#and then i give up within like a day or two

[consistantly-changing]

[Image transcripts in order: ...for defying restrictions on political ads.

My disagreements with Joel come to a head when he tells me to establish PACs in other countries. Political action committees, of course, are an American invention that pull together donors to give money to political candidates. There are PACs for every possible cause: to elect more women to office and to elect candidates who are friendly to Realtors, or beer wholesalers, or teachers' unions. Home Depot runs its own giant PAC, as does AT&T.

"We were so late in establishing Facebook's PAC in the US; I don't want to make that mistake in other countries," Joel says insistently. "We need to get moving to establish PACs outside the US. We should have done this a long time-"

"So, this is awkward," I cut in. Joel looks puzzled.

"That's illegal. Only US citizens can contribute to elections here. That's true everywhere. Nobody wants foreigners bankrolling their elections."

"Really?" Joel looks shocked.

"Definitely. That's why even though you regularly invite me to contribute to the Facebook PAC you founded, for me to do so would be illegal as I'm not a citizen."

"Well, I was actually meaning the other way," he says defensively. "Contributions to politicians in other countries. We need to get mov-ing on channeling money to our key allies offshore, you know, our most influential politicians in other countries."

"Ah, that would be considered bribery and corruption in most of the countries I'm responsible for," I say, careful to strike a neutral tone.]

[to solve them.

In short, Internet.org entrenches the digital divide between the haves and the have-nots, by delivering a crap version of the inter-net to two-thirds of the world. The two-thirds least digitally literate and able to cope with it. What Mark's running, in the digital rights groups' view, is a bait and switch. He's pretending in his lofty speeches that this is all about connectivity and handing people the tools they need to better their lives, when in fact he's delivering noth-ing even close. The whole thing, in their view, is a power play to sign up more people to Facebook.

When they lay this out, Chris feels personally attacked, outraged that they're questioning Facebook's good intentions. The way he sees it, Facebook choosing which websites can be accessed from Internet.org is just like Apple's App Store or the Google Play Store dictating what apps are available there. We're making an app and negotiating a deal so people can get it for free-what's so evil about that? By the end of the meeting he's red-faced and angry and telling the digital rights groups that "they're trying to dictate the content of Internet.org," which is exactly what they're accusing Facebook of.

The meeting rooms in Facebook's offices all have cutesy names (Guns 'n' Rosegarden in DC, I'll Be Bak Choy in Singapore), and our goal of convincing human rights groups of Facebook's good inten-tions is perhaps not helped by the fact that the name of the meeting room, Wicked Witch of the West, is displayed, without explanation, under Chris's talking head for the entire meeting. (I point this out to him afterward, and within days the name of the meeting room has been changed.)

I leave the meeting convinced that we're on the wrong side of]

I’m reading that new memoir about working at Facebook,”Careless People,” and it’s just fucking insane.

At one point Facebook wanted to be an international hub for organ donation. The “Lean In” lady asked why she couldn’t go down to Mexico and buy a kidney if her four year old needs one. This is literally on p.57. What the fuck else is going to be in this book if that is on page 57

[writing-for-marvel]

Right Here, Waiting (2)

Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Fem!Reader

< < PART 1

Summary: While out with Bucky’s friends for Sam’s birthday, someone makes a rude comment about your body, leading Bucky to prove just how beautiful he thinks you are.

Prompt: “Hey. Pick on someone your own size.” for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s 108th Birthday Celebration

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, TRIGGER WARNING internal monologue references reader having issues with weight & eating, a man commenting on readers appearance/body in a negative and unprovoked way, VERY insecure reader, slight angst with belief of unrequited love, idiots in love who finally stop being so oblivious!

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: so I was triple dared by @intrepidacious to write more for these two and who am I to break the sacred rules of triple dares? They do deserve their happy ending 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

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You don’t want to be here. Not really.

Even though you’ve got Nat by your side and you’re essentially invisible as a group of Bucky’s mates celebrate his best friend’s birthday, there’s something about being in a new part of town, and with a group of people you don’t know that well, which makes you feel on edge.

But the reason you came tonight is staring at you with warm, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that calms the raging nerves in your stomach.

“You having a good time?”

“I am now that you’re here.” You say playfully, and you hear Nat scoff lightly from beside you.

He looks heavenly, as if a statue of a Greek god was animated to life, donning a shirt which perfectly matches the colour of his irises, which shows off his bulging biceps, and just enough length to his perfectly styled hair which makes you want to run your fingers through it.

It really should be a crime to walk around looking so good that he draws the stare of every woman within a ten meter radius, head held high like he knows it too.

But while everyone else has their eyes on him, whispering about how gorgeous he is, Bucky’s looking at you, making your stomach somersault. And then the stunning smile he flashes just for you has you melting into a puddle.

Surely there’s no way he can’t see the effect he has on you, how you become a giggling fool in his presence. But that just serves as a reminder that after three months living together and him not making a move, he is very clearly not interested in you like that.

“I shouldn’t have taken so long to come find you then.” You know he’s only joking, but in reality you and Nat have barely had the time to wish Sam a happy birthday and set yourself up at one of the high top tables. Bucky hasn’t exactly wasted any time in coming to talk to you.

“Well it would have been rude of you not to say hello to the birthday boy first.”

“Ahh I see enough of that punk anyway.” He jests, as if he also doesn’t see you every single day at your shared apartment, but you don’t mention that to him.

You notice Nat walking over by to corner of the room in a group with the man of the hour, not even bothering to announce her departure unlike last weekend at your local bar with her attempt to push you and Bucky together.

Somehow being alone with him now, even though it’s a regular occurrence back in your apartment, fills your stomach with churning anxiety. Perhaps it’s the expectation that Nat believes something will happen between the two of you, even though you’re well aware that’s a physical impossibility.

“Thanks for coming tonight, I know you don’t know Sam all that well yet and would probably prefer to be snuggled under a blanket at home reading, but I want you to meet my friends. And I want them to meet the people who are important to me too.”

The implication that you are a prominent person in Bucky’s life gives life to butterflies in your tummy. Even though you’re sure the intention of his words are that you’ve become good friends while living together, it’s ammunition your mind can use to assemble a pipe dream that you serve a much more significant role in your roommate’s life.

“If they’re important to you, then they’re important to me too.” Silly boy doesn’t know you’d do absolutely anything for him, including facing your social anxiety of meeting new people if it means you get to see him happy.

“Well you’re the most important.”

It’s when he says things like this, accompanied with that earnestly affectionate smile, that hope builds brick by brick in your chest - you don’t say that to someone who’s just a friend, right?

But if he somehow did feel that way about you, ignoring all the reasons why someone as attractive and charming as him could do so much better than you, then why had he not made a move?

You come to the same conclusion you always do when Bucky comes out with these overly sweet statements - he’s referring to you as being very good friends. Roommates who would consider each other family.

Regardless, with this small sentence he’s rendered you utterly speechless, your mouth so dry and brings a ferocious heat to your cheeks that you couldn’t contribute to conversation even if you had to.

There’s a silence which passes between you, not awkward like either of you are waiting for the other to come up with some ridiculous small talk, but content, that even in a room packed with people to speak to you’re happy just being in each other's presence, words aren’t needed.

“Oh, how rude of me, you don’t have a drink - you want your usual?” You had never expected him to buy you a drink, but it warms your heart how considerate he is, that he takes the initiative to make it his priority even when it arguably doesn’t affect him.

“Yes please.” You manage to mutter out.

The cheeky wink he shoots you before heading up to the bar only further contributing to you melting into a puddle on the floor. He could do anything and have you in a trance, but when it’s small, doting actions reserved solely for you like this, that have your heart leaping out of your chest.

“So… when’s the wedding?” Nat comments, sidling up to you, however it doesn’t distract you from watching Bucky walk away, admiring his strapping, muscular back and his ass that looks divine.

It’s when you turn to look at your best friend, a brazen sparkle in her eye, do you miss the way Bucky longingly looks back at you from the bar.

That relentless hope you’re continually trying to shake returns, inflating in your chest when she talks in a way that your romance with Bucky is inevitable, when you spend every waking second actively pulling yourself back to reality on earth from dreaming on cloud nine.

“Nat you know he doesn’t like me like that.” You repeat for what feels like the millionth time.

“I beg to differ, you’d been here less than two minutes before he approached you.” The gleam in her eye has become a familiar one, that screams ‘told you so’, as if this was conclusive evidence.

“He knows we don’t know a lot of people here and just wanted to make sure we felt comfortable. That’s what friends do.” At least that’s what you are telling yourself to help suppress any irrational wish your brain could conjure at the reasoning why Bucky sought you out so quickly after your arrival.

“Well he only asked you didn’t he? It was like I was invisible to him.”

“He just knows me better, that's all, we do live together you know.” Is how you justify his behaviour, but you can tell Nat isn’t having a bar of it with the cynical look she shoots at you.

“You keep telling yourself that sweetie. That boy has it bad for you, but you silly kids will work it out eventually.” She says with a certainty that puzzles you, as if there is no question that you and Bucky are destined to end up together. She flashes a quick smile before affectionately patting your hand and making her way up to the bar.

There’s a moment where you’re left alone, pondering Nat’s words and if there is any truth to them - your best friend is honest to a fault, and isn’t the type to blatantly lie to you to spare your feelings. Perhaps there’s something she can see that you can’t, or won’t let yourself notice.

The buoyant hope you always try pushing down floats in your stomach and for once you revel in the small possibility that perhaps you’ve been wrong all along about Bucky. As unlikely as it is, maybe your feelings aren’t completely unrequited.

You feel someone next to you before you hear them speak, a voice that is unfamiliar and which sends a tense vexation shivering down your spine.

“That little redhead friend of yours is gorgeous, think you could introduce me?” It’s not the first time a stranger has approached you interested in Nat. She’s beautiful, slim and wears dresses that flaunt her toned figure, but it nevertheless causes an ache deep in your chest that you're never the person the man approaching you is attracted to.

Just once it would be nice to be the woman they notice, the one lusted after.

“She’s not interested.” You don’t even have to look at the man to know Nat wouldn’t be interested in someone who didn’t have the guts to approach her directly.

You hope that response is enough to send the man on his way, but your experience tells you men with an ego the size of a Mount Everest don’t give up so easily when they have a gorgeous woman in their sights.

“C’mon, don’t be butt hurt that no one’s interested in you. Attractive people deserve other attractive people.”

His words, laced with so much spite, feel like a kick to the teeth. Even though he’s a nobody, someone who will disappear into the masses that make up this enormous city, it’s just another reminder that not a single person in this populous metropolis wants you, in particular the one person who owns your heart and sleeps in the next room.

“You really think that’s gonna make me more likely to help you out?” You turn to finally look at the man, and as attractive as he is, there is a pretentious air to him, a conceited smirk you’d love to smack off his face. It’s a face of a man that has never been told ‘no’ before in his life. “Fuck off.”

“Don’t be a bitter bitch about it.”

Without you realising, Bucky had noticed you looking uncomfortable in conversation with this repulsive man, and stalked across the entire length of the room, forgetting about your drinks at the bar, to come to your aid.

“Hey mate, how about you pick on someone your own size huh?” Bucky looks dauntingly large as he steps up to face the man, at least a head taller than him with broad shoulders that make the other guy look like a lanky schoolboy in comparison.

In contrast to how intimidating Bucky looks, his touch is gentle as he herds you behind him protectively.

“Why? Because the whore is so much bigger than everyone else here.”

His mocking tone cuts through you like a sword, hollowing out your insides. You sense all eyes in the room turn to you, and you shrivel into yourself in juxtaposition to how Bucky shines when the centre of attention.

It feels like the air in the room has been suctioned out, your lungs and throat burning from the absence of oxygen, or maybe it’s just your lack of will to take a breath, wanting the world to engulf you and your existence to end right here.

It’s hard enough to live with the understanding of how much bigger you are than every other person in the room when it is etched into your frontal lobe so that you are reminded of it every passing second, but for someone else to actually express that notion aloud, for all the terrible thoughts you believe about yourself to be confirmed by a stranger who only needs to have seen you once in your life to recognise this about you, is enough for you to start decaying from the inside out.

It’s not just you who thinks that, now every single person in the bar is fully aware of how much physical space you’re taking up, how much weight you carry on your distinctly pudgy stomach, around your jawline which is soft unlike Bucky’s sharp mandible, how your thighs rub together when you walk, not having a gap between them as Nat does.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You barely recognise the voice as Bucky’s, he practically growls at the man, picking him up by the shirt front and slamming him into the wall behind you.

Bucky’s positive he’s never had rage flow through his veins like this before, never genuinely wanted to snap someone’s neck and step over their lifeless body until this very second. Anyone who hurts you deserves an even worse fate than that.

The bastard then has the gall to mumble out ‘it was just a joke’ as he raises his hands in defence, as if he wasn’t the piece of shit to provoke this entire confrontation.

“I dare you to say that again and see where it gets you.” Bucky longs to punch his fist through this man’s nose, the only reason currently stopping him is a potential assault charge, but then he hears you sniffling behind him and he wants to throw caution to the wind.

“Barnes, you need to go after her.” Natasha implores, interrupting the intense staring match between the two men and saving Bucky from spending the night in a jail cell. The mention of you is the only distraction which spares this man’s face from being rearranged.

Bucky practically throws the guy on the ground, searching for you in the sea of patrons staring at the commotion, before chasing after you as if his life depends on it - because it does, you are the reason his heart beats just that little bit quicker every morning at the prospect of seeing you curled up in your armchair, having fallen asleep reading one of your books and him needing to gently wake you from your slumber; you are the reason he stops off at the store on his way home from work and spends half an hour at the grocery store most days, to ensure the pantry is fully stocked with your favourite snacks; you are the reason he has not brought a single woman back to his apartment since moving in, no one on the face of this earth could could make him feel the way you do, turn him on naked in his bed how you do dancing around the kitchen in your pyjamas.

He loves you. And his whole world is crashing down around him knowing you’re in any type of pain.

“Sunrise, please.” You're not sure what he’s pleading for exactly, but he doesn’t ask again once you stop scurrying out of the bar. He reaches for you when the fresh air outside hits your face with a crispness that makes your tears sting more than they had inside, tugging on your shoulder for you to turn around and face him.

The completely shattered way you look back at him, with teary eyes that are usually so full of wonder and vivacity, shreds Bucky’s heart into so many pieces he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to put it back together again.

He’s going to kill that man for making you feel like a fragment of the beautiful person he has come to adore.

Unintelligible words fall from your lips but you don’t have the brain capacity to articulate yourself better when your mind is rerouting all your thoughts to one central nucleus - how disgustingly large you are.

Typically you’d be mortified about Bucky seeing you in such a distressed state, because not only are you huge, you must also look revoltingly unattractive with tears flowing down your cheeks, ruining your makeup, and snot dripping from your nose.

But you know Bucky’s arms, the embrace of the man you love, is also the only cure for the malignant disease which has now infected your mind, so you put up no defence to him pulling you in for a secure, reassuring hug.

Bucky’s chest, smelling strongly of cinnamon, is the safest place you’ve ever known. Even though you’re still consumed by what was said back inside the bar, Bucky holds you so tightly that you have no doubt that he will comfort you through the worst of it without him needing to say so.

It’s a blur of tears, head throbbing, chest aching and Bucky’s soft yet vigilant hands as you make your way home. He leads you into a cab, buckling your seatbelt for you, him taking the middle seat so you can rest your head on his shoulder, his calloused hand resting on your thigh, soothingly rubbing gentle circles with his thumb over your soft skin.

Not a single word is spoken on your journey, comfortable with the solace his presence brings you, and finally feeling secure being miles away from the environment that led you to feeling as giant as an elephant trapped in a zoo enclosure with mice.

Bucky’s fingers interlace with yours as he leads you up to your apartment, the feel of his large hand engulfing yours eases the feeling of taking up too much space in the world. Even though you’re much wider than him in size, there are parts of your tall roommate that somehow miraculously still make you feel smaller than him.

His keys get thrown on the hall table with a clang. The familiar environment brings you peace, even if Bucky holding your hand is a new sensation which has nervousness prickling your stomach.

He sits on your couch, the one you’ve sat on many a lonely night before you even knew Bucky, his arms outstretched in a way which asks you to curl up on him in a hug.

“No, Bucky I’ll crush you.”

His heart cleaves in two with just how defeated your small voice is. It physically hurts him that you think of yourself like that and not as the most beautiful, voluptuous goddess that he knows you are.

“You’re not gonna crush me. Now c’mere.” His voice is soft but his hands are unyielding as he practically picks you up and deposits you in his lap, not taking no for an answer.

His strong arms snake around you, large hands resting on a pocket of fat on your waist that has always plagued your insecurities, but Bucky holds you tenderly, almost lovingly, and the self doubt slips from your mind and all you can focus on is how close you are to him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers with a kiss to your temple. It almost sounds like he actually believes it - but your mind simply cannot accept that as fact, especially not after the humiliation surging through you from the strangers taunt earlier.

“Bucky, you don’t have to lie.”

“Sunrise, I’m not lying.” He retorts almost instantly, not wanting to allow any time for doubt to creep into your mind.

“You’re my roommate, you can’t very well call me an ugly pig, which is exactly what I am.”

Bucky so badly wants you to be able to see yourself the way he sees you, how vibrant his life becomes when you so much as walk into a room, how all his anxieties fade to nonexistence when you smile at him.

How you are everything he has ever dreamed of.

You sleep one very thin wall away, and all he can ever think of as he falls asleep on his own every night is if you are in the next room thinking of him too, wishing that your dreams will be consumed by him as his are by you.

“Stop. Please stop putting yourself down. You are gorgeous, stunning, and so much more than just my roommate.” He says sincerely, wiping away a stray tear as it trickles over the apple of your cheek. “You are my Sunrise, the stunning star at the centre of my universe that lights up my entire life.”

Never in a million years did you imagine these words coming out of Bucky Barnes’ mouth. You stare at him, jaw slack in utter shock, waiting for the moment where he takes it all back or to clarify that you’ve misinterpreted the intention and in fact he really means that you’re good friends, just very good friends.

This must be your hopeful heart overreacting after such an upsetting day, because surely he cannot actually think of you as more than that.

“It hurts me that you can’t see how impossibly beautiful you are, how you’re the most stunning woman everywhere you go, how I can’t take my eyes off you even for a minute whether it’s lazing around here in your pyjamas or all dolled up for a night out. You will always be the most beautiful woman in any room to me.”

Your chest feels like it’s about to explode any second with how much warmth is ballooning in your lungs. This isn’t happening. Surely you bumped your head getting out of the cab and this is all just a dream your mind has concocted to heal from the anguish sustained earlier.

“You can’t possibly mean that.” You shake your head, attempting to pull yourself out of the hallucination your brain is composing.

Bucky's eyes flit down to your lips, slightly chapped and dehydrated from crying your eyes out, but when they return to your gaze again, there’s a palpable desperation which quivers in his pupils.

“My whole fucking world comes to a standstill when you enter a room and like a magnet I can’t help but be drawn to you. You make my heart beat out of my chest just by smiling at me. There is not a day where I don’t wish to be back home here with you, where it’s just the two of us and the world outside holds no consequence because you’re all I’ve ever needed, all I’ve ever wanted. Can you really not see how powerful the hold you have over me is?”

There should be no doubt, given his confession, how much significance you have in Bucky’s heart, and yet you’re in disbelief, utter shock, unable to truly comprehend why he cares for you in such a way, when there are so many other women who are hotter, skinnier, funnier than you.

If this was written in one of the thousands of romance novels you’ve read, you wouldn’t hesitate to believe how much love the protagonists have for one another, but because it’s happening to you, that you are the heroine of this story, your mind is conditioned to reject the premise altogether.

“Bucky…” You mumble, your mind is spinning too much to form a coherent thought, let alone articulating just how consequential your feelings for the man whose lap you're sitting in are.

“Even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know how beautiful you are to me.” And that’s when your brain kicks into gear - you cannot stand any insinuation that your feelings for your roommate are simply platonic, and not the all consuming, devoted love that fills your heart with as much sunshine as on a cloudless summer day.

Especially not after his admission.

“Not feel the same? Bucky, I’ve been in love with you since you mov-”

At the mention of the word ‘love’ Bucky pulls your face close with a hand on either side of your face, and kisses you so forcefully the rest of your sentence is muffled and completely forgotten about.

You haven’t kissed someone in such a long time, and your stomach prickles with nerves as you frantically try remembering the movements you’re meant to make with your lips, where your tongue should be, that you should close your eyes. But as long as it has been, you’re sure the sparks you feel as his warm lips caress yours is because it is James Barnes kissing you, and not just anyone.

He smells and tastes divine, like sweet honey and sharp cinnamon, his lips soft as pillows that move hungrily against yours, like he can’t get enough of you either, and when he moans into your mouth you swear you see the gates of heaven.

When his tongue slips into your mouth, the realisation hits you square in the chest that you’re kissing your Bucky, the man who sleeps in the adjacent room, who cooks you breakfast shirtless in your kitchen, who always thinks to bring home your favourite food after a long day at work where he could arguably only want to think about himself.

The man you love. And who reciprocates that ardent feeling.

The awareness that it’s him knocks all the breath from your lungs and you need to come up for air much sooner than you would have liked, but Bucky gazes up at you with that familiar warmth that you never would have believed was something more than just friendship, but now seems like it was the clue all along that the two of you were never just roommates.

“You love me, huh?” He says in such a playfully taunting tone that makes you smile.

“Yeah… but I’m your Sunrise aren’t I?”

“That you are. My beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Sexy. Perfect Sunrise.” Bucky places sweet kisses to your lips between each adjective, each one lasting a little longer than the previous. “I love you too.”

Maybe you can’t understand why Bucky feels this way about you when there are far more attractive people in the world. But maybe that doesn’t matter.

Perhaps your love for him is part of what makes you the most beautiful person in the world in his eyes, the way his love for you is why you find him the most alluring man you have ever met. And that will forever be enough for you.

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[giuli4nna]

BEEN AWAY

hamzah wants to take his time with you when he finally gets the chance. requested by this ask

a/n: thank you to all 329 of you who voted on my poll ! this one ended up winning, it’s kind of long but i hope you enjoy (: i’ll eventually post the others xoxo

“slow down,” hamzah chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he pries your fingers away from his body.

your hands were itching to touch him all night. you wanted to pounce on him the very instant you two arrived back to your apartment, but he insisted on holding back.

you were bubbling with anticipation to see him after several months of being apart. long distance was taking a toll on your emotional state; your separation lead to countless nights of missed calls and makeup texts — apologies for being too busy to respond that day. it was frustrating, but you two always manage to push through.

not to mention, it was even more frustrating for your sexual desires.

you could only send each other so many scandalous photos and videos as a distraction before you were left lonely and desperate for the feeling of real intimacy with your boyfriend.

but — of course, it wasn’t all about sex. you were overjoyed with the fact that he sacrificed time out of his break from youtube to come and visit you.

when you opened the door to see him standing proudly outside your apartment building’s entrance; leaning against his car, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, it was really tempting to just make him to cancel your dinner reservations and spend the whole evening in bed with him instead.

after showering you in kisses and compliments he treated you to a lengthy date at your favorite restaurant. of course you loved getting to spend time with him in person after being apart for so long.

except — hamzah really dragged it out.

“hamzah,” you’d groaned. “we’ve talked about everything possible and we finished dessert. don’t you think it’s time to go back home?”

“oh, c’mon. i’m just enjoying the first date we’ve had in months. now — this is important, if you were ice cream, what flavor would you be?” he smiled, adding on another silly question to the prolonged conversation.

even when the both of you were finally stumbling in through your door, he wasn’t quick to give in.

it was frustrating, to say the least. you’re not some sort of sex-crazed freak, but you’re on the verge of acting like one.

you had spent the last few months pining over him, and now that he’s within your reach, your top priority is to memorize every inch of him as fast as possible — for fear that you might forget all your favorite details of his body the second that he needs to return to toronto.

you barely get the door shut before you’re on him. your hands are in his hair, your lips are crashing onto his. you’re messy, frantic.

and of course, he slows you down. his hands settle on your waist, grounding you, his lips stilling against yours.

“mmh, slow down.” he softly protests. he meets your gaze, his eyes filled with love and adoration. on the other hand, yours are shrouded in desire and lust.

“m’sorry. just missed you,” you mumble, your tone slightly guilty.

“i know,” he says gently. “let’s just go slow, okay? we have plenty of time.”

you huff. “hamzah, seriously?”

a smirk tugs at hamzah’s lips, but his eyes are soft, soaking you in like he’s memorizing you all over again. “yes, seriously. just let me take care of you.” he says, his voice dropping to an entrancingly low tone.

you practically squirm under his gaze. “why are you messin’ with me?” you ask, sounding a little bit more pathetic than you intended.

“m’not tryin’ to,” he murmurs presses a lingering kiss to your jaw, then your neck, his lips soft and slow as if he’s committing each inch of your skin to memory. “just wanna make sure i feel you. really feel you.”

he always does this. he makes everything feel like more than just desperation, more than just a fleeting moment of heat. he’s trying to make up for every second spent apart.

your breath stutters as his lips trace a slow path down your neck, enough to make you shiver. you grab fistfuls of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but he stays steady, his control unwavering.

“you’re not being fair,” you breathe out, basically pouting at this point.

he laughs, soft and warm against your skin. “you’re not either,” he says, his hands roaming lazily up and down your sides, feeling the fabric of your dress. “you’re tryin’ to rush me. that’s not very fair.”

“but i’m only rushing ‘cause i missed you.”

“and i missed you,” he dips his head lower, lips pressing just above your collarbone as he speaks with a frustratingly unbothered tone. “that’s why i want to take my time with you.”

“hamzah, you’re so f— ah!”

whatever annoyed phrase you were about to throw at him is instantly forgotten as hamzah sweeps you off your feet, literally. in one swift movement, he’s picked you up bridal style and started carrying you toward your bedroom.

“what was that?” he taunts with a grin, nudging the door open with his foot and practically tossing you down onto your bed.

“nothin’,” you mutter, your cheeks flushing in slight embarrassment as your eagerness rises once more. you wonder if he’s finally going to do something, anything.

you watch him, waiting for him to move first. to shove you back, to climb on top of you, to finally let go of all his patience and take what’s his.

he doesn’t.

instead, he stands between your legs, his hands coming to rest on your thighs, warm and steady. his thumbs move in slow, lazy circles, like he has all the time in the world.

he doesn’t seem to notice how loud your body is internally screaming with need for him right now.

you exhale sharply, tilting your head back with a groan. “i think you’re killing me.”

hamzah laughs, quiet and deep. “you’ll be just fine.”

his fingers trace up, dragging along the hem of your dress, and you suck in a breath as he pushes it up — inch by inch, nothing hurried, nothing rushed.

every movement is deliberate, like he’s unwrapping something precious. and in his eyes, he is. you’re the most precious thing in his life.

you lift your arms, letting him undress you, your skin prickling at the loss of warmth. he’s quickly touching you again — his palms glide over your bare shoulders, down your arms, and across your ribs, like he’s learning your body all over again.

he leans in, finally, brushing his lips against your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. it’s soft, barely there.

“more,” you whisper.

hamzah’s lips hover over yours, close, but not close enough. “not yet.”

your hands slide up his chest, gripping at his shirt. “why?”

he smirks, kissing your jaw instead. “because i love watching you like this,” he says, quiet and teasing. “all desperate.”

your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, frustration curling in your stomach like a flow of lava.

he hums in amusement, his lips trailing lower, his fingers slipping under the thin straps of your bra. he toys with the fabric but never pushes further.

your breath catches in your throat when his mouth finally moves lower, leaving a warm path over your chest and your stomach. his hands ground you, steadying you against the mattress as you arch instinctively toward him.

just when you think he’s about to break, about to finally give in, he slows down again. his lips press soft kisses along the inside of your thigh, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin.

you whimper, tugging at his shirt in frustration. “hamzah, please.”

his grip on your hips tightens at the sound of your voice, and you don’t miss the way his breath stutters — like he’s just as affected by all this restraint as you are. his willpower is just now beginning to fade. yours is long gone.

“say that again,” he murmurs, his voice thick.

you swallow hard, meeting his gaze. his eyes are dark and burning with something you can’t quite put your finger on. your fingers reach down to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his lower lip.

“please?” you whisper again, softer this time.

something snaps.

with one fluid motion, he tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, his hands quickly returning to your skin.

there’s no hesitation anymore, no patience. his lips crash on yours with pure heat and hunger, his body pressing flush against yours.

his hands roam, no longer teasing, no longer holding back. his fingers trace every curve, every dip of your body. it’s suddenly urgent, dripping with the kind of hunger that’s been building since the second you two walked through the door.

you gasp against his lips as he presses you further into the mattress, his weight settling over you in a way that makes you feel impossibly small beneath him. his hands slide beneath your thighs, spreading you, positioning you.

you can feel the way his control is slipping between his fingers like sand. you can feel it in the way his body moves against yours.

“hamzah,” you breathe, your voice breaking around the sound of his name.

he groans, low and rough, like hearing you say his name just like that is his undoing. his forehead presses against yours, his breath is warm and uneven as he rolls his hips against you, slowly and purposefully.

you moan, your fingers clawing at his back, pulling him closer. “i need—”

“i know,” he cuts in, voice thick with want. his lips brush against your cheek, then your jaw, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. “i’ve got you, baby.”

eventually, somewhere between messy kisses and frantic touches, your clothes have been shed along with his and hamzah’s body is now hovering over yours on the bed, heat radiating between the two of you.

you’re so deeply lost in him that any frustration has long since evaporated. all that remains is the intoxicating pulse of anticipation as he aligns himself with your entrance and finally — finally, he shifts, pushing forward, sinking his cock into you in one smooth, perfect motion.

your breath stutters, your body arching into him as he fills the space between you completely. a deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest as he stills for a second, his grip on your hip tightening dangerously.

he exhales sharply, pressing his forehead to yours. “you feel…” he trails off, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words.

instead of trying to complete his thought, he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, devastating kiss as he finally starts to move. he presses deeper, slower, letting you — no, making you feel every inch of him. he groans at the sensation of your nails in his back, his body tensing up as if he’s barely holding himself together.

“hamzah,” you whine, your voice shaky and overwhelmed.

he shudders, his hands flexing against your waist before sliding upwards, cradling your face between his palms.

“look at me,” he murmurs.

the second your gazes lock, something in you shatters. your body? your mind? your soul, maybe?

there’s a melting pot of drastically different emotions swirling behind his eyes, you can’t even begin to describe the way it makes you feel.

“you’re everything,” he whispers, his voice rough, like he’s speaking the words without even thinking. “you know that, right?”

you nod, unable to speak, not with the way length is dragging in and out of you too slowly. he tilts your chin up, ghosting his lips over yours so softly it makes your stomach twist.

“say it,” he demands in a murmur against your mouth. he’s trying to break you, you think.

you fingers slide into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “i know.” your voice is barely above a whisper.

“there’s my girl. so good for me, aren’t you?” he says with a small smirk, knowing the effect his words have on you. “can’t believe i spent so long without you.”

his lips crashing onto yours, raw and consuming, like he’s trying to pull you into him completely.

“hamzah — more,” you choke out breathlessly against his lips, your mind melting at the slow pace he’s set.

he chuckles lowly, but doesn’t protest this time. he knows he’s got you ruined already.

his hands slide beneath your thighs, shifting you just enough to deepen the angle, and when he moves again, it’s harder, needier. he’s finally pouring himself into you fully, dropping the ‘let’s take our time’ façade.

your chest heaves as desperate moans and choked whimpers escape your throat, the way he’s now snapping his hips into you — it makes your lose all remaining composure.

your head tilts back against the pillow, overwhelmed, and hamzah’s right there with you. “that’s it,” he breathes, voice shaking. “y’sound so pretty.. god, i love you,”

he drives into you harder, deeper, his pace growing erratic. the pure hunger in his eyes matches the frenzy building between your legs, a gnawing need that has you gasping with each stroke.

“mmh.. love y— love you too..” you force out, lips trembling.

“uh-huh..” hamzah breathes, his voice rough, practically growling as he watches you fall apart beneath him. “oh — fuck, baby, you’re taking me so well,”

you whine at his words, and you can feel the heat building in your stomach, the pressure mounting with each thrust. you’re almost there, your abdomen tenses as the pressure in your tummy builds.

“please.. harder, hamzah,” you beg, barely able to form the words as your body quakes beneath him.

his lips curl into a dark smirk. he drives into you with twice the effort, setting a punishing new pace.

a low growl vibrates in his chest, pleasure surging through both of you, turning your minds to mush. the way he’s moving, the way he fills you — each thrust is making it harder to think, harder to breathe.

“fuck,” you choke out, your voice cracking with need as you meet his pace. his strokes are relentless now, the pressure building at an unbearable pace. you can barely hold on, the sound of your frantic breaths and his skin slapping against yours filling the room.

hamzah watches your face, your lips parted in a silent plea, your chest rising and falling in desperation. he only moves faster, harder, like he’s chasing something just beyond reach. “c’mon,” he grunts. “get there for me, baby.”

you can feel every inch of him, the way he fills you completely, his every move making your body tremble, your senses on fire.

your legs tremble as you reach the edge, the world around you blurring. “hamzah, i — m’there, feels so..” you gasp, desperate for release, your voice raw with need.

he nods erratically, his hips stuttering as his sanity slips along with yours. “yeah, give it to me,” he moans, his voice rough yet on the verge of being whiny. “finish f’me, be the good girl that you are.”

with a final, deep thrust, everything breaks. your body convulses, and the pleasure washes over you in waves, almost too much to handle. your moans spill out breathlessly along other broken, incomplete sentences as you shudder beneath him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

hamzah closely follows you over the edge, his body shaking as he finally releases, spilling into you with a low, guttural growl. his body collapses on top of yours, both of you trying to catch your breath, the room now filled with nothing but the sound of your rapid breathing and the faint hum of your heartbeat in the aftermath.

for a long time, neither of you speak. there’s really nothing else to be said. your breathing falls in sync.

the heat between you is still buzzing, alive. his fingers trace lazy patterns along your hip, his lips brushing against your temple. his small, absentminded gestures feel just as intimate as everything else that just happened.

“you okay?” he eventually murmurs, voice still thick with exhaustion.

you nod weakly, your fingers threading through his hair, nails dragging gently along his scalp. “mhmm.”

he smirks, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before finally shifting, rolling onto his side but keeping you close, tangled up in him. “told you, going slow would be worth it.”

you scoff and roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. he just grins in response, knowing he’s right.

and he is right, he really is. it wouldn’t have been the same if he didn’t make you wait. after not seeing each other for so long, rushing — despite how badly you wanted to — wouldn’t have been nearly as romantic or special.

you huff, tucking yourself closer against his chest. hamzah’s arms tighten around you instinctively, like holding you is second nature, no matter how long you spend without each other.

xoxo giulia

[nashusglasses]

Hiiii can I request Sylus with 49 “Put on a show for them, baby.” and 11 “You’re fucking hot when you cry.” 🤭

posting this ahead of thursday bc i've kept you waiting long enough!!! here's amateur pornstar sylus AU <3

these prompts are from this list. if you'd like, send me two prompts and a lads man for next week :)

(NSFW, 18+, please read) mentions of subspace, orgasm torture, creampie, urination from oversensitivity

.

.

.

"My precious girl," Sylus croons. He kisses your sweaty hairline. "Where'd all your courage go?"

"Fuck if I know." You can't tell if it's anger or resignation that makes you want to bruise his chest with a hard punch. The rabbit vibrator is still hot from whirring three back-to-back orgasms out of you. "Where are we…?"

"Twelve," he answers.

You almost whine. Was this all your fault? Yes. But that didn't mean you weren't allowed to be pissed off. You'll just edit out all your unnecessary grumbling. An easy fix, especially if the angle of the camera is focused solely on your used pussy.

(You did get a comment on a recent video praising Sylus for his cooing, though. Too low for viewers' ears to pick up actual sentences, but it's the way you melt into him that gets the message across. pleeeeaaaseeeeeeeee don't edit out the part where he talks to u <3, it said. idek what hes saying but he sounds soooo hot!!!)

Sylus soothes your unease with a kiss, tapping the toy still notched inside you. "Want me to take it out?"

"Just—wait," you moan. It's the only thing grounding you to this bed. The floaty feeling in your head isn't enough to overwhelm you entirely, but you're well on your way to surrending your consciousness to the darkest shade of fucked-out. "Can you… kiss me?"

He presses you deeper into the mattress with how hard he gives it to you. His tongue catches your loud exhale, licking taut like he's fiending for your taste. You're breathless. Worn out, muscles already screaming with an ache you'll feel for days. You've only got ten minutes left to beat your record of how many orgasms Sylus can wrench out of you within an hour.

Whether you're conscious by the end of it or not doesn't matter. He'll always take care of you.

Sylus lets up from your kiss, taps the toy again. "Good now?"

You nod, cringing when you feel yourself loosen around nothing as it slides out under his guidance. You don't even need to look down to know that the toy shines, creamed with lube and your own wetness. Sylus twists it around for the camera lens, offering a flexed bicep just to double-up on eye candy.

"Two more, darling," he croons, tossing it far on the bed to clean up later. "Still got it in you?"

He says it loud enough for a tease, but no one else can glean the concern from his eyes. He sees it too, the way you're blinking too slow now. Throat caught with silence because you're thinking too much and not at all at the same time.

"Colour?" He whispers. He cups your face when you close your eyes for too long.

The warmth brings you back, bliss colouring your head into lax satisfaction. "Green."

You think he says good girl, but all your senses clam up when you feel his cock pressing up inside you, whining deep from the heat sparked in your gut. Sylus presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Put on a show for them, baby."

It starts with clenched toes, spasming thighs where he keeps his hands to tuck your knees up. The perfect shot for the wet piston of his cock because he knows you always come the hardest when he's inside you, and you've got the arch of your back to show for it.

Suddenly you can't help but shake with choked laughter, because of course you already feel the build of an orgasm threatening its eruption. "I'm—ha—already—"

"I know, sweetie." Sylus slaps his hips hard just to watch you curl with a gasp. "Let me feel you."

Your chest caves, breaths lost when you watch the way his dick creams at the base, sticky sounds you hope your viewers appreciate. You whine loud, almost too corny with the volume.

"Oh—" Sylus picks up to painful speed, hips a hard threat on your clit and you're throwing your head back— "fuck, oh my God coming—!"

There's thirteen. Nothing slow or careful about it, just a frenzy you squeeze your pussy through and you moan with every pulse. Senses heightened to clarity only an orgasm can help you achieve, and it crashes just as fast when Sylus whistles: "One more?"

You fog over into submission. He takes it from you, leaning up into straighter posture to guarantee harder thrusts you feel into your hair. You come again, writhing from the barrage, eyes pinched with hot tears.

"Oh, my darling." Sylus curls over where you lie limp, pumping through his own orgasm with a deep groan, cum sliding down your ass for a dirty grand finale. You heave with another sob. "My sweet girl. I'm proud of you. And you're fucking hot when you cry."

"Down. Now," you plead, and immediately he coils his arms around your shaking body, shushing you sweetly. "It's—hot…"

"Where?"

"There." You burn. It aches, and Sylus knows immediately.

"Go ahead," he coos. "I'm right here, it's okay."

You squeeze through another wave of tears, hiccuping, and suddenly your pussy is warm, too warm, way too wet, and you weep and mewl and cry as the embarrassment tips you over, the cum drying on your ass washing down with your own dirty heat.

When you finally feel empty, you cry even harder. "Sy-lus—"

"Sh-h." He pets your head. "No more of that. Focus on my voice. I love you with my entire soul. My darling baby, my sweetheart. You did so, so well…"

He kisses your tears away as your mind fades to black.

[stellamarielu]

on the job

joel miller x female reader

summary: you and joel are forced to work together, but neither of you can get past the others stubborn attitude or contractor!joel and interior designer!reader fuck in a walk-in closet

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, pre outbreak!joel, he’s kind of a huge asshole sorry, teasing, degradation, dirty talk, slightly dubcon, fingering, use of nicknames such as princess sweetheart and good girl, finger sucking, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex, sex against a wall, kinda public sex bc it’s on a job site?? pull out game strong with this one

author’s note: based on this lovely request. i made joel a little mean bc it felt right but at the end of the day he will forever be babygirl. also, i know very little about both of these professions so i apologize for any inaccuracies in that department

You liked to think that you were easy to work with, always polite and mindful— pleasant even.

You mostly kept to yourself, especially when you were working on a project alongside others, however, not everyone shared your cooperative mindset.

In fact, you had worked with a multitude of assholes. Men who thought they held some kind of power over you, who flourished under the opportunity to demean and mock your job like theirs was more important, but none of them even held a candle to Joel Miller.

Your paths crossed when you were hired by a pretentious, middle-aged woman in Austin to help design the interior of her new home— a home that was still under construction.

To make yourself familiar with the layout, you visited the site multiple times in the weeks before construction was scheduled to finish.

It was always an easy and uneventful trip. You greeted the workers, took a few pictures, wrote down some dimensions and then you were gone in twenty minutes tops; but that all changed the day you met Joel. 

You waltzed into the house, waving to one of the men you had come to know from your previous visits and then you heard it, a deep berating voice targeted directly at you.

“Who the hell are you and why are you on my site without a fuckin’ hard hat?”

You stopped in your tracks as you were met with an unknown face. 

“Uh sorry. I’m working on an interior design project for the Johnson’s. They told me I was welcome to come check out the space if I needed anything.” You didn’t know why, but your voice was coming out in compliance, the tone hushed. 

The way this man approached you was incredibly entitled and unabashedly rude.

Normally you wouldn’t let some asshole like this get within two feet of you, let alone talk to you like that; but this guy had you questioning your morals for a split second. He was tall, and broad, and handsome. The southern drawl slipping from the smug curl of his lips and the flex of his biceps as his arms crossed over his chest, had your words stuttering.

“Well, until my job is finished, and the Johnson’s have the keys to their front door, I call the shots. And I don’t do well with unexpected visitors walkin’ around while my guys are trying to get work done.”

Your mouth nearly hung open at his words.

You’d barely said a word to him and he was coming at you with a disgustingly brash and assertive attitude. What the hell was his deal?

“Okay...” The word was drawn-out as it fell from your lips in annoyance.

“Well, it’s kind of funny, because this is probably the fifth time I’ve been here, and none of your guys seem to give a rats ass, so how about you let me do my job and I’ll let you do yours.” 

Finally, you had gotten past the stranger’s criminally good looks and stuck to your guns.

There was no way in hell you were going to let him reprimand you for doing your job. Afterall, you had every right to be here. 

“Yeah well, my guys will let you do whatever you want when you’re prancin’ around here in tight little dresses and high heels. You think they’re just bein’ nice for the hell of it?” 

His irritation was masked by amusement as he looked you up and down, dramatically raking his eyes over your body. 

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just drop the attitude and keep things professional.” The quality of your voice was stern, juxtaposing the way his eyes on your body had you suddenly feeling a rush of heat throughout your chest.

Anger.

The warmth was an angry fervor, definitely not one of lust or temptation. It was a burning irritation for the man standing in front of you, not a curious warmth for how his eyes clung to every curve of your body, taking his time drinking in any exposed skin.

His smile widened as he watched you falter under his stare. “I’ll drop my attitude when you drop yours sweetheart.”

“Listen, Mr-“

“Miller. Joel Miller.”

“Okay, Mr. Joel Miller. I have work to do, so I’m just going to walk past you, take a few notes and I’ll be out of your hair. Deal?” 

“Fine. But if I see you back here again you better be wearin’ a hard hat. Don’t need any trouble because you trip and hit your pretty little head.” He let his eyes wander down your body once more, his voice full of sarcasm.

“Yeah yeah, got it boss.” You scoffed as you pushed past his broad frame. You didn’t turn to look back, but you could practically feel his eyes burning into you as you swayed into the entry way, hoping it was the last time you’d ever have to speak to him.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

You ran into Joel a few more times, each meeting more infuriating and demeaning than the last. He always had a smart comment on his tongue or a mocking intention in his voice. 

Joel Miller had quickly become the bane of your existence; yet, for some reason there was a part of you, deep down, that always hoped to run into him when you went to scout out a new project for the house.   

Maybe because he was undeniably handsome, always walking around with a charming smirk on his lips and a devious glint in his big brown eyes. It was almost as if he were challenging you— seeing how far he could push you before you snapped. 

He continued to test your patience as you now stood in the giant walk-in closet off the primary bedroom.

You were trying to establish a color scheme sophisticated enough to fit Miss Johnson’s impossible to please pallet while Joel was making unnecessarily loud noises across the room.

He was far from graceful, the slamming and pounding of tools was all you could hear as he worked on one of the many intricate shoe shelves on the wall.

“I thought this side of the house was done.” You were speaking without looking in his direction, your eyes following the paint swatches on the wall. 

“Was.” Joel’s voice was gruff as he continued working.

“Until the queen decided she needed more storage for all her designer shit.” He was chuckling at his own words, side eyeing you from his spot kneeling on the floor. 

“You are genuinely the most unprofessional person I’ve ever met.” You dismissed his rude comment about the woman you were both employed by.

“That right?”

You refused to look at him, but you could hear the delight in his voice. 

“Absolutely.” Your response was curt, a quick and straight-forward delivery.

“Good.”

As if you couldn’t hate him more, the word leaving his lips had you turning your head sharply in his direction, an appalled expression plastered across your face. 

“God you get on my last nerve.”

“That right?” Again, his lips tugged into a smirk as he looked at you. 

You raised your brows in annoyance with a single nod of your head at his question.

“Good.” His voice was taunting as he watched you shake your head in frustration. 

You brought your eyes back to the wall in front of you, not giving Joel another second of your attention.

After a few seconds of silence his deep voice broke into the room. “You know, if you weren’t so uptight, maybe I’d ask you out for a drink sometime.” 

It took you a minute to register his words. Was he implying that he wanted to ask you on a date while insulting you at the same time? What a fucked-up, backhanded compliment; one that had your chest stirring with warmth.

“Well, I guess it’s too bad I’m such an high-strung bitch then.” Sarcasm dripped from your words as you kept your eyes trained ahead, your head spinning from Joel’s implicit interest. 

“I doubt you’d last one minute in the bar I’d take you to anyway.”

His comment had your head snapping back again. This time his eyes were already on you, waiting to see a reaction. 

“And why’s that?” Your voice cut through the room at his assumption. 

“Because it’s not exactly a five star establishment, and I think you’re just like all these pretentious fucks you work for.” He raised an eyebrow at you before turning back to the shelf in front of him, tending to a few finishing touches. 

“Always so put together, walking around here with your shoulders high.” He was nonchalant as he criticized you, hands busy taking measurements, not even paying an ounce of attention to the dirty look you were currently shooting at him from the other side of the room. 

“You think you’re better than everyone, but you’re just another pretty face with an overblown ego.”

There it was. The final blow that had your body tensing with anger.

You couldn’t believe that just a few seconds ago you were letting him flatter you, swooning under the smallest inkling of positivity he threw your way.

He was the worst kind of guy, the kind that built you up just to tear you down. The kind that wanted to make you feel worse about yourself so you would go running to him for a semblance of positive reinforcement.

Joel Miller liked the chase— thrived off being such a douchebag that women somehow ended up falling on their knees for him. But you, you weren’t going to be that woman. 

“Me? Talk about a massive-fucking-ego, take a look in the mirror Miller. You’re the one always making sure I know my place around here, acting like a fucking sociopath. It’s like you get off on being an asshole.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked directly at you, his expression unreadable, like your cruel words caused a switch in him to flip. 

“Maybe I do.”

“What?”

“Maybe I like gettin’ under your skin, watchin’ you get all flustered.” He spoke slowly, setting down his materials and standing to his feet.

“Think it’s kinda cute. You’re always tryin’ to act all big and bad, but I know I make you nervous. I can see it in the way you look at me.” He didn’t move, the smirk on his face causing your eyebrows to furrow in irritation. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, standing strong on your opinion that Joel was the world’s biggest asshole. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting his words get to you.

“You can stop wherever you’re going with this. I’m not here to play your little bullshit games, I’m here to do a job and get paid.”

“Who says you can’t have a little fun on the job?” His voice was laced with a deep seriousness as he set his tools down on one of the many shelves adorning the walls. You watched him over your shoulder but kept your back turned, your body still facing the wall.

“Turn around.” The command left his lips and you wanted to laugh at his attempt of authority but the sincerity in his voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“What? No-“

“C’mon sweetheart, I think we both know you like bein’ told what to do.” His voice cut you off, the signature smirk on his lips sending a buzz straight to your head.

You didn’t mean to, or maybe you did, but your body turned to face him, watching intently as he continued speaking. His broad frame emphatic as he stood across from you.

“I bet you like it, having someone boss you around. Makes you feel a little inferior.”

As the words left his lips he began walking toward you.

It was a casual stroll, not intense or threatening, yet you felt your pulse racing and your posture slumping at his advances.

“Oh please. You need a reality check Joel.” 

“Wanna give it to me princess?”

You kept the appearance of control as he continued moving forward, but internally you were fighting feelings of complete disarray.

You wanted to be offended— maybe even slap him across the face for his wildly inappropriate nickname and the implication of his words. But instead, you froze, his body now less than a foot away from yours and his words ringing in your ears. 

There was absolutely no denying the way his statement had your thighs clenching and your head spinning. Something in his delivery, smug and dirty with his eyes holding a perverted hunger and a promise of follow through, made you weak.

You kept your body from jolting when you felt the touch of his hand wrapping around your waist, finding purchase dangerously low on your back. 

“Bet you’ve never done anythin’ like this.” His voice was sturdy— rigid with power.

The weight of his hand was rough, his palm resting just above the curve of your ass. His touch was heavy yet temperate as he held you, softly pulling you’re your body further into his. 

“Lettin’ some guy you barely know put his hands all over you.”

You watched his eyes carefully, your lips parted but you couldn’t find any words to fill them. You weren’t sure if you wanted to tell him to stop or keep going. 

“Bet all the guys you hook up with are just as prim and proper as you. Can’t imagine that those dipshits graduating from UT with a business degree are fuckin’ you the right way.”

His other hand came to the small of your waist, the movement sending a faint gasp straight to your lips. Your reaction had Joel smirking, reinforcing his grip on your body.

“Probably don’t even know how to get you off.” 

“You’re disgusting.” Your voice was a whisper. The insult that you meant to hurl his way dissolved in a pitiful sigh at the way his fingertips were latching onto you.

“Am I? Bet you like that too.” This time he leaned in, causing his words to land directly in your ear, his breath warm on your neck.  

“Bet you want someone a little rough around the edges. Someone to fuck you real nice.” 

As he spoke, his fingers curled into your body. His grip on you constricting.

His frame pushed into yours, sending you shuffling backward until your back was met with the solid friction of the wall.

“Joel..” 

You were searching in your mind, trying to form an articulate sentence to explain why this was wrong; why you couldn’t be in this position with him.

But he had you trapped against the weight of his body— big and wide and rough.

Every single rational thought in your head dissipated, replaced by an instinctual need to have him fuck you against the wall of this ridiculously expensive closet.

He was right, you’d never done anything like this and the excitement of it— the risk, had your entire body burning with white-hot desire. 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” His hands were holding your hips, pressing you into the wall with his chest dangerously close to yours. 

“But I don’t think you want me to.” For a single second you could see an indication of honesty in his eyes as he looked you over, searching for any sign of distress on your face. And when he couldn’t find it, his stare narrowed and his hands held tighter, rotating your body in his grasp until your chest was pressed against the wall. 

“I think,” He leaned into you, your ass pushing against the bulge in his jeans as his hum landed on the skin right beneath your ear. 

“You want me to lift up this pretty little dress and fuck you nice and hard right here, against this wall.”

His hands found the hem of your dress, bringing it up just enough to bunch at your waist.

Your lower half was almost bare, the only clothing keeping your cunt from being fully exposed to him was the little black thong encasing the dripping mess that had now built up between your legs. It didn’t stop him from reaching between your bodies, pressing his thumb against your clothed entrance. 

“Fuck- you’re soaked princess.” The first word was a prolonged throaty groan, the rest of the sentence fumbling behind it. 

“How long you been thinkin’ bout this huh? Me touchin’ you, makin’ you beg for it.” He was having too much fun playing with you through your panties, his thumb threatening to dip into you even with the lace still covering your entrance.

He pushed against it, moving between your clothed folds and marveling at the wetness seeping through the material. 

“I’m not begging.” You managed to hiss out a response, turning your head to peer at him, your cheek nearly pressing against the wall. 

“Oh, so she’s always mouthy huh?” 

You watched the diabolical grin eat away at his face from the power trip of having you trapped under his weight.

You could talk-back all you wanted— be as bratty and uncooperative as possible, but it didn’t change the fact that he had you right where he wanted you. 

“Keep talkin’ baby, go on.” He innocently raised his brows at you, his voice taunting as the weight of his thumb danced between your legs.

“I Know you want this too. You act like you can’t stand me, but I see the way you look at me…” Your voice was quiet but strong as you held onto the last bit of composure you had left, using it to defy the man at your back.

You were trying your best not to lose your train of thought as you spoke. You wouldn’t give up the fight that easily, succumbing to his tempting words and lewd touches. You could tell Joel was used to getting his way and every muscle in your body ached to challenge him. 

“The way your eyes are glued to my ass every time I walk past you.” You glared over your shoulder as the words drifted off your lips in a gentle accusation. 

His dark chuckle filled the room as his eyes darted away from yours for a short second. Then his stare was back on you— more intense than before. The two of you watching each other, sitting in a pool of mutual revelation. 

You both knew it.

You knew since day one that there was a shared attraction, an unspoken sexual tension hidden behind rude words and unsavory exchanges.

What was happening now was just a detonation of built-up pressure that had been stewing for weeks; evident in the wetness at your core and the bulge in Joel’s jeans. 

“Anythin’ else you wanna say? Should probably get it all out before I have you all fucked-out on my cock.” His voice dropped to a low whisper as he hooked his thumb into your underwear, pulling the material to the side, not even bothering to take them off completely. 

A soft gasp slid from your lips at the cool air meeting your newly exposed center, the slick pooling at your entrance only adding to the airy sensation. 

“You’re so fucking arrogant.” 

The words barely left your lips when you felt his touch meet your core, his fingers spreading your arousal.

You had more to say to him, you wanted to tell him how annoying he was and how you had lost every ounce of decency by letting him talk to you this way, but the words were caught in your throat as he pushed two fingers into you. 

“Maybe I have good reason to be.” 

Your eyes were squeezed shut at the unexpected feeling of him filling you with his fingers, yet you could hear the smirk dripping in his voice.

“You ever think about that sweetheart?”

His words were impatient, the initial drive of his fingers into your entrance was rough, but now they slowly worked into you. His movements were careful— cautious even.

It was as if he wanted to take his time, watching your body and listening to the shaky breaths leave your lips.

His hand worked between your legs, searching for the exact technique that would send you spewing profanities and crumbling against the wall.  

He curled his fingertips at just the right spot, not too deep and not too forceful, just a gentle pulse that had an impulsive whimper pouring from your chest.

“Maybe I’m so arrogant because I know I’m good at what I do.” His words held a double meaning as he added a third finger to stroke your newfound sweet spot.

You almost yelped from the stretch, but you held it back as best you could, refusing to give him the gratification of your submission. 

The position he had you in; back arched and ass pushed out, made it almost embarrassingly easy for the addition of a third digit as he watched them to sink into you.

You couldn’t help but hum in approval as he stroked you repeatedly, rubbing against the inviting drawl of your walls. You tried not to lose yourself at his fingertips, knowing from the familiar coil of pleasure in your core that he could have you coming on his fingers at any given moment. 

“Thought you were gonna fuck me, huh?” Your voice was a string of moans as you tried your best to form a coherent sentence with his hand pushed between your bodies. 

As much as you didn’t want his movements to stop, you also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you finish when he’d barely even gotten his hands on you.

Knowing Joel, he would never let you live it down. He’d ride around on his metaphorical high horse and crown himself the king of female orgasms. So instead of letting him bring you to the precipice of release, you met him with a phrase of defiance. But your challenging words were really just a gateway to get what you wanted. You could put on a tough act, but at the end of the day Joel was right, you did want him to fuck you in way no one ever had— hungry and hard against the wall, right here in your client’s house.

In fact, the thought of it had taken over every fiber of your being. The anticipation of feeling him rail into you was clouding your judgement and coursing through your veins at an alarming speed. 

“Think you can take it?” His growl stuck in your ears as he pulled out of you. The lewd noises of his fingers plunging into the slick mess at your folds was quickly replaced by the sound of him fumbling with his belt buckle. 

“How d’you want it, huh baby? You the sentimental type? Want it nice and slow and deep? Or d’you just wanna be ruined? Want someone to be a little rough with ya?” He was asking, but you couldn’t help but note the rhetorical quality of his words as you heard the rustle of his jeans pushing down his thighs. 

“That’s sweet of you to give me choice, maybe you don’t like control as much as I thought- “

Your sarcastic remark was cut short at the abrupt stretch of Joel’s length slamming into you.

“Rough it is then.” His voice was a deep grunt echoing from behind you as he paused, giving you a split second to adjust before pulling back out and thrusting into you again. 

“Shit princess, didn’t think you’d be this fuckin’ tight.”

His voice swam with amusement and pleasure as he watched the way his dick fully disappeared into you with each thrust of his hips.

Hands pulled at your waist as you felt Joel drive deeper with every breathless groan floating off his lips. 

“Look at you, takin’ me like such a good girl.” The words weren’t sweet, instead they teased you, shooting out of his mouth with a mocking tenor. 

You couldn’t keep your body from reacting to his praise, albeit contemptuous, the words still held a deep truth about the situation unfolding against the wall of your shared employer’s closet. 

“Oh, you like that don’t ya? When I tell you what a good girl you are?” His voice was a broken growl of grunts and sighs as he fucked into you— vigorous and desperate.

His pace was unrelenting as he held onto your waist, pulling you back to meet him with every drive of his hips into yours. 

He let one of his hands travel up your body until he was reaching for your jaw, tilting your head up and back until your body was arched at a sinful angle.

“See, I knew you just needed a good fuck.” His groan was right in your ear now that he held your head close to his, the grip he had on your jaw was firm.

It was becoming impossible for you to keep quiet, the strength and depth of his thrusts were causing explicit moans to skate past yours lips.

The hand that Joel was using to hold your face was now maneuvering to your mouth in an effort to muffle the obscene sounds rolling off your tongue. Two of his fingers pushed at your lips, hooking into your mouth. 

“Knew that little attitude a’yours was all for show.”

You closed your lips around his digits as he railed into you, a guttural moan sliding up your throat and humming onto his fingers. 

“Fuck.” His fowl groan was a direct result of your soft mouth sucking around his fingers, mimicking the way you had his cock encased between your legs.

You invited his touch onto your tongue, swirling around his thick digits and sucking him in deeper, earning a prolonged sigh from Joel as he fucked into you even harder.

Each stroke of his cock had your body pressing further into the wall— his pace was mean and unyielding, like he had something to prove. 

With the hand not in your mouth, Joel reached around your body, his fingertips finding your clit and rubbing quick careless circles over the bundle of nerves.

Your body faltered under his touch, your knees slightly buckling, and if it weren’t for the weight of his body trapping you against the wall, you’d be a puddle on the floor. 

He slowed his pace slightly, taking his time to find that spot along your walls again. The one that he discovered just minutes ago when he was three fingers deep in your dripping cunt. 

Whines of approval vibrated against the pads of his fingertips still pressing down on your tongue. His hips began rocking into you at just the right angle— slow and deliberate, with the goal of feeling you coming undone on his cock. 

“That it baby? Right there?” Again, his words were a sadistic tease, but his voice gave way to pitiful throaty whines.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think with the way he was working you toward your release.

Everything felt so overwhelming, his unrelenting thrusts hitting you in the perfect place, his touch on your clit, rough and impatient and his fingers filling your mouth— all of it creating the perfect storm of inconceivable pleasure. 

A jolt of relief surged through your body as the pressure inside you snapped. You let yourself fall further into the wall as Joel’s name slipped from your mouth in a chant.

Hearing his name on your lips in such a distant and dazed voice, had Joel’s cock pulsing. Your walls were clenching from your climax, sucking him in deeper and he couldn’t handle the abundance of warmth enveloping him. 

Both of his hands came down to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as held tight.

His thrusts were merciless as he used you to reach his peak, chasing the familiar buildup of tension in his core as he drove into you at a startling pace. 

Then he pulled out abruptly. 

One hand on his cock, stroking just twice before spilling onto the skin of your lower back, the other pushing your dress further up your body to keep it from becoming a jizz painted mess. 

Silence filled the room.

Neither of you spoke as your hands pushed against the wall underneath your palms. You stayed pressed there, Joel’s body still behind you evident in the ragged breaths leaving his chest. 

Still no words were exchanged as you felt Joel take a step back, the warmth of his presence fading just slightly.

You dared to break your pleasure induced trance to look over your shoulder, only find him pulling his jeans back up his body and tightening his belt without even sparing you a glance.

You began to move until you were reminded of the thick warm mess resting on your back, keeping you from pulling your dress down.

Before you could do anything, Joel was back behind you, hooking his fingers into the waist band of your panties and tugging them down your legs. He stopped at your ankles to tap against your skin, prompting you to step out of them.

Once the lacy material was fully in his grasp, he brought them up to your lower back, using them to gather his spend. He cleaned his mess with the lacy material then pulled your dress back down to cover your lower half. A sticky residue was left on your backside as a plaguing reminder of what had just transpired between you. 

You turned to face him, watching as he crumpled up your ruined underwear and shoved it into his back pocket with a smirk on his face. 

“How about that drink? Could meet you tomorrow night, should be done here around five.” He was back across the room in an instant, gathering tools and not bothering to look in your direction.

His invitation was genuine, but his words lacked interest. 

“I’ll get these back to you then.” His hand came to rest on his back pocket, fingers tapping against the denim holding your used panties.

A self-righteous smile sat on his face as he shot you a look of pure deviance before his eyes were back on his hands as they worked to gather his materials. 

“Yeah, okay.” Your voice came out more flustered than you intended as you smoothed out your dress over your thighs.

Joel was heading for the closet door, tool bag clutched in his hand as he gave you one last gaze of victory.

“It’s a date.” The words were a grumble from his lips, the same ones that were busy parading a smug smile. 

Then he left you standing alone in the small room, your mind racing around itself and your legs still trembling.

A subtle grin rested on your face as you stared down at the floor, trying to find some sort of equilibrium before even attempting to move.

The giant walk-in closet still encasing a lingering heat of reckless choices as you prepared to go on with your day— business as usual.

my masterlist

[sweetsbfreex]

Bucky gets drafted I

summary: what if bucky was never taken from hydra? What if through all his ptsd, Bucky had a wife and two kids to come back to.

wc: 2259 

warnings: none?

-

February 1942

The whirring of the machinery is heard throughout the brownstone. It’s only twelve, but everyone has been fed and you need to finish this before Sunday. A beautiful red smock dress to wear with black mary janes and ruffle socks. 

You had to, your sweet Adelaide had pleaded with you for a new dress. Not in an ungrateful manner, no, but this Sunday the Children’s choir would sing for everyone. So here you are, focused, pushing through the red cotton as the matching thread pierces through. 

Bucky is on child duty. Seven-year-old Adelaide practices her reading, ever the perfect girl, sitting prim on the floor, legs out and a book between. Ten-month-old Georgie (George), named after the late George Barnes, plays with his wooden blocks next to his sister. Stacks them, then crashes them down. 

Bucky is sat up at the end of the couch, ears pierced to the radio. The list of rationing only grew, the fear for his family only grew, many women were working now, volunteering their time away from their families. It seems things are only getting worse before they get better. 

He sighs, deflating into the sofa at what he’s hearing. 

“Daddy?” a voice snaps him out. 

“Hm?” he answers.

“What is this word?” Adelaide points at her book, as if he could see a thing. So he waves her over and when she’s close, sits her on his leg. 

“What word, Addie?” he asks and she points to the word again.  “Sound it out with me, ‘skw-er-l’” 

She tries and tries, and within those attempts James is there to guide her along, encouraging her to try again when she doesn’t get it right.

His bright spark he likes to call her at times. She’s intuitive and loves to learn. Every night, without fail, either him or y/n were meant to quiz her on at least ten words, like a spelling bee. If there was room to ask why, she would.

A rap is heard on the door. 

“Who’s that?” Addie asks. The attention of Georgie is also grabbed as he looks up at his father with an open mouth and a wood block in hand. 

“I’ll go find out, look after your brother and keep practicing” he kisses the side of her head, before setting her beside him, and walking straight to the door. 

…

“James Buchanan Barnes?” is the first thing Bucky hears from a pristine young-man standing on his welcome mat. A pressed black dress shirt, green tailored pants, a green tie, with shining wing tipped black shoes, and a side cap dresses up the man. 

The man’s eyes are void, almost sad (if he could guess) and he has to stop himself from looking at the gash on his cheek. 

“Yes."

An envelope is thrusted towards him and his heart drops, he could hear it shatter from a mile away. His ma wouldn’t take well to this, his sister wouldn’t, Steve definitely wouldn't, weeks without seeing his kid’s bright face would kill him. Y/n. 

“What is this?” he looks down at the letter accusingly, keeping his trembling hands by his side. 

“Mr. Barnes” The man persists, his voice softer it seems, as if he gives his condolences. 

“Thank you” Bucky has no choice but to smile and take the letter from the man’s outstretched hand. 

The man gives a curt nod in response and walks away, to hover a stormy cloud over someone else’s bright day it seems. It seems the list can only grow larger, will it ever end? He shuts the door and stares down at the envelope in his hands. His name and the address of their home is written neatly in the middle. 

He rips the bandage off his bruise. Ripping into the envelope until the letter is open and held between his hands, and his eyes fly over the ink. 

To, James Buchanan Barnes

notified that you been selected…army

report to the Local Board named above at 107th Infantry Regiment.

10:00 am on the 26 day of February, 1942. 

Only a week. 

“Daddy!” Addy calls for him impatiently. 

“One- one second, sweet girl. Just need to talk your ma for a split” he shouts back, before hearing her dramatic sigh in response. 

He strides to the stark white door of her sewing room, knocks once to get her attention then walks in. His wife is sitting at her sewing table, whose eyebrows are knit and her bottom lip rolled in. Just like his sweet Addie. Unlike many men, James had no problem letting everyone know both their kiddos got their brightness from Y/n. 

“Honey,” Bucky calls out, fingers fiddling with the papers. 

“Yes? I’m almost done, honey, do the kids need anything?” she glances up swiftly, then goes back to her work. 

“I just need to talk to you for a quick second, if that’s alright.” 

She removes her hand from the crank of the sewing machine. Noticing the worry clouding her husband's features. The swish of her polka dotted, a-line dress fills the air.  

Her hand clutches the lapel of his striped suit, while the other splays against his forehead, “What’s wrong, honey, are you out of sorts?” His skin felt normal and his eyes weren’t the prickly pink they usually were when he was sick. 

“No, no, I’m solid.”

At least he hopes he would be, he thinks to himself. Removing her hand from his forehead and kissing her knuckles gently. He can subconsciously feel the heat rising in her cheeks, watching her eyes look at anywhere but him. 

Time to rip off the second bandage. He raises the letter between the two of you. She stops and stares intently at the piece of paper and the envelope next to it. 

“What is this?” she asks, staring into his sky-blue eyes. 

Bucky doesn’t need to say anything, his softening eyes tell her everything she needs to know. Bucky couldn’t fool the young man at his step, and there was no way Y/n would be able to fool Bucky. 

“I leave in a week”

She lets out a breath, before she’s stepping away. One hand splays over her waist while the other presses a hand to her throat. Her head shakes side to side as tears pool in her eyes. She shouldn’t be surprised, Bucky is perfect in every way. Healthy in every way, of course he would be drafted. They both knew this, when was the only question that dangled in front of their faces.

“It’ll be okay. Doll, look at me” he clasps your flushed face tilting it up. 

“Oh, Bucky this is-- this is--” her words break up and before she knows it she’s broken into an uncontrollable sob, shoulders bobbing and an unbroken stream falls down her face. 

He hushes you, bringing you to his chest as his hands run up and down your back. 

“You can’t leave me, us… Trash it!” you pull away, eyes wide and tinted. “They’ll never know, Bucky”

“Honey, you’re talking junk, you know that can’t happen.” he coos, his palms take her face once again, thumbs running circles on her cheeks. 

“Please.” 

She wasn’t in her right mind is the only excuse she can think of. Her mind is running a mile a minute with a thousand gory scenarios, things she’s only read about and heard about.She didn’t want any of that for Bucky. 

“It’ll be okay, I’ll be okay and i’ll come to the three of you in one piece” he crouches down slightly, so you’re at the same eye level “I promise” he speaks softly. 

“You can’t promise something like that”

“I can and I will” he brings you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. 

“Would you be dismayed if I proposed that you break a leg? You’d still be an honorable man in my eyes” she says, voice muffled against his dress shirt. 

“It’ll be okay, honey, I promise” he answers with a breathy chuckle at the end. 

-

That night he breaks the news to Addie. She tries to stay strong at first, only humming in response with a tight smile on her face before tears run down her face silently. He consoles her as much as he can. Reassuring her that he would be alright, that everything would be alright. At some point this would all end and she’d have him back in one piece. And it repeats itself twice as he consoles his mother and sister. 

Telling Steve was one of the easiest bandages, no sticky residue was left behind.. He, of course, took in the slight disappointment on Steve’s face. Steve’s been trying like hell to get enlisted, the only thing holding him back was the long list of health issues and his small stature. 

Never the matter, he’s proud of Bucky. He knows his sharp mind will keep him safe. He’ll miss him while he’s gone and he’s promised to keep an eye on his favorite three while they’re gone. As long as he’s known Bucky, never in a million years did he see him falling in love and settling down with anyone.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” Bucky points a playful accusatory finger towards Steve.

Steve only chuckles breathily before he’s slammed into Bucky’s chest. 

-

The week whirls by, as if Y/n’s prayers for the days to slow down even for just a second aren't heard. Just three days ago Bucky stopped by the enlistment depot to get everything he needs, including his uniform. 

Two days ago, after getting home from work, Bucky had taken a quick nap in the living room. George laid on his chest, his chubby cheeks squished against the breast of his coat; and his tiny fist clasped around a lock of Bucky’s hair. On the other side of Bucky, lays Adelaide, who snuggles up to his side while she watches the television. 

Adelaide has stuck to her father’s side like glue this past week. 

You stood by and watched the three silently, like a shadow, knowing days like this were slowly dissipating until his departure. 

His last day at home, Bucky takes his family to Coney Island, their favorite place. Bucky doesn’t let money hold him back as he throws it all away to put a smile on his kid’s faces. He buys them as many tickets as they need, gets them whatever they want to eat, and wins them as many stuffed animals as he can-- sending a wink to his wife as he throws the rings onto the milk bottles. Knowing how bittersweet this moment was, their first date was Coney Island, and now he’s winning her a prize, like all those years ago, except he’s going off to war. 

Presently, the both of you lay in your dimly luminated bedroom. Bucky has just read Adelaide, her last bedtime story for an unknown time, he’s made it extra special by doing a voice for every character and acoustic effects at every scene. 

Your head is laid in the crook of his neck, and a hand runs up and around his toned chest. You’re winded within his arms, his fingers running circles around your shoulder. 

At the moment all you wanted was to sink into him like the sugar cubes in his coffee. You wanted to keep everything about him in eidetic memory. 

The slope and flat bridge of his nose, his startlingly-intense blue eyes that always looked at you with adoration, his always perfectly gelled hair, and his heart of gold that fills his family with love (something most of your friends couldn’t say.) 

Bucky did the same, engraving everything from your scent to the plush of your skin to his mind. 

A moment passes before you speak up. 

“I don’t know what to say, and I know i’ll regret it later”

“You don’t gotta say anything, just promise you’ll take care of yourself and the kids, maybe visit Steve once in a while or invite him to dinner. Just make sure he’s alright?”

You nod in agreement. 

The way Bucky acts on his overcome emotions is automatic. He pulls you in for a searing kiss, his hands roaming all over your body as if it were braille. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders, squeezing them when Bucky pulls away from your lips to your neck. 

The night is full of heavy, panting breaths and scorching, gently touches. 

When Bucky does that trick you love so much, you have to muffle yourself in your pillow. 

The night is filled with sugared words from Bucky. As he calls you his sweet girl, kisses you everywhere he can, and drains you with every push of his hips. 

-

Afterwards, the both of you are slicked in sweat. You both lay on your sides, facing each other, and holding onto each other. Time seems endless in his embrace. 

“J-James” 

Everything overcomes you within minutes, as you cover your face. It’s wretched and draining as the mountain collapses. It was happening. He would be leaving in just a few hours, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

Bucky pulls your head into his chest swiftly, shushing you as he cradles the back of your head. Kissing the top of your head in comfort. 

“You-- You have to p-promise to come back safely.” You pull away from his chest, eyes glazed over in tears. 

“Baby, you know I can’t promise that. All I can tell you is that I’ll try my best. I promise I'll try my best.”

[bettystonewell]

Sam Winchester x Reader - PERFECT

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

A chance encounter, followed by another in the most unlikely of places, leads to a one-night stand for Sam, and maybe something more?

18+ only MDNI 7.5k words (SAM POV)

Tags: smut, oral - male and female recieving, language, Sam’s POV, pining, dirty talk, an unconventional meet-cute

A/N: Guys! It’s my very first Sam centric fic, and it turned smutty! This is all thanks to a prompt exchange with the lovely @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth. You can find her Donna x reader fic HERE. I was given the prompt: Third Wheeling, and the phrase, “You do not want to go in there, believe me,” which is in bold. - Beth ❤️

“Being on the road can be so lonely sometimes, you know?” Dean says, taking Kristy’s hand and gliding his thumb over her smooth skin. She’s hot and way out of his league, and Sam just knows he’s already forgotten her name.

He rolls his eyes. Again. Another town, another bar. Another conquest that will keep him out of a nice warm bed.

He gets it, he does, but he was looking forward to stretching his legs out tonight. They’re stiff and his back still aches from the salt and burn they did the night before and the driving they’ve been doing all day.

Milroy to Muncie. Dean isn’t travelling the world like he just told her. What would a seasoned pilot even be doing in a place like this?

There’s a tidal pool of liquor right in front of him, lapping at the elbows of his jacket with every fresh drink poured. But hey, there are peanuts. The shells are swimming in the swill, and that suits him fine. The smell of smoke and tobacco, cheap cologne mixed with sweat and… urinal cakes… it’s nothing to bitch about. They could use a load off.

It’s just having to hear Dean swindle his way into her panties. Only took two beers and a double bacon cheeseburger.

Sam takes another swig of his beer. Lets the bitterness cool his throat and his hands. It settles in his stomach that’s twisted itself into knots. Kristy was perfect until she started talking to Dean.

He’s got a shoulder blocking his peripheral now, but raising his chin and leaning further into the wave of booze on the counter gives Sam the right angle. He sees the rise of her chest as it dips into her tank top. Makes his lip curl over the lip of his bottle and his cheeks flush. A little.

“Omae wa mou shindeiru,” Dean says with a husk to his voice.

Kristy giggles. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Japanese for you’re so beautiful. I learnt that on my last visit.”

It’s not. Sam might not speak the language, but he knows enough to know that line is from Fist of the North Star and Dean butchered it. Pretty sure he told her she was going to die, actually, but whatever. He shakes his head. None of his business if she falls for it - she does - and he can either stay here and further torment himself, or do something about it.

He chugs down the rest of his beer and drops it in the potent ocean. His elbows just miss the riptide. “Bathroom.” He shoots the word Dean’s way, but he gets no response.

“Yeah, I climbed Fuji last time I was there. It’s beautiful in the winter. The snow up there makes the whole mountain look like you’re walking in the clouds.”

Right. Though Sam would love to see him try. He might not have his brother in full afterwards, but he could live on if Dean became subjected to Darwinism.

He stands and searches the place for the John. Of course it’s in the back.

His eyes sweep over Kristy as he passes her, keeping them well away from Dean’s. His hand is covering the dip of her lower spine now, and that’s enough.

Between the pool tables and over more spilled booze that catches the soles of his sneakers as he crosses the room; he makes it to the little darkened crook behind the jukebox where some guy is marking a trail over the neck of a woman twice his age. He has to tap him on the shoulder or squeeze past and bump uglies with them, but no problem, sweet urinal cakes are within his grasp.

He reaches for the handle, tugs, and is about to step inside when a face plants into his chest.

“Sorry,” you say, and look up. Your eyes would be apologetic if it weren’t for the grin that’s stretching your cheeks. “You do not wanna go in there, believe me.”

He doesn’t want to — “What?”

He checks the plaque on the door to make sure that he is indeed trying to enter the men’s room, and he is. “Ahhh,” he chuckles. His voice is higher, and he’s blinking like there’s no tomorrow. “Why?”

“Oh. No.” Your hand is at your mouth and it’s grown even wider.

Your giggling is much more pleasant than Kristy’s, but he doesn’t see what’s so funny. A band of warmth spreads across his nose, but his stomach is doing flips now and not the good kind.

This place is gross enough. What could someone like you possibly do in there? You’re so…little. Well, anyone compared to him is, but you seem sober and put together.

Your makeup has no smudges. No smell of puke or anything else. Your hair is neat, and while those jeans are rather snug, you’ve got some nice tits. They’re not falling out and you’re not stumbling all over the place. You are looking more sheepish by the second, though.

“No, no. I, ah.” You shake your head. Your legs are crossing together. “Uh-uh. Someone’s dropped a load off in there and the ladies aren’t much better. Can I—” Your hands clasp and fingers intertwine; your arms are now slithering like two snakes between his side and the doorframe. “I really gotta go. Excuse me!”

And with that, you take off through the gap made by the couple and the booze puddles on the floor. You’re scooting between the pool tables, then past Dean and Kristy, honing in on a door at the end of the bar he never noticed before. A gust of air pulls it shut behind you.

Okay. Weird.

Sam shakes his head. He’s about to walk on through to the sink he spots on the wall when his nose picks up on whatever it was you were talking about and, yeah, he doesn’t want to know. Whomever did that needs their insides checked, if they haven’t died already?

He turns on his heels and considers his options. He’s seen and smelled worse, but he’s not desperate yet. The beer is still sitting atop the knots that had unraveled, and though the stench has tightened them back into place, they won’t hold forever.

Maybe if he walks home to the motel they checked into earlier, he can make it before things get dire? He should beat Dean before he drops a sock on the door that way.

So, with a glance towards his older brother, whose fingers have slipped under Kristy’s waistband, his decision made, and Sam beelines for the main entrance, stepping out into the night air.

The chill cuts the back of his hands and he shoves them straight into his pockets, bringing his elbows in tight on account of the wind. It dares to tackle him over, but he leans forward and braces himself down the path and past the alley that tucks into the side of the bar.

For the second time that night, you barrel into him. The coincidence, the irony, the annoyance tightens his stance until he realises it’s you and his brow quirks. “You gotta watch where you’re going.”

Your face planted into his arm, above the junction his elbow makes. It fits nicely. A strand of your hair catches on the stitching of his jacket. Probably got some beer on your chin. Serves you right.

“Excuse me,” you snap, but that grin still spreads over when you look up and your eyes recognise you’ve bumped into him. “Oh.” Your eyelashes bat against your cheek. “Well, you gotta stop getting in my way.”

And as you had done only a minute ago, you turn to take off again. Only Sam is quicker. More alert. His hand grabs your wrist before you get too far and holds on tight. “Where are you going?” he says, considering how your hips and legs squirm. The motel is only two blocks and he’ll be the gentleman if he has to be. He isn’t Dean.

“Look dude, I gotta pee, and that alley ain’t going to cut it, so unless you want me to—”

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “I’m staying down the road, so before you threaten to piss yourself, you’re welcome to use the one in my room.”

You bite your lip and shrug as you stare him up and down. He’s not a serial killer, but he can understand the skepticism after all he’s seen.

You nod your head. “I was gonna aim for your shoes,” you say. “But okay.”

And there’s Sam, blinking once more. His eyes are getting quite the workout tonight. His scoff teed with a snicker this time. The dimples in his cheeks are pulling his chin to new heights and his other hand is leaving its pocket, outstretching in front of him to lead the way.

“Okay then,” he says, and now you’re both walking.

The room isn’t much. The usual twin beds, table and chairs, a couch Sam refuses to sit on. You’ve only been here a second and you’ll only be here a minute or two more, but it’s imperative he cleans up any evidence of their less-than-normal lives while you’re occupied. 

The second the door clicks and the light filters through the threads of carpet caught on the frayed timber, he’s zipping up duffles and tucking the nose of Dean’s shotgun out of sight. 

There’s a salt round by the fridge, an empty bottle of Jim next to it, and Dean’s underwear draped over the chair. He picks that up with the machete, thanks his lucky stars you didn’t see that or the rest of it, then sits on the end of his bed. 

No, he stands. 

No, he sits and leans on his legs. His thumbs twiddle, his eyes scan the doors. And now he’s standing up again as the handle jostles and you appear with a smile that’s oozing relief. He relaxes just a little.

“All good?” he asks. What the hell was he thinking? Not like you battled a vamp in there. But then you’re tilting your head and your palms are smoothing your sides as you consider his question, and ‘Please don’t think I’m a creep,’ he prays. 

“Yeah. Thanks,” you say. You’re less animated now. You’re chill, calm, collected. Even more put together than before, but just as Sam feared you might, you take in your surroundings, checking out the details of the room.

He’s luckier still. 

“Can I, ah, take you back to the bar?” 

It’s not suss, right? He’s just being friendly, not kicking you out or hiding something, but it’s not the way you take it.

“You want me gone?” Your chin recedes into your neck. 

Shit. “No, I—”

“Relax.” You chuckle and step over to pat him on the shoulder. The same side you ran into on the street. “I’m just messing with you. Thanks for helping a stranger in need,” you add as you move to the door. “I’ll see you around, unless walking me back to the bar includes buying me a drink?”

“There’s beer in the fridge.” Sam didn’t even think. Well. He did, just not with his head. 

It’s Dean’s stash in case he doesn’t pickup, but you’re here, and he’s there. Even if nothing comes from this, he doesn’t need to know it’s all a fallacy. Sam’ll take it as a win, and he waits for your response.

He’s down to beg. He throws that look that always works and your lips spread into a smile. 

“Alright.” You nod. Don’t even question why there’s beer when you just met at a bar, and the next thing he knows, you’re pulling up a chair, and so is he. His back, leaning against Dean’s former underwear drawer, clinking his and your cold one together. 

“So, passing through, huh?” you ask between swigs. 

There’s a spark of interest in your eyes, but all he can do is say, “Yeah.” He’d much rather talk about you. Your life is normal. You seem normal. If accepting to use a stranger’s motel bathroom and then staying for a drink makes you so. 

You did threaten to pee on him.

“Staying long?”

“Depends on my brother.”

You’d taken another mouthful and the lip of the bottle catches on yours as you say, “Your brother?” 

There’s a drop of beer dripping down your chin, and he’s drawn to it. Tongue darts out before hiding it behind his own drink. “Yeah,” he repeats and you’re nodding more. Only it’s slow. It’s understanding. 

Your gaze travels the room again as you think what to say, passing the two beds and the duffles he threw on the floor. “So, road trip? Heading to or from college?”

“College?” He chuckles.

“Yeah. You seem young enough. You got that head in a book kind of look.” Your fingers trace the bottleneck and swipe at the condensation. “I dunno? I’m making shit up while I try to work out who you are besides Sam, the guy who saved me from peeing my pants. You’re not exactly giving me much.”

And you’re not giving him a chance. “What about you? What’re you twenty-four?”

“Three. You?”

He nods. He’s twenty-five, but you don’t need to know that. It’s been over two years since he got dragged back into hunting. Since he lost Jess. Maddison, too, not that it’s the same. 

“So what’s your story?” he says.

“Besides trying to use the men’s room and the alley?”

It’s not just a chuckle this time, he’s wholeheartedly laughing. It bellows round the room, ricocheting off the walls and doors. That smile of yours is wicked, and the straight-laced tone that delivered it was just right. His stomach has unwound, and his head is feeling light thanks to your shoe brushing his leg below the table.

Maybe there’s no need for lies. Sometimes all it takes is a gentleman’s kindness. A tall stature and an air of mystery. 

“Besides that,” he says, and you’re considering him again. Your stare has him staring back.

You’re pretty. More than you are put together. Your hair sits just right, your hands delicate. They’d look good in his, and even better wrapped around any part of him. 

Which means he’s got to up his game. You’re already here and the way you look at him clues him in that you might be interested. He just has to reel you in. So, “You gotta boyfriend, or living with your folks?” he adds. He shouldn’t have started with your relationship status, but your smile’s just growing bigger and bigger.

“Boyfriend, huh? At least I asked what you did first.”

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Do you wanna know if there is one?” you tease, then you’re laughing along with him.

There’s no guy. Your shoe is off and your socked foot is now stretched across the table; resting close to his crotch. 

You’re not shy. You’re not dumb, either. “Why do you think I stayed?” 

You lean forward. Your toes shift, too, creeping closer and closer to not so little Sam, who twitches with interest. “Cute stranger, staying at the local motel. We don’t get a lot of those ‘round here, and I’m counting on you leaving tomorrow. If you’re interested.”

It’s like he’s channeling his inner-Dean or something. You may as well be in his lap. Sure, your foot is, but women his age never fawn over him, at least he never notices until it’s too late. It took days for Jess flirting after Brady introduced her for him to make his move. 

He was in Maddison’s living room and that took Dean’s interference. The weird, and albeit extremely obvious kind, but here with you, what you’re suggesting is plain as day. 

“I, ah.” You’re looking at him still. Your big toe is scraping right up against the seam of his pants now. If it weren’t for the fabric covering the family jewels, your nail would be right up in theirs.

Shit. 

His knee hits the table. His beer travels down the wrong pipe. He chokes when the cool liquid slides further and the bubbles lick the walls. Meanwhile, your foot just gets in there more. Big toe, seeking the form of his growing boner.

Your smile is infectious. You think making a grown man squirm is hilarious, apparently. He’d let you do it again and again. “You wanna?” he says between splutters. 

Idiot. Does he really have to ask?

It’s hard to breathe when your lungs are constricting, let alone think. But you’re there, and he’s there, and he’s so fucking down, it’s no longer funny. 

He stands. Crunches his chair across the crunchier carpet as your chin shoots up. Eyes following to what would be the perfect angle if you were closer and below his feet. 

“I do,” you say, and your lips are plump, glistening. They’re wide and they pillow under your front teeth, daring him to capture them. 

He does.

His arm sneaks around your waist, and he pulls you to stand. His hand plants firm on your side. Fingers scrunch up your shirt, but no matter, yours are riding up under his, and fuck, no, no, he doesn’t fucking care.

His gut is doing flips. Those knots are loose, but his chest is tight. Blood rushes to both heads and both heads ground against different parts of you. 

“Sam.” Your kiss stops mid nip. Your hands have since moved to his buckle, but your eyes are on him when he looks past his nose and mouth. He’d kiss you more. Only his attention has turned to what your fingers are doing with his belt and how your arms glide it out in one flick, then go straight back to the fly. “You packing?”

Packing? He stands there, stunned. His pants clearly are. Your fingers just brushed the tip.

“Condom,” you say, and the colour in your irises flicker. 

“Ah—Yeah. Yes. Mm—You—You don’t waste time, huh?” 

“Haven’t had enough, not too.” You double over in a manner he’d say otherwise. “And you mentioned something ‘bout a brother?”

“Dean?” His cheeks are rising again. But they’re doing so because his eyes are squinting with disgust. You’re still grinning up at him though, and your palm is teasing his dick through its confines. 

You grip and press into him, moulding out the shape under his jeans and he shakes that thought away. 

You want him. Your lashes are fluttering and your lips are twitching into a sultry smirk because he’s under your ministration and you’re ready to go with him, just as much as he is with you.

“Hold that thought,” he says, and he takes a step back, hand still on your waist to toe a shoe off. 

He’s not that coordinated with the sock, however, and he soon bends over to retrieve the house-elf’s bounty. He flashes it in triumph in front of your quirked brow, but you’re soon grinning with him. 

There’s a fit of laughter that hits his ears again and footsteps stalking him as he glides to the door and covers the outside handle, just as Dean would do. 

He shuts it, turns around and your hands grab and pull him back to you. Your right is back at the button and your left is sliding on in, tickling skin teasing through the copse of tiny curls before any kiss picks back up.

You swallow his moan. Taste the trepidation on his tongue as your skin touches his velvety head. 

Nope. Not shy. You know what you want, and Sam is more than happy to let you take it if you keep touching him like that, but he’s not dumb. He also knows what he wants, and it’s only fair he gets his turn, too. You’re here. He’s here. He wants to last. No, needs to. Being on the road with Dean so often means he gets little time to, well, take his time. 

He’s pent up. Motel showers aren’t the best when he has to keep quiet and slow his hands so the faps don’t reach his brother’s waiting jaunts. He could blow his load right now with not much more effort from you, but he’s not going to. Not until after he savours you first. 

It’s been way too long since he felt sweet curves or tasted the sweat of another’s skin. The bitter beer mixed with a fruity gloss is doing wonders already, but he craves more.

Just like the footpath, his hand grabs your wrist and its twin, and he leads you backward until your knees hit Dean’s bed and you flail. Your arms pull from him and push down into the bedding, then you drag yourself up to the pillows where you rest your head against the wooden board. 

Your finger tells him to come hither, your hand pats the space at your side. Sam takes off his shirt.

His gut is doing flips again. More so when your eyes trail up over every inch of his chiseled chest. Behind it, his heartbeat is fast. It could jump right out of there. Only the lump in his throat is huge. 

You’ve slipped off your shirt, too. Your fingers unclasp the hooks of your bra. You slide the straps down and hold it in the air before you fling it at his feet and giggle again. 

“What’re you waiting for?” you say and it goes straight to his pants. The outline of his dick throbs against the denim. 

He swallows. “Just, ah, admiring the show.” 

You grin. A little sigh escapes your lips as you look down at yourself. Your fingers swirl over your heaving skin. They dip into the valley between your breasts, but never move further than the tan line that divides the top half from the fuller one. “It’s more fun if you’re touching me, too.”

Ho-kay. This is really happening. And Sam’s now diving for Dean’s duffle. He’s careful not to reveal the contents, but it’s hard not to when he’s just as and everything’s dumped on top. The little box of Trojans is right under the weight of the sawn-off and the sharp blade of a machete almost cuts him.

Man, it’s lucky you’re occupied. 

Sam turns around, and that’s an understatement. You’re inching down your jeans. They’re flung off, and he’s doing the same. Hopping, skipping, and jumping, he yanks the string of plastic foils out and trails them along behind him. 

They splay out over the covers while you splay under him; and he’s dipping down to taste. There’s salt and a light scent of citrus teed with something sweeter flooding his nostrils as your fingers curl into his hair. His occupied with the way your left tit fits below them. He squeezes and draws his mouth over the other. Pops your nipple in and sucks.

“Took you long enough,” you coo, and he just chuckles, haughty, deep.

“And I’m gonna take longer,” he says between nips and swipes of a thick, flat tongue. One that glides perfectly ‘round the round, hardening bud. “Gonna fuck you so good.”

He presses firm, draws your taut skin into his teeth. He’s determined to leave marks because something’s snapped within. Where the hell that last line came from, he’s got no idea, but it’s as if he’s an animal turned feral.

A wolf in its den? A lion devouring its prey? Does it matter when his hips are gyrating against your lace? 

Your panties are staining his boxers, and his boxers strain against them, staining them right back.

“Fuck,” you moan. 

He groans, and then your hands are pressing against his head.

He can take a hint. He’s smart. He won’t tell you your upper thighs were his mouth’s goal all along. Too busy concentrating as he scoots down, ‘cause he can’t fuck this up. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” he says on the outside. God. Who the hell is he? “Want me to taste you?”

“Sam,” you moan again. “Gonna get me off with that tongue of yours, baby?”

And damn. His name is so much better when you say it, when your legs are spreading further open for him. His fingers are slipping under the edge of the lace, feeling the first slither of just how wet you really are.

His lips press against your clothed entrance and the damp fabric gives way. He’s certain his nose has just tapped into your clit and you smell divine. Sour, earthy. On the verge of something sweet. 

He darts his tongue back out to taste, and your fingers are tugging this time. Your nails scrape his scalp and your back arches off the bed, pushing your hot, hot heat against him.

“You gonna tease me all day, Samuel?” you say, and he’s not mad. That scolding tone is working wonders. His amusement bursts through his nose.

Down below though, a bead of pre-cum dribbles from little Sam, flexing with a life of its own. He can’t deny his balls are tight, stomach hotter than you are. It’s still flipping, and his toes stretch and recoil in extension. 

“No, ma’m.” The sooner he can get you to cum, the sooner he’ll be comfortable sinking into you. What he lacks in confidence he makes up for in size, and it’s something he’s proud of. 

He unfurls your panties. Glides them down with your eager help. Without warning, his lips return to their former position, parting yours around him. He presses hard, spreads his mouth open wide and licks while his fingers dip where he’s too afraid to reach. 

You’re still a stranger he knows nothing about besides no boyfriend and you’re willing to have this one-night stand with him. But he’s smart, remember? He doesn’t want to catch anything. Even if you’re well put together and squirming into his palm, he just met you, urinal adjacent. 

“Oh, shit.” Your back arches again. Your pants reach his ear. His fingers curl and stroke your constricting walls, wet catching in his nail-beds. Your body trembles, bringing a new meaning to thundering thighs. 

They quiver, they shake. He gets a calve to his chin as you raise it up and stretch it out. There’s a risk his head will get a good clamping, but he continues to strike with the pebbled tip of his tongue. 

His lips pull together and he pulls away with a smack, putting on a show for you with a swipe over the bow. His eyes find yours, lust blown, heavy lidded. Your mouth parts and begs a, “Please.”

And Sam’s diving right back in with a smirk. Kisses with force against your clit. Thrums his fingers inside, hard and fast. His wrist is getting a workout. His thumb aches as it’s pushed to the side. But he slips in a third finger, flicks the shelf of your pubic bone. Holds your stomach down as you buck and shake.

“Oh, god,” you cry. His name comes out in a hoarse scream. You yank at his hair as you gush over his hand and chin. Your legs do everything in their power to crush him, but he doesn’t let up.

His fingers continue to make you writhe and your arms wriggle and bend. Only now, his kisses move and spread your juices over you. 

The crease in your thighs and the soft flesh covering your hips. Over your stomach, delving into your navel, he trails up your body, back to your breasts, and soon you’re wet inside and out, and he grins big and toothy. Cheeks up high again as he waits for you to come down from yours.

He drops to his side. Props himself on his elbow. Hand runs through his hair, already laced with sweat. “That good, huh?” he asks. 

And if he’s honest, he needs to know. He’s still working you, only now his fingers tap at your opening. Slipping through your folds with a sound so slick, Dean would say it’s music. A newfound confidence comes from the belief you’re outta breath because of him.

Your laugh fills with air, like how a cartoon dog might snicker, chest rising against his own. Your nipple scrapes over his skin as he leans down and kisses you proper. Answer, stolen, before it can even form.

Salt and fruity gloss - cherry? No, strawberry. Why the hell does he care? The flavours swirl together. Bodies press together when you hitch your leg over his and pull him closer. Your sweet heat now flush against him, hammers his heart and forces his grip on you to tighten.

He squeezes your ass. It’s plump. It’s firm. Your jeans hid just how perfect and round it was. Just the right size for him to hold.

But you’ve got your sights set on your own grip, hand diving into his boxers to take him and give him a slow pump. Pulling back, your eyes open wide in surprise; you twist your wrist and palm his weeping head. 

“You’re the one packing, huh, big boy?” You then bite your lip. Lick it. Drag your thumb over his slit and pull a grunt from deep within the pit of his stomach. 

Somewhere below the knotting, there’s a fire burning, raging, and it needs to be sheathed, covered, surrounded. It’s gross, and it’s oh so Dean, but he needs it put out and a wet pussy will do.

Sam thrusts into your touch. He can’t help it. Fuck, he wants to move.

“You think you can handle me, baby?” he rasps into your parted mouth, stretching his arm over and behind, fumbling for the string of foils and tears one off.

“I’m gonna fucking try,” you say, and the wordplay, whether on purpose, is not lost.

He rolls to his back, and you’re already pouncing, pulling his underwear further down and off. You straddle his legs, take the little packet in your hand, and stroke him some more, up close, eye to eye. 

You kiss the tip, watching as it flexes. His fingers do the same ‘round the ends of your hair. They curl then grip. Yours is firm around his base. And the sight?

The sight. 

He’s died and gone to heaven. Too long since he’s seen a woman between his legs, those eyes still half lidded, still full of lust. You’re greedy. You’re needy. The way you hold your gaze as he feels the heat of your mouth nip at his skin, breath warm and wet, floods through him. 

The way you sink further down.

Sam rolls his head back, his crown pushes into the pillow bunched up below. He wants to look, wants to pull at the strands of hair that still lace through his fingers and yank you down so you take all of him in. 

Your tongue glides down the underside, flattened and rough, encasing, but with a light graze from two front teeth up top. The suction is so tight. The stretch around him burns his own skin. The way you drag back, then spit, swirl the saliva, and do it again, coating him all sloppy that it’s gleaming, all slippery and dripping like you were. Like you will be again. His gut curls in on itself now. 

He’s tingling. He’s buzzing. He’d be high as a kite, if it weren’t for your thighs keeping him down. Their weight, your weight, making him go numb with need. 

You pump your fist down low, swiping your smallest finger over the velvety skin covering his balls. A drop of him or you pools there, then drips further down. “Fuck.” He then calls your name.

“You ready for me, big boy?” you ask again, and he’s snickering at the way you say it. 

“Yeah.” His arm releases you and flops over his forehead, but the sound of that little wrapper in your grasp rectifies that. He’s peeping out from under himself as you roll the rubber down.

He’s so sensitive, it stings like the bite of some bug. Balls more so as you drag yourself up and over him. Cockhead catches where you split down the middle, rubbing across your puckered hole. 

You bite your lip. How many times now he’s lost count? You raise yourself, grabbing him where he’s thickest. Those eyes of yours stare at him again. They continue to hold that gaze as you lower back down, grin only curling further up, as your lower lips stretch around him. 

“So big,” you say this time, and he can’t tell if you’re yanking his chain or really mean it. Your cheeks puffed and your mouth all white from shining teeth, just like the rest of you. 

Like your perky ass, kissing his pelvis. Like your thighs squeezing him, much like the vice between them. Tight, wet and hot.

“Can you handle it? Can you move, baby? Gonna ride me? Gonna cum all over me?” God. Where the hell is this coming from? Who is this guy, all confident and cocky?

The guy with the big cock in your cunt. That’s who. 

Sam chuckles to himself. Still can’t believe his luck. But you’re raising again, and sliding back down, and all he can do is hold on.

His fingers dig into your thighs. He presses his nails into your soft body. He helps you rise and fall over him. 

He’s making the ride smooth and savouring the feel of your walls closing around him. Feels the fluttering, and the beginnings of new tremors. Marvels at how much more wet you’ve become. 

The sounds. It really is music. The way you, your tits, and your skin slap with each thrust and bounce. The louder claps of his pelvis hitting yours and the sheen of perspiration between has his head swirling with images he needs.

“Come ‘ere.” Sam lifts you just slight. Raises his legs; bends his knees; jostles you so his neck doesn’t need to strain as far so his mouth can reach. 

He pistons his hips, hears the slaps, tastes the sweat, feels the pants against his chin and cheek. Memories blend, and ghosts of his past weave in and out around you. You could be Jess, you could be Sarah, but it’s you who’s mouthing him. Not exactly kissing, too focused on making your bodies move.  

“Fuck, Sam,” you squeal. 

His hands spread you wider. He grunts your name into his ear.

He can’t keep up the pace as much as he’d like to. Can’t keep up the facade. It’s better if he sees your face to remind him who he’s there with. He can’t do that with a curtain of hair. 

So he taps, twice on the fine edge of a curve, has your eyes firm on his. 

“Wanna switch, baby?” he asks, and thinks quick for a reason. “Need to see that pretty face when you come.” He’d try to roll over with you in his arms, but he can just see that being disastrous. Losing his balance or getting an elbow somewhere where it shouldn’t.

He doesn’t have to worry because you’re lifting off. You fling yourself to his side and wriggle your back against the bedcovers. Open your legs wide, hands draped where your panty line would be. 

“You gonna make me come again, big boy? Gonna fill me up with that thing?” you say, and he’s over you in one swift movement. 

Sam grabs his cock and runs the covered tip over your entrance to tease you back. Watches the twinkle in your eye as it runs over your clit and you moan, just for show. 

Man, he’s lucky. Who the hell meets someone by a urinal and then gets to fuck them? Wait, no. He doesn’t wanna answer that. He’ll just keep marvelling at his luck at the gorgeous woman below him. The one who was busting to spring a leak, now waiting for him to bust his nut and hers.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Still, he glides back in with ease. How wet you are for him makes it so. 

He wishes he could feel it, he’s just not that stupid, but he can imagine if he remembers your mouth and how it felt ‘round him, taking him deep.

You still do.

Your legs hook over him, and he hitches the left up higher with his elbow. His cock sinks deeper, base flush against your seam.  

“Fuck me, Sam.” You’re squirming. It’s right out of a movie or a book. He’s John Snow or Jamie, and you’re - god no. You’re you and he’s him, and he’s, fuck, yeah, he’s fucking you.

He snaps his hips. Feels that burn again as his balls collide with your ass. His thumb is drawing little circles over where you join and he goes for it. 

He leans over, bending you with him, stretching you open, dreams of splitting you in two. You moan. Your walls flutter again. You tremble and your thighs contract. 

They’re powerful, much more than before. The back of your knee pulls on his arm and he only grips tighter. Hand on your shin. The other palm pushes you down.

It’s the perfect angle. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. 

Perfect to dive in deeper. Feel you flex and accommodate his size.

Your mouth produces a hiss. It’s like a whine at the same time. Forming an O with your lips that then spreads wide into an “Ah.” Elongated. A laugh. A giggle. Whatever it is, he’s doing something right because your thighs are trembling again and your leg is trying to pull away. 

His hand presses firmer, but he’s pulling you and shifting back, raising you up so you’re his handle on the ride. His tip is dragging out through you now and spearing you when he goes back in. 

Thrusts are quick. Sweat falls from his brow. He feels the way your body pushes back against him. He’s an intruder, but he’s not backing down. 

His stomach is tight. His legs ache and tremor, just as yours does. But that pull? The way his dick swells? It’s magnetised, pushes as deep as it can go. It’s determined to bury itself to the hilt. 

And when you say, “Fuck,” again, but there’s another, and an added, “God. I’m gonna come,” Sam snaps his hips and watches your face closely. 

A huge grin. The biggest yet; stretches into your eyes, twitches your lip and raises your jaw high. Your neck, exposed like a bloodsucker’s prey, and Sam is doubling over to claim it.

His tongue glides up your neck, teeth nip at your skin. He’s sucking like you’re his last meal. His pace wanes as your walls try to push him out, but he’s rocking his hips with purchase, pushing back in deep.

Another, “Fuck,” leaves you, but he’s seeing white. His balls throb and he’s spilling into what little space is left in the Trojan. He’s so far high on cloud fucking nine, he forgets where he is and who’s under him. 

He’s spent. That was way better than any quickie in the shower. The warmth beneath him. Perfect round tits pressed against his hardened chest tremble and shake. 

“Fuck.” It’s his turn now, but it comes out more like a groan. He pants. Body heavy, yet light as air. He tries to move, but everything is jello and shaking.

Your arms have been clinging to his back, your slick pussy would if it could, but it’s still fluttering, and he chuckles deep.

You giggle on reflex, and somehow it gives him the strength to look up and search for a kiss. The sweat is intense. Fruit, now barely there, but the after-sex-glow kissing your cheeks is better than anything else.

“Wow, big boy,” you say between your own pants. “Fuck.” He could hear that again and again. “That was quite a ride.”

“Yeah?” he says, though he really doesn’t have to ask. 

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s breathless, it’s hearty, it’s reminiscent of a time he should forget when you’re there with him, so he does. He tries. 

He rolls over to the side and removes the rubber. His muscles remember to roll back and drape his arm over your middle. Fingers flex at your side and he breathes in the citrus remnants in your hair as he closes his eyes and breathes in deep.

For a moment, he’s not in the dingy motel, but in his room. Yours too, maybe? He’s still at college ‘cause he is young, and he still has his whole life ahead of him. 

There are no monsters. No salt, no burns, knives or guns, and Dean? Well, Dean can be there too, he supposes. Just separate, the other side of town. Further in Milroy.

Yeah. Pennsylvania. That’s perfect, too. 

The weight of you draws him in further to dreaming. The warmth of you finally lolls him off, but neither is there when he stirs the next morning. The space in the bed beside him is cold and the thumps on the door rattle the chill he’s left with. His body, no longer jello, but stone-like, and cold. 

No feathers in sight, unless the pillow bunched up beneath him again is made of them. He is dumb if he thinks it’s true.

The newfound churning in his gut tells him he’s foolish, though, and when he opens his eyes and scans the room, he’s a bigger fool than Dean. What was he hoping for? That you’d be there with bacon and eggs? A morning coffee? Waking him up for another round?

No. Of course not. The bathroom door is wide open, and no feminine clothes, litter the floor. Of course you’d be long gone. You’d told him something of the sort last night.

“I’m counting on you leaving tomorrow.” Yes, that was it. That’s exactly what you said. He just didn’t realise you’d be the first.

Sam rubs his face. Pushes his hair back out of it and stands. The bangs are getting old, and the district “Sammy” that comes with them grates his eardrums. He’s not so big anymore.

No, he’s little brother Winchester. 

Bitch. 

“Sammy.” Dean bellows again. “Sock time’s over!” Another thump. “You’re abusing the privilege. ‘S only supposed to be two hours, max. Three if you’re ménaging.” A lecherous laugh follows.

Who’s older and who’s younger? Well, it’s only four years. 

Sam rolls his eyes and picks his boxers up as he walks around the bed. He grabs his t-shirt at the midway point, and strolls over to the door. 

Dean’s fist is held up in greeting when he opens, but Sam’s turning before the stupid grin gets any bigger. 

“Oh c’mon man. On my bed?” 

“It’s not like you were using it,” Sam says, back still towards him as he grabs what he needs and heads for the shower. 

“Where’s the girl?” follows him there.

There’s a twinge of a smile as he closes the door, but a sigh replaces it. He runs his hand through his hair again, holding it there as he looks around.

Nothing’s out of place. No signs of anyone else occupying the space unless you count the seat on the John being down. “You’re getting sentimental over a toilet?” he whispers, and shakes his head. Grabs his toothbrush; squeezes the paste.

Pearly whites and hands on him flash before his eyes. He goes through the motions after that. 

There’s a perfectly rounded tit in his hand, heaving as he squeezes, then lets go. A, “Fuck,” moaned into his ear when he turns on the faucet, plump lips and lust-blown eyes spitting on his tip when he spits into the sink. The lingering drop on the porcelain drips down nice and slow. He’s got a small mark on his shoulder. When he twists, he sees a couple of tiny dints in his back. His cock is stirring as his eyes travel his waist, imagines perfect hands gripping him firm.

“Hey, big boy,” Dean says through the crack, and it makes him startle. 

Big boy chokes and yanks on the handle. How the hell does he know? 

“You sly dog. So you did get your dingle wet.”

“What?” Sam’s voice is rather high. His cheeks are pushing the limits again and he’s hiding the smirk that’s trying to rise.

“You know.” Dean chuckles. “Widdle Sammy got waid.” He even goes as far as to slap his side as he holds up a note with ten beautiful digits scrawled between a heart and a ‘call me.’

“Give me that.” Sam snatches the note; grabs his phone, refusing to look Dean in the eye when he slams the door. They’re too busy scanning the digits, each curve, each bubble, each dot as he punches the numbers into his contacts, his thumb hovers over pressing call. 

Is he desperate? Yes, but his ego holds him back. It will at least, until they hit the road. 

From Muncie to god knows where next, he’s got no idea. Another town, another case? Maybe. But there’ll be nowhere as special there and no-one as perfect as the girl who almost…made him ditch his shoe.

For those who don’t recognise the Japanese reference, “Omae wa mou shindeiru,” (お前はもう死んでいる) translates to “you are also going to die.”

Tagging those who showed interest from the WIP folder game, and those who asked to be tagged in everything SPN ✌️

@losers-clvb @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @roseblue373 @middleearthislife

Do you want to see more Sam stuff? LMK

[lanaroff]

House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 3

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warnings: Angst

Prologue. Chapter 1. Chapter 2.

The days stretched on, each one feeling heavier than the last. Y/N had become more of a ghost than a person within the compound. She spoke only to Fury and Maria, keeping herself locked away in her room when she wasn't on mission. She had grown distant from the team, and the absence of her usual presence left a noticeable void. Where once she had been a lively part of the group, now there was only silence. She didn't talk to anyone, not even Natasha. The same quiet isolation that had taken root in her heart after that night with Wanda seemed to be consuming her completely.

And Wanda... she hadn't spoken to her either. There was no need. What was there to say? Everything had changed in a moment, and it seemed that silence was the only thing that could fill the gap between them.

That day, the team had just returned from a mission. Y/N hadn't been on it—she had "something to take care of" according to her, but no one had asked too many questions. It had become a regular excuse. Instead, she had been given a solo mission by Fury, one she completed alone, without the usual fanfare or team discussions.

Back at the compound, as everyone gathered in the common room, the conversation turned to Y/N.

"I've never seen her like this," Tony said, leaning back in his chair, a look of mild concern crossing his face. "Always with Fury, always in her room. She's a shadow of herself, and it's... unsettling."

Steve gave a quiet nod, but it was Wanda's silence that was the most telling.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "What's going on with you two? You've been kind of quiet, Wanda. You used to talk to her all the time. You think she's okay?"

Wanda just shrugged. "I don't know. I really don't. She doesn't open up to me anymore." Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of something buried beneath it—hurt, maybe? But that was impossible to tell. She had a million thoughts racing through her mind, but Vision's presence kept her from expressing any of them. He was a constant shadow, and as much as she tried to ignore it, his presence lingered.

Tony didn't seem convinced. "That's strange. She and you... you were close, right? It's just not like her to shut everyone out. I mean, I'm not exactly a shrink, but when someone starts hiding away like that... something's up."

Wanda was quiet again, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. She wanted to say something—anything—to explain her feelings. To share her concern for Y/N. But it wasn't just about Y/N anymore. Wanda had her own things to grapple with, things that had nothing to do with the team. Vision had become her anchor, but the guilt she carried about moving on from Y/N hung heavy in her heart. She couldn't shake it.

"I don't know," Steve said softly, his gaze never leaving her glass. "It's all... strange. And it feels like something's broken."

Natasha, who had been sitting in the corner of the room quietly listening, shifted in her seat. She could feel it—her instincts, sharper than most, were telling her that something was going on with Y/N. Something more than just the obvious withdrawal. And the fact that no one seemed to be pushing her for answers was only making Natasha feel more unsettled.

"I can't shake the feeling that something's going on," Natasha muttered, her voice low but intense. "She's pulling away from everyone. From me, from all of us. I just don't buy it. I don't buy that it's all just because of missions."

Tony and Steve exchanged looks, but didn't respond. They all knew that Natasha's instincts were rarely wrong.

"Maybe we should just give her space," Bucky suggested, though there was a tinge of uncertainty in his voice.

Natasha shook her head. "No. This isn't just space. This is something else."

And so, the conversation died down, the weight of their concerns hanging in the air, but unspoken. It was clear that everyone felt the change in Y/N's demeanor, but no one quite knew what to do about it.

Later that night, after the others had gone to bed, Natasha couldn't sleep. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. Y/N had been absent from the mission, withdrawn from the team, and she hadn't even come to talk to her about it. Natasha had always been there for her, always been able to get through to her. So why now?

She heard the soft sound of the door opening, followed by the quiet click of it shutting. Y/N had returned from her mission. Natasha didn't wait another second. She got out of bed and walked into the hallway, stopping just outside of Y/N's door.

She knocked, then opened the door slightly.

"Y/N?" Natasha's voice was gentle but firm. "We need to talk."

Y/N froze, standing just inside the room, her back to Natasha. The usual walls were in place, the ones that kept Natasha from reaching her. But Natasha wasn't about to let this go.

"What's going on with you?" Natasha asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "You've been avoiding everyone. You've been avoiding me. This isn't just about missions. It's more than that. You can't keep hiding like this."

Y/N's shoulders tensed. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to have this conversation. But Natasha's piercing eyes were too much for her to ignore.

"I'm fine," Y/N said, her voice flat. "I just needed some time to take care of things. It's nothing."

Natasha's face hardened. "Don't lie to me. Don't shut me out. I'm the last person you need to hide things from."

Y/N swallowed hard, and for a moment, she felt a pang of guilt. But it was fleeting. She wasn't ready to open up. Not yet.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for leaving you in the dark."

Natasha shook her head, frustration creeping into her voice. "You don't get to apologize like that. Not after everything. I don't care if it's about the mission, Y/N. You could've come to me. You could've told me what was really going on."

Y/N's jaw tightened. "I couldn't. You wouldn't understand."

Natasha stepped forward, her voice rising. "What do you mean I wouldn't understand? I am the person who would understand. I would've been there for you, Y/N. I always have been. But now you're just pushing me away. You can't do that. You can't just leave me behind like that."

Y/N felt the anger bubble inside her. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I wasn't here, but I'm telling you, you need to let this go. I can't risk jeopardizing my mission by getting distracted."

It hit Natasha like a punch to the gut. She could hear the finality in Y/N's tone, the cold distance in her words. She had been right all along—something was going on. But what was worse was that Y/N was pushing her away for something she wouldn't even explain.

"No," Natasha said softly but firmly. "You don't get to push me away like this. You don't get to pretend like I don't matter. I need to know what's going on, Y/N. We need to know. Don't shut us out anymore."

But Y/N just shook her head, her expression hardening. "I'm sorry, Natasha. I can't do this right now. I need to keep my focus."

With that, she turned and walked to her desk, refusing to look back. Natasha stood there for a moment, her heart heavy in her chest, before slowly retreating to the door.

As she left the room, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong—and that Y/N was too far gone to help.

But she wouldn't stop trying.

Not yet.

Two days had passed, and things had only gotten worse. You had become a shadow of yourself, even more withdrawn and distant than before. Whatever Fury was making you do was clearly taking its toll on you, both physically and mentally. Tony couldn't stand seeing you like this. It was one thing to see you isolating youself from the team, but to watch you deteriorate so completely—it was breaking him.

You hadn't smiled in days, barely spoke unless you had to, and every time Tony tried to reach out, you pulled away. He had been there for you through thick and thin, had been the closest thing to family you had. The memories of your time together felt like echoes now—memories of a time when you were whole, when you were his little sister, always ready to joke, to fight beside him, to challenge him. But now, all he saw in your eyes was an emptiness that made his chest ache.

The worst part? You eeren't talking to anyone. You had stopped talking to Natasha weeks ago, and she wouldn't even look at Wanda anymore. Her life had become a series of solo missions, ones Fury assigned her, ones that pulled her further away from everyone. Tony couldn't take it any longer. He had to find out what was going on.

It was late, and the compound was quiet. Most of the team was asleep or off on their own business, but Tony was pacing the hallway, his mind spinning. He couldn't let this go. He needed answers. And the only person who might know anything was the one pulling all the strings—Nick Fury.

Tony stormed into Fury's office without knocking, slamming the door behind him. Fury didn't even look up from his desk, his fingers tapping away at the keyboard in front of him, as though he didn't have a care in the world.

"You know, I'm getting pretty damn tired of this," Tony said, his voice sharp. Fury's calm demeanor only made him more agitated.

Fury glanced up at him briefly, his expression unreadable. "Tired of what? You've been running around with your tech, Stark. What's got your panties in a bunch now?"

"Y/N," Tony said, his voice rising. "What the hell is going on with her? She's falling apart, and you're just letting it happen. I can see it, Fury. We all can. You're dragging her down a path she doesn't need to go on. What the hell are you making her do?"

Fury's face hardened, his posture stiffening as he leaned back in his chair. "I don't know what you're talking about. She's handling things her way. She's doing what needs to be done."

Tony took a step forward, fists clenched. "No, she's not. She's not the same. She's been isolating herself, barely sleeping, barely eating. Hell, she looks like she hasn't seen the sun in days. And you're the one doing this to her. Whatever mission you've got her on, whatever you've got her wrapped up in, it's killing her."

Fury's eyes flashed with irritation, but his tone remained cold. "You don't know what's going on, Stark. So, unless you want to stay out of it, I suggest you do just that."

"Don't give me that crap, Fury," Tony shot back, the words practically flying out of his mouth. "I know you. You always have some hidden agenda, some reason for everything you do. I've seen how you work. You don't just drag people through this kind of shit without a reason. And I'm done pretending it's for the greater good."

Fury stood up slowly, his eyes narrowing. "You better watch your mouth, Tony. You don't want to go down that road with me."

"Or what, Fury? You'll shut down the Avengers? You'll throw us all out?" Tony's voice dripped with sarcasm. "That'll work well. Maybe we can all join Y/N in isolation while you play whatever game you're playing."

Fury's lips twitched in irritation, his voice lowering to a dangerous level. "You don't know the half of it, Stark. If you want to keep pushing, I can make sure you're not around to worry about it anymore. I'll shut this whole thing down—Avengers, SHIELD, everything. You can't handle it, so I suggest you keep your mouth shut."

Tony raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming despite the tension. "Oh, I see. It's that serious, huh? For you to get this worked up? Something tells me whatever this is—it's real deep, Fury. And you don't want anyone digging too far. Well, guess what? I'm not dropping this. Not now. Not ever. You know me better than that."

Fury's gaze darkened. "I'm warning you, Stark. Don't push me. You don't want to find out what happens if you do."

Tony shook his head, his usual cocky smile still present. "Oh, I already know. You shut things down, and you lose. So, how about this: You tell me what's really going on with Y/N, and I'll stop poking around. You don't tell me—well, I'm not just gonna sit around like the rest of them. This is bigger than you're letting on, Fury. And you know it."

There was a long pause as Fury stared at him, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, with a heavy sigh, Fury spoke, his voice low. "You think you know it all, Stark. But you don't. I'm not telling you a damn thing."

Tony didn't flinch, but his mind was already racing. He had known Fury wouldn't give him an answer. But the fact that Fury was acting this way—defensive, angry, more so than usual—meant one thing. Something was going on that was bigger than anyone could understand.

"Fine," Tony said, turning to leave. "But mark my words, Fury. I'm not going to stop until I figure this out. Y/N deserves better than this. And I won't let you ruin her. Not this time."

As Tony walked out of the office, his mind was buzzing with questions. Fury's behavior confirmed it—something was terribly wrong. And whatever it was, Tony was determined to find out. For Y/N, and for the sake of everyone else.

He had lost her once already. He wouldn't let it happen again.

Tag list: @seventeen-x @womenarehotsstuff @redhoodte @ayrtonwilbury @justyourwritter69 @casquinhaa @womenarehotsstuff

[purplereina11]

You're a highly successful basketball player who has just been transferred to Barcelona's women's team. The number 11 holds deep personal significance for you. Among the spectators is none other than football superstar Alexia Putellas, synonymous with the number 11 in Barça history, watching from the sidelines.

What starts as mutual admiration quickly turns into something more, fuelled by weeks of playful yet intense online flirting. The chemistry between you and Alexia becomes undeniable.

Alexia had just flipped the game on you.

The picture sat on your screen, daring you to respond.

No words. No caption. Just her.

And now, for the first time, you were the one caught off guard.

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck as you stared at the image, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. She knew exactly what she was doing. The sweat, the sports bra, the way her abs were tensed just enough to make sure you noticed.

You inhaled deeply, refusing to let her see that she had won.

Slowly, deliberately, you typed out a response.

You: Now who’s playing a dangerous game?

The dots appeared almost instantly.

Alexia: I don’t play games.

Oh, she was good.

You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

She had turned the tables completely, and now the ball was in your court. So, you did what you did best. You pushed back.

You opened Instagram, swiped through your camera roll, and found a picture you had taken after your last game—a locker room shot, post-win, your jersey off, muscles still tight from the effort.

Then, with the most casual audacity you could muster, you posted it to your story with a simple caption:

"Game on."

It didn’t take long for the internet to notice.

Your notifications exploded within seconds, fans losing their minds, digging up your previous interactions with Alexia, connecting the dots. Then Alexia’s name popped up in your story views. She had seen it. But she didn’t comment. Didn’t like it. Nothing. You waited.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Then, just as you were about to assume she wouldn’t bite, a new notification appeared.

Alexia: Careful. You might not like what happens next.

Your heartbeat kicked up a notch.

Because suddenly, this wasn’t just fun anymore.

It was something else entirely.

Alexia’s message sat on your screen, taunting you.

Careful. You might not like what happens next.

Your pulse ticked up a notch. Was that a warning? A threat? Or something else entirely?

You weren’t sure, but you weren’t about to back down.

You: That a promise?

You watched the typing bubbles appear, disappear, and then appear again.

Then nothing.

She left you on read.

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. She wanted you to sit with it, to wonder, to wait. Fine. Two could play that game.

The next day, you were locked in, throwing yourself into training like you had something to prove. Your team had a huge matchup coming up, and if you were going to make a statement, it needed to be on the court, not just online.

But even as you ran drills, lifted weights, and took shot after shot, your mind kept drifting back to her.

And then, as if the universe was playing along, you got a text.

Not from Alexia.

From a teammate.

Teammate: Thought you’d want to know—Putellas is here.

You froze, gripping the water bottle in your hands.

Alexia was where?

You: At our training?

Teammate: Nah. She’s just hanging out in the facility. Not even trying to be subtle about it.

You swallowed, quickly typing back.

You: Alone?

Teammate: With a couple of her teammates, but she keeps looking toward the court. 

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped. Alexia wasn’t just watching from a distance anymore. She was here. You exhaled, running a towel over your face before heading back onto the court. If she wanted a show, you’d give her one.

For the next hour, you went off. Pushing harder. Playing sharper. Draining shots like it was second nature. The energy was different today, and your teammates noticed. And every time you stole a glance toward the sidelines, you caught her watching. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. But her eyes never left you.

So, at the end of training, still buzzing with adrenaline, you decided to test her. As you walked off the court, towel slung over your shoulder, you let your gaze find hers steady, unflinching. And then, with deliberate ease, you pulled your jersey off, wiping sweat from your face, making sure she saw. You didn’t look back as you left. But you felt her eyes on you the entire time.

You didn’t check your phone right away. Not because you weren’t curious—because you knew she would text. You took your time. Showered. Changed. Hung around in the locker room longer than necessary, letting the anticipation build.

By the time you finally picked up your phone, there it was.

Alexia: That wasn’t very subtle.

A smirk tugged at your lips.

You: Neither was showing up to my training.

The dots appeared immediately.

Alexia: Didn’t realise I needed permission to be there.

You: You don’t.

You: But let’s not pretend you were there for anything other than me.

She didn’t deny it.

Instead, another message came through.

Alexia: Is that what you think?

You leaned back against your locker, debating your next move.

Then, you went for the kill.

You: I don’t think, I know.

You sent it. Watched the screen. And for the first time, Alexia didn’t have an immediate response. You laughed quietly to yourself, tossing your phone into your bag. Maybe, just maybe, you’d finally flipped the game on her again. But as you made your way out of the facility, the sound of footsteps approaching behind you made you slow down.

You already knew who it was before you turned around. Alexia stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

You raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t even wait to text back?”

Her lips twitched, like she was trying not to smirk. “You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?”

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I think you like the chase.”

Alexia took a step closer. “And what if I do?”

The tension stretched tight between you, charged, almost unbearable.

You didn’t move. Neither did she.

Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she murmured, “Careful. You might not like what happens next.”

The same words she had texted you before. Your breath caught for half a second.

But you didn’t back down. You leaned in slightly, just enough to make her wonder if you’d close the distance.

Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, you whispered “Try me.”

Alexia’s breath hitched, just barely, but you caught it.

You saw the flicker in her eyes, the way they darkened, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips like she was considering it—like she was fighting it. For a second, you thought she might pull away. She didn’t. She moved.

Or maybe you both did, drawn together like magnets finally giving in to the pull that had been there for weeks.

Her hands gripped your hoodie, fingers digging in as your lips crashed together, hot and desperate. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was everything unsaid, everything built up, everything you’d been daring each other to do spilling over at once. Alexia kissed like she played—controlled, purposeful, but with a fire underneath that threatened to burn through all of it.

Your back hit the nearest wall before you even realised she was pushing you, pressing into you, her body flush against yours like she needed to feel every inch of you, like she had something to prove. You let her. Let her take, let her press harder, let her hands slide down your sides and grip your hips like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

Your fingers tangled in her hair, tugging just enough to make her groan into your mouth, and the sound sent a spark down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach. She nipped at your bottom lip, teasing, testing, and you answered by flipping the dynamic, spinning her so her back hit the wall this time.

She let out a soft gasp, but it melted into a smirk. Like she had expected nothing less. Like she wanted this. The tension, the fight for control, the way neither of you were willing to be the first to break. Your lips met again, harder, deeper, both of you pushing, pulling, matching each other with every move, hands exploring, gripping, learning.

You felt her exhale against your mouth, shaky, like she was finally giving in to something she’d been trying to hold back. And for the first time since this whole thing started—you both stopped pretending.

Stopped pretending this was just a game.

Stopped pretending you didn’t want this.

Stopped pretending you hadn’t already lost to each other.

When you finally pulled back, your breath mingling with hers, Alexia’s eyes searched yours, still heavy-lidded, still burning.

She swallowed, voice rough. “You gonna run again?”

You smirked, brushing your thumb over her jaw. “Not this time.”

Alexia’s fingers curled around the front of your hoodie like she wasn’t ready to let you go just yet—not that you were going anywhere. Your breaths were heavy, mingling in the space between you, both of you still pressed against the wall, still tangled in the tension neither of you had any interest in easing.

You could feel the heat of her body, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly, the slight tremor in her hands where they clutched at you. You knew you had her. But the problem was—she had you too.

Your thumb brushed against her jaw again, slow, teasing, but you could feel the way her pulse raced under your touch. You tilted your head, voice low, daring. “So what now, capitana?”

Her grip on you tightened slightly at the nickname. Her gaze flickered, sharp and unreadable, before her lips quirked into the kind of smirk that promised trouble. Alexia leaned in, her lips just barely grazing yours, her breath warm against your skin. “That depends…”

You swallowed, your own breath hitching. “On?”

Her fingers traced down the front of your hoodie, slow, deliberate, like she was making a decision in real time. Then, she leaned into your ear, voice like a damn challenge. “…how badly you want me.”

Your restraint snapped. Your hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her into you again, lips crashing together, hotter, hungrier this time. She met you with the same intensity, her body moulding into yours as your fingers dug into her hips, pulling her impossibly closer.

There was nothing careful about it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Just hands and lips and the kind of desperation that came from weeks of pushing and pulling and daring each other to break first. Alexia’s hands slipped under your hoodie, palms skimming your sides, nails dragging lightly over your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your lips parted just enough for her to deepen the kiss, and the way she took it—like she had every right to—had heat pooling low in your stomach.

She had always played with control, but right now, you weren’t sure who was controlling who.

And for once? You didn’t care.

The sound of a door opening down the hallway made you both freeze. Reality crashed back in, hard and unwelcome, but neither of you pulled away completely.

Your lips were still inches apart, breaths still heavy, fingers still gripping onto each other like neither of you wanted to be the first to let go. Alexia swallowed, her eyes flickering between your lips and your gaze, like she was debating whether or not to just say screw it and pull you back in.

Your own pulse thundered in your ears, your body screaming at you to ignore whatever was happening outside this bubble and just take her. But then the moment shattered further when a voice called out, closer this time.

“Alexia?”

You recognized it immediately—one of her teammates.

She cursed under her breath, closing her eyes briefly before finally stepping back, the loss of her warmth making your skin prickle. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to do the same. She looked at you, something unreadable in her expression, something unfinished lingering between you.

Then, she smirked—just slightly, just enough to let you know this wasn’t over. Not even close. And as she walked away, leaving you standing there, pulse still racing, body still burning, one thing was painfully clear you had just crossed the point of no return.

The drive home felt eternal. Every red light a punishment, every car in front of you moving at a glacial pace. Your fingers drummed restlessly against the steering wheel, your body still humming with unresolved tension.

You could still feel her—the pressure of her lips, the drag of her nails, the way her body had melded against yours like she'd been designed to fit there. The phantom sensation of her hands gripping your hoodie haunted you, made your skin burn where she'd touched.

When you finally reached your apartment, you barely remembered closing the door behind you before collapsing onto your couch, exhaling a breath you felt like you'd been holding since she walked away.

Your phone burned a hole in your pocket. You wanted to text her. You needed to text her. But what would you even say?

So about that kiss...

When can I see you again?

I can't stop thinking about your hands on me.

None of it felt right. All of it felt desperate. And you weren't about to let her know just how completely she'd unraveled you.

You tossed your phone aside, running your hands over your face. This wasn't just about winning anymore. This wasn't even about the game you'd been playing. This was about the way she'd looked at you right before her lips touched yours—hungry, determined, like she'd been fighting this for as long as you had.

Your phone buzzed, the sound cutting through your thoughts like a knife. You reached for it, heart hammering, expecting—hoping—it was her.

It wasn't.

Just a notification from the team about tomorrow's training schedule. You sighed, dropping your phone back onto the couch. She was making you wait. Again. But this time, it felt different. This time, it wasn't just teasing. It was calculated. She was letting you stew in it, making you replay every moment, every touch, every taste.

And it was working. You couldn't focus on anything else. Not the upcoming game, not your training, not even the fact that your apartment was a mess and you hadn't eaten since lunch.

All you could think about was Alexia. Finally, just as you were about to give in and text her first, your phone lit up.

Alexia: I’m at Red, come see me

Not a question. A statement. Your pulse quickened, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Still so damn bossy. You waited a moment, letting her experience the same anticipation she'd put you through, before typing back.

You: Is that an order, capitana?

The dots appeared immediately.

Alexia: Would you prefer if it was?

Heat crept up your neck. She was good at this. Too good.

You: I'll be there soon.

Alexia: I know.

The club was packed, bodies pressed together, music pulsing through the air like a heartbeat. You scanned the crowd, searching for her among the sea of faces, the dim lighting making it harder to spot anyone specific.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

Alexia: VIP section. Left side.

[nightbutterfly09]

I saw this on my page, and I was like, I must deliver. This is such a good ideaaa 😭

(Im working on three different fanfics, save me TvT)

Thank you @keyhai 🩷

// I also paid attention to your comment under the post //

How cute~

When Sae arrived at his new home at thirteen the new school, the dorm building seemed huge. Heck, the whole of Spain seemed monumental compared to Kanagawa. The prefecture he knew so well. He couldn't exactly comprehend how he’d be studying, living and practicing here. 

It was hard at first. Getting to know his age group, his new teammates who were all a little older than him. Sometimes he was close to giving up. Occasionally his Spanish teacher had to consol the little boy. That old man was his only hope. The only parent-figure he could keep in touch with. 

The only person who could understand him. Without that stupid language barrier he learned to hate.

All the bullying he received as a child. Just because he is younger and japanese. He learned how cruel the world is.

Everything changed when he saw a taller girl rush across the hallway. A football and a sports bag in hand. Sae scoffed. “She must be late for practice… slacker” or so he thought.

A sense of familiarity hit him. Clueless why. He definitely hasn't seen you in school, nor at the dorms. What he did know, was that she seemed to be much older.

A week later the Re Al football teams got together to say bye to a retiring coach. Sae has learned that it's a custom to show up to the retirement party for everyone who plays in the club regardless of age, time spent there, or whether or not they knew the person in question.

For Sae Coach Emiliano said nothing. He didn't know him, nor did he hear about the old man. Ever. Each group dressed in their respective jerseys gathered around the man. Sae didn't understand how could people adore this Emiliano, if he has never ever heard his name before. Surely if he was an important figure he’d know.

“Do you want some cookies?” A girl looked down at him. Not much taller, just, maybe a tiny bit. Fine, who is he kidding. She was towering over him. 

He saw how you looked at him. It was a gentle gaze. Not one he is used to. He had no idea what you just said. He understood that you asked him if he wanted something. It was above him to know the word cookie. 

“Yo! Y/N El idiota no tiene idea de lo que estás diciendo! El es japones.” //Yo! Y/N The idiot has no idea what you're saying! He's Japanese.// A guy around your age shouted. He didn't need to understand everything to hear the mean tone in between. He was totally looking down on him. Like everyone. “Oh, sorry, then do you know english?” You smiled.

You smiled. 

Smile?

That guy just told you how he is an idiot and all that. But instead of the usual racism and downgrading, you smiled. At him.

He felt his heart skip a beat. His eyes met yours and they lingered for a while. He saw that you were getting nervous by just staring at each other so he quickly had to say something. “Not the best.. but I know more.”

“That's wonderful! Don't listen to Rodrigo, he doesn't know what he’s talking about. One time, he slammed the ball into the coach’s head- “ you laughed. “He got punished for 3 weeks straight.” 

Your laughter struck a chord within his heart. What was this feeling? He didn't mind being with you even if you were speaking way too fast. He did understand what you found funny though.

Maybe there is a hint of light within the world.

~~~~~~~~

Days passed. You two got closer. Started meeting more due to your training regimen changing. The girls team played at the same time with his team, just across from them. 

With his translator in tow they finally arrived to the court. It was time for practice to start.

His eyes occasionally drifted to the other team. You were captivating. You mainly passed the ball around. You also looked to be a midfielder. 

He hates that position. He wanted to be a striker all along. Hell, even his promise with Rin is about being a striker, but the coach thought this would suit him best. “I’ll show him, I can be a stiker if I want to, I’ll hog all the goals” or so he thought. 

But as he watched you play maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe passing it around, knowing who is in the best position is maybe more attractive than taking all the glory.

Plus, a striker has to be loved by all. Which he isn't. Or so he's told. “Sae! Coach wants you guys to watch the girls play. They have a training match in 20 minutes!” His translator informed. He nodded and went to the other court. Not that he wasn't already looking at you.

Throughout the whole match you were captivating. Not only for him but many of his teammates found themselves focusing on you.

That was how he fell in love- With the midfielder position. naturally..

~~~~~~

Days of knowing each other became weeks. Later became months. Even years. Years of staying in contact. 

Just like how silent stares, occasional greetings, shared laughs, smiles, nods at each other made your relationship somewhat questionable.

These stolen moments eventually became stolen kisses. They lasted for a moment in public, but when you started going on dates, sharing food and all of the above it all became clear to Sae.

He fell in love. With his senior.

“This is a joke Y/N” he sighed tiredly as you tried feeding him like a little boy. “Come on! Don't be a party pooper, come, say aah~” 

“I am not a child dumbass!” he scoffed and grabbed the fork. “Eat” as he nudged it towards you.

“Oh come on, you are shorter! You can't feed me!!” What logic even is that… not that it mattered. When you were with each other, making sense wasn't always important. Or so he learned.

“Just was. You live in the past mi vida” he flirted. True, as the years passed he became more attractive. You started looking at him differently. Eventually he was more than a younger student. Someone you should help and support. He became someone you could find solace in. “I do not-” but as you opened your mouth the cake found its way to it. 

It was yummy. The fruits and the cream balanced each other so well. Wasn't too sweet, but not too sour.

He saw how much you liked it and couldn't help but also take a bite. From the same fork. /Indirect kiss- your brain interrupted the moment/

“You know, I used to hate Spain. The language, the city, the people, even soccer for a while.. but maybe it's not so bad afterall.” “Think of it this way, if you weren't here, you’d never know me” you grinned. 

“True, although… sometimes I think that’d be less troublesome” “Stop being mean!!!” You whined.

He chuckled. “Come on, eat the rest of this” he said as he pushed the plate closer to you. “Only if I can feed you!” “No” “Come on! Just one bite!!” You squint your eyes in a pout.

“Fine, but only because I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.” he blushed and sighed. 

He bit down the fork you placed to his mouth and slowly leaned back. “How cute~” he blushed. But it's whatever. Your giggle meant more to him than stupid cake. “I am not 13 anymore Y/N.” He retorted and looked down at the cake.

You took a bite from the cookie on the side. Galleta. It was pretty funny to him. You probably didn't ponder about this. Nor did you remember your first question towards him. But to him, that sentence was life changing.

…Well not the cookies, but you get the point.

Coming to Spain was worth it. The hours of studying was worth it. Interacting with others was worth it. Saying bye to his childish self, was worth it.

That's how Spanish lessons became important. How feelings crept up within him. How he learned about others. And about himself. How he fell more in love with soccer. Maybe at the end of the day, the language barrier has one tiny advantage. Maybe being “special” or out of place within a country isn't always so terrible.

The world may have changed at 13. But change, isn't always a synonym for bad.

[followthebluebell]

Hi there 👋

Big fan of your blog & what you do!

I have a question about a feral cat of mine, if you have time.

She & her sister were trapped at ~4 mos old. It's been 5 years & her sis is still squirrelly but has bonded with me 😻 whereas this one won't stay in the same room as me (I can't get within 2 feet of her OR touch her).

However... she expects her treats every morning & has taken to calling/crying out for me as I watch TV at night. I talk to her, get up/find her & keep chatting, but nothing comes of it. 😢

I feel like this extra communication means we're getting closer, as she initiates it.

Any thoughts, tips, or hints on how to move forward?

Thanks so much,

A Mystified Mother of Cats

Hello! <3 Thank you very much for your kind words. And thank you for looking after your two cats; it sounds like they're quite the handful. It's honestly impressive that you've gotten even one of them bonded to you. Once a cat is past 3 months, it's VERY difficult to tame them down.

A couple of my semi-ferals are like that. Bobby and Clyde both approach and greet me for the occasional pet, but Morgan wishes I would die in a fire and he's known me for like five years now. I've hardly taken any of his organs, so it feels pretty unfair. It's not like I took any really important ones. I only took his teeth and testicles. :/ VERY overdramatic on his part.

Anyway, her relationship to you might never change. She might always be this weird demanding creature who never gives any affection back to you. I like to refer to that sort of cat as a house spirit or spirit cat: shy, reclusive, they basically just haunt your residence until they decide to demand something. And that's ok. Cats are allowed to just be.

That said, you're right that this COULD lead to something. The fact that she's initiating this means she views you as an extension of her colony. If she didn't consider you a member, she wouldn't even bother trying to communicate with you. So take advantage of that and try offering her some extra special treat, like a churu. If she tolerates dairy, whipped cream is a nice treat too, or a bit of canned tuna. The point is to make this moment extra special and reward her for reaching out (even if it is interrupting tv time).

You can even get a bit sneaky about it and start extending the pre-treat time. Cats have EXTREMELY accurate internal clocks. If I'm late with Yardstick's dinner, he will come and find me to yell at me about it. By delaying the special treat time, you might be able to encourage her to take more initiative and actively seek you out.

Making a habit of some special treat time can even help save her life one day, if she ever needs to get to the vet quick. By establishing a routine, you'll know where she is at that time and can hopefully scoop her up real quick (or at least get some gabapentin into her food).

I hope this helps and thank you again for taking the time with these little spirits.

[elainsgirl]

3 sisters’ peak = Feyre, Nesta & Azriel/Gwyn

Feyre conquered UTM. Nesta conquered Ramiel. Gwynriel will obviously conquer the Prison,

what about Elain? Ofc she, one of the three archeron sisters - the last to have her book, will obviously have nothing to do with the last sister peak also known as the prison. Elain, a character associated with life, hope, spring, new beginnings and regeneration- whose hobby is literally creating and nurturing life from land itself, whilst also being associated with death will have absolutely nothing to do with bringing back a dead, lifeless island back to life and in the state it once was. No, the only people who will bring the Prison back to life are Gwyn and Az with the help of Nesta…who has already previously conquered her own mountain. How will they bring the prison back to life? Gwyn and Azriel will hold hands, staring deeply into each orhers eyes. They’ll begin to sing, a song filled with joy as Gwyn begins to glow, her magic stirring within. As they reach the crescendo- the magic around the prison will begin to shake but do they give up? Not Gwynerth berdara. No. She carries on singing and glowing, eventually the magic around the prison breaks and life blooms onto the dead island once more. The people are freed and brought back to life, they’re so grateful for Gwynnie, they all kneel down but her being the humble queen she is blushes and refuses to accept their offerings. And then Nesta will rule the Dusk Court, Gwyn will be the general of the valkryies - Cass & Azriel will leave behind their home which they’ve protected and where ready to die for - to go and live with their mates. Oh. Can’t forget about the Pegasi they will all have.

And dw about Elain. She will have a plot. Basically, remember how Lucien set his target on the lake all bcs of another woman he’s been living with for most of the year as well as had a spark in his eyes for? Yh Vassa, he’s obviously going to travel to Koshei’s lake and elain will randomly have a vision meaning she will go with him. After being forced to spend time with Lucien, and after seeing how heroically he can catch a fish, she will fall madly in love but ofc Lucien has lots of self respect. After how terribly she treated him, he isn’t going to just accept her like that meaning will have to apologise and grovel for him. Anyways, they slay Koshei eventually and then go to day bcs ofc Lucien has to figure out his parentage. Him and Helion spend time together and Helion either dies or gives up his crown to allow Lucien to become the new HL of Day. Elain obviously is happy and she too will be crowned Hl of day ig, their book ends with Elain cooking Lucien a feast. Alternatively, for some reason Elain and Lucien end up in the spring court and she helps to heal his relationship with Tamlin. And then he dies amd boom. Elucien are now HLs of Spring.

There, I summed up the new two acotar books.

[pasukiyo]

THIS LOVE IS OURS

finnick odair x fem!mentor!reader word count: 1,205 warnings: allusions to trauma synopsis: another year, another reaping, another hunger games. another year of mentoring a new set of tributes. another year of sending them off to their deaths. another year of shouldering the burden of all this grief. but, at the very least, she has finnick. as long as she has finnick, she knows love must not be over. and as long as there is love, there is hope.

 She doesn’t know how Finnick Odair manages to find his way to her apartment. Surely, she thinks, he would've been caught on a surveillance camera on the way up. She can’t imagine a single cranny in the entire Tribute Center, the entire city, the entire country where the Capitol didn’t have eyes. 

 Oh well, she thinks, too tired to think more of it. What matters is that he’s here, standing in the doorway of her temporary bedroom, the orange glow of a tribute’s campfire on her television reflecting in his eyes. 

 “I’m not going to ask you how or why you’re here,” she says, breaking the silence. Finnick, though his lips are pursed, grins, simply staring back at her, arms crossed over his chest. “But I don't entirely agree with it.”

 “Good,” he replies, pushing away from the doorframe, letting it shut itself behind him as he makes his way towards the bed. “My secrets are invaluable to keep.”

 She finds it within herself to roll her eyes just as the anthem begins to emit from the television speakers and  she shifts her position in the bed, creating space for him, inviting him in. The mattress dips beneath his weight and she looks at him, the glow of the television behind his head giving him an unearthly aura, as if he was made of starlight, carved from the moon. 

 “That makes eighteen tributes fallen with only six remaining from the following districts: 1, 2, 4, and 7.”

 Her head falls back to the pillows and she squeezes her eyes shut, hoping the harder she squeezed, the duller the ache in her head. She hears the bed creak and the voices of Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith gradually soften until they’re but a low murmur in the background. She peels a single eyelid open just as Finnick sets the television remote down, twisting around and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

 For a moment they simply blink at one another, the familiarity of each other’s presence giving them an air of ease, like for a moment, things were normal and they were not mentors for tributes in death games for the Capitol’s entertainment. For a moment, she looks at Finnick, feels him in the space of the bed beside her, and can almost trick herself into believing this was her life all the time. More than just stolen moments a handful of times each year, if that. More than just two pawns in the Capitol’s chessboard. More than animals lined up for the slaughter. 

 Finnick still sits up on the bed beside her as if he’s unsure, as if he’s still waiting for her permission. Touching, being close, intimate after all, does not come easy when one has endured what they have at the hands of the Capitol. 

 But it’s different with Finnick. Of course it is— he is not Capitol, he is not corrupt, he is not bad. 

 He’s Finnick. Simply Finnick Odair, her Finnick. And if there’s one thing she knows for sure about him, it’s that he is safe, her safe place. 

 So she softens her gaze, words unneeded to tell him she needs him. 

 Finnick practically melts. 

 Perhaps she is what he needs too. The way he melts into the mattress beside her, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her into his chest until their hearts beat against each other, until they’re fitted together like two pieces of glass— broken, but still one in the same— makes her think this is so. 

 Warmth so rare, she can only dream of it most days envelops her and she thinks she can cry by just how safe she feels. To feel this safe, this comfortable is a luxury— they both know it. To be reveling in it almost feels like a sin, treachery when the Games continue to exist, when they persist even at this very moment. 

 She could not save her tributes this year. She’d barely managed to save her own self since her own Games. She still fights to save herself everyday. The weight this burden of living feels too much for her to shoulder. She nestles her nose against Finnick’s chest, her stomach feeling hollow, her throat burning with grief. 

 It’s Finnick’s arms that tighten around her body that remind her that this burden is not hers alone to shoulder. She is not alone in her grief. She is never alone, so long as Finnick exists. She feels it in the way his fingers weave through her hair, his fingernails like soft whispers against her scalp, his lips against the crown of her head, drawing her nearer into him, breathing her in. 

 These unspoken truths hang in the air, for there was no space, no crevice where they could fit between them. She reaches for his face, sliding her hand along the line of his jaw until his ear rests between her middle and forefinger. The pad of her thumb caresses the space just below his eye and she lifts her head, just enough to catch his gaze again. 

 But when she looks up, she finds that his eyes are closed, as if her touch is enough to tranquilize him, lulling him with just the pad of her thumb. She takes the time to drink him in, the way his lashes flutter against his skin, the crease between his brows, the way his lips part and come together again as if he’s replaying a memory, something he said, over and over again. 

 She, herself, tries to recall how they feel when they’re against hers. The way his mouth would collect hers as if she were fragile, as if he were fragile. Kissing Finnick was never uncertain but always felt more like a reassurance, as if testing whether this— kissing, intimacy, love— could really be tender, whether it was something other than seizing and squeezing and taking and hurting and burning. 

 “Finnick?” She whispers his name, so quiet she fears he won’t hear her. 

 His lashes flutter when his eyes peel open. He hums in reply and she can feel it against her chest, over her still beating heart. 

 “You still with me?” She asks, lifting her hand so that her thumb can caress just beside his eye. 

 The television screen reflects in his eyes again but all she sees is him. The Games, the Capitol, the country, the world does not exist. The only thing she can bring herself to believe in now is that Finnick is here and Finnick is hers. 

 Finnick gazes back and another unspoken truth dances in the air above them: what they have is theirs and theirs alone. No one can take them away from one another. Whether they’re here together in this moment, or in their respective districts, or thrown into the hands of the Capitol, what they have is sacred, holy ground that no one will ever be able to touch. As long as they have one another, there will be hope. And as long as there is hope, there is love. And this love is nobody’s but theirs. 

 Finnick leans in, presses his lips to the center of her head, to the bridge of her nose, to her own. “Always.”

a/n: so... how are we all feeling after sunrise on the reaping 😆😆😆

TAGLIST

@sallowsarchives

@michelle-26

@jxxey3

[angeliteeyes]

Hailo~ Let's do one for our beloved madam herta~ with an Oni S/O~

The Oni S/O sneaks onto Herta's space station disguised as a human. Why? Cause they're a masked fool , of course, and they're bestie Sparkle dared them too. So they successfully sneak in and actually remain undiscovered, Illusion powers are really the best. They can't just leave, though. So, like any masked fool, they decide to pull pranks on the researchers there while remain undercover, that is, until madam Herta makes a very rare visit to the space station.

She keeps getting reports from her puppets and about all the pranks that keep happening, and since she was in the area and was just a bit curious, she decided to investigate.

Imagine her surprise when she finally tracks you down and corners you. Then, after a brief battle, she strips away your illusionary disguise she and gazes upon two bright red horns sticking out from your forehead.

Oh man. I had sooo much fun brainstorming this idea with you, you have no idea. And with that, I present to you...

The Herta x Oni Reader

Here's the origin post with the rest of our Oni ramblings

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Ever since Aha glanced at you and saved you from the destruction of Izumo, you'd become dedicated to upholding THEIR values. Every day was an opportunity for wild adventures, silly jokes, and lots and lots of laughter.

Admittedly, though, you weren't exactly the best at staying out of danger.

As you look around at the wide expanse of the Herta Space Station, you grin to yourself. Sneaking in here really was a piece of cake. Of course it was. After all, you're the number one member of the Masked Fools! Ah—but Sparkle can't hear you say that, even if it's true. Still... now that you're here, isn't it kind of boring? There hasn't even been a single human that's noticed you or gotten in your way. It's not much of a dare if nothing even happens here.

You could always just spice things up yourself, though. Now that you think about it, all the people here seem practically glued to whatever devices they're using. Maybe that's why they didn't notice you? How annoying. If they're not going to give you the attention you deserve, you might as well mess with them somehow. Maybe by playing with the power supply. A couple of lightning shocks in the right places should do the trick.

Sneaking your way around the station, you happen upon a delightfully vulnerable power panel. Looks like today's about to get a lot more interesting after all.

Purple zaps explode from your hands as they're held in front of you, extending their reach towards the many cords held within. And... bingo! Before long, the light coating the room flickers, then comes to a halt. You can already hear the whiny voices of the station workers groaning and complaining outside, and barely suppress your laughter. Those morons are probably running around like headless chickens out there.

Your glee rapidly turns into panic as you hear voices draw closer and closer. In hindsight, you should've seen it coming that they would check on the power supply after a blackout, but whatever. You're not about to let them ruin your fun.

As the doors burst open and a trail of people walk into the room, voices raised, you turn to them with a blank expression—a perfect replica of the many Herta dolls you saw passing by earlier. Now, the hard part: actually acting like one.

"Oh, it's you, Herta. What's the situation?" Their many faces peered at you.

"Well, uh... it would appear the circuit's fried on this thing. Not to worry, though, I've already gotten it taken care of. Run along now." You pray to Aha that your acting skills are up to the task. Thankfully, whether it's because of your outstanding talent or their laziness kicking in, they readily scurry off. So simple.

If they're that easy to play around with, can you really be blamed for pushing your luck a bit further?

Before long, the entirety of the space station morphs into a sea of chaos and confusion. People being sighted in two places at once, Herta dolls malfunctioning and saying strange things, and all the while, the lights remain woefully nonexistent. Laughter burst out from you as you hid yourself in one of the many vacant rooms. Oh, if only Sparkle was here to see this masterpiece you've created. Space station? More like a total trainwreck!

"What's so funny?"

Your body stiffens. That voice... it sounded vaguely familiar, yet you couldn't quite place it. The blood in your body pulsed violently through you all at once, as if it recognized the danger you were in before you could.

"I said, what's so funny? Is it the blackout you caused, or perhaps you find pretending to be my dolls amusing? Come on now, don't make me wait for an answer."

You may not be the best at staying out of trouble, but you could definitely tell when you were in it. Something about her voice made your blood run cold with its power alone.

Wait, her dolls?

This is bad, like reaaaally reallyreallyreally bad. How could you mess up so badly? You could've sworn your reports stated that she was out on some business trip and would be gone for a whole week. All you wanted today was some nice, harmless fun. And now here you are, very much going to be harmed by none other than the owner of the station: Herta herself.

Okay, well, you'll just have to improvise a way out of here. Somehow.

As the clack of a moving boot hits the ground, you too glide across the floor. With one of your trusty kanobos in hand, you cut through the air in one swift motion. Herta, untouched by the weapon, smirks at you.

"Not today, sweetheart."

She lifts her arms to swing her own weapon at you. As you two make eye contact, you can't help but laugh at her idiocy. She's even more of a fool than you are if she thinks that's all you've got up your sleeve.

Herta's eyes narrow at you as she processes your reaction, or lack of the expected one. The questions running through her mind are quickly answered by an automated voice. Its robotic tone echoes through the dark room.

Detonating in 3... 2... Now.

Before Herta can even react, a loud series of bangs rushes out from the kanobo—or more accurately, a cheeky toy kanobo Sparkle made for you that dispenses a bunch of adorable fireworks if you swing it hard enough. A real shame that you have to leave it behind as a distraction.

You only hope you can make it out of here before she catches up with you.

Surprised screams of passersby ring in your ears as your legs slam into the ground faster than you've had to make them in years. A couple of Herta dolls even try to get in your way, blocking you off, but you manage to maneuver through them all the same.

As you make a final turn, you see it; the exit is right up ahead, looking grander than ever. Despite your rapid breathing and strained limbs, this was heaven to you. A truly joyful end to your adventure, filled with fun, energy, and a couple of vibrant fireworks. Just one more step and—

Your vision goes black for a second as vibrations flutter within you. Why... why aren't you running anymore?

"Pathetic. Did you really think that you could escape me, the great Madam Herta?"

Those damned boots strolled over to where you were sprawled onto the cold floor, calm and melodic as ever. Her form slowly crept into your hazy field of vision, with her hovering over you like a vulture. You grimaced. You were so, so close. Or maybe you weren't, after all. Maybe she had been the one toying with you all along.

"Let's go over all of the problems you've caused me today. First was the blackout, then a series of poor acting. Oh, and how could I forget having a bunch of fireworks blowing up in my face?"

Still in a daze and with your consciousness waning, you could hardly keep up with her words. Pieces of her flowy hair draped onto your body as she crouched next to you. Was this the end? After all you suffered through just to get to this point, an impulsive dare was what sealed your fate? It was so pathetic, so dumb, you couldn't help but giggle to yourself deliriously.

"I assume you're done with playing dress-up. You know, now that your horns are on full display?" Her fingers glide down one of them smoothly.

"Ha! So tell me, oh great Madam Herta, what do you got in store for me next? Some kind of torture or execution?"

She hummed in response. "I was considering that, but..." Her lips brushed against the exposed skin of your ear, making you shiver.

"You'll be a lot more fun to play with."

[weirdsht]

hii can u do smth with cale thats epic the musical themed? like krs' old lover transmigrated to tcf's world too and wyfilwma is playing,,, the vibes and all yk??

Cale reunites with his lover ❤️

Even After Everything - Cale/Reader

a/n: i love how you guys keep giving me reasons to relisten the entire epic album (i already listen to it on a daily basis). also, aside from this fic, i have a old fic with a similar premise titled pledge

tags: no specific gender mentioned for reader, death, vague novel spoilers about cale's past life, passive suicidal thoughts, passive self-destructing tendencies

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Requests are open and welcome

Navigation Masterlist

yes i use youtube music, deal with it

You were each other’s world.

In a barren world where everything was flipped upside-down in one night. The two of you held onto each other. Comforted one another through all the deaths. Held onto the other’s arms when one was breaking.

You were each other’s rock in a world so unstable.

So what happens when that rock is ripped away from Kim Rok Soo’s arms?

The last thing he was holding onto after everything that happened to him.

After the death of his parents.

After the death from the shelter during the catalyst.

After the death of his comrades.

After the death of his brothers.

You were the only thing he had after all those tragedies. The one last light he was trying to protect—Kim Rok Soo’s sole reason to wake up every day with a smile on his face.

Yet you were ripped away from him.

“I’ll see you again. I don’t know when I don’t know how. But I’ll make it happen.”

Those were your last words to him. Even when you were in pain you still thought of comforting him first. Still thoughtful as ever that you took his record into consideration and left him last words that would bring him hope.

And hope did it bring.

Kim Rok Soo is still a broken man. Broken beyond relief from all the tragedies fate has befallen his mortal and weak body.

Still

Yet still

He wakes up every day. Does his job as team leader. Gets back up whenever he falls.

And the reason?

It was because whenever Kim Rok Soo thought of ending it all your words replay in his head. As much as he longs for your reunion, he knows you will get mad if he throws everything away just to be with you.

That was why he persevered. With your words in mind, he works hard and looks forward to the day he meets you once more. He doesn’t know when, nor does he know how it will happen, but he still looks forward to it as you never break your promises.

After years— decades of waiting the promised day was finally within reach.

He first saw you as one of the nobles attending the king’s celebration. Apparently, a new money noble who has done so much for the kingdom for the past years that the crown granted you a title.

Even after years of not seeing you, he knew at first glance.

How could he not recognise his love?

His strength?

His reason for holding onto this wretched life for this long?

Even without record, Cale Henituse knows for a fact that he will be able to recognise you from a single strand of your hair.

Even if blinded, he would be able to recognise your scent and differentiate your voice from the chaos.

Cale Henituse— no, Kim Rok Soo longs for you. Longs for even just your fingertips to be within his reach.

Yet he fears the possible rejection that you may push onto him.

Hence the nervousness that seems to envelop his entire being as Amiru introduces you as one of the possible investors in their project. 

Hence the palpitation his own ears could hear as he knocked on your door with the guise of talking about business.

Cale practised in his head the things he would say. How he would introduce himself. The way he would apologise for not meeting your expectations, for changing because of all the things that happened to him and all the years passing by.

Yet despite all that preparation, Cale could only exhale your name as he properly gazed into your eyes.

“My love? Is that you? Are you finally back in my arms?”

Cale doesn’t know how to answer that. Stupefied for yes it is him, but it’s not him at the same time.

“I’m not the same man you left back on earth. I’ve changed and I’m not sure if I’m still what you were expecting.”

Your lover confesses solemnly, still standing in the doorway. Despite having an entirely different appearance you could still recognise those eyes of his. Albeit they have grown weary over the years you haven’t been in each other’s arms.

“I grew tired of life. Lost the drive to do good that might have been the reason why you loved me. There were days when I thought of ending it all. Times when I questioned if what I was doing was worth it. My hands and conscience are soiled. I don’t know if I can go back to being the same man that you loved.”

You sauntered over to where he was. Once you were face-to-face you took his hands and held them with your own. Cale’s breath hitched while your heart beat so fast you swear he could hear it.

“Does this mean you’re breaking your promise?”

You softly asked as you moved to untangle your hands from his. However, before you could do so, Cale tightened his hold. Even going as far as to intertwine your fingers.

“NO… no, never. I would never do that, never to you. It’s just- it’s just that I might not be what you’re expecting. I might not be able to give you the love you’ve been waiting for.”

Panic is evident in Cale’s voice. Your strong lover, the renowned tactician back on earth, reduced to a trembling mess at the mere thought of never feeling your warmth once again.

“Then you must really be my love, the same man I fell in love with all those years ago.”

You squeezed his hands once more. This time assuring him that you aren’t going anywhere.

“I loved you because you’re you. Nothing will change the fact that you’re my beloved. The one for me, my only soulmate in every lifetime. It matters not to me the changes time has brought for you are still you and that’s what matters.”

Untangling your hands in order to hold his face, you took in his new appearance. Properly gazed into those eyes of his that held so much love for you.

“I love you. I always have and always will.”

With that, your lips finally connected. 

The past cannot be overwritten. Surely there will be times when one of you will wake up from a nightmare because of the various tragedies you have experienced from your past lives.

But that’s okay.

For this time you are back in each other’s arms. This time you can rely on each other once more. 

This time you have another lifetime that you can spend with each other.

And that’s the only thing that matters.

[missingmayuri]

KurotsuchiWeek2025 Day 1: Gadgets and body modifications/ Medicine for the brain

The Captain needs some help. Or does he?

It wasn't often you were called into the lab after hours, usually mostly for clean up duty and preparation for the following day. You were sure you left the lab spotless before clocking out, making the prospect of a sudden summons even more daunting for you.

It could have been something as simple as Akon had extra paperwork but on the other hand this could have been a summons from Captain Kurotsuchi himself, a thought that shook you more then the growing uncertainty plaguing your soul.

The halls were still and empty, steps echoing. The only light from the oil lamps on the walls, probably lit when work let out. Captain Kurotsuchi didn't really like the lights on in the evenings, preffering to have all electrical supplies at his command for his more private and sometimes outrageous experiments.

A faint smell of iron filled the air, coming from a nearby slightly more lighter room accompanied by slight noises of discomfort and frustration.

You thought it best to knock in case the matter beyond the sterile metal door was a private affair, giving three taps before waiting for any kind of signal.

There was but a silence more deafening then before, knocking another three times to further alert the person inside.

"Dont just stand there knocking! I asked Akon to call you so get in here!"

You knew that voice, very well in fact but this time there was an edge of urgency. Captain Kurotsuchi wasn't someone who liked things rushed. He could be impatient yes but he would rather a job took hours and well done then a shoddy one finished in mere moments.

This was unlike him, the chill down your spine akin to someone throwing dry ice onto your bare skin. Unpleasant and made you want to run.

Regardless of your feelings a summon was a summon, fearing what the Captain may do to you if you didn't comply you step inside to a truly fascinating and rather shocking sight.

Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi sat in his plush work chair, now covered in small patches of blood. It was almost like the blood had formed a patten below him, swirling by his feet.

The source was his extendo arm, laid in pieces possibly from a malfunction across half of the room. A truly morbidly beautiful sight.

From the near darkness you see two strikingly golden eyes, shining ever so slightly. They never once broke from the direction in which you stood, body shaking from uncertainty and fear.

Your heart was pounding, almost strong enough to break through it's bony cage. What rattled you more wasn't the blood, nor the sight ahead. No. It was that those eyes were so normal, no signs of pain and no worry. Your Captain was calm, even as he was bleeding out.

"Well? Come closer"

You take a few cautious steps, landing right beside the twitching white painted hand on the floor, it wrapped up tightly in wires like a snake capturing it's pray within it's coils.

"As you can see I'm in a rather let's say...unpleasant situation. I need assistance to reconnect the circuitry and reassemble my arm into a more acceptable state"

You take a breath so deep one would think you were storing air for an emergency.

"Yes sir..."

No sooner had those words left your lips you feel a tight grasp on your ankle, causing your voice to bellow around the room and echoing down the halls.

A sinister chuckle soon accompanied the screams, sounding like some sort of insane symphony, two sounds that were dancing in a delightful harmony despite being so fundamentally different.

"My goodness. It would appear all my nerves still work. What a delightful discovery"

You grasp your chest, trying to get your breath back and feeling a little faint as you did so. Your head felt light, taking a couple stumbling steps away from the hand which now tapped it's fingers on the prestinely clean marble floors.

There was a faint smell in the room. You couldn't make it out.

Through the ever so slight blur of your vision you could see Captain Kurotsuchi write something with his intact hand. He wasn't looking at his notebook, still staring directly at you as his hand worked freely seemingly disconnected from his mind and you didn't doubt it giving the nature of Mayuri Kurotsuchi.

The scribbling comes to a halt, Mayuri beckoning you with his fingers.

"If you can come closer. As I said before I require assistance"

Continuing onward with slightly clearer vision you assess the situation at hand.

"It looks like one of the wires connected to the nerves between your arm and elbow has been damaged sir"

Looking up you find yourself met with a golden smile, large and unnatural with corners curled into a very slight smirk.

"Excellent work"

You nod in thanks to acknowledge his compliment, heart pounding as you waited for further instructions.

"Listen very carefully to my instructions and follow them to the letter..Or else"

You quickly comply , crouching to your knees onto the freezing floor, following every order that came your way.

Pulling wires.

Fixing up vains.

Muscle testing and circuit replacement.

You did all these things and more, covering your once spotless uniform a deep crimson. You wondered if this is what it would look like to bathe in the reaper's river, the one they say connects life and death. If such a thing existed. Would your clothes stain the same?

Your mind was wandering and your thoughts felt disconnected and distracted, a dangerous thing to do given your tasks and who was inches from you. You could feel his hot breath as he breathed deeply, still writing all the while.

In a moment of clarity you had noticed one of the damaged wires looked purposely cut but you didn't dare to question as to why, figuring your body would be found strapped to the cold metal table come morning if you did.

You are snapped from every single thought by a small sickle falling down next to you and looking mostly made of muscle.

"Oh do carry on. I sometimes need to air this out"

It was coming from his ear guard, meaning that it was inside his...

The idea was almost enough to invoke a sickness upon you from thin air, much like an invisible parasite or toxin yet still you focused on your task, ignoring when you were taunted by the grotesque blade.

It kept being kicked in your direction, forcing you to look at it, a gleaming cheshire smile beaming down upon you like the goddess of the sun.

The longer the job went on the more you felt like your mind was wandering, empty of all thoughts and by the time you soldered the last bolt into place you felt much an empty shell, unable to think clearly.

The room had a purple hue now, faint and smelling of flora. You swear it wasn't like that when you came in but in your delirious state your mind was deceptive and unreliable at best. You watch your Captain finish his note taking through tired eyes.

"Good work. You may now leave"

You try to bow but end up stumbling, the arm once laid in pieces retracting back to its master as you walked in an almost drunk fashion to the door.

"Oh my I almost forgot!"

You feel a sharp sudden stinging in your arm, the sickle grabbing your flesh. You pull it out in instinct, air sharply passing your teeth. Suddenly you felt more awake then you ever had, almost euphoric and calm but before you could utter a word of question or a simple thanks you were quickly dismissed, a flick of the wrist signalling you had served your purpose. With a now more proper and dignified bow you leave the lab's and indeed whatever just happened behind. You wouldn't dwell, not wanting to be curious enough to ask the Captain what had indeed transpired. Sleep seemed appropriate.

When asked about your evening in the lab you couldn't recall a single detail of it, coming up with blank thoughts every single time. You assumed it was probably another cleaning job, sitting down to read the new issue of the bulletin.

The headline piqued your interest, turning immediately to the page listed under.

Effects of excessive stimulus and altered states.

By Mayuri Kurotsuchi