Cameos in The Big Bang Theory
Season 1 - Episode 2 Part 3
Wilt chuckled—deep, low, vibrating through the mattress. "They set up your table. Gotta give 'em points for effort. And execution. No wobble, right?"
She peeked through her fingers, eyes narrowed. "I'm still pissed."
"Yeah." He reached over, tugged a strand of her messy hair gently. "But you're not wrong—they were trying to help. In their weird, creepy, boundary-violating way."
Penny groaned into her palms. "I hate when you're reasonable."
He tugged her down beside him properly this time, one arm sliding around her shoulders. He kissed her temple—soft, lingering. "Go yell at them some more later if you need to. Right now you've got better things to do."
She smirked despite herself, tension easing just a fraction from her shoulders. "Like what?"
"Like breakfast." He paused, grin turning wicked. "Or round two. Dealer's choice."
She laughed—short, surprised, the anger bleeding out a little more. "Rain check. I need coffee. And pants. And maybe therapy after this morning."
She rolled off the bed, grabbed jeans from the chair and a fresh tank from the dresser. As she dressed, she shot him one last look over her shoulder—half glare, half smile.
"You're lucky you're good in bed."
Wilt stretched lazily, arms over his head. "I know."
She shook her head, still simmering but less volcanic now, and headed out again—coffee on her mind, murder on hold. For the moment.
Halfway down the hall she ran into Raj.
He was coming up the stairs two at a time, balancing a cardboard coffee carrier with four to-go cups—probably the usual run to the place on the corner that gave them free refills if you brought your own mug. The second he spotted her he froze mid-step, one foot still hovering over the landing. Classic selective mutism kicked in hard: eyes wide behind his glasses, mouth clamped shut, whole body language screaming deer-in-headlights panic. The carrier trembled slightly in his grip.
Penny stopped short, sighed through her nose. "Hey, Raj."
He managed a tiny, awkward wave with his free hand—fingers barely moving—cheeks flushing a deep pink that crept up to his ears.
She leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed loosely over her chest, robe still tied tight. "So… your roommates broke into my apartment last night. Cleaned the whole place. Assembled my IKEA table. While I was asleep."
Raj's eyes got impossibly wider. He nodded once—slow, guilty—like he'd already heard the full story and was deeply, personally sorry for it. His shoulders hunched a little higher.
Penny kept going, more venting now than anything, voice low but steady. "I mean, it's sweet in a totally unhinged way. They didn't steal anything. Didn't creep on me or go through my drawers. Just… organized. Wiped counters. Alphabetized my books. But still. Boundaries, right? You can't just let yourself into someone's place because it's messy."
Raj nodded again—faster this time—sympathetic little head bobs, eyes locked on hers like he was trying to telepathically apologize for the entire group. He shifted his weight, coffee carrier crinkling faintly.
She looked at him—really looked. He couldn't talk, couldn't offer excuses or mansplain or deflect. He just stood there, listening. Actually listening. No interruptions, no nervous filler words, just quiet presence and those big, earnest eyes.
Penny's shoulders dropped another inch. The anger that had been simmering since she left Wilt's bed eased off a notch. "They were just trying to help," she said, softer now. "In the most Sheldon way possible. Which is to say… completely over the line, but not malicious."
Another nod—smaller, more understanding. The corner of his mouth twitched into a tiny, sympathetic smile.
She stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the coffee on him—strong, black, probably for Sheldon. "Thanks for listening, Raj. Seriously. You're the only one who didn't try to justify it yet."
Before he could react—or bolt—she pulled him into a quick hug. One arm around his shoulders, brief but warm, her cheek brushing his for half a second. Raj went stiff as a board, arms frozen at his sides for a beat, then he managed two awkward pats on her back—like he wasn't sure if that was allowed but figured he should try.
When she pulled away he looked dazed, eyes glassy, mouth slightly open like his brain had short-circuited. He blinked at her like he'd just won the lottery and didn't know what to do with the ticket.
Penny gave him a small, real smile—not the tight one she'd been wearing all morning. "Tell the guys I'm not gonna murder them. Yet."
Raj nodded vigorously—head bobbing so fast it looked like it might fly off—then scurried past her toward 4A like his shoes were on fire, coffee carrier sloshing slightly. He almost tripped on the last step but caught himself, disappearing around the corner without looking back.
Penny watched him go, shaking her head with a quiet huff of laughter. Then she turned and headed back toward her own door.
Leonard was already waiting outside it—alone this time. No Sheldon in sight. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, looking exactly like a kid sent to the principal's office for the third time that week. He straightened when he saw her coming.
"Penny," he started, voice low and earnest. "I'm really sorry. It was stupid. Invasive. Wrong on every level. I should've stopped him sooner. Or at all. I knew it was a bad idea the second we stepped inside, but… yeah. I went along anyway. That's on me."
She studied him. He looked miserable—genuinely miserable. Eyes down, cheeks pink, fidgeting like he expected her to yell again.
"I get it," she said finally, crossing her arms again but not as tight. "You guys are… you. Socially challenged super-geniuses who think reorganizing someone's apartment is the same as fixing a broken hard drive. But next time? Ask. Or knock. Or literally anything else that involves consent."
He nodded fast—almost comically eager. "Never again. Scout's honor."
"Were you even a scout?"
"No." He winced. "But the sentiment stands. Pinky swear. Blood oath. Whatever it takes."
Penny sighed—long, tired, but the edge was gone. "Okay. Forgiven. Mostly."
She opened her arms. Leonard hesitated for half a heartbeat—then stepped into the hug. It started awkward—elbows in weird places—but when she squeezed he relaxed, hugging back tighter than she expected. He smelled like coffee and laundry detergent and that faint nervous sweat of someone who'd been stressing for hours.
When they separated she jerked her thumb toward her door. "Come on. You and the others are helping me finish unpacking. No sneaking. No reorganizing. No tape measures. Just lifting boxes and following my orders."
Leonard perked up instantly, shoulders dropping with visible relief. "Deal."
Inside, Sheldon was already there—somehow—standing by the new table with a tape measure in one hand and a small notebook in the other, clearly mid-calculation.
Penny pointed immediately. "No. No measuring. No optimizing. No load-distribution spreadsheets. We're doing this the normal way."
Sheldon looked wounded, like she'd just outlawed physics. "But the optimal placement of the television mount requires—"
"No."
They spent the next two hours hauling boxes, stacking books, hanging clothes. The guys immediately overthought everything.
Leonard paused with a lamp in his hands: "Should the couch be angled at 23 degrees for optimal viewing angles based on the room's focal length?"
Sheldon, holding a stack of DVDs: "The television mount height should be calculated using the formula for viewer eye level minus one-third screen height plus—"
Penny cut them off mid-sentence: "Put it there. Just there. Done."
In the end, she did most of the actual assembly herself—screwdriver in hand, instructions crumpled on the floor in a ball—while the three of them stood around debating load-bearing capacity, feng shui implications, and whether the shelf brackets aligned with cardinal directions for "positive energy flow."
When the last shelf was up and the last box flattened and shoved into the recycling pile by the door, Penny stepped back, hands on her hips, surveying the room.
"Okay," she admitted, voice grudging but honest. "It looks… way better than yesterday. Thanks, guys. Even if you're insane."
Sheldon looked quietly pleased, notebook tucked under his arm. "Order has been restored."
Leonard smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're not that bad, right?"
Penny rolled her eyes, but it was fond this time—no heat behind it. "You're tolerable. On a good day."
She glanced at the clock on the wall—late afternoon, sun slanting low through the windows. Energy fading fast. She needed to decompress before she exploded again.
"I'm heading downstairs," she said, already turning toward the door. "See you nerds later."
Leonard looked curious, eyebrows lifting behind his glasses. "Downstairs?"
She just winked over her shoulder—quick, playful, no explanation—and kept walking, hips swaying just enough to make the point without trying too hard. The hallway lights buzzed overhead as she headed for the stairs, robe swapped for jeans and a fresh tank hours ago, but the flush from earlier still lingered on her cheeks and neck.
Wilt's door was unlocked—again. She didn't bother knocking. Pushed it open with her palm, stepped inside, kicked it shut behind her with a firm heel-click that echoed in the small entryway.
He was sprawled on the couch in gray sweatpants and nothing else, phone in one hand, thumb scrolling lazily. The TV was on mute—some sports recap flickering in the background—but he looked up the second the door closed. His grin spread slow, lazy, eyes darkening as he took her in: hair still a little messy, tank clinging in places, that determined look on her face that said she wasn't here to talk.
"Hey, neighbor."
Penny crossed the room in three long strides—no hesitation, no preamble—and shoved him back against the cushions with both hands on his chest. He let himself fall, laughing low and surprised, phone tumbling to the floor forgotten.
"Rough day?" he asked, voice already dropping an octave, hands coming up to her hips like they belonged there.
"Shut up."
She dropped to her knees between his spread legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants. Yanked them down just enough—cotton sliding over hips, cock springing free, already half-hard from the look on her face alone. Thick, dark, veins standing out under the skin. Familiar now. Heavy in her hand.
{Full R-18 Scene Wilt x Penny 1661 Full Word Count aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n}
Penny lay there—panting hard, face messy and glistening, chest rising and falling fast, legs still trembling over his shoulders. She scooped some cum with two fingers—slow, deliberate—brought them to her mouth, sucked them clean. Tongue swirling around her fingertips, swallowing with a soft, wet sound. Eyes locked on his the whole time—lazy, satisfied, a little wicked.
"Jesus Christ," Wilt muttered, half-laughing, half-wrecked, voice hoarse. "You're unreal."
She grinned—lazy, sated—wiped her face with the hem of her tank, smearing more than cleaning, leaving faint streaks on the fabric. "Worth it."
They cleaned up—quick shower together in his tiny bathroom. Hot water pounding down, steam filling the space. Soap sliding over skin—his hands soaping her back, her shoulders, between her legs with careful, gentle touches. Lazy kisses under the spray—no urgency, just rinsing away sweat and stickiness. Towels—rough, quick pats dry. He lent her a clean T-shirt—way too big, soft faded black cotton hitting mid-thigh—and a pair of his boxers that hung loose on her hips.
Penny kissed him slow at the door—lingering, soft—tasting soap and him, lips brushing his once, twice. "Thanks for the stress relief."
"Anytime, neighbor."
She slipped back upstairs—face still warm, body loose and heavy with satisfaction, legs a little shaky on the stairs, thighs slick and tender. The hallway was quiet, lights dimmed for the night.
Her apartment looked good—clean, organized, livable.
The guys were weird but harmless.
And Wilt was downstairs.
Life in Pasadena was definitely looking up.
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