly cries when he presses against your entrance—his forehead drops against your shoulder, his voice high and fragile.

“gonna come so deep,” he moans, sliding in inch by inch. “gonna stay there, i swear—i’ll stay in you. don’t want it to leave.”

your hands thread into his curls, nails dragging at his scalp as he bottoms out. he’s trembling, hips stuttering already before he’s even pulled back. “i’ll be good. i’ll be so good. just wanna give you something—wanna fill you, please, let me—”

the counter digs into your spine. the kitchen lights feel too bright. and still, none of it matters except for him.

he starts fucking you slow at first, rolling his hips up into you like he’s memorizing it—like if he gets the angle just right, your body will take him in and keep him there. his hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, sweat slick between your bellies, every wet slap echoing too loud in the quiet morning space.

you can feel it when he gets close—when the whining gets louder, the thrusts more erratic. he’s babbling again, forehead pressed against your cheek now, voice ruined.

“make me a dad,” he gasps. “let me—please—fuck, i wanna come in you so bad—wanna give you everything—i’ll stay inside forever if you let me—please—”

you pull him in deeper. his body jerks.

then he’s coming—hard—right against your cervix, crying out into your neck, hips twitching with every desperate pulse of cum spilling into you. you can feel it, hot and thick, pooling where you’re still joined. he doesn’t pull out.

doesn’t even try.

instead, he slumps forward, cock still hard inside you, panting against your throat. “don’t move,” he whispers. “i’ll fuck it in deeper. just—lemme stay here.”

and you do.

you don’t even reach for the pill.

[kominigiru]

he wishes for the cloths of heaven.

summary: You’ve lived through his descent into obsession countless times, through fire and ash, through the birth of the man you fear he will become. And in every cycle, Phainon doesn’t remember. Until he does.

contains: 3.2k wc, gender-neutral reader, yandere phainon, time loop, regression

[01]: ENTRY HOUR

It always begins the same way.

You’re in the market, standing at the heart of the square as if summoned there. A crowd surrounds you, murmuring with low excitement, their eyes bright with awe and ignorance. They speak in half-whispers; about the man on the ground groaning in pain, and about the hero standing over him like judgment given form.

You look down. The stranger clutches his ribs, coughing between gasps after having been punched to the gut. You remember this part. He’d brushed past you earlier, jostling your bag, maybe trying to take a coin or two. But he never got the chance. He always never will.

You already know how this goes.

Phainon stands before you. He’s beautiful in that tragic, unbearable way. Familiar. Haunting. Comforting only because once, a long time ago—or maybe in a dream you keep reliving—you know him.

Or thought you did.

Or still do, in that aching, slow-poison kind of way.

He sees you. He always sees you.

There’s no trace of blood on him. No soot or scorched scent—as if violence has never dared to touch him. He turns to you, holding up the small cloth bag you dropped. The fruits you’d bought earlier, still nestled inside.

You don’t move. You’ve done this too many times.

His head tilts just so, the smile staying carefully in place—but his eyes flicker, uncertain. There’s always a moment where something falters in him. Like he’s waiting for this loop to be different. Like he knows.

“Hey…” he says. And then, with such sincere concern that it used to tear at you: “Are you alright?”

You answer the same as you always do, voice too smooth from repetition. “Yes, thank you.” A pause. “Sorry.”

(What are you apologizing for? Dropping the bag? Running too late into the day? For what will come?)

You’ve tried changing the script before. You’ve snatched the bag and bolted. You’ve ignored him entirely. Once, you told him to leave you alone.

You always wake up the next loop with ash in your lungs.

Delaying it is the best you can do now. Stalling him with politeness. It’s the only thing that buys you time.

Phainon’s smile stretches, and the gleam in his eyes sharpens. You see pride there. Relief. Devotion—so bright that it burns. As though your words were something sacred, and he, the ever-faithful priest, has been waiting all day just to receive them.

Your stomach coils. Your heart flutters in your chest, treacherous and weak. There’s a warmth that spreads inside you—slow, crawling, and wrong.

(It disgusts you.)

You take the bag. His fingers brush yours. The touch is light, but you feel it like an ember pressed to skin.

“I was worried for a moment,” he says. “You looked pale.”

“I’m fine,” you lie.

Phainon eyes you like he wants to believe that.

The crowd behind you is dispersing, now that the performance is over. The groaning man has been dragged away by guards. Another faceless thief punished. Another small disturbance silenced.

He walks beside you now. You don’t remember starting to walk, but somehow you’re moving down the cobbled path, and Phainon is there, matching your pace.

“You always carry too much on your own,” he says, gesturing at your bag, tone light, teasing.

You manage a polite hum, clutching the bag tighter.

And then, soft as ever, he says, “I’ve missed seeing you.”

The words knock the breath out of you. Not because they’re unexpected—he always says them—but because they never lose their weight. They fall on you like stones, each one heavier than the last.

He doesn’t know—doesn’t remember—that you’ve lived this moment a hundred times before. But you do.

And every time he says that, he means it. Like he’s aching for you. Like he’d burn the world down just to see you smile again.

(And one day—soon—he will.)

“I’ve been busy,” is what you always say.

You don’t remember when you started giving that answer—only that the truth became harder and harder to find each time you looped. Once, maybe, you gave him a different response. Something honest. But that was in your first life, a hazy memory blurred by ash and time. You were a different person then—softer. Naive.

You barely remember that version of yourself now. That first life feels like a dream slipping between your fingers, too distant to hold onto.

Phainon’s expression doesn’t shift. He wears the same understanding look he always does when you say those three words. The same gentle smile, the one that once felt like sunlight and now presses like a knife around your throat.

You used to love that smile. Now it just terrifies you.

Because you’ve seen what lies beneath it. What it becomes when devotion rots into obsession. When love sharpens into something that cuts.

“Teaching the children, right?” he says.

You nod, too stiff.

The script continues.

You can almost recite his lines along with him. Sometimes he teases you—“I’m starting to think they’re stealing you from me,”—and sometimes he drifts into memory, speaking of those student days beneath Professor Anaxa’s guidance, when everything was simpler and he didn’t look at you like the world ended and began in your eyes.

This time, he doesn’t say either of those things.

And that should’ve been your first warning.

He’s quiet a moment too long. You feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and unfamiliar in its stillness.

Then…

“Do you not get tired?”

Your body locks up.

Your breath stills.

Your heart thunders.

He has never said that before.

Everything else has looped like clockwork, minor variations aside. But this line—it’s foreign. It doesn’t belong. It’s like hearing a wrong note in a melody you’ve memorized, jarring and wrong in a way that sends ice through your veins.

You turn to look at him, eyes wide. “What do you mean…?”

Phainon meets your gaze, and something in his expression has changed. There’s no confusion. No soft amusement. Just a quiet, unreadable calm that makes your fingers tighten around the bag you’re carrying.

The street around you fades into background noise—the shuffling feet, the clatter of carts, the merchants haggling. It all feels far away now. Too far.

“You work so hard,” he says gently. “You wake up before the Ascent Hour. You teach all day. You give and give and give. Do you ever think of stopping?”

Stopping?

You can’t speak. There’s something stuck in your throat. You feel as though you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, and he’s just taken a step toward you.

Your fingers tremble.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone, you know,” Phainon murmurs, leaning in slightly. “You have me. I’d take all of it from you, if you let me. The work. The weight. The burden.”

The choice, you think, but don’t say.

Because he doesn’t mean help. He never has.

You’ve heard this voice before—not here, not now, but after. After he becomes the man that you will fear. After the city burns. After you beg him to let someone live and he smiles and says, “Why does it matter? You’re safe. That’s all that ever mattered.”

Your throat is dry. You force a smile. “I… I don’t mind. I like the work.”

“But does it make you happy?” he asks.

You don’t have an answer. And somehow, you know he’s not expecting one.

He steps closer. Close enough that you can smell the warmth of the sun on him, and beneath it, faintly—smoke.

“I think,” he says slowly, like tasting the thought for the first time, “you’d be happier if you didn’t have to pretend.”

Your stomach sinks.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s wrong.

He’s never spoken like this before. Not in this part of the loop. Not with this kind of clarity.

You step back without meaning to. He notices.

A beat passes.

Then Phainon smiles again, gentle and knowing.

“You’re scared,” he says. Not accusing. Not angry. Just… sad. As if your fear is the only thing in the world that could ever wound him.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Maybe not you, but everyone else—he has. He will.

You’ve seen it.

A thousand endings where fire blooms across cities. Where blood coats his hands and your name spills from his lips like a prayer.

You swallow. “I need to go.”

“Okay,” he says softly, stepping aside.

You walk away. You don’t run. But your mind screams at you with every step.

Something changed.

You don’t know how many more loops you’ll endure.

The Curtain-Fall Hour slips quietly into the Entry Hour, and like every time before, you wake with the same bitter awareness tucked beneath your skin:

You will live this day again.

And again.

And again.

You rinse in silence. Your eyes are hollow in the basin’s reflection, like you’re watching someone else go through the motions. But the moment water touches your face, you’re brought back.

Children. Teaching. Routine.

That is your anchor. That is what keeps the world from spinning out of control.

You towel off and set to work, peeling and slicing the fruit Phainon had retrieved for you yesterday—the fruit that should have been stolen, had he not intervened.

You grimace.

His name alone sends a tight ripple down your spine. You hate how even thinking about him can still stir emotion. And worse—familiarity. You hate the way your fingers still remember the shape of his hand brushing yours. How your chest still reacts like it did the first time, when his love felt like sunlight and not fire.

You refocus.

Small slices. Bite-sized. Easy to chew. You’ve done this hundreds of times—maybe more. You know the measurements by heart. The right sweetness that will make the children smile.

By the time Ascent Hour glows through the windows, you’ve baked enough fruit cookies to feed a full class. You tuck them into a woven basket, along with a book or two.

You step out, prepared for normalcy—needing normalcy.

But normalcy is a luxury that has long abandoned you.

You always meet them near the Court of Seasons. And when you arrive, the children are already there.

And so is he.

You freeze the moment you see him.

Phainon stands with the children, cloaked in soft laughter. His snowy hair gleams in the sunlight, his posture relaxed and regal, yet casual. The children giggle around him, tugging at his sleeves.

It should be picturesque. It would be, if not for the twist in your gut.

He’s not supposed to be here. He’s never here during this time. This hour is always yours—yours and the children’s. He should be at the palace or riding across Amphoreus on duty. In every loop before, he’s absent until midday at the earliest.

Another deviation.

Your throat tightens.

When you step closer, the children notice you immediately, and the quiet thrill in their voices momentarily cuts through your dread.

“You’re here!”

“Good day!”

“What are we reading about today?”

You manage a small smile for them. “Good morning,” you say gently. “I brought something sweet today, since you’ve all been doing so well.”

Their excitement renews, loud and bright.

And then—Phainon turns.

He’s already smiling, but when he sees you, it deepens—bright and full, like the kind of smile carved into marble. You’ve seen that smile before, so many times.

“It’s good to see you again,” he says, as if it’s been longer than a day. “I was waiting with the children for you. They’re really good kids.”

“They are,” you say cautiously, casting a glance toward him.

The children chime in again, voices overlapping.

“Of course!”

“Our teacher taught us to be well-behaved!”

Phainon laughs—and you hate how natural it looks. How convincing. His upper body shakes slightly with the motion, and you catch the way he glances at you mid-laugh, as though gauging your reaction.

You don’t smile.

“You’re not busy today?” you ask, voice careful. Your grip tightens around the basket.

His answer comes too fast.

“No,” he says, all ease and affection. “I made sure I had free time today so I can spend it with you.”

Your lips part slightly, but nothing comes out at first. You force something neutral.

“You didn’t have to… trouble yourself.”

“It’s no trouble,” Phainon replies. His gaze lingers too long. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Your stomach twists.

Wrong. This is wrong. This is too early.

He shouldn’t be this close again yet. Not until the week’s end. Not until the dream burns out and resets again. But here he is, planting himself into your quietest hours.

You glance at the children. They’re already picking out books from your basket. One tugs at your sleeve.

“Can we read the one about the lion that swallowed the sun?”

You kneel and nod. “Of course. That one’s a favorite, isn’t it?”

Phainon lowers himself slowly beside you, uninvited. He doesn’t speak. He just watches you, head slightly tilted.

You hand the child a cookie and feel your skin prickle as Phainon’s hand brushes near yours again. Not touching. Almost.

His hand stops just short of yours.

You stare at his open palm, hesitant and confused. There’s no trace of malice there, not in the way his fingers hover so gently, or in the slight curl of his wrist like he’s trying not to reach too far.

“Can you give me some, too?” His voice is soft, almost pleading. There’s a tightness in it. Something like longing. Something like loss.

You blink at him, incredulous. “These are for the children,” you say, tone flat.

He tilts his head, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “Well, can’t you spare a few for a friend?”

Friend.

He says it so gently. So deliberately. Like he’s testing it. Like he’s waiting to see if it feels wrong to his own ears.

You stare at him for a few moments, gaze unblinking. There’s something pathetic in the way he’s crouched beside you, palm outstretched, expectant. Something childlike and pitiful. It’s almost surreal—he, the one who would one day set the world on fire for your sake, looking at you as though this is what he truly wants. A sweet from your hand.

You sigh.

You reach into the basket and pick out two biscuits. You press them into his open palm.

“I will only give you this much and no more,” you tell him, eyes hard. “You understand?”

With his other hand, he lifts two fingers in a mock salute. “Yes, teacher!”

There’s laughter from the children around you, who seem to think he’s being silly. They don’t notice how tightly he holds the cookies—how he almost crushes them with his hand. They don’t see how his smile flickers for a fraction of a second, like he’s about to say something else—something not meant for this moment.

You don’t give him the chance.

You turn to the children, your voice warmer now—on purpose. “Who else wants cookies?”

Their hands shoot up with cheers and excited chatter, and the next few minutes are spent in a whirl of handing out treats and books, settling them down on the blanket. You read aloud, letting the familiar rhythm of the story wrap around you like armor.

And Phainon?

He sits beside you the entire time. Silent. Patient. Watching.

He doesn’t eat the biscuits.

He holds them in his lap, fingers curled protectively around them as though they’ll vanish if he lets go.

And for just a second, you risk a glance his way.

His eyes are on you.

You quickly return to the text, trying not to let it show—the thrum in your veins, the fear that’s blooming slow and heavy in your chest.

The script is slipping.

The lesson ends as it always does—with the children full of laughter and crumbs, chasing each other, their minds still buzzing from stories and sweets.

You pack the blanket in silence. The books are neatly stacked. The empty basket rests in your arms like a final weight. And then—

“I’ll walk you home.”

You freeze.

Phainon stands beside you with that easygoing smile.

“…You don’t need to,” you say, your voice careful, light. “It’s a short walk.”

He only tilts his head. “I know.”

You blink. “Then—”

“But I want to,” he interrupts, taking a step closer. “It’s not like I don’t know the way.”

You grip the handles of the basket tightly.

No. He shouldn’t know the way.

“Phainon,” you start, tone low. “You have duties, don’t you?”

He shrugs. “It can wait a little longer.”

You swallow thickly. “You’ve never said that before,” you murmur, as if testing the words.

He stops. Blinks once. Then smiles wider. “Haven’t I?” It’s innocent. A tease. But it isn’t.

Because his voice dips—just slightly—into something heavier. As if he’s catching up to himself. As if a thread has pulled taut somewhere behind his eyes, tugging at buried things.

You don’t reply. You just start walking. And, of course, he falls into step beside you.

The path is quiet. Too quiet. You can hear the hush of wind through the trees, the soft clicking of your shoes on the stone path, the creak of your basket as you hold it tighter and tighter.

Phainon walks with his hands behind his back. He hums a little, like he’s trying to pretend this is all normal. Maybe for him, it is.

“You used to hum that,” he says suddenly, voice gentle. “When you cooked.”

Your steps falter.

You never hummed that song in this life. Not even once. You haven’t sung it since—since before—

“…That’s not possible,” you whisper.

Phainon turns to you. “What’s not?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You focus on walking, faster now, hoping to outpace the dread growing inside you.

“I missed this,” he speaks, unprompted, again. “Walking with you. Watching your shoulders relax a little, when you think no one’s looking.”

You stop. You stop walking entirely.

Slowly, you turn to face him.

His eyes are shining. Soft. Full of something—longing, ache, a grief he doesn’t yet fully understand.

“Phainon,” you say, and your voice comes out hollow. “What is wrong with you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but his smile falters.

Then he leans closer, head tilted, like he’s peering through you instead of at you. And in a voice so quiet it could be mistaken for prayer, he murmurs, “I keep seeing you die.”

Your blood runs cold.

He tilts his head the other way, searching your face, eyes glassy now. “I don’t know when. Or how. Sometimes it’s fire. Sometimes it’s… worse. But you’re always gone. And I’m always too late.”

You can’t breathe.

“And every time I see you again,” he adds, his voice breaking into something raw, “it’s like I’ve finally come home—until I remember you leave me.”

You stagger back.

He doesn’t follow.

He just looks at you, eyes wide, voice trembling. “Why does that keep happening? Why do I keep waking up without you? Why does it feel so real?”

This time, you run.

[02]: ASCENT HOUR (soon!)

© 2025 kominigiru.

crossposted on ao3!

[raevalyntine]

normal things you do that makes the lads men weak in the knees! (fluff, slightly suggestive)

characters: sylus, zayne, rafayel, caleb, xavier

sylus! (reversing the car with one hand)

“You sure you can handle her, kitten?”

Sylus raised a brow, that smug, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned against the hood of his ridiculously sexy car — the same one he’d brought you in during your last mission. Midnight black, polished to a mirror finish, and all sharp curves and quiet danger. The kind of machine that purred when it moved. Just like him.

You twirled the keys around your finger, eyes gleaming with challenge. “Please. If I can handle you, anything else is a breeze.”

He let out a soft, amused laugh, the kind that rumbled low in his chest and made your heart flutter. "Careful now. You keep testing me, sweetie, and I might stop pretending to be nice."

You arched a brow. “That’s not a threat at all.”

“Cheeky little kitten,” he muttered, half under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. His fingers brushed your waist as he opened the door for you, like he couldn’t not touch you. “Try not to crash her. Or I’ll have to remind you what real control looks like.”

You slid into the leather seat like you belonged there, flashing him a wicked grin. “Mm. Threaten me with a good time, why don’t you?”

You will be the death of him.

–

Truth be told, he never intended to let anyone else drive it. But it was you. And Sylus could never say no to you—not when you looked at him like that, with excitement dancing in your eyes and your hands already on the wheel like you belonged there. Not when your smile and those bright, determined eyes were the only reason he even bothered to wake up some mornings. So, he climbed into the passenger seat with a lazy, indulgent smile and watched you.

He didn’t expect to be completely undone within minutes.

You were so focused, eyes sharp, lips pursed just slightly, hands adjusting the mirrors like you’d done it a thousand times. The dim streetlights lit the inside of the car in soft amber glows, playing off your skin and making you look breathtaking. He’d always thought you were beautiful. But this? This was something else.

And then came the reverse.

You shifted gears smoothly, turned to check behind you, and put your right arm behind his headrest, your other hand loose and controlled on the wheel. You leaned back slightly, posture effortless, movements confident.

Sylus went still. The moment your arm slid behind him and your body leaned in close, his brain short-circuited.His breath hitched — somewhere between a curse and a groan — and he didn’t even pretend to look away. No, he stared shamelessly. Like you were the sexiest thing he’d ever seen — and you knew it.

The car slipped into park with a clean click.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing at him with a knowing smirk. “You’ve gone awfully quiet over there.”

His eyes dragged over your profile — that smug smile, the rise and fall of your chest, the way you sat like you owned the whole damn car. His voice came out rough, breathless, honest.

“You trying to kill me, sweetie?”

You blinked at him innocently. “What? I didn’t even hit the speed limit.”

“Kitten, don’t tease me,”  he muttered, eyes still fixed on you like you might disappear. 

You snorted, laughing. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you,” he muttered, still staring, “are dangerously attractive. Remind me never to let you drive again.”

You raised a brow, cocky. “What? Afraid I’ll outshine you?”

“No,” he murmured, leaning in close until his breath brushed your skin. He pressed a kiss just under your jaw — slow, teasing. “Afraid I’ll crash the damn car next time… because I’ll be too distracted watching you.”

zayne! (tying up your hair)

The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional soft rustle of paper and the ticking of the clock on the wall. You sat cross-legged on the couch, Zayne right beside you, both of you lost in your own worlds—his full of medical scans and diagnostics, yours in a stack of mission reports. You were wearing one of his old T-shirts. It was a little too big on you, the sleeves falling slightly off your shoulder and the hem pooling around your thighs. But it was soft, smelled like him, and frankly, you weren’t about to wear anything else when you were spending the night with Zayne.

He had started out focused—really, he did. But somewhere between you curling your legs under you and the way your brow scrunched while reading the file, his eyes had started drifting from his report to you. Again and again. And then just... stayed there.

He should’ve been reading about some medical stuff or… well, he forgot what he was even reading about. Because all he could think about was how unfair it was for someone to look that gorgeous doing something as mundane as paperwork.

And then you did that.

You let out a quiet sigh, strands of your hair falling across your face as you leaned forward slightly. You grimaced, frustrated, and reached for the hair tie on your wrist. Zayne watched in real-time as you gathered your hair into a loose ponytail, arms raised above your head, exposing the soft curve of your neck. His T-shirt slipped just a little lower on your shoulder as you moved, your skin glowing faintly in the golden evening light.

And he lost all sense of what he was doing.

Before you could even secure the tie, Zayne was there, leaning in, his lips brushing against the bare skin of your neck, soft and warm and lingering.

You froze for a second, surprised, your fingers still tangled in your hair.

A small, breathless laugh escaped you. “What was that for?”

He didn’t move far, just rested his forehead against your shoulder, voice low and a little hoarse when he answered, “You’re distracting.”

You smiled, finishing the ponytail and turning slightly to face him. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Sweetheart, you could be taking out the trash, and I would still think you’re irresistible,” He exhaled through a smile, shaking his head. “I never stood a chance.”

You nudged him playfully, cheeks warm. “You’re unbelievable.”

Zayne just leaned in again, his hand brushing your knee gently, lips returning to your neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Yeah,” he murmured, leaving a trail of kisses from your jaw to your neck, “so are you.”

caleb! (drinking water after a gym session)

The gym was dimly lit by the time you finished, the late evening hush settling in as the last of the music faded into the background. You were both drenched in sweat, panting, muscles sore and shaky—but satisfied.

Caleb dropped the dumbbells with a grunt, resting his hands on his hips as he turned to look at you.

Big mistake.

You were standing there in those tights—the ones that hugged every curve and made his brain stutter like a broken machine. Your sports top was damp, your skin glistening, and your cheeks flushed from exertion. Even just breathing, you looked like a goddess to him.

But then you tilted your head back and took a swig of water.

And he swore the world was in slow motion.

A bead of sweat slid down your neck, joining a drop of water that trickled from the corner of your lips down to your collarbone.

Caleb let out an actual groan.

Before you could lower the bottle, he was behind you. You yelped in surprise as his hand gently but decisively took the bottle from yours, and his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

“Caleb—!” you squealed, breathless and laughing. “We’re both sweaty! And disgusting!”

He didn’t even seem to hear you. His lips found your bare shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world, brushing warm and soft over damp skin. He tightened his hold just slightly, his breath hot against your neck.

“I need you,” he murmured, voice rough, low, and devastatingly serious.

You went still in his arms.

“Right now,” he added, kissing up toward the corner of your jaw, like you weren’t both soaked in sweat and supposed to be cooling down.

“You’re insane,” you mumbled, heart pounding.

He chuckled, but didn’t deny it. “Only for you, pipsqueak.”

rafayel! (covering the edge of a table to protect his head)

You and Rafayel sat side by side at the table, paint tubes scattered around you like colourful confetti. Brushes lay haphazardly in every direction, and two half-finished canvases rested on the table. The air was thick with the sharp scent of acrylic paint and something softer—maybe the faint scent from your lotion, or maybe just the warmth radiating from him so close you could almost feel it.

You were both caught up in the fun of switching canvases every few minutes, layering your styles to create something beautifully chaotic. You wore one of his T-shirts, the sleeves rolled up messily, and a streak of turquoise paint marked your cheek like a badge of honor. It felt effortless, playful—until his brush slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

“Damn it,” he muttered, already crouching to retrieve it.

Without even glancing up from your own canvas, your hand moved instinctively—sliding out to cover the sharp corner of the table edge, the one his head was dipping dangerously close to.

Rafayel didn’t even notice at first. But when he came back up, brush in hand, he saw you: your expression serene, brow furrowed lightly in concentration, your other arm still braced protectively over the edge.

You hadn’t done it for attention. You probably hadn’t even realized you'd done it at all.

But something inside him shifted.

It was the smallest act. Quiet. Thoughtless. Pure muscle memory, like you were wired to look out for him.

And you were still wearing his shirt. Still sitting in the golden afternoon light like a soft dream come to life. His lips parted slightly, breath catching as he watched you.

You finally looked over. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer.

Just leaned in and kissed you—soft, full, and far too deep for such a quiet moment. Like he'd just remembered he was desperately in love with you all over again.

When he pulled back, you blinked, dazed. “...Raf?”

“I love you,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. And somehow, it did.

xavier! (leaning over him to reach something)

The two of you were in the kitchen, lazily prepping dinner together after a long day. Xavier was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching the pot simmer while you moved around the space like you owned it—because you basically did. This was his place, sure, but the way your presence lingered in every room made it feel more like yours.

He was keeping a casual conversation with you as your eyes flicked toward the cabinet above him. You took a step closer.

Then, with no warning, you leaned right over him, reaching for the top shelf where the spice jar sat, just slightly out of your natural reach. Your torso pressed gently against his arm, your shoulder brushing his chest. His voice faltered as the scent of you infiltrated his senses.

You didn’t notice.

Or maybe you did, but acted like you didn’t.

Your fingers wrapped around the jar, and then you were pulling back with a victorious smile, turning away like nothing had just happened. You were already opening it, humming softly as you shook a little spice into the pot.

Xavier hadn’t moved an inch. His thoughts, on the other hand, were a battlefield.

The heat of your body. The effortless way you invaded his space. The soft scent of your shampoo still clinging to the air. The sound of your breath when you reached. The hem of your shirt rising just a bit too high when you stretched. All of it left him rooted to the floor, watching you like you were a living temptation he didn’t deserve.

“Xavier?” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “You okay?”

He blinked. Swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, voice lower than he meant it to be. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?” You tilted your head, genuinely puzzled.

“Just... reach over people like that. Casually. Like you didn’t just—” He broke off, jaw clenching slightly. “Never mind.”

Your smile turned slow. “Xavier, were you flustered?”

He scoffed lightly. “I don’t get flustered.”

You stepped closer, eyes dancing. “You do. When I do things like this—” and then you brushed your fingers down the front of his shirt, featherlight, “—you get a little distracted, huh?”

He exhaled slowly, catching your wrist, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re cruel,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours, heat simmering under his skin.

“And you’re easy to tease.”

He didn’t argue. He just kissed you, deep and slow, hands slipping to your hips with intention that made your knees weak. 

The pot simmered on the stove, long forgotten, the scent of dinner fading into the background. You had to call for takeout instead—something quick, something easy—because every touch, every lingering look from Xavier left you trembling in a delicious kind of ache.

Later, you sat across from each other at the small table, plates between you, but your mind miles away. Your body was already sore from the way he’d claimed you, but Xavier smiled like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just shown you exactly what it cost to tease him.

His eyes caught yours over the rim of his glass, warm and dangerous, and you knew the night was far from over.

a/n: thank you everyone for all the love on my writings!! this one had been in my drafts for awhile but I only got to revisit and edit it yesterday. i apologize in advance if any of them are out of character, or some a little short than the others. I'm still learning and practicing on how to write for each character, but I do hope my silly little writings can make you smile. love you everyone!!

[girlyteengirlcore]

— until you learn

sevika x fem!reader

cw: established relationship, age gap (early 20s/late 30s), 🤏🏻 of obsessive sevika, verryyyyy dom/sub btw, strap-on sex, strap is referred to as “dick”, oral, dubcon (reader is a little bit intoxicated), orgasm control, clit stimulation, overstimulation, impact play, little bit of spit, squirting, degradation, aftercare

a/n: sorry for my little disappearance, this is my apology!! also, i’m so bad at the whole plot thing so i’m really sorry if the start of this sucks

wc: 3.2k

⌞friday night, 6:54pm ⌝

You had just finished getting ready for a night out with your friends, checking your phone every five minutes to see how far away your uber was. Once you got the notification that your ride has arrived you jumped up, nearly running out of the house. Your wife grabbed you by the arm, stopping you just before you reach the door.

"You forgetting something, doll?" Raising her eyebrows at you eagerness to leave.

"Oh sorry, babe," you stand on the tips of your toes, bringing your lips to hers.

When you pull away you give her a sweet smile, before turning on your heel and running out of the house. You glance back just before you hop in the car, waving at Sevika standing at the door.

"Update me regularly, please," the way she says it almost makes it sound like a question, but you know better than to assume she was asking. She was expecting you, telling you, to update her every now and then.

"Will do, love you!" You yelled your response at her from across the front yard, blowing her a kiss as you finally sat down and closed the car door.

⌞7:24pm⌝

It took about half an hour to get to the designated restaurant. Your friends spotted you from across the room once you arrived and went inside, ushering you over to your seat where you see they've already ordered some appetisers for the table. It feels like forever since you've seen them and it will probably be a while until you see them again, so you saver every hug from them as you go around the table.

You sit down and immediately get bombarded with questions about your life, you take some food as you answer all of their questions.

Once all of you had had your fill, you went up to the bar to order the first round of drinks. One round soon turned into two, then three, and once it got to four you suggested a bar hop. And when you actually found your second bar of the night, every second round of drinks signalled the trek to a new bar. However long the walk may be.

⌞10:13pm⌝

By this time it was about quarter past ten, and you only realised once you checked the time that you hadn’t been doing the thing that you promised to do. Update Sevika on the going ons of the night. She really doesn’t ask for much, truly, as she states in the multiple messages displayed at the bottom of your lock screen.

7:34pm

╰┈➤ Did you get there safe, baby?

8:06pm

╰┈➤ How’s it going?

9:03pm

╰┈➤ Baby

╰┈➤ Missed call

╰┈➤Are you okay?

9:22pm

╰┈➤ Missed call

╰┈➤ Missed call

╰┈➤ Where are you?

╰┈➤ I asked you to update me and you said you would, a simple ‘yes baby I’m fine’ would be amazing?

10:03pm

╰┈➤ I don’t ask for a lot and you can’t even do that much, I just want to know how things are going.

╰┈➤ I’m coming to get you

╰┈➤ Missed call

⌞10:16pm⌝

By the time you saw the countless messages and missed calls she left it was too late to message, she wasn’t going to answer since she was driving. You opt for the best option you could think of; sitting outside and waiting for her. You say goodbye to all of your friends, promising to see them again soon, wishing them the best for the time being. Then, you take your leave and find a comfortable space on the front concrete stairs of the establishment.

You’re scrolling on your phone when, soon enough, you hear a car pull up and park right in front of you. You look up and lock eyes with your wife through the open passenger seat window, she does not look happy.

Why were you getting excited? She’s about to berate you for disobeying her, so why are you feeling giddy?

You make your way over to the car, dragging your feet. Luckily you ordered some side dishes to eat while you were drinking, helping you to not get too drunk. But honestly, even if you didn’t, the feeling of her eyes burning into your head as you step inside the car would definitely do the trick.

“I’m really so—“

“Don’t wanna hear it.” She leaves no room for argument, no room for apologies, and absolutely no room for your endless excuses she knows you made up while waiting for her.

The rest of the drive home is silent. She left a cold bottle of water in the centre console that you graciously took, not bothering with manners since you know it won’t help your case.

You can’t lie though, the tension in the car mixing with the alcohol in your system was making you feel hot. You couldn’t help but imagine what she was going to do once you got home, smiling to yourself while looking at the window, trying your absolute hardest not to make it obvious that you were squeezing your thighs together. The butterflies in your stomach were making your clit throb with anticipation. The way she put her hand behind your head rest and turned around, using the palm of her hand to turn the steering wheel to back into the garage didn’t help the throb either.

You both sit in the stilled car for a moment, but you’re both still for different reasons. She’s thinking of what to say, while you’re waiting to be told what to do. She actually appreciates your behaviour for the first time all night.

“Sit on the bed.” You expect her to say more so you turn to face her, but once you receive a look that says ‘what?’ you get out of the car and head to the bedroom.

You’re waiting for some time before she comes in, stopping momentarily to glare at you, you shiver subtly under her gaze. She turns and closes the door, still standing facing away from you when she talks next.

“What is the one thing I asked you to do?” Turning around slowly to face you, walking over to you in a less than reassuring way.

“To update you,” your voice was small.

“Speak up, I can’t hear you,” she kneels down in front of you, staring up at you and yet it still feels like she’s looming over you.

“You asked me to update you.”

“Right. And what didn’t you do?”

“Update you.”

“I said speak up,” she says through her teeth, in an impatient manner.

“I didn’t update you. And I’m so sorry Sev, I just forgot.” Your apology was rushed, thinking she would interrupt you again. But she didn’t, she stayed silent.

“Take your clothes off.”

You swallow your nerves and lift your dress up over your head, sitting in your underwear. You don’t waste any time in taking off the rest, leaving you sitting completely bare in front of her.

“Lay on your stomach.”

You move further onto the bed, turning over and laying on your stomach just like she asked. She lifts up your hips with ease, placing a pillow underneath them. Then, the sound of her palm coming down on your ass fills the room. You hear it before you feel it. When you do feel it, it stings so badly that it feels cold.

She won’t make you count, she never does. That isn’t the point of this punishment. The point of it is to have to crying and begging her to stop while chanting empty promises along the lines of ‘I’ll never do it again!’ These pleas fall on unwillingly ears; she listens, relishing in the sobs that come out of your mouth every time she brings her hand down, then ignores you. Just like you did to her.

“Shut it. You want me to listen to you? Yeah? How do you think I feel, sweetheart?” She grabs your hair, turning your head to face her. The look in her eyes doesn’t do much to help the dripping between your thighs, but that doesn’t make it any less intimidating.

“I’m so sorry ‘Vika, I swear, it won’t hap- happen again,” stammering over your words due to your uncontrollable sobbing.

“You sure you’re not just saying that to get on my good side so I can play with your little pussy, babe? ‘Cause she looks pretty desperate,” the smirk evident in her tone.

“I’m sure.”

Out of nowhere she gets on top of you, straddling your thighs. She gets real close to your ear, make you shiver as you feel her lick the shell of it.

“Think you deserve to cum?” She hums in response when she sees you nod your head.

You feel her fingers slowly creep their way to your weeping pussy, but you stay still. You feel her knee nudge your legs open for easier access, but you still remain unmoving. It was only when her fingertip dipped slightly into you that you jolted, earning a chuckle from the woman above you. She gets off for a second and guides you to turn around. Still keeping your hips elevated but now you’re on your back.

She presses her knee to your shoulder, making it near impossible for you to move. And rubs your clit slowly with her hand, causing your eyes to close at the direct contact. You notice the light disappearing from behind your eyelids and open your eyes, only to see Sevika’s face above yours.

“Open wide, whore,” looking down at your lips with an expectant look.

You close your eyes agin and open your mouth, feeling a drop her warm saliva dribble onto your tongue. You swallow it immediately.

“You really are a slut, aren’t you?” A rhetorical question, of course. You both knew that answer.

Her other hand comes down to lift the hood of your clit up, making you clench around nothing as your clit is exposed to the cold air. Using her other hand to gather some of your arousal on a couple of her think fingers, a rub them roughly against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, back arching, and toes curling. Then, she shows you absolutely no mercy. Moving off of you and finding her place between you thighs, face to face with your drooling slit, licking her lips.

And she devours you, her hands do well to keep you from moving too much but even when you do, her face follows you. Never letting you escape the overwhelming pleasure. Sevika sucks your clit into her mouth, using her tongue to subjugate it to an unrelenting torture. As you feel your orgasm sneaking up, she lifts her head slightly, gaining your attention.

“Don’t cum yet.” What?

“I can’t hold it-“

“You’re going to have to, baby. I wasn’t asking.”

She gets right back to work, adding two of her thick fingers. While she seems to be enjoying herself, you have to fight off your pleasure while being forced to endure her tongue on your pussy. Not an easy task at all. You tell yourself to focus on your breathing, trying to hold it off for as long as possible but it doesn’t seem to be working at all. Little did you know, this is exactly what she wanted; to push to the point where you have to beg her to let you cum. Her favourite form of humiliation.

“Sev- vika, ohhh god, I can’t- I can’t hold it. Ohhhh my god, I can’t hold it— pleeeaaase baby! Fuckkk,” your pleas came out as screams through your teeth.

“Oh, I don’t know, baby. I really don’t think you deserve it, at all.”

The room was filled with the only words you could get out; pleasepleaseplease was all she heard, and she loved it. In fact, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once your hips started moving erratically, you both knew there was no holding it for any longer. She’s not worried though, she wasn’t planning on making you wait any longer anyway.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart? Go on, make a mess.”

The dam walls break, the noise you let out was ungodly. Your orgasm washing over you in such an intense way that your whole body starts shaking. The shivering didn’t stop Sevika from prolonging it, dragging your orgasm out by slightly slowing down the pace of her fingers. It was such a overwhelming sensation that you don’t even hear her get up, too fucked out from only one orgasm to see what she’s doing. The ringing in your ears stops you from hearing the sound of metal clanging together. She’s already fastened the harness around her hips and is lubing up the strap by the time you turn your head around, your eyes widening at the sheer size of it.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“I c- please Sevi, I can’t cum again,” trying to give her the sweetest look you could muster up, looking for some type of sympathy.

“Don’t give me that, you’ve got plenty more in you.”

She gets on her knees on the bed, using one of her hands to lift your hips up and the other one to guide her strap into your drenched pussy. Swiping it up and down to gather all of your cum that has dripped out of you, using it as extra lube. You wince as she pushes in. Inch by inch, she’s filling you up. She’s so slow too, making sure you feel every detail of the fake dick.

Once you adjust to the size of it, she lifts both of your legs so that both of your feet are hanging over one of her shoulders. Your hips are off the bed completely and she wraps both arms around your legs, and she goes crazy. She moves back, only bringing her hips forward whenever gravity makes you impale yourself on her dick. The sound of skin slapping soon fills the room, almost drowning out the beautiful noises you were making.

Your mouth lolled open, drool finding its way out of your mouth and down the side of your cheek.

“That feel good, baby?” She already knew but she loved to hear you say it.

“Mhm,” your bottom lip finding its way in between your teeth.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Y- yessss, oh my fucking g- gooddddd!!!” Voice changing as she angles her hips slightly upwards, pressing into that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

She doesn’t stop when you cum for the second time.

“Aww, look baby. You’re creaming all over me, does it feel too good, sweetheart?”

She doesn’t stop when you squirt all over her abdomen.

“Ohhhhhh, you’re makin’ a mess.” Bringing her hand down and rubbing sloppy patterns over your clit, forcing more out of you. Making you scream through your teeth. She chuckles through her teeth and your reaction.

She doesn’t stop after you start begging her for a break.

“I thought I told you I don’t wanna hear any of that, of course you can take more.”

“I- I can’t! Vika pl-“

“Don’t make me repeat myself, we aren’t stopping. Not until you understand— not until you learn the consequences of your actions.”

And oh my god did she stick to her word. She’s still pushing into you even now, even after you’ve stopped making noise and your mouth is just hanging wiiiiide open, even after you’ve cum another handful of times, even after she starts getting tired. She’s persistent, you’ll give her that.

She pauses for a second when she hears you mumble something under your breath, grabbing your jaw. She taps your cheek lightly.

“What’d you just say, baby? C’mon, speak.”

“I— I’m sorry,” tears, real tears pour out of your eyes. Not tears from the hours of overstimulation, not tears from the overwhelming pleasure you’re still experiencing, but tears from being genuinely sorry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t li- listen, I won’t- it won’t happen again. I love you.” Your words are quiet, almost a whisper, and slurred. And your sobs and hiccups weren’t helping you to become more coherent, but she still understood what you said. You didn’t even need to say anything and she would still know.

She pauses, her eyes are darting all over your face. And she leans down to kiss your tears away softly, lovingly.

“Okay, baby. It’s alright, I love you too. You’re gonna cum one more time and we’ll be done. Yeah?”

She hums when you give her a nod, but you’re surprised when she pulls out. She’s slow with it, not wanting to hurt you. You focus your eyes to see her kissing down your stomach, until she reaches your sore pussy. You clench around nothing when you see her just looking, staring. Then, she leans in.

Immediately dipping her tongue in, her eyes rolling at the taste of your cum on her tongue. She doesn’t waste a drop, swallowing it all.

“Relax, baby. Deeeep breaths, yeah that’s good.”

She guides you through the build up, helping you to overcome to pain of your sensitive clit being stimulated once again, helping you to calm down, telling you when to breathe in… then out. During this time, you rely on her words and actions to know how to behave. She’s calm, so you’re calm.

As your orgasm builds further, you become a little erratic in your movements. Breathing becoming faster and more unsteady, hips lifting off of the bed and pulling away? or were they grinding on her face? neither of you could tell, and back arching.

“Baby, calm down.” Her authoritative voice was still so smooth like honey, making you shiver. You nod.

“I’m- gonna, gonna cum. Pleasepleaseplease- Vika I’m gonna c-“

“Yeah, I heard you. Calm down and let it alllll out.”

And when that cord inside you finally snaps, she’s there. Following your hips, forcing you to ride it out.

⌞probably veryyyyy early into the next morning⌝

Your back is against her chest, she’s running her hand up and down your torso. The warm bath water engulfing you both, making you sleepy. You could feel her watching you, so you open your eyes.

“What are you looking at?” Playfulness lingering in your tone.

“My beautiful wife,” she says without even thinking.

You smile, closing your eyes again and leaning back against her chest.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Sore.” She chuckles at your answer, letting the comfortable silence fill the bathroom again.

After a couple of minutes she speaks again.

“Don’t ever make me worry like that again.” Her voice calm, but threatening.

“Yeah, I got that.”

“I mean it, baby.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Right,” rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

[nightplvmes]

pregnancy cravings (fluff)

sylus one shot (love and deepspace) sylus would spoil his wife, even if she weren't pregnant with twins⋆｡° | pairing : sylus x fem!reader ⋆｡° | word count : 1.5k (1,500) ⋆｡° | fluff, pregnant reader, husband sylus, twin pregnancy ⋆｡° | autor note: hi, i wrote this a long time ago and honestly i feel sylus would just take the damn car (spoiler) to not worry his wife and that's it, but i wrote this months ago and i didn't want to not post it, especially with all the time it takes me to write, edit and translate, so… you can read it with that in mind just as entertainment :) likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

you carefully slid to the other side of the bed. Sylus had fallen asleep again while reading, or so you thought because his glasses were still on the bridge of his nose.

"Sy…" you murmured softly but he continued sleeping. you knew your voice hadn't been audible enough to wake him anyway. "Sylus!" you touched his shoulder this time and although you had raised your voice slightly it had perhaps been too much.

Sylus opened his eyes immediately. he turned to look at you almost without blinking and quickly straightened up. it had all happened in a matter of seconds, was it just his reflexes that were stupidly fast? "what's wrong? is it the baby?" you pressed your lips together and nodded, somewhat embarrassed. "what happened? we're going to the hospital. get up."

"what? no! I'm fine." you shook your head, settling back down on the bed. "I'm just hungry."

Sylus raised an eyebrow in confusion and stood still. it took him a couple of seconds to understand what was happening around him and that his wife was not about to give birth. "you woke me up because you were hungry?" you nodded. it wasn't that Sylus would mind but he had gotten scared. "why didn't you just go to the kitchen?"

Sylus put one of his arms around your hips and gently pulled you towards him. you looked at your baby belly where their twins were growing. it seemed like yesterday the pregnancy test had come out positive and now you could give birth at any moment.

"remember that cafe that's open 24 hours and sells desserts?" Sylus nodded, his face buried in your neck, smelling his wife's scent. "well… I'm craving that amazing red velvet cake." you felt your mouth water just thinking about it.

Sylus sighed and lifted his face. he would fulfill any craving his wife had even if she wasn't pregnant. he had told you that you were doing enough carrying their twins.

"okay, I'll get your cake." he sighed, rubbing his eyes. he was still a little sleepy, although he had to admit that hearing his wife wake him up made him think you were about to go into labor, and that scare had helped wake him up.

Sylus moved around the room, grabbing something to protect himself from the cold while his wife watched his every move. it was cold, and more than once you had made it clear that he needed to stay warm; you didn't want him to get sick.

"where's my helmet?" he asked, looking around the room.

"your helmet? will you use your bike?" you quickly sat down on the bed and pulled the covers off you. your face was now utterly worried, and Sylus quickly noticed.

"I'll go faster that way," he nodded. he knew you hated when he used the bike. ever since you found out you were pregnant, you'd practically forced him to stay off his motorcycle unless absolutely necessary and to use a car like a normal person. you were afraid something might happen to him, especially since they were expecting twins. Sylus had seen how worried you were that he'd agreed.

"Sy…" you got up quickly, and he smiled at you. you were wearing one of his favorite sweatshirts that you'd stolen from his closet, but he loved seeing your baby bump even when the sweatshirt was too big for you. "you said you wouldn't do it anymore."

"I'll be okay. I'll be right back," he murmured, letting you wrap your arms around him. he closed his eyes for a few seconds, thinking that after all, you didn't need that cake so badly and could survive one more night.

"I don't want the cake anymore. you don't have to go."

Sylus laughed, knowing you were lying, especially because you loved that cake. "you don't know how to lie." he placed a kiss on your forehead and finally pulled away. he felt a little guilty about leaving you worried like that, but he knew it wouldn't take long.

you followed him through the house, down the stairs, and to the front door, following his every step like a duckling.

"you still have time to change your mind and go by car. there's no traffic at this hour." Sylus stopped when he heard her words, turned to look at her, smiled, and then shook his head.

"it'll take less than ten minutes." you nodded, still unsure. your eyes drifted to the helmet in his hand. you didn't know when you'd become so paranoid, maybe the moment you'd realized you were actually in love with him.

"be careful, okay? you can't leave me alone with two twins!" Sylus nodded, though he tried to hide the fact that it hurt him to think of leaving you alone. He would never leave you alone.

he leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead, his fingers brushing your belly as a silent farewell. he turned to walk to the door and glanced over his shoulder one last time before leaving.

you started counting the seconds the moment Sylus stepped outside the house. why were you so nervous? he'd been riding his bike for many years and wasn't a beginner; nothing bad was going to happen to him.

you sighed and headed to the kitchen, trying to distract yourself. you began to make some tea in silence while your thoughts wandered, and you made a short mental list of things you had to do.

you needed to go to the doctor to make sure everything was in order with the twins. you needed to buy more clothes. you needed to prepare the bag you would take to the hospital on the day of delivery. there was still a crib to be assembled, but Sylus said he would take care of that himself.

you smiled as you remembered how you had tried to get the pieces out of one of the cribs, but it hadn't been more than five minutes before Sylus entered the room and forced you to stop. he hadn't let you do much of anything since you found out you were pregnant.

when you came out of your thoughts, several minutes had passed, and you were holding a cup of hot tea. you looked at the clock on one of the walls and felt your heart sink when you noticed that almost 20 minutes had passed. the cafe was close; it usually didn't take more than ten minutes, what was happening?

you felt a lump in your throat as you walked to the living room. you looked out the window hoping to see some light in the distance from Sylus' bike, but everything was too quiet. too quiet.

you walked back to the bedroom and rummaged through the pillows, looking for your phone. when you found it, you looked for your husband's number and pressed "call" but your hopes crumbled when you heard Sylus' phone ringing in the room. you sighed, trying to calm down. you was too paranoid, and the doctor had already told you a million times that you needed to relax.

but… what if something had happened to him? what if you were right? you sank down onto the bed and suddenly felt short of breath and like crying. you couldn't raise twins alone. the only reason you were calm now was because Sylus was by your side. he had taken it upon himself to reassure you when they found out their babies were twins.

one of each, he'd said. you covered your face as a sad smile formed on your lips. what would you do without the father of your babies? most importantly… what would you do without the love of your life? the only person you'd ever felt comfortable with, the only person who—

"sweetie?" you quickly looked up and rubbed one of your eyes to wipe away the tears that had begun to form. your whole body relaxed when you saw him standing in front of you with a box in one hand and a bag in the other. had you been so lost in your thoughts that you hadn't even heard him come in?

"Sy…" he quickly put everything aside and sat down next to you. he let you wrap her arms around him, and you were soon clinging to him. you'd been overthinking again. "it took you longer than ten minutes."

"I stopped by to get you some things you like," he murmured, kissing your head. he'd accidentally gotten too distracted, and now his pregnant wife was on the verge of a mental breakdown; he'd noticed it because of the way your eyes were watering. "I'm sorry."

you shook your head; you couldn't be bothered when he'd woken up to get your favorite cake and had stopped by to buy some of your favorite things.

"was there still cake?" you asked, trying to change the subject.

"I bought two." he nodded looking at your slightly red nose. you smiled excitedly and kissed his cheek; you'd have enough cake leftover for a while longer.

Sylus couldn't sleep again the rest of the night but that wasn't new to him, seeing his pregnant wife happy eating her cake was better than anything.

[spaceyaemonds]

i can only imagine reader bringing in her chunky, ruddy cheeked baby with the softest freckles smattered across her rosy cheeks and big, round hazel eyes to the ER. her baby’s wispy auburn curls lightly fluttering as the reader bounces her in her arms to keep her calm in the noisy building. it’s shift change in the morning, so everyone from each shift is there. dana and samira notice the cute baby first, asking if she’s a patient and the reader brushes them off with a smile telling them that both she and her baby are fine and they’re just waiting for her boyfriend. and the look of shock on everyone’s faces when jack and his salt and pepper curls strolls over to the much younger woman and scoops the chubby baby that looks suspiciously like him up into his strong arms 💞💞

hi friend!!!!

omg i love love love this😭😭😭

Mohan notices them first, the young woman and her cute baby that looks almost familiar, and if she had to guess was around nine months old. They both seem content. Or at least she does, the baby is clinging onto her, eyes dropping as she fights off sleep.

Though they seem fine, she can’t help but be concerned.

“Dana?”

The blonde looks up at the doctor, “Yeah?”

“Have they been helped?” She points in their direction.

Dana’s brow furrows, glancing at the board then down at the charts just to be sure. No one matching their description is currently in a room.

“No, I don’t think so,” She glances back over at them, watching as the baby blinks sleepily in their direction.

Mohan nods at Dana before walking over, gently placing her hand on the woman's shoulder to not startle her.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand on your shoulder, “Oh my goodness!”

“Oh my god!” You and the doctor that touched your arm jump at the same time.

You let out a light laugh when you look at her, “I’m sorry. You startled me,”

She nods, letting out a small laugh herself, “No, I’m sorry,” She shakes her head before smiling at you, “I just wanted to check on you, make sure you and your baby have been taken care of? Do you need a room to be examined?”

You quickly shake your head, “Oh! No, we’re waiting on my boyfriend. Are we in the way?”

Her brow furrows, and you bite your lip, wondering if you should have just waited in the car.

“No, of course you guys aren’t in the way,” She glances at the baby who has started fussing slightly and moving around a little more. “If you want, I can go find him for yo-“

Before she can finish, your daughter attempts to launch herself out of your arms.

“Hey, you,” Mohan looks up, eyes landing on Dr. Abbot, who, to her surprise, gently takes the baby from you during what is her second attempt at launching herself at him.

“Have you been good for mommy? Huh?” Again, she is taken aback by the night attendings familiarity with this child.

She’s left standing there awkwardly when he pulls you close and kisses your head. “You have an easy night?”

You laugh, shaking your head no, “She has another tooth coming in, so we’ve been up alllll night. Huh, baby?”

He smiles fondly as you answer him but talk to her.

Jack finally notices Samira, “Dr. Mohan, can I help you with something?”

Her eyes widen, and she quickly shakes her head no, “Oh! No, I just saw them standing here and wanted to make sure they didn’t need anything, is all,”

She glances between him and the baby, who she can now see is nearly identical to him, “So, you guys know each other?”

Your eyes widen slightly, a small laugh threatening to leave your mouth at the deadpan look on Jack’s face.

He looks at the baby, smiling at her, “Well, Dr. Mohan, what would your observation be?”

[0scarp1astr1]

Wax Appointment

જ⁀➴ Desc: || In which you tell them about your brazilian wax appointment, they just have one problem, your waxer is a man. ||

ᯓ★ Featuring: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso.

ᯓ★ 2x Genre: Fluffy (slight humor)

ᯓ★ Warning: Suggestive humor/themes

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: First official writing, remember inbox is open! I hope you all enjoy. And if you want another part of this, you can just tell me what drivers you would like to see in this same scenario. My pinned tells you all the drivers I write for.

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Max Verstappen

It was halfway through the day when Max caught you freshening yourself back up. At first, he brushed it off, assuming maybe he worked out while he was gone and needed a shower. He was never the type to press you on the matter unless it was something that caused you discomfort, and he needed a reason to beat up someone for you. He was sweet in his own way, but a kind, gentle soul when he needed to be.

"Alright, I'm leaving," you said, reaching for the keys. Max had looked over from his spot on the couch, raising a brow. "You're leaving? "I didn't know you had plans?" he questioned. He knew deep down he would be safe. He trusted his friends, plus most of them were other wags. You always got along with Alexandra.

Letting a soft chuckle slip from your lips, you shook your head, looking at him. He looked even more confused before you explained. "I'm going to my Brazilian waxing appointment." You smiled at him. Max's brain took a moment to process. "And that is what exactly?"

You sighed, figuring you would have to explain the basics to your lovely boyfriend. "It's waxing, they do everything, front, back, and everything in between." You winked playfully. He blushed for a moment before nodding his head. "Have fun!" he replied, eyes adverting back to the television.

"I will. "I have to go, or he's going to make me pay extra! "If I’m late,” Before you have the chance to prance out the door, your boyfriend was right behind you. "He? "It's a GUY?!" he said rather loudly, moving to block the door. You looked at him, almost offended. “Yeah? "It's a wax, this is his job," you tried to reason.

Max shook his head. "No, I can do it!” he said as his eyes widened at his suggestion. "Max, you can't wax me down there" you shook your head in protest. Max scoffed. "Schatje! I've seen every inch of you naked. I know my way around your body. In fact, I know my way in! "I'm waxing you! End of story!" he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

"his job? I'm your boyfriend. this is MY job."

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Charles Leclerc

The crazy thing about Charles is that you told him about your Brazilian wax appointment, but it seems he forgot. Which isn’t a surprise considering he wasn’t paying much attention when he was spoken to, but you loved him regardless.

Opening the door, your eyes landed on Charles, who was playing his sim racing, giving a soft smile towards him as you spoke up. “Okay, I’m heading out for my Brazilian wax” you said as Charles hummed with a soft smile. “Enjoy yourself mon amour, give her a tip I like when she does your waxing” he stated.

 “Ah. "Amy’s out of town, I have a new waxer, but he said he knows what he’s doing” you assume, with a shrug. Charles forgot everything at that point, his head turning fast with an expression of disbelief. “He? Mon amour! It’s another man! He can’t see what’s mine!” 

“Charles, it’s just his job. "If I was uncomfortable, I’d never book this waxing” you shook your head, he let out a sigh. “I know that, trust me I know” he assured, silence falling over before he hummed to break the tension forming. 

“Just don’t get a waxing at all..personally, I don’t need this guy investigating you like some temple”, he said, causing you to chuckle, “It’s nothing like that.” Let me get my wax so you and I can have a good time. "I feel it ruins the mood if I’m not up-to-date with my self-care!”

Charles shook his head. “Fine…but let me fuck you first before you go. "I need to leave behind something,” he said as you slapped his arm. “Charles!” You shook your head, he shrugged.

“What? I don’t want anyone seeing what’s mine! At least let me label it before you go mon amour!”

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Lewis Hamilton

Fairly respectful guy, so you honestly have no issue with him, and he knows half the people you see anyway. He pays for your hair, nails, anything really. He just didn’t realize you had a man doing the waxing instead. 

Lewis casually lounged on the couch, Roscoe resting next to him and the TV playing some random film he found when channel surfing. When he saw you walk towards the door, he finally spoke up.

"Brazilian waxing, right?" he asked, wanting to double-check as he nodded your head in response to him. “You should be back in time before our date tonight. I know it’s not far from here,” he smiled softly. 

"Actually, it’s a new place I'm trying. They have me booked with some guy," you said as he nodded his head. "So how much did they-wait a guy?" he looked at you as if you had just insulted Roscoe himself. Which only caused you to giggle in response to his reaction. “Yes. A man is doing my waxing.” 

Lewis raised up from the couch as Roscoe looked over, his rest now disturbed. “I can live with you not waxing, you can just shave” he said as you cringed. “I hate shaving. "I need to be nice and pretty” you said as he groaned. “I’ve eaten it before! "Why does it matter now?” he said as he shook his head, Roscoe barking. “Lewis! "Roscoe is right there!” You gestured. 

“Excuse me baby doll, you know I love Roscoe but I’m more worried about the man waxing you!”

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Lando Norris

It was a pretty simple day with Lando playing games with his best friend Max and you rummaged through the bathroom and digging through makeup. “Lando!” You shouted from the bathroom. He excused himself from the game, walking to the bathroom. 

He opened the door as you looked at him with a frustrated expression. “Have you seen my makeup brushes?” You asked, earning a headshake from him. “I haven’t. "Where are you going anyway?” he asked. Lando didn’t mind you dolling up, but he also knew you rarely did. “Brandon is waxing me today. I scheduled my Brazilian wax for noon.” 

Gears turned in his head as the bathroom door was fully open now, his weight leaned against it. “Excuse me? Brandon? "What kind of womanly name is that?” He asked as you snickered, shaking your head. “Not a woman,” he said as he gasped. “You’re cheating on me?!” He shouted. Earning a rather offended expression on your part. “That’s not cheating!” 

“Letting him see MY woman’s elegant body is cheating!” He said as you groaned. “It’s a wax!” You scoffed. “Same thing.” My eyes only. "He’s going to try to steal you from me. "I know this because you’re absolutely sexy in my eyes and everyone will try.” He bickered back. A small smile broke out onto your face. “Are you sweet-talking to me?…” She smiled. 

Lando sighed. “Yeah. "Is it working?” He raised a brow, hating to admit how it was working, you caved in. “Kinda yeah,” You said as he grinned. “Excellent.” "You are going to get that waxing, cause now I feel bad.” He said as you, awed at his sudden change. 

“Thank you, Lando…” you smiled softly. “Of course.” "Now where are the wax strips you use?” He asked, scooting you out the way to rummage for them. “What?” he asked as he sighed, his eyes speaking for him. “Not happening Lando.”

“Do you want the wax or not? You don’t even have to pay me. You get a free Brazilian wax and I get to see you naked. It’s a win.”

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Carlos Sainz

The crazy thing is, Carlos looked into the booking since he was fine paying for it and just wanted a basic booking list to look at. It lined up perfectly with the vacation he booked for you two for the anniversary on the way. Everything was a miracle for him. 

“You sure you want to come to the room?” he asked as Carlos chuckled, nodding his head. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before cariño”, he smiled softly. You kissed his cheek, gave a soft sigh and walked into the room, knowing exactly what to do already. 

Overtime, Carlos had been texting on his phone and waiting, so when the door opened, he looked up and his smile dropped as he looked at the guy rather closely. “Who are you?” He asked suddenly, causing him to side eye his sassy tone given. “Ah, I’m doing the waxing today, my name is-“ Carlos had quickly moved from his spot.

“You? "No offense, but you can’t wax my woman,” he said. You glanced at him for his boldness. “Carlos-“  "No! I want a woman! I don’t exactly trust this process.” He glared at the guy. The man clears his throat. “I can assure you it’s a fast process,” he said. 

Carlos crossed his arms. “I want a woman to wax. If not, "We’ll be taking our leave.” You looked at the guy, trying to give him a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry about that,” You said as the guy walked out of the room. 

Your gaze shifted to Carlos, who looked more relaxed and comfortable, only giving you a silent shrug in return. “You scared him away…” you said, but you smiled lightly. “Not that I’m complaining, but you can’t scare away people I need for my wax”, you said as Carlos kissed your forehead. 

“Dios mío, relax. I’ll make it up to you during our anniversary vacation. In the best way possible”

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Fernando Alonso

Dramatic, you knew how dramatic he was capable of being when you first started dating, and he damn near scared the waiter away. So with the waxer, you knew it was no different. 

It was the usual morning of you both lounging around the bedroom, wrapped in the warmth of your cuddle session. “I don’t want to get up, but I can’t miss my wax either” you said as Fernando hums, his arms still around you. “Schedule it another time” he suggested, and you figured maybe it wasn’t a bad idea, so you did it. 

Sadly, you lost track of time and when you finally got up two hours later, you internally screamed at yourself. Fernando only propped himself up on his elbows, watching you move around the bedroom in a panic. “You’re only a bit late,” he said. “A bit?! Fernando, I’m hours late! I had to call to make sure I could go!” 

“And?” he sighed heavily. “The original waxer is out. Luckily, this one guy made time to squeeze me in today for a Brazilian wax”. At the moment when you said that, Fernando was well awake and jumping out of bed. “No! Absolutely not! "Do you hear yourself, Mi amada?” he asked, eyes wide. A part of you was aching to laugh just because of how dead serious he was. 

“Who needs a wax anyway? "I can manage” he shrugs, causing you to snicker. It’s not funny! "He’s going to see you! "Every bit of you! "I can wax you! "I’m your husband!” He said as you giggled. “Boyfriend.” You corrected. “Soon to be husband! "My point is, you’re laughing, and I’m offering to wax!” He pointed out. “You’re such a drama queen Alonso,” You said. He stood in front of you, silence taking over, who was going to cave in? Only time was capable of telling. 

Now here you are, lying down at home. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into letting you wax me at home,” You said as he shrugged. “I was helping you”, he said as you rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re lucky the world loves you.” He gave a satisfied smile. 

“Happy to help, I’d be a fool to allow another man to touch you. Call it dramatics but you love it.”

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