#and i just got so frustrated i decided not to go out

[m-robinavitch]

Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, soft dom!Robby, p in v sex, orgasm denial

Summary: Trying to shower before work but Robby has other ideas

“Michael-“ you were whining into the feeling of his teeth and lips just grazing over your neck because he knew it would make you whine for him, “I’m gonna be late.” You were technically already late. Exhausted after last night, you didn’t exactly clean up afterwards so you needed to shower before you left Robby’s. But he also needed to shower and innocently slipped in to join you under the hot steamy water at first. Hot and steamy it was, but now for an entirely different reason.

“Yeah?” He asked, not caring about your words much, pulling your back flush against his chest with one hand holding your jaw to tilt at a slight angle so he can nip and kiss easily- the other hand gripping at your own chest, soapy and easily gliding over your perked nipples- scratching just lightly to hear your sighs. “Is your boss gonna be a jerk about it?”

“He can- fuck, he can be such an asshole,” you nod- moaning slightly while pushing your ass into his hips to try and entice him for a bit more stimulation, “but he’s kinda cute, so it makes it worth it.” He chuckled at your words, now biting the lobe of your ear while the hand that was teasing your breasts slid down your body. He was more than half hard, woke up that way because you move so fucking much in your sleep that you had been rubbing against him all night. Just enough to cause an aching feeling but not enough for a release.

“Doesn’t sound like you make it easy for him,” you sigh when his fingers finally breached the top of your pussy- slowly starting to rub your clit with scarcely enough pressure to make the ache really go away, “being late, lusting after him on the job- maybe you stress him out?” Robby pushes his hips into your ass and slides his thick cock between your thigh- teasing through the crease of your wet folds to help the throbbing ache dissipate for a moment while he rubs slow circles on your clit with calloused fingers.

“Can’t- fuck, can’t help it-“ the feeling of his heavy cock gliding between your wet lower lips is too much- you wish he’d just slip inside you but, fuck it was so good at the same time. “Looks so good when he’s mad.” Wasn’t a lie- Robby’s voice when mad was deep and rough, akin to a fucking growl and you hated how even when he yelling at you and Langdon for poaching patients from the urgent care clinic across the street- you got wet. You’d bite your lip as he crossed his arms, or when he’d pull off his glasses in frustration. It was your fault and in those moments you accept whatever punishments he decided for you. And he’s doling out a punishment now, fingers working achingly slow against your wet pussy and fucking laughing as you whimper. You’re squeezing your thighs together as much as you could, trying to stop the pressure from his fingers but it just makes it’s so much better as he fucks the space between your legs, wetness from the shower and your own body mixing to help the slide. Every drag of his cock- each back and forth motion he made would have you sigh and whine because you swear you feel him at your entrance a little more each time. If you could just angle your hips- he’d slide in perfectly. It would feel so good and you’re already fucking late- there was no reason to hurry now.

“I knew you did it on purpose,” he groaned, the hand that was holding your jaw lowered and began to pinch and pull your nipples, pulling away for a moment to slap at your breast before turning to push you against the cold tile wall. The contrasting feeling biting into your skin, ice cold tile pebbling your nipples and fire along your back from Robby’s chest. “Love to piss me off on purpose. Is that what gets you off sweetheart?” Fuck- so he wasn’t going to let it go. You had teased Robby within an inch of his life yesterday. You were off from work and bored and missed him so much. But that was besides the point. You forgot to set an alarm last night amidst Robby fucking you into the mattress- so you woke up and realized you had 10 minutes to get ready. It was not nearly enough time. He knew that. That’s why he’s here now- rutting into the space between your thighs and groaning when you try to close them because it’s just adding to the tightness and pleasure. “I asked you a fucking question angel.” He notched himself at your entrance- teasing the hole while he waited.

“Y-yes, fuck I like getting you ma-” you were cut off with a gasp, he gave you no time to adjust. Robby slammed into you so hard you’re sure the air from your lungs was pushed out due to the force of it. You couldn’t breathe and there was nowhere to go besides into the tiles as he started at a brutal pace. One of his strong arms comes around your waist so he can keep you still between him and the wall while he fucks into you. He doesn’t make any noise besides grunts and the occasional ‘fuck’ while he shoves his cock up into you. The water was hot, the steam rising in the air and it choked you more as you felt yourself be rearranged by him. The pressure and force was too much- and Robby was getting annoyed by having to bend a little to get his dick inside your cunt so the arm around your waist pulled tighter as he straightened out. You were barely on the tips of your toes- but in reality you were mostly being held up by Robby and his relentless pace while he fucked you. You felt your walls flutter and spasm around his thick cock while he kept dragging himself in and out of you. But with a harsh slap to your ass he spoke-

“No one said you can cum, you’re not fucking cumming yet. You need to ask me first sweetheart.” If you could fucking ask you would- but he was so deep and every thrust shoved you into the tiles that the pressure on the top of your pussy just affected your clit ever so slightly. It was so much. It was so good that you tried to claw at the walls for something to hang on to because your thighs started to shake from the force of him inside you.

“Please- baby please I need to cum. Let me- fuck let me fucking cum-” he laughed- Robby fucking laughed at your words and he felt himself start to pull at the string deep inside of his gut. He was close and one disastrous clenching of your tight pussy around him was enough to push him over the edge. He came with a growl- something low and deep and painful almost while he spilled deep inside you and released the hold he had around your waist so you were fully touching the tiles under your feet now. You were dazed- breathing heavy and almost seeing stars from the heat of the steamy water and embers of the denied orgasm smoldering in your gut. You whimpered- fucking whined because Robby’s hand dipped down to collect him dripping from down your thigh and shove back inside you with a kiss to your temple.

“You came enough last night- maybe later.” What. Oh- he’s being mean. “And don’t try to use the shower head either- we’re gonna be late angel.” An endearing slap to your ass and he’s out the shower- leaving you breathless and needy. Oh okay- fine. He’s playing a dangerous game. He will be dealt with today- he can’t hide the red face he gets no matter how hard he tries. Good.

[firingstars]

hold on (even if it’s fake)

new avengers!bucky x new avengers!reader

summary: public interaction with the new avengers has never been worse, and all of valentina's previous PR stunts have effectively failed, and only caused the team to become walking memes rather than heroes. in a last ditch effort to save face, valentina proposes a new plan: make the leader of the thunderbolts publicly date a member of the original avengers team.

warnings: 18+, mdni, soft smut, piv, fingering, no use of y/n, slight fake dating trope, slight enemies to lovers, descriptions of violence (reader lowk got some anger issues to work through), reader has avoidance issues, post-thunderbolts movie, semi thunderbolts movie spoilers, tension, angst, comfort

word count: 12.5k

a/n: i want to preface that most of this was written when i was sleepy on melatonin >:3

masterlist

“Engagement has been going down,” Mel said, gesturing towards the screen behind her. 

The team members dragged their gaze up towards the front of the room, weary expressions all over their faces. They didn’t want to hear this speech again– they knew engagement was down in the depths of hell. Shit, they wouldn’t be surprised if the world just decided to forget about them completely. 

As if to rub salt into the wound, an animated graph showed a steady arrow that ran from the top left, all the way down to the bottom right of the screen. 

“The only clicks that we are getting are memes,” Mel continued, tapping the screen of her tablet, presenting the next slide. “Most of them are about Walker and his limited time as Captain America, or talking about how Bucky is hot and his failing career in Congress, or discussing how Alexei is seen in public trying to convince locals to become fans–”

“I am a walking PR team, not a meme!” Alexei boomed, a scandalized look all over his face.

Mel gave him a smile, one that looked like she was trying to comfort a toddler more than anything. 

“What is the point of these meetings?” Yelena demanded, her hand hitting the mahogany desk in frustration. “We meet every single Friday just for you to show us pie charts and graphs on how the world hates us. We already know that– are we not just trying to do the mission?”

“I was waiting for someone to ask. Thank you, Yelena,” Valentina said, giving a practiced, disgusting smile from the head of the table. 

A wave of nausea filled the room. Lord. Last time she looked like this, the entire team had been thrown into a photoshoot that was supposed to up their familiarity with the people. All it did was create reaction photos for whenever articles of the team came out. 

“While the mission is important, the mission is nearly impossible without the people backing you up. You can’t just blow things up, and walk away if the people hate you, after all. So, we need to come at the people with a different approach,” Valentina said, standing from her seat. “What do the people of America love?”

“Disgusting, overly processed food?” Ava muttered, raising her eyebrows. 

“Yes, but you guys were not very particular with collaborating with McDonald’s last time I brought this up–”

“You put us on the face of a cereal box,” John grunted. “Isn’t that enough?”

“What America loves is a love story,” Valentia said, ignoring John. The confusion that settled in the room was palpable. The team looked at each other, frowns on their faces. Valentina continued, “And we are going to give them a love story. These people want familiarity. Something to make you guys relatable. Enjoyable to the public–”

“I’m sorry, Val, but none of us are in relationships,” Yelena cut her off. “The only one close to it is actually divorced.”

“Thanks,” John scoffed. Yelena shot him a pitiful look. 

“The relationship doesn’t have to be real. You think all those celebrities in Hollywood are actually dating?” Valentina scoffed, crossing her arms as she moved to the front of the room. Mel moved to the side, allowing her boss to take the stage. “This is a PR stunt. Something to boost your credibility. Make you guys shine– make you guys lovable.”

“I’m not getting into a fake relationship with either of these men,” Ava immediately said, frowning. Then, she looked across the table. “No offense, but none of you are exactly relationship material."

“None taken,” Bucky muttered, sighing deeply. “Valentina, what are you even going on about?”

“I’m so glad that you spoke up, Congressman,” Valentina grinned. “Because you will be the face of this project.”

“Valentina–”

“And the rest of you can relax,” she cut Bucky off, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Bucky, you may not have worked with her per se, but she does have a wonderful track record with the public, and you have worked with her friends. She’s well loved in terms of media presence, though she’s been one of my shadow agents for the last handful of years since the whole… Accords situation.”

Bucky’s eyebrows creased in suspicion. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, a deep sigh coming from his chest.

“She is an ex-Avenger,” Valentina said, her smile growing wider. “Which means, her involvement with the New Avengers will increase our engagement with the public tenfold. And by having a romantic relationship with you, the leader of the New Avengers– well. Let’s just say, it’ll be amazing for the press.”

“Hang on– are you talking about Noir?” John asked, sitting up straight. “One of the original Avengers? Who fought in the 2012 Battle of New York? I thought she was dead.”

Valentina shrugged noncommittally as she looked at her cuticles. “Well, she doesn’t go by Noir anymore. She just goes by her first name, but she’s not dead. She just didn’t want to get in the middle of the fight that tore up the Avengers in the first place– the Accords. She removed herself from the situation entirely and never came back.”

“So… she’s been working for you,” Yelena said slowly. “And if she’s never come back, why the hell would she come back to be an Avenger again?”

“That’s a little above your paygrade now isn’t it?” Valentina smiled, a little crinkle to her nose. She turned to Bucky with a smile. “She’ll arrive here at the Watchtower within the next few days. I’ll arrange for a meeting between the two of you, and we’ll go over the expectations of what your relationship together is to be.”

“I didn’t agree to this–”

“Do you have a choice to agree?” Valentina dared him, gesturing back to the screen, where memes were still on display– still making fun of them.

Bucky paused, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he stared at the various different photos. Then, he looked around the conference table. None of his teammates could look him in the eye. They weren’t objecting to this either.

Fuck.

The Avengers tower is different. You know it is, and it makes your stomach churn when you see it from the outside. You hate it, even though you had made the decision with the original group to move to the Avengers compound years ago. You shouldn’t be this upset to see it bought, renovated, changed for something else.

Yet, it still bothers you.

A receptionist at the lobby recognizes you immediately, and gives you your badge to use to key in. You want to burn it into ashes immediately. Tony didn’t make you guys use badges. He had you guys use voice recognition, eye scanners, and fingerprints. You wonder if this is just a work in progress, and they’re still trying to get the tower functional. You keep your thoughts to yourself as you move to the elevator.

It’s clean, in a way that smells like a hotel. Hiding secrets, not memories. Stripped down to nothing. Valentina’s wiped away everything that was once within these walls, all the laughter.

Then again, you walked away from those same people because you couldn’t stand to watch them fight. When things got rough– when Steve and Tony asked you to choose a side, you took one look at them, and packed your bags. 

Sam called you a coward. Said that you were running.

You didn’t correct him. 

The elevator doors opened with a ding! and you’re brought to the top floor of the tower. The sound of water hits your ears. Someone is doing the dishes. You can see a few heads on the couch to the side, and they’re turning to face you. All within a few seconds, everyone’s coming to see you. Well, almost everyone. There’s a man missing from the group. 

There’s a mixture of awe and intimidation in the air. Tension and fear. You don’t know what Valentina has or hasn’t said about you, but you know what is said online about you. They continue to stand there, watching you, scanning you– sizing you up. 

You take a few steps out from the elevator, hauling your duffle bag and backpack with you. 

“Morning,” you said, giving them a curt nod before turning off to the side.

“Where are you going?” one of the men spoke up– Bob– you think. His shoulders are collapsing in on himself, and his hands are dripping with water onto the floor beside his bare feet. The Sentry that Valentina told you about– the one that damn near broke apart the entire world. 

“Conference room,” you replied, continuing to walk away.

If Valentina hasn’t completely torn down the place, then you know where you’re going. From the looks of it, it seems that she just changed the drywall and changed the wallpaper.

It looks fucking tacky. You should bother her to hire a new interior designer, honestly. Pepper would have never allowed these items to be in the tower. The mix of metals and the resin epoxy covered floors… You can imagine her, shuddering, while Tony grins beside her and hands her his card, telling her to go ahead and change whatever she wants about the place.

You push the glass door of the conference room open. It used to be a sliding door, one that would automatically open. J.A.R.V.I.S. used to greet you when you walked through this door, asked you if you wanted to turn on some light jazz while you waited for the rest of the team to barrel into the meeting room since you were always too early. 

Except, J.A.R.V.I.S. was known as Vision now, and Vision was dead. Just like almost all of the people that you once knew, and none of them are going to be walking through these doors again. No– it’s just you. You, alone, are in this tower that used to be the place you called home. It has never felt more unfamiliar in your entire life. 

“You made it. How was the flight?” Valentina smiled warmly at you, standing from her seat at the head of the table. Beside her, you see Mel standing there, ever the good assistant, with her tablet in hand ready to show you some new presentation.“Come in, come in. Take a seat.”

You want to skin her. Slowly dissect her while she’s conscious so she can feel every single nerve being ripped apart, and then feed it to her dying corpse. Then you want to bring her towards the reconstructive clinic in Seoul, have them build her back to life just enough so that she’s still in pain, so you can do it all over again. 

But you can’t. 

“It was alright,” you responded, and dropped your luggage by the door before pulling out one of the rolling chairs to sit.

Valentina waits for you to say more. An awkward silence settled over the room. A few moments later, the CIA director cleared her throat, and returned to her own seat, and looked between you and the other member in the room.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of each other, yes?” she asked, voice dripping with honey.

Your gaze shifts, and you’re sucked into a storm of blue grey eyes. He’s scanning you, looking you up and down with caution. It’s not the same way that the others were doing out in the common area. He’s not sizing you up, trying to see what you’re made of. No– he knows you. It goes beyond just hearing stories of each other through Steve or Sam.

You’ve fought with this man before. Maybe not him right now, but a different version of him– one that he did not choose to be has crossed your path. 

You were a highly trained S.H.I.E.L.D. operative. One of the best in your line of work, and became an Avenger through some rhyme or reason that you still didn’t understand yourself. You’ve fought aliens, been on stakeouts, had snipers pointed at your head from miles away, and yet– the man sitting across from the table from you is the only person that has made you feel true, unbridled terror. 

Every once in a while, you can still feel the ache in your thigh from where his blade fully sheathed into your muscle on that bridge in DC, and dragged downwards. You had only been lucky to have maneuvered so he didn’t hit your femoral artery, or you wouldn’t be alive at this moment. 

You don’t tell Valentina any of that. You’re more than certain that the soldier in front of you has never even breathed out words of his past to anyone either. 

“I’m well aware of Congressman Barnes and his achievements both in the military and in our government,” you replied, your eyes never straying away from him and his watchful gaze.

Bucky’s eyebrows twitched at your words. You watched as his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek as the gears in his head turned over, processing if there were any double meanings behind what you had just said– if there was some kind of backhanded retort or compliment. 

“Wonderful,” Valentina hummed, and clapped her hands together. “As you both know, the reason for this meeting is to discuss our plan. Operation: Romance the Public, if you will. Do you like that? Like the name I came up with?” 

There’s a sort of gloating tone in her voice that makes you release a deep breath of air. Neither you or Bucky said a single word, but you do turn to her. You’re not amused. You don’t bother hiding it, and you revel in the way that her smile falters at the expression on your face.

Mel cleared her throat from behind Valentina, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the screen at the front of the room come to life. 

“Great. More pie charts?” you asked.

“The pie charts are wonderful,” Valentina quickly said, almost defensive. Clearly, it’s her idea to constantly add those graphs to every single meeting. 

“I’m not too sure how pie charts are supposed to tell me how Barnes and I are to be fake dating each other,” you said, leaning back in your seat. “Valentina, you’re talking to someone that was trained in espionage. I don’t need to be told how to pretend to be in love with someone.”

“Well, pardon me. I forgot that sleeping around was part of your list of expertise,” she said, smiling at you. 

You blinked at her, lips parting. Then, you smiled back at her. Sickly sweet and pretty. You leaned over the table, arms crossing over the wood as you lowered your voice. There was no need to yell. Wasting your breath on her? Unnecessary.

“I don’t have to be here,” you said softly, meeting her eyes. You saw the brief flash of panic go through her features. “Do you think I want to be an Avenger again, Fontaine? I can watch you and the rest of this team fucking dive into the pits of hell for all I care, and become the laughing stocks of operative work and the media. Hell– Sam Wilson, the nation’s new Captain America, can take up the mantle, ruin you guys, and I will watch with a smile. I think that you’re forgetting that I am doing you a favor.”

You watched as she wet her lips, and her nostrils flared at you. She swallowed thickly, clenching her jaw as she tried to sit up straighter, tried to give off the appearance that she was in control here.

“You forgot the de. It’s de Fontaine,” she whispered to you, giving you a small wink as she nodded. 

“I don’t give a shit,” you whispered back, shaking your head. 

The smile on her face slowly faded away as you maintained eye contact. You tilted your head at her, waiting for another witty response.

It never came.

You sat up, palms hitting the wooden table as you stood. You gave a nod to Mel, who looked absolutely petrified where she stood. Briefly, you felt bad for the girl. Valentina was definitely going to take out her anger on Mel, who couldn’t do anything against her. 

“Well, I’m gonna go,” you declared, and looked across the table towards the man who had been oh so silent the entire meeting. “You tell me when I’m needed– an actual mission or if we’re supposed to be seen out in public together. I’m not sitting in one of these stupid fucking conference rooms to listen to her bullshit again.”

You didn’t wait for Bucky’s confirmation. You pushed out from your chair, and reached for your bags, going back out into the hallway. If Valentina listened to at least one of your conditions when you told her that you would do this stupid fucking PR stunt, then your old room better be vacant. If not, you don’t care who’s shit is in there. 

You’re throwing it all out.

You wondered if Tony was in heaven, looking down at you, laughing his ass off. You were certain of it, actually. Him and Natasha both must be sharing a beer together, watching the show unfold in front of them. Honestly, you couldn’t blame them. The sight would be comical to you, too, if you weren’t the one actively in it.

This was the first charity gala that you attended, but one of many that Valentina threw. The reason for this? You and along with the New Avengers were attempting to raise funds to help send back to cover the costs of the damages that the fucking idiots on the team caused in the latest mission in Brazil.

You wished you could say that you weren’t part of that mission, but your name was unfortunately slapped onto it like a brand on your skin. 

You thought you knew what awful teamwork looked like. After all, you had been there to see the beginning stages of the original Avengers. You watched as Steve and Tony fought chest to chest in some homo-erotic tension that made you want to rip both of their heads off at the time. You watched the Hulk throw Thor into a compression tank, and then have to be chased down by Natasha. 

Hell, even after you guys finally started to get along with each other, you guys were still on each others’ asses. Debriefs consisted of arguments demanding to know who was compromised, who strayed a toe away from the original plan, and who needed to pull their weight. At the end of the day, you called it accountability. 

Yeah... You wanted to go back. 

You had never been part of a more disorganized team in your life. The original Avengers were dysfunctional? No. You guys at least knew each other’s skillset. You could only watch in pure exhaustion as Ava tried phasing through buildings with John following her, demanding for her to take him with her, only to be ignored. If it weren’t for that serum in his veins, you were certain that he should’ve gotten at least three concussions with how many times Ava told him that she would bring him through a building, only to change her mind right before. 

At the same time, Yelena was shouting for her father to stop the theatrics with the locals before giving up completely. You didn’t have too much to say about Yelena– watching her fight made your chest hurt actually. She fought like Natasha did. You wondered briefly if it was because she was trained in the same place, or if it was because of their bond together. Either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to pick her apart too much.

Bucky stopped playing leader the second shit went to the fan. One second, he was giving orders, making sure everyone was aware of their positions, and next thing you knew it? You watched as he ripped out his earpiece and shoved it into his pocket because he couldn’t stand the sound of Yelena and John arguing over the frequencies. 

Meanwhile, Bob was in the jet, keeping the AC running so you guys would be hit with some cool air after being stuck out in the sweltering heat. You still didn’t understand why you even took him to the missions when he didn’t do anything. Yelena swore that it was for field experience. That it was good for him to watch. He couldn’t watch jack shit from the forest that you dropped him off at though. 

Worst of all, the damage done to the country could have been avoided. It was all so easily avoidable. None of the explosions or damage needed to happen. Yes, the original Avengers blew shit up– did you guys ever mean to? Never. You watched Wanda cry in her room for days after messing up after a mission, yet Alexei and John were chuckling about how big the cloud of smoke was in the air. 

Now, it was time for your first official public appearance with Bucky. Dressed to the absolute tens– him in some both of you in matching Versace suits and gowns. God damn it, and he couldn’t even pretend to look you in the eyes. He just needed to stare at the space between your forehead, and that would be good enough for the cameras. 

“Did you not receive any media training as a Congressman?” you asked through a smile, sticking yourself closer to Bucky as the cameras flashed at the two of you. 

“I received media training,” he grunted, low, and under his breath as his hand twitched around your waist, but still barely present. His fingers were ghosting, as if he was afraid to touch you. “Media training didn’t include fake dating.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you smoothly took his hand in yours, pulling it tighter to your body. You felt him stiffen beside you, and you wanted to kill him. You wanted to kill everyone actually, but that wasn’t an option here. 

Soon, you got the thumbs up from Mel, letting you know that there were more than enough photos taken of you and Bucky. You held in your breath of relief for just a few more minutes as you slipped your hand into his, effectively leading Bucky into the gala and away from the press. 

You continued to hold hands, only the sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor being the noise between the two of you. It makes you cringe.

When you’re far enough away, ducking into the sanctuary of a hallway, you both release each other. Bucky creates some distance between the two of you. The action shouldn’t bother you, but it does. You’re still wired up from the failure of a mission that you had to endure– the mission that the others deemed was good enough because they destroyed less than they thought they would.

“I need you to pretend that you’re in love with me, or this shit is not gonna work, Barnes,” you said, closing your eyes as you attempt to regain part of your sanity. You lean back towards a wall, resting your head against it. 

“It's a little difficult when I’m being suffocated in my suit,” he muttered, messing with his cufflinks. 

“You look fine,” you sighed. “At least you’re fully covered. I’m one wrong move from showing off my chest to the entirety of New York. But seriously– get your shit together otherwise the media will think I’m holding you at gunpoint.”

“This wasn’t my plan, if you forgot. Not my decision to do this for publicity,” he said, eyebrows furrowed. “If I had it my way, I wouldn’t be doing any of this shit for the media.”

“Obviously. If it was, then you wouldn’t be such a mess out there! Again, I can’t do my job if you’re going to be a statue. I thought you were supposed to be a charmer. Some smooth guy that knew how to flirt. Can you channel that guy out for me?”

“Who the hell said all that?”

“Steve did.”

Bucky blinked at you, surprised for a second. “Steve said that? You– how close were you to Steve?”

“Close enough,” you waved off, trying to avoid the conversation.

Something about the way he’s looking at you is letting you know that he won’t let this go any time soon. A deep sigh escapes your throat as you look at him. 

“Steve talked about you a lot,” you huffed, running your hand through your hair. “Said you were a ladies’ man. So I thought this whole operation was going to be easy, but I guess Steve had no idea what he was talking about because this is the worst undercover mission that I’ve ever had the displeasure of doing.”

The surprise on his face melts away into utter irritation. A frown finds its way onto his face, and his head cocks just slightly. 

“Why are you even here?”

“If you forgot, the gala is because your team blew up half of the fuckin’ city, babe,” you replied, giving him a bitter smile.

“That’s not what I’m– babe?” he cut himself off, an incredulous look on his face as he stared at you in disbelief. 

“You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” you asked sarcastically, tilting your head at him.

There’s five seconds of silence. You wondered if there’s something that short circuited in his brain because he’s frozen in place, staring at you like you’ve grown two heads. Finally, he moves. He dragged a hand down his face, taking a deep breath as he attempted to calm himself down.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said, his jaw clenched tight. 

You met his gaze. It’s accusatory. Suspicious. The same way that he looked at you in the conference room, and the same way that he looked at you in the jet when you and the rest of the team were on your way to Brazil. He’d been quietly trying to figure you out this entire time. 

“Why I’m here is none of your concern,” you dismissed, tearing your eyes away from his. “All you need to know is that I’m trying to help you, so it would be really great if you cooperated with me.”

“That’s the part I don’t understand,” he said, a deep sigh escaping his chest. “You said it yourself– you don’t want to be an Avenger again. You’ve been in hiding for years, since right before the previous Avengers broke up. Why are you back?”

You stared off into the side, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. You turned to him, scanning his face again. 

Truthfully, you can’t blame him. You may hate this team, hate that fucking tower, but this is his. There’s a history behind him, and the rest of those fools that he calls his teammates, and a dynamic that you can’t squeeze yourself into even if Valentina labels you as a New Avenger. 

Moreover, you have no idea what was said about you in private. You don’t know what Steve or Sam told Bucky about you– if they even talked about you at all once you left. You don’t know what happened to any of your old friends aside from the media coverage, aside from the mission reports that you were able to dig up by hacking into a series of encrypted, locked files before you got caught by being too sloppy, too emotional one day. It was how Valentina located you, and when she realized who you were, she didn’t arrest you. Asked you to join her shadow operatives. 

You had nothing better to do, so you agreed. 

But now?

A slow, shaky breath exits your chest. 

“You do your job, Barnes. I’ll do mine,” you told him, meeting his eyes once more. “Let’s try not to have anymore lovers quarrels, babe.”

You pushed off the wall, and brushed past him, going towards the heart of the gala where the others are already mingling with investors, sponsors– anyone to give some money. 

You put on your best smile, and you join the fray. 

Whether you like it or not, this is your team now, too. Your name is attached, and you were part of a mission that disrupted hundreds, if not thousands of lives. So, you chat. You talk with people that ask about what you’ve been doing the last few years. You smoothly evade any and all questions about where you were when the Accords were being signed all those years ago, and you managed to deflect any mentions of the final battle with Thanos. 

Easy talk, easy words. Lies slip in and out of your mouth to fill in the gap in your resume, words that you’ve come up with to properly fool all these people around you. You watch as they eat up every single syllable that comes out of your mouth, and you can feel your pockets grow heavier with each and every smile you give. 

It doesn’t ease the weight on your heart.

When you give yourself a break, you steal a flute of champagne from a server’s tray as you make your way to the balcony for some fresh air. You leaned your elbows against the concrete railing, staring out into the sky before you. The summer air is blankets over you, though it does little to warm you in the gown that Valentina shoved you in for the night. 

“You make it look so easy.”

You looked over your shoulder, finding Yelena coming to join your side with her own glass of alcohol. She offered you a smile, pressing her back against the railing as she settled beside you. 

“What’s easy?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at her.

“The mission. The… talking to the people inside the gala. The interactions, all of it,” she shrugged. “Being an Avenger.”

“Your sister is the one who made being an Avenger easy,” you said, letting out a scoff of a laugh as you shake your head at her. 

A small, sad smile tugs onto her lips as she turns to look at you. She studies you for a few moments, then lowers her eyes. “Did you know her? Know her… well, I mean,” Yelena asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Yeah,” you nodded to her, returning her smile. “I did.”

Silence carefully settles, and the two of you drink slowly. You keep your gaze out towards the balcony, while Yelena watches your six, focused on the party going on through the doors. When her glass is empty, she releases a breath.

“Barnes is horrible,” she said, making your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “I’m also trained in espionage. I get it– he fucking sucks. I saw him pose for photos.”

You let out another laugh, shaking your head at her words. “God. We’re not going to convince anyone if he keeps it up. I thought he was raised in the forties. Chivalry central.”

“He’s old,” Yelena shrugged. “Maybe he just needs a reminder on how to flirt.”

You made a face at her, and frowned. “There’s no need for us to actually flirt, Yelena. It’s all fake, remember?”

“Maybe it needs to be real for him.”

The media adores you and Bucky for some weird reason. 

Or rather, it’s you they adore. 

When one of the original Avengers returns to New York to fight the hard battles again, it’s like a saving grace, you supposed. The memes turned into soliloquies and love letters. People began to take the New Avengers seriously overnight after the charity gala, but it’s also due to your own handiwork from the appearance that you had at the White House after the gala. 

You've gone to meet with the government– to meet with Captain America. It was to congratulate you, to welcome you back into the line of work. Since the original heroes were gone, America had become real sentimental about their fanfare with making sure everyone knew who they relied on now. 

Cameras are all in the two of your faces as you stare down Sam Wilson. You pretend not to feel pain. You pretend you don’t miss him. You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when his smile doesn’t meet his eyes when you shake his hand.

“So… You and Buck, huh?” he asked you, and it was loud enough for some of the cameras to pick up. 

“Yeah. Me and Bucky. We got real close,” you said, smiling at Sam. 

“When did that happen?” he asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice. 

“Steve introduced us,” you replied, a fond look in your eyes as you spoke. You almost looked dreamy. 

Sam couldn’t say a damn thing against you– not when it meant having to discredit the previous Captain America. And the media loved it. They loved the story that Bucky’s best friend, the last leader of the Avengers, had created the couple between the New Avengers. It was almost a classic love story.

You and the rest of the team continued to watch your interviews at the White House. Watched as you spoke so highly of your new team, spoke of the plans that you were aware of, how you would be allocating the funds in Brazil to several different areas of need to ensure that each impacted site would be taken care of. 

You were heavily leaned into the fact that none of this could be done without the help of Bucky, who regretfully could not have made the appearance to the White House as he was currently out on the field doing exactly as you were saying at that moment. You were simply being the spokesperson as you were the most familiar face to the people at this time. 

“Reliability creates credibility,” Valentina said, a smirk on her face as she paused the clips. 

“What the hell does that even mean?” Ava sighed deeply. 

“It means that the plan is working– she is our most reliable figure on the team, so everyone will take what she says and worship the ground she walks on. It’s the original Avenger effect! Show them the engagement logs,” Valentina sighed, and snapped her fingers at Mel.

Immediately, a new presentation was being brought up to the screen. You all watched as bar graphs were brought to life, showing the positive incline of the last few months of how the media was buzzing about the team.

Since you had been rumored to be returning back to hero work, there had been some better talks about the team. Since you were spotted working in Brazil, right next to Bucky’s side the entire time, the whispers elevated to a decent chatter. After the gala, a storm had kicked up. Now with the White House appearance, and the construction in Brazil, this was the best interaction that the team had been receiving online since they saved New York from the Void. 

“This is a great start,” Valentina said, then turned to look at you, then to Bucky. “But we need more from the two of you. More love story.” 

Both you and Bucky slumped in your seats. You watched as his eyebrows pinched together, then followed the way he took his vibranium hand and dragged it down around the scruff of his mouth. 

You’re not really sure what was talked about the remainder of the meeting. You’re trying to weigh the pros and cons of continuing this facade with Bucky. Is it really worth it, at the end of the day? Truthfully, the paycheck Valentina is giving you weekly is nice. Nicer than what she was giving you when you were just doing the shadow work when you completed her dirty work, but still. 

Guilt continued to build within you. You had locked eyes with a woman outside of the White House, when you were walking out– and she thanked you. Something in you made you stop. You asked her what for. She said you and the Avengers saved her, many, many years ago– and that she’s happy that you’re alive. That one of the originals is back at the frontlines, leading the new generation of heroes. 

She told you what a relief it was for you to return, and it’s nice that you can find love with one of these new heroes amongst the craziness of your line of work– that it must be nice to have someone close to lean on. 

You only gave her a tight smile, and told her to continue to stay safe.

You leave the conference room the same time everyone else does, when you see them get up from their seats. You don’t meet Bucky’s eyes, even though you know they’re on you. He’s still watching you. He’s still trying to figure out why you’re here. What your purpose is.

You don’t really know what you’re doing either.

Either way, you grab your laptop from your room that night. You’re showered, in pajamas, and you’re over everything. You know where Bucky’s room is– down the hall and near the fire exit. It’s the quickest way to escape if there’s ever an issue within the tower. Part of you knows that he chose this side of the tower because Steve had his room in this wing, too.

Bucky’s door cracked open after exactly five seconds of you waiting outside. You don’t allow him to let you linger in the hallway– you shoved your way through, crossing the threshold of his room.

“What the hell are you doing?” 

“Bonding with my boyfriend,” you replied, and sat down on the edge of his bed as if you owned the space. Your legs are crossed under you as you flip your laptop open, and begin to pull up your playlists.

There’s nearly nothing in his room. Nothing memorable or personal. It’s almost like he’s a guest here. The only splash of color is his bedsheets, which are gray, and the journal on his nightstand that you know isn’t his. It’s Steve’s. 

“Again– what are you doing?” Bucky asked, more exasperated this time than the last.

You glanced up at him, giving him a smile. He’s in a tank top– and his dog tags are chest. You can faintly see the scars on his shoulder peeking out from the straps, connecting with the seam of his metal arm. He’s standing there, arms crossed over his chest, with a frown on his face.

“Sit,” you said, patting the space on the bed beside you. “Let’s listen to music together.”

His frown only deepens. You continued to stare at him, expectant and waiting. You’re not leaving his room until he gives in to you. 

And he does. 

He shuts the door to his bedroom, and the bed dips beside you as he takes a seat, but he’s rigid– just like he was when he had to take photos beside you on the steps of the museum for the gala. He’s not even touching you, and he’s stressed out. 

“Why are we listening to music?” he grunted.

“You ask so many questions, baby,” you clicked your tongue at him as you clicked onto one of your playlists affectionately labeled Nostalgic Stimulation. “Was that also part of your media training?”

Music filled in the empty space of the room, and you turned up the volume just a little bit before placing your laptop in between the two of you. Bucky’s eyes land on your screen, taking in the different song titles as you fall backwards, closing your eyes as you rest on his bed.

“I know these songs,” he muttered. “They’re in Steve’s notebook.”

“They better be. I recommended half of them to him,” you hummed. Your eyes were still shut, but you knew his gaze had shifted to rest on the side of your face where you laid. “You listen to this kinda music, too?”

“Not really,” he sighed. 

“No?” you asked, finally looking at him.

Bucky had a sheepish expression on his face. Like he was almost ashamed of admitting it. He went back to looking at the songs on your laptop, reaching to touch the scrollpad– going through each of the song titles. 

“They’re… I mean the songs are good, but they’re not my style,” he muttered. “I gave it a chance.”

“What’s the issue with it?” you frowned at him. “These are classics, lover boy. Staples in history, if you will.”

“Classics,” he repeated with a scoff. “Sweetheart, you’re talking to someone that’s older than these songs. These are not classics to me. Besides, you didn’t strike me as someone that listened to classics, either.”

Your lips parted, and you blinked. Fine. He got you there.

“Well, part of the reason I enjoy these songs so much was because we used to play them all the time,” you shrugged, moving to sit back up. “All of these songs in this playlist specifically just remind me of good times.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“The team,” you answered, meeting his eyes. You saw him pause for a second, his breath catching in his throat. “Sometimes, we would wake up to Tony listening to these songs in the lab. Other times these songs would be in the gym while Steve and Natasha were sparring. I would play them while I was cooking in the kitchen. We would listen to them together to unwind after a longer mission in the jet on the way home… So yeah. Good times.”

You’re grateful that you’ve already turned the music on to fill in the silence. Bucky doesn’t answer you for a while, and you don’t elaborate your words to him. Yet, you two still stared at each other. 

The more that you talk, the more that you reveal about yourself, the more he relaxes. It seems Yelena’s words were right. He needs to believe that it’s real. That you’re real. You’re trying to convince yourself all at the same time that this is real, too. 

“What about the other part?” Bucky asked.

You shrugged, and gave him a sad smile. “I’m lonely.”

Since that night, you continued to come to Bucky’s room as often as you could. Once the rest of the tower falls asleep, you’re making your way down the halls with your laptop and phone. You no longer knock, and Bucky doesn’t expect you to do so anymore. You just push your way through, shut the door behind you, and drop onto his bed.

Bucky doesn’t even have the energy in him to look exhausted at your appearances. You don’t know if it’s because you admitted to him that you’re lonely, or if it’s because he relates to it. Deep down, you’re starting to think he enjoys your company, with how he lets you do whatever you want. You don’t want to admit it, but you’ve begun to look forward to your nightly escapades with him, too. 

You pretend that it’s just a stepping stone for the mission. That it’s only for the mission– to make Bucky more comfortable with you, but deep down, something is shifting. You’re changing, too. You don’t find so much fault in every corner of the tower. You try to pretend that the time you spend in Bucky’s room isn’t extending longer and longer every night.

You’ve turned his room into a rock concert venue. You taught him about raves, and how young folk these days can and will drug themselves on purpose for maximum fun. Bucky looked mildly horrified at the thought, and then you turned on some EDM music. The poor soldier couldn’t wrap his head around the various synthesized tracks before he asked you to turn it off. It was the only time he asked you to change the music, so you indulged in his request. 

When you ran out of music to talk about, you started to bring other things to his room. Like alcohol. 

“You know I can’t get drunk, right?” he asked, eyeing the several bags in your hand.

“Which makes this so much more fun,” you smiled at him as you started unloading the items onto his desk. “I’m making you my guinea pig.”

“Your guinea pig?” he repeated, eyebrows furrowing.

“Maybe bad wording choice given your background as an experiment, but indulge me a bit here, okay?”

You watched as he picked up some of the other items that you brought and sighed deeply. You met his eyes, and watched as he simply could not fight back against you. He just sat back down on his bed, defeated.

“Have you ever had soju and yakult before?” you asked, already opening up the probiotic drink.

“What the hell is a yakult?” he asked, slightly exasperated.

“Oh, you’ll love this, babe.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

But, he did love it. In fact, it was his favorite drink of the night. It was yours, too. You started off on the easier side of alcohol before you had shifted into deeper territory. You were having a blast, mixing several different things and watching his reaction. Some of them had him looking pleasantly surprised. Others made him demand for you to give him another shot of soju. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to be mixing light and dark alcohol in one night, sweetheart,” Bucky told you with a raised eyebrow as he took a slow pull on his whiskey. 

You groaned at his words. “You are a buzzkill. Let a girl do what she wants.”

“It’s my room that you’re going to throw up in.”

“Just toss me into the hallway if I start going green,” you muttered, pouring yourself another glass. You’d long stopped mixing anything. You two were just drinking at this point. After throwing back your alcohol, you stared at him, and he was already looking at you. You frowned. “I wonder if you can get alcohol poisoning.”

“No, doll. I can’t get sick,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You on the other hand–”

“I’m not even drunk.”

“You’re slurring your words.”

“I am not.”

“Debatable,” he scoffed.

He was right. You passed out in his room that night, and woke up tucked into his sheets. You weren’t anywhere near his bed last time you remembered anything. You were sitting at his desk, still chatting with him. You recalled giggling with him, drunk off your mind, him smiling at you while you talked about things that you couldn’t recall. 

Now, the entire room was cleaned up. The mixers and alcohol were back in the bag that you had brought, and Bucky was sitting at the desk. He was also asleep, chin tucked to his chest, arms crossed. 

Your heart slightly ached at the sight.

Bucky refused to tell you what you said to him that night. At the very least, he promised to you that you didn’t embarrass yourself. You decided to swear off alcohol for the time being. You started bringing your laptop back to his room, and made him sit beside you at the head of the bed.

“This movie fucking sucks,” Bucky muttered beside you, trying to stay quiet like you were in a movie theatre despite the fact it was just the two of you and you’d seen this movie hundreds of times before. 

“It’s the pinnacle of cinema, babe,” you whispered back. “Are you really Steve’s best friend? He loves this movie.”

“Steve has questionable tastes. Like being your friend,” he grunted.

Your response was to toss a popcorn kernel directly into his face. Bucky doesn’t even attempt to dodge it. He allowed the buttery thing to smack his cheek, then drop onto his bed, leaving a grease stain onto his sheets. He sighed, shaking his head before picking it up, and throwing it into the garbage can in the corner of his room. 

“The cinematography is all over the place,” Bucky continued. “How can you say this is the pinnacle of cinema? Are we not in the modern world–”

You press the space bar on your laptop, and angle your head to look at him. There’s a smile on his face. He’s fucking messing with you– teasing you. He meets your eyes, and his grin only grows wider. 

“You waited until we were more than halfway through the movie to tell me that you hated it?” you asked.

“I had to make sure that I really did hate it,” he shrugged.

You rolled your eyes at him, “You’re awful.”

“And yet, you still keep coming to my room every night like you own this place.”

“What can I say? I’m just visiting my boyfriend every night, like a dutiful girlfriend,” you huffed, pulling the device back onto your lap to find a different movie to watch with him.

Bucky snorts beside you, shaking his head. “Right. Because that’s what we are.”

“That’s what the world thinks,” you hummed, scrolling through the different options. Nothing looks appealing to you, and if Bucky thinks the movie that you two were just watching was bad then shit– everything you’re gonna choose is going to be bad. 

“Media engagement has been more positive,” he said, almost a bit quieter. 

“It’s because you started touching me like you actually like me during press interviews,” you said, closing your laptop. You gave up. “We’re really selling Val’s publicity stunt. Gotta give it to her– America does love love.”

A small laugh escaped his chest. “It’s more you than me doing the work.”

“You’re doing just fine, Bucky. I’m sure it was difficult for you to act like you love me when you had no idea who I was,” you sighed. 

“No– even now… You coming every night. It was for the mission, right? So I could get to know you. Be more comfortable with you,” Bucky said. “I know you don’t want to be here. I still don’t get why you’re here, but… I’m glad that you are.”

You can’t meet his eyes. 

The shame that you’re feeling is threatening to crawl back up your throat. The past few weeks, you managed to shove it all down. You had forgotten about it. Pretended it didn’t exist. Right now, it’s hard to ignore.

You take in a slow, steady breath.

“You never told me what music you like,” you said, and lifted the screen of your laptop. “It’s your turn to share some information about you with me.”

You’re about to hand over the device to him so he could search it up, but he gets out of bed. You immediately straightened, confused. Briefly, you wondered if you’d offended him. If that was somehow a taboo topic for him, but no. It wasn’t.

Bucky went to his closet, pulling out a vintage record player. He gently set it down on his desk, then went back to the closet to pull out another item– a box full of vinyls. 

“I like forties music,” he told you, a small smile on his face as he started fingering through the different records. 

Slowly, you got out of bed, too. You join him by his side, looking over his shoulder at the various different tracks. They’re worn around the edges, the colors faded. They looked more than second hand, and were very well loved throughout the years.

“How long did it take you to get all of these?”

“A while,” he admitted with a shrug. “Many trips to the thrift stores. I learned what FaceBook Marketplace was, too.”

“Steve said vinyls weren’t a thing yet in the early forties,” you said. “I tried teasing him one day about it, and he got real defensive.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, and pulled out a Louis Armstrong record. “They weren’t… but I like ‘em. They give me that same form of nostalgic stimulation that you crave, too.”

You watched as he loaded the track, and placed the needle onto the record. Slowly, the music filled your ears. You turned to him, seeing a fond smile on his face as he listened to the song play. 

“Is your nostalgia from before the wars?”

“Yeah… The dance halls,” he nodded, looking down at his feet briefly. “I was quite the dancer back then. Charmed a lot of women, went on plenty of dates… The music would play and I would be unstoppable, really.”

“And now, you tense up now when you have to give me a hug in front of a camera,” you teased lightly. “Do I need to put Sinatra in your earpiece when we go through our interviews?”

“Honestly? It might help,” he chuckled, meeting your eyes.

You watched him for just a few moments. There’s something different about him right now. Maybe it’s the music. It’s unlike what you normally listen to so it’s affecting you, but he looks different. You couldn’t help but smile back at him, not when the smile he has is so genuine. So real. 

“Pretend we’re in the forties right now,” you told him, watching his eyebrows furrow slightly in surprise. “Let’s dance, Sarge.”

“You can dance?”

“Not in the same way you can, but I’m a fast learner,” you grinned, holding your hand out to him.

Bucky’s eyes fall to your palm, and his smile only grows softer. You hate the way that your heart races at the sight. Gently pushed your hand away, before extending out his own. “That’s backwards, doll. I’m supposed to be asking you for the dance.”

“My apologies,” you laughed, sliding your hand into his.

He stepped in closer to you, his other hand moving to rest around the small of your back. You circled your arm around his, hooking your hand over his shoulder before he began to lead you in a gentle sway of the beat.

“Was there always such a respectful distance between dance partners in the forties?” you whispered to him, looking in between your bodies at the space. 

A sharp laugh tumbled out from him, but he pulled you in even closer until your chests were touching– until even air can’t pass through. When you looked up at him, you found he’s already watching you, a smile so wide on his face that there are slight crinkles around his eyes.

The air gets stuck in your throat, and you have to remind yourself to continue to breathe.

“Is that better for you?” he whispered back.

“Much.”

Bucky only shakes his head, in mock disbelief, but you two continue to sway along to the music. You could understand why there were so many girls after him back then, if this was how he danced with them. He’s humming along to the song, and you can feel his heartbeat from how close you are to him. 

It thumps against your own chest, slow and comforting. It’s gentle, and it makes your own chest hurt from the sheer kindness it emits. Bucky’s heart is just like his steps, and you know he’s taking this dance even slower than it needs to be because you said that you didn’t know how to. He’s dancing in half the time of the song’s tempo. 

You can’t help yourself. You rest your head on his shoulder, a slow breath escaping your nostrils as you close your eyes. Bucky doesn’t stop humming. His grip on your waist tightens just a bit more, holding you impossibly closer to him. 

You don’t want the music to end. You don’t want to pull away from him, but the night is getting late, and you should head off to your own room for the night. You’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe you could convince him to pull out the vinyls again. He has a lot that you could go through. You could dance more another night.

It’s what you tell yourself as the needle hits the end of the record, and automatically lifts to avoid damaging the record. His humming has stopped, your swaying has come to a halt, and silence fills the air, but Bucky’s hold on you doesn’t loosen. 

“I should go,” you murmured to him, but you don’t detach yourself from him either. Your head remained on his shoulder, resting in the crook of his neck like it's your space to occupy. 

“Stay.”

You shouldn’t. 

You know you’re not here in the Watchtower for the right reasons– you’re not spending time with Bucky for the right reasons, and you know Bucky is suspicious of you. He has every right to be, but somewhere along the way– he decided he doesn’t care about those suspicions anymore. He’s placed his trust in you, but you haven’t told him the truth about anything.

Yet, you’re still undressing him with the same amount of vigor as he has when he’s pulling your own clothes off. Your laptop gets accidentally bounced off the bed when your bodies collide, and you both are momentarily alarmed at the sound of the shatter.

“Did you have anything important on that?” he whispered, hot breaths mingling with your own as he hovered about you.

“You really think I keep important Avenger level secrets on a fucking Mac laptop, Bucky?” you whispered back, eyebrows furrowed.

“I like it when you say my name.” 

“God, you’re so lame.”

The smile he gave you in return for your sass is devastating. Then, he’s lowering himself back down onto you, mouth catching yours before he’s lifting you back properly up the bed to rest comfortably against the pillows. 

Bucky’s body is slotted so perfectly against yours, blanketing yours in a warmth that you hadn’t felt in a long time. His hands are all over you, as if he’s trying to map you out, memorize you by touch as he’s too busy enjoying your kiss with his eyes closed. 

You felt his fingers pause at the scar on your thigh. He pulled away from the kiss, eyes zeroed in on it. You watched, breathless, as his fingers ghosted along the raised skin.

"Sorry about this," he murmured, meeting your gaze again.

Guilt. There was guilt in his eyes. Regret. Pain and brief darkness threatening to creep up onto him. You couldn't have that, not right now- not when you were both naked, and you were under him.

"It didn't even hurt," you told him, tugging him back down to you, capturing his lips once more. "But I won't forgive you if you look at me like that again."

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered against your lips, as a small laugh falls from his lips- one that makes your chest soar. Yes. That is what you want from him. Not the sadness or the hurt. His hands are back on you, exploring once more.

“Bucky…” you sighed against his mouth as his fingers danced along your stomach, threatening you with a promise to go lower. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, breaking away from your lips. “I got you, doll.”

You can’t help but dig your nails into his shoulders when his fingers slide up and down your folds, feeling you out. A low, contented moan escaped from his throat and he lifted himself off your body slightly to look between your legs– to see the glistening state between them.

Bucky watched as his fingers dipped within you, watched as your puffy lips split open for him, watched as your mouth fell open in a breathy moan as he slowly began to massage you from within. 

“You’re soft all over, sweetheart,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. 

You didn’t have a response for him, not when he added a second finger into the mix. His gaze was intense, so fixated on watching your body respond for him like he didn’t want to miss a single twitch or tremble in your muscles. 

Bucky didn’t stop even though you could see his own member, hard and leaking against his stomach– begging to be touched. No, he was more focused on you– wanting you to fall apart from his touch, from just his fingers alone.

You were more than happy to oblige if it meant that you could finally get all of him inside of you.

“Bucky, hurry,” you murmured, though you were still panting, still twitching from your high. His fingers were still inside of you, still moving. “Bucky, I need you.”

“You’re so impatient,” he said, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval when you tugged on his wrist, trying to get him to shift away. 

“Acting like you don’t want me, either,” you huffed, a little breathless as he began to line himself up with you. 

“Baby, you don’t know how badly I’ve wanted you,” he chuckled, and pushed in. 

You’re both silent for a few moments, mouths open in noiseless moans as you both take the time to adjust to the feel of each other. His forehead rested against yours as he took a moment to just let everything sink in. His hands squeezed at the curve of your waist, and a shaky breath escaped his lips.

“Jesus,” he muttered, then pressed his lips against yours.

You can only let out a small giggle in response– one that he returns right back. Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him against you as his hips started to move. Slowly at first, still getting used to you, then gradually picking up speed.

Soft chuckles and giggles are being passed between your lips in the midst of breathy moans.

You ran your hands over his body– from the hollow of his throat, down his chest, to his abdomen, and resting on his hips. You just wanted to feel every single ridge and contour of him, wanted to feel the way his muscles moved and contracted as he shifted within you– wanted to feel him as deeply as he was feeling you.

You watched as he took one of your hands, laced his fingers with yours, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. All the while, his eyes were locked onto yours while his hips continued to rock deeply into yours. 

“So perfect, so, so pretty,” he muttered to you, making a shiver run down your body as he moaned out your name next.

He was the pretty one, but with the way that he was looking at you– the way that he was touching you? You couldn’t help but believe him.

Bucky held you in his arms like you were something to worship, something to love. You meet his eyes more than once, and they’re soft. Not hungry or desperate. They’re as gentle as his heart is kind, and you fall apart under his gaze. Bucky follows you right afterwards, whispering your name like a prayer.

He holds you tight that night. Tells you to stay again, in his bed. With him.

You don’t need much convincing.

You don’t know why you’re here, in this secluded corner of a coffee shop. The worst spot to meet up, in your opinion. You would’ve chosen the Watchtower. It was private, at the very least, but no. Sam wanted to meet in public. Why? You have no fucking clue.

Then again, that’s the general theme of your life for the past three and a half months. You don’t know why you came back to New York. You’re not sure why you went on those missions. There’s no clear reasoning on why you went through every single interview and public appearance that Valentina made you do for the sake of Operation: Romance the Public. 

Well, that’s all a lie. You have a reason. You know exactly why you’re here. 

Either way, you shouldn’t be sitting across from Sam with Bucky beside you, listening to the two of them argue about who should have the rights to the Avengers. Bucky asked you to come with him. Said it might be easier to convince Sam, to make the talk go easier since you know Sam, since you fought beside Sam as an Avenger. 

You tried talking your way out of it. Said it wasn’t a good idea. Bucky gave you one look and you were a goner.

“You’re operating as a government backed team– what aren’t you understanding? You’re doing the exact same thing that we fought against!” Sam hissed, trying to keep his voice low. 

“Do you think this is what I wanted? I was trying to take Val from her position,” Bucky replied, his voice just as hushed. “I didn’t expect for all of this to happen either!”

“You know, I get that– I understand that, Buck, I really do– but the name? The title? You know better than anyone how hard I have to fight to try to be worthy of my name and yet you can just waltz in here with a bunch of criminals–”

“The original Avengers were all criminals, too,” you cut in, and both men looked over at you. You met Sam’s eyes. “In case you forgot. We were criminals, too.”

“Don’t fucking start with me,” he said, pointing a finger at you. “Because I will not stop once I do.”

“Sam,” Bucky quickly said, trying to get his attention again. “I can’t change what happened. Please. I don’t know what you want me to do. I’m just trying to do what I can here.”

“By doing what? Faking to the world that you and little Ms. Perfect Avenger is in a loving relationship?” he asked with a scoff, leaning back into his seat. He’s still staring at you, jaw clenched tightly as he takes in a sharp, deep breath. “You left us. You left me and Steve when we needed you. You didn’t even fight with us. You dropped off the face of the fucking Earth, and now what? You’re back here for some fame? You’re so full of shit, you know that?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not here for fame, Sam. I wouldn’t need to join the Avengers again if that’s what I needed.”

“You are so full of shit!”

“Sam. Cool it,” Bucky warned.

“Why are you defending her? She wasn’t even there for you when shit went down the fucking drain!” Sam exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “Last time you guys met, you tried to fucking kill her, and vice versa!”

You dragged a hand down your face, irritation building into your chest as you listened to him talk. “Okay, clearly, this isn’t working. This civil conversation that you called us out here for? Over with, Wilson. I’m leaving. I’ll see you back at the tower, Bucky.”

“If it’s not about the fame, then what is it about?” Sam asked you. You met Sam’s eyes. He was challenging you. “You should’ve chosen a side. Because we got back together in the end like we always believed we would… and you were nowhere to be found—“

“You watch your fucking mouth,” you cut him off. Your body bristled, your heartbeat spiked. 

“Am I wrong?” he dared. “You’re a coward. You were back then, and you still are. All you know how to do is run.”

“That’s enough, Sam,” Bucky warned, trying to keep his voice even.

Sam wasn’t done yet. He kept his eyes locked in on yours, and you couldn’t even tear your gaze away from his. Your chest felt tight. Your breathing was getting restricted. You watched as he took in a slow, intentional breath as he calmed down, just a little bit. 

“You left us,” Sam said, nodding at you. “You were so afraid to lose half of the team back then, half of any of us back then… You didn’t even realize that you would end up losing all of us in the process.”

The chair clattered behind you as you pushed away from the table, and the rest of the coffee shop fell silent, looking into the direction of your table. You didn’t care. 

You were already out the door, and halfway down the street. Sam was right. All you did was run, after all. 

You dodged and weaved through the crowd of civilians, desperately trying to get away as fast as you could. You didn’t know where you were going. You just needed to leave— leave New York. Leave the country. Leave the Avengers again. Go back into hiding. 

Your lungs are burning within your body by the time you turn into an alleyway. Your legs can’t hold your weight anymore, and your back slides against the concrete wall as you bury your face into your hands. You’re desperate for air. Desperate for a release. Something to make it all stop hurting.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart. I know Sam said that all you do is run, but that was like… a mile in five minutes.”

Your hands are being gently pried away from your face, and Bucky is on a knee in front of you, also slightly out of breath– but not for the same reason that you are. 

“Why did you follow me?” you whispered. 

“Couldn’t just let you run out like that–”

“I’m done,” you interjected, shaking your head. “I can’t do this anymore. The fake– the PR shit. The fucking team– us. I can’t do this.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed in mild confusion as he looked at you. You tear your wrists away from him, running your hands through your hair and squeezing at the roots. You’re going insane.

“What do you mean?” he muttered. “This– I get that it’s publicity and this is… a media stunt, but… the team– you and I– none of that is fake.”

“All of it is fucking fake, Bucky!” you shouted at him, releasing your hair. You have to close your eyes, and keep them shut tight. Otherwise, you’re going to be stuck looking at Bucky’s face, seeing the hurt that’s so clearly evident on his features. You can’t stand to look at it, when you know that you’ve caused it.

“I don’t get what you’re saying right now, doll,” he muttered, reaching for your hand again, and you want to cry. He shouldn’t be this nice to you. You don’t get why he’s being so patient with you.

“Bucky, I don’t want to be here,” you stressed, attempting to take your hand away from him. He only tightens his grip on you– interlaces your fingers together. “You know it, I know it– Sam fucking knows it!”

“Look at me when you’re talking.” It’s not a demand. It’s said as a request. He squeezes your hand, and then your name comes from his lips. Gentle. Soft. Almost reverent. “Please.”

A shaky breath exits your lungs, but you find the courage to look him in the eyes. And he offers you a small smile. It only makes you want to scream all the more. You stared at him, searching for the anger, the suspicion. There’s none of that. You don’t understand.

“Bucky… I should’ve chosen a side,” you whispered to him, heart hammering in your chest. “I lost everyone. I lost everything. I’m only here because Steve asked me to be. I fucked up– and I found out he wasn’t dead like Tony, like Natasha– so I searched for him. Found him retired in that farmhouse in the south, and begged him for forgiveness. I told him that I missed him, I missed the team, and that I was sorry that I wasn’t there for him and everyone else–”

You paused, needing a moment to take a breath. You didn’t understand how Bucky was still kneeling in front of you, taking in all of your words with such patience and clarity, but you were about to break down and start crying. 

“And I pleaded with him to tell me what I could do to make up for the shit I did to him, and he asked me to help you if the opportunity ever came— and it did– it finally fucking did, Bucky–” you said, your voice cracking. “I’m only here because I’m listening to the last order my Captain gave me. I don’t want to be an Avenger because this isn’t my team. These aren’t my people. I left my team. I betrayed them– I don’t… I don’t deserve to be here.”

“I know,” he said, nodding to you. “It’s okay.”

You stared at him, the tears slipping down your face. “What?”

“You already told me this,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “When you were drunk. You also made me swear not to tell you that you told me until you said it to me when you were sober.”

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping through.

“I just told you that we are fake,” you whispered. “That I– I’m only here because of Steve–”

“You also told me that you liked spending time with me every night,” he murmured to you. “And that hanging out with me was the first time in a long time that you had felt peace.”

“Bucky. I just told you our friendship is based on a lie.”

“I don’t think you would’ve told me the truth if you really didn’t care about me. Twice now, actually.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” 

“You’re talking to someone that has a horrible history, too,” he shrugged, a small smile tugging onto his lips. “If Steve sent you my way, then shit. I’ll send him a postcard. Never thought he would be playing wingman after all these years, but gotta give it to him. He always knew my type.”

A laugh of disbelief falls from your lips. “Seriously?”

“The media already thinks we’re together. I don’t mind it if we continue on with it. And from the looks of the conversation we just had with Sam…” A deep sigh escaped his chest, and shook his head. “We’re gonna be in some tough fucking shit pretty soon. We could use all the help we can get- if you want to keep going. I won’t force you.”

“You still want me on the team?” you asked.

“I think I need you there to keep me sane amongst the rest of them, actually,” he admitted. “They’re… a tough crowd.”

“They’re disorganized.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Bucky muttered, and you can’t help the smile that came onto your face at the exhaustion that briefly flashed through his eyes. He looked back at you, meeting your gaze, returning your smile. “Point is, I wouldn’t mind it if you were still there. I think that you deserve it, actually. For someone that claims to not give a shit about the team, that says that this isn’t your team all the time… You work harder than anyone on all those missions.”

“Old habits die hard.”

“Exactly,” he said, squeezing your hand just a bit more. “Come back to the tower with me? I need some help when Sam starts retaliating.”

“Is that all you need me for?” you asked, even though you already know the answer. 

Bucky’s gaze is locked onto you. There’s a small smile on his face as his eyes roam across your features, taking in your appearance. You’re not too sure what there is to smile about, not when you’re certain that your tear stained and mussed up hair is an absolute mess, but under his gaze? You can’t help but feel beautiful. 

He reaches, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he shakes his head. Your jaw is being cradled in his hand now, as he pressed his forehead against yours– just something to let you know that you’re real. That he’s real. To let you know that he needs you more than just for the team. He needs you, just as badly as you need him.

masterlist

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn @gallifreyansass @nanikio @jmclouds @sundaepoet @the-salty-asian @overwintering-soldier @kjmonster111 @okaytrashpanda

[gothicpaperback]

THE WAY HE CARES | TEN

<<<PART NINE | MASTERLIST| PART ELEVEN >>>

wc: 4,2k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Joel Miller x You | Enemy Pregnancy

summary: Joel Miller has been my pain-in-the-ass neighbour for years. we argue more than we speak and when we do speak, it's usually through gritted teeth. but when my doctor tells me my fertility’s running out of time, panic sets in. I want a baby and I don’t have the luxury of waiting around for Mr. Right. Joel's a damn good father to his daughter, Sarah. that much, I can’t deny. so one night, fuelled by nerves and just the right amount of wine, I ask him the unthinkable: get me pregnant. no strings.no romance. just biology. i never planned on falling for him. but nothing about Joel Miller ever goes according to plan.

while the story is first person narrative, the OC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely physically described aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: neighbours, enemies to lovers, comedy, smut, sexual tension, mentions of fertility and reproductive issues, mentions of drugs and alcohol. i will add more tags as they become relevant.

chapter smut warnings: oral (F receiving), mentions of penetration, sexual fantasy, dirty talk.

taglist: @himboelover | @harrypotteranna23-blog | @isabella-rose-trastamara | @ro4nix | @sunndroppp | @harriedandharassed | @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 | @titlee78 | @olafsmiles2020 | @sophiagladiator | @sunnytuliptime | @6kaja9 | @magicxmiller | @redvelvettsunflower | @smvtwitchmiller |

THE WAY HE CARES | TEN

I'm trying very hard not to be frustrated right now, but I am. I was so ready to give into Joel, my hormones kicked into overdrive. 

And now I'm here on the couch in my pyjamas listening to the rain pattering down on the roof. Seems between the pipes and the weather the world is determined to keep me wet. 

I try watching television but it's so boring I give up and go on my phone. I'm scrolling when I decide to go to Sarah's Instagram. She's always posting cool stuff. 

But today is different. Today is an old photo of Joel. He can't be more than twenty five, arms muscled, body slimmer. He's still got that boyish look to his hair. He's sitting on a picnic blanket near a lake. 

He's wearing sunglasses and a huge smile as he faces the camera. A tiny Sarah is holding onto his fingers, using them to take a step forward. 

#throwbackthursday  To the best Dad then and the best Dad now. I miss you lots! 

I smile, eyes filling just a bit. I look at the photo for a long time thinking about how perfect a father Joel is. How natural fatherhood looks on him. 

How he was always the perfect choice. 

I must have fallen asleep shortly after because I wake to the sound of banging on the front door. 

The rain still hammers down on the roof as I pad towards the door. I open it, eyes blinking when I see Joel standing on the other side. 

Water drips down the end of his nose, his face shiny with rain. His shirt clings to him, similar to the one he was wearing in that Instagram photo. 

His eyes however are exposed and they are fiery. They burn into mine as he steps closer to me. 

"Joel, we can do this another t-"

He doesn't even give me a chance to speak. He lunges across the threshold, grabbing my face and pulling me in for a scorching kiss. 

And fuck can Joel kiss. 

Plump mouth, the tip of his tongue wetting my upper lip before devouring me. I cling to his soaked t-shirt, body pressed against his so tightly I can feel his erection pushing into my belly. 

He pulls back when I whimper, pupils blown so wide his eyes look black. I can see my awed face staring back at me. 

"We said no kissing," I say breathlessly even as my mouth chases his. 

"Fuck the rules." 

He crouches a moment to tuck one arm under my knees and the other around my back in a bridal carry, hefting me into his hold and kicking the front door closed. 

"I'm gonna fuck you now," he tells me as he carries me to the bedroom. "Gonna put a baby in you." 

Joel Miller and his filthy mouth where did you come from? My eyes are saucers and I'm trembling but not from cold, from anticipation-

-And then the doorbell rings. 

I wake up from my dream, drool at the corner of my mouth, eyes itchy. I rub at them, glancing at my digital clock. 

11:55 pm.  

The doorbell rings again and I glance out my bedroom window to see the sky is clear, The neighbour is quiet save for the cicadas heard in the distance. 

I stumble to the front door, yawning widely. 

"Were you asleep?"

Joel has changed into a Miller Brothers hoodie and a pair of grey sweatpants that leave nothing to the imagination. He also smells faintly of...

"Are you wearing cologne?"

His cheeks flush when he gives a half-hearted shrug, avoiding my eyes. "Spilled some on me when I was brushing my teeth." 

Sure, Joel. 

Still the thought delights me; that he went to an effort. It makes me cringe that I'm dressed in my ratty Bugs Bunny sleep shirt and that my hair is a mess. 

"You still wanna do this?" He asks me, eyes searching. 

The dream I just had comes back to me and I have to press my thighs together tightly.  "Yeah." 

We enter my bedroom both holding our breath, the moment charged. suddenly I am affronted with what we're about to do when we see my bed. It all becomes real. 

I made it with fresh sheets this morning, made it and plumped the pillows. I wanted it to be as nice as possible. But now it looks intimidating. 

Joel is standing stiffly beside me, dark eyes scanning the room. Only a bedside lamp is on, casting a sensual glow over the room. 

He breathes slowly, hands twitching at his sides and I realize I need to make the first move.  

I crawl to the centre of the bed, tugging the sleep shirt down my hips when it rides up, feeling self conscious.

"Make yourself comfortable," I say awkwardly motioning next to me on top of the mattress.  

Joel looks around the room, surveying it before he nods. With my breath held. I watch as he peels the Miller brothers hoodie from his body and drops it onto the chair by my mirror. . 

He's not a fitness model and he's not in his twenties anymore but Joel Miller is incredibly hot. Strong arms with biceps made not in a gym but on a work site. Broad chest, gold in the low light. His stomach is a bit soft, but still defined enough for my mouth to go dry. 

He gives me a look, brow raised. Keep going?

I nod back. Yes please. 

The moment feels weirdly tense as he walks to the other side of the bed, so I busy myself fluffing one of the pillows. 

"Everything okay with Tommy?" I ask. 

He makes a face. "Can we not talk about my brother right now? Doesn't really get me in the mood." 

I cringe. "Yes. Of course. Shit."

He's at the side of the bed now with a tiny smirk at my flustered reaction. I watch him settle onto the mattress, observing the dip of it, his knees brushing mine as he comes to sit next to me, long legs folded.  

It's so real so close so intimate. 

He stares at me, the kind of bold open stare the steals the breath from my lungs and forces me to look away. 

"Sorry there's no phone for you to peruse," I laugh breathlessly, attempting to lighten the mood. "Mine is on the couch so if you need material you have to use yours."

"Don't need it."

He replies so quickly I'm not sure I heard him correctly. 

"I'm not offended if that's what you're worried about," I scoff. "I'm under no delusional. I'm sure your fantasy woman doesn't have knotted hair, wearing a bugs Bunny T-shirt for sex."

He leans back on his hands, playfully cocking his head. 

"You don't know my fantasies." 

 I know he's joking by the twinkle in his eyes but that doesn't stop my voice from coming out a little shaky. 

"I'm pretty sure men like stilettos and strappy lingerie. Whipped cream and silk-'

"-or blue sundresses." 

My eyes go wide when he stops and his cheekbones go pink. Is he referring to my phone background? The one of me and a blue sundress at Lake Travis? 

No. It can't be. 

But it is. I know it is because the energy in the room has shifted. 

Joel's eyes are on me now and I know he knows that I know. There's no pretenses now, only honesty.  Joel swallows.

"What if I told you I used the background of your phone that first time?"

I laugh, breathy, nervous. “I'd call you a liar.”

His chin juts lightly, a silent dare for me to accuse him of lying again. I have a niggle of suspicion, like he's trying to fuck with me. My curiosity weighs out however. 

"What else?"

"Huh?"

"What else did you look at that day?" I ask him, weirdly intrigued. "I was curious about the sort of stuff you watch but you wiped the history." 

"Didn't wipe anythin'."

"There was nothing in the search history," I explain. "It's okay if you wiped it Joel, I just wanted to know what a guy like you watches to get off."

My face is burning as I admit this, but fuck it. We're about to have sex and I've been curious since the day it happened.  

"I told you. I didn't wipe anythin'." His eyes are weirdly intense. "Didn't need anythin' else." 

My pulse ticks, my nipples harden under my shirt as I remember his grunts that afternoon. 

Bossy thing. F-fucking take it then.

Be good. C'mon be good for me tonight and take it.

Yeah show me. Show me how much you want it, darlin'.

He was saying that about me? There's no fucking way. I stare at him in suspicion. He''s screwing with me. That's the only plausible explanation. 

"Shut the fuck up, Miller," I laugh, rolling my eyes and shoving his chest gently.

But he's not looking away from me. His eyes are swimming over my face, stuck on my lips before rising to my eyes once more. 

“I watched that other video too. The one of you touchin' yourself in bed.”

I feel my jaw hinge open, eyes wide. No way. No way he did. This doesn't feel like a joke, this feels very very real. But it can't be real right? This is Joel Miller, frenemy, neighbour.

There’s a tiny red flush climbing up his neck as he takes in my muted reaction. He watches my face bracing for the fallout. 

“Are you upset?" 

I should be but I'm not. I’m a little embarrassed, sure. But mostly I’m suddenly, acutely aware of how Joel watched me touch myself for the camera, the memory of his grunts and groans. 

So fucking good

Keep going darlin', just like that, you know just what I need. 

The thought does something strange to my spine. Even though he's beside me in bed this admission feels more intimate than anything.  

I finally shake my head slowly, eye contact not breaking. No. I'm not upset. I am confused though.

"Why are you bringing this up now?"

I watch him suck in a sharp breath, like he's trying to gather up the courage. He licks his lips and leans in slightly.

“If you’d seen what I saw, you’d bring it up too.”

What. 

The.

 Fuck. 

What is happening? How is Joel Miller, annoying neighbour, boring but dependable dad, block captain menace suddenly so suave that he has my stomach doing flips? 

All I can do is swallow thickly as my brain buffers. Joel seems emboldened by my response, the corner of his mouth curling slightly.

He leans even closer, knuckles pressing into the mattress, brushing against my thigh. My body breaks into goosebumps at his touch.

"I couldn't look away from your body arching and those sweet little faces you made when you were gettin' close."

His voice is pure honeyed sex. It drips between my legs and my ears. 

I'm convinced he can hear my heart pounding a staccato in my chest. It's so loud that I feel like it's the only thing I can hear aside from his voice. 

His face moves so close I can see the light that dances with the dark of his iris. His eyes are beautiful. I can feel the warm air of his breath buffet my parted lips.  I exhale shakily as Joel moves his mouth to my ear, lower lip catching my earlobe. 

"I wanted to know what faces you'd make if it was my hand between your legs instead." 

My heart literally skips a beat. I think I mutter something that may be his name or it might be gibberish. 

Whatever it is Joel grins gently against my ear at the response and keeps going. I stare down at his knuckles braced against the mattress, the coiled tension in his biceps, the thick outline of an erection beneath his sweatpants. 

"What if I wanted you to touch yourself like that again?" Joel murmurs all syrupy and low. "What if I want you to pretend I'm the guy you're making the video for?" 

Oh God oh God. 

Joel Miller is a dirty talking professional. And here I am just sitting with my mouth dropped open like an idiot. But it's just so unexpectedly sexy. And his suggestion is intimidating actually. The thought of performing in front of Joel makes me nervous. 

"M-maybe next time." 

Joel's smile is subtle but there. "Okay. Next time." 

Why does my belly flip at the thought of there being a next time? 

His hand brushes my arm before pulling back. He looks at me like he’s trying to memorize something, like he’s afraid if he blinks I’ll change my mind.

“You can go ahead, I won't break,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know,” he murmurs, sounding relieved at the permission. "I know."

His hand grazes my arm, up to my shoulder, fingers trailing slowly down again like he’s learning the shape of me through memory.

He reaches out again and his touch is gentle, reverent even, as he guides me down to the mattress. The backs of my thighs press into the mattress. The cotton sheets are cool against my skin.

He lays alongside me on his side, one arm propping his head up and he just looks at me. A look of consideration, of interest, of lust.

"I was doing some reading of my own this week," Joel says and I feel his hand is coming to slide along the front of my thighs. It's gentle and teasing. 

"What d-did you read?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even. But all I can do is stare at his fingers brushing against my bare skin. 

"That we should be doing this daily, five days up to ovulation plus the day," he murmurs. "That i should be filling you up that entire week."

 Filling me up? Why is that hot to me right now? What the fuck is wrong with me? When I look over his eyes are on me, dark and shiny. 

"You want that?" Joel murmurs, thumbs tracing little circles on the soft skin of my inner thigh. "You want me to fuck you for a week straight next time?" 

Yes. 

"If you're not busy, sure." 

He grins, his chuckle warm. I like that it makes his face light up when he does that. That it makes me smile in response. His face lowers to mine and he brushes the side of his nose against my cheek, and something in me stutters. 

I feel the weight of him, the heat of his body as he leans in closer, and still, he moves slowly, taking his time. He’s close now. I can hear his breathing, quiet but uneven against my ear, like he’s holding it back.

When his mouth finally does meet the skin beneath my jaw I gasp out loud and it embarrasses me. He doesn’t comment. Just kisses me there again, softer this time, slower. He's technically not breaking the no kissing rule but intimate all the same. 

I should push him off, should wrench out of his touch and yet my head tilts to give him better access. I'm getting hazy on why I can't just give into Joel completely, why i shouldn't press my mouth to his. 

I feel his teeth scrape against my jugular, the warmth of his tongue coming to lap when his teeth move off. 

He's taking his time, working me into both a frenzy of desire and a puddle of lust. But he didn't need to.

I've been wet since I saw him. 

My fingers drift to his chest without thinking, needing to feel something grounded, something solid. And I can feel

His heart is beating rapidly too, a steady throb beneath his ribs. He breathes out through his nose, lips brushing the base of my throat. His stubble scrapes lightly, and I arch without meaning to.

Still, he doesn’t move faster. His hands stay gentle, mapping over my ribs, the dip of my waist, the soft curve of my stomach. 

There’s no teasing, no smugness in it. This is Joel gentle, this is Joel authentic. This is the Joel that made me ask him for his help in the first place.  

"Wait, one thing." 

When he suddenly jerks back I could cry. I want to strangle him for breaking this glorious momentum. My voice comes out in a hard snap.

"What?!"

"Do you always call men, Daddy?" Joel asks, grimacing a little. "Gotta say if you pull that out that'll get me softer than taffy on a hot summer day."

"Fuck no," I say with a groan and a laugh. "This guy asked me to do it on video for him and I did it. I hated it and never sent it, I was too mortified."

"So he never saw it?" 

"No one has." 

"Except me." 

My eyes find his trained on my face.

 "Except you." 

I watch his lower lip stick out in thought, fingers skirting the neckline of my shirt. He asks the next part casually. "Who was the guy? Ben?"

"Joel we're trying to fuck right now, can we chat about my bad tinder dates after?"

He gives me a breathless chuckle before nodding. "Yeah, we can do that."

His hand trails lower, skimming over the curve of my hip with aching slowness. Each pass of his fingers feels deliberate, like he’s memorizing, not just touching.

The momentum isn't lost, just derailed momentarily because I am already back to arching my back and whimpering.

I suck in a breath as his touch begins brushing the sensitive dip where skin grows thinner and nerves more alert. There’s a delay, a pause that makes me clench the sheet beneath me. 

When he reaches the edge of my underwear he pauses. Just rests his hand there, warm and still. Not pushing. Not asking, but waiting with his eyes on my face. 

"Heard it helps if the woman cums first," Joel drops at my cheek. 

The hush between us deepens, thick and expectant. My breath catches, and I know he feels it.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, trying to be casual. "Should we try it?" 

Joel grins, teeth gleaming in the low light of the moon out my window. "Couldn't hurt." 

The air between us is warm and quiet, except for the faint creak of the mattress beneath me and the soft rasp of Joel's breath which is slower now, more deliberate. 

His fingertips trail down with aching patience, skimming along the elastic of my underwear, stopping just shy of slipping beneath. 

The pads of his fingers are rough from years of work, but somehow that makes it better, like the contrast against the softness of my skin sharpens everything.

A faint sound escapes me, embarrassingly small and needy and I can feel him focus Like this is work to him. Intent, purposeful work.

It is work, I remind myself. Joel is not my boyfriend. He's not my husband. He's a man who has agreed to get me pregnant and that's it. He's a man trying to do a job. 

His fingers are exploring, teasing, taking his time like he's memorizing the way I respond. I feel them slipping beneath my panties, forefinger sliding up my drooling slit. His touch makes me break out into shivers everywhere. 

Like when he breaches me for the first time, with his second and third finger, slowly sinking them into me before working them to the knuckle. He doesn't look away as I breath out a huff of surprise, biting my lower lip to keep from gasping. 

The air smells like him now, like fresh laundry, a faint trace of soap and something deeper, more human. When he leans in closer, I can smell my own skin mixed with his.

"Bet you sound so pretty when you cum," he rasps against my ear. "Just as pretty as you look right now whimperin' up at me." 

I'm feral. I'm desperate. I'm so wet I can't stand it, the sound of my slick cunt almost vulgar in the quiet room as he fucks me with those thick digits. 

His fingers are getting me so close and I know the second I cum I want to feel him inside me. I don't want to wait because I can't be patient like him. 

I reach for the drawstring of his sweatpants, fumbling with untying them and shoving them down over his hips. I begin smiling when I feel him slide them off so quickly he grunts, kicking them to the side of the bed, his fingers never slowing inside me. 

His breath is warm against my collarbone. And I think he might be unravelling as fast as me because he starts groaning louder. 

"You know how hard you make me?" He mutters against my jaw. "How fucking hard it was not to moan your name when I knew you were out there on the other side of the door all those times?" 

He's making soft little groans every time I keen which is driving me even more insane. 

"Thought about fucking you in that sundress," Joel continues, fingers moving in and out of my slippery cunt faster and faster. "Thought about how you'd moan my name while you rode my cock." 

Is it true? 

Does it matter? 

Nope. It doesn't.

He could be lying through his teeth but I really don't give a shit. Between his voice and his fingers and the filthy things he's saying I'm already so close. 

"I think about you when I touch myself," I whine, unable to stop saying it. It's there in my head, burning.  

His fingers pick up the pace and I can feel his wet breath at my temple. "Tell me what you think about."  

"How you'd look going down on me," I keen, neck falling back. "How you'd tell me to cum."

"Jesus," Joel groans and his fingers curl in me, tapping and rubbing that inner wall that's making my thighs quake as his thumb plays with my slippery clit. 

"Joel-" I choke out, eyes slamming shut. "I'm... I'm so close." 

"Yeah? Good. But first I need those eyes," he whispers through pants. "I want you looking at the man who's making you cum."  

My eyes flutter open just in time to whine softly when I see Joel's fucked out expression, the hair damp at the temples, the half smirk of approval that quickly morphs into a pained look when my eyes roll back in my head. 

"Be loud, darlin'. Lemme hear how good it feels." 

My climax rises before I’m ready, slow at first, then all at once, tightening in my belly, coiling low and hot until I'm letting out broken cries. 

"Joel! Joel...I... Fuck don't stop!"

Joel doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even flinch. He just keeps going, steady and sure, like he knows what I need before I do and I think he does because... Because...

My fingers clutch the sheets, Joel murmurs my name, urging me to cum on his fingers and then I'm gone. 

I can hear his strangled groan as my thighs snap together, trapping his big hand between my thighs as I ride his fingers to completion. Tension snaps, and everything in my lower body spills over. It's warm wave after wave pulling me under.  

And then... Soothing silence. 

For a moment, I can’t think, can’t move. I just feel him there beside me, grounding me, his palm still resting against my thigh like he’s anchoring me to the world before he pulls back. 

I’m still catching my breath, chest rising and falling in shallow waves, when I reach for him.

I'm delirious with want, desperate to feel his cock in me. I can't wait to have him bury himself deeply, his body caging mine. 

I don’t open my eyes yet, I just stretch a hand toward where he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, expecting him to shift closer, to move over me and to finish what we started. 

“Joel,” I murmur, my voice hoarse from everything he just pulled out of me. My body is loose now, open and unguarded. “Joel, come here.”

There’s a beat of silence, a thick pause and then the faint rustle of fabric. I open my eyes just in time to see Joel turning away, tugging his sweatpants and shirt back on with jerky hands. 

His back is to me, his head bowed.

I blink, confused. "Hey, wait, what happened?”

He hesitates. His shoulders lift with a deep breath, like he's trying to calm something down. 

I sit up slowly, a chill beginning to creep in. “Joel are you okay?”

He won’t look at me.  

"We shouldn't have done all that... Extra stuff. I wasn’t trying to-” he cuts himself off, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

What the fuck is he talking about? What the hell happened? His posture is stiff, like he’s ruined something.

“Joel,” I start gently, trying to ease the tension winding through the room. “just tell me what's wrong. Please."

He finally glances over his shoulder, and his expression cuts me. His jaw is tight, and there’s something raw in his eyes that makes me flinch. 

I try to speak again, but he’s already moving. Already stepping into his shoes, already reaching for his jacket. His body is still flushed, his hair a mess and he looks like he wants to disappear.

“Joel, please," I start, sitting forward.

“I need to go,” he mutters, voice low and clipped. 

And before I can stop him or say anything that might make him stay the front door opens and closes with a soft, final click, and I’m alone again.

[flemingsfreckles]

Muscles (18+)

Synopsis: inspired by the middle photo

Warnings: smut! strap on use (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), oral sex (r receiving), dirty talk, teasing, sex against the wall

WC: 7.5k

A/N: I’m just gonna leave this here… I wrote it a while back and decided I should finally share it

“Seriously?”

Pausing mid movement Jessie turns and looks up at you. Her body in a plank position as she halts her exercise. “What?”

“You know what you’re doing.” You cross your arms against your chest, letting out a puff of air as you lean back into the couch.

Jessie’s eyes flash around the room before meeting yours again. “I’m not doing anything.” She sits back onto her knees, rolling her shoulders back a few times.

“Oh, so you just came home sweaty from training, decided to come do pushups in front of me with your arms on display in that training top, for what?”

You had been sitting on the couch when Jessie got home from training, you’d been a little surprised to see her donning the tank top training shirt, she tended to wear the shirt or even jacket no matter the weather. You weren’t about to complain, you loved her arms. But you also knew better than to comment on your appreciation of them, you’d scare her back into a long sleeve shirt for the rest of the season.

She’d planted a quick kiss on your lips before sitting down on the floor in front of you, still sweaty. The two of you chatted for a moment catching each other up on your day before you returned your attention to the book in your lap.

It was then that you noticed Jessie starting to move around. It started with a few stretches, arm circles, rubbing out her shoulders, the movements had caught your eye, but only briefly. It was when you started noticing her up and down movement over the top of your book that you put it down to look at what she was doing. She was doing push ups.

“Just a little extra workout.” Jessie claims but the way she’s looking at you with a small smirk tells you it was for more than just “a little workout”.

“Sure.” You watch as Jessie, still smirking, puts her hands on the ground again, beginning to lift her body. You watch her complete another few push ups, your eyes unable to focus on anything besides her shoulders and biceps, the way they flexed, bulged, and moved with each repetition. It was such a simple thing, her arms but the longer you stared at them, the more you could feel the desire growing in your stomach.

Trying your best to ignore Jessie, you look back to your book, reading sentences over and over, unable to comprehend them with the sight and sound of your girlfriend working out in front of you. Snapping yourself out of your thoughts you slam your book closed, place it on the table and promptly move to the kitchen with a frustrated huff.

“Oh come on babe.” You hear Jessie quickly stand up, her footsteps on the hardwood behind you.

“No, you’re welcome to go workout, but you’re also being a tease.” You sent her a stare.

“I’m not.” Jessie claimed, lying through her smirk.

“You are, you know how I feel about your arms,” Your arms flail gesturing toward her exposed arms, “Putting them on display, that’s teasing me with them.”

“But it doesn’t have to just be a tease.” Jessie smirks, her hands finding your waist and pulling you toward her.

You try to step away from her, but her fingers dig slightly into your hips, you can feel her biceps flexing as she holds you in place. You put a hand on her chest, pushing against her. “Yes it does, because we have dinner plans with my parents in case you forgot.”

You watch as she glances at the microwave, reading the time. “We have time.” She suggests with an eyebrow raise. Leaning forward she places a soft kiss onto your lips.

“No, we don’t.” You argue when she pulls back.

“We do.” Her voice is now a low whisper against your ear as she actively tries to convince you. Her head drops lower as she begins to kiss just under your ear, slowly descending down your neck. Her hands slide down from your hips to your thighs, her fingers gripping your legs tightly before a faint “jump” is mumbled against your neck. You obey, your mind in a trance from the feeling of her lips.

You give a small hop and Jessie’s hands tightly hold your thighs. She holds you in her arms, unassisted for a minute before you wrap your legs around her waist. Taking a few steps she adjusts until you’re against the kitchen counter before she dips her head again allowing her lips to find your neck.

For a moment you almost give in, reveling in the feeling of her lips on your sensitive skin. Her breath, her little satisied moans, her soft whispering all have you convinced, until you remember last time the two of you “had time”.

“No Jess.” It comes out more breathless than you would’ve liked, your hand finds her shoulder and you push her back more firmly. She removes her lips, giving you a disappointed frown. “Don’t blame me, you’re the one who made us late to dinner last time because you thought we had enough time.”

“We did have enough time technically,” Jessie pauses and shrugs, “it was the second round, which I remember someone begging for, that made us late.”

“Well it’s fine when it’s with friends, but I’m not letting my parents know I was late because of sex.” You lean back your hands resting against the cool countertop.

“They know we have sex, we live together.” You sit up, reaching your hand to quickly cover Jessie's mouth.

“Stop.” You remove your hand from her mouth. “Don’t mention our sex life and my parents in the same sentence.”

Jessie lets out a soft giggle, her fingers lightening up on their pressure as she pushes herself back from you slightly. “Fine.”

You plant a quick peck to her nose, licking your lips as you pull away. “You’re lucky you don’t reek, you taste like sweat, you need to shower.”

“Want to find out what else I taste like?” A giant grin breaks on the Canadian’s face as she leans in closer to you.

“Jess, go.” You shove her with one hand before she can kiss you, your other hand points in the direction of your bedroom and adjoined bathroom.

She throws her hands up. “Okay, I’m going, I’m going.” Giving you one last playful eye roll, she turns heading down the hall.

You followed Jessie shortly after into the bedroom, rummaging through the closet to find something to wear. Opting for simple you throw on a simple skirt and top.

You hear the shower stop and seconds later the sight of your girlfriend, towel wrapped around her body, her fingers running through her wet hair appears in the mirror behind you. You can feel her eyes scanning over your body through the mirror.

She comes up behind you, leaning her face down so you can feel her breath along your neck. “You look beautiful.” She whispers before kissing the column of your neck.

“Thank you baby.” You turn around, satisfied with your own appearance.

Jessie’s eyes continue to take in your appearance, slowly dragging from your legs to your face and back down. “I’m so lucky.” The words come out under Jessie’s breath as if it’s a thought that somehow escaped.

“Alright sappy, get dressed, we have to leave soon.” You put your hands on her shoulders, pushing her toward her dresser.

While you’d loved to have stayed home and let Jessie have her way with you, dinner was nice. You couldn’t complain about getting to see your parents, you were lucky to be able to have dinner with them frequently and to bring your girlfriend along.

The four of you ordered, continuing to catch each other up on your lives, Jessie talking with your Dad, you chatting with your Mom.

“Right?” Jessie’s fingers gently touch your forearm, pulling your attention away from the conversation you were having with your mom.

“Hmmm, sorry, what?” You turn to face Jessie, not hearing her initial question.

“Your dad and I were just saying it’s a bit warmer in here than we expected.”

“Oh, I guess.” You give Jessie a unsure look, not knowing why she felt the need to check the temperature with you. Just as you start to turn back to speak to your mom she stands up, her eyes remaining locked on yours as she reaches for her jacket.

Your mouth goes dry, the polite smile drops from your face as you watch Jessie remove her jacket, placing it behind her on the chair. She was doing it on purpose, you knew it. You could feel your cheeks slowly burn, knowing you weren’t going to be able to hide the way you blushed staring at Jessie, more specifically staring at her arms.

The shirt she’d picked out was tight, it was one you loved on her, but in the moment you wish she’d worn anything else. The simple shirt laid perfectly across her shoulders, hugging in all the right places before the short sleeves cuffed tightly around her biceps.

She shot you a sweet smile before returning her attention to your Dad picking up back in their conversation. You Mom has to call your name twice before you hear her over the sound of your mind running through every inappropriate thing you wanted your girlfriend to do to you.

You spend the rest of the evening shifting uncomfortably in your chair trying to ignore the hunger growing in your core. While you were doing everything you can to avoid catching a glimpse of Jessie and her perfectly toned arms, Jessie was making every attempt to put them in front of you. Reaching across for the salt, then for a napkin, leaning over to press her body into yours, teasing you at every moment she got.

By the time you climbed into the passenger seat to head home it felt as if every nerve in your body was on fire. Out of habit Jessie’s hand finds its way to your thigh, resting gently and giving a soft squeeze. “You okay?”

“Fine.” The word is bitter in your mouth, a tone that told Jessie you weren’t fine, you weren’t happy with her. The constant teasing through out the day had left you frustrated, sexually and now just in general.

“You were just a bit quiet at dinner.”

“I’m fine.” You snap back, leaving the two of you in silence for the remainder of the drive home.

When the door closes behind both of you Jessie takes off her jacket, slowly peeling it from her shoulders in the same display that she did at the restaurant.

She winks at you when she notices you watching. Rolling your eyes you let out your frustrations, “Fuck you for wearing that shirt.” The language is harsh but you only partially mean it. “And fuck you for taking the jacket off, it wasn’t that hot out.”

“Oh, come on, you like it.” Jessie runs her hands down her own chest, emphasizing the way it hugged her figure.

“I do, what I don’t like is being teased all day by your muscles.” You take off your shoes, giving them a harsh kick toward the door before storming off.

“Oh, babyyy. I’m so sorry.” The exaggerated pout on Jessie’s feels disingenuous.

“No, you’re not.” You make your way into the living room, sitting back on the same couch where Jessie had started her teasing that afternoon. Following you over, Jessie stands in front of you, bending over to put her face by yours.

“Come on,” she plants a kiss on each of your cheeks, “let me make it up to you.” You watch as she slowly drops to her knees in front of you, her hands finding your knees. She’s looking up at you with a pleading stare, her brown eyes begging you to give in. “Reward my good girl for putting up with my teasing.” Her fingers begin to wander from your knees up your thighs at a painfully slow pace.

You try to remain calm, not give in to Jessie. Keeping a stoic expression on your face, you remained motionless on the couch as Jessie’s fingers continued to move closer and closer to the bottom of your skirt. You kept your arms folded across your chest, staring back at her, fighting your every urge to give in. It would be impossible to hide how she was affecting you, you could already feel your breathing quicken at the gentle touch of her fingertips.

“Please.” Jessie politely begs as the soft pads of her fingers just barely disappeared under the fabric of your skirt, she pauses them, waiting to go further until she has your permission.

You wanted to tease her back, make her wait, not let her get the satisfaction of seeing how worked up she had gotten you. You close your eyes for a minute and you think you’ll maybe be able to resist, but when you open your eyes you’re met with Jessie’s lust filled eyes, her bottom lip pulled tightly between her teeth. You wanted to resist, but you couldn’t resist her when she was on her knees begging. “Please, let me make it up to you.” She repeats with a kiss to each knee, her eyes never leaving yours.

You also couldn’t deny yourself. You’d been eager to have her pleasing you since she had lifted you onto the kitchen counter, and again when she had taken her jacket off at dinner, and when she reached across you to pass your mom the salt. So instead of denying her, making her wait, making her sit in the bed she had made, you nod down at her.

Jessie’s eyes light up as she watches your head nod. Her fingers immediately find the waist of your panties under your skirt. “Yeah?” She pauses for a moment waiting for second confirmation.

Nodding again you give her permission. “Make it up to me.”

At your word, Jessie’s fingers begin pulling the fabric, when they don’t slide down your legs she looks up to you again. Despite being the teaser all day it’s now her who looks desperate. You lift your hips and she swiftly pulls the fabric down your thighs.

“Oh, someone’s been waiting so patiently.” Jessie says, staring at the notable wet spot on the fabric. You just let out a grumble, sick of her teasing, reaching out and putting your hand firmly on the back of her head, pulling her between your legs.

She lets you guide your face to where you sat dripping waiting for her. Only giving a quick kiss to your core before pulling slightly back. Her hands find the bottom of your thighs, gripping them slightly before pulling you toward the end of the couch, giving her better access. She spreads your thighs, using her strength to keep them open. “You’re soaked.”

“Thanks Captain Obvious.” You respond with a slight roll of your eyes and a straight faced expression. If she kept up with her teasing much longer you were prepared to shove her away and make use of the toys in your bedroom.

“All mine, this pussy is all mine.” She whispers, hardly acknowledging your frustration. Her tongue traces her lips, wetting them before she softly kisses the crease of your inner thigh, so close to where you needed her.

“Maybe you need to prove it, just staring at it doesn’t make it yours.” You squint down at her, despite already being in a compromising position, you didn’t care, may as well edge her on more.

If Jessie had ignored your previous side comments, that one certainly got her attention. You felt her fingertips dig into your thighs and she shot a glare up at you. “It’s mine.” Her teasing demeanor is gone, she’s now serious. “I’m the one who gets to touch and taste it. I’m the one who gets to fuck it. I’m the one who makes it drip.” She emphasizes her point by bringing a finger to your entrance, coating her finger in your arousal and holding it up to you. “It’s mine.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, as if time stops, you’re both silent, and then she gives in. Her face dipping under the fabric of your skirt and you feel her breath on you before the feeling of her tongue and lips.

The heat is the first thing you feel, the warmth of her tongue and mouth, hot and wet along your arousal. Your hand remains on the back of her head, no longer pushing but resting as she works, a satisfied rumble coming from her chest as she gets her first direct taste of you.

Her tongue starts soft, running over your lips, without purpose. It’s as if she’s exploring you for the first time. She briefly catches her tongue on your clit before moving away. Your hips chase her tongue, shifting, trying to put her where you want her. Your free hand is clenched tightly on the throw pillow next to you, the grip on her hair increasing in strength with every moment she doesn’t focus on your clit.

“Babe.” You whine when she still doesn’t give in to your instructions, her tongue continuing to flirt around the nerves you so badly needed her to focus on. “Please.”

You toss your head back into the couch cushions as she finally gives in to you, her soft lips sealing around your clit, giving it slow and gentle licks. “Right there Jess.” Her name comes out of your mouth like a sigh of relief.

You can already tell you won’t last long, between the full day of rising tension and lust, her tongue and lips doing exactly the right things to you, it would only be a few minutes before you came crashing down.

Jessie knew that too. She couldn’t even see you from under your skirt but she knew your body, she knew the signs you were getting close. It was in the way your hips gently rocked into her mouth, how your grip in her hair would tighten then relax only to tighten again shortly after. She could hear it in your moans that began to fade into whines, how your breathing was becoming audible to her, she had you exactly where she wanted you.

A telling whine made its way through your lips and you felt Jessie lift your skirt off of her head, pushing it up toward your stomach, allowing her to make eye contact with you. It’s a deep gaze, her brown eyes looking up at you, heavy with desire.

“I’m going cum.” You’re able to squeak out the words and with the slight nod of her head, Jessie gives you confirmation to let go, to fall apart on her tongue.

Your orgasm washes over you quickly, your eyes slamming shut as you throw your head back into the couch. Your thighs fight to close around Jessie’s head, her hands keeping them from shutting. Jessie doesn’t slow much, her tongue continuing to flick despite your writhing below her. Her hair was being tightly held between your fingers as you fought yourself between wanting to push her away and also pull her incredibly close.

One of your hands moves to her forehead, pushing hard. “Fuck, fuck, Jess, too much.” With your word Jessie pulls her mouth off of you with a slight pop.

You take a deep breath, steadying your breathing for a minute. When you lift your head back up and open your eyes she’s already staring at you. She looks from you, down between your still spread legs and you watch as a smug grin grows on her face. Feeling small under her gaze you go to close your legs only to be met with the same resistance of her hands, holding you open and on display for her.

“So…” she starts, staring at your core for another minute before lifting her gaze back to your face. “does the cum on the couch, from the orgasm I just gave you prove that you and your pussy are mine, or maybe the fact that my face is covered in your cum?”

You cross your arms across your chest, rolling your eyes at her once again. “Sure.”

“You don’t seem too convinced.” Jessie stands up from where she had been kneeling before you. She leans down her arms wrapping around your midsection. “I can fix that.”

With a gentle pull, and a small yelp from you, Jessie picks you up nearly effortlessly, tossing you over her shoulder, one hand resting on your back, the other on your ass, holding you steady. She marches the two of you down the hall, turning into your bedroom.

In a gentle toss, you land on your back on the mattress, staring up at Jessie as she pulls her shirt off, leaving her torso and shoulders on display to you. You quickly do the same, just as you finish removing your shirt Jessie’s hands are on your skirt pulling it down and off of you.

Sitting up your hands reach out toward her shoulders, you run your fingers over the tight muscles, dragging downward toward her biceps, taking a second to circle her tattoo with the pad of your thumb. “I love you, I love your arms. You’re so hot.”

Rolling her eyes, Jessie pushes your hands off her arms, taking both of your wrists into her left hand. Her right hand pushes softly at the middle of your chest, putting you on your back.

Jessie wastes no more time before diving back in. Your only moment to relax was the short walk from the couch to the bed. you were still sensitive, the sensation causing you to squirm below her. Her right hand holds firm on your hip as her left hand is still clasped around both of your wrists, holding them to your stomach.

Her tongue immediately returns to the nerves that had you falling apart on the couch. Nothing but a whine is able to come from your throat at the suddenly overwhelming stimulation. Your hands try to grab at her, twisting in her grip that she only tightens, reminding you of the strength her arms and hands posses.

When your hips start to lift from the bed, Jessie’s hand quickly releases yours, both of her palms now coming to your hips, gently resting there. The next time you attempt to grind into her mouth, the grip on your hands is no longer gentle, instead she holds you firmly to the mattress, resulting in a frustrated whine leaving your mouth.

“Jess, fuck.” Your hips bucked now trying to pull away from her tongue. “I can’t.” Your hands are threaded in her hair, tugging in hopes she’ll let up, for even a moment to catch your breath.

You get your moment to breathe when Jessie pulls her mouth off of your core. “You can, I know you can, you’ve done it before.” She encourages before returning to please and also torture you.

You feel like your body is on fire, you’re too hot, almost uncomfortable to a degree, but also you can’t ask her to stop. It felt too good, too much, you could barely form a thought let alone utter words. All that you managed were small cries.

“Breathe, baby.” Jessie reminds you quickly. You hadn’t been able to control your breathing since she started, you could feel how fast your chest was rising, only more noticeable as Jessie placed her hand in the middle of your chest.

Trying to focus on your breathing was harder than it seemed, all your attention being drawn to Jessie’s mouth on you. You quickly had even more occupying your brain as Jessie’s right hand left your hip and found its way between your thighs. Her fingers drag through your slick before she slowly pushes two of them inside.

Two fingers wasn’t new to you, Jessie would often use three, or her strap, but suddenly two fingers made you feel so full. You could feel her slight curl with each thrust, pushing against you in the most satisfying way. A deep groan rose in your chest and you could feel Jessie smirk against you as it echoed in your bedroom.

Between the slow but powerful drag of her fingers inside of you and her tongue’s delicate circles, you weren’t able to hold on. Your orgasm came almost as a surprise, building so suddenly and then crashing upon you hard.

Both of your hands reached for her head, your grip once again tights in her hair, you felt Jessie moan against you in response, only adding to your stimulation. The wave of heat and pleasure raced through your whole body, you clamped down tightly around her fingers, pulsing as she continued to thrust up into you. Your breath caught in your throat as she worked you down, pulling off only when your hands pushed her away.

She slowly retreated her fingers, you could hear how wet she’d made you and you got even more proof when Jessie pulled back, her chin and lips covered in your cum. Making eye contact with you she slipped her fingers into her mouth, making a show of cleaning them off while moaning in appreciation at the taste of you.

Your hands come to cover your face, softly rubbing your skin, moving the baby hairs off of your slightly sweaty skin. “Fuck.”

“You okay?” Looking up from between your legs, Jessie smiles as she asks. Her hand still resting in the middle of your chest draws lazy circles on your skin, helping your breathing settle back to a normal pace.

“What do you think?” Jessie just shrugs. “Jess, that was one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had.” It was, Jessie satisfied you regularly, but something about two orgasms after a full day of teasing ranked it near the top of the best sex you’d had.

You reach out, your hands finding either side of Jessie’s face and you pull her onto you. You wanted her lips on yours, despite all the sex you’d hardly kissed her. She obliged, slowly kissing you, her tongue running along your lips, soft bites and tugs to your bottom lip. Your legs wrap around her waist, holding her there. It felt like you could kiss her forever, just like this, naked underneath her.

“I love you.” You whisper before placing a few more kisses to her lips.

She returned the proclamation. “I love you.” Giving you one final deep kiss before pulling her lips off yours.

“Nooo, stay.” You whine and reach out trying to get a hold of Jessie as she lifts her body up her hands reaching to unlatch your legs from her waist as she moves away from you.

She lets out a small laugh, “Oh baby, did you actually think I was done? I’m not done with you.” She moves to her dresser, bending down to open the bottom drawer, the drawer filled with toys. It’s only a moment later when Jessie comes back to you, now sporting a harness around her thighs and hips. “Just needed to get this.” She emphasizes her words by gently stroking the strap.

You loved the sights of her wearing the strap. You’d both been unsure the first few attempts with it, but the more you tried the more comfortable you both became with it and now you loved it. Jessie loved getting to thrust into you, watching the way your body would bounce with the force, she loved watching you stretch around the toy, just for her. Most of all she loved watching you cum on her strap, she loved it so much she was convinced she could feel it sometimes.

You equally loved the toy, feeling so full of your girlfriend, letting her take control, but what you loved was watching Jessie’s brain melt as you rode her, putting on a show every time you did, and when you did it right, grinding on her perfectly, you could make her cum.

The sight of Jessie, her stomach, arms, and shoulders on display for you as she slowly stroked the strap, was one you wanted to commit to memory, so you stared. You watched her so closely before having an idea. “Can I do something first?”

“Sure, what?”

Before Jessie has a chance to react you hop up from the bed, your arms firmly against her shoulders. You shove her backward, her first step back is clumsy but she catches herself and continues to walk back until you have her against the wall.

“What are you-” Jessie starts to question. “Oh.” The faint whisper comes out of Jessie’s lips when you drop to your knees in front of her. Her eyes widen at the sight of you below her. You bring one hand to her thigh, the other gripping the base of the toy.

“I’m going to suck your dick Jessie.” Looking at the toy in your hand and then up to her, she nods eagerly.

Slowly, dragging out the performance, you bring your lips to touch the tip of the toy. This wasn’t something new, you on your knees for Jessie, but it wasn’t something you did often for her, it was a treat.

Keeping eye contact with her, you stick your tongue out, letting it slowly circle the top of the toy before taking more of it into your mouth. Jessie’s eyes flutter close and her head drops back against the wall for a moment. “Fuck.” At her sides her fists clench tightly before releasing and clenching again.

It’s not long that Jessie lifts her head back to look at you, one hand gently gathering your hair into a ponytail. She doesn’t push your head, instead her hand just moves along with the pace you’ve set. The presence of her hand is nice, it’s not forceful, but a reminder that she was yours and you were hers.

“You look beautiful.” Jessie says, her head shaking slightly as she watches you continue to move along her strap. Momentarily you think of the irony of her calling you beautiful earlier that day in the mirror and again now as you kneeled in front of her sucking her strap. Same words, slightly different underlying meaning.

You refuse to take your eyes off of hers, you loved the way she looked down on you. A mix of desire in her eyes as well as appreciation as she took in the sight of you.

Wanting to fully tease Jessie, you pulled the toy into your mouth letting the tip reach the back of your throat. You could feel her grip in your hair tightening, her lips slightly parted as she watched. You repeated the motion, taking her as far into your mouth as you comfortably could, your eyes watering slightly.

You feel Jessie thrust, it's not rough, but there’s a definite jerk of her hips, while her hand remains firm on the back of your head. The movement pushes the toy a little further in causing you to slightly gag.

You watch as Jessie’s eyes go from dumbfounded at the sight and sounds of you taking her deeper before they widen and she’s pulling her hand off your head. “Oh, sorry!”

You pull off the toy, letting a string of saliva connect your lips to it for a moment before it breaks. You look up at Jessie who is looking less confident than she had all night. She looks nervous, like you’re going to lay into her. Instead you tease her.

“Impatient are we?”

“A bit, but I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just, you looked so good, so pretty, and it felt good, I got overwhelmed and I just, I don’t know.” Her cheeks blush slightly as she tries to explain herself to you.

“It’s okay. It was hot. Unexpected, but hot.”

Jessie gives you a slightly forced smile, unsure of herself in what to say next. You knew her well enough, you could practically see her brain scrambling trying to figure out where to go from here, you also knew probably half of her brain was still replaying the image of you sucking her strap, preventing her thoughts from being clear.

“So are you going to fuck me, or just stand there?”

Jessie bent down, lifting you up to your feet so you were eye to eye for a few seconds before she put her hands on your hips and spun you. She then walked you, hands pushing on your hips toward the bed, bending you over when the mattress came in contact with your stomach.

Not saying much Jessie’s hands found their way to your ass. One hand kneading gently into the muscle, her other hand finding its way between your legs. Her fingers stroke through your core. She lets out a satisfied hum, feeling how wet you still were. She removes her fingers, replacing the feeling with the blunt tip of the strap.

You both let out a satisfied moan when she finally pushes forward, the toy easily sliding in with the mixture of your arousal and saliva. She took it easy on you, a few slow thrusts pulling out to the tip before pushing in until her hips met your ass.

Her pace slowly picked up, the sound of her hips against your ass, the front of her thighs slapping the back of yours, all mixed with the grunts from her mouth and the whines from yours filled the room.

The feeling of her filling you from behind was perfect. Each thrust was forceful and deep, you could feel her in your stomach. Your body jolted along the bed, the mattress and bed frame shifting with you as she relentlessly pounded into you. Both of your hands gripped the bedsheet so hard your knuckles were white, but it was all you could do to ground yourself.

“You look so good.” Jessie praised you over and over as she had her way with you.

She pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and clenching around nothing. Using her hands she spread your cheeks slightly, you turned back to watch as she stared between your legs, an expression of awe across her face. “Just dripping for me. Gosh I love you.” She looked back, locking eyes with you. “Flip over baby.”

You begin to move, Jessie helping move your legs and adjusting you to the edge of the bed once again. She pulled your legs around her, hooking your ankles behind her back. Her hand fumbles between you before she places the toy at your entrance, slowly pushing back into you.

A sigh leaves your lips, the feeling of her filling you again feels right. She was made to be in you. Instead of returning to the rough thrusts, Jessie takes a more methodical approach. Each thrust is slow, dragging satisfactorily along your walls, letting you feel each inch of her cock. When she was fully sheathed inside of you, she’d give a couple grinds, the harness bumping into your clit, giving you small waves of further pleasure. You also knew the grinding was stimulating her too, the way she’d bite her lip, her breath would pick up slightly before she’d go back to a few soft thrusts.

She repeated this pattern, keeping you squirming beneath her. She’d give you just enough pleasure to build your orgasm but not enough to bring you to the edge. You could tell she was doing the same to herself. Grinding into you until she got close, then pulling back out. Teasing herself just as she had teased you all day.

You notice Jessie’s eyes flirt around the room while she continues gently grinding into you. Her eyes stall for a moment before she pushes herself up. She kisses along your neck as her lips find your ear, she gives a soft swipe along the shell with her tongue before whispering, “Can we try something new?”

“What?” You were hesitant, it wasn’t always like Jessie to suggest something new in the bedroom. She wasn’t vanilla per say but Jessie was thorough and a planner. She liked to bring up trying something new over dinner, or while you sat and watched tv, it gave her time to discuss it, think it through. This was heat of the moment.

“Do you trust me?”

You almost scoff at the silly question. “Of course I trust you.” You’d always trusted Jessie, she’d never given you a reason not to. You also knew her, she’d never do anything to hurt you, she protected you.

With one final peck to your lips, Jessie pushes herself up, her strap still buried deep inside of you, her hands find your ankles that were hooked around her hips. Giving each ankle a small squeeze and tug on them, you get the idea and allow her to move your legs. Slowly lifting your legs Jessie hooks her arms into the bend of your knee. Gently she leans back down, pushing your knees toward your chest, her hands wrapping around and finding your back.

“You okay?” Her gaze crosses your face for signs of discomfort.

It was a newer sensation, the strap somehow impossibly deeper inside of you at the new angle, you could practically feel her in your stomach. But it was good, feeling her so deep inside of you filling you more than ever. “Yeah, it’s good, deep, but good.”

“Put your arms around my neck.”

You feel Jessie’s entire body tense around you, her hands gripping your back as she slowly lifts you from the bed. Her arms hooked under your knees allows her strap to stay inside of you as she slowly walks a few paces across the room.

For a moment you’re too confused to register what was happening. But you quickly snap into reality as you bounce ever so slightly on her strap as she steps across the room. “Oh my god Jess, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Shhh.” Jessie hushes you as your back comes into contact with the wall behind you, aiding in the stabilization of the two of you. “It’s okay.”

That’s when you notice it, the way her biceps and shoulders were tight, her muscle definition fully on display for you. “Are you going to fuck me against the wall?”

You notice the question causes Jessie’s smile to drop a bit. “Only if you’re okay with it? I was going to try.” Her eyes scan your face waiting for an answer.

“I’m definitely okay with it.” You release one hand from where it hung around her neck, letting your fingers slowly trace along her tense bicep muscle. “You’re such a show off.” You flash her a teasing smile.

“Only for you.” She leans in kissing you before beginning to pull her hips back until just the tip of the toy was inside of you. “Only a show off for my girl.” Emphasizing her declaration of commitment to you Jessie pushes back into you before beginning to thrust more rapidly.

As her thrusting picks up, the heat in your stomach that had briefly subsided begins to build back up. “Fuck, Jess.” You breathlessly whine.

You weren’t sure if it was the new position, how deep she was able to thrust into you, or maybe it was the way you could see Jessie’s every muscle straining to fuck harder and harder into you. Maybe it was the way her breath was hot on your neck, how you could hear her every groan and whine. Maybe it was how you could tell she was getting off in this position as well.

Jessie groans in response to hearing you whine her name over and over, tucking her head into your neck. “You sound so good baby.” Following her words up she let her teeth graze along your neck.

“Jess, fuck.” You take a breath, trying to clear your thoughts enough to make a sentence. “I’m close.”

Nodding into your neck she encourages you along. “I want you to cum for me, show me how good it feels.”

“So good Jess, so fucking good.” You felt your muscles tighten, sitting on the edge as Jessie continued her thrusts, her hips snapping up against yours. Every thrust felt like it was setting you on fire, your whole body tingling as you were waiting to be sent over the edge. It was second later that you did. Your head falling back hard, you let out an incoherent noise, a mix between a scream and a moan as you clenched tightly around Jessie’s strap, pulsing with each thrust.

Your nails dug in hard to Jessie’s arms, likely leaving behind tiny marks along her skin. The feeling of her tight muscles beneath your fingertips serving as a reminder of what got you into this situation in the first place. Her arms. Waves of pleasure swept through your body, exhausting you in every way, leaving you breathless and thoughtless as you came back down from your third orgasm of the night.

Blinking a few times and taking a deep breath you tilted your head back down to look at your girlfriend who was sporting a rather smug smile. She releases one of your legs, letting your foot reach the floor as her hand comes to brush the hair out of your face. Her hips continue to thrust upward, its slow and soothing after the high of your orgasm, not yet overwhelming you.

You’d been with Jessie long enough and had enough sex to know when she was close. You could see it in her expression, her quick blinking, her rosy cheeks, the way her tongue continued to wet her lips. She was close, you knew it. She has been getting herself worked up this whole time, only to stop because you had came.

“Are you close?” You whisper to her as you feel her thrusts begin to slow down as she tries to avoid overstimulating you. Jessie was far from selfish, especially during sex, she’d make sure you’d been satisfied, often multiple times, before ever even considering getting an orgasm herself.

“Mhmm.” It’s a soft whine, her head nodding, her eyes are closed. She confirms what you already knew. You also knew you’d have to encourage her, she wasn’t going to use you to get off unless you asked, unless you told her.

“Take it, I want you to fuck me until you cum. Take what you need.” You see her eyes pinch closed tighter at your words, her eyebrows pinching together. She waits, as if she’s debating her choices but only a minute later you feel the drag of the strap inside of you again. “That’s it baby, take it. It’s your pussy after all.” You tease.

Jessie groans, letting her head fall back into your neck. Her hands now holding your ass firmly, one of your legs on the ground, the other still looped over Jessie’s arm held up against the wall. She softly curses to herself, her words muffled into your skin as her movements become quicker.

You couldn’t help but let out a yelp with every thrust, each one jolting your whole body with force. Jessie’s thrusts are rough and quick. Plunging all the way into you before pulling out just to the tip, then back in. That’s how you know she’s on the edge, her precise, equal thrusts become shallow and sloppy. She whines, her head dropping back into your shoulder, this time her lips on your shoulder.

You run a hand through the back of her head, holding her, whines coming out of your own mouth as she uses you. You loved watching her chase her high, you loved how she sounded. “Cum for me baby.” Your nails gently scratched at the back of her neck as she gave a few last thrusts upward. A deep groan comes from her which is quickly muffled by the sharp feeling of her teeth on your collarbone. Her whole body tenses and she gives one final thrust impossibly deep into you.

When she releases her mouth she’s breathless. You take a glance at your shoulder, seeing the bright red bite she’s left in the wake of her orgasm. You turn to teasingly scold her for the mark but when your eyes meet hers you can’t help but giggle at your situation.

“I cannot believe you just fucked me against the wall. God you’re such a show off.” You say with a teasing smile and laugh.

“But you liked it.” She’s smug for a second and then you can practically watch the self doubt creep into her mind. “Right?”

Grabbing her blushing cheeks you give her a quick peck. “Seriously Jessie.” You roll your eyes at her affectionately. “I loved it, I love when you get confident. It’s sexy. And I love those arms.”

[vxnillabxn]

Hii, I saw ur last post about mute reader I couldn't resist to ask— can u write for a half deaf reader? I have to use hearing aids and it's so hard to find disability hc's/shots for the reader in lads ;;

Thank u!!!

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x half deaf gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ fluff! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚hiiii! i had to do some research and ask some friends of mine for their experiences, so i truly hope i got this right! also, i know each experience is different, and there are different spectrums, but i tried to keep this as general as possible, hope that's okay! thanks for the request ♡ ꒰ˆ◞⸝⸝◟ˆ ꒱੭ﾞ

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚he always takes you out to cute, cozy places —most of them quiet enough not to feel overwhelming, and it's always just the two of you, of course.

﹙♡﹚beforehand, he visits all those places himself and checks what events are coming up, so you're never caught by surprise by sudden crowds or loud noises.

﹙♡﹚when talking to you in public, he cups your cheeks and leans in close —partly so you can read his lips and hear him better, and partly so everyone else sees just how close he is to you.

﹙♡﹚you never even have to worry about charging your hearing aids; he's already done it. in fact, he helps you put them on and makes sure they're secure, after years of quiet practice.

﹙♡﹚he recognizes your tiniest expressions; you don't have to say you're overwhelmed for him to notice. he knows how tiring it can be to hear everything amplified, so if it starts to feel too much, he'll gently guide you away without a word.

﹙♡﹚he also notices when you force a laugh or smile because you missed what someone said, but don't want to ask for them to repeat themselves. he'll make them, though.

﹙♡﹚and if anyone dares to look annoyed or refuse? he'll shoot them the friendliest smile, but under the table, he is ready to shoot something —someone— else.

﹙♡﹚after all, all he wants is for you to feel just as included as everyone else —and to feel completely safe leaving whenever things get draining. just say the word, pips. he lives to make your life easier. that's it.

﹙♡﹚also, he remembers when you two used to play hide and seek when you were little. you wouldn't notice how loud you were being when hiding… and he'd have to pretend not to hear you just to see that toothless smile on your face when he let you win. bless his heart.

﹙♡﹚so you can trust him with everything. you don't even have to think; he's already thinking for you. because he wants you to lean on him for everything— even for the things you didn't know you needed, or the things you thought you had already taken care of… but he always knew better.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚i feel like you two have more chances to be petty. literally. if he gets too dramatic, you can just pull your hearing aids off and walk away.

﹙♡﹚and if he follows you or starts signing dramatically from across the room, you can close your eyes —and that's it. he hates it, though.

﹙♡﹚every time this happens, he'll pull you closer, press you against his chest, and groan in frustration —just so you feel the vibrations of his dramatic sulking. there's no escaping him when he wants something… or when he decides to be petty back.

﹙♡﹚if it's the other way around, and you're the one throwing a fit? he'll turn away and cover his ears, whispering and bickering under his breath. your hearing aids might not catch it, and you can't read his lips, but you know he's talking back. little minx.

﹙♡﹚on the sweeter side, he'll decorate your hearing aids. if you let him, he'll add tiny charms, paint delicate patterns, or design delicate little chains. he still wants them to feel comfy and easy to wear, just with a touch of his love and creativity.

﹙♡﹚and if you ask for something special, he'll work on it for days —especially if your design idea has anything to do with him. he loves the thought of you carrying a piece of him everywhere you go.

﹙♡﹚he absolutely adores taking you to big social gatherings. showing you off is second nature to him, but he'll always notice if it gets too loud or tiring. when that happens, he'll sneak you away to some… hidden spots strategically found, so you can still enjoy the event, but without all the chaos.

﹙♡﹚when you two go to the beach, he lights up if you take your hearing aids out to swim or dive with him.

﹙♡﹚and if you decide to keep them on and stay close to the shore (if the sea breeze isn't too strong for your hearing aids to catch), that's fine too. he'll still make sure you enjoy everything else: the warmth of the sun, the breeze, the cold splash of water against your legs. he never wants you to miss out.

﹙♡﹚on that note, he doesn't just sing for you, he signs beautifully too. he learns complex, graceful signs, moving his hands like they're dancing to silent music. so whenever you want to see your pretty fishy-man singing his heart out, you can choose between his voice… or his hands (you'd finally understand the old lemurian songs through the signs he uses, too!)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚okay. the power this man holds? incredible. he'll spoil you, buy you the best hearing aids he can find, and of course, you're invited to every single event he attends. he's more than happy to let you decide where to go, what to eat, what to drink, who to talk to…

﹙♡﹚after all, all he wants is for you to feel comfortable. and if the room suddenly becomes too loud —too many voices blending together, or the music making it hard to catch his soft voice, even when he's so close to you— he'll make everyone lower their voices. he'll even turn down the music himself, just so you can hear him.

﹙♡﹚when talking to you, he'll stare into your eyes a lot more than usual, making sure you are reading his lips clearly, making sure you don't miss a single word he says.

﹙♡﹚he'll slow his words if he has to, but from across the room he'll still say the most quietly passionate things, just to see you get flustered. he can't help it; he thinks it's funny how everyone else thinks you're communicating telepathically.

﹙♡﹚he'll also sign his words, in case you miss them —though he'll do everything to make sure you never do.

﹙♡﹚one thing he loves most? sharing quiet, calm moments with you back at the base.

﹙♡﹚when you both have time to rest, he'll have you sit next to the record player so you can hear every soft note of the melody, while he reads silently beside you.

﹙♡﹚and if you decide to take your hearing aids out, he'll have you sit in his lap instead, letting you feel the vibration of his voice as he reads out loud.

﹙♡﹚he knows your bond goes beyond words. as long as you can feel him next to you, always constant and loving, that's more than enough for both of you.

﹙♡﹚and… you might actually feel him try to purr like a cat when you're curled up together. you're his kitten, after all —and since kittens are born deaf but find comfort in warmth and purring, he tries to give you the same. but don't comment on it… please.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚i really think he'd rather sign than speak, to be honest. even if signing takes more effort, it goes more with his nature —like, he can express everything without having to search for the right words.

﹙♡﹚he's so soft-spoken that sometimes it's hard to make out what he says, especially if he isn't whispering directly into your ear, or when you're out on dates where there's background noise.

﹙♡﹚if you don't know sign language yet, he'd absolutely learn it with you. and if it still feels tricky sometimes, he'd come up with simpler, secret signs… like an alien language only the two of you understand.

﹙♡﹚without even noticing, he also picks up your little quirks and gestures. if you scrunch your nose when it gets too loud and your hearing aids start to hurt, he'll do it too.

﹙♡﹚when you watch his lips carefully to catch every word, he'll unconsciously do the same when you talk —even if he can hear with no issues at all.

﹙♡﹚he never questions it if you close a door a bit too loudly or speak louder than you mean to, because you can't really tell how loud you're being.

﹙♡﹚but honestly? he finds it endearing, especially if you're not wearing your hearing aids and you're walking around cluelessly.

﹙♡﹚some nights, he forgets you've taken your hearing aids out to charge, and he'll still mumble to you sleepily, not realizing you're just watching him with an amused smile.

﹙♡﹚and once he notices you didn't quite hear, —because, truly, his voice is so gentle— he'll simply come closer, take your hands in his, and guide them to his chest.

﹙♡﹚you can feel his steady heartbeat under your palms. and given the flush on his cheeks and the way his soft azure eyes look at you, you don't need words to know what he wants; for you to come closer… and cuddle.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚he makes sure to remind you to charge your hearing aids every night. if you're too sleepy to do so he'll do it for you without fail.

﹙♡﹚he actually enjoys keeping your home quiet; no loud tv, no overloading noise that might cause screeching sounds in your hearing aids, nothing.

﹙♡﹚when you two go out, he'd rather take you to cafés or restaurants, because he can look into your eyes, and you can easily read his lips as an extra help —and he loves to lovingly gaze at you.

﹙♡﹚he'll clean your hearing aids for you, and even though you know how to do it yourself, he'll still show you how he does it. it's always more precise… it must be because of his surgical hands.

﹙♡﹚he always tries to give you sensory breaks. he knows your other senses might feel heightened, especially if you're not wearing your hearing aids. he keeps the lights dimmed, and he likes to hold you close in the solace of your shared bedroom (or his office... or the living room... or his car...)

﹙♡﹚when you get particularly overwhelmed, even indoors, he'll let you rest your head against his chest so you can listen to his heartbeat to ground you.

﹙♡﹚he'll also whisper secrets as you recharge, but very, very quietly. you'd only catch the soft vibrations, not the words themselves. it doesn't matter, because it brings comfort —even if he uses it to confess everything he's been holding back, waiting for the perfect moment.

﹙♡﹚if you get overwhelmed in public, and you give him permission to, he'll gently take off your hearing aids, cup your cheeks —to cover your ears, too— and slowly mouth “you are with me, you are safe.”

﹙♡﹚it works every time, especially since he always leads you somewhere quiet and safe afterwards… which is pretty much anywhere he is, for he is your safest place.

﹙♡﹚at the end of each day, he'll softly kiss behind your ears before gently massaging them between his fingers to soothe them. he wants you to fall asleep, the last thing you feel being him. every time.

[hoperese]

Image of Us LN4

On the brink of losing his career due to mounting scandals and a reckless reputation, Lando Norris found an unexpected solution—a marriage of convenience. Once seen as a playboy and party boy, his image transformed overnight when he married his best friend, not for love, but to salvage his public image and silence the media.

word count: 3467 (almost fried my brain)

pairing: lando norris x reader

content: best friends to fake marriage to real love (this one will be a rollercoaster)

warning: contains themes of emotional pressure, anxiety surrounding the future and identity, burnout, implied media harassment. It also explores feelings of inadequacy, fear of failure, and strained family expectations. Reader discretion is advised. episode title: EP 01. Mr and Mrs

song: About You by The 1975, Burnout by Sugarfree, Piano Man by Billy Joel

Who would've thought that two kids who were complete opposites would become best friends?

That’s what Lando always wondered whenever he was with his best friend, Y/N. She was the complete opposite of him—smart, quiet, and kind. There was something about her that made people think she was a walking ray of sunshine, or even Saint Thérèse herself, because of her calm and gentle nature.

“Do you like cars?” a young Lando asked one day during kindergarten. Y/N looked up curiously from the storybook she was reading. While most kids ran around during playtime, she preferred the quiet—easily overwhelmed by noise. But this boy, surprisingly, was calm when he spoke to her.

She nodded slowly in response. Lando grinned and said, “I want to drive one someday.”

She didn’t reply immediately, just stared at him silently.

He paused, a little worried. “Did I upset you?”

She shook her head. “I was waiting for you… to finish.”

Lando blinked. She was different—quiet, thoughtful, maybe even a little weird. But he liked it. And that day, he decided she would be his best friend.

To say Lando’s world was different was an understatement, Y/N often thought.

Back in their school days, Lando was often gone for karting competitions. Still, she would sometimes show up to support him, quietly cheering him on from the sidelines. And of course, she always helped him catch up on schoolwork—something his mother, Cisca, thought was especially sweet. It warmed her heart how the two remained so attached over the years.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and Y/N was at the Norris household once again. She let out a sigh as Lando groaned for the tenth time about a lecture he didn’t want to go through.

"Just follow the notes, Lando," she said patiently, pointing at the page.

“You’re tricking me,” he muttered under his breath, clearly frustrated.

From across the room, Adam and Cisca observed the two children with amused expressions.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if they were still together years from now?” Adam whispered to his wife.

Cisca smirked and glanced at him. “He’s just in denial about not fancying her.”

Sometimes, Cisca would tease Lando about it, and he would blush furiously, always insisting, “Y/N’s just my best friend!”

But was she?

Despite their different paths—Lando chasing his karting dreams and Y/N still figuring out her future—they never lost touch. No matter how busy life got, they always found their way back to each other.

One summer afternoon, they were lounging in the backyard of the Norris house, the sun casting soft shadows as a warm breeze passed through the trees. Y/N sat unusually quiet, her fingers absentmindedly picking at the grass.

Lando glanced at her, noticing the familiar faraway look in her eyes. He gently nudged her knee with his own, his voice low but knowing.

"Are you gonna share what's going on, or are you gonna let it build up until you explode?"

Y/N blinked, caught off guard, but not surprised—Lando always saw through her silences. She looked at him, hesitant, then finally said, “I don’t know what I want…”

She paused, her voice quieter now. “My parents keep asking—college, career, future… but I don’t know. And I hate that I don’t. It feels like everything’s moving so fast and I’m just… stuck. Like if I don’t figure it out soon, it’s going to crush me.”

Lando didn’t speak right away. He just sat there with her, letting her words settle. Because if there was one thing he understood—especially being thrown into the chaos of racing so young—it was the pressure of the future, and the fear of not being ready for it.

“Am I behind?” she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

Lando turned his head slightly, watching her as she stared down at her hands, fidgeting with the threads on the edge of her shorts.

“Everyone already knows what they want to do,” she continued, her voice shaky now. “And me? I mean… I’ve thought about it. I’ve dreamed about things. But sometimes, those dreams feel so big they scare me. What if I can’t do it? What if I’m just not enough?”

She swallowed hard.

“I don’t want to waste all the hard work my parents put into giving me everything. I don’t want to be the reason it all meant nothing just because I… don’t know what I’m doing.”

There was a beat of silence. Not heavy—just thoughtful.

Then Lando, who had been quietly watching the clouds drift overhead, leaned back on his elbows and said softly, “You’re not behind, Y/N.”

She looked at him, unsure whether to believe it.

“Just because people act like they’ve got it all figured out doesn’t mean they actually do. Trust me, I’ve been around a lot of people who look confident but are just winging it,” he said with a crooked smile.

He glanced at her again, more seriously this time. “Dreams being big doesn’t mean they’re impossible. It just means they matter.”

She looked away, a small breath escaping her lips like a release of all that tension.

“And you…” he nudged her knee again, gentler this time, “you’ll figure it out. And I’ll be right here when you do.”

She didn’t want him to make a promise like that—not something so soft, so certain.

But in that moment, she held on to it.

Even if it wasn’t meant to last forever, it grounded her. A steady hand in the chaos of not knowing.

As time passed, their lives began to move faster. Lando's karting career evolved at lightning speed—sponsors, championships, weekends spent in different countries. By the time he reached Formula 3, then Formula 2, everything was sharper, louder, more demanding. His name started showing up in articles, in interviews, on social media.

And Y/N?

She was chasing her own dream—quietly, determinedly. School, applications, late-night studying. Her world was textbooks and essays and planning a future she wasn’t even sure she’d reach.

They still talked, but it wasn’t like before.

Sometimes messages were left on read. Sometimes phone calls ended with a soft “Sorry, I have to go.” And even when they did talk, there was a growing space between them—made of time zones, obligations, and silent moments where neither of them knew what to say.

She tried not to overthink it. He’s just busy. You’re just busy. That’s what happens when people grow up. It’s not personal.

But some nights, when her room was quiet and her phone screen dimmed from a message that never came, the ache was undeniable.

I don’t resent him, she told herself. I could never resent him.

She was proud. God, she was proud of him. Watching him on TV, seeing his name flash on leaderboards—he had everything he dreamed of.

But sometimes, deep down, she wondered…

Would he still promise to be there, if I asked him now? Or have we both silently let go of that moment in the backyard?

Because no matter how fast she ran toward her future, it always felt like she was chasing something—someone—who was slipping further and further away.

Y/N felt herself maturing over the years—slowly, but noticeably.

Life was busy now. College consumed most of her time, especially since she chose Business Administration, a course that demanded both discipline and caffeine. Late nights spent typing reports and running numbers became routine. Her world was no longer quiet moments in backyards or childhood promises—it was lectures, group projects, and the dull hum of her laptop fan.

That night was no different. She was curled up on her bed, glasses slipping down her nose, eyes heavy with exhaustion as she typed out the last paragraph of a marketing paper. Sleep was all she wanted—desperately, achingly needed.

Just as she hovered over the save button, her phone buzzed loudly beside her. She frowned, reaching for it without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” she answered, voice soft and a little groggy.

“Y/N,” came the familiar voice, breathless and electric. “I got in.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I got in,” he repeated, slower this time. “McLaren. I’m in.”

Her eyes widened, suddenly more awake than she’d been all week. She sat up straighter. “Oh my—Lan! That’s amazing!”

He laughed on the other end, the sound bright and genuine. It filled her chest with warmth.

“Oh my God, this means—this means Formula 1, right? You’re actually going to F1! I mean, of course you are, but like… actually now.”

He let her ramble, chuckling softly as she sputtered excitement. “You’re going to race with the big names now. I can’t believe it—no, I can believe it. You’ve worked so hard. You deserve this so much.”

“Thanks, sunshine,” he murmured, voice soft.

She paused, smile lingering on her lips. He hadn’t called her that in years.

And suddenly, despite the distance and the years and the changes between them—she felt like that girl again, sitting in his backyard, legs tangled in the grass, listening to a boy with big dreams talk about driving.

Except this time, the dream was real.

That little promise he made all those years ago—“I’ll be right here when you figure it out”—turned out to be true, after all.

It was her graduation day.

Her parents were fussing over her, proudly adjusting the gown on their youngest as she groaned in mild frustration. The ceremony had gone on way too long, and all she really wanted was to go home, eat, and sleep for a week straight.

“I swear, if I hear another name being called, I’ll lose my mind,” she muttered under her breath, fidgeting with the sleeves of her robe.

But then—her name echoed across the hall.

“Y/N L/N, Cum Laude.”

She blinked. Wait… what?

The moment slowed. Her heart stopped.

She looked toward her parents just in time to catch the shift in their expressions—from happy… to shocked. Her mother’s hand covered her mouth while her father blinked, eyes wide with disbelief. They didn’t know. She hadn’t told them. She wanted it to be a surprise.

And it was.

As she rose and walked across the stage, nerves buzzing through her chest, the spotlight felt less intimidating than she expected. She shook hands with the school director, smiled politely for the photo, and took a breath.

Then her eyes scanned the crowd—and paused.

There. Just behind her parents.

Messy brown curls, a familiar grin, tall frame standing proud.

No way.

Her breath caught in her throat.

*It can’t be him… He’s supposed to be in another country. Racing. Training. Not—here.

When the ceremony finally ended, and the crowd began to break into applause and chatter, she walked out slowly, still dazed. Her friends swarmed her, her family approached with hugs—but none of it really landed.

Because there he was.

Standing in front of her with a sheepish smile, holding a small bouquet—crocheted flowers, in her favorite colors.

He knew she didn’t like real ones—said they die too easily.

“Surprise?” he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

She blinked, processing the moment.

And then, without warning, smacked his arm.

“Ow—hey!” he winced.

“You said—you said you wouldn’t come back home, you idiot!” she muttered, eyes glassy.

He laughed through the sting, rubbing his arm. “Yeah, I lied. You really think I’d miss this?”

Her lips trembled, and for a second, she didn’t say anything.

Then quietly, she smiled. “You remembered.”

He grinned. “Of course I did. You promised to figure things out… and I promised I’d be there when you did.”

The afterparty was in full swing, laughter echoing from inside the house while music played faintly in the background. But Y/N found herself out on the patio, away from the noise, sitting quietly with a plate of cake in her lap.

Still in her silk blue dress, her heels kicked off to the side, she took another bite and mumbled under her breath, “You’re insane.”

Lando, leaning on the railing beside her with a drink in hand, chuckled. “Yet here you are—enjoying the cake I brought.”

She shot him a glare before stabbing another piece dramatically and shoving it in her mouth. He laughed again, clearly not taking the offense seriously.

The silence that followed was a comfortable one, the kind that only existed between people who’d known each other forever.

“I’m thinking of finding a job soon,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. Her voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it. “I want to start making a life already.”

Lando glanced over at her. “Do your parents know?”

She hesitated, poking at the cake with her fork. “No… not yet.”

He didn’t press, just waited.

She looked up at him, her expression softer now. “My sister’s already working. I’m the last one at home. I just… I want to repay them, you know? For everything. For putting up with me not knowing what I wanted.”

Her gaze dropped again, back to the half-eaten slice in her hands.

“I want them to know it was worth it.”

Lando leaned a little closer, voice lower now. “Y/N… it already was.”

She didn’t answer right away—but her grip on the fork eased, and her shoulders relaxed just a little.

“Mom has… separation anxiety. Or at least, that’s what we think,” Y/N said quietly, the corners of her lips lifting in a faint smile. “She fusses over my sister constantly—calls during her hospital breaks just to check in. And now with me wanting to start working too…”

She paused, eyes drifting toward the stars above them, her voice softening.

“Dad acts like he’s fine. Always pretending to be unbothered. But he’s the soft one, really. I can tell. They both try so hard to seem okay with the idea of us growing up, moving out, building our own lives…” Her fingers curled around the edge of the plate. “But I know the thought of their daughters being far away makes them uneasy.”

“It’s hard,” she murmured. “Wanting to move forward and still worrying if it’ll make them feel left behind.”

Lando watched her in silence for a moment. The way her voice wavered just slightly, the guilt tucked behind her words—he knew that feeling. Maybe more than he ever admitted.

“I get it,” he said eventually, his voice low but steady. “Leaving’s never as simple as packing a bag and going. You always leave little pieces of yourself behind.”

She glanced at him, surprised.

He offered a half-smile. “When I started traveling for karting, I used to feel bad all the time. I’d call Mum after every race, even if I lost. I’d feel guilty for not being home more, for not being… normal, I guess. I thought chasing something meant I was selfish.”

There was a pause as he looked down at his hands.

“But then I realized… our parents don’t want us to stay small just so they can feel comfortable. They’re scared, yeah. But they’re proud too. They’re just not always good at showing both at once.”

Y/N didn’t reply, but the crease in her brow slowly softened. Lando nudged her shoulder gently.

“They’ll be okay,” he said. “You’re not leaving them behind—you’re just building what they worked so hard to give you in the first place.”

She let out a small breath, as if finally releasing something she’d been holding in for too long.

And for a moment, there was nothing between them but the stars, the soft hum of celebration behind them, and the quiet knowledge that maybe, just maybe, they were both learning how to grow without letting go completely.

Whoever told her that finding a job would be exciting clearly left out how draining it could be.

Y/N sat in a waiting room, hands clasped in her lap, her nerves humming quietly beneath the polished fabric of her slacks. The room was quiet except for the occasional shuffle of papers and the soft ding of the elevator down the hall.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced down, expecting maybe a reminder or a promo email—but instead, her screen lit up with a message from Lando.

Lando: Good luck :D ik you can do it

A soft smile tugged at her lips. She tapped the heart reaction to the message, the simple words giving her just enough calm to take a breath.

Her name was called.

She stood up, exhaled slowly, and walked into the interview room—shoulders back, heart steady.

It was already dark when she returned to her apartment, the air outside humid with summer. She unlocked the door, expecting silence and leftover takeout.

Instead, the hallway lights were on—and there he was.

Lando, leaning in the doorway to her kitchen, holding a tiny cake with a flickering candle. A smug little smile played on his lips.

“Congrats?” he offered casually.

She blinked, caught off guard. “You’re going to jinx it.”

“Nope. Nuh-uh,” he said, walking toward her and shaking his head. “Don’t even think like that.”

He held out the cake. A small bento-style one, her favorite kind—minimal, thoughtful.

In neat lettering, it read: Congrats on surviving the first job hunt.

“Blow the candle, darling,” he said, grin widening.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the warmth that bloomed in her chest. “You’re celebrating for nothing.”

Lando tilted his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. Showing up, putting yourself out there, not giving up—that’s something.”

She looked at him for a moment longer, then leaned in and gently blew out the candle.

And just like that, the weight of the day didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

Suddenly, the blaring sound of her alarm cut through the silence.

Y/N jolted awake, her heart racing for a second before her mind caught up.

Just a dream. Or rather—a memory.

Fragments of it lingered: the warm glow of candlelight, the soft curve of Lando’s grin, the sweetness of cake and comfort and presence.

She blinked a few times, letting her eyes adjust to the dim morning light filtering through her curtains. The clock on her nightstand glowed: 6:20 AM.

Another day. Another early start.

With a quiet sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stretching her arms above her head as her spine cracked softly in protest. She sat there for a moment, letting the cool air wake her fully, then moved to the bathroom.

The sound of water running filled the small space as she brushed her teeth and stepped into the shower, the warmth helping ground her in the present.

The memory faded with the steam, but the feeling it left behind remained—a strange mix of nostalgia, motivation, and something else she couldn’t quite name.

Because even if it had been just a dream, it reminded her that somewhere along the way… she’d survived. She’d grown. And maybe, deep down, she was still being cheered on—even if just in memory.

Thankfully, work was light that day, and Y/N managed to head home earlier than usual. She welcomed the quiet—finally slipping out of her work shoes, tossing her bag on the couch, and curling up with a warm drink and the silence she’d been craving all week.

But peace, apparently, had a short lifespan.

The doorbell rang.

She frowned, reluctantly dragging herself up and glancing at the door cam on her phone.

Lando.

Brows furrowed, she unlocked the door—only for him to rush inside the moment it opened.

“Marry me.”

She blinked, completely thrown off.

“…Excuse me?”

He stood there, a little breathless, clearly having rushed. His curls were slightly damp from sweat or stress—possibly both—and his eyes were wide, desperate, a little unhinged.

“My career’s a mess,” he said quickly. “Gossip’s everywhere. The press won’t shut up. They're dragging everything I’ve ever done into the light again, twisting things I didn’t even mean. I just—” He paused, trying to breathe. “I need you to be my wife. Temporarily. Fake, obviously. Like… play house.”

Y/N stared at him. Then snorted. Loudly.

He glared. “I’m serious.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” she said, crossing her arms. “You think people are going to believe that?”

He hesitated.

He wanted to tell her everything—the tabloid headlines, the viral posts, the fans speculating that they already were a couple. The photos over the years: late-night airport sightings, soft looks across paddocks, her showing up to races. The way the media ran with it like wildfire, spinning their friendship into a quiet, secret romance.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead, he stepped closer, dropping his voice.

“They will. Because most of them already do.”

Y/N stared at him again, heart thudding a little harder now, for an entirely different reason.

“…Just please,” he added, softer now. “I need this.”

taglist: @n3versatisfied, @alana4610, @boocmarks, @areej003

[blank-potato]

A Little Distraction

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary:

He smells really good, is that a new cologne—? Next thing you know, your feet are off the ground. He flips you over his shoulder and slams you onto your back, before pulling you to a seated position and slipping his arm around your throat in a textbook chokehold. You squirm, trying to regain leverage, but all you can think is fuck, he’s strong. His arms are one of your favourite attributes to gawk at, even if, right now, it was being used to choke you out. A small, humiliating mewl slips from your throat, though you’re not exactly putting your whole heart into escaping. “Tap out,” he murmurs, voice rumbling low against your ear. It almost makes you moan, almost, but you catch yourself just in time. Thank goodness, because you’d never live that down. Or It's been a while since you've gotten laid, and it's starting to affect your concentration. It especially doesn't help when the person you're training is Joaquin Torres.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, p in v sex, sparring (gone sexual), fingering, nipple sucking, choking, semi-public sex, Joaquin being so hot it's distracting, sexual tension

WC: 3.9k

A/N: This idea came to me at 5am, and I started writing, I have no idea what that says about me. Anyways, enjoy the smut :)

***

You were supposed to be training Joaquin. Supposed to be.

But you were off your game, and you knew it. After everything, the late nights, the stress, the endless missions, you hadn’t gotten laid in… a long time. Longer than you cared to admit. Dating apps were a joke, full of people you had nothing in common with and no energy to impress.

Sexual frustration had been building for weeks, a low hum of tension you’d ignored, until today. Until it decided to boil over right in the middle of a combat training session with Joaquin.

Of course, it had to be him: all bright eyes, easy smiles that could rival the damn sun. He was too handsome and so infuriatingly charming, it made you feel like you were going crazy every time he so much as grazed past you.

At the start of the session, you're sitting beside him, finishing up the wraps on his hands.

“I can do my own wraps, you know?” Joaquin teases with that infuriatingly perfect smile.

“I know,” you reply, a little too quickly. “I just want to make sure it’s done properly.”

Sure, you were looking out for his safety, but in reality? You liked this. Feeling his warm hands beneath yours, the way his knuckles flexed as you tightened the wraps. It was oddly intimate, tending to him like this, plus he had nice hands.

His eyes kept flicking between your hands and your face, like he was in on some game of cat and mouse neither of you had the courage to call out.

“Always taking care of me, hm?” he murmured.

“Someone has to,” you shot back, trying to keep it professional, even though your pulse was anything but.

Watching him move to the punching bag, arms swinging with so much power, you couldn’t help but notice how his expression shifted, intense, focused, all raw determination. It was… kinda hot, fuck that, it was really hot.

Maybe if you closed your eyes? But when you did all, you could hear was the sound of his punches hitting the bag and his grunts. Really sexy grunts.

You suddenly find yourself wondering how it might sound if he were pressed right against you, and those moans were right in your ear.

You open your eyes and force yourself to shake off the thought.

He turns to you, chest heaving, sweat rolling down those broad shoulders. “You good?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, voice catching before you manage to recover. “Yeah, um, keep going.”

Nice save.

After minutes of staring at him, wiping your palms on your pants and trying not to drool over him, you step forward, signalling it was time to start sparring.

“Now that you got me all tired out, you wanna spar?” he asks, raising an eyebrow with a cocky grin.

You roll your eyes. “You should be able to fight in any circumstance and in any physical condition,” you shot back, adjusting your stance.

He chuckles in a way that makes you want to melt. “You just want a shot at winning.”

“I don’t need to tire you out to win,” you fire off, ignoring how his laugh made your stomach do a stupid little flip.

“I did win some of our sparring matches last time,” he pointed out, pouting a little as he peeled off his gloves.

“But I still won more,” you shoot back, unable to resist smirking.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“That’s because you’re slow, Torres. At least slower than me.”

He scoffs, playful indignation lighting up his face. “Slow? Me? You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“Prove it,” you challenge, settling into your stance, heart thudding for reasons that had nothing to do with self-defence.

You started off well, winning some sparring matches. The usual, putting Joaquin through his paces, testing his footwork, checking his stance, keeping him sharp. But somewhere along the way, you stopped focusing on his technique and more on how his biceps felt flexing under your grip.

You're about to snap back into instructor mode when he pivots, faster than you’d expected. Instead of attacking back you get woefully distracted.

He smells really good, is that a new cologne—?

Next thing you know, your feet are off the ground. He flips you over his shoulder and slams you onto your back, before pulling you to a seated position and slipping his arm around your throat in a textbook chokehold.

You squirm, trying to regain leverage, but all you can think is fuck, he’s strong. His arms are one of your favourite attributes to gawk at, even if, right now, it was being used to choke you out.

A small, humiliating mewl slips from your throat, though you’re not exactly putting your whole heart into escaping.

“Tap out,” he says, voice rumbling low against your ear. It almost makes you moan, almost, but you catch yourself just in time. Thank goodness, because you’d never live that down.

Realising you were actually getting lightheaded, you begrudgingly tapped against his arm.

He let go immediately, flashing that bright grin as you sucked in air. “Looks like we’re all tied up. Two-two.”

“For now,” you shoot back, trying to sound confident even as your pulse hammered.

“Maybe you’re all talk,” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve put you on your ass more times than you can count, hotshot,” you counter, forcing your voice steady.

 “True, but maybe the student has become the master,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with that charm that made you want to climb him like a tree.

Your performance only continued to dwindle, your focus shot to hell. You just couldn’t concentrate, not with him so close and looking so good.

It was no surprise when you ended up flat on the mats, breath knocked out of you, staring up at him and those pretty brown eyes.

You tried to recover, pushing up, only for him to sweep your leg clean out from under you, pinning you hard to the ground.

“That’s five to me,” he grinned, voice smug. “Two to you. You’re making this too easy on me.”

You scowl, cheeks hot. You were making it easy, but not on purpose.

How were you supposed to fight effectively with him practically pressed against your back, his chest warm and solid, his breath skimming over your shoulder? Every time he shifted, you could feel every inch of him, and it scrambled every combat instinct you’d ever had.

You reset positions, determined to get your head back in the game, but it was futile. Every punch, every dodge you tried, he read you like an open book, and before you knew it, you were on the floor again.

This time, his full body weight settled on top of you, caging you in with those strong arms braced on either side of your head. It was impossible to ignore the heat of him, the solid press of muscle, the way his breath mingled with yours. You felt hot all over, pulse pounding so hard you thought he might hear it.

“You win,” you finally concede, voice catching. If you stayed under him any longer, you might've done something you regret.

Joaquin rolls off you and sits next to you, giving you enough room to breathe again, but your heart is still racing, no matter how much space you have.

He pauses, studying you with those warm brown eyes, leaning in closer. “Something’s wrong,” he said, concern filling his face. “Are you sick or something?”

“N-no,” you stammer, looking away, praying you weren’t wearing every damn feeling on your face.

“But something’s up…” Joaquin insists, eyes narrowing, that teasing suspicion creeping in. “C’mon, what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” you shoot back, far too quickly, refusing to meet his gaze. There was no way you were about to tell him the truth. No way in hell.

But Joaquin was sharp and had a knack for reading people. His eyes searched yours, catching the flicker of guilt you couldn’t hide.

“Is it me?” he asks slowly, watching the way you froze. His grin went positively wicked. “It is me.”

Your stomach drops. Shit.

“You’re into me,” he goes on, voice smooth, dangerously close, like he was savouring every word. “That’s it, huh?”

He leans in, close enough that you could feel the heat off his skin. “You like being thrown around by me, don’t you?”

You open your mouth, but ultimately nothing comes out.

“Oh,” he chuckles, seeing right through you.

“That’s not—it would be unprofessional,” you stammer, trying and failing to sound stern.

“I don’t mind,” Joaquin says, completely unbothered, that playful grin still lighting up his face. Of course, he didn't mind.

“Torres, I… look, I’m fine, okay? That’s what dating apps are for,” you insist, even though you didn’t believe it.

“Oh, please,” he groans, shaking his head. “Every time you talk about those apps, it’s about a date that was garbage. You know that, right?”

He leans in even closer.

“You’ve been wasting all your time on dating apps,” he says, each word deliberate, like he was pressing it into your skin, “when you should’ve just come to me.”

This was it. Joaquin Torres was going to be the end of you. He was completely right, and having him right in front of you, offering to ease the relief that’s been eating you up for weeks, was so damn tempting. 

“So… what are we gonna do about it?” you manage, voice barely steady as you swallow hard.

Joaquin’s smile turned softer, more genuine, but no less sure. “I’ll show you,” he murmured, before reaching out and pulling you in.

His mouth met yours in a kiss that was gentle, patient, his lips soft. It stole your breath, stole every coherent thought, drowning you in the heat of it, in the way his hands cradled your jaw with a careful tenderness that made your heart pound.

Joaquin’s movements are careful, like he’s memorising every part of you with his hands. He unravels you so thoroughly, so completely, that by the time he’s done, you don’t know which way is up. Your lips part with an audible smack, your eyes wide, flickering over his face and seeing just how much he needed you. 

He grins, eyes glinting with challenge as he climbs on top of you, trying to pin you beneath him like it’s some kind of wrestling match, only half-serious, all play. You squirm, laughing breathlessly, managing to slip out from under him.

“Told you, Torres. Too slow,” you tease, crawling just out of reach.

But he’s faster than you give him credit for. In one swift move, he spins you around, pulling you into his lap, settling you there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You land with a soft thud, your back flush against his chest, his arms locking around yours, trapping them against your sides.

“Got you,” he smugly murmurs into your ear.

And damn it… You kind of love losing.

He leans in, lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck before pressing a slow, heated kiss there.

"Fuck, Joaquin..." you whine, your fingers curling into his shoulders as his tongue traces lazy, deliberate patterns against your skin, like he has all the time in the world and wants to savour every second.

You feel almost weightless as he leans in, the world narrowing down to just the space between you, his touch grounding and electric all at once.

His hands find the hem of your shirt, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He pauses, gaze meeting yours.

“May I?” he asks, voice low and earnest.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah… you may.”

In one fluid movement, he lifts your shirt over your head, leaving you in just your sports bra. He dips down, lips brushing against your shoulder in a soft, lingering kiss. Then another, and another, like he’s trying to drown you in them. 

“So beautiful…” he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move with practised ease, tracing delicate patterns as he rubs against your pussy through your leggings. You’re gasping out, breath shaky, aching for more of his touch.

You start grinding your ass back against him deliberately, you feel the sharp intake of his breath as your hips press into his.

"Playing dirty?" he asks, his voice rough around the edges, hands tightening slightly on your waist.

You glance over your shoulder with a smug smile. "Hm? I'm not allowed to mount an offence?" you reply, your tone all innocent when your actions are anything but. 

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Is that right, Falcon?" you purr, voice dipped in challenge as you shift your hips again, slow and taunting.

He stills for a beat, jaw tightening, tensing just enough to let you know you hit a nerve. “Don’t play that game,” he warns, voice low and rough.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Why? Does it turn you on?”

He exhales sharply, then leans closer, breath warm against your skin, “You have no idea what you’re starting.”

“I think I can handle you.”

He laughs, a deep, satisfied sound, then pulls off your leggings and panties in one smooth, decisive motion. “So the manhandling is gonna be a thing?” you tease.

“You love it,” he replies with a knowing grin. And honestly, from the way you were stumbling and fumbling all over the mat when you were sparring, it was clear he was right.

His fingers slide inside you slowly at first, then thrust with growing intensity, each movement sending sparks through your body, making you arch into him, desperate for more.

He curls inside of you, fingers brushing right against your most sensitive spot, sending jolts of pleasure that steal your breath away.

“Joaquin, you… fucking…,” you gasp, struggling to describe just what he was doing to you. 

“Can’t find your words?” he teases, and you want to complain at him for being right. 

Joaquin was good at many things: flying, of course… fighting, absolutely… and apparently? Fingering. The way his fingers moved inside you, confident, relentless, like he was reading every reaction, left your thoughts scrambled. 

“Joaquin, I swear—” You’re cut off as he leans in, turning your head to the side and kissing you, swallowing any complaint or threat you were about to throw at him.

He’s not just a good kisser, he’s devastating. Slow, consuming, like he wants to leave you breathless. You feel like you’re floating away, every nerve on fire, your grip tightening wherever you can hold onto him.

It’s distracting, in fact, too distracting, because suddenly, that warmth in your core coils fast and tight. You feel yourself starting to get close.

Your inner monologue screams, “Already?!”But your body doesn’t care. It’s already chasing the high.

You moan into the kiss, each sound getting higher and more desperate. He pulls away from your lips, focusing on bringing you the release you deserve.

“Scream for me,” he demands, his voice all breathy and sexy, and you do.  The … as you cum leaning back into him, your hips bucking.

“Still think you can handle me?” Joaquin asks, breath heavy, eyes dark with challenge.

“I’m still up, aren’t I?” you shoot back, but your voice is shaky, your legs even shakier, and the words aren’t convincing anyone, least of all him.

“Then I think I have some work to do, don’t I?”

With that, he flips you onto your back effortlessly. You watch, wide-eyed, as he peels off the rest of his clothes, and you certainly hope you’re not drooling, but it’s very possible you are.

In true Joaquin fashion, he continues to tease you, grinding against you slowly. He knows exactly what he's doing, keeping you right on the edge, not giving you what you so desperately needed, and loving every second of your frustration.

“You’ve proved your point. Now fuck me.”

“What’s the rush?” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “Maybe I just want to take my time with you.”

Before you can reply, his lips are on your neck, sucking gently, then harder, leaving a trail of marks and blooming bruises that everyone will be able to see. You gasp, feeling the sharp edge of his teeth graze your skin, your body arching from how sensitive you are.

He makes his way down, trailing kisses between your breasts, looking up at you with those deep chocolate-brown eyes as he lingers.

“What are you doing? Making a sign saying ‘Joaquin Torres was here’?” you manage to joke, breath catching.

“Would that be so bad?” He leaves another mark on your collarbone before travelling lower. 

He grins, then takes one breast in his hand and wraps his mouth around your nipple, sucking until you squirm beneath him. But he doesn’t pull back; instead, he doubles down, licking and teasing until you’re moaning his name again.

“Joaquin!” you scream for the millionth time today.

You’re trembling, legs spasming beneath his grip, but he holds you down easily, his body pinning yours in place, giving him unfettered access as he devours you like he’s starving.

But… how can someone look so impossibly cute while completely ruining you? His lashes flutter, cheeks flushed, that boyish grin tugging at the corners of his lips every time you writhe under his tongue.

Eventually, he decides to make sure you have some brain cells left and pulls back a line of saliva connected between your nipple and his mouth. Obscene.

“Ready for me now?” he asks, voice low and thick with heat.

You nod, your head still in the clouds, body humming from everything that came before. Then you feel him pushing inside of you and your breath hitches.

He holds you gently, giving you time to adjust, but it doesn’t take long before his pace begins to pick up. Each thrust sinks deeper, more purposeful, and his voice is right in your ear, praising you between gasps.

“So good for me… always so good for me…” he groans, as you cling to him, every part of you aching for more.

Then he interlaces your fingers tightly as he rocks his hips into yours. It feels intimate. More intimate than you were expecting, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Feeling his body around you, as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, it felt… natural.

“So perfect,” he gasps against your neck, like he can’t get enough of you. It should be illegal to sound that good.

“Joa...quin...” you whine, sounding so needy, you’re surprised when it comes out of your mouth. 

With a sudden, powerful motion, he bends you in half, your legs resting on his shoulders, driving deep as he fucks you into the mat.

“Joaquin!” you growl his name, eyes rolling back as he fucks you hard and fast, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the training room like a symphony. You feel like he’s not just touching your body, but getting deep inside, fucking the very soul out of you.

He slows down, breathing heavy and steady. “Hold onto me, I’m gonna lift you, okay?” he says softly, voice full of warmth and care.

Too cock-drunk to do much else, you nod and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. He lifts you up and presses you close, never pulling out, staying deep inside you all the while.

He then presses you against the nearest wall, your back flush with the cool surface as his hands grip your hips firmly. Then he continues his assault on your senses, his breath hot against your skin, the slick friction of his dick moving in and out of you sending waves of pleasure through you. 

He keeps you right there, fucking you like that, with raw urgency and desperate need, he whispers low, “You drive me crazy.”

“Good.”

You’d be offended if you didn’t.

“Joaquin, Joaquin…,” you keep saying his name like it’s the only thing you know how to say, like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. Your mind is completely undone, unravelling with every touch, every breathless moment as he ruins you in the best possible way.

His mouth brushes your ear, voice low and wrecked. “Keep saying my name like that, and I don’t know what I’ll do.”

You do. You know exactly what it does to him.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and kiss him deeply, tongues intertwining as you both try to overpower the other. Joaquin relents, letting you take control, your grip tightening in his hair as you pull him closer, drawing him in completely. He’s moaning and gasping, gripping your hips tightly as you do exactly what he’s been doing to you, driving him wild and turning his brain to mush.

He keeps moving, but while desperately moaning into your kisses, just when you didn’t think you could get more turned on, that happens. 

He pulls you off the wall, your lips parting much to both your displeasure, and brings you back down onto the floor.

“Lie down on your stomach,” he commands softly, and you follow without hesitation.

Lying flat on your stomach, you feel him settle behind you, the anticipation practically biting at your skin. “Don’t make me wait again,” you murmur, hoping he won’t mess around this time. “Don’t worry,” he replies, voice low and confident.

He pushes deep inside with slow, deliberate thrusts, his first stroke hitting your most sensitive spot instantly. You’re dribbling onto the mat, your head resting flat as pleasure washes over you. “Give it to me... never stop...” you gasp, breath catching as he answers your plea.

If you’d known he could fuck you this good, you would’ve done it a long time ago.

His arm wraps around your throat, locking you in a headlock again, and you swear—“Fuck yeah, just like that,” you yell, your voice hoarse and ragged. You don’t care how desperate you sounded, not when he was fucking you this good.

Your eyes roll back as you feel that delicious pressure building, a peak you’ve been desperately chasing. The lack of air makes everything sharper, your senses heightened, your body trembling. Your eyes flutter as you lose yourself in it, trusting him, knowing he’ll only give you what you can take.

The heat, the tightness, the heavy, laboured breaths filling the air make you feel lightheaded. Pushing you further into that wild, ecstatic haze. It was intense, like you could feel the tension rising higher and higher, the pressure ready to break.

You push back to meet his thrusts, breathless but daring. “Want me that bad?” he growls, voice rough with restraint. “You... know I do…," you pant, just getting the words out between mewls.

You feel him press his chest to your back, releasing the headlock to slip his hand under to grip your throat with just enough pressure to make your head spin. “So deep, don’t stop…," you whimper, your fingers clawing at the mat.

You can tell he’s close, his rhythm falters for just a second, you hear a shudder in his breath, and you’re right there with him, teetering on the edge.

A final “Joaquin!” makes both of you finish together, pleasure ripping through you. The aftershocks are intense, especially as he continues to pump his load into you. Maybe it’s because you’re dazed as hell, but it feels never-ending. As he pulls out his cum drips onto the mat, a mess you’d both have to clean up pretty soon, and he collapses next to you. 

Lying there, a complete mess, blissed out and breathless, you barely manage to lift your head. Joaquin is just as wrecked, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your bare shoulder.

“Good workout,” you mumble with a dazed smile.

“Definiely.” He lets out a low chuckle, “Same time tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Masterlist || Marvel Masterlist

[sukunacest]

cw:: incest/fauxcest, dubcon-ish?, noncon, (megumi is 19+)

i kinda love the idea of being the outlet for your family's frustration

like you're on your bed, laying down, studying and all of a sudden stepdad!toji comes in and he's so angry! :(

he doesn't hesitate to start yapping your ear off about how shit his day was as he's pushing your head into the book you're reading. with his other hand he's undoing his belt and pulling his cock out — not bothering to take his work-jeans off fully.

he doesn't bother to listen to you saying you weren't in the mood and that you needed to focus on studying for this big test coming up

no, he just pushes your head back down on the pages and tells you to "shut up and read your book" as he's yanking your shorts and panties down in one go

he'll spit on his hand a few times as a makeshift lube, rub it on his angry head, then shove his cock right in you >...<

you might cry a little but eventually you'll start to like it — you always do

toji will use you. as much as he wants, as rough as he wants. he had a long, horrible, day and it's the least you can do for your stepdad.

he'll have his way with you and because he does love you — you're his only daughter after all— he'll even promise to help you study afterwards :)

while toji's fucking you from behind, thrusting like a frenzied man, he whispers in your ear all the things he wants to do to you. the only good thing today is that it was his "friday" at work. which means he can fill you up with his cum for the rest of the weekend all he wants...

he loves having his own personal relief pussy <3

~~~~~

you could hear brother!megumi rage from his room when he lost a match on his video game. he didn't get loud often, but something about losing a match pissed megumi the hell off.

it got especially worse when he went on a losing streak.

he would get so frustrated he would start throwing his controller against the wall or punching his monitor. the ruckus would get so loud sometimes you couldn't concentrate on your phone call with your boyfriend.

you would knock on your brother's door, hoping he'd kindly lower the noise.

the second he flung the door open all megumi could see is red.

red from the lipstick on your lips as you were about to go on a date. red from all the "defeats" on his monitor. red from the cute little skirt you were wearing. red as he pulled you into his room and threw you on his bed.

the red on your wrist from him gripping too tightly. the red scratch marks on his neck when you started fighting back.

but he especially liked the red on your neck, the circular rings that brought you to submission. the red marks on your shoulder — temporary, but you'd have to hide them from your boyfriend later tonight.

your panties were red too. those, he decided to let you keep on.

megumi wasn't a complete asshole. he was just... frustrated. and who better to take that out on than his annoying sister?

megumi didn't even realize he was as hard as he was until he made you undress him. it was easy to pull your hair back and stick your mouth onto his tip. the red ring from your lipstick around his cock looked so cute, he thought.

although megumi knows he's technically "allowed" to use you, he still isn't sure if or when he wants to fuck you for the first time. but that's fine, he doesn't need to fuck you to get out his frustration.

after he has you gagging on his cock, he'll bend you down on his bed. he'll lift your panties up — ever so slightly — so he can fit. so fucking close, but not inside. he moves. back and forth against your (nearly sopping) pussy, all in between your panties. he fucks you like that until your creaming on him and he busts, hot seed exploding on your ass and dripping down into your panties.

he'll help you stand and give a small kiss to your forehead after he helps you redress. you're still his sister and he wants you to look good for your date tonight.

he just makes you promise to keep those same panties on all night — the cute red ones holding his cum against you.

a/n might do part 2 with dad!nanami and uncle sukuna? or should i do stepbro sukuna? or dad!kuna!? eeek! idk!

m.list

[missoverstreet]

My Knox and Todd friendship headcanons because they’re all I think about!!!

- Knox is definitely the first person Todd comes out to cause that’s his twin

-and it’s not even on purpose, It just kinda slips out

- “How come you don’t talk about any girls?” “..Boys.” “..Oh. Right.”

- Once Knox finds out that Neil is Todd’s crush, he immediately tries to help them get together

- Knox would burst into the dorm while Neil was at rehearsals

- His clumsy ass would make so much noise that Dr. Hager would hear the commotion and get mad

- “WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE??” And then they just look at him like this

- They would sit crisscrossed on Todd’s bed while Knox tries (and fails) to give him advice on what to say

- “‘What’s cooking good looking’? No.. I’m not gonna say that.”

- When Todd and Neil actually get together they just agree not to tell Knox so he looks insane

- “Just imagine this. If you and Neil got together, we could go on double dates, and-“ “Knox.” “What?” “…” “What???” “…….” “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME??”

- They treat Mr. Keating like their father (so do all the other poets)

- They’ll be rough housing around the school and just run to his office

- “MR. KEATING, HE HIT ME!“

- Before they even turn the doorknob they’re already tackling each other to the ground

- “GET OFF OF ME, YOU ASSHOLE-“

- The door opens, and Keating just glances at them on the ground before stepping over them, completely unfazed

- “Good day, boys.”

- “No, wait- KEATING, NO! HELP!”

- Knox would definitely just do certain things to piss Todd off

- When they’re in the dining hall, Knox will kick Todd in the knees under the table while he’s trying to talk to Neil

- When Todd turns to give him an annoyed look, he just turns away, feigning innocence

- “Knox, I swear.” “What? I didn’t do anything! I swear on Cameron’s mom!”

- Which makes Cameron scoff, giving him an offended look

- “Hey, what’d my mom do??”

- Knox would also play with his food a lot, which irritates Todd greatly

- Like in that one deleted scene where they’re all eating Spaghetti weird

- “Look, I’m like a baby bird, hehehe.”

- And then Todd almost barfs

- “Can you stop and eat?”

- Todd treats Knox as his personal punching bag when he’s frustrated

- They’ll be outside playing soccer and Todd will randomly tackle Knox to the ground

- Knox doesn’t mind, of course. He knows it’s not his fault

- or like Todd will throw something at Knox and he’ll just stare before going back to what he was doing

- They are Mr. Nolan’s BIGGEST haters.

- Like Mr. Nolan will walk by and they’ll side eye so bad

- “Get a load of this guy.”

- After Neil dies, Todd definitely goes to him for comfort, wailing as Knox pats him on the back

- “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

- They watched Bambi together and cried

- “Are you crying?” “No. You’re crying.” “No, I’m not.” “You’re totally crying-“ “We’re both crying!”

- Todd fell asleep on Neil once and Knox giggled for 15 minutes straight. He never let him live it down

- Knox would give Todd the best birthday present he would almost start crying

- Little did Todd know Knox snuck into his dorm like a spy and went through his diary to find the needed information

- “How.. How’d you know I wanted this?” “..No reason. I just have a sixth sense for these types of things.”

- Todd would bug the crap out of Knox when they sat next to each other during the meetings

- “What’cha eating..?” “An apple.” “..Cool..”

- Knox’s middle name is Thomas (headcanon 👅)

- Once Todd kinds out, he calls Knox “Tommy” just to annoy him

- “Hey, Tommy, have you seen Neil?” “Yeah, he just- What did you call me??”

They’re literally so cute can we not 💔 also since me and Matt are the leaders of their fan club I’ve decided their friendship name is “Knodd”

I wanna do more friendship headcannons too! I might do Knox and Pitts or Cameron and Pitts…. Let me know if you guys want those..

They are me and Matt btw :P @mattyerrs

[lansfavboy]

hey i’ve got a request! i don’t know if you do top!oscar/bottom!lando but something post-silverstone where oscar’s raging and has nowhere to put his anger and landos there and willing and the moment sorta builds up and it gets crazy from there

hi anon!! my first request and i'm so very happy x hope you enjoy!!

♡ pairing: bottom!lando norris x top!oscar piastri ♡ warnings: post silverstone, angst if you squint, VERY SMUTTY, free use lando?, degrading language, very brief hatred towards magui, dubcon if you squint, oral & anal, not proofread! ♡ word count: 1.3k

Silverstone didn’t go as Oscar wanted.

It was obvious. A forced smile on the podium, the pissed off radio message after a mistake a 4 time world champion made on a weekly basis.

None of it was fair. 

Now he was standing in his driver room, absolutely fuming, hands in his hair, pulling a bit too hard to be considered ‘okay,’ pacing like a stressed team principal.

Lando had disappeared somewhere, probably getting head from his stupid current toy, who followed him around like a lost puppy. Magui was like that with a lot of men, as Oscar had learnt from his coworkers chatting shit about her.

The thought of them together pissed him off even more. Lando should be here with him, doing his usual speech of “it’s okay, mate, next time, yeah? Just a silly mistake.”

He knew he’d liked him for a while. His body, at least. The tan abs, the perfectly sculpted biceps, the goatee he’d dreamt about seeing covered in his own cum late at night. 

Too good for Magui. Too out of reach for Oscar.

A knock on the door broke his train of thought, the Aussie reluctantly spinning on his heel to open it a bit too aggressively.

Lando.

Like he’d manifested it.

The older man gave a shy smile, almost bashful.

“Yes?” He didn’t mean to sound so rude, truly. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

Lando swallowed, stepping in with his P1 cap still covering his curls, smelling like champagne and victory.

“I uhh- wanted to see you. Make sure you were alright after… ya know.”

Oscar held back a scoff, wiping a hand over his face in frustration. Of course he wasn’t ‘alright.’ His race was ruined and the team didn’t give a flying fuck. Suddenly Alpine didn’t seem like a bad option anymore; at least they’d value him.

“Brilliant, mate.”

Lando sighed, leaning back on the now shut door and crossing his arms across his soaked chest. 

“Don’t be like that, Oscar; just admit it wasn’t the right move.”

Oh. So we’re doing this?

Oscar scoffed, stepping closer and gripping the shorter man's jaw, forcing him to look up at him.

“Are you shitting me? You say you’re here to check on me and then decide to rile me up more? Fucking hell, Lando.”

Lando stared up defiantly, that usual somewhat frustrated look in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about helping you at least a little.”

“And you’ll help me how? Tell Stella to stop the damn favouritism? You’re in the wrong place for that, mate.”

Lando rolled his eyes, semi-pulling away from Oscar’s grip. They’d both only just realised how close they were currently standing, chests scraping the other.

“I’m just- I’m here if you need to, like…” he made some odd hand movements, gesturing to Oscar like he couldn’t find the correct words. “If you have to expel any extra emotions. You know.”

Oscar paused.

Took a breath.

Stared at Lando’s eyes, which at this point were practically begging him to catch on so he wouldn’t have to spell it out.

“You’ll let me fuck you?”

Lando hesitated, then nodded.

Oscar didn’t need to be told twice. He was on him in a second.

His lips found Lando’s neck instantly, his teeth scraping along his adams apple, causing a shiver down both mens spines. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” Oscar’s tone was gravelly and desperate as he sucked a hickey into the other’s neck, not caring who’d see it. There was no media work until the end of the month. Who cared?

The whine that slipped out of Lando’s mouth made him think he’d wanted it just as long. He probably hated his girlfriend, just waiting for a chance to escape her.

Oscar’s hand left his jaw to lock the door, returning to palm his bulge, earning a groan out of the Brit before pushing him to his knees.

“You wanna help? Suck.”

Lando tugged Oscar’s shorts down, hands lingering on his thighs. He’d always had a fixation on them, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

His cock sprang out quickly like it’d been waiting for the chance to finally make an appearance, already dripping and hard after just a few kisses. His eyes caught Lando’s, the previous frustration replaced by surprise.

“Jesus- you’re fucking packing in there mate.”

“Don’t call me mate when you’re about to choke on me, Lando.”

He forced his head down before he could reply, hand threading through his hair and guiding him slowly and deeply.

Lando was already choking and drooling, tears pooling in his eyes as he took him in inch by inch. 

“Atta boy… so good, Lan. Choke on it for me.”

Oscar began to quicken his guidance, a groan echoing into the tiny room, mouth falling open as Lando continued—though it isn’t like he had any choice with the grip Oscar currently had on him.

As the Aussie got closer, he yanked Lando off, pulling him up and bending him over the massage table Kim had left prior to his shitshow of a race.

“You’re gonna take it. You’re gonna be loud. You’re gonna let me cum inside you. Got it?”

“Yes- yes, Osc-”

Oscar slid a hand under his waistband to grab a handful of his arse before pushing his joggers down and kneeling behind him.

“No boxers, hm? Slut. Knew what was coming.”

His tongue slid into Lando’s hole slowly, hands gripping the man’s hips whilst he fidgeted around, squirming at the feeling.

The feeling was heavenly, Oscar’s fingers creeping closer to his entrance, prodding around.

He slid a finger in, slowly starting to drag in and out of Lando’s now wet hole. A small gasp left his lips as he tried to thrust backwards onto it for more. Another entered, then a third, stretching him out relentlessly.

When he was content, Oscar bent over to grab the lube he kept in his backpack for emergency situations (which genuinely started when his thighs would chafe in hotter races). He squeezed some on his fingers and his cock, trying his best to warm it up before lining himself up behind Lando and pushing in slowly.

“Shit- shit shit shit Oscar- what the fuck-” Lando was blabbering on about god knows what as he gripped the table for dear life, his knuckles turning white instantly. 

“Have you never taken it up the arse before?” He chuckled almost cruelly, pausing once he bottomed out for Lando to adjust.

Lando whined, taking a few breaths. “Of course I have- shit- just not like this.”

A pause.

“Can you move now for fucks sa-”

He was cut off by an involuntary moan as Oscar began to thrust in and out, panting through his teeth. 

Oscar moved a hand to push Lando’s back into a harsh arch, the other trailing up to his mouth to stuff half his fist in to keep him silent.

“Shut up. Pathetic.”

He started to get faster, panting louder as he bit back groans at how tight Lando was around him. He was partially convinced this was his first time, but it was a bit late to go gentle now.

“Even a bastard when you win. Never happy, are you, Norris? Nothing is ever good enough.”

Oscar was rambling now. Spitting out whatever he could think of as he grabbed the back of Lando’s shirt, staring at the ‘4’ on it, angry tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

It’d be a ‘1’ soon, probably. If he continued how he was.

He thrust faster, harder, deeper, biting his tongue so hard he thought blood would be dripping out his mouth by now.

“F-fuck, close, Osc.”

Lando’s words pulled him back to reality, the muffled words around his fist causing him to push it further into his mouth. 

“Gonna fill you up, hopeless whore.”

Oscar let go, almost collapsing onto Lando as he stuttered to a stop, Lando finishing simultaneously and making a mess on the floor.

He pulled out after a second, watching his cum drip out slowly, running down the Brit’s legs.

“Good boy. Finally did something good for me.”

[sirfrogsworth]

Not long after my dad died, I went to our workshop on the back of the property to take a mental inventory of what I needed to get rid of. My dad's two John Deere riding mowers were missing. I thought they had been stolen.

I was about to call the police, but I figured I should tell my brother first. Apparently, he took the mowers. And he acted like it was no big deal. But he drove here at midnight. Kept all of the lights off. And burgled items I probably would have given him. I asked why he didn't let me know he was here. He claimed "I thought you saw me." Which is difficult when you come in the middle of the night and move giant lawn equipment around in the dark.

It was my first red flag that this entire inheritance thing was not going to go as smoothly as he promised.

Well, that's not accurate.

He stole the life insurance money after the funeral. But I couldn't prove he stole any money because the insurance agent was a chickenshit and refused to get involved. They all just told me it was used for "expenses."

I was given no receipts or details about the expenses. I later was able to use old documents to figure out the life insurance had roughly 5 to 7 thousand dollars beyond the funeral home expenses.

So I guess the flowers, the poster board, the photo printing, and the glue had a dramatic price increase at Walmart that day.

But the riding mowers were the first thing he stole that I could prove. I didn't fight it. He was promised my dad's "tools" and I couldn't really decide if a lawn mower was included in that category. In my head, it was my dad's woodworking and auto mechanic tools. And I was worried if I made waves he'd take half the house and half the money.

He took half the money so maybe I should have spoken up.

ANYWAY...

What does all this have to do with a video of a spider?

After my brother's midnight mower mayhem, I decided to buy security cameras for the property.

To date, nothing else has been stolen. Despite my brother's wife saying we live in "the ghetto," my street is isolated and safe. The worst thing that has happened is some drunk kids got carried away during the previous 4th of July and took a baseball bat to my mailbox. Frustrating, yes. But there are dipshit kids in every neighborhood.

My point is, in 30+ years, I have never felt unsafe living here.

Until my brother.

And these fucking cameras keep waking me up and alerting me that a human being is on the premises. And 100% of the time that human is a squirrel, a groundhog, and now this spider. I have adjusted the settings and set the lowest sensitivity and it doesn't help. Sometimes it will rain and a car's reflection in a puddle will be enough to sound the alarms.

And I'd love to just unplug all of these cameras and sleep in peace, but I'm so damn traumatized by my brother sneaking and stealing shit, that I'm too scared to do it.

Before he took the mowers he was at the house to "check on me." And while we were talking he was casually grabbing keys of the rack and acting like it was no big deal. And, like, he could see me see him doing it. But he was acting like I couldn't see him taking keys. He is always so awkward and I was just like, "Why is he pretending like he didn't just take that key?" I figured he was taking them for emergencies because I'm here all alone now. I thought it was a protective act.

But now I realize he was planning a fucking mower heist.

I feel foolish because I know better. I am so much smarter than my brother and his wife. I mean, I can't build a car from scraps in a cave like my brother, but my general intelligence, problem solving, and deductive reasoning is off the charts comparatively. They are bad problem solvers who think they are amazing problem solvers.

Like, "Hey, let's make a terminally ill man sell his house!"

Moving isn't stressful, right?

And I'm the bad guy because I didn't want to send my dad to an early grave dealing with real estate bullshit.

Like, these two just make some bonkers life decisions. They wanted their daughter to play a sport. And instead of just playing with her in the backyard and seeing if she responds positively to anything, they sign her up for 3 at once. She's going to accidentally become a decathlon star because her parents were throwing spaghetti at the wall. Meanwhile, my brother is driving himself mad attempting to get her to all of the practices and games.

If my brother weren't an engineering savant, I have no idea how they'd get by. Having money is like a problem-solving cheat code.

All of my smarts were screaming at me the entire time. I was 9 steps ahead and I knew exactly what they were doing but I had this emotional hope that my brother cared for me and would do the right thing. He made a promise to my dad on his deathbed and I just couldn't imagine my brother letting down someone he loved that much. I kept giving him chance after chance to not let my dad down.

I can't stop seeing my brother as he used to be. And I can't stop feeling sorry for him. The only time he doesn't seem exhausted and miserable is when he is working on cars and playing with his daughter. He just seems to hate life outside of those things.

And he knows the reason why.

We all knew the reason why.

For a long time I thought maybe he didn't know. I wasn't sure of the extent of his brainwashing. But then he came to my parents blubbering and admitted he knew the reason why. Which is why, from that point forward, I no longer blamed his wife. He made a choice with full self awareness. So he was complicit. He could have escaped that situation at any time. But he fears being lonely more than he wants to seek relief from his misery.

But the collateral damage of his choice has been immense. And I sometimes wonder if that good person buried deep down inside is just riddled with guilt and shame. I honestly don't know how he sleeps at night. Maybe he doesn't.

And that's why a spider on a security camera made me angry.

[plaidos]

I started reading Homestuck because of your posts and got through the first two acts, and I have to ask, does the captchalouge stuff ever stop? I feel like 1/5 of this thing so far has been logistical maneuvering about how to carry objects and/or work these random machines. I understand that it's serving some purpose to characterize the kids with the different systems they use but it's emphasized so much more than it needs to be and at this point I can't even care if it's some deeper metaphor for something else down the line because it's already annoyed me too much. It feels like seeing the same "wow, aren't video game inventory systems frustrating" joke one hundred times. I might be incapable of appreciating Homestuck because I don't really care for video games. I feel such relief when the focus turns towards anything else. Things people warn you about before reading Homestuck: It's really long, it has period-typical offensive humor, it's "cringe" in some way. All this I can deal with. Things people do not warn you about: Programming Humor.

i’m sorry, anon, but this is straight up an attitude problem. early homestuck doesn’t focus too much on inventory management or logistical manoeuvring (i would say it gives it the correct amount of focus). it isn’t a “metaphor for anything later on” it’s straight up already a metaphor you’re so lost in that you can’t find your face from your ass.

i don’t know how to tell you this, but you are just literally never ever going to have fun with Homestuck as a comic (hell — as a story) if you can’t let it be more than the sum of its parts and you especially especially will not enjoy Homestuck if you feel like you’re brute forcing its constituting parts to get to “the part that you like”.

you’re not treating it with enough respect for it to respect you back (homestuck is like a horse that way) like how on earth do you think you are you ever going to enjoy literally any part of this comic if you’re actually in your own words getting annoyed at the language it exists in, literally not even trying to understand the relevance of its constituting parts because you’re so desperate to skip to the parts you consider the “real” story the “real” Homestuck. i need you to understand that you’re bored of homestuck using “the same inventory management joke over and over is like saying “i started reading house of leaves. when do i get past all the joke essay stuff to the real story?”

yes. the captchalogue stuff does actually slow down. in fact, if you’re already two acts in, it already has, actually and you simply haven’t noticed because you decided it’s irrelevant and that you shouldn’t be paying attention to it. i want to tell you straight up that you are totally right that you will drop off and not enjoy this comic if you keep reading it with the attitude you have been being. not because it has “videogame references” (although like, grow up, it’s a comic about videogames? 😭) but because you are totally unwilling to meet it where it’s at

i’m sorry if this isn’t the kind of answer you were anticipating but like, what do you want out of “i don’t think i Get homestuck. can you tell me when it starts being a normal story that i understand that is about things i care about?” no. you’re not engaging with the Type of Thing that Homestuck is and you’re trying to ask “when it becomes normal” and it just doesn’t. it isn’t a normal webcomic. the question you’re asking, fundamentally, boils down to “why am i personally choosing to read an archival comic in a way that makes me feel like it’s moving slowly”.

“i don’t get FRIENDS, i wish they would skip all the situational comedy elements to just focus on the characters solving emotional problems together” ass.

[jakeytkiszka]

No Saints

4.2k words.

warnings: enemies to lovers, yelling, crying, hurt feelings, bruised egos, talks of feelings, SMUT– 18+ ONLY, oral (m. and f. rec.), sex, dirty talk, sleeping with the boss type shit, lemme know if I missed any!

Masterlist

——————————————————————————

If someone had told you that you would be working your dream job on tour with a band, you would have laughed. And if they would've told you that you would be working backstage for Greta Van fucking Fleet, you would have laughed even harder, probably until you cried.

But here you were, running around every show like a chicken with its head cut off, ensuring the band was ready, the outfits were right, and they weren't setting something on fire.

You think your favorite was probably Sammy. All goofy jokes and late night conversations about anything and everything. Josh was always down to talk about something whimsical while you sewed the hem of his jumpsuit. Danny was just quiet, laid back and always so easy to chat with.

And Jake.

Jake was… something else.

Irritating. Arrogant and cocky. All lazy smirks and nonchalant, smart ass comebacks. He pissed you off. And with how the two of you bickered, you were surprised you hadn't been fired yet. Maybe the other three liked you enough to keep you on, overruling Jake. (Unbeknownst to you, Jake liked you just as much as they did, and there was no way in hell he'd let you get fired.)

Tonight was no different than the others, Josh was preening in the mirror, Danny was playing the drums on the coffee table, Jake was lounging on the couch like he owned the place, and you were stuck glueing Sammy's rhinestones back on. He and Daniel had decided that playing a game of ping pong– including Sam diving after the ball and practically faceplanting– was necessary for a preshow warmup.

And you were rapidly sticking the rhinestones on, shaking your head as you neared the end, “You two have got to find less raucous hobbies before the shows,” you say, hoping they weren't going on crooked.

“Sorry, Y/n,” Sammy says, smiling at you from the floor, “We're all very competitive."

“No shit,” you murmur, squinting as you stick the last one on there, “Next time, don't do that in your stage clothes.”

He grins, wordlessly letting you know– No promises. As if you expected anything less from the two.

“Aren't you bossy,” Jake murmurs from beside you on the couch.

“I'm not bossy,” you defend, shooting him a quick frown.

“Yes, you are,” he retorts.

“Shut up,” you say quietly.

“I think we should hit the bar after this,” he says loud enough for the others to hear, “I could use a night out.”

“Yeah, why not?” Josh says from the mirror, turning to the four of you, “We all could, tour's been wonderful, we should celebrate.”

“Y/n, you wanna come?”

You can practically hear Jake roll his eyes as Sam asks you, and that tempts you to take him up on his offer. But you decline, “No, I'll pass tonight,” you say softly, “I'm tired, you four are exhausting.”

“You're exhausting,” Jake retorts quietly, earning a sideways glare from you.

A stagehand pops his head into the door at that time, “Show time!” He calls, all nerves and frantic energy.

You cheer each of them on, even Jake, wishing him luck as he stands. He shoots you a wink, lazy confidence radiating from him.

You hope he messes up.

——————————————————————

Maybe you shouldn't have wished for him to mess up.

He's mad, you can see it from backstage. His guitar strap broke midshow, and when he came to get another from you, it was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you fucking serious?” He snaps, looking around you as if it might suddenly appear.

“I– Jake, I had it right here, I swear,” you defend, panic setting in. You were going to lose your job.

Suddenly, one of your peers finds another, handing it to Jake with a proud smile. Jake shoots you a look, one of frustration, before he's back out on the stage, as if this encounter never happened.

The show ends with everyone praising the success, a few side eyes thrown your way, and you feel like shit. You could cry, and you probably would if it weren't for the sake of professionalism.

“Y/n!” You turn at the sharp snap of your name, finding the production manager making his way to you. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck!

“Yes?”

“Where the fuck was his fucking guitar strap at?!” He says, stopping directly in front of you.

“I don't know where it went– I had it in his case right there before the show, and–”

“It doesn't just fucking walk away,” he interrupts, pointing a finger at you, “If you can't do your job and help this shit run smoothly, you're fucking done, do you understand?”

You don't mean to cry. But the tears are welling up faster than you can stop them. “Okay, I'll do better.”

“You will do better, you're not getting paid to fuck shit up–”

“You're not getting paid to talk to her like that.”

As if your night couldn't get worse. There's Jake, right behind you. The production manager straightens up, the anger quickly leaving his face, “I'm sorry, she just–”

“It wasn't her fault,” he says firmly, “I moved the fucking strap and forgot about it. You're not gonna talk to her that way because you're not fucking prepared.”

He nods, his face pale, “Of course. I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize to me,” Jake says simply.

He grits his teeth, “I'm sorry, Y/n.”

You nod, unsure of what to say. And then you're left alone with Jake, the rest of the crowd quickly dispersing.

“You alright?”

You nod, turning to him as you wipe your eyes, “I'm sorry about your guitar strap, Jake. I promise I'm usually more prepared–”

“I know you are,” he says, “You don't have to apologize for anything. You're doing a great job, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he's gone.

What the fuck?

——————————————————————————

You knew they'd be hungover.

Being crowded on a tour bus with four grumpy hungover rockstars is not something you'd wish on anybody.

Sam's got his head in your lap, sunglasses over his eyes. He had demanded you play with his hair, claiming it made the headache go away. Dany was sprawled out in one of the recliners with Josh in the other, and Jake was sitting in the booth, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“I need water,” Sam says pitifully.

“I can get it,” you say automatically, knowing he wasn't asking you, but you volunteered. You gently move his head from your lap, standing to stretch your achy legs. You make your way to the fridge beside Jake, opening it and pulling out a water bottle for Sam.

You look over at Jake, “Do you need anything?” You ask, an attempt at being nice.

“I need you to leave me alone,” he retorts.

“Douchebag,” you mutter, glancing at him again, finding a smirk upon his lips.

“Next time we go out, Y/n's coming with us,” Josh says, “I think she needs to go out and have some fun.”

“I have enough fun dealing with you four,” you say, handing the water bottle off to Sam.

“That's why you're single,” Sam says offhandedly, “You won't go out and try to meet someone.”

“Fuck you, Sammy,” you mutter.

“Maybe one day,” he says with a smile, “I'm too hungover right now.”

You scoff a laugh, your eyes somehow making their way to Jake again. You catch the glare he's sending the two of you before he slips his sunglasses back over his eyes.

Jerk.

——————————————————————

“Can you maybe not fucking stab me?”

“Can you stop fucking moving, then?”

“You've got a needle right at my dick, Y/n, it's hard to trust you.”

You straighten back up, shooting a glare up at him, “Jake, I'm not gonna stab your fucking dick. But if you keep it up, I'm going to try to.”

He stares down his nose at you, a frown on his face. You cross your arms, waiting for him to comply. Rockstars.

He huffs, glancing at the clock, “Fine. I've got a show in 15 minutes. Hurry it up.”

“You're the one who ripped the crotch out of your pants,” you mutter, picking the needle back up.

“You're the seamstress right now, shut up and do your job.”

You pause at that, glancing up to see the genuine frustration on his face. You simply nod, continuing your work. You finish around two minutes later, giving him a quiet okay.

“All done,” you say flatly.

“I'm sorry,” he says in response.

“It's fine,” you shake your head, “You're right.”

“No, I'm not. You're– You're not just a fucking seamstress here, Y/n.”

“It's fine,” you say, forcing a smile as you push yourself up from off your knees, “Preshow jitters.”

He shakes his head, staying silent for a moment, “Thank you.”

You nod, “Don't mention it.”

——————————————————————————

You're irritated.

The boys decided they wanted to spend the night in a hotel.

A very shifty hotel, with a whopping two rooms available. A room with two beds and a couch, and a room with one single bed.

Josh, Sam and Danny all agreed to take the room with the couch. Which left you sharing a room– and a bed!– with Jake.

You're both standing in the doorway, staring at the bed in front of you. Jake's got irritation written all over him, his sunglasses pushed up messily into his hair, his hand gripping the handle of his suitcase a little harder than necessary. His jaw is tense, and you don't say a word.

“This should be cozy,” he says quietly.

“I can go sleep on the bus,” you offer, nervously twisting your hand around the handle of your own suitcase, “I really don't mind–”

“I'm not making you do that,” his voice is firm, “And to be quite honest, I don't wanna do that either because I'm a little selfish and I wanna sleep in a bed.”

You hum a laugh, “A bed does sound nice.”

“We're both adults,” he says, “It's… It's a pretty big bed.”

“Yeah, it's a nice size,” you agree, both of you awkwardly nodding.

And with that, he lets out a breath, making his way to the adjoining bathroom. Your shoulders slump, the tour bus sounding more enticing by the minute. You sit on the edge of the bed, and any thought you had of sneaking back out to the bus is gone. It's so comfortable, like a plush cushiony cloud.

You lay back on the mattress, letting your eyes fall shut. With a bed this comfortable, you can definitely stand spending a single night with Jake.

You don't move when the door opens back up, and you hear him snort a laugh, “Comfy?”

“Very,” you reply, “It's like a cloud. I forgot how nice a real bad feels.”

He hums in response, and you can hear him shuffling around the room. You finally push yourself up, knowing you should probably change into your pajamas before you fall asleep in your uncomfortable jeans.

You quietly go to the bathroom, ignoring the sight of Jake wearing only an old t-shirt and his underwear.

Fuck.

You change quickly, eager to get back into the bed and sleep. It'd probably be the best sleep you've gotten in weeks.

You wish your pajamas were just a little cuter, but you don't know why. Who were you trying to impress– Jake? You want to slap yourself for thinking that.

You make your way back out, finding he was still standing, doing something on his phone. You slip by without a word, the room feeling tense and awkward.

You ease under the blanket, surprised at yourself for being so happy about a sleazy hotel bed. But it was so nice. You make sure to stay on one side, facing the wall with wide eyes as you lay there. You tense slightly when you feel him move beside you, getting into the bed.

It's quiet as he flicks the lights off from the nightstand.

“This is nice,” he says softly.

You hum in agreement, scooting a little closer to the edge.

He lets out a quiet laugh, “You can relax, Y/n.”

“I am relaxed.”

“I'm sorry for what I said tonight.”

You pause, before you turn your head to look at him, “It's alright, Jake.”

“No it isn't,” he disagrees, “You're more than that and regardless of how we feel about each other, I should have never deduced you down to that.”

You want to focus on the meaning of his apology, but one part catching your attention, “And how do you feel about me?”

He sighs, “You annoy me.”

You knew he didn't like you, you knew you weren't his biggest fan either, but it wasn't something ever talked about. Hearing him say it just… hurt.

“You're always… It's like you're so fucking perfect.”

You blink, “Me?!”

“Yes, you,” he says without any heat, “Everybody fucking loves you. You're always able to fix everything, and it's just… annoying.”

You frown, processing his words, “Is that why you're mean to me?”

“Yes,” he says honestly.

“I am not perfect, Jake. Nowhere near it. You're the one with the god complex.”

“What?” He sounds surprised to hear you say that.

“Your ego is bigger than any room you're in, you know that?”

“My ego?” He pauses, “I don't have an ego.”

“Yeah, and I don't have crippling anxiety before every show.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, as if he's surprised to discover you think he's so vain, “I've never– I'm an ass, aren't I?”

“To me? Yes. Everyone else? No.”

“I can't help it,” he says quietly, “You make me feel incompetent.”

“How?!”

“You're just… good at everything you do. It's irritating.”

“Hand me a guitar and then we'll see if you can say that.”

He laughs, the sound breathy and genuine, “It's feels like a competition with you. Everyone loves you, you're everyone's favorite.”

“But I'm not,” you say honestly, “I'm pretty sure the other crew members think I'm sleeping with one or all of you. They're not… They're not very nice.”

“Who?” He says, as if he'll go out there right now and set them all straight.

“I'm not telling,” you say firmly, “Because if you say anything, it'll look worse on me, and they'll be mean.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you really think I'm arrogant?”

“Honestly?” He hums an affirmative, “Yes. It's like you know you're the best thing to happen to modern music.”

“That's a reach.”

“You asked.”

He huffs, “I'm not even– You sound jealous.”

“Jealous?!” You lean up on your elbows, glaring at him in the dark, “Says the one who just admitted that he doesn't like me because other people do.”

“Says the one who just admitted the exact same thing.”

You blink at him, “Are we ever gonna get along, or just fight the whole time?”

“I dunno,” he says, leaning up and mirroring you, “Are you ever gonna cut it with the innocent, charming little sweetheart bullshit?”

“Are you ever gonna cut it with your egotistical, arrogant, cocky asshole bullshit?”

“Y/n,” his voice is low, “Shut up.”

“You shut up. Just because you're my boss out there doesn't mean you can treat me like shit here–”

“I don't want to fight, Y/n,” he says, his words clipped, “I'm tired of it.”

“Then don't fight with me,” you say, as if it's the simplest solution.

He lets out a soft laugh, as if you caught him off guard.

“You're uptight,” he says, leaning closer to you.

“You're irresponsible.”

“You're a control freak.”

“You're frivolous.”

“You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen.”

“You're a liar.”

“I'm a lot of things, crybaby, a liar isn't one of them.”

You swallow heavily, “You're an asshole.”

He nods, his lips now brushing against yours. He uses one hand to push your blankets back as he scoots closer to you, “What else?”

You can hardly focus on your insults as he moves to hover over you, using his knees to separate your thighs for him to settle between. He's still hovering, careful not to touch you aside from the backs of your thighs resting against the front of his. “You're a fiend.”

He lets out a quiet ooh, as if he's mocking you. You frown further, your heartbeat skipping at the condescending attitude he's giving. You aren't sure why it's making your body heat.

“Keep going,” he says, leaning in and placing a single kiss to your jaw.

“You–” You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath to center yourself, but he nips at your throat, “You make me so mad.”

“Is that the best you've got?” He asks, his hand toying with the drawstring of your sleep shorts.

You let out a shuddery breath, “What, are you getting off on this?” You hate how weak your voice sounds.

“Maybe,” he says casually. You open your mouth to retort something about him being a pervert when he presses his hips against you. You can feel him even through the layers of clothing separating you, warm and hard. It makes your entire body heat. The pressure is gone as quick as it came, he lifts his hips once more as if he's teasing you.

“I've spent most of my time here feeling like I was never good enough for your expectations, Jake, and now it's this easy?”

“Imagine how I felt, Miss Perfect,” he says without any heat, “You're the only person I know who had their shit together the entire time.”

“Except for when I lost your fucking guitar strap.”

“Doesn't it get tiring thinking so much?” He asks, tracing a finger along your cheek.

“Yes,” you whisper honestly.

“Then don't,” he says, as if that will solve everything.

“You think I haven't tried that?” You ask sharply. You're silenced by his finger pressing over your lips.

“Just tonight,” he says softly, “It's just you and me. We don't think about anything else.”

You're almost hesitant, you know how impossible it is to shut your brain up, but his lips are on your neck again, like he knows that's what you need to melt into him, and you nod, “Okay.”

“Yeah?” He asks, pressing the tiniest kiss just below your jaw.

“Yeah,” you breathe the word. “But what if–”

His lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence.

You kiss back without much thought, your hands grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer. He grabs your waist, yanking you tightly to him. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip before he bites down, earning a quiet whine from you. Your hands slide up, around his shoulders, pulling him practically on top of you as you move to lay on your back.

His hand lands beside your head on the pillow, the other is still holding onto your waist, slipping down to your hip. His hold is tight, like he wants to grab you and have his way with you. And you want him to.

You let your legs fall open as he settles between them. You nearly buck your hips as he moves his lips to your throat. You let your head fall back as he kisses and nips at your throat, your mouth open with gasping breaths and whimpers.

Then suddenly, his hips are pressing against yours, grinding against you as he kisses along your skin. His lips reattach to yours, and you let out a dreamy sigh as he moves just right against your clit.

His hand appears at the waistband of your pajama shorts, snapping the elastic, “Wanna get these out of the way?”

You nod quickly, a breathy yes falling from your lips. Your eyes widen only a little when he pulls off your shorts and underwear in one quick movement, leaving your lower half completely bare. And when he presses himself against you this time– Oh. The somewhat rough material moving against your swollen clit feels better than you thought it would.

He kisses you again, a quick nip at your bottom lip, before he pulls back just enough to watch as he moves you against him.

You bite at your bottom lip as he spreads your thighs, almost hoping he can't see too much of you in the dim lighting.

He ghosts his hand over your dripping heat, “Is she as pretty as the rest of you, baby?”

“Shut up, Jake,” you say weakly.

And then he's moving back. You open your mouth to ask him what he's doing, when he grabs you, moving you however he wanted. Your eyes widen when you find yourself with your legs spread around his shoulders, and his face inches away from your center.

“She is fuckin’ pretty,” he says, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, “You've been holding out on me.”

“Oh, my God,” you whisper, dropping your head against the mattress. “Are you sure you want to do– that?” You ask, lifting your head back up to look at him.

“What kind of men have you been with?” He asks, running a single finger along your wet heat.

“I– I dunno,” you stutter, cursing yourself mentally.

He hums in displeasure, using his fingers to spread you open. You hate how he takes a moment to stare at you, to take in every detail of your most intimate areas, but he mutters a quiet curse, and his mouth is on you before you can object to his staring.

You let out a much too loud noise, slapping your hand over your mouth as he smiles against you. He pulls back enough just to speak, “Gotta be quiet, sweetheart, we don't want my brothers hearing you.”

You nod rapidly, keeping your hand over your mouth as he suckles at your clit. He lulls his tongue over the swollen bud, before he moves down to your weeping hole. Your eyes squeeze shut as his tongue slips just past the entrance, humming against you.

He grabs your hand, moving it into his hair, groaning when you tighten your grip. You're embarrassingly close, and the moment he eases his fingers inside of you, you know you're a goner within the next two minutes.

You whine his name, hating how pathetic you sound. He curls his fingers up in response, his tongue flicking over your clit relentlessly. “I'm close,” you warn, rolling your hips. You roll your hips on your own, feeling yourself near your own release. It wouldn't take much longer, and you whisper his name in hopes he'll help you along.

“Gonna cum so soon?” He asks, his hands on your hips stilling you completely.

You whine, fighting to move over his mouth once again. “Jake–”

“Use those pretty manners,” he says lowly, “Always so well behaved, don't act up now.”

“Jake please,” you say, huffing when he slowly, slowly, licks along your slit, “Jake help me, please.”

He hums in consideration, pushing back only to slowly drag his tongue once again, “Little more than that, crybaby.”

You feel yourself clench around nothing. The nickname he has for you making an appearance now has you aching. “Please let me,” you tighten your grip in his hair, “Make me cum, Jake.”

That seems to do it for him, his own hand slips back between the two of you. He pushes two fingers inside of you, curling them up before he begins fucking them into you, curling and twisting relentlessly. His tongue is moving just right against your clit, and you begin rocking against him, whimpering a soft curse.

It doesn't take long before you're falling apart, soft cries and your body twitching as he works you through it. Your blood is rushing in your head, and you can barely make out the filthy words he's gritting out as you ride out your release.

You grab at him, melting completely when he eases up, letting you recover. Before he can say anything, you push him back with a hand at his chest, and you slip to the floor on your knees. He lets out a low hum, moving to stand in front of you.

You decide not to take your time, not to work him up or tease him, you just want his dick in your mouth.

So you all but tear his underwear down, your mouth watering at the sight before you. He was big. Long and thick and hard, you should have expected that. You wrap your fingers around him, and swallow him down as far as you can without any preamble.

He lets out a quiet curse, his hand immediately tangling into your hair, “She does look pretty with a cock in her mouth,” he says quietly, as if you weren't meant to hear it. You both know well enough that you were meant to.

It doesn't last long before he's got a hold in your hair, and his other hand is around your throat.

He begins shallowly moving his hips, holding your face in place as he fucks your mouth. You would be content to let him do this to you as much as he wanted. And part of you wanted to try this right after you had pissed him off…

You can't move your head, so you work your tongue along him as best you can, suckling at him with every thrust. He pushes in, the blunt head nestling deep against the back of your throat again. He holds you down on him long enough for you to get dizzy, before he pulls out completely.

He angles your face up once again, his hand on your throat giving a light squeeze as he keeps you still. You're still held there, awaiting his next move.

“Get on the bed,” he says, moving his hands to help you get up off of your knees.

You eagerly move to the bed once more, your heart pounding as he rids himself completely of his underwear. He grabs you, flipping you around so you're in his lap before you can process it. He's leaned back against the headboard, his hands at your waist and he's kissing you again.

You roll your hips, anxious to have him fill you up already.

He wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you up just enough for him to line up with your weeping entrance. When you settle back over him, your eyes widen. He lets out a low growl as you lower down on him, your eyes wide at the fullness. He feels huge inside of you, stretching your walls, sitting snug against that special little bump inside of you.

“Fuck, Jake,” you say, letting your head fall to his shoulder.

His hands are tracing soothing patterns on your hips, his head falls back against the headboard as he lets out a strained laugh.

You begin rocking your hips, slowly, just to get a feel of how fucked you really were. His grip tightens as he lifts you up slightly, before pushing you back down on him.

You whimper, feeling every bit of him inside of you. You continue to rock your hips as he moves you up and down. You feel full in the best way, unable to even form a coherent sentence aside from telling him how good he felt.

He stops moving you, leaving you to do the work on your own, “C'mon,” he says it like a challenge, “Fuck me, pretty girl.”

You let out a slightly irritated sound, doing as he says regardless. You lift your hips, easing back down at a slow, hopefully teasing pace.

You're gripping his shoulders for dear life, your temple resting against his jaw as you move your hips. His mouth is right by your ear, leaving you no escape from the filthy things he's murmuring.

“Just like that,” he rasps, “Such a good girl– Always so good at doing what you're told, aren't you?”

You feel yourself clench around him, and you gasp out a weak, “Fuck you.”

You feel him grin against your skin, “You are.”

You whine at that, digging your nails into his shoulders. His grip on your hips is firm, his fingertips pressing in enough for you to hope for bruises.

Your thighs burn, but you ignore it in favor of chasing your high. It's just out of arm's reach, and you know you'll need his help or your own. And you'd rather die of humiliation than ask him, so you snake a hand down to your clit, just barely rubbing over it before he knocks your hand away.

Before you can do much as whine about it, he's replaced your hand with his own, rubbing tight, slow circles over your aching bud.

“I'm gonna cum,” you warn, your hips moving of their own volition, speeding up despite your aching thighs.

“I know,” he says, still holding you by your hair, his eyes intently focusing on your face, “I can feel it.”

“Fuck, I'm–” It's slipping away from you, your own body too tired to continue working as you were.

He begins fucking up into you, his own hips slamming against you as he continues to rub over your clit. Your entire body is shaking, the build up starting right back up where it left off.

You whine his name, earning a sound nearing a growl from him. “C'mon, baby,” he demands, an air of desperation in his tone. He wants you to finish, to feel you squeezing him as you fall apart around him. And that's what does it for you.

It hits you hard and fast, even more intense than all the other he'd given you that night. Your mind blanks, going black, before flashing white hot. You try to push him away again, the attempt feeble as he wraps his arms around you and pushes you back against the mattress, fucking you relentlessly through it. You don't complain, you couldn't even if you wanted to, you know he's chasing his own orgasm as well as working you completely through yours.

“Fuck, Jake–” It's intense, you're verging overstimulation, but you wrap your legs around him. Your eyes are watering, tears trailing down your temples and into your hairline.

He lets out a pleased hum, “My little crybaby. Does it feel good for you, pretty girl?”

You nod quickly, your nails digging into his back. You know he's going to be marked up, but you know you are too. His mouth has been as relentless as his cock.

It doesn't take him much longer before he lets out a curse, and his hips falter. You whine in approval as he grips your hips tighter than before, and you squeeze purposely around him as he finds his own end. You let out a soft yes, yes, yes, as he fills you with his release.

He stays still inside you for a moment, leaning over you and pressing kisses to your sweat-sticky skin.

You feel empty when he pulls out, cold and lonely as he collapses onto the mattress. Your chest is heaving as he moves to lay beside you, his own chest rising and falling as he fights to catch his breath.

It hits you then.

You just fucked your boss.

You push yourself up with shaky arms, raking a hand through your knotted hair.

“Jake.”

“Stop,” he says softly.

You look over at him, worry clear on your face, “I just–”

“You're thinking too much.” He says, pulling you back down to lay against him. He wraps an arm around you, “It's gonna be fine.”

“Am I gonna lose my job?”

He lets out a loud laugh, “You're not going anywhere.”

[cherrypopidol]

Hiiiiiii I love ur writing 💞

Could you write a night in New York City with 80s Axl ? Maybe it’s while they’re recording and they have one night off and go explore the city! Fluffy and ending with some soft smut pls💞

hii!! thank you love <3 and ofc i can

𝓞𝓷𝓮 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂

𝒶𝓍𝓁 𝓇𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

you’d lost track of how long you’d been in the studio. probably hours.

the place had a smell — some mix of stale coffee, sweat, ashtray and old carpet. the kind of room that felt like it lived underground even if it technically didn’t. outside, New York was thick with heat and humidity, that special kind of summer air that clung to your skin and made every breath feel a little heavier

Axl had been pacing the control room for the past twenty minutes, muttering to himself and occasionally flopping dramatically onto the ratty old couch in the corner. someone else’s demo was playing low through the monitors but no one was really listening anymore. Duff had bailed hours ago. Slash had left in search of a bar. Izzy had vanished, as usual.

now it was just you and him

you were curled up in his flannel, your legs tucked beneath you, a bag of half-eaten chips on your lap. watching Axl come undone slowly with boredom. he kept flicking a Zippo open and shut, open and shut, like it was a metronome for his thoughts

he finally threw it onto the table with a soft clack and stood up straight

“If I spend one more minute in this fucking box I’m gonna rip my own skin off”

you grinned, stretching lazily “That’s dramatic, even for you”

he ignored you, digging around for his boots and grabbing his vest off the back of a chair

“I’m serious” he muttered “We’ve been trapped in here for three damn days. I can’t write shit when I feel like I’m buried alive.”

you raised an eyebrow “So what do you wanna do? Go rage through Times Square in leather pants and get mobbed by tourists?”

he turned and gave you a crooked grin — the kind that always got you in trouble

“No” he said “I wanna take you somewhere. Just… out. Away. Doesn’t even have to make sense”

you watched him for a second, feeling that familiar hum under your skin whenever he got like this — that restless, too-bright energy he didn’t always know how to channel. and even though it was late, and you were tired and he smelled like cigarettes and frustration…

you wanted to go with him

“Alright” you said, standing up and slipping on your sneakers “But only if I get pizza.”

“That damn fucking pizza of yours...” Axl muttered under his breath already leaving the studio

the cab driver kept glancing in the rearview mirror, maybe recognizing Axl, maybe just confused by the two of you — wild-eyed girl with cherry lip gloss and redhead with rings on every finger and a tattoos on his arms peeking through his vest. you were laughing at nothing, your knee bouncing against his, the thrill of spontaneity already making you feel lighter

“Where to?” the driver finally asked

Axl grinned “Downtown. East Village. Somewhere loud. Somewhere weird”

you grinned too, leaning into him “Somewhere with pizza”

the streets were exactly what you hoped for — buzzing with neon lights and that sticky, lawless summer energy only New York could pull off. kids were skating down sidewalks in cutoff denim, someone had cracked a fire hydrant and the water was spraying into the gutter like a fountain meant for street rats and overheated lovers. music spilled out of bodegas and dive bars, everything glowing like the city had swallowed a sun and decided to keep it for itself

you and Axl wandered with no real direction. he pulled you into a pizza shop where the floor was sticky and the guy behind the counter didn’t blink when Axl dropped a twenty and asked for two slices “as big as my face” you sat on the curb out front, your thighs sticking to the hot pavement, your legs brushing his, mouths full of greasy mozzarella and red pepper flakes

Axl leaned back on his hands, looking around with half-lidded eyes, hair clinging to his neck in the humidity

“You know” he said after a minute, voice quiet but cutting through the noise “there were nights back home in Indiana where I used to stare out my bedroom window and swear to God I was gonna die if I didn’t get out. I didn’t know where I was going, just… not there. And now I’m here. With you.”

you glanced over at him, the neon lights catching in his eyes like fire “Does it feel like everything you wanted?”

he took a breath “No” he said honestly “It feels better. ‘Cause I didn’t know I’d have someone to share it with.”

you blinked. warmth bloomed in your chest, quiet and sweet

then he shoved the last bite of his crust into your mouth before you could say anything, smirking

“You talk too much when you get emotional”

you choked, laughing and elbowed him hard enough to make him spill his soda

by the time you made it back to the hotel, it was nearly 3 am

the streets had thinned out a little, but the city still pulsed faintly outside — car horns echoing in the distance, some drunk couple yelling two floors below, the occasional siren wailing like it was singing backup for your heart

the room in your hotel room was cold but it didn’t matter now. your skin buzzed with the warmth of the night, of walking next to him for hours, of the easy laughter and the way Axl had grabbed your hand every time you crossed the street like he didn’t quite trust the world to keep you safe

the moment the door shut behind you, something shifted

he was quiet now. soft

Axl dropped the vinyl he’d picked up onto the table with care, then turned to you slowly, eyes lowered and unreadable. he didn’t say anything — just walked up, hands gentle as he cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing the heat of your cheeks

“You’re still glowing” he murmured

“From the walk?”

he shook his head faintly “From being mine.”

your breath hitched, lips parting just slightly — and he kissed you before you could respond

it wasn’t frantic, not like it sometimes got with him. this was slow. a little heavy with something unspoken. his mouth moved with precision, lips soft and patient, hands warm as they slid down your arms and rested at your hips

you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into it — letting yourself melt, feeling the long lines of his body press against yours. his skin was sticky from the heat, his hair falling around your face like silk, his breath catching as your fingers tangled in it

“Take this off” he said quietly against your mouth, tugging at the edge of your shirt

you stepped back, pulling it over your head, leaving yourself in just your bra and then you took it off too. he looked at you like you were the first thing he’d ever seen. like the world had never been right until you came into it.

“Jesus” he whispered

he came toward you again, slower now, hands landing on your waist, trailing up over your ribs with reverence. he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, then lower, down between your breasts, pausing to suck gently at the skin just above your heart

“You always taste like summer” he muttered, voice hoarse

you let out a soft sigh as his hands cupped your ass, lifting you easily — and you wrapped your legs around his waist without even thinking. he carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down like you were something precious, his mouth never leaving your skin

he undressed slowly, peeling off his vest, then his jeans. no hurry. you watched, your chest rising and falling a little too fast, lips parted as you drank him in — the lean muscle, the messy hair, the faded tattoos and flushed skin. he looked like chaos and comfort all at once.

when he climbed over you, you reached up and touched his face — and he leaned into it

“I don’t wanna fuck tonight” he murmured “I wanna make love to you”

your throat caught. he kissed you again before you could reply

he slid down between your legs, trailing kisses across your stomach, your thighs, everywhere but where you needed him. when his mouth finally met your heat, it was slow and focused, his tongue moving in lazy, wet circles, his hands gripping your hips like he didn’t want you going anywhere

he hummed against you when you moaned — like he liked the sound more than music.

“Axl—” you gasped, hips rocking into him

he groaned like it hurt to stop but he pulled away after a moment, climbing back up to kiss you with your own taste still on his lips

“Wanna feel you” he whispered

he pushed into you slowly with care, eyes locked on yours the whole time. you both let out quiet sounds — his rougher, like a breath punched out of him. yours softer, catching in your throat

and then he just held you there. inside. breathing. kissing your cheek, your neck, your mouth. one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed between your shoulder blades

“I love you” he said like it slipped out

you blinked, stunned — not because you didn’t feel the same, but because it felt too big for a moment this quiet

“I love you too” you whispered

he started to move then — slow and deep, like he was trying to memorize you from the inside. every thrust felt like a heartbeat, every kiss between gasps like a promise. you locked your legs tighter around him, pulling him in, nails digging into his shoulders just enough to ground yourself

“You’re everything” he whispered, right at the edge “You—fuck, baby—you're everything.”

you came with your forehead pressed to his, your body trembling, his name falling from your lips in a breathless string. he followed with a groan, spilling into you and holding you so tightly you felt the bones in your spine crack a little — but you didn’t mind. you didn’t want space

just this. just him.

afterward you laid tangled together in the mess of damp sheets, your head on his chest, his fingers stroking your back in lazy, absent circles. the windows were open. the city still murmured

“You think anyone else in New York had a better night than us?” you whispered

Axl chuckled sleepily and kissed the top of your head

“Not a fuckin’ chance.”

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

Hello, excuse me, look, I don't know if you've already done one of these, but if you haven't, could you do one where the reader is an artist, where she has a very simple art style, but her art teacher He ends up insulting her by saying that her drawings are ugly and that she doesn't know how to draw, then he ends up tearing up one of her drawings. After returning home could do what the men of Lookism Could you do something to cheer her up since she's very sad? Gun and the Goo And James Lee e Jaegyeon But if you can't, that's okay.(⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

Omg this made me cry because I have dealt with such asshole art teachers 🤢

GUN PARK

When you told Gun what happened, he listened patiently, never interrupting once. He even rubbed your back a few times as you paused mid-sentence, drowning in the embarrassment of it all especially since it had happened in front of your entire class.

When you finally finished, he handed you a glass of water and said bluntly, “The truth is, the world only cares about results.”

Your face immediately fell. Of course comfort wasn’t his thing.

“But,” he continued, “not everyone has an eye for talent. If you believe in your heart it was good enough, then it was good enough. These teachers... they’re just oldtimers who want students to be obedient pawns. They don’t want anyone stepping out of line. Don’t dwell on it too much.”

And that day, he tried cooking for a change. Your favorite dish, no less. The same one he always scoffed at for being “unhealthy.” But for once, he said, “Sometimes it’s okay.”

“You think the education system is a sham?” you asked.

“Of course.”

“That’s why you flunked your GED as an act of rebellion.”

You burst out laughing at his reaction—because a baffled Gun was rare. So you laughed even harder. He didn’t mind though. Your mood had lifted, and that was enough for him.

Quietly, he slipped a few vegetables onto your plate when you weren’t looking.

GOO KIM

“Sweetheart, I told you not to listen to them. And I told you I have every right to kill them, didn’t I?”

Goo, in all his clownery and chaos, was a man of few words when something was seriously wrong. When he came home and found you looking melancholic, he knew instantly. You tried dodging his questions, but when he cupped your face with quiet concern and softly asked what was wrong, you broke down.

Because dammit, art is art. Whether simple or advanced, who decides what's worthy? That teacher had no right to humiliate you, and honestly, you wanted to punch him but also didn’t want to get expelled.

“You know me,” Goo murmured, holding you close, running his hand gently along your back. “We could hide the body. No one would even find out. Don’t trust your man this much.”

“No, don’t go for the kill.”

He paused, but his grip on you never loosened.

“Maybe we should slowly torture him instead.”

“Yes, that’s more like it, honeybun,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead already planning. Maybe he should get Kouji on board too.

JAMES LEE/DIEGO KANG

You were picking at your food, barely eating even half of what you usually do. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Do you not feel like eating?��� he asked, watching you carefully.

“No, it’s more like I don’t have the appetite… Oh, come to think of it, I think I’m done for now,” you replied, forcing a smile. But of course, it didn’t fool him.

“What happened?” he asked, more firmly this time.

You shrugged. “It’s just college stuff. Something trivial.”

He cut you off mid-sentence. “If it’s bothering you enough to kill your appetite, then it’s not trivial.”

That frustrated you. Even if you explained it, what would be the point? He was always brilliant at drawing, even in high school. Still, you told him anyway.

“James, I know you’ll probably agree with the teacher. I get it. Anyway… that’s what happened.” You tried to sound calm, even though it still stung. Those people who preach ‘simplicity is sophistication’ ripped your work apart like you had committed some kind of crime.

You got up to leave, but he suddenly pulled you into him. You struggled against his hold.

“I don’t want pity. Let me go,” you muttered.

“Who says I’m pitying you?” he replied calmly. “It’s true...whatever I say might not fix anything. But what your teacher did was wrong. Don’t let those small fries make you question yourself.”

You went still. You didn’t return the hug, but you didn’t move away either. His arms stayed around you as the tears finally fell. He held you close and gently massaged your scalp, saying nothing more, just staying there, as long as you needed.

JAEGYEON NA

Jaegyeon looked like he was ready to storm into your college and personally confront your art teacher.

“What the hell? How dare they tear apart your work like that?” he fumed.

You tried to calm him down. “Jaegyeon, in this city, finding an art teacher is hard enough. Maybe… maybe just let it go.”

But he shook his head, still livid. “I don’t care. Nobody gets to mess with you like that.”

Then his expression shifted. He noticed how sad you were really, deeply sad. And in that moment, he reminded himself that your peace came before any revenge. You were the priority. Always.

He saw you trying to hide a small laugh at how seriously he looked like a knight ready for battle. He sat down beside you and placed a hand on your shoulder, his gaze sincere and steady.

“Listen… whatever anyone says, what you do takes real effort. Even if it looks simple, it’s not. Screw that teacher. Anyone who can’t respect a student’s hard work is nothing but a tyrant. What he did? That was practically criminal.”

You just listened as he continued ranting about artistic justice, the crimes of your teacher, and how amazing you are. Mid sentence, you reached over and pinched his cheek.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling softly. “You really are my hero.”

He blinked, then turned bright red.

But the next second, he pulled you into a tight bear hug. “You’re the best,” he whispered. “Don’t forget it.”

[r-u-mine-do-i-wanna-know]

6. *Whiney top*

Wolfstar with Dom Bottom Sirius, and Sub Top Remus, with desperate Remus, and Sirius taking his time on his ride. They are my religion. Do them justice, and make the horniest smut 🙏

Sirius could feel Remus' hands digging harshly into his hips, trying to urge him faster. But Sirius just clicked his tongue and grabbed Remus' wrists and pushed them back. With a frustrated groan that quickly turned into a whine, Remus obliged.

Sirius was determined to go slow. He'd only just finished sitting on Remus' cock, and enjoyed the burning sensation for a few moments. Then, he started to move.

Remus gasped, arching, pressing his further up. Sirius corrected him, pushing his hips back down. Again, Remus obliged. Sirius could feel him getting more and more frustrated beneath him.

Leaning down, he kissed Remus hard, slipping his tongue between Remus' lips, teasing. "Please Sirius" were the whiny words that met him when he finally pulled away.

"Hm?" He hummed, gazing down at Remus who mustered a glare as best he could.

"Please just hurry up and ride me." Remus grumbled, his hands resting on Sirius' hips. "Or I'll speed it up myself."

A shiver ran up Sirius, but he just leaned down again, breath hitching at the new angle. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Moony." He drawled, sliding his hands up Remus' chest. "But," He sighed dramatically. "I suppose I can....oblige. Just this once."

He slowly started moving his hips, making Remus moan lowly. Sirius bit down on his lip as he kept moving. He would never really get over the way Remus stretched him so perfectly. He stayed deliberately slow, making Remus squirm beneath him, desperate.

How Sirius loved when Remus got desperate.

He smirked, though it faltered into a moan as Remus pushed his hips up. He pushed them back down, taking control again. Remus squirmed in frustration again. "Sirius," He moaned. "Just need to feel you."

"Can't feel me enough already?" Sirius teased, rocking his hips even slower now.

"No," Remus whined, drawing out the 'o' more. "Just---faster....please Sirius." He arched, pushing his hips up once again. Sirius just pushed them back down, once again.

He knew Remus could easily overpower him if he really wanted to, but Sirius knew that he wouldn't. He enjoyed being like this, despite himself.

After another few minutes of slow torture, Sirius decided to give Remus what he really wanted. He sped up, just enough for Remus to tilt his head back to the pillows, his hands gripping Sirius' hips almost hard enough to bruise. He drew in a ragged breath that quickly turned into a moan.

Sirius gasped softly when Remus hit the spot that made him see stars, letting out a moan of his own. He kept that pace, which was enough for Remus to finish a few minutes later. Sirius followed quickly behind, slowly getting off of Remus.

"Fucking tease." Remus grumbled wrapping his arms around Sirius waist and peppering kisses to the back of his neck.

"Aw," Sirius cooed. "I can't take my time?"

"Mmph."