#i think it's good to talk about things like that

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS x Firefly AU: A ragtag crew.

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Show a Character Is Deeply in Love (and Doesn’t Realize It Yet)

Falling in love doesn’t always come with violins and kissing in the rain. Sometimes it looks like, “Why do I know their coffee order, favorite pen, and dog’s birthday?”

They remember everything. Not because they’re trying to flirt. Just because their brain decided, “This person’s data is important now.”

They get annoyed by other people talking to them. Why are you laughing at their joke? He’s not even funny.

They show up. For dumb things. Things they wouldn’t normally care about. Your cat’s vet appointment? They’re there.

Their body reacts before they do. Smiling before their brain catches up. Leaning closer without realizing. Looking at their mouth while they talk. Oops.

They pretend they’re just "helping out." You know. Just being a good friend. A good friend who stares at your texts like they’re holy scripture.

They get flustered when the other person flirts with anyone else. “I’m not jealous. I just… think they deserve better. Like someone emotionally mature. Who knows their coffee order. Who… wears this hoodie. Okay bye.”

They panic when the other person gets too close. Not because they’re scared of them. Because they’re scared of how much they care.

[buckleydiaz]

“I’m not gonna disappear, you know,” Eddie says, lowering his mug to meet Buck’s eyes.

“W-what?” Buck stammers, blinking away like he got caught doing something wrong.

“You keep staring,” Eddie says, carefully, “like I'm gonna vanish. Or go back to Texas without telling you or something. I'm not.”

It’s been hours since Buck met him at the airport, drove him home, made him tea. And Eddie’s felt the weight of his gaze the entire time. Buck hasn’t said much, which Eddie isn’t surprised by, honestly. He’s not really in the mood to talk himself. But there’s something quietly devastating about the way Buck is looking at him. Eddie’s not sure what to do with that.

“Sorry,” Buck says.

Eddie sighs. “Don't apologize, it’s not…I don't mind that you’re looking. Just—you know you can talk to me, right?“

“I know,” Buck says. He’s trying to sound casual but his voice comes out just a little unsteady. Enough for Eddie to catch it.

“It’s, uh, it’s not that,” Buck adds, after a beat.

“What?”

“I don't—I don't think you’re gonna vanish. It's just… you look different.”

“You mean this?” Eddie rubs at his chin self consciously.

Buck’s eyes flicker momentarily to Eddie’s face before his gaze drops again. He nods.

After Eddie got the call, he couldn’t help but blame himself. He should have been there. Maybe if he was, Bobby would still be here—with his team, with his family. Not for the first time, Eddie felt like he couldn’t bear the sight of his own reflection. He felt small, useless. He thought maybe it would get easier with time. It didn’t. And with each day, as the guilt grew, so did the stubble on his face—thicker, darker. An awful reminder of the time that passed since Bobby—

Eddie sets the mug down, afraid it’s gonna shatter in his grip.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, and the words taste like ash in his mouth.

“No it, uh, it looks good. You always look good. It’s just—god, it’s stupid.”

“Hey,” Eddie bumps Buck’s foot under the table, keeps it there. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not stupid.”

“I’m…” Buck exhales, “I’m not sure if you’re real.”

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it.

Buck shrugs. “Told you it’s stupid.”

“No! No, um, I—what do you mean I’m not real?”

There’s a moment where Buck doesn’t say anything, just stares at his own hands on the table, fidgets with his fingers. Eddie waits. Doesn’t push.

Eventually Buck speaks.

“After the lightning strikes, after the uh—“ Buck clears his throat, “the coma. I had this thing I used to do every morning. A-a checklist. To make sure I wasn’t dreaming. That I was still me.” Buck’s eyes stay locked on his hands, and Eddie desperately wishes he’d look at him again. “Ever since he—“ Buck stops, swallows, sniffs. “I wake up and I pray for this to be a dream. An awful, terrible nightmare. I pray, Eddie. And it’s—“

Buck’s hands are shaking. Eddie reaches out, takes them in his own.

Buck finally looks up. His eyes are impossibly sad and impossibly blue, and Eddie is struck by how beautiful he is. It’s a weird thought to have at that moment, but it’s true nonetheless.

“Sorry, this is so embarrassing,” Buck says, a little wetly.

“Hey, it’s not embarrassing, okay? You’re dealing with it. We all are.”

“Look, I know you’re real. I know that. But also just—everything is so different, you know? Nothing makes sense anymore and you look different. And it’s like—like, how do I know I’m not dreaming?” Buck says. “Does that make sense?”

It doesn’t. But Eddie gets it anyway.

He wraps a hand around Buck’s wrist, lifts his hand up to his face.

“You feel that?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, just looks at him.

Eddie closes his eyes, presses his face into Buck’s hand a little more.

“I’m here, Buck.”

Buck’s hand starts moving on his face, careful fingers trace his cheeks, his jaw, his chin. Eddie’s breath catches when a thumb ghosts over his bottom lip.

“You’re here,” Buck says, voice barely a whisper.

Eddie nods.

“He’s really—“ Buck's voice cracks. “He's really gone.”

“I know,” Eddie says, because what else is there to say?

Eddie’s eyes sting. He lets go of Buck’s wrist and places his hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb gently grazing the base of his neck. He wishes he could press his lips to his temple, like he does with Christopher. He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls him in, presses their foreheads together.

They stay like that, breathing together, until their eyes are red and their cheeks are wet. Eventually Buck pulls away, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“Thanks,” Buck says.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For—for being here, I guess.”

Eddie wants to tell him that he’s always going to be here. But that’s not true. He's leaving in a few days. He’s always leaving.

“Hey, you have a razor here somewhere, right?” is what he says instead.

“Come on, you don’t have to do that,” Buck protests, and Eddie is pretty sure he catches a small hint of a smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. ”I think I do.”

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | southern drawl

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @itscalledastrategyfred) : how the grid reacts to a texan!driver!reader and her southern accent — from flustered blushing to terrible cowboy impressions and a whole lotta “yes, ma’am.” 🤠💬

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 2116

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : yall i missed the race cus i fell asleep... am i cooked?

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

gives you so much shit for your drawl at first.

“did you really just say y’all while threatening me?”

can’t stop smirking whenever you get riled up... especially when you say something like “i swear to god, i’ll whup your ass.”

fully imitates your accent when teasing you... and it’s terrible.

lowkey loves it though. it reminds him of daniel, in a way that’s nostalgic and soft.

once heard you say “darlin’” to someone and just froze for a second like okay, maybe this is the hottest thing alive.

pretends not to care but definitely perks up every time you say something country-coded.

yuki tsunoda

is very confused at first. “why do you sound like a cowboy?”

teases you constantly but in a very you’re my favorite person to annoy way.

starts mimicking your phrases just to make you laugh — “howdy” becomes part of his vocabulary purely to irritate you.

calls you “cowgirl” when you beat him in anything and grumbles when you call him “city boy” back.

secretly adores how unapologetic you are about it. says it makes you sound confident.

would 100% ask you to translate slang and then say it in his best impression just to see you roll your eyes.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

first time he hears you say “bless your heart,” he panics. “wait… is that… a good thing or not?”

tries to keep it professional but gets flustered when you throw a “yes, sir” his way with that southern sweetness.

definitely raises an eyebrow every time you drop a “y’all” during press, but secretly thinks it’s endearing.

once tried to imitate your accent on live tv and it came out as australian. never lived it down.

thinks it’s hilarious how you say things like “fixin’ to win this race” — quotes it back to you every chance he gets.

might tease you gently, but 100% defends your accent if anyone else makes fun of it. “it’s not weird, it’s hers.”

kimi antonelli

very confused at first but listens so intently whenever you speak — your accent is like a whole new language to him.

starts asking what everything means. “what is… ‘rode hard and put up wet?’”

tries to mimic you saying “howdy” once and instantly turned red when you burst out laughing.

quietly loves the way you talk. it’s soft and warm to him, even if you’re smack-talking.

calls you "texas" like it’s your nickname. “hey, texas. need help with your helmet?”

100% memorizes your slang and starts slipping it into conversations to make you smile.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

confused the entire first week. just stands there smiling while you say things like “i’m fixin’ to head out” and later quietly asks carlos what it meant.

blushes furiously the first time you call him “darlin’” — tries to play it cool but is visibly short-circuiting.

imitates your accent once during an interview and gets roasted online for how bad it was. “i wasn’t even that bad, right?” you nod slowly, hiding laughter.

starts calling you “cowgirl” in private, just to see you roll your eyes and smile.

says your voice sounds like “sunlight on hot pavement.” he’s a romantic.

lowkey tries to learn country music just to bond with you — gets too into kacey musgraves and now you catch him humming “slow burn” on race days.

lewis hamilton

absolutely obsessed. tells you it’s “the sexiest accent” he’s ever heard.

constantly asking you to say things again, slower this time — just so he can hear it twice.

you say “yes, sir” once and his whole soul leaves his body.

teases you when you get heated and slip into full-blown southern mode, but with the softest grin. “there she goes, my wild southern girl.”

absolutely convinced you two need to do a cowboy-themed photo shoot. insists on wearing the hat too.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

the second he hears your accent, he’s already planning impressions.

“well howdy y’all, ah’m fixin’ to win me a lil ol’ race today!” — said in the worst cowboy voice imaginable.

you threaten to fight him. he grins harder.

calls you “ma’am” dramatically and tips invisible hats at you in the paddock. you once slapped him with your water bottle.

has no idea that it’s kind of hot until you call him “sweetheart” mid-argument and he just shuts up entirely.

you catch him watching country tiktoks so he can learn phrases to throw back at you. he says it’s “research.”

may joke nonstop, but the second someone else mocks you? “nah, only i get to call her cowgirl.”

oscar piastri

didn’t expect to fall in love with your accent, but here we are.

says nothing when you speak, just blinks slowly and listens like it’s music.

every now and then you catch him smiling to himself after you say something super southern like “he ain’t got the sense god gave a goose.”

finds your little quirks adorable. “you just said ‘buggy’ instead of shopping cart,” he says softly, grinning.

doesn’t mimic your accent. not even once. too respectful.

will 100% ask you to teach him how to say certain phrases, then casually use them later to make you laugh.

you say “c’mere, sugar” once and he actually blushes. he’s so gone.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

pretends like he doesn’t care but he’s obsessed with your accent.

the first time you say something like “sugar, that was a rough quali,” he just stares for a second before going, “say it again.”

tries to mimic you with his own spanish accent and ends up sounding like a cowboy in a telenovela.

“how do you say it? y’all? yuhhhll?”

laughs at himself when you make fun of it but still keeps doing it because your eyes light up every time.

secretly loves how fiery you get when you're mad — especially when you let the accent fly. “you gonna kill me, cariño?” he teases.

absolutely calls you "cowgirl" in the most smug voice imaginable.

lance stroll

immediately thinks your accent is the cutest thing alive.

“you sound like a character from a movie. it’s awesome.”

gets super flustered when you call him anything sweet — “baby,” “darlin’,” “honeybun.” it kills him every time.

has a weird little canadian twang himself so when he tries to imitate you, it comes out like “howd-eh y’all.”

you cry laughing. he commits to it anyway.

lowkey loves how different you sound from everyone else — thinks it makes you magnetic.

tries to “cowboy up” next to you in interviews and fails miserably. “we’re a dynamic duo,” he says. “city boy and the wild west.”

ʚ・williams

alex albon

thinks your accent is the best thing ever, and won’t shut up about it.

constantly repeats your phrases back to you in a horrendous mock accent just to make you laugh.

“well shoot, sugar! i reckon we got ourselves a pole!” — said at full volume in the paddock.

you threaten to hit him with your boot. he tells everyone “she threatened me in southern again. it was so hot.”

teases you with names like “rodeo queen” and “yee-haw y/n” but goes feral the first time you call him “sweetheart” on comms.

100% starts saying “y’all” unironically. refuses to admit it.

tells his PR team you’re his “emotional support cowboy.”

carlos sainz

tries to act unfazed like “it’s just an accent” but his eyes go all soft when you call him “darlin’.”

loves hearing you talk — especially when you ramble. just nods along and smiles like he understands every word even when you say things like “that boy ain’t right.”

calls you mi vaquera under his breath when you walk away.

one time you called him “baby” and he blinked twice, turned red, and muttered “mi vida...” like a reflex.

doesn’t tease, but subtly flirts back in spanish until you’re the one blushing.

quietly practices a southern phrase or two just so he can surprise you later. you catch him whispering “fixin’ to win” before a race and nearly crash your scooter laughing.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

absolutely thrilled the first time he hears you speak. grins like a little menace and goes “wait, say that again.”

becomes obsessed with getting you to say weird southern phrases. “wait wait, what’s the one about biscuits and gravy again?”

mimics your accent constantly but in that annoying younger brother way. you threaten him with a tire gun. he laughs harder.

teases you with a fake lasso motion every time you walk into the garage. “woah there, cowgirl.”

once called you “ma’am” in a joking tone and you shot back with “watch your mouth, sugar.” he shut up immediately.

genuinely adores it though. thinks you’re the coolest person alive.

starts picking up your slang accidentally. pr catches him saying “fixin’ to” in an interview. he panics.

esteban ocon

acts completely unbothered at first. nods politely while you talk, no visible reaction.

but he’s so internally flustered.

one day you say “yes, sir” in that sweet, drawling tone and he just stands there blinking like you short-circuited his brain.

asks pierre what certain things mean later in private. “what’s a ‘hoot and a half’?”

doesn’t tease, but is very intrigued. tells people he likes how “unique” you sound.

once tried to say “howdy” as a joke but it came out awkward and overly French. he never attempted it again.

secretly loves when you call him something soft in that accent. might not say much, but his smile says everything.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

pretends to be unbothered but he’s fully gone the first time you say “darlin’.”

literally pauses mid-sentence when you call him “sweetheart” like… yeah. that’s it. you’ve got him.

teases you gently, but it’s always with heart eyes. “you really gonna charm everyone with that voice, huh?”

obsessed with how passionate you sound when you’re fired up. just lets you rant and watches, smiling like an idiot.

tells everyone “i don’t get the hype” and then immediately melts when you rest your boots on his lap.

absolutely wants you to teach him how to two-step. “for educational reasons.”

isack hadjar

chaos incarnate. tries to mimic your accent constantly and fails in the funniest ways.

“whatchu doin’, sugarplum?” he says. you throw a wrench at him. he ducks and cackles.

you start mimicking his french accent right back. “ohhh la la, baguette!”

you two are just rude to each other and completely in love about it.

insists on calling you “sheriff” like it’s your job title. even salutes you sometimes.

if you ever call him “baby” or “mon cœur” in your accent, he shuts up immediately.

secretly thinks your voice is the most comforting sound on earth, even when you’re yelling.

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

absolutely loses it the first time you call him something soft like “sugar.” full flirty grin, immediately flirting back.

“you keep talkin’ like that and i’m gonna start fallin’ in love, mon amour.”

mimics your accent way too often and does it so dramatically it’s offensive.

“well HAW-DEE Y’ALL,” he says, strutting into the motorhome in your cowboy boots. you throw a towel at him.

turns every southern phrase you say into something scandalous.

“i’m fixin’ to fight you, pierre.”

“please do.”

but when you’re soft? when you call him “darlin’” and it’s not a joke? he’s quiet. maybe even a little breathless.

“don’t stop,” he mumbles. “say it again.”

jack doohan

acts cool at first but the second you hit him with a “yes, sir,” he’s toast.

blinks. stares at the floor. full body flush.

“you alright?”

“yep. yeah. mmhm.”

loves your voice but doesn’t tease. just listens. takes in every word.

gets kind of protective when people joke about your accent. “don’t be weird. it’s just how she talks.”

one time you called him “honeybun” in the middle of a race debrief and he messed up a tire strategy.

definitely the type to lowkey start picking up your phrasing — you catch him saying “reckon” once and he immediately denies it.

“i didn’t say that. you imagined it.”

he 100% said that.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

pretends he’s unfazed but absolutely notices every time you say something country-coded.

raises an eyebrow and goes “what does that even mean?” but secretly writes it down for later.

makes sarcastic comments like “you gonna ride a horse to the race next?” while absolutely staring when you wear boots to media.

calls you “cowgirl” in the driest voice imaginable but it makes you grin every time.

once heard you say “lord have mercy” under your breath and now repeats it back in a bad drawl just to mess with you.

claims he’s above it, but the second you call him “baby” in a sweet voice, he forgets how to speak.

accidentally got flustered once when you offered to teach him how to line dance. “oh. uh. yeah. maybe.”

gabriel bortoleto

fully enchanted from day one. like… heart-eyes level enchanted.

asks you a million questions. “wait, say that again? what does it mean when you say ‘bless his heart’?”

doesn’t mock, just listens with a little awe in his expression.

is super respectful, always like “you sound really cool” instead of teasing.

lowkey tries to learn southern slang so he can flirt back better.

once called you “sugar” in a heavy brazilian accent and you nearly fainted.

gives you that boyish grin and shrugs like “you started it.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[eternalsams]

My Taste ↠ Robert 'Bob' Reynolds

pairing: Bob Reynolds x gn!reader

warning/content: fluff, anxiety, non-established relationship, Bob's a cute puppy in love, might contain spoilers if you look into it, it's giving Avengers fanfic with Clint in the vent and Thor eating pop-tarts.

summary: You take Bob out but his anxiety gets the best of him and he's scared he might ruin everything.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: english isn't my first language, please take that into consideration. This is my first time writing for Bob, I saw the movie so I know the way I'm writing for him isn't the same as in the comics.

marvel masterlist main masterlist

You grabbed your bag and walked in the common room when something caught your attention. Bob had just turned a page of his book, his lips parted in concentration as his eyes read word after word on the paper. You smiled softly to yourself, he just seemed so relaxed after a couple of months with you guys.

The first few weeks were the hardest, he'd stay mostly silent, only speaking when talked to. His relationship with Yelena was the strongest, the two connected very quickly and she was the one he talked the most to. But he eventually opened up to the others, including you. He once found you reading a book and sat down next to you on the couch, sometimes stealing glances at you and your book as you flipped pages. "What's it about?" He asked quietly and if he'd said it any lower, you wouldn't have heard him. You looked up at him, surprised he was interested in what you were doing. You looked back down at the words you were reading and mentally marked your progression before looking back at Bob. "It's uhm... it's a romance." You noticed his cheeks flush a little as he smiled sheepishly. "Is it any good?" He then asked and you smiled at him, pitching him the plot of the romance you were reading.

And so the next time you went to the library for yourself, you looked for a book you could get for Bob. During your previous conversation on your own reading, he quickly told you what he liked in the plot and what he disliked, so you had a vague idea of what to get him. And when you came back home, the new recruit was getting coffee in the kitchen. He added a cube of sugar as you noticed he always did in every hot drink he had. "Hey, Bob!" You called him and he jumped a bit, holding his cup extra-carefully. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." You chuckled and pushed his new book on the counter towards him. "What's this?" He frowned as he sipped on his coffee, the hot drink warming up his tired body and numb muscles. "It's for you! If you don't like it, you can still give it back, I kept the receipt." You explained as you pulled the think piece of paper out of your bag. He put down his cup of coffee and reached for the book, his fingers caressing the hard cover. "You really shouldn't have, thank you. It means a lot to me." He smiled and you could've swore you saw his eyes shine with tears before he looked down at the book and opened it.

Since that day, you'd exchange about your last readings and more. He opened up to you and sometimes asked you to get him particular books when he knew you'd pass by the library. Leading to today. He was so focused on the fictional story he was reading about he almost missed you but he eventually looked up and smiled at you.

Bob liked you, he liked how passionate you were about what you loved, he liked how patient you were with him. When you first met, he was apologizing for every breath he was taking a bit too close to everyone and every time he did so, you'd smile at him with kindness and tell him he was fine. You never told him the things he felt were senseless, you acknowledged his feelings and accepted them. And he liked your smile, how small wrinkles appeared beside your eyes when you laughed at one of Alexei's bad jokes. And he couldn't not notice how much work you put in your body and strength. He knew you were waking up early to go work out with Bucky, the two of you showing up sweaty and tired in the kitchen when he was having his umpteenth coffee after a long night staring at the ceiling of his room.

Bob noticed how you were dressed and holding your bag in your hand, he frowned. "Are you going somewhere?" He was confused, you didn't have anything coming up in your agenda, so maybe a last minute trip to the store or something. "I wanted to know if you wanted to go grab a coffee somewhere. But I see you're deep in your book so I don't want to disturb you." You chuckled sheepishly and put down your bag next to the couch. Bob parted his lips and looked down at his book, the plot was getting really interesting and he was almost done with his chapter. He didn't really like putting down his books in the middle of a chapter but he also really wanted to go out, and especially with you. "I can finish reading my chapter and then I'm all yours. I mean... not all yours, I mean yeah but-" He stuttered, warmth flooding his face as he tried to crawl out of this embarrassing slip of the tongue. "Of course! Finish your chapter, I'll be waiting." You smiled at him and pulled out your phone before sitting down on the couch and staying busy until Bob was ready for you. The young man stared at you for a little longer, surprised with how comprehensive you were, but also not shocked at all. And before you could catch him staring, he focused once more on his book. He quickly finished the chapter, snapped the book shut and almost run to his room to change into something else than his usual sweatpants.

When he came back, you were waiting for him by the door and held it open for him. You locked behind the two of you since the others were out on different missions and Bob followed you in the street. Even after a few months in New York, he was still amazed by the tall buildings and how loud the city was. There were so many people in the streets that he almost wanted to grab your hand not to lose you in the crowd but he stopped himself because that'd be weird if he did. You eventually turned into a quieter street and he noticed the small café with the tables on the pavement. You went to sit in the sun and he followed you silently. A waitress came to bring you the menu and Bob politely smiled at her as you thanked her. "So... tell me, Bob." You caught his attention and he looked up at you above his menu. "Did you talk with Bucky like I told you to?" Bob once told you he wanted to learn how to fight but was still too scared to go out and find a gym. So you convinced him to think about telling Bucky because you knew the ex-soldier would be very attentive and caring with Bob. "Uhm, no... Not yet. But I think I'll talk to him when he'll be back home tomorrow." He nodded as if to convince himself he could do it. "He actually offered to help me if I ever wanted to get into... that." He explained a little shyly. "That's great! See? I'm sure he'll be glad to see you're taking his offer."

The waitress came back to take your orders and you simply asked for two coffees and a piece of pie to share. You and Bob kept talking about what he's been doing while you were out on missions, sharing funny stories about Yelena's guinea pig or how thrilling the last movie he saw was. The lady brought you your drinks and food and you thanked her. You took a sip of your coffee and closed your eyes as the bitterness of coffee burned you tongue. When you opened your eyes again, you noticed Bob was fidgeting and not touching his cup. "Something's wrong?" He looked up at you and quickly shook his head before forcing a smile. "No. Everything's fine." He shrugged awkwardly and grabbed his cup before taking a sip and hiding a grimace. "Bob. What's wrong?" You put down your coffee and reached out for his hand. He stared at your hand as he felt the softness of your fingers rub his knuckles. How can someone who might've taken lives have hands this soft? "It's nothing, they just... Aren't they supposed to give a cube of sugar? You know, just in case..." He asked quietly, not really knowing what he was getting at. He hasn't been out in society for so long, he couldn't even remember the last time he went to a fast-food.

"They forgot your sugar?" You asked as you moved to stand up and go ask for some. Bob squeezed your hand to stop you from doing so with panicked eyes. "No, don't! It's fine, really. I can drink it without sugar." To make his point, he took another sip and did a better job at hiding his grimace, but still not perfect. "Bob... You never take your coffee without sugar." You sat back down, your second hand joining the first one holding his. He could feel his heart beating faster at the contact but ignored it. "How do you- Never mind, it's okay, I promise." He anxiously glanced at the waiters inside, they might've forgotten because they're busy or maybe they're having a bad or long day.

"I always notice things about you Bob." You admitted, drawing back his attention on you. He almost spilled his coffee on his shirt when he looked into your eyes and saw the softest of them. He couldn't remember when was the last time someone looked at him that way. It made him think, hope, that what he was starting to feel could be reciprocated. He smiled and felt his cheeks flush. You let go of his hand and stood up, but before he could ask you where you were going, you told him. "I'm going to the bathroom, will you be alright by yourself for a minute?" You asked him jokingly, a teasing smile on your lips. He nodded and smiled as you left the table and he watched you go inside. He quickly averted his eyes when he realized his gaze was dropping and punished himself mentally. He was supposed to be your friend, not a pervert who checked you out every time you turned your back to him. True to your words, you came back a minute later at your table and dropped a cube of sugar in his cup of coffee.

Bob's eyes snapped at you and back to the waiters inside. Before he could fully panic, you grabbed his hand and rubbed his knuckles once more. "I said I wanted more sugar for my coffee, I didn't tell them it was for you." You explained and noticed his shoulders drop in relief. You knew Bob never wanted to be a burden, even more after what happened when you all first met. He felt guilty over everything and anything. But you could work with that, half your friends were that way. One more or one less wouldn't change how you'd handle things. "Thank you." He said quietly before taking a new sip and smiling softly. "Better huh?" You chuckled and he nodded, enjoying the feeling of coffee waking up his body and your hand still in his, keeping him out of his thoughts and in the present. But he was way more surprised when you lifted his hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles, timidly smiling at him, not knowing if he would accept the gesture. But the look of pure adoration in his eyes gave you an answer and your smile widened.

tag list (people who interacted (comments or reposts) when i asked who wanted Bob in my characters list): @leavemeoutofitkay @adaobiiii @sennasiempre @thetorturedpoetcalleddez @gumdropgirl

@woniwontons @hailey-laufeyson @ineverusethisaccount @nopopculturereferenceinthetrip @crashingout136789

@autumnsymphony @smiley-roos @fandomficsobsession @rummikubcube @girxwrp @books4ever03 @firebeverly @xprloki

@spideybatsy @mvcg-oo @devils-blackrose @wandalfnation @foreverchangingmind

[likeumeanit9497]

something bad | c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: after months of built up frustration, chris is dying for relief - and y/n is willing to help.

warnings: SMUT; established friendship; unprotected p in v; oral (f and m receiving); handjob; teasing; dirty talk; mentions of jorking it; biting; cream pie; 18+

notes: teehee im ovulating and my roster is weak rn so my only solution is to read smutty books and write even smuttier one shots. this one actually had me giggling and kicking my feet as i was writing it bc i tried to include some of chris's POV (holy shit i am SO down bad for him rn) so i hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it ;) LOVE U ALL SO MUCH <3

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

He hadn’t meant to end up in this situation. Not strung out, touch starved, and half-hard just from the soft brush of his pyjama pants against his front as he slipped them on. But that’s exactly where he was. Walking back into his bedroom after getting changed in his washroom while you, his best friend, curled up in his bed wearing an oversized t-shirt that kept riding up your thighs. Your soft legs were bare, and even in the shadowed room he could see the silhouette of your pebbled nipples beneath your shirt — a clear indicator that you weren’t wearing a bra.

The past few months had been brutal for Chris. He hadn’t touched a woman, hadn’t been touched by a woman since his last situationship ended in a fiery wreck. It had been months of sexual frustration with no outlet besides nights spent alone with his fist clenched desperately around himself, thinking about things he shouldn’t. Something he could barely admit to himself was that sometimes those thoughts involved you. A lot of times, actually. Especially after nights just like this one, where you laid innocently just inches from him.

This night had been especially trying, because his eyes kept catching on parts of you he should never notice. The plush curve of your ass when you bent over to retrieve a fallen blanket. The sliver of your lower stomach, the soft cotton material of your pink boy shorts as you stretched. Even the feminine silhouette of your collarbone as it protruded from the stretched collar of your t-shirt made his head spin. Each time he noticed these things, he dragged his eyes away and cursed himself. He would never act on these thoughts. He couldn’t. You two were best friends, and crossing that line would lead to risking everything.

Yet somehow, each time his eyes were inevitably pulled back to you, that line kept blurring.

With a soft sigh, he slipped into his side of the bed, forcing his eyes to focus on the television screen as you flipped through movies on Netflix. Still focused on the screen, you subconsciously slid closer to him for warmth, your thigh pressing lightly against his. Casual, he reminded himself as his mouth dried. Except, every inch of your soft skin burned against his like a red-hot brand. His cock twitched in his pants, and with another sigh he shifted slightly, trying to adjust himself without being obvious.

“I swear to god, if you sigh one more time,” Your voice made him jump, “I’m just gonna have to assume you’re dying.” He shot a quick glance your way, trying to determine whether your body language showed you knew what was wrong with him. It didn’t seem to give anything away, however, as you hadn’t even looked away from the TV. Satisfied and slightly relieved, he huffed out a soft laugh, rubbing a trembling hand across his face. “Not dying,” He replied with a strained chuckle, “Just, suffering.” Your eyes darted to him quickly, before returning to the screen. “Oh good,” You deadpanned, “That’s not vague at all.”

He shot you another sideways glance, except this time it was caught by you. There was a small fire burning behind his blue eyes, a fire that you weren’t used to seeing. “Am I supposed to beg you to explain or…” The tone of your voice made his cock leap once again, this time followed by an anxious flip of his stomach. He knew you were relentless when you wanted to get information from him — particularly information about any issues he may be going through, as he had a tendency to try to keep them bottled up — but could he really have this conversation with you right now, with his cock pressing against his thigh; its length so hard he could cry out in pain?

You had turned all of your attention to him now, and he felt as though your gaze was piercing through his inner-most being. There was no way you were going to back down now, so with a deep breath, he decided to share at least part of the truth as nonchalant as he possibly could. “You ever go so long without sex that you start having actual withdrawal symptoms?” Once the words left his mouth, he felt his heart rate spike as your brows lifted, the small smirk pulling at the corner your plush lips showing your amusement. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

He rolled his eyes. “I wish I wasn’t serious,” He leaned back against the headboard, letting all the air out of his lungs as he gave in to the humiliation of this conversation. “It’s been months, Y/n. Like, actual calendar months.” You let out a soft giggle, causing him to groan. “You seriously haven’t gotten laid since…” You let your sentence trail off, knowing that he didn’t need the reminder. “Don’t do that,” He groaned, scrubbing his eyes awkwardly, “You’ll make it worse.”

Another laugh fell from your lips as you took in his embarrassment. Enjoying this moment maybe too much, you continued poking fun at him. “Well yeah. That’s kinda what happens when you’re as emotionally unavailable as you are.” He pinched one eye open to glare at you. “Thanks,” He muttered dryly, “That makes me feel a lot better.” With another laugh, you nudged him softly with your knee, “I’m sorry Chris, you’re the one who brought it up.”

He let out a short, bitter chuckle. “I know, it’s just…” He paused, and you sat in silence as you waited for him to continue, “I don’t know. I just feel like a horny teenager lately, like I’m crawling out of my skin. Like I need something bad, just to take the edge off.” Another silence passed between you, and very slowly, you felt the mood begin to shift in the room. “Why didn’t you say anything?” You finally asked, your voice softer than before. He replied in the form of a shrug. “What was I supposed to say to you? ‘Hey, I’m so horny that jerking off three times a night isn’t even cutting it’? We’re best friends, Y/n, but we don’t exactly make it a habit to talk to each other about our sexual frustration.”

Your throat had dried up, and all you could reply with was a simple hum in acknowledgement. The mood had shifted even more as you watched Chris’s bare chest rise and fall on the bed beside you. It was the kind of shift you feel more than you see. You adjusted slightly, straightening yourself and chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. After clearing your throat, you spoke in a thin voice. “You know, I could help you with that.”

He scoffed, but he hoped you couldn’t see his length jump under the covers. “Don’t joke like that.” You rolled your eyes, already feeling your body react in anticipation. “Who’s joking?” You replied, your serious expression unchanging. He pulled his hands away from his face and looked at you — really looked at you — and for a second, all of the playful banter between you two faded into silence. He recognized a soft look of playfulness in your eyes, but there was something else laced within them, too. Something much more daring. Much more dangerous.

“You’re serious.” It was an honest question, but it came out like a statement. You shrugged, tilting your head to the side slightly. “You’re my best friend, and you’re obviously going through it.” His breath hitched, and he released a nervous chuckle. “That’s not exactly a casual offer, Y/n.” His eyes dropped to your lips for just a moment, but you kept your gaze on him. “I didn’t make it casually.”

He watched in awe as you shifted closer to him just a little, your bent knees brushing gently against his leg. “You’re telling me you haven’t thought about it before?” You added, your voice a low and tempting whisper. He didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked down from your mouth to your chest, to the curve of your bare thighs folded gingerly beneath you, back up to your steady gaze.

“I’ve thought about it,” He replied after an agonizing pause, his voice rough, “Too many times.” He watched as your lips turned up in a tempting smile from his confession, and with a pounding chest he waited, wild eyed, for you to reply. “Maybe I’ve thought about it too.” You replied, slow and honest. That made him pause. Really pause. He looked at you again, drank you in. The dim light from the television cut delicate shadows across your exposed skin, and the loose collar of your shirt had slipped slightly off of one shoulder. You were his best friend, he saw the familiarity in all of your features, but the air between you both had grown so charged that he felt as though he was in the presence of a goddess, and that realization sucked the air right out of his chest.

“You have?” He finally managed to croak out. You nodded, a sheepish smile on your face. “Sure I have. You’re pretty easy on the eyes, Chris.” He choked out a laugh, before letting out a low groan from the tempting proposition. “Oh Jesus,” He dragged a hand down his face. “What if it makes everything weird?” He asked, though he already knew he had traveled too close to the sun, and there was no way he was going to be able to back down. “What if it makes things better?” You countered, voice soft.

For just a moment, you two just stared at each other, gauging just how far you were going to take this. And then slowly — so, so slowly — you leaned forward, just a little. Not enough to touch, just enough to let him feel the warmth of your body. His breath quickened as he watched your eyes flick to his lips, then back to his eyes.

Still, you didn’t close the gap.

You were leaving it up to him.

His fingers curled into the sheets, each digit needy for the feeling of your skin under them. “Fuck,” He whispered, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He heard your breath catch from the hunger in his tone, felt the smallest shift in your posture as you struggled to keep him at arms length. You were hovering above him now, your lips so close to his own that he felt them curl into a smirk. “I think I do.”

His dilated eyes searched yours — and something unspoken passed between you. He reached up and tucked a piece of loose hair behind your ear, letting his fingers slowly brush against your cheek. You allowed yourself to lean into his touch, eyes fluttering shut, before asking in an almost-whisper, “What are you waiting for?”

His breath hitched in his throat. For another second, he hesitated. Not out of doubt, but rather to savour the look of needy anticipation across your face, just centimetres from his own. He wanted that image of your flushed cheeks and knit brows burned into his memory forever. So when he finally leaned in, it was slow — deliberate. No matter how badly he wanted you, needed you, he felt the need to give you the chance to change your mind.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you met him halfway.

His lips brushed against yours — just a test. The kiss was soft, hesitant, and foreign. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that it was your lips that he held against his own, your taste against his tongue. And it scared him. Not because it felt wrong. Not at all. It scared him because it felt right. So when you pressed in, he responded as if he’d been holding his breath for months. One of his hands knit into your hair, and the other cupped your jaw as he pulled you down on him fully.

In the blink of an eye, the kiss deepened. No more caution. No more nerves. It quickly turned into the kind of kiss that spoke louder than words ever could. You released a soft moan into his mouth, satisfied by how much pleasure he was giving you. He groaned low in response, his thumb brushing against your cheek softly as he shifted closer; his body pressing harshly against yours. You parted your lips and he took full advantage, slipping his tongue into your mouth and swallowing your soft whines of approval.

He allowed his hands to explore your trembling body as his mouth, hot and hungry, consumed you. You melted into his touch, letting your body relax against his and releasing another soft moan at the feeling of his strained hardness pressing against your core. Your breath hitched as his hand slid along the curve of your spine, reaching your plush ass and pressing it down against his front — his moan as your ass slid against his length fuelled you.

He broke the kiss first, gasping for air as you rolled your hips gently against him. When he looked at you, he released a strained laugh at your messy hair; mussed from where his fingers had slid into it. “You look crazy.” His voice was shaky, the arousal pumping through his veins at full force. You snorted, dropping your forehead against his as you continued to slowly rock your hips; his hands subconsciously guiding your movements. “Great, you bully me after pulling me into your lap.” He arched a brow at you before peppering soft kisses against your jaw, down your neck. “Did I pull, or did you climb?”

Soft moans floated from your mouth as his lips danced across your skin. “I think it was mutual.” You replied breathlessly, losing yourself in the pleasure. His lips trapped yours once more. He couldn’t get enough of the feeling of your swollen lips meshed with his. But you knew he needed more. Needed your lips to make him feel good elsewhere. So you lowered your mouth to his sharp jaw, taking your time as you dragged your tongue along his body until you reached his protruding hip bones.

He stayed as still as he possibly could, terrified that one wrong movement would put a stop to everything, as you gripped the waistband of his pyjamas and tugged. He lifted his hips without saying a word, eyes locked hungrily on yours, and let you strip him. Once you removed his boxers, his cock sprang free — thick, leaking, and pressed taut against his stomach. You paused to look at him, really look at him, and bit your lip at the sight.

“Jesus, Chris, you’ve been holding out on me here.”

He laughed breathlessly, feeling a wave of pride at the sheer lust hidden behind your comment. “I would have shown you it anytime, if you asked sooner.” Your smile was slow and wicked as he watched you sit on your knees in between his legs. “Well if I had known what you were working with down here I just might have,” You wrapped your hand around his thick length, making him hiss in relief, “Should’ve told me.” You added in a low whisper.

“I didn’t think I could have you.” He replied honestly, watching with a slacked jaw as you slowly worked his length. “You still don’t,” You replied with a teasing glance up at his flushed face, “I’m letting you borrow me.” He was about to roll his eyes and fire back something cocky when you wrapped your warm mouth around the head of his cock — killing the words before they could pass his lips.

“Fuck,” He groaned softly, his hips immediately jerking upwards. You took him slowly at first, tongue circling his tip while one hand stayed wrapped against his base where it pumped in time with your mouth. Your free hand rested against his thigh, grounding him as you relaxed your throat to allow him to reach deeper into you, inch by inch. The sight of you, mouth filled with his cock, was almost too much for him to handle. With a deep groan, his head dropped back against the pillow while his hands rested limply in your gathered hair.

Coming up for air, you looked up at his angular features with a smirk. You ran your lips against the underside of his shaft, stifling a groan from the feeling of its velvety skin. “Is it everything you dreamed of?” You asked, cracking a sarcastic joke to hide your own desires. He looked down at you and laughed — shaky — stunned by the pleasure and your mockery all at once. “You’re evil.” He groaned, dying for the warmth of your mouth. You giggled softly. “Shut up, I’m generous.”

Before he could reply, you took him deep again, humming around him, making his head spin. His hands involuntarily tightened in your hair, and you took it as a sign to go faster. Hollowed cheeks, you began bobbing your head with intent. He watched as your eyes flicked up and locked with his own, and the glint of danger within them nearly undid him.

“Fuck, I — I’m close,” He gasped, feeling his cock swell in your mouth. As soon as he spoke, you pulled off of him with a wet pop, wiping your mouth quickly before climbing back onto his lap before he could react. “Not yet.” You replied, voice gritty with lust. His hands fell to your thighs as you quickly peeled off your shirt, revealing to him parts of you that he had never seen before. His eyes dragged down your body — every new inch somehow familiar and new all at once — and attached his mouth to your hardened nipple as you rolled your warm heat against him in slow, taunting circles.

His hands moved to the back of your thighs, lifting you slightly off of him so that he could run two digits across your clothed centre. “You’re soaked,” He muttered against your tit, voice wrecked, as he felt the slippery fluid that had soaked through your boy shorts. You gasped as he bit down against the sensitive bud before allowing him to slip your underwear off. “I told you,” You panted, the cool air against your heat sending a shiver down your spine, “You weren’t the only one who wanted this.”

And then, in one fluid movement, you sank down onto him.

You both moaned — yours high and breathy, his deep and guttural — as you took him all the way in, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside of you. You were paralyzed for a moment, unable to move as your eyes fluttered shut. “Fuck, Chris. You f-feel —” Your words were caught in your throat as he gripped tightly onto your hips, struggling to stay still as he let your tight walls adjust to his size.

After a moment, you finally began to move — slow, grinding rolls of your hips drew gasps from his parted mouth. Your hands were planted against his chest, nails biting into his skin caused his pleasure to intensify as you rode him. With each rhythmic bounce, a gruff curse fell from his lips. Your heart raced at the sight of Chris so unraveled beneath you, so willing to allow the pleasure you were giving him to show through his knit brows, glazed eyes, and deep moans.

You began riding him in earnest — hips snapping, thighs flexed around his waist. His eyes traveled to your breasts as they bounced in front of him with every movement, and his hands — buried in the plush of your ass — reached up to grab onto them. You leaned forward, allowing him to wrap his mouth around one hungrily, as your pleasure built in your lower stomach. Your moans turned sharper, pleasure breaking through your determination. The sounds you made went straight to his cock as it slipped in and out of your spongey cunt at a pace that pulled him closer and closer to his orgasm.

His hands moved back to your ass, where his fingers dug into your flesh in desperation — to keep you right there, to get you to slow down, he had no idea. “Fuck, Y/n, I’m —” You didn’t even let him finish his strained sentence before slowing your pace back to a slow grind. His eyes shot open, wild and desperate, looking up into your much darker pair. “You’re not gonna cum, are you?” You tilted your head menacingly as you spoke, and the power you had over him in that moment almost scared him. Not because he didn’t trust you. But because he didn’t trust himself.

A groan that came deep from within him spilled from his lips as you continued to barely move on top of him. His cock throbbed inside of you, begging for a release. His hands traveled along your naked body, taking their time on your hips where they attempted to press you harder against him. Looking up at you, he noticed a different look in your eye. The arrogance was still there, but brewing underneath that seemed to be a hint of desperation. Of raw need. Just as he realized that you were torturing yourself just as much as him, that your teasing wasn’t intended to be a tactic of control, your walls seemed to slip for a moment and he saw the silent plea in your eyes.

As if to confirm it further, your hand slid between your thighs, fingers working your clit as he watched you writhe. “D-don’t you dare c-cum.” Your demand came out strained and breathless as you tried to hold onto the control, and although the sight of you struggling made his head spin, he decided to do everything in his power to play along with your little game. “So what,” He began, each word coming out with a struggle, “You wanna cum all over my cock, make a mess while your tight pussy wraps around me? Huh?” His filthy words were a shock to your system, yet your response was nothing more than a sharp moan as they drove you closer to the edge.

Your reaction pulled him even closer, but still you weren’t granting him the release his aching cock needed. Each time he thought he was going to reach that rush of his orgasm, you lifted yourself off of him to keep your own at bay, drawing out the pleasure for both of you to the point of near-pain. This torture continued for what felt like hours until, after one particularly close call, you lifted yourself completely off of his length, trembling in the air where your slick heat was just inches from his face. His eyes locked into the glistening, pink bead, and without a thought he attached his mouth to your swollen clit to keep himself from begging — unwilling to give you the satisfaction.

As his tongue swirled in hungry circles against your bundle of nerves, a sharp cry fell from your lips. Hands raked through his hair, your body detached from your mind as you rolled your hips against his face. Releasing a moan that vibrated against your core, Chris grabbed onto your ass and pulled you up so that you were now straddling his face. Your juices melted against his tastebuds, and he devoured you like he could never get enough. One hand digging into the head board, the other laced through his wavy hair, your legs trembled on either side of him as the threat of your orgasm loomed closer and closer.

Chris felt it in the way your clit swelled against his tongue. Heard it in the way your moans turned animalistic. Saw it in the way your limbs went slack. And just as you were about to give in to the need to come undone, he removed his mouth from your clit and spoke, “Don’t you dare cum.” You looked down at him, shock written all over your face from his use of your words against you as you took in his taunting expression. Your cunt throbbed from the lack of contact, but the look in his eyes that told you he knew exactly what you had been doing caused your stomach to do an excited flip. You had been taunting him, pushing him to his breaking point, so that he could destroy you.

And just like that, once you both locked eyes, he did exactly that.

In a single, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. “Oh fuck,” Was the last thing that left your lips before he drove his cock into you, hard and deep, drawing a shocked cry from your throat. His strong hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head as he slammed relentlessly into you — done with the teasing, done with the games. He dropped his mouth to your ear, nibbling the lobe before speaking gruffly, “You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

You released a sharp moan upon each of his thrusts, and practically screamed out once he dug his knees into the mattress, adjusting his angle to make sure that you felt every inch of him. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” He groaned against your damp skin, already feeling like he could fall apart from the way your walls enveloped him so perfectly. Your back arched at his words, and when he lifted his head to look at you he noticed that the smirk that was previously plastered on your face had been replaced by an overwhelmingly desperate, hungry expression.

Your body was no longer your own. You fell into the trance you had been craving since you first slipped him inside of you. The feeling of being pinned down by him, of allowing him to use you the way he wanted, was intoxicating. And he knew it. As if reading your mind, his mouth dropped to your ear once more. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He licked a stripe from your ear down your neck as you nodded greedily. His hips snapped into you harshly, causing you to release a sharp squeak.

“Tell me how bad.” His voice had dropped an octave since flipping you onto your back, and the sound of it made the hair raise on the back of your neck. A long-winded moan fell from your lips as pressure continued to build in your lower stomach, his cock traveling up inside of you, hitting that spot again and again. “S-so fucking bad.” You replied, each word coming out strained and punctuated by his thrusts. He sucked your neck hungrily, releasing a grunt from your honest admission. His own orgasm was threatening to run through him at any moment, yet he refused to slow down his pace.

“Shit,” He moaned, his voice dragged out in lust. You felt his cock swell inside of you just as he felt your cunt flex around him. His fingers found your clit, where he rubbed tight, frantic circles that made you buck beneath him. “I need you to cum for me. Now.” His words were clipped, his movements wavering slightly though he managed to keep the same speed. The demand, so raw and guttural, was all that you needed to get over the edge. Your eyes snapped open — meeting with his — and your legs tightened around his waist as you cried out; your body jerking beneath him as your orgasm tore through your restrained body.

As you tensed around him, milking his cock so perfectly, he refused to stop. Instead, the sight of you writhing beneath him was enough to grant him the energy to fuck you harder; pushing you through it until you melted into a puddle. He felt his balls tighten as he watched your powerless fingers claw into the head board — imagining them tugging at the roots of his hair or burying themselves into his back. He felt his cock stiffen as his eyes trailed down to your full chest — watching as your tits danced to the rhythm of his thrusts. And then, as you rode the waves of your orgasm, the delicate sound of his name on your lips pushed him over the edge.

He groaned, finally losing all control. “Where do you want me?” His voice was nothing more than a whisper. He was unable to manage anything more than that. But still, through your high, you heard him. Looking into his eyes, you slurred, “Inside me, please.” At your words, he pulled back to slam into you one last time, filling you completely before his throbbing cock painted your trembling walls white. His body jerked with the force of his release, and his harsh thrusts shifted to soft rolls of his hips as he let his orgasm overtake him.

He moaned out your name in broken whispers as he tightened his grip on you, finally reaching the release he had been craving for months, buried deep inside the warm pussy that he had spent many nights fantasizing about. The satisfaction within that realization sent one final wave of pleasure through him, before he finally let his body collapse on top of yours.

You both lay there, sticky bodies tangled together as your heaving chests and spiralling brains slowed down into a gentle lull. Your eyes fluttered shut as you savoured the feeling of Chris’s release as it slowly dripped from you, and, if you really focused, you could still feel him pulsing inside of you. Eventually, he pulled himself off of you and kissed you on your forehead. A soft, lingering touch that contrasted with everything that had just happened between you both.

He flopped beside you on the bed before immediately pulling you closer. You both laid in the quiet room, the air around you like a warm blanket. Your head rested on his chest, one hand tracing circles along his stomach. You felt the comfort of his breathing as he let out a long, slow breath, his hand running up and down the curve of your hip in lazy strokes. You lifted your head eventually, looking down at his face with a smile.

“You okay? You’re being suspiciously quiet.” You teased. He glanced up at you, his lips curving into a smile. “I’m having a moment.” He replied, sparkly blue eyes dancing across your face. “Oh, sorry,” You replied, mock-solemnly, “Didn’t mean to interrupt your existential crisis.” He let out a soft laugh, smacking your ass playfully. “No no, I’m good. Just…trying to catch up with the fact that that just happened.” You dropped your head onto him again, chin propped against his chest. “You’re feeling better.” You remarked, noticing his once tense muscles had seemed to relax into the comforter beneath you both. He stayed quiet for a beat, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, then said, “Yeah, I am.”

The words hung there a moment, heavier than they sounded. Uncertainty seemed to cross over you both simultaneously, before you spoke up again softly. “So…no identity crisis? Should I be expecting any panicked texts by tomorrow?” He met your eyes, raising a brow with a smirk. “Only if you start acting weird.” He replied, to which you scoffed. “Me? Never.” He chuckled and ran a gentle hand through your hair, soaking in the sight of you before him in this way. The room fell into comfortable silence once again, before Chris took another deep breath, this one slightly more charged.

“So…this was a one-time thing, right?” You lifted your head from his chest, letting out a small laugh. “Is this your attempt at letting me down softly?” He snorted, rolling his eyes in mock-annoyance. “Actually, I was hoping the opposite.” You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip. “Ah, I see,” You propped yourself on your elbow, “Already trying to schedule round two, hm?” He turned to look at you, noticing the pleased expression across your face and admiring the way that you seemed to glow post-sex. “Just wondering if the offer could ever extend beyond emergency treatment for soul crushing sexual build-up.”

You squinted your eyes at him playfully, running your hand along his stomach. “So, what I’m hearing is you want to do this again, no sexual crisis required?” He grabbed his bottom lip between his teeth, shrugging. “I’m just wondering if I’m allowed to hope, or if I need to go back to rubbing one out to you every night.” Your eyes widened from his choice of words, but after gently poking his ribs you crawled back onto him; wrapping your arms around him and letting yourself feel his skin against yours. After another beat of silence, you spoke softly against his neck. “You’re allowed to hope.”

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

[gf2bellamy]

hii i absolutely LOVE your writing,, its just so perfect🤭

may i please request a story with spencer realizing he has a crush on reader and so he starts getting nervous and stutter-y around reader. so then reader gets a little upset thinking she did something wrong and they end up talking about what’s happening and it leads to a confession + kiss

thank you!!💖💖

crush — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: a tiny bit of angst bc reader thinks she did something wrong a/n: hii !! this request is so cute <3 i hope you like this <333

Spencer had it bad. 

Like, really bad. 

It wasn’t even up for debate anymore—he was completely, undeniably, and overwhelmingly crushing on you.

Right now, he was sitting at his desk, staring at you as you leaned casually against it, deep in conversation with Emily at her desk across from his. You were animated, gesturing with your hands as you made a passionate argument. 

“No, look, the movie sucks,” you insisted, pointing a finger at Emily. “You have to read the book. It’s so much better.” 

Emily rolled her eyes but smirked, clearly enjoying the debate. “I don’t know, I think the movie has its moments—” 

“Absolutely not.” You cut her off, shaking your head. “The book has so much more depth. The movie just—” You let out a dramatic sigh, exasperated. “It butchers it.” 

Spencer wasn’t even listening to Emily. He was too busy watching you, completely entranced. 

Two days ago, he’d come to a life-altering realization. 

He liked you. 

Not in the casual, oh-she’s-nice-to-be-around kind of way. No. This was the heart-racing, brain-melting, can’t-think-straight-when-you-smile-at-him kind of way. 

And it had all started with a cup of coffee. 

You had placed it in front of him, your fingers brushing his for a fleeting moment as he reached for it. A harmless, everyday interaction—except that it wasn’t harmless. Because then, you had smiled at him. Soft and warm. 

“New tie?” you had asked, tilting your head slightly as you pointed at the green tie he was wearing. 

Spencer had looked down at it, momentarily forgetting how words worked. “Oh—uh—yeah. Yeah, I got it yesterday.” 

You had grinned. “Looks good on you. I like it.” 

And then, as if your words hadn’t already short-circuited his brain, you had reached out—just for a second—adjusting the fabric between your fingers before turning away and heading back to your desk. 

That was the moment. The exact second Spencer knew he was doomed. 

And now? Two days later, he was struggling. 

Struggling to focus. Struggling to act normal. Struggling to not stare at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the entire world—which, let’s be honest, you were. 

“Spence.” 

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. You had turned to him now, one hand resting lightly on his arm as you smiled. 

“Tell her the book is better than the movie,” you said, tilting your head toward Emily. “Back me up here.” 

Spencer knew, logically, that he had said those exact words to you a few weeks ago. He agreed with you. He had data, facts, and literary analysis to support the claim. It was an easy argument. 

And yet— 

He was completely, entirely tongue-tied. 

You were looking at him expectantly, your touch burning through the fabric of his sleeve like a brand. 

“I—uhm—I think—” He swallowed, feeling his face heat up. 

You frowned slightly, confused by his sudden inability to form a coherent sentence. 

He needed to get it together. 

“Yes,” he finally forced out, clearing his throat. “Uh, the book is—definitely better. Than the movie.” 

You grinned, triumphant. “See? Told you.” 

Emily just smirked at Spencer, amusement flickering in her eyes. 

You, then , watched as Spencer quickly withdrew his hand from your touch, avoiding your eyes like it physically pained him to look at you. 

And over the next day, it kept happening. 

It was subtle at first—small moments that could’ve easily been brushed off as coincidences. But then they started piling up. 

Like when you were working on the geographical profile together. You had been standing close to him, pointing at a section of the map, asking for his input. But instead of responding immediately, Spencer had frozen. 

Completely. 

You had glanced up, expecting one of his usual rapid-fire responses, filled with statistics and insightful observations. But nothing came. Instead, he stood there, his jaw slightly clenched, his fingers gripping the edge of the table.

You had frowned, waiting. 

A long, awkward silence stretched between you until someone else had walked by, snapping him out of it. He mumbled a quick, barely audible response before abruptly walking away. 

Then there was the night the team went out for drinks. You had slid into a booth at the bar, expecting Spencer to take the seat beside you—like he always did. It was a habit. Something that just was. 

Except this time, he didn’t. 

He sat at the far end of the table, wedging himself between JJ and Rossi, not even acknowledging you. 

That was when the doubts started creeping in. 

Had you done something wrong? Had you said something to upset him? 

You replayed the past week in your mind, searching for anything that might have caused this shift. But there was nothing. At least, nothing you could think of. 

Still, it didn’t stop the sinking feeling in your chest every time Spencer avoided your gaze, every time he hesitated before answering you, every time he refused to sit near you. 

And now, back at Quantico, the case closed, reports needing to be filed, you sat at your desk, watching him. 

The office was quieter than usual—most of the team had taken the morning off to rest, leaving only you and Spencer to handle the paperwork, just as you always did. 

Except this time, Spencer wasn’t talking to you. 

He sat across the room, his eyes fixed on his files, his pen moving rapidly across the paper. And still—not once—did he look up at you. 

Your fingers curled slightly against the report in front of you, a dull ache settling in your chest. 

The silence between you was suffocating. 

Hours passed, the only sounds filling the room were the scratch of pens against paper and the occasional shuffle of files. It was unnatural—terribly unnatural. The two of you were never this quiet around each other. 

Spencer wanted to talk to you. He always wanted to talk to you. But every time he opened his mouth, he managed to embarrass himself. So, he just... stopped trying. 

And then there was the other problem—his newfound hyper-awareness of you. 

Every touch, no matter how small, felt like an electric current running through his skin. Like when the two of you were sitting in the back of the SUV on the way back from a case, and your knee had accidentally brushed against his. It had been nothing to you, a completely normal, casual thing. But to him? To him, it had set his entire body on fire. 

Or when you touched his arm , casually, the way you always did—except now, it wasn’t just casual to him. Now, it was overwhelming. Too much. 

So he did what he thought was best—he avoided it. Avoided you. 

It was time to leave, and coincidentally, both of you started packing your bags at the same time. 

Somehow, despite everything, you still moved in sync. 

It was a habit at this point. You always left work together, falling into step beside one another like second nature. Some nights, you’d end up at the movies, where Spencer would hesitantly—almost shyly—share his food with you. Something he never did with anyone else. Not with his germophobia. Not even with the team. 

But with you it had never been a problem. 

Other nights, you’d wind up at his apartment, curled up on his couch, just hanging out. Just you and him. And in hindsight, Spencer supposed he should’ve seen this coming. 

Should’ve realized that whatever this was—whatever you were to him—wasn’t just friendship. 

Maybe he’d been crushing on you all along. 

The two of you walked to the elevator, the air thick with awkwardness. You exchanged shy smiles, unsure of what to say or do.

Finally, you both spoke at the same time. 

"Are you okay?" 

The words tumbled out of your mouths in perfect unison, and for a moment, you both froze, staring at each other. Then you both chuckled awkwardly, the sound breaking the tension, just for a second. 

“Go ahead,” Spencer nodded at you, pressing the button to call the elevator.  

“You—just... I feel like I haven’t talked to you properly in ages,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping as you fiddled with the strap of your bag. 

Spencer looked away quickly, a guilty blush creeping up his neck. 

Oh god, why couldn’t he just act normal around you? 

“Did I do something wrong?” You blurted out, suddenly worried. "Because I—I’m not entirely sure what it was, but you haven’t been looking at me, or talking to me, and I’m just—” 

Before you could ramble on any longer, Spencer cut you off. His voice was a little too loud, too eager. 

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong!” He shook his head quickly, almost desperately, as if trying to reassure you. His wide eyes met yours, and there was a softness in them. “I promise.” 

The elevator doors slid open, and the two of you stepped inside. 

You pressed the button to the ground floor, still watching him, trying to make sense of everything. 

“So, what is it then?” you asked, your voice more hesitant now, as the elevator began its descent. 

Spencer bit his lip, his fingers nervously tapping against the strap of his bag. What was he supposed to say? That he had a huge crush on you, but he couldn’t even stand to be near you without fumbling through his words and avoiding your gaze? It sounded so stupid when he thought about it. 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the doors in front of him as the elevator descended slowly. His mouth opened, but no words came out. 

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” you pointed at him, a hint of teasing in your voice, but the concern still lingered. “You’re acting like this because something’s going on, and I’m just—I don’t know what it is.” 

Spencer’s heart raced.

The doors finally opened, and you both headed towards the exit , where you stepped out into the chilly night air. You instinctively pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, waiting for him to speak. 

Spencer hesitated again. His mind was spinning.

“No, I swear it’s not you,” Spencer muttered, tugging on the strap of his satchel, trying to buy himself some time. “It’s just I—I…” 

You waited, eyes fixed on him, your breath fogging in the cold air. You were getting impatient, and the more time passed, the more you started to worry that whatever had been going on was something you had no control over. Something that was maybe your fault. 

You were now standing by your car, watching him. Spencer looked torn, his fingers gripping the strap of his satchel tightly, his body tense like he was debating whether to run or stay. His lips parted slightly, and then, as if he couldn’t hold it in anymore, the words tumbled out. 

“I like you.” His voice was quiet.

For a moment, you just stared at him, confusion flickering across your face. 

“I… didn’t realize you disliked me until now?” You frowned slightly, your voice uncertain, trying to make sense of what he was saying. 

Spencer’s eyes widened in panic. “Wait—no!” He rushed to correct himself, shaking his head frantically. “That’s not what I meant—I didn’t mean that.” 

His breath came out in a nervous puff of air, his cheeks burning red as he struggled to find the right words. 

“I mean—I like you. Like, like like you.” His voice dropped to a mumble, the last part barely above a whisper. “Like, I have a crush on you.” 

He swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest as he finally said it. 

And then, silence. 

His eyes darted to you hesitantly, searching your face for a reaction, his stomach twisting with anticipation. 

You stood frozen. Did he just say what you think he said? 

“I… what?” you blinked, your breath hitching. 

Spencer’s face was already bright red, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the pavement, like he regretted saying anything at all. His voice had been so quiet at the end, barely above a whisper, but you heard him. 

He liked you. Like liked you. 

“I have a crush on you,” he repeated, this time slightly louder, but his voice was still laced with hesitation. His eyes flickered between yours and the ground, as if he was trying to gauge your reaction but couldn’t bear to look for too long. “That’s… that’s why I’ve been acting so weird.” 

A rush of emotions hit you all at once. Relief. Surprise. And something else—something warm, something thrilling. 

You let out a small breathy laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Spencer, you’ve been avoiding me for days because you have a crush on me?” 

He winced slightly. “Yes?” 

A smile tugged at your lips. The pieces started falling into place—the nervous stammering, the awkward silences, the way he’d flinched at even the smallest touches. You had spent the entire week wondering if you’d somehow upset him when, in reality, he was just… flustered. 

Over you. 

It was almost funny. No—it was funny. 

Spencer watched you carefully, his anxiety spiking at your silence. He had just spilled his feelings to you in the most awkward way possible, and now you were just standing there, staring at him with this unreadable look. He braced himself for rejection, for you to awkwardly brush it off, for you to tell him that you didn’t feel the same way— 

Instead, you smiled. 

And then you laughed. 

Spencer blinked. “Are you—are you laughing at me?” He sounded both confused and slightly horrified. 

You quickly shook your head, even though you were still grinning. “No! No, I swear, I’m not laughing at you.” You bit your lip to stifle another giggle, but it wasn’t working. “It’s just—you’ve been torturing yourself over this ?” 

Spencer huffed, looking away. “I wouldn’t call it torture—” 

“You literally stopped making eye contact with me.” 

“That’s—okay, that’s fair.” He sighed. “I just… I didn’t know how to act. Every time I tried to talk to you, I ended up embarrassing myself, and I figured it would be easier if I just… didn’t.” 

You softened at that. 

“Spence,” you said gently, reaching for his hand before he could overthink it. The second your fingers brushed his, you felt him stiffen. But he didn’t pull away. “You know you could’ve just told me, right?” 

He let out a breath, finally meeting your eyes. “I was afraid that if I told you… things would change.” 

You squeezed his hand lightly, feeling a rush of fondness for him. His brain was the most brilliant one you’d ever known, but sometimes he made things so complicated. 

“Well, things are going to change,” you admitted, watching his expression closely. 

His heart stuttered. “Oh.” 

A flicker of panic flashed across his face, and you quickly squeezed his hand again before he spiraled. 

“Not in a bad way,” you reassured him, stepping a little closer. You tilted your head, smiling softly. “I like you too, Spencer.” 

Spencer’s breath caught. “You…?” 

“Mhm.” 

He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to process your words, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might feel the same way. 

And then—oh. 

Oh. 

His entire body relaxed, the tension melting from his shoulders. He let out a breathy laugh, running his free hand through his hair as he shook his head. 

You smiled as you leaned back against your car, watching the relief wash over Spencer.

He stared at you, his eyes flickering between your own and your lips, and you could practically see the thoughts racing through his mind.

Spencer swallowed, his hands fidgeting at his sides. And then, as if the rush of confidence from his confession hadn’t completely worn off yet, he asked, “Can—can I kiss you?” 

Your stomach flipped at his words, your smile widening. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

Spencer exhaled something that sounded like half a laugh, half a breath of relief, before you reached for him, your fingers curling gently around the fabric of his cardigan as you tugged him toward you.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands hovering for only a second before settling on your cheeks. His fingers were warm despite the cold air.

His fingertips barely grazing your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, and for a second, he just looked at you—like he wanted to take his time, like he wanted to remember everything about this moment before it even happened.

Then, finally, he leaned in. 

The first touch of his lips was soft, almost tentative, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn’t—when you kissed him back just as eagerly—he let himself relax. His hands cupped your face more firmly, his body leaning just slightly into yours.

You sighed against him, your hands sliding up to rest against his shoulders, your fingers gently threading into the curls at the nape of his neck. That was all it took. You felt him shiver slightly under your touch, a quiet hum of contentment vibrating in his chest.

When you finally pulled away for air, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathless but smiling.

Spencer opened his eyes, his pupils slightly blown, a soft, dazed smile tugging at his lips.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he murmured.

You chuckled, your hands still resting against his neck. “You really thought I didn’t like you back?”

He huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

You brushed your thumb along his cheek, tilting your head playfully. “Well, you should’ve. Because I really like you, Spencer.”

His smile widened, something utterly adorable in the way his entire face lit up at your words.

“I like you too,” he said again, as if he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to say it out loud.

You grinned. “Yeah, I think I got that part.”

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 4┃ Not Until You Beg

Male reader x Ningning x Giselle

Word count: 12k Tags: threesome, BDSM, squirting, rough sex, dirty talk, teasing PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

I didn’t text her first.

I could’ve. Probably should’ve. But by the time I made it halfway back through the city, I’d already been home. Showered. Changed. Sat on the edge of my bed for half an hour doing nothing but thinking.

Then I walked. Nowhere in particular. Around the block. Then down another. Then through a few more I didn’t recognize. Like I was waiting for my body to make a decision my brain hadn’t caught up to.

It was already dark when I stopped walking.

And found myself standing in front of her building, staring at the buzzer like it was gonna tell me if this was a good idea.

I pressed it.

Two rings. Then silence.

Then: the soft buzz of the door unlocking.

I didn’t need to ask if she knew who it was.

The elevator ride was fast. Too fast. I could feel my pulse behind my teeth. There wasn’t a plan. I just needed to see her. Not even to explain.

Just to exist in the same room again.

The hallway looked the same. Polished floors. Dim lighting. Cold and expensive. I reached the door and lifted my hand to knock.

It opened before I could.

But it wasn’t Giselle.

Winter stood in the doorway.

She was barefoot, wearing loose sweats and a cropped hoodie, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug. Her eyes landed on me, unblinking, calm.

Neither of us said anything.

Then her gaze slid over my shoulder, like she was checking for cameras.

She stepped aside.

“Come in,” she said.

I hesitated.

Then stepped in.

The apartment was quiet.

Winter walked past me, taking a sip from her mug. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t smirk or give me a look.

She just said, "She's in her room," then padded down the hall and disappeared without another word.

A few seconds later, Giselle appeared from around the corner, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, eyes tired but alert.

She stopped when she saw me.

We looked at each other for a second. No hello. No smile. Just silence.

Then she stepped forward.

And let me stay.

She didn’t ask me to sit. I didn’t take my shoes off. I just stood there while she walked to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and sipped.

“Long night?” she said finally.

I swallowed. “You could say that.”

She nodded once. Then turned, walked to the bed, and sat. She pulled one leg under the other, resting her arm along the back of the mattress like she hadn’t just asked something that stuck in the air like smoke.

“You gonna sit, or?”

I moved.

Dropped onto the mattress beside her, close but not touching. She didn’t lean away.

She watched me like she always did — eyes steady, curious, a little tired, a little distant.

“You wanna talk?” I asked.

She exhaled. Not quite a laugh. More of a breath with shape.

“I don’t know what I want,” she said.

“Then why did you let me in?”

Her fingers curled against the mattress.

"I'm not sure yet," she said.

Then she looked away, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Silence again. Not comfortable. Not cruel. Just full of things neither of us were ready to admit.

I leaned back, palms pressed to the edge of the mattress. “It’s not nothing, you know.”

Giselle didn’t look at me. “What’s not?”

“Whatever this is.”

She snorted. “So now we’re calling it this?”

“I don’t have a better word.”

“I don’t either.”

Her voice dropped on the last line like it surprised her—like admitting she didn’t have control over the narrative hurt more than anything I could’ve said.

She pulled her leg tighter under herself and rubbed a thumb across the seam of her sleeve.

“I thought I’d feel different by now,” she said.

“About what?”

“You.”

My throat stopped. I waited for the punchline. A laugh. A cold edge. Something.

But she didn’t deliver it.

“I thought maybe if we had sex, it would be out of my system,” she said. “I’d be able to move on. Blame the tension. Call it a moment.”

“And now?”

Her eyes finally met mine. “Now it’s worse.”

I exhaled. Something in me wanted to flinch. But not out of guilt. Just the weight of it.

She sighed and looked down, tracing the hem of her hoodie.

“I’m not trying to make this a thing,” she said quickly, like she regretted every word she’d said in the last five minutes. “I don’t do things. Not like this.”

“I don’t either.”

She gave me a side glance. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just…” She paused, biting the inside of her cheek. “You came back. That already makes you different.”

I didn’t answer right away.

“You think I’m some romantic?” I said finally.

“I don’t know what you are,” she said. “But I keep trying to figure it out.”

“Why?”

Her jaw tightened. “Because I don’t want to be wrong about you.”

That one landed.

I looked down at my hands, flexed them slowly. They still felt like mine. But something about the way she was watching me made me feel like they were on display.

Giselle’s voice softened. “You don’t let people in easily, do you?”

“No.”

“So why me?”

That question came quiet, but it was the hardest one yet.

And I didn’t have an answer. Not one I could say out loud.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re not here because you got bored.”

“No.”

“You’re not here because you miss the sex.”

“I’m here,” I said, turning to her. “Because I'm confused about us.”

That cracked her, just a little.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t move. But her breath changed. Her hand curled tighter in the fabric of her hoodie. And for a second, she just sat there with that pain in her chest like she didn’t know where to put it.

“Did you think about me?” she asked, even quieter now.

I hesitated.

“After,” I said. “Not during.”

She nodded. Once. Twice. Like she’d expected it but still didn’t like how it felt.

“I didn’t think I’d care,” she said. “I told myself it was just fun. Something I could control.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.” she snapped

I watched her for a long time. No comeback. No comfort. Just presence.

She looked at me again.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Not knowing where I stand. Not knowing where you do.”

I shifted a little closer. Not touching her yet. Just near enough to feel her breath hitch.

“You want to know the truth?” I asked.

“No,” she said. Then: “Yeah.”

I nodded.

“I didn’t come here because I knew what to say. Or because I had a plan. I came here because I couldn’t stay away.”

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

Not yet.

She sat with that for a moment — what I’d just said. That I couldn’t stay away.

Then she blinked, like waking from her own thoughts, and looked at me again.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“Okay?”

She nodded, slowly. “I don’t know what this is. Or what it’s supposed to be.”

“I don’t either.”

She swallowed. Her voice was soft, but steady now. “And I don’t want to screw it up by trying to define it too early.”

I nodded once. Let her talk.

“I’m confused,” she admitted. “That’s the truth. I like having you around. I like the way you look at me. I like the way you fuck me.”

That made my breath catch, but I didn’t interrupt.

She kept going.

“But I also like not being tied down to a label. Not yet. Not when I’m still figuring myself out.”

There was no apology in her tone. Just honesty. Like she was laying out a map neither of us had drawn yet.

“So we’re not together,” she said, more to herself than me. “But we’re something.”

“I can live with that,” I said.

She looked at me again — this time longer.

“And if something happens with someone else?” she asked.

My heart didn’t jump. I’d already braced for this.

“I won’t lie to you,” I said. “But I also won’t pretend it wouldn’t mean something if you asked me not to.”

She nodded again.

“I’m not ready to ask,” she said. “Not yet.”

That cracked something deeper. But it wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold.

It was permission.

“I don’t want to own you,” she added, quieter now. “I just don’t want to pretend I don’t care, either.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Good.” Her eyes met mine. “Then let’s just go with it. Whatever this is. However long it lasts.”

There wasn’t a perfect response. So I didn’t give one. I just looked at her, took her in — the skin under the hoodie, the mess of her hair, the way her fingers picked at the mattress even when she tried to sound calm.

I leaned forward.

And kissed her.

Not rushed. Not demanding.

Just lips on lips. Warm. Slow. Honest.

She kissed back like she meant it. Like this wasn’t closure, but the kind of beginning that doesn’t come with a name.

When we pulled apart, she was smiling. Barely.

And I could feel the pulse of something just under the surface. Something we weren’t ready to name — but weren’t going to ignore.

The kiss lingered in the space between us even after we pulled apart. There was no music, no line to close the scene. Just the silence, warm and fragile, like a blanket we hadn’t decided to share yet.

Giselle exhaled through her nose. Almost a laugh. She didn’t smile, not really. But her hand drifted toward mine and paused there, not quite touching.

Then—

“Mylooo.”

The name came floating through the hallway, singsong and light.

Giselle stiffened instantly.

I turned my head toward the sound, pulse tightening before I even saw her.

The door creaked open with no knock, no announcement.

Ningning leaned against the frame like it was hers. She was barefoot, wearing nothing but a long white tee that fell halfway down her thighs. Hair down, damp at the ends. No makeup. Just flushed cheeks and that slow, feline smirk.

“Well, well,” she said, tilting her head. “Look who came back.”

Giselle’s voice came sharp. “He was invited.”

Ningning didn’t flinch. She stepped inside, walked like she was gliding — not quite bouncing, but close. There was something too casual in the way she moved. Like she was here for fun. But not just that.

Her eyes went straight to me.

“I missed you,” she said, with a pout that didn’t touch her eyes.

“Didn’t realize I was missed,” I said, careful.

“Oh, you were,” she said, brushing a lock of hair over her shoulder. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“That was kind of the point,” Giselle muttered under her breath.

Ningning turned to her with an exaggerated look of surprise. “Still mad at me for stealing your toy?”

Giselle didn’t rise to it immediately. She just leaned back, arms crossed over her chest. “You didn’t steal anything. He makes his own choices.”

Ningning grinned. “Exactly. And he chose well.”

Mylo. Neutral. Stay neutral.

I cleared my throat. “You two always talk like this?”

Giselle said nothing.

Ningning walked closer to the bed and sat — not beside me, but close. Her bare leg grazed mine. Her skin was warm.

“Only when we’re sharing,” she said.

Giselle’s jaw twitched.

She looked at Ningning. “You’re not even pretending to be subtle.”

“Why should I?” she said, shrugging. “He already knows what I sound like when I scream.”

That hit harder than I expected.

Giselle’s stare didn’t break. But her expression dropped a degree colder.

“And you know what I sound like when I don’t,” she said calmly.

Ningning’s grin faltered. Just a flicker.

She blinked, then laughed. “Touché.”

The air was a heavy. Not angry. Not yet. But charged in a way that said: one wrong word and this turns into something else entirely.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to breathe normally. Ningning smelled like coconut body wash and heat. Giselle still smelled like her sheets. Like me.

“Why are you here?” Giselle asked, her tone neutral, her posture not.

Ningning stretched her arms up in a dramatic yawn. “I was bored. Heard voices. Thought I’d say hi.”

“You never just say hi.”

“True,” she said, twirling a piece of hair. “But tonight I might surprise you.”

She turned to me again.

“You seem tense,” she said, voice softer now. “Need a distraction?”

I didn’t answer. My eyes flicked to Giselle, whose silence was loud enough to register as its own response.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Oh,” Ningning said, tilting her head. “That’s a shame.”

She leaned closer, almost whispering now. “You know, I was thinking about you last night.”

“Don’t,” Giselle warned.

Ningning grinned wider. “Just saying. He made an impression.”

“You think this is cute?”

“Not really. I think it’s fun.”

I looked between them. Giselle, clenched jaw and quiet fury. Ningning, all innocent malice wrapped in sugar.

And me, dead center.

“You want me to leave?” I asked Giselle, gently.

“No.” she said immediately.

Ningning raised her brows. “Wow. That was fast.”

Giselle turned to her. “You want to start a fight?”

“Nope.” Ningning leaned back on her hands, her shirt riding high on her thighs. “But I’d love to finish one.”

Neither of them spoke after that.

It wasn’t just quiet anymore.

It was the kind of still that only came before a storm.

Ningning didn’t move.

She was still perched on the edge of the bed like it was hers, one knee folded under her, the other dangling just enough to brush against my shin. Casual. Deliberate. That look in her eye like she was toying with something breakable just to see when it’d crack.

Giselle hadn’t changed position either. But everything about her posture said I see you. The line of her spine. The stillness in her jaw. The way her eyes kept dropping to Ningning’s leg like it had no business being that close.

“Funny thing about you,” Ningning said, turning to me again. “You don’t act like most guys.”

I kept my voice even. “Yeah?”

“Most guys wouldn’t survive one night here without getting all…” She twirled her finger vaguely in the air. “Messy.”

Giselle’s voice came flat. “He’s not here for your commentary.”

“I didn’t see a sign-up sheet yet.” Ningning replied sweetly.

“You came to say hi,” Giselle said. “You’ve said it.”

Ningning looked at her, unblinking. “I’m staying.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a statement. It was a challenge.

Giselle didn’t flinch. “It’s my room.”

“And he’s your guest?” Ningning tilted her head toward me. “Or are we still pretending this house runs on rules?”

Neither of them looked at me.

It was like I’d stopped being the point and started being the prize.

“Let her stay,” I said.

Giselle turned to me, slowly. Not mad. Just… measuring. Like she was trying to decide if that was weakness or strategy.

“You sure?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “But I want to see what happens.”

Ningning smiled like she’d already won something.

She stood and walked over to Giselle’s dresser, started rifling through the top drawer like she lived there. Pulled out a piece of gum, popped it in her mouth, and chewed slowly.

“Your taste in underwear has improved,” she said over her shoulder.

Giselle raised an eyebrow. “Why? Hoping to borrow a pair?”

Ningning grinned and let the drawer slide shut. Then she turned and faced both of us again.

“I’m not here to steal,” she said. “I’m just bored.”

She sat down again—this time on the other side of me. So now I was flanked. One girl on each side. Neither touching. Both watching.

My mouth was dry.

“So,” Ningning said, stretching again, “are we just gonna sit here pretending this isn’t weird?”

“Yes,” Giselle answered.

“Shame.”

A long pause.

Then Ningning leaned in, her voice low in my ear. “Did she make you beg?”

Giselle sat up straighter.

“I mean, she looks like the type,” Ningning continued. “All soft at first, then suddenly you’re the one on your knees.”

“Jesus,” I muttered.

Giselle’s face didn’t change.

But her hand reached behind her and tugged her pillow onto her lap like a shield.

Ningning didn’t miss it.

“She told me you were good.” she whispered.

That pulled my attention.

I turned to Giselle, slow. “You told her?”

Giselle didn’t blink. “She wouldn’t stop asking.”

“That’s not a no.” Ningning said brightly.

The air got heavier. Tighter. Like all it would take is one touch and the whole thing would ignite.

“I’m gonna make tea,” Giselle said suddenly, standing up. “Either of you want some?”

“No thanks,” I said.

“Sure,” Ningning chimed.

Giselle rolled her eyes but left the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Ningning turned to me, voice lower now. No smile.

“She’s not okay.”

I blinked. “What?”

“She’s pretending she is. But she’s not.”

“She said—”

“I know what she said. I also know what she looks like when she’s hurt.”

My voice dropped. “And what’s this? Helping?”

“Maybe.” Ningning shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just curious what you’ll do when we finally stop pretending we don’t want the same thing.”

I stared at her.

And she smiled, slow and wicked.

Ningning stayed close.

Too close.

She didn’t touch me, but everything about her presence screamed intentional. Her thigh rested just shy of mine. Her shoulder turned toward me, open, relaxed. Like if I leaned even slightly, I’d fall into her orbit.

“She’s strong, you know,” she said, voice softer now. “Giselle.”

I nodded.

“But not invincible.”

Her gum clicked once. Then silence.

The door creaked a moment later, and Giselle returned with a single mug — hers.

She didn’t ask why Ningning hadn’t followed her.

Didn’t ask what was said.

She just walked back to the bed and stood in front of us, taking a long sip of whatever was steaming in the ceramic.

Then, quietly: “She’s still here?”

Ningning smiled. “You miss me already?”

Giselle didn’t answer. She set her mug down on the nightstand, then sat. Right next to me. Her hip brushed mine. It wasn’t subtle.

And suddenly, I was caught again. Giselle on my right. Ningning on my left. Both sitting too close. Both pretending they weren’t measuring me, but measuring each other.

“You ever feel like you’re in the middle of something?” I muttered.

“Usually means things are about to get interesting.” Giselle replied smoothly.

Ningning gave her a look. “You’re getting territorial.”

“Am I?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t have to. You’re still in my room.”

“Maybe your room is the most interesting place in the house.”

“Or maybe you just like an audience.”

That one landed.

But Ningning didn’t back down.

She looked at me, biting her lip like she was thinking about saying something worse.

Instead, she leaned in and whispered, “You’re real quiet for a guy caught between two girls.”

“I’m processing,” I said.

“Don’t take too long,” she said. “You might miss the fun part.”

I looked at her. Then at Giselle.

And I could feel it — the heat rising, slow and patient. Like the room itself had started listening.

Giselle leaned forward and grabbed the mug again, wrapping her fingers around the handle.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“I’m good here,” Ningning replied, stretching her legs out across the floor like she owned the space. “Unless Mylo wants me to go.”

Their eyes both found me.

And for a second, I wasn’t sure whose move it was.

But I could feel the pulse in my neck. The air around all three of us pulling tighter.

“I don’t want a fight,” I said.

“Then don’t start one,” Ningning said.

“I won't.” I said, turning to Giselle.

But Giselle’s expression had changed. It wasn’t angry, just… aware.

Her eyes met mine, and there was something new there. Not fear. Not jealousy. Just quiet understanding.

And under it — a question she hadn’t asked yet. You want this? You want her? I didn’t answer it out loud. But I think she saw it in my face. Her throat bobbed once, then she exhaled. And when she set the mug down again, her hand brushed mine.

Not a grab. Not a challenge. Just a reminder that she was here, that I wasn’t alone in this. And that maybe… neither was she.

The room felt warmer now.

Not just body heat. Something else. Tension crawling along the floorboards. Every breath between us a thread waiting to snap.

Giselle’s hand still rested near mine, fingers not quite touching, and on the other side, Ningning shifted closer—just enough to let her bare thigh press against mine.

They didn’t look at each other. But I could feel the weight of them on either side of me, gravity pulling in both directions.

Then Ningning smiled, slow and teasing.

“Okay,” she said softly, “I’ve been good. I haven’t touched.”

She leaned in, breath brushing my ear.

“But I’m done being good.”

Her lips grazed the shell of it. Not a kiss. Just the suggestion of one. Her hand slid to my knee and stayed there, warm and bold.

Giselle moved instantly.

Not rough, not loud—just decisive. Her fingers laced into mine, pulled my hand to her thigh, where her skin was already hot.

“He’s not yours,” she said coolly.

Ningning’s eyes flicked down. “Doesn’t seem like he’s yours either.”

“He came here for me.”

“And stayed for me.”

“Funny,” Giselle said, “I don’t remember him moaning your name last night.”

“Oh?” Ningning turned to me. “You moan for her?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

She was already climbing into my lap.

Her hands slid up my chest, smooth and slow. She straddled me without hesitation, grinding once—slow enough to tease, firm enough to be felt.

But Giselle didn’t back down.

She leaned in from the other side, her lips grazing my neck as her fingers dipped under the hem of my shirt.

“Let’s see if you’re still so cocky when you’re crying under my mouth,” she murmured against my skin, and I shivered.

Ningning laughed. “Babe, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Her tongue traced my collarbone. And then—Their mouths met right there.

Giselle leaned over me and kissed Ningning hard, open-mouthed, aggressive. Not for her. Not for passion.

For me.

A show of force.

Ningning moaned into it, not backing down. Her hand dropped to my belt, tugged it open without asking. Her hips rocked forward as she kissed Giselle harder, nails dragging down my stomach.

I could barely breathe.

Giselle pulled back, breath shaky, and turned to me.

“Lie back.”

I obeyed.

They followed.

Ningning yanked my shirt off while Giselle stripped her own. Their hands moved fast, not clumsy—confident, practiced. Clothes disappeared like they’d done this a dozen times.

Only this time, it was for me.

And then Giselle was on her knees beside me, straddling my thigh, her lips dragging a hot trail down my chest.

Ningning grinned and climbed over me, facing the other way, her thighs caging my head. Her mouth met my cock just as Giselle’s tongue found my nipple.

I groaned—deep, guttural—fingers gripping the sheets.

They were in sync, but not gentle.

Ningning’s mouth was greedy, messy, stroking and sucking with zero pretense. She made noise on purpose—slurping, moaning, letting spit drip and drag down my shaft like she wanted Giselle to hear it.

Giselle bit my chest, not hard, just enough to leave a mark.

“You’re loud,” she said flatly.

“Jealous?” Ningning gasped.

“Focused.”

Then she shifted down, her tongue following the trail of skin Ningning wasn’t touching.

I was losing it.

Ningning's hand cupped my balls, rolling them gently as she bobbed deeper. Giselle’s mouth dragged down my stomach, teeth grazing just enough to pull a hiss from my throat.

I looked down—Two heads, pink and dark hair brushing against each other, mouths working opposite ends of me, completely focused. No hesitation. No shame. And both of them watching each other out of the corners of their eyes like they were keeping score.

I was going to lose it fast.

“Fuck—slow down,” I gasped.

“Make us,” Ningning said, pulling back with a wet pop.

Giselle just smirked.

And then she wrapped her mouth around the base of my cock while Ningning took the tip again, their tongues briefly brushing—fighting—for control. It was like they were trying to devour me from opposite ends.

Ningning moaned first. A little loud, a little performative. She popped off me with a gasp, slapped my cock against her cheek twice, then turned her face just enough to let the shaft smear against her lips.

“God, he’s throbbing,” she said with a breathless laugh. “You gonna let me win this one?”

“I don’t let anyone win,” Giselle snapped, and in one motion she slid her mouth all the way down my cock—past halfway, deeper, wetter, slow and brutal.

My whole body jolted.

“Fucking—Giselle—”

Her name spilled out without meaning to.

Ningning raised an eyebrow. “Round two, huh?”

She leaned in, licked up the underside of my cock where Giselle wasn’t, and then pulled the other girl’s hair aside to kiss her cheek as she bobbed up.

“You missed a spot.”

She dove back down.

Giselle didn’t yield.

Instead, she grabbed the base of me in one hand, stroked what Ningning couldn’t reach, and bit her lip as she whispered, “You’re drooling all over him.”

“I am.”

Ningning went deep again, this time moaning on purpose around me, fingers kneading my thighs, her other hand creeping up to cup my balls as she sucked hard—sloppy, loud, relentless.

Giselle dragged her tongue over what was left of my shaft, licking around Ningning’s lips, not even flinching when their mouths collided again on me.

The sounds were obscene. Wet and raw and constant. I was sweating, trembling. My fists curled in the sheets.

“You wanna cum already?” Giselle asked me, voice deceptively soft as she looked up, her lips slick.

I shook my head. Couldn’t speak.

“I think he does,” Ningning teased, pumping me twice, her wrist twisting with precision. “Look at him. He’s about to beg.”

“I don’t beg,” I growled.

“Maybe not,” Giselle said, mouth brushing my base again. “But you break.”

And then she sucked hard—just the base—at the same time Ningning swallowed me down, deep.

“Fuuuck—”

My hips twitched and they both felt it.

“Almost,” Ningning purred. “Someone’s close.”

Giselle didn’t stop.

She just squeezed tighter at the base, held me there with one hand, and took over completely—mouth gliding, lips tight, tongue working in cruel little flicks under the head.

Ningning backed off, eyes locked on me, watching every stutter in my breath.

“Come on, baby,” she whispered. “Let’s see whose mouth wins.”

Giselle looked up, never breaking rhythm.

My hips buckled.

“I’m—fuck—”

“No,” Giselle said, pulling off instantly, gripping my cock tight.

My head dropped back.

Painful denial.

“You don’t cum yet,” she said, stroking slow, mean.

Ningning smirked. “Aww. He was so close.”

Giselle tilted her head. “Good. He’s staying hard for round two.”

Ningning straddled my chest like a cat in heat—smirking, smug, her thighs pinning me down while her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt. The oversized tee she’d come in still clung to her hips, soaked through with sweat and tension, her nipples already hard under the thin cotton.

“I think I want to ride your face next,” she said playfully, leaning forward. “Think you can handle that, Mylo?”

She barely finished the sentence before Giselle yanked her back by the hair. Not rough. Not violent. Just… dominant.

Ningning gasped, not from pain—but shock.

Giselle’s grip was firm, the other hand sliding to her hip, spinning her off of me like she weighed nothing.

“Not yet,” Giselle said. “You’re forgetting who finishes first.”

“Excuse you?” Ningning snapped, but she was already on her back, legs tangled in the sheets.

Giselle didn’t answer.

She climbed on top of her.

One thigh between Ningning’s legs. One hand gripping her wrist and pinning it above her head. Her eyes, cool and focused, locked down like a predator who’d just lost patience.

“You want to be loud, Ning?” Giselle asked, lips hovering inches from her mouth. “Wanna act like you’re the one he wants?”

Ningning bared her teeth in a grin. “He came in my mouth last night.”

“And he fucked me raw the night before that.”

They were nose to nose now. Breath to breath, no laughter left, just electricity. And then—Giselle kissed her. Hard. Not sensual, not romantic. Claiming.

Ningning bucked against her, one hand trapped, the other scrambling to grab Giselle’s side—but she didn’t stop it. She moaned into the kiss like she’d been waiting for it, hips grinding up against Giselle’s thigh with something between frustration and heat.

When they finally broke apart, both of them panting, Giselle leaned in and whispered something I couldn’t hear.

Then she sat up, still straddling Ningning’s waist, and pulled her shirt over her head. No bra underneath. Her tits bounced free, sweat-slick and flushed, nipples hard as glass.

Ningning licked her lips.

“I hate you,” she muttered.

“No, you don’t,” Giselle said.

She reached over to the nightstand drawer.

I didn’t know what she was looking for.

Until I heard the jingle of metal.

Cuffs.

Real ones. Not fur-lined. Not decorative.

Stainless steel.

The sound made Ningning freeze—just for a second.

Then she smirked. “You’re seriously cuffing me?”

“You don’t get to make the rules tonight.”

“Giselle—”

“Hands. Up.”

She said it like a command, not a request.

And Ningning—bratty, cocky, untouchable Ningning—obeyed.

She lifted her arms over her head, wrists together.

Giselle snapped the cuffs on fast, locking them to the headboard with a flick of her wrist.

Then she looked down at Ningning, spread and restrained, shirt pushed up under her arms, her bare thighs squeezing together from anticipation.

She looked fucking ruined already.

And Giselle hadn’t even started.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “You’ll still get his cock.”

Then she turned to me.

“But not until you beg for it.”

Ningning snarled. “Fuck you.”

Giselle laughed. “Later, maybe.”

She slipped down her own panties, tossed them aside, and sank lower between Ningning’s thighs. The younger girl shuddered, ankles flexing as Giselle kissed her inner thigh—once, twice—then bit it just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck—Giselle—”

“Shh,” she said.

Her tongue slid over Ningning’s folds in one long, hot stroke. Ningning moaned, loud. Giselle did it again. Then sucked. Then licked faster.

Ningning’s back arched, fists clenched in the cuffs, and she let out a string of breathless whimpers that barely formed words.

“Oh my god—fuck—fuck, right there—”

Giselle didn’t let up.

She gripped her thighs and spread her wider, tongue working in circles, then flicks, then deep strokes that made Ningning gasp and writhe.

“Fuck—Giselle—I’m—”

“No,” Giselle said, pulling back instantly. “Not yet.”

“Giselle—please—don’t—fuck—don’t stop—”

“You want to cum?” Giselle asked, eyes gleaming.

Ningning nodded furiously. “Yes—fuck—yes—please—”

“Beg better.”

“Giselle—please—I need it—need your tongue—please—fuck—just let me cum—”

Giselle went back in, tongue relentless, mouth tight around her clit.

Ningning came like a fountain—back arched, legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry that broke into a sob.

Giselle didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

She held Ningning’s hips down and licked her through it, over and over, until she was jerking, twitching, gasping for air. And still cuffed. Still helpless.

When she finally stopped, Giselle sat up, mouth slick, and turned to me.

“She’s not done,” she said.

Then she reached for the rope.

Ningning let out a shaky breath. Her legs trembled. Her chest rose in ragged bursts. But her eyes—red, wet, wide—were still defiant.

Still burning.

“I said I’d make her beg,” Giselle murmured, as much to herself as to me.

She turned to the nightstand and unspooled the rope in slow, fluid movements—knots already half-formed, like she’d done this before. Like she had planned to do this again.

“Come here,” she said to me without looking.

I moved. Silently. Kneeling beside the bed as the heat off Ningning’s body reached me in waves. Her skin was glowing. Her arms still pinned above her, wrists cuffed to the headboard. Her pussy was soaked—spread, twitching, pink and sensitive as hell. And her voice was hoarse from the moaning.

“You’re gonna help,” Giselle said, passing me one end of the rope. “Lift her leg.”

I didn’t hesitate.

I hooked my hands under Ningning’s thigh and pulled it up, bent and open.

Giselle looped the rope around her ankle, quick and snug, tying it to the side of the frame with a flourish. Then she did the same to the other—until Ningning was bound open, her knees parted wide, arms still cuffed, body completely exposed between us.

She squirmed, pulling against the restraints.

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “You guys are—fuck—”

“Quiet,” Giselle said.

She moved between her legs again. Her fingers ran down the inside of Ningning’s thighs, featherlight, teasing.

“You’re gonna cum for him this time,” Giselle said, glancing back at me. “You’re gonna let him watch every second of it.”

I swallowed. My cock throbbed. Just seeing her like this—splayed out, dripping, gasping—was enough to make my head spin.

“She’s yours for now,” Giselle added, crawling backward on her knees to make room. “But keep her begging.”

I leaned over her.

Ningning’s eyes met mine, wide and wet. Her bottom lip trembled.

“Mylo,” she whispered. “Please—touch me—I need it—I can’t—”

I slipped two fingers inside her without a word.

She screamed.

Her body arched so violently the headboard thudded against the wall. Her back bowed, her arms trembling in the cuffs.

“AHHH—FUCK—YES!”

She clenched hard around my fingers. Still so tight. Still fluttering from that last orgasm.

I stroked inside her—deep, firm, curving just enough to brush that spot that made her wail.

“YES—oh my god—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop!”

I didn’t.

I pumped harder. My palm slapped her clit with every thrust, wet and loud and nasty. Her body fought the restraints like she was trying to throw herself into me.

Her legs trembled violently.

She gasped.

“I'm—I’m gonna—Mylo—fuck I’m gonna—”

I stopped.

Dead still.

Two fingers inside her. One second away from the edge.

She screamed.

“NO! Mylo—fuck—you asshole!”

Giselle smirked behind me.

“Aw. Poor thing.”

“She’s shaking,” I said, pulling out just enough to feel her clamp down, desperate.

“Give her a break?” Giselle teased. “Or make her work for it?”

I looked at Ningning.

Her head was thrown back, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.

And still—still—she looked cocky.

Just barely.

“Work,” I said.

Giselle laughed. “Good choice.”

She reached between Ningning’s legs and gave one slow drag of her fingers over that soaked, trembling clit.

Ningning twitched.

“Beg again,” Giselle said softly.

Ningning growled. “You bitch—”

Slap. Not hard. But firm, right across her pussy. Ningning howled.

“AHHH—fuck—okay—okay please—please—let me cum—I’ll do anything—I swear—please Mylo—please—!”

I slipped my fingers back in. Deep. Giselle leaned in and sucked her clit. And Ningning exploded, she screamed so loud it cracked.

Her thighs shook so violently the rope tensed. Her body locked—completely—like a live wire, shuddering and gasping as the orgasm ripped through her like lightning.

“FUCK—FUCK—FUCK—YES—AAHHHHH—MYLO—!”

I didn’t stop.

Neither did Giselle.

We made her feel it. Made her ride it. Dragged it out until she was sobbing, soaked, babbling through clenched teeth. And still tied up. Still ours.

Giselle pulled off her with a pop and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Then looked at me.

“She’s ready for round two.”

She was still panting.

Wrists trembling against the cuffs. Hair stuck to her face. Sweat pooling at the bend of her neck. But Ningning’s eyes were already sparking again. That same wicked, bratty fire back in full blaze.

“She’s ready for round two,” Giselle said, wiping her mouth, cool and smug.

“Damn right I am,” Ningning hissed.

I looked at her—then back to Giselle. Although Giselle was cute when she was in charge, I wanted to see her beg.

“She’s earned something.”

Giselle tilted her head. “You think so?”

“I think,” I said, stepping closer, “you’re overdue.”

And before Giselle could reply, I leaned down and undid the cuffs.

Ningning’s wrists dropped limp at first, tingling, red-ringed. Then she pushed herself up. Slowly. Deliberately. Stretching her back, rolling her shoulders, cracking her neck like she was preparing for a fight.

Giselle raised an eyebrow.

“What now, baby?”

Ningning lunged.

She shoved Giselle back onto the bed in one smooth motion, knees straddling her hips, hands pinning her arms. The sheer force of it left Giselle breathless for a second—and Ningning grinned.

“My turn.”

Giselle tried to smirk. “You think I’ll just lie here?”

“You’re not gonna lie,” Ningning whispered. “You’re gonna squirm.”

Her hands shot down and yanked Giselle’s wrists up over her head, fast and sure, and before Giselle could twist away, click. She had grabbed the cuffs. One locked. Then the other.

Giselle gasped. “Are you fucking serious—”

“Dead serious,” Ningning purred. “You said I was loud, right?”

She leaned in, tongue trailing over Giselle’s collarbone.

“Let’s see how quiet you can be.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Ningning dragged her nails down Giselle’s sides—slow, hard enough to leave lines.

Giselle bit her lip.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Oh, babe,” Ningning said, dipping her head. “I never bluff.”

Then she bit her nipple.

Giselle yelped.

“Fuck—!”

“Oh, did that hurt?” Ningning teased, licking the tip.

“Do it again,” Giselle growled.

Ningning did. Harder.

I watched Giselle squirm—hips shifting, legs twisting, eyes squeezed shut, breath shaky.

“You’re dripping,” I said.

Ningning glanced down. “Oh, I know.”

She climbed off her chest, dropped between her thighs, and spread her open with two fingers.

Giselle moaned without meaning to.

“Still think I’m bluffing?” Ningning asked.

“Do your worst.”

“I plan to.”

She ducked her head and went to town.

Her tongue was everywhere. Sloppy, aggressive, fast—completely different from how Giselle had taken her apart. She wasn’t building pressure. She was breaking it.

Giselle bucked hard.

Her wrists strained against the cuffs. Her legs tried to close—but Ningning held them wide.

I stepped in. Grabbed one thigh and pinned it.

“Good boy,” Ningning said without looking.

I stroked Giselle’s leg, fingers grazing her skin, as Ningning ate her like a meal. Her mouth was loud—wet, messy, cruel. Every lick made Giselle twitch. Every suck made her whimper.

And then—

“Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—”

Ningning stopped.

Dead silent.

Giselle growled.

“Don’t—fucking—edge me.”

Ningning grinned. “Now you get it.”

She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the vibrator.

“Wait—wait—” Giselle’s voice cracked. “Not that—”

“Oh yeah.”

The toy buzzed to life.

“Remember this?” Ningning said sweetly

Giselle thrashed. “You little—fuck—don’t you—”

Ningning pressed it right against her clit. Giselle screamed. Not loud. Violent.

Her body locked instantly, thighs trembling so hard I thought she’d tear the rope off the frame. The toy never left her—just constant, brutal vibration while Ningning licked right beside it.

“I hate you!” Giselle cried out.

“I know.”

“You bitch—fuck—Mylo—!”

I knelt beside them.

Held her hips down.

Watched her fall apart.

“Let it happen,” I said.

She did. And came like a storm.

Giselle was gasping, twitching—still cuffed to the headboard, legs shaking from the vibrator pressed relentlessly to her clit. She’d just come hard enough to shake the bed.

And Ningning? She wasn’t done. Not even close.

She shut off the toy and tossed it aside, crawling up over Giselle like a panther licking blood from her teeth. Her eyes sparkled, cruel and gleeful. She straddled Giselle’s chest, leaned down so close their noses nearly touched.

“Aww,” she cooed. “Poor princess can’t handle a little tongue?”

Giselle glared through her sweat-soaked bangs. Her chest still heaved. “Fuck… you.”

“Oh, you wish,” Ningning said, tilting her head. “But you don’t get to make demands right now.”

She grabbed a pillow from the side, stuffed it behind Giselle’s head, then reached for the waistband of her own panties. Slowly—tauntingly—she peeled them down.

And dropped them across Giselle’s face.

“Since you like mouthing off so much,” she said, “maybe try mouthing this.”

Giselle froze.

Her breath hitched.

Then Ningning slapped her lightly across the cheek with the damp fabric. “Open up.”

Giselle didn’t move.

So Ningning did it for her.

Two fingers between her lips, prying them open just wide enough. Then she shoved the balled-up panties into her mouth and pressed her palm against Giselle’s chin to hold them in.

“God, look at you,” she said, grinning down at her. “Still cuffed, still dripping, now gagged with my panties. Tell me, Giselle—do you still feel like the one in charge?”

Giselle moaned behind the gag—frustrated, humiliated, and fucking soaked.

I watched, hard as a rock, my cock twitching from the sight of it. Giselle’s thighs still trembled. Her cheeks were red. Her tits rose and fell under Ningning’s knees.

She looked wrecked. And Ningning wasn’t done. She leaned forward again, closer to Giselle’s ear.

“You act so tough,” she whispered. “So perfect. The hot one. But the moment you get a little pressure, you come like a needy little cumslut.”

Giselle whimpered—low, guttural, almost a sob.

“Pathetic,” Ningning said, licking her lips.

Then she turned to me.

“Mylo,” she said sweetly, “do you know how many guys dream about her?”

I nodded, eyes locked on the mess between them.

“And now look at her,” Ningning said, grabbing a fistful of Giselle’s hair and yanking her head back slightly. “Stripped. Gagged. Cuffed. Thighs twitching like a toy.”

She leaned down and spat on her chest.

It hit just above her nipple, sliding down her breast.

Giselle moaned again, louder now, almost desperate.

“Oh,” Ningning laughed, “you like that, don’t you?”

She turned back to me.

“Tell me,” she said. “You still think she’s in charge?”

I didn’t answer.

I just moved beside them, hard and leaking, and stared down at Giselle’s red, ruined face.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Ningning whispered, dragging her thumb through the spit on Giselle’s chest. “You’ll get a taste of redemption soon.”

“But first,” she said, “I want to see you break for him.”

Giselle was gagged and cuffed, cheeks flushed, chest still wet with spit. Her thighs trembled. Her breath came in short, shaking huffs. And Ningning?

She was glowing.

Crouched over her like a devil in heat, eyes gleaming, voice velvet-edged with cruelty.

“She looks mad,” she said, pinching Giselle’s cheek. “You mad, baby?”

Giselle didn’t respond. Couldn’t—not with Ningning’s soaked panties stuffed in her mouth. But the way her eyes burned was enough. Her jaw tightened. Her chest hitched like she wanted to scream.

Ningning leaned closer. “Want me to take it out? Hm? Let you talk?”

She reached down.

Slid the gag out slowly—dragging it along Giselle’s tongue.

The panties dropped onto her chest with a wet slap.

“Say something.”

Giselle spat.

Not at her—just to clear her mouth. Then she whispered, hoarse and shaking: “You’re going to regret this.”

Ningning laughed. Then slapped her across the face. It wasn’t hard. But it echoed. Giselle flinched. Not from pain—from shock. Her mouth opened in protest, but the words didn’t come.

Ningning slapped her again. Opposite cheek. Same sting. Giselle gasped. Her arms pulled at the cuffs. Her back arched. But the moan she made? It didn’t sound angry. It sounded wet.

“She likes it,” I said, watching her nipples harden.

“She does,” Ningning said, grinning. “She just doesn’t want to admit it.”

She reached up and grabbed a fistful of Giselle’s hair, yanked her head to the side, exposing her throat.

“Tell him,” she hissed. “Tell Mylo how much you like being slapped.”

“Fuck you—” Giselle started.

Slap. She cried out. Then moaned again. Her hips rolled. I moved closer.

Watched her chest rise and fall in desperate waves.

“She’s close,” I said, staring at her pussy—still glistening, still dripping, even though she hadn’t been touched in minutes.

Ningning glanced at me.

“You wanna help?”

I didn’t answer. I just reached out and grabbed one of Giselle’s tits, rough and fast. She whimpered. Then I slapped it.

She gasped—sharp and loud—and her legs twitched.

“Holy shit,” Ningning said, biting her lip. “Do it again.”

I slapped her again. The sound was filthy. Her tit bounced hard, skin flushed. Giselle made a noise that wasn’t a moan or a cry. It was somewhere in between.

“I think she likes being our toy,” I said, leaning in.

Ningning crawled over to the other side and slapped her opposite breast—synchronized.

Giselle broke.

“F-fuck!” she cried. “Fucking stop—”

But her hips didn’t stop. They fucked the air. I grabbed her jaw. Made her look at me.

“You’re soaking the sheets,” I said. “You want more?”

She shook her head.

But her thighs said otherwise.

Her clit throbbed. Her chest heaved. Her voice cracked.

“You want to be used,” Ningning whispered, pinching her nipple until she whimpered. “Admit it.”

Giselle bit her lip.

“No.”

Ningning leaned down. “Then why are you still dripping?”

“Because—fuck—because—”

I reached between her legs.

One finger—barely inside her.

She clenched.

“Because you’re mine,” I said.

“No—fuck—stop—”

But I didn’t.

I fucked her slowly—just my fingers—and watched her squirm.

Her eyes rolled.

She didn’t want to come.

But her body begged.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Don’t stop—don’t—please—”

Ningning smirked. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say you love it.”

She shook her head.

Then Ningning slapped her again—light, fast, teasing.

Giselle screamed.

“I love it—fuck—I love it—please—just let me cum—please—”

Her eyes found mine.

Desperate. Wet.

And I saw it.

She was a mess.

Wrists still cuffed, arms stretched above her head, chest glowing red with slaps and spit. Her thighs trembled, hips rolling helplessly into my hand, soaking everything under her. Her eyes were glassy—half-defiant, half-broken—and her lips trembled every time she tried to form a sentence.

And Ningning?

Still straddling her chest, watching her squirm.

"You hear that, baby?" she purred, brushing a thumb over Giselle’s swollen lip. "You’re dripping all over for us."

“Mmnh—” Giselle whimpered.

Ningning leaned in and kissed her cheek, then nipped at her ear.

“You’re such a good little girl when you’re falling apart.”

I ran my fingers down her thigh. Slow, soft. The kind of touch that would’ve made her squirm if she still had strength left. I reached between her legs again, fingers sliding through slick heat.

She twitched.

"She’s so sensitive," I muttered, watching her melt.

“She can take it,” Ningning whispered. “Right, baby?”

Giselle nodded once. Barely.

“Say it,” I told her.

“I… I can…”

“Louder.”

“I can take it,” she gasped. “Please—please let me—please—”

“Aw,” I cooed. “Princess wants to cum?”

Giselle nodded again, desperate.

“Like a good girl?” I said.

She whimpered. “Y-yes—yes, like a good girl—”

We moved together.

Ningning slid down to kiss her again—deep and wet and claiming—while I lined up between her legs and pushed into her in one slow, thick stroke.

She screamed.

“AHHH—f-fuck—Mylo—!”

I started slow. Deep. Cruel. Every thrust designed to make her feel full, helpless, owned.

Ningning held her face, whispered things between kisses.

“You’re so pretty like this, baby… so perfect when you cry… keep taking it… show us how good you are…”

Giselle sobbed.

“Please—please—ohmygod—I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, princess,” I said.

Her walls fluttered around me. She writhed.

Ningning dragged her nails down her sides. “Hold it, baby. Just a little longer. Be good.”

I slammed into her harder. Faster. Giselle’s body lifted off the bed with every thrust. She begged with her whole body—arched, stretched, trembling.

“Please—I c-can’t—Mylo—please—Ning—I need—”

“Now,” Ningning said, voice low and firm. “Cum for us, princess.”

“Cum like a good girl,” I whispered.

And she did.

She screamed.

Long, high, broken.

Her whole body convulsed. Her thighs locked around my waist. Her cunt clamped down and milked my cock like she never wanted to let go.

She sobbed through it, moaning both our names, her voice cracking on every syllable.

Ningning kissed her again.

“Good girl… good girl…”

I didn’t stop.

I kept fucking her through it. Giselle was trembling, her moans dissolving into whimpers. Her eyes fluttered. Her whole body gone, melted, wrecked.

And I was close.

Too close.

Ningning watched me, smirking. “Give it to her.”

I slammed in deep and came—hard, full, spilling everything inside her. My groan was low, rough, desperate.

Giselle shuddered around me, riding every pulse of it. We stayed there like that—tangled, breathless, dripping. She blinked slowly, eyes dazed.

Ningning brushed hair from her face. “Still with us, baby?”

Giselle nodded weakly.

“Good girl,” I whispered again.

And she smiled.

Just barely..

Ningning leaned back on her knees, messy and smug, fingers trailing down Giselle’s cheek like she’d just won a war. Her grin said it all—she thought she was done. That we were finished.

But Giselle was already lifting her head.

Eyes glassy. Hair wild. Lips swollen from the gag and kisses. Still trembling—but smiling now. A slow, wicked smile.

I reached up and unlatched her cuffs from the headboard. She shook her wrists out once, then sat up.

And I saw it click. She wasn’t broken. She was waiting.

Ningning turned toward me, ready to bask in her chaos—and that’s when I moved.

I grabbed her by the hips and flipped her down onto her back, her body hitting the mattress with a gasp. Before she could scramble up, Giselle slid over and grabbed her wrists.

“What—wait—” Ningning started.

But she was too slow.

I snapped the cuffs around her wrists before she could squirm away, locking them to the same headboard Giselle had just been strung up on.

“Shit—what the fuck—” she thrashed once, then stilled, staring at both of us. “You guys are serious?”

Giselle leaned in close, chest still glowing from slaps and sweat. “You think you’re the only one who gets to have fun?”

Ningning’s eyes darted to me. Her mouth opened like she had something clever to say—but I kissed her before she could. Rough. Claiming.

She moaned into it.

And her hips rolled.

Giselle slid down, kissed her neck. Then lower. Her mouth traced the curve of Ningning’s tits, sucking until deep red marks bloomed under her tongue.

“Still think you’re in charge?” she asked.

Ningning didn’t answer.

So I slapped her breast.

Not hard.

She gasped—loud, shocked.

Her back arched and her thighs clenched.

“She likes it,” Giselle said, licking a slow path across her stomach. “Of course she does.”

I slid between her legs, palms on her thighs, holding her open.

“She made a mess of you,” I said. “Time to return the favor.”

Giselle smiled. “Together?”

“Together.”

Ningning tried to pull away—but the cuffs held. And her pussy?

It was dripping.

I ducked down and dragged my tongue through her folds, slow and thick. Her hips bucked. She tried to twist, to get away from it—but I didn’t let her.

I held her down and devoured her.

Giselle climbed up, straddling her chest again, dragging her fingers through Ningning’s hair, keeping her pinned.

“You gonna be our good girl now?” she purred.

“F-fuck you—” Ningning gasped, voice already cracking.

I slapped her thigh. Bit the inside of it. She screamed.

Then I dove back in.

Tongue on her clit. Two fingers inside her. My pace merciless. Wet. Filthy.

She was thrashing. Moaning. Her voice was breaking.

“Please—please stop—please—”

Giselle leaned down.

“You didn’t stop when I begged.”

She slapped her. Just once. Sharp across the face.

Ningning whimpered. And she came. Just like that.

Her whole body snapped, her legs clamped around my head, and she screamed—a loud, wild sound that cracked halfway through.

I didn’t stop.

I licked harder, deeper, fucked her until she was sobbing.

Giselle reached back and pinched her nipple, twisted it until she was writhing beneath both of us.

“Please—please—I can’t—I can’t—” Ningning begged, shaking.

I pulled back, just enough to speak.

“You can.”

Then shoved my tongue back in.

She screamed again. And broke.

Tears streamed down her face. Her body thrashed. Her thighs shook. She came so hard she soaked my mouth, the sheets, everything.

She looked ruined. Beautifully, perfectly ruined. And we weren’t done. She was still cuffed.

Still flushed from the last orgasm, thighs twitching, lips parted like she needed more but wouldn’t admit it. Her body said yes, but her eyes? Still holding that spark. That edge.

The brat hadn’t surrendered.

Yet.

I knelt beside her, dragging two fingers along her inner thigh. She shivered, but didn’t move. Her hands tugged at the cuffs. Not to escape—just to feel it.

“You look good like this,” I said.

She turned her head, eyes locking with mine. Her smirk was faint but there.

“Don’t think I’m saying thank you.”

I grinned. “Didn’t ask.”

I leaned in, stroked her cheek. She let me. But when I brushed my thumb across her lip—

“Don’t call me baby,” she said sharply.

I blinked. “What?”

“Or princess. I’m not your little anything.”

Giselle let out a slow laugh behind me. She was sprawled on her side, legs still damp and red from where Ningning had wrecked her earlier. She propped herself up on one elbow and raised an eyebrow.

“Well. That’s new.”

Ningning tugged at her cuffs again, chin tilted high.

“I can take whatever you throw at me,” she said. “But don’t think I’m one of your soft little toys. You don’t own me.”

Her voice cracked just slightly on the last word.

I reached out and grabbed her jaw, not hard—just firm enough to stop the noise.

“Not yet,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed.

And I saw it—the flash of heat beneath her defiance. She liked pushing. She just didn’t know how much she wanted to be pushed back.

I leaned closer. My cock pressed against her cheek, wet and heavy.

“You open your mouth when I tell you.”

She stared up at me. Didn’t move.

So I slapped her. Not hard. Just enough to sting. Enough to make her eyes widen.

“Open.”

She did. But her glare didn’t drop.

I slid in—slow at first, letting her feel the weight of it on her tongue. Her throat clenched reflexively. She gagged once. Then again. But she didn’t pull back.

Didn’t whimper. Didn’t break.

Not yet.

I grabbed her hair and started to move. Shallow thrusts at first, then deeper. Her spit coated everything. Her chest rose faster, her toes curled against the sheets. But her eyes never softened.

Giselle moved behind me and slid her fingers between Ningning’s legs.

“She’s soaked,” she said softly. “But still so fucking proud.”

“Not for long,” I muttered.

I shoved deeper. Ningning’s moan caught in her throat. She tried to twist her hips—away or toward, I couldn’t tell. Her body wanted it even if her pride didn’t.

“You gonna be good for us?” I asked, sliding out just enough for her to speak.

She coughed once. Spit clung to her chin.

“Fuck. You.”

I smirked.

“Princess, huh?” Giselle said, fingering her faster.

“I said—fuck—don’t—call me—”

Her voice broke. Her hips bucked.

“You feel that?” I growled. “That’s your body saying yes while your mouth still lies.”

She moaned. Loud. Uncontrolled.

And I knew. The brat act was unraveling. Bit by bit, she was starting to need this. Starting to fall. She was trying so fucking hard to hold it together.

Giselle had her fingers back inside her, slow and cruel. My cock rested heavy against Ningning’s cheek, glistening from where she’d gagged and moaned and nearly choked around it. And still—somehow—she had that look.

Like she was stronger than this. Like she could come out the other side and laugh in our faces.

Her wrists tugged uselessly against the cuffs.

Her legs shook.

And when Giselle curled her fingers just right, she flinched—but bit her lip instead of screaming.

“Still holding on, huh?” I said.

She didn’t look at me. Didn’t dare.

“Answer me, princess.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m not your princess.”

Giselle laughed softly and pressed a kiss to her stomach. “She’s still got fight.”

“Not for long,” I muttered.

I slid two fingers into her mouth. Wet. Rough. She moaned around them—but she didn’t suck. Didn’t give me that satisfaction.

So I pulled them out.

And slapped her clit with the fingers.

She screamed. Her hips jerked off the mattress—and I knew that one was close. I could feel it in her body. That tension. That edge. But Giselle pulled her fingers out.

I slapped her pussy again—light, fast, just enough to drag her back down.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

“I—fuck—please—”

“Please what?”

She bit her lip again. Hard. And that pissed me off.

So I leaned down and bit her nipple. Not gently.

She arched off the bed, crying out as I sucked hard, teeth grazing the soft skin until her breath came in sobbing gasps.

“Still not ours?” I growled against her chest.

She shook her head. “I—I—”

Another moan. Her hips twisted again, looking for anything—anything—to grind against.

Giselle smirked, brushing her lips across Ningning’s inner thigh.

“She’s close.”

“She doesn’t get to be.”

I reached down and rubbed her clit in hard, fast circles—just enough to make her hips stutter, her mouth drop open—

Then stopped. She let out a ragged cry, almost a sob. I did it again. Same rhythm. Same pressure.

Then stopped right at the edge.

“No!” she gasped, pulling at the cuffs. “No, please—I was—fuck—I was—”

“You were what?” Giselle asked sweetly, kissing her hipbone. “Cumming? About to cum for us?”

She whimpered. But still didn’t say it.

So we did it again.

And again.

And again.

Ten times.

Twenty.

Every time she got close—every time her body started to tremble, every time her moans pitched up, every time she gasped like she couldn’t breathe—

We stopped. And every time, she begged a little harder. Not for release. Not yet. But for mercy. For anything.

Her thighs were soaked. Her voice was shot. Her chest was flushed and rising in frantic waves.

She was breaking.

Finally.

“Please,” she panted. “Please—I need to—I can’t—”

“You can,” I said. “You will.”

“I’ll be good,” she whispered.

I tilted my head. “Say it louder.”

“I’ll be good.”

“Say what you are.”

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “Don’t make me—”

I grabbed her jaw. “Say. It.”

She choked on the words. Struggled. Fought.

Then, finally—

“I’m yours.”

I paused.

Giselle looked up at me.

I leaned down.

“You’re whose?”

She moaned.

“Yours, Mylo. Giselle’s. Yours. I—I belong to you—please—please let me—”

But we didn’t.

Not yet.

She hadn’t earned it.

And she knew it.

Tears slid down her cheeks. Her pussy clenched around nothing. Her body bucked, straining against the edge we held her on like it might kill her to stay there.

She didn’t say no anymore. She didn’t say anything. Just soft, broken whimpers of please, over and over, like a mantra. Like worship. Like surrender.

And when I slid my fingers into her mouth again, she sucked them eagerly—desperate, needy, completely wrecked.

Giselle leaned up and kissed her cheek, soft and slow.

“That’s our baby.”

And this time?

Ningning didn’t protest.

She was crying now.

Not sobbing. Not afraid. Just… shaking with the need. Her cheeks were wet, lips swollen, arms stretched taut against the cuffs above her head. Her body had given up. Her pride was gone. The brat? Buried under sweat, spit, and surrender.

I cupped her jaw and tilted her face toward mine.

“Say it again.”

Her voice was barely there. A rasp soaked in tears and desperation.

“I belong to you…”

“To who?”

She swallowed. “You. Mylo. Giselle. Yours—fuck, I’m yours—”

Giselle kissed the inside of her knee.

“Good girl.”

Her legs fell open wider without us even asking. Her eyes flicked from me to Giselle to the space between her thighs, like she didn’t know what she wanted first—just that she needed it.

“Let her have it,” Giselle said, crawling up beside me. “She earned it.”

“I don’t know,” I said, rubbing one knuckle against Ningning’s oversensitive clit. “Feels like we should make her say it one more time.”

She gasped.

“I’ll say anything,” she breathed. “Please—I’ll say anything—do anything—”

I slid two fingers inside her and watched her whole body seize up.

“Anything?” I asked.

“Yes! Please—I—I need to—please—I can’t take—”

I added a third finger.

She screamed. Her hips lifted off the bed, her cuffs rattling hard enough to shake the headboard. Giselle sucked on her nipple, tongue flicking fast. “Come for us, baby.” she whispered.

And Ningning broke. Hard.

Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning—violent and loud and devastating. Her back arched. Her mouth dropped open. And the sound she made? It didn’t even sound human.

“AAHHH—fuhhh—MYYLO—fuckfuckfuck—I’M CUMMING—!”

Her pussy clamped down on my fingers like she never wanted them to leave. She was twitching, shaking, gasping—eyes wild, legs kicking.

And it didn’t stop. Because I didn’t stop. Neither did Giselle. We forced it to keep going. Over and over.

Every time her voice cracked, I curled my fingers deeper. Every time her thighs locked, Giselle dragged her tongue up the inside of one. Every time she cried out, we gave her more.

Until she was nothing but sound and wetness and broken moans.

Until she was limp in the cuffs, eyes glassy, mouth slack.

Until she whispered it on her own—no prompting, no order.

“I’m yours,” she breathed, again and again. “Yours… yours… yours…”

And we believed her.

Because now?

She knew.

The only sound in the room was Ningning’s breathing—broken, shallow, too light for someone who’d just screamed her voice raw.

She hadn’t moved.

Her body was slack, arms still stretched from the cuffs, wrists pink. The defiance that had burned in her just minutes ago had vanished, drained out through her skin along with everything else. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t look at either of us.

I didn’t wait.

I got up first. Found a fresh towel, ran warm water from the bathroom sink. I soaked it, wrung it out. The mirror caught my reflection for a second—hair wrecked, chest rising with the kind of high that comes only from the most intense experiences.

But I wasn’t thinking about myself.

I was already back at the bed, already kneeling beside her.

Ningning flinched slightly when the towel touched her inner thigh.

“Easy,” I said, my voice lower, slower now.

Her eyes opened—barely. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

She blinked, trying to focus. “I feel…”

“Overloaded,” I said. “Yeah. I’ve got you.”

Giselle watched from the other side, head propped in her hand, gaze soft but quiet now. She didn’t move to interfere.

I ran the towel between Ningning’s legs, gentle, careful, like I was wiping away more than just the mess. Her breath hitched. Not from pain. From… whatever was settling in her now. She turned her face toward the sheets and let me keep going.

“Let me see your wrists.”

She hesitated. Then raised them.

Pink. A little red. No welts, no breaks. Just pressure marks. I kissed each one without thinking, then rubbed my thumbs in slow circles over the skin.

“You okay?”

Her throat worked. “I think I left my body.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I noticed.”

She made a small noise—not quite a laugh. Then: “I wasn’t expecting… all that.”

“You didn’t have to be. We were watching you.”

“I liked it.”

“I know,” I said, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. “That’s why we did it.”

Her lashes fluttered. She looked tired. Glowing. Messy and open and real in a way I hadn’t seen before.

“Do you want some water?” I asked.

She nodded.

I helped her sit up, cradling the back of her neck with one hand, slipping the bottle to her lips with the other. She drank slow, eyes on me the whole time.

When she finished, I wiped her mouth and kissed her cheek.

She closed her eyes again and leaned against me.

No words. No bratty lines. No biting.

Just trust.

That weight hit me all at once. She’d let us wreck her. And now she was letting me hold what was left.

Giselle finally moved, pulling a blanket up over Ningning’s legs. She didn’t speak—just rested a hand on her thigh and met my eyes.

You’re doing good, that look said.

I wrapped both arms around Ningning and let her settle into my chest.

“Stay here,” I said. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

And she did.

Ningning was warm against me. Warm and limp, her body curled into my side like she belonged there, her breath still a little shaky. She hadn’t said much since she came down. Just small hums, tiny nods. I kept stroking her hair.

PART 5

[lowrisemiller]

3, 2, 1, ACTION . ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

based on this ask | masterlist | 2.8k words | 📹 | having sex and recording it, kissing, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv sex, switch povs, m!masturbating, edging | i had sm fun w/ this tysm for requesting! |

summary: you found an old but working camera while out on patrol. instead of thinking about take pictures and creating memories something else completely took over your mind…

You found it buried in the snow just past the perimeter—half-dead, lens cracked on one side, but the battery still blinked when you thumbed it on. A camera. God knows who dropped it, or when, or what it had seen before it landed in your hands. It didn’t matter.

You carried it home like it meant something. Like it had a purpose.

Joel sat on the couch in his flannel and jeans, working a knot out of his boot lace, fingers slow, tired. You watched him from the doorway a second too long, camera heavy in your jacket pocket. He looked up.

“What?” he asked, soft but suspicious.

You swallowed your nerves. “I brought us somethin’.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Unless it’s dinner, I ain’t in the mood.”

You walked over, pulled it out like it was a damn wedding ring. Set it gently on the coffee table between you. “It’s a camera.”

Joel glanced at it, uninterested. “Yeah. And?”

“And it works.”

He blinked. “Okay.”

You sat next to him, thigh brushing his thigh. “I was thinkin’… maybe we could use it.”

A pause.

He turned slowly to face you. “Use it how?”

You hesitated, cheeks burning. You hadn’t meant to say it so soon, but the way he was looking at you—all stern and unreadable—made you want to push. Made you want to crawl in his lap and ask for things you shouldn’t.

“I wanna record us,” you said. Quiet. Honest. “Just once.”

His jaw tensed. “What do you mean—us?”

“You know what I mean.”

Joel stared at you like you’d lost your mind. “Sweetheart…”

You got to your knees in front of him before he could keep talking. Looked up at him, palms splayed on his thighs.

“I just wanna see it,” you said, desperate now. “Wanna see how you touch me. How you—fuck, Joel, how you look when you’re inside me.”

His hands hovered like he didn’t know where to put them. “That’s not—baby, that’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“You really want somethin’ like that lyin’ around? It could be dangerous.”

“I’ll keep it safe. No one’ll ever see it but me.” Your fingers curled around his belt. “Please, Joel. Just once. For me.”

He exhaled hard. Looked down at you, torn and twitchy and so close to giving in. His hand finally dropped, touching your cheek.

“You don’t need a camera,” he said, voice low. “You got me right here.”

You leaned into his hand. “But I wanna keep you forever.”

That did it. You felt it in the way his thighs shifted under your palms. In the soft groan he tried to swallow. In the way his thumb dragged across your lips like he was already picturing it.

He closed his eyes.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Once. But you stay close. You do exactly what I say.”

Your smile was slow. “Always do.”

Joel cursed under his breath.

And when you got up, went to set the camera just right on the nightstand, you didn’t miss the way his hands were already undoing his belt.

You can hear the soft, static click of the record button, and that’s it. No beeping. No countdown. Just that tiny blink of red in the corner of the room, steady and quiet like it’s watching you breathe.

Joel’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread, shirt already off, that strong, tired body on full display—his chest dusted with gray hair, thighs flexing as he watches you set up the frame. His jeans are undone, waistband tugged low, the bulge in his boxers thick and heavy, straining.

He’s already half-hard.

“You’re sure?” he asks again, voice low and rough.

You nod, stepping toward him slowly. You crawl between his legs and place your hands on his thighs, the denim warm under your palms. “It’s already recording.”

Joel drags a hand down his face like he’s regretting every decision he’s ever made—but when you kiss the inside of his knee and trail your mouth up the inseam, you feel him twitch under the fabric.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

“You don’t even have to look at it,” you whisper, lifting your eyes to his brown ones. “Just look at me.”

And when you lean up to kiss him, he grabs your face with both hands and kisses you back so hard your breath catches in your throat. The kind of kiss that makes your knees weak. Tongue slow, patient, possessive. Like he’s trying to brand the shape of you into his mouth.

By the time he pulls away, you’re gasping.

“Clothes off,” he says hoarsely. “C’mon. Let me see you.”

You undress for him—slow, tugging your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra, slipping your pants down one leg at a time. He watches every second. Not the camera. You.

When you’re bare in front of him, he lets out a low breath. His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs tracing the skin just above your knees.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re already wet.”

You nod, dizzy. “Joel—please.”

“Lay back.”

You do. Back hitting the mattress, legs spreading for him automatically. He crawls over you, bigger than the bed, arms braced on either side of your head. His mouth brushes your ear.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at the fuckin’ camera. I want you to feel this.”

He kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His tongue drags slowly and heavy over one nipple, then the other, before he kisses down your belly and sinks between your thighs like he belongs there.

And when his mouth finds you—warm, wet, perfect—you arch with a soft cry. His tongue is patient. Flat, dragging circles over your clit, then flicking faster, lips sucking it until you’re whimpering, twitching, trying not to close your eyes.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let it show.”

You’re already shaking when he finally rises to his knees and strokes himself—slow and hard, leaking at the tip. You watch the way he fists it, how red and thick it looks in his hand, and you whimper.

“I want it,” you breathe. “Inside.”

Joel groans low in his throat. He lines up, runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, and just barely pushes in.

The stretch burns—thick, aching, perfect—and your mouth falls open on a gasp.

“Oh my God— Joel—”

“That’s it,” he growls. “Let the camera hear how good I fuck you.”

He thrusts deeper, watching your face twist, jaw slack, your breath catching. He moves slow—so slow—until he’s buried to the base, hips flush against yours.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he grits. “Always so good for me.”

He pulls out almost all the way and pushes in again, groaning as your cunt clenches around him. One hand slips under your thigh and hooks it higher around his waist, opening you more, making room.

Each thrust drags the air from your lungs.

He keeps it steady, rhythm deep and deliberate, hips rocking into yours as your body trembles. Your moans are high and desperate, choked off by the sheer pressure of him inside you.

You try to speak. Try to say his name. But it just comes out as noise.

Joel chuckles darkly, voice fucked-out. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted to see how I ruin you?”

You nod helplessly, eyes wet.

“Look at how easy you come apart,” he mutters, fucking into you a little harder now. “You’ll watch this back with your hand between your thighs, won’t you? Pretending' it’s me.”

You moan louder, body jolting.

“Say it.”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer. “I—fuck, Joel—I will.”

And then it happens—

He changes.

The moment your voice breaks, something flickers in him. His hips snap harder. His breath hitches. His hand grips your jaw tight enough to keep you still as he fucks you like he’s gone feral.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “Every fuckin’ inch of you. Look at how you take me. Like you were made for it.”

The camera is forgotten.

Now it’s just skin and sweat and the wet sound of you taking him again and again, your cunt sucking him in so greedily it makes him groan every time he bottoms out.

He lifts your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half. Fucking deeper. Harder.

“Gonna come all over this cock,” he mutters, voice hot against your neck. “Wanna show you what you do to me. Look at me, baby. Eyes on me.”

“I— I’m close— Joel— I—”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ know.”

His hand flies to your clit, thumb rubbing tight and fast, and your whole body clenches, legs trembling as your orgasm hits like a wave.

You cry out, loud and wrecked, and Joel’s hips stutter.

“Fuuuuck—that’s it,” he groans. “Take it. Take all of it.”

He comes inside you with a long, broken sound, cock twitching deep, filling you until it spills out slow and warm between your thighs.

And when he finally collapses over you, your legs still draped over his shoulders, you both lay there for a long, breathless moment.

The red light blinks once.

Still recording.

Joel’s voice is a rasp against your skin.

“You really gonna keep that forever?”

You smile, dazed. “Every second of it.”

It’s late.

The house creaks now and then with the wind, but nothing stirs. Not even the fire—burnt down to its glowing bones.

And Joel? Joel’s sitting still in that damn chair like something’s wound tight in his chest and won’t let go. You’ve been gone since morning—long patrol east, won’t be back until tomorrow—and the silence left behind has teeth.

He’s already two buttons down, belt unbuckled, pants shoved low on his hips.

In front of him, the old camcorder sits steady on the wooden table. The one you found on patrol, grinning and breathless when you handed it to him. Said it was still functional—still had some battery left, even. He’d grunted at the time, tossed it on the dresser like it didn’t mean anything.

It means something now.

The little screen flips open with a soft click, a flicker of blue light humming to life, and then—

There you are.

The video’s grainy, but Joel doesn’t care. He can see you just fine. Better than fine. You’re spread out on his bed, legs open, body moving beneath him, a haze of sweat glowing on your skin. His body, rough and broad, takes up half the frame. The camera had been set on the nightstand, just a little off-center, so it catches everything.

You had begged him for this.

On your knees, mouth swollen, voice wrecked: “Just once. I wanna see it. I wanna keep it with me forever.”

He hadn’t said yes right away. He never did. But the way you’d looked at him—wanting, soft and wicked at once—he’d given in. You always got what you wanted from him when you looked like that.

And now he gets this.

Joel strokes himself once, slow, thick fingers dragging from base to tip. His cock twitches, already wet at the head, leaking for you like a goddamn teenager. It’s not even shameful—he’s too far gone for shame.

On the screen, your back arches. His hand wraps around your throat. Your moan crackles through the built-in speaker, quiet and sweet and soaked in pleasure.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasps, mouth parting.

He strokes again, slow, tight around the base. Watches as his on-screen self pushes into you—deep, hips flexing as he buries himself to the hilt. You take him like you were made for it. The wet drag of his cock inside you, the sound of your cunt clenching down on him, all of it plays through the camcorder’s tiny speaker like a prayer.

Joel swallows hard. His hand leaves his cock, resting against his thigh. He’s not ready to come. Not yet.

He watches you pant, watches your fingers grip the sheets. Onscreen, he grabs your leg and pushes it up—opens you even wider. The camera shakes slightly as the bed rocks beneath you. The sound of your moan—high, breathless, needy—makes Joel groan in real time.

He presses a hand to his belly. His cock twitches against it, hot and heavy and needy.

Then he hears it—his voice, low and rough: “That’s it, baby. Take all of it.”

His own voice ruins him.

He fists his cock again and strokes, just once. Once. The sensation is almost too much already.

He breathes through his nose, sharp and shallow. The tape keeps going. He watches himself roll his hips into you slowly, watches your eyes flutter shut, your thighs shaking. Then, you say it—his favorite part—whimpering, desperate: “Joel, I can feel you in my stomach—oh my god—”

“Shit,” he mutters aloud, hand tightening. His hips jerk up into his fist involuntarily, needing more pressure, more friction, but he slows himself. He won’t come. Not yet.

He shifts, wide legs bracing him in the chair, the tension winding him up like a coil. The camcorder’s screen catches the moment he presses your legs up and leans in, burying his face in your neck as he pounds into you. Your body bounces from the force of it, your tits moving with every thrust, mouth open in a silent scream.

He hears himself on the recording again, low and cocky now: “Fuckin’ made for me, huh? Look how good you take it.”

Joel groans, stroking himself harder now. His hand glides slick with spit and precum. He’s dripping everywhere—his belly, his fist, the arm of the chair. He wants to finish, but he needs to draw it out.

The tape plays on. He watches you start to come, sees the exact second it hits you—your mouth drops open, legs shaking around his waist, that tight clench that he knows so well rippling through your body. You’re crying out for him. His name—“Joel, Joel, Joel—” Like a goddamn melody.

And he’s right there on-screen, watching himself fuck you through it, muttering filth in your ear. He feels that phantom tightness, the way your cunt always pulses when you come, and he has to stop again, squeezing the base of his cock to hold it off.

“God damn,” he grits out. “You feel so good. I fuckin’ ruin you every time, huh?”

He doesn’t even realize he’s talking aloud. The camcorder repeats the moment of his own orgasm—hips stuttering, body locking up, face buried in your shoulder as he spills inside you. It’s raw. It’s real. No performance. Just pleasure.

Joel can see the aftermath, too—his cum dripping down your thigh, your body boneless and twitching beneath him, both of you panting like you’ve just survived a bloater in the woods. The way you pull him close, even when it’s over. The way he kisses your hair. The way he worships you even when he doesn’t say it out loud.

He strokes again, slower now. More reverent.

The screen goes dark for a second as the footage loops.

Then it starts over.

You again. Lying back. Welcoming him in. Your voice: “Please, Joel—want you so bad—”

Joel clenches his jaw.

He edges himself through the whole damn tape again, sweat slicking his chest and temples, cum threatening to boil over. But he holds it. Every time. Over and over.

By the time he finally lets himself finish, he’s groaning so loud he has to shove his fist in his mouth to muffle it. His thighs shake. His hips jerk up off the seat. His release is hot and heavy, spilling over his knuckles in thick ropes, coating his hand, his belly, his shirt.

“Fuck,” he chokes, spent and trembling.

The camcorder plays on. Your voice is soft now. Laughing. Telling him you love how wrecked he looks after.

Joel leans forward, presses the pause button with a shaking finger. The screen freezes on your smiling face, sweat-slick and beautiful.

He sits back.

Breathless. Heart pounding. Cock twitching even after he’s come.

He doesn’t rewind it. Doesn’t delete it.

He just closes the screen with a soft click, tucks it away, and wipes his hand on the hem of his shirt.

He’ll watch it again tomorrow.

Maybe the day after that.

And if you’re gone too long, maybe he’ll hit record again the next time he fucks you—just to remember how good you feel.

tags: @zevrra @xodilfluvr

[mallory524]

a bunch of teenagers

bob x reader

(she/her)

pictures from pinterest

summary- Bob has really started to like you, but he assumes you don’t feel the same way about him. You do though, and everyone seems to know that except Bob… and apparently also Walker, who really thought he had a chance

warnings- thunderbolts* spoilers kinda, thunderbolts being roomies and hanging out yayy, pining, slight jealousy, bob not feeling very confident :( small mention of void stuff, slightly suggestive mention, john walker likes you and of course that goes absolutely nowhere, bucky is getting too old for this foolishness, hand holding, fluff

word count- 1443

notes- i will write for any of the thunderbolts, you guys, the obsession has reallyyy set in

The view of the sunset from the Watchtower is a beautiful backdrop for an already nice evening with the group. You’re all sitting around, waiting for Bucky to come back with food for everyone. Alexei is telling some awfully embarrassing childhood story about Yelena, who keeps trying to cut him off mid-story. "No listen, I was a small child-"

Bob is listening and occasionally laughing, but he’s focusing on you more than he’s focusing on the story. You’re sitting right next to Alexei and trying really hard not to laugh at his story (for Yelena’s sake) but occasionally you cover your face as your whole body shakes with laughter. Bob loves it. He loves seeing you smile. He feels like he’s being weird so he looks away, but he quickly notices that he’s not the only one looking at you.

Walker, who’s sitting right across from him, keeps glancing your way, too. Bob’s never considered before that Walker would like you, but it's not surprising. Of course he would. You’re so funny and smart and you’re tough, but you can also be so kind and, of course, you’re absolutely beautiful... Walker would have to be so dumb to not to see all of that, but it doesn’t mean that Bob approves of this at all.

He doesn’t think Walker is right for you, and he's never considered that you might see Walker that way, but now the idea is in his head and he hates it.

Walker can be a real jerk, (and of course he’s got some rage issues), but he is good looking, and he’s actually able to help on missions. Bob has to stay back most of the time. Plus, sometimes Walker can be pleasant. Sometimes.

Walker also doesn’t risk showing you your most awful traumatic memories every time you touch. Bob’s mostly got it under control now, but it doesn’t matter because now he’s got the mental image of you and Walker touching and that makes him feel nauseous. The idea of you and Walker-

He doesn’t realize he’s been intensely staring down Walker until he looks up at Bob with the most confused look on his face and mouths “what??”.

Even the mere idea of something happening between you and Walker is bothering him, and he can't get it out of his head. I don't know why I'm upset. It's not like I ever had a chance.

After dinner, everyone starts to split up and do their own thing around the tower for the rest of the night. Of course, no one bothered to clean up after themselves, so you take it upon yourself. Bob walks over and hands you another dirty plate. “Sorry”, he says with a shy little laugh.

“Aww dang", you say with a chuckle, "Thanks for actually handing me your dishes, though. Ava left hers on the floor”, and the two of you quietly snicker.

Bob awkwardly fiddles with random things on the counter, as if one of them will give him another excuse to stay there and keep talking to you. You suspect that's what he's doing, but you never know exactly what's going on in his head. Whatever he's doing, it's endearing. Although, you find everything about him endearing: his smile, his little laugh he does every time he's nervous, his messy curls that are starting to fall over his eyes...

You realize neither of you have said anything in a while. "Hey, how are you feeling tonight? You've been extra quiet", you tell him with a sweet smile.

Bob panics, "No, what? I'm fine. Um. I'm just tired, that's what it is", and he smiles at you, but then the direct eye contact is a little too much for him and he redirects his smile to the tile floor.

"Okay, just checking", You aren't sure if you believe him, but you're not going to push it. "Hey, did you see that video where-", and you start talking about something else.

Yelena walks back into the room to grab her phone, and she smiles and rolls her eyes when she sees you happily talking and laughing together.

At some point, Walker strolls in and soo casually leans against the counter, (he thinks he's being really cool), and thanks you for cleaning up, completely ignoring Bob, who is standing right there and helping clean up, too. Bob glances at you, trying to see if you act any different when Walker's around.

As Walker steps back into the hallway to go to bed, he stops walking for a second and glances back at you from afar, until a voice totally pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Don’t even think about it”

“Geez Bucky, don’t sneak up on me like that”, Walker says before turning back to look at you and Bob again. “But seriously, do you think I should go for it?”

“No”, Bucky says with no hesitation.

“Well don’t think too hard about it.” Walker responds sarcastically and crosses his arms defensively.

“I’m not just saying this to be disagreeable. Everyone knows she kind of…” Bucky starts to say before trailing off.

“What? What is it?”

Bucky hesitates and then decides Walker isn’t going to let it go. He leans in and quietly says, “Everyone around here kinda thinks she likes Bob.”

He’s dumbfounded. “Bob?? You cannot be serious. There’s no way that-”

“Watch it, John”

“No, you know I love Bob! But come on, don’t you think if I put the idea out there that maybe she’d at least consider it?”

Bucky groans dramatically, “Ughh I do not want to be involved in all this. I’m just letting you know I think you’d be... unsuccessful”, and as Walker rolls his eyes and walks back to his room for the night, Bucky notices that Bob’s down the hall, and has apparently been listening to the entire thing.

Bob quickly walks up to Bucky. “Do you think that’s true? Actually?”, he says in a hushed tone, with what can only be described as big hopeful puppy dog eyes.

Bucky mutters something under his breath about his new team being “a bunch of teenagers” and then turns to face Bob again. “I mean, she hasn’t said anything to me, but it’s pretty clear. Yelena and Ava were talking about this earlier and they think so, too.”

Bob can’t believe this. There’s no way. He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but if 4 of his friends think so, then maybe it really is true?

Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ask her to get lunch with you or something tomorrow. You can decide for yourself.”

Bob starts to frantically shake his head, “No, no I can’t do that, it would be so embarrassing if she didn’t want to.”

“Come on, man. She’ll want to. You should probably do this soon before Walker beats you to it”, Bucky says with a little laugh.

That was enough to convince him.

The next afternoon, you’ve been training for a bit, and now you’re going over some random important documents the group was sent. You see Bob over at the counter, so you decide to walk over and pour yourself some tea, too.

“Hey, Bob”, you say cheerfully, and he turns to look at you.

“Hi”, and he pours the tea into your mug without you having to ask.

You thank him and then look in his eyes. He’s clearly thinking about something. “Bob?”

“Would you like to go get lunch with me today?”, he says out of nowhere. He says it like he thinks that if he didn’t ask you now, he never would. Which is probably true. Any more time to think about it and he might've convinced himself it was the worst idea ever.

You smile warmly at him. “Yeah I’d love to. What time were you thinking?”

Bob is so caught off guard by your positive response that he almost doesn’t answer. “Uhh, we could go in half an hour. If that works for you, of course.”

“Yeah that works. Thanks Bob!”, you say, and then you gently pat him on the shoulder and leave the room to shower and get changed. Bob stands there for a second, hoping he didn't just imagine all of that.

When the two of you are ready, you slowly take his hand, and he lightly squeezes your hand back and smiles at you.

Over on the couch, Ava smiles, and Bucky pats Walker on the back with no real sympathy. "Told ya".

Walker kind of scoffs, but he can't help but smile just a little as he watches Bob step into the elevator, happily holding your hand.

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Show a Character Who Believes They’re the Villain in Everyone Else’s Story

╰ Behavioral Red Flags

They assume the worst intentions in themselves, even when they act out of love. They brought you coffee? Probably just guilt. They helped you move? Must be manipulating you so you "owe" them later. (They just care. But they can't believe that's true.)

They over-apologize for existing. You bump into them and somehow they’re the ones apologizing, looking like they've personally inconvenienced your entire bloodline.

They self-monitor everything. Every joke they make. Every word they say. Every look they give. Constant little glances at people's faces, desperate for signs that they’ve messed up again.

They let people treat them badly because they think they deserve it. Rudeness? Sure. Being overlooked? Of course. Public humiliation? Absolutely par for the course. Standing up for themselves feels wrong, like a thief demanding a refund.

They preemptively distance themselves when things get good. Got a close friendship brewing? Time to pull away before they find out I'm terrible. New romance? Better end it now before they hate me.

They assume jokes about "bad people" are secretly about them. "You know those selfish jerks who never change?" someone says. Their inner monologue: That’s me. They mean me.

They play up their flaws. Self-deprecating humor, but not cute self-roasting, deep, almost aggressive, like they’re trying to hand you the knife before you even think about stabbing.

They struggle to accept forgiveness. Apologizing feels natural. Being forgiven feels alien. Like wearing shoes on the wrong feet.

╰ Thought Patterns That Wreck Them

"Even when I try to do the right thing, I mess it up." Trying doesn't absolve them. Trying just delays the inevitable hurt they’ll cause someone else."People are nice to me because they don't know who I really am." Kindness isn't acceptance to them — it's a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode when the "truth" comes out.

"If someone is angry at me, they must be right." They don't even question it. Anger directed at them must be justified. They deserve it.

"If I succeed, it's by accident. If I fail, it's because I suck." Zero credit for wins. Full credit for losses. The math of their self-esteem is so rigged it should be illegal.

"If I ask for help, I'm manipulating people." Needing something feels like emotional blackmail in their mind. Better to suffer in silence than risk "forcing" someone to care.

╰ The Tiny Physical Tells

Laughing after their own serious statements, as if to soften the blow of speaking honestly.

Keeping their hands visible when talking (subconscious "I'm not a threat" behavior).

Flinching when someone raises their voice, even if it’s not directed at them.

Making themselves physically smaller—shoulders hunched, arms crossed, shrinking into themselves like they can disappear if they just try hard enough.

Dropping eye contact when complimented.

Holding their breath without realizing it when waiting for someone's reaction.

╰The Relationships They Gravitate Toward (And Why):

Fixer-Upper Friendships: They think they have to earn affection by being useful, by helping, by being "the strong one."

Unbalanced Dynamics: They let people use them because "at least I'm being helpful, even if they don't actually care about me."

Romantic Partners Who Validate Their Worst Fears: They often fall for people who treat them like they’re a burden—because it matches the script in their head.

Or... Relationships That Terrify Them: Because if someone genuinely loves them, they’re always waiting for the moment that person "wakes up" and sees the "monster" they believe themselves to be.

╰ How They Might Heal (If They’re Lucky)

(And if the author isn’t an emotional sadist. 👀)

A relationship where mistakes are allowed, not punished.

Someone calling them out, not for being bad, but for being unkind to themselves.

Tiny acts of trust that stick over time, slowly poisoning the idea that they’re inherently toxic.

Learning that being flawed and being villainous are not the same damn thing.

Being told, over and over, "You don't have to earn love by being perfect."

[ang3ltine]

"𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐬?"- Bucky barnes x former Avenger freader

An unexpected surprise awaits you when Bucky shows up at your house with a group of strangers

a.n - This is just a scenario of what it would be like for the members of the thunderbolts to crash at your place. Also this fic contains spoilers! (Let me know if you want a pt.2!)

Warnings - John Walker, dark humour, mention of injuries, minor cursing, making out and major fluff!!

"You gotta be kidding me, were not seriously bringing Bob with us are we?"

"Look Captain America, if it weren't for Bob we wouldn't have made it out of that death trap of a lab alive!" Yelena replies sternly. "Besides, he seems to have more discipline than you'd ever have."

This seemed to tick John off as the two of them started shouting back and forth, while Bob sat between the two of them awkwardly.

"Ok uhm...can we maybe...not fight?" He mutters under his breath but was completely ignored. Ava rolls her eyes at the childish scene before her and flickers her gaze down towards the nervous man. Silently telling him that it wasn't worth wasting his breath.

Surprisingly enough, he understood rather quickly and kept his mouth shut. Bucky groans in annoyance at the bickering in the backseats, and it didn't help either when a large man was snoring away next to him.

But swiftly brushes it off after pulling into a familiar driveway. He hadn't been back at this house for about a week now, so he was dreading what awaited him when he opened the doors. Especially since he has four other guests with him, who he quite recently found acquaintanceship with just a few days ago.

"Listen up, we're staying at this place for a while until things die down. So please, don't make this harder for me than it already is." Bucky states as the the group follows him down the pathway towards a red brick secluded house that was tucked in a small corner of New York City.

They all exchanged confused looks before reluctantly nodding at the grumpy man, with a few grunts and hushed responses. Honestly they were just really tired and their bodies were sore so there was no use in complaining.

"God - I hope she's in a good mood..." Bucky mumbles before reaching into his pocket to fish out his keys and was about to put it into the keyhole. Only to be interrupted midway as he hears the sound of another car pulling up behind him.

"Bucky honey? Is that you?!"

Everyone turned around at the sudden mention of 'Bucky' and 'honey' in the same sentence. All but Bucky himself as he walks back down the pathway towards you.

"Did I hear that right? There's no way Mr. Congressman would have a girlfriend." Ava whispers to the others as they all watched him walk past the minivan, disappearing from their sight.

There were mixed reactions as they all talked amongst themselves, trying to figure out who you might be.

You were pretty confused as well since there was a dirty minivan parked in your driveway. As soon as you step out of your car to examine the vehicle, you catch a glimpse of a figure in the corner of your eye.

Adrenaline kicked in almost immediately, thinking maybe this was going to be a robbery. I mean you do live in a pretty sketchy neighbourhood so it was possible. The sun was setting so it was pretty difficult to see who it could be, you had your fighting stance ready as the person steps out of the shadows.

"God Bucky! You could've said something instead of sneaking up on me like that!" You yelled and tried calming yourself since your heart was practically hammering against your chest.

"Yeah sorry 'bout that doll, didn't mean to scare you," Bucky drawls as he pulls you into his arm for a warm embrace. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the strong scent of gasoline mixed with his cologne.

There was sand mixed with dirt on his tough leather jacket, but you didn't question it since he had finished a mission. Honestly speaking, you were just glad he was home again.

You then peer over Bucky's shoulder and finally noticed the rugged group of individuals standing in your porch.

They wanted to see what all the fuss was about so they snuck up on the couple and spied on them from behind the van. You were about to open your mouth to say something before spotting a familiar face amongst them.

She had short and slightly messy bob cut and an oddly cute frown on her face. Yelena steps forward hesitantly while examining your face at the same time, seemingly trying to figure out where she had seen you before.

Then it clicks, you were her older sisters best friend. She remembers how kind and comforting you acted towards her whenever she'd come to visit her sister.

You spread open your arms for her and without hesitation, Yelena falls into your embrace.

"Its good to see you 'lena," you murmured into her hair while she smiles at the mention of her nickname.

" 's good to see you too..."

Bucky joins the rest of the group, a small smile tugged at his lips as they all watched the heartwarming scene unfold before them.

He's not sure what waited them past this, but for now, he just wants this disfunctional group of anti-heroes to find some sort of peace while they stayed here.

"Sorry I brought them here on such short notice," Bucky mutters as he leans down to your height when you let the others into your house.

"Ahh it's no biggy. Besides, I'm happy to have more house guests." You quipped while closing the door after Bob awkwardly walks in as the last in line.

Everyone had already made their way down the hall towards the living room to look around. Yelena let's out a long whistle as she checks out the place, to be fair, your house was quite spacious since you got the best place in the neighbourhood thanks to Pepper.

Although she insisted on getting you a penthouse, you turned down the offer.

"What's this?" Alexei asks with curiosity after picking up a delicately crafted box. You ran over to where he was and effortlessly took it from his hands so that he doesn't break it.

"Oh well - it's a gift from a friend. She's gone now...so I like to keep it up on the mantle to remember her by." You say in a hushed tone while you look down at the detailed craftsmanship in your hands.

Alexei knew exactly how you felt, so he placed a large hand on your shoulder and gave you a light squeeze of acknowledgement. "I understand, Alexei has been through much loss just like you."

Thanks to Yelena, you had the privilege of meeting Alexei a few years back when Natasha was still alive. So you were happy to have both of them back in your life.

"Dad, you can stop bothering her now. You've said enough shit already." Yelena groans while dragging Alexei away from you since he was still rambling on about Natasha and how much you reminded him of her.

"Do we have enough space for them?" You felt Bucky's fingers brush against the back of your hand to get your attention since you were still deep in thought.

"Hey...you ok doll?" Bucky asks with a worried tone since you hadn't responded to his previous question. You snap out of your thoughts and look to your left to see Bucky by your side. His brows were furrowed as he brought up his other unoccupied hand to cup your cheek.

"Uh yeah..! I'm fine," you respond with a tight-lipped smile. Bucky had just come back from a mission, so you didn't want him to now worry about you too. He wanted to press on but then thought it would be better if he just let it slide this time.

"Are we sleeping down here?!" Yelena yells from another room down the hall. The rest of you make your way to where Yelena was, she had found one of the guest rooms and was already laying down on the neatly done sheets.

"You could've at least taken a shower before hopping onto the bed," Bucky sighed in disappointment. Yelena's clothes were pretty dirty since they had come back from the desert.

"Oh right! Sorry that was my bad," Yelena responds in a muffled voice as her face was now planted into the plush pillows.

"Its fine, there's extra duvet covers in the storage closet," you say while walking towards the walk-in closet in the room. "Don't worry guys! There's more rooms upstairs."

"Do we have to share? I'm not sure how I'd feel if I have Santa Clause sharing a bed with me." John grunted while crossing his arms. You assumed he was referring to Alexei , which almost made you snort in response.

"I'm serious! Does he not look like the Russian Santa Claus to you?" John carries one while Yelena lets out a coarse laugh from the bed.

"Pfft - sorry John, there's only 3 guest rooms, so you have to pick your roommate wisely." Bob lifts his hand up shyly and clears his throat.

"I wouldn't mind sharing...if that's OK with you?" John thought about it for a moment before giving in. "You know what? Why not?"

"Great! That leaves one more vacant room -" You were cut off by another female voice.

"I'll take it," Ava replies rather quickly. John was about to protest and say that he changed his mind, but Ava gives him a sharp look which made him backdown. You were going to ask for her name, only to be cut off yet again.

"Oh right sorry, the name's Ava," she says plainly while giving you a small smile.

"Uhh OK cool, it's nice to meet you Ava. Let me guess, you also have an incredibly sad back story like the rest of us?"

"Oh God, don't even get me started..."

"Also...what's all this talk about 'thunderbolts'?" You prodded while giving Ava a confused look. Ava curses underneath her breath while the others shout in since that they're not called 'the thunderbolts.'

"Thunderbolts yes!! That's my lovely 'lena's football team name from when she was a child -"

"Dad please stop--!" Yelena groans while trying to get Alexei to stay quiet. It brought a smile to your face to see how liveley your house had become after being alone for a week.

"Alright, is there anyone here who needs medical care?" You asked while handing the new duvet sheets to Yelena.

"I think all of us do," Yelena sighed while clutching her side. She was so excited to finally sleep on a comfortable bed that the adrenaline rush took over, making her forget about the pain.

You nodded before turning back to the group. "Right, who wants to go first?"

Everyone had lined up in the washroom to get themselves checked since it would be easier for you to clean up afterwards.

You were currently bandaging Yelena's arm as she winces slightly. If anything, she had been through the worst due to the others being practically impenetrable.

"Just leave this on for a few weeks and take some painkillers. Trust me, the pain will be gone before you know it."

"Ok, thank you," Yelena exhaled while she got up to let the next person in. John walks into your view as you clean up the area for him to take his seat on the stool. The space was pretty cramped since you chose the guest washroom instead of the large one upstairs.

"Hey John, got any major inuries?" You asked while preparing a wetcloth and some bandages. John stops you midway and he shook his head.

"No not really, just have a few cuts on my face and the side of my head." True enough, he looked like he was perfectly fine except for some cuts and grazes that was scattered across his face.

You almost forgot that he took the super soldier serum back when he was Captain America. It was hard to forgot since you were with Sam and Bucky at the time. You nodded before putting away the bandages and took your seat infront of him. Now that you were face to face with him, you noticed how mature, yet different he looked from before.

"Must've been rough for you, running from the law." You start off by cleaning some of the smaller cuts with some wipes. "Trust me...I would know."

You were referring to the time you were on the run with Steve and the others for two years after freeing Bucky. That was how you two met and became close in Wakanda.

"You have no idea..." John responds with a slight waver in his voice. You choose not to press further and lightly dab the bigger cut on the side of his eyebrow.

Unbeknownst to you, John was silently admiring the way you were taking care of him. He doesn't mean this in a creepy way, rather he's surprised that anyone would show an ounce of care for him due to his character and lack of social awareness.

Bucky, on the other hand, misunderstood the scene completely. He had a glass of water in his hand when he went to check up on you. The water that was already in his mouth almost made him choke as he saw the way John made doe eyes at you.

As much as he wanted to strangle the man on the spot, he waited and observed at the doorframe. A smile threatened to tug at the corner of your lips as you felt the presence of the jealous man boring his eyes at the side of your head.

"Relax hon', John's just being John." Speaking of John, he blinked at you in confusion before looking up to see Bucky shooting bullets at him with his eyes.

"Don't worry, he's not going to do anything." You whispered before placing a clear bandaid on the scar. John didn't know if he felt reassured or threatened, so as soon as you finished, he scrambles to his feet.

Bucky steps aside to let John leave, but not before leaning towards him to say something. John flickers his gaze between you and Bucky before leaving with a terrified look on his face.

"Bucky dear, what did you say to him?" You sighed while placing the remainder of the medical equipment back in the medicine cabinet.

"Oh nothing really, just...gave him a peptalk." Bucky responds with a smug smirk as he walks into the washroom. You raise an eyebrow at him, which prompted Bucky to pull you in close by your waist with his arms.

"I didn't threaten him doll," Bucky drawls while bumping his forehead against yours, letting his hair frame his face. It was slightly damp with clumps of sand still stuck in some places. You'd have to remind him to take a shower later after dinner.

"Uh huh, that's why he left like a pale ghost? Because you gave him a 'peptalk'," you mused while playing with the lose strands of Bucky's hair that fell over his eyes. Bucky chuckles softly before responding.

"Right...just a peptalk." Your breath hitches when he bends down to your height while his hair tickled your nose from a loose strand.

"You know you're a really bad liar, right?" You huffed while the rough pad of Bucky's thumb ran gently across your cheek. Your skin felt soft and warm underneath his touch since the blood had rushed to the surface, painting a soft hue of red across your cheeks.

"So? Is that a bad thing?" Bucky's voice goes an octave lower while he inches closer towards your lips, his breath now heavy against yours. His scent flooded your senses, it was a mixture of his cologne and his natural musk from his skin. He hesitates before flickering his gaze up to you again. Silently begging for your permission.

You pondered for a moment while tapping a finger on your chin. "Hmm, do you really deserve a kiss?"

Bucky tilts his head to the side before giving you a deadpan look. But you knew that he was fighting back a smile, so you were the first to lean in. He did deserve a reward for being the amazing partner that he was. Except, he was too quick for you.

He dips his head low, and presses his slightly chapped lips against yours, practically melting into yours. The kiss was gentle yet full of desire. Head tilting the side, his hot breath mingling with yours as his tongue dragged gently across your bottom lip.

Coaxing you to open your mouth. Your tongue meets his as the hand slips down towards your waist. Pressing his fingers into your supple skin, which will definitely leave marks considering how tight his grip was. Not that he didn't mean to, of course.

"Love you s'much," your voice was barely a whisper as it was all becoming too much for you. Bucky let's out a small chuckle as you began to pepper his face with quick pecks before moving back to his lips.

He could picture his lips were probably now a sugary pink colour due to the lipbalm that you wore. The brand was probably called... Summer Fridays? Or something across that line.

"Love you too angel..." he mumbled against your plush lips.

The couple completely unaware that Yelena, Ava and Bob was spying on them from afar with popcorn in hand.

"Guys...I feel a sneeze coming," Bob whispers towards the two women sitting next to him.

"Cucumber! Cucumber! Cucumber!!" Both Ava and Yelena whisper shouted back and forth hurriedly. But it was no use, the sneeze along with their hushed shouting caught the attention of the couple in the washroom.

Needless to say, they learned their lesson from Bucky after an hour long lecture of why they shouldn't spy on people. That also included the punishment of getting limited screen time on the TV as well as playing video games.

p.s - I really love John's character and I believe he has some depth to him that could be explored more

Taglist: @doodlebob-mp3 @marianastudiesart @ordelixx @starktonyx @hisredheadedgoddess28 @avatarobsessedgirly @perdidosbucky-yyo

[darkredsugarcookie]

Hi!! I’m new here so I’m sorry if I do this wrong. Just want to send some Thunderbolts!Bucky ideas maybe he called his girlfriend (the reader) for backup (maybe she’s a former shield agent) but didn’t share too many info with the group and they all a little surprised to find out he has a girlfriend

Let me know what you think, thanks!

i absolutely LOVE this!!! Ever since I saw Thunderbolts I've been thinking about almost this exact thing and I got another ask for something similar, so here we are! I'm also tempted to make a part two of this but focus on the two of them more and make it a comfort thing to apologize for my shame room fic LOL

love you 3000!

Signed Up For This

Word count: 1,143

As far as the media knew, the two of you were nothing more than acquaintances. 

But it was a bond that had gone back a lifetime, from when the two of you had first met when you were fresh out of escaping the Red Room, to when he was the contact you had made to get a fresh start on life and he was in the process of trying to make amends with his existence, so he had offered to get coffee. “We both need some… new connections,” he had said, offering that awkward smile that you had fallen for almost as quickly as he’d fallen for you. 

It was your idea to keep it a secret. You knew how he felt about weaknesses and you were currently the only one he really had. If anyone knew the truth… God, it terrified him. The idea of losing the one pure and right thing he’d gained in this side of the century drove him into a panic more often than he’d admit. So he was glad you had brought it up, worried you might be offended or think he was ashamed of you.

Which was what made him making you the head of his security when he decided to run for Congress a little out of the blue, but you took it. Any opportunity to be close. Plus… who said sneaking around at work was for teenagers? 

But tonight, you had a different reason for asking to speak to him in private in the middle of the fundraiser gala. You knew that look on his face. That look that said he was plotting when he very much should not have been. 

“What are you thinking?” you asked, peeking around the corner for a moment before your gaze fixed on him again. It was a miracle his hair had stayed in place, but there was a reason he always made you do it for him. “I can see that look.”

“What look?” he replied, that dumb grin you’d fallen for years ago pulling at his mouth. “I’m not thinking.”

“You are such a liar, James Barnes. I can see it. Whatever you’re thinking, leave it alone. We are past our meddling days.”

“I’m not meddling,” he said. 

You tilted your head. “Do not let this stuff with Valentina get personal. You can’t afford to get in trouble with all this.” 

“The politics don’t—”

“I’m not talking about politics,” you said. “I’m talking about you, Buck. We don’t know for sure what’s going on and we can’t act until we do. Otherwise we’ll be in just as much trouble as she is.”

“I talked to her assistant,” Bucky said. 

“Her assistant? Mel?” 

“Yes. She’s on the fence.” 

“Okay. Tell her to call you when she’s made a decision. Don’t make it your job to change her mind,” you said, taking a step closer. He just stood there a moment, looking you over. Not in that ‘get in the office and take off that dress’ kind of way he normally did, but like he was just taking in your existence. “You told me that my job as your security is to keep you safe. But my job as your fiance is to make sure that we’re not making dumb decisions. Let Mel come to you.”

He nodded, reaching for your waist to tug your body closer. Normally you’d pull away in a setting like this, even hidden, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. Not now. Not when you had that feeling in your stomach that something was just off. And that feeling had never led you astray. “I just make your job harder, don’t I?” he said with a small, teasing smile. 

“You do, but I signed up for it,” you replied. 

“I’ll be good,” he said, nodding. “But… Mel’s just a kid. If she needs help—”

“Help her,” I said. “And if she needs more than that, call me.” 

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth. “My best girl,” he whispered. 

“Always.”

And you should’ve known after that conversation that it was only a matter of time. Within thirty-six hours, you were sent a pin drop link to some place in the middle of nowhere and a message that just said “need you.”

You’d tugged on that leather uniform jacket you hadn’t touched in a long time and braided back your hair before pulling up to some abandoned garage in the middle of nowhere, intel in hand. You could hear voices from inside, something about a “Bob” and exclamations of words you hardly understood. 

You shoved through the rusted door, swiping up on the tab in your hands. “She took over the old Avengers tower,” you said, approaching and offering Bucky the tablet. “Heat signatures say she has the place crawling with security and I ran facial rec on the guy she brought in early this morning.”

“So guns blazing is the only way in,” Bucky said, reaching to squeeze your hand in a silent thank you. 

You shrugged your shoulders. “Guess so,” you replied before turning to the abstract group of circus people tied up in front of you. And John. “What the hell happened here? Bucky, I told you to just leave Walker alone, he’s been through enough.”

“Who are you?” the little blonde in black asked. If you squinted, you might recognize her. Like some sort of really distant, childhood memory. 

Bucky blew out a breath before you could answer. “She’s my fiance.”

“Your what?” came from all four of them. 

“He’s married?” the brunette asked. 

“In the process,” I corrected. 

“How did that happen?” Walker muttered. 

��Oh, that is cute!” the large one exclaimed, seeming to be way too happy considering the circumstance.

You glanced at Bucky, your arms folded over your chest. “This is… who was so important?” 

“They’re witnesses,” Bucky said, giving you a look as if to tell you to be kind. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked at the others. “Most ragtag team I’ve ever seen,” you said, shaking your head. “What, exactly, is the plan here?”

“Well, originally, they were my witnesses,” Bucky said, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “But now the agenda looks a little different. Take out Val, help Bob. Then we go home.” 

“Bob?” You asked. “Like Robert?” You took the tablet from his hands and swiped it open. “Yeah, he’s a big deal now. If we’re gonna move, we need to do it fast.” You swapped a knowing look with Bucky as he nodded. “I’ll start the car.” 

As you made your way towards the door, you heard the voices behind you. 

“So you’re really not all bite, huh?” one of the girls said. 

“Someone really does have a soft spot.”

“Isn’t that cute."

And despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your lips.

[practistyles]

party 4 u

Inspirations: party 4 u by charli xcx my queen!!

In this part: smut!! also mean!harry, exes, slight dom!harry, choking (light), slapping (light), unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, size kink, belly bulge kink👀 , dirty talk, soft!harry at the end

word count: 2.5k

Y/N stood with her hip against the kitchen counter, frowning at everyone over her glass, as the lights and music thumped. She'd been stood here for a while, not because she liked the people here - she didn't even know them, or because the food was good - she wasn't hungry. The only thing that rumbled in her belly was a deep, fiery need.

A need to see Harry saunter in through her front door. She was down bad. It had been a month since they'd last seen each other, and as much as Y/N could tell herself she'd thrown his party because she needed to let loose and have fun, she knew the real reason deep down.

He still wasn't here, and now Y/N couldn't remember why they'd fought. Why she'd screamed, and he'd screamed back, and she'd locked him out in the middle of the night. The next day, he had moved out. And honestly, that first week without him, Y/N was happy. She felt free and joyful and embraced her single status. But now everything was different. She wanted to be near him, she wanted to feel his hands on her. Anytime she thought of fucking someone else to satisfy the itch, an ugly pit formed in her stomach.

She'd thought it was very smart to have this party, to invite all their common friends and ask them to bring everyone. She made sure someone texted Harry. But it seemed very much like there was no use. He was nowhere to be seen.

Y/N pushed herself away from the counter, avoiding the calls of some of her friends. Her mood was sour. What could he be doing instead? Y/N felt the snake of jealousy crawl up her chest. She'd been feeling restless enough this entire week, and she'd convinced herself that today was the day Harry and her would finally talk. But now she guessed she'd lie alone in her bed.

Outside the kitchen, people danced and grinded against each other. Y/N wanted to shove every single person outside her house. But she smiled as people pulled her into their groups, and she had no choice but to sway her hips along to the music.

She turned around, throwing her hands above and shaking her head, and then, their eyes met. Y/N's body kept moving, but she felt mentally paralysed. Harry stood in his black jacket at the edge of the room, sipping from a drink, eyeing everyone like they crowd bored him. He smirked, and lifted his drink up at Y/N. She saw his eyes move up and down her body, and every single thing she felt for him came rushing back.

She turned her body back toward the music, trying to ignore the way her entire body buzzed, but her head just wasn’t in it anymore.

He was here. He came.

She felt him before she saw him again - cutting through the crowd like a tide, eyes laser focused on Y/N. His hair had grown out a bit, and his emerald green eyes flashed in the lighting. There was a tingling in her belly, amplifying every minute.

And then he was beside her. He ducked his head to put his mouth next to her ear. "Nice party," he whispered. Y/N forgot how deeply his voice affected her too. She felt his lips almost graze her ear, and the shiver that went through her body was almost shameful.

"Didn't think you'd show up," she said. Huge lie.

Harry cocked a brow at her. "Really? I would say that all you've thought about is me showing up."

"Don't boost your ego too much. I just wanted to let loose."

Harry's face was impassive. With a clench of his jaw, he put his hands on Y/N's waist and turned her around to be pressed up against him. "Why'd you stop dancing then, hm?" He patted her hip. And like she was hypnotised, her hips started slowly moving side to side again. Harry's arms slid all the way around her waist, and he leaned in closer. Y/N felt intoxicated on his smell, mixed in with a bit of whatever drink he'd had.

"Tell me the truth, Y/N," he started, moving along with her. "No call, no text. But this entire house full of people just to run into me. Am I right?"

His fingers wandered underneath her top, pressing lightly at her belly. Y/N contained her groan but let her head fall back into the crook of his neck.

"Only threw this party for me, didn't you?"

Y/N turned around to face him, and she could tell he was just as turned on. She leaned in close, seeing how far she could go, and then her tongue shot out to lick against his jaw. Harry's breath hitched, and Y/N revelled in it.

"You know me so well. Why did you come, Harry?"

Harry's hands slid up her body to her neck. He put a bit of pressure, and Y/N's eyes almost rolled back, but then he went higher up and pressed her cheeks together, making her lips pout.

"Same reason as you I guess. Missed this little bratty mouth." He released her. "That's exactly what you are, right? A little brat, just dying for a bit of attention from me."

Y/N tugged on his shirt. "I could go to anyone..." she started, but he did not let her finish. He grabbed her hand, pulling her with him down the hallway into her room. As the door shut, Y/N was slammed against it, and Harry's mouth was on hers.

Y/N groaned into his mouth as he moved his tongue around dominantly, and bit her lip before releasing her.

"Don’t even think about touching anyone else" he spat out. "You understand?"

Y/N nodded. She was a bit too far gone in her horny state of mind to care about any self respect she had.

"Say it," Harry said. He lightly slapped her cheek with his palm. "Missed this, didn't you? Missed being roughed around by me."

She kept her head nodding. "Yes, Harry, fuck. I'm yours, just please..."

"God, Y/N, already begging. What do you want, hm?" Harry's fingers reached inside her pants. The moment they made contact with her wet, bare pussy, he groaned.

"Fuck, baby. I missed how wet you get." He slipped one finger inside Y/N, and she felt like she was going to burst with bliss. She moved her hips around his finger, head turning away from him, eyes shut tight. It was just one finger, but she felt full and achy already.

"More, please..." she whined, and Harry chuckled meanly. He put another finger inside her and Y/N let out a lewd moan.

“This what you want?” Harry growled, burying his fingers deep inside her until the heel of his palm was pressed tight against her clit. He rotated his hand, slow and deliberate.

Y/N nearly screamed. “Harry—oh my God!" She couldn’t do much but revel in the pleasure rolling through her body. It wasn’t enough. She needed more.

Y/N reached down and pushed his hand away from her pussy. Without a word, Harry brought his fingers up to her mouth, tapping gently at her lips.

“Open up,” he said.

Her mouth parted automatically, and he slid his fingers between her lips. “Suck.”

She wrapped around them, sucking greedily, tasting herself. Harry's free hand came up to wrap around her neck, squeezing possessively. His voice was strained.

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re so hot. You know that?”

She sucked harder in response, her eyes fluttering shut, needing him in every way.

“I want you,” she whimpered around his fingers, but he understood. He always did.

“You want my cock? Think you deserve it?”

“I’ve been good,” she mumbled.

“Yeah? But can you take it?” he taunted, pulling his fingers from her mouth, eyes dark.

“I can. I will. Harry, please, I’ll do anything. I’ll beg...”

He clapped a hand over her mouth, pressing her back against the wall. “Shut up. I got it,” he hissed. “You’re just needy for my cock, aren’t you? Can’t think about anything else.”

Y/N shook her head frantically, tears of frustration starting to gather in the corners of her eyes. Harry unbuckled his jeans, shoving them down with one hand. Y/N groaned at the sight of his bulge, thick, hard, perfect, and reached for him instantly.

Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock and she let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut. She forgot how big he was, how heavy, how deep he could reach inside he, and she needed him now.

Harry leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers as she stroked him once, then twice.

“Hands off,” he warned, voice rough.

She let out a whine of protest.

“You only touch what I tell you to.”

He grabbed both her wrists and pinned them behind her back, pressing her harder into the door. Harry pumped himself a few times and lined himself up to her entrance. Y/N felt like she was on a rollercoaster, waiting for the peak to happen. She felt him nudge her hole with his cock and she jerked forward at the contact.

When he finally pushed in, he was kinder than she'd thought. He didn't slam all the way in, but tortured her with a slow, increasing pace. When he pushed all the way in, Harry slammed his palm on the door behind Y/N.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed. His forehead came to rest next to hers, and he stayed still for a second, buried deep inside her. Y/N felt like she had passed out for a second. She didn't think she'd ever felt this full, even they fucked before. She moved her hips around and another noise drew out from Harry.

He pulled back and put his hand against her stomach, pressing lightly. "Fuck, I can feel my cock in here, baby. So deep inside you."

"Oh my god," Y/N whined at the visual. "So fucking deep, feel you everywhere."

Harry suddenly pulled out and jerked his hips forward. Y/N cried out. "Your little belly just swells up with me in it, doesn't it? Tiny little hole you've got. I can tell you didn't let anyone else in here," he said and bought his fingers to strum on her clit.

"Just you," Y/N trembled. "Harry, I'm going to cum," she cried. He said nothing, just increased his strokes. His cock bullied in and out of her pussy which opened up for him nice and easy with how wet she was. The sound of the door rattling behind them accompanied the squelch of his hips snapping at her soaking pussy.

Y/N came suddenly and all at once. She went completely silent and she felt something burst within her. Her eyes rolled back and her head tilted up against the door. Harry continued to hammer in and her pussy squeezed him tight as she came.

Her orgasm only made him go harder. Y/N's hip bone hurt with how hard she was being pressed into the door behind. Harry continued rubbing her clit, and Y/N felt faint. "It's a lot," she whined. "Too big, I can't take it anymore Harry..."

"Aw is it too much for your cunt? Just want your own and be done, huh?"

"Noooo," she cried.

"Bad luck, Y/N. I haven't had your cunt in a month. Gonna have my fill now." He continued thrusting, and Y/N felt the rise of another orgasm.

"Please," she pleaded, not sure if she was begging him to go harder or easier on her.

"You gonna cum again?"

Y/N shook her head no — even though her body said something completely different.

"You will. I wanna feel your cunt squeeze my big cock again. She’s so good to me even after all this time away. You can pretend all you want to hate me, Y/N, but no doubt your little wet pussy missed me a lot."

Y/N was crying now. Tears rolled down her cheeks. This is what she wanted — but she forgot how good, how full, how too much it felt. How deep he got inside her, how her entire body seemed to open up just for him.

Harry periodically slammed his fist against the door. Y/N was sure people knew what was going on behind it — with the way the moans were ripping out of her, the way Harry was fucking them out of her so clearly.

She felt the bubble pop again and she screamed — only to be silenced by Harry stuffing something in her mouth. It was her underwear, she hadn’t even realised when he’d snapped it off her, but it muffled her screams and loud moaning.

Harry was breathing hard and deep. He pulled out of her, and Y/N saw his cock glistening with her juices. She drooled at the sight of his red, angry, pulsing tip.

Harry put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her down to her knees. He tapped her cheek with his wet cock, and Y/N opened her mouth.

"I’m gonna cum in your other hole so you can swallow me into your belly, okay, baby?"

Y/N nodded and opened up wide. Harry grabbed her underwear out of her mouth and threw it behind him. He tapped his cock on her tongue, and a deep moan left him. Y/N wrapped her lips around his cock and moved her head up and down his length. Harry thrust his hips in time with her movements, and in no time, she felt his warm cum flood her mouth.

There was a lot of him, but Harry pressed her mouth down all the way to the base of his cock — and she had no choice but to swallow it all. She kept sucking and trying to lick, she wanted to please him as much as he had her, and she knew what he liked.

Harry pulled out of her, a string of saliva connected his cock to her mouth. He pulled her up, and Y/N was barely able to function with how hard she'd been fucked. Harry let her fall against him.

"My good girl," he cooed, and kissed over her face. "I missed you so much," he said, the roughness leaving his voice. Y/N felt her heart flutter. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him, to walk her to her bed. Harry put Y/N in, and her eyelids fluttered with tiredness.

"Where do we go from here, H?" Y/N mumbled as Harry pulled the covers over her.

"Well for starters, party over. I'm gonna throw everyone out. And next time you want to get fucked just find me, okay?"

Y/N smiled. "Are you gonna stay?"

Harry's face fell. "I don't know, might not be the best idea."

Y/N frowned. "You can't leave after you just fucked me full."

He needed no convincing. Harry nodded. "Fine, baby. Go to sleep. I'll be back."

Y/N snuggled deeper into bed, feeling the soreness all over her body. She knew she was gonna wake up with his head in between her legs.

****

this was so hard to smash out for some reason. writing smut is still a bit weird for me lol but anyway hope this was fun!! i couldn't stop thinking of this scene. we love a bit of mean dom h. 🤭

also idk if people who wanted to be tagged for ewh want to be tagged for all posts. so let me know if you want to be tagged for all posts!

[withahappyrefrain]

Bobby, who's only had sex a handful of times, has his dick sucked maybe once, not realizing how fucking big his dick is. It's not comically large, but definitely larger than average. Him thinking you're pretending when you're gagging on his dick, even going as far as to roll his eyes because why are you being so dramatic

"Tryna take it all, Bobby, you're so big," and something about your cock drunk whine snaps something in him

I see this for Bob Reynolds! He's definitely on the inexperienced side. It's not from disinterest, he just hasn't been in the most stable mindset. During the moments he was clean, he was always told not to get into a relationship, otherwise doing so would put his sobriety at risk. Plus, that man has low self esteem, he's not downloading Tinder.

So when he's in a relationship with you, it's all very new- dating, emotional intimacy, and the physical intimacy.

When you ask to go down on him, he's a little shocked. Does it matter that much? Poor guy is so used to downplaying his needs 😭

"Uh, sure? If you want to!" He quickly adds, not wanting to put pressure on you.

Bob never thought a blowjob could be life changing.

"You're so pretty Robby." He doesn't know what's making him blush harder; your special nickname or the way your fingers are tracing the veins along his hard shaft.

"R-really?" His hips jerk when he feels your breath on his cock, "I mean, it's....fine. I don't think, I mean, it's nothing special, just-"

Trying to get Bob to take a compliment is something you're still working on. So instead, you shut him up by closing your lips over the head of his cock. The action causes Bob to throw his head back, biting his lower lip to keep that moan in.

The last thing he needs is another 'sex talk' with Alexi. Not even Yelena can save him from that.

Thoughts of his roommates quickly fly out the door. All he can do is watch you try to take him. There's a quarter of his shaft you're not reaching, using your hand instead.

Now, Bob is trying not to judge. He's truly grateful someone as amazing as you wants to be with someone like him. But truly, he can't be that big? No one in the past has ever made those sounds when they were with him. And Bob has watched porn. He knows it's possible to gag on it, but he also knows those are actors who are playing it up. So why are you?

"Are you....good?" He asks. It's blunt but the nicest way he can think to phrase it.

The whine that escapes your mouth vibrates against him, nearly sending Bob into a tailspin.

"You're just so big Robby. Tryin' to take all of you." Desperation laces your voice, amplified by the fact you dive back to taking his cock into your mouth, throat constricting as you tried to take more. His large hands grip your shoulders, his lithe hips now jerking forward.

"You're-fuck- you feel r-really good," His voice is strained. Now that doubt isn't clouding his mind, he can actually let go and feel. Your mouth is so warm and soft. He loves how you have one hand kneading the soft flesh of his thigh, the other stroking up and down his shaft.

"C'mon Robby. Wanna taste ya."

Turns out, Bob Reynolds does indeed enjoy blowjobs.

[witchslove]

Rivals

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You and Wanda work together but you can’t stand each other, until one day your boss asks the two of you to fake date for a promotion.

Warnings: 18+ nsfw content; power bottom!wanda, top!reader, office sex, oral (w receiving), fingering (w receiving), mommy kink, praise kink, slight angst

A/N: I need a mean older Wanda in my life, when is it my turn?

——————————

It was a beautiful day with a slight chill in the air as you walked down the street towards the Stark building. You had left early for work that day to get a coffee on the way there from your favorite shop, a small space on the corner of your block.

Coffee in hand, you strode to work, thinking to yourself that you couldn’t have a bad day after so many things had gone right. You’d woken up to your first alarm, gotten dressed without second guessing your outfit, and even had time to pick up a drink before heading to your office building.

Not that you had many bad days in the first place - Stark Industries was good to you. Work usually went by fast as you kept busy most days, finding peace in your daily tasks.

There was only one thing that threatened to ruin a perfectly good day at work, and that was Wanda Maximoff.

She’d worked with you since you’d started there and she’d hated you from the beginning. You never knew why nor did you question it for too long, finding that the feeling was mutual.

She was competitive and made it her goal every day to be better than you at your job. She would brush past you, ignoring your presence, while greeting your boss and then promptly find some way to one up you, making sure to jab at you subtly in the process. When others weren’t around, she wasn’t much nicer. She made snide remarks, gave backhanded compliments, and treated you more like you were an intern than her equal.

Despite her less than pleasant behavior, you tried not to let her get to you, but it was hard not to fight back sometimes.

It did bother you at times how she seemed to look down on you. You wondered what you ever could have done to make her dislike you so much. If things were different, you thought you might actually like her or want to be her friend, or at the very least her acquaintance. The first time you saw her, you were taken aback - she was admittedly a very gorgeous woman, which was even more frustrating.

Today was going to be a good day though, you told yourself. You had a cup of your favorite coffee, a song you loved playing in your headphones, and a meeting with your boss that day discussing your recent work, which you knew you’d done flawlessly.

Today was going to be a good day. Was.

What you hadn’t anticipated when you entered the Stark building, swiping your keycard to get to the elevator and going up to the 21st floor, was to see your boss at the front desk, waiting for you with the one and only Wanda Maximoff stood beside him.

She wore a maroon blouse with a fitted black skirt, the color of her shirt making her green eyes stand out, and if she was literally anyone else you would’ve complimented her style. That was another thing about her that was infuriating - she always looked good.

Your boss, Mr. Stark, laughed at something Wanda said before he noticed you and waved you over.

“Y/N, you’re prepared for our meeting today, yes?” Mr. Stark greeted, smiling.

“Yes,” you replied, nodding.

“Perfect, I expect nothing less from you,” he started. “Also, Wanda will be joining us today. I have something very important to talk to the two of you about, regarding our deal with the Osborn group.”

You tried not to let your face fall, forcing a smile and glancing at Wanda, who seemed to be pleased that she was crashing your personal meeting with the boss. You’d wanted the one on one time with him as you’d been itching to bring up a possible promotion ever since one of your staff members resigned. Your numbers had been impressive lately and you were sure he would at least consider it.

Now, unfortunately, Wanda would be part of your meeting and knowing her, she’d probably laugh in your face if she found out you were interested in moving up.

“Sounds good,” you responded as normally as you could, feeling slightly nervous for what was to come.

“See you both at 11,” Stark said, making his exit and leaving the two of you standing by the front desk.

There was a bit of an awkward silence before Wanda spoke. “You don’t seem too excited about me being at the meeting later. Do you not like me?” The redhead teased, fake pouting. “Or did you just want some alone time with Stark? I wouldn’t put it past you to whore yourself out to the boss for a promotion.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not all of us are like you, Wanda,” you replied, trying to get under her skin, despite not actually believing that she was that kind of person. It even slightly offended you that she thought you might be, especially considering you weren’t into men to begin with. “See you at the meeting.”

You walked past her to your office, setting your things down on the desk and running a hand through your hair. It was going to be a long day.

By the time the meeting came around, you’d finished your coffee and gotten some work done to kickstart your day, trying to keep your mind busy after your encounter with Wanda earlier.

You stopped by the break room for a water on your way to the meeting and arrived to the conference room a few minutes early, taking a seat next to the head of the table where Mr. Stark would sit.

The door to the conference room opened slowly and Wanda walked in, taking the seat across from you with a disapproving look on her face.

“You should really invest in some new clothes if you want to impress Stark. Yours look like they came from Goodwill,” she remarked, making a point to look you up and down where you sat. You ignored the way your body heated up at the action.

“At least I don’t dress like I want the boss to bend me over,” you shot back, not missing a beat.

“Oh, do you think about me bent over a lot?” she asked, smirking.

Now all you could think about was what Wanda might look like in such a position and you hoped she couldn’t tell you were blushing.

Before you could come up with something to say back, Stark walked into the room, adjusting the collar of his suit jacket with one hand, the other carrying a set of documents. You and Wanda both sat up straighter and greeted him simultaneously, almost as if you were competing to see who could say something to the man first.

“Glad you’re both on time, we have a lot to cover today,” Stark announced before taking a seat at the head of the table. “Firstly, Y/N, I know this was supposed to be something of a performance review for you. We can reschedule that for a later date. Today’s topic actually involves both of you, which is why I asked Wanda to sit in.”

You felt your stomach turn at the possibilities of what that meant. Maybe he had a project the two of you would have to work together on, or maybe he had finally caught on to your disdain for each other and you were both in trouble for being unprofessional.

Before you could overthink too much, he spoke again. “As you both know, we’re currently in talks of a merger with the Osborn group. They want to give us a percentage of their company in exchange for a shared client base.”

You and Wanda both nodded in acknowledgment, listening intently.

“However, Osborn is a family business that runs on certain values. Mr. Osborn has agreed to the merger under two conditions, the first one being that the CEO of our company be married, which I am. The second condition is that I hire two people to take on the merging process, which means extra work, but extra pay as well.”

He cleared his throat before continuing. “Now, the two of you are my best employees. I want to bring you both in to help with the merger.”

There it was - you were getting promoted, but you’d have to work alongside Wanda, who was also getting promoted. You tried not to show your mixed emotions, excitement at the prospect of moving up in the company, paired with the stress and slight disgust of having to work with Wanda.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad - maybe you wouldn’t have to work too closely with her.

“Here’s the catch,” Stark said, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Osborn wants a couple to take on the project. I want the two of you to do it, seeing as you’re the best in the company at what you do. It is a promotion, but if you want it, then the two of you have to pretend to be together for appearances.”

Your jaw dropped. You were finally getting the promotion you’d wanted for so long, but there was in fact a catch, a massive one at that. You had to pretend to be dating your work rival - some might even call her your worst enemy - for however long the merger would take.

“What are your thoughts?” Stark asked, looking between the two of you.

Wanda had an unreadable expression on her face. You couldn’t tell if she was pleased with the promotion or absolutely pissed at the thought of fake dating you. The fact that you couldn’t read her when you wanted to was almost as frustrating as the bomb Stark had just dropped on you both.

“I think we can make it work,” she spoke first, putting on a friendly face for show. “Y/N and I are both adults here and we would be silly to turn down such an offer.”

You swallowed, nodding your agreement. “Exactly,” you said, your voice almost cracking. “I’m sure Wanda and I can find some common ground.” As you spoke, you looked her directly in the eyes, as if your stare alone could convey that you could see right through her act and that you were only playing along too for the money.

“Perfect!” Stark’s voice broke through the tension and you looked away from Wanda to give him your full attention. “We’ll need to go over what’s required of you both for the position you’ll be taking. Not just the work aspect, but the relationship aspect as well. Osborn will have his own employees and clients here often and you’ll need to keep up the relationship act at all times.”

Stark opened the folder in front of him to pull out two contracts, one for you and one for Wanda.

“The second you’re here every morning, the two of you are together. I’ll also be paying for you to go on at least two dates a week outside of work. I know this is a place of business, but the more PDA the better. Today is for getting your stories straight, I want both of you to work together for the rest of the work day to come up with a believable foundation for your relationship and get to know each other better. I’ll take care of your individual workloads for the next two days as well, so you can focus on each other and we can get through all the paperwork. I hate to ask you to do all of this, but I trust the two of you can handle it.”

As Stark began to go over some paperwork with you, explaining each page before having you sign, your thoughts were everywhere but on the dotted line. Two dates a week? PDA? You weren’t sure you would survive faking a relationship with Wanda.

You hated to admit it, but the thought of kissing her had crossed your mind before, usually accompanied by enough disgust that you could ignore the butterflies it caused.

Wanda was beautiful - anyone with eyes could see that - and she was absolutely your type, but her personality always squashed any thoughts you might’ve had about wanting her.

Now, it was all too real. You would have to pretend to like her despite the torment she put you through since your first day at the company. You’d have to put aside your rivalry for the sake of your promotion and act like she wasn’t the bane of your existence most days.

You would have to kiss her.

Your mind was stuck on that and you couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was something more, but whatever it was had your head spinning.

Your thoughts raced as you finished the paperwork with Stark and Wanda, who seemed far too calm and collected the entire time.

When the meeting was over and Stark had left, you ignored a snarky comment from Wanda and exited the conference room with haste. You walked back to your office, finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as soon as the door was closed.

The merger would begin in two days and you had no idea how long it would take or how long you’d have to “date” Wanda. Two days of normalcy didn’t feel like enough time to prepare, but you knew what you had to do. You were getting promoted, and Stark trusted you with one of the most important collaborations to ever happen within his company. You decided you would just have to focus on that to get through what was to come. Everything would be okay.

Two days went by fast, faster than you expected, and it was time to put on a show. You and Wanda had used those two days to prepare, coming up with a story of how you got together and learning more about each other to make your relationship more believable.

Of course, Wanda never missed an opportunity to insult you or tease you during those two days and you wondered if she’d be able to hold back when it was time to pretend.

It was easy enough to come up with a story. You met each other at work and fell in love over time. One night of working late turned into a first kiss and a date that would soon follow.

You’d learned a lot about Wanda as well. She lived close to work at an apartment complex similar to yours but slightly more luxurious. She walked to work some days and loved to stop for a croissant on her way when she had time. She had a brother named Pietro, who lived about an hour away. She was born in Sokovia and grew up there with Pietro before moving to the States to pursue better opportunities, which explained why she sometimes sounded like she had an accent.

She found out a lot about you as well and you weren’t sure if that made you uncomfortable for good reasons or bad reasons. It felt both exciting and also nerve-wracking to share parts of your life with someone you spent so much time hating.

You found yourself hating her a little less as you learned more about her. She was a very interesting person and you wondered what it would be like to know her as someone who she didn’t make it her life’s mission to annoy every day. You wondered if she was feeling the same way as she got to know you too.

Whether or not she was, today was the day where you’d both have to put your rivalry aside and pretend to love each other.

You stopped for a coffee on your way to work, knowing you would definitely need one, and walked purposefully to the Stark building. You arrived ten minutes early, hoping you would have some time to sip your coffee and take some deep breaths.

As you swiped your keycard and boarded the elevator, a familiar voice called out.

“Hold it, please!” Wanda said, running up to the elevator with an outstretched hand, heels clicking against the tile.

You put an arm out to keep the door from closing and let her in. “I should’ve let it close,” you said teasingly.

“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten sweetheart, but we have to be nice to each other now. Think you can handle that?” she responded somewhat condescendingly.

“I can handle it, can you?” you asked, looking over at her as you spoke.

“You underestimate me, detka.” That was new, she’d never called you that nor had you ever heard the word before, but it sounded lovely the way she said it.

Neither of you spoke again as the elevator finished its journey up. The doors opened and the two of you stepped out into the office area where Mr. Stark was waiting for you, accompanied by a man you’d only ever seen in pictures.

Wanda moved closer to you, placing a hand on your lower back as you approached and you were glad she didn’t notice your slight shiver at the touch.

“Good morning ladies,” Stark greeted. “As you probably already know, this is Mr. Osborn.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, shaking Osborn’s hand.

Wanda did the same after you, only removing her hand from your back to shake Osborn’s properly.

“Y/N and Wanda here are going to be taking on the merger, the paperwork is already done and they’ve been briefed on what’s expected of them,” Stark announced, gesturing to the two of you standing there closely.

“Ah, so you’re the lovely couple I’ve heard so much about.” Osborn smiled warmly as he spoke.

“Yes, and we’re so excited to work with you,” Wanda replied, subtly taking your hand in hers and interlacing your fingers.

You knew it was all for show, but it felt weirdly nice to hold her hand and you internally cursed yourself for thinking such a thing. But you couldn’t help it when her hand was so warm and soft and her thumb stroked the back of your hand idly as she conversed with your boss and his business partner.

After a few minutes of talking, Stark excused himself to take a business call and Osborn turned fully towards you and Wanda.

“Thank you for taking on such a big role in the company,” he started. “I look forward to seeing more of the both of you.”

“We can say the same, sir,” you said sweetly, leaning into Wanda a bit to help the act.

He smiled again and with that, he stepped away, walking off towards one of the offices he would be using during his time there.

You knew he had other employees around the office so you couldn’t drop the act for even a second, whether Osborn himself was looking or not, so you fought the urge to pull away.

“Nice touch leaning into me,” Wanda mumbled, so that only you could hear.

“Was that… a compliment?” You asked quietly, unable to resist the urge to tease her.

“I would say don’t get used to it, but neither of us have a choice anymore.” Wanda turned towards you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you later.”

She pulled away to go to her office and start her day and you did the same, knowing you needed some time to yourself after your first little performance with Wanda. You almost thought it was going to be a long day, but then you remembered this was going to be your every day for a while.

The charade continued as the day went on and you worked more closely with Wanda on the merger, going over paperwork and calling clients together. Osborn’s employees would come in and out of the conference room to discuss things with the two of you, so you had to endure more loving touches and heartwarming compliments from the redhead.

At one point, Stark and Osborn had a conversation in the hallway outside the conference room, which of course had glass walls, making it hard to catch a break from faking your relationship.

You were reviewing a document with Wanda beside you when she spoke.

“Can you sign this one for me?” She handed you a form and a pen.

“What, no ‘please?’” You joked.

“No, I don’t think I need to ask, you’ll just do it if I tell you to,” she remarked back, catching you slightly off guard.

When you took the pen from her, your fingers touched and you knew Wanda did it on purpose. You looked over at her, feeling small under her intense stare, before signing the form and sliding it back to her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, sounding slightly distracted, causing you to look at her again.

When you did, her eyes weren’t on yours.

“Osborn has wandering eyes,” she muttered under her breath, her gaze on your lips, and before you could respond she was kissing you softly.

Her lips against yours felt incredible, you couldn’t even lie to yourself. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and in that moment, you never wanted to detach from her. You would work through why that was later, right now all you could think about was her.

You kissed her back, lips moving together in tandem, fitted so perfectly against each other it created even more conflicting feelings within you.

It didn’t last nearly as long as you wished it did, wondering why on earth you were hoping for more when it was Wanda you were kissing.

After a few seconds, she pulled away, leaving one last quick kiss on your lips before saying something about printing more documents and walking off.

You sat there for a moment, trying to collect yourself. As you came back to reality, you noticed Osborn looking in from outside the conference room and you were coldly reminded that Wanda only did that so he would see it. It meant nothing to her and it shouldn’t mean anything to you either.

With that, you focused back on your work, knowing in a few minutes you’d have to go over more of it with Wanda and the show would continue. You just had to keep reminding yourself that none of it was real.

From where she stood at the printer, Wanda smirked to herself at how you reacted to the kiss - she wasn’t going to let that go anytime soon. She knew she’d have time to tease you about it later, after she was done cursing herself for thinking about how soft your lips were against hers.

The rest of the day went by fairly smoothly. Stark and Osborn spent most of their time in Stark’s office, so you and Wanda had some time to cool off from the kiss earlier. That didn’t stop Wanda’s teasing touches however, because Osborn’s employees could be anywhere, and it seemed she was enjoying torturing you in a new way.

By the time you were getting ready to head home, you were beyond flustered and fairly certain you’d need to change your underwear. If Wanda wasn’t infuriating enough already, it was only made worse by the fact that she had this effect on you.

The days that followed were similar to that first day. You and Wanda continued to pretend to be a couple, with Wanda winding you up every chance she got, almost like she knew what she was doing to you.

Osborn was at the office a bit less every day, but his employees were always there getting work done even when he wasn’t around.

Therefore, the show went on. Wanda had gotten in the habit of giving you soft pecks on your lips before she would get up to go take care of work-related tasks and it was driving you insane. The short and sweet kisses were too much and yet at the same time, never enough.

You had come to the conclusion that you definitely felt something for Wanda, something other than disdain and irritation. As much as you tried to fight it, you wanted her. You convinced yourself she would never feel the same way though; with how she had always acted towards you, it seemed impossible.

Every touch, every kiss, every pet name Wanda called you - it was all an act. You had to push your feelings down as much as possible because you didn’t want her to find out and you didn’t want to get hurt. So you kept your guard up and tried your hardest to ignore how you felt, despite the fact that Wanda wasn’t making it easy for you.

You were starting to wonder if the promotion was even worth it.

Even so, you carried on, doing excellent work under Stark in your new position and working surprisingly well with Wanda, from both a business perspective and a fake dating perspective.

You had also found it in you to initiate more of the relationship acts with Wanda, if not to satisfy your own desires then to at least mess with her. Sometimes you held her hand, sometimes you moved hair out of her face, sometimes you kissed her on the cheek - every time, she seemed to like it. You figured she was just acting, as you were supposed to, but part of you hoped she wasn’t.

You loved that she sometimes seemed nervous or flustered when you made a move or teased her.

One time when she kissed you, you separated first, while she was still attempting to keep the kiss going. You decided to mess with her and said jokingly, “if you want to keep kissing me, you could just ask” with a smirk plastered on your face. She blushed and hesitated before she spoke. “In your dreams,” she remarked, before going back to work. You considered that a win.

Maybe it was worth it if you could get a reaction out of her too.

It had been a week since the act started and tonight was date night. Starting tonight, you’d have to go on two dates with Wanda every week. Stark gave you a company card to put all of your expenses on for the night, telling you to take Wanda to a nice restaurant he recommended and enjoy dinner with her.

You were nervous to be alone with her outside of work, but you were also looking forward to it.

The restaurant was a block away from the Osborn building, which is why Stark had picked it out for your date. You’d have to keep up appearances while you were out with Wanda, but you didn’t mind. Part of you was excited to at least feel like you were taking her on a proper date. You wondered more than anything how she was feeling about it too.

At the end of the work day, you left the Stark building and walked home to get ready for your date. You decided to wear slacks and a black dress shirt, wanting to feel confident while also not giving Wanda the satisfaction of seeing you in a dress. You straightened your hair and touched up your makeup, hating the idea that you wanted so badly to impress Wanda.

Slipping into a pair of high heels, you finished getting ready just in time for a car to pull up in front of your apartment building, courtesy of Mr. Stark.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, giving you time to hype yourself up. It was just a date. It may have been just a date with your arch nemesis, but it was just a date. You’d been on dates before, you could do this. It wasn’t even a real date anyway, you told yourself, it was just another one of many performances between you and Wanda to secure your promotion at work.

When the car pulled up to the restaurant, you thanked the driver and got out, walking in to see if Wanda had already arrived.

As you spoke to the hostess about your reservation, the door opened and you were absolutely not prepared for what came next.

Wanda looked stunning; seeing her like this took your breath away. Unlike you, she had worn a dress. The black material hugged her body in all the right places, with a slit down the side, exposing her thigh.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” Wanda said smugly as she approached, a cocky smile on her face.

“You look nice,” you managed to get out, trying to compose yourself.

“You do too for once,” she responded, smiling, the backhanded compliment not going unnoticed by you. You found that you didn’t mind.

The two of you were escorted to your table, where you pulled Wanda’s chair out for her and then sat down across from her.

“So chivalrous,” she commented, fingers tracing the menu in front of her.

“Anything for my beautiful girlfriend,” you said back mockingly.

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful?” she asked, smiling.

You rolled your eyes. “I also called you my girlfriend.”

“Yeah but you have to call me that. Didn’t have to call me beautiful,” she responded, raising an eyebrow. She had you there.

“Well, maybe I meant it,” you mumbled, trying to hide the truth behind your words and keep up the playful banter.

“You’re beautiful too, you know,” she said, looking at you intently. You blushed, unable to hold eye contact after the compliment. You muttered out a quick “thank you” and decided the menu suddenly seemed really interesting.

After ordering your food and drinks - you made sure to get something with a little alcohol in it - an awkward silence settled over the two of you.

Wanda broke the silence first, chuckling.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s just funny. I never thought I’d be here, at this fancy restaurant, having dinner with you,” Wanda replied, but there was no malice in the way she said it, only amusement.

“Cheers to that, because I never thought I’d be here either,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

“Where did you think you’d be? What kind of future do you see for yourself?” Wanda asked genuinely. You weren’t prepared for the conversation to take such a turn but you answered anyway.

The rest of the dinner went surprisingly well; the two of you talked about your goals, your lives before working together, your hobbies, and anything else you could think of.

You learned that Wanda loved to garden and you found it ironic that a week ago you never would’ve thought she was capable of loving something enough to keep it alive.

By the end of the night, both of you were slightly tipsy and actually enjoying each other’s company. You covered the bill when it came, using the card Stark gave you, and the two of you walked outside to wait for your rides home.

You leaned against a brick wall, laughing at a joke Wanda told you, catching your breath. As you calmed down, you looked at Wanda, who still had a bright smile on her face. It was so genuine and real, you couldn’t help but stare, almost as if you were memorizing her face at that moment. You felt like you were seeing her for the first time. She was undeniably gorgeous all the time, but something about her letting her guard down and laughing with you allowed you to see her differently - she was breathtaking.

She was everything.

You didn’t realize you were staring for so long until she noticed and returned your gaze. Her eyes flickered down to your lips and you almost shivered at the motion.

Just as you were about to speak, Wanda leaned in.

You met her halfway, kissing her softly at first, getting lost in the feeling of her lips against yours. She brought her hand up behind your head, deepening the kiss and you almost moaned when you felt her tongue against your lips. Your lips parted to let her in and she kissed you with more passion than you’d ever felt in your life.

This was the longest kiss you’d shared, and by far the most intense one. You never wanted it to end, kissing her back just as eagerly, allowing your tongue to swipe against hers. Your hands came up to her cheeks, one finding its way behind her neck to play with the hairs at the nape of her neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, just feeling each other and forgetting what you were supposed to be doing.

When her tongue licked into your mouth again, you whimpered, and that seemed to break the spell.

Wanda pulled back, pupils dilated, a slight look of panic painting her perfect features. “Sorry, I- I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” As if on cue, a car pulled up, one of Stark’s drivers, and Wanda got in.

She was gone as quickly as she was on you in the first place and it took your brain a moment to catch up with what had just happened.

The kiss didn’t feel planned, it didn’t feel fake, it didn’t feel like it was for Osborn or Stark or anyone at the company. It felt real - it felt like she wanted you just as badly as you wanted her. You wanted to believe that but you couldn’t let yourself. She left in such a hurry she obviously regretted the kiss and you weren’t entirely certain she hadn’t just done it because she saw someone from work walking by.

You groaned, reality sinking back in. Another car pulled up and you knew it was your ride home. You straightened yourself out and got in the car, letting your mind run through all the possibilities on the way home.

When you arrived at work the next day, something was off.

“Hey Y/N,” Wanda greeted you at the entrance and put a hand on your shoulder, letting her thumb rub circles, but it felt wrong. It felt calculated, like she was just going through the motions. Even the tone of her voice lacked energy.

You felt like she didn’t want to be there and didn’t want to be touching you - it was as if she was suddenly making no effort to be convincing.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, concerned.

“Everything is just fine,” she said back, forcing a smile.

Before you could say anything else, she walked to her office and closed the door.

You went to your own office and looked over the documents you had to deal with for the day, before heading to Wanda’s office to work on them with her.

You knocked before poking your head in. “Conference room?”

“Sure, I’ll be there in a sec,” Wanda replied coldly, void of any emotion.

You tried to ignore the way she was acting but you couldn’t. It wasn’t her usual cruelty towards you; this was somehow worse.

A few moments after you set up in the conference room, she came in, ignoring you and getting straight to work.

All day, she handed you papers to sign and occasionally put an arm around you when an Osborn employee walked by, swiftly removing it once they were out of sight.

At one point, Stark came in and gave you both a mountain of paperwork to do with a deadline of tomorrow morning at 8am. He apologized and said you could both stay late and get overtime, then left the room to meet his own deadlines.

So now what felt like the longest day of work was actually going to be the longest day of work.

Wanda’s behavior persisted throughout the day and well into your overtime hours. Everyone had left the office so there was no one left to put on a show for and Wanda made sure you knew that.

Her overall coldness towards you was bothering you more than it should’ve and you finally said something.

“You know, this whole relationship act is supposed to be convincing.”

“No one is here now,” she retorted nonchalantly.

“You’ve been acting like this all day.”

“And I’ve been touching you all day and being sweet with you in front of the others,” she said, before looking at you. “What, do you need more? In case you’ve forgotten, this whole relationship act is exactly that - an act.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you said, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach. “Like I’m making this something it isn’t.”

“If the shoe fits,” Wanda replied, going back to her paperwork.

“No.” You stood up. “You don’t get to act like I’m the one blurring the lines between real and fake. You didn’t have to kiss me like that last night, but you did.”

She stood up too. “Maybe someone was watching, Y/N. What do you want me to say? That I wanted to kiss you? That I did it because you’re so irresistible I couldn’t help myself?” she snapped back callously, like she was trying to hurt you.

“I don’t care about the kiss!” You raised your voice. “I care about this promotion and I won’t let you ruin it just because you can’t handle whatever happened last night.”

“Nothing happened last night, it was a kiss. We’ve done it before. It meant nothing!” Wanda yelled back.

“Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?” you said, holding eye contact.

With that, she shoved you against the nearest wall. “I hate you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, before she leaned in and kissed you hard.

Unlike your other kisses with the redhead, this one didn’t start out soft. It was rough and full of emotions. It was fueled by all the feelings swirling around within the two of you that you had yet to vocalize.

You kissed her back, you couldn’t help yourself. Just moments ago she had you on the verge of tears and now here you were, kissing her back like your life depended on it.

Your hands came up to her neck and you deepened the kiss, lips moving against hers purposefully as if you were trying to prove a point.

Your tongues met and mingled, both of you gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths. You didn’t separate until you needed air.

“Just a kiss, huh?” you breathed out, your noses still touching.

“Shut up,” Wanda said back just as breathily.

“Make me,” you challenged, wanting to be difficult but also wanting her to kiss you again.

She leaned back in, lips connecting with yours, kissing you much softer this time. Her tongue met yours and it made you weak in the knees, the slowness of this kiss compared to the roughness of the first one making your head spin. You knew in that moment that you weren’t the only one feeling things.

Her hands found your waist, pinning you against the wall harder, and you moaned against her.

“You like that?” she said way too cockily, the words from her mouth managing to irritate you even when you were just enjoying that same mouth so much.

You flipped your positions, pinning her against the wall and she raised an eyebrow at you. “I like this,” you replied, kissing her again.

You let your hands wander, running up and down her sides, teasing her but not quite going anywhere in particular.

When you squeezed, she moaned into your mouth and you felt a pang of arousal at the sound. You wanted to pull more sounds like that out of her and began slowly untucking her shirt. You slid your hands underneath the fabric, feeling her soft skin beneath your fingers.

“Mmm, stop teasing,” she mumbled in between kisses, giving you permission to touch her more.

Your hands went further up her shirt, palming her breasts over her bra before sliding under. You brushed against her nipples with your thumbs and she moaned again, breaking the kiss.

You didn’t hesitate to trail kisses down her neck, then back up towards her ear, making her whimper as your hands continued to stimulate her sensitive nipples.

You were dragging it out - you wanted to take things slow in case she wanted to stop and you also wanted to tease her as much as possible, almost like you were making her pay for how she always treated you.

You continued your assault on her neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin you could get your lips on, while she panted against you.

The beautiful sounds leaving her were only turning you on even more and you were slowly realizing that you’d wanted to do this for a while.

“Y/N,” Wanda panted out.

“Yeah?”

“Stop fucking teasing,” she demanded.

“What do you want?” you asked, running your thumbs over her nipples again to get a reaction.

She gasped, grabbing your throat with her hand. “Fuck me,” she said sternly, and how could you say no to her?

“Fuck,” you breathed out, kissing her again and removing your hands from her shirt.

You placed one of your hands on her thigh under her skirt, running it up her skin until you reached her underwear. Your fingers reached her panties, feeling a wet spot on the front of them. You moaned, your arousal skyrocketing at the thought that she was so wet for you.

“Yeah?” she said, teasing you. “Why don’t you stop feeling me up over my panties and fuck me, hm?”

You nodded and pushed her panties aside, feeling her wetness directly against your fingers. The fact that she was so turned on only served to turn you on even more. She wanted this just as much as you did.

Your index finger moved up to rub her clit, making her moan louder this time and if anyone was still in the building, they would’ve heard her.

“You like that?” You mirrored her words from earlier.

She managed to roll her eyes despite the pleasure she was feeling and leaned in to kiss you again, moaning into the kiss when you rubbed faster against her clit.

“Fuck me,” she whispered against your lips. Denying her felt like denying yourself at this point. You slid a finger into her opening, then followed up with a second finger, stretching her out.

She moaned and it was heavenly, making you want to hear her come undone for you. You started a rhythm inside her, fucking into her with purpose. The sounds leaving her lips made you throb with desire, she sounded so beautiful in the throes of pleasure.

You could hear how wet she was, sloshing sounds coming from where your fingers went to work, and it drove you crazy.

“Fuck, I can hear how wet you are,” you said, kissing down her neck again.

“You feel so good,” she panted out, moaning again as you hit a spot inside of her.

The sounds of her pussy were getting to you and you wanted to taste her so badly; you weren’t sure if you wanted her to cum like this first or if you needed your mouth on her before anything else.

“Can I taste you?” you asked, slowing your movements to both prolong her pleasure and delay her orgasm, as well as to give her a second to answer you.

“Fuck, yes,” she said, bucking her hips into your hand for more. “Wanna see you on your knees for me, detka.”

You couldn’t say no to her even if you tried, not when you wanted the same thing so desperately. You dropped to your knees, pulling her skirt up to reveal her pussy, underwear clinging to her folds and the stickiness between her thighs.

You practically drooled at the sight, pushing her panties further to the side to get a better view. You leaned in, kissing her pussy at first, then flicked your tongue against her clit, making her gasp. Her taste was heavenly and you wanted more, your tongue now exploring her eagerly.

“You taste so good, mommy,” you managed to mumble against her, the vibrations of your voice making her hips jerk against your face, which only made you more aroused. When you realized what you said, you almost stopped what you were doing. But a few simple words helped you to not falter too much.

“Call me that again,” Wanda moaned, hips bucking against you as if she was trying to get herself off on your mouth.

“Mommy,” you obeyed, unable to deny her at this point, and equally turned on by the name.

“Fuck. Such a good girl for mommy,” she breathed out, rutting her hips with purpose and grinding her clit against your tongue.

You moaned into her pussy at the praise, licking and sucking at her clit, letting your tongue dip inside her hole with every downstroke.

“Ohh, does my baby have a praise kink?” she cooed, somehow managing to make you flustered and embarrassed while you were bringing her to orgasm.

When you didn’t respond, too enamored with eating her out, she grabbed your chin harshly and made you face her.

“Answer mommy when she asks you a question,” she commanded, keeping you just inches from where you wanted to taste her again.

“Yes,” you whined, breathing heavily with how aroused you were.

“Yes what?”

“Yes mommy,” you said, looking up at her with lust in your eyes.

“Good girl,” she praised, redirecting you back to her dripping cunt, keeping her hand at the back of your head to guide your movements.

She moaned when you made contact again, your lips wrapping around her clit, sucking obediently. You wanted her to cum for you. You wanted to bring her pleasure, to get off on her sounds and her taste, but at the same time, part of you also wanted to assert some kind of dominance over her. She’d bullied you relentlessly since you started working for the same company as her and this was your way of taking back control.

She may have been in charge, with her hand at the back of your head, keeping you close so she could fuck your face the way she wanted to, but you had the power to tip her over the edge she so desperately wanted to reach.

And it was intoxicating.

But then again, everything about Wanda Maximoff was intoxicating. Her beautiful face, her hypnotizing voice, her sense of style, the sway of her hips when she walked, the quickness of her comebacks, and in the current moment, her scent, her taste, her moans, her movements against you. You had never wanted someone so badly in your life and you had her right where you wanted her.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum,” Wanda said, her grip tightening on your hair. Her clit throbbed under your tongue, her hole clenching around nothing as you brought her closer and closer to the edge.

You doubled down on your efforts, wanting to see her fall apart for you. Your index finger teased her folds, dipping into her hole as you sucked on her clit. When you pushed two fingers into her while continuing your stimulation on her hardened bud, she came, moaning your name so prettily as her cum coated your fingers and chin.

You lapped up as much as you could before she began to push you away and pull you back up. She kissed you, tasting herself on your tongue, a deep sound from the back of her throat emerging at the sensation.

“Maybe you can be a good girl after all, hm?” She mused, looking at you lazily as she pulled away from the kiss.

Her hand came down, reaching into your pants and then your panties to feel where you were turned on beyond belief.

“When have I not been one?” you questioned.

“Maybe when you’re talking back to me,” she said, biting her lip.

“I can think of something better I could be doing with my mouth,” you shot back.

Wanda moved her hand so she could really feel you against her, running her fingers up and down your slit.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” Wanda said. “Did I do that?” She asked, continuing to touch you.

You nodded, somewhat distracted as you admired the way she looked in her post-orgasm haze. You wanted her again - one time wasn’t enough.

“Can you go again?” you blurted out, staring at her with such want it almost surprised her. “Please,” you begged, stroking her cheek with your thumb as you looked into her eyes.

“What about you?” She asked.

“Just wanna make you cum again mommy,” you responded, practically pleading.

She couldn’t say no to you at that moment, and she didn’t want to either. “Okay detka, go ahead, make mommy feel good,” she said, her teeth coming down onto her lip as you descended once more.

Sliding her panties off, you brought your mouth down to where she was dripping and slid your tongue as deep as it would go, your thumb coming up to rub circles into her clit.

“Yes, that’s so good,” Wanda cried out, bucking her hips as you fucked into her with your tongue. “Fuck, eat my pussy just like that,” she said, making you moan against her.

After a few moments, she came again, and you licked at her folds until she rode out the aftershocks, twitching against your face. You couldn’t get enough, mouthing at her pussy for as long as you could before she brought you back up once more, staring at you so intimately it made you nervous despite the fact that you’d just done extremely unprofessional things to her in the conference room.

“So, a praise kink and a mommy kink, huh?” She chuckled, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

“Shut up.” You blushed, trying to hide your face in her neck out of embarrassment.

“Make me,” she said, using your own words from earlier against you.

You kissed her to shut her up, and also because you just wanted to. She could taste herself on your lips and on your tongue and it almost made her want to go again. The two of you stayed like that, lips glued to each other, for a long moment before separating, out of breath.

“So was this pretend too or?” You half joked, knowing it wasn’t but also unsure if she would ice you out again after this.

“No,” she started. “This did mean something, despite what I said earlier. I don’t sleep around just to sleep around,” she said earnestly. “I want you.”

You were somewhat surprised she didn’t come back with some snarky remark or crude joke, but you weren’t going to complain when the woman you wanted more than anything was confessing that she felt the same way.

“I want you too,” you uttered, looking down at her lips subconsciously.

“I kinda figured that out when you were getting on your knees for me, sweetheart,” she responded.

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes, leaning in to kiss her again.

When the two of you broke apart, you spoke again. “So what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“We still have to pretend to date. Can we do that?” you asked.

“We could pretend,” she started. “Or we could just do it.”

“What, date?”

“Yeah, why not?” she questioned, seeming slightly nervous as she proposed the idea.

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “All this time…”

“I don’t hate you,” Wanda cut in. “I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I guess I just saw myself in you. Someone determined, ambitious, competitive, like a younger version of me. So of course, you were my competition. And I also saw something I wanted but couldn’t have, or so I thought. I never thought you’d want me too. I don’t know, I can’t justify how I treated you, I’m sorry.”

You paused, taking a moment to think everything over before speaking again.

“Look, I don’t know what I want out of this, but I’m willing to see where it goes,” you finally said, hoping she was on the same page.

“I’m okay with that.” She smiled, perhaps out of relief, and brushed some hair out of your face. “Let’s fake it till we make it, yeah?” She joked, making you smile back at her.

“Works for me,” you said, looking at her with an unreadable expression, one which you might later realize was pure devotion. Despite everything you’d been through with her, you were falling fast and there was no way to stop it.

The following week was something of a dream come true. You and Wanda worked together, but this time the only tension present was sexual. You acted like a couple and you didn’t even have to try anymore, it just came naturally.

Wanda’s teasing touches increased tenfold, with her constantly trying to turn you on in the most inappropriate of places, whether it was in Stark’s office with her hand tracing patterns on the small of your back or in the conference room with dirty words whispered in your ear and while everyone was still in the building.

The two of you stayed late a few nights to finish up paperwork, finding that it was hard to get any work done when you were left alone with each other.

You’d made Wanda cum against the conference table more than once and she’d even come home with you one night to continue your activities. You fucked her with your fingers against your front door and again in your bed with your strap, making her see stars every time you had your way with her. It was very quickly becoming one of your favorite ways to relieve stress, especially with the merger increasing your workload.

Mr. Stark was pleased with your “performance,” pulling you aside to tell you that Osborn absolutely adored the two of you and your relationship. You figured once there was a label on things, you’d break it to him that you were actually together now.

You and Wanda had not only been having regular sex, but had been talking about deeper things with each other, including your own history. She opened up about her insecurities and you did the same, kissing each other softly after and then snuggling up to watch a movie.

Wanda stayed over some nights and the following mornings you’d walk to work together, stopping at your favorite coffee shop for a warm drink on the way.

The two dates a week had originally felt like a burden, but now you were grateful for the chance to take your favorite girl on a date twice a week, all expenses paid by the boss. You didn’t care that Osborn employees might be lurking around, you touched Wanda when you wanted to and it had nothing to do with appearances.

Months passed, and the merger was finally coming to a close. Half of Stark Industries’ client base had become regular customers of the Osborn group, and Stark now owned a percentage of Osborn’s company.

You and Wanda maintained your higher positions, still working directly under Stark with a nice pay raise.

You’d asked Wanda to be your official girlfriend a few weeks after your first time sleeping together and she moved in with you two months later.

Stark was surprised to find out the two of you were no longer faking it, but he was happy for you and started calling himself the millionaire matchmaker.

Sometimes the two of you still fought, your snarky and sarcastic personalities unable to be pushed down so easily, but it usually ended with Wanda bent over a surface of the apartment or workplace after hours, with your fingers or your tongue inside her pussy.

If you really pushed her buttons, it ended with your hands tied to the headboard while Wanda touched herself above you and mocked your desperation to be the one giving her pleasure; “bad girls don’t get to touch mommy, so just sit there and look pretty for me,” she would say.

The teasing and the jokes were a huge foundation for your relationship so long as they weren’t taken too far, and you found that you loved that part of her despite how it used to be used against you.

Wanda could be incredibly sweet though and you loved that about her too. She knew when to pick playful fights with you and when to be softer; she knew how to act when you needed reassurance from her and she knew how to make you feel safe.

At the end of the day, you fell hard for the one person you never should’ve fallen for, and you wouldn’t change a thing.