#i never know what the fuck is going on in those things

[snottyped]

roommates rut

werewolf x female reader

It started with him avoiding eye contact.

You’d been living together for months without issue—mostly chill, occasionally flirty, never serious. He was big, warm, annoyingly hot in that messy-hair, heavy-lidded, always-shirtless kind of way. You teased him for how much meat he ate, the way he slept with the window open even in the dead of winter, how he always seemed restless.

You never asked about the wolf thing. It felt… impolite.

But this week? He was different. Quieter. Snappier. Like he was holding something back. His muscles were more tense, his jaw tight. He wouldn’t stay in the same room with you for long. Every time you moved past him, you could feel his eyes on you—and not in the usual “roommate checking out your ass” kind of way. It was deeper. Hungrier.

Then, on Tuesday night, he finally said it.

You were sitting at the counter, scrolling your phone, halfway through a tub of ice cream, when he walked in shirtless and flushed, sweat gleaming across his chest. His hair was damp, like he’d just showered, but his skin still shimmered with heat. He opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and then just stood there—shoulders rising and falling too fast.

“…I’m going into rut,” he muttered, like it hurt to say the words. “This week. Maybe tonight.”

You blinked, barely looking up. “Okay?”

He tensed. You could feel it even from across the room.

“I just thought you should know.”

You snorted. “You say that like I’m supposed to lock my door or something.”

A long silence.

He closed the fridge, didn’t move. “Might be smart.”

That made you look at him. Really look. His eyes were dark, hooded, and very, very pointedly not on your face. There was something barely contained in his posture—like if he moved the wrong way, he’d snap.

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I’ll stay in my room.” His voice was rough. “Just don’t… don’t walk around in those little shorts. Or your towel. Or anything that smells like you.”

“…So I should just stop existing?”

His jaw clenched. He looked like he wanted to say something else—maybe beg. Maybe warn you harder. But instead he just growled under his breath and stalked off, leaving a trail of heat and tension in his wake.

You should’ve taken the hint.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. The air in the apartment felt thick, humid, like the walls were sweating. You kicked off your blanket and rolled over, but then you heard it.

A creak. A low groan. The rhythmic thud of a mattress rocking too hard. A muffled curse.

You slipped out of bed, heart thudding, and cracked your door open. The hallway was dark, lit only by the faint glow under his door—and the sounds. Wet, fast, desperate. His breath coming in ragged gasps. The broken snarl of his voice.

“Fuck… fuck, just need something tight…”

You froze, breath caught in your throat.

He let out a whine, low and rough, followed by the unmistakable slap slap slap of skin against something soft. You didn’t need to guess what. The whole apartment reeked of sweat, heat, sex. And underneath it all, faint but familiar, you could smell yourself—your shampoo, your laundry, your skin.

You knew you should walk away. Go back to bed. But you didn’t.

The next night, it was worse. Louder. Wetter. Like he wasn’t even trying to hold back anymore. You pressed your pillow over your head, but it didn’t help. You could hear everything. Every needy growl, every slap of flesh, every low, hungry moan. You were flushed and squirming under the sheets before you even realized your hand had slid between your legs.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just curiosity. Shared space, thin walls. Nothing more.

But when he cornered you in the hallway the next night—bare-chested, sweat dripping from his neck, pupils blown wide—you knew something had shifted.

His breathing was shallow. His body radiated heat. And his voice, when he spoke, was barely human.

“I can’t—can’t do this anymore,” he rasped, stepping closer. “You smell too good. I need you. Please.”

Your mouth went dry. Your heart kicked hard in your chest. He was huge, trembling with restraint, and every cell in your body lit up with want.

You could’ve said no.

But you didn’t.

You grabbed his shirt, yanked him closer, and whispered, “Then take me.”

He didn’t kiss you at first.

He slammed you against the wall.

His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t trust himself—like if he touched you any rougher, he’d break you. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged and burning as it ghosted across your lips.

“I’ve been fighting it,” he choked. “Three fucking days. Every time you walk past me, every time you laugh, every time you wear that goddamn skirt—”

You tugged his head down, dragging your mouth to his. “Then stop fighting.”

That was all it took.

He crashed into you, mouth hot and greedy, devouring you like he was starving. His tongue pushed past your lips with a low growl, and you moaned into him, fingers fisting in his hair. He kissed like he fucked—rough, consuming, no room to breathe. His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered, voice low and dark.

You obeyed.

He carried you to his room in a blur—slammed the door, shoved aside everything in his path, and threw you down on his bed like a prize. The sheets were soaked with his scent, still warm from earlier. The air was thick, humid, dizzying.

You barely had time to think before he was on top of you again—hands tearing at your clothes, mouth everywhere at once. He pressed his nose to your throat and groaned, breathing you in like oxygen.

“Smell even better up close,” he rasped. “So fucking sweet… drives me insane.”

His teeth grazed your neck, not quite biting—but close. Teasing. A warning.

Your shirt was gone, then your underwear, ripped down your legs with a snarl. He was frantic, panting, barely holding himself back. His eyes burned gold in the low light, his pupils wide and wild.

“You sure?” he growled, even as his hands slid between your thighs.

You nodded, breathless. “Yes—fuck, yes.”

He didn’t waste another second.

He leaned down and dragged his tongue through your folds, groaning at the taste like it was the first real relief he’d had in days. You cried out, hips jerking, and he pinned you down harder, his grip bruising. His mouth was everywhere—tongue plunging deep, nose grinding against your clit, licking and sucking like a man possessed.

Your thighs shook around his head. “Shit—wait, I—I’m gonna—”

He didn’t stop. If anything, he went harder.

You came hard and fast, gasping his name, hips bucking against his mouth as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave. He groaned into your cunt, licking you through it, drinking down everything you gave him.

When he pulled back, his mouth was wet, chin slick, eyes glassy with lust. He looked feral.

“Fuck, I need to be inside you,” he growled. “Need to feel you. Gonna fill you up, knot you so deep—”

He stripped what was left of his clothes in seconds, and your breath caught at the sight of him. He was huge—thick, flushed, already leaking—and at the base of his cock, you could see the swell of his knot, already beginning to form.

“Jesus,” you breathed. “That’s not gonna fit.”

“It will,” he said darkly, crawling over you. “It has to.”

He lined himself up, ran the head of his cock through your soaked folds, and moaned low in his throat. “So wet already… your body knows. It wants this.”

You didn’t deny it. You couldn’t.

“Hurry.”

He pushed in slow—just the tip—and your breath caught at the stretch. He was thick, and every inch felt like too much and not enough all at once. You dug your nails into his arms, moaning as he inched deeper, watching your face the whole time.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Take me. Let me fuck you through it.”

You whimpered as he bottomed out, his hips finally flush with yours, the base of his knot grinding against your entrance. The feeling of him inside you—hot, heavy, overwhelming—made your whole body tremble.

And then he moved.

Slow at first. Deep. Grinding his hips into yours with slow, brutal thrusts that made your breath hitch every time he hit that sweet, aching spot inside you.

“So tight,” he growled, voice slurred with heat. “So warm around me—fuck, you’re perfect.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, moaning into his neck. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He picked up the pace, hips snapping faster, the slap of skin on skin getting louder, filthier. The wet sounds of your bodies colliding filled the room, slick and obscene, and you couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t think.

Your legs shook. Your body burned. You were stretched and stuffed and ruined and it still wasn’t enough.

You needed more.

He was pounding into you now—fast, hard, deep—his growls vibrating against your throat as your hips rocked up to meet every thrust.

“Fuck, fuck—you feel so good,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “So wet… you’re sucking me in.”

Your legs were wrapped tight around his waist, clinging to him like a lifeline. You could feel every inch of him—his thick cock sliding deep inside you, the swollen base of his knot grinding harder and harder against your entrance with every stroke.

You cried out, nails raking down his back. “You’re—ah!—gonna knot me—!”

“Yeah,” he snarled. “You ready for it, sweetheart? Gonna let me lock you up? Fill you till you’re dripping?”

You couldn’t even speak. Just nodded frantically, choking on your moans, your body trembling from the stretch and the heat and the pressure building, building—

Then his hips slammed forward—brutal and deep—and the thick ridge of his knot pressed hard against your cunt, stretching you impossibly wide.

You moaned.

It burned, that raw, overwhelming pressure of him trying to push deeper, your pussy clenching tight around his cock as your body fought it—and then gave in.

With a slick, wet pop, his knot slid inside.

“Shit—!” he growled, voice cracking as his hips stuttered. “That’s it, that’s—fuck—!”

Your body arched. You were full—so full you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The knot locked you together, pulsing deep inside, sealing him in as your cunt fluttered helplessly around him. You came again, hard, clenching tight around the thickness as you cried out, legs trembling.

He held still, buried to the hilt, his arms locked around you like a cage. You could feel his cock throbbing, feel the rush of heat as he spilled inside—hot and thick and so much, your belly aching from it.

“Mine,” he growled, panting against your neck. “All fucking mine now.”

You whimpered, voice gone, throat raw from moaning. Every little twitch of your hips made the knot drag against your walls, sent a fresh wave of overstimulation crashing through your core.

His hand slid between your legs, fingers rubbing your clit in lazy, tight circles.

“Still shaking?” he murmured. “Still hungry for more?”

You gasped, squirming. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and sticky-sweet. “You’re taking it so well. You were made to be knotted, weren’t you? Fucking bred for it.”

Your cunt clenched around him hard, and he grinned, feral.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “There it is.”

You buried your face in his neck, body twitching as another orgasm rolled over you—smaller this time, but no less intense. Just the stretch, the fullness, the locked sensation of being tied to him had your nerves singing, pleasure raw and messy in your belly.

You could feel his cum leaking out, hot and thick, dripping down your ass even with the knot sealing most of it inside.

“Fuck…” you slurred. “I feel like I’m gonna burst.”

He chuckled darkly, brushing sweat-matted hair from your face. “You’re doing perfect. You’re not going anywhere now.”

You whimpered, hips twitching helplessly.

He rocked into you again—slow this time, shallow little pulses of his hips that made you whine, your body too sensitive to handle it.

And he was still hard.

Still inside.

Still not done.

“I’ll give you a break,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “But just know… we’re not finished. My rut’s just getting started.”

You shivered beneath him, overwhelmed, overstretched, and somehow still wanting.

Still his.

Still full.

And knotted tight.

part two

[crowsofdarkness]

Today's lesson with Bucky: Oral-Bucky needs his meal

Part Five to the Teach Me series. If you haven't read the other parts, you might be a little confused. Tags for this are open, just comment if you're interested!

18+ CW's below the cut( oral with female recieving and slight possesive Bucky)

tags: @muchwita @chrisevansleftnipple @georgeyblast @justsebstan @memenerdlover @mrsalexstan @mandydornanjohnson @spencypookie13 @wintrsoldrluvr @ronjantz @buckysgirl27 @starstuck-cowgirl @idkman5335 @winchestert101 @dhoruwolfie @amanda-says @felicity-lemons-thoughts @studious-muppet @trixilove257

BUCKY

As soon as Y/N stepped foot back into the tower, I was quick to get her attention, letting her know that our next lesson was starting right fucking now. She’d been gone with Bill for a week on a mission and it was killing me inside on not seeing her. I never meant for me to catch feelings for her, these lessons were only supposed to be that. But something in the way she opened up to me, figuratively and literally, and trusted me to be the one to teach her sexual things made me realize that I could never let her walk away from this into someone else's embrace.

How could I teach her how to suck my cock only for her to use those lessons on someone else? 

Leaning against the kitchen counter with a scowl, I watched as Bill and Y/N talked for a few moments. I knew she saw me, her eyes widening when they landed on me, but she tried her best to not show how excited she was. Even though we were feet away from each other, I could hear how fast her heart was pounding in her chest. 

This mother fucker needs to let her leave otherwise I’m going to throw her down on the couch to eat her out right infront of him. 

Damn, Bucky. Chill the fuck out. 

Running my left hand over my face, I took a centering breath before finally walking over to Y/N and Bill. 

“Mr. Barnes!”

 The asshole fucking saluted me. Who the hell salutes people nowadays?

I gave him a curt nod before motiong towards Y/N. “You’ve had her quite long enough. She’s needed elsewhere.” 

Wrapping my right arm around her, I began leading her towards my bedroom in the tower. She playfully smacked my chest and as much as she wanted to be upset with me dragging her away, I could see the hint of a smile pulling at her lips. 

“You can’t just drag me away, ya know,” she said, her voice sweet like honey. 

I made a noise in the back of my throat that sounded like a mix of a grunt and sigh. “Our next lesson is starting now. Did you need to shower?” 

I noticed she was wearing street clothes but figured I would double check to see if she wanted to wash away the mission's filth from her skin. I would ask how it went but I read over the debriefing files while I waited for her to get back so there was no need to waste time. 

I wanted to taste her. Now.

“I showered on the jet. So what’s the next lesson?” She asked just as we stepped inside my bedroom. 

I’d spent all day cleaning my living quarters for her, making sure it looked and smelled clean. 

I motioned for her to sit on the bed while I shucked off my jacket, leaving me in a grey shirt and black sweats. 

“Oral.” 

Her spine stiffened as she sat straighter on my bed, immediately twirling her fingers. A nervous habit of hers I’ve noticed early on. 

“Me to you?” She asked, nerves lacing on every word. 

I shook my head while helping her lay back against my bed, wanting her to be comfortable. “You’ve been giving me a lot of pleasure. I think it’s time for me to return the favor.” 

Her bright eyes stared up at the ceiling, refusing to make direct contact with me, so with a long sigh I kneeled on the bed next to her so I could stare down at her. 

“Is that alright?” I questioned. 

“Yeah,” she hesitated at first, before nodding. “I’m just nervous because I’ve never had that before so I don’t know if I’ll like it.” 

I cupped her cheek with my left hand, her cheek leaning into my vibranium palm and it was evident how relaxed she became. Another reason why I couldn’t allow her to go to someone else for this. They could take advantage of her, force her into doing something she didn’t know how. 

“If you don’t like it, just tap the top of my head twice and I’ll stop, alright?”

“Okay,” she breathed. 

Tapping her thigh, I helped her out of her leggings and green panties, my cock jumping at the sight of not only it but her cunt as well. Almost immediately, Y/N tried to close her thighs tighter together to hide. 

“I haven’t shaved,” she whispered. 

“I don’t care,” I assured her with a tender kiss to the inside of her thigh. 

I truly didn’t. It seemed like she hadn’t shaved in a few days but that was not about to stop me. I needed Y/N, I needed to taste her, have her cum linger on my tongue for days. 

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” I breathed over her cunt, causing her to shiver. 

She did what I asked and I had to hold myself back from devouring her right then and there. I didn’t want to rush this. 

“That’s it, good girl,” I praised while adjusting my cock inside of my sweats. 

Anything to alleviate the blood rushing to it. 

“I’m going to try a few different things, let me know if you like them,” I said while flicking my gaze up at her from my spot between her legs. 

The way she looked at me with a look full of fondness made something inside of me twinge with an unknown feeling but I didn’t dare dwell on it. I needed to focus on what was in front of me. 

As soon as the tip of my tongue flicked her clit, tingles exploded throughout my body villing my veins with her taste. One simple taste of Y/N and I was hooked, addicted to her and suddenly in that moment I knew I’d never get enough of her. 

Her body shuddered when I did it two more times and before I could question if she liked it or not, Y/N let out a soft moan eliciting me further. So I dragged my tongue up and down her slit, tasting even more of her and I could stop the groan that slipped out. 

“Holy shit,” she breathed, fingers dragging through my hair. “I didn’t expect it to feel so good.” 

I hummed, lapping up more of her honey taste and let my tongue slip inside of her a bit. She bucked off the bed causing me to hold her in place with my vibranium hand against her hip. With the hand that wasn’t tied into my hair, she dragged her fingers along the vibranium knuckles and without saying anything, I knew what she wanted. 

I spent the next few moments switching from tongue fucking her and bitting and sucking on her clit. When she told me she liked it better when I paid more attention to her clit, I kept my mouth there. But still wanting to give attention to her cunt, I removed my left hand from her hip to tease her opening. 

“Please, please, please,” she begged, nearly humping my face. 

“What do you want, baby?” I asked right before wrapping my lips around her cunt to suck. 

“Fuck me with your fingers, Bucky.”

Hearing my name on a breathless moan made a fire ignite at the base of my spine. I began humping the bed to put pressure on my cock, desperate for some kind of friction. I pictured my cock was where my fingers were, deep inside her warmth, squeezing the life out of me. 

My fingers worked inside of her, curling up into that sweet spot I knew so well only fingering her twice. I became attuned to what her body came alive with and how much she loved it when I flicked my tongue over her clit before dragging my teeth over it. 

“Oh fuck,” she said with a hint of worry in her voice. “I’m close.”

“Cum for me, baby,” I pulled away from her for a moment, meeting her blissed out expressions. “It’s okay. You can cum like this.”

With my mouth on her again, I worked my fingers faster inside of her to urge her closer to her orgasm and soon, her honey taste exploded in my mouth. I humped the bed like a madman and devoured more of her. No one besides me would taste her, bring her this pleasure, or hear her moans. She would only cry out my name when she came apart. I’d be the only one that would see her naked, feel her skin upon mine. 

Images of her naked underneath me and on top of me as she rode me flashed in my mind causing me to eat more of her arousal, never letting up even after she came down from her high. I was sloppy humping my bed now as my own orgasm was on the tip of teetering off the edge, my body so numb I barely felt Y/N gently tug on my hair. 

“Bucky,” she panted. “I th-I think I’m going to cum again.” 

My fingers never stopped fucking her and leaving her clit, I pressed tongue inside of her too. My urgent mutters were muffled by her soft skin and all over again, the honey filled my mouth and my hips stalled against the bed when I felt a stickiness between my own legs. 

When I could tell Y/N was spent from her two orgasm, I reluctantly pulled away from her and titled my head up at her. My jaw ached, my fingers and chin were soaked with her arousal, and I didn’t doubt my hair was a mess due to her fingers because the way she looked at me made my heart stutter in my chest. 

“Holy fuck,” she choked on a breath while resting on her elbows. “That’s what I’ve been missing out on?” 

I chuckled. “I take it as you liked it, huh?” 

“I came twice, Bucky. That’s never happened before.” 

A boost of confidence filled me and I leaned back on my knees. “Well, I’m glad I could be of service but I need to shower.” 

Y/N gave me a puzzled look with furrowed brows so I motioned down to my lap; more so the wet spot on my sweats. 

“Oh my god,” she giggled behind her hands, a crimson hue covering her cheeks. “You sure made a mess.”

I leaned myself over her now, gazing deep into those bright eyes full of wonder, and didn’t stop to think of the ramifications on what I was about to do. Ghosting my lips over hers, I broke into a grin. 

“It’s all because of you, baby.” 

[h66nki]

give me one ⋆. 𐙚 ̊ nishimura riki

a visit to your aunt's house implants a thought in ni-ki: you would be a good mother. warnings; dirty talk, suggestive.

ni-ki feels it inside him. it comes like a fleeting thought in his head: you'd make a good mom. the feeling only grows when he sees you with children and this helps confirm his theory.

he watches you play with your younger cousin. the little girl is very energetic and has you running around, chasing her, making you sit on the floor to put together puzzles, playing hide-and-seek.

he's lost count of how many games you've played to keep her entertained, and even though he also played along with you, there came a time when the girl's effusiveness tired him out. you didn't tire, though.

you seemed to love the girl so much that it was impossible for you to say no, agreeing to each and every one of her suggestions.

at one point during the busy afternoon, the little girl slipped and almost hit herself, causing her mother to scold her and make her burst into tears.

you quickly took her in your arms, picking her up and cradling her against your chest. the toddler cried, inconsolable, throwing a tantrum. you could handle it and quickly manage to calm her down with sweet whispers and sweet promises in her ear. ni-ki watched the scene with love and curiosity... maybe something more.

it seems to be so natural for you to deal with a child and his antics: it makes him think.

ni-ki doesn't waste the opportunity to have your full attention on him again, so when your cousin is calmer and more cheerful you return her to your aunt so they can spend time together while you go to the bathroom.

ni-ki disappears into the hallway like a shadow, not giving you enough time to close the door. he gets into the room with you and closes the door himself.

"love?" you ask, confused.

the boy pins you between his body and the sink, pressing himself against you. "there isn't a drop of sanity left in my body, and it's your fault," he complains.

you laugh at his dramatics, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. his hands grip your waist, holding you in place.

"what did i do now?"

"you look so beautiful playing with the baby... i can't stop thinking about what a great mother you'd make." your heart pounds inside your chest at the compliment. "give me one, please."

your eyes widen in disbelief. for a moment, you think you haven't heard correctly... that you've misinterpreted him.

"give you what?"

ni-ki hides his face in your neck, placing small kisses on your skin.

"a baby," he says. "let's have a baby."

your body trembles between his, his tongue tickling you. a baby? no way... you're both too young for such a responsibility.

"i... i don't think it's ideal right now," you try to refute, caressing the back of his neck as you let him kiss you.

"please..." he begs. "i never ask for anything, just give me a baby, please." and he's right. ni-ki never asks you for anything, but can you give him this? "let me fuck you a baby deep inside you."

"ni-ki..."

you feel him breathe shakily in your ear. his large hand moves to your lower abdomen, resting it there. "imagine a baby here... a child of ours."

you bite your lower lip, trying not to make a sound. he's hard against you, you can feel it.

"you would look so beautiful with your swollen stomach... everyone would know that you love me so much that you let me fill you with my cum... that you let me breed you to bear the fruit of our love."

"don't say those things..." you try to stop him, but his words have an effect on you that you can't deny, not even if you really wanted to.

his eyes look at you, filled with hope.

"we would be the best parents in the world... just you, me... and a beautiful little girl... healthy, precious, and intelligent like her mommy."

"a girl...?" you repeat with hope. you feel persuaded; you don't know if it's because of the conversation or his kisses... maybe because of everything. ni-ki looks so cute begging that it would be inhuman not to have a little doubt about your initial thought.

"a baby girl," he affirms. ni-ki hides his face in the hollow of your shoulder again. he breathes shakily, excitedly. "please, let me fill you now... give me a little princess."

[muffinpink02]

Pottery

A quick one shot. Alexia and R in a pottery class. Thank you anon, I don’t know if it was really a prompt but I liked your description 😂

Warnings - smutty not smut 18 wc - 1573

You’re staring. You know you are, but you can’t help it. 

She’s doing it on purpose.

You didn't think it was physically possible to get wet during a pottery class. Well, you weren't sure anyone could get wet during a pottery class, but here you are defying the odds. Sitting in a pair of damp knickers all because of Alexia. 

No, she hadn’t touched you, kissed you, hugged you, talked dirty to you, she hadn’t even looked at you. She was just simply using her hands.

But in your defence, you were just a girl, a girl who was obsessed with her girlfriends hands. 

A girl who clearly couldn’t control her hornyness because her stupidly sexy, smart and pretty girlfriend was fingering clay like she was part of some weird underground sex show somewhere in the red light district for people who were into that kind of thing. 

Maybe you were ‘people’.

You watch as she gently caresses the wet clay, her large hands cupping the moist material as it leisurely spins round on the plate. You watch the way the watery mud sticks to her fingers, seeping into the groves of her knuckles. Your own fingers twitch from muscle memory, memory on how those very same fingers feel on your body. And in your body. 

It’s a fucking pottery class and she makes it look pornagraphic. 

“Amor, you’re doing it again.”

You jump in your stall, like you've been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“What?” You grunt.

“You’re staring.” 

There's no accusation in her voice, she actually sounds amused.

“I’m not.” You close your eyes in frustration when you hear the slight strain in your own voice.

You catch the slight smirk at the curve of her lips. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of her clay, too engrossed with her own art. Though, smut is what you'd call it. Most countries would even call it public indecency. 

“I can feel you staring.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not. I’m just watching your technique.”

You were never a good liar.

“Hmm. Is that all?” She smiles. She smiles because she knows what she's doing to you. 

“Of course.” You breathe through your nose as you squirm in your seat. 

You train your eyes back to your own mess of clay, it's completely lost whatever shape it had. If you ever had one. The pottery teacher walks by and gives you a pitiful look.

“Are you struggling?” She smiles sympathetically as she approaches you.

‘Yeah, I’m struggling, struggling while I watch my girlfriend finger clay like she’s trying to get it to squirt for her. And I think she might actually do it.’

Is what you want to say.

“Yeah, I just can’t get it to hold.” You huff.

“Oh, your clays looking a little dry. Maybe add some more water, get it a little more moist. Remember, the wetter the better.” She nods encouragingly before she walks off to look at the other students.

You nearly laugh. 

You spot Alexia biting her lip as she holds in her own laugh. Bitch.

“Oh, this is lovely! You’re a natural with your hands. Well done!” The teacher praises Alexia as she walks by.

“Thank you.” The blonde beams with pride. 

You wait until the teacher’s out of earshot.

“Thank you.” You mimic your girlfriend in the most childish way you can muster.

“Hey! What have I done to get that?” She pouts. 

“Nothing, sorry. I’m just a little frustrated.” 

“Why?” She raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Because…” You nod your head towards her clay. Her hands.

She slowly looks down at the clay, she genuinely looks confused. Scrunching her brows as she looks back at you.

“Què?”

Oh god. Maybe she wasn't doing it on purpose. Maybe you’re just a sex crazed maniac that can’t go an hour without making the most innocent of tasks sexual.

“Nothing. Ignore me.” You force a smile. 

You try to put your pent up frustrations into your clay, but you only make the mud look sadder. If that's even possible.

After a couple of minutes of frustrated grunts and a stupid amount of tuts, Alexia has enough.

“Here, let me help. What are you trying to make?” The blonde stands next to your table like a clay making superhero. 

You smile up at her. “A bowl. But I can’t get it right.” You slump your shoulders dramatically. 

The Spaniard rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the smile that pulls at her lips. 

“Let me get it ready for you, then you can take over, sí?”

“Yeah, I can work with that. Thank you, baby” 

You move from your stall to allow Alexia to sit. 

Alexia frowns as she looks at the mess you've made. “She’s right, your clay does need a lot more water. You can’t shape it like this.” 

“One class and you think you’re Michelangalo.” You mumble to yourself. 

“Hmm?” 

“Nothing.” You save yourself as you kiss the side of her cheek.

Alexia begins to mold your clay. You watch as she dips her long fingers into the water bowl, grabbing the small sponge and holds it over your clay, squeezing until water escapes, moistening the grey mud. She repeated the process until the clay turns into a smooth and shiny substance that she can easily mold to her will. 

You’re completely captivated by the way her hands move, how her fingers knead and press into the clay. Pushing and pulling, gripping and thrusting. You shouldn't be too shocked that she’s such a natural. It’s second nature to her, making things move the way she wants. Bending and forcing things to her liking. Like she does with you in the best way.

You’re not just horny now, you’re actually impressed. Impressed and turned on.  

Come on, get a grip of yourself. You can’t be getting this riled up over an innocent task.

But, you don't even notice the way your tongue sweeps at your lips as you catch her veins bulging under her skin. You know the way they feel, the way they tense under your touch. Your eyes travel up from her hands to her biceps, you can see her firm muscles as they slightly flex under her t-shirt. You continue to watch on, staring at her as if she’s your own personal show. Like it's just you and her and not 10 other randoms in the room. Like you paid a front row ticket to that show in Amsterdam. 

The sound of a cupboard door closing brings you back to the present, you take a quick glance around the room, hoping no one notices the utter mess you’ve become. 

But then Alexia makes it just that little bit harder. Because of course she does.

Your breath catches as she gently but firmly slaps the mud with her large palm. You don't even realise you're biting your lip until you feel a slight sting. 

“Oh, come on!” You mumble to yourself.

It shouldn't make you blush, but the sound of the slaps take you right back to yours and Alexia’s activities last night. 

And It really shouldn't make you wetter. But you’re just a girl.

You’re fucked. 

“Okay, I think you’re good to go. It was a bowl you’re making, sí?” Alexia turns to you. 

“W-what?” You blink a few times, staring at the girl who just officially ruined your underwear without even touching you.

Alexia smirks, that all knowing smirk “A bowl, amor. You want to make a bowl, sí?” 

You nod your head, but no words come out.

“Let me just…” 

And that's when you watch Alexia gently push two long thick fingers into your wet clay.

“Oh, my god.” 

Alexia doesn't answer you, she slowly parts her fingers, forcing the clay to open up for her. The sound that comes from her movement is filth, it squelches between her parted fingers, you swear you almost hear a faint moan from the lifeless object. Or maybe that was you. 

“Ale…”

She slowly pulls her fingers out, making sure to curve her digits just right. Spreading the clay like she does this everyday. 

You guess in some ways she kind of does use her fingers that exact same way most days.

You’re well aware your nipples are straining at your shirt now. You look around the room once more as you try to control your breathing, but then Alexia turns to you. A mischievous smile spreads across her face. You notice a small smudge of dry clay sitting on her cheek. A few strands of her hair have fallen out of her bun and she gives you that all knowing look. 

It's a sight to see.

“You okay, cariño?” She smirks.

You nod your head, but once again you're lost for words. You look down at her wet fingers, still dripping from the clay. You can feel your clit twitching, aching to have the same treatment as the clay. 

You watch as her eyes roam your chest, spotting the way your nipples strain. She arches an eyebrow, like she’s proud. Her smirk turns devilish and you feel you cunt clench on nothing. 

“Toilet. I need the toilet.” You blurt out.

And before Alexia can say anything you’re gone. Tripping over stalls you swore wasn't there a second ago, but still apoologising to the inanimate object like a true Brit.

Alexia shakes her head as she chuckles to herself. “I think I like pottery.”

[theyluvivi]

THAT BRA.

Chris knows all your bras, all your panties. The giant collection you have always expanding even with the amount you already have.

He doesn't mind, though. He loves getting the texts of excitement from you whenever a package comes, the pictures of you trying them on, yeah, he's all for it.

Sometimes he'll even buy them for you, even if you don't ask just because he knows you'll like it.

Bows and lace? Easy way into your heart.

He's chilling in your shared bedroom, hair all messy, wearing your hoodie because he misses you, scrolling on his phone, while he waits for you to get home from work.

He can smell you as soon as the door unlocks, sitting up immediately when he hears your heels getting closer and closer to your bedroom door.

"Hi, Chrissy." You smile at him, pretty marron lipstick painting your lips, "Work good?"

"Uh-huh! The girl I had a shift with bought me matcha!" You say, beginning to do your usual routine of putting on your pajamas after work.

You were going on about eventful your day was, and he was listening, he promised, but as soon as you took your shirt off, his eyes were glued to your chest.

That bra.

One that he's never seen before. Decorated with flannel and a bow. He eyes rack over it again, and again, your words becoming static. He almost whines when you pull out the matching sleep-shirt. If he wasn't listening, he sure isn't hell now.

His mind does pick up on a few words while in trance, though. Something, something, "I have the bottoms too!"

Oh, so you're not wearing them just to tease him?

"Chris!" He blinked, and now you're suddenly in front of him. "Are you even listening to me?"

He's red, but he gets even more red. Response coming out stammered. "Y-yes...?"

"Name one thing I mentioned in the minutes I was talking to you."

"U-uh.."

That's when your eyes trail over him, trailing over his body, taking in his disheveled flushed face, messy hair, and a pathetic boner he didn't even he popped.

You smirk, leaning down, "Do you like my pajamas, Chris?" Fuck. He's been caught.

"I....they'repretty." He mumbles, avoiding eye contact. You use this as an excuse to straddle him, turn his head back to yours. "Yeah? What's your favorite part, sweetheart?"

He whines, immediately blurting out: "B-bra— bra.. I-I—" You giggle, "You're so easy, Chris." You tease, hands coming up to undo your sleep shirt. "All hard just because of a bra?"

His teeth tug on his bottom lip, squirming beneath you. "M...msorry." You stroke his cheek, "Awww, don't apologize, sweet boy."

He leans into the touch, sinking into even, "You just need mommy's help, huh?" Your hands slip under his pants and into his boxers, "Yeah?"

He nods, a soft gasp leaving his lips as you begin to stroke him. He attempts, key word attempts, to grab your hips before you swatt his hands away. "You're not allowed to touch me."

"W-hat..? Why?"

"Just take it, Chris." He whines but quickly gives in you tease his tip, hips bucking into your hand. "P-please— o-ohfuuuck—"

"Hmmm?" You purr, "N-need— neeeed to touch you, mama—" You stroke him faster, ignoring all the pleas that slip from his lips. "Please—please don-don't do this—"

"Do what?' You tease, tilting your head to side. "Ineedtotouchyou!" He slurs, eyes basically rolled into the back of his head. "But you're not allowed to."

He whimpers, trying his best to be coherent. "I— need to touch you—" You giggle, nodding to in between you, "But you are touching me."

Chris mewls, tears threatening to escape those pretty eyes. "Please— please— does‐ doesn't— feel with- without—" You interrupt him, sparring him the embarrassment of his words.

"You can touch me." And his nails immediately dig into your hips, trying to tug you closer, "Thankyouthankyou—" He moans, "I— m' so close, mama— c-can— can I?"

"Can you what?" He whines, "I need to cum— pl-please let me— shi—shit—!" His hips thrust up uncontrollably into your hand, "C-cumming! F-fuuuck—!" He cries out, hot, sticky, creamy cum painting your hand and going all over your bra.

He pants, head thrown back into the pillows. Your lips form in a pout, glancing down at your cum-covered bra. "Now she's all dirty."

a/n: written while listening to... chris backshots, please?

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @domizmez @drewswife @strnilolover @sirensdollesque @courta13 @pinkmattrr @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @y2kstarr @cherryswifeyy @sweeethrt @moond0llie @ambi-squirrelly @wastelandzella @applecidersturniolo @riasturns @iloveduckssm @oopsiedaisydeer @sturnsflirt @cayleeuhithinknott

[mywritersmind]

could you kimi antonelli x famous movie star reader! who is at the met gala and kimi is just thirsting over how good she looks. it can be like set when they do those vogue grwms of he is at the paddock watching the livestream?

PRETTY IN PINK - KA12

listen up : No warnings!! thanks for the request it’s not exactly the vogue grwm but i hope u still like it!! supportive kimi 4L!

words : 555

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Everyone in the paddock knows Kimi Antonelli. Youngest F1 driver on the grid, superstar in the making, italian mercedes driver, but most importantly: He is Y/n L/n’s boyfriend.

It’s not something people push onto him, it’s something he brings up at any chance he gets. The first time she came to the paddock, photos went viral of Kimi and Y/n, news spreading fast of the up and coming movie star and formula one prodigy.

Now, Kimi is sitting in his garage, a camera on him that he doesn’t even notice. He’s busy staring at his phone.

“Kimi.” The camera man laughs, “What’cha watching?” The curly haired boy looks up in surprise, smiling when he registers his words.

“My girlfriend!” He turns his phone to show him, the scene switching to a close up of Y/n’s outfit. He moves his phone back in front of him, smiling genuinely as if his girlfriend was in front of him.

She’s beautiful, a vision in pink and something Kimi is jealous that everyone else gets to see in person while he’s stuck around cars. Sure, the things he races are incredible… but to Kimi, his girlfriend can make his heart race just as fast as his car.

“It’s the Met Gala today, her first one.” He beams, his eyes locked on his screen while he talks.

“That’s awfully impressive-” The man is quickly cut off by Kimi.

“Sh sh! She’s talking!” He waves his hands as the man shuts up. Everyone around them is focused on the boy now, the screens all showing his face now.

Y/n smiles politely at the interviewer, “Y/n!” The woman says, “You look stunning, tell us about your look!” She goes, going into every detail that Kimi already knows because she’s been excited about this for months.

“You’re very supportive.” The camera man says to Kimi.

“Of course I am, I love her. She’s at every race she can be but- I definitely understand missing one for the biggest fashion night of the year… at least, that’s what she says. I don’t know anything about fashion.” He watches her push her hair behind her ear, the girl laughing elegantly.

The question shifts and Kimi focuses back on her words, “I’d like to say hi to my lovely boyfriend who I know is watching instead of preparing for his race.” She holds the microphone high, looking directly into the camera. “Kimi, get into that car and fucking kick ass.”

Kimi laughs, she’s definitely not supposed to swear but she’s never been one for following rules. “Oh!” She turns back just before she’s about to go, grabbing the microphone again, “Don’t break a tooth kissing the screen, K.” and then she winks, being ushered back up the stairs without another look.

He laughs again, and so does the rest of the paddock. Kimi sets his phone down, “I guess I'll wait to kiss her when she’s actually in front of me.” The camera zooms out, showing him sigh in his chair.

He slips his phone into his pocket, his fingers tingling in anticipation because all he wants to do is talk to her. He smiles while walking farther into the garage, the image of his girlfriend in pink fresh in his memory and motivating for the day ahead.

[stevenose]

night moves (18+)

inspired by that slutty slutty shoot joe did for coup de main (that pic of him in the chair… you know the one)

contains: steve x reader; reader with a vagina and breasts; reader is referred to as ‘good girl’ etc several times through this fic; teasing!!!; oral (m receiving); cock worship; some scent kink; silly but also stern steve trying to teach u a little lesson about patience. also robin gets laid 🤍

steve looks good. this isn’t an unusual occurrence - he always looks good - but tonight’s outfit has you reeling.

he never wears black levis, but he’s shown up with a pair on tonight. tight enough to see his goddamn cock through, the curve of his ass emphasized. you’re dizzy over them, but the terracotta button-down that he’s wearing makes your thighs clench together. it’s unbuttoned enough to truly be considered slutty, and the sleeves are rolled up, pretty veins and hands on display. and he’s wearing a goddamn leather jacket, too. you didn’t even know he owned one of those.

“what’s this all about?” you ask, tugging at the soft leather.

“family heirloom,” he explains hesitantly. “why? is it weird?”

“no,” you say quickly. “you look incredible tonight.”

steve leans in a little, his sunglasses sliding down the straight slope of his nose. you can see his eyes, going from milk chocolate to dark chocolate. “you really think so?”

“know so,” you breathe, taking a step back, because you might kiss him stupid - or faint - if you don’t.

and it must be obvious that you’re reeling. steve’s arm cradles your waist tightly, keeping you close to him all night. this whole thing is new - being in public with him for the first time as a couple. you’re sweating, face perpetually hot, the scent of his fig cologne sticking to your skin.

and every time he faces you, you feel more and more ridiculous. his cock is practically shouting at you. all you want is to be out of this stupid bar, on your knees for him, his thick length stuffed into the back of your throat.

you take a deep breath to steady yourself and sip on your cocktail, to give the impression that you’re a normal person and not ridiculously horny.

“something wrong?” he asks, lips tickling your ear. you can hear the smug smile in his voice.

“you drive me crazy,” you say softly, voice just above a whisper.

you’re sure he can’t hear you over the loud music of the bar, but he must be a lip reader, because he smiles wide.

“you look good tonight too, y’know,” he says, his hand moving from your lower back to the back of your neck. he slides a finger under your sleeve, and fiddles with your bra strap. his breath in your ear makes you shiver. “can’t wait to get you alone.”

you turn to look at his pretty face now, his hair all tousled, his cheeks pink.

“we’ve been here long enough, don’t you think?” you murmur.

steve tuts. “eddie’s gonna think you’re rude if we miss his set.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. “there’s a bathroom.”

he shakes his head, beaming, finishing the last of his drink. “uh-uh. you’re a good girl. you can be patient for me, can’t you?”

you want to punch him. he does it to tease you, because he knows how much you like it when he talks to you like that. a little condescending, a little mean. you glare instead, now biting your tongue, irritated.

“i love it when you look at me like that,” he says, taking your empty glass and heading to the counter to get you another.

you can finally breathe, though you’re still suffocating. eddie’s band hasn’t even set up yet. and you don’t get why steve wants to stay to listen to music he doesn’t like for a guy he only quasi gets along with. robin’s here somewhere - and with jealousy, you realize she’s probably finger-banging her girlfriend in the restroom right now.

steve’s back at your side, still grinning, handing you another drink.

“got you the sweet kind,” he says, then leans in. “not sure if you should be drinking, though. afraid you’re gonna try to fuck me right here if you get drunk enough.”

his jawline is incredibly defined as his head leans back, another jack and coke at his lips. if you were stronger, you’d drag him outside, or at least into the men’s bathroom.

“keep it up and you won’t get fucked.”

steve scoffs, wraps his free hand around your waist and pulls you into his chest. “then what’ll you do, huh?” he asks quietly, his nose almost touching yours. “gonna touch yourself in my bathroom all alone?”

“maybe i won’t spend the night,” you say, voice wavering. you’re very unconvincing. “maybe i’ll go home and use a toy.”

he grins again. “you gonna suck your dildo before you ride it?”

your eyes widen at the debauchery. steve’s got a mouth on him, but he doesn’t typically use it outside of the bedroom.

“yeah,” he says, shit eating grin widening. “you’re droolin’, baby. wanna taste my cock so bad, yeah? wore these just for you. know how much you like seeing it.”

he grinds himself into your hip bone. you almost drop your goddamn glass.

“you think i don’t want to take you to my car and make your brain melt?” he continues. “i do, baby, but i’m patient. you gotta learn.”

your mouth is dry.

at your lack of response, steve’s shoulders drop. “too much?”

you shake your head quickly. “no,” you insist, “i like this version of you.”

he relaxes a bit more, presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “good girls get rewards,” he murmurs.

there’s a sudden bang! behind you. you whip around to see the drummer beginning to set up on the stage.

“we gotta stay after, too, y’know,” steve says, lips ghosting over your neck. “say congrats and all. maybe get some food.”

your head whips back around so you can glare harshly at him. “we are not going to dinner after this.”

he can’t stop grinning, his teeth gleaming in the low light. “don’t be selfish, honey, we don’t all have something to eat later.”

you sort of wonder what he would do if you fought back. would he chase you if you said you were leaving? would he give in?

you don’t have time to contemplate, as robin finally emerges, chugging a water with a red face. her girlfriend’s all blissed out, leaning on robin for support.

“gross,” steve says, stepping away from you. his body parting from yours makes you feel cold.

robin grins widely, cocking her head at him. “oh, so you hate gay people?”

they argue - steve can’t take a joke sometimes - but you block them out. you sip absentmindedly on your drink, watching as eddie finally emerges on stage to set up the amps and pedals.

“third stall in the girl’s bathroom,” robin’s partner says, nodding and giving you a thumbs up. “pretty cushy in there, if you guys need a space.”

“thanks,” you say weakly.

you’re tense when eddie’s band starts to play, finally, and the drinks aren’t helping. you’d like to relax like steve is now, a third drink in his hand.

what’s really infuriating is that steve has the audacity to nod his big head along to the music and act like he really cares about it, when you know his vibe is the eagles and queen, not this.

he finally looks at you, still smug. “not polite to stare.”

“not polite to tease.”

he scoffs again, throwing a hand out to gesture towards the stage. “what are you talkin’ about? i’m havin’ a great time.”

your eyes follow his strong biceps and you want to sink your teeth into the flesh and muscle desperately.

he opens his mouth to make a comment about it, but you reach into his glass to fish out the cherry that came with it. you stare him down as you bring it to your lips, your teeth sinking into the cherry instead of him.

he watches you, eyes darkening, hooded, his fingers flexing around the glass. tart juice spills down your chin and you make no attempts to clean it up.

“want the stem?” you ask, holding it up.

steve leans forward to wipe the sweetness with his thumb, then sucks it into his mouth.

you’re blown away. outperformed.

“you’re gonna get it,” he says lowly.

you force a smile, heart beating fast. “what i want?”

he laughs and leans back, eyes moving to the stage again. “you’ll see.”

there’s another half an hour after the performance where everyone shoots the shit in the ally behind the bar. you’re squirming the entire time while steve’s arm stays wrapped around your waist, holding you into him, trying to make you stop.

and when eddie asks if anyone is coming to the diner with the band, you brace yourself for steve to say yes.

instead, he yawns loudly and shakes his head. “we’re too tired, sorry.”

“you just hate me,” eddie says, waving him off.

“how’d you know?” steve says, then guides you to turn around, moving towards his car. “we’ll see you soon — vickie, drive safe, please.”

she gives him another big thumbs up and you try to remember her name for the next time you see her. you have bigger priorities right now, though, as steve walks silently beside you. your clit pulses between your thighs, the short walk nearly excruciating.

he gets the door for you - a gentleman, of course - and for a brief moment, as you sit, you’re at eye level with his dick.

steve doesn’t linger, though. he shuts the door and moves to his side. you stare at him, a little nervous to be alone after all that was said earlier.

“you,” he says, pointing a finger at you after turning the key, his eyes equally playful and serious, “have a lot to make up for tonight.”

steve spreads his legs wide, still clothed (with that jacket), hair tousled. he’s spread out in a chair at his place, the room lit dimly by a lamp in the corner. it makes you sleepy but you’re convinced his bulge has hypnotized you.

he looks at you like he’s disappointed. it’s all a rouse, of course. he’s doing all of this because he saw how hot it made you earlier, and he had told you as much before sitting down.

“strip,” he finally says.

you don’t hesitate, of course. you’ve been waiting to get your damn clothes off all night. like a palette cleanser, one of these nights plays softly in the background, spinning on the record player.

“underwear too?” you ask.

he hums. “keep ‘em on.”

you do as you’re told.

steve stares at you for what feels like forever, sort of squinting. “give me a spin, baby,” he says, spinning his finger.

you do, nice and slow, letting him look. look at what he’s missed out on all night, what he could have had in the bathroom or the ally or his car all night. when you’re back to facing him, he beckons you over.

“come here.”

you like him like this. you like him when he’s goofy and soft, too, but this is new and exciting.

you stand between his thighs and he moves his hands to your ass, gently cupping it. he’s gorgeous below you. his hands roam, hands squeezing almost a little too roughly, but never making you wince. you’re giddy about it, his eagerness showing through with every handful he takes of you.

“on your knees.”

you drop down so quickly it hurts, your knees throbbing, but you don’t complain.

steve leans forward to cup your cheek. “gotta teach you a thing or two about patience, don’t i?” he asks softly, eyes scanning your face and landing on your lips.

“mhm,” you agree.

“i’d tell you not to act like that again, but i really liked it,” he admits, smiling softly at you. “like knowing how much you need me.”

“i really do,” you breathe.

“i know.” he kisses your forehand gently. “so here’s the deal. i’ll let you have what you want, but there are two stipulations: you can’t touch yourself, and i’m going to draw this out as long as possible. how’s that sound?”

you try to be cute. “am i going to cum tonight, stevie?”

he hums. “no way, baby. this is all about patience, remember?”

you know how much he’s obsessed with pussy, so you don’t take his threat very seriously.

“no cheating,” he instructs. “no clenching your thighs or anything.”

you bite your lip. you’re still trying to be cutesy. “and what if i do?”

he grins and leans down to touch the tip of his nose against yours. “if you want my cock so bad, baby, you’d better play by the rules.”

he finally kisses you, soft and slow. it’s not heated like it usually is when you’re with him. it clicks that he’s taking his time, and you really wish he wouldn’t. not just because of your eagerness - it’s also two in the morning and your head hurts from all the heavy metal.

he pulls away from you slowly and leans back in his chair. “go ahead,” he says, a finger tapping his belt buckle. “slow.”

it takes three minutes to get his tight jeans down his thick thighs at a pace that he likes. you leave the briefs on. you‘ve already mapped out what you’re going to do.

there’s a sizeable stain of precum where the tip of his cock rests. you’d like to make a comment about it but you abstain, knowing he’d drag this out for longer.

“wait,” he says.

so you do.

one of his hands sneaks down to palm at his erection. his head falls back and he lets out a breathy moan as he touches himself. you don’t know where to look - his big hand on his cock, or his pretty face twisting softly with pleasure.

“maybe i should just jerk myself off, huh?” he rambles. “make you wait even more.”

you almost whimper.

“‘s okay,” he assures, “i’m not that mean.”

but he does keep touching himself while you stare at the stain of precum grow. you spread your legs far apart but you’re definitely still cheating, your cunt clenching and unclenching.

you’re just about ready to beg when he finally stops, moving his hand back to the armrests.

“slow,” he repeats, like you’re a dog, and you really don’t mind.

your hand replaces his. he’s hot to the touch, even through the cotton. your thumb swipes against his head and he groans softly above you. his pre transfers to your thumb and, just as he had done with the cherry juice, you suck it into your mouth.

“copy cat,” he breathes, pupils blown.

you smile up at him, then lean forward. you maintain eye contact with him until your lips reach his cock, and you mouth at him through his briefs.

“jesus,” he groans, hands gripping the chair.

you take your time with it like he told you to. kissing him through the fabric, getting a taste of him — really him. his musk is intoxicating, and you make him gasp like a prude when you inhale deeply.

“wanna worship it?” he breathes, hips bucking, his cock grinding into your cheek. “this what you wanted all night?”

you nod, mouthing at him more.

steve shakes his head, perhaps in disbelief. you haven’t been quite so needy before.

your spit mixes with his precum, the fabric sticking to his cock. he finally relents, gently ordering you to pull his underwear down.

his cock springs up, almost hitting his stomach. you pause, feeling hypnotized again, before pulling them down to meet with his jeans at his ankles.

his cock’s so pretty. pink at the tip, a pronounced vein running down the underside, and big enough to make your jaw ache.

you’re not thinking as you lean forward. steve’s hand stops you, his palm pressing against your forehead.

“thought you were learning.”

“i am,” you whisper.

he holds his palm out. “spit.”

he makes you watch as he jerks himself off, your spit helping his hand slide up and down the shaft. your thighs twitch towards each other as you stare at him, brows furrowed.

you want him so badly. want to climb up into his lap and kiss his pretty face stupid. he bites his lip, moans breathily sneaking out as he keeps stroking himself slowly. he concentrates on you, a strand of hair falling into his dark, hooded eyes.

you bite your tongue so hard it almost bleeds. your pussy works like it has a mind of its own, helplessly clenching, your clit aching horribly. you’re certain you’ll scream, one queuing up in your throat. he has about ten seconds before you throw a tantrum like a baby. he’s so beautiful that it makes you forget yourself.

“go on,” he says eventually, leaning back again.

you’re relieved, almost to the point of tears. you move a little closer and press soft kisses to the inside of his sensitive thighs. his cock kicks near your forehead as you move nearer and nearer. you let your tongue flick out against his skin, smiling when he sighs.

if you weren’t so impatient, you’d make him wait for it.

you move up, up, up, but not to where steve’s expecting you. instead, your lips place a gentle kiss to his sack.

he sort of sits up, brows furrowing hard. so you continue, your tongue laving over his balls gently.

“oh my god?”

it isn’t a protest, so you continue. you mouth at them, too, licking and sucking gently. one of his hands tangles itself in your hair and he moans loudly above you. it goes straight to your clit, of course, and at this point you’re once again near tears at the ache.

you lick your way up his balls and to the base of his shaft. you place a chaste kiss there before continuing upwards, licking a long stripe up to the head. you make sure to run your tongue along the aforementioned vein and he shivers.

his voice cuts the silence. “worship, baby.”

you kiss the head of his cock, the salt of his precum laying heavy on your tongue. you make out with it, using your tongue, doubling down every time steve groans. his hand stays in your hair and he gently moves you down to kiss the rest of him.

steve’s free hand grips the base of his cock and he pumps gently as your tongue flicks against him. after a long moment, he pulls you back, crowding your space again.

“can i say something?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

you watch his throat bob as he swallows hard. “i want to use your mouth.”

you gasp breathlessly, happily. “please, steve.”

so he stands, kicking off his jeans, keeping his grip tight in your hair. he pumps himself still, keeps you at eye level - again - with his leaking tip.

“hands on my thighs,” he says softly. “pinch me if you need me to stop, alright?”

you nod, hands resting where he’s instructed.

“i’ll go slow,” he promises. “still need to finish our lesson, right?”

you nod again.

he gently kicks your thighs apart with his feet. you hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten to pulling together.

“my pretty girl,” he coos, leaning down, pulling your head up. he kisses you much more fervently this time, but shorter. “i’ll give you just what you want.”

[redhoodfucker69]

okay I used to work for a pharmaceutical manager. basically it was a service that directly managed pharmaceutical benefits for insurance companies and also had its own mail order pharmacy. I was a call center representative and I won't get into it but I basically had a mental breakdown and completely ghosted before I got fired. that's beside the point. (people are seriously not meant to be expected to take 90 calls in a fucking eight hour shift. that's like five minutes per call and half of the time it takes five minutes just to get through the fucking HIPAA verification).

in any case. I was the first level customer service agent. the one you talked to so I could figure out what was needed, if I could resolve it, and what dedicated team was necessary to resolve it if I couldn't. dealing with both insurance and pharmacy at the same time meant I needed to be able to answer a lot of difficult questions, especially since we also had a specialty pharmacy on the side that dealt with more complex and highly expensive medications. sometimes it ended up I couldn't answer any questions at all, nor could my company, and I had to waste thirty fucking minutes figuring out who in their actual insurance company I needed to get on the line with so they could talk to them. nightmare job. in any case, the majority of questions and tasks I fielded had to do with the mail order pharmacy.

we tended to use USPS as our dedicated mail company except in special situations like overnight orders or specific refrigerated medications. even without a pharmacy tech license, I was qualified to place those orders. most of our callers were the elderly, because older folks prefer using the phone and talking to people and don't like ordering via automated system. (i don't blame them, when I refill prescriptions, I just jump directly to speak to representative bc who the hell has time to fight with a system that may or may not refill the wrong thing when I can talk to a person, and those systems OFTEN fill the wrong thing, I know from experience, especially when you're on the same medication but adjusting dosages and there's like three separate dosages with qualified refills). so, I would refill. a lot. of medications for old folks.

I cannot express to you based on my experience the absolute importance of having USPS functioning as it should and not privatized. many of these rural communities have no local pharmacy, are miles away from big towns that have them, and are entirely dependent on mail order pharmacies that refill medications every three months on a schedule. there are so many elderly folks stranded out there that have never lived in a big city in their life and rely on their kids living in larger towns to take them to doctor appointments, or dedicated caretakers, or just carpooling. they'll stack all of their appointments for the same day and all hop in a car to go to the city. they need these mail order pharmacies.

mail order pharmacies typically rely on USPS for a reason: privatized parcel delivery companies will often not serve to tiny rural communities. if you're living on a dirt road, you're shit out of luck for delivery. sure, there's some small towns with a physical location, or close enough to a town with a physical location they'll deliver. but not super often, and it also depends. if there's no physical location, but they still do in town deliveries, they'll often refuse to drop off a package that requires a signature due to the cost of whatever is in the package. why? because they don't want to constantly play signature tag with someone where there isn't an immediately available office to go back to with the package. and a lot of these packages require signatures because medications are fucking expensive. so if you want to get your medicine, you gotta drive 30 minutes to over an hour to wherever the hell your package is anyways.

that's where USPS comes in. because it's not for profit, it delivers everywhere, and even if a town doesn't have a post office bc it's got such a tiny population, the next town over will, and they'll deliver.

I cannot express this enough. privatizing the USPS will absolutely fucking kill these small communities, and may actually kill some people before the communities die off. I cannot tell you how many times I had to field calls where they only called once they ran out of maintenance medications waiting on a new batch, even though there's a fairly large buffer zone when ordering directly from the pharmacy where you should have a handful of days, up to a week, leftover when your new medication comes in. they will straight up wait for it to run out before they make the call. combine that with a chaotic post office and it will get out of control fast. they're stubborn and don't want to call their kids or caretakers to go pick up an emergency supply from the nearest pharmacy. I had to sweet talk a LOT of old folks into getting an emergency supply, and not every agent will do that, and even if they do, they won't always be successful. I wasn't always successful. one time I had to talk an old lady into getting an emergency supply for her anti rejection medication for her fucking liver transplant. I wasn't even required nor trained to tell people emergency supplies were something they could get when on the mail order program. in fact, I was told in training I could only say yes when asked the question, and I wasn't supposed to bring it up, bc insurance companies are fucking ghouls that would rather people die than spend a little extra money. many agents will go by the book and NOT bring it up. I didn't want someone's death on my hands, so I made sure to always tell them.

privatizing the postal service will ACTUALLY kill people, and postal workers know this. they talk to people on their regular routes. they get to know them. they see them every day. they're even more chatty with retirees and old folks because they're someone familiar to talk to and a lot of old folks are isolated. they know DAMN well not only their jobs are on the line, but people's lives are at stake here. they know the ins and outs of politics and cost saving measures with privatized parcel delivery services like FedEx and UPS. they know privatizing the post office will inevitably end in some of those old folks they see almost every day and chat to dying and them losing their jobs and benefits. I guarantee you a lot of the people getting laid off in the first round will be the older drivers that have been with the post office for 20, 30 years now, running the same routes and watching the same folks grow old. the drivers know that too.

so. yeah. this is gonna actually kill people. don't let the post office get privatized. if you see these protests in your city, swing by. you can protest with them, or if you don't have time, drop off unopened cases of bottled water. it's getting hot out here. keep your postal workers hydrated. maybe drop off some donuts for blood sugar. support unions.

[blank-potato]

my kid's better than your kid

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

“Listen here, Captain Suburbia,” you sneer. “Anyone with two functioning eyes could see your kid bodychecked mine like it was hockey practice.” “Well, the ref didn’t see it that way. So move on,” he snaps back without missing a beat. “Absolutely not! This is about accountability.” “There’s no need to give my kid a red card just because your kid—” John starts, hands gesturing like he's trying to explain away a traffic ticket. “Don’t even finish that sentence,” you fire back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If you even imply that she was overreacting, I swear I’ll—” He holds up his hands, that smug look never leaving his face. “Hey, relax. Just saying, maybe things wouldn’t get so dramatic if you stayed on your side of the field.” You narrow your eyes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.” Or You and John's kids are in the same soccer league, and after you get into an argument on the field over your kids, you start seeing him everywhere. It's hate at first sight.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, hair pulling, mirror sex, oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, breeding kink, sexual overstimulation, John Walker is a biter, No Superhero AU!, slow burn, enemies to lovers, dead spouse (I killed off his wife oop), John being a good dad, Ava Starr cameo

A/N: I feel like John would be one of those dads who's coaching from the sidelines at their kids' game, so I wrote this. I'm also obsessed with him right now so expect more fics

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

Some might call you intense or insane.

A little crazy, definitely.

There’s a fire in you, always has been, and when it comes to your daughter, you didn’t play around. Every aspect of her life was important to you, especially her Saturday morning soccer games.

Though you didn’t know what intense was until you saw that dickhead across the field. Blonde hair, a trimmed beard, built like he probably hits the gym four times a week. His biceps flexed under his white shirt every time he threw his arms up at the ref, which, to be fair, was often.

If he weren’t so obnoxious, you might even find him hot, but you totally don’t find him hot. He was pumped up, red in the face, and just as invested in the game as you were. Pacing like a coach who got fired but still showed up anyway. He was shouting directions, clapping like his kid was about to be scouted, and cheering like it was the World Cup and not just a rec league game on a patchy field behind a middle school.

He was showing you up, so you started cheering louder for your kid. Because if this is a competition, you're damn well not losing it.

“That’s it, Lily! Give ‘em hell!” You shout, your daughter just smiles at you and goes back to playing, used to your competitive nature.

The man takes notice of you and looks at you like he isn’t also acting like a lunatic before cheering even louder. That rubbed you the wrong way. What gave him the right to look at you like you were the problem?

Then it happens.

You watch as your daughter gets slide-tackled for no reason.

And the ref? Doing fuck all about it.

“What was that call, ref?” you shout, already on your feet.

“I—” the ref starts, backing up as you approach. 

You trudge towards him, angry but trying to maintain a look of composed fury, like you weren't two seconds from setting the field on fire. 

The ref was used to your antics, and now every time he saw you storming towards him, he’d be sure that he’d be going home with a headache.

“No yellow or red card? She got slide-tackled,” you bark.

“It’s—”

“She didn’t even have the ball!” you snap, the words ripping out of you like they’ve been waiting. You’re so fired up, so high on rage and love and disbelief, you swear you could take flight.

“It was an accident, so there’s no need for that,” a voice cuts in, calm and condescending in the worst possible way.

You turn, and it’s him, the guy from across the field. The look on his face, the matter-of-fact tone, the casual smugness oozing off him like cologne. You hate him instantly. It was that easy.

“I’m guessing that was your son that ran over my daughter,” you say, each word clipped like you’re trying not to launch them at his face.

“Ran over?” he snorts. “Talk about an exaggeration.”

“It’s soccer, these things happen. You don’t have to throw a tantrum just because your kid's team is down two,” he adds, smirking like he thinks this is witty banter and not a declaration of war.

You scoff, hands on hips, already stepping into his space. The ref backs off like a man realising he’s standing between two charging bulls. This wasn’t a sideline spat; this was two planets colliding, and he wanted no part of the fallout.

“Listen here, Captain Suburbia,” you sneer. “Anyone with two functioning eyes could see your kid bodychecked mine like it was hockey practice.”

“Well, the ref didn’t see it that way. So move on,” he snaps back without missing a beat.

“Absolutely not! This is about accountability.”

“There’s no need to give my kid a red card just because your kid—” John starts, hands gesturing like he's trying to explain away a traffic ticket.

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” you fire back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If you even imply that she was overreacting, I swear I’ll—”

He holds up his hands, that smug look never leaving his face. “Hey, relax. Just saying, maybe things wouldn’t get so dramatic if you stayed on your side of the field.”

You narrow your eyes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”

“That’s it! Take this off the field,” the ref finally blurts, hands up, voice cracking. “The kids have a match to play!”

You exhale sharply and hard through your nose, fists clenched at your sides. You try to calm yourself down, jaw tight, heart pounding. You sit and look out at your daughter, brushing grass off her knees and already back in position. 

She's tougher than you give her credit, but that didn’t change the fact that you wanted to put that guy’s head in the ground. 

After the game, her team, the Honeybees, lost after a few missed goals and lots of questionable calls, but your daughter was still laughing with her friends, unfazed in the way only kids can be.

You, however, were still stewing in quiet indignation when you spotted the world’s biggest jackass, in your humble, entirely accurate opinion, making his way toward you.

“Oh. It’s you,” you say, arms crossed automatically.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your loss,” he says, all fake sincerity, like he wasn’t two seconds away from being shoved into a juice box cooler.

“How mature.”

“I try,” he replies with that same maddening, self-satisfied grin.

You narrow your eyes, ready for whatever condescending nonsense he might say next. If he says “good effort”, you’re swinging. Choosing not to let him fuck with you, you tell him what’s what. 

“Your team only won because of the ref’s bad calls,” you say, arms still crossed, tone sharp enough to slice fruit.

“Oh really?” he replies, lifting an eyebrow like he’s genuinely amused. Like this is his idea of foreplay.

“Yeah. My kid was dynamite out there.”

“So was mine,” he says back instantly.

“I mean, sure, but my kid has the most assists on her team,” you say, trying to keep your cool, even as your voice edges higher.

“Assists,” he echoes, nodding slowly. “Not goals.”

You blink at him. “Are we seriously doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” he says with mock innocence, hands raised like he’s never been petty in his life.

You press your lips together, biting your tongue so hard it might bruise. You didn’t want to, you really didn’t want to, but it slips out anyway.

“My kid can out-pass, out-hustle, and outplay any other kid on that field.”

He grins like he’s been waiting for this.

“Well, my kid can run circles around your kid while tying his cleats.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Alright then, my kid was able to run a full field drill without missing a pass when she was five.”

“Well, mine could do cone drills backwards while coaching his teammate through theirs.”

Your eye twitches at that and he delights in seeing you so bothered.

“Lily has a killer left foot and once scored a hat trick with a stomach bug.”

“And Tommy is a human wall on defence.”

“Oh, please. Lily once did a bicycle kick and landed on her feet. What’s Tommy got?” You say, crossing your arms. 

“Perfect attendance and a clean penalty record.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at ‘clean penalty record’ but you keep it moving.

“Lily brings orange slices for the whole team.”

“Tommy brings strategy diagrams and pep talks.”

You pause, blinking. “Are we… bragging about how nice our kids are now?”

“Seems like it.”

You both go quiet for a beat, then he adds with a smirk, “Still doesn’t mean your kid’s better. I think you should admit to defeat.”

You step forward, just enough to make a point. “I’ll admit defeat when the Honeybees start losing because of their own mistakes, not because your future linebacker throws elbows like he’s in a bar fight.”

He actually laughs, and it’s a little too charming for your liking. Before you can wrestle with what that means, you hear a voice. 

“Dad!” his son calls from across the field, waving dramatically. “Hurry up, you promised we’d get ice cream!”

He glances over his shoulder, then looks back at you with that same smug glint in his eye.

“Again, enjoy your loss,” he says, already turning. “And get used to it. The season’s still young.”

You narrow your eyes. “Until next time, Captain Suburbia.”

He chuckles and starts to walk away, but pauses, turns back with a smirk plastered on his face.

“John,” he says. “My name is John.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

“Uh, what are you doing?” 

“Hiding.”

“From?” Your friend, Ava, says as she looks around for the apparent danger. 

“John.”

Ever since that day, you were livid with the dickhead you knew as John Walker. You had never hated someone so much from just one meeting. You never wanted to see him again, but you did while shopping.

Ava takes a peek, “Oh, the hot soccer dad? Which one is he?”

You never described him as hot but Ava figured from the way you were kidding your mind over him, you thought he was. 

“Blonde, beard, tall and wearing a blue shirt.”

Ava sees him in the fruit and veg aisle and hums in approval, “Is he single? He’s right up your alley, no?”

You nudge her arm. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn't see him with anyone at the game…” You say your voice drifting off before you're back to your senses. “Whether or not he's single is irrelevant! He’s a complete asshole.”

“Just because he's an asshole doesn’t mean he’s not good in bed.”

The death glare you give her is intense and could be considered lethal, but she laughs it off. 

“Let’s be honest, if you weren’t attracted to him, you wouldn’t be so riled up.”

“Oh, please, I’m not into evil blonde men.”

Is he hot? Yes. But his evilness outweighs the hotness. 

“Well, the evil blonde man is coming your way.”

You look towards the end of the aisle to see that Ava was right, so you immediately duck down behind a tower of soup cans. 

“Please come out from over there,” Ava whispers but you protest, hoping you can camouflage yourself and become one with the cans.

Ten seconds pass, and you hear your name in that familiar voice and know you’ve been caught.

“Oh. Hi.”

Your attempt at being nonchalant is honestly pitiful, but not more pitiful than him knowing you were hiding from him.

“Don’t mind me, go back to whatever this is,” He says, gesturing to your hunched-over, goblin-like stance. He reaches over you and grabs a can off the shelf, walking off without another word. 

“See? No need to panic. He was perfectly civil,” Ava chimes in.

“Only because he caught me in a state of weakness. He has the upper hand, and he’s already plotting against me. I can feel it.”

“He’s a soccer dad, not a supervillain,” Ava sighs, helping you off the floor, concerned about the effect he was having on you, but then again, she was always concerned about you. You regularly lose your mind at your daughter’s soccer games so she has just cause. 

“I need to grab the wine, I’ll meet you at the checkout,” Ava says, and you nod, letting her walk off. 

You had to circle back around to get the limited edition coffee you had become obsessed with anyway. You get to the aisle and your eyes widen when you realise that there’s only one left. Your hand flies to grab it, you can already imagine it in your trolley, and it looks good. It looks happy, like it's ready to be at home in your pantry.

But at the same time, another hand wraps around it, the hand belonging to John, because fate was still playing in your face. 

“You.”

You thought you were done with him for the day. Clearly, the universe had other plans.

John raises an eyebrow, not letting go. “Come on. Be a gentleman and give it to me,” You say, trying to force a smile. 

Your grip tightens, so does his.

“I don’t think so,” he says smoothly, as if he weren’t just on the verge of sparking a full-blown aisle standoff. “It’s the last one.”

“I know.”

“I’ll have to go across town for another,” You say, your eyebrows knitting together. 

“Cry about it.”

You tug on it a little, but he doesn’t budge. The item wobbles dangerously between your hands.

“Are you even trying?” he asks. He was so good at being a smug bastard, you wonder if he was born like this or if he honed this craft. You open your mouth to really let him have it, but you don’t even get the chance. 

Without another word, he snatches it clean from your hand in one smooth move, drops it into his trolley like he just won Olympic gold, and starts walking away, whistling.

You stand there, mildly offended but mostly impressed.

“Oh no, you did not just—” you march after him.

“Too slow, sweetheart,” he calls over his shoulder without turning around. “Better luck next time.”

“I hope it’s expired!” you shout after him.

You stop walking and watch as he struts off with your coffee like he was the King of Aisle Seven, you were planning his downfall in at least three different ways.

And two of them involved shopping carts.

After the grocery store incident, you were looking forward to having a reprieve from John Walker. But it was like fate or something more evil was forcing the two of you together. You have a PTA meeting the next night, and who do you see there but John, who was now becoming a permanent fixture in your life. 

You sigh and sit beside the only empty seat, which was next to him.

“Let’s not even speak,” You suggest you say as soon as your butt hits the seat.

“Fine with me,” John replies as he crosses his arms, looking away from you. 

You sit there tapping your foot. It was almost painful being silent when everyone else was having conversations. Especially when you were next to a thief. You didn’t even get the opportunity to yell at him properly for swiping your coffee.

You finally break, “What you did yesterday was shitty.”

“And I thought we weren’t going to speak.”

“I’ll be sick if I don’t call out injustice when I see it.”

John laughs, and you want to strangle him. “You’re still thinking about that? I’m constantly on your mind, aren’t I?”

You shift in your seat, feeling the heat climbing up the back of your neck. How dare he even suggest that? Yes, you were thinking about him, but only about all the ways you wanted to destroy him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap under your breath.

The meeting starts before he can muster up a comeback. You catch yourself zoning out as the agenda drags on, filled with tedious updates about the bake sale and a desperate plea for chaperones for the 3rd-grade trip to Lake Maribelle.

You swing your leg absentmindedly and accidentally bump his shin. It’s genuinely an accident.

“Did you just kick me?” he whispers.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t taking up half the space with your big—”

“You’re unbelievable—” He interrupts, turning his body to face you.

“Gangly legs, then you wouldn’t have gotten hit,” You whisper your sentence over his.

Your whispered bickering is only interrupted by the teacher at the front calling both your names.

“You’ll help chaperone the trip to Lake Maribelle?”

With all those expectant eyes on you, how could either of you say no?

“Yeah…”

“Of course…”

You both reply sheepishly at the same time.

“Great, I’ll sign the two of you up.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

Stepping onto the bus, you watch as Lily disappears to go sit with her friend, leaving you with a slight pang of loneliness. You head to the front and slump into your seat, next to who else but John, because you can’t even be surprised. You really needed to start arriving at places earlier to avoid sitting next to him, but here you were.

It’s a four-hour ride, and you can already feel your exhaustion creeping in. You try to keep yourself alert, but your eyes are heavy. Before you know it, your head tilts to the side, falling onto his shoulder.

John glances down at you, noticing how tired you look. He’s always been perceptive like that. He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts slightly to give you more space. But when he feels you drift further, he gently shifts, adjusting his posture. His shoulder feels like a small slice of comfort amidst the exhaustion.

He lets you use his shoulder the whole ride. You looked quite peaceful when you weren’t trying to rip his head off, quite beautiful too. John catches the thought and tosses it out. He couldn’t be caught slipping, you were his mortal enemy after all.

The bus reaches the camp, and suddenly, it jerks to a stop. Your head flies forward, but before you can react, John’s hand shoots out, catching your forehead in the palm of his hand just in time.

“Thanks,” you mumble, a little embarrassed but too tired to really care.

He just hums in response, his fingers lightly grazing your skin for just a second longer than necessary. “Quick reflexes.”

Hoping off the bus, you notice the camp leaders waiting to greet the kids. You stand off to the side ensuring everyone gets off the bus when you notice one of the teachers, Miss. Lucas, sidling up next to John, laughing a little too loudly at something he barely said. Your eyes narrow without even realising it, and your fist subconsciously tightens. It’s like a sudden surge of irritation hits you.

The worst part is that you don’t even know why you're so bothered. You’re pretty sure it's just your general distaste for him as a person, and anything he does seems to irritate you. That felt like the easiest explanation. No need to dig deeper into that nagging feeling in your chest, like someone’s poking it with a stick. You shake it off, willing yourself to focus on something else, anything else.

After you get the kids all settled in for the first activity, though, it hits you like a ton of bricks. The exhaustion. You’re winded in a way you don’t remember being before. You try to shake it off, but it’s clear that you’ve reached your limit for the day. This trip wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be, and now, even a simple walk feels like you’ve run a marathon.

You take a deep breath, looking around for a moment to regain your composure. There's no need to make a bigger deal out of it. Just power through, you tell yourself. But it’s harder than you expected, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s more than just the physical exhaustion that's weighing on you.

But at least John was out of sight. You didn’t have to see him on the nature walk or the obstacle course, but you’d have to supervise the canoeing together. You make it out there first, sitting on the dock as the kids are getting in the canoes with the instructors. A smile tugs at your lips as you see how excited Lily is, her face lighting up as she waits for her turn, then spotting you in the crowd. She waves enthusiastically, and you wave back, your heart swelling just a little at the sight of her so happy.

“Nice day out,” John says, looking out at the water. You’re shaken to your core. Not just because you didn’t hear him walk up, but because of what he said. What was this? A normal conversation starter?

You open your mouth to respond, but you're cut off by Miss. Lucas' syrupy voice slicing through the moment like a dull butter knife.

“It really is, and John, you really should wear sunglasses. With how blue your eyes are, the way the sun hits them is just distracting,” she purrs, twirling a lock of her overly straightened hair.

It’s laced with flirtation and just enough condescension to make your skin crawl.

You roll your eyes — hard.

John notices.

“What? You don’t like the sun?” he asks, amused now, that sharp gaze flicking to you like he already knows he’s poking the bear.

“I like the sun,” you answer evenly.

“Then what were you rolling your eyes at, huh?”

You’re so tempted to say exactly what’s on your mind. To call out Miss. Lucas’s thinly veiled thirst trap of a compliment, but you catch yourself. The last thing you need is her holding some petty grudge against Lily over adult nonsense.

So instead, you force a too-sweet smile and say, “None of your business.”

He chuckles, clearly entertained.

Miss. Lucas doesn’t seem to notice any of it. She’s still lingering like a wasp at a picnic.

John tilts his head, a grin still playing at his lips. “Touchy.”

Stepping into your space, he does that thing, that infuriating thing, where he leans in just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to break any rules.

You guys just couldn’t seem to be near each other without someone stepping over the invisible line.

“And you’re observant,” you shoot back, voice low. “Someone might think you’re a little obsessed.”

His brow lifts. “Is that right?”

“You know what? I’m sorry, I'm being rude. Let me ask you this,” you say, your voice sweet and dangerous all at once, “Do you like water?”

“What kind of question is—?”

Splash.

He never finishes.

You shove him clean off the dock, and he crashes into the freezing lake with a satisfying crash. A few heads turn at the sound, followed by laughter, mostly from the kids.

John surfaces, sputtering, slicking his hair back with both hands as he glares up at you like a betrayed golden retriever.

“It’s freezing!” he shouts.

“Oh no,” you gasp dramatically, hand to your chest. “Is it? I had no idea.”

He blinks the water from his eyes, slow and deliberate, before gripping the edge of the dock with both hands and pulling himself up in one smooth, effortless motion.

It’s… a problem.

You might hate the man, scratch that, you definitely hate the man, but God help you, he had the audacity to look good doing literally anything. The sunlight caught the drops of water rolling down his arms, his shirt plastered to the ridges of his abs and the degenerate part of your brain wanting to see them with his shirt off. 

His hair dripped, tousled and messy in a way that looked too perfect to be accidental. It was like watching someone climb out of a cologne commercial.

You bite your lip instinctively, then immediately cover it up with a cough and a scowl.

He strides toward you, soaking wet, every squelching footstep a declaration of petty war. You’re forced to crane your neck to meet his eyes as he stops in front of you.

“You’re lucky,” he says, water still dripping from his sleeves, “that one of us knows how to act like an adult.”

You raise your eyebrows, lips twitching despite yourself. “You sure it’s you?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, then turns and walks down the dock toward the cabins, leaving behind a trail of wet footprints and a hundred silent thoughts you’re too proud to say out loud.

You watch him go and tell yourself it’s because you want to see if there’s the off chance he falls in. 

Definitely not because of the view.

You’re watching your back the rest of the day, fully expecting some form of petty revenge. A frog in your shoe, a cold fish under your pillow, maybe even your toothbrush mysteriously tasting like lake water. But nothing happens.

No pranks. No payback.

You’re in the clear.

Now, sitting by the campfire, the sky a hazy lavender above the treeline, things feel… calm. The kids are running wild around the open field, fireflies blinking to life as marshmallows roast and someone strums a guitar softly in the distance.

“Hi,” a small voice says beside you.

You turn and see Tommy, John’s son, standing there with a hesitant smile.

“Hey, having fun?” you ask, shifting to make room.

He nods and sits next to you, pulling his knees up to his chest. “The nature walk was pretty cool, and me and my friends loved  the obstacle course. And the canoeing was fun too… even though you pushed my dad in the lake.”

You groan lightly, a hand going to your face. “Yeah, about that…”

The guilt hits, a pang of embarrassment. You knew your behaviour was juvenile. Funny, sure, but maybe not your finest moment, especially in front of the kids.

You laugh under your breath and shake your head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It was pretty funny,” Tommy admits, “And I know you and my dad have problems.”

You feel even more ashamed that it was bleeding into your kids' lives too.

“My dad can be a lot,” he says, kicking a pebble with the toe of his shoe. “But he’s just… I don’t know. He tries really hard. Especially for me.”

It helped you understand John a little better. The bluster, the sarcasm, the stubborn streak a mile wide… It wasn’t just pride or ego. It was effort. The kind that comes from someone trying to do right, even if it comes out messy. You could appreciate that because you were the same way.

And if he’d raised such a polite kid, then he couldn’t be all bad. Not even close.

“Have you seen him, by the way?” Tommy asks.

“Not lately,” you say, then gesture toward the table behind you. “But you can have some marshmallows while you wait, if you want.”

“Sure!” he says, lighting up as he grabs a stick and starts roasting.

John comes back to see something he wasn't expecting. The bane of his existence, laughing with his son and roasting marshmallows. Tommy didn’t warm up to most people that easily, so when he sees him lighting up with you, his opinion of you shifts. Maybe you weren’t an evil witch. 

You still got a bucket of freezing lake water poured over you the next morning, though. 

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You’re out running errands, finally—blissfully—alone. Lily’s spending the weekend at your parents' place, which meant you had time to catch your breath, clean without stepping on glitter, and maybe finally recover from the whirlwind that was the school trip.

You understood John better. You still thought he was annoyingly smug, sure, but maybe not completely irredeemable.

But you weren’t getting ahead of yourself. He was still the same cocky asshole you met yelling across a soccer field... right?

Just as you’re mulling that over, tongue in cheek, deciding if you’d imagined all the softness, you feel your car begin to slow down.

“What the—?”

You frown, tapping the gas. Nothing. A few panicked beeps. Then a sputter.

You manage to pull off to the side of the road just as the engine completely gives out, your car coasting to a reluctant stop.

“No, no, no!” you shout, slamming your palms against the steering wheel.

This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not when you finally had a few hours of peace and you were this close to getting Thai food and going home to binge terrible reality TV.

With a heavy sigh, you get out and open the bonnet, even though you have no idea what you’re looking for. Wires? Steam? A glowing red light labeled you’re screwed?

You’re standing there, staring blankly into the guts of your car, when you hear it, a car slowing down behind you and parking behind you. 

You barely glance back, already waving them off. “Thanks, I’m good—”

But then you hear a too-familiar voice say, “Well, that doesn’t look promising.”

Of course.

You turn around slowly.

And there he is.

John Walker, ladies and gentlemen. 

“Need a hand?” he asks, already strolling over like he’s been waiting his whole life to rescue you.

“I uh…” You start becasure you’re so tempted to say “I got this” but the moment your eyes look back at whatever the fuck is going on in your car, you sigh.

“Do you have a toolbox?” he’d asked.

“Yeah, it’s in the boot,” you’d said, thinking nothing of it.

Then he came back, popped the hood, and casually peeled his shirt off with a warning: “Don’t read into anything. I just don’t want grease on my shirt.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, a little too quickly.

You didn’t say anything, but that sure as hell didn’t stop you from watching. Because damn. The man was all broad shoulders, and strong arms that had no business looking that good twisting bolts.

You could’ve watched him work all day.

“Try starting it,” he called, interrupting your horny thoughts.

You slid back into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. It’s a miracle.

“Thank you, seriously.”

He leaned over the hood, smug smile fully loaded. “No problem. That should get you moving, but you definitely need to take this to a garage. I can come with you, if you want.”

Seeing the way your face contorts, he follows up with an explanation before you start berating him again. 

“You’ll need a ride home after, won’t you?”

“Oh, true… I guess I’ll take you up on your offer. I mean as long as I'm not keeping you from Tommy, am I?” You say as you watch him put his shirt back on.

“No, he's at his grandparents’ place.”

“Oh same with Lily,” You admit.

“Guess we have done errands to run together then.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You arrive back home in his car and say “Home sweet home,” because you didn’t know what the fuck you were talking baout. Ever since you watched him fix your car, haggle down the price of your repair with the mechanic and drive you home, you’d been in a bit of a daze. A ‘John Walker is the perfect man’ daze to be exact.

“Do you ... wanna come in?” You say, the words escaping you, but what you didn’t expect was his reply.

“Sure.”

You welcome him in, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as John casually walks around your house. 

It was clean, for once and cosy too, filled with little signs of your life with Lily. Pictures lined the walls: school plays, messy birthday parties, soccer games. Her drawings were stuck to the fridge with mismatched magnets.

“This you?” John asks, voice tinged with amusement.

You turn to see him holding a framed photo from the shelf, a younger you, maybe around Lily’s age, standing proudly in a baseball uniform, cap askew and a dirt-smudged grin on your face.

You roll your eyes but smile. “Yeah. I peaked in Little League.”

He chuckles, eyes still on the photo. “You look like you were about to take someone out at home plate.”

“I probably did.”

He glances over at you, that familiar smirk on his face. “Not much has changed then.”

You snort. “Are you calling me aggressive?”

“I’m saying I’d definitely want you on my team,” he replies, setting the photo down gently. “You were a force to be reckoned with, no doubt,” he says with a chuckle.

“Always.”

“Are there more?” he asks, leaning a little closer with that annoyingly charming glint in his eye.

You cross your arms, sitting back a little as you narrow your eyes. “Nuh uh. We are not going through my baby pictures.”

“Yes, we are.”

And five minutes later, you were both on the couch with a photo album spread across your lap.

“You even look like a soccer ball in this one,” he teases, pointing to a photo of you in a puffy striped onesie.

“I bet you were an ugly baby,” you fire back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“I’ll have you know I was adorable. Practically a Gerber baby.”

He flips a page and pauses. “Is this you or Lily?”

“That’s Lily,” you say, your smile softening.

“She looks just like you.”

“I like to call her my twin,” you laugh. “And she hates it.”

Time ticks by, and you barely even notice it. The room has dimmed with the setting sun, shadows creeping in, and a warmth building low in your stomach. You’ve been flipping through photo albums for what must’ve been hours, laughing and teasing each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Then you hear it, John’s stomach growling, loud and unmistakable. You glance at him, and he’s already giving you a sheepish smile. Clearly, you’re both thinking the same thing.

“I was going to order Thai,” you say casually. “If you wanted to stay for dinner.”

He hesitates for only a second. “I’d like that.”

Later, the two of you are curled up on the couch, takeout containers spread between you, Real Housewives playing in the background. The chaotic drama on screen contrasts with the quiet ease between you.

It had been so long since you’d just relaxed like this with someone—someone who wasn’t Ava or Lily. And it felt good. Easy. Right.

“I have a suggestion, feel free to say no.”

“Hit me,” John says, leaning back against the couch, one arm draped over the cushion behind you.

You bite back a grin. “I have a bottle of whiskey that’s begging to be opened. Wanna throw on some music and help me put it out of its misery?”

He lifts an eyebrow, a slow smile creeping onto his face. “Why not?”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You shouldn’t drink around him. At this point, you were touchy and honestly just saying shit for the sake of saying shit. You’re not too drunk but definitely tipsy enough to say whatever comes to your mind. 

“I haven’t seen Tommy’s mom around. Did you guys split up?” you blurt out, half-curious, half-dreading the answer. You feel a drop in the atmosphere as his hands seem to tighten on the glass. 

“Sorry, you don’t need to answer. That was weird of me to ask…” You're trying to backtrack as quickly as possible.

“Oh no, it’s okay, she uh,” he says quietly. “She passed a few years ago.”

You pause, your posture softening. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright,” he says, voice low but steady. “Still tough without her, but we manage.”

He glances down, like he’s trying to ground himself before continuing.

“I’d like to say I was a good husband, but I was always away in the army. I could’ve been better before she…” He trails off, eyes now solely focused on the liquid swirling in his glass. 

You stay quiet, wanting to listen rather than rush in. 

“When I came back from my last tour, she was already sick. But for a while, we were okay. We were happy. Then she got worse. It was hard seeing her like that when she was so full of life before I left. I felt like I had missed so much, and when she…” He pauses again, his voice catching in his throat like he was being choked. 

“Tommy’s the only thing that kept me going after. I’m always scared I’ll mess things up with him and miss the important stuff. That I already am.”

He exhales sharply, almost laughing at himself. “Shit. Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” you say gently, shaking your head. “And I can tell you’re a good dad. Anyone can. He's such a sweet kid and he adores you.”

He looks at you then, and for once, there’s no smirk, no one-liner. Just quiet gratitude.

“Thanks,” he says. “That means more than you know.”

You both take another drink, the burn lingering in your throat like something you don’t mind holding onto for a while.

“What about you? I noticed there aren’t any pictures of Lily’s dad around,” he asks, voice softer now, like he’s not just making conversation anymore.

“We got divorced ages ago. He was a total disaster.”

You let out a dry laugh, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

 “We got married too young, had Lily, got divorced two years in and… I honestly can’t even remember the last time he showed up for her. No birthday messages, no calls. Nothing.”

You pause, trying not to let the anger twist your words.

“It’s a shame because she’s so amazing,” you add, staring into your glass. “And her dad doesn't give her the time of day and never has. She deserves so much better than that, and I wish I could be everything for her, but I…”

John’s quiet, listening. Really listening, giving you the space that you gave him. 

“It’s hard doing it on your own,” you say, looking up at him. “I know you get that.”

He nods slowly, then offers a small, warm smile. “It’s his loss. She’s a kick-ass kid with a pretty kick-ass mom.”

You laugh, the real kind this time.

“I genuinely thought you were about to fight me the day we met,” he says, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

You grin. “I was about to fight you.”

“Very hot.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling and, for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel exhausting to let someone in.

“Okay, Mr. Tight-White-Shirt,” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

He smirks instantly. “Ah, so you were ogling me that day.”

Damn. You walked right into that one.

“A woman can’t appreciate the male form?” you say, all mock innocence.

John laughs, shaking his head as he takes another drink. The music shifts, a different song now, low and smooth, some classic jazz number that’s always sounded like warmth and memory and late nights.

You perk up instantly. “John, we have to dance.”

He blinks. “What?”

“C’mon!”

Before he can argue, you’re already pulling him to his feet drunkenly. He hesitates for half a second, then relents because, of course, he does. His hands find your waist, cautious at first, and you wrap your arms around his neck as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I can’t remember the last time I slow danced,” you murmur against his chest.

“Same,” John says quietly. “In all honesty, it was… probably my wedding.”

 “Damn, me too,” You let out a low laugh. “Did you go all out?”

“We tried,” he nods. “We had lessons and everything. I remember practising in our tiny apartment, knocking over chairs and swearing a ton.”

She grins. “I bet you were shit.”

John, very much in ‘John’ fashion, gasps. “Correction, I was the shit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna show you. Get ready to be dipped.”

Your eyes widen as you look up at him, suspicion written all over your face. “No way. You’ll drop me.”

He smirks. “I won’t. Trust me. I’m strong and very capable.”

Before you can protest again, he spins you, just fast enough to make your stomach flip. And you squeal, laughing as you come back into his arms.

“See?” he says, proud as hell. “Didn’t hurt a hair on your pretty head.”

You’re still laughing, slightly breathless, heart thudding in your chest for reasons that have very little to do with the dancing.

“I hate to say it,” you murmur, “but that was quite smooth.”

“Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might think you like me.”

You look up at him and realise, you’ve never been this close to him, unless you count getting in his face at a soccer match, but this was different. It was a whole new type of tension. 

“Whatever…” you say, but it comes out with no bite. Not even close.

Maybe because you’re tipsy, but under the dim lighting of your living room, with the jazz still murmuring in the background and that stupid, crooked smile on his face.

You reach up, fingers brushing his cheek before you even fully realise what you're doing.

“I like your beard,” you blurt out, your thumb lightly grazing the line of it.

He blinks, surprised, not because of what you said, but because of how gently you said it.

“Yeah?” he says, voice a little quieter now.

He’s not able to get another word out before you’re kissing him, soft and tender. His hands cup your face as he kisses you like there’s a magnet pulling you to him. Your hands roaming over each other’s bodies, hands desperate to touch skin. He lifts you off the floor, your lips not breaking contact. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands cup your ass as he walks you over to a wall. Pressing you against it and kissing your neck like he’s trying to consume you. “Oh, John…”

Breathing heavily and looking into each other’s eyes.“Upstairs, first door on the right.”

Your back hits the wall again, but gently this time, his lips brushing over yours before pulling back just enough to ask, “You sure?”

You nod, breathless. “Go.”

He carries you like it’s effortless, one hand steady beneath your thigh, the other gripping the bannister as he takes the stairs two at a time.

Reaching the top, he kicks the door open with his foot. The room is dim, the late evening light bleeding through the curtains, but neither of you cares. You pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. His mouth is on yours again before it hits the ground.

You fall into the bed together, tangled and wild and urgent, but with something else beneath it all. Something tender. Like every kiss and touch is catching up on lost time you didn’t even know you missed.

“Mind if I leave marks?”

“You can,” You gasp out and he goes to work, biting and sucking your skin. In all honesty, your drunk brain needed a memento, a way to remind sober-you that this wasn’t some sex dream. 

You feel his strong hands wrap around your wrists, and he squeezes them. Not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel his presence. 

“I want you,” John breathes and it sounds so good hearing it. Like you had both finally done away with pretense and given in to what you wanted to do since you met which was rip your clothes off and fuck eachother senseless. 

He starts kissing his way down your body, taking  his sweet time in making you feel good. Reveling in the way you react to him.

When he reaches your panties, he doesn’t hesitate to tug them off his teeth and the sight of him doing that nearly kills you. 

He starts eating you out like a man possessed, his beard tickling your inner thighs. He needs your pussy on his face and he needs it now. As he licks and sucks, driving you insane, your legs start slowly closing, trying to shy away from how good it felt. He catches them, prying them back open. 

“Keep them open for me.”

You nod but he wants more than that.

“Tell me.”

“I’ll keep my legs open for you,” You say and you think you’d do the splits on his face if he wanted. 

“Good girl,” he smirks before going back to ruining you. It had been too long since you felt like this, but even then, you had never felt like this. You were feverish and sensitive, fighting to keep yourself sane. You never recall feeling like you were dying of happiness when anyone else had gone down on you. Must be the John Walker effect.

The more you struggle and shake, the more pressure he applies. His hand rests on your stomach to hold you in place as he sucks on your clit.

Feeling the pleasure growing, you instantly try to muffle your moans with your fist. He moves his mouth away from your aching core and reaches up with one of his hands, moving your fist away. You look at him with reverence and surprise.

“You don’t need to hide…” He says, his other hand still moving inside you, “I want to hear you.”

You don’t speak right away. You just look at him, this man who had once driven you absolutely insane, who now felt like the only person who could see through all the armour.

“I’m not used to being seen,” you finally whisper.

“I know,” John says, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “But I see you.”

He moves back into position between your legs, and you let him have every moan you have. 

“John!” 

You finish, back arching, legs trembling and clenching down on his head with your thighs so hard you’re scared you might kill him. 

But he doesn't stop, instead going faster. “H-hey!” You moan out as you kick your legs around, which he clearly takes as a challenge.

Wrangling your legs and pinning them over your head, your body now in the shape of a backwards C.

“You’re lucky I’m not tying you up,” John comments and you shiver at how good that sounds. 

He gets up on his knees, continuing to lick at your trembling folds as he fingers you even faster, adding a third finger that had you moaning in desperation.

It's like he's set your whole body on fire, the feeling of your lost orgasm threatening to push you straight into another one.

“John, it’s so…” You croak, your eyes focusing and unfocusing. “Think I’m gonna cum again.”

At this point, your voice is hoarse, each touch he’s giving you making you scream and cry out like you’ve never done before. 

“Yeah? You wanna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You nod, your eyes gassy with tears, “Wanna be your…your good girl.”

You could feel something coming, as he goes back to sucking on your clit, his fingers massaging your G-spot. 

It only takes a few moments before you're letting your body relax and squirt all over his fingers, the pleasure washing over you in waves. You’re too undone to make a noise, breathing heavily and choking on air. There are a few seconds where you think you’ve died.

He unfolds you, and you lie back down on the bed, needing him instantly. 

“John,” You whine, reaching out for him, and he’s right there, pulling you into his arms and taking care of you.

“What about you?” You ask. He had just about taken you to heaven and believe me you wanted to return the favour.

“Next time.”

Your heart flutters with the thought of a ‘next time’.

“Okay,” You snuggle against him and fall asleep together in pure bliss.  

You wake up in the morning, expecting to feel John’s arms around you. But there's no one there. You sit up and look around, but find nothing. No note explaining where he was and his car's no longer in the driveway.

You came to the conclusion, he woke up, saw you and decided that it was a mistake. It was disappointing but you’re used to being disappointed.

So much for ‘I see you’. 

So much for ‘next time’.

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

The next couple of days are a blur, it’s back to business as usual. Soccer practice, laundry, answering emails with a fake sense of urgency. To anyone else, it seemed like nothing had changed, but not to your daughter.

“I saw Tommy yesterday,” she says casually as she sets her backpack down.

“Oh? How is he?” you ask, trying to sound neutral.

“Great, but his dad didn’t look too happy…”

Your ears perk up at that. He was also miserable? Good. It was his fault anyway… wasn’t it?

“You don’t look happy either.”

You flinch at how blunt she is. You should’ve known, there was no hiding anything from her. She might only be a kid, but she could read you like a book.

“Lily…” you start, but she cuts you off with the maturity of someone far beyond her years.

“Just be adults and talk to him…”

“It's not that simple,” Your voice is shaky with uncertainty. You're not even sure you'd be able to speak if you were face-to-face with him again.

“Well you need to especially since I’m going over to Tommy’s today.”

“You what?” you say, nearly falling out of your chair.

“You said I could,” she adds quickly. “Last week, before… whatever this is.”

Damn it. She was right. You had completely blanked on that. It was before the whole thing with John went bust.

You were conflicted with how you felt about John, but you wouldn’t let your issues affect her. 

“Fine, go get your stuff. We leave in five.”

You drive over to his place, your heart dropping lower and lower as you get closer to his house. Your fingers grip your steering wheel like it’s your lifeline. 

“You’re not coming in to say hi?” Lily asks almost incredulously.

“I think it’s best I don’t. I’ll be here at 6 to pick you up. Have fun!”

Lily doesn’t say anything at first; she just looks at you, brows raised, lips pursed like she’s debating whether or not to push. Was that what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of your judging looks? You didn't like it one bit. 

But in the end, she sighs, unbuckles her seatbelt, and grabs her bag. “You two are so dramatic.”

He sees her first, ruffles her hair, then his gaze shifts past her, locking with yours through the windshield. It only lasts a second, but it’s enough. You look away first.

Then you drive off, trying not to think about him. 

Hours pass, John is very much on your mind the entire time, and before you know it, you’re back at his house to pick up Lily. Walking your way up the driveway, you feel your nerves creeping in. You hesitate a second before ringing the doorbell.

“Hey,” John greets you, opening the door—and he looks just as good as the last time you saw him, maybe even better.

“Hey yourself,” you reply awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

There's the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs, and then Tommy appears, greeting you with a wide grin.

“It’s time to go already?” Lily calls from behind him, voice dripping with faux innocence. She was laying it on thick.

Before you can answer, Tommy jumps in. “Can you and Lily stay for dinner?”

“I don’t know…” You start, unsure how to say no politely.

“Dad, convince her. We’re having your famous spagbol,” Tommy adds, eyes hopeful.

You catch the look on his face—so earnest, so excited—and then turn to John. An easy smile creeps onto your face despite yourself. 

“Famous, huh?”

John smirks. “It’s pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

By the time dinner is ready, it feels easy with him, dangerously easy. You sit around the table with him and the kids, laughing between bites of spaghetti, the kind of domestic quiet that used to feel foreign now curling around you like a blanket. It felt so right. But still, there’s that persistent whisper in the back of your mind — If he wanted this, really wanted this, he would’ve stayed that night.

Before you can spiral too deep into your own thoughts, Tommy pipes up brightly, “Can Lily and I have a sleepover?”

You glance at John, caught off guard. “Lily and I should really get going, plus Lily doesn’t have anything to change into.”

“I brought clothes and my toothbrush,” Lily says far too quickly.

You narrow your eyes. “And why did you do that if you were just supposed to stay for the afternoon?”

Lily and Tommy exchange a look — a guilty, sheepish look that screams we planned this.

John chuckles under his breath, clearly catching on. “I wouldn’t mind,” he says, glancing at you. “I could set up a spot for Lily in Tommy’s room.”

“You should stay too!” Tommy adds enthusiastically, eyes shining with innocent matchmaking energy.

“I don’t have any pyjamas to sleep in, Tom,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“You can borrow my dad’s!” he says like it’s the simplest solution in the world.

You blink. These kids were really committing to the bit.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…” You begin, your voice a little quieter, your gaze flicking to John.

“You wouldn’t be,” he says, meeting your eyes. “I have a guest room. It’s yours if you want it.”

His voice is calm, but there’s something soft in it. An invitation. Like he wanted you to stay. 

“It’s decided then,” Your daughter interjects before you can try to squirm out of it.

You had been tricked by two 9-year-olds; this was a new low. 

The hours drifted by as you sat in the living room, all watching a movie together.

Your eyes were fixed on the screen, but all you could think about was John. The fact that sitting just a few feet away, but still felt so far away. 

Though if you had turned your head to look at him, you would’ve seen him looking back at you. His gaze would tell you everything you wanted to hear, but alas, that isn’t fate’s plan. 

The movie ends, and the kids groan when John tells them it’s time for bed. It’s a whirlwind, as they rush around tuckering themselves out. Entering Tommy’s room, you go over to Lily, who’s already in bed, ready for you to tuck her in. You pull the blanket up to Lily’s chin, smoothing her hair like you do most nights, your voice soft in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

“Remember, be an adult,” Lily says, reminding you not to be a coward, essentially. 

“Goodnight, Lil,” You reply before kissing her forehead. Maybe, just maybe, you’d consider her words. 

“Goodnight, Mom,” she murmurs, already half-dreaming.

You stand slowly, and as you turn to leave, you notice Tommy looking at you. His eyes are peeking out from under his blanket, lids heavy but alert.

You pause. “Do you want me to tuck you in, too?”

He hesitates, then gives the smallest nod, like he’s not quite sure he should, but wants to anyway.

You gently and carefully tuck him into his covers like you had with Lily. “There,” you whisper. “Comfy?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing one eye. “Thanks, Mom.”

You’re shocked hearing him call you ‘Mom’. You glance down at him, already drifting off, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, completely unaware of the weight his words carried.

You swallow and manage a quiet, “Goodnight,” brushing his hair back gently before slipping out of the room. What you don’t know is that on the other side of the hallway, just out of sight, John is standing perfectly still.

He’d heard it too.

He didn’t know how to respond to it either, wasn’t sure what it meant or what came next, but for now, he was just… happy. Happy that his son felt safe with you. 

Later that night, you lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling of the guest room, your thoughts louder than the quiet hum of the house. The shadows shift with the streetlight outside, but your mind stays frozen. You were wearing his shirt, and he was on your mind. It smelled like him, and you could imagine his arms around you. You bury your face in it, wishing that he was with you and not in a room down the hallway. 

You needed to confront what happened that night. You hadn’t talked about it since. It lingered like static between you, unspoken but never forgotten. And you couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t matter, not when it meant everything. 

You needed to know if he wanted you when you’re both sober.

So, gathering every ounce of courage, you throw off the blanket, slide quietly out of bed, and make your way down the hall to his room. The floor feels colder than you expected. Or maybe that’s just your nerves.

You stop in front of his door.

Raise your fist.

And then… freeze.

You stand there for what feels like forever, five minutes, at least, your knuckles hovering midair. Your heart pounds loud enough to fill the silence, your thoughts racing. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if that night was just a mistake?

Suddenly, the door swings open, and it startles the living hell out of you — your fist, already midair, connects squarely with his face.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper-shout, eyes wide as John stumbles back, one hand instantly flying to his nose.

“Shit,” he groans, squinting in pain and trying to blink away the surprise. “You can throw quite a punch.”

“Oh my god, John. Holy fuck. I am so, so sorry,” you ramble, panic surging through you as you hover uselessly in front of him. “Let me get ice, I’ll fix it… just, don’t die.”

You spin around and scuttle off toward the kitchen, trying to keep your footsteps light even though your heart’s thudding like a drum solo. The freezer is a disaster. No ice trays. Who doesn’t have ice trays?

You spot something. Grab it.

Moments later, you return with a sheepish expression and a frozen bag clutched in your hand.

“I couldn’t find an ice tray,” you mutter, pressing the bag gently to his face, “so I got peas.”

You sit down with him on the bed, holding the bag of peas to his nose. “That won’t bruise or anything, right?”

“No, I’ll be okay. Worried about my handsome face, are you?” John jokes, and you’re just glad he has a sense of humour about it. 

You groan and drop your forehead onto his shoulder, mortified. “This was not how I pictured this going.”

His hand gently touches the small of your back. “You were coming to talk to me, right? About… us?”

You nod against him. “Yeah. Before I assaulted you.”

“Let’s start there,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes with a crooked smile. “Because I was kinda hoping we’d finally talk about it too.”

“Really? It didn’t feel like that since you ran,” you say, voice low. You were trying not to sound hurt, but you were. He weighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and moves his bag of peas off his face to look at you.

“You’re right to be mad. I just… I panicked when I woke up next to you.”

“You were regretful,” you say, attempting to finish his sentence. His eyes widen, and his mouth parts like he’s about to protest.

“No, no—that’s not it at all. I was scared. That if you saw me when you woke up, you’d think it was a mistake.”

He takes a breath, shuffling closer. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You’re such a pain in the ass, always calling me out and keeping me on my toes. But also kind, and funny, and you make me feel so… alive.”

His hand lifts gently, your cheek resting against his palm. It feels perfect, like this is what fate had in store all along.

“I'm an idiot for running but I do like you. I’m falling for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, heart racing. “I’m falling for you, too, John Walker.”

Pulling him in, your hands still cold and wet from holding the bag of peas, but he doesn’t care. You kiss him like it’s the only thing keeping you upright—like if you stop, everything might collapse around you. 

The two of you pull your clothes off each other's bodies but there's no rush. Each layer that comes off brings you that much closer together.

Now completely naked you sit in front of him and you can see why he has all that confidence. His fingers tangle in your hair and he's about to kiss you when you stop him.

“Will they hear?”

“There's a couple rooms between us, they won't hear as long as you're not too loud.”

“We both know that's going to be a challenge,”You say, recalling the way you were hollering when he ate you out. Your surprised that none of your neighbours issued a noise complaint.

“You need to try or I'll have to find something to gag you with,” John suggests, his voice low and sultry.

“Don't threaten me with a good time.”

He pressures you back into the bed and bites your neck hard enough to leave a big mark.

“You better hope no one asks about that.”

“Let them ask, you can explain to them exactly what I did to you.”

The marks don't stop there. By the time he's done you look like you've been attacked by a wild animal. Hickeys and love bites littered all over your skin, each one a testament of John's desire for you.

“Need you inside me,” You pant out already guiding him towards you with your legs. 

He looks down at you with hooded eyes the anticipation eating you alive before he wraps his arms around you and crarryignyou off the bed.

“Where are we—?” You start but don't finish as you notice he's plopped you down right in front of a mirror.

It's the perfect solution for when someone wants to fuck you from behind and see you fall apart of their cock. Thank everything for whoever invented mirrors.

He lightly kicks your feet apart, hands gliding up your body before resting on your boobs.

You getting back against him, trying to feel him and needing him to fuck the daylights out of you. It had been long enough and you were tired of waiting. 

“Impatient, aren't you?”

“I just need you. Don't make me suffer,” You pout, the mirror capturing the needy look in your eyes. 

“Well, who am I to say no to you?” He says before lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in.

Anticipating the screen you were about to let out, he covers your mouth with his hand.  Only the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing in the room. 

“Look at yourself, look at how quickly you feel apart for me,” John whispers against your ear. And he was right. You were a complete mess after only a few thrusts, eyes watery as your neck arches into him.

“So good,” You manage to get out without screaming. He grabs you by the hair, exposing your neck too him as he gives you a few more hickeys for good measure. Rocking your hips into you as he paints your neck with his lips.

Suddenly, your hips are being lifted into the air as he wraps his arms around you as if getting ready to suplex you. The way he starts fucking you is just as disorientating as a suplex would be. He's hitting your sensitive spot dead on turning your legs to jelly as they dangle in the air.

He's manhandling like you're a doll and you love it, especially when you can see it all happening in the mirror. The way his veins on his arms were popping with effort as he milks his cock with your pussy like you're a fleshlight.

“That's it, breed me, John.”

Hearing you say that only made him double his efforts.

“Is that what you want? Want me to get you pregnant?” John says, his fingers gripping your hips, clearly excited at the prospect. You nod desperately like you need to have it or you'll die.

You gasp, whimper, cry and reaching out for anything to keep you quiet.

“N-need you to fill me up,” You stutter out, “Need your cum in me.”

Then you're given a brief break when he pulls you back from the mirror, tossing you back into the bed. But two seconds don't even pass before he's feeding his cock back into your needy hole.

“J-john!”

You squeal a little too loudly and never you know it his hand is on your chin guiding your own panties in your mouth. 

“Such a pretty sight,” John says as he cages you, fingers intertwining as he pins you against the bed.

 You know you won't be able to keep going much longer. Wrecked doesn't even begin to describe what you were and your orgasm was about to knock you into a whole new dimension.

Feeling his cock twitch, you lock your legs around his waist and he finishes deep inside of you which triggers your own orgasm. His hot cum fills you up, painting your fluttering walls as he effectively breeds you.

The both of you lay there catching your breath as your orgasms pulse through you. This was what life was about; having sex with hot single dads. 

You come back to your senses, just barely and have an evil idea.

Seeing the opportunity fate had presented you for payback, you flip your positions climbing on top of him and riding him into overstimulation. A strangled cry that was supposed to be your name falling from his lips. 

“Baby…” John whimpers as his body tenses up, abs contracting lines he's already about to cum again.

You could get used to having him at your mercy, bottom lip trembling as he tries to keep it together. 

“I like seeing you like this. So desperate for me and only me.” You pulling him to your lips by his hair. He groans but he's into it, he'd let you have your way with him just as much as you let him have his way with you.

“Only you,” He replies and you believe it. 

Your hand away from his hair, letting John's head hit the mattress, before going in and leaving your own string of love bites. He bites his lip, all but writhing under your soft touch. 

“Someone might see those.”

“Then you can explain to them what I did,” You say throwing his words back in his face.

You keep fucking until you tire yourselves out, your bodies sticky and heaving. It was as good as you imagined it would be and you're kicking yourself for not giving in earlier.

John's hand rests on your thigh tracing little patterns as you play with his hair when he asks a very pertinent question.

“Are you on birth control?”

Your eyes widen when you realise you are in fact not on birth control. With the downright sad lack of sex you were having before John walked into your life there was no reason to be on it.

“No”, You gulp,“We'll talk about it in the morning?”

John hums in agreement and holds you against his chest in a vice grip that screams “You're mine.”

In the morning, you’re happy to feel John’s arms still wrapped around you, his face pressed against your shoulder, his breath slow and even. Peaceful.

“Who wants pancakes?” you call out, later in the kitchen, sliding a golden stack onto the table with a grin.

You have a slow, sweet morning breakfast—the kind where everyone’s still in pyjamas, laughing over spilt flour and slightly burnt edges.

“Oh! Let me go get the syrup. Can you show me where it is, Tommy?” you ask.

Tommy nods enthusiastically, hopping up and heading toward the pantry with you, eager to help you find it.

Back at the table, Lily narrows her eyes at John, clearly sizing him up. Then, dead serious, she delivers:

“If you hurt my mom, you die. Understood?”

John blinks, caught off guard for a second, but then a slow smile tugs at his lips. He knew exactly where she got that intensity from.

“Understood.”

“Good,” Lily says, her expression finally softening. “You make great spagbol so I'd hate to have to kill you.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

It’s been a few months since you and John started dating — the kind of comfortable, lived-in months where you had keys to each other's places, regularly took the kids out together, and fell asleep on the couch on each other. 

Unlocking the door, John and Tommy step inside, and they’re immediately hit with the scent of burnt toast, a low hum of music, and the unmistakable energy of mild chaos. They were here to pick you and Lily up to carpool to the Saturday morning game, but it looked like they’d walked into a warzone, and at least it smelled like pancakes.

“Morning!” Tommy calls out as he looks around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. 

“Oh hi, guys,” you pant out from somewhere in the kitchen, out of breath and flustered. He doesn’t need to be able to see you to know you’re going through it.

Lily’s sitting at the dining room table, calmly sipping orange juice like she’s been through this before. Tommy runs over and sits beside Lily, swiping a pancake off her plate.

“Mom’s having a meltdown,” she says, totally unbothered. “It’s pretty intense. She yelled at the coffee machine.”

John raises an eyebrow and walks to the kitchen, and there you are, wearing one sock and a hoodie that you actually stole from John, batter on your cheek, surrounded by open containers and the remnants of pancake making.

“It’s so good to see you,” You cry as you practically jump into his arms. You let go of him so you can continue your spiral when he stops you. 

“Honey, you’re running around like a headless chicken. Let me help,” John offers.

You hesitate, then sigh and reach into the mess on the counter and pull out a hairbrush. “Can you finish braiding Lil’s hair for me? She’s lost her lucky cleats, and I need to find them before we leave.”

“On it.”

He kisses your forehead, warm and steady, before heading into the kitchen.

Lily watches him approach with guarded suspicion. “Please don’t mess this up.”

John grins. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional.”

He ruffles her hair on purpose, just to rile her up, and she bats his hand away with a huff and a laugh. 

Meanwhile, you’re darting around the house in full-on panic mom mode — lifting couch cushions, checking under the bed, even inside the fridge for some reason (you never know), until finally, you spot the missing shoes. Inside her toy chest, naturally, buried under a plastic tiara and two mismatched Barbie legs.

You walk back into the dining room to the sound of laughter, Tommy’s head thrown back as John tells some ridiculous story, funny voices and all. Lily’s giggling along too as he finishes tying off the braid with surprising skill.

You lean against the doorframe, heart swelling. It’s loud, it’s messy, but it’s yours. And in that moment, it hits you: this is what happy looks like.

“Found it,” you say, holding the shoes up triumphantly.

John looks up, grinning. “See? I told you everything would come together.”

You smile at him. This is perfect; he’s perfect.

“Are we ready to go?” you call out, grabbing your bag and keys.

They respond in a chorus of “Yeah!” and “Almost!” as shoes squeak across the floor.

Clambering into the car like a small tornado, Tommy buckles in and grins over at Lily. “Losing team’s parent buys ice cream,” he declares.

“Ohhh, bold move,” you say, raising your eyebrows in the rearview mirror.

“Looks like you’re buying ice cream,” John says smugly, sliding into the driver's seat, glancing at you like he already knows today’s outcome.

“In your dreams,” you shoot back, smirking as you start the engine.

This was the kind of happiness that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention—and all it took was yelling at a hot dad at a soccer game.

Masterlist

[chanandlersstuff]

Sunshine and Loverboy

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.

Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.

Word count: 8.639

Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and emotions and lots of feelings.

Author’s note: Hiii, thanks a lot for the love I've been reciving for the series and the nice messages.

It's been a while, but not that long, time it to perfection to be a month.

I hope this is what you wanted to read after the last part, after the rough path between them. And I want to say that I would gladly made them suffer more, but I didn't want you all to hate me so I fast forward right to the part we all wanted.

With that being said, enjoy, there's more to come about those two and I hope you enjoy it. Lots of love, ME.

gif credit @hayden-christensen

← Previous part

May 2022. This is what you came for.

Months had passed. Quiet ones. Months of polite distance, of sterile texts. A "Happy Holidays" here, a “Congrats on the trailer drop” there. Nothing like what it used to be. Nothing close to warmth.

They’d both thought the time apart might heal things. Soften the edges. Drown the ache. Maybe time would do what neither of them could, make it easier to let go.

But the second they saw each other again, it all came crashing back. The longing, the weight of everything unsaid, the quiet ache blooming behind their ribs like something alive.

For Hayden, it was like the sun had finally broken through months of grey skies, like something inside him, something starved, was finally warm again, like something in his chest uncoiled all at once, then immediately twisted again, tighter than before.

For her, it was like remembering how to breathe and hating herself for how much she missed it. Her heart slammed against her chest like it wanted to break free, like it wanted to jump out her chest and run to the person who it belonged to.

They saw each other across a sea of people. Publicists, fans, cameras, executives, handlers, stylists, all of them blurring into white noise.

Hayden stood still, rooted to the floor in his black tailored jacket, hands stopped mid air, eyes only on her. Like the room had tilted. Like the lights and sounds and flashes had vanished and the noise disappeared.

It was just her.

She walked slowly, trying not to rush. She had no right to, not after the silence, not after that night. But her body betrayed her, it always did around him. Her smile faltered for the first time that day.

God, he looks good.

Hair swept back, eyes lit from within, the curve of a smile he was trying hard to hide. Not perfect. Just…Hayden.

People moved between them. Camera crews. Assistants. Disney PR. She gave a practiced smile. He nodded to someone saying his name. 

But they were walking towards the other, slowly, tentatively. One moment there they were, the other they were close. Too close.

She looked up, timid and unsure, the way she had the very first time they met in person, like she was bracing for impact, and Hayden’s body was moving before his brain could catch up. Stepping forward and hugging her.

Not a staged hug. Not a half-press of bodies for the sake of polite industry affection. No, his arms wrapped around her like he’d been waiting a lifetime to do it again.

She froze for a second, caught off guard. Her breath hitched, but then her body remembered too. Quickly easing in his arms, inhaling deeply so he could invade all her senses, her hands gently curled at his back softly.

But the hug was over far too fast, ripped away by reality. By flashes. By movement. By all the eyes watching. 

They stepped back and it was like it never happened. But it did. It so fucking did.

His heart was still racing. Her perfume clung to the fabric of his jacket.

She looked at him, blinking the daze out of her eyes, a hand still hovering like it didn’t know where to fall.

Hayden found his voice first. Croaky. Thin. Meaning every word.

“You look good.”

God, you look incredible.

She smiled, small, timid, but he knew it was a real one. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “So do you.”

Because he never didn’t look good.

She wanted to say more and he wanted to hold her again, but then a handler’s voice cut through the moment. He was needed for a press stop while she was needed for photos, which put a slight look on her face, which was quickly gone, but he noticed. 

And just like that, they were being pulled apart again. Looking over their shoulders briefly before they were gone. 

Back into the crowd, back into orbit, apart, once again, and God, it hurt more than before.

Because even after all this time, touching her still felt like home and letting her go still felt like hell.

Along the day, they were ushered here and there, photo lines, interviews, press booths. They barely had time to breathe, let alone talk and maybe that was a mercy because they wouldn't have known where to start.

They kept looking just past the other, like they were pretending, like it didn’t ache. But the tension grew. Every time she caught a glimpse of him, her pulse skipped. Every time he heard her laugh from across the room, he looked without meaning to.

They were orbiting again. Two moons caught in the same gravity, doomed to circle without ever colliding. Close, but never quite touching. 

When she found a second to breathe, a moment of peace, she slipped into the panel crowd, as if she was just another fan. Because before she was a director, she was a fan.

She texted Ewan as she found a spot at the side of the crowd, watching as the room swelled with anticipation.

Just bumped into the cutest looking boy dressed as you Might’ve found my favorite Obi-Wan

You’re in the panel?

Yeah

Don’t get lost in the crowd We need you

You’re going to do fine You’re more used to the reflector than me

I'll be fine Your lover boy on the other hand…

He's going to be fine too The people love him He just has to believe it

You love him too?

You’re about to be presented Good luck

You didn’t answer, so I’m taking that as a yes

She didn’t reply, just stared at the stage as the lights dimmed and the host’s voice boomed through the space, echoes of excitement curling in the air.

Minutes after, with a great song in the background, the pair walked in sync to the big couch in the middle of the stage and, as the fan girl she was, she cheered and applauded for them. It took five solid minutes for the crowd to stop making noise, encouraged by the older of the pair of course while he looked around.

She watched Hayden in all his glory. The shy smile on his lips, how he waved to the crowd with that unsure, sweet energy that only made them scream louder, the way he manspread with those legs long, one hand casually on his knee, his hair was swept behind his ears. He was mesmerising to her eyes, he always had been and always will be. The black suited him perfectly. 

Hayden was trying not to look nervous, but she knew him. Too well.

The typical questions were asked, how it felt to come back, how it was feeling to be back, how excited they were to be there. Normal, routine questions. The interviewer asked him a question, but he praised the crowd, making them go wild again. While the crowd died down he looked among the ground, her cheer was the one that was heard, and she almost passed out from embarrassment, but it was like they had some kind of pull towards the other because the second she opened her eyes big, he found her and an immense smile plastered across his face, unfiltered, real.

They called his name but he kept watching her way.  He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to, not for a second. Even in a room full of adoration, it was her he looked for. Her he wanted to impress. Her approval he still needed like oxygen.

The flashbulbs didn’t bother him. Only her silence did numbers on him.

He was seated in the middle of the stage, people calling his name, but he could feel her. A whole sea of people between them, and he felt her. Always.

It took a little nudge from his friend and the interviewer calling his name again to take him back to the present. “I’m sorry what?” Hayden said with a smile.

The crowd and the interview laughed and his friend took the chance to lean in and whispered something to his ear. “I take by the look on your face that you found her, lover boy.” Ewan leant back on his seat and enjoyed how his friend rolled his eyes but a blushed appeared in his cheeks.

The interview went back to normal, back and forth with question and answers and the crowd shouting how much they loved them, they laughed and smiled the whole time. While he wasn’t answering questions, and Ewan was, Hayden kept glancing to where she was and then looked around, to not be too obvious, like he was afraid he might get caught wanting her.

“You know, I had to bridge a gap between my last work as Obi-Wan and then Alec Guinness in the New Hope and we just sort of brainstormed what we thought about it. The film was going to be a movie at one point and it turned into a series. Thank God Miss Director became our director because she's splendid.” The people cheered and she smiled, not only at the nickname but at the kind words. “My god she's so good, she's so talented and because she directed all of the episodes it's got her singular vision throughout.” The praise of Ewan, an actor with so much experience in his career, someone who she admired, made her blushed and smile like crazy. “And yeah, you'll see where he's at,” he finished with a cheeky smile.

“And Hayden, how about you?” The interviewer looked at him. “I mean obviously you are, you were, playing Anakin and now you're kind of playing Vader and so, how are we seeing these changes happen? What are we seeing from Anakin now or are we seeing Vader?” They all were excited for the answer.

Hayden sat straight and smiled. “That's what makes this character so compelling, that duality, that inner conflict of self-identity.” The crowd cheered. “It's just been such a thrill to get to come back and continue my journey with the character and to get to explore Darth Vader at this point in the timeline has been huge.” They applauded. “But more than that, it’s been a gift to do it under the guidance of someone so capable.” He paused and looked her way again, but this time, he didn’t look away. “Ewan said, Miss Director, as we like to call her…” His smile softened, sincerity bleeding into every word. “She’s incredibly, the best out there. She’s so intelligent and cool and creative.” 

Hearing those words from his lips made her blushed like a teenage girl all over again. 

“She did an amazing job showing these characters at their best. For the fans. For all of us.” The people cheered again and he nodded. “Let’s get an applause for her, she’s amazing,” Hayden said. 

And before anyone could react, he started clapping. Loud. First. Proud. Ewan joined in, then the rest of the stage, then the room, making her freeze in her stop. 

A sea of people cheering, clapping, and yet, he was watching her. And she was watching him too, because she always did.

The press photos were chaos in slow motion, shouts from photographers layered over one another like crashing waves.

“This way, Ewan!” “Hayden, eyes to your left!” “Miss Director, chin up, beautiful!”

Flash. 

Flash. 

Flash.

They were all lined up, grinning like professionals, rotating in and out of different formations, cast group shots, duo shots, solo poses. Everyone playing their part in the well-oiled, red-carpet machine.

And she? She was luminous in the storm, blinding. To the point Hayden could barely breathe. Staring like a young boy, breath snagging behind his ribs.

How is her face not plastered across every screen in the world? How are there not statues built in her image? How has the world not fallen in love with her already?

She looked like she belonged in another dimension entirely. Her suit was plum-purple, almost like the stains she had on her lips on new years, that kissed every curve like it was made just for her. Her heels gave her just enough height to command the space as she moved with subtle confidence, and her silver jewelry sparkled each time she moved under the lights. She was elegant and slightly fidgety in a way only he would notice. She looked like a star who didn’t know she was one. Like something that shouldn’t be real, and yet… here she was.

And the scent. That jasmine warmth that he had memorized since meeting her. It hit him again as she walked past, brushing just close enough that he could feel the hem of her suit against his leg.

God, she was mesmerizing.

Hayden watched her from the opposite end of the lineup, his own face calm and composed for the cameras, but his eyes kept drifting. Even when it wasn’t his turn, even when he should’ve been adjusting his stance, he looked at her.

She looked like a goddess and she didn’t even know it.

And now everyone else would see it too. Everyone else would know what he’d always known. She was splendid. She was brilliant.

Maybe that was how it should be. Maybe he should’ve always been just a witness to her becoming. Still, he missed being part of it.

She laughed, genuine and sudden, and his eyes snapped to her without thinking. Ewan had said something to her. He didn’t know what, he couldn’t hear it over the noise and shutter clicks, but her head tipped back with laughter, hand instinctively brushing Ewan’s arm as she leaned in, her face lit up.

His chest clenched, not with jealousy, but with envy, sharp and cold and familiar. Because once, it would’ve been him.

It should have been me.

Once, he would’ve been the reason she laughed through her nerves. Once, she would’ve leaned into his space like that. Once, she would’ve nudged his side with her elbow. Once, she would’ve looked to him for safety in the chaos. Once, it would’ve been his name that calmed her heart.

But now? Now he just kept stealing glances and swallowing the ache down. Now she stood three people away, and every inch felt like an entire universe. But God, he missed being the one she looked at when she laughed.

How on God’s green Earth you let the center of your universe slip just far enough that you couldn’t reach her?

“Can we get one of Hayden and Miss Director together, please?” a photographer called out, cutting through the noise.

The whole world paused and his stomach twisted.

He would’ve declined, gently, if she hesitated, if she so much as flinched. But she didn’t, instead a smile appeared on her lips. That small, tired, quiet smile, the one she gave when she’d already felt too much that day and was still standing.

She walked toward him, unhurried. Graceful. Controlled and he met her halfway. When their eyes met in the middle, everything went still. 

The lights, the cameras, the shouting voices, all of it dissolved into a low hum in the back of his mind, drowned out by the roar of his pulse. Everything in him leaned toward her without moving. Every cell of his body reached.

As soon as her hand found his back, gently, his lungs stopped working, his body stilled, like even breathing might ruin it. Just by a simple touch, steadying, familiar, touch.

For months, he’d only remembered the feel of her touch in memories. Ghosts of her touch. The phantom sensation of her closeness. Now, here she was. Real. Near. And he could barely take it. His body shuddered with restraint.

Her touch seared right through the fabric, right into his skin, right into the ache he’d been carrying since the last time he hugged her, all the way back to September.

He had to physically stop himself from looking at her the whole time, from turning into her the way he used to, like a planet caught in her pull. He looked forward, like he was supposed to, pose, smile, look composed professional and separate, but his jaw was tight from the effort, molars hurting.

Every part of him wanted to turn into her, to lean in, to surrender at her mercy, and the flesh was weak, so he looked at her. Because he couldn’t not and it wrecked him.

The makeup was soft and flattering, but it was her eyes that did the most damage, sparkling, alive, present. And, God those lips. Parted ever so slightly, the corner twitching with nerves or humor or both. They were the kind of soft that invited sin. The kind that made him forget every vow of distance, every plan to hold back. Hayden almost crumbled at her feets. 

His body screamed to lean in and kiss her. To close the space that never should have existed between them.

God, he wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. Because this, she, was gravity and he’d been floating, lost, for far too long.

He wanted to bury his hands in her hair and taste every month he’d spent without her. He wanted to tell her that every reason he’d had in July, every wall he’d built, felt just a little less solid now.

But he didn’t have the right.

He could have kissed her then. But he didn’t. He could have chosen her. But he pulled away.   He could have kept choosing her. But he was a coward.

Even if he still believed it was the right choice, believed it had protected her, protected them both. Standing next to her, her hand on his back, his name being shouted by strangers, he wasn’t so sure anymore. All reasoning shook, it shook hard. And in its place, in its cracks, bloomed something else: Regret. Bone-deep, breath-stealing, regret. Because he still ached in every place she had once loved him and he still loved her in every place that could not speak it aloud.

Then he noticed it, the tiny tells of her anxiety.

The way her fingers curled slightly against his blazer. The way her shoulders looked perfect to everyone else but were just a little too tight. The way she held her smile like it was painted on.

So he leaned in, subtly, and his hand lifted slowly, gently, brushing across her back in a barely-there caress, meant only for her.

His voice was low, only for her ears. “Just breathe and smile,” he said, tenderly, every syllable feather-soft. “You’re a natural. Everyone here loves you.”

She looked at him, just a flick of her gaze, but it was enough.

“You got this, Bubble,” he reassured her.

The nickname fell from his lips like it had been waiting there the whole time. Like it had been sitting just behind his teeth for months, desperate for permission to breathe.

It was effortless. Natural. Home. A real one. And she smiled, looking at him and Hayden did too, making the cameras click for a few seconds before they looked up to the front.

He was almost certain it was the only photo from the entire day where his smile touched his eyes. Born from her touch. Her warmth. Her nearness.

Because of her. Always because of her.

And as the flashbulbs went off, as they stepped away with professionalism still wrapped around them like armor, he wondered if she could feel it too—that unspoken thing lingering in the space between their hands.

That thing that still lived. That never stopped living.

Backstage was a hive of movement, headsets crackling, clipboards flipping, assistants whispering frantic directions, stage lights flickered behind curtains, the final checks were happening. The crowd outside was already thunderous, laughter, cheers, the sound of anticipation about to break, the bass from the stage thumping low against the concrete beneath their feet.

She stood near the back wall, near the emergency exit light, which she was about to use to escape, hidden from the bustle, just far enough from everyone to look like she needed space. Not close enough for anyone to really see her.

But he saw her.

Hayden had been looking over his shoulder every few seconds, completely ignoring what one of the cast was saying, eyes glue to her.

Because he knew.

Knew from the way her hand gripped her own arm like a lifeline, from the way her eyes stared out at nothing, from the way she bit down on her bottom lip, too hard, too long. Panic. The familiar threat of it. Coursing under her skin like a storm waiting to break.

He didn’t think, nor ask and just walked up, quiet and slow, and stopped a breath away.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

He stepped in a little closer, cautious, like approaching a skittish bird. “You with me?”

She gave the smallest nod, fragile, like it took everything she had.

“I can’t breathe,” she admitted. The whisper of it cracked something in his chest. “I can’t—I don’t think I can do this.”

His chest ached. “Okay,” he said, voice a thread. “Okay. Just look at me, alright?”

He didn’t say “you’ll be fine” or “you always pull through”, because this wasn’t about reassurance. It was about holding her there, right in that breath, and keeping her grounded.

So he stepped closer and her eyes lifted, wide and shiny, fragile. And he stood in front of her, not blocking, but shielding. Like a wall. Like a harbor. Like a man who would keep the rest of the world at bay if it meant she could breathe.

With his 6’0” frame towering over her, broad shoulders cutting her off from the crowd behind them, he dipped his head until they were eye level. Until the world shrank to just the two of them.

And reached for her hands without hesitation, took them in his like they belonged there. His thumbs brushed gently over her knuckles.

“Just here,” he whispered. “Just me and you. Nothing else.”

Her icy fingers tightened around his warm ones. It was too soft, too much, but it was also all she had.

She blinked up at him then, eyes glassy with panic, lips parted in the way they always were when she was trying not to cry.

“Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “Just breathe, alright? Just with me.”

She inhaled, shaky. Then again.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “I don’t—I’m not—”

He knew the words before she said them, because he knew the script. Impostor syndrome was a familiar ghost. But it had no place in her.

So he brought one hand up to her cheek, warm hand to her cold skin, and tilted her face gently upward, brushing the edge of her jaw with his thumb, just enough to catch her eyes. His other brought her trembling hand to his chest, right over his heart, and pressed it there, warm and solid beneath her palm, grounding her.

“Don’t do that,” he said, and his voice cracked, just a little. “Don’t say you’re not supposed to be here. You made this. All of this.”

She looked like she might break, so he stepped in closer, closer than he should have. Close enough that her forehead could rest against his chest if she leaned forward even an inch.

His heartbeat was so steady, grounding, strong enough to borrow, and her forehead slowly leaned forward and rested her forehead just below his collarbone, eyes fluttering closed.

And he couldn’t not hold her, so he did. She hadn’t realized how close she was to falling apart until he wrapped one strong arm around her, pulling her gently against him, securely. As if he’d done it a thousand times, because he had, because this was muscle memory. Because this was them and she let herself be folded into him like a breath finding its place again.

He tucked her gently beneath his chin, letting her rest against the warmth of him, his taller frame folding around her protectively. Hayden pressed her into him with just the right amount of pressure, not too tight, not too loose. Just right. Just enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

She melted into his hold, like her body knew exactly where it belonged. Her breath started to even out. The noise outside faded into background static. Her heart beat slower. His scent calmed every frantic nerve.

Leaning down just enough to the point his lips brushed against her temple, his hand came up, slowly, reverently, to stroke through her hair, soft and steady. The way you touch something sacred.

“Remember what I told you the first time we met in person?” he asked, voice a whisper only she could hear, wrapped in warmth and memory.

She shook her head against his chest.

He smiled, barely. “I told you… If they chose you to be here, it’s because you’re the best.”

Hayden pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand now on the side of her neck, thumb brushing lightly under her jaw. His eyes cathing how her lower lip quivered, her eyes glossy.

“It’s true,” he said again, firmer this time. “So don’t let your head play games with you.”

Her chin dropped as she nodded, and a single tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

And Hayden, God, he wanted to wipe it away with his hands, to brush it aside with his lips, with his soul, with every part of himself he’d been keeping quiet for months. He wanted to hold her face, kiss the panic out of her skin, give her peace in a way only he ever could.

But he didn’t and instead just held her closer, anchored her there to him.

“Just breathe with me,” he murmured, low and gentle. A prayer. “Just me and you. Nothing else.”

And so they did.

Inhale. Exhale.   Together.

Her forehead rested against his chest for the briefest second, her hand still over his heart, his arm still anchoring in place. Their chests rising and falling in sync. The rest of the world kept moving, but they didn’t. They stayed.

It was torture and home at the same time.

“You’re not alone,”  he whispered into the space between them, just for her. “Not tonight.”

Not ever.

She smiled, barely. Broken but grateful. “You always say the right thing,” she said, the words catching in her throat.

“I don’t.” His lips curved, eyes lowering, heavy with everything he never said. “Not usually.”  Not with you. “But I know you and that helps.”

She let out a soft breath of a laugh, shaky but real. Because yes, he did. Better than anyone ever had.

He looked at her then, really looked at her. Eyes searching every inch of her face like it was the last time he’d be allowed to memorize her.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But the right words still lived somewhere between his throat and his chest, and neither would give them up. So they stayed there, stuck and heavy.

A call came from the stage crew, they were about to be introduced and the curtain was about to be lifted.

She pulled back gently, smoothing her jacket with a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

And he nodded, jaw tight. “Anytime you need me.”

Then she gave him a small smile, tight, brave, and walked past him, her perfume trailing behind like the memory of a dream he never got to finish and he stared after her, fists clenched at his sides.

They couldn’t keep doing this. They wouldn’t. Not after tonight.

They still hadn’t really spoken, but it wasn’t necessary because their silence had learned to carry volumes.

All day they had been pushed and pulled, spun like planets around a dying star, and still, the second they laid eyes on each other again, they remembered everything. Every laugh. Every almost. Every smile. The goodbyes.  And it was still too much.

And the tension? The ache? It hadn’t faded with time, it had evolved, becoming something deeper, quieter, unshakable.

The road was quiet, almost eerily so after the storm of energy that had been the convention. The soft hum of the highway filled the silence around him, headlights stretching into the dark as Anaheim faded behind him. 

His shirt had the first couple of buttons undone, sleeves folded almost to his elbows, suit jacket thrown in the passenger seat, and one arm resting on the door. 

The adrenaline started to wear off, leaving only the low ache of exhaustion mixed with the buzz from earlier in his bones. His mind was elsewhere, like usually lately, and a constant hum in his chest that had started since he saw her again.

His phone rang once, a smile appeared on his lips as soon as he saw the name of the caller and pressed the button on the dash. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Daddy!” Her voice was bright and sweet, like it always was.

It always made something in him settle, no matter how loud his world got. No matter how heavy.

“Did you talk about the show today?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “We had a big panel. Lots of people. A lot.”

“Did you wear that dark shirt you look cool in?”

“I did,” he laughed. “You always know what I’m wearing, huh?”

“Because I know you,” she said simply, as if that explained everything. “And I saw the panel on Youtube.”

“Did you now?”

She hummed. “They were so loud, when you and Ewan walked out” she commented. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, despite the fact that she couldn't see him.

“And they screamed and clapped so loud when you talked about Bubble too,” she sounded happy. 

He smiled, chest aching in the best way.

“You looked like a total nerd in love, daddy.”

Hayden’s hand tightened on the wheel. “Did I now?”

“You did.” She giggled. “Everyone in the comments said you were ‘down bad.’ I didn’t know what that meant, but I do now.”

He grinned. “I’m gonna have to talk to your mom about your internet access.”

“Too late.” She said it like a challenge, then softened. “Did she look pretty?”

His smile softened too. “More than pretty.”

“Did you say that?”

“No,” he admitted, voice small now. “Not with those words.”

“Why not?”

And there it was, that tiny dagger of truth.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I guess I got scared.”

“Of what?”

He blinked. “It’s not that simple, bug.”

“Why not?” Her voice tilted up. “Do you love her?”

The words hit harder than expected, not because they were new, but because they were true.

He exhaled. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I do.”

There was a long pause on the other end. He could hear her thinking.

“Like…movie love?” she asked, and he could hear her climbing into bed on the other side of the phone. “Like when the boy looks at the girl and knows he wants to be in her movie forever?”

He smiled, painfully. “Yeah. Just like that.”

There was a rustling of sheets.

Then, soft and serious: “Then why haven’t you told her yet?”

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to explain fear and timing and guilt and almosts.

“I think you should tell her,” Briar said firmly. “Because if you love her like that, and you don’t say it, then… she won’t know she’s in your story.”

He blinked up at the ceiling.

“And I was watching Anastasia again today,” she added, her voice dreamy now, “and remember how Dimitri gave her the music box and said he didn't know he was in love with her until he wasn’t with her anymore?”

He smiled, heart squeezing. “I remember.”

“And he almost let her go,” she whispered, “but then he didn’t.”

Hayden swallowed hard.

“You’re my brave Daddy, right?”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

“Then don’t be like the boys who are scared. Be like Dimitri. Say it. Or else you’re gonna be sad. And I don’t want that.”

He sat in silence for a moment, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want that either,” he said.

“You love her,” she said again, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe. “So go tell her.”

And suddenly, everything settled.

It was a truth settled into him like a stone finding its place at the bottom of a lake. Because she was right.

Not that he didn’t know he loved her, because he had known it for a long time. But hearing it out loud, from the voice that mattered most in his world… it struck him differently. 

It solidified the truth. 

Now it was clear. Solid. Unshakeable.

He loved her. Loved her and he had to tell her with honesty, with himself, with every truth he’d held back since July. He had to tell her, not next time, not if it comes up. 

Hayde you have to tell her now. 

Because she deserved to know she was his story, she’d always been. And maybe… maybe it wasn’t too late.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay what?” she asked sleepily.

“I’ll tell her.”

A pause.

Then her quiet little voice again, already half-asleep: “Good. You always sound happier when she’s around.”

It’s been a long time coming. 

The street was quiet. That kind of quiet that only lived between midnight and dawn, where even the wind seemed to whisper.

Hayden parked outside her house, headlights dimmed. The dashboard lights glowed soft orange, casting shadows across his face. The dash clock blinked back at him, the numbers meaningless, his breath fogging faint against the window. He sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel like it might anchor him.

His chest was tight. Breath shallow. A wild, restless energy alive in every inch of him.

What are you doing, Hayden?

He stared at the house. At her house. Lights still on inside, a flicker of warmth behind the curtains. Her world. Her quiet. It looked warm inside, safe. It looked like her.

He closed his eyes. Briar’s voice still echoed in his chest like gospel. “You love her, so go tell her.” 

He could have waited for the “right time”, but having her in his arms again at the convention had opened the floodgates, and he couldn’t live behind the dam anymore.

He couldn’t go another night pretending he was fine, because holding it in hurt more than the fear of being turned away. He’d already wasted enough time.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, shoving the door open.

The night air hit him like a wave, cold, honest as he walked up the front steps, heart hammering like it wanted to tear through his ribs. Like if he didn’t knock right now, he’d stay lost in the almost.

He knocked. Once. Twice. And then the door opened.

She stood there, hair down, wrapped in a worn hoodie, barefoot on the wooden floor, glasses sliding down her nose. And still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Hi,” he breathed.

Her brows furrowed, surprised. “Hayden?”

His name in her mouth was soft. Questioning. A little stunned.

“I know,” he said quickly, hands up like he might stop her from closing the door. “I know. It’s late. I’m sorry, I just—”

He looked at her, really looked at her. Her tired eyes. The way she held the door with one hand, like she wasn’t sure if she should let him in.

So he stood in the glow of her porch light and let it spill.

“I was an idiot,” he said, voice thick. “I’ve been an idiot. Since July. Maybe longer. I’ve been walking around pretending I’m okay, that I made the right call. But I didn’t. I’ve been so, madly, in love with you, and I didn’t say it. I let you walk away from me with a broken heart.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just breathed.

He kept going.

“I meant what I said back then. About the risk. About wanting to protect you. But I should’ve told you the rest. The part where I—” he swallowed, rough and sharp, “—I wake up thinking about you. All the time.”

His voice dropped, like he was afraid of how big the truth felt, but he ached with it.

“Where your laugh is one of my favorite sounds. Where every time I see jasmines I think of you. Where I want to know what you think about my outfits because you are one of the most stylish person I know.”

Her eyes softened, just a little. And it kept pouring out.

“Where breakfast with you is one of my favorite moments and I want them with you, every day. Where I want to stay up until four in the morning watching musicals with you, even though I’ll complain and secretly love every minute. I want to kiss you in the morning, and fight over what coffee brand to buy. I want all of it. I want everything with you.”

He stepped closer, just enough for the light from inside to touch his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything. For being a coward. For hurting you. For not choosing you when I should’ve.”

A pause. A breath.

He let his hands fall to his sides, itching to touch her, completely open, completely bare.

“I didn’t plan this,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect you. But I can’t pretend I don’t feel it anymore.”

He looked at her, eyes burning, and stepped forward. One more inch. One more heartbeat closer.

“I think about you. Constantly.”

A moment of silence. Then he breathed, like it might be his last chance.

“Maybe it’s late. Maybe I missed my moment. But I’m here now. I’m not afraid. I’m just—”

He gave a quiet, broken laugh. Shook his head.

“I’m just a man, standing in front of the woman he loves, asking if there’s still a chance.” His voice came out all raw and wrecked.

She stared at him and he thought maybe his heart would stop from the weight of it all.

Her lips parted. Her chest rose. But no words came.

“I know I hurt you,” Hayden whispered, every word cracking under the weight of it. “I know I did. But I had to say it, because if I loved you less… I might be able to talk about it more.”

Her eyes shimmered in the porchlight. The night bent around them like the first verse of a love song that had taken too long to write. There he stood, on her porch, his heart in her hands, chest crack open, waiting, hoping

And she… folded her arms, leaning in the doorway, she tilted her head, full of grace. The quiet stretched between them, tight as thread.

“Can I talk now?”

Hayden’s chest nearly caved in. “Yeah,” he breathed, almost afraid to move.

And that was all she needed to let it bleed.

Not a scream, not anger, just truth, cutting, clean, honest. The kind of truth that struck like lightning and still tasted like honey.

“You broke my heart, Hayden,” she said, her voice trembling but steady. “You shattered it. And not all at once. Not loudly. You did it slowly. Quietly. With every look you didn’t give me, with every word you didn’t say, with every time you chose fear over me, with every time you said half the truth and left the rest buried in your chest.”

His throat tightened, but he didn’t speak because she needed to say this. He needed her to say it.

“But the worst part?” she said, taking a step closer, voice trembling with the kind of love that never left even when it should have. “I kept being in love with you, through all of it, even when it hurt. I kept being in love with you when you left. I kept being in love with you in the quiet. I was still in love with you even when I hated myself for it, even when I told myself to move on.”

Every word from her lips hit him like scripture. Like prophecy. Like truth. He took them in like they were breath and his lungs were on fire.

“I waited and waited, smiling through it.” Her voice cracked, barely. “Telling myself it didn’t matter. That the series was enough. That my work would be enough. But it wasn’t. You were supposed to be enough too.”

He tried to speak, she raised a finger, silencing him like a queen.

“And don’t you dare show up here, in the house, in the place you look like you belong in, just to tell me all the things I begged to hear months ago. Don’t you dare to say all that if you’re not ready to stay.”

A tear fell, glowing silver on her cheek.

“But,” she breathed, voice faltering, just a note, then rising again like a crescendo, “if you mean it, if you’re here, not to borrow me but to choose me, then yes. There’s a chance.”

Her arms dropped and stepped forward then. Just one step. But it was everything.

“I still want it all. The breakfasts. The arguments about which movie to watch. The inside jokes. The midnights watching storms. The faint cigarette smoke on my clothes. The laughing until I can’t breathe. The way your hand finds mine without looking. I want all of it, mundane and the extraordinary.”

Another tiny step closer, her hand founding the front of his shirt.

“But I’m not giving you pieces of me this time, Hayden,” she said, looking straight into him. “It’s everything. Or it’s nothing at all.”

“Everything,” he breathed out, somehow. 

She nodded and grabbed his collar, pulling him down into her like gravity was a myth. 

And the kiss?

God.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collapse, a wildfire. The moment when the orchestra explodes and everything the story has been building toward finally hits.

It was messy and wild and impossibly right. It was months of longing and regret and aching hope, poured into mouths that had waited too long.

Her hands tangled in his curls, pulling, grounding, owning him. His hands were everywhere, her waist, her back, the curve of her jaw, like he was trying to memorize every inch he'd lost, like she might vanish again if he wasn’t careful.

She tasted like tears and relief and forever.

And he kissed her like he was dying and she was breath. Like he knew every second they’d been apart and wasn’t wasting a single one more. Like he had been dead, hollow, since July and a kiss, not any kiss, her kiss, brought him back to life. Like she restarted his heart and somehow, she did.

Their bodies molded, their hearts crashed. It was too much and still not enough.

She clung to him like he was the anchor and the storm, arms wrapped around his middle, fists curling into his shirt, anchoring herself like she belonged there, because she did. And he held her like she was the place all the compasses had been pointing to, gripping her like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

When they broke apart, barely, breathing heavy, foreheads pressed together like a prayer, she whispered:

“Don’t leave again.”

And he didn’t even hesitate.

His voice was steady, full of wonder and worship and the kind of love you only admit once you’ve nearly lost it all.

“Not unless it’s with you.”

And right then, under the porchlight, they stopped being an almost and became the always.

The morning light spilled like melted gold across her bedroom, stretching over linen sheets, dipping into the soft curve of her neck where her head rested on his chest.

Hayden lay still, one arm around her back, the other resting loosely on her thigh where her leg tangled with his, her bare foot resting against his calf. Her breath rose and fell against him in even rhythms, like the tide. 

Familiar. Soothing. Home.

He wasn’t sure what woke him first, her warmth or the way his heart felt like it had finally stopped holding its breath.

He tilted his head, slowly, carefully, and brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. His fingers were gentle, reverent. She looked like something out of a dream he never wanted to wake from. He could’ve stayed there forever, watching the sunlight kiss her cheeks, memorizing the softness of her lips, the flutter of her lashes.

He could have, but he had a better idea.

Pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head, he whispered, “Back soon,” though she was too deep in sleep to hear.

And then he slipped quietly out of bed.

When she woke, the scent of him still clinging to the pillow beside her, on her skin, in the room, and a smile appeared on her lips. But she didn’t feel him and her sleep-heavy brain whispered that she’d imagined it, that last night had been a dream, one of the ones she never dared to hope for.

But then, she opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the warm light, and reached to the other side of the bed and it was still warm and the sound of soft clinks and muffled humming drifted in from the kitchen.

She sat up slowly, blinking sleep from her eyes, hair wild from the night, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Barefoot, she padded toward the kitchen, the cool floor grounding her as she rounded the corner.

And then she saw him.

Hayden. Barefoot too, in the hoodie that was his but she never gave back, sleeves pushed up as he stood at the stove, humming lowly to himself while he scrambled eggs and coffee brewing while toast popping.

Sunlight poured across the floor like it was showing off for him. As if it was leading her to him.

Her knees buckled a little and a smile stretched wide across her face, slow and stunned.

She walked toward him, slow and light, and slipped her hands under his hoodie from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist, cheek pressed to the warm curve of his back.

“Morning,” she murmured.

He hissed softly at the cold of her fingers. “Jesus,” he laughed, hand instinctively finding hers, warm and steady. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Whatcha doing?” she asked, peeking around his arm.

“Breakfast,” he hummed, as if it were obvious, as if it weren’t the single most romantic thing she’d ever witnessed at 7AM.

Giving him a light kiss on his back, she climbed onto the counter, legs swinging lightly as she watched him move, comfortable and easy like they’d always been this way.

He turned back to the eggs, but her presence kept tugging at his attention. She looked too cute there, hair messy, hoodie swallowing her whole, eyes sleepy and still full of love. So damn dreamlike that in between buttering toast, he leaned in and almost stole a kiss.

But before his lips could meet hers, her eyes flew wide and she jerked her head back. “No!”

He blinked, stunned. “What—?”

“I didn’t brush my teeth!” she cried, already hopping down from the counter like a woman on a mission.

And with that, she bolted down the hall, bare feet thumping against the floor, disappearing toward the bathroom.

Hayden laughed, really laughed, head back, shaking his head like she’d just told the best joke of his life. He couldn’t have given a bigger damn about morning breath or bed hair. She was her. She was his. And that was all that mattered.

A few minutes later, she padded back into the kitchen, lips freshly minty, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands and hair tied in a half bun.

She tried to walk past him on her way back to the counter, but his hand found the back of her neck as she passed, warm and firm.

He tugged gently. “Now give me my kiss,” he said, voice husky with sleep and something deeper. Something that made stars appear in her eyes and her knees falter a little. “Please,” he added, caressing her nose with the tip of his.

She leaned in and he met her halfway.

This time, it was slow. Sure. Devastating.

He kissed her like a man who had every intention of doing this every morning for the rest of his life. His hands cradled her face, guiding her, owning the moment, and she gave in gladly, letting him lead, letting herself fall.

When they broke apart, barely, she tilted her chin up, fingers weaving into his curls like they belonged there. With a breathless smile, she pulled him into a kiss, not urgent, not hungry, but slow and reverent. A kiss laced in sunlight, a kiss that was a promise.

She sighed into his mouth, the softest moan slipping from her lips, something so small and yet it lit every nerve ending in his body on fire. His free hand slid down, steady and sure, wrapping around her waist and pulling her flush against him like the only place she was ever meant to be was right there.

They didn’t part when the kiss ended, not truly. Their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the space between them. Her arms stayed looped around his neck, caressing the hairs at the nape of his neck and his hands held her like she was something he’d dreamed into reality.

She was looking up at him, not just with affection, but with awe too, like he was something celestial, like she couldn’t believe he was real.

He exhaled slowly and lifted one hand to her face, and with a kind of touch that could only be born from deep, aching love, he traced her features.

The soft arc of her brow, the curve of her nose, the swell of her lips, still pink from him, and she let him, totally entranced.

Her face rested in the cradle of his hands, her eyes sparkled, lips curved into the faintest smile as if the joy inside her was too big to stay hidden but too sacred to shout and he couldn’t stop smiling too

“What?” he whispered, like anything louder might shatter the spell.

Her lashes fluttered. “I’m mentally recording this moment.”

His chest stuttered. His heart roared.

“Are you…” he swallowed, breath catching, “utterly, incandescently happy?”

She just nodded, slowly, surely, and smiled so impossibly wide that it made the corners of her eyes scrunch, made his knees go weak, made every regret he'd ever known disappear like morning mist.

“Good,” he breathed, voice catching in his throat. “Me too.”

Then he leaned in and kissed her again, softly and sweetly. Like a prayer answered. Like they had all the time in the world and he would spend every second kissing her just like that.

When they parted, their foreheads still touched, she leaned into his palm. Her eyes closed, feeling peaceful and full.

And he could not stop looking at her, and didn't want to stop either. He let his eyes memorize her all over again.

The way the morning light kissed her skin. The baby hairs that curled against her temple. The way her breath caught when he brushed his thumb beneath her eye. The way her lips curved, still tingling from his. The way she looked, so radiant, so his, in the quiet haven of their morning.

He memorized every single detail all over again, because he knew that after losing her once, he’d never survive it again, he was never letting go again. And more to his satisfaction, she didn’t want to let go either, she was happy right where she was, in his arms.

Next Part →

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[elsroseytoy]

♡૮꒰⸝⸝ ⑅ ◞◟⸝⸝꒱ა make me juno 🎀🧁🤍

♡ pairing: blue!collar abby and housewife!reader

♡ synopsis: you and abby have been married for two years now, and you love your little domestic life in your cute house sitting on the countryside, waking up snuggled in your wife's huge arms, getting to bake her pretty scones in your frilly apron to spoil her with when she get's home, but lately something important been's gnawing at your senses and fogging your thoughts ….

♡ cw: housewife reader is very feminine, baby fevered reader, basically just these twos backstory to start them of right <3

an: wanted to make this one part but decided to release this to introduce these two sweethearts and there dynamic — smut in part two!!! if you enjoy this please lmk in my asks id love to know 🎀

You always imagined being a mom as a little girl, like many little girls - whether it was tucking your babydoll into bed or baby sitting the little baby next door, it came real naturally to you. And you liked knowing one day you'd be prepared. never leave a baby alone in a car. they can't sleep belly down. All the important basics. But you never pushed it onto yourself, not when deciding if there was a thing as too much blush (there defiantly isn't, right?) was hard enough in those days - just trying to survive as a girl was hard in itself! It was just a nice fantasy to cradle in the back of the head as you ventured through your party girl 20s. That is until the most attractive, buffest, hottest women strolled into your life. Well technically, you strolled into hers but who's counting! It was Abby for god's sake, your now wife, you liked to think it was destiny really.

The memory still replayed in your head.

It was one of those nights you see in movies - a group of sparkly, done-up girls sitting at the pub more to laugh and giggle then actually enjoy the fruity drinks they kept ordering more of, and you, fixing your gloss as your girlfriends chatted away. You got bits of pieces of the buzz "Oh my god guys what episode is everyone on in gossip girl's?" and "He went down on you right? he didn't, oh girl fuck no. He's always been a little boy what did I say-" Playing with your straw, Sure, you were listening, of course you were, it was just hard to even be heard above all the chatter, opening and closing your lips repeatably. You sighed and gave up, resorting to reading the array of cheesy bar quotes and license plates varying from all around the country. Your priscilla-lashed eyes scanned the dim room. An older, wallowing man sat at the bar, hunched over himself you almost felt bad for him but a group of sneering collage boys had you more disgusted than anything. Frowning to yourself you turned away, going back to fiddling with your pink-orangey drink and that's when your eyes landed on her - And you think the butterflies in your stomach hatched right then and there.

Oh. my. god.

She sat at the bar in front of you, a dirty blond braid reaching her lower back. you couldn't place what made her so- so hypnotizing. Maybe it was the way she leaned over with one arm thrown over the chair and the other nursing a dark drink of some sorts, like she was so nonchalant, so okay about looking like that. You'd been with buff women before - but they were all so overly arrogant, like they'd rather get off by looking at themselves in the mirror while you writhed cluelessly on top of them. Just real assholes. Of course she was probably proud of her physique, she had to be, but the way she held herself made your panties glossy to the touch, squeezing your thighs together coyly... God, you weren't even ovulating! you felt like a giddy fool blinking your sticky lashes at her, she was facing away from you, she couldn't see you, but you wish she could, even just for a second-

"wow, heyy, earth to you" Jumping you squeaked and tried to pull your thoughts together "uh- sorry! What were you saying-"

"girl" Everyone was looking at you. Please say they didn't see.

"M just tired-" It was really no use.

"If dream boat over there is making your tired we need to check your eyesight"

They definitely saw and suddenly it was girl world rampage. "Girl you need to go talk to her oh em gee!" "Babe she's hotttt-" "C'mon we all saw the way you were looking at her!" Please, nooo! But before you could yelp your protests your chair was pulled out from under you, somehow being pushed into scurry mode - even the frowny face you shot back at them did little to nothing "go!"

"M' going!" You pulled at your short skirt, played with the shiny highlighter layered on the edges of your eyes, fixed your heart necklace, anything to hide the fluttering of your heart. Were you really doing this?! yep, you really defiantly were, you felt like a school girl and maybe it was the alcohol but there you were, tapping shyly on her shoulder. Maybe you should just run, text your friends once you're a few mere miles away- "Oh hey, i know you?" This was happening, I want you to, is what you wanted to say - but your breath was knocked out of you and replaced by some other girl. Ms. panic mode. "Uh no- I don't think so, I just- well, your drink looked really good, I-um was wondering what you got-" She liked how your lips quivered between a smile, damn, you were cute, she thought - your eyes darting between her, smirking, and your group of not-so-coy eavesdropping friends. You on the other hand wanted to die right then and there. She couldn't help herself. "Fuck, y'know your right" Your brows furrowed together cutely, confused "About um- what?" Poking her cheek with her tongue she answered "I mean you're too pretty not to remember" With that your brain went into overdrive!

"Can I give you my number" You blurted out, it just came out, so fast the moment it left your mouth you wanted to dig a hole and bury yourself in it and then suddenly she looked at you like that- "Been waiting for you to ask" Your lifted you brows just the slightest "Fuck no I mean- that sounded arrogant I just meant I was gonna ask for your's it was bound to happen y'know" Now she was the one rambling on, she lifts her hands guiltily and you can't help but giggle - the sweetest sound she ever did hear. "Here's my phone you can just, well yeah" Your face heats up as your fingers graze hers just the tiniest bit. how did it feel so natural?

"Hello kitty?" Her eyes quip up at you. "Don't be like that!" You giggle again and yep, she's shaking her head and smiling to herself. She thinks she's done that more in those two minutes than ever before "Okay, okay- sorry. But you sure you don't still want my drink order pretty girl?" She cleared her throat because it sounded a lot better in her head - luckily you didn't catch on, not even to your girlfriends practically cheering from across the room "Mhm, maybe" She pulled out your stool and of course you sat your grinning bottom down on it, especially as she added "Let me make up the hello kitty comment yeah?"

Three years later and that was dreamy history. Stored away in your late night cuddle chats and sunny dinner convos. Though your emotions weren't too awfully different from that sparkly party girl a lifetime ago. Just like that evening in the pub, your life could take a turn because today was the day.

Pacing in the kitchen, the day you would finally ask her.

For Abby though this was any other normal workday. nothing out of the ordinary as she wiped the sweat from her forehead, thanks to the merciless sun she cursed under her breath. She loved the work, loved having things to haul - but the heat could fuck itself off. Okay, yeah, she was being dramatic, especially because she lounged in the air conditioned workroom. She threw her feet over a rugged coffee table tugging off her work books, the sun was starting to set of course she was just being dramatic about the days heat. Who could blame her, she liked complaining knowing she got to come home to your sweet kisses and pretty face. Fuck though every work day was the same, she wouldn't want it any other way. Not when you were the thing she did all this for - she needed to feel useful, especially when you gave her the love you did without a cost. This happiness that held no strings (she loved when you rolled your doe eyes every time she said such bullshit, of course you loved her with no end!)

"See ya' Anderson, say hi to the Ms. for me will ya?" He was a big fella, looked like he could kill you with a glance but he wasn't all the different from her - just trying to provide for his family, went through the day imagining the moment he got to see his wife at the end of the day. She liked him. An appreciative nod from her end and just like him, Ab's won't have to imagine much longer.

Home. God, she loved walking through the door. It never got old. Your two's little house sitting on a nice countryside, other families spread her and there - but this was your boths. Everything down to the pink roses you planted out front, to the big, drappy willow trees that were essentially the first thing that made you two fall in love with it. A warm, cinnamony scent wafted through the small space. Two dirty boot's thrown over the shoe rack you insisted on getting 'It's no different than the dirty rug you've been using...' 'she has a name baby- im just kidding! okay fine yeah you win!' She smiled every time she saw it - but right now something else distracted her. You. "Hey, sweetheart"

"Abs!"

Her heart did a little flip as you flipped around, with the prettiest smile she'd ever see - there was not an ounce of competition when it came to you. Nothing compared to seeing you in that creamy pink polka dot apron you loved so much, she loved so much. Her being the thing you scurried over to every day, socks sliding on the 50s style kitchen tile and throwing your arms around her. Fuck, yep nothing compared. Except maybe getting to melt into you, let the tension of the day fall off her shoulders as she breathed you in. Strawberries and something more, something she could never name. No name was good enough to place it, all she knew was it was something she wanted to hold forever. Protect with all she had. "Missed you so much ab's" you held her tighter than usual, like she would disappear into thin air if you didn't. She actually probably would. "I know baby, I know, missed you too." Tilting your chin up to rub your cheek with her thumb, she wanted to kiss away the crinkling of your brows, just the slightest tiniest crease had alarms going off in her head "damn this lipgloss. always getting in the way of me and my wife" She tried, of course you smiled, giggled a bit "It's real good for your lips Abby" had her smiling real big, but there was an shy glaze to your posture. Playing with your fingers something you only did so rarely. What was up with her girl? Nothing could help but try. She knew you.

"Everything all good? You seem anxious mama" Mama. Your already fluttery heart jumped in your chest, flew right into outer space - nothing was rare about her calling your mama, switching between that and her wife. But in that moment it had you skipping words, instead turning your back hurriedly as you finished up what you were doing. Of course she read you like a book! you cursed the unhelpful butterflies that seemed to transfer to your cheeks and eyes "M fine! Just- a bit tired. Went to the down town market today, got sum flour and brown sugar for cookies!" You feigned, tone oh-so-candy-sweet. Ab's did that thing she always did when she didn't quite believe you, a click of her tongue - just out of earshot, the littlest bullshit she mustered as she brushed it off, coming up behind you to help.

"I made your favorite Ab's... been working so much lately I wanted to do something for you" You meant it. There was just a little tiny hidden meaning behind all this. The thing that had you all nervous and foggy brained. But you needed to bring it up. If not now then when really. "Being my girl is more than enough"

A few repeating oven beeps and a shower later you two sat at your light wood dinner table, assorted with fresh rolls and Ab's favorite (don't be fooled she adored everything you cooked) sweet potato roast. And of course it wouldn't be dinner with Abbys repeated mhm's and fuck these are incredible's. And the smallest round table probably in the entire world, so small Abbys feet touched yours, her hand holding yours a habit she didn't even realize - you though lingered on every single detail, an add on of nervousness you wanted to throw out the window and stomp on. You took a shaky breath, still imagining tossing this nervousness into the pretty swaying willow trees…. your and Abby’s swaying trees. Something beautiful shared between the two of you. Loved by the two of you. The thought was like the warm spice moving through the kitchen, it folded itself over your worries, barring itself right there over them. It was just what you needed, Finally turning towards your wife.

"What is it baby?" Abbys face is nothing short of concern, squeezing your hand in hers. You gulp, eyes blinking but you know it’s time. “Abby I’ve been thinking— for a bit now, well ever since that baby shower in august really”

She squeezes your hand, urging you. “I want to have a baby” blurting out seemed to be the summary of big advances in your twos relationship n you think your heart stops for a moment when she says “a baby—”

to be continued …. 💗

[luvyeni]

whore in theory ๑. ( 스트레이키즈 )

[ req? yes / no ]

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ─── skz thinking you’re innocent but what you’re saying is totally opposite…

( 対 ) ot8!skz + fem. reader wc. 1k genre smut · contains! mentions of sex , language , no actual sex mature content. / back to library

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 방찬 : bang chan﹚ .ᐟ

his ears are bright red; he laughing his ass off not to embarrass you , but he’s in such a state of shock. “ah you’re so cute.” he pulls you into his lap , kissing your cheek. “someone has been doing some reading.” whispering in your ear. “where did you learn this from princess?” yeah he’s turned on , but he also thinks it’s such a funny thing , hearing you speak so dirty even though you have no idea of what you’re talking about. rubbing your thighs. “you me to teach you how to do a few of those things hm?” his voice darker than before. “you gotta be a good girl though.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 리노 : lee know﹚ .ᐟ

he loves this shit bad , it turns him on — hearing the filthy shit you say throughout the day , it doesn’t phase him , he just smirks .. because he knows you have no idea what you’re talking about , he literally taught you everything you know. he’s gonna play with you , pinning you down to your bed as soon as you get home. “you’re so shocked.” he smirked. “wh-what are you doing?” he’s got you sweating and flustered. “remember everything you were saying earlier? you sounded like a whore.” he said. “i wanna see you do it.” you gulped. “come on show me.” slowly unbuckling your pants. “i want you to do everything you were talking about.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 창빈 : changbin﹚ .ᐟ

much like lino , he’ll let you keep going , the smuggest look on his face , arms folded — but when he gets you home alone , he’s quick to pin you down on the bed. “b-binnie.” you whimper. “isn’t this what you want?” his head tilting to the side in amusement. “for me to pin you down and use you? isn’t that what you said?” he said. “i’m only doing what you asked of me baby.” grinding his hips , you whimper. “what kind of man would i be if i don’t satisfy my woman? not a good one that’s what i know.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 현진 : hyunjin ﹚ .ᐟ

just a giggling mess , he can’t believe how dirty you’re talking right now. how did you even know what to say , he never even did anything that you’re saying… but now he wants to try. “you sound confident pretty.” he says. “do you know what you’re saying right now?” your words are finally catching up to you. “no-no.” the giggle he lets out makes your stomach drop. “but you were sure , you want to show me what you meant?” he said beckoning you over to sip on his lap. “you’re shaking like a leaf.” he said , rubbing your thighs. “let’s try a few of those naughty things you were so sure of a few minutes ago.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 한 : hanji﹚ .ᐟ

he’s turned on and shocked from the first comment that comes out of your mouth. “baby.” he’s scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “hmm.” you don’t even know what you’re doing to him , turning to him. “what’s wrong?” you said completely oblivious to what you were doing to him. “please stop talking like that.” he can’t take it. “you’re turning me on.” he said , cheeks flushed. “sorry.” you said , unclear of what to do. “do you need my help?” he nods. “fuck yes , yes i do.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 필릭스 : felix﹚ .ᐟ

he’s in shock; his sweet baby talking like this? much to his knowledge the only thing you knew how to do is lay back and be pretty while he eats you out — but the words you were saying; my god he was hard as hell now. “princess come here.” he watched you smile , as you plop down in his lap , eyes widening as you feel how hard he is. “fe-felix you’re– why?” he does a little smirk. “why? because all the shit you were saying earlier that’s why.” he said. “oh i didn’t know.” “of course you didn’t , but you’re gonna be a good girl and learn today okay.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 승민 : seungmin﹚ .ᐟ

another one like lino , he knows you’re lying , but hearing you say how much you want to ride him — it intrigues him , he wants to see you do it. so as soon as you get home he’s telling you to go to the room. “strip.” you’re confused because so far the only thing you’ve done is suck him off. “wh-why?” he scoffs. “didn’t you say how much you want to ride my cock?” he said. “what is it you said? i won’t be able to last long if you ride me.” he said , laying down , pulling his pants down enough to release his cock. “so come on, sit on my cock and ride me.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯.ㅤ 아이엔 : i.n﹚ .ᐟ

at first he’s flustered; why are you saying such things even though he knows that he basically has to explain everything to you when it comes to sexual stuff. after a while , he starts to get turned on , hearing you say all this stuff … so he wants you to repeat it , while he’s replicating exactly what you were telling him. “no , no don’t shy away now.” grabbing your cheeks forcing you to look up at him. “you said you wanted to choke on my cock right , make a mess right?” he said with that crazy smirk. “come on baby let me teach you , teach you how to do exactly what you said.”

©️LUVYENI

[sunnybunnybabygirl]

Stray Kids reacting to you reading smut about them TO them.

Smut, obviously

Requested by @skyracha

Full masterlist

Stray Kids masterlist

Enjoy, sinners ;)

Love, bunny

Chan~

    He's FLABBERGASTED. We all know how little he thinks about himself (I wish he knew how amazing he is) so it's no surprise that he's just kind of confused as to why people would fantasize about these things with him. He'll definitely point out things he'd never do and things that are wrong though. But it also gives him some new ideas of what to do with you in bed.

Lee Know~

    SMUG AS HELL. Saying shit like "yeah of course you'd know about these." And "you're clearly obsessed with me but this is another level." He's not opposed to it though, it makes him feel appreciated. He also gets hot and bothered but he'd never admit that. Nope, that's going to the grave with him. He does want to try bondage now though...

Changbin~

    A blushing baby. He's surprised at how many people think he has it in him to be a mean dom. He gets a little insecure and asks you if you read these because you don't like how he does in bed, to which of course you reassure him with a mind blowing handjob or blowjob. Of course he's returning the favor by pulling your pretty pussy down onto his tongue.

Hyunjin~

    He's gonna want to roleplay some of the scenarios, we all know he's a freak. He giggles at some of them though because he just can't help it. Although he can't make too much fun since he likes to paint him and you having sex on the regular. He wants to try all the positions mentioned in the fics, doggy, cowgirl and hey maybe he'll let you peg him if he's feeling extra needy.

Han~

    He's hard as shit. Also a little confused as to why people think he'd be a mean dom. He did find the kinktober fics and he's been scarred since. However, if you wanna try out something you saw in a fic he's all ears. He wants you to try being the bottom for once... He wants to try being your daddy.

Felix~

    He's very flattered and gets very flirty with you, saying things like "oh would you like if I did that, hm? Would you like it if I said those things to you?" Because he knows the answer already, why else would you be reading the fics? All that being said, he's giving you the best head of your life while making you read every word.

Seungmin~

    He wants you to cockwarm him while you two read them. (I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE) He thinks some of them are silly, but some of them are so scarily accurate that he thinks it might be someone who's been spying on you and him that wrote the fic. You barely even get through the first fic before he's bending you over.

I.N~

    Poor baby is so so confused. He doesn't know what the hell smut means but he thinks it's some sort of cute little fan content... Oh boy does he get heavy culture shock. But he's very turned on and needs to fuck you almost immediately. The fics are also how he found out about your hand kink and your love for his hands.

[writingsforfandoms-multi]

post night shift | michael robinavitch x nurse! reader

summary: robby comforts his gf after her first and last night shift

warnings: mention of patient deaths

a.n: this is the first thing i’ve written in over 4 years thank you dr robby for the inspiration

“She lost three patients today” abbot gives robby the heads up over the phone after he walks you out of the hospital.

Robby’s heart drops, he knows you take losing a patient very hard, he can’t imagine how you’ll be after losing three. He wasn’t expecting you to walk into your shared apartment pissed.

“What the fuck is night shift?!” you exclaimed as you walked in the door and took off your shoes by the entryway, setting your bag on the hook. Michael came to meet you near the entryway, “I knew I wasn’t made for night shift and this just confirmed it,” you rambled. “The staff was great and I love working with abbot but my god I’m never covering one of those shifts again, that was horr-horrible” your voice shakes as tears well up in your eyes and then the next thing you know you’re crying in robby’s arms.

You weren’t even supposed to be there. You were doing a favor for the night shift charge nurse when she called to see if you were willing to come in since they were so short staffed. You remembered abbot mentioning how much smoother night shift would run with more nurses since they were usually always short staffed anyway, so you figured you would help out by coming in.

You loved being a nurse, you truly did, but it was shifts like these that made it so hard. Yes, you helped many patients today, but it was hard not to focus on the ones who died.

Robby doesn't ask you any questions, he knows you’ll talk to him when you're ready, and he also knows that right now you just need to cry it all out, allow the grief to leave your body. It still breaks his heart listening to your sobs, but all he can do is rub your back to try to comfort you.

“I lost three patients today” you hiccuped out through your crying as you lifted your head to look up at robby.

He takes your face in his palms as his eyes soften, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know it’s hard”

“One was just a kid, 8 years old” you cry a little harder and his thumbs lightly brush your cheeks. He brings your head back against his chest, and after a few moments your cries quiet down, and you finally look back up at him, “today was so fucking hard michael” you whisper

“I know baby, I know” he says as he leads you to the couch and you immediately crawl into his lap and take your place against him.

You paused for a moment, “did abbot call you?” you asked

He nods, “yeah, he was worried about you”

“I need to apologize to him,” you sighed, “I may or may not have snapped at him after losing my second patient” you grimaced, remembering how harsh you were with him

“You know he didn't take it personally” he says, softly rubbing your back and you just nod in response.

After a few moments of just enjoying his company you say, “I’m gonna head to bed, I need to get my sleep schedule back on track to flip back to days for the next shift” you kiss his cheek, feeling like the heavy weight of grief on your chest lessened when you cried it out. This was a rule you and robby made for yourselves when you first started dating: you would cry out all the emotions you needed to, take as much time as you needed to go through the motions of the day, and then let it go.

“Then let’s go to bed” he says, and you look at him confused, didn’t he just wake up? “I took a very short nap after my shift and woke up around 3 so I could wait up and take a nap with you when you got back” he explains, a bit sheepishly even

You let out a small smile, “you’re so cute” and give him a kiss, “how did I get so lucky?” you lean back in his lap to look at him. He can feel a soft blush taking over his face when he notices how you’re looking at him, all these months together and you still make him blush.

“I’m the lucky one, sweetheart, I can’t believe you still put up with me” he says softly, thinking of how you put up with him and all the emotional baggage he was dealing with in the beginning of your relationship, and how incredibly thankful he was that you stayed.

“Always” you said

—

the pitt masterlist

[cowboybeepboop]

Rescued

"Um, I...I need to clean up."

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 2k

Summary: part two of my Bob smut 🥴

Warnings: unprotected sex, needy Bob, slight angst, idk

a/n: I’m obsessed with writing about him 😣 I need Lewis Pullman like a teenager needs their vape 😩 as always send any requests you might have my way! I’d love to get some more done 😛

Part one :

A couple days have passed since you and Bob shared your intimate moment together, and you’ve been avoiding him like hell. You knew that you shouldn’t have gone that far with him, he needed a friend and you felt like you took advantage of his loneliness.

Rubbing a hand over your tired eyes you stand in the kitchen, you haven’t been sleeping or eating much, avoiding the whole team is one of the most impossible tasks you’ve ever had. The clock reads 3:30 am, a small mess of dishes are left in the sink and the trash is overfilled.

“Fuck.” You run a hand through your messy hair, quietly beginning to do the dishes, a chore that’s been neglected recently.

Bob quietly creeps into the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes fixed on your form as you work on the dishes. He can see the tension in your shoulders, the heavy bags under your eyes, the way you avoid looking at him. It’s not hard for him to guess what’s going on.

He hesitates for a moment, watching you as you try to ignore him. He stands there for a few minutes, debating with himself, before finally deciding to say something. "You...you look tired."

“Oh, Bob.” You breathe out, part of you has been craving his company, craving the sound of his voice and then the other part of you feels immeasurable guilt for pushing the boundaries of your friendship. “How come you’re up so late tonight?” Pushing down your thoughts and feelings you try to pretend that nothing is wrong.

Bob can sense the shift in your demeanor, the way you're trying to act normal. He takes a few steps closer to you, his eyes fixed on you, searching for any signs of what's truly going on.

"I couldn't sleep." he murmurs softly, his gaze roaming over your exhausted form. "Just felt...restless."

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anyway I can help?” Keeping your eyes focused on the sink you don’t even notice Bob creeping toward you, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Bob stands right behind you now, close enough that you can feel his body heat radiating through his thin t-shirt, his hands still fiddling with the material. He stares down at your back, his voice soft yet slightly hoarse, "Well...there is one thing..."

The feeling of him so close sends a comforting tingle down your spine, his cologne, deodorant, shampoo, all of it is filling your senses and putting you at complete ease. “Yeah? What’s that Bob?”

Bob takes a step closer, his chest now pressed up against your back, his breath warm on your neck. He places one of his hands on your hip, lightly applying the barest amount of pressure to turn you towards him.

"I could use some...company," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

Bob can sense your hesitation, your guilt, and he's not having it. He steps even closer to you, his body practically pressed against yours now, his fingers gently gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"No," he murmurs roughly, his eyes locked onto yours, "Don't you push me away."

“What happened before, that was a mistake.” You know he’s better off pushed away from you, he needs friends, a *family*, not you, not this. “I should’ve never pushed those boundaries with you, it was a mistake,” You turn to face the dishes again, letting the warm water run over your hands.

His expression falters, a pang of pain shooting through his chest at your words. That's it? A mistake. Like that night was nothing, like he was some kind of fool to let his walls down around you.

Bob feels his mind wandering, thinking of all the negative things about himself, what things could make you act like this. He can’t think straight, he’s hurt, but more than anything he craves you. His arms find their way around your waist, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “Please Y/N, don’t do this to me…” he whispers.

You lean back into his embrace, head falling over his shoulder a small moan escaping from your lips at the feeling of his breath against your skin. “Oh Bob,” his hands slide up your shirt, wandering your skin, his touch needy and desperate.

He can't help himself, his body craving your touch, his hands roaming over your skin, like he's trying to memorize the feel of you. He trails kisses along the column of your neck, murmuring against your skin, "You...you don't regret it, do you? Being with me like that."

His hands cup your breasts, as he pushes your body forward, bending you over the counter. “No, not at all.. I don’t regret anything with-“ you lose track of your thoughts, the feeling of his erection pressed against you sending your mind reeling. “With you..” you murmur, soft pants and moans leaving your lips as his hands continue their wandering.

Bob's hands continue their trail over your body, his touch becoming more and more desperate with every passing moment, his breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. "Good, that's...that's good." he murmurs against your skin, his lips never leaving you as they press soft kisses along your neck.

His fingers fiddle with the button of your pants, slowly popping them open to reveal the fabric of your underwear, his mouth moving to your ear, your name a breathy whisper, "Please, tell me you still want me. That I'm...enough."

“God.. you’re so much more than enough,” you moan, hands moving to help remove your underwear. “You’re all I need,” your cunt aches for his touch, body shaking with every move he makes.

"Please…let me make you feel good. Let me keep you. Let me show you...what you do to me," Bob murmurs gently in your ear, his words sending another shiver down your back. "Please, don't push me away," he whispers, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. "I'll...I'll show you."

As the fabric of your underwear slides down your legs, Bob's need for you overpowers his timidity. His hands, though gentle, are insistent as they explore the curves of your ass, gripping each cheek firmly. He leans in, his face buried in your hair as he whispers, "You're so beautiful."

His desperation manifests in the way his thumbs trace the line where your thigh meets your pelvis, his fingertips brushing against the wetness of your arousal. Despite his tentative touch, there's an urgency in his voice, a raw hunger that wasn't present before.

His breath hitches as he finally dips a digit into your folds, teasing and testing, as if seeking reassurance that you still crave him. The tender intimacy of the moment is palpable, his touch a silent plea for you to not deny him.

Bob's finger circles your clit with a gentle yet urgent stroking motion, his thumb pressing down firmly on the sensitive nub as he watches your reaction in the window over the sink. The sight of your face contorted in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut and mouth parted in a silent gasp, fuels his desire even more. He's desperate to erase any doubt between you, to prove that what happened wasn't just a fleeting moment of weakness.

His other hand snakes around to the front, his thumb brushing over your clit as two of his fingers slip inside your wet, eager pussy. You're so wet for him, and the feel of your tightness around his fingers is almost too much. He can't believe he ever doubted your feelings for him.

His strokes become more deliberate, his touch more confident, as he watches your body respond to his every move. The sound of your moans fills the quiet kitchen, mixing with the faint splashing of the faucet and the occasional clink of a dish. He feels your muscles tighten around his fingers, and he knows you're close.

His thumb presses harder, his fingers pumping faster, as he watches you climb closer to the edge. And when you finally do, your body arches back into him, your hand flying to cover your mouth to muffle the sounds of your orgasm, he feels a sense of triumph and relief wash over him. For this moment, at least, you're his, and he's yours.

Bob's need for you is palpable as he guides you away from the sink, turning off the faucet with his elbow, not once breaking the connection between his body and yours. He lifts you onto the kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his waist as he steps between them. He's still fully dressed, but you can feel his erection straining against the fabric of his shorts, his hands trembling with anticipation.

With a gentle but firm grip, he lifts your shirt over your head, tossing it aside, his eyes drinking in the sight of your bare breasts. He lowers his mouth to one of your nipples, sucking and biting gently, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive peak. You arch into him, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer as he gives your other nipple the same treatment.

The sound of fabric ripping fills the room as he impatiently pulls down his shorts, revealing his thick, hard cock. He lines it up with your dripping wet pussy, and with one swift, needy thrust, he's inside you. His hips rock against yours in a rhythm that's both gentle and rough, the kind of desperate claiming that leaves no doubt about his feelings for you. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he fucks you, his breathing harsh and ragged in your ear.

Your body responds instantly to his touch, your pussy clenching around him, drawing him deeper. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, making it impossible to ignore the connection that's been building between you since that night. The kitchen counter digs into your back, but you don't care, the pain only heightening your pleasure as he fucks you harder, faster, his cock sliding in and out of you with an urgency that speaks of his need for you.

He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his voice hoarse with desire, his breath hot and panting against your skin. His hand moves between your legs, his thumb finding your clit once again, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You're so close, your entire body tightening around him, your nails digging into his back as you hold on for dear life.

And when you finally cum, it's with a loud cry that echoes through the empty house, your pussy spasming around his cock, milking him until he follows you over the edge, his own orgasm shaking him to his core. He collapses against you, his body weight pressing you into the cold countertop, his cock still buried deep inside you as he gasps for air.

Bob's body shakes against yours, his breaths ragged and labored, both his hands resting on your hips. He's still nestled between your legs, his head resting on your shoulder, his lips pressed against your neck. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything, he just stays there, his body completely enveloping yours.

Slowly, his body starts to relax, his breathing begins to even out. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. There's a vulnerability there, a hint of fear that everything that just happened was just some fever dream. "Please don't pull away from me." he whispers softly,

“I won’t.. not anymore, I promise.” You cover his face with kisses, gentle and sweet.

Bob relaxes into your touch, savoring the feeling of your lips on his skin. His grip on your hips loosens as he straightens up, his body no longer pressing you into the countertop. He glances down, a hint of embarrassment on his face as he realizes he's still inside you, his cock slowly softening.

He blushes as he looks down at where your bodies are still connected, his voice a soft whisper, "Um, I...I need to clean up."

[pandacherryblossoms]

𐙚 Enhypen Sex Positions 𐙚

Request

Genre: Smut MDNI 18+

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Dom/sub dynamics, Power play, Praise/degradation kink, Rough sex, Choking, Spanking, Possessiveness, Strength kink, Daddy kink, Explicit language

Heeseung — Face Down, Ass Up

Heeseung’s obsession with this position stems from the way it strips you bare and lets him take the lead without holding back. There’s nothing more addicting to him than seeing you completely surrendered to the moment—back arched, cheek pressed into the mattress, and ass raised just for him. It gives him a front-row seat to all his favorite things: the sound of your choked-out moans when he slams into you just right, the tremble in your thighs as you try to stay up, the way your fingers curl around the sheets when he shifts angles and hits that one spot. Heeseung doesn’t just want to fuck you—he wants to ruin you in the most delicious way, to make sure you’re still shaking from it hours later. The grip he has on your hips says you’re not going anywhere, and the way he drags his cock slow and deep before snapping forward again lets you know—he’s not done until you’ve cried for him.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he groans, hand gripping your hair to pull your head back just enough so he can hear your broken gasp. “Don’t hide those sounds. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You whimper his name, voice catching when he suddenly slaps your ass, sharp and possessive. “Yeah? You like being fucked like this? Helpless? Open for me?”

His hips grind deeper, one hand snaking down to wrap around your throat from behind, holding you steady while he pistons forward. “You’re gonna take everything I give you, baby. No running. No squirming. Just my good girl taking her dick like she should.”

When you fall apart again, legs shaking and voice wrecked, he leans in closer, breath hot against your ear. “That’s it. Just like that. You were made for me, weren’t you?”

Jay — Over the Edge

Jay doesn’t just dominate—he owns. The edge of the bed, a countertop, a table—wherever he has you bent, one thing never changes: you’re exactly where he wants you, at his mercy, with nowhere to run. This position feeds every part of his control kink. Your body laid out, spine arched, completely exposed and helpless to his pace as he drives into you with unrelenting force. One hand clamped to your waist, the other tangled in your hair or tightening around your throat—Jay doesn’t play when it comes to power. He thrives off the whimpers you try to hold back, the shake in your voice when you beg, the desperation in your eyes when he pulls back just to deny you. This isn’t about quick pleasure—it’s discipline, it’s control, it’s showing you who you belong to. And he takes his time doing it.

“You think you can take it all without asking?” His voice is sharp, low, sending shivers straight down your spine. His palm spreads between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest down as his hips slam forward. “You don’t get to make the rules, sweetheart. I do.”

Your hands scramble for something to hold onto, but he grabs your wrists and pins them to the bed in one hand. “Stay fucking still.”

A broken moan spills from your lips as his thrusts get rougher, and Jay just smirks above you, breathing heavy. “You feel that? That’s what it means to be mine.”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “No cumming until I say so. You don’t want to find out what happens if you disobey.”

When your legs start to tremble and your breathing breaks, he drags his hand down your spine and mutters, “Good girl. That’s more like it. Take it for me.”

Jake — Pretzel Dip

Jake is a romantic—but he’s still in charge. The pretzel dip is his perfect balance: it lets him keep you close, locked in with your legs hooked high and his arms wrapped tight around you, while still being the one in control. He gets to watch everything—your reactions, the way your face twists with every deep, calculated thrust, how your fingers claw at his back when he grinds into the spot that makes you crumble. The position is intimate, sensual, and full of control. He doesn’t need to pin you down to remind you who’s in charge—he just holds you steady, kisses your neck between each slow thrust, and ruins you with praise and pressure. He takes his time with it, savoring every breathless cry, every whispered plea, making sure you feel just how good he’s giving it.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he breathes against your cheek, hips rolling deep and slow. “Wrapped around me, takin’ everything I give you.”

His voice is soft but commanding, full of heat that makes your whole body tense. “Look at me, baby. Don’t hide those pretty eyes.”

When you do, his smile is all warmth and desire. He brushes your hair back and leans in to kiss you, tongue lazy, filthy with affection.

“Can feel you squeezing me—fuck, you’re close, huh?” One arm locks tighter around your waist, pulling you in deeper. “You don’t have to say it. I already know what my girl needs.”

You cry out, back arching, and he holds you tighter, whispering in your ear like it’s sacred. “Let me take care of you. You don’t have to think—just hold on and let me love you right.”

⸻

Sunghoon — Cowgirl

Sunghoon loves this position because it gives him the best of both worlds—watching you take control, only to snatch it back the second he gets greedy. There’s something addictive about the way your body moves above him, flushed and needy, your hands pressed to his chest as you ride him slow and deep. He lets you set the pace at first, a soft, teasing smirk on his lips as he watches you fall apart—but he’s never passive. One flicker of desperation in your eyes and he’s grabbing your hips, holding you down, thrusting up with a strength that leaves you gasping. Cowgirl gives him the perfect view of everything he wants: the way your back arches, your thighs tremble, the exact second you start chanting his name like a prayer. He loves how vulnerable you look even when you’re on top—because he knows he’s still the one in control.

His hands slide up your waist, slow and deliberate, thumbs pressing into your skin. “You look so fucking pretty like this,” he says softly, voice low and warm. “All mine, aren’t you?”

You nod, hips faltering as you try to keep your rhythm, but he’s already bucking up into you harder. “That’s it, baby. Let me feel how bad you want it.”

One hand cups your jaw, tilting your face down to meet his eyes. “Don’t look away. I wanna see you when you come on my cock.”

You whimper, leaning down until your forehead touches his, and he groans, hands spreading over your back. “Keep going. Just like that. Make it messy for me.”

When your pace stutters and you cry out, he doesn’t let up—his voice is a gentle command, thick with affection. “Ride it, baby. Daddy’s got you. You’re safe. You’re so fucking good for me.”

Sunoo — Lotus

Sunoo is addicted to the kind of closeness that makes your heart ache in the best way. For him, sex isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, almost sacred. The lotus position is his favorite because it allows for everything he craves at once: skin-to-skin warmth, your limbs tangled around his, your foreheads touching as if nothing else in the world exists. He loves how your thighs squeeze his sides, how your arms lock around his shoulders, how your breath catches when he moves just right. There’s no rush with Sunoo—every thrust is slow, purposeful, full of emotion. His favorite thing is hearing the soft, breathy sounds you make only for him, right into his ear where no one else can hear. With his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close, he feels like he’s inside more than your body—he’s in your soul.

His thumbs brush along your spine as he rocks into you, voice tender and low. “You feel that? How perfect we fit?”

You nod against his shoulder, arms tightening around him, and he hums softly, lips grazing your jaw. “It’s always like this with you… warm, close, real. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

He kisses you again, slow and deep, and his hands roam your back like he’s memorizing every inch. “You don’t have to move, baby. Just hold onto me.”

Your breath hitches as he grinds deeper, and he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. “I want you to feel how much I love you. Every time. Every second.”

He cups your face gently, forehead pressed to yours. “Stay with me. Just like this. Let’s fall apart together.”

Jungwon — Against the Wall

Jungwon is calm by nature, collected—but when it comes to you, when it comes to fucking you, that calm turns into cold, calculated control. He thrives on dominance, the kind that makes you tremble before he even touches you. Against the wall is his favorite because it strips away any illusion of control you might have. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, your legs wrapped around his waist, back pressed to the surface like he’s pinning you into place. You’re trapped—his to use, to take, to ruin. And he lives for it. One hand clamps down on your thigh to keep you up, the other wrapped around your throat or grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at him while he drives his cock into you with slow, punishing force. It’s never fast—not until you’ve earned it. Jungwon believes in making you work for your pleasure, and he never lets you forget who’s in charge.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, voice low and dangerous, forehead pressed to yours as he snaps his hips up hard enough to make your breath catch. “You stay right here—right where daddy put you.”

Your fingers claw at his shoulders, thighs shaking, but he just grips your jaw tighter, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Look at me while I fuck you,” he commands. “That’s it. You don’t come until I tell you to.”

You whimper something weak and broken, but he’s not having it. “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes, daddy,” you gasp.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls, fucking into you deeper now, brutal and relentless. “I’m the only one who gets to ruin you like this. Don’t forget it.”

His hand slides down, cupping between your legs. “Feel how soaked you are? You love being daddy’s toy.”

Ni-ki — Doggy Style

Ni-ki likes the view. The way your back arches as he takes control, the smooth curve of your body, and how you look when you’re completely open for him. He’s got this cocky, confident energy, and he loves how his deep thrusts make you gasp, make you tremble under him. Doggy style gives him the perfect angle to fuck you exactly how he wants, slow or fast, deep or shallow—it’s all on him. He’s possessive, but not in a harsh way—more like he’s claiming you, marking you with each thrust. His hands are tight on your hips, guiding you back onto him when he wants it deeper, and his movements are precise, making sure you feel every inch of him. Ni-ki thrives on the control and loves hearing your breath hitch and your body react to him.

“Fuck, look at you—so beautiful like this,” he grunts, his hands tight on your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts. “Can’t wait to feel you come undone for me.”

Your back arches at the angle, your moans growing louder.

“You like that?” he growls, smacking your ass once—just enough to make you flinch. “You better keep that same energy, baby. Don’t make me do all the work.”

“Yes, Ni-ki,” you whimper, gripping the sheets as his pace picks up.

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rough and satisfied. “Good girl. Now show me what you’ve got.”