#idk i think the curls are throwing it off\

[ainaslastnerve]

Hi can I get tipsy/drunk Telemachus and reader taking care of him... (if you're comfortable with it)

Maybe him not recognizing the reader in his stupor and insisting that he's taken and not letting the reader near him even though they're the lover...

Thank you!

Too much wine? Or too much you?

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Word count: 1.2k

Summary: After finding the Prince of Ithaca drunkenly draped across a courtyard bench, wine-soaked and tragic like a hero from the wrong part of an epic. He doesn’t recognize you—his very real, very tired lover and goes on about describing you to yourself. But with just a kiss, you prove him wrong with that, and slowly, tenderly, the truth settles in.

Pairing: GN!Reader x Telemachus

A/N: hii! :) been a while ehe, yes, i'm still alive, yes i'm still writing! school started for me a week or two ago, and i honestly have been locking ?? IDK EITHER OKAY. ANYWAY TRUST I'LL HAVE MY OTHER FICS READY EHEHE

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You find him draped dramatically across a stone bench in the palace courtyard, one arm flung over his face like some tragic hero of epic poetry. The moonlight washes him in silver, turning his tousled curls pale and angelic despite the absolute disaster he currently is. One sandal lies discarded on the path several feet away, the other dangles precariously from his toes, and his robe is haphazardly bunched around his hips like he’d tried to wrestle it off and then gave up halfway.

The scent of spiced wine clings to him like a second tunic, that sweet, heady, and unmistakable. It rises off his skin in waves, mingling with salt and sun-warmed linen, the sour tang of a long night tangled in revelry. He smells like fermented pomegranates and poor decisions—like the kind of mistakes made under moonlight with a crown askew and music still echoing in the blood.

You find him draped inelegantly across a marble bench in the palace courtyard, one sandal missing, the other stubbornly clinging to his toes like it, too, has had too much. A toppled goblet lies nearby, glittering darkly in the moonlight. You step over it gingerly, skirts brushing the stone.

“‘Machus,” you murmur, voice pitched low with fond exasperation. “Gods, how much did you drink?”

At the sound of your voice, he jolts upright with all the grace of a startled cat. If the cat were drunk, disoriented, and draped in linen. Or at least, he tries to. His body surges upward in a heroic attempt at dignity, but his head forgets to follow, lolling behind like it’s tethered to another reality. The motion throws him off-balance, and for a breathless moment, he teeters on the edge of the bench like a ship about to capsize.

“Stay.. back!” he declares, slurring the words like they’re part of some sacred incantation. His arm swings out wildly, hand flailing in your general direction as if he’s trying to cast a protective spell—or maybe just swat away his own embarrassment. “I-I have a lover,” he says with drunken dignity, chin lifting despite the wobble in his neck. “A very serious one... Beautiful. Brilliant. Smells like honey and olives. You’d like them. Everyone does.”

You blink, deadpan. “You do have a lover,” you say, stepping closer, voice gentle but edged with disbelief. “It’s me.” Your words hang in the air between you, suspended like the silence before a storm. He stares, uncomprehending, as if you’ve just introduced yourself as a minor deity he’s forgotten to worship.

He peers at you through narrowed, suspicious eyes, tilting his head like he’s studying a particularly convincing mirage. There’s a long, squinting pause where you can see him trying to match your face to the memory of someone he swears is taller, glowier, somehow more mythical. Clearly, he thinks you might be some particularly clever imposter sent to tempt him off the path of righteousness.

“No,” he says finally, with the firm conviction of a man who is very wrong. He shakes his head—slowly, deliberately, like it might rattle the truth loose. “No, no. They’re… mmm. Taller.. Than you.”

You sigh. Long-suffering. Measured. The kind of sigh born from love, frustration, and the urge to throw a sandal at his head.

“They have a.. a presence!” he insists, swaying as he gestures grandly, nearly smacking himself in the face with the back of his own hand. “Like light through a tapestry. And they kiss me on the nose. You haven’t kissed me on the nose.. So you're NO—”

You step in, slow and deliberate, the silk of your robes whispering against the stone. Cutting off to whatever he was rambling about. He doesn’t move—just watches you with wide, glassy eyes, like he’s unsure whether to flinch or fall into you. You lean down, close enough to see the faint flush high on his cheeks, the way his lashes stick together from sleep or sweat or too much wine. The scent of him wraps around you—spiced wine and warm skin, smoke from torches long gone out, the salt-sweetness of a day spent in the sun. And then, with the gentlest touch, you press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“There,” you murmur, barely above a breath.

He stares at you, going very still. Blinks once. Then twice. “…You’ve done your research,” he says cautiously, voice grave with wine-soaked doubt. “But I’m not convinced.”

You bite back a laugh and crouch beside him, brushing a curl off his forehead. “Telemachus. It’s me. Your very serious, beautiful, smart partner who smells like honey and olives and has to deal with your entire drunk ass right now.” He scowls like you’ve asked him to solve a riddle in Linear B. His brows knit together, lips twitching as if deep in thought—except his eyes are glassy and unfocused, and he’s clearly doing mental math with two brain cells and half a grape.

“If you’re really them,” he says, swaying dramatically in your direction, “then tell me what I said last night. In bed. Before sleep.”

You cross your arms. Sighing almost in defeat. “You said— and I quote, ‘If you ever leave me, I’ll throw myself into the sea and let the fish raise me. They’ll teach me how to swim with my feelings.’”

He gasps. Dramatically loud. “That is what I said..!”

And then, without grace, warning, or any coordination whatsoever—he launches forward like a wave breaking from nowhere. His arms wrap around you in a heavy, clumsy hug that nearly takes your feet out from under you. You stagger, just barely catching your balance as his full weight slumps into you, warm and breathless and entirely unrepentant.

His cheek smushes against your shoulder, the curve of his nose pressing into your collar. You feel the heat of him—sun-warmed skin, wine-flushed and slightly sweaty—like a fevered anchor pulling you into the moment. His breath ghosts along your neck, uneven and sighing, tinged with wine and something softer, something like relief.

“You smell right,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “S’not a trick.. You’re warm. And you smell right.”

His grip tightens slightly and lets out a satisfied hum, the kind a cat might make curling up in a sunbeam. “Your prince,” he mumbles, nuzzling into you as you half-carry, half-drag him toward the palace.

By the time you wrestle him through the threshold of his chambers, he’s halfway asleep, snoring softly, lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks. You ease him onto the bed, managing to undo the knot of his tunic without waking him.

He mumbles something into your shoulder—garbled and thick with sleep and wine. You catch the words fish and love and possibly moonlight in the same breath, though it’s entirely unclear how they’re meant to connect. Whatever point he was trying to make is lost to the ether. And then, as suddenly as he clung to you, he lets go—slumping sideways with all the grace of a felled tree. He flops onto the bench like it’s a mattress built for kings, one arm dangling off the side, tunic rucked up around his ribs. His cheek presses to the cool stone as he exhales a deep, satisfied sigh.

You lean in again, slower this time, watching his lashes flutter against flushed cheeks, his lips parted in that faint, dreamy way he gets when he’s somewhere between sleep and sweetness. And then—gently, reverently—you press another kiss to the tip of his nose. Soft and lingering. Like sealing a promise. Like reminding him who he belongs to without needing to say a word.

“My love..?” he whispers, while you brush a hand through his curls. You hum in response.

“I love you.”

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eeerrr this is also to make up for my angst LASOUHJDUISA)

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[javierduffy]

not really sure if i'm happy with this design for him OTL

[myownwholewildworld]

gif by @\pedrospascaled

“for emergencies only” — an oldman!joel miller drabble

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel has a lil' accident, but you know exactly how to help. or joel cums in his boxers a bit too early and you feed him a blue pill for endurance. a/n: uhm... yeah, hi? i promise you this fic wrote itself, i almost had nothing to do with it. i am so fucking feral over this man, can't flush him out of my system. lord have mercy... 🙇‍♀️ tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. pwp. filthy smut. joel cums in his boxers like the old man he is. mortified!joel but you make him feel good i promise <3 use of viagra. kneading the bulge, kissing the bulge, worshipping the bulge. pussy eating. face/nose riding. squirting. fingering. your slick is his hair gel (scent marking? idk). blowjob. you go cowgirl on him because the poor man can't do extraneous exercise, protect his bones. unprotected piv. creampie. age gap, no age gap, your choice. petnames. no description of reader other than afab. w/c: ~4.2k

Joel let go of a big sigh, knees cracking as he sat down on the couch. Even taking a shower was damn exhausting at his age—he preferred it when you scrubbed his back in the bath, massaged his biceps and forearms, gently squeezed his dick while the movement created rippling waves in the water.

He’d only managed to comb through his dry, silvery curls, to throw a worn shirt and some loose boxers on, before he needed to take a break. He was getting too old to go on long, extenuating patrols. Perhaps Joel should take up Tommy’s offer and solely focus on managing the construction in Jackson. He’d have more time with you that way too.

His mind was drifting away, thinking about all the things he would do to you in his free time, when his most delicious desire materialised in front of him. His precious little thing—you.

“Why are you so lonely over here, handsome?” you teased, lips curling into a sinful smile.

You lost no time, sitting beside him, snuggling up to his side. Joel’s arm draped around your shoulders instinctively, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on your collarbone.

“I dunno, someone didn’t want to join me in the shower…” he pouted slightly, a laugh tearing up your throat as you poked his ribs with one finger.

“I told you to wait for me, but you’re a grumpy old man who has no patience,” you reproached jokingly.

His eyes rolled back in exasperation, but you were right. He’d just wanted to hop in the shower as soon as he got home, ready to dust off the fatigue of the day.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, shrugging.

His hand slowly moved away from your collarbone up to your neck. Carefully, his fingers dug around your throat, just enough for you to look up at him and gape for air—the sweet pressure on your trachea making you gasp like a little fish out of the water.

“Give your old man a kiss, will ya?” he husked, bowing down his head.

You reached up to him, mouth agape, almost touching his lips. You froze there, your sight simmering with need, awaiting his permission… and when his eyes flicked with lust, you closed the distance and pressed your lips on his.

The kiss quickly became sloppy, your spit coating the stubble around his mouth. Muted, needy moans bubbled up your windpipe—an irresistible call of nature, silently begging him to give you what you wanted, what you needed.

How could he resist you? Joel simply couldn’t, especially when your hand landed on his knee and the making out session came to an end, the tip of your nose tracing his jawline before you pressed a kiss to his beating jugular and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your palm squeezed the back of his hairy knee, slowly sliding it up his thigh whilst he manspread on the couch. His brown eyes tracked your every move, his legs’ muscles tensing as you playfully approached his groin. A pull in his soft tummy made him flinch when you reached the dip between his crotch and thigh, his cock hardening at the seductive tease.

A throaty moan rumbled through his chest when you tightly gripped the flesh of his inner thigh, thumb lazily stroking the outline of his shaft over the boxers.

“You’re a bit starved for touch today, aren’tcha?” you nudged him, lips pressed against the shell of his ear.

His cock twitched.

“And whose fault is that?” he snapped back, nerves on edge.

You simply giggled, shaking your head as your hand finally cupped his growing bulge. Gently kneaded him, massaging his aching balls over the fabric. Joel could feel the warmth of your touch seeping through the boxers, compelling him to grow bigger, harder, thicker.

Your palm rubbed against the covered length of him, then dropped to his sacks again—and, irremediably, his hips bucked up, bare heels dug in the wooden floor. He thoroughly enjoyed it when you cupped his balls like that—lovingly, languidly, exquisitely, taking the weight off him so he could find some bliss.

Seeing you so locked in on his pleasure, your tongue darting out to wet your lips… It just added to your appeal, another reason to love you. Because he did—fuck, yes he did, with all his fucking heart.

Suddenly, you squeezed his balls a bit too harsh, holding your grip as if your life depended on him, kissing his jawline. The unexpected squash on his testicles forced a moan out of him—and something else.

A firing pulse took a hold of him, surging down from his spine directly into his balls, and inevitably his cock throbbed with releasing strength. Joel couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He first felt the sticky warmth soaking his boxers, and his eyes quickly shot down to his lap.

There was a wet, growing spot on his underwear. He’d fucking cummed in his boxers like an inexperienced teenager—or the old man he was, despite how adamant he was to deny it—and he wasn’t even fully hard yet.

Embarrassed wouldn’t even start to cover it. Joel was fucking mortified.

His mouth ran dry, heartrate throbbing in his eardrums like a shameful cacophony. This had never occurred before—cumming way too early in his loose boxers, the proof right there for you to see, staining the grey fabric. It happened so fast, so intensely, Joel hadn’t had the time to rein in his own orgasm.

His face flushed with abasement; the tips of his ears hot as embers. Unwrapping his arm from around your shoulders, Joel leaned back, his head slacking back and resting on top of the couch. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his free hand tight in a fist, before a trembling sigh escaped his lips.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to look at you.

“Oh, it’s okay, baby,” you replied reassuringly, your tone too sweet for the circumstances you both were in. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, forcing his hand out of his face. “This just proves how much you love me, so much you can’t even resist me. It’s hot.”

Joel finally had the courage to look you in the eye, a cocked brow showing his disbelief.

“Hot? You think it’s hot I just came in my boxers with a lil’ tugging?” he repeated out loud, unable to believe what you just had said. “I’m not even hard, sweetheart. It’s… humiliating.”

You nodded to his question, your top teeth sinking in your plump bottom lip. Your eyes locked in on his as your hand travelled down his frame, your thumb stroking the obvious wet spot in his underwear.

“Mhm,” you cooed with a playful grin. “Very hot, not humiliating. And I can fix that. Fix him so we can have a good cuddle.”

“I don’t think I can…” you silenced him with a kiss before you got up from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen without another word.

A minute later you were back, towering above him with a sinful little smirk, one hand hidden behind your back.

“Open your mouth,” you requested.

“Huh?”

“Just open it for me, please?” you dragged the last word, blinking rather exaggeratedly.

Joel huffed his disagreement, but ended up obeying. His tongue slid out, patiently waiting for whatever you had in mind. With a flourish, you opened your fist to reveal a blue pill. His eyes lighted up in understanding—he thought he had run out of viagra.

“I always keep a secret stock,” you confessed, reading his mind. “For emergencies only.”

Slowly, you set the pill down on his tongue, your thumb caressing the tip of his wet muscle before you retreated to let him close his mouth. Before Joel could swallow, you bowed down to kiss him, your tongue pushing the pill down his throat with a little needy moan.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, the pill secure in his belly now. It was just a matter of time, but meanwhile…

“Let me make it up to you, sweetheart,” he growled, the taste of your sweet cunt haunting him. “You deserve to be eaten out—so thoughtful of your old man. It’s what you enjoy most, right? Having your swollen pussy drooling all over my face, leaking into my mouth…”

His words had an immediate effect on you. Joel knew exactly how to get you off—not that you needed any more encouragement. Your clit was already palpitating, your hole gushing for his attention. The promise of a good pussy eating was everything you’d hoped for after feeding him that viagra pill.

You straightened your back, ready to get started, and Joel slithered off the couch until he was sat on the floor, his achy back leaned against the bottom part of the sofa. He sat back a little, his head resting on the edge of the couch while your pants and underwear dropped to the floor.

“Someone’s eager,” he taunted when you kicked off your clothing to one side.

“Oh, that’s an understatement,” you exhaled sharply.

Joel curled one long, thick finger at you to invite you to sit on his face, and that was exactly what you did.

You knelt on the sofa, his head right between your thighs, and you anchored your hands to the back of the furniture. His warm breath fanned your pussy, a shiver running up your spine. His broad, calloused hands ran up the back of your legs, coaxing your ass cheeks apart so your slit would crack open for him.

“My sweet girl… You’re already so wet,” he tutted at you, pecking your perineum, the tip of his aquiline nose tickling your entrance. “You really like your old man, don’tcha?”

You were about to answer when Joel lapped your entire seam in one smooth motion before his mouth latched onto your pulsing clit. You sobbed audibly, head lolled back, fingers curling tightly around the cushion of the backrest. Only managing a hushed “mhm,” Joel suckled on your throbbing nub again, pulling the hood back with his tongue.

A myriad of stars danced behind your eyelids when Joel gently nibbled at your bud, his middle finger sliding in your tight hole to rub that precise spot inside your cunt. He ate you out diligently—sucked, licked, bit, flicked your clit… rinse and repeat. Your pussy fluttered around his finger, your moans louder than they should have been considering the thin walls of the house. Sensing your desperation, Joel’s finger slipped out with a pop, to quickly fill your drooling entrance with his tongue.

It was too much—deliciously so. When you thought you’d had the best head ever, Joel always outdid himself. His wet muscle thrusted in and your pussy reciprocated with stuttering squeezes on his tongue. He didn’t falter, not even for a breather—as if he was trying to pull something out of your cunt.

“Jo-Joel…” you mewled, half whimper, half prayer.

You were so drenched, you could feel a flood forming in your womb—a heap of your arousal waiting to drip into his mouth. A tight coil low in your belly with a strangling force, so intense your shut eyes were tearing up, the drops of your silent cries sliding off your temples. Joel didn’t leave a spot unattended, worshipping your puffy pussy lips, your gushing hole, your thudding clit with his tongue and teeth.

Unable to rein in your own lust anymore, you dropped one hand and fisted his hair, forcing him to stay put, still between your trembling thighs. Your body was asking to take control, to let go of the tethers of decency—not that you had much left anyway.

“Wanna ride my face, hm?” Joel muttered with a shaky laugh.

“Mhmmm,” you moaned, shaking your head yes, your bottom lip twitching.

“Go on, baby, use me,” and then he rolled your bundle of nerves between his teeth.

That was the last straw—his words, your undoing. So you did exactly that. Still anchoring his head to the couch, you rocked your hips on his face, just once. His nose traced the entirety of your slit, catching on your clit, and you whined. A second later you were completely sat on his face, almost smothering him, while you rode not only his face, but specifically his nose.

Looking down, you saw his forehead reappear when your hips moved back. Every time you glided over him, the coil tightened and the flood dropped further down in your uterus. Stilling, you circled your waist on his mouth, and then resumed the riding.

It happened too quickly. Suddenly, the dam in your pussy just gave way, and you squirted all over his face while the most wanton moan tore up your throat, your vocal chords feeling raw from so much screaming. The biggest wave—no, tsunami—of your life washed over you, your thighs quivering like crazy while you locked them shut around his head.

Joel eagerly drank everything you offered him, groaning below you like a thirsty man who had not tasted water in days. For a long minute you couldn’t control the spasms of your cunt, dripping onto his nose, mouth and chin, your slick running down his neck and wetting the neck of his shirt.

Heaving, all your muscles finally relaxed, and you dropped to one side to release Joel from the imprisonment of your thighs. A side glance at Joel told you that he was licking off your juices from anywhere his tongue could reach, and that vision made you whimper again.

“I… Uh…” you mumbled, incapable of finding the words to describe what had just happened. “That was… the best head you’ve ever given me, you handsome old man.”

“You mean the best head you’ve ever had, full stop. Right?” he joked while he planted his hands on the edge of the couch to push himself up and sit besides you, his knees loudly cracking.

You laughed, nodding vehemently as you curled up to his side. His face was still wet from your cum, so you swept off some of it for him, kissing it away. The curls freely hanging over his forehead were damp with your slick too, and just that sight made your clit throb again. Raking your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, you combed it back with the product of your arousal.

“You don’t need hair gel if you’ve got me,” you said with a smile, and Joel tsked before letting go of a hearty chuckle.

“My personal hairdresser,” Joel quipped.

His laugh died in his mouth when your taunting hand flew to his bulge again. This time, he was extremely hard. Balls loaded and heavy, cock drumming.

“How’s my toy doing? Ready?” It was a rhetoric question, you could feel how ready he was.

“All… yours,” his words hitched, eyes darkening with a burning desire.

Without wasting another second, you knelt before him on the floor, his thighs spread open to house your frame. You couldn’t resist to lean forward and kiss the wet spot on his underwear, stealing a quick taste. Licking off the stain, you gazed up at him.

Joel was watching your every move with predatory attention, his tight fists resting to either side of him. Trying to convey calmness, but you could feel the eagerness simmering under the surface.

You buried your face in his bulge again, rubbing him over the fabric with your mouth, lips and cheeks. Kneaded him with worshipping heed, pulling the textile between your teeth, drunk with the crispy, sticky sound the wet boxers made when they unglued from his damp cock. Feeling his heartbeat, you inhaled keenly—his scent swarming your senses.

You could spend hours like this, with your face tucked away in his groin, feeling the length of him hardening against your cheek. But you were anxious to shove him down your throat.

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his old man’s loose boxers, and Joel lifted his hips off the pillows just enough for you to pull them down his legs, tangled around his ankles. His dick sprung free, swaying in front of you like a tasty lollypop. Cockhead flushed and painfully red, the vein on his underside visibly pulsing, his heavy, full balls tightened up into the base of his dick. And then the cum he’d been so embarrassed about, topping his mushroom head and sliding off his shaft.

It really was a beautiful sight. You pushed his girthy length against his soft tummy and lapped at his balls first, to then find your way up his shaft until your lips sealed shut around his angry cockhead, cleaning off all his nutty spent.

Joel groaned above you, shifting his position ever so slightly, and was gentle enough to caress your cheek with his thumb before he gave you a soft smack.

“Careful not to choke, sweetheart. Take it easy,” he growled, words dying off when you pushed him down your mouth, the hoarse curls at the base tingling your nose. “Easy does it.”

With your mouth full, you gave free rein to your instincts. Took him out completely, a bridge of saliva linking your lips to the tip of his cock, and then shoved him down your throat again. You gagged and whimpered at the same time, precum and spit overflowing from the corners of your mouth. How the end of him hit your uvula, breaching past it… it was the most elated you had ever felt.

Your pace quickly picked up, and soon enough you were bobbing your head on his lap to the point that tomorrow you’d have a stiff neck. But it would be completely worth it. Sucking him off, your tongue swirled around his leaky cockhead to then nip at it. Closing your mouth, you slid his tip over your clenched teeth and lips, making a mess of your face.

“Eaaaasy… Fuck, stop,” Joel tugged at your hair.

You had been so lost in the moment, you looked up at him bewildered. You didn’t want to stop, you could never have enough of him. But realisation quickly hit. His balls were twitching against your chin, a sign that Joel was about to lose it.

“I could have my dick in your mouth all day and night, sweetheart, but I need your pussy now,” he husked, half plea, half threat.

Joel relaxed against the couch when you got up to your feet and straddled him, your knees sunk in the pillows to either side of his legs. Reaching behind you, you grabbed at his throbbing cock, gliding it over your entire slit until it hitched in your entrance.

Biting your lip down to stop a slutty moan from coming out, you locked eyes with him. Watching his façade tumble down every time you descended on his lap was one of the most beautiful sights. So slowly you impaled yourself, taking in how Joel’s face loosened up, his hands firm on your hips—how the crows’ feet kissing the corners of his chocolate eyes would smooth out, how his cheeks would flush, how his nose would do a cute little scrunch, or how his lips would part, letting out a heavy sigh.

Joel tried to fuck up into you when you lifted your hips and you tutted at him, pinning him down so he wouldn’t move.

“Nuh-uh. I’m doing all the work tonight, baby. You just lean back and relax, let me fuck you,” you warned him, an edge to your tone advising him to refrain from complaining.

He’d been on patrol out all day—you knew how tired he was, how his old man’s bones would crack with the gentlest of moves.

“But—”

“No, no buts. If you stay still and behave, I’ll let you come inside. Be good for me, please,” you cooed, your mouth moving against his with every suggestive word.

Joel finally grunted in agreement, and the smile on your face couldn’t be wider—even your cheeks hurt. Despite how badly you wanted to say “good boy,” you didn’t press your luck. Joel was quite dominant, but you enjoyed these subtle shifts in your relationship when he was very tired. So tired you could boss him around with no reprimands.

Once he had settled down, you began riding him, his reassuring hands kneading your hips for encouragement. At first it was slow-paced, his cock lazily swallowed by your labia only half-way through. With every pump, you let him slide a little bit deeper, sweet desperation building up behind his adoring eyes.

And after a few minutes, you were bouncing up and down on his throbbing shaft with heavy, quick dives. You laced your hands behind his neck for support, your forehead resting on his, your sweats mixing. Every time he exhaled, you inhaled his needy groans, high with the passion burning between you two.

His cock filled you up to the brim, especially when he was fully seated in your crying cunt. His tip would kiss your cervix, sending firing signals up your spine, numbing your mind. He was so girthy, your inner walls parted like the Red Sea to greet him, to house him. Every time he pulsed inside, your pussy squeezed him hard—as if they were talking to each other. Joel was the perfect fit to you, in every fucking sense.

His cockhead dragged along your anterior wall, putting pressure on the exact spot that always had you gushing. You were so close to nirvana, you could almost touch the sky with your fingertips. Understanding how close you were—probably because your pussy was uncontrollably fluttering around him—Joel took it upon himself to tip you over the cliff of your pleasure. One of his hands flew to your clit, pressing tight circles on your nub as you, quite literally, jumped on him like a demon possessed—and your whole brain short-circuited right there and then.

“Come for you old man, sweetheart. Squirt all over my cock, drench my lap. Wanna feel her sing around me, milk me fucking dry until my balls are completely empty,” Joel husked against your lips, his thumb quicker on your clit now, pushing back the hood to expose your bundle of nerves to his incessant touch even more. “Can you do that for me, hm?”

You did exactly that the moment Joel stopped petting your clit and, instead, he gently tapped at it with four fingers, the squelching sound driving you crazy. The clapping of skin on skin driving you wild. You finally came, screaming at the top of your lungs, while your hips stuttered above him. Incapable of maintaining any pace now, you sat on his lap—his thudding cock buried down to the hilt in your quivering pussy, the best orgasm of your life hitting you at once.

Your entire body was quaking, your pussy flitting arrhythmically as the last squirts left your insides. Joel was throbbing inside you, grown to a point you thought he might explode. And with the last bit of energy, you clamped down on him as strongly as you could, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart,” Joel moaned loudly, head tilting back against the couch.

He pulsed one last time, and then finally filled you up. His cum flooded your pussy with long, thick ropes—so much that it was soon gushing out, mixed with your own arousal. It was warm and comforting, knowing that his seed was safe in your cunt. You squeezed once more to completely drain his balls, and he gifted you with some more drops.

You hummed in approval, so satisfied you almost felt sleepy. Joel smacked your right buttock and then hugged you around the waist, feeling your weight on him like a blanket. Neither of you moved, his cock still snug inside your pussy, your breathings loud and heavy.

“We still have a couple of hours before they serve dinner in the community hall. Can’t go anywhere in this… state,” Joel snickered, kissing your cheek.

“Gonna have to take care of this for you, ain’t I?” you whispered, batting your eyelashes at him before you grinded your hips on his lap. Your clit twitched in response, overstimulated. “I need a minute though, I feel like my whole nervous system is on fire right now.”

“Take as long as you need, sweetheart. I could be here all day right until the last minute,” he muttered, his hands gliding over the sweaty skin on your back.

“You’ll need to at least take a shower before we leave. I made a mess of your hair,” you laughed, nudging the vein on his neck with the tip of your nose.

“No, I like this hair gel better. I ain’t washing my hair.”

Your eyes shot up to him. The mere idea of him leaving the house with your slick dampening his hair, him being in public bathed in your pussy scent… while talking to others, fully claiming him as yours… Right then, you brain chemistry was changed forever.

Your clit throbbed, and you purposefully clutched around his still hard shaft.

“I’m ready again.”

[yanderenightmare]

Ryusei Shido

♡ TW: nsfw, idk, fluffy, sappy

♡ GN reader

You could never date him, but you love the way he fucks you.

He’s not even thinking about your pleasure. But you think, maybe, that’s precisely what makes it so good.

Most guys will let you do some of the work, but Ryusei doesn’t think of sex as a team effort. No, it’s just him and his goal, and he plays you just like he does the soccer field, leaving you feeling trampled in the best possible way.

He’s got you on your back, but only barely. His hands keep you lifted off the mattress, curled into the fat of your ass. It’s a common position, but Ryusei makes it anything but normal—propped on his toes and knees, wearing you like a belt, hunched over you like a beast with his tongue on your chest.

The pace is fast, and he never lets up, not even when you scream and cum for the third time—he just fucks you through it like a dog chasing a bone, and when he finally catches it, he only settles for burying it as deep as you go. And no, of course, he doesn’t wear a condom. He could fuck a blowup doll if he wanted to wrap his dick in plastic.

He’s crazy. Asking if you’d mind if he invited his buddy Sae to join—as if that’s just something you ask. He can’t see you as much more than a football the way he wants to pass you around.

Honestly, he’s the worst, and so, no matter how good he fucks you, you never stay the night. Both on principle and survival instinct. Getting familiar with a wild animal will only get you hurt in the end, after all.

And so, you pick your underwear up from the floor.

“What’s the rush?” he asks groggily. Hair down, messy and heavy with sweat, naked still, and glistening in the afterglow.

You pull your bottoms on and then proceed to gather your things. Answering unsympathetically, “I got work in the morning.”

“Boo.” He rolls over until he’s lying across the bed, his head falling over the edge, looking at you upside down where you walk around trying to undo his handiwork. “Just quit and become my sex slave.”

You crack a small laugh, “Psh, what’re the benefits?”

He rolls over onto his stomach, propping his head up under a hand. “Health care, housing, meals, endless shopping trips, oh, and fucking me, of course.” He smiles with a bite to his lip.

You try your best to deadpan when looking at him, but can’t help your lips curling into a smile. 

“You’re silly,” is still all you say, continuing to collect your things. When he undressed you earlier, he somehow managed to throw things into every corner of the room. Maniac.

“Come on,” he drawls, once again rolling over—not about to tell you that he made sure to fling your pants under the bed. “Stay for round two, and I’ll fuck yah so hard you won’t even be able to leave.”

You just sigh, “I told you, I got work.”

“I’ll drive you in the morning,” he insists.

And so do you with another excuse, “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Then quit,” he repeats—voice a little curt this time.

You look up from your search and see his upset pout—looking like a kid who’s been told no. 

“You said that already,” you say softly, coming over to ruffle his unkempt hair.

“And I meant it,” he persists, taking your hand and pulling you down into the bed again, making sure to trap you by maneuvering himself on top before you had any chance of escaping. 

He kisses your neck, burying his face there with a groan. “Fucking you before practice makes me feel invincible. Sex with you is like my good luck charm. When I don’t get it, it’s like I forget how to kick the ball—”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you laugh and roll your eyes.

“I’m being serious. I mean…” His voice turns soft then, and he nuzzles his face deeper into your neck, making his words come out muffled, “We don’t have to fuck if you don’t want to. But at least spend the night… for once.”

The tips of his ears are bright red. You’re not entirely sure what to make of it, but you’d have to have nerves of steel to say no a third time.

Wrapping his head in your hands, you pet his hair and kiss his crown.

“Okay, you win, Ryu. I’ll stay.”

♡ MISCELLANEOUS masterlist

[dwaekkicidal]

thinking about idol!skz making their cute little stay sign an NDA

wc» 4k (APPARENTLY???)

cw» fem & STAY!reader, orgy (9), multiple rounds for reader but all of skz goes once each, both mean & soft dom skz, fingering/finger fucking, recording with a phone, 1 protected & 2 unprotected p in v, oral (f briefly & m fully receiving), face fucking, facial, light cum play?

an» i reread this like 10 times but i still hate it idk why lol, but anyways pls note that im using their STAGE names, this is really unrealistic imo but im indulging for once in my writing career bc im a weak, weak woman

shes so excited and has the biggest smile on her face, despite the fact that she knows there's mostly dirty stuff in the agreement. their manager stands nearby in the conference room, watching over every move from everyone. 'just in case'

and little does she know that the second she's done signing, they agreed to show her just why they're known for being one of, if not THE rowdiest idol group ever.

and then that sweet little smile pops up again and she pushes the signed form towards their manager. they wait patiently for a confirmation before even making the tiniest move. once they witness a nod and a bow in farewell from their manager, they smile to themselves.

lee know is the first to pounce, not even giving their manager time to walk out of the room.

the manager throws a plastic bag onto the middle of the conference table and heads to the door with some comments to the boys, and she watches as something thumps as the bag falls over and she faintly sees the shiny, square wrapper of something peeking out

lee know gives her a sickeningly sweet smile and helps her to her feet. she's confused as to why but doesn't exactly question it. she just assumes they're going to another room. and, well, it's not like she has the chance to really question anything.

not when her whole world spins and her cheek aches from the way shes all but slammed onto the conference table. and sure as hell not when her short, thin sundress is pulled up and bunched around her waist. and he wastes no time either!! it's like he's been waiting for that stupid piece of paper to get signed.

he knows it's all for the group's safety and that it was necessary for a "situation like this" or whatever crap his manager said. but that won't stop him from making you pay for it.

he's ruthless as he finger fucks you into oblivion right off the bat, leaving little comments here and there as his free hand digs into your neck, holding you down against the flat surface.

he curls both fingers directly into your g-spot and your orgasm takes you by surprise. you had no chance to warn him- or any of them- before you moan loudly and gush around his fingers. your legs kick up behind you in overstimulation, but he still doesn't let up right away. only once he remembers his other members are still there, he finally slides them out of you.

he's quick to get a taste and shoves his fingers past his lips, licking them clean as you attempt to catch your breath. you manage to shake off some of the surprise just in time for the sound of a chair scraping against the floor meeting your ears.

then you feel hands on your hips and youre spinning again. this time though, you're folded into a chair. lee know holds you against him and pulls your legs up to your chest, letting you sink down just the slightest bit and causing your head to rest against his pecs.

you're not sure what to expect until you notice i.n hovering over you. he runs the back of his fingers against your folds and laughs at the way your legs twitch from sensitivity. then he uses his free hand to stroke up and down your thigh before settling by your ass and using his thumb to spread you open.

he sits there for a moment and just takes in the sight of you just barely glistening and makes a noise of delight, as if he were eating his favorite meal.

he runs his fingers through your folds again, this time with more pressure, and teasingly dips the first few centimeters of his fingers into your hole before popping it back out and tracing little circles around your clit

eventually, amidst your whines and little hole twitches, he indulges you and sinks two of those long fingers into your walls. your legs twitch against lee know's hold and the elder squeezes your legs tighter before making some crude comment in your ear that you can't completely pick up behind the squelching of your pussy </3

i.n smiles to himself and moves his fingers roughly right off the bat. his fingertips dig meanly into your g-spot and you cry out loudly. your eyes focus on the maknae above you, taking in the crazy look in his eyes as he coos down at you in mockery of your whines.

and thanks to that, you miss the way a phone gets set up right where you just signed your life away. it's almost comedic the way they use the same tripod they use in their lives. but, again, you completely miss it.

and nobody can really blame you because the first orgasm that gets caught on the camera, literally seconds after the recording started, was enough to make your legs snap out of lee know's grasp.

i.n laughs and slows his fingers, letting you ride out that high for a moment and waiting for your legs to unclasp to pull his fingers out completely.

you think you understand now, and maybe it's onto the next, but that's not happening. not when this spoiled little brat doesn't move away from you. a few people even stand to claim their turn but, much to their dismay, i.n only sits in the same spot. in fact, he runs his fingers through your folds again, ready for a round 2- or... 3, i guess you could say.

and who are they to deny their little brother! after all, they are the ones who made him so spoiled in the first place. if they let him walk all over them without any punishment, you can't imagine the things he has planned for you.

a cry is ripped through your throat as his fingers dive in again at the same time that lee know hooks your legs over his, spreading you nice and wide for the room. the fingers just as mean as before and you can see his arms flexing as he tries to find another, deeper angle. one that he finds rather easily thanks to the telltale shivers from your body.

though, he's not really given much time to play with it as you cum again suddenly. you gasp loudly and he can tell it caught you off guard too, so he laughs and helps lee know hold your legs down and apart as he finger fucks you through this orgasm. he pulled his fingers out at the perfect time, right before it had actually became too much.

buuut, like stated earlier, they are the rowdiest group around. so did you actually think you would get a second to breathe? lol. maybe with one of the others, yes. but seungmin? yeah.... no. he actually pushes i.n out of the way, to the point where the youngest almost falls on the floor.

he then lands a brisk slap to your folds and wastes no time in shoving his fingers in, 3 of them to be exact. your eyes roll into the back of your head and one of your hands desperately digs your nails into his arm. he responds by pushing it away and landing another slap to your folds.

lee know laughs from behind you and hooks his forearm under your knee, hugging that leg to your chest and using his other hand to grip your wrist tightly. seungmin takes the chance and uses his free hand to push your other leg away, spreading you open while also pinning it up and away from you. the action makes you fall back against lee knows chest again.

his fingers are somehow rougher than the other 2 before him. you thought i.n was bad, but seungmin shows you no mercy. he even puts on a show for the others and leans down, sinking his teeth into the fat of your thigh thats just under lee know's arm

the action makes you whimper and clench around his fingers, taking him by surprise. he tests the waters and bites again, but harder. you clench yet again and the boys watch as your eyes roll to the back of your head

your mind is becoming foggy as you are forced to take everything the second youngest gives. and when you finally come for the 4th time, he pushes it even further and lands a sudden smack to your ass.

he pulls away slightly, his fingers drawing sticky shapes into your folds as mumbled chatter is heard. lee know pushes you to your feet and helps you stand up as a set of steps are walking towards you.

felix takes lee know's seat on the chair and pulls you onto his lap. you feel his hands on your hips, dragging your cunt back and forth along his cock, before you notice the man in front of you. han smiles sweetly, but when you blink you catch on to the menacing message behind it. even more so when he drops to his knees, eyes never leaving yours, and licks a long, slow stripe up your thigh.

felix giggles to himself when you shiver at the feeling and digs his fingers into your hips. he lifts you just enough for han to slide his cock inside of you. then he drops you down suddenly and hugs you to his chest.

you cry out at the suddenness and the room erupts in husky chuckles, some of them pulling their cocks out to jerk off at the sight of you getting broken in by their sunshine.

you get manhandled a little further, specifically felix positioning you so that he can fuck into you while giving han some space to work with. once they find the position that works, the pair give you no time to think.

han latches onto your clit immediately, sucking harshly and running his tongue in messy shapes against it. felix groans into your ear from the way you clench around him, but he uses it as motivation to start fucking into you.

the two hover you slightly above felix and give him space to start lifting his hips slowly- trying to find a rhythm that works for the awkward position. once he finds it, he digs his hands into your waist and starts fucking you harder, his tip hitting an angle similar to the one i.n had found earlier

your moan gets caught in your throat and you feel han smile against your mound at the sound. felix reads you like a book and fucks his hips in the same position, making sure to roll his hips slowly once he was sure that he found the right spot.

han nips at your clit softly one final time before standing to his feet again. he backs up and unbuckles his belt, never breaking eye contact with you, and smirks when he pulls his cock out.

the two move almost in sync and you're helped back onto your feet only to get pushed forward and shoved towards han's length. they hastily spit roast you and fuck you like there's no tomorrow- han's hand fisting your hair while the other holds both your wrists up and out of the way for felix, who squeezes your ass firmly before landing a playful smack to your thigh.

they take turns pushing you back onto the other, seesawing you like it's some sort of game until felix slows suddenly and finishes inside the condom you hadnt even realized he put on. he pulls away with no warning once he's done and you drop to your knees at the loss of your main support system.

han laughs and slaps his tip along your lips, then against your tongue when you poke it out obediently.

somebody on your side whistles at the sight and you feel your cheeks burn, only for it to fade once two hands rest on either cheek and use that grip as leverage to start fucking your throat.

its so sloppy, but thankfully isnt as rough as you'd have expected. he still fucks your throat roughly, but it's just enough for you to be able to look up at him under your lashes and run your tongue along his underside.

he groans and bites his lip at the feeling, eyes rolling until theyre closed as a drunk smile breaks out on his face. 'dirty girl.'

once han has you swallow his release, he crouches down in front of you and gives you a sweet peck on your cheek alongside a soft massage to your hips. he throws in a comment about how good you've been so far, only to get interrupted by one of the older boys.

but he can't really blame hyunjin for being impatient for his turn. i.n got two turns against everybody else's will so he's a little cranky that they're behind schedule.

he stalks towards you, a smirk painting his face as he helps you to your feet. hyunjin giggles as he pulls you into him and you stumble from your shaky legs. his pillowy lips push against your neck and you melt at the feeling, closing your eyes momentarily and forgetting about the other men surrounding you.

its short-lived, though, and hyunjin quickly releases your neck to spin you around and help you jump onto the table. his hand sneaks into the base of your head, grabbing onto what hair he can manage in a few seconds, and tugs your neck backward.

while he does that, his other arm wraps around your waist and holds you against his chest, making sure that you dont go anywhere.

he holds your head in a way that forces you to keep eye contact, and for a moment you’re confused as to why. but then he empties your head the second the thought comes to mind thanks to the way his cock slides through your folds

it makes your jaw drop and he mocks your expression, smiling at the end of it when you whine in embarrassment. he's so long. cock tearing up your insides already and he's not even started fucking you yet.

he starts off strong, his balls smack against your ass and the hand in your hair tightens, using the hold as leverage to hold you still so he can fuck into you even harder.

the hand on your back moves to your thigh, pushing one of them up and out of the way to give him more space to fuck you deeper. between your tightness nearly suffocating his cock and watching so much build-up, hyunjin already feels like his orgasm is close by.

and he’d be completely right, especially when your cunt makes so much of those gooey goodness noises and you leak around him like a faucet.

the hand in your hair tugs and angles you to the side. once he’s happy with the skin he can see, he leans forward and bites down on your collarbone. he leaves a few marks there before his hand releases your neck in favor of yanking your sundress over your tits. he would have half the mind to just take it off, but with his orgasm so close, he has something else on his mind.

he kisses your boob once and then kisses your nipple, he stays there just a moment before biting down on it softly and sucking harshly. your nipples were so sensitive from not being touched at all and it triggers your next orgasm. he rides it out by continuing to eagerly fuck into you and chase his own orgasm.

he finds it after leaving a few bite marks against your collarbone and groans into your ear as he fucks you through it, his hips stuttering each time you feel a warmth filling you.

he pulls away after some time passes and pulls out slowly, eyes glued to the sight of your cunt leaking his cum. he smiles and continues to stare at it for a moment, even going as far as to tease his tip through your folds and draw shapes into your clit with his messy tip. he dips it back in your hole one last time to get a reaction out of you before he’s pulled away by a hand on his shoulder.

your pussy is behind puffy at this point, but what do they care? this is what you agreed to, after all. and as much as changbin wants to feel bad for you, his cock aches so badly from something that only you and that pretty pussy of yours could fix.

he drags you off the table by your hips and flips you around, pushing you down against the table forcefully exactly like lee know did earlier. the only difference is this time, changbin shoves his cock in you all at once.

the sheer thickness of it makes you choke on your spit and dig your nails into the table. you push up to try and get a second to breathe, but he wraps his hand around your neck from behind and pulls you flat against his chest.

he mumbles something into your ear about how you need to stop running away from him, and how you need to take it or else he’ll give it to you 10 times harder.

and at first you listen perfectly! your body shakes and moves a little too much for his liking, but you obey rather nicely as he fucks you thoroughly.

you listen just fine until he lifts your hips just the slightest bit and a second pair of hands slides a folded-up sweater under your stomach, giving him a new, much better angle to ram into.

thats when you start to push back against him and disobey him.

he rolls his eyes and slams his hand against your ass, making you twitch farther away from him. he huffs under his breath and pulls you all the way onto his cock by your shoulders.

it makes him bottom out and your legs shake when he sits still, making you feel every last inch of him and every last throbbing vein along his length.

you clench around him unintentionally and it makes him loosen his hold on you, giving you some leeway to try wiggling away again. but he’s not gonna have any of that!! you’re supposed to be good.

so he drags his hands down your shoulders and down your arms until he gets to your wrists. once he wraps his hands around them, he pulls you up and forcefully arches your back as he holds your arms back near his stomach.

the new position gives him enough leverage to fuck you deeply while simultaneously preventing you from getting away from him, and with his rough eagerness, it's not a surprise that the both of you cum in the next few minutes.

he bottoms out one last time as he releases into you, emptying what feels like actual buckets into you and taking well over 15 seconds until his balls are done draining into you.

the feeling of being overfilled from multiple loads, one of which felt like gallons worth, and being bullied by his thick cock made your legs finally give out. changbin pulls out of you all of a sudden and neither of you has much time to react before your legs wobble and you fall to your knees.

he catches you as your knees hit the floor and he laughs to himself when you try to use the table to stand up, only to stumble again.

instead of helping you up, he grins smugly and watches as your legs tremble from your spot on the floor. even once he’s done, he still doesn’t help you up. he just backs away and leaves you to screw your head back on.

you really felt like you were finished, your brain was so fogged that you genuinely lost count of how many of them had brought you to an orgasm. not to mention you had no idea how many orgasms you even had.

but thankfully, it technically was the last- at least for your cunt (for now).

bang chan clears his throat to catch your attention and smiles sweetly at you from across the room when your eyes meet. he doesn’t move more than an inch, only tilting his head slightly and raising his eyebrow at you in a way that makes you ache with need.

his eyes glance to his feet before returning to your face and you take a moment to process what he wants, your brain still foggy from the onslaught of orgasms you had to suddenly endure, but it clicks fast enough for him to smile even wider when you begin crawling over to him.

your face burns in embarrassment from the others watching, but chan’s thumb stroking your cheek once you settle between his thighs makes it worth every second.

“i’ll be the nice one and give you a break.” a few sounds of disapproval come from behind you, but inevitably die down when he glances towards them. he teases his thumb along your bottom lip and continues.

“that being said…” the thumb on his other hand pushes down on his cock through his pants before dipping under his hem. “i still deserve a turn, don’t ya think?” he pulls his pants and boxers down before you can say anything and you find yourself drooling at the sight of him. “i had to sit here and watch my boys break you in. it’s only fair”

he slaps his tip against your cheek a few times, laughing to himself at the action, then pushes himself past your lips. he groans quietly with a smile painting his face as you take him deeper on your own- all the way until you feel him in the back of your throat.

his hand pushes down against your head, making you deepthroat him. he revels in the feeling for a moment before loosening the pressure and helping you pull off.

he easily falls into a rhythm like this, lifting and pushing your head onto himself. his groans were enough to get you to push your legs together, the ache between your legs somehow coming back as you pleasure the “head of the house.” between his praises and pet names, you only felt more eager to suck him harder and cause his orgasm.

you completely forget everything around you until i.n. walks into your peripheral vision with a phone on a small tripod in his hand. your eyes snap to him, staring at the smile that's partially hidden behind the phone, before staring directly into the camera lens.

you can tell it affects him from the way his smile falters and he takes his lips between his teeth.

“eyes on me.”

your eyes immediately snap back to chan and you circle your tongue around his tip in apology. he smirks and furrows his eyebrows when your tongue traces the most prominent vein on him, a more sensitive spot for him.

he already felt close enough from that, but when you pull off him momentarily and stroke him so that you can run your tongue between his base and his balls, he completely loses it.

ropes of cum paint your face and you have to close your eyes to prevent any injury, and chan only groans louder at the sight, seemingly cumming even more from unintentionally painting your face.

once he’s finished and only your eyes are cleaned off, i.n walks up to you and grabs a handful of your hair, forcing your neck back to present your dirty face to the phone that was still recording.

somebody reaches from behind you and gathers some of chan's release on their finger only to shove it past your lips. you hum and the taste and shut your eyes in satisfaction.

all 3 men laugh and hyunjin speaks up as the mystery man, squeezing your cheeks together: "say cheese~"

they know they found the perfect toy when you smile drunkly into the lens <3

“now that that's out of our system... let’s go to a different room and talk more specific details through. this room reeks of cum-”

Taglist: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

[balteredsworld]

wilson’s hypothesis. gregory house

🥼🩺 | according to wilson, house likes you and you like him. so, house confronts you with wilson’s hyposthesis.

masterlist: greg house n all

warnings/tags! fluff of sorts, angst if you squint, talks of self-sabotage, idiots in love, sherlocked reference!!! (just watched 8x18—house self-sabotages so bad my lord)

author's note: lowkey hate this but it's idk what're we thinking fellow ducklings???

"wilson thinks i like you," house airs.

you throw him a strange glance.

"crazy, right?"

"yeah? and you think i like cameron," you mimic, matching his dismissive detachment to comedic effect.

only, house is serious.

“no, wilson thinks i like you.” house ignores your joke, repeating wilson’s solemn hypothesis.

when you pause to look at his face, your mind goes off into complete nonsense like's just tipped you over and left you with internal bleeding in your brain, upon the realization that he does, in fact, mean those words he's telling you.

"what makes him say that?"

"i'm apparently connecting with you,” house indulges, relaxing into the cold bit of wall behind him. the moonlight hits him in a more subtle way, half hidden in the shadows. the blue of his wrinkled shirt melts into the glow it radiates.

you're not particularly sure what to say. thankfully, he elaborates.

“you share your food with me, i take your food, ergo it means something in wilson's romantic world,” house offers, before quickly dismissing the thought of his supposed feelings for you. "but you know wilson, he's always been a romantic. thinks he can diagnose emotions as easily as diseases."

you consider the argument, "well couldn't that just mean i can't finish my food and you don't wanna get your own?"

he squints at you, as if with drills for eyes. you're playing dumb, unless you really believe that. but you don't.

you clear your throat, "well, do you believe that?"

"well it's either that or i must obviously like you."

you gawk. "well, do you?"

"do i have to spell it out for you?"

"wilson had to," you snark back. "so, do you?"

"no," he says with a flat face.

something in your chest drops, just as your brows shoot up. "no?"

"no," he reaffirms.

you don't know if you manage to catch your frown. house doesn't say anything if you didn't. you're more than a little embarrassed, surely flushed. you're thankful that the two of you are under the dim veil of night.

"well good thing," you grumble.

house looks at you with a curious look, as if he was almost offended you would say that. "good thing?"

“we’re both lonely. lonely means self-sabotage,” you explain, fiddling with one of the main trinkets that line the ledge. you were sure you proving your point, coming up with an off-putting rationale to cover up your embarrassment. "two self-saboteurs, well, that's an equation with proven unresolved issues... so yeah, good thing."

you were internally cringing at the words you were spitting out, but you were trying to play it cool. it's something that's never worked in your favour though when you were near an attractive guy, and you always swore this was to make them repulse the inkling of interest. and you swore off doing this years ago, but the blunt rejection, if you could call it that, sprung the teenager out of you.

then again, house affects you like that. blue eyes and blue shirt and all.

he makes it no secret that he's a ladies' man, often hitching hookers into the hospital despite cuddy's gentle parenting to make him stop. but house does whatever he wants in the hospital, hence all the lawsuits you've had to deal with.

when you look at him again, he's somehow uncharacteristically quiet. you're unsure if his speculative eyes are because of a lightbulb moment, but one thing's for sure: he was thinking.

"you're thinking, aren't you?" you glean in a tilt.

house doesn't say anything, but turns away from you. when he does, you're unsure if you see his lip curl in disappointment—he hides it too well. some part of you hopes, but you know you're not his type. a bit too much like him in the overanalyzing and overthinking.

and maybe you're convincing yourself, but realistically speaking, your happy arrangement of sharing food in the middle of a hospital shift may work for lonely and misery, but not for anything else. two people who like self-sabotage is like a dumpster fire.

you'd rather have house like this, happy and alarmingly blue.

"aaand you've stopped listening. i shall take that as my cue to leave," you announce, hopping off the ledge in the same ginger fashion you had waltzing in.

when you land your feet, house airs his deduction, nodding along as if he was finally making sense of you and wilson’s hypothesis. 

“maybe he’s onto something.”

you turn to him with a tinge of a worrisome brow. 

“who knows? maybe i’ve been sending subtle signals that even i’m not aware of. so what do you think?” he croons his head, all ominous, arriving to a conclusion. you can practically see the cogs turn in his brain. “you like me.”

"i never said that.”

house looks at you, rising in a smooth motion, as if to showcase his towering height, forcing you to look up at him. sitting down, he's not so large, but now, all you can think is that he's tall.

"you might not, but your body does," he croons, dangerous smirk playing about his face. his eyes probe your face, confidently with a proven theory. "pupils dilated..."

house grabs your wrist, eyes practically lighting up in delight at his impending diagnosis.

"…and pulse elevated. i understand that wilson thinks that love's a mystery to me, but the chemistry's incredibly simple," he says, softening his grip on you.

house doesn't let go, lingering in this proximity, leaning closer like some ghost and spirit you'll always look for. your breath hitches, but house doesn't afford you time to quite think, capturing your lips in a kiss that you reciprocate, clutching onto his arms for balance.

you feel one of his hand snake to the nook of your back, pushing you flush against him. house keeps his other hand cupping your cheek and jaw, large enough to cover that expanse of your face. it's a little dry and rough, but you don't mind, all too preoccupied with his lips.

house makes good work on you. his lips are even better than you'd imagine, but you finally register his words and what you were doing, so you pull away. the furrow of your brows returning, apprehensive about his next words.

you whisper, “i thought you didn't like me.”

"i was lying," he shrugs. "i needed to see if i was right, and i was."

"so you figured me out?"

"you like me,” house concludes, triumphant. “i was right.”

“i thought this was wilson’s hypothesis?” you cock a brow.

“hypothesis,” he nods before flicking your head. “but i can’t give him the credit for my diagnosis.”

you let out an airy laugh, relieved that he didn't make you spell it out for him. "you're an ass, you know?"

his eyes are proudly heralding trumpets. you could practically hear the victory going off them.

"it comes with the sitting arrangement."

[velvetkisscs]

party 4 u, part of you knew

synopsis: you were an outcast, sunghoon was not. he was your neighbour, your childhood best friend, your first love. sunghoon didn't know that. on the last day of senior high, you decided to face your fears; go to the party and tell him how you feel. part of you knew that things might not end the way you want it to. still, you went.

"i shouldn't have gone to this party 4 u."

wc: 5.2k pairing: popular!sunghoon x fem!reader contains: angst (i tried), childhood best friends, secret crush, first love heartbreak, lack of communication, time apart, mentions of random characters, unexpected reunion, right person- wrong time, use of song lyrics, yn is kinda sad, etc. (let me know if i missed any) a/n: this story was heavily inspired by the "party 4 u" takes on tiktok. they've been flooding my fyp lately. these 2 tiktoks: [1] & [2] specifically. i strictly only listened to party 4 u - charlie xcx while making this.

this story is dedicated to my best babes, @sunoostripletriple <3 go give her a hug rn

i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i had fun writing it! i haven't written anything in a while, so idk if it gives what’s supposed to be gave? or however that saying goes. i do hope that it meets your expectations.

likes, comments & reblogs are appreciated <3

might contain grammatical errors as english is not my first language. not proofread.

you don’t belong here.

not in this dress and definitely not in this moment. but you do it anyway– sliding on the dress you picked– slowly, shakily. you’ve never been to a party before, nor were you ever invited. unsure whether the outfit you picked is too formal, you throw on your brother’s oversized jacket. the mirror reflects someone unfamiliar. perhaps a different version of yourself.

someone prettier. someone braver.

someone even sunghoon might look at. your room is littered with your own clothes, from your bed to the floor. you’ve been mulling over skipping the party for the nth time, uncertain whether this is the right choice. you can just wipe off your makeup, change into your (sunghoon’s) hoodie, crawl into the bed, and bury yourself under your sheets. pretend that the party doesn’t exist, that it’s just a normal night of you staying in.

but your hair is already lightly curled, you’ve done your makeup twice, and you finally convinced your mom to let you borrow one of her necklace after begging for what felt like an hour. you can’t really turn back now.

you hear a knock on the door. it’s your brother, heeseung.

“are you still coming?” he asks.

“i’m almost done.” you lied.

“i’ll wait for you outside.”

it’s too late. you really have to go. for the last time, you stand in front of your vanity mirror, rehearsing what to say to him.

“hey sunghoon. you look good tonight. i mean you always do.” you stutter over your words

“i’ve been wanting to tell you something. i like you. i always have. i think i might be in love with you.”

no. you thought that it’s too cheesy. it’s too much.

over the years, you’ve created different versions of this moment. what words to use, the tone of your voice, when the right time is, and even the outcome. you thought about how his eyes turn into crescent moons, the way his vampire-like fangs show up whenever he genuinely laughs, if he would tell you he feels the same, how you would feel when he pulls you in for a hug while apologizing for not realizing his feelings, and yours sooner. that maybe, you were always the one. 

he’s always been the only one.

but you know reality is never that kind. as soon as you meet his eyes, you fail to think of the proper words, let alone form a sentence that truly conveys your feelings. 

before you could even change your mind, your phone buzzes. heeseung is getting impatient waiting for you. so you leave.

it’s the last day of senior high. you two are going to different colleges. this is your only shot. tonight is your only chance. if things go south, if he ends up looking at you like a stranger– someone he hadn't spend his whole childhood and adolescent years with– you’ll have months, maybe even years of time and distance to forget.

you tell yourself that you’re not doing this for him, convinced that you’re doing this for yourself. that once you get the words out, once you let go of everything that’s been burning inside you, you’ll be free. 

but deep down, a part of you knew.

you’re going to this party for him, not for you.

the party is already in full swing when you arrived. the music is loud, the floor thumping as tangled bodies move in rhythm. not used to this kind of space, you stand still. you pretend to check an important notification from your phone, pretend to be waiting for someone. you’re stalling and you’re not sure what for. maybe for the annoying voice in your head to shut up and let you breathe. or to find the courage to walk up to sunghoon, finally telling him what you’ve been wanting to say.

this party felt foreign. people wear their confidence like perfume. compared to them, you’re a question mark left unanswered. your clothes felt too snug, shoes an inch too high, and your heart definitely too loud. you try to weave through the blur of entwined bodies, scanning the room for that one specific person.

then you see him.

sunghoon.

it didn’t take you long to find him. he’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a red cup in one hand, laughing at whatever jay and jake said. his v-neck shirt clung to his body, adorned with a sleek leather jacket. he drinks from the red cup, his side profile showing off his sharp jawline and his perfectly angled nose. 

his smile is genuine. familiar. unlike the room you’re both in. the smile you used to see everyday, back when he was still yours— well, not yours— but back when he was still closer. back when he’d throw small rocks to your window, asking if you’d want to go out for ice cream. back when you lost your grandpa and he invited you for a movie night in his room. blanket forts and popcorn, all set up by him. back when he used to call you “peach” because you once told him peaches were your favourite fruit, and that you always smell like one. he never forgot.

back when you were each other’s only friend.

back when you still mattered.

sunghoon is always the center of attention. it’s like a scene carved out of a coming of age film. he’s being bathed in the golden glow of overhead lights, the music slowing down. he’s the main character, and you’re just a mere extra passing through. he tilts his head back from laughter, and you see people form a semi-circle around him, orbiting him like planets to a sun. he’s the sun and you’re a rock. you can’t look away even if you tried.

you want to walk up to him. say what you’ve been wanting to say. 

anything. 

something. 

your hands tremble slightly at your sides. your fingers finding comfort at the hem of your dress, trying to anchor yourself.

as you take a step forward, she walks in.

eunji.

beautiful eunji with her perfect everything. her presence alone draws everyone’s attention. she makes a beeline to sunghoon like she’s done it over a thousand times. she knows she belongs by his side. you watch for sunghoon’s reaction, freezing for a second when he sees her. for a brief moment, something unreadable flashes in his eyes. is it nervousness? confusion? that the most popular girl in the school is walking towards him? 

from where you stand, you see eunji wrap her arms around his neck. then she goes for it, leaning in to kiss him.

and to your demise, he lets her.

your breath hitches. your chest tightens. you stand still, feet glued to the ground, unable to move or look away.

the noise of the party fades into the background, as if the person in charge of your life suddenly turned the volume of the whole world down. everything that was once so loud– the music, the chatter– is now barely a whisper. your legs won’t move, you feel stuck, like a statue that can see and feel everything.

in that moment, a hollow feeling blooms in your chest. you feel utterly alone in a room full of people. although surrounded with noise and laughter, you felt so small, so invisible.

your throat burns, a big lump forming. your eyes start to sting. you try so hard to do everything to ground yourself, you find your nails digging into your palm. you can’t cry now. not here and definitely not in front of everyone.

tragically for you– as if the universe is playing a joke– your eyes blur. mascara coated lashes getting damp with the tears you so badly want to hold back. and then–

“yn!” heeseung’s voice cuts through all the noise. and for once, you were thankful for your brother.

you hurriedly wipe your tears away, quickly turning towards heeseung. you put on a false front, smiling at him as if nothing is wrong.

on the opposite side of the room, sunghoon hears your name, his head snaps in your direction. he turns around, moving away from eunji, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s searching for something– someone.

you.

but you’re gone. you walked away.

the ride home is silent. you insisted that heeseung stays, that you feel lightheaded from the unfamiliar setting. that it’s best you go home. he buys it.

you look out to the window, watching the blurry headlights and streetlights pass like ghosts. the driver wondering why the party ended so early, so soon. you offer a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. the driver understood and doesn’t say a word afterwards. you were thankful for that.

your phone buzzes. it was a message from him. 

from sunghoon.

[sunghoon 🤍 10:29] hey, did you attend the party? i thought i saw you but i wasn’t sure.

you stare at the message, then his contact name. but you don’t answer. what will you even tell him? that you were there? that you watched him kiss someone?

that you’ve been in love with him since he hugged you under that blanket fort?

you open the reply box, then close it. but you open it again, typing out a “yeah, i was there.” but you erase it and you try again. “i was gonna say hi..” you delete it. trying to even out your breathing. trying to make the lump in your throat go away, the ache in you heart shrink, disappear. to pretend that it doesn’t matter. that it doesn’t hurt.

but it does.

in the end, you don’t reply. rather, you think to yourself. answering his message in your mind.

“party on, you party on.”

deleting his message, then his contact.

slowly deleting memories of him.

you convince your parents to let you move out to the city. telling them that it’s the best course of action. that it will help you get familiar with your surroundings once college rolls in.

 you leave town a week after graduation.

no texts. no goodbyes.

sunghoon messages you a few more times that summer. random things; things you two used to talk about. harmless things like “did you hear about the new ice cream place that opened up?” or a “come join us at the old arcade!”

you don’t respond.

you read them all. every word, repeatedly. but you let them sit there like messages from an unknown number. a stranger. a part of you hoped he’d try harder. that he’d make the effort to find you. ask you what’s wrong and give you a hug that will heal the very scar he stabbed into your heart.

but he doesn’t. somehow that hurts more than the kiss did.

you stop making blanket forts. stop eating peaches, stop using peach scented body wash. you stop checking his social media. all of the photos you had with him– from elementary to senior high– deleted. except one. a photo taken the summer before senior year. it’s hidden behind a locked album. a picture taken by your own brother, heeseung. you and sunghoon sitting on a swing, backs facing against the screen, ice cream in one hand, the sky a mixed of orange and pink hues, your gaze towards him. 

back then you were already wishing for something.

college is your clean slate. a mix of dorm rooms, group projects, lectures, expensive coffee, and new faces. you keep to yourself, studying every chance you get. you make friends, but not real ones. you don’t curl your hair. you store that necklace away. you don’t go to parties.

you turn yourself into a version that is easier to protect, invisible by choice.

time passes. slowly– painfully at first– you healed.

on your second year of college you meet someone. his name is kaito. he’s good to you. he has the kind of laugh that makes you feel fuzzy inside, hands that always know how to interlace with yours. he doesn’t make your heart race. but maybe, that’s not a bad thing. because hearts that race can easily break. a steady heart endures.

everyday he tells you he loves you. it’s the first thing that leaves his mouth in the morning and the last thing he utters before the day ends. you smile and say it back. and for a good while, you believe it. 

when kaito proposes it’s soft, pure. simple. a walk on the beach after a fancy dinner. he gets on one knee holding out a small velvety box, a ring tucked inside. it’s dainty, it’s precious.

somehow you hesitate. just for a moment. except you don’t know why. 

then you say yes.

not because you were certain. but because you want to be.

your parents are thrilled, his family adored you. everything is perfect. even you start to believe it. that love doesn’t have to be filled with sparks. that it didn’t have to be extraordinary. 

for once, you believe that the hole in your heart is patched up. that sunghoon is just a distant memory you learn to live with.

but memories always have a way of returning.

it starts slow.

a scent, faint and familiar. the kind that smells like cold summer nights and someone’s sweater draped over your shoulders. you catch it on a stranger passing by the grocery aisles. your heart stutters, it knows. for a brief moment, you close your eyes. it’s not kaito. not the steady love you said yes to.

it’s someone else. sunghoon.

it’s been 7 years, you thought. he can’t be using the same cologne. but you know that scent anywhere. he wore it throughout junior and senior year after all. ever since heeseung got it for him for christmas.

you shake it off. it must be a coincidence. 

except it happens again.

you’re at your local café, the one you’ve been frequenting to for group projects and late night cramming. you’re sitting down in a corner table, your laptop open and half a pastry forgotten on your plate. the song plays faintly through the speakers– she needs him by her’s– an indie track that used to be on all of your playlists. the one sunghoon would tease you about before admitting he kind of liked the band too.

your hands hover above the keys. you stare out the window, watching people pass by. maybe the song will finish quicker if you don’t pay attention to it. but it stays. long enough to remind you of the memories. long enough for the lyrics to cling to your skin like his sweater once did.

and then, kaito.

your sweet fiancé. kaito comes home with a new bottle of body wash and other travelling necessities for his upcoming business trip. 

“i thought you’d like this one, babe.” he says, placing it onto the bathroom counter.

“it’s peach scented. you like fruity things, right?”

you do.

it’s the exact brand you used to have in your old childhood bathroom. the one sunghoon would always tease you about whenever he’s over to play with heeseung. saying “why do you smell like a juice box?”

you stopped buying it after the party.

but the world likes to play a joke on you. the same body wash sits innocently on your counter. like time is just a concept, that it’s not real. like years haven’t passed. everything you tried so hard to erase is coming back. uninvited.

then a letter addressed to you comes.

a small pink envelope in your mailbox. you almost miss it, wedged between bills and packages. inside is a wedding invitation. heeseung, your brother. he’s getting married.

the card is beautiful– soft lavender coloured, adorned with bold calligraphy, a picture of heeseung and his fiancé, information and the dress code. 

lee heeseung and im seo-ah invites you to celebrate their wedding saturday, june 19th, 5:00pm at serenity garden

you stare at it, contemplating. there’s no rsvp option. you have to go.

kaito can’t make it. he calls the night before, apologizing every chance he gets. apparently there’s an emergency in japan. something about the budget and the investors. he promises to make it up to you when he returns. you tell him it’s fine. that you can manage.

you arrive at the venue. you wear a simple, ankle length dress with layers, coloured in different shades of blue, and a small scarf that came along with it. the dress is shaped like a flower, quite fitting for the theme of the wedding. you look like a woman who’s moved on.

but inside, you’re still the same quiet girl, heart pacing.

the sky is bright and clear. a gentle breeze flutters through the air, carrying the faint scent of lilac and hydrangeas. the sun casts golden streaks over the flowers and the white line-covered chairs. 

everything feels like a scene from a movie– too perfect to be real. soft jazz plays in the background, fairy lights hang between tree branches. it’s romantic. beautiful in a way that makes your chest ache. 

because it reminds you of your younger self. 

the one who curled her hair in her childhood bedroom. the one that carefully brushed eyeshadow on her lids. the one who felt like she didn’t belong. you’re watching someone else’s life unfold– someone who belongs into this moment, this life, better than you do.

and then you see him.

standing tall by the entrance of the venue in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. his face breaks into the biggest grin when he spots you.

“yn!” he calls, kindly weaving through the guests to get to you.

your heart beats rapidly.

he sweeps you into a tight hug. a hug so warm, so real, so grounding. 

“can’t believe you, out of all people, are married. you look amazing!” you say, pulling back from your brother’s hug.

he shrugs. “you clean up okay yourself.”

then his wife appears– seo-ah. she exudes elegant grace, the kind of woman who makes you understand why your brother fell in love so hard.

seo-ah greets you with a sweet smile. then a hug. you can tell she’s extremely nervous. “i’ve heard so many things about you!”

“and i’ve heard so much about you!” you reply. “all good things, i swear.”

later, during the reception, your name is called for a speech.

your stomach flips. you weren’t prepared. you didn’t plan much. you didn’t think you’d be asked. but it only makes sense since you’re the sister of the groom. 

every eye in the room is on you. something that never happened before. your legs feel like they will give out the second you make your way to the small stage. but you do it anyway. you hold the mic with both hands.

“hi.” you begin, your voice shaking. “i’m heeseung’s younger sister. surprising right?” a few chuckles ripple through the crowd.

“i basically spent most of my life watching him be the loudest person in every room. the first person to finish a whole box of ramen in a week, and definitely the worse person to share a bathroom with.”

more laughter breaks the tension. you exhale and continue.

“but i can assure you that he’s the most loyal person i’ve ever known. and i’m not saying that because he’s my brother. i remember when my first pet hamster died, he stayed up with me all night. he even bought me the candies i liked with the very little allowance he had. when i failed my physics exam, he made sure to tutor me until i understood the gravity of the situation.”

you catch heeseung looking a little flustered and you smiled at him.

“when he met seo-ah, he changed. not in a bad way, but in a real way. he became someone who listened more, someone who laughed a little softer, but loved harder. louder. and it’s all because of you, seo-ah. you truly bring out the best in him. i will never trade you for anyone else, you’re my sister now. thank you for taking him off my back. and good luck dealing with that.” another wave of laughter erruupts.

you pause.

“here’s to new beginnings. to love. the kind that grows with you. and the kind that feels like coming home.”

applause and glasses clinking fills the room. you feel like you might float away from sheer relief. that attention is no longer directed at you, but to the newlyweds. you don’t notice the eyes that were once watching you. 

but what you didn’t see is how a pair of eyes never looked away. a pair of eyes that never left your frame ever since you stepped up to speak.

his fingers curl loosely around a champagne glass. his chest rising, then falling. as if he just learned how to breathe. except you don’t see it. the way his expression softens with every word that leaves your mouth. a sense of pride in his gaze whenever you made the crowd laugh. a smile threatening to tug at his lips. you don’t see any of it.

not yet.

descending down the steps, you finally start to breathe evenly. that’s when it happens–

your eyes meet.

everything stops.

the music, the laughter. the chatter, the clinking of glass. everything goes silent.

it feels like you’re seventeen again. standing in a crowded room, but somehow alone. every memory you once buried, bursts to the surface. seven years of silence. of forgetting, pretending. all coming out.

he’s wearing a charcoal grey suit that fits like it was made for him. he looks older, more refined. he’s no longer the boy you used to love, but a man. however, his eyes stayed the same. soft yet unwavering. 

your eyes start to sting, a lump forming in your throat. you want to run. you want to leave. you have to. you need to.

but he’s faster. “wait–yn–”

his hand gently wraps around your wrist. it’s not forceful, but enough to stop you from leaving. enough to say please.

you stop, not turning around. you can’t.

“i didn’t think you’d come,” he says behind you, voice soft, yet unsure. the way that makes your throat tighten. “i was hoping you did. but i didn’t know.”

then he sees it. the dainty ring around your finger. but he doesn’t say anything. instead, he lets go and asks “how have you been?”

you don’t answer right away. closing your eyes, trying to stabilize your breathing. you turn around, forcing yourself to look at him with a smile. it’s way harder than you thought it would be.

“i’ve been good.” you look down at your hand. “i’m engaged.” showing him the ring kaito gave you.

he swallows, hard. “congratulations! are you happy?” now he’s the one forcing a smile.

“i am. it’s easy, it’s stable.”

“i missed you, you know.” he says quietly, voice cracking. “for years, i didn’t know how to reach you. i texted you, but i assumed you didn’t want to be bothered.”

you don’t answer him. and as if he understood, he nods.

there’s so much silence. it’s heavy, full of everything you never said. eventually, you say goodbye to him. then you go over to heeseung and seo-ah, giving them the gift and telling them that the wedding was beautiful. you hug them and promised to invite them for lunch. you walk out, the same way you did 7 years ago.

but that night, you find yourself in your childhood bedroom, back where everything started. your phone buzzes. it’s an unknown number. but part of you know who it is.

[unknown 11:10 pm] i got your number from heeseung. can we meet up by the lake tomorrow. just to talk and catch up. there’s something need to tell you.

the lake hadn’t changed.

maybe the tress were taller. the path was overgrown, used. the rope of the swing had frayed from the years and weather. but the lake itself– the still, glassy surface reflecting the colors of the sky– look exactly the same. the same as the last time you were here. unmoving, serene, quietly watching as if it had been waiting for you all long. 

your heart is stuttering in your chest, and there he is.

sunghoon sitting on the swing, hands in his hoodie pocket, just the way he used to be. his silhouette is outlined by the pink and orange hue of the sunsent. and for a second, it’s like time never passed. like you’re still seventeen, hiding away from the rest of the world, with him. talking about your dreams, too big and too small to name.

he turns around when he hears you, tension in his jaw, his shoulders– but his eyes remain the same. soft. the kind reserved only in your memories. only for you.

“you came,” he says, voice quiet.

you nod, words unable to come out. the lump in your throat is already forming, threatening to knock the air out of your lungs. you didn’t think coming back here would be this hard. or maybe you did. you just hope you were stronger now.

he gestures towards the swing. “sit with me?”

for a second, you hesitate. but you walk closer, the grass moving beneath your feet. your fingers graze the rope, then the wood plank of the swing. you remember the summers you spent here, pushing each other back and forth as high as you can. laughter echoing between the trees. it was your place with him. a secret you both kept from the rest of the world. a place where everything felt a bit easier.

sunghoon sits on the other end of the swing. for a few minutes, the only thing you hear are the sound of the cicadas, the wind, and the distant ripple of the water. the quiet feels loud. your heart that was once steady is racing. you wonder if the man beside you can hear it. and then he speaks–

“i didn’t know you left a week after graduation,” he says. voice shaky just enough to reveal his nervousness.

your head turns toward him. slow and hesitant. but you don’t say anything. you’ve always been the quiet one between the two of you.

“i mean… i found out eventually, as soon as college started. but not before that. not when it mattered, when i could’ve done something.”

you look down at your hands. the same hands that once held pieces of him. notes he’d pass to you in class, fries you used to fight over. the same ones that used to hold his own whenever you feel scared to walk back home. especially after getting scolded by your parents. the same hands that held your small secret. the hands that held your feelings for him. 

“i asked heeseung where you were,” he continues. “but he wouldn’t tell me. he said you didn’t feel like going out. i should’ve realized sooner that you didn’t want to be found. by me.”

it was true. you begged heeseung not to say anything. told him that it was better that way. that it was easier than explaining that his own best friend– your own best friend– broke your heart. 

sunghoon chuckles, but it’s bitter, empty. “i didn’t understand. i kept texting you. i kept hoping that maybe, you’ll show up with a smile on your face. telling me that you were sick and was bedridden for days. when i found out that you went to the graduation party, i thought i knew how to get you out of your room. so i threw so many parties. i told myself that it was for fun, for the guys, to blow off steam after exams. but it wasn’t.”

your vision starts to blur. that god awful lump in your throat is back. he looks at you, eyes shining in the low light. honest, unflinching.

“i threw those parties for you.”

the words hit you with the force of a tidal wave. you can’t breathe. your chest caves around the weight of your heavy heart. you finally heard the truth you never knew you needed. the idea that he had missed you too. that he looked for you in ways only he knew how. in places filled with noise.

you cover your mouth with your hand, trying to steady your breathing. your sobs, yourself. but it’s too late. the tears come fast. they’re hot, heavy, unstoppable. the dam you spent 7 years building, crumbles without mercy.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble. words cracking like glass. “i’m so sorry, hoon.” and that was enough for him.

he moves. arms wrapping around you, pulling you off the swing and into his arms. he holds you like you’re fragile glass, like he knows how long you’ve been holding everything in. he always does. and that healed you. the scar you once had in your heart, fading away.  he’s been waiting to hold you for years. 7 whole years. 

you cry. until tears won’t come out anymore. 

you cry for the years you lost. for something that could have been. you cry for the girl you used to be– the one who was so in love, yet so afraid. the girl who was so sure that she will never be enough. you cry because the love you had for him never died. just buried beneath time and distance. you cry because you hate that he’s here, when it’s too late.

sunghoon doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t stop you from crying. instead, he wraps his arms around you, lets you bury your face into his shoulders. he lets you soak his hoodie with your tears. it feels like forgiveness.

his voice comes out low, almost trembling. “i looked for you in every girl i met. i tried to move on. i really did. but no one can replace you. no one knew how to make the world quiet down with one single glance.”

you want to say something. tell him that you loved him first. that you never stopped loving him. but the words refuse to come out. the ache in your heart is too big, the wound too raw. so you stay quiet.

and he understands, he always does.

for the first time in 7 years of being apart, silence feels like healing.

you stay like that, head resting on his shoulder, gazing into the horizon. until the stars begin to peek through the sky. neither of you move. neither of you dares to let go.

because maybe, just maybe, this isn’t the end. but a new beginning.

likes, comments & reblogs are appreciated <3

a/n: i wont lie, i cried while writing some of the parts. especially when that part of the song coincidentally aligns with the “sad” bits. that’s why it took me a bit to finish it. an empath lives a hard life… also because i was out for work and a date for with my bf <3

do not fret! there will be a second part to this <3 see u soon!

tags: @sunoostripletriple @yoizhrs @sievenderz @bookmarkstanley

line divider by: @strangergraphics

[bi-writes]

Hi, you mentioned MOB and Simon do movie nights. What kind of movies do you think they'd watch together? I can picture him stomaching a cheesy rom com because he knows how much she loves them but I can also kind of imagine her surprising him by choosing something like a horror movie. I'm probably way off base. Idk why and this might just be me but I find that certain horror movies put me in a bit of a cozy mood lol

mail-order bride

"simon, did you get the popcorn?"

you hear what sounds like a grunt in response. you keep rummaging through the cabinet on your toes, frowning, pushing aside the cartons of stock and bags of rice as you look for the box he supposedly picked up.

"simon--?"

you jump when you feel two big hands on your waist. you gasp when he drags you backwards, pressing your ass against his front, reaching up over you as he slides the corn starch aside to pick out the box you were looking for. he drops it into your hands, giving the side of your neck a warm kiss before pulling away.

"you put it up there on purpose," you giggle, turning around to face him. he makes a face, feigning ignorance, and he puts a hand over his chest.

"dunno wot y'r talkin' about, luv," he mutters, touching your chin gently. "did y'pick a film?"

you nod, and he takes the box from your hands.

"mmm. i'll get it ready for ya. you get it started on the telly," he nods his head behind him. you give his cheek a light kiss before making your way behind him. you curl up on the couch, throwing a blanket over your legs. you watch as the cat slinks into the room from the corner of your eye, padding into the kitchen where she smells the popcorn. when simon comes back into the room, she's following him closely, staring up at the bowl in his hands as he takes a seat next to you.

he glares down at the cat as she takes a seat in front of his legs. she hops up onto the coffee table, sitting on the edge, and she blinks as he snarls at her, putting a piece of popcorn in his mouth and crunching down on it rather obnoxiously as if to taunt her.

"wot are we watchin'?" simon asks finally as you click the remote. you lean your back against one side of him, settling the blanket over both of you as you reach into the bowl and take a few pieces of popcorn.

"terrifier."

"ya wanna watch somethin' scary?" he chuckles, raising a brow. "didn't think ya'd fancy somethin' so..."

"so what?" you smile up at him, turning your head. "gory? you should know, i happen to appreciate low budget, indie films that feature lots of blood. besides, i heard people literally got sick from the second one, so we have to catch up."

simon snorts, bopping your nose with his thumb.

"y'r bloody hilarious, baby," he mutters, nudging his nose against yours. you put a hand on his chest and push him backwards, giggling.

"oh, no," you warn him, shaking your head. "we're not doing this again."

"doin' wot?"

"we haven't finished a single film in the last few weeks because you can't keep yourself off," you laugh, turning back to the tv.

"don't know wot y'r talkin' about," he murmurs, his eyes honed in on your mouth. the curve of it, how you wet it with your tongue, the cherry gloss that's still lingering from when you put it on earlier.

you lean up a little, whispering against his lips, "i mean..." you kiss him softly, "like last night..."

he chases you when you pull away, his breaths heavy as he stares down at the low neckline of your shirt, the peek of the bra he nearly tore off of you just a few hours ago. he meets your eyes, humming.

"mmm..." simon licks his lips, "fuckin' hell..."

you smile, big eyes, all soft.

"i really, really wanna watch it, simon," you whisper. "can you do that for me? pretty please?"

simon sighs, scrunching his nose a little before nodding his head.

"woteva y'want, baby. can have woteva y'want."

you crunch on more popcorn as you turn your head around. simon throws his arm around you, pulling you closer, and he narrows his eyes as the cat jumps onto the couch beside him. he relents finally, picking off a small piece of popcorn and setting it down in front of her.

simon nearly throws the entire bowl when she merely sniffs it and walks away.

[suliigwp]

MASTERMIND

Lando Norris x reader

SULI: ITS FINALLY HERE I KNOW I KNOW - I love this man so much just look at him. Uhhh not proof read so... If there's any mistakes ignore it! Text messages and a singular Instagram post! Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 tbh idk if I want to make this a series or univers or what because there Is a Series coming soon with lando and all I can think about is them so - let me know!

Based on 'mastermind' by Taylor swift I bow down to you queen - Stream Mastermind!!

Warnings: bestie's a bit crazy here, depressive childhood on readers part, uhhhh none?

You weren’t on the guest list.

You knew that from the moment you slipped out of the cab and took in the scene—a velvet-roped entrance, tall security guards in sleek black suits, the unmistakable pulse of deep house music rolling up from the rooftop of the Monaco hotel like heat waves off asphalt.

But you also knew how to get in.

A friend of a friend had owed you a favor. A whisper here, a mention there, and a little calculated charm had bought you more than access—it bought you control. You didn’t walk in like someone hoping to be noticed. You walked in like someone who had already decided who would notice you.

Inside, the rooftop glowed with warmth—glass lanterns, the shimmer of city lights below, and a skyline sliced by jagged cliffs and moonlight. It was glamorous in that effortless way only Monaco could pull off. Champagne glasses glinted in the hands of people who had never worried about paying rent. Women with glossy hair and gowns that slinked like second skin. Men with sports team money and sharp jawlines. Everyone either wanted something—or someone.

You didn’t smile. Not yet. You walked slowly, the click of your heels barely audible over the music. A silk dress, cut low in the back, clung to you in just the right way. Your hair—undone, deliberately imperfect—caught the wind, strands falling over your shoulder as you made your way toward the balcony.

That’s where you positioned yourself. Strategic. Peripheral. A place with the best lighting, the best view, and most importantly—the best sightlines into the crowd. You didn’t check your phone. Didn’t sip the drink you’d accepted minutes ago. You were too focused.

The room buzzed behind you: the clinking of glass, the pitch of laughter rising, the occasional cheer when someone from a team entered. You knew he wasn’t here yet.

And then—

A shift in energy.

It was subtle at first. The way the volume changed—not louder, but sharper. The kind of silence that hummed just before a chord dropped. You turned your head slightly, only enough to glimpse him without looking eager.

Lando Norris.

A navy suit jacket, sleeves slightly wrinkled, hanging off one shoulder like he’d forgotten to care. A white shirt, just slightly rumpled. Tan skin that shimmered in the lights, curls tousled in a way that could only be natural—or perfectly styled to look that way. His smile was easy. His walk was casual. But people moved for him.

He greeted a few friends with lazy handshakes, leaned into someone’s ear to say something that made them throw their head back in laughter. He was magnetic in the way boys sometimes are before they realize how dangerous they’ve become.

He didn’t see you. Not yet.

That was part of the plan.

You let the moment stretch. You adjusted the strap of your dress with your opposite hand, slow enough to catch the corner of someone’s eye. Not his. Yet. Your profile was lit by candlelight—delicate, composed. Just a girl alone at a rooftop party. Not watching. Not waiting.

And then, as if on cue, you felt it.

The weight of his stare.

You turned, not sharply, but with the softness of someone caught in a passing thought. Your eyes met. And you looked away.

You let a breath slip through your lips. Not a smile, not quite. Then you looked away. Dismissed him like he was just another boy at just another party.

Three seconds. And looked back at him.

His brow twitched. Interest piqued.

You looked away again.

He blinked.

You saw it in your periphery.

He turned to say something to a friend, but his body shifted an inch in your direction.

It had begun.

The fuse was lit—not by touch, not by words, but by calculation.

A gaze, a posture, a silence sharper than speech.

Your fingers ghosted over your untouched drink. You didn’t need to sip it.

Because this party, this crowd, this night—you didn’t crash it.

You orchestrated it.

And Lando Norris had just stepped onto the board.

You didn’t follow him right away.

That would’ve broken the rhythm—no, your rhythm. The entire night was a sequence, a carefully choreographed dance of almosts and maybes. So when Lando turned his back after that first locked glance, laughing again with friends, brushing curls off his forehead like he wasn’t aware of you watching—you didn’t move.

You sipped your drink slowly. Still unsmiling. Still unreadable.

But your eyes tracked him through the crowd, every turn of his shoulder, every lean of his body. He didn’t linger in one place. He wasn’t anchored. He never was. You could tell by the way he kept scanning the room—lively but detached, floating through conversations like they were just enough to keep him occupied until something more interesting came along.

And you knew—you were the something.

Minutes passed. Music pulsed. Laughter sparked and faded. He moved farther into the crowd.

Then, as if fate tipped its hand ever so slightly, the path between you cleared. A gap in the bodies. A breeze from the open sky. And through it—you saw him. Full view. His head tipped slightly, like he’d just heard something intriguing. The side of his face you’d studied from press interviews and podium photos was now just... real. Dimmed by lantern light, sun-kissed from the day's practice laps, brows furrowed not from stress, but curiosity.

You knew the moment he saw you again.

Because this time, he didn’t just look.

He really looked.

There was something different in his eyes now. Not just appreciation—recognition. Like a piece of a puzzle had just clicked in his head.

She’s not just another pretty girl at a Monaco party.

He turned his full body toward you. His expression changed so subtly, so deliberately, you almost missed it.

A smile—lopsided, slow, the kind of smile that starts from the corner of the mouth and rises like the first breath after a long swim.

But it wasn’t a smile that said “come here.”

It was a smile that said “I see you.”

And it knocked the wind right out of you.

Not because it was flirtatious. But because it wasn’t. It was something quieter. Smarter. A knowing curl of his lips that said “So this is how we’re playing it.”

That was the moment you knew he had caught on.

To the rhythm.

To the space between glances.

To the way you hadn’t smiled back—not once. Not even now.

Your heart thudded with quiet, invisible triumph. Because that smile? It wasn’t just a reaction. It was his first move.

You didn’t need him to chase you. You needed him to engage you.

And he had.

You finally turned your body toward him—just a few degrees. Acknowledgment, not invitation. Your eyes met again across the dim-lit rooftop, and this time, you let your lips twitch—barely—a microexpression of amusement. Then you looked away, letting the moment hang in the air like perfume.

Behind you, the party drummed on.

But the game had begun.

A quiet check. Not mate yet. But the board was set.

And all he’d done...

Was smile.

You didn’t go to him.

Of course not.

You returned to the railing, drink in hand, letting the music fold around you like a veil. Behind you, people were laughing louder, the evening deepening, the wine flowing easier. The sky above was violet now, pinpricked with stars. Monaco glittered beneath it, a jeweled tray of secrets and stories. And you—perfectly still in the middle of it all.

You knew he would come to you.

And when he did, it wasn't loud. There was no grand entrance, no purposeful stride. He simply… appeared beside you, like a current that had always been there, now close enough to feel against your skin.

You smelled him before you heard him.

Warm cologne with something sharp underneath—leather maybe, or pine. Clean and expensive, but still like him. You didn’t turn. You let the silence sit, breathing it in like a challenge.

Then:

“So,” he said, soft and amused. “Do you always do that?”

Your heart skipped once. Just once. But your face didn’t change.

“Do what?” you asked, not looking at him. Your voice was velvet wrapped in steel. A soft echo against the music.

“Look at someone like they’re not worth your time,” he replied easily. “Then stand perfectly still so they can’t stop watching you.”

Now you turned. Slowly. Eyes meeting his. Up close, he was more boyish than he looked from across the room. But that boyishness was dangerous. Mischief painted in golden skin and a grin that had probably undone better women than you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that what I did?”

He leaned on the railing, facing you fully now, one arm slung casually over the ledge. “Oh, definitely.” He nodded. “And it worked. Obviously.”

You almost laughed. Almost.

He shrugged. “Not sure I liked being the math problem, though.”

That earned the faintest flicker of amusement from your lips. You still hadn’t smiled, not really. Just the ghost of it. The idea of it.

“Did it bother you?” you asked, turning slightly, shoulder brushing the edge of his jacket. His was tailored—well-fitted, slightly creased from being shrugged off and on all night.

Lando tilted his head. “Not exactly.” He paused. “I think it just threw me. I’m used to different kinds of looks.”

You studied him then. The way his knuckles grazed the edge of the railing. The way his curls curled tighter near his temples in the humid night. There was a flicker of boyish charm in him, but muted—held in check by something more watchful. Like he knew when to perform and when to hold back. Right now, he was doing the latter.

“You didn’t seem thrown,” you replied quietly.

He smiled at that—just a little. “No,” he agreed. “I’m quick on my feet.”

“That’s what they say about drivers.”

“And what do they say about girls like you?”

Now you looked at him fully.

His tone hadn’t been mocking. It hadn’t even been flirtatious, not in the obvious way. It was curious. Almost careful. Like he wasn’t sure if he was touching something sharp.

You didn’t answer right away. Let the question settle in the silence.

“They don’t usually get the chance to say anything,” you said finally. “I don’t stick around long enough to listen.”

Lando nodded slowly, as if filing that away. His eyes dipped to your hand on the railing, where your fingers toyed with the condensation on your glass, and then returned to your face. Noticing things. Reading you. Trying to.

“You know,” he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, “I knew you were going to be difficult.”

You raised a brow. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” His expression flickered, a little grin threatening. “I just didn’t expect to enjoy it so much.”

Your breath caught—but not because of the words.

Because he said them without trying to impress you.

Because he meant it.

And for the first time that night, you really looked at him. Past the suit, the fame, the boyish face sharpened by stubble and speed. Past the way everyone else in the room looked at him like he was already theirs.

He was still standing there, waiting for your response.

But you didn’t give him one.

Not yet.

Instead, you picked up your glass again and said only: “Are you staying long?”

He blinked. The question caught him off guard.

“In Monaco?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him.

And eventually, he got it.

“As long as I need to,” he said softly. And then—“Are you?”

This time, you smiled.

Just a little.

And walked away.

With the kind of confidence that doesn’t ask for attention—it simply commands it. Her perfume still lingered faintly in the air, something complicated and cold, like bergamot with a shadow underneath.

Lando stood there for a beat too long, staring at where she’d been. His drink was untouched. His mind, not so much.

He’d had conversations like this before. Witty girls. Sharp-tongued charmers. But this wasn’t that. She wasn’t trying to be liked. She wasn’t performing. If anything, she’d been sizing him up—like a puzzle she’d already mostly solved.

And yet… she smiled like she was holding something back.

He blinked, rolled his shoulders like he could shake off the chill she left behind, then turned on his heel. He scanned the room for the one person who could give him answers—Luca, the host.

He found him by the bar, mid-conversation with someone in a pink blazer. Lando stepped in with an apologetic nod.

“Sorry—mate, quick one,” Lando said low, his voice casual but too precise to be accidental. “The girl I was just talking to. Who is she?”

Luca glanced past him. “Oh, the tall one? Red lipstick, doesn’t smile unless she means it?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s dangerous territory, mate,” Luca said, half-laughing, half-warned. “You sure?”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “What’s her name?”

Luca hesitated, then said it...

It landed in Lando’s chest like something heavier than it should be.

“And?”

Luca shook his head. “She doesn’t usually come to things like this. Barely RSVP’d. I think she knows someone from Red Bull’s strategy team—or maybe Ferrari. I don’t know. She’s not… in this scene. Not really.”

Lando nodded slowly, processing.

“Do you have her number?”

Luca gave him a sharp look.

“What?”

“I’m not gonna do anything weird,” Lando said, lifting his hands. “Just—look, I’ve never seen her before. I just want to talk. Properly.”

A pause.

Then: “You’re serious?”

Lando met his eyes. “Yeah.”

Luca sighed, pulled out his phone, thumbed through contacts. “I’ll text her first. If she’s okay with it, I’ll send you her number.”

“Fair enough.”

Lando gave a nod and turned back toward the balcony. But he didn’t feel triumphant. He felt like something had shifted. Like someone had noticed his move on the board… and let it happen anyway.

She hadn’t told him anything about herself, but somehow, he already knew:

She wasn’t an accident.

And he wasn’t going to let her be a one-night mystery.

...

The car door shut with a soft click, sealing her away from the noise of the party. It was late, the kind of late where the streets were mostly empty and the sky had turned velvet.

She exhaled, leaning back into the leather seat. The interior still smelled faintly of her perfume and the faintest trace of smoke on her coat. One heel was already off, foot tucked beneath her. She had no music playing, no voice navigation, no rush. She just sat there in the silence, eyes catching her own reflection faintly in the rearview mirror.

Then her phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

She glanced at it—Luca.

One eyebrow arched before she even picked it up.

She stared at the screen. A heartbeat. Then another.

Her lips curved slowly—not into a smile, not yet. Something smaller. Sharper.

She let the anticipation play out, letting the weight of the moment settle. The silence inside the car made it feel like time had paused just for her.

She didn’t even reply immediately. Instead, she picked up her phone, tilted it slightly in her hand, and let herself feel it—the inevitability. The way he had watched her, curious and cautious. The way he had lingered when she walked away. Like he didn’t want to lose sight of her too fast.

Like she had left him with a question he couldn’t stop trying to answer.

She hit send. Then locked her phone and tossed it gently back onto the seat.

Her smirk bloomed wider now. A quiet, satisfied thing.

Checkmate.

She leaned her head against the headrest, eyes half-lidded. The night wasn’t just a success. It was a confirmation. The fuse had been lit, and the dominoes were already falling, one by one.

And Lando Norris—darling, golden boy of the grid—had no idea what game he’d just walked into.

...

Lando got the message from Luca just past midnight.

He was lying in bed, scrolling through nothing. The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that made him restless.

His phone buzzed again.

He sat up.

There was no hesitation in his fingers—but there was care. A weight. He stared at the name on the screen, his thumb hovering over it.

He could feel the static of her again. The red lipstick, the look in her eyes that didn’t flinch. She didn’t flirt—she calculated. And he kind of liked it.

He opened the message app and typed:

Not sure if this is brave or dumb, but hey—

It’s Lando.

Thanks for not vanishing entirely tonight.

He stared at it.

Deleted “brave or dumb.” Rewrote it.

Hope it’s okay I’m texting.

It’s Lando.

You left before I could finish being intrigued.

Too much?

He deleted that one too.

Started again.

...

He hit send and immediately dropped the phone beside him like it was hot. Pulled the covers over his face.

What are you doing, mate.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Then, across the city, her phone lit up inside her dark apartment.

She was brushing her teeth, her bare feet cold on the tiles. She glanced at the screen. And when she saw his name, that familiar curve returned to her lips.

She dried her hands on a towel, padded barefoot into the living room, phone in hand, unread message glowing on the screen.

She read it once.

Twice.

Then again.

“You made the room quieter after you left.”

That one hit differently.

She curled up on the armrest of her couch, not even bothering with the full seat. The city twinkled behind her windows. Her thumbs hovered, thoughtful.

And then she typed:

Then tossed the phone onto the couch cushion beside her.

She didn’t need to wonder if he was smiling.

She knew he was.

...

The bell above the café door chimed softly as Lando stepped inside. It was late morning — warm enough for a hoodie but not enough for sunglasses, though he wore them anyway. The streets of Monaco shimmered in that gentle, curated way: expensive, slow, quiet. He wasn’t looking to be seen.

This place was tucked into a corner near the marina. Not the trendy side. Not the side where people wore designer for attention. It was the other kind — the kind where the older locals read newspapers, where the espresso was sharp and the staff didn’t care about his name.

He walked to the counter, ordered a flat white, and turned around—

—and froze.

She was there.

Perched in the corner booth like she'd been painted into the scene hours ago. One leg tucked beneath her, head bowed over a book with the page held lightly between her fingers. Her hair was pulled back in a lazy bun, but lipstick still painted her mouth in that same unmistakable red. An espresso cup rested beside her hand, only half-drunk. She turned the page with care, as if she had all the time in the world.

She didn’t look up right away. But then—like she sensed him—she slowly lifted her head.

And smiled.

Not surprised. Not even smug. Just amused. Cool, unreadable, familiar.

“Norris,” she said, shutting her book with a quiet snap. “You’re either stalking me… or the universe is starting to play favorites.”

He let out a laugh, walking over with his cup.

“I was gonna say the same thing.”

“Sure you were.”

He slid into the booth across from her without asking, stretching one arm over the back of the bench. She didn’t object. Instead, she tucked her book away in her bag like she was always planning to make space for him.

“You come here often?” he asked.

“When I want to be alone.”

She said it dryly, sipping what was left of her espresso. He raised his brows.

“So this is my fault, then.”

“A little.”

But there was no bite to it. She was… relaxed. At ease. Even as she looked at him like she was still trying to decide if he was worth her time.

“You read?” he asked, nodding at the book.

“I plan.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Doesn’t it?”

He laughed again, setting down his cup. He felt light. Curious. Like something interesting was unfolding and he didn’t know the ending yet — but she did.

They stayed in that booth far too long. Talking about coffee, cities, bad headlines. She never gave too much, and he didn’t push. But by the time she stood, dropping a few coins on the table, he looked at her like he didn’t want her to go.

“So… accident?”

She slid her sunglasses down.

“If it was, it was a beautiful one.”

And then she walked out, leaving behind the scent of her perfume and a knowing curve on her lips.

That night, when his phone buzzed with her message, he reread it three times before answering.

The sun beat down on the paddock in Barcelona — not mercilessly, but sharp. The air buzzed with movement: cameras, team radios, fans screaming at gates. Lando adjusted the sleeves of his fire suit as he made his way past the McLaren garage, nodding briefly to a few familiar faces.

He wasn’t expecting her.

He never was.

And yet — there she was.

Standing just outside the Alfa Romeo hospitality tent, fingers wrapped around a cold bottle of water, oversized sunglasses on, phone in hand, not really using it. Her hair was twisted into a braid today, neat but not soft. Her black blazer cinched at the waist, pinstriped, powerful.

She didn’t smile when she caught his eye. She didn’t wave.

She simply looked.

Long enough to make him stop. Short enough to make him question if she had actually looked at all.

“You good?” his trainer asked.

“Yeah. Thought I saw someone.”

He didn’t explain.

But later, when he passed through media duties and slipped into the shaded side of hospitality for a minute of quiet, he found her again — this time alone, sipping something fizzy, twirling her straw without interest.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, standing in front of her.

“And yet,” she said, not looking up. “Here I am.”

“You always this lucky?”

“Luck,” she murmured, finally glancing up, “is for people who don’t prepare."

He watched her for a long beat.

“Did you come just to watch?”

“Are you worth watching?”

That made him grin.

But she stood before he could answer. Walked past him, deliberately brushing his arm. Not enough to cause a stir — just enough to stay in his mind for the rest of the weekend.

And that night, when he scrolled through his photos, there was one from the paddock. Behind him, blurred in the background, was the unmistakable silhouette of her — standing just out of focus.

Madrid skyline. Rooftop. Someone’s private event for a sponsor he barely remembered signing with. The music was low, the city lights were warm, and everyone was dressed in shades of silk and champagne.

Lando leaned against the balcony railing, watching the glitter of the city below. His glass sweated in his hand. He wasn’t really talking to anyone — not really there.

Until she laughed.

Not loudly. But enough that he felt it.

He turned, and there she was. Walking in like a headline — short black dress, heels that didn’t seem to touch the ground, red lips, a drink already in her hand.

“You’re starting to make this a habit,” he said as she reached him.

She tilted her head.

“You think I knew you’d be here?”

“I know you knew.”

“Mmm.” She sipped her drink, then looked up at him through her lashes. “What gave it away?”

“The perfume. Same one you wore the first night.”

She smiled slowly. Not caught — seen.

“You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

The night stretched around them like silk. They didn’t leave each other’s side. He introduced her to no one. She didn’t ask.

And when the party began to thin out, he followed her down to the car. Held the door open.

She paused before getting in.

...

She hadn’t meant to stay this long.

They were supposed to grab a drink — casual, low-stakes, a passing thing. But now it was nearing midnight, and they were still sitting together on the rooftop of the hotel where some F1 post-event gathering had wrapped hours ago. Most people had already filtered out, the distant hum of engines below replaced by the hush of a sleeping city.

She sat on the stone ledge, her heels abandoned beside her, toes barely brushing the empty air below. Lando was beside her, arms loosely crossed over his knees, watching her more than the skyline.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said.

She gave a soft, half-smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Maybe I just like listening to you.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and shook his head like he didn’t believe her.

“No one just likes listening to me. They usually listen so they can talk.”

“Do you mind that?”

“Not with you.”

That made her chest stutter.

She shouldn’t be affected by him. She reminded herself of that often — every time she caught herself watching him too long, or felt her stomach do a slow, ridiculous turn when he smiled at her like that. This had been her game. Her idea. Her strategy.

She had planned the first meeting.

Planned the second.

Planned the glances and the conversations and the way she leaned just a little too close at dinner, just enough to make him wonder.

But now?

Now he was saying things like that, his voice thick with something soft and careful, and it was her heart that felt like it was spiraling.

The wind picked up. He turned toward her.

“Can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head. “You just did.”

He laughed, and then he looked at her — really looked. The kind of look that made her sit up straighter. The kind of look that saw more than she was used to showing.

“Why me?”

That stopped her.

“Why you?” she echoed, buying time.

He nodded, expression unreadable. “You’re… not exactly easy to read. But you’ve stayed. You keep showing up. And I can’t help wondering why.”

She turned her face away, staring out at the water. For the first time, she didn’t have a line ready. No quip. No clever dodge.

“I guess,” she said slowly, “you surprised me.”

“How?”

She hesitated. Then:

“You’re kind.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected that.

“You say that like it’s rare.”

“It is.”

The silence stretched between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Like the edge of something unspoken.

Then, quietly:

“Can I kiss you?”

Her head snapped back toward him. The words hit her like ice and fire at the same time. She was supposed to be in control. She was supposed to decide when this happened — after a few more dates, after she made him fall harder, after she felt less exposed.

But now here he was, asking.

Not claiming. Not assuming.

Asking.

She nodded. Barely.

His hand came up, almost hesitant, brushing her hair behind her ear — his knuckles featherlight against her skin. She watched him the whole time, her breath stuck somewhere in her chest.

He leaned in, slowly, his eyes flicking to hers like he was waiting for any sign she’d pull away.

And then their lips touched.

God.

It was nothing like she imagined — and she had imagined it, many times, in far more calculated ways.

But this…

This kiss was soft. So soft it broke something open inside her.

His lips moved over hers with infinite care, like she was something fragile, precious. His hand cupped the side of her face, grounding her as she melted under his touch. There was no rush, no hunger — just quiet reverence. His other hand brushed her knee, an anchor in the moment.

And all she could think was: He doesn’t even know what he’s doing to me.

Because he was gentle. Too gentle.

And that was the thing she never planned for. That this — his warmth, his sincerity, the safety she felt when he was close — would be what undid her. Not power. Not pride. But kindness.

His lips moved against hers slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth. His hand came to rest gently at her jaw, thumb barely brushing her skin. She melted into him before she even realized it — her hands rising, clutching at the front of his jacket, pulling him closer because God, no one had ever kissed her like that before. No one had ever made her feel like the kiss was about her.

It was tender. It was warm. It was undoing her.

She felt the heat crawl up her spine, the way his breath hitched slightly when she deepened it — the smallest shift, but he followed, like it was instinct. And when he finally pulled away, just an inch, she chased after him without thinking, like gravity had shifted beneath her.

He let out a quiet laugh against her mouth, forehead pressing to hers.

“That okay?” he whispered.

She blinked, dazed. Her lips were tingling. Her whole body felt lit from within.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Too okay.”

He smiled, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, still so close.

...

SIX MONTHS LATER

It was one of those quiet late evenings when the world outside seemed to hold its breath.

The flat they were in wasn’t hers, wasn’t his — a borrowed place in Milan between races. Wide windows, soft lighting, the kind of space that muted everything sharp. Rain had tapped at the glass earlier, and now the streets below were slick and glowing, stretching into the distance like rivers of liquid gold. Inside, it smelled faintly of cedarwood and citrus from the candle burning on the sideboard.

The TV murmured in the background, low and forgotten. Neither of them had been watching it.

Lando was lying across the sofa, his head resting comfortably in her lap. He wore a grey hoodie, soft from years of wear, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He looked unusually still — not in the lazy, teasing way he often did, but heavy, like something was pulling him inward. She could feel it in the silence, in the way his hand barely moved against her knee.

Her fingers trailed lightly through his hair. The gesture had started absentmindedly, but now it felt like something else — something steadying.

“Long week?” she asked softly.

He nodded, his cheek pressed to her thigh. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring at the TV without seeing it.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask. Instead, she kept running her fingers through his hair, combing back soft curls, brushing her nails gently against his scalp. A grounding rhythm. Something quiet and wordless to say I’m here.

Minutes passed like that. No need to fill the space.

Eventually, he sighed. Not the dramatic kind, but a slow release of breath like his body had finally started to uncoil.

“You make it stop,” he murmured.

Her fingers paused for just a moment.

“What?”

“Everything. The noise. The pressure. When I’m with you, I forget to worry.”

She didn’t say anything to that. She couldn’t. Because something in her chest cracked open like a secret she hadn’t meant to keep.

She looked down at him. His lashes curled slightly at the edges, dark against his skin. His lips were parted just a little, brow relaxed now. He looked nothing like the image most people saw — no cameras, no tension, no lights. Just a boy curled into her like she was the safest place on earth.

And all she could think — all she could feel — was how obsessed she was with him.

Not just the way he looked. Though God, he was beautiful. It wasn’t just his laugh or his hands or the way he’d started leaving a toothbrush at her place without ever saying it out loud. It was the way he saw her. The way he leaned in when she talked, even when she was pretending not to say anything important. The way he never pushed but always stayed.

It hit her, in that stillness, that she had done all of this — spun every web, pulled every string, laid every trap — just to have this.

To have him.

She had noticed him before he ever noticed her. Months ago. Maybe even years. Not in a fangirl way, not like the others. She saw something in him — something good. Something soft. Something rare. And she wanted it.

No. She needed it.

So she played the game. Showed up. Set the stage. Built coincidence into destiny.

And now he was lying here, curled into her lap, trusting her with the weight of his world.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, tilting his head enough to see her.

She blinked. Realized she’d gone still. Her hand found its rhythm again in his hair.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?” He asked softly.

She hesitated. For a heartbeat too long.

Then smiled.

“About how this started.”

He smirked faintly, eyes dropping shut again.

“You mean the part where you kept magically running into me?”

“Exactly that.”

“And now look at me,” he mumbled, shifting slightly to nuzzle closer into her leg. “Wrapped around your finger.”

She watched him for a long second.

I planned this, she wanted to say. Every step. Every glance. I built a masterpiece just to be this close to you.

But instead, she whispered, “I like you here.”

He hummed. A low, contented sound. His fingers slid into hers where they rested on his chest, intertwining loosely. A gesture full of trust. Full of home.

She stared at him. At the little freckles near his jaw. At the softness in his mouth when he wasn’t performing. At the way he gave himself to her so easily — when she had spent years clawing control out of chaos.

And suddenly it wasn’t about winning anymore. It wasn’t about strategy or seduction or proving how smart she was.

It was about him.

And how, somehow, she’d fallen in love with the very thing she thought she could control.

Her other hand came up to brush his cheek gently, just once.

He didn’t stir.

“Checkmate,”

But this time, it wasn’t a triumph.

It was a prayer.

...

THREE MONTHS LATER

The night had a quiet sort of heaviness to it. The kind that settles over two people when the world outside has gone still — long after dinner, after the laughter, after the teasing. The soft hum of a movie played in the background, flickering faint blue light across their faces. But neither of them was really watching it.

She was curled up on his couch, legs tucked under her, head tilted just enough to rest against the back cushion. Lando sat next to her, one arm slung comfortably across the back of the couch, his other hand lazily drawing circles over the blanket covering her legs. They weren’t even touching skin to skin, but his presence grounded her.

Until something in her shifted.

It started with the way her eyes stopped flicking toward the screen and instead stared through it. Like something old and rusted had creaked open inside her chest.

Lando noticed. He always did.

"You okay?” he said softly, almost tentative.

She didn’t answer right away.

“yeah I ... I’ve been thinking about something,” she said, her voice low.

“Yeah?”

She took a breath, slow and deliberate. It felt too vulnerable already. She hadn’t meant to let it rise to the surface, not tonight. But something about the stillness — the safety of his company — made it hard to bury again.

“When I was a kid,” she began, carefully, “I didn’t have friends.”

The sentence sat between them, a simple truth, and yet it felt like shattering glass.

Lando’s fingers stopped moving. He didn’t say anything. She was grateful.

“Not in the way people usually mean it,” she continued. “I had classmates, and people who tolerated me when we were assigned to work together. But no one invited me over. No one sat next to me at lunch unless the tables were full.”

Her eyes dropped to her lap. She picked at a loose thread on the blanket.

“There was this spot behind the science building. No one went there. I used to sit on the concrete steps and eat alone. Every day.”

Her voice didn’t crack. It wasn’t sad in tone — just distant. Like she’d gotten used to carrying the memory like a stone in her pocket.

“I remember thinking that if I pretended I was invisible, it would hurt less. Like if I stopped expecting to be seen… it wouldn’t matter that no one saw me.”

Lando’s hand gently moved to cover hers.

She stiffened — not because she didn’t want the comfort, but because it startled her. She wasn’t used to people reaching toward her when she showed the ugliest parts of herself.

“That’s why I plan everything now,” she said, her voice a little faster. “Why I read people, why I control the board. It’s all I’ve ever had. Strategy. Calculation. Making myself useful enough to not be ignored.”

She finally looked up. Her gaze met his.

“That’s what this was, at the beginning,” she admitted. “You weren’t an accident. I noticed you before you saw me. I learned your schedule, knew where you’d be. I… orchestrated everything.”

A pause.

“And now I’m terrified, because I don’t think I can do this if I don’t have control. I’ve never done this before. Not really.”

Her voice softened, broke just slightly at the end.

Lando’s expression didn’t change. There was no shift into discomfort, no flicker of judgment. He just looked at her like she had just told him the most beautiful, heartbreaking thing he’d ever heard.

“You don’t have to plan anything with me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be the smartest person in the room. You don’t have to earn me.”

She looked away. Her throat was tight.

And then he said it.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t dramatic or loud. It wasn’t declared like some cinematic moment. It was real. Gentle. Grounded.

Like it had lived inside him long before he had the words.

She stilled completely.

“You don’t,” she said, breath catching. “You love what I let you see.”

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time. “The you who’s scared. The you who sits behind science buildings. The you who still wonders if anyone really sees her. I see you.”

Her lip trembled, and she turned her face away, angry at herself for letting him in this deep. For needing to believe him. For wanting to.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

He leaned forward, forehead brushing hers, nose to nose, soft and steady.

“I love you.”

She didn’t cry — not then. But she blinked fast, like the weight of his words filled her lungs too full to breathe.

“Don’t say it unless you mean it,” she said, almost as if trying to scare him away.

“I do,” he said. “More than I even understand yet.”

She let her eyes close for a moment, his warmth surrounding her.

“You’re ruining me,” she said with a half-laugh, tears shining in her lashes.

“Or maybe I’m just showing you you were never broken."

landonorris

Liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 1.580.777 others.

lando The Shakespeare twins couldn't describe how much I love you 🧡 my girl.

comments.

maycombcountry: RUE WHEN WAS THIS?

yourusername: Lanlan❤️(Shakespeare was one man)

❤️ liked by author

lando: 🧡(I'm saying if it were twins know it all🙄 I need to teach you humor)

maxverstappen1: congrats mate👍

❤️ liked by author

hippogriffcrackk: Babyboys so in love

oscarpiastri: So happy for you both🫶

❤️ liked by author

carmenmundt: Finally we can go shopping without hiding all the time!

❤️ liked by author

lando: let me have my girlfriend for a bit please?

alexandrasaintmleux: not a chance brit

lando: @/yourusername they're bullying me

carlossainz55: Mama said she's invited to the dinner on Sunday

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yourusename: oh thank you miss!

charles_lerlerc: My favorite couple❤️

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hamiltonthemusilabvv: Oscar and max sharing energy in the comments

lucatheone: Youry welcome for the photo and for the whole relationship btw

❤️ liked by author

lando: in depth with you mate

landonoonefan: He looks so happy🧡🧡

See all comments.

[wingedhallows]

omg queen i might die if i don’t get more southern/cowboy!vi!! i would loveee to see either vi taking reader on like a trail ride or just like more of vi being protective over her wife maybe they’re out and about in the town??? idk i just love ur southern!vi works they make me kick my feet and giggle

𝐌𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 cowgirl!vi x sweet little housewife!reader / 0.6 k words ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 none ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 u ask and u shall recive ! i hope u like it (i love writing for cowgirl!vi)

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The bar buzzes with noise — rowdy laughter, clinking bottles, the low hum of country music vibrating through the scuffed floorboards. The air is heavy with the scent of whiskey, fried food, and the kind of grease that sticks to your skin.

You’re tucked into the corner booth, warm and settled, Vi’s arm draped casually over the back of your chair. Her thumb traces slow, lazy circles into your shoulder while she sips her beer, all loose-limbed and comfortable.

Then Cole leans in. Smirking. Cocky. About three drinks past his limit and twice as bold as he ought to be. His eyes are glassy, his grin wide and sloppy.

“Bet your pretty little wife wouldn’t last five seconds on that bull.”

Your brows lift, surprise flickering across your face. Your lips part, but before you can get a single word out, Vi cuts in — sharp, clean.

“Ain’t her job to impress drunks.”

Cole chuckles, easy and loud. “I’m just sayin’ — she’s sweet, Vi. Nothin’ wrong with bein’ soft. But she wouldn’t hold on long.”

You glance between them, Vi already shaking her head, jaw set. Her easy calm is gone now, replaced by something low and bristling.

“Don’t even think about it, sugar,” she warns, voice taut with worry.

“That thing throws men twice your size clean off.”

But you’re already standing, that quiet little smile curling at the corner of your lips. Your dress swishes around your knees as you push your chair back, and Vi’s hand slips away from your shoulder like it doesn't want to let go.

“I’ll be careful,” you promise, sweet and soft and stubborn. “Just wanna try.”

Vi groans under her breath. “Lord help me.”

You cross the bar with your head high, the crowd parting around you. The mechanical bull looms in the center like a challenge, a dare with steel bones. You climb up with more grace than sense, settle into the seat like you belong there, and nod politely to the man at the controls.

Vi doesn’t sit. She stands rooted by the booth, hands braced on her hips, watching with her heart in her throat. Her eyes never leave you.

The bull lurches.

And you hold on.

One hand raised high, dress fluttering wild around your legs. The machine bucks hard beneath you, twisting, jerking — but you don’t flinch. You laugh, bright and reckless, like the whole world is yours and gravity’s just a suggestion. You grip with your legs, spine steady, smile wide.

The bar goes quiet, then erupts — whistles, cheers.

And still, you ride.

When the bull finally slows, easing into a stop, the whole place is roaring. People are on their feet, shouting, clapping, stunned.

Vi just stares. Her mouth parts, her breath catches — and then she grins, wide and smug and proud enough to knock someone over.

Cole whistles low. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Vi turns toward him slow, that grin sharpened into something dangerous.

“That’s my wife,” she says, voice cool as ice and sharp as a switchblade. “And if I were you, I’d think twice before callin’ her soft again.”

You hop down, cheeks flushed, heart still racing — and Vi’s already there, closing the space between you like she’s been holding her breath.

Her hands find your waist, fingers curling in tight, voice low in your ear.

“Goddamn, baby,” she murmurs. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holy hell Author. Holy hell.

Like, after I reread the Adopted son 48+ times, I still haven't processed even though I've processed fully what happened....

Like looking you need to distract myself but I can't leave your page. So I ask of you to throw us a bone of anything happier.... please

Like, IDK Royal Consort or something I don't know

That was like the first thing I could see after I like processed the episode of adopted son I just watched with my eyes that was like happy and not about food cuz I don't think I could stomach it without wanting to like viciously Chomp on a salad imagining it being Richard Grayson destroyed.

And I'm feeling bold but I'm also a coward I'm also a coward so I will not make this anonymous out of pure Hope that you who will throw a bone of any anything at us

And not just drink our tears while cackling madly cuz I feel like you do that like an ancient duchess or something IDK

Danny is floating in incredible darkness, disrupted by small shining stardust, where nothing but peace can reach him. It's been a long time since he felt so at ease that he allowed himself to flout higher and higher as if flying away into an endless cosmos.

He is about to pass a point where he knows that if he goes beyond it, there will be no return. He will know nothing but the tremendous abyss.

Accepting the joy it brings him, Danny floats towards the gateway, chest first, arms spread, and a blissful smile stretching across his face. Then, a burning sensation begins on his back, like someone had thrown a hook onto it. He has a second to scream before he's yanked away from the stardust and the gleaming gateway, hand stretched out desperately towards it as he falls, falls, falls-!

Danny slams into his body like a flight train, going off the rails and making him bounce slightly on the bed he was lying on. While trying to catch his breath, a roar of whispers starts up around him, resonating inside his skull and banging his brain like a gong.

He blinks and opens his eyes, trying to get his ears to stop ringing, but he has to shut them down due to the bright light that burns his pupils. He tries lifting his hand to rub at his eyes to soothe them but finds his limbs uncooperating.

Mentally sending the command to move doesn't seem to be received, as all he can do is make his fingers twitch slightly. His legs also won't move, not even to flex his toes. Panicked, Danny rips open his eyes again, wanting desperately to move his head but finding his neck is only able to rock in place but not actually turn.

Then, he notices a breathing mask is attached to his face. He seems to be underneath four bright lights similar to the ones he's seen on TV for medical shows. His clothes had been switched out from the fancy tux that the Waynes got him to what feels like paper-thin cloth, and he swears that there is a cap or something similar on his head.

Danny's heart starts hammering in his chest as his panic increases. He doesn't know where he is, what happened, or why he seemed to have woken in what seemed like a hospital setting. Distantly, he hears a loud double beat, rising in volume and increasing in tempo.

He can't tell where they are coming from as he struggles with all his might to get his body to move. A face appears on his right, causing Danny to flinch from the sudden appearance and the closeness. It took a moment for his eyes to focus as the person had left only breath space between their noses.

Phantom.

A bright eye, grinning Phantom with glowing cracks alongside the left of his neck. The cracks- they don't appear like scars, but honest to Ancients, they resembled broken marks on porcelain dolls- went up to his left ear, curling around his jaw, and disappeared into the cloth near his left shoulder.

"What happened to you?" he means to ask, but the mask and his weakened state have the words come out more like "Wa heped to yu?"

Phantom smiles anyway, clearly not understanding what he's saying but able to make a guess, "Good morning, sleeping beauty. I've been waiting a whole week for you."

"a wek?"

"That's right, it's been a week. Frostbite was able to save you through a hazardous surgery involving half of my core and the blood of a human virgin." Phantom brushes some loose bangs out of Danny's face, somehow making his face soften even if his eyes still have that hard, tired glint. It was one of the big differences he had noticed at the gala.

Phantom had the eyes of someone who had seen the world's end and had hardened his heart to survive it. He blinked slowly, trying to understand the information his future ghost self was saying, but his vision wavered as a new wave of fatigue overcame him.

Phantom sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Rest, my love. When you wake the next time, things should be much clearer."

Danny fights against his slumber as much as he can but is only able to hear a voice whisper, "How is the Consort?"

"He's doing better, thank you, Ambassador Drake."

Ambassador?

The next time Danny wakes up, he's no longer in the healing chambers. Instead, he finds himself underneath the silk comforter of his King Chambers. These were some of the first things he purchased from the WebSpinners (The best in the business) in the Ghost Zone for the castle. He blinks his eyes slowly, trying to push away the fog clinging to his mind, as he carefully lifts himself into a sitting position.

He's wearing his royal pajamas, which feel like a soft, warm cloud is touching his skin. He lets himself savor the sensation while taking slow and deep breaths. The King Chambers used to be Pariah Dark's old bedroom in his haunt, covered wall to wall with mounted body parts of his enemies.

It took Danny two whole years before he could make himself go in and clear everything out. He then had Poindexter hire a team of interior designers who brought to life Danny's human perspective of what he thought a castle should look like.

Granted, Danny's idea of a castle was a little clouded by all the movies he had seen with Kings and Queens, and it took some trial and error before the team figured out he considered French Chateaus his ideal mental castle image. The Haunt would react to his will, and after spending hours and hours meditating to create a connection with his inherited haunt, Danny had shifted its shape from a gothic black stone medieval castle to a bright white break chateau.

The rest was up to the interior designers, who scoured the Zone looking for items that went well with the building and Danny's expectations.

He had even turned the environment from a ranging dark storm into an eternal winter wonderland. He glances at the two large windows of his room, taking in the gentle folds of white blankets across the ground as soft snow continues to fall.

His breath hitches at the beautiful sight, suddenly overcome with love for his gentle winter morning. Even though he had shifted the grounds into more welcoming walk gardens with undisrupted snow and pine trees, nothing was as beautiful as his Haunt's ice statues of his family and other beloved memories that decorated the pathways of his gardens.

Danny takes a few minutes to admire it all, grateful to have this peaceful place.

A fire cracks within the room's fireplace, pulling him from his thoughts. He briefly considers it, memorizing the soft purple of its flames when the door is violently flung open. Standing in the doorway is a hurried-looking Poindexter whose arms are filled with various parchment, scrolls, and stacks of papers.

"Danno! You're awake!" He greets, rushing towards him with various items falling out of his arms. "Thank the Ancients. Can you please review these purchase orders?"

"What? No!" Danny groans, leaning away from the desperate-looking nerd who practically crawls across the bed while shoving scrolls at him. "I've been unconscious for a week! Why would your first instinct be to make me sign purchase orders? "

"I know, but ever since you acknowledged yourself as the Consort, that made your human side head of Hunt operation and management. You only gave me Manager rights as the King, but the spouse authority, which in this case is the Consort, goes over my clearance level, and I need to get these paid before the ghosts lose their patience and come ransack the castle!" Pointdexter snapped his words, dissolving into stressed-induced yells. "Why did you go around telling people you married yourself!? I thought wearing the Consort symbol was a weird metaphor for self-love and a declaration of staying unmarried, not that you actually married yourself! This is weird!"

Danny blinks, caught off guard by the usually calm ghost sneering in his face. "How....did you hear about all of this?"

Pointdexter sighs, falling back and, thankfully, out of Danny's personal bubble. "Everyone has heard about it since King Phantom popped up with you in his arms. This is a problem because only a select few from your early years knew you're a halfa - a secret we had spent years protecting, which is now much harder to do. Rumors are spreading that you even brought back a concubine! A concubine!"

"I'm sorry?"

"You should be! Do you know how many ghost territories have attempted to send a concubine as a gift and an effort to control the King's Court?! Nine hundred and fifty-three! I had to turn away each one with the flimsy excuse that the King wasn't present to turn them away himself."

"We have a Court?"

"We do now! Thanks to the existence of Consort Daniel Fenton!" Poindexter rubs the space between his eyes after taking off his glasses. "The worst part is that King Phantom returned to the human world to calm things down from his fit and left that human in the castle. The jerk has been snooping around and then had the audacity of acting like he's some idiot who isn't snooping. As if I haven't been the head of the Hunt security for four years!"

Danny raises a hand, feeling like that was too much information to process. Seeing the ghost go silent and wait as he tries to think is gratifying. Eventually, he hears himself ask, "What human?"

"Timothy Drake. He was the reason you and the King survived a core transfer."

"How?"

"He donated fractions of his soul in self-sacrifice to turn into pure ectoplasm that was used to piece together King Phantom from falling apart." Pointdexter sighs. "The only problem was the man did it in a pathetic attempt to keep the King from "raging war" against the humans, and now he can't leave the Hunt as a side effect of the ritual. The humans think we purposely stole him, and now everyone is scared that King Phantom has a taste for human flesh., and not in the cannibal way! And I have Purchase orders that are weeks overdue!"

There was a loud sound of horns from the outside before a man shouted, "Announcing the arrival of Sir John the Pure, a tribute to King Phantom to be used as a concubine. A gift from the Cosmos tribe."

Pointdexer throws his arms into the air, leaping off the bed and rushing out of the room. It's always hard to remember ghosts could not go through walls like the mortal world, but that at least means the large carriage, followed by marching men in knight suits, was forced to go slowly so as not to hit all his ice statues.

That did not mean the weird marching band was made entirely of fanfare; trumpets stopped blaring their song as they grew closer to the front door.

Danny could see them from his window, and he also saw the moment Drake faded through the second-floor wall, looking shocked- likely unaware he was the ghost in the ghost zone- before he face-planted on the ground below. A beautiful man leaps out of the carriage, rushing towards him, and were it not for his blue skin and stardust in his hair, Danny would have thought him human.

Pointdexer appears at the door, shouting something while the horns continue to play their stupid song.

Danny opens and closes his mouth before he grabs a pillow and screams into it.

This is the worst way to wake up.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Dirty Laundry

Summary: Life with two toddlers has taken a toll on your sex life for the past few weeks, but after a surprisingly calm morning, you and Javi find a creative solution to solve your problem.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also, who am I to say?) vaginal fingering, paise kink, a breeding kink so dangerous that you may get pregnant just from reading, creampie, cum play, a loud washer and dryer, no actual laundry accomplished, domestic girl dad Javi, you'll always be famous

A/N: idk who unlocked my cell while I was ovulating, but once again I have escaped, and once again, we're makin' babies. I think I've convinced myself I don't know how to write anything else, and for that, I am genuinely sorry. If wanting to give Javier Peña a football team worth of kids is a crime, then lock me up and throw away the goddamn key 🤠

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

For as much as you loved your daughters, it was safe to say that for the past two weeks, your pair of rambunctious toddlers had been doing very little for your sex life. 

Your 4 year old Lucy had been going through a phase of having nightmares every night, and somehow ending up in you and Javi’s bed no matter what you tried. That, combined with trying to potty train your 2 year old, Elliot, (who was nowhere close to being the breeze her older sister it was when it came to the matter), on top of preschool, work, and life in general, you and Javi had barely gotten so much as a kiss in, let alone some quality time together. 

It had been your hope to start trying for baby number three, but after 2 months of negative pregnancy tests and another month of complete chaos, despite your best intentions, “trying” had very much taken a backseat in your mental to-do list.  

But this morning when you woke up, it was almost as if a wave of calm had washed over your house to reset the state of disarray you had been in the past few weeks- Both girls had slept through the night in their own beds, had woken up in good spirits, Elliot asked to use the bathroom multiple times, and both had been happy to play in the living room together quietly as you worked on catching up on some much needed laundry. 

So calm, in fact, that Javi was almost worried when he came downstairs for work to hear near silence, apart from the occasional giggles from the girls as they arranged their Fisher Price Little People in their Play Barn and the washer running in the background. 

“Hi Daddy!” Lucy cooed, toddling over to her dad, wrapping her arms around his waist as Elliot quickly followed behind, perching on his leg like a koala. 

“Buenos días, niñas. (Good morning, girls).” Javi grinned, squatting down to kiss the wild, sleepy curls of his daughters’ heads, still slightly confused by the tranquil state of the house. “Where’s Momma?” 

“Washing stinky socks.” Lucy giggled, pinching her nose and scrunching her face, pretending to have smelled something bad. 

“Yeah, stinky socks.” Elliot echoed, sticking out her tongue. 

“Oh yeah? Is it because my pollitas (little chickens) have stinky, smelly feet?” Javi teased, wrapping his arms around the girls, pulling them close to his chest as he tickled their sides, the three erupting in laughter and giggles. 

“What’s goin’ on out here, huh?” You grinned, stepping out of the laundry room with your arms playfully crossed against your chest to see your husband and daughters in a tickle tackle pile on the living room floor. 

“Daddy said we have stinky feet! Daddy’s got stinky feet, not me and Elliot.” Lucy protested. 

“I think you and Daddy both have stinky feet, Lucy Lu, and your dirty laundry proves it.” You smiled, watching Javi give one last big kiss to each of the girls before pushing up off the floor with a grunt, making his way over to you. “Good morning, Mr. Stinky Feet.” 

“Hey, c’mon now. I can’t have you all gangin’ up on me.” Javi pouted through his smirk, wrapping his arm around your waist as his lips softly met yours, his words sweet and low as they danced against your skin. “Good morning, Hermosa.” 

His kiss lingered just long enough to send butterflies swirling through your stomach, biting down on your lip to try and keep your heart beating any faster than it already was. You stood there for another moment, eyes locking with his as the grip around your waist tightened just subtly enough to hint his mind was in the same place as yours. 

You were finding a way to finally have sex this morning. 

You could feel the arousal already beginning to pool in your core, swallowing hard as Javi tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at you while his hand slid further down your waist towards your ass, trying to devise a plan for the two of you to be alone long enough to do what you had both been so desperately craving these past few weeks. 

As you turned your head back over your shoulder in search of ideas, a devilish grin spread across your face, looking back to Javi to gently tug on the maroon tie dangling from his neck, twisting the end through your fingers. 

“I think I really need help with the laundry before you leave for work.” You mewled, leaning in to press another kiss to his plush lips, followed by another on his cheek and neck, Javi letting a soft groan rumble in his chest. 

“Oh Fuck, baby. What do we do about the girls?” He asked quietly, trying his best to keep his composure as the dark brown of his eyes grew hungrier with want. 

“Snack and a movie? There’s already a baby monitor out in the living room, and if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, it should buy us enough time.” You nodded in reassurance of your own idea, already growing antsy with anticipation. 

“God, I love you.” Javi smirked, giving you one more kiss and a firm squeeze of your ass before breaking away towards the kitchen so you could execute your plan. 

“Hey girls?” you called, making your way towards the living room where they were back to playing, “Daddy needs to help Mommy with some, um- laundry. So if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, can you show us what big girls you are and let you watch the movie all by yourselves?” You asked, doing your best to play up your request. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” Elliot squealed, clapping and stomping her feet. “Wittle Mermaid!” 

“Okay, go get your blankets and sit on the couch and Daddy’s gonna bring you a snack to watch the movie with.” 

“Yay! Movie time, movie time!” Lucy shrieked as the girls ran to go grab their things, plopping themselves on to the respective corners of the couch. While you searched for the VHS in the entertainment center, Javi returned from the kitchen with two much bigger than needed bowls of Teddy Grahams, turning on the TV as you pushed the tape into the receiver and pressed play. 

With the bright blue Disney logo appearing across the screen and your daughters both happily snuggled with their snacks on the sofa, you and Javi gave each other the silent nod of approval, slowly backing away towards the laundry room while the girls sat in content and entranced silence. 

After one last peek, you carefully closed and locked the laundry room door behind you, quickly followed by turning on both the washing machine and the dryer, trying to do yourself any favors you could by drowning out any suspicious sounds.  

“Good?” Javi asked once more for reassurance, feeling his slacks get tighter and tighter around his crotch by the second as he waited for your response. 

Without a single word, your lips were crashing into his, a messy dance of tongues and teeth ensuing between you as your bodies bumped against the laundry room counter, limbs tangled together in a frantic race to remove clothes. 

“Fuck, I missed you. Missed this.” Javi groaned, helping you slide your top over your head and unclip your bra as he nipped at your neck, pushing your back against the dryer and caging your body under him. 

“I know, baby, me t-too.” You whimpered, reaching out to undo Javi’s belt buckle, shoving his pants down to his thighs, followed by his boxers, freeing his cock as it slapped against the dark hairs on the happy trail of his stomach. “Missed having your big dick inside me.” 

“Fuck.” Javi swore under his breath as you reached out to stroke him, swiping your thumb over his weeping tip to rub the precum up and down his shaft as he shoved your the waistband of your pants and underwear down your hips just far enough to let them fall to the floor around your ankles. 

As much as you both desperately wanted to take your time, worshiping every inch of each other’s bodies until you had nothing left to give, you knew time was not on your side. After a few more strokes, you pulled back, letting Javi snake his hand against your body to slide between your legs, the slightest graze of his fingertips already making you shutter with need. 

At this point, even after the few weeks it had been without Javi inside you, you were wet enough that you could have taken him without any warm up, your core dripping with your arousal to the point it was smearing the inside of your thighs with its shiny coating. But even with your cunt soaking wet and time working against you, Javi couldn’t help but drag his fingers through your folds, curling to push up into your tight hole and prod against your g-spot. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so wet. This all for me, Momma? Missed me fillin’ you up with my cock? Missed me fucking you full of my cum, huh baby?” Javi growled, his words shooting straight to your cunt, making you clamp down tighter around his fingers and your clit throb with intensity.  

It had been a minute since baby making had been at the forefront of your mind, but his question set off something animalistic in the both of you, knowing that right now could give you a chance at baby number three that you had been wishing for. 

“Y-yes, Javi, fuck- want you to fill me up, baby. Want you to fill me up until you fuck a baby into me.” 

It was then that Javi couldn’t have been more thankful that you had turned on the washer and dryer to try and drown out your noise, because the groan he let escape from his parted lips was much louder than he intended. 

But then again, there were few things in this world that turned him on more than you begging him to knock you up, so what did he expect? 

Scooping his arms under your thighs, Javi hoisted you on top of the dryer, your ass hitting the cold, vibrating metal with a thud as your lips collided again with desperate ferocity, muffled moans escaping from your mouths. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl. Want me to knock you up again, Momma? Give you another baby?” Javi smirked, reaching to line his cock up with your entrance, swiping his tip through your folds to collect your slick and coat it along his length before he pushed inside you, sinking deeper and deeper until he bottomed out, hips flush with yours. 

Words couldn’t describe how much you had missed the sweet stretch and sting of Javi’s fullness, each inch of him feeling better than the last, sobbing out as his tip kissed your cervix, all inhibitions of self-composure completely tossed out the window. Still sunk deep in your cunt, Javi’s hand shot over your mouth, stifling your cries in his palm. 

“Shhhhhh, I know, Osita. You gotta keep quiet though, baby.” 

You nodded frantically in compliance, Javi’s hand dropping to grip around your waist as you tried to catch your breath. “M-move, Javi, please.” Your whimpering request borderlining pathetic with how badly you needed him. 

“You promise you’re gonna be a good girl and keep quiet?” 

“Mhmmmm. I promise, baby, please.” 

With that, Javi’s hips began to snap, dragging his cock in and out of you at a dangerous pace, coating the walls with the sounds of the wet sounds of your cunt and slapping skin, muffled by the washer and dryer. 

“Oh my God, Javi. Fuck. Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, locking your legs behind the small of Javi’s back, keeping him as close to you as possible as he fucked in and out of you. You draped your arms around his shoulders, fingers burying themselves in the dark curls at the nape of his neck. 

The closeness had the hairs at the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit, adding to the tension beginning to build at the base of your spine, both of you knowing it wouldn’t take long to get where you needed to go after weeks without being able to have each other like this. 

Javi could feel it too, his balls beginning to tense with each pump, using every ounce of self control to keep from preemptively spilling into you, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, holding on to you like his life depended on it. 

“Jesus, Fuck- Fuck, I missed this tight little pussy so much. Gonna cum so deep inside you. So deep it’s gotta fucking take. God, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant. I swear I’ll give you as many babies as you want, Hermosa.” Javi babbled, biting down on his lip as he pounded into you, reaching one of his hands down to circle at your wet, puffy clit, aching to be relieved from all the built up tension. 

At this point, you were so drunk on pleasure that you could barely remember your own name, feeling your orgasm begin to build through every inch of your body in a way that had you seeing stars, digging your fingernails into Javi’s shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck to keep from crying out his name, forcing yourself to whisper incoherent sweet nothings against his skin. 

“P-please, Javi. F-fill me up. Oh shit- Fuck, baby, I’m so close.” 

Javi’s thrusts became sloppier and more erratic, fingers rubbing your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to coax your orgasm out of you before he followed suit, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow in intense concentration. 

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over me. Soak my fucking cock before I fuck you full of me and knock you up. C’mon, Momma.” 

Suddenly, your orgasm crashed through you, lighting your body up like a goddamn Christmas tree, every inch of your body radiating with bliss as you clamped down around Javi’s cock, biting down on his shoulder as you came to try and stifle your cries. 

Javi was only moments behind you, letting out a low grunt with the final sutter of his hips as he came, coating your walls with his warm spend, fucking it into with every ounce he had left until he had milked himself dry. 

Your bodies collapsed into each other, rising and falling in sync with heavy breaths like you had just finished the last mile of a marathon and collapsed at the finish line, damp and sticky with your sweat. 

As much as Javi didn’t want to pull out, he could feel his cock beginning to soften and the mixture of your spend leaking from your hole. Refusing to let a drop go to waste, he pulled out of you, a groan rumbling low in his chest as he wrapped his hand around his length, dragging his tip up through your folds and collecting the cum that had been dripping out. Taking the wet mess he had gathered with his cock, he pushed himself back into you, slowly thrusting in and out of you, a devilish smirk spreading across his face at the absolutely obscene sound coming from between your legs. 

“Promise me,” Javi gulped between pants, finally pulling out of you again, “Promise we never go this long without having sex again. Holy Fuck.” 

“Promise.” You couldn’t help but giggle in agreement, coming down from your blissed out high. “God, that was the longest two weeks ever. Don’t know why we didn’t think of this sooner.” 

“Because we’ve been sleep deprived and exhausted, and our little monstros (monsters) have been giving us a run for our money.” Javi chuckled, reaching behind you to grab a towel from the cabinet above the dryer, quickly rinsing it in the sink before wiping you up and helping you find all of your clothes. 

“Are we crazy for wanting another one?” You asked, looking down at your stomach, thinking about the ramifications of what you had just done. 

“Maybe. But you drive me so fucking crazy, we may end up with 10 before you know it.” 

“Javi! Dear lord, we are not having 10 kids, you psycho.” You laughed, playfully slapping your husband on the shoulder. 

“Stop being so hot and I’ll stop knockin’ you up.” Javi smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as you rolled your eyes at him knowing damn well you’d have a whole army of his kids if he really wanted. 

“You’re ridiculous, I hope you know that. Alright, you need to get your ass to work and I need to feed the gremlins before I drop Lucy off at preschool. Let’s go, cowboy.” You grinned, playfully smacking Javi on the ass, giving him a quick kiss as you made your way towards the door. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Osita. I gotta remember to call my dad on the way into work.” 

“Call your dad? Why?” 

“To see if Abuelo can take the girls this weekend so you and I can catch up on a lot of laundry.” 

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

@purpleprincess75

[chrissv4mp]

𐙚 HIT ME HARD (AND SOFT)

summary: i don't wanna write a summary sooo this is basically js filthy smut🤷‍♀️

pairing: billie eilish × fem!reader

warnings + topics: smuttttt literally pure filth, restraints, mentions of edging, strap-on usage, degradation, praise, hair pulling, begging, dom!billie, sub!reader, fingering, mommy kink, dacryphilia, overstimulation if u squint, very fluffy aftercare, etc.

authors note: idk man🙁 here's what goes on in my mind everyday!!

word count: 2.4k

"please, please, bils—ah!" a moan tumbled from your lips as you felt her fingers plunge into your sensitive pussy again, lower lip trembling as you let your head fall back against the pillows.

she only smiled sadistically, head tilting to the side as she watched you squirm in the restraints. her fingers curled, and she giggled softly at the way your body jolted. her eyes were dark, pupils dilated in lust.

you let out another moan, this one more high-pitched than the last as billie began to speed up her fingers. the squelching noise of your pussy was the only other sound in your shared bedroom besides soft breathing and breathy moans.

billies free hand went to caress your thigh, a failed attempt to get your leg to stop shaking uncontrollably. she was ecstatic that she was the cause of that, a proud smile on her face as she continued to pump her fingers into you. her thumb came to join, rubbing tight circles along your puffy clit and increasing your pleasure.

she hadn't spoken since she got home, simply kissing you and then harshly throwing you down onto the mattress. you didn't deny her, she always made you see stars when she was angry. and that's how you got here, legs and arms tied to the bed posts and your girlfriend between your legs, torturing you.

"stop moving so much, mama." the first words that came out of her mouth were demands, her grip on your thigh tightening. there would definitely be a bruise shaped like her hand in the morning, but you wouldn't complain.

you were sure the blindfold around your head was soaked in your tears now, having faced so many highs only for them to be taken away. billie was being mean, and that was the one thing you absolutely hated whenever she took her anger out on you.

a cry left your mouth, and you tugged at the restraints on your wrists, the coil in your stomach tightening. more begs came spilling from your red, swollen lips as your pussy clenched around her fingers.

"g'nna cum! mommy, fuck—m'gonna cum on your fingers..!" your back arched as billie added a third finger, thrusting them in at a merciless pace as she just continued to stare at your fucked-out state.

when she took your clit between her lips, you lost it, and another choked cry escaped your throat as you came. billie was quick to lap at your pussy, giving you a few more deep pumps with her fingers before she removed them.

she raised an eyebrow as she began to crawl up your body, placing her fingers right above your lips as hers parted, "open."

and you did, welcoming her fingers into your mouth happily before you wrapped your lips around them. your tongue worked quickly, sliding between her lengthy fingers as a satisfied hum left you.

her free hand snaked up your body, pinching your nipple and giggling at the way your body jolted upwards, back arching towards her touch before she wrapped her cold fingers around your throat.

"you look so pretty, all fucked-out and tired," the girl whispered, pressing a kiss to thr corner of your mouth before she pulled her fingers back, "but i think you can go another round, hm?"

billie only cooed at the way you whined lowly, hands tugging at the restraints once again. then, she reached up to grab the blindfold, sliding it off your head and throwing it somewhere behind her. you were met with the sight of your beautiful girlfriend, staring at you with lust and hunger as she pouted.

she knew you could never resist her when she gave you that look, so all you did was buck your hips up in silent agreement. billie chuckled again, not satisfied with the nonverbal answer you gave her, and she put pressure on your throat.

"use your words, or i'll edge you s'more. you wouldn't want that, would you, pretty girl?" she tilted her head in a daunting manner as she licked her lip, taking it between her teeth as her eyes roamed the upper half of your body, "you wanna cum around my cock, don't you, baby?"

tears stained your cheeks, and the way she was talking to you at moment only made more tears run down. you gave a nod of your head, sobbing quietly as you stuttered, "yes, yes, please. wanna cum 'round your cock, mommy!"

billie smiled, leaning down to press her lips against yours in a quick kiss before she crawled off you again. a rush of excitement and arousal ran through your body, your eyes following the girl as she went into the closet.

when she came back, an indigo colored cock was strapped around her waist, and now she was only wearing her lacy black bra. her tits still spilled from the top, and your eyes were glued to them.

"my eyes are up here, ma," billie chuckled lowly, crawling back onto the edge of the bed and up your body. one hand held her body up, and the other aligned the fake cock with your pussy, biting her lip as she thrusted in slowly.

she gasped quietly at the sight of your pussy swallowing her strap fully, and she looked up at you only to see more tears spilling from your eyes as you threw your head back against the soft pillows.

your mouth hung open as you let out quiet moans, adjusting to the feeling of being stretched out as she thrusted her hips slow but deep. billie only leaned down, hiding her face in the crook of your neck as she whispered degrading things to you.

"such a slut, so fuckin' needy for my cock," a breathy moan fell from her lips, and it went right to your ear. all you wanted was to touch her right now, have your hands dragging down her back or tangled in her black hair.

you wanted to do so much more than just lay there and take what she gave you. but you didn't because you didn't want to get punished, especially when billie was treating you so nicely. this was probably the nicest she's been while fucking you angrily.

you moaned louder when she began to fuck into you faster, the wet kisses she left on your mouth only further fueling your arousal as your eyes rolled back, "fuck, fuck! god, you're so fucking big, baby.."

she stayed quiet, whimpers falling out of her mouth as the base of the strap hit her clit, eyes fluttering shut as she began to nibble on the tender skin of your neck. her pace never slowed, only gradually getting faster as she heard all of your needy noises.

"gonna ruin you, mama—mhh.. m'gonna fuck you so hard." she wasn't asking, she was telling you that she would ruin you. and you knew very well that it was true, that she would leave you unable to walk for as long as a week.

marks would definitely be left on your wrists from how hard you pulled, the pleasure overwhelming but so fucking good. a cry of her name left your throat as she hit your sweet spot, begging her to not stop as she began to thrust deeper.

"right there, hm? that's it?" she hummed in your ear, a proud smirk on her face as she continued to mark up your neck.

you nodded frantically, hands clenching into fists as you bucked your hips, resulting in her strap only sinking deeper into your pussy, "don't stop, please—ah!—mommy, please.."

your pussy clenched around her cock, eyelids fluttering shut from the pleasure as her pace quickened. billie huffed, both hands on either side of your body as she gripped the sheets tightly.

her rhythm was getting sloppy, her own noises increasing in volume as she fully moaned into your ear now. her tone was whiny, needy, and she stuttered as she spoke.

"m'gonna cum, shit—oh my god, fuck!" she whimpered, body almost falling limp against you as she thrusted again, releasing immediately.

she didn't stop, though, almost overstimulating herself as she slammed the fake cock into you, eyes squeezing shut as those three words left your lips. your breath hitched, and then she heard your breathing pick up, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you cried out.

billie theusted into you a few more times before pulling out, leaving a trail of kisses down your body and pressing an opened-mouth kisses against your clit with a smile. she bit her lip at the sight of your teary-eyes, feeling her arousal pool down her thighs.

then, she moved to untie your ankles, and then your wrists before she spoke, "c'mere, mamas. js' one more f'me, 'kay?"

you didn't even hesitate, crawling to the edge of the bed and moving onto your stomach as you let your legs hang off the bed. billie hummed at your obedience, caressing the backs of your thighs affectionately before she parted your legs, quickly thrusting her hips forward and slamming her cock into you.

"bils, oh my god!" your hands immediately went to grab a handful of the sheets, already feeling like your arms would give out and you would just fall forward, "faster, mommy—please, please."

billies hand went to your waist, her grip possessive as she sped up her thrusts, the sound of skin slapping reverberating off the walls along with the sound of your moans. her free hand trailed up your back, her nails scratching you lightly before she grabbed a handful of your hair.

your moans were muffled as your head hung low, and billie pulled your head up, making your back arch more as another loud cry of pleasure left you, "look so pretty like this. so full of my cock, and too dumb too speak. all because of me, hm?"

all she heard from you was inaudible sentences and endless babbles as you nodded your head the best you could on her grip, eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open as she fucked you mercilessly.

you wouldn't last long, and billie knew this, so all she did was try to get you to cum faster. her hips stuttered as you clenched around the fake cock, moaning again as she tugged at your h/c locks again. billie huffed as she leaned over your body, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as the hand on your waist moved to the bulge in your stomach.

"you feel that, hm? you're takin' my cock so well, mamas. you're so pretty," she whispered, pressing down on the bulge and eliciting a whimper from your kiss-swollen lips.

the way she was touching you, the way she was fucking you, even the way she spoke was enough to make you see stars. you clenched around her again, and when your arms gave out and you fell forward, you came. hard.

billie groaned as she heard your choked noises, eyes fluttering shut as her hips slowed to a stop. as she pulled out, you winced.

"shh, i know. js' relax, mhm?" her tone was soft, reassuring, and you nodded your head weakly as she pulled out slowly.

a few moments later, you heard the fake cock hit the floor, joining the pile of clothes from earlier, and then billie helped you into the bathroom.

her hands were gentle, fingers running across the exposed skin your waist affectionately as she kissed everywhere on your face she possibly could. as you both got to the bathroom, she moved to turn the tap, letting warn water flow into the tub and fill it up.

when it was full, she turned it off, took off all her remaining clothes, and then stepped in. soon after, you stepped in, resting against her chest as you let your head fall back against her shoulder. billie only hummed quietly, kissing your temple as she grabbed the rag to gently scrub your body.

she chuckled, watching as you jolted when she moved the rag down to your thighs, scrubbing lightly as she muttered praises into your ear, "did s'good, mamas, always my good girl."

your breathing evened out, and soon you relaxed against your girlfriend as you kissed her jawline, trailing lower and nibbling at her neck. billie only smiled, her thumbs tracing invisible circles along your waist, "i love you."

a gentle hum sounded from your throat, and you opened your eyes to meet her blue ones, "i love you, too, bils."

the both of you were whispering, and you didn't know why but it was comforting. you felt safe in her hold, like nothing could hurt you if you were with billie, "my pretty girl, all mine."

you giggled quietly at her possessiveness, hands running along her thighs under the water in a comforting manner. she pressed kisses to your forehead, loving the soft moment you two were sharing right now.

about 30 minutes later, you two were under a blanket in the living room, watching some horror documentary and adding your own commentary every now and then.

billie had ordered the both of you takeout, getting it delivered right to your doorstep and eating before coming here to sit on the couch. now you lay on billies chest again, eyes fluttering shut at the way she scratched your scalp.

your own hands were on the outsides of her thighs, resting there comfortably as you traced circles over the fabric of her pyjama pants. her free hand was on your cheek, caressing your skin softly with a smile as she looked down at your peaceful figure.

your eyes kept fluttering shut, only to be forced back open by yourself as you tried to pat attention to the TV screen in front of you.

"you tired, mamas?" billie hummed quietly, grabbing the remote to pause the documentary as you began to sit up and face her. you only nodded, a sleepy smile on your face as you rest your head on her shoulder.

a chuckled erupted from her throat, and she stroked your hair, "not right here. c'mon, it's just a few steps to our bed."

after a few minutes of convincing, she finally got you up and in the bedroom. you lay beside her, head resting in the crook of her neck as you breathed gently, hand wrapped around her waist and pulling her closer in your sleep.

one of hers hands stroked your hair, the other under your shirt and running her fingers along your skin. she smiled at your sleeping face, pressing a kiss to your forehead before closing her eyes and falling asleep in no more than 6 minutes.

@livialifesblog @mxqdii @mseilishmwah @sophlovesmeangirls @devynscomet

[kxsagi]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNdfGUWhP/

IDK WHY BUT THIS FEELS SO ISAGI/BACHIRA CODED

“𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 (𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧) 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬”

a/n: THAT IS A W HUSBAND WHAT

HE'S SO SWEET I AM GONNA CRY

nah isagi and bachira's dumbasses would definitely do this, like pads with wings does sound weird, i see how they can interpret it as pads and chicken wings from wingstop or sum 😭

uh oh i wrote about it

ft. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢 – “𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝” 

“yoichi,” you call out from the couch, voice a little strained. “can you go to the store and get me pads with wings?” 

he peeks his head in from the kitchen like the dutiful boyfriend he is. “yeah, of course. anything else?” 

“nope,” you sigh, curling deeper into your blanket. “just that.” 

“got it.” he throws up a thumbs-up and grabs his keys like a man on a mission. this man has faced down kaiser in the final third, he’s got this. 

you assumed he’d be gone maybe 15 minutes. max 20. instead, 40 minutes pass. forty. and then the front door opens and your sweet boy comes in, looking so proud of himself. 

“i got you both kinds!” he grins, lifting two bags like a game show prize reveal. 

you blink. “... both kinds?” 

“yup!” he sets the bags down dramatically. one is from the pharmacy. the other? wingstop. 

“here,” he starts with the first bag, pulling out a pack of pads like he’s discovered fire. “your classic pads.” 

you nod slowly. okay. so far so good. 

“and…” 

he opens the second bag. the aroma hits you first. 

“pads. with wings.” he beams. “for the pain. and the soul.” 

you stare at him. he stares back, proud. 

“yoichi.” 

“... yes?” 

“those aren’t the wings i meant.” 

his smile falters. “wait… what?” 

you hold back a laugh. “pads with wings as in the ones with extra coverage? the flaps that stick to your underwear?” 

he goes still. “... oh.” 

you burst out laughing as he slowly sets the chicken down like it personally betrayed him. 

“i thought i was being clever!” he groans, flopping face-down on the couch. “why didn’t anyone at the store stop me?! i looked so confident…” 

you crawl over and pat his back. “you tried your best, baby. and hey, at least now i have pads and dinner.” 

“… do you still love me?” 

“only because you brought honey BBQ.” 

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 – “𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫” 

“babe, can you do me a huge favor?” 

“always.” 

“can you buy me pads? with wings?” 

bachira doesn’t even hesitate. “say less,” he grins, already slipping on his shoes like he’s heading to battle. “wings coming right up.” 

twenty-five minutes later, he’s back. 

the door swings open with an unnecessary amount of flair. “YOUR WISH. IS. GRANTED.” 

you look up from your phone, already suspicious. “what did you do.” 

“i got you wings.” he kicks the door shut and saunters in like he’s won the lottery. “a combo, in fact. with curly fries. for healing purposes.” 

he drops the takeout bag on your lap. 

you peek inside. “meguru.” 

“yes, my love?” 

“this is buffalo chicken.” 

“yes!” 

“i meant pads. with wings.” 

he blinks. the silence is deafening. 

“like… the ones that stick to your underwear?” 

his mouth forms a tiny ‘o.’ 

“oh. ohhhh.” 

you raise an eyebrow. “what did you think i meant?” 

“... i thought you were being fun with your words,” he admits sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “like, ‘yo get me pads with wings’ was just your way of saying ‘i want comfort and spicy chicken in a time of need.’ i didn’t question it.” 

you blink. “that’s… weirdly wholesome.” 

he beams. “i try.” 

“… but you didn’t get the actual pads?” 

he freezes. “... wait. i thought the chicken was the pads. like… soul pads.” 

you laugh so hard you nearly fall off the couch. “meguru–" 

“don’t worry,” he says suddenly, grabbing his keys again. “i’m going back. this time, i’ll bring the absorbent dignity.” 

“… you’re lucky you’re cute.” 

he leans down, kisses your forehead, and grins. “wingman of the year, baby.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[formulaonecrumbs]

just wish i was older

Lando Norris x babysitter!reader

summary: lando has a crush on his babysitter.

warnings: age gap? not really tho. it’s 3 years. lando pining for a girl he can’t have.

A/N: idk if this is weird. cuz reading it back i think it might be 😭😭 did reader groom him? no but why does it feel it. i’m going crazy also a gif this time cause i have a thing for rookie lando :]

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

age 12 & 15

lando had crossed his arms and sat sulking on the living room couch like the world had personally offended him.

his hair was still a little messy from the argument with his mum earlier, and his tie—he’d refused to take it off—was hanging half-untied around his neck like a silent protest.

you smiled as you closed the front door behind you. “you look like a grumpy little businessman.”

lando glared at you. “i’m not little.”

“right,” you teased, dropping your bag on the floor. “you’re a very mature twelve-year-old who threw a tantrum because he didn’t want to go to a wedding.”

his cheeks flushed slightly. “i didn’t throw a tantrum.”

“you did,” you grinned, walking past him into the kitchen. “your mum told me. said you nearly cried when she made you put on the dress shoes.”

“they pinch,” he muttered, following you like a shadow.

you pulled open the fridge. “alright, rebel. what are we eating tonight?”

lando leaned on the counter, watching you. “can we have those frozen pizzas?”

“already trying to sweet-talk me into junk food, huh?” you raised an eyebrow. “what happened to please and thank you?”

he rolled his eyes dramatically. “pleeease.”

you tossed him a frozen pizza box. “get the oven started, mr. businessman.”

he smiled, and you caught the way his shoulders relaxed a little.

later that evening, after pizza and a movie he picked (some racing documentary, no surprise there), the two of you sat on the floor of the living room, surrounded by empty snack wrappers.

“you’re not like other babysitters,” lando said suddenly, his voice quiet.

you looked over at him, one eyebrow raised. “yeah? how so?”

he shrugged, tugging at a loose thread in the carpet. “you talk to me like… normal. not like i’m a dumb kid.”

you softened. “you’re not a dumb kid, lando.”

he didn’t say anything for a second. then, almost too softly to hear, “i like it when you come over.”

you smiled. “i like it too. you’re good company, even when you’re being a grump.”

he smiled, just barely. “you’re nice.”

“so are you.”

he looked away quickly, cheeks pink again.

by the time his parents got home, lando was half-asleep on the couch, his head tipped against your shoulder.

you’d left the lights low and the tv still playing quietly in the background, the empty pizza box folded neatly on the table.

his mum smiled when she walked in. “looks like he survived without us.”

you nodded, brushing his curls back gently from his face. “barely.”

lando blinked sleepily, mumbling something about not being tired, but he didn’t move from your side.

and as you got up to leave, promising to see him again soon, he looked up at you with those tired eyes and whispered, “you’ll still come even when i’m older, right?”

you smiled, ruffling his hair. “if you want me to.”

he nodded once, like that answer settled something big in his heart.

and long after you were gone, he stayed sitting on the couch, tie still loose, wondering how long it’d take to be old enough for someone like you to really notice him.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

age 15 & 18

lando hadn’t needed a babysitter in over a year.

or so he said.

but when his parents had to go out last-minute and asked you to drop by—“just in case, he won’t admit he wants the company, but you know how he is”—you’d agreed without hesitation.

he opened the door like he hadn’t been pacing behind it for the past ten minutes.

“you didn’t have to come,” he said, voice deeper now, posture more guarded. “i’m not twelve.”

“good thing,” you said, stepping inside with a smile. “because you were so annoying at twelve.”

he cracked a smile despite himself. “rude.”

you looked around the house. it was cleaner than usual. like maybe he’d tried to make it look like he had it together. “so what’s the plan? you gonna ignore me the whole time, pretend i’m not here?”

“nah,” he shrugged. “you can stay if you want.”

“lucky me.”

you ended up sitting in the kitchen while he made tea—something he insisted on doing himself, like he had something to prove.

“you’re in uni now, right?” he asked, carefully pouring boiling water into mugs. “like properly moved out and everything?”

“yeah,” you nodded. “first year.”

“right.” he paused, fiddling with the teabag. “bet that’s nice.”

you tilted your head. “what is?”

“being around people your age,” he muttered. “grown-ups.”

you blinked. “you say that like you’re ancient.”

he didn’t laugh. just looked at you, eyes a little more serious than usual. “you used to treat me like a kid.”

“you were a kid.”

“and now?”

you held his gaze for a second before giving a small smile. “still kinda a kid.”

he looked away, jaw tightening. “figured.”

later, while a show played quietly in the background, he sat on the other end of the couch, leg bouncing, fingers tapping against his knee.

you glanced over. “lando?”

he didn’t look at you. “do you ever think about how weird it is that i’ve known you half my life?”

“not weird,” you said gently. “just… kind of sweet.”

he scoffed, but it didn’t sound mean. “you used to tie my shoes. now you’re off dating guys with cars and jobs and… real lives.”

“you jealous?”

he looked at you then. properly. “you know i am.”

the silence stretched, soft and full of something unspoken.

you reached over, nudging his arm. “i promise i’m not going to disappear, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

his expression cracked for a second—just long enough to see the boy underneath, the one who used to cling to you like a shadow.

“i’m not,” he muttered. “just wish i was older.”

you smiled, eyes kind. “one day, you will be. and you’re gonna be someone really great.”

he didn’t answer. just nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, fighting a war between wanting to be grown and knowing he’s still got time to go.

and when he walked you to the door that night—holding it open like a gentleman, pretending not to watch you as you left—he didn’t say goodbye.

just: “thanks for coming.”

and in his chest, a soft ache that had nothing to do with being young…

and everything to do with how much he wished he wasn’t.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

age 16 & 19

you weren’t supposed to be back.

you were home from uni for a weekend, barely enough time to breathe—let alone babysit—but when mrs. norris called in a panic asking if you could check in on lando “just for a couple hours while we’re out”, you didn’t even think twice.

you hadn’t seen him in nearly a year.

he opened the door and for a second, you didn’t recognize him.

he was a little taller now. voice deeper. shoulders broader.

but the look in his eyes—that familiar flash of something warm and too intense—was exactly the same.

“…hey,” he said, voice unsure.

“hey,” you echoed, stepping inside. “you got… taller.”

he smirked. “you got older.”

you rolled your eyes. “rude.”

you sat in the living room, both pretending this wasn’t weird.

“you’ve barely texted me this year,” he said suddenly, not looking at you.

“you stopped texting first,” you replied gently.

he went quiet.

“thought maybe you didn’t want to talk to me anymore,” you added, softer now.

“i did.” he leaned back into the couch. “i just… figured you were busy. with adult stuff.”

you smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “doesn’t mean i forgot about you.”

his jaw clenched. “well, i didn’t forget you either.”

he made tea again. of course he did. but this time, he brought it to you like it was a date.

he sat across from you, legs bouncing, hoodie sleeves pushed up.

“you still dating that guy?” he asked, voice low.

you shook your head. “not anymore.”

he looked up fast, too fast. “…oh.”

“why?”

you shrugged. “wasn’t right.”

he paused, chewing on his lip like he wanted to say something—something big, something too much—but instead, he just said, “he was lucky.”

you blinked. “lando…”

“i know,” he said quickly, like he could read your mind. “i know it doesn’t mean anything. just… let me say it, alright?”

you nodded.

“i like you,” he said. “i’ve liked you. for a long time.”

you stayed quiet.

“i know you’re older. i know nothing can happen. but you were the first person who really saw me. who didn’t treat me like a dumb kid.”

you swallowed. “you’re not a kid anymore.”

he laughed, but there was no humor in it. “still feels like i am to you.”

“lando—”

“it’s okay,” he said, getting up. “you don’t have to say anything. i just wanted you to know. in case… i don’t know. in case you ever wondered.”

you watched him as he walked into the kitchen, shoulders tense, trying to be calm when his heart was beating out of his chest.

and you sat there, staring into your tea, knowing he was right.

it wasn’t the time.

it never could be.

THE END :>

[babybl00s]

collide like two stars

warnings: smut (p-in-v, vaginal fingering, oral f!receiving), LOTS OF KISSING yippeee, bob is so down bad, he's also a munch, no condom *gasp*, cumming inside, i guess some dirty talk idk, mdni 18+, explicit language etc.

summary: part two to all i need

author's note: back by popular demand. thanks for the likes/reblogs/follows. didn't think this would get that much attention but i'm glad y'all liked part 1!! this is a beast of its own

ps: this is not beta read. if u notice any typos ignore them cause i will cry

Alpine’s judging, unblinking stare does nothing for your nerves when you walk through the doors of your apartment. Her tail flicking softly, as if she was waiting up for you and wasn’t happy about it. Ladybug notices you from her crate, wagging her tail, but doesn’t get up to greet you; she takes bed time seriously.

Your mind is racing as you toe off your heels, haphazardly tossing them onto the shoe rack by your door. Scurry down the hall to your room and dig through your dressers to find a change of clothes. The cold tile of the bathroom soothes your sore feet as you place the clothes on the counter, tearing off your uniform and ruined underwear and tossing them into the hamper. You don’t bother to let the shower warm up, stepping in with a hiss as ice-cold shards of water pelt your skin.

You’d just…let Bob Reynolds rut himself against you. In the Watchtower. On their fucking couch. And Mel - fuck, Mel walked in after, probably traumatized for life even though she really didn’t see anything but you two scrambling to look normal. Which was a total giveaway. You make a mental note to buy her lunch for, like, the next week or two. 

The ghost of his bruising grip on your hips and thighs still lingers. His hot, wet tongue in your mouth. On your neck. The way he whimpered in your ear -

You turn the dial on the wall to make your shower just the slightest bit colder. You bite back a shriek as the freezing cold water rains down on you. You need to stop; you can’t get horny over him again. You grab your body wash and douse it on your body scrubber, lathering it up on your arms and chest. 

His cock, warm and big and thick, grinding against your pussy; his sweatpants creating a delicious friction against the thin layer of your underwear. The way the head of his cock caught against your clit, making you see stars. You wonder how he’d feel inside you - 

You lean your head against the tiled wall, the action making a soft thud echo. God. You want him so bad you could cry. And it wasn’t even the fact that he made you cum from a little bit of grinding - it was everything. The way he kissed you; electrifying, leaving you breathless and wanting more (which he was very happy to give). How he held you, tender and loving, while whispering sweet nothings to you.  

And then you’d left him, on that couch. Face flushed and eyes hopeful. The smile sliding off his face made you want to die.

This is uncharted territory. You don’t know how to…do this. Hadn’t meant for this to happen, but…you don’t regret it. For the most part. Doing it in a shared space was probably the worst idea you had but, you know. Kind of hard to think straight when a hot guy is on top of you telling you how much he’s been wanting you.

You shake your head and lather up the rest of your body. You’re able to finish the rest of your shower with little to no intrusive thoughts, and dry yourself off with a towel before throwing on your pajamas for the night.

Alpine is curled up tightly in the center of your bed when you walk out, Ladybug equally curled up but on the bed you have for her on the floor of your bedroom. She probably felt left out when Alpine came into your room, you muse. You let out a sigh as you fall into the space next to Alpine, tucking yourself tightly against her warm little body.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve opened a door you can’t close. What does it mean for you and Bob? Your thoughts spiral, and you bring up a finger to chew on the skin around your nail. Do you tell him how you feel? You don’t even have his number, and asking Bucky would open a whole nother can of worms. 

Maybe…you could visit him again? Talk to him then. Bucky still hasn’t messaged you so you’re assuming this mission will take more than one night. And with the rest of the team gone with him…

Okay, you think, you’ll…talk to him tomorrow. After work. Somehow. 

Bucky still isn’t in when you go into work, which is great for you. Means he’ll probably be out for another day or two, which is more than enough time for you to gather your thoughts. Maybe even buy some lunch. 

Ah, that reminds you: you have to buy Mel lunch today. And tomorrow. And maybe for the foreseeable future. You’re, like, 99% sure she won’t say anything. Assistants having to stick together and all that. But you feel bad, so…

You float around the office all day, talking to the other assistants and helping them assign caseloads to the interns. Writing up emails, going over some of Bucky’s drafts of new bills. Yesterday’s work had taken a huge load off of everyone’s plate, which was great for them, but not so great for you. Because all you’re thinking about is Bob’s lips and his tongue and his hands - his strong, calloused hands - and - 

A bag of food is dropped onto your desk, making you jump almost fifty feet in the air. 

It’s Bucky. Bringing you takeout. Here, in front of you. Not…on a mission. 

Huh, This puts a huge wrench in your plans.

He has a guilty look on his face. “I know I promised not to leave Alpine on you like last time, but something came up. Just got back today. Would’ve texted ya sooner but my phone kinda went in the shitter. I’m…sorry.” He finishes lamely. He clears his throat and gestures to the food he bought. “For you. Your favorite.” 

You sit there, wide-eyed, completely caught off guard. You give a terse nod. “Thanks.” You turn back to your computer and continue drafting up the email you were about to send. 

He shifts his weight, nervous. Like he’s afraid to poke the bear. He blinks, trying to choose his words carefully. “You’re not…um, mad…?”

“No. It happens.”

The clack of your keyboard fills the silence. Bucky’s still rooted in his spot. He clears his throat again. “Right. I’m - I gotta run. Get a new phone. I’ll come by later to pick up Al.” 

“Cool.” 

He lingers for just a second, then scurries away as if you’ve threatened to bite his head off. Once he rounds the corner your head drops to the desk with a loud thud. 

Fuck. This was not a part of the plan; hell, that was your only plan. Bad idea on your part, admittedly. The smell of the food wafts towards you. Well, at least you didn’t have to pay for your own lunch.

During your lunch break, you’d tried to brainstorm a new plan that’d let you see Bob again; ones that didn’t involve you going to the Tower for no reason (i.e., without using Bucky as an excuse), but no dice. Bucky usually hung out in his Brooklyn apartment after missions, and unless another one randomly happened to come up, he wouldn’t be hanging about the Tower until next week.

Besides, there was always someone there. You know the team well enough through Bucky, but not so much that you could just waltz in and act like you belonged there.

Eventually, people start trickling out of the office one-by-one, until you’re the only one left. You tap your fingers on your wooden desk, lost in thought. Whatever, you’ll figure it out soon enough. You power off your computer and grab your things, heading out to the bus station.

Luckily, it seems your apartment building actually gives a shit about its occupants for once, because when you walk in the elevator is no longer out of service. You’re kind of scared when you enter but you’d honestly rather die than walk up three flights of stairs right now. It makes some concerning noises on the way up, but you’re still in one piece so you’ll take that as a win.

Alpine and Ladybug are lounging about the couch when you walk through the door. Lady hops off to greet you, while Alpine merely blinks at you. You give Lady a couple of kisses and she follows you into your room and waits patiently while you shower. She follows you again after you’ve changed into an oversized shirt and a pair of flannel bottoms. 

You sit down on the couch, kicking up your feet as you let an episode of Breaking Bad play. You’re not really paying attention, bouncing your leg anxiously as you wait for Bucky to show. The anticipation knots up your stomach; you knew Bucky was coming to pick her up, but you didn't expect to feel this anxious about it. Part of you thinks that he knows what you did and who you did it with - where you did it. Maybe he’s known all along and is coming to fire you in person. That probably wouldn’t be legal but you’re too stressed to think clearly.

You take a glance at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time, the soft ticking echoing through your apartment. Your mind starts to drift back to yesterday. To Bob.

You’d always thought he was cute - who wouldn’t? He’d always made an effort to talk to you, which you couldn’t really say for the rest of the team. At least, not the way he did. Always so attentive, listening as though you’d been saying something profound, when all you did was bring up how Ladybug had learned how to balance a treat on her nose.

How thoughtful he was, bringing food and coffee for Bucky cause he knows the guy goes days without eating, nights without sleeping. Brings you your favorites, which you realize you had mentioned once, almost a year ago. Yet he remembered.

The way he held you at the Gala, one hand on your waist and the other in your hand. As if you were porcelain, and he was scared to break you. 

Yesterday, when he caressed your face and asked - asked - to kiss you, and did so sweetly. Even in the midst of passion, he kissed you softly. He’s not the kind of guy to just do that on a whim, you know that much. And if you could just talk to him - 

Your doorbell buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts. Must be Bucky. You tiptoe over to the door, looking through the peephole to confirm and, yup, it’s him alright. You take a quick breath to steady yourself and swing the door open.

Bucky stands there, with a box of pizza. Except - he’s not wearing that guilty look on his face. He looks proud. Mischievous. 

“Pizza.” He simply announces, stepping by you to enter your apartment. Your breath catches for a split second as he passes, a figure that you hadn’t seen through the peephole making himself known. Your eyes meet his. 

Bob. 

He’s wearing another oversized sweatshirt (green this time; the color suits him), wavy hair slightly tousled, hands wringing together, him shuffling on his feet like he isn’t sure he should be here, but is anyway. His lips turn up at you nervously, and for a moment, you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Hey,” he breathes.

“Hi,” you return, your voice a bit higher than normal.

Bucky watches from the living room as you lovesick idiots stare at each other, unimpressed. Seriously, after all the work he did to get you two alone together, all you can say is hi? Risking his life by leaving Al at your door when you’d almost ripped his damn head off the last time…

He sighs. At least he’s got you two alone again, he muses. He places the pizza box on your kitchen counter, picks up Alpine and tucks her in her carrier, giving an extra bit of attention to your dog on his way out.

“So, uh, thanks for keeping an eye on Alpine,” Bucky says, stepping between the two of you to get to the hallway.

“No problem,” you manage to say, your focus shifting between him and Bob (who hasn’t kept his eyes off you). “Anytime.”

A knowing smirk grows on Bucky’s face, and he turns the other way to head back down to his car. “You two have fun!” He calls out. 

Ladybug uses this as her chance to try to bolt out the door, but you’re able to grab her before she’s successful. You shoo her back inside and look back at Bob, who still has his warm gaze directed at you. A flutter of butterflies develops in your stomach. You hold your breath, unsure of what to say next; this definitely was not a part of the plan. But it was a part of Bucky’s, apparently.

You step aside to let him in. “Did you wanna…” You nod towards your apartment. Bob lingers for a moment, but enters, standing at your side as you close the door. 

Bob’s smile widens as Ladybug approaches. He kneels to the ground and pets her softly; she throws herself to the ground and rolls on her side, demanding belly rubs.

“She likes you,” you comment, a little taken aback. Ladybug isn’t the best with men, took months for her to warm up to Bucky. But with Bob, she’s…well she’s rolling around begging for his attention. You’re almost jealous.

“I like her, too,” he mutters, turning his head towards you, but you’re not so sure it’s Lady he’s referring to. You don’t want to overthink it. 

You need a second to breathe. “Shoes off,” you instruct over your shoulder, marching over to the kitchen, “do you want anything to drink?”

“Water’s fine,” he replies, toeing off his sneakers. He pads over to your couch and takes a seat, Ladybug trailing after him. When you return, he takes it from your hands, fingers grazing over yours in a manner that doesn’t necessarily seem accidental. 

You take a seat next to him, propping your legs on the couch to keep him at a respectable distance. He takes a sip of his water then places it on one of the coasters on your coffee table. 

Ladybug scampers away to her crate, bored of the lack of attention. You fiddle with your fingers as you work up the courage to say something to him. 

“I wanted to -”

“Your place is -”

You both stop and chuckle. His face and ears lightly dusted with pink, yours heating up as well. 

You poke his bicep playfully. “You first,” you urge softly. 

His eyes flicker over you. “Your place is nice. Cozy. I’m sorry if - if I’m intruding. I know you weren’t…expecting me, but Bucky insisted I come with,” he pauses. “I…wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again,” he finishes quietly, his gaze trailing to the floor. 

“I did,” you blurt out, “want to see you again. I was going to. Today, but then Bucky showed up and…you know.” He doesn’t look up from the floor. “I…” you sigh. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I’m sorry, I just - I panicked. But it wasn’t because of you.”

“We shouldn’t have - no, fuck I don’t mean it like that,” he panics, correcting himself when he sees you raise an eyebrow at him. “I should’ve…I don't know, been more…respectful of you. Take you - fuck, I mean - be with you, somewhere more private.”

“You wanted to make an honest woman out of me, Bob?” you tease, delighted by the embarrassed groan he lets out. “I’m flattered.”

He takes a moment to formulate a response. “I wanted it to be good for you.” He mumbles.

Oh. You don’t really know what to say to that, at first. Honestly you’re not used to a guy being so open and honest with you. Willingly having this conversation with you, listening to (listening, not just hearing) what you have to say. Obviously the bar is low, but this is nice. He’s definitely a little embarrassed by the conversation, evident in the way his hands come up to cup his bright red face. You poke his thigh with your foot and giggle when peeks at you through his fingers.

You bite your lip in thought. “It was good for me,” you admit, “really good.”

The air between you feels different now, charged. The casual conversation has shifted. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding, if he notices how nervous you are. He’s fiddling with his fingers, and you try not to stare too hard. You honestly feel a little overwhelmed, but your need to talk to him overpowers anything else.

“Did you mean what you said,” you ask, your voice faltering towards the end. You clear your throat. “About…wanting me…?”

“I meant everything I said.” He says suddenly, eyes finally meeting yours again. You blink, feeling your heart stutter in your chest. He presses on. “You - fuck, you don’t know what you do to me. I’ve been - I’ve been trying to get your attention for months. Visited Bucky all that time just so I could see you. I just - I didn’t know how to talk to you. You’re so - you’re perfect.” He’s rambling now, mouth running a mile a minute while you sit there, your face heating up. If you had known - that all this time - “And then I saw you at the Gala and - fuck, you looked so beautiful. And then we danced…” he trails off, searching your eyes for a bit of hope.

You’ve somehow found yourself a hair's breadth away from him, one leg tucked under you while the other dangles off the couch, knee bumping against him. “Bob,” you sigh, placing your hand on the side of his neck, stroking his jaw softly. He closes his eyes at the sensation.

“When I held you, that’s when I knew,” he whispers sweetly, “that I wanted this, wanted you.”

You pull him in closer, foreheads touching. “You have me,” you confess, your lips brushing against his, “I want this with you too.”

His breath hitches, then he pulls you in for a kiss, one arm behind your back, pressing your body against his while you wrap your arms around his neck. Despite the way he’s holding you - like he’s afraid to let you go - the kiss is sweet. Tender. Electric, even, but it’s hidden by the innocent passion that sends a delectable shiver down your spine. You let out a smitten giggle, wrapping your arms around him tighter when you feel him smile into it. 

He caresses your back, nibbling at your bottom lip. You part them, tangling your hands in his hair when he licks into your mouth. You feel a flare of heat spark in your belly. Hold back a moan when he tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. Your breathing picks up, your body trembling in excitement.

Bob pulls away, and it’s you chasing after his lips this time. He plants another wet kiss on your lips before pulling away again. You lean your forehead against his, his breath intermingling with yours. He traces random patterns on your back, his other caressing your pajama-covered thigh.

“You’re really good at that,” you chuckle, still trying to catch your breath.

(A sense of pride swells within him. Unbeknownst to you, he’s read up on this; stole one of Yelena’s trashy magazines, one with a spread called ‘How to be an Expert Kisser’ followed by another labeled ‘For Her Pleasure’. He’s a quick learner. Has a couple other tricks up his sleeve.)

He pulls you onto his lap with ease. You settle on him, tracing your finger down his chest. Biting back a smile when you feel something hard straining under you. You’re no better, you already feel the cold fabric of your underwear sticking to your skin.

Bob grabs your hips in a tight grip, rocking your hips against his. You gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you since last night,” he pants, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, “could still feel you against me, even after you left. Made me hard all over again.” He drags your hips from the base of his cock all the way to the tip, your clit catching at the seam of his pants, making you let out a pathetic whine. 

“You’re so big,” you pant. “I could still feel you, too.” He groans, bringing you into another kiss that’s all tongue. His large hands trail up under your shirt, meeting the soft skin underneath. He brings them up slowly, his fingers teasing the swell of your tits.

“Wait,” he pulls away immediately, hands flying back down to your hips. “We can’t - not here,” you gesture towards Ladybug, who’s fast asleep in her crate and unaware of the debauchery her mom is engaging in 30 feet away. “Not in front of her, she’ll be traumatized for the rest of her life.” You pout. He laughs. A real, genuine, laugh that comes from his belly.

“You’re ridiculous.” He laughs, blinding you with a bright smile. You scrunch your nose at him and he gives you another short kiss. 

You squeal into his mouth as he stands, picking you up effortlessly from the couch with him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs tight around his waist. You point towards the door to your bedroom and he makes way, his hands under thighs to support you. 

He closes the door on his way in, and places you on your bed so you’re lying comfortably on your pillows. He settles in between your hips. The soft glow of your fairy lights casting a halo around his body. Your nerves are starting to get the best of you, and as though he senses that, he places a series of soft, loving kisses all over your face. It makes you laugh, which puts a smile on his face as well. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I’m just nervous. But I want this. I want you.”

He pulls up your shirt a bit, goosebumps rising along the skin of your stomach from the slight chill of your room. “Can I…can I take this off?”

“Yeah.” 

He lifts it up slowly, mesmerized by the sight of your tits in his face. You’ve barely gotten the shirt off and over your head before he latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue lathering the stiff bud with attention while his free hand reaches up to tweak the other between his thumb and forefinger. It makes you squeal, your own hand coming up to support the back of his head. He’s so eager it’s making your head spin. 

You squirm, dragging your nails down his back. He groans, switching his attention to your other tit, licking and sucking at it with the same amount of love he gave the other one. You let out a long, embarrassing moan when he switches hands to tweak your spit-covered nipple. You’re so wet by now you’re sure it’s leaking through your pajamas.

He lets go of your tit with a pop. Buries his head against your shoulder, pants against the skin. “Can I taste you?” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Please?” he begs.

“Mm-hmm.” You whimper, because the thought alone has fried your brain beyond comprehension. 

His fingers hook onto the band of your pajamas, sliding them down your legs slowly. He peppers kisses down your stomach, your hips, lingers at the band of your underwear. He pulls the pants off your legs, tossing them off the bed without a care in the world. 

“Bob,” he gives you his full attention. You bite down on your bottom lip nervously. “Can you…can you take off your pants too? And…and your shirt?” You feel a little self conscious, being the only one who’s practically naked. It’s only fair. 

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah - I can.”

He climbs off the bed, unbuckling his belt with trembling fingers. It warms your heart that he’s just as nervous as you, makes you feel better. You scoot to the edge of the bed and cover his hands with your own, and he looks at you with wide eyes. You gently pry his hands away and take matters into your own hands, slowly unbuckling his belt with ease, unbuttoning his pants and pulling down the zipper. He waits with a bated breath, his pupils blown out. 

You pull down his pants. Once they reach his thighs, he tugs them off, cursing when trips over himself a little. The sight makes you giggle, and he gives you a dopey smile. He’s standing between your legs again. You tug on his sweatshirt, but he hesitates.

“You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.” 

He shakes his head. “No, it’s just - I have…scars, from when I was on…um,” you take his hand and give it a small kiss.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, “I won’t judge, if that’s what you’re worried about. And if you don’t want to take it off, that's okay, too. It’s not a big deal.”

He takes a deep breath, then tugs it off in one fell swoop. He’s - he’s…

Wow. He’s…muscular. Definitely a sleeper build. You ogle at the veins that run along the muscle of his forearms, his well-defined abs, the trail of hair that starts right under his navel and leads down to his cock, hard and straining against his briefs. At eye level. A wet spot where the head of his cock is. Your mouth waters. You plant your lips innocently against the tuft of fur and he tenses, his cock twitching in excitement.

“Lay back down,” he orders, which you happily follow. 

He kneels on the floor, pulling you closer so your ass is just off the edge of the bed. He starts at your calf, starting a trail of kisses that travels up to your knee, your thigh. Ends at the hem of your underwear, right where you want him. You almost cry when he repeats his actions on the other leg.

Your face heats up, so you throw an arm over your eyes. “Bob,” you whine.

He gets the message. He pulls the article of clothing off your hips, places his thumbs on either side of your pussy and spreads you open. You gulp; you feel so exposed. 

“F-Fuck,” you gasp. He’s licked a long, hard stripe up to your clit. Moans at the taste on his tongue, passes his tongue again to collect the wetness that’s leaking. He takes your swollen clit into his mouth, sucksucksucking to the point where your hips lift up off the bed. He hooks an arm under your thigh, over your hips, to hold you down.

Bob groans, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body. You write helplessly, your free hand reaching down to pull his hair into a vice grip. He flicks his tongue across your clit, panting against you when you tug his hair. 

“So fucking good,” he sticks his tongue into your pussy, lapping up your arousal like his life depends on it. His nose rubbing against your clit. You whimper, panting harshly as he lavishes your pussy with attention. You push yourself up the bed, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, pulling him in closer. You take advantage of this angle to look down at him. 

He’s absolutely wrecked, face flushed but with a content look on his face, like he’s died and gone to heaven. He’s so messy - his spit and your arousal mixing together, leaving a sticky layer on your thighs, his face. Your eyes droop shut, overtaken by pleasure. He can stay there for as long as he wants, as far as you’re concerned.

You don’t notice his fingers until one of them prods lightly at your pussy. You gasp. “Can I?” he mumbles, not taking his mouth off you.

“Yes,” you beg, “yesyesyes.”

He mutters a curse under his breath, pushing his middle finger into you, licking at your clit to help you relax. You sigh at the feeling, brushing back the curls from his face. He pumps it in and out of you slowly, testing at first. Sinks it deep, curling his finger up on the way out. A whine gets stuck in his throat when you clamp down on him. He rests his head on your thigh, watching his finger sink into you.

He’s brushing against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl, builds up the pressure in your belly. You melt, falling back against the bed and clawing at the sheets, your hand still tugging at his hair. Wordlessly, he grabs your hand off the bed and intertwines his fingers with yours, resting them on your hip. The action is so sweet it almost makes you cum.

Your skin is slick with a fine layer of sweat, your body on fire. Your thighs are trembling, shaking as he inserts his pointer finger, the stretch making you hiss and you throw your head back with a whimper.

“S-So good,” you stutter, “it feels so good, Bob.” 

He’s stuck in a trance, watching your arousal pool out of you, onto his fingers, onto the palm of his hand. The lewd sight alone driving him crazy. He takes your clit back into his mouth, making you squeal. You feel it then; the pressure building up, threatening to snap. Your thighs snap together, trapping his head against you (not that he minds at all). You grind yourself against his face, his fingers never faltering.

“Oh my God,” your breath hitches, eyes screwing shut as your toes start to tingle. “Fuck, Bob, ‘m cumming -”

“Please,” he begs, “in my mouth.” His teeth graze against your clit, and you gasp. It tips you over, and a loud, vulgar moan leaves you. More of your arousal spills out of you, onto his fingers, into his eager mouth. You shudder, hands gripping onto him while your body twitches, your toes curling. The pleasure is almost blinding. 

You weakly push his head away when the pleasure turns into overstimulation. He lets you, leaning back on his haunches as he slowly drags his fingers out of your pussy. Unblinking when you clench around nothing. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, moaning at the taste of you. The entire bottom half of his face is covered in your arousal, but he wears it like a badge of honor.

“Kiss me,” you plead. He pulls you up so you’re sitting, pushing his tongue past your lips and licking the roof of your mouth. His tongue pushes against yours, your fingers never relaxing on the grip you have on his hair.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says through kisses, “taste so fucking good.”

He’s so talkative, doesn’t shut up. Another wave of arousal thrums through your veins. “I want you, Bob. Please?”

He gets off the floor and lifts you back up so your head is supported by your pillows again. Kneeling between your parted legs. Bob tugs off his briefs, his cock slapping against his abdomen. It’s…big - a lot bigger than you thought. A prominent vein running along underside it. A bit of pre leaking out from the tip. Your mouth waters again, imagining how it would feel in your mouth, on your tongue. Hot and heavy probably, teasing the back of your throat.

Next time, you muse. You need him inside you now or you’ll explode.

He blushes at your attention, shy. Like he didn’t just eat you out and finger you. God, how did you get so lucky?

“I don’t,” he swallows, “I don’t have a condom. I didn’t think - I wasn’t planning on…We don’t have to, if that’s -”

“It’s okay,” you return, just as nervous. “I’m…I’m on the pill. And I’m clean. You?”

“Yeah - Yeah, me too. Clean, I mean.”

Bob grabs one of your pillows and tucks it under you, right at the small of your back. Then he lingers, hands on your knees. You’re so pliant in his hands. He leans down, lips meeting yours. It’s sweet, reassuring. You guide him so his weight is on you, your tits flush against his chest, his forearms braced on both sides of your head. You bring your knees up, a hand under one of them to keep it supported. You feel the warmth of his cock on your thigh, twitching when you curl your arm over his bicep to brace yourself.

He reaches down, hissing at the feeling of his hand on his cock. Lines himself up at your pussy, gliding his cock between your lips. A soft sob leaves your lips, which he muffles with his own. He circles the tip of his cock around your clit, slapping it once, twice. You’re shaking like a leaf, so turned on it almost hurts. 

You’re about to chastise him for being mean, but then he aligns his tip at the entrance, pushing through the ring of muscle. He whimpers, breaking away from your lips to bury his head in the crook of your neck. Your fingers stroke through the ring of curls that are sticking to the back of his neck. 

“So good,” is all he says, thrusting softly to ease more of himself into you. Reaches down to stroke your clit with his thumb. You’re already so wet that the rest of him slides in easily, and you shiver at the feeling of being so full. You feel him throbbing. The hair at the base of his cock tickling your clit.

He’s holding himself back. You can tell, the way his muscles are tensing. His harsh panting against your ear. You clench down once, giggling at his long, pained groan. 

He nips at your shoulder in retaliation, pulling back his hips and snapping them softly against you. Your toes curl. 

“You can move, Bob.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. 

He starts off slow, gentle. Pelvis meeting your thighs, creating an audible, wet slap of skin that makes your face heat up even more. 

“Fuck me,” he exhales, “better than I dreamed.”

He snaps his hips harder when you clench down. Your mouth falls open in a silent groan, your head thrashing against the pillow. 

“Harder,” you whine, “harder.”

He places a hand under your belly button, pushing you down to keep you steady as he puts a little more force into his thrusts. He circles his hips just so, allowing him to brush along the spot inside you. Your nails dig into his bicep and your teeth bite down on his shoulder. 

He drills into that spot, over and over. Your legs are starting to feel like jelly, and sweat pools under the hand that’s keeping one of them propped up. One particular thrust makes you lose your grip on your leg, but he catches it, bringing it up so your knee is resting on his shoulder. The new angle makes you moan uncontrollably, a gush of arousal pouring out of you and onto the sheets below. His pelvis brushing your clit with every thrust, the soft plap plap plap of his thighs hitting your ass fills your room. 

Bob pushes himself up. He grabs the knee that’s on his shoulder and rubs it lovingly, lips teasing the skin. He looks down at your chest, your tits bouncing in rhythm to his thrusts. He bends down again to take one into his mouth, grazing his teeth along the nub.

The pressure in your belly is about to snap. You squirm in his hold, your hips chasing after his. He pulls away from your tits to spit on your clit (Jesus fuck), his thumb rubbing frantically to get you there quicker. He presses his forehead against yours, eyes flickering between your fucked out face and his cock drilling into your pussy. 

“I’m,” you babble, your voice rising an octave, “I’m cumming - Bob -” 

He keeps his gaze locked on you, admiring the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks, your kiss swollen lips. Your face twisting in pleasure as your orgasm rocks through you, your grip on him unforgiving. Legs tightening around his torso, refusing to let him go. Pussy squeezing and sucking him in like it never wants him to leave.

Tears gather at the corner of your eyes as your body relaxes. He kisses them away. His cock rests inside you, and he circles his hips a little to make you squirm. 

“Cum in me,” you slur, biting your lip when your feet dig into his back to push him in further. “I want it.”

“Oh, fuck me,” he curses, drilling into you with that same unforgivable pace. You stroke his back, his chest, the base of his neck. Trace softly over his old, faded, scarred track marks. You’re so damn sweet. Doesn’t deserve you, but you clearly want him just as bad.

God, he’s so in love with you it hurts.

You squeak with every thrust, the overstimulation becoming too much. You reach down and cup his balls in your hand, eyes sparkling in amazement as his hips begin to stutter, his pace becoming frantic and desperate. You yank his head towards yours. His eyes begin to glow, that same yellow hue from last night. It’s mesmerizing. He’s so close, you can feel his cock twitching inside you.

“F-fuck. Fuckfuckfuck,” he stammers, letting out a deep groan as he releases his load. Warmth fills you. The lights in your room flicker, and you hear a high pitched noise coming from the lamp that’s on your nightstand. He thrusts weakly, and the noise stops when he drops his full weight onto you, completely spent.

Interesting.

Bob snuggles up on your chest, panting heavily. He rubs your waist soothingly. You brush your fingers through his wavy brown hair, working out the knots you’re sure were caused by you. He sighs softly when your nails scratch his head softly. You press your lips to the crown of his head, and you swear he purrs from the attention.

“Congrats. You’ve made an honest woman out of me.” He gives you a playful bite on the swell of your tit, making you giggle. 

He hums. “And you’ve ruined me for anyone else. Guess you’re stuck with me,” he replies languidly. All the usual stress and tension he carries soothed away after a good fuck, apparently. Good to know.

He makes no move to pull out of you. He seems pretty happy where he is. You’ll definitely have to push him off sometime soon so you can go pee. But for now, this is fine.

Hm. Guess you’ll have to pay for Bucky’s lunch, too.