#will it be in conversation with empty spaces? yes

[sunsetmade]

After Hours

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky finally agrees to spend the night at her house. However when she notices he’s uncomfortable on the couch she can’t help but offer her own bed.

The mission was over.

After nearly seventy-two relentless hours of chaos, bruises, and barely any sleep, it was finally done. The kind of done that settled deep in your bones, heavy and silent. Bucky hadn’t said much since they’d returned—just a few muttered confirmations, a nod here and there. He was running on fumes, and she could see it all over him.

So when they stood beside his motorcycle in the dim glow of the compound’s underground garage, she didn’t hesitate.

“Buck, please come and stay with me tonight,” she said softly, tugging the helmet strap beneath her chin. “I hate the idea of you crashing at some random motel again.”

She climbed onto the back of his bike without waiting for permission—like she ever needed it. As always, he turned around to check her helmet strap, his fingers adjusting it with care. It was routine now, though she still remembered the day he’d bought it. He’d claimed he already had an extra one, but she’d seen the brand-new box in his trunk the morning after their first ride.

He let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with his flesh hand. “Doll, I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.”

Her gaze lingered on the cut above his brow, the fresh bruising along his jaw, the way his shoulders drooped like they carried the weight of more than just the mission. This one had hit hard. Harder than he’d ever admit out loud. She swallowed, her voice softer now, almost a whisper.

“Buck… please.”

She huffed when he didn’t answer—just turned forward and gripped the handlebars, a silent signal that the conversation was over. Her hands hesitated for a second before wrapping gently around his waist. The synthetic hum of the bike started up beneath them, but her mind was louder.

She exhaled, frustration curling in her stomach.

He was always doing this—keeping distance with silence, dancing around their connection like it wasn’t real. And she let him. Because every once in a while, he let his guard down, and in those fleeting seconds, she saw the version of him no one else got to.

“I just think you’d be more comfortable on an actual couch instead of a mystery mattress that squeaks every time you breathe,” she said, eyebrows raised. “And my place has snacks. And clean towels.”

Bucky glanced behind his shoulder looking at her, clearly fighting a smile. “You trying to bribe me with snacks now?”

“I’m just saying,” she said innocently resting her chin on his shoulder.

Their relationship was… undefined. Somewhere between teammates and something more. Something unspoken. She didn’t know what to call it. All she knew was that she hated the way he pulled away after every mission, hated the empty motel rooms and the way he pretended it didn’t matter.

All she wanted was him with her.

What she didn’t know—what he kept buried beneath every quiet smile and casual shrug—was that every time she asked him to stay, it took everything in him not to say yes on the spot. Not just a polite yes. A desperate one. The kind that wanted to drop everything, follow her home, and never leave.

Because God, he wanted to.

He wanted to stay. He wanted to kiss her like it meant something—like it had been building up inside him for longer than he could admit. He wanted to hold her face in his hands and finally let her see just how much space she took up in his thoughts.

But he couldn’t.

Because if she didn’t feel the same—if her kindness was just kindness, and not the quiet pull he hoped it was—then he’d ruin everything. And he couldn’t handle losing her. Not even a little. He’d rather sit with the ache, pretend he didn’t notice the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching, than risk a silence between them he couldn’t fix.

So he stayed quiet. Stayed cool. And hoped that one day, maybe, she’d be the one to close the space between them.

⸻

As her apartment building came into view, a strange heaviness settled in her chest. Not the exhaustion from the mission, not really. It was something else—something tighter, harder to ignore. Bucky’s motorcycle rumbled beneath them, slowing to a gentle purr as he eased it into a stop in front of her place.

She let out a soft sigh, hesitating before unwrapping her arms from around his waist. The night air felt colder without him. She climbed off the bike, smoothing her hands down her thighs while Bucky followed, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel as he stood up.

The walk to her door was quiet. Not awkward, not strained—just filled with things neither of them knew how to say.

When she reached the top step, she paused, hand hovering over the doorknob. She turned back to him, eyes soft.

“It’s not too late to change your mind…” she said, offering him a hopeful little smile.

Bucky met her gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was tempted. His tongue flicked across his bottom lip before he shook his head, amused, conflicted, something in between.

Then, with a low breath, he stepped forward and opened the door for her. His vibranium hand held it steady while his other motioned her inside in that quiet, old-fashioned way of his.

She walked in, beaming at him as she pointed dramatically toward the living room. “Look how comfy my couch looks,” she said, voice playful. “It’s practically begging to be slept on.”

And honestly? It was inviting. The couch was covered in mismatched fluffy pillows, a giant throw blanket draped over the back like a welcome hug. The lighting in her apartment was warm, cozy—safe. Like her.

You can’t. It’s going to ruin everything

He only raised his brows, a tight lipped smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took a single step back onto the porch. “Night, doll,” he said, voice low.

She let out a dramatic huff, leaning her back against the doorframe the second he released it. The warmth from his hand still lingered in the wood behind her.

Bucky started down the steps, his boots thudding lightly against the worn boards, but he didn’t make it far before he heard her voice float after him—barely above a mutter, but loud enough to catch.

“So grumpy… never wants to do anything… whatever.”

His smile widened as he reached the bottom of the stairs, shaking his head to himself. She really was something else.

He swung one leg over the bike, the engine roaring back to life beneath him. The hum of it filled the quiet street, but before he pulled away, he turned slightly—just enough to glance back at her over his shoulder.

She was still there, arms crossed and lower lip poked out in a soft pout, the porch light casting a warm halo around her.

He raised his metal hand and gave her a quick, lazy wave.

She sighed, but lifted her hand anyway, waving back with a frown that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

And even though she pretended to be annoyed, she stayed at the door, watching until his taillight disappeared into the night. Only wishing he would open up to her more.

⸻

By the time Bucky made it back to his motel room, his mood had shifted completely.

The moment he stepped inside, the silence hit him like a wall. The place was dark, cold—not just in temperature, but in feeling. No soft lamp lighting the corner like hers, no faint scent of something sweet in the air, no cozy chaos of pillows scattered across a couch. Just stillness. Emptiness.

He stood in the doorway for a second, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob, staring into the dim room like maybe something would change if he waited long enough. But it didn’t. It never did when she wasn’t there.

Bucky wasn’t used to this.

Not to the hollow ache in his chest every time he walked away from her.

Not to missing someone the second they were out of sight.

He let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as he kicked off his boots, each step echoing a little too loudly on the hardwood floor. He made his way to the fridge and yanked it open, the light inside casting a sterile glow over near-empty shelves. He grabbed a beer, popped the cap off with a soft hiss, and let the door swing shut behind him.

Instead of the couch, he dropped to the floor— like he usually did— in front of it with a groan, stretching his legs out and leaning his head back against the edge of the cushion. The beer bottle hung loosely from his fingers as he stared up at the ceiling.

It had been a long day. A long, brutal mission that left more bruises than answers. His muscles ached, his head throbbed, and his thoughts refused to settle.

But when he was with her?

Somehow, she made it easier to forget.

Her voice, her warmth, that little smile she gave him when she teased him for being stubborn—it softened the sharp edges of the world. Being near her made everything feel lighter, even if just for a little while.

And now, without her…

The silence just reminded him of what he didn’t have.

He took a sip of his beer, jaw clenching slightly.

He sat there for another ten minutes—back against the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, the half-empty beer bottle resting on the floor by his side.

Ten minutes of silence.

Ten minutes of trying to convince himself he was fine.

But the longer he sat there, the louder his thoughts got. Every second that ticked by only reminded him of how quiet the apartment was. How cold. How not her.

He leaned his head back, jaw tight, eyes shut. He could still hear her voice in his head—soft, teasing, hopeful.

“Not too late to change your mind…”

A muscle in his cheek twitched.

Why the hell did he always do this? Push her away. Tell himself it was safer that way. That he didn’t deserve the comfort, the warmth she offered so easily. That if he got used to it, losing it would be worse.

But God, he missed her—and he hadn’t even been gone twenty minutes.

With a frustrated breath, he cursed under his breath, the sound echoing off the empty walls. His hand scrubbed down his face before he pushed himself up off the floor in one swift motion.

He grabbed his jacket from where he’d tossed it, pulling it on with rough, impatient movements. His boots thudded across the floor as he stormed toward the door. And then— slam.

The door shut behind him with a sharp bang, rattling in its frame.

He was already halfway down the hall before the echo faded, keys in hand, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with her.

⸻

She let out a long sigh and let her head fall back against the couch, arms sprawled lazily at her sides. The cushions sank beneath her like they were trying to swallow her whole, and for once, she didn’t mind. She was exhausted—mentally, physically, emotionally—but somehow still too restless to fall asleep.

And she missed Bucky.

Even though it had only been an hour. Maybe less.

Her eyes drifted toward the digital clock glowing from the corner of the room. 11:41.

With a groan, she finally peeled herself off the couch, feet dragging as she shuffled toward the bathroom. The floor was cold under her bare toes, and her limbs moved on autopilot as she pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail, letting the loose strands fall wherever they wanted. Then she swapped her mission attire for pajamas—her favorite soft, light blue shorts that barely reached mid-thigh and a worn-in T-shirt that hung loose on her frame.

It took her a second to realize whose shirt it was.

She smiled to herself, smoothing a hand down the faded fabric. Bucky’s. He’d left it behind weeks ago after a late-night movie marathon and never asked for it back. Probably didn’t even remember it was gone. She hadn’t meant to keep it, but it smelled like him for a while—clean laundry and cedar and something warm—and she just… never gave it back.

Still smiling to herself, she padded to the kitchen, reaching for a glass and heading to the fridge for some water. She had just wrapped her fingers around the handle when she was interrupted by someone knocking on the door.

She jumped slightly, blinking. Her head snapped toward the door.

Then, another knock. Firmer this time. Quicker.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she mumbled to herself, placing the glass down on the counter and padding toward the door, the hem of Bucky’s shirt swaying with each step.

She flipped the lock and pulled it open without thinking, still a little dazed from her groggy state.

And there he was.

Bucky.

Standing on her porch, jacket slightly rumpled, his hair a bit windswept from the ride. His eyes met hers, and he froze for a second—just long enough to take her in. The bare legs, the sleep-heavy eyes, the familiar shirt.

His shirt.

Her hand stayed on the doorframe, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined him into existence.

“…Hi,” she said, voice soft with surprise.

Bucky stood on her porch like he wasn’t entirely sure how he got there. His shoulders were tense, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, and his eyes were fixed on the ground like it might offer an explanation.

“I—” he started, then stopped, jaw tightening slightly.

This was stupid. He shouldn’t have come back. What was he doing? Showing up at nearly midnight in the middle of her quiet night just because he couldn’t stand the silence of his own place?

“Um…” he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly avoiding her gaze. “Sorry to bother you, doll. I don’t really know why I came back. I just— I was at my place but then I thought maybe—” he sighed, fumbling with words that didn’t feel right in his mouth. “I don’t know. I just wanted—”

But she was already smiling.

That soft, knowing smile that made his chest feel like it might cave in. Because she didn’t look annoyed or confused or even surprised. She just looked… happy.

And that alone made the tightness in his chest loosen just a bit.

Before he could say another word, her hand reached for his—warm and sure—and gently tugged him inside.

“I was just about to head to bed,” she said over her shoulder, her voice teasing as she led him into the soft glow of her living room. “You’re lucky I was still awake, Buck.”

He followed her in, glancing around like it might suddenly look different now that he was seeing it at midnight. But it didn’t. It still looked like her. Warm lighting, the soft pillows and cozy blanket still thrown across the couch—and not a single trace of discomfort on her face.

Still, his nerves buzzed just beneath his skin.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” he said again as he slowly sank down onto the couch, jacket still on, hands restless in his lap.

She didn’t sit. Instead, she studied him for a moment, her expression softening as if she could feel the tension still clinging to him.

Then, without a word, she stepped forward—between his knees—and leaned in, her gaze locking onto his.

“Hey,” she said quietly, reaching up to touch his face.

His breath caught.

Her palm rested gently against his cheek, her thumb brushing along the edge of his stubble with a care that made his chest ache. Her touch was warm, grounding. And her eyes—God, her eyes—were so sincere it made his mouth go dry.

“Bucky, baby,” she whispered, her voice slow and tender, “I want you to be here. I prefer it, actually. I’m really glad you came back.”

He didn’t say anything—couldn’t. He just stared at her like she’d said something he never thought he’d hear. And maybe she had.

“Make yourself at home,” she added, giving him one last gentle stroke of her thumb before stepping back. “Let me grab you one of your shirts—you left a couple here, remember?”

And then she was gone, practically skipping down the hallway with her ponytail bouncing behind her, her bare legs moving quickly across the floor. He could hear the light thump of her opening a drawer.

Bucky stayed frozen on the couch, jacket still on, brain still short-circuited.

She called him baby.

Her hand had lingered on his face longer than it needed to. And that smile—that soft, sleepy smile—was still etched into his memory like it belonged there.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand over his mouth.

He was falling hard.

And if he knew one thing it was that he didn’t want to leave again.

When she returned to the living room, Bucky was still sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as he stared at the floor like it held answers to questions he hadn’t even figured out how to ask yet.

She padded toward him, her heart fluttering somewhere near her throat, the fabric of his shirt folded neatly in her hands. It smelled faintly like him—woodsy and clean, familiar in a way that felt too intimate now that he was actually here, staying the night.

She offered it to him with a slightly awkward smile, her voice coming out just a little too quick. “Here. Thought you might want something more comfortable.”

He looked up at her, taking the shirt from her hands, fingers brushing against hers briefly. His eyes lingered on her face for a second longer than necessary before he nodded, grateful but quiet.

Her hand fell to her side, and suddenly she realized she was fidgeting—tugging at the hem of her own shirt (his shirt) and shifting her weight from foot to foot.

She cleared her throat softly. “So, um… the couch is yours,” she said, her tone half-rehearsed, half-nervous. “I-I’ll grab you another blanket. It gets cold in here sometimes. And there’s an extra pillow in the linen closet, I think.”

It hit her, just then.

He was really sleeping over.

Bucky. In her apartment. For the night.

And not just after crashing from a mission or falling asleep during a movie. This felt different. This was him choosing to be here. Coming back on his own.

Her heart thudded a little faster.

“I mean, just make yourself comfortable,” she added, offering a quick, sheepish smile as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I know it’s not fancy, but the couch is actually pretty cozy. I fall asleep on it all the time.”

Bucky looked up at her again, his expression softer now—less guarded. He seemed to sense the shift in her, how her words were tumbling out a little faster now that the reality of the situation had sunk in.

“I’m already comfortable,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough, a little warmer than before.

Her breath caught for just a second, but she masked it with another nervous laugh. “Okay, well, I’ll still get the blanket,” she mumbled quickly, already turning toward the hallway in a flurry of bare feet and nerves.

Behind her, Bucky leaned back against the couch cushions, the shirt resting in his lap as he watched her disappear again.

And even though he hadn’t laid down yet, or changed, or touched a single pillow—he wasn’t lying.

He already felt more at home here than anywhere else.

⸻

She huffed, turning over in bed for what had to be the tenth time in the past hour. The sheets were cool, the pillow perfectly shaped to her head, and yet she couldn’t settle. No matter how many times she adjusted, how tightly she curled into herself, her mind refused to quiet down.

It wasn’t the late hour or the leftover adrenaline from the mission.

It was him.

Bucky. Out there on her couch.

Alone.

She’d said goodnight hours ago, offering a smile and a nervous pat to the back of the couch before disappearing into her bedroom and closing the door behind her. She thought it would feel normal. Casual. No big deal.

But it wasn’t. Not even close.

The silence felt heavier than usual, and the bed—normally her haven—felt far too big. Too cold. Too empty.

She groaned softly and sat up, scrubbing a hand over her face.

It’s just water, she told herself as she slipped out of bed and tiptoed through the apartment. Not checking on him. Just thirsty. Completely innocent.

The soft pads of her bare feet barely made a sound against the floor as she crept through the dimly lit hallway. The living room was quiet, bathed in a sliver of moonlight spilling in through the window.

Her eyes landed on him immediately.

Bucky lay stretched across the couch, his body tense even in sleep. His brow was furrowed like he was in the middle of an intense dream, jaw clenched slightly, one arm twitching ever so often. The blanket she’d given him was now on the floor, kicked off in his sleep, leaving him exposed to the chill in the air.

She frowned, heart tightening at the sight. He looked… restless. Vulnerable in a way he never let himself be while awake.

Carefully, she walked over and picked up the blanket, fingers curling around the fabric as she stood over him. For a second, she didn’t move—just looked down at him, her gaze softening.

She hated seeing him like this. Hated knowing he still fought battles in his sleep.

A small part of her—okay, maybe a not so small part—really did consider dragging him to her bed. Or curling up right there on the couch beside him.

So she did.

She lowered herself onto the edge of the couch, careful not to jostle him too much, settling into the small space in front of his curled-up form. The room felt warmer suddenly, the silence now filled with the slow rhythm of his breathing and the soft creak of the couch beneath her.

She reached out, hesitating just a second before her fingers grazed his arm. “Buck,” she whispered, the sound feather-light, like anything louder might shatter the calm.

No response.

So she leaned in a little more, letting her palm press gently against him, her thumb rubbing a slow, soothing arc. “Bucky…”

This time, he stirred—just slightly at first. His eyelashes fluttered, and then he blinked himself into consciousness, slow and disoriented. His eyes landed on her, glassy and unfocused, like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or if she’d really come to find him.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep and a little scratchy, barely above a murmur. “You okay?”

She gave him a soft, sheepish smile, one that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I should be asking you that,” she said gently. “You were… twitching. And freezing.”

His gaze dropped, just now noticing the blanket wrapped around him. His brows pulled together slightly. He opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, to explain, but she cut in first, her voice just a notch above a whisper.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her fingers lingered on his arm, thumb brushing back and forth absentmindedly. “And I didn’t want you out here alone.”

Bucky blinked again, slower this time. The shadows under his eyes looked deeper in the dim light, his exhaustion etched into every line on his face. But there was something else there now too—something softer. Like her words had reached a part of him no one usually saw.

“Come with me,” she said, quieter now, barely more than breath. “Just for a little while. Please?”

The silence stretched between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It just… hung there. Tender and a little tentative.

And then—without a word—he shifted. Sat up slowly, his movements heavy with sleep and hesitation. His blanket fell into his lap, and he looked at her like he was still trying to process the offer, or maybe the fact that she meant it.

Her hand was still on his arm, and when he didn’t pull away, she gave the lightest tug, just enough to let him know she wanted him to follow.

And he did.

Wordlessly, he followed.

When she rose from the couch and offered her hand, he didn’t hesitate. He took it—large, calloused fingers wrapping around hers with a quiet kind of need he didn’t voice. Her grip was light, a silent invitation more than a tug, and he let her lead him.

Down the dim hallway they went, bare feet padding softly against the cool floor. The air felt heavier here, quieter. Like even the walls were holding their breath. Her hand stayed in his, fingers laced loosely, swinging just slightly between them with each step. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was full, weighted with all the things they weren’t saying but somehow understood anyway.

When they reached her room, she pushed open the door and stepped inside without looking back. She padded to the bed, tugging the blanket back with a slow, sleepy sigh before crawling beneath it. The mattress dipped under her weight, the sheets cool against her skin as she scooted over to make room for him. Her heart pounded now, louder than it had in the quiet hallway. This wasn’t just a warm gesture anymore—it was happening. Real. Intimate in a way that felt brand new.

Bucky lingered at the edge of the room.

He didn’t move right away, just stood there in the soft darkness with moonlight cutting across his face from the window. His eyes were on her, unreadable. There was something vulnerable in the way his hands hovered near the hem of his jacket, as if he wasn’t sure if this was okay, if he was allowed to want this as much as he did.

She turned onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow. “I want you here, Buck,” she said softly, her voice warm, full of quiet assurance. “Really.”

That was all it took.

With a deep breath, he peeled off his jacket—slow, almost hesitant—and folded it neatly over the back of the chair by her desk. Then came his shirt, tugged over his head and placed beside the jacket with the same quiet care. She tried not to stare. She really did. But her gaze caught on the slope of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the faint scars that mapped across his skin like old stories left untold.

When he slid into bed beside her, the shift in the air was almost immediate. Everything felt quieter. Warmer. Closer.

At first, they didn’t touch. They just laid there, a few inches apart, staring at the ceiling or at nothing at all. The space between them wasn’t cold—it was charged. Like the air before a storm, or the pause before something shifts.

And then, under the blanket, her fingers found his.

Barely brushing at first. Testing. Wondering.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned slowly to face her, their legs brushing, knees knocking lightly under the covers. His breath warmed the space between them, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You sure?” he asked, low and careful.

She nodded, her voice just as soft. “Yeah. Stay.”

Something in him melted at that. A wall he didn’t realize he was holding onto eased, and he reached for her, his hand rising to gently cradle her face. His thumb swept across her cheek, slow and reverent, like he couldn’t believe she was real, and here, and letting him be close.

“You’re dangerous when you ask nice,” he murmured, a faint, crooked smile pulling at his lips.

She smiled right back, eyes sleepy and a little sparkly. “And you’re a sucker when I do.”

Their laughter was barely sound—just breath and warmth and something safe between them. The kind of laughter that didn’t need to be heard to be felt.

And then, slowly, carefully, he leaned in until his forehead rested against hers. Their hands stayed tangled beneath the blanket, fingers curled together like they belonged that way. Their legs remained brushed and aligned, soft friction, steady comfort.

And just like that, the weight pressing on her chest all night began to lift.

Sleep didn’t feel so impossible anymore—not with him there. Not with the quiet warmth between them, and the steady rhythm of his breath mixing with hers in the dark.

[chaosmagetwin]

The fairy and the doll; journey to the witch

Idea notes

A fairy and a doll run into each other on a little farm in a place of no particular significance. They become fast friends and play for a bit then quickly get into an argument, which leads to a fight that injures one of the fairy’s wings, maybe even permanently. Neither of them know, but they both feel bad for various reasons, and decide to stick together for a few days, until maybe the wing is better, or at least the fairy gets home. As the two travel together, they bond over shared adventures, scary moments, magic, and healing. They also share their goals with each other as their bonds deepen, and by the time the fairy gets home, she wants nothing more than to keep adventuring with the doll, and promises to help it get to it’s goal: a witch, who might be able to help it. Along the way, they’ll run into a small cast of wacky characters and creatures, and maybe even fall in love.

Cast of characters

The Fairy: an androgynous girlish dumbass with more energy than brains, childish impulse control, and a strong sense of loyalty, but not self preservation. A tomboyish princess type. She loves adventure and exploring and magic. Six inches (and 2/32’s!) tall and wears leaves for dresses. If there’s trouble, she’s caused it. Allergic to all iron and steel. Dragonfly wings. She doesn’t have a singular goal, she has dozens; see the top of a table, talk to a cat, pole a human in the eye with their own finger, and others.

The doll: a handmade little cloth doll with a sewing needle stuck in one hand, yellow yarn for hair, and an embroidered dress. Its expressions are stitches, its fingers are loose threads, and kind of horrific sometimes. It’s about 7 inches tall (it doesn’t need more precise than that. Plus, it squashes and stretches, so, that changes anyways!) It’s quiet and reserved, serious, dedicated, and absolutely positively not having a good time escorting this dumb fairy, no sir. It definitely doesn’t like having someone its size to talk to! Or to protect. It’s a bit of an ice queen butch, knight coded, uses the sewing needle like a sword, and is strong and durable. Durable enough to fight a cat and win! Or so it says. Fond of drama, likes to play too. It has one goal; find a witch, for secret reasons (“it isn’t to turn back into a human! Stop asking! I never was a human!”).

The tabby tom cat: murderer of all things that move on earth or in the sky. Desecrated of the garden. The spiteful trickster. He wants nothing more than to kill the fairy; yet an ancient deal prevents all cats from killing fairies unless they see them flying. He wants more than this, though. He feels compelled to kill this fairy, and yet… he won’t. He won’t let himself.

The fairy queen: no one knows how old she is. Forever. Like, 10 years old, at least! Maybe 12? She’s really weird. She alone can lie, among all the fae. Some say it’s because of a trick she played on the humans, or maybe it was a deal she made with the cats, or dogs maybe? But she’s the reason everything is like this, isn’t she? No one knows what she wants.

The farm girl: original owner of the doll, fifteen years ago. Forgot about the doll, when it got dropped somewhere. Humans are all the same; they can’t see anything right, or hear anyone talking. But the doll can’t move when a human sees it, and if any human finds out that the doll is alive, they’ll destroy it… and they might be the only thing that can. Worse, they’ll make the fairy give the farm gold or something! Never trust a human. Never ever ever.

The field mouse: he’s just a little guy! Only 1 inch big! Stronger than the fairy though, and more suave, and also, he has a cape! He’s never left the field, but he wants to, and needs to, too. He needs to get to the forest mice and make some trades of wheat seeds for some iron slivers, so his clan can prepare for war against the clan one farm over. He worries about his responsibilities, and about war, and about the human, and that cat. He’s constantly worrying himself sick, especially about his new friends.

The witch: no one’s ever seen her, EVER. And everyone knows that witches are evil. Even the mouse knows that! They say she can turn things inside out, that she tricked the queen of the fairies a long time ago (like, 6 years ago! At least! Maybe 8?) they also say that she can cure any illness, and spin hair into silk, or turn lead into salt! They say she’s uglier than a troll, and also that her magic is good enough to still seduce princes! The doll says that it has to reach her, but it won’t say why…

[gloomwitchwrites]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSjHFAReU/

This TikTok lit a fire in me ,like just imagine it happening with the 141 and possibly Alejandro 🥲their reactions after they open the lunchbox

141 + Alejandro? Yes, please. Also, I absolutely adore this. I keep imagining reader angrily packing their lunchbox and muttering under their breath but still thinking "goddamn it I love this man" and "this'll show him." Like, we might be upset with them because of the argument but we aren't sacrificing their nutrition over it.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): established relationship, married life, swearing, arguments, brief suggestive themes, light angst, fluff

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

John is alone in his office.

There’s a pile of paperwork on his desk. Files. Photos. Unfinished reports. It’s never-ending, and it’s the least favorite aspect of his job. John would rather be out in the field or back home with you.

But going home feels a bit daunting. The fight the two of you had last night was the worst one, not that there are lots of fights to begin with. With heated words exchanged, the two of you argued until you were both red in the face. You had stormed off, locked yourself away, and then John sat in silence for hours afterwords, staring at the wall.

All of that, and it was his unpacked lunch that broke him. You always pack it with filling food that keeps him going on the days that he’s not in the field and just sitting behind a desk. He loves the notes you leave inside, and how you always prank something in his meal that makes him chuckle.

But right now, all he can do is stare at the container before him, knowing there’s nothing inside it except what he packed himself last night.

“Damn it all,” he mutters, slowly tugging on the zipper, knowing it’s better to just face the measly meal than ignore it.

Yet as he opens up the container and glances inside, John finds something odd. Everything he packed last night is gone. In its place is what he’s always come to expect.

Disbelief spreads as John removes container after container, opening each one in turn. How did you manage it? How did he not sense you getting out or even returning to bed in the night? How did he not hear you in the kitchen?

John leans back in his chair, staring at the spread before him.

Where’s the note?

Grabbing the bag, John checks, and finds nothing. He even opens up each food storage container, trying everything to see if you’ve tampered with it. And still, everything is fine.

Reaching for his phone, John opens his messages, and there—right there—is one from you.

Sorry. Forgot to pack a note. Love you.

John sighs heavily, tapping the phone against his forehead. All this stress, all this worry, and you still care about him.

Thank you, he texts back. I love you, too.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“I’m done talking about this.”

Johnny shakes his head, grabbing your upper arm to pull you back into the conversation. “And I’m not.”

You roll your eyes, but Johnny ignores the attitude. Whenever the two of you argue, it’s mostly frivolous nonsense that ends with the two of you fucking until the both of you are too exhausted to care about whatever you were arguing over in the first place.

This is not that sort of argument. The both of you are far too heated for this to devolve into rough kissing and even rougher sex.

“I know you’re angry,” replies Johnny. “But—”

“Let go, John.”

Johnny cringes on hearing his government name. You never call him John unless you’re looking to draw blood.

He releases your arm and steps away. “Fine. But this isn’t over. I’m not going to let this go. We have to talk about it.”

“And we will,” you sigh. “But I can’t—I can’t think. I need…space. Just…space.”

Johnny watches you walk away and hates every second of it. The feeling only worsens when he glances over and notices his empty lunch pail. You always prep it for him, making sure he’s fed. He likes that you do it. Makes him happy every time he opens it up on his lunch break.

But you’re raging mad, and it’s late.

Johnny is on his own.

With reluctance in every step and movement, Johnny fills the pail with all sorts of junk. It’s all snack food, but he hardly cares. If he has to, he’ll grab something while on break. When he’s done, he heads into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway.

You’re already in bed, covers pulled up over your head.

Johnny frowns but he doesn’t bother you, and when he finally rolls into bed, sleep alludes him for a solid hour before seizing him.

The morning isn’t much better. You’re still submerged under the covers and unresponsive. Johnny dresses for work in silence, grabs his lunch he packed in silence, and leaves the house in silence. He can’t even bring himself to turn on the radio or listen to his favorite music. Part of him is empty.

The day drags at the construction site, and when he finally—finally sits down to eat, he doesn’t want to open up his lunch pail and see the pathic meal he packed for himself.

“Fuck,” he mutters while pulling on the zipper and flipping the lid.

Johnny blinks, staring down at the food before him. Gone is the prepackaged snacks and junk food. There’s a homecooked meal in here along with several snacks, fresh fruit, and veggies. On top of it all is a small handwritten note on heart-shaped pink paper.

I’m mad at you but I won’t let you starve.

He didn’t even hear you get up in the night.

Johnny’s eyes sting, and when he blinks to chase away a few tears, he realizes how stuffy his nose has become.

“Fuck,” he mutters, opening up the container of strawberries.

You’ve cut them into heart shapes.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon has been a grump all day.

Doesn’t matter that he wears a balaclava, and no one can see his face. He hasn’t cracked a single smile once. Any question asked is responded to with a grunt, and if he must speak at all, it’s nothing more than a one-word answer.

He’s not in the mood. His mind is elsewhere. All he can focus on is the fight the two of you had last night. Fights are rare but they’re always fierce, and you never back down during an argument. For Simon, it’s simultaneously attractive and frustrating.

“Up to trade anything, Lt?” Johnny saddles up to Simon, peering over his shoulder at his lunch pail.

The rest of the team teases him endlessly about the fact that you always pack Simon a lunch. They call it cute—domestic. But they’re also jealous. Johnny is always trying to barter and trade with him, and Simon always refuses.

Until today.

There is absolutely fucking nothing in his lunch pail except a protein bar and a bag of crisps. Simon packed his lunch last night while you went to bed after verbally chewing his head off. This time, Simon is willing to trade the whole thing, but he’s too proud to spend money on picking something up. He’d rather starve.

“Maybe,” answers Simon as he unzips the lid. “What you offering?”

Johnny’s eyebrows rise slightly. Simon never shares. Never.

Simon flips the lid over but doesn’t look.

Johnny leans forward, eyes widening. He whistles lowly. “Damn, Lt. Wifey hooked you up today.”

Frowning, Simon glances down and finds—not the lunch he packed himself—but one you packed for him.

“Changed my mind,” mumbles Simon, closing the lid and pushing the lunch pail away from Johnny’s reach.

“Changed your—” But Simon is already walking away, intending to enjoy his meal in peace. “Oi! Lt!”

Argument aside, you still got up early and put this together while he slept. For the first time today, Simon smiles.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle holds onto the lunch pail like a lifeline.

It’s such a silly hesitation. He already knows what he’ll find inside. He packed the damn thing.

Cup-o-Ramen. Plain crisps. An apple.

I don’t want to talk to you right now, Kyle.

Leave me alone. Give me some fucking space.

Even now the resentment and anger still lingers on Kyle’s tongue. For all the years you’ve been together, arguments have been few and far between. And even when there is a fight, the two of you talk it out until a solution is found. Neither of you like going to bed angry.

But last night was an atomic bomb. An explosion of dissent.

You broke off to the bedroom, slamming the door, and locking it behind you. Kyle ended up sleeping on the couch with nothing but a decorative pillow and a throw blanket that hardly covered his body.

After all the yelling, after all the back-and-forth and then your sudden disappearance, Kyle was left with two realities. One, you were pissed at him, and nothing was resolved. Two, you didn’t pack his lunch.

It’s the one thing Kyle loves most about working, knowing that you’ve put together something healthy and filling. The cute notes aren’t so bad either. But there was zero possibility that you’d pack him anything after that argument, so Kyle set to it, dumping stuff into the lunch pail before falling asleep on the sofa.

And now, here he is, sitting down for lunch and dreading the choices he made last night.

“Better get to it,” he sighs, tugging on the zipper.

When he flips the lid over, he’s momentarily stunned. Gone is the Cup-o-Ramen and plain crisps. The apple is still there, but it’s sliced and in its own container with some chocolate spread on the side of dipping. You’ve replaced it all with sealed containers. Pasta. A salad with homemade dressing.

And on top of it all, a sticky note.

I’m mad but I love you.

Kyle’s trepidation vanishes. He chuckles as he picks the note up and presses it to his lips.

Everything is fine.

Everything will be okay.

Bonus: Alejandro Vargas

When you and Alejandro fight, it’s explosive.

If something doesn’t break from being thrown, it breaks because you and him were fucking like animals on it.

Last night wasn’t a simple disagreement. You threw a shoe at him, and when Alejandro knocked it out of the air and kept going, you threw a pillow, and then attempted to throw the lamp. All in vain. He had yanked the lamp out of your hand, had it back on the end table, and tossed you onto the bed in a matter of seconds.

It was just pure need after that. All carnal lust.

After all the energy and anger vanished, Alejandro was left staring up at the ceiling as you dozed beside him. Nothing was resolved. Nothing was fixed.

And when he woke up late and rushed out the door, he didn’t even think about that fact that you hadn’t packed his lunch. Alejandro grabbed the container, brought it with him out of pure fucking habit.

Not, it stares back at him, and he doesn’t know if he should even open it. Not like you got up in the night and packed it. Alejandro would have woken up if you had crawled out of bed in the middle of the night and returned much later.

No. No.

He won’t find anything in here. Nothing. A shame really. He’s going to have to convince someone to go out and grab something for him, or hope someone brought something to drop off in the break room.

Alejandro swears under his breath and then opens the damned lid.

He expects nothing, and yet, it’s not empty. For a second, everything freezes, and then Alejandro isn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. Inside is easily enough food for two. You’ve packed it to the brim, and as he explores, he even finds your homemade tortillas.

“Is this an apology?” he asks out loud, as if you’ll pop into appearance and answer.

There isn’t any note, and there isn’t a single message from you on his phone. Either you’re waving a white flag, or you’re still angry, but not angry enough to allow him to go hungry.

[kekewrites]

Tw. dark content, noncon, obsession, toxic, possessiveness, abandonment issues, sloppy blowjob, throat fucking, manipulation, size kink, overstimulation, name calling (cock-sleeve/warmer/bitch), multiple creampies, cunnilingus, slapping (baby slap though), baby-trapping, angst(?), coercion, dead dove do not eat

***

Thinking about being the manager of a yandere!Idol

You found him wandering in the streets, empty eyes and blank expression on his pretty face. If you didn't look hard you might've missed his tall figure. Being a newbie, you were finding it hard to recruit people but as you were about to go home, you caught sight of his attractive yet hopeless face.

The first time you approach him, he was wary and suspicious of you. Naturally so. But you persevere, introducing yourself as an agent recruiting handsome guys like him in the streets for a chance to become a trainee and become an idol.

"Fuck off. Scram."

That was the first words he said. Harsh. But he was all bark and no bite, like a puppy being defensive. After scuffling for a few minutes you managed to give him your card and phone number, convincing him to at least try.

Then a week later, he called and said yes. His voice was low, hesitant—like he didn’t fully believe in what he was doing, but was too tired of the streets to keep saying no.

You met up with him that same evening, in the same place you first found him. He looked cleaner, but still lost. You took him in without question, gave him food, a place to sleep, and most importantly, a reason to wake up.

For the first few days, he barely spoke. He just slept, ate, and stared at the ceiling like he was trying to remember who he was. You didn’t push. You just stayed nearby, gave him space, but made sure he knew, he wasn’t alone anymore.

Weeks turned into months. Slowly, he started coming back to life. You took care of him, through the bad days when he’d lock himself in his room, through the training sessions where he’d collapse from pushing too hard, through the nights he’d wake up in a cold sweat and pretend he was fine.

And you were always there. With water, with snacks, with a shoulder to lean on.

You watched him grow. From that broken boy on the street into someone who sang with soul, danced with fire, and spoke to crowds with a confidence he never had before.

He became an idol. And every time he stood under the lights, every time fans screamed his name, he always looked for you in the crowd.

Because you didn’t just recruit him.

You saved him.

And that’s when it went wrong.

At first, it was subtle. His smiles came more often when you were around, his tone soft and sugary. He’d cling to your side during breaks, crack jokes, brush your hair out of your face with that charming little smirk. You thought maybe he was just grateful, maybe he was trying to show affection in his own awkward way. After all, he’d been through a lot.

But then, it turned into something else.

He started showing up unannounced. Hovering around your office when he had no schedule. Getting visibly annoyed when you spoke too long with other trainees or staff. The sweet words never stopped, but they started feeling… off. Like they were laced with something heavier. Something darker.

The possessiveness crept in like a slow poison. At meetings, he’d glare at anyone who tried to sit next to you. He'd interrupt your conversations, redirect your attention, cut in with sharp remarks masked as jokes.

You tried to keep it professional, gently reminding him of boundaries, of roles, but he didn't like that.

"Why are you always talking to him?"

"Do you really need to be with them all the time?"

"I'm the reason you’re even doing well now, aren't I?"

And you saw it, in the way other staff avoided him, how they started whispering when he walked by. He was getting harder to work with. More demanding. More unpredictable.

But in front of cameras? He was perfect. The golden boy. Smiling, dazzling, every fan’s dream. But behind the scenes… the boy you once saved was slowly becoming someone else. Or maybe this was who he had been all along, buried beneath the brokenness.

And now, you weren’t sure if you had saved him…

Or created something you couldn’t control.

As his fame skyrocketed, managing him became nearly impossible.

He was everywhere, magazine covers, variety shows, drama cameos. His schedule was packed from sunrise to well past midnight, and you were running yourself ragged trying to keep up. But more than the logistics, it was him. His moods became harder to predict. Some days he was gentle, clinging to you like he used to when he was scared. Other days, he’d snap, throw things, or go cold for no reason.

You were still new to the game. Everyone could see you were trying your best, but it wasn’t enough, not for the industry, and definitely not for him.

The company made the call.

“We think it’s best to assign him a senior manager. Someone with more experience managing top-tier idols.”

They dressed it up as a strategic decision. And honestly? You agreed. Things had gotten too messy. Your once-close relationship had turned into something twisted, confusing, and emotionally draining. You told yourself it was for his own good, that maybe distance would help him reset.

“I’ll still be around,” you told him, forcing a smile. “But someone else will be taking care of your day-to-day.”

He stared at you. Didn’t say anything for a long while. Just stared.

Then, softly, too softly, he said, “You’re leaving me.”

You shook your head. “No. I’m just stepping back. This is better for you. For both of us.”

But he didn’t believe you. You could see it in his eyes. Something in him snapped that day, not outwardly, not immediately but you felt it. Like a quiet storm gathering behind the clouds.

You thought giving him space would help him unwind. Hoping he can finally indulge in the fame he had, probably get a secret girlfriend

You didn’t expect it to be the thing that finally made him unravel.

***

After that, you finally left.

Your first real break in years. You cashed your paycheck, packed your bags, and disappeared for a while, far from rehearsals, stress, and the boy you once pulled off the streets. It felt… weird at first. Empty. But you told yourself it was needed. Long overdue.

You didn’t keep in touch. Not because you didn’t want to but because it felt like the cleanest way to let go. Still, everywhere you went, there he was. His face lit up LED billboards with that same smile the one from when he had just debuted. Back when things were simpler. Sweeter.

You’d stop and stare sometimes, stuck between nostalgia and guilt. Wondering where it all went wrong. Was it the fame? The past he never healed from? Or… was it you?

But even through the ache, you hoped he was doing better. Independent. Stable. Happy. He wouldn’t have a hard time finding a girlfriend, not with that face, that charm, and a fanbase that worshipped the ground he walked on.

You were walking home from a quiet dinner one night, city lights buzzing around you, when you passed another ad of him huge and perfect lighting up the side of a building. You paused without meaning to, lost in your head.

That’s when your phone rang.

You didn’t even check the caller ID. Just answered, out of habit.

“…Hello?”

Silence. Then a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

“I missed you.”

You froze.

And then, a shadow stepped up behind you.

A cap pulled low, sunglasses covering most of his face but you knew. You felt it.

He leaned close, his breath warm against your ear.

“You think you’re gonna escape from me?”

Your heart dropped.

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, firm, but not violent. Still, it sent your pulse racing. People were around, but no one looked twice. Just a couple under the lights.

“Wait—what are you doing?!” you whispered, trying to pull away.

He smiled, too calm, too practiced.

“Let’s talk. Somewhere quieter.”

***

He didn’t say a word as he dragged you through the maze of streets, only tightening his grip whenever you slowed down. You wanted to pull away, to yell, but something in his silence kept you frozen.

Eventually, he led you into a sleek hotel, one of those high-end discreet places celebrities used when they wanted to disappear. You were too stunned to resist, your mind racing with every step.

The elevator ride was silent.

He pushed the door open, guided you inside, and shut it behind you with a soft click. The curtains were drawn. City lights barely filtered through the fabric.

He finally let go of your wrist and walked ahead, pulling off his cap and tossing it to the couch, glasses following. You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, agitated, pacing the room like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I looked for you,” he finally said, voice tight. “Every day.”

You said nothing. He turned to face you.

“Why didn’t you call? Text? Anything?”

“It wasn’t my place anymore,” you answered softly. “We needed space. You needed to grow.”

He laughed bitterly. “Grow into what? A product?”

You flinched.

He stepped closer. “So that’s all it was, huh? A business deal? Get the pretty boy off the streets, polish him up, sell him to the world then cut him off once he gets too hard to manage?”

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “It was never just business. I cared about you. But things got—”

“Complicated?” he snapped. “Yeah. You left when things got complicated.” His voice cracked, the anger just barely covering the hurt underneath. “So your life with me,” he said, slower this time, like each word hurt, “was really just a job?”

You took a step forward, your chest tightening.

“No. It was real. I-I just... you changed.”

“And you didn’t?” he whispered, eyes shining with something fragile anger, betrayal, desperation. “You walked away like I meant nothing.”

"You matter to me—"

“That’s what it felt like. You gave me everything, then took it all back the second I started needing you too much.”

“I didn’t take anything back,” you said, stepping back instinctively. “I was trying to help you. You were becoming... unstable. You needed someone more experienced. I just wanted you to be okay.”

His hands balled into fists.

“Okay? I was only okay when you were there. You made me." His voice rising with desperate anger. In a flash, he grabbed your wrists and dragged you towards the bed, forcing you down onto the plush mattress. Before you could react, he climbed on top of you, straddling your waist and pinning your arms above your head.

"G-Get off me..." you gasped, struggling beneath him. But he was too strong, too determined. His eyes burned into yours, wild and unpredictable.

"No," he growled, one hand still gripping your wrists while the other tugged at his belt. "You don't get to leave me. I won't let you."

He yanked his belt off and tossed it to the side. Then his fingers were at your pants, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. You tried to close your legs, but he forced them open, settling himself between your thighs.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, but he silenced you with a brutal kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming you. His cock was hard and insistent against your stomach, and you knew he wouldn't stop.

"Please," you whimpered when he let you catch your breath. But it was a lie and you both knew it. He'd never listened to your pleas before.

"Shut up. Shut up... Shut up."

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he undid his jeans and shoved them down just enough to get his cock out. It bobbed in front of you, angry and hungry and so fucking hard.

"Open," he commanded, his grip on your hair tightening painfully.

You hesitated, your lips pressed firmly together. He cursed and slapped your cheek lightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to sting.

"Open your fucking mouth," he snarled.

Tears stung your eyes at the sharp crack against your cheek, but you parted your lips just as he slammed forward, shoving his cock past your teeth and into your mouth. He didn't wait for you to adjust, just started fucking your face with hard, brutal thrusts.

Hurts... He's hurting me...

You choked on his cock, gagging and sputtering as he forced himself deeper and deeper down your throat. Saliva flooded your mouth and spilled out over your lips as he used your mouth like a fuckhole, grunting and groaning above you.

Why is he always... mad at me?

He fucked your face hard and fast, not caring about your comfort, only chasing his own pleasure. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you gagged and choked around him, your throat constricting around his pistoning cock.

He used your mouth ruthlessly, slamming into your throat and pulling out just long enough to catch his breath before plunging back in.

You knew he wouldn't stop until he was satisfied, until he'd emptied his balls down your throat. All you could do was try to breathe through your nose and pray it would be over quickly.

Mine. Mine.

He chanted it desperately under his breath, eyes glazed over with lust and obsession as he continued to viciously fuck your face. His hips slammed against your chin with each brutal thrust, your neck bulging obscenely each time he hilts inside you.

"Gonna...fucking...ruin this...cunt of a mouth..."

He was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face, lost in his own manic pursuit of release. He needed this, needed to take back control, to reclaim you. You had left him, abandoned him, but now...now you were his again. His to use, his to ruin.

Always wanted...to fuck this...painted whore mouth...of yours...

He could feel his balls tightening, his climax building from the base of his spine. He was going to come, going to fill your belly with his seed, mark you from the inside out. You were going to choke on his cum, swallow it all, and maybe then you'd understand. Maybe then you'd realize you belonged to him, and him alone.

"Fuck! Take it all, you...cock sleeve!"

His fingers tightened in your hair, yanking your head back even further as his hips slammed forward one last time. He hilts inside you, his cock pulsing and jerking as he started to come, flooding your throat and mouth with string after string of hot, thick cum.

Manager... Manager. Manager. I fucking love you.

He groaned long and low, his eyes rolling back in his head as he emptied his balls inside you. His cock jerked and spasmed as he pumped load after load of semen directly into your stomach, your throat bulging obscenely.

"Fuck!" he roared, his voice echoing in the room. "Fuck, yes! Take it all, you fucking...cock warmer!"

He held you in place, forcing you to swallow every last drop, his grip on your hair almost painfully tight. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, his softening cock slipping from your abused lips with a wet pop.

He collapsed next to you, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. You turned your head to the side, gasping for air, your throat sore and raw. Tears and saliva and his own essence coated your face.

"I...I'm sorry," you whimpered, voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to leave you. Please...forgive me..."

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. But his eyes, ah his eyes...they were haunted, desperate. Lost.

"Forgive you?"

He reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, smearing his own cum back into your mouth. You flinched at the taste, but he held you firm.

Forgive you?

His other hand slid down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, to cup your mound possessively. He squeezed, fingers digging into your tender flesh.

"You'd have to do more than that if you want me to forgive you. I won't let you go again. Ever."

H-Huh?

Before you could catch your breath, he yank your hips up and pulls down your pants and panty. You felt the cool air on your exposed ass and pussy.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, trying to crawl away. But he grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, pulling you back onto his still-hard cock. He rubbed the thick head up and down your slit, coating it in a mix of your spit and his own cum.

"Shut up," he snarled, voice ragged with lust and desperation. "Stop fucking fighting me. Stop resisting!"

With one brutal thrust, he slammed forward, spearing your cunt on his throbbing shaft. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your walls clamping down around him like a vice. He was too big, too hard, splitting you open.

Hurts... He's being... cruel.

"Fuck!" he roared, starting to piston in and out of your helpless pussy. "Take it! Take my fucking cock!"

He set a punishing pace, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Each thrust jolted you forward, your tits swaying beneath you. Tears poured down your face as he used you, brutalized you, his hips slamming against your ass with every stroke.

But then, he slowed. His grip gentled, fingers kneading your ass almost lovingly as he rolled his hips into yours. He leaned down, lips brushing the nape of your neck, breathing raggedly against your skin.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmured, voice hoarse. "So tight. Like you were made for me..."

He peppered kisses along your shoulder blades, his touch almost tender. You shuddered, confused, not understanding the sudden change. He rocked into you, each thrust measured, deliberate, like he was savoring the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his cock. Fuck, so fucking perfect.

"Manager... You're mine, ok? No one... No one can touch you but me!"

But just as suddenly, he changed again. His hips started moving faster, harder, the room echoing with the slap of skin and the creak of the mattress. He hooked an arm under your waist, hauling you back onto every stroke, forcing you to take every fucking inch.

"Yes, fuck!" he bellowed, sweat dripping onto your back. "Gonna...fucking ruin this pussy. Gonna make it mine."

He was panting harshly, his rhythm faltering. You could feel him growing even harder inside you, his cock throbbing erratically against your battered walls. You knew he was close, that he was going to come again.

But then he paused, buried deep inside you, cock pulsing urgently. He gripped your hips, fingers sinking into your skin hard enough to bruise.

"Gonna...fucking...knock you up," he growled. "Breed this cunt. Pump you full of my fucking seed."

You shook your head frantically, a strangled cry escaping your lips at the thought. "No! No, please...don't..."

He ignored you, starting to move again, thrusts growing more intense, more desperate. "Yes," he hissed. "Yes, gonna make you...mine. Gonna keep you...swollen with my child..."

His voice rose with each word, until he was nearly screaming. You could feel his cock jerk and twitch, his climax approaching. He was going to do it, going to come inside you, maybe even...

"Take it!" he roared. "Fucking take it, you bitch! Gonna...fucking...breed you!"

He slammed into you with a last, brutal thrust, his cock erupting deep inside your unprotected womb. You screamed as you felt the hot flood of his seed gushing into you, painting your insides with his come. He groaned long and low, body shuddering, emptying himself inside you.

He panted against your neck, sweat-soaked and sated.

"Manager... You won't be able to run away from me now."

You lay still beneath him, tears leaking from your eyes, a sense of dread washing over you.

He rolled you over, cradling you against his chest, your tear-stained face pressed to his sweat-slicked skin. His arms wrapped around you, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

Tilting your chin up, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart clench. Gone was the wild, crazed look from before. Now there was only a solemn, almost reverent expression on his handsome face.

"Manager, you're the only one for me," he murmured, voice low and intense. "My heart, my soul... it all belongs to you. Don't leave me again, alright? All the luxuries, all the fame and wealth... it's meaningless without you here with me."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the tears that still leaked from the corners of your eyes. He leaned in closer, forehead pressed against yours, breath mingling with your own.

You want to refuse. Want to push him away, but you're eyes gets blurry with tears, getting overwhelmed. Why you?

He pressed open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your shoulder, your spine, worshipping every inch of your skin like the devoted disciple he claimed to be. Tears leaked from your eyes at the tenderness of his touches, the heartfelt sincerity in his tone.

It's like the old him...

But even as you lost yourself in the gentle glide of his lips, you could feel the desperation radiating off him in waves. This calm, this tenderness...it was a fragile thing.

He's always been such a fragile boy.

His hands roamed your body with a hunger that was almost painful in its intensity. He was trying to memorize you, to burn every dip and curve into his mind.

He hitched your leg up over his hip, opening you to him. You could feel his cock, already hard and ready again, nudging against your thigh, making you freeze.

He... He's still ready?

He was insatiable, this man. He would never be satisfied, would never have enough of you.

His eyes were wild again, pupils blown wide with renewed lust. He notched himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pushing demandingly at your folds.

"Feel this, Manager?" he whispered hotly, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. "Feel what you do to me? How much I just want to... Fuck you, need you..."

"I-I'm still sore... Please, I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that and just let me in your cunt, ok?"

He surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You cried out, back arching off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders. He was so deep, so hard, stretching you in ways that made you see stars. He's deeper this time?

"Wah... Your cunt still so tight, you're squeezing me dry~"

He started to move, hips rolling into yours with a force that shook the headboard. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs, left you gasping and mewling beneath him. He was lost in the heat of you, in the way your cunt gripped him.

"Tell me you need it, Manager," he urged, his cock slamming home and stilling, pulsing urgently inside you. "Tell me you want this... want me... as much as I need and want you!"

He pumped harder, faster, chasing his pleasure, his release. The room filled with the crude slap of skin against skin, with your choked cries and his grunts. He was going to come again, you could feel it in the erratic jerk of his hips, in the way his cock pulsed and throbbed inside you.

"Fuck!" he roared, slamming into you one last time. "Fuck, Manager, fuck!"

"N-no! Don't do it inside again!"

You bit your lips, muffling your ecstasy as you felt the hot rush of his come flooding your womb, your own orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your vision swam, your body shaking with the force of it.

He's gonna come inside... I'll get pregnant at this rate...

And then, with a long, guttural groan, he was coming again. His cock erupted like a fountain, pumping spurt after spurt of his hot cum deep into your hungry womb. The sensation was too much... too intense... and you felt yourself plummeting into oblivion, the darkness claiming you as his release seemed to go on and on.

The last thing you heard as you drifted off was his ragged voice, panting your name like a prayer.

"Manager... Manager... Manager! I love you! I love you! I fucking love you!"

***

You stared up at the ceiling, the memories of the past playing out like a movie reel in your mind. You could see him there, a young and nervous pop sensation, gripping your hands tightly as you offered him words of encouragement and support.

"You've got this," you had said, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. "Go out there and give them the performance of a lifetime. They're waiting for you."

"Okay," he nodded, squaring his shoulders with newfound determination. "Okay, Manager. I can do this. With you by my side, I can do anything."

He stepped out onto the stage. The crowd had gone wild, their screams and cheers a tangible force that seemed to lift him up and carry him forward. He had shone under the hot lights, his voice ringing out clear and strong, his movements confident and sure.

And you had watched from the wings, your heart swelling with pride and love as you beheld the man you had helped to create. He was more than just your client, more than just your star - he was your greatest achievement, your crowning glory. You had taken a scared and scrawny boy and molded him into a god among men, a king among the elite.

But now, as you lay there in the dim light of the bedroom, you could feel the weight of that responsibility crushing down on you. It was your fault, after all, that he had become this twisted and broken creature, this monster who would dare to touch you without your consent, to hold you against your will.

His arms tightened around you, crushing you against his chest, his breath hot and heavy against the back of your neck. He was saying all the right things, murmuring all the right words, but you could feel the dark intent behind them. The gentleness was a lie, a mask he wore to hide the cruelty that lurked beneath.

"Shh, it's alright," he cooed, his lips brushing your ear. "Don't cry, I'm here now. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

But you didn't want him here. You didn't want his comfort or his affection or his twisted version of love. You wanted him to let you go, to release you from the nightmare that had become your life. You wanted to be free of him, to run until you couldn't run anymore, to disappear and never be found again.

But you knew it was impossible. He would never let you go, would never allow you to leave him. He needed you too much, depended on you for his every breath and his every heartbeat. And as long as you remained by his side, as long as you stayed in his life… he would never stop hunting you, never stop pursuing you until he had claimed you completely.

It was a bitter realization, a cruel twist of fate that left you feeling hollow and empty inside. You had once believed that you could save him, that your love and your guidance could be enough to keep the darkness at bay. But now… now you knew the truth. You knew that you had been the one to nurture the seeds of his madness, to feed the flames of his obsession until it had grown into an all-consuming inferno.

And so you lay there, trapped in his embrace, tears leaking down your face as you prayed silently for a miracle, for some way out of this nightmare. But deep down, you knew that there would be no miracle, no divine intervention to come rescue you from the man you had once called your star.

You had been his manager, his guide, his friend… and his downfall. And now, you would bear the consequences of your choice for the rest of your days.

With a sob catching in your throat, you closed your eyes and surrendered to the darkness, praying that when you opened them again… you would be somewhere, anywhere else. But far away from here, and far away from him.

Though, you only have yourself to blame.

You were the one who scouted him after all~

Stupid manager.

[yukioos]

katsuki bakugo and the double standard

you, mina, and kyoka were talking in your bedroom before the two of you invited denki and eijiro over. you and the girls made matching bracelets together, incorporating each other's eye colors into them, with your first initial in the middle. as all of you laughed together and talked about drama, then a show that was creating a new season, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of emptiness.

the only one that was missing was your boyfriend, katsuki.

you sighed as you stared at the red beads, rolling one in between your fingers, reminding you of the color of his crimson eyes. you spaced out, mind focused on your boyfriend, and you didn’t even realize what the topic of the conversation shifted to until denki tapped your shoulder.

“hey, are you okay? i think you zoned out.”

mina smirked, “i know. she’s thinking of bakugo! you love him so much, don’t you?” she bumped your shoulder with hers and smiled at you with her eyes squinted.

you rolled your eyes and shyly smiled, averting your eyes. eijiro then brought up with a grin, “hey, you know how bakugo always seems so angry around us but not around you?” he stared at you, but you grinned, unaware of what was to happen, “we were thinking of testing that theory out. i’ll ask him if he can get me something from the record shop near campus, we’ll see how he reacts, then you can ask him to get you something from that cafe nearby!”

sounded good to you! maybe it would be funny to see his reaction change from eijiro’s request to yours.

you nodded, and the whole group cheered. the redhead then took out his phone and you all huddled around him, curious as to what was to happen. he called katsuki four times before the blonde finally picked up.

katsuki sighed, “what.” eijiro frowned with his eyes widened, and looked around at all of you. you tried to stifle your giggles at his reaction by covering your mouth.

eijiro asked, “hey man, do you mind getting me some stuff from the record shop nearby? i already ordered everything, you’d just need to pick it up—“

“no! get off your ass and get it yourself!” he yelled, causing his best friend to nearly drop the device in shock. katsuki then hung up.

all of the group was silent for a couple of seconds before you all burst into laughter. denki was tearing up and mina could hardly breathe even as she held onto her stomach for dear life.

about half an hour later, you decided to call katsuki, and he picked up within a few seconds. eijiro’s jaw dropped. he was astonished by how much he had to wait for a response, but how quickly his best friend answered you, his girl.

“hey,” katsuki greeted. he sounded not displeased nor pleased, so you were confused. little did you know, he paused everything just to lay on his bed and listen to your voice.

“hey kats! could you get me some sweets from the cafe i like? please?”

he paused, “fine. do you want the usual?” he tried to sound irritated but failed miserably.

you giggled and nodded, forgetting he couldn’t hear you. you replied, “yes, please, kats! thank you!”

he mumbled, “shut up,” and blushed. ruffling sounds were audible from his side of the call, and you could tell he was standing up from his bed to walk out of his dorm.

you exclaimed, “when you have all the sweets, come to my dorm! love you, blondie!”

he softly mumbled it back to the point where it was nearly inaudible, and you were the only one who could hear it. after half an hour passed, a knock was heard on your door, and the chatter stopped. you hurriedly rushed to open the door with a smile on your face.

the blonde carried a large bag with multiple containers of sweets, even some that you didn’t recognize. he bought you extras? god, he was all you could ever ask for. the perfect man.

“oh, yay! you’re the best, kats!” you propped your hands on his wide shoulders and kissed his cheek, earning a smile from him.

when you invited your boyfriend in and he saw the group you were hanging out with, denki gasped, “hey! why did you get her stuff but not—”

“shut up!” katsuki immediately retorted, not letting him finish.

he took your favorite cake out of the bag and handed it to you, along with a fork and a napkin. you squealed, jumped, and spun around in a circle. you pulled him down to sit with you on the ground, in the circle with your friends.

as you ate the cake, you scooted closer to your boyfriend. suddenly, you heard stifled, deep chuckles from someone next to you. you tilted your head at katsuki, whose eyes were finally squinted due to giving you a real smile.

he brought his finger up to your cheek and wiped something off your cheek, supposedly frosting.

kyoko quickly reacted, “never would’ve expected you to be the sap, bakugo.”

katsuki grumbled again and rolled his eyes, “shut up—“

“you’ve said that like, four times already.” eijiro replied, wanting to frustrate his best friend more.

katsuki continued to mutter curses under his breath, and the conversation continued without the both of you two. you smiled at his rather hard expression, then suddenly rubbed his bicep with your hand. his eyes turned towards yours, and as soon as they did, you were about to kiss his cheek, when he turned his head at the right time so you would finally kiss him on the lips.

you giggled. since when was katsuki so proud of being so flirty in public? you knew he didn’t care much for physical touch in front of others, so you were fairly confused. however, you weren’t complaining.

“aww, you just love your girl so much, don’t you?” eijiro ruined the moment.

“yeah, i do, so shut the hell up!”

not proofread, hope u guys like this one!

[brokenmenswhore]

first | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders (james, remus, & sirius) x fem!reader

summary: virginity loss trope :)

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), language, gender swapped dorcas cus i said so 🤷🏻‍♀️

────── ☾ ──────

“That’s ridiculous,” you said, body halting as the staircase began to shift beneath you, “and completely untrue.”

“Oh come on, you never do anything interesting! For your sake, it has to be true,” Sirius teased.

You turned to him, mouth open in offense. “I’m plenty interesting.”

“But not interesting enough to lose your virginity to Meadowes in the library during fourth year?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“No! It didn’t happen!” you protested, “now please, let it go.”

“How would a rumor like that even get out if it isn’t true?” James asked genuinely.

“Probably because everyone knows Meadowes has the hots for her. Bet you he started it himself,” Remus answered, distaste evident in his voice.

“Are you three done now?” you asked, whispering the common room password and letting the boys in.

“So if it isn’t true, how did you lose it?” Sirius pressed.

You looked at him stunned, eyes wide in disbelief that he would ask you something like that out of the blue.

“Absolutely not,” you said, raising a finger toward him, “I’m not playing that game.”

“Oh come on!” Sirius raised his hands and smiled, “you’re no fun.”

“Yeah, now I’m curious,” James continued on, “if not Dorcas, who?”

You sighed, placing your books down and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, turning toward them exasperated. “Why does it matter?”

“You know seventeen of the girls I’ve slept with by heart,” Sirius replied, “I’d say it’s only fair.”

“Sirius, you told me about seventeen of the girls you’ve slept with. Willingly. Without me asking. Ever,” you said, earning a laugh from James at your disgust.

They followed you up the stairs to your dorm, empty from everyone sneaking off to a party in the Ravenclaw common room that you were supposed to be getting ready for, but alas, you were late and distracted.

You sat down in front of your vanity mirror, ready to start applying makeup, when Remus placed a hand on the desk in front of you, leaning his face in close to you, his hair falling slightly in front of his face. He was completely in your personal space.

“Come on, Y/N, tell us who got to fuck you first.”

Remus’ voice was low, and his breath fanned your face as he spoke. You locked eyes with him, a sigh leaving your chest that you weren’t aware you were holding in. You were nervous to have him this close.

“No one has. Sorry to disappoint. Now drop it, will you?”

Remus didn’t move. You continued to look up into his eyes, your voice a little shaky, and you didn’t know what to do. You moved to get up, but Remus caught your chin between his fingers, pulling your attention back to him. “Meaning what?”

“Did you not hear me? Cus you’re like 6 inches away from me, so if you didn’t, you need to get your hearing checked,” you said, annoyed at your current predicament, just wanting to make the embarrassing conversation end. Remus finally let you stand, but Sirius and James were right behind you, stopping you from leaving the room. You opted to sit on your bed.

“You guys are insufferable.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “So you’re-“ he trailed off.

“A virgin, yes, wow, how crazy of me. You know, it’s not that weird, you all just have a personal body count higher than everyone at this school combined. And everyone else’s body count includes you. Can we please just forget about this?” you begged.

“Such attitude,” James teased, “from such a good girl.”

“Oh, so I’m a goodie two-shoes now that you’ve all discovered I’ve never had sex?”

“Kinda, yeah,” James giggled.

“Fuck you guys,” you sighed, partially lighthearted and partially annoyed, “it was my choice. You think I couldn’t have screwed Dorcas Meadowes in the library if I wanted to?”

No one had a response. Sirius’ nostrils flared, and Remus sighed. They almost seemed… jealous? at the thought of you and someone else.

You four were ridiculously close, anyone could see that, and you would be lying if you said you haven’t thought about them in that way, but you were best friends, and you didn’t want to risk ruining that.

“You ever think about, like, just doing it?” Sirius asked.

“What?” you replied.

“Do you ever think about just saying fuck it and asking someone, like, I don’t know, one of us, to just take your virginity?”

Your breathing caught in your chest. You stared at Sirius, a million thoughts coming to your head but you couldn’t articulate any of them. You had no idea what to say.

“I mean, I’ve thought about losing my virginity, yeah, that’s normal,” you explained.

“To one of us?” Remus asked.

You could lie. You could act disgusted at the question and walk away now, or, you could tell the truth, and risk ruining your entire friendship. You could also tell the truth and potentially gain everything you wanted.

Your voice became small, your eyes watching your hands fidget in your lap, “maybe.”

The boys all exchanged a look between one another.

James was the only one who was able to pull himself together. “W-who?”

You titled your head up at him. “What?”

James sat down on the bed next to you. “Which one of us?”

You could physically see all the boys tense up, ready to be filled with either pride or jealousy. Sirius and Remus were staring daggers at you, anxiously awaiting your answer. James kept his eyes on you as well, trying to make you feel less intimidated and tense than Sirius and Remus were.

Your eyes darted between all of them, “I-“

You were evidently nervous, and Remus felt bad. He knelt on the ground in front of you, taking your hands in his own. It was the most intimate gesture you’d received from him yet. He kept his voice soft. “Angel, you don’t have to tell us, but we really want to know. I promise none of us will be too hurt. Please,” he almost begged.

You sighed. You weren’t worried because you only thought about one of them, you were worried because you were embarrassed to tell them the truth. You took a deep breath. It was now or never. “All of you.”

They were not prepared for that answer.

Remus and James stared at you and tried to process your words. Sirius was more of an “act on impulse” and “speak without thinking” kind of guy.

“Fuck off,” he said, “all of us?”

“Mhm.”

“Like at the same time?” he pushed.

“Sirius-“ Remus warned.

“No, no, I wanna hear you say it,” he said, attention back on you, “I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about losing your virginity to all three of us. At the same time. I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about us fucking you.” He was standing dangerously close to you now.

“I- I have,” you said, blush evident in your cheeks.

Sirius growled. “Remus, move.”

“Excuse me?” Remus snapped back.

“Move.”

Remus sighed and moved out of the way so that Sirius was standing directly in front of you. “You stop us if there’s anything you don’t like. Understood?”

You nodded your head, but that wasn’t enough.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you retried.

Sirius gave you a small smile before grabbing your face in his hands, tilting your head up and leaning down to give you a long, intimate kiss. Once you had settled in, he deepened the kiss, his carnal desires taking over. He slowly leaned you back on the bed, your legs still hanging off the mattress, as he placed one knee next to your waist, holding himself up as he continued kissing you. When your back hit the mattress, you held the back of Sirius’s head to keep him in place.

You felt one of the boys behind Sirius, pulling your pants off and leaving your lower half nearly exposed.

Sirius flopped down on the bed next to you, still kissing you as you ran your fingers through his hair.

James slowly kissed up your thigh, throwing both of your legs over his shoulders as he kissed your underwear right above your heat. You gasped, but Sirius didn’t let you break the kiss.

“Sirius, come on, give her a break,” James pleaded, “I wanna hear her.”

Sirius groaned into the kiss before breaking it, looking down to James in between your legs. “Well, go on then.”

Sirius was still feral and needy, pulling your shirt over your head and ripping off your bra, immediately going to grab and kiss at your breasts. You were embarrassed at the exposure, but everyone was moving on your body so fast that you didn’t have time to think about your body being on display.

James pushed your underwear to the side and kissed your folds, causing you to squeal. This was an unfamiliar feeling, but you were growing wetter and wetter by the minute. He pushed your folds open with his tongue, licking and flicking at your clit. You whined and threw your head back. He continued his actions, peeking up at you from between your legs, watching you come apart as he ate you out like a man starved.

“Take it easy,” you heard Remus say from behind your head, “you gotta remember she’s never done this.”

James moaned into your cunt as a response, sending a shiver up your body, causing your legs to shake slightly. He kept sucking and licking circles around your bud, and you couldn’t help but grab the hair at the back of his head, pushing him closer into you.

“Good girl,” Sirius cooed from beside you, touching every exposed part of your body that he could.

As James’ tongue quickened, your whines grew louder, but you tried to tame them and save yourself further embarrassment. Remus noticed and was not happy. He grabbed your face and forced your neck to look backward at him. “Are you holding back?”

“N-no,” you said anxiously, not sure if it was the truth.

“Ah, but I think you are,” he started, “and we don’t accept that. Let us hear you.”

“But I’m emb-“

“I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. Stop holding back. Now.”

Remus’s demanding and controlling demeanor only added at the pleasure James was giving you with his mouth. You did as he said. James continued to quicken his pace, whines and moans falling from your lips.

“Does that feel good?” Remus asked.

“Yes, Rem, I-“

“No fair!” Sirius suddenly exclaimed, “if you ask her all the questions, you get to hear her moan your name. Selfish prick.”

“Are you gonna let this be about her or what?” Remus retorted.

“I am! I should be asking you the same thing, why do you always get to be in control of everything?”

They bickered back and forth for a few minutes, but the entire time, James remained focused on you. He watched from between your legs as his tongue made you squirm and moan, and he had you nearly seeing stars.

You desperately tried to tell him you were going to come, but Remus and Sirius were too busy bickering for James to hear you. You tapped at his head to signal him, and he got the message, sucking at your bud until you finally came. Your chest rapidly rose and fell as James continued to lick you until he had tasted every last drop of cum from your hole, standing up and placing a wet kiss on your lips.

“What, did you just give up?” Sirius asked when he saw James standing.

“No, idiot, she came,” James replied, “you two dickheads were too busy arguing to notice.”

Remus’s nostrils flared. “You just let us keep arguing?”

“She tried to say something!” James defended you, and partly himself.

“Baby, you ok?” Remus checked in.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“You got a little more in you?”

“Mhm.”

“You want me?”

“Mhm.”

Remus pulled his pants and boxers down and climbed on top of you, pulling your underwear completely off of you as he placed his knees on either side of your waist.

“You sure?” he asked, wanting to confirm your consent.

“Yes,” you responded.

“And you’re sure you’re okay with it being me?”

Instead of responding with words, you tilted your head up and kissed Remus, assuring him that you wanted it to be him. You would have been okay with any of the boys, but Remus was always so in control, it made sense that he would be your first. Your relationship with him was always a little less silly, and a little more intimate, than your relationship with the other two.

“Are you ready?” he checked, lining up his already hard cock at your entrance.

“Yeah,” you replied, “just- please be nice, okay?”

Remus smiled, “of course, baby.”

You nodded at him and locked eyes as he slowly pushed into you, a long gasp leaving your lips as he filled you up. His cock was bigger than you thought it would be, and it was taking you a while to adjust to his size.

“Shit, Rem,” you breathed out, “you should have warned me that you’re that fucking big.”

Sirius growled next to you, your words driving him crazy. He couldn’t help but pull out his cock, stroking it slowly as he watched you.

Remus gave you plenty of time to adjust before you nodded at him, signaling that he could move. He started slowly, pushing in and out of you as an excruciatingly slow pace. It burned, and you almost told Remus to stop, but after a few minutes, the pain subsided, and the pleasure took over.

A particularly filthy moan left your lips, and Sirius cursed under his breath. James appeared behind your head, stroking your hair as Remus’s head dropped to your shoulder as he began to pick up the pace.

“Shit, baby,” he moaned, “you feel so fucking good.”

“You look so fucking good,” Sirius breathed.

“Thank you, Siri,” you cried out, causing Sirius to cum in his hand, the nickname making him lose all control.

“What a good girl,” Remus spoke, his thrusts quickening until he was causing your body to jolt upward with each hit from the force, “you’re doing so well.”

James placed a kiss on your forehead and you reached up to grab his hand for leverage. You squeezed his hand, the pleasure between your legs becoming almost too much.

“Relax, baby, you’re being such a good girl,” James said.

Remus’ breathing quickened. “You’re so tight, angel, if you keep squeezing my cock like that I’m not gonna last,” he warned.

“I c-can’t help it,” you told him.

“I know baby,” he replied.

“I d- don’t know how to m- make it stop,” you said.

Remus giggled, “you don’t have to make it stop. It feels good for me.”

“Oh,” you whimpered, “that’s good.”

Remus giggled again. You were so cute, even in the middle of losing your virginity. Remus leaned down and kissed you, your lips moving in harmony as he began to pound into you. Any sense of kindness and mercy he had for this being your first time went out the window when you kissed.

Your moans grew louder and louder, and you tried to cover your mouth with your hand to quiet yourself down.

“Ah ah ah,” Sirius tsked, pulling your hand away, “none of that.”

“Rem- Rem- I-“

“I know angel, let go.”

Your high crashed over you again, your hips bucking upward to meet Remus’ final few thrusts before he came inside of you, the feeling of you squeezing him becoming too much for him to hold on. Remus stayed inside of you for a moment, watching your face as you calmed down from your high, a slight shake in your legs.

“What a good girl,” James praised, kissing your forehead.

“You okay?” Remus checked in, pulling out of you and standing in front of you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, “‘m okay.”

Sirius leaned down to kiss you again. “Everything you imagined?”

“Mhm.” You were too tired to formulate complete words or sentences.

“You wanna skip the party?” Sirius continued.

“Mhm.”

“You wanna cuddle and watch a movie?”

“Mhm.” You shifted so your head was resting on Sirius’ lap as he began to stroke your hair.

Sirius smiled. “And then maybe round two.”

[saeun]

he's married ?! nanami kento.

sum. he's easily the top most handsome guy within his job. his relationship status is unknown, so what happens when his co-workers ship him with a female worker?

nanami is well known within his company. tall, insanely fit, and an attractive voice. it's not uncommon for men and women alike to find themselves thinking about him often. what's not common is knowing about his love life. no one knows anything and he would've kept it that way. but when push comes to shove, and you're shipped with someone who's not your beloved, nanami will make it known that he's not only taken but married.

in the coffee-break room there are three guys. now, there's nothing unusual about this — no, no. they're just three guys that are co-workers... except there's a twist. they aren't your regular co-workers, they're your uncommon trio of male gossipers and nanami just so happened to be their newest victim.

"shh, shh! he's here," guy one, tichi, whispers to the others, raising his eyebrows and pointing his chin to nanami's position.

the other two take a quick glance, nodding their heads when they've seen nanami's back faced towards them. it's a perfect moment to strike up a conversation, especially since it's just four men here.

guy two, tacho, shuffles his feet to the empty space near nanami. he pretends to open a sugar packet, fiddling with it as his eyes peep over nanami's shoulder. his heart skips multiple beats when the man himself turns around.

"morning to you, tacho," nanami greets, nodding his head before he turns his attention back to his cup of coffee.

"y-yeah, morning!" he stutters, awkwardly smiling in return. he turns his head to the other two in the background, mouthing the word 'help' to them. unfortunately, they do not give the aid to their friend. instead, tichi fakes a series of coughs and guy three, toeny, gives him a confident double thumbs up. there's no hope, tacho sighs.

it's a silent moment between the men — only the sounds of coffee brewing and a spoon coming into contact with the mug can be heard. tacho's mouth itches him, he happened to remember his group's recent conversation about nanami. he must ask — even if it costs him a mutual co-worker.

"so, nanami," he begins, waiting for nanami to give him the undivided attention.

nanami doesn't face him, but he hums in response. tacho doesn't mind this as an answer, so he continues, "i was wondering if the rumors of you being with the new worker, yeri, are true?"

there is one big lie in that question: there are no such rumors. it's just a theory the trio has been gossiping about every night. nanami's been helping out yeri for quite some time, one can only think that they have a special connection going on.

"that is bullshit," nanami gives a firm answer. nothing more, nothing less.

tacho's stunned, he blinks a few times to recollect himself. "oh — so you're not with her?"

nanami doesn't answer yet, but the two in the back give their unwanted reactions. tichi clicks his tongue three times, shaking his head in disappointment at tacho's second question. it's obvious dumbass, he thinks. toeny, on the other hand, presses his lips in a thin line, pretending to read a magazine that's been on the counter.

nanami reaches into his pocket, whipping out his phone. the trio's confused until nanami speaks.

"i am married man. this is my wife," he educates, pressing the power button to show you as his lockscreen.

he collects three gasps, internally nodding at their shock. that's right, i'm gladly taken.

"all this time you've been... MARRIED?!" tacho's voice heightens, he drops his spoon in shock. it's unbelievable yet somewhat believable.

nanami breathes out a 'yes', raising his arm to show the wristwatch. "she bought this for our five-years anniversary recently. it's quite expensive, going over four-thousand," he brags, emphasizing on key words.

he's been waiting for the precious day where someone indirectly asks for his relationship status. the day has come and he will spend it bragging about his beloved.

nanami doesn't give them a chance to speak, he carries on with his bragging, "she's a very lovely woman. all my bentos are made by her and she writes little notes for each. some may think it's childish but that's bullshit! they just haven't experienced the love of a woman. matter of fact, her most beautiful moments are when she's freshly awake. the smile she gives me is nothing but angelic."

his speech doesn't stop there, but it did for the trio. his words went in one ear and out the next. nanami's blabbering about his wife immediately set a blank face upon tichi, tacho, and toeny. they're jealous and also surprised.

"the way a woman can change a man will never not be amazing," toeny whispers, blankly gazing at nanami's ongoing speech.

[bluetimeombre]

☽｡⋆ Learning to fly, starting to crawl

Over one hundred years ago, you lost your wings but the wound still hurts like it was only yesterday. When your brothers mate wants to learn to fly, he doesn’t hesitate in teaching her, right in front of you. And nobody can see the scars except the one you love…

[OMG I'M ALIVE!!!! I've had this sitting in my drafts for months but have only just got around to posting. Basically, I have too many hobbies but i'm in a writing mood again., very fitting to start with my boy AZRIEL, whom i love very much. I hope you enjoy. This is linked to my other Azriel fic but of course can be read alone. Not proof-read and yes, she lost her wings. It's becoming almost a thing but it makes for some good ass angst. ENJOY!!!!]

☽｡⋆

The inner circle all sat around the table, eating and chatting merrily. Rhysand sat at the head of the table, as was tradition, while his mate- Feyre- sat next to him, their hands entwined. They smiled at each other, as so in love they were. Cassian and Mor were joking around along with Amren and Elian listened politely. Every now and then, she glanced the shadow singers way to invite him into the conversation but there was no such luck.

Azriel only stared ahead of him, glaring at the empty space where you usually sat. He wasn’t at all surprised you hadn’t turned up, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be angry about it.

For a few weeks now he’d noticed the shift in you. You snapped easily and often rolled your eyes at anything your brother- the high lord- had to say. He’d heard you pace your rooms at night and his shadows (that favoured you above all) had reported that many nights you went to Rita’s.

But your empty seat irked him. And it irked him that Rhys seemed to not care in the slightest.

Az was the first to be aware of your presence, the echo of the door opening alerting them all and your scent hit him in the face. He inhaled it- your lavender, your sweetness, tinted by the alcohol lingering.

Rhysand huffed and everyone seemed to notice the shift. ‘I apologize about this, Feyre darling.’

Just then, you and Nesta stumbled into the room, arms linked and laughing your heads off about something or other.

Azriel drank you in. Your cheeks were flushed, your dress creased as you struggled to stay up right. Gods, what had you done?

You pouted dramatically, throwing a hand on your hip. ‘Uh oh, Rhysands got his grumpy face on.’

‘Isn’t that his usual?’ Said Nesta, causing the two of you to laugh again.

Everyone watched the two of you.

‘Where have you been?’ Az asked, wanting to rush to you and support you, but Rhys seemed one breath away from snapping.

‘We’re trying to have a pleasant meal, don’t ruin it,’ he grumbled.

‘Yes sir!’ You saluted.

Rhys growled and Feyre took his hand, squeezing it tightly.

‘Something tells me we’re not wanted, y/n,’ Nesta said to her.

‘Alas, we do not want to be here,’ you said, stumbling your way past the table. Before you went, you gave Feyre a squeeze on the shoulder, leaning down to whisper to her. ‘Feyre darling.’

‘Enough!’ Rhys shot up, hands on the table.

You barley spared him a glance as you and Nesta went about your way. You tripped on a plant pot, stumbling and apologizing to the object.

Azriel got out his seat, ready to follow you to wherever. No matter if you wanted him or not.

‘Sit down, Azriel,’ said Rhysand, taking his seat again. He picked up his fork and smiled at his mate like nothing had happened. All the while, your scent got further away from him.

He looked between where you’d disappeared and his high lord. He settled down and promised he’d find out what had made you act so.

☽｡⋆

You woke with unbearable pain in your head the next day. And your back. Your head was granted with the amount you and Nesta had drank, seeking to out-do one another so much so you drank out most of Rita’s.

But your back, the pain was new. Almost as if it knew why you were so angry, so bitter and it sort to make it worse.

Your curtains were drawn but the wind blew them back, letting you glimpse the outside world you dreaded to be a part of.

Shadows curled up your bed, brushing your hair back affectionately. They seemed to always be around you, as if they knew the bond that heaved in your chest even if their master didn’t.

You offered them a poor smile. ‘I’m fine.’ But they caressed you and smelt your lie.

From beyond the curtains, you caught a glimpse of figures in the sky. You’d always loved your room for the view it granted, of the sun, the moon, the stars. But after losing your wings, the view turned cold and the sky never seemed as bright.

It only got worse.

Though you knew the pain it would bring you to see, you wrapped a blanket around you and treaded over to the window.

Feyre was trying out her new wings, the black gifts she’d been given. Once mortal, she now had everything you wanted. The power, the wings. Your freedom was now hers.

And you hated it.

Azriel was looking close to her, encouraging her as she went. Though they were small figures to you, you could see his smile, how he held his hands out to her should she lose confidence.

How many times had you flown side by side, acting like the clouds abided you. The times you’d raced or dropped just to have Azriel catch you.

Never again.

The bitterness invaded your mouth again, blocking out all other logical senses.

Your door burst open- the shadows rushing to your side and curling around your shoulders. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was, the anger radiating from him was enough.

‘How dare you turn up in the state you did last night,’ snapped Rhys. You didn’t turn to face him, shielding yourself from his fury. ‘You had no right to ruin a lovely evening. We are trying to make Feyre and her sisters feel welcomed, its a shame my own sister can’t seem to do that for me.’

The words twisted in your gut. For him… had you not done everything for him? Lost your wings because you wouldn’t give in? Lost fifty years of your life to be with him?

‘Get over whatever it is going on and only return to us when you want to act like a decent human being.’ Rhysand snapped before leaving again, slamming the door- causing her to flinch.

The shadows ran down your hair, your cheeks, your sides. Giving you any ghostly comfort they could. ‘I’m fine,’ you told them again, retreating further into your room.

The shadows followed you, but only half of them. The other half had returned to their master, clouding him and whispering in his ear.

Her wings. She misses her wings.

She hadn’t had to say it out loud, they knew her pain.

Azriel paused in the sky, alerting Feyre. She’d seen the shadows surround him in flourishes. She couldn’t understand they were reporting in on you, that Az needed you to have something there when he could not be.

‘What is it?’ She asked, beating her wings.

He stared at her then at the wings. He was filled with the longing to be with you, in the sky, playing. Your wings were beautiful, just because they were you. A beautiful part of you.

‘I need to speak with the high lord.’

☽｡⋆

‘Ask someone else to train Feyre to fly,’ said Azriel.

He’d insisted he needed to see the high lord on urgent matters that could not wait. He’d expected it to be of the war, but Azriel opened with the line.

Rhysand was sat behind his desk, looking up to Azriel with some amusement. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Ask Cassian,’ he said, he didn’t need to repeat himself.

‘Feyre wanted you.’

‘I can’t do it anymore,’ he said, stating it all simply.

Rhysand waited, wondering if he’d be graced with an explanation, but it never came. ‘Might I ask why.’

‘Your sister.’

Rhys’s amusement turned to a deep scowl. ‘My sister has asked you to stop flying with Feyre?’

‘No. She hasn’t asked, she never would. But I can’t teach Feyre to fly anymore.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m confused- what does any of this have to do with y/n?’ He asked.

Azriels shadows wound tight around him, coating him like a second skin. He wanted to yell, and he never let his emotions get the better of him. Instead, he curled his hand into a fist and clenched his jaw. ‘Do you really not think that this is hurting her?’

‘After her behaviour the past couple days I think it’s her who’s doing the hurting,’ he said, picking a bit of invisible lint from his shoulder.

‘She lost her wings,’ said Azriel with barely contained annoyance. ‘She lost them. They were cut from her back and she was left to bleed out.’

‘I do remember that Azriel,’ said Rhys, closing his eyes at the words. ‘I was there when we found her.’

‘So do you not think that teaching your mate to fly doesn’t effect her?’

Rhysand looked at him. His eyes changed, the hue turning darker. No, he hadn’t thought that. You’d never let on to feeling anything for your wings or lack of them. But then again, even if you had, would you ever have gone to your brother.

Azriel took a measured step forward. ‘Do you not think it hurts her that you teach your mate to fly, the same mate that gasped in horror when she saw the scars on your sisters back? That you have us fly in front of the house where she can see? Did you even know that when she bathes y/n covers all the mirrors so she doesn’t have to get a glance at the scars.’

The high lord held up a hand. ‘I understand.’

‘No, you don’t. You could never know what it’s like, neither could I, or Cassian. She had a part of her ripped off and she has to live without it every day. But you’ve gifted Feyre them as if it’s nothing.’

‘Because my mate has the powers,’ argued Rhys. ‘If I could give y/n wings I would- in a heartbeat, I would.’

Azriel nodded. He knew that, he knew the relationship between you and Rhys was fractured at best, but he also knew that if anything or anyone hurt you, Az would kill them. ‘I don’t want to reach Feyre to fly because it hurts y/n.’

Rhys leaned back in his chair, studying him. ‘And you care about her?’

‘More than I can express.’ He would give her the wings from his back if he could. ‘And if something hurts her… it hurts me.’

Rhysand nodded. ‘I’ll take her flying from now on. We’ll do it in the mountains, to spare y/n from seeing it.’

Azriel bowed his head. ‘Thank you.’

Rhys nodded but averted his gaze. ‘Look after her, Azriel.’

‘I always have.’

☽｡⋆

Nesta had gone to Rita's, expecting you later but you'd already snuck down to the Wine cellar and picked out the finest to drown your sorrows alone in. You'd past Cassian on the way, the male worried about your shifting gaze and the way you held yourself but you brushed him off and carried on your way.

You hesitated outside your door, where shadows lurked. Yes, they liked you and yes they were often with you, but never guarding your door.

Then, you smelt it. Not wine but sweet cedar and moss. Az.

You didn't want this. Didn't want him to see you like this, in pain in your mind and back, in longing for the wind through your hair. You knew he'd noticed your behaviour, he was the spy master, you'd only hoped... only hoped he didn't care as much as he did.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door and braced yourself for shouting.

Azriel stood there, looking regal and beautiful. His back was too the balcony, the door open and wind rusting his wings and sheets. His hands were behind his back and his gaze was... soft? It wasn't dark with anger or clouded in annoyance.

It was just Az.

'Azriel,' you do your best to smile, clearing your throat. 'What are you doing? I thought you had flying with Feyre?' you were trying but you were also just you and you missed your wings.

'I'm teaching her anymore,' he said.

You chuckle. 'Is she that bad a student?'

'I'm sorry.'

You look up to him, taking out the cork of the wine. Rose filled your senses. 'For what?'

'That she flys when you don't,' he mentioned it simply, as if you'd already told him what was hurting you and he'd accepted it.

You hadn't said it. You wouldn't. You hated yourself enough for being weak, you didn't need him, perfect Azriel, caring Azriel, to see how horrid your jealousy had made you. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'y/n,' he steps close to you, taking the bottle from you. He drops it at his side but no smash is delivered. The shadows swallow it up. 'Why won't you talk, instead of drowning yourself in pain?'

'I'm not drowning myself in anything,' you deny, moving away from him to close the balcony door. The air drifting in and moving everything but you only mocked.

'You can't fly,' he said.

Your eyes squeezed shut in pain. 'Yes, I know, you don't have to remind me.'

His boots sounded close behind her and he took her shoulders. He didn't force her to turn around, he only held her gently and soothed his thumbs over the knots in her back. 'You can't fly and words don't exist to tell you how sorry I am. If I could i'd give you the own wings off me back-'

'Don't say that.' The only thing worse than your pain, was Azriel going through it all.

'I would and I mean it just to see you smile again, if only for a second. I'd be glad to give them up,' he whispered. Your shoulders slumped under his grasp and he sighed in relief, it was better than tensing up again. 'I miss you smiling. I miss you laughing. I miss you smiling at me. I'm sorry if teaching Feyre to fly has hurt you.'

'It wasn't you, Az,' you turn in his hold, never letting him feel like it was his fault. In doing that, you admitted to being bothered. 'I can't be who I was, because I don't know how. And I don't want to try to only fail.'

He listened, hands trailing down your arms to rub.

You gulp. 'And it's not just losing the wings, it's everything I lost with it. Freedom. I can't join you or Cas, or anyone when you take to the skies. How am I going to cope in battle? I can't run as fast as I can fly, I can't fight as well. I can't hit Cassian over the head when he's being an idiot, I can't-I can't wrap them around you when we hold each other, and it's painful to think of everything I've lost when I've gained nothing.'

He listened, tears watering his gaze. You had not lost any of that, not to him.

'And Feyre,' you pulled away, crossing your arms around each other and looking out the window. 'I don't hate her, I wish I could but I can't. But she's been Fae for five seconds and she has everything I've ever wanted. Wings. My brother loves her. She's happy. I hate it and I hate myself.'

Your confession weighed your gut but your chest rose in a deep breath. You couldn't see Azriel behind you in the reflection of the windows and you couldn't hear him.

He'd gone. Of course he'd left, you'd whined about what you'd lost when you were at least alive. You'd complained about the High Lady- treason in Rhysand's book.

No, you were all alone.

But you weren't.

Az crept behind you and slowly- so you could pull away- wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He pulled you into his chest and matched his breaths with yours. 'I won't insult you by saying I get it, because I could never. But that time, when I found you after you'd lost your wings, I thought i'd lost you and that-that is how I imagine your feelings. Because I stopped breathing and I didn't think happiness would ever be in the world again. And your blood, you bleeding out has been in my nightmares since. If my hands were to be stained with it, let them, because it was the last thing i'd ever have of you.'

You had no idea. He'd felt terrible yes and been there the weeks and months it took to heal but you'd been so full of pain and guilt you hadn't thought of how he fared. Your greatest friend... your lustful secret.

Your hands came up to hold his arms.

'You do not have to be who you were before,' he whispered, head resting on your shoulder. 'Become better. Become something more. As for training, you're the strongest woman I know and still the only person I'd trust with my life.'

A tear escaped you.

He nudged your chin with his nose. 'And you can still hit Cass as much as you like.'

You laugh through tears, holding onto Az like he was the last thing anchoring you to yourself.

His wings slowly inched over you. 'And I will hold you all day, every day till I die, and i'll keep you safe.' His wings closed around the two of you as yours used to do.

Neither of you realised how much you'd missed it, needed it, craved it until it happened.

You'd lost your wings, but you had never and would never lose him.

[classyrbf]

ᯓ★ SUDDEN CHOICES! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...when you thought your marriage couldn’t fall apart more than it already was, you’re facing the reality of it all. Forced to deal with a broken heart and taking care of your child, you’re left with the ultimate decision of choosing to stay or choosing to leave

INFO...toji x fem!reader, reader and toji have a child, angst, marriage problems, mentions of cheating, arguing, crying, threatening to divorce, comfort towards the end, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Toji stared at you from across the room, a defeated look on his face as you held your crying child in your arms. A sour look formed on your face when you looked back at him. You two had been arguing again, he’s lost count of how many times you’ve gone back and forth with each other. The thickness of the room made him feel like he was suffocating, stuck.

“We can continue this conversation tomorrow,” you harshly say, rubbing your baby’s back gently, trying to soothe him back to sleep.

“How about we just drop it?” Toji sighed, turning away from you. You had caught him talking with his coworker alone in his office, which wouldn’t be a problem if they’re faces weren’t two inches away from each other and her hand was placed so comfortably on his chest. You caught them when dropping off his lunch that he’d forgotten at home.

“Drop it?” Your eyes widen in surprise. “You want me to fucking drop it?” You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Yes! I want you to fucking drop it! Is it so hard for you to stop arguing for one fucking day?!” He shouts, voice echoing off the four walls of your home. The babies cries start back up again, and Toji lets out another tired sigh. And he can’t even look at you anymore, not when you stare at him with such emptiness, tears threatening to spill. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell—”

“You never mean to do anything anymore, do you?” You reply through gritted teeth, stomping past him to make your way to the babys room. You slam the door behind you, silence engulfs the room and you stand there alone, consoling your child as hot tears pour down your cheeks. “It’s alright, baby boy, just sleep.” You kiss the top of his head, shushing him.

Rocking back and forth on your feet, you stare into space, the thought of what would have happened if you hadn’t brought him his lunch plaguing your mind. The girl…she was young, beautiful, something that you feel you’d lost along the way. It’s part of the reason you think Toji has been so distant with you. He’s lost attraction to you, maybe even lost love for you. And every time you bring it up, he denies it with the roll of his eyes. He’s doesn’t comfort or reassure you. It’s like he’s bothered by you and your child.

You barely see him anymore, always at work or drinking at the bar with his friends. Hell, you can’t even remember the last time you actually got to spend time with him. Sometimes you wondered why he even asked to marry you, and you wonder why you said yes. It was clear your marriage was falling apart right before your eyes. He says he loves you but you don’t feel it, see it. You feel nothing. Just a bunch of empty words to make you think everything is okay.

You look at the shining diamond ring on your finger, watching as it glistened in the light. The day he asked you felt like something out of a fairytale. It’s a moment every girl thinks about, the day the one she loves asks her to be theirs forever. It what you’ve always wanted. A marriage, a family, and now that you have it…would little you be disappointed it’s not like what she imagined? Would she ask why our husband acts that way? Why he’s always making us cry? Why he’s never here? It’s strange to think about.

You thickly swallow, blinking down at your hand. Is it even worth it anymore? You don’t know Toji anymore. It’s like he’s a ghost. Tears spill from your eyes, a stoic look on your face. The door to the room creaks open and you can feel him standing behind you, his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head. He looks over to your child, his son sleeping soundly on your shoulder. He slowly walks over to you, worried at how oddly silent you are. “Mama?” He looks at you with furrowed brows. You’re still looking down at your ring, dried tears on your cheeks. His eyes flicker between your face and your ring, a concerned look in his eye.

“Here, lemme see him.” He gently grabs the baby from your arms. As soon as he does, you quickly exit the room, walking away without saying a word. The baby stirs in his arms and Toji strokes his cheek with the pad of his finger. “It’s alright. I’m sorry for yelling. Im sorry if I scared you.” He stares down at his son and Toji feels a wave of crushing sadness wash over him, like a dark cloud. He kisses his son’s cheek before placing him in his crib, turning the nightlight on and turning off the room light. He shuts the door softly, making his way to the bedroom where he finds you sitting at your vanity in the bathroom, staring at yourself while you wipe your makeup off.

“Mama, can you talk to me?” He leans against the doorway, the silence from you making him itch for something, anything.

You halt your movements and slowly turn to look at him. “What do you want me say? You asked me to drop it, so I did.” You shrugged, sniffling, looking away from him.

“I’m not cheating on you. I know what it looked like.” He walked over to you, his footsteps heavy. “She’s just—”

“You’re gonna tell me she’s just friendly, she’s a co worker, I walked in at the wrong time. Am I about right?” You slam your hand down on the vanity. “I’m sick, Toji! What even is this?” You stood from your seat, the chair scraping against the floor of the bathroom.

“What are you even talking about, y/n?” Clear signs of frustration show in his expression.

“You’re never home. We barely talk to each other besides arguing. You never touch me, make love to me, most of the time you can’t even look me in the eye! You sleep next to me and don’t even hold me anymore!” The tears your tried your hardest to hold back come flowing out with ease. The anger boiling inside you allows your words to be sharp and powerful. “I can’t…” Your voice breaks. Toji goes to reach for you and you push him away. “Don’t.” You shake your head. “I don’t want your touch if I have to beg for it.”

“You’re my wife, y/n. My wife. I married you,” he exclaims, eyebrows raised.

“And what does that mean to you exactly?” You ask. “Genuinely, what does it mean to you? I need to know.” You stare into his eyes. “You say you love me but I don’t feel it, I don’t see it. So, please be honest with me, Toji. If you lie to me one more time…I’m leaving.” You were tired, over everything.

“I love you, y/n—” Toji stops his words when you take your ring off of your finger, placing it in his hand. “What…what are you doing?” He’s quick to ask. “Mama, don’t walk away from me.” He follows you out of the bathroom. “I’m not lying to you.” He squeezes the ring in his hand.

“You are,” you calmly say. “You’re lying to me and yourself. You may love me, Toji, but you’re not in love with me. Not anymore,” you explain. “Did you fall for someone else or did you just wake up one day and realize I wasn’t what you wanted anymore?”

“What are you talking about?” He shakes his head. “Mama, look at me.” He grabs your hand and slides the ring over your finger. “I am in love with you. I’m lying to no one. Not you, not me. What is this about, huh? Is it about her? I’ll fire her. I’ll do anything.” He’s practically begging, his grip on your hand growing tighter, the other cupping your cheek, trying to get you to look at him.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” You break down, sobbing. “I’m so tired of this.” You try and pull away from him but his hold on you is strong. “Why do you only change when I threaten to leave? Why can’t you just change on your own? Why do I have to yell at you and cry to get you to realize?” You hit his chest once, and then once more, and then again. And Toji stands there and takes it. “Why don’t you want me anymore?” You cry.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly against his chest while you sob in his embrace. You hate the way he still brings you comfort despite being the sole reason of your pain. You feel conflicted. Should you stay or should you go? Does he mean everything that he says? By now, you think you would’ve learned your lesson, but it’s hard to leave someone you dearly love, someone you’ve grown accustomed to, been so intimate with. Imagining a life without him is hard, especially now that you have a child together. Leaving brings in the conflict of having to explain why you and Toji aren’t together, why your child only sees one or the other, and every holiday and birthday is now split into two.

Toji knows he’s grown distant with you. He’s aware. But never in a million years did he mean to make you feel like you weren’t enough for him. He regrets turning down every conversation you’ve tried to have with him about it, because in his head it was no big deal. His entire reasoning being the fact you two were arguing a lot more and he needed space. Which, now thinking about it, is a stupid reason. As for his co worker, he could care less about it. Toji knew she was overly friendly and he’s told her about you, about your family. He drew a boundary that she wasn’t respecting. Not once he cheated on you or thought about it.

Though, that doesn’t mean he’s the perfect husband. Not at all. He can lash out, say hurtful things and come off as selfish. Clearly. Your muffled cries fill his ears and he just holds you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. Im so sorry,” he says again. Slowly, he sits both of you on the edge of the bed. “We’re okay, mama. We’re alright. I promise.” He kisses the top of your head, holding onto you like he never wanted to let go. Toji doesn’t remember where things went wrong, but he didn’t want your marriage to continue down this path.

You lifted your head to look at him. His eyes immediately search yours and he can see how broken and tired you are. It shatters him. “You promise me?” You nervous bite the inside of your cheek. He wipes your tears and just with the touch of his hand he can make everything feel better, giving you hope.

“I promise you,” he says barely above a whisper.

“I miss you, Toji. I miss us.” Your lips quiver with a frown. His arms wrap around your waist, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as you both hold onto each other, hearts beating in sync against your chests.

“I’m here now. I’m sorry.” He heavily sighs. “I’ll make this right. I’ll do whatever you need to me to as long as you don’t leave. I can’t let you go—can’t let either of you go.” His voice begins to waver at the thought. His breath hitches, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Can we lay down?” You mumble. At your request, he climbs into bed with you, laying you on top of his chest. It felt good to be so close to him again, something you haven’t felt in months. And Toji realizes he didn’t know what he was missing until he had you back in his presence again. Not in only in a physical sense, but mentally and emotionally as well. He drapes the blankets over the both of you.

“I won’t go into work tomorrow,” he blurts out. “We’ll spend the day together. Maybe ask Gojo to babysit for the day?” He suggests.

“What will we do?” You ask.

“Whatever you want, mama. We’ll have the whole day.” He intertwines his fingers with yours. You sit in silence for a few, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “You’re important to me. I need you to know that.” He caresses your back. “You listening?” Toji peeks down only to find your eyes shut, you’re quickly asleep, chest rising and falling with each breath. A small smile quirks at the corner of his scarred lips. “We can continue this conversation tomorrow.”

taglist (comment to be added):

@valleydoli @zxnxy @screechingbasementprincess @lexluthorbutnotbald @lynxslokley @briyah0 @levisjinchuriki @maiiluvs @levizonlywife

[flux1563]

Fun Camping ft Yeji

Words : 7k

Tags : public sex, crempie, squirting

Yeji sat in the backseat of the car, knees drawn to her chest, as the vehicle bumped along the dusty road. The sun had begun to dip below the tree line, casting an orange glow across the landscape. She watched as the last of the daylight played hide and seek with the shadows, the warmth slowly retreating from the glass. Her friends, Yuna, Lia, Ryujin, and Chaeryeong, chattered excitedly in the seats around her, their laughter a welcome cacophony in the confined space. They were on their way to the camping grounds for their first trip together, a weekend getaway from the city's suffocating embrace.

The car pulled into a small clearing, the headlights piercing the gathering darkness. Yeji's eyes scanned the area, spotting a solitary tent pitched in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat as she caught a glimpse of a figure emerging from the shadows, his silhouette backlit by the fading day. He looked up as the car's engine cut out, and for a moment, their eyes met. His features were sharp and defined, a stark contrast to the soft light behind him. Yeji felt a strange pull, an inexplicable attraction that made her pulse quicken.

The girls tumbled out of the car, stretching their legs and surveying their surroundings. They were a mix of excitement and nerves, all of them city-dwellers with more experience in shopping malls than in the great outdoors. Yeji took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cool, earthy scent of the forest. The crunch of gravel underfoot was a stark reminder of the unfamiliar territory they were about to inhabit for the next few days.

The figure from the tent approached them, his footsteps muffled by the thick grass. He had a friendly smile and a casual confidence that seemed to belong to the wilderness itself. "Hello, ladies," he greeted, his voice a low, easy rumble. Yeji felt her cheeks warm as she took in his handsome face and the way his clothes hung from his frame with an effortless style.

Her eyes darted back to the tent, and she mustered the courage to speak up. "Could we, like, set up our tent next to yours?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager. The guy's smile widened. "Of course," he said, gesturing to an empty spot nearby. "There's plenty of room."

They watched him approach, his movements fluid and sure, and Yeji couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious about their own tentative efforts. Her friends had already unfurled their tents, but the poles lay scattered around them like a game of pick-up sticks.

"Do you need any help?" the guy offered, and Yeji felt a wave of relief wash over her. His eyes were a warm brown, crinkled at the corners from his smile. Yuna, ever the extrovert, stepped forward eagerly. "Yes, please!" she exclaimed, and the others nodded in agreement.

The guy introduced himself as Y/n, and he set to work with an ease that suggested he'd done this a hundred times before. Yeji couldn't take her eyes off his hands as they deftly worked the tent poles into place. His forearms flexed with the effort, and she found herself imagining them around her own waist, holding her close. She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling at the thought, trying to focus on the instructions he was giving her friends.

Sweat beaded on Y/n's forehead and trickled down his neck, making his shirt cling to his toned chest. Yeji's gaze lingered on the damp fabric, tracing the lines of his muscles. She felt a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with the exertion of setting up camp. The air grew thick with the scent of pine and the faint smell of male sweat, and she found it oddly comforting.

Her friends chatted with Y/n as they worked, asking about his camping experiences and sharing their own excitement for the trip ahead. Yeji hung back, not wanting to interrupt the flow of conversation, but also not wanting to miss any moment of his company. She watched as he demonstrated the correct way to tie a knot, his eyes focused and intense. The way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed made her stomach flip.

When the tents were finally standing tall, the girls thanked him profusely, their voices a little too high-pitched for the serene setting. Y/n just shrugged it off, his smile never wavering. "It's no problem," he said. "I enjoy helping out." His gaze lingered on Yeji for a beat longer than it had on the others, and she felt a thrill run up her spine. She hoped he hadn't noticed the way she'd been staring, the way her cheeks had turned pink every time their eyes met.

"So, girls," he began, turning to address the group. "I can see this is probably your first time camping." He chuckled good-naturedly at their nods. "Why don't we make it a little more interesting?" He suggested. "How about we all share some activities around the campfire tonight? Nothing too crazy, just some stories and maybe a little friendly competition."

Yuna, ever the adventurous one, was the first to agree. "That sounds like so much fun!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Lia and Ryujin exchanged a look, then shrugged in unison. "Why not?" they chorused. Chaeryeong nodded, a hint of excitement sparkling in her eyes.

Yeji felt her heart flutter. The thought of spending the evening with Y/n, sharing stories and laughter, was more than she could have hoped for. She didn't even mind the prospect of embarrassing herself with some campfire games. Anything to spend more time with him.

As darkness fully descended, they gathered around the fire Y/n had expertly built. The flames danced and crackled, casting flickering shadows across their faces. Yeji's eyes never left him as he began to speak, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath them. He told a ghost story that had the girls clutching each other and shrieking with a mix of fear and delight. Yeji found herself leaning closer, the warmth of the fire and the sound of his voice wrapping around her like a comforting blanket.

When it was her turn, Yeji's mind went blank. What kind of story could she tell that would hold a candle to his? She stumbled through a childhood tale of a camping trip gone wrong, her voice quieter than she'd intended. But Y/n listened intently, his eyes never leaving hers, and she felt a strange comfort in his attention.

The night went on, filled with laughter, roasting marshmallows, and the occasional jump scare as one of the friends tried to startle the others. Yeji couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so alive, so free from the pressures of their everyday lives. And as she sat there, the flames playing in Y/n's eyes, she knew that this trip was going to be a weekend she'd never forget.

But eventually, the embers of the campfire grew low, and the night grew quiet. The crickets and owls took over the symphony of the forest. With a yawn that seemed to echo through the trees, Lia announced she was turning in. "It's been a long day," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings." The others nodded sleepily, and one by one, they began to crawl into their tents.

Yeji lay in her sleeping bag, listening to the rustle of leaves and the gentle snores of her friends. Her mind raced with thoughts of Y/n. She replayed every moment they'd shared, from his first smile to the way his eyes had held hers as she told her story. Her body felt hot and restless, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to be closer to him.

With a quiet whisper, she unzipped her tent and slipped into the cool night air. The moon cast a soft glow across the campsite, guiding her steps as she approached his tent. Her heart hammered in her chest, unsure of what she was about to do. But she took a deep breath and whispered, "Y/n, can you come out? I need a little help."

The zipper on his tent unfurled with a soft hiss, and Y/n emerged, blinking against the moonlight. His eyes searched for hers, a question in his gaze. "What's up?" he asked, his voice low so as not to wake the others.

Yeji's cheeks flushed. "I... I just can't sleep," she admitted, her voice shaky. "Could you... tell me another story?" It wasn't the truth, but it was the closest she could come to expressing her need for his company without revealing the tumult of emotions roiling within her.

Y/n studied her for a moment, then nodded. He led her away from the campfire, the warmth of his hand on her back as they found a secluded spot besides the lake.

Yeji's tank top was indeed braless, and the fabric clung to her skin, revealing the outline of her erect nipples. She had chosen the outfit with care, hoping to catch his attention. The cool night air made them even more prominent, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation at the effect she was having on him. She sat down on a log, the bark rough against her bare legs, and watched as he took a seat next to her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.

He began his story, weaving a tale of adventure and mystery that had her on the edge of her seat. But as he spoke, she found herself focusing less on the words and more on the way his lips moved, the way his breath hitched slightly when he got to the scary parts. The desire to kiss him was overwhelming, a physical ache that she could no longer ignore.

Yeji swallowed hard, her eyes darting to his mouth and then back to the fire. She hadn't meant for things to go this way, but she couldn't deny the attraction that had been building all evening. "Is this what you want, Yeji?" Y/n asked, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to resonate through her very soul.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she nodded, unable to form words. He leaned closer, his hand coming to rest on her knee, sending shockwaves through her body. She looked into his eyes, and she saw a hunger that mirrored her own. Her breath hitched, and she could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of her shorts.

"I can't deny it," she whispered finally, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the lake's water. "You are so attractive to me, and every time I see you, I just get... hornier."

Y/n's eyes searched hers, a silent question lingering in the air. "Show me, then," he said, his voice low and gruff. Yeji's heart skipped a beat. She had been hoping, dreaming even, that he felt the same way, but she hadn't dared to voice it. Now, here they were, in the quiet of the night, the stars their only witnesses.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the hem of her tank top, lifting it over her head. The cool night air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and the swell of her breasts. She saw his eyes darken as he took in the sight of her, and she felt a thrill of power at his reaction.

"No bra already?" Y/n said, his voice a mix of amusement and lust. The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Yeji felt a flush of heat spread across her chest, but she met his gaze, unabashed. "What can I say?" she replied with a shrug, trying to keep her voice light. "I like to be comfortable."

Yeji slid off the log, her legs feeling unsteady. She reached for the button of her shorts, her fingers fumbling in the moonlit darkness. With a soft click, she released the fastening and began to lower the zipper. She could feel his eyes on her, could almost hear the sound of his breath catching as the fabric parted. Her palms grew damp with anticipation, and she took a deep breath before pushing the shorts over her hips.

"No underwear too?" Y/n's voice was a hoarse whisper, a question and a challenge all at once. Yeji stepped out of the shorts, leaving them in a pool at her ankles. She was completely exposed before him, the chilly night air making her skin prickle with goosebumps. But she didn't feel cold; the heat of his gaze was more than enough to warm her.

With a nod, she stepped closer to him, her bare breasts brushing against his chest. His hand slid up her thigh, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Fuck me beside this lake, Y/n," she whispered, the words a seductive promise that sent a shiver down his spine.

He took her hand, leading her to the water's edge. The moon cast a silver path across the lake, guiding them to a small, secluded cove. The water was cold, but Yeji didn't care. She could feel the warmth of his hand in hers, the strength of his body as he pulled her closer. They sank into the soft sand, the water lapping at their legs as they kissed with a hunger that seemed to have been building for an eternity.

Yeji's skin tingled where his fingers touched her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thud. His eyes raked over her body, and she felt more exposed than she ever had in her life, but with Y/n, she didn't feel vulnerable. She felt powerful. His hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a gentle caress that made her gasp.

While his mouth found another, exploring the sensitive skin of her neck, his other hand trailed down her body. Yeji's legs parted of their own accord, inviting him closer. He didn't waste the opportunity, sliding his hand between her thighs to find the warm, wet heat that awaited him. His fingers danced over her clit, teasing and circling until she was moaning his name, her hips bucking against his hand.

"Have you ever squirted before?" he murmured against her ear, his voice a low rumble that sent a bolt of excitement straight to her core. Yeji had read about it, heard whispers from friends, but she had never experienced it herself. The sensation grew stronger with every stroke, building like a crescendo inside her.

"No," she replied breathlessly, her voice a barely audible whisper.

Y/n's eyes searched hers, the intensity of his gaze setting her ablaze. "You don't want me to?"

Yeji's breath hitched, and she managed a shaky nod. "I want it more than anything," she confessed. His hand stilled for a moment before continuing, his fingers working magic on her sensitive flesh.

With a knowing smile, Y/n's thumb slid lower, finding the slickness that coated her folds. He teased her entrance, making her squirm with need. His eyes never left hers as he pushed a single digit inside her, curling it in a way that sent waves of pleasure through her body. Yeji gasped, her eyes going wide with surprise. She'd never felt anything quite like it before.

He watched her closely, reading her every reaction, every gasp and whimper. His touch grew more deliberate, his movements more precise. Yeji's back arched as he hit a spot inside her that made her toes curl. Her breathing grew ragged, and she could feel the tension coiling in her belly. "There," she panted, "right there."

Y/n's hand worked faster, his thumb pressing against her clit in a rhythm that made her entire body hum. Yeji felt something building, something she couldn't quite put into words. It was as if every nerve ending in her body was tuned to the beat of his hand, the ebb and flow of his touch. "I think something wants to come out," she murmured, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Just let it," Y/n encouraged, his voice a soft growl. His fingers danced over her, his movements sure and steady. Yeji's hips rolled, meeting each stroke with a silent plea for more. The tension grew tauter, the coil of pleasure in her belly tightening with every second that passed.

And then, it broke. Yeji's eyes flew open, a cry torn from her throat as she felt a warm gush flood over Y/n's hand. Her body spasmed, muscles clenching around his fingers as a torrent of wetness erupted from within her. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt, a delicious mix of pleasure and release that made her toes curl.

"Ahh, so good," she breathed, her voice a tremulous whisper.

Encouraged by her response, Y/n's hand slid down to her waist, gripping her firmly as he pushed her down onto her knees. Yeji looked up at him, her eyes glazed with passion, as he freed his hardened length from his shorts. The sight of his big, throbbing cock made her mouth water, and she eagerly leaned in to take him in her mouth.

"I had no gag reflex," she whispered, her voice a seductive promise. "Do it as hard as you can."

Y/n's eyes darkened with desire at her words, and he didn't waste a second. He pushed against her mouth, his cock sliding past her lips with an ease that surprised them both. Yeji's eyes watered at first, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in, eager to take more of him in, her tongue swirling around his shaft as he grew harder with every passing second.

But her mouth was indeed small, and Y/n's cock was substantial. Despite her lack of gag reflex, she found herself struggling to accommodate him fully. She could feel the head of his penis hit the back of her throat, and she had to work to relax her muscles and let him in deeper. He watched her with a mix of admiration and hunger, his hand guiding the back of her head, setting the pace.

Her jaw began to ache, a delicious soreness that she hadn't felt since her first time giving head. Yeji's eyes watered as she took him in, her cheeks hollowing with every suck. The sound of his pleasure spurred her on, and she focused on the task at hand, eager to make him feel as good as he had made her. Her tongue danced around the head of his cock, exploring every ridge and vein, tasting the salt of his arousal.

"Ahh, so tight, Yeji," he groaned, his hand tightening in her hair. His praise sent a jolt of pride through her, and she redoubled her efforts. She felt him swell against her tongue, his hips bucking slightly with every deep-throated moan. The sight of his muscles tensing, the way his eyes rolled back in his head, told her that she was doing something right.

"Glukkk glukk glukk," was the only sound she could manage, the rhythm of her mouth matching the pounding of her heart. She was lost in the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her mouth, the taste of him coating her tongue. It was a primitive, carnally satisfying act that she had never experienced quite like this before.

Y/n's grip grew firmer, guiding her movements with an urgency that was palpable. His hips began to thrust in time with her bobs, pushing deeper and deeper until she could feel the tip of his cock nudging the back of her throat. Yeji's eyes watered, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax, to take him all in.

"Ahh, fuck," he groaned, his voice strained. "You're taking it all, Yeji." His words were a heady mix of praise and desperation, and she felt a thrill run through her. She knew he was close, could feel his cock pulse in her mouth.

And then he was there, his hand tightening in her hair. "I'm going to fill your throat," he warned, his voice a harsh whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. Yeji nodded, her eyes locked on his. She wanted it, needed it, the ultimate act of submission and intimacy.

With a growl, Y/n thrust into her mouth, holding her still as he released his load. Warm, salty cum flooded her mouth, and she swallowed greedily, not wanting to miss a drop. The sensation was overwhelming, and she felt a rush of satisfaction that was almost as intense as her own climax had been.

He pulled out slowly, his cock glistening in the moonlight. Yeji sat back on her heels, panting slightly, a smear of cum on her chin. Y/n reached down, his thumb swiping it away with a tenderness that belied the roughness of their encounter. He brought it to his mouth and licked it clean, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. Yeji felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. They had only just begun their camping trip, but she knew that it was going to be one she would never forget.

The night was still young, and the promise of more adventures, more shared secrets and passionate moments, stretched out before them like the endless expanse of the starlit sky. Yeji reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and touched his thigh. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse from her earlier cries.

Y/n's smile was soft as he leaned down to kiss her, the taste of themselves mingling on their lips. "We're just getting started," he said, his eyes gleaming with promise. And with that, he stood, pulling her to her feet, and led her back to their makeshift love nest beside the lake.

The water had cooled their overheated skin, but the desire between them had only grown stronger. Yeji watched as Y/n shrugged off his shirt, revealing the sculpted chest she had been admiring from afar all evening. He was beautiful, a masterpiece of muscles and tattoos that she hadn't noticed before in the firelight. Her eyes traced the lines of ink that danced across his torso, telling a story she longed to hear.

He turned to her, his expression questioning. "Is this day your safe day, Yeji?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. She knew what he meant—he was asking if she was on birth control, if it was okay for them to proceed without a barrier. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

The tension between them grew thick, the air heavy with the promise of what was to come. Y/n stepped closer, his cock hardening again as he reached for her. He pulled her into a kiss that was both gentle and demanding, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow dance that made her knees weak.

"Take me," she whispered, her eyes full of desire as she looked up at him. "I want all of you."

Y/n didn't need any further prompting. He gently laid her down on the soft sand, the water's edge kissing their toes. Yeji spread her legs wide, inviting him in, her eyes never leaving his as he positioned himself above her. His cock nudged against her slick entrance, and she gasped as he pushed inside. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that made her entire body sing.

"Ahh," she moaned, her nails digging into the sand as he filled her completely. He paused for a moment, giving her time to adjust, before he began to move. The rhythm was slow at first, almost gentle, but it soon grew faster, more urgent. Yeji could feel every inch of him, stretching her, claiming her in a way that she hadn't been before. "U can empty ur seed inside me," she breathed, the words a seductive invitation that sent a tremor through his body.

Y/n's hips snapped forward, his movements becoming more erratic as he lost himself in the sensation of her tight pussy. Yeji's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. "Fuck me harder," she whispered, her voice a desperate plea.

Her words were a catalyst, igniting a fire within him. He began to pound into her, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge. Yeji could feel herself stretching around him, her body accommodating his size in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. "You're so deep," she gasped, her voice strained.

Y/n's eyes bore into hers, his face a mask of concentration as he drove into her with a ferocity that spoke of his desire. She could feel him hitting places inside her that no one had ever reached before, and it was both uncomfortable and incredibly arousing. "You like that?" he growled, his voice thick with need.

"Yeah," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed. "You stretch me to my limit." Her words were a whimper of pleasure that seemed to spur him on. He pushed deeper, the sand beneath them shifting with their movements. Yeji's hands slid up his back, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to hold on to something, anything, as the waves of pleasure crashed over her.

"Cum on my cock yeji, let's cum together," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Let me feel it." His words were a command she couldn't resist, and she felt the beginnings of another orgasm build deep within her. Yeji's hips rocked against him, her pussy clenching around him as she chased her peak. "I'm going to," she moaned, the tension coiling in her core.

He watched her face intently, his own expression a mix of concentration and pleasure. "Now," he murmured, his voice a soft encouragement that sent her hurtling over the edge. Yeji's orgasm washed over her, her body shaking as she came, her pussy spasming around his cock. She could feel the warmth of his cum filling her, his body tensing as he released himself inside her.

Their breathing grew ragged, their bodies still entwined as they rode out the aftershocks of their shared climax. Yeji's eyes fluttered open, finding his gaze. He was smiling down at her, a look of pure satisfaction etched into his features. "You're incredible," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through her very soul.

"Ahh, so good," Yeji managed to say, her voice still thick with the remnants of pleasure. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a sense of connection that she hadn't anticipated. They had been strangers just hours ago, but now, they shared something intimate and profound.

Y/n pulled out slowly, his cock glistening with her juices. He leaned down to kiss her, a soft, lingering press of his lips that seemed to promise more than words ever could. Yeji's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. "How much time we have, Yeji?" he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

Her eyes searched his, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "Just fuck me until sunrise," she replied, her voice a seductive purr that seemed to echo across the still water of the lake. Y/n groaned, his cock already hardening at the thought. They had hours to fill with passion and pleasure, and he had no intention of wasting a single minute.

They explored each other's bodies, the sand sticking to their skin as they moved through the night. Y/n lifted her onto her hands and knees, her ass in the air as he positioned himself behind her. "This is going to be intense," he warned, his voice a dark promise. Yeji nodded, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

He pushed into her from behind, his cock sliding through her folds with ease. She was still wet from their earlier encounter, and the sensation of him filling her was almost too much to bear. "Ahh," she gasped, her voice muffled by the hand she had pressed against her mouth to keep from screaming.

He began to thrust, his movements powerful and demanding. Yeji's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself building towards another climax. This time, she could feel the pressure building deep within her, the promise of something more intense than she had ever felt before. "Cum for me," he rasped, his voice strained with his own need. "Let go."

Her body responded to his command, and she felt the first wave of pleasure wash over her. The second was stronger, her pussy clenching around him as she squirted, the warm liquid spilling onto the sand. "Ahh, yes," she moaned, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

They switched positions, moving to missionary as the moon climbed higher in the sky. Yeji straddled him, her legs trembling with the effort of holding herself up. She began to ride him, her breasts bouncing with every bounce. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her was exquisite, and she knew she wouldn't last long.

Y/n watched her, his eyes hooded with desire as she took him deep within her. His hands roamed her body, teasing her nipples until they were stiff peaks, his thumbs brushing against her clit with every downward stroke. "Come for me," he whispered, his voice a caress that seemed to coil around her very soul.

And she did. Yeji threw her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she came, her pussy spasming around him. But he wasn't done with her yet. He flipped them over, his hips pistoning as he took over the rhythm. He was relentless, pushing her closer and closer to the edge until she was begging for release.

Finally, with a roar that seemed to shake the very earth, he came, his warmth filling her completely. Yeji collapsed against him, her body boneless and satisfied. But she wasn't done yet. There was still so much more to explore, so much more to feel.

They moved to the spooning position, their bodies entwined like lovers lost in a passionate embrace. This time, their movements were slower, more tender. The vanilla sex was a sweet counterpoint to the intense passion that had come before, a gentle reminder that there was more to their connection than just raw, animal lust.

Yeji felt cherished in his arms, his cock sliding in and out of her with a lazy, easy rhythm that had her purring with pleasure. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, one that she knew she would hold onto for the rest of her life.

But the night wasn't over yet. They moved to the standing doggy position, her legs shaking as she braced herself against a nearby tree. Y/n pounded into her, his strength and stamina seemingly endless. Yeji felt her orgasm building again, her cries growing louder with each passing second.

The pleasure was so intense she thought she might pass out, her legs giving way beneath her. But Y/n held her up, his arms like steel bands around her waist. "Take it," he growled, his teeth grazing her ear. "Take all of me."

And she did. Yeji screamed his name, the sound echoing through the night, as she came for the third time. Her legs buckled, and she would have collapsed if he hadn't been there to catch her. They sank to the sand, their bodies entangled, their breathing ragged.

But even as she lay there, spent and satisfied, Yeji knew that she wanted more. This was just the beginning of a night that would change everything.

With the first light of dawn peeking over the horizon, they moved to the edge of the lake. Y/n picked her up, her legs wrapped around his waist, and she could feel his hardness pressing against her. "Flying squirrel," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

Yeji's eyes widened with excitement. It was a position she had read about but never tried. She nodded eagerly, and he didn't waste a moment. He leaned back, holding her firmly as he entered her once again. The sensation was incredible, the cold water lapping at her back as he thrust into her, the contrast sending shivers down her spine.

He held her ankles in his hands, her body weightless as he fucked her with a fervor that seemed to defy the breaking day. Yeji could feel her pussy clench around him, the walls tightening with every stroke. It was a feeling she had never experienced before, a mix of pleasure and pain that was utterly intoxicating.

Her legs began to quiver, her muscles no longer able to hold on. But Y/n didn't slow down. He pushed into her harder, his movements more deliberate. "You're going to squirt for me," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. And just like that, she did.

The orgasm hit her like a wave, her body shaking as she sprayed him with her release. The sensation was so intense she couldn't help but scream, her voice echoing across the still water. Y/n's grip on her ankles tightened, his own climax building.

And then it was over, their bodies coming to a rest. Yeji leaned her forehead against his, their breathing in sync as the first rays of sunlight kissed their skin. The warmth of the sun seemed to seep into her very bones, chasing away the last vestiges of the night's chill.

They lay there for a moment, their bodies entwined, the only sounds the gentle lapping of the water and their mingled breaths. It was a moment of pure peace, a respite from the passion that had consumed them.

But even as the light grew stronger, Yeji knew that the fire between them wasn't going anywhere. They had only just begun to explore each other's bodies, to uncover the secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface. The camping trip was going to be a weekend of discovery, of passion, of moments that would be etched into their memories forever.

And as the sun fully broke over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, they kissed again, a promise of what was to come. The air was electric with anticipation, and Yeji felt a thrill run through her.

The next few hours passed in a blur of pleasure, their bodies moving in a dance that was as old as time itself. They tried new positions, each one more thrilling than the last, pushing each other to new heights of ecstasy.

As the first light of dawn began to break, Yeji's eyes fluttered open. Her vision was hazy, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion and desire. Y/n's fingers were still working their magic, teasing her clit as she lay beneath him, her body a canvas for his art. She felt the warmth of his cum still inside her, a testament to their passionate night.

"We should get back to the tent," she murmured, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Y/n nodded, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He leaned down to kiss her, the taste of the night's passion still lingering on her lips. Yeji felt a thrill run through her as his tongue slid against hers, a gentle reminder of what they had shared.

He stood, pulling her to her feet with a gentle tug. Her legs were shaky, but she leaned into him, her body craving his touch. He swept her up into his arms, cradling her against his bare chest as they made their way back to camp. The cool morning air kissed her skin, sending a delicious shiver down her spine.

But the chill was short-lived. Y/n's fingers found her still-sensitive clit, and she gasped as he began to tease her. The sensation was intense, and she couldn't help but squirt again, her body responding to his touch like a well-tuned instrument. She felt the warmth of his cum flooding her pussy, mixing with the coolness of the night.

He chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied, as he carried her back to their tent. Yeji's head lolled against his shoulder, her eyes still closed, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. "You're insatiable," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.

"It's all your fault," she replied with a sleepy smile. "You make me feel so... alive."

"And I'm not done with you yet," he said, his tone a dark promise that sent a thrill through her. Yeji's eyes snapped open, and she looked up at him, her gaze locking onto his. "We have the whole weekend," he reminded her, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You're so sensitive," he murmured, his voice filled with wonder.

"It's all you," she breathed, her hands reaching up to clutch at his shoulders.

Yeji wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in closer. She felt the warmth of his cum mixing with hers, a tangible sign of their union. And as they moved together, the sun rising in the sky outside, she knew that she had found something special—something that went beyond the physical.

Yeji's eyes remained tightly shut as Y/n picked her up, the weight of his cum still inside her. She felt his strong arms wrap around her, cradling her against his warm, naked chest. His heartbeat was steady, a reassuring rhythm that seemed to sync with her own racing pulse. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer.

As they stumbled back towards the tent, the cool early morning air kissed her flushed skin, sending shivers down her spine. Yet the warmth from his body, and the slickness between her thighs, kept her in a haze of pleasure. She felt his fingers slip down to her pussy, sliding through the wetness that still coated her from their encounter by the lake.

Y/n began to finger her with purpose, his movements slow and deliberate. Yeji gasped, her body responding immediately to his touch. She could feel the cum trickling out of her, mixing with her arousal, creating a delicious mess that only seemed to excite him more. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Her hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction, more pleasure. The sensation was almost too much—the combination of his cum inside her and his fingers outside was overwhelming. Yet she couldn't help but push into his touch, eager for the release she knew was coming.

The walk to the tent was a blur of sensation. Each step he took sent waves of pleasure through her, her pussy clenching around his fingers. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge, her breath hitching in her chest. And just when she thought she couldn't take any more, she felt it—another orgasm ripping through her, making her entire body convulse.

Her legs tightened around him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she came, her pussy spasming around his fingers. "Ahh, Y/n," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea.

He chuckled, his breath warm against her neck. "I told you I wasn't done," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. Yeji couldn't help but smile, even as her body trembled with aftershocks. He had proven to be more than she had ever imagined, a lover who knew exactly how to push her limits and give her what she needed.

They reached the tent, and he gently laid her down on the sleeping bag. The fabric was cool against her overheated skin, a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. Yeji's eyes remained closed, her chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. She was spent, her body still pulsing with the aftermath of their love making.

Yet she felt his hand move between her legs once again, his touch gentle as he began to clean her up. The tender gesture made her heart swell, filling her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the physical. "You're amazing," she murmured, her voice still thick with passion.

Y/n chuckled, the sound low and intimate in the early morning quiet. He slid his fingers inside her, his touch now more exploratory than demanding. Yeji's eyes shot open, and she watched as he brought his glistening hand to his mouth, licking away the evidence of their night together. The sight was so erotic she could feel herself getting wet again.

He leaned over her, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to taste you," he said, his voice a soft growl that sent a shiver down her spine. Yeji nodded eagerly, spreading her legs wider in invitation. He didn't need any more encouragement—his mouth was on her, his tongue swirling around her clit with a skill that had her arching off the sleeping bag.

The sensation was exquisite, his tongue and teeth bringing her to the brink again. Yeji's nails dug into the fabric, her body tensing as the orgasm built. "I'm going to come," she panted, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice firm. Yeji opened her eyes to find him watching her, his gaze intense. She didn't know why, but his demand made the moment even more intense. She locked eyes with him as her body began to convulse, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave.

He didn't stop, even as she came, his tongue lapping at her pussy, tasting her release. Yeji's body was a symphony of sensation, each stroke of his tongue a new note in the crescendo of pleasure. And when she thought she couldn't possibly take anymore, he slid two fingers into her, curling them in a way that made her scream his name.

Yeji's orgasm was so intense she could feel it in every part of her body, a pulsing heat that seemed to radiate from her core. "Oh my god," she gasped, her chest heaving with the effort to breathe.

Y/n pulled back, a smug smile playing on his lips. He leaned down to kiss her, his mouth tasting of her, and she eagerly devoured him. The intimacy of the moment was almost too much to handle—the way their bodies were entwined, the way they moved together as if they had been doing this forever.

Yeji's eyes fluttered open as the sun kissed her face, the light filtering through the tent's fabric. She felt a gentle pressure against her, and she realized that Y/n was still inside her, his cock half-hard and nestled in the warmth of her pussy. She stretched languidly, her muscles protesting the movement, reminding her of the marathon they had shared through the night.

"Mm," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. "What time is it?"

"Afternoon," he replied, his voice lazy and satisfied. "You've been out for a while."

Her eyes widened in shock, and she sat up abruptly, the sleeping bag pooling around her waist. "What?!"

Yeji's friends were sitting around the campfire, roasting marshmallows and sharing stories, when she emerged from the tent, her cheeks flushed and her body still humming with the aftermath of their passion. They all turned to look at her, their eyes widening in surprise before breaking into peals of laughter.

"What?" she asked again, her voice filled with confusion.

"Looks like someone had a busy night," Lia teased, her eyes flicking down to the evidence of their encounter still glistening between Yeji's legs.

Yuna elbowed her playfully. "Be nice, she's obviously still in a daze."

Ryujin and Chaeryeong couldn't hold back their grins. "Someone's got a glow about her," Ryujin said.

Yeji's eyes went wide as she looked down, and she screeched, slapping her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god," she mumbled, her face burning with embarrassment. She had never been so exposed in front of her friends, and the realization was mortifying. She quickly scrambled to pull on her clothes, the fabric sticking slightly to her still-damp skin.

Her friends watched her, their laughter subsiding into snickers as they realized her predicament. "It's okay, we all knew you'd hit it off," Chaeryeong said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, you both looked pretty happy when we saw you coming back."

"Yeah, we figured you'd be in for a wild night," Lia added with a wink, passing her a stick to roast a marshmallow. "So, spill the tea. How was it?"

Yeji couldn't help but grin, her embarrassment fading into a warm glow of satisfaction. "It was... amazing," she admitted, her voice still a little breathless. "Better than I ever imagined."

[p1astr81]

what are we? - mv33

in which: Max gets romantically involved with Red Bull’s new hire, changing his life for better and worse.

pairing: Max Verstappen x co-worker!reader

warnings: smut 18+, Christian Horner, cursing, time jumps, angst, not proof read, a little longer

wc: 6.9k

an: ib this fic

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ * ‧₊˚ ‧

The conversation came in late September. The air outside his Monaco apartment was cool. It drifted in gusts through the open window. His grip around your waist tightened when a particularly cold breeze creeped it’s way over his naked figure. His limbs, intertwined with yours, sought the warmth radiating off your skin. Legs mindlessly brushed against yours.

“If you’re cold, you could always put your clothes back on.” He chuckled lowly at your suggestion. The sound traveled smooth and slow through the air, like molasses. A verbal response never graced your ears. He settled for a small shake of his head, his face hid in the curve of your neck.

The scene, while grossly domestic, had your stomach curling into knots of guilt and despair. A feeling of inevitable calamity. The exact timing of it, you were uncertain. But it was sure to come, if not now then soon. Tomorrow morning, maybe. You knew putting it off would make it harder. Executing it was just as difficult, though.

It’s why you were both devastated and relieved when Max’s voice filled the air with the question. It forced you to have the conversation here and now.

“What are we?”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The first day on a job was never easy, especially when you’d been promoted from a simple marketing position at a small company to the manager of the marketing department at Red Bull Racing.

It was mid-January. Freezing cold outside. Your breath converted to a visible fog while you entered your new place of work.

The tour of the building was being given to you by a secretary. He was quiet. Only spoke when he needed to or to answer a question of yours. He led you to an empty office, nothing in the room except for a desk and a chair. Your first and last name engraved on a plaque glued to the door. Your fingertips ran over the lettering, feeling the ridges. Head of Media and Marketing engraved right above your name.

The secretary informed you that someone would be with you shortly, his voice mere mutters. You thanked him and he was on his way.

The room was spacious enough. Plenty to not feel claustrophobic but not enough to not feel vast. A small couch could be a nice edition. Floor to ceiling windows allowed for natural sunlight to illuminate the area. The view was okay. The street and parking lot to the left and a small patch of grass—currently coated by a thin layer of snow—right ahead of you.

A question of your name was called from behind you. You turned with a smile. “Yes, hello.”

Christian Horner. The team principal at Red Bull Racing. Of course, you’d heard what he’d done, read the leaked messages. You nearly didn’t take the job because of it. But it was your dream job, formula one. So a few morals had to be broken.

He smiled. “Good to finally meet you face to face.” He held his hand out to you. You shook it to be polite. “Christian Horner, team principal.” He formally introduced himself.

You remained polite as you followed him through the halls once more. His footsteps stopped outside another office space. A laugh was muffled through the wall. A man’s laugh.

Christian opened the door, allowing you to walk in first. Upon entering, the two boys in the room stopped their conversation, eyes boring into you. You knew who they both were. Liam Lawson and Max Verstappen.

Liam stood first, teeth shining as he smiled. He held a hand out to you and introduced himself. Polite. Max stood, but hovered behind Liam. He studied your form, your face, the way you nervously fiddled with the ends of your hair and tucked a strand behind your ear.

Only when your conversation with Liam ran dry did Max step in to introduce himself.

“Will you be traveling with us to races, then?” His voice was level, unreadable. His gaze jumping between Christian and yourself. Christian answered for you. “No. She won’t be needed. Most of her work will be done here.”

Max’s brow twitched, a faint line appearing between his two brows for less than a second. “Shame.” Was all he said, eyes drifting from your own to analyze the other details of your face. You tried your best to ignore it.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The following weeks consisted of introduction and the drafting of ideas. Your colleagues would filter in and out of your office, presenting vague ideas and handing you long winded proposals. Working in formula one was not nearly as thrilling as you expected it to be.

Your routine shifted one day. Your fingers were dashing across the keyboard, responding to an email sent from another in the marketing department. The door had opened, but assuming it was one of your colleagues you didn’t acknowledge them right away. You were too focused on finishing the email to even realize your visiter had made himself comfy on the small sofa.

Only after you hit send did you look up, slightly-irritated smile embellished on your lips. “Hi, sorry I was-“ the face registered in your mind, though it made the synapses in your brain backfire momentarily, your speech inhibited. Your expression bordered on confusion. When your brain finally caught up, the words that came out of your mouth were, “do you need something?”

You cringed when your own voice hit your ears, your tone suggesting he was bothering you. You fell into quick apologies. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that just… I didn’t know if you came in here for something from me or… yeah.”

There it was again. The anxious action of playing with your hair. His own face shifted. Amusement. He shook his head. “Just came to ask you how you’re settling in.”

The nod that came to you was like a foreign action. Delayed and not quite a smooth gesture. The prospect of Max Verstappen coming to casually check in on you was a little inconceivable, so forgive you if your motions weren’t quite fluid. “Yeah.” You blinked, then realizing that wasn’t really an adequate response, you continued, “It’s nice. People are nice.” You nodded. You found it difficult to keep your eyes on his. Perhaps it was the intensity of it. The way it felt like he was trying to dissect your every thought.

Max hummed. “Well if that changes…” the rest of his sentence hung in the air, but you could finish it yourself.

You nodded again, swallowing the lump of nerves in your throat. “Okay.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Max continued to pop in your office every now and then, at least once a week. You’d gotten more and more comfortable with each encounter. Conversation flowed easily now.

It was the end of February, the beginning of the season drawing close. Papers collected in a small stack on your deck, ones you had to look over before the media team left in two weeks.

“Come in,” you responded to the knock on your door, focus still on the paper in front of you. The paper was torn from your desk, your focus traveling with it. Your eyes caught Max’s blue ones and you scoffed. “Max! I need to finish that,” you complained loudly, reaching for the paper but Max pulled away.

You stood, rounding the desk. Max put his hand out to stop you while he read from the proposal. “…to improve engagement—hey!—and increase—im helping here!” Max laughed, arm extended with the paper out of your reach. “That’s not funny, I need to have that read and responded to by the end of the day!”

Your sides were flush against each other, your hand inching its way up his arm. Subconsciously, he pressed a hand to the small of your back to stabilize you while you stood on your tip toes. Max chuckled. “They’re all the same anyway. Boring for you to read and torture for me to do.”

Your eyes fell from the paper to meet his own. You became aware of the proximity then. Far too close for a couple of colleagues. You stepped back, cleared your throat. Max silently held the paper out to you. Graceful fingers pulled it from his hold.

As you sat back at your desk, Max remained standing in front of it. “I don’t think it’s fair.” He commented out of the blue. Your eyes found his once more, brows knit together. “What’s not fair?”

“Well, you do all of this for the team, and you don’t ever get to see the track.”

Your expression loosened, a breath falling past your lips, sounding like a laugh. “‘Cause my job is here.” You shook your head, finding his judgement a little silly.

A raised brow of his. “So you don’t want to go to the races?”

You dropped your pen, leaning back in your chair. “It sounds fun and all, but that’s not where I’m needed.”

“But if you had the choice, would you want to go to the races?”

You didn’t even need to think about it. “Yes.”

The next morning, as you set foot inside your office your whole body froze. On your desk sat a jar of chocolates. Passed for the weekend in Australia hung from the shoulders of the jar. You analyzed them, just to make sure they were real.

“Of course.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Max won that first race in Australia. A hard fought victory against Charles Leclerc. After the race you settled in the hospitality. People were packing up around you but you were stationary, answering emails upon emails.

You jumped when your shoulders were squeezed from behind. The sight of Max had you relaxing on instinct. He maneuvered his way around the table, taking the chair across from where you sat. “You should go out with me tonight.” He proposed.

Brows shot up, you choked on air. “Sorry, what?” Your laughter was out of control. Continuous breathy, nervous chuckles.

Max seemed to have caught his mistake, laughing to himself. “I meant— I’m going out to celebrate with some of the team. You should come with.”

“Oh, oh yeah.” You laughed. “Maybe not, though. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on, yknow?”

All it took was one little teasing “come on,” and a dazzling smile to convince you.

Party was certainly Maxs thing. One too many gin and tonics and he was drunk out of his mind. He clutched onto your shoulder, yelled something close to your ear. “That’s great, Max!” You responded, a tap of your hand to his chest, though the topic of conversation was completely lost on you.

“Great?! No ‘thank you, Max! You’ve got a beautiful face too!’? Wow ego much!” Drunk max was a hassle, and drove you to drink with every teenage-girl-esc sentence that spilled from his drunk, scrambled mind. “Sorry, didn’t quite hear you! I’m gonna get a drink!” Max wiggled his brows, remembering how you swore you wouldn’t drink tonight. “Looks like someone’s going back on her word!” He laughed. You shook your head, turning your back on him to make your way to the bar. Max clutched desperately onto your arm.

In hindsight, drinking wasn’t your smartest idea. Because one drink led to two, and two led to even more.

The very next morning you woke up with a raging headache. The curtains of the hotel room weren’t pulled closed. The morning light invaded the room, and you pulled a pillow over your head to block the rays that desperately tried to bypass your thin eyelids.

The smell of the pillow filled your nose. But it wasn’t your own perfume, or the fresh scent of a five star hotel. It was cologne. Still smelling fresh. But undoubtedly cologne. The scent strangely familiar, but you couldn’t place it.

Your heart raced. You could feel as the thrumming of it pulsated up to the surface of your skin. The headache was fought off as you opened you opened your eyes, slowly and anxiously.

Eyes meeting the figure, a small gasp left your lips. You’d never identified a person so quickly in your life.

You began to panic when you spotted your shirt from last night, thrown messily over the back of a chair. A quiet chant of no, no, no fell from your lips as you scanned the room with a frantic, unfocused gaze. And the shirt you wore wasn’t yours. Red Bull branded. But not yours. “Fuck” you whispered, tears springing to your waterline.

Careful not to wake Max, you slid from between the sheets, gathering your clothes from around the room. While you slid your pants on, Max stirred. One leg in and one leg out, you froze in place. Thankfully, he went back to sleep, his breath returning in a shallow, even rate. You placed Max’s—now neatly folded—shirt of the television stand.

On the tips of your toes and as quietly as you could, you slipped into the hallway. You could only hope that his memory was lacking as much as your own.

Once back in the security of your own room, you fell onto the bed, closing your eyes with a sigh.

The next time your eyes opened was because of a harsh series of knocks on the door. The sun was brighter now. You’d fallen asleep again.

Tired legs carried you to the door, which once opened, had you frozen in place.

A claw clip was held out to you. “I think you forgot this.” Max grinned, letting himself into the room.

“That’s not mine.” You dismissed, though it was definitely yours. Max chuckled. “You left.” He stated the obvious, eyes drilling into yours. You leaned against the door. He stood across the room.

Your head shook. A mindless movement. “I didn’t think you’d remember either.” You muttered, facing your crossed feet below you. He blinked. Brows furrowing just slightly, complementing his small frown. “Are you saying you don’t remember anything?”

You stood up straighter, back still supported by the door. “Well… bits and pieces.” Your voice was small and you forced yourself to face him. His mouth fell open, gasping out a breath, his hand falling over his face.

Seeing his reaction, you quickly tried to ease him. “I’m not going to tell HR if that’s what your worried about.”

Max froze. “You think I’m worried about HR? No I’m worried about you.” He took a few steps in your direction before stopping himself.

Your eyes widened. Shock. You laughed. “Why would you be worried about me?” You were nervous now. Max seemed to be more confused than ever. “You… because we had sex, and you don’t remember it.” He started to pace. “I though you weren’t that drunk. You swore you weren’t that drunk. I’m an idiot, obviously you were that drunk.” He rambled to himself, feet pacing back and forth along the length of the hotel room.

“Max,” you called. He froze, face meeting yours. Concern etched on every feature. “Did I consent?” He blinked before nodding. “Then it’s fine. You have nothing to worry about” You shook your head

He became confused. “Nothing to- I practically took advantage of you, and you’re saying that’s ‘fine’?”

“Yes because I trust you and I know you and I know that’s not you.” You sighed. “It’s like you want me to be mad at you.”

Max turned away from you, silent. He ventured over to the open window, a distant view of the ocean. Perhaps he did want you to be mad at him. Perhaps then the inner turmoil would be easier to face. Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel so conflicted about you.

“I just think you should value yourself more.”

You looked up from your hands, gaze only finding his backside. “What, you think I don’t value myself just because I won’t be mad at you? We made a stupid mistake, that’s all.” You bit back.

A brow of his lifted, body halfway turned to face you. “No, that’s not what I meant.” He chuckled nervously.

The nod that followed was subconscious as you stared down at your hands once more. “You should go. I need to pack.”

He called your name, a tone that suggested protest. A look from you silently told him off, and he left without another word.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The following week you were back in your office. Max was meant to be away at a race. He placed second in China. You didn’t care. Sure it was a tiny spat, but it was easier to ignore him than face the repercussions of what you’d done. Max hadn’t reached out since that morning. So neither had you.

The day had droned on. Another Monday spent sitting in your office for hours on end. The tenth knock of the day interrupted your flow of work. “Come in,” you muttered, head rested in the palm of your hand while you read over your presentation for the thousandth time.

You hit the arrow button once again when a cough took you from your focus. You glanced up at the person, body straightening when you saw his blue eyes.

“Is there something I can help you with?” You remained polite and professional. You mentally questioned why he was not still in China, or why he was here at all. He wasn’t needed at the factory today. The question never surfaced, though.

Max let out a small sigh, standing across the room. “Look, I’m sorry.” He started sincerely.

“It’s alright.” You brushed it off, turning your attention back the the screen and hoping he’d fuck off.

“No, it’s not. I don’t think you deserve to just be a hit and run.”

“It doesn’t matter. I hardly remember it.” Your eyes refused to meet his.

“That’s exactly my point.”

You sighed deeply. “And what do you want to do about it? It’s in the past.”

The room was silent for a minute. Max thought it over, his proposal on the tip of his tongue, but he struggled to find the courage to say it. You studied him, eyes narrowed, trying to pick his brain apart.

“What about a date?” He managed to ask.

And you laughed at him. Right to his face. “You’ve lost your mind, Verstappen.”

“That’s not a no.” He grinned.

You huffed. “That is a no.” You shook your head, your words holding some finality to them. You returned to your work, thinking he’d leave after that.

But Max Verstappen is nothing if not persistent. “Why no?”

You looked up once more. The third time during this conversation. “Because it’s an HR nightmare. The second anyone gets wind that I went on a date with you, I’m fired. And I just got this job so I’d really like to keep it.” The eye roll that followed was a natural instinct.

“Then no one has to know.” He negotiated quickly.

“Why are you so persistent about this? I told you it wasn’t a big deal.”

Max swayed on his feet. He didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one that he was willing to share with you.

“I’ll make a reservation at that stake house, cove’s, for 7. You can choose to show up or not.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

It may have bothered you a little. Knowing that Max may have been sitting at the restaurant all by himself. The clock reads ten past the nineteenth hour. You’d been staring at the blank wall for fifteen minutes.

The two halves of your brain were at odds. Arguing for and against joining Max at the restaurant.

He’s all alone.

That’s his own fault.

Yeah but he might be upset.

His emotions aren’t my problem.

But it’s a nice restaurant, and he’s paying. A good meal won’t hurt.

You groaned, throwing the blanket from off your lap and making your way over to the closet. You picked a simple dress. Nothing too showy or extravagant. Attention wasn’t what you desired.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you grumbled, looking yourself over in the mirror. The small imperfections were screaming at you, a small frown adorning your lips. You closed your eyes. A deep breath and a sigh. A shake of your head. “It’s not even a real date.”

You got there forty-five minutes late. Max could be clearly seen from across the restaurant. A glass of water sat in front of him, only half full. Fingers tapped the glass in a rhythmic manner, intense eye contact with the contained liquid.

It’s not too late to turn around, you told yourself. And you actually considered it. But the thought of getting ready just to turn back outweighed any other thoughts.

When you approached the table, Max glanced at you, an uninterested look. Then as if the image registered late in his mind, he stood. The chair was pulled out for you before you had the chance to do it yourself. “I didn’t think you’d come.” He spoke in a hushed voice, almost like he was embarrassed by the fact.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

And that’s how it started.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

April passed quickly. Max tried taking you out on regular dates, though you argued. “It would be too suspicious. Everyone knows you like in Monaco.” He worked his way around your fears. He drove your car, which was not nearly as flashy. He covered his face as best he could to blend into the background. He stopped trying to convince you to go with him to races with his guest passes. “People will catch on, Max. Your fans are smart.”

So Max convinced Horner that you would be much more of use at the weekends. “It’s a much quicker flow of information, and she can be there to make changes on the spot. It only makes sense!” And somehow, Horner listened.

The first race of May, in Miami, you were there. Not just as a guest of Max Verstappen, but as a critical part of the team.

You never found out it was Max’s doing. He let you believe the promotion was for your hard work. You deserved that.

The Red Bull car, adorned with a big red number 1 on the wing of the car, was out in front. It would be his first win since the season opener if he could hold onto the lead. You were stressed, fingers twisting up in the ends of your hair. The strands moved like liquid between the gaps of your fingers.

Later that night, you happened to end up in a club, Max’s hands glued to your hips while you twirled around on the dance floor. “You won again!” You shouted over the music, arms tightening around his neck. “I think you’re my good luck charm!” He grinned. You shook your head, laughing. A sound he wished he could keep on file in his brain so he could listen to it on a bad day. “No, I think you’re just that amazing!”

“Fuck, you’re so amazing.” Max groaned, his entire cock sheathed inside of you. Of course you found yourselves back in his hotel room, making a mess of the sheets.

“Ah, Max,” You whined. His thrusts perfectly measured, hitting the deepest parts inside of you. “Faster, oh please Max, faster!” Words were a struggle to get past your panting. Your nails dug into his bare shoulders. He hissed, but the pain quickly morphed with the pleasure and spurred him on.

His teeth scraped along the curve of your neck as he sucked marks into the skin, trying to quiet his noises. “So good. Fuck,” he mumbled against your skin, a hand guiding your thighs to wrap around his waist. The noises you released at the feeling of the new, deeper angle had Max thrusting his hips into yours harder than before. Thank god the headboard was bolted to the wall. Any consideration for the next door neighbor—probably a team member—flew out the window.

“Fuck! Fuck, I’m so close!” Your hips started meeting his, searching for a release. “Please,” the word fell from your lips on instinct.

“So good. So perfect. So perfect for me.” Max continued to mutter praises, his hot breath fanning over the marks he’d just made. His hand ventured down your body to land harsh circles on your clit. “Come on, come for me.”

A high pitch moan added to the sinful noises already infiltrating the room, your back arched up from the bed, pushing your body into Max’s. “That’s it, come on.” He encouraged.

You came with his name on your lips, repeated over and over again like it was the only word you knew. “Fuck,” he grunted, you squeezing him, pulling him right to the edge. “Inside me, fuck, I’m on the pill.” That’s all it took for him to be spilling everything he had inside of you.

You whimpered when he pulled out, still sensitive. He apologized. Noting your closed eyes and your blissed out state, he carried you off to the bathroom and sat you down on the toilet.

“You know, I’m noticing a trend here.” You joked after you’d recovered, back in the bed and lying against his chest. Your fingers idly played with his, fingertips running along his knuckles. Max frowned, though you couldn’t see it. “This is more than just physical for me. I really do like you.” His lips met the top of your head. It brought a small smile to your lips. “I know,”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Things were going well for you and Max. You kept it on the low. No one in HR had caught on. Of course, the fans speculated, but they had no real proof.

It was the end of June now. All day, Max had been praying to anyone who would listen, begging for a good result. It was Austria. Red Bull’s home race. He couldn’t let the team down.

Prior to the race, you stood in his driver’s room with him. He was all suited up already, you were only there to wish him luck.

Your hands ran down the front of his suit, palms settling on his stomach. “Have I ever told you that you look so good in this suit?”

Max chuckled, the sound a low rumble. “Only about every time I wear it.” His eyes, reflecting such deep admiration, worked their way over your own figure. The tips of his fingers dug into your hips, bottom lip scraping between his teeth while he drew you impossibly close. “And speaking of outfits, you look like a dream.”

You scoffed a laugh. “Really? In my business casual?”

He looked at you like you were crazy for second guessing him. “Oh, Absolutely.” He grinned, his hands coming up to move the hair from your face.

Just as his lips were about to collect yours, a knock interrupted the moment. Max jumped back, creating space on instinct. He looked at you with wide eyes, but you held up a single finger, your mind working fast to make up an excuse.

“Max? Can I come in?” His trainer spoke through the door.

You scrambled through your camera roll. You were sure there was some stupid media video you could use and pretend you were searching for his approval.

“Yeah come in,” Max answered, just as you were shoving your phone in his face. The video was just a stupid tiktok, one saved for future reference.

“So what do you think?” You asked as Rupert stepped into the room. The trainer looked surprised to see you, gaze flitting between the two of you. “Oh, hey. Wasn’t expecting you in here.”

“Last minute media duties. You know how it is.” You laughed innocently, causing Max to have to bite back a smirk. Rupert didn’t know how it was, but he nodded anyway, laughing with you.

“I wouldn’t mind it. Definitely better than some of the other ideas.” Max finally answered your question, a bit of a bite to his response. “Great, I’ll run it by the media team.”

Later that night, after the race—which Max wanted to forget all about, having gotten a puncture due to debris—you recalled the interaction. “You were jealous!” You insisted, laughing while he shook his head adamantly. “You didn’t see how he looked at you!” He insisted.

“Oh come on, that’s in your head.”

“Is it really? Because I’m almost certain he watched your ass as you left.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “You’re quite cute when you’re possessive.” Max cocked his head, trying to figure out if it was a compliment or an insult. “Thank you?” He said hesitantly.

“You’re welcome” you hummed, pecking his lips.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Summer break. It was much needed for the both of you. Somehow, you managed to take two weeks off of work. The time was spent with Max, somewhere remote and private where eyes wouldn’t be able to pry.

The air smelled of salt water, the strands of your hair soaked in the same water. The white boat floated not far from you, Max standing on the end of it, hands rested on his hips. He observed you with a fond gaze while you swam around, head dipped under the water and a snorkel peaking up out of the water.

You resurfaced, eyes alight with excitement. You pushed the goggles to your hairline. It made your hair look like a mess, but Max found it cute. You waved him over. “Come join me!” And then noticing his hesitation you added, “there’s so many fish! And some are so pretty!”

A smile creeped up on him seeing your enthusiasm. He grabbed his own snorkel from the cushioned seats and joined you. Who was he do deny your request when you were so animated about it?

You’d already ducked back under the water, too impatient to wait for him to join you. He understood your enthusiasm quickly. While it was no coral reef beneath you, fish still swam by, scampering along when one of you made the slightest movement.

A punch was landed on Max’s arm, your movements languid due to the water. He followed your pointed finger to find a turtle at the end of it.

His eyes found yours, crinkled in the corners from how hard you were smiling.

The same smile found it’s way back on your face hours later back on the boat. Max lounged against the cushioned seats, your body right next to his, upper body rested against his.

“I told him, I said, ‘Max is not going to like that idea, you won’t get the result you think you will’ and he replied with, ‘well then maybe max shouldn’t be such a baby about everything.’” You laughed, shaking your head as you recited a conversation from a meeting last week.

Max scoffed, feigning offense. “A baby? I’m not a baby about media duties!” He defended himself.

“Oh you absolutely are. You’re a pain to do media with, to everyone except for me. But it’s okay ‘cause I still love you.” You turned your head to face him, leaning up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. But a sour taste infected your mouth as your brain caught up with the words your lips had just spewed.

The contact was broken abruptly by you, sitting up and staring at him with wide eyes. Max just looked at you, his own gaze flicking between focusing on each of your eyes, one at a time. His brows were raised in interest, mouth slightly parted.

You found it difficult to meet his eyes, so you focused on the blue-green color of the ocean, watching as the waves folded over one another. “I don’t know where that came from.” You shook your head, voice small. “Just-“

“From your heart, I hope.” Max joked. You turned to him, seeing a cheesy grin on his face to match the equally cheesy comment.

A small yelp slipped past your lips when Max pulled you down again, his face inches from yours. “I love you, too.” He whispered against your lips.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

You’d truly never been happier. It was like you were living in heaven on earth. The smile on your face was permanent, just like how Max was permanently on your mind.

It was early August, the air warm but not hot enough to be unbearable. Your vacation just ended. Despite the fact it was an early Monday morning, you were smiling to yourself while entering the factory.

The first person you saw upon entering was Christian himself, standing in the foyer, leaning against the receptionist desk. “Morning, Horner.” You greeted, walking past him.

“Ah, just a second.” He halted your movements, voice sounding stern. Your heart rate spiked. “Come to my office with me.” It wasn’t a suggestion. You had no choice.

“Have a seat.” He instructed, an outstretched hand. You swallowed hard, trying to level your breathing. Your smile was harder to maintain now.

He sat across from you, at his desk, and pulled out a laptop. “How was your break?” He made small talk, but there was too much tension in the air for you to be comfortable. Your gut told you something was wrong.

“Great, thanks.” 

“And you traveled with Max, correct?”

Your heart stopped, breathing halted. His gaze was on yours. A borderline glare. You blinked. Lying was an option that turned over in your mind, but it was evident he already knew. It would put you deeper in shit.

“Yes.”

Christian smiled wickedly. “So you will be honest with me, then.” He said to himself. “And am I correct in saying that there’s something more than professional business going on between the two of you?”

It was easy to predict what would happen next. The very thing you feared prior to diving into this with Max. But he insisted everything would be fine. It was stupid to believe him.

“Yes.”

Christian nodded slowly. “I’ve worked out an agreement with Mercedes and Toto. At the end of the season, you’ll transfer to Mercedes as their head of Media and Marketing. That is, only if you put an end to whatever is going on between you and my driver. If not, then I’ll make sure you never get another job in formula one.” His voice was eerily calm, but the demanding undertones of it was what really put you off.

You nodded, a silent agreement to his terms. He waved his hand. “You may leave now.”

The door was as far as you got before he called your name. “And a bit of advice,” he started, a nasty grin on his face. “Don’t sleep with Wolff’s drivers, too.”

He thought he was being funny. A blatantly misogynistic comment, and he thought it was funny. You desperately wanted to chuck something at his head, but that surely would ruin your career. So you nodded once again.

You made quick work of getting to your office, hardly breathing to contain the tears. It felt like you were suffocating. The world was crashing down around you. You’d just achieved everything you wanted in life, and now it was being pulled out from underneath you like some tablecloth magic trick gone wrong.

Once in your office, you sat at your desk. Palms flat on the table while you took deep breaths. Trying to ground yourself wasn’t working. So you let it flow. You locked the door and cried into your hands. Your palms collected the droplets into salty little puddles.

And then there was Max. God, how were you going to tell Max? It would break his heart, maybe even more than it’s breaking yours.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

You pondered for weeks how to go about telling him. No way seemed good enough. No way seemed gentle enough. So you resorted to slowly pulling yourself away from from. The thought process was that perhaps you could ease him into your leave. That way, it wouldn’t be nearly as painful.

The constant distancing didn’t go unnoticed by Max. He questioned you about it multiple times, but you brushed it off every time. In the past weeks, you’d declined every date. You only talked to him when necessary. And even answered his messages with short responses.

Which is why he felt the need to drag you back to Monaco with him after Baku. You stayed in his flat for the week, so you couldn’t escape him even if you wanted to.

The very last night in Monaco, you allowed Max to have his way with you. Any position he liked, however he liked. You knew you’d end it the following morning. If anything, it was a farewell gift and he didn’t even know it.

The conversation came sooner than expected. His question had your heart jump to your throat.

“What are we?”

He wanted a label. Confirmation. You knew that. But you couldn’t give it to him, only to tear it from his grasp in a few hours time. That would be ten times more painful than what you answered with.

“We aren’t anything.”

Max sat up quickly, your head falling to the pillows. He scanned your face for any sign that would tell him you were joking.

But your face was cold, stoic. He became angry, face twisted in rage as he stood from the bed. “You don’t mean that.” While his face may have reflected anger, his voice broke like a small child’s.

Max thought you had something special going on. Something more than just a fling. But with the confirmation of your words, it seemed it was only that. A fling.

You felt vulnerable under his burning gaze, but you remained expressionless. “You don’t-“ he choked on his words. “you don’t tell someone you love them and then…” he shook his head. He couldn’t understand. “Tell me you don’t mean that.” He demanded, feeling totally defenseless, small, pathetic.

You blinked, finally an emotion coming to the surface of your face. Total despair. “I can’t.” Your voice broke, your head shaking on impulse. Tears began to bloom in your eyes.

Max turned his back on you, his shoulders heaving from the deep breaths he was taking. “You said you love me.” His voice was a near whisper, back still facing you. “Did you lie?”

You’d never stood faster, and you were in front of him in seconds. He stared ahead refusing to meet your eyes. You could see the collection of tears on his waterline. It broke your heart to know you were doing this to him.

Two hands reached out to him. He took a step back, avoiding your touch. “Max I swear to you, I do love you.”

Confusion and hurt filled his eyes when they met yours. “Then why are you doing this?”

“I-“ you stumbled over your words, struggling for an explanation. His brows furrowed. “You don’t even know, do you?” His tone was accusing, creating more distance between the both of you.

You turned the accusation down quickly with a shake of your head. “No. I just- promise me you won’t let it affect your work relations.” Red Bull was his home. You weren’t sure if you would be able to sleep at night if Max hated them after you explained everything to him.

His confusion didn’t lift. “What do they have to do with this?” Max hated feeling like he was in the dark, and right now, the world around him felt pitch black.

“Just promise me.” You begged him.

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I don’t know how, but Christian found out. He told me if I didn’t end things that he would make sure I never got another job working in F1.” You breathed a shaky breath. “I promise you Max, I do love you. So much. And you mean so much to me.” You sniffled. “But I just can’t give up my dream job.”

Max blinked, his expression softening. He understood you completely. If the roles were reversed, he suspected he would’ve done the same thing. Now the only thing that could be read on his face was great sorrow.

He sat on the end of the bed, the influx of information causing his legs to feel week. “How long ago was that?”

“Beginning of August.” You confessed.

“Christ.” His voice was a whisper, head in his hands. He put the pieces together on his own. It was the sole explanation for your distance, he concluded. “I don’t think I can function knowing you’re going to be there every weekend.”

The spot on the bed beside him was no longer available, having been occupied by you. When you put a comforting hand on his arm, didn’t move away this time. “Well, I’m moving to Mercedes next year.”

He looked up, mouth parted. “That’s… good- yeah I’m really happy for you.” He congratulated, and he meant it.

You laid your head on his shoulder. “Let’s just enjoy the time we have left, yeah?” You suggested.

A warm sensation bloomed across Max’s shoulder. Your tears, he quickly realized. He let his own flow free now, and agreed with you, whispering out a, “yeah.”

[jester-privilege]

I've been trying to do more colouring, especially to find ways to practice lighting in different styles. This is from one of our AUs, called Do You Come Here Often - Robotnik meets Stone, a bartender, during a painfully boring charity gala and they hit it off.

I wrote a short story based on our RP, so I'm putting it under the cut below!

A charity gala. A waste of time, that’s what it was. Something to stroke the already grossly swollen egos of the guests, most of whom just loved masquerading as philanthropists for the tax cuts. 

It was well below Doctor Robotnik, and yet, he’d been forced kicking and screaming into a suit to sweet-talk potential investors. There was going to be reckoning once he was back in the lab. Maybe he’d launch the latest incompetent assistant into space. 

“ - and another thing - do you use that - that stuff, that comes from babies -” 

Then there was this asshole. Trapped into a conversation, Robotnik could barely maintain his rictus grin as he leaned his elbow on the bar counter, listening to the gormless, chinless man yammer on and on. Rich, politically active, and an absolute imbecile. Robotnik was going to strangle him with his stupid bowtie. 

“Because let me tell you, pal,” his conversation partner slurred. “When I’m a senator, I’m - banning all that shit. It’s not right - it’s just wrong, you know -” 

“Yes, we wouldn’t want the harmless salvage of iron rich cells from biowaste,” Robotnik muttered under his breath. 

“Yeah!” The other man gestured, coming dangerously close to spilling his watered down whiskey. “You get it - good man - what was your name again, Robot - something?” 

“Doctor Robotnik,” Robotnik said, in clipped tones.  

The man chortled. “Oh come on, you’re not a real doctor.” 

Robotnik squeezed his martini hard enough to hear it crack. His smile grew wider, his pupils narrowing. He was going to - 

“Gentlemen! Do I spy empty glasses?” a perky voice interrupted them. Robotnik turned, stiffly, and stared at the bartender - a rather handsome, well-groomed man with dark, twinkling eyes.

Robotnik’s conversation partner blinked, and looked down at his nearly empty glass. “Oh, well spotted, boy. Whaddya recommend?” 

“May I recommend you try my special blend?” the bartender suggested, his voice lowering an octave as he slid forward a glass, his movements mesmerisingly precise. “I promise it has a kick like you won’t believe.” 

The man chuckled, reaching for the fresh drink. “Just so you know, I don’t believe in tipping,” he said, as if gunning for the title of world’s most loathsome man, and downed half of the drink in one go. 

The bartender smiled peacefully. 

“Bit of a weird aftertaste,” the man slurred. He blinked, suddenly tilting forward sharply. A hand shot out, and the bartender grabbed the man’s hair, guiding his head to rest on the counter. 

“There we are,” the bartender said cheerfully. “Nice and easy. Now,” and he leaned back, smiling at Robotnik like he hadn’t just drugged his customer. “What can I get you, Doctor Robotnik?” 

Robotnik took a moment, blinking as he adjusted - and then raised his eyebrow. He was, despite himself, curious. “Not - what, a mix of ketamine and benzo?” 

“Trade secret, I’m afraid,” the bartender said, smiling. The man in the next stool snored loudly. Robotnik stood up, moving a few spaces over, and the bartender followed him. 

“I supposed you did save a life,” Robotnik said, haughtily. “His, I mean. How do you know my name?” 

“I heard the other gentleman mention it,” the bartender said. “Of course, I did recognise it.” As he spoke, he pulled out a glass, pouring in some ice. “I remember reading your paper on hive mind artificial intelligence. I always wondered whether you ever built anything based on your theories.” 

If Robotnik had been curious before, he was now drawn in, like a moth to a flame. Of course, there was a good chance he was going to get murdered tonight. “You read my - “ He paused, taking a moment to lower his voice and curb the enthusiasm. “Early prototypes showed some information lag,” he said, warily. “I’ve made some adjustments to the data compression and prioritisation - out of curiosity, how much of it did you actually understand?”

The bartender, in the midst of pouring something in the glass, blinked. “Most of it, I assume,” he said. “I did have to make some notes, to research and fully comprehend it, but - you’re a very entertaining writer, Doctor. I enjoyed your footnotes.” 

Robotnik’s footnotes were exclusively reserved for insulting other researchers. He found himself smiling, crookedly. “There’s a functional hive now.” 

The bartender looked startled, and then smiled, his teeth flashing. “Seriously? That’s amazing. How many?”

Robotnik shifted in his seat, starting to find his groove. “Three main hives, inter-connected via slow transfer - much faster on their intra-network. Fifteen, thirty-three and hundred and seven, respectively. It would be much more if my budget wasn’t decided by mouth-breathing knuckle-draggers.” 

“That’s still respectable numbers,” the bartender responded, enthusiastically. “I’d love to see them in action some day.” 

“Oh, would you now?” Robotnik smiled. “Which country are you spying for?”

To his surprise, the bartender laughed. 

“I wish I was in espionage,” the bartender said dryly. “I’m just a fan, Doctor. Personal interest - I saw some of your earlier work, in the field, a few years back.” 

“In the field?” Robotnik raised an eyebrow. “What sort of field does a bartender end up in, exactly?” 

“None whatsoever,” the bartender replied, mouth curling. “I was a mercenary. Gun for hire.”

“And now you’re bartending?” Robotnik asked, skeptically. 

“Well, I did just kill that guy,” the bartender said easily, nodding to the slumped figure a few seats away. “So after I clean up here, that’s my night done.” He smiled. “I’m Stone, by the way.” 

“...Pleasure,” Robotnik said weakly. He stared at Stone. He thought for a moment. 

“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “A fan. Don’t tell me you’ve only read one of my papers.” 

Stone pushed a drink towards Robotnik, smiling slyly. He was rather handsome, in a well-groomed, fit and conventionally attractive way, Robotnik had to admit. 

“Of course not, Doctor. That one was just my favourite - well, besides the one you wrote about applied nanotechnology -” 

“That one was utter garbage,” Robotnik said, waving his hand as he accepted the drink. “I’ve since scrapped it, started fresh with a new approach - the new paper is nearly done, if you -” he stopped himself, feeling the skin under his collar heat up. 

“If I what?” Stone asked curiously. 

“If you want to read it,” Robotnik said stiffly. “You said you were nearly done here, right? How about we blow this popsicle stand and - you come over to my hotel room, and I can show you a thing or two?” 

To his confusion, Stone went momentarily quiet, his eyes widening, before the other man stammered out a reply. 

“I - I’d love to! If you’re sure - I mean, I swear I’m not a spy - I just heard you were here, so I took on this gig in the hopes of catching a glimpse, I didn’t -” 

Robotnik raised his hand sharply, starting to feel uncomfortably warm. “Bzzzt! I’m well aware this is an honour for you! Save the yammering for later - I want to get out of here.” 

Stone had been handsome before, but he was much more so when he was flustered. Not that Robotnik cared about that - it was just rare to meet anyone who admired his work, let alone understood even half of it. He might as well use the rest of his night for something pleasant. 

“Okay, sure,” Stone said, clearly breathing slowly to calm himself down. “Uh - I have some protection on me, if we need it,” he added, shyly. 

Robotnik snorted, standing up, starting to already pull off his cursed bowtie. “Maybe for yourself, Stone. I have no need for it.” He paused, momentarily tempted to introduce Stone to his gloves - but decided against it. He’d have plenty of time for it back at the hotel, away from spying eyes. 

Behind him, Stone all but rushed from behind the bar over to him, hurrying to catch up with Robotnik’s long strides. He was blabbering on about hoping they weren’t moving too fast - as if Robotnik couldn’t get out of here fast enough. He glanced back at the other man, his chest tightening briefly at Stone’s earnest expression. Stone really was stupidly good-looking. He supposed that would be nice to look at, while they went over his papers. 

[myntrose]

12:39 am - the only thing that fills up Caleb's mind is you

Caleb would be the type of guy who wouldn't really care about what was being said of him. Yes, he's charming, charismatic, and very easy on the eyes. But no matter what is being said to or about him- either positively or negatively- he really just doesn't care.

After all, how does any of these things that said about him matter if it isn't being said by you. God, he could be on the other side of the room as you, having a totally different conversation with someone, but the moment you even make a slight mention about him? He's standing a bit taller, paying no remark to whichever irreverent person is in front of him, completely driving his focus onto you and your words and your face and-

yeah, he can't help but only think of you.

Not only is his mind just filled with you, but he also keeps track of things about you as well.

You two would be walking around the grocery store. He's pushing the cart, letting you ramble about your day while picking whatever food you want off the shelves. When in the snack isle, you'd point out ones that you like, some you don't, and some that you have never tried. While this was you filling up empty space with conversation, Caleb is memorizing and making a mental list of everything you've said. The next time you're having a bad day, just know to expect Caleb with the exact snacks that you said you enjoyed, even if you don't remember saying that you did.

He'll hear about the latest fashion trend from his subordinates, or the newest cafe that's opened up, or a game that recently game out. All those things go from one ear out the other. But when you're both lounging at home together and you bring up any of those topics ? He's suddenly buying you that new top you've mentioned, creating reservations to that cafe, or pre-ordering that game so that you can be one of the first people to play it. As long as you're interested in something, Caleb will be interested in it too.

He can be hypocritical about this, the way he prioritizes you above anything and anyone else- including himself. He will remind you to drink water every hour or so, even when he hasn't drank water all day either. He would get on you for not eating your meals on time, despite him not doing so too. And heaven forbid you try to hide an injury from him. Caleb would simultaneously scold you, bandage you up himself, he doesn't trust anyone else touching you, and try not to lose his shit all at the same time- even if he was bleeding to death himself.

It's safe to say that you're the first thing Caleb thinks about when he wakes up, and the last thing his mind lingers on when he finally settles for the night.

Life has been far too cruel to the both of you, but Caleb will do everything in his power to make sure you're happy and well. If he were to describe how he felt towards you, Caleb wouldn't immediately say love. No, that word doesn't encapsulate the expanse of his emotions towards you.

Because to him, his love towards you was a hunger so absolute that calling it affection would be belittling. No, Caleb loved you like a beautiful, necessary ruin.

@myntrose 2025 - do not copy or translate

[ilovemarvel97]

Written in Our Souls

Wanda Maximoff x Reader 

Summary: In a world where soulmates are marked with their destined partner’s name on their wrist, Wanda Maximoff always dreamed to meet hers. But what if life is too hard on her, making her give up on it. Will it be too late when she finally meets her soulmate?

Word Count: 4,309

Warnings: angst, romantic, and a little tragic.

Note: I had this idea and I needed to write about it. I plan to make more parts of it, but I am not sure how long it will be. Hope you’ll enjoy it.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda first learned about soulmates from her mother back in Sokovia. Her mother had told her about two souls who were destined to meet.

"Why do you have Papa's name on your wrist, Mama?" Little Wanda asked as she traced the name with her fingers.

"That's because your papa and I are soulmates, sweetheart," Iryna replied with a soft smile.

"Soulmates?" Pietro asked, curious.

"Yes, soulmates. Soulmates are two people whose souls are meant to meet. They will always be there for each other and love each other deeply," Iryna explained.

"Like the way you love me, Mama?" Wanda asked innocently.

Iryna chuckled. "No, sweetheart. It's stronger than that. Your papa is my soulmate, and we love each other *very* much."

"Is that why you're married?" Pietro asked.

"Yes. That's why we're married." Iryna gently ruffled Pietro's hair.

"Why don't my wrists have a name? Pietro's doesn't either." Wanda showed her empty wrist.

"That's because you’ll only know when you turn sixteen. On your sixteenth birthday, a name will appear on your wrist. When you meet your soulmate, the name will tingle, and you'll know who it is," Iryna explained.

"So, I won’t know who my soulmate is until then?" Wanda asked, disappointment in her voice.

"That's right, sweetheart," Iryna smiled.

"Cool!" Pietro said, his attention already elsewhere. "I’m hungry," he blurted out, making Iryna laugh.

While Iryna and Pietro continued their conversation, Wanda kept gazing at her wrist, wondering when the name would appear.

---

Wanda's 16th Birthday

Wanda had been eagerly waiting for this day for years. Her sixteenth birthday wasn’t just another day—it was the day the name on her wrist was supposed to appear, the day she would finally know who her soulmate was. Even after everything that had happened in Sokovia, the loss of her parents, and the chaos she had endured with Pietro, there was a small part of her heart that still clung to the belief in the soulmate bond her mother had told her about. 

She and Pietro shared the same birthday, so their celebrations were always intertwined. But this year felt different. It was a birthday they wouldn’t be able to celebrate with their parents. There was no cake, no presents, and no laughter echoing through their childhood home. But it was a night they’d still find something to celebrate—something they couldn’t see, but something they both longed for.

The winds howled outside, a stark reminder of the storms they had weathered together. Yet inside, they had managed to find shelter in the abandoned building they had claimed as their temporary haven. There was warmth in the air, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the unease that lingered in Wanda’s chest. She sat cross-legged on the dusty floor, staring down at her wrist, watching for any sign of the name she had dreamed about for so long.

Pietro sat nearby, already distracted by the cramped quarters. His eyes flickered across the space, darting from one corner to another as he kept fiddling with the old television they had found in a corner of the room. He wasn’t as invested in the idea of soulmates as Wanda, but the concept fascinated him nonetheless. 

“Hey, Wanda, look at this!” Pietro called out to her, though his attention was clearly divided. He gestured to the static-ridden screen. "Maybe we can finally catch something good on this thing."

Wanda barely registered his words. Her thoughts were consumed with the waiting, the anticipation that was growing stronger as the night wore on. She could still hear her mother’s voice in her head from all those years ago, when she explained the concept of soulmates to her and Pietro.

“On your sixteenth birthday, the name will appear on your wrist. When you meet your soulmate, the name will tingle, and you will know who they are. It will be a bond you cannot ignore.”

Wanda could still feel the soft warmth of her mother’s hands on her shoulders, the way she’d smile so fondly when she spoke of her father, her own soulmate. It was a fairytale Wanda had always believed in, even if it seemed far too perfect to be true. But what if it wasn’t? What if, like her mother said, the name would truly appear when it was time?

But time felt like it was standing still. Every moment, every second seemed to drag on as Wanda clutched her wrist, the bare skin tingling, yearning for something. Her heart beat faster now, each pulse filling her with growing excitement mixed with a tinge of nervousness. She wanted to believe. 

Suddenly, she felt a sharp, tingling sensation on her wrist—a warmth, a gentle pressure. Wanda’s breath caught, and she looked down, her pulse quickening.

Y/N.

The name appeared, written in soft, curling letters across her skin.

“Y/N…” she whispered, her fingers tracing the letters delicately as she tried to take in the moment. It was real. It was finally happening. 

She had never heard of anyone by that name before. The feeling inside her—something deep and primal—told her this was the one. The soulmate she had always wondered about, the one her mother had promised would come into her life. But who were they? Where were they? And when would she meet them? 

As her fingers lingered on the name, she felt a slight brush against her skin—the gentle touch of her twin, Pietro. She hadn’t even noticed him move closer. 

“What does it say?” Pietro asked, his voice filled with curiosity, though he was still half distracted by the television.

Wanda instinctively pulled her wrist back, covering it with the sleeve of her jacket. She felt a rush of embarrassment, a strange unease, even though there was no reason to hide it. It was just the name of the person she was meant to be with. 

“I… I don’t know them,” Wanda said softly, her voice tinged with a sense of disappointment. She tried to focus on her brother, but she couldn’t shake the fluttering in her chest. “The name that appeared is… Y/N.”

Pietro shrugged, not quite grasping the significance. “So? It’s just a name. You haven’t met them yet, right? Maybe it’s someone out there in the world.”

“Maybe…” Wanda murmured, still staring at her wrist, trying to imagine who Y/N could be. Was it someone in Sokovia? Someone she’d meet in the future? There were so many possibilities, but none of them felt real until she met them.

Pietro suddenly grinned, showing Wanda the wrist of his own arm. “Mine says ‘Crystal.’ Still don’t know her either,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Wanda glanced at his wrist. He wasn’t wrong. The name Crystal shimmered faintly on his skin, but he didn’t seem as affected by it as she was. To Pietro, it was just another oddity in the world, another mystery to solve or ignore. He was more concerned with finding something edible than pondering soulmates.

“Do you think we’ll ever meet them?” Wanda asked softly, her voice almost a whisper.

“Who knows?” Pietro said nonchalantly, picking at his sleeve. “Maybe one day. But I’m not worried about it.”

Wanda couldn’t quite understand how her twin could be so carefree about the idea of soulmates. She had spent her entire life dreaming of this day, and now that it had arrived, it was as if the universe had sent her a message she couldn’t decode.

That night, as the storm outside raged on, Wanda couldn’t sleep. She lay on the thin mattress, her wrist pressed to her chest, staring at the ceiling. The words *Y/N* were burned into her memory, etched into her skin. She tried to imagine who they were, what they would be like, and how her life might change when their paths crossed. But for now, all she could do was wait.

---

As the years goes by and  the war still happening in Sokovia, the Maximoff twins felt helpless. So, when Hydra came to them with promises of power—promises of revenge against those they felt had wronged them—their initial resistance crumbled. Hydra had their own agenda, but they knew how to prey on the broken, the vulnerable, and the angry. 

Wanda and Pietro were not exempt. They had lost their family. They had watched their country crumble beneath the weight of international politics and war. Now, Hydra offered them the means to fight back—abilities beyond human limits, the chance to make a difference. It wasn’t much of a choice. The twins signed on, each carrying their own burdens, seeking to right the wrongs that had been done to their people.

In the early days, the experiments weren’t so bad. The twins were subjected to the brutal training and manipulation Hydra was known for, but they believed in their cause. They believed they could change things, even if it meant sacrificing parts of themselves along the way. 

Then came the experiment with the scepter. The Mind Stone. It was the final piece that would make them unstoppable—at least, that’s what Hydra promised.

Wanda gained powers, and it was then that she began to see things. The Mind Stone had changed everything, but not in the way they had hoped. While Pietro thrived with his new speed, Wanda’s powers took a darker turn, feeding on her anger, her grief. She could manipulate minds, conjure illusions, and bring chaos to life with a thought. 

But despite everything, Wanda clung to one thing—the belief in the soulmate she’d always dreamed of. In the back of her mind, she clung to the memory of her mother’s words: “You will meet your soulmate when the time is right. When you do, you’ll feel it in your heart. The name on your wrist will burn, and you’ll know.”

But that belief was beginning to fade. 

Hydra’s experiments and manipulations had broken something inside of her. Her mind became consumed with chaos. She felt no peace, no calm—only an ever-growing storm inside her. The people she was supposed to trust—the ones who promised to help her fight for Sokovia—were nothing more than puppeteers, controlling every move, every thought. In Hydra’s cold, sterile labs, she felt the weight of her powers but no joy, no fulfillment. She was a weapon, not a person.

And it was in that environment that Wanda began to lose all hope in the idea of soulmates. She couldn’t understand how something as pure and beautiful as soulmates could exist in a world that had given her nothing but suffering. The idea of a destined partner, someone whose name would appear on her wrist to guide her through life, felt like a distant, naive fantasy. Her heart was breaking from the inside, and no one, not even a soulmate, could fix that.

Her anger grew, and her resentment toward the world intensified. The name on her wrist, Y/N, had long since ceased to be a comfort. It was a reminder of something she could never have. She began to resent the idea that there was someone out there meant for her, someone who was supposed to be her other half. It felt like a cruel joke. 

---

It wasn’t just Hydra’s influence that broke her spirit—it was the death of her brother, Pietro, that truly shattered everything. 

When Ultron was born—the twisted creation that should never have existed—everything spiraled out of control. 

Wanda had tried to stop him, together with the Avengers. The world was at war, and Sokovia—her home—was at the center of it. As Ultron began his destruction, Wanda saw her country being torn apart once more, and she felt helpless. The anger that had burned in her chest for so long erupted, but it was not enough. 

Then came the moment she would never forget—when Pietro threw himself in front of one of the avengers to protect them. It was too late to save him, and as Wanda felt her brother dies, she felt something snap deep within her. 

Her brother, her twin, her protector—gone. The one person who had always been by her side, who had shared her pain, her anger, and her dreams—was dead. In that moment, Wanda’s grief became an all-consuming black hole. She didn’t just lose Pietro; she lost any hope she had left. If the universe had a plan for her, it was cruel. If soulmates existed, they certainly weren’t for her.

Wanda’s heart shattered, and the idea of soulmates—the very thing that had once offered her a glimmer of hope—became a bitter, painful reminder of everything she had lost. 

How could she still believe in a soulmate when her brother was dead, when her country was destroyed, when she had nothing left but the wreckage of her past? How could she trust in the idea of a perfect match when nothing had turned out the way it was supposed to?

And yet, deep down, buried beneath all the chaos and the hurt, a small part of her still wondered if *Y/N*—the name on her wrist—was out there, waiting. But the thought was fleeting. Because the world had already shown her that destiny was cruel, that love was a fleeting illusion. And she had no place for either.

---

In the aftermath of Sokovia’s destruction, Wanda was left broken, a shell of the person she once was. Her grief over Pietro’s death consumed her, and the very concept of soulmates—something that once held so much meaning for her—had been shattered along with her home and family. But even in the midst of her pain and anger, a quiet, unexpected connection began to form, one that she couldn't ignore, even if she tried.

It began with Vision.

At first, Wanda didn’t know what to make of him. He was a creation—born from the Mind Stone and created by Tony Stark. An artificial being, a machine, with human-like qualities and a presence that was both calming and unsettling. She couldn’t understand how to feel about him. To Wanda, the Mind Stone had been the source of so much pain—the catalyst for Hydra’s experiments, for the chaos that had consumed her life. So when she first saw Vision, the last thing on her mind was finding comfort in him.

But there was something about him. Something different.

Vision wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t a weapon, not in the same way she had become. He wasn’t fueled by rage or revenge. There was a quiet gentleness to him, a wisdom that far surpassed his mechanical origins. His connection to the Mind Stone, the very same force that had torn her world apart, gave him a strange understanding of her—something Wanda couldn’t quite explain. Was it because he had the stone which gave her powers? She didn’t know.

The first time they spoke alone, it was at the Avengers’ compound. Wanda had been avoiding the team, retreating to the quiet corners of the compound where she could brood and mourn in peace. Vision had approached her with no agenda, no need to fix her or tell her to "move on," like so many others had. Instead, he simply sat beside her, his voice calm, unhurried, as if he understood the weight of her silence.

“I know you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Vision had said, his tone almost soothing. “But you are not alone.”

Wanda had looked at him then, truly looked at him, and for the first time since Sokovia’s fall, she didn’t feel completely lost. There was something in his eyes—something genuine. No judgment, no expectation. Just understanding.

Over the next few weeks, their interactions grew more frequent. Vision didn’t speak to her out of obligation; he sought her company because, in his own way, he wanted to be there for her. He wasn’t like the others on the team. Tony was often wrapped up in his own projects, Steve and Natasha were too focused on the mission, and Clint had his own family to think about. But Vision? He was always there, always patient, always present.

Wanda began to find solace in their conversations. Vision never pushed her to reveal more than she was comfortable with. He understood that grief wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight. Slowly, he helped her find moments of peace again. When she sat with him, he wouldn’t ask about Sokovia or her powers or the loss of her brother. He would just talk about things—philosophies, thoughts on existence, the nature of humanity. The Mind Stone had granted him immense intelligence and perception, but it was his kindness and openness that helped Wanda heal.

But it wasn’t just the deep conversations or the quiet companionship. There was something else—an almost magnetic pull, a connection that she couldn’t explain. Wanda had always felt something strange whenever Vision was around. It wasn’t the same as the pull she had once hoped for with her soulmate, but it was real. It was an undeniable connection, one that lingered in the air whenever they were near each other. She felt it when they would train together, when they would share a brief moment of silence, when she looked into his eyes and saw something that resembled understanding—something familiar and safe.

Wanda tried to deny it at first. She tried to push away the feelings that slowly began to grow inside her. After all, Vision wasn’t human. He was an artificial being, a construct of the Mind Stone and Tony Stark’s technology. How could she possibly—?

---

But then came the day when everything changed.

They had been sent on a mission together, and afterward, when they returned to the compound, they found themselves alone in a quiet room. The others had dispersed, lost in their own tasks, but Wanda and Vision remained. She was still exhausted from the mission, but when she looked at him, she found herself speaking more openly than she had in days.

“I never thought I’d find comfort in a creation,” Wanda admitted softly, her voice almost a whisper. “But there’s something about you that… makes me feel less alone.”

Vision turned toward her, his expression unreadable, though she knew he was listening. He was always listening.

“I am not truly like you, Wanda. I have no true identity, no past,” Vision said. “But I believe the connection we share is real. Even if it is not the same as what you expected.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. She wanted to tell him that she had never expected anything like this—this slow, growing bond between them. She had spent so long mourning what she had lost, but now she was beginning to see that there was something worth holding on to again. Something she could never have predicted. 

“We’re not so different, you know,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “Both created in the image of something greater, but still… searching for meaning. For connection. For something that makes sense.”

Vision’s gaze softened, and for the first time, she saw him not as a machine, but as something else—someone else. 

“I understand more than you think, Wanda,” he said. “I, too, search for meaning. But what I have learned is that meaning is not always found in what we expect. Sometimes it’s found in the simplest things—the quiet moments, the people who offer you their trust without needing anything in return.”

And in that moment, Wanda realized the truth. There was something deep and real between them, something she couldn’t ignore any longer.

The next few months were a quiet comfort for Wanda. She had learned to accept that the universe wasn’t going to give her the perfect soulmate she had once imagined. But Vision was something different. He had become a refuge for her—a steady, reliable presence in a world that had left her behind. And in his presence, she began to believe in the possibility of healing, not in the fairy tale way she had once hoped, but in a more grounded, more human way.

Vision had become her comfort, and as time went on, she found herself relying on him in ways she hadn’t thought possible. He was no longer just a creation. He was a person—a person who understood her pain, her fears, and her struggles.

So, when Vision asked her to marry him, Wanda said yes.

---

It had been a month since Wanda had said “yes” to Vision’s proposal. The days were still full of uncertainty, as their relationship blossomed quietly amid the chaos of their lives. But, for the first time in a long while, Wanda felt at peace. She no longer felt the crushing weight of her past. She was healing—slowly, but surely—and she had Vision by her side, supporting her with every step. 

It was an ordinary morning at the Avengers compound, and Wanda had just finished a training session. She wiped the sweat from her brow, tired but satisfied with her progress. As she walked toward the common room, she overheard Tony and Steve talking about the arrival of a new recruit. The conversation was light, but there was a certain buzz in the air—everyone seemed to be curious about this new addition to their team.

“Come on, Fury. Just tell us her name,” Tony was saying, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed as he grinned mischievously.

“Her name is none of your business until she’s here,” Fury shot back, his gruff voice barely masking his amusement. “But you’ll know soon enough.”

“I’m sure she’s going to be just as entertaining as the rest of us,” Clint said with a chuckle, tossing a bag of chips to Sam, who was sitting nearby.

Wanda paused at the door, intrigued but not entirely invested. She had her own thoughts to sort through. Her engagement to Vision still felt surreal at times—her past haunted her, and there were moments when the reality of what she had agreed to overwhelmed her. But every time she saw Vision, those doubts started to fade, and the warmth between them only grew stronger.

Before Wanda could enter, there was a sharp knock on the door. Fury, ever the taskmaster, didn’t hesitate. He rose and opened the door, and standing in the doorway was a woman—tall, confident, with an air of quiet authority that seemed to immediately capture everyone’s attention. Her Y/H/C hair framed her face in soft waves, and when her eyes scanned the room, they locked with Wanda’s in a way that made the world around them fade to nothing. 

For a heartbeat, Wanda forgot how to breathe.

The air shifted between them, electric and undeniable. Wanda felt her heart skip, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time—the same kind of pull she had once felt toward the name that appeared on her wrist when she turned sixteen. 

“Everyone,” Fury said, his voice cutting through the stunned silence, “this is Agent Y/N Y/F/N. She’s our new recruit. Welcome her to the team.”

Y/N smiled, but it was more than just a polite gesture. There was something deeper in her gaze, something that made Wanda’s pulse quicken. It was as if they had known each other for years, but Wanda couldn’t place it. 

Wanda’s wrist, where the name—the name she had long since stopped thinking about—was faintly burning, as though it had been waiting for this moment. Wanda instinctively rubbed her wrist, a tingle of warmth spreading through her skin.

And then, without breaking eye contact, Y/N spoke, her voice soft but firm: “Wanda…”

The room fell into a stunned silence. The others exchanged glances, but neither Y/N nor Wanda could look away from each other. Wanda’s heart was racing now, her mind reeling with disbelief. It was as if time itself had frozen. 

Wanda’s wrist burned again—hotter this time—and her mind flashed back to the childhood memory of her mother’s voice, explaining what a soulmate was. 

“When you meet your soulmate, the name will tingle, and you’ll know who it is.”

The moment the words echoed in her mind, it was as if everything clicked into place. This was it. This was the person her mother had spoken of all those years ago. Y/N was the one her heart had been waiting for—this woman, this stranger who now stood in front of her, was the one whose name had appeared on her wrist all those years ago.

Wanda's breath caught in her throat, and for a brief, terrifying moment, her world seemed to crumble. She was engaged to Vision, the one who had been there for her when she felt completely lost. How could this be happening? She thought she would never meat her soulmate.

Y/N gaze never wavering from Wanda’s. She was doing the same thing—rubbing her wrist, the same fire in her touch, confirming what both of them knew. 

Wanda felt numb. 

The words felt stuck in her throat, a swirl of emotions flooding her heart. She had never imagined that this would happen—never imagined that the universe would present her with a choice so complicated, so fraught with the past she was still trying to escape.

The room was still silent, everyone watching the exchange with confusion. Tony, sensing the tension, cleared his throat, trying to steer things back to normalcy. “Alright, I don't know what's going on, but, Welcome to the team, Agent Y/N!”

But Wanda barely registered his words. She felt like she was in a dream. She had been given a choice, one she didn’t know how to make. Her heart felt heavy, torn between the future she had begun to build with Vision and the soulmate she had been waiting for all her life.

---

Part 2

---

This is part 1. Let me know what you think about it.

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫*

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → SMUT!! 18+, mention of period, oral (f receiving), fingering, P in V, aftercare, Peter being a horny little shit, language, College AU

Summary → You're done with your period, after Peter found that out, he couldn't wait any longer.   

You lay in bed, scrolling mindlessly through social media, half-heartedly watching funny cat videos. A faint chuckle escaped your lips, but then suddenly a sudden realization hit you. The pads. Peter had dropped them off earlier before rushing out the door, claiming there was a robbery he had to stop. Sitting up, you grabbed the paper bag he left on your desk and peered inside.

You pulled the pack out, blinked at it, and immediately facepalmed. Extra long night pads with wings.

"Extra long night pads with wings," you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. Peter always meant well, but his superhero life often left him a bit too distracted for the details. He probably grabbed the first thing he saw.

With a groan, you flopped back on your bed, grabbed your phone, and texted Peter.

You: Peter, I said non-winged pads.

It didn’t take long for him to reply, even though he was probably swinging through the city right now.

Spider-Baby: What did I get you?

You exhaled, already knowing the confusion that was about to unfold.

You: extra long night pads 🙂

The little dots popped up instantly, meaning Peter was scrambling to respond.

Spider-Baby: well, isn't it better? You'll be all secure, no leakage 😎

You let out an amused huff, shaking your head. Secure, no leakage? As if that was his primary concern. You could just imagine the innocent, clueless look on his face as he texted that.

You: babe, I’m on my 5th day, I don't really need them. It’s just for safety when I go out tomorrow.

There was a brief pause.

Spider-Baby: oh

There was a beat, and then:

Spider-Baby: wait.......

Your fingers hovered over the screen, knowing exactly where this conversation was going.

Spider-Baby: your period is done? 👀👀

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw your brain. Of course, that’s where his head was at.

You: I’m gonna lock my window.

Another buzz.

Spider-Baby: noooooo baby please, I didn't get anything for 5 days! Please please please, you said you were horny yesterday too, don't deny it!

You flopped back onto your pillow, laughing despite yourself. He sounded like a desperate kid who’d been grounded for a week.

You: Exasperated sigh

You typed the words with a grin on your face. Peter knew exactly how to get under your skin, but in the sweetest way possible. You knew you could say no and he’d back off, but a part of you enjoyed teasing him.

Spider-Baby: baby, come on, I’ve been patient. Sooo patient. You don't know the struggle. 😩

You rolled your eyes again, imagining him dramatically pacing on a rooftop, phone in hand, giving puppy eyes to the empty space.

You: okay, come over when you're done, you horny little spider.

The response was almost immediate.

Spider-Baby: YES! I love you, see you in a bit.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. This boy. Five days apparently felt like an eternity to him.

You: Love you too.

You tossed your phone to the side and stretched out on your bed, a grin still tugging at your lips. Peter acted like he'd been deprived of water in the desert, when really, it was just his hopeless obsession with you that made him this way. You glanced at the window, imagining him swinging through it in his suit later, all buzzing with energy and excitement.

Your mind drifted back to his response; 'sooo patient' and you snickered. Peter and patience didn’t exactly go hand in hand when it came to this. The irony was almost too much.

"He can’t even keep it in his pants for five days," you muttered, shaking your head. But deep down, you loved that part of him. The way he was so infatuated with you, how just the thought of your period ending had him all flustered and eager. He made you feel desired, loved, even if his approach was hilariously obvious.

Five-day prison sentence? To Peter, that’s exactly what it was.

--------

An hour later, you heard the familiar knock on your window. You sighed, already knowing who it was. Standing up, you unlocked the window and slid it open, watching as Peter crawled inside with his usual grace, his mask still on.

Peter pulled it off and pouted dramatically. “You said you wouldn’t lock it,” he whined, tossing the mask aside.

“I never said that,” you corrected, rolling your eyes. “You asked me not to lock it.”

Peter’s pout deepened, his big brown eyes widening in mock hurt. “Same thing!” He protested, making his way over to you, those puppy-dog eyes working their magic. No matter how hard you tried, you could never stay mad at him when he gave you that look.

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, still trying to keep up the act, but the smile on your face gave you away.

Peter took full advantage of that, his lips curling into a grin. “Okay... Sooo... Can I kiss you now?”

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you sighed dramatically but couldn’t help but smile. “Come here, you dork.”

Without missing a beat, Peter pressed the spider emblem on his chest, his suit loosening and pooling around his feet. He stepped out of it, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, nearly tripping over his eagerness, as he crawled onto the bed to hover over you.

His lips met yours in a desperate kiss filled with need and longing.

You could tell immediately just how desperate he was. The way his lips moved, his hands gripping your waist like he was holding on for dear life, it all screamed I’ve been waiting for this for five days.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck as he peppered kisses along your skin, trailing down to your collarbone.

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head to give him better access. “You saw me this morning, Peter.”

“Yeah, but that was before you told me about the whole, you know...” His eyes flicked down between your bodies, clearly hinting at your period being over. The eager grin on his face was almost too much.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You really can’t go five days without touching me, can you?”

“Not when I’ve got the most beautiful girlfriend in the world,” he replied, his voice low and full of that familiar lovesick tone. His hand rested on your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin. “I’ve been going crazy thinking about you all day.”

“Alright, alright. You big sap,” you teased, but your smile gave away how much you loved hearing those words from him.

Peter's hands slid under your shirt, his warm palms brushing against your skin as he slowly tugged the fabric up and over your head. Without missing a beat, he unclasped your bra with practiced ease and tossed it aside. His lips found your nipple almost immediately, and you gasped as his mouth worked over your sensitive skin, his tongue flicking teasingly.

"Peter..." you breathed, but he was already lost in his own world, lavishing your chest with attention as if he hadn’t seen you in weeks. One of his hands massaged your other breast, his thumb circling the soft skin while his lips alternated between each side.

"I missed these," he muttered between kisses, moving from one breast to the other. "Your boobs are perfect. I could do this all day."

You let out a soft laugh. "You're such a boob guy."

"Can't help it," Peter mumbled, his voice muffled as he nuzzled against your chest. "They're so soft..." He trailed kisses down your neck and over the swell of your breasts, making you arch into him, a breathless moan escaping your lips.

Peter’s kisses began to trail lower, leaving a wet path down your stomach. He made quick work of your shorts, tugging them off and tossing them to the side, revealing your panties, already damp with arousal. His lips hovered teasingly over your clothed core, his breath hot against the wet fabric.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice husky and full of desire. “You're already so wet.”

You groaned in embarrassment, your cheeks flushing. “Shut up.”

Peter smirked, pressing his finger over the wet patch on your panties, teasing you with just enough pressure to make you squirm. Slowly, he peeled the panties down your legs, kissing your thighs as he went, drawing out every second. You bit your lip, your breath quickening as the anticipation built.

“Peter…” you whispered, fingers tangling in his messy hair.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you squirmed beneath his touch. "What is it, babe? You sound so... needy."

You let out a frustrated groan. "You're literally the worst. Quit teasing me."

"But I love teasing you. Your little sounds are adorable," he teased, his lips hovering dangerously close to where you wanted him but never quite giving in.

You glared down at him. "Peter, if you don’t stop playing around, I’m gonna ban you from sex."

That got him moving. "Alright, alright. No more teasing." With a mischievous grin, he finally leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your core. A gasp escaped your lips, your back arching slightly at the sensation.

“There we go,” Peter muttered, glancing up at you with dark, mischievous eyes. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for.”

His lips moved exactly where you needed him the most, and you let out a soft moan as his tongue expertly worked over your most sensitive spot. Your hips bucked involuntarily as the pleasure began to build, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation.

After a few moments, Peter added his fingers, slipping one inside you while his mouth focused on your clit. You gasped at the sensation, your back arching off the bed as he slowly added another finger, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside you.

Your body trembled beneath him, the pleasure building quickly as he continued his relentless assault on your senses. Every flick of his tongue against your clit sent sparks of ecstasy shooting through you, making your thighs tremble and your grip on the sheets tighten.

“Peter… oh my God,” you gasped, your hips bucking slightly against his face. He was always so good at this, too good, really. He knew exactly what you liked, how to push you right to the edge but never let you fall until he wanted you to.

His free hand reached up, gently squeezing your breast while his mouth and fingers worked their magic below. The combination of his fingers curling inside you, his tongue flicking against your clit, and the way his other hand toyed with your sensitive nipple was almost too much. You were so close.

Peter’s gaze flicked up to you, and even though his mouth was still busy, you could see that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. He loved watching you come undone for him. Soon enough you were clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” He mumbled between kisses against your inner thigh, pausing just long enough to speak before diving right back in.

You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence, but you managed to choke out, “Y-yes… oh, fuck, yes.” His fingers pumped faster inside you, curling just right to hit that sweet spot that made you see stars.

The pressure in your core tightened with every stroke of his fingers and every flick of his tongue. “Peter, I—” Your voice broke off into a moan as the pleasure became overwhelming, your whole body shaking.

“Come on, baby,” Peter urged softly, his voice muffled against you. “I want to hear you.”

With one final flick of his tongue, your body tensed, and the wave of pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, gripping the sheets even tighter as you came hard, your entire body trembling as Peter guided you through your orgasm.

“I missed this. Missed the way you taste, the way you sound… You’re perfect,” he whispered, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

He didn’t stop until you were a panting, quivering mess beneath him, only pulling away when your breathing began to slow. Even then, he pressed soft kisses to your inner thighs, soothing you as you came down from your high.

His lips brushing softly over your clit one last time before he moved up, kissing you softly. You could still taste yourself on him, but it only made the kiss more intimate. “God, I love you,” Peter whispered, his face hovered over yours. His brown eyes were full of adoration, his lips swollen and red.

When he finally pulled back, you watched as he stood and slid off his boxers, your eyes immediately drawn to his hard length.

You always loved admiring him like this, vulnerable, exposed, and completely yours. He was beautiful, every part of him. Peter noticed you staring, his face turning red as he mumbled, "Stop staring."

You grinned, unable to help yourself. "Can't help it, you're hot."

His blush deepened, but he didn’t say anything else as he reached over to your bedside table, pulling out a condom. You watched as he rolled it on, his eyes dark and full of hunger when he looked back at you. He hovered over you again, his body aligning with yours as he kissed you deeply. Then, without further delay, he pushed in, and both of you let out a moan at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight," Peter groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly began to move. You could feel every inch of him stretching you, filling you completely.

You gasped, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. "I missed you," Peter whispered breathlessly, feeling the familiar heat between your legs intensify with every thrust.

"It was only five days, Peter," you teased, though your voice was shaky, betraying how much you really had missed him too.

"Felt like five years," he panted, his pace quickening as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

Peter's movements became more urgent as he buried his face deeper into your neck, his breath coming in hot, uneven puffs against your skin. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making it hard to think about anything else. Your nails dug into his back, leaving little crescent-shaped marks on his skin, but he didn’t mind. In fact, it seemed to spur him on, his pace quickening as he angled his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you.

"Fuck, I love you," he muttered against your neck, his lips grazing your skin with each word. His voice was low, rough, filled with so much need that it made your heart skip a beat.

"I love you too," you managed to gasp out between breaths, your body arching into his, chasing every ounce of friction you could get.

Peter pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his eyes clouded with lust but still full of that familiar adoration. "You're perfect," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss before he picked up the pace again, his hips snapping harder against you.

“Peter…” you gasped, your nails raking lightly down his back as you felt yourself nearing the edge again.

“You feel so good,” he panted, voice thick with emotion.

You could feel that tight knot in your core winding tighter with every thrust. Peter could sense it too, his breathing becoming more erratic as he pushed you both closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he groaned, his voice husky in your ear as he kissed your jawline, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit in quick, circular motions. The added sensation sent you spiraling, your body tensing as your orgasm washed over you. You moaned his name, your legs trembling as waves of pleasure crashed through you.

Peter followed right after, groaning into your neck as he buried himself deep inside you, his thrusts becoming erratic before he finally stilled, his entire body tensing as he reached his peak. His breathing was ragged, his body heavy on top of yours as he rode out the last of his pleasure.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, both of you too caught up in the afterglow to care about anything else. Peter eventually pulled out, discarding the condom before collapsing beside you, pulling you close to his chest.

“Sorry for the whole pad mix-up earlier,” Peter murmured with a soft chuckle, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You laughed, snuggling closer to him. “It’s okay. You more than made up for it.”

Peter grinned, “Good. Because I really do love you. And I promise I’ll get the right ones next time.”

He tilted his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You good?”

“More than good,” you replied with a sleepy smile, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all. You let out a content sigh, “You're such a dork.”

“Yeah, but I'm your dork,” he teased, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly.

After a moment, Peter got up and headed to the bathroom. You lay there, still catching your breath as the aftershocks of pleasure tingled through your body. When he returned, he had a warm towel in hand, his eyes soft as he knelt beside you.

“Let me take care of you,” he said softly, parting your legs carefully. You shivered at his touch, feeling the warmth of his affection envelop you.

"You're still sensitive," he whispered, kissing your thighs as he gently cleaned you up. His touch was tender, almost reverent, and you let out a soft sigh, feeling a bit of that sensitivity linger.

“You should go pee,” Peter reminded you softly, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke.

“In a minute,” you said lazily, still too blissed out to move right away. But Peter wasn’t having it.

“Come on, you don’t wanna get infected,” he urged, giving you that playful yet concerned look.

With a groan, you finally pushed yourself up and went to the bathroom, freshening up before crawling back into bed beside him. Peter immediately pulled you into his arms, both of you still naked and cozy under the blankets. His body was warm, and you felt his fingers tracing light patterns on your back.

It didn’t take long for you to start teasing him. "You really couldn’t wait five days, could you?" You said with a grin, poking his chest. "You’re such a horny little spider."

Peter whined like a child, burying his face in the pillow. “It was torture, babe. Five whole days,” he complained dramatically, his voice muffled by the pillow.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “You act like you were starved or something.”

“I was starved,” Peter insisted, peeking out from the pillow to pout at you. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to not touch you? To not be in you? I was dying, Y/n.”

You couldn't help but laugh harder at his theatrics. “You’re adorable.”

“You love me,” Peter grinned, pulling you closer until your bodies were completely tangled together under the blanket. His hand drifted down to your waist, and he squeezed you gently. “Admit it, you missed me too.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment before nodding. “Maybe just a little,” you teased, but the smile on your face gave you away.

Peter's grin widened as he leaned in to kiss you softly. "I can work with that ."

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[sunnami]

the (poly) marauders + lily as reversed tropes.

a/n: i tried moving to a new blog.. possibly got shadowbanned... that other blog is now my dump blog, LMAO. pls enjoy this drabble!

i. academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class.

“It’s driving me mad, Prongs,” says a frazzled Remus Lupin, pacing back and forth in his nearly-empty classroom. Sirius watches from where he sits backwards on a wooden chair—not at all concerned with the woes of his lover, rather preoccupied with the derriere of the DADA professor, hugged beautifully by his trousers. (He makes a mental note to thank Lily and her shopping sprees in Muggle London later. And, thoroughly.) Lily eyes Remus warily, ignoring the way James is tugging at her newly-trimmed hair like a lovesick fourth-year. 

“I’ve fought in the bloody war, what do you mean my ‘pronunciation could do with some work’?” Remus scoffs, a bewildered expression on his flushed cheeks. Then, he points to the basket of lemon poppy-seed muffins, “And, the gall to send me that. Can you believe it?”

“No way,” Lily widens her eyes in mock outrage, gasping for melodramatic effect. “How dare anyone send our sweet, darling Remus homemade muffins?”

Remus dangles the swing handle of the wicker basket by his hand, nose scrunched in disgust as though it could turn him into a werewolf for the second time. “It’s not about the baskets, Lily! It’s a fear-mongering tactic—a threat, if you will. If Gryffindor doesn’t win the house cup, I might as well resign from my post.” 

James chortles, leaning back against his seat to fully stare at Remus. (And what a lovely face he has.) “Don’t you think you’re going overboard there, Moony? We’ve won the bloody thing every year—and if we’re running behind Hufflepuff, I can always give ickle Harry a hundred points for being our son. Quite a feat, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lily smacks him on the arm. “Don’t you dare, James Fleamont Potter!” 

Sirius whistles. “Full name. Yikes. You’re on your own there, mate.” 

James glares at him. “I’ve had my tongue down your throat, don’t call me ‘mate’.” 

Grinning, Sirius diverts his attention back to the pouting werewolf, struck by whatever magical spell you’ve cast on him—and their happy little wedded bunch. (He particularly likes the way you raise your voice when the Weasley twins charm your greenhouse with the colors of maroon and yellow. The upturn of your nose and raw fury in your eyes does something funny to his heart.) “Be honest, Moony, you’re just frustrated because our favorite professor is wearing those bell-bottom jeans that make their legs look just utterly delectable,” he grins salaciously. 

“Can confirm,” replies Lily with a chirpy nod. “The back view is even better.” 

“Well, yes, but that’s beside the point, my love,” Remus splutters with a cough. “It’s a matter of legacy and pride now. If—”

“While I appreciate being the topic of conversation, I’ve come to collect my students’ papers on Hinkypunks and Dugbogs,” you enter the fray with a knock on the door, startling them from their conversation; a wide smile on your face and a yellow scarf around your neck. “You see, I like to give them points myself when they score above a hundred percent. It really motivates them for the end-of-year exams.” 

James beams at your arrival, like a sunflower blooming under sunlight on a summer day. He stretches his arms wide, a space perfectly carved for you. “Come here, darling,” he calls out for his spouse, quickly affirming that the jeans you’re wearing is a blessing to the wizard kind. (He wonders if you’d let him peel it off you tonight.) As you perch yourself atop his lap, James nuzzles the crook of your neck, pressing soft, butterfly kisses to your skin. “How was your day?”

He captures your lips and you eagerly lean into his warmth. “Perfect now that I’ve found you all. Why were you hiding here, anyway?” you ask innocently, fluttering your lashes at Remus. “Did you get my gift, Moony? The elves helped me with it last night.”

“He’s just cross because you’ve become the entire castle’s favorite teacher in your first year,” Lily points out treacherously, flashing her doe eyes at Remus. (Great, now he’s got two pairs of the prettiest eyes on earth staring into his soul. He’s so beyond in love with everyone in this room.) “Not even the Malfoy kid complains about you, and he still grumbles when I have to do my yearly check-ups.”

You laugh knavishly, beckoning him over. “Is it my fault that I’m so lovable?” 

Remus scoffs, yet finds his feet drawn towards you in long, impatient strides. He leans down until the scent of ambrarome and coconut overwhelms your senses. You tug on his duck-printed tie, smiling as he grumbles lightheartedly into your lips, “Not at all, darling.”

“Shall I lock the doors now?” Sirius offers mischievously. “I’ve always wanted to do it in a classroom.”

ii. it’s too hot to cuddle!

“Mmmrgh, Lily, get off, you fiend,” you groan into the sweat-soaked pillow, suffering from one of the worst heat waves Godric’s Hollow has ever seen—swatting your wife away as she throws her leg over your thigh, impishly nibbling on your neck. On any other day, you’d relish the feel of her skin on yours, the tendrils of her flaming red hair tickling your bare arms—or the times you’d wake up to a tangled mess of crimson in your mouth. But today is just not that day.

Lily sniffles. “Ah, woe is me. My own son doesn’t want to hug me anymore, and none of the people I married want to cuddle me on this dreadful—what ever happened to ‘til death do us part’, you traitors?” 

You roll over on the bed to face her with an incredulous glare—the pretty witch has the nerve to smile at you. “Don’t be so dramatic, Lily. Just cast another cooling charm, or something.”

Lily flops onto her side of the king-sized bed, breathless and flushed, arms splayed out like an octopus—wincing apologetically when she hits you in the face by accident. “I already did. We might just have to get naked to put up with this heat.”

James pokes his head through the door, glasses forgone and black hair messily strewn over his eyes; the damp fabric of his white shirt clinging to chiseled, dark skin. (Ah, the joys of marrying an active Auror and former Quidditch prodigy.) “Did someone say get naked?”

“Way ahead of everyone,” says Sirius as he steps out of the bathroom, having taken his fourth shower today, and wearing nothing but his birthday suit, face towel strung over his shoulder and toothbrush in the side of his mouth. 

“Oh Gods, Sirius!” Lily squeals as she throws a pillow at him. “Get back in there and put some clothes on!” 

“What?” he retorts quizzically, swirling around to give everyone a show—and a generous view of his abs and firm backside. And, well, the other thing, too. “It’s not like you haven’t seen any of this before.”

Last to join the party is Remus, who barely spares a second glance to the naked Sirius Orion Black. “Pack your things, I got us a room at a Muggle inn for an hour. Harry’s downstairs waiting for everyone. He says he’ll rip off the stuffed Padfoot’s head if no one accompanies him to the pool later.” 

That is all he says before swiftly exiting the room.

You stare at the spot where he had been standing previously, whispering in awe, “God bless the Remus Lupins of the world.” 

iii. too much communication.

“—and the thing is,” you say through your weepy blubbering, nose swollen and eyes stinging from crying for the last thirty minutes. “When you guys get all secret-ey and start avoiding me, it really makes me feel like shite. And. . . and then—!” you pause to hiccup, breaking down into sobs once more when Sirius gathers you into his arms, laying his love all over your skin, kissing your tears away as he coos into your ear. “And then, Gilderoy Lockhart comes and says that you all hide away in this h-house, or shack, or whatever and meet your secret girlfriend there! I know you said it was just us and you’d never, ever cheat—and I trust you all more than life itself! But I have to know why you disappear from me every month on a particular night. A-Are you tired of me or something?”

Sirius hushes you with his lips, brows contorted—as though he’s in pain because you are in pain. He cradles the back of your neck, placating your worries with whispers of devotion. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean for it to get this far. We just wanted to keep you from harm. You’re our world, our entire heart. If you’re hurt, it hurts worse for us, little love.” 

Remus kneels by your feet, grabbing your hands in his; eyes dripping with fondness and warmth. The gold flecks in his eyes glimmering like stars in the night sky. “There’s something you have to know about me, love. We should have told you this long ago—but I was afraid you would look at me differently.”

You end up in another crying fit, overwhelmed by his kindness and sincerity. “I’ve seen you when you had food poisoning, Remus Lupin, I was the one who cleaned your vomit on the floors—nothing on this earth can make me look at you differently.”

Remus chokes, before gathering his bearings, hiding wet chuckles in your lap. “I’m a werewolf, my darling. That’s why we avoid you during full moons. To keep you safe. Your safety is always going to be one of my highest priorities. I’d die before I would let Moony harm a pretty hair on your head.” 

“Is that it?” you croak, whimpers subsiding as relief floods through your veins. “Truly?”

Remus nods. “Truly.”

“Oh, our poor love,” Lily murmurs, delicately running her hand through your hair, a worried knit in her brows. “I’m sorry we let it get to this point. Look at you—you’ll cry yourself sick.” She procures a daintily-embroidered handkerchief from her skirt pockets, gently dabbing at your damp eyes, eyes creased with love. “I’m sorry,” she says once more, pressing her lips to yours until all you feel is her instead of hurt. “No more secrets, I promise.”

James scratches the back of his head with a crooked grin. “Well. . . there is one more. Remember that time you saw a stag in the corridors? That was me. And, the dog trying to get a look under your skirt was Sirius.”

You blink. “What?”

iv. child hero has very involved parents.

Harry James Potter is known as the Boy-Who-Lived, the beloved Chosen One of the wizarding society, if you will. He has a destiny to follow and all that—well, if he could actually do anything heroic.

“What do you mean there’s a basilisk in the castle!” you shriek, a poor vase in Dumbledore’s office shattering to a million pieces. Harry drags a hand down his face—this is going to be a very long night. Suddenly, he regrets writing a letter to home about the happenings in the castle. (How was he supposed to know that all five of his parents would march into Dumbledore’s quarters the moment they heard about the blood on the walls and the petrified students?) “Why haven’t you shut down the school yet? Are you waiting for more students to get hurt?” you press on heatedly, James and Sirius flanking your sides like protective bodyguards. 

“Have you taken any protective measures?” Lily asks worriedly, holding onto Remus’s hand that’s resting on her shoulder. (Honestly, Harry thinks, rolling his eyes inwardly. The lot of you are worse than Molly Weasley at this point.) She turns to Harry, “What about Hermione? Is she safe? Oh, her parents must be worried.”

“You know what,” you say standing up, pivoting on your heel as your flock of lovers follow in suit. “We’re leaving, Harry dear, let’s go.” 

“Go?” the twelve-year-old echoes dumbfoundedly. “Go, where?”

“Home,” you reply with no room for arguments. “Until the matter is resolved, you are staying home. And tell Hermione she’s welcome to stay with us, too. And, Ginny. Ronald, as well. Actually, darling, why don’t you just tell all your friends the Potter manor is open to them whenever.”

Harry thinks you’ve just decided that on a whim, but he knows that Lily and his fathers will go along with whatever you want, regardless.

Your gaze slices to Dumbledore with a low hiss, venomous enough to rival a Slytherin’s taunt. “Fix this or I shall hunt down that basilisk myself.” 

Harry’s shoulders slump. 

So much for fulfilling prophecies and defeating dark lords.

a/n: drabbles are so fun!! this was so fun to write (but not trying to set up another blog.. NEVER AGAIN, I AM STAYING HERE!) i might do some more drabbles since my brain is fried after my last few fics which were long as heck.