#'any good suggestions today old man

[desertfangs]

Items in the Suggestion Box at Court that Marius will definitely pretend he did not see: • Night Club Blood Rave like in Blade • Talent Show • Vampire Baseball

[navybrat817]

Birthday Wish

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't want to make a big deal out of his birthday, but you want to make it special.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: Mutual crush, confessions, humor, light angst, fluff, reference to Bucky's past, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Happy birthday to Bucky and this is my first submission for @avengers-assemble-bingo (Card 4B 020 - Square 2 - Birthday Boy). ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t care to celebrate his birthday. What was there worth celebrating? It was just another day like any other, another year that he got older. Even then, his looks didn’t match his current age. It was strange to look in the mirror and have the appearance of someone so much younger when he was born in 1917. He should’ve been old.

He should’ve left this world a long time ago.

While he was thankful for Steve and his other friends, he did feel a pang in his heart when he thought of his family. The last birthday he got to celebrate with his mom and sisters was before he got shipped off to war. Since then, there were no homemade cakes, no happy singing and jokes about him getting older, no candles to blow out and make a wish.

What would he even wish for today?

“Maybe we can all go out to dinner,” Steve suggested when he brought up Bucky’s birthday. “That could be fun, right?”

He felt bad shrugging in response since his best friend was trying to help him celebrate. “Maybe.”

“Dinner? Jesus, you two really are old men,” Tony commented, typing something into his phone. “Say the word and I’ll throw you a party. Best party you’ve ever had. You can thank me later.”

Bucky didn’t mean to give Tony a grumpy look, but parties were the billionaire’s thing. And while he didn’t mind having the spotlight on him as a younger man, it seemed foreign to him now. “My birthday is tomorrow, which gives you no time to plan a party, and I think I’m good.”

“I’m insulted that you would underestimate me and my connections,” Tony argued.

“No party,” Bucky said. He didn’t want one.

“What do you want to do then?” Sam asked.

Bucky’s brows pinched together. He didn’t really know. “My birthday isn’t a big deal, so I don’t want to make a big deal out of it,” he replied. Something low-key and not the least bit stressful would be nice. “I guess if I had to choose something, I’d like to read a new book and have a piece of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.”

The guys stared at him, and he waited for Tony to laugh or make another “old man” comment. He didn’t care. It was his birthday they were asking about, so shouldn’t he get to choose what he wanted to do?

“I think that’s really sweet. And chocolate cake with chocolate frosting is delicious.”

Turning toward the soft voice, a smile touched Bucky’s lips and his heart fluttered when he saw you smiling back. The newest member of the team, you always had words of encouragement or a soft smile for him. As kind as you were, you could also kick ass and give Natasha a run for her money. To say he had a bit of a crush on you was an understatement.

“Thanks, doll,” he whispered.

You ducked your head with a giggle before you cleared your throat, making his smile widen. When he let his mind wander he liked to imagine you whimpering or sighing when he whispered that in your ear. If you only knew the things he thought about you, both naughty and nice.

“‘Doll’?” Tony groaned and shook his head. “Barnes, we really need to acclimate you to the modern world because no one with any sense calls anyone ‘doll’.”

His jaw clenched and color rose to his cheeks. Maybe it was a bit old-fashioned, but he liked it and he thought you liked it, too. But if it bothered you…

“You can call me ‘doll’, Bucky,” you assured him. “I don’t mind.”

Bucky could’ve used the opportunity to say something charming or sweet, but he kept the words in his head and gave you a grunt and a nod instead. A fucking grunt and a nod. What the hell was wrong with him? He might as well have given you a high-five and called you “buddy”.

“Okay,” you drew the word out slowly. “I’ll see you guys later!”

While Bucky watched you leave the room, the guys once again stared at him. “Not a fucking word,” he growled when Tony opened his mouth, heading out himself. He didn’t want their pity or their jokes.

With his exceptional hearing, he stopped when Tony muttered, “Tin Man better step up his game because that was painful to watch.”

“I’m old, not dead. I have game,” he mumbled. Well, he used to have game. Times were different now, and so was he. Still, his heart skipped a beat at the thought of you liking him, and maybe he could step up and take a chance.

“Be nice, Tony,” Steve sighed.

“I’ll be nice when he grows a pair and makes a move. Look, we all have eyes and we see how she looks at him.” Bucky felt butterflies in his stomach before Tony continued. “And she’s a stunning creature. Someone will snag her if he doesn’t.”

Bucky clenched his gloved fists. “Lay off the guy,” Sam said. “He’ll make a move when he’s ready.”

“Tomorrow,” Bucky whispered, walking away, determined. He would make a move tomorrow. It would either be the best birthday he could remember or he’d lick his wounds alone in his room and hope you’d still be his friend.

But as luck would have it, he didn’t get to talk to you the next morning.

He swore he saw you rush out of the kitchen with something in hand, but Steve stopped him to wish him a happy birthday. Everyone greeted him throughout the morning with various messages ranging from nice to references of his age. They all made it a point to say something, but he hadn’t seen you at all. Well, he hadn’t seen you or-

“Happy year of birth, Barnes!” Thor shouted. Bucky’s reflexes couldn’t stop the handful of confetti from hitting his face. “Let us celebrate, my friend!”

Bucky spit a piece of confetti out and tried to wipe away the remainder that landed on his face and shirt. “Thanks?”

The god of thunder looked him over. “Wasn’t your hair longer yesterday?” he asked, inhaling when Bucky ran a hand through it. “And are you wearing cologne? Is it for the party?”

“Maybe,” he said under his breath. He had trimmed his hair a bit and spritzed some cologne in the hopes of getting your attention if he bumped into you. It was stupid. “Party? What are you-”

He tensed up for a second when Thor threw an arm over his shoulders. “Stark said you didn’t want a party and I believe it’s meant to be a surprise, so don’t tell him I told you,” he said. Bucky almost snarled. He didn’t want a party. And how the hell did Tony put something together at the last second? “He also planned for it to be earlier in the day because he said you are old and wouldn’t want to stay up late. The man is-”

“Bucky!” you called out from down the hall, making him relax. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, doll,” he smiled, happy to finally see you.

“I like your haircut,” you said, gliding across the floor to where they stood and commanding the presence of anyone who looked your way. “It looks great.”

Bucky puffed his chest out, glad that you noticed and liked it. “Thanks, doll.”

“You got…” You smiled and wiped the remainder of confetti from his chest, his heart rate picking up. “Thor, I’m so sorry, but I have to steal Bucky away for a bit. You don’t mind, do you?”

Thor humbly bowed to you, your doe eyed expression getting the blonde to easily bend to your will. Bucky’s hands flexed and for a moment he felt jealous before he remembered Thor wasn’t romantically interested in you. “Not at all. I shall take my leave.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, linking your arm with Bucky’s and gently pulling him away. “Mmm. You smell good, too.”

Bucky hid a smile. “Thanks again,” he said, happy that he made the call to wear it. “Hey, Tony isn’t really throwing me a party, is he?”

You winced. “Yeah, he’s throwing something,” you confirmed. Bucky was going to have a chat with him later. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he didn’t listen to me.”

“I appreciate you trying,” he said, pulling you closer to his side. It meant a lot.

“Which is why I wanted to steal you away for a bit so you could have some peace and quiet.”

You guided him to the tower library which was one of his favorite areas. When he wasn’t training or hanging out in his room, he was usually there. “What is that?” he asked when he saw the CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE sign on the doors.

“Oh, I did that so no one would come in,” you winked, opening the doors so he could go inside. “Tada! Happy birthday!”

Bucky’s mouth fell open when he saw the small set up in the corner. There was a book with a bow sitting on the chair and a piece of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting with a single candle on the table beside it. “Did you… Did you do this for me?” he asked, his chest getting tight. It was exactly what he asked for.

“Yeah. You said you didn’t want to make a big deal out of your birthday, and I thought you deserved to have the kind of birthday you wanted. So, a slice of cake and a new book it is,” you smiled, a bounce in your step when you went to light the candle for him. “But I may have gotten you one more thing.”

“And what’s that?” he asked. You had already gone above and beyond for him. There was nothing you needed to get him.

“Tickets to the new science exhibit that’s opening this weekend.”

His chest felt tight again. He mentioned to you in passing that he wanted to go to the museum to see the new science exhibit. His love of science was something that hadn’t died, but hadn’t gotten around to buying tickets yet. You really paid attention to him and cared, didn’t you?

Your smile faltered just a bit when he kept staring. “I hope it’s okay that I did that. I really wanted you to have a nice birthday and you mean a lot to me and…” you trailed off as if you didn’t mean to say that.

God, he wanted you to mean it.

“It’s more than okay, thank you,” he swallowed, making his way over to you. “And did you say I mean a lot to you?” he asked because he had to hear you say it again.

You bit your lip and he wanted to bite your lip, too. “Yeah, you do.”

Hearing that was one of the best birthday gifts you could give him. “You mean a lot to me, too,” he confessed. You meant everything. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”

There was that giggle again that he loved. “Oh, I’m not, but thank you.”

“Yes, you are,” he whispered. You were the most amazing woman he knew. “I think that candle’s about to go out.”

The flame glowed in your eyes when you held up the plate and he felt lost in the best way. “Then you better make a wish.”

A charming smile crossed his face. “I can’t blow out my candle until someone sings ‘Happy Birthday’,” he teased.

Bucky expected you to protest when you opened your mouth. “Happy birthday to you.” He exhaled as you sang, your smoothe tone sending tingles down to his toes. “Happy birthday to you.”

Taking a step closer he placed a hand on your hip, your voice turning a bit breathy. It was beautiful. Everything about you was beautiful. He didn’t think he could fall any harder for you, but he was falling more and more each day.

“Happy birthday, dear Bucky…” You peered at him through your lashes. Looking back at you, he felt like he had something worth celebrating. “Happy birthday to you.”

With a gentle breath he blew the candle out and took the plate from your hands with ease. He heard both of your hearts beating faster, and he saw hope in your eyes. He gazed back at you, silently asking for permission. He wanted to kiss you, wanted you to be his girl.

Bucky wanted his birthday wish to come true.

“Doll…” he breathed.

It wasn’t until you nodded that he closed the distance and pressed his lips to yours. He took his time, savoring the feel of your mouths together. It was perfect, a moment he’d never forget.

“Wow,” you whispered when he pulled away. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah?” he smiled.

“Yeah,” you smiled back. “And I’m thankful it was a kiss you gave me instead of a grunt and a nod.”

Bucky laughed. “I can still give you a grunt and a nod,” he teased, touching your warm cheek. “And you know, since it’s my birthday and you said I should celebrate how I want, I think it’s only fair that I get 108 kisses.”

“Sergeant Barnes, are you really asking me for 108 kisses?”

“To start,” he smirked. “And it’s a good excuse to skip the party,” he added, going back in for another when you giggled.

He’d ask you after to stay with him while he read and shared the piece of cake. You’d tell him that you made it from scratch and hurried out of the kitchen so the gang wouldn’t eat it. He’d explain that he cut his hair and put on cologne for you in the hopes of attracting your attention which you told him he already had. And before the night was over, he’d ask you to go to the exhibit with him and to be his girl.

A birthday wish come true.

Have I told you lovelies how much I appreciate you? Because I do. Happy birthday, Bucky Barnes! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[enhaeil]

SOON AS I GET HOME! ☆ 박종성

"soon as I get home, I'll make it up to you. baby, i'll do what i gotta do."

soon as i get home - faith evans.

c/w: suggestive!! yet extremely soft. husband jay...wow i love jay

you had a good man. an amazing man even. the best man a woman could ask for. and you've been neglecting him.

when he tries to hug you, it only lasts for a second before you push him away. when he tries to give you a kiss, you barely reciprocate back. when he tries to initiate sex, you brush him off, telling him you're "too tired" to be touched. it's noticeably put a bit of a strain on your marriage, and you feel guilty.

you decide it's time to ignite the fire in your marriage again. remind jay why he married you in the first place. since he's always busy with work and so are you, you decided you would call off work the next day and spend it planning something special.

you hop out the tub and wrap a towel around you before starting your hair and makeup. you decided to wear it down because you remembered how much jay liked it. for makeup, you go with a natural glam with some red eyeshadow.

—

you slip into the lingerie and dress you bought, buckle up your heels, and check yourself out in the mirror one more time. "yup. i still got it." you say to yourself before you head downstairs.

the time is currently 6:30. jay is already off work and is probably on his way back. you use this time to set the food up and pour up some wine. you also lay out some chocolates and light some scented candles. and of course, you had some old school jams playing in the back. lord, if he didn't put a baby in you tonight, it'd be a pretty close call.

as time gets closer, you decide to hide behind the wall so when he walks in, you can suprise him.

around 7:02, you hear some keys jingle and the door opening.

"baby, i'm home. i got some take-out if you're hungry. baby..?"

you can't help but feel your heart swell at your husbands voice. even through your dry spell, he's so sweet. you take this as an opportunity to step out.

"hi jjongie.."

his mouth opens so wide you're scared a moth might fly out of it.

"do you like it..?" he gave you a look as if you just asked the silliest question on earth.

"baby. like it? 'like it' would be disrespectful. you look amazing, y/n."

you giggle and help him take off his work jacket, giving his shoulders a soft massage, feeling the tenseness from his shift today. his head tips back with a sigh. "did i forget something today, love?" he says, trying to scan his mind for any event that could've happened.

you grab his hand and drag him into the kitchen where all the food is prepared. "you're my husband. and I've been neglecting you. so i wanted to show my appreciation for all you do." you say pulling out a chair for him.

"baby...you don't neglect me. we've both been busy with work." he says still holding on to your hand.

"still. when's the last time we had sex, jay?"

"a few days ago, right?" he says trying to see where you're going with this.

"exactly! remember? when used to go at it like animals? one day out of the week would've scared us a few years ago." you say with a small giggle. "now eat up. i dont want the food to get cold!"

you guys spend some time talking about your week and enjoying the meal you made. it felt so nice to have this moment with your husband. you guys rarely ever got to eat real meals together.

"wow, y/n. you really went all out." he says finishing his last bite.

"there's leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry again." you say getting ready to put the dishes in the sink.

he stands up, coming behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. "how could i ever repay you?"

you turn around and give him a look. "jay. you have been the most perfect man since the day i met you. i can't remember the last time i touched a door or a bill since our first date. you've done more than enough." you say pressing a peck on the corner of his mouth.

you dry off your hands before you turn back to him. "now, I have one more surprise for you upstairs. come on~" you say excitedly before dragging him up the stairs.

you finally make it to your bedroom and point his attention towards the bag in the middle of the bed. in it was a new cologne, a new tie and jewelry. as he opens the bag you dash into the bathroom to take off that tight dress and reveal what was underneath.

"baby, you didn't have to get me any of this. i'm so grateful, thank you. god, this is so cool." he says, examining his new items.

you finally step out the bathroom, heels still clicking as you call out his name.

he brings his attention up and his mouth is left open for the second time that night.

has he seen your body in ways you wouldn't even think was possible? yes. but everytime he did it felt like the first time.

you slowly make your way towards him before he reaches out his hands to touch you as if you'd dissappear right in front him.

"wow, i married a goddess. even years later you still make me feel like a teenage boy."

your eyes begin to water at his words and his touches, feeling like it's been an eternity since you've been touched like this. your hands begin to roam his body too, feeling underneath his shirt and caressing his stomach, your fingertips grazing the roughness of his happy trail.

"i love you jay. and i'll do whatever i can to make up for time we might've lost." you say leading him towards the bed so you can straddle him.

"we've grown a lot since we started dating, y/n. it's okay if sometimes we are too busy to do things with eachother. but even if we go months without touching eachother, i promise i'll always love you the same way I did back then."

and with that, he pulls you into a kiss, which leads into a night full of passionate lovemaking.

a/n: im foaming at the mouth.

[jo-speaks]

POV: you’re at your wedding reception with Luke and you do that trend when your bridesmaids hand him risqué Polaroid pictures throughout the night to get his reaction

WEDDING NIGHT SHENANIGANS

overview: luke gets a few early gifts on your wedding night.

warnings: suggestive content below the cut, mentions of alcohol consumption (other than that it's pretty smooth sailing)

note: this might be one of my favs honestly. thank you for requesting nonnie 🫶

Today didn’t feel real. As of an hour and fifteen minutes ago, you were officially Mrs. Luke Hughes. The ceremony had gone exactly as planned, your wedding dreams coming to life with the man you love waiting for you at the altar. 

Now, you were sitting at the table with Luke, his hand on top of yours as it rested on his thigh, thumbing at the wedding ring that found itself around your finger. You laughed as you watched Jim and your father attempt to do the worm on the dance floor. 

“He’s too old to be doing this.” You joked, your husband laughing along with you.

“You’re telling me.” He replied.

The two of you shared a smile, something that had been happening since the first look. He watched with admiration as the purple strobe light hit your face, illuminating your features. Luke cupped your cheek, the cool feeling of his wedding band sending a chill down your body as he pulled you in for a loving kiss. 

You pulled away after a few seconds, your lips lingering with his. Even with the sweet moment, you decided now was as good a time as any to give Luke a gift. One he could carry in his wallet, glove box, or anywhere else he wanted to get a good look at you when he was away.

“I’ll be right back. M’gonna go talk to my mom.” You whispered, placing a parting kiss on his cheek before standing up and making your way to the table at which his mother and yours were sipping wine. 

One of your bridesmaids noticed you flash her a glance, effectively receiving the signal that it was go time. She grabbed it from her purse before making her way over to Luke.

As she approached, he met her eyes and flashed her a friendly smile, not expecting her to have something to give him. She handed him the Polaroid face down, giggling slightly before walking away again. 

Luke raised an eyebrow before he flipped it over, the other eyebrow coming up as well. In his hand was a picture of you in lingerie, posed in a risque position. A heavy blush rose to his face, hidden by the strobe lights which had now turned red. He could feel himself getting aroused, but not yet to the point where it would be noticeable if he stood up. 

“Lukey! Get over here and come dance!” Quinn called out to his younger brother, not knowing of the gift he just received. 

Luke quickly nodded, stashing the picture in his inner suit pocket, standing up to join his brothers on the dance floor. He snuck a glance at you, seeing you be so innocent and friendly as you chatted with his mother.

~✩~

It had been a few minutes since he received the first of many images for the night. He had processed the first one, not letting it distract him during the dance-off your, now intoxicated, friend had started. Your families and friends had been split up onto the two sides of the floor, one of your best friends currently going against Nico, one of Luke’s best men. 

The room erupted in laughter as Nico began doing what looked like an interpretive dance as she attempted to breakdance. In the midst of all the chaos, another one of your bridesmaids had managed to sneak to the other side, her eyes darting around to find your husband. 

She found him, subtly sneaking up to poke his arm. He looked down at her, seeing she was holding out her hand to silently tell him to do the same. Once he did, he was blessed with another Polaroid. 

He blushed, anticipating what he would be met with as soon as he turned it over. Luke cupped his hand along the side of it as he flipped the small rectangle, his smile widening as he took in the contents of this one.

This time, it was a picture of you covering your breasts with your hands, the rest of your body still on display. Luke covered his face with his hands, catching the attention of his former teammate, Ethan. 

“You alright, man?” He asked, noticing the joyful look on his friend’s face.

Luke nodded, running his hands down his face before they fell back to his side, “I’m good. My girlfriend thinks she’s quite the comedian though.”

“You mean your wife?” Ethan corrected, laughing at the way Luke’s smile grew at the new title. “Well, from the times I’ve met her, she’s fucking hilarious.”

“You have no idea.”

~✩~

The night was still young, the party still thriving. 

By now, Luke had received six more polaroids, all of them making it extremely difficult for him to keep back from dragging you away from the celebration.

However, he managed to keep his composure, laughing with you as the two of you watched, yet again from your table, as Jack got whisked away by three children you recognized as your cousins, all of them bombarding him with questions about hockey.

“You having fun?” You yelled, wanting your voice to be audible over the music.

Luke side-eyed you, a smile tugging at his lips, “This is the most fun night I’ve ever had in my life, baby.”

You didn’t even get the chance to respond as you noticed your maid of honour approaching the table. Luke started laughing, rubbing his hands together as he knew exactly what she was bringing him. His reaction caused you to giggle uncontrollably, not expecting him to be this excited.

He put his hands out in front of him like a child begging for candy as she proudly placed the image in his palms. Luke excitedly turned it over, his eyes shutting as he put his head down, his brain short circuiting as he took in the picture. 

This one was you, fully nude, his initials inked into your skin right on your hip. You knew exactly which one this was, having planned the best for last. 

In the previous pictures, your panties had been on in order for the tattoo to be a surprise. You had gotten it a few weeks ago, wanting it to be healed in time for your wedding night, and it had been a struggle to keep it from Luke. Thankfully you had managed to keep the secret, making this moment that much more special.

“Do you actually-” He cleared his throat to compose himself, “Is that actually on your skin?”

You smirked, “Yeah. Thought you’d like it as much as I do.”

By now, the blood had not only rushed to his face, but to his cock as well. He reached over to hold your hand, gripping it slightly to keep his composure as he leaned over, his lips right by your ear.

“Enjoy the night, baby. Because the second we get out of here you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

[spcherryygirl]

you are the best thing that's ever been mine,

from vi

ᰔ pairing . . . b. wayne !

ᰔ with . . . a wife!reader / batmom !

ᰔ category . . . fluff , suggestive , one - shot

ᰔ in which . . . for anyone who has ever hoped for a second chance.

ᰔ TAGS . . . domestic bruce wayne. dilf energy maxed out. wife!reader. reader is younger than bruce but was not mentioned. alfred supremacy(he's my dad guys). child wrangling. emotionally constipated but trying. batkids being menaces. batdad malfunctioning before coffee. kisses like vows. touch-starved billionaire behavior. gentle smut if you squint. robe removal as a love language. heavy on the softness. suggestive content. emotionally vulnerable bruce wayne. minor language. too much love. may cause unrealistic expectations of breakfast.gentle smut if you squint. robe removal as a love language. heavy on the softness. suggestive content. emotionally vulnerable bruce wayne. minor language. too much love. may cause unrealistic expectations of breakfast conversations. ooc. second chance but in a found family way. alfred addresses reader as "m'lady" because yes. & he's british. yes.

ᰔ look around . . . m. list && detective comics m. list

────── vi whispers . . . ᰔ

001. "for anyone who has ever hoped for a second chance." heh.. GUESS WHERE I GOT THAT FROM!!!!

002. also also for @cinnamongrl2006 for being patient w me😭 & kidnapping me back to the fandom ilysm

003. "poor attempt in being poetic" i mean it. I CAN'T 💔💔

004. but im trying chat.. if there's a grammatical error,,, IM SORRRYRYYRYRYRYRYR😭😭😭😭

005. can u guys tell that i want a baby. but i don't wanna give birth. i don't wanna do that w a man. my family is against adoption for some reason. && i wanna take care of a child URGHHHHHHHHHHH

006. might as well be a kindergarten teacher

you normally wake up to him.

his arms already wrapped around you, sometimes the pressure of his gaze heavy against your skin before your eyes even have a chance to flutter open. sometimes, he's gently sweeping an errant strand of hair away from your forehead, planting a kiss on your cheek with that rare, faint softness you only ever get from him.

but today, the bed is immobile, & he's immobile.

your body slips smoothly from his, as if unsticking yourself from something holy. it's a bit colder without him, even in the huge heat of the master bedroom, but you smile anyway.

because this? this means something.

this means he trusts you.

enough to sleep without his armor on.

enough to remain sleeping even when you leave.

you look back at him▰face oh, so gorgeous, a small furrow still between his eyes from years of nightmares & fights & weights no one should bear. the type of man who's never let his guard down.

except with you.

you slide into something more relaxed, softer. something less... scandalous. not because you object, but because the children are another story. they adore you, they do▰deeply. but they also understand how utterly undone their father becomes when you so much as inhale anything remotely enticing. & none of them want to witness bruce wayne malfunctioning before coffee.

your naked feet pad against the chilly halls of wayne manor, ringing a bit off against marble & history. you walk by framed portraits. some old, some new. family, in all the disarray of ways it has created. & your fingers run over the railing like muscle memory.

the kitchen has the scent of heaven. warm coffee, toast bread, warmth.

"good morning, m'lady."

alfred's voice is a soft violin string, smooth & proper, but containing that unmistakable tenderness he can never quite keep from you.

your own head tips up in a smile. "the kids aren't up yet?"

he sets down your plate with gentle care. "i woke them up a bit earlier. they'll be here any moment now."

& as if called, you hear the beat of footsteps▰light but purposeful.

damian arrives first. of course he does. always the first to train, first to cross the line, first to tell you that your coffee is an abomination.

his shoulders are squared, his stance precise, but when he catches sight of you, something flashes in his hard green eyes. something much more… genuine.

"good morning, damian," you tell him, voice relaxed.

he nods, takes the chair next to you. "good morning."

& it's genuine. reserved, almost abrupt, but not cold. no longer.

he's trying. adjusting. learning that love doesn't equal weakness.

he hasn't forgotten his mother. not at all.

but he regards you as if you could be something he never believed he'd ever have. a second chance at love. at tenderness. at home.

soon after, the others trickle in. tim with sleep in his eyes & coffee already in hand, dick with that easy grin that never quite fades, jason with a grunt & a smirk & hair still damp from a too-hot shower.

“morning, mom,” dick says, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he walks by.

jason could only let out a grunt & a nod as a greeting, stealing a piece of toast.

“morning,” tim mumbles, voice muffled by the coffee mug.

they all greet you now as if it's the most natural thing in the world. like you've always been there.

& perhaps you have, kind of. not only in the manor.

but in their spaces.

in the wounds they didn't even realize needed to heal.

in the mother-shaped holes no one wanted to discuss.

you chat. about little things. silly things. jason's failed cooking attempt last night. dick joking with tim about his new crush. damian rolling his eyes at them all but not budging from your side.

you're giggling at something. most likely at jason & dick arguing over whose socks were stolen▰when the air changes.

& you sense him before you see him.

bruce wayne sweeps into the room like a storm in silk.

dark cloak sagging loosely over his muscular build. hair still rumpled. eyes relaxed the moment they light on you.

"good morning, love," you murmur as you rise to your feet, arms around his neck.

his hands▰big, roughened, gentle▰wrap around your waist as he bends toward you. you kiss him & he exhales into it like a man who's been down too long.

his lips linger an extra fraction of a second. your noses touch.

the children groan in the background. alfred clears his throat, pointedly gazing at the scrambled eggs.(he's used to this. give this man a raise.)

you pull back, hardly stifling your smile.

he regards you as if you're the only thing sane in a world of madness. like you're gravity. home. peace.

breakfast goes on. bruce arrives halfway through, hand never really leaving yours. his fingers brush your knuckles beneath the table. his thigh against yours, a quiet comfort. a habit he can't break.

at last, one by one, the children slip away to do their business▰patrol briefings, training, reading, vanishing into wherever the manor engulfs them.

alfred gathers the dishes. you offer your aid, but he waves you off with a sly grin.

"bon appétit, m'lady. i think the master has something in mind."

your eyebrows rise, but your hand settles into bruce's. his hold is quick. but gentle.

he escorts you upstairs, through the corridors. quiet envelops you, warm & intimate. the bedroom door closes behind you, & the world slows down.

his robe comes first.

then yours.

& then his lips find yours again. urgent now, but still reverent. still like he’s learning your shape all over again. like you’re holy & he’s not sure he deserves to pray but he will anyway.

his hands on your back. your nails in his hair. the quiet sound of breathless laughter. of wanting. of years of love built in silence & shadow & something deeper than words.

the room is full of the stillness that follows your kiss, the one that leaves you gasping but fulfilled, like something holy. bruce relaxes against the bed, his chest heaving as if the world has just been put on pause to this moment. his body under yours, you & he both snarled in sheets, warm skin, limbs against each other in the only way that feels right when it's just the two of you.

he strokes your hair, fingers tracing against your scalp in a way that causes you to dissolve even further than you ever knew you could.

"you okay?" his voice is low, a little rough around the edges, like he's struggling to maintain control, to not let the walls he's spent years constructing fall down entirely.

you nod, your chin on his chest, listening to his heartbeat steady under your ear. "yeah. more than okay."

his hand moves down the length of your back, his fingertips tracing over the curve of your waist, the warmth of his touch setting your skin afire. nothing is rushed about the way he touches you any longer. this is the post-coital warmth of something authentic, of that place where language is unnecessary.

his fingers wander down to your side, drawing slow, careful lines. you let your eyes fall shut for a moment, the sense of being so utterly comfortable with him a pleasure to behold. it's a precious thing, the vulnerability bruce lets himself feel in your presence.

"i love you," he tells you, the words raw but soft. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

you smile softly, lifting your head to look at him, your hands resting on his chest, over his heart. "you’ll never have to find out."

the air changes between you once more, not with such haste as last time but with that slow-burning heat that always comes after moments such as these. you lean in to kiss him again, gentle at first, like the morning sun that doesn't hurry to come up but slowly fills the space with light.

but there's a hunger there too, a silent longing that never really goes away, not even after all that you've shared. his mouth makes the kiss deeper, & soon, you & he are lost in rhythm with one another again.

bruce's hands move up your spine, drawing you in as if he's trying to commit to memory the way you fit against him. his lips find your neck, kissing down the curve of it, his breath warm against your skin, making you shiver. your hands grab at his hair, drawing him in.

& then▰just as the world outside would have it▰there's a knock at the door.

"sir, m'lady," alfred's voice outside.

you could hear him clear his throat before continuing. "breakfast was▰wonderful, but perhaps you might join us for the remainder of the day's activities?"

you & bruce stand stock-still, eyes huge. alfred has impeccable timing.(possibly because of the kids.)

bruce groans, but there's a smile on his face, & he kisses you goodbye one more time, his lips brushing yours lightly. "we'll get them next time," he says, his voice low, almost playful.

you smile quietly, a quiet, contented noise that hangs in the stillness of the room. there is no hurry to move away. indeed, the two of you remain like that for a bit longer, your bodies entwined, still warm from the moments you've just shared.

eventually, the two of you rise▰smiling, because it's the sort of thing you'd both do, all the years & masks aside. you both put your clothes back on, every moment with him another page in a book that's never really done.

as you enter the hallway, hand in hand, the sound of your children's voices echoes down the stairs. it's a gentle symphony, the cacophony of their personalities resonating in the air. & you know▰this is home.

you're not merely bruce wayne's wife anymore. you're their mother as well, in every way that counts.

you're not only damian's second chance in love▰but everyone's. the kids' chance to embrace the love of a mother. alfred's chance to embrace you like his daughter. & bruce's chance in embracing the warmth you offer to him.

their second chance in everything.

© MINORLYATFAULT 2025

[pullupinarari]

Love you like you need [LH]

summary: you wake up feeling sick, and your daughter makes sure to boss your husband around so he can take good care of you.

• masterlist

wc: 3776 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

You wake up hating the fact that you opened your eyes, already. Your throat feels dry, your body is sore, your nose is clogged, making it impossible for you to breathe properly. Groaning, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the uncomfortable sensations erupting through you as you try to move your body, getting out of bed. 

It’s still early, the clock reads 8:12 am. And while your husband is in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, he hears your soft sniffles followed by the sound of you blowing your nose. Furrowing his eyebrows, the man soon leaves the restroom, only to find his wife sitting at the edge of your shared bed, taking some pills. 

Lewis is already fully dressed, ready to leave the house to attend some work meetings when he steps inside the bedroom again, slowly walking to you. His hands land on your shoulders gently, carefully massaging them as you instinctively lean your head against his chest. 

- Are you okay, love? - he asks you as his lips touch your neck, kissing your skin softly. 

The man notices the dark bags under your eyes, how your lips look more pale, as if today has stolen from them the plump, cherry tone that your husband loves so much, alongside your red-ish eyes, that are still puffy and tired from the restless night you just had. 

- Yeah, I’m fine - your hoarse voice replies, clearing your throat as your husband looks at you with a raised eyebrow, highly doubting your statement, that doesn’t match your face at all. - Are you sure? - he insists, moving so he can take a better look at you, noticing that you don’t look as good as you try to convince him. 

You slightly roll your eyes at him, pecking his cheek carefully - trying not to get him sick as well. Yes, you’re not feeling the greatest, but it’s just a cold, you will live through it. Yes, you would love for Lewis to spend the day with you, cuddling you or watching over Grace, so you could hide behind the covers and sleep this flu away.

However, you are aware of all his professional duties, and there’s no way that you will encourage him to call out of work. So, with an unconvincing smile, you insist: you are fine, and you can make it through the day with a cold. 

Sighing softly, the man puts his arms up as if he is surrendering. 

- Okay, okay. Call me if you need anything, yeah? I’ll be back in a blink of an eye - your husband lets you know, capturing your lips in a loving kiss as his arms wrap around your waist, holding you closer to him for a moment. 

Nodding your head at his words, you allow the man to leave without feeling any remorse - it’s just a cold, after all. And you really try to keep your routine as normal as possible, going to wake Grace a little later than usual, allowing the little girl to sleep longer as you end up falling asleep in the middle of your covers as well. 

Even with a sore body, a hurt throat, you try your best to keep your energy at an acceptable rate, so you can waste it all with your curious girl: the three-year-old that wants to explore this entire world, as well as the entire galaxy - all at the same time. 

But you physically can’t. As the hours pass by, your figure grows colder, your limbs hurt more and more, you get caught in coughing fits more frequently, and it gets to a point when your daughter looks at you with her chocolate eyes full of pity, feeling bad from seeing her mummy so sick. And you notice the way Grace calms down as well, suggesting that you two would lay on the sofa, just watching her favourite cartoons as the toddler gently caresses your cheek with the back of her hand - making a genuine smile appear in your face as you hold your baby close. 

You seem to relax a bit as you stop moving around to meet Grace and her activities. However, your daughter feels exasperated, waiting for her daddy to come home, her small eyebrows furrowing slightly while she puts her brain to work. 

Mummy was already sick when she woke me up. And daddy had already been to work. Didn’t he see that mummy wasn’t feeling good?! Why is he not home yet? - the little girl thinks to herself, moving her hand gently to touch your hair softly, trying to shoo a bit of the pain away from her mummy’s figure. 

You don’t even notice the hours passing by, feeling your eyes growing heavier and heavier, fighting the will to fall asleep on your child, trying your best to stay as awake as you can for her. And you manage to do it, even if at much cost for your body and rest. 

But when you hear the keys turning on the front door, Grace immediately leaves her spot next to you, running to meet her daddy - something that it’s definitely not a surprise to you. 

Lewis is also used to having the light of his life waiting for him when he comes home, but today, the light of his life looks at him more as a storm, ready to crash on him as the little girl crosses her arms in front of her chest, looking at him impatiently before speaking. 

- Lewis Daddy Hamilton! Where have you been?! Mummy is so sick! - the toddler asks in an urgency, her tone reprimanding her dad for not being home all this time.

Your husband is taken aback as he walks inside your shared house, raising an eyebrow at his kid’s words. 

- Well hello to you too, my love. Daddy was at work! Mummy isn’t feeling better? - the man asks, keeping his tone light and soft for his baby.  - No! She is not feeling better! Aren’t you her husband?! In sickness and health?! - Grace is agitated, feeling nervous as she puts emphasis on certain words, one hand on her hip and pointing a finger at her dad from time to time. 

The three-year-old’s words make his heart clench in his chest as he realizes that the medicine you had earlier in the morning didn’t help much, and that you need some serious care from your husband and daughter. But still, Lewis can’t stop noticing Grace’s references.

- How on earth did you learn about wedding vows, miss? - the man questions curiously, only to be met with an impatient eye roll from his daughter, who just replies back ��the telly’ in an obvious tone. 

Chuckling slightly, Lewis fills a cup with water, handing it to the toddler. 

- Alright, alright, miss. I’ll call out of work for the afternoon. Can you take this to mummy, please? Be careful - he advises, handing her the cup, making sure it’s secured in her little hands. 

Grace nods, preparing her last words before she leaves the kitchen. 

- Mummy needs medicine and a nice, warm soup. Get to work! - she says in a bossy tone before walking back to you, giving smaller steps so as not to spill the water on the floor. 

You take the cup from her hands, thanking your little one as you finally get some water to slide down your dry throat, relieving the pain for a few seconds. 

- Drink it all, mummy, so you can feel better - Grace’s tone when directed at you is as sweet as honey, wanting to help her mummy feeling better. 

Kissing her cheek softly, you let her know that she is all that you need to feel better. The words make your baby blush a little, and they’re not a lie. But today, you’re afraid that Grace won’t be the remedy to the cold that continues to creep more and more on your body - definitely in need to mix her cuddles with some effective medicine. 

As the girl joins your side again, you wrap her in the blanket that’s keeping your body warm, hugging her the way both of you enjoy so much. However, just a few seconds later, your husband comes into sight, seeing you for the first time since he left the house this morning. He gives you a gentle smile, seeing his two girls cuddled on the sofa, but immediately realizing that’s not the best place for you to rest your body in, now. 

- You said you were fine, huh? - Lewis banters for a second, remembering the words that you gave him in the morning, kissing your hand softly as he sits on the edge of the couch for a few seconds.  - And I am - you reply, just in time to get caught in another coughing fit, noticing the look that the man gives you, not believing that you continue to insist that you are okay, when you are so visibly sick. 

Shaking his head, the man gets up from his spot.

- How about we take you to bed, love? Your body will keep hurting if you lay here, all bent, for any longer - he suggests, and you know that he is right, groaning more as you feel every inch of your limbs hurting more and more when you try to move slightly, sitting down in your place so you can leave the sofa. 

However, a surprised yelp escapes your lips when your husband’s arms wrap around your figure carefully, picking you up bridal style and carrying you to your bed - even earning a giggle from his daughter once he winks at her, showing her that he started complying to his ‘husbandly duties’ right away.

His arms lay you down on the sheets slowly and carefully, as if you were made of porcelain in his hands, gently wrapping your body with the warm covers. Once the man sees that you seem way more comfortable now, he lands a kiss on your forehead, noticing how hot your skin feels. 

- Baby, you’re burning - he informs you, putting his mind to work as he remembers where you usually put the medicine that you need so much now. 

Walking inside the bathroom, the man searches the counter, hearing Grace’s little feet running to meet her dad. 

- I’ll take the medicine for mummy, daddy! I want to help too - the toddler says with big eyes, peeking through the door to check if you’re still lying down, as you are not authorized by your daughter to leave the bed! - Here, love - Lewis catches her attention again, seeing how the girl cups her hands in a shell shape, so her daddy can place down two pills that the child makes sure to take safely to her mum. 

Carefully walking over to you, your daughter hands you the medicine that you make sure to chug down with a water bottle, desperate to have something that will help you feel better once and for all. 

- Bubs, how about you come downstairs and help daddy cook lunch? So we can let mummy get some rest, alright? - Lewis offers softly, smiling at you when he sees you smiling back at him, a silent ‘thank you’ for taking care of you, for giving you some time for yourself, so you can have some peace of mind and allow your body to finally relax.

Grace nods at her dad’s words, walking over to the edge of the bed to kiss your cheek lovingly. 

- Don’t leave the bed, mummy! If you need anything, you call me and I come running immediately! Okay? I want you to get better - the toddler whispers softly to you, as if she is trying to not disturb your recovery.  - I’ll make sure to be right here when you’re back, my love. Thank you - you whisper back, hugging her as the little girl wraps her arms around your neck gently, before meeting her dad near the door. 

Picking her up, Lewis goes back to the kitchen, getting everything ready to cook you a warm soup, that you so desperately need. 

- Do you want to help me, princess? - he tries to catch the toddler’s attention, who is ready to reply to his question. - No - Grace says unapologetically, while sitting on her chair. - I spent the entire morning cuddling with mummy when you should have been here, but you weren’t. - your daughter states her ground, with her small hands on her hips and all.

She is merciless with her words, still feeling frustrated by seeing her mummy sick. Mummy never gets sick, and when she does, daddy is not home to help her!

- I’m sorry Gracie, but mummy told me that she was fine this morning. I didn’t know she was this sick, baby - Lewis tries to explain his side, making up for his absence during the morning as he starts chopping vegetables for the soup. 

Putting her hand up in a ‘stop’ movement, the little girl makes the man stop in his tracks, furrowing his eyebrows at her actions. 

- Yeah yeah Lewis, excuses - she rolls her eyes at him again, losing all patience with her father and his words. - Do I have to be the one doing everything in this house?! 

Lewis is dumbfounded, several question marks visible on his face as he stares at his kid, not enjoying her attitude at all.

- Miss, I advise you to watch that tone. I’m still your father - he says in a more stern way and a serious facial expression, going back to focus on the cooking as silence installs in the kitchen right after.

For some more minutes, the two of them cook your soup together. ‘Together’, meaning that your daughter was giving all the orders, making sure that your husband followed them. 

Lewis sighs from time to time, his mind divided between you and your health state, and Grace and the unbearable attitude that she has today, but he decides to relativize it, focusing on feeding his two girls - hoping that both of you might feel better right after. 

Your child gets tired of looking at her dad cooking, leaving her seat to go back to your room. However, before she leaves the kitchen, she gives Lewis another threatening look. 

- I am going to check on your wife, don’t mess up her food! - she emphasises, pointing two fingers from her eyes to him, silently telling dad that she has her eyes on him.

Lewis doesn’t even reply to her, sighing loudly as he shakes his head at his daughter's antics, not really understanding how she can sustain so much attitude inside of her tiny figure. Meeting you in bed again, Grace smiles at the sight of Roscoe lying at your feet, the poor dog also sensing that you aren’t feeling well. You open one of your arms to nestle your kid next to you, missing the warmth erupting from her loving cuddles already, smiling when she hugs you right back.

- Daddy will be right here with your food, mummy - the toddler informs you, earning a soft nod from you as you turn on the television so you two can entertain yourselves with some of your favourite shows. 

Choosing Gravity Falls, you and Grace pay attention to the telly, feeling some more comfort erupting through you from this moment with your little one. And time passes by faster, not really noticing it, until your husband is walking inside the room with a tray filled with food in his hands. 

- I hope my girls are hungry, because I cooked a very! delicious soup, may I say, and we also have some noodles and fruit - the man announces the menu for lunch, winning some claps from his mini-version.  - I am sooo hungry! - the toddler replies, crossing her arms again in a bossy way, even if her dad had already warned her about it.

Either way, your daughter calms down as soon as she starts eating, feeling her stomach more content with the nice food that Lewis had cooked for you, and you can totally relate to that sensation, feeling your body almost thanking you for the warm soup. 

With the show still playing in the background, the three of you eat in peace, feeling the air lightening around your figures, as you finally feel the medicine kicking in, easing the pain that was being endured on your body for the past couple of hours. 

- Did I redeem myself, miss Gracie? - your husband nudges your child slightly, allowing a teasing giggle to leave his lips. 

You notice the way your daughter gets a bit shy at her dad’s provocation, hiding the blush on her cheeks with her small hand. 

- Yes, BUT! - the three-year-old puts her finger up in the air - I think mummy should know how I had to boss you around for a bit. 

Both you and Lewis chuckle in unison at your baby’s antics, and you can’t help but melt at the way the little girl immediately loses herself in her daddy’s arms, finally hugging him for the first time today. 

- I was just worried, because I want mummy to be okay and happy - your little one says, looking at you while she’s still merged in her dad’s nestle as your husband softly kisses her temple.

You pout at her adorableness, welcoming her into your arms right next, thanking her for taking such good care of you when you are feeling so sick. You definitely wouldn’t feel better without your baby’s sweet cuddles.

Grace had a hint of sadness and concern inside of her tiny figure all day, worried about you - the strongest, most special mummy there is: Grace’s mummy, that takes care of her whenever the toddler is sick, sad, kissing away her tears and pain, nestling her to sleep, watching her favourite cartoons together, tickling her until her belly hurts from laughing so hard, sharing the most special moments between the two of you. 

So, seeing her pillar frail, encouraged the little girl to stand up for you, even if that meant that she had to lose her way and boss her dad a bit, to make sure that he would take good care of you. And he did, as always. You knew that all you had to do was make a call to your husband’s number, and he would be home in a second if needed - but it’s best to blame your stubbornness for this one. 

Apologising to her daddy for being bossy and even a bit rude sometimes, your husband immediately gives into the girl’s words, understanding how she was feeling insecure by seeing you sick - even if it’s just something as simple as a cold, hugging his mini-version once again. 

Putting the tray now filled with dirty dishes to the side, you and Lewis lay down on your pillows, opening up space for Grace to lay in between the warmth of your bodies, where the toddler loves to be so much. 

Sharing small giggles here and there, gentle touches erupt from your figures, as your husband’s fingers draw sweet patterns on your arm, since both you and your daughter are basically cuddled to his side, now - giving him the opportunity to land kisses on the top of your heads from time to time, as the three of you focus on the new episode of Gravity Falls that just started.

Out of nowhere, the three-year-old gets up from the space in between your figures, running out of the room, telling you how she forgot something in her bedroom. You imagine she would be back with her favourite plushie so she can hold him while watching the telly, but a surprised laugh escapes your lips when your child comes back into the room with a bar of chocolate in her hands. 

- This is for you, mummy - Grace tells you, handing you the candy while looking at her dad with a compromised look and a giggle that she tries to suppress: she took it from Lewis’ “secret” stash of candy that he has in her room, and that you pretend not to know a thing about, even after your daughter telling you everything about it already.

The man looks at the little girl with an eyebrow raised, in a comical way, making the toddler laugh at the situation. 

- Uhm… I’ll let this one slide because mummy is sick and she needs a sweet. But just so you know, I’m moving my candy from its place, so you won’t find them, little lady - Lewis jokes, his giggles mixing with Grace’s as he tickles her, obviously just messing around with his kid. 

But Grace is still more witty than him, already ready to give her dad a piece of her sassiness, as she just ironizes: 

- Uhmhm, we both know that’s not happening, daddy - looking at him with another hand to her hip in a very sassy, very Grace’s usual way, making you laugh so much that you get caught in another coughing fit. 

And that’s the line that your family needs to calm down again, as your daughter gets back to her place in between her parents’ frames, her tiny fingers gently twirling some pieces of your hair while the child focuses on the cartoons again - something that she used to do when she was even smaller than she is now, and definitely a little action from her that’s enough to make your heart grow in your chest at the memories of something that she used to do repeatedly when she needed to calm down to sleep, and that she does so rarely now. 

These are the moments that you live for, the fuel of your life and health, what immediately makes you feel better as you only need to have your daughter and your husband by your side, never forgetting about the loyal Roscoe as well - as if you could ever forget about him, this peaceful moment of cuddles in bed being punctuated by the dog’s loud snores that makes you and Lewis chuckle from time to time. 

Some time after the cuddle session has started, Grace sneezes, sniffling a bit while never taking her eyes off the telly, making you and Lewis immediately look at each other with widened eyes - your conscience identifying the consequences of cuddling your daughter all day when you’re sick. 

But even if tomorrow you’ll wake up to a chaotic household, sharing your cold with your toddler and making your husband call out of work to take care of you two, this is still where your gravity lays, the reason that makes you wish that everything stays still, longing forever in the warm, never ending love that strings your family together - something that you are so, so grateful for, in sickness and health.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Black Bikini • FW x Reader

Part 2 • Strawberry Pie

Summary: You arrive at the burrow for summer break. Fred really likes your new bikini.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: swearing and smut

18+

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You sat out on the front porch basking in the early morning sun before the afternoon swelter settled in. It was yet another summer at the burrow, and you couldn’t wait to get into all sorts of trouble with your favorite Weasleys. You had known them since you were young, as your dad worked closely with Arthur at the ministry. Once you started at Hogwarts, you quickly became friends with the Weasley twins who were in your year. Ever since then, you often spent a good chunk of your summer at the burrow, playing quidditch or swimming in the lake during the day and staying up late playing chess at night. Just a few weeks ago, you had helped Gryffindor win the quidditch cup, so you knew the quidditch matches would be superb this summer.

“Morning, sunshine!” Fred cheered as he pushed through the front door, running past you and into the yard, George following quick on his heels.

“What are you two up to?” You yelled after them, squinting your eyes as they ran further away and towards the pond.

“YOU BLOODY WANKERS GET BACK HERE AND FIX THIS!”

You whipped your head around to see a very angry Ron standing on the front porch with a fist in the air like an angry old man. His pajamas were a violent shade of pink. You almost spit out your coffee.

“New look?” You choked out, making Ron frown and shake is head.

“You’re just as bad as them,” he grumbled before walking back inside.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you saw the twins walking back to the house with mud all over their hands.

“Its not even noon and you two have already started wreaking havoc, what have you gotten yourselves into now?” You raised a brow at them. As they approached closer, their bodies absolutely loomed over you on the steps. Two identical grins blocked the bright sun from your eyes.

“Just catching some bullfrogs while we waited for Ronnykins to leave the premises,” George grinned.

“That bloke is always angry, what could he possibly be mad about on such a fine day?” Fred inhaled sharply and let out a sigh of contentment as he threw his head back into the sun. A blush rose to your cheeks. You may or may not have begun developing the slightest crush on the older twin.

“Hmm, I wonder. Well, what are we going to do today? I bet Gin would be up for a game, I don’t know if Ron will want to play with you two though,” you chuckled, standing up and brushing the dirt off the back of your shorts. The twins grinned at you.

“How about we go swimming at the lake? We could make a day out of it,” Fred suggested, leaning against the post of the railing.

“Hmm, yeah. We could pack some lunches and games, spend all day in the sun,” George said thoughtfully, pursing his lips to one side.

“Sounds like a plan, let’s go get Ginny up, and maybe you should fix Ronald’s clothes so he’s not in a foul mood all day,” you said, patting George on the shoulder before turning to head inside.

It was around noon by the time everybody got out of the house and started down the path to the lake. The walk wasn’t too long, but it was far enough where Ron could complain and Ginny could convince George to let her ride on his back. The sun beamed down on your backs, beads of sweat forming on your skin, sticky and hot. You guys were practically racing to the shore once you gained view of the water.

“The walk will be worth it!” Fred cheered as he raced ahead to the sand. He recklessly threw his bag onto the ground before pulling off his shirt, saving no time before diving straight into the water. It seemed you’d completely lost interest in walking as the rest of the Weasley children had already reached the shore ahead of you. You didn’t allow your mind to wander any further as you too started running down the hill of sand.

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” George shouted, already running into the water. You tore off your t-shirt and shorts, refusing to be the last one into the lake. Ginny had already dove under so it was just you and Ron left. You both began sprinting towards the water, but you laughed as you dove straight in, leaving Ron to be last. The twins left him no time to pout however, as they started to splash and fight with their brother. You and Ginny swam away from the chaos and floated on your backs, enjoying the contrast between the warm sun and the cool lake.

“I’m so glad you’re here again, Y/N,” Ginny said, shifting her position to talk to you better, “I love my brothers but it’s nice to have another girl around. Sometimes I feel like I’m too much like them. I don’t want to be a tomboy, I want to be pretty so boys like me.” She dunked her head back to wet her hair again. A soft smile rose to your face as you listened to her banter.

“Gin, don’t you think you’re a little young to be thinking about boys like that?” You couldn’t help but to laugh a little at her naivety.

“You sound like my brothers,” Ginny scrunched her nose at you.

“All I’m saying is you’re perfect just how you are. You’re smart and funny and anybody would be lucky to know you. Besides, you are nothing like your brothers, you know that,” you reassured her, pointing over her shoulder at her brothers who were currently trying to stick slimy plants onto each others foreheads. Ginny snorted.

“Okay, you have a point, but I just want to be pretty like you, Y/N. Will you teach me how to do my hair and makeup? Please?” Ginny pleaded, putting on her best puppy eyes. You rolled your eyes at her before returning to your smile.

“Gin, I don’t even know how to do all of that. I guess I can show you some stuff, but your too young. I didn’t even start doing any of that stuff until this year,” you huffed. You wished she would appreciate her developing years without worrying about such superficial things. Your words seemed to go in one ear and out the other as Ginny began to beam and splash around.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! And you’re definitely good at that kind of stuff, Y/N. I mean ever since you started looking all pretty, Fred won’t shut up about you! I’m going to be so popular this year,” Ginny continued on babbling about her upcoming year but you couldn’t seem to focus. Had she just said something about Fred?

“We’re going in to eat! Best to come unless you want us to eat your share,” Ron called as he trudged out of the water. You broke out of your thoughts and hoisted Ginny on your back to head towards the boys. By the time you set Ginny down, the picnic basket had been opened. You sat down on your towel and grabbed a sandwich.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fred’s POV

I guess I hadn’t had time to look at her properly when we got down to the lake, because I hadn’t notice her wearing that tiny black bikini. Merlin, she looked so good this summer. I mean, she’d always been pretty but this was on a whole other level. Her normally cute face had turned into something of a more mature beauty. My eyes left her lips and scanned down a bit further. Her body, Merlin…

“Oi,” George laughed and nudged me. I whipped my head away to face him, being met with raised brows and a downturned smile.

“Mmm,” I grumbled, taking a huge bite of my sandwich. I was not just checking Y/N out. I’m just eating my sandwich. We ate in silence for a little while, hungry and tired from the sun.

“Welp, time for a little afternoon nap,” Y/N sighed, placing a hand on her full belly and lying down on her towel. As her back hit the sand, her chest bounced lightly, her skimpy top moving along with it. Okay, I was totally checking her out.

“I don’t know about you lot, but I’m getting back in the water, it’s far too hot out here,” I declared, standing up with a grunt and heading back into the water. If I didn’t know any better, it would seem that I may be slightly obsessed with my dear friend Y/N.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your POV

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting from the glare of the sun.

“Finally you’re up! I was about to roll you over so you didn’t burn,” Ginny laughed, moving from her seat to look down on you.

“Mm, I’m up now,” you mumbled sleepily, “Shall we go in the water? I’m absolutely frying.” You slowly sat up. Your skin felt slightly tight from baking in the sun.

“I’ll race you!” Ginny chirped, standing up and running to the water. Merlin, that girl had energy. You jogged down to the water and dove under, your skin soothed by the fresh water. As you came back up, you felt something slimy slap against your face.

“Ho! He gotchu good!” George yowled, falling back into the water with a splash. You reached up to grab the slime off of your cheek with your mouth agape, frozen in a wry smile.

“Who did that,” you scoffed, look up at the boys to find your culprit. Fred stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, a satisfied smirk plastered onto his face.

“You.”

You flung the lake slime at him before charging towards him at an impressive speed through the water. As you approached him, you reached down into the water with a devious expression.

“Catch,” you said, lifting up a ginormous ball of slime that had been placed in front of you by what you could only imagine was the hand of god. You flung the mass towards him before he could dodge out of the way. He tried to put his hands up to catch it, but it was no match. The sludge had flown onto his scrunched up face and dripped down his flared out hands. You put your hand on your mouth to stifle your laugh.

“Bloody hell!” Ron hollered, laughing his ass off with George. Fred dunked under the water to get off the slime. When he emerged from the water, he ran his hands through his hair, throwing his head back. You watched as if he was moving in slow motion, the sun glistening on his wet skin as his muscles flexed with the movement of his arms.

“You are so dead.”

And with that he picked you up with ease over his head.

“No! Fred please!” You said between chokes of laughter, but it was no use. He threw you down into the water and splashed you when you came back up to the surface. When he finally stopped you could see his goofy smile form around his sun kissed freckles.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” he said, relaxing back into the water. You couldn’t stop giggling as you swam towards him.

“Sorry Freddie, I had to get you back,” you teased, laying back into the water. He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I was away from you for a few weeks and forgot how ruthless you are,” he grumbled, but you could tell he was in high spirits.

“Oh please, how could you forget? Im just happy to be back for the summer, we’re going to get into much more trouble than this,” you giggled. He chuckled at that.

“Oh, I hope so Y/N,” he charmed, standing back up from the water. You looked up at him staring down at you, water dripping down his abs. You found your eyes wondering and forced yourself to look back up to his face. He was smirking down at you. “What are you looking at Y/N?” You practically choked on lake water as you stood up next to him.

“You still have slime on you git,” you brushed him off and went back up to the sand. You heard him laugh behind you as your cheeks flushed a deep red. You really hoped he hadn’t just caught you staring…

The rest of the day was spent roasting in the sun, passing around a quaffle in the water, and eating what was left of the picnic basket. By the time the sun began to set, the five of you set back on the trail to the burrow. You stayed up front with Ginny and Ron as they quarreled about quidditch, Fred and George behind you. The walk back felt long and tiring, and by the time you had reached the burrow, the sun had almost fully set.

“Dinner is ready!” You heard Molly call from the porch. At that, the five of you filed into the house to change for dinner. In the kitchen, the windows were all open to allow the cool night air into the room. On the table sat an amazing dinner spread, the mark of a fantastic summer with the Weasleys. You sat down next to Ginny, and began to pile your plate with all of Mollys fixings.

“So Y/N, how was your school year dear? I barely had time to chat with you on the platform,” Molly smiled at you, helping herself to some green beans.

“Well, I did well on all of my owls, but the end of the year was mostly spent studying for those,” you frowned, not happy to recall the stress from your end of year exams.

“And you were absolutely wicked in the final quidditch match! Mum, you should’ve seen her. Truly, I think she scored at least 50 points,” Ron excitedly recounted the match, where Gryffindor beat Slytherin and won the quidditch cup.

“Yes, well, Woods was certainly happy with me after that game,” you laughed, earning an immature laugh from George a scowl from Fred. You rolled your eyes at the two.

“Well that’s just fantastic Y/N. Say, how’s your mother been?” Arthur asked. And so the dinner went on, a lively and wholesome evening ending in a warm cherry pie for dessert. As everybody stood to mark the end of dinner, you began to collect plates.

“Nonsense, Y/N, go on! Run along!” Molly took the plates from you and shooed you off.

“You heard the woman,” Fred said, grabbing your hand and dragging you out the front door. The sun had completely set, the sounds of summer surrounded you as you ran down the steps of the house.

“Where are we going,” you laughed, still following Fred as you held hands, George running alongside you.

“On a quick pit stop,” George grinned, running up towards the shed. Fred let go of your hand as he opened the door. You heard a few bottles clanking together and before you know it, Fred’s standing in front of you holding up two bottles of fire whisky next to his grinning face. George follows suit but is instead holding a crate of fireworks.

“Did you guys bring this back from Hogsmeade?” You questioned in a hushed voice, astonished that they had managed to sneak this much past their mother.

“Yep,” George grinned, nodded his head fervently. Fred grasped the necks of both bottles into one head and nonchalantly closed the shed door. His hands were so big and definitely strong from playing quidditch all these years… You shook your head. Merlin, couldn’t stop thinking of him like that for two minutes?

“Follow this way,” Fred nodded over to a hill a bit down the path to the lake. You began to follow the twins, having to walk two steps at a time to keep up with their lanky legs. The deep blue of the night sky basked over the hill as the three of you trudged over the peak and over to the other side. The twins plopped down onto the grass and opened the bottles of fire whisky.

“To summer,” George cheered with Fred, their bottles clanking against each other. They both took a swig before sticking the bottles out to you. You giggled, grabbing the bottle from Fred and raising it up.

“To summer,” you cheered, taking a hefty swig of the fire whisky. Fred laughed and shook his head at you.

“So, shall we light these puppies up?” George grinned, gesturing to the box of fireworks. You grinned back at him.

“We should wait a bit Georgie. Hopefully the hill will help block most of the light and sound, but it wouldn’t hurt to wait until they’re in bed,” Fred pointed out, George nodding his head. He turned to face you.

“Mums been on our case about all the pranking and stuff. She took away a bunch of our creations already, so it be better if she just… doesn’t know too much,” George whispered. You nodded, laying back onto your elbow. With your free arm, you took another swig of whisky.

“Understood.” You replied, passing the bottle back to Fred.

“How about a game of exploding snaps and shots?” Fred asked with a lazy grin, pulling a deck of cards out from his pant pockets. You grinned back at him.

“Wait,” George snapped up, “did you hear something?”

You and a Fred sat up and looked up at to top of the hill. Two little heads of ginger hair peaked over the side. They tried to duck down, but George had already reached them, pulling them up by the arms.

“Please George, can we stay?” You heard Ron plead as he was guided down the hill.

“Not tonight, Ron. And we gotta get Ginny up to bed,” George’s voice rang over the slope. You turned to face Fred with pursed lips.

“Well, wanna play?” You laughed, relaxing back on your elbow. He mirrored your movements.

“Yes darling,” Fred smiled at you, shuffling the cards in his hands. A light blush managed to creep into your face. He kept eye contact with you as he dealt the cards.

“You start,” you said. He laughed and tidied up his hand.

“So, what kind of trouble have you been up to the past few weeks?” He asked, placing a card down.

“Oh you know, a few muggle clubs with my cousin, but nothing else really,” you shrugged, taking your turn. He smirked at you.

“Oh, yeah? Y/N’s a party girl now? I guess I do remember you having quite a good time at the quidditch house cup afterparty,” He winked. You rolled your eyes but one of your cards snapped, causing you to jump. “Drink.”

You brought the bottle to you lips and took a swig. A drop of whisky hung off your bottom lip, and Fred’s eyes were quick to notice. You licked the bottom of your lip and smiled at him. His head fell to his shoulder as he returned a lopsided smile. Your blush crept deeper on your face as you tried to focus back to the game. You’d hung out with Fred plenty of times, granted George was usually there too, but something felt different. You couldn’t help but feel like he was watching you the same way you were watching him…

“Well, speaking of party girls, you certainly seemed to like Angelina at that party, hmm?” You raised a brow at him while picking up a card. He put a card down and chuckled, shaking his head.

“Angelina sure is something, but we’re just good friends. Besides, George already has a thing for her, and I have to admit, I have eyes for someone else,” He raised his brow and picked up another card. Was Fred seeing someone else? Surely you’d have heard about it, he is pretty popular after all.

“Oh?” You questioned, putting down a card and picking up another. Fred opened his mouth to speak but another card exploded in your palm, startling the both of you. You gasped and Fred chuckled while he passed you the bottle.

“Mm, I think she might like me too…” Fred trailed off, watching you as you put your lips to the bottle and swallowed yet another shot. Your face cringed a bit this time, liquor dripping onto your lips. Fred put down his cards and moved closer to you. Your breathing quickened as you look at his face. He was staring at your lips. Was he about to kiss you?

“Y/N… ” his eyes panned up to yours, the moonlight illuminating his freckled nose and softened expression. You breathed in quick, unsure of your voice.

“Are you about to kiss me?” You breathed out quietly, Fred nodded softly before drawing closer. You closed your eyes as his lips pressed carefully against yours. You couldn’t help but let out a small sigh, it felt like you were dreaming. He brought his palm up to your face and caressed you gently while deepening the kiss. He was a good kisser. He pulled away gently, now almost on top of you. You watched his chest rising and the flush on his cheeks. You could tell by his demeanor that he wanted more. And so did you. You grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him more harshly this time, your hunger for Fred growing stronger. It felt like all day you were just itching to have him close to you, and now that you had the chance, you weren’t going to mess it up.

“Y/N, let me take you somewhere,” Fred breathed out in between a kiss. You hummed into his mouth. This caused him to start kissing down your neck.

“Do you think this is a good idea, you know, you and me?” You sighed, your back arching slightly off the ground as his hands explored down your body. He stopped and looked up at you, his lips parted and hair disheveled.

“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” he smiled charmingly, standing up and holding out his hand. You smiled and took it, he was so strong he practically lifted you off the ground. You stepped close to him and put your arms around his neck.

“Okay, then take me wherever you want to go, Fred,” you said in a low voice, leaning up to kiss him again. He moaned into your lips.

“Follow me,” Fred wasted no time and began to lead you down to the bottom of the hill. You guys walked for a few minutes, up into the surrounding woods. Soon you reached a small platform in the trees. It resembled a treehouse but it was made of fabric.

“Here?” You raised a brow, turning around to Fred. He flashed his signature smile and put his hands on your waist.

“Just trust me, love,” he walked you backwards while giving you sweet and sensual kisses. Soon he turned you around and lifted you so you could climb up to the platform. He followed suit.

“Wow,” you gasped. The platform had clearly been enchanted, the inside of the tent being filled with comfortable sack chairs and carpets. Fred kissed your neck as he guided you to a seat.

“Bill helped us out when he was home for a bit, me and George were going to show it to you tomorrow,” he sat down next to you as you admired the club house. This summer was going to be so much fun.

“I’ll have to thank Bill when I see him,” you chuckled, grabbing the back of Fred’s neck and pulling him back into a kiss.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fred’s POV

This day truly couldn’t have gotten better. Somehow, I was on top of Y/N, kissing her and feeling her little moans against my lips. It felt so good to have her under me, moaning because of me. I don’t know how long I’d been wanting this, but it sure as hell felt right. I slid my hand under her shirt and up her side, her back lifted up off the chair. Merlin, she wasn’t even wearing a bra under her sweatshirt. I felt my pants tighten, I’d never wanted anybody so bad.

“Fred,” she moaned, pulling at the hem of my shirt. I breathed out a laugh as I sat back to pull off my shirt. Her eyes were blown out as she watched me, she looked so sexy. I came back over her and set my forearm next to her head as I hovered over her body. My hand went down to the bottom of her sweatshirt and looked up to ask for permission. She nodded and I quickly removed the piece of clothing from her body. I sat back to take in the image of Y/N laying on her back in front of me. Her body was perfect, and her tits were tanned in the shape of that tiny fucking bikini top. I groaned hungrily as I bent down to take her nipple into my mouth. She gasped with pleasure as my hands explored her body, my lips attached to her sensitive skin. I just wanted to taste her, I wanted to kiss every inch of her body and show her how badly I’ve been wanting her.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” I whispered, kissing her neck softly, “so perfect. Do you know how fucking perfect you look right now?” She groaned as I sucked on her neck. We both knew it was a risk to leave mark on her, but neither of us cared. I began to leave a trail of gentle kisses down her body as my hands pulled down her cotton shorts.

“Fred,” she blushed, trying to close her thighs around my shoulder. I chuckled and kissed the inner part of her leg.

“Don’t be shy, Y/N. I want to taste you. Can I please? I promise it will be worth it,” I pleaded, linking my arms under her hips. She moaned at the action and quickly nodded her head, relaxing back into the chair. I slid off her shorts and panties, and linked my arms back under her hips. I’d never wanted to eat pussy so bad in my life. My mouth was salivating as I ran my tongue up her clit in one slick motion. She shuddered and locked her thighs around my head again. I used this time to bury my face in her, licking in soft circles around her bud. She began to grab my hair and gently fuck herself on my tongue. I felt like I was about to cum. Her face twisted up in pleasure which only made my pants tighter. She tasted so fucking good and all I wanted was to make her cum all over my mouth. I sped up my motions and she arched off the chair. Her full breasts bounced as she felt back down. I plunged my tongue into her hole and used my fingers to swipe circles around her clit.

“Merlin, Freddie,” she grunted, making a sound different from anything I’d heard out come out of her mouth before, “I’m- I’m going to-“ I locked my tongue on her clit as her thighs trembled around my head. She shuddered and moaned and released warm, sweet juices onto my tongue. I happily licked up every last drop.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your POV

You gasped for air as Fred came back up to you, kissing up your stomach with shiny lips. He kissed you on the mouth before grinding down onto your leg. You could feel how hard he was. You moaned into the kiss and pushed your hips up against him. You knew what you wanted, and besides, your friendship was already far gone. You knew you wouldn’t be able to give up that mouth after you knew what it was capable.

“Freddie,” you purred, looking up at him with starry eyes, “do you want to know what I feel like?” He groaned and pushed down harder into your leg.

“Godric, yes, Y/N. But are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, kissing your cheek and pushing your hair behind your ear. You chuckled and smiled at him. Here the two of you were, doing something completely out of the ordinary, and yet Fred was still just Fred. Charming and caring and reckless.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He flushed and gave you his crooked smile before sitting up to take off his pants. You sat up to watch as his cock slapped up against his abdomen, the sight causing you to groan. He was big, and while you weren’t scared, he was definitely the biggest you’d ever taken. You sat onto your knees and looked up and him for permission, not that you needed any at this point. You looked down at you with a strained expression and place his hand on the back of your head. You leaned forward and took the tip into your mouth, looking up at him again before taking his full length down your throat. This earned you deep growl as he thrusted into your mouth even deeper. Once you had properly wet his dick, you laid back down onto the chair, spreading your legs and grabbing your tits, mostly so you had something to hold onto. He hovered over you and placed a kiss on your lips.

“Just tell me if you need to stop,” he tried to whisper, but it came out as more of a throaty groan. You nodded and placed your hands around his neck. He positioned himself in front of you before testing the tip of his hard cock in your pussy. With each inch getting added into you, you scraped your nails into his neck. He kissed up and down your neck to soothe you as he sat inside of you to let your pussy adjust to the size.

“I’m okay Freddie, you can fuck me now,” you whispered into his ear. With no delay, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck and groaned as he began to thrust in and out of you. He felt so good fucking you like this. Especially after he had just eaten you so good, your entire pussy was pulsing around him.

“Y/N,” Fred moaned, grabbing your hips and thrusting into you even harder, “you’re taking me so well. Just like that darling.” You moaned as you bounced from his thrusts. His hand moved to cover your clit with pressure. You were going to cum again, and so soon. How was Fred doing this to you?

“Freddie, you’re going to make me cum again,” you whined, you grabbed your tits again in a desperate attempt to hold onto to something steady.

“That’s alright, Y/N. I love making your perfect pussy come for me,” he grunted, lifting up your hips and thrusting even harder into your pussy. Your moans turned erratic as you felt yourself building up once again. You clenched around him one last time before your back lifted up, your pussy pulsating around his cock. His thrusts began to waver as he fell apart. You made sure to push yourself up towards him so he knew it was okay to cum inside of you. With one final thrust, Fred groaned as he released himself, your pussy getting filled with hot spurts of his seed. The two of you laid like that for a few minutes, catching your breath and recognizing the fact that you’d just fucked your family friend. Fred slid your panties back up your legs before leisurely putting on his own clothes.

“Freddie, we should probably get back. It’s going to be hard enough trying to pretend like this didn’t happen to George,” you noted, pulling your sweatshirt over you head.

“We don’t have to pretend, Y/N. At least not in front of George. He’s going to find out eventually,” Fred chuckled, placing a finger under your chin and kissing your lips softly. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to this. His stupidly soft lips made you dizzy every time.

“I guess that’s true… so does that mean you want to continue this?” You asked sheepishly, a blush rising to your face again as he gave you a smile.

“You’re daft if you think I’m not going to make you mine, Y/N,” he smirked. How many times was he going to make you blush tonight? You tried to play it off as the two of you descended from the fort and started off towards the hill again. In the distance, you could see George sitting up on the hill next to the fireworks. As you and Fred approached him, he stood up with a half empty bottle in his head.

“There you are! I figured you two went off to the treehouse…” he eyed the two of suspiciously, and it didn’t help that you had a permanent blush to your face.

“Sorry Georgie, Y/N wanted to check it out,” Fred said nonchalantly as he took a seat next to his brother. You followed suit and looked up to the sky as the two of them began to set off the fireworks. The sounds of summer made you feel at home, and the visions of two lanky red heads laughing chaotically as they lit off the fireworks made you smile. It sure was good to be back at the burrow.

[ofbatsandballads]

turn me into something tragic

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: slight suggestive thoughts from reader, brief mentions of Jason being hurt

a/n: been listening to the secret of us by gracie abrams and “let it happen” just feels so much like what falling in love with jay would be like. so here’s a song fic!

divider credit: saradika-graphics

You’re in deep. You wish you weren’t because this whole longing thing sucks. But you’re here now—so it goes, you guess. It’s not like you have any other options. You can’t just quit your job at the Robbinsville Public Library because there’s a very handsome man that always shows up from one to four in the afternoon. You can’t uproot your life and your ability to pay rent because he smiles at you whenever he returns his books, because his voice makes your chest feel warm when he asks if you can put a copy of Emma on hold for him.

No. You just need to suck it up and stop thinking about Jason fucking Todd.

A remarkably hard task, honestly. Especially when he shows up at one o’clock on the dot as always. The weather’s pouring rain today, a clockwork symptom of Gotham winters. You watch as he diligently drags his boots along the entry rugs, careful to not track water on the hardwood floors of the library. It’s sweet. He’s sweet—no. You don’t need to be thinking anything about him.

He walks up to your circulation desk, unzips his black leather jacket and places the books he’d been keeping safe from the rain on the old oak. He always returns them early. He must be a particularly voracious reader. It’s a trait you find ridiculously attractive. He reads all these classic romances, so he must have a good appreciation of longing and devotion and soul crushing love and what would it be like to be loved by a man like that—God, you need to stop.

“Hi Jason,” you greet him cheerfully.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

His voice is so pretty. It’s deep but not rough, and he’s got that lilt that all born and bred Gothamites have. He’s so soft spoken, whether by choice or nature, you don’t know. But it’s a beautiful combination, his tone and inflection. You could listen to him talk all day. You do listen to him talk for at least 30 minutes of each day you work.

“Your hair looks nice.”

It’s sheepish and it’s nearly a whisper, but it’s got your heart racing nonetheless. You’d cut your hair over the weekend, wanting a change. And if you’d hastily curled it this morning before work in a vain attempt to make it look extra pretty, then that was for you to know.

“Thank you,” you say, face growing warm, “Oh, your copy of Emma just came in!”

You reach into the cubby under your desk where you’d specifically placed the book once it was returned by a guy named Dick. You had asked how he liked it and he’d just said he didn’t get why his brother enjoyed these things so much. You didn’t talk to him much after that.

“Took ‘em long enough,” Jason mutters, shaking his head and causing little droplets of water to fall from his damp curls.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Most times people don’t wait over a month, but I got the sense that the guy didn’t really like it. Probably DNF’ed it,” you ramble as you push the book towards him.

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Some people have no taste,” he grumbles.

“Your taste is incredible.”

You don’t realize how horrible that double entendre is until you see the bright red of Jason’s cheeks. Oh, God, your inside thoughts are becoming outside thoughts. You really, really need to reel yourself in.

“I mean–I just meant–obviously books. Your taste in books. I have no idea about your taste otherwise.”

Yeah, that didn’t help. You want to crawl under your desk and die. Maybe the little old lady who works the morning shift will find your corpse when she clocks in.

“I–um–thank you?” Jason says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

He looks pretty when he’s flustered. You wonder just how pretty he’d look if he was under you all flustered like that. Jesus Christ, you want to gag your own inner monologue. You take one steadying deep breath.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a day,” it hasn’t, but he doesn’t know that, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He pauses, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He looks to be contemplating something of extreme importance. Then a resigned look crosses his face and his shoulders drop as he lets out a deep sigh.

“No, nothin’ yet. ‘M just gonna browse.”

And with that he’s off into the stacks. Once he’s out of your sight, you drop your burning face into your hands and groan. Humiliating. You’re so embarrassed that you’re jittery. You toss Jason’s books into the cart of returns and decide to make your way through the library returning them. The work distracts you from your own social suicide, as do the headphones you’ve pulled over your head.

You’re wandering along, head bobbing to the playlist you’ve entitled “book return bops”, when you encounter the source of your sudden emotional instability reading peacefully on the ground. He doesn’t notice or acknowledge you at first. It gives you time to admire him.

He truly is pretty. The cloudy light from the window throws shadows on his face, accentuating the sharpness of his cheekbones, his jaw, his nose. He’s like an old Roman statue. A beautiful man that reads, is kind, and is built like a brick house. You’re doomed.

You wheel your squeaky cart into the aisle and start placing the books back in their rightful homes. Jason looks up at you, a soft smile blooming on his face as he watches you work. Little do you know that he stares at you the same way you stare at him.

You glance over at him and see that he’s reading Frankenstein. You drag your headphones to hang around your neck and interrupt the peaceful quiet that’s settled between you.

“I need to know what you think of that book,” you demand.

Jason raises an eyebrow, gaze roaming from you to the book in his hands and back.

“It’s one of the best novels ever written. And one of the most widely misinterpreted by modern media. It’s a little infuriating, actually, just how much every adaptation misses the point.”

You’re in love with him. End of discussion.

“Thank you!” you exclaim. “First of all, the Creature isn’t green and bolted! Second, he’s not the fucking villain! Victor is! How do you create something, knowing every step of the way what you’ve made, then abandon it altogether once you’ve given it life. It’s bullshit. He’s neglectful and obtuse and utterly unaccountable.”

You continue to rant about Frankenstein for a good ten minutes, allowing Jason to make annotations to your verbal essay. In your literary fire, you completely miss the stars that are dancing in the eyes of the pretty boy sitting on the floor. If you did see them, maybe you’d realize that you’re not the only one with increasingly absurd inside thoughts.

“Anyways,” you sigh, “you’re the only person I’ve ever spoken to who gets it. So thank you.”

“No problem. You’re the only person I can talk to about it,” he says, voice going quiet at the last part.

You cock your head and raise an eyebrow in question.

“Well, my best friend isn’t much for reading. He prefers building weird shit. And my…dad,” he chokes the word out like it’s poison, “he just reads fuckin’ history books. Not even the good ones. He reads stuff like the history of semiconductors.”

You laugh so loud that it echoes. You slap your hand over your mouth, suddenly conscious of where you work. You’re still giggling as you sit down next to him. You look over and feel any of the air you’d regained leave your lungs. He’s smiling at you, bigger and brighter than he ever has before. And the way he’s looking at you…it’s not at all dissimilar to the way you look at him. Maybe you don’t have to stop thinking about him after all. You steel your nerves and dig your fingers into the shelf behind you.

“Well, maybe I could get your number so we can book club it sometime. Just so you don’t have to talk about semiconductors,” you joke, nerves coming through in the slight shake of your voice.

His smile grows even bigger.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says as he hands over his phone to you.

As you punch in the numbers, you swear that you can see how it’ll all unfold. You don’t love him yet, but you will. One day you’ll love him so much you don’t know how it stays contained in your body. You’ll discover that he loves chocolate chip cookies and you’ll learn how to make them for him. You’ll learn he’s ticklish right under his ribs, that the muscle that joins his neck and shoulder is extremely sensitive to kisses.

You’ll have bitter arguments when he comes to pick you up for a date with a black eye or a busted lip or a bum shoulder. You’ll have a vicious screaming match where he finally tells you what he does at night. He’ll vanish for a week, then come back to find you curled up in a ball on your couch. He’ll never vanish again, he’ll make a home with you. You’ll worry every night he leaves your side. You’ll rejoice with every sunrise you watch together on your fire escape.

Jason Todd will turn you into something tragic, into a love-struck, devoted, messy version of yourself that you didn’t know existed before he walked into your life. And, just for him, you’ll let it happen.

[satorusugurugurl]

JJK Men: Seeing You Without Makeup For the First Time

Warning: Fluffy sweetness, insecurities, suggestiveness, language

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Choso Kamo, Modern!Ryomen Sukuna, Nanami Kento

Word Count: 2,993

A/N: Ah yes, I love this trope. It was fun to write!! Please Enjoy, don't blame me from any cavities from this sweet fluff. Request Open.

Gojo Satoru:

The smell of freshly brewed coffee was the only thing keeping your eyes open. You grumbled and cursed the sun for rising another day as you leaned over the kitchen counter, watching the magic bean juice filling your cup. The higher-ups must not like you because the mission they just sent you on was hell.

A week, a damn week, you were gone. A week from your bed, students, and your boyfriend. Stupid old men and their dumb missions. But who were you to complain if you paid your bills and you were able to teach the next generation of sorcerers? So life wasn't that bad.

Then again, your somewhat happy outlook on life might be the sleep deprivation talking.

The bastards were sweet enough to give you one day to recuperate. There was no time to relax, though. You had laundry to sort through, groceries to pick up, and the normal mundane things you'd missed out on during the WEEK you were gone!

A day off was a day off despite it being a busy one. You would get it all done after you drank this coffee Satoru got you from Mexico on his last mission. As soon as you downed it, you would off. You were already dressed to go. You had on sweats and a t-shirt, and you opted out of putting on any makeup, seeing that you would just be running around.

Your phone chimed as Satoru’s name popped up on your screen. You smiled as you opened the chat.

Satoru: Good morning, beautiful! 😙 Welcome back! I had breakfast delivered to you; enjoy! 🍳🥓🧇

“Oh, he's getting laid later.” You squealed, running for the door to your apartment.

You flung it open, staring at the ground, expecting a bag, but instead, you were greeted by shoes. Designer shoes that you knew all too well. Slowly trailing up dark uniform pants and jacket that was from the same school you worked at. Further up, you caught sight of a wide grin, a blindfold, and fluffy white hair. All of which belongs to your boyfriend, who was holding a takeout bag.

“Special delivery for Y/L/N Y/N!”

Your boyfriend was here. The same boyfriend who was utterly gorgeous no matter what condition he was in. The man could be caked in blood, and you still wanted to kiss him. Then there was you; you always put in the effort to look nice around him, hair styled, cute outfit, some form of makeup always on.

Today was not one of those days.

In a panic, you squeaked, slamming the door in his face. “What the fuck?! What the actual fuck!?” You glanced around for anything you could use to hide your appearance. You panicked and grabbed the first thing off the couch.

“Uhm, babe?” Satoru questioned, opening the door. “I know you were gone for a week. But I'm Gojo Satoru, your boyfriend.”

“I know!! Sorry, I wasn't expecting to see you!” you had your back turned to him, covering your face with your hands. “T-Thanks for the food! But I have so much to do!”

“Really?”

“Yep! Laundry!”

“I had Ijichi pick it up this morning.”

Fuuuuck.

“O-Okay! I have to get groceries!”

“Your fridge is fully stocked, courtesy of yours truly.”

The room felt like it was shrinking in on you as you listened to him come up behind you. The bag was discarded as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. You weren't sure how he would react, seeing your bare face, and that was terrifying.

So many men thought women wearing makeup was like lying. You had always done very light and minimal makeup, but it didn't make it less scary. Sensing the tension, Satoru gently turned you around so you were facing him. He stiffened, his mouth turning from a grin to a shocked expression.

“Y/N?” His voice was so quiet.

“Y-Yeah?”

A choked laugh erupted from his throat. “I-Is that one of my blindfolded?!” He called as you stated at the darkness his blindfold provided. “Oh my god, hold on! Hold on!” You could feel him near you with the camera on his phone clicking. “Oh my god, wait until the second years see this!” Fingers hooked under the blindfold, yanking it up and off your head.

Your hands flew up, hiding your face. Your attempt was foiled as Satoru's gentle hands pulled them away. With a shuddering sigh, you looked up at him, biting your cheek as he fully saw you. For you, no makeup, fancy clothes, or styled hair.

Satoru just smiled, leaning down before he kissed your lips gently. “Welcome home.” He pulled back, tilting his head to the side. “What was with the off-brand cosplay?” Your cheeks are flushed, the darker pigment visible without any trace of makeup.

“I-I don't have any makeup on.”

“Oh!” He straightened, his large hand patting your head. “You're so cute.”

His grin grew wider at the confused expression inching its way over your face. “Seriously? Do you think that? Even without the makeup and the baggy clothes? You still think I'm cute?” Satoru’s head bobbed up and down so fast you thought his head would fall out. His sincere reaction made you giggle, shaking your head. “Satoru, you are so strange. But also extremely sweet.” When you looked up, you blinked, seeing Gojo holding up one side of his blindfold. His bright blue eye looked you over, inching over every curve and surface of you. “Satoru, stop staring.”

“I just was confirming something.” he snapped his blindfold back into place before draping an arm over you.

You poured yourself a cup of coffee while Satoru pulled your breakfast out of the bag. “Confirming what?”

“Just confirming with Six-Eyes that I have the prettiest girlfriend in the entire world.”

Gojo’s smile slowly faded as you slammed the coffee pot down. Oh fuck, what did he say?! You led around; fire swarmed in Y/E/C eyes as you stormed over to him, grabbing his wrist.

“W-What?! What did I say?” He huffed out a gasp as you shoved him onto the couch.

“Everything.”

You unzipped his pants, and Gojo’s eyes were wide behind his blindfold. Even with Six-Eyes, Gojo did not see this coming. Spoiler alert: It was him, he was going to cum.

Choso Kamo:

A knock at your door had you straightening from your spot on the couch. Looking at your phone, you quickly got up. It was well past midnight, and it was never a good sign when someone knocked that late at night on the door.

Much to your relief, when you opened the door to your apartment, your boyfriend looked down at you. “Choso?” a sigh of relief escaped your lips.

“I'm sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked before entering your apartment.

“No, I think you just saved me a stiff neck.” You yawned out before locking the door. “Did you and Yuuji finish up with that mission?”

“Yes, he went back home; I wanted to see you.”

Choso watched as you moved around the apartment. You straightened up the pillows on the couch and wiped down your kitchen before grabbing his hand and leading him to the bedroom. The entire time you went about your mundane tasks, Choso just stared. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something was different about you.

Choso’s eyes moved over you. Trying to depict what was different tonight. Haircut? No. New pajamas? No, that wasn't it, either. Everything Choso tried to think of wasn't the right answer. Not knowing what it was frustrated him to the point that Choso’s eyebrow twitched.

What had you glowing in the lowlights of your bedroom as you pulled the sheets back? “Cho?” You finally asked with a nervous chuckle. “Are you okay? You're staring holes through me.” Realizing that he had been caught, Choso flinched.

“I'm sorry, sorry I just—” Words trailed off as his cheeks flushed.

You had noticed Choso staring at you since he came inside. The poor guy never saw you without makeup, which was probably strange. He seemed to be struggling, trying to find the words to the mountain of questions he might have.

“It's okay. I think I know what you're going to ask.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, you’re going to ask what’s different.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I look different because I’m not wearing makeup.”

Choso tilted his head to the side.”Oh, no, I was going to say you look radiant tonight.” The words that left his mouth had both of you standing in silence.

You just eyed Choso as he smiled, nodding his head like he'd figured out the mystery of what was different. Pleased with his conclusion, he helped you pull the sheets back. His hands smoothed out the covers before he peered up at you. You were blushing, smiling ear to ear as you finished pulling the bed back.

“I just finished doing my skincare routine,” you announced as you crawled into bed after Choso showered. “I have a new serum that is supposed to make you look luminescent.”

Choso studied you carefully as he crawled into bed with you. “Mmm, maybe that’s it.” He pulled you into his arms. “Or maybe it’s just me.” Choso hummed, staring into the face that he loved so much. “Falling in love.” Love?! “Yeah, I think that’s exactly what this is.”

That was the reasoning behind your radiant glow. A glow that always surrounded you no matter what you wore or looked like. Choso saw utter perfection in you. So it only made sense that the reason you looked extra stunning was that he had fallen in love with you even more.

You just snuggled closer into his chest, grinning wide as he yawned. “I love you too, Cho.”

Ryomen Sukuna:

Ten minutes. All it took was ten minutes before chaos erupted in Sukuna’s apartment. He had just finished changing when he heard the commotion. Yuuji and Choso were bickering before you gently tried to break up the argument. The next thing he heard was a scream, your scream, to be exact.

He bolted, running into the kitchen, where he found you wiping at your face. “What the fuck?!” His younger brothers both stood in shock, watching you in fear. Yuuji was holding a box of baking soda, and Choso held a bottle of vinegar.

In the center of the kitchen was the volcano experiment you had been helping Yuuji make. Sukuna was able to put it all together in an instant. He didn't bother yelling. He instead lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom.

“What the hell happened?” You flinched when you felt a warm, wet rag gently cleaning your face off.

“The boys wanted to see how big of an explosion they could make. But you know the boys, they both were arguing about who should do what. Words were said, contents were thrown into a beaker, and I didn't have my safety goggles on.”

Sukuna sighed, continuing to rub off the mess on your face. “You're not hurt, are you?”

“Nope!” Your confident response had your boyfriend chuckling as he wiped more of the foamy goop off your face.

After about five minutes of wiping and rinsing the rag, Sukuna sat on the tub's edge, examining your face. It was without the small amount of makeup you had on and the lighting of the bathroom that he stared at you. You were stunning, gorgeous in everything. But here in the bathroom, his eyes mapped out your face.

“What happened here?” he asked, fingertips pressing against a small scar under your eye.

Thinking it was food coloring, you turned to the mirror, seeing your bare face. “EH?!” You touched it, groaning as you looked back at your boyfriend, who was smirking. “You wiped off all my makeup!” For a second, Sukuna thought he was dealing with a third child in his apartment.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want to have vinegar on your face?” You shook your head. “That's what I thought. So confess what happened there?”

“Acne scar.”

A soft him rumbled in his chest before he learned over, thumb grazing over a tiny scar at the bottom of your lip. “This?” gentle fingers moved up, brushing over your bottom lip as he stepped closer towards you.

“I-I fell off my bike.”

You swallowed hard, whimpering as Sukuna’s fingers grazed over your face. You were feeling how soft your delicate skin was. All of you mesmerized him. Every time you came over, he learned a little more about you. And god, he fuckin’ loved that.

His hands gently mapped your face out. The softness had you breathing heavily, his eyes glued to your lips. Having your boyfriend gaze over you with such a soft yet burning gaze had you shifting. The air in the bathroom became thick with need as he slowly slipped your tank top sleeve down.

“Y/N, let me see all of you. I want to map out your body and learn everything it has to say.”

“W-What’s gotten into you?”

The whisper tone of your voice had Sukuna sliding the other sleeve of your tank top down. “You. You’ve crept your way into my heart.” The confession that spilled from his lips has you leaning in, wanting him to touch you everywhere. The same way he had touched your face.

“Hey, is she okay?” Choso’s timid voice whispered through the door. “Yuuji’s worried.”

“Take Yuuji out for ice cream.” Your tank top is slowly pulled over your head. “My card is on my dresser.”

Silence spreads out as you tug Sukuna’s shirt up and off. “R-Really?” hands began working on jeans.

“Yes, I have my own project to work on.” Sukuna turned the shower on, and he never heard Choso collecting Yuuji so fast. Refusing to answer any questions as the door to the apartment slammed shut.

Sukuna’s antics had you giggling, licking your lip, and he stripped you completely. “A project, huh?” he nodded, following you into the shower.

“Yeah, but it won't be vinegar foam that covers that pretty face this time.”

Nanami Kento:

The hotel sheets were cold and crisp over your and your boyfriend's bodies. Between the chill and the heat Nanami was putting out, you felt so comfortable. It was the perfect combination that made you want to relish the feeling forever.

The sun was up, which meant you both would be going home soon. You both had been called out on a mission, one that took a bit longer to handle than you both were anticipating. You missed the last train back to Tokyo. Leaving you both stranded in Kawasaki for the night.

Instead of having one of the assistant supervisors drive all the way out to get you, you and Nanami decided to stay at a hotel. God, it was nice: room service, wine, a hot shower. Missing that last train was a reward for the two of you. Nothing more than relaxation and joy. But the moment Nanami pulled you tighter against him, you realized you didn't have your overnight bag.

Meaning you didn't have your makeup.

“Oh no, oh god no.” You whined as Nanami lifted his head.

“What’s wrong?” His groggy voice asked, trying to assess what was going on.

Burying your face in your pillow, you grumbled, cringing as you felt Nanami shift beside you. “I don't have my bag.” The covers move as Nanami props himself up.

“Your overnight bag?”

“Mhmm.”

Silence stretched out. “Did you need something out of it? Aspirin or tampons? I'll go grab you some.” The sincerity of his words made your heart soar. God, Nanami was the best boyfriend.

“No, no, I'm okay.” You shyly turned, swallowing hard. “I just realized you've never seen me without makeup.”

Nanami’s gaze was soft; honey-brown eyes slowly roamed over your face. He took his time, his hand reaching out, knuckles grazing your cheek. It was so gentle and sweet that you pressed yourself against his hand. The warmth spreads to every part of your body.

The bed shifts as Nanami’s hand cups your cheek, pulling you closer. “You are still as stunning in the morning bare-faced as you are all dolled up.” Before you could even think of what to say in response, his lips were on yours.

His lips were warm, like a spring day. You moaned happily, kissing him back as his hands slowly ran down your arms. Breaking the kiss, had you pouting with a displeased groan that shifted into a moan. Those warm lips slowly moved down your face. Nanami was trailing the softest, warmest kisses down your body, over your shoulders and upper arm.

“I want to see all of you.” Hot breath whispered over your skin. “See every part of you, body, mind, and soul in the raw.”

Soft kisses were replaced with gentle nips. The sensation had you arching your back as Nana crawled on top of you. His morning wood was pressing against your hip. It felt like you were melting into the mattress as the once-comfortable room suddenly became too warm. The need to get naked grew stronger and stronger.

“Kento~”

He didn't respond. He was too busy being love-drunk off of you. His fingers, lips, and teeth slowly mapped out every part of your body. Nanami’s actions left you a squirming mess underneath him. One that he was so pleased to see and feel.

Only once you were gasping for air, gripping his shirt, begging him for more, did Nanami finally pull back, taking his shirt off. “Every inch of you is the most beautiful thing that's graced this world, Y/N.” You sat up, pulling him into a starved kiss as he took your shorts off. Limbs entangling as he gently laid you down.

And yes, you missed the morning train. . .and the afternoon train. . .poor Ijichi had to pick you up.

[worlds-we-write]

The Librarian's Secret

pairing: Jackson!joel miller x librarian!reader

summary: You run Jackson’s quiet little library, and Joel Miller keeps showing up asking for books he doesn’t read—because what he really wants is you.

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader, Jackson era, librarian reader, secret romance, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, smut, explicit content, dirty talk, possessive Joel, praise kink, rough sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, after-hours sex, emotional intimacy, library setting, hidden relationship.

MDNI, 18+ only

My Masterlist

You weren't sure when Joel Miller became your favorite patron, but somewhere between quiet afternoons and dog-eared pages, he did.

Joel started visiting the tiny Jackson library every Thursday afternoon, always around the same time—three o'clock. At first, he was all gruff nods and minimal conversation, his voice a comforting rasp in the library’s quiet. He'd ask for recommendations, something good, something he “hadn't read yet.” But you quickly realized Joel wasn't actually reading any of the books he checked out. Still, you played along.

"Try this one," you'd suggest gently, handing him novels heavy with quiet longing, subtle heartbreak, or tender reunions. Each time, Joel accepted the book from your hands, his fingers brushing yours just a fraction longer than necessary. You always pretended you didn't notice, but the warmth of his touch lingered long after he'd gone.

He returned the books each week with the same straight face and a quiet “thanks.” Sometimes the spines looked untouched, sometimes you spotted a folded corner, but somehow, you knew it wasn’t the story he cared about. Not the one on the pages, anyway.

Months passed this way, a dance of pretend reading and lingering touches, of quiet, unspoken tension building steadily beneath the surface. You told yourself he was just a lonely man seeking routine. But you noticed how his gaze would follow you as you shelved returns, how his hand hovered near yours when you handed him a new title. It was all just beneath the surface, but it was there. And it made your heart ache in the best way.

Eventually, curiosity—and maybe courage—got the best of you.

Joel stood by the desk one Thursday, eyes scanning titles he'd never choose. His hair was slightly mussed, his shirt soft and faded from work. You watched him carefully, pulse quickening as you decided today would be the day you'd finally ask.

“You know,” you began softly, leaning forward on your elbows, "I don't think you've read a single book I've ever given you."

Joel paused, fingers brushing the worn spine of an old western. He straightened slowly, turning fully toward you, dark eyes unreadable. “You sayin’ I’m wastin’ your time?”

You shook your head gently, lips curving into a teasing smile. “Not exactly. But I want to know why you keep coming back.”

Joel exhaled slowly, running a rough hand through salt-and-pepper curls. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken truth, until finally, Joel's eyes softened. “I come here for you,” he admitted quietly, voice like a confession. “Not the books.”

Your breath caught, heart fluttering in your chest. “Oh.”

He stepped closer, movements deliberate, watching your face carefully. You didn't move away—in fact, you found yourself leaning into the warmth radiating from his broad frame.

“That okay with you?” His voice was cautious, nearly a whisper, like he was sharing something delicate and fragile.

“More than okay,” you whispered back.

From that day on, everything shifted. It started with a shared smile when he walked in, your fingers brushing intentionally instead of by accident. Then came the whispers behind shelves, words that meant everything and nothing: I missed you. You smell good today. You been thinkin’ about me?

It didn’t take long for those words to become stolen kisses. Quick at first, hesitant. The kind that left your lips tingling and your chest aching. You pressed him into the stacks one evening, breathless and bold, and he kissed you back like he was starving.

You learned the little things fast—how he liked to rest his hand at the small of your back, how his thumb would stroke the side of your neck when he kissed you. How he muttered your name like a prayer, or a curse, depending on how desperate the moment was.

But the secrecy was a weight. You kept your distance when others were around, careful not to let eyes linger too long, not to smile too wide. Joel was a private man, and you respected that. Still, the ache in your chest grew every time he left the library with nothing more than a nod.

The tension built like a storm cloud. You felt it in the way his touches lingered, how his gaze dropped to your mouth and stayed there. How his jaw flexed when you laughed too hard at something another man said. The air between you sparked every time he came near, but it was never enough.

Until one night, it was.

You’d stayed late to reorganize the reference section. Joel showed up after hours, said he forgot to return a book. He didn’t have one in his hands.

“Lock the door,” he murmured, voice low, rough with something he’d clearly been holding back.

You did. You barely had time to turn before he was on you—his hands gripping your hips, his mouth crashing into yours like a wave breaking on the shore. There was nothing hesitant now. This was hunger, months of it, poured into every movement.

Joel guided you back into the reading room, moonlight slicing through the tall windows, throwing shadows across the shelves. It was quiet except for your breathing, the rustle of clothes, the hurried click of buttons and zippers.

“You sure?” he asked, even then, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Joel,” you breathed, tugging at his shirt. “I need you.”

He groaned, deep and desperate, and the rest unraveled quickly.

Clothes fell away like petals, slow and reverent. Joel laid you down on the rug near the fireplace, his eyes raking over your body like he was memorizing it.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, calloused hands skimming your sides. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He kissed you everywhere—your throat, your chest, your belly—like he was worshipping, not just wanting. When his mouth found your core, you gasped, hips lifting toward him.

He took his time, fingers gripping your thighs, tongue working you until you were writhing. You came apart with a cry, your fingers tangled in his hair, your body shaking beneath him.

Joel didn’t stop. He kissed his way back up, lips slick with your pleasure, whispering your name like he needed it to breathe.

When he finally pushed inside you, it felt like something bigger than sex. Like trust. Like surrender.

His rhythm was slow at first, controlled. Every thrust deliberate, every kiss a promise. But the need built fast, urgency breaking through his restraint.

You met him stroke for stroke, hands clutching his back, heels digging into the floor. He growled your name as he buried himself deep, his body trembling against yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice rough and raw. “I’ve got you.”

But Joel didn’t stop there.

He rolled his hips with more force, deeper now, until you cried out again, nails scratching along his shoulders. One of his hands slipped between your bodies, finding your clit, circling it in tight, practiced motions.

“You gonna come again for me?” he rasped. “Wanna feel you come while I’m inside you.”

“Joel—” You gasped, breath broken and high. “I’m so close—”

“That’s it, baby,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let me feel it. Been waitin’ so long for this. So fuckin’ long. Always thinkin’ about how sweet this pussy would feel. Didn’t disappoint.”

Your orgasm hit harder the second time, more intense, your body clenching around him, thighs shaking. Joel swore under his breath, hips stuttering as he tried to hold himself back.

But you weren’t done. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper.

“Harder,” you whispered, voice gone hoarse. “I want all of you.”

He gave it to you.

He braced himself over you, driving into you hard and fast now, the room echoing with the sounds of skin meeting skin, of your moans and his breathless curses. Sweat slicked his back, and his lips never stopped—kissing your jaw, your collarbone, the corner of your mouth.

“Fuck, baby, you take me so good,” he growled into your ear. “So tight, like you were made for me. This what you think about in here when you’re all alone? Bein’ spread out on this floor, takin’ my cock?”

You whimpered, your body jerking with each hard thrust. “Yes. God, yes, Joel—always.”

“You’re mine now,” he muttered, voice dark and possessive. “You understand me? No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets this sweet little cunt.”

“Yours,” you gasped, overwhelmed. “I’m yours.”

“You bet your ass you are.”

You flipped suddenly, rolling him onto his back with a breathless laugh, straddling him. Joel’s eyes widened slightly in surprise but darkened with hunger.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, his voice thick with awe. “You’re a goddamn dream. Ridin’ me like you were made for it.”

You sank down onto him slowly, savoring the stretch, watching his face twist in pleasure.

“Ride me,” he growled. “Show me how bad you want it. Let me see those tits bounce while you fuck yourself on my cock.”

You moved with purpose, rocking your hips, leaning forward so your chest pressed to his, your lips brushing his ear. “You think about this while you’re pretendin’ to read?”

“All the fuckin’ time,” Joel hissed. “Think about you bent over that desk. On your knees in the stacks. Cryin’ and beggin’ for my cock.”

You clenched around him at his words, crying out again.

“You like it when I talk like that?” he asked, voice smug and breathless.

You nodded, too far gone to answer properly. He sat up, wrapped his arms tight around your waist, and fucked up into you with power.

“Joel—Joel—I’m gonna—”

“Come, baby. Come on my cock. That’s it, you’re so good—so fuckin’ good—makin’ a mess all over me. I wanna feel you soak me, darlin’.”

The orgasm ripped through you, and this time you screamed his name, body shaking uncontrollably. Joel came with you, burying his face in your neck, groaning loudly as he pulsed deep inside you.

He held you through it, his hand splayed across your back, keeping you pressed tight to him. Still buried inside, still panting.

“You ruin me,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to your temple. “Don’t want anyone else. Just you, sweetheart.”

“Good,” you whispered back, tracing patterns into his skin. “Cause I’m not lettin’ you go.”

“Worth waitin’ for,” he murmured into your hair.

You smiled against his skin. “Definitely.”

The library stayed your secret. The books Joel never read became symbols of something far more important: a love story written between the lines, hidden in quiet corners, unfolding one Thursday at a time.

And now, when he asked for a recommendation, he didn’t mean fiction. He meant you. Every time.

AN: Joel pretending to read just to rail the librarian? Yeah, I blacked out writing this. Hope it made you feral. 💋

[lostinlovingrevery]

Domestic bliss with Logan 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Hubby

Logan Howlett X Reader

Married life suits him

A/N: Thought of this ask today while I was working on a build project and came up with this!!! Enjoy <3 I want to be married to this man- also any Logan could be imagined, but Origins certainly has hubby vibes doesn't he? :)

Warnings: Married life, a lil short thing about mutants, suggestive ending ;), Logan nesting like crazy

"They're just people, mutants are just people with special abilities. I don't hold that against them! They deserve a normal life as everyone does-"

The talk show host rambled on and on. The usual spiel over mutants and their place in the world. Men in suits talking about the rights of people again; as if they were God and had any choice in what a man did and didn't deserve.

Logan wasn't really listening to it though. Background noise that he tuned out for the most part. He just liked having the old radio playing, kept him from drifting too far into his mind.

Occasionally it would start to static, losing it's connection and he'd reach over and bang on it- mess with the antenna. You've offered a hundred times to buy him a brand new radio, but he's insisted that this was perfectly fine. Why waste the money?

The smell of cigars and cut lumber filled the space- his workshop. Inside what was actually a barn at one point, but no animals to keep in it yet. You want goats and chickens- he plans to surprise you with a few baby chicks around late spring- once he gets a chicken coop built.

He puffed on his cigar a few times, before blowing smoke up into the air, while he examined the drafts he's been working on all morning. Dusty and smudged from multiple times he's had to erase and redraw lines he's messed up. He ashed the cigar on a glass tray, sticking it back between his teeth as he creased his brows in focus- reading his notes, observing his sketches- picking at details he forgot or needs to change.

He's building you a reading room. You don't know that yet. A nice cozy room, with lots of windows for sunlight, and walls with built-in shelves for all your books and knick-knacks you could never find space for. Putting it on the east side of the house- so you can watch the sunrise, your favorite time of day.

Least he could do, after spending the last few weeks building the dining room and driving you crazy with all the dust and bare walls and tools scattered over the floor- alongside some other messes.

He picked up the sound of your footsteps crunching against the gravel outside. Lifting his pencil, he added a few more notes to his drafts as he waited for you to try to sneak up on him- as you always do. Trying- and failing to surprise him, a little game you had with him for years.

You were being awfully quiet. Though the sound of your heartbeat always gives you away. He was always listening to it, a sound that brings deep comfort to him- no matter how far you were.

Once he discerned how close you were, he removed the cigar from his lips, setting it onto the tray and turning to look at you with a quirked brow.

You immediately froze at his stare, a plate full of food in your hand. Your shoulders became hunched and you pout.

"You can't pretend at least once to be surprised by me?"

"Even if you know better?" He asks.

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer and proudly presenting the plate of food that you've been cooking all afternoon for him.

"Lunch."

"Mm." He observes the plate, taking it from your hands and setting it atop his drafts- concealing it from your eyes. His hand went around your waist and pulled you close. "Looks good." He hums, eyes trailing up and down your figure- and you knew he wasn't talking about the chicken salad you made.

You giggled, leaning forward to peck his cheek, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Working hard?"

"Me? Nah. "

"Mm." You smiled, before glancing over at the papers, not paying any particular mind to them. "Don't be out here too long, okay? I miss you."

"Promise." He looks up, and gives you a sweet smile, and leans forward to give you a peck on the lips.

You began to walk away, but he caught your hand and pulled you back to him, pulling you into his lap with ease, eliciting giggles from you as your arms wrapped around his neck. "What was that?"

"Take a look." He reached over to the workbench and moved his lunch out of the way, giving you a proper view of that smudgy construction drafts. You leaned forward, his hands holding you securely in his lap while you examined the drawings and notes.

"Is this..."

"Yeah."

You looked at him, a knowing smile on your face. "I thought you said you were done building for a bit- especially after the incidents with the dining room."

He dropped the circular saw while it was running. Created a big gash in your new flooring- he hasn't fix that yet. Then he accidentally knocked over a can of paint that spread out and leaked into the carpet in the other room- replacing the carpet is on his list. Accidentally broke a window, just have cardboard taped over the panel for now.

He was handy, but he was not agile.

"This is different." He says. "It's for you."

You looked at him in surprise. "Lo, you don't have to-"

"I know. I want to. You deserve it, love."

You bit your lip as you felt heat blooming in your cheeks.

This man always finds a way to make you flustered.

Looking back at the plans again, your fingers fiddled with the collar of his flannel. "Well... If it's going to be outside for the most part, I guess I can't complain."

"I'm sure you'll find something." He teased.

You gasp, hitting his chest playfully, but he caught your hand and pulled you closer so he could kiss you. You both start laughing, mirth escaping you as you kiss.

His hands pulled you closer into his lap, and your pecking kisses melted into something messy and deep. His hand that rested on your thigh traced up your body, down your arm, and over your hand that was pressed to his chest, where he felt the ring he's given you not long ago, resting where it rightfully belonged; his own ring brushing over it.

"Mm." You hum as you parted from him with a soft smooch. "Why don't you take a break from this, spend some time with me?"

"Sounds perfect." He hums, his arms scooped you up from his lap as he hopped down from the chair, carrying you out of the barn, to your country home that you share with Logan.

The radio host droned on in the now empty barn.

"These....people, mutants, they have feelings! They- They hurt, they go through a lot of pain. They love too! They have family, friends, people they care about. So what if they can do special tricks that some of us can't?" The host carried on, "They have a right to live their lives, and to live it happily."

[pearlessance]

Moral Modification

Summary: When you decide to pierce your nipples, Joel Miller breaks his moral code to lend a helping hand.

Pairing: JacksonEra!Joel Miller/reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, seduction, age gap(undefined), piercings and needles, nipple play, moral ambiguity, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size difference

NOTE: this one shot was written for my bff joelmillersgirlfriend and all of the bolded words are titles of her fics over on AO3!! if you haven't read any of her work i def recommend going over there to check it out she's incredible. we also have a 3-part co-write we did on AO3 called False Pretenses! thank you to everyone for reading, love u all <3

[cross posted on AO3]

[masterlist]

You find it on a scouting mission.

Maria had sent you and Joel out in search of books to fill the shelves of Jackson’s overused library. It was a leisurely mission, moving slowly from house to house, searching through broken shelves and dressers and nightstands.

The blistering summer heat has you feeling exhausted by midday, and so the sun hasn’t even set when you pick a still-standing apartment complex and settle in for the night.

You drop your pack and flop onto the moth-eaten couch while Joel triple-checks every exit and every entrance in the tiny apartment he’d picked on the very top floor. He’s going at it again, glancing out of the wide windows with his rifle in hand, when you say, “If there was a way in or out, I think you would’ve found it the third time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not a man of many words, Joel Miller. But he was certainly fun to torture with lewd suggestions. 

“It’s real hot today,” you say. And it’s the goddamn truth—your skin is warm and your shirt sticks to the small of your back, and even though you’re wearing jean shorts the fabric chafes at your thighs. 

He does nothing but grunt in agreement as a reply. Few words. 

Though you try, you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you tell him, “We’d be a lot cooler if we took off some of these clothes, you know.”

Joel Miller is a good man. A really good man. This is why he pretends you don’t get to him, why he pretends to shrug you off as just a naive little girl whenever you brazenly flirt with him.

But you see it. 

The way his calloused hands tighten around his rifle, the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he turns his head just enough to keep that smirk from out of view. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. But he leaves his spot at the window and joins you on the couch instead.

You set your legs in his lap and when he rests his hand on your calf you half expect him to push you away. But he doesn’t—his fingers linger, pressing into the tender muscle. “How am I ridiculous? It’s only common sense, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes catch yours at the name. He’s never directly said it, but you have a hunch that it does something to him, speaking to him as an authority. A part of you wonders if he ever thinks of you in the way you think of him, wonders if his mind is often filled with sinful, raw images. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” You do. Of course, you do. But you’re out here all alone and he’s sitting beside you and you can feel the heat of his skin against yours and he’s so big and warm and masculine. You want him, need him in a way you’ll never even try to understand. “Explain it to me,” you urge.

Joel leans his rifle against the arm of the couch and reaches up to rub the tension from his jaw. He smiles, one of those all-knowing smiles that makes your heart flutter. It’s a secret sort of smile, meant for just you and him. “You got any idea how old I am, girl?”

You shrug and say, “It doesn’t matter.” Because it doesn’t. “I like that you’re older. Besides, I’m not talking about that.” You are. “I’m talking about the weather. The heat. I’m going to take my shorts off.”

Slowly, carefully, you trail your fingertips over the curve of your chest, down the center of your abdomen. His eyes follow your every movement, pupils blown wide and jaw set firmly. His hand flexes around your calf, squeezing softly.

When you slip the edge of your pinky beneath the denim waistband his lips part. You trace the seam, from one hip to the other and back again, real slow. Joel watches you and you watch him, transfixed, thighs pressed together to abate the ache that forms between them.

For a moment, a single moment, you think you have him. You can see the temptation on his face, clear as day. You think you’ve finally cracked the eternal goodness and strength of one Joel Miller…but his hand covers yours the moment you reach for the silver button.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you feel a little like you’ve been caught red handed. 

His fingers squeeze yours, but his touch is so sudden and electrifying that the faintest whimper erupts from your chest. You want him to touch you with those hands, to touch you everywhere. You want him to take all that you offer and more.

But he’s just so good. “Stop,” he says, breathless. 

The hesitance is palpable. The strain in his voice. You know he wants you, can see the growing erection pushing at the metallic zipper of his jeans from the other end of the couch. You know it’ll only take a little more convincing, a little more of the delicious chase…but you want the final decision to be his. You want him to need it, too.

So you relent.

You stand to your feet and move towards the staircase in the abandoned apartment. But when you step between his thighs, you linger. “Did you check for any books upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “No. Don’t think whoever lived here before were much the readin’ type.”

“Yeah, well…didn’t think you were much the reading type, either. But here you are.”

Joel shrugs. “Not much to do at the end of the world. Helps pass the time.”

You knock your knee against his playfully. “You even know how to read, old man?” He chuckles softly and it feels like a victory. “Never seen you in the library.”

He spreads his legs further to give you more room, settling into the couch with his head tilted back. You know he doesn’t mean to look that fucking good doing it, but he does. Taking up all that space, commanding without even trying. It makes your mouth water, makes your skin prickle in every spot he allows himself to look. And then he says lowly, “I’ve seen you.”

It gives you pause. Because if he’s seen you in the library back in Jackson but you haven’t seen him, it means he notices you. Even when you’re not out here alone, even when you’re not urging him to touch you, even when you’re not trying. A seductive smirk finds your lips. “You gotta crush on me or something, Mr. Miller?”

Joel scoffs and shakes his head, turning away from you to hide the redness on his face that has nothing to do with the heat.

You giggle softly and decide to grant him a little reprieve. “I’ll be back,” you say, escaping the growing tension and focusing instead on the task at hand. “If they don’t have books, maybe they have something else that could be useful. Clothes or shoes or batteries or something.”

It only takes a few minutes before you realize what he meant when he said the past inhabitants of the apartment don’t seem much like the reading type. There’s not a single bookshelf to be found. Nothing on the walls, nothing standing in the spare room. There are three computers, though. Not that they’re worth anything now. 

Still, you try your damndest to find something. Anything. You rifle through drawers and find nothing but a cracked and weathered bible, of which you have a thousand and one copies in Jackson.

The closest thing you find to a real book is a stack of magazines in the cluttered bathroom. All are covered in a thick layer of dust and most have images of sports cars on the front, but they’re worth grabbing, anyway. You’re sure Tommy or Greg or someone wouldn’t mind skimming through them, so you grab the whole stack and return downstairs to Joel. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when the magazine on the bottom of the stack tumbles from your hands. And it’s not a sports car on the front page.

Instead, it’s a woman all dressed up in leather. She wears platform boots that reach her knees, adorned with heavy silver buckles down the front. Even though you were born not long after the outbreak, you’re not oblivious. You know what pornography is, but you’ve never seen anything quite like this.

You pick it up and put it on the top of the pile.

When Joel sees the small stack in your hand he asks, “Anything good?”

“Mm. Not sure yet.” You set the pile onto the floor beside your pack, nestle back into your spot in the opposite corner of the couch, and flip open the magazine with the leather-clad woman on the front, reading the title aloud. “Have you ever heard of a porno mag named Dreadnought?” 

“What are you—is that—?”

“I’m just curious, Mr. Miller. Relax.” You lift your feet and put them back in his lap and discover he is anything but relaxed. You can feel the stiffness in his thighs even through the thick soles of your high-top sneakers.

“No, what? No, you shouldn’t—you should…”

You ignore his stuttering, flipping quickly through the pages. Most of them are filled with erotic images of women dressed similarly to the one on the front page. They each have a man in a curious, submissive position. But none of this interests you, none of it even surprises you, in truth.

Near the end of the magazine is where you find exactly what you’re looking for. The woman on the front page is in different outfits, one in leather, another in red lace. But it’s the third page of her feature where she’s completely naked. Her breasts are full and sit too high on her chest to be real, but they’re beautiful. Not for any reason other than those pretty silver barbells that are pierced through her nipples. 

You lean up, tucking your legs beneath yourself, and show Joel the image. “Was this common? You know, like…before?”

His face is red and you think maybe he’s forgotten how to speak. Because no words come out, he just sputters. “Is…what…which part—are you…I don’t—”

“I’ve never seen anyone with pierced nipples,” you interrupt. “That’s what I’m talking about. Was it common?”

He seems to find himself. “Uhm…no. Not really, I guess. Why do you ask?”

You shrug and find yourself leaning into his side, flipping to the next page. There’s another image of the woman, and though she’s back in that red lace again, you can see the piercings pushing against the thin fabric. “It’s pretty,” you say. “I like it. Do you think you could do something like that still?”

“Well, back then they had people who’d do that sorta thing professionally,” he says. “But as long as you’re careful, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

You let it go, and the two of you ration what food you have left, deciding to head back to the commune within the next day or two. You fall asleep leaning up against him, head resting on his shoulder. And you know Joel doesn’t rest much outside of Jackson’s walls, always too worried about being found or threatened in some way. But halfway through the night, you wake covered in a thin layer of sweat, scorched by the warmth of his head against your belly.

At some point in your sleep, you’d shifted, laying on the couch on your back, and Joel must have followed you. His arms are wrapped around your waist and his torso covers your legs, body heat warming you to uncomfortable temperatures. 

But you don't dare move. Instead, you slide your fingers through the soft tendrils of his hair and scratch softly at his scalp, smiling in the dark as he moans in his sleep.

Your luck the following day is much better. You stumble upon an old strip mall, and inside there’s a small, indie bookstore. Joel picks through the science fiction section, stuffing his pack with everything he thinks might be interesting. He finds a few children’s books and pockets those, too, while you browse the romance section.

Half the books are crumbling dust in your hands and the others have so much water damage they’re hardly legible, but you pick up what you can. While you’re rifling through the horror books, stashing anything written by Stephen King or H.P. Lovecraft, Joel comes up behind you and says, “You really read that kinda thing?”

“What, scary stuff?”

He nods, takes the copy of Carrie from your hands, and flips it over. “Yeah. Ain’t we got enough horror out there already?” 

You roll your eyes dramatically. “It’s not the same,” you explain. You flick the corner of the book in his hands and go back to browsing the shelves. “ This you can turn off,” you try to explain. “If you get too scared you can just close the book. Have you ever read anything scary before?”

Joel shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Try it one day,” you say. “The best time is in October, though. Under the sheets with a flashlight, scared out of your mind. It’s so good, Mr. Miller.” 

His jaw feathers as if there’s something he wants to say. But the words never pass his lips. He simply slips the book into your pack and remains silent as he watches you. 

It takes a while, but eventually, you’re satisfied with your haul. The day is still early, and so you say, “If we head back now we could save some time. Get home before dark tomorrow.”

To your surprise, he agrees with you. The extra weight of the books has you feeling sluggish an hour into your journey back home, but you persist. And even though it’s significantly less hot today than yesterday, at least once an hour Joel’s passing you his plastic bottle and urging you to drink water.

It’s a sweet gesture, in truth. Joel’s got this innate instinct to provide for others, you know. You’ve seen it a hundred times, the way he just silently takes care of the people he cares about. Ellie, Tommy, Maria, you. You’ve observed him for long enough to know that he’s a protector, a nurturer.

The only problem with Joel taking care of you is how much you like it. It makes you feel soft and gooey on the inside, producing sordid images in your brain of repaying the favor on your knees. You think about Joel’s big hands on you often—in your dreams, even. 

But…today is different because you can feel the weight of the magazine at the bottom of your pack. You can’t shake the image of the woman on the cover and that metal through her breasts, can’t get over how elegant and edgy and bewitching she looked. You begin to wonder how it would feel to have Joel touch you if you had the same body modification—would his calloused hands feel more intense, sensations heightened with the sensitivity? Would he be gentle and slow-moving? How soft would his tongue feel against your skin over the adornment? 

He seems to sense your distracted thoughts. “You okay? Seem quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer a little too quickly. “I’m just…just hot is all.”

Joel reaches behind him for his water bottle again but you shake your head. 

“No, no. Not like…not like that.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face but you don’t have the energy to tease him about it. Not when you can’t stop thinking about his fucking hands. “Let's, uhm…let’s find someplace to rest for the night. Sun’s startin’ to set anyhow.”

“Yeah, that’ll be good.” As long as you stay six feet away from him. As long as you can keep your godforsaken hands to yourself. As long as he doesn’t look at you too long or ask too many questions or grunt an answer.

You find yourself praying, hoping to keep yourself from any further embarrassment, hoping to fight off that ache that seems to have made a home inside your belly. You cross your fingers at your sides and hope God’s got a private channel open for young girls with an insatiable desire for rugged, older men. 

It feels like divine interference when you crest the hill of the street you're walking on to discover a run-down tattoo parlor. It still stands in perfect condition apart from the crumbling siding. Windows dirty but intact, door closed and stagnant.

A distraction will work.

And it looks sturdy enough to rest for the night. You know Joel will circle it a hundred times before he’s satisfied, but you think eventually he will be satisfied with it. “Didn’t people do piercings at tattoo shops, too?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, they did. At most of them, anyway.”

The thought seems to cross Joel’s mind the second you look at him. “Do you think I could…?”

“Maybe. Let’s see.” 

You follow behind him as he approaches the building. He uses his knife to wedge the door open, and the two of you wait and listen for any approaching sound. 

There’s nothing, though. Nothing but stale, empty air, and a whole lot of dust. You stick by his side for the first two rounds of inspection, as is your routine. But when he goes back in for a third, you decide to take a look around yourself. 

In the front of the parlor, there’s a big, circular desk that sits atop the black and white tiles on the floor. The walls are painted maroon, and there’s a neon yellow leather couch near the door. You can only assume it’s where people would sit to wait, but the leather is smooth beneath your fingers even after all this time sitting unoccupied.

There are six smaller rooms behind the desk, each set up similarly with a blackout curtain and a medical-looking chair in the very center. In one of the rooms, there’s a binder flipped open, and as you begin to turn the pages you realize it’s an art portfolio. 

For a moment, you wonder about the person who’d drawn all of these designs. How old were they when they drew them? Did they have tattoos themselves? Are they still alive, out there somewhere still creating art?

People in Jackson still get tattoos, you know. But not as often as you think it might have been before the outbreak. You trail your fingers lightly over the next page. It’s an image of a glass half-filled with amber liquid, some sloshing out of the side. Below it, the words Tennessee Whiskey are written in cursive.

“Should be good.” His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. When you turn to face him, Joel’s got his rifle slung over one shoulder and he’s leaning against the doorframe, curtain pushed to the side. “Help me barricade the door?”

The two of you spend the next ten minutes moving furniture around the parlor, setting it all in front of the entrance. It’ll be harder to leave in the morning, you know. But you know, too, that a barricade like this means that Joel’s feeling too exhausted to spend another night pacing and you’re happy to give him the assurance of safety he needs. 

When you’re done, he spreads out on the leather couch and you put your pack beside his. “Joel?”

He turns just his head to look at you.

You sift through the books in your pack and reach towards the bottom, pulling out the magazine that’s plagued your every waking thought. “I’m going to pierce my nipples, I think.”

For several seconds, he doesn’t say a word in response. He just swallows hard and when his eyes leave yours, trailing down your neck, he squeezes them closed before they reach your chest. But you know, you know, even without any words, that he’s thinking about it. That he’s thinking about you, forgetting his morals for a single second.

It isn’t until you stand to your feet and start towards the closed-off rooms, magazine in hand, that he finally speaks up.

“Be careful,” he says. “I don’t want you hurt.”

You smirk at him over your shoulder. “Is that the Mr. Miller version of saying, I care about your tits?”

He snorts incredulously, but a chuckle follows shortly after, erasing all of your earlier embarrassment.

It doesn’t take you long to find the materials you need. In one of the cases you pry open with your knife, you choose two matching silver barbells with dainty, white diamonds on each end. You use a cloth to clean off a tall mirror in one of the rooms, and there’s a bottle of isopropyl alcohol that you use to disinfect both a steel surgical tray and your hands. 

You discard your shirt and bra, laying them in the chair in the middle of the room, and flip the magazine open to further observe the woman in the image. Thankfully, you find a drawer full of individually packaged needles and take out several just in case. 

Sterilizing your hands with the alcohol again, you align the jewelry over your nipple, inspecting the placement and maneuvering it until you’re satisfied. You rip open one of the packaged needles with your teeth and sterilize it too for good measure.

Carefully, you orient the needle just right, inhale until your lungs ache, and when you exhale—

“God fucking dammit!”

You can hear his footsteps before the sound of his rifle, and then comes his voice. “You alright? What happened?”

Your exhale is somehow shakier than your hands. “I’m okay, Joel,” you say quickly. You knew it was going to hurt, you’re literally piercing a needle through your flesh. But you didn’t expect it to be so excruciating. It stings even now with the needle pushed through, completely still.

He stands in the doorway, rifle lowered and pointed at the ground. Through the reflection of the mirror, you can see him glance around the room, looking at everything but you. “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t. This could be dangerous, you can wait until we’re back home and—”

“And have someone else pierce my nipples? Yeah, Joel, I’m good on all that.” You pick the jewelry up, sterilize it again, and breathe slowly as you push it through. This part, while uncomfortable, is a world easier than the piercing itself.

You twist on the tiny diamond ball at the end of the barbell and admire your work. It’s perfectly straight, much to your surprise. And though it’s just a small change, it makes you feel as entrancing as the woman in the magazine. 

There’s no blood, which you take as a good sign. And as the seconds tick by the pain subsides and is replaced with a dull throbbing instead. It hurts, but it’s bearable. The only problem is that as you try to line up the second needle, your hands tremble too much to keep it straight.

Even though you try to take deep breaths, try to shake the tremors from your hand, nothing works. And you can’t just have one, can’t just leave this task unfinished, and so you gather your courage and turn fully towards him. “Joel? I need your help.”

You’ve never seen him quite like this, you think. There’s no flush to his face, no chagrin or hesitance or resistance. All of his morality seems to be replaced with a dark desire, a need unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. 

Immediately you know this is the Joel Miller he’s tried so hard to hide from you. Only glimpses of this terrifying man have slipped through the facade, each one smothered quickly by restraint.

Yet here he stands, hungry eyes swallowing you up, tracing the outline of the jewelry without remorse.

“I can’t…my hands are shaky. I need you to do the other one.” 

His hands twitch at his sides. And even though you now know he longs to touch you just as much as you want to touch him, his words tell an entirely different story. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “It’s not…it’s not right. Shouldn’t even be seein’ you like this. Too…too young. Too sweet.”

The southern accent in his voice is thicker now than you’ve ever heard it. Deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours. He pins you with that intense stare of his and you suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe. Flickering flames gather low in your belly.

“I promise I won’t try anything. I’ll just stand here. I just need you to…to push the needle through. That’s all.” 

It takes him a second, but he nods. “Alright…alright. I, uhm…okay. Yeah.” He nears you slowly and you feel crowded. You can smell the salt and sweat of his skin, can feel that warmth even though he doesn’t yet touch you.

You pour the alcohol over his hands and hand him another packaged needle. “Here,” you say. “Just do it as straight as you can, and once the needle’s in I can do the rest.”

Joel peels apart the packaging and takes the needle between his fingers. He discards the plastic and you can hear each of his ragged breaths echo in your ears. Slowly, experimentally, he reaches out and presses his fingertips just below your ribcage and it makes you moan. 

He pulls away immediately as if he’d been burned by your skin. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Hold on.” You try again to catch your breath to no avail. “Let me close my eyes. I’m sorry.”

Joel nods, jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. But you do as you say, closing your eyes and trying to convince yourself it’s not Joel touching you. It’s someone else. The same person who drew everything in that portfolio.

But when he does touch you again, his hands are warm and calloused and big and familiar. You know it’s Joel. Your Joel. The brooding man of few words. The too-good man who cares about you, who lets you sleep even though he never does, who gives you his water to guarantee you stay hydrated.

His hand moves upwards, palm pressed flat against your ribcage. It stops just below your breast as if he’s feeling the weight of it in his hand and you wonder if he can feel the hammering of your heart behind your sternum, too.

You don’t have time to think about it for long, though. Because his thumb slides across your nipple, hardening it into a peak, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s touching you. He’s touching you and you want more, want to feel him on every inch of your skin.

This time you’re able to hold back your moan, but only barely. It’s more like a whimper that gets caught in your throat instead. But he doesn’t pull away, and soon his other hand joins in. “Should I…uhm,” he clears his throat. “Should I count, or…?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just…just do it. Please.” The words are desperate for a whole new reason. Your hands tremble even more at your sides.

The biting cold of the steel reaches you before you feel the pain. You try to breathe through it but the second one is somehow even worse and obscenities fall from your lips at the agony. It hurts so badly that you don’t even register as Joel slides the jewelry through and screws the diamond onto the barbell.

Ultimately, it’s his voice that cuts through the fog.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Hey, c’mon. Finished. Look at me, pretty girl. Open your eyes.” You do because that thick, southern drawl is more enticing than anything you’ve ever heard. You’d follow it anywhere, you think. Do anything it asks. “There you go. Atta girl.”

His words make your mouth water. You want to taste them. Joel’s hands are still on you, holding your hips, pressing into the exposed flesh. It’s all you can think about until he turns you away from him, forcing you to look into the mirror on the wall. “Oh my God.”

It surprises you a little just how much you love them. It makes you look powerful, like you are the one who belongs in a magazine.

“They’re perfect, Joel.”

“Did it hurt too bad?”

The question is so insane that it makes you laugh. “Are you kidding? It was awful. I don’t even know what to compare it to to try and explain it.”

He laughs too, a deep, throaty chuckle that brings a smile to your face. “Well, you have my sincere apologies, little lady.”

When you turn back to face him, you ask, “What do you think? Do they look good?”

You know you said you wouldn’t torture him, but the look on his face is so sweet that you can’t resist. “They’re real pretty,” he says. “They, uh…they suit you.”

“Think so?” You look up at him through your lashes, trying your damndest to look as desperate for him as you are. “Hurts a little,” you tell him, pressing your thumb gently over the center of your nipple, the one you’d pierced on your own. “Right here.”

He sees right through your false pretenses. You watch him swallow, watch his eyes darken. “Careful, little girl,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.

The name makes you squirm beneath his catastrophic gaze, thighs pressing together. He catches the movement—and you realize you want to be anything but careful with this terrifying, powerful man. Of course, you don’t heed his warning. “Might help if you kiss it better, you know.”

“S’that right?” You nod and a sinful smirk pulls at the corners of his full lips. He leans down and you can feel the scruff of his beard brushing the side of your face. Against your ear, he whispers, “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, sweetheart.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know it, and yet you can’t fucking resist. You’ve never been able to resist him. “Then show me.”

And just like that, his resolve withers. The cord snaps and the good Joel you know vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but this hungry, desperate man behind. He grabs your waist and hauls you up against him, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.

Your chest presses against his but the pressure is bliss, fighting off both the ache in your breasts and the one between your legs. He swipes everything off the metal table in the corner. Alcohol and needles and portfolio all crashing to the floor. 

Joel sets you atop it and his mouth hovers an inch above yours, breath fanning across your cheeks. “Last chance, little girl,” he says.

He’s giving you an out, you realize. One last opportunity to escape him. You lean up and press your lips tenderly to his instead.

It’s answer enough for him.

Joel’s mouth moves greedily against yours. One hand rests against the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other holds the nape of your neck. His tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like honey and whiskey and sunlight. You could drown in it, you think. But Joel doesn’t linger for long. 

He trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, your chest—-and when he flicks his soft tongue across your nipple, your back arches and you forget how to breathe. 

“Joel,” you say, voice needy and desperate. “Touch me. Please touch me.”

His hands flex against your skin, still holding himself back. You don't understand—can’t he feel how much you want it? Can’t he see it on your face, in your eyes? “I want to,” he admits.

You grind your hips against his and the sensation of the bulge in his jeans against your center has you shaking. “What’s stopping you?”

A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of his throat. He presses his forehead against yours, kisses the tip of your nose gently. “You make me crazy, pretty girl.” His hand comes around your throat, cradling your face. With the rough pad of his thumb, he traces the outline of your lips and says, “You make me feel like I’m eighteen again.” His hand travels lower, down your neck, knuckles dragging between your breasts. “Like I’m some little boy who gets a hard-on over a bra strap.” Lower, down your belly, between your ribs. “Or these fuckin’ shorts, baby.”

Everything aches for him. Every cell in your body has been lit aflame beneath his touch, longing to feel his hands, his tongue, to feel all of him. “Joel,” you say. “Please.”

He kisses a trail that follows the path of his hand, but this time he stalls at your breasts. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg,” he mutters against your skin. And then he’s kissing and sucking and biting marks into the softness of your breast, leaving proof that he was here, evidence of his affection. “If I touch you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“I want you to,” you say. “ I think about it all the time.” Your head falls back, hips rolling against his, seeking out any sort of friction you can find. “God—I dream about it. I want you inside me.”

His eyes darken as he looks up at you. 

A man of few words. This time it’s him who reaches for the metallic button. He pops it open in one smooth movement, tongue lapping over the metal barbell through your nipple. You can feel each pass over the sensitive flesh down to your toes. 

He wriggles his hand into your shorts, deft fingers finding your clit easily. You let out a lewd moan at the commanding way he just takes —as if he’s right where he’s always supposed to be. Right where you want him, right where you’ve needed him for all these years. 

Joel kisses a path across your sternum, mouth giving the same tender care to the opposite breast. He slides his fingers through your wetness, gathering your slick and using it to circle your clit. “M’gonna take care of her, sweetheart,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, s’that alright with you?” 

His words are filthy and obscene and you love it. You’re nodding quickly and saying, “Yes,  Joel, yes.”

A cold shiver passes through you as he rises back to his full height, towering over you when he takes a step back. “Let’s get these off,” he says. Joel helps you shimmy both your shorts and your panties down your legs until you’re sitting there in front of him completely naked. He’s still completely dressed and it makes you feel small and minuscule beneath the weight of his predatory stare.

He places both hands on your thighs and pushes them apart, spreading you open. And then he drops to his knees and lazily strokes his fingers through your wet heat. You can feel the chill of his breath against your clit and your fingers find the outgrown tendrils of dark hair on instinct, trying to pull him closer, wiggling your hips to the very edge of the table.

“Needy girl, hm?” He laughs softly. It’s not malicious but rather adoring, and you wonder how it is that someone so strong and authoritative can make you feel powerful and cherished in the same breath. “S’okay. I’ve got ya.”

And then his tongue is on you and it feels like heaven. So much better than you’d ever imagined, ever dreamed. His scruff scratches at the inside of your thighs as he slides his tongue through your pussy. Joel groans against you like this is more for him, and the vibration of the sound pulls staccato moans from your mouth.

He slips two fingers into you easily, encountering no resistance. You’re too wet, too eager to have him inside you. You whimper his name as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hands pulling tight in his hair. It feels so good it’s almost too much—but he seems to know what you can take more than you do. 

Joel looks up at you from between your thighs and you can see the palpable hunger on his face. You think maybe he’s wanted this for longer than you, maybe he’s somehow been even more starved for this than you once thought.

You can feel your orgasm creep down your spine, inferno building and building, settling low in your belly. You try to tell him, to warn him—but then he hooks his fingers inside of you, pressing against that sweet spot and—

“Oh, God—God, fuck—Joel, I—!”

“S’alright, baby, go’head. Cum for me, oh—yeah, that’s it. There you go, sweetheart.” His voice is so gentle, a stark contrast to the assertive way he moves his hands, pulling from you everything your body can give. The southern accent is thick as he talks you through it. “Feels so much better now, huh? Y’look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. So pretty when you’re all full’a me.”

Your thighs tremble even as you begin to come down, trying to catch your breath, holding onto his arms to ground yourself as he stands back to his feet, thick cords of muscle sturdy beneath your shaking hands. And he’s right—it does feel better now, but as he eases his fingers out of you and you watch him lick them clean, your pussy clenches at the sight. It’s better, it is… but when it comes to good and moral Joel Miller you are insatiable.

A deep, rumbling groan reverberates in his chest when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. Your slick stains the bulge in his jeans, darkening the denim material. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, big hands running slowly up and down your smooth thighs. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this…shouldn’t be takin’ advantage of you. Such a little thing, don’t know what you want.”

The answer comes quickly. “You, Joel. I want you.”

You reach for his belt and he watches your nimble fingers undo it, pulling the leather through the metal fastening. He hisses when you reach into his jeans and pull him out. 

He’s bigger than you thought, and wrapping your hand around him completely is a troubling task. You’re not sure he’ll even fit but it makes your mouth water, makes your swollen clit pulse with need. “Please.”

“I can’t, baby. Believe me, I want it, too, but I…you’re too good for me. Too—” He stops when you slide the head of his cock through your pussy, coating him in your slick. You watch the movement together and this time it’s Joel’s hands that shake. He curses under his breath, admiring the way he fits so perfectly. 

“Just a little?” Your own voice is hardly recognizable in your own ears, needy and deprived. You slide his cock back up towards your clit and it catches at your entrance. You both gasp in tandem. You love Joel and all his goodness but right now you want the worst of him. You want all of him. 

He nods and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Okay…okay,” he says to himself. “Just a little. You sure? You’re positive you want—?”

You line him up and shift your hips forward, words fading into nothingness. It’s just a little like you promised, but the stretch is so delicious you find yourself wanting more. More, always more—you think you could die without it.

Joel pushes in further, a little less than halfway, and then pulls out slowly. He groans and you feel like crying. His cock is covered in your wetness and when he pushes back in you think this just might be enough to make you cum a second time. 

It’s filthy and obscene and you love it. You love him. He reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb, fucking you slowly, eyes locked on the place you’re joined. “You’re so big,” you whimper.

You can feel the tension in his shoulders and you do your damnedest to smooth it out with small, massaging motions. He touches you just right but you want it to feel good for him, too.

That heat of an orgasm begins to build again. A low, incessant thrum between your hips.

“I have to,” he mutters so softly you hardly hear him the first time. “I have to, baby. I’ve gotta feel you. I’ve gotta…” And then he eases his cock into you to the hilt without any warning, filling you so full it hurts. The invasion stings but your body adjusts quickly, making room for him in the same way your heart has. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel him shudder as he breathes the word fuck into your skin. 

“Oh my God—it’s too much, too much—!”

“You can take it, baby. C’mon, spread your legs wider. I know s’alot,” he praises, circling your clit a little faster now. Your slick drips down your thighs, into the dark hair between his hips. “You got it, sweetheart. See? There you go.”

He pulls out just to sink into you again. This time there’s less pain and more divinity and your nails dig into his shoulder through his flannel as you adjust to the size of him.

Joel uses his free hand to tilt your chin up, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you deep. He sets an unrelenting pace, hips grinding against yours with each thrust. It’s so much and you’re so full of him in all the best ways. When you moan into his mouth you can feel his lips turn up at the corners, a predatory grin saved just for you. 

The sounds are filthy and echo in the room, an obscene symphony of devotion. You’d let him do anything right now—anything. 

He picks up the pace, hips snapping against yours. All you can think about is how right this feels, how you were made for him, how well he fits inside you.

A low grunt filters through his teeth and he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so pretty. How’s it feel? Tell me. Use your words.”

“S’good,” you whimper in response. Your brain is mush and your thighs become a vise around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper. “So good, Joel, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m—I’m close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum again already, hm?” He pushes his palm against your belly, thumb still gently stroking your clit. And the pressure of it feels so intense you let out a whine of bliss. “Yeah, you are,” he whispers. “Can feel her squeezin’ me. S’alright, baby. Wanna feel it.” 

His words send you tumbling over the edge of bliss, and he fucks you through it. Stars blind your vision and your ears fill with static. But you can hear Joel though, can hear him and feel him deep inside you through it all. 

“Ohh, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Pretty little thing’s just fuckin’ dripping all over me, feels so good. You feel so good.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, his rhythm falters. You can feel his cock pulse inside of you as Joel falls off the precipice. His head rolls back and the muscles in his forearms flex around the prominent veins. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you know you’ll never see anything as beautiful as this big, powerful man weak for you.

He’s panting when he slowly pulls out of you with a hiss. Sweat dots his hairline and that flush on his neck certainly seems like it’s staying for a little while longer. He’s beautiful, you think. Crafted by the hands of God himself, made with imperfect grace.

When he looks up at you he smiles in the way he always does, like the two of you share a secret. And maybe now you do. A sinful, dirty secret that’s all yours. You laugh softly and he mirrors the sound, helping you back to your feet. 

You hold his shoulders for balance as he helps you back into your shorts. And when he hands you your bra and t-shirt, you’re starkly reminded of the dull throb in your breasts and think better of it before putting them on. “I think they might be too tight. I’ll look around and see if I can…”

Before you finish the sentence, he’s unbuttoning his red flannel and tossing it to you. He wears a light brown tshirt underneath, the arms just a little too tight on his biceps. He looks so good that you want to take him between your legs again even with the sweet ache that lingers. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”

You do. He helps you with the buttons and it’s too big but gives your new body modifications room to breathe and heal. You ask him how it looks. 

“Better on you,” is his short response.

When you begin to fall asleep on the yellow leather couch later that night, all wrapped up in his arms, Joel presses his lips to your forehead and says, “When we get home, I wanna read that book of yours. Carrie, was it?”

You shift at his side, turning your head up to look at him. “You’re not gonna wait till October, like I said?”

Joel shakes his head. “You got any idea how old I am, girl? I’ve got no time for waitin’ till October.” He’s quiet for several seconds. And then his voice is nothing but a whisper as he says, “No time waitin’ on this to be right in the eyes of others, either.” 

And you can feel the heat behind his words, can almost hear the unspoken meaning. No time for waiting until you’re older, no time for waiting until the perfect moment. Your mouth pulls into a wide grin. “Are you asking to go steady with me, Mr. Miller?”

With a scoff, he runs his hand playfully down your face and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. 

When he kisses you, you make a promise against his lips. “I’m yours, Joel.” 

He doesn’t say much in the way of a reply, your big man of few words. But he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

It’s more than enough.

[littlemiss-yeehaw]

You're Gonna Be Quiet

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: It's just an undercover mission, anyone could be married for one night - even you two.

Warnings: profanity, flirting, yucky old men, suggestive content (?), possessive Bucky <3

MINORS PLS DNI

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: y'all.... im not an author. im an artist, not an author, so PLS go into this with that knowledge. but I have been convinced, no, coerced into posting this little funsy by @ellemj

she threatened to withhold vacation pictures from me as if I didn't draw her bucky barnes dick earlier today and I'll be damned

anyways,, please enjoy and manage your expectations :,)

“Okay, rumor has it the target, Mr. Beaumont, has a thing for married women,” Sam says casually as he holds a ring between his thumb and forefinger, “so for this mission, you get to be Mrs. Barnes.”

He tosses the ring in your direction and you catch it with a sour expression. You slip the rock on your finger and admire it, your scowl slipping just a moment as you watch how it catches the sun. That is until you see Bucky with an equally foul look on his face. Suddenly, your frown reappears.

“Sam, I feel like there is certainly someone better suited for this than me,” you grumble as you put your hand down and look back up at him, “I mean, aren’t these undercover missions more of a Natasha thing?”

Sam rolls his eyes before turning to face you, a hand on his hip. You were in for a scolding. “Natasha has her own mission. So today, you get to be Mrs. Hart. And you,” he turns to Bucky with a smug expression, “will be Mr. Hart. Any questions? No? Good, you two lovebirds go get your outfits on.”

You turn quickly, but not quick enough to miss the death stare Bucky shoots Sam. This one seems even more lethal than his typical one.

~~~

The ride to the gala is silent. Bucky is always silent, but this silence seems more… suffocating. You fiddle with the ring on your finger before glancing over at him. “Are you planning to even look at me before we get there? I mean, we’re supposed to be a marri-”

“You’re supposed to be a woman in an unhappy marriage who's looking to fuck a billionaire,” he says bluntly, not even turning towards you, “I’m just making sure that you look plenty unhappy.”

He would never admit out loud that the real reason he won’t spare you a second glance is because the first glimpse of you dolled up sent almost all the blood in his rational mind straight to his cock. He needs to preserve what little sense he has left.

~~~

You get out of the car with a huff. Just as Bucky intended, you look unhappy and thoroughly irritated. You pull the hem of your little black dress down in an attempt to recover some of your dignity, but all Bucky notices is how the little tug causes your breasts to be even more apparent. Yep, there went the rest of the blood.  

He sighs and grabs your hand before plastering a fake smile onto his lips. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

You sigh and forget anymore yanking on your dress, looking up at him with a grim expression. “Let's,” you mutter under your breath before letting him lead you into the gala. 

As expected, the event is extravagant and no doubt costly. You feel out of place, and you can’t help the way you move a little further into your ‘husband’s side. You let a breath of air past your lips as you look around the room for your target. Nowhere to be seen, you nearly move further into the room before Bucky squeezes your hand gently and nods to his left. You’re quick to ignore the flutter of butterflies that his touch sends shooting through you and casually look where he’s pointed. Surely enough, at the bar, sits a piggish man nursing a flute of champagne. Your eyes find Buckys and you shoot him a look before you drop his hand and make your way over.

You take a seat a few bar stools down from the man, making sure to fail at getting the bartender's attention. “Sir? Sir, could I-” You drop your hand with a sigh, feigning a disheartened expression.

“Sir, this lady would like a drink,” like a mouse in a trap, Mr. Beaumont waves him down for you and orders you a drink, “you look like you’d drink something fruity, a little thing like you. Maybe a sex on the beach?”

You wish you’d missed the way his lips pulled up in a foul grin and the way his eyebrow raised ever so slightly, and you really wish you hadn’t seen his greedy eyes rake over your body. Nonetheless, a soft laugh and a bat of your lashes grace him instead of the scowl that wants to pull at your lips.

“I’ve never had one before,” you say with a saccharine smile, “maybe we could share.”

You notice how his eyes nearly bug out of his head and then slowly trail to your hand. He slides his fingers, not dissimilar to link sausages, down to your left hand where he trails a thumb over your ring. “Are you sure your husband wouldn’t mind,” he asks with that same vile grin, moving his hand to rest on your knee.

“Not particularly, but I’m sure I don’t care,” you whisper teasingly, leaning forward and showing off your tits that practically beg to fall from your dress. ‘Hook, line, and sinker’ you think as the man runs a heavy hand up the side of your leg and his eyes trail down your neck to your cleavage.

Trembling anger washes over Bucky as he watches the man practically feel you up in the middle of the bar. The beads of perspiration running down the target's neck and the way he keeps nervously licking his lips give Bucky all the indication he needs to know this man thinks you’re his. Then Bucky turns to look at you. You. You’re just letting the man have his way, no, you’re encouraging it. Yes, it’s the mission. And, no, Bucky has no reason to feel such vile hatred for the target in any sense other than the professional one. But for some reason, he finds himself wanting to dismember any part of the man that graces your body where he hasn’t yet.

Yet?

Yet.

~~~

“Who’s this, darling?”

You bristle as you feel a breath of air pass your ear before the deep timbre of Bucky's voice even registers in your mind. You whip around to look at him, an expression of anger and bewilderment replacing the flirtatious grin you were just donning. You look back to the target, trying to mask your surprise.

“Honey,” you manage to say through gritted teeth, “I didn’t even see you come over.”

You pull your hands from the target's grasp, nearly cringing at the moist feeling left behind on your skin. You feel Bucky’s firm hold replace Mr. Beaumont’s slimy touch, and your body reacts all too positively. You lean back hardly at all, but it’s enough to feel his chest rigid against you. Was he standing too close or were you too eager? There was no way to be sure, but one thing you could be sure of was the fact that neither of you shied from the contact.

“Hmm,” he hummed lowly, a disapproving air oozing from the short sound, “when you never brought our drinks over, I got curious as to where you’d disappeared to.”

His eyes shift from the side of your face to the man across from you, who grows increasingly uneasy at the sight of your tall and broad ‘husband’. Bucky leans down close, so close that his lips brush against the curve of your ear and you hope he can’t hear your blood rushing in your head.

“I’ll ask again, who is this?”

You’re not sure if it's what he says, or the way he says it, but his words send a wave of arousal through your body. Suddenly, the too-tiny dress feels too hot and you’ve nearly forgotten his question. That is until he quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head expectantly. You clear your throat and look back to a flustered target, presumably intimidated by your colleague.

“This,” you reply before turning back to the sweaty man, “is Mr. Beaumont. He owns a software company and..”

You turn to the target, a ditsy smile on your lips as you try to recover your role, “what else did you do? I forget.”

He laughs nervously, shifting on his bar stool to make himself appear taller. Still pitiful in comparison to the man currently staring daggers at him over your shoulder. “I develop software and coding for various companies and organizations to use where they deem fit.”

Another low hum sounds from Bucky’s throat as he lifts his head from your ear, he meets Mr. Beaumont's eyes and sighs.

“Very impressive, Mr. B,” he says condescendingly. You frown, peeking over at him. What is he doing? This was not a part of the plan, “so you must be a smart man?”

The man in question smiles smugly and nods. “I’d think so, yes.”

“Well then, pray tell, why have you been feeling up my wife,” he asks coolly, Bucky’s turn to look smug. You, on the other hand, whip around to stare at him with an irate expression. He looks down at you with a matching frown, hardly able to mask his irritation, “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll handle you later.”

You’d like to think you were subtle in your shock, in the way his words leave you flustered. You had no idea Bucky could smell the wave of arousal that flooded your panties, or that he could hear the beat of your heart like a snare drum. Neither of you even noticed the target’s pitiful stuttering, too caught up in the most sexually charged staring contest ever.

~~~

“What the fuck, Barnes,” you hiss quietly, walking ahead of him to the car with steam practically flooding out of your ears, “I mean, what the actual fuck!”

You don’t wait for him to catch up before you get into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind you. You didn’t care for appearances, your mission having been sabotaged by your own partner. What appearances did you have left to keep up?

He gets into the driver's seat a few moments later, pulling his gloves off with a sigh before running his flesh hand over his face.

“Are you done?”

“No,” you snap, turning to face him, “I’m not. You have the audacity to call me reckless, but you go and pull a stunt like that? I had it under control.” Your cheeks are red with irritation and your hair is a mess from you running your fingers through it, but he’s too caught up with thinking what else would have you looking so flushed.

“If you’d just shut up and listen-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“I was getting the intel,” you’re practically ranting now, “and you just had to swoop in. And for what? To be all macho? To fluster me?”

The scowl on his lips that once matched yours turns into a scoff, and you narrow your eyes at him. Why are you looking at his lips? And why can’t you pull your gaze away from them? “What? What now,” you ask with a huff.

“You really need to learn when to stop talking,” he mutters, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he tries to wipe the smug smile from his face, “y’know that?”

You’re startled by his words, the flush on your cheeks no longer caused by his irritating actions but by his shocking words. Your eyes travel over him shamelessly, ready to jeopardize everything just to get rid of the tension that has lingered and grown exponentially over the course of the evening.

“Then why don’t you shut me up,” you ask softly, your tone opposite to the defiant one you’d held only moments ago. Judging by the minuscule way his eyes widen and the way his lips part around a sharp inhale, you’d be safe to guess he’d beat you to the idea.

You aren’t sure who moved forward first, or even if you’d moved at all. All you can be sure of is the feeling of Bucky Barnes kissing you like he’d never have the privilege again. 

Your lips move feverishly against his own, the car filled with quiet pants and sloppy smacking. His hands tangle in your hair and he tugs you away from him, his expression turning stern when you whine petulantly. “Did you know you were a fucking brat tonight,” he asks lowly, his stare hard. You swallow thickly, pressing your thighs together to relieve the ache between them.

“I was not,” you rebut, your brows furrowing and your lips turning down in a pout. He didn’t like that.

“You were,” he chides coolly, releasing his grip on your hair and sighing, “especially after we walked back to the car. You never even let me explain why I stopped you.”

You would like to focus on his words, but you’re too worried about the way his metal fingers nimbly undo the buckle of his belt. Silence sweeps over the car, the only sound being your shaky breath and the clank of metal on metal.

“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” he continues, “I’m gonna talk, and you’re gonna listen. Quietly.” You’re salivating as he tugs the zipper of his dress pants down, allowing the tent in his boxers some much-needed reprieve. “You know why you’re gonna be quiet?”

“Why,” you ask in a breathless whisper, only just now meeting his eyes again. 

“Because your mouth is gonna be full."

[fic-girlie]

Sundays at the Miller House

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: On a slow, sunlit Sunday, Joel, you, and Sarah enjoy the kind of day that feels like home—pancakes in the morning, messy school projects, quiet affection, and teasing laughter. It’s a glimpse into the warmth of their life, full of love, routine, and the soft comfort of chosen family.

Warnings: pre-outbreak Joel, Sarah lives, pure fluff, domesticity

A/N: Thank you so much for the support! 🙏😊 I want to work on other Pedro Pascal characters too, so if you have any suggestions, I'm all ears!

Sunday mornings at the Miller house didn’t start with alarm or rush. They started with warmth—sunlight filtering through the curtains, the soft hum of the fridge, and the creak of hardwood beneath bare feet.

You stood in the kitchen in one of Joel’s flannel shirts—soft, oversized, smelling faintly of sawdust and the pine-scented detergent he insisted was “the good kind.” Your hair was messy, your coffee half-drunk, and the first pancake of the morning sizzled in the skillet. It was peaceful. Quiet. The kind of quiet that meant you were safe. Home.

Behind you, the floorboards groaned. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Smells like you’re tryin’ to bribe me with food,” Joel’s voice came, low and still hoarse from sleep.

You smiled. “Depends. Is it working?”

He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his chin into the crook of your shoulder. “Mm. You makin’ those blueberry ones again?”

You leaned your head back against his. “Kid’s request. Said if I made the regular kind again, she’d stage a protest.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh. “She’s dramatic as hell. Just like you.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, nudging him playfully with your hip. “You’re the one who made her cry last week with a Home Depot commercial.”

“It was emotional,” he said defensively, pulling away and rubbing at his eyes. “That old man built a swing for his grandkid. That’s love.”

You were still laughing at his protest when Sarah appeared in the doorway, wearing her purple pyjamas and blinking and squinting like the sun was a personal attack.

“Why are you guys so loud?” she muttered.

Joel crossed the room to ruffle her hair. “Mornin’ to you too, sunshine.”

“I smell pancakes.” She added, suddenly more awake than before. Slowly blinking out the tiredness.

You slid a plate of them onto the table. “As promised. Blueberries and everything.”

Sarah climbed into one of the chairs that was around it and immediately reached for the syrup. “You’re the best,” she said with syrupy affection, before pausing and looking up at you. “Wait. Do we have whipped cream?”

Joel gave her a look. “You think we live in a diner?”

She looked at him with an unmistakable look and tilted her head. “We could.” You exchanged a glance with Joel—exhausted but charmed. This was normal. This was the good stuff.

After breakfast, Joel stood at the sink scrubbing the skillet with exaggerated drama, huffing every two seconds. “This pan’s got somethin’ against me,” he muttered under his breath. “Like it knows I didn’t want dish duty today.”

You called from the living room. “If you want, I’ll trade with you. You can do Sarah’s school project instead. Glitter glue and all.”

Joel turned just enough to look over his shoulder at Sarah, who was sprawled on the floor with scissors, markers, and a mysterious amount of pom-poms. She looked in his direction and grinned at him.

“You like glitter, Dad.”

Joel pointed at her with the sponge. “No one likes glitter. That stuff’s a trap. Gets in your truck, your boots, your beard…”

“It’s called texture,” she said smugly and proud of herself.

You just laughed looking at the two of them, lying on your stomach next to her as she sorted little foam balls by size. “We’re building a solar system,” you explained, holding up a badly painted Mars. “Apparently Saturn needs three rings, or she’ll revolt.”

Joel meanwhile gave up the fight with the pan and now he was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, smiling without realizing it. “And what happens if I mess it up?”

Sarah didn’t look up. “Then you get fired.”

“Fired from what?” he asked, amused.

She grinned up at him. “Being my dad.” Joel let out a mock gasp, walking over and plopping down beside you both with a grunt. “Guess I better do it right, then.

The three of you spent the next hour surrounded by construction paper, cotton balls, and glue-stained fingers. At one point, Sarah leaned too far and got her elbow stuck to the coffee table.

“Oh no,” she said calmly. “I’m part of the project now.”

Joel chuckled and gently peeled her arm free. “Ain’t gonna be easy explainin’ to your teacher how you turned into Neptune.”

“She’d get it,” she said, turning completely serious. “Mrs. Clarkson’s cool.”

You caught Joel’s eye and grinned. He looked back at you like he always did in these quiet moments—soft and slow and full of that silent, deep love he never put into words unless he really meant it.

That afternoon, the three of you loaded into Joel’s truck for a grocery run. Sarah sat in the backseat with her earbuds in, mouthing the lyrics to something she insisted you were “too old to understand.” Joel had the windows down, his arm hanging out, sunglasses perched low on his nose.

At a red light, he glanced over at you. “She’s gonna be a teenager in, what, two years?”

“Don’t say that out loud. You’ll summon it.”

Joel smirked. “She already acts like one. Gave me hell yesterday for eatin’ the last toaster pastry.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And? Did you?”

“…I plead the fifth.”

Iside the store, Joel pushed the cart while Sarah rode on the front like she was little again. You handed him things, and he tossed them into the cart with mild grumbling—especially the quinoa you liked.

“This ain’t even real food,” he muttered, squinting at the package as he read it. “It’s birdseed.”

You bumped his hip. “Healthy birdseed.”

He smiled sideways at you. “You know I’d eat dirt if you cooked it.”

“Aw,” you said, mock touched. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me in my whole life.”

Then Sarah piped up. “You guys are gross.”

Joel quickly reached over and ruffled her hair. “You’ll understand when you’re older and in love.” She scrunched up her nose in disgust. “No thanks.”

Back at home, Sarah retreated to her room to FaceTime a friend of hers, leaving you and Joel in the kitchen, unloading groceries. He reached into a bag and held up a bottle of hot sauce. “You get the good stuff.”

You shrugged. “You’ve had a long week.”

Joel leaned against the counter, watching you put things away. “I didn’t say thank you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do, though,” he said quietly. “Not just for this. For all of it. For… makin’ this house feel like more than just a place we could sleep.”

You turned towards him, your eyes meeting his. “Joel…”

He shook his head, his voice low and rough. “I mean it. Before you, it was just me tryin’ to keep my head above water. Pay the bills. Make sure Sarah didn’t eat candy for dinner. And now… this. Us. It’s somethin’ I didn’t know I needed ‘til I had it.”

You stepped in front of him and slid your arms around his waist. “You’re a damn good father, Joel. And a damn good partner. I hope you know that.”

He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m tryin’, darlin’. Every day.” “You don’t have to try so hard. You’re already enough.”

That night, after Sarah had gone to bed and the house was quiet, you found Joel sitting on the back porch with a beer in his hand, the stars overhead winking through the darkness. You stepped outside and wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“Tired?” you whispered.

“A little. Good kinda tired, though.”

He reached for your hand, his fingers lacing with yours. You sat down beside him, legs tucked under you and leaned your head against his broad shoulder. The night was warm, crickets chirping in the distance, the faint smell of cut grass hanging in the air.

“You ever think about how lucky we are?” you asked.

Joel looked over at you. “Every damn day.”

There was silence for a moment, soft and unhurried.

“I know I don’t say it enough,” he said finally, voice low, full of emotion, “but this… you… Sarah… you saved my life.”

You swallowed hard, heart catching in your throat. “You don’t have to say it.”

“I want to.”

You reached up to cup his jaw carefully, brushing your thumb across the little patch there. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“I love you.” “I love you more,” he replied, and you knew he meant it—not in that overused way people toss the words back and forth, but like a promise. Like an oath.

Two weeks later

It was a Tuesday when Sarah came home from school with a scraped knee and tear-streaked cheeks. You were in the kitchen, prepping dinner, when the front door slammed and she called out for Joel.

“Dad!”

Joel was off the couch in a second, meeting her at the door.

“What happened?” he asked, crouching down to examine her knee.

“Fell during recess,” she sniffled. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not stupid,” he said gently. “Lemme get the first aid kit.”

You watched from the doorway as he patched her up with the kind of tenderness that always made your chest ache. He kissed her temple when he was done and handed her the TV remote.

“Go pick out a movie, kiddo. I’ll start dinner with your girl here.”

Your girl. He always called you that when he was feeling soft and vulnerable.

When he came into the kitchen, you smiled up at him. “You’re good with her.”

Joel shrugged, washing his hands. “She’s my whole world.”

You wrapped your arms around his middle, resting your cheek against his back. “And you’re mine.”

He laced his fingers with yours slowly and turned around to face you. He held you for a minute, pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, and whispered, “Don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

You looked up at him from his chest, eyes serious. “You just had to let yourself be loved.” Joel nodded, and for a moment, there was something unspoken in his expression—some shadow from the past he didn’t talk about much. But then Sarah called from the other room, and the moment passed, and the warmth came rushing back in.

That weekend, Joel surprised both you and Sarah by taking a day off from work.

“No jobs today?” you asked as he padded into the kitchen with sweatpants on.

“Nope. I told Tommy to handle it. Figured we could use a day.”

Sarah whooped with joy and immediately suggested the zoo. Joel groaned but agreed when you gave him the look.

The day passed in laughter and sunscreen and overpriced ice cream. Joel carried Sarah on his shoulders at one point, pointing out the giraffes like he hadn’t seen them a dozen times already. You snapped a picture of the two of them like that, Joel grinning up at her, Sarah’s arms thrown wide like she could fly.

Later, when Sarah dozed off in the backseat, Joel reached across the console and took your hand.

“Today was perfect,” he said softly, careful to not wake her up. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It really was.”

Months passed. Seasons shifted. You celebrated birthdays and holidays and ordinary Tuesdays with popcorn on the couch. You danced in the kitchen with Joel while Sarah groaned in mock disgust. You tucked her in at night and kissed Joel softly when the house went completely still.

There was nothing extraordinary about your life—and yet, it was everything.

You would never know that these were the last days before the world changed. That the quiet mornings, the slow dances, the smell of pancakes on Sunday—all of it was precious because it wouldn’t last forever.

But maybe that’s what made it beautiful.

The way Joel looked at you across a lazy Sunday breakfast. The way Sarah leaned against you during movie night. The way Joel whispered “I love you” into your hair every time before bed.

These were the moments that lived in the spaces between—soft, unassuming, unforgettable.

[studiogrimm810]

Spring Cleaning

pairings/characters: (established) dean winchester x plus size!afab!you, sam is barely there

summary: a tiring day of helping dean clean up the impala has left you exhausted, sensitive, and self-critical. especially after finding something from dean’s bachelor days

warnings: sexual suggestions, mentions of porn, self-image issues, paranoia from past relationships, past enemies-to-lovers vibes

word count: 3,293

A/N: this was (kinda) a request!! based on the comments of a sam fic i posted a but ago from @aryaharmon and @bejeweledinterludes , i hope you enjoy this one <3

———————

Spring cleaning. Something that Dean never took into account until you mentioned it and damn did Baby need it. Dean is a man who prides himself on his car, he makes sure to keep her in mint condition on the outside and the inside. Well, by the inside he means the engine. The back seat, however, stays a cluttered mess of a tipped over trash can- Sam’s attempt at getting Dean to keep things tidy- some old newspapers, plastic bags from gas station stops, and too many receipts.

At least Dean is picky about food in the car, his issue is mainly simple discarded dry goods.

Now, ever since you’ve made a habit of hunting with the boys and leaving your car behind, you’ve been on him about cleaning it up so it isn't so crowded. Well today’s the day.

It’s a wonderfully sunny, but not too hot, day. Birds are chirping, wind is rustling through trees, and milky clouds puff through the sky for occasional shade. The perfect day for outdoor labor.

Dean pulled the car out of the garage of the bunker, wanting to also give Baby a good wash and wax.

“It’s a damn fine day,” Dean squints out at the sky, shading his eyes from the sun. He leans back into the car and gets a pair of sunglasses, slipping them on and looking around the area.

“Perfect,” you say, throwing your hair up into a ponytail. “Get motivated, cause Baby here’s gonna get a spa day.”

Dean smirks at you, watching as you pull back your hair and adjust your sports bra. He was very fond of the outfits you would favorite on a warm, stay-at-home day because lately it's been a tight-fitting sports bra and loose shorts that ride high on your waist and frame your ass into a perfect heart.

If you’re being honest, you just feel lucky enough to not worry about any derogatory comments from a man you’re dating like you’ve been used to in the past. You’re a quite confident woman and you like to be comfortable even at the expense of your own modesty, but sometimes so much exposed skin can bother you. Especially when you start to sweat.

“Let’s get some music goin’!” Dean pumps, grabbing a radio from inside the garage and positioning it so that the speakers flow towards the car.

“You actually gonna let me play something other than the hair rock or death metal or whatever it is you love?” You ask with a thoughtless head tilt and your hands on your hips. You like winding him up about his music.

“I’m not even gonna explain how wrong you are,” Dean rolls his eyes, pressing some buttons on the stereo and it soon blasts some familiar tracks.

“Oh, right. I forgot, you prefer the term ‘divorced dad rock’,” you nod with an understanding smile and he looks back up at you with a serious face that makes you cackle. He starts to walk towards you and you hold out your hands. “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry,” you defend in a surprised shriek between giggles, “just don’t come any closer.”

His lips twitch in a betraying smile as he continues forward, lifting you up and starting to lecture you on the proper and preferred terminology that you’ll never remember. He places you on the hood of the Impala, keeping your legs locked around his waist so you have nowhere to go.

“And then, in the 80s-.”

“Dean!” You interrupt, slapping his chest, “put me down.” Your laughter ripples away softly, stomach sore and cheeks stiff from smiling. He throws his head back with a groan, like a child, and mutters a pouty ‘fine’ before kissing your nose and letting you have your ability to walk back.

You straighten up your clothes, shorts having bundled up from the positions you were lifted in, and Dean gives you a knowing wink.

Music plays and conversation flows. At one point, Sam comes out with a couple of beers and offers his help but Dean waves him off and just requests that Sam handles something for lunch.

After Sam retreated back inside, you slid on the floor of the back seat to pull any lost items from under the front bench. It was a majority of discarded empty gum wrappers, straw wrappers, and a few pens Sam must’ve lost. But there was one larger piece of… something reflective. You strain to reach it from under the driver's side and upon contact, you can tell it’s a magazine. You pull it out, ready to toss the item in the trash but once you catch a glimpse of the cover, your face pales in embarrassment.

Embarrassment? Really?

That reaction didn’t make sense to you at all but it was absolutely what you were feeling as you looked at the crinkled cover of ‘Busty Asian Beauties’.

You know Dean, you have for a while, and you know that this is his go-to skin mag- hell, you’ve heard him and Charlie boast once or twice about some of the women in this thing- but you couldn’t grasp why it was embarrassing to see. You cleared your throat and climbed out of the Impala.

“Lose somethin’?” You ask, squinting from the sun and tossing Dean the magazine. He catches it and looks it over with a raised brow, moving up his sunglasses to his head. You anxiously wait for his reaction, trying to anticipate if your misunderstood embarrassment will evolve to anger or insecurity. Then he tosses it in the trash with a disinterested shrug, sauntering over to you and wetting his lip.

“Not even a little bit, baby, I got all I need right here,” he looks at your lip and pulls you in by your hips to kiss you gingerly, his thumb caressing your bare abdomen.

Okay, totally not what you had expected. Dean had been flirtatious with you since you two met and you honestly used to somewhat despise him for it. You saw him as a womanizer who would drool over anyone kind enough to show him some skin. You knew the kind of guy he could be and that was honestly the main reason you brushed off his advances for so long, you seriously thought he just flirted with everyone. But you took a chance on him and have been cautious ever since, keeping an eye out for a moment like what could have just been.

But instead he skimmed over the cover like it was a shoe with gum stuck to it and threw it away.

You smile into the kiss, a small but loaded smile that is more relief than anything. The embarrassment starts to fizzle away as he pulls away.

“Now let's get the hose,” he says with a devious glint.

Dean has an abundant array of products in the garage to freshen up Baby with- and he has the nerve to diss Sam for his conditioner- that you don’t really know what to grab. So you just go based on color. A red here, purple spray there, oh, and a cool-looking neon green that’s really syrupy.

By the look on Dean’s face once you return, you’d reckon you just slashed all of Baby’s tires and carved a slur in her hood.

“What?” You ask, already ruffled by his dramatic attitude at the products in your hands.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head and walks with purpose to snatch the items back and go to collect the right assortment.

You stifle a laugh as he grumbles something about ‘not teaching you good enough’ and how he has to change that.

He returns with a completely different set of products but you see that he’s kept the green so you lose the attitude a tad.

“These are for the summer. The heat, rain, humidity. The shit you brought over was basically redundant chemicals that will speed up the rusting process,” he looks up at you with raised brows to make sure you’re taking him seriously. You pinch your lips together to not laugh and even frown a bit to help prevent the humor tickling your muscles into a smirk.

“We start with this,” he places some hot pink bottle that looks good enough to drink in front of you that reads ‘Classic Suds’. He then hands you a bucket and a rag. “Let’s get to it.”

Dean instructs how much soap to fill and how to suds it up with the hose. He even hands you a ‘special tool’ that's just a fancier sponge for the tires and only the tires. You have to repeat it to him three times before he can trust you won't use it on the paint.

More music is played and then lunch is eaten and soon enough it’s time to wash away the suds that Dean wanted to sit while the trio ate.

Sam retreated back inside to take care of some other chores and Dean hosed Baby down. You made the unfortunate decision to stand in Dean’s line of sight because before you can even register his pause, you’re doused in warm water that sprays over you effortlessly like a handheld sink faucet.

“Hey!” You scream, trying to stop the water with your hands but you’re already beyond soaked.

Dean laughs, but tries to play it off, “ya just looked like you needed a refresh,” he shrugs with wide eyes like ‘what else could I have possibly done?’.

“You dick,” you laugh in pure shock and a little anger. You dart at him and he dashes away, spraying you to try and get you to stop. You don’t let up, and you’re half tempted to dump the bucket of soap and grime on him but you know he’ll then just try to hug you with it.

The chase halts as both of you are on complete opposite sides of the Impala. You’re both panting and staring right at each other.

“Dean, I swear to god,” you huff, wiping some soaked strands of hair away from your forehead. You feel like a wet cat, all raggedy and gross, and you’re now aware of how little your clothes do for you as the fabric of your shorts cling to your hips and your sports bra has been turned sheer from the water.

“What?”

You don’t know.

You’re just flustered now and cold and want to dunk him in an ice bath as a repercussion. You sigh in frustration, looking down and seeing the ‘special’ sponge from earlier. You scoff, picking it up and showing him. His face falls and he points at you.

“Put that down! She has no part in this,” Dean warns.

“Your turn,” you shrug, “take it off,” you tick your head to his flannel and jeans. He glares at you. “I’m half naked and soaked, it’s your turn.”

“Hey, you said it, not me,” he says with a playful wink, turning your comment dirtier than you intended. You scoff with a smile you can’t stop from forming, you try to move your tongue along the inside of your cheek to prevent it, but it's no use. You bring the sponge closer to Baby. “Okay! Jesus, fine,” he rolls his eyes, unbuttoning his flannel and ripping off his jeans next. While he stripped, you walked over slowly and snatched the hose just in time for him to be to late to grab it back.

“Redemption, Winchester,” you say before blasting him with water like he did you. He initially flinches at the brust right at his face but inevitably just stands and takes it, opening his eyes once the stream stops. He deadpans at you, spitting out some water off to the side and then back at you.

“Happy?” He asks. Despite his resting bitchface of annoyance, he does really hope you are.

“Very,” you nod with a happy smile.

———

Baby sits pretty and shiny in her designated spot in the garage while Dean puts everything away and you let the sun dry up the last bit of your clothes.

It’s warm as the sun's rays kiss your skin while you bask in a reclined patio chair. Dean comes back but you don’t open your eyes yet.

“You’re gonna get a weird tanline if you don’t take those off,” he refers to the sunglasses of his you stole.

“Just a few more minutes,” you sigh, enjoying every ounce of Vitamin D your skin can soak up.

“Right, well, I’m gonna take a shower. Don’t get burnt to a crisp,” he leans over to kiss your forehead before walking back through the garage. You sneak a peek at the way his damp boxers hug his ass mighty fine.

Long enough time passes and you know you’ll either have to flip over for an even tan or head inside soon and get cleaned up. You settle for the latter, knowing you’ll most likely fall asleep out here if you relax too much more.

Inside of the bunker is a dark contrast due to the transition from being outside most of the day, but your vision fades back soon enough. You hear Sam and Dean talking in the library, but you head straight to yours and Dean’s shared room. You haven’t ‘officially’ moved in exactly but, due to the hunting lifestyle, you were technically homeless, so you let Dean’s offer to share a room speak for itself.

You grab your bag with simple necessities from a chair in the room and go to the bathroom, setting the bag on the counter and looking at your reflection.

Good lord.

Your hair is a frizzy mess, ponytail retightened so many times causing little bubbles along your scalp. You cringe. Your skin is flushed from the sun and work out of the task of the day and your bra has shifted on your torso. You look a mess.

Embarrassment. It’s coming back and you hate it. You don’t understand it, but the thought of Dean seeing you like this makes you wanna hide and cry and you can’t believe you’ve just gone all day like this.

It makes no sense. Any man you've been with before who’s even had something to say about your appearance, you've just told them to hit the road and turned on your heel, but the fear you feel of Dean finding something physically wrong with you makes you sick.

Scared. It makes you scared. Like you’re scared to lose him.

Embarrassed that you don’t look like the women he’s lusted after all his life and scared that he’ll realize that and you’ll lose him just like you've lost every other man you’ve dated.

You sigh, almost groan, at the churn of emotions in your chest but you try to shove it away and focus on a shower. Maybe if you look nicer you’ll feel better- you’ll get your confidence back.

But the universe hates you today so instead Dean enters the room and sees you in the bathroom.

“Hey, you’re alive,” he teases, walking over to hold you but you pretend not to see him reach for you and side-step to look through your bag. His face falls a bit out of confusion but he doesn't comment. “I think I’m in need of another shower, might have to join ya,” he winks but you don’t look up as you pull out some needed items.

“That’s okay, I’ll just be quick,” you brush off, taking down your hair and brushing it out, still avoiding his gaze.

He’s quiet and shuffles around a bit.

“Hey,” his hand reaches out to stop you brushing. “What’s wrong?” He asks, completely confused but concerned with your tone switch. He had one of the most fun days of his life but you’re not reflective of that earlier joy at all.

“Just tired. The sun drained me,” you finally meet his eyes and attempt a smile but he gives you a look that tells you he knows you’re just bullshitting him.

You’re stubborn and stay quiet.

“Is it the magazine?” He asks with a slight wince. “Cause I promise that’s old, I mean that was early edition old,” he defends but then realizes knowing the specifics of the magazine from just a glance isn’t helping his case. “I swear, sweetheart, you’re more than all I need,” he says with a slight head shake like he’s completely lovesick and trying to portray such.

You still stay quiet, looking off to the side and catching a glimpse of your unflattering and slouched posture in the mirror. You sigh and screw your eyes shut, turning away and leaning against the counter.

“Baby,” he beckons, coming to stand in front of you and push some messy hair back, “talk to me.”

Tears sting your eyes and your heart is racing, this fucking sucks.

“I’m just a mess,” you almost whisper from emotional exhaustion. Today really has drained you, that wasn’t a lie. Dean can tell you’re speaking as the words come so he doesn’t interrupt, he just wipes away a tear as it falls and tries to ignore the voice in his head telling him that this is his fault.

“My hair is everywhere, my clothes are all bundled up and I’m sweaty and just feel gross,” you sigh, dropping your head into your hands. “It’s just hard being reminded how not your type I am.”

He stiffens a bit and his hold even slacks. You feel absolutely ridiculous. If it wasn’t your looks that was gonna make him run, then it would surely be your whining about them.

“Who said you aren’t my type?” He asks, peeved that someone actually had told you that. His hands rest on your shoulders as he waits.

“No one,” you mumbled. Embarrassed.

That makes him feel even worse- that you had just assumed what you said was true. What had he done to lead you to that conclusion?

“Look at me,” he requests, keeping his hands where they are. When you fall mute, he gently grabs your wrists and waits for you to lift up and look at him. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” He asks but you just look off to the side.

He sighs softly and spins you around to face the mirror.

“I see…” he runs his hands over your waist until they rest right on your tummy. “Messy hair and flushed cheeks that remind me of how good you let me please you, and beautiful hips that can’t even be properly contained by some simple shorts,” he reaches back and grabs your ass gently with a smirk, pressing you into the counter just a bit.

He kisses your neck and looks back ahead, “I see comfortable worn clothes that make you look at home- happy and safe,” he enunciates with a serious and vulnerable look.

“I see a woman who is confident in her own skin and knows how good she really looks even if she doesn’t always feel it.” He hugs you from behind fully, kissing your temple, “I see a woman who just spent a perfectly good day with me to help me clean out my car and is beat because the sun has drained her. And most importantly, I see a woman who needs to be taken care of,” he whispers the last sentence in your ear, kissing quietly and reaching to lift your bra off over your shoulders. Then he turns you back around, kneeling in front of you as he slips down your shorts.

His hands go to grab the meat of your thighs and he looks up at you- vulnerable and yearning, like he’s just begging you to give him the ‘okay’ to touch you how he needs to.

“I see goddamn perfection.”

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere @bejeweledinterludes @funkenniffler

[count-on-mi]

Twice Interactive Story Part 21 Queen (Sana, Tzuyu, Feat. Momo)

'Just remember you are going to fuck me, not Dahyun tomorrow, ok?' Sana gets up from your lap.

'Would you mind help me to dress up, boss?' Sana put her panties on the ground in your pocket.

'And I suggest you should talk with Mina too, maybe apologize? I don't know. She is really down today.'

"Yeah, I'll talk to her." I say as I help Sana.

Sana's face turns red as you playing her body while help her dressing. 'Can't you wait for tomorrow, huh?' Sana winks at you.

There's someone knocking on the door and she comes in before you answer, it's Tzuyu again.

'Seems I always come at the wrong time, is it part of my responsibility to serve you after I join the team?' Tzuyu sits on the sofa and watch your hands running through Sana's body.

"Only if you want it to be otherwise I'll keep my hands off you." I spank Sana as a sign for her to leave. "Was there something you wanted to talk about Tzuyu?"

Sana does not leave, instead she sits on your lap again and watch the conversation of you and Tzuyu.

'Really, but so far I see both of your subordinates are having relationships with you, is this the reason why you not get me in your team?' Tzuyu smirks

'I come for the deal, I wanna know when you will get me in, the deal should be honored.'

"I know and I'm working on something. The only problem is that your boss wants someone in return and I'm not willing to hand over Mina. So I'm trying to think of something else."

'Not willing to hand over Mina, cause she can only fucked by you huh?' Tzuyu keeps her unemotional face.

'Would you mind telling me what you are working tho? I need some guarantees.'

"That’s understandable. Sana here had mentioned previously she would be willing to be traded so that might be the only option. I doubt your boss would be willing to take any other team member."

'So you are not giving up Mina, but you will let Sana go? Is it mean Mina is more important?' Tzuyu smiles playfully.

Sana turns her head around, pretending she doesn't care. 'It's ok, I would like to try different men's cock, so...'

"I treasure both of them, the difference is I know Sana can take care of herself. She's a strong and beautiful woman. Mina would be put in more danger." I respond

'Boss...' Sana is touched by your response, she grabs you for a kiss.

'Tzuyu is watching, Sana.' You break the kiss and try to stop her.

'She already knows, what are you afraid of?' Sana ignores you and kisses you again.

'Umm.' You two end the kiss only after hearing Tzuyu makes some noise to let you know she is still here.

'Don't miss me, boss. I believe that old man's cock wouldn't be good as you.' Sana smirks

'Yes, his cock is just useless...' Tzuyu finds she is talking something inappropriate 'Sorry, I am not meaning that.'

I let out a laugh, "You're free to speak your mind Tzuyu, but yes that is the plan. I'll go and speak to your boss early next week."

'If that old man is useless, I bet Y/N must can satisfy you then.' Sana looks at Tzuyu playfully.

'No, I am not meaning that. I did not let him fuck me...' Tzuyu blushes and whispers

'I guess Tzuyu can replace me to serve boss while I am not here, right?' Sana stands up and walking to Tzuyu.

'Why don't you show us how you would serve the old man at usual.' Sana grabs her jaw and force Tzuyu to look at her.

"Sana, let her go. We're not going to force her into anything."

'Did anyone forced you, Tzuyu?' Sana asks.

'No, no one forced me, even that old man, is me seduced him in the interview.' Tzuyu's face is still red.

"Haha, good job using your skills Tzuyu. Is that all you came for, though? To make sure I held up my part?"

'Yes, I guess that's all I am coming for. But do you need me to show how can I work for you?' Tzuyu smirks and assault Sana's tits suddenly.

'Ah!' Sana moans as Tzuyu catches her tits.

"That's completely up to you Tzuyu. If you choose to, do it quickly." I respond while watching Sana and Tzuyu.

'Why we should go quick, you can enjoy it slowly.' Tzuyu releases Sana and start walking to you.

'So beautiful.' You talk to yourself, Tzuyu seems to be another person when she is seducing other man, you finally understand why that old man would fall into Tzuyu's temptation so easily, she is really a Helen of Troy. You already throw Dahyun out of your mind.

The sound of her high heels knocking on your heart, you like a wood that could not react until she is sitting on your lap, she grabs your hands and puts on her exposed thigh, slowly rubbing it. 'Welcome to Thighwan.' Tzuyu whispers in your ear.

I can't help but laugh, "I'm sorry but that's just too funny." I squeeze her thighs gently, "you have great thighs but that pun was just so unnecessary."

Tzuyu ignores you and keeps guiding your hands to rub her thigh. Your cock is erecting without her touch, the mood is so horny around Tzuyu. You start to breathe heavier as she continue to tease you.

You are surprised that how good is Tzuyu in seducing men, your lust slowly taking over you, you can feel pain from your cock as it is fully erected. You kiss Tzuyu's neck fiercely, smelling her scent, your hand is still rubbing her thigh even she stop guiding you. You turn into a breast that want to swallow Tzuyu.

I glance at Sana and then move my eyes back to Tzuyu multiple times hoping she understands that she should join in. At the same time I spread Tzuyu's legs open and rub my hand against her panties. "Would you like to continue?"

'If you want to continue, remove your hand, my body is free for use, except for holes in bottom.' Tzuyu moves your hands back to her thigh, pretending nothing has happened.

Sana comes around and grabs Tzuyu's head for kiss, while you still kissing her neck, one of your hands is still rubbing Tzuyu's thigh, and your other hand is teasing Sana's clit. While Tzuyu is focusing on Sana's tits, she didn't forget you, she adjusts her ass so her ass cheek is gripped and starts rubbing you.

Tzuyu is just like a living aphrodisiac, keep triggering the lust of you and Sana.

I strip Tzuyu of her top and start playing with her breasts with one hand, the other spanks her lightly.

Sana is the first one to reach orgasm, she can't contain anymore as you and Tzuyu are playing her at the same time.

'Ah....' Sana's legs are shaking as Tzuyu even increases her pace after Sana peaks.

Seeing this horny scene, you feel you are reaching your peak soon. Tzuyu feels your cock throbbing, and she grinds you harder. You close your eye and kiss her neck hardly, while your hands are grabbing her tits harder.

I pinch and pull on her nipples as I feel myself get closer to my orgasm.

Tzuyu knows exactly what you need, she starts moaning to make you even more excited. 'Cum for me.'

When you think you are going to enjoy another orgasm of the day, Tzuyu stops and brings Sana to the sofa, hanging you out at the seat, not allowed to cum.

You could already feel your cum reach your tip and ready to splash all over Tzuyu's back, but you were denied. Tzuyu points at the clock, it's just within 2 minutes since you start dry fucking her, you have never tried to cum so fast, Tzuyu is just a woman that is made for sex and no man could resist.

I stand up and go to Sana, flipping her over and pulling out her butt plug. After that I immediately ram my cock into her ass until I fill her with cum again. I put the plug back afterwards.

Sana just lays on the sofa and let you fuck you fuck her. You cum immediately when you put in, 'Oh....' Sana's body shivers as you deliver your cum in her ass, you pull out and insert the plug again, let your seed remain in her ass.

Tzuyu walks behind you and start jerking you off again, 'Enter her ass without lubrication? How horny you are? I thought you are going to enjoy my service.'

Maybe because it's Tzuyu, your cock is back to full hardness when she touches your cock, her hand feels like heaven, and you feel like you could cum at any time.

"Sana's ass is already lubricated." I respond.

'Oh, I don't expect you prefer ass more.' Tzuyu whispers in your ear, her hand is still stroking you.

Feeling your cock starts to throb again, Tzuyu asks' Do you wanna cum now, or you want to have more fun first?'

"It’s not that I prefer ass, Sana here wanted it there." I lightly smack her thighs, "let's have a little more fun."

'So, maybe you should finish it on my ass first.' Tzuyu kneels on Sana, and aligns your cock into her ass cheek, starts rubbing you again just like before.

Meanwhile, Tzuyu bites Sana's nipples and makes her moan again. Seeing two girls playing with each other makes you go wild, and you move your hips faster for more pleasure.

I grab onto Tzuyu's hips and start thrusting between her cheeks faster until I spill my load onto her back

Tzuyu arcs her back so you can shoot on her more easily, waves of cum you are shooting on her, some of them even lands on her hair. You grab her ass and use it as the platform for your shooting.

Tzuyu turns around when she feels you are finished, she fixed her cummed hair into a tail, you see the mess caused by you, and you feel horny again. You don't understand why, but your body has responded for you, and your cock start to harden again.

Tzuyu grabs it and stroking it again without hesitate, 'Seems you are enjoying my service, don't you? Guess I am a qualified team member now.'

"Not completely, but I won't push you any further."

'Why still further? I can make you happy without letting you enter me. You can't even hold on for 3 minutes when I rub you.' Tzuyu smirks and keeps stroking you, you moan her name from the sensation, and you can feel you are ready for orgasm again.

'See? Men could always have fun without entering me. Even My dad.' Tzuyu playfully squeezes and your cock pulse.

"Part of the fun is making the other person feel good too. It's not just meant to be me feeling good."

'Every man I met want to fuck me, from my classmates, teachers, and even my dad, I guess you are not different with them.' Tzuyu starts rubbing your tips as she feels you are reaching the orgasm.

'Oh Tzuyu... I am going to cum.' Your legs shake as she continues to rub your sensitive spots. You grab her meaty thigh harder.

'But I think it's more fun for me to see Men desperately want to fuck me, but they would just beg me to let them cum at the end. I guess I want to hear it now.' Tzuyu stops stroking you and instead teases you when you are one step from the orgasm.

"That maybe fun to you but I only feel it's right that you feel the same type of pleasure I'm feeling. If that’s all then you can go." I say as I resist Tzuyu.

'It's all excuse that you want to fuck me, leave it to your secretary. You are not gonna cum if you keep doing that. Say the word.' Tzuyu's hands move so quickly but keep giving you enough pleasure to maintain at the edge of orgasm, you cock can't catch her, and you seems just thrusting in the air. Sana can't stop to smirk as she never see you are so frustrated.

"Of course, I want to fuck you, but you made it quite clear you don't want that. You even seem to feel superior about it, quite trashy if I do say so. You can leave now." I say as I pull away from her and dress myself.

'How do you know I won't let you fuck me if you beg for it.' Tzuyu said as she removes the last piece of clothes, she is fully naked now, and your eye scanned her body, from her mid-size tits, her abs, her great hips, her meaty thighs, and her long legs. You back to the head and see her seductive face. Your bulge in your pants becomes even bigger. The existence of Tzuyu is already a temptation, you now understand what she said, every man she met will definitely want to fuck her.

Tzuyu walks to you and slowly caresses your bulge, 'Are you sure you going to leave now? You are not going to have a second chance.'

"You're the type that'll make me beg and then not give it to me. I know that for certain." I respond. "Don't try to tell me otherwise."

'If you beg, you could at least cum, right?' Tzuyu squeeze your bulge before stepping away and start dressing.'

'I am glad that you can hold on, you are the first one who can do it. No one can resist me in the past, that's why I am still a virgin.'

'I guess you should leave with your bulge maybe. Don't help him, Sana. Let him suffer the pain of allowing to cum, let him know girls are not belong to men.' Tzuyu says when she approaches the door.

"She is going to be annoying," I say to myself. "You're free to go if you'd like Sana"

'She is fun, isn't she? She is so beautiful and skillful, I am turned on immediately after she touched me. I see you are too? You cum 2 times in 5 minutes! I never see you cum that quickly. She is just born for sex, no matter whether male or female would fall to her. I am looking forward to playing with her again.'

'It's a shame I can't see Tzuyu showcasing her skill more, do you need me to help you before I off work? Or you want to leave it for tomorrow' Sana points at your bulge, it is not as big as you are playing with Tzuyu, it's still obvious that your cock need to be free.

"If you wouldn't mind Sana. This time I want to cum in your pussy though."

'Sure, boss. Just do it in the way you like.' Sana sits on your desk and uncover her skirt, you can see her pussy is wet already.

I slide my cock between her pussy lips a few times before thrusting into Sana. I pull Sana into a kiss. "I'll miss you, Sana. Tomorrow we'll spend the entire day fucking."

'Ah, Miss me already when you are still fucking me?' Sana returns to your kiss. ' I will be happy if you have the stamina to fuck me the whole day tomorrow, get some rest tonight, ok? Don't fuck other girls and leave the cum for me.' Sana grabs your ass and pushes you towards her.

I continue thrusting into Sana, joking "weren't you saying to fuck Dahyun just a little while ago?"

'I wouldn't mind you go to fuck her, but you can't cum. From now until the end of tomorrow, all your cum should be dedicated for me, ok?' Sana starts licking your nipple to give you more pleasure.

'You can bring Dahyun come tomorrow, let her know how bad her Oppa is.'

"I'm not doing that Sana," I pick up my pace and ram my cock deeper into Sana, "tell me when you're going to cum"

'Why huh? Afraid your image of good Oppa will collapse?' Sana increases her pace of grinding, she tenses her pussy for milking you.

'If you bring Dahyun to come tomorrow, I can create a chance for you to fuck her, but you need to come for me again, deal?'

"I'm not going to bring Dahyun, Sana." I pull on Sana's hips and hold her down while I start to piston in and out of Sana's pussy.

'You gonna fuck her in mind for the rest of your life huh?' Sana bites your nipple lightly, make you to moan.

'Dahyun is cumming, Oppa, faster!' Sana starts the role play again as she sees you refuse to admit the fact.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum. Take it all Sana!" I say I bury cock deep inside her and start to cum inside her.

'Yes, Oppa, give a kid to Dahyun! Cum in me!' Sana screams when she cums with you, you are more turned-on hearing Dahyun ask you to cum for her. The waves of cum keep splashing out from your cock, her walls presses you tightly to drain you.

'You should call me Dahyun instead of Sana, we are role-playing.' Sana rest lazily on your desk as she is recovering.

I pull out of Sana and sit down. "Yeah, sure I'll do it tomorrow if you want."

'Is you want, not I want, don't you want to fuck Dahyun huh?' Sana leaves the table and kneels to clean your cock.

The suction of Sana's mouth is really, you can feel she is sucking the remaining cum out of your cock. You pat her head and enjoy her service.

'So, how do you feel? You can fuck Sana and 'Dahyun' both tomorrow, excited?'

I force Sana down to the base of my cock. "Let's be quiet and enjoy this."

Sana has no other options as your push her deeply into your base, she now focuses on your cock and cleaning it.

You look at Sana starts to gag as your keep holding your cock in her throat.

Your phone rings and it's Momo, she should be coming for your answer. You look at the phone and think should you pick up the call.

I mute the ringtone and let Sana finish before calling Momo back when I'm alone.

Sana did not give you the chance, she strugglely grabs the phone and help you pick up the call while she is still sucking you.

The speaker is on, and there is only silence, after a while Momo finally speaks. 'Long time no see, how are you, Y/N?'

"Doing better, how are you?"

'No, no good, very bad when I am not with you.' Momo answers you on the other side of the phone.

You try to answer her but Sana is keep teasing you, you don't want Momo suspect anything as you think you will start to moan.

The call is silence again, you brain is fully functioning while you enjoy Sana's intense blow job.

'Y/N?' Momo asks again.

"I'm sorry Momo, just a bit busy with work. I also don't know what to say"

'So you don't have anything that you want to say? such as our relationship.' Momo asks again.

Sana's faces show that she is waiting for the drama, but she increases her intensity at the same time.

You are excited at this scenario which you two may get caught, your breath become heavier.

'Hey ,Y/N, are you listening to me?'

"Momo there are a lot of things I want to say but I don't know how to say them. I think that we should meet up some day next week. This weekend doesn't work for me unfortunately."

Sana seems not satisfied by your answer, she wants more drama. Sana let your cock go, and start rides you.

You try to push away Sana, but she just put a finger on her lips and tell you to be quiet, meanwhile she bite her lips to prevent let out moan.

'I want to see you now, Y/N. I just miss you so much.'

'Sorry, I need to pick up my step sister tonight, I am really not free.

'Umm... Um.....' Sana reaches orgasm first in this excited scenario, her juice splashing all over your cock, you can't hold on anymore, you push deeper and cum in her.

Momo seems noticed something as she hear your tone so strange, and she could hear some sounds from you and Sana's body when Sana rides you.

'You ok? Y/N, is there someone next to you?'

"I have a co-worker with me, I'm trying to juggle two things at once. Sorry, give me a minute to call you back." I hang up before Sana has a chance to stop me.

'Damn, it's so excited. I love it.' Sana starts to catch her breath after you end the call.

'I'm so high, she nearly caught us. Can you feel how tight I am?' Sana says while grinding you again.

'Maybe we can call Dahyun tomorrow while we are fucking.'

"Get dressed and get out Sana. We'll talk tomorrow." I say very seriously.

Sana gets up from your lap and kisses you, 'Remember get some rest tomorrow, I hope both of us can't walk on Sunday, see you tomorrow.' Sana then get dressed and leave your room.