#it's good music and I really enjoy it though

[trashytracktales]

teammate!lando x reader where they had a bet and she loses…so he makes her crawl to her, hump the pillow, rub her bare clit against his clothed crotch ALL WHILE HE RECORDS HER (with consent ofc)

Lights, Camera, Action! | LN⁴

🔹️ summary ──── It was supposed to be a joke, then it became everything.

🔹️ pairing ──── Lando Norris x fem teammate!reader

🔹️ rating ──── explicit

🔹️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, nerdy!Lando, soft!dom Lando, recording (consensual), cushion humping, manhandling, orgasm from external stimulation, swearing, unprotected sex, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, playful teasing, camera kink??

🔹️ word count ──── 6.3k

🔹️ date ──── May 6, 2025

🔹️ a/n ──── How tf do I set my intention to go for PURE SMUT NO PLOT, yet still manage to write over 6k 😀 I don’t even know what’s this, nothing makes sense and we are living on a floating rock.

Hear me out, I usually only link the song, but then I remembered about this music video and I almost had an aneurysm because of how well it fits. I recommend watching it after reading though. Anyway, ENJOY!!

THE LAST RACE before the break fucked them both. Pretty hard. What was supposed to end with another 1-2 finish for the team turned into a disaster of strategy, pace, and pure bad luck.

Since getting back to Monaco, the fallout hasn’t left them alone. It’s pretty hard when everyone is talking about it; it can get lonely, too. Luckily for them, they’ve been texting back and forth for days, laced with sarcasm, blame, and just enough flirtation to keep the tension at its peak. However, neither of them said what they really wanted to say. But it was always there, between the lines as usual, and in the way her name popped up on his screen, making his stomach flip.

Every single time.

The bar is loud enough to blur that tension and even Lando, with his no-alcohol rule, is loose and laughing. They dance and talk about anything but racing, and for a while it feels like neither of them are carrying the weight of disappointment.

Friends come and go through their circle, a few fans spot them and ask for pictures — which they take, grinning too wide and standing too close for their own good. Somewhere between the fourth round of mocktails, a familiar song starts pulsing through the speakers, and that’s when she brings up the bet, half-laughing, stepping in front of him like she did back in the garage when she dared him.

“If I finish behind you, I owe you a private dance,” she said, confidence dripping from every word. She’d qualified ahead of Lando, and was so confident she can finish ahead of him, too. But since every race is unpredictable and full of unknowns, she ended up taking the checkered flag after him.

It was a joke, anyway. But she can’t say with all her heart that she hasn’t thought about it at least a few couple of times. Besides, it’s Lando who’s been constantly reminding her throughout the past few days and, even if it was in jest, the curiosity made her spend hours staring at the ceiling of her room, imagining different scenarios.

Now, it’s late when the door to his apartment clicks shut behind them with a clean, satisfying noise. Lando tosses his keys into the ceramic bowl on the console with more force than necessary, and while the keys clatter, one nearly skids off the edge, forcing him to reach for it instinctively. She doesn’t say anything, although she can’t help but finding amusing that the inanimate objects always decide to act up only when her teammate’s patience seems so fragile.

The sudden movement makes Lando whine in exasperation as she watches him kick off his shoes and drag a hand through his curls.

The place is quiet, as if reflecting their inner agitation, silently burning within. He’s not bothering turning on more than a lamp, but it’s enough to bathe the whole living room in a pale silver glow, making everything seem even more intimate than it should be.

As they step further into the apartment, the same silence hits them both, because it’s not just the sudden absence of noise, but the weight of it. They’ve never been this quiet around each other before. Usually, they’re the chaos in the garage, either laughing too loud or teasing mid-debriefs, always bringing the kind of energy that makes their engineers roll their eyes but secretly love it. Now though, it’s the first time neither of them knows what to say. Or how to act.

“Cute place,” she says, partly to break the silence, but mostly because it really is. Spacious, stylish, not super tidy, but very Lando in that sense.

“You know you don’t have to make small talk, right?” he laughs. “It was a stupid bet to begin with, since I was always going to finish ahead of you anyway.”

Her jaw drops slightly at the cockiness in his tone. This is the Lando she knows and, in other circumstances, she would find his confidence hot, but right now it only makes her want to knock that look off his face. Or sit on it just to shut him up. Either works.

“Always eager to finish first? Got it,” the playful jab lands right where she intended without too much effort; it’s a split-second flicker in his expression, the twitch of his jaw, and the way his arms tense.

That’s the spot, she thinks. That’s where it bruises his ego, not because it’s crude, but because it’s enough to sting. Which only makes her want to push harder.

Lando’s grin flattens a bit. “Well, someone’s gotta lead the way,” he replies casually, even though he caught her double meaning phrase.

“Right. Leading the way because you can’t pace yourself,” she fires back.

He chuckles. “Sounds like an excuse from someone who couldn’t keep up.”

They’re toe-to-toe now, all bite and smirk and so much tension. She’s half a second from throwing a cushion at him just to knock that pretty smile off when she glances past his shoulder and, without another word, she steps forward, fingers brushing lightly against Lando’s arm as she urges him to move out of her way, wandering farther into his apartment like she owns the place.

“Interesting,” she mumbles. “I saw you with the camera before,” the girl continues as Lando turns to follow her silhouette. “How about you film me while I dance? Give you some new material for land0.mov?”

Lando’s expression twitches barely, but she’s still able to notice it. That small flash of disbelief, quickly masked by a half-laugh, like he’s not sure if she’s joking or just testing him.

“No way, mate,” says Lando, but it’s already too late.

She nods slowly, letting the weight of her intention settle in the air they share. His boyish smirk fades into curiosity in an instant. It’s like watching him put a helmet on: composed, dialed in, serious in a way most people rarely get to see.

To give him more space to process, she veers toward the low shelf by his TV, crouching slightly. “Let’s see. Which one’s your favorite?” she asks nonchalantly, running her fingers along the row of cameras lined up like little trophies; old film bodies, modern DSLRs, and a few point-and-shoots with scratched lenses.

Lando stares at her like she suddenly grew two more heads in the meantime. “You play too much, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Which one?” she repeats.

He blinks, opening his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. After he rubs the bridge of his nose, Lando exhales slowly. “The, uh… the Leica. Second from the left. Black one,” he instructs. “I rarely use it, which makes it special, I guess.”

She lifts it delicately, turning it over in her hands. It’s heavier than she expected, sleek and cool against her skin. “Nice,” she grins. “Bet it makes everything look expensive.”

Lando hums in agreement, “Only shoots what’s directly in front of it. Look,” he says, getting so close to her that he’s now towering over her frame, while pointing at the camera. “Fixed lens, see? No lazy zooming, but the resolution is insane. The tricky part is that you have to move it yourself to get the shot you want,” he continues.

She looks up at him, noticing a slight shy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. And, just when she thought Lando couldn’t get any nerdier, she hears his voice again.

“It’s a twenty-eight millimeter lens. That’s not crazy wide,” he informs her. “If you stay in the middle, the background’s gonna fall off all soft and blurry. Makes it feel…” he trails off, clearing his throat. “Personal. It’s not even about perfect framing or whatever,” he rushes to add. “It just catches whatever’s there, no hiding.”

“Did you use it before?” she asks, curiosity pulling the words out of her mouth without having the time to think them through.

“I did,” he replies with a grin, giving her enough time to come up with her own scenarios before adding, “On my cars.”

She smiles, her eyes sparkling in the dim light of the room. “So. If I move, you have to follow, hm?”

Lando nods.

She sets the camera down gently, then leans against the wall beside the shelf with her arms crossed. She’s aware that what she’s suggesting it’s pure insanity, especially after what’s been happening between them lately.

“Okay,” she finally says, holding her hand toward him, palm open. “Can I see your phone for a sec?”

Lando frowns, trying to hide a curious smile. “Why?” he asks, sliding the phone from his pocket and unlocks it, handing it over with suspicion in his voice.

She only flashes him a smile back, thumbing through his apps until she finds the little Spotify icon. A few seconds later, the speakers come alive with a sultry bassline that wraps the room in a charged ambiance.

The teasing in her voice is easy to catch next time she asks, “You seriously have a sex playlist called sex playlist? Men are so predictable.”

He chuckles, “Yeah? What’s yours called?”

“I’ll send you the link,” she winks at him jokingly, but that still has an unexpected effect on Lando. Maybe because he’s starting to understand that his teammate is hardly ever joking, actually.

For a second that feels like a week, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches her, every muscle in his body taut like he’s holding himself back from something that’s about to come out anyway. It has to. Because everything has a limit, and theirs was crossed from the moment she entered his apartment.

With a quiet exhale, she presses herself lightly against the wall, then pushes off and crosses the living room in steady, cat-like steps, taking his hand in hers, fingers threading through his. Her touch is warm and somehow reassuring, her palm so small and silky against his. She guides Lando toward the couch with intent as if this isn’t his own home, nudging him gently until he sits.

She breaks away then, walks back across the room, and returns with the Leica in hand. “Turn it on,” she says simply, with enough clarity behind her words.

Lando stares at her, dumbfounded for a beat, before the corner of his mouth twitches upward in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“I trust you to capture the best in me,” she admits.

He lets out a heavy breath, something between a laugh and a groan, and flips the switch at her insistence. The familiar click of the camera waking up is giving Lando chills, but when he glances up again, his hands still adjusting the ISO, she’s already pulling the shirt over her head, revealing a black bra and her toned shoulders dusted in the dim light.

She tilts her head. “Just make sure I look good, Lando.”

With that, she starts moving as slow as possible, every inch of revealed skin feeling like it’s offered, not given.

Lando’s hands are steady on the camera, but for some reason, breathing doesn’t feel automatic anymore, and he’s currently aware of every shaky breath he takes. His fingers work on instinct, dialing the aperture wider, letting in the glow of the cool lighting. His pulse is racing, heavy in his throat, because he can see everything through the lens, but is still not ready to look at her in the flesh.

For her, it’s easy to notice how focused he is, so she glances straight into the camera on purpose, with a spark of mischief in her gaze, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. To him. As a result, Lando’s knee starts bouncing, restless, his breathing too shallow to be subtle. He can’t remember the last time he felt so tightly wound, but it doesn’t even matter because what happens now will stay with him for a long time, and this is all he needs to remember from now on.

And then, it gets worse.

He stares at her while she’s arching slightly as she undoes her bra clasp, letting it slide off her shoulders and onto the floor without breaking eye contact with the camera. At that, Lando looks away out of instinct — out of that last shred of decency clawing at him. But the camera stays trained on her, and when he lifts his gaze again, it’s like a dam breaks inside him. Violently. The hunger that flashes across his face is instant, and impossible to hide. He doesn’t even try, because what fool could ever take his eyes off her?

Lando adjusts himself without thinking, moving in sync with her teasing gestures as she peels her panties down her legs from under her skirt. He tells himself to stay focused and capture the sensuality of her body with the last fragment of professionalism that he possesses. But that’s a losing game when his own body is burning with need, and every subtle curve and line of her turns into a map that he’s desperate to explore as soon as possible.

His focus lingers on the swell of her breasts, her nipples tightening in the open air. It forces him to swallow hard, a deep ache growing both inside him and his pants, knowing how badly he wants to lean forward and suck them into his mouth, to feel the heat of her skin against his tongue.

The camera dips lower as she dances to the hypnotic rhythm of his music, and Lando keeps working with her, baring the elegant slope of her waist and the strong lines of her thighs. The way she stands there, so natural and confident, feels like a direct hit to his chest that he welcomes without hesitation or any intention of dodging. She’s pure femininity, and that throws him into a black hole made only of her, where the gravity is so strong that there’s no escape.

He’s so focused on her that he almost stops breathing in order to make sure he gets the perfect shot, every shot. That makes Lando’s hand tighten around the camera, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. But his body has a mind on its own, apparently, and his thighs flex like he’s one wrong move away from standing. From closing the distance between them. Against his will, though, he sits there, shivering with the effort to stay still.

“Come on, Norris,” she says, and her voice wakes him up from the trance her shapes put him in. “I’ve seen you take tighter corners at Spa with less hesitation.”

Even though he tries to, he can’t stop the throaty laugh that comes out of him. Only for a moment, Lando lowers the camera again, and lets himself, finally, finally, see her. And this time, he doesn’t look away. He watches her shamelessly, while reaching behind him to take a cushion that he ends up tossing onto the floor near his feet, nodding toward it.

“Go on, then. Show me how desperate you are.”

There is something about the way he says it that sends a thrill straight through her. She heard that Lando is direct when it comes to his wants and needs, but to feel it on her skin hits different. Her pulse suddenly stutters with excitement as she lowers herself in front of him, straddling the cushion, her body already anticipating the liberating feeling.

The moment her hips roll forward and her mouth falls open in surprise at the faint pleasure, Lando is right there, capturing every gasp, every twitch, and every sweet reaction like it’s the only thing that matters. His mind runs wild with all the places he aches to touch — his hand curled around her throat, palms squeezing her breasts, fingers digging into her hips to hold her still while he teases her until she begs.

The temptation claws at him, full throttle. But he forces himself to handle the camera like a pro, because more than anything, he wants her to see what he sees: how devastatingly beautiful she is like this, undone and bold. Through his own lens, she’s a vision, and giving her that full picture keeps him going.

From her perspective, noticing Lando’s determination sends a fresh wave of heat throughout her body, making her rock her hips a little harder, and that puts a tension in his shoulders. A type of need he didn’t feel before.

To stop herself from making more embarrassing sounds, she meets his gaze over the camera, mouth slightly open. “Is this good?” she asks, voice breathy and half-mocking, although there’s something real underneath. A dare. A plea.

Lando looks at her again, revealing a flushed face and his blown wide pupils. “Yeah, don’t stop,” he replies hoarsely.

Her thighs squeeze around the cushion from the moment she hears the first note in voice, the soft fabric teasing against her clit with every slow roll of her hips, pulling breathy sounds from her. Behind the camera, Lando tails closely as she grinds back and forth, his jaw clenching at the small sounds slipping past her lips.

“Shit, that’s hot. Are you always this needy?” he asks out of pure curiosity, but the question is mostly rhetorical; of course she is. Judging by the way her chest heaves and how she leans forward slightly to catch as much friction as possible, the answer is obvious.

She wants to push back against the power shift, but she’s too lost in the rhythmic movement of her body. And it’s not as if Lando’s wrong. Every gentle brush gets increasingly out of control, each desperate grind into the cushion sending small waves of pleasure straight to her nerves, making her fingers curl into the couch for balance. For the control she’s rapidly losing.

Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, mouth constantly parting as the pleasure spirals inside her like a coil wound too tight.

Lando’s fingers flex over the shutter release, but he’s barely present anymore. He’s completely absorbed by what is happening on the other side of his lens, and it’s her moan that pulls him out of it, just as the pressure builds. So he reaches out, his hand entering the frame like an unexpected guest. With ease, his fingers grab the edge of the cushion beneath her, and she pauses, blinking up at him, flushed and dazed, breathing heavily like she just stepped out of the car after a last-lap push. With one strong pull, he slides it out from under her, making her gasp in surprise, her body jolting at the sudden loss.

“Lando,” she exhales irritated.

She gets her hands onto his knees to steady herself, thighs still wobbly, but he’s not looking at her anymore. He’s too busy staring at the soaked fabric instead, darkened with heat and want and everything she didn’t say out loud.

“That good?” he asks, but the arrogance in his voice diminished, giving way to his sincere curiosity.

She shakes her head, looking up at him again. “Not faking it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The fact that she is as sincere in her statement, encourages Lando to take things to the next level, just to see how much he can push before it’s too much. He throws the cushion aside with a thud, his eyes lit up with need.

“Come here,” he orders in a gentle tone, patting his lap.

She’s stunned at his words initially, and the way they leave no room for teasing. But then she catches the way his tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, leaving it wet and shining, and something inside her pushes her to get up. She realizes that there’s nothing she wouldn’t do if he asked.

With calculated steps, she climbs him patiently, her thighs spreading over him. They’ve been in each other’s personal space in the past, when they had to do silly challenges for McLaren to entertain the fans. Still, even though there’s a camera between them just like before, the air feels different, charged with desire, unknown, and heavy lust. Because this time, it’s just them.

When her body sinks onto his, the scabrous fabric of his jeans meets the soaked warmth between her legs, the weight making Lando groan silently, his little sound hitting her low in her stomach. His reaction encourages her to continue, shifting on top of him in order to find the best position, enough to grind against his bulge. It’s thick and hard beneath her, and the simple contact is already maddening. Yet not nearly enough, and the realization that he’s just as affected by this makes the coil in her stomach tighten further.

“Keep going,” he speaks again as he lifts her skirt up to her waist, going back to the camera and angling it to capture the way she moves against him, right where her skin meets the fabric of his pants.

Her palm comes around his bicep for suport, letting the instincts guide her further. The pressure she chased a moment ago is still there, but it’s different this time around. More intense.

Lando grunts, his free hand gripping her hip to show her the pattern to follow. She whimpers while that sweet ache comes back, her body trembling with need. In no time, she can move on her own, and because she’s such a fast learner, Lando points the camera closer, eager to capture the wetness soaking through.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he says. “You’re making such a mess,” he exhales, bringing his hand between her legs to feel it before he could even process his own action. His thumb finds her clit, rubbing it gently, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time, craving to catch every reaction.

She moans, one hand squeezing his arm harder as her body rocks forward, chasing the release that she hopes it’s not that far into the future, especially if his hips continue to twitch beneath her the way they do, so impatient and reliant on her.

Unfortunately, the time almost stops the moment their faces get close enough to kiss. She can feel the heat of his breath and the pull between them, and she’s sure he can feel it too. Her eyes flick to his mouth, and Lando’s eyes stay on her, but no one dares to close the small gap. Because somehow, that would be more intimate than all of this. Kissing would mean acknowledging what’s been burning between them for a while now. It would mean admitting this is real, and admitting will complicate everything in both their personal and professional lives.

And neither of them are ready to take that chance yet.

With that in mind, she doesn’t lean in. She just closes her eyes and grinds harder, her hips rolling against his hand and the hard line of his cock beneath her. The sensation amplifies fast, and Lando never stops working her with his thumb. Soon enough, her breath comes out in spasms and her thighs start to shake. Her pace intensifies, chasing the high that’s been teasing at the edges of her patience, feeling the mess she’s made slick against Lando’s pants with every desperate press on it. Still, his hand stays steady, rubbing perfectly against her clit, matching the rhythm of her hips like he knows exactly all the ways she wants — and craves — to be touched.

With Lando’s help, it doesn’t take long until her body finally seizes, hips jerking forward uncontrollably as pleasure crashes over her. He moves with her, a silent apology for stopping her earlier written into every precise touch, making sure this time she falls apart completely. Because of him.

Luckily, the camera captures everything: his hand on her, the wet spot she’s left on his pants, the way her skin flushes and seems to crave more with each passing second, and the way her thighs shake when the aftershocks hit. It catches the way she starts trembling, too, body overwhelmed, aching for something deeper, something only he can give her right now.

Only he gives her time to ride it out instead, feeling all the ways her walls flutter, hungry and empty, and the sound that tears from his throat is nothing but a helpless moan. The sensation alone, even without him inside her, is enough to make his head spin. It wrecks him completely, makes him ache with the violent need to know how it would feel to be buried deep inside her, to have her tight, needy pussy squeezing around him while she comes undone all over again. Because of him.

The girl barely registers the camera being placed in her hands until Lando nudges her chin. “Here. See for yourself.”

Except, she doesn’t want it. Not yet. By her own choice, she takes it gently from his hand, presses RECORD again and turns it around, placing it on the padded arm of the couch. Facing them. Remembering Lando’s voice earlier, casual and offhand when he said that the camera only captures what’s in front of it.

Her fingers move impatiently, drifting to the hem of his shirt, bunching it in her hands. “Since you let me finish first,” she rushes to explain.

With that, she pulls the shirt up, and he lifts his arms to help her, muscles tightening under skin slick with the faintest sheen of sweat. Once it’s off, she tosses it to the side, her eyes drinking him in. Lando is warm under her palms, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, and she senses the same tension in him that’s barely holding him together.

She studies his face while her hand drifts lower, trailing down the center of his stomach, pausing at the waistband of his jeans. Carefully, she slips her hand inside, where she finds him hot and so painfully hard that it makes her mouth water. Without any instructions, her fingers curl around his soft skin, and the sight alone makes his stomach flip. She starts to stroke him teasing, but before she can go quicker, Lando grabs her wrist, groaning low in his throat.

“Just a sec,” he pants, voice cracking slightly. His hands are already moving, guiding her hips back over his lap with a need that borders on desperation.

This time, there’s no fabric between them, and her soaked heat presses directly against his length, making them both shuddering at the contact; skin on skin and no more barriers, just the unfiltered reality of what they both want. His hands find home on her hips, big and heavy, his control hanging by a thread.

Agonizingly slow, her clit slides along his hardness, slick and warm, sending sharp jolts of pleasure from one body to another. He can barely contain himself at the way she finds it so easy to rock against him, faster when she feels how thirsty Lando gets in a matter of seconds. He’s leaking already, the head of his cock glistening, smearing against her folds as she moves.

Completely flushed and utterly drunk with pleasure, he shifts beneath her, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, pulling her closer, even though there’s no physical space left between them. But it’s useless. No matter how close they are, there is only one way that would truly satisfy his urge.

“Please,” he whispers next to the shell of her ear, desperate and breathless. “Can I slide in?”

She’s a lost cause by now, and her reply is reduced to a broken hum, while she sits up just enough to guide the thick head of his cock to her entrance. Lando’s patience snaps at her quick response, and he thrusts his hips up in one motion, his hands holding her hips and pulling her down onto him at the same time. The stretch is overwhelming and takes her by surprise, knocking the wind out of her and making her vision blur at the edges as she tries to take all of him.

They moan together, helpless, her hands landing on his chest as she laughs shakily. “You trying to break me in half or?”

“Didn’t think you’d be so tight,” he groans in a strained voice.

Lando tries his best to take it slow, but the way she welcomes him, so warm and perfect, nearly undoes him the moment he’s all in. A shudder runs down his spine as he grips her hips with more force, thinking maybe if he doesn’t hold her right, the world will actually end.

And it may, based on how her hands are sliding up, clawing at his shoulders with her nails digging in to anchor herself. Her breath shudders out in short bursts as she does, her body struggling to adjust, to take everything he has to offer. All of him.

To test the waters, she starts circling her hips, hoping she’ll find the angle that makes her breath hitch, and when she does, it’s like lightning strikes between them. He’s impossibly deep, touching places inside her she didn’t even know could feel this good. Her pussy hugs him so tightly that Lando has to grit his teeth to shut himself up. Then she tilts her hips forward just slightly with every grind, rocking her clit perfectly against his pelvis while he’s buried inside her.

The effect she was looking for is instant, and she hears Lando choking on another moan, finally, “Fuck, yeah. Right there,” his fingers dig into her skin, hunger battling in his wide eyes. “Do that again, it feels so fucking good.”

“Shit, Lando,” she breaths out. “So deep, I can feel you everywhere.”

She pulls him in again and again, until he is practically whining beneath her. Seeing Lando so lost inside her makes her losing the rhythm, her breathing turning ragged, thighs ready to give up as exhaustion and pleasure blur into one. It’s messy and greedy on both sides, and when she finally collapses against his chest, she sobs out a cry, her voice cracking with it.

“Need you,” she exhales. “I can’t hold it anymore.”

Lando doesn’t waste a breath. One sharp, hungry movement and he’s planting his feet against the floor for leverage, thrusting up into her with everything he’s got. She gasps at the same time he groans deep in his chest, the sound vibrating between them as he finally takes her the way they’ve both needed.

Her mouth goes dry.

His jaw tightens.

Their breath grows heavier, shared in the tight, sweaty space. Her body tenses, then squeezes around him with such perfect pressure it leaves him breathless. A high-pitched moan spills from her, unexpected and honest, and she slaps a hand over her mouth, biting at it in order to shut herself up.

Gently, Lando catches her wrist, holding it firm. “If you’re gonna bite something,” he tilts his head, offering his shoulder, “Be a good girl and bite me instead.”

Her breathing is too fast and her mind runs at the speed of an F1 car. She can’t think straight and, for a moment, she just stays there, her forehead brushing the curve of his shoulder as she tries to catch herself from falling in too deep. Then slowly, like she’s giving in to something bigger than her, she places a kiss on his skin. Her lips press gently on it, trailing along the line of his neck to the dip of his collarbone. It’s the closest thing she’ll ever give him. The closest thing to letting herself feel for him.

He’s still warm, salty with sweat, and soft under her lips. And he smells so good, like skin and heat and something clean that clings to her nose and settles in her chest like smoke.

It drugs her.

The way his scent mixes with the feel of his breath against her temple, the way his pulse flutters beneath her lips — she has to stop. It’s too much, too close, too real.

“Think we should bet every race weekend, what do you say?” asks Lando, his pace quickening, hands guiding her up and down his cock like it’s the only thing that keeps him sane. “Would die to have you like this all the time, hm?”

“Mhm,” she grinds down until his name is all she can say. “Fuck. I’m so close.”

“Yeah, baby. I feel you.”

Her voice breaks off into a moan right when she’s about to speak again, to tell him not to go there and call her that. But Lando rolls his hips, pushing deeper, filling her inch by inch until there’s no space left, which shuts her up in an instant. They fuck in a rhythm that shouldn’t work, all sweat-slicked skin and shaky breaths. The air fills up with obscene sounds of them, their bodies colliding with enough force to make her whimper and moan his name all over again, each time he thrusts.

To help himself, he spreads her wider, holding her open for him, watching the way he disappears inside her, utterly wrecked by the sight. “Taking me so fucking well,” he says between thrusts, dragging his mouth over her jaw. “Look.”

She whines while looking down at where they’re joined. Lando moves his gaze on her expression with a grin on his face, so proud when he feels every spasm in her body; it’s a total mess. Her slick is all over him, coating his cock, his thighs, soaking through the waistband of his jeans that are still shoved only halfway down his hips. Each time they meet, there’s a wet sound echoing between them, sticky and warm, ricocheting against the walls in Lando’s living room like a drumbeat pulling them closer to the edge.

“You like how wrecked you’ve got me?”

She nods frantically, squeezing him so tight it makes Lando see stars. At that, he reaches up, brushing the strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears with his long fingers. His hand stays there a moment, continuing to slide lower, fingertips skimming her jaw, then wrapping gently around her throat, enough to feel her pulse. To hold her in place.

In a matter of seconds, their eyes lock again. Her chest heaves and her eyes shine, but not just from pleasure. It’s because she wants to tell him that this isn’t what she expected. It’s much, much more, and it will leave a deep mark, no matter which path they’ll choose to take tomorrow morning.

His hands move hungrily, down from her neck to her chest, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. He holds them carefully, wanting to memorize the shape, the weight, and the way they fill his palms, to make sure he won’t forget a single detail about her body.

“Lan,” she warns.

Lando hums, “Mhm. Right there with you, beautiful,” he assures her.

Her breathing is jagged, the rhythm of their hips desperate, chasing the edge that’s been teasing them since the moment she sank down onto him. Every motion drives him deeper, sends wave after wave crashing through her, because she’s right there for quite a while now.

“Hi there,” Lando’s voice brings her back. His hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, gently pulling her to see her face. “Look at me, I want to see you. Let me see you.”

Her body tenses, and just for a split second the frantic rhythm stutters, then finds its pace again as the orgasm rips through her with a blinding force. She keeps her eyes on his the whole time, riding it out with her hands burried in the curls at the back of his head. His hips jerk beneath her as he throbs inside her, overwhelmed by the way she fights to keep him in. It drives him crazy, and he moans loudly, trying to pull out, but her thighs close tighter around him.

“Inside,” she rushes to say, unable to form sentences longer than one word.

Lando’s jaw clenches so hard he feels like his teeth might snap from the force, every muscle in his body pulled tight and shivering. He holds on by a thread for half a second longer, but then her body flutters around him again, and with a loud, guttural gasp, he lets go, spilling inside her in thick pulses that only make her hold him tighter. His hands shake where they clutch at her hips, trying to pull her down even harder, like he can’t bear even a sliver of distance between them right in this moment.

None of them knows how much time passes like that, but neither of them moves again. She’s stays slumped against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck, while his arms stay locked around her waist, as if letting go might break whatever just happened between them.

Lando presses his cheek on the top of her head, his heart hammering so hard he’s sure she can feel it. But it’s fine, because he can feel hers, too.

His hands drift up and down her back in aimless strokes and, while she starts to come back to herself, she notices the music still playing softly around them, the same sultry beat from earlier floating through the air.

Her brows pinch together in confusion before realization hits. “How the fuck did you time your playlist so perfectly?”

Lando lets out a breathless laugh, “Talent.”

She snorts, dropping her head back onto his shoulder with a groan. “Goodness gracious, it is so hard tolerate you.”

“Liar,” he says, “You wanna kiss me so bad.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but the way her cheeks heat up gives her away immediately. Lando laughs under his breath again, cocky and so annoyingly right. She opens her mouth to fire back, to tell him that no, she definitely doesn’t want to kiss his smug ass, but then her eyes catch the little red light blinking from across the couch.

The camera. Still recording.

She nudges him softly, grinning against the flush in her cheeks, and points at it. “Smile and wave, Norris,” she whispers, and Lando immediately flashes the most ridiculous smirk at the lens, making her laugh for real this time.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[edvervain]

This only took me all night, but it was so much fun! (Please pardon any spelling errors, I only sorta tried to make sure I was double checking everyone's names and such.)

Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

As far as he knows, Tevinter, that’s where all of his earliest memories are and where he grew up.

What is your character's alignment?

Good aligned, neutral to chaotic, depending on the day

Race and subclass?

Qunari Mage; he has no refinement or finesse, so he doesn’t really have a subclass (It's Spellblade)

If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

Rivain, with the Lords of Fortune

What emotion did they usually pick?

Good, rarely sarcastic. Unless they’re in Tevinter, then it’s defensive/aggressive across the board

What companion are you platonically close with?

Harding - they travelled together long enough to grow fairly close before she was so hardline antagonistic toward Lucanis right after they rescued him from a torture dungeon. Rook can all to easily imagine someone having said that to Isabela about him when she was coaxing him out of the wreckage of the ship she found him on.

Bellara - she’s very nonthreatening and was an instant favorite, he finds her chatter very soothing and her flighty mannerisms are very disarming.

Romantically close with?

Lucanis - he’s kind and soft, and lets Rook have control, which is what he needs 

(Also Spite will happily take all that control back when Rook starts spiraling)

Who are they suspicious of?

Neve - You can’t trust a mage from Tevinter (she’s making headway though).

Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

For the most part, yes. They all have proven themselves to Isabela and if Isabela trusts them, then Rook does, too.

Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

No, but they really enjoy listening to music, it’s another kind of magic entirely. 

Weapon of choice?

Dagger, but he can’t help the licks of flame or lashes of lightning that it trails.

What is their orientation?

Gay as a rainbow.

What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

He doesn't have a lot of moral lines; killing isn’t one of them. He can and will eagerly kill anyone who is abusing anyone else, but he’s more likely to spiral if their abuse is targeting him. (Outright attacking isn't abuse, that's just a fight and that's easy.)

What hobbies does your Rook have?

Uhm… 

What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

Likes Ashur - The firm but gentle resolve, the deep husky voice, the slow cadence like he’s making sure you understand him even if he’s pretty sure you’re well on the way to melting into a little puddle of goo - wait, what? 

Likes Holden - He’s easy to talk to and supportive without being long suffering, it’s probably from practicing on Mila.

Dislikes Cida Ciconia - she feels utterly cold, like she’d eat you as soon as look at you; especially when Rook met her directly instead of just seeing her around her performances, she looked at him like he was a piece of candy and she didn’t much care how he felt about the possibility of being eaten.

Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

Dragons are so cool! (Wyverns are sick as fuck also!)

Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

The low pressure kind he was doing with Lords of Fortune - yes. The high pressure kind where he’s failing to save the world - no, very much not having a good time.

What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

He would probably be very much still having a good time as a Lord of Fortune. They would have worked something out with the Rivaini nobles. 

How do you think they'll meet their end?

Probably jumping into a fight he can’t actually win on behalf of someone that is in trouble.

Would they side with Solas or fight him?

Fight him. All day, every day, any place, any time. He's just another arrogant prick of a mage that 'abhors blood magic' - unless it's convenient.

What is your Rook's favorite ability?

The ability that slices the Fade open and release crows and lightning. (HC)It was inspired by Lucanis and Spite.

What languages is your character fluent in?

Trade

Tevene

Working on Rivaini

What do they do after an absolute crisis?

It depends on the flavor of crisis.

Standard issue crisis: nothing, it’s just a Tuesday, did anyone get hurt? Let’s make sure all the people are okay, then we’ll tend to the looting!

Personal crisis: did it involve poking his past with a sharp stick? Hold on to your hats, we’re spiraling! Mental health down the drain! Crashing hard with choking panic attacks and vivid PTSD Flashbacks that drop him in the middle of past trauma he has to claw himself out of! Those are worse in the Lighthouse - the Fade seems to enhance things like that.

Does your character believe in the afterlife?

MMmm… maybe? Emmrich makes a good case for it. 

What specialization best represents your Rook?

Lightning shit is right up his alley, sparks sizzle on his fingertips with the least bit of effort, the Crow Spellblade is an obvious choice. And the wrong one. That’s his preferred specialization to use, but the one that represents him? That’s going to be the Shadow Dragon Evoker. This fucker grew up in Tevinter, despite his distaste for the reminder. That’s where he learned his control under the harshest conditions, and where his magic took shape. Being tied out like a suckling pig to be bled on an altar of old stone frozen by magic so your blood thickens and doesn’t spill everywhere, anything other then impactful and you’re wrong.

What animal best represents your Rook? 

He’s never really spent time around animals and would probably have no ready answer for this, but it’s going to be the mabari. He’s never met one and wouldn’t know what to do if given any dog, but he’s got the same ‘dogged’ loyalty. Once he has his teeth in something he refuses to let go until it’s dead and if his person is in trouble you better believe he'll be going for the throat in 0.7 seconds.

What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

Fairly simple, he trusted Isabella, and Rowan was helping him maintain control of his magic and learn more between missions.

Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

Isabela tells him he has the makings of a good leader, he’s not sure he believes it. He led several smaller missions though, and then the one where he ended up killing the Ravani noble who was close enough to the throne to bring some serious heat down. By his count, he thinks it all went down pretty well. If anyone had stepped up and said "No way am I listening to this freak, I'm in charge!" He may have actually gone along with it as long as things are going according to plan. But Verric was one of his people and the second the playbook goes, nope, Verric's goal is out the window, Rook is seeing red.

If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

Once he believes the Shadow Dragons are actually working to free slaves and clog up blood magic users and the crueler magisters, he thinks sometimes of what might have been different for him if he’d been one of the slaves they freed. He doesn’t hold it against them, his master wasn’t a big enough fish to have warranted that kind of effort, either politically to remove a powerful opponent or morally to free enough slaves to make an impact. He understands why they didn’t strike his master’s mansion. He does wonder how it would have changed his life if they had though.

What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

He’s got so much trauma and needs to be in control all the time or he spirals. Lucanis is willing to let him have all the control he wants, but Spite makes him face his (figurative) demons and guards him from the (literal) demons they draw. He's still a mage at the end of the day, no matter how much he protests.

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[heeseungsbabygworl]

can you make shy good boy Hoon x fem reader? The story is up to you. I like all<3

girl this was such an innocent request I couldn't say no😭 hope you enjoy it though❤

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Iceboy" — Park Sunghoon

[request] “iceboy” — park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: high school!au, shy!sunghoon, figure skater!sunghoon, fluff, one-shot

warnings: none, pure fluff

wc: ~3.1k

📝: i love fluff sm😭 also sunghoon has been bias wrecking me lately so idk if I should take it as a sign hello?

༉‧₊˚.♡₊˚.༄

"I skate better when I know you are watching."

You noticed him before anyone else did.

It wasn’t because he was loud. He wasn’t. He was the opposite, actually. Always slipping out of class before the bell fully rang, disappearing down the hallway in a blur of black backpack straps and messy hair. Park Sunghoon was the kind of person who seemed permanently on the edge of something else.

Most people didn’t talk to him. Not because he was rude, but because he didn’t invite it. He kept his eyes down, gave polite nods in passing, and always seemed half-elsewhere, like his body was at school but his mind had clocked out hours ago.

You only knew his name because of roll call.

And then one day in November, you saw him practicing jumps in the courtyard behind the gym, early morning when most kids were still stumbling into homeroom.

At first, you thought he was just messing around. But no. His feet moved in counts. He wasn’t dancing. He was skating. Mentally, at least. You could see it in how his hands moved, how his body arched into something invisible beneath his sneakers. Controlled. Graceful. Quietly devastating.

You leaned on the railing and watched for a minute too long.

That’s when he noticed you. He froze, eyes wide, caught mid-step. Then, without a word, he grabbed his bag and bolted.

After that, you were curious.

Everyone whispered about him. How he was training for some championship. How he competed on the weekends. How he sometimes left early for Seoul.

But none of them really knew him.

So when you got paired with him for a history project two weeks later, you took it as fate.

“Hey,” you said, sliding into the seat beside him. “Guess we’re stuck together.”

He looked up from his notebook slowly, blinking like you were speaking a language he hadn’t heard in a while. “Oh. Uh. Yeah.”

You smiled. “You okay with working during free period?”

He nodded. “That’s fine.”

“I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“…Sunghoon.”

“I know,” you said. “I’ve seen you around.”

His cheeks flushed slightly at that, and you pretended not to notice the way he scratched behind his ear like he didn’t know what to say next.

You worked in the library that week. Or, tried to. He kept his head down, answered your questions, but never said more than needed. Until the third day.

You caught him scribbling in the margins of your shared outline.

Not notes—movements. Arrows, numbers. It looked like choreography.

“Is that for skating?” you asked, curious.

He froze. “What?”

“That,” you said, pointing. “That’s how you count music, right?”

He looked like a deer in headlights. “I didn’t mean to—sorry, I—sometimes I just—”

“Don’t apologize,” you said, smiling. “It’s cool. I didn’t realize how complicated it was.”

Sunghoon looked at you for a moment. Like he was trying to figure you out. Then, barely audible, he said:

“Do you know much about skating?”

You shook your head. “Just what I’ve seen in Olympics videos. You do it seriously though, right?”

He hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been doing it since I was five.”

You leaned in slightly. “So that’s where you vanish to every day after school.”

He gave a small laugh under his breath. “Yeah.”

It was the first time you saw his smile.

And something about it—how small, how soft, how unguarded it was—made you want to see it again.

You started noticing the little things.

How he always tapped his fingers in eights, even when he was distracted. How he scribbled rink layouts on napkins during lunch. How his duffel bag had a stitched snowflake patch peeling off the side, probably from a tournament or camp.

Sunghoon never bragged. Never brought it up first. But when he did talk about skating, just a little, it was the only time his voice didn’t trail off.

You’d catch glimpses of it when he thought you weren’t looking—a quiet, breathless kind of focus. Like the sport wasn’t just something he did. It was something he was.

And slowly, things shifted.

He started waiting for you outside class, even when you weren’t working on your project anymore. Started offering you sips from his thermos during study hall. He never said much about it, but he always sat close. His presence, quiet and steady, became familiar.

There was a moment—Tuesday after school, a week before finals—where you caught him watching you laugh with your friends. You turned and met his eyes across the hallway.

Instead of looking away, he held your gaze. Just a second too long.

You smiled.

He didn’t smile back, but his ears went pink, and that was something.

Then, on Friday, he handed you a folded note without looking up.

“If you’re free this weekend… come watch. 7pm. Ice Center.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

You read it twice. Your heart thudded once, loud.

When you looked up, Sunghoon was already walking away.

The rink was colder than you expected. The kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and nipped at your ankles. You pulled your coat tighter and stepped into the near-empty stands.

He didn’t know you were there yet.

He was already on the ice, alone, warming up with small circles and glides. His black jacket hugged his frame. Every movement looked sharp and rehearsed—but relaxed, too. Like his body remembered it all.

You leaned forward, chin tucked into your scarf, and watched as the music started.

And just like that, he changed.

Park Sunghoon on the ice wasn’t shy. He wasn’t quiet. He was in it—every step fluid, every jump catching the light. His expression was focused, serious, but not cold.

He looked like someone chasing something he loved.

You forgot to breathe more than once.

When the music faded out and his skates slowed, you clapped softly, just once, from your seat in the back.

His head snapped up.

He spotted you instantly.

And the look on his face—stunned, open, soft—was worth everything.

He skated to the edge, still catching his breath. “You came.”

You grinned. “I didn’t think you could move like that.”

He flushed. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” you said. “You’re kind of amazing.”

He blinked. The compliment seemed to catch him off guard. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

There was a beat of silence. The air between you felt warm, even with the cold.

Then he said, almost shyly, “I skate better when I know you’re watching.”

Your heart fluttered.

You stepped closer to the barrier. “Then get used to me being around.”

He smiled again—that rare, unguarded one. The one that made your stomach flip.

“I’d like that.”

You started going to the rink more often after that.

He never asked you to—not directly—but his eyes always lit up when you showed. He’d skate cleaner, land sharper. And when he stumbled (rarely), he’d glance at you sheepishly like your opinion mattered more than the coach’s.

You started doing your homework in the bleachers.

He’d bring you hot chocolate from the vending machine.

When he wasn’t practicing, he’d sit beside you in the cold, sharing one headphone, shoulder-to-shoulder, pretending you weren’t both trembling just a little.

You got used to the silence between you. It was never awkward. It was Sunghoon’s kind—soft, grounding. It felt like snow just beginning to fall. Still. Meaningful.

He told you about Nationals in January. How it was his last year as a junior skater. How everything rested on this one performance.

“I have to land the quad axel this time,” he said, eyes fixed on the empty rink.

“Have you landed it before?”

He hesitated. “Twice. But never under pressure.”

You nudged his arm. “You’ll do it.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Then, quietly, “It’s easier to believe that when you’re around.”

Your heart stuttered.

You didn’t know what to say. So instead, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

He froze.

But only for a second.

Then, carefully, like he’d been waiting for this moment, he let his head tip to yours.

Neither of you said anything else that night.

The shift was subtle after that.

More eye contact. More touches that lingered. Sunghoon would walk you to your bus stop now, even when it meant taking the long way home. His friends started teasing him, calling you his “good luck charm,” but he never corrected them.

And sometimes, when the world went quiet and you caught him looking at you—really looking—you swore he was about to say something more.

But he never did.

Until the night before he left for the championship.

You met behind the school, by the courtyard. The same spot where you first saw him “skating” in sneakers.

He was in his warm-up jacket, holding a paper cup of hot chocolate for you both.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip. “You’re gonna do great tomorrow.”

He looked at you, something unreadable in his gaze. “I don’t know if I am.”

You frowned. “Don’t say that.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not the jumps or the pressure. It’s just… sometimes I get scared. That it’s all I am.”

You blinked. “Sunghoon—”

“That if I lose… I lose more than just points.”

You stepped closer. “You’re not just skating. You’re you. And that’s— that’s already enough.”

His eyes searched yours, like he wanted to say something else. His hand brushed against yours—barely touching, barely there.

“I—”

You waited.

He opened his mouth.

But the words didn’t come.

Instead, he whispered, “Will you be there?”

Your heart ached. “Of course.”

His breath hitched. “Okay.”

You both stood in the quiet.

The moonlight caught the edge of his profile, and you thought, for one fragile second, that he might kiss you.

But he didn’t.

He just held your gaze like it meant everything.

And somehow, that was enough.

The championship was louder than anything you were used to.

Banners waving, announcers echoing through the arena, photographers perched like vultures near the rink. You sat where he asked—Lane 4, back row—hands buried in your coat pockets, heart thumping like you were the one about to compete.

You spotted him at the edge of the rink, head down, hands flexing in his gloves. His coach was saying something, but he looked elsewhere. Searching.

Then his eyes found you.

You raised a hand. He didn’t smile.

But he nodded.

And then he stepped onto the ice.

The music started. A quiet, haunting piano. Nothing flashy. Nothing loud. Just like him. He opened with a clean triple toe loop. Easy. His blades whispered against the ice like secrets only he could tell.

He was breathtaking.

You didn’t blink. Not even once.

And then—the quad axel.

The leap was there. Height, rotation. The landing—too tight.

He stumbled.

Not enough to fall, but enough to break rhythm. You felt the arena inhale. A collective wince.

You didn’t look away.

And neither did he.

He straightened, adjusted, took off again. And the rest of the routine? Perfect. Controlled. Elegant. The kind of skating that made you forget where you were.

When he hit his final pose, chest rising and falling, you clapped until your palms stung.

He didn’t win.

He placed third.

But when he stepped off the ice, jacket slung over one shoulder, medal tucked into his palm, you could see it—the disappointment in his eyes. Quiet. Heavy.

You waited near the exit. When he finally reached you, still breathless from the press and the coaches and the chaos, you asked, “Can I hug you?”

He nodded.

You did. Tight. All in.

“I’m proud of you,” you whispered.

His voice cracked. “I messed up.”

“You didn’t,” you said. “You got back up. That’s what matters.”

He pulled back, eyes shining. “I saw you. During the skate. I looked for you.”

“I was always here.”

You didn’t think. You just reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead, gently.

And he—he leaned in.

No hesitation this time.

His lips were cold, a little chapped. But the kiss was soft. Careful. Like he was still afraid to break something between you.

You didn’t let him.

You kissed back. Steady. Certain. And felt the tension melt from his shoulders.

When you pulled away, he stared at you, dazed.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, voice barely audible.

You smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

A pause.

“Does this mean I’m officially your good luck charm now?”

Sunghoon laughed, a real one, full and bright. “You always were.”

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Jealous (John Walker)

Description: Bucky makes a comment about Y/N’s dress and John gets jealous

Word Count: 862

Bucky didn’t mean anything by it, well that’s what Y/N thinks. John knows that Bucky’s words came straight from his dick. It wasn’t a new thing, Y/N being hit on by guys but Bucky seemed to like doing it for one reason only…to piss off John. It works, every single time and this time was the last straw. “That dress fits you well.” Bucky says to her. The dress did fit her well and that’s why she wore it. It made her look good, really good. It was a celebration like any other after a mission gone well. Drinks, great food, music, the whole shabang.

Bucky said it as he walked by her, John standing next to her. If John had his shield on him, he’d probably use it but thankfully he didn’t. His eyes followed Bucky as he walked by them, glaring at the man like he had just killed someone. “John?” Y/N asked, concerned as to why her husband was glaring. He looked over at her, no longer glaring. “Did you hear him?” He said it right to her, of course she heard him. “Yes.” She said, “Why?” He looked at her like what she just asked was the dumbest question, “He just hit on you. For the billionth time.” She rolled her eyes, “Here we go.” She mumbled but he heard her.

“Here we go, what?” She sighed and turned to him, “John, he just said the dress fits me well and walked past. If he was hitting on me I don’t think he’d walk away.” She said, These were the moments that John thought she was very oblivious and stupid, though he never said it to her. “Why are you making excuses for him? That’s never okay to say to another man’s wife.” John yelled, luckily the music was loud enough that nobody else was paying attention.

“John, you’re being ridiculous. Let’s enjoy the party.” She yelled back and went to grab him but he shook his head and walked away. She sighed and Yelena came up to her, “What’s his problem?” She asked and handed Y/N a glass of champagne. She took it and thanked her, “Thanks! Well needed.” She said and nearly downed the drink.

“He’s jealous of Bucky.” She tells Yelena who was trying not to laugh. “Jealous? But you married him for some reason.” Yelena jokes, causing Y/N to scoff. “Yeah well he thinks Bucky is always hitting on me.” Y/N shook her head at the ridiculous thought. “He’ll get over it and realize that he has a hot wife.” Yelena said and Y/N laughed. John never did stay mad for long at these things. 

Y/N had a few glasses but was still sober as she stepped into her shared room with John. The party was still going on but Y/N hadn’t seen her husband in a few hours and got worried, “John?” Y/N called as she entered. John wasn’t there and Y/N sighed, “So he’s really mad?” She asked herself and took off her heels. She put them in her closet and went to find her husband. John was in the training room, punching a bag. Y/N always thought it was hot seeing him do that, all his little grunts as he punched.

“You done yet?” She asked him, causing him to stop. He didn’t even realize she was there, “You done with Bucky?” He asked, she groaned and threw her head back, “Oh god.” She wanted to kill him right now. “John, I can assure you that I don’t like Bucky like that.” She told him and he scoffed. “You did in the beginning.” He mumbled. She walked over to him, “What?” She asked. He looked at her, “You were all over him in the beginning.” He said and she nearly laughed, “I was not.” “Yeah you were and never even looked at me.” Her face softened a little at his words, she grabbed his hand.

“I was a huge fan of Bucky’s sure. But I don’t love him like that, not like I love you.” She held up her hand showing off her ring, “Does this ring not mean anything to you? Just think I wear it because I like jewelry?” She asked, causing him to laugh. “Bucky is not gonna take me from you.” She said and took his other hand, “No matter how many comments he makes about me.” John looked down for a second, thinking about how ridiculous he was being.

Bucky was probably doing it just to get under his skin and it was working. “Also how do you know I wasn’t looking at you?” She asked and he looked up at her, “Cuz I was always looking at you. I couldn’t believe how beautiful you were.” She smiled and pulled him to get, his arms going around her. She leaned up to kiss him but before she did, “Bucky’s room is right next to ours, right?” She asked. “Yeah, why?” He asked, confused. She smirked and ran her lips against his, “So we should go back to our room and you should make me scream your name so loud he hears.” She mumbles before kissing him.

[vyzoi]

MDNI

Character is aged up!

Warnings: smut, loss of virginity, breeding, fem reader, soft sex, gentle sex

==================================

You and Kaiser are in his bed passionately deep kissing each other. He slips his tongue in your mouth gently. You couldn’t help make a soft moan. He breaks away from the kiss. “Do you want more?” You look at him with love in your eyes. “I want more.”

“Do you want to have sex? I know it’s your first time, so no pressure.” You kiss his lips. “I want you, make love to me.” He smiles. “I’ll be good to you, I promise.” He gets off the bed and starts to take his clothes off. You’re already a blushing mess because he’s shirtless. You turn your face away from him.

You turn your head back to him at the wrong time. He’s taking his boxers off. “Enjoying the show?” He smirks. You really couldn’t take your eyes off of him. “You could say that.” He starts to rub himself off to get a little harder. He moans softly. It was like music to your ears. “Look who’s getting turned on over my moans.” When he got hard enough, he went back on the bed.

“Kaiser, can you take my clothes off for me?” He smiles. “This is your first time, I’m going to do whatever you want to do.” You sit up and remove the sheets off of you. Kaiser moves closer and takes your shirt off. “You’re so beautiful, really.” He starts kissing you passionately again. While doing so, he removes your bra. “Just thought you might wanted a little distraction.”

He goes back to kissing your lips. You fall back on the pillow and your hands are tangled in his hair. He sits up and looks at you. “You’re already a beautiful mess and we haven’t even started.” He moves his hands down to your thighs. “I don’t think there’s a distraction I could give you for this. You can look away though.” He slowly removes your pants. You have your eyes closed and your head turned away from him.

Once again, you look at him with bad timing. He’s slowly slipping your panties off of you. “You’re a curious little thing aren’t you?” He glides his fingers over your clit. “Haaa..” he smirks. “Are you sensitive?” You nodded your head yes. “It’s okay, let me get you a little more wet for me.”

He leans back down on top of you. You move your head up to face him. “Don’t even think about looking down there. It’s intense, even though I’m not in you yet. But if you’re very curious, go on ahead.” You couldn’t help but look down where his cock is against your pussy. He was right, it is enough to get you nervous.

“I don’t think it’ll fit.” You looked away. He kisses your neck softly. “It’s going to be okay, it’ll fit, it just takes time to get adjusted to the size.” He continues to kiss your neck. He doesn’t leave marks on it, he’s just softly kissing you. “Kaiser… haaa. Feels good.” He smirks. “I think I found your sweet spot.” He continues to kiss in that same place. “Kaiser, please, keep going.” He starts to slowly grind against you as he kisses your neck.”

You moan. “Kaiser. Oh Kaiser, haaa…” he stops kissing you and looks in your eyes. “Do you want me to make actual love to you now?” You start to match his grinding. “Yeah, please.” He kisses your forehead. He sits up and holds your thighs. “Do you want to watch me insert myself in? Or do you want to lay back and bury your face in the pillow?”

Curiosity is getting the better of you. “I’ll watch you insert yourself in me.” He kisses your cheek. “Okay, but if it gets too much, you can look away.” You sat up with him. “Kaiser, you’re so big.” He smirks. “Watch what you say, you don’t want to fulfill my ego right now. But thank you.” He gently holds your head as you look down. He guides his cock into your pussy with his other hand. Gently and slowly. “Feels, weird.” He lays you back down. “Let me know when you want me to move.”

You wait for a moment until you feel adjusted to him. You start gripping onto his cock. “There you go, you’re making me feel good.” He kisses your lips slowly. You start to moan a little bit. “I.. think I’m ready.” He gives you one last kiss on the lips. He buries his head in your neck and starts slowly thrusting. “If it gets to be too much, let me know.”

You couldn’t help but squirm in pleasure. “Yeah? Feel good? You don’t need to answer that. I know you feel good.” You moan loudly after that. “I love you, Kaiser!” He starts thrusting deeper but it’s still slow. “I love you too, darling. You feel so good.”

You grip his cock one more time. “Can I breed you? Can I cum inside that pretty hole of yours?”You took a breath. “Please, please do. It feels too good not to pull out.” He kisses your lips deeply and he cums inside of you. You have an orgasm shortly after that. “Kaiser! You feel so good! I love you!” You start to tear up.

He starts to tear up too. “I love you so much, that was the most emotional sex I’ve ever had.” He sits up and gently pulls out of you. “Not used to being empty now…” he smiles. “We’ll have another round if you want to later. For now, let’s take a shower and do some aftercare.”

==================================

You guys don’t know how many irl interruptions I had while making this. I had the worst luck today.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this!!

Credit: @mihyas-dieehefrau for giving me the idea to write soft Kaiser smut. I write him too harshly in my other smut fics

[sugardollcurse]

your writing style is so addicting istg, could you please do a fic where john eats out reader and he’s amazing at it and reader is just totally blissed out by the end of it like she can’t even make out words and john’s all proud he did that <3

𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒆

꒰ pairing ꒱ john lennon x fem! reader

꒰ contains ꒱ nsfw!! minors dni!, overstimulation

꒰ summary ꒱ john’s got a mouth made for more than music, and he’s determined to leave you too blissed-out to speak.

꒰ note ꒱ thank you sweetpea!!! ♡ i hope you enjoy this mwah mwah mwah

The thing about John was: he was lazy until he wasn’t. And when he wasn’t? He was obsessed. Focused to the point of madness, single-minded like he had blinkers on, like the rest of the world fell away and it was just you, and whatever you were doing, and how well he could do it. Music. Writing. Arguing. Touching. Tasting.

Especially that.

You were stretched across the hotel mattress in the soft lamplight, legs bare and bent slightly at the knee, still flushed from laughing at something stupid he’d said earlier. The sound of the telly buzzed soft and forgotten from the far corner, casting slow-moving shadows. He hadn’t touched you yet, not properly, not like that, but the air felt like warm syrup anyway. Heavy with waiting. The way he looked at you was doing most of the work already.

“I don’t think you know what you do to me when you look like that, love,” he murmured, elbow on the bed beside you, cheek resting in his palm. His eyes traced the line of your hip lazily, like his fingers might soon follow. “Lyin’ there, all sweet.”

You laughed softly, turning your head toward him. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly.” He smirked, a slow little curl of his lips, as if the simplicity of it, your stillness, your comfort, was driving him a bit mad. “Just breathin’. That’s all it takes. Wicked thing you are.”

John’s voice dipped when he wanted something. He went quieter, lower, smoother. All velvet with a bite underneath. He always had a habit of circling what he really meant before lunging for it with teeth bared.

Your skin prickled under his gaze. He leaned in, brushed his fingers across your stomach, so gently it was more suggestion than touch. The pads of his fingers traced slow circles, aimless, ticklish, reverent. He watched them move. Watched you.

His mouth twitched again, tiny grin, knowing.

“Lift up for me, yeah?” he whispered.

You did, barely thinking. He slid your nightshirt up, up, over your ribs, kissing each inch of skin he revealed, then tugged your panties down over your thighs with almost aggravating slowness. They caught for a second on the bend of your knees, and he chuckled like it was your body trying to stay clothed. Like it was shy.

“You’re so fuckin’ soft,” he said under his breath, kissing the inside of your thigh now. His words sounded accidental, like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud. “You don’t even know how perfect you are.”

And then he looked up.

There it was again, that shift. From playful to hungry. Something darker behind his eyes now, even though his voice stayed soft.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day.”

You could feel your heart fluttering in your throat. It didn’t feel real, the way he touched you, so slow and attentive, no hurry, no need to show off. Just the quiet certainty that he wanted to taste you, worship you, and do it right.

He kissed higher.

He was teasing. You knew it. You were soaked already, the way his breath barely touched you, the way he licked a stripe just shy of where you wanted him, lips brushing your outer thigh as he hummed. Content. Greedy.

“You smell fuckin’ divine,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Like sugar and sex.”

Your breath hitched.

He chuckled, deep in his chest. “C’mon now, don’t go quiet on me. You like hearin’ that, don’t you? Bein’ told how good you smell, how bad I want to eat you up.”

“John,” you gasped, cheeks hot.

“Mm,” he said, nose pressing in like he was inhaling you. “That’s it. Say my name again.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Warm. Open. Slow.

He started with the lightest lick, the flat of his tongue pressing upward before trailing down with a languid drag, groaning softly into your cunt like it was his pleasure, not yours. Like he was the one unraveling. His hands came up to your hips, holding you gently but firmly in place, thumbs brushing tiny circles into your skin. You felt the heat of him between your thighs, the scruff of his jaw teasing, that wet slick glide of his tongue moving with perfect control.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, lips still against you.

And then he did it again, slower this time, more deliberate, flicking the tip of his tongue lightly against your clit before sucking it into his mouth, lips closing like a kiss. It was electric. You arched instinctively, and he held you steady, smiling into you. His hands tightened slightly, just enough to say stay still, darling, without words.

He didn't say anything. He devoured.

Every movement of his tongue was patient, tender but filthy, slick and confident. He kept you right there on the edge, never giving it all at once, just circling, drawing patterns, licking up every drop of wetness like it was ambrosia. He’d pause now and then to kiss your inner thighs like they deserved as much attention, like he couldn’t get enough of any part of you.

You were gasping, trembling, your hands fisted in the sheets. The sound of him, slow, wet, reverent, was driving you absolutely feral.

“Feel good?” he asked suddenly, voice hoarse, lips shiny, eyes blown wide as he glanced up.

You whimpered something that might’ve been yes, maybe just a moan.

John grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Then he went back to it. Deeper. Filthier.

He buried his tongue inside you like he was trying to fill you, then dragged it up to flick your clit, then circled it again, rhythm smooth as a metronome. And all the while, he hummed low and content, like he was tasting a favorite song, something slow and heavy that melted under his tongue.

You couldn’t keep still.

Your thighs trembled, hips rising in tiny jerks no matter how he held you. He didn’t mind. He liked it, you could tell. The way his hands moved up, fingers spreading wide across your belly, pressing you down just slightly so he could tongue you deeper.

“Good girl,” he murmured between licks. “That’s right, love. Let me have you.”

You felt like you were floating. Like your skin had turned to mist and all that remained was nerve endings. Heat. Pulse. Tongue.

The orgasm crept up like a drug, hazy, creeping, then overwhelming all at once. Your mouth opened but no sound came out. Only panting. Only half-formed vowels. Your legs clenched around his shoulders and he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. He wanted it. He wanted the whole thing.

Your climax hit so hard you forgot language.

You came against his mouth, thighs locked, hands clawing at the pillow, your voice barely a breath of his name as he drank you down like he was starving. He didn’t let go. He kept licking, kissing you through it, letting you shake and sob against his lips, the overstimulation maddening but good, unbearably good, like you were being hollowed out just to be filled again.

And still, he didn’t stop.

Not for a long time.

By the time he slowed, your chest was heaving and your eyes were unfocused. You tried to say something, John, maybe, or Jesus Christ, or stop, I’m gonna die, but it all came out as wet nonsense, your lips too numb to form words.

He finally pulled back with a soft kiss to your mound, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked up.

Smirking. Soft and smug. So fucking proud.

“God, look at you,” he whispered, crawling up your body, trailing kisses all the way. “Absolutely ruined. You alright, sweetheart?”

You blinked up at him, dazed, and made a little noise.

He chuckled. “Didn’t get a bloody word of that. You wrecked, love?”

You managed a blink. Breathless.

He kissed your cheek, your forehead, your temple. “That’s my girl.”

Then he pulled you into his chest, curled up with you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched, and stroked your back until your breathing slowed. You didn’t know how long you lay there. You didn’t care. He held you like it was religion. Like he’d earned it. Like he knew he’d done something unforgettable.

Because he had.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee

[interclover]

YAHHH THEY'RE FINALLY HERE!! My gijinkas for the BFDIA final 7 :D I've been working on them since december, hence why nickel is there xD I'm so proud of how they've turned out

More yapping about my designs under the cut!!

BOOK:

I wanted her to clash with Pencil's design (which, originally, was going to be here, but once she got eliminated I decided to erase it LOL it also didn't help the fact that she's one of my least favourite characters) (but you can picture your typical white mean girl). She's awkward and typically reserved, in contrast with Pencil, Match, Ruby and Bubble's extroversion. I think I made a good job at expressing that.

Plus, her fashion sense is more old-fashioned and formal, since I associate libraries and books with the past (it's also a nice contrast to the rest of freesmart, who dabble in 2000s (sub)cultures, with Pencil and Match fitting into the popular girl stereotype and Ruby being scene (in my hcs)).

Her blazer is a nod to those book covers!!

Square shapes everywhere

This is a bit of me projecting, but I also didn't want to make her too feminine :p not only bc she's not perceived as "pretty" enough to be a full-on member of Freesmart, but also because I'm enby and Book is enby because I kin her. Sorry/j.

NEEDLE:

South-korean needle realness

She's BUFF. I wanted her to keep an overall needle-like body shape, while still being stacked. This is the first time I studied muscle references, and it paid off.

We can see her running around and doing risky things a lot in the show, so I think she got some bruises from that.

Also, I wanted to give her an outfit that was as practical as possible while still being fashionable. I still have my doubts about the boob window, but I believe it turned out alright! Pencil would obviously pick someone pretty with a good sense of fashion.

Lots of needle motifs (bangs, earring, body shape, hairstyle)

PIN:

She's sharp and pointy! Hence the piercings

She has lots of freckles in her body, covered at all times by her jacket and tights.

In my hcs, instead of losing their limbs, contestants lose their mobility in said areas. Mainly because I didn't know how to potray when they regained them. The batteries in Pin's wheelchair fuel her arms as well, and they're connected by wires (which. i just realised. I forgot. well.), able to transmit electricity without harming her to the metal armor she wields. Think of it as a mecha suit!!

Matching necklaces with Coiny #coinpincanon

I wanted her to have an intimidating outfit as well, mostly reflecting how, outside her harsh exterior, she's trying to become a better person.

COINY:

Probably the gijinka that went through the most redesigns. I had to look up inspiration for this one, since every Coiny gijinka I drew left me severely unsatisfied: they either looked too much like other people's gijinkas or to the rest of the male cast. In the end, I'm really happy about his design! I managed to stray away from my other designs while still retaining his personality.

Again, matching necklaces with pin :3

The bandana is meant to reflect a coin's glow. This is one of my favourite details and I didn't even realise it until I got to shading.

He's latino!! I still have to think about most of my designs' nacionalities, but he's latino for sure.

Round body shape and many coin motifs :3 I hc him to be alternative. Even though that doesn't entirely come across in his design, he made his accessories himself (diy king) and he enjoys nu-metal music.

NICKEL:

He was the first one to be drawn, I hope you can't realise that 😭 my style changed so much what

He's, overall, just a silly guy! A goober. Full of whimsy and joy

Since I hc II Nickel and BFDI Nickel as relatives (still unsure of making them twins or cousins), and I had designed my II Nickel WAYYY before I began this, I knew I had to give them a similar build. In comparison to his II counterpart, BFDI Nickel is a bit more chubbier, with more round shapes to represent his happy-go-lucky personality.

He has prosthetic arms!! I settled on giving every metallic or scientist armless character a pair of prosthetics :p it seemed cool ok.

He'd have some freckles, too, as well as beauty spots :3

I'm going to be fully honest, I gave him that outfit because I have the same shirt and I thought he'd like baggy pants JSHDKJH he got the favourite treatment.

TENNIS BALL:

Not much to say here, his design is pretty straightforward. Fluffy hair because tennis balls are fluffy, plus sized and tall because tennis balls are big. Yeah

He'd put his hair up in difficult challenges or when he's researching/studying/inventing something, though.

The suspenders came to me in a vision (that one Matt Bellamy outfit)

Golf ball pin!! #duo

FRIES:

Underpaid fast-food employee, who got tired of so much bullshit and decided to become an unstoppable menace.

He's afro-american :p

The turtleneck also came to me in a vision (I hate jimbalaya mouthwashing. However, it fits Fries nicely).

And that's all! Massive thank you if you decided to read all of this :D I appreciate it a lot!!/gen

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 hype food queue rookanis enjoy 🪶

"Lucanis."

"Hmm?" He barely looks up from his book.

Not until Rook brushes her hand over his arm. He follows the direction in which she nods her head, so slightly it may well be a draft in her hair instead.

It stings in his heart like lightning, knowing how well they know each other, so well they can communicate without even moving a muscle.

Around the corner of the building walks a bard Lucanis knows the face of. The musical sphere of Treviso is rather small, after all.

"They hired a bard. For outside. For the queue."

"Need to keep the crowds entertained somehow." Lucanis leans back against the wall. They're lucky they're in a spot in the queue where they're shielded from the sun steadily approaching its apex. "Not everyone came prepared."

Rook grumbles.

"Should've hired for somebody to bring snacks, too."

"I imagine the owners think that if the food's so good that people are willing to line up from sunrise just to catch lunch, they'll also be willing to be hungry for that time."

"Hungry, yeah, but I'm starving."

Her face lights up and she rises from her squat when he presents her with a bun leftover from last night's dinner, reminds him of a child at wintersend.

"I know," he says, and opens his book again.

-

By the time his book is finished and wandering back into his bag, the sun has travelled past its highest position.

The bard is starting their selection of songs over again for the third time.

"Do you recommend the book?" Rook asks. She's leaning next to him against the wall, her weight off her leg.

"It's alright." He shifts his hips, only slightly, presenting her with his bag for her to rifle through herself. "It's about this lost king of a doomed empire, only that king knows full well he's the king and that the empire is doomed without him. He just prefers to wander around the lands with his friends."

"I can relate to that." She digs her heel into the cobblestone beneath them and her shoulders into the brick behind them. "I'd rather be lost with you than doing politics, too." The book gets dropped into the depths of his bag once more before it has even seen the light again.

A sigh, then, as the queue moves and they shuffle a half a step ahead.

"Didn't we get here within, what, two hours of waking up? And we woke up pretty early, too."

"Three hours." Rook frowns at him. "We did wake up.. busy."

He's not normally one for public affection, still feels too clumsy and inexperienced to justify it, feels that their feelings for each other don't need displaying for all the world to see.

Her rare flush, her shy smile, the pull of her presence beside his, however, makes him easily turn to her, offer his hands for her to fidget with. Makes him not even attempt to balance his weight with hands against the wall when she pulls his face down to hers.

"You're upset." His mind reels, how he can tell just from the way she squeezes his fingers.

"Yeah. Not with you, though." She leans her head back against the wall, just far enough for them to not have to cross their eyes to look at each other. "Never with you."

"Talk to me."

"Oh, I don't know. We skipped breakfast for this. I know, I know - my idea, and you did ask if I was sure about skipping breakfast. But.. I don't think waiting this long for food seems right. The food cannot be that good." Dejected, suddenly, her eyes seemingly turning downward at the edges. Her hair falls over her shoulder.

"What if it's nasty?"

"We can still go back home. I'll whip up a quick picnic in the yard."

"You're such a homebody, Lucanis!" There's no accusation, no teasing, not even any seriousness in her reply. The tension in her jaw softens, just a little, the corners of her mouth only just not curling upward.

"Not really," he says. "But if you've already half a mind to just not eat here, why continue to queue up forever when we know I can make better food at home?"

We want to see the fuss. It's a steak. Only so many ways to cook a dead animal. So many ways to mess up. You're just making another argument to go home, Spite. You'd think we've both had our share of meat poisoning. Rook hasn't! Rook doesn't need to experience that. You don't know that! We both know she'd rather have smoked fish and potatoes than puking up her lunch in some alleyway.

"Sometimes I wish I could hear Spite directly, like Emmrich can." Me too!

The way she can tell their conversation without being part of it. It's almost like hearing it directly. Or maybe she's just this good at reading expressions. Or he this bad at hiding them. Maybe all three at the same time.

"He wants to try the food here. Even if it might have gone bad. Even if there's plenty of food at home. Barely even needs warming up."

"You know, I respect that. I'm way too lazy for all that."

"Well," Lucanis starts. He pulls her along as he walks backwards, away from the queue, the tavern, the shade of the wall. Out into the sun, to solitude, to their home.

"You have me, don't you?"

"I do."

🪶

no excuse for this lmao. i was queueing up for a concert and i got bored.

[~rina]

[ohbuckysmetalarm]

Thunderbolts* Headcanons

Finally back with some content! Thunderbolts* has me hyped for Marvel and really got my creativity flowing for some fics. I’m hoping to be more active now, but my schedule is pretty busy this summer with writing and directing short films, but I will make time for fics because I enjoy writing them!! :)

If you have not watched Thunderbolts* then do not read because it does contain big spoilers for the film. Bonus: three angsty headcanons under the “💔💔💔”.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption/getting drunk, Angst, SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*.

Word count: 587

- In the beginning Bucky would (attempt) to cook for the team, but he was so bad that John and Yelena took over.

- Bucky found a cat (Alpine) and brought her to the compound. He told the team it’s to keep Bob company while they’re on missions, but he loves her.

- Follow up on that: once Bucky finds out how to use his phone camera (Yelena and Ava taught him) he takes at least ten photos of Alpine everyday.

- Alexei tells stories a lot and the team listens even though they’re usually complete lies (Bob believes them).

- Bucky and Yelena split leadership 50/50. Unless one of them is having a really bad day, then the other takes over (they usually don’t even have to say anything, the other just knows when the other needs to step back).

- Yelena and Ava definitely tease John a lot, especially about the beret.

- Bucky takes the team to his favourite spots in New York City when they have free time.

- Bob, Yelena and Bucky are the ones who have the most trouble sleeping and when they can’t they stay up late and play board games together.

- Ava and Yelena are the ones who convinced Bucky to start styling his hair.

- John is the one to keep everyone perfectly on schedule.

- Alexei texts in all caps and nobody corrects him.

- If Bob can’t sleep and everyone else is then he watches cartoons until he falls asleep (of course, he doesn’t admit that to anyone).

- John texts the group chat the most (usually memes).

- Bucky will tell really good jokes but uses the most serious tone, so the team doesn’t know if he’s actually joking.

- One time Ava accidentally scared everyone by walking out of the walls and now she does it all the time.

- Ava buys the best snacks.

- John and Ava argue during board games.

- Bob is scared of the dark because he’s afraid that The Void will take over again, Bucky is the first to notice and bought him way too many night lights the next day because he didn’t know which one to get.

- Alexei is usually the one to get the team to spend time together.

- Ava tries to have staring contests with Bucky, but always loses.

- Bob loves frappes. Bucky thinks they’re childish, so Bob makes him try one. Bucky loves them, but won’t admit it.

- Playing off of that, Yelena and Bucky stay up late to strategise before missions and Bucky gets them frappes. (“What? Bob loves them, so I thought you’d like them, too. Doesn’t mean I like them.”)

- Bucky makes sure everyone’s taken care of after missions. Yelena tries to push him away, but he won’t let her.

- Alexei secretly runs an Avengers fanpage.

- John definitely thinks he’s everyone’s favourite.

- Bucky plays 40s music throughout the Tower when it rains.

- Alexei lives for long, dramatic speeches. Sometimes he’ll convince Bucky to give a speech, but ends up taking over.

- John will randomly announce devastating news headlines he reads.

- Bucky calls TikTok “tic tac” and memes “mee-mees”. When someone corrects him he just looks at them and says “that’s what I said.”

💔💔💔

- Bucky is very protective over the whole team because he sees himself in all of them and he wants to make up for not being able to protect himself.

- Bob does the chores around the Tower so he doesn’t feel like a burden.

- Sometimes Yelena gets drunk after failed missions until she passes out and Bob sits with her to watch over her.

[evilweevil69]

Unmasked, Part I: The Club

CW: Later chapters will include nsfw, restraints, kinda whumpy, you get the jist. This chapter is pretty mellow though, besides mention of alcohol.

Flirty Villain/Flustered Hero. NB/NB.

Part II

-------------------------------

The flashes of neon lights, the smoky atmosphere, the mesh of warm bodies moving in rhythm, and the music so loud the vibrations disturbed Hero’s heartbeat was, and there was no better word, perfect. Hero moved their body to the beat and swung their head back with a smile, lost in the sea of the club’s crowd. Their week—no—their month, had been one of the most exhausting ones to date. Hero had spent countless nights catching up on paperwork for their corporate day job, only to be beckoned by Villain the moment they found the free time to sleep. Then, Hero was forced to fight. And Villain was merciless. In the past two weeks alone, Hero had obtained several horrible gashes across their arms and torso from being caught at the other end of Villain’s blade. It was impressive they had even managed to win such fights until now, but not without consequence. Embarrassingly enough, Hero had taken to locking themselves in the bathroom at work to rebandage the wounds hidden beneath their work attire. There just didn’t seem to be any time anymore. Except for now. 

Hero basked in the exhilarating whirlwind of sound and smoke, completely unknown, free of responsibility. They hadn’t even cared to hide their bandages. No one noticed them among the sea—and that was the point. They didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but at least they could lose themself, even if only for a few hours. 

Upon the DJ switching to a slower song, Hero trudged over to the bar and collapsed into a stool. They wiped the sweat from their brow with a satisfied smile. Unbeknownst to them, however, someone had been watching. 

“My my,” a smooth voice purred by Hero’s side. “You must have been really enjoying yourself out there.”

Hero turned to see a woman, their jawline just as sharp as their long nose. Their dark hair was neatly pulled back into a low bun, contrasting with their dark button-up, the sleeves rolled back revealing a sleeve of tattoos. Villain waited to see if Hero would recognize them. 

“Oh, yeah,” Hero panted. “I like to dance, but don’t get to indulge that often.”

Good, Villain thought, before leaning their chin in the palm of their hand. “You’re a natural.”

“Thank you.”

“So what brings you here?” Villain asked. “Long day?”

Hero scoffed. “More like a long week.”

Villain tsked, folding a leg over the other as they turned towards Hero. “How so?”

“Just…work,” Hero said. 

Villain’s eyes ran up Hero’s body, their gaze lingering on the exposed bandages covering the wounds they had caused. “What is it you do?”

“Oh, these?” Hero asked, their cheeks turning pink as they folded their arms. “I’m, uh, I—I work in manufacturing. We get injured sometimes. It’s no big deal.”

“Mm,” Villain said. “Well, then, next round is on me. It looks like you could use it.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay, really,” Hero said. “I’m pretty drunk already.”

Villain chuckled before raising their hand to catch the bartender’s attention. “Nonsense. You’re too pretty to be bandaged up the way you are. It’s the least I could do.”

Villain ordered Hero some sort of spritz, which Hero politely accepted. Villain prompted a few questions from Hero, excited to watch their attempts at lying. And Hero did not disappoint. Villain listened intently as Hero went on and on about their supposed “job.” As they spoke, Villain took in every inch they could of Hero’s face, uncovered from the usual mask. They were cuter than Villain had expected, with big, innocent brown eyes, short blonde curls and some piercings. It truly was a shame that Hero covered their face whenever they fought. 

For the past year, Villain had taken to flirting with Hero in the middle of their battles. They loved the way their teasing made Hero stutter, the way their words crawled under their skin and made it flush. “Honeypie” was the nickname Villain had taken to, which Hero absolutely despised. The urge to reach out, to touch Hero, was nothing short of tempting. 

“And what is it you do?” Hero finally asked Villain, eyes wide with attention. 

“Similarly to you, my field causes me to get injured a lot,” Villain began. 

“And that field is…?”

Villain smirked. “I don’t like to share my secrets.”

Hero giggled, causing Villain to feel a flicker in the pit of their stomach. They needed to accomplish what they came here to do. They were almost desperate for it, desperate to have Hero where they wanted them. 

“Fine,” Hero finally said. “Then tell me something else about yourself I am allowed to know.”

Villain cocked their head to the side. “And what if you’re not ready to hear it?”

“Oh, please,” Hero snapped back playfully. “Try me.”

“Alright then,” Villain said, standing up. Then, without warning, they hooked a finger through Hero’s belt loop and pulled them forward. Hero stumbled off of the stool just as Villain pulled them close to their body, their hands jumping to grab Hero’s waist before leaning in to whisper into their ear. “I also like to dance.” 

Satisfaction swelled inside Villain as they got the reaction they was looking for. Hero’s face immediately flushed, red spreading across their cheeks to the tips of their ears. 

“I, um, sorry, I—,” Hero stuttered, their heart immediately jumping into their throat. 

Villain grabbed Hero’s unsure hands and placed them on their shoulders before returning hers to Hero’s waist. “That’s where those go, darling.”

“Right, s-sorry,” Hero stammered. They suddenly became aware of their heart excitedly beating against their chest. 

Villain pulled Hero closer until their hips were touching and their faces were mere inches apart. Hero could smell Villain’s cologne, and only hoped they didn’t smell too sweaty in comparison. 

“Another thing about me is that I’m much better at tending to my wounds,” Villain said as they began to sway with the music, pulling Hero along with their to the center of the floor. They ripped their gaze from Hero’s eyes to look at a bandage around their forearm that had stained through. 

Hero blinked, aware of the warmth radiating from their face. “Y-yeah, I guess I get a little lazy sometimes. Work can get pretty demanding, y’know?”

Villain hummed. “You’re such a little hero.”

Before Hero could answer, Villain had taken their hand and spun them around. Soon, their bodies had meshed into one. The music pulsed between them as Villain’s hungry hands ran down Hero’s sides. Hero themself had found a spark of courage, enough to pull Villain closer as their hips rocked in tandem against each other. Hero’s heart pulsed against their chest as they tipped their head up to look into Villain’s icy blue eyes. Villain parted their lips. Hero shuddered as they felt a hand snake up to cup the back of their neck, pulling them closer. Hero tilted their head and closed their eyes. 

The kiss was soft. Tender. Though Hero quickly pulled away, they were already aching to feel the softness again. They parted their lips once more until Villain spoke. 

“How about…,” Villain whispered into Hero’s mouth, “we take a trip to the bathroom?”

Hero nodded, eyes still closed against the initiation of Villain’s breath. Their head spun as they were pulled off the floor, into the darkness of the corridor, and through the bathroom door. 

...

Part II

[herbertwest]

I've really been enjoying this one band, but it feels like they were manufactured in a lab

[starlingfawn]

send me back in time and i'll bring us back in line

[aroaceleovaldez]

i would like to say my ideal PJO adaptation (if i was being physically forced against my will to have to pick a live action adaptation over an animated one for some reason) would be a combo like writing of the musical + casting of the show + visuals of the movies

BUT the show actually does have the playwright for the musical as one of the major writers for like three episodes and that did nothing for it. so...

[anti-dazai-blog]

miniseries -- BSD Characters as Musicals

part 1 -- ADA part 2 -- PM part 3 -- Guild part 4 -- DOA + Hunting Dogs

*standard disclaimer that this isn't meant to be taken too seriously

[content warning for musicals that heavily feature. 1930s-40s Germany and sexual abuse? I guess? not even sure what to call some of these]

Part 5 -- 15 + Stormbringer original Characters

Rimbaud -- Moulin Rouge

why? -- the whole 'I love you. But I have a job to do.' that he's got going on with Verlaine.

Rimbaud 🤝 Satine: 'I love you, I would die for you, but you are actively doing something that will put us both in danger and you gotta stop this.'

---

Verlaine -- Epic

why? -- he really does live by the "ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves" mindset.

he's really out here killing everyone. just to be safe. just to make sure there's no one left alive who could mess up his epic plans of hanging out with his brother.

very intentional of me to choose the Ocean Saga cover for the image here

---

Albatross -- Starlight Express

why? -- it's trains. it's about trains racing. and he's the fast transportation guy.

---

Pianoman -- Beetlejuice

why? -- they.. they like to wear the same aesthetic.

I'm positive he owns a black and white striped suit. it's practically canon.

---

Lippmann-- Mean Girls

why? -- well I'm not calling my guy Regina George but he sure does know how to play politics. Mr PR man. Beautiful. Can destroy your life if he so wished.

---

Iceman -- A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder

why? -- he's known to kill with whatever's on hand or available. Doesn't even bring his own weapons to a murder. Very Monty Navarro of him.

Monty 🤝 Iceman: getting a bit creative with the murder methods

---

Murase -- Cabaret

why? -- similar to Clifford Bradshaw, when he was desperate for work, he took a job that ultimately lead to him doing something harmful (in his case, killing children)

and I'd like to think that similar to Clifford, if he had the chance to just. straight up beat up the government (or his brother) that had him doing this job, he would.

although he's still in contact with N, I'd like to think that if he were made aware of what was going on, he would choose violence.

[content warning before you go and listen to cabaret: if you're not familiar with Cabaret, this is fully about nazi germany. and although clifford (the male lead) does beat up a nazi, it ultimately doesn't end well for anyone. so. do with that what you will.]

---

N -- G*psy

why? -- it's the whole Making someone into something they're not. whether they like it or not. Molding someone into what you want them to be. Forcibly.

I was debating between N or Mori for this one, but Mori's more subtle than this.

The scene where Rose forces Louise to do the strip show really was just. blatant. The taking of someone's bodily autonomy through force for personal gain.

Both N and Rose use more manipulation tactics than physical force to strong-arm people. And both are convinced that they're not doing anything wrong. No matter how bad their actions are, they're convinced that they're working towards some greater goal.

and they both pretty much get away with it

(N dying doesn't count because from his pov he still succeeded in every way)

---

Dr. Mary Wollstonecraft -- Firebringer

why? -- we're back to the silly goofy musicals!! yeah it's just for the whole appreciation of innovation. hot take, Mary and Zazzalil would get along. in fact Mary would respect her. The inventor of fire and the inventor of sentient androids. they'd love that.

---

Adam -- Maybe Happy Ending

why? -- androids going against their programming by falling in love with each other? This would be his new 'watch on repeat' show

which he could do literally. as an android. he could attend the show once and record it with his internal cameras, and then watch it whenever he wants.

I recognize that he's a law enforcement officer of some sort and it's probably not encouraged for him to take illegal recordings, however. he does have free will. so let him do with that what he will.

---

Shirase -- Bad Cinderella

why? -- Thinks of himself as cool. Everyone around him finds him annoying.

I'm so sorry Shirase I love you but you're objectively an annoyance to everyone who puts up with you.

[kubb-is-a-swedish-lawn-game]

started listening to MCR. ouurgh

[deplcythebattery]

everyone: oh you're so lucky you get to stay home all the time!

me, chronically ill: ah. yeah. haha. lucky. i get to stay home. i don't get the fun parts of that though! i can't partake in my hobbies for more than an hour every two to three days :) i do get to watch a lot of tv though! oh you think that gets boring after a few hours? haha. yeah it fucking does. imagine that being the only thing you can do and then tell me how lucky i am