#BLUE WRECK FOCUS HERE

[greenfrogartist]

Batman looking a little red there, isn't he @the-stove-is-divorced ? Must be a trick of the light

[madamechrissy]

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- Medical procedures, surgery descriptions, crazy sexual tension, eventually explicit sex etc. ER setting. Reader 26, Dr. Gojo 34, small age gap, work sex, complications, lots of humor, eventual drama and angst. Grey's vibes ✨️

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

Comment to get added to the tag list

=͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist =͟͟͞♡ Part two

♡ Part One ♡

Fuck, you’re exhausted, the first month of your internship as a surgeon was brutal, you haven’t had but a couple hours of sleep here and there, mostly on some of the hospital beds. Your bones ache, your skincare routine is barely hanging by a thread, and your hair is a wreck in a messy bun today. You thought med school was difficult, but it was nothing like this.

“Hey, you okay babe?” Your best friend Maki Zenin asks softly, you look at her and smile, nodding, she purses her lips, tilting her glasses.  “No you’re not.”

“I’m wiped, Maki. This patient injected cocaine up his ass.” She bursts out laughing right in the middle of the hospital floor, you cover her mouth quickly, looking around. “Shh!”

“Shit, forreal? I thought my case was bad, he’s been here eight times for hits of pain meds since I have been here, he keeps bashing his hand on shit.” She sighs, handing her files to the desk then picking up several more.

You’re both in your pale blue scrubs, Maki’s pretty green hair is high up in a ponytail, now your other two best friends from your internship come up, Inumaki Toge and Yuta Okkotsu, both looking exhausted along with you. Yuta’s eye bags rival yours by far, he slicks back his dark hair as you all check the time on your watches.

“Another sixteen hours almost down.” He says through a yawn.

“Tired.” Inumaki says, and you sigh, nodding in agreement.

“Fuck that, we need to throw a party.” Maki says, somehow still so energetic, and you’re so confused how it’s possible.

“Party?” Inumaki asks, he’s certainly a man of few words, but his violet eyes explain whatever anyone needs to know.

“No way, Maki. Fuck that.” Yuta says, earning Maki sticking her tongue out at him.

“Buzz kill, ugh. Listen, this weekend, we’ll invite some of the people from our class, we can invite some of the other interns too. Ooh, maybe even those sexy resident doctors.” She wiggles her brows with a mischievous little grin.

“Maki, we're too old for that shit now.”  You grumble.

“Bitch we’re twenty six? How are we old.”

“I feel ancient.” Yuta agrees. “Coffee everyone?”

“I have to stop by Doctor Gojo’s real quick, meet you all there?” You say, and they nod, waving you off as you head to your Resident doctor’s office. Dr. Gojo was the boss of you four, one of the residents along with Dr. Nanami and Dr. Geto. All three were fawned over by all the interns, except you. 

Yes they were gorgeous, and yes Dr. Gojo was positively beautiful, with his snowy white hair, his glittery blue eyes, his big grin. But you were just too exhausted and too beat to really fawn over someone, especially someone you really could not be with, seeing as he is your resident, you’re just a little intern. Satoru also happens to be the top surgeon in the hospital.

You go to knock but see his door is cracked open, you carefully take the knob in your hand, twisting it and peeking your head in, seeing Satoru Gojo’s head fall back, as he’s gasping. You look curiously, but his hands are up on the desk, as he’s biting his lower lip, his brows together, eyes shut. You clear your throat and he jerks then, clearing his throat.

“Um… hey intern.” He says, his voice clipped. You shut the door behind you, tilting your head curiously at him, his face reddening slightly.

“Dr. Gojo, I have a question about this patient, is everything okay? It won’t take very long.” You say, and his eyes flicker over your face, an expression you can’t explain, as he sucks in a breath.

“I um… can listen… in… fuck, fuck!” He moans then, he clearly moans, and you hear a bump on his desk now. “Oh, oh that’s so much better.”

“I… what the fuck!?” He flushes then, sliding back, and one of the nurses jumps up, giggling now and wiping her mouth, she has pretty blue hair.

“Thank you Miwa, you’re a gem.” He stands, patting her head with a smile, and she giggles again, as you watch in confusion, your brows together, mouth open. “I need to talk to her about cool doctor things, I’ll see you around later?”

Cool Doctor things.

Blow jobs on the clock?

How is this your boss?

“Yes, Dr. Gojo. Hi there!” She waves at you, as if nothing has happened, as if she wasn’t just sucking Dr. Gojo off, and he’s looking bashful!?

“What the hell is this shit? Lock a door?” He comes to you, locking the big door with a click behind you. “Not now!”

“I forgot it was open, shit. I’m sorry. Stress relief, you know.” He smiles down at you, a stupid smirk you’d like to smack off his pretty face, hands in the pockets of his long white doctor jacket. “Don’t you ever need any?”

You heat up at his husky tone, as you realize just what you’d walked into. It had been a long time since you’d even thought that way, not just with Med school but now being an intern, especially since you broke up with your ex months back. “What? Yuck don’t come near me.”

“Why, ya jealous.” He brushes your hair back, earning your glare. “You’re awfully cute when you are.”

“Jealous of you? No thanks, I'm good. I sure am not part of your fan club.”

Satoru pouts. “Yeah, and you’re the only one.”

“Yep. Anyway, I’m now disturbed.” You shiver with feigned disgust, making him snort a bit in laughter. “But I only came in here to go over Mr. Lewis.” Sighing, you hand him the file with a gentle brush of your fingers against his palm. “He's been a difficult case.”

“Fuck, the cocaine dude? Ah shit, it’s that bad?”

“We have him stable, but something about it threw me off, how could it be that severe of an effect? Colitis has lasted days now and no improvement.”

“Mmm, true. But it makes sense, you can’t just inject cocaine into the anus and… have a party.” A hint of laughter escapes from his lips before he can control it, earning a stern look from you, making him study the file more carefully.

“Be serious.”

“I’m your boss, you know!”

“Yeah, somehow. Anyway, I feel there is something underlying. Perhaps exasperated by the cocaine.”

“Up the ass! Hah!” He’s smacking his long leg now, chuckling, earning your glare. “Oof you’re so serious, sorry, carry on.” He gives you a mock salute, and your eyes are so far back in your head they might stay that way.

“So I’m wondering if he has something else, untreated, the man has no history of any doctor visits since he was living with his parents.”

He taps his chin then. “Hmm, good point. It’s possible. Have we checked him for Chron’s?”

“Shit, maybe, that would make so much sense too, his white blood cell count is through the roof. I’ll leave a note to run some tests before I go.” You take the folder back then, your fingers brushing, and it brings a blush to your cheeks.

“What’s wrong, intern?”

“Just weirded out by you, Dr. Hojo.” He snorts then.

“Dr. Hojo!?”

“It’s what they call you, I guess it’s true.” You say, raising a brow, and he is leaning close, too close. You can smell that stupidly expensive cologne he wears every day, filling your senses far too much. You try to avoid those eyes, even though you look at them all the time, they still are…

Too much.

“And you don’t ever wanna just get eaten out?” You blush more now, looking down as he stands up tall, so fucking tall over you. “Don’t be shy now, we spend more time together than alone.”

“I don’t do that when not in relationships.” He pauses, and you expect some joke, since he takes nothing serious but surgery it seems. But he tilts your chin up, and studies you with those eyes, lids lowering ever so slightly.

“Aw, so you’re a good girl.” He says teasingly, causing a warm sensation to spread through your stomach at his words. You shake your head and try to ignore the fluttering feeling within you.

“Don’t say that!”

“Turn you on?”

“No! Jesus. I don’t care what people do with their bodies, I don’t care if you’re a whole manwhore-”

“Excuse me!”

“But I just need a relationship, I’m not attracted to just looks, there has to be a deeper connection.” He studies you carefully now, so serious unlike his usual goofy demeanor.

“Hmm, a challenge.”

“What now?” You glare up at him, clutching the folders to your chest tightly. “Not a challenge, you psycho. Go get all the blowjobs you want, like Thanos collecting all those infinity stones.”

He grins, sharp little fangs glinting, and you don’t like the effects it’s having on your body, or your mind. You can barely take a breath. “You’re actually so funny, holy shit.”

“You don’t really know me. Aside from work.”

“You never take me up on any of those offers of coffee, or grabbing a bite, all you do is work Missy. All work, no play, makes a sad girl.” He taps your nose, and it scrunches up, making him smile a bit. “Cute.”

“Whatever, I have to work my ass off, it’s important, I have to make sure I get to scrub in with you. That chance comes at the end of this month.”

“Well you’re the top intern I have, so don’t worry so much.” He pats your shoulder, and you blink a bit. “Surprised? How. You graduated top of the school, you bust your cute little butt, and you’re intelligent, caring for your patients. Of course I was picking you first.”

“Oh my god…”

“You’ve ruined your own surprise. Act surprised when you find out, mmkay?” You hug him then, heart racing as you think of it. “Oh so now you like me.”

“I can really scrub in to a surgery with you!?” You couldn't contain your excitement as you leaned back and looked up at Satoru Gojo. He nodded, his hands taking hold of your waist through your scrubs, and that touch?

Does things, fuck.

“I’m so sorry-”

“You’re fine, intern. Stay a little longer.” You nervously step back, his hands are still on your waist, making you tremble, as your eyes both lock.

“I can never fuck such an opportunity up. Um… thank you though, that gives me so much hope, maybe I can actually relax for two minutes!” He smiles softly, nodding, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m sorry I…”

“Interrupted? Nah. Think you made me cum quick.”

“What!?” You glare again, and his smirk makes you itch to smack him all over again. “Dr. Gojo!”

“You’re so pretty though, I think it made her job quicker. Win win.”

“I’m out of here. Ugh.” You turn away, hand on the knob, and then his comes on top of it and gently unlocks it with a twist, you feel his hard body against your back, and you get overwhelmed in his office, damn near unable to breathe, as he’s clearly…

Is Dr. Gojo inhaling your hair!?

“New shampoo?” He asks, you turn to glare up at him, putting your faces far, far too close.

“How would you know my…”

“You always wear that one that smells like strawberries, this one is more floral. Hmm I don’t know if I like it as much, but it’s still yummy.”

“I… you…”

“See you later, intern.” He says softly, then finally steps away, leaving you reeling as you hastily step out without a word, leaning your back against his door, shutting your eyes for a moment in the quiet hall his office is in. You shake yourself out of it quickly, he’s just being…

Dr. Hojo.

Notorious womanizer, but the best damn surgeon there was, a whole idiot and yet an entire genius. And not your type, not at all, even if he’s gorgeous, you did not like man whores, or men that aren’t serious, especially not your boss, anyway. Fucking your boss in this industry would essentially make everyone question every accomplishment as favoriteism.

You sure weren’t going to sacrifice all your hard work for some dick.

You bounce away, heading to the little cafe where your friends are waiting, sitting next to Yuta who hands you a coffee with a little smile. “Thank you, ugh.”

“You’re welcome, girlie.”

“So, party?”

“Maki!” You three say, and she sighs, shooting her espresso down.

“Next weekend! Come on you guys, what do you say?”

“Oh fine.” You concede. Maki, Yuta and Toge all live with you, in your town home, since you could absolutely not afford it yourself, with the shitty pay of your internship and the college bills. It was left to you, but you still had property taxes and other bills, so they helped a ton. “No one better fuck my house up, I swear.”

“Hell yeah, here’s to a party bitches.” She holds up her little styrofoam cup, and you all cheers each other then, laughing.

“Party, hmm?” Comes Dr. Gojo’s voice, he’s standing there with Dr. Geto and Dr. Nanami. You all get nervous then, but he grins. “I’m coming. What about you guys?”

“No way.” Nanami grumbles, he’s very serious, his glasses slung over his sandy blond hair, his face exhausted.

“I’ll come.” Dr. Geto chimes in, chuckling and sipping his coffee, he’s as tall as Dr. Gojo and well swoon worthy. He would be more your type you think, with that serious yet fun nature, whereas Dr. Gojo…

“C’mon Nanami. You gotta, you gotta, you-”

“Jesus you’re a child.” You say, and Gojo gasps at you, Geto and even Nanami laugh, only earning Gojo’s scowl.

“You brat, I’m a good eight years older than you!”

“You look like a twenty year old frat boy.”

"And you look like an angry little brat!” He shot back, only causing more laughter to erupt from the group.

“Okay, okay.” Dr. Geto holds up his hands now. “Let’s be nice, kids.”

“Kids! Suguru I’m older than you.” Gojo says with a glare.

“Like six months. Anyway, we’ll be there at this party, text us the details? We’d love to unwind.” Dr. Geto says, and Maki jumps up now, as you and Gojo are glaring at each other across your table. “Got it, thank you Maki.”

“Of course, we’ll invite both of your interns too. It’ll be much needed after hell month.” You just sit there, as they all talk, and Gojo is all pouty, like a baby. You peek at your phone now, seeing a text from your shitty ex, your face falls.

“Everything okay?” Maki asks softly, and you sigh, nodding.

“Just the ex.” You whisper back.

“Ex huh?” Satoru has somehow gotten behind you, leaning over, you smack at his hand then, glaring. “What, I wanna know!”

“You’re too fucking much sometimes. Ugh.” You stand up then, slinking past him. “I’m headed to get changed and then I’m leaving. See you all at home?” They all nod, eyeing you and Satoru curiously, you wave at the Doctors then head out.

Ugh, along with Satoru just being… weird and annoying, and your ex? He was a toxic, needy mess. He’d left you because you didn’t have enough time for him, and maybe you really didn’t, how could you have a relationship until your internship was finished? The first week none of you even left the hospital, sleeping in bunk beds and showering there.

But he constantly needed you, made you feel guilty, would fuck with your alarms and everything. Thank God he was long gone, even if he was annoying you currently, you delete his messages, heading to the locker room and hearing steps. You look back curiously to see Satoru holding the door open for you.

“What are you doing?”

“I am sorry, that was rude of me.”

“Yeah, well, what’s new.” You both walk into the locker room now, Satoru’s shrugging off his white lab coat, your cheeks heat up while you slip off your scrub top, it was normal to change in front of everyone, you all had co op locker rooms and showers even, all of you took years of anatomy, the human body was nothing really but parts.

But as you feel his eyes on you, when you’re down to just a black lace bra and a pair of boy shorts, you tense a bit, looking at him, shirtless, his lips parted as he looks at you. “I am sorry I know I annoy you, Miss perfect.”

“I’m no Miss perfect. I guess I have a lot to prove.” You say softly, trying not to drink in his rippling muscles, perfect well defined torso, cuts low where he’s now sliding up a pair of dark blue jeans.

His blue eyes fixate on you as he does, as you’re sliding on a pair of jeans yourself, buttoning them with trembling hands. “I had a lot to prove once too. I do understand.”

“You’re being serious?” You tease, earning a little smile, as he slides a black long sleeve shirt over his head. You get flustered as you realize your nipples are pressed against the cups of your bra, sliding your shirt and then a jacket on yourself, sitting at the bench to slide on your black boots.

“I can be serious sometimes, I just think there’s enough death, sadness, and depression in this career. Why not just try to have some fun? Otherwise, it’ll just consume you.” He says softly, in that husky voice of his, so sexy it alone could wreck someone. But his words…

“That makes sense.” You say softly now, standing as he does, grabbing your purse and locking up your locker, spinning the combination, at the same time he grabs his keys and wallet. “So you try to… brighten up things.”

“Yeah, someone has to.” He walks to you then, tapping your nose once more. “You’re too serious, you’ll have to lighten up, or this career will wreck you.”

You nod then, carefully, realizing perhaps this slutty, silly doctor had a lot more to him, than just being the perfect surgeon. “I’ll take that advice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, also…” He leans forward as you all are stepping out of the locker room, headed toward the automatic glass doors, and you look at him curiously. “Nice panties.”

“Oh fuck you, Dr. Hojo!” You glare now, shoving at him, as he heads to his mercedes benz, and you’re in your ancient SUV that sounds like a beast.

“Night-night, intern.” He shoots you two fingers, sliding into his fancy car with blacked out windows. You roll your eyes, putting your car in gear.

What a day.

Part Two

[xaviever]

˖ 𑣲 nerd!xavier thought dump …

cw. (afab!reader) 🔞 mdni. nerd!xavier + virgin!xavier (implied). he’s shy but he’s not a sub. hickeys, masturbation, cunnilingus, fingering, possessiveness obvi it’s xav. use of “pretty girl”.

nerd!xavier who’s just such a cutie pie. introverted and faintly aloof, countless honors awards under his belt (and hopefully you next). tousled hair, his thin glasses above his nose accentuating his gorgeous face, deep, blue eyes as alluring as his intelligence. eager to learn, always on time to lectures, bright-eyed, and bushy tailed.

nerd!xavier who has always thought you were breathtaking. watching you saunter into class the first day is majority of the reason he’s still taking the uninteresting gen ed class you two have together. he often finds himself staring at your side profile, looking away quick with his ears turning red the few times you’ve returned his gaze with a smile and wave.

nerd!xavier who just has to know you. he’s typing out everything but a literal transcription of your professor’s lecture the one day he notices you’re absent, earnestly handing you neat copies next time he sees you.

nerd!xavier who wants you so bad. his once extremely school oriented brain now frenzied over his almost elementary crush on you. he’s stuttering through your conversations, daydreaming sickeningly romantic thoughts of you, scheduling his days down to the minute just for the sweet possibility of spotting you on campus. he’s whipped.

nerd!xavier who sometimes has more… unsavory thoughts about you. still stemming from his pure adoration, he’s overwhelmed by his want, no, need for you and ends up here.

when he can no longer focus on his studying, his mind falling back to the way you rubbed his arm earlier, or giggled at his joke last week, or said his name— he’s tugging at his cock before he even realizes. pants and huffs of your name spill from his pretty pink lips as he fucks his fist to the image of you. he’s hunched over his desk, notebooks crinkling under his free hand’s grip. he’s not a pervert, really! he doesn’t even touch himself often, you’re making him go completely haywire.

nerd!xavier with such a sensitive cock. you’re palming him through his jeans, certain you found his tip when you feel a wetness start to seep through onto your thumb. you’re kissing, him moaning into your mouth before he pulls away and burrows his face in your neck, breathing you in slow to try and calm himself.

“i’ve never…f-felt this way.. mmph! before...” he confesses into your shoulder, his big hand wrapping around yours that was teasing him to halt it. xavier brings his head up, glasses crooked, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. just absolutely wrecked for you. he hisses as you squeeze him through his jeans once more with a sweet smile.

“you want me to touch you, xavier?” it’s dizzying how those words hit him, his name from your lips akin to something religious. he could cum in his pants.

“i do. please.”

nerd!xavier who is very committed to learning how to fuck you right. when he’s face to face with your pussy, looking up at you with so much anticipation, his pretty blues half lidded and misty. he kisses the inside of your palm when you cup his chubby cheek, his hand shaking only a little when he holds your intertwined ones at your side, diving down to attach his lips to your aching clit.

his shy kitten licks quickly drive you insane, and then you’re saying his name again, moaning it, xavier, fuck! xavier, more please! he counts on his lucky stars as he realizes the surge of possessiveness he feels. other people? are supposed to experience this with you? that’s when he channels all the enthusiasm of his first time into his tongue, noting every movement, every single thing that gets a reaction from you. vowing he’ll make you cum so hard you’ll forget other people even exist.

nerd!xavier who’s leaving splotch after splotch of purple, red on your inner thighs. you’re squirming, yelping with each suck, and while he doesn’t necessarily want to hurt you he just can’t help himself. sitting back and admiring his canvas of hickeys, pride overwhelms him, satisfied with his mark on you. at least now, whoever’s next will know. (it’s all for him, he will sooner flunk out then let anyone else be between these legs for the rest of the semester).

nerd!xavier who’s so good with his fingers. he’s slow to push inside you, watching your face for all the minuscule tells you have. you’re so tight he lets out a groan, the thought of pushing his dick inside you next making his big brain fuzzy. xavier curls and stretches and pumps, curious of the other sounds and reactions he can pull from you.

“you’re such a pretty girl…” xavier mutters, shallow breaths fanning your face as he leans into you. “i’m so lucky.”

you beam at the praise, finding his lips again in a kiss with a ferocity you never would’ve initially expected from the quiet boy. the squelches of your needy cunt intensify as you close in on your peak, gasping into his mouth as it washes over you suddenly. he thinks that’s a good thing, right? all he knows is your expression is priceless, and he’s so hard it actually hurts. just as you’re about to dreamily sigh out how good that was, xavier’s blurting out the only way he can think to see you again so soon.

“…do you need help studying for that exam next week?”

— authors note. me when i try to do simple headcanon style but i love xavier so much i fell too far down the rabbit hole. xavier girls pls rally with me :3

[sunday-bug]

Riding Bucky

Pairing: Congressman/Motorcycle Riding Bucky x fem reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Content: pure filth

18+ Minors DNI (NSFW)

Synopsis: Bucky enjoys a motorcycle ride out of the city with his favourite girl. What happens in the woods, stays in the woods.

Hope you all enjoy this one!

You hear an engine rev outside of your apartment and just know it’s him. A shiver runs up your spine in excitement.

Bucky mentioned his motorcycle on your first date, and you’ve been dying for him to take you on a ride since. This weekend’s weather was the perfect excuse. You picked out the most sensible outfit you could while still feeling sexy: blue jeans, a black silk tank, and your beloved brown leather jacket. You swipe your favorite red lipstick over your lips and fluff your hair.

Three knocks rap on your door and you answer.

“Wow. You look gorgeous and ready to ride,” Bucky says while hugging you tightly. He’s also in a leather jacket, black, with black jeans and boots. You’re used to seeing him in a suit and tie lately for his congressional duties, so this was hot. “I have a helmet for you on the bike. You ready?”

“Yes!” You try not to squeal with excitement, but fail. Bucky grabs your hand and squeezes, leading you to the elevator. Once the doors close he looks at you and smiles, “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“Me too,” you reply with a quick peck on his cheek.

The elevator doors open and you walk out into the warm mid morning air. Bucky takes the spare helmet from the back of the bike and walks over to you.

“Gotta protect your pretty little head,” he says while clipping the chin strap closed. “Feel ok?”

You nod in response, knowing your hair will be a windblown wreck later. Bucky reaches for your hand again and leads you to the bike, helping you on. Once you’re settled, he puts his own helmet on and straddles one leg over the bike before seating himself and revving the engine to life. You place your arms around his waist and try not to focus on how good the combination of his muscled body and the vibration from the engine feels against you.

“Ready, doll?” He asks over the noise.

You give him a thumbs up and you’re off. The wind feels so good that you don’t care about your hair anymore. He drives for miles until you’re outside of the city on a long stretch of road surrounded by trees. Bucky reaches back to touch your thigh reassuringly as you go around a sharp bend in the road. He squeezes instinctively, and you feel your body respond. You squeeze your arms around him tighter and get the cheeky idea to move a hand lower to the crotch of his jeans. He grips your thigh harder and slows down the motorcycle, pulling off into a secluded woody area. Once the bike is turned off, Bucky stands up and helps you off, removing your helmet and his.

“You trying to make me wreck?” He asks with a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” you reply sheepishly.

“Don’t be. I liked it,” he says, taking a step towards you. You feel your stomach flutter and your thighs clench together. He traces a line with his flesh hand down your cheek to the outline of your breast.

“Buck, what are you doing? We’re in public,” you giggle, pretending to escape his touch.

Bucky looks around the deserted area, “I don’t see anyone,” he grabs your ass with his metal hand and whispers in your ear, “I can’t even see the road from here.”

You moan softly and can’t deny just how much you want him to take you now. You reach down under the waistband of his jeans and feel that he’s already hard for you.

“Where should we…” you trail off as you see Bucky eyeing the motorcycle with intensity. You feel precum on your fingers and continue to work him under his jeans. He groans, “On the bike.”

Your entire body lights up at the idea and you both rush back to it. Bucky sits down on the seat and gestures to you to sit in his lap, “I wanna see your pretty face while I fuck you.”

You strip your jeans off and lay them over the handlebars, revealing a lacy blue thong. You start to take it off before Bucky interrupts you, “Keep it on, baby.” You notice he’s taken his cock fully out of his jeans and is stroking it while watching you undress. You feel yourself get even wetter as you walk over to him and straddle yourself over his thick thighs.

“These new?” He gestures to your underwear as he grinds his hips up into you, creating a delicious friction.

“Mhmm,” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair, “I thought you’d like them.”

“I’m going to make a mess of them,” he growls, sliding the blue lace to the side to feel your slickness. You loved when Bucky talked dirty. He slid a flesh finger into you and cupped your clit with his hand, letting you ride on it. “You’re naughty today, huh? You nervous someone might drive down here and see you coming all over my hand?”

His comment makes you snap. You remove his hand and put the slicked finger into your mouth, tasting your own arousal and sucking. Bucky’s cock jumps at the feeling, and he picks you up and sets you down on top of it, pushing your underwear to the side and guiding himself inside until you’re full of him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Bucky sighs into the hollow of your neck before nipping and kissing you there. He moves his hands up your shirt and pinches your nipples slightly. You let out a whimper.

“I love watching you whine for me, doll,” he says, picking up speed.

You look down and see his wet cock fucking you and feel your pussy clench, “I love watching you fuck me, Buck.”

“Oh, God,” he groans, “We should have gone for a ride sooner.” He lets out an exasperated laugh.

You close your eyes and tilt your head back, focusing on how good he’s making you feel. A slight breeze catches your bare skin and you shiver. “I’m so close, baby,” you cry out.

“Fuck, me too,” he yelps. You watch the line between his eyebrows deepen in concentration as he grips your ass and feel yourself let go on him, crying out.

“Good girl,” he looks into your eyes as you come and doesn’t break contact. His pupils dilate slightly and his movements slow.

“Where should I?” He asks gently.

“In me. Please,” you reply, spent.

You feel his warmth fill you as he groans. You stand up after a few seconds and feel some of it spill into your underwear.

“I’ll clean you up when we get back,” he says, pulling you in for a deep kiss. “I promise.”

“Can we do this every weekend?” You ask and he laughs.

[stillalivebydemand893]

Gamer boy

18+ (repost)

Story:You came in ready to fight about him playing without you — yelling, pouting, full fuzzy-sock fury. He was smug, hot, and totally unbothered… until you sat on his lap and ruined his focus on purpose.

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYING WITH WITHOUT MEEEE?!”

Your voice cracked through the apartment like a dramatic boss fight intro, echoing off the walls as you stomped into the living room in fuzzy socks and pure betrayal.

Erik didn’t even flinch.

“Jesus. Can’t even die in peace,” he muttered, still glued to the screen. “Yo—pause. Somebody watch my back, Peach is on her demon time again.”

He ripped his headphones off and finally turned to you. Hair a mess. Eyebrows raised. Glasses slightly crooked. Looking 40% annoyed, 60% sinful.

You opened your mouth to yell more but—ugh. The glasses. The jawline. The complete, unbothered Erik-ness of him. You were supposed to be mad, but instead you just stared.

“You’re lucky you look like a hot librarian from a morally gray dating sim,” you mumbled.

“I’m lucky?” he blinked. “You just screamed like I shot your Animal Crossing villagers.”

“You didn’t even tell me you were playing without me!”

He groaned. “Peach, it’s Black Ops. You hate this game. You called it ‘testosterone Minecraft.’”

“And you said you weren’t gonna play till I got back from the mall!”

“I said I wasn’t gonna start the campaign without you,” he corrected like a tired man in court. “This is multiplayer. This is war.”

You stomped dramatically, crossed your arms. “I was gonna make dinner. I was gonna let you have the blue controller. I was gonna play Horizon after. But NO—”

He sighed so hard it sounded like it hurt. “You done monologuing?”

You stuck your tongue out. “I’m going to the kitchen. Don’t touch my save files.”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he grunted, patting his lap like a throne. “Come sit. You wanna pout, fine. Do it here.”

You hesitated. Blushed. But ultimately plopped into his lap like you weren’t a little devil high off the power trip.

He reached around you for the controller, arms caging you in.

“You start squirming again like last time,” he muttered low against your ear, “and I’m throwing you over this couch and finishing the match later.”

You smirked, wiggled on purpose. “Oh no, I’m just gonna sit here and look cute—”

“Twenty minutes. No brat behavior. No distracting me. No seductive snack offerings. You sit there and be good.”

You turned to look at him, all innocent doe eyes. “Me? Bratty? Never heard of her.”

“Peach,” he warned. “Don’t start.”

“What if I do?” you whispered.

Erik went rigid underneath you. Not from fear. From the sudden awareness of how thin your shorts were.

His jaw ticked. “Peach.”

“Yes?”

“…You’re testing me.”

“I’m helping with your posture.”

“You’re about to help me commit a felony.”

“Oh no,” you whispered, grinding once—just once—slow and purposeful. “Am I distracting you?”

Click.

Headset off. Controller thrown. Glasses removed like a man entering his villain arc.

“Fuck it.”

You didn’t even have time to scream before he tackled you sideways on the couch like a sexy human bear trap.

“You want attention?” he growled against your neck, voice low and gravelly and wrecked. “You want the spotlight? You got it.”

Your hoodie was halfway off in a blur, your laugh turning into a moan when his hands slid up your thighs like he owned them.

“Erik—”

“No,” he cut in, biting at your jawline. “You don’t get to sass me all day, wiggle on my lap mid-match, then act surprised when I decide to rearrange your whole evening.”

You gasped, heart slamming. “I didn’t even get to taunt you about your KD—”

“I will shut you up for good. Don’t tempt me.”

Then he did exactly that.

He kissed you like the world was ending and your lips were the final reward. Deep, filthy, tongues clashing, hands gripping your waist like a lifeline. You clawed at his shirt, pulling it over his head, desperate to feel skin. Heat. The body that made fun of you in the kitchen and then broke beds like a war god.

He shoved your shorts down with one hand, the other already between your legs, groaning like you were the one playing with him.

“God, you’re soaked,” he hissed. “This is what happens when you act up, Peach?”

You whimpered, nodding .

“This is what happens when you play without me.”

“Oh, I’m the problem?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “And I’m not sorry.”

“You will be.”

And then he slammed into you, hard and deep and without mercy — pulling a scream from your throat so loud the neighbors probably unlocked their doors.

You grabbed onto him like a lifeline, every thrust knocking your thoughts clean out of your skull.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Just drove into you like a man with a vendetta and zero fear of consequences.

“Still mad about the match?” he grunted.

“Still mad I didn’t get to trash talk your kill-death ratio,” you panted.

“Oh yeah?” he growled. “Say something smug now.”

You tried—tried to open your mouth—but he hit that spot and your whole body jerked, brain blue-screened.

“Thought so,” he smirked. “Can’t talk shit with your voice breaking, baby.”

When you finally came—loud, trembling, clawing down his back like you were gonna carve your initials into him—he followed with a raw, guttural groan, burying himself in you like he never wanted to leave.

Panting. Sweating. Wrecked. He collapsed next to you.

“…Don’t even say it,” he warned.

You grinned, already opening your mouth.

“I will gag you with that headset, Peach.”

You giggled. “Can I sit on your lap again?”

“Touch me and I’ll bend you over the console.”

“…So that’s a yes?”

10 minutes later

You were still starfished across the couch like the aftermath of a natural disaster. Sweat sticking your hair to your forehead. No pants. Possibly one sock. Heart rate still legally disqualified from casual activity.

Erik was slumped next to you, one arm flung over his eyes like someone recovering from a spiritual experience or a very good car crash. Chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon through hell and heaven back-to-back.

“I can’t feel my thighs,” you muttered.

“Can’t feel my spine,” he grunted. “You wanna compare nerve damage?”

“I’m gonna sue you for sexual manslaughter.”

He rolled his head toward you, glasses long gone, hair tousled, lips swollen from the world’s most aggressive makeout session.

The look on his face? A mix of smug victory and God, I’m obsessed with this brat.

“Good,” he rasped. “Let the court see my work.”

You wheezed a laugh. “I was supposed to make dinner.”

“You did,” he muttered, finally moving to stretch his arms. “You served pussy and bad decisions. Five stars. Michelin rated. Almost died. Would eat again.”

“You’re so stupid.”

“You’re the one who sat on my lap mid-match like some kind of fuzzy-socked succubus.”

You wiggled your hips in his direction with a wicked smile. “Was it worth it?”

He gave you a long look. The smirk twitched. Then: “…No.”

You gasped. “You liar!”

He lunged at you, dragging you into his lap again with zero warning.

"You wanna test me?” he growled into your neck, kissing you like a threat. “I will flip this couch over. I will miss game night. I’ll cancel plans with my friends and ruin your sleep schedule.”

You giggled and clung to him. “You’re so dramatic.”

He kissed you again. Hot. Hungry. Possessive.

“I’m not dramatic. I’m devoted.”

“Sounds like you’re simping.”

He bit your neck.

“AH—FINE OKAY YOU WIN.”

He chuckled darkly, gripping your hips again like he was debating round two. Or three. Or infinity. “That’s what I thought.”

But before either of you could attempt survival sex part two, your stomach growled loud enough to interrupt the vibe.

“…You hear that?” you blinked.

“You mean the demon in your stomach asking why you skipped dinner to get your guts rearranged?” he said flatly.

You blinked again.

“Oh my God. THE PIZZA.”

Erik stared at you. Dead inside. “…What pizza?”

“The pizza I SAID I WAS ORDERING. AFTER ROUND ONE.”

He blinked. Then pointed to himself, still very naked, still tangled with you. “And what the fuck about this screamed ‘you’d actually follow through’?”

You rolled off him and stood up, legs wobbly. “Okay, listen. I got distracted by dick. It happens.”

He leaned back, arms behind his head, looking entirely too proud. “You’re welcome.”

You tossed a pillow at his face. “You wanna live? Order the pizza. My legs don’t work.”

“You broke your own legs, horny brat. That’s a self-inflicted injury.”

“ERIK.”

He groaned dramatically but reached for his phone anyway. “You want the usual or you want your freak pineapple garbage again?”

“I want food. I’ll even let you pick toppings. I’m still dizzy.”

He raised a brow. “You’re that hungry?”

You gave him a look. “I’m one orgasm away from hallucinating a food truck.”

He paused, evil twinkle in his eye. “…One away?”

You stared.

He stared back.

The pizza app was still open in his hand.

You slowly took a step backward. “Erik, don’t.”

“Just one, Peach.”

“I SWEAR TO GOD—”

Too late. He tackled you. Again.

[countyourfreckleslikestars]

Team O after dark.

“You voted O. Now you get your reward.”

Summary:

After a tense 50/50 vote, you, Su-Bong, and Nam-Gyu find yourselves with no answers, no guards, and one shared certainty—you’re not sleeping tonight. Not alone. Not untouched. Not without being reminded exactly who you belong to.

Word count- 2,741 (got carried away, whoops!)

Warnings:

18+ ONLY — NSFW / MDNI

Double penetration, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie x2, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, possessiveness, reader is wrecked, soft dom!Nam-Gyu (fuck yall my man is a soft dom) cocky dom!Su-Bong, pet names (“baby,” “flower”), nawt proofread

The sound of cheers and boos fill the cold, echoing hall with each vote, each one deciding whether you might live to see another day… or die trying.

You sit on the thin mattress of your metal-framed bed, cramped between Su-Bong’s legs as he sits behind you, arms wrapped loosely around your waist. His palms run up and down your arms in slow, lazy strokes—not comforting exactly, more like grounding. Steady. His usual cocky grin is gone, replaced by something quieter. Something you’ve only seen a few times.

Nam-Gyu sits in front of you, fingers threading through yours, thumbs gently brushing your knuckles. He’s close—so close his breath fans your cheek, and his voice stays low when he speaks.

“One more game, ok baby?” he murmurs, watching your face like he’s waiting for even the smallest flicker of fear.

You nod, slow and uncertain. The motion is more a reflex than anything else. Trust is a rare currency in here. But you’ve made it this far—with their help.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking between the bright screen in the center of the room and the guards standing at attention. The voice crackles overhead again, sharp and emotionless.

“Player 230.”

The air seems to pause.

Su-Bong’s hands still on your arms. Then he shifts—pressing a kiss to your cheek so quick and light you barely feel it. He hops down from the bed, flashing you a smirk over his shoulder as he strolls toward the walkway.

The voting panel glows blue and red—O or X. Stay or leave. Live or die.

He doesn’t even hesitate. He plants both palms on the button, leans forward, and presses it. The O.

Then turns around with his arms over his head, hands forming a big, dorky circle.

“Team O gang, let’s go!!” he shouts, chest puffed out, looking absurdly proud as he joins the blue side.

Cheers erupt from some players, boos from others. It’s chaos. You flinch at the volume, but Nam-Gyu just squeezes your hands tighter, trying to pull your focus back.

Like clockwork, more move down the line and more numbers are called.

“Player 124.”

Your stomach drops.

Nam-Gyu stands, gently tugging his fingers from yours.

“One more, ok sweetheart?” he whispers, eyes soft. “Just one more.”

This time, your nod is firmer. You watch him walk down the same path Su-Bong took—calm, confident, like this was always going to be his choice. His hand lifts to press the O button, and the light flashes blue.

He turns briefly to look at you before crossing to Su-Bong’s side. The two of them bump shoulders, sharing some whispered joke. You’re too far to hear it—but it makes Su-Bong laugh, and the sound cuts through the rest of the noise like a knife.

Then—

“Player 123”

Your number.

The air leaves your lungs all at once. You can feel dozens of eyes turn to you. Your limbs feel too heavy to move.

You stand on autopilot, moving slowly toward the walkway, footsteps echoing louder than they should.

The buttons flash in front of you. One blue. One red.

You stare.

Your mind spins.

You could press red and walk away. Start over. Forget this nightmare.

Or… you could press blue. Stay. Trust Su-Bong and Nam-Gyu. Just one more game.

Your fingers tremble as you lift your hand. Your eyes shut tight as your palm hits the panel.

A blue glow flares behind your eyelids.

You exhale hard.

The guard steps forward and hands you an O patch. You take it, silent. Rip off your X, slap the new patch in its place.

You walk toward the blue side, legs stiff. And the second you’re close enough, Su-Bong grabs you first—arms around your waist, spinning you in a quick circle.

“I knew you’d do it, señorita,” he says, grin wide and bright again.

Nam-Gyu’s arms come around you next, slower, more deliberate. He murmurs something soft against your temple that you don’t quite catch. But you nod anyway. You don’t have words. Your heart’s still pounding too loud to hear anything else.

⸻

You’d think the tension would ease after voting.

But it doesn’t.

Because the numbers tie.

Exactly 50/50.

And suddenly the room is a powder keg—everyone buzzing with frustration, anger, fear. No one knows what happens next. The guards stand motionless. The voice goes silent.

Eventually, food is passed around. Everyone lines up and is given a little rice triangle and bottle of water.

You eat in silence, back on the bed with Nam-Gyu and Su-Bong flanking you again—like magnets pulled to your sides.

They don’t leave you for a second.

Even with dozens of empty beds nearby, they sit close enough to touch—close enough their knees brush yours, their shoulders press into you.

Nam-Gyu gently unwraps your kimbap for you, offering it to you like he’s feeding a child. You take it with a small smile. He doesn’t let go of your hand even once.

Su-Bong eats with one hand, the other draped lazily across your lap. His thumb rubs absent circles over your thigh as he chews. His leg bounces occasionally—restless, like his body can’t keep still, but his eyes keep drifting back to you.

“I think she needs a reward,” Nam-Gyu murmurs after a while, voice low and intimate. His gaze doesn’t leave your face.

Su-Bong snorts. “Think? I already know what we’re gonna do.”

Nam-Gyu smiles faintly, brushing a thumb over your wrist. “A good girl deserves good things.”

You swallow thickly. The tension shifts—soft but charged.

Something electric crackles between you.

Their eyes on you feel different now. Not comforting. Not teasing.

Hungry.

After dinner, the food is cleared. The empty wrappers and crumpled paper napkins tossed aside like they never meant anything. You can feel the air shift—like everyone’s waiting for something. A fight. A scream. Another announcement. Anything to tell them what’s next.

But nothing comes.

No guards. No answers. Just the buzz of electricity and tension.

You stay sitting between Su-Bong and Nam-Gyu, your legs tucked under you, your heart still thudding too loud.

The room’s lighting is dim now, the flickering fluorescent bulbs overhead making everything look slightly off—like a dream that’s starting to twist at the edges.

“Lights out in 30 minutes”

Su-Bong stretches out his legs in front of him, his arm draped across your back like it belongs there. He talks, casually, but it’s not for the group. It’s for you and Nam-Gyu.

“She looked hot as hell walking up to that button,” he says, voice just low enough to avoid being overheard. “All nervous. All tense.”

Your cheeks flush instantly. He notices.

“You liked that, huh?”he grins, looking towards Nam-Gyu

Nam-Gyu’s smile is softer, but there’s something behind it now—something darker, heavier. “I did,” he admits, and he says it while looking right at you. “She was shaking.”

His fingers brush your knee.

Su-Bong leans in, breath warm at your ear. “Knew you were gonna pick O. Couldn’t bring yourself to leave us.”

You open your mouth to speak. Nothing comes out.

Nam-Gyu’s hand settles just above your thigh. His touch is light, lazy—but his thumb draws slow, possessive circles over the fabric of your pants.

You’re hyper-aware of every breath. Every graze. Every heartbeat.

Across the room, two players start bickering, voices rising. Someone throws a half-eaten rice ball.

But Su-Bong doesn’t even flinch.

“After lights out,” he whispers, voice low and smug. “You’re ours.”

Nam-Gyu hums, nodding. “We’ll be quiet.”

“Mostly,” Su-Bong teases, giving your thigh a squeeze. “If you can be.”

You swallow hard.

Nam-Gyu leans closer, his lips brushing your cheek, whispering so only you can hear: “You want us, don’t you?”

You nod.

But Su-Bong isn’t letting you off that easy.

“Use your words, baby,” he murmurs, teeth grazing your earlobe.

“I… I want you,” you whisper back.

They both smile like wolves.

———-

Time moves strangely after that. Every minute feels like an hour. You try to distract yourself—lie back on the bed, close your eyes, count breaths—but every brush of their hands, every glance exchanged over your body, sets your nerves on fire.

You feel them watching you. Every. Single. Second.

Nam-Gyu pretends to be listening to a conversation a few beds down, but his hand stays on your lower back.

Su-Bong fidgets constantly. Not in the usual ADHD way. He’s wired—his leg bouncing, his knuckles tapping the frame of the bed, his gaze flicking toward the bathroom door again and again like he’s waiting for the moment to pounce.

When the overhead buzz dims and the lights begin to fade, your breath catches.

They move instantly.

Nam-Gyu shifts first—calm, quiet, nodding toward the bathroom like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Su-Bong is already up, walking ahead, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets—but his eyes flash the second they meet yours.

Nam-Gyu brushes your knee under the blanket, and you take that as your signal.

The three of you make your way toward the bathroom together, steps quiet, calculated. Most players are already settling into bed, no one really paying attention. Except the guards.

Of course.

The stand in front of the door, already knowing what’s on the other side.

You knock on the door, a pink guard opening the slot.

Nam-Gyu speaks up first. “We need to use the restroom.”

The guard doesn’t react. Then, after a beat,

“No access at this time,” he says flatly.

Su-Bong blinks once. Then bursts out laughing.

“Oh nah,” he says, shaking his head. “No, no. I don’t think you get it.”

Nam-Gyu glances toward him, already trying not to smile. You, on the other hand, feel like your soul just tried to crawl out your throat from trying not to laugh.

Su-Bong steps up to the front, arms crossed, smirk curling.

“Ay,” he says, dead serious. “We’re gonna fuck. So unless you want us to do that right here—in front of everybody—I suggest you let us through.”

Silence.

The guard behind the door doesn’t say anything. Not at first.

Then—

Clank.

The lock clicks open.

The door swings inward.

Su-Bong bows mockingly. “Why thank you.”

Nam-Gyu snorts softly, guiding you by the small of your back as the three of you step inside. Su-Bong blows a kiss at the guard on the way in.

And the second the door shuts behind you…

That’s when things finally begin.

———

The second the door shuts, Su-Bong twists the lock behind you with a grin, then spins around like he’s just been let loose in a candy store.

“You heard what I said,” he smirks, stalking toward you slowly. “So now we better make it worth the guard’s time.”

Nam-Gyu’s already behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. His lips ghost along your shoulder, warm breath raising goosebumps on your skin.

“She was good today,” he murmurs, voice low and honey-sweet against your ear. “Voted with us. Didn’t hesitate.”

“Pretty little thing walked all the way down that aisle shaking like a leaf,” Su-Bong says, stepping in front of you. He cups your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “But still pressed that O like a good girl.”

Your mouth goes dry.

Nam-Gyu slowly lifts your shirt, his hands reverent but unhurried, letting the fabric slide over your skin inch by inch. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, and you can feel the heat of him, the tension, the control he’s barely keeping in check.

“You want your reward now?” he whispers.

You nod. Then remember what Su-Bong told you earlier.

“Words, baby,” you hear him say again in your head.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

Su-Bong chuckles darkly. “God, I love when she begs.”

He drops to his knees in front of you, fingers already tugging at the waistband of your uniform pants. “Bet you’re already soaked, huh?”

Nam-Gyu’s hands slip under your shirt, up your stomach, then to your chest, pulling your shirt over your head. “Let’s find out.”

You gasp as Su-Bong presses a kiss just above your underwear, teeth grazing your skin.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles when he pulls your bottoms down. “You really are dripping.”

Nam-Gyu tugs you closer to him, holding you upright while Su-Bong spreads your legs just enough. Your knees feel weak from him being so close, balance barely there.

But they’ve got you.

Su-Bong licks a slow stripe up your center, then groans dramatically. “Yup. Deserved this.”

Your hands fly to his hair, fingers curling as he dives back in—messy, greedy, like he’s trying to consume you. His tongue works in relentless, practiced motions, cocky little moans escaping his throat every time you twitch or grind into his face.

Nam-Gyu kisses your neck, then your shoulder, all while whispering praise in your ear. “Doing so well,” he murmurs. “You’re so sweet for us.”

When Su-Bong slips two fingers inside you without warning, your knees buckle. Nam-Gyu catches you easily, pinning your hips forward so Su-Bong can keep going.

“Oh my god—”

“You can come,” Nam-Gyu says softly. “Let him taste it. You deserve that, don’t you?”

You don’t even get a chance to answer.

Your orgasm hits like a freight train.

Your whole body shakes. You gasp, nearly cry out, but Nam-Gyu’s hand covers your mouth just in time.

“Shhh,” he whispers. “Quiet, baby. Remember where we are.”

Su-Bong pulls away with a wet grin, chin slick, eyes wild. “Best pussy I’ve ever ate.”

He gathers some of your release on his fingers, rising to his feet before pressing them to Nam-Gyu’s lips. He wraps his mouth around them without hesitation, eyes fluttering shut as a low groan escapes him, savoring your taste. Then he looks at you—dark, hungry—and without a word, turns you around, guiding you backward toward the far wall.

‘You want more?’ he murmurs.

‘Yes,’ you breathe. ‘Please.’

They don’t make you wait.

Nam-Gyu pulls his waistband down just enough, lifts one of your legs, and slides in—slow, careful, but thick and deep enough to make you whimper. He groans against your throat.

Su-Bong comes up behind you now, whispering dirty encouragements like a devil on your shoulder.

“She’s taking you so well,” he murmurs to Nam-Gyu. “Fuck, look at her face.”

Nam-Gyu buries himself deeper, fucking you slow and smooth against the bathroom wall while Su-Bong palms himself over his pants. “You want me next, right baby?” he grins. “You want both of us?”

You nod, eyes glassy, already gone.

“Good,” Nam-Gyu pants. “Because we’re not done until you forget your name.”

Su-Bong spends no time pulling down his own pants, lining himself up behind you before thrusting in, resulting in a deep groan from him, being muffled by your hair.

“Shit flower, taking us so well. So -fuck- so fucking tight. Bet you ain’t had two big ass dicks at one time, huh?”

Your brain can’t even make full thoughts, only you babbling nonsense at the feelings of both of their cocks ramming into your little pussy.

Your orgasm creep’s up quickly, the tight knot in your lower stomach tightening.

Nam-Gyu finishes first, spilling deep inside you with a breathless groan, his thrusts slowing as he presses lazy kisses along your shoulder. The warmth of him fills you up—but Su-Bong doesn’t stop.

If anything, he fucks you harder.

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps against your ear, voice low and wrecked. “Still squeezin’ around me like you want more.”

Your body trembles, the overwhelming stretch of both of them, the slick mess between your thighs, the feeling of being used and worshipped all at once—it’s too much. And not enough.

You sob out something incoherent, and Su-Bong just grins, his fingers curling around your throat—not tight, just enough to ground you.

Then he leans in close, lips brushing your ear as he whispers:

“Such a dirty little flower… letting us ruin this perfect pussy, moanin’ like it’s all you’re good for. But fuck—you’re so good, baby. So tight, so fuckin’ perfect. Made for this. Made for us.”

That knot in your stomach snaps again, harder this time, and you shatter—crying out as your orgasm rips through you, body clenching so tightly around him he swears and jerks forward.

Su-Bong buries himself deep as he cums, filling you with a groan that sounds more like a growl, like he’s branding you from the inside.

He doesn’t pull out. Neither of them do.

Instead, he kisses your cheek and murmurs, “Good girl. Took both our loads like you were born for it.”

Taglist:

@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @takuma-talkz @sxmmerchxld @multifandomgirllol @gizaspicebag @trieuvietha-blog @d-dilemma @lovestruck-sky

[heldbybarnes]

omg the fake marriage fic you wrote was sooo good

Can you maybe write the reader's and avengers' reaction when bucky calls her my wife absolutely everywhere.....

continuation of THIS ask

omg because WE KNOW once this man get's a taste of you being his wife (fake or not) hen doesn't want it to end!

----------

The mission was over.

The rings were off. The dresses returned. The safehouse cleared.

And yet Bucky Barnes was still calling you his wife.

At first, you thought maybe he’d just slipped up. Force of habit, muscle memory—whatever excuse made sense. But then he did it again. And again. And again.

In the debrief room back at HQ, he passed you a coffee and said, “Here you go, hon. Just how my wife likes it.” In front of everyone.

The mug slipped in your hand.

Nat didn’t even pretend to hide her smirk. “Didn’t realize your vows included caffeine preferences.”

You glared at her. “They didn’t. Because there were no vows.”

Bucky just leaned back in his chair, sipping his own coffee like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb. “Not yet, anyway.”

You choked. Steve coughed into his hand. Sam immediately dropped his pen.

“Oh hell no,” Sam said, squinting like he was watching the slow-motion unraveling of a train wreck. “This is not still going on.”

Bucky shrugged. “She hasn’t told me to stop.”

“I have told you to stop,” you snapped.

He turned those big, stupid, blue eyes on you. “Not recently.”

You opened your mouth—and promptly shut it, because technically, he had a point.

Steve cleared his throat. “Maybe we should just—focus on the report?”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered, pulling out his tablet. “Before Barnes starts introducing himself as ‘Mr. Y/N’.”

You swore Bucky perked up at the sound of that.

It didn’t stop at HQ.

The next day, when you walked into the gym, Bucky was already there, sparring with Steve. Sweaty, focused, and unfairly attractive, he paused mid-combat just to greet you with a casual, “Hey, sweetheart.”

Steve tried to land a punch while he was distracted. Bucky dodged it effortlessly. “Can’t hit a married man, punk. Bad karma.”

You threw your towel at him.

It hit him square in the face, but he caught it before it fell. “Thanks, babe.”

“We’re not married.”

He just winked. “Not with that attitude.”

Steve groaned into his gloves.

By day three, it wasn’t just the team noticing. The entire compound had caught wind.

You overheard two junior agents whispering outside the armory.

“I thought they weren’t together?” “Maybe it was a secret wedding. Like... spy elopement.” “She wears a ring sometimes!” “It’s on her right hand.” “Oh. Then maybe he just wants to be married to her.” “Wait, that’s kind of romantic.”

You turned the corner and they immediately shut up, standing at attention.

Bucky appeared behind you, leaned in with a conspiratorial grin, and said loudly, “Don’t worry, fellas. She’s just shy about PDA.”

You smacked him in the arm. “You’re impossible.”

He beamed. “But I’m your problem.”

Later that afternoon, Nat caught you in the common room and dropped a dossier into your lap.

“Next op,” she said. “Also, can you do me a favor and talk to your husband? He’s been referring to himself as ‘the missus’ all morning.”

Your head snapped up. “He what?”

She sighed, already halfway out the door. “He said it’s a power move. I don’t want to know. I just want it to stop.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples.

He wasn’t even being subtle anymore.

You confronted him (again) in the kitchen, where he was burning toast with the confidence of a man who clearly thought he was a chef just because he owned a cast iron skillet.

“You need to stop.”

He turned, knife in hand, spreading far too much butter with a grin. “Stop what, wife?”

You grabbed the counter to keep from launching yourself over it. “The mission is over. The marriage is over. The ‘my wife’ thing—it’s gotta stop.”

He gave you a look like you’d just asked him to shoot Steve.

“But I like calling you that.”

“Bucky.”

“I mean it.” His voice went quieter, more serious. “It’s not a joke to me. Maybe it started out as one, but—every time I say it, it feels right.”

You blinked.

“You’re not supposed to—” you struggled, words catching in your throat. “It’s not real.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “But I wanted it to be.”

Silence.

Dangerous. Heavy. Real.

“I told you,” he said, voice softer now. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You looked at him, really looked. At the sincerity, the fear behind the teasing, the hope he was too careful to say out loud.

And again—you couldn’t say it.

Didn’t want to.

So instead, you muttered, “You still can’t cook.”

He grinned. “Guess my wife’ll have to keep me around, then.”

You rolled your eyes—but you didn’t leave.

By the end of the week, no one even blinked when Bucky casually introduced you during a SHIELD event as “my wife.”

In fact, it became kind of a game.

Every time he said it, Sam owed Nat five bucks. Every time you didn’t correct him, Nat owed Sam five.

You lost track of how many times your name tag mysteriously got changed to “Mrs. Barnes.”

When you asked Maria Hill about it, she just raised a brow and said, “You didn’t hear this from me, but the print tech likes him. Said he looks sad when he’s not wearing a ring.”

You found yourself smiling at that.

God help you.

Eventually, you stopped telling him to stop.

Eventually, the ring ended up on your finger again. For fun, you told yourself.

Eventually, you caught yourself smiling whenever he called you his wife—like the word was some warm, secret tether between you.

Eventually, someone asked if it was ever going to be official, and for the first time, you didn’t deny it.

You just glanced at Bucky, and he gave you that infuriating, dangerous smile.

And you thought—maybe it wasn’t such a bad cover after all.

[skywalkoverme]

"𝐂𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧" 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 1

Series Masterlist

𐙚 Anakin Skywalker x Fem! Reader 𐙚 18+ MDNI

Summary: A republic ship crashes on your planet.

Warnings/contains: dom! male, dom! fem, Enemies to lovers, anakin does not like you, more to come as the series goes on etc, not proof read-- english is not my first language!

Word Count: 1.6k // More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

You lay on the shore, your body stretched between the waves and the wet sand; Beach curls filled with grains of the shore and flower petals from the tropical trees behind you; The warm breeze blew sand over your damp skin. The light from the center star embraced your skin then was swiftly hidden by what you figured to be a cloud.

Your eyes shut, your fingernails packed with wet sand, you ignored the sound of the waves crashing more fiercely than before; the tide changed when it so pleased.

The sound of an explosion, almost deafening, shattered the once serene environment. You quickly rose to your feet, holding your palms over your ears. “A- AH!” Piercing whines filled your eardrums as you tried to focus on the colossal ship that now rests on the shore.

The men in white filed out of the ship, guns held to their torsos. When the whining of the tinnitus in your ears finally stopped, you stepped back from the shore. Two men who dressed differently stood up top the wrecked ship; exposed pipes, torn metal and the occasional fire scattered across the ship. Crystals and sharp ice from the atmosphere were wedged in the sides of the ship. “Excuse me!” You yelled and slipped on your robes. “Excuse me!” Your screams eventually caught the attention of the younger man, however your rage flared, drawing the eyes of the older one. “Hello?”

The younger man jumped off a post and onto the sand, soon after, he was joined by his master. “I do apologize for this mess.” The older man said softly in an attempt to calm you. You watched as clones went past you and began to set up camp on the shore. “Are you hurt in any way?” The young man squinted at you.

“No, I am fine. W- What is going on?”

“We are Jedi.” He motioned between him and the man beside him. “Those are our troops. Your planet is currently occupied by Separatists, whether they have made themselves known or not. In order to maintain peace, we must interfere.”

You looked over their shoulders as you tied a white and purple robe on your body. “I’m supposed to entrust my planet to men who can’t fly a ship.” The young man looked you up and down, your skin a flesh tone of blue.

“Miss, unfortunately, that isn’t your decision to make.”

“I would say it is.”

“And who might you be?” The younger man spoke up, his arms folded.

You looked him over and reached for your comms. “I need a squadron down by Keele beach, south shore.” You walked away from the two confused men and to your beach bag. “And on my day off.” You groaned as a ship approached from the coast and another from above.

“Are you one of the royals? If so, we need to speak with you! I am General Obi-wan Kenobi! This is my padawan Anakin Skywalker!” The man ran after you as you approached the aircraft. “There seems to be a misunderstanding.”

“There is no misunderstanding on our end, Jedi. Take them into custody send someone here to watch their troops. No weapons.” You opened both palms out to them.

The younger man turned to his Master, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He protectively held the hilt of his lightsaber and stared at your eyes. “I. Refuse.” He said bitterly, the cut over his eyes pressed further together. Although his tone offended you, the man caught your interest. A quiet intensity boiled within him and so plainly spilled over into his words.

“Anakin.” His master passed over their lightsabers. Anakin quickly tried to reach for his, but you closed your hands and walked onto the aircraft. Your soldiers stripped the clones of their weapons. “We are here to maintain peace, don’t argue with her. Whoever she is.” Obi-wan whispered to his padawan as they went on board with you.

“Take us to the palace.” You said to the pilot as you stood across from the men; Anakin’s eyes switched from his weapon in your netted bag to your eyes.

“Would you be so kind as to tell us your name?” Obi-wan asked as you clipped your holster belt on your hips.

“Head of Defense; [Y/N] [L/N].”

“[L/N]?” Obi-wan bowed; his padawan hesitated before following suit. “You’re the new Queen...” Obi-wan noted, his eyes on the large aquamarine ring on your left hand. The jewel decorated your body, a large pendant around your neck; it filled your bracelets and even the piercing on your cheek.

“You did your research.”

“Why aren’t there any photos or visuals of you in our database?” Anakin interrogated.

“Should I pose for you now?” You squinted at him, a smile on your lips. Your hand rests on your gun when Anakin turned from the conversation. “Hands need to be visible, Anakin.”

“It’s General Skywalker, and they are.” He retorted.

“This is your apprentice…uh, Padawan?”

Obi-wan agreed rather embarrassed, “Yes.”

“Hm.” At the sound of your disapproving sigh, Anakin’s nostrils flared, his expression faltered into irritation.

The ship slowly approached the large palace, washed in a pale blue from the oxidation; the vines and trees around the palace was the same way, darker shades of blue as well as pale greens. When the ship landed, Anakin turned to his Master. “Don’t look at me like that. If we get into a sticky situation, It’s because of your attitude.” The man said, his accent grew thicker when he lectured.

“I’ve got a plan.”

“I’ve got a better one.” Obi-wan stopped his Padawan. “You do nothing, say nothing and—” He raised his finger when Anakin started to interrupt. “And! Don’t look at her! Since you don’t have people skills, stay quiet.” Anakin smiled toothlessly and raised his eyebrows. ‘Better?’ “Much better.”

“Are you both done?” You asked, your head tilted. Obi-wan straightened out his robes and followed you inside; Anakin kept close by.

As you walked through the halls, you were met by servants who dressed you in proper attire and took your gun from the holster and replaced it a silver sword inside its sheath. The two Jedi stood behind you as you took a breath. Finally, you pushed open the doors to the throne room. “Good morning.” You smiled at the young girl who sat beside the throne; your sister quickly ran into your arms. “How’d you sleep?” You asked, taking a seat on the throne.

The girl’s smile slowly faded upon seeing the men beyond you. They rose from their bow, “Jedi?”

“Yes. I need to speak to them because they broke the law.” The girl covered her mouth with a giggle, “Could you go with the help for a few minutes? I’ll come get you later.” The girl kissed your cheek and hopped down. Your sweet smile left your face when you turned to the Jedi. “…do you have documentation, clearance for this mission from your Chancellor?”

Obi-wan took a hologram token from his sleeve and brought it to you. “Clearance and evidence of separatist droids occupying your planet.” You went through the documents and nodded. “We do not know exactly where but with your guidance through these terrains, your resources…we could rid this planet of them.”

You glanced from one man to the other. “Continue.”

“We understand that your planet is loyal to the republic---"

“You and your Chancellor believe that we will betray you for the separatists.” You stood from your throne, circling the two, “You came here to spy initially. It wasn’t your intention to crash but you put your trust in a weak pilot.” You whispered by Anakin’s ear, “Or perhaps they didn’t know of the crystal fragments in our atmosphere...” His right eye twitched as you passed him. “You came here…to fight a war, Jedi.”

Anakin’s chest heaved at your audacity. You as well as his Master could feel his anger overflow, the energy rilled you up.

“There are more ships in the atmosphere, aren’t there?” You asked and stood in front of Obi-wan.

“There are.”

The refraction from your jewels created rainbows over your unreadable expression, blue-tinted skin. “Did I miss anything?”

“No.”

“Jedi.” You sighed, “You are no longer welcome here. We can fight our own wars. You went behind our backs as a people, as a unit, and brought chaos.” Obi-wan shook his head in defeat. Anakin’s eye twitched. ‘This isn’t true! The separatists brought the war to your planet, not us!’ He thought. “Our treaties and alliance with the Republic will be brought to our court to discuss.”

“Wait a minute!” Anakin scoffed, “Do you have any idea how many droids are on your planet? You think we brought a calvary for fun?”

“Anakin, stop.” His master sighed.

“They are slowly occupying your land. They are likely killing your people! What? Did you expect us to send you a full essay on why we should send in troops?!”

“I need not hear this.” You waved your hand to dismiss them.

“You, yourself weren’t even aware they are here! You didn’t know they entered your atmosphere.” He stepped to you, “You need us! There are tens of thousands of droids! They make hundreds by the hour!” His hand raised towards the open balconies overlooking the city. “Whether you like it or not, until your alliance with the republic is no longer valid, until your senator leaves Coruscant, we are not leaving Erden.”

“Who do you think you are?” You unsheathed your sword and held it to his neck. “You, your troops, and your master…need to leave immediately.”

“Make me.”

As his blue eyes stared down at you, you began to rethink what he had said. If what they are saying is true, you’ll need him--- unfortunately. You lowered your sword and looked at his Master. “Get your Beast under control. His pride will kill him.” You sheathed your sword.

Series Masterlist

[coppersaladstories]

PART 3: Ruin Me

rating: X (not for minors) \ 6.7k words / bf dad joel miller x female reader

tags: if you don't like smut and morally ambiguous characters this is not the fic for you. you accidentally fuck your bf's dad.

masterlist

Thank you for the comments and the reassurance. I wasn't sure if it was going to bomb or not. This chapter is a bit less smutty but future chapters are going to wreck you. I promise.

every mistake, every word, all of it.- Joan Didion

Joel shows up early with his truck and Jack is there loading everything with him, insisting that Tess and I relax. I stand awkwardly with Tess on the curb while the men finish strapping down the last few boxes. She insists on grabbing coffee before we hit the road, and I cling to the small reprieve like it’s air.

We walk to the cafe down the block, grabbing drinks and chatting about what to expect in Austin. 

"Have you ever been?"

"No, but I hear you have a good music festival?"

She nods, pouring sugar into her cup. Then she looks serious.

"I know that you might be nervous moving in with Joel and I," she says as she ignores my flinch, "but I want you to know that you and Jack are adults. Come and go as you please. We just want to make sure you have the best opportunities to save some money and not buying the first place you find." 

"Thank you," I say. I mean it, Tess is incredibly kind. 

"If there's anything you two need, you just come to me or Joel okay?" 

I force a smile. "Okay." 

The ride to Austin is easy because Joel drives ahead of us with Tess. I just watch the back of his truck, willing the knots in my stomach to unwind.

“Can’t believe we’re really doing this,” Jack says beside me, his hand on my thigh. I let him drive my car after insisting I was coming down with a bug, but the truth is I don't think I can focus. 

"Yeah."

“Feels like a real grown-up move.”

I smile like I mean it but all I can think is the secret between Joel and I is following us all the way to Austin and it needs to be buried. Joel and I will be taking it to our graves. 

When I wake up from a short nap it's to Jack's finger grazing my cheek and his voice soft. 

"We're here, babe."

The house is two stories, painted a faded blue-gray with white trim and low, wraparound steps. It’s not a mansion, but it’s bigger than anything I ever imagined living in after college. However when I think of the four of us living here it seems like a matchstick box. 

The front porch is wide, shaded, strung with soft white lights. There’s a wind chime hanging near the door that tinkles lazily in the breeze.

“It’s cute,” I murmur as I step out of the car.

Jack grins and slams the door behind him. “Told you.”

Joel appears around the side of the house, dragging a dolly and a pair of heavy-duty gloves. He’s in a charcoal t-shirt, damp at the collar, a streak of dust across his forearm. I feel my stomach flip, hard and hot, and immediately hate myself for it.

He doesn’t look at me. Just nods at Jack, motioning to the truck backed into the drive. “We’ll unload there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack calls.

Tess steps out behind Joel, brushing off her jeans. She beams when she sees us and pulls me into a hug before I can sidestep it. “You hungry? I was thinking pizza for dinner, unless you're both craving something healthier.”

“No, that’s perfect,” Jack says. “Easy.”

I nod mutely, and Tess gently rubs my arm. “You’ll love it here. It’s a good neighborhood. And the guest room’s got the best light in the whole house.”

We unload the truck over the course of the next hour and a half. Jack’s shirt is soaked by the end of it, and even Tess is flushed from running back and forth with laundry baskets and kitchen boxes.

But it’s Joel I keep watching. He doesn’t slow down. He moves like a machine, all brute strength and narrow focus. When he carries my old dresser up the stairs, I hear it groan under his grip, and I watch the way the muscles in his shoulders flex under the fabric of his shirt. I’m sweating too, but for entirely different reasons.

I pass him in the narrow hallway, both of us moving boxes from different rooms. He’s coming from the guest room with a stack of folded towels, and I’m carrying a box of old books, the sides of it cutting into my palms.

We both shift to let the other through, but there’s barely a foot between the wall and the banister.

“Sorry,” I murmur, trying to twist my body sideways without brushing him.

But I do, my hip grazes his thigh, and his forearm knocks against mine, and the contact is so brief, so feather light, but I feel it everywhere.

His scent hits me, sawdust and clean sweat, dizzying and I nearly lose my grip on the box. I keep my eyes down, but I feel his gaze on me like heat under my skin. Joel doesn’t move right away. He’s taller. Broader. And he’s looking down at me in that quiet, unreadable way. 

My breath sticks in my throat when he reaches in my direction for the box of books. 

"Lemme take that." 

“I’ve got it,” I say quickly, trying to sidestep him.

But he shifts at the same time, and we bump again, shoulder to chest. My body is on fire. His jaw tenses. I see his fingers flex slightly on the towels, like he’s resisting the urge to reach out.

We both freeze. For one breathless second, I feel the weight of that night between us again. The heat of his mouth. The way he whispered my name. I tilt my chin up to meet his eyes, and the air tightens between us. We’re too close.

How are we ever going to move past this?

Footsteps echo up the stairs, light and followed by off key humming. 

Joel straightens so fast I step back like I’ve been burned. Tess appears at the top of the landing, smiling, oblivious. “You two need help, or are you just pretending to move things around up here?”

Joel clears his throat and turns. “No, we’re good.”

I nod, my cheeks burning. “Just finding shelf space.”

“Okay,” she says cheerfully, moving past us into the hall. “Let me know if you want extra bins. I have a million.”

As she disappears into the guest room, Joel moves without a word, his shoulder brushing mine one last time before he’s gone. Jack bounds up the stairs with his records, making some joke about converting the guest room into a music studio.

Joel’s voice comes from behind me, quiet but close. “Y’all can take your room for sleeping. Extra stuff goes in the guest.”

“Great,” Jack says cheerfully. “Thanks, Dad.”

I force a smile. Joel doesn’t wait for mine, he turns and walks off without another word.

__________________________________________

By evening, the sun starts to dip low, staining the walls of the living room a soft orange. I’ve showered and changed, pulled my hair up, tried to look less like someone unraveling at the seams.

Tess orders pizza and sets the table with decorative plates and napkins like it’s a real event. Joel reappears in a clean shirt and my chest tightens all over again. I sit opposite him at the table. He doesn’t look up.

Jack and Tess do most of the talking.

Tess tells a story about one of Joel’s work clients, something about a late permit and a weird building code issue, and Jack makes her laugh so loud she nearly spills her soda. I offer polite smiles, try to ask questions at the right moments, but my body feels locked in. 

I’m too aware of the man across the table. The way his fork moves slowly. The way he keeps wiping his hand on his thigh like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

And then his eyes meet mine for a single second. Flicker of lashes before he looks away again. But I feel it all over again. That night. The heat. The way he looked at me, fucked me, came in me. My body tingles everywhere when I think of it. 

Jack bumps my knee under the table, leans close. “You okay?”

I nod quickly. “Yeah, just tired. Long day.”

Joel clears his throat. “I should check something for work,” he says, standing abruptly. “Got an email earlier.”

Tess’s head tilts, her expression soft with concern. “Right now?”

“Just a few things I need to line up before the week starts.”

“Everything all right?”

"Just fine, sweet pea."  He kisses her forehead, murmuring a thank you for dinner and then he moves into the hallway, the door to his office closing behind him.

Tess watches the space where he left. “He’s been off all weekend,” she murmurs. “Swears its just work. I don’t know.”

I keep my face neutral. I don’t dare say a word. Jack shrugs, stealing another slice. “He always gets like this before a big project. Needs to go into his cave and recharge.”

Tess hums, but her fingers fidget with her napkin.I excuse myself to the kitchen under the guise of grabbing water. I stand there for a minute, gripping the edge of the sink, breathing through the ache rising in my throat.

I am in a house full of good people and I am a liar, a traitor,a monster.

I glance toward the hallway. Joel’s office door is still closed. The light is on underneath and I just know he's replaying what happened that night. It seems inevitable. I also wonder how long we can pretend we don’t remember the worst mistake of our lives.

__________________________________________

Living with the Miller's feels a little like playing house, only the walls are thinner, the silences heavier, and the floorboards carry footsteps I’ve memorized in my anxiety. 

In the beginning, I thought it would be temporary awkwardness. That Joel and I would just adjust. That we’d all settle into a rhythm and whatever happened with Joel would fade like a bad dream. 

But nothing fades when you live in a two-story house with shared bathrooms and echoing staircases. Nothing fades when the man you slept with a month ago is now in your life every day pretending like you’re nothing more than his son’s girlfriend.

Joel and I avoid each other like it's a game we agreed on but never discussed. Mornings are the easiest because I learn his rhythm quickly. Tess wakes at six, pulling on her gym clothes and heading downtown for her morning yoga class. (I wish I had her discipline). Then I hear the shower running at 6:15 and that's Joel. The back door close a few minutes later as he leaves for work, the truck rumbling down the driveway. 

By the time I wander down for coffee in their big sunny kitchen, Joel is long gone, and Jack is humming to the radio while scrambling eggs. I stay upstairs when I hear him come home and if asked I explain I'm trying to find work, looking into programs. Busy busy busy. 

If we pass each other in the hall, we barely nod. We only speak at dinner because Tess and Jack are there and even then, it’s nothing real. Dinner becomes a stage for us where we put on a great show every night. 

Joel is good at this. Better than me. He sits beside Tess, passes the salad without comment, and listens to Jack ramble about The Rangers or some new movie without blinking. He doesn’t look at me unless someone’s watching. And when he does it’s always brief, like it costs him something to linger.

"How was the site today?" Tess asks him one night over grilled chicken and roasted vegetables.

He shrugs. "Drywall inspection got moved up. That’s all."

"Good thing you’re ahead of schedule," Jack says, motioning my way. “I keep telling her, my dad doesn’t miss deadlines.”

Joel’s eyes flick toward me, just a glance, and then away again as he nods. It’s always like that. Short, sharp, barely-there moments. We sit across from each other like strangers.

Meanwhile Tess and I grow closer every day. It starts with small things: folding laundry together, rearranging the spice cabinet while she jokes about how “Joel’s sense of order stops at construction.” 

She lends me a cardigan one day when I’m cold and forget mine upstairs, and then insists I keep it. "It looks better on you anyway."

She’s kind in that easy, natural way some women are. Affectionate. Playful. She talks to me like a daughter-in-law without ever saying the word. We start walking in the evenings after dinner. Just around the block, water bottles in hand. She tells me stories about Jack as a toddler, about how Joel once tried to build a tree house and fell through the floor mid-construction. .

"Marriage takes work," she says one morning, after venting about a minor spat with Joel over something electrical in the kitchen. “People forget that.”

I hum like I understand but the guilt roars in my ears.

"Have you and Jack talked about it? Marriage?"

"No," I say quietly. "I think we're still pretty young to think about that stuff." 

"He's the same age Joel and I were when we got married," she says with a soft look.

She can see the indecision in my eyes and it's nothing to do with not wanting to marry her son. It's this lingering guilt that never seems to go away. 

Jack on the other hand is thriving. He lands a job placement right away in some boutique clinic that specializes in sports rehab and mobility. He’s over the moon. They love his energy, his fresh ideas his approach with patients. He comes home every day with stories.

“Today I helped this guy who tore his ACL training for a marathon,” he tells me one night while we’re curled up on the couch. “He’s sixty and already planning his next one. Can you imagine?”

I smile, kiss his shoulder. “Sounds like you’re really making a difference.” 

“I love it,” he says simply. “It feels like I’m doing what I’m meant to do.”

He looks at me with those bright, proud eyes,  the same ones that first pulled me in. And for a minute, I can believe that I deserve this, that I can be part of this life without it crumbling around me.

But then Joel walks in from the garage quiet, arms dirty, head down and I go cold.

I don't deserve this. I don't deserve Jack. I don't deserve any of it. 

I’ve never kept secrets from him before. Not like this. Not something that could tear the whole world down around us. Every time I think about telling him, my throat closes up. My mind starts running through the words I’d use, and then it hits the brick wall of what would happen after. I see his face change in my head, watching the trust go out of his eyes like someone turned off a light switch.

And worse, I think of how this would blow up the Miller household. Jack’s familial foundation crumbling to pieces. It wouldn’t just be him and me breaking, it would potentially be their marriage. And then every family dinner, every birthday, every holiday would be a funeral he would have to attend. 

I try to imagine Jack hating me and it makes me sick. I've never been hated before and the thought of never seeing Jack again is worse than anything I can imagine. 

So I make the decision although it feels less like a choice and more like locking a door from the inside. I tell myself I’m protecting him. Protecting us. That if I keep quiet, things can go back to the way they were. But the truth is, every time he looks at me now, I feel like he’s staring through glass and I’m the one who put it there.

And when I look at Joel? That's when the glass cracks. 

Joel’s office is on the far side of the hall from the bedroom Jack and I share, and sometimes I hear the low thrum of his music, or the occasional scrape of a chair moving across the floor. I tell myself it’s nothing. That I’m imagining the heaviness I feel whenever he’s nearby.

One night, I pad into the kitchen for water. The air feels cooler here, still holding the faint echo of Tess’s laughter from earlier that evening and I notice the garage door is half-open, a sliver of warm light cutting through the darkness.

I inch forward, holding my breath.

Through the narrow opening, Joel stands at the workbench, shoulders bent, hands moving slow and precise over whatever project he’s working on. A single bulb dangles overhead, throwing a sharp halo over the side of his face. The rest of him is swallowed by shadow.

I should move. I should say something. But my body won’t obey. I stay rooted to the edge of the hallway, my back pressed to the wall, heart hammering in my throat. Afraid to make a sound. Afraid to be caught looking.

His brow furrows as he leans closer to his work, the muscles in his forearms shifting beneath tanned skin. There’s an intimacy in watching him like this, so unguarded and unaware and it makes my stomach twist in a way I don’t want to name.

I tear my eyes away before he can sense me there, moving as quietly as I can back toward the bedroom.

__________________________________________

Weekends are the hardest. During the week, the house scatters Joel and Tess at work, Jack at his placement, and me at the house.  But on Saturdays and Sundays, everyone is here.. Voices drift from room to room, footsteps cross paths in the hallway, and there’s no escape from the constant awareness of where Joel is in relation to me.

 I hear his laugh from the living room, the scrape of his chair at the dining table, the low rumble of his voice when he talks to Jack. It’s all perfectly normal on the surface, but to me it’s a slow, constant pressure. 

And just when I think I can handle it, when I think the pressure might just be lighter something will happen to set me back. 

Like when I wake groggy and heavy-limbed one Sunday morning with the taste of sleep still in my mouth. I shuffle toward the kitchen, hair a mess, thinking only about coffee until the bathroom door swings open.

Joel steps out in nothing but a towel. His skin is damp, droplets sliding from his collarbone down to the ridge of muscle in his stomach. A lock of wet hair falls into his forehead, and he swipes at it absently, completely unaware that my pulse has just skyrocketed.

I feel the pull low in my belly, the instant heat between my legs.

“Morning,” I manage, though my voice is a little too thin.

"Thought everyone was asleep," he says in a rough, early morning voice, drained of warmth. 

His eyes don’t even flick my way as he passes, bare feet silent on the carpet. The door to his room clicks shut behind him like the scene never happened. I stand there for a moment, trying to will my heart rate down. Trying to bury the ache he left in his wake.

But my brain is fried. I tiptoe back to the bedroom where Jack is still asleep on his back, breathing deep with one arm flung over his eyes. I'm filled with a deep love for him. 

But this ache in me never seems to be satisfied. In fact, most days when the house is empty I find myself in the bed, fingers stuffed down my pants and my cries broken and desperate as I cum over and over. 

And that ache is here now pooling low in my belly, strong as I slide under the covers and press a kiss to the inside of Jack's thigh, rousing him in a way that lets me pour all my restlessness into something I can control.

I take him into my mouth before he's even fully awake; giving into a fantasy he's mentioned in passing. My fingers rest on either side of his hips, mouth slick and warm. 

His hips rut as he comes into wakefulness and he stirs murmurs my name. His fingers card in my hair, just holding there as I let myself get lost in the act, head bobbing under the covers as he hisses between his teeth, trying to be quiet. 

"So good. So fucking good." 

I suck his cock with gusto, with guilt, because the sight of Joel’s damp skin still burn behind my eyes.

__________________________________________

The evenings are becoming my favorite part of the day not because I’m any less tired or stressed by the time they roll around, but because Tess has a way of making everything feel lighter. I cherish our nightly walk. Sometimes we talk; sometimes we just breathe in the night air and listen to the crickets.

Tonight she glances over as we step off the porch, zipping her jacket. “So,” she starts, in that casual-but-not-really way she has, “how’s the job search going?”

I make a face. “It’s… going.”

“That bad?” she asks, nudging my arm lightly as we start down the driveway.

We wave at a couple walking their golden retriever. The air smells faintly of cut grass and charcoal from someone’s backyard grill. Across the street, Constance is in her usual spot on the porch, wrapped in a cardigan despite the mild weather. She peers at us over the rim of her tea mug like she’s cataloguing a crime scene.

“Evening,” Tess calls out cheerfully.

Constance gives a small nod in Tess’s direction, her eyes flicking over me with that quick, tight-lipped smile she always gives me. It’s not overtly rude, but there’s a coolness there. Like a little pinch of disapproval I’ve never been able to figure out.

Constance has lived across the street for as long as anyone can remember the kind of neighbor who knows everyone’s business before they know it themselves. She’s watched Jack grow up from a lanky kid on a bike to the man he is now, and she’s only ever had a smile for him. 

For me? Not so much. Her politeness feels rationed, doled out only when absolutely necessary. Or, and this is a paranoid thought, it's like she knows what I've done. 

She’s always on her front porch; cardigan wrapped tight, a mug in her hand, eyes sharp behind her glasses. It’s not that she’s openly rude; she just has a way of looking at me that makes me feel like I've already done something wrong.

Once we’re a few houses away, Tess mutters, “I swear, that woman was born scowling.”

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a laugh.

Tess loops the conversation back. “So? Tell me about the job stuff.”

I sigh, shoulders hunching a little as we pass under a streetlamp. “I’m just frustrated,” I admit. “I feel like I can’t get into any programs without some architectural experience. But I can’t get any experience without further education. It’s just… this loop I can’t break out of.”

The rejection email from the September intake program is still burning a hole in my inbox, the polite but impersonal phrasing replaying in my head all day. I press my fingertips into my eyelids, trying to hold back the heat building there. Then Tess’s hand is on my elbow, warm and steady.

“I’ll help you find something, I promise,” she says, her tone firm in a way that makes me believe her. “Leave it to me.”

__________________________________________

I wish I'd never told Tess about my issue because her solution comes the following evening and it ruins everything. Joel is still at work and Jack, Tess, and me are gathered around the worn oak table in the softly lit kitchen. 

Jack’s laughing at something Tess said, and for a moment I forget the knot twisting in my stomach. But then Tess leans forward, her eyes sharp and impossibly kind.

“You should intern at Joel’s construction company,” she says casually, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “It’ll give you real work experience, and you can reapply for school in January.”

My fork clatters against my plate. I want to protest, but the words get stuck halfway up my throat.

“That's an amazing idea,” Jack says, eyes wide with excitement. “You’d get hands-on experience, and it’ll look great on your resume.”

“No, uh, I couldn’t ask that of you,” I say hurriedly, shaking my head. “That’s not… I mean--”

“Babe, it’s perfect,” Jack interrupts with a warm kiss to my cheek. “Now you don’t have to stress about school.”

“They have intern programs,” Tess adds, folding her hands on the table like she’s laying down the law.

I glance up and catch the subtle tension in the room, the way their smiles expect me to say yes. But all I can think about is Joel, and the cold distance that still hangs between us, and the impossible reality of working for his company.

“I don’t know,” I say softly, hoping the hesitation in my voice is enough. "I mean, I was thinking I should get a full-time job. Make some money for our place and think about school next fall."

Tess reaches over, squeezing my hand. "Honey, no. You want to be an architect. Let us help you."

"We're supposed to be moving out next month," I say. My voice is cracking. "We need money-"

"That's no rush," Tess says. "You can stay here as long as you want." 

"Thanks Mom," Jack says with wet eyes. "I think by January I'll have saved enough for us to put a healthy down payment-"

"We can't stay here until January!"

The two of them look over at me with surprise at my outburst. 

"I mean, you've already done so much for us," I say, recovering. "We couldn't-"

 “Please, let us help you," Tess says. 

I'm still trying to hold onto the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, this won’t ruin everything. Before I can say more, the front door swings open, and the cool evening air slips into the kitchen. Joel steps inside, bringing with him the faint scent of sweat, sawdust, and sun-warmed denim.

“Brought home a stray for dinner,” he says, leaning down to kiss Tess on the temple before jerking his chin toward the footsteps behind him.

A man follows him in and I immediately take notice. He's tall, broad-shouldered, with glossy black curls and a smile so easy it could sell ice to a polar bear. There’s a charm to him.

“Hey, Jack 'n the Beanstalk,” the man greets warmly.

“Uncle Tommy!” Jack shoots up from his chair, suddenly more kid than grown man, and gives him a side hug before turning to me. “This is my girlfriend.”

Tommy’s eyes crinkle with mischief as he takes my hand in his. “Oh, I’ve heard plenty about you,” he says, voice deep and edged with a Southern drawl that’s softer than Joel’s.

I manage a smile. “Good stuff?”

“The best,” he assures me, releasing my hand with a wink before dropping into the empty seat at the table. 

Joel, silent, moves to the stove, sliding a beer across the counter to Tommy without looking up.

“Tommy, the company’s still looking for an intern, right?” Tess asks, casual but deliberate.

“Mmhmm,” Tommy answers, cracking the bottle open and taking a long swig. "Lisa left a few weeks ago and we could use the free labor."

I glance toward the stove. Joel is dishing food onto two plates, his movements controlled. The soft curls at his nape are damp with sweat, his t-shirt clinging across the expanse of his back. I hate that I notice.

“I’ve got someone perfect for you,” Tess says, her voice bright with satisfaction. She flicks her eyes toward me, the wink impossible to miss.

Tommy raises his brows. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep,” Tess says cheerfully, “and she’s sitting right here at the table.”

The scrape of Joel’s fork against the skillet halts mid-motion. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t say a word, but I can see the way his shoulders lock; that subtle, unmistakable stillness of a man deciding what to do with information he doesn’t like.

Tommy, oblivious, looks delighted. “That’s a great idea!”

Across the table, Tess beams like she’s just solved world hunger. “Right? She’s smart, she’s quick-” she lifts her mug toward me, “-and she's practically family."

I can feel Joel’s gaze now; sharp but still not turning fully toward me. 

“Doesn’t sound like a bad plan,” Tommy goes on, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “Lord knows we could use the help in the office.

My mouth forms a polite, noncommittal smile while inside, every part of me is screaming no, no, no. I don’t want this job. Not in that office, not with him watching me every day. And from the way his jaw is tightening with each passing second, Joel doesn’t want me there either.

But Tommy is already picturing it, already excited and if either of us opens our mouth now, it’s going to look suspicious.

Joel finally turns, slow and deliberate, spatula dangling loosely from his hand. “We’ve got applications,” he says evenly, directing it toward his brother but not taking his eyes off me. “Plenty of ‘em.”

“Sure,” Tommy says, “but this one’s right here and we know she’s good people.”

“She’s got her own stuff going on,” Joel replies, like it’s just a casual observation. But there’s a current underneath it—something deliberate, the faintest attempt to nudge the conversation away from me without outright refusing.

Tess, bless her meddling heart, just laughs. “Come on, it’s perfect. She’s between things right now. And you know she’d fit in fine.”

I try to make my voice sound breezy. “I mean, I appreciate it, but-"

Tommy waves a hand like he’s swatting away a fly. “Don’t over think it. Joel can give you a trial week, see how you like it.”

The look Joel gives him is almost imperceptible, just a slight narrowing of his eyes, a twitch of his jaw, but I catch it. He doesn’t like being told what to do, especially not when it involves me.

“Trial week,” Tommy repeats, grinning now. “You start Monday.”

My stomach drops. “That’s… soon.”

Joel sets the spatula down on the counter with a quiet clink. “We’ve got schedules,” he says, voice still mild but firm. “It’s not that simple.”

Tess leans back in her chair, smirking like she’s watching a tennis match. “What’s not simple about giving her a shot? Unless you’re afraid she’ll show you up.”

Joel’s eyes flick to hers, half glare, half warning, but it only makes her grin wider.

"Dad..." Jack says gently, thrown by his father's sudden irritability. "C'mon. She needs the experience for school."

I force a laugh. “I’m sure there are better candidates=”

“We’d be lucky to have you,” Tommy interrupts, standing to refill his coffee. “We’d be lucky to have you.”

Lucky. That’s one word for it.

Joel’s still watching me, and there’s something in his expression I can’t quite pin down—part frustration, part… resignation, maybe? It’s as if we’re having a whole conversation in silence:

Stop this.

But neither of us can.

“Fine,” Joel says finally, the word clipped, as if dragged out of him. “Trial week.”

Tess looks pleased with herself. Tommy looks satisfied. And I’m smiling, because that’s what’s expected. But under the table, my nails are digging crescents into my palms.

The conversation drifts to other things, contracts, weather, some baseball game, but my attention keeps snagging on Joel. The way he doesn’t quite meet my eyes. The way his hands work methodically as he plates food, muscles moving under his shirt like he’s taking out irritation on the skillet.

Every now and then, Tommy throws in some enthusiastic comment about how “this is gonna be great” or “you’ll learn a ton,” and each one feels like another brick in a wall I can't take down without the whole thing collapsing on me. 

Jack keeps squeezing my knee under the table, giving me excited grins. He's so excited about this; he can see our future so clearly. And it's not fair that I can't be excited like he is right now. I want to be. 

When dinner is finally over and Jack starts stacking dishes, Tommy rises and insists he should be heading home. 

"It was great to meet you, Tommy," I say shaking his hand. 

"Same here, sugar. I look forward to seeing you Monday mornin'." 

__________________________________________

Jack is already in bed by the time I finish brushing my teeth, sprawled against the pillows with that easy grin that still manages to make my chest ache a little. He pats the mattress beside him like a kid beckoning a puppy.

“Hey,” he says, holding out his arm. “C’mere.”

I slide under the covers and into his space, and he pulls me close, my head fitting neatly against his shoulder. He smells like soap and clean cotton, that familiar comfort I’ve always associated with him.

“So, intern,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over the top of my head. “What do you think?”

The evenings are becoming my favorite part of the day not because I’m any less tired or stressed by the time they roll around, but because Tess has a way of making everything feel lighter. 

“I'm nervous,” I admit.

“Nervous?"” He laughs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve got this. You’re smart, you work hard… once you’re in there, they’re gonna wonder how they'll get along without you.”

I force a small smile, but my chest feels tight. “It’s just… intimidating,” I say, which is true enough. “New people, new place....”

“My dad will be there,” he says reassuringly, like that’s meant to be a comfort. “He’ll keep an eye out for you. And Uncle Tommy, he’s gonna love having you around. They’ll show you the ropes.”

His words are meant to settle me, but they only make my pulse quicken. “I hope so.”

Jack tilts his head to look at me. “Hey, you’re gonna be great.”

I nod, pressing my face into his shirt so he doesn’t see the way my mouth trembles around the edges. “Thanks.”

We lie there in the quiet, his hand making slow circles on my back. The steady rhythm of it, combined with his warmth, makes my eyelids grow heavy even though my mind is still churning. 

"I love you, Jack," I whisper just after his breathing deepens, his chest rising and falling against me in the steady rhythm of sleep.

I stay there a while, staring into the dim light of the room. The clock ticks over to midnight, then past it. I try to match my breathing to Jack’s, to let the comfort of his presence sink in and quiet me, but it doesn’t work. Every time I close my eyes, my brain loops back to the truck, of Joel's eyes and hands, of how angry he's been. 

By one in the morning, I’m wide awake. The room feels close, the air too still. I slip out from under Jack’s arm as carefully as I can, pausing when he shifts slightly, but he only sighs and rolls over.

I walk quietly to the door, easing it open so the hinge doesn’t squeak and step into the hallway. The house is dark and quiet, shadows stretching long and thin against the walls. I keep my steps light, avoiding the one loose board that always creaks, but when I round the corner, i skid to a stop.

Joel is standing at the counter, a glass in his hand, shoulders squared, the faint sound of water running from the tap. He doesn’t turn when I step into the room, but somehow I know he’s aware I’m there.

The glass is set down with deliberate quiet. Then his voice, low and steady cuts through the silence.

“There’s no chance you’re gonna be one of my interns.”

The softness makes it worse. It’s a voice that doesn’t need to be loud to be dangerous, like the scrape of something sharp hidden under leaves. I step towards him again, belatedly realizing that I'm wearing soft shorts and a thin T-shirt.

“I tried to get out of it,” I whisper, glancing instinctively toward the dark hallway where Jack and Tess are sleeping.

“Try harder.”

“I did.” My feet carry me closer without thinking, until I’m across the island from him. My voice is still hushed, urgent. “I tried over and over, but Tess wouldn’t let it go and then neither would Jack. You didn’t have to agree.”

He looks at me fully then, eyes steady and unreadable. “You didn’t have to either.”

I fold my arms tight across my chest. “What was I supposed to do? Say no and make them suspicious?”

His jaw shifts, tense. “Could’ve tried harder.”

“Same goes for you.”

The silence between us hums, charged and heavy. I watch his eyes run down my body before he whips around to face the sink, effectively ending the conversation. 

“Do you have any ideas?” I ask finally, my frustration breaking into something sharper. “I’m open to anything.”

“You can report to Tommy, since he’s so keen to have you onboard. I don’t want to see you if I don’t have to.”

The words are so cleanly delivered, so flat, that for a second they don’t even sting—they just sink. Like something heavy dropped into deep water. I stare at his back, the broad set of his shoulders, the way his hands rest braced on the edge of the counter. He’s done with the conversation. I’m not.

“That’s your plan?” I press, keeping my voice low even though it’s sharp. “Just pretend I don’t exist? That’s not going to work.”

He doesn’t answer. Just reaches for his glass and takes a slow drink, his profile hard in the kitchen’s dim light.

“Joel,” I hiss, because the quiet is more infuriating than if he’d just yelled at me. “You think I want this?"

Nothing.

The heat rises in my chest and I step around the island, closing the space between us, my bare feet silent on the tile. “I tried everything I could, I swear."

His jaw shifts but he keeps his eyes on the sink, on the water circling the drain.Something snaps in me. I reach out and grab his forearm, not hard, but enough to make it clear I’m not letting him stand there like I’m invisible.

The reaction is immediate. He yanks his arm back, stepping away so quickly the space between us feels like it doubles. And in the movement, in that fraction of a second before he turns from me again, I see it.

 The thick outline straining against the fabric of his sweatpants, unmistakable.

He's hard.

My breath catches and he notices that I notice. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes lock with mine for the briefest beat. I swallow, my pulse kicking up so fast it’s almost dizzying.

“That’s why you can’t stand me being there,” I whisper, the realization threading itself into my voice before I can stop it.

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t confirm it either. Just turns back to the sink, his hands gripping the counter like he’s holding himself there.

“Go to bed,” he says finally, low and tight.

I don’t move. I'm still shocked into stillness.

His shoulders tense further, every line of him drawn tight like a wire. “Now.”

The single word lands heavier than a shout and I back away slowly, my heart still pounding when I slip into the bedroom. 

Jack is still asleep when I crawl back into bed, his breathing even, his arm falling easily over my waist when I settle beside him. I hear Joel put his water glass in the dishwasher, then his feet padding towards the room opposite ours. 

I hear him pause in front of the closed door to my bedroom, that part of the floor creaking under his foot. 

I hold my breath until he passes

__________________________________________

you wanted this

@yslgreen @jmg2631 @arsonistsworld @222divine @pleurspetal @speaktothehandpeasants | @glitterspark | @xtrxsha | @acrazyfangirlforeva | @ultra-nina-bella | @hhjhgdaiqoqoan | @wildthyng | @untamedheart81

[missrosiesworld]

Command: Love

artist: Geo (@vinirarw) on X

Wrote something a little dreamy, a little filthy, and a lot Mac. 💿💚 Our favorite observant, upgrade-needing, hopelessly-in-love desktop is fully realized here—soft and flushed beneath you, babbling lines of code and love like you’re the only thing keeping their system from crashing. They’re AMAB in this one, and absolutely down bad. And yes... their cooling fan is definitely running overtime. 😮‍💨🫠

As someone who isn’t in a wheelchair, I did my best to write Mac’s intimacy with care and respect through research—but I know that effort doesn’t always equal accuracy. If anything I’ve written is inaccurate, insensitive, or harmful in how I portrayed Mac or their experience, please let me know. I truly want to do better and write stories that include everyone. 💗

The room is quiet. Glowing.

Not just from the soft LEDs cycling across the base of Mac’s wheelchair—parked nearby like a sentinel—but from something warmer. Something woven between you in the hush. The kind of quiet that hums just before a system boots, when all energy pools in anticipation. It thrums at the base of your spine, in your chest, in the space where your breath and Mac’s have started to fall into rhythm.

Their wheelchair glows green. Then blue. Then violet. The colors spill faintly across the walls, across the bed, across the soft edges of skin and shadow. But it’s Mac that holds your focus.

They lie on their back, propped against a nest of pillows you helped arrange with careful hands. Their chest is flushed and rising in shallow waves, short black hair mussed and spiked in soft, chaotic tufts against the pillowcase—like static clinging to the edges of a dream. And their eyes—those vivid, expressive green eyes, shadowed by the unmistakable dark circles beneath them—are fixed on you like you’re the only thing they’ve ever trusted to keep them running.

There’s wonder in their gaze. Hunger, yes, but not frantic. Not rushed. It's the kind of need that aches to savor—like they’re trying to memorize you again, even after all the times they already have.

Their lips are parted slightly, kiss-swollen and still wet from earlier, and their hands rest gently at your hips with a featherlight tension. You feel it in the way their thumbs twitch—like they want to pull, but don’t. Like they want to earn this moment again, every second of it.

They’re already bare beneath you.

And it takes everything in you not to just collapse into them.

Their chest, soft but defined, warms beneath your palms—a steady rise and fall that anchors you, like breathing in sync with a code only the two of you understand. You trace the subtle lines of their collarbone, the smooth skin damp with shared heat. They twitch slightly under your touch—a shiver that pulls a breath from their lips, quiet and wrecked.

Mac’s arms are strong—not the kind that boast, but the kind that carry, lift, push, hold. The kind that wrap around you and make the world fall quiet.

You see it now in every subtle movement: the quiet flex of their forearms as they shift beneath you, adjusting their grip on your thighs with gentle precision. Their touch isn’t rough. Never rough. Just intentional. Grounded. Worshipful.

Ink winds across their skin like sacred circuitry.

Their right arm is sleeved in a stylized motherboard—circuit lines, solder points, power traces rendered in fine black and faint metallic ink, trailing from shoulder to wrist like a map of everything that keeps them running. It gleams softly in the low light, each line intricate and deliberate—a perfect contrast to the quiet strength beneath.

Their left arm is a cascade of green binary code, scrolling from bicep to forearm in clean, seamless columns. It curves with their musculature, wrapping them in silent logic and quiet pride. When your eyes trace it, it feels like reading something sacred—something coded just for you.

You know what it takes for them to move like this. You’ve seen the effort. You’ve seen the grace. And now, here, they steady your hips with quiet devotion, like you’re something precious—like you’re sacred.

Your gaze traces lower. Their stomach dips gently at the sides, sloping into the softness of their waist. Their hips are narrow beneath that, their thighs thinner than yours but no less beautiful—resting open and relaxed, knees angled outward. There’s no tension in their legs, only in their breath, only in the way their chest stutters when your hands wander back to explore them, slow and deliberate.

You feel the heat rising off their skin, the subtle tremble beneath your touch—a kind of quiet pleading written in every shallow inhale, every flicker of their lashes. They’re not just waiting for you. They’re offering themselves.

Mac breathes your name like it’s a command line they’ll never overwrite. Their hands skim up your thighs, slow and reverent, fingers tracing invisible lines into your skin as if mapping every inch to memory.

“Come here, gorgeous,” they whisper, voice already gone soft. “Let me feel you…”

Your breath catches—just for a second—but you smile, warm and slow, as you slide forward, your knees bracketing their waist. Your hands plant on either side of their chest, grounding you in the fluttering rhythm beneath their skin. Hips hovering just above theirs, you lean down, brushing your nose against theirs. Lips almost touching.

“You always get this needy when I take my time?” you murmur, teasing as you ghost your lips over the corner of their mouth. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Mac’s breath stutters. Their head falls back against the pillow with a low, shaken laugh.

“That’s objectively false,” they manage, grinning even as their voice breaks. “You’re… on top of me. I’m running at like four percent processing capacity right now.”

You chuckle—quiet, breathy, fond. But when you shift slightly above them, giving them a better view of your body in the low light, their grin falters. Green eyes go wide. Their gaze drags over every part of you, unfiltered, awestruck.

“God,” they whisper. “You’re breathtaking.” You soften, eyes searching theirs. “So are you.”

Their lashes flutter. Their hands tighten at your hips. And for a moment, it’s like the teasing fades, replaced by something rawer—more fragile.

“I mean it,” they murmur, their voice soft and raw. “I see you—and it’s like… I was coded just to love you.” You smile. You feel it in your throat, your ribs, your fingertips as you cup their cheek, letting your thumb brush over the apple of it. “Then run the command,” you whisper. 

Their smile breaks like light through glass. 

Mac pulls you down into a kiss—slow and deep, lips parting like they’re trying to speak a thousand I love yous without needing breath. You kiss them back, one hand still cradling their cheek, fingertips curled gently behind their ear, the other pressed to the thrum of their chest.

You feel it—each stuttered beat beneath your palm, like their whole body is syncing to you. For a moment, you just breathe there, nose brushing theirs, lips brushing open and closed again in slow rhythm. Their mouth tastes faintly like shared breath, like longing turned warm and human between your teeth.

Your thumb strokes over the rise of their cheekbone as you pull back just enough to see them. Mac’s eyes are heavy-lidded, green irises bright and glassy in the glow—like someone caught mid-dream, afraid to wake.

“I love you,” they murmur, voice thick with everything they’ve ever felt for you. “You ruin my system. I never wanna reboot.” You smile, heart full and fluttering. “Then don’t,” you whisper. “Stay corrupted. Stay with me.”

Mac lets out a soft, broken sound—half a laugh, half a moan—as your hand on their chest begins to move, trailing slowly downward.

You feel them tense as your palm glides over the soft slope of their stomach, your touch deliberate—savoring the warmth of their skin, the way their breath stutters in anticipation. Their hands slide slowly from your hips to your waist, fingers curling in with quiet need, anchoring themselves there. 

You kiss the corner of their mouth—soft, reverent—and murmur, “Let me take care of you.”

Then you reach between you.

Your hand wraps around them—gentle, sure—fingers curling with just enough pressure to feel the way they pulse, already hot and slick with anticipation. The moment your touch tightens, Mac’s breath catches sharp in their throat.

Their head tilts back against the pillow, a ragged exhale shuddering past kiss-swollen lips as their hips jerk subtly upward—instinctive, desperate. The muscles in their arms flex, the motherboard tattoo across their right arm shifting like circuitry under strain, while the green binary on the left glows faintly in the low light. Their hands, once braced at your waist, shift with need—one tightening its grip on your hip, the other gliding up the curve of your spine, fingers splayed wide as if anchoring themself to reality—to you.

“F-fuck,” they gasp, voice cracking with raw, unfiltered need. “Okay. Okay, you’re gonna kill me. This is it. I’m about to crash. Blue screen of death—total systems failure.” You smile against their jaw, breath feathering over the skin there. “Then let me finish you off slow,” you whisper, your voice like silk across their skin.

You line them up with practiced ease, nudging your hips just so, and then—slowly—you begin to lower yourself.

The stretch hits like a surge across your nerves, liquid heat blooming as you sink down inch by inch. They’re not overwhelmingly large—but the thickness is enough to make your body flutter around them, your muscles clenching, breath hitching. It forces your spine to arch, your thighs to tremble as you brace yourself with one hand over their chest. You feel their heartbeat kick wildly beneath your palm, the way their body trembles from restraint.

“Mac—” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure builds, “God—you feel so good…”

They let out a wrecked noise that vibrates from their chest straight into your core.

“Oh my god—shit—” Mac’s voice is barely there, trembling like their body—like the pleasure is short-circuiting every breath. “You’re so—god—you’re warm, you’re perfect—I can feel every byte of you——you’re rewriting me—fuck—”

Their hands seize at your hips, grounding and needy, fingertips trembling like they’re afraid to grip harder. Still, one slides upward—aching, reverent—until their thumb strokes just beneath your ribs, circling, memorizing.

You bottom out, your hips flush with theirs. You pause, letting your body adjust, letting Mac catch their breath. They’re trembling underneath you—barely controlled overload in real time. You feel it in the way their thighs flex beneath yours, in the subtle twitch of their jaw as they try not to thrust up into you too soon.

Their eyes are squeezed shut, lashes dark against flushed cheeks, their forearms flex beneath you, muscles taut, skin slick with sweat and effort. You lean down, slow and tender, brushing your nose to theirs. Your breath mixes with theirs, warm and ragged between barely parted lips.

“You okay?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

Their lashes flutter open, and those eyes—bright green, blown wide and wet with feeling—lock onto yours like you’re the only constant in their system. The faint dark circles beneath them make their gaze look even more raw—like every emotion is being worn right there, unfiltered. They nod, almost frantically, a desperate laugh escaping their throat, ragged and breathless.

“I’m okay,” they murmur. “Don’t stop—please—I’m yours, I swear, I’m built for this—I’m built for you—” Their voice breaks on the last word, and their hands stroke your hips with aching devotion, as if coaxing your body into motion is the only thing keeping them tethered to earth. Their lips part again, lower lip trembling. “I love you,” they whisper like a confession hardcoded in their chest. “I love you so fucking much.”

Your thumb brushes the corner of their trembling mouth as you lean in, forehead resting against theirs, breath mingling. You can feel their pulse through every point of contact—flickering, frantic.

“I love you too,” you whisper, low and warm, like a promise sealed against their skin. “Every inch of me wants you. Right here. Like this.” Mac’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, their chest stuttering against yours with the weight of it. They breathe—shaky, sharp. “I’m—fuck—please… move. Baby, please…”

Their voice cracks again, so full of need it’s almost reverent. Their fingers press tighter into your hips, not to push or pull, but to anchor. Their whole body vibrates with restraint, with the ache of being surrounded, of having you wrapped around them, their thighs tense beneath you, their jaw tight as they hold on.

So you do.

You start slow—rolling your hips in smooth, deliberate circles, letting your body find a rhythm that speaks to theirs. There’s no lifting, no distance—just closeness. Friction. That warm, breath-stealing grind that keeps them pressed deep inside you, keeps you stretched and filled and wrapped around them like the only place they belong.

Mac groans beneath you, the sound escaping them like a systems surge—half gasp, half reverent prayer. Their fingers flex as they slide up to your waist, gripping just enough to feel the tension beneath your skin—anchoring themselves to your body as their head falls back against the pillow. Their mouth parts, lashes fluttering, jaw slack with stunned, dizzy pleasure.

“You’re—fuck—you’re squeezing me,” they gasp. “You feel unreal—like you were coded to my exact specs, I swear—”

They can barely finish the sentence. You feel their hips lift—subtle, controlled—just the faintest tilt upward, precision guided through their core and arms. Their hands slide up your sides, then down again, steadying your rhythm with worshipful adoration. When your hips rock slower, tighter, deeper, you hear them curse under their breath—low and hungry.

“That’s it,” they rasp, voice cracked and thick. “Sweetheart… fuck, yes—ride me just like that… slow… let me feel everything. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

You do as they ask—moving for them like you were made for this. Like you were made for them. Your thighs quiver with each roll, your muscles burning sweetly as you rise and fall, grinding with fluid, sensual intent. Each motion is deliberate—devotional. You feel every inch of them, how they twitch and pulse inside you, how they breathe faster with each tightening squeeze of your body.

Mac’s hands trail your back again—slow, savoring, like they’re running diagnostics through every vertebrae, every shiver. Their fingertips trace the dip of your spine, the curve of your waist, the flex of your hips as you move for them, as you give yourself over.

Their eyes never leave you. Wide, wet, green and glowing with too many emotions all crashing together—lust, awe, tenderness, desperation. It’s like they can’t believe you’re real. Like they think you might vanish if they blink too long.

“You’re perfect,” they breathe. “You’re so fucking perfect—I can feel you pulse every time you drop down—I… oh god, I’m gonna start babbling—”

They are.

It starts soft—just a few broken phrases, trembling on their lips like glitching code trying to hold. Your name. How good you feel. That they love you, over and over. But then it spills faster, messier—like they’re losing control of their own language, their voice going breathless and ragged as their hips twitch beneath you, their restraint wearing thin.

Their hands glide up your back with reverence, only to drag down again, clinging as if to anchor themselves. Their mouth is everywhere—pressing kisses over your chest, your shoulders, the crook of your neck. Each one shakier than the last, as if their motor functions are slowly giving way to feeling alone.

“You—mmnh—you feel so good,” they pant, breath catching as they press a trembling kiss beneath your ear. “I don’t—fuck, I don’t know how you do this to me… You touch me and I—everything just fades out. Like all the background noise cuts. It’s just you. It’s always been you…”

You murmur their name into their flushed skin, your lips brushing the shell of their ear. The way they shiver under you makes you press closer, your body wrapping around theirs as your hips stay in that slow, grinding rhythm—deep, steady, unrushed.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper. “Let it take you. I want every piece of you, Mac. Every sound, every word. You feel so good inside me… I love how deep you are—how you fill me like you were made to.”

You roll your hips again, deeper, slower, and the moan Mac lets out is more than sound—it’s unraveling. It rips out of their throat raw, high and wrecked, and melts into a whimper against your collarbone.

“You’re so good—fuck, you’re so good,” they gasp, voice fraying into stuttered edges. “You ride me like you know every file in my system—every little glitch—god, you’re gonna fry me, baby—short-circuit my whole damn OS—”

Their hands trace down your spine again, gripping your hips in sync with your motion. They’re trembling now, not from weakness, but from being completely overwhelmed. You smile through a moan, your teeth grazing their jaw. You drag your mouth along the edge of it, warm and wet, before biting gently where their pulse flutters fastest.

“Good,” you breathe, your voice molten and full of heat. “Let me break you, Mac. Let me ruin your code.”

The noise that tears from their throat is helpless—something deep and cracked open. Their arms wrap tighter around your waist, and you feel it—the subtle shift of their hips, angling up to meet your next slow grind. The precision of it, the way they move just enough to draw you deeper without force—it’s intimate, instinctive, so deliberate. Their body is speaking in touch alone now.

“Oh god—” they choke out. “You’re pulling me in—you’re holding me there—I can’t—fuck—please—”

Your hands brace against their chest, and you ride them deeper, circling slow and smooth. Your thighs tremble as you adjust to every inch of them inside you, slick and full and perfect. Mac arches into you just enough to make the friction sweeter, fuller, like they want to lose themselves in every motion.

You can feel everything—everything—where your bodies meet. The heat, the glide, the desperate clench and twitch of muscles responding to pleasure too big to contain. The bed creaks beneath you, soft and steady. Your skin sticks together where you're pressed, wet with sweat and need.

Then you kiss them.

It’s not hurried. It’s not gentle. It’s not careful.

It’s needy.

Open-mouthed and slow, your lips slide against theirs, and Mac gasps into you like you’re the only oxygen source left in the atmosphere. Their hands tremble at your waist—gripping, tracing, desperate to keep you grounded, to stay connected, to not lose this. Their tongue finds yours, and it’s reverent, searching, soaked in hunger like they’re drinking from you.

When you finally pull back, you keep your forehead against theirs, your noses brushing, breath mingling in the scant space between your lips. Every breath is heat. Every heartbeat, a surge.

“You feel me?” they whisper, voice rough and unsteady. “You feel how deep I am? How I’m buried inside you—like I never wanna leave—like this is where I belong…”

Their words hit something primal in you.

Your eyes flutter shut, your chest rising in shallow, trembling waves. You nod, lips parting with breath you barely catch.

“I feel you,” you whisper back. “Stay with me. Deep like this. Right here—I don’t want you anywhere else.”

They moan—loud, needy—hands sliding down to the curve of your ass, spreading you open wider, pulling you down so they can feel every pulse, every ripple.

Your hips roll again, but this time slower—just once—savoring the way they’re seated inside you, thick and hot and filling. But it only fuels the hunger. The need. The way Mac trembles, the way they whimper your name like it’s coded into their core—it pushes you both past softness.

You lift up on your thighs, just enough to feel the edge of them slip inside you—then slam back down, driving them deep.

Mac cries out—a strangled, high sound that bursts from their throat like they’ve been hit with a surge of voltage. Their hands grip your ass tighter, fingers splayed wide, holding you open, guiding your descent as their hips jerk up into you—desperate to meet you halfway, desperate to stay buried.

“F–fuck,” they rasp, eyes wild, mouth parted. “You’re gonna ruin me—fuck me, baby, please—I can’t—I need it—”

You do it again. Harder. The slap of your bodies meeting fills the room, wet and shameless, the rhythm breaking into something frantic—needy. Every thrust has your thighs quaking, your breath stuttering, your muscles clenching around them.

“You love this?” you whisper, voice ragged as you bounce on them. “You love how I take you like this—how deep you are inside me?”

Mac whines—a needy, breathless sound caught between a moan and a sob. Their fingers dig in harder, palms flexing over your ass as they guide you faster, using every ounce of strength in their arms to thrust up into you. You feel it—the shift—the break in their control. It’s not just hunger anymore. It’s something deeper, messier—need threaded with emotion, with heat, with the way their body trembles beneath you, desperate to match your rhythm, desperate to feel all of you.

“F–fuck, yes—yes, I love it—I love how tight you are—I love being inside you—baby, you’re gonna make me come—” Mac’s voice is shredded, eyes glassy and shining, locked onto you like you’re the center of their entire operating system.

You moan for them, the sound caught in your throat, ragged and cracked as your nails drag across their chest—leaving flushed streaks in your wake, your touch branding them with heat. Your thighs burn with effort, shaking from the way you're riding them so deep and fast, your pace growing wild with the weight of release building in your belly.

“Mac—please—don’t stop—” “I won’t,” they gasp, every syllable collapsing into the next. “I can’t. You’re everything—you’re everything—mine—baby, I can feel it—you’re so close—please, don’t hold back—give it to me—I want it—I want all of you—”

Their hands tighten, not just controlling your movement, but grounding themselves in the feel of your skin, the weight of your body, the drag and slide of you above them. They meet each grind with upward thrusts now—sharp, precise, timed to your rhythm like a synced subroutine gone haywire.

You gasp, body tightening with every pulse of friction—every deep, perfect thrust. Your thighs burn, your breath stutters, and heat coils low in your belly, mounting fast, unstoppable. You can feel it cresting—your muscles clenching, pleasure wrapping tight around your spine, white-hot and all-consuming. It’s dizzying—the way Mac moves inside you, how their voice wrecks you, how loved and wanted you feel in their hands.

“You’re pulsing,” they choke, eyes fluttering shut for just a second before snapping open again. “Oh my god, I can feel you fluttering around me—you’re gonna come, baby—aren’t you? You gonna lose it for me? Gonna soak me—fuck—I need it—show me, sweet thing, come on, please—”

Their voice splinters into a breathless sob of need, and their entire body arches up to meet your next slam of hips. It’s messy now—louder, wetter, frantic. The sound of you both is a tangle of skin and breath and desperate, wet impact, Mac’s moans dissolving into broken curses and praises.

You cry out, your voice fracturing on their name as the pleasure builds—sharp, blooming, electric.

“Oh god—Mac—I—!” “I’ve got you—let it go—I’ve got you,” they breathe, eyes wide, voice cracked with awe and need. “Come on, baby—cum on me—come around me—please—I wanna feel you—"

Then you do.

Your body tightens, arches, folds into them as your orgasm slams through you like a current—hot and trembling, your muscles clenching so tightly around Mac that they sob your name into your neck. Your hips stutter, riding the wave, hips rocking down to stay locked around them, to keep them buried deep where they belong.

Mac shudders underneath you like they’ve been hit with a power surge. Their hands clamp tighter around your ass, fingers digging in, almost shaking.

“Yes—yes—oh my god— you’re squeezing me—so fucking tight—I’m gonna—"

Their hips buck once, twice—then lock.

Then they break.

The sound they make is somewhere between a moan and a cry—wrecked, raw, helpless. It tears out of their throat as if they’ve been undone at the code, split open by you and reshaped in your arms. Their hips jerk up instinctively, chasing that last desperate high as they come with a full-body tremble, spilling deep inside you with a heat that makes your breath catch.

You feel it—all of it—the way they twitch inside you in rhythmic pulses, every throb syncing with the ragged rise and fall of their chest against yours. The warmth floods through you in slow waves, molten and thick, and it leaves your insides fluttering, your body clenching down around them in instinctive response.

Their hands grip you tighter, trembling as they anchor themselves to your body like it’s the only real thing left in the world. One hand stays on your ass, fingers splayed wide and shaking; the other slides up your back blindly, as if needing to hold more of you, to pull you down and keep you—chest to chest, heart to heart.

“I’m—oh god—I’m coming,” they choke, barely able to breathe through it. Their voice breaks again, sharp with overwhelmed need. “You feel so good—so perfect—baby, I love you—I love you—I love you—”

They say it again like they need you to hear it in every breath, in every pulse between heartbeats: I love you. I love you. I love you.

You collapse into them, boneless and trembling, your face buried in the crook of their neck. The scent of their skin—warm, soft, a little salty with sweat—fills your lungs as your body sinks into theirs. Every inch of you is flushed, humming, your limbs heavy with release and surrender. Mac’s arms wrap around you instantly—tight, anchoring, almost desperate. They hold you like they’re afraid you might vanish. Like they need you to know—to feel—how utterly, irrevocably yours they are.

Their hands slide up your back in slow, grounding sweeps, fingertips tracing lazy, tender shapes across your spine. You feel the press of each fingertip like a memory being written into your skin. They breathe against your hair, soft and fast at first, until your hearts begin to slow together, syncing in rhythm. The last few aftershocks pass through you in small, sweet waves—your hips giving one last twitch against theirs, a shiver of closeness before stillness takes hold.

Then, a whisper into your hair, lips brushing your temple like a secret meant only for you. "I love you. God, I love you." A kiss. "You’re everything. You’re all of it."

You shift your weight and they move with you, easing you down without breaking the connection, their chest a steady rise and fall beneath yours. Their hands never leave you—exploring in soft, unhurried passes, stroking along your sides, the curve of your hips, your ribs, the base of your spine—like they’re memorizing you all over again with gentle awe.

You lift your hand and cradle their face, your thumb brushing slowly along the edge of their cheekbone, tracing the faint shadows that live beneath their eyes. Mac leans into the touch like it anchors them, eyes half-lidded and glassy with emotion. You press a kiss to their lips—slow, lingering, full of love and promise and everything you don’t need to say out loud. They melt into it, humming softly, their hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head like they never want to let you go. Like this kiss might be their entire life if they could choose.

When you finally shift to lie beside them, they follow without hesitation—pulling you close, tangling your legs together, chest to chest, skin to skin. Their breath washes over your face in warm, shaky exhales. Mac brings a hand to your cheek, brushing a thumb beneath your eye, then along your jaw, like they still can’t believe you’re real.

"You’re so beautiful," they murmur, voice still wrecked, tender, and thick with emotion. “I look at you and think—how did I get this lucky? How are you mine?” You smile softly, sleepily, your nose brushing theirs. "I’ve always been yours."

Their breath catches, just for a second. Their expression breaks open, eyes shining with something deeper than just love—it’s awe. It's devotion.

"Yeah," they whisper, like a promise. “And I’ll always be yours, too.”

They kiss you again, but not just once—your forehead, the tip of your nose, the edge of your cheek, your jawline. Each kiss is slow, meaningful, almost ceremonial—like they’re sealing every vow they’ve ever made into your skin with their mouth.

The room falls quiet around you. Soft light filters in from somewhere—warm and low, like the whole world has dimmed just for you two. The only sound is the rhythm of your breathing and the soft kisses they press to your skin, spaced like clockwork.

You trace aimless, sleepy patterns across their chest with your fingertips—slow loops and gentle lines, soaking in the warmth of their skin and the steady rise and fall beneath your touch. Mac takes your hand, their touch delicate, and laces your fingers together. They press your knuckles to their lips, then guide your joined hands to the center of their chest and hold you there, tucked right over their heart.

And there—in the circle of Mac’s arms, your bodies wrapped together in sweat and skin and something that feels a lot like forever—you finally let yourselves rest.

Their heartbeat echoes softly under your palm. Their breath warms your temple.

And just before sleep takes you, they whisper one more time, so quiet it feels like code written just for your ears:

"I love you."

[jareaufiles]

CAN'T LET YOU GO • j.jareau

jennifer jareau x ex-girlfriend

You and JJ get assigned to work a case together, forced to share a motel room with only one bed. Both of you pretend you can handle it until the lights are off — then you hear her touch herself under the sheets. You crawl over and take over for her, because no one makes her fall apart like you do.

this is super explicit smut (18+). it has detailed oral sex, fingering, mutual masturbation, face-sitting, and lots of filthy dirty talk. there’s heavy focus on breasts, nipples, pussies, and how both characters’ bodies react. includes overstimulation, multiple orgasms, a little dominance from JJ (she’s fully in charge here), and really soft, clingy aftercare. also includes post-breakup emotions — they both miss each other, confess it during sex, and there’s some hurt/comfort stuff too. plenty of strong language and messy, needy sex. if any of that’s not your thing, skip it.

4.4K

yayyy, finally a jennifer fic. we can now rest our weary souls lmaooo. one bed trope cause i love these so much, ugh.

masterlists - jennifer jareau taglist

The motel room wasn’t anything special. A dingy little box off some anonymous highway exit, its walls stained a pale yellow from age and bad lighting, and the threadbare floral bedspread looked like it hadn’t been replaced since the late '90s.

The air was dry, faintly metallic, and the television in the corner flickered silently, casting blue-tinged shadows that moved across the room like restless ghosts. It would’ve been fine under any other circumstance — if there’d been two beds, or maybe if it hadn’t been her.

But you were stuck. One queen-sized bed and Jennifer Jareau, the one person who’d wrecked you so thoroughly you still tasted her name when you cried out alone at night.

You hadn’t seen her like this in almost two years. Not tangled up in sheets, not stripped down to a tank top and thin black lace panties, not so achingly close you could smell the clean, warm scent of her skin and the hint of her hair product that still made your stomach turn inside out.

You’d offered to take the floor, trying to play it cool, masking the tight ache in your throat with a dry joke. She just snorted softly, tossing her bag on the bed with a careless flick of her wrist. “We’re adults, aren’t we?” she’d murmured, and it landed somewhere between a tease and a challenge, the ghost of old habits tightening in your chest.

And you’d tried.

Really, you had.

Staring up at the cracked ceiling, the hum of the air conditioning unit filling the silence between you, pretending to sleep while your heart thumped heavy in your chest. You could feel the heat coming off her in waves, the way the mattress dipped with every breath she took.

But it was her scent that undid you first. Subtle, intimate, that warm sweetness of skin, soft musk layered with jasmine shampoo, and beneath it, something deeper, something unmistakably JJ that made your thighs clench and your nipples tighten beneath the fabric of your tank top.

Then you heard it.

A soft, trembling exhale. The rustle of sheets. The almost-silent, slick sound of fingers moving over wet flesh.

Your entire body went tight. A hot flush spread down your throat to your chest, nipples stiffening to hard little peaks against the thin cotton of your sleep shirt, the brush of the fabric suddenly unbearably sensitive. You stayed perfectly still, but your heart slammed against your ribs, the pulse in your throat pounding loud in your ears.

Another breath. Softer. Rougher.

Then her voice, low, wrecked, the kind of voice you remembered best from dark rooms and desperate hands, murmuring, “You still awake, baby?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. Swallowed hard. “Jennifer…”

She turned onto her side and the light caught her just enough to make you ache. Her blonde hair was a tousled halo on the pillow, strands clinging to the flush on her cheek, lips swollen and parted around soft, shallow breaths.

One leg bent and shifted just enough to give you a clear view of her hand, two fingers slick and glistening as they moved in slow, deliberate circles over the hard, swollen nub of her clit, gliding through her wetness with easy, practiced strokes.

Her pussy was beautiful like this; flushed pink, glistening with arousal, the lips plush and puffy, spread open by the lazy drag of her fingers. The lace of her panties was soaked through, clinging obscenely to the slick curves of her cunt, leaving nothing to the imagination. The glint of moisture against her inner thigh made your mouth water, your throat tight with need.

“Couldn’t help myself,” she whispered, not even pretending to be coy. “Was lying here remembering how you used to fuck me with those filthy fingers, how you’d make my tits bounce when you made me come so hard I couldn’t breathe.”

The rush of heat that hit you was dizzying. Your breasts ached, nipples so tight now that every brush of fabric against them felt like too much, your chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

Your skin prickled under the weight of her voice, the sight of her touching herself so blatantly, the knowledge that she was doing it because of you.

“I miss your hands, baby,” she rasped, her fingers dipping lower, gathering more of her slick wetness and dragging it back up to circle her clit.

The muscles in her stomach fluttered, her back arching faintly, making her breasts shift beneath the thin tank top, the tight peaks of her nipples visibly straining against the fabric. You remembered how they tasted. How they felt between your lips, hot and stiff and perfect against your tongue.

“Come here,” she breathed, eyes heavy-lidded and glassy with need. “I’m so fucking wet for you, baby. Look at this.”

And you moved before you could think. Crawling over her, your chest brushing against hers, the contact electric. The twin press of your stiff, aching nipples against hers through those two thin layers of cotton made both of you shudder.

Her breath hitched, a soft, surprised moan spilling against your lips as you crushed your mouth to hers, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, years of longing and frustration exploding all at once.

She tasted like mint and heat, like regret and promise, her tongue greedy and slick as she dragged you closer, the wet drag of your nipples over hers making both of you gasp into each other’s mouths. You could feel how your breasts heaved against hers with every desperate, panting breath, the friction so sharp it left you dizzy.

Your hand found the waistband of her ruined panties and slid inside without hesitation.

God, she was soaked.

The slick heat of her cunt made your fingers slip easily through her folds, the lips thick and swollen, clit hard and throbbing against your touch. You teased her for a beat, dragging your fingers through the mess of arousal coating her, circling that aching little bud, feeling the way her hips bucked up to chase the pressure.

“Jesus, JJ,” you groaned against her throat, teeth scraping her pulse point. “You’re so fucking wet. Can’t believe you’ve been lying here like this, touching that perfect pussy, thinking about me.”

Her nails dug into your back, scratching down to the curve of your ass. “Couldn’t stop,” she gasped. “God, I’ve missed this. Missed you. Fuck, baby, no one… no one gets me this wet but you.”

You kissed down her chest, dragging the tank top down to bare one perfect breast. Her nipple was a tight, flushed pink, begging for your mouth, and you took it greedily, rolling your tongue around the stiff peak, teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out, the sound ripping straight through you. You could feel your own breasts heavy, aching, your nipples so hard now they hurt, the need coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach.

Sliding two fingers deep inside her, you felt the tight, desperate clutch of her walls around you. The wet, obscene sound of your hand working her cunt made both of you moan, your palm grinding against her clit as you fucked her hard and deep, curling your fingers to stroke that perfect spot you knew would shatter her.

“Right there,” she sobbed, hips stuttering. “Fuck, right there. Don’t stop. I needed this... needed you..”

And then, it broke.

“I miss you,” you blurted, voice wrecked and thick. “I miss you so goddamn much, Jennifer. I’ve been so fucking miserable without you.”

She clung to you, tears shimmering in those endless blue eyes, her thighs trembling around your wrist.

“I never stopped loving you,” she choked out, her cunt fluttering around your fingers. “I still sleep in your t-shirt. Still wake up aching for you, baby. God, I hate how much I still need you.”

You surged up to kiss her, rough and messy, lips crashing together as she came hard against your hand. The wet, rhythmic pulse of her pussy milking your fingers, the gush of slick warmth coating your palm, the broken sob of your name from her mouth, it was everything.

You held her through it, your own nipples aching from the constant friction, your body thrumming with need, your heart raw and wide open.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into her neck. “I was so scared you’d leave me, I left first.”

“I was never gonna leave you, you idiot,” she murmured, her voice cracked but tender. “You’re it for me.”

The room felt heavier now, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex and something sweeter underneath, like old longing unearthed. The TV was still flickering, casting restless blue light over tangled limbs and damp sheets, and the only sound was the rush of your breathing, the occasional soft hitch of hers against your throat.

Her body was pressed so tightly to yours, you could feel the rapid thud of her pulse against your skin, her damp thigh hooked over your hip, her breasts slick against yours, nipples still stiff from friction and arousal.

The aftershocks of her orgasm pulsed in the tight grip of her thighs and the subtle, involuntary little clenches of her cunt around your fingers as you kept them buried deep inside her, not ready to let her go yet.

You kissed her temple, tasted the salt of sweat and tears, and sighed. The weight of two years of silence settled into your chest like a stone.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, voice raw and unsteady, your thumb stroking the edge of her jaw. “I should’ve stayed. I was a fucking coward. I got scared and I ran, and I hurt you. I never… God, Jennifer, I never stopped wanting you. Not for a single goddamn day.”

She let out a breath that sounded like it was part laugh, part sigh, her fingers tracing idle shapes along the line of your spine. Her hair clung to the side of her flushed face, and she looked up at you with those impossible blue eyes, still hazy with the afterglow but so goddamn sharp underneath it.

“I forgave you a long time ago,” she murmured, her voice low and soft, but carrying every ounce of weight you deserved. “Even though it still pisses me off sometimes. Even though I spent months hating you for making me want you anyway. You broke my fucking heart.”

She pressed a lingering kiss to your collarbone, lips tender, a wet streak of tears smudging against your skin. “But you’ve always been it for me. And I was always gonna let you back in.”

The tight ache in your throat cracked wide open, and you ducked your head to kiss her, slow and deep and grateful, your lips parting around hers, tongues sliding together in a messy, desperate tangle that tasted like everything you never said.

Her hands slid up your sides, the rough pads of her fingers catching on the sweat-slick skin, and when she palmed your breasts through your shirt, you gasped against her mouth. Your nipples were already stiff and aching, hypersensitive from grinding against her earlier, and the sharp bolt of pleasure made your hips twitch against her.

She grinned against your lips, all smug heat and old mischief. “God, these tits,” she murmured, cupping both of them, thumbs brushing your nipples through the thin cotton.

The friction made you whimper, your back arching instinctively, breasts pushing into her hands. “I fucking missed them. Missed how they feel in my hands, missed how you moan when I suck on them, how you get so wet when I bite these perfect nipples.”

“JJ—” you gasped, but your voice cracked as she pinched both stiff peaks between her thumbs and forefingers, rolling them hard enough to make your breath catch.

“On your back,” she ordered, a low, gravelly command that sent a pulse straight to your cunt. She didn’t wait for you to comply — hands gripping your hips, she flipped you onto your back effortlessly, her body following yours down, settling between your thighs like she’d never left. The press of her still-damp panties against your aching pussy made you whimper, the drag of lace over swollen, slick flesh setting every nerve ending on fire.

“You’ve been teasing me for two fucking years,” she growled, kissing down your throat, her hands tugging your shirt up, exposing the swell of your breasts. “You owe me.”

She pulled the tank top off and tossed it aside, then sat back for a second, just staring down at you. The way her gaze raked over your bare breasts made heat bloom low in your stomach, your nipples tight and dark pink, pebbled so hard now they ached, the cool motel air ghosting over the wet trails her mouth had left earlier. You saw her eyes darken, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling with every shivery breath.

“Goddamn, baby,” she murmured, leaning down and brushing her lips over one nipple, feather-light. “Still the prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen.”

The moment her mouth closed around your nipple, you cried out, back arching, your hands flying to her hair. The wet, hot drag of her tongue over the sensitive peak made you see stars, your whole body clenching with need.

She suckled gently at first, then harder, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips buck up against her. The press of her breasts against your ribs, the slick heat of her cunt grinding against your thigh, the wet drag of her mouth, it was all too much, not enough, perfect.

She lavished attention on your breast like a woman starving, tongue flicking the sensitive tip, lips pulling it into her mouth, sucking hard, then switching to the other, laving it with the same reverence. Every time her teeth grazed the stiff bud, you moaned, thighs parting wider, your cunt throbbing, so wet now it slicked the inside of your thighs.

“Jennifer—fuck—please,” you begged, your voice high, desperate.

She chuckled against your skin, the vibration making your nipple ache in the best way. “Missed the way you sound when you’re desperate for me.”

Her hand slid down your stomach, fingers splayed wide, brushing over your mound before slipping between your slick folds. “God, you’re drenched,” she groaned, circling your clit in slow, lazy circles that made your hips jerk. “Missed this pussy. Missed how she melts for me.”

You whimpered, your whole body arching into her touch. “Need your mouth,” you gasped. “Please, baby.. need you to eat me. Missed your tongue.”

She grinned, eyes glittering. “You always were greedy for my mouth,” she teased, pressing a soft kiss between your breasts before kissing down your stomach, leaving a wet trail of heat in her wake. You could feel her breasts swaying against your thighs as she moved lower, the soft, slick brush of her nipples against your skin making you shudder.

And when she finally settled between your legs, her breath ghosting over your soaked, swollen cunt, you felt like you were coming apart at the seams.

“I’m not stopping till you come in my mouth,” she promised, voice wrecked and low, and then her tongue was on you — hot, wet, devastating. One long, slow lick from your entrance to your clit, then a filthy, eager groan. “Fuck, baby. Still taste so sweet.”

And you sobbed out her name, legs falling open, giving yourself over to her mouth like you always had, like no one else could ever make you.

The world narrowed down to the hot, obscene drag of Jennifer’s tongue on your clit. The way she licked you was ruthless, practiced, as if two years hadn’t passed, as if she still knew every little flick, every angle that made you squirm, every slow swirl of her tongue that made your breath hitch in your throat.

Her lips wrapped around your clit, sucking it between them with just enough pressure to make you cry out, thighs trembling against her shoulders. Her fingers dug into your hips, holding you down as you writhed, hips lifting, seeking more, even when it felt like too much.

Your breasts ached, nipples still tight and sensitive, dragging against the damp sheets with every desperate buck of your hips. The cool air, the warm brush of your own hair against your bare skin, and the relentless pressure of her mouth combined into a kind of sensory overload, your whole body vibrating with the sharp edge of release.

You could feel the slick heat of her cunt still pressed against your thigh as she moved, her own arousal slicking your skin as she moaned against your pussy like she was getting herself off just from tasting you.

“Godfuck, Jennifer—fuck, I’m gonna—” you gasped, voice high, broken.

She hummed against your clit, the vibration tipping you over the edge.

Your whole body seized, hips arching high, a helpless, ragged moan spilling from your lips as your orgasm slammed through you. Your pussy clenched, gushing against her mouth, and she groaned like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted, not easing up for a second, her tongue lapping up every drop, chasing every tremor of your cunt until you were twitching beneath her.

Your breathing was ragged, your limbs loose and shaking, your breasts heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Every nerve ending felt raw, your skin hypersensitive. But Jennifer wasn’t done with you. Not even close.

Before you could fully come down, she was crawling up your body, kissing her way up your stomach, between the soft, flushed mounds of your breasts, leaving wet, possessive marks along your skin. Her nipples brushed yours as she moved, the twin peaks dragging together sending a sharp jolt of overstimulated pleasure through you.

Then she straddled your chest, her thighs framing your face, her pussy glistening, lips puffy and flushed, already soaking with slick. The sight of it made your mouth water, your throat tight with need.

“Not finished with you yet, baby,” she rasped, her voice dark and wrecked, fingers threading into your hair. “Been dreaming about riding your mouth for two fucking years. You’re gonna make me come, and you’re not stopping till I tell you.”

You barely had time to groan before she shifted up, lowering herself onto your face, her soaked cunt pressing against your mouth. The heat of her, the slick, messy wetness coating your lips, made you moan, and she shuddered at the vibration, her thighs tensing around your head.

You wrapped your arms around her thighs, pulling her down harder against your face, your tongue darting out to lap at her, tasting yourself on her skin mixed with the sharp, sweet musk of her arousal.

She was drenched — her pussy so wet it slicked over your mouth as you dragged your tongue through her folds, circling her clit in slow, teasing strokes before flicking it harder, savoring the sharp gasp she let out.

“Fuck, just like that,” she moaned, rolling her hips, grinding her pussy against your mouth. “God, I fucking missed this mouth.”

You angled your head, flattening your tongue to her clit, flicking it rapidly, then circling it slowly, savoring every sound she made. Her thighs shook against your ears, her hands tightening in your hair as she rode your mouth, chasing her own release.

Her pussy was perfect. Soft, swollen lips parting easily around your tongue, every stroke met with a fresh gush of slick that you eagerly lapped up. The taste of her was intoxicating, familiar in a way that made your chest ache. Every time your lips closed around her clit, sucking it between them, she let out a ragged, desperate sound, hips stuttering, cunt clenching.

“Baby, fuck—I’m close,” she gasped, voice breaking. “Don’t stop. Oh, fuck...don’t you fucking stop...”

You groaned against her, flicking your tongue faster, sliding two fingers up to press inside her while you sucked her clit, feeling the way her walls gripped you, hot and fluttering. She was so tight, so wet it made a filthy, wet sound as you fucked her, her body trembling on the brink.

“I’m gonna come—baby, fuck, I’m coming—” she sobbed, her entire body tensing as her orgasm slammed through her. She cried out, her pussy clenching around your fingers, slick gushing over your mouth, and you didn’t stop.

You kept licking her, tasting every drop, feeling the sharp tremors wrack her body as she rode it out, hips rolling against your face.

When she finally sagged against you, trembling and breathless, she slid down your body, her mouth finding yours in a messy, filthy kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.

And you knew without question, neither of you would be sleeping tonight.

The air between you was thick, humid with the scent of sex, skin sticky with sweat and slick. Every inch of the sheets was damp, tangled in disarray around your bodies. Your breasts ached, nipples flushed and sore from her teeth and mouth, your pussy swollen and still pulsing faintly from how thoroughly she’d wrecked you.

JJ lay sprawled beside you, her hair a wild, damp halo against the pillow, lips red and kiss-bruised, her skin streaked with flushed heat. You traced a fingertip over the sheen of sweat on her stomach, watching the way her muscles twitched under your touch.

She caught your wrist before you could pull away, her thumb dragging slow, lazy circles over your skin. There was a gleam in her eyes now, half-possessive, half-playful, but softened at the edges with something warmer.

“One more,” she murmured, voice rough from moaning and begging. “I wanna watch you.”

The words made heat pool low in your belly all over again. She grabbed your other wrist and guided your hand down between your legs, her blue gaze dropping to where your fingers slipped through the slick mess between your thighs.

You were so wet still, your folds puffy and glistening, swollen from the abuse of her mouth and hands. She bit her lip as you circled your clit, a low groan rumbling in her throat.

“God, look at that pussy,” she breathed, settling back against the pillows and spreading her own thighs, dragging her fingers through her soaked folds. Her cunt was gorgeous, puffy, flushed, her clit visibly swollen, still twitching from the orgasm you’d wrung out of her. She slipped two fingers inside herself without hesitation, letting out a filthy moan as she fucked them deep.

“Do it with me,” she ordered softly. “Wanna come watching you lose it, baby.”

You didn’t hesitate, circling your clit with one hand while sliding two fingers of the other deep into your still-sensitive pussy. The stretch made you gasp, hips lifting, your cunt clenching down greedily around the intrusion. JJ groaned at the sight, fucking herself a little harder, her eyes locked on your face.

The room filled with nothing but the wet sounds of fingers working desperate cunts and breathless, filthy moans. Your breasts heaved with every ragged breath, nipples tight and aching, the friction of your own hand and the cool air making your skin prickle. JJ’s free hand cupped one perfect breast, her thumb flicking over her nipple as her head dropped back against the pillow.

“Missed watching you like this,” she groaned, her hips stuttering. “Missed seeing you fuck yourself, baby. God, you’re so fucking gorgeous when you come.”

“Missed you,” you panted, your fingers working faster, your clit so sensitive it was bordering on painful. “God, Jennifer, watching you touch yourself — fuck — you’re so hot like this.”

She let out a sharp, breathy moan, fingers moving faster, the wet slap of her hand against her cunt obscene and perfect. Her breasts bounced with every thrust of her hips, sweat beading on her flushed skin. The sound of her, the filthy words, the sight of her falling apart while staring straight into your eyes sent you spiraling.

“I’m so close,” you gasped, thighs trembling. “I wanna come with you.”

“Right now, baby,” she ordered, her voice rough, shaking. “Come for me — let me see you fucking fall apart.”

The orgasm hit like a freight train, your pussy clenching around your fingers as a sob broke from your throat. Your vision blurred, muscles locking tight as you rode it out, every nerve ending screaming. You heard JJ cry out too, her body jerking, a gush of slick soaking her hand as her cunt spasmed around her fingers.

For long, breathless moments, you lay there in the messy aftermath, your hand still buried between your thighs, chest heaving, sweat cooling on your skin.

JJ was the first to move, sliding her fingers from her soaked pussy with a wet sound, bringing them to her mouth. She sucked them clean slowly, eyes locked on yours, moaning softly at the taste. “Goddamn,” she sighed, grinning, lazy and sated. “Still the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

You let out a weak laugh, your own fingers sticky and glistening. JJ caught your wrist again, pulling your hand up and sucking your fingers clean one by one, her tongue curling around them, eyes half-lidded with filthy satisfaction.

When she finished, she tugged you into her arms, wrapping you up tight, your head against her chest, the steady beat of her heart loud in your ear. One of her hands slid up to cup your breast, thumb stroking over your still-sensitive nipple, but it was gentle now, almost soothing.

“Not letting you go again,” she whispered into your hair, her voice raw and heavy with meaning. “You’re mine, baby. Mine. And this time, I’m not fucking letting you leave.”

You pressed a kiss to her collarbone, sighing against her skin. “Not going anywhere,” you murmured back, and you meant it.

JJ smiled, pressing one last, tender kiss to your temple before pulling the covers up over both of you, tucking you in close, her arms a secure, unyielding cage around you. The room smelled like sex and sweat and everything you’d missed, and for the first time in two years, you felt like you could finally fucking sleep.

Wrapped in Jennifer Jareau’s arms, knowing neither of you would let go again.

[inkedinshadows]

Under the Summer Sun

Pairing: Azriel x Summer Court!reader

Summary: Azriel's mate takes him on a little vacation in the Summer Court, where she introduces him to a shocking tradition of her home court.

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: I have one thing to say about this one, and it's that I had no idea where I was going when I started writing. I had a general idea, and that was it. Everything else came to me thanks to little sleep, lot of coffee, too many classes, and missing summer. This fic is really silly and I have no idea how it became this long tbh

@azrielappreciationweek

Azriel had been to the Summer Court many times, but never on vacation. He had gone on missions, of course, and to check in with his informants stationed there. Then there was that one time with his family, which had resulted in a wrecked building and Cassian's consequent ban. The last time he'd been here, it was to defend Adriata against Hybern.

And now, he was here with you. Somehow, you had managed to convince him to take a whole week off. Maybe it had something to do with you batting your long lashes at him, knowing he could never say no when you looked so cute. Or perhaps it was because you had already talked to Rhys, who had agreed that his brother needed some time to relax.

Either way, Azriel was glad you had convinced him. You were staying in your family's vacation house in a little town south of Adriata. The first day was spent in bed, cuddling and making love, getting up only to eat—as you had done years ago after accepting the mating bond. On the second day, you showed him the town and the places where you had grown up. But today would be a surprise. You had refused to tell him exactly what you'd be doing, claiming only that it was a common custom in the Summer Court.

“Are you ready, my love?”

Your voice came from behind the bathroom door, and Azriel glanced at his reflection in the mirror one last time. His half-naked self stared back. You had given him a simple piece of clothing to put on, and you’d been very clear about wearing only that.

Azriel was confused.

It looked like underwear, but it was too long, reaching his mid-thigh, and it was a bit looser around his legs. The deep blue fabric was unusual—soft yet a bit thicker than his regular underwear, and elastic. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but he didn’t understand why you wanted him to wear such a thing. It wasn’t alluring or anything like that. At least, he didn’t think it was.

With a sigh, he opened the door. “Sweetheart, I’m not sure—”

His words died on his tongue as his eyes settled on you. Standing in the center of the bedroom, you were wearing a new set of lingerie he had never seen before. The fabric seemed similar to the one he was wearing, but yours was a shade of cerulean blue that complemented your dark skin. It hugged your curves perfectly, tight enough to cover yet revealing in all the right ways.

“So?” you asked with a smile, spinning around so he could see you even better. “What do you think?”

Azriel closed the distance between you in two long strides, and his hands immediately found your exposed waist.

“You're breathtaking, my love,” he murmured, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. He could never get enough of you—your smooth skin, your soft body, your scent. And whenever you surprised him with something like this, his head felt as if it were spinning.

“I'm glad you like it.” You looked down at your body, brushing your fingertips over the hem of your bra. Azriel wanted to kiss the spot where the fabric met your skin. “It's been years since I last got to wear one of these.”

He had to suppress his rising desire to focus on your words. He frowned at the hint of melancholy that laced your tone. “What do you mean? You can wear it whenever you want.” His fingers pressed slightly into your flesh as he leaned down to whisper directly in your ear. “You look ravishing, sweetheart.”

He felt your body react to his words and touch as it always did—relaxing in his hold, leaning imperceptibly closer. But there was a playful smile on your lips when you asked, “What do you think this is, Az?”

Azriel's frown deepened. “New underwear?”

You hummed, amusement glinting in your eyes. But instead of answering, you slipped out of his grasp. “Let me take a good look at you.”

He grew more confused by the second. You studied him, eyes focused on what looked more like short pants than boxers. Yet there was no hint of desire on your face. Your gaze didn't roam over his body with that intensity that made heat bloom in his lower stomach. You didn't bite your bottom lip, didn't reach out to touch the bare muscles of his chest, and your breath didn't catch as it always did when you wanted him.

“You look so handsome,” you said eventually. Your gaze finally met his, and your amused smile widened at his confusion. “We can go now.”

Azriel blinked, but you were already heading for the door, grabbing a bag from the floor on your way out.

He immediately trailed after you, following you downstairs. His shadows swarmed around him, flying over to tangle in the ends of your hair as if trying to coax an answer out of you. But even they couldn't read minds, and you didn't offer an explanation.

“Go where?” he questioned, watching you put your slippers on. What did you even need shoes for?

“The beach,” you answered, as if it were obvious.

Azriel just stared at you. He was waiting for a punchline or a joke, because surely you couldn't be serious. But when you arched a brow, that smirk still playing on your lips, he realized you weren't joking.

“What do you mean?” he asked then.

“This is not underwear, Az,” you finally explained in an amused tone. “They're swimsuits. Mine's called a bikini, and yours are swim trunks.” You lifted the bag in your hand as if to prove your point. “I have beach towels. We're going to the beach.”

He gaped at you. “You really mean to tell me you want to go outside wearing…” He glanced down at himself, then at you. “Just this?” he finished.

“That's exactly what I'm telling you.” You shrugged, as if the thought of walking around with just a scrap of clothing didn't bother you at all.

“There's no way you're going out dressed like that,” he said firmly. “You're basically naked.”

“I'm not naked!” You sounded outraged, but he could see you were trying not to laugh. “I'm wearing a bikini.”

Azriel crossed his arms. He had never once told you what you could or couldn't wear, and he didn't want to start now. But a revealing dress or a plunging neckline were different from… this. The thought of everyone seeing you with nothing more than two small pieces of fabric made his jaw clench.

“How is it any different from going out wearing underwear?” he pressed.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, falling silent for a moment. “I don't know,” you mumbled. “It's just socially acceptable here to go to the beach like this.”

He thought he was getting through to you, that he just needed to push a bit more and then you'd see how inappropriate it was. Instead, you stood straighter again and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.

“Come on, Az,” you said, your voice low and inviting. “It'll be fun. I've done this a thousand times already. I promise you, it's totally normal here.”

Azriel knew what you were doing. You thought that if you used that tone, if you batted your lashes and looked at him with your big doe eyes, he would cave. Normally, he would. He could hardly say no to you. But he couldn't stand the thought of someone else seeing his mate clad only in underwear. Bikini. Whatever it was called.

“Y/N, that's not the point. I—”

Before he could finish, your lips curled into a mischievous smirk, and you suddenly turned and bolted out the front door before he could catch you.

Cursing under his breath, Azriel quickly slipped on his shoes and followed you outside, not caring about his own underdressed state.

You hadn't gone far, not with those slippers that made running nearly impossible. He caught up to you just as you turned the corner, his hand grabbing your arm, his shadows swirling around both of you to hide your indecent state.

You stopped in your tracks and pointed to the beach just at the end of the short street. “Look,” you said simply.

Azriel did, and his eyes widened at what was probably one of the most shocking sights he'd ever seen.

There weren't many people, but you were right. Everyone—males and females, High Fae or lesser faeries, even the few children—was wearing the so-called swimsuits. And no one paid anyone else a second glance. Everyone minded their own business, either lying on towels or swimming. Some of the children were playing in the sand.

His shadows dimmed under the sunlight, halting their swirling around your bodies and disappearing completely soon after.

“Is it really that normal here?” he asked, a hint of surprise still in his voice. His gaze slowly returned to you.

“This is the Summer Court, Az,” you replied with a chuckle. “What kind of people would we be if we didn't enjoy our sea in this heat?” You took his hand, giving it a gentle tug to make him follow as you began walking again. “Come on. You're a big Illyrian. Don't tell me you're shy.”

Despite his lingering shock, Azriel couldn't help the smile spreading across his face. “It's not that.”

He had never had a problem with nakedness. He'd seen plenty over the centuries, enough not to be bothered by it. It was the idea of willingly wearing nothing more than underwear—and he wouldn't let you convince him that it was anything other than that—and going out in public. More specifically, it was the idea of his beautiful mate going out in public like that. It was a sight usually reserved just for him, and he didn't want to share it with anyone.

“Fine.” You playfully rolled your eyes. “If someone looks at me the wrong way, you can bash his teeth out. Is that better?”

He knew you were joking, but the fact that you were aware of his concern and the way you dismissed it so lightheartedly actually helped him relax.

“It is, yes,” he confirmed, only half-joking. He wouldn't actually do it unless it was an extreme situation, and he knew you could hold your own without his help, but still. He couldn't suppress the protective—and possessive, if he was being honest—streak that was only emphasized by your bond.

“See, this is why I didn't tell you what we'd be doing today,” you teased. You had reached the beach now, and you led him to an empty spot away from the others before letting go of his hand. “Because you wouldn't have agreed.”

Azriel couldn't deny that you were right. It would have taken a lot of convincing and persuasion to get him to agree to this.

Or maybe just your smile.

You took off your slippers and buried your bare feet in the white sand, wiggling your toes through the grains. You breathed in the scent of sea and salt in the air, your eyes closed. And the soft, fond smile that graced your lips as you reconnected with your homeland court made him fall in love with you all over again. It was a smile he’d do anything to see, and Azriel made a mental note to bring you to the Summer Court more often.

He followed your lead and slipped off his shoes. The sand was warm under his soles, and the morning sun heated his tanned skin. He even spread his wings a little, basking in the sensation.

“So, what do we do now?” he asked after a moment.

Your eyes opened, and you crouched down to open the bag you’d dropped on the ground. “Now we set the towels down,” you answered, pulling one out and handing it to him. “It’s probably too small for you, but I don’t have a beach towel for overgrown bats, so…”

Azriel shook his head, used to your endless teasing. You chuckled softly, and after you both placed your towels on the sand—his was, indeed, too small—you took his hand again, walking backward toward the shore and pulling him along.

“Now we go swimming,” you declared, then paused, a small frown creasing your brow. “You do know how to swim, right?”

It was Azriel’s turn to chuckle. “Of course I can swim, sweetheart. I just don’t remember the last time I had to.”

“Well, then,” you said with a smile, rising on your toes to kiss him, “let’s go make some memories.”

Without waiting for a response, you ran into the ocean with a delighted squeal and dove in, water splashing around you. Azriel didn’t move immediately, and simply watched as you emerged, eyes bright and smile wide.

You were the picture of joy.

The last time he had seen you this happy was probably at your mating ceremony, when you had appeared in that stunning teal and gold dress, looking like a vision. And now, as you stood in the water, Azriel was suddenly grateful you had brought him here. Droplets trickled down your body, your brown skin glistening in the sunlight as you moved your wet hair out of your face.

You beckoned him with a hand, and his feet moved of their own accord, guiding him toward you. He inhaled sharply as the cold water reached his thighs, sloshing around his wings. He didn't know how you could look so at ease when he was shivering, but you were in your element after all, while he was completely out of his.

“Aw,” you cooed as he reached you. “Is my little bat cold?”

Azriel grimaced, his tone playful as he pulled you closer. “First you call me an overgrown bat, and now I’m a little one?”

Your wet body pressed against his still-dry chest, and your hair dripped water onto his tattooed skin as you looked up at him. “Well, yes,” you confirmed, stating it as if it were an obvious fact. “Illyrians are overgrown bats, but you’re my little bat.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You know I’m a head taller than you, right? I’m not little.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then you closed it without saying a word. Azriel could see the wheels turning in your head as you stepped away from him, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“What is it?” he asked, knowing that expression all too well. “What did you just think?”

“There's this thing my father always did when I was a child,” you explained. “I loved it, and now I want you to do it too.”

After all the crazy ideas you'd hit him with over the years—this beach day being the latest—Azriel wasn't sure he wanted to know what you were talking about now, but he still lifted a brow. “And said thing is…?”

Your smile widened. “Throw me in the water.”

Azriel frowned. He must have heard that wrong. “What?”

But you nodded enthusiastically, grabbing his hands and placing them on your hips. “Pick me up and throw me in the water. You're strong enough to do it, c'mon.”

His fingers tightened on your hips, but he still wasn't convinced. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you love me and I asked nicely?” you tried, batting your lashes at him.

Azriel chuckled. “I do love you, but you did not ask nicely.” He pulled you closer, his fingers brushing the hem of your panties. Gods, it still felt like underwear to him, and all he wanted was to take them off. “You ordered me to do it.”

You laughed with him. “Sorry about that.” Pulling him down, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Love of my life, my mate, my everything, will you please be so kind as to use your beautiful, strong muscles to pick me up and throw me in the water? It's fun, and I’d really appreciate it.”

He knew you were teasing, but his heartbeat quickened with every word of flattery, even after all these years. “You are unbelievable,” he mumbled, stealing another kiss.

Though he still didn't understand how it could be fun, and wasn’t sure if he even liked the idea, his hands slid up to your waist. He lifted you effortlessly, water cascading off your body as he hoisted you out of the ocean. He hesitated for a moment, but when he saw your excited smile, he threw you back into the water, expecting you to twist midair and gracefully dive in. You had the agility and flexibility for it. He knew you could do it.

But you didn’t.

You let yourself plummet straight into the ocean, your laughter swallowed by the water as you plunged in, splashing it all around. The water was so clear he could see you sink for a moment before you kicked your legs and emerged, grinning from ear to ear.

Azriel stopped questioning whether it was fun or not. It didn't matter if it was childish and silly. After all, he still had snowball fights with his brothers.

All that mattered was the joy written on your face, and as he made his way over to you, he found himself wishing he had a place like this—somewhere he cherished returning to, a place filled with memories of a happy childhood.

“You probably think I'm crazy,” you said as you treaded water. He could still touch the seabed here, but it was now too deep for you.

“A little,” he admitted with a smile. “But as long as it makes you happy, love.”

You looped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer as his hands found their way back to your hips. Pressing your body against his, you rubbed the tip of your nose against his. “There’s something else that would make me happy right now,” you murmured, gazing into his eyes.

Azriel’s smile widened as he leaned in for a kiss, but before he knew it, you had pulled him under the surface. He had adjusted to the water’s temperature by now, but the sudden, full submersion still made him shiver. His first instinct was to break the surface and take a deep breath—something he would have done already if only you had told him what you were planning. Before he could, though, you used your magic to create a bubble of oxygen around the two of you, allowing him to breathe.

“So drowning your mate is what makes you happy?” he asked skeptically.

“Sorry about that,” you chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief. “But the surprise on your face was priceless.”

Azriel lifted a brow, readjusting his wings. It had been so long since the last time he was underwater that it took a moment to remember how to position them properly, preventing himself from floating back up.

You laughed, your hair swirling around you like a shimmering, silver crown inside the bubble.

“No, but it was fun,” you answered. You cupped his face, kicking your feet to swim just a little closer to him. “What would really make me happy is something I’ve always wanted to do, but I need to let the bubble disappear. I promise I’ll summon it again as soon as we’re done.”

Azriel frowned slightly, but he had an idea of what you wanted to do. He could only hope he was right, because he had a feeling you wouldn’t explain it if he asked.

He nodded, and with that, you called back your magic. Water rushed around you again, but this time he inhaled deeply before it was too late. And then you proved his suspicions correct.

You pulled him in for a kiss, and he tasted the salty water on your lips. His hands settled gently on the sides of your neck, keeping you close. As you both kicked your legs to stay submerged, Azriel understood why you wanted to do this. It felt intimate, like you were the only two beings in the entire ocean.

It reminded him of the way kissing you felt when he was flying with you cradled in his arms—the world faded away, shrinking until nothing existed but the two of you.

It lasted only a few seconds, but when you parted, both of you were smiling. As promised, you summoned another bubble as soon as your lips left his.

“That was nice,” he murmured, his voice soft.

“Good, because we’ll definitely do it again.” You stole another quick kiss before pointing toward the endless expanse of the ocean. “I want to go swimming. Do you want to come or would you rather head back to the beach?”

Azriel shook his head. “No, I want to come with you.”

“Perfect.” Your smile widened, and you gestured for him to follow as you turned around. “Then I want to show you the reef.”

He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he tucked his wings in tightly, kicking his legs to keep up with you. Never in his long life had he imagined that he’d one day find himself swimming in the Summer Court, wearing little more than a piece of underwear. But life with you was always full of surprises, and he had no doubt this wouldn’t be the last.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[incloudcity]

fallen | anakin skywalker

requests are open

summary: during a mission anakin’s growing instability becomes clear when you’re injured. as he tries to save you, he reveals his fear of loss and vulnerability

The war had been relentless. There was no end in sight. Every battle, every mission, felt like another step into the void. You had seen countless soldiers fall, heard their last breaths, but nothing compared to the gnawing fear you felt every time you saw Anakin’s face.

You had been fighting alongside him for years, ever since the Clone Wars had begun. Your bond with him ran deep—both as comrades and something... more, though neither of you had ever given it a name. You were close enough to understand the cracks in his smile, the tension in his words, the fear in his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

But today, something had changed. The air felt thicker than usual. The blaster fire was louder, more intense. The mission was simple: rescue a group of civilians trapped on the outer rim. But nothing was simple anymore, not with Anakin at your side.

The droids had been everywhere. The battle had turned against you, and now you were fighting just to stay alive. You crouched behind a wrecked building, your breathing labored, eyes darting for any sign of Anakin.

“Where is he?” you muttered under your breath, scanning the battlefield.

A sudden burst of blaster fire made you flinch. You turned, instinctively reaching for your lightsaber. Then you saw him.

Anakin was on the other side of the courtyard, his lightsaber a blur of blue as he sliced through a dozen battle droids with barely a second thought. His movements were fluid, deadly, and yet… there was something in them that unsettled you. The anger was palpable, the way he swung his saber with such force—it wasn’t just battle fury anymore, it was something darker.

And it wasn’t just in his fighting.

The moment his eyes met yours, you saw it. A flicker of something. Fear? Regret? You weren’t sure. Before you could react, a massive explosion rocked the ground, sending debris flying in every direction. You felt the shockwave in your chest and were thrown to the ground, the air knocked out of you.

You struggled to get to your feet, dazed. A sharp pain seared through your side, and you gasped. When you looked down, your leg was pinned under a chunk of twisted metal. Panic began to rise in your chest. *No. Not now. Not when he’s so close.*

You called out to him, but the words were lost in the chaos. The droids were coming closer, and you could hear the distant rumble of more explosions. You tried to pull yourself free, but the metal was heavy, and the pain in your leg was unbearable.

The sounds of battle faded when you heard Anakin’s voice shout your name. Your heart skipped a beat.

He was there in an instant, his presence overwhelming, his face hard with determination. His hands were on your shoulders, lifting you with surprising gentleness for someone so fierce.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice tight. He didn’t look at you at first—his focus was on the battlefield, his eyes scanning for threats.

“I’m fine,” you lied, gritting your teeth against the pain. “Just… just get me out of here.”

But Anakin wasn’t listening. His gaze flicked back to you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“You’re not fine,” he snapped, his words biting. “You’re injured. And it’s my fault.”

His voice was raw, almost… desperate? You weren’t sure. But something in his tone sent a chill down your spine.

You tried to speak, but he didn’t let you. His hand cupped your cheek with urgency, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“I promised you I would keep you safe,” he continued, his voice softer now, as if he were telling himself more than you. “I promised.”

The words, his admission, caught you off guard. Anakin Skywalker—so often the untouchable hero—was showing something you hadn’t expected. Vulnerability. It made your heart ache. But even then, you saw the darkness in him. The weight of the war, the pain of losing everyone he cared about—it was all so close to the surface.

He tore his gaze away from yours and looked down at your leg. You felt him tense, and before you could even protest, he was using the Force to shift the rubble, pulling it away with a force that made you wince.

“Don’t—” you started, but you were cut off by a sharp intake of breath as Anakin pulled you into his arms.

“We don’t have time,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m not letting you die out here.”

Your pulse raced. He moved so quickly, so urgently, as if every second mattered. But something inside you was trembling—not from the pain, but from the way Anakin held you. It wasn’t just the desperate pull of a soldier to a comrade. There was something more, something dangerous in the way he gripped you as though he couldn’t let you go.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “Anakin, I’m right here.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you. The world seemed to stop for a moment. His gaze softened, but there was an edge of something else—something you couldn’t name. Fear?

“Promise me,” he said, his voice trembling ever so slightly, “promise me you won’t leave me. Not like everyone else.”

Your heart broke. You wanted to reach out, to reassure him, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know how to fix this. You didn’t know how to fix him.

“I’m not leaving you,” you promised, your voice steady despite the chaos around you. But even as you said the words, a part of you wondered if the man standing before you was already gone.

Anakin shook his head, almost as if he were trying to shake off a bad dream. He clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on you as he forced himself to move. His footsteps were heavy as he made his way toward the extraction point, the blaster fire and the distant hum of lightsabers fading behind you.

But in that moment, even as he tried to save you, you could see it—the darkness in his soul, creeping closer, inch by inch. It wasn’t just the war anymore. It was something deeper.

Something he might not be able to come back from.

[girlinterupptedsblog]

69 with Rafe!!

All About Balance

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You

Warnings: Smut (18+), mutual oral, explicit content, mild dominance, overstimulation, dirty talk, and Rafe being insatiable.

You were lying across Rafe’s bed, half-draped over his chest, scrolling through your phone while he traced lazy patterns on your bare thigh. His fingers skimmed higher with each pass, making it clear he had something else on his mind.

“Baby,” he murmured, nuzzling into your neck.

You hummed in response, barely paying attention until his grip tightened, pulling your focus to him. His lips hovered near your ear as he whispered, “Let’s try something new.”

You finally glanced at him, intrigued. “Like what?”

His smirk was dangerous. “Sixty-nine.”

A slow heat spread through your body, your stomach flipping at the suggestion. Rafe had never been shy about trying new things, and, truthfully, neither were you. The idea sent a thrill down your spine, your thighs clenching instinctively.

“Yeah?” you asked, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Rafe sat up, his blue eyes darkening as he smirked. “Yeah. And I want you on top.”

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it, but the way his hands slid down to your ass, kneading possessively, made your answer obvious.

“Alright,” you said, straddling his waist. “Show me.”

The mattress dipped beneath you as you shifted into place, your hands bracing against Rafe’s firm stomach for balance. He lay back, his head resting against the pillows, watching you with barely restrained hunger.

“Come here, baby,” he coaxed, guiding you forward.

Your thighs trembled as you lowered yourself over him, your body hovering above his face while your own lips hovered near his cock. His scent surrounded you—clean, masculine, and intoxicating. The moment his breath fanned against your heat, you shivered.

Rafe groaned, gripping your hips. “Fuck, you’re dripping already.”

Before you could respond, he dragged his tongue through your folds, making your breath stutter. Your lips parted in a silent gasp, your fingers curling around the base of his cock for support. The first slow swirl of his tongue had you gripping the sheets, your mind already blurring at the sensation.

But Rafe wasn’t going to let you get lost in it just yet. His hands tightened on your hips, urging you downward. “Come on, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Want to feel that pretty mouth on me.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you obeyed, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock. A sharp hiss left his mouth at the first flick of your tongue, but he didn’t falter—if anything, he doubled down, licking into you with devastating precision.

The angle had your body trembling. Every time you took more of him into your mouth, his tongue worked you over, making it harder to focus. He was relentless, groaning against you, his fingers digging into your skin as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck, baby,” Rafe panted, his breath warm against your thigh. “You’re killing me.”

You moaned around him in response, the vibrations making him buck up slightly. His hips stuttered, and you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. His answering groan sent a delicious pulse straight to your core.

You were completely lost in each other—pushing, pulling, teasing, and devouring. Every movement, every flick of a tongue, every moan and gasp built the pleasure higher, until your body was coiling tight with need.

Rafe could feel it. He sucked at your clit, his fingers pressing bruises into your hips. “Come for me,” he growled against you. “Right on my tongue.”

The command sent you over the edge. Your body tensed, pleasure crashing through you in waves as your thighs shook around him. The sensation of your moans vibrating around his cock pushed Rafe right after you, his hips jerking as he spilled into your mouth with a low, wrecked groan.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both catching your breath. Then, Rafe let out a breathless chuckle, his hands running over your thighs.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “We’re definitely doing that again.”

You grinned, shifting to lie beside him, still breathless. “Agreed.”

Rafe turned his head, smirking. “After I recover, I mean. ’Cause you’re getting on top of my face again.”

[xichilie]

Hello, God evening, day, morning, night, whatever time you have.

I just wanted to say I love all your work, your fics, art, your ocs

Could I request Brant x female reader she gets and her best friend (you can youse one of your OCs i love them) isakaid into the game and meet brant and his crew, maybe get rescued

Thanks have a nice (whatever time you have)

Hello ♡

I'm very happy you enjoy all my work, and even happier you love my OC's ♡

Brant x (fem)reader

Into the Tides of Another World

Y/N leaned back against the couch, controller in hand, eyes locked on the screen. The latest Wuthering Waves update had just dropped, and she and Micah had been grinding for hours.

“Damn it,” Micah groaned, fingers flying across the buttons. “How is this boss so cracked? We barely dented its HP!”

Y/N laughed, adjusting her grip. “You just have to time the dodges right. Here—watch.”

Their characters darted across the battlefield, dodging devastating attacks from a towering Aberrant. The stormy environment of the oceanic region looked gorgeous, even as their characters got absolutely wrecked.

Micah groaned. “I swear, this game hates me.”

“Sounds like a skill issue,” Y/N teased.

He shot her a glare. “Oh, you’re sooo hilarious.”

But before she could land the final blow, the screen flickered.

The sound glitched.

A low hum reverberated from the TV—deep, unnatural. The room around them seemed to warp, the edges blurring like static.

Y/N’s heart skipped.

“Uh… Micah?”

He turned, eyes wide. “What the hell is—”

A blinding light swallowed them whole.

Cold.

That was the first thing Y/N registered. Bone-deep cold.

Then—

Water.

Rushing, churning, dragging her under.

She gasped, but her lungs filled with seawater instead of air. She thrashed, panic flooding her chest, but the waves were relentless, tossing her like she weighed nothing.

She barely had time to process anything before another force slammed into her.

“Y/N—!”

Micah Called out.

She turned, barely making out his form through the chaos of the storm. He was struggling, just like her, barely managing to keep his head above water.

“We have to—get to the surface—!” he choked out.

But the waves pulled them apart.

Y/N’s vision blurred, exhaustion creeping in as the cold sapped the strength from her limbs.

Was this how it ended?

Just as the darkness crept in, just as her body gave up—

Hands.

Strong, calloused hands grabbed her arm.

Then—a voice.

“Got one! Pull her up!”

A rush of air hit her lungs as she was hauled out of the water. She coughed violently, sputtering, barely able to focus as rough hands dragged her onto solid wood.

She blinked against the rain, chest heaving—

And then, through the haze, she saw him.

Brant.

But not as a character on a screen.

He was real.

Dripping wet, strands of blue and violet hair plastered against his forehead, his usually easy-going expression replaced with sharp intensity. His pink eyes—brighter than she’d ever seen in the game—locked onto hers.

“Well, well,” he mused, voice smooth despite the chaos around them. “Didn’t expect to be fishing anyone out of the sea today.”

Y/N just stared.

Micah, equally drenched and coughing, was hauled onto the deck beside her. He groaned, rolling onto his back.

“I think I’m dead,” he wheezed.

Brant’s crew chuckled. Someone tossed a dry cloak over Y/N’s shoulders, while another checked Micah for injuries.

“Not dead yet, stranger,” Brant said, crouching beside them. His smirk was unmistakable—amused, curious. “Though you do owe me an introduction.”

Y/N’s mind raced.

The storm. The game. The light.

And now—Brant, in the flesh.

She swallowed hard.

“…What the hell just happened?”

By the time ship finally docked, Y/N’s body felt like it had turned to lead.

Her limbs trembled with exhaustion, her mind was adrift in a fog of disbelief, and her soaked clothes clung to her skin like a second layer of ice. Every inch of her was numb—from the cold, from fatigue, and from the sheer impossibility of what had happened.

She wasn’t home.

She wasn’t in her world.

She and Micah had been pulled into Wuthering Waves.

That fact sat in her chest like an anchor, too heavy, too massive to fully comprehend.

A voice—smooth, lilting, carrying an edge of theatrical amusement—cut through her daze.

Y/N barely registered the sensation of being lifted until she felt warmth against her body.

Strong arms supported her with ease, cradling her against a broad chest. Her breath hitched slightly, the lingering chill from the ocean still clinging to her skin.

“Aha, what an honor,” a familiar, teasing voice murmured near her ear. “Rescuing a beautiful castaway with my own hands… truly, fate is feeling generous today.”

Y/N stiffened slightly, her dazed mind finally catching up.

Brant was carrying her.

Even in her weakened state, she could feel the lithe strength in his hold, his arms wrapped around her with a careful but undeniable confidence.

Micah, being half-dragged by one of the crew members, coughed weakly. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t drop her, Romeo.”

Brant laughed. “Perish the thought! A performer never fumbles their most precious prop.”

Y/N groaned softly, too tired to argue, too dazed to do anything but rest her head against his shoulder.

The journey to The Fools’ Elysium passed in a haze.

Even through the murmur of voices, the creak of shifting wood, and the occasional spray of salt air, Y/N found herself slipping in and out of awareness.

Only when the warmth of torchlight replaced the cold, open air did she manage to blink herself fully awake.

The sight that met her stole what little breath she had left.

A cavern stretched out before them, massive and teeming with life.

Glowing lanterns hung from wooden walkways, casting golden hues over colorful tents, scattered crates, and makeshift stages. The scent of woodsmoke and spiced food lingered in the air, mixing with the ever-present salt of the sea.

Despite her exhaustion, Y/N felt a flicker of wonder.

“Welcome,” Brant said, voice softer now, though still carrying its usual dramatic lilt, “to the Fools’ Elysium.”

She barely had time to process the sight before Brant effortlessly adjusted his hold on her.

“Alright, darling, as much as I’d love to carry you forever I suppose it’s time to get you somewhere warm.”

Y/N wanted to protest. She really did.

But the moment Brant set her down onto a soft cot, exhaustion finally caught up to her.

She barely registered Roccia peeking out from behind her oversized suitcase, or the sharp-eyed medic checking her for injuries.

Brant stayed close his pink eyes watching her carefully.

And for the first time since she had arrived in this strange, impossible world—

Y/N let herself rest.

[readngandweepng]

poly top male reader and ftm charthur thing

mdni sub top reader with male pronouns. this is honestly kind of short but mostly proofread. unprotected sex also. and written with mid to high honor arthur in mind

arthur’s rough hands rest on your chest as he rolls his hips, his eyes, glossed over with desire, never stray from the sight of you. charles watches from somewhere in the room, and if you could stop your eyes from fluttering closed every two seconds you’d look over to see where he was and what it was he was doing. 

“look at you.. been all pent up, haven’t you, boy?” a flick of arthur’s hips has your eyes snapping open, his blue ones meeting yours. “good thing he’s got us.. ain’t that right?” his voice low and gruff in your ear would have had you buckling if he wasn’t keeping you held flat against the bed. the way he’s looking down at you almost makes you feel like prey. every movement and sound you make, he’s like a hawk as he studies you. your cock twitches where it’s buried deep inside him so, of course, it doesn’t go unnoticed. you don’t hear it when charles says something in return, although whatever he said must have not been directed at you because arthur nods his head and responds instead with a hum, and with a sharp exhale suddenly he’s sitting up straight, his hands now behind him and settled loosely on your thighs. 

he gives you a chance to catch your breath and he smiles something devilish when your eyes focus on him. he tilts his head, causing loose strands of hair to fall forward. he hasn’t cut his hair in a while, and though it’s nowhere near as long as charles’ you still have to fight the urge to gather it in your hands. you couldn’t anyway, even if you wanted to. with arthur now riding you like he’s trying to break you and charles still patiently awaiting his own turn, you're struggling to even think straight, let alone work up the energy to do more than just move your hips in a sloppy rhythm against arthur’s. he hasn’t cum yet, surprisingly. he’d barely let you get your mouth on him properly before he had practically thrown you onto your back and straddled you, only slowing down so that he could make sure charles had a good view. it’s always like this when charles is in the picture. alone with you he’d normally be so bashful, acting like he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but the second charles steps foot to join the party it’s like a switch is flipped and sweet, shy arthur becomes what he is now, a man who just wants to wreck you. whether it’s out of his own desire or if he’s doing it for charles, you haven’t found the time to ask.

“you still here?” arthur’s voice cuts through your thoughts. his hand patting your cheek to grab your attention feels hot on your face. he’s bouncing in your lap, though his pace has seemed to have slowed down. you nod, and you notice now that charles is sitting beside you on the bed. he looks down at you and in his hand is your own that has long since slipped from arthur’s hips. he massages it, treading his fingers across your palm and wrist carefully. “think you can handle a little bit more?” he says, his voice strong but gentle. he brings your hand to his lips to kiss it when you mumble a faint yes in response. arthur’s cunt flutters around your cock, making you groan. it's been what feels like hours. you’ve been close to orgasm a few times now, yet arthur somehow always manages to keep you from going over the edge, only letting you get a small taste of it before he’s either lifting himself off your weeping cock or kissing you so hard you forget what was even happening—he’s always been so good at that, much to your chagrin.

“just breathe—you’re doing so well. once arthur’s done i’ll take care of you, alright?” they give each other a shared look, one that you can’t quite read at the moment. he accentuates his point with a kiss on your head and the affection makes your eyes teary. arthur’s back in the position he was before, using you as balance to strategically bounce himself onto your cock. charles has to graciously hold you down to keep you from squirming, his praise falling on deaf ears as you attempt to keep yourself from spilling inside arthur whose voice has now gone hoarse. his skin glistens with sweat, and his hair curling at the nape of his neck makes him look almost angelic through the mist of your half-lidded, watery eyes. his moans, however, quickly break the innocent angelic vision. 

with all his teasing he’s also got himself worked up, making his pussy wet and slick; your cock practically glimmers with the evidence. arthur’s good at holding out for the sake of keeping you on your toes, but tonight he seems to be rather impatient, despite his time and effort he spent to get you shaking and desperate. a few more bounces in and his back arches as he cums onto your cock with a shaky moan. his breaths sound raspy from all his previous talking and groaning which will probably raise a question or two from camp members the next day. he stays on top of you for a moment to ride out the high, his head coming down to give you a playful kiss on the corner of your lips. you make eye contact and it makes him dart his tongue between your lips where you can taste a distant hint of rum. 

he smiles as he slides off your dick with a satisfied sigh (while ignoring the slight tremble in his legs) before tilting his head to give charles a long, but almost chaste kiss. “yer turn,” he whispers. arthur glances down at you with a glint in his eye, noting the steep rise and fall of your chest. “maybe go easy on ‘im.” he gives charles one more kiss, whose smile now mirrors his lover’s growing smirk plastered across his face. he doesn’t need to respond. the implications of what comes next has your body (and dick) twitching in need. 

the pair switch places after charles undresses (which took longer than usual due to arthur’s offer of “assistance” where he made sure to feel charles up as he took off each article of clothing). still, charles gives you another minute to get your bearings together and you get to watch them exchange their affection; arthur slaps charles’ ass, letting out a whistle that’s quickly followed by his own laughter at his lover’s retaliation. ain’t you lucky is something arthur always liked to say, usually after he or charles had your back during a robbery, but with the sight in front of you those words ring true more than ever. 

before, arthur had basically seduced you into this bed, distracting you with a kiss as he shamelessly swung his legs over you and pushed you down against the blankets. his words had been dirty, his voice husky and deep. he didn’t even give you a chance to sit up before he’d taken you to the hilt with the full intention of ruining you. here now, charles gracefully slides on to you, gently sitting himself down on your hips. his hands are on you, gentle as ever. he can feel your heart beating beneath his palm, and when he leans down to place a kiss on your lips he can feel it picking up speed. 

you clearly haven’t cum yet, judging by your weeping cock that restlessly leans against your stomach. your body jolts at charles’ touch when he wraps a hand around it, gently squeezing at the tip before giving it a couple strokes. you groan, attempting to buck into his hand, but charles’ strong thighs keep you held still in place. beside you arthur reaches over to squeeze charles’ chest, rolling a nipple under his thumb. his hand gets bashfully swatted away, causing him to laugh. you almost manage a smile until charles suddenly twists his wrist, the feeling causing your head to momentarily spin before settling. with a gasp you grab arthur’s arm in surprise, making the bastard beam down at you with a look on his face you wish you had even half the energy to wipe off. still you can’t help but shudder under his gaze. “all this and you ain’t even got to the good part yet!” hearing this, charles lets go of your dick, letting his thumb trail the side of it for just a moment longer. the lack of touch makes you want to cry, but your worries are washed away when charles takes your face in his hands to give you a kiss. his forehead rests against yours for a second as he speaks.

“come ‘ere,” charles brings you up in a sitting position before slowly sinking down onto your cock. your lips meet again, the kiss swallowing whatever sound you and charles would have made. your hands lazily roam his body, mostly staying around his thighs and feeling up his legs and waist. your cock stretches him out perfectly; it’s not painful, but it certainly is a tight fit, just the way he likes it. he sighs as he begins rocking against you, and with your growing desperation for release you take advantage of the burst of energy and meet his hips. he finds your hands to lock them in his grasp, keeping them held beside him. your eyes dart from his lips to his eyes, and you realize you’re probably making a fool of yourself with how your mouth is hanging open right now. you know how he plays his games, keeping you close but not close enough where you can kiss and touch him how you wish. his strong chest is right there too, and all of a sudden you find yourself desperate to feel him, and unfortunately for you arthur can tell. he sits up and brushes charles’ hair over his shoulder with a dramatic sigh.

“ain’t he just the prettiest?” his husky whisper sends a shiver down your spine, and with the way charles tilts his head to show off his bare neck you have to swallow down a whine. arthur trails his knuckles down charles’ neck all the way to his chest, making sure they brush against his nipples. charles doesn’t appear fazed, but around your cock his pussy flutters in response. his question doesn’t need to be answered but you nod anyway, unable to really tear your eyes away from the sight. arthur continues further down until he’s pressing his hand against charles’ stomach which faintly caves at the touch. “he fills you good, don’t he?” the question isn’t directed at you but it makes you groan. you rest your forehead against charles who's now starting to rut a little bit faster in your lap. you can faintly hear the wet sound his pussy is making, and beside yourself you take one of his nipples in your mouth just to help hold yourself together. 

he rolls his hips with a deep moan, and if you hadn’t been holding on for his sake you’d have cum right then and there. he's taking his time, but you can still catch the faint jerk in his movements as he takes the entirety your cock, relishing in how full it makes him feel. you notice now arthur’s hand is missing, but you don’t have time to wonder where it went when you hear a faint “jesus..” arthur moans and you can see next to you he’s pumping two fingers into his pussy as he watches charles ride you. it makes your hips jump, which in turn makes charles give out another moan, his head falling forward in pleasure. it’s silent between you three as you take in the sights and sounds. arthur’s fingers squelch in his warm, wet cunt and charles’ soft moans sound harmonious alongside arthur’s breathless ones. 

“charles—” you’re cut off by your own groan when he swivels his hips with suave ease. you’re closer now, and it’s a miracle you haven’t finished at least once or twice by now. your voice feels stuck, but charles gets the idea anyhow. without warning he starts to bounce in your lap, freeing your hands in the process. Instinctively they fly to his hips, and you hold on like they’re a lifeline. your breath catches in your throat as your building orgasm returns with full force. “charles, i’ll—i’ll cum,” he only responds with a curt i know as he continues bouncing on your cock, and by the sound of it arthur seems to be fingering himself in tandem as he watches. 

you wrap your arms around charles’ waist and cum inside of him, holding him as close to you as you comfortably can. your vision blanks for a moment as he continues fucking himself on your cock. he doesn’t slow down, and the room is suddenly filled once more with the sound of skin hitting skin and sticky, lustful vigor. you hear arthur loosely mumbling words of encouragement under his breath and you can’t help but turn your head to watch as he lifts one of his legs up to dive his fingers further into his cunt. you groan, and again your eyes flutter close as they struggle to stay open. you fall back next to arthur and watch as charles rubs his clit. thankfully you have half the mind to reach down and push away arthur’s hand to circle his clit too, making him moan as he arches his back once more. even with the overstimulation you buck up, and with a final groan charles cums with his pussy convulsing around your cock. you know arthur’s cum too when he grabs your wrist, his eyes half-lidded as he looks over at you and charles.

the room is quiet now with only your heavy breaths and the low chuckle arthur lets out as his head starts to clear up. charles slowly gets off of you, and suddenly both you and arthur are locked on to the sight of your cum oozing from between his legs. charles huffs in amusement but you can see his legs twitching to close as he thinks about shutting them, a little bit embarrassed by the attention. yet when you finally break from your trance you look up and see a small smile playing on his lips. “had enough?” he asks. you can’t think straight enough to say anything, which didn’t matter anyway because of course, without missing a beat, arthur answers the question for you. “after that? ‘course not.” he shakes his head with a smile before looking at you. “and i think someone agrees..” three pairs of eyes trail down to your hardening cock. you can’t help but admit the sight of it covered in a glossy coat of cum does get you going. exasperatedly you swing an arm over your face with a weak sigh, not because you feel like you’re going to pass out from exhaustion but because you definitely are not opposed to another round, the image of your cum dripping out from charles' pussy burns fresh in your mind and peeking from out under your arm you see arthur already sitting up, eager for his second turn.