#it’s overheated in there and you can barely see the floor
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
em1i2a3 · 3 days ago
Text
Telescope
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!
Summary: On a whim, Bob decides to give himself a haircut and immediately regrets it, so you step in to help.
Warnings: No warnings, just pure fluff basically. Maybe a bit of panicked tears because Bob thinks the haircut is bad and he hates the way it looks. A bit of self-deprecation. Reader and Bob are fairly close.
Author’s Note: I was thinking of writing this little blurb for a bit, and I was really in the mood today to go at it! I hope y’all enjoy this little fluff piece! I loved writing it :) <3
Word Count: 3,838
Tumblr media Tumblr media
“He’s been in there for an hour!” You heard John say through the lull in your classical music. It was a quiet night at the compound for once, and you were taking full advantage of it–your legs were stretched across the couch in the common room, and your laptop was overheating against your thighs. You had a bunch of mission reports open in a clutter of neglected tabs as you typed in a document your notes and responses. You didn’t bother turning on the overhead lights, relying instead on the amber glow of the floor lamp behind you and the brightness of your laptop screen.
You pulled off your headphones, letting them hang loosely around your neck as the soft swell of cello faded into the ambient hush of the living space. The sound of shuffling feet, low voices, and a few muffled knocks echoed from the hallway that led toward the bedrooms and shared washrooms.
“Bob. Come on. Open up the door.” Bucky chimed in, laced with a kind of concern that immediately made your chest tighten a bit. He knocked again, three short raps that echoed louder than they should have in the calm of the night. Bob had replied but it was muffled. Faint. You couldn’t make out what he said, but you could tell it was definitely strained and unconvincing. You closed your laptop slowly, the fan still whirring like it was on the verge of liftoff, and you swung your legs down off the couch.
John’s voice came again, muttering low and irritable as you padded barefoot across the floor, the cool tile biting pleasantly at your soles.
”There were these stupid clanking noises and he’s literally had the sink running for the entire time he’s been in there. It’s getting on my nerves.” He explained to Bucky as you stepped into the hallway. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his weight shifted to one hip, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a training t-shirt. You approached the two men with a quiet sigh, pushing your hair away from your face, and brushing by Bucky.
“Move over, boys. Let me give it a try.” John rolled his eyes and stepped aside. You could feel their eyes on you as you gently knocked on the door–just a few light taps, barely louder than a whisper. Then, your voice followed, soft and lifting, wrapped in something warmer than concern–affection.
“Bob…Hun? It’s Y/N. Can you open up the door and let me in?” You could hear shuffling, the almost imperceptible sound of something being hastily hidden–maybe a towel, maybe whatever John heard clinking over the water. You saw the two super soldiers exchange a glance, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.
“…Is it on–only you out there?” Came Bob’s voice, hushed and hesitant. You turned and flicked your hand at the guys–a silent, practiced motion that told them to ‘Go. Shoo.’ Without saying it. Bucky got it immediately, tilting his head to John for the both of them to leave. You didn’t turn to watch them go, but you waited until they were at a safe distance before responding.
”Yes, it’s only me.” A beat passed, then you heard a click. The door cracked open just enough for you to see a sliver of his face–but even in that narrow space, his eyes found yours. Blue, wide, and full of dread. You offered him a small smile.
”Mind if I come in?” Bob hesitated at the question. You could see it in the slight way his thick fingers tightened around the edge of the door. His eyes flicked down, then back up, apologetic and sheepish.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” You let out a breath, exasperated but fond.
”Now, when have I ever laughed at you?” There was a beat of silence, then a little huff.
”…Yesterday. When I caught all those chip bags that fell from the to–top of the pantry shelf.” You smiled despite yourself, head tilting to the side.
“That was a laugh of disbelief because it was impressive. I still don’t know how you managed to catch all six of them without a single chip falling.” Bob didn’t respond right away–he just lingered there in the sliver of light between the bathroom and the hallway, visibly weighing his pride against his need for comfort, “Can you let me in now, please?” You added. There was another long pause, then a quiet sigh, heavy with reluctant surrender. He eased the door open just enough for you to slip through, his broad frame shifting back to make space. You stepped in and gently closed it behind you, locking the world out. The bathroom was dark. Warm, humid, and pitch black. You reached out, palm searching the wall beside you, and tapped the light switch with the tip of your finger with a small click.
And your breath caught.
“Oh.” You didn’t mean for it to slip out–but the sight before you caught you off guard. The floor was littered with soft light brown locks of hair. Bob stood in front of the sink, his tall frame awkward in the cramped space, shoulders hunched slightly as if bracing for impact. He was in a plain white t-shirt that was riddled with little tufts of his hair, and a pair of sweatpants that were baggy on his legs. He looked over at you with that nervous, slow-burning panic in his eyes–blue, round, and pleading. His cheeks were flushed, and his mouth parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t.
Your gaze traveled upward, and your heart cracked open.
His hair–once long, soft, and light brown, always tied back in a loose, low bun or left to brush against the collar of his hoodies–was now butchered. Cut in rushed, uneven sections. Mid-neck length in places, higher in others. A dramatic slant to the right, like gravity had won halfway through the attempt. You weren’t sure if he’d gone in trying to layer it or simply panicked mid-process, but the result was brutal.
The counter was a battlefield. Hair everywhere. Clumps in the sink, damp strands on the floor, a wet towel bunched up on the edge of the tub. A pair of dull kitchen scissors–your kitchen scissors–lay next a near-empty bottle of conditioner.
Bob didn’t speak. He just stood there with his hands clasped in front of him like he was waiting for a verdict. His posture was so tense, it almost looked like he was trying to disappear into himself, and he winced under your eyes.
”…It’s ba-bad isn’t it?” You didn’t deny his statement. You took another step towards him, eyes still gently scanning the damage.
“Did you at least wet it before you started?” The blush in his cheeks deepened as he squeezed his hands together.
“I think I made it worse by do–doing that.” You let out a soft sigh, and closed the space between you and Bob so you were practically chest to chest with one another. He didn’t dare move during this. Slowly, you reached up, brushing your fingers along the uneven locks that framed his forehead, pushing it back away from his eyes. It was damp to touch, and a few stray strands clung slightly to his forehead.
“Why did you do this, hmm?” You asked softly. There was no accusation in your tone, no teasing, no heat. Just a quiet question–one you asked with the tenderness of someone who knew the answer might hurt to give. Bob exhaled, long and low. His eyes dropped to the floor. You watched the line of his throat shift as he swallowed hard. You reached up again, letting your hand settle on the side of his face. Your thumb traced a slow arc along the ridge of his cheekbone, and your fingers curled against the warm, faintly stubbled edge of his jaw. You knew how touch worked with Bob–how the right kind of physical grounding calmed him better than words. How he leaned into any softness that was given to him because it made him focus on something other than the noise that plagued his brain.
His lashes fluttered slightly at your touch, and then barely above a whisper:
”I…Wanted to clean up before those stupid pr–press photos tomorrow…I just…Didn’t want to look like shit next to everyone else.” Your heart clenched. You almost smiled–but it was a sad, aching thing. Because it was so him to say that. To stand there, big and brave and heartbreakingly gentle, and still think he didn’t measure up. You let out a small, warm breath–half sigh, half laugh.
“Bob,” You started softly, your thumb stroking along the delicate skin under his eye, “We were going to have hair stylists. They would’ve fixed you up just fine.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head, like that hadn’t occurred to him at all. His posture slumped, shoulders rising with a tense inhale.
”Oh…” You let your hand slide a little lower to cup his jaw gently. His temperature had risen beneath your fingers–probably from the growing embarrassment that he tried not to show, even though his body betrayed him.
You tipped his face toward you again.
”Hey,” You murmured, voice low and steady, “Let me help you fix this, alright?” For a second, he didn’t speak, he just blinked at you. Then something in his expression softened–like the worst of the shame was beginning to slip away. He gave you the barest nod.
“Okay…” He breathed, and it was so small, so worn down, it barely reached your ears. You brushed your thumb across his cheekbone one last time, then reached behind him to grab the comb.
“We’ll go a bit shorter,” You started, combing his hair gently to untangle the worst of the frayed, uneven sections along his head, “And we’ll do a bit of a side part to cover up some spots so it looks even, and clean it up around your ears…” You trailed off for a second then looked up at him, “Does that sound good to you?” He nodded quickly.
”Anything is good…As lo–long as you can fix it.” You gave him a small smile–genuine, warm, meant to soothe the frayed edges of his pride.
“Alright then. Just sit down on the toilet lid and I’ll go grab actual hair cutting scissors from my room.” He obeyed without protest, cheeks still a little flushed, eyes following you like he was afraid you might not come back. But he sat down, shoulders hunched a little, towel still around him like some kind of shield.
You slipped out of the bathroom and padded down the hallway, the tile cool beneath your feet. You passed John and Bucky’s voices in the distance, muffled, like the low buzz of a conversation you weren’t quite meant to hear.
You pushed into your room, went straight to your nightstand, and opened the top drawer. There they were–your good scissors. The ones you kept for quick trims, for fixing up your own hair when it got unmanageable or snipping tags off new clothes. The ones you actually sharpened and cleaned. The ones Bob should have waited for.
You picked them up with care, then turned on your heel and padded back down the hall.
When you returned to the bathroom, the door still cracked just slightly from where you’d left it, he was right where you’d left him–perched on the toilet lid, hunched over with his hands between his knees, towel draped across his shoulders. Waiting. His reflection caught yours in the mirror as you pushed the door open again, stepping into the room quickly and closing the rest of the compound off again. He sat up a little straighter, almost like he’d been holding his breath the entire time you were gone.
You placed the scissors gently down on the sink beside the comb, then turned to stand in front of him.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, his voice–quiet, tentative.
“You…Do this a lot?”
You tilted your head a bit, amused.
”When I was at my training camp I used to cut my teammates hair all the time, but apart from that I sometimes give myself a quick trim or something, just to fix the annoying parts. Here’s my portfolio.” You said, motioning to your own head for him, almost as a joke. His lips perked up a little, not quite a full smile, but the edges softened with the beginnings of one.
”Alright…I’m trusting that you won’t give me a bowl cut.” You gave a soft snort, grabbing the comb off the counter and stepping in close again, standing between his knees. His legs were spread just enough for you to work comfortably, but the space between you felt close–intentional. He didn’t pull away as you raised your hand and began gently brushing back the damp strands, following with the comb.
“I won’t give you a bowl cut,” You said with mock solemnity. “Or a bob. Though… it would be kind of poetic to put Bob…In a bob.” He groaned immediately, a fond sort of sound that signalled to you that he was too tired to fight off your terrible jokes even though it secretly comforted him.
”You’re lucky I need you right no–now…Or else I would’ve left the room.” His tone was flat, but his eyes glinted.
”That joke was gold and you know it.” He rolled his eyes again and leaned his head forward slightly as you worked, letting you angle the strands as you needed. The movement was almost shy–like he didn’t want you to see how much he was enjoying the gentle way your fingers moved through his hair.
You ran the comb along the crown of his head, slow and careful. The teeth of it dragged softly over his scalp, smoothing the tangle of butchered layers and calming the chaos one section at a time.
You felt it before you saw it: the tiny shiver that ran up his spine.
It was subtle. Barely there. But his posture shifted, just a little. His breath hitched for half a second. And the back of his neck flushed the faintest shade of pink.
You paused for a heartbeat, just enough for him to notice.
Then said, gently teasing:
“You okay there?” Bob let out a breathy sound that might’ve been a laugh, or a sigh. Maybe both.
“Feels nice.” The words left him in a breath, like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud. You gave a soft smile, parting his hair gently with the comb again as you leaned in.
“Alright, I’m going to start… Ready?” He gave you a short nod, eyes still closed, his breathing steady.
The first few snips were small. Deliberate. You combed the trimmed pieces out, letting the soft fluffs of hair fall down onto the towel around his shoulders like snow. You continued, moving around him as needed, tilting his chin with two fingers when the angle required it, brushing the longer strands aside so you could clean the neckline.
Bob didn’t move unless you moved him.
Didn’t speak unless you spoke first.
His eyes stayed closed, brows relaxed, body slack in a way that almost made it seem like he was asleep. You paused mid-trim and tilted your head.
“Feeling okay?” You asked softly, your breath hitting just above his ear.
A pause. Then a low, barely-there hum.
“Mhm…Trying to not sw–switch.” You blinked. That made you straighten up slightly.
“Switch?” You echoed. “What…Sentry likes getting his haircut?” You teased, which earned you a breathy laugh–quiet, and muffled, but unmistakable.
“It feels good,” He murmured. “The comb dragging across my scalp is comforting, and it makes me all…Fuzzy. So don’t tease.” You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips.
“Who knew the Sun God liked being pampered.” You said it under your breath, half-laughing to yourself as you trimmed another section near his jaw, making sure the new angle framed his cheekbones just right. Suddenly, one of the shampoo bottles in the shower behind you thudded loudly to the ground, ricocheting against the porcelain with a sharp clatter. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even turn around.
You just reached across Bob’s shoulder, brushed another lock of hair back, and muttered:
“And he also likes trying to scare people.”
Another laugh. This one a little stronger, a little more him.
“It’s not my fa–fault. He likes making his presence known in odd ways.” You let the comb still in your hand, pausing mid-motion as you tilted his chin up gently with your fingers. His skin was warm beneath your touch, flushed pink at the jaw and neck. You studied his face–soft under the bathroom light, half in shadow, half shimmering.
“Well,” You started quietly, your voice dropping into something close to a murmur, “He’s a coward if he won’t show himself, hm?”
There was a pause.
And then, through the lowered veil of his lashes, a flicker of something not entirely Bob brewed beneath the surface. A gleam. His irises shimmered–gold blooming in threads over blue like sunrise bleeding through ocean water. He peeked up at you with a sleepy, amused look that didn’t quite belong to the man slouched on the toilet seat just moments ago.
“Now coward is just below the belt,” He murmured, voice smoother, deeper, teasing. “And it’s not fair when I’m being suppressed.”
You gave him a slow, playful smirk, shifting your weight just enough that your thighs bumped his knees gently. “Hello to you too, Sentry.” He let out a sound that was part huff, part chuckle. His hand drifted toward the waistband of your sweatpants and tugged at a clump of soft hair clinging to the fabric, flicking it off to the side as he continued to pluck at you.
”What has Bob done to himself now that has earned this type of care?” You returned to trimming, letting the rhythm of it settle between you both–the soft snick of scissors, the drag of the comb, the quiet hush of his breath. It was a strange kind of intimacy. Domestic. Ordinary. And yet…Not. Not when it was Bob Reynolds–or Sentry now, technically–relaxed and pliant beneath your touch, glowing eyes half-lidded with something halfway between mischief and calm.
“He tried to give himself a bit of a haircut,” You said, delicately snipping away at a choppy section just behind his ear, “And well… Now it’s like this.” You swept the trimmed ends off his shoulder with a quick brush of your fingers. “Did you not want a makeover?” He hummed, the sound deep and velvety in his chest. His hands, meanwhile, kept drifting toward your thighs. Gently, rhythmically. Flicking off the tiny tufts of hair that had clung stubbornly to your sweatpants like static dust. You paused to glance down at him–at the quiet way he seemed almost preoccupied with grooming you now, chasing strands off your legs as if they offended his sensibilities.
“I liked my long hair,” he said quietly, not looking up. “Can’t make the decisions though… God forbid.”
You softened at that–at the small swell of bitter resignation behind the words. You didn’t tease him this time. You didn’t joke. Just let out a soft, knowing sound through your nose and said, “Oh to be your own person, right?” That made him glance up at you–eyes aglow, amusement flickering around the edges of something older. Deeper. His expression was half-shadowed by the angle of the bathroom light, but the glow in his gaze was unmistakable.
“You’re being extremely sarcastic and sassy today.” You shrugged, ruffling his freshly trimmed light brown hair with a gentle pass of your fingers.
“You don’t come around often enough to know my personality…Because I’m always like this.” He didn’t argue. He just looked up at you through the gold-threaded glow of his lashes, then dropped his gaze again to your thighs. His warm hands ran slowly down the sides, brushing away another few stray hairs with careful precision–more deliberate than necessary.
“Sounds like you want me around more often,” He murmured, almost offhanded.
You froze for a beat, scissors poised mid-air.
Then, softly: “I wouldn’t mind. We’ve got a good dynamic.” You tilted your head, eyes meeting his. “Though I prefer Bob’s calmness…And the fact he doesn’t make me sweat when I’m standing in his vicinity.”
That earned a sly smile–lazy and infuriatingly smug. “I make you hot?” You rolled your eyes and combed your fingers through his hair again, making sure it was even.
“Temperature-wise, Sentry. Don’t twist my words.” He chuckled, but it was quiet, rich. Almost pleased. You stepped back a little to get a better look at your work, eyes skimming over the new shape you’d carved out of the disaster he’d given you to work with. It was definitely shorter. The jagged lengths were gone. The uneven patches now smoothed into softer layers, framing his jaw and cheekbones just enough to make the cut feel deliberate. Styled.
You tipped your head and nodded once. “I think it’s good.”
Sentry let out a deep sigh, dropping his head back with dramatic flair.
“Great. So I lost all my hair,” He grumbled, “And only got a few minutes of you basically giving me a scalp massage. This sucks.” You barked a laugh, tossing the comb onto the counter beside the scissors.
“Well next time you should just ask for one if you’re so desperate.”
He scoffed faintly, brushing another stubborn strand off your thigh with the tip of his fingers. “I’m not desperate. I just like it.” You smirked, watching him pretend not to enjoy the way your eyes lingered on his face a little longer than necessary. He ran his hand down your leg again, slow and deliberate, flicking away a final tuft gently. His eyes followed it as it floated to the floor, then dragged lazily back up to yours.
“Now I’m annoyed,” He muttered. “Not only by these stupid pants being filled with hair, but the fact that I missed out.”
Your brow lifted. “Missed out on what?”
“On you doing this earlier. On the part where you touch my hair like that and call me pretty in your head.”
You laughed–warm and bright–letting the weight of the night finally settle into something softer.
“Maybe next time, Sun God.”
He tilted his head at that, eyes glowing faintly again. “Promise?”
”Promise.”
557 notes · View notes
limerlove · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
WITH GIN IN JULY
❝ ABBY ANDERSON!ONE SHOT ❞
Tumblr media
ෆ | pairing. enemies to lovers!abby x female!reader
abby anderson? she's a fucking nightmare. with everyone in her back pocket, she adores all. the golden girl, but to you she's just the asshole not to be trifled with. a kind heart to everyone, except you. you hate her and she hates you. what could possibly change that?
warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: 3k wc. smut, oral sex, fingering, no strap so stop complaining ♡ (this is a joke don’t attack me), a lot of fucks said, enemies to lovers, me being in love with abby, yk there’s a recession when i’m throwing fluff in a fic. okay, ray. shut up.
Tumblr media
Apprehension runs cold in her veins, ice for blood with a small throttle for a pump — she’s a fucking nightmare wrapped in a devil’s daydream.
To everyone else, she's the perfectly nice, perfectly fine girl. The two of you introduced to one another in the first week of July, the weekend of the forth. All of your friends raved about how kind Abby is, a heart of gold, is what they all said.
In all honesty, you had even been thrilled to meet her. You love your little group of friends, the family you never had but fuck are you sorely disappointed by blonde-brute.
She was anything but kind. Intentional malice laced in her deviously-blue eyes from the first time you met. As time went on, so did Abby's growing irritation. Even as the heat blossomed, she still managed to root her cruelness in rich soil.
"I just don't know what everyone sees in her! She's so mean, all the time, she's barely even human."
And here she is, simmering in the pool with her stupid cocktail and that damn gleeful smile. She taunts, under the radar of everyone else, always making you look like the monster with one evil eye and talons for hands.
“You don’t think you’re making all this up just because—” Jesse trails off but your fury is lasered on to her, not letting up for a single moment.
“Not think, I know." Continuing to rail off your tangent as you see her being warm and fuzzy with everyone else except you.
For fuck sake, she's like a goddamn teddy bear. You might hold her if she lets you but no one else besides you is going to know it.
You decide to cool off inside needing a cool drink in this excruciating heat. The first thing you’re met with is cool air-conditioning and cool white-marble floors, chilling your overheated body back to room temperature.
It’s much better this way, in silence where your disdain can rot like a sour pomegranate. Complete solitude could solidify the vindication you feel every time she throws another insult when no one else is listening.
As you're bent over, digging through the freezer to find your strawberry-lemonade you had placed there earlier you hear a throat being cleared.
You crane your neck just to see it’s her.
Picture perfect Abby, god, you wish you could slap that stupid grin off her pink and pretty lips. Always smirking at you like she knows something you can’t possibly be aware of.
“Need help?”
“Nope. It’s not like you were actually offering.” You’re short and sharp with her, keeping your interactions with Abby to the absolute minimum.
It’s better for everyone this way.
“I could help you out and—”
“We both know you won’t.” Finally, you find it, shoved at the bottom underneath the frozen fruit. But when you rise and turn around, your chest is practically pressed against hers.
She’s testing the waters, normally you wouldn’t be such an idiot. You would push her away, shoulder check her even. Or you would try. Abby’s hard to push around, half of her body weight must be muscle.
Between being a mechanic and her necessity to be a total gym addict, her build was stronger than pretty much everyone. With her strength, she pushes you against the fridge with her pelvis, shutting the freezer door shut with your frozen strawberry-lemonade in hand.
“Do we have a problem?” You pry as she looks like she wants to devour you from the inside out.
“What would make you say that?” She waits for you to respond as she stretches out her arm, palm resting by your head, seeing how far she could push you.
Like she always goddamn does.
“You’re here, hovering. God, you’re worse than my ex.” Trying to push her away, but Abby doesn’t even budge.
“Oh.” And for a moment, genuine interest flashes in her eyes. Clearly, you’ve gone senile. “You and her—”
Now, you’re over conscious in your lack of clothing as she bites her lip, sinking teeth into the flesh. Venomous glances find mercy in you, but you’re not sure why they’ve been replaced with longing.
“Why does it matter? Can you let me go?”
“Yeah, right, sorry.”
Abby apologizing? Weird.
The truce lasted for a single moment. Sympathy for a broken heart apparently had an expiration date, or a timer for less than twenty-four hours.
“Were you actually going to hit me?” Abby cocks her eyebrow, the gray in her eyes coming to life as a speck of desire crosses near her heart.
"I wasn't trying to hit you. If I wanted to, you would know."
You can't really say this was entirely her fault. Ever since the unintentional spilling of your forementioned breakup, she'd been looming over you. As if she was waiting for you to crack. All you wished was to forget any of it ever happened.
For a second, you thought she could be capable of kindness towards you and then when you tossed an orange to Ellie, it happened to hit her in the face.
"What do you want from me? What's it going to take for you to exercise one decently kind bone in your body?"
She's sizing you up in your bedroom door with the door shut, the one she chased you down in like you're a wild animal. Everyone in the room knew better than to chase either one of you. The two of you always fought like this.
And every single time, you worked it out enough to tolerate each other. But now Abby was witnessing the steam, the ultimate point of rage pushed past the point of containment.
"Me? What about you? Suddenly I'm the problem when you've been an asshole to me from day one. Day fucking one, Abigail."
You're pacing back and forth in your room, attempting to calm yourself down before you completely lose it and say something you can't come back from.
"Me? Like all of this is my fault? The first time you looked at me you decided you had to hate my guts." Abby catches your arm, stopping you from moving another inch.
"Let me go, now." Your voice doesn't waver for a moment, not one stutter is heard, but Abby can't help stare at your lips. Then you're staring at hers and all of it becomes crystal clear.
"Or what? What are you going to do about it?" Single handedly, her words pierce through you warm flesh, exposing the wound she created. For a moment, just for a second, you wonder if Abby’s the antidote you’ve been searching for. 
She wonders how you would react if you walked out of here, ignoring her obvious advances she keeps throwing your way. But it’s always on your terms. Abby’s too cowardly to initiate anything first. Dangling the carrot in front of you like a desperate rabbit, begging to be satiated with the first crunch. 
Stepping forward, your perfectly manicured hand strokes her freckled check, nails lightly scraping against her porcelain flesh. “I won’t have, you’ll do it for me.” 
The tone in your voice drops, smirking as Abby visibly gulps. The lump she swallows is enough indication that she’s been caught. The mean remarks, your former girlfriend at your side when the two of you met, the jealousy, the snide comments Abby would only say when it was the two of you — all of it a ruse to disguise the feelings she decided to bury deep upon your very first meeting. 
A swipe of your thumb caresses her chin, tilting her lips towards you, as her hot and heavy breath curses your lips like a sin you would be willing to die for. A small whimper falls from her, her bambi blues widen at the audible omission. A mistake, a slip-up, and fuck is it perfect. 
“Show me how much you want this, Abby. Be a good girl.” 
Hell breaks loose with those four words and Abby’s self-control is unshackled with it. Practically throwing you on the bed like a certified ragdoll, you become her own personal barbell to train with. Wedging herself between your legs that are already open for her, you’re met with tongue and teeth as she regains control. 
You have a feeling she’s not one for giving in so easily and the whimper Abby felt embarrassed by would be hard to come by, again. The sleep shorts you’re wearing give her enough access as the fabric bunches on your ass. Abby chuckles as you grind up into her pelvis, desperate for more as you practically feel her tongue in the back of your throat. 
Fingers dig into her golden roots, trying so desperately to have her whine for you again, but all you get is a moan — as pretty as it is, it’s not what you want, but it’s enough. 
For now. 
Abby separates as you help her out of the oversized sweater she was wearing with a thin pair of boxers. Here she is, baby-blue boxers hung low on her hips as your hand smoothes over her defined six-pack, muscles flexing underneath your touch. Freckled and toned, small pink nipples practically begging to be placed in your mouth. 
“Oh—” Your hands sink into her boxers, feeling her bush prickling under your touch, as your fingers slide against her drenched folds, each one fluttering as you stroke her enticing lips. “Fucking knew you liked to be praised.” 
The better part of Abby should keep her mouth shut, but when you’re taking shit all she wants is to give it right back. You’re in luck. There’s a finger slipping inside of her and her brain shuts off, she’s unable to think about anything but the sight of you biting your lips as fuck her with skilled fingers. 
Abby leans her body forward to make it easier for you, slipping deeper into your walls. Almost as if she can sense her lips about to spill, she captures your mouth, letting her moans spill in the back of your throat. Abby coats you with her sweet honey, the sounds she makes could rival an angel’s symphony. 
Hips thrusting against you — it’s a perfect moment to sleep another finger inside her — so you do. 
There’s that fucking whimper. More desperate than her stormy-blue eyes, begging to be loved. To be needed, it’s all she had been wanting from you and it’s clear as day. Abby decides she’s had enough. 
Time to even the playing field. 
Ripping the cotton right of your body, the grey-washed tank top is ruined and discarded in your bedroom. Abby latches her lips on to your breast, her forefinger and thumb pinching the other. As if she was born to do it, she suckles on your pebbled nipple, her tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh. 
Abby didn’t know how satisfying it would feel to watch you fumble with your fingers fucking her, the control slipping from your fingertips with just a suck and a flick of her tongue. All of it gone too soon as she pries your shorts and panties off in a single movement. 
As she removes herself for a second, you’re tasting her on your fingers, saturating the sweetness on your tongue. Only wishing her taste could be permanently embedded into your velvet tongue. A way to rinse yourself clean of all the impurities rotting in your brain, the taste of your cunt could bring the salvation you so desperately seek home. 
“Luck for you—” She pauses as she decorates your soft stomach in kisses, “You’re about to come harder than you ever have before.” 
Abby starts with flattening her tongue, a long and languid stripe of her tongue drags along your pussy, dipping her tongue in your clenched hole before guiding her rolling tongue on your quivering clit. 
“But after this, and mark my words, you’re never going to want anyone else but me after this.” Before you can even argue, the collected spit in her mouth drips over your pussy as she slobbers the natural lubricant on an already drenched pussy. 
“Fuck, Abby, what the—” Pushing your legs forward, knees nearly hitting your headboard as she spreads more of your cunt before she gives it her all. Focused entirely on one thing. 
Like it’s an olympic sport, her mouth wastes no time at all. Sparing no expense when it comes to make you well…come. The muscle spares no restriction when it comes to your cunt, shoving her face in your pussy, the bridge of her nose nudging against your clit as she lets her fingers sink into a weeping hole. 
The moans being released from your magnetic lips, Abby’s never heard before. Not from you or anyone she’s pinned down with her mouth. No regard for your friends who are just down the hall, hearing every word falling from your lips sound like a sanctioned prayer. 
Curses of her name fly out of your mouth quicker than you catch them, sucking the soul out of your body as she claims you in ways you’ll never come back from — true to words — in a matter of moments she’s cockily proven to be better than anyone you’ve had before. 
As you tug on the blonde roots, she glances up at you through hooded eyes, a chokehold of sultry as she divides her lips with her tongue as she doesn’t break eye contact. She holds it, just for you, as she watches and hears you scream when you slip another finger inside her. Abby curling her fingers is the last nail in the coffin as you fuck her gorgeous face. 
Those gorgeous blue eyes rivaling the beauty of sapphires. 
“God, gonna keep you right here forever. Always wanna hear you—” Abby moans into your swollen lips, kissing the sweet spot inside you, making the stars align perfectly in the back of your mind. “Say my name for me again, angel.” 
You don’t want to give in. She’s manhandled the power right out of you, as if it never had been placed in your hands to begin with. Like she had domineered you into this position. Make a dominatrix into a submission princess. But truth be told, you lost focus and Abby was there to pounce on you. Waiting for her perfect moment and capitalizing on it. 
“Don’t— fuck—I-I don’t think you deserve it.” You pause for a moment trying to control the shudder in your breath but you’re starting to believe it’s nearly impossible. 
‘“I don’t?” Without warning, there’s a harsh slap to your lips, all three fingers sinking deeper into your clenching walls. “Want to tell me what I don’t deserve again? Or does my girl want to come?” 
Before you can control it, there’s an animalistic groan pouring out of your lips, causing Abby to double down on her efforts. With deep breaths, you’re incredibly close, and with every stroke of her tongue she sends you closer to the edge. 
A stroke of her tongue, a thrust of her fingers — it’s so close you can nearly latch onto it. 
“You like that, angel? Want me to call you my girl?” You hate how cocky she is about it. Abby gleams with pride as you buck your hips into her face once again, whining at the possession. In this instant, solely belonging to the woman who’s eating you out like there’s no tomorrow, is the only desire you crave. 
“Shut up.” It’s supposed to come out intimidating, a bit ruthless even, but it’s almost comical when Abby hums into your cunt. Not when you’re so close to painting her sun kissed-cheeks with pearly white cum. 
It’s almost like she’s done this before with you, she uses her free hand to play with your nipple, like you told her it’s the one thing that can help bring you over the edge. Abby doesn’t stop sucking, on your clit, her tongue serving strokes to your clit as your thighs shake, squeezing her head as she refuses to relent her pace. 
“Choke me out sweet girl, need my baby to come—” Abby locks her eyes on you, “Keep fucking my face, yeah, good fucking girl.” 
Like a flower budding in the spring, Abby watches as your pussy flutters your stomach clenching, body writhing as she fucks you through it all. 
“Don’t stop, oh fuck me, god, that’s so good. Baby, Ohhh—” She’s practically grinning into your cunt as you hear yourself sloshing against her soaked fingers, not letting her mouth release it’s iron-grip around the clit pulsating against her tongue. 
“Fuck, you taste so sweet.” Abby is in amazement, savoring every moment of your body twitching to her touch. Until you’re spent, murmurs of too sensitive causes a small smile to grace her face. “You did such a good job, baby.” 
Abby slips on the side your body isn’t taking up, staring at the ceiling with a cheshire grin as she hears your heavy breath. It’s more than you’re usually given. She only needs to hear you struggling to know how much truth it rings. No faith is needed to see what’s right in front of her. 
Propping her head in the palm of her hand, elbow digging into the silky-satin, she can’t stop smiling at you. Half of you expects her to kick back to her normal routine of hating you — maybe Abby didn’t really like you. She just wanted to fuck. 
“You know this doesn’t have to be a one time thing—” Abby draws random patterns into your skin with the blunt of the fingernail, pawing at the skin, desperate for just a little bit more of you. “If you ever want to see stars again.” 
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Shamelessly, Abby nods. The warmest smile spread on her face, it’s so infectious. Her genuineness rotting through your sourness, making something entirely too sweet for you to swallow but you take it on. 
Even in fear. 
“I thought it was cute.” She’s so bashful about it, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. Almost delicate. 
“Mhm, if you say so.” 
“I do.” She pushes a piece of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. The love in her eyes can’t lie, you hope it’s genuine. Abby can’t stop smiling so you choose to believe it is. 
“Would you…uh—” She stutters out as you rub circles into her hips, “I wanted to ask you if you would like to go on a date sometime.” 
“You know what’s cute? Playing god with my pussy but then being nervous to ask me out on a date.” You tease her. Immediately, her cheeks morph into crimson, trying to hide as much as she can with her hands but the damage has already been done. And you don’t feel sorry about it for one second. 
“So, is that a yes?”
653 notes · View notes
evansbuckle · 1 month ago
Text
Mechanic!SingleDad!Bucky Barnes AU.
This is my first time writing a fic since like 2021, but I haven't been able to get this out of my head for the entire day, so please, enjoy. Likes & reblogs are always appreciated <3
Word Count: At least 20 for sureeeee!
Warnings: There's brief swearing, brief mentions of death and parental abandonment. Reader is referred to as y/n, with she/her pronouns, and has curly hair. Bucky's a dad? I'm pretending I know how cars work + bad grammar (i have a creative writing degree and still can't tell if the full stop goes after a speech mark or before)
masterlist link part two part three part four part five part six
Tumblr media
Grease, Part One.
It was one thing to have a car breakdown on you. It was another thing for it to happen at half eleven. In the evening. Outside a garage. That was shut. 
“C’mon don’t do this to me, man,” I begged the car as I hit the steering wheel, and tried the engine again to no prevail, “I’m gonna sell you, I swear.” 
I looked at the garage my car broke down outside of, eyes narrowing in on the “CLOSED” sign on the door. I could see a faint light inside, and there was a nagging in the back of my head that drove me to knock on the door. It was barely thirty seconds before a greased up man opened the door. 
“We’re closed.” He gruffed out, wiping his hands on what looked like a vest.
“I know, and I swear I usually wouldn’t do this but my car just stopped and I don’t really know what’s wrong with it and I’m here, and please?”
“What are you asking me to do exactly?” The man asked, amused.
“Well, realistically what can you do with it right now?”
“I can push it into the garage and ask you to come back in the morning, where I’ll be able to tell you what’s wrong with it.”
“Are you serious?” I looked at him with a level of shock in my eyes that he clearly wasn’t expecting, as he sort of grimaced at me, like he was uncomfortable. 
“Nine in the morning.” His tone was stone-cold, so I thanked him again, gave him my car key, got my bag and left, walking home. It didn’t take long to get back to my apartment, twenty minutes, ten if you run because it’s the middle of the night and you’re scared. I was greeted by a series of barks and leg rubs as I walked in, leaning down to pet the giant dog that was at my feet, “Hi Cheryl.” 
It didn’t take long to get ready for bed either, I speed-ran feeding the dog, getting changed and brushing my teeth, not really wanting to waste time considering I had work in the morning. As I lied in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about the man who opened the door.
I didn’t realise I’d fallen asleep until my alarm rang, signalling it was time to get ready for work. I walked into my kitchen to the smell of my coffee machine doing Gods work, and the dog asleep on the floor. I reached over to pet her head as I poured myself a cup, downing it almost instantly. It wasn’t nice when drank all at once, but the energy boost was always welcome. I brushed my teeth, got changed, fed Cheryl, and left for work. 
Opening shifts at the coffee shop were always my favourites. Me on my own, and the music I choose, having a slow hour before the day. I opened the cafe, letting the few early-waking elderly come in and order their usual pots of tea and pastries, taking my time with them. The time flew by, as it often does when old ladies are recounting their youth to you, and I left my coworkers on their own to go see a man about a car. 
*
The bell above the door gave away my presence as I walked into the garage, the smell of grease and petrol almost knocking me clean out. I scan around the room before I see the brunette from last night, making my way over to him. 
“Uh, hi,” I said, awkwardly waiting for him to turn round.
“Oh,” he checked his watch, “right on time.” All I could think to do was nod at him, waiting expectedly. 
He cleared his throat before carrying on, “so, the problem is your engine. Can’t tell the main cause, but it seems like it overheated. You also need your brake belt replaced.”
“Right, sure.” The far off look on my face must’ve given away my cluelessness as he carried on.
“I’m gonna replace your engine, because it short-circuited basically. Got too hot and broke which meant your car couldn’t start.”
I opened my mouth to reply before I felt a little hand poking my leg. I jumped a little, entirely focused on the man in front of me to notice the carbon copy of him, just with blonde curly hair, standing at my feet. 
“Hi! I’m Becky!” The little voice called out next to me. I crouched down next to her, “Hi Becky, I’m Y/N.” I offered my hand, she didn’t hesitate to take it in hers and give it a shake. “Wow, Becky, gotta say I think that’s the firmest handshake I’ve had in a while. You clearly mean business.” She nods at me, then runs over to the man in front as I stand back up. 
“Daddy, she’s got hair like me.” She whispered to him. The man looked up at me, taking in the curls on my head that I hadn’t bothered to try with today. He nods, “Yeah, sugar, she’s got curly hair like you.” She turned back to me, holding out a colouring book, “Do you wanna see my colouring? It’s princesses.” 
The man looks at me taken aback, “You can,” he says, “I’ve gotta fill out some paperwork for your car anyway.” 
Becky leads me into a little office in the back of the garage, the place covered in scribbly drawings, all signed “Rebecca Barnes” at the bottom. We sit on the floor and she flicks through the book, showing me her favourites.
“Becky, what’s your dads name?” I ask her while she points out a green unicorn. 
“Bucky.” She giggles.
“Yo-your dads name is Bucky? And he named you Becky?”
“Technically, I named her Rebecca. And my name is James,” Bucky smiles at his daughter from the doorframe he’s leaning on, “my middle name is Buchanan, so everyone calls me Bucky.”
I snort, “your middle name is Buchanan?”
“Don’t laugh,” he chuckles, “my parents were old fashioned.” I can’t help but let out the laugh building in my chest as I take in the attractive man standing a few feet away from us. Easily six foot, and covered in grease, it made sense he’d have a daughter by now. My thoughts weren’t finished fully forming before Becky runs off to another mechanic.
“She’s sweet,” I say, watching her potter about, “how old is she?”
“Too old,” he looked at her with a soft glimmer in his blue eyes, “she turns six in a couple months.” He turned back to me now, “you know she doesn’t take to strangers often. Usually takes her, like, three interactions with someone to warm up to them.”
There’s something warm blooming in me at the thought of this girl taking kindly to me and it makes me smile. “I used to work at a kindergarten, maybe that’s why.” He chuckles, a deep sound, raspy, “yeah maybe she can smell the teacher-vibe.”
He walks around me, going to sit at the desk, grabbing a form and quickly scribbling on it before standing in front of me again. “So, technically this was just a consultation, ‘cuz I didn’t do any actual work on it so I’m not charging you for this,” he thrusts the form toward me, “I do need you to fill this out though so I can start on it today. It’s just basics, phone number, email, all that.”
I nod at him, my face scrunching up at the price written at the bottom of the paper, and I don’t get a chance to voice myself before he interrupts. 
“It’s steep, I know. But we need to buy you a whole new engine.” 
“No I get it, it’s just, you know, it doesn’t make it any less scary.” I lean forward on the desk, filling out the rest of the form, handing him the paper. 
“It should be around a week, but I’ll keep you updated as I go.” 
“Thanks,” I say, looking him in the eyes “Not just for this but for taking it in last night, I think you literally saved my life.”
He chuckles again, “I don’t know if I’d go that far.” A faint blush creeps up on his cheeks. 
“I would Bucky, seriously. I think a lot of people would’ve just told me to fuck off and come back in the morning, so, thank you,” I turn around to start leaving, “you should come by Cafe Cloud sometime, have a coffee on me, you know, if you want.” 
I don’t give him a chance to reply, waving bye to Becky and walking back to work. 
*
Getting settled back into work was nothing short of horrid. Two machines broken, the register jammed, and the staff bathroom in  disarray. The next seven hours sped by, but not in the good way, in the way that left your head pounding and your feet burning. We were open still, but by now the crowds had gone, and the only people left were students who had their faces buried in laptops. The little bell above the drew my attention, as I watched Bucky walk up to the counter.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough, “I’m taking you up on that coffee if it still stands.”
“Course it does, what would you like?”
“Filter’s fine, thanks.”
I nod, “take a seat I’ll bring it out to you.”
It doesn’t take long for the filter to brew, and while it does I bring Bucky his cup and saucer, setting it down. While I grab the carafe, I grab him a blueberry muffin too. Filling up his coffee, I set the muffin down in front of him. 
“Oh I didn’t-”
“I know, but it’s end of day. It’s either give them away or throw them out. They’ll be getting some too,” I nod around to the other 3 people left in the cafe. “Shout if you want more.”
“Actually, I uh,” he starts, looking pained at the fact he’s speaking “I wondered if you wanted to sit with me, if you’re not busy or anything.”
“Sure, just give me a second.” I turn around and walk back behind the counter, pouring myself a cup and making sure my co-worker was okay on her own, before sitting down with Bucky. 
“I just, I don’t know, what I’m doing here actually.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, laughing at his facial expression, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
“I wasn’t going to come, but then I thought, Becky’s at a friends for dinner, and I don’t really wanna sit at home on my own, so I’m here now and I’m blabbing your ear off.” He laughs a little at himself, taking a sip of his coffee, “Shit this is good, what the hell?”
I laugh at the change in his attitude as I watch him take another sip, “On your own? Becky’s mum not home?”
His face contorts into something unreadable while he splits the muffin in half, pushing one half to me, keeping the other for himself. “Ah no, she uhm, she’s not really around, anymore. Not for a while now.”
My face scrunches up at his revelation, “Damn, I’m sorry. Is she still with us?”
Bucky chokes on his coffee, “Yeah, yeah she’s still kickin’ somewhere. She just,” he shrugs, wiping at his mouth with a napkin, “decided she didn’t want anything to do with us so she left.” 
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“That must’ve been awful, I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, “Honestly she’s been gone for longer than she was around. It feels a little like it’s always just been me and Becky against everything else.” His face lights up a little at the mention of his daughter, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “I don’t think she really remembers her mum anyway, or at least she’s real good at pretending she doesn’t.” 
“How long has it been just you two?”
“About four years.”
I think for a second, “If Becky does remember her mum then it’s probably very little anyway. Don’t think kids really start having conscious thoughts until they’re about two. You tried asking her?”
He shakes his head no, and finishes off picking at his half of the muffin, “I keep meaning to, I just, I don’t want to make her sad, make her feel like she’s missing out on what other kids have, you know?” He looked at me then, his stormy-blue eyes looking mine. 
“I don’t think you’d make her sad, as long as you were careful about the reason why her mum left. As for the missing out, she’s going to feel like that anyway,” I hold my hands out in front of me at the horrified look on his face, “Maybe not now, and hell maybe I’m incredibly wrong and she’ll never feel like that, but when I was a teenager and I didn’t have my mum around, I was so jealous of my friends it was ridiculous.”
“Your ma leave you too?”
“Not voluntarily. She passed when I was about ten. So when I was a little older and discovering literally everything, it made me angry at the world, ‘cuz why did everyone else get a mum that lived but me? You know?” 
“I’m sorry, Y/N. I lost my parents too, a while ago. It’s not easy.”
I shake my head, “no it’s not, but my point is it’s probably going to happen to Becky too. I just wonder if it would be any consolation to her if you talked about her mum more. But again, it’s not really my place to say, so please, ignore me.”
By now the last of the customers had gone, and it was just me, Bucky and my coworker Morgan left in the place. Bucky and I had  spent the last two hours talking about nothing, and I ended the day feeling like I’d made a new friend, even if he was almost twenty years older than me. He sat and watched as Morgan and I closed, laughing here and there at our music choices and berating us when we got distracted. 
“Alright, I’m ready to go,” I say to Bucky, my work apron now off, bag on my shoulder.
He opens the door for me, letting me out first. 
“So, I’m up a couple blocks that way,” I point up the road. “It was nice to see you again, and please, come by anytime.” I start to walk off but I don’t get very far before a strong hand wraps around my arm, stopping me in my tracks. 
“What are you doing?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Going home?”
“You’re walking?”
“Well my car is under your care so unless you’d like me to somersault home.”
“I’ll drive you.” 
Bucky doesn’t give me time to respond, placing one arm softly on my back, barely perceptible, as he guides me across the street to his jeep. He opens the passenger door, and gives me his hand as he helps me in, shutting the door and walking round to his side. I give him the address, and we drive off, but not before he grumbles about the part of town I’ve chosen to live in.
It takes us all of three minutes to drive back to my apartment.
“Do you wanna come up, for a glass of water or anything?”
“Yeah. That’d be nice.”
He opens my car door, letting me step out and walk us over to the building. I lead him up the stairs and down the hall to my door. I wince as I realise I’d forgotten about the St Bernard currently waiting for me.
“Any chance you’re scared of dogs?”
“Not at all. Why?”
I smile as sweetly as I can, opening the door and walking in to meet Cheryl, the dog currently jumping up and down at the sight of her owner. I pet her, holding her by the collar as Bucky shuts the door. 
“Bucky, meet Cheryl. Cheryl,” I kneel down, scratching behind her ears, “You be the good girl I know you are, this is Bucky, he’s no danger.”
Cheryl tentatively walks to Bucky, who’s holding his hand out for her to sniff and get used to. She sniffs for a few seconds, before flopping down onto her back, inviting Bucky to rub her belly. I laugh at her, but the sight of Cheryl getting along with Bucky makes my chest feel oddly warm. I go to pour him a glass of water and leave it on the kitchen island. 
“Hey sweet girl,” he talks to Cheryl, “You’re gorgeous aren’t you?” Cheryl barks playfully, 
“Yeah you are, attagirl.” He pets her head again before standing up and walking back over to me, taking a sip of the water.  
“Cheryl?”
There’s a sheepish smile on my face as I say, “I used to love Cheryl Cole. It felt right.”
He laughs then, the lines by his eyes evident when he does. He puts the glass of water down as he walks around the apartment, taking it in, the dog trailing behind him, tail wagging furiously.
It isn’t fancy, by any means. The kitchen and living room were right there when you walked in, and there was one bedroom and one bathroom. But after a few coats of a warm yellow paint, a few days of bookshelf building, and hours of various trinket organising, it had become home. 
Bucky stood by a shelf of records, taking his time looking through them. “Radiohead?” he scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes, “Let me guess, you’re a creep? A weirdo even?”
I can’t help but laugh at him, walking over to stand by his side. I take the vinyl out of his hands and put it back on the shelf, “leave me alone, I think they’re good. There are literal millions of people who agree with me.”
He turns to face me, arms crossed over his chest. “There are also millions of people doing crystal meth. That doesn’t make it good.” He laughs at my reaction then, tipping his head back and placing his hand on his stomach. 
When he finally composes himself, his gaze settles on my face. I physically watch his eyes as they take in all my features, from my hair to my eyes, to my nose, my lips. His gaze doesn’t drop any further, but it takes a while for him to look back into my eyes and when he does, his own have grown darker.
“I should go,” he says, clearing his throat. “It’s getting late and I still need to pick up Becky so,” his voice trails off as he walks to the door. 
He opens it, then turns around, “thank you for tonight, I needed that.” 
I offer him a smile as he leaves, and I move to lock my door. Cheryl runs up to me, panting and her tail wagging. I kneel down to give her a kiss, whispering to her “I think I may have just met your dad.”
264 notes · View notes
corpscs · 14 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
summer’s for the girls ⧗ yelena x new avenger!reader
♡ minors and men dni , no use of y/n , wlw , team bickering , everyone is annoyed and sweaty , smut 18+ , ice cubes , stonetop!yelena , yelena and reader are girlfriends , reader has unspecified electrokinesis ability , images are from pinterest , divider , this was edited by my cat so ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes i will probably find them later , russian is from google/reddit
‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ detka - babe , lyubimaya - my love
‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ masterlist , word count: 3.5k
bones’ now playing ▶︎ for the girls - hayley kiyoko
Tumblr media
the watchtower was hot.
a heatwave was currently rolling across the east coast and caused a black out. the power was back on now, but the hvac system got fried in the power surge. oscillating fans could only do so much and the windows of the watchtower barely opened for safety purposes. all the team could do was sit and try not to move too much.
bucky walked into the room, his phone call interrupting the rare, natural peace the team had achieved all on their own, or maybe you all were just overheating. when bucky cursed under his breath, you decided to looked up from your book.
you and bob started your own book club after you got benched for a failed mission due to an electrical explosion, which totally could have not been because of you, but who knows? this week you decided to play some kind of sick joke and choose stephen king’s under the dome, 1,080 something pages. poor bob nearly had a heart attack, but you promised him way more than a week to read and marathon run of the show they made about it before he hesitantly agreed.
“alright.” bucky gruffed into his phone’s receiver. his hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, the shorter fringe pieces sticking to the sides of his sweat slicked face. “thanks, you too.” he hung up the phone with a sigh.
“so… what’s the verdict?” ava asked.
“two days.” and the entire room erupted into groans.
“why can’t we get a hotel?” john suggested. his shirt had been discarded long ago, now only wearing a pair of gym shorts. he was laying flat on the tile floor, the coldest place to be. it was also where ava chose to sit and hog one of three fans set up in the room.
“why? you offering to pay for it, taco bell?” you snorted. the nickname appeared after the sentry folded his shield.
“why should i? barnes’ got a bigger salary than all of us.”
“no hotels!” bucky’s commanding tone was enough to silence them all. “you’re avengers. if a little east coast heatwave can take you all out then we really are doomed.” he paused, feeling a slight draft behind him. “close the freezer, yelena.” bucky warned. even with his back to the bar he could see the russian draped over the bar’s freezer. she groaned before complying with his order, but slamming the cooler door in retaliation.
“you sure you can’t fix it, sparky?” john asked.
“i’m not a fucking engineer.” you rolled your eyes as yelena wandered back to the couch.
the blonde was clad in a grey tank top and black lounge shorts. flopping down to take up the remaining space of the two-seater, head on the arm rest and laying her legs across your thighs. you lifted your book to accommodate her legs before lowering your arms back down to her shins and continuing to read.
“eugh,” she made a face, throwing her head back in disgust. both of you were instantly aware of the slickness of your combined sweat, but didn’t care enough to move. “this is the worst!” yelena complained, yet she made no attempt to change her position.
“we’re all hot yelena.” bucky reminded her as he finished off his nth water of the day.
“yes, but my girlfriend is next to me. and she is sticky and wet, but not in the good ways.” she spoke to the ceiling before lolling her head to the side and locking eyes with bucky.
the others groaned in disgust while you laughed at bucky trying to downplay choking on his last sip of water. now deciding to neglect your book, you watched her laugh falter and then you watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed. the exposed skin of her upper chest and shoulders glimmered with sweat under the bright studio lighting of the tower ceiling. you decided to turn back to your book because it was way too hot to be allowing your mind wander in that direction right now.
“why do we even have leather couches?” yelena moved slightly feeling the stick of the material.
“easy to clean?” john suggested.
“john, i’ve never seen you clean one thing in this entire room before.” ava pointed out.
“yeah, well, i didn’t mean me.” he snapped before silence enveloped the group for a minute or two. the air is so humid and hostile you almost feared the next person who opened their mouth was gonna get themselves tossed out one of the open sliding doors.
“has anyone seen alexei?” ava blurted. they hadn’t spotted the man in a few hours.
“maybe he’s at the pool.” bob suggested. he’d been so quiet reading with his back against the cold stone of the wall you forgot he was there
“isn’t that pool like 80 degrees?” john asked.
“that’s colder than the air, right?”
yelena chose to ignore bob’s question, the last thing she wanted was to lash out at someone who didn’t deserve it. she reminded herself that she was just irritated and that bob was bob.
“he’s probably off drinking to forget about the heat. i don’t know.” she shrugged her outward shoulder slightly. a pause and suddenly yelena was sitting up like you had electrocuted her. the sound of her skin peeling off the material of the couch made you internally cringe.
“yelena, no.” you derailed her train of thought before she could even suggest something.
“oh c’mon, lyubimaya” she whined. “you did not even hear my idea.”
“i don’t need to.” you ignore whatever she grumbled under her breath as she continued to stare at the side of your face.
“you have been reading that same page for six minutes.” her eyes dropped to the page open in your lap.
“i’m distracted.” you side eyed her flipping the page. not because you finished reading it, but to prove a point.
“am i distracting you?” you made the mistake of fully looking at her. whisps of her bangs had fallen out of her headband and stuck to her brow. you could see a small bead of sweat dripping down her left temple.
“the team is distracting.” you lied.
“if i have to watch you two flirt in this heat i may actually stroke out.” john jokingly gagged.
“keep it up you guys.” ava feigned a cheer.
“i think you all got heat stroke.” bucky muttered before leaving the team with one final order, “drink some water.”
it wasn’t a moment later before alexei appeared in the room like a summoned spirit.
“and where have you been?” yelena asked her father in an accusing tone.
“cold shower.” he held up both hands closing his thumb and pointer fingers into a double okay sign. the rest of the team made sounds acknowledgment, but you could only imagine the future lecture from bucky about the water bill. you opened you book back up and attempted to read once more.
you managed to get two pages in before yelena was leaning close to your face,
“detka, i have a new idea.”
“of course you do.” you turned to your left, your faces now no more than two inches apart. her breath didn’t even feel warm against your already heated skin. her eyes moved to your lips before she jerked back, catching the half empty water bottle that walker just hucked in your direction. that action alone had some deprived part of your brain clicking to life.
“hey!” she scolded him.
“get a room.” he hollered. yelena huffed, and threw her legs off your lap, both of you releasing small twin ow’s at the sweat stuck skin ripping apart. you opened your mouth to complain but she leaned down and ordered you to wait ten minutes before following her, “you never heard my idea.”
ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ
while you had tried to think up the possibilities of yelena’s idea, you actually did not think of this. but here you were, laying on one of her bleach stained towels, back against your mattress.
yelena straddled one of your legs, sitting comfortably despite the temperature of the room. the hum of that fan that’s been running for thirty-some odd hours straight drowned out whatever playlist yelena had playing. it was pointed towards the bed and softly blew around the lose wisps of her hair.
beside her was a metal bowl full of ice cubes.
“ready?” she asked reaching her hand into the bowl. she took a single ice cube into her hand as she adjusted her knees to straddle your hips.
“go for it.” you gave her a lazy ‘okay’. she grinned and placed the ice cube between your collar bones. you gasped from the cold sensation spreading across your skin, goosebumps prickling down your shoulders and arms.
yelena dragged the ice between your collar bones and chest, avoiding the hem of your tank top. but the ice melted quickly on your heated skin, some soaking your tank and the rest slipping down around your neck. she moved the cube to the center of your sternum, under the tank top before holding her hand over the material. it didn’t take long for the ice cube to melt completely through the warmth of your chest.
although the ice was startling, the minor relief from the hot air was good enough.
yelena unceremoniously yanked your tank top down below your breasts. and when you heard the threads of the fabric snapping, you scolded her with a gasp of her name.
“relax, i’m pretty sure this one was mine anyways.” was.
“i don’t think so.” your voice pitched upwards into a shriek as she pinched your nipple with cold fingers. “you said you don’t like spaghetti straps.” you recalled catching your breath back.
“i don’t.” yelena agreed. she didn’t like them. she remembers the conversation you two had about waking up tits out because that type of tank top tends to travel in any given direction while sleeping. it was one of the first times yelena was fully honest with you about something. she didn’t like that vulnerability, being exposed. and you were so understanding, you always were.
so no, she would never tell you that the real reason why she gave you all her spaghetti straps a few weeks after that was the very same reason she hated them. you’d probably call her some sort of pervert.
dipping her hand back into the bowl, yelena picked out a new ice cube placing it on the same spot between your collar bones. she dragged the cube in the same path as the first one before sliding it to the opposite nipple she had pinched before. it didn’t feel bad, but it felt strange. like your brain couldn’t figure out if it hurt with all much sensory input against the air in the room.
you gasped loudly, your hand instinctively moving to grab at her wrist. yelena was obviously faster than you and she grabbed a hold of your wrist with her free hand instead. heat flooded your core when she laughed in your face at your attempt to push away. but she held it there until the ice cube was too small to hold in her fingers anymore so she let it melt against your heaving chest.
“c’mon, it must feel nice.” she moved her soaked hand to rub the water across your chest.
“it’s cold.” you wined.
“but it is so hot in here.” she countered. “and you are sweaty. i bet you smell horrible.”
“yelena!” you gasped in embarrassment. now trying to wiggle yourself out from under her.
“i am no better!” she laughed, squeezing her thighs around your hips. “it is, like, 40 degrees in here.” your physical strength was almost infantilizing compared to yelena, and it was too hot to keep up a fight you can’t win.
“i don’t know the metric system, babe.” maybe your delivery was more snarky than you had intended because yelena yanked up her your tank top before dropping an ice cube directly to your belly button. you shrieked loudly, your free hand now going for her wrist. she decided to let you grab her, knowing your physical strength alone isn’t enough to move her hand.
“be careful with your hands detka. you do not want not shock me, again.” you instinctively bucked up against yelena, your hips twisting to avoid the cold sensation. she only followed and controlled your movements.
by the time the ice cube on your stomach melted, her your tank was nearly soaked through with the combined back sweat against the fitted sheet. she allowed you to sit up and wiggle the material off your arms fully.
yelena paused briefly, only allowing herself time to admire her girlfriend, but not really allowing you a full chance to recover. her ice cold hand slipped from it’s spot on your middle and down the below the waistband of your shorts. the cold digits ghosted over your panties and you squealed once again reaching for her.
“ah-ah, please keep your hands to yourself this time. that was very rude.” yelena chided, though she understood it was your natural reflex to the cold. she took some sympathy on you and reached for the hem of her own sweat-soaked tank. she peeled it off, leaving her clad in a black sports bra, before she unceremoniously dropped the cotton onto your bare chest. “since you want something to hold on to.”
she grinned as you immediately gripped the grey article between your fingers. it was damp against your own sweaty palms and it smelt strongly of yelena.
she used the m distraction to sit up and pull your shorts and panties down. the sweat coating your thighs working extra hard against her, but winning the struggle with some extra effort from you.
yelena manhandled you back to where she wanted before straddling you once more. you watched her with wide eyes as she grabbed another ice cube. placing it back against your belly button. you gasped as she slowly brought it down your lower abdomen before holding just above your cunt.
your lips pressed into a thin line to keep your shrieking to a minimum. normally she would be against it, after that one time you accidentally bit through your lip hard enough that it bled for more than a few minutes. and yelena would rather drink bleach than sit through another meeting, where mortifying enough, she shared real reason behind the injury and not because they thought you two had some sort of physical dispute. after that incident yelena said no more and called the ego boost collateral.
her free hand reached to grip your jaw, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to hold you in place. “be careful.” she warned, feeling your unsteady breaths against her hand as you nodded.
the ice cube was about the size of nickel now and her fingers had long since lost their feeling. yelena originally was going to let this ice cube fully melt before she got another, but she decided that she was too eager to see your reaction to wait. after shuffling back just ever so slightly to brace for your reaction, she slipped the remains of the ice cube directly beside your clit.
your entire body seized up, your mouth finally opening in a dramatic gasp. “oh my god!” you shrieked, repeating the phrase like a mantra. “lena!” your legs jerked from under her but the weight of her hips held your knees firmly in place.
when you arched too far off the bed for her liking the hand that once gripped your jaw pushed your chest back down to the bed. her hand held just below where you still gripped her tank top. “i think you can handle it.” her voice carried a song to it’s tone.
you shook you head while crying out dramatically, “its cold!” your legs still tried working against her, but she didn’t budge an inch. her height made her seem unassuming, but she was 5 foot something of solid muscle.
what remained of the ice cube quickly disappeared with the heat from your folds, but yelena kept her hand there. only giving you a break from the cubes, her nearly ice cold fingers still sliding mindlessly through the added water in your arousal. she selfishly took this time to warm her own fingers back up. you called her name softly as she tucked her thumb around your clit, rolling the bundle around slowly.
“yes, lyubimaya?” she drawled, not really paying attention to you. she said something else in russian you couldn’t understand before her cold pointer finger was slipping inside of your heat. you gasped, walls fluttering around her digit. she pumped it slowly before adding her middle finger alongside it. she curled her fingers before slipping them out to toy with your clit. her finger pads moved in steady circles and figure-eights your breathing sped up and your grip on her tank top tightened.
fearing destruction of the garment, your right arm had reached to grip the nearest item of bedding, which happened to be the white top sheet yelena had pushed over. it didn’t take long for her to make you cum.
and while you were catching you breath, yelena brazenly pinched your clit between her knuckles. just because she can. your hips jerked, unsure if you wanted to run to or from the feeling. “see,” she said simply. “not so bad?” you wanted to protest. to bicker that yes, she was being mean. but her fingers were toying with your clit once more, and any protests died out into moans.
the ice cubes left in the bowl where nearly half melted now, their crystallized edges now smooth and rounded like well-worn sea glass.
you watched her grab the next one. the look in yelena’s eyes alone should have had you nervous, but your brain had yet to fully catch up.
without hesitation she slid the ice cube through your folds as your body tried to clench up. but her fingers still pushed through, the ice cube breaching your hole, her two fingers holding it inside you.
you had long since given up attempting to keep quiet. you squealed doing your very best to try and run from her. yelena chased your hips with her hand, lifting the pressure off your thighs ever so slightly. even when the ice melted and the water soaked her hand, she kept it in place, just pumping slowly.
yelena began to rub lazy circles on your clit with her thumb. you moaned loudly, eyes fluttering as your tired body practically hummed with the warm feeling after all of the cold. after she felt you were worked up enough, distracted enough, she effortlessly used a combat move to flip you onto your stomach. landing with and oof, you turned your face to the side to look back at her.
“watch it.” you grumbled as yelena pulled your hips up and back towards her.
“you’re fine.” was all she had to say. before she slotted her knee between your knees. your breath trembled as your clit slid down her thigh.
the feeling from the ice cubes had long left and now your body was warming by the second. “lena.” you gasped out as she pushed her fingers back through your entrance, using her free hand to help fuck you back into her hand. she used that thigh between your legs to help rock you forwards after the pull back, stimulating your clit.
you were now hot. too hot. you honestly might pass out. now you were no longer paying attention to anything anymore. only gasping out into the crumpled sheets below you.
you were so close. yelena knew it. she could feel it. you’re hips were squirming against her hold now, yet she tried her best to control your rhythm. when she felt it, felt your body seize. she kneed your thighs apart, as far as your hips would go. the hand that had been thrusting now rubbed your clit in short circles prolonging your orgasm. still cumming, you were so in your own head that you never noticed her pause to each her hand into that metal bowl.
yelena used her dry hand to push your hips down and open before she shoved the final ice cube inside. you attempted to close your legs, but she had you practically sitting in her lap face down. then when you tried to pull forward, she yanked you right back into place, keeping your hole plugged with her fingers until the cube melted down.
you’re certain that you had a momentary black out from shock and you almost couldn’t catch your breath. still yelena didn’t move. she was watching you and waiting for you to move first.
“i think i’m dead.” was the first thing you said, arms moving slowly to stretch forward above your head.
“i can confirm that you are not.” she rolled you off onto your side, putting the bowl of cold ice water on the night table.
“i think i saw God.”
“and what did she look like?” yelena’s voice was farther away as she reached around bedding and fished out a water bottle, she knew she had stored somewhere.
“you.” you said with a giggle.
“you are so flirty.” she laughed landing a playful slap on your sensitive cunt. you jolted, but stayed put until she yanked you back to a sitting position. she handed you the uncapped water bottle which you drank greedily.
“do you think bob would want to get ice cream with us?” yelena blurted. you blinked.
“since when did we decide to get ice cream?” yelena shrugged.
“i don’t know somewhere in the middle.” she made an obtuse gesture with her hands.
you huffed, “i need like twenty minutes and a cold shower.”
ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ
if you’re in hot temperatures wherever you are be sure check up on pals with no ac and remember to DRINK WATER!!!
this would have been up earlier today, but i was victimized by another nap. also this ended up being SO MUCH longer than i had intended. at some point i got way too high and kept on going and going,, also sorting out some sort of master list
♡ ,bones
Tumblr media
340 notes · View notes
mattsslvtt · 13 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴛᴏᴏ ʜᴏᴛ.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ; ɪᴄᴇᴘʟᴀʏ, ᴡʜɪᴍᴘᴇʀɪɴɢ, ᴊᴇʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰꜰ ꜱᴜʙ!ᴍᴀᴛᴛ, ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ɢʀᴜᴍᴘʏ!ᴍᴀᴛᴛ, ꜱᴏꜰᴛᴅᴏᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜱʟᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ(ᴍᴀᴛᴛ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ(ʙᴀʙʏ, ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴏʏ, ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛɪᴇ), ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ // ʟᴍᴋ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ!
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ; ᴍᴀᴛᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴇx, ʀᴇʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ɪᴛꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴇᴇᴋꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʙʟɪꜱᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ... ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴀ ꜱᴏʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴ.
ᴅᴇᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ʜᴀᴛʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅꜱ ʜᴏᴛ ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ..
Tumblr media
"Matt can we fuck please?? Just real quick.. I need it" your words make matt glare at you. Your both sitting on your bed wearing minimal clothes because of how hot it is out today "no it's too hot..." he hisses quietly, you know he gets upset when he's overheating and you don't get offended from it, but it's starting to annoy you. It's been nearly 3 weeks since you and Matt had sex and you ache for him pathetically, and you can see it in his eyes (and the tent in his jeans) he aches for you too. "Matt please this isn't fair." You whine, making matt groan and put his phone down dramatically "it's too fucking hot! I'm sorry it's just- it's too hot baby..." his voice goes from angry to guilty in a split second, he didn't mean to raise his voice he just can't bare the heat, God he wishes it was autumn still.
"Matt it's not fair to either of us... what if i... just jerk you off?" Your words are slow, your overwhelmed from the heat just like he is "no it's too hot for anything!" He pinches the bridge of his nose and you sigh, you get up from the bed and walk out of the bedroom, you go down the hall to the kitchen and fill up a cup with ice before going back to you and Matt's room "Ok what if I put ice on like.. I don't know... like your stomach or something while I jerk you off? It could help you-" matt cuts you off "that won't be enough it's still too hot!" You both stare at eachother for a long minute before you take an ice cube out of the glass, you tug his tee up and press the ice to his stomach just below his bellybutton. He... moans... almost immediately after the sound leaves his lips your eyes snap up to meet his. He cups his hand over his mouth, his face goes pink with embarrassment "so um... I guess... the ice works..?" You mumble slowly, keeping the ice pressed to his skin "uh...." he just stares at you blankly "matt? Are you ok?" You take the ice away from his stomach and put it back in the cup "Yes yes.. um... yeah.." his voice is shaky, you can't quite tell if it's cus he's turned on or not "so... um... can I jerk you off now?" He chuckles at your words but there's not much humor in his voice "um yeah we can try.." you immediately unbuckle his belt and tug his pants down, throwing them carelessly on the floor, he takes his own shirt off and throws it on the floor with his pants. He sits there nervously just staring at you, he's rock hard, painfully so. You take out another piece of ice and press it to his stomach, this time you drag it around it circles, watching beads of water form on his warm skin from the ice melting. Whimpers leave his lips that you rarely hear from him "is that good?" Your voice is cautious "mhm.." his eyes are closing slowly. You keep the ice against his skin with one hand and palm him through his boxers with your other hand "oh... oh..." his brow furrows, his eyes closed and his hands in fists by his sides. You pull his boxers down his legs and toss them over your shoulder "Please..? I need to..." his voice is weak, pathetic almost, it makes you smirk, you wrap your hand tightly around the base of his cock and beads of pre-cum form at his tip "oh matt..." your voice is quiet, teasing almost "Please." His eyes open slowly and meet yours, you nod and gingerly slide your hand up his shaft before going right back down, his moans are strangled "more... ice.." your a little baffled at his words but you comply anyways.
You grab another ice cube from the cup and put it on his thigh "matt.. do you think... can i put the ice on your dick..?" Your words are nervous, not sure what he'll say "yes yes.. yes we can try that.." he reaches for the ice himself but you grab it before he does, you take a piece out of the cup and hesitate before pressing it to the tip of his leaky cock, he whines, loudly, louder than he ever has during sex "does it... hurt?" He nods, and then shakes his head "a- a little but... but it's good.. real good.." his voice is squeaky and high pitched.
You slide the ice down the length of his cock and he moans "oh fuck please... please.." you watch his face, loving how desperate he is "thaaats it sweetie..." you coo, sliding the ice back up his dick and circling his tip with it again "oh my fuck... please!" His stomach tightens repeatedly "goooodd boy..." your voice is quiet, gentle in a way. Tears prickle to the corners of his eyes, it hurts SO good. You hold the ice to his tip with one hand and jerk him off with the other "faster please..." you listen immediately "I think i... I want more... pain..." his voice is weak, he's clearly unsure "like what...?" You guys hold eye contact for a second, your hand on his cock slowing down just a bit "hit me... my thigh I mean... please" he clearly doesn't know what he wants, he just wants to try new things and you can tell "ok.. ok.." you take one hand away from his dick, and watch his face, your hand lands against his thigh quickly, the sting from your hand sends a jolt through his body and he whines, the tears finally rolling down his sweaty face "oh g-god..." his hands grab at the sheets beneath him desperately "such a good boy..." you wrap your hand back around his cock and stroke faster "you gonna cum?" He nods frantically in response to your words, normally, he doesn't cum this quick, but it's been so long since hes had an orgasm he can't help it.
"C'mon... cum for me matt" he sobs pathetically, thick ropes of cum shooting onto his stomach, his hips jerking upwards, even after he stops cumming you keep the ice on his tip "Ok ok- too much- s-stop please.." you wait a good few seconds before pulling the almost fully melted ice away from his cock, you put it back in the cup and press a gentle kiss to his lower stomach "was that good?" You crawl up the bed and plop down next to him "yes... yes very good... thank you." He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to your lips "any time baby.. I love you."
Tumblr media
Tags; @owensbabygirl @sturns-mermaid @bernardsbendystraws @courta13 @mattstromboli
Tumblr media
ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ꜱʟᴏᴘᴘʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴜꜱʜᴇᴅ ꜱᴏ ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ, ᴀʟꜱᴏ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜꜱ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ɪ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ꜰɪᴄ ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴢᴇ ɪꜰ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴘᴏᴏʀʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ..
Tumblr media
173 notes · View notes
hoshifighting · 9 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
      seokmin + window sex
— fucking with seokmin pressed on a window in Venice.
WARNINGS: +18, smut, window sex, penetrative sex, public sex, clit stimulation, smut under the cut.
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
the air outside is humid and heavy, the scent of the venetian canals filling your lungs as you lean out the window, hands gripping the wooden frame for balance. the old, creaking glass rattles slightly as seokmin presses his weight into you from behind. you can hear the faint sounds of voices below in the narrow streets, people moving along as if nothing wild is happening just a few floors up.
“keep still, baby,” he whispers into your ear, breath hot against the back of your neck. his voice is sweet, all teasing laced with that honeyed tone that usually makes you weak. his hands roam over your hips, gripping tight, pulling you back into him, the cool air from outside brushing against the heat between your thighs and his body.
you let out a small gasp as he shifts, his lips tracing down the curve of your back, teeth grazing just enough to keep you on edge. “you know people could see us if they looked up?”
“shut up,” you hiss, though there’s no bite behind it. you try to focus on the view—the canals, the way the water glistens under the moonlight—but it’s impossible with the way seokmin’s hands are sliding down your thighs, the way he’s toying with you.
he lets out a quiet laugh, fingers finding their way between your legs, circling the wet throbbing clit making you bite your lip, trying to muffle the moan that threatens to spill out. “c’mon,” he presses, his lips now by your ear again. “don’t be shy. let them hear you.”
you can’t help it; the way he moves, the way he knows exactly how to touch you, it’s driving you crazy. the risk of being caught makes you even more eager, and before you know it, you’re pushing back into him, desperate for more, feeling the cool wood of the window frame press into your stomach.
“fuck, seokmin,” you pant, your hands gripping the frame even tighter, the rough edges digging into your palms, grounding you as he finally gives you what you’ve been aching for. his hips snap forward, and the feeling of him sliding into you pulls a gasp from your lips, one you can’t contain even if you tried.
“that’s it,” he growls, his voice lower now, more serious. his pace quickens, each thrust pushing you harder against the window, the soft breeze cooling your overheated skin. “you’re so good for me, babe,” he breathes, hands gripping your waist so hard you’re sure there’ll be marks in the morning.
the sound of the canal water lapping below, the distant murmur of voices, it all feels so far away, drowned out by his cock filling you and his balls slapping your clit.
and then he leans forward, his breath hot on your neck as he whispers, “look down, see if anyone’s watching.”
you don’t. not because you’re scared—but because you’re pretty sure someone is watching.
you don’t look, but the thought alone makes your knees to buckle. seokmin catches it, notices the way your breath hitches, the way your grip on the window tightens.
“yeah, i know you’re into it,” he says. “they’d be lucky to see you like this,” he continues, panting now as he fucks you harder, deeper. “all spread out, bent over this window, letting me fuck you raw like this.”
you let out a broken moan, your knees nearly buckling, but his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you back into him, giving you no escape, no way to pull yourself together.
“shit—fuck, seokmin,” you gasp, hips pushing back into him, your mind a mess. his cock hits that spot inside you that makes your eyes cross. the open air outside feels obscene, like you’re putting on a show for the world, but it only makes you wetter.
“look at you, can barely fucking stand,” he groans, his pace quickening, the slap of his skin against yours echoing through the room. “you’re dripping for me, baby. you want everyone down there to know how good i’m fucking you, don’t you?”
you don’t answer, can’t answer, too lost in the way his fingers are working you, the way every thrust is sending you lost lost. but he doesn’t let it go. his grip tightens, his hand leaving your waist to fist into your hair, tugging your head back just enough so you can’t avoid the view anymore.
“look,” he growls, a wicked smile in his voice. “look down at them.”
your eyes flutter open, and the sight below is dizzying—tourists strolling by, the water gently lapping at the sides of the walls. no one’s actually looking up. but the thought that they could, that anyone could just glance up and see you like this—fucked out, bent over a window in venice with seokmin pounding into you from behind—it makes your whole body clench.
“that’s it,” he groans, feeling your reaction, fingers pressing harder against your clit, moving faster. “god, you’re fucking filthy, you know that? all they’d have to do is look up, and they’d see how fucking desperate you are for me.”
his words send you over the edge. you cry out, your body tensing as the orgasm rips through you, legs shaking, barely able to keep yourself upright. seokmin’s pace doesn’t falter, his hips slamming into you harder, riding out your high, pushing you past the point of no return.
“fuck—yes, just like that,” he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. “gonna come all over this pretty ass, baby, gonna mark you up so they know exactly who you belong to.”
the thought of it, of him claiming you like this, in front of the whole damn city, has you gasping, body trembling, unable to think of anything but the filthy words spilling from his mouth. with one last rough thrust, he buries himself deep inside you only to pull back and spirt his cum on the skin of your ass, his grip on your hips bruising as he groans your name.
720 notes · View notes
lyn31 · 3 months ago
Note
I have two basic prompt i want to request, i hope you don't mind! Hehe
First one : a jealous zayne! remember when zayne rejected the flower bouquet for mc in the game? We need more of jealous zayne hohoho
Second one : a clingy sick MC and zayne taking care of her 😂 imagine her clinging to zayne like a koala when she's sick
Thank you! 💕
Dw, I don't mind! Although as you can see it take awhile 😂 And also this is just the sick prompt, the jealous prompt would be next because believe it or not, someone also req the same ahahahaha and I can't believe you both mention Dr. Carter that make me laugh out loud 🤣 I have opinion about him but I'll rant below instead, anyway! Hopefully this is what you think of! Let me know what you think! 👀💕
Here's the jealous prompt fic!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In Sickness and In Health
Summary
While battling a fever, you find comfort in Zayne’s quiet care—and when the kids return home, your family’s love proves to be the best remedy of all.
Ao3 link
My Masterlist ✨
Notes
Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Parenthood AU, sick/fever, domestic fluff, silly, banter, sweet!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You feel like crap.
Your head is heavy, your throat’s dry, and even cracking open your eyes feels like a battle you’re losing.
But then there’s a tug at your arm. Gentle at first—then more insistent, like he’s trying to wake you up without knowing how hard is too hard. Small fingers curling around your sleeve.
“Mom?”
Lucas. Your seven-year-old son, all soft cheeks and worried eyes. He looks more like Zayne by the day—same sharp jawline in miniature, same serious expression—but your eyes are stamped right into his face. Out of all three kids, not one of them looks much like you. Even your little girl took after your husband. You would complain, but you love him too much for it to even feel like it’s a bad thing.
“Dad says breakfast is ready,” Lucas says, hovering near the edge of the bed.
You blink slowly, trying to focus on him through the fog. You open your mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a rough cough.
Lucas’s eyes go wide. Then he spins on his heel and bolts, bare feet slapping against the floor in frantic, uneven rhythm.
“DAD! DAD!! MOM IS SICK! HELP!!”
You hear the patter of his frantic footsteps fading down the hall, and despite the cough still rattling in your chest, you manage a weak laugh. Yep. Definitely sick.
With effort, you shift onto your back, body aching and overheated, the sheets too much and not enough all at once. You touch your forehead. Warm. Not burning, but definitely feverish.
Then you see him.
Zayne is already walking in, calm and focused, a glass of water in one hand and the medicine box in the other. The kids trail after him like ducklings—wide-eyed, worried.
He kneels beside the bed, setting the box down carefully before reaching out to you.
“Love?” His cool hand presses to your forehead, then slides gently down to your cheek. “Do you want some water?”
You nod, too grateful for his touch to speak. His skin feels like relief—cool, steady, him.
He helps you sit up slowly, guiding the glass to your lips. You drink carefully, it scratches on the way down.
“Is Mom okay, Dad?” Serena’s voice drifts in from behind him, soft but tense. She’s standing stiffly, arms crossed tight over her chest. At twelve, she’s already nearly your height, her posture straighter than yours on most days. You glance at her, and something tightens in your chest.
You remember when she barely reached your knees.
Your eyes start to blur, and you blink, but the tears come anyway—too full, too fast.
Three gasps fill the room in perfect unison.
Zayne’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide and searching.
He sets the glass aside and shifts closer, one hand never leaving your cheek, the other sliding down to wrap gently around your wrist, checking your pulse. Steady, comforting, close.
“Talk to me. Are you in pain? Headache? Muscle aches? Any chills?” He asks softly, his voice already threading into that calm, clinical cadence you’ve heard him use with patients, only warmer now, threaded with concern that’s deeply personal.
You shake your head slowly, a little sluggishly, and Zayne hums under his breath, clearly not satisfied with just that. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead again—this time, he lingers.
“You’re running a mild fever,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else, before he opens the box and takes out the thermometer.
He meets your eyes. “Open for me?”
You do, and as the thermometer beeps to life under your tongue, his hand finds yours and squeezes gently.
“You’re flushed, your throat’s dry, and you’re pale under it,” he mutters, slipping back into his clinical habit of talking through his observations. But then he sighs, softer now, and leans forward to kiss your forehead. “You should’ve woken me up, love.”
“It wasn’t this bad before,” you croak, voice barely there, and that earns you one of his looks—mild, patient, but definitely not buying it. “I’m just feeling a little bit emotional is all, not in pain.” You manage before coughing.
“I’m going to take care of everything today,” he says, quieter so only you can really hear it. “You just rest. No arguments.”
“Dad?” Lucas’s voice breaks through again.
“How much does it hurt? Why is Mom crying?” Callum picks up right where Lucas left off. The two of them, despite being twins, have their differences, but right now, Callum’s concerned tone matches his brother’s perfectly.
His expression mirrors Zayne’s so completely that it’s almost uncanny—right down to the way his arms fold tightly across his chest and his brows knit together. Lucas, beside him, grips the edge of the blanket like it might unravel without him.
Zayne glances back at them, his gaze softening as he takes in their wide eyes and concerned faces. He shifts just enough to stay close to you, but turns to face them fully, making sure they know he’s there for them, too.
“Mom is not in serious pain,” he says gently, voice slipping into the steady cadence of someone who knows how to manage both fear and facts. “It’s just a fever and some exhaustion. Her immune system is doing its job, which makes her feel pretty awful right now—but it’s nothing Mom won’t recover from.”
As Callum continues, “But Mom's crying,” Zayne’s hand shifts against yours—his thumb tracing slowly over your knuckles, steady and grounding. Callum presses, frowning harder. “Mom never cries unless Mom's really hurt.”
Zayne glances down at you again, brushing your hand lightly with his thumb. “Mom’s not crying from pain,” he explains. “Sometimes when we’re sick, especially when we’re tired or feverish, it’s easy for our emotions to spill out. That’s normal. You remember how you both cried when your noses were stuffed and you couldn’t sleep?”
Lucas immediately nods. “Yeah, that was the worst.”
“Exactly,” Zayne says with a faint smile. “Now, listen—Mom needs rest, and you three still need to get ready for school. I’m staying home today, so I’ll take care of everything. Go wash up, get dressed, and grab your backpacks.”
The twins hesitate before slowly backing out of the room. Serena lingers.
“You’re sure Mom will be okay?” she asks quietly.
Zayne nods, meeting her gaze. “I’m sure. I’ll call Aunt Rose and let her know your mom’s out sick today, and I’ll handle things at home.”
Serena looks at you one more time, her shoulders rise slightly—then drop again, like she’s letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Then she nods and follows her brothers out.
As the door clicks behind them, Zayne exhales softly and reaches for the medicine again. He measures out a dose and lifts it in your direction.
“Think you can take this for me?” he murmurs. “Then I’ll run the kids out the door and come back to check your temp again. You’re not going anywhere until this fever breaks.”
You manage a weak nod and take the medicine, grimacing slightly at the taste.
Zayne smiles faintly. “You did the hard part.” His lips brush your temple. “Rest, now.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Your forehead feels strangely cold, like someone pressed a strip of cloud there. You reach up, fingers brushing the edge of a fever patch—cool gel anchored gently to your skin. Definitely Zayne’s doing. The scent of chamomile tea lingers in the air. You shift slightly at the sound of paper rustling.
He’s sitting beside the bed, a book in one hand, but his eyes are already on you.
“How are you feeling now?” he asks, setting the book down and brushing your cheek.
You close your eyes and lean into his touch. “Better,” you croak.
He helps you sit up just enough to drink water from the glass he’s already prepared, one hand steady on your back. The moment the water hits your throat, it feels like the best thing you’ve ever tasted.
“That’s so much nicer,” you sigh, voice still gravelly but less strained.
He chuckles softly and sets the glass down. “You can sleep again if you want, it’s only been an hour,” he murmurs, reaching for the thermometer again. You shake your head and you let him place it under your tongue without protest, eyes flicking to the way he watches you, hand still curled around yours. Quiet, steady.
You know he’s worried.
The reading comes back lower, but his brow still furrows. “Better. Still not great.”
You do feel better. Not fully. But at least you’re not drowning anymore.
He starts to move—probably to get breakfast—but you tighten your grip on his hand.
That make him pauses. “I made you something. I’ll bring it here.”
“No,” you shake your head, stubbornness flaring. “Want to be with you.”
“You can barely move, love,” he says gently, rubbing soothing circles into your knuckles. His voice is soft enough to coax you into reason, but the moment his skin brushes yours, your mind is made up.
“Then carry me,” you mutter, too tired to fight and too selfish to let go, reaching up like a sleepy child, palm open toward him.
He hesitates—but only for a moment. “Alright,” he murmurs, like he can’t help himself as well. He bends forward without another word and gathers you into his arms.
And the second you’re in his arms, your body melts into him. Legs around his waist, head on his shoulder, as if instinct takes over.
“You feel nice,” you mumble, eyes already closing again.
“That’s because you still have a fever, darling.”
“Nuh uh. You just always feel like this.”
He presses a kiss to your temple and walks out with you still wrapped around him.
In the kitchen, he sits down at the dining table with you still in his lap. One arm stays around your back, the other reaching for the tray of food he left out.
“Turn for a bit so you can eat.”
You shake your head, cheek still pressed against his shoulder. “I’ll eat like this.”
“You can’t even see the plate,” he murmurs, amused. Before his tone shifts. “Is it hard to hold your head?” he adds softly.
“Mmm, no.” you say, turning your body slowly with his help. You think that if you say yes to that he’s surely put you to bed again.
So now, you’re on his lap, but turning halfway to the table, still leaning against him. You open your mouth without saying anything, hoping that Zayne understand your signal. And he does. You barely open your mouth before he’s already feeding you.
The food tastes like damp cardboard. You frown at the spoon, suspicious, then take another bite just to be sure. Nope. Still awful.
You manage three more out of sheer determination before shaking your head with what power you have. Zayne finally let the spoon back into the bowl with a sigh of defeat. You slouch dramatically against his chest and mumble, “I’m moving to another country if I have to keep eating that.”
His hand pauses mid-stroke against your arm. “Will the cuisine abroad fix your taste buds?”
“I’ll find out,” you grumble, already halfway buried in his shirt. “You and the kids can come too. We’ll start a new life somewhere with soup that doesn’t taste like betrayal.”
He doesn’t bother arguing—just wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head.
Only then do you feel lighter. You even sat through a lukewarm shower without complaint—mostly because he was there to steady you the whole time, patient and quiet, guiding you through your medicine, your clothes, and now, your mountain of pillows.
The bedroom makes you grumble and glare at everything in sight, so now the living room has become the recovery zone. Couch, blankets, humidifier, and him.
You nudge your nose into the crook of his neck. “This spot feels better.”
“I rearranged your pillows three times,” he says lightly. “It should.”
You hum, pleased, and refuse to move an inch.
After a while, you open your eyes, still nestled against his shoulder. His attention is on his laptop, fingers occasionally tapping over the holographic display. The other hand moves gently in gentle strokes on your back.
Part of you knows you’re being unreasonable, so quietly, you murmur into his shirt. “Sorry... I know this is... a lot.”
“You’re sick,” he says simply. “It’s not a burden.”
He glances at you then, his smile a little softer than usual. It's a smile you’ve grown accustomed to, but that doesn’t make it any less special. If anything, it makes it more so.
You brush your nose against his. “A kiss for now, so you don’t end up sick too.”
He snorts, kissing you on the lips. “I think it’s a bit too late for that, darling.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The front door slides open with a low chime, followed by the scatter of sneakers hitting the entryway.
“Mom? Dad?” Serena’s voice is sharp, more alert than usual. “We’re home—”
Lucas comes into view first, dropping his backpack as his eyes land on you curled up in Zayne’s lap. Callum stops just behind him.
“...Is Mom okay?” Lucas asks immediately, already stepping closer.
You lift your head just barely, eyes bleary, body still heavy with fever. “Hey, sweethearts.”
You sound hoarse. Worse than you thought. You try to sit up, but Zayne gently tightens his arm around you.
“Mom's better than this morning,” he says calmly. “Fever’s dropping, had some food and water. Mom's just… resting right now.”
Serena eyes you suspiciously, walking closer like she’s checking the scene for herself. “You’re not pretending, right? You're really okay?”
“Mmhm,” you hum, burying your face in the slope of Zayne’s neck. “Promise. I’m just still kinda melty.”
“You look melted,” Callum says, blinking slowly.
Lucas bites his lip, clearly not convinced. “But you never lie around like this unless you're really sick.”
“That’s how I know it’s serious—you’re not even pretending to be strong,” Serena chimes in.
“I was strong,” you mumble. “I used all my strength to shower, brush my teeth, and yell at soup.”
If you could see Zayne’s face right now, you'd pinch him—but you'd also agree with him because well, he did all of that for you, and you’re still weak—still leaning against him.
But Serena does see Zayne’s expression, and you hear her sigh. “So... Mom’s back to normal.”
“Mom’s on her way,” Zayne corrects gently.
“I was worried,” Callum mumbles, his voice soft.
You lift your hand from under the blanket, beckoning them closer. Callum comes first, with Lucas following beside him. You stroke both their cheeks in turn, managing a small smile.
“I’m okay. Really. Just taking my recovery seriously this time.”
“You’re always the one yelling at us to rest when we’re sick,” Lucas says, his lips half-pouting. He leans in, pressing the back of his hand gently to your forehead the way you always do to them. “Still warm,” he mutters, almost to himself.
“I know,” you murmur. “And now I’m finally listening to myself.”
Serena tilts her head, studying the way Zayne’s holding you—like you might disappear if he lets go. And the way you don’t seem to care one bit that three pairs of eyes are watching you curled around their dad like a sleepy vine.
Her shoulders drop as if releasing a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
Suddenly, her arms shoot out, palms covering both twins' eyes, and guiding them slowly away from the couch.
“Okay. That’s enough heartwarming. Let’s go do homework before they start kissing again.”
“Hey—!” you protest weakly.
“We haven’t—” Zayne starts, ears immediately flushing red.
Lucas groans behind Serena’s hand. “But we’ve seen them do it.”
Callum nods. “And not just the usual peck. At the kitchen counter. They thought we were upstairs.”
Serena sighs dramatically. “This is why I tell you not to come downstairs after 9 p.m.”
You can’t help the breathy giggle that slips out, your fever-addled brain too soft and warm to feel properly embarrassed. “You little spies.”
“You’re loud,” Lucas mutters.
Zayne clears his throat. “Okay, enough commentary. Go finish your schoolwork.”
“But we’re making sure Mom's okay,” Callum argues.
“I’m great,” you insist, still half-draped across Zayne’s lap. “Your dad is a very good recovery couch.”
Serena eyes the both of you like she’s had enough—but there’s a flicker of fond amusement behind her deadpan stare. Like she’s exasperated and kind of proud at the same time.
“Yeah, okay, we’re leaving. I read that this kind of bonding is good for middle-aged marriages, so I support it.”
Zayne coughs, caught off-guard. “Middle-aged—”
“Ohhhhhh,” the twins chorus, clearly thrilled.
“Serena,” you wheeze, laughing as your forehead presses against Zayne’s neck. “You can’t say things like that while I’m sick.”
“I can and I will,” she says primly, already herding the twins down the hall. “Come on. Let’s give Mom and Dad some privacy.”
Lucas, resigned, groans, “But what if this make it worse?”
Callum shrugs. “I mean… if they’re happy, we’re good, right?”
Serena hums. “Exactly. Now shush. You still have math to suffer through.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes
The last scene is the one that I immediately thought of when I read the prompt 😂 So I'm happy that I can fit it in :D Also down below is just me ranting lol
I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨
Although if you missed the Newlyweds series! Here How it all happen And also the Pregnancy series, starting with Try For Baby
Anyway, ranting LOL
Okay, this is just my opinion, but if we’re talking about jealous moments—yeah, I’m sorry, I am not counting that white rose situation. I’m too annoyed at that creep. Dr. Carter? Nope. Hard pass. I don’t know how it is elsewhere, but where I’m from, white roses are for funerals. It’s literally a mourning flower—meant for expressing condolences or honoring the deceased. I even checked for Chinese symbolism and it’s the same, so yeah, my rage is totally justified 😂 Like, why on earth would you give someone that and then drop a card basically saying, "Hope you become my patient!" If that’s your idea of flirting, sir—I have bad news for you 🖕🏻 And look, maybe I’m just too salty to remember clearly, but doesn’t Dr. Carter work for EVER too? That’s sus as hell. So I’ve always seen Zayne’s reaction in that scene as protectiveness, not jealousy. Now, if we really want to talk about a jealous moment? Neon Night. GOD, I love that card. I didn’t expect that from the cover at all, but UGH 😩🤭 Zayne subtly convincing MC to buy a “unique” brooch for her “friend” had me dying 🤣 He even says something like, “If they don’t like it, they don’t deserve it.” ICONIC. Hold on let me look it up, here it is, "When gifts are involved, it’s the thought that counts. If the other person doesn’t want to wear it simply because they don’t need to, you can end the relationship at that moment." "Oh… I hear doctors give out rejections by using the excuse of “not being allowed to accept gifts from patients."" "As you said, that is merely an excuse. If he lacks the courage to tell you the truth, then there is no need to be friends with someone so insincere." And the way MC gave it to him right away after this? Too funny! I can't even ahahahaha he even wore it in the end 🥹 To be fair, it’s not described as ugly or anything—but the brooch is definitely loud, like, very on-theme with the "Neon Night" vibe lol AND he actually did trying to help at first until MC start to say—or as he says "Oh, you speak so highly of him." 🤣 I still have so much to say about it but this is getting way too long, so I’ll stop here ahahahaha
157 notes · View notes
mykoreanlove · 4 months ago
Note
Mommyyyyyyy!! 😍😍😍
This is the same anon who last year requested the special birthday fic of hyunjin x chan x f reader.....
My birthday again...is coming on 14th March.....
I would really love if you make another birthday fic (you know my bias by now).....
Just surprise me by your writing.....because the fic you wrote last year.....has made me got off multiple times (TMI lol) and your writing us too good!! Please write a smut fic for my birthday 🎂.....I trust your creativity and vulgarity (lol)
Thank you again for last year 🥺😘☺️
BIRTHDAY BLUES
Tumblr media
Birthdays are supposed to be special. They’re supposed to be filled with love, laughter, the warmth of friends who remind you that you matter. That you belong.
Mine is filled with silence.
I stare at my phone, the screen glowing mockingly. The group chat is filled with messages—reminders of the party I never intended to attend, my friends begging me to “come out and have fun” because “twenty-something is the prime of your life!”
What a joke.
I toss my phone onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. My stomach twists—not from hunger, but from something heavier.
It’s been months since I walked in on him—my last mistake, my last heartbreak, tangled up in sheets with another girl. And the worst part? I didn’t even cry. I didn’t scream. I just stood there, staring at the person I’d once imagined a future with, realizing that love—real love—might not exist for me at all.
Because this wasn’t the first time.
No, my heart has been a revolving door, an open invitation for disappointment. Every time, I give. Every time, I try. And every time, I end up alone.
So why celebrate? Why pretend? I’m sick of it.
Tonight, instead of fake smiles and forced happiness, I choose solitude. I slip into something comfortable, grab my keys, and leave my apartment without a word.
The spa isn’t even my idea. It’s a last-minute impulse, something to fill the empty space inside me, even if just for a little while. Maybe the salt water will wash away my sorrows, if not I can drown in them.
The woman at the front desk greets me with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”
I blink. “How did you—?” She winks. “Lucky guess.” Before I can respond, she taps on her screen. “We have a special package tonight—highly recommended.”
I almost say no. But then I remember the silence waiting for me at home. The empty bed. The thoughts I don’t want to be alone with.
“…Fine,” I mutter. She hands me a robe, her smile never faltering. “Enjoy.” Little do I know, the night is about to take a turn I never saw coming.
The air is thick with the scent of sandalwood and something faintly floral, a fragrance that settles into my lungs as I lower myself onto the massage table. The linen beneath me is warm, almost cocooning, but my skin prickles from something else entirely. Anticipation, irritation—hell, I don’t even know anymore. I came here to drown out the noise in my head, to escape, even if just for a little while.
I hear the door click open. Soft footsteps pad across the wooden floor. I keep my face nestled in the cradle, seeing nothing but the polished planks below, but then I catch a glimpse—bare feet, strong, the kind that belong to a dancer, not a massage therapist. Then the voice comes.
"First time here?"
Low, rich, like warm honey melting over my skin. I don't answer right away, too caught off guard by the way his voice alone sends a ripple down my spine.
"Something like that," I murmur.
I hear the faint clink of bottles, the whisper of oil being warmed between his palms. Then his hands find my shoulders, firm and unhurried, pressing down with a slow, deliberate force that makes me exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
His fingers move with precision, gliding over the knots in my shoulders, kneading them into submission. The metal rings on his fingers catch against my overheated skin, cool and solid, leaving a trail of contrast in their wake. It’s unexpected. Strange. I like it.
"You’re tense," he observes, voice tinged with amusement. I let out a breathy laugh. "Gee, I wonder why." He chuckles, the sound deep and velvety. "Well, you came to the right place."
His touch drifts lower, tracing along the dip of my spine, and I shudder. The air between us shifts, thickens. His hands are no longer just massaging—they're exploring, teasing, testing. My breath stutters when his thumbs press into the small of my back, his fingers spreading along the curve of my waist, holding me in place.
"Tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice softer now, rougher. It’s not. It’s nowhere near enough.
His hands slide down, thumbs grazing the dimples just above my hips, his fingertips digging into my body in a way that sends a sharp pulse of heat between my legs. My lips part, a small, unbidden sound escaping, and I swear I feel him still for half a second.
"Sensitive here, too?" he muses, his tone shifting, dipping into something darker. I swallow, pressing my cheek against the table, not trusting my voice. He doesn’t need an answer. He already knows.
His hands move with purpose now, sliding lower, teasing along the curves of my thighs, pushing boundaries neither of us seem willing to acknowledge. His breath is warm against my ear when he leans in.
"Let go," he murmurs, and when his fingers slip just a little further, I do.
His fingers press deeper, the metal of his rings biting against my skin in the most delicious contrast—heat and cold, firm and teasing. My body betrays me, hips shifting instinctively into his touch, a soft gasp slipping free before I can stop it.
Hyunjin hums, low and knowing. "There it is," he muses, his voice brushing against me like silk. "You’re holding back."
I bite my lip, my hands gripping the sides of the massage table. He knows exactly what he’s doing—pushing, testing, waiting for me to break. And I’m so close.
His touch drags up, slow, deliberate, gliding over the curve of my waist before slipping down again, fingers dancing along the inside of my thighs. My breath stutters. My pulse hammers against my ribs.
"You're so tense," he murmurs, and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, like he already knows the reason why. His fingers knead into the plush of my thighs, a slow, rolling motion that sets every nerve alight.
I arch just slightly, chasing his touch without meaning to. The moment I do, his hands still, just for a fraction of a second. I hear his breath hitch—just barely—but it’s there.
"Relax," he says, but his voice is rougher now, less controlled. I don’t think either of us believe that’s possible anymore. Then his fingers move again, pushing higher, slipping beneath the plush towel barely covering me. A sharp inhale escapes me as he grips my hips, thumbs pressing into my skin with purpose.
"Hyunjin—" My voice is barely a whisper.
"Shhh," he soothes, but there���s nothing innocent about it. His breath is warm as it ghosts over my shoulder, his lips just barely brushing the heated skin there. "Just let me take care of you."
I shudder, my fingers curling into the table, trying to ground myself, but it’s useless. His hands move like they own me, coaxing, pressing, claiming. My world narrows down to this moment—his touch, his voice, the way my body melts under him.
And then his lips finally meet my skin, and I come undone.
Hyunjin’s breath is molten against my skin, each exhale igniting a fire beneath my flesh. His fingers knead into my hips, his grip tightening, possessive. I’m barely breathing, my body stretched out before him like an offering, every nerve ending strung taut, waiting—no, aching—for him to break me apart.
And then, finally, his lips meet my spine.
Soft at first, barely there, just the ghost of a kiss that sends a violent shiver down my back. Then another—open-mouthed, wetter, warmer. His tongue flicks against my skin, teasing, dragging down, down, until I’m trembling beneath him.
"You’re so tense," he murmurs, but there’s something dark in his voice now, something knowing. His teeth scrape lightly at my shoulder, and I gasp. "I think I know how to fix that."
His hands slide lower, trailing the curve of my waist, before slipping beneath the towel that barely covers me. The moment he tugs it away, cool air kisses my exposed skin—but it doesn’t last. His heat is there, following, consuming, and then his hands—God, his hands—are exploring freely now.
"You’re already so wet," he breathes, fingers teasing through my slick folds. He groans, like the discovery is too much for him to handle. "Did I do this to you?"
I whimper in response, pressing my forehead into the pillow, my fingers clutching uselessly at the massage table. His lips curve against my back. "I’ll take that as a yes."
He spreads me with his fingers, dragging his touch through my arousal, slow and deliberate. My thighs tremble as he teases my entrance, circling, pressing—but never giving me what I need.
"Hyunjin, please—"
"Patience, baby," he coos, but his own breathing is uneven now, his restraint barely hanging by a thread. "I want to feel you come apart first." His fingers find my clit, circling in slow, devastating strokes, his other hand gripping my hip to keep me still.
"Fuck," I gasp, my back arching. "That’s it," he praises, dragging his fingers lower, pressing one inside. My walls clench around him immediately, desperate, needy, and he groans at the sensation. "So fucking tight."
He moves, slow and deep, his fingers stretching, stroking, curling inside me with precision, finding that spot that has my body seizing up, my breath coming in broken gasps. His rings are cool against my burning heat, a contrast that only drives me higher.
"You’re close, aren’t you?" he whispers, pressing his body flush against mine, his lips tracing my jaw. "I can feel you squeezing me." I can’t answer—I can only feel. The pleasure is unbearable, an electric current coiling deep in my belly, winding tighter, tighter—
And then he flicks his wrist just right, and I break.
A sharp cry tears from my throat as pleasure floods through me, my body shuddering violently beneath him. Hyunjin curses, his lips finding my shoulder, his fingers working me through it, prolonging it until I’m a trembling, oversensitive mess.
I barely have time to recover before I feel it—him. Hot. Hard. Pressed against me. My eyes flutter open, my head turning just enough to see the hunger in his gaze, the way his chest rises and falls, the way he wants me. "Tell me you want this," he rasps, his voice wrecked.
I don’t hesitate. "I want everything." And then— Hyunjin’s control snaps. One moment, I’m breathless beneath him, trembling from his touch—the next, he’s flipping me onto my back, the cool air shocking against my heated skin. My pulse stutters when I finally take him in.
Disheveled. Chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. His dark eyes, once playful, are now hungry—like he’s been starving for this, for me. And then he’s on me.
His lips crash against mine, swallowing the gasp that escapes as he presses his weight down, pinning me against the massage table. His tongue slides against mine, hot and demanding, a dizzying mix of silk and sin. He tastes like need—like restraint finally breaking.
"Fuck," he groans against my mouth, his fingers tangling into my hair. "I knew you’d feel like this." I barely have time to respond before his hands are moving again—gripping, spreading, claiming. His fingers dig into my thighs, hitching one over his hip, and God—I can feel him. Heavy. Thick. Pressing against my entrance, teasing, testing.
"Look at you," he rasps, dragging himself through my slick folds, coating himself in my arousal. His forehead drops to mine, his breath ragged. "So fucking wet for me." I whimper, hips bucking, desperate for him to end this torment.
"Hyunjin, please," I gasp, nails digging into his back. His fingers grip my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. "Say it. Tell me what you want." "You," I breathe, no hesitation. "Inside me." A curse spills from his lips—then, finally, finally, he pushes in.
A sharp moan escapes me as he stretches me open, slow but unrelenting, his cock sinking inch by inch into the heat of me. My body clenches around him instinctively, the sensation blinding—pleasure and pressure twisting into something unbearable.
"Fucking hell," he groans, his head dropping against my shoulder, his hands gripping my thighs so tight I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow. I don’t care. I want them.
He stills once he’s buried to the hilt, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding back. "You feel…" He exhales, his voice wrecked. "You feel so fucking perfect." My fingers tangle into his hair, tugging.
"Move." He obeys.
His first thrust is slow, deep—deliberate. The next is sharper, dragging a cry from my lips. Then he’s pounding into me, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me against each thrust, filling me so completely I can do nothing but take it.
The room is filled with the sound of our bodies colliding, the slick, obscene wetness of my arousal making everything filthy. "That’s it," he grits out, watching me through hooded eyes. "Take it. Be a good girl and take all of me."
My body is unraveling, the pleasure unbearable. "Hyunjin—I’m—"
"I know," he groans, thrusting deeper, angling just right—
And I shatter.
Pleasure detonates inside me, my body arching, my walls clenching around him as wave after wave crashes through me. My vision goes white, my cries echoing through the dimly lit spa room. Hyunjin curses, his rhythm faltering. Then, with a final thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can go, his body shuddering against mine as he loses himself inside me.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of our heavy breathing, the scent of sweat and desire thick in the air. Then Hyunjin chuckles—breathless, satisfied. He brushes a stray strand of hair from my face, his fingers gentle now, reverent.
"Best birthday ever?" he murmurs, smirking. I laugh, still dazed, still wrecked. "You have no idea." His lips curve against my temple. "Oh, I do."
And as he leans in to kiss me again, I know this night is far from over.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxHappy Birthday love 💖 Enjoy yourself lol 💦
Tumblr media
143 notes · View notes
leviathanleva · 10 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Cujo
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Supersoldier!FemReader
Description: A monster in human skin, a weapon disguised as a person, no thoughts, no emotion, as per design. He despises you and everything you stand for. He’s tried to kick you out of his squad and failed, he’s made it his mission to break you no matter the cost.
It comes as a surprise when he asks you to lie and say you love him.
[4.4k words]
[Angst, Blood and Injury, Graphic Depiction of Gore]
Tumblr media
Chapter 3 "Liquorish"
Heartbeat heavy in your chest, you race up the supposedly abandoned building, finding enemy after enemy.
It was supposed to be a routine inspection, an easy mission, in and out in less than a week. Now everything is turned upside down and being unable to contact or smell Ghost anywhere near has your senses flaring up with the unfamiliar feeling of stress and determination.
Bloodlust hazes your vision, everything has a ruddy tint to it, be it from splattered entrails or rage, it’s beyond your understanding. The memories still linger, the last sentence you heard over the coms before everything went to static:
“Hound! Do not engage! The roof is – ”
You were supposed to be his shield, it’s your job to be ambushed and take damage, you can regenerate, he can’t. But Ghost let either his man pride or his protective instinct overwhelm him, the anxiety still lingered in his gut no matter how many times you came back to him half dead and you were good as new minutes later. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he pushed you behind him and ordered you to watch his back as you advanced through the abandoned building suspected of drug trafficking activity.
He moved ahead without you, for once he wanted to be your protector. Now you can’t sense hair or trail from him and you’re becoming increasingly frustrated.
Easy mission your ass. This was a charade for something bigger.
The mask around your mouth whirls in overdrive, siphoning as much oxygen as possible while you vigorously work your way to the dreaded roof. Straining both muscle and limb in unison, you climb floor after floor, pushing your limitations as vapor froths off your skin and trails behind you like a haunting mirage. Your body is boiling on the inside, having exerted too much energy in too short a time and your muzzle can only do so much to keep you going before you collapse from overheating.
To hell with pushing your bounds when the Lieutenant might be in danger.
Another enemy, seemingly waiting for you, they all have been, a crumb trail of beating hearts the closer you get to your destination. You dive for him as bullets dig into your shoulder, he’s sliding towards the grimy floor and clutching his shredded throat a moment later. You don’t have time for a measly nobody, he chose the wrong side, he suffers the consequences.
The concrete debris crinkles under your boots, crushed to fine dust under the pressure you’ve put on your feet. Clutching and shouldering corners, you bounce yourself off them to retain speed in the claustrophobic corridors. Jump over handfuls of stairs where more hostiles await, you hear them before you see them, distinguishing their heavy breathing over your muffled pants.
Blood painting the walls like an abstract piece of art, death is left in your wake as you rush up another floor. The screams have alerted more people, and so have the gunshots and you bristle at the amount of footsteps echoing in the shells of your ears.
What is going on? Why are there so many of them? Where the hell is the Lieutenant? How did they jam your coms?
The questions are pushed aside as you appear in the shadows of a bare apartment, blending into the darkness and only your irises visible. A menacing sight to anyone, a monster, it’s what you’ve become as you slowly drown in your brutish ways the longer you’re detached from your beloved master.
A hoarse growl escapes you, you’re nearly moving on all fours, prowling low to the floor as you tackle the first enemy target. Flashlights are thrown astray, nearly blinding you as the chaos ensues. You crush bone like it’s toothpicks, rip at flesh like paper, the whirring in your mask overwhelms the gurgling cries for help and call for reinforcements. Bloodlust can be dangerous in the hands of one who is inexperienced such as yourself and you keep walking deeper down that path as no sign of your teammate shines to stifle you back to normalcy.
Strands of hair stick to your face like glue, matted down and drenched in sweat, your gear feels heavy and damp, it’s a sauna beneath your loose, coarse blouse. Your socks are slippery against the inside of your boots and you have half a mind to kick them off and continue barefoot. Juggernaut as you are, your breaking point is nearly reached and you feel the stinging pain creeping up your spine. The idea of rest is forced away, you can’t afford it when you’re so close, you’ve come too far to shut down now to cool off, not when Ghost is unresponsive.
The amount of cocking weapons should be concerning as you near the door to the roof, bloodshot eyes opened wide and pupils dilated as the scent of familiarity finally reaches your nostrils, too intoxicating for your mind to register the plethora of other bodily odors.
You nearly break through the door in your neglectful hurry, gaze harsh and piercing, slicing through the multitude of hostile soldiers only with your oppressive presence. Hunched over, with tense shoulders and pulsing hands that are itching to rip into the men before you, you skim over the roof with vigor, letting your nose guide your vision to a familiar figure standing at the edge of the roof.
“Lieutenant!” Your first instinct is to rasp out, crystalline orbs trained on his battered form strung up by a crane like a piece of meat. A guttural snarl reverberates deep in your throat as you turn to the crowd of armed enemies with malice, ready to shred them to a pulp and eat a bucket of bullets in the process if only to get to your precious squad mate.
Ghost sways above a crater, his secured feet dangling above a deadly drop. You can smell the blood slowly oozing down his knuckles, staining his gloves, and hear his steady heart as he swims in unconsciousness. You nearly whine at the sight, reeling your head towards him with the need to call out again and maybe have him wake up.
No such simple luxury is provided for you, instead you’re faced off with a handful of brutes who believe their chances of survival are higher than zero.
You take a step forward. The weapons train on you.
You’ll rip them apart –
“ – Tut, tut!”
You falter at the voice and watch the nearly unhinged door behind you close to reveal none other than your target – suited and unbothered by your feral breathing and unceremonial entrance. The man you’ve been hunting for an age too long now to admit, a slippery bastard that felt someone breathing down his neck only when you were sent after his trail. Philip Graves stands to your right, the traitor, the absolute menace of a man that has the audacity to flick a smile at you as if you’d just joined his most prestigious party.
“Well, it’s nice to finally see Shepherd’s little experiment in the flesh.” He croons and looks you over in marvel. A bitter frown adorns your features as you abandon your prowling stance and straighten your back, adopting a more human-like pose. “Quite the achievement.” He notices your attention turn completely to him and scoffs before unfurling his fingers to show off a remote of sorts. “Don’t give me that look.”
“And that is…?” You question, words slurred by the confines of your muzzle as your eyes dart from his face to the remote, then you realize and your glare sharpens.
“The remote to the crane of course. I wouldn’t risk being in your proximity if I didn’t have a guarantee of your obedience. I’m confident, not a fool.” You’d snort at his cocky words in a different setting. He gestures at you with his free hand, flicking his fingers casually as if ushering a child. “Now if you really cherish your Lieutenant – remove your mask.”
For a brief moment, you’re left confused, blink at him twice before tilting your chin to one side and crossing your arms, eyes straying from him as you plunge into thought. The audacity was not what bewildered you, but his utter belief in having wrangled you pliant. To think he was willing to so absolutely rely on the dry, shallow information he’d dug up was preposterous. It was also wrong, your instructions were clear and no blackmail or threat was going to weaken your resolve.
You were trained to hunt, complete your assignment at any cost, be put in lethal danger, and come out victorious. Your squad mates were weak to no fault of their own, but their lifeline was something you would risk for the greater good.
This was your duty.
“No.” You answer simply and take a step forward. Whatever justice-fueled speech was circling in your head is silenced by an unfamiliar trepidation in your chest as you see Graves’ thumb glide over the release button on the remote. You swallow something thick in your throat and huff out a breath before straightening your shoulders. “Return the Lieutenant to me and I will leave you to run. I will not pursue you. You have my word.”
What was this…? What the hell were you saying?
He laughs at your words, apparently the contradiction of them to your monotone voice is entertaining. Your jaw clenches at his nonchalant demeanor used to disguise the nervous sheet of sweat forming thickly on the back of his neck. You can smell it even with the abundance of testosterone burning your nostrils.
“You see, I would…but then again, I don’t trust you.”
“I do not lie.” You state with a deadpan look.
“You don’t disobey orders either.” Graves retorts and gives you a challenging expression, pursing his lips to one side and deeming you too untrustworthy for a dealing of a peace delegation. “Mask off. Now.” He snaps when you don’t budge and twirls the remote in his hand before pointing it daringly at Ghost. A moment of nothing passes and instead of the tension you’d hoped to rise within him, he grins and rests a hand on his hip, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh? Is this right? You truly don’t care for your teammate?”
“No.” Comes your immediate answer, smooth and soft and lacking an ounce of care for the potential danger it might send your Lieutenant in. You glance at his limp, hanging body with disinterest and blame your palpitating heart to the long and strenuous journey to the roof rather than something else. It couldn’t be anything else, you felt nothing but the aftermath of physical exertion. “Whether he lives or dies, it’s all the same to me.” You’re being truthful yet every single word wrestles with you fervently before being forced past your teeth. Strange and bothersome, but you pay it no mind. “If I return with your head my task is complete. Your death is my mission, casualties are inevitable.”
He doesn’t buy it.
“Let’s test that theory, shall we?” Graves sneers something vile and again points the remote at the crane, toying with you and relishing in it.
Your mask hisses loudly and is tossed on the concrete floor of the roof before you can realize what you’re doing. The lower part of your face – wet from the vapor of your breaths, soiled with a snarl. You don’t dare let the bastard out of sight now that the power dynamic has shifted in his favor.
“There you go. Good girl.” He coos at the sight of your unreluctant obedience and his smug features soften in near adoration. “Seems you still have a heart after all.”
Not fond of his degrading babying, you try to steer the conversation to another, much more vital topic that has been gnawing at your gut since the revealing of his presence.
“Why are you here? What business do you have with me?”
Graves, much to your surprise, obliges your question.
“A little birdie told me I’m being hunted by a whole new predator. A…special one this time.” He begins and motions for his men to make their way to his side, steering them to a safe distance from your vicious paws in case you snap despite the low odds. He reciprocates the eye contact, almost unblinking, not wanting to miss a beat from your uncanny demeanor. “That birdie also told me you have a habit of following orders only from your Lieutenant and I thought maybe…if I manage to string up the worm, I’ll get the fish.” His arms spread wide, his chest expands and you’re almost tempted to lunge forward. “And voila.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.” You cock your head at him and let your arms unfold and fall to your sides.
The corners of his mouth twitch at your disinterest.
“I wanted to see you in the flesh, Hound.” He answers then, changing from his grandiose façade to a genuine and less irritable one. Gesturing towards you, he continues. “Check if the rumors are true. And judging by the fact you even got to the roof – they certainly are.” His hands clasped together over his pelvis, the remote shining still between his fingers, yellow and menacing in contrast to his black cotton gloves. “Quite disgusting what they did to you. Wouldn’t you say?” The nearly heartfelt sympathy in his tone does little to sway your intentions and it shows clearly on your unmoving features. Yet he keeps going, keeps feeding you with conflicting thoughts that fail to take root in your mind. “Countless months of agony just to become a pawn.”
Despite the unpleasant memories flooding your head at his take, you hum and brush them aside without much effort.
“I consented to my augmentations.”
“That you did.” He nods and juts his jaw before flicking the blonde locks away from his eyes and slicking them back. “ For the chance of serving a greater purpose, not being someone’s lapdog and wasting your potential on lowly criminals.” Scorn drips heavily from his tongue, a hidden distaste for his own misfortunes showing, misfortunes much similar to yours. “But I won’t sway you yet. I can’t when your attention is so torn between me and your Lieutenant.”
Maybe his sympathy is sincere, you think. Maybe there’s an ounce of truth in his law-breaking, scummy ways and he sees you as much of a victim as he sees himself. It would make sense why he orchestrated this whole situation instead of simply trying to kill you and rid himself of you.
A part of you believes him, you can tell that bits and pieces of what he says come from a wronged man trying to take revenge for his pain. But you’re no simple soldier, you were built to withstand manipulation, torture, worse. You admit to his twisted honesty but have no intent in following after him and abandoning everything you’ve worked to build no matter how unimportant or unimpressive it was.
“You’re misinterpreting.”
The distinct beat of helicopter wings catches your attention far before the vehicle itself appears in the distance. Graves and his men’s ride, you presume, a quick escape after he got bored of your lack of subordination and bid you farewell.
“Am I?” He doesn’t dare to glance back, instead lets his ears assure him that his escape route is secured and is hastily approaching his location. “So far you’ve completed your tasks well.” A gloved thumb rubs over his freshly shaven jaw, before nudging his bottom lip up in contemplation as he sizes you up and down with a calculative look. “I have one last objective for you, though, just to test your limits. Figure out what I’m up against, you know?”
“I don’t take orders from you.” You hiss, expressing something more than monotony for the first time during your conversation.
His words had struck a nerve somewhere, surprisingly so, yet he took the opportunity regardless.
“This one you’ll have to.” He all but sighs, bored with your resistance and crackling unbothered demeanor. There’s too much peaking beneath it and he wants to sink his teeth into it, yet you continue to deny him. Whether from a lack of understanding over your emotions or a very bad attempt at hiding them, they were visibly showing through and he couldn’t get enough of it. “Tell me, do you think if you jump from this building you can survive?”
“Without my mask, it’s highly unlikely.”
A gust of wind sweeps by you and suddenly you’re painfully aware how it sways the rope Ghost hangs from, still and silent. Sweat forms on your brow, your hands curl into fists, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your palms and nearly drawing blood.
“Interesting.” He hums at your answer, nodding at the new information bestowed upon him – a weakness, a flaw in your design that your makers hadn’t been able to work out. This gave him a useful advantage against you. “So without a steady supply of oxygen, you’re rendered useless.”
“I can still rip you in half.” You declare and lean forward, arms dangling and ready to clutch at the floor and propel you forward. Your patience runs thin and Graves tastes it on his tongue, not much longer before you snap and dash either for him or the Lieutenant.
“Oh, I don’t doubt.” He laughs in your face like your threat means nothing and gestures for his men to board the helicopter before hopping on himself. He grips onto the side of the door and smiles bitterly at you. “Well, it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance finally after such a long game of cat and mouse. I’m afraid we must be going now though.”
“Do you like hearing yourself talk?” A bark reverberates somewhere deep in your throat, akin to a growl as you lunge towards the helicopter.
No more talking, you’ve given him enough grace. Should have ended everything minutes before, forced yourself to move out of the stupor your Lieutenant’s state had pinned you in.
He doesn’t matter, nothing matters but Graves’ head, and like a scared mutt, you’d let him grow confident in his false influence over you.
“You know, you’re right. I’ve talked enough.” Venom oozes from his smirk as he spits one last taunt your way. “Fetch!”
You fail to realize why he’s so self-assured when you’re still capable of reaching him before the helicopter has lifted off. The slimy smirk doesn’t leave his face as he presses the button and turns away from you with a distinct “Ta!”. It’s sickening. Ghost matters not, your orders are clear and you’re sure the Lieutenant would understand the sacrifice you had to make were he in your stead. It’s a worthy sacrifice, he’d be honored after his demise, renowned for leading you to the den of the enemy for you to demolish and rid the world of their stain of an existence.
“You’re a fool if you think – ”
Your voice hitches as your body involuntarily turns away from Graves.
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING –
You dash across the rooftop and leap over the edge without a drop of hesitancy. A coil nestles in your stomach, not from the sight before you – a height so devastating, the street below so far that the cars look like mere pebbles, but at the thought of abandoning your prospect, disobeying a command, revolting against your upper command.
Too late to turn back now. And even if you could, would you?
No…
You adjust your limbs against the merciless wind, propel your arms forward like a diver about to hit the water's surface, your entire being flattened to endure as much resistance as possible and cut through the air. The cold whips against your eyes, blurs your vision with tears which you rapidly blink away to not lose sight of Ghost’s descending body.
Was it only the cold? Why were the tears so salty then?
Why was your face stuck in a desperate grimace of horror and hope?
Halfway across the building, you manage to snatch the rope around your Lieutenant’s waist. Your victory is shortlived as the earth beneath approaches steadfast and you bite into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and keep your head as cool as possible.
What now?
Even if he’s safely in your arms, you’re still heading for an inevitable death and thinking time is limited. You wrack your brain into turbo mode to come up with something, anything to save him, prevent his fall. The solution comes to you and it’s not all too pleasant, but without an alternative, you relent.
You thrust your arm through the glassy wall of the building, letting the shards shred through your skin, unable to exert your full potential without your mask. You try to regardless and your throat feels like it’s closing in on itself, you can’t breathe in enough air, the oxygen is not nearly the amount you need and you’re left suffocating slowly. Your hand mauls through cement floors and polished windows that shatter under the pressure as you desperately grapple for something, trying to slow your momentum.
Heart hammering in your throat, eyes wide with plea for something to work, for a miracle to happen, but it doesn’t. No fairytales allowed for the sinful and decrepit, for those who’ve abandoned their humanity for the betterment of civilization.
Pain doesn’t register on your features as your arm continues to endure in vain, shredded, sliced, battered to a pulp. But the horror registers when it shatters, the bone and flesh unable to withstand such detrimental amounts of damage, it’s rendered useless. It’s not the physical agony that terrifies you, but the only means of you saving the Lieutenant – now completely obliterated.
What now?
You think while your gaze darts from the bloodied, mangled mess that is your now worthless limb to the hastily approaching pavement below.
DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING! –
“Bloody f – ”
The once-lidded chocolate orbs you’ve grown to cherish look up at you – spastic, disoriented, glued to you as if you could explain your current predicament. You drown in them for a moment, pained, mournful that you’ve failed to fulfill both your duties.
Not a good hound. Fucking useless.
The prey got away, your keeper is soon to be a splatter of intestines on the ground below.
Good for nothing you are. Failed at everything. Can’t even save your own Lieutenant.
“Hound! Fucking hell, we – ”
Your jaw tightens, and your skin crawls once you’re close enough to discern the peculiar cracks in the sidewalk, you’re that close now. Doom, there’s nothing left but to die.
No. You refuse. If not for yourself, then for Ghost. You can’t lose him. You’ll sacrifice everything for him.
In a last attempt at being a hero, you struggle in the air, against the howling wind that screams bloody murder in your ears. You fiddle spasmodically, manage to clumsily maneuver both of you, deaf to the breathless curses slipping past his mask. You thrust him sideways, fling him into a window hard enough to make it give in under his weight. He breaks through back first, you hear him choke as he hits and skids on the carpeted floor with a deft thud.
You nearly smile, a contrast at his horrified expression as he realizes the situation – your maskless face, your bloodied limb, it’s only for a split second before you’re back to hurtling down without him. You hear a scream of your name, the intimate one, the real one.
Your eyes water anew, maybe from the air, maybe from him calling out to you in what sounds like spastic worry.
One good hand was all you needed.
You’re free now. You fulfilled your duty.
Everything hurts, you feel your entire being imprinted into the roof of a car, having squished it in the impact. Blood coats your tongue, your throat feels crushed. You’re choking for air quietly, your body desperately trying to repair all damages but failing because your mouth and nose can’t gulp enough oxygen no matter how greedily you’re breathing.
Sprawled out, the sky swirls high above your head, gazed at through blurry vision. Stars twinkle like smudged jewels, the moon is nowhere to be seen and for a moment you feel alone and at peace. It doesn’t matter that you’re molded into a random car with shattered bones and punctured lungs.
Maybe there are witnesses, maybe the streets are empty, you’re unsure, the screaming in your ears is punching at your eardrums and you can’t make out anything.
A peaceful death after years of war is what you wish for.
The cold creeps over your skin, through your gear, its caress soothing against your steaming flesh.
A splotch of creamy whine enters your vision, poking from one of the shattered windows. A skull mask, you recognize it even with both eyes and mind hazy and drunk on scalding pain. You’d reach out if you could, your first instinct demands you to do so, reach out to Ghost, reunite as leal hound and loving master once more. But you can’t, your body refuses to budge, a twitch of your fingers is all you can muster.
A cough rips through you, excruciating, and more stomach-churning iron rushes over your sticky tongue.
Will he remember you? Will he mourn you if you pass? Will he miss you? Will your absence leave yet another scar for him to nurture? Will he ever forgive you for sacrificing yourself for him?
Does it matter?
Not really…
But it does.
Somewhere deep within the crooks and crevices of your heart, it does matter to you, if only a little.
Your eyelids are heavy and you’ve not the strength to keep them open anymore. The chill air is so welcoming, lulls you and tugs you towards the comforts of slumber.
You hear a rasp, his voice echoing, deep and baritone as he disappears somewhere in the darkness.
You can’t stay conscious anymore no matter how desperately he begs you. You’re tired, just want to sleep, you’re aching, you want out of the pain, out of responsibilities and bloodshed.
This feels nice. Oblivion is welcoming.
The cold dissipates, and everything goes dark. You take one last meager breath and succumb to blackened dreams and fleeting pictures, sprawled vastly on the surface of your mind as your body gives out completely.
Tumblr media
<<< Chapter 2
Chapter 4 >>>
Masterlist
184 notes · View notes
psina-dubina · 14 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Colored drawing, now with the beautiful text by @revacholstarfish (and me LOL)
Revancholstarfish:
“Obi-Wan has not expected Qui-Gon's cooperation in this matter, and since he has not received said cooperation, either, one might say his expectation was rather adequate. This particular model in front of him, though, has been anything but unobliging; the broad shoulders have filled up the space Obi-Wan reserved within the fabric, although the fingers over the buttons were not quite as deft as he has hoped.
"Mr. Kenobi," the man said, "I'm honored to be graced with your designs. Quite often the occurrences have become, won't you say?" His teeth-showing grin was mostly sincere. "The third time we've met this month. If I didn't know better, sir..."
"Thank you, darling," Obi-Wan's hand flattened a non-existent wrinkle over the man's lapel. "You may go."
-------
The insides of his grey wool blazers were quite smooth, although it has become a bit stifling after wearing it the entire night. Having slided his arms out of it, Obi-Wan was reaching out for a coat hanger when he heard the familiar footsteps clicking in the corridor: Steady, but always a bit hesitant.
He turned on his heels to see Qui-Gon standing in the entry way; he was...
The blazer escaped from his fingers. It didn't make a sound when it fell onto the floor; "you need to fasten the buttons," Obi-Wan heard himself say. He strided across the room in three steps; "helps achieve the form of design. Where did you --"
He was brought into a kiss; Qui-Gon's hands rest gently around his waist. Warmth radiates from them and he wanted that -- needed that, although he has been overheated all night --
"It was in your workshop," Qui-Gon said as a way of explanation. "I tried to find you..."
"Try harder next time." Obi-Wan gave another onceover at his own design; gods, working with any other models will be much harder. "Now while I blow you, I'd like you to keep these on."
Me:
Obi Wan thoughtfully smoothes the lapel on Qui Gon's chest.
-You have to open my show in this.
Qui Gon looks at him a little surprised, stoping his back with his hand:
-But do you know that I'm not a model? I'm not even sure I can stand beautifully, not to mention walking like them...
O: it's a matter of practice, God, I spent all day today looking for a model who will decorate this outfit, and he was always there!
I can practice it with you.
Q: hasn't there been a single truly talented man who would decorate your show all day?
Obi Wan opens his mouth
Q: I mean among the models. Won't critics be furious when they see how instead of a carved model, an old man who can barely keep his back straight comes out in oil and makeup? Besides, don't you need a talented lighting artist who will decorate your show?
O: in the modeling business it's called inclusiveness, and if critics really don't appreciate this work of art, they don't have eyes. And I'm sure that my talented artist has an equally talented assistant who can replace him with one show.
Q: if I agree, it won't be one show, dear, if I don't slip on the podium, you'll want me to perform on several more.
Obi Wan rolling his eyes a little: maybe.
Obi Wan after a short silence: and we can really smear you with oil, you know.
Q: still, I'm afraid you're a little corrupt about my beauty
Obi Wan says, twisting his wedding ring on his finger a little: maybe a little...
Qui Gon thoughtfully shuts up and hugs Obi Wan closer to him
Obi Wan after a while and a little quietly: so it's not? I can really open the show with you... you know the fashion designer and his muse...
Q: I'm afraid to hurt your career dear, you know I don't look like I was 20 anymore, and even then I'm a little absurd about it.
O: you won't! And oh gods, and my models are at least 25
Q: still about 25 less than me
Obi Wan, ignoring: you really look good, regard it as a professional's view. And I don't care if critics and the yellow press will piss off what I chose as the model opening the show, my husband!
Qui Gon is silent for a long time, frowning a little
Qui gon, looking at Obi Wan, speaks quietly and a little uncertainly: will you show me how to go correctly? ...
35 notes · View notes
sseniita · 1 year ago
Text
is it hot in here or is it just you?
“It’s so nice.” The hero’s voice sounded robotic against the fan blades. “So nice.” 
She was kneeling in front of an oscillating fan and moving with it as it rotated back and forth, letting her hair tangle as it moved uncontrollably in the artificial breeze. Despite the air conditioning and lack of decent clothes, there was a shiny sheen of sweat on her body and bright red flush on her cheeks. The villain’s stare couldn’t help but wander to her bare shoulders and sliver of tummy under her top; why the appearance of a woman in shorts and a tank top gave him the reaction of seeing a woman’s ankle for the first time in the eighteenth century- he wasn’t sure. 
“You’ll dry up if you don’t give that a break.” Truthfully, the villain was getting chilly with every fan in his apartment on and at full speed, “That and you’ll be paying for my electricity bill.” 
“My apartment doesn’t have air conditioning and I can’t afford a fan,” the hero spared him a glance. “What makes you think I can pay a bill?” 
The villain's eyebrow quizzed, “Heroism not paying well?” 
“I’m wealthy in applause and honour.” she shuffled left to follow the fan. “Besides, this is you making it up to me after breaking my wrist last month.” 
The villain’s lip quirked. “Right. Oops.” 
The villain took a seat on his couch near the hero and her designated cooling nest. The floor was strewn with water bottles, ice-filled thermoses and damp towels the hero would rotate through in attempts to get relief from the heat. 
“You’d think having fire powers would make you immune to heat. You could be fighting monsters with the power of a million suns” 
“I know. I swear I’m being pranked by some celestial force. I’m immune to my heat- but the sun’s evil 40 degree weather feels like I’m in a preheating oven” The hero groaned with frustration, running a hand through her hair. “It’s so hot! Can’t you turn me into an ice cube or something?” 
The villain’s ice power complimented the hero very well. Maybe too well, this wasn’t the first time they were in this situation. 
“You know you’ll melt it, Hero.” 
“Can you… freeze the apartment?” she suggested timidly, knowing the answer he’d give her.
“Yes, Hero. I’ll freeze my entire apartment so you can stay cool.” 
“Come on!” She’s splayed out on the floor now, Villain cursed the way her shorts rode up. “Do me this one favour. Please!” 
“I think you misunderstand what one favour is.” He gestured to her cooling nest. 
“Can’t you use your powers or something? Villain, I’m literally burning up. Please.” The villain didn’t doubt it. He wasn’t sure what would happen if she overheated, he assumed being overheated was the norm for her. The hero stared hopefully at him, and the villain knew exactly what she wanted, what she had wanted everytime a heatwave made its way to their city, why she had come here in the first place. Dejected, he started taking off his shirt. 
“I should get paid for this.” He mumbled, the hero quickly made her way over to sit on the couch beside him, a large smile on her face. “You’re shameless.” 
“I’m desperate, Frosty.” She inched closer. “I promise I won’t interrupt your heists for a week.” 
The villain extended his arms, inviting the hero. “A month.” 
As if the act were the most natural thing in the world, the hero jumped on his lap, swinging her legs to his side. The villain automatically (much to his own surprise) wrapped his arms around her, as if preparing to bridal-carry her to the North Pole. Her arms wrapped around his neck, leaning her head in the crook of his neck and comfortably setting herself in place. 
“This is demeaning.” The villain said readjusting her for both their comfort, awakening his power to a satisfactory chill. He could feel the hero’s body temperature immediately cooling, he could have sworn he saw steam. 
“No,” she cuddled closer, “this is nice. So nice.” 
The villain rested his chin on the top of the hero's head and leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes and feeling the pleasant warmth radiating off the hero. Yes, this was nice.
145 notes · View notes
auraisereigh · 5 months ago
Text
"Sweets"
chapter thirtheen part II
Brennan Sorrengail x Riorson reader Blurb: part II to Star's birthday. Her and Brennan share a moment. wc: 6k ☆ SPOILERS FOR THE EMPYREAN SERIES. not much, mentions of a scar. Uses pronouns: she/her. i use Star as a nickname as y/n sounds weird, and i'm awful with names.
Masterlist ☆ Dragon guide ☆ Star's story ☆ Empyrean guide ☆ Support me
Tumblr media
My heart starts beating faster, his auburn hair is falling over his temple, it's still slightly damp. He must have showered not that long ago.
"How did you find me?" I ask confused. My voice is not bitter anymore towards him, it's much softer now, pure curiosity laced in it.
He smiles and walks closer, a small box in his hands. He shrugs. " I followed the scent of flowers, sweets and a hint of anger." He responds sarcastic. His head dips down when one of his hair strands goes to his eye. I chuckle at it. "Looks like you have a problem there." I motion to the strand of hair.
He gives me a sarcastic look and I feel my heart warm a little. "What are you working on? He asks motioning to the blades I put aside. "Swords." I State.
He looks at me impressed. "You know how to make those?" His tone holds a hint appreciation and admiration. I give him a small nod as I breathe out some hot air. This room is so hot and I've been cooked up in here so long that it feels like I'm overheating though I would've never noticed that if I hadn't stopped working.
"Let's step out for a moment, you look like you're gonna burst in flames." He laughs a little and I can't help but laugh with him. I can't explain it but ever since our moment barely a week ago I feel myself opening up to him, even if it's just appreciating him, not necessarily opening my whole life up to him.
I put my stuff down and take off the coat. There are bits and pieces of hair falling from my braid in my face.
His hand rests on my lower back as he guides me out of the damp, hot room. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with my hand and then I'm welcomed by the cooling air. I let out a small gasp at the sudden cold air.
"Let's go up to the roof." I State as I grab a hold of his arm and bring him with me all the way up the five floors and to the rooftop.
I remember all the nights xaden used to wait up here, sitting on the ledge, for dad. I close the rooftop door behind Brennan.
I sit on the ledge and Brennan sits close behind me. It's quiet as we both look out over the city. This is the best place to get a good view of how beautiful this place is, even if pieces are still burnt down.
I suddenly feel a finger against my flaming hot skin and I shiver. I quickly shove myself from the ledge, the feeling causing a nauseous feeling in my stomach. "Sorry." He quickly apologizes and he holds his hands up in surrender.
"No, no. It's nothing." I assure him. "No one has touched it." I explain. His eyes soften and he lowers his hands. "How did you get the scar?" He asks softly. He reaches out and takes my wrist in his hand, pulling me closer.
"An accident. The scar runs over my whole spine. Happend around a year ago and no one has actually touched it since it completely healed." I explain. It's not the whole story, it's not really an accident either but opening up completely now would only make things worse.
He seems to get the hint as he drops my wrist and takes the small box from the ground where he placed it. He hands it to me. Confusion takes me over. "What's this?" He rubs the back of his neck. "I heard from Felix that it's your birthday today and I wanted to get something for you. I hope you like it." I can see a hint of a blush on his cheeks. A small rosy color and it makes him look adorable. I can't help but smile, my heart fluttering at the sight.
I grab the box from him and sit down. He sits down before me, the blush still there. I open it to reveal a smaller box and a book. I take the book out first. It's a small poetry book, the cover has an illustration of a jellyfish. A small smile appears on my face and I open the book, going through the pages and reading some of the poems. My smile widens. "Thank you." I say genuine. Emotion threatens to overwhelm me as tears prick in my eyes.
He smiles at me and motions to the other box. I take it out and open it to reveal a small chocolate cupcake, decorated with chocolate cream. "I was gonna put a candle on it but then I realized that I didn't know how old you are." He says sheepish, the Rosy cheeks still present.
"Nineteen. I turned nineteen today." I tell him Softly. "How old are you?" "I'm twenty four. My birthday already passed this year." I nod.
I take the cupcake out of the box. I stand up and reach for one of the wooden floor planks. This fortress was protected in many ways, including hidden weapons. I rip open the floorboard and take a dagger out. Once in my possession, I walk back to where Brennan is.
I position the dagger over the middle of the cupcake and cut through it. Once cut in half, I slowly pry them apart and give a half to Brennan. He smiles at me, his eyes Sparkling.
I take my half of the cupcake and sit back on the ledge. I pat next to me and he doesn't hesitate to move next to me, his half of the cupcake in his hand.
"To a very happy birthday for you." He says lifting his cupcake in the air. I chuckle and lift my cupcake too. "To hopefully a better year." I add to it and he nods his head in agreement.
He watches as I take a bit from the cupcake and he chuckles when he sees that a bit of the cream reached the tip of my nose. He quickly gets it off with his finger, so fast that I blink when his finger you he's the tip of my nose.
He laughs as he licks the cream from his finger before starting on his own half of the cupcake.
"So what does the future duchess wish for her birthday?" He jokes as he finishes the cupcake. I take the last bite of mine before leaning back on my hands. "How about a dragon?" I joke back. "Giant, and red. With large lethal teeth. Every girls dream." I continue and he laughs along. "I can show you an orange one, but I have to warn you, he is a bit unpredictable." He offers with a small chuckle and just as he does so an orange dragon flies by, a safe distance from us.
The last time I saw him we spent two weeks in a cave together, working every night together to make a fire to keep us warm, well, Brennan. The dragon probably didn't give a damn about me.
"Yeah, unpredictable." I respond absentmindedly, remembering the first time the dragon lit the fire. I thought he would burn me too. He turns his to look at me with a soft smile on his face. "Are you okay?" His words are spoken so soft, so careful.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just remembering. Naolin's dragon, Tairn was the first dragon I ever saw up close. He was lethally beautiful. The scales looked like they were glowing in the sunlight. Despite that he could kill me with the snap of his teeth, somehow it makes these creatures even more astonishing." My voice whispers as I watch as the orange dragon fly in the distance, free, to go wherever he would want to go.
"Naolin used to tell me you loved dragons. And that you didn't show fear when you saw his for the first time." It's true. I wasn't scared when I saw Tairn. All I saw was an astonishing creature. He speaks up before I can confirm it's true. "One day, when you trust me, I'll show you Marbh. Maybe you'll like him too." He offers hesitantly. Like he wants me to but is not sure if I want it.
Thing is, I do trust him. Even if just a little.
"I do trust you." I speak up. I look at him and his face looks like a mixture of sadness and surprise. "Not completely, it's too soon for that but a part of me trusts you. Believes you." I add looking him in the eye to show him I'm being sincere.
His smile widens a little at my words and I can see his eyes tearing up. I shuffle closer to him so we're touching and rest my chin on his shoulder as I look up to him. "And you know, usually my birthdays were quite big, but I really enjoyed this one. I wasn't planning on doing anything but this," I motion to the two of us. "Was nice." I finish as we both look out over Aretia. The town is slowly rebuilding but you can tell the difference.
My eyes look up to see the orange dragon flying in the cloudless sky.
I lean deeper against him and his arm wraps around me as we watch over Aretia.
And finally, it feels right to be with him.
Taglist: @honethatty12 @smashee0789 @awkardnerd @randomperson1234sblog@bangtanxberm@hyperactive-bookworm-0@littowl@thebreadisthetruevillian
56 notes · View notes
dandysworldhcs · 3 months ago
Note
Vee is an entertaining little specimen!
I think that despite her being all metal, you can still grab her by the scruff, and she WILL go limp (good luck reaching it though she's like 6'5" in my design).
About that, Vee is 6'5". Since she's a robot meant to be seen by most of the audience, it would make sense if she was HUGE compared to a regular human. She was originally 2 feet tall until her upgrade before she reached the age she would stagnate at (yknow,, getting her used to a new, ACCURATE body so she doesn't struggle in adolescence).
She curls up like a cat when falling asleep. She also generally prefers sleeping on the floor (it's cold!). Not many toons see her do this, though
Vee has HORRID heat regulation. She passes out a lot, ESPECIALLY UNDER STRESSFUL SITUATIONS (barely making it to the elevator in time)
It's her system overheating and screaming at her until she goes into sleep mode. Attempts at fixing her cooling system have been unsuccessful.
Vees "teeth" (the overlay thingy) have a sharp teeth variant, they're mainly there to make her more expressive when angry [if I get one vox post about this I'm going to crash the fuck out]
Her microphone is detachable and reveals a plug. Good luck trying to remove it, though. She let's like. ONE other toon grab it without punting them into oblivion.
-Panon 🍳
44 notes · View notes
tripthelightfandomtastic · 8 months ago
Note
happy wild wednesday! okay so picture this — josh is hot; no like literally he’s always running warm or overheating. which also leads to jokes about him being the sun. this means hes always walking around your shared home half naked (and sometimes even fully nude as well with a nonchalant “humans were meant to be naked, societal norms are what keep us from doing so”). you’ve grown used to seeing your lover’s beauty bared to you in the most casual of ways, but theres times where the sun hits him just right or the gleam of the ambient lighting in your house casts the most perfect shadows over his toned figure that you feel yourself growing needy for him. josh is so in tuned to you that he immediately knows what you wants and takes you right then and there. on the sofa. on the soft rug. on the cool hardwood floor. over and over again until you’re satisfied. which lets be honest, when it comes to josh, you never really are.
I think it would be so beautiful to see him glow in the morning sun outside in the garden, watering his plants and smiling to you as he takes in the cool breeze. You approach him with a smile and kiss him, his warm skin made only warmer by the sunlight on his tanned skin. Hands resting on his shoulder and one on his chest as you feel the muscle beneath your fingertips.
You can feel his erection against your thin silk nightgown from his briefs, your fingers running gently along the waistband. Dipping your fingers below to touch his hardened cock, which pulses softly in your palm. Josh sighs against your lips.
"Lay down." You say softly. Josh's eyes gleam, he's surprised, but too cool to let on anymore. "Yes ma'am," he smiles charmingly. You grin before following his lead to the soft grass beneath you. His curls gently lay against the grassy carpet, looking at ease as you bring his underwear below his hips until you pull them completely down and toss to some azaleas beside you.
You straddle his waist, feeling his hardened cock lay between your thighs, you grind against it, your soaked panties rolling gently against the length of him as you kiss. His hands travel down your arms and to your chest, hands groping at your silk covered breasts, gently pinching your hardened nipples beneath the white material. You feel like an angel in the garden of Eden.
Josh's fingers slip your panties to the side, your own hands pulling your nightgown off to join Josh's discarded briefs. The breeze and the sun on your skin makes you feel so alive, so soft and warm. You help yourself down onto Josh's length, savouring every inch as you take him in. Josh sighs as you do, your eyes closing gently as you tentatively begin to grind down on him. "You look so beautiful," Josh whispers, your eyes back on him. His hands resting on your thighs, feeling the soft expanse of your body. You begin to bounce, his cock inside you making you moan. You can't help but watch the way your body moves, lit by the morning light, you're turned on by the way your soft stomach and breasts move in time with you, Josh's fingers come to your clit and gently play with it. You clench around him as you softly call out his name. This feels like a dream.
"Oh baby, mm, feels so good." Josh moans, eyes hardly open as he feels you completely surrender to him. You can't help it, you just feel so good you can't keep from smiling, sighing and moaning as you continue to bounce on his cock. You can hear just how soaked you are. The sounds of your bodies together makes you melt.
Josh's fingertips press into your hips, his hands helping to move you even faster and harder. "Oh baby, oh i- I'm gonna cum-" "Me too, lover. Cum with me-" "I want you to cum in me, please baby," you beg. "Anything, anything for you." Josh smiles as his hips collide with yours.
He pulls you into a kiss as he slams up inside of you, your thighs quivering as you cum hard around him. Josh's arms holding your waist tightly, your name rolling off of his lips so tenderly you feel your heart skip. Your moans and whimpers against his neck as he cums deep inside of you, his breath fanning your cheek as he presses deep and still into you.
You roll off of him and onto the grass beneath, cool and welcoming to your exhausted body. You both search for breath, hand in hand as you take in the flowers and trees that hang around you. "Wow." Josh sighs. "Yeah," you exhale with a smile. Josh turns to look at you, you grin back, "I think you're a goddess." He whispers, making you giggle and blush in a way only he can. "I just can't get enough of you." You confess. His hand caresses your cheek, "I don’t think I ever will."
60 notes · View notes
stujet9rainshine-blog · 4 months ago
Text
@hugsandchaos This one is more of a drabble than a one shot, but it's cute!
"Manny clings to Danny during warm nights [I made it day time lol] because his boyfriend is like a very huggable and kissable cooler. Danny has no complaints or arguments, he loves the cuddles."
It was miserable.
Manny groaned, sprawled out on their secondhand couch in nothing but his boxers and a loose tank top, arms splayed as if surrendering to the heat. The little standing fan hummed at full blast, barely making a dent in the oppressive wave of desert hell pouring through the open balcony door. Their apartment was still bare-bones—just a couch, a coffee table, and their mattress on the floor in the bedroom—but right now, Manny had been convinced they hadn’t needed anything else. They needed AC.
Across from him, Danny stretched like a cat, arms lifting over his head, shirt riding up over his pale stomach as he sighed contently. “Man, this feels great.”
Manny cracked an eye open and stared at him. "¿Cómo qué great? It’s one hundred and fifteen degrees in your american temp, Daniel.” He flopped an arm dramatically over his face. “I feel like a fried egg on the pavement. How are you not dying?”
Danny tilted his head back against the couch arm, considering. “I dunno. I think I might be thriving.” He smirked. “It’s nice not being cold for once.”
Manny groaned louder. “That’s so unfair.”
“Not my fault I’m built different.”
Manny huffed, shifting to sit up, his skin sticking unpleasantly to the couch. “Ugh, I was raised in the desert—I used to wear a leather jacket everywhere. And yet I am melting.” He gave Danny a pointed look. “Stay away from me.”
Danny’s smirk widened. “Oh, now I have to,” he teased, rolling over and throwing himself onto Manny’s lap in one smooth, dramatic motion.
Manny yelped, shoving at him. “Danny, no—” He paused, hands still on Danny’s sides.
Danny was cold.
Not just a little chilly, not the faint coolness of air from the fan, but genuinely cold, like a fresh drink pulled from the fridge.
“…Holy shit.”
Danny grinned up at him, all smug. “See? Built different.”
Manny didn’t even hesitate. He lunged.
Danny laughed as Manny all but tackled him, rubbing his sweaty face against Danny’s stomach like a heat-dazed cat. Manny’s arms wrapped around his waist, legs tangling with Danny’s as he nuzzled closer with an exaggerated groan. “Dios mío, you’re heaven.”
“See, now this I don’t mind,” Danny hummed, reaching down to run cool fingers through Manny’s sweat-damp curls. “Told you, always cold. Take advantage of it.”
Danny snorted, letting his arms drape over Manny’s shoulders, utterly content. “Guess I can live with that.”
Manny let out a pleased sigh, pressing kisses to Danny’s side in between basking in the perfect relief his boyfriend provided. “You’re never escaping this. This is your life now.”
Danny grinned, pressing his now thoroughly chilled palms flat against Manny’s sweaty back. Manny shuddered at the cold, but instead of pushing him away, he melted into the touch with a pleased hum.
“Ohhhh, sí, that’s the good stuff.”
Danny chuckled, flexing his fingers as he let the chill seep deeper, cooling Manny’s overheated skin. “Didn’t realize there was a domestic application for ice powers.”
Manny let out a lazy sigh, completely boneless against him. “Me neither. But I think this is their true purpose now.”
Danny smirked. “I dunno, I’m from the land of cold and snow. The only real use there is violence.”
Manny snickered. “Nah, I think you were always meant to live in the desert, you fucking lizard.”
Danny let out a loud bark of laughter. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Manny turned his face into Danny’s chest, snuggling in shamelessly. “You don’t wanna be hot. You just wanna sit in the sun and absorb heat so you can be extra cold later.” He cracked an eye open, grinning. “You’re like one of those lizards that does push-ups on rocks.”
Danny gasped dramatically, dragging one cold hand up Manny’s spine just to make him shiver. “What are you talking about? That's not how cold blooded animals work.”
Manny practically purred, arching into the touch like a smug cat. “Oh, that’s nice. Do that again.” Completely ignoring the correction.
Danny rolled his eyes but didn’t stop, idly tracing chilled patterns across Manny’s back. “Unbelievable. I’m out here literally giving you relief from heat exhaustion, and you’re calling me a lizard.”
Manny chuckled, kissing his shoulder. “My lizard.”
Danny sighed, but the fond smile never left his face. “I swear, you’re lucky I love you.”
Manny hummed, snuggling closer. “Yeah, I am.”
32 notes · View notes
out-there-tmblr · 6 months ago
Text
Young zaundads wip (28)
***
It feels endless but Vander doesn't let himself think of anything but the next strike, the next crack to work wider, the next boulder to drag out of the rubble. They're both exhausted and it feels like they're getting nowhere, but the growing piles of loose rubble behind them prove otherwise. Vander needs a longer rest between strikes, needs to catch his breath as he rolls out each rock. Luckily, the lantern also keeps overheating, casting them into darkness for minutes at a time and giving them no choice but to push the rubble behind them by feel alone.
Ahead of him, Silco asks, "Do you want the good news or the bad news?" and the tone of his voice makes it clear there is no good news.
"Good news."
"Good news is that we're not going to run out of air in here," Silco says.
Vander looks up but he can't make out anything in this darkness. "What do you mean?"
"Pass me the lantern," Silco says and Vander has to carefully pat the ground around him to find it. When he gives it to Silco, Silco hisses. He must have touched the hot base by mistake.
The light flickers back on, yellow and faded. Silco crawls over to hold the lantern close to the collapsed rubble and points to a small tendril of green-grey gas curling between the lowest rocks. "It's not airtight."
"So what do we do?" Vander asks, watching the Grey slither across the floor. "Keep digging?"
Silco looks as dismayed as Vander feels. "We could always set a charge and hope we don't blow ourselves up."
That tendril of Grey slinks across the floor and then slides to one side of the tunnel, disappearing. "Did you see that?"
Silco crouches and walks over to peer beside Vander. "See what?"
"Watch the Grey," Vander says as another small wisp of smoke comes through the rubble and follows the same path.
Silco reaches down and traces the path with his fingers. Then he turns to Vander with bright, hopeful eyes. "There's a draft. Here."
Clumsy with tiredness, Vander fumbles to release his gauntlets. He finally gets them off and reaches out with bare hands. Silco's right: he can feel a tiny draft tugging at his fingertips.
"There must be a cavern behind there," Silco says, "Maybe an exit."
Vander pulls his gauntlets on again and carefully strikes that exact spot. It takes three hits to crack, and then another two to be able to pull a rock free. There's a gust of air when they do and Silco holds up the lantern to show the empty space behind it. Together, they clear enough space for Silco to shimmy through.
Silco holds a hand out for the lantern, and Vander passes it to him. "Is it a cavern? Big enough to wait out the Grey?"
"I don't know what it is," Silco replies. The space is big enough for his voice to echo and that's good enough for Vander.
"Stand clear," Vander calls out. "I'm going to make this hole wider."
Silco passes back the lantern and then calls when he's clear. Vander strikes the rock again. And again. He still has to turn sideways and work one shoulder through at a time, but he climbs through to the ledge in the largest cavern he's ever seen. When he holds the lantern up he realises it's not a rock ledge – it's not natural. It's been carved, a giant high table carved out of the rock itself, with curved columns and fluted edges.
The cavern itself is so big the lantern doesn't light it all. It has huge columns, reaching from the floor to the soaring roof, carved into smooth curves. The floor is more than a man's height beneath them, but it's smooth and polished. "What is this place?"
"I don't know," Silco says and Vander follows his voice. He's standing at the edge of the table, looking at the far wall.
It's a massive statue. A kind-faced goddess looks down at them, her long hair caught by an unseen breeze.
"Janna?" Vander asks, because he grew up with those stories. All of riverside knows to pray for good winds.
"They always said she watched over the mines. I didn't know they meant it literally."
Tucked away from the edge, there's a set of human sized steps carved into the wall. They follow them down and wander through the space. From this angle, the carved statue smiles down at them. She's beautiful and somehow reassuring.
Vander bows his head to recite the prayers he doesn't believe in, the words his Ma used to recite every morning. Silco doesn't join in but he looks down at his feet and lets Vander finish.
"It doesn't hurt to say thank you," Vander says sheepishly, "just in case that was divine intervention."
Silco nods and they keep exploring by the dwindling light of their lantern. Every surface is covered in fine dirt, like this Place hasn't been touched in decades.
"How old do you think this is?" Vander asks as Silco runs fingers through the dirt on patterns etched into the wall.
"Very old." Gently, Silco traces the pattern again, drawing wide lines in the dust. "Older than the mine. Maybe older than Piltover."
Silco steps back and frowns at the wall. "Does that look like letters to you?"
Vander squints at it. He'd assumed it was just a pattern but it might be letters, letters taller than a yordle. "Are there more?"
They feel along the wall, wiping the dust off the etching. The letters spread out over eight paces, but they feel along the wall until they seem to stop. And then they have to stand back to read it.
"Osha Va…" Silco reads out carefully, "…Zaun."
"What does it mean?"
Silco shrugs. "It's too well done to be graffiti. Maybe it's who the shrine was built for. Or the name of this place. Maybe it means 'exit this way'. We'll never know."
Vander looks around, the ceiling so high it fades into black. It's amazing and eerie, something built for crowds of people who have all been forgotten. "How can nobody know about this?"
"It's been buried for a long time. Too deep for anyone to find. Lost in the dark," Silco says quietly, like this vast, abandoned place deserves to be mourned. "Like everything else that gets buried down here."
Vander reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers together. They both look over when the lantern in his hand starts to flicker again.
They agree to climb back up to the ledge to get some rest. Even if the Grey does leak in here there's no way it could fill up the whole room. They'll be safe above it and they can let the lantern cool down.
Vander carefully places his gauntlets and the lantern against the wall, and then stretches out on his back. He's so exhausted he should fall straight asleep but he finds himself lying there, listening to the wheeze of air moving through the tunnels.
He keeps thinking that it's so big. Hundreds of people must have built this, people who are all long gone now. But once, this place was made with love and care.
Silco rolls over, wrapping his Arms around Vander and commandeering his chest as a pillow. "Go to sleep, Vander."
Somehow that's easier with Silco in his arms, with Silco's slow breaths and steady heartbeat. With Silco's soft hair brushing Vander's cheek.
***
50 notes · View notes