#(especially over July 4th)

[a-really-cool-blog-name]

oh boy the 4th of July time for my neighbors to not shut up for the next like week with their Giant explosives that do look nice if I could actually see them most of the time and if they didn't start at 5:00

And also time to deal with my complicated feelings about this country and being from there and how that makes me feel ✨yaaaayyyyy✨

[luulapants]

Do prisoners actually want/enjoy those penpal programs? Because it seems like such an easy thing to do if it helps them but like with all things prison system related or possibly white savior esq feels I wonder if there's a catch

Ask me about incarceration!

YES.

Oh my god, yes, people are DESPERATE for penpals. Prisoners apply to join those programs and most have years-long waiting lists before they can get matched. These are people who are socially deprived and often feel like no one on the outside even knows they're alive. They need to talk to someone in the "real world" outside of prison.

The big catch is that it's a HUGE commitment - not easy at all. If you become a penpal, you are most likely going to become that person's primary emotional support. If they've got 7 years, you better be ready to do 7 years, keep up with it, and set boundaries for frequency. The absolute worst thing you can do is over-commit, burn yourself out, panic, and ghost them. That happens, and it's devastating.

That said, if you're willing to take that on, you could change or even save someone's life. I'll put more guidance on things to consider if you become a penpal below the cut.

One alternative that's come up in my community, which seems like it was a really low barrier to get started, are card writing events. Before holidays (even things like St. Patrick's day and 4th of July - anything Hallmark has a card for), the group will do a pop-up at a local church. They provide names of incarcerated people who have requested holiday cards, as well as donated greeting cards. They recommend that you write as much as you can - about anything. I once described the scenery on the drive I'd be taking to get home for the holidays, and I bet you anything the recipient read it ten times, because that's how much they crave contact. The nice thing about a program like this is it avoids that long-term commitment. I would love to see more of those crop up around the country.

A prison penpal will most likely, at some point, ask you for money. Financially supporting someone in prison is a lot - incarceration is disgustingly expensive - and you will have some complicated emotions about your level of comfort on the outside compared to theirs, what you're able to give, what you want to give, if you're being taken advantage of, etc. You have to set boundaries with them and yourself before you begin - decide on a number that you're willing to give, and stick to it.

You also have to set relationship boundaries, especially if you're a woman writing to a straight man. Again, these are socially deprived people. Not being allowed to interact with any women for years at a time does not cultivate appropriate behavior. They're lonely, and you will seem like the Only Woman In The World, and that tends to lead to some feelings that can be uncomfortable for the penpal.

You also have to think about your return address in terms of boundaries. Most people in prison will get out someday, and they will likely have very few connections or resources on the outside. Unless you're willing to have this person show up at your house asking for somewhere to live, you might need to go through a program that lets you use its address or get a PO box. You'll probably feel conflicted and gross about that, too, but again, supporting a whole grown person is probably more than you're looking to sign up for when you become a penpal.

[cameronsbabydoll]

“god bless america, and that bikini”

military!rafe x wife!reader

warnings: patriotism, teasing, possessiveness, smut (18+): oral (f receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, semi-public sex (backyard), dirty talk

a/n: divider by @konigslittleliebling

you never stood a chance the second you stepped out in that bikini.

bright red, tied at your hips, thin as a string and barely legal for the neighborhood block party. and judging by the way rafe dropped the spatula and nearly burned the hot dogs, he wasn’t handling it well.

"jesus christ, baby," he muttered, lips parted, hand already adjusting his grip on the grill tongs. "you tryin' to get me dishonorably discharged from this cookout?"

you gave him a sweet smile, sunglasses on, hair pinned up, baby on your hip. “what? it’s festive.”

"ain’t nothin’ ‘festive’ about my dick bein’ hard next to your daddy’s lawn chair,” he growled under his breath as he grabbed a burger bun. “go sit your pretty little ass down before i bend you over the cooler."

but you didn’t listen. not really. not when teasing him was your favorite pastime — especially when he was in full dad mode, muscles glistening from the sun, camo shorts hanging low on his hips, dog tags sticking to his chest.

you bent over the picnic table slowly, grabbing watermelon slices for the kids, and you heard him curse so softly behind you, it made your thighs press together.

the kids didn’t notice. too busy shrieking with glowsticks and kicking in the baby pool. the dogs were passed out. the fireworks hadn’t even started yet.

you passed behind him again on purpose, brushing your hand across his back.

“you good, sergeant?” you said sweetly.

“keep it up,” rafe gritted. “we’ll see how cocky you are once your knees hit the grass.”

—

later, when the burgers were eaten and the sparklers burnt out, the kids passed out under a netted play tent on the patio — and rafe found you behind the shed, pretending to clean up.

he grabbed your waist from behind, lips to your neck.

"you done playin’ with fire, sugar?”

you turned in his arms, fingers sliding into the waistband of his shorts.

“depends,” you whispered, “you gonna put it out?”

he didn’t even let you finish. his mouth was on yours, hands slipping under your thighs, lifting you against the siding of the house like you weighed nothing.

"been thinkin’ about this all damn day," he growled. "every time you bent over, every time you said my name… you think i didn’t notice?"

his hand slipped down, pushed your bikini bottoms to the side, fingers teasing but not giving.

"rafe," you breathed.

he kissed the corner of your mouth. "shh. lemme take my time. daddy’s been deployed too long for this pussy not to remember who it belongs to."

and god, the way he worshipped you.

he tugged the fabric down your thighs, kissed your stomach, your hips, your inner thighs like you were sacred — before dropping to his knees right there in the grass.

your back hit the shed door. his tongue hit your clit. and the sky exploded with red, white, and blue behind him.

you were shaking when he finally stood back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"god bless this country,” he muttered, “but god damn do i love this pussy more.”

he fucked you slow after that — hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, the other gripping your thigh like a lifeline. fireworks bursting in the sky while he chased his own.

"tell me you’re mine," he said, breathless against your lips.

"i’m yours," you whispered. "always yours, rafe."

and when you came for the second time, legs wrapped tight around him, he kissed your forehead and whispered, “happy 4th of july, baby. now let’s go put the kids to bed.”

[infamous-if]

CHAPTER 4 IS NOW AVAILABLE FOR BAND TIER

457K + 166K —> ✮ 623,016K WORDS ✮

Fan Tier Release: July 4th

Public Release: July 18th

It's here! (Do you like the new cover??) After nine months, the chapter has finally come. This one took me a long time. I outlined and re-outlined and outline some more. There's something Sisyphean about writing an IF and there were long stretches where it felt like the end was never coming. This was definitely a set-up chapter aka it sets up a lot for chapter 5 and beyond when it comes to the routes and upcoming dramaaaa so I'm excited to see everyone's theories and thoughts on all of the breadcrumbs I drop in this one. I'm really thankful that I worked on Chapter 5 alongside of Chapter 4 because that means Chapter 5 won't take so long to come out! I'm excited for that yippeee! One thing to note: I usually leave the lyric options to the end but I couldn't come up with them this chapter. At all. Like for over a month I just couldn't. I am cashing in my "this is a wip" card and forcing a type-in. (It'll be fixed in chapter 5).

A change to note: Attached/Detached are no longer change options but they are now variables and in the stat page. As well as being negative/positive. It didn't make much sense to have the second one because jaded/ambitious does that job and I wanted the attached/detached markers to fluctuate for future story reasons.

There are new stats:

Castmate/Competitor ✮

Approachable/Aloof ✮

Leader/Member ✮

Camaraderie ✮

Born Star ✮

I wanted to focus on the celebrity/famous/botb/band part of it because those stats feel meaningful and important compared to generic personality stats. Some have been taken out but not completely. They are still being measured in the background for flavor text. Stats like Loved and Born Star don't change as often as they are dependent on the changes of invisible stats. They will make more sense in the future chapters !

PLAY HERE

If there are any errors (especially with the jumping to chapter page because its my first time doing that and there are a lot of choices) please let me know!

[adamsrcnan]

it's actually so important to me how jerejean are slowly getting used to each other's touch without it ever being a huge and dramatic thing. like the way jeremy is constantly tugging at jean's hands to stop him from hurting himself. or the way jean is always grabbing jeremy's chin to get him to listen/to make a point. the way jeremy hugs jean in tsc. the way jean effortlessly takes jeremy's weight to help him off the court after he injures himself and it's not a big deal to have him pressed so close that way. the way jeremy folds his hand over jean's fingers and squeezes when he hands him back the nickel in the car after picking him up from rhemann's house. the way jean immediately latches onto jeremy's wrist so he doesn't lose him in the crowd on 4th of july and then feels comfortable enough to tap out his list against jeremy's wrist. the way jean literally ghosts his mouth over jeremy's cheek leaning down to talk into his ear during the fireworks. the way jean feels comfortable enough to lean over jeremy on the bed in the hotel before the banquet. the way jean lends a hand to lift jeremy up off the floor after their first night sleeping in the new apartment. and the way jeremy did the same for jean when he asked to go for a run in tsc. i just feel like nora is beautifully setting them up in a way that when they do eventually cross that line into sexual intimacy it'll be not easier, but perhaps less daunting. because for jean especially if he starts to spiral or panic he could tell himself it's just jeremy. he knows his weight pressed into his side as he's held him up, he knows the feel of jeremy's hands in his or on his wrist, hell he even knows his scent. it doesn't have to be scary because it's just jeremy and jean knows him. he's familiar. he's gentle. he's safe.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Welcome to my Tuesday morning PSA about plastics!

So--I was walking along the Bolstadt beach approach sidewalk here in Long Beach, WA yesterday afternoon, and I started seeing these little orange pellets on the ground that looked a little bit like salmon roe (but probably weren't). So I picked one up, and it was most definitely rubber. I went around picking up every one I could find, and while I didn't keep exact count I probably amassed 50-60 of them. I took this picture before depositing them in the nearest trash can.

These are airsoft gun pellets, and you can buy them in big jars containing thousands of them. That means that someone who decided that the beach was a great place to shoot their airsoft guns could easily litter the place with countless little bits of plastic rubber in less than an hour. We already have a huge problem here with people leaving trash, including tiny bits of plastic, all over the beach (you should see the gigantic mess after 4th of July fireworks when thousands of people come in from out of town, blow things up, and then leave again without picking up after themselves.)

But these airsoft pellets have a particularly nasty side effect. You know how my first thought was "wow, those look kind of like salmon roe?" Well, we have a number of opportunistic omnivore birds like crows, ravens, and several species of gull that commonly scavenge on the beach, especially along the approaches because people often feed them there. If I can catch the resemblance of an orange airsoft pellet to a fish egg, then chances are there are wildlife that will assume they're edible.

Since birds don't chew their food, they probably won't notice that the taste or texture is wrong--it'll just go down the hatch. And since they can't digest the pellets, there's a good chance they might just build up in the bird's digestive system, especially if the bird eats a large number of them--say, fifty or sixty of them dropped on the ground along the same fifty foot stretch of sidewalk. The bird might die of starvation if there's not enough capacity for food in their stomach--or they might just die painfully of an impacted gut, and no way to get help for it. If the pellets end up washed into the ocean, you get the same issue with fish and other marine wildlife eating them, and then of course the pellets eventually breaking up into microplastic particles.

You can get biodegradable airsoft pellets; they appear to mainly be gray or white in color rather than bright screaming orange and green. But "biodegradable" doesn't mean "instantly dissolves the next time it rains." An Amazon listing for Aim Green biodegradable airsoft pellets advertise them as "Our biodegradable BBs are engineered to degrade only with long-term exposure to water and sun and will degrade 180 days after being used." That's half a year for them to be eaten by wildlife.

I don't know, y'all. That handful of carelessly dropped rubber pellets just encapsulates how much people don't factor in the rest of nature when making decisions, even on something that is purely for entertainment like an airsoft gun. We could have had a lot of the same technological advances we have today, but with much less environmental impact, if we had considered the long-term effects on both other people and other living beings, as well as our habitats. We could have found ways from the beginning to make these things in ways that benefited us but also mitigated any harm as much as possible. Instead we're now having to reverse-engineer things we've been using for decades, and sometimes--like the "biodegradable" airsoft pellets--they still have a significant negative impact.

But--at least there are people trying to do things better, thinking ahead instead of just on immediate profit. We're stuck in a heck of a mess here, figuratively and literally, and changing an entire system can't be done in a day. Maybe we can at least keep pushing for a cultural shift that emphasizes planning far into the future--if not the often-cited "seven generations ahead", then at least throughout the potential lifespan of a given product.

[ybklix]

you can be the boss

★ pairing: softdom!chrisbang x virginfem!reader

☆summary: A rich hot older man, a slightly horny young woman, together in a hot summer in his house near the coastal zone. When you meet Chris, your step-aunt's new boyfriend, your world changes completely, and after a night of liquor and cigarettes, there's no going back to satisfy all your fantasies, you don't even care you're inexperienced.

✧ genre - warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, cheating, implied legal age gap, daddy kink, use of petnames, masturbation, corruption kink, fingering, clit play, oral sex, deepthroat, faceriding, cunnilingus, cumplay, chocking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampies, mention of chris as a smoker.

word count: 9.5k

masterlist - taglist ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

a/n: lana del rey literally invented the 4th of july, she’s so iconic, so proud of my CUNTry led by my president miss grant🫡❤️

divider by chachachannah

The bright sunshine, the light sweat pouring from your forehead despite being inside your father's cool car made you feel young again, something in the air was so innocent and sweet that bright summer. Especially when he insisted you spend the summer with his wife's family, as if you were a little girl, you agreed, you had a very tedious and frustrating semester in college that you needed a distraction, plus a huge house with a yard, pool and near the beach didn't sound bad at all. You'd be doing nothing but sunbathing in your bathing suit, relaxing.

You walked onto the grounds of the house, it really was a mansion, the architecture was modern but there were some classic touches that for some reason got you. You were surprised, thinking that your 'aunt' really did get a rich man this time. Your father remarried when you were 17, to a woman 7 years younger than him who couldn't have children, so she always opened you up to her family, treating you sweetly, going to your high school graduation, and supporting you in your college career, so you met your stepmother's family, who had two sisters —she was the middle one— the oldest, Lilian, who had a daughter your age and you became close, however, you lived apart from each other; your stepmother Dahlia, and the youngest, Ruby, who was the prettiest of the three, was young, glamorous and kind; you weren't sure, but you thought she was at least twenty-nine or thirty and, that she got herself a rich boyfriend who kindly offered his summer home to her whole family.

Liv, Lilian's daughter greeted you as soon as you got out of the car, you felt small, like a young girl still close to your parents when you spent more time at college than with them for years. Liv hugged you briefly, making your sunglasses slip off and fall into your eyes, you both moved where the sun didn't hit you directly and greeted each other shyly.

“No shit, I have no idea where Aunt Ruby got her boyfriend from, but a house with a pool in this weather, is a house with a pool, I don't care” Liv spoke.

You let out a chuckle, you watched as Ruby came out of the doorway, and you walked over to greet her, after all somehow Dahlia always went out of her way to make you consider her as family, and she received your brief hug.

“Oh wow, you grew up a lot along with Liv, I haven't seen you since Christmas” she commented to which you smiled.

After that Ruby went over to her sister, you helped by carrying your luggage and walked into the house, it seemed unreal that you were going to be under someone stranger's roof, but at least you wouldn't be alone, Liv could distract you a bit.

“Girl, wait till you meet Ruby's boyfriend, he's kinda hot, not gonna lie” Liv whispered in your ear, helping you with your stuff and guiding you to the room you both would share.

Once inside the room you jokingly said to her, “So it's not about an old sugar daddy she found around?”

Liv pursed her lips and softly denied, “He's handsome, young, rich and has an accent. I think this summer will be fun… want to meet him?”

You nodded amused, curiosity consumed you; you and Liv spent hours talking behind Ruby's back about the strange and extravagant kind of life she led, it was a fun topic of conversation for you, you analyzed every partner she had, since she didn't know how to be alone, and just had girl talk, secreting and gossiping a little.

“Oh, honey, the cherry pie” your father reminded you once he saw you coming down the stairs.

You sighed, remembering that you had baked Ruby your cherry pie which she loved so much, just because, out of a mere act of kindness, and because your dad reminded you how much she was a fan of that dessert of yours and that you should at least give it to her as a thank you for spending the summer at her house, or her boyfriend's, rather.

You took the tart out of the car, Liv waited for you at the entrance of the house and then led you to the kitchen, where a very smiling and happy Ruby received your gift, thanking you and reminding you how delicious it should be. Liv was about to ask about Chris, Ruby's boyfriend and owner of the place, just so you could meet him and analyze him with your own eyes, but Ruby herself stepped forward saying:

“Oh, you haven't met Chris, have you? I think he's outside getting the pool ready better for you girls to swim in. I'll go get him.”

Liv raised her eyebrows and looked at you a little amused, again you felt small, giving funny looks to your cousin-friend; you had been so consumed by college that you had forgotten the simplicity of the little things. Ruby didn't take long, your father and stepmother already met Chris, as apparently he had been dating Ruby for a while and was quite serious, and once again, you lived in your college dorm and institution almost.

And the man appeared, you really didn't expect to see a man like him, with a downwards smile, a bit shy, but his presence was quite strong in the room; he was wearing a white t-shirt loose to his muscular body with the name and logo of a luxury brand, denim jeans up to his knees and sneakers. He looked young, and he was cute, and so attractive to your taste, but you wanted to instantly brush the thoughts away.

“Chris Bang, nice to meet you” he greeted, in a thick voice and a soft accent, just as your cousin had mentioned.

You returned his greeting, introducing yourself, Chris also didn't expect to meet two young and beautiful girls like Ruby's nieces, but you, there was something that caught his attention in you, it was rare, but you radiated innocence plus however your strong and piercing gaze contrasted with the rest of your tender appearance. You couldn't help but darken your gaze, you liked what you saw, he was attractive, he had a unique and clean face that you could watch for hours, the harmony of his face with his sharp, dark, small eyes, combining perfectly with his distinct nose and rosy lips, his slightly pale skin detonating small pink and tan undertones, you realized that never in your little more than twenty years of life had you ever paid so much attention to a man. You didn't understand what it was about him, besides being incredibly attractive, but something drew you to him.

“Thank you for letting us stay at your place…” you said, almost lost in him, you didn't know why you said it, maybe you just wanted to talk to him more.

“Oh, it's nothing, really.”

Chris licked his lips, staring at you, going over in his mind that if it was you the girl who wasn't directly blood related to Ruby.

“Oh, babe, Y/N brought us her cherry pie” Ruby spoke, clinging to her boyfriend's arm.

Liv held back her laughter at her aunt's immature attitude. Chris looked over to the counter.

“Did you bake it?” he asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, Ruby… Ruby really likes it.”

Chris leaned into the counter, leaning on his elbows and with his long fingers lightly played with the edge of the pie plate, you focused on his hands, so manly, big, slender and with visible veins running up his arms; then you returned your gaze to him who said, in a different tone, slower and looking deeply and directly into your eyes,

“I bet it tastes delicious.”

A shiver went down your spine, oh, you were liking it too much. Your cousin raised her eyebrows at his sudden action, instantly recognizing his gentle flirtation.

“Anyway, pool's ready” Chris added, standing up straight.

“Thanks, Chris, we'll go swimming now” Liv mentioned, trying to break the incredible tension or magnetism she suddenly felt between you and her aunt's boyfriend.

Liv grabbed your arm and almost dragged you into your room, pulling you out of your trance, you could only think about who he was and…. how was it that Ruby got him, even though you knew perfectly well that she was beautiful and had a bubbly personality; you thought about his hands, and his subtle comment that made your hair stand on end.

“C'mon babe, let's go swimming,” Liv told you, teasing her aunt for calling Chris 'babe.'

You blinked suddenly…. trying to get it out of your head and reacted, quickly grabbing your suitcase and pulling out your clothes almost in desperation, finding the most revealing swimsuit you packed, a red two-piece bikini; the rest of your swimsuits weren't cute, you were so indisposed with the idea of wearing something hot, since you thought it would just be you and Liv in the pool, so you packed shorts and old t-shirts to get wet and, clearly you were also expecting a middle-aged man not at all attractive to your taste, not a damn man like Chris.

You sighed, thinking you had to go into town to buy better swimsuits. And after you put on your bikini, you perused your makeup, you perfected it more, using your best waterproof mascara, blush, pink gloss, you didn't know what you were doing but you wanted to look good. You almost forgot Liv was there, you didn't give a shit how obvious you acted, primping with effort. Chris had awakened something in you that you hadn't sensed before, it was as if he suddenly gave meaning and fun to your monotonous college life, you suddenly felt like a complete attention whore, wanting his eyes on you all the time.

Your cousin also wore a cute blue plaid print bikini, had two braids done and grabbed her sunglasses, reminding you to take yours, replacing the ones you had when you arrived, with red heart-shaped sunglasses. You sighed as you looked at Liv, she had very nice round breasts, and you thought, how funny and in a way, dirty, the way you two would walk around, being walking temptations to an unknown man.

“Would it be too much to ask Chris to put sunscreen on our backs?” she commented jokingly with a pout and with the bottle of sunscreen in her hand, to which you laughed.

And you both left, grabbing towels, your cell phones, heading towards the backyard at the pool. You took the time to admire the scenery and noticed that a few miles from the large pool was a small pool house. Once again, unable to believe you were in the home of a millionaire and unknown man, about to swim in his pool, it was so unreal, like something that only happened in the movies.

Chris bit his lip as he watched them both, replaying in his mind fuck, over and over again, it was the perfect fantasy, two pretty young twenty-something girls in bikinis at his house, about to enter the pool, getting their young bodies wet. He wasn't being the strongest soldier, and an immensity of dirty thoughts filled him completely. He took one more puff on his cigarette, this time deeper and more intense, trying to keep himself occupied and de-stressed by the incredible desire he had to fuck them both; thinking that it would be a very long and frustrating summer, and that he would end up finishing a pack in minutes if he decided to use nicotine as an escape from his dirty thoughts.

Did he love Ruby? Of course, more than anything in the world, but he was also a man with such an active libido, incredible imagination and great sexual energy. You both noticed him, on the other side of the pool, a little far away, and for some reason you found him more attractive when you saw him smoking. Chris' intention wasn't to see you, he swore, he was just hiding from his girlfriend because she hates his smoking habit. And after meeting you, damn, he really needed a cigarette.

“Hey Chris” Liv greeted him cheerfully waving her hand, to which he responded with a soft smile, raising his eyebrows and his right hand with which he held the cigarette.

She turned to you, “I hate him so much, if he marries Ruby he'll really be my uncle and it'll be gross.”

You smiled apologetically at her sudden comments, but suddenly your mind short circuited, “Marry?”

Liv sat down in one of the chairs, leaning back and relaxing her body, picking up her book ready to rest and read.

“Mmm, honestly I give them two months tops” she added disinterested, “I haven't been aware since I also live in college, but apparently they've been dating since January, I also got a big surprise today when I met him.”

January, you thought, that made them in a six month relationship, pretty long for Ruby. You questioned whether it was really a serious relationship. You pouted and sat on the chair next to her, and convinced yourself that if nothing happened, which was most ideal and the most likely option —plus you were still a virgin— you could at least think about him and have your little summer crush to keep your mind busy.

“Aren't you going to get in the pool?” you asked.

“Mmm yeah, sure, but I want to get some sun.”

You let out an incredulous airy chuckle as Liv was in the shade, not getting any direct sun. And you were about to stand up and swim, but you noticed the sudden and noticeable presence of Chris near you, this time his intentions were clear and not at all innocent, he just wanted to see your semi naked bodies more closely and in detail. He stood in the middle of the two chairs, with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, you watched him, gently lowering your heart shaped sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and raising your eyes.

“Enjoying your summer girls?” he said to which you and Liv nodded a little confused by his sudden closeness, “Do you mind if I join you?”

Liv smiled playfully, closing her book completely, “Of course not” she replied.

But Chris was only looking at you, and you felt it, you had achieved your goal, he couldn't take his eyes off you, off your body in that red bikini and your glossy, full lips. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for an answer from you, which his gaze suddenly made you nervous.

“Sure, join us” was all you could say with your heart pounding.

“I'll be right back” he replied, walking away from you and into his house.

You and Liv looked at each other complicitly, almost feeling like you were about to do something wrong but it felt so right. You didn't understand how you went from somewhat flirtatious and confused, to feeling nervous around him.

“Oh, he's such a fucking whore” Liv added.

She didn't take Chris and Ruby's relationship very seriously, truly. But you were beginning to question so many things, but you couldn't help but want him so badly, you've never been so curious about a man, you wanted him, you needed him.

Minutes later, he appeared, wearing black sport shorts a little loose on his thighs, but tight enough for his member to be suggestively visible and noticeable, again, that was not Chris's intention, he couldn't help but have a nice penis, and that you two had to witness that. In a way you were thankful that you were wearing dark sunglasses and could blatantly see his silhouette, his strong arms and worked chest area over his tight white sleeveless shirt.

You were already in the pool, so Chris joined you, putting on a black cap before getting in and gradually getting in, wetting his body little by little.

“Agh, the water is nice” he added, getting his body completely wet, his marked abs and pecs showing through the thin fabric of the shirt.

Your heart raced again, you couldn't believe Ruby had him every day while you and Liv only had hair loss from the stress of your college. You and Liv stood transfixed watching him, as if it was such an entertaining spectacle. And when he approached, you both snapped out of your trance and pretended to look away, which Chris noticed and smirked, yes he knew he was all handsome and hot, but he was curious to know if you two also considered yourselves that way to such a degree that you dared to flirt with him.

And you began to play mindlessly, ball games, Liv getting on a float, swimming, all with Chris's nerve to watch your wet young bodies, watching the sun beat down on your skins; then you wanted to mimic Liv, getting on a float but found it difficult to get on somehow, to which Chris quickly took advantage, once again leaving Liv surprised.

“Let me help you” he whispered to you, holding your exposed waist to carry you up and onto the float.

Your breathing and heart stopped for a moment, his big hands on your waist felt so good, you couldn't believe he dared to touch you, you didn't want to make it a big deal, you wanted to believe he just did it out of kindness but you were screaming with excitement internally.

A little awkwardly, giving him the view of your ass and thighs, you were able to climb on, shyly whispering thank you. Chris swallowed nervously, your semi-naked skin made him feel good and your ankle accidentally brushed against his member as he lifted you up. He needed another cigarette to forget about you for a few moments, or he definitely had to try you. It wasn't news that, he before Ruby, was quite the gentleman who loved to enjoy the pleasures of sex with different women.

“And don't you have a farm sort of place to spend the winter when it snows?” suddenly blurted out Liv.

“Do you want to spend the winter with me too? Do you like me that much?” he joked.

“Sure, you're the best, Uncle Chris” your cousin replied again in amusement.

He grimaced in disgust, he loved it when girls called him daddy in bed, or just as a form of endearment, when he rarely messed with women relatively much younger to him, but uncle, coming from another young woman who he considered highly attractive, didn't like the idea.

“Uh no, just Chris, please,” and then he turned to you, “And you, you're not directly related to Ruby, are you?”

“She's family, but not by blood” replied Liv innocently, but Chris was a little annoyed, as he wanted to hear you talk , so he still didn't take his expectant gaze off you.

“My father married Ruby's sister” you replied, almost just to humor him and get him to take off that expression of waiting to hear you speak because it was making you nervous.

“I know” he whispered.

And before long you knew a little more about him, that he is an architect with his own company, his parents are two of the top lawyers, that he knows three languages and has a passion for technology like computers or things like that and, the question that gnawed at them both and Liv asked, how did he meet Ruby, as he seemed quite busy and an extremely wealthy and decent man, but just at the mention of her, she appeared. She had taken a nap and suddenly wondered where her boyfriend was, to which her surprise, he was friendly talking to her two young nieces inside the pool, while they were wearing a bikini, she couldn't help but feel a little jealous, but decided to put it aside, and wanted to be a cool aunt:

“Let's give the girls some drinks, they're old enough.”

Chris thought how old enough, looking appreciatively at your body on the float, wearing your red bikini and your heart-shaped glasses of the same color. How old enough were you, that you could handle being with him? He wanted to know more about you and questioned himself why he had never met you before, although his answer was obvious to him, usually Chris didn't look for young and college girls, it was very strange the occasion when he decided to sleep with them and spoil them —as it is one of his techniques— he still considered them so young and naive, even a little bit kooky and spoiled… but you, he bit his lip again, thinking that he could very well be your daddy, and that he would love to spoil you and spank your young ass. He loved being dominant but it was very strange the situation where his mind formulated these ideas of wanting to take care of a naive woman and give her everything, being slightly careful, and you had exactly aroused those thoughts in him.

Ruby also got into the pool, showing off her impressive figure, leaving Chris a little shocked, but he couldn't stop thinking about you. You looked away, unwilling to see them together.

[…]

For the rest of the evening you caught up on Liv's life, as she recounted her sexual encounters, her love life status, her college environment until it was time for dinner.

You couldn't help but think that it didn't matter if you flirted, if anything happened, you wouldn't know what to do and probably wouldn't satisfy him, you were inexperienced and a virgin, which you never made a big deal about it, but for some reason you thought about so many sexual things lately since he awakened your desire.

Dinner was normal and a little strange, eating all together, your last family dinner was maybe on your birthday. And Chris realized that your father and he were the only men, so he thought at one point to invite one of his closest friends, plus he needed him, the tension between you and Chris was growing, or at least his desire for you.

The next morning you went downstairs for breakfast, not even hungry, but you just wanted to see Chris, but he wasn't there since he was supposedly still working and you didn't see him until the afternoon. You took the opportunity to update your swimsuits and take a walk to the beach with Liv. Chris was also confused not to find you at his house, until he saw you arrive with shopping bags.

That evening he convinced his close friend Minho to stay with him too for the summer as Chris had to confess to him the reason and Minho saw with his own eyes and understood why.

Once again you wanted Chris' attention and you had no choice but to go out dressed up all the time, feeling cute, since you kind of sucked at flirting. And you got the pleasant surprise of finding another handsome man next to him.

Chris introduced Minho to you and Liv, and your mind flew with the crazy idea of a man for each other, that maybe so at least Liv would stop thinking about Chris a little bit, because honestly you wanted him for yourself only, when he was already taken, and wasn't yours in the first place. But you weren't the only one with that crazy thought, Liv was so happy that Chris got her own handsome older man to have fun with in the summer.

Minho was also so handsome, he had a muscular body too but his features were softer to Chris'. He also looked intimidating.

The next day was odder, Liv and Minho disappeared, leaving you in disbelief with the ease of things that circumstances work, when both are single, or at least you wanted to believe that Minho was single, or honestly you could care less, at least Liv didn't know his life that much, let alone if he was in a relationship with someone so the guilt didn't exist in her body; but in yours it did, Chris was Ruby's and you couldn't even hate her, your stepmother's whole family was so sweet to you, Dahlia thought you were a real daughter to her because she could never conceive and was afraid to adopt.

You were bored without Liv, you sent her messages but she didn't answer, she must be having a great day in Minho's arms, but lucky her, you thought between sighs; so bored you started to explore the house a bit until you reached a long hallway, at the end of it you saw that there was a family photograph which caught your attention, there were not so many memories of family photos of Chris so it caught your attention and you approached it, next to it there was a large room, which had the door open and you stopped in your tracks when you realized that it was Chris' office, and that he was sitting behind his desk, who quickly heard your footsteps and turned to see you.

You didn't know what to do and smiled nervously at him and he amusedly thought that all ways always led you to him. Chris quickly stood up from his chair, put his pencil aside as he was working on a project and walked dangerously close to you.

“You were looking for me?”

His flirtatious tone and the way he gently raised his eyebrow gave you chills again.

You denied, but you didn't want to get away from him.

“But I found you” you replied.

He invited you in with his gaze, closing the door once you entered, you looked around the place and Chris looked boldly at you. Your young, bare legs with your tiny skirt and your slightly carefree look as you were comfortable in his home.

Chris without thinking, went to his desk and out of habit took a cigarette, he couldn't help it, he was a recurrent smoker, not an addict, but he liked to smoke one or two cigarettes a day, or two cigarettes one day and then quit for several days without a problem, but just now he couldn't think about anything but enjoying your company, your presence and aroma combined with a little of his nicotine.

You thought that even though he smoked and you didn't like the smell, on him, he looked good and you liked him, you liked him so much that you forgot your little inconveniences and thought he didn't smell of cigarettes, he had a strong scent of a manly perfume that you found highly pleasing.

Chris put his cig between his lips and you saw him take another one, thinking he was going to offer you one but you noticed he took a pen and with his big hands, which drove you crazy and you had recurring thoughts of his fingers in your mouth, you saw he wrote a series of numbers on the cigarette; he took a lighter and lit his cigarette quickly, taking his first puff, sucking air between his teeth and then holding the cigarette delicately between his two fingers, then passing you the cigarette with the written numbers and saying to you:

“Do you want it?”

You took it, only to see the numbers on what you quickly noticed was a phone number and before he took the lighter once more you said, “I don't smoke.”

“Well, that's my phone number, since apparently it looks a little bad for us to be together and we need to be more discreet.”

Your mind stopped processing what he said, he inhaled again from the cigarette, exhaling all the smoke, losing it in the bright sunlight coming through the windows, he looked so fucking hot your legs were almost starting to shake, he walked over to you and put his free hand on your waist.

“Let's have fun this summer, I know you want me and I can't get you out of my fucking head” he spoke and you felt it unreal, for a moment you stopped thinking about everyone, it was just Chris and you, fuck the rest, “Relax a little with me, I don't bite unless you ask me to” he whispered, leaning into your ear, noticing your tense body.

He pulled away, stubbing out his cigarette in his ashtray and sitting back in his chair.

“Come here” he ordered patting his thigh.

He was wearing a white button up shirt and black formal cloth pants, you were so wet at his appearance, you were wet knowing he was older than you and dressed elegantly, you were wet at the way he asked you to sit on his lap.

Chris couldn't take it anymore, from the first night he met you, after seeing you so provocative in your bikini, he masturbated thinking about you, pulling and stroking his cock hard, filling his mind with scenarios where you were all needy, wet, making a mess and begging for him, until he cummed. He couldn't even fuck his girlfriend, his cock only reacted to you apparently. He needed you, all day he thought about how his friend did get to fuck the other girl with no problem while he was stuck there, but not anymore as you happily sat on his lap, feeling so happy, feeling the friction of fabric of his pants on your thighs as you moved to get comfortable, causing him tenderness at your reaction.

“Mmm, I guess you want it too by obey me, don't you babygirl?” he murmured, caressing your thighs and making you shiver.

Your mind spun like crazy, wanting what what, you didn't know but yes, you needed him like you had never needed anyone, your mind was lost in his closeness and that it's finally happening. You really tried to be strong too, but you lost it. He was caressing you, bringing his hands up tentatively so high almost in your intimate zone.

“Yes…” you answered in a whisper.

“Then just kiss me, babygirl, I'm dying to taste your lips since the first moment I saw you.”

You turned your face and met the closeness of his, without thinking too much, you joined your lips with his, feeling his slight cigarette taste together with a soft and fresh sensation, your hand shyly rested from his shoulder, your inside was burning, you felt as if fireworks were detaching inside you. At first it was sweet and gentle, but then he changed his pace to something slower but desperate and lustful, opening your mouth and feeling his expert tongue caress your cavity, leaving you breathless but addicted to the feel of each other.

Chris found his way to your pussy, opening your legs slightly and without wasting time, he pushed the fabric of your panties aside, playing with your clit, making you gasp and take a moment away from his lips. You were now focused on his fingertips caressing you.

Chris licked his lips, leering at you and admiring the slight trembling of your body from pleasure. By this point, he too was already so hard with an erection protruding from his pants.

“You're so wet and needy, let me take care of you” he moaned.

You were almost about to cum with his caresses on your clit, his movements on it, his light pinching and pressure towards it, turning you on so much, but his fingers went down your wet folds, in search of your entrance and, you realized what he would do, it still surprised and hurt a little to feel two of his fingers inside you. You moaned louder at the sensation of his digits sliding into your virgin hole, as did Chris who let out a groan, unable to believe you were so tight, even being in that position, sitting on his lap, there was no reason for your insides to squeeze his fingers so tight, he had never felt a pussy like that before, like yours, he love every second of it, he was obsessed.

“Fuck” blubbered Chris, “You like that, don't you, little doll?”

You whimpered high pitched in response, his fingers began to penetrate you and his thumb went back to caressing your clit and labia, making you feel like you had never felt before. You were so hot, you wanted to strip off all your clothes and feel something bigger fill your pussy, you were a mess, moaning and shivering at his hand on your cunt.

“Tell daddy how much you like it, babygirl, call me daddy when I'm touching so good your pussy” he gasped.

“Yes, daddy I love it, please don't stop” you whimpered in a squeak, feeling your orgasm so close as your heart pounded intensely.

Your first orgasm caused by a man. Daddy, daddy, daddy, you thought it fit him so well, he was older than you, and you could tell he liked to be in control. He could command you whatever he wanted, he could be in charge, your panties got wetter as you fantasized about how dominant he was. He was so hard, analyzing every part of you and enjoying your body fading for him.

You were about to cum, your pussy moistening Chris's fingers more and more, your thighs quivering and the feeling of clenching in your stomach, you were so close… but the sound of heels down the hall and door handle turning startled you too much, Chris removed his fingers from you abruptly, hurting you a little but you stood up instantly, adjusting your skirt and resting your hands on his desk, turning your back to the door. Chris picked up a book that was on his desk, opened it and held it with his hand whose fingers were touching you earlier, over his cock, at an angle where you couldn't see his erection and the small wet spot you left on his pants.

“Hey” you heard and turned your body, hiding the cigarette and found Ruby all smiles but then grimaced, “Fuck, Chris, did you smoke here? Anyways, Liv and Minho arrived with the shoppings, should I start the… grill?”

You and Chris simultaneously looked at each other, looking scared and guilty.

“No, it's okay baby, I'll go downstairs in a minute.”

“Oh, you found each other, didn't you” Ruby added, leaving you confused, “Y/n it's a little artist too, she draws and paints well” she confirmed, referencing that Chris was doing a sketch.

He didn't know that and wanted to know more about you. But fate was not in your favor this time.

“Are you okay, honey, you're sweating and look a little red?” said Ruby worriedly.

You were so wet and hot, your fluids bothered you, but you had to pretend to be okay, so much so that you went outside pretending nothing was wrong, watching the stupid grill burn, almost as much as your insides, you kept fantasizing if Ruby hadn't interrupted you what would have happened, maybe you would have tasted and had another piece of meat in your mouth before the one Minho was cooking.

You watched him, who stood next to Minho, looking manly grilling the meat. Chris had changed his clothes, now wearing jeans and a black sleeveless shirt. You felt a little jealous that you didn't even want to ask Liv if anything happened with Minho, you wanted your own moment with Chris no matter what. Chris noticed your look and in a whisper said to his friend:

“I kissed her and touched her.”

“Woah, good for you dude, what did I tell you about college girls? They are all trouble makers but they know how to take care of you very well” Minho encouraged him smilingly, giving him a friendly pat.

“But we were interrupted and now I feel guilty, I don't think I should have done it…”

You took your phone and amidst impatience, texted him, just telling him Hey and watched as he immediately pulled his phone out of his pocket, seeing the message but ignored it.

“My sexual fantasy is a threesome with Minho and Chris, imagine their two cocks pleasuring you. I'm kinda horny right now” Liv spoke as if nothing, seeing herself on her cell phone camera, snapping you out of your trance.

So were you. In fact she was talking but you weren't paying attention, you weren't that greedy, Chris's cock was really enough for you.

[…]

It was late at night, everyone was sleeping, but you noticed the pool house light on through the window, you didn't know what it was about, but you were thankful that you were a little lazy to remove your makeup and quietly put your clothes back on, taking off your pajamas, with the slightest hope that, maybe it was Chris being alone, or in the worst case, him with his girlfriend.

You texted him but he didn't respond and you were impatient so you carefully went downstairs quietly and managed to get outside, walking up to the property and slowly entered the house, which was literally another house, just a little smaller. And you found Chris with his back turned sitting in the chairs leaning against the kitchen counter.

He turned to see who it was and smiled broadly at the sight of you. You also noticed that he was drinking and smoking, or at least you saw a couple of cigarettes in the ashtray and apparently he was alone. You approached him, so excited with adrenaline at its peak to see that he could be all by himself. He smiled at you, so wide that he narrowed his eyes, he wasn't expecting you but he was just thinking about you, he couldn't sleep, you drove him crazy, when he saw you, it seemed almost like a dream since he was starting to get a little drunk.

You sat down on the chair next to him and noticed his almost empty glass of hard liquor.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered to him.

“I'm just… drinking a little” he replied, his tone of voice low and almost slurring his words.

“By yourself?”

“Minho just left, wanna join me?”

You shook your head softly, you really didn't want to drink, you wanted to kiss him passionately, and more so knowing you were alone. But Chris went there because he couldn't sleep and he kept thinking about it in that he felt a little guilty but at the same time he wanted to do so many things to you, you looked innocent, you were young and his deepest desire was to corrupt you so badly.

You decided to get bold and just blurted out:

“Why don't we continue what we were doing… I didn't get to cum.”

Chris let out a chuckle in disbelief at your comment and analyzed you, from your face with your makeup intact, to your thighs uncovered by your skirt with very easy access to him.

“Who would have thought, you look so innocent… but you are quite the dirty little whore. You want me to make you cum, huh?”

His comment made your skin bristle and gave you shivers, both for your body, and for your pussy, causing it to twinge with arousal in your sensitive core. Everything about him turned you on so much.

“Yes…”

“And what will you do for me?” he asked so quickly as soon as you answered, looking at you defiantly.

You stood there thinking for a few seconds, "You want… me to make you cum too?" you spoke uncertainly.

“I wanna see it” he challenged you, “I like you a lot” he confessed, getting carried away with the moment and the alcohol doing its thing.

You smiled, stood up from the chair and moved closer to him, Chris turned his body and let position yours between his legs, you wrapped your arms around his neck, he grabbed your waist and you, close to his lips, reciprocated his confession.

“I like you a lot too, Chris.”

He smiled, coming back to all his senses, leaving the effect of the alcohol aside, so awake and ready for you, he raised his eyebrows, wanting to correct you, lowering his hands to your ass, you understood immediately.

“I like you, daddy” you repeated.

“That's my good girl.”

You felt your body burn on fire, that had sounded so good to you, more so coming from his voice and him. You moved in with a smile to kiss him, savoring the taste of the liquor on his full lips, spending long minutes of him running down your body and both of you completely lost in each other's lips, feeling his tongue and nose collide on your face, kissing was such an intimate act, something you loved to do with Chris, whose erection in his pants grew sky high, his throbbing cock ready to be used.

Chris couldn't take it anymore, he wanted your pretty mouth around his cock, he wanted to fuck your throat until he made you cry. As he pulled away he admired your heaving breathing and swollen lips, he thought this was just the beginning of more to come.

“Fuck” he whispered with a little pain from his erection stuck in his jeans.

You watched him, for a few seconds somewhat transfixed and realized he was just as turned on as you were, you stared at the bulge in his pants, not wanting to wait any longer to get his cock out at once, but he went ahead to say.

“C'mon babygirl, feel how hard daddy is for you, and make me feel good, be a good girl.”

You got so excited, as if you had won a prize and lowered your arms off his shoulders so you could feel his hard member between the also tough denim of his jeans. You bit your lip and unbuttoned his pants. Chris gasped, breathing raggedly knowing you were about to attend to his cock. You finally released it, wanting to experience everything with it and getting the big surprise of how nice and big it looked, just as veiny as his arms. You took it, completely forgetting that you were a poor college virgin girl and, that he would most likely end up fucking you and you couldn't agree more, you could remember that your virginity was taken by a man who knows what he's doing, millionaire, incredibly handsome with a colossal cock to die for.

You stroked his glans with your thumb and spread his precum over his length, it was your first time feeling a penis in your hand, for the moment, at least Chris's, it felt so good, its texture was smooth but his muscle was so tight and rigid. Chris for his part, gasped enjoying the feel of your hands on his cock and watched you look so impressed, almost as if you were studying every part of his anatomy, making you look a little more innocent but daring.

You acted with common sense, and began to slide your hands up and down his member, stroking his length from top to bottom, making him feel great. Chris bit his lip and inhaled air between his teeth, so excited he could cum right then and there. He didn't know exactly how to ask you, but he really wanted your mouth on his cock.

“Babygirl, use your mouth please, please” Chris babbled, caressing your face, admiring it before it was ruined by his cock in your mouth and the constant motion.

Your pussy throbbed harder at the thought of sucking him off and you dropped to your knees, unconsciously sighing nervously, making Chris feel the warm air of your sigh, now giving him shivers of pure arousal.

You looked into his eyes before bringing his cock closer to your mouth, to which he looked at you approvingly, subtly shaking his head encouraging you to do so.

You stuck out your tongue and licked his entire length, losing more and more strength, you were so aroused, trembling and twitching with your hot body, until he said,

“Open your mouth wide, baby doll.”

He helped you a little, guiding his cock into your mouth, finally slowly pushing it in, doing your best to make him enjoy it, which you felt a knot in your stomach of nervousness and excitement as Chris moaned loudly, letting you know you were getting off to a good start. He fisted your hair, completely ready to be satisfied.

You sucked his cock, sucking your cheeks and giving your best effort to get as much of his length as you could deep inside your cavity. Chris moaned again incredibly enjoying the also tightness of your mouth and softness of the inside of your cheeks. He watched you the whole time, your lips wrapped around his cock, the tender expression of concentration and struggle on your face, he could cum just from the image of you taking his length.

You started to move, his whole member didn't fit in your cavity, but you did your best, your eyes were starting to bother you a little, you were starting to form little tears, your nose got slick and your jaw hurt a little, but it was worth it, it was so worth it, Chris's moans were so hot to you that you never wanted to stop. You began to move your mouth, taking as much as you could, making Chris lose his sanity little by little, he helped you, pulling on your hair gently and pushing your head to move up and down exquisitely. Your movements were imperfect but from your little details Chris became more aroused and fantasized about your innocence again.

Your saliva combined with his precum began to slip from your lips and you took a breath, pulling his cock out of your mouth, Chris took advantage and quickly stood up from his chair, you looked with confusion at his action and he lifted your chin with his fingers, making you stare into his eyes.

“You're doing great, good girl, but let daddy fuck your throat, are you okay with that?”

Your eyes sparkled brighter despite the little tears you shed, you were scared but nodded so excited. “Yes, daddy” you said.

Chris took his cock almost by its base and opened his mouth slightly indicating you to do the same, causing you tenderness, and you did, his cock and your mouth meeting again, inserting it little by little, until you felt his skin tickle your uvula, your body shuddered, you closed your eyes tightly, he was huge, but you tried to hold back with all your might your gag reflex, Chris shifted his hips and finally you felt his cock sliding down your throat, taking him pure to heaven, you thought of everything, of Chris swimming next to you, of you sitting on his lap, trying to forget the slight discomfort and tingling that his penis was causing in your throat. Chris gasped loudly, and began to move gently, ramming into you, completely filled with sexual pleasure at the feel of his cock inside another strategic spot of yours.

You looked up at him, your watery eyes begging for mercy, your body was weak and your stomach sensitive; you cried harder, drooling non-stop, dripping his testicles and even the floor; unable to breathe or speak, just his balls rubbing against your face, his pubic area bumping against your nose and his cock stretching your throat, with his glans rubbing against your esophagus. You were doing so well, for your first time, and Chris was so happy to remind you of it, moaning senselessly completely lost amidst the pleasure, babbling swear words and whimpering, “You feel so good, babygirl, I'm gonna cum in your throat sweetie.”

But you felt so good, in desperation and helpless, with nothing to do but obey him and make him feel good, your pussy throbbed harder and harder, with the same intensity of an orgasm but you weren't sure if you were about to cum.

You felt Chris's body tremble, a loud gasp escaped his lips and you felt the shot of his hot cum inside your pharynx, he was having a wonderful orgasm like he had never had before, even making him shudder and lose his sanity and consciousness; Chris gently tugged at your hair, gently pulling his cock out of you so as not to hurt you, while he kept collapsing in his orgasm, cumming still on your tongue inside your mouth, spilling a few drops around your mouth.

“Good girl, swallow everything, there you go, good princess” he spoke softly caressing your face, watching you swallow hard and with heavy breathing “C'mon up here. Look at you, your face is a mess, my pretty baby. So fucked up for daddy's cock.”

He smirked at the sight of your face stained red, your cheeks shiny from your tears and your lips dirty and swollen from him.

You stood up and Chris wiped your chin stained in his cum with his thumb and then slipped it into your mouth, which you sucked it hard.

“Let's go to the room” he spoke excitedly, arranging his cock in his underwear and pants to take you by your wrist and lead you to the room.

You were surprised that it could practically be a small apartment with all the amenities with no problem and once you entered his room, he kissed you wildly again, tasting his own cum, feeling the wetness of your lips, and began to undress you, yanking off your skirt, parting from you to remove your top and bra and leaving the best part of taking off your panties at the end.

Chris bit his lip as he slid your panties off, bending down and placing soft kisses on your lower belly all the way down to your mons pubis.

“Fuck, you're beautiful, babydoll.”

He kissed your skin, to then put his warm tongue in and sticking his lips tightly to finally suck, leaving a mark on you and making you gasp softly, he looked up, searching your gaze, leering at you playfully, he couldn't believe he finally had you all to himself. Chris stood back up and quickly began to undress as well, leaving you dumbfounded at how incredibly attractive he looked as he lifted his strong arms to remove his shirt, unbuttoning his pants and nimbly removing his them along his underwear, as you finally stood naked in front of each other, with his prominent and slightly intimidating cock exposed, it dawned on you that, it was tonight the night you would lose your virginity.

He leaned close to your ear, whispering hotly, “I want your pretty pussy in my face, sit on daddy's face princess, please.”

You shivered and watched as Chris lay back on the bed, you quickly followed him, biting your lip unsure how you would do it, but completely sure what it was all about. You climbed onto the bed and positioned your pussy in his mouth, embarrassed to let yourself fall into it, but you did, giving a little jump of shock as you felt his tongue on your vulva, Chris took hold of your thighs, to lift you up and guide your pussy to his liking and disposal. You felt his fleshy lips kiss the full length of your folds and his big nose squeezing your vulva hard each time he gently shifted positions in your pussy, making the sensation a hundred times better. Chris licked and sucked intensely and thoroughly on your clit, making your thighs quiver in desperation and pleasure, you were so close but for some reason the sensation of your near orgasm was dragging on longer and longer, building up in intensity; Chris slid his tongue, licking your labia and reaching your entrance, sucking making a soft, sonorous slurping sound of your soaking wet pussy. You were on cloud nine, completely out of thoughts, your vision blurred and enjoying your first oral sex, with an older man who was an expert at every single thing he did, you couldn't have asked for anything better.

Chris lifted you up a little and said:

“Ride me, babygirl, fuck my tongue, move over, fuck.”

Then inserted his tongue inside you, making you gasp loudly, even his tongue was reaching a sweet spot in you that made you lose your mind again. You began to move, back and forth, enjoying the sensation of him; you threw your head back with your eyes rolling, Chris caressed your breasts with one hand, pinching your nipples, then bringing that hand quickly to his cock, as it was twitching, and ached a little, Chris stroked his cock and cum intensely in his abs. Sliding scattered drops down his length. Boy had he loved eating you and the delicious taste of your young fluids.

Finally, you came to your orgasm too, so intensely that you felt sorry for yourself at the thought that maybe you had made a mess on Chris. But he was so happy, tasting every drop of you. Awkwardly, you went down on top of him, and dropped your exhausted body on the bed, with the slightest idea that maybe it still left him wanting to fuck you… still you reminded him:

“That was great, daddy, th-thank you.”

Your chest heaved up and down, your world was a blur, the sensations were so new and good to you that your delicate body was exhausted.

“Oh, my pretty baby,” Chris said tenderly.

He sat up, wiping his mouth and chin, parting your legs and positioning his face dangerously in front of your pussy. A mischievous grin formed on his face.

“I'm gonna fuck your pretty pussy, baby, daddy's not done with you yet.”

Chris went back to stroking your clit with his fingertips, getting you wet in seconds. He watched you, panting and a mess for quite a while but Chris wouldn't stop until he felt your guts. An electric shiver ran down your spine, Chris stopped stroking your clit, spit on your vulva, positioned himself and took his erection, rubbing and stroking in your folds his hard length in your puffy, well lubricated pussy, making you more needy until at last, you felt his tip slide into your orifice, stretching every muscle at your entrance, gradually filling your insides, causing Chris to whimper halfheartedly at the sensation of your core deliciously smothering his cock. You gasped in pain and pleasure until you felt his glans tingle deep inside you in your cervix, Chris finally popped your cherry that night. You were a woman now, at least in a context of traditional and conservative phrases, wishing you were his woman every day.

You were a little sore, but so excited, you still asked him, “Da-dddy, can you move slow, please?”

He smiled tenderly at you, “Whatever my babydoll asks.”

His cock was buried in your core and Chris began to gently ram your pussy, kissing you slowly on the lips and moving his caresses down to your neck, it felt so good and when you finally felt you had gotten used to and adjusted to his size, you shyly asked him:

“F-faster daddy, please” you stammered.

Chris smiled sideways and started ramming you deeper and faster, sliding carelessly into your walls, making you gasp in pain but it felt so good, his cock filling every inch of you, you couldn't help but feel haunted by the sensation. Your thighs squeezed his body and your body began to move uncontrollably, your breasts jiggled roughly at each thrust and your insides burned with desire and for his big new visitor. His body collided with yours non-stop, you were breathless, aching and about to cum intensely.

Chris was babbling and moaning things you couldn't understand, he was so close to cumming in you, completely fixated on your insides squeezing his cock. You arched your back, contracting your body, ready to release in your second orgasm.

“Cum for me, fuck, cum on daddy's cock. You like that huh? You like to be fucked hard?”

“Fuuuck, daddy yesss” you squealed, cumming and wetting his cock.

You fell down in surrender, Chris rammed you a couple of times, deeper to climax in you, with the sensation of his cum shot hitting your cervix. Chris pulled out of you, admiring the dirty artistry of your little hole quivering and spurting his bright white cum. Getting him hard in seconds again. Satisfying him so much by leaving you so weak.

“And I'm not done yet, princess.”

You blinked suddenly and Chris grabbed your arm, making you turn around, he opened your folds, exposing your newly destroyed hole, still wet in each other's cum and, he pushed his cock back into you, making you whimper, you were barely recovering when you felt the firmness of his huge cock again in your walls, this time he went in fast, his whole cock, ramming into your pussy, hitting your ass because you didn't even have time to settle, you were lying down, face down, panting and somehow, extremely aroused again.

Chris pounded you hard again, so brutal and primal releasing every frustration of his in your weak body, ramming you hard, making your ass vibrate every time his pelvis and balls collapsed into you. He moved in on you, his arm headlocking you, tightening his grip harder and harder, cutting off your breath slowly without stopping thrusting hard into you.

“You like that, don't you sweet baby? Fuck! You feel so good.”

You couldn't even answer him, besides the fact that he was slowly suffocating you, you couldn't think clearly, you only heard his gasps, yours and the sound of your bodies colliding at such a frantic act. You were so close, just as he was, your breathing was completely cut off, you heard his panting close to your ear, this time you trembled more intensely, and your vision blurred more, begging for air, but in desperation, you cum intensely, almost making yourself cry. Chris softened his grip, letting you catch your breath and cum in you again, spurting out quickly and ejaculating a few loads in your ass.

You couldn't take it anymore. You even forgot your name. You could only remember Chris, who pushed your hair aside and kissed your back.

“That was amazing, beautiful. We're going to have a really fun summer.”

He couldn't help but think of all the ways he wanted to fuck you, treating you like a doll, showering you with pampering afterwards, but damn it, he had to break up with his girlfriend.

You were trying to come back to your senses, but you were so tired and could only think that, somehow, you loved him, and didn't know exactly why.

-----------------------------

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89

[potofsoup]

Happy July 4th, everyone, and good luck to the UK voters out there!

Wow it's Year 11 of doing these!! Here's the AO3 link to the past 10 years, and here's the tumblr link.

Reminder that this is a long game -- some of the judges making decisions were appointed back in the 80s. Many of the cases that were decided this round were from Trump's term. So it's going to take long-term, consistent voting over a decade to start tipping things in the other direction. (Which I talked about in 2018 re: Trump shenanigans and 2022 re: Dobbs).

A lot has been done by the Biden administration (I'm assuming most folks have seen this post by boreal-sea with their very helpful sources), and much of that will be overturned by Trump, especially if he gets the Senate, and especially now that he would have a blank check for anything "official". So let's make sure that doesn't happen.

And even if Trump does get elected, your decisions down-ballot might effect control of the House or Senate, or might make it easier to vote next time, plus the whole plethora of state and local issues. It's Republican state attorney generals who are challenging climate regulations, for example.

Plus, when you really get down to it, only one of the candidates plans on pardoning himself and all his friends if he wins, and attacking the government if he loses. Maybe that guy shouldn't be the President.

If you're new to voting, remember to check voter registration deadlines! I'm a permanent vote-by-mail voter and it's so nice. :)

Transcript under the readmore

Page 1: Sam and Bucky meet up with Steve for a picnic. Steve: Thought you guys were still in Sudan? Bucky: I’m forcing Sam to take a break.

Sam collapses onto the picnic blanket. Sam: Oof, it just never stops, does it? Steve: Nope.

Bucky hands Sam an orange popsicle. Bucky: Eat and relax for a bit, Sam. Sam: Thanks.

Page 2: Bucky asks Steve: How are things state-side? Steve responds: HORRIBLE. Bucky: I thought you’ve been tentatively hopeful about what Biden has been able to achieve? Steve: I was! Student loans, child care, climate regulations, infrastructure, labor, trans rights … he’s quietly done a lot through regulatory improvements and congress bills. But now all people will talk about is how he’s OLD. And then there’s the Supreme Court’s decisions … Chevron and immunity… Steve puts his head in his hands, while Sam and Bucky look on with some concern.

Page 3: Bucky hands Steve a blue/raspberry popsicle: Steve, take a deep breath, and a popsicle. Sam: Sounds like we missed a lot. What’s going on? How bad is it? Steve: Pretty bad. The Supreme Court has made some decisions that give the Court and the President A LOT of discretionary power. Sam: Yikes, that doesn’t sound good. Steve: Well, the Chevron thing means that judges with life-term appointments can override policies made by government agencies. And now it’ll be harder to hold a President accountable because he will have immunity for any “official” actions.

Page 4: Sam: So if the President tries to, say, overturn a democratic election result, he’ll be allowed to as long as it’s in his job description? Steve: I don’t think threatening state electors is “official” business, but that will be decided by federal judges. Who get their jobs by approval from both the President and the Senate. Bucky: Yeesh. No wonder you’re stressed. Any good news? Steve: Well, thanks the Biden and the razor-thin Senate majority, the newer bills don’t rely on the Chevron deference. Still not great but not catastrophic. Sam, squirting ketchup on his hot dog: So what I’m hearing is that it’s now more important than ever to have a President and a Senate who you can trust to appoint fair judges, pass bills, and not commit crimes.

Page 5: Steve: Plus all of the state level offices, now that more and more deciding power has been thrown back to the states — abortion, LGBTQ rights, voting access… Bucky: Hey, at least this is a big election year so we can actually do something! Steve, with his arms crossed, looking surly: Except that all people want to talk about is how Biden is “too old” and “not doing enough,” as if that is on par with Trump’s desire to dismantle basic rights! As if the candidate who doesn’t embody ALL their ideals is not worth voting for! Bucky interrupts with a smart and a loud “PFFT.”

Page 6: Bucky: Um, Steve. YOU were like that in 1940. Sam, nudging Bucky: “Oh, this I gotta hear. Spill, Barnes.” In sepia, Steve is pacing around their apartment while Bucky is sitting and reading a newspaper. Steve: I can’t believe he’s running for a 3rd term! we need a fresh candidate to vote for! This is hardly a choice at all! AND he refuses to engage in Europe! All of Europe under fascist control and we’re just twiddling our thumbs? He’s letting millions die through his inaction! Bucky: Most people don’t want another war, Steve. If he came out for it, he would lose. Steve, indignant: But Buck, it’s your Polish relative who are in danger! Bucky, closing his newspaper and looking at Steve: Yeah, and between FDR and Willkes, I trust FDR to help if he could.

Page 7: Steve, in sepia, looking away: Should he be encouraged to do more? Maybe I should vote for Browder. The Communists have historically be Anti-Fascist.

Sam interrupts off-screen: Waitaminute! STEVE was going to PROTEST-VOTE? Steve: We were in a Blue State, Sam! Sam: But what about the down ballot races?! Steve: RELAX, I did my due diligence down-ballot. I wanted a senate that’s more progressive than the President.Voted LaGuardia for Mayor, too. Steve hesitates: Then, when I got to the President… I realized that the Best case scenario would be that my vote did nothing, versus if it actually spoiled the election. And when I asked myself who I could trust to work with my Senator… well, FDR had a good record with Labor. (sepia shot of young Steve voting) Bucky interrupts: Hold on, Steve.

Page 8: Bucky, eating a cookie, arching an eyebrow: You didn’t vote for Browder? Why didn’t you tell me? Steve: And have you say “I told you so” for the next century? Bucky: Heh.

Steve, with hand on his chin: What’s weird was that, despite everything, I still felt HORRIBLE when I ticked that box. Sam: Sounds like you built up the meaning of that vote far too much in your head. Logically, we know that a single box can’t represent all of the complexity of a whole system, but the desperately WANT it to. Just look at how people have built up so much around the term “Zionis” that it’s made productive conversations difficult.

Page 9: Sam and Steve speak in the background while Bucky reaches into the cooler and pulls out a box. Steve: Sigh. And that’s something that goes beyond the election. Sam: Which is why we need to vote, AND do other things. Bucky, looking at Steve and Sam: Like how Steve works to push organizations on the local level? Or like all the work you do as Captain America? Sam: Exactly. Vote AND.

Sam looks at Bucky fondly: Like how you vote AND make me and Steve take breaks. Bucky, looking stern because he can’t handle compliments: Shush, Sam.

Bucky holds up a cake that has the number “107” on it: It’s time for cake. Happy Birthday, Steve.

[yelenasbraid]

JOE BURROW / sparklers & fireworks

summary — it’s the fourth of july. there’s no better way to spend it than with family.

warnings — fem!reader, fluff

requested by — anon!

note — this is just a blurb so it’s short ☺️

tags — @willowsnook @irishmanwhore @starsinthesky5 @iosivb9 @ebsmind @sportyphile @joecoolburrow @softburrow @kazsbrckkers @joeyburrrow @joeyfranchise @burrowdarling @jburrgf @joeyb1989 @hotburreaux @justhereforthetea200 @wickedfun9 (comment/send an ask to be added)

THE KITCHEN SMELLS OF CHLORINE, damp swimsuits lay across the counter stools, towels under them to stop the drops from hitting the floor. Thuds are heard from upstairs with the occasional whine slipping from a child’s mouth.

“Mama,” 5-year-old Hensley whines. Her mother is combing her hair, being as gentle as she could be.

“It’s not that bad, honey,” she reminds her daughter, gentle fingers combing through her daughter’s thick hair. Hensley was Y/N’s twin, down to the bone. Friends would often joke that Joe had no say in Hensley’s development.

“Yeah, Hens, you’re being dramatic,” Hensley’s twin, Jace, sticks his tongue out at his sister. Jace is Joe’s twin, all blonde curls and blue eyes. Plus, he has an affinity with football. Joe’s perfect mini-me.

“Jace’s being mean to me,” Hensley whines as her mother starts braiding her hair. Y/N just shakes her head, peering into the bathroom mirror every now and then. Joe walks in, shirt still off from his shower, his hair all damp curls. It took everything in Y/N not to stare.

The best part is that he has their most recent addition, Eliza, on his hip.

“You know where her curl cream is?” Joe asks, rummaging through one of the sink drawers. Y/N takes a second to admire her husband, his muscles bulging under his skin, two-year old Eliza clinging to his body. Joe being a father is one of the sexiest things he’s ever done. It makes her wanna try for baby #4.

“Babe?” Joe prods, noticing how his wife got lost.

“Mm? Oh, it’s here,” she quickly recovers, plucking the bottle from amidst the hair products that littered the sink counter. Joe kisses her cheek, a smile painting his lips.

“Caught red-handed,” he teases in her ear, earning a slap on his arm from her. He giggles as he walks out, sitting on the edge of the bed while he tends to Eliza’s curls.

Later that evening

Dinner is delicious. Messy faces and babbling children fill the evening air. Y/N sits on the swing, the twins at her side, while Joe wrangles Eliza.

“E, baby, let your daddy sit please,” Y/N smiles, watching Joe struggle to walk with his daughter hanging off of his leg. Y/N’s parents have since left, but her dad promised to bring over some of their barbecue. Her father always made the best, in her opinion.

Joe sits down next to Y/N, a plate full of barbecue and sides in his hands. Eliza crawls up next to him, sharing with him.

It’s a quiet evening. The dull thuds of fireworks are already being echoed across the sky. The kids are enamored, squirming in their seats as they finish their dinner to the best of their ability. It’s also a dream. Her little family that she knew would only get bigger. The twins gnawing on a bun at her side, Joe feeding Eliza some coleslaw off of his fork. It’s perfect. It’s all she’s wanted.

“Mommy?” Jace speaks up, breaking Y/N from her haze.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I want a brother,” he speaks so plainly, making Joe nearly choke. It makes sense in her mind, not Joe choking, but Jace’s desire for a brother. He’s got all sisters, and while his dad is pretty cool, he wants a brother to hang with.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,”

Joe exchanges a look with Y/N, who rolls her eyes. She’s not opposed to the idea of trying for a 4th, especially when her husband looked that good.

Dinner was finished up, plates were away. Joe grabs the sparklers from the drawer in the kitchen and a lighter, padding back outside. The sun is just dipping below the horizon, casting a beautiful glow onto the yard. The twins jump off of the swing, running towards their father. Joe carefully lights the sparklers, handing them to his oldest. He crouches down, watching as Jace and Hensley giggle. He sees his wife in them, the sparkle in their eyes. He can’t help but admire them, the products of his and Y/N’s love.

“Daddy!” Eliza whined, tugging on his sweats. Joe only smiles, lighting a sparkler for her. Her tiny hands wrap around his, holding the sparkler together.

She watches.

Her eyes flick across the scene, warm and yellow lighting illuminating the faces of her family. It’s a life she built, a life she worked hard for. Her children, her husband, sparklers in their hands. The tiny pops cause the kids to giggle, and she can’t help but snap a picture.

Before long, these moments will be just memories. Her kids will grow, have families of their own. Her and Joe will go grey, retire to the mountains. She doesn’t look forward to that, wanting to keep these moments.

“Hey, mamas,” Joe hums as he sits next to her. Eliza’s sparkler is in the bucket of water Joe prepared, and now she’s chasing her siblings around the yard. The twins have extinguished their sparklers, giggling as they run from their younger sister.

“Hey,” she smiles. Joe slings an arm around her, nothing but warmth in his eyes. He kisses the side of her head, letting his lips linger there. He’s filled with nothing but warmth, love swelling in his chest. She wasn’t just the mother of his children, she was his wife. The woman who completed him. The woman who made him feel normal.

“I love you,” he hums into her hair.

“I love you, too,”

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Two

CW: language

WC: 7.5k

Notes: I almost broke this into two chapters but if yall prefer just combined longer chapters lmk. Anyway a little more of azzis POV this chapter. She does a lot of #noticing.

Azzi could feel the sweat slipping down her back before she even peeled off the top half of her race suit.

It was that kind of heat.

Sticky, impossible, the kind that clung to you through layers of clothes and carbon and adrenaline. The kind that wrapped around your spine and didn’t let go. The kind that made you dream of plunging face-first into an ice bath and never coming out.

She unzipped her suit halfway, tied the arms around her waist, and pulled her fireproof undershirt away from her chest with a wince. The fabric slapped back wet. Her sports bra was soaked. Her body felt like it had been steam-cooked inside a metal box at 300 kilometers an hour for 30 minutes — which, to be fair, it had.

She didn’t even want to talk.

She couldn’t talk, not until her breathing slowed. Not until her pulse backed off from the red zone. Her throat was dry, her arms shaking in that low-buzz way they always did after a race that took more out of her than it gave. The points were fine. The sprint race had been fine. 4th, she thought. Or was it 5th?

It didn’t matter yet. Not until qualifying. Not until the real race.

For now, she dropped onto the bench in the Ferrari cooldown room, eyes closed against the fluorescent lights. Across the small space, Paige was already there — legs sprawled out in front of her, race suit hanging open, undershirt clinging to her in a way that made Azzi’s eyes flick over and away before her brain caught up.

There was something about seeing another driver this wrecked. This undone. Even if it was Paige.

Especially if it was Paige.

Her face was flushed, eyes glassy, like she hadn’t had a full breath since the moment she climbed into the car. Her hair was stuck to her forehead and temples, some flattened from the helmet, some wild from the heat. The veins in her arms were raised, still pumping from the effort. Her collarbones were sharp under the thin material of her undershirt, sweat glinting in the hollow of her throat.

It was a whole lot of information. Azzi didn’t need it. Didn’t ask for it.

She looked away again.

“I hate China in April,” Paige muttered.

Her voice was rough, but not sharp. Not snappy. It was more… honest. Tired honesty. Too drained to be anything else.

Azzi snorted quietly, too cooked to argue. “Try doing this in July.”

Paige let out something between a laugh and a groan. “God, don’t remind me.”

They didn’t speak again after that. Just the soft hum of the AC unit kicking in. Just the sound of both of them breathing through the weight of it.

The cooldown room was private — thank God — a small, merciful space inside the Ferrari garage with a padded bench, a hydration station, a fan no one had pointed in the right direction, and enough room for two drivers to pretend they weren’t about to pass out. No cameras. No mics. No PR team. Just them. And now, thankfully, her.

The door opened and in came Dr. Liao — short, calm, efficient. Female, thank God. That was new this year. That was them.

Azzi had barely known Paige when they’d made the request, but when it came to asking for a female team doctor, they’d been perfectly aligned. No debate. No friction. They’d both wanted it. Needed it.

Azzi remembered how it used to feel, being half-conscious post race in front of a guy almost twice her age. Even if he was kind. Even if he was professional. It was just… never fully comfortable.

Dr. Liao didn’t make them feel like patients. She made them feel like people.

“Hydrate,” she said simply, passing water bottles to both of them before crouching to check Paige’s vitals first. Her tone was steady, clinical. “You’re both running hot. Paige, hold out your hand.”

Paige obeyed without a word, her fingers trembling slightly as the pulse oximeter clipped on. Azzi watched out of the corner of her eye.

Still flushed. Still glassy-eyed. Sweat running down the back of her neck.

Dr. Liao noted something down on her tablet. “You’re fine. Just overheated. Take five, then cold compress. Azzi?”

Azzi rolled up her sleeve as the doctor shifted over, not protesting when her wrist was taken. Her legs were jelly, and her hair was damp all the way to the roots. She thought about peeling off her undershirt too, but the effort felt like too much. She settled for pulling the hem up, letting her skin breathe. Paige had already yanked hers off, sitting back now in just a black sports bra, her skin gleaming under the industrial light.

It wasn’t like Azzi stared. She didn’t.

It was just… there.

The lines of her stomach. The quiet rise and fall of her chest. The tattoo on her rib that Azzi hadn’t known about. The heat radiating off her like she’d swallowed the damn engine.

This wasn’t the first time she’d seen her like this — they changed in the same room pre race, trained in the same gym, stretched next to each other before sessions — but something about today made it harder to ignore. Maybe the heat stripped too much away. Maybe exhaustion blurred the edges of resentment. Maybe it was the way Paige hadn’t said anything bitchy for once.

They didn’t argue. Not today.

There just wasn’t enough energy for it.

Dr. Liao handed each of them a cold compress, then stood.

“Try to stay cool until the debrief. Get protein in you before qualifying.”

Azzi nodded. Paige, too.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence again.

Paige tilted her head back, eyes half-closed, the cold pack pressed to her neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever sweat this much in my life.”

Azzi leaned back, matching her without thinking. “Yeah. That was brutal.”

A pause. Then another. Then—

“Thanks for the doc,” Paige said, not looking at her.

Azzi blinked. “You asked for her too.”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Still. I wouldn’t’ve spoken up if you hadn’t first.”

Azzi didn’t know what to say to that. So she just nodded.

It was strange, sitting here like this. Close but not quite. Tired but not open. Just adjacent. No press cameras. No engineers. Just the low thrum of two hearts cooling down from something unspoken and hard to name.

They weren’t friends.

They weren’t even friendly.

But for the first time since joining the same team, Azzi didn’t hate being next to Paige.

That probably didn’t mean anything.

But maybe it did.

—

China was a success and Azzi couldn’t stop smiling.

She had been on enough podiums to know the routine, but that didn’t dull it — the rush of standing on the top step, the Ferrari red wrapped around her shoulders, the trophy cold in her hands. The champagne didn’t taste like anything, but that didn’t matter. It was hers. First win of the season. China was hers.

The anthem roared. The crowd beneath them waved flags — some Ferrari, some with her name on them, a few even homemade signs with glitter and gold stars. Cameras clicked and flashed. She felt the weight of her cap on her head, the sun on her back, the ache in her calves. Every inch of her buzzed with adrenaline and heat and relief.

Azzi Fudd. Winner in Shanghai.

She closed her eyes for half a second and let it all settle in her chest.

Her engineer, Mateo, had all but lifted her out of the car when she’d pulled into her first place spot. “Brava,” he’d said into her helmet mic before she’d even parked. “You were perfect out there. Absolutely perfect.”

The car had felt good. Not flawless, not light — the track still had its bumps and moments, but Azzi had driven the hell out of it. Gotten pole. Won the race. Controlled the pace. Managed the tires. Held off pressure. All of it.

It was textbook. And it was hers.

So why couldn’t she stop looking for Paige?

Fourth wasn’t a bad finish. In theory. But Paige had been running third with five laps to go. Right behind her, almost, for a while. Then just—gone. Dropped pace, like someone hit a switch. Fell back behind a Red Bull and a Mercedes. No fight. No spark. It hadn’t made sense.

Azzi had noticed. She hadn’t meant to. But she had.

She caught Mateo on her way off the podium, still drying her hair with a towel as they walked toward the media pen.

“Hey,” she said, voice low beneath the noise. “What happened to Paige?”

Mateo hesitated for just a beat too long.

“I saw her start to fall off,” Azzi added quickly. “The car wasn’t handling?”

“She had no cooling,” Marco said, cutting to the chase. “Whole race. It didn’t work. System failure. We caught it too late.”

Azzi’s chest tightened.

“No cooling?” she repeated.

“None. Full suit temp. Cabin temp was off the charts by lap ten.”

“Jesus.”

“She should’ve pulled out. But she didn’t.”

Azzi blinked hard. Something sharp pricked the base of her neck — guilt? Concern? Something else? She shook her head.

Mateo glanced at her. “She’s with Dr. Liao now.”

Azzi nodded but said nothing.

The next twenty minutes blurred. Media. Photos. The usual rinse-repeat of post-race interviews. Smiles, nods, answers on autopilot. Yes, the car felt great. Yes, we’re thrilled with the pace. Yes, we’ll take this momentum into the next race. She knew the script. Delivered it well.

But behind every answer, her mind was somewhere else.

It wasn’t that she cared about Paige. Not like that. They weren’t friends. Barely even teammates in the traditional sense. She didn’t know Paige’s middle name, didn’t know what music she listened to, didn’t even know who she called first after a good race.

But still. Azzi found herself turning down the wrong hallway on purpose. She justified it in her mind by saying she just needed to make sure her teammate could handle the intensity of Ferrari. Not any other reason.

The garage was quieter now. Engineers half-unpacked the gear. Mechanics wiped sweat from their brows. She bypassed the debrief room. Ignored the congratulations.

Dr. Liao’s office door was closed, but not locked.

Azzi knocked, once.

A voice from inside — not Dr. Liao. Not Paige either. Just a soft “yeah, come in.”

The room was cooler than the hallway — AC turned up, fluorescent lights dimmed, medical bags open across the counter. Paige sat on the small exam bench, still in her race pants, now in just a sports bra again. Her hair was damp and loose now, clinging to the curve of her jaw.

Her eyes lifted when Azzi entered.

Surprise first. Then… unreadable.

Dr. Liao stood beside her, looking up from her tablet.

“Azzi,” she said with a small smile. “Come to check in?”

“I—yeah.” Azzi shifted. “Mateo said Paige was here.”

“She is,” Dr. Liao confirmed. “And she’ll be okay. But I’m glad you’re here too.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I like to check on both my drivers. Not just the one who got cooked.”

Azzi chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m good. Cooling systems worked.”

“Good,” Dr. Liao said, not missing a beat. “Still, you’re not leaving until I take a look.”

Azzi made a face but stepped further in. Paige hadn’t said anything yet. Her gaze lingered for half a second too long before she looked away.

“I heard about the cooling,” Azzi said finally, voice low.

Paige tilted her head, jaw tight. “Yeah. Wasn’t fun.”

Azzi crossed her arms. “You didn’t retire from the race.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Dr. Liao glanced between them and then took the opportunity to go wash her hands at the sink, clearly giving them a second alone.

Azzi studied Paige again. There was color back in her face now. A little more strength in her shoulders. But there was something hollow about her too — not fragile exactly, just… scraped down to the nerve.

“You didn’t tell anyone it was that bad?” Azzi asked.

Paige shook her head. “Didn’t want to give up the points.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Just stepped closer, eyes flicking to the bottle of water in Paige’s hand, half-empty.

“You were 3rd.”

“I know that too.”

Another beat.

Azzi sighed. “You’re a dumbass.”

Paige finally looked at her again. Her mouth quirked — not a smile, not quite. “You’re welcome.”

Dr. Liao returned then, stepping between them gently.

“Paige is cleared,” she said, nodding toward her. “Azzi, sit. I’ll check your core before you disappear.”

Azzi sat.

Paige stood, gathering her towel and pulling her suit back on over her hips. The movement was slower than usual. Not weak, just tired.

She lingered by the door for a second too long before leaving.

Azzi watched her go.

The win still buzzed under her skin. But now, something else did too.

Something quieter. Something not quite nameable.

Maybe it was just the heat.

Or maybe not.

—

Azzi had only been back in the States for two days, but already her shoulders were looser.

New York in the spring was loud and half-unruly — cab horns echoing off glass, puddles still crusted with oil from the last rain, pigeons that refused to move even if you walked straight through them. But from the forty-eighth floor, the chaos became background hum. Low, distant, almost comforting. Like the city was alive beneath her feet and she didn’t have to answer to it.

Her penthouse was mostly quiet. Sleek lines, dark floors, wide windows. A glass coffee table she didn’t use and a white sofa she regretted buying the second her team shipped over the red wine she liked. It was the kind of apartment people expected a two-time world champion to live in — tall, polished, borderline impersonal — but she liked it anyway. It had her books. Her candles. Her kitchen. Her rules.

And her silence.

Mostly.

Azzi sat curled in one of the window alcoves, legs stretched out, loose tee barely hanging on one shoulder. A half-finished glass of cabernet balanced on the ledge beside her, and her tablet screen was glowing faintly in the dimness — emails, most of them irritating.

PR had stacked her inbox like always. New sponsorships. New media requests. A mildly threatening note from her stylist about her refusal to attend the Vogue-sponsored cocktail hour in Tokyo. And, worst of all, a bullet-pointed agenda for the next “Brand Alignment Workshop” Ferrari had set up for her and—

Ugh.

Her eyes lingered on the name.

Joint driver promo content. Must align schedules. Please coordinate availability with Paige directly.

Azzi exhaled through her nose. She stared at the line for a full ten seconds before tapping open the attachment. There were six concepts. Three were worse than the others. One involved pretending to bake together for a TikTok series about “F1’s softer side.”

She laughed once. Sharp and alone.

A second later, her phone buzzed in her lap.

PAIGE BUECKERS

[Incoming Call]

Azzi blinked. Then answered.

“Did you see the email?” Paige’s voice came through first — dry, edged with disbelief.

“Unfortunately,” Azzi said, lifting the wine to her lips.

There was a pause. Some muffled sound on the other end — something clattering, maybe wind.

“You’re in New York, right?” Paige asked.

Azzi didn’t answer immediately. She glanced toward the skyline — the Empire State glowing soft yellow in the dark.

“Yeah,” she said eventually. “You in Minneapolis?”

Another pause. “Yeah.”

Azzi could almost hear it now — the difference in Paige’s background. Less hum, more hush. The kind of quiet you couldn’t get in New York City, the kind you could only get where the sky spread wider and the houses didn’t fight for air. There was a dog barking distantly, a screen door closing somewhere. Then footsteps — bare, maybe on hardwood — soft and lazy.

“You actually gonna do the baking video?” Paige asked, voice tinged with something amused.

“God, no,” Azzi said, grinning. “Unless you’re into pretending we’re PR girlfriends.”

“You wish,” Paige shot back without missing a beat.

Azzi huffed a laugh. “I’d be the hot one.”

“You’d be the controlling one.”

“Same thing.”

Another silence, but not uncomfortable this time.

Azzi shifted, tucked one leg under the other. She leaned into the window glass and tried not to think about how nice Paige’s voice sounded when it wasn’t clipped from a radio or low over engine noise. It was warmer. Throatier. Maybe a little tired.

“Did they tell you what time they want to film?” Azzi asked after a moment, mostly to give her brain something to do.

“Yeah. Morning sessions in Tokyo before media. Six a.m. local.”

Azzi groaned. “They hate us.”

“Deeply.”

Another beat.

Azzi could hear something now — not quite music, but something soft in the background. A record? Or a playlist with too many vowels in the band names. Paige didn’t strike her as someone who had a speaker system set up in her living room, but she had something going. There was also the faint sound of water — maybe a kettle? Or a tap.

“You home alone?” Azzi asked without meaning to.

There was a hesitation. “Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“You?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t say anything after that.

Azzi picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. The call should’ve ended by now. It was only supposed to be about the email. Confirm the date. Maybe complain once or twice. But Paige hadn’t hung up, and neither had she.

Instead, they both sat in different cities — Azzi with her wine, Paige with her whatever — and let the space between them stretch.

“You like it there?” Azzi asked finally.

“Where?”

“Minneapolis.”

Paige paused. “It’s quiet. It’s mine.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I like it here, too.”

She didn’t mean to imagine it — Paige curled up on a couch somewhere, phone in hand, in sweats and a tank top, her hair loose, a light on in the kitchen. Azzi didn’t want to picture it. But her mind filled in the blanks anyway.

“What’re you drinking?” Paige asked, pulling her back.

Azzi smirked faintly. “Wine.”

“Of course you are.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just—of course. You’re the type.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “And what type is that?”

“Fancy. Dramatic. Probably drinking it from one of those glasses that cost a hundred bucks just because they’re thin.”

Azzi glanced at her glass. “…They were a gift.”

Paige chuckled. “Sure they were.”

Azzi leaned her head back against the window and closed her eyes. The silence returned — softer now, more like a blanket than a wall.

“You should get some rest,” she said, voice quieter.

“You too.”

“We’ll survive the PR thing.”

“Barely.”

Azzi hesitated. “Text me when you land in Tokyo.”

There was a pause.

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Alright.”

Azzi didn’t say goodbye. Just let the line go quiet, then tapped her phone off.

Outside, the city blinked like it always did — constant, fast, golden.

Inside, her wine had gone warm.

She didn’t know what any of this was, or why Paige’s voice was still echoing in her head.

But she let it echo anyway.

—

Japan was always fast.

Suzuka bit into tires and punished mistakes. It rewarded bravery and flow, and this year — finally — it loved the Ferrari.

From the first lap of practice, Azzi could feel it in her spine. The car was alive. Light on its feet. Responsive in ways it hadn’t been since pre-season. The balance was still twitchy in places, but it was raceable. And more importantly — it was fast.

Not that Paige made that easy to enjoy.

Every meeting was an argument. Every debrief felt like walking a wire. They weren’t even fighting about anything important anymore — Azzi swore Paige was just contradicting her for sport. Tire wear, lift-off points, different calibrations in the steering wheel, goddamn front wing angles. Every word Paige said sounded like a challenge.

And the worst part was that sometimes Paige was right.

But race day was race day.

On Sunday morning, Suzuka felt like it was holding its breath. Cloudless sky. High grip. Grandstands full and loud. The Ferrari team garage was buzzing — calm urgency, polished adrenaline. Both girls in the top three, the Red Bulls boxed in behind. A real chance.

Azzi strapped into her car with a jaw set like steel.

Paige did the same three feet away — lips taut, fireproof mask already pulled up — and Azzi didn’t even look at her.

Not really.

—

The start was clean.

Lights out, and Azzi surged forward like she was born for it. The launch was perfect. The traction was instant. She pulled clear by the end of turn two and never looked back. The Ferrari was a machine beneath her, practically begging for corners.

And behind her — just close enough to feel — was Paige.

Azzi saw the red flash of her number on the boards every lap. Heard the team radios updating split times. Knew, somehow, Paige was pushing with everything she had.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

The race unfolded like poetry — strategic, tight, unbothered by chaos. Red Bulls squabbled with McLarens. Mercedes fell back. The midfield chewed itself up.

But Ferrari? Ferrari flew.

By lap forty-four, the result was obvious. Azzi crossed the line with a roar of the engine, four seconds ahead of Paige.

1st.

2nd.

1–2.

Ferrari dominance.

—

Azzi had won before. Many times.

She’d stood on podiums in countless different countries. Held trophies twice her size. Sprayed champagne until her fireproofs were soaked. She was used to it.

But this one felt clean. Effortless in the way only total control could feel. She let herself enjoy it — the cheers, the anthem, the weight of the trophy.

Then she glanced sideways.

And saw Paige.

It was Paige’s first podium. Her first. And the expression on her face—

Azzi didn’t have a word for it. Pure maybe. Or blinding.

Paige had her helmet off, hair matted to her forehead, cheeks flushed, and she was grinning like she couldn’t breathe. Laughing, actually. Wide-eyed, flushed, completely drunk off adrenaline. She wasn’t even holding her champagne right — just looked like she couldn’t believe she was up here.

Azzi felt something twist in her gut.

She hated that smile.

She really did.

Or at least she wanted to.

—

They came down from the podium together, not speaking much as the media crews swarmed. Paige took every question with that same giddy excitement, talking about pace and grip and how amazing the car felt today.

Azzi watched from a few feet away, answering her own questions with clipped professionalism. She smiled when she needed to. Gave credit where it was due. Spoke like a champion.

But she could still hear Paige’s laugh cutting through the noise. Could still feel the way she’d lit up when the camera caught her looking out over the crowd, her first bottle of champagne in hand.

And Azzi thought, God, she’s such a rookie.

She remembered her own first podium. Remembered how her cheeks had ached from smiling, how the photographers caught her mid-laugh, soaked and shaking with disbelief. Back when she still looked around and thought I’m here. I made it.

She didn’t smile like that anymore.

Paige did.

Paige still had that look in her eyes — the one that said this all meant everything. That look made Azzi itch under her skin.

—

They were walking back to the paddock when Paige caught up beside her.

“Good race,” she said, out of breath but beaming.

Azzi kept her pace. “You didn’t even try to pass me.”

Paige shrugged. “Didn’t have the tires. Or the gap.”

“You had the straight-line speed.”

“And you had clean air.”

Azzi gave her a sidelong glance. Paige’s fireproofs were tied around her waist now, black tank clinging to her shoulders. Her cheeks were still pink from the heat. Helmet hanging loose in one hand. She looked like she was still riding the high of it all.

Like she was invincible.

“You’re painfully fast in Bahrain and Jeddah,” Azzi muttered before she could stop herself.

Paige blinked. “Thanks?”

Azzi didn’t reply.

She hated that about Paige too — how Bahrain always brought out something feral in her. How her driving in Jeddah was so stupidly aggressive that it worked. Azzi remembered from the junior days — watching Paige brake late and still stick the apex. She’d never admit it, but there had been weekends back then where she’d had to fight to keep up.

And Vegas? Vegas was her playground. That annoyed Azzi most of all.

Of course Paige loved the show of it. The lights. The spectacle. It was such a Paige thing — chasing the glamour, soaking it up like it was part of her fuel. Azzi had always thought that made her unserious. Showy. Too caught up in the theater of it.

But now she wasn’t so sure.

Now she was wondering if Paige just loved it. The whole thing. The speed, the cameras, the people. The joy. The pressure.

And maybe that’s why Azzi hated her.

Because she used to love it like that too.

And now?

Now she just loved to win.

—

Bahrain was still dry and hot as usual.

Azzi had been here enough times to know how the track behaved at night — when the desert air cooled just enough to fool you, and the tarmac gripped like it had a personal vendetta. She liked Bahrain. She usually did well here.

But today?

Today sucked.

She was in the garage, gloves still on, helmet still half-unclipped, watching the final moments of qualifying play out on the monitor in front of her. It felt like a personal insult that she had to sit here and watch.

Paige was still out on track.

Of course she was.

Azzi had spun out earlier — turn nine, back stepped out, grip just disappeared like it never existed. Saved the car, barely, but it killed her lap. That was it. No more softs, no more time. She was lucky to get through to the top ten at all. Tenth on the grid. Double digits. Garbage.

And Paige?

Paige had been purple sector after purple sector. Flying.

Azzi leaned forward in her seat, jaw clenched tight, eyes on the monitor. Paige’s car snaked through the final sector like it was glued to the circuit — smooth, clean, fast. She looked calm in the cockpit too. Like she belonged up there.

Azzi hated how calm she looked.

Final corner. DRS open. Clean launch to the line. The screen flashed green.

3rd.

Azzi blew out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Not 1st, at least. The Red Bulls locked out the front row — again — and for once, she was glad for it.

“Great lap, Paige,” Luca’s voice said through the radio on the broadcast. “That’s 3rd. Really solid session.”

Paige’s voice came back, light and professional. “Yeah. Car felt good. Let’s get ‘em tomorrow.”

Azzi’s fingers curled into a fist against her leg.

—

The debrief was short, but it didn’t help her mood.

She knew what the data would say before they even pulled it up — rear instability, mid-corner rotation issues, maybe something weird with tire temps. The wind hadn’t helped either. She’d pushed too hard on her hot lap. She’d been angry. Frustrated. Pressing when she should’ve waited. It was a classic Azzi overdrive moment.

But what pissed her off more was that she didn’t feel like she was wrong. She should’ve been faster.

She was the better driver.

She knew that.

So why did it look like Paige was the one carrying Ferrari this week?

Why did every camera cut to Paige like she was the star?

Why was her name all over the board while Azzi’s sat in tenth like a joke?

Paige had no business being this fast. She was barely in her second year in F1. She was supposed to still be adjusting. Still learning. Still catching up.

But Bahrain had always suited her. Even back in junior formula. The long straights, the late braking zones, the high-speed rhythm of it all — it played into Paige’s strengths. Her aggression. Her absolute belief in her ability to control a car on the edge.

And Jeddah? Azzi didn’t even want to think about next week.

If Paige looked this good now…

Hell, she could win this week. If the Red Bulls messed up their start, or pitted at the wrong time, or if there was a safety car at the right moment—she was right there. 3rd. In striking distance.

Azzi ran her tongue across the inside of her cheek.

A podium was one thing.

But a win?

That would change everything.

And Azzi didn’t know why that felt like such a threat.

—

‘

She peeled off her gloves in the silence of her driver room, the dull hiss of post-qualifying interviews humming through the wall. She was supposed to join them. Eventually. After she cooled off.

She dropped onto the small padded bench and leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed. Helmet still in her lap. She could feel the heat of the Bahrain night pressing in through the concrete.

She knew she should be thinking about the race. About tire strategy, about overtaking, about the million things that could still go wrong tomorrow that she could maybe make go right.

Instead, she was thinking about Paige’s face on the screen. The way she’d looked getting out of the car. Hairline damp, smile tight but focused, fist bumping a few mechanics like she’d been there before. Like this was routine. Like she belonged on the front two rows.

Azzi hated how much space Paige was taking up in her head.

This was supposed to be her season.

Her championship.

Her team.

She wasn’t about to lose to someone who still treated the Ferrari like a shiny new toy.

Especially not Paige.

Azzi exhaled hard through her nose, grabbed the towel off the bench, and threw it across the room.

She needed to sleep.

Tomorrow was race day.

And God help her if Paige really did win.

—

Race day got off to a good start.

The lights went out, and Azzi launched.

Not flawlessly. Not cleanly. Just hard. Aggressive. Maybe a little reckless. Tenth place felt like prison, and she was clawing her way out of it corner by corner.

By lap two, she was already in eighth.

By lap twelve, she was in sixth.

By lap thirty-two, she was in fourth.

Bahrain had always been a rhythm track, and Azzi had the rhythm now. The car felt heavy early, tires needing longer to come in, but once they did — once the grip arrived and the fuel load dropped — it was hers again. Hers to push. Hers to punish.

She chased down Mercedes like they were standing still. She cut through McLaren with surgical precision. She was so deep into race mode she barely registered Mateo’s voice until he brought up the inevitable.

“Paige is in 2nd and closing on the race leader”

Azzi didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t have time to.

She was on the outside of turn four, elbows out, sending it up the inside into five, and the Alpine driver gave her just enough room. That was fourth. She was in fourth.

And Paige was still ahead of her.

—

The thing about Bahrain was that the podium wasn’t just a stage. It loomed.

From the garage, from the cool-down room, from every replay and every still image — it was there. Lit up under a thousand bulbs like a goddamn cathedral.

Azzi had stood on it. She’d owned it. She knew what it smelled like, what it felt like. She knew the weight of the trophy in her hands. She knew the cadence of the anthem as it played.

But tonight, she wasn’t on it.

And Paige was.

Again.

Red Bull had won, as expected — cool, untouchable, boring. Paige, on the other hand, had clawed her way into second. Not a lucky second either. Earned. Fought for. She had the gap down under a second when she crossed the line. Under a second behind a much more experienced driver.

That was real.

That was close.

That was…

Azzi stood behind the screens in the Ferrari garage, jaw set tight, arms crossed over her chest as she watched Paige pull up to her assigned spot. The second-place board was in front of her car. Mechanics and engineers swarmed around her, but Paige stayed still for a moment, helmet tipped back against the headrest, hands resting on the wheel.

Then she pulled it off, and Azzi watched her face.

It was flushed. Red from the heat, damp with sweat, but relaxed. Not ecstatic — Paige was too composed for that — but she had that look again. The one that said she knew she belonged up there. She stepped out of the car, peeled off her gloves, undid the top of her suit just enough, and walked over to the other drivers like she’d done it a hundred times.

Like she wasn’t the rookie in this lineup.

Azzi felt something twist in her chest.

She wasn’t jealous.

She knew she wasn’t.

She’d won races. Championships. She had the legacy, the records, the reputation. She had nothing to be jealous of.

So why did it feel like something was being taken from her?

—

Her manager, Marco, found her after the debrief. They were going over tire data when the screens showed Paige again, this time on the podium, shaking the bottle of champagne like it was her goddamn coronation.

“She’s on a run,” he said, nodding at the screen.

Azzi didn’t look. “So was I last year.”

“You still are. Fourth place from tenth is a hell of a drive.”

Azzi grunted. She didn’t need the pep talk. She didn’t need the sugarcoating. She knew how to read a result sheet.

But still. She couldn’t shake the image — Paige smiling, Paige shining, Paige so thrilled about second place like it was gold-plated.

Azzi had been there. She remembered her first podium. The breathlessness of it. The sensory overload. How nothing else in the world had existed for those ten minutes. She remembered what it felt like to finally be seen.

Maybe that’s what was bothering her.

Because she wasn’t being seen right now. Not the way Paige was.

And what kind of two-time champion did that make her?

—

She showered quick. Changed quicker. Avoided most of the media. Gave the team her thanks, her praise, her apologies for qualifying, her comments on strategy — all clean, all clipped, all professional.

By the time she stepped outside the paddock gates, Paige’s name was still trending. Paige’s second-place finish was being clipped and re-posted with headlines like “Ferrari’s Future?” and “Bueckers Blossoms.”

Azzi hated how fast the world turned.

But more than that — she hated that she was still thinking about Paige’s face on the podium.

Because underneath all the irritation, all the cold professionalism, all the competitive instinct that churned in her blood like fire — there was something else. Something quieter. Something more dangerous.

She’d watched Paige get up there tonight.

And a part of her — a part she didn’t understand — hadn’t wanted to look away.

—

Jeddah was here. And that meant a pre race debrief.

The conference room wasn’t large, but it was private — a quiet corner carved out of the Ferrari motorhome, insulated from the chaos of media obligations, fan zones, and the constant background hum of hospitality. The air-conditioning ran cold, like it always did on race weekends in the desert, and the lights overhead buzzed softly, fluorescent and clinical.

Azzi sat on the left side of the long table, shoulders relaxed but posture perfect, the heel of one boot propped over her opposite knee. Her black Ferrari polo was clean and crisp despite the heat outside, sleeves tight around her biceps. Paige sat across from her, hunched slightly forward, elbows on the table, her damp hair into a lopsided bun.

There was a notepad in front of her. Azzi hadn’t brought one. She didn’t need it.

Fred Vasseur, the team principal, stood at the head of the table. Calm, stern, the same expression he always wore when he was about to say something he didn’t want misinterpreted.

Beside him was Alessandra — head of driver development and one of the few people Azzi actually listened to. She wasn’t as cold as Fred. But she wasn’t soft either. Alessandra’s eyes flicked between the two drivers before she spoke.

“Let’s keep this focused. No press questions, no sponsor talk, just the race. This weekend, we’re not chasing headlines. We’re chasing performance. Understood?”

Azzi gave a single nod.

Paige did too, a second later.

Fred clasped his hands behind his back. “Jeddah is high-speed, narrow margins. Precision above all. You both know that. We’re not asking for heroics.”

Azzi didn’t react outwardly. But part of her bristled at the implication. She didn’t do heroics. She did excellence. That was the difference.

“We want two cars clean through turn one,” Alessandra continued, “and we want race pace that allows for flexibility. Both of you have shown that in data — in moments — but this weekend has to be execution, not potential. We’re past the warm-up phase now. Bahrain was proof we have the car. But you both need to bring it together.”

Azzi lifted her chin. “Are you saying we haven’t?”

There was the briefest pause. Not hesitation. Calculation.

“You’ve both had flashes of brilliance,” Fred said. “But there’s still time on the table. Sector two especially. Paige, we need you to trust your braking a touch deeper. Azzi—” He looked her straight in the eye. “We need less correction mid-corner. More throttle discipline.”

Azzi’s jaw flexed.

She wanted to argue. She wanted to say the balance still wasn’t where she liked it, that she was adjusting to inconsistencies in rear grip, that the telemetry didn’t tell the whole story. But she didn’t. Not here. Not with Paige watching.

Alessandra shifted focus. “Let’s talk goals. Real ones. No sponsor-speak. Paige, you first.”

Paige blinked, caught slightly off guard. She tucked one hand under her opposite elbow. “I want a clean first stint. I want to keep Red Bull in range. Ideally, I’m out ahead of them, but… if I’m 3rd or 4th off the start, I want to be close enough to capitalize. Strategy’s gonna matter. Tire temps too.”

Alessandra gave a single approving nod. “And?”

Paige hesitated, then added, “And I want to beat her.”

Azzi arched an eyebrow.

Paige didn’t look away.

Fred, unbothered, turned. “Azzi?”

“My goal is the same as it always is,” she said, voice calm and clipped. “I want to win. Full stop.”

Alessandra tilted her head. “Even from 7th?”

Azzi’s lips curved in the faintest smile. “Especially from 7th.”

The room held a beat of silence. Not tense. Just full.

Fred crossed his arms. “Look — we aren’t interested in internal rivalry becoming public spectacle. We’re not Red Bull. We don’t cannibalize talent. But let’s be clear — neither of you is here to coast.”

Azzi felt Paige shift slightly in her chair. Maybe it was the way Fred had said that. Neither of you is here to coast. Like someone had. Like maybe Paige had in Bahrain.

“We’re giving you both full race strategy autonomy tomorrow,” Alessandra added. “There won’t be team orders. Whoever gets track position keeps it. Whoever earns the win gets the win. But don’t expect us to fix it for you. This is still a team. And we are Ferrari.”

The last three words rang out like doctrine.

Paige leaned back in her chair. She looked tired. But focused.

Azzi, meanwhile, was too proud to feel tired.

She didn’t need to be reminded what the logo on her chest meant. She didn’t need to be told how fast the Red Bulls were or how Paige was “finding her form” or how brilliant the strategy team could be when everything clicked.

She knew all of that.

And she knew that Jeddah was her kind of track — fast, technical, tight. All instinct and nerve. You didn’t flinch in Saudi. You committed.

“I want the gap to be clear,” she said finally.

Everyone looked at her.

“What gap?” Alessandra asked.

“Between us,” Azzi said, nodding slightly in Paige’s direction. “If I win, I want it to be obvious. Not luck. Not pit stop timing. I want it to be mine.”

Paige didn’t speak. But her eyes burned.

Alessandra looked at both of them for a long moment. Then she straightened the edge of the strategy sheet in front of her, even though it didn’t need it.

“Well,” she said quietly. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow.”

—

Azzi had a lot of complicated feelings about how that race went.

Paige Bueckers had stood on the top step of the podium, sweat clinging to her jawline like it belonged there.

Her helmet was off. Her suit half-zipped. Her fireproofs soaked through, sticking to her arms and sides and everything in between. Her face was flushed the way it always got when she was overheating — too pink across the cheekbones, damp strands of blonde hair curling wild around her face, her whole body breathing hard like the race was still happening.

And behind her, the podium lights glowed purple. Of course they did.

Jeddah did everything in neon. The night shimmered with it — track walls, halo boards, hospitality towers, all of it wrapped in that surreal violet tint that turned everything slightly more dreamlike. Slightly more unreal.

Paige looked… unreal.

Azzi blinked once. Then again.

Her own body still hadn’t settled. Her pulse was high from the heat. Her hands smelled like the steering wheel. Her ribcage felt too tight beneath her suit. She’d just driven the hell out of a race, made every inch of the track bend to her will — and still, she was watching Paige on the top step. Not herself.

Ferrari 1–2. Paige first. Azzi second.

It was still dominance.

Just not hers.

–

She could hear the anthem playing — not Italy’s, not Ferrari’s, not even the sound of a team celebrating — but Paige’s. The Star-Spangled Banner blared in grainy perfection from the podium speakers, and Azzi almost laughed at the way Paige tipped her head back like it meant something. Like it really was hers.

Maybe it was.

It was stupidly cinematic.

Purple light, breeze moving through her sweat-wet hair, eyes closed to the sky.

Paige wasn’t singing. She just stood there, soaking it in. Letting herself be seen.

Azzi didn’t know what to do with her face. She clapped, because that’s what you do. She smiled, because the camera was pointed at her. But none of it reached her bones.

Her bones were too busy noticing.

The way Paige looked afterward — once the champagne exploded and she got absolutely drenched — was worse.

Not worse in the painful way.

Worse in the dangerous way.

Because her smile then? It was real. She didn’t fake that joy. She didn’t even try to hide it. She laughed, loud and unrestrained and open-mouthed, the kind of laugh that made her whole body shake. Her eyes were nearly shut from how hard she was laughing as another tried to spray her from behind and missed entirely. Azzi aimed better. Drenched her again. Paige didn’t care.

Confetti fell. She leaned into it. Tilted her head up again and let it hit her. Arms out, palms up like the whole night was made for her.

Maybe it was.

Maybe Azzi hated that.

Or maybe she didn’t.

She didn’t know.

What she did know — what was undeniable in that instant — was that Paige looked good like this. Lit up in champagne and glory, framed by purple neon and gold confetti, laughing like she’d been born to win.

It was Azzi’s least favorite thing.

And maybe the most beautiful thing she’d seen all month.

–

Afterward, backstage in the cool-down zone behind the podium, Azzi barely said a word.

She watched Paige towel off. Watched her press a bottle of water to her temple, eyes fluttering closed from the contact. She was still dripping, still pulsing with heat, but her whole body radiated that particular stillness that only came after something that mattered.

Azzi had felt that once. The first time she won. She knew what it did to you. The way it carved your name into the season. The way it lingered, hours after the track had gone quiet.

And Paige had it now.

Azzi’s arms were crossed over her chest.

One foot tapped quietly, impatiently.

She stared at the floor instead of Paige.

She shouldn’t care.

She shouldn’t notice how Paige’s neck looked in the light.

She shouldn’t notice how defined her shoulders were in a soaked fireproof.

She shouldn’t notice how Paige’s eyes kept glancing at her like she expected something — a reaction, maybe. A smile. A nudge. Something shared.

But Azzi gave her nothing. Or tried to.

Even when her body betrayed her and her eyes drifted upward. Even when her heartbeat flickered at the memory of Paige on that step, drenched in light and champagne.

–

They flew to Miami next. The calendar didn’t wait for anybody. Wins or not, the circus rolled on. But tonight was Paige’s night. That was plain. That was carved into the lights and the scoreboard and the air itself.

Azzi didn’t clap again.

Didn’t linger near her.

Didn’t congratulate her beyond the expected.

But later that night, she closed her eyes in her hotel room and saw the purple glow behind Paige’s head like a halo. The champagne in her lashes. The smile that didn’t stop at her mouth.

And for the first time in her life, Azzi Fudd didn’t want the top step.

She wanted to understand what the hell it was she felt watching someone else on it.

[onlybeeewrites]

What are The Odds

Pairing: plantonic (?) Haymitch x fem!reader, Burdock Everdeen x sister!reader, plantonic!Maysilee Donner x reader, Asterid March x reader

word count: 2.5k

Summary: Y/N was always stuck in the middle of good and bad luck. But what happens when maybe her luck finally runs out?

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SUNRISE ON THE REAPING!! violence, blood, death, cursings

What are the Odds: Next

A/N: THANK YOU GUYS for all the requests I’ve gotten! I promise I’m gonna get to them soon in the next few weeks. But I’m almost done with Sunrise on the Repaing (I have like 3/4 chapters left) and I needed to write. So pls feel free to send in any requests for SOTR <3 thank yall and enjoyyy

~~~~~~~~~~

The morning was crisp, the air biting at the exposed skin of your calves.  Where the end of your dress ends, just a few inches until the tops of your boots begin. 

As you step out of your small home in the Seam, the weight of the day’s significance hanging over you like a heavy fog. It was funny. How such a terrible day could look so beautiful.

As the morning sun started to shine down, the clouds above them almost too perfect. Too perfect for this terrible, terrible day. Because today was the Reaping.

Not just any Reaping though.

No.

Because that would be too easy. No, today is the Reaping for the 50th Hunger Games. The second ever Quarter Quell. And this year? The Capital was especially cruel as they announced just two weeks ago that twice the amount of tributes would be entered into the games.

Two boys and two girls from each district.

48 tributes.

And the whole district felt it. The weight that suffocated your small district. The sword that hung over your heads. It hard to ignore the tension in the streets of District 12, of the Seam. 

The square will be filled with hopeful faces, but you can’t help but feel a cold knot in your stomach. Her hands tightening around the small paper bound package, not much bigger than a roll from the bakery.

Beside you, your twin brother, Burdock walks with his broad shoulders hunched against the growing warmth of the morning. 

Both of your boots crunch against the dirt and gravel of the ground. The two of you silent as you head through the Seam and towards the center of town. Around you, lingering kids do the same. 

But know Burdie is already gearing up to say something about your usual “distractions” today. You do it every year. The same packaging in your hands. A little hope in the dark time of July 4th. 

“I saw you,” he says, nudging you with his elbow, his voice a low, teasing growl. His eyes narrowing down on you. “Making eyes at Haymitch again? You know better than that, Smalls,”

Smalls. You hated that he called you that. You had always been shorter than him, not by much. But you have. 

You roll your eyes, shoving him lightly. “I wasn’t making eyes at him. You’re imagining things, Burdock. Why would I made eyes at Haymitch?” You ask as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. But your twin knew better. 

“Oh, right, like you weren’t just staring at him across the Hobb yesterday.” His voice takes on an exaggerated, sarcastic tone. “What’s next, you going to hand him a love letter too? I’m sure Lenore Dove wouldn’t appreciate that,”

Lenor Dove. Your beautiful, and fierce cousin. The troublemaker. And Haymitch’s girl. 

You huff, pursing your lips as you push the thoughts away. You weren’t angry with your cousin. You couldn’t blame her for falling for Haymitch. With his wit, the charm, everything about him was magnetic.

But you’re too stubborn and embarrassed to admit that, let alone let Burdock know that his teasing is getting to you. “I wasn’t staring. I was trading. He just so happened to be in that direction,” she said simply.

“Uh-huh.” He smirks, clearly enjoying the way his teasing is getting under your skin. “Well, maybe you should be careful, or he or Lenore Dove might think you’re a little too… interested.”

“Trust me, I’m not,” you mutter under your breath, though you’re unsure who you’re trying to convince. But the last thing you wanted to do was get between your cousin and her guy, who also is happens to be your brother’s best friend.

Burdock smirks and nudges you again. “You know better, Smalls. Besides, you can do better than Abernathy. So can Lenore Dove but god forbid we tell her that,” 

“Yeah I’ll keep that in mind for when I see Asterid,” you added, a smirk growing on your own face as you bring up your brother’s crush. Well, more like unofficial girl. Though the whole district probably knew about their feelings for each other. 

Though before he could retaliate with another word, the two of you approached the town square. The whole space has been transformed for the day’s festivities. Banners of Panem were hung. Large screens and other decorative items. 

And then ahead of you, a figure emerges from the crowd—Haymitch. The air feels like it shifts when you see him, and for a second, everything else fades into the background. He walks towards you both, his face shadowed though his usual smug expression crossed his face, hands in his pockets.

You step forward, swallowing back the nerves swirling in your stomach, hand over the package. “Hey, Haymitch,” you say softly, your voice trying to sound like everything was normal. Like the odds weren’t completely stacked against all of you. 

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering in his gaze when you hand him the gift. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice giving away the curiosity growing as he takes it from you.

“Happy birthday,” you say quickly, offering a shy smile. “I made it for you.”

His expression softens for a moment, though he’s quick to hide it behind his usual guarded look. He pulls the wrapping away with practiced hands, revealing a small leather bracelet, the stitches tight and neat. It’s simple, but it’s a piece of you—something you put effort into, something that’s yours to give. 

You always tried to give him something handmade, or something he could use. With the hunting your family does, it gives a little extra coin. But this year with the Quarter Quell? Something in your stomach told you do to it. You just weren’t sure if it was for you, or him.

Burdock, standing a little behind you, rolls his eyes and mutters just loud enough for you to hear, “Gods, you’re so weird.”

Haymitch chuckles low, glancing at Burdock with a smirk. “She’s considerate, Burdie. That’s more than I can say for you.”

You quickly step back, feeling a flush creeping up your neck at Burdock’s teasing. “I have to go,” you say, your heart racing a little faster as the reaping draws closer. You don’t want to linger too long.

You look between the two boys, “I’ll see you guys afterward,” you say, giving your brother a hug and Haymitch a nod and smile before going and checking in. Afterwards,  youtoward the girl’s side of the square, the weight of the moment sinking in as you join the others, trying to push away the nerves, the fear, the uncertainty.

As you reach your spot in the crowd, you find your group of friends. Asterid March, and Maysilee and Merrilee Donner.

 you glance back one last time at Haymitch, who’s now inspecting the bracelet with a small smile. Burdock is standing beside him, muttering something that you can’t hear, but you catch the shake of Haymitch’s head, that wry grin on his face.

For a moment, everything feels normal. For a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. But you know that’s not true. Today, everything will change.

And as you stand there, heart thumping in your chest, you know that you’ll never forget this moment, even if it’s the last one that ever feels like it.

The square is packed, the air thick with a mix of anticipation and dread. The Capitol’s anthem blares from the loudspeakers, a stark contrast to the somber faces of the District 12 residents. The parents and families of all the children packed away in the square like animals. Watching and waiting to see which four unlucky children get picked.

Which four they have to mourn this year.

It wasn’t long before the mayor gave her speech. Replaying the clips and propaganda of the Dark Days, the games, and the past Hunger Games.

Drusilla Sickle, the Capitol-appointed escort, steps onto the stage not long after. Her presence is as flamboyant as ever, her face adorned with thumbtacks and tiny buzz saw blades, a grotesque display of Capitol fashion. She raises her hand as she begins, and you feel the knot in your stomach growing, playing with the ring on your right ring finger. 

“Welcome, District 12!” Drusilla’s voice rings out, dripping with feigned enthusiasm. “Today, we gather for the 50th Hunger Games Reaping, a special Quarter Quell year,” she said adjusting her clothes again.

Drusilla continues, her tone mocking. “First, we shall select our female tributes.” She turns to the glass bowl beside her, swirling her hand inside before pulling out a slip of paper. Unfolding it, she announces, “Louella McCoy!”

You feel absolutely sick. You know Louella. A little girl from the Seam, just down the street. You had seen her grow up. Knew her family. You helped them as much as you could. 

And as you watched, Louella steps forward, her face pale, eyes wide with fear. Though she doesn’t cry. She slowly joins Drusilla on the stage, standing stiffly beside her. And you try not to think 

Drusilla’s hand delves back into the bowl, and she pulls out another slip. “And for the second female tribute. Y/N Everdeen!”

Your breath catches in your throat. Your name. Your heart races as you feel the weight of countless eyes upon you. Burdock’s gaze meets yours across the square, his face a mixture of concern and helplessness. 

But you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Not when your blood has absolutely run cold. You were going to die. It was as simple as that. You were a hunter sure. But hunting animals were much different than hunting humans.

So incredibly different. 

So how the hell were you supposed to do this? Against 47 other tributes? 12 of them being Careers.

Swallowing harshly, you finally snap out of your daze. You turn to your three friends give them biggest hug you could muster. And before you leave, your eyes land on Asterid, “Take care of my brother. Please,”

A final wish. You can’t imagine what your death would have on your twin. The guilt he may feel. Would he tell stories about you to his children? Would Asterid? Or would you be a missing piece of him that he never speaks about.

You hear people crying off to the side. Ma. It’s your parents. But still, you school your features the best you could while you force your legs to move, each step heavier than the last, until you stand beside Louella on the stage. And you don’t look anywhere in particular. Just staring off into the crowd of kids that you grew up around. Grew up with. 

Drusilla gives a theatrical sigh, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Now, for our male tributes.”

She draws a name. “Wyatt Callow!”

Wyatt, known for his quick wit and math skills. His family are gamblers. He was always the one picking out the odds of things. Especially when the games came around, he was particularly handy to his father and brothers. 

Drusilla reaches into the glass bowl again, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulls out the second slip. “Woodbine Chance!”

Woodbine, a lanky boy with wild eyes, freezes. His gaze flickers toward the crowd, then back to Drusilla. He walks out to the aisle that leads to the stage and pauses for a moment. 

Then without warning, he turns and bolts, pushing past Peacekeepers and scattering bystanders. A gasp ripples through the crowd.

“Stop him!” Drusilla shrieks, her voice high-pitched with panic, echoing into the microphone and bouncing off the walls of the square.

The Peacekeepers react swiftly, drawing their weapons. Woodbine’s desperate sprint is cut short as a single shot rings out from the rooftop of the justice building. The gunshot echoing through the square. 

He collapses, lifeless, his defiance snuffed out in an instant. Woodbine is sprawled on the ground, a dark stain spreading beneath him, his wild eyes frozen open.

Then, everything erupts into chaos.

Someone screams—a raw, broken sound that cuts through the cold morning air. Peacekeepers move in a blur, shouting orders, raising their rifles. The crowd surges in confusion, some people shoving to get away, others frozen in place. A woman—Woodbine’s mother, maybe—cries out his name before a Peacekeeper tries shoves her back from the body of her boy. 

You barely register any of it. Your body moves on instinct. Louella is beside you, trembling. Without thinking, you grab her and shove her down, pressing her against the stage, your own body curling over hers.

“Stay down,” you whisper, though your voice is swallowed by the rising panic.

A second shot rings out. Then another.

Something cracks against the stage beside you—wood splintering, or maybe stone. You squeeze your eyes shut, tightening your grip around Louella as she shakes beneath you. Her fingers clutch at your sleeve. 

People are shouting, Peacekeepers are barking orders, but it all blurs together, muffled, distant. You focus on the rough wood beneath your hands, the sharp edges digging into your palms, the way Louella’s breath stutters beneath you.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the chaos dulls. The shouting ebbs, the frantic movement slows.

You don’t move. You don’t lift your head.

A voice—sharp, commanding—cuts through the settling dust. “Get them up.”

Hands grab at you, hauling you off Louella. Your legs buckle as they drag you upright. The world tilts and sways, your vision swimming. Louella is being pulled to her feet beside you, her face pale, her eyes wide.

Drusilla Sickle stands at the podium again, though her elaborate Capitol mask of composure is cracked at the edges. Her mouth is tight, her hands trembling as she smooths down her ridiculous outfit.

“Well,” she says, voice brittle. “That was… unfortunate.”

The Peacekeepers have formed a barricade around the stage, their rifles held stiffly at their sides. In the square, bodies are still. Woodbine is gone—dragged away, erased.

Drusilla clears her throat, shaking out a new slip of paper with a forced smile. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Back to your places! We only have a few minuets!”

You have no idea what’s going on before the peacekeepers bring you and Louella and Wyatt back into the crowds. Right where you were.

Stunned, you realized what was happening. The beer making you do everything all over again. And for what? The camera? You try your best to seem like this was the first time. But it’s almost worse knowing what’s coming.

Louella is called again. Then you. Then Wyatt.

But it’s the name she reads next makes your stomach drop.

“Haymitch Abernathy.”

No. No no the second boy was already called. It was Woodbine. They couldn’t get replacement. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t right. Not for Haymitch. Not for anyone who saw what really happened.

You wanted to scream. To shout. To cry that Haymitch didn’t deserve to be sent to the games like you, or Wyatt, or little Louella. But no sound came out. Like they completely stole your voice from you.

A silent murmur ripples through the crowd. You turn your head just in time to see Haymitch step forward, his usual smirk absent, his expression unreadable. Why had they called him? What did he do to get himself here? Or were the odds not in his favor.

He takes his place beside Wyatt Callow. The four of you—Louella, Haymitch, Wyatt, and yourself—stand before District 12, before the Capitol’s watching eyes.

Drusilla claps her hands together, as if that will erase the blood, the fear, the chaos.

“There we have it! Our tributes for the 50th Hunger Games!”

The anthem plays. The ceremony continues until it wraps up. 

As if nothing happened at all.

As if you, Wyatt, Louella and Haymitch didn’t just have a promise of your deaths handed to you on a silver tray.

[oofmybad]

Gift Exchange

Synopsis: You and Billie have been friends for quite a few years now since you moved in across the street from her family home. You’re basically an extension of the O’Connell/Baird family since you’re an only child with absent parents, so they brought you in as one of their own. Over the years, you two have developed a romantic relationship, too. This year, you’re spending the 4th of July with her friends and family at their pool/BBQ/garden party. But you and Billie sneak away to exchange your annual 4th of July gifts - an ironic tradition that’s developed between you two over the past 5ish years.

 

Warnings: established relationship between Billie and reader, femme reader, teasing, fluff, references to smut (maybe it’s very mild smut idk), pole dancing, some nudity, reader is slightly implied to be Caribbean (Sorry if I got anything wrong, this is my first fic).

 

A/n: This is just a dream I had a couple of years ago. I still somehow remember it just as vividly. It’s pretty much just a fic about my life lol (but my dream state added Billie). Also, vibes are inspired by FKA twigs’ Cellophane music video, so there’s some pole-dancing terminology in here. I tried to keep it minimal cuz i don’t know how to explain the moves effectively other than just re-stating the name itself lol. So you may have to google a couple of things. I chopped the story off at 3.5k words cuz it was getting hella long. If anyone ends up reading this and wants the second half, pls just ask :) Ok, here we go!           

 

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You’re standing alone in the front room of Billie’s family home, looking out of the large French windows facing their front yard, holding your cup of coral-pink guava juice. It’s never quiet over here - you’ve grown tired of silence in your years living alone - but it’s especially loud today because the O’Connell family is hosting their annual 4th of July party.

***

The first time Billie invited you to this celebration, 5 years ago, you laughed mockingly at the proposition. Billie knows where you stand on American patriotism, but without you even having to say anything further, she assured you, “We’re not those kind of people,” as she used her right hand to create a ‘shoo’ motion, finishing with a blasé “tsk” from her lips. You contemplated her words for a moment, then let out a simple “ok”, a sheepish smile surfacing on your lips. You pucker your lips and pull them to the side to hopefully conceal your fluster. “What should I bring?” you ask. “Just your pretty self, " Billie replies. You playfully roll your eyes and kiss your teeth at her response. Ignoring her flirty comment, you think out loud, “Maybe I’ll make some jerk chicken to grill. You know, to counteract the whole ‘American’ thing going on. Does that work?”. Both you and Billie were raised vegetarian and then turned vegan as children, so there was no need to clarify what kind of chicken you would bring. Billie’s eyes light up as she rapidly makes tiny little claps with her hands, her rings lightly clanking against each other. “Yes! That’s my favorite that you make! Purr”. At the final word, she childishly kicks the lower half of her left leg out to make a 90º angle, while her tongue peeks out and her eyes look up at the sky. There’s a small pause as you just watch her giggling, adoring the youthful energy that runs through her. “Hold up,” Billie says, putting a hand up, suddenly serious, “Please don’t make it hella spicy like last time”. “I did not!” You protest, “Your ginger-ass brother is just weak”. Billie lets out one of her laughs, your favorite one. The one where she abruptly throws her head back, mouth wide open, and cackles, “Ahhhh! Ahahah! … Ha! Haha!”. You just let it happen, watching her dimples emerge (the left one deeper than the other). Then, as her laugh settles down, you watch her gums peek out in the corners of her smile - also your favorite. She’s your favorite.

***

As you continue to gaze out of the window absentmindedly, there’s a sudden yet soft clasp on your shoulders. You inhale sharply, snapping your head around to see who is touching you. Billie stood there cheesing, her forehead only as high as your chin, and you immediately relaxed, exhaling. You noted that she had put a beige backwards cap on since you’d last seen her – probably to ‘complete the fit’ as she’d say, considering she was wearing cream-colored sweatpants and a brown mesh jersey that allowed her fluorescent pink bikini to be seen through the material. “Billie, what the fuck?! You know I hate being touched,” you say with your hand over your heart. “Yeah, but not by me,” she retorts. “And how exactly was I supposed to know it was you?!”. She just shrugs with a stupid smile. You lean in to hug her now, your arms around her neck, and mutter a joking “fuck you” into her neck. Billie is quick to pull back, keeping hold of your waist, and say, “I wish you would,” grinning with mischief. Your hand gently slaps her chest, and you push her out of your embrace, giving her a “seriously?” Look. Billie is quick to change the topic, asking what you’re doing over here all alone. “I’m not exactly sure, to be honest. I kinda just zoned out,” you answer her. “of course, you did, your adhd ass” Billie rolls her eyes. “Do you want your present now?”. “Hell yeah, pretty girl, lemme go get yours first,” Billie replies just before she turns around and slow jogs down the hallway to her room. She returns holding the pretty patterned fabric goodie bag with your name sewn onto it that Maggie made you when you started spending holidays at theirs a few years back. Smiling at Billie’s sense of urgency, you tell her that you both will have to go over to your house across the street for her present. Billie furrows her eyebrows, giving you a questioning look in return. You explain that her gift is in your bedroom, and it can’t really be “taken anywhere”. “Ok, let’s go then!” She says in a high-pitched voice – that youthful excitement you so love is starting to burst at her seams. Billie grabs the juice out of your hand, places it on the nearest table, and then yanks your hand out the door with you following behind. “Chill, bro! Why are you running?” You yell ahead of you, the latter part in the voice of the meme. Billie moves her head to look at you, her expression dropped. “I am not your ‘bro’!” You chuckle at her remark as you continue to let yourself be dragged. 

In no time at all, you both approach your home, a single-story white house that spreads widely across the plot of land. There is a banyan tree located to the righthand side of the front yard, but its branches bow over the whole front, creating shade that your macrame hammock chair swings under. (Whenever Billie doesn’t get a response from you over text, she comes out to find you here with your head in a book, glasses slipping down your nose, and your legs tucked up into a ball inside the hammock like a rollie pollie). Leading up to your front door from the sidewalk is a footpath made from some light terracotta diamond-shaped stones, arranged with some random white stones that are painted with intricate designs on them in a rich indigo color. Above the front door, there is a trellis archway that has overgrown magenta bougainvillea weeping from it. Billie likes to joke that your house is straight out of the Mamma Mia set. But because you locked the front door from the inside, you direct Billie to go in through the side door, which leads directly to your bedroom. You repurposed the Florida room [a/n: sorry, I have no idea what other people call them] into your bedroom because you like having all the sunlight and the high ceilings. As you walk in, your room mostly spans out to your right, highlighting the bright chrome pole [yep, that kind of pole] standing proudly in the middle of your room. The sun glistens against the pole, making it shine like a trophy, starkly contrasting the mahogany-colored bamboo parquet flooring beneath both of your feet. Whenever you have new guests over, they find it impossible to look away from the pole, especially because the surface area of the room is kept clear - aside from a midcentury wooden dresser with glass sliding doors seated diagonally in the back corner of the room with a chair perched next to it. Really, you keep the room empty so you have space to practice choreography, but for others, there’s simply nothing to distract their eye from what you do in your free time. To your left, there is a small loft above you with a chunky wooden ladder leading to it. You consider the loft to be your ‘actual bedroom’.

Billie eagerly pulls you deeper into the room and sits cross-legged on your reading bench that’s tucked underneath the loft. You sit across from her, mirroring her position, and giggle at her chanting, “Me first! Me first!”. Now you mirror her enthusiasm by saying, “Ok baby, show me then!”. Billie holds out the goodie bag to you, looking at you expectantly while she waits for you to open it. You pull on the rope drawstring and grab onto something large, thin, and square. You rub your fingertips along a thin plastic wrapping, enjoying the texture. Intrigued, now you dip your head down and peer into the bag. Suddenly you shriek, “Ahhhhh no way! Where the fuck did you find this? I’ve been hunting for it for years! Omg, and it’s even unopened!” You ramble on, not letting Billie get a word in edgeways. Billie patiently waits for you to take a breath, she’s amused by your excitement, then says, “I know some people”. Her coy statement makes you laugh self-effacingly because of course she can get you a however-many-year-old limited edition pressing of Lana del Rey’s Ultraviolence, she’s Billie. “Do you like it?” She asks. “Don’t be stupid!” You reply as you reach over to hug her shoulders and leave a quick kiss on the side of her head. You spring back out of Billie’s hold, evidently pleased with a new idea. “This goes perfectly with my present for you” you smile at her. Your voice is now a little lower, a sultry implication behind it. “Oh yeah? How’s that?” Billie questions you, copying your tone. “Be patient, you’ll see” you teasingly respond as you get up from the cushioned bench and slowly walk over, fiddling with the plastic coating around the vinyl cover, to the dresser in the corner of the room. You pull out the vinyl and flip it to make sure the a-side is right side up. As you carefully lay the needle down, the record player lets out a warm, fuzzy scratch, and West Coast begins to bellow through the room – the warping sound of the electric guitar is quickly pulsing to the beat. When you bought the pole, Finneas helped you install a surround sound system in the room so you could get the “full performance feel”. The subwoofers are intentionally placed in all four corners of the room so you can feel the bass as you do floorwork. In this moment, you’re glad Billie convinced you to let Finneas install the sound system despite your initial shyness on the matter. By the time Lana’s voice enters the song, you have walked back over to Billie, standing in front of her legs that are now planted firmly on the floor. “Come with me,” you say as you grab her hand. She effortlessly stands up and you lead her closer to the pole, still a few feet away from it, just to leave her standing there. She patiently waits for your instructions as you’re clearly going to grab the chair from beside the dresser. You sweep the chair behind Billie’s legs and push her chest down so she’s seated with a perfect view of you. Billie leans back and spreads her legs, holding onto the crotch of her sweatpants like she always does. Billie’s free hand grabs your waist, causing a small sting as she roughly pulls you in closer between her legs. Now that you’re inches apart, she leans forward and begins to lift your cropped white vest shirt ever-so-slightly so she can press an agonizingly long open-mouthed kiss at the top of your tummy, between your ribs. Suddenly, your breath hitches when you feel her soft, hot tongue lick your central ab-line. “I haven’t even given you your present yet, baby,” you say to mock her neediness and cradle the back of her head in your hands. “You wanna undo my shorts for me?” You propose, knowing Billie would never say no to such a question.

As predicted, her eyes shoot up to meet yours, her mouth still attached to your skin, her hands still gripping your waist, and she nods her head longingly. Billie carefully retreats only a few inches so that she can see what she is doing at your hips. Timidly, she is fiddling with the button and zip on your mid-wash low-rise daisy dukes. Billie doesn’t dare touch the strings from your skimpy bikini that’s poking out the top of them. She knows that’s off-limits for now. Eventually, Billie lets out a relieved sigh as she finally manages to undo the fastenings of your shorts. Wordlessly, Billie latches her thumbs through the belt loops and goes to tug your shorts down but stops abruptly when she hears, “Uh uh, they’re not coming off yet. Gotta be patient, my girl.” This time, she sighs in frustration and slouches back into the chair making you giggle. You lean down so that your lips are grazing her ear and whisper, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll make it worth your while,” then slowly stand back up, leaving her flustered.

Unfazed, you turn around to face the pole, simultaneously moving onto the balls of your feet, and take a step forward so that your left hand can stabilize you to the pole. Your mind begins to float out of your body now that you’re in ‘dance mode,’ so you just let the rhythm of the music guide your body. Smoothly, your hips begin to sway from side to side. Your free hand reaches down to your thigh, and you caress up the right side of your body until you’re standing tall again. Using your right hand, which is now naturally flowing above your head, you grasp high on the pole, releasing your left hand, and use your inside leg to step forward and across your torso, which allows you to do a small and measured tabletop spin that leaves you facing Billie. You notice her bottom lip bulging out from between her top teeth, then use your eyes to seductively trace up to her own. “Jesus,” Billie mumbles out a low groan at the eye contact. You lick your bottom lip triumphantly – pleased that your gift is having its desired effect. Lazily, you lean the top of your torso back so that your right shoulder is pressed against the pole as you softly rearrange your legs to be spread open a little wider. With both hands free now, you drop your head back, and your hands tussle your free-flowing, loosely curly hair, letting the sensuality of the moment move you. Your elegant hands continue to dance to the back of your head, along the sides of your neck, and travel further down to your boobs. You decide to tease Billie even more by roughly grabbing your own clothed tits, letting them bounce back to their natural position just as quickly. You draw soft shapes down your stomach until your hands reach the waistband of your opened shorts. Supplely, your right hand enters your barely-there shorts as you palm your bikini-covered clit. In this moment, your mind taps into the music, and you recognize where the song is at, allowing you to slowly grind your hips up and down in time with the lyrics “ooh baby, ooh baby, I’m in love… I’m in love… I’m in love.” The fifth and final time you grind your hips, you hear Billie let out a low moan. You know you’ve done enough to her… for now. So, you roll your body up into a standing position and hook your thumbs underneath the waistband of your shorts. You shimmy the denim down in time with your swaying hips. Once the shorts are nearly free and over the top of your ass, you turn the top half of your body to face away from Billie, still keeping the balls of your feet planted so that you’re left with your legs slightly crossed. You bend down a little, dragging the shorts down with you to give Billie a perfect view of your ass and barely covered pussy from behind. As though it is second nature to you, you step one leg out of the shorts and then use the remaining leg to flick the shorts up into Billie’s lap while you’re looking over your shoulder to check your aim.

Billie catches the shorts before they land, using only one hand, never taking her eyes off of you, and folds them neatly only to tuck them into her front pocket moments later. You chuckle as you look forward again and raise a hand high on the pole. You start to climb up the now spinning pole. You climb once, twice, three times to allow the full length of your body to be in the air. Effortlessly, you hold your body away from the pole in a pencil, causing the definition of your toned biceps to pulse under the glistening sunset seeping through the windows. Your legs open on either side of the pole, quickly clasping together in a sit, and then you feed your torso to the front of the pole to create a baby snake, S shape. The pole is picking up speed from spinning, which creates an illusion with the shape of your body. After basking in the music for a few rotations, you untangle the top of your body from around the pole and cross your legs over one another – the pole remaining in the middle of them. Hastily, you drop your head down toward the ground so that you are now in an inverted layback. Even with your eyes closed, you can hear Billie’s quiet gasp and a “baby” escape her mouth just as you drop. Though she was quick to conceal her fear once she knew that you were safe. Your hair swings back and forth in a rhythm from the momentum and your hands caress up along your body again, but this time, you cross your arms and grasp onto the hem of your shirt, quickly pulling it up and off over your head. The shirt leaves a gentle ‘shwp’ as it hits the ground at some speed, and you’re left in your sparkly gold bikini top.

The triangles of your bikini are doing little to keep you modest, just barely covering your nipples. While you continue to spin for a moment, you discreetly open one of your eyelids to see Billie sitting there with her legs apart, fists clenching her sweatpants, mouth slightly agape, and her eyes following your tits around the pole as they threaten to escape further from their cover with each rotation. You snap your eye shut before you get caught while your hands fiddle against your back, expertly untying the straps of your bikini. Once again, you use your hands to pull the stretchy material over your head so that your tits bounce free. You open your eyes properly now to quickly fling your top at Billie and, just as quickly, roll your eyes further up to spot the floor. Your hands, once elegant and dainty but now covered in veins that are attempting to burst from underneath your skin due to the blood racing through your inverted body, spread and reach for the floor so that you can lower yourself into a handstand. Billie is lucky enough to sit right in line with your bare chest, so she’s distracted from your un-crossing and straightening legs. But this is only until one of them is heading towards the floor in front of her, the other following closely behind [a/n: like a back walkover off the pole if ygm?] As you drop into an open-hipped split that accentuates your ass perfectly for her view. Billie is left wholly unmoving except for her eyes which are now transfixed on your plump ass that’s jiggling from the impact of your landing, highlighted by your sparkly bikini thong. You plant your hands on the floor and lift your hips up so that your legs can join and tuck neatly underneath your thighs as you face Billie. You’re positioned in between her legs now as you sit your ass back onto your ankles, your face wearing an innocent yet mischievous look. In the background, the record fades into the next song on the album. But you pay the music no mind since you don’t have to follow a beat anymore. Your hands grip Billie’s knees, teasingly sliding up her thighs and towards her core as you smile and whisper, “Did you like your present, baby?” The muscles at the back of Billie’s jaw clench and unclench repeatedly, indicating to you that you’re really in for it this time – just as you’d secretly (obviously) planned. She sits up menacingly and slowly inches her mouth next to your ear. You hear her swallow followed by a loud huff coming from her nose, which causes your breathing to shallow out of both fear and excitement. You hear the spit move inside her opening mouth as she says…..

[kinamiiii]

Wasn’t sure what to do with these pictures until now, cuz they’ve been rotting my brain since I saw them. So here’s what!

Taste Test 🧁

Pair: DBF!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad is out for the afternoon and you and his best friend, Bucky, help make a special treat whilst finding something to occupy your time until he returns for his birthday.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, partly proofread, Modern AU, reader in her early 20s, DBF!Bucky in his early 40s, so age gap basically, somewhat desperate Bucky, innocent reader, fluff, smut, in the kitchen, finger sucking, oral (f receiving), fingering, cum eating, slight aftercare.

a/n: My first Bucky fic ever! Please do tell me what you think about it in the comments, I’d really appreciate the feedback. Especially since I don’t wanna mischaracterize someone like him ok. Also if these kinds of fics are not in your wheelhouse, please avoid for your own sake. 🙏🏽

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Bucky watched over Steve’s house while he was out doing a last minute errand for the afternoon. You as Steve’s daughter, were still at home, innocent and damn near sweet like sugar, making Bucky feel immensely guilty from the immediate lustful imagination his mind had presented to him once he saw you.

You haven’t known Bucky for very long, in fact, this was the first time you had ever seen him since he decided to pay your dad a visit today for his birthday, on the 4th of July. When he laid his eyes on you, he thought you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in a long time. Wearing your short, baby blue pleated sundress, protected with a white frilly apron and matching flat shoes, standing over a full tray of freshly baked, plain, red velvet flavored cupcakes on the counter, ready to be frosted. You held the piping bag, filled with red and blue butter cream, firmly over each tiny cake, icing them in thick perfect swirls.

Bucky was stood leaning against the doorframe while he watched you work with full concentration. However, your head snapped to the left as the sound of him clearing his throat entered your ears. You gave the brunette man a grin before getting back to your cupcakes. He stepped closer to the counter top, crossing his broad plaid sleeved arms over his chest as he looked over to the white sprinkles you had set aside in a small glass bowl. “Need any help with those?” You lifted your head again as you heard his sincere tone of voice, meeting his gaze with wide eyes. You then glanced over to the direction his head nodded in, gesturing towards the bowl. “Oh, sure! You can use them on the first half while I finish ice the rest,” you replied cheerfully and shuffled your feet to give Bucky some room next to you. He reached over and picked up the bowl of sprinkles with one hand, whilst taking a pinch of the white topping and started decorating the desserts.

Once you had been done icing the last cupcake, you placed the piping bag down and watched as the tall, beefy man added the hundreds and thousands over the other half of the sugary batch. You let out a giggle at the expression that graced his features, wrinkling his forehead from the intense focus. “Y’know, I never thought I’d see someone give so much attention to a few tiny cakes with a few sprinkles.” Bucky’s face quickly softened with parted lips to respond. “Well, I mean, they are for your dad after all. It’s his day and it’s only right that these look the part,” he said with a slight playfulness. “You made these all by yourself?” He asked you as he added the last few sprinkles and set the bowl back to the counter.

“Mhm! Luckily they were already in the oven before dad left. Can’t have the old man seeing his surprise.” You laughed nervously and fiddled with your fingers before stepping towards the refrigerator. You then open one of its doors, gesturing with your hand for the man to place the cupcakes on the available shelf inside. He followed suit and you closed the door gingerly, keeping the desserts nice and chilled until your father was ready to return home. You reached both your arms behind your neck, pulling the ribbon of your apron loose from its knot. You were about to do the same for the one at the back of your waist, when you felt a presence swiftly move behind you. “I-I can get this one for you, sweetheart.” Bucky’s fingers latched onto the tails of the knot, hesitating to pull them as he realized where his current position was. As he was stood so closely to you, his nostrils were pleasantly blessed with the scent of your lavender perfume, his eyes had been locked on the curves of your waist through your tantalizing dress, and the plumpness of your rear just centimeters away from his crotch.

He exhaled sharply and quickly regained focus, finally pulling the knot apart. The apron came off your body and you promptly folded it and placed it in one of the cabinets below. You gave the man a quick “thank you” and your lips curved into a smile that could make his heart stop. “Y-yeah, no problem,” he stuttered and took some steps away from you. You turned your head to the piping bag that you had set aside, picking it up and squeezing a dollop of the red and blue mixed butter cream onto the pad of your pointer finger. Then, you stuck that same finger between your lips, moaning softly as the sugary goodness melted on your tongue. Bucky watched on, hopelessly wishing that he could hear you sound just as adorable if you got a taste of him in your mouth.

God, it’s illegal how purely cute you are.

“You wanna have a taste? I promise it’s really good! Made it with a lot of love.”

Fuuuuuck!

He nodded eagerly and you gave the plastic bag a good squeeze onto your finger again, closing the distance between you and him and inching the icing to his mouth. “Say ahh,” you said, prompting him to part his lips and let your finger in. He did just that and groaned, allowing himself to drown in its delectable flavor that had luckily been mixed with hints of your own saliva. His cheeks became flushed and hot as he sucked around your knuckle for a good minute, being sure to get every last bit of cream before releasing it. “Hehe, must have really done a good job then. Looks like you love it,” you giggled as you pulled your hand back to you, daring yourself to try more of the icing.

“Are you kidding? Good job? Sweetheart, that was amazing! Your dad’s gonna love this, I know it!” His compliment went straight to your heart, making it flutter in your chest. “Tha-thank you, Mr. Barnes! I guess now we wait until he gets back so we can all eat his surprise together.” The way you said his formal name so considerately sent his blood rushing all the down to the pole in his jeans, fortunately then being baggy enough to hide the evidence of his arousal out of your sight. You propped yourself to sit on top the kitchen counter, eating more butter cream to satisfy your sweet tooth. A chuckle escaped Bucky’s throat as he folded his arms and stood inches away from your side. “Honey, are you trying to get cavities? I’m surprised you haven’t gotten any at all, with how already sweet you are and all.”

Your face flamed with heat, making you clear your throat and gulp, shaking your head in a bit of denial. “It’s fine honestly. Like I said, I made it with lots of love! And a person can’t get enough of that, right?”

You’re made with a lot of love too, doll face~

Bucky nodded to your words with his eyes soon getting distracted as they traveled all over your sat body. He caught on to the bit of cleavage that peaked from your wide neckline, and stopping at the short skirt of your dress that rode up half your thighs, revealing their plush, squishy skin as they were shut together. Then without really thinking about it, he moved himself and stood in front of you. Your eyes widened with your finger being trapped between your teeth mid suck from another portion of your cupcake icing. He then drew his face near yours with little gap separating you from him, and both his strong arms caging your petite form inside as he held the edge of the marble counter.

He looked down at you, with a hunger deep in his hooded stare as he urged himself to speak with confidence. “I bet you taste even better though, doll,” he smirked. “So pretty and delicate, and filled with… love, aren’t you?” You readily yanked your finger out your mouth to try and answer him, but nothing left your vocal cords once you parted your trembling lips. You were so surprised at his sudden mood change, but not completely unsettled by it. His closeness felt strangely comfortable, yet bursting with an hot arousing aura that you couldn’t get away from even if you tried. “I-I… Mr. Barnes..?” Bucky subtly sucked and bit the bottom of his lip as his name was spoken in your voice again, almost clawing at the counter’s edge with his nails to ground himself.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know I’ve only met you just today but I’m already obsessed.” He leaned forward, his lips lightly grazing your pair and slowly pulling the piping bag you still held away from your grasp. He then paused, almost as if he was waiting on your approval. His hand gradually brought itself up to the back of your neck, holding it with care as it were glass not meant to be broken. Your expression softened as you felt his warm palm against your tender skin and stared at him in the eyes. You hadn’t even realized your body moving on its own once you finally planted your lips onto Bucky’s. Both your orbs fluttered shut along with his, kissing each other slowly but passionately. You let out a little squeak as you got intruded by his thick, whirling tongue, slipping between your lips and teeth to play with your own, and tasting the lingering flavor of the previously eaten butter cream in your mouth. With a slight tilt, your head leaned into his palm once it cupped your cheek, and the moans you had kept so silent, managed to escape into the brunette’s mouth, causing him to groan and deepen the heated kiss further.

Your thighs instinctively spread apart and your hands reached for his biceps, pulling his body snugly between your legs. The two of you shortly pulled away to catch your breath, still holding onto one another whilst gazing into each other’s souls. You were about to say something when Bucky stopped you dead in your tracks. “So… looks like I was right. You do taste better,” he chuckled and gave you a peck on your nose. He gently held your chin up in his index finger and thumb. You wanted to turn your face to hide your burning embarrassment but he wouldn’t let you. “If you don’t mind me asking, doll, when’s your dad comin' back, hm?” Bucky nipped at your jawline, trailing his teeth down your sensitive neck to earn more of your needy whines.

“When he left, h-he… he said he’d be ba-back in two hours,” you stuttered in response. The man briefly checked his gold wristwatch, smirking to himself as he found enough time to have his fill of you. Just about an hour left to be exact. Just enough to taste more of you. It wasn’t very long before Bucky sunk down to his knees, having you jolt astonishingly while he spread your thighs even wider with his large hands, revealing to him your silk panties shielding away your most vulnerable area. He lifted two of his fingers and lightly rubbed at your protruding wetness through the silk. He then moved his fingers away and leaned in closer, sticking his wide tongue freely and pressed it onto your clothed cunt. You yelped and grabbed hold of the marble counter’s edge, thinking to yourself how much more of his boldness could you possibly handle.

He made a few more kitten licks before hooking his finger in the crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side to expose you sopping pussy out to the open. A shiver unsurprisingly passed through you as the cool air hit your entrance. You looked down at him as he physically shuddered at the sight of you, practically marveling at the gorgeous flower that blossomed between your legs, tempting him with your dripping nectar. Bucky’s fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs and he lunged his mouth onto your hardened bud, lapping at it and your hole with incredible vigor. “A-ahh, Mr. Barnes!” Your fingers ran through his brown locks and latched securely in your fist, along with your thighs squeezing around his head to keep him there.

The excessive flicks and subtle nibbles at your clit nearly sent you through the roof. The vibrations of his throaty grunting and the bristles of his heavy stubble grinding against your sex slowly turned your brain to mush. “Fuuuck, you taste so good, baby,” he muffled in your wet folds. “I don’t think I can ever get enough of you.” Bucky could feel his dick stiffen more than it already had been, twitching and leaking precum into his jeans just from being able to devour you whole. In his best friend’s own kitchen no less. The act was so filthy and deceitful but he couldn’t care less because he had you exactly how he wanted you. You arched your back and pointed your pedicured toes in your blue flat shoes as your squeals echoed throughout the room, shutting your eyes and pulling at his hair.

The heat built up ferociously under your skin as the knot inside you drew close to unraveling above him. Mouth gapping as you gasped for portions of air. By that moment, the starved brunette could tell that you were about to let loose, chuckling deeply and without warning, plunging two fingers inside you. Your eyes shot open at his sudden intrusion, feeling their quick, curling and scissoring motions along your spongy walls, occasionally nudging your good spot. “You’re so close, aren’t you, baby? Yeah? You wanna cum, don’t you, sweetheart?” You nodded your head aggressively, not trusting your own mouth to talk just yet. “You can… it’s ok. Just let go for me. Lemme savor you,” he cooed before having his tongue return to your throbbing pearl.

Taking his words to heart, the knot ultimately came loose and you came all over his greedy tongue. Bucky soon locked eyes with you as he relished in your extraordinary juices before parting ways with your aching cunt. You got a good look at how your cum glazed the hairs of his beard and his fingers, panting profusely with shaken legs. He quickly got off his knees and stood upright, teasingly sucking the slick off his digits in front of you. “Yup, I can definitely get used to this,” he commented smugly towards you. He watched you trying to catch your breath, stepping close and cupping your face in his hands. Your eyes glistened back at his steel blue ones as you exhaled deeply. “Doing alright, sweetheart? I didn’t break ya, did I?” You let out a giggle and shook your head, reassuring him that you were okay.

“Was I… really better than the butter cream?” You asked him curiously through your grin and a tilted head. He smiled back and pulled your face in for a deep, breathy kiss. The flavor of your cum still stuck on his lips and slobbering tongue, allowing you to have a proper taste of yourself from his mouth. “Hmmm, guess I am pretty good.” Bucky snorted out a laugh at your astounded reaction and reached his hands down to your waist, helping you get off the counter and fixing your panties back into their respective place. You patted the skirt of your sundress down and looked up at the man whose hair was partly disheveled from your hand’s pulling. You then raised your arms up and tried to fix his brown strands back into place. As you did so, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his chin clean, as though nothing had really happened.

“All better, just like new!” You cheered and he walked over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “We should probably clean up that counter too. Can’t have Steve raising his eyebrows at our… mess,” he suggested and clutched a few sheets of paper towels, handing you a spray bottle of disinfectant. You hummed in agreement and took the bottle, spraying the liquid onto the marble so he could wipe it down. Just as you both were cleaning up, you hadn’t noticed your dad coming through the front door until you heard his voice booming through the walls. “Hey guys! I’m back! Hope I didn’t miss out on anything!” You both froze on the spot and glanced at each other before you opened your mouth to answer back. “W-we’re in the kitchen, dad! And don’t worry, you haven’t missed a thing.” Bucky checked his watch and realized Steve had come back fifteen minutes early, assuming he must have gotten what he needed and rushed back home. Luckily, he arrived after the events of you and his best friend defiling his kitchen.

Talk about perfect fucking timing.

[liliesmultiverse]

i know this is probably gonna sound shitty & entitled but i don’t fucking care, not receiving gifts on your birthday & christmas kinda fucking ruins those days?? like now that i’m over 18, i’ve stopped getting gifts bc i’m “too old” according to my family and like it fucking sucks. especially on my birthday.

“well, you are too old! holidays are meant to be about spending the day with the family”

THERE ARE OTHER HOLIDAYS FOR THAT. EASTER, 4TH OF JULY, FUCKING THANKSGIVING. receiving no gifts on christmas or your fucking birthday though?? that just takes the joy out of those two days.

it’s why i’ve scripted in my home reality that everyone in my family receives tons of gifts every year on christmas & their birthdays, because idgaf how old i am, gifts make those days special.

[covetyou]

stars and stripes

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: nipple play, novelty underwear, balls, anxiety, democracy, the pledge of allegiance, friendly brotherly contest, alcohol, prelude to oral sex (m! receiving) word count: 5k summary: Roles are reversed this Fourth of July when you surprise Joel with a little festive treat of your own.

A/N: happy 4th of July to folks in the US and happy general election day to my fellow UK pals! If you haven't exercised your right to vote yet, and you're registered, you have until 10pm BST tonight to get to your polling station - as long as you're in line by 10pm, you'll be able to vote. do dress up Joel proud, and go do a democracy.

I make absolutely no apologies for anything in this fic. not a single thing. especially not that thing. tis the season. happy ballidays, pals!

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As it turned out, Joel knew a guy who knew a guy who could fix your AC, and within two days your house was a safe haven from the burgeoning Texas summer.

Easy as that, apparently. Your desperate attempts to call around HVAC companies the week your AC busted seemed stupid now that it was all a matter of simply knowing a guy.

Not that it was all easy. Letting someone else into your house after everything that had gone on suddenly felt scary, and it took Joel promising you he'd dip from his own job for the afternoon to keep an eye on things for you to feel okay with any of it.

But, even that left an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You'd told him to let himself in, though this time you'd given him a key, and that felt like something. For as many times as he'd broken in, and for as long as you'd left your house open and vulnerable - and, by extension, yourself - handing over your spare keys to Joel for the day felt more vulnerable than you'd ever felt with him wandering your house at unknown hours of the day and night.

It felt like something all over again when you handed them over to him the next week too - there was a jammed drawer he wanted to fix, and he said he could get in to see to it before work one day.

Even when you opened the door to him on the nights he didn't have Sarah - his daughter, you'd learned - it felt like something. Especially knowing that that spare key now sat attached to his own, jingling in his pocket each time he walked into your home, invited.

And the more somethings it felt like, the less you felt like figuring it out.

It continued the same way for weeks. Him moving back and forth the short distance between his home and yours, while you stayed safely cocooned in your own, cool, four walls.

Then, barely one month into this officially unofficial something that you were, it was finally time for you to make that short journey down the street to Joel's.

Being honest, the thought of it had terrified you, and you'd almost backed out multiple times.

Not because it was Joel, or Joel's house - at least, that's what you told yourself - but because a "the whole neighborhood is invited, bring snacks or beer" type of Fourth of July party wasn't the kind of way you'd envisioned your first time in Joel's home. You figured maybe it'd be dinner, or a movie, or a quick fuck against the stairs with Joel's balls trussed up in something. Normal things.

Not loud peopley things.

Still, you readjust your top once more, take the briefest of glances in the mirror, and head out the door anyway, nerves be damned. You can totally handle a Fourth of July BBQ at Joel's house.

You think you can all the way up to Joel's driveway, when the nerves come back with a vengeance and you stand there, feeling sick, listening to the sounds of people and music coming from the backyard.

You try to tell yourself it all makes sense. It's a new place, a place that should mean so much because it's his, but try as you might you can't fight back the panic rising as you think of the very many faces that are going to be in this new place too. Familiar faces, faces you'd seen most days as you went about your life down this street you called home, people you'd shared small talk with and said good morning to almost every day as you left for work.

Then there's this stupid outfit you're wearing. The you from weeks ago chose it the very same day you said yes to Joel's invitation, and the you of today didn't have the energy or inclination to think of anything else. Wear whatever, Joel had said, it's just a casual thing. So, you'd gone for casual.

Braless is casual, right?

Not that that was a specific choice, more a necessity. You'd chucked the third bra on the floor in a huff, cursing your shitty outfit choice and lack of bra to fit it, and instead decided to stick on some nipple pasties and be done with it.

All that's done now, and now here you are, still standing like an idiot in the driveway, closer to Joel's home than you have ever been, psyching yourself up to go inside.

With a deep breath of the dry Texas heat, you head for the open back gate, the soft sound of your shoes on the paving stones so loud in your ears as everything wooshes and fizzes in your head.

It's somehow both better and worse than your expectations.

You're immediately greeted by a sea of recognizable faces, the bottle of wine you forgot you were even holding whisked out of your hand and taken inside before you can even get your first round of hello's in. You don't have much of a chance to be nervous, or self conscious, or any of the things you'd worried about being in the days leading up to being here, because there's just so much of everything around you. Noises, smells, people.

Everything, except for Joel. You've not caught a single look at him since you got here - minutes ago - and you wonder if he's even here and not relaxing back at your place on the couch.

Then you see him. At least, you think it's him. His back is to you, locked into conversation so fierce he hasn't noticed the commotion about your entrance.

You think it's him, but you're also certain you don't know of anyone else who would dress head to toe in red, white, and blue candy stripes. The sight of it makes you forget your own outfit worries as a grin forms on your face, and that familiar rumbling of something in the pit of your stomach comes back all over again.

"Not eyein' the very slightly younger model, are you?" comes a gruff voice that has you twisting rapidly on the spot, the smile barely given chance to fall from your face when you spot the actual, real life Joel standing right there next to you, cold beer in hand.

In your own defence, real life Joel isn't dressed much better than the other Joel stood over the other side of the yard. He's probably dressed worse, actually. He's head to toe in stars, all the way from the novelty headband on his head to the flashing star lights clipped to his shoes. It's gaudy, and camp, and so perfectly Joel that the smile that dipped from your face for all of half a second is back, and you're grinning up at him, that feeling in your belly violently boiling away now that he's right there.

"Oh, him?" you say with a wave of your hand. "Nah. He's like a dollar store version of you."

"Really? I'll be sure to tell Tommy he's Dollar Store Joel from now on. He'll love that. Hey, Tommy!" he calls over the yard, before slipping his free hand behind your back. "C'mon. Let me introduce y'all."

He guides you over, hand never leaving the small of your back, touching you out here in front of all these people as if you are actually officially the kind of something that everyone should know about. And maybe you are.

But then, you're looking into familiar friendly eyes, so similar to the ones you've been staring into and dreaming of since Christmas, and watching this familiar strangers face light up so brightly you briefly wonder if his joy is misplaced until he's wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

"Shit, he weren't lying," says Tommy as he rocks on his feet with you in his arms before releasing and looking down at you. "You are real."

Before Joel can land a firm whack to Tommy's shoulder, Tommy's pulling you in for another hug, telling you how nice it is to finally meet you, because he's heard all about you, dropping in a few choice words about his asshole brother here and there as he chatters to you, and Joel, and even himself.

At some point, whether it's during the fourth hug or the eighteenth, you're not sure, Joel slips off to grab you a drink, leaving you with his bizarrely dressed brother.

"Ain't never seen him smile so much without Sarah around," he says, the moment Joel's out of earshot, giving you a nudge and another fond smile. "Y'know, I think he might like you."

"Mm, I think I might like him too."

Small talk with Tommy is easy - the man's a talker, if you ever met one. He's a charmer too, and if you met him in a bar you might think he'd be coming on to you with the way he so attentively talks to you, only directing his attention elsewhere for the briefest of moments.

"What's with the outfits?" you eventually ask, with a flick to his striped top hat. "Joel never said it was a dress up party."

"Oh it ain't, this is just a family tradition. Dad always used to dress up in dumb shit for the holidays, make us laugh, and it just sorta stuck. 'Course, added in some friendly competition over the years too, and then this," he says with a dramatic sweep down his body, "was born."

"Competition?"

"Mhm. Joel'll tell you, won't you brother?" Tommy says with a wink over your head before ducking sideways to raid the snack table.

"What am I s'posed to tell you?" he says, handing you your drink, letting his fingers linger near yours and stroke a trail of burning heat gently up your arm before falling back to his pocket.

"The competition."

"S'easy. Stars or stripes," Joel points to himself, decked out in stars and then to his brother where he stands loudly chatting to yet more guests in his candy stripes. "You gotta pick. Most votes, wins."

"I've got to pick?"

"'s the rules, darlin'."

"So you want me to pick between you, or some costumed guy I don't know - a practical stranger?" you say, with a glint in your eye, watching Joel's face drop in faux offence.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't underestimate me, Joel. I think you know exactly what I'm capable of."

Your eyes meet in a silent stalemate, the glint in your eye never leaving as Joel bites at his cheek to hold back a laugh. Tommy was right - you do like Joel, some days too much, and moments like right now, you think maybe it's reciprocated, and you like him just the right amount.

Poking him in the chest, finger pressed to the middle of one of the sea of stars decorating his body, you let yourself break first. "Stars, Joel. I pick stars."

With a roll of his eyes, and a kiss pressed lightning quick to the side of your head, Joel's hand winds back around your back.

"Thank fuck for that. Let's get you a votin' card so you can make that official."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

As the evening draws on, you think you've talked to just about everyone in your street several times over, and then some. It also turns out that Joel and Tommy take their little competition very seriously, and always have, if your neighbors are to be believed.

By the time the votes have been counted and Joel in his star spangled outfit is declared the winner, Tommy has sunk to his knees, his hat toppled off in his despair as he hangs his head in shame.

You're still listening to them bicker as you sneak off to use the bathroom, their voices only disappearing when you've slid the patio door shut and taken your first official step into Joel's house.

"The headband swung it."

"The headband is Sarah's, and your massive skull is breakin' it..."

Even through the mess of the party, you can see that this place is distinctly Joel, with hints of a 10 year old girl dotted around the place. From the pictures on the wall to the cushions on the sofa - mostly a rich navy, but one soft pink nestled in with the blue - through to small ornamental carvings on a side table and the drawings stuck on the refrigerator.

You're looking at one - not a masterpiece by any means, but very decent attempt at a bluebonnet - when the pressure inside the house changes again with the slide of the door.

It's Joel, arms laden with bottles, and the headband flopping forward pathetically on his head. "You snuck off quick," he says, dumping the bottles onto the counter. "Get lost findin' the bathroom?"

"Distracted. Never had chance to sneak around your house looking at your shit before," you quip with a smile, trying to get comfortable with the very uncomfortable thing that brought you two together in the first place.

"Then shoes off. Lemme take you upstairs, give you a little tour, and you can use the bathroom up there. Probably in a better state than the one down here now anyway."

He holds your hand in his all the way up the stairs. That something rears its head again, igniting your palm where it meets his, your brain not registering a single word he says as he points to various doors before dragging you through one, into his bedroom.

His lips are on yours immediately - or yours are on his. You can't quite work out who started it, you just know that you're a tangle as your hands roam each other, biting and licking kisses into each others mouths. His hand finds your ass, and you're moaning as he presses you forward, into him, and the soft lump in his pants. You want to grind yourself against him, but the angle isn't right, and a nagging forgotten thing is worming through your brain when Joel pushes your bodies together once more.

Oh. Right. You remember now.

"Joel - mmph - Joel," you say with urgency through his kisses. He pulls back, searching your face with panic and a pinched brow. "I really gotta pee."

With a kiss to your forehead he lets you go, pushing you toward his ensuite. When you exit a few minutes later, he's exactly where you left him, stood with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish as he possibly ever could.

"I'm glad you came," he says, looking at you and setting that something off roaring through your body again.

"Me too. I... I've had a nice time."

"Just wanted you to know I didn't invite you here just for, y'know," he says, with a gesture to his bed. "Didn't bring you in here for it either. Just, sorta missed you. Not used to not bein' alone with you. It's weird sharin' you."

You don't want to remind him you've barely left each others sides all night. You don't want to draw too much attention to the something, just in case you scare it away.

"Damn. Got nothing for me? Nothing at all?" you joke instead.

"Got nothin'. Nothin' planned anyway," he says with a look around the room, his eyes focussing briefly on a drawer before flicking back to you.

Really, you should be leaving space between you and Joel. Space for the something to flourish, space that is just enough to not magnetize your body to his, smashing yourselves together and turning the nothing into something. What you should do doesn't have the power to stop your feet from slowly pulling you toward him again though. And it doesn't stop you from putting both your hands on his chest when you finally reach him.

"No? Got no magic tricks up your sleeve? I was hoping for a wand or a rabbit or somethin', you do look like you ran away from the circus."

"I'll have you know this shirt is the finest polyester you can find at Party City."

"Mm, sounds sweaty."

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"So you're sweaty and gross, and you have nothing to wow me with? I'm starting to wonder why you invited me." Which is a lie. You know why, and so does he, and you're glad for it, even if it still frightens you to think about it too much. You suspect he knows an awful lot more about you than you've told him. He's perceptive like that.

"Maybe I'm retractin' your invite."

"You wouldn't."

"No?"

"What if I've got a little something for you instead, am I still invited now?"

Joel's eyes light up and soften all at once, turning so bright and sparkling you think he might cry. It's not exactly that you've never done anything for him in the ways he has for you. When he mentioned his favorite snack, you got some in the house for nights you spend watching a movie before devolving into fucking on the floor. You bought new lingerie, which only ever stayed on if it was too difficult to get out of, and once or twice he'd caught you wearing the heart shaped butt plug before leaping on you and pounding you into whatever surface was nearest, thumb pressing down on the base and making you see stars.

Still, for all you had done, you never swapped positions in the little game you'd been playing with each other for over seven months. Each time, he was the one who came to you with some silly thing or trick or toy to tease you with, and each time you loved it. You hoped he would love this too.

"You do?"

"Mhm," you say as you put some distance between the two of you again. Space to breath, space to move, space to let the something calm back down into the pit of your stomach and curl in on itself like a cat settling down to sleep.

Your let your fingers glide up your body, gently pulling your skirt for a moment before they coast up your belly and reach your shirt, flirting with the hem before curling around it and tugging, letting your tits jiggle behind the fabric.

With a final soft tug, you peel the fabric up your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out the bottom of your top.

"Holy shit, baby," he says, a whisper of a moan on his lips. His eyes have been glued to you, wide and curious, ever since you suggested you may have something for him. And now, they're darting from your chest to your face then back down, taking in the sight of your covered nipples.

You had made some choices earlier today, in your nervous state. Going braless was only one of them. The pasties too, were another. And then, there was the shape. You has flowers, hearts, circles, straight tape and, finally, stars. It was a no brainer when you'd rifled through the packet for two that matched that white stars were the perfect choice for today. It'd only really occured to you when Joel had worn his own stars, that you were perhaps better matched today than you thought, that maybe you could have your own little game with him for once.

"Told you I was all in on the stars."

"Damn right you are," he says as he approaches, his hands finding their place on your waist, itching to move upward. "They don't hurt?"

"They're just pasties, Joel. They're soft. Feel."

And fuck, does he feel. His hands cup you, gently squeezing the softest part of your breast before letting his thumbs dance across where the pucker of your nipple should be. The sensation is muted, infuriatingly muffled by the feel of the pasties covering you.

"S'good?"

"Imagine I stroked your dick over your pants. It's good but it's not the same."

"Damn," he curses, thumbs still gently rubbing over your nipples, watching them slowly come to life and prickling beneath the coverings. "They come off easy?"

"Like a bandaid."

"Shit."

And you just know what he's thinking, because you're thinking it too. There's no real way you can take them off right now and let Joel have his way with your nipples like you're both desperate for, even if time and the swathe of people downstairs wasn't an issue. You have nothing else to cover up with and the soft breeze combined with the cold drinks and the age of some of the guests here means it's probably not a good idea to go without them.

That doesn't stop Joel from kissing you again though, more restrained than he has any right to be with your tits in his hands. You know from his frustrated groan when you bite at his bottom lip that he's two seconds away from telling everyone the parties over, only to come back up here and continue with a party for just two.

To your surprises, he pulls your top back down. Not before kissing one breast, then the other, then back to the first. You know he wants to sink his face into them, but he doesn't let himself, and he rises from his crouch with a groan and pulls you out of the room.

"Don't show Tommy," Joel whispers to you as you make your way back down the stairs. "He'll say the contest was rigged."

"Damn, I was so hoping to show your brother my nipples."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Joel's eyes keep flicking to your chest for the rest of the night. More than once he drags you away inside, either upstairs or into the garage, just to ask you to show him one more time. If you weren't covered, your nipples would have been rubbed and pinched raw by his eager fingers by now, just as your lips were swollen by his eager mouth.

By the time it's all over, you're positively exhausted, propping yourself up on the arm of a chair and talking to Tommy as Joel waves off the last of the guests and closes the back gate.

You had barely left his side all night, and if anyone had anything to say about it, you hadn't heard it. Neither had Joel. And Tommy, a clever man when he wanted to be, hadn't made a single joke about it either. All in all, it was as much of a successful day than you could hope for, initial nerves aside.

Tommy, continuing to be a clever man, doesn't put up much of a fight when you offer to be the one to stay behind and help clear up. Of course, he's already gone around and collected most of the trash, and put the leftover food inside, but he relents at your insistence he head home - you do only live down the street after all.

Neither you or Joel get much further with the cleaning. Once trash bags are dumped in the garage and you've both washed up, his hands are back under your top, damp fingers cupping your breasts and pulling you back into him.

"Stay?" he asks, as if there was any other ending to this night, as if Tommy hadn't left precisely for this reason.

You barely agree by the time his mouth is latched onto your neck, drawing unrestrained moans out of you right there in the kitchen now that you're finally alone.

His hands, of course, find their way back up to your top, stroking over the edge of the pasties once more.

"You really like 'em, huh?" you ask as his thumb brushes the edge of one, starting to curl and pull the point of one of the stars.

"Like that we match. Feel like you picked 'em for me," he mumbles into your neck, releasing one breast and tucking his hand into the waistband of your skirt. "Like that I've had somethin' to think about, somethin' to play with, even with all these people here."

Fuck, if you haven't liked that too. Letting him play had been one of the highlights of your night so far. Being manhandled into the garage, giggling and pushing Joel as he clasped his hands together in a plea to please see your tits. The souvenir love bite you'd let him suck into your left breast after dragging you back upstairs for a second time. You'd spent half the night flipping between Joels hands and mouth on your tits, to being dragged back out to socialize. Your pussy had given up trying to regulate itself after the third session of Joel's teasing, and you'd spent the rest of the evening wet and waiting.

This is a fact he finds out now, as he slides his hand down over your mound to cup you over your panties. You both let out the same curse as he presses and wiggles his fingers back and forth over you, rubbing your clit over your underwear. You had hoped to peel the pasties off before you fucked him, giving him full access to your nipples for the first time tonight, but you don't think you're going to make it that far, not now his hand is pulling your panties aside, feeling for the slick wetness between your lips and dragging it up, up, up to swirl around your clit.

Not a second later you're scaling the stairs for what you know will be the final time that day, this time you dragging Joel as you both kick of your shoes and stumble up the steps. You already ache from all the standing, and if you have it your way, your legs are going to be shaking and trembling too much for the rest of the night to possibly be of use to you.

With his door pushed open, left wide now the house is empty, you pull yourself back into him, only for him to slip his still wet finger between your lips, letting you taste yourself before he captures your mouth, licking your taste from your own tongue.

Then, your hands find his chest, that ridiculous shirt, and pull at it, tugging the fabric taught to his body, eager to get it off and tumble into his sheets with him.

You were right about how sweaty he'd be under the shirt when you finally get your fingers on the buttons, working your way down until you can pull it off. He's shining underneath it, the dark hair of his body slicked down as you drag your hands up over his chest, to his shoulders and then down to his belt.

He suddenly stops you, pulling your hands away, pressing kiss after kiss to your mouth as he fumbles with the buckle. In a huff, after a few failed, distracted, attempts, he pushes you away and pulls off his belt before unzipping his pants.

Joel has barely tugged them down his legs when you're staring wide eyed, howling with laughter, staring directly at his cock. Only, this time, it stares back.

At least, the bald eagle on the front of his boxers does.

"What are those?"

"Nothin'," Joel says, covering himself and trying to tug his boxers over his erection with one hand still trying to pull off his pants. Grabbing his hands, you stop him, pleading as you tug them away from his crotch.

"Show me."

"Look, s'nothin. Just another stupid thing Tommy got me and I thought it'd be funny but..."

"Sure looks like you got somethin' there for me. All this time you were sayin nothin'. Don't tell me you're getting shy on me now. C'mon. Please."

You pout, trying desperately to get him to give in when you have an idea and you're tugging your top off over your head and throwing it to the side, brandishing your star covered nipples to him once more.

"Pretty please," you say with a small shimmy, and Joel's hand immediately falls away, coming up instead to cover his eyes with a sigh.

It's a sight to behold. Really, it is. The eagle is staring back at you once again, still bolstered by Joel's solid length and the heft of his balls behind it. What you hadn't noticed before is it's sitting on a canvas of United States flag, stars and stripes covering his thighs, his hips, his ass.

"Oh wow. Joel those are -" you cough out a laugh "- those are amazing."

He's rolling his eyes. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his posture. "Yeah, real funny, I know."

"No, I like them. Very festive. And y'know what," you say, cupping his cock right over the eagle print of his boxers as you clear your throat. "I pledge allegiance -"

"No, don't you d-"

"- to these balls -"

"Stop."

"- and the cock they sit under -"

"Oh my god," he says, fighting through a laugh, your fingers squeezing and massaging as you pledge yourself, whole heartedly, to the appendage in your hand.

" - one - uh, cock and balls? Is there even a collective word for cock and balls? - under Joel -"

"It's just gettin' worse."

"- definitely indivisible, no divisible balls here - "

"You're killin' me."

"- say it with me now - with liberty and justice for balls."

You try to keep a straight face as you finish. Really you do. But as Joel's whole body shakes and ripples, his balls jiggling in your hand as laughter wracks through him, you can't help but fall into him, letting yourself be propped up by him as you crumple in on yourself in delight.

"You callin' my balls Liberty and Justice now?" Joel finally says through a laugh.

You slide a finger up the leg of his boxers, pulling gently on them as you stare down at the flag adorning his ass and balls.

"Yep. You're Star Spangled Joel with your side kicks, Liberty and Justice."

You give his balls a little squeeze again as you name them.

"Now that you pledged your allegiance, you gonna keep yappin' or you gonna prove it?"

But it's too late, because you're already sinking to your knees, right there in his bedroom, a place you both know you're going to wake up in the morning, wrapped in each other as the sunlight peeks through the curtains.

"Just try to stop me."

next part

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[actuallybean]

National Anthem*

You were his American dream—wrapped in red silk and bad decisions, legs over his shoulders while fireworks lit the sky. Inspired by National Anthem by Lana Del Rey *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI. Pairing: Steve Roger x reader Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You knew from the beginning that loving Steve Rogers wouldn’t be simple. It would be heavy. It would come with baggage. Dog tags and dead friends. War wounds and morning coffee laced with silence. But nothing—not the way he gripped his shield like a prayer, not the tragic little smiles he gave you in dark hallways—could’ve prepared you for how he’d love you in return.

He was the poster boy for restraint. Until he wasn’t. Until the gloves came off and the door was locked.

That’s when you saw him for what he really was—not just the good soldier. But the man who lived through war and loss and chose to survive it all for something.

Or maybe for someone.

Tonight, that someone is you.

✦

It starts with the quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that means peace—but the kind that carries static, like the air just before a storm.

You’re standing barefoot in the kitchen of the Stark Tower penthouse. The 4th of July gala is over. Empty champagne flutes litter the marble countertop. There are lipstick-stained napkins, discarded ties, and Tony’s voice still echoing in the hallway, bragging about firework permits and diplomatic immunity.

But you barely notice.

Because Steve is watching you from across the room like you’re the only person left on Earth.

He’s still in uniform—well, most of it. The navy-blue jacket is off, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His dog tags glint against his chest.

There’s tension in the air. Not anger. Something worse.

Need.

“Everyone’s gone,” he says softly.

You nod. You don’t look away.

He walks toward you slowly, his boots silent on the polished floor. You feel your breath hitch as he gets closer, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. His hands slide around your waist, grounding you, pulling you into his chest.

“You wore red,” he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing your temple. “Was that for me?”

You smile. “Of course it was.”

His grip tightens, possessive. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Dress like that for anyone else to see.”

You tilt your head back, meet his eyes. There’s steel behind them now—sharp and unyielding. You recognize that look. It’s the same one he wears when he goes into battle. When he chooses to fight for what’s his.

You press a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thrum beneath your fingers. “No one else sees me, Steve. Not really.”

He kisses you then—rough, hungry, almost angry with how much he wants you.

And just like that, restraint shatters.

✦

He lifts you easily, strong hands under your thighs as he carries you to the living room like you weigh nothing. Your back hits the velvet couch, and his mouth follows—crashing down against yours with a force that makes your head spin.

He kisses like he fights—strategic, overwhelming, calculated to destroy.

He tears the dress from your body like it offended him. Fabric rips, silk slips to the floor. You’re bare in front of him now, breathless, heart pounding in your chest like a drumline.

His eyes rake over your body like you’re something holy.

“Christ,” he mutters. “You’re beautiful.”

You reach for his shirt. He lets you take it off slowly, his muscles flexing under your touch. You kiss the scar over his ribs. He flinches. You kiss it again.

“You think about them?” you whisper. “The ones you lost?”

He nods once.

“I think about what I could lose every day,” he replies. “Especially you.”

You pull him into you, legs wrapping around his waist, needing to feel every inch of him. He presses against you, cock hard through his pants, grinding slowly, teasingly.

“Don’t make me beg,” you whisper.

His lips twitch. “Why not? You sound pretty when you do.”

He drags a hand between your thighs, two fingers sliding through your slick folds. You gasp, bucking into his hand. He doesn’t rush. Captain America is nothing if not patient.

But Steve Rogers? When he’s in this mood?

He makes you work for it.

“You think I’m something to be proud of,” he says, voice low. “You put me up on a pedestal like I’m not just a man. But I am. I’m flesh and blood, sweetheart. And I want to ruin you.”

Your stomach flips.

He pushes two fingers inside you and your moan spills out before you can stop it. His other hand covers your mouth.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Let them hear the fireworks. Not you.”

He pumps his fingers slowly, deliberately. His thumb finds your clit and circles in soft, dangerous strokes.

Your back arches.

“I could come just like this,” you whimper.

“But you won’t,” he says, pulling his fingers away. You whine. He silences it with a kiss.

“I want you to come on me.”

✦

He strips the rest of his clothes with military precision. No theatrics, no teasing. Just need. Raw, direct, all-American need.

His cock is thick and flushed, dripping with precum as he strokes himself, eyes locked on your trembling body. You reach for him, desperate to feel him inside you, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head.

“You want your anthem?” he asks.

You nod.

“Then sing for me.”

He sinks into you in one slow, devastating thrust. You cry out, back arching off the couch. He doesn’t move yet. He just stays there, buried deep, eyes dark as he watches you fall apart beneath him.

“Look at me,” he growls. “Let me see how good I make you feel.”

You meet his gaze and it’s like being lit on fire.

He starts to move—long, deep strokes, the kind that make your eyes roll back and your thighs shake. He leans in, burying his face in your neck as he fucks you like he means it. Like he’s imprinting himself inside you.

You wrap your legs around him tighter, nails digging into his back.

“You’re mine,” he breathes.

“All yours,” you gasp.

“I’ll never let you go.”

“I don’t want to be let go.”

He picks up speed, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. You’re close. So is he.

“Come with me,” he begs. “Don’t leave me. Not now.”

And you do.

You fall over the edge together—your moans swallowed in his kiss, his name punched out of your lungs as you clench around him. He follows seconds later, groaning into your mouth as he spills inside you, hips stuttering, body trembling.

For a moment, everything is quiet. Just skin against skin. Breath against breath.

The world could end and you’d never notice.

✦

Later, after he’s cleaned you up, after he’s pulled you onto his lap on the balcony wrapped in his flag and kissed your shoulder under the stars—he whispers the words he never says during the day:

“I love you, you know.”

You smile.

“I know. You don’t have to say it.”

He kisses your temple and pulls you closer. “No. I want to say it.”

Because Steve Rogers is a man of honor.

But he’s also a man of desire.

And you?

You’re the anthem he pledges allegiance to.

Forever.