#help i cant write smut

[kurogxrix]

Love It Loud

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Wife!reader

IN WHICH you help your husband relax after a long day of work by pleasuring him.

WC: 5.6k

Warnings: SMUT, cowgirl, unprotected lazy fuck, creampie, size kink, fingering, oral (M), subby!bucky, pure filth.

Frustration was running thick through Bucky’s veins since way before he’d even stepped foot into the mansion’s doors, and by the way that he’d slammed the two wooden doors open, you could easily tell that he was still very fed up. You knew that Bucky’s occupation was far from easy. There were days where he’d come back home all bruised and bloody to the point where you had to stitch him up. 

Though you understood why he did what he did, it never helped to ease your worries when he’d spend days away on some dangerous trip somewhere far from home. Before officializing your relationship with the mobster, you had received far too many warnings from your peers and family members. They’d warn you that he’d put you in danger, that he’d neglect you and return home at night with signs of unfaithfulness freshly visible on him.

Though they didn’t even personally know the man, they still found ways to berate him on a further level. You’d never once listened to a thing of what they had to say, instead deciding to chase your romance with the man of your dreams. Bucky was far from what those people had described him as, at least in his relationship with you. On the outside of your marriage, he was still a fearful mobster with blood stained hands. Nevertheless, your security was his number one priority. He had hundreds, with no exaggeration, of loyal guards pacing around his home whenever he wasn’t around to watch on you himself. 

He was always there for you, treating you like a real-life Disney princess as he spoiled you with his riches. Bucky loved you like no other, and he vowed to dedicate his life to you in a claim that he valued your life before his. A five year long relationship and a set of rings accompanied with a marriage certificate was as much as Bucky had to prove true to his promise for the time being. 

Much to contradict the stereotype of men with shitty jobs, Bucky was nothing but undyingly loyal to you. Be damned that any woman dares to even look him in the eye, he’d always reject them without a second thought. You were it for him, and he didn’t need any side chicks like the other shitty men in the business. Though you did believe him and lay all of your trust into his hands, he’d even go as far as taping a fucking live camera onto his suit to proof to you that he wasn’t even batting an eye towards no other woman. Though he feared that the idea was a little too extreme, and furthermore he didn’t want you to catch sight of the more gruesome and bloody parts of his hobby.  

The forceful opening of your bedroom door had you jumping in your seat on the bed. The book in your hand nearly slipping out as you quickly closed the explicit romance novel that you were so engrossed in. The loud entrance was enough to tell you that something was wrong with your husband today, but his excessive grunting and furrowed eyebrows just confirmed your observations. 

He’d greeted you with a chaste kiss before moving to the bathroom to freshen himself, but lord forbid you caught sight of the blood that stained his hands. He didn’t want you to deal with this kind of filth, he’d had a shitty enough day, he didn’t feel like ruining yours too. He removed the upper pieces of his suit to take care of the blood that soaked through the white shirt of his expensive suit, crimson liquid that didn’t even belong to him. Once Bucky had managed to clean his hands from the dried blood that clung onto his skin, he hadn't even bothered to remove his pants before joining you back in bed. 

Of course he’d removed his shoes before sitting on your shared bed, because otherwise you’d literally strangle him to death, and he didn’t feel like dying today. Bucky must’ve realised that he was staring into nothing for a solid minute, because your noises of concern were soon to reach his ears. He didn’t have the physical words to ease you, so instead he took you hand in his, rubbing a comforting thumb over your knuckles as he gave you a tight smile.

You chose to let it go for now, obviously sensing his frustration ever since he’d gotten back here. Sitting back on your side, you watched as your husband pulled out a half-read book from his side table. You laid down on your side as you enjoyed the view of Bucky squinting like an old man to try and comprehend whatever was written in that book of his. He didn’t even give the poor book a minute before slamming it back down on the desk, a loud sound resonating around the room as Bucky raised a hand to rub at his tired eyes. 

“You want me to help you relax?” It wasn't hard to see the exasperation pooling in his blue iris, and you were sure that he’d rip that book apart if he’d kept it in his hands any longer. You didn’t necessarily want to ask what was the cause of his situation, because as much as you knew that your husband would never voluntarily even raise his voice at you, you knew what extreme frustration did to people. 

“I’d love to fuck my frustrations away into that tight little cunt of yours, sure.” you couldn’t help the way your eyes widened at his crude insinuation, even though that wasn’t necessarily what you’d thought of at first, you definitely wanted to help him ‘relax’ in that way now. Your hand moves up to cup his cheeks on its own, your thumb rubbing comforting circles into his skin 

 “But I'm so worn out today I'm not sure I'd even last.” you feel your heart tightening at the admission, always feeling so bad whenever your husband comes back home so beaten up. You sat up once more as you eyed the stubble on his jaw, wanting nothing more than to run your palm along the spiky hairs. There was a tinge of desire in his eyes, something that told you that he was dead genuine about his previous statement, and you wanted nothing else than that too.

“Nobody said you had to move, just let me take care of you.” you whispered out the last part before moving up to him, testing the waters as your lips laid millimetres away from his. After a couple of seconds where he didn’t back away, you finally closed the space between you both to kiss him. He accepted it without any second thoughts, because who was he to decline your affection? The kiss was sloppy but all the more intimate as he cupped your cheeks with his large, calloused palm. 

From a second to another, you’re were top of Bucky, your legs on either side of his hips as you straddled him. He didn’t even have time to comprehend your free hand moving downwards on his body because he was too busy with the passionate kiss that you were both sharing. The sudden feeling of your palm against his clothed cock made Bucky gasp, and you took it as your chance to slip your tongue onto his. 

His tongue fight was weak, given that he was usually the one that was dominating you, and you felt yourself growing wetter at the newfound dominance that you’d just acquired. You could feel the way that his half-hard cock was reacting under your touch as the bulge in his pants only grew bigger and bigger by the second. Bucky was nothing but a whimpering mess under you as his tongue slipped inside of your mouth, entangling with yours in a sultry kiss. 

His hips were buckling into your hands with desperation, and by then his cock was fully erected and painfully throbbing in the restraints of his boxers. You could practically feel the heat radiating from it through all of his layers of clothes, but you weren’t even close to complaining. 

You pulled apart from Bucky for a split second, your mouth and your palm leaving his body as he grunted out a noise of complaint. 

“Come back here.” The dark rasp of his voice only sent tingles down to your core, but this moment was supposed to be about him. Bucky grasped your wrist in between his fingers, trying to drag you back onto him so that you could continue the sloppy match of making out that you’d previously offered him. Though his complaining faltered as he watched you fumble with the zipper of his pants, a teasing grin on your face as you watched him eyeing you like a prey. 

“Please, doll…” he ran his hands tenderly down your arms, trying to charm you into pulling his cock out faster so he can just fuck you already, or get fucked by you just like you’d offered to do. He was impatient, a sliver of despair swimming in his beautiful blue iris as he did nothing else but stare at you greedily. If he wasn’t so exhausted you could’ve been sure that he would’ve already thrown you down onto the mattress and pounded you unrelentingly for being a tease, but you currently were the one with the upper hand. 

Deciding to spare him the pain of having to stay much longer in the tight and uncomfortable restraints of his clothes, you finally unzipped his suit pants and slipped your fingers under the waistband of both his pants and boxers at the same time. He aided you by lifting up his hips lazily as you slipped his clothes off in one smooth movement.

His cock sprang straight at his lower stomach right after you removed his pants, a wet sound following as his pre-cum covered tip slapped against his smooth skin. You nearly drooled at the familiar sight of his thickness, his cock freshly shaven apart for the oddly attractive line of hair starting at his lower stomach all the way down his V-line. He was so long and so fucking hard that you worried for your guts the moment you’d let him slip inside. 

Bucky’s thick length twitched upon his stomach as he watched you sit on your knees to lift your shirt above your head. Once his gaze finally fell on the sight of your breasts perfectly sitting in that satin bra that he’d bought you, he threw his head back into the pillow with a dramatic groan that you couldn’t help but laugh at. 

You left the mattress to undress for merely a few seconds, but you could practically already feel your husband’s lustful gaze from behind. You decided to offer him a show and lower your panties painfully slowly while exaggeratedly bending over as you slipped the pair off your ankles. You kind of regretted not being able to see the look in his eyes once he caught sight of your seeping cunt, but the one that he had one his face once you’d turned around was not deceiving at all. 

“Come here, lemme touch em’” he whispered, his eyes never once leaving your chest as he spoke.

Your eyes didn’t miss the way one of his hands wasn’t at his side, but down to his waist and stroking leisurely at his pulsing cock while he stared hungrily at you. He used his thumb to smooth the pre-cum gathering at the slit of his top, the feeling making him shudder. 

“This night is supposed to be about pleasing you, we can think about me tomorrow.” 

“Your tits are all the more pleasing to me, c’mon darling,”  Bucky forced his bottom lip into the painful grip of his teeth to prevent himself from embarrassingly groaning at the sight of your hips swaying with your every move, and he felt relieved as you moved closer to him finally. 

Once you reached the side of the bed again, you grasped the hand that was sinfully stroking down his hips to place them on your side as you straddled him once more. Bucky would love to complain because of the loss of friction, but he’d be glad to ignore the impatient twitching of his cock because the sight before him is straight up heaven. 

His eyes were centimetres away from your hardened nipples, and he didn’t need a green card for him to engulf your breast into his mouth. You moaned as he twirled his tongue around your sensitive bud, his other hand squeezing the soft flesh of your side as he got lost in the moment. Soon your other breast was to receive the same treatment as he left the other with a wet ‘pop’. You were fully sitting on his torso by then, relishing in the pleasure that he was offering you, under the di guise that it was pleasuring him. Yet it did, somehow. 

“Enough, you big baby,” you laughed as you pulled your upper body away, finally gathering some strength to retreat from his grip. Bucky glared at you half heartedly as if you had taken something precious away from him, and yet, you had. 

He jumped slightly at the sudden feeling of your lips against his skin, dragging wet kisses down his torso to the abs resting perfectly along his stomach. You made sure to suck the skin just right to leave a hickey that would last, even if no one else got to experience the sight of your shirtless husband other than you. You had to mentally fight yourself against the idea of littering his entire chest in bruises, and you almost lost against your own impulses. 

Instead, you continued to drag your lips further and further down until you reached the area that Bucky was so impatiently waiting for you to please. Carefully, you wrapped one of your manicured hands around the base of his cock, holding his thick length up straight so you could take him in your mouth.

Bucky shuddered as he watched you spit onto his cockhead, using your tongue to lick a teasing strip along the side of his length. He threw his head back once more into the pillow in ecstasy once the warm heat of your mouth enveloped him, even if it was just the tip. The way that your tongue slid along his slit and under the fat head of his cock was sinfully stimulating, and with shame did Bucky involuntarily bucky his hips up into your mouth. 

You weren’t necessarily in the mood to take him all the way down your throat, but he was so big that he was damn near it and there was still more length for you to wrap your palm around. The sight was more than filthy, drool beginning to dribble down the side of your mouth as you continued to suck him off like you had little time left. Despite keeping up your steady pace most of the time, you thought that there was no better thing to do but tease your husband from time to time.

You suddenly slowed down your pace, sucking him off in a painfully slow and overstimulating way possible. You relished in the way he whined greedily, his hips bucking into your mouth as you fought off a grin. You were lucky that Bucky was too fucked to even be able to glance down at you, because fuck would he keep that against you for weeks. He’d probably tie you up to the headboard and edge you just about everyday until you couldn’t even gather up the voice to beg anymore. 

Your smile quickly fell as you felt one of your husband’s large hands fall onto the back of your head, his fingers were quick to pull your loose hair into a closed fist. His grip was so tight that it stung your scalp, but the pain was all the more pleasurable. You could tell how much good you were doing to Bucky by the way his eyes were shut tightly, that adorable expression plastered all over his flushed face was an indication that he was close.

As much as you wanted for him to finish inside of you, you decided not to edge the man any further and just let him fuck into your mouth until he was satisfied. Bucky didn’t need any further notice as he continuously buckled into your mouth, a series of whines and groans falling from his mouth as the grip on your hair was unrelenting.

Your previous statement to not take him down your throat was clearly revoked as Bucky pushed your head further down to take him whole, your nose nuzzling against his pelvis as tears gathered by your waterline. The discomfort in your throat was quickly lived down as you felt Bucky’s sloppy thrusts slow down, eventually tasting the salty release flowing down your tongue as you quickly recovered to lap on the underside of his tip, helping him ride out his orgasm. 

His grunts were like heaven to your ears, nothing better than the sound of a man submitting to his wife. After thoroughly cleaning him with the help of your mouth and sinfully swallowing his release, you released his softening cock gently away from your mouth in an attempt to reach the bathroom. 

You barely had the time to stand as you heard the obvious sound of your husband shuffling along the bed. You felt two huge arms argulfing your waist and bringing you back into Bucky’s toned body, making you sit across his lap as he himself sat along the edge of the bed.

“Thought you were tired huh? What happened to that?” you questioned, a hint of genuineness and playfulness lacing your words. You sighed pleasurably as Bucky stuffed his face in the crook of your neck, leaving wet and desirable kisses behind like the tease that he was. Both of his hands were running up the sides of your bare body, leaving goosebumps behind as you wished for nothing more than for him to destroy you with those fingers of his.

One of his hands slowly worked its way downwards towards your inner thighs as he continued to trail kisses down your neck, even moving to your jaw as you threw your head back against him. The sudden feeling of his thick finger against your clit rightfully took you by surprise, urging a whine out of you and not failing to make you wiggle in his grip.

His hold was inescapable, you could never pry the heavy muscles of the mafia member currently holding you down by the waist, but you didn’t want to anyways. Your hand jumped to latch onto the wrist of Bucky’s hand that was currently between your legs, and it didn’t nothing more than boost his ego. 

“Wanna make you feel good too, baby,” he grunted into your neck, pretending like you could comprehend anything as his fingers began lapping at your folds. Within all of your squirming, you could feel how his cock began hardening behind you once more, which you’d gratefully deal with in a moment. The feeling of your ass all pressed up against his growing erection had Bucky pressing your hips further into his. 

You couldn’t help but shiver as your husband ran his fingers up and down your folds, aching for him to stuff his fingers into your aching core already. Your arousal coated his fingers in a thick coat of your slick, allowing him to move faster against you. You had to force yourself to swallow back a moan as the tips of his middle and ring finger poked past your entrance finally. 

Opening your legs slightly to give Bucky more space to work with, you tried to bury yourself impossibly further into his chest as his fingers entered you knuckles deep. Your hand squeezed at his wrist with a force that he ignored you had, but it was still nothing to your mob husband. He’d gone through worse, this was nothing that he couldn’t handle. Felt more like a little scratch compared to the amount of times that he’d gotten grazed by 15 inch blades. 

The room was filled with the filthy sounds of your whines and moans and the wet sound of Bucky pummeling his fingers inside of you. His pace was unrelenting and he barely even gave you a second to breathe. He knew your body by heart, knew which ways to curl his fingers to have you stuttering. He knew at which angle to stuff his fingers to make your toes curl, and he wasn’t afraid to make use of his skills. 

At the feeling of your cunt tightening against his fingers, Bucky couldn’t help the grin that grew on his face. He wanted to help and make you come like you had done so gracefully to him earlier. Though that clearly never came as he felt the hand on his wrist pushing his hand away in a hurry.

“Wait! Shit.” you rushed out, a little louder and a little more panicked than you wanted it to. At the sound of your plea, Bucky’s fingers suddenly came to a stop inside of you, hastily pulling out as you struggled to make up a proper sentence. 

“What’s wrong, love? You’re okay?” the concern filled tone of your husband appeared as he rubbed your sides comfortingly, afraid and wondering if he’d done something to hurt you. Atlast in your fucked out state you couldnt necessarily tell him how he’d made you feel anything but amazing, he allowed you the time to calm down. He littered soft kisses to your cheeks as you recovered, fully aware that he could sometimes get a little too caught up in pleasuring you that he pushed you past you limits. Like that one night that he’d given you 6 dreamy orgasms all in one night all because you claimed that you were craving him. 

“Just- jus’ wanna finish when you’re inside.” you managed to grit out, your chest heaving because you had been dangerously approaching your orgasm, just before ruining everything for yourself. Once you heard Bucky’s short chuckle, you knew that his once worries had now vanished away as he focused on caressing your sides until you were ready. He’d never refuse an offer like this. To decline the sight of your wife bouncing greedily on your cock must be for the saints, but Bucky was nothing more but a sinner. 

With a newfound force, you turned around in Bucky’s lap to flush your chest against his. He groaned as your wet cunt made contact with his twitching length, but he hadn’t even had the time to react as you’d greated his lips in a fiery kiss. None other than the first one, it was yet again a match of tongue dominance won by you. Just that Bucky wasn’t really all that tired anymore, you’d quite literally sucked the weariness out of him earlier. He just craved the sight of your ascendancy tonight. 

Bucky’s tongue was busy with yours but his hands were freely roaming around your body, occasionally gripping onto your ass as he grinded your body against his, trying to find some relief for the raging boner that was currently sitting firmly against his lower stomach. He couldn’t wait to pump you full and watch as it dribbled down his own length while he fucks up inside of you, god were his thoughts running wild. 

His nor your brain had fully acknowledged when Bucky had pulled you both to the middle of the bed, but he did notice the way you’d push him back down flat onto the bed with such gracefulness, forcing your lips apart as you sat down on his thigh. Bucky crooked his neck in a funny angle to get a look at you, but he couldn’t care less of what he looked like at a moment. You looked like a total angel in his eyes, and he couldn’t take his gaze away from you. 

Bucky watched patiently as you kneeled before him, both your knees caging his hips as you lowered your whole body weight on them. His straining cock twitched as you took him in your hand, pumping him once or twice before running your thumb against the slit of his cockhead. A shiver ran down his spine as you sat further onto his lap, bringing his cock to lay against your stomach to show him just about the size difference. It was something that he was used to, but it never failed to make his body react positively. 

He nearly came from the sheer size of his massive cock compared to your smaller body, watching as it reached your belly button from outside of your body. He couldn’t wait until you’d lower down on his cock, watching you squirm as his tip kisses your cervix while he isn’t even buried all the way. You used your hand to drag his fat tip onto your clit, tapping his cockhead against your bundle of nerves and effectively coating him with your slick. 

You finally lowered yourself slowly onto him, immediately feeling him stretch you. Unlike his already big fingers, they felt nothing like the stinging stretch of his dick. Bucky’s hands flew to latch onto your hips, and what you might’ve imagined as an innocent reflex at first turned out to be far from that. You couldn’t have expected him to pull you all the way down onto his length in one movement, but the sudden sting told you that he had in fact done exactly that. 

You were sure that your neighbours from miles away must’ve heard the gut wrenching yell that Bucky had forced out of you, your hands flying to his chest for stability as you tried to recover. All the while he was grinding your hips onto his, slowly thrusting up into you from under. Something you loved about your husband was his neediness and impatience when it came to intimacy, it made you feel so desirable. 

It didn’t take long before you started rolling your hips against his on your own, pushing up against his torso to sit up again. Your dishevelled state had bucky forcing his head back onto the silk-case covered pillow. The movement had your clit rubbing against his pelvis at each roll, and you felt like you were floating with ecstasy.

The position made it as for Bucky to be buried all the way into you, his balls flush against your ass and the faint outline of his cock traced onto your stomach from how deep he was sheathed. Despite claiming that you wanted to take care of Bucky, he could see how the exhaustion was starting to catch up to you. The way your legs trembled from the pleasure and tiredness, he knew that he had to take over. 

His big hands squeezed at your hips, his grip almost bruising your skin as he used it to help you bounce on his cock. He manhandled you like you weighed nothing to him, freely moving you up and down to pleasure the both of you. You could’ve sworn that you could feel every single vein that ran along the length of his cock, alongside the way the slight curve of his dick kept on slamming against that spot inside of you that made you see stars.

Fuck did his body fit yours perfectly like some well assorted puzzle, you could feel your upper body seizing with the sheer amount of satisfaction that ran through your veins. You just couldn't take it anymore, instead deciding to let him take over as you laid down against his chest, your breasts splaying satisfyingly against his torso. 

Bucky wasn’t one to wait, so at the sight of you leaning down on him, he was quick to take over. He still wanted you on top of course, even if it meant that you weren’t dominating anymore. His arms found a home around your lower back, his muscles bulging with his every move. Bucky moved his legs from the laid position that they were currently in, folding his knees up so he could continue to ram into you mercilessly. 

You could’ve honestly written a whole essay about how the new position had you borderline drooling, but a series of stuttered moans was all that you could utter out for the moment. 

“Fuck darling, you’re squeezing me so tight here. Don’t think I can last much longer.” he said like it was a bad thing, asif you could last any longer even though you were currently seconds away from bursting. Bucky found it hard to resist the need to come deep inside of you with the way that you were squeezing around him, his balls full and aching with the urge to release. To say that he was impatient to see you dripping with his release was an understatement, instead it motivated him to slam his hips faster against yours. 

It didn’t take much after that to have your thighs shutting tightly together, body shaking as your orgasm washed over you. A shrill moan caught in your throat as you came, tight cunt contracting impossibly further against Bucky. He wasn’t far behind with his sloppy thrusts as he pushed deep inside of you, filling you fuller than you were before as his balls were pulled flushed against ass.

Bucky grunted as he dumped his load in ropes deep inside your wet cunt, eyes shut closed as he kept his hips moving in tiny thrusts to ride his high. He wished you both could’ve fucked upright infront of a mirror so he could’ve seen the way that his cum was dripping out of you, both of your arousals trickling down his softening cock as he stayed burried inside your heat. 

He wanted nothing more than to finger his release back into you but one look at your spent  figure was enough to take his mind away from the idea. You both laid there regaining your breath for a second before you finally pulled away from him, groaning with discomfort as you felt his softened length leaving your sore hole. The emptiness that you felt after pulling away nearly made you want to beg him to stuff you full of his thickness again, having his curved cockhead slamming that spot you loved so much again. Yet you physically couldn't. 

You didn’t have the stamina that your mafia husband did, and you could already feel the painful aftermath of sex with a big dicked man kicking in. 

You suddenly remembered that you were supposed to take care of your husband, not the other way around. You had vowed to care for him tonight and damn if you wanted to keep your promise real. Though you couldn’t stand much further from the bed without having to hold onto something because damn did he fuck up your ability to use your legs. Your thighs trembled like you’d just ran a marathon, and the sight had you and Bucky stifling out a laugh because of the way he’d fucked you sore. 

Your husband sighed before sitting up, easing the tense muscles of his neck before gathering all of his left energy to meet you by the end of the mattress. He looked like a masterpiece in all of his glory, chiselled body with the mix of your arousal coating his soft dick, running all the way down his toned thighs. 

“Sorry. It was supposed to be me cleaning you up, not the other way around,” his smile fell at the sound of your dejected tone, sounding like you were genuinely sad that you weren’t going to be the one taking care of him. Instead you felt guilty, because he came back home so spent and you wanted nothing more than to help him relax and take care of him. Instead he’d spent half the night fucking you and now he had to carry you to the bathroom. 

“It’s okay darling, I don’t mind really. Plus unlike somebody I can actually make use of my legs.” he joked, coming up from behind you to wrap his arms around your shoulders. His eyes bore through the mirror as he took in your body, baby blue iris filled with adoration as he stared at you like you meant the world to him. And you did. 

Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes from trailing downwards onto the mess that dribbled from your cunt and down your legs, wanting undeniably to fuck you more until it became nothing but a creamy mess between your thighs. If you’d allow him tomorrow, he’d be sure to make that become reality. 

“I wanted this night to be about you, I wanted you to be able to relax but of course it ended up with you pounding me sore.” you voiced out your sorrows to your husband, and he didn’t miss the way you tried to soften the self-blow with a slight joke at the end. Though he’d taken none of it, his hands were pulling at your shoulders for you to turn around to face him. 

“It’s okay malyshka we can always relax after this. I’ll take a day off tomorrow and we’ll lay lazily in bed while Steve runs the mob for a day. How’s that sound to you?” his thumb ran loving circles into your cheeks as he held your face in between his huge palms. You couldn’t deny him when he looked at you with those adorable eyes of his, so a silent nod of your head is what he’d received. 

Needless to say that you’d both quickly fallen into slumber once the now clean and more than tired you had made contact with the soft mattress. Limbs all entangled in a mess with the bed sheets, the late wake at 11am was exactly what you’d needed. Needless to say once more, that once you’d agreed to let Bucky fuck you senseless again, he make sure to keep his promise and stuff you full until your thigh became home to nothing else but a frothy mess. 

-

this isn’t proof read because who tf has the time?

[mysicklove]

boys who love overstimulation live in my head rent-free. because who can really like something like that? it hurts so badly, and it makes their mind go terrifyingly blank, so why do they not use their safeword? why do they let you torture them so?

closing their eyes and letting out the most broken and pathetic sobs with every second to pass by. they cant do anything, just have to sit there and take it while their tip throbs and tears flood their eyes. sobbing out, "too much! its-stop it! im sensitive!!" while you kiss their cheek and force their thighs open.

the boys who like the way they feel powerless under you. they cant fight back against the overstimulation, their mercy belongs to you completely. there mind goes blank during this time, only focused on your movements and the pain. in the back of their heads they can hear the lewd squelching noise of the cum dripping down their shafts mixed with your cruel movements. the way their body jerks when you reach the head repeatedly and their wrists tighten against the sheets to bare the pain.

but the whole time they are looking at you with most lovesick eyes. some smiling at you while tears running down their face, while others plead for you to give them a break. either way, the next time you touch them, they are begging you for more after they orgasmed.

izuku, kyojuro, denki, keigo, reo, armin, douma, eren, tengen, bachira, isagi, zenitsu

[pink-andwhite]

ethan landry mocking you >>>

"oh it's too big baby? that's so cute." then proceeds to fuck you harder, making sure to shove that extra inch in there each thrust.

"too much? oh you poor thing.." wraps his hand around your throat and fucks you faster, definitely rubs your clit too.

"you're all done sweetie? that's too bad, im just getting started." proceeds to fuck you through 4 more orgasms.

[cyberghouleo]

“She won't ever get enough once she gets a little touch”

Tim Wright x Bimbo! Reader

Tim starts becoming infatuated with someone he was supposed to be stalking. After weeks of being around you, he decides he can't take it anymore.

cw : bimbo! fem reader, fingering, cunnilingus, dom Tim, dumbification

wc : 2.8k

ao3 link:

a / n : requests are open !!

Tim couldn’t take it, he couldn’t hold back anymore. What started off as a mission to get information out of you was starting to turn into an infatuation with you. And it wasn’t his fault, it was yours. You were the one who just had to wear the tiniest skirts he had ever seen out in public or wearing the tight crop tops that you often forgot to wear a bra with. Or the heels you could hardly walk in, causing you to stumble out in public and show your ass off to him.

He never planned on getting caught stalking you, he just wanted to be a silent watcher from your window as you played with yourself late at night or when you changed right in front of the window with the curtains wide open. But one night, he followed you too closely from work and he was sure his cover was blown. He figured as soon as you saw him, you would scream and tell him to fuck off. But it never came. Instead, you talked to him like he was a normal person and not someone who has been jerking off to the sight of you outside your window for the past few weeks. You were so dumb and naive when it came to your surroundings, you made everything so easy for him. All it took to get your number was lying about being a neighbor, and you were instantly giving him it. When you bent over to type your number in his phone, your tits almost spilled out your shirt. That’s when Tim knew he had to befriend you so he could get closer to making you his.

Playing your fake friend wasn’t a hard task, you mostly just called him or asked him to come over to your house, a house he already knew the entire floor plan from stalking you at night. You always wore the skimpiest clothes around him, short dresses that you never seemed to close your legs in, giving him a clear view of the tiny thong you were wearing. You often got your white shirts wet, showing off the lace bra underneath clearly. After you “befriended” him, it only gave him more chances to see you in sexual ways without you realizing it. You often would bend over in front of him, showing off your pink panties with no shame or realization.

However, as Tim played along as your neighbor/friend, he also saw just how naive and oblivious you were. You would tell him stories about your day and tell him the inappropriate things said to you, asking him to explain what it meant since you didn’t understand it. The idea of another man taking advantage of your intelligence and naivety to get a quick flash made him angry enough to want to track down the person and kill them for that alone. He hardly killed outside of required missions but anybody who disrespected you or got to get the same peeks that he got were the only exceptions.

The moment that made Tim finally lose it was when he was watching you walk home from the store. This was a normal occurrence that happened as he promised to himself that he would make sure you got home safely every day. You were walking through a crowded area when someone smacked your ass, running away laughing as you stood there confused and looking around for the assaulter. You gave up after a few seconds and continued walking home. He had already tracked the person down and gave them the deserved slow death, but he also needed to come over to put an end to this chase. He needed to make you his so you could have someone protect you in the public so nothing like this would happen again.

It was late in the afternoon when three loud knocks came from your door. You were wearing your usual short skirt and crop top as you opened the door, revealing a pissed off Tim wearing his usual flannel and jeans. Before you could open your mouth to greet him, he burst through your door as soon as you answered, pushing past you and storming into your living room.

“What’s wrong Tim?” You asked, head tilted and lips open slightly. Tim almost didn’t hear your question as he was focused on your lips, thinking how hot they would look wrapped around his cock as your mascara ran down your face.

He hissed, “You.” You bite the inside of your cheek, your head tilting to the side even more. “You’re the fucking problem, you’re such a tease to me.”

You stared at him blanking, not quite understanding what he meant. “Are you upset with me?” You asked, your arms coming together which caused your tits to be pushed together. You were going to be the death of him if you kept acting this way. He brought his fist up to his mouth, giving you a quick nod. Your lips formed into a cute pout. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

The question was almost too easy, it felt like a set up. He stared at you for a second to see if you were being serious or not before he responded. “I think the only way to make this up to me is to let me do something.”

You quickly nodded your head up and down, eyes wide open and full of hope. “Okay! I just don’t want to lose you as a friend, Tim.” God you were so fucking cute and so eager to please, it was a sight that could make him cum on the spot.

“Good girl, if you do what I say I’ll forgive you.” You really didn’t want to lose him as a friend, so you believed him. He had never given you a reason to doubt him before. You nodded in response as he approached you, his hand coming up to cup and caress your cheek. You leaned into the touch, eyes closed as you let out a sigh of content. It was endearing to see how much you trusted him, even after all the disgusting fantasies he thought of while he spied on you in your own house.

He started to lean towards you, his eyes locked on your lips that shone with lip gloss. As soon as your lips met he started kissing you desperately, your soft moans filling his mouth as his hand found its way to the back of your head, tangling itself into your hair. He tilted your head back to get a deeper kiss, you moaned as he tugged on your hair. You pushed your body into his, your chest pressed against his as your lips moved in sync with each other. His other hand rested on the small of your back, pressing you closer into him. This was the closest he had gotten to you before, and your smell was intoxicating to him. He pulled away from your mouth, a string of spit connecting your lips together for a split second. Your face was starting to heat up and your lip gloss was already smeared off your lips.

His hand traveled from your lower back to the front of your stomach, fingers slowly creeping under your crop top as he kissed along your neck. You moaned out softly as his hand groped your tit, he was never more thankful that you weren’t wearing a bra today. His fingers traced around your nipple before placing his thumb and pointer finger around it, slightly pinching as he felt it harden underneath his touch. You let out soft moans as you continued to push your body against his, desperate to get as close as possible to his touch. Your body was responding to his touches before your mind could, instinctively addicted to his touch as you felt heat start to pool within your stomach. While continuing to pinch your nipple, his mouth stopped near the bottom of your neck as he switched from kissing to softly sucking with enough pressure to leave a mark. He wanted everyone to see the mark and know you belonged to someone, specifically him. You let out soft whimpers as he nipped at the skin, moaning out his name quietly under your breath as you rubbed your legs together, desperate to get any type of friction between your legs.

Tim waited forever to hear you moan out his name, and he was starting to grow impatient as his jeans started to tighten up. He pulled away from your neck, his mouth detaching with a ‘pop’ sound before he turned you around, your back facing him. He guided you to bend over onto the kitchen counter, a hand placed firmly between your shoulder blades to keep you planted against the cold countertop. His other hand quickly found the end of your skirt, flipping it up onto your lower back. Your pink thong and ass were fully exposed to him, the same ass Tim had replayed over and over in his head as he jerked off late at night. He had only ever seen accidental upskirts so far, but now it was fully open to him and only him. His dick strained against his pants as he traced the outline of your slit, your body arching into his touch as you mewled out. His fingers ghosted over your lips, just enough pressure for you to moan out and try to push further back to feel his fingers more. You were such a fucking slut and he has yet to even do anything, he loved it. He slid your panties to the side, exposing your cute pussy to him. He waited for years it felt like to get this close to you, you were so vulnerable to him right now and you were all his.

His middle and pointer finger spread your lips open, you were already soaking wet and it only fueled his ego more. This was the wettest he has ever seen you, even when you were using your vibrator alone at night. After coating his middle finger with your wetness, he circled your clit in slow circles, your hips stuttering and grinding against him.

“Puh-Please Tim,” You moaned out.

“Please what?” He kept his slow pace as he pressed himself into you, his dick against your ass and his chest laying against your back. He could smell your shampoo and perfume, and he had to restrain himself from bucking his hips into your ass.

“Please touch me more.”

Hearing you beg underneath him made him instantly stand up straight, ready to show you how eager he has been for this moment and just how good he will make you feel. He removed his hand from your back, telling you to keep still as he kneeled below you.  Sitting on his knees underneath you as he stared up at your pussy, he placed his hands on your hips before flattening his tongue, starting with small kitten licks around your clit. The feeling of his tongue against you caused you to gasp out, moaning as he started licking in long deep strokes that started from your entrance and up to your clit. After a few licks, he stopped at your clit and started sucking, an action that causes your knees to buckle as you moan out loudly. Your hands try to grasp anything on the table to stabilize yourself as you feel your body start grinding against his tongue, begging to feel more of him. Tim couldn’t get enough of you, the taste of you made his dick pulse as he palmed himself through his pants. You were unapologetically moaning out loudly as you felt your core start to tighten up, heat from between your legs had started to spread throughout your whole body.

As soon as you started to grind weakly against his tongue, Tim pulled away with a sloppy wet sound as you groaned out from the lost contact. You were so close to cumming and needed him to push you over the edge of an orgasm. Tim stood up from underneath you, now standing behind you as you stayed bent over the countertop, your back falling up and down rapidly with your increased breathing.

“Timmm…” You whine out, your voice slightly muffled. Tim’s nails pressed crescent shaped indents into his palm as he clenched his fist, trying to distract himself from how hot his name sounded rolling off your tongue.

“Hmm?” He responded as his hand traced your ass slightly, the contact making you push your body against his hands even more.

“I want…I want you to make me cum.”

Hearing you moan this out made his hands instantly leave your body, reaching down to unzip his pants to pull his dick out. Precum was already leaking from his tip and down his length as he gave a few lazy strokes. His hand found your hip, resting there as he started to line himself up with your hole. You grinded up and down as soon as you felt his dick in between your thighs, mewling out as you desperately needed him inside of you now.

“God, you're such a pathetic slut for letting me do all this naughty stuff to your body. You're such a whore for letting me touch you this way, you know that?”

You moaned out a yes as you felt him start to stretch you out, his cock slowly entering you with ease. It took all of his restraint to not thrust deep into you, as badly as he wanted this, he also knew he was going to have to start off gently.

“You're so eager to make me happy, aren't you baby?” He didn’t mean to call you by the pet name but it came out so naturally he didn’t mind.

“Mhmmm… I just… want you happy, Tim.” Hearing you moan out his name made him let out a long groan.

Slowly, he pulled out and pushed back in until he bottomed out, both of you letting out moans at the sensation. The way you squeezed and tightened around him made him second guess how long he was going to be able to last inside you. You started wiggling your hips against him, thrusting back and forth against him as you started to grow impatient. The sight of you underneath him had Tim feeling as if he was dreaming, how badly you wanted him to start fucking you and how tight you were clenched around him.

His hands travel down to grip your waist before he started thrusting in and out at a slow speed. You let out a small gasp as you feel him start fucking you, trying to push your body against him to match his thrusts to pick up the speed. Tim takes the hint, quickening his thrusts as you moan out below him. The girth and size of him was hitting spots that you weren’t used to, a hot knot already starting to form as your nails scraped along the countertop as you struggled to find anything to hold onto while he pumped in and out of you.

The orgasm sweeps through your body as you clamp down around him, moans pouring out as drool spills from your lips and onto the counter below you. Tim continues to fuck you through your orgasm as you come down, your clit sending pulses through your body as you feel yourself start to twitch around him. Feeling how tight you were around his dick causes his grip on your hips to tighten, his fingers pressing deep into your skin as he tries to focus on anything but cumming now.

After trying to wait as long as possible, Tim gives a few weak thrusts in and out before he pulls out, instantly missing the grip your pussy had around him as his hand wraps around his dick and he starts pumping up and down. Cum spurts from his dick in long thick hot ropes as you feel it hit your lower back and spread around your ass, deep guttural grunts escaping him as he gritted his teeth. You stay still as you both try to catch your breath, Tim’s chest heaving up and down as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. He couldn’t remember the last time he was as worn out as he was now, but he also couldn’t remember a time he was this horny. Before he could grab something to clean off his cum from your ass, you looked back at him over your shoulder, your makeup now smeared and a fucked-out expression painted on your face.

“How else can I make you happy Tim?” You asked with a small smile that Tim returned with a grin as he felt himself start to get hard again.

[fcthots]

Happy New Year!! I wish you the best of luck and prosperity in the New Year!

Have you thought about teasing Jason? Maybe making him read one of his favorite books out loud as you tease him til he can’t remember the words?

happy new year!!

Anon, you genius. I am a Jason loves teasing you truther, but I hadn't even considered the possibilities of you teasing Jason. And now that I am, he would not be able to take it for long. He would get so whiny and xhibedcd i have so many ideas for this, it's hard to pick one.

I'll proofread this later. <3.

It's not that Jason doesn't pay you enough attention, you take up 75% of his thoughts, but when Jason starts reading, it takes up all of his focus. It's damn near impossible to get his attention. Good thing you love a challenge.

When you walk into the living room, he's seated comfortably on the couch. A well worn book rests in his hands. He is so engrossed in it that he doesn't seem to notice your presence. You'll have to fix that.

"What are you reading?" He doesn't quite jump, but his eyes shoot up. There's something to be said about how he's so comfortable around you that his guards is completely let down. That does something to your insides.

"Just some poetry." It's such a vague answer that it piques your interest.

"What kind?" You step closer to him. His eyes track you.

"Some love letters. It's Letters to Milena by Franz Kafka." He'd spoken of the book before you think.

"Thinking about me while you read?" You climb onto the couch and straddle him. One of his hands moves to your waist on instinct.

His face dusts with a light blush. He doesn't respond, seemingly at a loss for words. You wrap your arms around his neck. He stutters for a moment, but never quite makes a full word. You smile. He's getting so riled up and you've barely done anything.

"Read it to me." His brows furrow and he fumbles with the pages. You dip your face into the crook of his neck and softly bite down. His breathing grows deeper and faster.

He stutters at first, struggling to find his place in the book. Eventually he finds it. "Yesterday, I advised you not to write me every day," You feel him grow hard beneath you, "I still hold the same opinion today and-"

You grind down onto him. His head tilts back, moving your face away from his neck, as he makes a sound between a whine and a moan. You lift your hips away from his and he opens his mouth to say something, but you speak first. "Keep going."

He nods obediently. His movements are shaky, pent up and nervous. "it would be very good for both of us," You drop your hips back onto his and he gasps, but doesn't stop, "and so I repeat my advice today even more-..." His voice trails off as your hand drops from his shoulder to down into your pants. He watches you with something akin to reverence as you slip the pants and underwear off together (with some difficulty). You drop them to the floor. Jason shudders beneath you. "Wait." His voice is whiny as he pants beneath you. "Please," one of his hands moves to the hem of your shirt and tugs, "take this off. Need to see you, please."

You start tugging it over your head. "Only if you keep reading." He nods vigorously and you unclasp your bra.

"Emphatically- only please," his voice hitches when display your tits in his face, you bring one hand to your chest and roll a nipple between your fingers, making a show of throwing your head back and pushing your chest towards his face with a breathy moan. "Milena," you grind against him and he stutters for a moment. You move the other hand back between your legs and begin to work yourself open, starting with two fingers, in and out. He continues and his hooded eyes watch your every move. He doesn't need to look at the book to know the words. "Don't listen to me, and write me every day anyway," you add another finger to your rhythmic motions that brush against his length, "it can even be very brief," you add in your pinky finger and Jason makes a pathetic little whiny sound that is music to your ears.

You undo the drawstring of his sweatpants and push them further down his thighs. Putting his book down, he shimmies his hips to help you get the pants down, as impatient as ever. As soon as he cock springs free, you urge him, "Keep going."

He watches, trying his best to keep talking, as you lift your hips and bring his tip to your folds. Your other hand staying occupied on your chest. His hands anchor themselves on your waist, "briefer than today's letters," he moans out as you begin to slightly push yourself down. He soldiers on, "just 2 lines," you slide down even more. You do your best to keep your own moans under control, you want to be able to watch him. You've worked yourself enough so he slides in easily, the stretch not painful. He feels good.

He can't form words while you take your time bottoming out on his cock. Once, you've sat your full weight on him, he can't tear his eyes away from where your bodies join. One of his hands slides down until his thumb reaches your clit. He's distracted, entranced, by you. You struggle to keep your composure. "Keep reading."

His eyes stay focused on his thumb as it circles your clit. "Just one," you move your hips up and snap them down. Pleasure blooms in your chest and you hear Jason curse and breathe faster. "Just one word," you find a rhythm moving up and down on his dick. His voice constantly wavers and he moans between words. "But if I had to go ah without them," the length between each word gets longer and longer as you move faster and faster and he gets closer and closer. He struggles to get even one word out.

"Finish it and I'll let you finish." You're getting close now too, his demeanor clearly having an effect on you. His thumb speeds up.

He nods, unable to hold himself back for much longer. "I would suffer terribly." He says the words fast, all in one breath as he begins to thrust up into you. You clench around him as he lets out a loud moan. You cum together as he spills out of you. His head tosses back and his thumb stills and he twitches through the last waves of his orgasm. You drop your head onto his shoulder and slouch against his chest. His arms curl around you and he kisses whatever skin he can reach. You legs burn and your knees ache, but you have nothing to be worried about. Jason will take care of you.

Also disclaimer! I have not read the book yet! I plan on getting it soon bc I've been wanting to read it for years, but have yet to read the full thing full so that's why it's undetailed.

[sotwk]

As much as I love fleshing out Thranduil's character and family history and I enjoy worldbuilding for Eryn Galen and the Silvan Elves, it's also often a disheartening past time because.

Upon observation of the fandom, you often get that sense that most Thranduil lovers just want writers to quit yapping about pesky details and give them the one-shot Reader Insert smut.

[butchcarmy]

Blood Orange (Ch 1: The Walk-In)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

Rating: E (7.3k words)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 2

Summary: Losing your job is the worst thing to ever happen to you. Getting hired by Carmen Berzatto is a close second. You tell yourself that The Beef is only temporary, that it's just a replacement until you find something better. It doesn't work. You've stopped listening. You've had a taste of Carmy, and now you don't think you're ever gonna be able to let go. No matter how bad it gets. 

Content Tags: secret workplace relationship/sex, friends/coworkers with benefits, they/them afab reader, miscommunication, mental illness (carmy and reader), dom/sub dynamics, dom carmy (for now), enemies to friends to lovers (eventually), unhealthy coping mechanisms, dysfunctional relationship

A/N: It's finally here! New series! We even get sex in the first chapter! In my other fic, I'm taking care of Carmy. In this one, I'm making him worse. Of course, here's a disclaimer that I DON’T condone or intend to glorify any of this behavior. It's just compelling to write. Enjoy!

You return to The Beef for the first time in years when you're at your lowest.

The only upside to this abysmal situation is that the job was shitty. The job you just got laid off from, to be exact. Retail was never your passion, and there's a certain relief in knowing you don't have to go back to that windowless place. You didn't play an important role in the ecosystem, but it played a pretty crucial role in yours. It kept a roof over your head.

You're sure you could’ve sued them in some fashion for letting you go without any warning, any parachute, but you didn't have the luxury of time. You needed to figure out how you were going to pay rent, and fast.

After the rage boiled over (not to say that it's resolved, the residual anger's leveled into an even simmer), you pulled your hair back, found your cleanest, nicest outfit, and started your job search. With your updated resume in hand and scuffed sneakers on your feet, you've trekked all over Chicago looking for a new job. You weren't optimistic, nor were you hopeful. 

You suppose the only word you could use to describe yourself was desperate, and it was a matter of finding someone that was just as desperate, if not more desperate than you. To put it politely, the odds of that were low. Very low. 

You got laid off that very morning. The rest of your afternoon has been spent walking from door to door to every establishment you could spot. By some cruel twist of fate, none of them were hiring. The ones that were hiring looked unenthusiastic, even adverse to taking your resume. 

“When would you be able to start?” Some of the workers asked. 

“Tomorrow,” was your desperately honest answer. 

“If all goes well, you'll hear from us in a week,” was their response. The unspoken was, of course, the fact that radio silence was more likely than an email or phone call. Places didn't even send rejection letters anymore. 

“Thanks for your time,” you'd say, bringing out a bright smile from a complete lack of reserves, and as soon as you turned around, your face would drop. 

Your hopes were low, nearly non-existent, but damn. Damn. It wasn't looking good for you.

That's why you enter The Beef. You vaguely remember visiting this place a couple years ago, back when you first moved to Chicago. The owner was…pretty nice, actually. You don't remember his name, but you remember having a pleasant conversation with him. Of course, there's nothing you can do if he doesn't have a job opening, but it wouldn't be bad to see a friendly face. Even if that face is from someone who's basically a stranger. 

The doorbell rings when you enter. It catches the attention of the man standing behind the counter, and with how his head jolts up, you'd think the bell functioned as an alarm instead. 

“Welcome,” he says. Your first impression, other than the fact that he seems very, very, tired, is that he's irritatingly attractive. If anything, the eyebags and the greased back waves only add to whatever the hell he's got going on. 

“Hi. Um…” You're briefly caught off guard by his biceps, but you catch yourself. “I was actually wondering if you guys were hiring.”

“We are,” he replies, and it's the best thing you've heard all day. He lights up like the spark of a lighter, bright and instantaneous. It doesn't shake the pervasive exhaustion that radiates off him, though. 

“Thank god,” you mutter, and you want to take it back (it's far too casual), but he cracks an amused smile that makes you want to dissolve like a pinch of salt in a sea of sauce. “Sorry. Do you mind if I talk to the owner? We met a while ago, and—”

“I'm the owner,” he interrupts, and any other words you had planned fall away.

“Sorry?” You repeat. “I swear it was this guy—he had short dark hair, I think—”

“Yeah, he left the place to me. Didn't want it anymore, so.” He shrugs. The light you just saw from him has fizzled away like the end of a sparkler, short-lived and ultimately disappointing. 

“Oh. Got it. Uh…” To your credit, you don't fumble for too long. You have a lot of questions, but you've got more pressing issues. You pluck out a resume from a file folder. “Here's my resume, then.”

He takes it from you, flips it to face him. He's quiet as his eyes lower down the page, and you wonder if it's going to be a guillotine or a pot of gold at the end of this. The only sounds in the entrance are the passing cars outside, the rickety air conditioning, and muffled chatter from the back. 

“You worked as a prep cook.” He says it like a fact, but you know it's a question. 

“Yeah, nothing fancy. Just at some chain restaurants.”

“Right. I see you worked as a line cook at another location. Which one did you prefer?”

“Uh…” They both came with their separate pains. Your honest answer is that being a line cook was one of the most stressful experiences of your life, but if he has a position open as a line cook, you don't want to fuck it up. “They were both fine. I think I was a little better as a prep cook, but I didn't mind either.”

He hums, satisfied by your answer. At least it’s only half of a lie.                                                                                                                    

“How do you work under pressure?”

“Good,” you answer quickly. “Well enough.”

“Willing to learn?”

“Obviously. I mean…” You think you see a flash of a smile, but you're unsure. “Yeah.”

“When'd you be able to start?” You're surprised he's already asking this.

“Tomorrow,” you say, just like you’ve been, and his reaction is different from the others. He nods. He doesn't smile, not like he did earlier, but you can tell this is a good sign. 

Before he can get a word out, there's a sharp, metallic explosion of noises that resounds from the direction of the kitchen. 

“Uh,” he starts, eyebrows pinched in irritation, the voices come in. 

“I told you, you have to say behind!” A woman's voice. She sounds young, but there's no real way to be sure of that.

“How the hell did you not hear me coming?” A Chicago accent, male. Older, maybe. “I was in the middle of having a conversation with Tina—”

“Great, I'm so happy for you, I don't give a shit, now this has all went to waste—”

“Well, who's fault is that?”

“Who's fault is that? You did not just—”

“Guys!” The man you've been talking to gives you an apologetic glance before walking to the back, pushing through the folding doors. You catch a glimpse of the two people arguing on the other side before it shuts. “I'm tryin’ to talk to a new hire here. We can't be like this right now. Not ever, but especially right now.”

Finally, the first sane person I've met all day, you think. 

“Carmy, talk some sense into her,” the older guy shouts, and it gives you a name to the face. “All of this on the floor—”

“You didn't say behind,” the woman repeats, except with more fury in it this time.

“You didn't say behind,” he imitates back. “Carmy—”

“She’s right. Richie, step out,” Carmy says. “Syd, you clean this up.”

“But—” You hear her start to protest. 

“You spilled it, you clean it,” he cuts through, decisive and firm.

“I know, but Richie—”

“Clean it,” he repeats, firmer, darker this time, and there's a beat of silence. 

“...Yes, chef.”

“I told you to step out,” Carmy tells who you assume is Richie. 

“You're just gonna let her—”

“Step the fuck outside right fucking now!” Carmy screams, his patience shooting away like a gunshot. You feel something shrivel inside you, and not in a good way. “Do the one fucking thing you're good at and get out of the fucking way!”

Yeah…definitely not in a good way.

From what you hear, it sounds like Richie has to get wrestled outside by someone, whom you're not sure. After another minute, Carmy returns to the front. 

“I'm sorry about that. Fucking—” He drags a hand across his face. You swear his eyebags have grown heavier in the 5 minutes he was in the kitchen. “What was I saying?”

“Um, I was saying that I could start tomorrow,” you remind him, although the vigor you had just stated it with is a bit fizzled out. 

“Right. Okay. Uh—” He pats his hands on his apron, searching for something. A pen and paper appear in his hands, and he scribbles something on it. This is when you notice his tattoos. A flower on the back of his hand. Surprising. “You're hired. Here's the paperwork you need to fill out, along with the number and email you'll be hearing from me at.”

“What?” You take the sheets, but the smooth paper doesn't feel real in your hands. His handwriting is hasty and dark, like he was running out of time on a test. “I mean, I'm just surprised.”

“Do you not want it?”

“I want it,” you promise, and you feel your cheeks flush. This is a bad time to yet again notice how attractive he is. His pretty eyes, his nose. The little moles under his left eye. “Y-Yeah, I want the job.”

“Good.” He motions towards the sticky note again. “Come in at 8 am tomorrow. You'll be starting as a prep cook, which you've done before.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be there.” The reality is setting in now, and an odd cocktail of relief, apprehension, and excitement is settling in your stomach. “Thank you so much.” I just got laid off from my job this morning, so this means a lot, you want to say, but it's too soon. You don't want to say anything that'll make him change his mind about whatever he sees in you. 

“Thank you,” he echoes back. “We need the help. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” you reply, and with that, the door rings behind you. A customer comes up to the counter, peering up at the menu. You figure this is your cue to leave. He's not looking at you anymore anyway. 

So, I got a job now, you update your friends, texting them on your way home on the metro. As the relieved congratulations come flying in, another remark seems to resound amongst all of them. 

I can't believe you got the job just like that. That place must be desperate, too, is roughly what they've all said. The thing is, they're not wrong. 

You managed to find someone more desperate than you in the job economy. Just one, but that was enough. It makes you think, though. You think about Carmy's weary blue eyes, his brief smile, and his hand tattoos. You wonder if it's just the restaurant that gives him that bone-deep exhaustion, or if it's a smaller part of a bigger picture. 

You think about it for the rest of your commute, you think about it as you smoke on the porch, you think about it as you lay in bed. You think about it as you fill out the paperwork, fingers tracing where Carmy's written his name, number, and email.

Carmen Berzatto

773-555-0901

So Carmy's a nickname, you think. Not about what type of boss he's going to be, not about what it's going to be like working under someone you are obviously attracted to. 

Maybe you should be more worried about this.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you tell yourself, and you foolishly believe it.

. . . . .

Your first day on the job starts with introductions. 

At least, that's about as much as you've figured out so far. When he sees you upon arrival, he pauses and stares at you like he's forgotten. Not a great start. Granted, he does snap out of it. That's when he tells you to follow him, which is where you currently find yourself. You're not sure where he's leading to, only that he's introducing you to others as you pass them by.

“They’re working with us starting today,” Carmy tells everyone. “They’re gonna be on prep.”

Right. So that's what you'll be doing. At least he told you that much yesterday.

The catalog of coworkers expands exponentially. You remember Sydney from yesterday, and to her credit, she apologizes about having you witness her fight with Richie, who conveniently isn't here yet. She seems the nicest out of all the bunch, so you decide to let it slide. 

Marcus is pretty nice, too. So are Ebra, Sweeps, Manny, Angel—everyone seems to be pretty alright. It’s obvious they’re standoffish by you being in their space. You find it hard to hold it against them. You’re not really sure how your relationships with them are going to pan out. There are only three that you’re particularly unsure on.

The first and obvious one is Richie. He came in eventually and didn’t give you the best impression, immediately talking over everyone and oozing arrogance. The only salvageable thing is that he’s not even a chef. At least you won’t have to be in the kitchen with him much. You want to avoid the honor of talking to him as much as possible.

Tina is next. She clearly doesn’t enjoy having someone new in the ecosystem, and she’s spent more time ignoring you than talking with you. As you understand it, she’s close to the rest of the staff since they’ve all been together for a while. Minus you and Syd, as you learn she’s only been there for a week. You think Tina will warm up to you…eventually.

Carmy is the last one, and he’s…he’s…

He’s something else.

He has you doing prep for most of the day. After introducing you to everyone and giving you a brief tour, he brings you to your station, scratched up stainless steel.

“You’re going to be cutting onions and carrots today for the stock. The vegetables are in the walk-in I showed you earlier, and when it’s done, it goes on the first shelf.” Carmy’s to your right, set up at his own station. You swear you keep your eyes focused on the vegetables, not his biceps in that shirt, but… “You should already know this, but label everything. I don’t want to see anything without a date. Got it?”

“Yes, chef,” you confirm, snapping out of it. He’s been flinging new information at you like it’s a war and he’s gunning to survive. But so are you. “I’ll do my best.”

“I expect as such.” He slides over a peeler for the carrots and some plastic bins for trash. “It’s just a stock, so don’t worry about an even cut. Just salvage whatever you can, cut off anything that doesn’t look good.” You nod. “Been a year or so since you did this, right?”

“Yeah. I cook regularly, but I’ll need to get back into the groove of things. And I will,” you add hastily. “I’ll combine them into this one when I'm done, right?” You ask, nudging a large plastic container. 

“Correct.” A brief smile flashes across his face. “You're already following quicker than I thought you would.” You’re not sure if he means it as an insult or a compliment, so you decide to take it as the latter. 

“I haven't even chopped anything yet.”

“I know.” His expression is flat again. You resist a laugh.  He plucks an onion from the bin, puts it in front of you. “Show me a rough dice.”

The knife is sharp. You notice this as you place careful cuts into the onion. It's not quite as sharp as his unnerving gaze, which layers pressure upon pressure. It builds up like a pastry puff, thin multitudes of layers expanding upward. You need to be good. You need to be perfect. You don't want to disappoint him, not this early, even though you've barely been here for an hour. 

It's just a shitty old sandwich shop, you tell yourself, but your dicing is uneven and you briefly think about accidentally chopping your fingers off. 

“Not my best work,” you admit, vaguely breathless. Carmy hasn't said anything yet.

“It'll do.” You're waiting for him to say something else, give you some tips, but he doesn't. Irritation prickles to the tips of your fingers. “I'll be back to check in on you later.”

You stand there, motionless and shocked in the aftermath. You're not sure what you expected from today, but being abandoned an hour in was not at the top of your bucket list. 

Man, what the fuck, you think, the thought clear in the silence around you, and that's the last time you can hear yourself think for the rest of the shift. 

There's a prepared stock from yesterday simmering on the stove behind you. It's flanked by boiling potatoes and reducing tomato sauce. The heat from it’s searing your back like a steak, slowly drawing lines of moisture all over the surface of your shirt. Your coworkers constantly invade your space to check on them. You suppose it's not their fault that the kitchen, but it's still irritating. They're also all shouting over each other like it's a competition.

“Who the fuck touched my stock—”

“No one touched your stupid shitty stock—”

“I am trying to find this cutting board, will someone please—”

You move on from the onions with only a thin layer of sweat collected at your hairline. 

Your hands are shaky as they peel the carrots. You know you're not getting as efficient of a shave as you could be, but the caffeine crash from your morning coffee is getting to you. You don't remember the last time you drank water. A cigarette sounds nice. 

“Clean your station, chef.” Carmy materializes next to you. You hear him before you see his hands scooping carrot shavings into a plastic container. It shocks you so much that you almost cut yourself. 

“Sorry, chef,” you reply reflexively. You look down at your station, straightening your tools. You want to ask if you can take your break, but you don't want to look any weaker than you do already. “So, uh, do we get 30's here?”

When you don't get a response, your head snaps up, irritation on the tip of your tongue, but he's not even there. 

Fucking hell, you think, annoyance simmering into something akin to anger, and you go back to finishing your prep. 

You don't see him for another hour after that. It's not even him that tells you to take your 15, it's Syd, who noticed you were half-way through your shift and on the verge of…something. 

“You finished the prep he gave you, right?” Syd had asked. You told her you finished and put it back in the walk-in. “Yeah, then go take your break. Did he not tell you we get 15's here?”

“He didn't,” you say, too annoyed to bother hiding the disdain in your face. Sydney just sighs, rolling her eyes, and you think you love her. 

“Asshole.” She makes a shooing motion at you then. “Go, get a break from this madness. It'll get better, I promise.”

You're not sure if you believe her, but you do step outside to take your break. 

As you stand outside in the back, you take note of tightness in your body that you weren't even aware of. The cigarette smoke calms you, loosens you. Or maybe you owe that to getting out of that hot kitchen. 

This time, you see Carmy before you hear him. You turn to the door to see him stepping out, a pack of smokes in his hand. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” you reply.

“Everythin’ goin’ okay so far?”

“Yeah. It's fine.” Other than everything.

“Really?” His surprise just pisses you off further. “Well, that's good.”

“...Yeah.” You decide if your mouth stays unoccupied, you'll start cussing him out, so you put your cigarette back in your mouth. 

“You're bleeding.”

“What?”

“I said, you're bleeding. Your hand.” 

You look down at your hand holding the cigarette, and sure enough, there's a thin, shallow cut oozing blood near one of your knuckles. 

“Shit,” you mutter, quickly sucking the skin into your mouth. When you pull it back, the red refills. “I didn't even notice.”

“Let's get a bandaid on that.” He puts his unlit cigarette back into his pack. “I have some in my office.”

That's how you end up in the enclosed, dark space of his office, seated on the only chair as he leans back against his cluttered desk. The dingy first-aid kit is propped on top of a shaky stack of papers. Carmy takes out a bandaid from it and peels it open.

“Thought I gave you a sharp knife, it shouldn't have cut you like that,” Carmy comments. 

“It was sharp,” you correct. “Guess I just fucked up.”

“It happens,” he says, which surprises you. He keeps surprising you. You just can't seem to figure him out. “Let me see the cut.”

You only realize that he's putting the bandaid on you when he cradles your hand in his. His hands are warm. 

He has so many hand tattoos. You notice the letters on his fingers first, the SOU curled around your palm. You notice the other tattoo on the back of his hand next, since that's the one carefully placing the bandaid on you. 

He wraps it around your finger just right. Not too tight, not too loose. 

“Is that too tight?” He asks, almost in a whisper. He's so close, and he smells like kitchen oil, cigarette smoke, and a faded cologne you can't place. 

“No, it's okay.” You don't mean to talk so quietly back, but you do. You can't stop staring at his fingers. They're long and marked up with silver scars and burns. If you look carefully, you can place the locations of his callouses. 

“Good.” You don’t know why he does it, but he runs his thumb across the seams of where your bandaid overlaps. Surely it’s just to secure it further…surely.

“Thank you.” He’s still holding your hand. You’re unsure if you’re imagining the tension in the air or not. Everything feels more intimate behind closed doors, especially in low light. “I could’ve done it myself.”

“It’s easier if another person does it.” He lets go, finally, and you try not to mourn the loss. “Did you finish prepping for the stock?”

“What you gave me, yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s go take a look at it, then,” he says, like that isn’t the most anxiety inducing thing you’ve ever heard. 

“R-Right now?”

“As opposed to?” He opens the door to his office, and the muffled noises in the kitchen become sharp and clear again, like emerging from underwater. “Come on.”

You don’t know how it happens, but Carmy gets into five separate arguments on the way to the walk-in. FIVE. To be fair, two of them are from Richie.

“I’ve been telling you guys to sharpen your knives, don’t fucking treat them like this,” Carmy shouts, trudging over to someone’s station. “You see this? This is exactly what we should not be doing! How many times have I said this today?! Don’t—“

“Stop going into my office when I’m not there,” Carmy hisses at Richie next. “You keep fucking up where the papers are put, and I can’t find anything! It’s enough of a mess as it is! No—I said—cousin, listen to me—“

“Everyone shut the hell up, clean your stations, and get the fuck back to work!” Is the last thing he shouts before slamming the door to the walk-in behind you. He slams it so hard the wire racks rattle. You decide not to comment. 

The difference in sound is eerie. You’re always surprised by how sound proof these walk-in fridges are.

“Is this the prep you did today?” Carmy asks, touching one of the clear plastic bins. Sure enough, it’s the one you placed there a moment ago.

“Yeah, it is.” You chew the inside of your cheek. You were hoping he would be in an okay mood when he checked your work. It seemed like he was at first, but now?

“It's on the wrong shelf.”

“What?” You stare at it sitting on the first shelf, just like he told you to. “You told me to put it on the first shelf.”

“It goes on the second shelf.” He's pissed, and there's ice in your veins. He huffs as he takes the container and moves it one shelf up, slamming it down unnecessarily. “I told you—second shelf.”

“You literally said it went on the first shelf.” The ice has melted, and it's boiling. 

“No, I didn't.” You wanna punch him. Badly. You know what you heard. “And you forgot to label it.”

“Shit.” That, you did forget. You’re not above owning up to your mistakes, unlike him. “I'm sorry, I was—”

“We always need stuff like this to be labeled,” he interrupts, rude and abrupt. You can hear the thinly veiled anger in his voice. “I told you.”

“I know, I just—“

“Don’t make excuses. Just do better.”

“It’s my first fucking day!” You snap, finally, and it’s like a firecracker in the dead of night. “I don’t expect to be coddled, but I’ve only been here for a couple hours, and you’re just—“

“I told you to put a label on it, to put it on the second shelf, and you didn’t do either of those things.” This is a different type of anger. It’s quiet, contained. Dangerous. And with your outburst, it’s trembling at the edges. 

“You literally hired me yesterday!” You’re exasperated. “You looked at my resume for like two seconds before hiring me, and you’re mad that I’m messing up?”

“You had enough credentials on your resume. You told me you could work well under pressure and learn quickly. Is that true or not?”

“It is true! You just have to give me a chance first!”

“I just gave you a chance,” Carmy snaps back, “and you fucked it up.”

“Oh my god. I just—“ You take a step back. “I don’t have to take this shit.”

“Are you quitting already?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You move towards the door. “But maybe I should, before you fire me. Doesn't seem like you want me, anyway.”

You were planning on exiting the walk-in after that, to leave on cue, but the door doesn’t budge. You and Carmy notice it at the same time. 

Suddenly, there is a new problem.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses under his breath. The two of you are pushing against the door, but it won’t budge. He slams his fist on it and calls out. “Guys, the walk-in door is stuck! Can any of you open it from out there?”

“Carmen?” Richie's voice is muffled from the other end. There's the sound of frustrated efforts on the other end. “It's not fuckin’ budging!”

“Fuck,” Carmy repeats, seething, and you agree. “Call Fak!”

“I already did! He’s gonna be here in 20!”

“20 minutes?!” Carmy shouts. You close your eyes and sigh, audibly. “Don't we have a screwdriver in here or something?! Just take the hinges off!”

“Why do you think I called Fak?! Shut the hell up and be patient!”

“Tell him to hurry the fuck up,” Carmy barks, and that's where their conversation ends. 

“Just what I needed right now,” you mutter under your breath. Carmy's not looking at you, eyes boring into the door that's trapping the both of you in here with each other. “To be locked in a room with you.”

It's quiet for a minute before he speaks, cutting the silence open.

“...I do want you, y'know.”

“You—huh?” He said it so quietly you're not sure if it was a hallucination. 

“We need you here.” He's still not looking at you. “This place—it's fucked.  We don't have enough hands.”

“I can tell,” you say, and you mean for it to come out bitter, but it's soft. Naively so. 

“I want you here. I do.” He doesn't need to say it like that. You don't want to believe it, neither his words or the way hearing it makes you feel. “I need you.”

“Can you at least look at me when you say it?” 

You’re not sure why you say it. You instantly recognize it for how needy it sounds, but you don't get the luxury of embarrassment. Carmy's already turning to face you. 

“I want you,” he repeats, voice low. You think about the paint you'd need to mix to match the color of his eyes. Blue, white, and the slightest bit of orange to desaturate it. You're not sure what type of orange, though. “I need you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, despite yourself, and it's too late.

“Are you gonna do better?” You didn't even register him moving closer to you. When did your back end up against the shelves?

“I’m gonna do better,” you whisper, “if you stop being such an asshole.”

“It won't happen again,” he whispers back, and you recognize it for the lie that it is. 

You don't really care, though. 

His face is so close to yours that you can see the separate specks of colors in his iris. You watch his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips, and it lingers there before rising again. Any shreds of self respect or control you were clinging onto disintegrate. It doesn't matter if he really means what it says. All that matters is getting your mouth on his.  

“Okay,” you say, a whisper of foolish acceptance, and you're kissing him. 

Or is he kissing you? You don't know who leaned forward first. It's not important. 

“I saw you staring at my hands today,” Carmy says against your lips. Spit makes your mouths slide easily against each other. “Yesterday, too.”

“What the—no you didn't,” you gasp, appalled, heat rising in your face, “how did you—?”

“You're right. I didn't,” he admits with a cheeky grin. You’re really gonna punch him now. 

“God, you're just,” you mutter, “you're such an asshole.”

“I know.” At first, you think he's being smug, but there's a surprising sense of remorse under it. You don't have time to think about it, though, not when his hand is cradling your face. There's no way he doesn't feel how hot your face is. 

“What're you…?” His thumb passes over your lower lip, and the words fall away. 

“Tell me you want this.” Your eyes flicker to his hand, then to his face. His other hand is at the top of your jeans, fingers resting on the edge of your waistband. Excited arousal hits your gut, sizzling like browning butter, warm and toasted. His eyes are dark, caramel on the verge of burning. “If you don't, I'll pretend like this never happened. I'll never touch you again.”

I'll never touch you again, he says, like it's not the last thing you'll ever want. 

“I want this,” you murmur. “Touch me. Please.”

“Good,” Carmy praises, one quiet word enough to sear your insides with heat, blue flame on the underside of a pan. “That's what I thought.”

His hands slip behind you to untie your apron. The strings fall to your sides, and you tug it hastily up and over your head. It falls to the floor next to you. Surely that's a gigantic health hazard, but Carmy's the one who throws it there, so you don't say anything. You lower your gaze to his fingers unbuttoning your pants. The sight of it makes you woozy. You take note of his other tattoos, noticing the letters on his fingers. You watch as the stabbed hand made of ink on his right disappears under the cloth of your underwear.

“Oh,” you breathe. You didn't expect his hand to be so warm, even though you had just felt his heated palm gentle on your cheek.

“You're wet.” The tip of his index finger dips into where your hot folds separate. It strokes at the fluid that's pooled at your entrance, coaxing it out. “When did this happen?”

“Fuck you is when,” you bite back, but it's all bark. “I don't know.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but not really. His condescending smile shouldn't be hot, it really shouldn't, but your pussy throbs against his hand, and he smiles knowingly. “All you need is me to talk and you get wet, is that it?”

“I—” His finger rises upward, splitting you open and flicking at your clit. You buck against his hand. “Don't ask me a question and then touch me like that,” you hiss, horribly turned on.

“Mm, sorry.” It's barely an apology. You throw your head back in frustration. “I didn't mean to.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” you pant. He's pushed your slick up your pussy to your clit, two slick fingers sliding back and forth on your stiff nub. The pads of his calloused fingers are rubbing you almost where you're too sensitive. 

“Then don't. I don't care what you think of me.” You think he's about to get his fingers inside of you, and your breath hitches, but he pulls back. You regret the frustrated whine that is just audible enough in the back of your throat. He does it again, just barely pushing the tips of fingers in before pulling away.

“You—why—do you want me to beg or something?” Your clenched hands raise by your sides to grip the collar of his white shirt and yank him forward. The shock that flashes across his face gives you a sick sense of satisfaction.

“It wouldn't hurt,” he mumbles. Seeing him stagger like this, even if briefly, sends a rush through your head.

“Is that what it's gonna take for you to get those fucking fingers inside me?” 

Like a coward, instead of answering, he leans an inch forward and kisses you. Or maybe that was his answer. That's when he sinks two fingers inside you, long and thick, pushing until your wet pussy's pressed tight against his palm. 

You moan, a pathetic thing, and Carmy swallows the sound of it.

“You're already begging,” he says quietly. He pulls his fingers out. You whine in protest, desperate and angry pleas on the tip of your tongue, but then he's pushing inside again.

That's the last moment of reprieve you get. His fingers start thrusting into you faster, dragging out slick each time he pulls them out. Paranoia suddenly screams that you’re gonna wet the front of your pants at this rate. The aching pleasure is louder than your fear, though. You can’t help the way his fingers are making you moan.

“More,” you plead, “give me another, I can take it.” Your hips are thrusting forward to meet his hand when they push inside. Your clit slaps against the heel of his palm, and you chase the friction. He must notice, because when he obliges and stretches you out with a third finger, he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.

“You have to be quiet,” he says lowly when you keep moaning. “They’re gonna hear you.” 

“I—I’m trying,” you whine. You’re squeezing so tight down on him. You feel so full. “Your fingers—“

“You’re the one who asked for more.” He slaps his other hands firmly over your mouth. It silences your sound of surprise. “You said you could take it, so here’s what’s gonna happen.” His fingers are slamming into your now, and your hole spasms around them in pleasure. “You’re gonna come on my fingers, and you’re gonna be quiet. Understand?”

You know how soundproof the walk-in is. You had just witnessed it moments ago. But Carmy’s warnings do something fierce to you, bypassing logic straight into anxious, desperate arousal. He’s right, you think. You need to be quiet. You nod quickly in response, so he takes your consent and sprints with it.

To your credit, you try to be quiet. You said you would. But there’s only so much you can do when he’s fingering you so hard your legs are shaking. You’re whimpering into his hand, the sounds muffled.  Your own moans, his heavy breathing, and the slick sound of your pussy getting railed by his fingers—that’s what you listen to as you come.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing down tight,” Carmy hisses, and for an irrational second  you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but one look at his starved expression changes your mind. His three wide fingers are fucking you slowly through your wildly contracting orgasm. In one of his palms, you're oozing slick, and in his other palm, you're smearing with spit.

You should be thinking about how bad of an idea this all is, having sex with your boss. It’s too bad your orgasm is so potent you can’t think at all.

You lean your head back against the cold metal railings of the wire racks behind you. It’s uncomfortable, but a part of it feels good against the coiling heat that’s unraveling in your stomach. The air around you is cold, but you’re hot, far too hot. You don’t remember the last time you’ve finished this hard.

He finally pries his hand off your mouth once you've stopped clamping down on his fingers. His hand lingers at your face before wiping it on the side of his jeans. His expression has this unreadable, unnamed intensity to it, and you can't tell where that ends and where the hunger starts. Although he is looking very, very starved.

His hand that's tucked into your underwear tugs it upward as it leaves, pulling the fabric taut against your pussy. It sticks like paper mache with the glue of your orgasm, molded to your shape. You make an aroused noise that's a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

You're about to complain, something along the lines of “was that really necessary”, but then your eyes are zeroed in on the sheen of his fingers that were fucking you.

“Don't,” you start, suddenly worried he's going to wipe them on his jeans again, but you don't get to finish. He's pushing his index finger into your mouth, and you taste yourself on his skin.

“Good,” Carmy whispers when he feels your tongue wrapping around him. Fuck, hearing him say it like that does awful things to you.

You don't know why you accept it without a fight, but if you're being honest with yourself, this is exactly what you wanted. You start to suck, but he doesn't linger. When he pulls his finger out, your parted lips expect the other two, but he sucks them into his mouth instead. 

God. What do you even say to that? He even has the nerve to look you in the eyes as he pops his cleaned fingers out of his mouth. 

“Let me touch you,” you decide to say instead, because if you think about him and his fingers in—anyway. 

“It's fine. I don't need it.” He's oddly cagey all of a sudden. 

“Let me return the favor, please,” you insist, even adding in some good manners. It seems to still him for a moment, giving you enough time to lift his apron.

Fuck, you think to yourself, the word resounding like an alarm inside your head. His jeans are tented so tightly it looks painful. All this from touching me, you realize. You can see the shape of his bulge under the denim. The silhouette is vague, but...

It's big.

“Carmy? You still in there?”

A voice you don't recognize calls out beyond the door. As soon as you both hear it, Carmy jerks away. You mourn the loss only for a moment before you remember yourself. You're scrambling to get your pants buttoned and your apron over your head. 

“Yeah, I'm still in here,” Carmy shouts back, instantaneously irritable. His back is turned to you, and you want to feel those muscles tensing under your palm. “About fuckin’ time!”

“You're welcome, by the way! I could've left you in here to freeze and die a tragic death!”

“It's not just me in here, Fak.” A beat of silence. “Are you opening it?”

“Am I fucking—Jesus Christ, Carmen, just give me a second! I'm working my magic!”

That shuts Carmy up. Almost. He sighs before turning to look at you. 

“Sorry for getting us stuck in here.” The apology is equally as surprising as the softness of which he speaks. “Shitty first day, huh?”

“It's cool. It's not your fault.” Other than all the shit that was completely your fault, you think, remembering the way you were shouting at each other just a moment ago. “Kinda shitty though, yeah.”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “If you wanna leave, I don't blame you.”

“I thought I wasn't getting fired.”

“You're not,” he says quickly. “But I'm—this place is a shitshow.” You're not sure which he really means to say, but you hear both. The restaurant, and him especially, are both complete messes. That much was obvious from the beginning. “So if you wanna take off, just…” He shrugs. “Just go.”

Maybe that'd be for the best, if you left. As far as first days go, you've already broken every rule in the book. You messed up your first task, got into an argument with your boss, and then had sex with him. Nothing about this place is particularly inviting, either. This restaurant wears its dysfunction on its sleeve, unabashed in all the ways it lacks. You had left the kitchen with ringing ears from all the noise and a cut on your hand you didn't even notice. 

But here you are. You're not running. Maybe it's because of the fact that you need to pay rent. Maybe it's knowing that just one more pair of hands here could really make a difference. Maybe you're just desperate to keep food on the table. Maybe it's Carmen Berzatto, beautiful, haunted, and angry. Maybe it's all of that, a combined whole that's become greater than the sum of its parts.

Or maybe it's just that now that you've kissed him, had a taste of him, you refuse to let go. Maybe the reason is as shallow as that. 

Carmy's been waiting for you to speak, tired eyes searching your own. You're still not sure what exact colors you need to perfectly recreate the blue you're staring at. 

“Almost done!” Fak shouts. “Just one more hinge!”

“Heard,” Carmy shouts back. He hasn't taken his eyes off you. “So? What's it gonna be? Are you staying or not?”

Blood orange, you think all of a sudden. That's the orange you would need to make the perfect blue to match his eyes. Just a little bit—that's all you would need.

“I'm staying,” you tell him. “I need to pay rent, after all.”

Yeah. That's the reasoning you're settling on. Rent.

“Right. Of course.” There's a glimpse of that gentle smile you've seen flashes of today. It fades away as quickly as it came. “After this, I'm gonna have you learn how to check produce next.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you say as naturally as you can, given the tonal whiplash.

“There should be some that's about to get washed. I'll show you where that is.” The door's shifting. “But before that…” He lowers his voice, leans in close. Is he about to kiss you?

“W-What?”

“Get a new apron from my office. That one's dirty.” Beams of light stream through the entrance of the walk-in, forced wide open. “You need to keep your apron clean, chef.”

YOU WERE THE ONE WHO THREW IT ON THE GROUND, you want to scream. Just when you thought he started being nice, he does something that makes you want to grab him by the collar and shake him.

But you can't. The walk-in's open again, and you see your coworkers crowded by the door. 

“Yes, chef,” you reply, and the words taste bitter on your tongue.

~

@zorrasucia

[bunnisanblog]

This song literally has me thinking about just how desperate and messy Gojo would be when he’s eating you out. He could drown in it if he could, and don’t get me started about the way he looks up at you after like the tenth time he’s made you cum, with pleading eyes just begging for more. He’ll start playing with your pussy with his fingers and pump even faster and harder, the harder you pull on his hair. I imagine somewhere along the way, he’ll just pull you up and on top of his face with a sturdy grip on your hips, guiding you to ride his face. Alongside your moans and whimpers of his name are the sloppiest sounds of his tongue all over your most sensitive parts. When he does come up for air, hair disheveled and pulled from every angle by you, you just can’t help but admire how pretty he looks. The sounds are replaced by his grunts and comments laced with his signature cockiness… “Look at how fucking wet your pussy is for me.”

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | Rebellion Series | Caution

Part one of the Rebellion Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: By some miracle, you get saved from the consequences of your own actions. You’re reluctant to join a supposedly good cause. What happens when the good cause is not so legal? And what - or who - is your soft spot?

Warnings: Angst, fluff (?) and mentions of sex.

Words: 34OO

You have started shaking again. With every tremble of your body, the restraints around your legs and arms seem to tighten and you shudder even more at the awful memory of that feeling. It took weeks for the shaking to stop. Weeks of being locked up into this modern dungeon until you were nothing but silence and numbness.

You knew the rebellion could end in death, knew the consequences would be catastrophic, but at least you’d stood for something, fought for something. And you would choose death any day over the endless silence of this prison. You know for a fact that you’re surrounded by an ocean, but no matter how hard you listen, you cannot hear the wild sea crash. Can only hear the low hum of the air being circulated through your metal cell.

And today, approximately three months after the start of your sentence in the most secured prison on the planet, you have started shaking again. It can hardly be because today of all days, your brain has decided to make you go completely insane. That would be too random. Which means–

Your head snaps to the window, spotting the other cells. Empty. This floor is reserved just for you alone. Because apparently you’re too dangerous to interact with anyone. They even got machines bringing you your daily sustenance. An empty floor like every other day, yet something seems different. Something’s off.

A metal door flies through the middle of the circular space connecting all of the cells and you stiffen. You look at the ground again, keeping completely still. Maybe they don’t know that you’re here. Oh God, oh God, oh God. No, they can’t get to you. Not again.

The destruction clangs through your body and you tremble violently, curling up as much as you can and staring hard at the floor. The cold metal ground blurs with images of the rebellion. The things you gave up, the energy your summoned and wasted, the people you lost. The blood, and pain, and screams and– and– and…

“She’s in there. Grab her and then we get out of here.”

“Steve, I–”

“And hurry up, we don’t have much time!”

Two combat boots step into your vision and the stomps echo in your head, booming you back to reality. But not quite. Your eyes vibrate with fear and you swallow the nails in your throat. Then a pair of knees appear in front of you and a black gloved hand reaches forward. It hesitates, then retreats. As if choosing not to touch you. Wise choice.

“Hey.” The voice is low. And smooth as liquor.

But you don’t look up, focusing on trying not to tremble more and taking the firm contraptions wrapped around your shins and forearms as the protection they now are. Maybe this is another nightmare. It’s different from the ones you usually have, but black gloves… They had black gloves, too. And those firm boots. They may have kicked you in the stomach with those boots once. You don’t remember.

“I’m here to get you out,” the voice speaks again and you can only listen to the tone of voice, the way it sends a shockwave through your body and lessens the violent trembles. “Look up for me.”

You ignore him and focus on your breathing.

“Is she coming?” That first voice. Impatient. Panting.

The male before you turns to the centre of the floor and gives a frustrated sigh, “She’s pretty out of it.”

Before waiting for the other man to respond, he turns back to you and studies you. Even though you don’t see him, his stare burns right through the flimsy clothes they put on you. He lets out a soft sigh and flips out a knife from the holster at his waist, still kneeling before you. You stiffen, preparing yourself for the sting at your throat as they finally decide to get rid of you, but he tries his best not to touch any bare skin as he saws through the materials binding you together.

The relief of pressure from your skin make you feel so uneasy, you nearly throw up, but a gentle hand covers your arm and you finally look up. Warm, dark blue eyes connect with yours. Below heavy brows and above the faintest cluster of freckles. His mouth is soft and pillowy and his bone structure is otherworldly symmetrical.

“It’s okay,” he tells you gently and offers you a smile that you can tell doesn’t come to him naturally. “Can you walk?”

He pulls you to a stand with a firm, but comfortable grip and you instantly stumble on your feet at the weight suddenly put on them. One arm flies around your waist and hoists you into his side as he catches your fall.

“Okay, okay,” he grunts with a gentle laugh. “I got you. Let’s get the fuck out of here, alright?”

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you hobble along with the wall of a male dragging you along, “Who are you?”

He spares you a brief glance and smiles once more, following ‘Steve’ out of the building and onto an air craft that is way too loud. “Bucky. We’re here to help you. Or I suppose you’re here to help us, little rebel.”

…

Steve gives Bucky a knowing glare, only breaking it by daring a glance at your bedroom door which you have been effectively hiding behind for weeks now. “You know I can’t go in there, Bucky.”

“You know I won’t let you,” Bucky answers drily with a shrug. As opposed to his best friend, Bucky hasn’t stopped staring at your door.

“You’re not even hiding your possessiveness when it comes to her,” Steve breathes through a laugh. That makes Bucky finally look at his friend.

“I’m not possessive,” he says matter-of-factly. He’s not even offended, just practical. “I’m protective. The last thing she needs is all of the nosy people in this tower swirling around her when she doesn’t trust a single soul.”

“Has she started to trust you?”

Bucky has to keep from wincing at Steve’s question, and he clears his throat. “Sure,” he lies.

If Steve caught the lie, he didn’t let on. It was as much of a dismissal as he was going to get. After watching his best friend walk off to do captain things, Bucky braces himself to step into your room. He has no hope that his interaction with you will be any different than the previous ones.

“Another day of convincing me to be your weapon?” you nearly snarl when he walks into your room.

If Bucky is entirely honest, he thought you would have turned into this damaged girl that would morph into a wild animal as you worked through what had been done to you. He didn’t really expect this perseverance and defiance from the woman he saved from that prison. But he supposes he should have seen that question coming. It wasn’t his best work; starting that day he saved you with all of the things you could be doing for them. Why they had saved you. Simply for their own gain. Or that is how you understood it, at least…

He has never been good with words. That has always been Steve’s thing. Bucky was reliable physically and he paid attention. He never had to use many words to make his point. Yet you keep asking these questions – rhetorical, he thinks – and you keep giving him this penetrating stare until he answers. Which is a sure way to make him fuck up, because how do people do that? Bring sensible thoughts into words and make it make sense?

Especially when the woman asking said questions is so damned… pretty.

“It’s time for you to get out of this room,” he tells you plainly. It seems the tactic of ignoring your questions is effective. It only took him six days to figure that one out.

He strides over to cross the room, not sparing you another glance in your chair in the corner, and rips open the curtains. The cat-like hiss coming from you has Bucky nearly biting back a smile. He turns and watches you stand from your chair, stalking over to him with your chin high and a scowl on your face. He raises an eyebrow with amused intrigue.

“And what, exactly, will I be doing outside of my room?” you ask.

He dips down slightly, but you keep the proximity. “Whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“If you don’t care, why hunt me out of my room?”

He shrugs, “Captain’s orders.” He isn’t entirely lying.

“Why isn’t the captain telling me himself?”

Bucky smirks and leans even closer, making you feel his minty breath fan over your face. “Because I’m the only one who isn’t scared of you.”

You snort at that and roll your eyes before breaking away from him. “I’ll get dressed.”

Bucky tries his hardest not to look too stunned as you retreat into the bathroom. A deep sigh leaves his lips as he paces through your room in wait for you to get ready. It takes a whole lot of effort to muster a smirk when it comes to his interactions with you.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he asks quietly.

Just as quietly, the house responds, “Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Has she asked for anything from you? To contact friends or family, or other information?”

“No, she hasn’t.”

“Does she have anyone left?” he tries, chewing his lip as he dreads the answer.

“Not that we’re aware. Mr. Stark had me run a background check, but she seems alone. No sign of anyone missing or deceased. No sign of a network at all.”

Bucky doesn’t know why that feels worse in his chest and he swallows. “Alright, thank you.”

A few moments later, you step out of the shower and find Bucky lounging in the chair he found you in, leafing through one of your books. Just as you’re about to check whether he has gotten his hands on one of your smuttier books, your eyes snag on the clothes laid out for you on the bed.

You pause long enough to make Bucky look up from the book. “Did you… Did you seriously pick out this underwear for me?”

Bucky eyes the lace panties dangling from your fingers and shrugs with a smirk. A smirk had never looked so enticing, but you sharpen your stare on him. “Do you prefer the grey, cotton ones in the back of the closet?”

You grit your teeth and scowl at him again, before morphing your mouth into a vindictive smile. “Why? Don’t you?”

His eyes dance at that. “Wouldn’t make a difference to me.”

And it’s the way he said it, with so much casual amusement and… promise. Heat rises to your face and you duck your head down. Snatching the clothes from the bed, you retreat back into the bathroom to get dressed.

…

The rest of your conversations had been purely functional as Bucky lead you down into the building where Steve was waiting. Bucky rolled his eyes at his friend’s horrible attempt at hiding his surprise. Steve hadn’t seen you since the day they came to save you, he must have never expected Bucky to be successful in his retrieval.

Bucky also hadn’t missed the meaningful look Steve then gave him that indicated he tucked away some valuable information. The information being that if they ever needed to get you to do something, Bucky is the way to get you to do it. Why? Steve seemed to have his theories and Bucky didn’t like it one bit.

However, for now he doesn’t care. Instead, he sticks by you after you reluctantly agreed to join Steve on a walk.

Strolling down the path through the surrounding woods, Bucky catches himself bracing for a fight every time Steve gets a little too close to you. He doesn’t like it. The last time he was this sensitive to proximity, he had just ran from Hydra. He’s seen other traumatised people before, but this feels different. And instead of listening to your and Steve’s conversation, he tries to figure out what it is. He supposes it’s because you have no survival instinct. In the few videos he’s seen of your rebellion and the encounters he has had with you the past weeks, you see danger or conflict and run straight toward it. Nothing scared or cautious about you. It sets his nerves on edge.

Bucky is well aware of what Steve is telling you and he has to refrain from rolling his eyes at the careful way Steve tries to coax you into their plan, when earlier that week they had not been nearly as careful as they calculated how to get you involved. But even Bucky had to admit that they needed you – specifically, everyone who would follow you into the grave. When Stark had shown him the videos, he was perplexed as to how you got such a huge following when what you fought for was so terribly dangerous. But one look at those sharp eyes and one deep command from you, and Bucky had seen it. That unwavering will and that brilliant brain that was always calculating. Steve could learn a few tricks from you on being a strong leader. And considering Bucky wildly admires his old friend, that is saying something.

They need you. Bucky knows it, too. They need not just someone with great leadership skills and a loyal following, but someone that does it out of empathy for the people mistreated by the system. Because that is who they’re going to be fighting – the system.

Again.

…

“You haven’t said anything about what Steve told you,” Bucky says on your walk back to your room. The offer to escort you back to your room hadn’t been entirely selfless.

“I need to think about it,” you murmur, deep in thought.

Bucky suppresses his sigh of sympathy. They are asking you to join a cause you were so passionate about, and that after failing so miserably last time. He can barely imagine the things you must have witnessed and endured with your last upraise. How you had gotten so influential that the government decided to treat you like you were a super-human and punished you accordingly. You had been put in the same prison as Wanda. Wanda. That is how powerful you were.

“It can’t be easy to revisit everything after all that’s happened,” he resigns and you blink from your thoughts to raise your eyes to his face. You study him and it takes all of Bucky’s might not to shift under your assessing gaze.

Then you speak up, “I’ve always done the right thing. Steve knows I can’t walk away from it…”

Bucky smiles at that. “Just like him.”

Your eyes narrow at that comment, but Bucky finds no venom in the look. You continue, “Sacrificing my life for the cause was never an issue. But to lead others into that same fate again?” The guilt had eaten you alive. All those people that had gotten arrested, split up from loved ones, hurt– worse…

Bucky interrupts your thoughts before they get a hold on you by clearing his throat. “Tonight, we have dinner with everyone. You’re welcome to join if you’d like.” Your heavy stare on him makes him quickly add, “Don’t give me that look. There will be no talk of overthrowing the government. Just dress fancy.”

The snort of a laugh that comes from you feels lighter to Bucky than he’d like to admit. And to ease the tension, he forces another smirk to his face. You narrow your eyes again warily, “What.”

He shrugs, turning to leave you alone at your door. Then he winks. “Let me know if you need me to pick out some underwear for you.” And then he’s gone.

Bucky hangs onto that cockiness all the way until dinner, where the entire group has showed up. Even Thor said he’d show up for a drink. Barton flew in from his family home to join the group as well. He remembers a time when he’d felt more than uncomfortable around this group of people. But so much has changed. They all saw him as a great asset to the team and even relied on him more and more to supervise the missions. He’s at home with them now. Heart swelling with affection, he listens to his friends – his family – laugh in the kitchen while they pour the drinks.

And then all of their faces turn into one direction, some of them pulling taut, few of them giving warm, comforting smiles. Bucky follows their gaze and it is like someone punched him in the gut, air whooshing out of his body. He doesn’t really know why – other than the obvious fact that you look ravishing of course. But he looks at you and clears his throat to welcome you to the group.

Natasha beats him to it though and it has Bucky’s hackles rising. She shoots him a knowing smile and then he backs off. His pride wounded like a cat booped on the nose. Natasha is good at it, charming people until they feel comfortable. Or take their pants off. But there’s an easy smile on your face – one Bucky knows is at least slightly forced – and you blend in with the crowd easily.

Suddenly, Sam’s at his side. “I know what you’re thinking,” he grumbles with his eyes on you and Natasha, followed by a swig of his beer bottle. “Those two together can only mean trouble.”

Bucky can only grunt in agreement.

…

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Natasha drawls with a guilty smile.

Barton shakes his head. “The poor schmuck didn’t stand a chance. There is no way you could have taken him if you hadn’t slept with him the night before.”

Natasha shrugs. “Look, a girl has her needs. He met them and the next day he met his fate.”

“Really, Nat?” Steve nearly cringes and Bucky reins in his laugh. “The guy’s moral compass was straight from hell and you decided to sleep with him?”

Natasha barely manages to open her mouth before you decide to pitch in, raising a glass to her. “I get it. Terrible morals do add a little spice in the bedroom.”

Nat clinks her glass with yours and mutters a ‘she gets it’, but Bucky’s eyes are searing through your skin. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised at such outrageous claims coming out of your mouth. There is nothing innocent about you. Good, yes. Innocent? No. Yet perhaps it isn’t ‘surprise’ that is warming his body from the inside out.

Conversation flows easily between the Avengers and the food Tony had made easily beats the Brooklyn comfort food Bucky usually seeks out. Cheeks turn rosy from the drinks, voices get louder, lights get dimmer. Bucky has to really look to be sure what he’s seeing. You, relaxed and happy. Such a stark contrast to the woman he found in the prison. No wonder you’re so good with people. People make you good.

He can barely manage his smirk however, when he notices the strain in your body to keep from looking at him. Why you are so adamant to avoid him, he can’t really tell. But this is now your weak spot, so he cannot help but tuck the info away for later.

The night carries on and everyone switches places, catching up on endless memories and adventures and being surprisingly considerate to include you in most conversations. Bucky ends up at the head of the table, you on the seat closest to him, both listening to Sam. You listen closely and Bucky can only assume you have some relief from being actively distracted from him. And being the arrogant bastard he knows he can be, he ‘accidentally’ brushes a knuckle over the back of your hand that’s resting on the table. He watches you stiffen and swallow, but like a true rebel, you show no other sign that it affected you.

A few more stunts like that had Bucky pressing his knee to your thigh under the table and it takes everything not to pull away from it. So you gaslight yourself to let the touch ground you. To absorb his warmth and relax even more into the touch. And if you guess it correctly, the way you respond to Bucky’s touch is not what he expected… So you find yourself having the upper hand again.

And if you’re going to join these people in their cause, what’s a little game with your menace of a saviour?

[janewaykove]

Title: Back To Work

Characters: Janeway/fem!reader

Rating: PG

Janeway wanted you to come to her quarters in the evening when she had time off. You approached her door and heard her call for you to come in. You found her in her chair, her arm casually draped over the back of the chair, a position you loved seeing her in. She had on her short-sleeved undershirt and was reading a book.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your relaxation time," you said, feeling like you'd intruded.

"Nonsense," she said, waving a hand in the air to dismiss your concern. "I just lost track of time. Make yourself comfortable," she said, gesturing to the sofa. "Lemme just finish this chapter."

You told her not to hurry and you sat down on the sofa. You couldn't help but be transfixed on her. The intense stare at the pages. The arm over the chair back. The undershirt. She looked irresistible. You couldn't stop imagining all the things you wanted to do to--

And then you noticed her book was lowered and she was smiling at you as you were lost in the thought of her. "Sorry," you said shyly.

"For what?" she asked. "Having naughty thoughts about me?"

You shifted in your seat. "How did you know I was--"

"It's written all over your face clearer than the words in this book," she answered. "Plus there's a bit of drool in the corner of your mouth." She laughed as you wiped your mouth. "I'm teasing you," she added, standing up and walking over to you. She removed her shirt revealing the tank top beneath it. She knew you loved seeing her in that. "Better?" she purred seductively. She motioned for you to put your legs up on the sofa.

"Much," you said, stretching out on the sofa as she wished.

She straddled your waist and put her hands on either side of your head before lowering herself down to kiss you. You moaned lightly as her tongue explored your mouth. Soon you were moaning even louder as she started to grind herself against you.

Her lips moved to your ear. She nipped and nibbled at your lobe. "Is this what you wanted?" she whispered into your ear. You nodded as your voice had suddenly been lost in the excitement. She rocked her pelvis harder against you, bringing out more sounds from deep within you.

Your hands found their way to her hips and you pulled her towards you with an uncontrollable need to feel her against you as much as possible. You slid one hand up under her shirt, wishing to feel the warmth of her skin. "I need you," you finally spoke. It was a faint, breathy plead, but she heard you.

She sat upright and began fiddling with your pants, trying to unfasten them. Your pulse sped up with anticipation. When her eyes locked on yours, you felt a surge of electricity shoot to your very core. She grinned, knowing exactly how you felt. She got your pants undone and--

"Captain," a male voice appeared from the air, "You're needed on the bridge."

"Dammit, Chakotay," she groaned before actually replying to say she would be right there.

You let out a heavy sigh and she shrugged at you.

"This'll have to wait," she frowned as she fastened your pants back up. She crawled off of you and put her other shirt back on. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

You were sitting up by now and looking disappointed. You tried to smile, not wanting it to feel like it was her fault for having to leave you like this. "Duty calls," you said with faux cheer.

Buttoning up her uniform, she leaned down and kissed you. "I promise," she reassured. And you knew she meant it. "Stay the night," she said, on her way out. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

And with that, she was back to work.

[skribbyposts]

HOW to write smut no glue no borax 5 minutes tutorial

[scrollonso]

Forever — Strollini

Honestly, Lance should have expected something like this. With how often he’s been embarrassing himself recently, it should have been all over his radar that this was a bad, bad idea. But part of what lead him here is the inability to think things through.

Despite that hard learned lesson and the hefty white casts he now sports, Lance obviously has not internalized the lesson that he is doomed to embarrass himself. So that’s how he ends up where he is now. He’s going to blame the bike because if he hadn’t rodd around that track and broken his wrists then he wouldn’t be suffering from the worst case of blue balls he’s ever experienced.

Worse than puberty truly. He’s already losing his mind. Because like the true genius he is, he tried to stop his fall with both his hands. And like the heartless bitch gravity is, she punished his genius by fracturing and displacing his right wrist, fracturing his left wrist, partially fracturing his left hand and finally fracturing the big toe on his right foot.

That was only two weeks ago, but Lance is already extremely frustrated with every part of his life, he can’t write, most of his tasks now operate at one tenth of the speed he normally performs them at, and he can’t even waste time by masturbating because he has no idea how he'd even try with his current situation. He can’t twist either one right, he can’t squeeze on the upstroke, he can barely manage an upstroke without coming clean off the shaft and overshooting the whole thing. And he’s losing his mind.

He’s irritable, he’s touch starved, and with how just generally shitty he feels in the cast itself he’s in no position to ask Luca to help him come to orgasm. He's been helping so much these past fourteen days that Lance would feel too bad to ask him to do anything else for him. So, Lance is alone, out of options, and mind numbingly horny.

All of this combined with his disastrous luck is how he finds himself in this position now. He’s sweaty, his free hand is covered in tacky lube, and his hips and thighs ache from trying to fuck his useless hand, he’s worked himself up into such an overwhelmed deprived frenzy that to his horror he starts to cry and of course, because the world like to laugh at him, Luca walks through the door.

He didn’t hear the elder enter the apartment, and he didn’t hear him knock either. He doesn’t even try to cover himself up with the blanket it’s too far away. Lance simply releases his cock, throws his arm over his eyes as he begins to cry in earnest, and rolls onto his side away from Luca because at least his bare ass is better than his slicked-up, hard penis. Except, in rolling away from Luca he lands harshly on his tender wrist, and he ends up coughing through an episode of shooting pains.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t look at me.”

Lance sobs out. He knows he’ll feel even more ashamed and even more mortified once he faces Luca having cried this much over not being able to jerk off, but he can’t help it. Everything is culminating all at once and he’s drowning.

It’s silent for a moment before Lance startles Lance by draping his blanket over his lower half and sitting on the edge of the mattress where Lance is laying.

“Come on, take a deep breath.”

Lance tries, but he really just can’t. Luca sits with him as he struggles to will his hard-on away and control himself enough to convince the other to leave.

“What’s the matter, caro?”

Lance pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to vanish into thin air.

“Luca please.”

“It’s okay, just talk to me. Let it all out.”

Lance sniffles, finally managing to reign in his tears. He can’t bring himself to face Luca as he airs out his humiliations.

“I’m just really overwhelmed and frustrated.” Luca hums and gently places his hand on the sweaty nape of Lance’s neck and pets his fingers through the soft hair the other is beginning to grow out.

“There’s so many things I can’t do by myself anymore with both my handa out of commission and it’s all just piling on top of me, and I just wanted one thing and I couldn’t—”

Lance curls into a tighter ball and tries to stop himself from crying again.

“It’s okay.”

“I just wanted to jerk off and I couldn’t even do that because nothing feels right, and it’s been two weeks with the casts on and a week on top of that just because of life since I’ve orgasmed and I’m fucking losing my mind I’m so horny.”

Lance starts to sob again. He’s probably a little overtired. He’s used to sleeping on his side and rolling back and forth when he gets uncomfortable, but the cast has interrupted his sleep cycle as well, fucking over yet another thing for him, so he hasn’t been sleeping as well.

Luca doesn’t say anything just continues to pet through Lance's sweaty hair until he manages to stop crying again.

“I’m sorry.” Lance whispers. “You can go back to what you were doing. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Amore,” Luca sounds more serious than Lance expected him to. “Do you need help baby?”

Lance sits up as quickly as he can with only Luca to support himself. He looks at the blurry image of Luca through his tears and cannot tell if he’s being serious or not.

“That’s mean.”

Lance clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth and transitions his hand from tugging through Lance's hair to holding the nape of his neck again.

“I’m being serious. You are obviously suffering, and you're my boyfriend. Why would I be mean to you?”

There’s an obvious difference to Lance even if Luca's right. It’s not logical for him to be afraid of his boyfriend helping him out. There’s no reason for him to be and even as he’s sitting here thinking about it he can’t really pinpoint why he feels this way. Or why it sits a little uncomfortably in his chest. They've been dating for almost seven years, sex isn't something foreign to them but this situation is.

Lance heaves in a deep breath, his flagging erection has sort of started to take interest in the conversation because despite everything he’s feeling he is desperately horny.

“But I mean, why?”

Luca tugs gently on Lance's hair and just lightly chuckles at the younger.

“Caro, I just walked in on you fully weeping because you can’t jerk off. It’d be cruel to not use my two working hands to help you.”

Lance splutters and shoves Luca's shoulder, both of them cringing as they realize his hand is still slick with lube. Luca takes off said shirt and Lance can’t help but giggle.

“Is it weird that I’m nervous?”

Luca smirks at him, a hint of confusion coloring his expression, it just makes Lance want to giggle more. Luca chucks his shirt on their laundry pile and shifts so he’s facing the still naked younger.

“I don’t think it’s weird, but you don’t have anything to be nervous about. You’re gonna feel so good after.”

Lance squirms and hides what he can of his face in his one semi-useable hand. He curls forward covering his hidden face with his knees. Luca tuts again and gently slips into the space behind Lance on the bed, between him and the headboard.

The gentle scrape of the denim of Luca's jeans against his skin has Lance shivering. Luca's hands grip his hips, thumbs digging into the small of his back and Lance gasps, muscles twitching.

“Come on, baby.”

Luca guides Lance so he’s leaning back against his bare chest. Lance sighs, wringing his hands in the duvet cover and adjusting his cast to rest comfortably on Luca's bent knee. Surprisingly, Luca doesn’t make to immediately remove the blanket covering Lance's nakedness. No, he just tucks his chin over his shoulder and caresses from just above Lance's naval up to his collarbones. Running his fingers over every bump and ridge, glancing over his nipples, and then tipping his head to mouth at the salty skin of Lance's pulse point.

Lance sucks in a sharp breath before melting in Luca's arms. It’s a blessing and a curse to share so many of your sensitivities and kinks with your boyfriend because it’s obvious to Lance, in this moment, that Luca paid attention and is now using that knowledge. The delicate nickname, the wet kisses, it’s all foreboding an orgasm Lance won’t soon forget. Luca laces his fingers over Lance's, still clutching the blanket.

“Can I take this off?”

Lance nods, pushing it down and exposing the smooth skin of his thigh. Luca finishes the job, kicking the blankets all the way down the end of the bed. Lance gasps as his now fully hard again penis flops up onto his stomach again.

“Poor desperate Lancino. All worked up.”

Lance arches his back. He feels like he’s been electrified. He needs Luca to touch him like yesterday.

“Lu—”

Luca resumes his petting of Lance's chest, knuckles barely glancing off the sides of Lance's cock. He jerks in Luca's arms, hips bumping back against Luca's. The strangled sound he lets out has Lance giggling in his ear.

“So needy. Where’s our lube, baby?” He knows, of course he knows, he bought it and put it there himself. But he wants to torture the Canadian a bit.

Lance gestures to the nightstand where the half-used bottle sits, top still popped open. Luca kisses up Lance's neck, dragging his tongue across the skin, and taking the lobe of Lance's ear between his teeth. He stretches over and grabs the lube, free hand coming up to rub circles on Lance's sternum.

“Lancino, come on relax for me. You’re so tense.”

And Luca's right, Lance can feel all the muscles in his chest, back, and shoulders all taught and primed waiting for anything to happen. But he can’t release any of that tension. Luca licks around the shell of his ear and continues to rub across Lance's chest. He places the lube into Lance's hand and directs his own hand underneath the bottle.

Lance squeezes a healthy amount of lube across Luca's fingers and then closes his eyes, trying his hardest to unclench.

“I don’t think I can, Ange. It just hurts so much.” It does. Lance's cock is aching. He’s wound up tight, ready to collapse, but he can’t. “Please.”

Lance just wants Luca to touch him. He won’t even be picky. Whatever Luca will give him, he’ll take. Luca hums.

“Since you asked so nicely. How could I say no to my sweet boy?”

Lance squirms as Luca whispers in his ear. He can feel his thighs clenching, even just the slight friction of the tip of his cock sliding against his stomach is starting to push him toward the edge.

“Mhm, please Luc'. Need it” Lance gasps out as Luca's fingers circle the perimeter of his nipple. He drops the lube and clutches Luca's knee.

Luca chuckles and smacks a quick kiss to Lance's cheek.

“Cute.”

A strangled moan escapes Lance's throat as Luca finally wraps his hand around his dick. He doesn’t even start to move it yet, just holding it with the barest amount of pleasure as he rolls one of Lance's nipples in between his fingers. Lance squirms and the light shifting of his shaft in Luca's finger has pre-come dribbling out of his slit. He groans as Luca flicks the tip of his nipple and then moves his hands over to the other one and begins the same treatment.

“Oh fuck.”

Lance moans. Luca snickers and squeezes his fingers briefly around Lance. He licks up the line of Lance’s neck.

“Feel good, amore?”

Lance nods frantically shifting his grip further up Luca's leg to his hip and spreading his legs as wide as he can between Luca's. Their knees knock together. Lance flexes his fingers in his cast wishing he could touch more of Luca.

“More, please, more.”

Luca slowly starts to stroke Lance's cock, tightening his fingers as he rounds over the tip. Lance can’t believe the sheer amount of unfiltered sounds he’s making as Luca jacks him off. He tries to steady his breathing because he’s already panting like he’s run a marathon, but he can’t. Everything feels heavy and sharp in the best way. Luca finally releases his nipple from the death grip he’d been torturing it with and smooths his hand down Lance's sternum. He presses his hand firmly against the flat of his stomach, right above where his abdomen trails into his grown out hair. Luca pauses in his firm stroking and runs his fingers lightly along the vein on the underside of Lance's cock.

He presses with his other hand, tipping Lance's hips until he’s laying just a little flatter. Luca's slick hand stops at the base of Lance's penis, thumb resting around the shaft and his fingers reaching down to roll Lance's balls between them.

Luca mouths at the juncture of Lance's neck and shoulders, while playing with Lance. He pulls up and then massages him as he lets them relax against Lance's body, fingertips grazing against Lance's perineum. Lance can feel his thighs and hole clench. He wants Luca's fingers in him, he realizes quickly. But he doesn’t dare voice that desire for fear of Luca stopping what he’s doing right now.

“Shit, Lance, you’re so hot.”

Lance knows he’s been vocal despite not consciously trying to moan for Luca, but he doubts either of them were expecting the volume of the response that comment pulls out of him. Luca giggles and kisses down Lance's shoulder.

“You like when I compliment you, hm?”

Luca murmurs into Lance's skin. The heat of his breath has Lance shivering. Luca drags his hand back up Lance's torso and just glances around the base of his throat before pulling off his skin and cupping beneath his mouth. Lance moans but doesn’t really understand what Luca is doing.

“Come on, baby, spit for me.”

Lance works his tongue over in his mouth and tips his chin down to drool into Luca's hand. Luca hums and brings his cupped palm down to Lance's cock. His other hand gently releases Lance's balls before coming up to stroke over his swollen shaft again. Luca drips the spit down Lance's cock before taking his slick palm and rotating it against the head of.

“Fuck, fuck!”

“There we go, let it out.”

Lance can feel himself tearing up. All the excess energy inside of him is begging to come out anywhere. It feels like he’s been edging himself for hours, days even, and despite his desperate need to cum his orgasm won’t wash over him.

“Mon amor, it hurts, please.”

Heat radiates off Luca's chest where he’s pressed, skin to skin, with Lance. Lance can feel the tingling of pleasures beginning to rise from his feet, like the numb static feeling when your limbs fall asleep. He finally releases Luca's hip and cups his cheek as he turns to face him. Their lips meet and Lance snaps. He moans and pants into Luca's mouth as he blissfully orgasms. Luca slows his movements, gently coming to a stop, but not taking his hands off Lance just yet. He collects Lance's cum in his hand, letting the younger ride out the waves. As Lance finally slumps against Luca's chest, Luca releases the younger bringing his lube covered hand to pet Lance's side. He absentmindedly wipes the collection of cum across Lance's chest.

Lance whines dropping his hand to hold Luca's wrist in place as he smears Lance's own ejaculate across his pecks.

“Why?”

Luca chuckles and smacks a wet kiss to Lance's cheek.

“It’s only fair.”

Lance groans and sits himself up more from where he’s slumped down against Luxa and the mattress. He goes to sit up when he notices that his erection has not started to flag. He may not be nearly as hard as he was before he came, but he is still definitely hard. He whines and flops back against Luca, suddenly overwhelmed yet again.

“Oh baby, still all worked up?”

Lance whines again and can feel the tears start to well in his eyes. He just wants to go to sleep, and stop being embarrassed for more than like five minutes. Luca shushes him and gently nudges Lance's temple with his nose.

“You’re alright. Talk to me Lancino, do you want to cum again?”

Lance feels like he could scream. He just doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he can come again. He doesn’t know if he wants to come again. All he wants is to shower and sleep, but he’s still so worked up and aching.

“I don’ know.”

He sobs wetly. Luca helps him sit up, away from his chest and lays Lance down flat instead. He straddles the younger’s thighs and tries to lay on him as comfortably as he can while being mindful of Lance's injury. He soothes Lance as much as he can without wiping more lube and cum over the younger and presses small kisses into the other’s skin.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe, baby.”

Lance inhales sharply and tries his hardest to calm down. He feels a little better having Luca on top of him and tries to focus on the comforting pressure of being pinned.

“There we go, good job caro.”

Lance sighs at the praise and brings his hand up once again to lace into Luca's hair. He directs the elder into a grounding kiss, slipping his tongue between Luca's lips. Lanfe always feels better after being kissed. It regulates him in a way he can't describe. It’s his favorite part of any intimate moment. A closeness that isn’t even emulated through sex. Kissing Luca makes the world feel a little less like it’s about to collapse.

He sighs again this time into Luca's mouth before relaxing his arm and letting the elder pull back just enough to breathe. Luca looks deep into Lance's eyes and he can tell the elder is amused. It would be pretty funny, he supposes, having your boyfriend cum in your arms and then have a meltdown over still being hard before kissing you senseless.

Still, just one more embarrassment tally to add to his chart.

“You’re cute.”

Luca murmurs, still close enough that Lance practically swallows the sound. He gulps and closes he eyes as he knows his face flushes even redder than it already was. He scrunches his nose and sighs. He can still feel himself erect between his and Luca's body, and it’s likely the elder can feel him too. He needs to sleep. Lance needs this to be done.

“I think I have to cum again.”

Lance whispers, nervous to even acknowledge it. It’s not really a common aspect of his refractory period to be ready to orgasm so close to his last one. He can’t recall an instance where he’s come twice in one encounter with someone, let alone twice in the same hour. It’s making him a little nervous.

Luca reaches over and grabs the lube from where he dropped it earlier. He slicks up his hand again and Lance is once again struck by just how strangely amazing of a boyfriend he has.

Lance feels infinitely clearer headed than before the first orgasm. And much less like the world is going to end because he can’t get his hand to make him feel anything except like a teenager trying to jack off for the first time. But that clear headedness also comes with the stark realization that it is in fact Luca with his hand wrapped around his cock. It’s Luca who he can feel hard against his thigh. His boyfriend who is working his thumb in tight circles against the frenulum of his penis, who he just kissed so intensely it might just ruin all kissing for him in the future. Lance was sure life couldn't get any better than this, better than being so intimate like this with someone.

Because, shit, the warm ferocity with which Luca kisses him has Lance already wanting more and they’ve only just stopped. He cranes his neck and begins to lay his own set of kisses and marks along the unmarred skin of Luca's neck. Lance's known Luca for a long time, which is why he isn’t surprised to find how sweaty he is and how much he tastes of salt. He hasn't changed much since the first time they fucked.

It doesn’t take nearly as much effort for Lance to reach his peak the second time. He’s oversensitive and thrumming with the residual energy from his last orgasm and simply Luca stroking him calmly brings him up and over the edge again until he’s cumming against his stomach.

He grips Luca's hair tighter eliciting a hiss from the elder.

“Caro, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

Lance blushes and resorts to just petting over the back of Luca's head. He believes Luca, of course he does. It's been seven years of this, why would it change? And now, he can’t stop thinking about how safe and how secure Lucw makes him feel, not just here and now as he recovers from his second orgasm, but day to day.

Lance wraps his arm around Luca's shoulders, hauling the other closer. He buries his face into Luca's neck and just tries to breathe.

“Lance? What’s wrong?”

Luca's hand is trapped between them.

“Nothing.”

He sobs. Another embarrassment tally. He keeps hiding in Luca's neck. He can’t bring himself to let go knowing that the other will look at him a know that something has shifted enough in Lance that he will never recover from this.

Maybe he’s just being dramatic. But god, it feels like if Lance ever has to wake up one morning without Luca by his side, constantly loving him and supporting his every move, Lance won’t know what to do with himself.

But what even is the resolution? Of course he's in love with Luca, he has been for at least six years, but what if Luca doesn't feel as strongly? He doesn’t know. All he knows is he needs a minute, he needs Luca right now, and he needs to sleep.

“I think I’m over-tired.”

He hiccups out against Luca's skin. Luca shifts, leaning over to the nightstand again, and though he’s still hiding his face against the elder’s neck, Lance can hear him pull a few tissues out of the box. Luca's cleaner hands come to rest on Lance's hips soothing over the planes of his side as the younger attempts to derail what feels like it could be a full-blown anxiety attack. He hates feeling so out of control.

“I’m here for you, Lancino. I’m right here.”

“Okay.” Lance whispers. They lay there just existing for so long.

“I’m sorry.”

Lance eventually whispers out.

“Do you—” Luca clears his throat and it’s one of the first times Lance really sees Luca's usually calm demeanor crack slightly. “Do you need me to leave?”

Lance shakes his head and pulls Luca as close as he can with one arm.

“Please don’t.”

Luca rolls them over onto their sides, carefully guiding Lance's left arm to rest comfortably before hauling Lance tightly into his arms.

“I won’t, not until you tell me to. Take some deep breaths for me, baby.”

Lance inhales heavily, chest pressing against Luca, and then shakily exhales for as long as he can trying to will away the heavy sadness creeping in from the edges.

“Good job and again.”

They lay together and just breathe until Lance's cock is fully soft and he feels less on the precipice of complete breakdown. Luca continues to rub Lance's back and though he’s stopped coaching Lance through his breaths, he still breathes in time with the younger.

If Lance thought he was exhausted before, now he can barely keep his eyes open at all. He sighs and jerkily brings his hand up to rub at his eyes. He really should get up, clean up, and go to sleep, and hopefully when he wakes up tomorrow everything will be better and feel less like the apocalypse is upon him.

Luca brushes Lance's fringe away from his eyes and gently thumbs over the skin right next to Lance's eye.

“Sleepy?”

Lance nods. He unwillingly tears himself from Luca's arms, sitting up as best he can and wiping his cheeks with the back of his wrist. Luca strokes over Lance's shoulders until he laces his fingers in his hair again, nails gently scratching over Lance's scalp.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Lance tries to stand, but his legs are jelly underneath him. Luca comes around and holds out his hand. And Lance wants to take it. He wants to snuggle into Luca's side and fall asleep together. He wants to wake up together. It’s confusing. Luca'a never felt anything like this before, usually not this strongly about Luca, and definitely not about anyone else.

He can feel his stomach lurch at the thought of waking up with only his pillow for company, to wake up and cook his breakfast and drink his coffee knowing Luca isn't there and he's alone again.

He can feel himself starting to tear up again and quickly banishing any thoughts of that from his mind. It’s a problem for tomorrow’s Lance.

He takes Luca's hand.

Luca helps him stand, his other hand on Lance's hip until he’s steady on his feet. Luca leans forward and kisses Lance's cheek.

“Bath?”

Luca asks and Lance nods, distractedly, still caught up in his own thoughts. If Luca notices, he doesn’t comment and instead guides Lance to the bathroom, letting him sit on the toilet as he prepares the bath.

Lance takes a moment to just obverse Luca, really look at him and let what they’ve just done sink in. Has it changed the way he feels about Luca? He doesn’t feel different and yet he sort of feels like he’s ben spun upside down and can’t recognize the world exactly the way it always was. He loves Luca, more than anything. More than Esteban, more than his dad, more than Formula 1.

“Caro, let’s get you in the bath.”

Lance shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts and takes the hand Luca is offering him once again. The elder helps him step into the tub, mindful to keep his arms out of the water. And crouches down to Lance's level. Luca carefully wets his hand and drags Lance's sweat drenched hair until it stays out of his face.

Lance feels any of the remaining tension leak from his muscles as Luca gently runs the soap slick washcloth across his skin. His eyes start to droop involuntarily, soothed by the warmth of the bath and the relief of finally having cum.

“Don’t go to sleep yet, amore. You’re almost done.”

Luca quickly washes Lance off and finishes the bath. Lance manages to stand and help himself out the bath. Luca wraps him in a large towel and delicately dries the younger off.

Lance's tongue feels heavy in his mouth, the thoughts in his brain are mushing together. He’s so tired. And that sleepiness has to be the reason for the heat in the bottom of his belly, for the inkling, nagging desire to kiss Luca again.

Luca corrals him into a sleepshirt and some clean boxer briefs, before herding him into their room. He gently tucks Luca into the bed.

“I’ll be back I’m just gonna change your sheets.”

Lance's chest clenches. Luca changing his sheets means he’ll leave. That means he’ll be going to sleep alone and waking up alone.

“Wait—” Lance reaches out and grabs Luca's wrist. Luca startles and pauses, just watching Lance. “Don’t—don’t go, just come sleep please.”

He’s too embarrassed to say anything else and he knows if Luca pushes back he won’t fight it. All he wants is to be held and more importantly, to be held by Luca in this moment, to just relax and sleep, and not worry about what everything means.

“Okay, baby.”

It’s a testament to how tired he is that Lance sleeps a dreamless sleep and even manages to sleep through Luca waking. He sleeps more soundly than he has even before breaking his arm and only rises when Luca comes to get him. Lance blinks awake to Luca's smooth finger caressing his warm, pink cheek and blearily registers that Luca is talking to him.

“There we go, Lancino.”

Lance hums and nuzzles into the pillow beneath him. He’s hesitant to get out of bed, getting out of bed feels like it’s the end of whatever this is and even after the orgasm euphoria has fled his system, he’s not ready for this to be over. He’s not ready to return to whatever crafted balance he and Luca had perfected after so long.

Which confuses him, because it’s not like he and Luca weren't boyfriends before this, or even merely acquaintances. Luca is one of his closest, most trusted friends as well as his lover. They live together, and despite everything and every move they’ve made, they’ve chose to live together again and again. He doesn’t know what his life would look like without Luca in it. But he’s never felt like this with him before, not this intensely.

“I made some breakfast, let’s get you up, huh?”

Lance sits up and slowly stretches out the aches in his muscles. Luca stays by his side until Lance manages to pull himself all the way out of bed. Luca wraps his arm around Lance's waist to give him a good morning hug and Lance snuggles his face into Luca's neck. Luca guides Lance into their kitchen and to the table.

And things have sort of gone back to normal, that level of intimacy they reached in their bedroom isn’t there anymore, it doesn’t infuse every one of their actions, but Luca is taking care of him even more than he had been. And maybe it’s only because last night revealed how much Lance had been really struggling with his cast.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Lance can feel his brow furrow in voluntarily. He can’t really describe why, but even though Luca is treating him with care he can’t help but feel like something is missing. It’s not as though he wants Luca to stop, he doesn’t even know what he wants.

“Uh yeah, I did.”

The words come out harsher than he means for them to, he’s not angry or at least he doesn’t think he is. Luca frowns and tries to meet Lance's eyes. Lance knows he’s acting strange. He doesn’t want to act strange. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. What is he feeling? Why is this making him upset? Is he upset? He’s not upset, not really anyway.

“Okay,” Luca offers, trying to end the silence when Lance doesn’t offer him anything further. “I started the sheets in the wash. You can let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

And that makes Lance feel awful about being so grumpy because Luca is just trying to be nice, more than nice he’s going above and beyond to take care of Lance, but something seethes deep in his stomach because there’s something missing. He doesn’t want to upset Luca or sound ungrateful, because he’s not he’s so thankful for Luca. So, he sucks it up and stuffs that weird feeling down deep into his stomach.

“Thank you mon ange. You’ve really done more than enough for me.”

Lance smiles and reaches out to squeeze Luca's hand.

Lance stares at his ceiling, the same plain white plaster he’d been looking at the whole night before Luca found him. Luca wasn’t the only thing on his mind then, but he is all Lance can think about now. The feeling of his hands on every part of Lance’s skin, the press of Luca's erection against the small of his back, and no matter how hard Lance tries he can't escape the thought of the heat of Luca'a mouth against his.

Every time he looked at Luca today, his eyes went immediately to the elder’s mouth, the shape of his lips against his, the tips of their noses brushing, the heat radiating of Luca's cheeks. Kissing is Lancd's favorite aspect of any relationship, it makes him feel so loved and so connected to his partner, more so than any aspect of sex. But in all his experiences kissing people, nothing has come close to the way kissing Luca made him feel. Especially not like yesterday.

He idly brings his hand up to his mouth and across his neck where he can feel the slightly irritated skin from Luca's teeth. Lance shudders. It was good sex, there’s no doubt in his mind. It might have been the best sex he’s ever had, and they barely did anything at all. Luca wasn't the only person he'd fucked or gotten fucked by, he'd had three experiences before they started dating that were just fine.

But then what is it about Luca just giving him a hand job that is so different. What is it about the dirty blonde Italian that made him want to spend the rest of his life with him. That's what it was. That's what was different. Now he was sure, without a doubt, that Luca is who he wants to be with forever. That he wants to share everything with Luca. These past few years have been the best years of his life, F1 and MotoGP aside. The highlight of his day continued to be Luca. Seeing him. Talking to him. Kissing him. Holding him. He never wanted this with anyone else.

A knock on the door draws Lance out of his own spiral of thoughts and he gives Luca the affirmative to come in, though it was their room so Luca didn't need his permission. The elder pokes his head in and smiles. Lance feels something flutter in his chest and can’t help but smile back.

“Hey, hope I’m not interrupting?”

Lance shakes his head and rolls over to watch Luca come into the room, hands behind his back. Luca hums and walks right up to the edge of theur bed, not hesitating before laying down and pulling the Canadian closer.

"Missed you so much, Caro" Luca hums, glad to be back from the ranch.

The warm feeling he had in his heart returns with Luca's sweet words. It’s the same feeling he had when he kissed the elder. Lance is overcome with so many emotions he can’t place any of them. He can’t think straight. All he knows is, he needs to kiss Luca again right now.

Lance hums and takes one of Luca's hands in his, thumbing over his knuckles.

“I really want to kiss you again.”

Lance whispers out. It’s not exactly something he’s ashamed of, but he can't help but be nervous around his boyfriend, even years into their relationship. Luca squeezes Lance's hand. Luca's other hand comes up and he strokes his thumb across Lance's cheekbone.

“You can.”

Lance carefully brings his casted hand up and pulls Luca down by his shirt, pressing their mouths together nearly desperately. Luca carefully clambers into Lance's lap, straddling his thighs. Lance wraps his arm around Luca's waist and just focuses on the feelings he’s having kissing Luca. It’s pleasant and tingly all across his body right out to the tips of his fingers. The world falls silent around them until all Lancw can hear is the ringing in his ears. Reluctantly Lance separates them and studies Luca. His heart feels like it’s in his throat and he it’s all he can do to stop himself from kissing Luca again.

Luca watches him just as closely, a look of fond confusion coming over his face as Lance never manages to tear his eyes away. Luca cups Lance's cheeks, squeezing them gently and the small grin growing into a full-blown smile.

“Better?”

A shiver makes its way down Lance's spine, and he doesn’t notice his eyes are closed until he has to open them again to look at Luca. Lance shakes his head minutely. He needs to kiss him more. Luca pouts and makes a small sound of disappointment.

“Need another?”

Lance nods, arching up until their mouths meet once again. Luca carefully leans his weight onto Lance, hands still around the younger’s face. Lance accepts the press of Luca against him and carefully leans back until Luca is lying flat on top of him. Lhca giggles into the kiss and carefully tilts his head to deepen it.

It’s life changing to know kissing could even feel like this. That there was something even greater than what he’d already known.

They separate again and Lance studies Luca's face.

“You know I love you?”

Luca hums and leans down to nudge his nose into Lance’s cheek.

“I know, Caro.”

“Do you love me?” Lance questions

“So much, I love you more than anything.”

Lance can't help but smile

“Will you love me in two years?”

The elder’s cheeks flush a delicate pink, and he hums, leaning down once again to kiss the younger’s cheek. “I will, I'll love you even more than I do now”

Lance ponders.

“So you don't love me the most now?”

Luca smiles. He strokes his knuckle gently down the line of Lance's cheekbone.

“I love you more every day, I'll love you more tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.”

He thinks of all the times he’s spent wishing for Luca to be with him, the jealous pits anytime Luca mentioned an ex boyfriend or a fan who told him how hot he is, the weird disconnect between him and all his previous partners, and everything slots into place.

Lance blinks and looks at Luca, really looks at him. At the blush on his cheeks, the shine in his eyes, he thinks about the care Luca paid to him last night, the feel of his hands running over him in the bath, of his arms around him as he slept. And Lance realizes, as the air is sucked from his lungs, he wants this all the time, he wants last night all the time, kissing Luca feels so right because in a strange turn of events, he’s in love with Luca and he needs to marry him now. He has been in love with Luca for who knows how long. And evidently, Luca is in love with him.

“Oh fuck.”

Lance breathes, hand clutching Luca's hip. Lance smiles softly.

“I know, huh?”

Luca whispers.

“You love me.”

Lance couldn’t stop himself from saying it even if he wanted to. But he’s so caught up in the joy of his discovery not even the hand of God could stop him from telling Luca. Luca closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Lance’s collarbones.

“Yeah.” Luca breathes into Lance's skin. He's loved him forever. “Imagine that.”

Lance carefully rolls them over, pinning Luca to the bed and cupping his cheeks.

“Luca, I wanna marry you.”

Luca reaches up and pulls Lance down to kiss him. Lance smiles against Luca's mouth and presses his weight down firmly on the elder. Luca hugs Lance close to his chest, slipping his tongue into Lance's mouth. Lance loses track of how long they kiss for, but his jaw aches when they finally separate.

“I'm gonna marry you.” Lance whispers “Luca, I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“I know, Caro.” Luca nods, refusing to let any space form between them "I can't wait to marry you."

"After I propose." Lance cut in

"After I propose" Luca insisted, they'd figure it out later.

[ghostwnby]

I think it's so funny how my brain can switch from: "YOU MUST ONLY WRITE ANGSTY CHARLOS SMUT" to "Actually nvm how about you work on some cute Sewis fluff heehee🤭🤭💕💕" in the matter of an hour

[ziosukiiii]

trying to be spiritual in-tuned with yourself and dealing with stupid, dumb ass people every fucking day feels like a jackhammer to the chest... im about to fucking explode !

[emjiroki]

Okay im so sorry for another but I'm indecisive

[daegudrama]

241028 writing wrap-up:

 worked on: route 613 chapter 10

 word written: 2349 !!!!

 last sentence written: “Then show me,” you say boldly, your heart racing with excitement. “Show me how much you want me.”

writing mood: steamy, teasing, oooooooo

music: https://open.spotify.com/album/446ROKmKfpEwkbi2SjELVX?si=ay04lKhzSL65iemZw8UXZw

(ahahaha this time it is yoongi but this is not appropriate for what is going down)