#but like I know enough that I could put it together

[prince-septimus]

calm mornings

pairing : robert reynolds x reader

summary : just two lonely people learning of a thing called affection.

word count : 1.5k

You find yourself staring at him often -- the man with the power of a thousand suns. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of the power he wields because when you see him occasionally sitting in the little corner he's created with books surrounding him and an overlook of New York to add on, you forget the events of a few months ago when the city fell to shadows.

When you see Bob now, all you see is the softness he carries with him, the comfort he brings even after years of not having it for himself. How could someone who has been through so much manage to continue on with such a soft heart?

You guessed the same could be said for the whole team. The ruined assassins who spent part of their lives being brainwashed and tortured. The super soldiers who never did quite reach their potential, and spent their entire lives dwelling on it. The experiments and the suffering and the darkness that the rest of you had endured. The whole team had that in common, and it was something you thought made you better than the Avengers.

The Thunderbolts were a family.

(You always were fond of the nickname, even after having to put that 'A' on your uniform.)

Maybe that's why you would find yourselves gathered late into the night, recapping missions and watching shitty 80s movies. Maybe that was what you all needed to keep the nightmares and dark thoughts away. You all had done bad things, unforgivable things, and yet you could still find yourselves together on a Saturday night fighting over who got the last slice of pizza and picked the next movie.

It was one of those nights you woke up early after. You had only been asleep for a few hours, but the weekends were sometimes a little more peaceful, almost like the job followed that weekday schedule you remembered from school. It was nice sometimes to get up early and drink coffee in a corner somewhere while the sun was still rising. Usually you were left alone during that time.

This morning you were not alone.

The coffee machine is still dripping the last dregs into the pot when you hear his quiet footsteps. The others had tried to convince you to get a better coffee pot -- one of the ones with a million buttons that made all sorts of espresso drinks and could add different things. You're sure that sort of appliance was here when the building belonged to Tony Stark, but you liked your tried and true, traditional pot. Even if it was a bit loud.

"Made enough for two?"

Bob's voice is still full of sleep. You wonder if he actually fell asleep or just dozed like he did sometimes. He had seemed tired towards the end of the last movie, after everyone had began to settle down, and you hoped that meant he at least got a good few hours in.

You smile gently at him as he pads over to lean against the counter. "I always make a full pot. You know that."

You hadn't bothered with the lights, preferring the soft glow that had started to enter the space as the sun began to rise beyond the windows. You enjoyed this time in the morning, when everything was still quiet and calm. You wondered if he preferred it too.

He leans over you to reach in the cabinet above, grabbing two mugs and setting them on the counter beside you. He looks cozy in his sweater and soft lounge pants, the thick socks on his feet silencing his movements on the floor -- though you wonder how he sleeps like that at night, the layers of fabric confining him in his sleep.

Maybe it makes him feel safe.

"Can you grab the creamer from the fridge?" you ask, beginning to fill each cup from the pot. You leave a bit of space in each mug for the added components you both enjoy.

Everything is so still as you watch Bob stroll across the kitchen, grabbing the required item before padding back towards you. He gives you a small smile as you finish off both cups of coffee before handing his to him.

He cradles it in his hands as he looks at you. "You're up early."

"I always am." You take a sip, careful not to burn your tongue. "Any bad dreams?"

He shakes his head. "The nightmares aren't as frequent now. It's been easier."

Your mind goes back to when all of you first moved into the tower. It was the easiest way to go about things, being listed as the New Avengers. You all were in close proximity when needed, and even though Bob currently didn't go on missions, he still was around and had his own room just like everyone else. He liked to keep the place put together and cleaned up when the rest of you didn't have the time to. He told you once that it was because he finally had the motivation to do it after years of being in a daze.

You had been to his room several times over the months. It had become almost as familiar as your own to you, with books covering every surface.

(Most of them finished, as Bob did not like to buy a new one until he finished the previous.)

The nightmares were immediate in the beginnings of Bob's stay. It didn't come as a surprise. All of you had your own demons, as proven by the Void months ago, but something told you being stuck in his nightmares was a whole different beast.

You didn't want him to go through that alone.

It had started slow, you keeping him company on those nights. You couldn't stop the nightmares, but you could offer a break from them, an ease of the conscious. At some point it had transitioned into the sleeping in the room together, still keeping each other company but finally taking advantage of that much needed sleep when you both felt it coming on.

Then it turned into sleeping in the same bed. That was after one really bad night. Neither of you were sure what brought the nightmares on so strongly, but they hit you both and you ended up in each other's arms, begging the bad dreams to leave you be.

Eventually they did, and eventually you never left.

It wasn't exactly a relationship -- you weren't sure either of you were ready to label it as such, or even fully address that as an option. The signs were there, very much so, cradled in those shared nights and castaway nightmares, but the trauma bond was clear and neither of you wanted to base your entire future off of that.

"I didn't notice you leave the bed."

You grin. "You never do. You sleep like a log when you're peaceful." Another sip. "But seriously, no bad dreams after I got up?"

Sometimes when you were away on missions and Bob found himself alone in the bed, those nightmares came back. Sometimes he'd call you. Sometimes he wouldn't.

"Nothing. It was nice."

His hair falls into his eyes when he dips his head down to take a drink from his mug. He had got it cut after everyone moved into the Tower, a small trim to hold him over and to appease everyone as his hair got just a bit too shaggy. You liked it -- the length on top and the short bits on the side -- and thought it suited him better than what he awoke with in that room where he had been stored away.

You reach up to run your hand through it, Bob leaning into your touch. Your fingers slide across his short curls, gently straightening the bed head out.

Bob reaches up to cradle your hand in his, moving it down to press a kiss to your palm.

The kisses were a more recent thing, a testing of the boundaries. You and Bob had both gone without a real sort of relationship for so long that a lot of things were practically a new thing, an experiment. It was a way for you both to see how far you wanted to take things, and so far neither of you had said to stop.

"Got plans today?" you ask, careful not to let your coffee spill in your grasp as you push against him, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

A soft smile just for you. "Nothing that involves going out anywhere."

You scoff. "You never go out anyway."

"Not ready for that just yet."

You pull softly on the hair at the nape of his neck. "Wanna go watch a movie?"

He leans to brush a kiss to your cheek. "That all you want to do?"

You let out a laugh, pulling back from him when his lips run across your ear. His free arm snakes behind you and pulls you back to him. A few drops of coffee splatter between the two of you. "There's always more we can be doing."

"Nothing we don't want to, of course."

You smile wide as his arm squeezes your waist. "Of course."

[bucketbueckers]

TERRITORIAL

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth 👅 (w decent plot - cmon, we know how this goes by now) jealous!p, slight public sex & exhibitionism(?), fingering (r!receiving), packing (🌚), strap (r!receiving), oral (p!receiving), lap dances, spitting, actual warning for men

wc: 8.0k

synopsis: Paige knew what she was signing up for when she asked you, a revered dancer for Dallas’s most prolific strip club, to be her girlfriend, but sometimes she just can’t help getting jealous. Especially when someone thinks they can touch what’s not theirs.

notes: yes the title is from the kali uchis song. if there's any of my fics i recommend listening to the titular song for, this is def one!!! based on this req from 🫦 anon, hoping i did this justice for you and thank you sm for sending this in 🙏 i fear this might be the last fic for a minute - im not dying but i do have to lock in on classes 👎 not proofread but as always though i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

You and Paige weren’t a very…conventional couple by any means. You shouldn’t work well together, but you do.

You’re a stripper – although you prefer the term exotic dancer now, mostly since you’d put an end to some of the services you used to offer – for one of Dallas’s most high profile clubs, Divinity. A corny name that served an even hornier clientele of Dallas’s richest playboys, sleazes, and their countless athletes. You weren’t complaining, though. It’s putting you through college, you’re well on your way to paying off your mom’s house, and you were fortunate enough to have understanding employers who were aware of the ramifications of their business. When you told them that you’d prefer not to perform lap dances or other private shows out of respect for your relationship, they’d readily agreed, a fact you were more than appreciative of.

Paige is one of Dallas’s up-and-coming stars, a bright-eyed, attractive, alluring athlete with the world at her disposal. She was shockingly grounded despite that, humble where you would have expected an arrogant jerk. For all intents and purposes, she wasn’t anything you were preparing yourself for, but you don’t think you’d ever be so thankful to be so surprised.

The two of you have been together for nearly a year, having met during a preseason match during her rookie season. While she was diving for a loose ball near the courtside seats, she ended up at your feet and spilled your drink onto the court. Paige was incredibly apologetic, hardly registering the fact she’d been awarded free throws for the foul, more focused on wiping the water off of your Dunks. After standing and staring at your face for a solid few seconds, as if wondering how you were real and in front of her, she offered to buy you a drink, but the refs were growing impatient and she was out of time.

That didn’t stop her from tracking you down after the game, though. Nor did it stop her from shaking your hand with an enraptured, charismatic little smile, asking for your name and when you’d be free like you’d already accepted her date offer. When you teased her for that, her smile just grew before she pointed out, “Well, you waited for me to come find you. Figured you were at least a little interested.”

In fairness, she was correct. You were interested, not because she was Paige Bueckers or some beginning of a superstar athlete, but because of her humility and how she sank to her knees in front of a sold out arena to dab the water off of your shoes with the hem of her jersey. That meant something to you. So you go out, enjoy the drinks and the company, and you see her again. Then again after that.

Before you could let your relationship grow out of hand, you knew you had to sit her down and explain your profession. You were really into her, but you could see how it could be a dealbreaker for a lot of people, especially since Paige was a public figure. She took it a lot better than you’d been expecting, which led to a lengthy conversation about everything under the sun. She asked if you enjoyed doing it – you did, you were just a dancer at heart and you would be the first to admit that dancing has helped you come out of your shell. 

In turn, you asked her if being with you would make things difficult for her. She was reasonably confused, then almost offended at the idea, before ensuring you that her private life was just that – private. Obviously, being the celebrity athlete she is, it would be near impossible to promise that the two of you could keep things that lowkey, but she was honest and told you upfront that she was falling for you and promised that if push came to shove, the two of you would work through it.

That was the heart of the conversation. Paige asked you to be her girlfriend a week later. It was after a private, rooftop dinner and movie in the fading sunlight of the Dallas summer. You’d said yes, of course, because you were falling hard for her, too. The officiality of your relationship sparked a new conversation regarding boundaries. You agreed on keeping your relationship private, mostly for your benefit – Paige had explained that she could handle the heat on her end, but recognized she had some…hardcore fans, and didn’t want them showing up to your workplace and harassing you.

You told her you’d talk to your employers about dancing only and discontinuing the private shows that people would pay for. It was for both yours and Paige’s peace of mind – you didn’t feel comfortable being so close to other people and performing intimate acts, even if it was your job. It wasn’t necessary and that was a boundary you were willing to enforce because you liked Paige, saw a future with her, and wanted to ensure there was no miscommunication about anything in your relationship. Paige, to her credit, had seemed guilty, making sure to repeatedly emphasize that you didn’t need to change your life or endanger your job for her. You just rolled your eyes, kissed her, and reminded her that you care a whole lot more about her than whether or not old, sleazy men get their rocks off. She’d probably never admit it, but she was relieved that you took that boundary so seriously.

Paige wasn’t known to be an incredibly jealous person. Communication, despite how uncomfortable it could be, was the very foundation of your relationship. The two of you were so secure with one another and any of her jealousy could be derived from a deep-rooted possessiveness.

It’s not the uncomfortable kind where she controls your every move or makes decisions for you – you’d had an ex or two who were like that and you were not keen on repeating that. It was more of a mutual agreement – you were hers, she was yours, and honestly, she was probably developing a bit of a complex about it; you’d perform for a crowd full of people who’d give anything to be with you, but it was her you’d go home to every night. In essence, she just didn’t like it when people got a little too close to what wasn’t theirs.

You and Paige weren’t a conventional couple. But you were a healthy one. You communicated, you had a whole lot of love for each other, and you worked. Despite that, you can’t always control how you feel, and sometimes, Paige just can’t help being jealous.

It was a Friday night at the club and it was already packed wall to wall with patrons, mostly your regulars, but there were also some new faces – investors, foreign athletes, various rookies for the hometown teams. It was a typical show-out, so you weren’t expecting much of it, not until one of your coworkers walks into the dressing room while you’re applying a thin layer of gloss to your lips.

“Never in a million years will you guess who just walked in,” Asha, better known by her stage name Vixen, states in lieu of a greeting. You glance at her through the mirror, your brows raising slightly. She’s dressed to the nines, her make-up gorgeous, and she smoothes out her hair while she waits for your answer.

“Hello, Asha,” you deadpan. “Yes, I’ve had a good day, thanks for asking.”

“Girl!” Asha kisses her teeth while she rolls her eyes at you. “You’re so high maintenance.”

You allow yourself a ghost of a grin, capping your gloss and spinning in your chair to face her. “Okay, who? Was it another rapper? Athletes? Married man?”

“Depends on your definition of rapper; yes, they’re all athletes; and I’m pretty sure there’s at least one or two people in there who are married, but they’re not men,” Asha responds.

You hum. “Well, who are we to yuck their yum?”

Asha huffs, annoyed at the fact that you’re not really reacting, before finally saying, “It’s the Wings, girl. As in the WNBA team. As in First Team All-Studs. I’m either walking out of here tonight with hundreds in my purse or a wife. Shit, maybe Arike’s looking for a third.”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. That morning, before you and Paige went your separate ways – you to the gym and Paige to practice, she’d told you that they’d be out on the town tonight to celebrate some of their rookies, although you thought that would include the bar and some drinks, not a strip club. Knowing Paige, bringing her team to your club wouldn’t have been her first choice, so you figure someone else on her team had the bright idea. You weren’t upset, mostly amused since Paige tends to react to the club in the same way she does while walking through the lingerie section in Victoria’s Secret store – with a lot of dramatic horror like she’s not allowed to look at anyone that’s not you.

You like to joke you have her pretty house-trained, but you find it more endearing than anything else, and you trust your girlfriend.

“I’m sure Arike is very happy in her current relationship,” you say apologetically, knowing first hand that she is. You’d been to their place for dinner many times and Arike practically worships the ground Lala walks on.

“Let me dream,” Asha bemoans. Then, a sly grin appears on her face, and she slides a little closer to you, almost conspiratorially. “You plottin’ on any of them? I think I saw Paige Bueckers out there.”

You smile knowingly, trying not to laugh at Asha’s ignorance – a testament to how quiet you’d kept your relationship. “She’s fine,” you agree, trying to not look too helplessly in love. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll want a private show.”

Her grin widens, but you’re both out of time – one of the stage managers knocks on the door to announce your call time. Asha wishes you luck while you strap on your heels, making your way backstage. The manager guides you to your spot and you take a deep breath in preparation, adjusting the thin, teasing bikini cover over your body. It hides the matching set you’re wearing – an alluring, dark red with glittering rhinestones. You have half a mind to steal it and take it back home with you, but knowing Paige, she’d probably object and buy you a different set entirely for your eyes only.

On cue, you walk out in time with the music, a slow, sultry R&B song, and you make eye contact with the people crowding the stage. The lights, while usually dimmer, have been brightened slightly in preparation for your set. You make your way to the front of the stage, where you’re amused to see your girlfriend and her team waiting. Paige’s eyes brighten at the sight of you, drinking you in, drawing her lip between her teeth almost absentmindedly. 

Deciding to tease her a little, you spin on your heel, your back to her as you pull your cover down inch by devastating inch. Your motions are deliberate, revealing miles upon miles of smooth skin, the lingerie covering your body, the lights catching the rhinestones perfectly. You’re practically glowing. With the cover in your hand, you crouch, making eye contact with Paige, and you smile cunningly at her while you wrap the cover around the back of her neck, pulling her in.

The crowd’s cheering, but you hardly register them as Paige’s hands find your skin. You brush your lips across her ear, knowing you don’t have much time, and you murmur, “What’s the girlfriend gonna think when she finds out you’re at the club?”

Paige slips a crisp hundred dollar bill into your bralette, her hands lingering longer than necessary, but you don’t mind. Her eyes are glued to your chest for a beat, but when they meet your gaze, her pupils are blown wide with desire and a thinly veiled mischief. “Sin now, beg for forgiveness later, right?” she murmurs over the bass of the music. “I’ll make it up to her.”

Your smirk widens and you release her, intending to actually start your set now. You don’t miss how Paige’s teammates jostle her in excitement. Arike was the only one who knew the truth and she just grins knowingly, shaking her head.

You always lock in when you dance, so your set goes by smoothly and ends before you know it. With a smile, you make one last lap around the stage, interacting with the club-goers and winking at the Wings team. If you blew a kiss to them, then that’s no one’s business but your own, but you make your way off the stage and towards your dressing room to change.

Asha’s up next after you, so she congratulates you on a good set before she’s off to do hers. You’re just barely slipping out of your heels when there’s a knock at the door. Thinking it’s a stage manager, you call for them to come in, but you’re surprised when Neil, one of the club managers, walks in. He’s a new face, hired mostly just to fill the vacancy. You don’t know him well – you usually answer to Nicole, but she’s out for the week on a trip.

“Hey, Neil,” you greet, sliding your cover back on to ward off the room’s chill.

“Hello,” he says stiffly. “I’ve got a gentleman in Private Room C. He’s requesting you.”

“I don’t do private dances anymore,” you say, your tone not apologetic. “I think Jess is available.”

Neil sighs. “You know…” he says, trailing off, and you already know he’s about to say something out of pocket. “This is a business. You’re employed here. At a strip club. This is your job. If you were working at McDonald’s, your boss wouldn’t really like it if you refused to make the burger, right?”

You barely resist an eye roll, retorting, “I don’t actually think that’s the same.”

He clears his throat. “Either way, I wasn’t asking. An investor in the private room wants a show from you, so you will do it. You’re the only one here who thinks they’re above the business and refuses to do private shows. Pull your weight or you can find a different club to dance at.”

You raise your brows, meeting his gaze, and smiling in disbelief. “You’re serious?” you ask, laughing uncomfortably. “You can’t fire me. I’ve been here for years.”

“This is Dallas,” he says noncommittally. “We can find someone to replace you. Someone who actually wants to work. Take your pick.”

You stare at him, shaking your head in contemplation. You didn’t want to do the show – it went against the clear boundary you’d set in your relationship early on, one that has been strictly adhered to for the year and some change you and Paige have been dating. But you didn’t want to jeopardize your job, either. Given that Divinity caters to Dallas’s most wealthy, there’s strict rules the patrons have to adhere to to even step foot in the club. It pays extremely well, but this is also the safest you’ll ever be. 

Maybe you’ll get the chance to see Paige before you have to go to the room – just to quickly explain. She’d understand. You knew she would, and that you would make it up to her tenfold. But this feels strangely like betraying her and it leaves a sick feeling in your gut.

“One minute,” you say finally. Neil’s eyes narrow. “One minute is all he gets. You know I don’t do private dances.”

“Five minutes,” Neil bargains. “He’s paying a lot.”

“One minute,” you reiterate. 

“Fine,” he huffs.

You strap your heels back on, trying to control your features. You walk out with Neil following directly behind you. Knowing you won’t be able to detour to find Paige, you slow your steps, scanning the crowd for her. Finally, you spot her at a table in the back, nursing a drink and talking to Arike, clearly not interested in the show anymore. You’re praying for her to look up and meet your gaze before it’s too late – and she does, her expression lighting up at the sight of you before her eyes narrow, knowing where you’re headed. Hoping that she gets the message, you gesture meaningfully to Neil, and she nods, but she looks no less pissed.

Feeling a little more relieved, you try for a smile, pulling back the curtain in the private room and entering. Thankfully, the man sitting on the couch at least looks polite, so you hope that this minute will go by quickly. He attempts to make small talk, commenting on how good your set was as you slide your cover off again, but your heart isn’t in it. Your training goes out of the window and so does every pre-rehearsed line you’ve ever had to use in the past.

You spin, listening for the beat in from the music overhead, but you’re too lost in your thoughts, unable to commit to it fully. Thankfully, you don’t have to for too long because the curtain rips open again.

“Sorry,” Paige says, but she doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic as she steps in between you and the investor, who looks shocked. “She’s spoken for. Scheduling conflict.”

Without waiting for a response from you or the man, she reaches for your cover, wrapping it around your shoulders and ushering you out of the room with her hand on the small of your back. All you feel is a deep relief, letting her lead you to the glass elevators that lead to the private lounges and the managerial offices. The private lounges were usually set aside for reservations, something more elite than the VIP sections, but they’re empty tonight, as are the managerial offices.

The club has a few floors with the managerial offices at the very top. They stick out over the rest of the club almost like a balcony, with floor to ceiling glass walls, allowing for people to stare out at the stage and the seating area, but it’s usually too dim for the patrons to see up. It’s particularly effective for keeping an eye on everything and searching for unruly guests. Up here, it’s like a one way glass – fully private. You can see out but no one can see in.

“I didn’t want to do it,” you rush out as the doors close behind you. You watch the stage disappear as the elevator takes you both up.

Paige’s arm curls fully around your waist, pulling you into her. “I know, baby,” she says, but her voice is still tight. Pissed. Not at you, but at something.

You hardly hear her words. “Neil made me,” you explain, making sure she understands how seriously you see that boundary. You know she knows, but right now, you’re a little anxious, and you want it to be obvious. “He threatened to fire me.”

“I’ll deal with him,” she promises, her voice still dark as she presses her lips to your temple, your forehead. You have no doubt in your mind that she would, but the reassurance makes your heartbeat calm. The elevators open with a sharp ding! Paige leads you out and towards the managerial offices, her hand heavily over your waist, burning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, leaning into her, the cool silk of her fitted, white dress shirt cold against your heated skin. “I was just a little pissed. But I’m good now.” She hums, trailing her fingers down your sides in a way that almost makes you forget. Your body burns for a different reason now. Swallowing thickly, you admit, “Just wanna be close to you.”

You can almost feel Paige’s smile as she dips her head down, her breath hitting your ear. “Do you?” she murmurs, her voice low, sharp, like she’s daring for someone to try to take you away from her. She leads you towards the glass wall, pressing you against it gently, her chest to your back. Your breath hitches, your eyes scanning the floor below you – dozens of people lost in their own world, in the dancer controlling the stage, too unaware of the fact that if they looked up, they’d see Paige Bueckers holding her girlfriend against the glass.

It’s almost thrilling. The fact you can see all of these people, but they can’t see you. You know they can’t see you, even if it looks like they can.

Paige’s hands trail to your shoulders, reaching for your thin, lacy cover, pulling it off with an agonizing slowness. Her lips follow the path, dancing across your shoulders with a gentle laziness, like she has all the time in the world to pick you apart. Her kisses burn, stoking a flame in your belly that’s been ready to ignite since she slipped the bill into your bralette earlier. She calms the heat with her tongue, licking your skin and groaning at the flavor like she can’t get enough of it.

Finally, your cover is off, and she throws it somewhere to the side without a care in the world. Her hands find your hips, squeezing possessively, and a moan slips from your lips when she presses lingering, wet kisses to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder. You shudder when her fingers trail down, slipping under the waistband of your lingerie, but she doesn’t touch you – she just hovers. Something about the reminder that despite it all, despite the many different facets of your life that she doesn’t control, that she refuses to control, your pleasure is the one thing she takes the most pride in. She has all the time in the world to figure out how she wants to touch you, how she wants to work you up.

“Just want me to take care of you, don’t you?” she hums against your skin. You nod immediately, feeling the flush settle on your skin, something in your brain floating away because you know you’re safe here. You can relax and let Paige handle it all. She kisses your skin once more before finally, she presses her hips into you, and your breath stutters. You can feel the outline of the strap in her pants, every maddening inch of the silicone. It makes you shudder with want, your arousal already leaking out and soaking your lingerie – you can feel it.

Something smart returns to you and you laugh a little, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder, letting her wrap you up fully. Slowly, she grinds the strap against you, her breath coming a little heavier due to the dual stimulation. “Optimist, are you?”

Paige bites the lobe of your ear, her smile turning a little dark as she pulls you tighter against her. “JJ wanted to go out,” she murmurs in your ear, slipping her hand fully under the waistband of your lingerie. “Some club called Divinity, she said. Figured my girl would want a little break. Just me and her, a private room. She works so hard, you know?” Her fingers find your wetness like it’s second nature and she groans in delight when she discovers just how slick, how ready you are. “Oh, baby,” she coos, her voice dripping in sin and concern. “All this for me?”

“Nobody else,” you affirm, and she rewards you with a deep kiss to your jaw, a firmer swipe against your clit. It makes your hips buck before she steadies you. “P, please, need it so bad.”

“I know,” she says. Her fingers are everything and nothing, reaching down to your entrance, gathering the arousal pooled there, and using it to rub maddening circles against you. The stimulation is simultaneously overwhelming and not enough, especially coupled with the realization that anyone could look up and see Paige Bueckers ruining you against a window.

Her hips are insistent against yours, controlled in how they give you the slightest bit of friction before pulling away. You’re aware she’s holding you up fully by this point, so you give into it, reaching up with your right hand to thread your fingers through her hair, dragging her back down to your neck.

She doesn’t hesitate, her tongue licking from the base of your throat to your pulse point, smiling when she feels the relentless pounding of your heart against her lips. You can’t find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when her fingers are circling your sensitive clit like her pleasure depends on whether or not you’re feeling good.

“All those people down there…” Paige whispers, her teeth scraping against your skin, the heat of her grin branding her name into your skin. “They don’t know what I have up here. That the woman they throw their salary at comes home to me. That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Touch you like this.”

“Fuck, Paige,” you whimper, feeling boneless when her fingers speed up ever so slightly, your body trembling and buzzing under her ministrations. She presses her lips against your shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle there, not letting up until a dark spot blooms under her touch. She kisses it gently, tongue swiping over the mark, almost as though she’s rewarding you for being good, for taking it. Her pride unravels you and your breathing comes in quick bursts, feeling ready to fall apart.

“You want my fingers, mama?” she coos, shaking her head in displeasure when you nod.

She doesn’t have to say anything – you correct yourself immediately when the fingers on your clit slow. Your fingers tighten in her hair for stability as you babble, “Want them, P, please. Want you to make me feel good. Please–” You cut yourself off with a moan when her fingers resume their speed and press a little firmer into you.

“That’s it,” Paige soothes, her lips kissing your heated skin gently, her soft words a gentle contrast from the intensity of her fingers. It’s nearly shocking, the dual sensations muddling your brain. “Lean against the window for me.”

You do as she says, letting her guide you to her liking, your palms pressed flat against the glass. Your forehead presses against the window, the sweat beading at your hairline smudging the surface, and Paige enters your personal space immediately. She tangles her fingers into the waistband of your lingerie and pulls them down your thighs with a devastating slowness, groaning to herself when a strand of your slick sticks to the fabric and breaks when the stretch is too much. The lingerie pools at your knees and Paige presses her hips flush against your ass, grinding against you until you’re pushing back in search of friction.

You don’t have the time to beg. She reads the sheer need in your expression immediately, her arms wrapping around your waist, knees pushing your legs apart. Your breath fogs against the glass, and if you look close enough, you can just barely see your reflection staring back at you – hair messy, lips red from your teeth, the shine of your neck from Paige’s efforts. You can see the sharp outline of her smile, too, like the idea of claiming you in front of everyone in this club is exciting.

She wasn’t usually jealous. You were hers, she was yours, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. But possessive? She wanted to show everyone who you were with, who gets to take the skimpy lingerie off of you after long nights. She wants everyone to be well aware of the fact that while they’re the ones fantasizing, she’s the one who gets to hold, to touch, to ruin you for anyone else.

Her mouth finds your neck while the opening notes of Kali Uchis’s Territorial reverberates through the club below. You can feel the bass coursing through your veins, the tinkling strings raising goosebumps on your flesh. Every sensation nearly fades to background noise when Paige’s fingers settle on your clit again, dragging through your folds to coat them in your slick, and her middle finger probes your entrance before sliding in with ease.

The motion punches dual moans from the both of you, yours in pleasure, hers in a near disbelief. No matter how many times she gets you off, the feeling of your cunt sucking up her fingers is one that gets her right every time. You clench, already feeling her brush against the spot that makes electricity course down your spine, moaning wantonly when she curls just right.

With her free hand, she cups your chest, thumb brushing against a nipple covered by the thin lace of your top. You gasp at the feeling, your forehead dropping onto the glass, fingers twisting around nothing, and the hand kneading your breast redirects to lift your chin. “Watch them,” Paige orders, her voice rough, wrecked. “Let them see who’s fucking you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, heat coiling in your belly at her words. You try to focus, you really do, but your vision blurs when Paige slides in her ring finger, her pace increasing in speed and intensity. If keeping your eyes on the club below you wasn’t hard enough, then it becomes near impossible when Paige’s slow grind against your ass starts up again, her soft sighs and choked moans like music to your ears as she chases a high you have to strain to see.

Her reflection in the glass is the perfect image of someone who’s ruined. Her hair is a mess from how you tangled your fingers in the strands, her brows pinched together in pleasure when the base of the strap brushes against her clit just right. It’s hot – really, really fucking hot, watching and listening to Paige lose her mind rutting against you while her fingers work you up to a quickly approaching high.

The flames lick at your skin, sweat slicking every inch of your body, your breath fogging the glass in front of you. The knowledge that you’re wholly hers combined with the feeling of her fingers scissoring in and out of you, knowing which buttons to push as if you were an extension of her, makes you keen, your hips unsure of whether or not they should buck into her or grind down in time with her fingers. You settle on both, gyrating and chasing your high, but you all but whine when her hand abandons your chin to press against your sensitive clit.

It’s overwhelming – Paige’s fingers curling inside you, pushing in and out relentlessly, her opposite hand rubbing delicious circles against your needy clit, the strap against your ass, your nipples brushing against the cool glass, and the breathless sound of your girlfriend’s moans as she gets off behind you is enough to push you closer and closer to the peak. With a broken gasp, you cry out, “Fuck, P, close,” and she nods against the sweat-slick skin of your neck.

Her hips slam into yours with a little more intensity, pushing you into the glass, both of her hands increasing their pace and pressure in tandem. “I know, mama,” she rasps, leaving marks on your skin, the indents of her teeth left in their wake. Paige sounds destroyed, like she’s moments away from unraveling completely. All that does is push you to the edge. “Give it to me, baby. Gonna make me so proud, aren’t you? My perfect girl.”

You come with a breathless shudder, unable to force the words through your windpipe, and Paige sags against you, her lips jerking messily while her fingers slowly work you through the lingering shockwaves of your orgasm. The cool glass is like a balm against your skin, the sensation so needed while your skin burns and sizzles from the electricity. Paige is panting heavily into your ear – it reminds you that she’d gotten off, too, just from grinding against you. That makes the heat coiling in your belly return tenfold.

You push yourself off of the glass window, hardly thinking about the smudges on the surface, and Paige steadies your hips when your legs tremble. You turn in her embrace, smiling when she wraps you up, pressing your back against the glass now. She kisses your lips – deep, lingering, tongue probing for an entrance that you grant immediately. With her left hand, she pulls your lingerie off completely, tossing the bottoms to the side haphazardly, and she lifts you into her arms with ease. Your legs wrap around her waist, arms around her neck, as she begins mouthing down your chest.

“Nicole’s gonna be so pissed when she gets back from her trip and realizes someone got defiled against her glass window,” you mutter in between heaving breaths.

Paige smirks against your skin, dragging your bra down with her teeth, encircling a nipple with her lips, causing you to gasp. “Defiled is crazy work,” she mumbles. “I prefer worship.”

“You’re annoying,” you say, your body betraying your words when you arch into her mouth.

She squeezes your ass, walking the two of you backwards until her knees hit an armchair and she sinks down, pulling you onto her lap. The front of her pants are wet – you can’t tell if it’s yours, or hers, or a mixture of both, but it just makes you hungry when you pull her up to kiss you again. “You’re spoiled,” she retorts, fingers reaching up for the clasps of your bra. You let her pull it off you completely, smiling to yourself when she stares at you like you’re one of the ancient wonders of the world. “And so, so fucking fine. Jesus.”

You laugh against her lips, your fingers working on unbuckling her belt. She lifts her hips to help you pull her pants and boxers down in one quick motion and you quirk a brow at the sight of the slick between her thighs. You swipe a finger through the wetness accumulated on her legs, sucking it into your mouth with an indulgent moan. That makes the smug smile on her face disappear, and she grips your thighs tightly like she’d lose her mind if you weren’t on her strap immediately. “Can’t believe you came untouched,” you tease, your fingers dancing across the silicone gently. Paige tenses like she could feel it.

“You could touch me right now and fix that,” she offers, voice a little choked, her hips bucking up in invitation. You can’t help the way your mouth waters, knowing that Paige would have you right in minutes.

Instead of giving her what she wants, you stand up, your heels still giving you a slight height advantage over her as she manspreads in the armchair. She pouts, looking disappointed at your departure, but you lean over her and begin unbuttoning her shirt. With your breasts so close to her face, she looks determinedly less upset, although you have to swat her hand away when she tries to touch you.

“Rule one of lap dances,” you murmur, voice silky smooth, “is that you can’t touch the performers.”

“Shit,” she breathes, eyes widening in realization. “You’re killin’ me, mama.”

With her shirt fully unbuttoned, you slide it off her shoulders, leaving her in a dark sports bra. You grin at her wickedly, pulling her shirt over your arms as you coo, “I know.” Her jaw falls open in lust and disbelief at the sight of you – messy, fucked out, and wearing nothing but your heels and her shirt, which is multiple sizes too big on you. You don’t button it, but the message is the same. Paige always liked seeing you in her clothes, and now? You can tell she’s actually going to lose her mind.

She leans back in the armchair, one hand gripping the armrest, the other resting on her thigh, fingers twitching. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so much unadulterated want on her face. With the Kali Uchis song still playing distantly in the club, you stalk over to her in slow, calculated movements, hips swaying. Paige doesn’t know where to look – your face, your chest, the glistening spot in between your legs. She breathes heavily the closer you get.

You settle both hands on the armrests, leaning over her, not reprimanding her when her lips brush against your chest, seeking out your nipples. You inch closer to her ear, breath fanning against the shell of it as you murmur the lyrics of the song to her. “See, I’m a lover, but I’ll go to war about mine, toe to toe.” Her breath hitches, but you’re gone as quickly as you’d come, turning your back to her.

Your hips move sensually, hypnotically, and you can feel that you have Paige’s undivided attention. Reaching for her left hand, you bring it to your waist, allowing her to lift the back of your shirt so she can get a clear view of your ass. She groans emphatically, her hand falling to squeeze your flesh. It makes your breath catch, too, the feel of her hand swallowing your skin.

You spin around again, the song fading away with the lyrics, “Once I claim my territory, I get territorial,” but you stop in your tracks. Paige’s free hand is wrapped around the strap, stroking absentmindedly as if it were an extension of herself, veins popping and expression gone. You’re throbbing immediately, wanting nothing more than to crawl onto her lap and let her have her way with you, but she takes matters into her own hands.

Paige reaches out for you, spinning you until your back is to her, and she lowers you gently. You sink down slowly. The stretch is delicious, nearly overwhelming as it splits you open, and the both of you moan at the feeling. Both of her hands reach up to cup your breasts as your ass settles flush against her lap, the strap hitting deep inside, and you’re feeling so wound up you could probably fall apart right now with her breathing unevenly in your ear, fingers tweaking your nipples, and her hands kneading your breasts.

Her manspread widens, her hips bucking up to drag the strap in and out of you. You grip the armrest with both hands, using it to lift yourself up and down, head throwing back in a drawn out moan when Paige emphasizes a thrust with a pinch. The slight sting of pain mixes with the pleasure, creating a heady, devastating feeling in your core, and you melt when Paige licks a stripe up your neck again, sucking bruises into the skin of your shoulder.

Her right hand drops, leaving her left to brush against your nipples, traveling down your front to brush through your folds. You gasp at the feeling, whimpering when she coats her fingers in your slick and starts circling your clit again. She curses under her breath. You can’t tell for sure if it’s because of the sheer amount of wetness waiting for her or if it’s because she glanced down, watching your cunt suck the strap right in. Regardless of the reasons, her hips are canting up against yours, timing your thrusts together.

It doesn’t take long before moans are tumbling from your lips quicker now. Her fingers speed up, rubbing against your oversensitive clit with precision and pressure, the hand that was fondling your breasts dropping down to your hip to help you ride her, your legs giving out from the pleasure and the exertion. She’s rambling nonsense in your ear, more sound than words, but you’re able to make out, “You feel so good, mama, taking me so well. So fucking perfect for me. Want you to come for me, please, baby – give it to me–”

The sound of her breathless moans in your ear, the pressure of her fingers on your clit, her hand bruising your hips – it’s enough to send you over the edge. With hardly a warning, you spill all over her lap, your slick soaking the strap, the armchair beneath you, and she brings you down from your high with incoherent words and slowing her thrusts and fingers.

Energy gone, you’re more than ready to curl up with her in this armchair, but her hips shift – discreetly, like she’s still searching for her release and trying to play it off like she’s just trying to get comfortable. It makes you feel guilty immediately. She makes a soft noise of protest as you hoist yourself off her lap, your legs wobbling, and she shoots forward to steady you, a look of confusion on her face. The confusion melts into desire when you sink to your knees before her, fingers reaching to unbuckle the harness, but she pauses you with a hand to your wrists.

“You don’t gotta–” she tries, but you cut her off with a firm, “Paige Madison,” and she shuts up immediately, leaning back in the armchair. You haphazardly discard the strap to the side, curling your arms around her thighs. Before you press your lips to her dripping cunt, she grabs your loose hair, holding it in a ponytail with her hand. You kiss her clit in thanks, smiling when her hips jolt and she sighs softly.

You brush the flat of your tongue across her slit in one smooth motion, moaning at the taste and at the feeling of her grip tightening in your hair, dragging you closer to her. Listening to her wordless command and knowing that she probably doesn’t need much to come, you drink her up like you’re parched, sucking her clit in your mouth and suctioning with your lips. Paige grunts, her hips bucking up, and you don’t stop her, letting her chase her high against your mouth.

You alternate between kitten licks against her clit and long, flat strokes of your tongue against her cunt. It’s not often that you get to see her like this – fucked out and ruined, pliant and soft beneath you, dripping messily onto the surface below, but it never fails to activate a part of your brain that wants to watch her come over and over again.

Wanting to see her fall apart beneath you, you double down on your efforts, your tongue sliding messily through her folds and sucking at her clit until she cries out. You tighten your grip just as she tightens her grip on your hair, pulling you even closer into her – and if this is the last thing you see before you drown, her soaked cunt and the watery, pleading expression on her face, then you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Fuck, mama, ‘m so close,” she rambles, her hips moving against you with a fervor, chest heaving. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You hum against her, and she whines, moans falling from her lips until she chokes on the last one. Her thighs tense around you, caging you in as she comes, a long, drawn out groan reverberating through the room while you work her through the aftershocks. You lick once more, twice, until she releases your hair and pushes you away, too sensitive after two orgasms.

Paige doesn’t let you get too far. She pulls you back onto her lap, arms wrapping around your waist while you wipe her slick off of your cheeks, sucking the taste off of your fingers. She catches your wrist on the last one, sucking your thumb into her mouth and humming emphatically at your combined tastes. You smile coyly at her, thinking about nothing more than getting her home tonight and making her writhe. You sit motionlessly in her lap while she cleans off all of your fingers.

“You want more?” you ask teasingly, not really meaning it, but raising your brows when she nods quickly, her eyes blown wide. The heat is already licking at you as you grip her jaw with one hand, leaning over her face, and her mouth opens obediently. You let a string of saliva fall from your mouth directly onto her tongue and she swallows immediately with a low groan of pleasure.

You don’t get to say much else before she’s pulling you back in, your lips crashing together messily, her tongue swiping across your lips in search of more. It draws a ragged moan from you, one that she monopolizes on instantly. It’s like she’s trying to swallow you alive, to memorize the way you taste when her slick is on your tongue. It makes your brain spin pleasantly before she pulls away, a dangerous sort of glint in her eyes, but it softens when she sees the blissed out smile on your face.

“You okay?” she murmurs, squeezing your hips, and just like that, the heat of the moment fades – for now.

“I should be asking you that,” you joke. “Could have sworn you blacked out for a moment.”

“Shit, I might have,” she agrees, drawing a breathless giggle from you. You lean your head on your chest, listening to the vibration of her voice against you as she asks. “For real. You’re okay?”

You don’t have to ask for clarity to know she’s referring to before, to Neil. “I’m okay,” you promise, more glad than anything that Paige came in when she did. “Nicole’s gonna be pissed, though. Not even about the window.”

Paige hums, the sound almost noncommittal, but you’ve been with her long enough to know she’s being dead serious about a situation. If the moment were any lighter, she’d probably make a joke about you snitching – but you might be the one thing in the world she doesn’t play about. “I’ll handle him,” she swears, her tone hard enough that it makes you shift on her lap. She doesn’t even notice, which amuses you, but she continues speaking, her voice thoughtful. “I know you like working here. Dancing. It’s safe for you. But don’t let that make you feel like…you don’t have other options, you know? As long as I’m around, you don’t have to worry. Don’t let Neil – or anyone else – threaten to take this place away from you. Your safety and happiness are important to me.”

You soften, her words hitting home. Paige doesn’t pressure you to say anything – she never does, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin. “Thank you,” you say eventually, and she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, like that’s something she needs to be thanked for. Paige would move mountains for you – you knew that. “I appreciate that. And for you looking out for me.”

Paige presses a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against your skin, and she murmurs, “You’re my girl. I’ll always look out for you. Especially when you dance like that.”

You roll your eyes as she laughs, but you’re inexplicably happy. You kiss her again, softly requesting, “Take me home?” and Paige doesn’t hesitate. Not even a little bit, even though her clothes are a mess, her mascara is flaking, and she looks like she’s been put through a woodchipper. Your girlfriend might be a little territorial, but the one thing you know about her is that she’s always going to make sure you’re taken care of.

(When you wake up in the morning to Paige’s smug grin, you check the work group chat at her insistence, where Nicole is informing everyone about Neil’s termination. 

“Neil got fired,” you say flatly.

“Oh, wow,” Paige says innocently, but her beaming grin breaks through her feigned nonchalance. “That’s really unfortunate.”

You huff in amusement, turning off your phone and setting it on the nightstand. You swing a leg over her waist to straddle her and she wastes no time before resting her hands on your hips, sinking into the pillows beneath her, a chain glimmering in the morning sunlight, her smile far too satisfied. “You’re insane,” you murmur, like it bothers you. It doesn’t.

“Mmm,” she hums, pulling you down to her level to kiss you. “Think you like it.”

All you can do is grin, because you do. You really, really do like it.)

[bumblebeeappletree]

I’d think, if you have a balcony, try to grow some plants and have a little water source (like a bowl full of rocks or marbles and water) for insects to still have an oasis. Try to see if there’s a spot you can turn into a community garden. Guerrilla Gardening can be great for native plants, but in some spaces with a soil test and you know won’t get polluted, you can also plant edible ones. There’s also something called Guerrilla Grafting where you can graft different tree branches onto other trees. They have to be similar enough though. For example, you can graft many different types of stone fruit, peaches plums apricots and so on, together. You can’t, however, graft an apple tree branch onto a pear tree.

There’s also sharing zines around, be it at little libraries or just random spots. Here’s a great website from an art collective named Gliese! They aim to help teach people a bit of art history outside of the white centric ones often taught in schools. (They even have a zine about Solarpunk!) You can put up some informational posters. Graffiti is also something you can do if you feel you’re up to it.

If you think you’re particularly knowledgeable about something, see if you can host a class at your local library. (Psst, also go and recommend some Solarpunk books for your library to get. Then remember to go check them out so they know that people want it. Also go ask them if they can get large print and braille versions of said books.) Even if you don’t, want to host a class, go see what events they’re doing and join in on the fun! Bring your friends and family! These events are made for the people so enjoy if and when you can!

Get a tenants/renters union if you’re not already in one!

Go and meet your neighbors. Interact with them. You might not like all of them but it’s important to know who you live by.

See if you can get some sort of potluck event together. Ideally a Foods Not Bombs chapter should be near you. You if not you could probably start one! But anyways, try to get different types of food there. Maybe have fun with it and have people share the recipe they used to make the meal. (Also let people eat only what they bring. If someone’s highly allergic or have some other strict dietary restrictions then they don’t want to risk any cross contamination. In that note if someone can’t be in the same space as like roasted peanuts due to the air maybe add some restrictions to what could be made or have a specific warning that this event includes such and such meals, and that the next event won’t.)

Donate to your food bank/pantry! Ideally they want money, but see if you can give them a call and see what they’re low on and you can go find those items and donate them. If there’s some little free pantries or free fridges, what you can do is make a bag full of pantry foods and put in a recipe of what these foods can make together. This YouTube channel Dollar Tree Dinners has some good ideas if you want a look.

This is what I can think off of the top of my head. If anyone else has any ideas please share!

Hey solarpunk community! In light of several posts that have been going around, I was thinking it would be worthwhile to talk about the real, physical things we can do to make this world a more solarpunk place. Because speculation and aesthetics and thinkpieces are awesome, but a movement isn’t a movement without real action behind it. So what are things we can all do to make the present closer to our solarpunk future?

[heartyluv]

Plz give the girls a full fwb!caleb fic ur little ficlet was so good like it had my cootamunk QUIVERING ‼️

Note: I just want you to know that cootamunk has had me in tears since yesterday. Literally couldn’t stop laughing and now I can’t stop saying it. You’re a hilarious genius and I luv you. This is for you, babe. Enjoy!

Creds to @/anitalenia and @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut, Caleb is a little controlling and rough.

Word Count: 2,251

Summary: Caleb finds out that you’re trying to go on a date and shuts that shit down.

Jealous&FriendsWithBenefits!Caleb/Reader

Hey. You up?

The notification that appears at the top of your phone screen stops your doom scrolling. You smile just a little to see that familiar message with the name accompanying it. You look at the time, not surprised that it’s almost two in the morning. You never go to bed at the time you intend to, unintentionally looking and reading through a whole bunch of things from your roulette of consistently used apps.

You open your messages, twiddling your thumbs before you get ready to answer. Tonight could go one of two ways: You’re either about to be put to bed with sex or you’re about be up for another hour or two watching something you’ve already seen before until you and Caleb pass out on the couch.

When Caleb proposed being your first after you shared your fears of giving yourself to someone who didn’t deserve it, you thought he was joking. But when he looked at you with those serious eyes you’ve grown to be able to identify so well, you knew that you were about to tread into some dangerous territory. But you let it happen, and you were convinced that if you ever had sex again, it wouldn’t be what Caleb showed you, what he did to you.

You’ll never forget his gentleness, his praise and respect. The way he put you and your needs above his own. Your thighs always press together just thinking about how you watched him slide on a condom and look into your eyes before he began to slip inside. You worried about pain, but Caleb had prepared you so well, gotten you so wet, that it was nothing but blissful pleasure.

“You’re doing so good for me. I got you, pretty.”

“It’s okay, hold onto me. I’ll make sure it feels good.”

“If you need me to stop, don’t hesitate to tell me. This is about you.”

You were addicted. And you were scared that your newfound desire for consistent sex was because it was Caleb who made you feel so good. You tried convincing yourself that you just wanted to feel that full and taken care of again, but you knew better.

No other man would do what he did—would feel like he did. So when you vented to Caleb about how much you enjoyed yourself, you played it off and said that it was going to be scary showing yourself like this again to a stranger. But, then he said what you would’ve never had the guts to.

“We can still have sex if you want. I mean, neither of us are dating or anything. Friends with benefits, you know? It doesn’t hurt to just feel good and we trust each other enough.”

You didn’t hesitate to accept and it’s been history ever since. He comes over all the time and you still operate like friends, but when he’s hard and you’re wet, you two fuck like a couple madly in love.

He always comes over at some point when he has a break or you go to his place. If he’s up for it—he always is—he’ll make the drive to your apartment when it’s past midnight because he tends to get off work late. Tonight is no different. Finally, you start to write your reply.

Hey. Yeah, everything okay?

Yeah. I’m outside. Open up?

Your eyebrows raise in shock. He’s outside already? That’s a first.

Your oversized shirts falls mid thigh when you stand and you walk to your front door, not needing any light to see since the moon is so bright that it casts a gentle light into your open floored space. When you open the door, Caleb looks at you with a tight smile.

“You sure you’re okay? You texted me like you weren’t here, yet you were standing outside this whole time,” you chuckle. But Caleb doesn’t laugh, he just holds that expression that you can’t read.

He steps inside when you move over and you shut the door behind him, locking it while looking at him take off his sweater.

“Caleb—” you start, but he’s cupping the side of your face and kissing you with so much intensity. You accept it, melting into his hold as your hands snake into his hair, pressing your body close to his as your tongue licks at his mouth.

It must be one of those nights where we talk after, you think. He’s done this before and so have you, where you’re so overwhelmed with something that you need to release physically before you can do it verbally.

He’s eager in his urge to pull your clothes off, tickling your skin with his fingertips as he grabs the hem of your shirt to lift it over your head. You’re just as grabby, pulling his shirt off and tugging at his pants to get them down. You kiss your way to the couch and he falls backwards when you gently push him.

You can see him, but just barely. You don’t feel like cutting a light on, so the moon illuminating through your windows will have to do. You slide your panties off and your pussy squeezes around nothing when you hear how ragged his breathing is and the wet noises that you know is him stroking his cock.

You crawl onto his lap, bracing your knees on both sides of him as you raise your hips. You put one hand on his shoulder and use the other to grip his length to put him where you both need.

“Caleb…Oh my god…” you whine as your body takes him inside, making you two become one.

You feel him twitch inside your walls as you start to move just a little bit, rubbing your breast against your palm as you hold onto him.

“I’m in love with you,” he finally speaks for the first time since his arrival and you nearly freeze, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps your hips moving, keeps thrusting into you from beneath as you choke on your breath from his words and actions.

“The thought of you letting anyone but me get the privilege to see you like this makes me fucking nauseous.” He kisses your shoulder as he moves snugly within your warm cunt, and all you can do is listen to him because he’s not giving you a second to speak.

“Could you deal with me killing a man for you? Because if you ever let him experience this, I wouldn’t hesitate. Tell me what you need from me and I’ll become that and more to fulfill your every desire.”

You whimper as he grabs your ass tightly, keeping you moving so that you take him ass deep as you can.

“Caleb, what are you—What happened?” you say breathlessly, confused and thrown off by his confession. Every time you try to stop moving, he won’t allow it.

Caleb doesn’t want you to stop because if you stop feeling how good he makes you feel, you’ll try and find a way to bullshit him.

“You think I’m going to let you leave me?” he groans when you squeeze him. “I know about your little date. Remember what you told me when we started this?”

You never told him anything, but you’re not surprised that he was able to find this out. Caleb always finds his ways and you’ve never understood how. The date was harmless, setup by a coworker of yours after she told you the guy liked you and he didn’t seem bad, so you figured—why not? Well now, you know you made a terrible mistake.

You do remember what you said, and it replays in your mind like a voice recording.

“If either of us start dating or anything, we have to cut this off. There won’t be anymore sex, but we could still be friends. But if someone can’t deal with that, it’s healthy for us to just cut ties entirely.”

“Yeah, you remember,” he licks your neck. “I never agreed, I just let you try and ignore your feelings because you said you weren’t ready for a relationship. But now?” he abruptly stands with him seated inside of you to the brim.

“It looks like I have to make the right decision for both of us.”

He walks through your dark apartment into your room with your small lamp on. You turned it on before you got up to answer the door and you’re glad you did, because you can see him so clearly now. And he looks hurt—hurt and angry.

“Caleb I didn’t mean—”

He roughly throws you down into the bed, still pulsing inside. You don’t even understand how he’s this fucking strong, but it’s turning you on so much that you know his cock is soaked with your slick.

“What?” he growls, cutting you off, grabbing your hands and placing them above your head as he starts to pound into you so hard that you can’t breathe. Your bed physically moves, you hear the frame grate against the floor.

“To hurt me, huh? To make me have to think that you were going to choose someone else over me? Over us?” He spreads your legs, spearing into you over and over while your breasts bounce in his face. He roughly takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking the peaked nub. He starts to suck on your breasts, leaving red marks that he intends to keep on you so you’ll always look in the mirror and know who owns you.

He angles himself, sitting on his knees and you don’t know how he’s able to make you so flexible right now, but you’ve never been so spread in your life. His hand comes to your throat, not putting pressure but it’s telling you what you two are without it needing to be said.

“Caleb…” you hiccup. “I can’t..I’m gonna—”

You’re going dizzy at how hard he’s fucking you, how he’s punishing your cervix with each brutally delicious thrust. His head falls to your neck while he keeps your throat in his palm, and when you hear him sniffle, you damn near cry yourself. You move your hands from above your head where he put them, tugging on his hair and tracing his back while his hips never lose their momentum.

“I’ll make you see. I’ll make you realize how much I belong to you. I want to live in your body, I want to stay a part of you forever. I’ll do everything in my power, baby. Please take me, please, please don’t make me have to know what it’s like without you.”

“I’ll never do that you,” you whine as he circles his hips to make you feel every thick inch. “I’m sorry…I’m here..”

“Show me how sorry,” you feel wetness of what you believe is a tear drop on your neck as he continues to hide his face in it. “I’m not pulling out. Let me put my cum inside you. I want you to feel it. You’ll let me, won’t you? Please tell me yes, baby… I’m so fucking close..”

“Yes,” you affirm, your own orgasm impending. “Give it to me, Caleb…”

And when he whimpers as he slams into you just a few more times, his heavy load floods your fertile pussy as his cock fucks it into you deep. Even when you cry out from how hard you finished, he’s still slowly rocking his hips, making you and him both feel that mix of pleasure and pain from overstimulation.

You feel the cum start to spill out, falling down and pooling beneath your ass. It sticks to your skin and stains your sheets but you don’t care. If you could stay like this forever, you would.

He finally pulls back to look at you and even if his eyes aren’t red, his face is flushed and you can see the wetness on his long eyelashes. Gently, you take your thumbs to his eyes to wipe his tears. You pull him down, kissing him so sloppily that you don’t care how messy it is. He follows your lead without hesitation, sticking his tongue down your throat and making you both pour the rest of yourselves into one another.

He bucks his hips, his cock slightly moving inside of you as a reminder that he’s still there—that he’ll always be. He’s not giving you a choice but to let him. And you can’t stop clenching, you can’t stop your hole from wanting to bring him deeper, to keep him there.

“Caleb,” you say softly when you two are forced to pull away to catch your breath.

He just stares down at you, his eyes dancing across your face as his breath becomes steady.

“I’m in love with you too.”

He smiles hard, holding you tight as you wrap your arms around him. He’s more than happy that the feeling was mutual, that you want him just as much. Because he wasn’t exaggerating about killing a man for even daring to think that he could have you. He wasn’t playing when he said that you’d never leave him.

But hopefully, you’ll never have to find out how far he’ll go. A man like Caleb in love is a man who has no shame or fear, other than losing you. And he’ll go great lengths to prove that.

“Forever,” he mumbles. “You’re never leaving me.”

“Never,” you kiss his neck. “I promise.”

And he intends to make sure you keep it.

[joelcrush]

Let Me Learn You

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: mdni, | age gap | oral (f & m) | fingering | unprotected sex | size kink | dirty talk | praise + possession | face grabbing | mild & mutual obsession | Joel being emotionally unwell about it in the hottest way | no outbreak word count - 7.7k summary - Your dad’s old friend Joel helps you move. You don’t see the tension—but he does. And when it finally breaks, there’s no going back. A slow build into something filthy, soft, and completely his.

part one part two

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your place was already too warm by the time the couch got wedged in the hallway.

Boxes everywhere. Cabinets open. You’d been living out of a backpack for three days and still hadn’t figured out where to put your bath towels or your coffee mugs. But it was your first place, and the chaos felt kind of earned. You weren’t expecting help until later, but someone knocked just after noon. When you opened the door, a man was already walking up the short front path. Mid-40s, maybe older. Black shirt. Solid frame. A calm face that didn’t give much away.

“Your dad said you might need help with furniture,” he said. “Oh—yeah. I didn’t know he sent someone already.”

He nodded once, like that was enough talking, and stepped inside when you held the door open. You moved a box out of his way and watched him take in the space.

“Sorry it’s such a mess. I’m still figuring things out.”

“That’s what movin’ is,” he said, and then he gestured toward the hallway. “You want that couch in there?”

You nodded. “Yeah, that’s the living room.”

He got to work without another word.

You grabbed the lighter end automatically, even though he didn’t ask, and together you managed to get the thing unstuck from the hallway and into place. He didn’t struggle much. Barely looked winded. You didn’t talk a lot while he moved the rest. Just helped where you could—pointed at where things should go, said thank you more than necessary. He wasn’t cold, just quiet. Direct. There was something steadying about it, actually. The way he barely blinked when you offered him a half-finished bottle of water or said you were probably gonna live with a broken bookshelf for the rest of time.

“You don’t need a new one,” he said. “Just better anchors.” “That sounds like something a bookshelf would say right before collapsing on me in my sleep.”

That made him smile. Small, quick, but you saw it.

He finished sooner than you expected. Wiped his hands on his jeans. Gave a little grunt of finality like he was mentally checking the job off a list. You followed him toward the door, grabbing a new bottle of water from the fridge.

“Thanks again,” you said, handing it to him. “Seriously. I would’ve been here all day trying to flip the mattress on my own.”

“No problem.” He took it, his hand brushing yours. “Glad to help.”

Then, like it was nothing:

“Take it easy, sweetheart.”

The word didn’t stick. Not in a weird way. Just something he said, maybe a habit. You smiled, nodded.

“See you around, probably.”

He left with a short nod and a low “mmhm” that barely registered before the door clicked shut behind him.

You didn’t think twice about it.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He wasn’t planning on saying yes when her dad called.

It was supposed to be his day off. A list of errands to half-ignore. Tools to clean, laundry to avoid. But then the man mentioned his daughter—first place on her own, said she was “barely five feet and stubborn as hell,” trying to move a bed frame solo.

Joel didn’t ask for details. Just wrote down the address and showed up twenty minutes later with a socket wrench in his back pocket and a short list of things he was telling himself this wasn’t. He was expecting someone anxious. Chatty. The kind of girl who got overwhelmed easily and didn’t know the difference between drywall and brick. He wasn’t expecting her.

She opened the door barefoot, shirt hanging off one shoulder, hair barely held in place by a clip. A box cutter was still in her hand. She blinked like she forgot anyone else existed.

“Oh—yeah. Hi. Come in.”

She didn’t look twice at him. Didn’t pause or fidget or start fixing her hair. She just waved him in and apologized for the mess, like he gave a shit. Joel followed her inside, slow, eyes catching on the curve of her back as she bent to move a box. Her legs were bare—soft, clean skin above the knee, and a pair of shorts that weren’t trying to be anything but comfortable.

It didn’t mean anything. Didn’t have to. He kept his voice steady.

“Your dad said you needed help with the bed frame?”

She nodded, smiled like it was nothing. “Yeah—it’s in the bedroom. Not built yet. It’s kind of in pieces, sorry.”

Joel just grunted, made his way down the hall, and tried not to think about how small her bed was. How soft the mattress looked when he pressed it into place. How nice her voice sounded when she laughed at herself.

She stayed close. Helped with one end of the dresser. Pulled things out of boxes while he worked. Told him about the bookshelf she half-built and already gave up on.

“It’s gonna collapse on me in my sleep. Death by IKEA.”

He’d smiled. Couldn’t help it.

She had no idea how easily she pulled reactions out of him.

She moved like no one was watching. Sat with her legs folded under her. Hummed along with her phone when music came on. Handed him tools without making it weird. Said thank you every single time like she meant it. He tried not to stare at her mouth when she talked. The way she bit her lip when thinking. The little breath she let out when lifting something heavier than expected. By the time he finished, his hands were itching. His jaw ached from how tight he’d kept it the whole time. He took the water bottle she offered him, let their fingers brush for half a second too long, then stepped toward the door before he did something dumb.

“Thanks again,” she said behind him, voice easy, warm. “I would’ve been here all day trying to flip the mattress on my own.”

“No problem.” He forced the words out. “Glad to help.”

He turned back to her. She was smiling, casual, eyes bright but unreadable.

“Take it easy, sweetheart.”

It slipped out. Not flirtation. Not even affection. Just… instinct. Something familiar to fill the space before it got quiet enough to admit what he was actually thinking. She didn’t react. Just nodded and said see you around.

She didn’t know.

Didn’t even fucking know.

Joel walked down the steps with his jaw tight, grip still too firm around the neck of the water bottle. He told himself he wasn’t coming back unless she called. And that if she did—

He’d keep his hands to himself.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your shelf gave out around 11:45 on a Tuesday night.

You weren’t surprised. It had been tilted since move-in, bowing just slightly in the middle. You told yourself it’d be fine as long as you didn’t put anything too heavy on it—which was, in retrospect, a lie. Three cookbooks and a ceramic bowl later, it tipped forward and slid halfway off the wall with a low, dramatic creak.

You stared at it for a minute from the hallway, then texted your dad.

Me: hey do you still have joel’s number? the guy who helped move the bed?

He sent it over right away.

Dad: What’d you break lol Me: nothing important

You stared at Joel’s number for a second. Then tapped out a quick message.

Me: hi! this is y/n, from the move-in last week. my shelf kinda fell off the wall and i think i stripped one of the screws trying to fix it. no rush at all but if you’re around sometime this week, i’d really appreciate the help.

You hovered over “send” for about half a second—then hit it.

He replied later that morning:

Joel: I can come by after 6.

You changed into a hoodie and shorts after work, didn’t think twice about it. Hair up. Face clean. You weren’t trying to impress anyone—you were just tired. You cleared the area near the shelf, shoved the broken screws into a Ziploc, and ate half a granola bar standing at the counter while you waited. 

When the knock came, you opened the door barefoot again.

“Hey,” you said, stepping back. “Thanks for coming.”

He nodded once, stepping inside, his tool bag slung low in one hand.

“This the one?” “Yeah. It gave up.”

He crouched without hesitation, unzipping the bag and pulling out a drill. You moved to the side, then bent down next to him without thinking—knees close to his, your hip brushing his arm as you leaned on one hand. 

He stilled, just for a second. You didn’t notice.

“I tried to tighten it again myself,” you said, squinting at the side bracket, “but I think I stripped the screw.”

“Probably,” he said. “Wrong kind for drywall.”

You rested your chin in your hand, watching as he fit a new anchor in place. His hands moved slow, careful. He didn’t fumble or double check. Just measured, placed, and drove the screw in clean.

“You make it look easy,” you said, and you meant it.

He didn’t respond right away.

“It is,” he said eventually. “Just takes practice.”

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft breath. Felt the hoodie rise slightly against your ribs but didn’t bother fixing it.

“I should learn,” you said. “So I don’t have to keep bugging you.”

“You’re not,” he said. Quick. Low.

You blinked. Looked at him.

He was still focused on the wall. Like the drywall had something real important to say. When he finished, you stood and stepped back, brushing off your legs as he gave the shelf a firm test tug. It held.

“All good now,” he said, rising.

You smiled. “You’re magic.”

He didn’t smile back—not fully—but something in his face shifted. Like he wanted to.

“Seriously, thank you,” you added, walking toward the kitchen. “Do I owe you anything for the anchor things?”

“No.” “Not even like, a coffee or something?” “You don’t owe me,” he repeated. “You needed help. That’s all.”

You turned, leaning your hip on the counter, granola bar wrapper in your hand.

“Well I still appreciate it.”

Joel adjusted the strap of his bag.

“Text if anything else breaks.” “Hopefully that’s not a weekly thing.” “You never know.”

He walked to the door, pulled it open.

“Night, Joel.” “Take care,” he said. Then, after a pause—“See you.”

You nodded once. Locked the door behind him. Then turned back to clean up the mess of drywall dust on the floor, not thinking twice about how close you'd been. Not even wondering what he’d seen when you bent down next to him.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He shouldn’t have said yes.

He told himself that the first time, and again when her text came in. He sat there with the phone in his hand, staring at the words like they meant something bigger than they were.

Her: hi! this is y/n, from the move-in last week. my shelf kinda fell off the wall and i think i stripped one of the screws trying to fix it. no rush at all but if you’re around sometime this week, i’d really appreciate the help.

It was polite. Friendly. Clear. Not flirty. Not suggestive. Still ruined him anyway.

He told himself not to answer right away. Answered anyway.

Him: I can come by after 6.

And that was that.

She opened the door in that same kind of outfit—something soft and small and lived-in. Hoodie half-tucked, legs bare to mid-thigh, hair up in a clip that didn’t look like it was doing much.

He looked at her face. Only her face.

“Hey,” she said, stepping back to let him in. “Thanks for coming.”

“This the one?” “Yeah. It gave up.”

She smiled like it was no big deal, then followed him to the wall.

He crouched low, unzipped his bag, pulled out the drill.

And then—then—she crouched down beside him. No hesitation. Her knee knocked gently into his. Her hip brushed his arm. She planted her hand beside him, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin.

Joel’s heart stuttered hard in his chest.

She didn’t notice.

“I tried to tighten it again myself,” she said, leaning in closer. “But I think I stripped the screw.”

“Probably,” he said, throat dry. “Wrong kind for drywall.”

She rested her chin in her palm. Her shorts rode up slightly as she shifted her weight.

He didn’t look.

He absolutely looked.

“You make it look easy.”

He didn’t answer right away. Couldn't.

“It is,” he managed. “Just takes practice.”

And then she stretched. Arms over her head. Hoodie lifting just enough to expose the soft dip of her waist, a sliver of skin above the waistband of her shorts. She sighed like she’d been holding her breath all day.

He almost did something stupid.

“I should learn,” she said. “So I don’t have to keep bugging you.”

“You’re not.”

Too fast. Too hard.

She blinked at him, caught off guard. He didn’t meet her eyes. Couldn’t. Focused on the drywall like it was going to crawl off the wall if he didn’t stare it down.

When he stood, she did too. Watched him test the shelf, nod in approval.

“You’re magic,” she said.

He wasn’t. If he was, he’d disappear before he did something he’d regret.

“Seriously, thank you. Do I owe you anything for the anchor things?” “No.” “Not even like a coffee or something?” “You don’t owe me,” he said again, voice rough. “You needed help. That’s all.”

That was supposed to be it. His line. His boundary.

Then she leaned against the counter. Granola bar in hand. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. Looking at him like he was just… normal. Like she wasn’t killing him without even trying.

“Well I still appreciate it.”

“Text if anything else breaks.” “Hopefully that’s not a weekly thing.” “You never know.”

He turned toward the door before his mouth could get ahead of him. Opened it. Let the cooler evening air hit his face.

“Night, Joel.”

“Take care,” he said.

He hesitated and looked back.

“See you.”

Then he left before he could fuck it all up. He didn’t even make it to the car before he had to stop and breathe. Stared at his truck like it might help. Gripped the edge of the driver’s side door like he needed something solid to hang onto. She had no idea.

Didn’t even know what she was doing. Didn’t know what she’d done.

And that? That was the worst part.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

You hadn't seen Joel in almost two weeks.

You hadn’t needed anything since. The apartment was starting to feel like yours now—boxes gone, rugs laid down, kitchen mostly organized. You spent your mornings with coffee by the window and your evenings on the couch with a book or something half-watched on TV. Quiet. Repetitive. In a good way.

Some nights, you stayed up too late just rearranging cabinets or deciding which drawer made the most sense for silverware. It wasn’t that deep. It just felt nice—having your own space, your own rules, your own rhythms.

Every once in a while, you’d think about Joel. Not in a way that meant anything. Just—when something squeaked. Or when the fridge made a sound you didn’t trust. He was the kind of person who’d know what it meant. That’s all.

So when the kitchen drawer started acting weird—handle loose, catching on something inside—you didn’t think twice.

You grabbed your phone and texted him:

You: hi. sorry to bother you again but my kitchen drawer is being weird. handle’s all wobbly and i have no clue what i’m doing. if you’re around, i’d love the help. but no pressure!

He replied an hour later:

Joel: I’ll be there after five.

He showed up in a navy work shirt this time. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Same tool bag. Same quiet expression.

“Handle loose?” “Yeah. It’s barely hanging on.”

You gestured toward the drawer, stepping out of the way. He crouched beside it, tugging gently on the knob. Watched it tilt sideways and catch.

“You got a screwdriver?”

You blinked. “Somewhere. I think.”

He gave a low hum—noncommittal—and set his bag down.

You turned toward the junk drawer, rummaging through it with one hand, then realized the screwdriver you did have had rolled under the counter the other night when you tried to open a wine bottle with it.

You spotted it—tucked just behind the leg of the lower cabinet.

“Wait—I think it’s down there.”

You bent at the waist, one hand on the counter, reaching for it blindly. 

Behind you, Joel went still. You didn’t see it—didn’t turn around. Didn’t notice how close he was standing. Just grabbed the screwdriver, stood back up, and turned to hand it to him.

“Found it. Not that I know how to use it.”

He took it slowly. Said nothing at first.

“This one’s fine,” he said, glancing it over. “You wanna try?”

You blinked. “You mean actually fix it?”

“Why not.”

You smiled, stepping in beside him as he held the drawer open. He pointed to the screw just inside the panel.

“This one’s backing out. You wanna keep it flush. Push in, twist clockwise.”

You crouched down again beside him and lined it up—then tried to turn it. It slipped.

“Here,” he said, quiet again.

His hand came around yours, firm and steady, guiding your wrist. His palm covered the back of your hand easily, fingers calloused but warm.

“Like that,” he murmured. “Gentle pressure.”

Your breath caught—not sharply, just enough to notice. Enough to make you pause. His chest brushed your shoulder. He didn’t move away. You kept your eyes on the drawer. Focused.

“I think I got it.”

He let go a beat later. Stepped back just slightly.

“Good,” he said. “It’s in.”

When you both stood again, you smiled without thinking. A little dazed, maybe, but content.

“Thanks,” you said, and meant it. “That was kind of satisfying.”

“Yeah?” he said, voice a touch rougher than before. “Guess it’s worth teaching.”

You laughed. “Well I’ll still probably text you next time something breaks.”

He nodded once. Looked at you for just a second too long.

“You’re welcome,” he said finally. “Glad to help.”

He left not long after. And once again, you stayed in the kitchen long after he was gone, still holding the screwdriver in your hand like it was worth something.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He told himself it didn’t mean anything.

It was just a drawer. A loose handle. Five minutes of work, tops. She’d probably be busy—on the phone, cleaning, half-distracted. He’d fix it, nod politely, get out before he did something stupid.

And then she opened the door. Same bare legs. Same oversized hoodie, sleeves pushed up her forearms. Her hair was clipped back messily, like she hadn’t thought about it once.

She smiled when she saw him.

“Yeah. It’s barely hanging on.”

She pointed to the drawer like it wasn’t a trap.

Joel crouched, checked the damage, asked for a screwdriver even though he already had one. Just to hear her laugh. Just to keep her talking.

“Somewhere. I think.”

She turned to look for it, rummaging like she’d forget it halfway through.

And then she bent.

Bent.

At the waist. One hand braced on the counter. Shorts lifting just enough to expose the full curve of her thighs, the soft underside he’d been trying not to think about for weeks. He was behind her. Close.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

She had no idea. She came back up like nothing happened. Smiled as she handed it to him. No pause, no shift in her voice. Like she wasn’t burning him alive.

“Found it. Not that I know how to use it.”

He wanted to tell her. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.

But he just nodded. Told her to try. Handed her the screwdriver like it was a test.

She crouched beside him. Elbow bumped his. Her shoulder brushed his chest.

He stared at her hands, small and careful, fingers slipping once.

“Here.”

He wrapped his hand over hers, gently. Guided her wrist, pressed his palm to the back of her hand to steady her grip. 

And that was it. That was the fucking moment. He felt it—heat, want, something hard and undeniable sparking low in his spine. She was so close. Warm. Smelling like laundry detergent and faint vanilla and something softer underneath it all. She looked so serious. So focused.

She didn’t notice. Didn’t shift away. Didn’t tease. Didn’t flinch.

When he let go, her fingers flexed just once. She smiled at the drawer like it had passed a test.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “That was kind of satisfying.”

Joel couldn’t speak for a second. His jaw was locked. His pulse loud.

“Yeah?” he managed. “Guess it’s worth teaching.”

She laughed, soft and light. Like nothing had happened.

He nodded when she said she’d probably text again soon. Forced himself to turn around. Told her “glad to help” like it wasn’t the fucking truth.

He made it out the door without letting it show. Made it to his truck before his breath caught.

But he didn’t drive home right away. He sat there with his hands on the wheel, hard and shaking, and his dick aching so bad it bordered on painful. Her laugh. Her legs. Her little thank you. The fucking bend.

He drove home with one thing on his mind. Locked the door behind him. Dropped the bag. Went straight to the bathroom. Unzipped his jeans, fist already tight around the base of his cock before he even got the water running. Leaned hard against the counter, eyes closed. Thought of her on her knees—not because she meant to be there. Just crouched beside him, bare skin brushing his arm, looking up like he was someone worth listening to.

He came fast.

Too fast.

Palm braced to the mirror. Breathing rough.

Still hard. Still wanting.

It wasn’t the first time. He thought of her more than he admitted. At night, especially. When the house was quiet and the TV was off and there was nothing left to distract him. He saw her laugh. Saw the way she sat cross-legged on the floor. The way she always said thank you. The way she smiled when she held the door open and didn’t look at him twice.

She didn’t know.

And that was the thing he hated most.

Because part of him was starting to hope that one day she would.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your door wasn’t broken, not really.

It latched. It locked. But sometimes it stuck, and sometimes it didn’t. The key turned stiff. The frame shifted just slightly when it rained. You weren’t sure if it was normal, but the idea of it not working right—the thought of forgetting to double check it before bed—had started to settle in your chest the way small anxieties do.

You told yourself it wasn’t worth bothering anyone. Then you texted Joel anyway.

You: hey—sorry again lol but do you mind checking something with the door lock? it’s probably fine but i’m paranoid and you’re the only one who knows what they’re doing.

He replied quickly, like always.

Joel: I’ll stop by. Be there in an hour.

You didn’t rush to get ready. Just changed out of your tank with the bleach stain and pulled on a clean one. Combed your hair. Opened the windows to let the evening breeze in. You weren’t trying to make anything of it.

But when he knocked, your stomach did that quiet fluttery thing anyway. He looked the same. Always did. Button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled high, work-worn jeans, one hand loose at his side and the other around the handle of his tool bag.

“Door’s acting up?” he asked as he stepped inside.

You nodded. 

“It’s probably nothing. The latch just sticks sometimes. Or it clicks too fast. I don’t know—I don’t want to lock myself out one day and realize it’s been busted this whole time.”

He gave a small grunt in response, already crouching near the frame, running his hand along the wood with practiced ease. You leaned against the counter and watched him move—quiet, focused, not in a hurry. There was something oddly calming about the way he handled things. Like he could break something down and make it make sense without saying much at all.

He worked in silence, checking the alignment, nudging the hinge with his thumb. He didn’t ask for tools. Didn’t explain what he was doing. Just moved like someone who’d done this a hundred times before. You stayed still. Tried not to let your eyes linger too long.

But when he bent to inspect the strike plate—shoulders flexing under the fabric of his shirt, jaw set tight as he leaned into the motion—you looked. Just for a second. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him crouched over things before. You had. The bed, the shelf, the drawer. But something about tonight felt… closer. Or quieter. Like your apartment had shrunk while he was in it.

He stood again, twisting the deadbolt back and forth until it slid smoothly.

“Heat’s probably pushing the frame out a little,” he said. “Wasn’t latching clean. Fixed now.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

You didn’t move right away. Neither did he. He glanced toward you, eyes unreadable, and for just a second the silence stretched—not awkward, but full. Charged. Something in your chest stuttered.

“I feel like I should pay you for this,” you said lightly, voice thinner than you meant it to be.

Joel shook his head. “You know I don’t want that.”

The way he said it made your throat go tight.

He stepped forward to put a tool back in his bag, and as he passed, his arm brushed yours—bare skin to bare skin—and the contact left something behind. Something warm. You could still feel it after he moved away.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the counter.

He picked up the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and didn’t speak again until he reached the door.

His voice was low this time. Softer.

“You keep the bolt oiled, it’ll stay smooth.”

You nodded. Didn’t say anything.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You heard the door click behind him. And you didn’t move for a while.

Just stood there, hand still pressed to the spot where he’d touched you, wondering when his voice started sounding like that in your head. Then—

The doorknob turned again. You’d forgotten you hadn’t locked it yet.

He hadn’t made it far—probably still on the porch—maybe he forgot something, maybe—

You opened it just a little.

Joel was still there. One hand at his side, the other adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He looked up like he was about to say something, but didn’t.

And before you could stop yourself—

“Wait.”

He blinked.

You opened the door a little wider. Stepped back.

“Do you… wanna stay a little longer?”

It came out too fast. Not flirty. Not smooth. Not even really intentional.

You didn’t know why you said it. You weren’t lonely. You weren’t scared. You didn’t need anything. You just didn’t want him to go. Joel didn’t move at first. Just looked at you—slowly, like he was trying to understand something you hadn’t even figured out yet.

“I mean—if you’re not busy,” you added quickly. “Or if you don’t want to drive yet. I don’t know. It’s dumb. Forget it.”

He didn’t let you spiral. Just said it, quiet and even:

“You sure?”

It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t hopeful. It was serious. Rough around the edges. Like he needed to hear you say it twice, just so he wouldn’t do something he couldn’t take back.

You swallowed.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Joel didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just stepped back inside. You shut the door behind him, heart hammering like you were the one who had something to hide. You didn’t know what you wanted. But you wanted it to be him. 

You didn’t know what to offer him. He’d already fixed the door. Already stepped back inside. It wasn’t like there was something to do—no show to watch, no dinner to finish.  

So you said:

“You can sit if you want.”

And he did. Took the end of the couch like he was still on duty. Leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands folded. He didn’t relax. He didn’t sprawl. Just… sat.

You curled into the other corner. Pulled your legs under you. Told yourself not to overthink it.

At first, it was small talk. Something about the weather. The construction noise a few blocks down. You said your neighbor’s dog barked like it had been through a war and Joel let out the smallest huff of a laugh. It was easy. Comfortable.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the quiet stretched again and your eyes drifted—slow, unthinking—to the way his forearms rested across his thighs. To the line of his profile in the soft light. To the way he looked at the floor like he was trying not to look at you.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your legs. Your knee bumped his.

Just a brush. Just skin.

But it was something. 

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

Your breath slowed in your chest like it was afraid to make a sound. You said something then—you couldn’t even remember what. A question. Something about where he grew up. Or maybe if he liked his job. Anything to fill the space.

He answered softly. Nothing too deep. But his voice had dropped again—lower, quieter, like it only belonged in the room you were sharing. You nodded along. Fiddled with the hem of your tank top. Your hands were warm. You didn’t know why.

A few more minutes passed. A few more glances. The energy never spiked. It just sat between you—thick and warm and new.

Eventually, he checked the time.

“I should head out.”

You nodded.

“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

You walked him to the door again. He didn’t look at you quite the same way. And when you said goodnight, it came out quieter than you meant.

He said your name, low and even.

“Take care.”

You locked the door behind him. Checked it twice, like that would make the moment last longer. The living room felt different after he left. Not colder. Not empty. Just… aware. Like the air had shifted around you and was still trying to settle. You stood there for a while. Then turned out the lights. Got a glass of water. Tried to act normal. But when you passed the couch—that spot—you felt it again.

That hum under your skin.

The tension in your chest.

The way your breath had slowed when his knee touched yours.

You went to bed without brushing your hair. Climbed under the blanket and stared at the ceiling like it had answers. It didn’t. You closed your eyes. And the first thing you thought of was his voice. That low “take care” at the door. The way he said your name. The way his hands looked when he fixed things—rough, steady, careful. You exhaled, quiet and shaky. Your thighs pressed together beneath the blanket.

You didn’t mean to. Didn’t plan it. But your hand slid down anyway.

Just over your stomach. Just under the hem of your shirt. You weren’t thinking clearly, weren’t even sure why you were doing it—but your body was buzzing, hot, still echoing from the way it had felt sitting next to him. You touched yourself softly. Slowly. Just enough to take the edge off the ache you didn’t know how to name.

You didn’t say his name. But you thought about his hands. And somehow... that was worse.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

It was around 8 pm the next day when she texted.

Her: hey—are you around?

No other details. No broken drawer. No explanation. Just like the night before.

Joel had spent most of that day trying not to think about her. Didn’t work. He kept seeing her—how she looked when she asked him to stay. The way she leaned on the counter, lip tucked between her teeth like she didn’t know what she was doing to him. He kept hearing her voice in the dark. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

He didn’t know what the hell she thought this was. He didn’t even know what he thought it was anymore. But when she sent that message, he didn’t hesitate.

He answered.

Him: Yeah. You need something? Her: no just—wanted to see you if you’re not busy

He read that last part twice. Then grabbed his keys.

Her apartment was dim when she let him in—lights low, one lamp near the window, something soft playing in the background. She wore a ribbed tank top and sleep shorts, her hair half-clipped up, a faint line across her cheek like she’d just woken up from a nap on the couch.

She didn’t look nervous. But she didn’t meet his eyes right away either.

“Hi,” she said.

That was it. No reason. No problem to solve.

Joel stepped inside and felt his body lock up almost immediately. The air felt too warm. The room too quiet. Like the walls knew something he didn’t.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. Smiled. Tucked her leg up on the couch and motioned for him to sit.

“I just didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

She said it lightly, like it didn’t mean anything. But Joel could feel it. Something was different.

He sat at the opposite end of the couch. It felt too small. She curled up in her usual spot, blanket draped over her legs, a glass of water resting on her thigh. Her foot brushed against the cushion near his hip when she shifted. She didn’t pull it away.

He couldn’t focus on what she was saying. Some story about her neighbor’s smoke alarm going off for two hours, about how she tried banging on the wall but it didn’t help. He nodded when he should. Said “yeah” once. Let her talk.

But all he could think about was how good she smelled.

How soft her voice was.

How close her knee was to touching his.

The worst part was how normal it looked. From the outside, it could’ve been nothing. Just two people sitting. One talking. The other listening. But inside him, everything was clenched.

Every time she tucked her hair behind her ear. Every time her tank top shifted when she reached for her glass. Every time her voice went quiet at the end of a sentence. It was like being on fire. Quietly. And she didn’t even notice.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. Maybe an hour, maybe more. The sound of her voice, the way she laughed at her own joke, the curve of her body under that blanket—it all started to stack up. He shifted once. Adjusted the way he sat. It didn’t help. His hands were too still. His legs too tense. His jeans too tight across his thighs.

He wanted to leave.

And he wanted to stay forever.

Eventually, she leaned back a little, head against the cushion, voice low.

“It’s nice when you’re here.”

Joel didn’t respond. He couldn’t. 

She looked over at him. Eyes soft. Barely searching. And God help him—he almost reached for her. Almost touched her ankle where it peeked out from the blanket. Almost slid his hand over her knee and just held it there. But he didn’t.

He just nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

When she walked him to the door an hour later, she said goodnight the same way she always did. But her voice had changed. And Joel? Joel barely made it to his truck before he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and sat there in the dark, breathing like he’d just run six miles uphill.

She didn’t need anything from him. She just wanted him there. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep coming over without letting her know what that did to him.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

It was 6 pm on a Thursday. You had just gotten home from work and settled in.

You weren’t expecting anyone. You hadn’t texted him. Hadn’t broken anything. You’d just been pacing a little—half-folding laundry, checking your phone without a reason, replaying the sound of his voice from last night in your head. It was quiet. Too quiet. 

You were mid-sip of water when the knock came. Not loud. Just two firm knocks—confident. Familiar. Your breath caught before your brain caught up. You set the glass down and wiped your hands on your shorts. Walked to the door slowly. When you opened it—he was already looking at you.

Joel. Still in work clothes. Shirt wrinkled, sweat at his collar, bag slung off one shoulder. His eyes didn’t move like they usually did. No casual sweep of the room. No distant quiet. They were on you. And they stayed there.

“Hi,” you said, soft. “I didn’t know you were—”

“I know.”

His voice was rough. Tired. Not angry. Just… decided.

You blinked. Your fingers curled lightly around the edge of the door.

“Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. And then, without breaking eye contact— “Can I come in?”

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

She opened the door wearing that same look she always had with him—soft, unsure, like she didn’t even know what she was doing.

But he did. He knew. It had hit him earlier that day, hours after he left—when he realized how long she’d watched him from the couch. How quiet she’d gone. How the blanket had slipped down just far enough to show the top of her thigh and she hadn’t pulled it back up.

She’d wanted him there. Not because she was lonely. Because she wanted him. And that was it. That was the fucking end of his restraint. He hadn’t called. Hadn’t thought it through. Just got in the truck. Drove straight to her door. And now he was standing inside her apartment, watching her back away slowly as he stepped in. She looked nervous—but not scared. Like her body was catching up to something her brain hadn’t named yet. 

Joel dropped his bag by the door.

“You sure you’re not just bein’ polite?” he asked quietly. “What?” she blinked. “You didn’t ask me to fix anything.”

She shook her head once, eyes wide.

“No. I just… wanted to see you.”

He stared at her. Then took one slow step closer.

“You ever let anybody else in here just because you wanted to see ‘em?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Joel’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped.

“Didn’t think so.”

She was still standing by the doorway, arms at her sides, breathing like she didn’t trust her own chest to move too much. Joel took another step.

Closer.

Slow.

The silence between them folded into something heavier.

“Why’d you really want me here?”

She blinked, lips parting. No words. Just air. He could see it in her eyes—the hesitation, the pull, the heat she hadn’t admitted to herself yet. And it wrecked him.

“You don’t even know,” he murmured. “Do you?”

She swallowed. Didn’t speak.

“You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

That made her breath catch.

He stepped even closer, so close now he could feel the warmth coming off her skin, could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.

“Every time I come over here. Every time you call. Every time you smile like that like I ain’t comin’ apart at the fuckin’ seams…”

His hand twitched at his side. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t move.

“You sit there in your little tank tops. You lean close. You say my name like it don’t mean nothin’. And you don’t even know.”

She was staring up at him now—still quiet, still frozen—but there was something in her eyes.

A question.

A need.

She whispered it, like it wasn’t even meant to be heard.

“What if I do?”

Joel went still. Just for a beat. Then—

He moved. Not rushed. Not soft. Just real—a hand at her jaw, fingers curling gently but firmly, tilting her face up. Not a kiss. Not yet. His mouth hovered just over hers, breath mingling, eyes locked.

“You say that again, baby… I won’t be able to walk away.”

Her eyes flicked down to his mouth. Then back to his eyes. She didn’t say it again. But she didn’t move. And she didn’t stop him when his forehead came to rest gently against hers.

“Tell me to leave,” he rasped, jaw tight. “If I stay, I won’t keep pretendin’ I don’t want you.”

She didn’t say a word. And that silence? 

That was all he needed.

She just looked up at him with those wide, careful eyes, breath slow and warm on his mouth. And he knew.

Joel’s hand slipped from her jaw to the back of her neck, slow and certain, and the second his mouth touched hers—it was over.

Soft at first. Gentle. Like maybe he could stop himself if he started slow. But then she made a sound—something small, something like a sigh—and it wrecked him.

He pulled her in. Gripped her waist, pressed her back against the wall without meaning to. Mouth open now, kissing her like he needed it, like it had been building for years instead of weeks. Her hands slid up his chest, shaky, unsure, fingertips digging into the fabric like she didn’t know what to hold on to.

“Joel—”

She breathed it like she couldn’t help it. Like it was already a habit.

He groaned, low and deep into her mouth, then pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Tell me to stop.”

She blinked, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Didn’t say a word.

He kissed her again. This time rougher—hands in her hair, thigh between hers, tongue tasting the little gasps she gave him. She clung to him like she didn’t know what else to do, and he let her. Let her pull, let her press up against him, let her feel everything he’d been trying to hide.

He dragged his mouth down her neck, nipped lightly at her collarbone.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he muttered, voice ragged.

She whispered back, almost dazed:

“I want to.”

That was it.

Joel lifted her without thinking. Hands on her thighs, walking her backward through the apartment until the backs of her knees hit the couch. He laid her down gently. Crawled over her slow.

She looked up at him like she was still trying to believe this was real.

He kissed her softer this time—one hand braced by her head, the other brushing her cheek.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely there.

She nodded—then paused.

Eyes searching his face. Lips parted, like the words were already sitting there, waiting to fall out.

“I’ve never…” she breathed. “Not like this.”

Joel froze. Not because he was surprised. But because of how softly she said it. Like it mattered. Like it meant something. Like it wasn’t just about sex—it was him.

She looked up at him, nervous. Exposed. Brave.

“I’ve never been with anyone like this before,” she said again, quieter now.

Something in Joel’s chest cracked wide open. He touched her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone.

“You don’t have to explain that to me, baby.”

His voice was low, almost reverent. His hand cupped her jaw like she was breakable. Like he’d do anything not to hurt her.

“You just tell me how to touch you,” he murmured. “Tell me what you like. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Eyes locked on his. Lips parted. Like something was about to come out, but her breath caught instead.

“I—I don’t know what to… I mean, I’ve never—”

Her voice cracked. She swallowed. Blinked fast like she was frustrated for even trying to say it. 

Joel leaned in, hand cradling her face, steady and warm. He kissed the corner of her mouth—just once, gentle—then pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“You don’t have to know what to do.”

“You just let me learn you.”

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. He brought his forehead to hers.

“I’ll go slow,” he murmured. “You wanna stop, you tell me. You want more—I’ll give you more.”

“Joel…” she whispered.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

She looked at him—wide-eyed, nervous, open.

“I want it to be you.”

Joel exhaled like her words physically hit him in the chest. But he didn’t move forward. He leaned in, kissed her—once, slow, firm. Then pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.”

Her face faltered. She looked like she was about to apologize. Joel shook his head—soft, gentle—thumbing her cheek before she could look away.

“I like that you’re new to this. Like that you trust me.” “But I’m not in a rush, baby.”

He kissed her again. Deeper this time.

“Not gonna take you fast. Not gonna take you like you’re just somethin’ I can fuck and leave. I want you feelin’ safe. Wanted.”

She blinked up at him—something between a gasp and a breath catching in her throat.

“I do,” she whispered. “Feel safe.”

That almost did him in. Joel groaned softly and dipped his head, kissing her slower now—longer, lips moving against hers like he was savoring the shape of her mouth. Like he had all night to learn it.

Her hands came up around his neck. Her body pulled him closer. The couch shifted beneath them as he laid her back gently—not to take, not to fuck—but just to have her close.

He kissed her jaw, her cheek, her neck—each one softer than the last. Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently. He let out a breath against her skin.

“You tell me when you’re ready,” he said, voice low. “Until then… I’m gonna take my time.”

She nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed her again.

And for a while, there was nothing but the sound of mouths meeting, breath between them, the soft drag of his fingers over her waist and thighs—not pushing, just exploring.

Not claiming. Just caring.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

You didn’t expect it to feel like this.

His weight above you. His hands slow and steady. His mouth moving like he wanted to memorize you—not take you apart. Joel wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t even undressing you anymore. Just kissing. Letting the couch shift beneath your backs while his hands slid over your waist like it was something precious.

“You tell me when you’re ready,” he’d said.

And you believed him. God, you believed him.

Now his lips were on your throat. Your collarbone. His hand was smoothing over your thigh—up, down, warm, patient—like he wasn’t trying to get anywhere. Just feel. Just touch. You didn’t know your body could light up like this. Every place he kissed felt like it meant something. Your skin tingled. Your breath kept catching—right in that tight little place under your ribs.

You didn’t feel nervous anymore. You felt wanted. Not like a thing. Not like a curiosity. Like something he needed. Like something he’d been waiting for.

“You’re killin’ me,” he whispered suddenly, voice thick and low in your ear.

You smiled—barely.

“Why?”

He kissed your neck again, then your jaw.

“’Cause you don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

That made your stomach drop. Your hips shifted before you could stop them. You didn’t mean to grind up against him—but you did. And he groaned. Deep. From the chest. His body stiffened. Then he backed off just an inch—eyes meeting yours, wild but controlled.

“You want me to stop?”

You shook your head immediately.

“No.”

It came out faster than you meant. Hung in the air between you. He nodded once—then leaned back down, kissing you softer now, his hand cupping your face, holding you like he didn’t want to let go.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” he murmured. “You just let me hold you like this, and that’ll be enough.”

And God— that made your throat tighten. Because you didn’t want to stop either.

You just didn’t know how to say: I want to feel like this forever.

So instead, you whispered,

“Okay.”

And then you let him hold you. Let him kiss you slow. Let his hands slide over your skin like he was trying to learn every inch of it before asking for more.

And for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel nervous about being touched.

You just felt like you wanted to be.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Joel: “Go out with me.”

You hadn’t seen him in about a week.

Not since the night he held you on the couch like something worth keeping. Like he didn’t want to rush, or take, or ruin anything. Just learn you. Kiss you slow.

But he texted. Every day. Never too much—just enough to stay in your head.

Sometimes it was a joke. Sometimes something stupid he saw at the hardware store. You smiled every time his name popped up. Sometimes you reread the things he sent you when you couldn’t sleep. Tonight was quiet. Laundry folded. Tea in your mug. You were halfway through some show you weren’t paying attention to when your phone buzzed again.

Joel: You eaten tonight?

You smiled.

You: not yet. why?

There was a pause—long enough you almost thought he got busy or changed his mind.

Then:

Joel: Thought I’d take you out.

You stared at the screen.

Out.

Not over. Not “swing by.” Not “grab something on the way.”

Out.

You: like… out out? Joel: Yeah. A date.

Your stomach flipped. Then a second message came in.

Joel: Unless that’s not what you want.

You answered fast.

You: no. I do. I want that. Joel: Friday okay? I’ll come get you. You: what should I wear? Joel: Somethin’ you feel good in. Joel: Don’t dress up for me.

Another pause. Then:

Joel: You’re already pretty.

You set the phone down. And sat there for a while, smiling at your hands.

[iamthatonefangirl]

oh look it's me again but uh winter soldier with an exhibitionism kink👀

-🍒

I love u queen

public - nsfw winter soldier

okay so obviously these two are so fucking weird but I really want to explore this fuck ass relationship dynamic, so that’s kind of what I’m doing here. for the sake of writing this scene the way I want to, assume they've never been out in public together before.

fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. pre-established relationship.

~~~

when he grabbed your hand and started dragging you to the bedroom, you assumed you knew exactly what was about to go down.

except when you got there, he didn't immediately pull you into bed. he let go of your hand halfway through the room and walked over to the closet, leaving you stunned. what was he doing?

in a second, he was throwing something at you. you quickly grabbed whatever he'd tossed to you, some article of clothing, and you looked down at it to unfold it.

your little black dress?

you confusedly looked up at him for confirmation, and he nodded, pointing to it.

okay, so he wanted to fuck you while you were wearing the dress, apparently.

~~~

you were way off, apparently.

he wouldn't just tell you what he wanted, of course he wouldn't. when did he ever...

so after you finally realized you were going out, you were floored. he grumbled something about going to a bar, confusing the hell out of you.

so you decided to treat it like any other night out, do your makeup real heavy, thick eyeliner and dark lipstick. you could almost hear his whole body stiffen when he saw you all done up.

so you could still surprise him.

~~~

he took you a fairly decent bar, not one of those dingy crapholes you imagine he might go to while out on a job, looking for whatever sustenance he could find while working.

but still shoddy enough for him to be seen there.

that's when you knew for fact that there was an ulterior motive. sure, there always was with him, but now?

what was the plan here?

he didn't like to be seen, but he seemed to want to show you off. his hand never left your waist once, from the second you walked out the door until the point you ordered your drinks. and even then, he still held you like someone would try to take you from him.

regardless, he wanted the sprinkling of men in the bar to see you. to see that you were all dolled up, dressed nicer than anyone else there, and you were his.

so it's a power trip, you think. to have power over the other men in the room, that he had something they could look at but couldn't touch; could desire but couldn't have. to have the power of knowing he owns you, not only within the walls you live in, but everywhere you go.

you'd never seen him like this before.

you soaked up every second of it, of being the only person he directed any attention to in a room full of people. of finally having the chance to somewhat show off that you were, in fact, taken.

since you'd never have the chance to have a normal relationship with him.

you basked in it as long as you could.

~~~

he watched you every second, like a hawk.

he eyed you when you put on the dress, as you did your makeup so boldly, as you stepped out of the black taxicab. he watched you.

he knew this was a bad idea. he knew being seen in public with you was a bad idea.

but he had an idea in his head, and he wasn't going to back down now. so he plotted it perfectly.

over the course of one or two drinks each, you slowly meandered over to a darker corner of the room, far more sparse with people. men's gazes finally drifted away from you, focusing back on their beers, drowning their thoughts and forgetting entirely about you.

when he pushed you up against the wall, holding you by the hips, you knew.

he's about to pull something. in public.

"James, no," you hiss, holding your glass close to your chest and looking around the room for any onlookers. you found none, and looked back into his eyes.

you'd gotten good at reading him, a man of little expression and even fewer words. you had to given how little he spoke.

so when you looked in his eyes, you knew. he wanted this, but he wouldn't do something so bold without you agreeing.

this is stupid, you think. a terrible, horrible idea...

it's arguably even stupider that you're already out in public together, being seen together. granted, there were no security cameras in the place (something he'd taught you to look for) and nobody that appeared to be suspicious (something you knew he looked for everywhere he went).

so you looked around the room once more before setting down your glass and inching both of your bodies closer into the dark corner. you pulled his chest flush against yours.

and then his hands were on your thighs, trailing up underneath the fabric that left little to the imagination.

this was stupid. he was being reckless.

but he was still a trained... don't think about that.

he's trained for the worst of the worst. if it wasn't safe, he wouldn't do this, wouldn't put you in danger.

at least, that's what you try to tell yourself when your breath hitches. you try to hold it to keep yourself from making any noise as he touches you.

a metal hand comes to grope at your chest, and you swallow down a moan before it can escape your lips. he notices, obviously, and gives you a small nod to laud you for it.

he's on edge, you can tell. still listening to everything happening in the room, prepared for anything that might happen. prepared to get you both the hell out of there at any second should he need to.

his slight distraction makes him act more gently. he eases the hem of your dress up your legs ever so slowly, making only the slightest of adjustments.

his hand on your chest touches you over your dress, pinching at your skin through the thin material to softly rile you up.

this is a bad idea.

this is so fucking hot.

his fingers trail up your inner thighs, gently kicking one of your feet to the side only enough for him to get his hand between your legs. he teases, his fingertips barely making contact with your skin. it's only enough to tickle you, and it makes you shudder the more he does it.

he lays his mouth against your collarbone, placing a bite just enough to surprise you, while his fingers move from your thighs to find where you're not wearing any panties under your dress.

you're sure you feel him smirk against you.

you scan around the room again as he begins to tease, gently testing how tight you are, how wet and ready you are for him.

there's nobody watching, not that you know of. this corner is so dark, and there's not that many people here, and...

he slowly sinks two fingers inside of you, in a room full of half-drunk men you can't trust. in fucking public.

yet there's something about this that you might never get enough of. maybe it's the adrenaline, or it's the feeling of knowing you're the only one he would do this to. the proof that this is real, he is yours.

you decide it's the adrenaline rush.

you lay your head back against the wall as he sucks a hickey over your collarbone, fingers moving so delicately in and out of you, trying to make sure you're making next to no sound between your legs or from your lips.

you do a pretty good job of keeping your composure, you think, as you let him fuck you with his fingers against the wall of a literal bar. he keeps sucking hickeys across your chest above the neckline of your dress, leaving proof that this happened, so you'll both have a reminder for the next week of the crazy, sexy stunt you pulled.

you're never doing this again, you think.

but you're fucking loving letting him do this to you while the rest of the world seems to go about their lives, having no clue of what's going on right under their noses.

his fingers work in perfect rhythm, controlling whatever he can in such an uncontrolled environment.

"gonna come?" he whispers into your ear. it's so low you almost don't hear it, but you understand the sentiment. you nod and whisper, "more," into his ear, hoping no one else hears and catches on.

he gets the point, rubbing his thumb over your clit, now paying close attention to your face.

"my name. when you come," he whispers to you.

all the attempts to be quiet, to keep this dirty secret between the two of you right now, and yet he's still asking you to affirm his claim on you. even while you let him defile you in public, he stills wants the audible confirmation that you're his.

so you dig your fingers into his hair while you're holding him in place in front of you to preserve some of your dignity. he lets you dig your nails into his scalp as you summon all the self-control in your body.

"James," you whisper, little more than an exhale, and you shudder against the wall while you bite down on your lip, refusing to make another noise as you come harder than ever before.

this is the hottest thing he's ever seen, he thinks.

mission accomplished. this is what he wanted, to do this to you right here, tonight.

but he didn't anticipate the thrill being so... enticing.

he grabs your hand in his metal one, leading you across the room, back into the gaze of every man here, and drags you out the door.

you barely fix your dress to cover your modesty before you're in the light again, and you're pretty sure you watch him suck his fingers clean in front of everyone.

you're barely out the door, expecting him to hail a cab, but you're once again proven wrong. it's been a night of nothing but surprises, clearly.

he pulls you by the hand down the road and into a dark, creepy alley on the side of the building where the bar is.

he just can't get enough of this.

he hauls you further into the shadows, and you think you see a rat run by when he pushes you up against the hard brick, holding your head in one hand so it doesn't hit the wall.

he's scrambling, overwhelmed with the desire to take you right here, right now. his hands yank and pull at his belt buckle, trying to hurry up and fuck you already.

your hands are immediately on his, helping him shove fabric to the side before hiking your dress up and wrapping a leg around him to give him easy access.

his metal hand returns to hold your head, his other tightly gripping your leg in place around him, and then he's pushing inside you harshly. this time, you make no efforts to conceal the loud breaths and noises he's evoking from you, and you moan uncontrollably as he rails you in this dark alley in god only knows where.

you can tell he's far more riled up than usual, less worried about taking the time to fuck you properly and more worried about getting you both off. he's growling and heaving, even letting out small little whines every here and there that he'll never admit to, chasing after a climax you're both desperate for.

you get so caught up in the thrill, in the idea of what you're doing and hot wrong but how hot it is, and you're not even aware when you fall apart. your orgasm hits you like a truck, out of nowhere, and you cling to him all while sobbing his name loudly.

"fuck," he hisses when he buries himself in you once last time before letting go, filling you until the point you feel him dripping down your inner thighs while still buried inside you.

you stay like that for a while, catching your breath, the heat of the moment passing and making you realize the reality of what just happened.

you look up to meet his gaze. you want to be appalled, disgusted by what you both just did.

but there's not a single regret between the two of you.

~~~

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[thewritingfairy]

↪ 13. Damian attempts self-reflection

PREV PART trigger warning: medical + physical + emotional neglect, name is officialy fucking done and they'll make it known, Name is no longer hiding that they want to leave, Damian centric chapter, short filler  main m.list       series m.list

You are about to kill a motherfucker, and that motherfuckers name is Damian. Not only is he following you, he continuously attempts to place trackers and to get your medication to give to Bruce. And after your latest shift, you were done. Robin was now spying on you while you were working, and you are absolutely fucking done.

So when you see him at the dining table you couldn’t contain your anger. “You and I are going to have a talk, privately,” you hiss at him, smacking a bag of broken trackers on the table. “or so help me, and I actually get a fucking restraining order against you.”

This sure as hell got his attention, and he nods and follows you to the kitchen. You need a room that can be trashed, and in the kitchen you have more shit to throw. “You are out of line,” you say, looking at him with a stare that one could describe as threatening, enraged and calculating. “if you do this again I’ll be sure to fuck Robin up the next time he comes to visit me at work.”

You didn’t want to play your cards out, they have no need to know that you know. Of course Duke knows, but he’ll always be the exception.

Damian laughs, he can’t help it. You think you can fuck up Robin? Please, he didn’t know you had a sense of humour. What a delightful surprise.

At least he has enough sense to stop laughing when he felt your stern gaze become a glare. Truly, you aren’t like Bruce a lot, but your stare… your stare is purely Bruce. “Why do you think you being followed by Robin has anything to do with me?” he asks, genuinely curious. He just hopes you won’t put all the clues together, he’s quite relieved with the fact that your pain keeps you oblivious. Unable to use all of your intelligence.

“Nightwing and then Robin, it’s obvious they are in Bruce in pockets,” you say trying to make it seem like you weren’t omitting something. But Damian did notice a slight change in your body language, but he’ll dismiss it for now. “get him to back off, or I will file a formal complaint of stalking against him. Wouldn’t be so good for his already shitty reputation, right?”

Seems like you hit a nerve, Damian looks away ashamed, regretful and at the same time grateful. Good, let him think you’re oblivious, the more he underestimates you the safer you will be. A boy like Damian is even more dangerous than a man like Jason, Damian was raised to kill, but Jason just copied the aggression he learned. And when he lost his joyful nature, he became the monster he is today. You take Damian’s silence as compliance. “Do me a favour and tell Brucie that I will be at Maria’s for the rest of the week,” you say as you turn around, ignoring how he takes a sharp breath. “I don’t want to see your face until I return.”

Damian knows your hyper independent nature is due to their actions, due to what they’ve done to you. But he can’t help but feel bitter, he didn’t know better. He didn’t understand your side, and he wants to be your brother. He always wanted to be your brother.

From the moment you defended Tim he knew that he wanted you to defend him like that, that he wanted you to love him like that. But after Jason’s attack he learned how your family treated you, and he wanted nothing to do with you. Fearful of losing his father’s approval, and you don’t know about their life. Involving you would lead to you being kidnapped and at worst killed.

He knows he could have had a civilian relationship, but after he chastised you for your anger towards Jason he knew he no longer had a chance. He knew, so he didn’t try.

He didn’t try because he didn’t understand.

So now, as you pull away from them instead of them pulling away from you Damian doesn’t know what to do. He wants to be your sibling, he wants the bond you seemed to have with Tim (a bond he now knows doesn’t exist), he wants to be loved by you. And he wants to protect you.

Can’t you let your brother protect you?

You’re the older sibling, shouldn’t you do anything to make your younger siblings happier?

NEXT PART guys, I know this is short, but listen, I wanted this out because I keep having Damian being a gremlin brother thoughts and not in a good way. also I keep seeing one specific username that is such a typical name where I am from that I'm like; shit do I know this person?

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[mullermilkshake]

It’s pointless if you don’t know the reason

Part 8 <- Part 9 -> Part 10

The Chairman wades in and Jinwoo is in the dog house again.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - No major tags, pregnant reader

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

“It’s fantastic to see you both. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by, I simply couldn’t wait to congratulate you.”

Jinwoo watched the Chairman closely, his whole stance was wrong, the gentle look he gave you was wrong. The way he confidently sat on the living room sofa with his fingers laced together was smug and utterly wrong. Jinwoo just couldn’t place it.

“Thank you, Chairman.” Did you know that something was off too? You held your stomach as though on instinct, looking down at the floor like you had something to feel shameful for.

“Twins…” The chairman smiled without Jin-chul accompanying him this time, he was close by no doubt. “It’s such wonderful news, I was hopeful we’d have an anomaly such as this when the programme got on its way years down the line. But seeing it on the second try truly is a marvel.”

“It’s quite a shock, Chairman. Our apologies that we couldn’t tell you ourselves.” You edged closer to Jinwoo, subtly enough though the Chairman caught it instantly.

“That’s quite alright. But this does beg the question now that you’ll let the association hold a celebration for you. Twin babies ought to be celebrated.”

You made it adamantly clear when your pregnancy came to fruition that you did not want the fuss that came with it. However, the choice might not be in your hands.

“Chairman-“

“With all due respect, Chairman.” Jinwoo stepped in before you could, saying your name with authority. “She made it clear that she didn’t want a celebration, I trust you can understand the pressure she’s under to remain calm and well rested as per the association’s Doctor’s recommendations.”

Despite the squabbling and bickering from the hospital to the front door, Jinwoo’s priorities had shifted somewhat. It wasn’t just you now that this compulsion had over grown like ivy, it was towards the babies too. By the hour-no, the minute, his mind was overtaking itself at levels he wasn’t sure how to comprehend.

“I understand that. But as this is your duty, it’s made you National heroes.” 

So the Chairman would go down a pushy route? It went against everything Jinwoo knew him by. It put his back up, sharp and pointing right at the Chairman’s face. This was what his new state of mind did to people that weren’t you.

In other words, he’d kill the Chairman right now if he threatened your life and he’d feel no remorse for it either.

A dangerous sentiment. But Jinwoo did not care.

“Chairman, I’m very tired. I would like to respectfully decline.”

“Of course you are, you’re growing two very special children inside you. That takes plenty of energy. I simply won’t have you worrying over anything, so I’ll handle this myself and inform you of all the details at a later date.”

Huh? What did he just say? 

The Chairman rose to his feet and traipsed on over to the front door, where conveniently, Jin-chul was waiting right outside.

“I’ll see you two very soon, though be sure to pay Hunter Cha a visit soon, she could use the company.” And then he left, leaving Jin-chul in the hallway.

He slipped off his sunglasses and tucked them inside his breast pocket. “A word of advice? Play the long game and entertain him. Korea is the first of the many countries to participate in this programme, and the first produce twins as a part of it. By the way those two are producing mana the way they are, it’s more than just an anomaly, it’s a mystery… and the Chairman is hopeful that this union will give the association an edge.”

“These babies aren't weapons.” Jinwoo had to hold you back, hoping to keep the crazed look in your sudden maternal eyes.

Jin-chul didn’t seem the least bit phased. “Not weapons. Just a statement. If those children are born at B-Rank or above without having an awakening, high officials all over the world will want to see. Just bear that in mind. Heed my advice, or don’t, it’s your choice, but one choice will make life easier and the other won’t.”

Jinwoo glared at him as he turned and walked away with his hands smoothly in his pockets. Just what was the Chairman up to? Did Jong-in and Hae-in have this tak with the Chairman too? He had to find out, he needed to understand the larger picture, but his gut told him to do it the old fashioned way and not entertain the idea of posting a shadow onto the Chairman under any circumstances. He just wasn’t sure why.

“Why do they want to put babies on display- just to say ‘hey, we have more than you’, like, really? Jinwoo, I don’t like this. And the Chairman wants to parade us in front of everyone just because I’m pregnant now."

“I feel the same way.” He sat you down on the sofa, kneeling in front of you with his hand reassuringly on your knee. “I want you to rest though, can you do that? I need to see Jong-in, ask him a few questions…”

Would you snap at him again if he asked? Only one way to find out. 

“Can I leave Igris here with you? I’d feel better if I did.”

“Jinwoo, I don’t…” you hesitated, the agonising drawn out pause by the way you looked at him took forever. “Okay… just- can I meet him first?”

“Y-yeah, uh, you can meet him.” Jinwoo swallowed hard and paused, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, yet did it anyway. “Igris, come out and introduce yourself.”

He did, delicately showing himself like undisturbed smoke, billowing into his form to kneel. His head lowered deeper than anything he’d ever done before.

That’s odd. He never thought to address it, though Igris had never kneeled to anyone other than Jinwoo.

“Hello, Igris.” There was only normality in your voice, not fear or awkwardness. Just normality, watching the humanoid shadow kneel. 

Like a knight kneeling before his queen.

Jinwoo watched you closely, knowing he’d fallen for the right person, the perfect woman to start a family with, and his shadows welcomed it.

“He can’t speak, but I can tell he enjoys your presence.”

“Oh, right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Igris.”

Igris dropped his head lower in acknowledgement, holding firm with a form of respect Jinwoo had never received. 

You hesitated, placing a hand on Jinwoo's. “Actually… can I come with you? It would be nice to see how Hae-in is doing. She’s pretty much on her own over there.”

“Are you sure?” 

There was a high possibility that Jong-in was over there right now and Jinwoo didn’t think he could sit through an hour of that man hovering about.

“Mhm, if I’m terrified about all this, I can only imagine how she must be feeling.”

While your sentiment was admirable, Jinwoo’s inability to make you more at ease snapped away at him. He was trying to be as accommodating as he could within reason, and you were still terrified, as you put it. Would seeing Jong-in make matters worse? Jinwoo never stopped and thought long and hard whether Jong-in was a stepping stone closer to you.

Long story short, would Jong-in’s presence make you feel things towards him that you never admitted to Jinwoo’s face?

Jinwoo wanted to limit your interactions with him going forward, to preserve his relationship with you. It wasn’t that Jinwoo felt threatened, but Jong-in’s presence didn’t help settle things. He couldn’t exactly forbid you though, could he? Your reaction to Igris was a plain and unmistakable reminder of how strong willed you were.

Against his better judgement, Jinwoo agreed. “Alright. We’ll head over now.”

“Thanks, Jinwoo.” 

Hae-In opened the door cautiously when you knocked, she peered through the gap and opened it once she realised who it was.

“Oh… hello, Jinwoo.” She addressed you first, but bashfully watched Jinwoo exclusively. “What are you both doing here?”

“We wanted to see how you were doing, and need to ask you a few things, if you’re up for it?” You said, stepping through the doorway into the apartment.

“Me? You might be better asking Jong-in. I’m not sure how useful I’ll be, my brains all over the place lately.”

“It’s alright, it’s just a few quick things that we aren’t sure of.”

“Oh, is it baby stuff? Because I’m still finding out myself, the morning sickness is really bad. You went for your scan today, didn’t you? Jong-in told me about it.”

How the hell did Jong-in find out?

“Well,” you looked away and sat yourself down in the sofa. “It went alright, just a little shock but-“

“We’re having twins.”

You gasped though tried to keep it in, you never stifled your emotions well and this time was no different. Jinwoo knew how Hae-in felt about him and he didn’t care what the outcome was.

“Right… well I think a congratulations are in order, Jong-in will be pleased with the news.”

“Hae-in- I’m so sorry- Jinwoo-“ You glared at him. But the damage had already been done.

Jinwoo just had to rip off the bandaid to ensure she moved past the feelings she held for Jinwoo, and crushed them under his foot. Jinwoo would never return those feelings and was better she got it out of her system.

“So…” Hae-in smiled as best she could. “Twins, huh? Maybe that’s why I sensed that odd aura when you came through the door.” She chuckled to hide her pain.

Jinwoo could tell that it upset you, the fact an acquaintance and fellow hunter could sense the babies and you couldn’t.

You swallowed back it well enough.“The Chairman’s taking a liking to us after finding out and we wanted to know what he’s been like with you and the baby. Has Hunter Woo come by at all?”

“He’s been around, but not too involved. The Chairman was happy at first, but since he found out you were pregnant, we haven’t really seen him.”

So he’s flitting between pregnancies? Or looking for one in particular? The babies mana might be something to keep an eye on, no doubt he would have picked up on it if Hae-in has. 

Jinwoo contemplated confronting the Chairman directly, but as more and more hunters would inevitably fall pregnant, he assumed for now that the Chairman would follow suit and move on. For now at least.

“Was he pushy in having the announcement dinner? He wants to make a big deal out of this and to be honest, I just want to get the next nine months out of the way and going public is the last thing I want.”

It was wrong that Jinwoo wanted to go public, more so that he could rub it in the faces of everyone who either talked down at his previous E-Rank, those who wanted you, or wanted Jinwoo away from you. It wasn’t clear yet who did, if there was anyone, but still, Jinwoo wanted it that way.

“I wouldn’t say he was pushy, but before I fell pregnant, he did sit down and talk to us about being a little more…” she searched for the word. “Intimate? But I think it was a publicity thing or something like that.”

“Right…” you said, standing up and straightening yourself out. “Thank you, Hae-in. Sorry you found out about the babies like that.”

Jinwoo knew your eyes were burning into him. “If you need us, you know where we are… I need to have a lie down, it’s been a long day.”

You left before Hae-in could even utter a word, stomping off towards the front door, you zipped around Igris who was waiting by the door without another word. Jinwoo called out to you once the door closed behind him. He knew you went straight to the bedroom but called out anyway.

“Don’t start! I’m not happy with you, at all!” 

Igris turned and looked away from Jinwoo, heading off towards the living area in some form of protest.

He knew what he’d done wrong, he just never thought he’d get this type of response. He could put it down to pregnancy hormones, though you’d only deal more damage to him.

And it would kill him if you gave him the silent treatment.

I guess I'll go grovel.

Part 8 <- Part 9 -> Part 10

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DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[thedeadstoryteller1]

𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 - 𝑍𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊

Summary: You were supposed to be focused on your studies, not your dangerously hot professor. But Zayne Li sees everything—especially the way you squirm when he calls on you. He tests your mind in class, but when another student crosses the line, Zayne teaches you a different kind of lesson. Brat-taming, possessive, and all-consuming, he breaks you down until there’s no doubt left: your body, your mind, your heart—belong to him.

Parings: Professor Zayne Li x Fem!Reader

TW: Explicit sexual content (18+), dom/sub dynamic, breath play (light choking), spanking, power imbalance (Professor/Student, adult reader), consensual rough sex, possessive behavior, use of "slut" and degradation, praise, aftercare.

Word Count: 3248

Artist: Veliii on Weibo (Y/N)= Your Name (Y/L/N)= Your Last Name

“How did I even end up here?” you think, as his cock stretches you out so perfectly it sends shudders through your body. He’s buried so deep you can feel him slamming into your cervix, every thrust setting your nerves on fire.

Bent over his office desk, your knuckles white from gripping the edge, you gasp as his fingers dig into your waist—hard enough to leave bruises.

“Whose pussy is this?” he growls, spanking your ass again, the sharp sting making you jolt as he moans behind you.

“Yours,” you cry out, voice high and needy, eyes glassy and mouth open, drool trailing from your lips. No one’s ever fucked you like this—so ruthless, so right. He knows your body like a blueprint.

“Yours, Professor.” Another slap lands, making your ass burn. His dominance drips from every movement—each thrust harder, deeper, each smack firmer than the last. You’re losing your breath, the rhythm unrelenting.

“I’ll ask again,” he growls, fisting your hair and yanking you upright until your slick back presses to his burning chest. “Whose filthy little cunt does this belong to?” he hisses, right at your ear. 

“Yours, Professor Zayne—this pussy is yours,” you sob, overwhelmed and clenching around him. “Please—please let me cum.”

“Cum, princess,” he murmurs, lips dragging over your throat. “Make a mess for me.”

One Month Ago 

Never in your life did you think you’d be one of those girls—drooling over a professor like a hormone-struck teenager. You never found a teacher remotely attractive, let alone imagined them in that way.

But Professor Zayne Li… he was an exception. A dangerous, delicious exception.

A face carved by gods, eyes cold enough to freeze oceans. Always immaculately put together—three-piece suits in muted tones, silver-framed glasses perched on his nose. He was refined, untouchable. And when he spoke? You could feel the heat stir low in your belly, a slow ache blooming between your legs.

Your thoughts in his class were never pure. While he lectured on cardiovascular systems or diagnostic procedures, your mind wandered to the sound of his moans, the way his hips might snap forward in bed, the glint of sweat on his temple as he fucked you breathless. His voice was already sinful, but you imagined it dropping to a whisper, right against your ear. You imagined his sleeves rolled up, exposing veined forearms and flexing biceps—the kind you knew had no business being hidden under wool and silk.

God, the things you’d do just to undress him.

You were so far gone in that fantasy, you didn’t notice the silence.

Not until your classmate nudged you, snapping you out of the fog. Your eyes blinked back to reality—Zayne's figure at the front of the classroom, arms crossed, gaze locked on you.

“I’m sorry—what?” you stammer, throat dry.

The class erupted in low chuckles, and for the briefest second, Professor Li's lips curved into a smirk. But it vanished almost immediately, replaced by his usual cool indifference. Almost. If the others weren’t watching you, they might’ve caught the crack in his mask—the way something unreadable flickered across his face.

“Will you answer the question?” he asked, voice sharp, measured.

The chill in his tone shot straight through your spine and landed deep in your core.

Your face burned. You had no clue what the question even was.

He doesn't break eye contact.  “What happens when the heart is overstimulated by external stimuli?” he asks, slowly, each word deliberate. “Can the body distinguish danger… from desire?”

Your heart lurches in your chest. Oh, he knows. The way he says desire makes your pulse stutter. It's not just a question. It’s a warning. A dare.

You scramble for the answer, blinking as if that might shake off the fog clouding your thoughts.

“Um…” you clear your throat, hands trembling slightly as you grip your pen. “When—when the heart is overstimulated, it triggers the sympathetic nervous system. That’s… fight-or-flight.”

His head tilts slightly. Still watching.

“The heart rate increases, adrenaline is released…” You falter. Your voice dips an octave, soft and breathy. You know you're rambling but can’t stop. “The body doesn’t always know the difference between fear and arousal. They both feel the same—physiologically. It depends on… how the brain interprets the stimulus.”

There’s a long pause.

Zayne’s mouth twitches—just barely. Then he looks away, finally breaking the tension. “Correct,” he says, but it comes out low, almost amused. He turns back to the board. The moment passes. But your body stays lit up like a struck match.

“Miss (y/l/n) try your best to pay attention. I don’t like repeating myself.” Back to his cold icy demeanor. 

You shudder, biting your lip as your hands fly to cover your face. If it were possible to die from embarrassment, your body would already be on the floor. Because Professor Zayne Li knew your secret now—he knew just how utterly hopeless you were for him.

He would ask you more questions during labs and lectures, testing your intellect—pushing you further than anyone else. There was always something behind it, some hidden motive buried beneath his clinical tone and icy gaze. He wasn’t just challenging you academically. He was watching how you handled pressure… how your breath hitched when he got too close… how your fingers fidgeted when his voice dipped low.

You never once got an answer wrong. Not in anatomy, not in pathophysiology, not even in the curveball questions he threw your way under the guise of “critical thinking.”

And that only intrigued him more.

It wasn’t just your mind he wanted to unravel—it was your composure. Your restraint. The wall you tried so hard to keep up between student and professor.

A wall he was determined to break down, brick by brick. As well as you. 

Until one day, that wall finally broke… 

Three Weeks Ago

Classes were over for the day, and all you wanted was to go home, throw your bag on the floor, and collapse into bed. But of course, right on cue, that classmate—the one who never knew when to quit—was waiting outside the lecture hall with his usual smug smile.

He was cute, maybe, if you squinted. But absolutely not your type. You’d been politely rejecting his advances since the start of the semester, yet he still couldn’t take the hint. Today, though, he was more persistent than ever.

“Oh come on, (Y/N). Just one date.” His eyes locked on yours, too close for comfort. “We could have a good time. You won’t regret it.” He licked his lips.

A wave of unease crawled across your skin.

You quickened your pace. “No, thank you. I have to study,” you replied, colder than the air between you.

“See, I like that about you,” he said, keeping up. “Always trying to be number one for Professor Zayne.” The mention of his name made your heart stutter. Your face flushed—but not for him.

You didn’t respond. You kept walking.

That’s when he grew bold.

His hand suddenly grabbed yours, halting you mid-step, and then in one motion, he pressed you back against the cold concrete wall.

“You like him, don’t you?” he whispered, voice low, eyes gleaming. “I see the way you stare at him.” His hand moved to your waist.

Panic flared in your chest. You opened your mouth to yell— But before a sound could escape, another voice cut through the air like ice.

“Mr. Dawson.”

You both froze.

“Have you finished the class notes on yesterday’s assignment?” Professor Zayne’s voice was calm—too calm. Cold, sharp, like a blade hidden in velvet. His eyes—those normally warm hazel green eyes—were dark now. Flat. Emotionless.

Dangerous.

“U-urm… Professor—” the boy stammered, stepping back like he’d been burned.

“It’s Professor Li, Mr. Dawson.” Zayne didn’t move. Didn’t raise his voice. But the chill in his tone was enough to make your classmate’s face drain of color.

“Ms. (Y/L/N), I need you to come with me to my office.” He didn’t even glance at the boy again. “We need to discuss your midterm paper.”

Zayne stepped aside just enough to make space for you, placing himself firmly between you and Dawson like a human barrier. Without hesitation, you followed, heart pounding so loud it echoed in your ears. Every step felt shaky, your legs too weak to carry the adrenaline surging through you.

The hallway fell silent behind you. No words were exchanged until you stepped inside his office, as the door clicked shut behind you, the soft sound somehow louder than it should’ve been.

You turned, breath caught in your throat, as Zayne slowly walked past you—silent, unreadable. He didn’t look at you. Not yet. He moved toward his desk, placed his tablet down with careful precision, then finally turned.

His gaze locked on yours like a predator that had been far too patient.

“You should’ve said something sooner,” he said, voice low—controlled, but heavy with something else underneath. Possessiveness. Fury. Something primal.

“I—he just—”

“He touched you.” His words cut like glass. “Put his hands on what doesn’t belong to him.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Before you could think, before you could breathe, Zayne closed the space between you. Fast. His hands slammed against the wall on either side of your head, caging you in. His body loomed over yours, the heat from him sinking into your skin like fire.

His breath hit your cheek as he leaned in, speaking just above a whisper.

“Tell me, did you like the attention?” You shook your head.  “Use your words, princess.”

“No, Professor,” you breathed. That earned a soft chuckle, one with no warmth.

“Then why were you blushing? Why were you silent?” His nose brushed along your jaw. “You know I don’t tolerate disobedience.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to?” His hand slid up, fingers curling just beneath your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “You let that little boy touch you. Put hands on you. I should fail you just for that.”

Your lips parted in shock. “You wouldn’t—”

His grip tightened just a little, not painful—just enough to remind you who was in control.

“Try me.”

Your knees nearly gave out, but his body kept you pinned, his thigh sliding between your legs, making it impossible to think. His eyes devoured every reaction you gave him.

“I’ve been patient with you. Watching. Testing.”He leaned closer, lips a breath from yours. “But you like to push, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer.

Wrong move.

His hand moved to your throat, resting there—not choking, just holding. Claiming.

“Say it.”

“I like to push,” you whispered.

“Good girl.”

 Zayne's hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher with maddening slowness while his other arm caged you against the wall. He leaned in, lips grazing your ear.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” The words purred from his mouth, sweet and seductive, but heavy with warning.

“Never,” you whimpered, already trembling under his touch.

That was all he needed.

In a flash, he spun you around, your front pressed to the cold surface of his desk. The sound of papers scattering, your breath catching—none of it mattered. His palm flattened between your shoulder blades, pinning you down with practiced ease.

“You want to act like a brat,” he growled, voice low and venomous, “then I’ll fuck you like one.”

He yanked your panties down with one rough motion, baring you completely. Then came the snap of his belt—slow, menacing—followed by the delicious crack of leather across your ass.

You gasped, your legs quivering.

“Count.”

“One,” you whimpered.

Another strike. Harder. Your knees buckled.

“Two.”

He leaned down, breath hot against your neck. “You wear those little skirts to my lectures just to get attention?” His fingers traced your dripping slit. “You parade around like a good girl, but this cunt’s just begging to be used.”

“Three.” Your voice cracked. Another hard snack. 

“Good,” he snarled, gripping your jaw and forcing your head back so you could see him. His hazel green eyes were dark, dangerous, filled with lust and authority. “Now spread those pretty legs wider. I want to see everything I own.”

You obeyed, heart pounding, thighs slick and trembling.

He slid his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance but not giving you what you needed—not yet.

“Say it,” he ordered.

“Say this pussy belongs to me.”

“It’s yours, Professor. This pussy’s all yours.”

With a sharp growl, he slammed into you in one brutal thrust. Your cry echoed off the walls, but he didn’t stop. He pulled back and drove in again, harder—deeper—over and over, setting a ruthless pace that had you gasping for air.

“You take me so fucking well,” he groaned, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip like a man possessed. “Tight little hole so fucking desperate to be filled.”

The desk creaked beneath you, your moans muffled by your own arm as you tried to stay upright. But he wouldn’t let you hide.

He pulled you back by the hair again, biting your shoulder. “No hiding. I want to see you fall apart.”

“Z-Zayne—Professor—”

“Shut up and take it.”

His hand slid around to your throat, his cock buried to the hilt as he fucked you relentlessly, hips slamming into yours with obscene, wet sounds. The pressure building in your core was unbearable.

“Please—can I cum?”

“Not yet.”

You whined, desperate, squirming—but he held you steady, dragging the pleasure out until you were crying, shaking, begging.

Finally, he leaned in again, lips brushing your ear.

“Cum for me, slut. Now.”

Your orgasm tore through you like a wave, your body clenching around him, mouth open in a silent scream. He groaned, thrusting a few more brutal times before spilling inside you, deep, possessive.

Panting, you collapsed against the desk, completely wrecked. He stood over you, fingers brushing your thighs, spreading your arousal and cum across your skin.

“Next time you flirt with danger,” he whispered, still hard and dripping, “remember who owns you.”

You barely had time to catch your breath. Your body trembled, legs weak, cum dripping down your thighs as you laid sprawled over his desk. But Zayne wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

His hand smoothed down the curve of your ass, and then he pulled you upright, pressing your back flush to his chest. You felt him—still hard. Still throbbing.

“Lesson’s not over.”

Before you could respond, he turned you around and lifted you onto the edge of the desk like you weighed nothing. His hips slid between your thighs, forcing them open again.

You gasped, but he only smirked. The bastard was enjoying this—watching you fucked-out, dazed, and still twitching.

“You remember the question I asked you during lecture?” His fingers trailed up your stomach, to your chest, then circled your throat again. “‘What happens when the heart is overstimulated by external stimuli?’”

You nodded, already panting. His touch was feather-light, teasing.

“Can the body distinguish danger…” he leaned in, lips brushing yours, “…from desire?”

His fingers dipped between your legs again, spreading your slick folds, making you shiver. “Because right now, sweetheart…” he dragged his cock along your entrance, deliberately slow. “Your body thinks it’s both.”

He pushed just the tip in. You whimpered, bucked, but he gripped your thighs tighter.

“Look at you,” he cooed. “Trembling. Breathless. Addicted. You wanted danger. You begged for it. And now?” He thrust in hard, all the way, splitting you open again. “You’re gonna take it.”

You cried out, nails digging into his back as he began to move—deep, punishing strokes that hit a spot so sensitive it bordered on unbearable.

He leaned down, licking a stripe along your throat before whispering:  “You love this. Being used. Owned. You sit in my class pretending to be so composed, but this pussy’s always dripping for me, isn’t it?”

You moaned, voice cracking. “Yes, Professor. Only for you.”

“Say it louder.” He pulled out and slapped his cock against your clit—once, twice—watching you jolt and sob.

“Only for you, Professor Zayne! Please—please fuck me again.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He lifted your legs over his shoulders and slammed back in, deeper this time. Your back arched, vision swimming. Every thrust made the desk shake, papers long forgotten as your body was reduced to wrecked gasps and filthy pleas.

“Danger and desire,” he panted, sweat dripping from his temple, “two sides of the same fucking coin. And you…” He grinned like a devil, leaning in to kiss you—slow and dirty, tongue claiming every inch of your mouth.  “You want to be devoured by both.”

He didn’t stop until you came again—harder than before, screaming into his shoulder. His name. His title. Everything. You were nothing but sensation, overwhelmed and ruined.

Zayne groaned as he came with you, thrusting deep and slow, grinding through it as he filled you to the brim.

When he finally stilled, you were left trembling in his arms, body soaked, marked, and trembling.

His lips ghosted over your ear again, breath warm, voice barely above a whisper:

“Let’s see if you can still answer my questions next class, princess.”

Your body felt weightless, floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion.

Zayne pulled out slowly, gently, watching your body shudder at the loss. His hands were steady as he lowered your legs from his shoulders, trailing kisses along your thighs—tenderly and sweetly. 

He gathered you in his arms like you were something fragile. His shirt was half undone, both of you breathless and wrecked. And yet… he still looked composed. In control. Just the way you craved him.

He lifted you effortlessly from the desk, cradling you against his chest as he moved toward the worn leather couch in the corner of his office. You curled into him instinctively, cheek resting over his heart—still pounding.

His fingers combed through your hair, his breath soft against the crown of your head.

“Did he ever touch you like that before?” he asked quietly.

“No,” you whispered. “No one ever has.”

Zayne’s jaw flexed. You could feel it where your head rested.

“Good.”

There was silence for a moment. Then:

“No one ever will.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy but steady. His expression had softened—but that fire still simmered behind his gaze. This was the man who commanded surgical teams. Who dominated lecture halls. Who just destroyed every ounce of pride you had left… and still held you like you were something worth protecting.

“You're mine,” he said simply. Not a question. A fact.

You swallowed. “And you're mine?”

That made something in him break. Not his control—but the mask.

He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips against yours—soft, unhurried. Not to seduce. To claim.

“I’ve been yours,” he murmured. “Since the first time you spoke back in class. You challenge me. Push me. Tempt me. No one gets under my skin the way you do.”

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, watching you fall apart even in the quiet.

“You’ll still be a brat,” he said with a smirk. “Only for you,” you whispered.

He chuckled softly, his forehead pressing to yours.

“And I’ll keep taming you. Again. And again.”

You buried yourself deeper into his chest, your limbs tangled with his, completely undone—completely his.

And in that moment, in the silence of his office, with the scent of sex and sweat still clinging to your skin… you knew you'd never want anyone else.

Ferrymen!

Happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there. I hope you enjoy some professor Zayne .. he is just ughh .. and can we talk about the cover pic for a sec ? OFMG .. SHIVER ME TIMBERS !!!

If you have anything you would like me to write shoot me a dm ! They are open. Or even if you just want to chat lol. Thank you to everyone who is liked my work, and reposted. Means a lot to me. Anyways .. coming soon a Sleepy Xavier NSFW. Have a wonderful day and thank you for stopping by.

And a special thank you to my discord loves. Who encourage me to keep writing and share my work. You all are my true inspiration to keep writing. @cordidy @fire-lizard-ro and my wonderful Isla who is my biggest supporter and always re-reads my pics to ensure you all get the best quality. If you want to join a LADS discord server click here. -> ♡

LADS NSFW Masterlist

~ The DeadStory Teller ~

[cheerscafe]

adding onto this!!

lgts spoilers below

just wanted to echo this analysis and @halfgap ‘s tags

When sacrificed, each girl calls out someone different. Rozenmarine, who has only known Elise for a week, calls out to her Grandmother and says she’ll see her soon. Freya, who is close to her father, calls out to him to save her as she begs the demons for mercy. But not Lebkuchen. She calls out to you, her dearest friend.

Throughout their friendship Lebkuchen has forgiven Elise for various things, most of them small instances when they were younger such as sawing the heels off of Lebkuchen’s shoes, or breaking her window with a rock. But when Lebkuchen is being sacrificed, she says this:

With this betrayal, Lebkuchen is now severing their relationship. I loved you, past tense. I trusted you. I will never forgive you. Out of everything she has forgiven Elise for, this one act goes too far. This is the end of her life, and the end of their friendship. These are her last words.

And as if this ending weren’t heartbreaking enough, this is the following sequence that plays after Elise loses her children:

Elise is so regretful of her choice, the loss of her friend and beloved, Lebkuchen, as well as her daughter, that she enters a convent. She doesn’t pray for forgiveness, she prays that the rest of her days will be easy as she knows she will be thrown to hell or some other horrible afterlife punishment for her misdeeds. She spends her whole adult life resenting herself for her choices and mourning her loved ones.

And then Lebkuchen shows up, offering her forgiveness.

And that is somehow even worse than if she hadn’t shown up.

Because there are only so many interpretations and possibilities I can think of to explain Lebkuchen appearing here:

1) God, Walpurgia herself, or some other (benevolent?) supernatural entity saw Elise spend the rest of her life at the convent, decided to take pity on her, retrieved Lebkuchen’s soul from Ozzy, and then takes both of them up to heaven. Lebkuchen is no longer in Ozzy’s clutches, so she forgives Elise.

Considering how ‘God’ (as a character with agency) is more or less absent from the plot, and how Walpurgia only seems interested in her own means, I would not put much stock into this interpretation, though I can’t fault it for being so hopeful. But who knows? Maybe with Lebkuchen’s lifetime of serving the church and Elise’s time in the convent were enough of a show of faith to get God got pull some strings, leading both to a happier ending.

2) Lebkuchen and Elise are still bound to Ozzy as golden girls, but Lebkuchen has finally forgiven Elise and takes her upon her death to Ozzy, where they will inevitably spend eternity together.

Another aspect of this interpretation is that Lebkuchen here could be being truthful that she’s forgiven Elise, or she could be lying just to make her death more gentle/lure her more easily to Ozzy’s realm. And wouldn’t that hurt even more? Saying “I forgive you” to Elise, only to say she didn’t mean it when both she and Elise’s souls are trapped in Ozzy’s domain. Elise would continue to be mournful and regretful, even past her death. At least if Lebkuchen were being truthful here, she and Elise could spend eternity together, as friends or maybe more, even if it’s under less than ideal circumstances.

3) Elise is hallucinating or lucid dreaming this moment, maybe upon her death, or maybe she frequently has dreams like this.

To see your beloved forgiving you as you softly drift to eternal sleep, or to wake up the next morning knowing that it was just something your mind conjured up, knowing that there’s no way it could be real? I’m not sure which one would hurt more.

4) This Lebkuchen is actually just a illusion made by Ozzy, who is toying with Elise to make it hurt even more when he finally collects her soul.

We know from both Little Goody Two Shoes’ wish-fulfilled endings and Pocket Mirror that Ozzy doesn’t let Elise sleep peacefully, implying that he constantly haunts her dreams and drains her mental health. In Pocket Mirror Elise’s husband was seeking out doctors trying to explain and easy his wife’s symptoms, as found in Harpae’s library. I wouldn’t put this kind of trick past Ozzy.

So this ending not only has Elise sacrifice her beloved, her best friend that trusted her more than anyone else, a friend who forgave everything, screaming I will never forgive you as she died brutally; but also has Elise, after years of regret and pain, potentially dealing with that same beloved friend remaining angry with her as both their souls are trapped by the demon that destroyed their lives for all eternity.

God. What a game.

"she's... glaring at me..." lgts spoiler talk

in the bad ends with ozzy, the girls each call out to the people important to them. freya calls for her dad. rozenmarine calls to her grandma. but who does leb have to call out to? granny gretel? no, no matter the vague answers or strange actions, it was always her she could trust the most. or so she thought. i wonder if in that moment, she might even cling to the only thing she's ever known: her faith. the same one hung heavy over her head, but maybe, just maybe, it's worth something now. anyways leb's bad end messes me up!

[16ferrari]

I want you to touch me there

jack abbot x fem!reader

Summary: in which you’re very horny for jack.

Warnings: oral (fem! receiving), marking, breast play. Petnames. Maybe some unedited errors.

A/n I’ve looked at this for so long and can’t decide if i hate or love it?

A trail of steam followed you as you opened the shower door. lifting a leg to step over the paddle of water, you grabbed your pink silk robe, hugging it around your body. you blew onto your hand before lifting it to wipe the fog away from the mirror. You looked at yourself in the mirror and saw a desperate and needy face, desperate and needy for jack.

You turned away from the mirror and stepped out the bathroom, Your body grew chills as you stepped into yours and jacks shared bedroom. You wandered over to your dresser and pulled out a matching pair of lingerie along with one of jack’s basic t-shirt.

You hummed a tone as you walked around the room to distract your mind from the previous growing thoughts you were having of jack in the shower. Your feet dancing softly to the tone. You dropped your robe and put on the matching panties and bra, next you walked over to your shelf where you kept your lotions and perfumes, you grabbed your favorites. Filing the palm of your hand with the lotion just enough to rub all over all your body.

Once you were fully lotiond and perfumed up. You threw jacks t-shirt over your head, and pulled the shirt down to were it met your knees. You grabbed the neckline to the shirt and took a deep inhale, it smelt just like jack. You let down your damp hair, fluffing it up, before finally moving your way down the stairs.

The old wood the house was made out of creaked beneath you as you made your way downstairs. You took a peek into the living room and saw that Jack wasn’t in there, you pouted your lips, tilting your head confused as he was usually in there, feet up on the coffee table, a beer in hand while a tv show played on the screen that you knew he wasn’t paying attention to, but he just put on to distract his mind.

You heard a noise from the kitchen followed by a groan. You smiled, feet skipping over to the kitchen. There he stood, taller than the counter making him lean down to finish cutting up the vegetables he was chopping.

“Oh, hey honey” jack smiled softly at the sight of you making your way into the kitchen, hands held behind your back as you inspected what he was doing.

You walked over to him, wrapped your arms behind him and tugged him towards you. You placed kisses to his back, biting gently on the skin hidden behind his white tee. “Hi” you simply said, hands disappearing from around his waist to underneath his shirt, your hands ran all over his hardened abs that he kept a secret and only exposed them to you.

“Huh, What’s this now?” Jack dropped the knife and turned around so he could face you. He place a gentle hand on your face, while the other one held onto your waist thumb drawing invisible circles.

You shrugged, a cheeky smirk gleaming on your face. “Don’t know, just missed you’’ you leaned more into him, hands grabbing the counter behind him. He leaned forward and connected your lips together, it was just meant to be a brush of the lips, so he tried to pull away. But you were fast and grabbed the back of his head pulling him more into the kiss, you craved and wanted something deeper than just that.

And immediately Jack understood that.

You moaned into the kiss feeling his hand glide up your thigh, tugging up your (his) shirt to wrap around your waist. His fingertips danced around the seams of your panties. “Was planning on surprising you with dinner, sweetheart. What’s gotten into you” he placed kisses on your cheek down to your neck, his teeth nipping at the cleaned skin. Your head fell backwards, making him catch it with his hand.

“Was thinking about you in the shower” you admitted boldly, “was thinking about, hmm” his free hand came up to palm your breast through your shirt. “Thinking about your cock and hands” he stopped everything and grabbed onto your chin to make you meet his eyes.

“My hands, huh?, my naughty girl” he lightly tapped your cheek with his thumb, before turning around to push the cutting board and knifes to the side, he then picked you up and laid you down on the hard surface. He said no words, as he opened up your legs and tugged your panties down to the floor. He got on his knees and started licking at your cunt, his tongue leaped at your hole burying himself deeper into your wet cunt.

“Hmm, fuck jack” you grabbed at his gray curly locks, “like that please” your back arched off the counter, making him place his arm around your waist to hold you down. A porngraphic moan like left your lips as he pushed two fingers into your hole while his tongue locked up around your clit, sucking and pulling at the bub.

He stayed like that for a while, dinner long forgotten and instead his mouth was filled with the wetness that your cunt formed and dripped down his beard. “Taste incredible” he muttered, titled his head at a different angle to really soak up your cunt. “Always thinking about me” his fingers made a V as he spread open your pussy lips to push his tongue deeper into your cunt.

your legs shook around his head, stomach tightening up so badly it almost hurt you. “Jack, fuck, I’m close, please” he continued fingering your cunt bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Yeah” the vibrations from his voice sent you to the edge, you came hard with a loud moan and an arching back. “That’s ittt, honey” his fingers didn’t leave your cunt, instead he continued fucking you through your orgasm. His free hand came up to lift your shirt up to reveal your black bra which he pushed down to pull your breast free.

Without his fingers leaving the inside of you, his tall frame hovered above you, mouthing at your exposed chest, sucking and biting everything around your breasts, before his teeth finally latched on to the nipple area. He bit and pulled hard at the breast, a hmm sound leaving his lips, enjoying the taste of your vanilla lotion on his tongue.

your hips backed up into him, another orgasm approaching hard and fast. “Jack, am close please” your vision went white as you came again, a silence scream falling from your lips. Jack pulled his fingers from your cunt, licking them up, swallowing the taste of you. ]

“Fuck that’s hot” you muttered under your breath, cunt pulsating at the sight of him doing that.

Jack chuckled, “want me to fulfill more of your little dream you had of me in the shower” he said, in his head he already knew the answer, which is why he waited for no answer and just unzipped his pants, pulling his hardened cock out.

Immediately you opened your legs wider apart and pulled him in closer, his cock laid atop of your cunt hand stroking and rubbing the head against your already wet cunt. “Is that a yes?” He pushed the head of his cock in slowly, in a teasing matter.

Your feet wrapped around his back to pull him forward. “Jack, just fuck me please’’

“Alright, naughty girl”

[cowboybeepboop]

Rescued

"Um, I...I need to clean up."

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 2k

Summary: part two of my Bob smut 🥴

Warnings: unprotected sex, needy Bob, slight angst, idk

a/n: I’m obsessed with writing about him 😣 I need Lewis Pullman like a teenager needs their vape 😩 as always send any requests you might have my way! I’d love to get some more done 😛

Part one :

A couple days have passed since you and Bob shared your intimate moment together, and you’ve been avoiding him like hell. You knew that you shouldn’t have gone that far with him, he needed a friend and you felt like you took advantage of his loneliness.

Rubbing a hand over your tired eyes you stand in the kitchen, you haven’t been sleeping or eating much, avoiding the whole team is one of the most impossible tasks you’ve ever had. The clock reads 3:30 am, a small mess of dishes are left in the sink and the trash is overfilled.

“Fuck.” You run a hand through your messy hair, quietly beginning to do the dishes, a chore that’s been neglected recently.

Bob quietly creeps into the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes fixed on your form as you work on the dishes. He can see the tension in your shoulders, the heavy bags under your eyes, the way you avoid looking at him. It’s not hard for him to guess what’s going on.

He hesitates for a moment, watching you as you try to ignore him. He stands there for a few minutes, debating with himself, before finally deciding to say something. "You...you look tired."

“Oh, Bob.” You breathe out, part of you has been craving his company, craving the sound of his voice and then the other part of you feels immeasurable guilt for pushing the boundaries of your friendship. “How come you’re up so late tonight?” Pushing down your thoughts and feelings you try to pretend that nothing is wrong.

Bob can sense the shift in your demeanor, the way you're trying to act normal. He takes a few steps closer to you, his eyes fixed on you, searching for any signs of what's truly going on.

"I couldn't sleep." he murmurs softly, his gaze roaming over your exhausted form. "Just felt...restless."

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anyway I can help?” Keeping your eyes focused on the sink you don’t even notice Bob creeping toward you, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Bob stands right behind you now, close enough that you can feel his body heat radiating through his thin t-shirt, his hands still fiddling with the material. He stares down at your back, his voice soft yet slightly hoarse, "Well...there is one thing..."

The feeling of him so close sends a comforting tingle down your spine, his cologne, deodorant, shampoo, all of it is filling your senses and putting you at complete ease. “Yeah? What’s that Bob?”

Bob takes a step closer, his chest now pressed up against your back, his breath warm on your neck. He places one of his hands on your hip, lightly applying the barest amount of pressure to turn you towards him.

"I could use some...company," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

Bob can sense your hesitation, your guilt, and he's not having it. He steps even closer to you, his body practically pressed against yours now, his fingers gently gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"No," he murmurs roughly, his eyes locked onto yours, "Don't you push me away."

“What happened before, that was a mistake.” You know he’s better off pushed away from you, he needs friends, a *family*, not you, not this. “I should’ve never pushed those boundaries with you, it was a mistake,” You turn to face the dishes again, letting the warm water run over your hands.

His expression falters, a pang of pain shooting through his chest at your words. That's it? A mistake. Like that night was nothing, like he was some kind of fool to let his walls down around you.

Bob feels his mind wandering, thinking of all the negative things about himself, what things could make you act like this. He can’t think straight, he’s hurt, but more than anything he craves you. His arms find their way around your waist, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “Please Y/N, don’t do this to me…” he whispers.

You lean back into his embrace, head falling over his shoulder a small moan escaping from your lips at the feeling of his breath against your skin. “Oh Bob,” his hands slide up your shirt, wandering your skin, his touch needy and desperate.

He can't help himself, his body craving your touch, his hands roaming over your skin, like he's trying to memorize the feel of you. He trails kisses along the column of your neck, murmuring against your skin, "You...you don't regret it, do you? Being with me like that."

His hands cup your breasts, as he pushes your body forward, bending you over the counter. “No, not at all.. I don’t regret anything with-“ you lose track of your thoughts, the feeling of his erection pressed against you sending your mind reeling. “With you..” you murmur, soft pants and moans leaving your lips as his hands continue their wandering.

Bob's hands continue their trail over your body, his touch becoming more and more desperate with every passing moment, his breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. "Good, that's...that's good." he murmurs against your skin, his lips never leaving you as they press soft kisses along your neck.

His fingers fiddle with the button of your pants, slowly popping them open to reveal the fabric of your underwear, his mouth moving to your ear, your name a breathy whisper, "Please, tell me you still want me. That I'm...enough."

“God.. you’re so much more than enough,” you moan, hands moving to help remove your underwear. “You’re all I need,” your cunt aches for his touch, body shaking with every move he makes.

"Please…let me make you feel good. Let me keep you. Let me show you...what you do to me," Bob murmurs gently in your ear, his words sending another shiver down your back. "Please, don't push me away," he whispers, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. "I'll...I'll show you."

As the fabric of your underwear slides down your legs, Bob's need for you overpowers his timidity. His hands, though gentle, are insistent as they explore the curves of your ass, gripping each cheek firmly. He leans in, his face buried in your hair as he whispers, "You're so beautiful."

His desperation manifests in the way his thumbs trace the line where your thigh meets your pelvis, his fingertips brushing against the wetness of your arousal. Despite his tentative touch, there's an urgency in his voice, a raw hunger that wasn't present before.

His breath hitches as he finally dips a digit into your folds, teasing and testing, as if seeking reassurance that you still crave him. The tender intimacy of the moment is palpable, his touch a silent plea for you to not deny him.

Bob's finger circles your clit with a gentle yet urgent stroking motion, his thumb pressing down firmly on the sensitive nub as he watches your reaction in the window over the sink. The sight of your face contorted in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut and mouth parted in a silent gasp, fuels his desire even more. He's desperate to erase any doubt between you, to prove that what happened wasn't just a fleeting moment of weakness.

His other hand snakes around to the front, his thumb brushing over your clit as two of his fingers slip inside your wet, eager pussy. You're so wet for him, and the feel of your tightness around his fingers is almost too much. He can't believe he ever doubted your feelings for him.

His strokes become more deliberate, his touch more confident, as he watches your body respond to his every move. The sound of your moans fills the quiet kitchen, mixing with the faint splashing of the faucet and the occasional clink of a dish. He feels your muscles tighten around his fingers, and he knows you're close.

His thumb presses harder, his fingers pumping faster, as he watches you climb closer to the edge. And when you finally do, your body arches back into him, your hand flying to cover your mouth to muffle the sounds of your orgasm, he feels a sense of triumph and relief wash over him. For this moment, at least, you're his, and he's yours.

Bob's need for you is palpable as he guides you away from the sink, turning off the faucet with his elbow, not once breaking the connection between his body and yours. He lifts you onto the kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his waist as he steps between them. He's still fully dressed, but you can feel his erection straining against the fabric of his shorts, his hands trembling with anticipation.

With a gentle but firm grip, he lifts your shirt over your head, tossing it aside, his eyes drinking in the sight of your bare breasts. He lowers his mouth to one of your nipples, sucking and biting gently, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive peak. You arch into him, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer as he gives your other nipple the same treatment.

The sound of fabric ripping fills the room as he impatiently pulls down his shorts, revealing his thick, hard cock. He lines it up with your dripping wet pussy, and with one swift, needy thrust, he's inside you. His hips rock against yours in a rhythm that's both gentle and rough, the kind of desperate claiming that leaves no doubt about his feelings for you. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he fucks you, his breathing harsh and ragged in your ear.

Your body responds instantly to his touch, your pussy clenching around him, drawing him deeper. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, making it impossible to ignore the connection that's been building between you since that night. The kitchen counter digs into your back, but you don't care, the pain only heightening your pleasure as he fucks you harder, faster, his cock sliding in and out of you with an urgency that speaks of his need for you.

He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his voice hoarse with desire, his breath hot and panting against your skin. His hand moves between your legs, his thumb finding your clit once again, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You're so close, your entire body tightening around him, your nails digging into his back as you hold on for dear life.

And when you finally cum, it's with a loud cry that echoes through the empty house, your pussy spasming around his cock, milking him until he follows you over the edge, his own orgasm shaking him to his core. He collapses against you, his body weight pressing you into the cold countertop, his cock still buried deep inside you as he gasps for air.

Bob's body shakes against yours, his breaths ragged and labored, both his hands resting on your hips. He's still nestled between your legs, his head resting on your shoulder, his lips pressed against your neck. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything, he just stays there, his body completely enveloping yours.

Slowly, his body starts to relax, his breathing begins to even out. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. There's a vulnerability there, a hint of fear that everything that just happened was just some fever dream. "Please don't pull away from me." he whispers softly,

“I won’t.. not anymore, I promise.” You cover his face with kisses, gentle and sweet.

Bob relaxes into your touch, savoring the feeling of your lips on his skin. His grip on your hips loosens as he straightens up, his body no longer pressing you into the countertop. He glances down, a hint of embarrassment on his face as he realizes he's still inside you, his cock slowly softening.

He blushes as he looks down at where your bodies are still connected, his voice a soft whisper, "Um, I...I need to clean up."

[clairewritesfanfics]

Hi main system 👋. I wanted to ask if you could to invincible variants reaction to reader having a crazy stalker that's just started following her to their home (the stalker just first been writing scary letters to her ) . Stalker ain't even gonna make it an hour but I'd like to see what they're do to the stalker .

Trigger Warnings: violence, gore

It started with notes. Red ink on white sheets, likely torn notebook pages, folded in half and left on the table you considered your spot at the coffee shop. It was just a mild crush. Probably a fellow cafe patron who thought you were cute.

They were relatively harmless, even a tad bit flattering, if you were being honest. 

“You look pretty today.”

“Your blouse brings out your eyes.”

“We ordered the same thing today :)”

Then they got longer. Weirder. Your secret admirer upgraded from scratch paper to scented letters.

“You smell nice. Did you change your perfume? Maybe your shampoo? You seem like a put together girl, I’m sure you use the good, fancy stuff. It would be nice if you told me what products you used. Then it would be like we’re together, always.”

“I noticed you came here with some girl friends. They are lovely, but no one can compare to your beauty. You will always be the most gorgeous thing in my eyes. Your face, your hair, your curves. I love every part of you. I promise never to look at anyone else but you.”

Then they outright terrified you.

“Dear angel of the coffee shop,

Who was that man that came with you last Sunday? 

You two sat so close to each other I felt jealous just watching.

Is that your type of man? 

I didn’t think you would be so shallow. Is it because he’s six feet? Is your gender really that obsessed with height? 

Maybe it’s because he’s built like an athlete? You know he will leave you when someone prettier and younger comes along.

I will never treat you like that. I will love you even if someone better wants me.

I also noticed that you haven’t been coming to the cafe as frequently as before. You used to come here every Monday through Wednesday and sometimes during Saturday. I know it can’t be because you’re avoiding me. That’s impossible, because I already told you how much you mean to me. You would be one giant BITCH if you were avoiding me.

I stayed away because I was too shy, but maybe it’s time for us to officially meet.

If you refuse to come to me then I will have to come to you.”

He would resist the instinct to dispatch the man immediately, because he could see you shaking from the corner of his eyes. So he knocks the stalker unconscious first and has his people imprison him, with strict orders to keep him alive and isolated. His priority is you. He apologizes over and over and holds you in his arms until you fall asleep from crying. Mark is struck by guilt all at once. He should’ve taken those “love letters” seriously. But he was too arrogant, believed that when your admirer saw you with him just once then he would back off. 

After tucking you in and kissing your forehead he finally confronts the one responsible for all your tears. The man is too weak and too pathetic to serve as breeding stock for the Empire, and death would be too merciful. So Mark chooses the only logical option. He gauges the eyes that dare gaze upon you, tears off the hands that tried to touch you, shatters the legs that ran after you. Mark breaks the stalker methodically, until he begs to be killed.

flaxan, target, VILTRUMITE

Mark is furious. Not at you, never at you. But at this insect that threatened your safety. He hated how upset you were about the letters. He saw enough of human society to know that the madness was not going to stop at letters. He told you as such, so he had you go to the police, and that was why he accompanied you every time you left the house. But you were too selfless for your own good; you didn’t want to wake him up from his nap so you decided to go buy ice cream alone. He woke up groggy, but heard your screaming from the front door. He moved instantly and now, he held your stalker by the throat.

Voice taut but not raised, he tells you to get inside. You’re too afraid to protest so you run back into the house. 

When he hears the front door close with a click, he shoots up into the sky, the attacker still in his grasp. This Mark isn’t especially bloodthirsty. He sees torture as a tool for interrogation, but unnecessary otherwise. Face devoid of emotion, he clenches his fist and the man in his hand goes limp instantly. He then throws the corpse in the nearest volcano before flying back to you.

He finds you sobbing in the bed and the ice melts off his body. He joins you under the covers and promises that no one will bother you again.

FULL MASK, maskless, OMNI-MARK, prisoner 

His usual swagger is gone. There is no trace of a smile to be found on his face when he stands between your trembling form and the bastard that broke into your house. Mark glares at him. Then you tug his shirt and he takes a deep breath and forces himself to smile as he talks to you, “Go lock yourself in our room, I’ll handle this.”

But you shake your head against his back. Your muffled voice tells him you don’t want to be alone.

He sighs, but he’s not annoyed. He reaches behind him and gives your thigh a squeeze. “Okay. When I give the signal, cover your ears and don’t look.”

He turns his attention back at your stalker, who is glaring back at him, spouting crap about you belonging to him and that Mark is a fuckboy who doesn’t deserve you. That hits a nerve in your husband and he lifts his knee.

“Now, angel.”

With a single strike, the man’s brain and blood splatter on the walls and the floor.

When Mark realizes what he has done he swears under his breath and gently turns around so he could lift you up and carry you to the living room. “I should’ve done it more cleanly,” he says, wiping your tears away, “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll clean it up.”

You let out a laugh and bury your nose in his chest. Protective arms cover your shoulders as Mark kisses the top of your head. He holds you like he’s afraid that you would disappear. He hates to say it but that asshole was right, you deserve everything. He should’ve been better. Should’ve done more.

head cap, mohawk, SHIESTY

Unlike the aforementioned variants, he didn’t wait for the harassment to escalate. When he identified the man who had been sending you those sickening notes, Mark wasted no time in grabbing him when no one was looking. Brought the sicko to an abandoned cabin deep, deep, deep in the woods somewhere on the other side of the world. Mark doesn’t like being away from you for too long, so he tries to work fast. 

Mark tries to act cool when he plays with his newest victim. But the fucker keeps calling you pet names and slurs, even sharing his deepest fantasies about you. So Mark rips out his tongue, then his arms and legs, and watches him bleed, all while sharing precious memories you two made together. 

sinister, no goggles

image lifted from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-all-alternate-dimension-invincibles-fates/

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[cosmicjoke]

I actually have a scene I wrote in my story “This Life, After” that’s similar to this fanart, haha. If anyone wants to read it, it’s below the cut:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37903426/chapters/94653316

Levi’s never seen anything like it.

A giant, man-made pool of clear, blue water. It stretches nearly the length of the entire room, from end to end, the color so bright, it seems unnatural to Levi.

“That’s the chlorine,” Onyankopon tells him.

Levi looks up at him, frowning.

He don’t know what that is.

“It’s a chemical they put in the water to sanitize it, basically,” Onyan explains, smiling. “It keeps bacteria from forming.”

“… Oh,” Levi says.

He’s happy to hear that.

There had been a pond back on Paradis that the Scouts had sometimes used for recreation. It had never seemed clean to Levi, the way they would wade into it and splash around, half the time naked. Hange always tried to get him to come in, but Levi had always refused, standing by the shore, scowling and frustrated. Some of the other soldiers used to harass him about it, saying he was a killjoy, saying he didn’t know how to have fun.

They didn’t seem to understand how water could carry diseases. Hange knew, but the others didn’t.

He knew. He knew from growing up Underground. Knew better than to ever drink from the stagnant pools of filthy water that you found in the streets. Even when he’d been dying of thirst, more often than he’d like to remember, he’d known better.

Anyway, he hadn’t known how to swim. Still doesn’t. That’s what they’re here for. Onyan and the kids wanted to teach him. It was good physical exercise that would be easy on his joints and injuries, according to the doctors, though he couldn’t do it by himself, on account of his seizures. The pills’d been helping. Hadn’t had nothin’ too severe of late, but… he knows he could drown, if it were to happen to him in the water. So he’s gotta’ have people with him. Gotta’ keep to the shallow part of the pool.

But Levi was desperate to move his body in any way, at this point. If learning to swim could help him, even if he’d always need help, he was willing.

Onyan had called ahead and rented out the pool for a few hours, so it was just gonna’ be the four of them.

“Let’s get changed,” Onyan says. “Gabi and Falco are already back getting dressed.”

Levi stiffens slightly at Onyan’s words, hesitation coming over him.

He hadn’t thought much about it when everyone had first suggested swimming to him, but he’d realized after agreeing to try it that he was gonna’ have to wear swim trunks.

The kids were gonna’ see his body.

He’d put on some weight, but… he knows what he looks like. Knows his body still looks sick.

Onyan was used to it, but the kids haven’t seen what he looks like since he’d started really dropping in weight.

Beyond that, he can’t get it outta’ his head that he looks fat. He knows he doesn’t, knows it ain’t really possible, with how light he is, but… but he’d started to gain weight in his midsection, and seemingly nowhere else, and every time he looked down at his stomach, all he saw was how fat it was, stickin’ out over the waistband of his pants.

The doctors said that was normal. That once he started gainin’ weight back, it’d all go to his belly first, before distributing more evenly.

Knowin’ that doesn’t really help him feel better though.

He thinks he must look disgusting.

And then there were all the scars.

He already had plenty from his life growing up Underground. Scars from knife fights, brawls in the streets and in pubs. Plenty of scars from Kenny, too. Scars from after, from his time in the SC.

But the scars that stood out most now were the ones from all the surgeries he’s had done. All the times his body had needed to be sliced open or stitched back together because he was bleeding to death, inside and out.

They were ugly, and Levi was plenty ugly enough on his own.

He doesn’t know how the kids will react to seeing him. He doesn’t want to frighten ‘em.

He doesn’t say any of this as Onyan takes him to the changing room, but Onyan seems to pick up on his reluctance anyway.

“You feeling okay?” he asks.

Levi nods, frowning.

“… I guess I just don’t want the kids to be freaked out by what I look like, now.”

Onyankopon’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Levi, they won’t be,” he promises, “but if you’re worried, I brought a tank top that you can wear.”

“Yeah… maybe,” Levi agrees. “Thanks.”

He can’t quite keep the reluctance out of his voice. He still isn’t sure.

But he doesn’t say anything more, letting Onyan help him dress, keeping his eyes fixed to the wall. He hates looking at himself now. He hates how pathetically frail his body has become.

Onyankopon handles removing the catheter tubing and bag, taping the Foley catheter against his skin.

Levi don’t like to look at it all. It’s disgusting, he thinks. His face heats with shame every time the bag needs to be emptied out. He guesses it was better than pissin’ all over himself, but still, any time he let himself notice it, all it did was remind him that he didn’t have enough control over his body these last months to keep from soilin’ himself like a damned baby.

He’s meant to get it removed on Monday.

The doctors wanna’ see if his incontinence has resolved itself, yet. They think it should’ve by now.

Levi think’s he’ll be happy to be rid of it, though he can’t help worryin’, neither. What if he can’t hold his piss, still? What if he ends up pissin’ all over himself, like before?

He don’t even wanna’ think about it.

He pushes the fears to the back of his mind, tryin’ to focus on the present.

He feels exposed in nothing but the tank top and shorts Onyan gets him into now, feet bare against the footrests of his chair. Onyan doesn’t seem to have any, similar insecurities, comfortable in only a pair of swim trunks.

Levi admires him, with his broad shoulders and chest. Levi keeps his own arms crossed over himself as they make their way back to the pool.

Gabi and Falco are already waiting.

Falco’s got one of those plastic beach balls in his hands, and he smiles when he sees them.

“I thought, once we get Mr. Levi more acquainted with the water, we could toss the ball around a bit,” he says.

“That sounds like fun,” Onyankopon says.

“What’re those?” Levi nods at the rubbery-lookin’ things in Gabi’s hands.

“Oh, these are floats for you, Mr. Levi,” she explains. “You fit ‘em over your arms and they help keep you floating, so you don’t sink like a stone,” she laughs, and Levi frowns.

“Well, there’s not much chance of that, anyway,” Onyankopon adds quickly, “since we’ll be keeping to the shallow end for now. But yes, Lee, we thought it would be best for you to wear these, just until you get the hang of swimming. We also have a tube you can put around your waist.”

Levi sees it, sittin’ there on one of the benches, lookin’ like some kinda’ rubber doughnut.

Gabi comes over, and she don’t ask before she starts fittin’ the float things over his arms.

Levi resists the urge to pull away, fearful she’ll feel the fat on his arms.

It’s ridiculous. When he looks down at ‘em, they look they should belong on a skeleton.

He thinks the tube round his waist will be a tight fit, but it slips around him easy and hangs loose and low on his hips.

“Ready?” Onyankopon asks, and Levi nods, tamping down the nervous flutter in his gut as Onyan picks him up and begins wading into the pool, holding him in his arms.

Levi expects it to be cold, but instead it’s lukewarm. He has his arm around Onyan’s neck, clinging to him, and Onyan keeps his arms secure around Levi’s torso. He doesn’t let go.

Gabi and Falco follow behind, splashing excitedly into the water and swimming easily out into the deep end.

Levi watches after them, happy to see their good time.

“I won’t let go until you ask me to,” Onyan says softly to him,

“Okay,” Levi answers, grateful.

//

Levi learns quickly.

Onyankopon can’t say he’s surprised.

Within half an hour, he’s got more than the basic movement down, the only thing holding him back from swimming out with the same power in his stroke as Gabi and Falco the persisting weakness in his legs. Onyankopon keeps an arm around him as Levi swims in place. He gets tired quickly, but he tells Onyankopon he can let him go.

Onyankopon isn’t so sure, but he does as Levi asks, staying close as Levi hovers in the water, kicking his legs and wading with his arms. He has trouble keeping his balance because of the weakness, but the floats help.

“How do you like it?” Onyankopon asks.

Levi blinks up at him, and nods.

“It’s nice,” he says, and Onyankopon smiles, reaching out and smoothing Levi’s hair back from his forehead.

“We can come whenever you like, after I get off from work, though I won’t be able to always rent the place out like this, I’m afraid.”

Levi shrugs, concentrating on his movement.

“Mm… maybe,” he says.

He seems content to just float there like that, practicing, until Gabi and Falco come swimming over.

“Wanna’ toss the ball around, Mr. Levi?” Gabi asks.

“… Okay, Levi answers.

Onyankopon holds Levi from behind, the four of them forming a circle, batting the ball from one to the other.

Levi has a little trouble, but nobody says anything.

It’s fun, and relaxing.

Onyankopon knows Levi had been worried about the kids seeing his body, but there’d been nothing to worry about. Gabi and Falco understood, and even if they didn’t, they had too much respect for Levi to say anything or be insensitive about it.

They take a break for a bit after that, Onyankopon holding Levi against himself as he sits on the steps along the pool’s perimeter, the two of them watching Gabi and Falco splash at each other, laughing and chasing each other around.

Levi shifts in his hold, squirming, and Onyankopon frowns, glancing down at him.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Just… my shirt…”

“Your shirt?” Onyankopon questions, unsure.

“… Don’t like the way it feels, clingin’ to my skin, ‘s’all.”

“Do you want to take it off?”

He feels Levi stiffen in his hold.

“… Nah… no,” he answers after a moment.

Onyankopon’s frown deepens.

“It’s okay if you do, Lee,” he says. “Honey… nobody’s going to judge you.”

Levi is silent for a long, few seconds.

“… I look disgustin’,” he whispers at last, and Onyankopon feels his heart sink.

“Lee… no you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do,” Levi insists, “Onyan, they’ll see me. They’ll see how fat my stomach is.”

“Levi,” Onyankopon starts, trying to keep the pain from his voice, “baby… you’re not fat. We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? It’s just the way it looks because it’s going to take your body some time to adjust to the weight gain. It all goes to your midsection initially, as a way of protecting your internal organs.”

Levi doesn’t say anything at first, and Onyankopon opens his mouth to prompt him, worry churning in his gut.

“… It just… looks fat,” he suddenly whispers.

Onyankopon bites the inside of his cheek.

He doesn’t know what to say.

He can’t tell Levi it isn’t true.

Levi did have what appeared to be a gut, but only because the rest of his body was still so thin. He didn’t have any fat anywhere else, so it looked like a lot on his midsection.

He’s tried explaining that to Levi before, and he thinks Levi had understood. It was just… he knows it does little to dampen the embarrassment Levi feels over his appearance.

“Baby… they won’t care,” he tries instead. “You know they won’t.”

He feels Levi shudder against him.

“… Okay,” he finally breathes.

“Okay?” Onyankopon asks, just to be certain, and Levi nods.

Onyankopon helps him out of his shirt, then, a swell of pride in his chest for Levi’s courage. He knows how hard this is for him.

Levi folds his arms over himself, plainly nervous, and Onyankopon smooths his hands over his shoulders, hoping it relaxes him.

It seems to work a little, Levi’s arms around his torso gradually loosening.

Falco comes swimming over, Gabi close behind.

“You two want to come back in the water?” the boy asks, smiling up at them.

He doesn’t show any reaction to Levi’s body, or say anything about him now being bare-chested, nor does Gabi, and Onyankopon feels relieved at that. He’d known there wasn’t anything to worry over in that regard.

“What do you think, Lee? You want to go in again?”

Levi nods, and Onyankopon smiles, pressing a kiss to the back of his head before wading back into the pool with him.

//

Around noon, they have lunch.

Somethin’ called pizza, which Levi ain’t never had.

Some kinda’ cheese pie over a breaded crust.

It tastes good.

Tastes so good, Levi has to keep himself from eating the whole damn thing.

Onyan and the kids smile at him when he polishes off his first slice in a few bites, and Levi realizes he’s taken up a second without even thinking of it.

He guesses that’s a good thing.

That’s what he’s meant to be doing. What everyone tells him he should be doing. Eating without guilt.

But the moment he’s thought it, the feelings come back. That he shouldn’t be doing this. That he needs to do something to get rid of the calories he’s just consumed.

He thinks, suddenly, he should toss the slice in his hand away and make himself puke back up what he’s just forced down his throat.

Only, he looks again at the smiling faces of Onyankopon, of Gabi and Falco… of his family, he thinks. His family. And he knows, if he were to do that, their smiles would fade. He knows it would hurt them, and that’s the last thing he wants.

So, he forces the thoughts away and continues eating the slice in his hand. Lets himself enjoy it. Enjoy the flavor of it over his tongue. Makes himself ignore the voice in his head, screaming at him to stop, the dread cresting in his throat.

He’s not going to ruin this. He’s not going to spoil what’s been a good morning for all of them, just ‘cause he can’t shut his own, stupid brain up.

So, he eats two slices, and half of another one, and he enjoys it.

It’s a good day, Levi thinks.

It’s a good day.

learning

[astraldelights]

Brat! 🪖

Synopsis: You start acting like a brat and Ben knows exactly how to put you into your place.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Content warnings: SMUT (18+), P in V, Spanking, Brat Taming, Unprotected Sex ( Ben doesn't believe in condoms), Glasses get thrown onto the ground :(, Soldier Boy being an ass.

-

“Hey sweetheart.”He exhaled after taking a drag of his lucky joint. The smell of weed was strong in the air, his legs spread wide clearly wanting to let you know how big it was. You rolled your eyes in response and tried to ignore his irritating presence. 

The only reason you had stayed back was because Butcher stuck you on babysitting duty. In his own words, “ Love, you would get squished like a bug if you went with us.” 

Even after insisting on tagging along on their field mission, you were met with a hard no. You didn't disagree completely but just wanted to avoid dealing with Soldier Boy’s outdated notion about women and politics. 

You had been with Butcher and his gang for a few months. You mostly helped out with research and handling retrieval of sensitive digital information from certain companies. Working behind the scenes meant that you were not physically built for any of the missions which usually involved combat. MM and Frenchie had been kind enough to train you in the basics of self defence and hand to hand combat. Teaching you how to use a handgun as well, in case shit got real, and with Butcher’s baggage it always did.

“Hey princess, you know playing hard to get only makes me want you more.” He said with a deep grin on his face. It was clear his high could get to him, considering the copious amount of weed he had already smoked through. You didn't mind the weed, but the only thing that ruined your high was him sitting beside you. Opening your laptop, you started to try and do your own work.

While you didn’t like Soldier Boy, you couldn't deny that he was very attractive. His dick-swinging, cocky attitude had to come from somewhere. He knew he was hot and you hated it. The first time you met him you had to act like you weren't completely ogling him through the body cams Butcher and crew had on them after breaking into the Russian lab. He was shown in all his glory, with his beard grown and body still in perfect shape. Before you could continue watching, the cameras seemed to go off after he let out that nuclear blast from his chest. Being around him was an internal battle everyday, trying to not look him directly in the face to avoid having to confront your confusing feelings towards him. 

But even that wasn’t enough.

While you were a bit of a homebody and preferred to wear comfortable clothes, you did like to dress up once in a while. And when Soldier Boy saw you in a mini-skirt for the first time, his perverted comments started. “Woah where have you been hiding?” “Is that what women are wearing nowadays? You look like a hooker. Not that I’m complaining” 

The rational part of you hated being objectified under his gaze, and the other part rubbed your thighs together every time he said something with his deep baritone voice. Everytime he spoke, its deepness sent a shiver down your spine. 

Your current predicament, however, did not allow you to avoid his presence. With every other room having horrible connection, that only left the room that Soldier Boy currently occupied. 

“You know, you would look way prettier if you got rid of those glasses.” Your eyebrow twitched in anger. “I actually need these glasses. Not everyone got a dose of compound V to allow them perfect vision for the rest of their lives” You tried turning away from him, only having limited space as his manspreading took up half the tiny couch you were situated on. “Also could you PLEASE close your legs? I’m sure you don't need that much space for what's in between your legs.” You huffed out, clearly frustrated with his macho manspread he had used to take up space on the couch.

“How about you stop acting like a fucking brat.” He grumbled. Ben was sick and tired of your attitude. Your lingering stares on his face followed by quick turns away. Always coming out in shabby outfits after giving him a taste of what you looked like underneath all that fabric. You were a tease, and he was at his limit. Using his strength he manhandled you right over his thigh, computer thrown onto the ground.

“What are you-” Smack!

Ben’s hand landed straight onto your behind, leaving a stinging sensation. “If you want to act like a brat, I’m going to treat you like one. If I have to smack some manners into you I will.”

You squirm on his lap but can’t seem to get out of his supe-enhanced strength as he holds you down with one palm on your back. Smack! Another hit lands

“Stay fucking still. I want to hear you count each time I hit this pretty little ass. If I can’t hear you we start from 0, got it?” You nodded, with tears already threatening to spill from the previous two hits. 

As his hand repeatedly came down onto your tender behind, you managed to whimper out each count until you reached the number 10. Tears streaming down your face, your glasses knocked off from the force of his hits. You looked up to Ben as his hand wiped away the tears. The hand which was holding you down for punishment, now tenderly cradling your cheek.

“Now ain’t that a beautiful sight, you gonna be good for me now?” You nodded, eager to please him or save yourself from further punishment. You weren’t sure. His hands moved to slip down your shorts, cradling your ass in his palm. You felt him rub his hand against your ass, feeling you through your soaked panties.

“You actually got wet from this? You kinky slut.” He grinned at the effect he had on you. Ben knew he turned you on no matter how much you acted like you hated him. Lifting you again he set you to straddle his thigh. You stay still waiting for his next instruction, not wanting to anger him with your insubordination. 

“See! I was right you look way fucking better without those glasses, and much hotter when your looking at me with those fuck-me eyes.” Ben was brimming with confidence and pride, disciplining you seemed to stroke his ego in a special way. Using his hands, he guided your hips to start grinding on his thigh. The friction between his thigh and your panties rubbing against your clit was heaven. The more you rubbed the closer you got. Hiding your face in his shoulders while gripping his chest tightly, he knew you were getting close. Ben started to bounce his thigh and wrangled you out of hiding in his neck.

“No hiding, I want to see your face when I make you cum.” As the grinding continued, you couldn’t hold back the whimpers which were heavenly to Ben’s ears. After so long he finally got to hear your voice in a pleasant way instead of bitching at him to clean up the common space. God he loved putting you into your place, which as you would find out is beneath him while he fucks the brains out of you.

Reaching your climax, you felt your cum leak onto Ben’s thigh. Breathing unsteady, you tried to catch yourself from falling but Ben already had that covered. He laid you down onto the couch, slipping off your panties in the process while he undressed as well. Taking off his shirt, you saw all the natural muscle his body had retained even after all those years of experimentation. Skin still perfect and body perfectly ripped. Exactly how it looked on the cameras. Even better up close. As his shorts came down, you saw the size of the monster he kept in his pants. There was a good reason why women kept ‘falling’ straight into his bed, and you just saw it. 

Your legs hooked around his hips, his tip touching your entrance as he slowly slid into you. The way he filled you up made your legs tighten around him and your toes curl. 

“Oh my- nghh” You heard his chuckle reverberate through both of your bodies. 

“I just put it in and you're already cockdrunk. What a Grade-A slut.” You didn't argue back, you were too busy trying to get used to the size of his dick splitting you apart from within.  Placing your arms onto his back, you slowly tried to roll your hips against him. Desperate for some friction that he wasn't giving you.

“Tsk tsk tsk, I'm not giving you anything until I hear you beg for it” He chided your weak attempt to fuck yourself on him. 

“Soldier Boy, can you please just move?” You whined. He gave you a slow roll but stopped again.

“Call me Ben, and I want to hear you beg properly.” Ben growled, he felt you clenched on his dick in response to his commands. While you would never admit it willingly, you loved letting him boss you around and this was no exception.

“Ben can you please fuck me hard now- eep!” As soon as you completed your sentence he started thrusting in and out, unable to hold himself back any longer. Drawing himself back out, he sank back in slowly before resuming his movements, coaxing the most erotic sounds out of your mouth.

“F-fuck your tight. We gotta work on breaking in your pussy properly.” You whimpered. This was already too much for you, unsure of how much more you could hold on. He continued punishing your hole with his cock, watching it go in and out covered in both of your fluids. 

Your moans filled up the room, unable to hide any of your sounds as you were too focused on the man currently on top of you. All your little sounds and moans were heavenly to Ben's ears.

“That's it baby, just let me fuck all your thoughts out.” His balls smacked against your ass while you let him fuck you stupid, a little drop of drool escaping your open mouth. Holding your jaw tight, he kept it open as he spit straight into your mouth. You waited as he watched you hold his spit obediently.

“Good girl. Swallow.” You closed your mouth and swallowed it down as he instructed. Ben nodded as a sign of his approval as he moved his hand down to your throat, applying steady pressure and restricting your airflow. 

Your breaths got shorter as he continued to choke you. You feel the pleasure that has been building up as you start to reach its peak. You weren't sure if it was the lack of air or just the feeling of his hand around your throat, but at that point you didn't care. Locking your legs together behind him, you pushed him in deeper as you squirted onto his dick. Your cum, now all over his dick and his abs. 

Feeling you clench intensely around his dick, Ben's thrusts seemed to stutter a bit but continued its relentless abuse. His tip continually bullying your cervix, Ben was sure you weren't going to be walking tomorrow. 

“Did you just squirt on me? Fuck that was hot, I'm making sure you do that again”  You whined in response, shaking your head. You were already overstimulated from cumming twice and were sure you weren't able to give him anymore.

“You're so fucking cute. But nobody says no to me.” He moved his hand down to your clit. Rubbing it while his dick abused your cunt, hitting all the right spots inside of you. It was too much, you were too sensitive and couldn't hold yourself from cumming a third time. Your intense orgasm seemed to pull Ben over there edge as well, causing him to release deep inside you. 

“I can't hold it back anymore so fucking take it.” He grunted, painting your walls white with his cum while continuing to fucking it into you. Eventually he began to slow down and slowly pulled himself out.

Ben watched as your hold winked at him after he pulled out, leaking his cum that he shot into you. Swiping up his cum from your thighs, he pushed it back into your hole with two fingers, making sure it didn't escape. You whimpered at the feeling but was too weak to fight it. 

As he sat back up, he started smoking the joint he previously abandoned. You felt your body being shifted up and onto his lap. You curled up against him and buried your head into his neck, too exhausted and seeked his touch after such an intense session. 

“Next time keep the glasses on. I want to see it covered in my cum.”

-

A/N: He's kinda mean in this one but he's soldier boy so....

Masterlist

[nagujake]

୨⎯Use Me⎯୧

pairing: bf!jungwon x fem!reader

synopsis: You've been so stressed and overwhelmed lately, but Jungwon has a way to help you relieve some of your stress.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: Mentions of divorce/toxic household, cursing, kissing, pet names (angel, baby, good girl), thigh riding

MDNI

(NOT PROOF READ)

Your home life wasn’t great, your parents weren’t at a good stage in their marriage and you were honestly just waiting for the day they would tell you they’re getting a divorce. While you’re 19 and could move out, you thought staying at home would keep your mom and dad together. You were hoping you were the glue they needed to keep their marriage going but that just wasn’t the case. Your mental health had also been on the decline because of all your home problems, but one thing you were grateful for was your sweet boyfriend, Jungwon. He truly was the only reason for your happiness anymore and he had always tried to keep things light and fun with you whenever you guys hung out. 

You walked into Jungwon’s house with a shy smile. You were here more than you weren’t nowadays and you always felt pretty shitty about it, you felt like a burden to his parents, regardless of how many times they said you weren’t. While you didn’t like to talk about what was happening in your house, Jungwon had filled them in on everything. 

You made your way to the living room, his mom greeting you from the kitchen “hey y/n!” “Hi Mrs. Yang” you said with a small wave and she smiled at you brightly “dinner is almost ready, have you eaten?” You shook your head softly “okay perfect because I made enough for you too” you bit your lip “thank you… where’s Won?”. She nodded “he’s up in his room”. Smiling slightly, you began walking towards the stairs before turning around “you look really pretty by the way” you uttered out, causing her to giggle softly “thank you honey, Jungwon’s father and I have a party for my job tonight. We’re gonna be leaving here shortly”. “Okay, Have fun!” You stated before turning around and finishing your walk up the stairs. 

You knocked lightly on his door and walked in, finding him with his headphones on, flipping through a school textbook. You slowly shuffled over behind him and put both hands on the sides of his headphones, pulling them off slowly. “Hey” you whispered. He quickly turned around with a smile and stood up, pulling you into a warm hug “hey angel” he left a soft kiss to your head before he pulled away. “You haven’t texted me in a while, I wasn’t sure if you were still coming over” you gave him a confused look “why wouldn’t I come over? I’m always here anymore” you smiled “and I completely forgot my phone at home. I left in a rush because my mom was screaming her lungs out. I just wanted to get out of there”. His expression dropped faintly and he pulled you into him again “I’m so sorry”. You laid your head against his chest and shrugged “it’s okay, I’m used to it” He sighed and loosened his grip on you.

You backed up and moved away, plopping down on his neatly made bed. He smiled at your action and mirrored it, plopping down next to you. “I’m so tired. I didn’t sleep like at all last night. My dad was freaking out on my mom” He turned to face you, head leaning on his palm. “You can move in here, ya know. The offer is always on the table. My parents are totally fine with it” You shook your head “I’m not gonna do that Jungwon. It’s fine, everything is fine” you showed him a fake smile. “You need to stop holding in all your feelings y/n. Bottling them up is gonna make you feel worse“ you playfully rolled your eyes “you’ve heard enough about it Wonnie” He raised his eyebrow at you “I’m your boyfriend, you can talk about it all you want” you turned to him, sleepily “but it gets annoying, I know that and it’s just so frustrating”. He just shook his head in response and crawled up the bed, holding his arms out “come here” you smiled widely and moved up to him quickly. You laid against him, your head on his chest, his arm snaked around you. “You can take a nap if you’re tired baby” You nuzzled into him deeper “I just wanna relax, I don’t wanna go to sleep yet. I missed you today” he smiled warmly but stayed silent, running a hand through your hair. 

The silence in the room made your mind race. All you could think about was your parents. You’ve been through so much mentally and you wanted to vent to Jungwon but you’re doing what you do best, holding all of your feelings inside to not bother anyone else with your problems. You could feel the ache in your chest rising and tears began to pool in your eyes. You immediately adjusted your position, slinging your leg over his so you could shove your face into his chest more. You were now straddling his thigh because you wanted to hide your tears as much as possible, because you knew you were gonna cry. He stayed silent and still as he began to feel your body shuddering lightly, he knew you were crying, you could never hide that from him. His hand sat on the back of your head, just allowing you to cry as much as you needed. “It’s okay angel”. You began to cry harder, the weight of everything becoming too hard to bear. “It’s just so fucking stressful Won” “I know baby”. 

He continued to let you sob into him for a while longer. “Angel, I want you to do something for me” you wiped your eyes clear and looked up at him. “Hm?” He didn’t say anything more and gripped the base of your ass, starting to move his hand up and down, encouraging you to move the same way his hand was. You began to move your hips the way he wanted “Use me to relieve your stress baby girl”. You pushed your hips harder onto his thigh and began grinding. Your hand moved to his shoulder, gripping roughly to ground you, while your hips started to move at a faster pace. A pleasurable thrill shooting through your body and straight to your core. “Fuck..Wonnie” you whined out. You sat up, your other hand moving to his other shoulder, allowing you to push yourself harder into him and get more friction. 

One of his hands laid perfectly on your waist, and the other flew to your head, pushing your face into his. The both of your lips met in a frenzied kiss, and you whimpered into his mouth feeling the coil tightening in your stomach. You pulled away, breathing heavy and small beads of sweat starting to form on your face. You glanced down at his crotch, his cock hard to miss as it was straining in his shorts. One of your hands came down, rubbing on his cock and frantically trying to release it from its fabric prison but he gripped your wrist to stop you “no angel, only you tonight”. His simple words made you moan and he pulled your hand to his face. He began leaving small kisses on your fingers, just a small act of affection as you destroyed yourself on his thigh. “W-Wonnie.. I’m gonna cum” he smirked at your words and nodded “come for me angel, keep fucking yourself on my thigh baby”. His eyes fell to your center, shorts completely soaked from your hurried grinding. “God, you’re so fucking wet baby” Eyes fluttering shut, you threw your head back and moaned louder, your orgasm just seconds away. “Jungwon! Oh my god!” You let out a string of whimpers as your climax hit you like a ton of bricks. He gripped your hips again and continued the harsh rubbing for you to ride out your high “Yes baby, let it all out”. As you finally stopped trembling you dropped yourself onto his chest, yours heaving up and down quickly to catch your breath. He tangled his hand in your hair and kissed your head “good girl, how did that feel?” You smiled against his shirt “so good” you muttered out before closing your eyes. 

After a few minutes, Jungwon noticed your breathing return to normal and your body become heavy against his. He looked down at you, eyes completely shut, and mouth slightly agape. You had fallen asleep, which he knew you needed. He smiled and laid his head against yours “my sweet angel”.