#and that might start to make you uncomfortable

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: forced to attend a charity gala for val, you and bucky navigate a new life in the spotlight. the only caveat is, he’s pining for you — and he’s pining hard.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: (post-tb*) bucky barnes x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.0K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: light nsfw, very mild smut, friends to lovers, yearning bucky, confession of feelings, bucky is silly & charming, lots of fluff, heavy making out, neck kissing, sexual tension, body worship, light dry humping, groping & lots of touching, really sweet ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this might be one of my favorite fics I’ve written lately ngl :’) I just adore a softer side to Bucky where he’s happy. If enough people like this fic, I have a part 2 planned! ❤️ I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Frivolous events have never been your forte.

Thousands of crystals dangle from a gaudy chandelier, hanging high from a scaling ceiling in the middle of the ballroom. Light dances in luminescent refraction, spilling onto the pale marble below.

It’s mesmerizing, a worthwhile distraction that effectively silences the hum of conversation buzzing around you. Excitement blankets the air, teeming with business disguised as laughter.

In the space for reflection, you find yourself more discomforted by your dress than the atmosphere. Philanthropists, chairmen, politicians — it all felt exceedingly ‘larger-than-life’ for you.

The New Avengers Foundation Gala was the solution to a cut in funding Valentina had experienced in the wake of O.X.E Group’s dismantlement.

In the upper wings of the hall, were showrooms dedicated to the new mightiest heroes of a futuristic generation. It was all too polished, too modernized, too corporate — it was somewhat soulless, each of you washed down to a mere moniker.

Attendees, patrons, and donors alike were thoroughly engrossed with Valentina’s peacocking display — and the press loved it, too.

Banners hung from the rafters, bearing a glamour shot of each member of the team, all wearing new gear that held an exaggerated flair. It was strange, seeing your face plastered there — haunting, really.

Unfortunately for the team, you were all along for the ride; a tumultuous, unpredictable ride that left you feeling mildly uncomfortable.

It was as if you were living in a skin that didn’t belong to you, catering to people who saw you as an accessory, a curiosity.

Indigo silk barely touched the floor beneath you, off-the-shoulder sleeves accentuating your neckline as if you had something to show. The wardrobe wasn’t something you’d selected; Val chose it.

Constricted within your fabric coffin, you continued to marvel at the general splendor of the pavilion, cradling a half-drank glass of champagne.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky Barnes’s eyes had followed you across the room for the past hour, his gaze disarmingly soft. It was to check in on you, he’d told himself, but it extended beyond that.

To any outsider, he resembled a man yearning for someone who didn’t have a clue, wistful and contemplative. Friends don’t look at one another in the way Bucky looks at you.

Discomfort rippled from you in waves, slithering like some fever over your skin, tugging at the corners of your thoughts.

Whenever you took a step, you felt as if you might collapse from the pressure, or simply from the balancing act on stilettos.

From afar, Bucky was deliberating going to you, noticing the way Valentina had swarmed in with calculated, measured steps. She was dangerous, even still; and he didn’t trust her with you.

“God, you do clean up nicely,” Valentina’s biting tone sank into you like teeth, spiking your nervous system. “You know, I started to think you might’ve been a little hopeless.” She chimes, champagne in-hand.

Swiveling, you’re faced with your boss, the corner of her mouth pulled into a half-smirk. After everything, you’re still wary of her, never fully bringing your guard down in the process.

“Thanks,” With a low mumble, you can’t quite decipher if she’s paying you a compliment or mocking you — maybe it’s somewhere in between. “I’m not used to this.” You confessed, fingers tense around your glass.

“You’ll have to work on your posture,” She chided, clicking her tongue with faux disapproval. “Looks bad in the pictures.”

It was all optics with her — a team of government rejects rebranded as the new face of heroism, rebuilding the legacy left behind by shoes too big to fill. Admittedly, she made you nervous; too sharp, too clever, a well-dressed viper.

Withholding the urge to retort with a quip of your own, you forced a smile, noticing photographers swimming in your peripheral like sharks.

“Turn around and give them a smile, yeah?” Valentina uttered, low enough for only you to hear. A hand fell flat against the back of your arm, turning you just in time to be bombarded by flashes of light and camera clicks.

With pearlescent teeth and a wolfish smile, she stood firmly beside you, guiding you through it. Your own smile was threadbare and pensive, as if it pained you to play along.

It all seemed scripted, rehearsed, fake. Everything lacked authenticity, and it grated on you through the photographs.

Bucky was already in-motion, weaving through the gathering crowd, departing a conversation with an investor mid-sentence. He wouldn’t call it a rescue mission, but he knew you, knew how anxious it made you.

His brief stint in Washington as a congressman afforded him time in the spotlight, pressed beneath mountains of questions and constant prying.

Quietly, he slipped in from the fringes, coming to stand beside you. Valentina noticed, but made no motion to dismiss him, allowing the press to make a frenzy of it all.

Vibranium graced the small of your back, a kiss of ice through the silk that clung to you, the gesture comforting. Realizing that Bucky had joined you, you began to relax, anchoring yourself to his presence.

When the cameras receded, the weight within your chest had lifted, replaced by relief as you turned to Bucky. “Thank you,” You murmured, appreciative. “Don’t go anywhere.” It was a soft plea, one that he heeded.

“Mr. Barnes,” Valentina spoke as if he’d irked her in some regard, polished nails tapping against her champagne glass. “Suit’s a little outdated, but we can work with that.” She remarked condescendingly.

Bucky huffed, hovering near your right side, one hand shoved into his pocket. “Yeah, well,” He shrugged, nonchalant. “I’m a little old-fashioned.” His own wry joke prompted him to smile.

With a snarky hum, Valentina dismissed his jest, peering over her shoulder as an older man approached, a New Avengers pin on his lapel. “Ah, Senator Locke. It’s a pleasure to have you at our little event.”

Involuntarily, you stayed close to Bucky, glued to his hip whenever the crowds grew thick. Even with his newfound status as an Avenger, many people still saw the Winter Soldier, a Soviet machine, capable of such destruction.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Ms. Fontaine. You’ve done excellent work, keeping Americans safe with the team you’ve assembled.” He chimed, gaze flickering toward you and Bucky; you, in particular.

“The safety and security of our citizens is our highest priority. The Avengers work with that at the forefront of their mission,” Smooth, calculated and completely fake. “Your contribution is appreciated.”

Bucky bristled, holding back a scoff as he attempted to maintain some level of cordiality. A majority of the people in-attendance held Valentina in some high regard.

Every syllable that dripped from Valentina was steeped by a facade of altruism — she was purely in this for personal gain.

Senator Locke glanced at you, perhaps for too long, prompting you to shift your weight. The stilettos dug into your heels, feet aching as you cleared your throat.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss. You’re certainly much prettier in-person than on a television screen.” Locke nodded, hand outstretched for a shake. Knowing that you’re left without options, you keep the gesture brief.

Through a clenched jaw and furrowed brows, Bucky bites his tongue, keeping himself in-check when the Senator brazenly remarks about your appearance. He was the essence of ire, stewing quietly beside you, digits clenched into his pocket.

“Oh,” It was all you could muster before Valentina shot you a pointed glare through gritted teeth. “Thank you, Senator. I suppose I wanted the world to see a new side of me.” God, it sounded so ridiculous.

“I would like to speak to you further about your involvement with the Avengers. Have you been to Washington?” He continued, and Valentina seemed poised to interject, capitalizing on the opportunity — in her own way.

“Senator, my team is incredibly busy with global threats and outreach efforts,” With another pensive, venomous smile, she tapped her now-empty glass. “Though, I’m certain she’d entertain a dance.”

The more he spoke, the more livid Bucky became, silently seething as he prepared for a scare tactic. He turned around, and one swipe of his phone had told him where Senator Locke’s address was.

As the proposition of a dance was placed into the open, you gawked, jaw unhinged as you closed your mouth. Unfortunately, you couldn’t object — you were playing the part, catering to strangers for funding.

Waved over by another gaggle of shareholders, Valentina hummed, heels clicking over polished marble. “Senator, if you’ll excuse me.”

As she departed, you were left with Locke and Bucky. However, Bucky had a scheme of his own, throwing on a charming smile, maliciously deceptive as he cleared his throat.

“So, about Washington …” Locke began, but not before Bucky could interject.

He leaned down, low and calculating, murmuring something indecipherable into the Senator’s ear. You couldn’t quite discern what was being exchanged between the two, but Locke’s face had turned as white as a sheet.

“I deeply apologize for the offense, M—Mr. Barnes, I …” As pale as a ghost, the man hastily nodded several times over, swallowing the lump within his throat before stepping away. “Pardon me.”

Bewildered, you watched in stunned silence as the Senator quickly retreated, weaving back through the sea of patrons to find Valentina.

It left you shocked, brows creased in confusion, craning to glance at Bucky with a hint of amusement. “What was that all about? You looked like you scared him into an early grave.” You mused, head cocked to one side.

A hint of smugness crept onto his features, turning to look at you, visibly playful. “Told him that I knew his address and how to track him.” Bucky chimed, gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.

“Bucky, you didn’t!” With a conspiratorial gasp, you were swift to follow, abandoning your lukewarm glass of champagne on the table behind you. “How did you know where he lived, anyway?”

“Google.” Holding up his phone from the confines of his pocket, his tone held a charming lilt, more upbeat now that Locke and Valentina were gone.

Smooth jazz reverberated from the ballroom, a live band dresses in finely-tailored suits situated in one corner. There were plenty of people dancing already, a good place to assimilate and disappear from prying senators.

With a bubbly laugh, you slipped inside with him, heartbeat beginning to settle, anxiousness receding altogether. Having him by your side seemed to ease whatever discomfort you’d experienced before.

“Thank you for that,” A sigh of relief escaped you, hands twisting together, fingers locked before your navel. “I don’t like being here, and I don’t …” Trailing off, you felt Bucky’s gaze shift to you.

A tender stare settled over your countenance, openly admiring your beauty; it was involuntary, revolving around you as if you were the sun itself. “It’s alright.” He murmured, able to understand your frustration.

Pushing a tremulous exhale through your nose, you mustered up a smile, palm running over the underside of your forearm. “Sometimes I miss the way things were before we became Avengers.”

Valentina would’ve labeled you ungrateful, shaming you for being apprehensive at the opportunity presented to you. Maybe you should’ve been happy about it all, but the public light wasn’t for you.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, lips pulling into a half-smile, placating. “Me too.” Despite his short-lived career as a congressman, the current limelight made him miss it; just a little bit.

The friendship you formed with Bucky was meaningful to you, but some sliver wanted more, craved something else. It whispered between stolen glances, hands brushing but never firm, eyes following one another around a room.

Between rooms of shareholders, media, and senators, he was the prettiest thing here — the only thing interesting enough to keep you grounded.

Broad shoulders were accentuated by the fit of his blazer, white dress shirt complete with a bowtie; so handsome that it made you pause. Bucky was always attractive, but more so now, inches apart and smiling.

“Before he comes back, interested in a dance?” Bucky propositions, his question seemingly innocuous. He narrowly avoided dancing at a previous Congress gala, but this seemed as good a time as any.

Smitten, you attempt to swallow the twinge of nervousness that pools within your belly, still rubbing at your arm. “I might step on you, if that’s okay with you. These heels are killing me.”

Bucky chuckles, unperturbed by the idea of being stepped on mid-sway. “I think I can handle it.” He offers a hand, metallic palm shimmering beneath the crystalline glow, visibly reassuring.

Steeling yourself, flesh slips into icy metal, soothing the heat that’s made residence in your skin. Slowly, the both of you step out onto the ballroom floor, over sparkling tile, intermingling amongst the crowds.

Some time ago, he was somewhat adverse to touch — felt undeserving, felt as if he’d ruin something good. When your hand slipped into his, he found himself craving it, but only if it came from you.

There were plenty of fleeting moments; moments that still whispered from the recesses of his mind, bright spots slipping through the dark. You grounded him; you were a sanctuary.

A slow jazz ballad blankets the room, chandelier glistening overhead, idle chatter humming in the spaces between. Gently, Bucky’s hand finds your waist, digits slipping over satiny, azure fabric, the texture soft.

It was muscle memory for him, lamenting over memories from nearly a century ago; for you, it was somewhat awkward. Joined hands drift to your sides in a classic waltz, something slow and idle.

Baccarat Rouge 540 — it’s Bucky’s cologne, an amalgamation of woodsy scents, imbued with strains of amber and a spice of something floral. It’s rich, a smell that you commit to memory, being this close together.

As you slowly turn about the floor, you decide to shatter the silence, gaze fluttering toward the stubbled slope of his jaw. “You’re really good at this,” You muse, hushed. “Very smooth.”

A bemused huff escaped him, accompanied by a glint of pearlescent teeth. “It’s been a long time,” He confessed, keeping you close. “You haven’t stepped on me yet.” Bucky remarks teasingly.

“We just started, there’s still plenty of time,” Playful, you return his quip with one of your own, minding his feet as you shift to the right. “Hopefully Valentina isn’t upset about the Senator thing.”

“She’ll live,” Bucky murmured, still sore about the entire ordeal. She was vicious, calculating; there was always an ulterior motive with her, wreathed in shadows. “I don’t trust her with you.”

While you were flattered by his concern, you felt that you could handle yourself, despite the uncertainty. “I’ll be alright, Buck. I think she took advantage of my discomfort, that’s all.”

“That’s my point. She’s dangerous.” Through pinched brows, his gaze fell to you, wrought with something incendiary. He was protective over you for a multitude of reasons. “I want to keep you safe.”

His cadence softened to a gentle lull, one that filled your stomach with butterflies. The way he stared at you — it didn’t seem strictly platonic, but maybe you were reading into it too much.

“Thanks.” Little more than a mere whisper, you danced with him still, swaying to the melodramatic hum of the music. The both of you seemed to settle, enjoying the presence of one another; he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

The heel of your stiletto happened to wobble, but he was swift in steadying you, hand tight around your waist. “Easy,” Bucky murmured, a brief chuckle bubbling from his throat. “I’ve got you, doll.”

It was an innocuous nickname, sweet; Bucky had called you it only on a handful of occasions, and all of them were typically playful.

The way he said it this time almost held a weight to it, as if there were underlying implications.

“Still haven’t stepped on you,” Teasingly, you muster up a smile, one that makes Bucky’s heart stop. It’s accompanied by a flutter of lashes, a soft laugh, a gaze tender enough to melt through him. “Yet.”

Bucky huffed, giving you a look as he drew you closer, involuntarily. The distance between bodies had grown thin, breath hitching within your throat when you realized it.

Shy, your hand came to perch against his chest, digits brushing over his bowtie, throat stirring with a low hum. Silence settled in between, a tenuous pause full of unspoken feelings, thoughts left unsaid.

Through parted lips, Bucky decided to break the ice, dark lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes. Jazz continued to fill the ballroom with the croon of trumpets and gentle piano, the both of you waltzing in tentative steps.

“You look really beautiful.” Bucky murmured, swallowing the growing lump within his throat. It wasn’t often that he paid compliments like these, but his charm was still perfectly intact, albeit rusty.

He’d been on a handful of dates after the coding in his brain had been broken; none of them were fulfilling. There was a lack of true understanding, a baseless connection.

Until he met you, and he found himself fearful — you were something to lose. You left him feeling seen in ways he didn’t think possible, comfortable to be himself, just Bucky Barnes, the rawest iteration of his heart.

Flustered, you smiled at him, attempting to keep your heartbeat from teetering off of the edge. “Thank you, Buck,” Smiling still, you mustered the courage to look at him fully. “You … You look really handsome, too.”

Bucky chuckled as if you’d said something humorous, vibranium palm cold over yours, thumb lightly tracing your knuckles. “It’s the bowtie, isn’t it?” He mused, wisps of dark hair framing his countenance.

“Mm-hm,” Dimples formed at either corner of your mouth, gaze softening as he gently spun you around. “It ties everything together.” Your tongue-and-cheek joke almost made you cringe, nose wrinkling.

“Funny. Did you mean to make that joke?” He teases, and you feel heat warm your features, smitten as you look elsewhere. God, you were perfect — beautiful beyond comprehension.

“Accidental,” With a soft huff, you clear your throat, deciding to press the matter further and be serious. “Really, Bucky. You look wonderful.” The tender cadence of your tone had magnetized him.

“I don’t hold a candle to you,” Bucky utters, voice thick with a pleasant husk, one that itches at the back of your mind. “Nobody in here does.” It’s that soft admittance that makes you shiver from delight.

His eyes never leave you, and suddenly, everything feels too real, too close; the flush of his lips entice you, and you’re left wanting.

Stunned speechless, you quiet, stewing within the tension that brews between the both of you. It’s been simmering for months — part of you wondered when to let it snap, but you’re afraid of the consequences.

Bucky deliberates on what to do next, what to say; your mouth is dangerously close, lips parted, gaze innocuously doe-eyed. He’s imagined it often, what it might’ve been like to kiss you — and it’s always the sweetest fantasy.

“Bucky,” Words hang heavy within your throat, confession sizzling away like floating ash. There’s so much left unsaid — he knows it, and so do you. “Do you really mean that?” Serious, you let your voice hush.

The both of you have danced around the burning flame smoldering between you for a long while, now. It was beginning to reach out, take you both, and Bucky found himself preparing to take that plunge with enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” He says it softly, as if it’s reserved only for you, and he feels nervous. You make him want more, more than he ever thought possible. “I mean it, doll.” Bucky utters, and he’s a second away from bridging the gap.

In a room full of people, you’re comfortable enough to simply exist, fading into the background, and he fades with you.

It’s as if time slows, suspended in the moment — you want to live in it, blinking in sluggish flickers of your eyelashes. The erratic hum of your heartbeat sings a melody beneath your chest, hand absently clenching around his metal one.

He’s thinking of kissing you — any unsteadiness shifts into certainty, and the longer he stares at you, the more his resolve crumbles. Bucky tilts closer, enough for you to feel his breath feather over your mouth.

“Kiss me, Bucky.”

That’s all it takes — it’s his name on your tongue, spoken with such tenderness that he fears he’ll fall apart in front of you, unraveling.

A hitch forms within the bottom of his throat, and he’s moving inward, lips a mere breadth apart. His mouth is almost on yours, disarmingly gentle, and then it’s all ripped away.

“Bucky!”

Congressman Gary’s voice pierces through the tension, deflating it entirely, and the tension slithers away into a state of dormancy. The music begins to come to a close, a sense of finality present as you recoil, features burning with heat.

When he realizes how close you were, he’s left frustrated, noticing that you’ve already receded. Soured, his gaze floats past your shoulder and toward Gary, who seems eager to speak with him.

The smile you give him is cordial, a kindly facade that does little to mask your true feelings. He can see it, lingering beneath your eyes — you’re disappointed, but you smother it anyway.

“Sorry about that.” Bucky mumbles a grousing apology, but you’re quick to dismiss it. He tries to turn on the practiced politician’s charm — but it falters when he thinks about kissing you.

“It’s okay,” Reassuring, you squeeze his metal hand and step away, allowing him space to speak with Gary. “I’m going to find Yelena.” You nod, and he’s reluctant to let you go, but he does anyway.

With a soft nod, Bucky watches you go, slipping away through the crowd in your indigo gown. He’s cursing himself, left sorely shattered in the wake of it all, his head swimming, thoughts scrambled entirely.

He doesn’t register whatever jargon Gary throws his way — something about shareholders, but Bucky is too preoccupied with watching you leave to care.

Your feet are killing you — a raw blister has rubbed into your heel, splitting skin, pangs of a dull ache shooting into your legs. As soon as you cross the threshold into the Watchtower, you’re discarding the stilettos, bare feet crossing over cold tile.

For the duration of the gala, you avoided Valentina, speaking cordially with those who approached, but it was exceedingly difficult.

Bucky hadn’t left your mind — he’d invaded it, a feverish haze that you didn’t want to escape from. The dance left you wrought with exhilaration, wondering if whatever you felt wasn’t misinterpreted like you thought.

The team disperses not long after arrival, a mutual exhaustion from an evening of prying eyes, camera flashes, and being brandished like a polished accessory.

In the inky gloom that pools through tinted window panes, moonlight catches over dark flooring, the night unobstructed by clouds. A pair of stilettos dangles from your hand, footsteps light as you stop to lean against the island.

Relief washes through you as you rock the balls of your feet against the tile, happy to be rid of your high-heels. It’s quiet — too quiet, save for the sound of footsteps behind you.

“Kicked the heels off quick.” Bucky’s timbre cuts through the hush, warm and amiable as he makes a round to the refrigerator.

His bowtie is loosened, first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, blazer draped in a pleated heap over one shoulder. The sight is devastatingly handsome, causing your breath to hitch within your throat.

“My feet are already thanking me,” You remark, leaning against the dark, polished granite. Bucky takes a swig of water, vibranium hand closed around a cool glass. “How was your talk with Gary?”

He was still feeling the stinging disappointment of not being able to kiss you at the gala. Bucky was attempting to discern how to broach the topic with you, or at the very least, come clean about how he felt.

It was easier said than done, wanting someone that he thought he was entirely undeserving of. The way you stared at him, leaned in, said his name — it was all he could think about, consuming every waking thought.

“Nothing important,” Bucky shrugs, ogling you from over the rim of his glass. “Could’ve sent a text.” He muses, body jostling with a soft scoff.

“Oh.” You hum, your tone sounding somewhat awkward. Whatever happened at the gala was something you were desperate to talk about, addressing unspoken feelings.

That’s all you can muster, a meager ‘oh’ as you fumble about. Swallowing the lump within your throat, a gap of silence settles between, thick with a cloud of tension.

Bucky deliberates, still clutching onto his glass as if it’s anchoring him to reality. It begins to splinter beneath the pressure of vibranium.

“Well, I … I think I’m going to go change and lay down. I’m eager to get out of this dress,” Sheepishly, you shuffle around the island and slowly begin to make your way towards the corridor. “Goodnight, Buck.”

As you awkwardly make for the mouth of the hallway, Bucky calmly places his glass into the sink, bristling with a newfound determination. He makes the choice to go after you, finish what began at the gala.

With measured strides, he’s following after you. He watched you leave once already tonight without kissing you — he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

“Wait.” He stops you, a gentle palm on your waist, cadence laced with a thinly-veiled want. “You’re gonna run off on me like that, doll?”

Listening to the pace behind you climb in intensity, you whirl around, nearly colliding into Bucky as he plants a chaste kiss against your mouth.

It’s disarming, but fleeting, brief — he’s wading into your waters. “Bucky, what …” You whisper, doe-eyed and awestruck.

Exhilarated and breathless, you’re stunned when his stubbled mouth fans over yours, and the contact is too hurried, too hasty. Yet, he burns your lips with the kiss, and you’re left wanting more.

“I should’ve done that sooner.” He confesses, tone dropping to a warm timbre that makes your stomach erupt with butterflies. Your breath hitches, gaze wide-eyed and wanton.

“You should’ve.” Breathless, you concur, lashes fluttering as they kiss the skin beneath your eyes. Fingers tense around the backs of your stilettos, and you’re waiting.

Bucky’s jaw clenches, blue eyes burning as he peers down at you — azure dress, dazzling eyes, taking his breath away.

He exhales; the sound is sharp, poignant, excited — his gaze traces over your countenance, across delicate features and the curve of your mouth.

His body is close, chests nearly brushing, hand still hovering around your waist. “May I?” Bucky’s tone softens, a humming purr that makes your knees wobble.

“Please, Buck.” Lips parted, and you’re careening up on your toes to meet him halfway. He dips down, mouth clamoring for yours, lips brushing in a heated swarm.

Stifling a gasp, your hand drops your stilettos as if they’re a meaningless thing, listening to them clatter against the tile. They both gather against his chest, muscle firm beneath your palms.

Passion bleeds through his lips, certain and steady, vibranium hand shifting to cup your jaw. You shiver from the contact, icy metal sweeping over burning skin, other hand holding your hips.

It’s fireworks — months of pining, of dancing around smothered feelings, only to explode to the surface. Satisfaction ripples through you, a warm elation that curls around your bones.

Wisps of brunette tickle your cheeks, his hair soft as it brushes over your face. The pleasant scratch of his beard grounds you, a reminder that all of this is real, visceral — not a fantasy.

There’s a lull in the kiss as you draw away, chest constricting with soft, excitable sighs. “I’ve been waiting on you, Bucky Barnes.” You whisper, unable to keep yourself from beaming, teeth and all.

“Wish I got the hint,” Bucky grumbles, his metal thumb circling over the soft flesh beneath your jaw, pressing a kiss to your crown. “You’re beautiful.” He murmurs, appreciative as he cups your face.

“I wasn’t very good at dropping hints,” The softness of your confession pulls a chuckle from him, arm still caging you against his body. “I just — You’re incredible, Bucky.” Your words come as a surprise, but aren’t unwanted.

A rosy pallor clings to his features, slipping beneath his beard as he plants another kiss to your forehead, gaze warm as it follows the curve of your mouth. “I don’t know about that, sweetheart.” He admires your sentiment, nonetheless.

“I know,” Insistent, you gently tap his chest, fingertips hovering above his collarbone. “I know that I adore you just the way you are.” Affection curled within your tone, sweet and tender.

Bucky paused, a slow smile spreading over his features, lashes fluttering a time or two. There was something raw about the way he stared at you, as if you were the thing he lived for, breathed for.

A comfortable bout of silence slipped between, his hand still stroking over your jaw, fingertips circling your cheekbone. “I think you’re perfect.” He stated, as if it were fact.

A hitch formed within your throat, taken aback by the sincerity of his words. His stare never wavered, exceedingly soft as you coaxed him in for another kiss; and he didn’t protest.

It was soft, wrought with ardor, something that stole every wisp of air from your lungs. Bucky only craved your touch — you were what he wanted, everything he wanted.

Physical intimacy wasn’t something he’d experienced for years; between HYDRA, the ice, scrambled memories, on the run … It never allowed him time to let it sink in, that he could be desirable.

The way your hands caressed over his chest pulled a low grunt from his mouth, lost within entangled lips as he reciprocated.

“Do you …” Murmuring against his mouth, Bucky stilled, lashes fluttering in rapid succession. “Do you want to come to my room?” You asked, insides stirring with butterflies.

A brief pause settled between the two of you, the idea being turned over within his mind. The implications were there — what you wanted, what he wanted.

“I’ll follow you, doll.” Bucky murmured, cadence low and warm as it curled around you, eliciting a brief shiver. His vibranium hand smoothed over the small of your back, and he stooped to retrieve your shoes, too.

Hushed, the both of you strolled for your room, at the very end of the main level. It was a corridor you shared with Bob and Ava, typically quiet with minimal disturbances.

The rhythm of your heart had kicked into a gallop, slamming beneath your breast as you traipsed barefoot over cold tile, Bucky sticking close to your side.

He was smiling, and so were you; anticipation hung heavy, a subtle expectancy that you were eager to entertain. As you came up to your door, you pressed the button, letting it open with a soft hiss.

The room you’d concocted for yourself was home — warm and comely, surrounded by all facets of your personality, vibrant with color. It was very lived-in, bed partially made, items scattered over your vanity.

Bucky had been inside a handful of times, drinking in the details when he slipped inside behind you. He placed your stilettos down, pacing forward with a tender gaze.

“Always thought you had a knack for decorating,” He teased, cadence disarmingly gentle, little more than a soft husk. “Smells good in here, too.” It’s all you — floral scents, sweeter aromas that he’s associated with you.

“It’s a mess of colors,” You muse, nose wrinkling as he moves to sit down on the edge of your bed, forearms resting against his knees. “It’s the honeycomb lavender scent, if you’re interested.”

Bucky chuckles, flashing a glimpse of pearlescent teeth, canting his head to one side. “Yeah?” He muses, gaze boring into you like fire, melting right through you with ease.

“Mm-hm, I can get you a bottle.” Playful, you step closer, lingering within arm’s reach. Being around him like this still feels surreal, as if reality hasn’t fully settled in.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, coaxing you closer until you’re standing in-between his legs. “Might take you up on that.” He utters, palms settling over your hips, thumbs tracing circles over your dress.

Soft fingertips shift to caress over his hairline, carding into brunette tresses. It pulls a low, content sigh from his lips, mouth still upturned into a light smile, gaze tracing across your figure.

He holds you tightly when you dip down to kiss him, lips flush, colliding in a passionate kiss. Hands trace reverently along your sides, and you shiver beneath the gentle contact.

Metal fingertips find the zipper at the middle of your spine, hesitant; he looks to you for consent, and you’re quick to nod.

“Let me.” In a hushed tone, you gently tug at your dress, unraveling azure fabric from your body. Bucky unzips you with care, dragging it down until it kisses the small of your back.

The dress piles in a heap at your feet, leaving you in your undergarments, eliciting a sigh from his mouth. He appraises you with rapture, metal palm akin to a touch of ice to your hip.

“You’re gorgeous.” Bucky huffs, mesmerized and awestruck as he coaxes you into his lap. Your knees come to squeeze at either side of his hips, sweet breath feathering over his face.

“Thanks,” Flustered, you accept his compliment without protest, hands loosely gathering over the bowtie that he’s partially undone. “So are you.”

He cracks a smile, a brief chuckle splitting through his chest as he plants a kiss to your jaw. “Hm,” He hums, low and content, hands caressing over your hips. “You mind if I …”

“You don’t have to ask, Buck.” Through fluttering lashes and another dizzying, pretty smile, he leans forward to kiss you, mouths connecting in a flurry of passion. He’s tender, but not excessively so.

Mouths mold together, his stubble scraping over your maw, a reminder that this is all real. Your breath hitches, excitement pooling within your belly.

His kiss makes your legs quiver, fingers gingerly shifting towards the buttons still holding his dress shirt together.

Digits tense over his sternum, each action marked by a gentle affection that Bucky craves. His hands leave your hips, moving to tug his bowtie off, encouraging you to remove his shirt.

It’s sluggish, meant to savor — he’s still kissing you even as you’re untethering each button, pushing the white fabric off of him.

Bucky exhales, a contented noise that drags through his chest, steady and sure, throat bobbing as he swallows. He finds a purpose with you; something clean, something gentle.

A flicker of nervousness stirs within him; he hasn’t had something like this in decades. You’re something sacred, something to lose, and he looks at you like you’re the sun, as if he hasn’t felt warmth in years.

He’s still in a white, sleeveless undershirt, material stretched snugly over his burly musculature. The silvery glint of dog-tags sparkles beneath the dim lighting of your bedroom.

A tangle of now-faded scars sits at the divide where vibranium kisses flesh, drawing your gaze there, oozing with empathy.

Lips collide, and collide again — a tangle of heat and brewing desire. He kisses you as if you might slip right through his fingers, stopping only to let his mouth press over your throat.

“Bucky.” You sigh, feeling his hand settle over your hip, the other slipping to stroke over your ribs. Metal smooths across your body, caressing until he cups your breast.

Soft fingertips trace over his chest, moving to gently grasp at the nape of his neck, threading over his hair. He continues to lavish your neck in sweet, lingering kisses, kneading at your clothed chest.

Desire pulls at the fringes of your mind, creeping in like some haze. His mouth peppers a trail, from beneath your jaw to your collar, and back up again. He repeats it a time or two, stroking your hip.

His mouth works at you still, drifting from your jaw to the silky expanse of your throat, scruffy beard scratching pleasantly against your skin.

One of your palms settles over his vibranium bicep, firm and icy underneath your flesh. Bucky shudders as if it’s a phantom sensation, lips parting with surprise.

Your embrace is fearless, and you touch his arm as if it’s just that, just him; not an instrument of destruction like he used to believe. His mouth finds yours again, bleeding passion.

Quiet, he grips you tightly before standing, ensuring that one of your legs settles over his hip. Bucky moves you back into your pillows, pressed further into the mattress, lips still joined.

He settles between your legs, pulling a soft moan from your mouth, noses brushing over one another. Your hand idly drags along his metal forearm, the other gliding beneath his undershirt, feeling along his abdomen.

Your fingertips are like kisses of silk — affectionate, tender, and delicate. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this, as if he were something to covet, someone worth loving.

Coming to rest on either side of him, your knees idly squeeze at his ribs, hand continuing to ascend. Bucky indulges you, using one arm to tug off his undershirt, dog-tags dangling toward your collar.

Something incendiary resides within his gaze, warm and smoldering intermingled with adoration. Through a momentary gap, you exhale, warm breath pluming over his lips before you resume the kiss.

With a soft sigh, you’re turning into him, chest brushing against his, other hand drifting to grasp at his bicep. His mouth is ceaseless, constant — you’re lost within his lips.

The warm flesh of his hand returns to knead at your breast, rolling over flesh, tingles of bliss shooting through your body.

Bodies bump together, flush; Bucky shivers when your hips seem to grind against his own, producing a friction that nearly shatters his resolve. He wants to; he thinks about it often.

He’s deliberate, attentive; Bucky kisses you as if you’re the center of everything, tender as it stretches on for several moments.

Kisses edge with something desirous, and you withdraw to catch your breath, visibly smitten. He moves toward your throat again, dipping further until he finds your collarbone.

“Bucky,” Another low, pleading moan ripples through your chest, a sound that he’s desperate to hear more of. “Bucky, please.” You sigh, satisfied and yearning for more.

There’s a moment of him continuing — metal fingers fisting into the sheets, walking the fine line of restraint. Desire rages between the both of you like a burning wildfire.

Again, he lavishes kisses over your chest, trailing towards the soft juncture between your shoulder and throat. After leaving his mark there, he finds your mouth once more, and kisses hard.

Reciprocating, the heat of entangled mouths lasts for what feels like a lifetime; it’s like fireworks dancing in your belly, nerves electrified, and you’re soaring, floating.

It slows to a crawl when he draws away, settled comfortably between your thighs. “I want to do this the right way.” He drawls, hot breath feathering over your visage.

“What’s wrong?” Thinking it was something to do with you, the sudden pause in your heated proclivities struck you as concerning.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bucky doesn’t stray far, still hovering above you, propped up on one arm. The other moves to cup your jaw, warm and soothing. “You deserve a first date before all of this.” He muses, a twinkle in his eye.

Relieved, you can’t help but smile, flustered and completely enamored with him. “For a second, I thought I’d scared you off.” You murmur, sweet and playful as you trace your fingers over his chest.

“Not in the slightest,” He utters, and for a second, he looks razed. “You’ve got any idea what you do to me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s tone drops to a husky purr, and it makes your head spin.

“I have an inkling,” Through an excitable sigh, you relax when his lips press against your jaw, lingering and affectionate. “You might have to show me.”

Bucky huffs, gaze somewhat half-lidded, eclipsed by both ardor and desire. You can tell he wants you, but he wants to show a little chivalry; it’s ridiculously attractive.

“I want to show you, believe me,” He assures, lips still climbing over your cheek, sealing beside the corner of your mouth. “I want to take you out first, that’s all.”

“When are you taking me out?” You muse, lips still tugged into a smile. The fact that he cares enough for this means the world to you, and to him.

Bucky couldn’t recall the last time he’d really taken a girl out, and meant it. The look on your face was enchanting, full of mirth and delight as you caressed his collarbone.

“After recon in Kaunas,” He chuckles, moving to lay down beside you. Still, he doesn’t go anywhere, drawing you right into the warmth of his chest, hand holding tightly to your hip. “Gives me time to figure out how to impress you.”

The laughter that tumbled from your lips made him feel alive; it got a faint smile out of him, mouth crinkling at either corner. “You don’t need to impress me,” You assure. “I just want to be with you.”

With a nonplussed hum, his brows furrowed together, chest falling as he exhaled. “You’re perfect,” Bucky murmured, planting a kiss against your crown. “Me too, doll.”

Exhaustion began to creep up, and you were too tired to throw your pajamas on, comfortably curled into his side. He continued to caress from your hip to your spine, his breathing evening out.

“Don’t go anywhere, Buck.” Through a soft whisper, your tone is fringed with grogginess, as if you’re actively staving off sleep. He huffs, with no intention of leaving you anytime soon; or forever, if you wanted that.

“I’m not,” He presses a kiss against your forehead when you begin to succumb to sleep, lightly tugging your sheets around your body. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[nightingale-prompts]

Dying to Love- DCXDP

Dating is hard. And Danny has bad at tough go at it.

"She called me creepy." Danny sighed into his coffee cup.

"What? You're not creepy." Tim reassured.

This has been an ongoing thing. Every time one of Danny's dates canceled, rejected, or ghosted him he ended up pouring out his sorrows with Tim.

"Well, who wants to date a funeral director?" Danny gripes.

It was kind of hard to explain how they met. The Waynes wanted to move a headstone for their no longer dead son/brother. Danny had to oversee the process that day and thankfully they didn't need to dig up remains.

Danny didn't know why Tim wanted to be his friend but who was he to complain when he didn't know anyone in this city. No one had any reason to talk to him since he was always working. Constantine came in on occasion at least. The Bats did as well.

And Danny? He keeps to his own. What humans do is on them. The ghosts are enough of a handful. Yeah, it was cold but so was he. The mortuary was comfortable, and he liked this life.

Yes, it was emotional. How do you tell a family that their newborn who died of SIDS needed to be held for a few hours before they were ready for burial? Or that grandma was mad they didn't cremate her like she wanted?

The ghosts weren't always there. Most of the time he was alone. It was rare that one lingered around the body or didn't pass on immediately. It just meant that death let them slide for a while. She was unpredictable like that. That's how he got here.

It's a lonely life though.

Did he just want friends? Well sure. So he somehow became friends with Tim Drake. Easy. Okay not easy, he and Tim just had common interests like true crime. They both could talk for hours on that alone.

But that's not the same as dating and he wanted to have a relationship. So he went on a few dating apps and had a few meet-cutes. But they never last.

"Danny, you aren't creepy." Tim lied. "You love what you do and someone will understand."

"Tim, even my coworkers don't want to talk to me." Danny sobbed.

"Well, male morticians have a bad rep. They might not know you well yet. Give it some time."

Tim knew very well that Danny was creepy. Danny had a habit of talking way too much about his job. Not everyone finds embalming and cutting open bodies fascinating. But he'd never tell Danny to stop.

"I actually invited my last date over and she ran the moment she came in."

"She must be uncomfortable going to guys' places. That's normal."

Tim knew why that happened. Danny collected occult and haunted items. He would make displays of death masks, haunted dolls, animal and human bones. Danny does tarot readings for himself every morning. It's not normal behavior. It's actually the reason Tim started talking to him. He had suspicions that Danny might be a serial killer. He wasn't, he just had hobbies.

Tim was an enabler on all this. He thought about pointing Danny in the direction of some edgy types or those into witchcraft. But if he did that then Danny would be dating someone else.

Tim was good but he wasn't a saint. So everything Danny fumbles with a potential partner he stands by to pick up the pieces. Call him what you want, it's not like he was sabotaging his friend. He just didn't want him dating other people. And honestly, if someone doesn't like his interest then why aren't worth Danny's time.

"Hey, do you I know Red Robin's number?" Danny asked suddenly.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I think if I were with someone used to this for of thing it would be easier. Also, he's the good-looking Robin."

Tim 100% filed that away as a gloat over Dick.

That being said, if he did give out that number would that further the manipulative asshole title that he probably already earned. He was nothing if not smart enough to be self-aware.

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 8┃ Decisions, decisions

Male reader x Giselle

Word count: 8.7k

Tags: squirting, dom/sub, dirty talk, teasing PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7

The morning crept in slowly.

Not heavy. Not loud. Just the kind of stillness that didn’t ask for anything.

I sat at the edge of the bed, letting my hands hang between my knees. The light through the window was thin and washed-out, pale enough to dull the colors of the room. It didn’t feel like morning, not really. It felt like the space after something—after noise, after heat, after the kind of closeness that left a mark you couldn’t see.

The house wasn’t silent. There was the low hum of the fridge down the hall, the occasional pop of old floorboards settling under the change in temperature. But it wasn’t awake yet, either.

I found myself moving before I knew what I was aiming for. Just standing, stretching out the stiffness in my back, sliding the door open with a soft scrape that barely cut through the stillness.

The hallway yawned open in front of me.

I passed the bathroom, the guest room, the kitchen.

All empty.

No footsteps. No murmured conversations. Just the soft, worn-in quiet of a house that hadn’t decided to start the day yet.

When I reached Karina’s room, the door was cracked open.

Not wide. Just enough to catch the edge of a rumpled bedspread, a hoodie half-tossed onto the floor, a slice of muted light slipping through the blinds.

I knocked once—out of habit more than anything.

“Come in,” Karina’s voice called out. Low. Unbothered.

I pushed the door open.

She was sitting on the bed, back braced against the headboard, one knee bent up toward her chest. She was wearing a hoodie—black, sleeves shoved up to her elbows—and a pair of loose shorts that looked like they belonged to someone else.

Her phone rested face-down beside her.

She wasn’t scrolling. Just sitting there, elbow propped on her knee, fingers pressed against her temple like she was working through a thought she wasn’t ready to speak aloud.

For a second, neither of us said anything.

The quiet stretched, not uncomfortable. Just there.

Her gaze flicked up to me—steady, assessing, the way it always did.

“Didn’t think you’d be up yet,” she said.

“Didn’t think you’d be waiting.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Not the polished, public kind.

The real one. Quick. Dry. A little tired.

She nodded toward the mattress beside her.

I crossed the room and sat down, careful to leave a few inches of space. Enough to breathe.

The bed dipped under the shared weight.

Karina leaned her head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, as if she might fall asleep sitting up. For a minute, she didn’t speak. She just let the silence hang between us, steady and unhurried.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she said eventually, eyes still closed.

I huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You always think you can hear that?”

“With you?” She cracked one eye open. “It’s not hard.”

I didn’t answer.

I just let the weight in my chest settle a little heavier.

Karina shifted, resting her arm across her bent knee, fingers loose and easy.

“You’re not great at staying,” she said, voice even. Not accusing. Not teasing. Just stating a fact she’d already filed away.

I glanced at her, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was staring out the window now, where the blinds cut the light into sharp, narrow lines.

“You’re good at disappearing,” she added. “Quiet. Clean. No mess.”

I didn’t deny it.

Karina shrugged, a small, resigned movement. “I get it.”

Another beat.

“I’m not gonna ask you to stay,” she said, and this time she did look at me. Direct. No hesitation. “None of us are.”

Her fingers flexed once, like she was fighting the urge to fidget.

“But I will tell you this,” she continued. “We don’t keep people here. We don’t make them stay. We just… we hope they want to.”

She said it simply.

No plea hidden in her tone. No expectation.

Just a quiet offering.

I sat with it.

Let it dig in where it needed to.

Karina pushed herself up straighter, rolling her shoulders out like the conversation had been more effort than she wanted to admit.

She reached for her phone but didn’t unlock it.

Didn’t check any messages.

Just held it loosely in her hand like an anchor.

“I’m not good at this either, you know,” she said. “Letting people stay. Trusting them not to wreck the place on their way out.”

I gave a small, crooked smile. “I won’t trash the place.”

Karina smirked. “You’ll just vanish without a sound.”

I didn’t argue.

She set the phone down again. Ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. There were faint lines under her eyes—shadows that hadn’t been there the first time I met her.

Or maybe they had.

Maybe I just hadn’t looked close enough.

Karina shifted, dropping her knee and crossing her legs loosely.

“I’m not gonna sell you a dream,” she said. “It’s not perfect here. We’re not perfect.”

She lifted a hand, gesturing vaguely to the house around us.

“But it’s ours. And we’d make room for you if you wanted it.”

I let the words sit between us.

Heavy.

Simple.

Uncomplicated in the way only hard-earned truth could be.

Karina pushed herself off the bed, stretching her arms overhead until her hoodie rode up enough to show a sliver of skin. She didn’t bother smoothing it down.

She walked to the door, leaned against the frame, and gave me a look I couldn’t quite name.

“I’ll see you around, Mylo,” she said.

And with that, she stepped into the hall, leaving me alone in the quiet.

But the space didn’t feel empty.

It felt… waiting.

I sat there for a moment longer, staring at the rumpled bedspread, the dent in the mattress where she’d been.

Then I stood.

And kept moving.

I left Karina’s room behind without looking back.

The house was starting to wake up now—just barely. A few muted sounds carried through the hallways: the distant clink of a glass, the soft shuffle of bare feet across wood floors. But it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t intrusive.

It was the kind of noise that let you move quietly if you wanted to.

I followed it to the kitchen.

Winter was standing by the counter, barefoot, hair loose around her shoulders in that way that always looked just a little messy, a little undone—but never careless. She wore an oversized T-shirt, sleeves falling past her elbows, the hem brushing mid-thigh.

She didn’t turn when she heard me.

Just poured herself a glass of water from the filtered pitcher, slow and steady. The kind of movement that didn’t say much, but didn’t hide anything either.

I leaned against the doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of my sweats.

For a minute, neither of us said anything.

Winter took a sip, set the glass down, and ran her fingers absently along the rim like she was smoothing out a wrinkle only she could see.

“You’re thinking about leaving.”

It wasn’t a question.

I didn’t answer.

She finally turned, resting her back against the counter, glass still in hand.

Her eyes met mine without flinching. They were clear. Cool. But not cold.

Not today.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said. “We’ve all been there.”

I studied her face.

There was no accusation in it. No judgment. Just the kind of resigned understanding that came from someone who’d thought about running once or twice herself.

Maybe more.

Winter tilted her head slightly, that same easy, unreadable expression she wore like a second skin.

“You’re good at hiding it,” she said. “The wanting to disappear.”

I huffed a breath. “It sure doesn't seem like it.”

She gave a small shrug. “Takes one to know one.”

Her fingers tapped the side of the glass, a quiet, rhythmic sound.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She wasn’t fidgeting. Not exactly.

It was just a sound. A tether.

Winter didn’t move closer.

She didn’t ask me to.

But she didn’t let the silence close between us either.

Instead, she said, softer now: “You don’t owe anyone a version of yourself that you can't even stand.”

I swallowed.

Winter pushed off the counter, slow, deliberate. She crossed the small space between us and stopped just close enough that I could feel her there—steady, real.

She looked up at me, her hair falling forward over her shoulders, eyes sharp and clear.

“But if you’re running because you think no one wants the real one…”

She reached out.

Not fast. Not hesitant.

Her hand brushed the side of my face—light, barely there. Fingertips tracing the line of my jaw like she wasn’t sure if I’d let her.

I didn’t pull away.

Her hand stayed.

Warm.

Present.

“If you’re running because you think you’re too much—or not enough—or whatever else you’ve been telling yourself…”

She let her words hang there.

Heavy.

Unflinching.

“I hope you know you’re wrong.”

I didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

Winter dropped her hand, but she didn’t step back.

She just stood there, letting the moment settle.

Then, quieter: “We’re not asking for the perfect parts, Mylo. We’re just asking for you.”

I closed my eyes for a second.

Not long.

Just enough to steady the pulse under my skin.

When I opened them again, Winter was still there.

Still steady.

Still waiting.

But not pushing.

Never pushing.

“I’m not good at this,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be.

Winter smiled—small, real.

“None of us are.”

She reached past me to the counter, grabbed a second glass, and filled it.

Then handed it to me without a word.

I took it.

The cool weight of it grounded me more than I wanted to admit.

Winter leaned her hip against the counter again, sipped her water, and let the silence stretch.

Not tense.

Not demanding.

Just easy.

When she spoke again, it was softer. Barely more than a breath.

“Stay for breakfast,” she said.

It wasn’t an order.

It wasn’t even really a request.

It was an offering.

A way of saying: You’re still wanted here. Even when you’re not sure why.

I nodded once.

Small. Almost imperceptible.

But Winter saw it.

She always did.

She smiled again—tired, knowing—and turned back to her glass, giving me the space to breathe without feeling like I was being watched.

I stood there for a moment longer, glass in hand, heart a little steadier.

Then I moved.

Slow.

Not leaving.

Just… moving forward.

I found Ningning on the couch, curled up sideways with a blanket half-draped over her legs. 

Her phone sat face-down on the coffee table.

She wasn’t scrolling.

She wasn’t texting.

She was just... there.

Breathing.

Thinking.

The sunlight coming through the blinds hit her hair. She had that stillness about her—the kind that didn’t mean calm. The kind that meant something else. Like she was working through a problem in her head and hadn’t figured out which way to turn it yet.

I stood there for a second longer than I should have.

She noticed.

Ningning didn’t move. Didn’t lift her head or sit up straighter.

Just flicked her eyes toward me—steady, sharp, a little too knowing.

“You look like someone who’s about to do something stupid,” she said.

Her voice was light.

But not joking.

I shrugged one shoulder. “Depends on your definition.”

Ningning tucked the blanket higher around her legs. Her foot brushed the edge of the coffee table.

“You don’t have to go,” she said, softer this time.

I didn’t answer. Am I really so easy to read?

She turned her face to the TV—not watching it, not really. Just giving me space to think.

“I get it,” she added, voice almost casual. “Sometimes it feels easier to leave before someone asks you to.”

Her thumb moved absently against the blanket, a small, repetitive motion.

“But no one’s asking you to,” she said.

I moved closer. Sat down on the other end of the couch.

Not touching.

Just close enough.

Ningning glanced at me again, head tilted slightly like she was measuring something—some weight she couldn’t quite name.

“I used to think,” she said, “that if people got too close, they’d see all the parts I didn’t want to explain. And then they’d leave anyway.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was the kind that sat tight around the edges, like it hurt to stretch.

“They never did,” she said. “But I kept acting like they might.”

I didn’t look at her.

I looked at my hands.

They were still. No tremor. No sign of the storm that was starting to gather just under the skin.

Ningning let the silence hang there.

Then: “You’re not the only one scared of being kept around for the wrong reasons.”

I glanced at her.

She was still staring at the TV.

“I know what it feels like to wonder if people like the idea of you more than they like you.”

Her hand brushed the blanket again. Small motion. Barely there.

“But you’re not an idea, Mylo.”

She turned her head, finally facing me fully.

“You’re a person. And you’re still here.”

A beat.

“You’re still you.”

I swallowed.

Ningning didn’t push.

She just looked at me—steady, unblinking, real.

“No one’s trying to buy you,” she said. “No one’s keeping you because you fill some space we don’t want to fill ourselves.”

She smiled again—smaller this time. Less tight.

“You’re here because we want you here.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Didn’t know how to hold it without dropping it.

Ningning must’ve seen it on my face.

She shifted, pulling her legs out from under the blanket, sitting cross-legged now, facing me fully.

“You don’t have to believe it right away,” she said. “But you can’t pretend it’s not true.”

I exhaled slowly.

The kind of breath that didn’t fix anything but let you survive a little longer.

Ningning leaned back against the armrest, folding her arms loosely over her chest.

“I’m not going to tell you to stay,” she said. “I’m just going to tell you that leaving won’t change anything.”

I looked at her.

She met my eyes—open, unafraid.

“You’ll still be wanted,” she said. “Even if you run.”

Her voice didn’t crack.

It didn’t soften.

It just held.

“You’ll still be you.”

The words sat heavy between us.

I didn’t argue.

Didn’t deflect.

I just sat there, breathing in a room that suddenly felt a little less empty.

Ningning reached for the remote and unmuted the TV.

The cartoon blared back to life—bright, fast, chaotic.

But she wasn’t really watching.

She just sat there, letting the noise fill the cracks.

Letting me stay.

Without asking.

Without pushing.

Without conditions.

After a few minutes, I stood up.

Ningning didn’t say anything.

She just smiled at me—real, easy—and turned back to the screen.

I left the room without looking back.

But I carried her words with me.

I didn’t sleep that first night. Not really. I stayed curled up on the far end of the couch, one arm under my head, pretending to watch the TV flickering low in the corner. Some old sitcom played — canned laughter, bright clothes, people shouting at each other in the way they thought was funny. The house smelled different from what I was used to. Warmer. Cleaner. Soap, cinnamon from a candle burning on the counter, a hint of coffee sunk deep into the walls. Cara didn’t ask questions. She just set a folded blanket down beside me — thick, worn soft at the edges — and went back to the kitchen. Bill didn’t say anything either. He just sat at the table, flipping through a newspaper like the headlines would change if he stared long enough. No one asked where I was from. No one asked why I was there. The silence should’ve felt sharp. It didn’t. It felt cautious. Like no one wanted to startle anything. The next morning, there was oatmeal. Thick, clumpy, full of raisins that exploded soft against my tongue. Cara set it in front of me without a word. She poured herself and Bill coffee and sat down like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You don’t have to eat it,” she said around a spoonful. “But it’d be polite to try.” I ate.

Because I didn’t know what else to do. The house was small. Lived-in, not cluttered — every surface covered with little signs of life. A sagging couch. Curtains sun-faded to a pale almost-color. A kitchen that smelled like old grease and lemon cleaner. Towels that didn’t match. A clock that ticked unevenly. It wasn’t bad. Not like before. A few days later, they offered me the spare room. It was small — bed, dresser, cracked window. The mattress dipped toward the middle. The springs groaned every time I moved. But it had a door. A lock. That was enough. They didn’t talk much. Bill kept to himself. TV, paper, occasional grunts. Cara ran the house — lists on the fridge, muttering under her breath when she cleaned, cooking more food than two people needed. They didn’t ask anything of me. No papers. No rules. No promises. Just a list on the fridge every morning. Dishes. Sweep. Laundry. Take out the trash. Small things. Easy trades. Sometimes Cara brought leftovers from the school — a bruised apple, a stack of rolls the cafeteria was going to throw out. She’d leave them in the fridge with a sticky note that just said “Yours.” Little things. Things that made it easier to pretend this wasn’t temporary. The days blurred. I stopped sleeping in my shoes.

Stopped glancing at the door every time I heard footsteps. Started thinking — maybe this was it. Maybe they didn’t need anything from me. No deals. No conditions. Just... stay out of the way. Be polite. Be useful. It was almost enough to make me believe it. But even then — even when things were quiet and warm and easy — there was a catch at the back of my throat. Because nothing in my life was ever free. I pushed it down. I worked hard. I didn’t cause trouble. I made myself small, invisible at the edges of their lives. It should’ve been enough. For a while, it was. Then came Wednesday. I remember because the house was quieter than usual. Cara had a late shift at the school. Bill was out in the garage, radio muttering low under the clank of tools. I’d finished everything on the list by noon. Dishes, floors, laundry folded and stacked like I didn’t live there. The sun was heavy through the windows, thick with dust motes. I should’ve stayed put. I should’ve sat on the couch, watched whatever rerun Bill left playing, and kept my head down.

But the quiet made me restless. And restless made me reckless. I was looking for a book — something to pass the time — when I found it. Tucked in the desk in the corner of the living room, under a stack of old receipts and yellowed bills. A plain envelope. Unsealed. The sight of it made something cold and instinctive twist under my ribs. Because I knew that shape. That weight. An envelope like that had ruined things before. I almost left it alone. Almost. But my hand moved before my brain could catch up. The paper was thin. No name written on it. Just that sick, familiar rectangular dread. Inside — a letterhead I didn’t recognize. Official. Government. I pulled it halfway out. Enough to see the words. Monthly Support Allowance. Dependent Minor. And a number. Not huge. Not nothing.

Enough. Enough to make sense of things I hadn’t wanted to think about. The spare room. The leftovers. The way Cara’s eyes skimmed over me sometimes — not cruel, not warm, just... measuring. I sat back on my heels. Stared at it. Everything blurred a little at the edges — not panic, not fear. Just a hollowing out. A confirmation. I wasn’t there because they cared. I was there because I paid for myself. Like a stray dog that just happened to bring its own leash. I put the letter back. Careful. Slow. Exactly how I found it. Closed the drawer without a sound. And stood there for a long time, the silence thick and heavy around me. The world didn’t shift. The house didn’t collapse. Nothing changed. Except me.

I walked back to the couch, sat down, stared at the flickering TV without seeing it. The couch was still sagging. The clock still ticked unevenly. The blanket Cara left out was folded over the armrest, waiting. And yet. Everything was different now. Because the thing I didn’t want to believe — the thing I pretended wasn’t true — was written plain on paper. People didn’t keep me around because they cared. They kept me because it was useful. Because I made sense on a spreadsheet. Because it was easy. I didn’t cry. Not even when the weight settled — not just in my chest, but behind my eyes, behind my teeth, in the way my hands stayed perfectly still in my lap. I just sat there. Breathing through it. Like always. When Cara came home later, she smiled — the tight, tired smile of someone who didn’t expect anything back. I smiled too. Tighter. Smaller. I ate dinner. Washed my plate. Said thank you. Pretended the oatmeal, the blanket, the sticky notes — all of it — still meant something.

Because it was easier than leaving. And because deep down, I already knew — there wasn’t anywhere else to go.

The hallway was quiet.

Dim.

The only light came from a crack under one of the doors — Winter’s, probably — and the faint orange wash of the streetlamps leaking through the front window. The house smelled like dust and old coffee. Not heavy. Not sharp. Just there. Lived-in.

I stood still for a minute.

Just breathing.

Listening.

I wasn’t in the living room anymore.

I wasn’t with Ningning, or anyone else.

It was just me now.

The hallway stretched ahead — narrow, dim, the walls close enough to touch. The familiar sag of the ceiling. The uneven line where the paint changed color halfway down.

It would’ve been easy to keep walking. Past the kitchen. Past the front door. Shoes by the mat. Jacket on the hook.

It would’ve been easy to disappear.

I’d done it before.

Slip out.

Start over.

New place. New couch to crash on. New lie to tell myself about why it didn’t matter. Why I didn’t matter.

But my feet didn’t move.

I stood there, breathing too shallow, the air too dry in my throat.

It wasn’t like before.

Before, it was survival. Simple math. Leave before someone left you.

Now—

Now, there was weight.

There were people that really cared.

Small, stupid moments I didn’t want to admit I remembered: Karina watching me like she was waiting for me to break. Winter’s steady quiet, like she knew but wasn’t going to ask. Ningning tossing a blanket over me in the dark like it was nothing, like it was normal.

And Giselle.

I wasn’t sure what Giselle was.

A choice, maybe.

A door I wasn’t ready to open.

I breathed out slowly.

Looked down the hall.

Her room was at the end. Same plain white door. Same worn brass knob.

Same distance I could’ve crossed in ten steps, maybe less.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t lift my hand.

Didn’t even breathe for a second.

Because it felt like standing there was a decision. Like the moment before you step off a ledge — not falling, not flying. Just the stretch of time when anything is still possible.

I thought about the girls — each of them saying something they probably didn’t think would matter.

Karina’s steady voice: You don’t owe anyone a role to play.

Winter’s quiet glance, as if she knew what I was thinking, even if she didn’t say it.

Ningning’s lopsided smile: You look like someone who forgets to eat a lot.

Not big moments.

Not confessions or demands.

Just... being seen.

I wasn’t used to it.

Not without cost.

Not without an envelope somewhere in the background, waiting to tell me what I was worth in numbers.

I stared at Giselle’s door.

Wondered — if I opened it — if I would find the same thing.

An offer. A price. A countdown.

Or maybe—

Maybe it was different. Maybe she was different. I didn’t know.

And for the first time in a long time, I hated not knowing.

I shifted my weight.

The floor creaked under my heel.

And before I could knock—

The door moved.

Slow.

Soundless.

The latch clicked as it released, and the door swung inward an inch.

Then another.

Giselle stood there.

Barefoot. Sweatshirt hanging loose. Hair messy and half-shadowed by the dim light spilling from behind her.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t smile.

She just looked at me.

And that was worse.

Because in that look — in the way she held it — was something I hadn’t been ready for.

Not demand.

Not expectation.

Just—

A silent question.

Are you coming in?

Are you staying?

I swallowed.

The hallway stretched behind me — a straight shot to the front door, to the familiar ache of leaving before anyone could tell me to.

But I didn’t turn around.

I didn’t move back.

I didn’t move forward either.

Not yet.

Giselle didn’t reach for me.

She just stood there — a door half-open — not a trap, not a promise.

Just a choice.

I stood there, heart a little too fast, breath a little too shallow.

Waiting.

We both were.

No words. No movement. Just her hand on the doorframe and that same steady, open look I wasn’t used to being given.

The house behind me was silent now. Everyone tucked away behind closed doors, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel like peace—it felt like something holding its breath.

Giselle didn’t say anything. She didn’t invite me in. She didn’t step aside. She just waited, letting the moment sit between us the way she always did—like silence was something that didn’t scare her.

I stayed where I was, hands at my sides, feeling the weight of the day settle into my chest.

I thought about Karina earlier, her words still playing under my ribs. You don’t have to do this alone.

I thought about Winter, the way she didn’t look at me like I was broken. Just there. Just present.

I thought about Ningning, always half teasing, half real, offering what she could in her own way.

And now this—Giselle, not asking anything. Not expecting anything.

Just... here.

I didn’t realize my hands were clenched until I forced them to uncurl. My skin felt too tight, my throat too dry.

She tilted her head slightly, the smallest motion, like she could see all of it—the hesitation, the weight I wasn’t speaking—and wasn’t going to rush me.

The door creaked in her hand as it shifted, but she didn’t pull it wider. She didn’t do anything except stay there, watching me with the kind of patience that felt less like waiting and more like... trust.

The kind of trust you didn’t earn with words.

The kind you could only take if you meant to keep it.

I stood there, the air between us heavy and thin all at once.

It should’ve been easy. One step. One choice.

But the truth was, every step I’d ever taken had been away—from places, from people, from the things that tried to claim me.

And here I was, on the edge of another choice. Stay. Or leave.

The hallway behind me felt colder suddenly, stretched out and empty like a road I didn’t want to walk again.

Inside her room, the light was low. Soft. Her bed was unmade, the covers rumpled, a sweatshirt tossed across the edge like she hadn’t cared enough to move it. A book was face down on the nightstand, a pair of headphones tangled beside it.

It didn’t look like a stage. It didn’t look like a trap.

It looked real.

And that scared me more than anything.

Because real meant it wasn’t about pretending.

Real meant if I stepped in, it wouldn’t be something I could explain away later. Wouldn’t be a mistake I could fold up and tuck into the corner of my mind with all the other things I refused to name.

It would mean I’d chosen it.

Her.

I sucked in a breath through my teeth. Let it sit there, sharp and dry in my throat.

Giselle’s fingers brushed against the side of the doorframe, just once, like she was resisting the urge to reach out.

Not pulling me.

Not pushing.

Just waiting.

I took a step forward.

Slow. Careful. Like the floor might give out under me if I wasn’t sure enough.

She didn’t move.

I took another.

The door stayed half-open, the threshold narrowing until there wasn’t enough space between us for doubt to slip through.

She let go of the frame then, hand falling back to her side.

And still—still—she didn’t say a word.

She didn’t need to.

I was the one who had to speak, in the only language that mattered—movement. Choice.

I stepped inside.

Crossed the threshold like it was more than a doorway.

It was a line.

A before and after.

I could feel it under my skin, humming low and steady—the kind of shift you don’t notice until you’re already on the other side and realize you’re never going back.

Giselle moved, then. Quiet. A step backward, giving me space. Not taking the lead. Not closing the door.

Just... making room.

I stayed where I was for a moment, breathing in the air that smelled faintly of her shampoo and something softer—something like paper and sleep and the trace of perfume on skin.

Giselle watched me.

Not impatient. Not pleading. Just watching.

And then, slow, she lifted her hand. Not to grab me. Not to guide me. Just an open palm, reaching out, fingers barely curled.

I looked at it for a second longer than I should have.

Then—carefully, deliberately—I let my hand find hers.

The contact was light at first. A brush of skin. A test.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t tighten her fingers around mine.

Just waited.

I closed my hand around hers.

Her palm was warm.

Steady.

She gave the barest pull—not even a tug, just a suggestion—and I followed, letting her guide me farther into the room.

The door stayed open behind us.

She didn’t shut it.

She didn’t have to.

I wasn’t leaving.

Not yet.

Maybe not at all.

I let her lead me to the bed, the soft give of the mattress against the back of my knees, the low hum of the night settling in around us like a second skin.

She sat first, pulling her hand away slowly, giving me the choice again.

Stay or leave.

I sat.

The mattress dipped under my weight, the distance between us closing, folding in.

Giselle leaned back, one hand braced behind her, the other still resting lightly on the comforter.

I looked at her—really looked.

Not at the curve of her mouth or the line of her throat.

Not at the flush high on her cheeks or the way her lashes cast shadows under her eyes.

I looked at her.

And she looked right back. No armor. No masks.

Just two people, breathing the same air, trying not to blink first.

The quiet wasn’t heavy anymore. It was waiting.

And this time, I wasn’t afraid of what would happen if I answered it.

I shifted closer.

She tilted her head, the smallest tilt, like she was meeting me halfway without moving at all.

I raised my hand, slow, careful, and let it rest on her thigh. Light. Testing.

She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just exhaled—soft, steady. I slid my hand higher.

Her breath hitched.

But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop me.

And when I leaned in, when our foreheads brushed, she closed her eyes.

Not in fear. Not in resignation. In trust.

I stayed like that for a moment, breathing her in, feeling the way the world narrowed down to the space between us.

No pressure. No weight. Just presence.

When she leaned up and kissed me—slow, sure—it wasn’t the start of something reckless.

It wasn’t a mistake.

It was a decision.

One we made together.

And this time, I didn’t hesitate.

I kissed her back.

The kiss deepened—slow at first, then sharper, a building current neither of us tried to fight. Her fingers tightened in my hair, not rough but deliberate, tilting my head back slightly so she could press her mouth harder against mine. I let her. For now.

She kissed like she moved—measured, practiced, but with a current underneath that she wasn’t trying to hide. She bit my lower lip, pulled just enough to make me grunt low in my throat.

I opened my eyes. She was already looking at me, eyes dark, mouth swollen.

I slid my hand up her thigh, fingers trailing under the hem of her sweatshirt, feeling the heat of her skin.

She didn’t stop me.

But when I tried to push the sweatshirt higher, she caught my wrist.

Firm.

Controlling.

She shook her head once—slow, almost a smile—and leaned back just enough that I had to follow her to keep the kiss. I pressed closer, chasing it, but she pressed her palm flat against my chest.

"Wait," she murmured, voice low and steady.

It wasn’t a no.

It was a command.

She pushed, and I let her. Let her guide me back until I was sitting, legs open, feet flat on the floor.

She straddled me, one knee on either side, the hem of her sweatshirt riding up over her thighs. No rush. No theatrics. Just moving like she owned the pace now.

I let her.

She kissed me again—harder this time, setting the rhythm. Her fingers brushed down my arms, then back up, slow, tracing the veins, the tendons, the kind of touches that weren’t about tenderness—they were about reading me. Learning the map of tension and patience and control.

Her hands found the hem of my shirt.

She didn’t yank it.

She peeled it off—slow, deliberate—like she wanted to take her time seeing me.

I helped, but just enough.

She tossed the shirt aside, then sat back, fingers splayed on my chest, nails scratching lightly over skin.

I reached for her hips, but she shifted—subtle—and caught my wrists again.

Firm.

In charge.

I smiled against her mouth. “Bossy.”

Her eyes glinted. “You’re the one who followed me in here.”

She leaned in, pressing her weight against my wrists, pinning them to the bed.

And for a second—just a second—I let her.

Let her hold me there, her mouth tracing along my jaw, the line of my throat, teeth grazing just enough to make me twitch.

When she bit down—soft but sharp—on the muscle where my shoulder met my neck, I groaned.

And then—fast—I flipped her.

Not rough.

Not punishing.

Just a shift of weight, a counter to her hold, rolling us until she was on her back and I was over her, braced on one arm, the other hand still caught in hers.

She grinned up at me—breathless, wild, not surprised at all.

I kissed her then—hard, deep, taking back what she’d stolen.

She didn’t fight it.

She gave as good as she got, hands threading in my hair, pulling me closer, one leg hooking around my waist to drag me down against her.

I pressed into her, grinding slow, deliberate.

She arched into it, mouth parting on a gasp, and when she rolled her hips up to meet me, the friction made both of us groan.

I pulled back—barely—just enough to look at her.

Hair a mess around her face, lips red, breath coming fast.

“Take it off,” I said, voice low, brushing the hem of her sweatshirt with my fingers.

She didn’t hesitate.

She sat up just enough to pull it over her head and toss it aside. No bra. Just her—bare, flushed, perfect.

I sat back on my heels to take her in.

She shifted, sitting up, reaching for the button of my jeans. Her hands were sure, practiced. She popped the button, dragged the zipper down slow, teasing, and when I lifted my hips, she tugged them down, along with my boxers.

I kicked them off, and for a beat, we just looked at each other.

Then she pushed me back.

Flat.

Straddled me again.

Her hand wrapped around me, firm, confident, stroking slow, her thumb brushing the head just to make me bite back a sound.

“Not so bossy now,” she murmured.

I grinned, but didn’t fight her.

Let her take what she wanted.

She leaned down, kissed me hard, her hand still working me slow, driving me half-crazy with the pace.

But two could play that game.

I slid my hands up her thighs, slow, nails dragging lightly over her skin, and when I reached her hips, I pulled her forward—grinding her against me, dragging her slick heat over my cock.

She gasped into my mouth.

I did it again.

Harder this time.

Her hand faltered.

I gripped her hips, steady, controlled, and lifted—just enough to tease the head of my cock against her entrance.

She whimpered—low, frustrated.

I didn’t give in.

I held her there, just teasing, just enough pressure to make her breath hitch.

“Say please,” I murmured.

She glared at me, but her hips rocked forward, desperate for more friction.

I stayed still.

Waited.

Finally, she exhaled. “Please.”

I pushed in—slow, deep—watching her mouth fall open, watching her eyes flutter shut.

She was tight, hot, perfect around me.

I gave her a second. Then another.

Then started to move.

Slow thrusts, deep and deliberate, making her take all of it, making her feel every inch.

She sat up more, hands braced on my chest, riding the rhythm I set.

But she didn’t stay passive.

She matched me—thrust for thrust, grind for grind—meeting me halfway, owning her half of it.

I shifted, rolled us again—her back hitting the mattress, me over her, one hand catching both her wrists and pinning them above her head.

She moaned, arching up into me, legs wrapping tight around my waist.

I kissed her hard, deep, claiming her mouth the way I claimed her body.

But then—sneaky, sure—she twisted one hand free, grabbed my jaw, and pulled me up to look at her.

“You’re not the only one who gets to be in control,” she said, breathless.

I grinned, leaning down to kiss her jaw. “Prove it.”

She shoved me, hard, flipping us again.

I let her.

Flat on my back, her riding me now, hands braced on my chest, head thrown back as she set the pace.

Hard. Fast.

Punishing.

I groaned, gripping her hips, letting her use me.

She leaned forward, kissed me hard, teeth grazing my lip, biting just enough to make me hiss.

I bucked up into her, sharp, deliberate. She gasped. I did it again.

Her hands tightened on my chest, nails digging in.

Push. Pull. Give. Take.

No one really in charge.

Just two people, dragging control back and forth between them until neither of us knew who had it anymore.

And neither of us cared.

Giselle’s rhythm was ruthless—steady, grinding, forcing me to feel every drag, every slick slide of her along my cock. She braced her hands on my chest, nails digging in, leaving faint crescent marks as she rode me.

Not wild.

Not frantic.

Controlled.

Calculated.

Her breath came fast, but her eyes—dark, locked on mine—never wavered.

When I tried to grab her hips, guide her faster, she caught my wrists. Pressed them back into the bed.

“No,” she said, voice low, tight.

I smirked, but I let her.

She shifted her weight forward, dragging her body along mine, grinding her clit against my stomach, hips working slow and relentless as she kept her hands on my wrists.

I flexed under her, arching up, trying to regain a little ground, but she just smiled—slow, wicked—and pressed her palms harder against me.

“Stay down.”

I didn’t argue.

I just breathed.

Watched.

Let her set the pace.

She kept grinding, circling her hips in slow, perfect motions that drove me fucking crazy. The heat of her, the weight of her—every shift in pressure deliberate, teasing.

She leaned down and kissed me again.

Not soft. Not tender.

Her mouth was hot, her tongue insistent, teeth catching my lower lip and pulling before she kissed me deeper.

I growled low in my throat, bucked up hard, but she held steady, thighs tightening around my hips to pin me in place.

She broke the kiss, breathing hard, lips swollen.

“Not yet,” she whispered against my mouth.

I exhaled sharply, chest rising fast under her weight.

She smiled—just a little—then rocked her hips harder, dragging a moan out of both of us.

I clenched my jaw.

Held on.

But when she shifted her hands—just a little, to brace herself on my chest again—I moved.

Fast.

Caught her around the waist and flipped her.

She gasped—surprised, but not scared.

Her legs wrapped around me instantly, keeping me close.

I braced one hand beside her head, the other sliding down her body, palm flat against her stomach.

“Your turn,” I murmured, voice low, dangerous.

She grinned, but there was a challenge in her eyes now.

I thrust into her hard.

Deep.

She gasped, head tipping back against the pillow, mouth falling open.

I set the pace this time—slow, deep strokes, grinding my hips against her slit at the end of every thrust.

She took it.

But she didn’t give in.

Her legs tightened around me, and with a sudden twist, she rolled us again, dragging me over until I was on my back and she was straddling me.

She braced her hands on my shoulders, grinding down, setting a punishing rhythm.

I gritted my teeth, grabbed her hips again, but she batted my hands away.

“No,” she said again, breathless but firm. “Mine.”

I let her have it.

Let her work me over—grinding, riding me hard, fast, relentless.

She was close.

I could feel it—the way her thighs trembled, the way her breath caught every time her hips slammed down.

But she didn’t rush it.

She rode the edge, keeping both of us there, torturing us with control.

I groaned, hips jerking up into her, and this time she let me.

She shifted her weight, rode me harder, grinding her clit against me with every stroke.

I reached up, grabbed her breast, thumb circling her nipple, and she gasped—sharp, involuntary.

She leaned down, bit my shoulder—sharp, enough to leave a mark—and I thrust up into her harder, dragging another sound from her throat.

Push. 

Pull.

She pressed her forehead to mine, breathing hard.

“You gonna come for me?” she whispered.

I smiled, breathless. “Only if you do first.”

She ground down harder, faster, chasing it now.

I slid my hand between us, thumb brushing her clit, rubbing in tight circles, and she gasped again—sharp, desperate.

“Fuck—”

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

She bit her lip, riding me harder, faster, desperate for it now.

I thrust up into her, matching her, driving her higher.

Her nails dug into my shoulders.

Her breath hitched.

And then she broke.

Came hard, grinding down against me, gasping, shaking, her whole body seizing around mine.

I groaned, thrusting up into her, chasing my own release.

She kept moving—riding me through it—ruthless even in her own unraveling.

I didn’t last much longer.

I growled low, grabbed her hips, and thrust up hard, once, twice—then came.

Hard.

Deep inside her.

She collapsed against me, breathless, trembling.

I wrapped my arms around her, holding her there, feeling the way her body still shuddered in the aftermath.

Neither of us moved for a while.

Just breathing.

Sharing the heat, the sweat, the wreckage we’d made of each other.

Slowly, Giselle lifted her head.

Her hair was a mess around her face. Her cheeks were flushed, lips red, eyes dark and still wild.

She smiled.

Not coy.

Not smug.

Just... happy.

She leaned down, kissed me once—slow, deep, grateful.

Then she pulled back, settled against me, her head on my chest.

I stroked her hair, slow, steady.

Neither of us said anything.

We didn’t need to.

Giselle’s breathing evened out slowly, her body still stretched across mine, her skin warm and damp against my chest. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t rush to fill the quiet with words. Just traced slow, idle shapes against my ribs with the tip of her finger.

I kept my hand in her hair, stroking gently.

It wasn’t a question.

Wasn’t a comfort.

Just... there.

For once, the silence didn’t feel like a weight. It didn’t press on my ribs or sink into my lungs. It just settled.

Safe.

Steady.

Eventually, Giselle shifted. Lifted her head enough to look at me, her hair falling in messy strands over her cheek. Her eyes were clear now—no challenge, no performance. Just her.

The real her.

She studied me like she was still memorizing.

Like she was trying to understand something I hadn’t said out loud yet.

“You okay?” she asked, voice low, rough from everything we hadn’t held back.

I nodded once.

Didn’t lie.

Didn’t pretend.

She sat up slowly, straddling me still, hands braced lightly on my stomach. She didn’t move to get off. Didn’t shift away. Just stayed there, close enough that the warmth between us didn’t cool.

Her fingers brushed my chest—soft, tentative.

“You think we just want you around because it’s easy,” she said.

Not a question.

I didn’t answer.

She tilted her head, studying me like she could see it anyway.

“But it’s not.”

I stayed quiet.

“It’s messy,” she said, mouth twitching at the corner. “It’s complicated. ”

I swallowed, throat dry.

“And it’s worth it.”

I looked at her then. Really looked.

She met my gaze without flinching.

“This isn’t charity,” she said. “Or convenience. It’s you.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Giselle leaned down again, slower this time, resting her forehead lightly against mine.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be anything.”

Her breath warmed my skin.

“You’re already enough.”

Something tight in my chest pulled.

Stretched. Fractured. Not in a way that hurt.

In a way that loosened everything I’d been carrying for too long.

I closed my eyes for a second. Took a breath. She didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. She just stayed. Soft. Steady. Real.

When I opened my eyes again, she was watching me—quiet, patient.

I reached up.

Brushed a hand along her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Her eyes softened, and for a second, neither of us breathed.

Then I whispered it, so low it barely made a sound:

“I’ll stay.”

Her breath caught.

Just a little.

But she didn’t smile.

Didn’t break.

Just leaned in and kissed me—soft, slow, careful.

Not because she didn’t want more.

But because she knew it wasn’t needed.

When she pulled back, she pressed her forehead to mine again.

Her hand slid down to find mine, fingers threading through, slow and sure.

I squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back.

And for the first time in a long time, the quiet felt like mine.

Like home.

1 YEAR LATER

The house was louder now.

Not chaotic. Just alive.

Ningning’s voice carried from the kitchen, sharp with laughter as she argued over something small—whose turn it was to buy milk or who forgot to put the cap back on the toothpaste. Winter’s low, amused drawl followed, a counterpoint, half-hearted in its defense.

Karina was cross-legged on the living room floor, sorting through a stack of vinyl records she insisted she’d organize two months ago. She muttered to herself under her breath, squinting at labels, trying to decide what to keep and what to get rid of.

And Giselle—

Giselle was sitting on the couch, socked feet pulled up, balancing a mug of coffee on her knee like it might float there indefinitely if she concentrated hard enough. She was scrolling on her phone, but not really looking at it. Every few minutes, she glanced around the room, like she was doing a quiet headcount she didn’t want anyone to catch her at.

I leaned against the doorway.

Just... watching.

A year ago, I wouldn’t have known how to stand like this. Easy. Present. Not braced for the next crash.

Ningning caught sight of me first.

She grinned, sharp and bright. "If you’re just gonna lurk, you can at least make yourself useful."

I smirked. "Define useful."

"Milk run!" she shouted, already tossing her wallet at me from across the kitchen.

I caught it one-handed.

Winter snorted. "You realize he's the only reason we don’t live in absolute chaos, right?"

"Debatable," I said.

Winter smiled—small, genuine. "Appreciated though."

I shrugged. Casual. But the warmth in my chest stuck.

Karina, without looking up, added, "If you find that vinyl cleaner I ordered, grab it."

"You still cleaning records?" I asked.

"Organization is a long-term project," she said, deadpan.

Ningning made a gagging sound. Winter threw a balled-up napkin at her. It hit her square in the forehead, and she gasped like she’d been mortally wounded.

Normal.

Not perfect. Not polished.

Just normal.

I pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, handing Ningning’s wallet back with a pointed look.

"You can add it to the next grocery run," I said. "I’m off-duty today."

"You’re off-duty every day," she grumbled, but there was no heat in it.

I glanced at Giselle.

She hadn’t said anything. But she was watching. Phone forgotten, mug balanced perfectly still.

I met her eyes.

She smiled.

Small. Private. Just for me.

I nodded once, barely a tilt of my chin, and that was enough.

Ningning pulled me back with a nudge. "Seriously though, Mylo. Help me out."

"With what?"

She pointed dramatically at the floor. "The cereal graveyard."

A scattering of loops and flakes dotted the hardwood where she’d clearly dropped the box and decided it was someone else’s problem.

I sighed, grabbed a broom from behind the door, and started sweeping.

Winter crouched beside me, pretending to help. "Remember when you didn’t live here?"

"Vaguely."

"You were quieter then."

"You were more suspicious."

She grinned. "Still am."

"Good," I said.

Because it meant she hadn’t lost the edge that made her, her. No smoothing over. No pretending.

Ningning flopped onto the couch beside Giselle once the floor was cereal-free, dramatically declaring, "Domestic life is so hard."

"Tragic," Karina said, tossing a record onto the 'keep' pile.

Giselle laughed softly.

I straightened up, broom in hand, and looked around the room.

No part of me felt like an outsider anymore.

I wasn't a guest. I wasn’t a problem waiting to happen. I was just... here.

A part of the noise.

A part of the quiet.

Ningning was already halfway into a new argument with Winter about who left the bathroom light on. Karina was shaking her head at a warped record she’d apparently been meaning to toss for years.

Giselle set her mug down and stretched, toes brushing Ningning’s knee, who shoved her half-heartedly in retaliation.

She looked at me again.

Just a glance.

But there was history in it.

The kind you build, day by day, by not disappearing.

I crossed the room and sat on the floor near Karina, who immediately shoved a stack of records at me.

"Sort by year."

"So I'm a slave now?."

She smirked. "Equal opportunity employer."

I picked up the top record and flipped it over. 1978. Already dusty.

Ningning threw a pillow at Winter. Winter ducked, laughing. Giselle leaned back, hair falling over her face as she smiled at something on her phone.

I slid the record into the 'keep' pile.

The house buzzed and breathed around me, alive with the easy, sharp edges of people who weren’t perfect—but who didn’t expect me to be, either.

No roles to play.

No scripts to recite.

And when I glanced up, Giselle was  looking at me—steady, sure—and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t wonder why.

I just smiled back.

I just stayed.

THE END

[anamericangirl]

Hey I'm not sure you read anything I wrote because I said nothing even close to any of that but sure. Anyway, “The Conservative" here to respond to your nonsense :)

"They talk about heart development in the fetus but worms have similar structures and we do not care."

I did not talk about heart development in the fetus but I'll address your biology confusion anyway.

First, let's make sure you understand an important distinction. Similar is not the same thing as identical. If they are not the same, we can't treat them the same even though there might be some similarities. That can be hard to grasp if you already struggle with understanding biology but hopefully you're able to keep that in mind going forward. :D

Second, which is the most important thing you're not taking account but which you really should already know, even though early heart development in both a worm and human fetus might have some similarities they are vastly different organism and it makes you look extremely ignorant when you compare them.

It's not the heartbeat alone that we are looking at. It's the fact that it's the human heartbeat of a human being. We don't care about the heartbeat in a worm because it is a worm. So jot that down.

"I defy you to tell me where we should draw the line between dead stuff and living stuff. If we are being intellectually honest neither one of us knows what these things are."

You might not know what these things are, but I certainly do and so does everyone else who knows anything about the difference between life and death. It's not a mystery. We've objectively known what living and dead stuff are for a long time and we know what life is and what it looks like. I know it feels uncomfortable being the only person who doesn't know something that everyone else knows but that's an intellectual shortcoming in you. That's not being intellectually honest, that's being intellectually ignorant. I suggest you educate yourself on the matter because you are very much behind the times here.

But to answer the question we should draw the line at the start of a new human life which is the moment of conception. And I dare you to find to a legitimate scientist who denies that human life starts at conception.

Do you want to draw the line between these things with nerve cells? How many? In what configuration? Tell me exactly. Give me an exact figure or architecture. Give me an exact neurochemical make up. Can't do it? Unwilling to even try? Then please be quiet because the grown ups are talking.

I want to draw the line at every life that is a human organism. Hope that helps :)

"Would you like to play with DNA? That's a multivariate spectrum too."

DNA is not a human organism. Hope that helps :)

"I'd like to start by setting up rights for people who are already here."

Good news! Rights are set up for people who are here. And if a person exists, they are already here. A new human being exists at the moment of conception so they are already here even if you can't see them. And they have rights too.

What you are actually wanting to do is deny rights to a particular demographic and that is a very bad thing.

"The conservative is playing masterbatory word games and won't do it in privacy by themselves like adults."

I am doing no such thing lol

"Making a person who can suffer is fundamentally extreme. The act, the process whatever that thing is. The fact it can happen by accident is a cruel act."

Pregnancy is not suffering. Stop being so dramatic. You are the cruel one for denying the humanity of the unborn in order to justify killing them and using your extreme scientific illiteracy as an excuse.

Be better.

What could people possibly mean by "I support abortion only in extreme cases"?

If something is growing inside of you that you don't want there, that's pretty damn extreme.

[headdinthewall]

BEING MEAN ──  g.clarke  ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : george wants to film a ‘who knows me best’ video with you and emily, but you both secretly prank him a/n : had this idea in my mind for a while now, emily seems like the sweetest woman ever content : established relationship ,, insults as a joke ,, short imagine today as the next post will be an INSIDE post

─────── EMILY WAS OVER at the apartment you shared with George, as you three were going to film a video for his channel. He wanted to do the ‘Who Knows Me Best Challenge’ between his girlfriend and his sister, and you both agreed.

You loved Emily and she loved you. She was so sweet and welcoming to you and never made you feel awkward or uncomfortable, if anything she did it to him by spilling his embarrassing childhood stories that made you cackle and him burn red.

Just before you started filming, you spoke to her quietly as George set the camera up, making a proposition, “Do you want to prank George?”

“Now? Or while we film?” Emily asked, immediately in on it.

“While we film. I’ve seen this thing where girls get their boyfriend’s sister to make little insults and say mean things to her to see if he says anything.”

She gaped at you, “Wait, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.” She put a hand on your arm.

“No, no, no, don’t worry, I’m literally telling you it’s okay to do.” You laughed softly.

“Are you sure?” Emily double checked.

“Yeah, of course. I just want to see his reaction.”

“He’s gonna be so awkward about it.” She giggled.

George called out for you to come into the office, so you did. He had the camera set up and three chairs in front of it, his phone was on his lap with the questions written on his notes app.

You each sat on either side of him as he did his intro, introducing you two (even though the viewers most likely already knew who you were) and explaining the video idea.

“George these chairs are really uncomfortable.” You muttered, shuffling around to try and get comfortable.

“I think it’s just you.” Emily hummed.

“My chair’s okay.” George frowned, looking at you, “Do you want to swap?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” You shook it off.

“Reader, have you put on weight?” She asked.

“Emily!” George exclaimed, jaw dropped in shock.

“I’m just saying! She might be weighing the chair down.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say!” He chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s okay, she’s just asking, George. I don’t think I’ve put weight on.” You played along.

“Oh.” She hummed.

“Right, first question; who was my first kiss?” George asked, looking between you two to see who would answer first.

“Well it wasn’t me.” You said with a sarcastic, sad tone.

“Does he even kiss you now?” Emily chipped, looking at you directly. “It was in year eight, and the girl was … what was her name? Jessica something, I dunno.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” George nodded, rubbing his moustache, subtly glancing at you. “What do I want my first dance song to be at my future wedding?”

“You said you wanted it to be … Oh, shit I forgot! Oh makes me look like a really bad girlfriend, I do remember, I promise, it’s on the top of my tongue.” You flapped your hands about, trying to wrangle your memories together to remember the conversation you’d had with him.

“That is really bad. You are a bit of a bad girlfriend.” Emily pursed her lips and George’s smile dropped slightly.

“Em.” He said in a slightly scolding way, “Don’t say that.”

“I said ‘a bit’ not that she is a bad girlfriend!” She tried to defend herself.

“It’s fine, George, I remember. You said you wanted Arthur to perform at the wedding and you would choose whatever song when the time came.” You dismissed her comment, knowing it was all apart of the prank.

“Yeah, but I also said it’s up to you, too.” He hummed, patting your knee, “50/50.”

“Seems like 75/25.” Emily mumbled under her breath and you could tell George heard it but didn’t want to make it awkward.

The video continued, and Emily’s snarky comments only became more prominent and noticeable, and George was getting slightly annoyed, occasionally scolding her or keeping a hand on the back of your chair as a silent sign of comfort.

“Who do we think has won?” He asked, glancing between you two.

“Me, obviously. I’ve literally known you your whole life, there’s no way that … she, is knowing you more than I am.” Emily gestured to you, refusing to use your actual name.

“True, you have known me since the day I was born, but there’s things she knew about me that you didn’t.” George defended you, fingers circling your skin on your back. “Why did you say ‘she’ like that, though?”

“I know I’ve won, Geo.” Emily insisted, “She’s just not … y’know? She didn’t know stuff about what you wanted in your own wedding, that’s weird. Like, I remember everything Josh wants.”

His head whipped back and forth between you two, an awkward smile on his face, “Am I missing something?”

“In your relationship, yeah.” She shrugged, “Clearly you can do better.”

You toyed with the pandora charms spread evenly across your bracelet, playing the whole nervous, ‘I’m being insulted’ girlfriend role.

“Emily, that’s a horrible thing to say.” George frowned, “You were talking about how much you liked reader earlier and you’ve been insulting her throughout the whole thing.”

“Just voicing my own opinion.” Emily said simply.

“No, you’re being horrible.” He shook his head, looking over at you and putting his hand on your thigh, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s not like we planned it or anything.” You mumbled, and Emily let out a crack of a laugh.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed, looking between you, “I’m so confused.”

“She was being mean on purpose. It was a prank!” You laughed, high-fiving her over his head and he blinked at you.

“Oh my God!” He coughed, running a hand through his hair as the tension relieved from his body, “I thought something had happened between you two!”

Emily stood up, coming over to you and hugging you, “I’m so sorry! I feel so bad!”

“You guys stressed me out so bad, never do that again!” George said sternly.

“I promise you don’t look like you’ve put on weight, and I don’t think you’re a bad girlfriend!” She promised.

Later on, while George was editing the video, he continuously checked with you over certain clips to see if you were okay with it staying in because he was concerned that your feelings were genuinely hurt.

George Clarkey posted a youtube video !

‘Who knows me best? Girlfriend vs Sister (They pranked me😐)’

comments:

↳ user1 THE DISCLAIMER AT THE BEGINNING ‘please don’t go harassing my sister online, reader consented to the prank, they did it against me’

↳ user2 it’s so funny knowing these two are the sweetest girls irl and one of them just bullies the other all to prank george. love them as a duo x

George Clarkey genuinely was panicking while filming, wouldn’t call it funny

↳ user3 george’s head constantly going between them because he’s concerned

↳ user4 someone check on george, the hair loss from stress is getting to him

↳ user5 ‘have you put on weight’ BRUTAL OMG

George Clarkey hope you’re not agreeing with Emily on this one, reader is perfectly healthy👍🏼

↳ ArthurTV poor reader omg😭

↳ youryoutubechannel i just be catching strays😕

[shadowheartshapedbox]

✶⋆.˚ ┆ 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 {𝟏𝟖+}

pairing: bob reynolds x thunderbolts*reader x john walker summary: john walks in on you and bob sharing an intimate moment. to john's surprise, you invite him to join. warnings: 18+, minors dni, smut (threesome, john holds you while bob eats you out, bob and john share a kiss, you ride john and give bob head at the same time, not so much smut but naked cuddles at the end <3), swearing, potentially ooc characters (first time writing for bob so if i didn't give him justice please don't burn me at the stake) word count: 6k a/n: listen, i wasn't expecting to like the bob x john pairing as much as i did, but then i read some fics and thought ... yeah i gotta write something. i feel like i got a little lazy writing toward the end, so i might go back and rework some stuff. but for now, enjoy!

It had been the first Friday night in months that the Thunderbolts didn't have to go away for a mission. The team was elated to have a weekend to relax. Not only had they been training to become better heroes, but also training to keep a good public reputation.

After all, they had big shoes to fill now that they were the New Avengers. Being a Thunderbolt was one thing, being protectors of the innocent was another.

So, the break was well-deserved. It put everyone in a good mood. Even Bucky, who never seemed to be able to relax or have fun. Tonight, he joined Alexei in the common room at the Watchtower. Alexei had been watching an action movie and doing a terrible job at explaining it to Bucky, instead of just letting him watch.

Yelena had asked Ava for her help in her room, something about giving the guinea pig a bath. Despite Ava dragging her feet as she followed Yelena down the hall, John knew Ava wasn't really that annoyed by it. He'd noticed the two hanging out more, which also helped boost team morale. The better everyone got along, the better they worked together as a team.

With everyone occupied with their choice of entertainment for the evening, John decided to make his way to your room. He hoped after the long week you'd be up for some company.

Within the last year, you and John had grown close. Valentina often put you and John together on missions, which may have led to something more between the two of you. You guys weren't dating, but you drifted dangerously along the line of friendship and something more.

It put John in an uncomfortable position once Bob started coming around more. He wasn't upset; in fact, he was glad Bobby was hanging out with them now, but John couldn't deny that missed the time spent with just the two of you.

He missed you coming into his room at night, after everyone had gone to bed. You liked sleeping with John at night, letting him hold you while you drifted off. But lately you weren't stopping by his room, and when he saw Bob coming out of your room one morning, he knew something was up.

John didn't think to knock when he got to your room. He was so lost in his thoughts that he just walked right in. He barely made it through the doorway before he came to a complete stop.

The scene unfolding in front of John made the man turn red, his throat tightening shut. His blue eyes tried to find any other spot to look in your room, but they betrayed him and kept going back to what was happening on your bed.

Bob was sitting in your bed, back flat against the headboard. The same one John had nearly broken several times in the past. His eyes were closed, mouth hung open with his head fallen back. There was a shine of sweat across Bob's forehead, his curls sticking to his face. His fists were twisted in your sheets, the same ones you had stained more than once.

John's eyes dropped lower on the bed, where you were laying on your stomach in between Bob's legs. He could see your head bobbing up and down along his length. You had been so lost in the taste of Bob that you didn't hear the door open, not until you heard the door swoosh close. Bob let out a startled moan, weakly trying to push you off him now in embarrassment.

John wasn't sure what to say, how to react. He stood like an idiot with his mouth hung open from shock. A crimson color was creeping up his neck and to his ears. But then to make it worse, he felt his dick twitch in his pants. He awkwardly shifted, trying to not be obvious when he put his hands in front of his crotch. How could he be getting this turned on by what he saw?

Bob, on the other hand, was mortified. Sure, John and Bob were much better friends than they were when they first met, but Bob would be lying if he said he wasn't still a little intimidated by John. And now that he was fooling around with you, Bob was worried John wouldn't take it well.

He wasn't an idiot. Bob saw the way John looked at you when he thought nobody was looking. He was smitten over you. But John also didn't have any sort of claim on you. So, it's not like you and Bob were doing anything wrong.

John watched you finally pull yourself off Bob with a lewd 'pop!' noise. You wiped your mouth and grinned at John, before turning to look back at Bob. You leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear, "I told you he'd find us."

Bob glanced up and over at John. He watched the blonde's tongue peek out, licking his bottom lip. It made Bob's dick grow under his hands, causing him to groan and shift a little in your bed.

"I told you to lock the door," Bob said, looking over at you. He shook his head when you let out a giggle, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss on the cheek.

"Bobby, I didn't think you were being serious," you tried to be serious, but couldn't help the stifled laugh that slipped through your lips when Bob gave you a pointed look. "Besidesss, I thought we agreed that it would be fun if he joined."

John swore he died just then. Did he hear you right? You two had discussed this before? Him...joining you? He watched you two sit in your bed together, naked. Your bodies shining from sweat and slick. His eyes found his way to Bob's arms. The muscles of his biceps flexed, the veins popped. John's eyes continued further down, counting each ab on Bob's stomach before he-

The moan from across the room brought you to a hush. You and Bob's head turned to look over at John, who was not practically panting from his spot still by your door. Bob could see John's dick was ready to break through his pants. Was he...turned on by this?

John cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but no words fell out. His feet felt locked in place, unable to move.

"I should just-," Go. He needed to turn around and leave. His mind was screaming at him to walk away, so why couldn't he?

You leaned over and gave Bob one more wet kiss to his cheek before pushing yourself off the bed. Bob's eyes fell down your naked form, watching you make your way to John. His dominant hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly.

When you made your way to John, you circled him once like he was prey. It made him nervous, tense. Bob couldn't see you when you disappeared behind John, not only your arms poked out and wrapped around his middle. John only seemed to relax when he realized you were just hugging him.

"I'm not gonna force you to do anything you don't want," John leaned against your mouth when you whispered in his ear, feeling your lips press kisses across his face and along his jawline, down his neck. "But I'd love to have a night with both of my boys."

Bob whimpered at your words from across the room, feeling more pre-cum leak through the slit at the tip of his dick. Your boys, he liked the sound of that. And by the size of the tent in John's pants, he did too.

John sucked in a breath when your hands wandered lower, palming him through his sweatpants. He leaned back into your hold, knees threatening to give out from under him. He needed a moment to think.

A part of him knew the entire situation was fucked, but he also couldn't deny how much it turned him on. The idea of stuffing you full of him while Bob watched made him nearly faint. John nearly came in his pants then when he thought about watching Bob eat you out after.

When John's eyes found yours again, they were nearly black from lust. He turned in your hold, grabbing you by the waist and pulling him to him. John's hand extended out behind you to lock the door. He let out a hiss when he felt you start grinding on his dick.

He gave your ass a smack, a warning. John's hands kneaded the flesh before giving it another hard smack. "So, when did this little thing start, huh?" John pulled you with him as he made his way to the bed.

Bob watched John toss you like you were nothing on the bed. His eyes dropped to where you fell, in between his legs and dangerously close to his dick. His balls were practically sitting on top of your head.

You moved your head to rest on Bob's thigh, turning your face to look at his dick. You hummed and reached out, replacing Bob's hand with your own. His hands found the bedsheets again, twisting them in his fists.

"Go on, Bobby. Answer him," you contorted your body to be able to lean over and kiss the swollen red tip of his dick. Bob hissed at the contact.

"F-fuck, I don't know. A few weeks ago, I think," Bob whimpered and twisted his fists tighter in the sheets when he felt you kiss up and down his shaft. "When y-you were all gone on a mission."

John tried to think back a few weeks ago. All the days were beginning to blur together, but John eventually remembered what Bob was talking about. You had gotten injured, and Val made you sit out.

He let out a laugh more to himself than anyone as he pushed his pants down. You and Bob watched in awe as John stripped himself free from his clothes. He wasn't as chiseled as Bob was, but he was just as solid. Faint scars from his time in battle litter his body, freckles dancing around the scars like constellations.

He was beautiful, you and Bob both thought. In front of the team, John's ego was inflated. If you said that to him in front of everyone, but behind closed doors...John was sweeter.

Bob couldn't help but look down at John's dick, standing tall, proud. Bob's dick twitched and knocked against your nose as you were pulling away.

You sat up and on your knees. Bob followed your lead, sitting up and extending his arms out behind him to lean on. His legs were stretched out on the bed, dick twitching in his lap. He watched John crawl on the bed, kneeling in front of you and sitting at Bob's knees.

"It's only our third time," you explained, moaning when John's large hands groped your tits suddenly. You felt yourself become wet from him manhandling you. "W-we haven't even really done anything!"

Bob watched John play with your tits in front of him. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat when John's mouth licked and sucked at your neck, fingers twisting and pulling at your nipples. John knew what you liked, how you liked being touched. Maybe he'd be a good friend tonight to Bobby and give him a few pointers.

John's gaze glanced over at Bob, who had been staring at your breasts, his hand slowly pumping the top of his dick. John grinned against your neck before biting down, pulling away when you yelped. You were already in a daze, pouting when John's warm mouth left your skin. All he did was give you some hickeys on your neck and play with your tits, and this was the state you were left in.

"Tell me what you've done," His hands held onto your hips as he maneuvered you both on the bed, turning you so your back was against his chest, and you were facing Bob. John made sure to keep your legs open, so Bob had a direct view of your wet pussy.

You hummed at the warm feeling of John's front against your cold back. His hands went back to playing with your breasts, his legs pinning yours open. Bob watched through heavy eyes as John kissed your neck, biting at the skin and licking up until he pressed his lips to your ear. John locked his eyes on Bob while asking you, "Has he ate your pussy yet?"

You moaned at the question and squirmed in John's grip, rolling your hips down on the sheets. You felt John's hard dick pressing against your back, his teeth pulling at your earlobe. He stuck his tongue in your ear a little, causing you to groan and try and pull away. But John's grip only tightened so you would stay put.

"Tell me," he whispered harshly, bringing one of his hands down from your breast to smack your clit. You whimpered and bucked your hips up, chasing after his touch. All Bob could do was continue to watch in awe. You were putty in John's hands. "Tell me what you've done. I won't ask again."

Your chest heaved as you tried catching your breath. What little sense of control you thought you had, was now out the window. John already took you by surprise when he accepted to join you and Bob, now it seemed like he was taking charge of the situation entirely.

You weren't surprised though. Leave it to John to still need to be in control somehow. If you weren't painfully aroused by the moment, you'd probably give him shit for it. But you wanted him on you, in you.

"We've only kissed," You turned and buried your face in John's neck. "I-I've only sucked his dick. We were gonna do more tonight, though."

You whimpered when John slowly began rubbing circles on your clit. He nodded at your answer, satisfied with your response. His fingers slipped around the bundle of nerves the wetter you grew. But there was still something about your response that didn't sit right with John.

"But has Bobby tasted you yet? I saw his dick down your throat, but has he given you the same attention?"

Bob's face grew hotter. He watched you shake your head no before glancing back at John, who had a little smirk toying at the corner of his mouth. He stopped playing with your clit and pushed your legs open more with his legs, motioning for Bob to move in between.

He tried to not be so nervous, especially now that John was there. It's not like he didn't know what he was doing, he's just never ate your pussy before. Bob wanted to make sure he did a good job, and John was going to make sure that it happened.

"Be good and keep your legs open, yeah? I want Bobby to make sure he gets all in there." You nodded and watched Bob as he shifted to lay on his stomach. He wrapped his arms around yours and John's legs, adjusting them to rest over his shoulders and down his back. You found yourself panting, sandwiched between the both of them.

"Now, Bobby. Don't be afraid to get messy. She likes it when you clean her up after," You could feel Bob’s hot breath fanning over your pussy, drool threatening to spill out and on you.

But Bob felt frozen, unable to move. John scoffed and grabbed him by his hair, shoving his face deep into your folds. “Come on now, don’t keep our girl waiting.”

When you felt Bob's tongue go flat against your folds, you let out a loud moan. Your hands gripped John's biceps, legs squirming in both their grasps. Bob's hands tightened on your thighs as John's ankles locked onto yours.

"Good job, Bobby," John's hands eased up on Bob's head, pushing his hair back and out of his face. You felt John's dick slowly grind against your back. "How does she taste?"

Bob whimpered when John's hand left his hair. Through lidded eyes, Bob watched John's calloused fingers run along your body, working you up. His hands grabbed at the soft parts of your body, working their way back up your breasts. Bob moaned as he continued to eat you out when he watched John pinch and twist your hardened nipples.

"Come on, Bob. Tell me," John practically whined. He wasn't used to sharing, having to wait to taste you. "I wanna know what I'm missing out on."

Bob's hips slowly grinded into your mattress. Between the taste of you and John's voice coaxing him through the act, Bob was ready to cum. His tongue continued to swipe up and down through your folds, slurping up any liquid that dripped out of you.

"S-good," Bob muffled, not able to rip his mouth away from you. "Tastes like...mmm, candy."

You let out a whine at Bob's words, withering in John's grasp. His hands came down from your breasts to wrap around your middle, holding you still. Although you were starting to become overstimulated, you craved more. You needed more.

"Candy, huh?" John laughed and leaned down to kiss your cheek. "You hear that? Bobby said you taste like candy. I'm really jealous now. Not used to having to wait to have a taste."

You tore your gaze away from Bob and looked up at John, who was smiling down at you. Any sense of nervousness or uncomfortableness seemed to have vanished from the blonde. You were both lost in each other's eyes, that neither of you noticed Bob's eyes glaze over golden.

There was an urge that ripped through Bob suddenly. It was like an itch that needed to be scratched. His body was tingling, practically buzzing when he pulled himself off of you. You and John both turned your attention back to Bob.

He was sitting on his knees now, still in between your legs. Bob scooted himself closer to you, thighs resting under yours. His hands grabbed onto John's, since his legs were still pinning you down. The position was borderline uncomfortable, but the closeness had you quickly forgetting how uncomfortable you were.

From your spot in between John and Bob, you became uneasy. You knew what came with the golden eyes, but Bob wasn't backing down yet, so maybe he wasn't done? You began to wonder what you got yourself into.

"You okay, Bo-"

Bob cut you off by grabbing John's shoulder, pulling him closer. You fell into Bob's chest, pinned to his hard front when John was pulled closer by Bob. John tried to not squirm in Bob's hold, but he wasn't sure where this was heading.

You craned your neck back awkwardly to look up. Your mouth fell open when you watched Bob suddenly press his lips to John. Bob was more confident with that kiss than he'd been with anything else that night. John was taken back, but he didn't pull away. He was surprised with himself when Bob pulled away from the kiss, and John chased after his lips.

John watched with his mouth hung open as Bob pushed you and him both to lean back in your original spot. You were relieved to not be contorted like a pretzel any longer. The room fell back into a quiet hush, except for the lewd sounds of Bob eating you out.

Nothing was said about what just happened. John's lips were glossed over with a mixture of your slick and Bob's spit. He was watching Bob in a dream-like state, only pulled out of it when you pulled John in for a kiss.

You moaned at the taste on his lips, running your tongue over his top and bottom lip in circles, sucking his bottom lip and pulling away with your teeth dragging his lip out. You let it go and watched his lip stick out, a little swollen.

"Taste good," You mumbled before settling back in John's arms. One hand fell down to Bob's hair, fingers running through and pulling gently at his curls. "You're doing good, Bob. Making me feel so, oh!"

You jolted when you felt two fingers push into your dripping core. John's attention was drawn back to the act happening between your legs. He let out a moan of his own when he watched Bob's fingers pumping lewdly in you, mouth sucking hard at your clit.

"Good job, Bobby," He put his hands on your knees, pushing and pinning you deeper into the mattress. Bob's hand was reached out, holding on John's hip. It made John jump a little. "Keep going. She's getting messy, that means she's close."

You knew what was coming. You were going to squirt all over Bob's fingers, arm and mouth. The orgasm was going to hit you hard, nearly knock you out entirely. You closed your eyes to try and focus on not cumming right away.

"You gonna make a big mess on Bob, yeah?" John hissed when he felt Bob's blunt nails dig into his thigh. You nodded and withered around in John's arms. Your back was now dripping with John's pre-cum.

"I think Bobby's deserved it, don't you think?," John kissed the top of your head. "Finally got to taste you, baby. Why were you depriving him so long?"

You opened your eyes and looked at Bob, golden eyes meeting yours. He didn't look away from you, but his eyes were growing heavy, drunk off your pussy. You closed your eyes again and turned your head away.

"I-I don't know," you answered, whining when John grabbed you by your hair to force you to look back down at Bob. "John!"

"Don't get bratty with me. You should at least watch him when he's eating you out. He's doing a fucking good job at it, aren't you, Bobby?" Bob's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. He wished John wouldn't talk so much right now.

You were right on the edge of your orgasm. Bob could feel your warm pussy clenching down on his fingers, making it almost impossible for him to curl his fingers up and punish your g-spot. He didn't want to hurt you, especially since this was only the first time, but you felt so good. He almost couldn't control himself.

Bob's fingers kept pace, but his mouth slowed. The two different sensations on two sensitive spots on your body had you teetering on insanity. You felt his tongue swipe up through your folds slowly, his soft lips kissing around your pussy and up your sticky thighs.

"She's close," Bob mumbled. He was hesitant for a second, as if deciding on if he should say what he wanted to. But at this point, he knew there wasn't much he could do to ruin things. "Feels like I'm gonna lose a couple fingers from her pussy."

John laughed at Bob's joke, earning a faint laugh from Bob. You watched Bob's shoulders relax. As happy as you were that he was getting comfortable, that him and John were getting along, why did they have to be stupid boys right as you were about to break?

Bob gave you one more kiss before wrapping his mouth around your clit again. He sucked on it like his life depended on it. You gasped and fisted your hands in Bob's hair, tugging on the curls.

It didn't take long before you let out a high pitch moan, shaking as you squirted all over him. Bob was quick to slurp you up, not wanting to waste any of the precious juices you graced him with.

John felt your legs shaking under his. He smiled and kissed your temple, whispering that you did a good job. You closed your eyes and panted, trying to catch your breath as you came down from your post-orgasm high. Your hips would occasionally buck up as Bob cleaned you up. But he eventually pulled away and sat up on his knees.

You didn't have the energy yet to open your eyes. John, on the other hand, couldn't help but watch Bob. He was kneeling in front of the both of you, grinning to himself in his fucked-out state. Your slick was glistening across Bob's lips, his chin. The hair that wasn't sticking to his face was sticking up a little. His eyes, still golden, but more subdued.

"You did good, Bobby. Glad you finally got a taste?" John asked, watching as Bob nodded. John nodded back before looking down at you. "Hey, we aren't done yet."

Bob fell back to his original spot in your bed, with his now sweaty back sticking to your headboard. His dick was painfully hard, leaking and red. He couldn't help himself at this point. While his right hand stroked his shaft, his left hands cupped his balls.

You opened your eyes with a groan when John began moving you. He adjusted himself so he was sitting up better, his legs now stretched over Bob's. You were in between them again, just not as close this time. Bob would have to lean forward to give you a kiss.

John's hands held you tight by the waist until he was comfortable. He then guided you down until you were seated on his dick. You moaned at the feeling of his dick in between your sticky folds. His dick was going to stretch you out deliciously. You clenched at the thought.

"I'm glad you got off, sweetheart. But Bobby and I haven't," John's hands moved up your stomach until they reached your breasts, giving them a squeeze. You whimpered and watched Bob continue to jack himself off, watching you intensely. You let out a small gasp when John's mouth found your ear. "So, you're gonna be our good girl, m'kay? You're gonna suck on Bobby's dick while you ride mine."

John's dick pulsated in anticipation. He wanted to give Bobby his time to shine when it came to eating you out, prepping you. But John could only be patient for so long. If he didn't sink his dick into you in the next ten seconds, he might've had to bend Bob over.

He grunted loud in your ear at the thought, bucking his hips up into you. You met John's movements in the middle, moaning at the contact. Your body was sticking to John's from both of your body heat, the sweat and slick from the evening. It was like you were glued to him.

Bob watched the two of you in front of him. His eyes wandered over your face, pulled in a tight expression as John edged you; your pussy, dripping now from slick as John's dick slid in and out between your folds. Bob licked his lips, wondering what the tip of John's dick tasted like. He tore his golden eyes away when John began pushing you forward.

Your hands came up to rest on Bob's thighs, using him as leverage to hold yourself up as John guided himself into you. By the third stroke, he was already setting a mean pace. The sound of slapping and squelching made Bob's dick harder, if that was even possible at this point.

John let out a huff like a bull, similar to when he was in combat. His hands were gripping your waist painfully hard, hips snapping up into you. You could already feel the bruises that were going to be left behind. Your head was hovering over Bob's dick, mouth open and panting above the tip.

Bob's hands moved away from his dick and up to your hair, moving it out of your face and holding it back in his hands. You moaned when you felt him tug at it. Not hard enough for it to hurt, but hard enough to leave a comfortable sting behind.

You kept your eyes locked on Bob's happy trail. You felt your pussy clench around John's dick at the thought of your nose pressing into the soft patch of hair above Bob's dick. Before John could make a quip, you practically engulfed Bob down your throat, earning a rather loud moan from him.

"S-shit, hey! Slow down, please," Bob panted and found his hands dropping down from your head and onto John's legs. He gripped his calves, blunt nails sinking into the muscle.

You gagged loudly on Bob's dick, pulling up and off him, spitting out the glob of saliva you had building in your mouth. Your hand was instantly sticky, stroking the base of Bob's dick while your mouth suckled on the tip.

John remained behind you, bucking his hips wildly into you. Your pussy felt so good around him, so wet and warm. Whenever the tip hit your g-spot, deep up in you, you clenched tight down on John and moaned around Bob's dick. Despite your clenching, it was still easy for him to pump in and out of you. He'd have to thank Bob later somehow, for getting you ready so well for him.

Your last moan around Bob's dick nearly had him cumming then and there. He was trying to last as long as John could, but he was already so sensitive from you blowing him earlier, before John even joined you. Bob wasn't ready to have the night end so soon.

But just like your current evening, things don't always go as planned. Before Bob could even warn you, his balls suddenly tightened, a sharp gasp escaping him that sent you in a frenzy.

Whatever you couldn't fit in your mouth you stroked with your hand. You tried to make it sloppy, keep him lubed up with your spit and his pre-cum. You liked the taste of Bob. He was sweeter than you imagined. He'd been working hard to be healthier, and it paid off. You were swallowing anything and everything he gave you.

"Taste so good, Bob," your tongue swirled along his slit, pulling off to pump his dick from balls to tip. "Can't wait to have you cum down my throa-"

You were cut off by Bob suddenly squirting his cum all over your face. You flinched when the warm liquid hit you square in the face, dripping down your nose. Bob was already apologizing profusely, hips still bucking wildly through his orgasm.

Meanwhile, John was behind you watching the scene unfold. He watched Bob's angry-looking dick finally shoot it's seed out, coaxing your face in its white and sticky substance. It made John gasp, losing his rhythm and staggering into you. He took a quick moment to refocus before picking up the pace again.

John gave your ass a few good smacks as he pounded into you. You were moaning around Bob's dick as you cleaned him up with your tongue. Bob, on the other hand, was practically knocked out entirely. His eyes were closed, thighs shaking from overstimulation. But he didn't push you away, he kept his hands on John's calves.

"You did so good for us tonight. So fucking good," John leaned forward and pressed his lips to your back, peppering your skin with kisses. He was rolling his hips deep into you, edging himself. Just like Bob, he wasn't ready to end the night just yet.

Once you were satisfied with your job at cleaning Bob up, you pulled off him and let your cheek rest against his inner thigh. You panted, holding onto Bob as John fucked you. Bob's arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders, almost like he was hugging you.

Your body rocked against his with each powerful thrust John gave you. You could feel your next orgasm approaching, building faster with each brutal hit to your g-spot. All you could blab out was John's name, weakly repeating it.

It didn't take long for John to finally cum deep in you. His hips suddenly jerked up and he locked himself in you. His body shook as he filled you with his seed. You weren't much further behind, soon creaming around his length.

You rocked your hips through your orgasm, milking John for all he had and could give you then, before your hips stilled. You felt John soften inside you, but he had no intention of pulling out just yet.

He fell back on your bed, staring up at your ceiling. John's head was nearly about to fall off the foot of the bed, but Bob's tight hold on his legs kept him safe and secure. You kept your own hold on Bob, nearly falling asleep.

After a while, John shifted in bed. He pulled his shaky legs out from under you and Bob, grabbing you by the waist again. You let out a whine, not ready for another round. John let out scoff and rolled his eyes. "Relax, I'm just getting us comfortable."

You hummed when John moved you up higher in bed, pushing Bob a little at his shoulders for him to scoot in the bed to make room. Bob let out a quiet moan when his head sank into one of your pillows, his eyes closing. You leaned forward and kissed his cheek, wrapping your arms around him and holding him. Your head rested on his chest, right above his heart.

John eventually settled on the other side of you. He laid on his stomach, like you. His right leg was tangled in between yours, his right arm thrown over you and Bob. John's left leg dangled off your bed while his left arm laid under the pillow he was using. Bob's free arm that wasn't trapped under you reached across you, his hand laying on John's back. His fingers traced John's soft skin, swirling circles and random patterns. Your bedroom eventually fell into a comfortable quietness.

There wasn't anything that necessarily needed to be said, but the future now remained uncertain. What came next? When you all recovered, would you pretend like nothing ever happened? Deep down, you didn't want that. You enjoyed spending time with John and Bob, you enjoyed your time with the three of you together even more now.

You were thankful to not be the one to talk next. As much as you were enjoying the silence, it began to be almost too quiet.

"Think we can make this happen again?" John asked, leaning up now and looking over at the two of you. Bob was surprised John wanted to make it happen again, but he can't say he disagreed.

You opened your eyes and looked at Bob, before turning enough to look at John. He had a smirk on his face, one that was far too smug for your liking. You let out a scoff and pushed his head a little, playfully. "Wipe that smirk off your face, Walker. Who said this was gonna happen again?"

You let your head fall back down on Bob's chest, feeling John lay on you and pepper kisses on your face as an apology. Bob smiled down at the two of you continuing to listen to your obvious sarcasm of not enjoying yourself to John who was asking you a dozen questions all at once. Bob's right hand ran through John's golden hair as he sat quietly in his own thoughts, his left hand coming down to your face, gently stroking it.

"I wouldn't mind doing this again," Bob admitted, cutting through you and John's teasing. He met eyes with John, who was now fully grinning ear to ear. It was like John knew if Bob agreed, then you would too.

"See? Bobby's down. So what do you say?" John flinched when you brought your hand up to flick his nose. You muttered how he was an idiot before rolling onto your back.

Bob wrapped an arm around you while John laid in between your legs, chin resting on your stomach. You let out a hum, stroking John's face.

"Fine," you agree, pinching John's cheeks between your fingers. "But I want to watch you choke on Bob's dick next time."

[nanamisdollie]

itoshi sae and his new assistant ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

smut, mdni. cw: boss!sae, sadism, corruption, degrading!!

it’d been two months since you started your job as an assistant. you hadn’t expected much of it besides the obvious; being bossed around, sent to a hundred different places in a day, bringing coffee before the sun even began to rise, but no. not with who your boss ended up being.

“bend over.”

the tone was cold, two hands even colder cupping your breasts over your bra but beneath your blouse. lips were close to your neck, a bruise already forming on your shoulder from where he had been nipping relentlessly.

itoshi sae was nothing like what you had imagined.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

the usually quiet office was filled with with the sounds of skin snapping and your own gasps. the hands that had once been on your chest were glued to your hips now, pulling you back to meet every one of his thrusts.

“quit clenching.” he spoke in a bored, matter of fact tone, as if he weren’t fucking into you at a pace that made your cervix ache “makes you seem like a virgin.”

“m’ not- not a virgin-“ a soft moan, high in tone, cuts you off “-have been w-with one- hmph- one guy.” you didn’t see a reason as to why you’d have to lie about it to him considering the stage you were at now. why would it matter to him?

theres a pause for a moment before his pace slows. he never quits his thrusts but a hand leaves you hip and goes to your hair, gathering it in a ponytail. he gives it a tug that makes you wince, eyes fluttering, but it gets your attention. you try to angle to where you can look at him, hands slipping on the desk.

“one guy?” sae cocks his head but of course you cant tell if he’s curious, annoyed, or just doesn’t care. its mechanical, casual, just as he was on the field. odd considering he was destroying your cunt.

“pathetic.”

pathetic? a ‘huh?’ falls past your lips. you thought guys liked when a girl had a low body count…

you’re not given much time to process as his hips fall back into their prior rhythm, relentless on your hole as if it were a toy. he gives your hair another tug though, making your back arch.

“guess i can teach you...least i can do considering youve been a decent employee.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

your body aches, your heads fuzzy, your cunts covered in your own cum and drool from when sae had spit in his hand to make sure you were lubed up enough to take him.

it’d been an hour of relentless fucking; riding him on the desk chair you usually replied to his emails on, pushed with your face into the desk you would have to work at the following day, ass stretched for the first time while he told you ‘you’re gonna have to do it someday, might as well be with me”.

now, your mouth was being violated by a cock so big it made your eyes tear and throat burn when you took it to the base. sae wasn’t helping, wasn’t praising you, he just watched you; bored.

you pull off his cock with a cough and a huff of air, sniffling. your hand continues to jerk him off, precum finally drooling out of his rosy slit.

“why’d you stop.”

its not a question, he phrases it like a statement. you blink up at him through glassy eyes and sticky lashes, the two of you finally holding proper eye contact for the first time during this office fuck fest.

“throat hurts~” its a whisper, throat raw from the moans you couldn’t hold back and letting his tip choke you repeatedly.

he cocks his head again like he did earlier snd instead of replying he grips your hair in a ponytail once more, forcing your lips back around him. you choke immediately, brows furrowing as your eyes stay on his. its uncomfortable, but why would he care?

sae begins to thrust into your mouth, barely audible huffs finally falling past his perfect lips. meanwhile you were struggling to breathe, he must’ve liked that…yeah not surprising. every time his cock hit the back of your throat you gagged, the excess spit making his cock move more smoothly though not less painfully.

“didnt tell you to stop.” he’s somehow still stern and overly composed while his hip movements give away just how close he is to finishing.

another hand meets the one already in your hair and he forces you all the way down, not caring that your nails are digging into his thighs now, your nose pressed uncomfortably against his pubic bone.

“shit- your bad at sucking cock-“

he yanks you off of him, keeping one hand in your hair while you can finally breathe again. you’re coughing, drooling everywhere, tears wet and streaking down your flushed cheeks.

“look at me.”

when you do everything’s blurry but its not hard to make out the scene; sae standing over you, jerking off with his free hand. when you lock eyes again, his finally flutter and he lets out a choked whine. sticky overly wet cum shoots from his twitching cock, landing right on your face; one streak his your eye, another on your lips, and a few in your hair.

you wince when you try to blink, the cum making your eyes sting. when he lets go of your hair, you fall to your hands, coughing again. sae doesn’t speak, doesn’t help you up, but you can hear him getting redressed.

when you finally have the composure to sit up your still shaking. you’re exhausted, body hurting in places you never had felt pain like this before. you try to rub his cum off your face but it just smears making your nose crinkle when some gets past your lips.

the door clicks and you look up; saes leaving. of course. you try to stand and fail, legs still like jelly. at least he had the curtsy to turn to you;

“be in at 7:30. youre fired if you come in a second later.”

this started as a request for corruption w sae but i accidentlly deleted the damn request and i took a lil spin on it <33 ty for reading!!

[billysgirllol]

muscles tensing, quickly becoming more and more uncomfortable with his hands wandering over her, even if she thinks he’s just trying to hang onto her. THINKS— keyword: thinks. “i’m okay,” hopping up, she wonders if billy saw that as she plops back down and her fists ball up, anger starting to well in the pity of her belly and quickly rise up to her temples.

her jaw clenching, brows scrunching together in contemplative anger… the calm before the storm; attempting to anchor herself to this seat or go right up and chew out billy bonney. what did he do? THAT on purpose? slinging her around, trying to make her fall down, fall down onto pat more specifically? she doesn’t know what she said to even set him off about pat, what could she possibly said when there was nothing ABOUT pat she even said. “i didn’t hit myself. but i know someone who i MIGHT hit.” her fists tighten, bury into the seat even deeper as her eyes see the gross streaks of chocolate across her thighs before her temper switches. she might hit him too if he doesn’t learn to back off. lucy gray zaps up, storming up to billy in the driver seat, swaying back and forth but eventually stumbling forward and making it in his peripheral view, “what are you doin’?! stop drivin’ so damn stupid! and ACTIN’ so stupid!” she yells pissed off and raging like a tiny bird about to peck someone’s eyeballs out, jabbing her tiny finger in his direction— prodding deep into his sunburned shoulder without realizing it but she won’t have no regrets even when she does since he had no regrets slinging her everywhere and onto pat’s hard on, hanging on to the back of his seat with all the strength one hand of hers can muster.

"why yes, i sure did." until billy ruined it out of the blue. hand grasps his and lucy gray drops it as fast as she took it, too steamed about billy to care what pat's thinking. a glare tossed over in the group of toddlers way, the dark haired one the BIGGEST one of all. lucy gray plops down on one of the chairs, scooping her phone up out of her towel she left it in, slinging her wet life jacket off and burying her nose into her phone. thumb clicks her dimly lit screen on, leaning in closer when the contact name she thinks she's just imagining has been left in her notifications of texts she's missed. river. heart throat tightens and stomach swirls at the reminder of him, thumb clicking open the message and doe eyes begin to scan the words. 'hey north carolina, look what we got here' the words read and underneath is a picture of a baby horse attached. her heart does melt on sight and her lips do curl in a smile at the text that comes underneath the photo. 'me and maw named her gray, after you. hope you don't mind.' well that's sweet of them. she happily types that, that's appreciative and gushes how sweet and adorable the foal is. least this momentarily distracts her anger from billy.

[rafeslvbug]

your last little blurb was so cute!! could you do one that corresponds to it about when nfl!rafe hurt his leg and he cried and let reader help him for weeks??

(i’ve done smthing similar when he injured his leg while married, but for this one i’ll do a dating short blurb <3)

you’d nearly dropped all your books in your haste to get to rafe, who his friend said was in the locker room. when you got there, books still in your hand luckily, you settled upon the sight of rafe, red-eyed, tears streaming down his face and clutching his knee.

“oh rafe..baby, what’s happened?” you ask, concerned when you put aside your books, kneeling in front of him to wipe away his tears and ease his frustration. you lean forward, hugging him so he can let out his tears onto your shoulder.

“did my fuckin’ knee in,” he says hoarsely, clinging onto his voice as it threatens to break with the weight of his tears.

you curse under your breath, pulling away and fumbling around in your bag for your car keys, making sure you have them before turning to rafe’s friend. “can you help me get him to the car?”

“no- no baby, i’m gonna be okay, we don’t need to–” rafe begins to argue, reaching back out to you, but his friend’s already supporting his bad side, and you just shoot him a sharp look as if to say this was not up for argument. so he sighed, reluctantly accepting help.

-

the hospital wait was long and boring, but you filled it with incessant rambles that rafe was more than happy to listen to, head turned to the side to look at you in the waiting chair beside him.

after undergoing a minor knee surgery, rafe had to stay the night at the hospital, and despite his plea that you go home and get some proper rest, you stayed by his side. you got him water when he needed it, made sure he had better food than the shitty hospital food, and comforted him throughout.

you held his hand, even accepted his demand that you join him in the hospital bed because the chairs were too uncomfortable. you watched his favourite show together on your phone, even let him fall asleep on your chest.

-

he had to walk around school with crutches, but most of the time you’d rush to get him something so he didn’t strain himself unnecessarily. rafe sighed whenever you did this, he’d demand that he could do it alone, he had to do it alone. but you always called him out for being stupid, handing him the water bottle he wanted to walk across the class for.

“i’m just sayin’, i’m not useless baby, i can do this stuff, you don’t have to start takin’ care of me, i take care of you,” he murmurs while you’re laying in bed at night. you had just helped him get dressed, although he felt embarrassed the whole way through.

“rafe you’re injured. it’s okay that you can’t take care of me right now, i want to help you, you deserve it too,” you answer, resting your chin on his chest as you look up at him. “so stop being stupid.”

his face breaks into a smile, lifting his head from his pillow. “ya calling me stupid, sweetcheeks?”

“yeah, you are.”

“huh?” he drops his head back down onto the pillow. “alright i’m stupid, ya gonna teach me baby?”

“teach you what?” you giggle, letting his arms come around you as you move up, careful to avoid hitting his knee

“anything, make me clever,” he plays along, hand lifting to your cheek.

“okay then, let’s teach you how to accept the fact that you’re gonna be staying with me for the next few weeks.”

his brows furrow, then he shakes his head. “nah, i can’t stay with you i’d be a bur–”

“burden? nope, not having it. we’re here to teach you honey, we don’t have time for this. i’ll just move in here if you don’t stay with me.”

rafe looks like he might say something snarky, might brush you off, instead he just smiles, nodding his head. “alright then, considered me educated, gotta trust you for everythin’ huh?”

“hm yeah, that’s the idea.”

rafe pulls you down onto his chest again, hand threading through your hair and a content smile on his face, knowing you’ll be there for him through anything, even his perceived weakness.

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616 @csturnioloswifey @silkylovey @mak1777 @rafesapple @octoberbxbyy

[rafeys-angel13]

this might be weird so i’m on anon but i saw your post about little things nerd!rafe does, and i saw the one that says he loves sleeping naked with reader because of the skin to skin, but could you write something about likeeeeee if reader got her period overnight while they were sleeping naked? what would he do? how would he tell her?

nothings considered weird on this blog 💕

rafe wakes up before you, sitting up gently as to not disturb you. he puts on his glasses and grabs a book.

you move closer to him, pulling the covers with you— revealing a red stain on the mattress. he sees it out of the corner of his eyes and looks at it properly.

he sighs as he realises it’s blood, looking down at you as he decides how he will go about it. he doesn’t want to embarrass you. but he also kinda need to tell you now so it doesn’t get worse.

he rubs your back softly and kisses your forehead.

“angel… wake up…” he whispers gently and presses a few kisses over your sleep flushed face.

your eyes flutter open, squinting at the bright light coming through the window.

he smiles softly and pushes some hair out of your face.

“morning baby…” he smiles softly, how the hell does he let you know without making you uncomfortable?

“morning…” you mumble back.

“uh… baby i think you started your period…” he gently strokes your cheek with his thumb.

your eyes open fully and you look up at him, his warm breath fanning over your face.

“what?” you sit up and look down at your crotch— it’s covered in blood. you groan and check the mattress, only to see more blood.

“i can run you a bath…? or um- like a shower or something…” he suggests softly, seeing your expression visibly relax at his tone.

you nod softly and he’s immediately scooping you up in his arms, one under your knees and one under your back.

“would you rather a bath or a shower?” he asks with a soft smile as he carries you to the bathroom.

“um… shower…” you murmur, still sleepy.

he nods and sets you down, in the bathroom. he quickly turns on the shower and grabs a hair clip.

he gathers your hair and clips it up, patting your head lightly when he finishes.

“get in, angel… i’ll go change the bedding” he kisses your temple as you step under the shower, the warm water immediately washing away some of the blood.

he walks back into the bedroom, shutting the door slightly so you have some more privacy.

ten minutes later he comes back to see you sat down in the shower.

“hey… you okay?” he crouches down next to you and tilts his head so he can see your face better.

“cramps…” you mumble and he sighs sympathetically.

“i’m sorry, baby…” he takes your hands and pulls you up.

he grabs a towel and holds it out for you to step into— he wraps it around you and then grabs a tampon from the cupboard.

“you okay with me doing this or would you rather?” he asked softly, his eyes scanning your expression for any hesitation.

you nod.

“you can do it…”

he nods and lift your leg, he puts it in quickly before throwing the applicator out. he kisses your stomach and then looks up at you.

“that okay? no coochie cramps?” he presses a kiss to your cheek.

“yeah… no coochie cramps…” you reassure him and he smiles.

“good, come on… i got you a heating pad, some pain killers and then i also got you some raspberry leaf tea, i know you don’t really like it but it helps… right?” he lists off, handing you some comfy clothes— his preparation making your heart flutter.

you nod and take the pills and change before getting into the fresh bed. the sheets are now a darker colour than the ones you bled on.

you thank god every day that rafe is so smart and actually uses his brain— unlike most boys his age.

“okay i’ll go make you something to eat because empty stomach and pills is a no no” he kisses your temple and heads downstairs.

you spend the rest of the day cuddling in bed, wrapped in his arms.

-

- request fic

[sargebarnesx]

Red Hot 🍒

Pairing: Bob Floyd x female reader

Rating: 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Smut with some plot. Two horny humans with crushes that take over their entire existence. Bob Floyd is lowkey obsessed but so is she.

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Bob Floyd can’t stop thinking about the bartender with the cherry red nails. Little does he know, she can’t stop thinking about him either.

Author’s Note: I’ve been in love with Lewis Pullman since 2022 and have been watching/rewatching his entire filmography after seeing Thunderbolts* last month. However, this is my first time writing Bob Floyd so hopefully it’s not too ooc. I wrote him as I interpreted him, so probably a mix of canon and headcanon. Also, I wrote this on my phone and proofread it like 5 times but I wouldn’t be surprised if there are still some mistakes. Hope y’all enjoy! (Banner photos are from Pinterest)

Bob Floyd was usually very level-headed. He didn’t get hung up on trivial things. He was by the book - a master of military precision. But Bob Floyd was also very observant. And right now, he was quietly observing the bartender from across the room at The Hard Deck.

Her nails were painted a bright cherry red, and they flashed through a sea of beige, green, and navy blue every time she poured a drink or grabbed a beer. Hell, he kept replaying the image of her fingers curled around the neck of the beer bottle she’d handed him twenty minutes ago. She had some length to them, and he wondered how they’d feel running over his scalp - or down his chest.

Bob was a respectful man, but God, did he want to do disrespectful things with her. Honestly, he’d been spending time daydreaming about how that cherry red nail polish would look wrapped around his cock.

He’d met her on his first night in San Diego. She was a vision behind the bar - constantly moving, talking, laughing. He was amazed at how personable she was. And when she leaned over the bar and gazed at him with her beautiful eyes, he nearly fell to his knees right then and there.

“What can I getcha?” she’d asked in an easy tone, a smile playing on her lips as she took in his appearance. He blended in, the same beige uniform as his squadmates, but she looked at him like he was the only person in the bar.

He’d dreamt of her that night.

In the weeks following, she’d gotten to know him in ways that surprised him. Bob would mention a flight objective in passing one night, and the next time he walked into The Hard Deck, she’d ask how it went. She remembered his favorite beer and always made sure he had peanuts to snack on. She saw things in him he hadn’t realized he let show - and it made him feel things.

Now, he was staring. She was working, and he was just sitting there, staring.

“God, Floyd. Such a creep,” he muttered. “Get ahold of yourself.”

She looked at him then, with that same heart-stopping smile she’d given him the first night. He smiled back, feeling like his heart might flutter out of his chest.

Could he ask her out? Would she feel backed into a corner? He thought they’d grown close, and she knew him well enough to know he wasn’t trying to make her uncomfortable. But he’d hate for her to feel taken advantage of.

“You gonna come say hi, or just keep staring?”

Suddenly, she was right in front of him - looking particularly delectable in a pair of tight jeans and a black tee. His eyes dropped to his lap, and he chuckled.

“Sorry, I-I was just lost in thought,” he explained, looking up at her. He propped his leg up on the bottom rung of his stool to keep from bouncing it nervously.

“Thinking?” she asked. “Do tell, Lieutenant Floyd. You know I love hearing about the inner workings of your mind.”

She was smirking, and Bob could feel his skin heating under his collar. He just needed to be honest, be bold. And hope he didn’t ruin everything before it had even really started.

“I was actually wondering if maybe… maybe you’d want to get dinner sometime?” He rushed through the last few words, pushing them out in one breath, afraid he’d chicken out if he didn’t.

She looked at him for a moment, then cocked her hip.

“Bobby… you wanna take me to dinner?” she asked, tone light and borderline flirtatious.

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” he said coolly, popping a peanut in his mouth as he watched her.

“How about Friday?” she suggested, flipping her hair to one side.

He watched it fall in a sheet over her chest. She was actually saying yes?

“Friday. Um-Friday actually sounds perfect.”

She smiled again. God, she was going to kill him.

She pulled a pen from her back pocket and leaned toward him, scrawling a number onto the napkin under his beer. Up close, he could smell her perfume - light, airy, an absolutely intoxicating vanilla.

“Text me for my address. Seven p.m. alright?”

Bob nodded, eyes following her as she took the napkin, folded it in half, and slid it into his breast pocket. He shivered as her nails lightly traced over his chest, trying not to let her see the tiny cartoon hearts no doubt bursting out of his pupils.

She gave his shoulder a light squeeze and turned to walk away.

“Alright, Bobby,” she called over her shoulder. “See you Friday.”

Bob raised his hand in goodbye, then pressed it over his heart. He had her number on a bar napkin in his pocket. He was taking her out on Friday.

Life was good.

**********

Friday came quickly - much to Bob’s delight.

His week on base had been a slow one, giving him plenty of time to imagine how the dinner date would go. What she was going to wear. What he was going to wear. Should he bring her flowers?

His grandpa once told him he brought his grandma a bouquet every time they went out. Bob made a mental note to stop by the florist on the way to her apartment that evening.

He’d landed on a simple button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of khaki pants. Instead of the fully gelled hair he wore to work every day, he let his natural curl come through. She’d noticed it once when he stopped in the bar on a day off and called him “cute” - which just about made him combust on the spot. He wasn’t sure he’d ever blushed so hard in his life.

Bob thought about that moment on the way to her apartment, a bouquet of daisies wrapped in kraft paper crinkling beside him. He had a lot of specific memories that made their rounds in his daydreams - when she called him cute, when she came to work with her hair piled on top of her head and no makeup on, when she leaned over the bar in a little black tank top and he caught a glimpse of the most perfect skin he’d ever seen.

He knew the moments he’d have with her tonight, especially with those red nails, would be added to the rotation soon enough.

He pulled up outside her apartment at exactly 6:56 and flipped down his visor. He cleaned his glasses, brushed a rogue curl off his forehead, and checked his teeth before grabbing the flowers and heading to her door. By 6:59 he was ringing the bell, and by 7:00, when the door swung open, he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating momentarily.

She was standing there in a white linen dress decorated with little red flowers. It hugged her figure perfectly, showing off the swell of her breasts, the slope of her waist, and the curve of her hips before stopping mid-thigh. Her legs looked soft and smooth, and she wore a pair of white sandals to complete the look.

Bob had never seen anyone look more beautiful in his life.

“Hi,” she said softly, a smile gracing her features. “Those pretty flowers for me?”

Bob opened and closed his mouth twice before finally speaking. “Um, yes. I got them for you.” He held them out, and she took them. “You look-I mean, damn, you look beautiful.”

“You look pretty damn good yourself, Bobby. Thank you for the flowers,” she said, pushing the door open a bit more and gesturing for him to come in. “Let me just put these in some water, and we can get out of here.”

Bob watched her as she filled an old spaghetti sauce jar and gave the stems a quick trim. She placed them on her kitchen island.

“There,” she said. “Gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” Bob whispered. “Gorgeous.”

**********

Dinner was going so well that Bob thought he might propose by the end of the night.

He already knew from their conversations at The Hard Deck that she was intelligent, funny, and flirtatious. But tonight, she was all that and more. They had deep conversations, ones that almost felt too meaningful for a first date.

She wanted Bob to describe the feeling of flying, since she’d never been on a plane. She watched with wide eyes as he waxed poetic about being in a jet, describing the feeling of weightlessness he experienced every time he was among the clouds.

He asked about her dreams and aspirations. She told him her biggest dream was simply to live comfortably, surrounded by the love of a family she could call her own. She wanted to travel eventually, but admitted she was too scared to get on a plane, so she’d need a willing road trip buddy.

He’d given her a look then, as if to say you’re lookin’ at him. She laughed, and he smiled. He realized in that moment he never wanted to stop making her laugh.

Her delicate fingers traced the rim of her wine glass, practically putting a spell on him as he watched the cherry red tips circle.

“Pretty nails,” he murmured after a sip of his own wine.

She lifted her hand. “Oh, thank you. Red is my favorite color.”

Bob gently placed his glass down. “Noted,” he said, tapping his temple.

She giggled.

“Filing it away for later?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bob said with a laugh. “Adding it to your file as we speak. Hoping you’ll also mention your favorite flower and favorite candy while we’re at it.”

She smirked. The alcohol had him feeling bolder than usual, clearly. She knew he was on the shy side, and she didn’t mind, but she had always been curious about the Bob she saw around his squad: laughing, cracking jokes, sometimes sitting on the outskirts, but never an outsider.

“Daisies,” she replied. “And Reese’s Cups.”

Bob nodded twice. “Good to know, good to know,” he chuckled.

She looked at him then - truly studied him, from the slight curl of his hair to the pure blue of his eyes behind the wire frames of his glasses, to his strong jawline, broad shoulders, the expanse of his chest. She wondered if he had any idea how gone she was for him, how much she always looked forward to seeing him at the bar.

“So, when do I get to learn all of your deep, dark secrets?” she teased, finishing her glass of wine. Bob was placing his credit card on the table, and the waitress grabbed it as she skirted by.

“I think… maybe our second date?” Bob suggested.

She reached for his hand across the table and wrapped her fingers around it.

“A second date sounds perfect.”

**********

She kept her hand in his the entire ride back to her apartment.

Bob was, honestly, sweating. He wanted to kiss her. God, he wanted that more than anything. He didn’t want to be presumptuous, but the way she’d looked at him across the table had him thinking that maybe she wanted it too.

“I had a really great time tonight,” she said from the passenger seat, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Oh, me too. A great time,” Bob replied, giving her a quick glance before training his eyes back on the road. When they pulled into her apartment complex, he threw the car in park. He jogged around to her side to help her out, and she took his hand.

“You know, Bobby, you’re kinda full of surprises,” she said once they reached her door.

Bob chuckled, knitting his eyebrows together. “Really? I feel like I’m pretty black and white.”

She faced him, clasping her hands behind his neck. Bob’s heart was beating like he’d just finished running a marathon.

“I think you’re the whole package. Smart, hilarious, hardworking…” She traced a finger down his chest. “And sexy as hell.”

Bob gulped as she looked up at him.

“You think so?” he asked, his voice thick with anticipation.

She nodded. “I’ve thought that ever since the first day we met.”

Bob let out a deep breath. “Wow, I-“

She cut him off with a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. Before he could speak, before he could even breathe, she pressed her lips to his, and he was sure his knees were about to give out.

When she pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I’ve been thinking about that for months,” he murmured.

She didn’t answer - just nodded.

Then she said something that rocked his entire world:

“Wanna come in?”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands finding her hips and pulling her flush against him. She let out a surprised sound, low in her throat. Her hands tightened around his neck, playing with his hair.

“Is that a yes?” she asked against his lips.

Bob chuckled. “It’s a resounding yes.”

She fidgeted with her keys then, struggling to get one into the lock. She took a deep breath, and Bob smirked behind her. She was slightly nervous, maybe even flustered, just like him.

“You got it?” he asked, glancing over her shoulder as the key slid into the hole and she pushed the door open.

She turned back to him, fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him over the threshold. His hands found her hips again, but he noticed a slight shift in her expression.

“Hey, hey, is everything alright?” he asked softly, his hands moving from her hips to her waist.

She pressed her hands against his chest, her nails lightly biting into him.

“I just don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to move too fast, you know?” she said. “I’ve liked you for so long, and I’m afraid I’ll mess it up.”

Bob couldn’t help but smile at her. The corners of her mouth twitched up in her own smile after that.

“You could never ruin this for me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her mouth before moving his lips to her jaw. He kissed up her jawline to her ear. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he admitted.

Her cheeks burned pink under the low light. She dug her nails deeper into his chest before moving her hands to the buttons on his shirt. She started to pop them open, one by one, with those cherry red nails. Bob slid his hands down her hips, his fingertips skimming her thighs.

“God, this dress…” he groaned, looking down at her.

“You like it?” she asked as she reached the final button and pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

The thin tank top he wore underneath hugged his body in a way that made her breath catch. She could see the lines of his muscles through it and couldn’t wait to touch him.

“I love it,” he said, gripping the fabric at her hips and exposing the bottom of her ass. He slid his hands underneath, cupping her cheeks and giving them a squeeze. “The red matches your nails.”

He begrudgingly moved his hands to pull his shirt off the rest of the way. She watched him, her eyes trained on his biceps. She then traced the veins on his forearms.

“This…” she murmured, not meeting his eye. “This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” he asked, flexing his hands.

She nodded, gripping the bottom of his tank top. He sucked in a breath when he finally felt her fingertips against his bare skin.

“Do you know how sexy you are, Bobby?”

She pulled his tank top off, immediately attaching her lips to his collarbone. Bob couldn’t help but moan - this was something he’d played over and over in his mind while fisting his hard cock in the shower. And now that it was actually happening? He felt like his body was on fire.

Before he knew it, her hands were popping open the button on his khakis and pulling the zipper down. When she squeezed him, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. He sank his teeth into her bottom lip, and the whimper she let out went straight to his dick.

“Baby, that feels so good,” he whined, his hips bucking into her hand. “I want you naked. I’ve been dreaming about it… about you.”

She laughed then - not at him, but at the sheer fact that they’d both wanted each other so badly for so long, yet continued to dance around it like it could never happen.

“Take me to bed, Lieutenant Floyd.”

They stumbled through her apartment until she took him by the arm and pulled him into her bedroom. The smell of her perfume was overwhelming by that point, and her room felt warm, like her.

His pants hit the floor, and his hand found the zipper on the back of her dress, pressed against her spine. As he pulled it down, she kissed his chest and dragged her nails over his nipples. Goosebumps rose across his skin, and his cock jerked when her dress joined his pants on the carpet.

She wasn’t wearing lingerie, but the soft cotton panties and matching bra were doing things to him he couldn’t describe.

“I wasn’t expecting this. You, wanting me,” he admitted, his knuckles skimming over her breasts. Her chest heaved as she pulled him closer.

“Why not? I thought I made my interest very clear,” she said, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Maybe you did,” Bob replied, looking down at her. “But I didn’t pick up on it at all.”

“Well,” she said, smirking, “now you know.”

She dropped to her knees. Her nose brushed against the bulge in his boxer briefs, her red nails popping against the black fabric as she peeled them down his thighs. And then it happened.

Those fingers, fingers he hadn’t been able to get out of his head for the last two weeks, wrapped around the base of his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, and he saw her head snap up at him in surprise. She gave a small smile as she twisted her fist around him, dragging it from base to tip. When she took him in her mouth, he was sure he’d ascended to heaven.

His hand flew to the back of her head, fisting in her hair. His hips snapped forward, and his cock brushed the back of her throat. She watched him, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill every time she took him deeper.

“You can fuck my mouth, Bobby,” she said. “If you want to.”

He looked down at her - mascara running, lips glistening, his cock rock-hard between them.

“I wanna fuck you,” he murmured. “Wanna see that body.”

She stood up, her arms twisting behind her back to unhook her bra. Her panties hit the floor next, leaving her fully bare in front of him. She reached for him, taking his wrists and guiding them - placing one of his hands on her waist and the other on her breast, silently pleading for him to touch her. He leaned down and placed wet, open-mouthed kisses across her chest. Her head fell back, and she moaned softly.

“More,” she whimpered. “Please.”

Bob licked one nipple, teasing the other with his fingers. He sucked the peak into his mouth, and she arched into him. Every sound that fell from her lips made his cock ache. He craved being inside her, craved feeling just how wet he’d made her.

She pulled away from him abruptly and moved to her nightstand. He watched as she dug through the drawer and fished out a little foil packet. She handed him the condom, and he took it without taking his eyes off her.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

She smiled. “Very sure.”

She climbed onto the bed, her eyes falling to his dick as he rolled the condom on. He crawled toward her, settling between her thighs.

“I-I don’t know if I’ll last long,” he admitted sheepishly, tracing his fingers down her stomach. He dipped them into her pussy, reveling in the feel of her heat wrapped around him. She squirmed beneath him as he slowly pulled his fingers in and out, pressing his thumb to her clit.

“You keep doing that,” she said, breathless, “and I won’t either.”

He circled her clit twice more before pushing his length into her. He kissed her as he did, moaning into her mouth as he bottomed out.

“God, baby…” His voice came out in a strangled whine as he fucked her. “You feel so good. So damn good, baby.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, pressing her lips to his neck as she moaned. “I like it when you call me that,” she drawled, her eyes half-open. She was tight around him, her climax building with every drag of his cock.

He lifted his head from her shoulder, and she cupped his jaw. Her thumb ran across his bottom lip, and he kissed it softly.

“So sweet,” she whispered, staring into his eyes. She used her pointer finger to gently push his glasses back up his nose.

Bob smiled. She… God, she was good. So good. Too good.

“Baby, I’m close.”

His hands gripped her thighs, and his hips snapped into her, his movements ragged.

“Keep going, Bobby. Please.”

She watched him - the way he bit his lip, the way he concentrated so hard on her pleasure before his own. She almost couldn’t believe this was her life. Lieutenant Robert Floyd, who came into The Hard Deck multiple times a week with his squad, who watched her from across the bar, who was so damn cute she practically fell in love with him over beer and peanuts, was fucking her senseless.

And then he pushed her over the edge. Her back arched off the mattress, her climax overtaking every sense. She was moaning so loudly she was sure her neighbors would file a noise complaint. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was Bob Floyd.

Once her body stopped trembling, she pushed herself up. “Wanna get on top,” she said simply. “Please.”

Bob moved immediately, rolling them over with his cock still buried inside her. She settled onto him, her hands pressed to his chest—those damn nails on display just for him.

“Gonna make you come like this, Bobby,” she whispered in his ear, gently biting his lobe. “I can’t wait to feel you come apart inside me.”

Bob squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted it to last longer, wanted her to ride him into oblivion, but he was so close. She bounced on him, and the noises that erupted from his chest surprised him. It was animalistic. It was hot. It was heavy.

He was done for.

“Baby, I’m gonna-”

He gripped her hips tightly, holding her against him as he came, his hips jutting up into her. Bob saw stars behind his eyelids; he was pretty sure his soul had just left his body.

She collapsed onto his chest, her hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his skin. She laughed.

“Bobby, that was-”

He chuckled too, taking a deep breath. “I know, I know.”

They lay next to each other on her bed, not touching, reveling in the air circulating from the ceiling fan.

“Bob?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’m really glad you asked me out.”

Bob turned his head to look at her. She was on her side facing him, curled up against her pillow. He smiled.

“Me too.”

[lost-in-the-land-of-stories]

So You're New To Takarazuka (2025 Edition)

This is a slightly revised and updated version of my 2022 post, because with Castlevania it seems we might be seeing a lot of new takarazuka fans, which I remember as being kind of overwhelming.

This post will share a lot with my previous one, except that it is up to date ^_^ So first of all: Hi! Welcome! Hope you enjoy the musicals and like the glitter!

Second of all, I know this fandom can be very different, a little bit (sometimes a lot) confusing, and definitely overwhelming, so I thought it might be helpful to make a bit of an introduction post, for if you’ve mostly seen memes or clips. So with that, here we are!

So You’re New to Takarazuka, what do you need to know?

(images: posters for Castlevania and Rose of Versailles)

Takarazuka in a Nutshell Takarazuka is a musical theatre company in Japan which only has female performers. It’s kind of like a reverse kabuki that way. It’s located in the city of Takarazuka (hence the name) and is over 100 years old! Which is awesome!

Takarazuka’s actresses are generally known as Takarasiennes (sienne or jenne for short), and are divided into women who play men, and women who play women. This division is made when they first enter the company based on the performers preference as well as their height (there is a minimum height for male-players). Many siennes come from ballet or theatre backgrounds and they audition for the company quite young, and can stay there for a long time.

The siennes who play guys are called otokoyaku (male role players) and ones who play women are known as musumeyaku (daughter role players, yes we know it sounds uncomfortable) and sometimes within the fandom and by other siennes onnayaku (female role players).

The company is divided into 5 troupes - hanagumi (flower troupe), tsukigumi (moon troupe), yukigumi (snow troupe), hoshigumi (star troupe) and soragumi (cosmos troupe) that perform to a schedule you can see on this page on the company’s website. They each have a speciality and character, and generally consist of anywhere between 60-80 members. There is also senka (or senior members), which is a group of some 20 older siennes who no longer perform in a troupe or in every show, but are specialists that are sent along to the other troupes as needed. You can find profiles for all of the current (and many, many past performers) on the fan-made website takawiki.

The Topstar System Each of the five troupes have a Top Star and a Top Musumeyaku, who perform the lead roles in most of the plays their troupe puts on. This couple is the ‘main’ couple of that troupe, and they tend to stay anywhere between 1-5 years depending on a variety of factors, before they retire and are replaced by the people “next in line” – this is a very hierarchical system in which performers climb up the ranks starting from their time in the Takarazuka Music School. Siennes can climb up the ranks by being given important roles, given leads in smaller theatres, or otherwise gaining prominence and popularity through stuff like fan engagement, merch sales, etc. This means also that casting is not generally done by audition and that there is a very limited pool of performers available for each play; you stay in your troupe (unless you're transferred) and you perform with them. Roles are assigned primarily by rank, as well, so you will not soon see a very new performer have a bigger role than someone who has been there for a long time (this is oversimplified, but that what it's an intro for).

Last and current top combis (topstar and topmusumeyaku) & troupe vibes:

Hanagumi Current Topcombi: Towaki Sea and Hoshizora Misaki Previous: Yuzuka Rei and Hoshikaze Madoka

Hanagumi is the oldest troupe of the company (established in 1921), and often considered it’s most traditional because of that. They are specifically known for the coolness of their otokoyaku, and their general aesthetic. Under Yuzuka Rei a lot of focus was placed on dance, and now with Towaki Sea we see a focus on darker stories.

(top: Towaki Sea's 'Castlevania', bottom: Yuzuka Rei's 'Top Hat')

Tsukigumi Current Topcombi: Houzuki An and Amashi Juri Previous: Tsukishiro Kanato and Umino Mitsuki Tsukigumi is just about almost as old as Hana (also 1921), and known for their comedic and western musicals, as well as their strong vocals. They were also the first troupe to perform ‘The Rose of Versailles’, which is one of Takarazuka’s flagship shows. Tsukigumi has multiple topmusumeyaku that started out as otokoyaku and switched later in their career (including current topmusume Amashi Juri, and previous topmusume Manaki Reika)

(Top: Houzuki An's 'Golden Liberty', bottom: Tsukishiro Kanato's 'Great Gatsby') Yukigumi Current topcombi: Asami Jun and Yumeshiro Aya Previous: Ayakaze Sakina and Yumeshiro Aya/Asazuki Kiwa*

Yukigumi is the troupe that focusses most on acting, and that is known for their performances of more traditional Japanese shows (nihonmono). In the modern era, they are also most often the troupe that does Manga adaptions (such as Lupin III, City Hunter and recently Berubara). *Ayakaze had two different topmusumeyaku partners, each for 3 shows, and Yumeshiro Aya stayed on with the next topstar after Ayakaze retired.

(Top: Asami Jun's 'Robin the Hero', bottom: Ayakaze Sakina's 'Bonnie and Clyde') Hoshigumi Future: Akatsuki Chisei and Uta Chizuru Current Topstar: Rei Makoto Previous Topmusumeyaku: Maisora Hitomi** Hoshigumi is known for their strong drama and stars with a lot of personality, as well as their focus on aesthetic and costuming. They do a lot of dramatic big-budget musicals and are currently very much the French Musical troupe.  **Hoshigumi is currently in the middle of Rei Makoto's retirement (she just finished her final run in the Takarazuka Grand Theatre and will still perform in Tokyo), but her topmusumeyaku Maisora Hitomi left before her. The next topcombi has been announced, but they have not yet performed a show togeter, and because there is currently no Topmusumeyaku, Akatsuki Chisei is playing a female role in Rei Makoto's final show.

(Top: Rei Makoto and Akatsuki Chisei in 'Ashura', bottom: Rei Makoto and Maisora Hitomi) Soragumi Current topcombi: Sakuragi Minato and Haruno Sakura Previous: Serika Toa and Haruno Sakura***

Soragumi, the youngest troupe by far, is also the most experimental. They have the tallest siennes and also often the most non-traditional shows. Their musumeyaku are often considered slightly less traditionally feminine.

*** Haruno Sakura is staying on as topmusumeyaku. They have only just switched topcombi, so Sakuragi Minato's first show has not yet started.

(top and bottom: pictures from Serika Toa's 'Razzle Dazzle/Takarazuka Love Songs')

The Sumire Code Something which you will run into fairly quickly when you get into the Takarazuka Fandom is the Sumire Code, which is an unwritten set of rules or guidelines for both siennes and fans regarding how to interact with one another. I have a longer explainer of this here.

The basic gist of it really is about respect, specifically for the performers, and also regarding their safety. There are a lot of differing opinions on certain aspects the Sumire code that I won’t get into now, but in general the foreign Takarazuka fandom does try to keep it in mind with regards to their online behaviour. One of what I personally think is one of the most positive aspects of the Sumire code (regardless of any of my other opinions) is the fact that it is intended to protect the privacy of the siennes, and that we as fans are not supposed to bother them or dive into their real lives. Those are their own, and we have no rights to them.  

One important aspect of the Sumire Code that is relevant to online fandom, is that the Hankyu Company is extremely diligent in controlling and protecting their copyright. The blurays are very expensive to buy and if material is posted in public places online, fans can get into a lot of trouble if stuff gets shared around. This can include takedowns on video platforms and other ways in which fans are locked out of being able to engage with the company. This doesn’t only go for video material, but also for the various types of print items the company produces. This results in all of us being careful with what we share, where we share it, and with whom. I know that to some, that can feel a little gatekeepy, but it’s important to understand that it’s really not that we want to keep new fans out, on the contrary, a lot of people here on tumblr and other platforms are doing their best to reach out, it’s just that the way this works limits the easily publically available material for new fans. 

That’s all Real Fun Info, but I Want to Watch Some Shows! Right, so you’re really here to watch some shows, fair enough! Where do you go? I know this in particular can be quite confusing, and sometimes a little difficult.

DVD/BLURAY First of all, you can buy a lot of the discs (dvds or blurays) of musicals that you like, which is imo kind of amazing since we’ve all been collectivel begging broadway/west end to do that for YEARS, so that’s cool. Of course, you don’t just wanna drop a ton of money - but in order to get an idea of whether or not you might like them, you can go to the Takarazuka YouTube channel (see link below) and watch their trailers, info videos, and clips. However, of course you might not have the money to spend on an expensive Bluray or DVD, not everyone has that kind of disposable income, so what else can you do? If you want more detailed info on where to purchase blurays or dvds, there is another explainer for that on @eralkfang's page right here.

SKYSTAGE Takarazuka also has its own TV channel called ‘SkyStage’. Here, they broadcast shows from their vast library of content, and produce a number of behind the scenes features which can be very fun, but unless you live in Japan this is pretty hard to access. Luckily there is, nowadays, a pretty good solution for this! If you ARE however in Japan, I can sincerely reccomend it.

TKZ ON DEMAND You can use Takarazuka On Demand, an online service through which you can rent shows quite cheaply and easily. You do need a credit card and probably a VPN, which I know can sound a little scary, but it doesn’t have to be. The process is relatively simple, and if this is something you want to set up there’s tons of people around that are happy to help you (but don’t ask me, I am technologically challenged and a friend had to do it for me).  Takarazuka On Demand also has a good deal of SkyStage stuff, which means you can find behind the scenes material here too!

FAN STREAMS Finally, if you don’t want to do any of these things, there are a number of us here on Tumblr who are happy to answer your questions, or if you want to see something that you don’t have access to - stream our shows for you. This is generally done in private locked stream rooms, for our own safety, as the company is specifically very strict on content sharing and we would rather not get in trouble. However, if you dm someone politely they will almost certainly be happy to help and to try and arrange a stream in your timezone if at all possible. I know dming strangers can be scary, but I promise we don’t bite. 

However, when you do talk to us, please do so respectfully, and please respect the space you are in. As much as we would love to shower you in glitter, we are not slot machines that can give you content, and we are careful because the company has nuked accounts in the past.

Peoples files and their translations have also been stolen in the past, and when things get spread across the internet nilly willy that can have seirous reprecussions for us.

TL;DR Welcome! Here’s a whole bunch of Takarazuka resources that I bundled so you can find them in one place, please have fun. Please do know that everyone is welcome here! We want people to come hang out, join us, watch things. That’s why we like to stream, we just ask that you treat us with kindness.

Takarazuka is a really fun hobby to have, even if it seems a little complicated. You’ll get the hang of it, and there’s lots of options to watch things in various ways! 

All that to say: Welcome, and enjoy the glitter

Resources https://www.takawiki.com/tiki-index.php Takawiki is an absolutely fantastic resource where you can find information on shows, performers, terms, and a variety of translations!

https://www.takawiki.com/tiki-index.php?page=Glossary+of+Terms Takawiki’s glossary of terms where you can look up a lot of really helpful info to help you wade through all the random Japanese people toss into their posts here.

https://www.takawiki.com/tiki-index.php?page=Sumire+Code The summary post for the Sumire code.

https://www.youtube.com/user/TRCofficialchannel Takarazuka’s official youtube channel, send them some love!

https://kageki.hankyu.co.jp/ Takarazuka’s official website! Here they post news, you can buy tickets if you’re in Japan, ad find out a variety of other pieces of information. They have an English version of the webpage, but the information is a little more limited on there.

https://kageki.hankyu.co.jp/schedule/index.html The yearly performance schedule.

https://www.tca-pictures.net/ This is the Takarazuka merch store online, you can buy merch for shows, programs, magazines, photos and other stuff here.

https://www.tca-pictures.net/skystage/ This is the website of Skystage, you can look around here a bit to kind of see how it works.

https://www.tca-pictures.net/vod/ This link will send you to Takarazuka On Demand, where if you make an account you can legally watch shows for as much as 5 dollars if you want to. https://www.tumblr.com/eralkfang/785974587264548864/how-to-buy-takarazuka-castlevania-on-bddvd And again Eralks how to buy a show explainer! Other Fun Stuff Here is again the link to my Sumire Code Explainer. History Post about Takarazuka's past. Propeganda about my favourite performers. Show Reccomendations for beginners.

[athenagc94]

Show Me How You Like It

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader — 18+ MDNI

TW: Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Finger Sucking, Light Dom/Sub, Sub Jason Todd, First Time, Hand Jobs, Praise Kink, Porn with Feelings Word Count: 2,254

Jason was less certain about this part. 

While you weren’t his first partner, sex never enticed him the way it enticed others. Don’t get him wrong. He wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of physical intimacy, but it took time for him to warm up to the idea. The moment had to feel right. With the right person. Jason didn’t do casual... well, anything. It had to mean something. You understood that and never pushed him to do anything that made him uncomfortable. 

He was finally ready to take that next step with you. 

It wasn’t intuitive. That daunted him. He’d never pretended to be the type of guy who slept around. You would have seen through the flimsy charade in an instant, but he couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious by his lack of experience. 

Jason knelt on the ground in front of you, calloused hands sliding up your bare thighs with intent. Clad only in your bra and panties, the sight of you sprawled out on the bed before him was familiar. You two had made it this far in the past. Stripped down to your underwear, muscles taut with anticipation as you traded gentle kisses and soft caresses.  

You wanted more with him. He sensed it every time your fingers teased the band of his underwear or nipped a little too hard at his lower lip. Even if you refused to admit it out loud. He knew. Tonight, he planned to reward you for your unending patience. 

“Is this alright, love?” he asked as he inched closer to your hips. 

“You know I love it when you touch me,” you purred as you trailed your fingers through his hair. Your nails dragged across his scalp, a pleasant sensation trickling down his spine like rainwater that pooled in his lower belly. 

He buried your face in your lap and groaned. “I’m ready.” 

Your fingers stilled in his hair. “Are you sure?” 

“Never been surer of anything in my life. I want to make you feel good.” 

You considered him, the slow trail of your fingers resuming once more. He suppressed a violent shudder that curled his toes. “As usual, I’ll go at your pace.” 

“No.” 

Again, you stopped. “No?” 

“I—” 

Jason swallowed thickly before peering up at you once more. You stared back, a soft curiosity furrowing your brow as you waited for him to find the right words. Patient, as always. His thumbs dipped at your hips, slipping beneath the band of your underwear. You had enough self-restraint to maintain eye contact despite the hitch in your breath. 

“I’m very new to this aspect of a relationship, but I want to do this for you,” he started slowly, “If you’re willing to show me, that is.” 

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips. “Show you?” 

“Show me how you like it,” he clarified timidly, “A demonstration, maybe?” 

He might have missed the way your thighs squeezed together if he wasn’t holding onto them like they were his only lifeline. Panic tightened his chest. Asking you to pleasure yourself in front of him might have been a step too far. He hadn’t meant to make things weird.  

He just wanted to— 

“Anything for you, babe.” You settled back on your elbows and spread your legs for him, revealing the damp spot on your panties. His throat dried as he stared at it, then quickly looked away, almost losing his nerve. You curled your finger under his chin and lifted his gaze to meet yours. Sensing his hesitation, you asked, “Are you sure?” 

“Show me,” he breathed, “Please.” 

You traced his lower lip with the pad of your thumb. “Open.” 

Jason obliged. 

Two fingers flattened his tongue until he gagged. Tears gathered in his eyes as he exhaled sharply, willing his throat to relax as your head lolled to one side. Your smile broadened. “You’re such a good listener.” 

Oh. 

That was… 

Oh. 

He liked that more than he thought he would. For a man desperate to please, hearing your praise stirred something in his chest. 

...And his pants.  

He sat a little straighter, eagerly awaiting your next directive. For you, he was very good at following directions. You twisted your fingers gently and continued, “Get these nice and wet for me. I want them to be dripping as much as I am.” 

Jason choked out a garbled moan. His tongue swirled around your fingers, shameless with how eager he took them. All the while, he never looked away from you. Some small part of him hoped you would praise him again.  

Your lids turned heavy as drool dripped from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. Finally, you withdrew your fingers, the digits glistening in the dim light. 

“Very good.” 

His teeth sank into his lower lip to muffle his whimper. Shit, the way your voice grated on your throat really did something for him. It was never too late to learn something new about himself, he supposed. 

You tugged your underwear aside to reveal your glistening folds. You allowed him a second or two to admire the sight before your fingers disappeared inside. Jason clenched his fists, unsure where to look. The slow pump of your fingers, the way your hips twitched with the motion, or how your toes curled in the sheets. 

In the end, he focused on your face and the noises you made. Your brow pinched as you worked yourself open. Every soft gasp and sigh that fell from your lips left him tingly and hot. “What do you think about?” 

“You.” Automatic, firm. You left little room for self-doubt.  

He pressed his cheek to your inner knee, hiding his giddy smile in your skin. “I love you.” 

You didn’t respond, too lost in the sensations of pleasure to even hear the proof of his devotion. He didn’t mind. The sight of you coming undone was enough to keep him sated. For a time. The longer the show went on, the more impatient he became. It wasn’t fair, making you do all the work when he had two perfectly good hands. 

“Can I?” The question spilled from his lips before he could stop it. 

You bit off your moan and turned a lust-filled gaze toward him. He swore he stopped breathing. The sight of you flushed and panting was more enticing than he realized. You removed your fingers and wiped them on the sheets. He frowned, almost disappointed that you hadn’t offered him a taste. 

“Come here,” you said with a curl of your finger. He crept closer, breathing shallow as you took one of his hands. Your lips grazed the bridge of his knuckles, the palm of his hand, then a kiss on each of his fingers. When you reached his pointer finger, you took it in your mouth, coating it with your spit. 

His hips bucked the air, finding no relief, but that thought fled as soon as the second his finger brushed the back of your throat. You held his gaze, unfazed. When you released his fingers with a wet pop, he slanted his lips over yours. A sigh tumbled from your mouth as you kissed him back. 

His slick finger drifted between your legs, probing and curious as he traced your folds. They fluttered faintly around him as he pushed inside. His fingers were larger than yours, and from the sharp cry that wrenched from your throat, you felt the difference. 

“Y-Yes, good. So good,” you panted against his lips, “Use your thumb on my clit.” 

He brushed his thumb over the small bud as he curled his finger inside you, earning another mewl of approval. Between the heated kisses and the thrust of his fingers, you unraveled with a heady moan that made his head spin. Your orgasm was quick. He would have missed it, if not for the way your legs tightened around him. Heavy breaths fanned across his face, your thighs trembling in the aftermath of your orgasm. 

Jason withdrew his fingers to study the slick that covered them. He gave them a tentative lick, then another, more overt, suck when he discovered he didn’t mind the taste. God, he could get used to the taste of you.  

“Was that good?” he asked between licks. 

You buried your face in your hands. “Yes, dumbass.” 

Jason snorted. “What happened to babe?” 

“That’s reserved for when you don’t ask stupid questions.” You uncovered your face to grab his instead. “I love you. That was wonderful. Do you want to keep going?” 

“I said I was ready. That meant everything.” 

You kissed the tip of his nose. A soft feeling welled in his chest that told him he’d made the right choice. You made it easy for him to be vulnerable. He knew that to be the case, but this moment confirmed it all over again. “We have the rest of our lives for everything. What do you want tonight?” 

“You,” he said firmly, “All of you.” 

“You already have me.” Your hand trailed down his chest, over the soft layer of fat that cushioned the hard planes of his stomach. He used to feel self-conscious about his softer belly, but the look you gave him any time he tugged off his shirt banished any doubts he had. You stopped just shy of the band of his underwear.  

His cock strained against the fabric, already half-hard. You gave him a thoughtful look, seeking his permission. He nodded.  

Your hand slipped beneath the elastic band to stroke him. He’d touched himself before, but your firm grip left stars bursting at the edge of his vision. Embarrassingly, he almost came then and there. Jason buried his face in your neck to muffle his groan as he thrust into your hand, seeking more despite how dangerously close he was. 

“Someone’s eager.” 

“Shut up.”  

He pressed a chaste kiss to your shoulder, then another, more overt one to the hollow of your throat. You craned your neck to give him better access. It was the perfect distraction as you worked him closer to the edge. He felt it—a white-hot coil within his lower belly that threatened to snap. His eyes fluttered shut.  

So close, just a few more— 

You stopped. 

Jason cried out in protest, nearly collapsing. 

“Soon,” you cooed as you removed your hand, “You said you wanted everything. If you come now, our fun’ll be over.” 

Damn your logic. 

He willed himself to stand, knees shaking as he wandered over to your nightstand. Pulling open the drawer, he grabbed a condom. You were prepared in case he ever changed his mind, and now he was glad you were. After rolling it on, he turned back to face you. You’d already discarded your bra and panties and laid sprawled on the bed. His mouth hung open, struck dumb by the sight of you. 

“How do you want me?” you asked. 

“On my lap.” 

You smirked. “Shocking.” 

Jason loved to grab your ass. Sue him. He didn’t deign to respond as you rolled aside to let him sit. Once he’d settled on the end of the bed, you crawled onto his lap. Heat radiated from your center, hovering just over his flushed tip. You held his gaze once more and asked in earnest, “Are you sure about this?” 

If he said no, you would stop—no judgment, no questions. While your concern for his comfort flattered him, Jason knew what he wanted. He placed his hands on your hips and eased you gently onto his cock. You inhaled sharply as you stretched around him, nearly wringing that orgasm from him once more. He stopped, for both your sake and his, and waited for the fire in his veins to subside.  

In the silence, the opening lines of The Odyssey painted the backs of his eyelids in his desperation to prolong this moment. 

Jason pressed his forehead to yours. “Ready?” 

You breathed out a laugh. “Are you?” 

“Yes.” 

You eased down the rest of the way until he was fully sheathed inside you. He kissed you, slow and lingering, as you lifted your hips, then sank back down. He hissed against your lips, that coil in his belly tightening with the strain of his muscles. You found a rhythm, something steady, something agonizing. His fingers curled around the swell of your ass as he tried to quicken your pace, but you maintained the same steady rhythm that left him whimpering. 

“Breathe,” you mumbled against your lips. 

He breathed. 

“Good. You feel so good. I’m—” You choked on a moan, and he echoed it. “I’m gonna—” 

Your walls tightened with your second orgasm. You lost all sense of rhythm as you rode out the waves of your pleasure, finally giving him the speed he so desperately craved. The coil snapped and his release surprised him, painting his vision white as he emptied inside her. Your name tumbled from his lips like a prayer. 

He fell back on the bed, dragging you with him. Sweat coated your skin, glistening like stardust. 

“That was—” Jason ran his fingers through his damp curls, willing his heart to stop racing. “That was wow.” 

You nuzzled his bare chest. “Your eloquence astounds me.” 

He had no witty remark for that. His mind had shattered and he’d yet to muster the strength to piece it back together. You felt so warm, your skin pressed flush to his. He kissed the top of your head. 

It was you. 

Always you. 

Only you. 

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

A/N: Surprise.

Usually, I have to write a plot to justify writing smut, but one could argue I wrote 100K worth of plot in Dear Daddy Long Legs to give y'all this. If it wasn't clear in DDLL, Jason Todd is absolutely the sub in this relationship.

[rainrot4me]

What would you think the creeps favourite song from Ethel Cain is...

I love Ethel Cain & Hayden more than I can physically name so sorry I went a little overboard with this,,,

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

“Thoroughfare”

Jeff has that chaotic, feral energy, but beneath all that bloodlust is a deeply broken person looking for something he can’t name. When I listen to Thoroughfare, it gives me the uneasy feeling of watching a car crash and not being able to do anything about it or help anyone involved. You kind of just have to stand back while they suffer, and that’s what I feel like Jeff’s backstory is like from the reader’s perspective. You just watch this boy slowly rip his life apart without even realizing it.

“And every small-town diner, saw our faces at least once or twice / But in these motel rooms, I started to see you differently, oh.”

He definitely listens to this on loop when he’s alone, sprawled out somewhere half-covered in blood, pretending he doesn’t feel anything while his brain replays memories like film burns.

✦ . ticci toby

“Family Tree”

This man is made of generational trauma and repressed fury, so this song might as well be his entire backstory in 5 minutes. He’s a sad little boy in a grown man’s body, and everyone around him has to face the repercussions of that. There’s nothing else to compare this with than with his family—his horrible dad, the grief of his sister, and the loss of his family and home. He’s always waiting and begging to be taken back to a place that doesn’t exist anymore, but everything that has happened to him has been from his own creation.

“I’m just a child, but I’m not above violence / My mama raised me better than that.”

It opens up something primal in him. It feels like his feelings have a soundtrack now. He won’t say it, but it makes him cry when no one’s watching.

✦ . eyeless jack

“A House in Nebraska”

Jack’s the most introspective of them. The yearning, the haunting sadness, the feeling of being almost loved? It hits. The feeling of wanting to go back to something, to reverse all the horrible choices you’ve made and start from the beginning, but knowing you’ll never be able to no matter how much you beg. It’s just the story of him and the events that happened in college retold again, so he listens because he knows the feeling.

“And it hurts to miss you, but it’s worse to know / That I’m the reason you won’t come home.”

There’s something nostalgic about it that he can’t quite name. You’ll find him sitting in the dark with this on, lost in thought, mask resting beside him.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

“Ptolemaea”

Tell me you’re the big brother of the group without telling me, y’know? Oh yeah. Screaming, chaos, pain, pure dread and unidentifiable noises. It’s just a verbalization of all the torment and mental dread he went through to become a proxy, all the emotions and internal dialogue that comes with it. Something about the religious undertones strike him in the weirdest, most uncomfortable spots.

“Even the iron still fears the rot / Hiding from something I cannot stop / Walking on shadows, I can’t lead him back, uh.”

He listens to it on low volume while driving to town for supplies. No, he won’t talk about it. Yes, it means everything.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

“Western Nights”

It’s quiet, brooding, and secretly devastating just like him. He doesn’t like anything that evoke too many emotions, but something that will speak to him in the way he understands, that’s all he needs. His head is loud, he doesn’t need anything louder to clog it all up.

“Breaking in to ATMs / Sleeping naked when it gets too hot.”

He’ll never tell you how many memories this song drags out of him, but he’ll slip one earbud into your ear and let you listen with him if he likes you enough.

✦ . ben drowned

“A House in Nebraska” (but the distorted slowed-down version)

Yes, it’s a repeat, but Ben puts this through so many audio filters it sounds like a corrupted save file mourning its lost player.

“Labored breathes and bed sores, sing it to me all day long / When the aching sound of silence, used to be our favorite song.”

He lays in the digital void with this echoing around him, glitching slightly. Melancholy and memory get tangled up in his code, but it’s comforting in a way, makes him feel human.

✦ . clockwork

“Gibson Girl”

Sensual, darkly feminine, dangerous? That’s her. But besides aesthetics, it’s also a reminder of who she was before she put that clock face in her eye. It reminds her of her power she holds, what it cost to get to this point, and how she promises to never let herself be weak again. Everything she has she’s taken for herself, this song plays as a mental check.

“And if you want it good, downright iconic / Then I would show you something that you wish you had.”

This is her pre-kill playlist. She unwinds to it. Lives for the control, the power, the dizzy sweetness of it all.

✦ . laughing jack

“Sun Bleached Flies”

This one’s unexpected, but Jack’s chaos hides a lot of grief. The song’s eerie, decaying beauty speaks to the quiet sadness in him he buries under teeth and tricks. Jack is a toy, a being that was never really meant to have a purpose, but was inevitably given one. There comes a lot of useless emotions and complex knowledge along with having your only interaction with others through dreams or imagination.

“God loves you, but not enough to save you / So, babygirl, good luck taking care of yourself.”

He laughs when it plays, but his eyes don’t match the sound.

✦ . slenderman

“Hard Times”

Ancient. Cruel. Detached. But something about this track moves through him like a ghost of something he’s lost or buried long ago. Slender’s emotions are about as easy to pick apart as the answer to where he came from, nonexistent. He’s folklore, myth turned reality, legend given legs—there comes a lot of misplaced directions and misguided emotion. He knows how to stalk, he knows how to lure, he knows how to kill—that’s it.

“Bleeding wherever you want / Too tired to move, too tired to leave.”

He doesn’t listen to music often. But when he does? It’s this. Repeatedly.

꩜ .ᐟ

[hameesstuff]

"A Marriage Rewritten”

Pairing: Husband, Lawyer!Jaehyun x Wife, Artist!Reader

Themes: Arranged Marriage AU | Exes to Lovers | Jaehyun x Reader | Smut | Enemies to Lovers | Exes | Slow Burn | Angst, Humor, Longing

Word count: 4.4k

Preview: They were each other’s first everything — love, heartbreak, mistake. Jaehyun is now a ruthless corporate lawyer and her, a struggling but spirited artist. Years after their painful breakup, fate plays its cruelest card: their families arrange their marriage for business-political reasons. Just great.

__________________________________________

Part 1: Signed in Ice

The pen trembled in your hand.

"Don't make it dramatic," Jaehyun muttered across the table, his tone cool as a polished knife. "It's just ink."

You looked up slowly. He was seated like he always was—back straight, suit immaculate, jaw tight. Only his eyes betrayed anything. And even then, they were unreadable.

“You said the same thing when we signed the lease to our first apartment,” you said flatly.

Silence.

The lawyer in the corner shifted uncomfortably.

You signed anyway. Because what else could you do?

Your father's health was failing. Your art gallery was barely breathing. The offer had come dressed in silk and thorns — "a family merger," they called it. His family wanted the political ties. Yours wanted stability. And here you were, a broken love story tied up with gold and paper.

The moment your name hit the contract, Jaehyun pushed his chair back.

"Congrats, Mrs. Jung," he said without a smile.

You stared at him. “Still as charming as ever.”

He stopped at the door. “You knew what this was.”

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath. “A mistake. Just like last time.”

But he’d already walked out.

Later That Week: The Penthouse

“Wow,” Taeyong muttered, looking around the pristine space like it was a museum. “Cold, sharp, and lifeless. Just like your husband.”

You laughed. “Don’t let him hear you. He might sue.”

He handed you a carton of takeout and flopped onto the modern black couch like he owned it. “So… how does it feel to be back in hell?”

You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest. “Familiar.”

You hadn’t seen Jaehyun since the signing. His assistant had dropped off the penthouse keys with a post-it that said “Don’t touch my wine.”

So you touched all of it. On principle.

Two Days Later: The First Fight

The door slammed just as you were dancing barefoot in the kitchen to an old indie song, wearing one of your paint-stained shirts.

“I live here too, remember?” Jaehyun’s voice cut through the music like a blade.

You didn’t even turn. “Thanks for the reminder. I was starting to feel safe.”

He appeared beside you, hair ruffled from work, tie loose. “And this?” He gestured to the chaos of your paints. “This isn’t a studio.”

You held up a brush and smiled sweetly. “Now it is.”

“God,” he muttered. “Why are you always so—”

“Alive?” you offered. “Free? Full of joy that makes your tight little jaw clench?”

His eyes darkened. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re boring.”

He stepped forward. “Say that again.”

“You’re boring, Jung Jaehyun,” you said, poking his chest. “You weren’t always. But now? You’re just a stiff in a suit who thinks feelings are weaknesses.”

His mouth was a breath from yours. "You’re one to talk about feelings. Who ran when things got hard?”

You shoved him lightly. “Don’t twist it. You walked out first.”

You didn’t realize how close you were until your chest brushed his.

His gaze dropped to your lips.

But he stepped back. Cold. Colder than the last time.

"Grow up,” he said. “You're not twenty anymore."

You didn't answer.

And the ache between your ribs reminded you that neither was he.

Part 2 - “Velvet Lies & Stolen Glances”

Charity Gala – Grand Hyatt, Seoul

The gala was for some high-profile legal foundation. Jaehyun’s turf. You were only there to play the role of a dutiful wife — the ornament beside Seoul’s most prized lawyer.

You’d worn black silk, not for him — for yourself. But the look in his eyes when you stepped out of the dressing room said otherwise.

He’d gone quiet. Too quiet.

“You clean up well,” you muttered, tugging your earring on as you passed him.

He didn’t answer — just stared.

But then came the car ride. Cold. Professional. His voice only used for directions and “You forgot your clutch.” The same man who used to kiss your shoulder at every red light now treated you like a contract clause.

Inside the Ballroom

You weren’t even halfway into your first flute of champagne before you felt a presence.

“Yo.”

You turned — and lit up. “Taeyong!”

He hugged you like the night hadn’t been awful. “You look like a painting tonight.”

You mock-curtsied. “I clean up when I want to show my ex-boyfriend-slash-current-husband that I’m still capable of turning heads.”

Jaehyun, standing not five feet away, tensed.

Taeyong grinned. “You still turning hearts, too?”

You leaned into him laughing — and Jaehyun’s hand appeared at the small of your back like a damn reflex.

“She’s married,” he said smoothly. “Remember?”

You turned your head slowly. “To you? Oh, right. I forget sometimes.”

His jaw flexed. “Clearly.”

Later: On the Balcony

You needed air.

The silk clung to your back like heat, and the music inside started to feel suffocating. You stepped outside into the cool night — and Jaehyun followed five seconds later.

“You like making me look like a fool?” he asked, not angrily — but low, sharp.

You scoffed. “If the title fits.”

“He touches you like you’re his.”

You turned to him. “And you act like I’m yours.”

A beat.

Jaehyun stepped forward, jaw taut, eyes unreadable. “Aren’t you?”

You blinked.

“You’re not dating him.”

“No,” you admitted.

“You’re wearing my ring.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

His voice dipped. “Then why do I still want to kiss you every time you laugh at someone else?”

You stared at him.

Silence stretched.

And then you turned away, heart slamming, voice low. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

He didn’t stop you from walking back in.

But he didn’t look at anyone else for the rest of the night.

Part 3 - “Cracks in the Ice”

Back at the Penthouse – After the Gala

The car ride home was silent again.

Only this time, the silence felt different.

He kept glancing at you. Like he wanted to say something. Like if he opened his mouth, everything he’d buried for years would spill out.

But he didn’t.

So when you got home, you went straight to your makeshift studio—Jaehyun’s sterile guest room, now littered with canvases and paint jars.

You kicked off your heels and dropped onto the floor, dress pooled around you, dragging your fingers through a half-finished piece.

Not five minutes passed before he stood at the door, hands in his pockets, tie loosened.

“You were flirting with him.”

You didn’t even look up. “And you were pretending to care in front of donors.”

“I wasn’t pretending.”

Silence.

Then—his voice, sharper this time. “What does he give you that I don’t?”

Your head snapped up. “Kindness. Consistency. Someone who doesn’t treat me like a transaction.”

Jaehyun's jaw locked, but his eyes… cracked.

“He was never there when you fell apart. I was.”

“You also left me in pieces.”

That shut him up.

Next Day: Solo Gallery Appearance

It was supposed to be low-key. A community event for local artists — nothing glamorous, nothing massive. But the article dropped while you were still standing by your own canvas.

“Wife of Elite Corporate Lawyer Peddles Paintings at Local Crafts Fair?”

You froze. Mouth dry.

And then you saw the rest.

Anonymous quotes:

“She only got the spot because she’s married to Jung Jaehyun.”

“She’s talentless — the marriage is her real gallery.”

“Desperate for relevance.”

The world tilted.

Your hands shook. You stepped outside, back pressed to a wall as the chill hit your bare arms.

That Night – Back Home

You were curled on the couch, staring at nothing. Still in your gallery dress. Your phone on silent.

Jaehyun walked in and stood there for a long time.

Finally: “I handled it.”

You nodded numbly. “Good.”

“I mean it,” he said. “I had them retract everything. I bought out the blog. They’ll be issuing a formal apology tomorrow. And they’ll donate to your gallery.”

You stared at him. “Why?”

He knelt in front of you slowly. “Because I let you go once,” he whispered, “and I’ve regretted it every goddamn day.”

Your breath caught.

“And because…” his voice cracked, “you’re still the only person whose opinion has the power to ruin me.”

The air between you tightened. Dense. Fragile.

You leaned forward without thinking, forehead brushing his.

“Jaehyun—”

“I’m still in love with you.”

His hands curled around your waist. Yours knotted into his shirt.

And then—

You kissed him.

Hard. Hungry. But not angry.

It was years of silence being undone.

Part 4 - “The Wall That Broke”

The Morning After

You woke tangled in a blanket on the living room couch, your head resting on Jaehyun’s lap.

His fingers were in your hair.

Not moving. Not stroking. Just… there. Holding.

You blinked up at him. “Didn’t know lawyers came with built-in pillows.”

He didn’t smile. “Didn’t know artists kissed like they never stopped loving you.”

Your throat tightened.

Neither of you moved.

Then, softly: “Do we talk about last night?” you asked.

He looked away. “Do you want to?”

You paused. “Eventually.”

He nodded once. “Then eventually.”

But when you got up, he helped you straighten your wrinkled shirt.

His knuckles lingered on your collarbone.

That Week: Your First Real Outing Together

A city charity fundraiser. Crowds. Cameras. Handshakes.

He kept his hand at the small of your back all night.

You smiled when the press called you “picture-perfect.”

You didn’t know he’d canceled a major case to be there.

That Night – The Bedroom Door Left Open

You passed his room on the way to your studio.

His door was open.

He sat there in a white tee, head in his hands.

When he noticed you, he didn't speak — just patted the bed beside him.

You sat.

Neither of you said a word.

He laid back, arm brushing yours. You followed.

No kisses.

No lies.

Just silence and breathing, and his fingers grazing yours under the sheets like they used to.

Final Part - “The Letters He Never Burned”

The house was quiet when you returned from the hospital. Your father’s operation had gone well — a miracle, the doctor had said. The relief should’ve settled your bones, but it hadn’t. Not until the nurse handed you the paperwork.

Paid in full.

Signed: Jung Jaehyun.

You stood in the doorway of the penthouse, fingers trembling, the receipt still in your coat pocket.

He was on the couch, shirt sleeves rolled, legal documents beside him. He looked up when he heard the door—then immediately stood, brow creasing.

“You’re back late.”

You didn’t answer.

“Is your dad—”

“He’s fine,” you said softly. “Because of you.”

He went still.

You walked toward him slowly, heart loud in your ears. “You told me your family wouldn’t help.”

“They didn’t,” he said. Quiet. Careful.

“But you did.”

He swallowed. “You hate charity.”

You stepped closer. “You think this is about pride?”

“No,” he said after a beat. “It’s about how I failed you once. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to buy forgiveness.”

Your throat clenched.

Then you dropped the second bomb. “I went into the study.”

He froze.

“You should really lock your drawers,” you whispered.

He didn’t ask which ones. He knew.

“All the letters, Jaehyun.... Every single one. From college. From after the breakup.” You paused. “Even the one where I told you I hated you.”

His voice cracked, “Never believed that one.”

Silence. Heavy. Soft.

You stepped right into his space. “Why didn’t you let me go?”

He exhaled, hand brushing your waist with the ghost of a touch. “Because letting you go never worked. I tried.”

You blinked back tears. “And marrying me?”

“The only way I could keep you close,” he admitted, voice low. “Even if it meant you’d hate me again.”

Your breath hitched. “You think I still do?”

He looked at you like you were sunlight after a long winter. “I think I don’t deserve you. Even If I never stopped loving you.”

And finally—finally—you kissed him.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed.

It was reverent.

Years of pain melting into the space between your mouths.

He kissed your forehead. Your cheek. The tip of your nose.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was hoarse. “I love you.”

His kisses were slow. Thoughtful. Like he was mapping the years you’d been apart with every touch of his lips. He didn’t pull you into bed like he used to — like a man starved.

No.

He laid you down like someone he'd loved in a hundred lifetimes. Reverently. Carefully. His hands explored your skin like an old story he finally had permission to reread.

Your breaths tangled. His forehead pressed to yours.

When he entered you, there was no sharp gasp. No race. Just a sigh — one that left both your mouths at once, as if your bodies remembered what your pride had buried.

His hand was laced with yours above your head. His voice was in your ear, cracked and breathless.

“I still see you every time I close my eyes,” he whispered. “Even when I didn’t want to.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I never stopped writing letters,” you whispered. “I just stopped sending them.”

He slowed.

Held your face.

And moved inside you like he was writing one back — with his hands, his mouth, his heart.

No rush.

No noise.

Only softness. Only “I love you” in every unspoken place between your skin.

Epilogue – “Framed in Color”

Five years later – Seoul Contemporary Museum of Expression

The museum bustled softly, high ceilings glowing with morning light.

In the far wing — the one newly dedicated to living Korean artists — a six-year-old girl in a yellow sundress stood in front of a giant abstract mural, tilting her head.

Jaehyun crouched beside her.

“What do you think it means?” he asked.

His daughter scrunched her nose. “It looks like... Mama’s dreams.”

He smiled. “You’re not wrong.”

The plaque at the base read:

“To the woman who paints without apology, and the man who finally learned how to see her.”

— Y/N Jung

Your name.

Framed in gold.

You walked toward them with two iced coffees and a juice box, smiling as your daughter tugged her dad’s sleeve.

“She’s gonna be famous,” the girl whispered.

Jaehyun looked up at you, his heart never more full.

“She already is.”

And as your daughter ran off down the gallery, her laughter echoing, Jaehyun reached for your hand.

Not like he was holding on.

But like he’d never let go again.

The End.

Feedback is welcome!

___________________________________________

[odairmultiverse]

Sunsetz - Cigarettes after sex

➜Park Humin x fem!reader

"After last night, you started to feel weird. It must be nothing, right...?"

English is not my first language, so there might be grammar mistakes. Enjoy!!

It all started this morning.

His arms evolved around your waist. You have been awake since an hour ago, but something in the comfort of his arms makes you stay longer.

It's just the connection after last night. Were you two showed love in ways beyond words.

Due to university, the moments together felt like gold, finding time for each other was very difficult.

But your relationship with him was still there, like the first day you two started dating.

You started to draw soft patterns around his arms, his tan skin making contrast against yours.

Lost in thought, you closed your eyes, feeling the moment.

What didn't feel the moment was your stomach. It was the main reason you're awake.

There was a knot inside your stomach, but it wasn't like last night.

This one didn't get you butterflies and excitement. This was like Chernobyl inside you.

You tried not to give it much attention, but the sounds that were coming out, that was not good.

Humin seemed to feel how you moved around uncomfortable.

"What's up, Angel?" He hummed against your neck, still half asleep.

"Min, I have to go to the bathroom" You said, freeing from his arms.

He frowned a bit but didn't say anything.

As you make your way towards the sink, your head is fuzzy, seeing everything blurred and moving slowly, the kind of slow that was making your stomach twisted.

When you arrived, you opened the sink, letting the cold water touch your hands, and then your face.

Each water drop from your face, you feel it, in fact you were feeling everything.

How your breath was heavier than usual, Humin shirt against your skin, the cold tiles beneath your feet.

Your face in the mirror was pale, your eyes almost closed, your lips parted.

"Angel, is everything okay? You been there for ten minutes, " Humin said through the door. "Im going to enter"

Then he opened the door, sneaked a bit, and when he saw you standing at the sink, he made his way towards you.

He pattered the top of your head. "You're not feeling well?" His voice soft came out as he placed one string of your head behind your ear

You simply nodded. Humin took your shoulder and made you sit on the top of the bathroom. He kneeled in front of you.

"Is because of last night, was I too god?" He joked, trying to light up the mood.

And it worked, for a moment, you left a small laugh that he heard, but as soon as it came out, the pain did as well.

Then one thought appeared in your mind, was that possible?

You opened your eyes and looked at him scared

"Wha-What wrong?" He said with the same expression as you

"No, it can't be," you said more like trying to convince yourself than actually saying something

"What can't be, Angel?"

You didn't answer him. You weakly got up and opened one of the cabinets, searching for something.

A pregnancy test

Humin eyes wide open. "Do you really think -"

"I hope not." You cut him off, scared to hear him saying something related to the possibility of you being pregnant

✶

You two were now sitting on the floor, waiting for the test result.

You were hugging your legs, your chin on top of your knees.

Him on the other side, was with his legs lazily spread open on the floor, his back against the wall.

"I don't know why we are so nervous," you said, breaking the silence. "Im sure we are not going to become parents today." You looked at him, waiting for him to reply with something similar.

"Yeah, yeah, we use protection and all the measures needed," he replied, but you noticed on his tone that he was nervous, you dared to say, even scare.

"Humin..." The alarm that you set up ringed, meaning that time has passed and the result were ready.

Humin and you stood up with shaking hands you grabbed the test.

"Whatever the result are, im going to stand next to you," He said, interlinking his fingers to yours

You looked at him grateful. Having him next to you was making this less scary than you imagined.

When you finally looked at the result it came out with a straight line.

Negative.

You left out a laugh, more relaxed than minutes ago.

Humin looked at you, still not understanding the results.

"it's negative." You smiled at him. "It means im not pregnant." You showed him the result

He smiled the same way as you, letting a satisfied sound.

Humin grabbed you by your waist and lifted you up, spinning around.

"It's the best news of today. I don't think im ready to be a dad just now. " he placed you down "Lets celebrate this by eating a king-size breakfast, " Humin exclaimed, grabing softly your hand."May you accompany me this beautiful morning, my princess?"

You laughed, admiring his way to change mood so quickly. "Today and always my charming prince" You reply with the same tone as him.

Forgetting about the scare of moments ago, you two made your ways towards the kitchen to enjoy that today was not the day you two were welcoming a pregnancy.

That day will arrive eventually, just not today.