#and the one that looks like they would tell you to fuck off is the nice one

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

[baby-yongbok]

After Party

Bang Chan x Afab!Reader

⤷ The Fendi after party gets much more interesting after a few margaritas and sneaking away with a stranger. ⤷ Content warning - protected sex ⤷ WC - 1.1k ⤷ A/N - In honor of Chris looking so fine for Milan Fashion week that he broke my writers block. ✧ Masterlist ✧

You met him five minutes ago, not that something like that matters when he looks like a Greek god but it explains why his name doesn't fall from your lips as easily as you want it to. 

The Fendi after party was boring. Your manager asked - actually, begged - you to be on your best behavior and you agreed. 

Then you saw him. 

“Fuck… Chan.” Right, that was his name, yeah. The very hot stranger who you drank too many margaritas with.

“I haven't even gotten started yet and you're already moaning my name? Cute.” His voice caused a sugar rush, a high of heat and a flood between your legs. “Turn around”

His hands grip your waist, turning you to the wall and hiking your dress up. Surely the designer won't be too upset if it rips, right? 

Chan's hands smooth over your ass, landing a smack that's drowned out by the music of the after party coming from the left… or the right. It doesn’t matter. 

“You're gonna fuck a stranger? Are you always this risky?” The smile on your face makes him forge one of his own as he works to free himself. 

“I'm not.” He leans into you, putting one hand on the wall and trapping you beneath him so that your back is to his chest. His dick presses firm into your ass and the feeling makes you want to turn around and take a look. “I figured I should try something new.” 

He kisses over your jaw and takes hold of his drooling cock, rubbing it over your equally needy cunt. “Got a condom?”

“My bag.” He reaches over and opens your bag, holding it out to you instead of going through it himself. You chuckle. “Such a gentleman.”

He blushes, turning a pretty red as you hand him the packaged rubber. “Is that your type?” He rips it open, rolls it on and positions himself. 

“You're my type.” He pushes in just barely. 

“You're mine too.” He hooks his arm around your midsection, pulling your back flush to his chest and pushing inside on one smooth motion.

Your jaw hangs slack, eyes roll back and you stifle a moan. Chan's hand comes up to cover your mouth and your own hand goes out in front of you in an attempt to brace yourself against the wall.

“You’re fucking tight.” He whispers and you notice that his voice is somehow sweeter when he talks dirty.

“And you're fucking big.” His hips shift and you whimper. He plays it off, saying that he's average but there's not an ounce of you that believes him. 

The first thrust feels like you're being split in two. Maybe it's the position. Maybe it's the way he has his hand pressed over the plush of your stomach to make sure you really, really feel him. Or maybe he's just fucking huge.

But the second thrust? Heaven on earth and so was every one of them that followed. 

“God, you take me so well.” Chan groans and you clench around him. “You like when I talk dirty, huh? You like when I tell you how well your cunt takes my cock? 

“Chan…” He presses his hand tighter over your mouth. The drowned out sound of skin on skin is enough to get you two caught, your moans would definitely tip everyone off.

“You can't keep quiet, can you, pretty?”

He presses you up against the wall and moves his hand from your mouth to your neck. He doesn't press, he only holds you. He tilts your head back and meets your lips in a kiss while his hips press hard against your ass. 

You swear that you can feel him in your stomach. It makes you gasp and he shuts you up with his tongue. He slides it over yours, tasting the lingering flavor of the margaritas and humming into you. 

“Please move again.” You mumble against his lips and he groans, letting his own head fall back for a second.

“I'm gonna cum.” Chan's voice is strained as he whispers. “You're gonna make me cum already.”

You reach back, grabbing his hip and trying to get him to move at least a little. You need more. It's only been a minute and you're dizzy with need.

“Then cum for me, please I just want something. Wanna feel you, Chan.” 

He buries his face in your neck for a second, moaning and nipping at the skin a bit before pulling his hips back.

“You're hot when you beg. Such a pretty girl falling apart on my cock.” 

His hand is back over your mouth the second you whimper. His other hand grips your hip while you reach back and is balled into his shirt.

“Rub your clit, cum with me.” Your hand moves from his shirt to between your thighs. The extra stimulation makes you jolt and clench and Chan hisses. 

“C'mon, You're gonna make me fucking bust.” The thought alone makes you moan. Your orgasm is close, so damn close and you know that his is closer. 

“Gonna…” Your fingers rub faster, sloppy circles into your clit but that's not what does it. It's when Chan slides his hand down from your hip and over yours between your thighs. He presses down and bottoms out and you're done for. 

“Holy shit…” You gasp, breath stuck in your chest and your body tenses and writhes from the burning pleasure. 

All of that is enough to get Chan falling apart right after you. His thrusts get sloppy until he pulls out, jerking his cock with a groan and splitting into the condom. 

The two of you try to catch your breath, panting as the sound of the music from the after party catches your attention. You look back at Chan who has his back to the wall next to you and his eyes closed. 

You sneak a peak of his cock… How the hell is that average? Average for who?

While you're gawking he reaches out and grabs your arm, pulling you gently into his chest. The gesture surprises you but you go along with it. 

“You… have made this an unforgettable night.” He laughs, his ears turning even redder if that's even possible. “Thank you.”

“Did you just thank me after fucking me?” It's your turn to laugh and he joins you. 

“I told you that I don't do things like this, okay. I don't know how It goes.” 

You lean up a bit and kiss him, soft but still hot enough to make him hum with renewed want. Your kisses trail from his lips, over his jaw and to his ear where you whisper. 

“Come back to my hotel and I'll show you just how this goes, yeah?” He smiles, his dimples showing through the blush and he nods. 

“I'd like that.”

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[muqingslover]

Ok, so... this might be a bit of a +18 think piece, but... what do you think the lads men would have as their top 3 kinks? I started thinking about it after I read the Xavier somno one, lol. Maybe I'm crazy but I think Caleb would have blindfolds/rope play in his top 3 (on mc not on him, since he wants to see all of you but is very resultant to show all of himself back due to fear of rejection+ if mc is tied up she can't leave)

[ choosing only three was a lot harder than I thought whew. Also, I'm testing out different layouts rn so don't mind me (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ]

Xavier

Predator/Prey Play: This guy is the literal definition of wolf in sheep's clothing. What gets him going is the thrill of the hunt and the turntables (his specialty), which is why he will often let you think you're in control and have your fun teasing him only to then pounce when you least expect. If you run from him then you better pray he won't catch you or not.

Exhibitionism: This might be a hot take but walk with me. Xavier is a very jealous man so he won't ever allow anyone to actually see you, buuuut he is very into letting others know you belong to him. You gotta leave for a mission with someone else? Not to worry, all he needs is 10 minutes in the bathroom stall. The bread guy is back at it again? It can't be helped, he'll just have to fuck against the door while he's knocking to show you're busy. He'd love to see you struggling (and failing) to keep your voice down and looks like a smug cat when others notice the marks he left on you.

Cunnilingus: This man eats pussy like a goddamn champ. He absolutely adores having your thighs wrapped around his head, to the point he finds it comforting, and the feeling of his tongue stretching open your dripping pussy for his cock later. Your taste is something he could have every day, which he will if you let him, and he takes pride when you're left a writhing, whimpering mess that begs for him to fuck you.

-----------------------------♡♡♡------------------------------

Zayne

Bondage: The joke about him tying MC up with surgical knots was definitely not a joke. In my opinion, rather than the power rush over the control he has over you, what really gets him off is the trust you put in his hands. Bondage is all about having faith in your partner to never truly hurt you and knowing you see him that way makes him feel beyond special. Given the chance he'd love to have you wrapped in dark blue, silky ribbons and the aftercare is top tier with this guy.

Lingerie: For some reason I feel like Zayne is REALLY into seeing you wearing lingerie. Ladies, feel free to tease him by telling him you're wearing one, but not letting him see until he's home much later. He'll spend the entire day imagining what type of lace you have under your clothes and he pretty please asks you to strip for him as a reward for waiting.

Phone Sex: Another one I just have a feeling it's his thing. I mean, he is a busy man and sometimes it can't be helped, people have needs yk. He'd like the feeling of knowing you think of him as much as he does of you when the other is not around. The photos you send and the sounds of your needy whines right next to his ear goes straight to his cock and he is mortified when the post-nut clarity hits him and he realizes what he did in his own office.

-----------------------------♡♡♡------------------------------

Caleb

Overstimulation: I'm an overly sensitive Caleb truther. The overstimulation has his head spinning so good that he can barely form a coherent thought that isn't your name while he slams into your pussy for the nth time like a desperate man. He doesn't want to simply break you he wants to break together, to the point neither of you can think about anything else besides how good it feels.

Roleplaying: I've lost count of the amount of times we've seen him and MC roleplaying and this man will unironically take it to the bedroom. It starts as a joke where he's only doing it to make you laugh, but then he won't allow you to break character and will edge you until you say your "lines" correctly. Forceful and cold soldier? Check. Teasing and pervy Gege? of course. A loving and gentle husband? Sign him up. Strict teacher? No need to ask twice.

Brat Taming: Now defying Caleb is the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull and you better run because when he catches you you're done for. He needs you to need him as much as he needs you and if he has to break you for you to admit it then he will. The rush of being the one in charge and "taking care" of you in a way no one else will is enough to have his cock throbbing.

-----------------------------♡♡♡------------------------------

Sylus

Breeding AND Biting: These two go hand in hand every time you have sex with him. He craves to have a family with you but, more than anything, he wants you to be as full of him as his heart is of you. He wants you to be so filled with his cum that he has to keep his cock inside otherwise it'll leak out of you. He absolutely enjoys the slippery mess your warm insides become when he rocks his hips into you, slowly but deep, pushing his cum even further into your womb and hoping you'll get pregnant.

Body Worship: I've said it once and I'll say it again: Sylus is a lover boy! ! ! Each kiss on your skin is an offering, a promise and a worship. He wants to know the parts of your body not even you do and give you the love you deserve. The praises he whispers against your body are similar to a prayer and he could spend years exploring every inch of you without ever getting tired. You're the very reason for his existence and any less is just unacceptable.

Size: This guy is not only big but he's also very large. He is a softie who likes to tease you about how small you are compared to him while he holds your hand and pretends he doesn't hear your complaints about him suffocating you after the draped his heavy body over yours. That feeling of satisfaction extends when he has to gently coo you and kiss your tears away while he's spreading your little hole open. He can't help the fangy grin on his lips when he feels his cock bulge on your tummy and he holds your hand over the spot so you feel how deep he is inside of you as well.

-----------------------------♡♡♡------------------------------

Rafayel

Rough Sex: Another controversial take but I feel like he's a secret sadist just not the extreme type. Man can flip his demeanor from "harmless babyboy" to intimidating sea god in a split second who knows what else he's hiding under that purple wig. He'll keep an almost cold demeanor while he coaxes whimpers out of you in the best way and a wicked smirk spreads across his face at the sight of your tears, spurring him on until he's completely broken you.

Food Play: That's definitely one way to make sure he actually eats. Having you be his meal will make him hungry like never before and oh he absolutely will feast (this may or may not be a reference to this). He makes a point of not using his hands while licking along your skin, tasting the sweet chocolate before he left a purple mark on your thighs. Oh, this goes both ways so please pour wine on him and lick him clean ;)

Body Painting: I forgot if there's an actual English term for this but Rafayel would love to draw on your skin and watch you squirm each time the soft, wet brush went over your perked up nipples. He'd scold you when you move because you're making him smudge the lines and holds you in place with his free hand, warning you to stop or he'll take "extreme measures" to make you keep still. You are the only one he'd ever dare to call a masterpiece.

[ellieputellas]

just do it | alexia x reader

Your roommate Alexia catches you staring at her abs so she lets you experience them firsthand. (TLDR: you ride Alexia's abs) — inspired by this caitvi fanart and this other caitvi fanart

tags / contains: wc: 4k+, MINORS DNI!, smut, roommate!Alexia, playful!Alexia, grinding on Alexia's abs, fingering r!receiving, some dirty talk and teasing, petname usage, just absolute sloppy smut, not proofread

masterlist | do not repost or plagiarize!

“What are you staring at?”

You nearly jumped out of your seat and spilt your oatmeal as Alexia’s teasing, breathy voice reached your ear. Her hands poked at your waist, and you instinctively flinched, startled by her sudden presence. You turned around to see her, still in her workout gear, glistening in sweat from her morning jog. She smirked, pleasantly surprised by your reaction.

You clutched your phone close to your chest. "Nothing," you blurted out a little too quickly, avoiding her gaze as you tried to act casual. "Just scrolling through Instagram."

Alexia furrowed her eyebrows, looking at you suspiciously. "Yeah?" She tilted her head. "Then why are you holding your phone like it’s some kind of secret?" 

She raised an eyebrow. "Looking at something naughty, huh?"

Without warning, Alexia lunged, reaching for your phone with that playful grin of hers. Despite being older than you, she often acted like a mischievous child with you. It wasn’t unusual for her to sneak up on you and pinch the side of your waist just to catch you off guard. Sometimes, she’d tickle you or wrestle you for the remote control whenever she wanted to watch a football game and you were hogging the living room television to watch Temptation Island – which you found ridiculous, considering she had her own TV in her room. She was always so touchy and playful, and it only made your crush on her that much more complicated.

There was no denying that you had a crush on Alexia. When a friend mentioned that someone from her high school was looking for a roommate, you never imagined that person would be none other than World Cup winner, double Ballon d'Or holder, and FC Barcelona superstar, Alexia Putellas. You were already a fan of hers, but living with her? That was something else entirely.

Especially when she was so effortlessly comfortable around you, showing a playful side you never expected — one that only made your crush grow even harder.

Alexia was relentless as she tried to grab your phone. To prevent you from running off, Alexia straddled you to trap you to your seat, her legs brushing against yours as she closed the gap. She laughed at your futile attempts to keep the phone away from her. For a moment, you forgot about the teasing and how annoyed you should’ve felt by her persistence. Instead, your heart raced at the proximity. Her scent, fresh from the jog, her soft laugh — everything about her was just... overwhelming.

Taking advantage of your distractedness, Alexia got the better of you. She snatched your phone from your hand and bolted into her room before you could even realize. You sat there, wide-eyed and stunned. It all happened so quickly; you should have known Alexia – with her relentlessness and her athleticism – was not going to let you win this. 

You bit your lip as you began pacing your living room, waiting for her to get out of her room. Well, I have a password on my phone. There is no fucking way she’s going to open it. You paused and sighed, plopping down on the couch. Unless she guesses it.

Moments later, Alexia emerged from her room with an exaggerated smirk, holding your phone up like a trophy. By the look on her face, you can just tell that she guessed your password correctly.  "So, looking at my Nike photos, huh?" She laughed softly as she flipped your screen to her, showing you the photos of her you had saved.

Uh oh.

Your face heated instantly as you swallowed hard. You had, in fact, been ogling her latest Nike ads – the one where her abs and sculpted back muscles were on full display. When Alexia told you that her new ads were coming out earlier that week, you hadn’t expected the photos to be… of this nature.

Sure, Alexia was often just roaming around your place in just a sports bra post-workout. But you always made sure to avert your gaze, pretending you weren’t affected or even paying attention to her. Because looking directly at her in real life? That would be too obvious. Too dangerous. You didn’t want to get too flustered and even more infatuated with your roommate; it would mess up your dynamic.

So, really, you could only admire her from a distance, through the safety of a screen. And those photos… were something else. They were everything you’ve ever needed.

"Uhh, I—" you stammered, suddenly hyper-aware of how flustered you were. "I-I mean, the ad is really good. Y’know, woman empowerment and stuff. That’s so…feminist of you. It’s great."

Alexia's eyes sparkled with amusement at your stammering. "You think so?" She took her time, casually handing your phone back to you with a knowing smile. Her voice was low and teasing.  She took another step closer, just enough to make your breath hitch.

"Feminism, huh?" She arched an eyebrow, letting the words linger in the air before she casually lifted the bottom hem of her tank top, revealing the sharp definition of her abs. The sheen of her sweat accentuated the contours of her flexed muscles. 

“Was it the feminism that moved you, or…” The smirk on her face grew as her voice trailed off, leaving you to fill in the blanks. You tried so hard to not be affected but your traitorous eyes flickered downward before you could stop them. You felt your chest tighten, blood rushing to your face as you quickly shook your head, trying to clear the fog that was quickly filling your brain. Shit.

Alexia had initially only meant to tease you for a reaction — like she always did — but the way you were responding now… this was something else.

She loved riling you up; she found endless amusement in the way you’d scrunch your nose and swat at her hand whenever she pinched your side or poked at your waist. Sometimes, you’d smack her lightly on the arm and tell her to piss off, which only made her laugh harder. Alexia loved the way you always got worked up, looking like an angry kitten.

She had grown addicted to getting that look from you. It was playful, endearing, and gave her an excuse to do more… tickle you, mess with you, annoy you just enough to keep the game going. There were even times when you’d return the teasing, and that made her laugh even harder. She loved it. The back-and-forth, the way you’d both get caught up in it, made her feel close to you in a way that was fun, lighthearted.

But this? This was new.

Now, instead of rolling your eyes or teasing her back, your cheeks were flushed and your breath unsteady. You weren’t pushing her away or scowling at her; you were caught off guard, flustered and flushed in a way she had never seen before

“Huh,” It came out of her mouth in a breathy, curious tone.

She stepped forward and you instinctively moved back until your calves hit the couch. Alexia smirked slightly, the edges of her mouth tugging up, but she quickly wiped the grin off of her face. She decided she was going to push this, test the waters, and tease you in an entirely new way.

Alexia pouted as she moved impossibly closer.  “Are you mad at me? You look awfully red.” She asked with a softer voice, feigning curiosity as she put a hand under your chin and tilted your face up to force you to look at her. “Hey, cariño, you know I’m just teasing.”

You swallowed, nodding stiffly before swatting her hand away. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you muttered, grasping for an escape. “I just… don’t like it when people grab my phone like that.”

It was a flimsy excuse, but you just needed to shake her off and stop her from staring at you so intensely. Something about those beautiful hazel eyes... it was just too much.

Before you could step away, Alexia snaked her hand around your waist and pulled you flush against her. You tensed as you felt the warmth of her body against yours. “Hmm,” her soft voice vibrated against your ear. 

“You know,” she murmured, her voice a low-toned whisper, “I only tease you because you look so damn cute when you’re all riled up.” You swallowed hard as your pulse quickened. Alexia lingered close, her lips brushing against your ear before she pulled back just enough to study your face. 

Just wanting to get whatever this was over with, you nodded, still refusing to look Alexia in the eyes.  Alexia smiled slightly. “If you really wanted to look at my abs,” she mused, her fingers pushing under your top to trace circles into the skin of your back. “You could’ve just asked.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes and pushed her away slightly but Alexia’s grip on your waist tightened. 

“Ooh, there’s my feisty kitten,” Alexia teased. It wasn’t foreign to Alexia to call you silly, teasing nicknames but now it just felt charged. She leaned in, voice dropping just enough to make you shiver. “Don’t you wanna look at it now?”

The low timbre of her laugh sent a shiver straight down your spine, leaving you vulnerable and weak in a way you weren’t prepared for. 

“Well, if you don’t want to look at them…” she murmured, her fingers grazing yours. She delicately took your hand, slowly guiding it towards her exposed abdomen. “…you can touch them instead.”

Your breath hitched, coming out in uneven, hot puffs as Alexia guided your trembling hands over her flexed abs. The sensation of her firm, sweat-slicked stomach against your clammy fingers was driving you insane. 

You had spent so much time and effort avoiding anything that would cross the line. You were always diverting her touchy nature with playful swats or annoyed gestures to keep things uncomplicated. You thought maybe that was enough to keep your feelings at bay, enough to avoid turning your little crush into a full-blown infatuation. The last thing you needed was to complicate your relationship with your roommate.

But here she was now, undoing everything you worked hard to do.

“Hmm,” Alexia hummed, her voice dripping with amusement. “Better than you imagined?” 

Her smile widened as she watched your chest rise and fall with shaky breaths. She tilted her head, eyes flicking between your lips and your slightly parted lips. She followed your gaze, which was now fixated on the firm muscles beneath your fingertips.

“Staring at me like that, cariño?” she teased, tilting her head as if examining you. “Not very feminist of you.”

The teasing tone in her voice should have snapped you out of it, but instead, it sent a pulse of heat straight through you. You forced yourself to shake your head, mustering just enough strength to lift your hand to smack her in the arm.

But Alexia was faster. She caught your wrist with ease, and before you could react, she twisted both of your arms behind your back, restraining you and pulling you closer to her. The sudden proximity left you breathless, her firm grip keeping you upright as you nearly stumbled back onto the couch. Then, suddenly, her lips were pressed against yours.

You let out a sharp inhale against her lips, body stiff with shock. Alexia’s mouth moved against yours with a confidence that made your head spin. You tried to protest and push her away but with her holding your hands behind your back, you were completely trapped.

A million thoughts surged through your mind as the anxiety filled you. This was Alexia. Your roommate. Your friend. The one person you swore you wouldn’t complicate things with. But the way she kissed you, like she had been waiting for this just as long as you had, made every single reason you had for resisting dissipate.

Sensing your hesitation, Alexia pulled back just enough to breathe against your lips. “Stop fighting it,” she murmured, her voice low, slightly breathless. Her nose brushed against yours, and she tilted her head, lips grazing over your cheek in a way that made you shudder. “I know you want me.”

And god, did you.

The last thread of restraint inside you snapped as she kissed you again, deeper this time, her grip on you loosening just slightly. You pushed forward, pressing into her, completely melting into her kiss.

“Let me go,” you whispered against her lips, voice unsteady and muffled.

Alexia chuckled, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Mm, I don’t know,” she teased, fingers tightening as she firmly pulled on them one last time before finally letting your wrists slip free. Without missing a beat, you slid your arms around her neck, pulling her closer against you as you kissed her back, properly this time. 

Alexia kissed better than you could have ever imagined. She was intense, passionate but still careful and measured with her hands delicately holding you at the waist, fingers tracing small circles against your skin. As the kiss deepened, Alexia started moving you and pulling you towards her bedroom. She barely broke away from your lips as she fumbled with the stubborn doorknob, cursing softly in frustration before finally pushing the door open.

She swiftly sat on the bed, pulling you on to her lap. Her lips left yours to trace along your jaw, slow and deliberate, before trailing down the length of your throat. The first drag of her tongue against your pulse made you whimper, and when she latched onto the soft skin at the base of your neck, sucking just hard enough to leave her mark, you moaned outright. 

Alexia chuckled, the vibrations spreading through your skin, setting every nerve in your body alight. You barely realized you had started grinding against her lap until she tensed beneath you, her hands tightening around your waist.

“Fuck, get this off,” you moaned out as you tugged on her shirt. “I need to see you properly this time.”

She smiled, wasting no time pulling her shirt over her head and tossing it aside. Your breath hitched as you put your hands on her abs, tracing every curve and contour. Alexia chuckled as she leaned back, propping herself up with her elbows firm on the mattress, further engaging her core. You cursed under your breath as you felt them firm up beneath your fingertips. “Fuck.”

Alexia watched you, amused, letting you admire her. She loved the way your eyes were taking every bit of her in. You were practically devouring her with your eyes. But before you could fully enjoy admiring her, she leaned in, pressing her lips to the shell of your ear. “Why don’t we try something?” she murmured, voice dripping with something dangerous. “Just… indulge me.”

You cocked up an eyebrow as you looked at the older woman who had a playful smile on her face. Without explanation, Alexia sat up from her leaned-back posture and caught your lips in a deep kiss again.You barely had time to react before you felt her hands at the waistband of your pajama shorts, fingers toying with the elastic.

The second she tugged at them, you broke away, standing swiftly so she could pull them off without resistance. The heat between your legs was undeniable now. Alexia swore she could feel her mouth water as her eyes fell upon them in a dark gaze.

“Fuck,” Alexia cursed. She grabbed you by the hips, moving her head towards your hips to plant a kiss on the dip of your hips. “Look at that… so wet for me.”

A breath escaped your lips. “I want you to do something for me, cariño.” She murmured, pressing another lingering kiss on your bare hip.

“Yeah?” It came out softer and more submissive than you thought.

Alexia smirked at that, her eyes darkening slightly as she leaned back against the pillows propped up on her headboard. You hesitantly crawled onto the bed, feeling awkward and self-conscious about your nakedness. But the moment you were within reach, Alexia’s hands found your waist, strong and firm as she pulled you back into her lap.

She looked at you with a slight sparkle in her eyes. “I want you to grind on my abs.”

Your eyes widened and you nearly choked on your own breath. “W-what?”

Alexia chuckled, running hands over your thighs, brushing impossibly close to your center but never quite touching. The teasing gestures had your eyes fluttering in pleasure, desperate for more  “Go on, cariño,” she purred, tilting her head as she watched you. “I want to feel you riding me.”

You didn’t have to think too hard. In fact, you didn’t have to think at all. It was as if your animalistic instinct took over. You put your hands firm against the headboard, gripping it tightly as you lowered yourself on her, gasping as you felt contact. A wave of pleasure shot through you.

“Wait, let’s get this off.” Alexia hummed, pulling off your top, and exposing your bare chest to her. “Now, that’s a sight.”

A blush crept across your cheeks, but before you could react, she pressed a slow, lingering kiss just between your breasts. She moved her mouth from the center to your right breast, capturing the erect nipple with her warm, wet mouth. You swallowed hard and hesitantly rolled your hips against her abs, testing the friction. Moans threatened to spill out of your mouth as soon as you moved your body against her. Your slick covered Alexia’s stomach with every movement, which the Catalan absolutely loved. Finally, a moan escaped your lips as your swollen clit dragged against the firm muscles beneath you. The sensation had you shivering in pleasure already.

Your movements started slow and hesitant, testing out the water. But Alexia was growing impatient; she wanted to see you fully riding her out and screaming her name in pleasure. She had enough of this slow grind nonsense. Her hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging into your skin as she pressed you down harder against her.

“Come on,” Her voice came out with a rasp. “Show me how much you want me.”

You obeyed without thinking, your hands sliding from the headboard to grasp at her arms for support. You rocked your hips harder, faster, feeling the delicious friction of her muscles against your aching clit. Alexia guided your hips, pressing you down against her. With your full weight against her, each movement and roll of your hips was rewarded with a warm pleasure that filled your body. 

You managed to open your eyes momentarily to take a look at Alexia. And the way she was staring at you… it was intense. Her gaze had turned feral with sharp hazel eyes fixated on every inch of your body, watching your hips roll and your boobs bounce with every hip gyration. Her lips were parted slightly, left breathless by the insane sight of you grinding against her, leaving her soaked in your sweet nectar.

“Fuck,” she groaned, one hand leaving your waist to glide up your body. They settled at the middle of your back, supporting your weight. The shift in angle had your clit rubbing directly against the hardest ridge of her abs, and your whole body trembled as a string of sloppy moans and whimpers spilled from your lips.

“That’s it,” Alexia murmured, her voice nearly a growl. “Keep going, cariño. Use me.”

Her words alone were enough to drive you insane. You picked up the pace and held firmly against Alexia to grind against her, chasing after the pleasure that was developing inside you. You threw your head back as you continued to recklessly ride your roommate’s abs, letting each ridge graze against your bud. With each movement, your moans got louder, more lewd. If you weren’t so brainfucked, you would have taken a moment to thank god for the fact that Alexia’s apartment had thick walls or else all the other neighbours would have heard you.

“Alexia…” It came out breathily and weakly. “I’m going to– I’m going to—”

“I know, cariño.” Alexia purred, her voice smooth and intoxicating. “I’ll give you a reward as soon as you do.”

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, biting your lip. Alexia’s hands gripped your waist firmly, holding you up effortlessly so you could thoughtlessly grind against her abs. Your thighs were burning and you were growing sloppier with each hip movement but the way Alexia stared at you – lower lip tucked in between her teeth, eyes dark with desire, letting out low groans as she felt the drag of your slick against her stomach— kept you going.

Your arms were shaking and your legs were growing weak. The pleasure was building up almost to a peak. "Come on, just a bit more,” she urged, voice thick with hunger.

And suddenly, the pleasure was rippling throughout your body. Your body shook as warmth flooded every inch of you. You would have gone completely limp if Alexia had not propped you up with her strong hands.

Your brain was still foggy and your body was still weak when she suddenly flipped you over, pressing you into the mattress. Before you could catch your breath, Alexia was between your legs, her fingers pushing inside you in one smooth motion. A strangled cry tore from your throat as you felt her long fingers enter you, hitting every spot that sent pleasure all over your body with every thrust. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek — so tender, so deceptively sweet — while her fingers moved in contrast with rough but deliberate thrusts.

You held Alexia close, clawing at her back, nails sinking into the exposed parts of it. Alexia moaned against your ear. Even if you were roughly clawing at her back, the pain felt more like pleasure; the sting only fuelling her desire. She picked up the pace, her movements rough and unrelenting, thrusting deeply inside you. Her fingers were longer than yours and they were reaching parts you could never reach; it was a novel experience that you were starting to grow addicted to.

Soon, your vision was starting to blur as heat pooled low in your belly. You just knew another orgasm was building. “You feel so good, cariño.” She hummed against your ear, breathy and warm. “Love your tight pussy.”

You groaned out. Alexia smiled agaisnt your neck. “Fuck, you sound so good.” She was once again dragging her tongue against your neck before biting and sucking against the flesh. The sensation of her mouth against you and your fingers inside you was driving you over the edge. “Yeah, cum for me, baby.”

You felt yourself tighten around Alexia’s fingers. You held onto her tightly, involuntarily moving your hips to match her movements. “Ale… Alexia, fuck.” You moaned in her ear. “Fuck!”

Alexia firmly thrusted deeply one last time. You arched your back, feeling your orgasm fill you once more. Alexia thrusted a few more times, letting you ride out the sensation before completely pulling out. 

You blinked hazily, still trying to gather your thoughts as your body slowly came down from its high. Your limbs felt like jelly, your breath uneven, and your brain was struggling to piece together anything coherent. Meanwhile, Alexia looked completely smug, smiling at you.

You let out a heavy sigh to admire her for a moment. She looked impossibly gorgeous even with her hair tousled and a thin sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. Her hazel eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint to them. 

“So… remind me again,” she asked as she lowered her face to plant a kiss on your collarbone. “What was it you liked about my ad? You said something about… women empowerment?”

You rolled your eyes and groaned. “God, you’re so annoying.”

Alexia merely smirked. “Yeah?” she hummed, tilting her head as if deep in thought. “Maybe you should punish me for being so annoying.”

Alexia planted another kiss between your collarbones and neck before moving up to plant a kiss below your jaw then to the side of your ear. Her fingers trailed lower once more, settling at the dip of your hipbones. She whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. “You can shut me up if you sit on my face.”

You lightly smacked her shoulder, causing her to chuckle. “Now?” You looked at her incredulously. “You just fucked my brain out and my legs are practically jelly. I’d probably end up suffocating you.”

Alexia chuckled, her voice low and amused. “Mmm, I don’t think I’d mind that.” She pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “Just can’t get enough,” she said with another kiss. “I really can't help it... my roommate is so hot.”

You rolled your eyes at the statement even if it did turn you on a little bit. “Alexia, I haven’t done that before. I’m seriously gonna suffocate you with my butt.” You groaned, trying to make light of the situation to mask your self-consciousness. You never really slept with much women so you weren’t sure how face-riding worked. Hell, it was a miracle you were somehow able to pull off riding her abs. “I just don’t wanna disappoint you.”

Alexia furrowed her eyebrows. “Cariño, you could never disappoint.” She said with a firmer tone. “Besides, I’m seriously so desperate to taste you.”

You hesitated, unsure if your body could even take another orgasm. Alexia leaned in to kiss your lips tenderly. “Don’t overthink it,” she said before giving you another kiss. You could feel her smile against your lips just before she pulled away, looking at you with a playful smile and a sparkle in her eyes. “Just do it.”

a/n: again not proofread! please be nice! (also sorry for disappearing AGAIN! just a tad uninspired to write lately! i promise i'll be back... at some unspecified time... to write more substantial fanfics) | masterlist

[suguboos]

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME.ᐟ.ᐟ— featuring G. SATORU & G. SUGURU

cw: 18+ content, MDNI. threesome, unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), consensual recording, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, etc.)

the first thing that they did when they heard about your breakup was laugh. not at you, of course, but rather at the situation. laugh at the tears you’d shed over a man they didn’t even deem worthy enough to look at you.

over the man who’d tried to buy you a soda from the dollar value menu when it was thing, only for his card to end up declining.

and the second thing that they did was take you out to the mall—buying you an expensive gucci necklace in the process.

not because of the brand itself, no, but rather the emblem on the necklace—the two intertwined g’s coated in swarovski crystals. crystals that glistened with even just the slightest sliver of light.

and now crystals that were glistening underneath your phone’s flash. the very same two g’s bounced off your chest with every thrust of satoru’s hips against your own, pushing your mouth even deeper down suguru’s cock—serving as a reminder of who exactly was making you cum now.

but it wasn’t enough for the two of them that there was a slight possibility your ex would see you with the necklace, they had to show him just exactly what he was missing out on.

“come on baby, look up at the camera f’me. tell your ex how it feels,” suguru cooed, using his thumb to wipe off some of the drool leaking down your parted lips. you moaned against his cock, looking up at the camera with tear streaked eyes. “so good, sug-fuck!” your words came out muffled, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

“yeah?” satoru didn’t miss the opportunity to goad him on, one of his hands gripping your hip. the other moved to the small of your back, making you arch even further. “feels soo much better, huh? poor pussy’s been neglected, huh?”

you simply nodded, digging your nails into suguru’s thighs. even though you hadn’t responded, your cunt was more than happy to. loud squelches echoed throughout the room with every rhythmic plap! plap! of satoru’s thrusts, pussy dripping over his cock like a running faucet.

satoru took the phone from suguru, focusing the lens on where your greedy cunt was practically swallowing his cock inch by inch. “did he even make you cum, sweetheart? or did he just make you cry?” he taunted even further, rubbing small circles onto your hip with his thumb.

“n-no,” you turned your head back to look over at satoru, “said something was wrong with me.” suguru clicked his tongue, taking your chin and bending down to your level. “nothin’ wrong with you, angel. just everything wrong with your taste,” his hair tickled the sides of your face as he leaned in, pressing his lips against your own.

you went back to slobbering over suguru’s cock, hollowing your cheeks out in an attempt to take him further with each time satoru fucked you into it. satoru took the hand on your back, rubbing at your engorged clit with two fingers. “come for me, we got you. gonna take care of you, yeah?”

your legs shook with your impending orgasm, your nails practically digging into suguru’s thighs. “‘toru, fuck fuck, gonna cum, make me cum, please, plea-” incoherent babbles left your mouth before your orgasm washed over you like a wave. the release had your toes curl and your tongue loll out from the corner of your mouth, cunt dripping over satoru’s bedsheets.

“look at how pretty she looks when she cums,” satoru clicked his tongue, scooping up your essence with his finger before sticking it in his mouth, “tastes so sweet, so good. and you didn’t wanna put in the effort.”

“not like he’ll ever see her like this again,” suguru retorted, taking the phone to capture your fucked out expression, “you think she’s gonna be satisfied after she had us?” he tossed the phone to the side, sliding his cock out of your mouth.

you weren’t sure why you’d thought they’d be like your ex, when they’d proven to be nothing like him, but you still found yourself surprised to see that they were up for another round. nothing like the five minute quick and done that you’d grown.. regrettably accustomed to.

“come on, we got a year of orgasms to make up to you, pretty girl,” suguru eased you onto your back, the two of them kneeling in between your legs. he dipped his tongue into your hole, lapping up the mixture of satoru’s cum and your own.

“lemme get a taste,” satoru took suguru’s chin, facing him before their lips crashed together into a sloppy kiss. the exchange between the two was more spit and tongue rather than passion, pure desperation and lust filling them. droplets of spit (who’s? you weren’t completely sure) landed against your skin, the scene in front of you enough to have you pressing your legs together.

satoru licked his lips when he pulled away, glancing back over at you with a cocky smile on his face, “keep ‘em open, sweets. we didn’t forget about you.”

you didn’t even remember why you’d cried so hard over your ex by the time the night was over.

a/n: should prob stop writing w just my pussy ngl

[revcleo]

Something which I also think would be useful for people to understand is that they have to strategise their speech.

Right wing people know this, because they speak differently among themselves than they do on social media and such because they want to appear reasonable in their use of dog whistles and such, that make people who know what they're talking about either seem crazy or unable to remove their schostastic terrorism or such.

But what I think a lot of left wing people think is that being correct and on the good side of history etc means that people will always agree with them, or be evil. Never mind that there's the stereotype of leftist infighting, a lot of people seem to be either ashamed of their past and less informed behaviour, or copy the behaviour of their favourite posters (who are usually irony poisoned and sarcastic at the least, and angry warriors of truth otherwise).

The things you've got to do when you come across someone who you disagree with is first think: What do I want out of this encounter?

Do you want to change how anyone thinks?

This can be no, if you just want to let off steam or shout at people, instead think "Is this the right person to shout at?" Will you make yourself look like an idiot?

Shouting at someone can be fine, like shouting is used to either get people in line or get people to fuck off.

Shouting works when it's either someone you largely agree with who is doing something fucked up and you go "what the fuck?" and talk to them, but mass shouting when it's someone you largely agree with does not work in that way. I've never seen a lot of people shouting at someone who they agree with 99% on things, ending up productive. It just creates divides and ends up as a form of harassment.

If you want to shout at someone for catharsis, the best way to do this is to do a sort of preaching to the choir about something fucked up you've seen, or shouting at an in person protest.

Since this is also an option for if you don't want to change someone's mind, if you find someone so entrenched and fucked up in their beliefs that they are unlikely to change, so long as you aren't going to repost their beliefs to shout at them, then shouting at them can be a way to let off steam. It won't do anything else, and may make you more angry, but it's an option.

But what if you want to change someone's mind?

First like, who are you talking to? Let's put them in a few groups:

Fellow leftist, problematic liberal, typical conservative, outright fascist

Starting from the fascist: You will not be able to change their mind and make them realise the folly of their ways.

They can change their own minds, but arguing with them will not do that. It's a special job to deradicalise fascists. The best things you can do are either:

A. bait them into saying something which they can be reported for/look into their blogs to see if they have anything reportable

B. block them, spreading their hate speech just to debunk it is still spreading their hate speech, you can debunk things without sharing the original

C. humiliate them. What you do is you need to make them look stupid by baiting them into showing their ass while you just show calm facts and logic. They often rely on appearing to be the sensible and calm one to appeal to people who are less fascist than they are, because they are irritating and cherry-pick facts it can be easy to get angry, so if you get too pissed off to do this then just block them.

Now on the typical conservative, sometimes they can be the fascist sort, where they're too deep in whatever hole, and you can just treat them as above, but if you learn to tell the difference between people who are just out to waste your time and people who are actually curious and have just picked up fucked up information (such as the example above) then if you just take your time and target your speech to align with some of their preconcieved ideas, you may be able to get them to doubt themselves on something.

You will not be able to make them suddenly a leftist, you also will probably not be able to make them even centrist, but pushing seeds of doubt is fine. Just don't spend too long, and make sure you're definitely able to tell if someone has curiousity or not. People who lack curiosity are often time wasters and will not care at all about what you're saying.

It can also be useful to get a bunch of responses to their thought terminating clichés and channel your inner MCU or something, such as "I thought the left was supposed to be tolerant" "you're confusing tolerant with a doormat/no that's the liberals/of what? assholes?"

With problematic liberals, they may be generally nice people who just say something a bit fucked up, or might just not know about something. Like let's say there's a link you post with saying "White people should read this." and they respond defensively with "Why do I need to read that?" the wrong response would be "Are you some sort of racist or something?" which is starting a fight. Whether they're a racist or not, they are less likely to engage with the information. Instead it's possible to just answer the question, which might be something like "It might be some interesting information you've never thought of before, which can help you treat other people better."

Some people can just be very annoying, feel free to block whoever whenever, and sometimes the way people brains work are different, so you can't figure out what each other means, feel free to say "Sorry, this is just frustrating and I don't think we're going to resolve anything." but someone not being as left as you doesn't mean they are inherently going to go rightwards. You can help them on a journey by giving them suggestions and telling them facts that they might not know.

Saying things like "just fucking google it" really doesn't work nowadays especially, since google is so full of shit. So having a bunch of useful bookmarks might be an idea if you want to try and convince people who are almost leftists to give it a go, rather than telling them to fuck off.

Liberals are much more appreciative of a bit of truth and facts and maybe a podcast recommendation than many leftists think. There's even many liberals who you might talk to when you are out and about IRL, you can convince them of things like sensible nuclear policy and how more bike lanes are good for everyone.

With fellow leftists, there are many different but similar sorts of arguments. Maybe someone is having a bad day and is fighty, maybe someone is just an asshole who loves to pick fights, maybe you have the same thing but from different angles and just need to work out where it is, maybe someone is just frustrated with the way how they feel powerless and has found one thing they can shout about which is unfortunately wrong but makes them feel good about themselves.

You gotta see where people are coming from on things, sometimes you just gotta block people, not that they're even bad, but just like you know fundamentally you're going to find some of the ways they think to be really irritating, or some of their comparatively harmless jokes just piss you off and it's not worth fighting about.

With leftists, sometimes taking the argument on head on is not the best way to go about things, the best thing to do is try and find where the argument comes from. Check in with your comrades, see how they're doing. Try and keep things in plain language if jargon seems to obfuscate your meanings, and try and rephrase things and see if the other person is willing to also rephrase things. Try and reach a stage where you both understand the other person's argument. Maybe you can reconcile?

Also maybe the other person just doesn't know about some information you have as well? Try keeping things cheerful. If someone really is a dickhead then you can just block them.

And one thing I've gotta say with all of this:

If you don't feel up to it, then don't do it, but don't make it worse. If you don't want to talk to someone, then don't. Also don't take this as tone policing, if someone demands politeness when they've not given it, they can fuck off.

Might I give some advice:

Not everyone has (or needs to have) the energy to thoughtfully respond to republicans on the Internet. You do not have to do that.

But some people do, and can. And I think we gotta let them.

An example:

I have a former teacher, I'll call her Grace, who is an incredibly kind woman in her 70s. Devout catholic, had voted for various parties over the years, but has been pretty strictly democrat over the past 15-20 because that aligns with her values of kindness and service.

She shared a post about the pope's recent letter and expressed that she agreed with his concerns about how trump is treating immigrants. A friend of hers commented a long paragraph basically saying "dear Grace I care for you but I don't understand how you can be a Christian and a democrat. Blah blah abortion blah blah gender blah blah drugs."

Grace replied "I'm very busy right now but I am going to respond to you soon with my thoughts". When she did it was an incredibly generous, rational monologue that connected with this person's humanity, their shared religious values, and made a beautiful case for why she supports who she does. I didn't agree with a good half of what she said as I am not a Christian, but the result was an expression of values that I think put her on the side of justice and compassion.

The person replied and thanked her and said she had a lot to think about. It was probably the best case scenario for a Facebook politics conversation

You know what came very close to ruining it? A bunch of (mostly younger) people piling on with "fuck you you racist maga pos" and "no one has to explain anything to you, go to hell" etc etc. Even after Grace wrote that she intended to reply herself.

I watched this republican respond to all the easy, quick insults by saying "this is why I don't think any democrats can be Christian, this is how you all speak to me." If Grace hadn't put so much work into writing her response in a way that was tailored to fit this person, I would not be surprised if that person left Facebook doubly certain that Christian nationalism is the way to go.

I'm not saying we can't cuss out jackasses. I'm not saying everyone needs to respond to bad faith arguments like Grace did or use their time like she did.

But this was on Grace's Facebook page, and interrupted the work she already volunteered to do. Just so these individuals could feel like they "did something" and got a shot off at an enemy.

I think that's selfish and childish and unproductive. They could have said anything they wanted in their own space, but they made grace's job harder for no fuckin reason. And then "loved" her reply and said "that was beautiful Grace, thank you for sharing your thoughts"

Like... Buddies. Pals. If someone volunteers to scrub the toilet fucking let them.

[f1fantasys]

Netflix and Chill Part 2

Warnings - FILTHY SMUT. that's it. You've been warned.

The motherfucker ghosted you.

You'd woken up the next morning, confused for a few seconds as you regained your surroundings. Normally you would feel the warmth of Lando's arm around your naked form, pulling you closer as you both shuffled to wake up. But today you had woken up cold. Pulling the sheets closer to you, you turned around, bracing yourself for whatever was to come next, good or bad. Except the other side of the bed was cold, empty, as if no one had even been there. Sitting up and looking around the room, you mentally cursed yourself for being such a deep sleeper. There was no sign of Lando. No clothes, no personal belongings, nothing. It was as if he wasn't here at all. Checking your phone, your heart dropped when there wasn't even a message from him. You held your ground for the next few days, not attempting to contact him, because, what the hell? So you threw yourself into work, busy as ever, and tried not to think of him.

It was now testing week in Bahrain, excitement in the paddock buzzing with the season about to start. You figured it would be impossible not to see the curly-haired Brit, but you'd decided to ignore him if you did. Why did he think it was okay to give you the best orgasms of your life, talk about a future, even though you could blame it on the adrenaline, and then avoid you as if you didn't know each other.

Day 1 went on without a hitch. You were covering Ferrari, so you were cooped up in their garage all day, and you were grateful all you saw of Lando was his back as he was walking out of the paddock.

Getting back to your hotel, you took a long shower, scrubbing off the smell of rubber and grease that'd gathered in the garage. You crawled into bed, desperate for sleep though you kept tossing and turning until your phone buzzed with a message. Seeing Lando's on your screen had you jolting up.

''hey, you good? sorry for being MIA, prepping for the season and what not..''

You took a few minutes to reply. You totally got how stressed and busy he was, but what pissed you off was how he'd left you sleeping in his room, bolted like it was nothing, you were nothing.

''i get you're busy Lan, but low blow leaving me in YOUR hotel room without so much as a fucking 'hey, I'm leaving, see you whenever'' you sent back.

His next message came in quick.

''whoa, relax. yeah? didn't think you'd react like this..''

Relax? Really? Was he really telling you to relax right now? You were fuming.

''react like what? Lando, we fucked and then you literally walked out in silence. how should i react?''

''i..yeah, dick move. i'm sorry''

Before you the chance to respond, another text came in.

''let me make it up to you? ;)''

Fuck this man and his abilities to turn you on with a few simple words.

''no thank you, i'm tired.

''y/n? saying no to my dick?''

''fuck you''

''i'd rather you fuck me''

Already feeling a wetness in your panties, you instinctively slipped a hand past them to slide through your throbbing folds, when you phone pinged again.

''damn, no reply for 3 minutes. she's touching herself thinkin' about me''

Damn him for knowing you inside out.

''stop''

''come on y/n, i know how needy you get. let me help you yeah?

''Lando'' you warned, though you didn't want him to stop one bit.

He obviously took it as you moaning him name, not warning him.

''i know baby. just imagine i'm right there with you, it's my fingers sliding through your dripping cunt. press two into yourself?''

You did as he said, gasping and arching your back off the bed as you thrust them in and out at a steady pace though it didn't feel as good as Lando's rough, calloused fingers. And when he saw you hadn't replied, he didn't hesitate to call you.

Whimpering, you answered, not saying anything but instead letting him hear what he was doing to you.

''Fuck, always love hearing you like this'' he said. ''Are you doing it? Fucking yourself with your fingers?'' he asked as you heard shuffling on the other end of the line.

''I am'' you responded, words coming through gritted teeth.

''Go faster, and let me hear you come more baby. Fuck I'm so hard right now''

You quickened your pace, breathless moans leaving your mouth. ''Are, huh, are you touching yourself?'' you asked.

''Yeah, fuck, i'm so fucking hard right now. Imagining your tongue on my cock, soft and hot''

''Lando'' you moaned his name, your tummy warming up, orgasm on the brink.

He quickly requested a facetime which you accepted, nearly tipping you over the edge as you saw him sat against his headboard, fist around his dick, pumping very quickly as he let out his own series of grunts.

''I'm right there with you, fuck. Think of my tongue now, going down on you. Licking up all your juices as I suck on your clit before thrusting it through your hole, fuck you're delicious. Are you gonna cum baby? All over my face yeah?''

''I-fuck me. I'm gonna-'' you started before your orgasm ripped through your body, your cum coating your fingers as you shook, the after effects taking control now.

Just seeing you let go to his words had Lando on the brink, his moans becoming louder as you watched cum splurge out of his girth and on to his stomach, sheets of white painting him as his body shuddered and tried to calm down. ''Fucking hell'' he groaned.

Both your chests were heaving, smug smiles playing your faces as you stared at each other through the phone.

''One more thing babygirl'' he said.

''Huh'' you questioned.

''Need to see you suck your fingers off. Taste yourself''

You did as he did. Sliding your fingers out of your cunt and bringing them to your lips, not before showing off the shine to Lando through the camera.

''Fuck'' you heard him mutter as you finally sank them into your mouth, moaning at the salty taste of your cum.

You licked them clean and released them with a pop before turning your attention back to Lando.

''Your turn'' you said, feeling your cheeks heat up at the thought of Lando tasting himself.

He groaned, and you watched him gather his slick on a finger before slipping it into his mouth, already clenching your thighs together at the sight of him.

Finally, as things settles and both your heart rates returned to normal, Lando sheepishly smiled at you while you internally cursed yourself for getting putty in his hands so easily.

''Tomorrow, yeah?'' he said, up and walking to his bathroom to clean up.

''Tomorrow'' you said, bidding him goodnight.

Needless to say, you woke up fresh as a daisy in the morning. That damn mouth of his, doing things to you without so much as touching you.

You strode into the paddock with a colleague, stopping my the McLaren hospitality to see if Lando was there. He wasn't, so you made your way to Mercedes, your home for the day.

George was speaking before you saw him. ''Someone's pucker'' he said, winking.

Your cheeks flushed, Lando must have said something.

''Shut up'' you mumbled as he walked in step with you. He was a close friend of Lando's, and they often spoke of their quoted ''love lives'' so rather, ''friends, with benefits''

You motioned to zip your mouth up and throw away the key before your breath hitched when you saw Lando walking towards you.

''Hello'' he greeted innocently, with a smirk that was anything but innocent.

''Hi'' you smiled, clearing your throat as George walked away with a smug look on his own face.

''Good night?'' he asked, as if he wasn't talking filthy over the phone not 12 hours ago.

''Meh, it was alright, could have been better'' you said.

He chuckled, a deep sarcastic laugh before he moved closer, lips barely touching your ear. ''I'll be looking for a different answer tomorrow morning, after i fuck you numb tonight'' he whispered, walking off behind you, leaving you blushing in the middle of the paddock.

The rest of the day was busy from the word go. You had been keeping an eye on how Lando was doing, his car seemed to take off right where they ended last year, if anything, better even. Just as you were wrapping up for the day, he'd texted you with his room number. ''Don't be late'' to which you reacted with a heart.

You had a dinner to attend, which seemed to drag on forever before you practically ran up to your room to shower and change, eager for him. You knocked a few times with no answer, so opened your phone to call him as you read a message he'd sent.

''In the shower. Door's unlocked''

You smiled and pushed it open, the noise of the shower filling your ears. Debating whether to wait for him or join him, the latter won out.

You stripped your clothes to be butt naked before opening the bathroom door, gasping when your eyes landed on Lando's hands pumping himself.

''Gonna stand there and watch or help out?'' he teased, opening the shower door you to step into.

Within seconds his lips were on yours, fighting for dominance as your tongues slid against each other. It was sloppy and messy, the both of you swallowing the others moans.

You could feel Lando's hard erection between your stomachs, his hands cupping your ass, massaging it tightly.

''Need to taste you'' you mumbled, roughly pushing him against the wall and sinking down on your knees while Lando didn't protest. He gripped your hair, pulling it out of your face into a makeshift ponytail as you kissed a strip on his bare thighs up to his crotch.

''Please'' he begged leaning his head back, mouth slightly agape as you finally wrapped your lips around his tip, swallowing his pre-cum and then sucking hard on it.

''Fuck me y/n. That mouth of yours'' he groaned when you started pushing him further into your mouth, pumping what you couldn't fit in. You hummed in response, the sensation causing his dick to twitch in your mouth as you quickened your pace, folding with his balls as his grip on your hair tightened.

''Fuck you take me so good. Where do you want my cum?'' he asked, voice desperate though none of your cared how quickly he was pushing to the edge.

He should have known the answer already. You were always ready to taste him, so you continued with your movements as Lando cupped your face and began fucking himself through your mouth, relentlessly.

And in a matter of seconds he exploded, sheets of warm, salty cum coating the inside of your mouth as he let out guttural moans, legs shaking and shuddering as his dick twitched uncontrollably.

You clenched your thighs together at the sound, taste and sight in front of you. Lando was slowly becoming your world, and to see him fall apart like that because of you, was doing things. Good or bad? You didn't know.

You stood back up and stood on your tippy-toes to kiss him, hard and deep, gripping his hair tightly.

He quickly turned the water off before picking you up, throwing you over his shoulders before stepping out of the shower, not caring about dripping water everywhere as he carried you to the bed, flopping you down before hovering above you.

You took his green eyes in, heart beating out of your chest because it was times like this that you couldn't believe he was choosing to do these types of things with you.

''I'm sorry for being such a dick. I was worried you'd think I'm a desperate fucking weirdo after saying all those things to you that night'' he said, thumb stroking your cheek.

''Lando, I literally want the same things as you, i told you. Please don't do that again. I'd thought you regretted all of it'' you said softly.

''Fuck, the only thing i regret is going all MIA on. I promise I won't do it again''

You responded by pulling him down and kissing him senseless again.

''I meant it. I want all of you.'' you mumbled between licks and nips of his tongue.

''I'm here now, not going anywhere'' he said, before hovering down your body and spreading you legs apart, a smirk taking over his face.

''Look at you, dripping for me'' he said, wasting no time in licking a strip up your sticky cunt.

You gasped, tugging at his hair as he started his onslaught, devouring your pussy, biting and sucking on your clit as he thrust two finger through you, hitting against your g-spot over and over again.

''Oh god, Lando, fuck. Fuck me'' you said between moans, gasps for air because he really was not going easy you.

''Cum on my face y/n, need to taste you'' you said, adding a third finger while holding your legs spread with his strong hands.

He didn't need to tell you twice to cum. In no time you were gushing your liquids all over, drenching his face in white hot sticky cum as your moans over took the sloppy sound of his tongue lapping at you.

When you'd realized what was happening, Lando was praising your name over and over, and it dawned on you as you looked at him, panic taking over your body.

You'd just squirted all over his face.

''I-oh my god, shit, I'm sor-

''What the fuck, y/n, how are you saying sorry right now? This is the hottest fucking thing you've ever done. I'm about to cum again just looking at you like this'' he said quickly.

You had no energy to argue, butterflies in your stomach at his words as he leaned up to kiss you again.

''Need to feel you, please'' you begged.

''Condom?'' he asked, having a feeling he knows the answer already.

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips as he slid his thick girth through your folds.

''Fuck me numb, yeah?'' you said, repeating his earlier words back to him.

''Fucking dirty mouth'' he mumbled before sliding into you in a single thrust, bottoming out while you held your breath, squeezed your eyes shut at the intrusion.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waste and told him to move, capturing his lips again between breathy moans and guttural groans.

'Fuck, you're tight'' he said, picking up his pace, pounding into you, his dick continuously hitting the same spot over and over as your walls clenched painfully around him.

''Lando, please, faster'' you begged, his hand coming down to toy at your clit which immediately had your body shuddering underneath him, your orgasm ripping through you while he relentlessly continued pounding into you.

''Not gonna last long, fuck me'' he said, his moans pornographic by now, and the sound on skin slapping against skin filling up the room.

''I, I can't Lando, too much'' you said, cunt overstimulated.

He slowed his movements. ''Want me to stop?'' he asked, no etch of concern on his face coz he knew you could take it.

''Fuck no'' you said, already trying to move your body up and down to create some friction again.

He smirked as he resumed his pace, quick, hard, deep thrusts until they started becoming sloppy, his dick throbbing inside of you as you came yet again, your body like jelly, moaning out his name, and not a few seconds later you felt sheets of warm cum coating your insides as he came with a husky groan, shuddering on top of you.

Lando eventually collapsed on your body, the both of you shivering at the cold air coating your sweat-clad skin.

You could feel like softening inside of you, though no one even attempted to move, too fucked out to care.

''Your incredible'' he mumbled in your neck, his breath fanning your skin as your played with the curls on his head.

''Tell me that tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that'' you teased back, making him pull his head up, sheepish smile.

''Be my girlfriend?'' he asked, rather shyly.

''I'd love to!'' you said, unable to keep your own smile in.

You didn't know what to expect when his fingers tapped against your cheek, motioning for you to open your mouth.

You did so, your brain short circuiting when Lando let his spit drip down from his mouth into yours, smug smirk on his face.

''Now we're official, baby''

A/N - reverse cowgirl in this pic? YES PLEASE.

@sltwins @savagecatsuga @sheeesthings @dollyvuu @lilorose25 @htpssgavi @moonclaine @col4pint0 @dustie-faerie @ayap4paya @geometric-circle @martygraciesversion381 @screechingmiraclechaos @sarx164 @sunny-ln4 @cmleitora @brats66 @saythename-sm

[tojisteddy]

Sweet Ride | smut, 18+ MDNI, 1.2k words, softdom!Toji x sweetheart!reader

You’d been 3 months into your relationship when Toji Fushiguro finally realized that you, for some odd reason, loved letting idiots fuck you.

It must’ve been where that very minuscule masochism kink came from. Had to be.

He’d noticed the way you’d get shocked when he went to pay for— well- everything. Didn’t matter if he lost a shit ton from gambling and losing that day, didn’t matter if you went over your own set budget, didn’t matter that you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to look money hungry or if you quickly pulled out your card and paid. He’s sending $300 to you to make up for it. The man. Was going. To pay.

Toji also noticed the way you’d shy away when you realized he was actually listening to the words that came out of your mouth. Informing you that he hated that coworker of Sherl just a little bit more than you did. Plainly telling you ‘no’, he didn’t just want to see just your hair bone straight- he wanted to see your curly hair that framed your face (when you wanted to of course) and that he thought you would look good with any hair color not just the jet black. Or when you only went to make food that he liked,

“But this is what my ex-“

“—Mama, what do you really wanna eat? Tell me or we’ll both starve tonight.”

Truthfully, it irritated the fuck out of the man.

He didn’t get it, how someone so precious got treated like shit on multiple occasions. He kept reminding himself that you weren’t the problem, those fucking dick wads were.

But the irritation jumped back out when you rode him. He knew after that first time (just a week ago) that those fucking idiots didn’t know what the fuck to do with you. He’d cock his eyebrow up at you because he simply couldn’t hide the vexation of it all.

“You don’t like it Toj?” Your voice was hoarse, curls falling over your face, a pout forming.

It was clear the way you moved your hips back and forth, held yourself and didn’t use him for leverage, you rode your ex’s to get them off and nothing more.

More sins against God.

There had to be a scripture about it somewhere, “Never let thou spouse ride-ith you in cowgirl without her cumming.” Or something— the man didn’t know. He knew for a fact, only a bitch would never let a woman cum while she’s riding him.

“Toji? ‘M sorry, it must not be good.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax, not be too touchy. “ ‘S just harder cause you’re so… so big. ‘Nd I- fuck- mmm- don’t think I’ve ever had time to relax like this. I must be takin too long.”

Shit, you frowned, big brown puppy eyes looking down at the green eyed monster and his heart ached. He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, his poor pretty baby. Sweet doll, don’t you worry your little head. Your Toji would fix this little problem tonight.

And when you two were done, he’d beat the fucking breaks out of each and every single one your exes.

It would cleanse the soul.

“ ‘S okay baby, yer doin good. Need you to relax f’me. Want you to take a little bit more though, hm? You can take it, right? You’re a good girl.”

You bit your lip, nodding in agreement.

Such a good girl. Toji’s sweet ‘nd good girl.

Tojis hands pulled you closer. “How do I get ya to relax then? Can you tell me?” You felt your cheeks heat up, shaking your head and attempting to hide yourself in his neck. But Toji kept you still, playfully bumping your foreheads together with a chuckle.

“Let’s find out then,” His hands wandered, up and down your sides, then one staying at the small of your back, the other making its way to your pretty tit in his hand. Slowly massaging it in his palm. “Maybe you like it here?”

You whimpered in his mouth and Tojis scar moved upward in amusement, green eyes low. He left a trail of kiss from your cute cheeks, down to your jaw. “Or here?” Down to your neck, taking a few nibblies here and there. “Or here?”

You let out a soft moan, finally nodding your head.

“Words, mama.” He was stern but you felt the grin against your neck.

“T-there feels— feels so nice Toj.” The man hummed at your words, being sure to praise you with an array of kisses and hickeys for the world to see tomorrow on your neck.

“I-I can move now?” You asked. You felt so full with what he was giving you, but you felt so good with every little kiss the aching tip and veins of his member gave to your walls.

“Course doll.” He enterwinted your fingers, “Gotta take it nice ‘nd slow baby, don’t gotta go fast.”

You gulped, gradually lifting yourself up and down and rocking your hips back and forth, then repeating the motion. Your hands left his large ones, starting to use his shoulders as leverage, “There you go ma, there you fuckin go.”

He hissed, you were a god damn waterfall down there. Toji didn’t even know how the fuck you were still managing to keep him insider everytime you’d move up so just the tip was in, and slamming back down. When you tried to go faster a large calloused hand came down to your ass.

“B-but Tojiii,” you whined, slowly swiveling your hips one time to get a curse out of him. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

“ ‘Nd I ‘ppreciate Doll, I do. You feel so fuckin good too ma, but it’s not about me tonight, ‘s about you. Need you to really feel it deep in your pretty pussy.” He gave you a few thrusts, matching your rhythm creating the most beautiful smack smack smack your bedroom has ever heard.

“Take what you need babygirl.”

Toji had a way with words, he’d gotten a pornographic moan from it alone. Your nails dug into his shoulders, the meat of your thighs jiggling every time you came down. Slick drenching Toji’s cock, your thighs were burning but you kept moving. Chasing your high with every bounce on his fat fuck.

“Goooood girl, now you got it doll.”

“I can— I can take more Toji.” You stammered out.

“I’d loooove that sweetheart— shit ma- but not tonight. Ngh— This is just enough.”

“But—“

“-Aht,” he grumbled, helping you move your hips as you got just a tad too slow for his liking, “don’t bite more than you can chew. Come on, you can make yourself and your boyfriend cum, can’t you?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you were grinding and slamming yourself down what you could take as hard as ever getting a loud from Toji. You were such a good and fast leaner, the man would have to keep you. Train you to do other things, soon enough you’d be able to take all of him. You were fucking pulsing like a over worked heartbeat around him as a wave of emotions smacked you over the head, a string of fuck fuck fuck and Toji Toji Toji leaving your mouth.

The man growled, giving your ass a few harsh smacks as he rapidly thrust into you. You never knew when you were cumming so you never vocalized it.

You’d work on that too.

Quickly pulling out, spurts of his cum hit your stomach. You both were panting messes, Toji’s pink lips meeting your temple, then your soft full lips.

“Good fuckin job, mama.”

a/n: ride the dragon by fka twigs

most recent masterlist

[https-bakugou]

Guitar Player Izuku / (Deku x GN! Reader) (Headcannons)

Guitar Player Izuku who’s been playing since he was young, his mother deciding it would be a good idea for him to pick up guitar lessons so he could play alongside Katsuki.

Guitar Player Izuku who brings his guitar with him when he moves into his dorm room.

Guitar Player Izuku who’s sitting on his bed, tuning the instrument, decides to mess around with his guitar while he waits for his partner to arrive for their weekly study sessions.

Guitar Player Izuku who’s much too distracted to notice his door swinging open and your silent gasp when you see him sitting on his bed, scarred hands twisting the knobs and strumming a few strings.

Guitar Player Izuku who finally looks up and meets your eyes, going bright red as he notices how flushed you’ve become just by looking at him.

Guitar Player Izuku who smiles nervously when you sit next to him and demands to know why he’s been keeping this part of him a secret.

Guitar Player Izuku who simply brushes it off, claiming that he had simply forgotten and that it wasn’t a huge deal.

Guitar Player Izuku who sits there, growing redder and redder by the moment as you beg him to play for you, textbooks laying on his desk forgotten.

Guitar Player Izuku who finally relents to your begging - he’s not immune to your puppy dog eyes and your constant pouting.

Guitar Player Izuku who tells you that it’s been a while since he’s played anything and to not judge him too much.

Guitar Player Izuku who nervously reaches for his guitar, playing what you could only describe as the most beautiful noise you’ve ever heard.

Guitar Player Izuku who doesn’t notice the way you stare at him, watching him pull his bottom lip in between his teeth as he concentrates on not messing up, or the way his eyebrows furrow.

Guitar Player Izuku who doesn’t notice the way your eyes flicker to his scarred hands, holding the guitar delicately, strumming each string carefully, like it was made of glass - or like he was about to activate One for All and blow the thing to smithereens. 

Guitar Player Izuku who stops playing and meets your gaze, growing flushed at the way you stare at him.

Guitar Player Izuku who nervously puts the guitar away and asks you if you liked it.

Guitar Player Izuku who yelps in surprise when you hug him and call him so fucking cool.

Guitar Player Izuku who holds you close to him, thinking about the song he might write for you.

@rueclfer

© All works belong to Https-Bakugou. Do not steal, copy or use any of my work for AI. Legal action will take place if caught.

[luvsicktyun]

CROSSING THE LINE | enhypen hyung line. TEASER & TAGLIST

COLLIDE l.hs

synopsis ⤑ Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stand for. So being tasked to tutor the worst one of them all? An impossible task. Lee Heeseung was the poster child for a frat boy disaster and you wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Or so you thought. Damnit. 

pairings ⤑ hockey player!heeseung x bookworm!reader word count ⤑ est 20k.

warnings ⤑ smut, frat boy activities, hockey, drinking, parties, tutoring trope, heeseung is a fuck boy, etc (will add more upon publication.)

OFF THE ICE s.jy

synopsis ⤑ You were having fun. That’s all. You were young, in college, readying yourself for true adulthood. You didn’t know adulthood would come so quick, in the form of a baby you didn’t plan for. With a man who was more in love with Hockey than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to happen, and it definitely wasn’t supposed to happen with him.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!Jake x pregnant!reader word count ⤑ est. 20k

warnings ⤑ pregnancy trope, smut, friends with benefits, etc (will add more upon publication).

FROSTBITE p.sh

synopsis ⤑ Sunghoon’s injury was comparable to the end of the world, at least for him it was. Having not been cleared in time to start practice with his team, Sunghoon is stuck practicing alone after hours, except he's not alone. Forced to share the rink with the practicing figure skaters was his version of hell, especially when one of them couldn't shut up about the fact that the world was their oyster and taking a positive look on life was the only way to live? How could he be positive when the only thing that made him happy was taken away from him. She had felt like frostbite sinking into his skin. Frostbite was quick, it stung and then it killed before you could even see it coming. 

pairings ⤑ hockey player!sunghoon x figure skater!reader word count ⤑ est. 20k

warnings ⤑ smut, mentions of injury, grumpy x sunshine, etc (will add more upon publication).

HATE TO HAVE YOU p.js

synopsis ⤑ You were here for work. That was it. You didn’t even like hockey players. They were too raunchy, too noisy, just too much. You were a put your head down and listen to classical music through your headphones, type of girl. Your brothers were hockey players, your dad as well. All you wanted to do was help people, not fall in love with clients that were off limits. Clients who were the captain of the hockey team your dad coached. No, he was very much off limits and he would most certainly hate to have you.

pairings ⤑ hockey captain!jay x coaches daughter!reader word count ⤑ est. 20k

warnings ⤑ smut, forbidden romance, injuries mentioned, reader is an intern sports massage therapist, etc (will add more upon publication)

enhypen masterlist & more

crossing the line series masterlist ⤑ coming soon.

rae's notes ⤑ hi, I'm really excited to write this series! if you couldn't tell this is a college hockey romance with the enhypen hyung. please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist. as of right now there is no est publish date but the fics will come out in this order. Thank youuuu hope you enjoy!

taglist. . (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae

[promiscuousg1rl]

LOVE ME NOT — ONE

Rafe Cameron x Childhood!Bestfriend!Reader Social Media AU

Summary: Since sandbox days, it has always been you and Rafe. The only person who can put up with his selfish bastard ways, you became one of the boys. However as the two of you grew older, you started to realize you don’t see him as another one of the guys. Harboring a crush on someone is universally awful, but having a crush on your best friend is worse. Especially when he doesn’t reciprocate. Deciding to save your friendship, you settled on time apart, spending your summer in the Bahamas. When you return, you are a whole different person—jewelry, makeup, and chic clothes—you became an ugly duckling story turned right. But time apart have given you insight, and you aren’t sure if you still love Rafe.  While he realizes he's loved you this whole time.

Content: social media au, unrequited love trope, inspired/based on Love Me Not by Ravyn Lenae

Rafe's sure he broke every speed limit and ran every light to get the Boneyard after that picture was sent to him.

And it wasn't just JJ's arm being around your shoulder that made him immediately jump up and grab his keys; it was that pathetic excuse of bikini top you had on.

The last time he saw you, you'd been decked out in a t-shirt that was two sizes too big and a pair of knee length jean shorts. But as he stares at you from his spot next to Topper and Kelce, he wonders what exactly happened to you in the span of three months.

Now Rafe really isn't into fashion and girly shit like that (and he thought you weren't either), but he's ninety-nine percent sure the mini skirt you have on is designer. It's pink, a color he's never seen you wear in the ten years he's known you; not even when your mom tried to force you wear that pink fluffy dress for your birthday that one time.

It all just...wasn't you. The clothes, the jewelry, the perfect curls your hair was styled in.

"Dude we almost didn't recognize her at first glance," Kelce nudges Rafe's arm. "I've never seen her look like an actual girl before, it's freaking me out."

Topper snorts around the rim of his solo cup. "I forgot she even had boobs."

Kelce nods his head while they watch as she giggles at something JJ says to her.

Since when are they so fucking chummy with each other? Rafe asks himself. The way you were leaning into his side and letting your head rest on his shoulder as whatever bullshit he was spewing to you made you cackle.

"You're not gonna say anything?" Topper quirks a brow at Rafe's seemingly catatonic state.

"I—, she didn't even tell me she was back."

Kelce and Topper exchange a look before looking back to their best friend. "What, did you manage to piss her off all the way from North Carolina while she was in the Bahamas?"

Rafe's brows furrow. "Of course not. And even if I did, she still would've let me know that she and her folks were flying back in."

You would...wouldn't you?

He thinks about Topper's borderline accusation. Things between you two were fine when you left for your vacation with your parents. Hell, you came to see him right before you headed for the airport.

You joked like you always do, telling him not to miss you too much and he bantered back saying that he was counting down the minutes until your flight left. Your usual back and forth.

So what the hell had changed between then and now?

"Aye, y/n!"

Rafe is glad that it's Kelce that does it before for some reason, he couldn't find it in himself to. But whatever, things were about to go back to normal. Now that you'd know that the three of them were here, you'd ditch your new "friends" and come back to your real ones.

He's not sure what sparked your friendly behavior but it was all about to be straightened out.

Hearing your name being called from across the beach, you turn to look in their direction. And instead of pushing JJ's arm from around your shoulder and coming over to them like Rafe thought you would, you settle for one of your bright smiles and an eager wave. And that's it.

You turn right back around and continue talking to Kie and the rest of them like nothing even happened.

Rafe glances over at Kelce and Topper, finding them to be just as confused as he is.

He's positive you'll make time for him as the party goes on. You're not just going to go without speaking to him after three whole months of nothing being around each other. That'd be nuts and frankly, really unlike you.

After you finish dancing with Kie is when he thinks you'll finally give him the time of day. However right after that is when you do a couple of shots with John B and Pope. So he waits, and waits, and waits...and you still don't acknowledge him.

No, it seems JJ Maybank of all people has your attention. Record him doing stupid shit on your phone and in his opinion, standing a bit too close.

Rafe can't help but think that you and everyone else at this party are lucky he's not drinking. Because his temper and alcohol did not mix and as he sees your hand on JJ's bicep for what feels is the hundredth time tonight, his eye starts to twitch.

Kelce and Topper are long gone; Kelce finding some touron to hook up with while Topper had to go be at Sarah's beck and call for the rest of evening. Now it was just him.

When you and Kie start seeming to be heading out, he now knows that he has to be the one to make the move if you won't.

"Hey," he intercepts you as soon as you're near, earning an eye-roll from Kiera.

"Hey!" You smile up at him. "You're still here?"

"Uh," he looks from you to an obviously annoyed Kiera. "Yeah, I was actually waiting around for you,"

He can hear the hopefulness in his voice and wonders if you can too.

"Oh," your smile falls a little, bottom lip poking out slightly.

Are you wearing lipgloss?

"We were actually about to leave," You wince.

"Stay then," He hears an obvious scoff coming from your left but doesn't bother acknowledging her.

"Honestly, I'm pretty worn out." You look around the party with a shrug. "Nothing really keeping me here anyways, so we're gonna go chill at John B's."

"John B?" Rafe scoffs. “On a first name basis with those Pogues?”

You frown. "They're not all that bad."

"Is that what they tell you?"

Kiera's scoff is louder this time. "No one needed to tell her anything Rafe, y/n can think for herself."

"Stay out of this Kie."

"Fuck off, Rafe."

The glare they exchange is so intense you find yourself subtly easing in between them.

"Rafe, maybe another time...okay?"

When he looks back at you, his eyes immediately soften. But just as quick the gentleness he aims at you is replaced with a look only you can recognize as hurt.

And you almost want to tell him you change your mind, that you'd love to stay and update him on the changes your sure he's noticed.

However it's almost as if Kie can see your resolve weaken and she squeezes your hand. Willing you to remember the conversations you had.

So instead of being the same weak-willed person you usually were when it comes to Rafe Cameron, you don't bother waiting for him to even respond.

"I'll see you around."

With that, Kie doesn't hesitate to pull you away from him, all while you let her.

pls let me know if you'd like to be tagged 🩵!

[monstersflashlight]

Part 1

They haven’t figured it out yet, the fact that you aren’t only there because you are a poor lost human. You enjoy every second of their attention, washing over you like a caress as they touch you all over. It’s exhilarating and funny at the same time, the poor monsters thinking you are nothing but a dumb human, but you are having the time of your life.

Every time one of them decides to rub one off on you, every time they “accidentally” rip your shirt so your boobs would spring out and bounce with the movement of the horse… You only have to look at them with pouty lips, and you have a dozen of monsters hard and dripping, ready to fuck you. But you don’t let them, keeping them needy and desperate for your tight human pussy. Because the second you whimper because something is too heavy, they help. The second you complain because the food is too boring, they hunt you better prey…

They keep giving you praises as if you were a pet, and you smile up at them, casually rubbing their hard dicks with your hand and telling them how big they were (they loved to be reminded about the size difference).

They fight over who gets to sleep with you, fully knowing that means free groping time as you pretend to be asleep, and they rub their dicks and paws all over your welcoming soft body. You wake up with a dripping cunt and you have to walk with your legs pressed together to the river, where you get yourself off as some of them try to hide their huge bodies behind trees. You hide your smile as you hear their grunts, rubbing faster until you can hear the pants and you explode into a million pleasure pieces.

And they definitely keep using your soft round body as a stress toy, pinching, groping and rubbing every part they can, passing you from lap to lap so you could move your hips over their hard dicks. At the end of the night, you are always messy, your clothes pretty much torn apart as they dig holes to slip their dick and rub it against your skin.

Whoever said playing dumb would get you everything you wanted was completely right. It’s just like having a bunch of pet monsters ready to do everything you ask for only because they love your little human body. And you can’t be happier about it.

[lyricwritesprose]

Blue heelers, oh my goodness, blue heelers. My Mom had a blue heeler. He was one of the most loyal, helpful™ dogs I have ever known. He did Jobs.

Please note that helpful™ is not quite the same as actually helpful.

Please also note that the thing about Jobs is that when one cannot be found, one must be invented, and he did. Not. Stop.

See the thing about my Mom is that she was at that time a retired teacher of about sixty-five living in a suburban area (although unusually willing to go on hikes), and the thing about this dog, whom she acquired accidentally, is that he knew in his bones that he should be managing at least a hundred cows. This is a slight energy mismatch. Mom did care for him to the best of her ability and he did help her stay fit and exercised—that was one Job, he liked that one—but that wasn't enough Jobs, so he would take on other ones, such as improving the yard's feng shui. (It has been about five years since he died, I think, and my Mom's yard is still this weirdly cratered moonscape in which plants mostly grow through a combination of hardiness and Spite. Note that she did not actually intend to join the lawn-free movement. That blue heeler joined it for her. He would actually pull up plants that Displeased him.) He would also herd kids when available. And Canada geese. The fact that he actually had some measure of success with the geese tells you something about what a force of nature this dog could be when he so chose.

Also, one time the Nutcase Neighbor's dog got out—Nutcase Neighbor's Dog was a large bully breed dog which had mostly been isolated, not exercised, and possibly not trained, although the neighbor talked about training him "for security," basically the exact, precisely calibrated situation to make large behavioral issues in a large dog—and when he came towards my Mom in a hostile manner, her dog put himself in a perfect defensive position in front of her and (apparently, he didn't bark or make a sound) told the neighbor's dog to go home peacefully rather than FAFO.

Which the neighbor's dog did. Without a squeak of protest. Still have no idea what my Mom's dog said, body language wise, but it was roughly the same reaction as a big mook walking into a room, finding Batman there, and just quietly closing the door and fucking off while he had the chance. Apparently one of the Jobs was Protection, and neighbor dog may have looked the part, but Mom's dog was a professional.

Like I said, he died about five years ago. We got home and he was clearly having a hard time, so my Mom called the vet while I talked to him. I told him that he had done a very good Job looking after the house while we were out shopping but that we were home now and it was going to be all right, we would take care of things. He made eye contact, closed his eyes, and passed, instant and peaceful. He had been ready, he just wanted to wait until someone was there to relieve him of duty. I actually feel really honored that he trusted me with the Job of looking after my Mom.

I would not have a blue heeler, and at this point neither would my Mom. At this point neither of us can keep up the insane amount of exercise required. But man, he was an awesome dog.

In every generation there is a chosen one…

[manicandobsessive]

You’re my lady, I’m your fool | L.H.

Summary: Logan missed his girl.

Warnings: fluff fluff and more fluff, the man is lovesick, cursing, pet names, SUGGESTIVE, mdni please, reader is shorter than logan, based on a wham song, not really proofread im lazy, kind of rushed ending but its still cute

WC: 1.5k+

I had a vision after listening to this song and I wrote this in approximately 1 hour. I’m a wham girlie.

Home. You. Dinner.

That was the mantra Logan chose to repeat in order to remain sane on his drive home. Pedal to the medal, at least 30 over the speed limit at all times. The truck rumbled and groaned with the weight of years of memories and use under him, but he continued his trek home regardless.

Gonna have to change the fuckin’ oil soon, too. He thought. The mere inconvenience adding to his already ever-present irritation.

Every douchebag in Canada had decided today was the day to test his patience. From his dumbfuck coworkers at the lumber yard to the asshole currently riding his tail. He’d had enough. He wanted to be home with you. His girl. His sweetheart, angel, darling, the list goes on. The thought of you was the one string pulling him back to reality. The tether to his life he cherished with every bone in his aching body. He truly didn’t know where he would be if he didn’t have you.

Probably jail.

But you taught him the beauty of kindness. Yours being a beacon of hope for him when he accidentally spilled beer on you at a dingy bar. He’d been staring at you anyways, but humiliating himself wasn’t on the agenda for the night. Yet you didn’t scoff at him, didn’t look at him sideways, not even a curse under your breath. You didn’t bat a fucking eyelash and without skipping a beat, you asked if he was okay. The first example of many showing your unwavering selflessness. It was admirable, you were the better half of the pair of you- in his opinion. He often found himself frustrated with your lack of regard towards yourself, brushing it off like nothing. He’d tried time and time again to tell you to take care of yourself, not to worry about him. And you always, always told him the same fucking thing:

“Can’t control it, Lo. Just care about you.”

Hugging him tightly around the waist, resting your chin on his pecs and looking up at him with that sweet, sweet smile. Your bright eyes and soft face making him huff as he instinctively moved his own arms to hold you closer to him. He never could find himself angry with you.

He reminisced on those memories often. On top of plenty of other moments with you that brought a pleasant smile to his face.

He had no idea that accident at the bar almost 3 years ago would bring him to this point, but fuck if he isn’t overjoyed that it did.

Love was never on Logan’s radar. Written off as another extra thing he didn’t need to bother with. He was certain that life would never be for someone like him- that he’d never find someone to accept him for what he is. For who he is. And you did without a second thought. You’d blown life right back into him, showing him what real happiness is. He swears that when he met you the sun shone brighter each day. Something you would always roll your eyes at, calling him cheesy. But he wholeheartedly believed it- which is saying a lot coming from a man who no longer believes in much else.

The soft glow of your shared cabin came into view, practically calling to him by name. The visual had already calmed his racing heart, knowing you were waiting for him. Probably in one of his flannels and old socks. Your hair flowing freely and your entire demeanor relaxed. It was his favorite look on you, other than when you were begging for him, caged between his thick arms. An endeavor for later, to say the least.

He slammed the truck door shut, moving with a newfound purpose to the front door. He kicked off his boots, leaving them on the front porch. If you took care of the house, the least he could do was be mindful of it.

And laundry, he knew you fucking hated laundry.

The door swung open. Logan made a silent note in his head to oil the hinges of that thing, the creaking got on his nerves.

He’d heard faint music from outside, the notes only getting louder the closer he got to where he needed to be- near you. He knew you were cooking, he could smell the various seasonings and vegetables. But most of all the music. You always had something playing, but it was only ever this loud and upbeat when you were in the kitchen. He’d found you dancing and singing enough times to know what the deal was.

And tonight was no different.

He knew you loved this song, something your dad had you listen to as a kid. A song you grew up on and still loved to present day. He was never a big fan of 80s pop, but whatever you enjoyed he was right there with you. Bopping his head along or tapping his foot lightly, it always made you giggle.

He leant against the wall, watching as you moved with ease throughout the kitchen. How you weren’t an extraterrestrial being was beyond him. He swore you had a halo sometimes.

The grace of your smile, the lightness in your steps, even your voice as you sung along to the music entranced him. Like a siren call. He made his way into the room, smiling when you weren’t even phased in the slightest at him catching you mid concert.

He was however surprised when you pulled him in by his arms, swinging them back and forth as you laughed. He was so caught up in your smile he didn’t even register you telling him to dance with you. Slowly but surely he gave in, a deep, warm chuckle erupting from his chest as you jumped and sang with the energy of a kid on Christmas morning. Your soft hands and sweet scent making him all the more taken with you, if that was even possible.

He spun you, lifting you off the ground in his arms as you let out a squeal.

“Logan!”

He put you down, not bothering to even try removing his arms from your waist as he looked down at you with the most lovesick expression on Earth. Scratch that, every universe. There wasn’t a single one where he hadn’t been head over heels in love with you.

“Hi baby.” He smirked when your face flushed as it always did when he called you that. He loved seeing it, it gave him butterflies. Even after all this time.

You slowly inched your arms around his neck, entangling your fingers with the hair on the base of his neck. He hummed and buried his face into your own, making you giggle. He pressed feather-light kisses on your neck and jaw before pulling back to look down at you once again.

You sung along to the rest of the song, Logan even joining in for one part:

“You’re my lady, I’m your fool.”

He sang, making you smile as you pecked his lips and he drew you in for a much deeper kiss.

“How was work?” You asked as he rested his forehead against yours. He groaned, not bothering to ruin the moment with the laundry list of complaints he’d had about people.

“Hell.” He simply replied, “Missed ya too much.” He mumbled against your lips, kissing you yet again.

You hummed in contentment against his mouth, pulling him impossibly closer. He was so intoxicating you nearly fell to the floor every time he kissed you. Always making you forget your name with the way his lips and tongue moved against your own.

He slowly walked you backwards, not breaking the kiss as he led you to your bedroom. He’d needed to show you how much he missed you since he left this morning. He was a lovesick fuck, and was damn proud of it.

You obliged without hesitation, allowing him to take control and softly rest you on your back on the bed. He kissed your eyelids, cheeks, nose, forehead. Anywhere that was accessible to him, he worshipped it- worshipped you. Your breath hitched, arching into him. You’d nearly forgotten you were in the middle of cooking when he came home. The realization hitting you in the face as you squirmed.

“Lo, dinner.” You huffed, trying- and failing- to push him away so you could finish cooking. Of course, you couldn’t fight off a man with a metal skeleton, let alone want to. You needed him, desperately. But you also wanted to make sure the house didn’t go up in flames.

“Logan.” You groaned, he growled against your skin. Pinning you down effectively as he continued his trail of kisses down your body.

“Logan Howlett.” You said with all the authority you could muster up in the moment. He stopped, lifting his head from your stomach and looking at you with a raised brow and that stupidly handsome smirk.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I gotta finish dinner.” You tried to look as stern as you could, but the way his rough hands were gently stroking your thighs made it impossible. Not to mention the look on his face. You knew him well enough to recognize it. Whatever he was about to say would solidify the one thing you knew: you weren’t leaving this bed anytime soon.

“I’ll cook. Jus’ lemme have this, sweetheart. I missed ya.”

[shikaizer]

PAIGENEXTDOOR. p.b x reader

summary : PART II you dislike your roomate because you think she hates you, so you go with the flow of thoughts and hatred towards each other, until she had enough of you and took all the anger she has been feeling towards you.

warning : degration, bitchy paige, hate sex, paige is a bastard.

paige was your roomate. a fucking one of a kind, although you knew how famous she was you payed no mind to it. you cant help but wonder, why she was always rude to you, assuming the personality she would show to her fans, it was the opposite for you.

but would you blame her? your full on annoying, the way your voice would rise and how loud you would laugh, and whenever she would come back home to see the living room messy full of snacks and delight while you layed lazily watching tv, and whenever the two of you are in the kitchen and you would give her dirty side eyes.

you tried to shake off the hate the both of you are sharing but she was just so fucking prideful, she would tell you to leave her alone, and she doesnt want to deal with you, even though your just initiating a conversation.

Not until she had enough, that night she was really stressed because she just lost a game and you weren't helping, you kept shouting and laughing at everything your friend is telling you.

you flinched when you hear the outside of your door being slammed then swinging open agressively paige walking in like she owns the room.

"what the hell?" you whispered to yourself bringing the speaker of your phone closer to your lips "hey jenna i'll talk to you later" you hang up your phone and set your phone done glaring up at her

"what the fuck is your problem?" you spat and she slammed the door shut walking closer to your bed looking down at you "your my problem." she scoffed and you stood up to prove to yourself that you are not intimidated by her and the way she was looking down at you, but your still looking up at her

"your mouth is so fucking loud you know? i wanna slap your mouth right now." she spat leaning her face down to your level

"do you ever shut the hell up?" she asked again making you roll her eyes, you cant even defend yourself because literally all she was saying is true.

"yes? so what?" you raised your eyebrows cocking your head to the side and she scoffed amuse a smirk growing on her lips

"so what? say that shit again i dare you." you threw your head back shaking your head, you know arguing with her will lead to nothing and it was useless.

"what do you want paige?" you sighed giving up as you placed both hands on the side of your waist

She hesistated for a second and spoke up again. "take off your clothes." she uttured and you were stunned hesistating for a second trying to process what she just said

"what?" you furrowed your eyebrows asking again even though what she said was clear.

"take them off." she growled walking closer to you the back of your knee hitting the bed making you sit, she looked at you up and down wetting her lips "please." she added and stared deeply at your eyes.

you start to tug on the hem of your shirt bringing them over to your head, scooting yourself forward to your bed as your left with your bra and shorts, she placed a leg on your side feeling the weight of her body adding up in the matress as she pushed you down.

her hands crept behind you unhooking your bra with ease and you smirked looking up at her "you usually do this?" the smirk on your mouth left when she glared down at you "just shut, the fuck up." she moved her knee to your core moving them and you moaned bucking your hips closer.

"fuck yeah.." you threw your head back and she continued, she disregarded her hoodie leaving her in her sports bra, you traced your fingers on her abs.

"love the sight?" she asked and you nodded

"how long have you been wanting to fuck me?" you bit your lip and she gave you an amused smirk "whenever your loud, wanna see if laughing is the only thing your loud at." you rolled your eyes and she slid down your shorts with your panty putting them on the floor

she then lifted one leg up placing them on her shoulder, she leaned down and kissed you roughly her fingers starting to rub slow motions on your clit making you whince thru the kiss.

you bucked your hips more and she pushed you down deeper into the matress the kiss beggining to be sloppier.

"shit.." you sighed when she pulled away and her fingers slid inside, squeezing your eyes shut, your arms wrapping around her shoulder pulling her closer

the wetness inside you helped her begin to be faster reach down deep in. "shit yes!" you moaned loudly nails digging her skin making her whince

"feels good?" she leaned down whispering to your ear as she thrusted deeper your back arching, you slammed your hand on your mouth and she was quick to remove it on your mouth.

"wanna hear you so bad..." she confessed and you start to kiss her neck lower the sound your making

"mmm..sorry" you smirked thru her neck and her hands starts to grip on your head

"gonna...cum.." you breath out and she nodded fastening her pace, you felt your stomach knotting and quickly came once she curled her fingers, she cursed under her breath when she felt you relaxing as you have came on her fingers, she sucked on them and sat up putting back her hoodie.

"what...?" you furrowed your eyebrows expecting her to stay and cuddled with you.

"this never happend." she muttured and you furrowed your eyebrows when she stood up leaving your room not even turning to take a glance to your way.

[enigmaris]

Lois writes the article. The Justice League freaks out. Investigations are done, meetings are held. In the mean time, a suspected connection between ghosts and the lazurus pits means that there is a very specific person who wants a one on one with Phantom even though all of the heroes agreed to not approach phantom until the anti ecto acts are gone. Jason never follows the rules anyway:

“Daniel Phantom, do not even think about it.”

Her tone of voice made every bone in his body yearn to turn invisible immediately, Lois jumped up trying to catch him. Danny grinned and got ready to fly away, a game of tag would keep Lois from questioning him! Right before Danny’s plan could commence, the sound of Lois's phone ringing cut it off. Danny froze as Lois pulled out her phone and looked at the screen.

“It’s Batman. Wonder what he could possibly need.”

Danny let himself fly all the way to the ceiling, until his back was pushed up against it. He looked down as Lois answered her phone, helpfully putting it on speaker.

“You’re on speaker Bats, what can Lois Lane and her plucky new intern do for you?”

“Intern?” A voice Danny didn’t know answered back. “I thought Superman was the only one for you. I guess you move fast, Lois.”

“Nightwing.” Lois said. “What are you doing calling from Batman’s phone?”

“If B didn’t want me to use his phone, he should have called you himself. You know how he is, Lois. Won’t ever ask for help unless he’s about to die and not even then.” Nightwing snarked back. “Gotham’s got a bit of a supernatural concern that I think I need a consult from your intern for.”

Danny tilted his head, not moving closer to Lois when she looked up at him.

“What sort of concern? I’ll pass along your message if it's interesting enough. My intern’s got enough on his plate getting me coffee to watch after you birds.”

“Fair enough.” Nightwing allowed. “We think one of our own is ecto-contaminated. To be entirely fair we all might be a bit, not that we’ve gotten our hands on a GIW scanner. The real concern is with Red Hood though. I know your report said that ecto-contamination is harmless but Red Hood has had some interesting side effects since he took a bath in some glowing green goop.”

“A bath?” Danny asked, his voice echoing out from the ceiling.

There was a pause on the other end of the call before Nightwing spoke again.

“Yes. A bath. Do the words Lazurus Pit mean anything to you, Miss Lane’s Intern?”

“Never heard of it.” Danny said, trying not to let himself sound ashamed by it. “But I don’t like the name. Sounds spooky.”

“Aren’t you a spook?”

“Different kind of spook.” Danny defended.

“Well. We think it might actually be the same sort of spook actually. The Lazurus Pits are pools of glowing green liquid, no one knows where they came from. There are a dozen or so dotted around the planet. If a sick or dying person goes into it, they are healed sometimes with side effects. If a healthy person goes in, they die.” Nightwing said. “Sometimes if people go into, they don’t come out again.”

Danny... might actually know what those are. Huh.

“What kind of side effects?”

"Homicidal rage. Memory loss. Temporary increased strength. Glowing eyes.”

“Okay. And how long has Red Hood being dealing with this?”

“On and off for about five years.” Nightwing answered.

“I might actually know what’s going on.” Danny said. “But I’d have to see him. I’m not like a ghost doctor or anything, but if it's what I think it is, then I can fix it for sure.”

“Fix it?” Another voice from the phone asked.

Danny could hear a scuffle over the phone as two people wrestled for it. He exchanged looks with Lois until the second voice seemed to get the phone under his control completely.

“What do you mean by fix it?” the second voice demanded.

“Erm. Who is this?”

“Red Hood. Who the fuck else?”

“I don’t know who has access to Batman’s phone dude, chill.”

“Don’t tell me to chill. Tell me what you mean by fix it.”

"Dude. I have ice powers I absolutely can tell you to chill.” Danny shot back making Lois snort.

"Start. Talking.”

“He wasn’t kidding about the anger issues huh?” Danny asked Lois instead of answering. Danny grinned when he heard a growl over the phone. “Look. Red Hood. I don’t know if it is what I think it is. I need to see you in person before I can tell you anymore. Do you know how many glowing green goops there are in the universe?”

“Do you?” Nightwing asked, voice muffled as he was further from the phone. Danny listened as Red Hood told Nightwing to ‘shut the fuck up’ with a hiss.

"I’ll send Lane an address in Gotham. Meet me there in an hour.” Red Hood instructed.

“How do you know I’m free in an hour? I’m a busy intern you know. You’re not being very polite.”

Danny could hear the teeth grinding on the other end. He grinned as Red Hood took in a deep breath through his nose.

“Can we please meet in an hour?” Red Hood asked.

“Yeah sure. I’ll fly by.”

“Now what do we say to people who do nice things for us?” Lois asked. “Especially poor lowly interns who have an entire branch of the government hunting them?”

“Would you like me to blow up a GIW base for you?” Red Hood asked.

"Hood no!” Nightwing shouted.

“Hood yes.” Hood said.

The two vigilantes started arguing with each other, so Lois just rolled her eyes and ended the call.

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”