#i only had three before this year started

[siriuslywicked]

Okay, hear me out… Robby with a partner who has a hard time orgasming (because I need to feel seen, and hopefully y’all do too). MDNI 18+!!!

a/n: I know we all love a good smutty fic where the reader gets to cum like three times, but let’s be honest, that is not reality for most people. I need some representation for those of us who live the antidepressant lifestyle. I know I asked about Robby/Michael, but something about this felt like a 'Robby' fic (idk). Next time I write about this man we will go with Michael, pinky promise. Wrote this after working a 50 hour week and did not revise it. Also haven't written smut in literal years. You have been warned.

In recent years, getting yourself to orgasm has become a challenge. Sure, you can get there on your own with some patience and a trusty vibrator, but it takes time. And sometimes being with a partner, especially a new one, means you don’t really want them trying to get you there for forty fucking minutes. So, when you and Robby start seeing each other you don't exactly fake it, but you don’t let him focus his attention on you for long before you turn the tables and start pleasuring him. 

But Robby isn’t stupid, and he needs to know you’re enjoying yourself as much as he is. So, a handful of times into sleeping together, he finds himself in a familiar position: dressed in only his briefs, lying sprawled out on his stomach, head between your open legs, putting his mouth to good use. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking amazing. His beard scratches at your inner thighs and below your entrance as he uses his tongue to steadily lap at your clit. The pressure and rhythm he's giving you is enough to make pleasure burn low in your pelvis; you can’t help but rock your hips into his face, using your grip in his hair as leverage to make sure he keeps his tongue right fucking there. 

Robby can feel the urgency in the way you’re pulling his face impossibly closer. He knows damn well that you haven’t cum for him in any of your previous times together, he’s had over thirty years of experience with women, not to mention he’s a fucking doctor, he knows what an orgasm looks like (and sounds and tastes and feels like). He can tell each time you give up and move the focus away from your own pleasure, trying to distract him. This time though, he isn’t stopping until he gets what he wants. He moves his hands from where they rest passively on your thighs, one going to grip your hip and anchor you to him, the other coming to rest flat and warm on your lower stomach. You let out a moan at the feeling of his palm on your stomach, the feeling in your pelvis has grown into something that feels more tangible. So much so, that your legs begin to shake with it and you think you might actually cum this time. Robby thinks so too, feeling your thighs trembling on either side of his head. He groans softly into you, and chooses this moment to push down on your belly. 

You jolt your head up in surprise, grip tightening on his head. “Fuck, Robby that feels good.” 

He moans again in response, and thanks to your more upright position you catch his hips rolling into the mattress. Dutiful as ever, he continues applying pressure with his palm and doubles down with his tongue, pushing himself to go faster, harder, anything to feel you cum on his face. 

You’ve moved to be fully sitting up now, one hand behind you for support and the other firmly anchored in his hair. You grind your hips almost frantically, sweat beginning to collect on your face and neck, chasing an orgasm that is so close you can taste it. 

“Oh,” you huff out followed by a hum that borders on whiny, “I think ‘m getting close.” Your teeth grit around the words, body tensing up in its pursuit of pleasure. 

Robby opens his eyes to peer up at you. Your head has lolled back, eyes squeezed shut, your mouth now hangs open on a silent moan. Your clit has gotten more swollen than he thought it could and he can feel you getting wetter by the second, it’s practically dripping off his chin. You are so close, so nearly there. 

And yet… 

“Fuck,” you whine out, and not in a good way. Your hips stop their movement, thighs no longer shaking with pleasure. Robby slows his ministrations and watches as you flop onto your back once more, arms coming to rest over your face, pout evident on your lips.

With a grunt, he pulls himself up and crawls to lay beside you. 

“Sweetheart, can you look at me?” He places a hand on one of your arms, tugging gently to remove it, only to be met with firm resistance. 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

You let out a sigh and allow him to move your arms off of your face. He pulls the one between you into his chest, interlacing your fingers with his. 

Still refusing to look at him, you stare straight ahead at the ceiling. This close, Robby can see the tears of frustration welling up in your eyes. Your face is flushed, now from a mixture of embarrassment and exertion. 

When you remain silent and continue to avoid his gaze Robby prompts you further. 

“You’re okay, nothing to be embarrassed about,” his thumb rubs soothingly along the back of your hand, “All I want is to make you feel good, sweetheart. But, I can’t do that if you don’t talk to me about what's going on.” 

Your eyes close tightly, tears finally spilling over and running down your cheeks as you nod in agreement. After a moment you open them again and finally turn to face him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper softly, eyes darting between his own. You elaborate a few moments later: “for not communicating.” 

“It’s okay, what’s important is we’re talking now. Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

Robby waits, prepared to begin asking you questions in a diagnostic manner if you don’t speak up, but is pleased when you begin without prodding. 

“I- uhm,” a pause, “It takes a lot for me to uh- finish, most of the time.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, scooting closer and pulling you into a quasi embrace, hand draped over your waist. 

“Can you tell me what ‘a lot’ looks like for you?” Your eyes meet his again, unsure. 

His voice is low, almost gravelly, “When you touch yourself, what do you like? How do you make yourself cum?”

He asks with genuine interest in learning how best to please you, but his manner of speaking makes you feel suddenly hot as your thighs squeezing together. Robby doesn’t miss it. 

“I use my fingers mostly… but I have a vibrator too that I like. Mostly it just takes a really long time.” 

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” he waits for your nod of assent, “There is nothing I would rather do than take my time making you feel good.” 

Feeling at a loss for words, a small ‘okay’ escapes you. 

“Good. Now, how about we try again and you tell me what you need from me, and we’ll go for as long as you want to. I would happily go all night without getting off if it meant I got to see you cum for me.” 

A smile grows on his face as he speaks, the tone shifting from serious to playful once more. You mirror his energy, grinning as you respond, “That sounds really fucking nice.” 

-

Forty seven minutes later (after Robby had all but tackled you into the bed for a solid makeout sesh and used his mouth once more to warm you back up) you find yourself perched on his lap, cock snug inside you. Robby sits with his back against the headboard, hands on your hips to guide the steady rock of your hips into his own. You have a tight grip on one of his shoulders to steady yourself, and an even tighter grip on the vibrator that you had sheepishly produced from the bedside drawer. 

“Come on baby, you’re doing so good for me, take whatever you need,” he encourages, voice rough with his own pleasure. 

“Feels really good, Robby,” you moan, resting your forehead against his as your hips pick up speed. 

Robby rolls his own up to meet yours, feeling you start to clench around him periodically. 

“I know it does, can feel you gettin’ all tight on me,” he laughs and all you can do is moan weakly in response. “Turn up the vibrator, you can take it sweetheart.” 

He feels you almost shake your head no to his request, before giving in and increasing the speed. 

“Oh- oh shit,” the effect is instant, your cunt feels so wet and warm as it grips him somehow tighter. Robby can feel his control starting to slip, and despite his earlier promise he knows he won’t last forever like this. Oh shit indeed.

“Feel so good around me. Tell me what you need, baby. Please,” He begs. 

“Talk to me? Please, Robby ‘m so close, just wanna know I’m being good for you.” 

“I got you baby, we’ll get you there. Me and that vibrator,” you both laugh at his comment, but Robby doesn’t lose focus for a second, using his grip to maintain your rhythm. “You’re doing so good, keep riding me just like this.” 

Nodding, you can feel the tell tale signs of your orgasm starting to creep in. The relentless buzzing at your clit coupled with Robby’s assistance in rolling your hips back and forth have you barreling towards the edge. 

“Yeah, that’s it. Just let it happen baby you’re right there, gripping me so fucking tight.” 

Your movements start to grow erratic, hips beginning to lock up. 

Robby reaches down and places his thumb over yours where it rests on the “up” button. 

“Gonna look so pretty coming on my cock, such a good girl,” he presses his thumb down. 

It comes on fast and strong. Your core is tightening as your back curves, your hips go dead still and lift ever so slightly as you shake on top of him. “Robby, please,” it comes out as a pitiful whine, begging him for something, anything, even as your orgasm is ripping through you. 

“Fuck,” he grits out, hips slamming up into you, continuing to use his one hand to make sure the vibrator stays on your clit. 

Robby can feel you still clenching around him as his own orgasm overtakes him, and he rides it out for as long as he can, groaning out incoherent praises as his hips begin to slow. 

He’s brought back into reality when you whine frantically and at your joined hands holding the vibrator, suddenly oversensitive. Even without the stimulation, the aftershocks are powerful as you quake above him. He does his best to pull you back flush with his hips, tucking you into his chest as you ride it out. 

After several minutes of holding you in his lap, Robby helps you to the bathroom, only teasing you for how bad your legs shake once. Once you’ve both cleaned up, you wind up back in bed. 

“Thank you for that, I think you’ve ruined me for all other men.” You say it jokingly, but there’s nothing but truth behind the words. 

“The pleasure was all mine.” He kisses the top of your head where it rests on your chest. 

Just as you're drifting off to sleep you hear him mumble, “Do I need to be jealous of that vibrator?”

[em1989ts]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟

robert "bob" reynolds x reader

word count: 1.9k - masterlist

summary: bob had been helping you out by occasionally doing your laundry, but when you come back early from a mission, you find out he might've had some selfish motives

contents: panty thief bob, kinda perv! bob, m! masturbation, caught in the act, handjob

author's note: i'm so glad i have time to write again, i have so many wips just sitting in my google docs (dw one is survival of the fittest p3), and hopefully i will get them finished soon. i've been completely captivated by bob/lewis pullman for the last month but five hargreeves still has my heart dw

proofread, enjoy!

Years ago, you’d always imagined what it would be like for the Avengers to return to their glorious tower in the middle of Manhattan after a mission. Landing on the side of the sparkling skyscraper in a quinjet seemed like such an inaccessible fantasy when you were just starting out as a lowlife vigilante. 

You never would’ve imagined that years later, you would live that very life you’d dreamed of. 

The mission had gone rather smoothly, so smoothly in fact that instead of returning to the tower by late afternoon, you, Walker, and Ava made your way off the jet about twelve hours earlier than expected. 

Since the task had been completed without casualties and was rather inconsequential, Walker decided that the three of you should wait until breakfast for a mission report with the other avengers. 

“Now you can get back to your boyfriend that much faster, you’re welcome,” he had said smugly to you on the way to your quarters. 

You knew exactly who he was talking about. 

While you were still warming up to living with your new somewhat reclusive and impolite roommates, Bob was different. Yes, he was shy, but he did seem to be the most respectful of the bunch. He had his flaws but that didn’t stop him from trying to be a good person, for his new teammates and for himself. 

Out of everyone, he was the one you turned to the most, the one you felt most comfortable with. You could tell he had grown accustomed to you as well, often finding him spending time reading or napping in your room. Of course, you didn’t mind. 

Knowing how tempted he was to rot in his room, you were glad he could find comfort in your space. Occasionally, he gained the motivation to do the dishes or a couple loads of laundry, anything that would give him a sense of accomplishment, and possibly some praise from you. 

“He’s not my boyfriend, Walker,” you said, exhaustedly rolling your eyes before bidding Ava goodnight as she disappeared into her room. 

“Right, he just does chores for you and follows you around like a lost puppy because he’s just a loyal teammate,” Walker sarcastically retorted as he opened his bedroom door, giving you a smirk before he disappeared for the night. 

You ignored his comment as you made your way to your bedroom, stationed farther down the hallway. Passing by Bob’s room, you noticed the door was slightly ajar, the darkness from the room seeping into the dimly lit hallway.

You stopped in your tracks as you tried to peek in the small opening to the room before walking closer, slowly creaking the door wider to see inside. With a quick flick of the lightswitch on the wall next to the door frame, the room illuminated before you to reveal Bob’s empty bed, sheets messy and pillows scattered.

If he wasn’t here, there was only one place he could be. 

You flicked the lightswitch, darkening the room once again before gently pulling the door closed and continuing your way towards your room. 

Bob had slept in your room many times before, but he had never stayed the night. He would nap during the day while you were downstairs training in the gym or in a conference with the team, since he wasn’t quite ready yet to participate.

Occasionally, you would lie next to him as he flipped through a novel, sometimes asleep from the exhaustion of your work as an avenger, other times awake and admiring his concentrated face as he consumed each page with a deep enthusiasm. 

You approached your bedroom door with caution. The door was completely shut, the darkness and utter silence seeped under the door. An image of Bob flashed across your mind — him laying in your bed, his book still open in his hand, his thumb holding his place between the pages, mouth slightly open as his head lay peacefully on your cotton pillowcase.

Half of you wanted to just let him be and just sleep on one of the many couches in the living room, where several pillows and blankets had accumulated from the team’s movie nights.

The other half of you however was so exhausted from your mission and ached to retreat to your own bed that you didn’t mind sharing it, especially with Bob. 

As quiet and gentle as you could be, you twisted the silver door knob and pushed your bedroom room open. The dim hallway light created a small path of sight in front of you, before it was outmatched by the darkness. You quickly tip-toed into the room and closed the door behind you, the faint click barely audible as the door shut completely. 

The rooms in the compound were quite large – with their own personal bathrooms and a good amount of floor space. 

It took you a while to get used to the new layout, but after some time you memorized it enough to navigate your way to your bed in the darkness. There was a small hallway when you first walked in, and as you calmly walked through, you expected to turn and faintly see Bob, illuminated by the faint moonlight shining through your window, completely oblivious to the world as he lay asleep.

But what you actually found when you turned the corner, well, you definitely could not have expected it. 

Splayed across your bed, wearing a black shirt that lay high on his abdomen, exposing his toned abs, and a pair of grey sweatpants that were tugged down almost to his knees. His eyes were shut tight. Not with sleep, but with devoted concentration. 

You froze in place for a moment, before quietly moving to hide behind the corner of the wall, peeking out of the darkness to witness the scene before you. 

His lip was bitten between his teeth, head thrown back as he worked his hand, stroking himself. You noticed something in his hand as you stared, a familiar pair of underwear you hadn’t realized had been missing till now. 

Now that you thought about it, you had been missing quite a few pairs since Bob had started helping you out with your laundry. 

The soft cotton of your white panties wrapped around Bob’s cock was a sight unexpected, but not unwelcome. 

As he lay in your bed, whines slipping through his teeth, bucking into his fist, you stood quietly across the room.

Your thighs squeezed slightly as you watched him, so needy in your own bed, completely unaware you had come back early to catch him so vulnerable. 

His curls had fallen over the beads of sweat on his forehead, and his pace was growing more reckless. He brought his hand that had been grabbing at your comforter to his face, covering his mouth as his moans became harder to stifle. 

You would’ve loved to watch as he made himself come undone in your bed, but where would that leave you? 

Leaving your hiding spot, you stealthily made your way over to your bed. His eyes were still closed tightly, so he didn’t notice your presence until you spoke. 

“So, that’s where those went.” 

His eyes flew open, looking up to see you looking down at him, and he froze. One hand stayed put around his cock, and the other moved to cover as much of his face as possible, hiding his utter embarrassment. 

“Oh– I’m sorry – I-” 

Bob had no idea how to explain himself. 

Yes, he had been sleeping in your room while you were away on missions. His room was just too lonely and your bed smelt like you. He just felt so much more comfortable surrounded by everything that reminded him of your presence even when you weren’t there. 

Yes, he had taken a few pairs of your underwear from your laundry. He didn’t want to seem weird, he was so afraid of scaring you off. He just wanted . . . some material, and surely you wouldn’t notice just a couple items going missing, right? 

And yes, he had been . . . relieving himself in your room. Again, it smelt so much like you. He had already spent a majority of his time there. He was just too nervous to tell you how he really felt about you, how much he really needed you, craved you even.  He made sure his visits were completely undetectable afterwards, and he always locked the door. Almost always, anyway.  

He was mortified. The one time he realized he forgot to lock the door, there you were, staring down at him in his most vulnerable moment. 

Your hand threaded through his brown locks as you looked down at him. He peeked between his fingers to watch your face – you didn’t seem that upset. 

Your pupils were dilated as your eyes scanned over him, stopping to watch his still hand around himself, before looking back up to meet his eyes. 

“Can I help with that?” 

His eyes grew wide as he groaned, his shoulders dropping their tense stance as his hand dragged down his face, “Please.” 

You motioned for him to scoot over, as he quickly scrambled to give you room. He watched with wide, anticipating eyes as you climbed onto the bed with him, laying directly to the side of him.

With one hand, you turned his chin towards yours, and encapsulated him in a kiss. 

The kiss was smooth, soft, yet he almost embarrassingly whined into your mouth. He finally had a taste of you, and it would be impossible for him to let go. 

His free hand pulled you closer from the back of your neck, as you reached down blindly and replaced his other hand with yours. 

As your thumb carefully brushed over his tip, he moaned through your lips. You kept moving your thumb in slow circles, and he had completely fallen apart. His head dropped into the crook of your neck, attempting to hide his flushed face and you kept working your hand so perfectly around him, especially with your own panties now in your grasp. 

You felt his breathy moans against the skin of your neck as he tried to bury himself into you, tugging you as close as possible as he moved his arm around your waist, bucking into your hand. 

His moans turned into whines as he grew more sensitive by the second, and it wasn’t long before he gently bit into your neck, and spilled all over your fist. He could’ve melted into you as he came, having never felt so blissful in his life. His hips kept shaking until he stilled, no longer able to handle the overstimulation. 

Reaching over to your bedside table, you pulled a couple tissues from their box and gently cleaned him up, as well as your hands, before tossing your panties across the room into your laundry basket.

You admired his face for a moment, eyes closed and mouth left slightly open, as his head lay back against your pillow, before carefully tugging up his boxers as his sweats. 

You thought he had already fallen asleep, as his chest was steadily falling and rising with every breath, however when you went to rest by his side, his arms wrapped around you and pulled you close, resting his chin on the top of your head as you smiled into his chest, a bit more thankful that he’d been doing your laundry.

~~~

[feralparsnip]

i am making a genuine appeal to everybody in this thread like

i did my time pagan. i still keep my altar. i was a hedge witch for ten years. i am telling you in complete earnest

instead of proliferating strategies for subsisting on empty wishes, wishes which you understand in your most secret heart are just empty wishes, instead of passing on between us in whispers strategies for existing in lives that are fundamentally unlivable

i am begging you to instead read an introductory text on dialectical materialism.

like what i wanted, when i was doing this, was a way to change my life for the better. sometimes i pretended i already had this. i was so good at this wishing that at times other people paid me to wish on their behalf in the form of curses and so on. and what i was bleeding out in want of, was a way to impact my environment for real

and the way to do that is materialist analysis. and nobody ever taught me how to do it, so i was wishing instead, and only succeeding on accident but mostly eating concrete

if you want to succeed, and succeed on purpose, please read about marxism. if you love mapping out belief systems you will love the new analytical toolkits made available to you by studying the structure of knowledge itself. and more importantly these skills will allow you to impact the world in meatspace. i am 4 months into studying and it has changed my life

you could really start with any text. right now this is what i am reading if you want to read along with me

just start, please. we have to be reading these texts on behalf of our peers who can't read, so that we can obtain the clout necessary to teach damn near everybody to read.

we have work to be doing. its hedge witches that saved my life with these little snippets of praxis. so i am turning to you now and telling you we have work to be doing and i need your help doing it

and i am telling you for true

engaging in the work is so much more rewarding than the wishing, that the need for the wishing will fade like mist before the glory of the dawn, as we take all our odd educations and skillsets and systemetize them, together. i need your help.

please read this book the next time you wish your wishes worked

Here is something I’ve learned that made my life better. You can believe in the efficacy of science, and also that there’s magic in the world. You can choose to believe in whatever makes the world more wonderful and livable for you as long as it hurts no one. You can believe, for example, that the trees you walk by often notice you, or the crows in your area recognize you when you go outside. You can notice special places in your area and believe there are quiet beings there that you can leave small gifts for or that something in the little stream nearby is pleased when you visit. What possible harm can it do to believe something like that? Why deny yourself that if it brings you joy? People try to get you to believe there are all these things wrong with you and wrong with the world, all kinds of things that make you sad or mad. Why not choose a few things to believe on purpose to make you glad? Why not be an OC in your own secret story?

[madamechrissy]

Endless Summer

Pairings- Yandere! Caleb x F!reader

Summary- You are staying home from summer break before Senior year of college with your Gran, Josephine, when a huge surprise happens, after over a year of being unable to see Caleb, he comes back to stay. You're so happy, but there's just a couple problems - one, you want him in ways you shouldn't, and you're just starting to get over it with the distance. And two, Caleb is pretty fucking pissed that you have a date, isn't he enough for you!?

Warnings- eventual smut, light angst, taboo relationships, TW- stepcest, mutual pining, yandere Caleb, he's a virgin bc that's canon to me, him being utterly obsessed. This chap - Caleb masturbating, thinking of reader sexually, fingering, SO MUCH SEXUAL TENSION - like just fuck already? - jealousy, hurt feelings, Caleb being SO petty, obsessed reader, mentions of virginity and a lot of fantasies hehe, kinda a slow burn?- 6.5k wc this chap

Comments/Reblogs appreciated if you enjoyy - taglist open <3

<<<Part One - Part Three>>> (coming soon)

Part Two

It's late when you get back, about to storm actually, you hear the thunder in the distance, little fat droplets of rain starting to patter on the windshield as you and your date drive back to your place. He's got a hand on your thigh, smiling and talking, it feels...

Off.

The only person that's touched you aside from a few kisses that you've tried, was Celeb, and his touches were always reserved, the bathroom earlier was the first time you felt him lose that just a bit. The way his hand slipped down your spine, the way he touched your calf and thigh earlier, something had changed.

Was it you who changed, or him though? Did you finally just let the facade fall, the lies you tell yourself so you don't feel horrible for wanting the boy you grew up with? It's swirling in your mind as you try to listen to your date, he's so nice and fun, but you can't find it in you to enjoy it.

You can't be with Caleb - did he even want that, would he ever want that!? The thoughts won't stop even as you shove them back - what you hoped was a childhood crush, admiration of him, you're forced to realize it's never going away. A deep love that borders obsession for him, diaries loaded with things you've always wanted to stay, buried forever.

"You're here, right?" He says, looking at the map on his phone, you smile then, nodding as he unbuckles your seatbelt. "I had a lot of fun tonight."

"I did too!" You take the hand on your thigh, holding it, curious then. Was it the complete lack of trying that caused you not to want anyone else? Were you so closed off you were blinded, closed off for him...

Caleb.

Before you really dive further, he's leaning down, the windshield wipers gently flicking the rain off in streaks as the storm starts to rumble. You remember being so afraid of storms when you were little, always running to Caleb's bed. He had a fort specifically built that the two of you would cuddle in, as he read you stories till you could sleep.

Even now, it's him all in your brain - made worse by his presence, with him being gone a year you could almost try to ignore it, explain it away. But he's full force back, you can smell his scent lingering from his touch on your fucking clothes. Shoving it all back, you lean forward as he cups your face, eyes fluttering shut.

What would it be like to kiss Caleb?

That thought shouldn't be what's in your brain, but it's glaring you right in the face, while the boy's lips press against yours. They're smooth and sweet, his hand entangling in your hair gently, a little sigh that falls into your own mouth. You kiss him back, focusing on the feeling, it feels nice, it feels lovely.

You wonder if this was it, what you needed to forget the person you shouldn't want, when his tongue slips in your mouth, and the kiss gets more heated. He touches your thigh again with his other hand, slipping up slowly, tongue swirling inside your mouth as you pull back for a breath.

"You look so pretty tonight," he says. You blush a bit in the darkness of his car, hearing the rain pick up. You look back to see the curtain of Caleb's room open, when you catch sight it flutters shut.

There's no way he could see like that in the dark, you're paranoid.

"Thank you, I enjoyed it too." You say, biting your lip when he starts kissing across your neck, you exhale at the sensations, his hand dangerously close to toying with the waistband of your panties, when he sucks on your neck. "Ah!"

"Sorry, too much?" He pulls back then, and you look down nervously, touching the spot he'd just gently sucked on.

"I'm sorry just... not experienced."

"Oh, shit I..." He trails off, backing away, and you shake your head, taking his hand again.

"No, it's okay, I also hate storms a bit. So I'm afraid my mind is a little everywhere." Not on the six foot three man towering in his fucking room, the one that had you soaking wet straightening your hair. No way, right?

"You also had that burn," He touches it and frowns. "I got a little carried away."

"You're perfectly fine, I do think I should head in while we get a break from the rain though." He nods and leans forward, kissing your cheek now.

"Can we do this again?" You nod shyly, he grins so big, he's an adorable boy surely, you wish you could feel something, anything, but the need to touch yourself and think of Caleb again.

You hate yourself for it.

"I'd love to. Good night!" You rush once you're running out of his car, the rain starting to fall again heavy as if on cue, you wave when you get to the porch and shake your hair out, fumbling with your bag to get to your keys.

It's pretty late after the movie and dinner, you quietly enter the home, the floorboards creaking just a bit as you walk inside, soppy heels coming off as you shut the door. You take them and set them by the entrance, shivering a bit as the cool air of the house hits your skin over the thin, soaking wet clothes, you feel goosebumps creep up as you set down your clutch.

You quietly walk up the stairs, so familiar, how many times had you and Caleb chased each other up and down these? You smile softly at the memories while your hand glides along the railing, cool under your palm, heading over towards your bedroom then, when you realize Caleb’s door is open. You bite your lower lip, wondering when it became so awkward.

It’s as if you can’t keep yourself under control suddenly, just his scent has you throbbing with need, you hover just by his door, sure he’s asleep, when you peer in the darkness just a bit. You’re dripping softly against the old wooden floorboards, still hopelessly drenched as you peer at his perfectly made bed, frowning a bit.

"Pips, you're gonna catch a cold like this," Caleb's words shock you, jolting in as he sits in the chair by the window seat, reading a book casually in the dark like that’s normal in any way. "You're all wet."

"I... um... yeah. I am." You barely manage to take a breath as he studies you in the doorway, lightning illuminating the room through the window as it flashes, enhancing his silhouette as his eyes dart down your body.

"I'll get ya a towel, dry your hair," he sets down the book, walking towards you, looking at how the thin, drenched material clings to your curves, swallowing a suddenly dry throat at the sight. "And some dry clothes."

"I can myself, Caleb, I'm a grown up you know." His lips turn down in a frown, his eyes unreadable in the night.

"You really don't need me anymore, huh?"

"Caleb no," you touch his arm with your cool fingers, but he takes your hand, laughing softly without humor. "I just meant I can grab a towel and dry my hair. I had to get used to..."

"I get it. I haven't been around, and you grew up." He pats your head, still damp, with a sad little smile that breaks your heart. You don't wanna be so dependent on him, but part of your heart craves him.

"Caleb..." He kisses your forehead with a soft brush of his lips, sighing, wishing he could drag you in his room, feeling your chilled skin under his fingertips.

"Have fun?" You manage a nod. A lie. "Good I'm... glad you're home safe. Then I’ll leave you to get dried up, you’re dripping all over, silly.”

He gently pushes you a bit when you pause, biting your lip and looking at him under your lashes, dripping mascara down your cheeks. “Maybe you could dry my hair for me?”

“You’re spoiled, see,” he laughs softly, shaking his head. “Go get in some dry clothes and I’ll come bring a towel for your hair.”

You smile and run off, he watches your bare feet leaving a little bit of a trail as you run to your room, he first grabs a towel for the floor because you’ve clearly been raised in a barn and want to piss Gran off. After chuckling and shaking his head, he grabs a fluffy towel from the bathroom, walking towards your room that’s across from his, taking a breath.

He raps softly, hearing you beckon him in, and when he walks in your room, you’re wearing one of his old shirts, he pauses at the sight of your nipples pressed against it, as you smile at him. “Ya stealin’ my shirts still?”

“They’re so comfy! I may have a collection at my dorm.” He rolls his eyes, smirking as he shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone, as he walks towards you now, seeing the lighting illuminate your silhouette under the shirt that swallows you, thin and white.

“I see that’s where all my things went, and here I thought you gave ‘em away,” he teases, smiling in that heartbreaking way only he can. You shake your head, and he brushes your damp hair, sighing. “Turn around.”

The soft order brings filthy things to your mind, ones you can’t help but think of, turn around, bend over, arch-

Stop that!

You do as he asks, he sits on the edge of your bed then, so tall that’s how he can dry your hair without hurting his back bending down. You stumble just a bit as you shift your weight on one foot, ending up sitting right on one of his knees, giggling and looking at him in the dark of the night then, the fluffy towel in his hands.

“Sorry, can I just sit here?”

“Sure, pips.” He manages to speak softly, you tilt your head so he can dry your hair thoroughly, while he feels your heat on his thigh, trying his best to control his breathing.

He’s been in battle, he’s been in jets, grueling training, he’s been through every stress test there is, but nothing affects him like being so close to you. Inhaling the scent of your skin, the perfume still lingering despite the rain, mixing in a heady scent with your shampoo. It was as if the rain just enhanced it, the beauty of your skin, the sweetness of your scent, his desire making him ache so badly it hurts.

He pauses as he brushes aside somewhat dried hair now, frowning as he sees the burn on your neck, touching it and making you gasp. “Does it hurt?”

“No, Caleb, it's fine. Promise,” he brushes his fingers across it, then moves the wide neck of his shirt lower, long fingers gripping it harshly as he sees it, letting the damp towel fall to the floor. “Caleb?”

“What’s this?” His words are dark, husky and dangerous, as his violet eyes meet yours before darting back to your neck.

“What, the burn?”

“No, this…” His thumb brushes over it, a clear hickey on your neck, and his other arm wraps around you so tightly you almost can’t breathe, pressed against his big, hard body so close. “What’s this mark on your skin?”

“It’s… um… Caleb, you’re hurting me,” he lets you go, realizing what he’s doing and you exhale in relief, but he’s still got your neck exposed, his eyes boring a fucking hole into your skin. “You know what it is.”

“Do I?” He brushes his thumb across it again, right over a vein in your skin, your pulse racing under his touch, and he feels your cunt heating up more, the jealousy raging through his fucking veins. “Was he fit to touch you?”

Your brows draw together as you gaze at his dark violet storms he calls eyes. “Was he… huh?”

“Is anyone good enough?”

“Caleb, that's insane,” you go to stand now, right between his legs when you turn, fixing the shirt a bit, and his hands fall, resting on his thighs in fists. “Good enough, what do you mean?”

“Was he good enough to get to touch you?” You shake your head again, he cups your face then, bringing your attention to him. “Is anyone?”

“You’re protective, it’s sweet but…”

He laughs, without humor now. “Protective. Yeah, guess I am.” He tugs at your collar again, swallowing nervously when you whine out softly, the sound almost doing him in.

“I stopped him when he did, it felt a little too fast,” he shouldn’t feel such relief at your words, but that’s exactly what they give him. “I barely know anything, I’m not very um… experienced. Is this too much?”

“We tell each other everything,” his words are soft and wistful, giving you those sweet eyes of his, contradictions of the dark gaze moments ago. “Don’t we? Haven’t we always?”

“I do know when you got your first kiss,” you admit with a teasing smile, as if the thought of him kissing someone doesn’t fill you with envy, eyeing those soft lips of his, so plush you want to touch them, feel them everywhere. “But that’s because I walked by and saw it, hounded you for details.”

“And I know your first kiss,” he is still cupping your face, with his huge hand, the other still tracing your neck as he looks back at that mark. “Only because I caught you and beat him up.”

“You did! That was embarrassing!” You shove playfully at him, he chuckles a little softer now, letting his hands fall, your own rest on his chest, feeling the hard, strong muscles under his shirt. “Caleb…”

“Hmm?”

“How’d you know you wanted to, the first time?” Your words make his stomach clench, his heart pound under your palm. “It’s too much isn’t it? Even we aren’t that close…”

“No, it’s not that,” he looks away, sighing and laughing a bit. God, if you knew he’s a virgin, has hardly done anything? Hasn’t even watched porn because it feels like he’s fucking cheating on you - and it’s not as if anyone could make him hard, when you exist. “Not that at all.”

“I know you’ve probably done a lot more than me, you’re all worldly you know, and the girls fawn over you,” your teasing words make him blush even in the dark, as he clears his throat, hands still in fists, the veins popping out of the backs of them. “I guess I want things to be just right, and they never have been.”

“Things should be perfect the first time, you deserve that. You deserve everything you know.”

“Caleb you go on too much sometimes, I’m just a girl.”

“Just a girl, huh…” you nod as he stands then, towering over you, making your head tilt back to look up at him, far, far too close, your hand now touching his hard abdomen instead. “What do you want to know?”

“What do guys like? I don’t wanna mess it all up.”

“You thinkin’ about it?” He tries to keep his voice calm, not show the edge to his words.

“Not now, but one day I’m sure. I can’t be a virgin forever,” the words fall out, and you look down shyly. “You’re the closest person to me, I guess you get to know.”

“Why be embarrassed about it? Means you’re picky, that’s a good thing.” He smiles at you, like his heart isn’t breaking right now, and you smile back, nodding a bit.

“I think I’m too picky, you left a hell of an impression. How does anyone live up to Caleb?”

He rolls his eyes and laughs, as you do, hugging him tightly then, his arms wrap gently around you. “I can’t tell you what other men like, aside from stories from the boys.”

“What do they like?”

“Hmm, some like to… be pleased, some like to please, the stories vary, and I think a lot of them are lyin’. I doubt they’re going that many rounds.” You laugh again, as he brushes his hand up and down your back, feeling your soft breasts against him.

“What do you prefer?” Your words make his heart pound, as he imagines exactly everything he’s always wanted to do with you, you lean back and bite your lower lip, eyes lowering. “Sorry, too personal?”

“What do I prefer,” he sighs now, as he only knows what he wants to do with you. You look up curiously, ever trusting, when his hand slips up to brush a bit of your hair off your brow, caressing your jaw line and watching your lips part. “To have whoever I’m with cumming so hard she can’t think.”

You gasp at that, at how he looks at you then, leaning low and tilting your chin up, and your hair falls against your back, your arms still around his waist. “Oh?”

You can barely manage to speak, and he nods just a little bit. “Till she’s a mess for me, beggin’ me to stop, but even then I can’t, not until I’ve lapped up every bit of the mess she’s making.” You barely bite back a moan, filthy images like that fucking dream filling your mind, when his lips are a breath away.

“You don’t want um… her to please you?” You barely manage a fucking sentence, dying to kiss him, knowing how fucking wrong it is.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

You’re furious anyone got this side of him, stupid and jealous over picturing him pleasing anyone, ever, hands gripping his shirt tightly, the material wrinkling in your tight hold as he brushes a thumb across your chin. “I don’t need it, the pleasure I get is from making her cum till she faints, watching her face as her eyes roll back, that alone would have me more than pleased.”

Your little whine you let out is too much, Caleb can hardly breathe when he hears it, when he rests his forehead, bent down, holding you in his embrace. “Whoever got that from Caleb, they’re very lucky.”

“Are they, pips?” You nod, swallowing when you hear a clap of thunder, loud now, burying your face against his chest, hiding your overheated face. “You still scared of storms, thought you were grown up now?”

“Oh… you love to pick on me,” you pull back, disentangling yourself, your entire body on fire as you take his hand, plastering on a bright smile. “Go to bed, we have a pool party tomorrow.”

“A what now?” He frowns and you giggle.

“Yes, a bunch of all our friends are throwing one, you’re coming. Let the girls fawn over you.”

“Uh huh, you can’t even swim.”

“I’ll stay in the shallow end! Plus, you’ll be there to save me.” You smile sweetly, and he sighs.

“I’ll always be there.” His words mean too much, when he kisses your head gently, inhaling your scent. “Get some sleep then.”

“Good night Caleb. Love you.” His heart aches, wishing it fucking meant more than that, than a best friend, whatever the fuck you two were.

The way he means it is not the same. “Love you, Pips, sweet dreams.”

He walks out and gently shuts your door, you let out a ragged breath, hand over your racing heart, as he leans his head against your door, palm over it, struggling to compose himself.

He can’t stop himself from jerking his cock as soon as he gets in his room, he barely makes it inside, releasing his thick, veiny length that smacks his belly button, smearing precum on his shirt as it slaps, leaking from his pretty pink tip. He exhales in relief, before crying out, his long lashes fluttering shut, seeing you behind his eyes.

He can't stop himself from picturing doing exactly what he told you - having you cum till you pass out. Fuck he’d keep licking you after, have you cum in your sleep - drink the juices he tasted on his tongue earlier, as you tugged his head even closer. God would you use him like he wishes you would?

God, if you’d suffocate him with those? He’s picturing them on either side of his head, would you ride his face? He spits down on his cock as he leans back against the door, groaning softly at the thoughts, his eyes shutting as he strokes himself, maybe he would while you suffocated him with your cunt, drown him in all that fucking wetness just pouring.

Caleb murmurs your name as he strokes his cock, from the base to the tip, whining out from the images racing through his mind of you - you and only you - how could there be anything else? The only girl he can ever picture sinking his long, thick cock deep inside, watching the bulge of your tummy as he fills you, so big in comparison.

He’s closer, closer to cumming, the release just on the brink as he pinches his tip and gasps out, remembering your scent, your heat on him - he shouldn’t be doing this when you’re in the room across from him. He should feel bad, but he can’t, not when he’s about to cum, picturing filling up your cunt, so much your tummy would just bloat with all the loads he’d put in you.

Caleb should feel bad for wanting you, for cumming now, white hot ropes filling all over his hand, making it a sticky mess as his head rests against the door of his room, knowing you’re over there is pure fucking torture. Knowing he can never say it, all he fucking feels, it’s a cruel joke, to wonder what you’re doing over there, to wonder how you look when you cum, how you’d look taking him.

He hastily cleans up, hands shaking as he does. Later, he's swiping a hand across his face as he lays in his bed, grimacing at his thoughts, not realizing you’re circling your clit with your little fingers in the room across from him, picturing him on top of you. If he knew that, he wouldn’t be able to handle it, as you scream into your palm under your blankets, picturing the boy you grew up with cumming inside you.

*****

Seeing you in a fucking bikini is fresh torture.

His cock was rubbed raw by thoughts of you, now you bounce out in a too small bikini, smiling a bit nervously. “I had to dig up a high school one, ugh! I think it doesn’t fit me anymore.”

No, it barely covers your pretty breasts, that are bouncing as you shift just so, every movement making him more tempted to fucking grab you. A mix of wanting to keep you hidden, no one should see your body but him, and another part of him wants to rip it off you, bend you over that kitchen table you’re leaning against, fuck into you until you forget about anything.

Anything, anyone, just you and him - why can’t you have your own little fucking world away, far away. He has enough money, he could make it happen. You don't know about his promotion yet, where it will lead him, how badly he wants you to come live with him, be taken care of. Never work a day in your pretty little life, maybe just have his babies.

Fuck.

You're talking but he isn't focused, instead picturing breeding you, god how sexy you'd be round with him. You'd stay with him forever, be a part of him forever, he'd never have to let you go, ever again.

“Caleb, do you?” He looks at you quietly, you feel his gaze dart to your breasts for a moment before they slide right back up to your eyes.

“Do I what, I'm sorry, I'm still kinda tired,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “What did you say honey?”

“Daydreaming, huh?” You tease, playfully pressing on his shoulder. He smiles, a little turn of lips slightly chapped from the weather, holding your hand then. “I said do you think I should go buy another?”

“You look fine, it's not… it's a little small but…”

“The freshman fifteen strikes!” He shakes his head at you and rolls his eyes.

“No, you're a woman now, you were just a kid when you wore that.” The way he says it makes you heat up- 

Does he see you as a woman now - and not the little girl he is so set on protecting, keeping just that, little forever?

“Are you going with her, Caleb?” Gran asks, walking in and gesturing. “You're not in swim trunks!”

“I didn't bring any, and my old ones I can't find anywhere.”

“Then let's both get bathing suits, this isn't working is it Gran.”

She laughs. “I mean, it's a little outdated I guess. While you two are out will you get a few things for me?”

“Of course, Gran.” She's giving you two a list, you slip on some jean shorts and Caleb offers you one of his button downs to cover up a bit, as your nipples threaten to just spill. “I'll drive!”

“Absolutely not.” You glare at him, earning his chuckle. God you're adorable when you do that, how your nose scrunched up. “I'll have a heart attack driving with you.”

“I'm not even that bad at it. I'll have you know I'm licensed now.” You tilt your chin up, but he takes out his own keys, jingling them high. “Hey!”

“Nuh uh, I drive. That's terrifying you're on the road.”

“Oh whatever!” You stick your tongue out, and soon the two of you are driving down the busy streets, he stops over at the mall the two of you grew up spending time in. “I wonder if it's changed?”

“Everything changes, pips,” you frown a bit at that, in his ominous, soft tone. “C’mon, let's get to picking something out.”

Caleb picks out a pair of purple and orange trunks in about two seconds, but suddenly everything you try on just doesn't look good enough. You're analyzing every part of yourself to death - what type of woman does Caleb like? Did he have a type? Were you close to it, or the opposite?

What did it matter?

“We're gonna be late for your own party if you don't at least choose something,” he says outside the dressing room, rapping at the door. You sigh now, opening it, as he takes in the simple black bikini, momentarily stunned.

“I can't figure this buckle out. But this is the only one I think looks okay.” He frowns then, stepping inside the dressing room, right behind you, looking at the delicate curve of your spine, finding the silver buckle in the back of the top.

“You look amazing, you always do in anything,” you look down nervously, feeling goosebumps raise where his fingers slide up, fixing the straps gently. “Hey. Look at me.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror, a boy you've always been so comfortable with, now you can't help but wonder what he thinks of your body. In ways you shouldn't think. It should be easy, the closest person to you in here, but his gaze in the mirror is too much, his big hands slipping down your bare arms.

“You're worried about how you look? That's not like you,” he murmurs, stepping closer and holding that eye contact in your reflection. You feel your body heat up at his nearness, breasts rising and falling. “That boyfriend's gonna be there? Is that your worry?”

You swallow, nodding, a lie.

You always lie to avoid the truth, it's Caleb's eyes and attention you crave. You always have.

“He'd only be so lucky to even see you,” he leans his chin down, two hands slipping across your waist, you bite back a moan. “You're beautiful.”

“Caleb,” you turn your head, breaths coming quicker, eyes locking as he delicately holds your chin. “Do you say that because you love me so much?”

“You think it's to be nice?” He laughs, that short sound with no humor, exhaling and tugging you closer.

“You're always too nice to me, you always have been.” He shakes his head, noses brushing just barely, the quiet dressing room so small then it feels like it's closing in on you.

It's just you and Caleb.

“I mean every word I say to you, you're beautiful in anything. Don't worry about what he thinks or anyone else, know what I think.” You turn to him then, making him tense as you press him against the wall, and his hands come to grip your waist, hugging him tightly. “You worry too much.”

“You always make me feel beautiful,” he runs his hands through your hair, ache deep in his body. He knows one more moment and he's going to lose control.

He can't ever.

“Let's buy this one,” he says softly, you nod, smiling up at him so pretty then. “Good, I'll buy it for you.”

He takes off the tag, and before you can protest he's out of the room. Leaving you trembling, wetness slipping out though you're trying to hold it back. You touch the cool glass of the mirror, leaning forward and seeing the faint mark of last night, next to Caleb's burn.

You wish he marked you everywhere.

*****

Watching you giggle and laugh with your friends brought Caleb back, they all came and asked him a million questions, they all have crushes on him, but they’re sweet to you. They’re so happy to catch up, as are some of Caleb’s old friends from high school and college, it feels nearly perfect, aside from the fact that he can’t do what he wants.

Hold your hand in public, kiss you in front of them all.

Seeing couples all around, seeing that boy from last night who Caleb would love to launch in the fucking pool and kill for leaving a mark on you, it all sinks in, as it does for you when you see so many gathered around him. Girls listen to his every word, as he blushes a bit under the attention, brushing back his dark brown locks, wet from the pool.

He catches your gaze across the other side of the long, rectangular pool, seeing you sitting next to the boy, your legs in the water. He sees his hand on your thigh and thinks of cutting it the fuck off, as you look at a girl touching his bare shoulder, whispering something in his ear, making you want to yank her off him.

But neither of you can, and shouldn’t want it, any of it.

In the pool later, you’re on Caleb’s back like a little monkey, he can’t stop laughing at the memories, when he walks you to the deep end. You cling tighter to his neck, thighs pressing on either side, and he feels it, that heat again, since he’s been back every time you’re near him he does. He knows what it means, but he’s terrified to act on his instincts.

Instincts to fill your pussy up with his fingers, the ones that press into your thighs, your lips are so close to his neck as you giggle. “I’m scared, it’s too deep!”

“Nah, I’ve got you pipsqueak, relax.” He says softly, you tense even more, earning another laugh of his, as you hear your friends talking.

He loves her like a little sister.

He’s so sweet to her!

They’re so close, he’s such a good stepbrother.

Even after all these years!

You both tense as you hear it, the words stabbing both of your hearts, while you suffer in silence.

“A little sister,” you repeat softly, he turns his head, but you hide your face now. “Is that how you see me, Caleb?”

“I… you… we…” he trails off then, breaths coming too quick, fumbling what he wants to say, unsure if he ever should let that secret go. “How do you want me to see you?”

“I just want to be seen by you,” your words break him, as you tug off, clearing your throat. “I want to go home.”

“Yeah, okay.”

You step up those pool stairs, giving him a perfect view of your ass, the curves of your body, he sees other eyes on you, especially that boy, who walks up to you now. His fists clench at his sides as you smile and speak for a bit, toweling off, and when he has the audacity to kiss your cheek Caleb almost does commit murder.

He’s furious when the two of you get back in the car, silently fuming and raging, you’re all wrapped up in a towel as he is, both dripping along the leather seats of Caleb’s car, while his hands grip the wheel tightly, and his jaw his set. You see a vein bulging from it, as you look at him, while he starts the car, a gentle hum, you go to put on your favorite song, but he pauses it.

“What’s up, Caleb? Didn’t have fun?” You ask softly, and he scoffs, glaring at you now, the cool air from the vents making your nipples perk up in the slick black material of your top, drawing him in with every breath.

“Fun, no. I didn’t have fun.”

“Not even with everyone all over you?”

“What!?” He glares, the sweet Caleb you know is gone in this moment, he’s just a gorgeous fucking man, a furious man, leaning over you so big and broad, one huge hand cupping your face, your breath catches as he leans low. “Ya mad they did?”

“No!” He scowls now, ever closer, as your hand slips up his perfect, chiseled torso, still gleaming from the pool, eyeing his chest to avoid his knowing gaze.

“Did you like getting attention from him?” He touches that mark again, you bite your lower lip, nodding.

Another lie.

“So much that you’re burning here?” He cups you right over your bikini then, you gasp at it, eyes fluttering shut at how good it feels, his thumb pressing the slick heat over your clit. “Always so hot, is it him? Thinking of him?”

“How do you… notice it’s… hot?” you manage a little glare, and his own deepens, as you taste his minty breath, his other hand entangled in the wet locks of your hair.

“How can I not notice how hot it always is? How wet it’s been,” you whine out as he slips his fingers into your waist band, tummy tensing with need, your hand entangling in his hair now, earning his soft moan. “It’s soaking wet, isn’t it? Do you need me to help you?”

You nod weakly, and he moans louder, right in a car in front of a fucking party, anyone could see his hand between your legs, how close you two were to kissing. “I need you, Caleb.”

“Are you wet for him, pips?” He whispers, your thighs tremble as he finally touches your cunt for the first time, fingers finding your hot, pouring wetness, your head falls back and he eyes that mark. “Answer me, now.”

“Can’t,” your whisper is met with the squishing of your wet, soppy cunt as Caleb quickly finds your clit, he’s never even touched a pussy but the moment he brushes it and feels it twitching under his rough fingertip, he presses more. He kisses the burn he left, causing a sweet pain, as he rolls his finger. “Caleb, please,”

“Please what? Can’t tell me why you’re like this? Is it his kisses here?” He goes to that spot now, biting it hard, making you cry out at the pain. “If I marked you, it wouldn’t be a little pathetic one like this, no I’d leave so many bruises that would last for days, weeks.”

“Caleb! Ah!” He’s going in quicker circles, biting your skin and sucking, so hard you’re crying at how good it feels, your cunt is gushing, throbbing around nothing, aching to be filled. “Please…”

“Mmm,” he moans so sexy in your ear, dying to fuck this perfect pussy, so wet he never could have imagined, watching the purple and red form from his suction, looking at his teeth marks. “Answer me, what’s it from? Your slutty little pussy all soaking wet, huh?”

“I… you… Caleb…” the way he’s acting, talking, the insane look in his eyes, it’s so much you can’t speak - terrified to say the words.

You want him, only him, ever him.

He drags himself away, right before you cum, you’re shaking then, when he tugs your bikini bottoms, eyeing your beautiful cunt to commit it to memory, your beautiful face, lips parted, eyes dilated. You end him just fucking existing, all the need about to explode, when he knows he can’t.

What would gran say, what would people say, if he fucks the girl everyone thinks he sees as a fucking ‘little sister’ and not the woman he wants to marry, to breed, to keep pregnant and locked in his house. He drags his fingers to his lips, sucking you off them in one move, as you watch, shaking in his hold, and he slips the rest of your sweetness along your own lips.

“Can’t answer, then I can’t help you.” You gasp as he pulls back, like it’s fucking no big deal he just touched your clit, like his lips aren’t glistening with you. “Seatbelt up, Pips, gotta be safe.”

Safe, safe!?

The drive home is quiet, it’s too fucking quiet, the tension so palpable you can hardly breathe until you step outside. You rush in the house, making some lame excuse that you’ve had too much sun, internally losing it inside. What was that, what was it, him touching you there!? Him sucking you off him? Knowing you’ve been wet for him, leaving you throbbing.

You’re furious as you lay there later in tears, ignoring the soft knocks from him on your door, ignoring the texts he keeps sending to your phone. You’re confused, hurt and aching, throwing the blankets over your face, as he desires nothing more than to tell you how much he loves you. How he’s sorry that he acted that way, but how could he not be furious, jealous?

If you were wet it needed to be from him.

He had the chance, he finally felt you, tasted you, almost kissed you, only to let the jealousy ruin it - but there is no other way for Caleb. He needs you to be his, and only his, it’s why he’s ran off every boyfriend you’ve ever fucking had, it’s why he almost killed that boy today for coming near you, it’s why you now have a bruise forming on your neck.

It’s uncontrollable, his need, endless.

How does Caleb live in a world where you’re not his?

If they don't fuck imma crash out aha they're killing me

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[fazedlight]

Eavesdropping (postcanon supercorp)

This hadn’t been the evening Lena expected.

Kara coming out as Supergirl had, of course, surprised the globe. And none was more surprised than one Andrea Rojas, who had immediately called Lena and demanded a girls’ night out where Lena could spill all the details about her years of being Kara’s best friend. Kara had laughed, wishing Lena luck on what would certainly be a chaotic dinner. 

After all, there was still more that Andrea didn’t know - or hadn’t known, until two minutes earlier. After months of increasingly-frequent platonic sleepovers, Lena had practically moved into Kara’s small downtown loft.  And only three days earlier, a night of takeout and wine had led to some soft confessions and a shy first kiss. It was new, it was novel, it was…

It was not the part Andrea was interested in. “Fuck, all that strength? The superspeed?” Andrea said, lowering her glass to the table, “The possibilities in bed-”

“We haven’t even-” Lena squeaked, “I’m not talking about this-”

“I mean, my god,” Andrea continued, ignoring Lena, “The things you could do with ice breathe-”

Andrea started listing all the ideas in her head, as Lena dropped her forehead into her hand, wishing the floor would swallow her whole. Yes, of course she had thought of all the possibilities of being with Supergirl - what gay woman hadn’t? Even in the years where Lena and Supergirl were fighting - before she knew who Kara really was - Lena wasn’t above fantasizing. 

“I don’t think about you while I’m doing it” had been the Freudian slip of the century, even if Kara didn’t catch it.

But Lena’s flustered state in this moment wasn’t about sex, or the graphic string of erotic suggestions pouring out of her ex’s mouth. The issue was that Lena’s heartbeat, now nervously pounding, might draw Kara’s attention. If Kara tuned in and heard what Andrea was saying… “Andrea, please,” Lena said, “Let’s talk about something else.”

Andrea rolled her eyes, and agreed. Besides, she still wanted to know how Kara had juggled being a Catco reporter all along.

A couple of hours later, Lena emerged from her girls’ night out remarkably unscathed, making her way back to Kara’s loft.

Lena walked through the doorway, murmuring a greeting to Kara, who was sitting on the couch pouring over an art history book. “How’s Andrea?” Kara asked, her voice half an octave higher than usual as she refused to look up from her book.

Fuck, Lena thought, Kara did overhear. “She’s fine,” Lena replied, brain scrambling to figure out how to handle Kara’s mortification, “Surprised, along with everyone else.”

Kara nodded as Lena approached - finally getting close enough to notice the red tinge on Kara’s cheeks. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” Lena said, stalling for time, “I have an early day with the Foundation tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Kara said, and Lena turned to make her way to the bathroom.

Should we talk about it? We should talk about it, Lena thought, turning on the water, waiting a few moments before getting in. Or we could not talk about it. We don’t need to talk about it…

Her shower was long, though not long enough to come up with any other ideas on how to approach the situation. I should drop it, Lena thought as she got out and toweled off, things’ll be normal by morning.

Kara was still reading when Lena went back into the living room - though, Lena noted, Kara was still stuck on the same page as before her shower. Lena quietly suggested that they brush their teeth and head to sleep. Kara nodded, placing her book on the coffee table and rising for their bedtime routine.

A few minutes later, Lena shuffled under the covers as Kara turned off the light, and they both got into a familiar position. Face to face in the dark, Kara’s arm around Lena’s waist, Lena’s head tucked into Kara’s shoulder. Lena had expected Kara to nestle in as usual, letting herself relax before they drifted off to sleep.

But… Kara wasn’t. Kara hadn’t. She was still far too tense. I should just say something, Lena thought. “You overheard her, didn’t you?” she murmured into the dark.

“Overheard who?” Kara said innocently.

Lena sighed. “You haven’t been able to look me in the eye since I got home.”

She could feel Kara shuffle on the sheets, swallowing nervously. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she said apologetically, “Your heart was just so fast-”

“I don’t blame you,” Lena said, “I just- I didn’t want to leave things so awkward. I know Andrea is…”

She hesitated.

“Creative?” Kara squeaked, drawing a small smile from Lena.

To Lena’s relief, Kara pulled her in closer, and Lena relaxed into the embrace. For all that the awkwardness was still there, it started to fade as everything fell out into the open. “I fell in love with Kara Danvers,” Lena said softly, “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Kara murmured, nuzzling into Lena’s hair, “But… I am Supergirl…��

It took a moment for Lena to register Kara’s words - and the implicit suggestion within them. Did I misread the situation?, she thought, pulling back a few inches in the dark, looking up into Kara’s shadowed features. “Is that… interest?” Lena asked, “In something she said?”

“In a lot of things she said,” Kara confessed, “Are- are you interested?”

Lena smiled, drawing a grin from Kara. So that’s what she was thinking, Lena thought, leaning forward to place a kiss on Kara’s lips. “I have some ideas of my own, too,” she said, and Kara laughed.

[zepskies]

And the Next

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: He has the ring, but still isn’t sure he should give it to you. Ellie helps him out a little.

AN: Here’s the sequel to Tomorrow, but this can also stand alone!

Word Count: 1.2K

Posted on Patreon: 6/04/2025

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, Jackson!Joel, fluff, sliver of angst

Ellie tears through the front door like a colt bolting out of a stable, still with that kid energy, disturbing his morning cup of coffee.

Joel jolts in his chair out on the porch.

“Jesus,” he mutters. She just grins.

“Morning,” she says, nodding at him. “Still waking up, one creaky limb at a time?”

He shoots her a wry look. “More like one sip at a time.”

He’s made enough coffee for you, too. It’s waiting for you in the carafe, for whenever you wake up. You’re not an early riser like he is. No, you push off the responsibility of starting the day until you run the risk of being late.

He’s tried to be your alarm clock before, but no matter how gentle, straightforward, or creative his attempts are, you either manage to fall back asleep, or worse, drag him back into the warm comfort of the bed (and you).

So today, he watches the sunrise alone. An early December breeze nips at his cheeks, nose, and fingers. He doesn’t mind. He almost doesn’t feel it, because a low buzz of unrest in his chest keeps his mind busy. His fingers brush along his jeans, around a small ridge and weight in the pocket.

“Saw you coming out of Sasha’s again yesterday,” Ellie says, earning his attention back.

She leans on the porch rail with her back facing the sun. Her grin kicks up into a smirk, especially at the subtle, uncomfortable way he shifts in his seat.

He crosses his arms defensively. “And?”

“And. What do you need to go to the town jeweler for?”

“None of your damn business,” he says, even if it just makes both of them smile, just shy of laughing. He’s been with you long enough that he’s started to pick up on the shit you say.

“Finally ready to do it, huh?” Ellie asks. Her voice is a little softer, her eyes less teasing, revealing the knowingness and the affection lying underneath.

Joel sighs, but he doesn’t answer. The buzz in his chest swells, reaching the base of his throat.

Ellie sees the familiar scrunch of his brows, and the less familiar hesitance in his eyes.

“What’re you afraid of?” she asks bluntly.

His lips purse. He shakes his head. “Nothin’. It’s just, uh…”

“You know she’s gonna fucking say yes. She fucking knits you socks,” she says. Now at sixteen years old, her mouth hasn’t gotten any better. “And she found you those old man reading glasses.”

Joel just rolls his eyes. He leans backward in the chair to adjust his spine, sighing with an edge of frustration. “I know. That’s what I’m…”

He stops himself, but when he meets Ellie’s eyes again, he knows she understands what he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. She pushes off the porch and draws in to lay a hand on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he looks up at her.

“If anyone’s earned a little fucking happiness, it’s you, Joel.”

Three weeks later, Christmas morning brings an even more unforgiving winter chill to Jackson. The house is warm thanks to the crackling fire in the living room hearth, but that’s not the only thing making Joel sweat.

His new rifle, your gift to him, lays on its side on the coffee table. His fingers had run carefully, reverently over the initials carved on the hilt: S.M. and E.W. He thinks he’ll add your initials too, tomorrow.

He’s tempted to swipe a hand at the sheen from his brow, but he can’t even move. His ass is plastered to the old couch cushion, his limbs frozen where they rest. He watches you with his breath stilled in his lungs.

You manage to close your parted mouth, your surprise having trembled down your spine like a buttery caress. The ring is a modest, stainless steel band carefully held between your fingertips. In its center lies a smooth turquoise stone Joel found in the river. He'll later tell you that he broke the metal off from an old sink, polished it, and had the jeweler melt it down.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” you say at last, awed and breathless. But you bite into your lower lip because you’re not sure what it means, other than one hell of a Christmas gift. The man hasn’t said anything since handing you the ring. “Thank you.”

His brows furrow, like he was expecting a different answer. “Uh, you’re welcome…”

He searches your face, the chocolate brown of his eyes confused, and a hint worried.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you ask, unable to help a nervous laugh.

“Well, you…I mean…is that a yes?” he fumbles.

Ellie groans and rolls her eyes, covering her face with one hand. You glance at her in confusion now, and back to Joel, who wears a look of embarrassment as heat creeps up his neck.

“Jesus Christ, Joel. Put some effort in,” she mutters at him. When he just glares at her, she points at the ground. “Get down on one knee at least! You haven’t even asked her the fucking question.”

A cross between a gasp and a laugh escapes from your lips as you realize what’s happening. Why Joel now looks so fucking embarrassed and frowny, and a little flustered as he starts to slide himself off the couch and down on his knee—the same one he twisted on a patrol last week. You grab his arm and stop him.

“It’s okay, baby. I get it now,” you giggle. But you also caress his rough, bearded cheek as the threat of tears makes your eyes shine glassy and bright. “You want to marry me?”

You can’t help it. Your voice is laced with a hint of doubt. Not because you don’t know who you are to him, but because you’ve spent most of your life believing you’d never have a family again. You would’ve been content to have this as it is—you and Joel—without a label, as long as you know he’s yours, and you’re his. Today, tomorrow, and the next.

Joel’s arm slides around your waist and brings you in closer, warm and secure. With his free hand, he gently takes the ring from you. He meets your eyes. Despite the lingering embarrassment, what you don’t see is hesitation. When this man makes a decision, it’s made, like the sling of a revolver. Like trying to uproot an oak tree and all its stemming roots.

“I know it’s a bit old-fashioned nowadays,” he says, but you stop him, your hand pressing over his lips.

You lean in to kiss him instead, slow, and with meaning. You comb your fingers through his graying hair with affection, curling some tousled strands behind his ear.

“I like old-fashioned,” you say, smiling against his lips. It makes him smile too, almost like a compulsion. You’ve got that effect on him.

Ellie sighs from her lounge seat. Propping an elbow on the arm rest, she rolls her head onto her hand. The scene playing out in front of her is nauseating, but it doesn’t mean she hates it.

Actually, it’s pretty fucking funny to watch Joel hastily stop you from putting the ring on your own finger. He wants to do it himself, as if to prove he actually knows what he’s doing with you.

He’s fucked this almost all the way up from start to finish, but at least he got there in the end…with a little help.

AN: Tomorrow, and the next. 😉💛 (Yes, I plan to write more for these two. Like I tend to do, go back to their "beginning.")

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@chewie-bars @gera8363 @thewritersaddictions @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @jollyhunter

[llonkrebboj]

Adding my 5 cents of context.

I started reading cnovels on the web in 2014 - not on the official sites because my Chinese wasn’t quite that functional for developing internet savviness yet, and I hadn’t figured out there were official platforms… later when I did manage to create my accounts and get them working, certain things had already become common practice.

Starting in female lead 言情 romance mainline novels before moving into danmei a year later, there were still ripples caused by net cleanup campaigns that I heard of distantly in my corners.

First, news and rumors about a fairly popular author 长着翅膀的大灰狼 | Big Grey Wolf With Wings being investigated for allegedly ‘profiting from sales of pornography’ (friends, like the haitang authors of 2024/5, she wrote books!). Three of her works - all het with female leads - were deemed as obscene by an enforcement agency, and she ended up with a suspended 3-year prison sentence in June 2015.

Link to the article about Big Grey Wolf With Wings: https://www.thepaper.cn/newsDetail_forward_1366172

Much later (years later actually, while looking up things for the Chengdu Hugo awards scandal), I found out about the 扫黄打非·净网 2014 | Sweeping Pornography and Striking Illegality – Clean Web 2014 campaign to clean up ‘pornography and illegal content’ online. You can read about it on this blog. (The work of 扫黄打非 def continued through the years.) Pretty much every major platform like jjwxc, qidian, weibo, and even cloud storage sites got swept up in this. And jj which was a hub for romance and danmei stories got labeled a hotbed for adult content.

I have a distinct memory of bewilderment when the tag for 耽美 - I hadn’t quite figured out what that was or what it meant - suddenly turned into 纯爱 overnight on the site where I downloaded my txts. Piecing backwards from jjwxc forum questions and replies, it seems like this happened in July 2014. Not only jj, but if you check most sites now, the tag you will see for BL is 纯爱.

Danmei name-change to chunai: https://bbs.jjwxc.net/showmsg.php?board=22&boardpagemsg=12341&id=116331

As the forum moderator explained, the adjustment (rebranding) was due to much stricter checks during that period - likely related to the Clean Web 2014 campaign. Just looking at the words alone, 耽美 - carrying associations with sensuality and influence from Japanese Boys’ Love, and 纯爱 - emphasizing innocence, emotional purity, and the absence of sexual content. I guess you just have to do what you gotta do to keep the website operating.

(On lofter right now, neither chun’ai nor danmei are searchable tags. You do get a handful with 原耽 though, as a truncation of original danmei.)

Between 2015 and 2018 (I only found out the exact rough timeline looking it up for this reply, but it mostly aligns with the time I started noticing complaints, begging and funny ribbing @ reviewers appearing in authors’ notes), jjwxc formalized a “three-stage” review process for all content: First, automated machine screening; second, review by a randomly selected trio of users; and third, high-level editor approval. If a piece failed at any stage, the author would be notified to revise or the content would be removed. Around this time was when the standard of 脖子以下不能描写 | no depictions under the neck, as well as when ☐☐ came into fashion.

Moving into 2019! I think this is the year more people will start to remember because more of anglosphere fandom had been getting into cnoveland and fantranslations by this time, whether it be through the earlier novel adaptation cdrama, BL adaptations or Untamed.

Around May 2019, even qidian had whole sections of their site frozen for up to a week; books were taken down and people were losing their accounts over completely random things from puns that edged too close to forbidden words, to slightly steamy kissing scenes (although I think this mind boggling period turned out to be due to reviews via bots which flagged things indiscriminately)?

Something similar was also happening to jj, fanqie and midu in July 2019. And all of them were forced to stop updates and suspend commercial operations over a certain period during which time, they were supposed to ‘clean up problematic content, strictly enforce content review and management systems’. Of and course, fines. Fines were definitely paid. And for all the other times too.

Article for the above: https://www.zaobao.com.sg/realtime/china/story20190716-972936

[Some forbidden topics: https://www.jjwxc.net/backend/forbiddensubject.php]

More than before, writers started using clever metaphors, ancient-style language and other euphemisms to get around the filters. You might even have heard of some of the jokes made in hell like 古代文言文式开车 ~ writing smut in classical, literary language.

And it wasn’t just sexual content. Military romance, historical fantasy, real life politics, anything that touched on religion or violence—those were all fair game for censorship too*.

*People with the jjwxc app, you can go to check under public messages from 2021-06-10 ‘多部门署启动“净网“集中行动，请网站各位作者注意严控作品尺度和导向’ | Multiple departments have launched a coordinated 'Clean Internet' campaign. Website authors are urged to carefully monitor the content and messaging of their work, and look at the guidelines laid out there. A portion of it is translated (via mtl) in this tumblr reply.

Also, the elephant in the room was illegal publishing. Some authors who couldn’t get ISBNs would self-print 同人志 | fanbooks and sell them at cons or online. That was fine… until someone reported you. Like in the case of the author by the pen name of 深海先生 | Mr Shenhai, where they accused another danmei author of plagiarism, and the author clapped back by reporting them for illegal publishing. Mr. Shenhai got arrested and sentenced to 4 years in prison. And of course the MXTX arrest rumors of 2020/21 that probably were true.

All in all, I guess the shift from danmei to chun’ai wasn’t just about semantics, it really marked these 10 years as era of transition for Chinese BL, from the freedom of before to whatever state it’s in now.

After the arrests last year of danmei authors who published their works on the Taiwanese website Haitang, the authorities have allegedly arrested another 200-300 authors, many of whom took to weibo to share their experiences recently.

What struck me is how the authors always blamed themselves for not being cautious enough or being led astray by their financial needs, but nobody put the blame on the unjust rules and the greed of the authorities that led to their arrests - not that they would dare to. It's an utterly bizarre situation that, as a new danmei English license seems to be announced once every few days here on the other side of China's Great Firewall, within China the persecution keeps getting more rampant and the danmei community feels more and more cornered and frightened. Reality is always more surreal than fiction.

I translated some of the author's weibo posts, please see below:

“I knew I was being naïve and over-optimistic (about the repercussions of writing danmei), so I can’t blame anyone. Sometimes I want to resent society but then I’ll give up the thought. As for the criminal punishment, my view on it is still the same - I even feel that I’m different from those who engage in prostitution; after all, I made all this money by typing my stories word by word. Yet when I got into trouble, people talked about it as if I didn’t have to work for my income.” - This is from an author who wrote danmei because her family’s poor and she wanted to save money to travel. She got into a master’s programme before this and the programme kicked her out because of her arrest.

“Ever since I was little, I’ve always been the well-behaved golden child in my parents’ eyes. I had the best grades among my peers and won scholarships in both high school and university. When we visited family during New Year and other festivals, my parents were always proud of me in front of our relatives. But that day I shamed them thoroughly and the shame will always stick around...I love the characters I wrote very much, planning and creating their stores always brought me so much happiness and fulfillment. But a mistake is a mistake. I want to use my personal experience to admonish others - don’t try to go against the regulations in any way ever, don’t put yourself in the slightest bit of risk.”

“I’ve never felt this horrible in my entire life. I’ve always firmly believed that nobody in this world could be that bad. My rose-tinted glasses were broken along with my romantic expectations for the world. My values and outlook on life were shattered. When something like this happens, perhaps only the family of the author involved and the author herself would be hurt deeply! It’s just business for everyone else!”

This one’s written by the author’s sibling: “Another sleepless night. Tomorrow is the Dragon Boat Festival, and it’s been three festivals since we could be together...I’ve felt remorseful for countless times that I didn’t contact more people and I felt that I haven’t done enough. I prayed to the gods and the Buddha for more times in the past two months than in the past 30 years. Besides asking for the Heaven’s protection and blessing, what else can we do?...You supported yourself financially during university solely by doing part-time jobs. We’ve always put too much importance on money, and that’s how we allowed you to make a mistake.”

(link to the original weibo posts: https://x.com/whyyoutouzhele/status/1928763362541818266)

[deadbydemand389]

Too far away

why did i sobbed ,long but worth it

Story:Two dorks stupidly in love. Distance tries to wreck them.

Warnings⚠️:smut,fluff,language,long distance angst ,softdom boyfriend ,horny and heartbroken ,panic attacks mention ,emotional support hoodie ,filthy phone calls

“Do you really have to leave? Can’t I just sneak into your suitcase and smuggle myself out with you?” You pouted—sad was an understatement.

“You know I’d love that, baby,” Erik chuckled, “but I’d rather not end up on human trafficking posters across the country.” He laughed, but you could tell it was just as hard for him.

Erik Campbell—aka your boyfriend of two years, your personal heater, your serotonin provider—was being shipped off to Buttfuck Nowhere for some tattoo workshop his boss had bullied him into. And yeah, you were happy for him (or at least trying to be), but the thought of your apartment without him in it? Bleak. Depressing. Borderline illegal.

“Can you at least leave your dick at home? I don’t think I’ll survive without it. I’ll miss him too much.” You flopped onto the bed as he packed,  tossing clothes into his backpack like a man on the run.

He cackled. God, how were you supposed to go three whole months without that sound? You were going to go fully, irreversibly numb.

“Him? Really?” Erik raised an eyebrow. “Me and my dick are a sealed package, sweets. I’m sorry.” He hovered over you, pinning your wrists playfully above your head.

His cologne hit you first—warm, musky, stupidly good. Then the mint on his breath. Your body was already mourning his absence, and he hadn’t even left yet.

“I’ll miss you like crazy, you know that?” he whispered, kissing your neck, biting and sucking like he was trying to tattoo himself into your skin. You let out a soft moan. “Oh look,” he grinned, pulling back slightly and gesturing to the very visible bulge in his jeans, “your buddy already misses you.”

You smirked. “That’s my boy.” Two dorks, stupidly in love, laughing through the ache.

“I’ll call you when I get there, okay? And please, for the love of all things holy, send me some nudes. I’m about to be trapped with ten other dudes and exactly zero porn material.”

“You such a dork. I will.” You winked.

The moment stretched—just you and him, eye to eye, your heart already splintering down the middle.

Then his phone buzzed.

“Shit. I’m late,” he muttered, checking the screen and throwing his backpack over one shoulder. You ruffled his hair, trying not to crumple into a mess of snot and tears.

“I love you. Have a safe trip. And Erik—no dick pics while I’m at work. I’m serious. Last time, my patient saw it and nearly had another stroke.”

He smirked. “That was a great angle, to be fair. Maybe the piercing triggered it.”

You pinched his arm. “I’m serious.”

“Aww, okay okay—only balls, no cock.” He dropped his bag and leaned in, cradling your face. His lips met yours, slow and greedy, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. His tongue grazed your lips, parting them. You melted. You bit his bottom lip, dragging a low whimper out of him. When the kiss broke, he gave you one last peck on the cheek.

“I love you, Peach.”

You squeezed his hands. “I love you too, dumbass. Now go before I change my mind and tie you to this bed forever.”

He grinned. “Honestly? Not the worst idea. Maybe I’ll stay—”

You cut him off with a finger to his lips. You knew if you let this play out another second, you’d snap and lock him in the bedroom for life. But you had to let him go. At least before the ugly crying started.

“Bye, baby.” You kissed him one last time.

“Bye, sweets.”

And just like that, he was gone. Leaving you horny, breathless, and heartbreakingly alone.

After Erik left, you got dressed and dragged yourself to work. You had the night shift at the hospital—thank god. Maybe if you kept busy, it would stop your brain from spiraling. Distraction. That was the plan. That was the only plan.

Twenty-four hours later, you were officially dead on your feet. The ER had chewed you up and spit you out. You peeled yourself out of your scrubs, took a scalding shower, pulled on one of Erik’s oversized T-shirts, and collapsed into bed.

His scent still clung to the pillow. Your eyes stung before you even realized you were crying. The ache in your chest felt like it was trying to climb up your throat and crush your windpipe.

Panic attacks were easier when Erik was around. He always knew what to do—what to say, how to hold you, how to make the world feel just a little less heavy.

Your phone buzzed. You picked it up before it could ring twice.

And just like that, the chaos in your brain quieted the moment you heard his voice.

“Hey, baby. What’re you doing? How was your shift?”

You exhaled. The knot in your chest loosened. Maybe three months wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe.

“It was fine. A ton of paperwork and, like, maybe two hours of sleep,” you murmured, already drifting.

“Oh fuck—did I wake you? I’m such an idiot. Sorry, Peach.”

You could practically hear him facepalming. Even through a speaker, he was stupidly adorable.

“No, babe. It’s okay. I just got into bed. I’m wearing your shirt, by the way,” you added with a sleepy giggle.

“You brat. You miss me that much, you’ve resorted to theft?” he laughed.

“Shut up. I left you a present in your inside pocket, by the way. Thank me later,” you mumbled, voice going soft.

“Wait—what? Hold on—” You heard frantic rustling through his bag, and smiled. He was always such a mess when he unpacked.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT—ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

You couldn’t hold in your giggles. His reaction had you grinning like an idiot, your heart doing little summersaults.

“You’re welcome, dummy.”

While he was distracted, you’d managed to sneak in a couple of sexy Polaroids—tastefully shot, high heat, and very not iMessage-appropriate. You’d even included the lace panties you wore in the photos. Classy, thoughtful, terrifyingly effective.

“How do I tattoo this on my eyeballs? Jesus Christ,” he whispered like he was in church.

You yawned, blinking back tears—this time the tired kind.

“Go to sleep, babe,” he said gently. “I love you.”

His voice was so soft, so close, you couldn’t tell if he was on the phone or just in your head.

“I love you more,” you whispered.

And just like that, you were gone— floating in the scent of him, wrapped in his shirt, with the ghost of his voice holding you through the night.

ERIK’S POV

The call ended, and for a moment, Erik just sat there—on the shitty motel bed in the middle of Nowhere, USA—staring at the Polaroid in his hand like it was sacred text.

Jesus. You were unreal.

He set the photo on the nightstand, very gently, like it might self-destruct if he moved too fast. The panties were tucked safely in his hoodie pocket now—he was never taking that hoodie off again. Not even for fire safety.

He leaned back, running a hand through his already-messy hair, exhaling like he'd just survived a war.

Three months.

What the hell had he done agreeing to this stupid workshop? Oh right—his boss, with that whole “it’ll be good exposure, Erik” crap. If exposure meant sharing a bunkhouse with ten other tattoo artists who all snored like dying lawnmowers and argued about needle brands at 6 a.m., then yeah. Exposure was thriving.

But you? You were home.

Even over the phone, he could hear how tired you were. He could practically see you curled up in bed wearing his shirt, all soft and sleepy, with those barely-there moans when you yawned. It made something ache deep in his chest.

He missed you. Already. Stupid hard. And not just in the horny way (though, let's be clear, he was one lace-panty whiff away from going feral).

No, he missed the tiny things.

Your awful morning coffee that somehow always tasted like burnt hope and yet he still drank it. The way you’d steal all the blankets and then wrap yourself around him like a very needy, very warm octopus. The way you'd hum under your breath when you were concentrating—he swore it was his favorite sound on Earth.

He stared at the ceiling. This room felt too empty. Too quiet.

The pillow didn’t smell like you. That alone should’ve been illegal.

He rolled onto his side, pulled out his phone, and opened his camera. Snapped a blurry, shirtless selfie with the Polaroid blurred in the background and his dumb smirk front and center.

Caption: Missing you so bad I’m talking to your panties. Pray for me.

He saved it, didn’t send it. Not yet. You were asleep. He didn’t want to risk waking you again, even if part of him wanted to keep hearing your voice on loop.

Instead, he opened his Notes app and typed:

“Things to Do When I Get Back:” – Binge-watch that shitty detective show you love (no complaints, even during the sex scenes) – Take you to that sushi place you keep hinting about – Let you steal all my shirts, no arguments – Make up for three months of lost time in bed. (Bring Gatorade.) – Tell you again and again and again: I love you, I missed you, you’re it for me

He looked at it for a moment. Smiled to himself like a complete idiot.

Then he buried his face in your panties and groaned dramatically into the pillow.

This was going to be the longest three months of his entire goddamn life.

It had only been three weeks.

JUST THREE FUCKING WEEKS.

You thought keeping busy would help. You picked up extra shifts, reorganized the kitchen (twice), binge-watched two seasons of that drama Erik hated (“They’re not even real detectives, babe”), and even tried meditating. You lasted five minutes before crying yourself to reality.

Everywhere you looked, Erik was there—in the dent he left on the couch, the stupid chipped mug he insisted was “aesthetic,” the half-full cologne bottle by the sink that you kept sniffing like it was cocaine.

You missed him so bad your bones hurt.

Even worse? Nights.

You couldn't sleep. Not properly. The bed was too big, the silence too loud, and your body too used to being wrapped in his stupid, clingy octopus limbs. Without him breathing next to you, it felt like the world was slightly tilted. Off-balance. Wrong.

And the panic attacks? Yeah. Those were back. You had one in the breakroom on day five. Curled up in your locker like a wet cat, texting Erik things like “I hate this” and “I need you” while tears smudged your eyeliner into raccoon territory.

He texted back instantly, always did. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t him.

You even started talking to his pillow like it was an actual person.

"God, I’m losing it,” you muttered one night, clutching your phone, hoping he'd call before you completely short-circuited.

And when he finally did, you answered on the first ring, voice cracked and sleepy and desperate.

ERIK’S POV – ONE MONTH WITHOUT YOU

He was unraveling.

Every day was hell, and not even in a dramatic, poetic way. Just... mundane, miserable hell. The bunkhouse smelled like Axe body spray and chili dogs, some dude named Kyle snored like a freight train, and someone stole his shampoo. Twice.

He hadn’t eaten a vegetable in two weeks.

But none of that compared to the you-shaped void following him everywhere.

He missed you in the morning when he didn’t get to kiss your temple before you rushed off to save lives. He missed you at night when he lay in bed scrolling through your old texts, rereading them like they were scripture. He missed you in the shower, where the water was too hot and no longer smelled like your vanilla conditioner.

He was being weird. Fully aware. He was sleeping in the hoodie you gave him even though it was 80 degrees in the room. He kissed the Polaroid you gave him goodnight. Once, in a moment of weakness, he pulled the panties out just to feel closer to you, then immediately scolded himself like, “Jesus, Erik, get a grip. This isn’t a damn romance novel.”

But then he got your texts. The ones where you sounded small. Frayed. Like you were falling apart just like he was.

And he cracked.

He called you even though it was late. He couldn’t go another night without hearing your voice. When you picked up and whispered a broken, “Hey,” he wanted to climb through the phone and hold you so tight the world disappeared.

“Baby,” he breathed. “I miss you so fucking much.”

You sniffled. “I think I’m going insane. I cried in the freezer aisle today. I saw your favorite ice cream and lost it.”

He smiled softly, eyes stinging. “That’s fair. I saw someone wearing your perfume at the grocery store and almost proposed.”

You both laughed, a little brokenly, through the ache.

He lay on his bed, listening to your breathing even after you fell asleep, your voice fading mid-sentence. He didn’t hang up. Just pressed the phone to his chest like a lifeline.

SEXTING & SOBBING (A MASTERCLASS IN FAILING AT LONG-DISTANCE)

You: You were curled up on the couch, swaddled in a blanket like a burrito of despair, eating peanut butter straight out of the jar with a baby spoon. Erik hadn’t texted in two hours—two whole hours. That was basically a week in long-distance time.

Finally, your phone buzzed. Erik : “Hey sexy. You alone?”

You raised an eyebrow, wiped a peanut butter smudge from your lip. You knew that tone.

You: “Alone, pantsless, and dangerously close to crying to a rom-com.”

Erik : “Hot. Let’s pretend I’m there. What would you do if I was?”

Okay. So that’s what we’re doing.

You squirmed a little, warmth blooming in your belly. You wanted him so bad it physically hurt. So you gave in.

You: “I’d sit on your lap and grind real slow, just to torture you.”

Erik : “Fuck. Keep going.”

You giggled, slipping a hand under your shirt, playing with your own chest like he would.

You: “Then I’d pull off your shirt, kiss down your chest, tongue over that tattoo I love…”

Erik : “I’m getting hard. Jesus. My roommate just walked in, I’m going to kill him.”

You laughed, then bit your lip, typing out something hotter—

But then you saw his jacket hanging by the door.The one that smelled like him. And just like that, your throat tightened, your eyes welled up, and the tears started leaking without permission.

You: “I miss you.” “Like… ache-in-my-ribs miss you.”

Erik : Typing... then nothing. Then: “Babe…”

You: “I want to fuck you but I also want to cry into your chest and eat pasta while we watch cartoons.”

Erik : “Same.”

You: “I’m a disaster.”

Erik : “You’re MY disaster.” “Let’s just cry and masturbate in sync. Soulmates shit.”

And that’s how your sexy night ended—with a mutual emotional breakdown, one ruined vibrator, and Erik softly whispering “I love you” through FaceTime while you wore his jacket and ugly-sobbed into your pillow.

10/10. Romance is alive and well.

ERIK: It was a Thursday. A normal, boring-ass Thursday. Until it wasn’t.

It started with him dropping his machine mid-session. His hand was shaking. Because the last text he got from you was: “I had a panic attack in the breakroom again. I just want to go home. But home feels empty without you.”

He’d read it twelve times.

Then Kyle—the human garbage disposal who he shared a room with—made some offhand joke about “you still being hot without the crying,” and Erik nearly decked him.

That was it. That was the breaking point.

He walked out of the studio, got into his rental car, and drove straight to the airport. No plan. No luggage. No return ticket.

He got as far as the ticket counter.

“Where to?” the airline clerk asked.

“Home,” he said. His voice cracked on it. He coughed. “I mean—Boston.”

The lady raised an eyebrow, tapped the keyboard. “Next flight’s in three hours. ID and card?”

Erik stood there, frozen. Three hours. That was nothing. He could do it. He could surprise you, show up at your door with a bag of takeout and that dumb grin you always called “trouble face.”

His phone buzzed.

It was a selfie from you—no makeup, eyes puffy, holding a cup of instant noodles and wearing his hoodie. Caption: “I miss you like air. Be proud—I haven’t fallen apart today. Yet.”

He stared at the screen. His grip tightened.

And then he turned around.

Back to the car. Back to the bunkhouse. Back to the fucking chili dog–scented nightmare.

Because he loved you enough to keep going. To not blow it all up just because he was hurting. Because you needed him to finish this. To prove that you were both strong enough to survive three months apart.

He could cry later.

Right now, he needed to send you a text.

Erik : “I was literally about to board a plane. Your hoodie photo saved me from losing my job.” “I love you, Peach. You’re my home. I’ll be back soon. Promise.”

BAD OMENS, “WHO ARE YOU,” AND A GODDAMN MIRACLE

It had been two and a half months.

You weren’t sure how you’d made it this far without Erik. Probably a combo of sheer willpower, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and late-night FaceTimes that ended in “I love you more, no I love you more,” until one of you passed out.

Then the Bad Omens tickets came.

Your favorite band. His favorite band.

You’d bought them together, months ago, on the floor of your apartment, high on pizza and each other, screaming when you saw the pre-sale went live. You were supposed to go together. You couldn’t imagine it any other way.

But now?

Now he was 1,200 miles away. Still stuck in Tattoo Bootcamp.

You almost didn’t go. You’d sat on your bed for hours, the ticket clutched in your hand, crying into his hoodie and whispering, “I’ll go next time. When he’s here.”

Then your phone buzzed.

Erik : “Baby, you HAVE to go.” “I know it hurts, but you need this. I’m there with you, in every fucking beat, okay?” “Scream for me. Cry if you want. Just go. Don’t let us miss this.”

So you went.

Alone.

The arena was packed, vibrating with energy, everyone screaming lyrics and losing their minds. But you felt like a ghost—surrounded, but alone.

Then the lights dimmed. Smoke curled around the stage. The crowd started to hush.

You felt it before you heard it.

The first soft, aching chords of “Who Are You” started to play.

Your chest cracked wide open.

That was your song. The one that played in the background the first night Erik said he loved you, voice shaking. The one that always made you look at each other like no one else in the world existed.

And now, it was playing without him.

Tears slipped down your cheeks. You tried to wipe them away, but the flood was coming. Your lip trembled. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

Then— A hand brushed lightly against your waist. Warm. Familiar.

And a voice, low and rough, whispered in your ear:

“I told you I’d be with you in every beat. I just didn’t say it’d be in person.”

Your heart stopped.

Your brain screamed.

You whipped around so fast you almost fell. And there he was.

Erik.

Grinning like a damn fool, eyes glassy, hair messy from travel, wearing the same hoodie you used to cry into.

“I—I thought you couldn’t—I mean—you were—” You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe.

He grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you like the world was on fire and you were the last safe place.

The crowd exploded around you, but in that moment, it was just you and him and Noah Sebastian’s voice echoing the exact pain and love sitting in your chest.

When he finally pulled back, breathless, he whispered against your lips:

“I couldn’t miss this. Couldn’t miss you. I got on a red-eye the moment they let me go early. I’d have walked here if I had to.”

You were full-on sobbing now, holding onto him like he might disappear again.

“I hate you,” you whispered into his chest. “I love you. But I hate you.”

He laughed, kissed the top of your head.

“I love you too, Peach. So much it made me stupid.”

Then you screamed the rest of the song together, wrapped up in each other, lost in the music and the madness and the miracle of finding home again—right there, in the middle of a crowd of strangers, with your hearts finally back in the same place.

POST-CRY DINER CUDDLES & EMOTIONAL WORD VOMIT

You didn’t let go of Erik’s hand for a second.

Not through the crowd.

Not down the sidewalk, past buzzing post-show fans.

Not even when you slid into the squeaky red booth at the all-night diner down the street.

You were still in your concert high and emotional coma all at once. Erik looked just as wrecked—eyeliner smudged (yes, he wore eyeliner for your concert), hoodie stained with some kind of beer, eyes still pink.

You both just stared at each other across the booth for a minute, breathing like two people who had survived something massive. Because you had.

He reached across the table and grabbed your hand.

“Do you know,” he said, voice hoarse, “how close I was to completely falling apart when you turned around? Like, actual chest-cracking-level shit.”

You laughed. “You? I nearly blacked out. I thought I was hallucinating you from emotional dehydration and raw vocals.”

You both laughed—half-giddy, half on the verge of another breakdown. The waitress came by and neither of you could read the menu, so you just mumbled “fries, milkshake, whatever you got, please help us.”

Erik scooted around to your side of the booth and pulled you into him, arms around your shoulders, forehead against your temple.

“I watched that whole song from behind you,” he whispered. “I saw the way your shoulders shook, how you clenched your fists.”

You didn’t say anything. Just buried your face into his hoodie.

“I had to hold back so hard not to grab you the second it started,” he added. “But then you cried, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t let you stand there like that anymore.”

You whispered into his chest, “That was the worst and best surprise of my entire life. You realize I’m going to propose to you one day purely because of this, right?”

“Peach,” he murmured, eyes wide. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You both laughed, but the air around you had shifted.

The ache was still there, but the relief of having him here—real, warm, smelling like sweat and salvation—was washing over it.

Then the fries arrived. And you devoured them like two wolves who’d just survived an apocalypse.

LATER – RECKLESS, EMOTIONAL, STARVING-FOR-TOUCH SEX

You barely made it through your apartment door.

Erik kicked it shut behind you, pressing you against it with all the desperation of someone who hadn’t felt you in seventy-five days and some change.

Your hands were already under his hoodie. His mouth was on your neck. It wasn’t slow or gentle. It was messy. Clumsy. Starved.

Clothes came off like they were on fire. You tripped over each other trying to make it to the bed but collapsed halfway there, tangled in limbs and kisses and breathless moans.

“I missed you,” you gasped as he kissed down your chest.

“I dreamed of this,” he whispered into your skin. “Every night. I’d wake up hard and aching and alone—fuck, I missed you.”

He took his time, even in the chaos. Mouth on every inch of skin he could reach. Hands like he was relearning you from memory, mapping every curve, every scar, every place that made you gasp.

You clawed at his back, pulled him in closer, whispering his name like a prayer between moans.

When he finally slid inside you, you both froze.

It was too much. Too good. Too real.

You locked eyes, tears threatening again—not from sadness this time, but the overwhelming weight of having each other again. Of surviving the storm.

Erik held your face like it was holy. “I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you, it hurts.”

“I love you more,” you whispered, voice breaking as he started to move. “Don’t let go. Please don’t let go.”

“Never,” he promised, and sealed it with a kiss so deep you forgot where your body ended and his began.

The rest of the night blurred—slow, then fast, breathy laughter between filthy moans, skin slapping, hands gripping, hips grinding, and love thick in the air like smoke.

You came apart under him with a cry of his name. He followed not long after, trembling against your chest, whispering “home, home, home,” over and over.

AFTERMATH – THE SILENCE THAT MEANT EVERYTHING

You lay tangled in the sheets, both sticky and breathless, limbs draped across each other like anchors.

Erik kissed your forehead.

You whispered, “Please don’t leave again.”

He looked you in the eyes, tired but glowing.

“Never. Not unless you’re coming with me next time.”

And in that silence that followed, you both just breathed.

Together. Whole. Home.

THE MORNING AFTER – DOMESTIC, STUPIDLY IN LOVE, & STARVING FOR PANCAKES

You woke up slowly, the way you do when everything finally feels safe again.

Warm breath tickled your neck. A heavy arm was draped across your waist, a leg thrown haphazardly over yours, and someone—Erik—was dead-asleep, mouth slightly open, mumbling nonsense against your skin.

You turned slowly to face him.

He was a mess.

Hair everywhere, lashes resting on flushed cheeks, a faint mark from your pillow across his forehead, and a little trail of dried drool on the corner of his mouth.

You smiled. You were done for.

His eyes cracked open just enough to catch you staring.

“Are you watching me sleep like a creep?” he rasped, voice wrecked and gravelly and—god help you—stupidly hot.

You whispered, “No. Shut up.”

He smirked, then kissed your nose like it was his religion. “I love you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you said, but it came out as, I missed you so much I could explode right now.

You lay there like that for a while. No rush. No alarms. Just skin on skin and fingers tracing lazy patterns on backs and hips and arms. Erik kissed your shoulder every few minutes like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Eventually, your stomach growled like a wild animal.

He chuckled, eyes still half-closed. “Is that your soul leaving your body?”

“I need pancakes. Or you’ll lose me forever.”

He groaned and rolled out of bed dramatically. “Fine. But only because I need to rehydrate after that olympic-level sex marathon you subjected me to.”

You threw a pillow at him. He dodged, naked and proud. “I’ll wear an apron and nothing else. It’s what you deserve.”

“You’ll burn your dick on the stove again.”

“That happened once.”

You followed him into the kitchen, both of you in underwear, looking like half-conscious trash goblins and feeling like the happiest idiots alive.

While Erik clumsily whipped together pancake batter (spilling flour like it was glitter), you leaned against the doorway and just watched him.

Then your eyes landed on the shelf near the fridge. A frame sat there now, small and unassuming.

The Polaroid.

The one you’d snuck into his backpack—the reason he almost got kicked out of the workshop for “inappropriate groaning during team breakfast.” The one he’d kissed every night like a love letter.

He noticed your gaze and followed it.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, walking over. “You framed it?”

You nodded shyly. “It reminded me of you. Of us. Even when we were apart.”

He picked it up, held it to his chest like it was a heartbeat. Then he kissed you, slow and gentle.

“You’re a menace,” he murmured. “And I want to be married to that menace someday.”

You blinked. “Wait. Was that a proposal?”

He shrugged with a grin. “Maybe. Who knows. Could’ve just been pancake brain talking.”

You grabbed a spoon. “Say it again and I’ll make sure pancake brain never walks again.”

He cackled, hands up in surrender.

And just like that, you were dancing in your tiny kitchen, tangled in each other, burning pancakes on the stove, completely in love, and entirely whole again.

A FEW WEEKS LATER – THE PROPOSAL (OR, “HOW ERIK COULD NOT Wait Another Second”)

You weren’t expecting anything.

It was just another lazy Sunday—your favorite kind. You and Erik were on the couch, tangled up in a sea of blankets, your legs on his lap, both pretending to watch a movie but mostly just trading forehead kisses and dumb jokes.

You had a mouthful of popcorn when he said it:

“So I’ve been carrying this ring around like an absolute psycho.”

You froze mid-chew. Slowly turned toward him.

“What?”

He was dead serious. Too serious. Like you’d caught him confessing to murder.

He pulled something out of his front pocket. Small. Velvet. Box-shaped.

You choked. “Are you—”

“I was gonna wait,” he said quickly, nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, for something cool. On the beach. Or with fireworks. Or whatever Pinterest says you’re supposed to do.”

You just blinked. Popcorn halfway to your mouth.

“But I can’t,” he admitted, eyes locked on yours. “I literally can’t wait. I think about it every night when you fall asleep with your mouth open next to me. I think about it when you steal all the hot water and call it feminism. I think about it when you wear my hoodie backwards like a gremlin and ask me if your butt looks good while brushing your teeth.”

You laughed, heart racing, mouth dry.

“Babe—”

“Peach,” he cut in, softer now. “I’m in love with every single version of you. The broken ones. The brilliant ones. The panic-attack-in-the-grocery-aisle ones. All of them. And I don’t want another day where I don’t get to call you my actual, legal, fully-recognized-by-the-state dumbass partner in life.”

He opened the box.

Inside: a ring.

Simple. Silver. A black diamond. Classic Erik—bold, not flashy, beautiful in its own way.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered. “Like, for real? As in, I get to legally be the guy who brings you soup when you’re sick and kisses you before you yell at customer service?”

You were crying before he even finished.

You tackled him onto the couch, kissing him so hard he dropped the ring box between the cushions. You didn't care.

“Yes,” you breathed against his lips, smiling through your tears. “Yes, you absolute idiot. Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Fuck,” he grinned, pulling you tighter. “I was so scared. I thought you were gonna say, ‘I’m too young to be a wife, I barely keep my plants alive.’”

“I don’t keep my plants alive,” you sniffled. “That’s why I need you. You’re the adult in this relationship.”

“Oh god help us,” he groaned.

You both laughed, wrapped in each other, fully in love, half-covered in popcorn.

Somewhere under the couch, the ring glinted between the cushions—waiting for one of you to retrieve it.

But right now? You were too busy making out with your future husband to care.

[papayadays]

communication — op81

⋆˚✿˖° engineer!oscar x driver!reader — you want your engineer to loosen up, he wants you to win ⋆˚✿˖° warning: mentions of hungary 2024 (curse mclaren for that) ⋆˚✿˖° wc: 8.6k+ | a/n: she's a long one! I've been working on this for months, and it's finally here :) first time writing a longer fic so lmk what you think of it <33 enjoy engineer oscar, after being plagued with this vision

OSCAR PIASTRI WAS WAY TOO UPTIGHT. and it had been this way since your first day at mclaren.

you had been giddy to meet everyone on your first day at the factory after signing for the 2023 season. lando was energetic and funny, andrea was focused, and zak was… well, zak. but then, you were introduced to oscar, your race engineer. he looked young, like fresh-out-of-uni young. it was definitely out of the norm, but your instincts trusted him. what could go wrong? he shook your hand and nodded, merely saying, “welcome to mclaren.” and then proceeded to not talk to you for the next two days.

it wouldn’t be a big deal if he wasn’t your race engineer. regardless, it truly wasn’t as serious as you were making it out to be, but it summed up oscar’s personality well: quiet, reserved, direct. cool, calm, and collected, one could even argue. coming from f2, your relationship with your race engineer was basically a friendship rather than a work partnership, so this was something you had to adjust to coming to mclaren.

you found yourself falling into a routine: arrive at the mtc at the start of the week, debrief with oscar, and then head to the race for the weekend before going back to the mtc. in all honesty, you hadn’t seen oscar laugh or even crack a smile in your time at mclaren. it was baffling to you how someone could be so serious every single waking moment.

and you had tried to get him to open up. god knows you’d tried. throughout race weekends, you had cracked jokes, retold stories, and brought up anything in hopes of getting him to open up beyond his stoic facade, but to no avail. it genuinely seemed like he was incapable of loosening up; at least, at work.

the one thing about oscar, though, was that he was dedicated to his work and good at it, too. your rookie year was better than you had expected, nabbing a podium in suzuka and even a sprint win in qatar. oscar was able to turn the data into helpful tips and points for improvement, which was something you really liked to hear as a driver. but it was so hard to talk to him simply because he was so reserved. 

“osc,” you protested as you walked on the track. you had first used the nickname to try and crack a smile out of him, but it stuck despite not doing much. “have you tried the hungarian palinka yet?” maybe the mention of drinks could get a reaction out of him?

oscar sighed, as if you’d asked him something mundane, like the weather, rather than if he wanted to try a drink. “no, but i would think you should be focusing on maximizing the kerb here,” he responded wryly. occasionally, you’d be able to get a sarcastic response from him, like now, which you considered a win.

“me and some of the team are headed to the club after sunday, you should come,” you suggested, mentally taking a note of turn three. you weren’t sure why you did this; oscar never seemed to come out of his shell, yet you kept asking, despite knowing he wouldn’t—

“sure, but only if you end up on the top step,” your race engineer countered in an even tone. you gaped at him, eyes wide with surprise. there was no way he was serious, right?

“so you think it’s impossible i’ll win here, then?” you asked. “y’know, since you never come out with the team.”

“jesus christ, it’s not a character flaw that i like to stay in rather than go out to clubs,” oscar said defensively, eyes cast upwards, as if he was sending a prayer up to the heavens for dealing with you.

you held your hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say that!” you protested. “and you’re avoiding the question.” pointedly, you raised an eyebrow.

“what, i can’t set a wager now?” oscar rebutted, though it wasn’t serious from his tone. and was that a sliver of an amused smile you saw? you had hardly seen oscar grin, if ever. the only time he’d crack a smile is if zak said something out of pocket or lando made a joke that had the whole factory laughing. so, a win was a win in your book. “just thought you could use some friendly fire.”

your rolled your eyes, tapping at your tablet as you took note of the blind-on-entry in turn six. “yeah, sure, mate,” you chuckled. “if i win, you also have to do shots with me.”

“nope.” and there was the emotionless oscar again, though maybe he looked a bit less stern. “now focus, so you actually might have a good chance at winning.”

you could start to see why oscar had his doubts. in fp1, you’d done pretty well and got p7, with the pace feeling decent. however, fp2 was challenging, with you in p13 while lando topped the timesheets. hell, if you couldn’t even close in on your teammate, how were you supposed to reach the front?

“are you even listening?” oscar’s voice cut into your thoughts, words still calm, just like the rest of his demeanor.

“sorry, yeah,” you nodded. “just remembering about our deal and how it seems you made a secure bet.”

a noise rose from your engineer’s throat that sounded like either a groan of annoyance at your self-reproach or a tsk. knowing oscar, it was likely both. “listen, it’s not as bad as you think,” he stated. “the car has pace, and with the tweaks i’m going to suggest to the crew, it should be even better tomorrow. and plus, you just need to fine tune some things to get set for qualy.”

you blinked at him in surprise. usually, a “head up, we still have tomorrow” or a “don’t worry, you’ll get it next session” was all you would get from oscar. “thanks,” you nodded. “so what do i need to work on?”

fp3 was a nice boost of morale, with you and lando second and first in the timings, respectively. the car was starting to come alive, like your engineer had said, and the points you went over also contributed. now came qualifying, but you were hopeful. hopefully.

as you were sitting in the car before q3, you glanced at the data display in front of you, oscar’s voice in your ear. “okay, so cars with two new sets are verstappen, sainz, hamilton, and yourself.” it was quite a blessing that his voice was so soothing, so you could never get jumpscared. and in tense scenarios, his constant inpour of information didn’t get too annoying either.

“gotcha,” you replied, pulling out of the pits. you got onto the track, briefly taking note of the rain clouds that you knew were going to be rolling in soon.

after doing an out-lap, you set off on a flying lap, knowing that it could potentially come down to this should the rain start pouring. as you crossed the line, 1:15.763 showed up on the screen of your steering wheel, causing you to frown under your helmet. you were roughly four tenths off where you wanted to be, where you knew lando was lapping at.

“you can keep the pace up on the in-lap. if rain is imminent, we can get out quickly on the second set,” oscar informed you.

the universe had a funny sense of humor, because right as the radio message ended, drops of water started landing on your visor. “rain on my visor now,” you reported, peeling back into the pits.

once back in the garage, you hopped out of the car and took off your helmet, heading to oscar. “i just don’t get it,” you lamented, sitting up on the cabinets. “how am i still four tenths off?”

oscar didn’t say anything, simply folding his arms and giving you a pointed look. his almost withering look made you want to shrink a little, feeling embarrassed. “c’mon, you know you have it in you,” he remarked. “and rain only makes it easier for you. keep the corners precise and tidy, especially in turn three. we’re sending you back out.”

you nodded, putting on your helmet again and sitting back into the car. oscar leaned over the halo, adding quietly, “you got this” and patting your helmet.

peeling out of the pits again, you headed back on track in clean air. this time, you were determined to make the most of it, to try and seal the deal this time.

“doesn't look like the rain is going to be super-heavy on the radar. i think you can do a normal out-lap, you don't have to rush it,” oscar told you over the radio. you pressed confirm as you drove through the last few corners, weaving to warm up your tyres.

as you slowed down around the last few corners, you took a steadying breath under your helmet and started your flying lap. this time, you made sure to nail every apex and brake later like oscar had told you to. gritting your teeth, you had tunnel vision, drowning everything else out until you were rounding the last corner. passing the line, a new time flashed on the display: 1:15.249.

“where are we now?” you asked oscar, voice hopeful. holding your breath, you awaited the sound of the radio on the other side.

“looks like we’re in, uh, p2 now,” oscar reported, and maybe you were delirious, but you swore you heard a smile in his voice. “two hundredths off of lando. nice lap, well done.”

you smiled under your helmet, knowing that there was only two minutes left on the clock and that this could be your determining lap. no, scratch that, this was your last lap. there wasn’t enough time, so this would have to be enough for you.

after heading into the pits, you jumped out of the car and bumped fists with oscar, pushing up your visor. “is that it?”

oscar glanced at his screen, headphones around his neck. “yeah, it’s been red flagged,” he responded, turning to look at you, and to your surprise, there was a wide smile on his face. he patted your helmet, the smile still on his face. “mega job out there. told you that you could do it.”

“yeah, yeah, mate,” you grinned, pulling him in for a hug. “thank you, osc.” he seemed to freeze for a second before wrapping his arms around you and patting your back, the relief evident as his shoulders sagged.

“all you,” he chuckled, making you do a double-take. was this the same oscar? “now, go do your interviews so we can debrief after.” ah, there he was again. you gave him a playful salute and headed off with your press officer.

when you came back to debrief, changed into a t-shirt and cargo pants, you sat down across from oscar, who was dialed in, eyes honed in on the telemetry while you could practically see the gears spinning in his mind. “okay, so here’s the strategies we’re considering,” he said with no prelude, jabbing at his computer screen with the back of his emotional support pen.

“gotcha,” you nodded. “tyre preservation, i know.” oscar continued on, showing you the data on his computer.

“wait, so what’s the deal with me and lando tomorrow?” you interjected. “is- are there going to be any team orders?”

oscar’s mouth pinched into a tight line as he met your eyes. “i think the team is a little, uh, ambiguous about it, but i’ll make sure they’ll give you a fair chance.” so, they wanted to prioritize lando, is what you heard. of course. at least oscar was in your corner, but would he really fight with the team just to make sure you didn’t get team orders?

“thank you,” you said quietly, mind mulling over what could possibly happen tomorrow. lando was obviously doing well in the driver’s championship, so it was within reason for the team to swap positions. even if oscar said he would get you fair competition, who was to say the team couldn’t override it? given that you couldn’t even outqualify your teammate, it would be clear to see who would be given priority, as much as it stung.

“hey, are you with me?” oscar asked, waving a hand in front of your face. his eyes scanned your face, eyes holding the type of gaze that figured you out and saw right through you.

you blinked, quickly refocusing. “yeah, sorry.” you needed to get a grip, to get your head back in the game.

oscar frowned, closing his computer. the quick action surprised you—oscar wasn’t one to abandon his work haphazardly.  “you’re getting in your head,” he said, matter-of-factly, almost gently if you didn’t know him well enough. “i promise, you’re just as likely to win tomorrow as lando.”

“right,” you mumbled, fiddling with a zipper on your pocket. because mclaren definitely had no bias, and even so, was there any fighting chance of a win if you were two tenths off in qualifying?

“hey, look at me.” you glanced up, seeing oscar’s face stern. “i don’t know why you’re doubting yourself, you’re a mega driver. you won a sprint race in your rookie season, and you’ve bagged multiple podiums already. you’ve got what it takes.”

“it’s not that,” you sighed, fingers folding and unfolding the corner of your debrief paper as if the paper would give you answers. “it’s just- i want to win, but there’s so many things out of my control that could go wrong, and that’s… pretty intimidating.”

if possible, oscar’s eyes softened as he glanced at you, setting the pen he had been clicking nonstop for the past few minutes down. “i’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t feel intimidated, but you also shouldn’t feel like you don’t have control,” your race engineer said, the gentlest you’d seen him. “you and i know that we can’t let crucial moments come to us, you have to make them. and i know you can, so if you’re ready, let’s debrief so you can win tomorrow.” you glanced up at him, taking a moment to mull it over. oscar was right, you of course knew that, but seeing oscar this encouraging struck you differently.

“i thought you weren’t supposed to help the other side in bets?” you joked, an attempt to lighten the mood. in return, oscar rolled his eyes, snorting.

“well this is kind of my job.”

it was race day, the umbrella over your car shielding you from the hungarian sun and prying eyes.

“you, uh, good?” oscar asked, leaning over the halo to look at you, rays of sunlight peaking over his head like a crown. today, he was extra diligent in checking in with you, making sure you were in the right mindset. and you appreciated it, having someone care amidst the draining cycle of interviews, pr activities, debriefs, and training. it was steadying; grounding, almost.

“yeah, i’m fine,” you replied under your helmet, visor up. “everything looking good?”

oscar blinked at you, as if he were confused why you were asking that. “since you last asked before you got into the car, yes, nothing broke,” he snorted. maybe it was just you, but oscar seemed more sarcastic this weekend. you wondered what got him in the mood—maybe lando forcing him to stop eating salmon during debriefs. “anyways, formation lap is about to start, but just remember to keep your cool.”

“i always do,” you grinned, knowing it was a complete lie. oscar, of course, knew it too.

“right, silly me,” he deadpanned, patting your helmet once before leaving with the rest of your pit crew. 

now it was just you and nineteen other drivers, itching to start.

the formation lap went by quickly, your mind dangerously wandering down the road of all the possible outcomes. the scenarios blurred by, your grip on the steering wheel tightening. the radio crackled, and “all good?” came from the other side.

“‘m fine,” you said, pulling yourself out of that headspace and taking a steadying breath. focus. speed, i am speed, your brain continued, making you smile.

it was just you and lando, awaiting the start on the front row. you could feel the anticipation, the collective breath held by fans. the lights went on, your foot anxiously waiting, and then it was lights out. away you went.

your foot went down on the pedal, and you knew you’d gotten the better start. you got the inside line down the straight, managing to pick your way past lando in the corner to snag the lead of the race, braking late enough to make the move stick.

holy shit.

you were in first after turn one. in your periphery, you saw the red bull of max verstappen run wide while moving ahead of lando.

“nice one,” oscar said after the first lap, smile evident in his voice. “alright, good job, drs enabled soon.”

you replied with a “copy,” but were more focused on increasing the gap. you did not want max verstappen closing in on you with drs.

glancing in your mirrors as you pulled further ahead, you saw max giving lando the place back, more assured that mclaren was going to have it’s 1-2.

as the laps went by, you were almost relaxed, like it was just a nice summer drive. if only. you were watching after your tyres, oscar occasionally giving you bits of advice.

“cars behind will soon build pit windows to stroll in p7. this would be a good opportunity to pull away if you can,” oscar suggested.

“copy, how far of a gap?” you asked, making your turns more clinical, less lax from how you were previously driving.

“i’ll let you know,” he assured you. “for now, we just need you to pull ahead.”

“gotcha.”  and with that, you were flying. spiritually. metaphorically. whatever.

after a while, it was cruising again before oscar asked, “are you happy with the front wing?”

“er, yeah, ‘s good,” you responded, anticipating a pit stop based on his question. “maybe down half if you’re getting nitpicky.”

as predicted, oscar told you to box and you did, peeling into the pits. you got on some new hards in a tidy stop and were sent back on your way. now you were in the top five, managing your tyres while praying to the motorsport gods that the strategy wasn’t fucked.

luckily, you watched as the cars in front of you pitted as the laps went on, confidence slowly seeping back into your veins. as you watched the ferrari ahead dive into the pits, you took in a breath, knowing you were back in the lead.

“leclerc has pitted, so you now have clear air. tyre management looks similar across cars. you're doing a really good job,” oscar reported. you blinked under your helmet. what was in the hungarian air because oscar was clearly less stoic this weekend?

“thanks, osc,” you replied, comfortable enough with the race to joke around. “you sure i’m not giving you grey hairs?”

you heard a snort before oscar chuckled, “well, can’t say that you aren’t, but don’t let me hold you back.” under your helmet, you let out a laugh, though you hadn’t pressed the radio button.

the laps went on when you saw lando peel into the pits. “what’s happening? do i need to box?” you asked. oscar hadn’t said anything about the next round of pitting, which had made you assume everything was fine.

“lando boxed to cover hamilton. we need best pace now. don't worry about lando,” oscar replied, yet even as he said it, his voice was tight. you called bullshit.

“fuck, don’t tell me-” that lando’s undercutting me. the words were on your tongue, though you didn’t dare to voice them, mindful that radios could be broadcast.

“yes,” oscar said tersely, the way he tended to talk when he was figuring out an issue. closing your radio, you swore, bewildered as to why the fuck they were undercutting lando.

“oscar, what’s the gap to hamilton?” you questioned, voice tight. the last time he had updated you, it was thirty seconds, which was more than enough.

“over half a minute.” so what the fuck were mclaren playing at?

“any reason why we didn’t pit?” you were close to snapping, thinly veiling the accusation as an innocent question.

“i’ll check,” oscar sighed, sounding as defeated as you. “box this lap.”

“the fuck?” you scoffed, unable to restrain your temper. “at least give me a chance to undo the undercut.”

“i’m sorry, but we need to box,” oscar told you, a wince evident in his voice. you wanted to scream in frustration, but did as instructed and went into the pits to put on some mediums.

as you headed out onto the track, lo and behold, you were behind lando. “fucking hell,” you cursed, jabbing the radio button with your thumb so they could hear you. “how far am i from hamilton?”

“er, three point seven seconds.” what the actual fuck. “verstappen pitting now.”

you gritted your teeth, any thoughts of tyre preservation thrown out the window. this was not going to be the way you lost a race win. mind focused, you set off on lapping faster, braking later, and controlling your steering.

“okay, so lando’s going to swap positions when we get up, but for now, we don’t want him losing a lot of race time,” oscar informed you.

“mate, he’s trying to set flying laps, if you hadn’t noticed,” you retorted. “how do you want me to catch up without destroying my tyres? i dunno how he’s going to nurse his tyres later.”

“will is, uh, talking to him.” oscar tried to assure you, but with no sign of slowing in lando’s pace, it did nothing.

as the laps dwindled to the last nine, you grew increasingly irritated. “he’s not swapping, is he?” you questioned.

“will’s…on it,” oscar winced. “maximum focus, we need best pace.” you almost rolled your eyes at that; you were looking after your tyres.

“so no tyre management?” you confirmed.

“nope, last few laps,” he stated.

and that was all you needed to hear. you could feel the gap shrinking, lando’s car growing bigger and bigger in your view. the fuck was everyone thinking, acting as if you hadn’t taken the lead of the race into turn one and led it the whole time. fuck them.

soon, you were on the rear wing of lando when oscar let you know, “three laps to go, lando’s letting you through.” finally. though, in full honesty, you weren’t mad at lando. sure, you felt that it was your win, but mclaren were the ones who fucked up the strategy when they had the time to do it the other way. no, lando saw an opportunity and took it; to be honest, you couldn’t say you wouldn’t do the same if you were him.

and you obviously weren’t blaming oscar. you trusted him to fight for you, as evident from his radio messages. there was no doubt in your mind– he was just the messenger.

you were back into p1, though it didn’t send the same shivers down your spine as it had back on lap one. oscar occasionally updated you on the last two laps, but it was all background noise.

between your frustration and confusion, elation rose in your chest. elation for your first race win. you were actually going to win this thing.

as the last lap wound down, your heart drummed wildly as you rounded the last corner, a smile working its way onto your face. you crossed the chequered flag, letting out a shocked breath.

holy shit.

you just won your first f1 race. you did it. you won. but that adrenaline very quickly faded as you recounted the headache of a race that led to it.

“p1, p1,” oscar reported, and you swore you could hear pride in his voice, though you couldn’t say that you felt like celebrating.

“yeah, thanks to everyone here and back at the factory. nice one-two for the team, despite the hurdles,” you responded, unable to resist adding that little jab in there. “first win in the books, thank you.”

in parc ferme, you took your time getting out, not to rein in your excitement but rather your anger; this was not like lando in miami. you obviously couldn’t pull a danny ric suzuka 2018 despite wanting to. per tradition, you got up on your car and pumped a fist before hopping off and walking over to the team. yeah, this definitely was not like miami.

passing by team members, you stopped when you reached oscar. your visor was up so you could see the apology in his gaze as you let him see your frustration. “thanks, osc,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder briefly, letting him pull you in for a hug, and patting him on the back. in exchange, he let you process, recharge your batteries, and reset your headspace for a moment

“hey, mega job out there,” he said quietly beside your helmet. you could hear the apology in his voice, the ‘i’m sorry you had to go through that,’ and you squeezed his shoulder for a split second.

nodding, you went back and took off your helmet while making yourself look presentable, watching as lewis was being interviewed by nico rosberg. ironic, especially considering today’s events.

lando went up, and you internally winced as you heard the disappointment in his voice. you and lando got along well, so you felt for him, your heart feeling a little cagey.

finally, you were up and handed a mic, doing your best to smile at nico. “congrats,” the german said. “first formula one win on a sunday. how awesome does that feel?”

and with that, you were truly grinning. “very, very awesome,” you beamed. “this is what we all dream of as kids, and to be able to get a win is really special. obviously the end was, uh, a bit complicated, but i managed to get a good start and from there we were able to get the win. of course, i have to give props to my team for giving me a car to drive, lando for helping me grow as a driver, and oscar for being the voice of reason.”

“and how impressed are you with the car that mclaren has given you at this moment?” nico continued. “i mean, it just looks phenomenal out there.”

“pretty damn impressed,” you chuckled, the sound loaded with emotion. “for starter, if you looked at us last year in bahrain to now, with a one-two here in hungary, it’s been a hell of a ride with ups and downs.”

“speaking of the one-two, it seemed like the team orders situation was a bit out of control. how worried were you that lando might not actually let you pass?” nico pressed. jesus christ, what a question. you had to give it to him, the man knew how to stir up shit. part of you wanted to throw it back at nico, ask him about his experiences with team orders with lewis, but it was a fleeting thought.

“yeah, it was a bit hairy, but everything got resolved,” you answered, choosing your words carefully. you knew it was a thin line that you were walking. one small misstep and headlines would be plastered all over the internet. “i would’ve felt the same as lando, y’know, but it worked out in the end.”

nico nodded, eyes darting to cast a brief judgmental glance at the team before smiling at you. he was on your side, thank god. “well, congrats on the maiden win,” he said.

“thank you,” you replied, smiling. walking back over to the team, you took a sip of water and asked oscar, “you’d tell me if i fucked up, right?”

oscar scrunched his nose slightly, the microexpression new to you. “you’re going to need to specify,” he deadpanned, leaning on the metal barrier. “there’s a lot you could be referring to.”

“oi, shut up,” you protested, half-heartedly hitting his arm. “but for real, you’d let me know if i said the wrong thing, right, osc?” the question kind of manifested itself; you just needed someone to tell you that you hadn’t messed up the team dynamic, that you hadn’t royally screwed up and fed into the media’s crap by supplying clickbait headlines.

oscar gave you a confused look, as to why you were asking if he would randomly assume the job of your pr manager as extra work, a question that you didn’t even know the answer to yourself. he shrugged. “yeah, of course.”

“you’re lying,” you laughed, still on the high of winning. idly, you adjusted your hat, needing something to do now that you weren’t driving a formula one car.

“no, it’s just, i reckon it would reflect poorly on me somehow,” oscar chuckled, and seriously, what the hell was happening? because your race engineer was joking and laughing all weekend when he would normally have his chill and neutral demeanor on.

“typical,” you snorted, rolling your eyes. “hey, aren’t you coming on the podium?”

the corner of oscar’s mouth twitched, as if itching to flatten into a straight line. “i, uh think andrea is going up since it’s a one-two.”

your brain seemed empty as you searched for a response, settling on a classy and sophisticated “oh.” then you continued, “i guess that’s fine. but i think you should be up there in my unbiased opinion.”

oscar let out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners, and had he ever laughed this hard at something you’ve said? if you had looked at him now, you wouldn’t even be able to tell that he was a quiet, collected person you’ve known for a season and a half. giving oscar a thumbs up, you went down to the cooldown room and instantly regretted doing so.

your eyes landed immediately on lando’s cap on the ground and the slight wince lewis had, presumably from his own trauma. well, shit.

you pressed your lips together, shuffling to your seat next to lewis. the race highlights started to play, and you watched attentively as a way to escape the frosty tension. lewis seemed to pick up on the lack of words between you and your teammate, starting to comment on the race. you jumped in, grateful for the distraction as you and lando added little pieces of commentary. granted, it was still awkward, but between wincing as max went over lewis’ tyre and watching a ferrari and a red bull duke it out, it was better. thank goodness for lewis hamilton.

as you headed to the podium, lewis seemed to want nothing to do with his old hauntings and booked it out of the cooldown room. that left you and lando walking in line with each other. casting a quick glance at him, you saw that he was looking back at you as well. “so…” you dragged out, unsure what your teammate would say.

“y’know i’m not mad at you, right?” lando asked, dragging a hand through his unkempt curls and down his face. “just pissed that it was so messy when it didn’t have to be.” your older teammate let out a sigh, eyes cast upwards. 

honestly, same.

“it’s how i feel too,” you responded, mouth pinched into a line. looking at him, an apology was on the tip of your tongue, but at the same time, you didn’t say anything. it wasn’t your place to apologize, you had earned that win. if anything, mclaren should be apologizing. “you going to the party tonight?”

“i suppose i will,” lando shrugged, fixing his race suit. “is the team going?”

you nodded. “pretty sure. i mean, even oscar’s going tonight, so full house.” your teammate paused, tilting his head in confusion.

“wait, what do you mean ‘oscar is going'? you know he never goes out.” lando raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what kind of sorcery you had used.

“it was a bet,” you explained, waving a hand. “he’d never go on his own.” arriving at the podium, you stopped and waited while lewis went out, glancing out while lando blinked, taking in your words.

“sorry, what?  he agreed to a bet?” lando questioned, head tilting. “as in oscar piastri, your race engineer, oscar?”

“yeah?” you replied, eyebrows furrowing. before lando could continue asking you questions, he had to go up on the podium. 

what was the big deal? sure, you knew oscar was a bit of a reserved guy, but surely lando didn’t have to be that theatrical. it was a 1-2 for the team—of course he was going out. and plus, he was your engineer, which meant your win was a cause for celebration for him as well. yeah, that’s what you kept repeating to yourself. it’s not like he was a robot, and a bet was a bet. lando was just being dramatic, you concluded.

regardless, you didn’t have any more time to ponder as you went up to the podium. walking out, the sun hit your eyes a little too strongly, and it was weird seeing your face on the big screen with first place under it. but the cheers of the crowd, the sea of fans, and then standing atop the top step? it was glorious and better than you ever could’ve dreamed up.

when you were little, you used to love going on the swing rides, claiming it felt like flying. you were wrong. this, the feeling of standing on top in victory and having the crowd cheer your name, was soaring; you were soaring. spiritually. metaphorically. whatever.

when the beautiful porcelain trophy was handed to you, you had to restrain yourself from tossing it in the air. you did not want a repeat of last year, and the result of max’s broken trophy. the trophy itself was beautiful, white with rich green swirls that you knew were hand-painted on.

then, your anthem played, your head held high. it was relief, ecstasy. you had done it, you were here. glancing down, your eyes met oscar’s, who gave you a smile and a thumbs up, a swoop of hair falling over his forehead. he should be up here. yeah, it did make sense for andrea to come with you and lando since it was a 1-2, but also, it was your first race win. oscar deserved to be here with you.

before you knew it, it was time for champagne, with lewis on your left and lando on your right. you shook the bottle, taking it all in as you were drenched. andrea joined in, much to your amusement. the confetti fell—red, white, and green rain as you soaked it all in.

but if oscar were here, he’d probably awkwardly stand to the side until you went over and started drenching him. he’d chuckle and probably surprise you by dumping the champagne on your head, citing how it was a rite of passage. oscar would politely clink his bottle with yours, and you’d grin at him, and you didn’t know where your brain was going with this, but—

you wished oscar were here. you wanted oscar to be here with you, to share this moment with him.

after the picture, you hopped off the podium and back to the pits, eager to be back with the team. as you returned, champagne bottle in hand, the garage erupted into cheers; mechanics, engineers, marketing—they were all huddling around you to extend their personal congratulations. 

you didn’t care for them right now. making your way to the front, your eyes met warm chocolate. as oscar saw you, his eyes widened a fraction for a brief second, the way he did when he heard something particularly interesting or surprising. “osc!” you grinned, shaking the remnants of what champagne you had left, some fizz spraying onto oscar’s shirt. he just stood there, a fond look of incredulity on his face as he didn’t move. shaking his head, your race engineer leaned forward to let the champagne drip onto the ground, chuckling.

“you couldn’t have waited until after team photos?” he asked with a sigh, eyes still crinkled at the corners from smiling.

“you know me,” you snickered, patting him a tad too hard on the back.

“unfortunately, i do.” oscar rolled his eyes as you shuffled over to where the rest of the team was getting ready to take the picture. grinning wide, you slung an arm around oscar and your number one mechanic as you held up a finger, careful not to poke your engineer.

once the picture was done, you jumped, feeling cold liquid seep down your spine. twisting around, you saw oscar dumping a bottle of champagne, a shit-eating grin on his face. you gave him a choice finger, dodging out of his reach. safe, you thought. wrong. your race engineer shook the bottle once, twice, and pointed it right at you.

you think you yelped as you scrambled off, dodging past papaya personnel, laughing with oscar on your heels. as you kept going down the pit lane, you stopped when ferrari team members were in the way, turning around and being met with a face of champagne. “wow, lovely. thanks, osc,” you said sarcastically, wiping your face as you two headed back to mclaren.

“had to get you back,” oscar shrugged, a faint smug grin on his face. “and i told you that you had this in the bag.”

“yeah, but you lost the bet,” you snorted as you arrived back at your garage. “you have to come out with us tonight.”

“pretty sure i was going the be forced either way.” oscar simply blinked with a nonchalance that you were still trying to understand. “i mean, it is a one-two.”

“okay, i get it,” you scoffed, waving him off with faux annoyance. “you’re a witch and you saw the outcome in your crystal ball, gotcha. we ought to pull a salem witch trial.”

you heard a laugh, turning around to see oscar folded over, shoulders quaking. you’d never heard this, a true, gleeful laugh. but it made you smile, made you feel like you were in on a secret where oscar laughed at your very extremely funny jokes.

“mate, it wasn’t that funny,” you protested, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

that only made oscar snicker, turning around as will called for him. “to each their own,” he responded. taking a step towards will, he hesitated, turning back to make sure you hadn’t left. his eyes were softer, chocolate syrup rather than chestnut with a gleam of amusement. “see you later tonight?”

“yeah,” you nodded, unsure why your voice dropped in volume as well, ignoring all of the mclaren personnel moving around you.

the venue was packed; soft music floated over the hum of chatter, and champagne flutes were in most people’s hands as they talked to each other. as you arrived, team members raised their glasses to you with the occasional cheering while you smiled and thanked them awkwardly, not knowing how to respond. after all, it was your first time doing all this on such a large scale.

you had already spent an hour deliberating on your outfit before settling with orange because, c’mon, it was a mclaren party after all. you flitted around absentmindedly, stopping for a quick chat with andrea, zak, and lando. but as ten minutes passed, oscar was still nowhere to be seen. (well, that’s what you thought since you definitely weren’t checking.)

then, the tap of cool fingers on your shoulder made you almost jump, whirling around to see who it was. warm chocolate eyes met yours, instantly giving you an answer. “you’re late,” you teased, raising an eyebrow at his simple fit of a white button down and some khaki shorts.

oscar let out a strangled chuckle, fingers running through his swooped hair as he leaned in to hear you better over the noise. “yeah, didn’t know what to wear and had last-minute second thoughts.” he pursed his lips and did that scrunkle thing with his face when he was uncertain. you mentally paused for a second, taking in oscar’s appearance. sure, he looked polished and pristine from the outside, but you weren’t just anybody. he was your engineer, you were his driver.

you noticed how he shoved his hands in his pockets, hesitant. you noticed how his eyes would occasionally drift before settling back on you. you noticed how he was rocking on the balls of his feet, something he only did as he was watching telemetry data during crucial testing or tense moments when you were driving.

you noticed oscar piastri. and now you couldn’t stop noticing him. you remembered how he had squeezed your shoulder when you won the sprint in qatar, a smile on his face. you thought back to how gently he spoke when you were on the verge of tears after a disappointing qualifying session in your rookie season, one hand steadying your back. but most of all, how he was always there for you in your corner, with his soft eyes and princely swooped hair.

holy fuck. this—this was dangerous. you were in love with your race engineer. it was a bad idea, you knew that. it would feed headlines for the rest of the season, distract you and the team, and end up with oscar losing his job, plus his career. you would love him, and then eventually, mclaren would take him away. you knew that.

“you want some champagne?” you offered, turning towards the bar. oscar quickly shook his head, a curl falling over his forehead, making your heart pang.

“nah, i prefer sprite,” oscar shrugged. you nodded, heading over to the bar and asking for a sprite. you were the race winner; there was no way the bartender could’ve said no.

the can was still cold, metal chilling and condensation beading up and dripping down your hand. maybe it was your imagination, it likely was, but as you handed oscar the drink, it turned red in your vision. crimson trickled down your wrist as veins and arteries stuck out. you could feel the gentle pulse, thrumming in your hand.

carefully, you held your bleeding heart out to oscar, hoping he’d take care of it now that you had given it to him. with a precise yet gentle movement, he took it with two hands, as if you had given him a trophy rather than a can of sprite. or was it your heart? you couldn’t tell at this point.

and then you forced yourself to snap out of it. oh god, you were hallucinating. giving oscar a quick nod, you turned and headed for the little outdoor area where less people were. this was too risky, too reckless. and sure, sometimes you drove like it, but this was too uncalculated, even for you.

exhaling, you leaned against the wall, a hand on your head in an attempt to steady your thoughts. not a moment, oscar came into your peripheral, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “hey, are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer to try and see what was wrong. “did you have too much to drink?”

you shook your head, words still struggling to form from the weight of it all. and also because oscar was dangerously close to you. but you chose not to think too much about that. “i haven’t had any alcohol,” you managed to get out. you stood up properly and promptly decided to sit back down on a bench, basking in the cool evening air and the faint moon, a hole of light in the star-scattered sky. after a slow breath, you had calmed down and collected your thoughts, turning to face oscar, who had wordlessly sat down next to you. “i didn’t drink any alcohol because i want to remember every moment from tonight, not forget it all in a hangover.”

your stomach underwent metamorphosis, butterflies bursting to life as oscar dragged his gaze from the full moon to you, soft lighting hitting his face perfectly. “i think i would do the same,” he nodded, something deeper than understanding in his eyes, something softer. blinking, you turned back to the sky, hoping that if you just avoided the issue, everything would be fine.

“i wouldn’t have won without you.” the words left your mouth without prelude, and you kept your eyes trained forward. “so thank you. i don’t thank you enough.” you could feel oscar looking at you, his calm gaze burning your skin.

“i don’t think that’s true,” he responded after a beat of silence as if gathering his thoughts like he did with his post-it notes after a debrief. “i think you would’ve won anyway. you’re a mega driver and a fighter too.”

that got a smile out of you, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards even as you tried to stay cool. “still, i don’t think many other race engineers have the courage to go and ask the team about team orders on my behalf,” you protested, determined not to let oscar sell himself short. “and you always know where i can find more time, and you say the right thing. osc, i mean it, i wouldn’t have won without you.”

this time, you glanced over at him, watching as the tips of his ears flush pink as a bashful smile filled his face. “thanks,” he murmured. “glad i ended up working with you.”

oh your heart. he couldn’t just say things like that because then it would cause you to say irrational things. your cheeks flushed as you fidgeted with your hands, heart setting a flying lap. silence fell over you two before you said, “y’know, i wish you were on the podium with me today. would’ve made it perfect.”

a flicker of surprise crossed oscar’s face, a fond smile forming. “yeah?” he asked, voice soft. “still got to see you on the top step. i’m so proud of you.” his hand went to squeeze your shoulder, the gesture making your head spin.

“are you going to leave mclaren?” you blurted. your brain had just said what came to mind, what you wanted to know, one of the fears nagging at your brain. with the win, you had started to notice how easy things were with oscar, how you enjoyed his presence, and if he were just to leave, you didn’t know if you could handle that. you turned away from oscar, mortally embarrassed that you apparently had no brain-to-mouth filter.

oscar opened his mouth and closed it, caught wildly off-guard, eyebrows furrowing in a way that really shouldn’t make your heart pang. “what? why would i be leaving mclaren?” your engineer asked, slightly panicked and confusion evident with the way he tilted his head, trying to deduce why you would say that with his engineering ways.

you shook your head, still not meeting his eyes. “never mind, stupid question.” your voice was clipped, nails picking at the hem of your dress. now, the silence engulfed the conversation, a black hole that you wished would take you with it.

“hey, it wasn’t stupid, something’s wrong,” oscar frowned, shifting forward to meet your gaze. “you know i’m here for you.” his hand came to gently pat your back, fingers warm through the fabric of your dress. if you weren’t here messing things up, you’d think it was romantic, even.

“i don’t want you to leave, osc. like ever,” you said, voice quiet to the point where it was barely audible. “i don’t want any other race engineer.” the implication hung heavy with your words, the stars blinking at you as you stared at them. turning back, you watched oscar’s eyes widen a fraction as realization settled in them. too late, now you had gone and messed things up permanently. but, you supposed there wasn’t a way to make things worse. “i want you to keep using that stupid mclaren corporate pen to debrief. i want you to keep telling me that i’m doing okay after rough sessions. i want to keep bugging you to come out to clubs during track walks. i want you to keep believing in me, osc. i couldn’t stop thinking about you on the podium; i always can’t stop thinking about you. i really like you but i know you wouldn’t want to fuck up your career and i respect that. but you’re the reason i’m here, and i can’t stop thinking about you.”

you were rambling, the kind you did when you got panicky and didn’t know what to do. oscar blinked once. twice. he was waiting, and it left you wondering if you needed to clarify. and then he moved, hand cupping your cheek as he looked at you, brown eyes scanning your face, lips dangerously close to your own. “i thought i was going crazy,” he admitted softly. “i’d admired you while telling myself that all you needed me to do was analyze the data. but you’re so amazing and you inspire me every day. i don’t care what the team says, i’ve waited too long for this.” he licked his lips, an unfiltered longing on his face as his gaze dropped down your face. “can i kiss you now?”

one second you were nodding your head, the next, oscar’s lips were against yours, reaction time almost rivaling yours. butterflies instantly threatened to break out of your stomach as his lips were warm and soft, one of his hands finding a home on your waist to tug you closer, as if he was afraid that you would drift away. your hand finally wove into the hair you had admired for some time, one wrapped around oscar’s neck to pull him down to you.

you pulled back, catching your breath, as oscar leaned forward and pecked your lips one, two, three times, making your knees weak despite sitting. and it all sunk in—oscar had kissed you. that caused you to break into a smile, mouth curving upward on its own volition. it felt surreal, like you were in a lucid dream. but then oscar reached for your hand, squeezing it as his fingers intertwined with yours to give you something to ground yourself.

“so,” oscar started, eyes crinkling as he gave you a soft smile. “if that happens every time you win, you should really try to win the championship.” you laughed, hitting his chest playfully.

“oh, shut up,” you snorted, leaning into his side. instinctively, oscar’s arm came to wrap around shoulder, keeping you close. you could tell how relaxed he was, a stark difference to how he was months ago. “you don’t know how much i’ve been wanting to do that.”

oscar’s eyes flitted down to you, a smile so fond, and sickeningly sweet on his face that made you melt. “i’m flattered,” he chuckled, reaching forward and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture that made your heart flutter at how gentle he was.

your gaze turned back to the stars, beautiful though they had nothing on oscar. letting out a contented sigh, you turned back to find oscar observing you with a shy grin, fingers still tangled with yours. leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his in a lazy kiss because you had time. even though you’d have to face the team again, if you didn’t know what was going to happen, you kissed him gently under the stars—you had all night.

[xxmcr05xx]

Angel | Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Bucky's been in a two-month secret relationship with his secretary.

Warnings/Contains: Smut, porn with feelings, boss/secretary relationship, congressman Bucky, office sex, desk sex, age difference, rough sex, doggy style, spit kink, dirty talk, masturbation, spanking, dry humping, nipple play, cunnilingus, overstimulation

WC: 2,895

Posted on: 07/06/25, also on AO3!

Author's Note: Shoutout to @siriuslyjam this is for u bbg

18+ MDNI!!!

Divider by @nicodefresas

Being a congressman was hard - having a gorgeous secretary was harder. 

"Fucking hell, F/N," Bucky panted out, he slapped his secretary's ass harder as he fucked her from behind on the desk, "you're such a messy girl... oh God." The younger woman looked back, tears rolling down her soft cheeks - make up ruined as Bucky slammed inside of her.

She gripped the table tighter, keeping eye-contact with the older man, "Need you! Oh my God, I need you, Sir."

Two months ago, Bucky was stressed out of his mind - his secretary, F/N, had come to help.

Bucky stared at the paperwork in front of him, piles and piles of complaints and changes that had to be done. But he didn't care much about that, he was on his own mission to get Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. However, all this government work given to him was too much, and as arrogant as he was - he knew that he needed a secretary. After two weeks of trying to find the perfect secretary, he found her.

She was a year out of college, at a soft age of twenty-three. A very soft-looking girl, but he knew that she had a lot of potential. She was proficient in first-aid and self-defense. A bit dorky, but Bucky liked that.

He liked a lot of things about her.

Bucky was sitting at his desk when F/N came in, she had been called back by congressman James Barnes that she had gotten the job as his secretary. The woman squealed with excitement as she walked into his office, at his chair, Bucky was sorting through his paperwork. "Welcome back, F/N," Bucky greeted with a seldom facial expression, "take a seat," he offered, looking over at the chair in front of his desk. F/N sat down, placing her handbag on the floor and her hands tucked politely in her lap.

"Before we start talking, I'll need your technology - smartwatches, cellular devices... you get the point," He continued, opening his hand out. F/N was confused for a sec, but supposed that it was normal since he was a politician; she nodded and reached for her handbag, which held had only her phone.

Bucky grabbed the phone from her hand and shut it off, placing it on top of his desk, "Hey!" F/N pouted as he took her phone away.

"Sorry," he whispered, he looked back up at her with a serious face, "what you're going to sign and hear about is secret, and I don't need anything being leaked out," he explained further, F/N huffed but nodded in agreement.

'What was so top-secret?'

He grabbed some files from his desk and placed them in front of her, "Here's are your paperwork that needs to be signed," he explained at first, sliding it to her with a black pen, "furthermore, I need to explain some stuff to you." F/N was looking through the conditions that she had to follow and the contract that needed signing when he started, which made her ears perk in excitement. He waited until she was finished reading and signing until he explained further.

The man grabbed one more sheet and slid it to her, "As you'd probably know, I used to be part of a team of... heroes," Bucky cringed internally at the phrasing, "and they disappeared. This lady, Valentina is trying to make a new group of people and I'm trying to stop her," Bucky spoke quietly, F/N shifted in her seat nervously, but nodded.

"And I've been mainly focusing on that, being sort of 'undercover' as a congressman to be closer to her. Unfortunately, I've got a lot of work that I need done - and that's where you come in," Bucky explained, "that also means you'd be coming with me, as I see you have some first-aid knowledge and can defend yourself. But don't worry, I'll compensate you if you're injured."

F/N had a blank expression on her face, "O-Oh okay, um..." F/N pursed her lips and looked away nervously, "I'll be okay." Bucky hummed and gestured to the last paper.

"This is a non-disclosure agreement. I really need you to sign this so that you legally can't spread any news out. You need to promise me that you'll keep my work a secret."

The woman nodded, her hand slightly shaking as she signed the NDA.

"Now, let's get to business with these papers!"

Weeks went by after that, being Bucky's secretary was hard work, but the pay and experience was all worth it in the end. However, their friendly relationship took a turn when Bucky got furious.

"FUCK!" Bucky shouted in his office, visibly distressed and angry as he threw around his files, hands in his face. F/N walked awkwardly in the room, watching what her boss was doing.

F/N smiled towards Bucky, who was infuriated, "You- You okay, sir?" F/N asked softly, sweat slightly dripping down her forehead. The congressman shook his head and breathed in deeply, then out.

"I just... stupid fucking politicians," Bucky explained vaguely, he sat down at his desk and held his head in his hands, "I just want to explode..." he mumbled, he felt betrayed and angered. F/N looked over empathetically and moved closer to the man, sitting in front of him at his desk.

"Is there anything I could do to help you out, sir?" F/N asked, her tone was genuine which panged in Bucky's heart. The older man looked up at her with one eye, his other covered by his hair.

He was full of questions.

"Anything?"

"Anything, sir."

The next thirty minutes, Bucky's office was full of moans and dirty-talk.

Bucky had F/N up against the desk, her back spread over his paperwork and files as his cock pounded through her viciously. "Like this fucking cock, huh? Like- Like how I fuck you so hard all over my desk?" Bucky asked, spit was flying out of his mouth and his eyes shot through F/N's own. The younger woman nodded, she couldn't even think straight as her boss' cock slid against her walls.

"S-Sirrr! Oh my God- Ugh fuck, please fuck me harder!" She whined out loudly, Bucky looked back down at her with dominating eyes, he leaned down and moaned loudly, kissing her neck harshly. Saliva was sticking out from his mouth and onto her neck but he didn't care - he just wanted to mark her.

Bucky whined out again, he kissed down her clavicle and to her tits, they were spilling out her lacey white bra as he fucked her. Almost at an instant, his lips attached to her chest, sucking on it harshly and moaning; he was about to cum at any moment.

Their affair has been going on for two months now.

Those months went by fast now and Bucky was close to completing his goal - Valentina was going to be impeached.

Bucky bounced his leg nervously as he read the news on the T.V. He was happy, but at the same time extremely upset - he knew that he'd have to let go F/N. He peered over to the secretary and sighed softly, she looked so happy typing up letters and fixing that pretty hair of hers. The man looked straight at F/N and cleared his throat, "F/N, can you come over here, please," Bucky asked, fixing his posture.

The woman stopped typing for a second and looked over at her boss, she smiled and got up, walking over to the desk and sitting down on the chair, "What's up, sir?" F/N asked.

"I'm... I'm almost at the end of my goal, Valentina's going to be impeached soon and I'm going to quit after that," he explained, "that means in a few weeks, I'm going to have to let you go."

F/N blinked a few times with a blank face before nodding, "Y-Yeah I um, saw that in the contract," she looked down, "just a shame, sir. I really do like you- as a boss of course!" F/N quickly added, which made Bucky laugh.

"Well, I've been very impressed with your defense skills, and I see potential in you. If you'd like, I'd love to train you," Bucky offered with an awkward half-smile. F/N gasped and smiled, taking Bucky's hands into hers.

"Ooh yes, sir! I'd love to train with you!" F/N exclaimed with a grin.

Bucky coughed awkwardly and nodded, moving his hands away from hers. "I'm glad..." he muttered, he sat up straight and stared back at her, "we..." his voice got quieter now, his facial expression softened - he knew he'd regret his next choice of words. "We should stop what we've been doing, F/N. It's not healthy, I'm your boss and I've been taking advantage of you like this," he mumbled, playing with his shirt-sleeve nervously.

F/N let out a small breath and nodded, she was visibly hurt but knew that this would happen eventually, "That's okay, sir. I understand," she replied back, "but... if I may ask: can we do it one last time, please?" F/N begged, she had this look in her eyes that Bucky couldn't resist, pulling him in like a siren.

"F/N..."

"Please, sir!" F/N stood up, slamming her hands on the desk, "Just give me one last chance to be touched by you in this way, then we can go back to our old dynamic!"

Bucky hated their old dynamic.

He jerked off everyday that he saw her; her ass was impeccable in that skirt of hers. He was jealous of everyone that saw her in the morning, they probably wanted a piece of her too, but they couldn't - F/N was his.

"Fine... one last time but that's it," Bucky replied, voice low and dangerous - he was going to fuck her like it was the last time that he saw her. F/N smiled and sat on the desk, already knowing how they'd fuck, however, Bucky shook his head and twirled his fingers around, gesturing her to turn around. It was new.

F/N moved positions so that she was facing the desk again, Bucky kept his eyes imprinted on F/N as he made his way behind her, "Lean over," Bucky muttered, staring right at her ass. F/N followed his instructions and bent forward on the desk, keeping her arms level with her shoulders. Bucky licked his dry lips and moved forward, his hands made their way to her ass, rubbing it softly.

"Gonna miss spanking this fucking ass," Bucky confessed, his voice was gravelly, he moved his hand underneath her skirt and reached the top of her tights, ripping them open and down her legs. He felt his breath hitch as he stared straight at her panties - his favourite purple lacy pair. Bucky's middle and index finger slowly massaged F/N's clothed cunt, reveling in the sounds of her moans - he could clearly see a wet spot growing where he touched her.

He wanted to be slow but he wanted her cunt desperately.

The former soldier placed a soft kiss on his secretary's clothed cunt before unbuckling his belt, he let it drop to the floor as he unbuttoned his pants and wriggled it off - kicking away the clothing right after. He placed his hands back onto F/N's hips, grinding his clothed boner over her aroused cunt.

"You feel so good on me, F/N," Bucky whined out, his eyes were closed in pleasure. F/N whimpered out and nodded, whispering a small thank you as the man kneeled down to his knees. He feathered kisses over her thighs before reaching her cunt, he used his teeth to pull her panties right down to her ankles.

Bucky was a nature-lover.

He loved the view that Mother Nature was showing him right now.

"Wow..." Bucky whispered in admiration, "you're just as beautiful every time I see you."

Was he talking to her or her cunt? F/N had no idea, but she loved it.

Bucky gave her exposed cunt a couple of wet kisses - which made F/N whimper - before licking a long stripe on her cunt. F/N immediately bit her lip, but let out a loud muffled moan. The licks continued at an awfully teasing rate, Bucky's tongue was deep inside of her, his metal arm at the same time rubbing her clit. F/N covered her mouth with her hand, eyes tightly shut at the immense pleasure she was feeling.

"Hhguhhh- sir..." F/N drew out, "it's too much!"

The man shook his head - he knew she could take it.

He knew because she was a good girl.

Bucky continued his tongued-attack on the poor girl, he was breathing in as much as he could of her cunt because he didn't know if he'd ever get it again. Her smell was irresistible to Bucky, surely cum was an aphrodisiac.

F/N's legs were twitching, Bucky knew that she was going to cum soon and he wanted it bad.

The congressman's tongue licked deeper inside of her, one hand on her thigh and the other rubber her clit, the pressure was too much for F/N who was crying. He wish that he could of seen her cry - it was his favourite scene. Bucky was imagining how she'd look right now, whether she had a huge grin on her face or if she had snot running down her nose and tears welling up in her beautiful eyes.

"Go- Gonna cum, Bucky-" F/N cried out, "please please please. I need to cum," she gripped her recently-done acrylic nails, Bucky had given her the money to get it done, told her to get his favourite shade of purple. Bucky nodded against F/N's thighs, he let out a soft groan - F/N's thighs were squeezing against him.

With the help if his fingers and tongue, F/N finally came, her juices were all over his tongue and fingers and Bucky was addicted. He moved away from her cunt and stood up immediately, he pulled his boxers off as fast as he could and prepared to fuck her. He jerked off his thick cock for a few strokes before holding her ass with one hand, his cock pushed through her cunt so easily - so loose for him.

"Oh fuck..." Bucky hissed out.

He'd never get tired to the feeling of her cunt.

F/N let out a loud moan in her hands, she was overstimulated from her previous orgasm. "You feel so good, F/N," Bucky huffed out, taking a moment to rest, "can't live without this cunt. I need it for the rest of my life," he whined, rubbing her ass cheek gently before slapping it. She let out another hard moan, "Yeah you like that? You like me slapping that ass of yours?" he asked, making F/N nod her head profusely.

The man started to pick up the pace now, her loose cunt was absolutely filled to the brim. Bucky leaned forward and rested his head on F/N's shoulder blade, kissing and marking it with his teeth as he fucked her harder. His hands groped her ass so tightly, it felt like dough in his hands.

"Fucking hell, F/N," Bucky panted out, he slapped his secretary's ass harder as he fucked her from behind on the desk, "you're such a messy girl... oh God." The younger woman looked back, tears rolling down her soft cheeks - make up ruined as Bucky slammed inside of her.

She gripped the table tighter, keeping eye-contact with the older man, "Need you! Oh my God, I need you, Sir."

"Y-Yeah you want this?"

"I do sir! Oh God," F/N whined out, tears continuing to roll down her face, "I'm your secretary! I'm your secretary!" she screamed.

Bucky couldn't hold it in anymore, he could feel his cock twitching and then he came.

His cum was filling her up, his warm, white cum.

"Look at me," Bucky groaned out, he lazily was rubbing her clit now, slowly fucking his cum deeper inside of her to help her reach her orgasm. He leaned forward, unexpectedly kissing her - F/N whimpered softly.

They never kissed.

Bucky just wanted to taste her sopping mouth.

The pair closed their eyes as they kissed, enjoying the feeling of slowly fucking.

Then Bucky moved out of her, panting extremely loudly. He ran his hands through his hair to fix it a bit, pulling up his pants and putting his belt back on. The two were quiet but it wasn't an awkward silence, it was calm and hot. Bucky helped F/N clean up after that, offering her a towel to wipe herself up with.

After their affair, they sat in silence on the floor. Bucky wanted to look at her, but was upset, "I'm gonna miss this," Bucky whispered, playing with the sleeve of his shirt, F/N looked over at Bucky sadly. She moved her hand over his knee and rubbed it.

"It's okay, sir. I'll still be here for you."

Bucky felt warm.

He looked back at F/N and smiled sadly and did something he's never really done in ages - he pulled her into a tight hug.

"Stay with me forever."

"Yes, sir."

[fic-girlie]

Hi there!! I want to request something for Pedro Pascal x Actress!reader since pretty soon the fantastic 4 movie will come out.

So, this is the first time Pedro and reader work as costars, they never had a project together before. And they are gonna act as Reed Richard’s and Sue Storm. They finish filming and is more than obvious how affectionate Pedro is with his wife at conventions, interviews, etc. and the rest of the cast is like: “yeah they are always like that”

Fall in love again

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x actress!wife!reader Summary: You and Pedro steal the spotlight with your undeniable affection while promoting your first film together. Warnings: established relationship, fluff

The set is still humming with the last whir of production lights when Pedro pulls you into his arms, right there in the middle of the soundstage. You’re half-laughing, half-exhausted, makeup slightly smudged under the overhead gels, but you melt into him like it’s instinct—because it is. His arms come around your waist, fingers splaying across the back of your bodysuit where the zipper was just tugged down minutes ago. His mouth brushes against your temple, soft and low and entirely yours.

“That’s a wrap, mi amor,” he murmurs, lips curved against your skin.

The crew’s still scattering—PAs coiling cables, makeup artists making last passes with blotting paper, the director somewhere behind the monitor shouting thank-yous. But Pedro only sees you. His forehead presses against yours, and even though you’re both technically still in costume—him with silver-painted streaks in his hair, you in a suit that still clings to your curves—you could be anywhere.

“You know,” you tease, fingers slipping up his chest to rest there,“this might be the first movie we’ve done together, but I’m not sure the fans are going to believe we kept it professional.”

He huffs out a warm, amused breath, and that dimple you love carves itself deep into his cheek. “Let them believe whatever they want, cariño. They’ll figure it out the moment they see how I look at you in the press junket.”

He’s not wrong.

Because two weeks later, when the cast is assembled backstage at Comic-Con—name cards lined up, microphones waiting, cameras poised—Pedro is sitting with his knee pressed to yours, arm draped casually over the back of your chair like you’re already halfway in his lap. And you’re not moving. You don’t want to. You lean into the way his fingers absently stroke along your spine, featherlight and familiar, while the moderator reads off fan questions.

It’s not the first time today he’s touched you like this. It’s not even the tenth.

At the photo call this morning, he pulled you in at the last second, wide-palmed and warm against your waist, and kissed your cheek with a smirk that said just because I can. When you sat for the Variety cast interview, he shifted his chair closer without thinking, your knees bumping every time he crossed and uncrossed his legs—and then didn’t apologize when he left his hand on your thigh during someone else’s answer.

You were Sue Storm on screen. But off screen, you were always his.

And the rest of the cast? They’ve started to treat it like background noise. Like rain in the distance or the low hum of a refrigerator—perpetual, expected, sometimes even comforting.

Joseph snorts, elbowing Ebon. “At one point I looked up from a take and thought we were filming something way more romantic. Turns out, no—Pedro was just looking at her like she hung the stars.”

Pedro doesn't even deny it. He glances over at you with that little half-smile, the one that curls just his mouth but softens every line in his face, and says, “That’s because she did.”

You roll your eyes but your hand is already reaching for his, fingers sliding between his like your whole body already knows the shape of the fit. Which it does. You’ve been married three years now. Three full years of late-night scripts and early morning shoots, of red carpets and long-distance FaceTimes, of quiet dinners in sweatpants and loud reunions at airport gates. Three years of watching him love you so openly, so endlessly, that you’ve stopped pretending he ever tries to hide it.

And maybe this is your favorite part of all of it—being on this stage, being this version of yourselves. Surrounded by press and fans and hot lights, but still anchored to each other. Not as Sue and Reed, not as co-stars, but as you and Pedro.

You lean in during one of the questions—something about character development or some scene they all loved—and you whisper just under your breath, “You realize they’re all clocking how you haven’t let go of me this entire time.”

He doesn’t even look at you when he answers, just smiles a little deeper and squeezes your hand under the table. “Good. I want them to.”

Later, when the cast is filing out behind the curtain and the flashbulbs are still popping in the hallway, Pedro tugs you back by your wrist. The others keep walking, half-distracted by handlers and costume bags and the chaos of the press corridor—but you stop. Because he did. Because he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that makes sense in the whirlwind.

He backs you gently against the wall behind one of the partition curtains, hands framing your face, and kisses you once, slow and deliberate, like there’s no one around to see it. Like time doesn’t exist for him when his mouth is on yours.

When he finally pulls back, his voice is low, rough-edged and a little breathless. “I loved filming with you. Every single second.”

You press your forehead to his, feeling the warmth of his hands against your jaw, the scent of his cologne and coffee and whatever product Coco used in the makeup room to slick back his hair. “I loved watching you fall in love with me again—on screen.”

Pedro smiles against your cheek. “Joke’s on you. I never stopped.”

You laugh, full and quiet and slightly overwhelmed. His arms slip around your waist, pulling you in until you’re chest to chest, heart to heart, and you let yourself sink into it. Let yourself feel how real it is, how effortless it’s always been with him, no matter where you are.

Backstage at a convention.

In a hotel lobby where fans are shouting both your names.

On a set where the cameras catch everything—except the way he whispers “mi vida” against your ear when no one’s looking.

The rest of the cast might tease. The press might speculate. The fans might edit together every glance and grazing touch. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter what they see.

Because you see it. You feel it. You live it.

You’re his, and he’s yours.

Always like that.

[fellominaarcher]

New York's Finest — Spiderwoman!Sophia x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS

» » When your girlfriend Sophia decides the best way to help you overcome your fear of heights is a romantic swing through Manhattan's skyline, you're pretty sure this isn't what the self-help books had in mind. Between your death grip on her shoulders and the very undignified screaming, it's not exactly the graceful spider-and-passenger duo you'd imagined.

» » genre: AU, superhero, romance-comedy

» » warning: fight scenes ig, fear of heights, swinging thru Manhattan

» » fic type: oneshot

» » inspo: i literally had a dream of sophia being a spiderwoman and was my gf in that dream

main m.list | katseye m.list | navigation

12:37AM. Obviously, midnight. The two of you, Sophia and you, were waiting for these small numbers of people to dissolve. Away from the dock you two were at. Waiting for the lights out too. A part of you were thinking that this is a terrible idea.

Definitely is a bad idea. Very ironic because you're dating the Spiderwoman but you're scared of heights which was quite the irony, even when you're climbing onto the chair to hang a tinsel on the wall. It gives you the slight heebie jeebies.

“In the count of 3,” Sophia said in a low voice, literally sticking to a wall under the darkness and her eyes were as sharp as a high specs digital camera.

“2...”

“1,”

“Okay!” Sophia then jumped further into the darkness and so quick, she changed from her hoodies and jeans to her spider suit. Jumping out of the darkness and did a little flip to show off in front of you before landing.

Were you excited? A little. So you stepped up to her and desperately clung to her. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Soph?” you questioned the principle of the situation.

“Jumping heights to heights is my stuff, Y/N,” Sophia's answer did not assure you for one bit.

Definitely one of the worse ways to overcome your fear of heights. Internally, you started to curse at the world but not your girlfriend because you love her so much and so the two of you tip toe to the nearest giant pillar that led to a crane.

You gazed up, the view zoomed out and the height of that pillar felt nauseating to you, almost making you dizzy. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope,” you muttered under your breath.

Sophia gestured to you to climb on her back, “Hop on, princess!” she teased you a little and so you did, climbed on her back. Legs around her waist and arms wrapped around her neck.

Crazy. You should get off the moment you climbed on your girlfriend. How does Sophia deal with all of these for two years? Nobody knows. With you on Sophia's back, she started to climb up and up, her movement was not too fast just so you could get used to the height.

“Try looking down for a sec then look up and look again then brace yourself,” Sophia's voice was a little muffled through the mask and you hold onto her tighter, afraid that one slip will bring you down.

“I literally cannot do that,” you squeaked, your voice about three octaves higher than usual. “My eyes are permanently glued shut, thank you very much.”

“Come on, baby, trust me. I've only dropped someone once.”

”ONCE?!”

“Kidding! Kidding!" Sophia's laughter vibrated through her chest. "I've never dropped anyone. Well, except for bad guys, but that's intentional.”

Your Spiderwoman noticed that you were slightly trembling and she shot her webs on your feet and hands to stick onto her for maximum security.

“There you goooo,” Sophia assured you in a sing-song voice and the two of you continued to climb up on the crane before stopping at the top of it.

Finally reaching the top of the pillar, Sophia paused to let you catch your breath. The city sprawled out below you both, twinkling like scattered diamonds. It would have been beautiful if you weren't currently having an existential crisis about gravity.

“See? Not so bad—”

“SOPHIA, I CAN SEE MY APARTMENT FROM HERE AND THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING!”

“Y/N, it's about to get fun!”

“Fun for who exactly?” you muttered, but before you could protest further, Sophia shot a web line across to a nearby building.

“Ready?” she asked, but didn't wait for an answer.

The world suddenly dropped away beneath you as Sophia launched into the air. The scream that tore from your throat was probably heard in New Jersey. Your arms locked around her neck like a vice grip, and your legs squeezed her waist so tight you were pretty sure you were cutting off her circulation.

“SOPHIA LAFORTEZA I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” you shrieked as the two of you swung through the night air.

“You'll have to survive the swing first!” she called back, and you could hear her laughing even over the rush of wind. “Besides, look at that view!”

“I'M NOT LOOKING AT ANYTHING!”

Your scream echoed across the Manhattan skyline as Sophia launched both of you into the air. The sensation of falling and flying simultaneously made your brain short-circuit. You were pretty sure you were going to die, and your last thought would be about how your obituary would read: "Died because her girlfriend thought web-swinging was good exposure therapy."

“YOU'RE INSANE!” you screamed into the wind.

“BUT YOU LOVE ME!” Sophia called back, clearly enjoying herself way too much.

“I'M RECONSIDERING THAT!”

The city lights blurred past in streaks of gold and white, and despite your terror, there was something oddly exhilarating about soaring through the Manhattan skyline. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the way Sophia moved with such confidence and grace, but for just a moment, you felt like you were flying.

Then you made the mistake of opening your eyes.

“OH GOD WE'RE SO HIGH UP!” you screamed, immediately squeezing them shut again.

“Y/N,” her voice was gentler now, coaxing. “I promise you, it's beautiful. And I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Against every instinct screaming in your brain, you slowly opened one eye, again. Then the other.

Manhattan stretched out below you like a blanket of stars, lights twinkling in windows and street lamps creating golden rivers through the darkness. The harbor sparkled in the distance, and you could see the faint outline of bridges connecting the boroughs like delicate jewelry.

“Oh,” you breathed.

“See? Not so bad, right?”

“It's...” you paused, still clinging to her but feeling your death grip loosen slightly. “It's actually kind of gorgeous.”

“Just like my girlfriend,” Sophia said smugly, and you could hear the smile in her voice even through the mask.

“Did you just... did you seriously just use this moment to flirt with me?”

“I use every moment to flirt with you. It's part of my charm.”

“You're unbelievable.” But you were smiling now, some of the terror ebbing away as you took in the view.

Despite the terror, there was something almost magical about it, the way Sophia moved with such confidence, the graceful arcs between buildings, the fact that you were literally flying through the air with the greatest of ease. You might have even started to enjoy it if you weren't busy having a panic attack.

“See? You're getting the hang of—OH SHIT!”

“OH SHIT? OH SHIT WHAT? SPIDERWOMAN DON'T SAY OH SHIT!”

Sophia's trajectory suddenly changed, and you both swooped lower toward an industrial area. Below, you could see a group of people in dark clothing moving around what looked like stolen goods near a warehouse.

“The Crimson Crew," Sophia muttered. "I've been trying to catch these guys all week.”

“Soph, no. Whatever you're thinking, no.”

“I just need to—”

“SOPHIA LAFORTEZA, SO HELP ME, IF YOU—”

But it was too late. Sophia was already changing course, swinging both of you down toward the warehouse. Your romantic evening of facing your fears had just become an impromptu superhero stakeout.

“I'm going to need you to hide while I take care of this,” Sophia said, gently lowering you behind a stack of shipping containers and didn't forget to rip off the webs she had stuck on you.

“Hide? HIDE? I just survived aerial acrobatics without a safety net and now you want me to HIDE?”

“It's dangerous, Y/N. These guys have been planning something big all week.”

You peeked around the container at the group of criminals. They looked like discount Halloween villains, all dramatic black outfits and unnecessarily complicated masks. “They look like they shop at Spirit Halloween.”

“Spirit Halloween villains can still shoot people, babe.”

“Fair point.” You crouched lower behind the container. “Just... be careful, okay? And maybe wrap this up quickly? I'd like to get back to ground level sometime this century.”

Sophia squeezed your hand. “Stay here. I'll be right back.”

You watched as she swung into action, and despite your terror about the height and the danger, you couldn't help but feel proud. Your girlfriend was literally a superhero. She was graceful, powerful, and had a surprisingly extensive repertoire of spider-themed one-liners.

“Hey guys!” Sophia called out, landing dramatically in the middle of the group. “Hope you don't mind if I drop in!”

You winced. “Oh, honey, no.”

One of the jumpsuit guys turned around. “Oh, come ON! We were having such a good night!”

“Sorry to web up your plans!” Sophia shot a web that yanked a weapon out of another guy's hands.

“Did she just... did she actually just make a pun?” you whispered to yourself. “My girlfriend is making PUNS while fighting CRIMINALS.”

The fight was actually pretty incredible to watch. Sophia moved like she was dancing, flipping and swinging and somehow managing to avoid every punch and kick thrown her way. She webbed two guys to the ceiling, used another one as a human yo-yo, and somehow managed to tie three of them together without them realizing what was happening.

“Is this your first day?” she asked one particularly confused criminal. "Because usually people try to hit me BACK."

“We are trying to hit you back!” the guy protested.

“Well, you're not very good at it!”

You had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Your girlfriend was literally roasting criminals while beating them up. It was the most ridiculous, amazing thing you'd ever seen.

But then one of them got lucky and managed to knock Sophia off balance. She recovered quickly, but not before you saw her stumble.

That's when your promise to stay hidden went right out the window.

“BEHIND YOU!” you shouted, banging on the glass as another criminal tried to sneak up on her.

Sophia spun around just in time, but now all the criminals knew exactly where you were.

“GREAT JOB STAYING HIDDEN, STRANGER!” Sophia called out as she webbed the sneaky guy to a wall.

“I PANICKED!”

“I CAN SEE THAT!”

The fight continued, and you found yourself getting genuinely invested in the action. You cheered when Sophia landed a particularly good hit, gasped when she narrowly avoided a thrown wrench, and definitely did not swoon when she did that thing where she flipped upside down and shot webs with perfect accuracy.

“Okay, that was actually pretty cool,” you admitted to yourself.

Finally, the last of the Crimson Crew was webbed up and ready for the police. Sophia stood in the middle of her handiwork, hands on her hips in classic superhero pose.

"Another successful night for your friendly neighborhood Spider-Woman!” she announced.

“And her extremely terrified but supportive girlfriend!” you added, emerging from behind the container.

Sophia swung over to you, landing gracefully beside your hiding spot. “So... how are we feeling about heights now?”

“I'm not saying I'm ready to take up base jumping,” you said slowly, “but... maybe it's not so bad when you're with someone who actually knows what they're doing.”

“Does this mean you'll let me take you web-swinging again?”

You considered this. The terror had been real, but so had the exhilaration. And watching Sophia save the day had been pretty incredible, even if her one-liners needed work.

“On one condition,” you said.

“Anything.”

“We workshop your superhero quips. 'Web up your plans'? Really?”

Sophia laughed, pulling off her mask to reveal her grinning face. “Deal. But I'm keeping 'your friendly neighborhood Spider-Woman.'”

“That one's a classic, I'll allow it.”

She wrapped her arms around you, and for a moment, you both just stood there on the container, looking out over the place. It was beautiful and terrifying and absolutely nothing like the quiet evening you'd planned.

“Ready to head home?” Sophia asked.

You looked at her—mask off, hair messy from the fight, eyes bright with excitement and affection and felt that familiar flutter in your chest that had nothing to do with fear of heights.

Even if you were definitely investing in a helmet for next time.

main m.list | katseye m.list | navigation

[yumerinns]

thought of the day!!! (took me a week to write)

i feel like yoichi isagi would want someone who can match his 'slursagi' energy.

we all know off the field, he's this nice, sweet and rather introverted individual who is a complete 180° from when he's playing.

then, there's you, who is also a complete sweetheart. you, who with a single compliment can reduce yoichi to a flustered mess, his mind blaring your sweet voice and words for the entire day. you, who adjusts the blanket to cover his body more while he's dozing off rewatching his previous game footage (he's wide awake again). you, who happily gives him the sweetest kisses throughout the day.

at the beginning of your relationship, you had never seen yoichi on the field, nor had you seen his personality. you assumed he was the same warm hearted partner you knew, until one day he sends you some tickets for seats to watch his upcoming football match. you eagerly agreed, as, like said, you'd never seen him play before, and this was his big dream you were supporting.

of course, he would want nothing but the best for his sweet girlfriend, so he booked the seats closest to the field, so you could focus on him the whole time, but he also made sure you wouldn't be disturbed by getting his parents to sit next to you.

the first half is great. yoichi is scoring goals like he lives off it (technically he does), and the crowd is cheering for his team, and so were you. cheering his name quietly as you took a whole lot of photos of him, one with him wiping his sweat like the man he is with his shirt (holy crap!) and the rest of him being himself on the field.

his team wins the half 2-1. the crowd goes absolutely wild, their roaring filling the entire stadium. after the break, however, somewhere in the second half, his teammates start slacking a little: failing to deliver passes that were up to standard, missing to realise simple mistakes that affected the flow of the game, and you could tell yoichi's mood was not good.

and after one of his teammates miss a free shot completely, he loses it.

"oi, are you fucking kidding me? that was the easiest shot in the whole game! even a three year old can play better than your hellhole of a play style!" he shouts.

your eyes instantly widen, your mind blanking out, merely focused on him.

woah.

what.

what!?

and yoichi doesn't stop there. he keeps yelling at the poor guy with five slurs in one sentence and at least every insult in the dictionary. he has to be shaken by his shoulders by another teammate to snap him out of his crash out, but even then the tension doesn't seem to snap.

almost as if he can feel you practically burning holes into the back of his shirt, yoichi whips his head around, and when he notices you were staring, his face flushes the darkest red you've ever seen.

"well that was embarrassing," yoichi mutters, his head buried in his hands as you bring it up.

you're genuinely puzzled why he thinks it's embarrassing because you've never said something more honest than he was so hot like that. like jaw dropping, gut stirring, lip biting, absolutely, diabolically hot.

"i think it was hot." you grin, siting down next to his sweaty body, hooking an arm around his arm and tugging gently on it.

he peeks at you through his bangs that are covering his eyes slightly. "really?"

"of course," you rub circles on his bicep with your thumb, slow and lazily. "i just discovered a new side of you i never knew."

"oh, hey, you should do that more. what did you say? 'midget who missed as many goals as many times as he should he's fucked-"

"okay, that's enough!"

you brush it to the back of your mind, only bringing it up teasingly when he thinks he's got salt on you.

♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

it's a busy day at your office, and with the fact you were already running late, you had no time to eat anything.

that includes bringing anything to eat.

by 1pm, you feel like you are mere seconds away from starving to death, so you do the most logical thing you know: calling yoichi.

it is his off day, and while he had constantly asked if you were interested in taking a leave to spend this sacred day with him, you had to decline due to the lack of leaves you had left.

you punch in his contact number and place your phone next to your ear. one ring is all it took for him to pick up.

you ask yoichi if he can bring you something to eat for lunch. he hasn't even said anything, but you can immediately hear sheets rustling and the sound of keys clinking against each other. "i'll be there in 5," he says.

you smile (even though he can't see it) and hang up. not even one second after placing down your phone does this young girl who's wearing a short pencil skirt and a navy blue blouse run up to you, invading every single area of privacy possible.

"were you talking to your boyfriend?" she asks, her voice way too excited. she doesn't even give you a chance to speak before her face is in yours again. "he's so hot, like i was watching his match yesterday, and god, did you see how he had this fierce yet cool aura around him?"

you're kinda weirded out.

"you're so lucky to date him. i mean, if you weren't, i gladly would!"

fuck that.

you were completely weirded out.

you simply laugh awkwardly, hoping your body language is enough to send a signal over to that mush brain of hers.

and... apparently not!

she starts asking you for weird favors and says things that seem to be back handed compliments about you and yoichi's relationship. like how she wished she could date him, how fine he was, shit like that.

it's not the most unusual thing for you due to the amount of fangirls he has. but you're seriously hungry, and not in the mood for this girl's nonsense.

you're still sat there, a smile that's not quite real playing on your lips. your hands rest on your lap, fidgeting with your fingers uncomfortably and every second that passes feels like hours.

you try to be patient. you really do try.

but some things, or rather, people, just can't read a social situation sometimes.

"why don't you give him to me for day, huh?"

oh, what.

"why don't you just shut the fuck up?" you retort. your sudden outburst makes the coworker sitting next to you raise an intrigued eyebrow, but it's really to be expected.

"you said 'boyfriend'. my boyfriend. so can you just stop talking about him like i don't even exist?"

she gasps dramatically, trying to play that stupid victim party.

"it's not that big of a deal! or are you just insecure?" she adds on. she knows what she's doing, and it's irritating!

you get up from your seat, eyebrows furrowed and a mocking smile like never before.

"i'm insecure? have you even looked at yourself? oh wait, i bet you can't! don't mirrors break when they see you? with such a pigmented lipstick and uneven eyeshadow, that look is not it. you try to make it seem natural, but the only thing that's natural about you is your ass. unless you wanna get a lift on that too?"

you hear a gasp somewhere behind you, beating it to her. you turn around on instinct, and you see yoichi standing there with a paper bag in hand, pupils blown wide and mouth agape.

you feel your stomach drop into an abyss.

you shoot her one last glare, and immediately run off to yoichi, pulling him somewhere more secluded, like the pantry.

"you did not just see that." you say for the hundredth time, trying to trick his mind into thinking that, but it's obvious it's not working.

"that was just... holy shit-," yoichi laughs in amazement, fueling your already reddening cheeks. "i've never seen that before. i never even thought you could do that." he grabs your hands together, squeezing them tightly.

"i'd willingly let you berate me like that. no joke. coolest thing i've ever seen in my life, and this is a huge thing considering i'm going to marry you and be stuck with you for the rest of my life."

how the fuck is he so good with words? despite being a menace himself...

[jjknowsball]

Perfection Ch 3.

Summary: AU Fic where Paige is a D1 Football player and Azzi is an overwhelmed Biology major.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning: Typical party stuff, (Weird obsessed Ex that ignores boundaries), Power dynamic, Alcohol,

Note: I lowkey hate how I wrote this chapter but I needed to get it out.😪

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The invitation comes the following day through the slot of Azzi’s door in the middle of one of her and Caroline’s late night study sessions.

“What’s that” Caroline ask as she looks at the orange and purple piece of paper that Azzi picked up. 

“Paige wants me to go to her birthday party” Azzi says very matter of factly before discarding the invite on her desk. She could care less about a party with all of the midterms she had coming up. Especially with her Ochem grade falling behind. 

“Woah, are you being for real” Caroline says as she jumps up to grab the invitation off the desk before scrambling to read it. “You just got invited to the best party of the year and you are just going to throw it on your desk like it is a homework assignment”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on going or anything. The Slime mold guy is giving a presentation, which I go to every year, and plus there is gonna be free pizza.” Azzi rambled on.

This is the way that she has spent her last two college Halloween and she wasn’t trying to change it for a girl who almost took her out. 

But maybe she should change and now that she thinks about it the man gave her the same pitiful look as she excitedly spent her Halloween at the presentation with an unimpressed Caroline and Ines (Who only came for the IHOP trip afterwards.) 

Caroline turns to really look at the girl  as if she was crazy before stating.

“We are going to this party, whether I have to drag you there or not.” 

The brunette groans seeing no way out of going to a party for her roommate who almost took her out.

“Let’s meet in your room to pre-game Saturday” Caroline says as she grabs her bag to leave 

Once she is out of earshot, Azzi turns over in her bed and screams into her pillow.

———

Azzi spends the rest of the week dreading the fact that she has to go to the party. She has tried everything to stop Caroline from making her go. From bribes, to heckling her from the sideline at club basketball as she nursed her hurt leg. 

She even made Xavier draw a picture of her in a jail cell with the words “Free Azzi” underneath. 

None of that matters to the other girl, as she found herself getting ready in Azzi’s dorm room.

“This is going to be so much fun” Caroline stated as she sorted through her costume options “Who knows we might even find someone to hook up with, so we can have a true college experience.” 

The emphasis on college experience almost made Azzi throw a pillow at her head. She was just fine spending all of her time in the lab.

“Absolutely not” Azzi declared. She had never been one for hook up culture and the thought of having to talk to any guy on campus icked her out and talking to a girl sent her into heart palpitations. 

“It’s not that bad, maybe you can even see what is happening with you and Paige” Caroline chimed in while applying eyeliner. She should have seen it coming, between all of the vent sessions that the brunette had, she should have known that Carolina had been observing her. 

“Nothing is going on there, Car” Azzi stated defensively-folding her arms

“Sure, You went from almost about to kill her in her sleep to being invited to her birthday party in one day” Caroline commented, throwing her arms up “but sure, there nothing there”

Sure, Azzi could admit that her roommate was attractive, but she wasn’t trying to mess with the positive streak that they had just started.  She has gone three days without homicidal thoughts about the blonde. 

It would also mean opening a can of worms she wasn’t ready to deal with.

“Ines save me” Azzi cried dramatically wrapping her arms around the younger girls waist as she layed in the bed,  paying no mind to her and Caroline shenanigans as she played the Sims on Azzi’s computer.

“Fine, What are you gonna wear” Caroline asked, realizing she wasn’t getting anywhere.

“My Olaf onesie” Azzi announced like it was the easiest decision in the world.

“Nope we are not doing this again” Caroline groaned as she picked up her phone “I am calling for back up.”

The phone rings for three seconds before the person on the other line picks up 

“What’s up, Car” Aaliyah, who was  the three girls former mentor, before going to one of the most prestigious Med school in the country,asked (and yes Azzi was still salty about her moving so far away from them.)

Caroline spends the next ten minutes catching the older girl up- from their awful housing assignment, to Azzi’s superstar roommate, and the party that they were about to attend before waiting for the verdict.

“Az, you’re going to that party and you are going to wear a sexy costume, and you are going to have fun” Aaliyah egged on which Caroline encouraged “ You have no reason not to”

“But Lili” Azzi cried

“Nope, go have the fun I never had and tell me about it when I come in town next week” Aaliyah demanded, leaving Azzi with no other choice. 

With the help of the Ines and Caroline, and Aaliyah over the phone, she had gotten dress in 45 minutes. They had decided to go with Caroline’s old costume from freshman year.

Staring into the mirror, she can’t help but notice that her current appearance was nothing like her typical STEM uniform of a baggy hoodie and sweatpants. 

The pink corset hugged her torso in all of the right places and the lace at the top wrapped around her arms. The tight corset pushed her chest up to the right place and the ribbon in the middle was the cherry on top. 

The matching pink skirt hugged her waist and was sooo much shorter than anything she would typically wear. Her face was perfectly dolled up and her curls were out in full form that gave value to her face. Caroline had even given her the matching wand and tiara that finished off the perfect princess look. 

“Perfect” Caroline announced as Ines shaked her head in agreement as if they were her typical Fairy Godmothers

———

Azzi definitely believes that the slime mold presentation would have been better than the crowded Airbnb she had just entered. The house was ginormous and was covered head to toe in white luxury brands.

From the copious amounts of drinks that were  floating around, to the frat boys  that were running off the roof into the pool, and the people making out on what looked like the owner’s brand new white couch. She was definitely overstimulated.

From the looks of it, Paige had went way over broad and she didn’t even want to think about how high the cleaning fee or insurance that Paige was going to have to pay. 

Azzi’s plan was to stick with Caroline and Ines for the whole night before eventually heading to IHOP. She had even plan to slip Paige’s gift on the way out, avoiding a full confrontation.

All of that went out the window when a lean man with brown curls had snatched Caroline away ( Not before Caroline asked 500 times would she be ok.) And now Ines had a group of girls who were complimenting her homemade Sims plumbob head band that she choose to wear 

Ines had really forgotten her costume but Azzi respected the grind.

So now all she could do was stand againist the wall pretending to know all of “Dreams and Nightmare” until she had felt a tap on her shoulder.

“I saw that there was a Slime mold presentation on a flyer and I thought I had lost you” Paige remarked, hanging her arm over Azzi, almost as if they had been long term friends. 

Azzi turns around to find the blonde wearing a matching spider web set and was wearing hard hair down. Despite not wearing a costume, her aura was different, almost as if she knew she was in her element.

 “I didn’t have a choice” Azzi groaned out as she looked at the flickering lights. She had to look anywhere else or she might just combust in to flames. 

“Well I am glad you came” Paige yelled over the music “You look so pretty tonight.”

The blonde was clearly inebriated and whatever was in the cup in her other hand sure wasn’t helping her case.  Before Azzi could even answer her remark, Paige was dragging her off to the front of the house.

———

The kitchen was filled with any drink imaginable and around it was the majority of the women’s football team starting line up. The girls appeared to be in a game of who could fit the most whipped cream in their mouth.

“I totally won that” Ice mumbled out, whipped cream spilling out of her mouth as she talked.

KK who was already choking and tired of Ice’s bullshit, decided to take matters into her own hands. Taking a new can of whip cream and spraying it all over the taller girl.

“Are they always like this?” Azzi asked watching the two older girl tackle each other in the small kitchen walkway.

“This is actually calm for them” Paige muttered, grabbing two red solo cups before filling them up to the brim with a mysterious liquid. “ Ignore them, this is step one for UConn Party, it stops you from questioning the crazyness around you”

Paige reaches a cup towards Azzi which she graciously takes.

Not before thinking about how hard Katie must be turning in her sleep knowing her daughter is doing something to disturb her psyche like taking a drink from a semi-stranger.

She brings the cup to her lips and is immediately overwhelmed with the different components-the Vodka, sprite, the Grenadine- and god knows what else is in the cup. Her first instinct is to spit the god awful drink out but after turning to face an amused Paige, her only option is to put on her big girl pants.

“Most people would’ve been looking for the nearest trash can, good job rookie” Paige says completely impressed. 

“I don’t understand why anybody would drink that” Azzi says disgusted, stick her tongue out, “Do you believe me now when I say, I go to parties” 

“It’s for the buzz” Paige jokes lightly slapping the younger’s girl back “ and I still don’t believe you.”

Azzi hangs her head in defeat as the older girls eyes pop out.

“I haven’t introduced you to the team” Paige says looking out at the group of girl who have moved on to another topic

“The one dressed up as an Ice cube is Isuneh” 

“Government name is crazy” Ice points out “ I go by Ice hence the costume.

“Anyways that’s KK in the good burger costume, the girl with the nurse costume is Evina, to the left of her with the shark onsie is Jana, and the girl who looks like a fashionista on the end is Nika.” Paige rambles on about her teammates. 

Azzi notices the way the older girl talks about her teammates with pride. Even though they look like some of the craziest people alive. She is definitely adding this to her positive list of Paige habits.

“And you’re the roommate who Paige almost murdered with a football” Nika asked with a menacing smirk “She talks about you all the time”

“Bro, chill” Paige chocked. “No I don’t.”

Her ears turn bright red and the blonde begins to fidget with her jacket.

Just as Azzi was about to make a joke. A wavy brunette who was intoxicated out of her mind walked up to Paige.

Azzi wasn’t one to slut shame but the gir looked as if she had just clocked out of a strip club and pulled up to the party. 

What took Azzi by surprise was how the girl pushed Paige against the countertop. Quickly dropping to her knees as if it was a scene straight out of a porno. Her hands rose to the tie of Paige’s sweatpants before she could react. 

“What are you doing?” Paige asked in utter shock, pushing the smaller girl to her ass. The scene caused everyone in the party to freeze  and look towards the kitchen. 

“Giving you your birthday present, silly” she laughed innocently, as if she wasn’t about to give unconsensual head in front of everybody. 

“Why can’t you get the fact that we are no longer together in your fucking head” Paige angrily yelled , her tone doesn’t match the pure fear that was casted over her face. The blonde’s eyes darted back in forth at the herd of people around her. 

“It was just a joke, you still take everything so seriously” the mysterious girl scoffed, brushing her self off as she stood. She took one final look at the blonde before disappearing back into the sea of college students towards her rowdy friend group who was egging her on.

Once the blonde confirms that her ex was out of her sight, she lets out a long sigh

“You good P” Nika asked 

“Yea that was fucked up” Jana added on. 

“Next time I see that bitch it’s on sight” Ice commented as KK demonstrated the punches she would land. 

“Yeah, I am okay guys” Paige tried to emphasize with a big smile that didn’t match her eyes. “I need to check on something.”

The older girl grabbed her phone before leaving the room, leaving the group worried.

“Follow her” Evina reassured Azzi as she placed her hand on her shoulder “She needs someone who isn’t her teammate right now.” 

———-

It takes Azzi ten minutes to find Paige in the huge mansion. Mainly due to the fact that she kept opening the wrong door to finding couples trying to make it to third base. The amount of sorry she has pathetic uttered in the last ten minutes should be entered for some Guinness World Record.

Azzi has also spent the last couple of minutes racking her brain for any connections of who the girl might possibly be. She is pretty sure she has seen the girl on campus in some capacity. Big sign, meet and greets, athletic promotions.

“They sent you up here” Paige asked, scaring the mess out of Azzi as she was deep in thought. The older girl was not in the spot that Evina had told her about. She was sprawled on the long sofa in the loft that looked out of huge glass windows with a balcony on the other side.

“Yea, but I wanted to check on you” Azzi admitted. Paige eyes widen at the statement before returning back to its neutral state. 

“There is nothing to check on” Paige stated “My crazy-ex, willow, who thinks she owns me because our families have been going to the same tailgate since the dawn of time and because her family are boosters for my team, does something crazy, shocker”

It was all starting to come back to Azzi at the mention of her name. Willow was the captain cheerleader who was always attached to the hip with Paige at every event. Carolina would always talk about how they were each others one true love until they had a messy break up. 

“That doesn’t give her the right to touch you like that” Azzi frowns. She knows that she is overstepping her boundaries of their week long friendship but the way that Paige is writing this off is concerning.

“ I am used to it, with you know the fans and whatnot” Paige utters as if it was everyday thing to get assaulted.

“You don’t have to be okay with it”

“Can’t disappoint my fans and my people” Paige says as she gives Azzi a weak smile, trying to put the conversation to rest as she walks onto the balcony. 

The two fall into a natural silence until Azzi says something. 

“For someone who is so excited about throwing a Halloween birthday party, you sure didn’t put a lot of effort in your costume” Azzi comments looking straight ahead at the party guest and the night time sky. She could tell that Paige need a break from talking about her crazy ex. 

“See, I like the horror, making people almost piss their pants through pranks Halloween” Paige rattled on “Not so much the costume, passing out candy bit”

“You haven’t pranked me yet” Azzi stated 

“It’s coming don’t worry” Paige reassured “Right now it is time for Step two of a great UConn party.” 

The blonde takes off her matching set to reveal a purple two piece underneath. The top was more adjacent to a sports bra while her bottoms showed off her fit legs.

It takes every atom in Azzi’s body to not a stare at the blonde physique. 

“Did you wear a swimsuit underneath, like I told you” Paige asked. 

Azzi nodded her head as she took off her corset and skirt to show a pink strapless swim top and matching bottoms.

Paige makes eye contact with the younger girl before jumping off the balcony into the huge pool below. She stays under the water for a bit before coming up to the surface to motion Azzi to do the same.

If Azzi was in her right mind, she would be looking for the signs about no diving and what would her mom think. But between the Alcohol and her hot blonde roommate, she decides against her better judgment. 

As soon as her feet leaves the balcony, adrenaline courses through her veins as she feels pressure leaving her body. Just as soon as she falls her body is consumed with the freezing cold water below. 

Azzi opens her eyes to the burn of the chlorine and stream of bubbles that surround her. As soon as she surfaces, Paige grabs her, pulling their bodies way too close. 

“What did you think” Paige asked, waiting for the brunette’s approval. 

“Evina thinks I am crazy for doing it but it feels like, just for a moment, all of my problems are gone”

“That was amazing” Azzi giggled, still trying to take everything in “Caroline would freak if she saw what I just did”

As if she were an urban myth, who appeared when her name was muttered, Caroline shriek was heard throughout the whole party. 

“Azzi, What the hell” Caroline yelled as she attempted to pull the her out of the pool. “It’s time to go” 

“I am in trouble now” Azzi muttered, clearly drunk out of her mind, towards a concerned Paige. 

“What about step three” Paige asked, as Caroline tried to wrap a towel over the other girl. 

“ You can show me another time Paigey” Azzi called out, deciding this was the perfect time for them to use nicknames

“Okay, Az” Paige called back as she watched the younger girl be guided into the house.

———

“When I told you to have fun tonight, I didn’t mean for you to jump off of a balcony” Caroline reprimanded as she watch the two other girls tear into their pancakes. 

The trio didn’t leave the party until 2 in the morning. Between finding dry clothes for Azzi and pulling Ines from her group, Caroline was drained. 

“I was having so much fun” Azzi cried as she sulked into the booth “You didn’t have to cockblock me” 

“If by cockblock you mean making sure you made it home tonight and didn’t do something you would regret with your roommate that you hate, then yes, I am the biggest cockblocker” Caroline declared as she took a sip from her water 

“She is not even that bad” Azzi added on. “What happened to your date”

 “It was great until he threw his whole beer everywhere after losing in beer pong, I was pretty much icked out after that” Caroline grimaced as she reminisced. “How about you Ines?”

“I have a coffee date, tomorrow” Ines proclaimed proudly.

“That’s my girl” Caroline said as she wrapped her arms around the smaller girl. 

As Azzi watches the other two girls talk about their party experience, she couldn’t help but to think about why she couldn’t get the football player out of her head and how she will never know the third step to a great UConn party. 

[the-lazyyy-artist]

Roommates Wanted! fem!reader x o. aiku x s. ryusei x i. sae things that make sense

summary: two months in and beyond the contracts, there are systems that the group agreed upon that just make sense to them.

tags and themes: roommates au, slight crack, very ooc, mundane day-to-day events, shidou complains, aiku balances everything, sae is a rich boy, reader is the glue... somehow

author's notes: i am so so so excited to write more about this au, and slowly, we'll flesh out the dynamics between the four! this has been the happiest I've been writing something, and i hope you guys love it as much as i do! I'm also planning to release character visuals soon lmao. as always, reblogs, likes, and comments are much appreciated!

Check out the Masterlist!!

@ysvanielle @kai-zawa @literallyushiwaka @londonsworldddd @itz-phantomz @imcheshire @loverlixie @byzantiumhollow @bontensbabygirl @sugacor3

It's been a month since Sae joined, and two since you, Aiku, and Shidou started to live together as roommates. You never thought it would work, given the huge differences in your careers and personalities. As expected, all of you have formed systems in your apartment that just make sense to the four of you.

The moment Sae moved in, you introduced one of the most important household items: the whiteboard calendar. "Even if we don't talk most of the time," you explained, "this could be our form of communication. Schedules, deadlines, everything. We'd let everyone know what's going on through this." The boys agreed, but Sae was the most pleased with the idea. He'd finally have something to keep track of all the deadlines he's dealing with. You assigned them a marker each, their color of choice.

Aiku - dark green

Shidou - pink (the brightest, he said)

Sae - red

You - blue

Aiku came home one day with the markers, and everyone, like schoolchildren, scribbled on the whiteboard before they decided to fill in the Month, Year, and Days.

Aiku would fill some spaces on the calendar with important lessons for his class, lesson plan deadlines, and major exams at school. Weekends would fill up most of his tasks. Sae, as an editor at a publishing house, would fill in the calendar with the names of authors and manuscript deadlines, scattered throughout. Shidou's was mostly non-existent, but if he did write something, it would be the name of an important client who had scheduled a class with him. He'd also write stuff like "new protein shake flavor release" because he's been looking forward to it. And you...

Oh, the moment a new month rolls in, you'd immediately fill in the first week or two with your ever-changing, inconsistent schedule. Two graveyard shifts in a row, then a sudden afternoon shift, then back to graveyard. You only get one day off per week, and the boys hated how weird and chaotic your schedule was.

The color coding on your markers made a ripple effect on other smaller things: keychains on everyone's keys, so Shidou won't accidentally grab yours. Then Aiku installed hooks on the wall near the front door to get rid of the key bowl and hang the keys in their designated colors. Aiku and Sae's keys were a little bulky because both own cars (Aiku got his from his dad when he passed the bar exam. Sae... Take a wild guess how he got his). You and Shidou only had two to three keys hanging on your keychains.

Then it became color-coded mugs because of how many times Shidou has used Sae's cup, or Aiku's cup... Or your cup... But never his own. Sae would scold him, calm and cold, and Shidou kinda stopped. So, you and Aiku bought everyone mugs in your designated colors, too.

Another thing that really made sense for you guys was the savings jar. You don't have anything in mind to save for, it was just something you could dig into if the group decides for take-out instead of Aiku's cooking (he'd be thankful that you guys made him rest for a moment), or if you and Shidou planned on buying a new game for his PlayStation (he'd beat your ass until you walk out. Of course, he's laughing). Maybe save up for a new air fryer you saw at the mall one time. It was there for everyone. You, Aiku, and Shidou would shove spare change and bills in the jar, but you always wonder if Sae's spare bills were too much because sometimes, you'd see hundreds in there. Rich boy shit.

A grocery list for bi-weekly grocery runs is also important. A new list will be attached to the fridge, just below the whiteboard calendar, and everyone will write down everything they need before the weekend errands. Shidou would write his in a scrawly handwriting, and it's sometimes "instant ramen x5" or "that new snack I saw on TV, will send you a photo.” Sae would add his in neat handwriting, sometimes in cursive. It's always just the necessities. Aiku will write his necessities and a bunch of snacks for everyone. Sometimes he would be in charge of auditing the fridge just to see what food products you guys needed to survive. He'd always have this neat handwriting. Professor-like. And you? You'd write down your necessities and cravings in a hurried handwriting. Sometimes a little messy like Shidou's.

Grocery runs are handled by Aiku. Sometimes you'd accompany him if you had a Saturday or Sunday off. Sometimes Sae would come with him. Aiku would sometimes tell the others how Sae covered this month's grocery run again, not letting everyone pay. But if it's just Aiku, he'd make sure that everyone chips in once the bill is split according to what everyone wrote in the grocery list. "I'm not as rich as Sae, ya know," he'd reason if Shidou grumbles about it. It was not a problem with you, since it was all you agreed upon when stepping into the apartment.

But the most hated item in the house, something Shidou dreads the most, is the budgeting logbook. Rent, bills, and everything in between. You'd pull the boys at the dinner table to have a roommate meeting ("Five minutes tops, Shidou. Please!"), and everything was discussed. Everyone had to contribute to the month's rent and bills. Sae would be in charge of updating the spreadsheet on his laptop ("Just in case we lose the logbook, we have a copy," he explained), and Aiku handles the money and pays it to the sweet, old landlady downstairs.

If anything, you guys shouldn't have really worked out. Not with Shidou's constant complaining and explosive energy every morning. Not with Sae's quiet judgments and long sighs. Not with Aiku’s overly optimistic views and his "failed" attempts to keep the harmony. And especially not you and your chaotic schedules and sudden bursts of annoyance because of a messy house. But it did.

And you're glad it did.

[hannahbarberra162]

Imagine Marco sending you his first dick pic (NSFW, fluffy, Marco x reader)

18+ MDNI | on Ao3

@quinloki was in a meeting and I wanted to distract bother help them get through their work day :) :) :) NSFW, fluffy, established relationship, modern AU WC: ~2k

Your phone buzzed in the middle of an interminably long meeting. Looking down, you expected to see a text from a girlfriend or maybe a spam email - anything would be good to distract you from boredom as your boss droned on and on. This meeting didn’t even have to be an email - it could have been a thought he kept to himself. 

Working from home had a lot of benefits but unfortunately your boss made you keep your camera on for every single goddamn meeting. You thought he just liked watching his own face while he listened to himself talk, but those were the rules. He was a stickler about it too and seemed to need an audience watching him, so you had to be discreet when checking your phone. 

You tried to keep the surprise from your face as you saw it was a text from your boyfriend Marco. As an ER doctor he seldomly had time to text you when he was on a shift, and even rarer to receive a text longer than 3 words strung together. Occasionally you’d be able to have a text conversation when things were dead in the ER, but that happened only once in a blue moon. It wasn’t ideal, but you’d gotten used to it. Marco was dedicated and hardworking and you really couldn’t put your desire to chat with him over the lives of his needy patients.

You clicked on the message icon and your face immediately heated. Your level headed, intelligent, kind boyfriend sent you something you hadn’t gotten before. 

Marco sent you a dick pic. 

Never, not once in the years you’d been together had he ever done anything like this. You would ask if he’d been hacked but to your knowledge he’d never even taken a nude before. You’d begged him so many times for one, for something to remember him by when he worked overnight shifts but he’d always been too bashful, saying you could use your imagination.

You kept your face neutral as you stared at the picture. Marco had been working several days in a row while some of the other ER doctors were away at conferences so you hadn’t seen much of him in the past week. When he finally dragged himself home after 12 hours at the hospital, he was dead on his feet. You’d feed him dinner, watch a show together and by the end of the episode Marco would be asleep on the couch, only to do it all again the next day. It was part of dating a doctor, you supposed.

Another message popped up and you quickly opened it to see what he had to say. You’d always teased Marco for double and triple texting like an old man, but now you were eager to see anything he had to say. Marco was usually a brusque texter, not one for dirty talk over the phone or text.

“Missing you ♥️”

Missing you? Missing you? That’s what you captioned pictures of the sunset or when you saw they restocked his favorite pineapple ice cream at the store. Not a picture of his delicious, veiny, throbbing cock being fisted in his firm grasp. You stared at the little screen - his hand was looking particularly vascular and you zoomed in to see a dribble of pre-come starting to drip…your view was disrupted by another message coming through.

“Do you like it?” You covered your mouth to hide your smile and look somewhat professionally composed - Marco was probably blushing on the other end.  He was experienced, but even he had his moments of insecurity. Marco was a private person by nature and this had probably been nerve wracking for him.

“OMG 😳🫣 I love it, absolutely gorgeous 🫦 I can’t believe my luck today! To what do I owe the pleasure?” you texted back. You eagerly anticipated the three little dots blinking on your screen.

“Law suggested the idea. Said it helps when he comes home too tired to be with Luffy,” Marco explained. If Law was the one responsible for the blessing on your phone, you’d send Luffy home dressed up in a Sora costume as thanks. 

“I’m imagining your tongue sliding up and down my cock,” Marco continued in a double text. Your eyes flicked to your computer screen in a show of paying attention before you began teasing your boyfriend.

“Oh? What else are you imagining? Are you thinking of me, on my knees in front of you, begging for your cock in my mouth? How you’d gently slap it across my face as I tried to lick it, desperate for your taste?” you typed out quickly. You had to consciously furrow your brow even though you felt like giggling and kicking your feet  to make it look like it was a serious conversation and not sexting your horny boyfriend.

“You’re teasing me too much when I’m unable to take care of the situation. Are you trying to get in trouble?”

“That’s too much? We haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet -how I’d whine as I licked up and down your shaft, trying to get as close to you as possible, my juices dripping down my thighs? How you’d wind a hand into my hair and pull it harshly, my moan telling you that I only want it rougher, want more of you?” you but your lip as you texted back. In truth you were feeling a little hot now yourself, but being on video call limited your options.

You didn’t get a text back from Marco or see the three little dots. You flipped over your phone, sad that you couldn’t look at the prize picture of Marco’s cock any longer. You assumed he’d been pulled away from the conversation by an emergency - ah, well, it was good while it lasted. Maybe he’d be riled up enough later to-

Buzz buzz buzz   buzz buzz buzz 

Now your brow furrowed in earnest as you flipped your phone back over. Your line was muted but you held up one finger to the screen before taking the call to show that it was important. Marco never called from work, not unless it was a dire need. Now your heart was racing for a different reason as you answered the call and turned your back to your computer screen.

“Marco? Is everything OK?” you asked in a quiet voice. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Love. Nothing to worry about, there’s no emergency,” his deep voice stated plainly on the other end of the line. 

“Then why-”

“Because you got me too worked up and I need to hear the sound of your pretty little voice yoi.”

Oh. Oh. Oh. 

“Is that so? Where are you right now?” you purred into the phone.

“Medical supply closet in radiology.”

“Why would radiology need medical supplies - ooooh.” Marco was alone in a seldom used closet, hopefully with the door locked. You licked your lips, both of you were on the clock. You’d have to turn back to face the camera soon and neither of you knew when Marco would be paged next.

“So what are you going to do about your situation, Dr. Newgate?” you teased, twirling your hair.

“You’re going to talk me through it,” he grunted, the sound of fabric shifting like music to your ears. 

“And why would I do that?” you said with a wicked smile. You wished he could see you now but Marco didn’t like FaceTime and the reception at the hospital was too poor to host a video call anyway. 

“Because it’s going to be a warm up for what you and I are going to do tonight,” he said. You imagined him with his heavy cock already in his hand, stroking himself slowly up and down his thick shaft. He’d be spreading the pre-come you saw earlier, keyed up from just the sound of your voice.

“Are you touching yourself to thoughts of me right now?” you asked.

"I can't think of anything else," Marco grunted softly.

“Are you thinking about how you’d push your cock deep down my throat? How I’d gag against you but push myself further, trying to take all of you in? My drool dripping down my throat while I looked up at you, wanting, no needing more?” You heard a tell tale soft plap plap plap on the other end of the phone.

“K-keep going,” Marco ordered. You gave a quick glance back at the meeting and gave a prayer hands gesture to keep pretending like you were on an important call. You were but not the kind your boss thought.

“Are you thinking about how I’d want every inch of you, my throat closing around you and you began thrusting? How you’d hold me in place by my hair, my hands gripping your thighs as you fucked my throat? How I’d use one hand to reach down and pleasure myself, unable to stop even though I know I’d be punished after? How being on my knees and worshiping your cock was enough to get me soaking wet? Is that what you’re imagining?”

“Nnh~ almost there…”

“Are you thinking about how I’d moan and whine as you thrust faster and faster, your cock the only thought in my mind? How I’d cup your sack in my hand, gently massaging your sensitive balls? How you’d thrust harder and faster, tears now running down my face as you facefucked me how you like? How you’d be able to see your cock in my throat, one hand coming up to rub where it was deep within me? Both of us moaning while we came together, you down my throat and me on my fingers, getting off to just the taste of you?”

“Sh-shit,” Marco hissed softly, his breathing irregular as he came on the other end of the phone. You didn’t say anything as you listened to Marco’s breathing even out.

“You want to be punished? Feeling bratty?” he asked silkily, his voice now even like nothing had happened.

“Maybe…but really only if you’re feeling up to it," you said, completely sincere. You didn't want to make Marco's shifts harder by keeping him up even later at night.

“I got tomorrow off yoi. Traded with Chopper. I’ll have plenty of energy to punish you for that orgasm you stole.”

“That’s great news! B-but wait, I didn’t steal- it wasn’t real, I was just talking!” you sputtered, even though part of you was secretly delighted.

“Rules are rules,” Marco hummed before letting out a relaxed sounding sigh.

“Come by, I’m surprisingly free right now yoi. We should get lunch,” Marco suggested. You sighed - oh how you wished you could go. Normally your schedule was flexible but this was the one fucking time you were in back to back meetings all afternoon.

“I can’t, I’m stuck in a meeting,” you said, looking back at the screen. Yep, the boss was still rambling. 

“Send me something naughty back,” Marco demanded. You bit your lower lip - this was going to be fun. You’d change into something sexy after the meeting was over, maybe the new blue set Marco hadn’t seen. You could touch yourself to the photo of his cock and record it, send him a video- you’d get in way more trouble but it would be worth it. And Marco was right, your panties were already damp. You turned back around to the sound of your boss yelling through the screen.

“- need you to pay attention!” Your boss reprimanded you through your screen. 

“Sorry, Marco, gotta go,” you said, quickly ending the call and resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Not only would everything be emailed, you’d never missed a single task that you were assigned. You were the best goddamn employee working for Buggy. Fuck this.

“I’m sorry, Sir. There’s a situation at the hospital with my boyfriend. I apologize but I need to log off and go there now,” you lied. You’d get flack for it later but you didn’t care - your boyfriend was free and you wanted to see him.

“Oh, well, sorry to hear that. Bentham will send the information in a follow up email,” Buggy said, not putting up an argument. For as much of a blowhard as Buggy was, he could also be tolerable sometimes.

“Thank you, sir. I think things will be alright after I follow Doctor’s orders.”