#not going into it but i thought i was done for now. but no

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: cockwarming, oviposition, breeding, mommy kink

Mother’s Day at the bee hybrid hive was… eventful.

The night before your special day, the hive was abuzz with activity. You had been in the hive for an entire year now and had already given birth to two clutches of eggs.

This meant you were a mother, and they had to celebrate all you had done for the hive and its future!

As you laid down with one of your attendants cocks inside of you as the others huddled up in your bed, the rest of your hive prepared for the upcoming day.

You awoke on your own. That was unusual, most days your attendants woke you up with their tongues playing with your cunt.

When you glanced out the window, you realized it was much later than you thought. The sun was in the sky, meaning you overslept!

Where was everyone, and why hadn’t they woken you up as per usual?

Before you could hurry out of bed, the door opened to the cutest sight you had ever seen. Your first clutch of baby bees toddled in, wearing little aprons as they walked carefully towards you.

In their fluffy hands were trays of food and your breakfast tea. They seemed absolutely determined to bring you breakfast in bed!

“Mama, happy mama day!”

Your eyes lit up with adoration as they held out the tray to you. The baby bees climbed into bed, burying their fluffy faces into your body and letting out little purrs and buzzes as you ate.

You spent most of the morning in bed, resting with your sweet babies. They took turns reading you out of their story books and patting you, trying to imitate the way you took care of them.

“Mama, comfy?” one asked, crawling up onto you and letting you bury your face into his fluffy chest. You blew raspberries there, making him giggle and squeal as he kicked his little legs.

“Very comfy, thank you. I’ve raised such sweet boys…”

You napped for a bit, and when you woke up your babies were gone. Before you could panic, you were soothed by the bee hybrids crawling into bed with you.

“Don’t worry, my queen. They’re all safe in the nursery,” one said, nibbling at your neck.

“It’s Mother’s Day, so we’re going to make you a mama all over again!”

The bee hybrids only barely understood the meaning of Mother’s Day. They knew it was a time to appreciate and spoil mothers, but also thought you needed to be bred and fucked.

You had no qualms with that.

Your legs were pried open gently, two bee hybrids taking turns devouring your sweet pussy. Another kissed you, his long tongue swirling around yours as his antennae tickled you.

“Mama…” they muttered, pussy drunk. Of course, on Mother’s Day your bee hybrid lovers would be horny and kinky.

A pair of lips latched onto your nipple while one of them began to fuck into you. Soft moans and whimpers filled the air along the smell of sex.

“M-mama, lemme fill you with eggs…”

You bit your lip, feeling your womb stretch and struggle to fit eggs from each bee hybrid. They were in a frenzy, humping you desperately to make sure they got to impregnate you as well.

In the evening, you relaxed on the couch, a hand over your swollen belly. Now, you had some alone time, and planned on catching up on that show you wanted to watch.

Mother’s Day may have been eventful, but it was clear they all loved you in their own ways. Even though they all yearned to always have your attention on them, the bee hybrids gave you the night to yourself.

Tomorrow you’d be the queen of the hive, but tonight you were a tired mother that needed some beauty rest.

———————

Note: baby bee sticker sheets available in my kofi shop, check my pinned post ^^

I have more bee hybrid fics on my Patreon and Kofi, including smut and fluff!

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight

[thestuffedalligator]

The thing was a mound of flesh and mottled skin, as big as a barn and the shape of a pumpkin. Four tentacles as thick as trees hung limp at its sides; teeth ringed the gaping mouth at the top of its head like a crown.

A huge, sad whale eye the colour of wine stared at the knight. She could see her reflection in the jelly surface.

“We don’t know what it is,” she heard. “Some kind of monster that makes a perfect copy of whatever it eats. They think that was how the Dark Lord made his armies, feeding his minions to it so that it would make hundreds of copies of them. Do you recognize it?”

The knight opened her mouth. She hesitated. “Yeah,” she murmured, drawing out the word. “We found it in the Dark Lord’s tower, right?”

“That’s right. That’s where it ate you.”

The knight turned around and looked at her other reflection. This one appeared to be about ten years older, and had doffed her armor for a loose blue tunic and breeches.

She was holding a cup of tea. She had pressed another cup into the knight’s hand when she woke up here. It had been a shock finding herself suddenly out the obsidian dungeons of the Dark Lord’s tower and into this tall room of stone and straw. The warmth of it in her hands steadied her a bit.

“Everyone else in the party was worried, but then it started making copies of you,” the copy went on, staring up at the tentacled thing. “And all of the copies helped fight against the Dark Lord, and we won, and peace was restored across the land, but then nobody could figure out how to kill the damn thing or just to make it stop. Dozens of copies of us in a day, hundreds in a week, and then someone decided that the only thing we could do is just bring the thing here, seal it off and hope it starved to death.”

She sipped her tea. “Anyways, that was two-hundred years ago and it’s slowed down a bit. It can only make a new copy of us every few weeks now.”

The knight looked down into her tea. The copy had also draped a blanket over her shoulders.

“I have so many questions,” she said.

“I figured.”

“How can it be two-hundred years? I can still remember breaking into the tower. That feels like it was just minutes ago.”

“It was, basically. Your brain is a perfect copy of the original you’s brain at the exact moment she was eaten.”

“But the quest is just — done?”

“Yep. You missed some of the things that needed tying up afterward. There was a war, and a dragon, and some business about a ring.” She waved a hand. “It was before my time. Things are pretty settled now.”

“My parents?”

“Passed away about a hundred-and-fifty years ago. I’ve been told that they were very proud.”

The knight nodded. “Um. I don’t know if you know — we had an elf in our party—”

“I’m aware.”

“I — right. Obviously. Um. It’s just, after everything was done, I was going to ask her—”

“One of us did. She said yes. She outlived her. A couple of us have tried to reach out since then, but she wants to be left alone for a while.”

The knight considered this. “Uh — right,” she said eventually. Her fingers tightened around the tea cup. “Um. What do I do now?”

Her older copy shrugged. She had let her hair grow out again, the knight noticed. There were a few strands of grey against the black. “That’s up to you, I’m afraid,” she said. “A lot of us are finding work as soldiers and sellswords. We’ve done it for so long that most armies know we’re reliable and don’t tend to turn one of us away. Most of us are just sort of spreading out, wandering the world. Some of us keep in touch.”

The knight frowned. “What do you do?”

Her copy paused, tea cup half raised to her lips. “Sorry?”

“You said it only makes a new copy every few weeks now. So you just stay here and wait for a new one to show up?”

She lowered the cup. “Well,” she said. “I guess I just — I know what it can be like, waking up here in the dark, and it — it can be horrible trying to figure all of this out on your own.

“So I thought that what I’d do is just stay here with a pot of tea, and whenever I see myself again, I tell her that — that she’s not alone.”

“We aren’t?”

“Of course not. We’re all in this together, you know.”

[iydiamartinx]

DINNER WAS NOT SERVED

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 842 synopsis: Dick had one goal: to seduce his girlfriend. He forgot the part where he should check for unwanted guests first and narrates his plans in very, vivid detail. warning: talk of sexual themes

Dick Grayson practically bounced through the door. After a brutal day at work and a rare night off from his more nocturnal duties, he was beyond ready to spend the night with you—to the fullest.

He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it—keys flung onto the counter, boots kicked halfway off, jacket tossed somewhere near the coat rack. His hair was tousled from the wind, and that boyish grin was plastered across his face like he’d just won the damn lottery.

“Babe?” he called out, already unbuttoning his shirt to reveal that smooth, unfairly sculpted chest. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. You have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”

You glanced up from the couch, eyes widening in horror.

Too late.

“Been thinking about that mouth of yours,” Dick continued, blissfully unaware of the audience. “You saying my name, choking on it… You better not have eaten yet,” he smirked, prowling closer. “Because tonight, I’m the only thing on the menu. And if you’re really good, I’ll make you my dessert before tying you up like you asked—”

You opened your mouth—something, anything—but the words got stuck somewhere between your brain and your mortified soul.

Dick wasn’t done.

“—And if I do it right, baby,” he added, voice dropping into something criminal, “you won’t be walking straight tomorrow.”

“Please,” Tim begged, his voice hollow—like something inside him had just broken. “Stop.”

Dick screeched.

His head snapped up like a man slapped by God himself.

Jason was sprawled across the other couch, mid-bite of pizza, now frozen with a look of stunned horror.

Tim was slouched in the armchair, pale as death and clutching a throw pillow to his chest like it might protect him from the trauma.

Dick flailed like a man caught with his pants around his ankles—and spiritually, he was. “I—You—WHY ARE YOU ALL HERE?!”

Jason stood up slowly, face blank. “No. Absolutely not. I’m done. I’m leaving. My ears are bleeding. I need holy water. Maybe therapy. And a priest.”

Tim slowly turned to you, deadpan. “You asked for that?”

“I didn’t know he was going to narrate it like a damn porn script!” you hissed, trying to wedge yourself deeper into the couch cushions as if you could disappear entirely.

Damian sat cross-legged on the floor, one eyebrow twitching in confused revulsion. “What… what do you mean by that?”

Dick groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he stumbled backwards as he realized his youngest brother was here too. “Oh my god.”

Jason made a sound like he was dying. “He means sex, Damian! Dear God, why do I have to be the one to explain this?!”

Damian blinked. “…Then why are they the meal?”

Tim looked like his brain had short-circuited. Again.

Jason threw his hands up. “Nope. Not walking him through this. I’ve done my time.”

Dick, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, turned to you helplessly. “I swear I thought we were alone.”

You glared at him, mortified. “You described yourself as the entrée,” you snapped. “And me as dessert!”

Damian, still thoroughly lost, narrowed his eyes. “But neither of you are edible. That would be cannibalism.”

Jason grabbed his keys. “I’m going to pretend this never happened and go directly to the manor. If anyone ever speaks of this again—I swear—I’ll shoot them.”

Tim trailed after him, defeated. “I’m going to need a drink. And bleach. And maybe a lobotomy.”

The door slammed behind them, leaving only an awkward silence—and Damian, staring between the two of you with narrowed eyes.

Damian, still staring between you and Dick like you were an unsolvable puzzle, slowly tilted his head. “Is it… normal to talk about being consumed before intercourse?”

You made a strangled noise and grabbed the nearest throw pillow, mashing it to your face.

Dick groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if he could physically wipe away the humiliation. His voice was low and exhausted. “Damian. Leave. Before Jason drives off without you and pretends it was on accident.”

Damian huffed through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Tt. As if I would lower myself to ride with him.”

Still, he stood up and brushed the invisible lint from his trousers. He shot you both one last perplexed glance, muttered something in sharp Arabic—definitely a curse this time—and swept toward the door without another word.

The click of the door closing behind him echoed through the now silent apartment.

Dick finally turned to you, face still beet red, hair a mess, shirt half-open and forgotten. 

“So…” he began, voice sheepish. “Not the night I had planned.”

You hurled a couch pillow at his head.

He caught it easily, the bastard, flashing that boyish grin that somehow still managed to be charming after all this.

“Still love me?”

You pointed at the door. “Ask me after they recover.”

He winked, his voice dipping back into that sultry purr. “Bet I can make you forget about it.”

You paused.

“…Shut up and lock the door.”

That grin of his widened as he rushed to do as you said.

[forever-rogue]

Salty

AN | Hello, as you all know Joel is alive and well and there are shenanigans afoot in Jackson. Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Language 

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You loved Joel.

Joel loved you (you hoped anyway) and Ellie.

Ellie hated you.

After just over half a year in Jackson, you had finally put two and two together. All those little things you’d thought were accidents or odd coincidences weren't that at all.

Everything came down to one Ellie Williams. And that led to you making a decision you immediately hated.

“I don’t think we… should spend time together anymore.” The lump in your throat was thick, and you focused your attention on the vegetables you were tending, refusing to look at the man. You’d rehearsed this very moment in your head about two hundred times, and still, it wasn’t going to plan. Sigh.

The man next to you was silent for a few beats, trying to decide if you were being serious. When you didn’t say anything further but he heard your sniffle, he realized this wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh? And just how did you reach that conclusion, darlin’?”

“I just… I dunno, Joel. It just seems like the right thing to do.” You shrugged, adding the carrots you'd unearthed into the basket between the two of you. “I don’t… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think I’m… interested.”

A heavy silence fell over you; you tried to continue working, but Joel remained dumbfounded, watching your every move.

“Okay,” he eventually said, causing you to relax slightly. “I’ll do as you ask and respect your wishes and all that. You gonna tell me what changed suddenly?”

“Nothing,” you lied. You’d thought about telling him the truth but highly doubted he’d believe you. He’d never think his baby girl would do something so downright vicious. “It’s just… what I want.”

“Alright.” He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans, capturing your attention. “I’ll leave you to it. I think you can handle it from here, right? I wouldn’t want to get the wrong idea.”

“Joel—” His name came out as a huff, but before you could get any further, he had already walked away.

You watched after him until he was out of your sight before hastily wiping at the tears rolling down your cheeks. This hurt even worse than you had anticipated. Ellie would probably leave you alone now that you weren’t pursuing her dad or trying to take him away from her.

“I guess it’s just you and me again.” You pulled a few more carrots out of the dirt and tossed them to the side. You were going to need a new hobby to occupy your mind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time something strange had happened, you had been baking a cake for Joel's birthday. You were in the restaurant kitchen, having talked Seth into letting you use the space to keep your plans secret.

You were almost done mixing the dry ingredients when you couldn’t find the sugar.

“Where is it…” You looked through cabinets, sure you’d seen the container at some point. Without sugar, you definitely weren’t going to finish this cake.

“Looking for this?” There was a smile on Ellie’s face as she set an unlabeled bag down next to your bowl. You relaxed and nodded. “Sorry, I was using it earlier. Totally forgot to put it back.”

“No worries at all,” you said, grabbing the measuring cup and adding the sugar to your bowl. “I was starting to worry I’d imagined it.”

“Hmm.” Ellie watched you work in silence for a few minutes. “What’s this for?”

“I’m making a cake… for Joel.” Your face warmed as a flash of annoyance shot across hers. She was well aware of what you were doing, having overheard you talking to Tommy. “I figured it’d be something nice for him.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” she smiled. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“I hope so,” you agreed.

Unfortunately, fortune seemed determined to make a fool of you.

You’d stopped at Joel’s house to deliver the cake, wanting to make it casual.

“Happy birthday,” you sang, holding up the cake with an eager look. Your heart beat nervously as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

“It’s amazing,” he whispered, heart constricting at the sweet gesture. It had been a long time since someone had baked him a birthday cake. “C’mon in. We can cut right into it.”

“Oh,” you smiled shyly, finding it hard to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re always welcome here,” he said, firm but still soft. “And I insist.”

“Okay.” You followed him inside, setting the cake on the table. Joel grabbed a couple of forks, plates, and a knife. “Is Ellie here? Should we cut some for her?”

“She’s off at Dina’s,” he shook his head. “It’s just us.”

“Well here, let me.” You cut into the cake, placing large slices on each plate. You sat down across from him, pushing a plate toward him. “Happy birthday, Joel.”

“It certainly is now.” You tried not to freak out as you took a bite. Joel did the same.

As soon as you started chewing, you realized it tasted… terrible. Gritty and salty. Anything but sweet and decadent. You reluctantly swallowed and cast a forlorn look at Joel, who was clearly trying to school his expression.

“This is disgusting,” you said, horrified. “I—I must’ve added salt instead of sugar. Fuck. I should’ve paid more attention, but I thought… Ellie handed me the sugar.”

“It’s…” Joel, bless his heart, tried to make it seem better than it was.

“Terrible,” you insisted, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry. I ruined it all.”

“It’s not… the worst thing ever.”

“Joel.”

“It’s pretty bad,” he admitted with a grimace, “but it’s the thought. Even if that’s cliché.”

“Well,” you sighed with a grimace, “maybe next time will be better.”

Joel reached across the table and placed his hand on top of yours. His touch made your stomach flip. “It’s okay, really. Thank you for this.”

“Happy birthday,” you whispered. Your face was warm, and you swore you saw a light blush on his cheeks.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time you were sure that you had bad luck. Everyone has bad luck sometimes, right?

It was spring, finally warm enough not to require multiple layers. There was a barbecue going on, and Joel had asked if you wanted to go with him. He hadn’t said it was a date—but he hadn’t not.

You’d put on a sundress, feeling prettier than you had in a long time.

But as you walked to Joel’s house, something slippery on the porch made you slide off and into a lingering patch of mud.

A scream escaped your lips. You weren’t hurt—just covered in mud from head to toe. Your shoes had fallen off. Tears of frustration fell down your face, which only smeared the muck.

“Are you okay?” Joel ran outside, worried. When he saw what had happened, he had to fight a smile. He was glad you weren’t hurt—but it was a little funny. You let out a frustrated huff. He stepped off the porch and held out his hand. “Oh, darlin’.”

Just as you reached for him, he slipped and landed next to you. His surprised face made you giggle. Reaching over to wipe a spot off his cheek, you shook your head.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled. “I’d say we make a fine pair.”

“Unfortunately, I think we’ll have to clean up and change before we do anything,” you teased. Joel looked at you with nothing short of fondness. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he said, leaning in. You leaned in too. “I’m just thinking I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

“Oh?” You were ready to finally close the gap when the front door burst open.

“Hey!” Ellie’s voice made you both jump apart. “What happened?”

“Slipped and fell,” you both said in unison.

“You should be more careful,” she said directly to you, brown eyes hard. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen.”

Then she turned and went back inside. A shiver ran down your spine.

“C’mon.” Joel got to his feet and helped you up. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“Thanks,” you said softly.

Something inside your stomach twisted. Something was going on.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The third time you were sure that none of the things that had been happening were accidental.

Joel had asked you on a date—made it very clear it was a date. Even though it was just Joel, you were full of butterflies.

You settled on an outfit and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready. Everything needed to be perfect.

Until… you tried to leave the bathroom and couldn’t. You jiggled the knob, convinced it was stuck, but after a few seconds of no success, you realized you were locked in.

You exhaled sharply, trying not to panic. This wasn’t an accident—but you weren’t in real danger either.

You banged on the door. “Ellie! Let me out! Please let me out!”

No response. But you thought you heard creaking down the hall. She wasn’t coming back.

You sat on the toilet, head in your hands. This was the worst. All you had wanted was a date with Joel. You couldn’t even have that.

Eventually, you pried open the bathroom window, grateful you lived in a one-story house. You squeezed out and fell a few feet onto the hard ground with a small oof.

Brushing yourself off, you made your way to Joel’s house, ready to set things straight.

Only one light was on. He wasn’t home. Your heart sank.

You knocked loudly. “Ellie!”

After a moment, the door flew open. She stood there, surprised. You laughed bitterly. “Surprised to see me?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Cut the shit,” you snapped, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. “Why have you been doing this to me? And don’t even try to lie—I know it’s been you.”

“I…” She didn’t even bother to lie. “Stay away from Joel. He doesn’t need you. We’re fine without you.”

“Is that what this is about? Me and Joel? Why does it—”

“He doesn’t need you,” she hissed. “Stay away from my dad.”

The door slammed in your face.

You stood there, stunned.

After a few moments, you trudged home, your heart heavy, when you heard your name being called. You turned to see Joel catching up.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. “What happened? I waited for over an hour, then went to check if you’d gone to—”

“I was locked in my bathroom.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. Joel stared at you, waiting for a punchline. But then he saw your expression—serious.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to stand you up. I was really looking forward to tonight.”

“How did you…”

“Weird accident.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, stopping and gently grabbing your wrist. You turned to face him, fighting back tears. He touched your cheek.

“Things have been a little… off lately.”

“Guess I’m just having a spot of bad luck,” you shrugged, refusing to say the real reason. As angry as you were with Ellie, you understood. Joel was her stability—and in her mind, you were a threat.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Did you still want to grab dinner?”

“Actually, I kind of just want to go home.” You hated the way hope faded from his face.

“I’ll see you around, Joel. Have a good night.”

“Good night.” He gave your hand a squeeze but watched you walk away, his heart heavy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Two weeks passed.

You caught glimpses of Joel, but that was it. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

You missed him.

One night, as you were getting ready for bed, a knock came at your door. You almost ignored it—but you knew better. No one in Jackson would let you live it down.

With a sigh, you trudged to the door, already annoyed.

“What?” you asked before even looking—only to find Joel standing there, a bemused smile on his face.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. “What are you doing here?”

“I think we should talk.” You swallowed thickly. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah.” You stepped aside and led him into the living room. You sat across the couch from him. “What’s up?”

“Ellie told me what happened,” he said. Your shock was evident. “She explained what she did.”

“Oh.”

“She said she hated seeing me so miserable all the time,” he continued, and you realized you weren’t the only one hurting. “She said she felt some remorse.”

“I don’t… I do blame her—because she did those things. But I can understand where she’s coming from.” You shrugged. “She’s trying to protect you. You’re her family. She doesn’t want to lose you. It’s her way of showing love. I can’t fault her for that.”

“I know,” he said. “She told me everything. But it doesn’t make what she did right. You could’ve been seriously hurt. I told her that no matter what happened between us, my love for her wouldn’t change.”

“Of course not.”

“But tell me… were you really ready to never speak to me again?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t be happy about it.” Your face flushed and you couldn’t meet his eyes. “But if that was best for everyone…”

“Do you really think that would’ve been best?”

“Well… no. Now it seems trivial.” You met his honeyed gaze—reverent, gentle. “I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He scooted closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You still want me to stay away?”

“I’m kind of thinking I want you to finally kiss me.”

You didn’t know where the boldness came from, but it had been long enough.

“Is that so?”

“It is—”

Joel kissed you gently, cutting you off. It caught you off guard—but it was perfect.

“Yeah?” His hand was on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.

“Again?” Your soft request made him chuckle. “Please?”

And he didn’t waste any time.

He kissed you again.

[em1i2a3]

I Want You (Fever)

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: Grocery shopping turns into one of the most nerve wrecking nights that Bob has had in a long time (This is a continuation of “Plainclothes Man”)

Warnings: No Warnings only like…Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob? lol, this is just pure fluff with a hint of jealousy mixed in

Author's Note: Ask and you shall receive! I had this in my drafts this weekend and needed to do a little bit of fine tuning before I posted (I ended up throwing out the original idea and reworked it!). Hope y’all enjoy :) (ALSO WHAT A HIGH QUALITY GIF GOOD LORD)

Word Count: 4,465

Bob couldn’t take his eyes off you.

He’d been trying for the last twenty minutes, gripping the cart like it might keep him tethered to reality, but every aisle felt like a trap laid by fate itself. Every glance at you was a temptation, and every time he failed to resist it, it got worse.

It wasn’t just the sweatpants anymore–though God help him, those were doing their own slow damage. It was the way you moved in them. The lazy sway of fabric, the way the drawstrings danced against your thighs when you walked, the casual tug you gave them to keep the waistband in place. Like you’d forgotten they weren’t yours, even though that was far from the case.

But more than that, it was you in general. It was the quiet laugh you gave when he made a bad joke in the cereal aisle. The way you picked up the most ridiculous snack and turned to him with a grin, asking, “Okay, but what kind of monster thought making sour patch flavoured Oreos was a good idea?” just to keep him talking. The way you read your grocery list out loud like you needed him to hear it–like he was part of the journey. Like you wanted him woven into the moment.

You had no idea what you were doing to him, and that might’ve been the part that killed him the most, because you weren’t trying. You weren’t teasing him, you were just being yourself–open, warm, familiar in the kind of way that made his chest ache and his stomach twist into knots. You could’ve led him off the side of a mountain for all he cared and once he hit the ground he would’ve said “Thank you, now help me up so I can do it again.” You had so much power even though you weren’t aware of it.

”There’s your chips!” You said suddenly, and just like that, Bob’s brain and eyes were back to focusing directly on you.

You were a few steps ahead of him, half-turned toward the shelf with your hand already reaching up. There was such mundaneness to it, the way your fingers flexed slightly as you overextended your arm like you had done this a hundred times–which technically you had, though Bob just wasn’t around to see it. The oversized shirt lifted enough with the extension and his eyes–against his better judgement–flicked down.

And then he saw it, not just your skin, not just the soft slope of your waist. He saw the scar. He could see the faint, silvered edge of it–just a little shimmer near your lower back, peeking out where your shirt had roadie up and the waistband of his sweatpants dipped with movement. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to remind him of it.

You’d told him about it once offhandedly, like it didn’t mean much to you anymore–but your voice had caught halfway through the story. A mission gone sideways. A blade you didn’t see coming. You had offered to show it to him, but he said no in the most polite and sheepish way he could manage.

Not because he didn’t want to see it, but because he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you. Not in a way that would’ve crossed a line–but in a way that would’ve revealed too much. That he cared too much. That seeing something that had hurt you, marked you, and almost taken you might undo him completely.

He remembered the way your lips had twitched–half-amused and touched–when he mumbled something like “I believe you. You don’t have to prove anything to me…” And you let it go.

But now, standing behind you in the aisle lit by flickering fluorescents, with your shirt riding up and the edge of the scar showing and glistening like a silver thread stitched into your soft skin, he felt like his soul was going to leave his body.

Because it wasn’t just a scar. It was proof that you trusted him enough to offer to show him it. Proof that he knew you–in ways not everyone did. And yet…Not in the way he wanted to.

And he wondered what it would feel like to press his palm there. Not to possess, nor to claim, but just to be close to you.

When your arm finally dropped, and the shirt settled back, you put the chips into the cart as if nothing happened.

”Extra crunchy plain kettle chips…I never thought these would be so popular.” You said jokingly. He opened his mouth–but he didn’t even know what he was going to say back. Maybe it was going to be something stupid, or maybe he was just going to confess right then and there, something along the lines of “You have absolutely no idea how much I want to touch you, not just because of how perfect you look to me, but because of everything that’s made you who you are.”

But the words never even formed in his throat.

”Y/N?” Your name rang out behind you, clear and surprised and full of recognition. It was a gravelly and deep voice, a man's voice. Bob could feel his stomach fall through him.

You turned first, and your smile lit up like a struck match.

”Oh my god! Connor?” The excitement in your voice almost killed him, and immediately he could feel himself grow hot with the idea of what he was about to witness.

He watched as the man appeared from the far end of the aisle–tall, sharp-edged with a little scar over his eye, clean-shaven and still somehow scruffy in that confident, ex-special ops kind of way.

Connor was already walking toward you with the familiarity of someone who used to share early morning missions and late-night runs with you. His voice was warm, loud, and confident, he was unmistakably sure of himself.

”I thought that was you!” Connor grinned, coming to a stop just in front of you, “I almost didn’t recognize you without the tactical vest and blood on your face.” You gave him a short laugh and glanced down at yourself.

”I clean up well enough, right?” You motioned to the clothes that you were wearing.

”More than well enough,” Connor replied, tone light but lingering, his eyes sweeping over you quickly before adding, “I always said you were the best-looking one in the unit.” You rolled your eyes, but the smile you gave him was real–warmed by shared history, by something friendly and effortless. Bob felt himself wanting to interject, but all he could do was stand there, and watch, like he was just part of the scenery now.

”You only said that because you didn’t want me breaking your nose during drills.” Connor smirked.

”Hey, you were always close to doing it though, you always had that elbow twitch. I remember.” And you laughed again–open, easy, head tilted back just enough that Bob saw the line of your throat, saw the way you leaned in just a little when you nudged Connor’s arm.

You weren’t really flirting, it wasn’t anything heavy and meaningful, it was like two friends catching up on lost time. But Bob felt it like a shard of glass under his ribs. He didn’t know what hurt more though–the way you smiled at Connor, or the way that Connor had so many experiences with you, and so many stories. Bob only had a few months, a few soft mornings, and one mission where he was the person they were up against. It was hard to imagine that you and him could ever be that close, and all he could feel was his heart sinking lower and lower.

Connor slung his hands into his pockets, “So, what’ve you been up to? I figured you were halfway across the world still setting fire to buildings and pissing off diplomates.” You shook your head, brushing your knuckles across your forehead.

”Took a break from international chaos. I’m with The New Avengers now. It’s a stateside thing, mostly.” Connor raised a brow.

”The New Avengers, huh? Never figured you to be the reformation type.” He commented, continuing to look at you.

”Yeah well…” You shrugged, “Figured I’d try being a little less feral, for now at least.” He laughed at that, then glanced over your shoulder for the first time since the conversation started–like he just remembered you weren’t alone.

”And who’s this?” He motioned with his chin, “Your backup?” You turned slightly to Bob, tilting your head with a small smile, waving him over like you were finally letting him in on a secret. The look in your eyes was unreadable as he approached slowly, and it made him nervous.

“This is Bob. Bob Reynolds.” You said. There were no titles, no explanations, no qualifiers, just his name–spoken like it was enough. Bob offered his hand to Connor automatically, even though his mind was already spiraling from the lack of any defining words.

The handshake was firm, yet casual.

“Bob Reynolds,” Connor repeated with a smirk, giving him a once-over, before glancing over at you, “Didn’t peg you to be someone who dates within the team.” Bob froze. The words landed like a live wire straight to his chest. His vision didn’t blur–but it tunneled. Everything around him narrowed, and went strangely quiet, like the store had vacuumed the sound right out of the air.

And then–you smiled. Not with embarrassment, or hesitation, but with this soft, relaxed kind of warmth–like the mixup didn’t bother you at all. You didn’t correct him either. You didn’t say no, that’s not what we are. You didn’t say we’re just teammates. You said nothing at all, and neither did Bob.

Because in that moment, something inside him had short-circuited, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Something about your silence felt good to him. Terrifying, yes. But…Good. Dangerous, and hopeful as well. Like maybe–just maybe– you liked the idea that people thought he was yours.

Connor chuckled, and nudged your shoulder, “Didn’t think you’d go for the soft ones, but I get it. Balances you out.” He commented, which made Bob turn a bit red in embarrassment and you shrugged.

”He grows on you.” Bob nearly forgot how to stand upright, because you weren’t joking. There was affection under those words, and just by hearing you say them, it was like his blood had turned electric beneath his skin. Like every inch had been tuned too tight, and he was about to snap in half from the tension. From the possibility.

Connor clapped him lightly on the arm, “Well, hey–good luck surviving her. She’s the reason I still have shoulder pain in cold weather.”

“I’m very proud of that,” You replied breezily, already reaching for another snack on the shelf like your words, or lack thereof, just hadn’t rearranged his. Connor gave you a small wink and started to walk off.

”Always good seeing you Y/N, you two have fun playing house.” And then he was gone, just like that. Bob stayed frozen where he stood, realizing he said absolutely nothing during the conversation. You turned back to him with a small smile, tossing a bag of popcorn into the cart.

”We still need to go to the dessert section for Walker's cinnamon rolls.” You said, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

——————-

Once you were done shopping, Bob loaded the trunk with all the bags and returned the shopping cart to the store, sliding into the passenger seat in complete silence.

The engine hummed low beneath the weight of all that was unspoken, and the grocery bags rustled faintly as you rolled down the window to let some air into the stuffy car. You pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, glancing once in Bob’s direction.

He hadn’t said a word since Connor left, and he looked absolutely dazed.

His hands were folded in his lap, not clenched–but fidgeting. His fingers were tangled loosely together, thumbs moving over one another in slow rhythmic circles. It was the kind of motion that only meant one thing when it came from Bob: he was nervous, really nervous. Tied-up-in-knots and about to implode kind of nervous.

You flicked your turn signal and merged into the next lane.

”Are you okay?” You asked gently. Bob didn’t answer right away, his eyes just stayed locked on the road ahead, but he wasn’t really seeing it–you could tell. His mind was miles away. Still stuck in aisle seven, maybe.

You hit a stoplight.

The soft red glow filtered into the car through the windshield, casting a faint warmth across your features. It slid like watercolor across your cheekbones, deepened the shadows around your mouth, and softened the bridge of your nose. It made you look celestial, like something that was too alive to exist in a place as mundane as this.

Bob turned his head to look at you–and once he did, he couldn’t look away.

The red glow painted you like a portrait Bob didn’t think he deserved to see. Something about it made everything more unreal. More dangerous. He didn’t even realize how long he’d been staring–until you caught him doing it.

You blinked and tilted your head, eyes narrowing with something like concern.

”Bob,” You said softly, “What’s going on?” His mouth parted, but nothing came out.

And then the light turned green.

You let the car roll forward slowly, but then you took the next turn–off the main road, down a quiet street lined with trees that filtered the dying daylight like gold dust. You pulled the car over, your tires crunching softly against gravel. And then you put it in park and killed the engine.

The silence fell like a held breath, as a gust of wind blew the cool spring air into the car. It smelled like moss, with a hint of dew, like it was going to rain, even though the sky was showing to be clear.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned toward him, shifting so you could see him fully. His profile was tight–tense in a way you rarely saw. He was breathing, but too shallow. His jaw worked like he was chewing on glass.

“Okay,” You said, voice calm but firm. “You haven’t said more than three words since we saw Connor. You’re fidgeting so much your thumbs are gonna rub raw. And you keep looking at me like you’ve got something to say…”Bob blinked, once and swallowed the lump in his throat, as a sheen of sweat began to form on the back of his neck.

Still nothing.

“So,” You continued, leaning a little closer to him, your tone gentler now. “Tell me. What happened?” Bob’s mouth opened like he was about to finally speak—but the words caught somewhere in his throat and came out as a half-breath instead.

You watched him closely, waiting.

“I… n-nothing happened,” he stammered, eyes flicking toward the windshield like it might offer him an escape. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I mean it’s not—it’s not not fine—but it’s not, like… bad. It’s just…”

He trailed off, his voice shrinking with every word until it was barely audible.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just looked at him. Really looked.

Then you slowly shifted closer.

Your thigh brushed his. Barely. Just enough that the contact registered like a spark. And when you leaned in, the warmth of you carried with it the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg–the smell of fall during spring, and Bob’s lungs forgot how to behave.

“Is it me?” you asked softly.

His eyes shot to you like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“I—no,” he blurted, too fast, too flustered. “No! I mean. Not like—It’s not bad. It’s just, um…”

He trailed off again. His shoulders sank.

You tilted your head. “Bob.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose.

“…I don’t know how to be around you right now.”

That made you pause. Your gaze softened, but you didn’t pull back. If anything, you inched even closer–your arm brushing his this time.

“Why?” you asked. Your voice wasn’t teasing. Just curious. Barely above a whisper.

He opened his eyes and looked at you again–and this time, there was no hiding in the silence.

“Because Connor thought we were together,” he said, breathless. “And you didn’t c-correct him at–at all. And I’ve been trying not to hope for too much. Trying no–not to want that so much. But the second he said it, and you didn’t say anything–I haven’t been able to think straight since.”

You stared at him for a second, the air between you charged like a live wire.

And then…

“Did you ever think,” You said slowly, “That maybe I didn’t want to correct him because I liked what I heard?”

That made him blink–hard. His breath hitched audibly.

His mouth parted, but no words came. His hand–still folded in his lap–tightened slightly, like he was holding onto something that might float away.

You watched his lips part and close again, watched his chest rise and fall with uneven breaths, and you could feel the space between you contracting, the tension building like something was about to snap.

“Bob,” You said, softer now, “Am I the one that’s making you nervous?”

He nodded–tiny. Almost imperceptible. Then managed a whisper:

“A-Always.”

There was a beat of stillness.

Then you reached up, slow and steady, and brushed your fingers along the edge of his jaw. He flinched–not from discomfort, but from shock, closing his eyes at the sensation of your touch tracing along his stubble. Like he didn’t know how to receive that kind of closeness. Like he hadn’t dared imagine it outside of his dreams.

Your voice stayed low. Intimate.

“You don’t have to be nervous with me,” You said. “Not if you want the same thing I do.”

He could feel his heart seizing in his chest, his mouth going dry, lips parting again. “A-And what do you w-want?”

You smiled–just barely, just enough for him to see the truth in it. Something quiet and unguarded. Something only for him.

Then you leaned in.

And he felt it first in the air—how your breath brushed across his lips before your mouth ever touched his. Soft and warm, like the stir of wind before a storm. It made every muscle in his body go tight with anticipation. The space between you was shrinking by the second, his senses narrowing to the way you looked at him–like you already knew what this would do to him.

”You…That’s what I want.” You whispered. Bob swallowed hard. His pulse thundered in his ears. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. His hand twitched in his lap like it wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

And then–

You kissed him.

Your lips found his like they’d been there before in a hundred different dreams. They were soft, impossibly soft, and he swore time folded in on itself. It wasn’t rushed, or messy, or careless–it was a moment made of weightless things. Breath and longing. The quiet hum of the earth under your feet and the echo of a hope that had waited far too long to bloom.

Bob didn’t kiss back at first–not out of hesitation, but out of sheer disbelief. His breath hitched like he was afraid he’d ruin it by moving. But then your hand slid into his hair, your thumb grazing the curve of his jaw again, and something in him unspooled completely.

He kissed you back like he’d been drowning for years and only just now found air. Gentle at first–uncertain–but then a little more desperate. His fingers found your thigh where your legs were still touching, squeezing it gently, anchoring him to the here and now. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss by a fraction, like he was afraid you might vanish if he didn’t get closer. Like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth, the warmth of your breath, the soft sigh you let out when his lips parted just barely against yours.

And for a moment, there was nothing else. No car. No road. No Connor. Just the two of you suspended in something delicate and golden and sacred.

He was still breathing like he’d just run ten miles when you pulled back. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes shutting tight like he was trying to hold onto the feeling, preserving it in his chest like a light in a jaw. The windows were fogging at the corners now, despite them being open, and the air between you had turned warm and close, while every shared breath was a little shallower, a little hungrier than the one before.

You tilted your head just slightly, brushing the tip of your nose along his cheek, and he shuddered.

“Jesus Y/N…” He whispered, “I-I think I’m gonna pass out.” You smiled gently against his skin, letting your lips brush over the corner of his mouth.

“You’re doing better than you think.” You whispered, as your hand slid down from his jaw to rest against his chest, right over his heart–feeling it pounding like a war drum. He looked at you then, dazed and wide-eyed, mouth still pink and parted, and when you shifted your weight toward him, his breath caught.

“Can I…?” you asked, your voice softer than ever, your gaze flicking downward–toward his lap.

He nodded before you could finish the question. Like it wasn’t even a decision, just a reflex. “Y-yeah. Yeah. Please.”

You climbed over the center console slowly, carefully, and Bob’s hands went to your hips instinctively, steadying you like you might disappear mid-motion. The second you settled on top of him, straddling his lap, he tensed beneath you–shoulders rigid, breath shallow–but his grip never wavered.

“Okay?” you asked again, brushing your thumbs over the fabric of his shirt.

He nodded again, voice trembling. “Yeah. I just… I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

You smiled, sliding yours over his. “You’re already doing fine.”

And then you kissed him again.

This time, it wasn’t soft.

It was warm and slow, sure–but there was something boiling under the surface now. A spark that had caught flame. You kissed him like you’d been waiting for this, starving for it, and Bob melted into it like he didn’t know how not to. His hands tightened at your hips, not possessive, just desperate for anchoring. For something real.

He moaned against your mouth when your fingers slid into his hair again, tugging just lightly. It was a sound you felt before you heard it–a low vibration in your chest where your bodies were brushing, where your thighs pressed against his hips.

You rolled your hips once, slowly, more a shift than a grind–and Bob gasped into your kiss.

“O-Oh god,” He breathed, voice trembling, forehead falling to your shoulder for a second as he tried to collect himself.

“You okay?” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

He nodded, his voice shaky and stunned. “Y-You’re gonna kill me.”

You kissed him again before he could spiral further, and this time his hands slid under your shirt, trailing up your back, like he wanted to feel every inch of you he was allowed. The smooth skin was vast, and all he realized was just how soft you truly were as he pulled your body against his. His mouth opened beneath yours, and you deepened the kiss slowly, tilting your head, tasting the warmth of him, the desperation he was too shy to say out loud.

And then his hips shifted under you, unintentionally–and the friction made you both gasp. His fingers flexed against your back, clinging. Needy. His breath came faster, rougher, and he whined into your mouth when your hips shifted again, intentionally this time–grinding against him with slow, aching friction.

“Y-Y/N,” he whimpered, voice cracking apart, and your hand found the back of his neck, holding him close as you kissed him harder. The car felt too small now, too warm, too full of air that wasn’t moving–but neither of you could stop. Not yet.

His mouth opened wider, tongue brushing yours hesitantly–like he was asking permission even now, like he didn’t know if you still wanted this. But the second you deepened it, the second your lips parted and your tongue met his with a soft, slick slide–he lost whatever fragile control he had left.

He moaned–quiet and broken–and then his hips lifted just barely into yours. You both froze at the pressure, the friction.

His fingers dug into your hips. “I-I can’t–” He breathed, forehead falling back to yours. “I’m gonna–if we keep–I can’t think.”

“Hey,” You whispered, brushing your nose against his, breathless, lips still ghosting his, “It’s okay. We can stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” He blurted, and it sounded like a confession, “I just–I need to. I want to…So so bad, it’s just–god, I want to do it right.”

You smiled, fingers slipping up to his flushed cheeks, holding him there–trembling, dazed, burning beneath you.

“You are doing it right, Bob,” You murmured, kissing him once more—slower this time, gentler, reverent. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

His arms slid around your waist, holding you like he couldn’t let go, like if he did the whole thing might vanish like a fever dream. His breath was hot against your collarbone now, lips resting against your skin, and he nodded, finally beginning to breathe again.

“I-I just want to be close to–to you,” He whispered. “Even if it’s just like this. Even if we don’t–y’know. Yet.”

You leaned your head against his, your hand stroking the back of his neck slowly, grounding him.

“Then let’s just stay like this,” You said softly. “You and me.”

He nodded again, arms tightening around you.

“Yeah,” He whispered. “You and me.”

The windows stayed fogged, your breaths remained shallow, your lips kiss-swollen and raw. But you didn’t move.

And in the quiet heat of that parked car, it felt like something had finally started. Something that didn’t need words.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, time-skips, the absolute shit-show that was the first half of the 2023 season.

Notes — Amelia being McLaren's literal saviour? IKTR

2023 (Saudi Arabia — Silverstone)

The paddock in Bahrain had started to quiet down after qualifying, the desert heat finally slipping away into a cooler breeze. Amelia was walking through the paddock, steps quick and stride polished, muttering statistics under her breath and trying to burn off some extra energy before debriefs were due to begin.

“Amelia.”

She turned. Adrian stood just outside Red Bull’s motorhome, hands in his pockets, watching her with a thoughtful expression.

“Hi, Adrian,” she greeted, smiling politely at the man she’d once idolised who had become something more reminiscent of a friend over the last two years.

“Do you have a minute?” He asked.

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Sure.”

He gestured for them to walk a little away from the thinning crowds. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you since testing, but I figured it was better in person rather than on the phone.”

Amelia waited, quiet.

Adrian glanced toward the Red Bull garage, then back at her. “You have done something incredible,” he said. “The car — it’s… brutally efficient. Elegant, even. It’s the cleanest thing I’ve seen come out of our CFD pipeline in five years. Maybe longer.”

Amelia’s brow ticked up. “Thank you.”

He studied her for a moment, brow furrowed slightly. “So why did you leave, Amelia? You could’ve ridden that thing straight through another championship with Max. Earned the credit. The spotlight. A long, solid legacy.”

“I didn’t need to,” she said simply.

He blinked, thrown off. “Didn’t need to… win?”

“I didn’t need credit,” she clarified. “That was never the point. Max knows that this years car is ours — mine and his, in a way. You know, too. That’s enough for me.”

“You designed one of the most dominant aero concepts I’ve seen in a decade,” Adrian said, still incredulous. “And walked away before it even hit the track?”

Amelia nodded. Shrugged. “I didn't build the car for glory. I built it because I knew what it could be. And then I gave my concepts to you, so that you would make them happen, and you did.” She pursed her lips. “Max didn’t need me anymore. He knows how to handle a championship. He’s done it twice, now.”

“And McLaren does need you?” Adrian pressed.

“Yes,” she said. Smiled. “They do. Oscar too.”

Adrian looked at her like he was trying to understand a language he didn’t speak. Slowly, he said, “You’ve created a car that will be remembered for generations.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t care that you won’t get the credit?”

“No,” she said. “Doesn’t change what I did.”

There was a long silence, the dusk settling over them in a soft hush.

Adrian let out a slow breath, almost reverent. “I admire it, you know. Even if I don’t understand it.”

Amelia gave him the faintest smirk. “That’s okay. I’m not an easy person to understand.”

“No,” Adrian agreed. “But you’re very, very good.” He paused. “God, sometimes, Amelia, I wonder if maybe you’re better than me.”

“I might be. One day,” she said, and turned to go.

—

The debrief room was quiet, too quiet.

Oscar sat back in his chair, legs outstretched, eyes on the floor. His race suit was half-unzipped, his undershirt sweat-darkened at the collar. Amelia sat at the head of the small conference table, her iPad flat in front of her, her stylus spinning slowly between her fingers.

“Well,” Oscar said dryly. “That was shit.”

Amelia’s lips twitched. “You’re not wrong.”

He tilted his head. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course you can.” She frowned at him.

Oscar looked over at her, brow creased faintly. “You knew the car wasn’t going to be good this year. You warned me. So why did you still come back to McLaren?”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, thought about it, then shrugged. “Well, you were a big part of it.”

Oscar blinked at her.

“You needed somebody who was able to make the most of a bad situation,” she said. “Not someone who’d write it off before the lights went out. You’re better than the car right now. But the car won’t stay this way forever; I promise you that.”

Oscar was quiet for a moment. “Right. Thanks,” he said eventually, voice low.

“Don’t get sentimental,” Amelia said, flicking a button on her iPad. “We’re both going to be angry for a while, at least until I can fix this.”

He nodded, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders. “Fine by me.”

She tapped through to the race data, then looked up. “Okay. So. Let’s talk lap one.”

Oscar squinted. “What was wrong with lap one?”

“You braked late into Turn 10. Just like you did in qualifying.”

“Maybe the corner needs to come sooner,” he muttered, deadpan.

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Maybe you just need more time in the sim.”

Oscar made a face. “If I spend any more time in it than you already make me do, I might merge with the chair.”

They dove into the telemetry together then — back and forth, sharp and focused, their language slowly becoming shorthand. She pointed out throttle traces, he challenged her on strategy calls. She fired back with sector deltas, he offered precise corner feedback.

By the time they were done, an hour had passed.

Oscar leaned back, drained but calmer. “You’re intense.”

“Yeah,” Amelia said, unapologetically. “I’m also right, most of the time.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You are.”

She packed up her iPad, stood, and gestured toward the door. “Come on, ducky,” she said. “My husband is probably pacing somewhere, lamenting about how shit his car is. We need to stop him before he spirals.”

Oscar made a face as he got to his feet. “I don’t like being ducky.”

Amelia shrugged, unconcerned. “Too bad. You are.”

He sighed. “Why can’t I just be Oscar?”

“You can,” she said simply. “But you’re ducky too. Both can be true.”

Oscar blinked at her, clearly expecting more of an explanation. Amelia paused in the doorway, tilting her head like she was debating whether to explain. Then she did — bluntly, honestly, in her Amelia way. “Nicknames are… structure,” she said. “They help me sort people. Feelings. Connections. If I nickname you, it means I’ve decided I trust you. It’s like… mental shorthand. Emotional filing.”

Oscar’s brow furrowed. “Like… categories?”

“Exactly,” she said, eyes lighting up slightly. “It’s not random. It means something. I call you ducky because you’re calm on the surface and all chaos underneath, and also because you look like someone who would fall asleep in a bathtub. And because I like you. You’ve earned it.”

He stared at her. “I… don’t know what to do with that.”

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” she said, already halfway down the hall. “Just know that it means I’ve put you in the ‘safe’ column.”

Oscar followed, a little dazed. “That’s a lot to attach to a duck.”

Amelia smiled to herself. “Also, my husband kept saying that I imprinted on you like a mother duck, so…”

They rounded the corner and found said husband, Lando, in the corridor, muttering to himself with a piece of tyre compound data pulled up on his phone.

Oscar pointed wordlessly.

Amelia just sighed. “See? Spiralling. I told you.” She stepped forward, nudged the phone down, and gently took her husband’s hand. “Hey,” she said. “You did well with what you had.”

Lando looked between the two of them, Amelia’s steady face, Oscar’s unreadable one, and let out a breath that was mostly a laugh. “We’re going to be fucking shit this year, aren’t we?” He asked.

Amelia sighed. “I hope not. I’m already trying to get my hands on the car, but the cost cap is preventing me from making any significant changes this early…”

Lando pouted at his wife.

“Pizza?” Oscar asked.

Amelia’s head snapped around in his direction. “Yes!”

Lando was still pouting when he said, “Sure. Yeah. Whatever. Depression pizza. Yay!”

—

The glass walls of the office reflected the glow of early evening. Outside, the MTC lake was still, pale with late-winter. Inside, Amelia sat at the head of the table with her knees drawn up in the chair, a pink, battered notebook open in front of her.

Andrea leaned in to look closer. “You did this all by hand?”

Amelia didn’t look up. “I think better with a pen and paper.”

Her dad, seated opposite her, turned a few pages. His brows rose as he scanned carefully drawn schematics, annotated calculations, wind tunnel projections, notes in tiny, slanted handwriting. Everything from ride height tweaks to theoretical suspension layouts to predicted competitor development trends.

“This is a full concept,” Andrea said, quietly impressed. “This is… years worth of work.”

“Just a few weeks,” Amelia said. “That’s not just theory in there, though. That’s a car.”

Zak sat back, flipping to the final page. It was labelled, in block capitals, with an underlined title.

PROJECT: MCL38-AN

Underneath, in her neat writing.

It’ll win if you trust it.

He looked up. “This will put us back on top?”

“I know it will,” Amelia said, finally meeting their eyes. “Everything I’ve learned — from Red Bull, from Max, from every telemetry graph and CFD failure and stupid porpoising issue in the last two years — I used it all. And not just to make something clever. To make something fast. Reliable. Adaptable.”

Andrea gently closed the notebook. “This is championship-level ambition.”

“It’s more than ambition,” Amelia said. “It’s your 2024 car. The notebook is yours now.”

Her dad raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want to keep it?”

She shrugged. “No. I won’t need it, but you will. I’ve already made a million copies, but I’d like you to keep the original.”

Her dad looked at her and reached for the notebook again with something like reverence. “We’re going to need to start assembling a team around this immediately.” He said.

“I already started,” she told him. “Tom in aero’s got preliminary CFD models. Jordan’s been mocking up rear suspension geometry in CAD for two weeks.”

Andrea laughed softly, almost disbelieving. “You went over our heads?”

“I’m not very good at leaving things to chance,” she said. “And our car this year is awful. So bad. I needed to start making something happen, even if most of it will have to wait until next year.”

Her dad stood and leaned across the table, hand on the notebook. “Honey, this is…”

“Yours. Ours.” She said.

Andrea let out a breath.

Her dad stared at her for a beat, and then he was beaming.

—

It was nearly midnight, and the MTC was mostly dark — save for the soft hum of light in the engineering wing. Amelia sat on the floor of her office, legs crossed, iPad glowing in her lap.

Oscar lay stretched out on the rug in front of her, still in his training kit, a protein shake abandoned next to him. Lando was in her desk chair, spinning gently, half-asleep and barefoot.

“This is the weirdest sleepover I’ve ever been to,” Oscar muttered.

“You say that every time you hang out with us,” Lando replied, yawning.

“I mean it every time.” Oscar said.

Amelia didn’t look up. “Shut up. I’m trying to change the trajectory of your entire careers right now.”

That got their attention.

Lando leaned forward. “What are you doing, baby?”

Amelia turned the iPad so they could both see the screen. Her voice was calm, even, but there was a thread of something bright underneath it. “This is going to be your 2024 car.”

Oscar blinked. “You—what?”

She tapped through a few screens: 3D renders, rear suspension models, aero flow maps. “Codename MCL38-AN. I told you both that I already had it planned out, didn’t I?”

Oscar sat up straighter. “You really think that’ll put us at the front of the grid?”

“Yes,” she said. “You’re driving scrap metal right now, I won’t lie. It’s holding you both back. But this car—” she tapped the image again “—this is what we’re building toward. This is the one. The team just needs time. I need time.”

Oscar was staring at the iPad, wide eyed. “You’re sure.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. All I need is for you to keep showing up. To keep believing. We’re not going to be at the back of the grid forever.”

Lando stood, walked over, and looked down at the designs for a long moment. “It’s beautiful,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“Why are you showing us now?”

“Because,” she said, glancing between them, “I can’t ask you to keep suffering through this season unless you have a reason. A future. This is your future. You’ll win races in this car.”

Oscar laughed, breathless and stunned. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Amelia said, finally smiling. “Holy shit.”

Lando slid down onto the floor beside her, shoulder brushing hers. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Us. This team. This sport.”

“Thanks,” she said.

Oscar pointed at the iPad again. “Can I name it?”

“No.” She said.

“Can I drive it now?” He asked.

“It doesn’t exist yet.” She told him.

“Then can I keep being your ducky?”

She looked at him, bemused. “You want to be ducky now?”

“I’m reconsidering my argument,” he muttered. “Out of loyalty…”

Lando was grinning. “We’re going to win championships, aren’t we?”

Amelia nodded. Smiled at her husband. Kissed him. “Yes. We are.”

—

They got back to Monaco well past midnight, Lando wordless beside her in the car. The race had been brutal. Another pointless race. Another weekend where the car hadn’t performed, and the looped back data had made her want to throw her laptop into the Red Sea.

But home was home.

Amelia dropped her bags in the entryway, kicked off her trainers, and walked straight to the kitchen, wordlessly opening the fridge. She fished out a can of Diet Coke and pressed it to her forehead.

Behind her, Lando wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"You gonna fire me?” He asked quietly.

She laughed despite the burning itch under her skin. “No. You did your best.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled against her neck.

They stood like that for a beat. Amelia breathed in the scent of his hoodie and let the familiar weight of him soothe the static in her chest. He was solid. Warm. Hers.

Finally, she turned around and kissed his jaw. “It’ll get better.”

Lando nodded. “Good. Because I’m getting real tired of seeing you more frustrated than smug.”

She cracked a smile. “I’m always smug.”

“There she is.”

—

Amelia didn’t cook often, but when she did, it was loud, chaotic, and always somewhat efficient.

Oscar sat at the breakfast bar, watching her with mild horror as she chopped onions at a blinding speed.

“You’re a very violent chef,” he observed.

“The quicker it’s done, the better,” she said. “Now pass me the basil, ducky.”

He handed it over. “Still don’t particularly like being called that.”

“Don’t care.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Do you want red or white wine?”

—

The living room was littered with discarded Uno cards, an empty pizza box, and the remains of someone’s sprite can that Max Fewtrell had been using as a drum for the last ten minutes.

“You are cheating,” Pietra said flatly, accusing Lando with a pointed look.

“I’m just playing strategically.”

Amelia, half-asleep on the sofa with her feet in Lando’s lap, mumbled, “Strategically being a little shit, yeah.”

“Don’t hate the player,” Lando shot back, tugging her ankle gently. “Hate the wife.”

“You’ll sleep on the couch for that,” she muttered, eyes still closed.

Max Verstappen arrived late, as usual. Amelia opened one eye when he collapsed beside her on the sofa and started picking at the leftover cold garlic bread.

“Missed you.” She told him sleepily.

“Missed you too, zusje.” He said.

She leaned her head briefly against his shoulder.

—

The Spanish GP had been marginally better than the ones that’d come before. Still not good. But better.

Back at the airport, Oscar sat cross-legged on the floor, headphones in, while Amelia reviewed strategy notes and Lando bought three Snickers and two iced teas.

Lando dropped next to her with a huff, his arm winding around her waist, hand flexing before squeezing her hip. “I’m considering sabotage.”

“Of?”

“The car. I’m gonna drive it into a lake or something.”

Oscar pulled one headphone off. “Wouldn’t it sink?”

Lando stared at him. “That’s your concern?”

“Hydrodynamics are important.” Oscar smirked.

Amelia sighed. “You’re both ridiculous.”

Lando grinned. “You love it.”

She didn’t reply, just leaned closer, then passed him a highlighter. “Help me mark the wind tunnel data.”

—

They’d flown into Spielberg a little early to prep and decompress. Amelia had her notes. Lando had brought five pairs of sunglasses and absolutely no socks. Oscar was, predictably, already on his fifth stretch of the legs down the paddock.

The three of them walked the track together at sunset, shoes crunching against the gravel.

“You know,” Amelia said, glancing between the two drivers, “if either of you crashes this weekend, I won’t be happy.”

“Would you leave me for dead?” Oscar asked, deadpan.

“Yes.” She lied.

“She wouldn’t,” Lando said.

Amelia looked ahead, wind tugging at her hair, then back at the boys; her husband and her ducky.

This job was hell. The car was beyond flawed. The season wasn’t what they’d hoped.

But this, this team, this family, this effort, felt like something worth holding onto.

—

Silverstone came, and there was a shift.

It wasn’t everything. But it was something.

Amelia stood just outside the McLaren garage, arms crossed over her chest, watching the mechanics finish prepping the car for FP1.

The upgraded floor. The reshaped side-pods. The altered rear suspension geometry she’d argued over for weeks.

It was all here. On track. Real.

It wasn’t perfect — of course it wasn’t. The budget cap had demanded compromises. She hadn’t been able to implement the full package she’d thrown together back in March. That version of the MCL60 was meaner, leaner, cleverer — a little monster of a thing. A title fighter.

But this was the one they could afford. And she’d made it the best it could be.

Oscar stepped beside her, helmet tucked under his arm, race suit halfway unzipped. “Doesn’t look like a paper towel on wheels anymore.”

She hummed. “No. More like... a reinforced napkin. Maybe a placemat.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “How confident are you?”

She exhaled slowly. “Seventy percent we’re in the points. Fifty percent one of you surprises me. Zero percent we DNF. I’ve triple-checked the aero modelling. You’re safe.”

He nodded, quiet for a moment. Then, “I know it’s not what you wanted.”

“No,” she said honestly. “It’s not. But it’s what we’ve got. And it’s good enough to fight for points rather than the chequered flag.”

Oscar squeezed her shoulder. Tight. “I trust you.”

There was something boyish in the way he said it. Uncomplicated. She smiled and nudged him toward the car. “Go, ducky.”

“Still don’t like that.”

“Don’t care.”

—

By Sunday, the paddock was electric.

The buzz was real. The performance gains were visible. And people were talking.

After qualifying, someone from Sky asked Lando if he felt like McLaren were back in the fight for ‘best of the rest’.

He didn’t even hesitate. “Yes. We’ve got Amelia Norris to thank for that.”

That one made her throat pinch.

Later, back in the garage, she caught Andrea’s eye as he leaned over the pit wall screens. He grinned, then gave her a thumbs-up.

Even her dad, who’d spent the last several months managing expectations to sponsors and shareholders, gave her a bear hug that nearly knocked her clipboard out of her hands.

“You’ve made believers out of us again, kiddo,” he said into her ear. “They’re already asking about 2024.”

Amelia stepped back and smiled tightly. “Let us get through this race first.”

—

Lando was flying. Oscar was right on his gearbox. And Amelia was vibrating in her seat, headset digging into her ears.

The car wasn’t just competitive; it was racy. Bold. Alive.

She and Will traded glances as they watched Lando chase down Lewis.

“This is all you,” Will said.

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her heart was somewhere near her throat.

Oscar’s voice crackled in her ear. “Is this what driving a real car feels like?”

Amelia couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Keep it clean, ducky. Still a few laps to go.”

“Is my wife crying tears of joy right now?” Lando asked over his radio. “I bet she is.”

“She is.” Will said.

“Liar.” Amelia laughed, and okay, maybe she did sound a bit choked up.

—

The crowd was still roaring and Amelia was frozen beside the pit wall, headset hair sticking out from under her cap, breathing like she’d just done the full length of the race herself.

It wasn’t a win.

But it was enough.

Lando ran up behind her and flung his arms around her shoulders, lifting her slightly off the ground as she shrieked.

“Put me down, you sweaty idiot—!”

“We did it!”

“You did it.”

“No,” Lando said, spinning her once before finally setting her down. “You did.”

He kissed her, quick and messy, and the cameras were definitely watching, but she didn’t care. She’d earned this moment.

Oscar wandered over and offered her a half-hearted fist bump.

“Better than a placemat,” he grinned lopsidedly.

“Almost a dinner plate,” she agreed.

He laughed, and then he took her to watch the podium.

Max on top. Lewis next. And then her Lando.

Her husband.

Beaming right at her.

She made Oscar hug her. Needed the deep-pressure to cut through the overwhelming joy coursing through her veins. Somebody took a picture and posted it on Twitter with the tag ‘Best racer/engineer duo EVER’.

—

Amelia was sitting cross-legged on their hotel bed, notebook open in her lap, notes scribbled in every margin.

Lando walked out of the shower, towel around his waist, hair damp.

“You’re still working?”

She looked up. “I’m trying to figure out how to sneak in another mini upgrade before Qatar.”

Lando crossed the room and kissed the top of her head. “You’re mad, you know.”

Amelia frowned. “I’m not.”

He slid into bed beside her. “C’mere. Work can wait till tomorrow.”

She paused, then closed the notebook and handed it to him. “Don’t lose it,” she warned. “That’s the future in your hands.”

He looked at the cover, scuffed, dented, covered in papaya and coffee stains, and held it like it was a sacred text.

“We’re going to have podium celebration sex now.” She told him. “I bought chequered flag lingerie.”

His eyes went wide. “Oh—Holy shit. You did?”

She smiled. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[astars-things]

#FindNorris part 2

Summary- Y/n Hughes can't find Lando for media

Part one here

1.6k words

--------

When you saw Landos' Twitter post, you were walking around the garage taking some behind-the-scenes content, you laughed as you pictured Lando hiding behind Oscar, using him as a human shield while nervously checking his phone for your reaction. Typical Lando tweet first, suffer later.

You walked over to the McLaren hospitality, after being told by Zak that both of his drivers were there, and you were now on a mission. You weren't even that mad, but Lando didn't need to know that. It was he who would have to suffer through a meeting with Zak about taking naps at work, and also having to pay a fine from the FIA for missing media without a good reason.

You stepped into hospitality, immediately looking around to see if you could spot Lando. A couple of people looked at you, most likely already seeing the tweets and pointed down the hallway. You gave them a quick smile before continuing on your mission.

When you heard the voices of Lando, Oscar and Max (f) behind the closed door, you raised your hand to knock on the door, and the door slowly opened. Max poked his head out, "Hey y/n, Lando isn't-" Max said, looking at you, you raised a brow. He immediately gave up the act. "Yeah, okay, he’s here."

You walked into the room just in time to see Lando attempting to squeeze himself into the small gap behind the couch. Oscar, sitting comfortably on a bean bag with his water bottle in hand, looked up and greeted you with a knowing grin. "Hey y/n" Oscar waved very much enjoying the drama he was about to watch take place, You heard Lando let out a deep breathe before popping up his head up from behind couch, His hair was slightly messed up, and his eyes were wide with guilty anticipation. 

"Hey love, you look great today" Lando said in a small voice, still crouched behind the furniture like it was a blast shield. "Hi," you responded calmly, arms folded. "You hiding from me, Norris?"

"No…" Lando tried. "I was… stretching." Oscar choked on his water.

"You know," you continued, walking further into the room, "I could’ve killed you via text, but where’s the fun in that?" Lando finally stood, brushing invisible dust off his hoodie. "So you saw the tweet." "You mean the one you posted before even sending me a message or coming and seeing me, yeah I saw it" Lando winced, rocking back on his heels. 

"It was a panic tweet. I thought if I made it funny, maybe you’d laugh instead of murder me." Lando said rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. You tilted your head. "That’s the defense you’re going with?" He gave you the most pitiful smile he could muster, but you weren't softening, not yet.

You let out a single, sharp laugh.  "Lando seriously, I ran around the paddock for an hour trying to find you, nobody knew where you were, then I find out that you were taking a nap, then you made twitter think I was psycho because I said 'I'm going to kill him' and someone asked for a welfare check on you" Lando’s eyes widened. "Wait, what? Seriously?" 

You weren’t done with your rant yet. "and you respond with you had a great nap and then before messaging me or seeing me you posted on twitter," Lando opened his mouth, but you raised your hand before he could say anything else.

"I walked in here not mad at you, knowing that Zak and the FIA want to have words with you," You took a step back and pointed at him. "but now I am mad so I'm going to step out for ten minutes for you to figure out your story. No jokes. No tweets. Just the truth." You spun on your heel and walked out, leaving three stunned boys in your wake.

Oscar blinked at Lando. "Bro." Max whistled. "You’re so dead." Lando just sat down on the floor with a groan. "Okay. I deserved that." 

You had set a timer on your phone for ten minutes and sat down in the main area of the hospitality unit, Your phone buzzed with notifications, some from mutual friends sending laughing emojis at Lando’s tweet, others from PR asking if everything was under control.

You ignored them all. You needed a you moment to remind yourself that you also worked for McLaren but also that Lando is your boyfriend, you knew when you walked back into that room you needed to have the mindset of either you're his colleague or his girlfriend you couldn't have both. 

The timer buzzed softly. You stood, steadied your breathing, straightened your McLaren polo like it was armor, and walked toward the hallway. The air in the building was cool, but your palms were warm. 

As you reached the door, you didn’t knock this time. You just opened it. Lando was mid-sentence with Oscar, visibly rehearsing something, when he saw you. He froze, eyes wide again like a student caught cheating on a test. You shut the door behind you and took a slow breath.

"Lando," you began, voice calm but firm, "We need to have this conversation, not as colleagues, but as partners. So let’s set the work stuff aside for a minute and just be us." That was a sign for Oscar and Max to leave the room even though they wanted to watch the dram unfold it wasn't their place 

Oscar sighed dramatically as he stood. "This is better than Netflix." Max clapped Lando’s shoulder with a sympathetic look. "Good luck, mate. You’re gonna need it." The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, it was just silence. You and Lando. No cameras. No jokes. No audience. Just the two of you.

Lando stood there, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. Lando grabbed your hand walking the both of you to the couch that was in the corner of the room, you both were sitting across from each other, Lando pulled out his phone and opened up his notes app He cleared his throat. "Okay. Don’t laugh." 

You nodded.

"Y/N. First of all, I love you. That’s the most important part. Second, I am a complete idiot. A hoodie-wearing, nap-taking, tweet-before-texting idiot" He paused, glancing up. You didn’t say anything, so he kept reading. "Third I'm sorry, For making Twitter our battleground instead of just being a man and talking to you. For hiding behind Oscar like a child and making you chase me around the paddock like I was a lost intern. I wasn’t respecting the lines we’ve tried to draw between our personal and professional lives. I blurred them, I crossed them, and I didn’t check in with you first. I acted like your boyfriend in the stupidest way possible, and not like your partner. The kind that communicates, supports you, shows up." Lando put the phone down and looked at you. Not with a smile. Not with nerves. Just honesty. 

"I'm truly sorry and I know I have a lot more groveling to do so second on my list is for however many months you feel is necessary I will do McLaren tiktoks which also includes me being posting on your personal account too,"  

Your eyes lit up for ages you have tried to get Lando to feature on either tiktok account of him trying to learn a dance or playing with the silly tiktok filters , He always found a way out of it, "I’m too tired," or "That’s Oscar’s thing," or "I can’t embarrass myself before quali." 

"Babe I love you so much" you said, your voice quiet now, softer. "but you and I have to get better at separating our personal and professional lives" Lando nodded along "C'mere" Lando said opening his arms for you, you gladly moved closer to him snuggling up to him, Lando placed a small kiss on your forehead. 

Just then, the door creaked open slightly, and Oscar poked his head in with the worst attempt at an innocent expression you’d ever seen. "Hey sorry to break up your little moment but Lando, Zak is asking for you to meet him in his office. And he did not sound thrilled." 

"Of course he is" Lando sighed turning to you, squeezing your hand again before releasing it. "Love if you want to go back to the hotel and pick a movie and snacks out for us, this is probably going to take a while" You nodded trying to hold back a laugh knowing Lando now has to sit through a meeting with Zak, Pr and the FIA about his nap time adventure, you blew Lando a kiss before he walked off to Zaks office 

"Well, today has been an interesting day", Max signed, sitting next to you "Tell me about it," you groaned, rubbing your hands on your face. you were just waiting to get into to bed, cuddled up with Lando and try to forget about today 

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[dippyfresh6]

im so frustrated they haven't done anything with him!!!! idk if he's gonna come back, but i really have a feeling he's not going to, and it makes me mad because the last thing he said to the doctor is "find me" and they very much could have made the next couple episodes about finding and rescuing him, but instead they fucking eulogized him. like!!! he said "find me"!!! he clearly thought the doctor wasn't going to give up on him. and then they just. accepted that he was gone and it wasn't their business. which. what the fuck. very angry about that

if he wasn't ever gonna come back you at least could've made him be at peace with sacrifice. and not like, counting on the doctor to rescue him

now it just seems like an asshole move on the doctor's side, like they just abandoned him

i really miss rogue :( and i hope im wrong and he'll come back and won't hate the doctor

He's a bounty hunter. He's into DnD. He somehow doesn't know about cosplay or how to improv despite this. He CAN dance. He fell for the Doctor so hard the only coherent thought in his head under stress was proposing to them. Within the hour he'd kissed them, sacrificed himself, and said "find me" after making them catch a goddamn marriage bouquet. He's a nerd. He's socially awkward. He listens to Kylie Minogue. He's a sweetheart. He's a Killer. He's engaged to the Doctor. He is the moment. He is the Rogue.

[szatears]

inked all over, stack.

summary: stack comes back to you with a new surprise, one that you must say suits him a little too well.

pairing: modernau!stack x blackfem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v, use of the n word, descriptions of reader.

notes: modernau!stack has finally arrived! ever since i made that post about smoke and stack w tattoos i couldn't get it out of my head so here we are! also switched up the pov to third person for this one. ignore any errors, did not proofread at all. smoke version coming soon :)

"Goddamn, you said how long?!" Stack's eyes widened as he leaned back in the tattoo chair, sat opposite his tattoo artist, Deuce.

"We're looking at 'bout six hours?" Deuce laughed seeing the expression on his client's face.

Stack was always at Deuce's parlour when he wanted a piece done on his body, he didn't trust anyone else to do it for him. Same with his brother. Today, he walked in wanting to get something he had on his mind for months.

"Six hours? Nigga, I'ma need you to cut it down to like, two and a half. My lady already pissed I ain't wake her up with a kiss this morning," he blew out a breath, thinking about the messages his wife had left him a few hours ago.

He'd been up since the early hours, and it was almost 4 o'clock now. He was only meant to be out running a few errands with Smoke and some by himself, but he just couldn't get the tattoo out of his mind.

Deuce laughed, nodding his head as he placed the drawing of what Stack wanted on his forearm. "This good for you?"

Stack looked down at the placement, a faint smile on his lips. He couldn't wait to see her reaction to this. "Yeah, it's good."

He knew how the process would go, he just hoped he'd be back home at a reasonable time to not get his ass chewed out. Mrs. Moore didn't play like that.

He made himself comfortable, his arm out on the extendable part of the bed to allow Deuce to do his work. Many Men by 50 Cent played through the speakers, and Stack pulled his phone out of his pockets before Deuce started tattooing.

He already had a few tattoos, but he still wasn't too used to the pain. Smoke on the other hand? Stack would say "you could tattoo that nigga's eyeball and he won't even flinch."

Stack had put a lot of thought into this piece. It would be the beginning of a sleeve he hoped to complete later on, but to him, this was the most important part of it. It had the typical designs of a sleeve ─── shaded clouds with the sun peeking through, cursive writing with some red for that pop. But it was what was written that held the most meaning to him.

With time, Stack came to realise that one of his wife's favourite ways of expressing her love to him was through words. It could be something simple, like telling him she was proud of him or that he was doing well with everything. Or it would be more, like a note in the morning before she left to go somewhere, or one of the many texts she sent him throughout the day.

One of these letters stuck with him the most. In it, she wrote about how he'd become such an important part of her life, the tie that held them together growing stronger each day. The exact words he was getting tattooed on his arm were "you're my favourite person and my forever person, i got you always," something she never failed to mention to him.

It was obvious how in love the two were. You rarely saw them without the other, and even if they were, it wouldn't take long for either to mention the other.

Along with the words, Stack added her lipstick print that she always signed her letters off with. He knew he'd be making a joke soon enough about how her lips were always gonna be on him now.

The rest of the piece had some other smaller yet intricate designs, he told Deuce he could freehand whatever, he trusted him like that.

-

Surprisingly, Deuce actually managed to cut his estimated time in half, finishing the tattoo almost three hours later. As Deuce finished taking pictures and wrapping Stack's arm, his phone rang, looking down at the caller id to see his wife's name with a heart next to it. He accepted the facetime, smiling at the mug on her face.

"Why are you smiling? You must like playing with your life..." she mumbled, fixing her hair in the camera frame.

"I can't be happy to see you no more?" He chuckled, watching her fight back a small smile. "You look good."

"I know," she leaned her face closer to her camera. "Where are you? Come home already."

"I'ma be home in a minute, mama, I'm at the shop with Deuce," Stack turned his camera to face the man who was tidying up his supplies as he held up a peace sign.

"Hey, Deuce. So you're the reason my man's out til these hours when he said he'd only be gone for two tops?" Her head tilted as Deuce laughed.

"It ain't my fault he picks the tricky designs."

"Design─── Baby, you got a new piece?" All of a sudden the frown on her face was wiped off, replaced with a smile.

"Yeah, I did. Look at you, smilin' over there," Stack laughed as he got up from the bed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a stack of 50s, handing it to Deuce.

Before he could even complain about being given too much money, Stack gave him a look. "You really gon' make me argue with my lady on the phone?"

"No, sir," Deuce smiled, putting the money away.

"Aight, til next time Deuce."

He grabbed his coat and left the shop, opening the door to his car that was parked right at the front. "You need me to bring anything, baby?" he looked down at his phone as he put on his seatbelt, seeing his wife already staring at him. The smile that graced his face was just his natural reaction to seeing her; he couldn't get enough of her,

"Could you get some more fruit from Mama Glo's corner? If she's still open."

"Yeah. You gon' stay on the phone?"

"No, I'm gonna take a shower real quick. But I'll see you soon, handsome. I love you," she kissed the camera.

"I love you too."

-

Stack came back with a brown paper bag containing the fruit his wife had asked for, closing the front door with his foot. He slipped his trainers off, walking to the kitchen and placing the fruit on the counter. When he didn't hear the sound of footsteps coming down to greet him, he tilted his head, making his way up the stairs.

He found her lying on their bed, dressed only in a bra and a small pair of shorts. She turned her head to the door when she heard the floorboards creak, a smile on her face as she set her phone down on the bedside table.

Stack smiled at her smile, his hands resting on her waist as she stood in front of him. His frame slightly towered over hers, his head dipping down a little to kiss her lips.

"Nice of you to come home, Elias," she hummed into the kiss.

"You know I could never be away from you for too long." His words were like music to her eyes as she used the hands that were around his neck to softly run her fingers over his skin.

"I got your fruit," he told her, tapping her hip twice so she'd let him go briefly, letting him take off his shirt. It was only when he took off the black muscle t-shirt that he wore, that she let her eyes run over the tattoos that adorned his chest and back before she remembered the reason he went out.

She let her eyes wander over him whilst he put his phone on charge, finally spotting the wrapped part of his right arm. Stack glanced at her, noticing how quiet she'd gotten. "You wanna see it?" he laughed at how eagerly she nodded in response to his question.

He stepped closer to her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she stood between his legs. He slowly took off the wrapping of the tattoo, much to his wife's impatience. When he finally revealed the finished work of art, the look on her face made his impulse decision ten times worth it.

He let her gently run her hands over the ink, waiting for to notice what made it even more special. He watched her face closely as her eyes flickered over his forearm, holding it with so much care. It wasn't until she turned his hand over so his palm was facing her, that she saw the writing.

"Elias..." she whispered, a pout on her face as she ran over the words and the copy of her lips.

"You like it?" he smiled at her, flashing his gold caps.

"Like it? Baby, I'm in love with it, oh my God," she couldn't tear her eyes off it. Throughout their relationship, Stack would always say something along the lines of "I'ma get your name tatted on my face," but this was far more meaningful.

"Good, 'cause it hurt like a bitch," he mumbled, pulling her into his lap. He kissed the side of her face as she held onto his arm. "I love you more than life itself."

"I love you endlessly," she took his face in both her hands, kissing him.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He turned his head into the kiss, letting his lips leave hers to kiss down her neck to her collar. He flipped them over, bringing her to lay back down in the middle of the bed.

Her hands ran down his toned arms, massaging his broad shoulders. She let her fingers trace over the inked parts of his skin that she could reach, having memorised where every part was.

Stack used his knee to nudge her legs apart, letting him slot in between them as he kissed her. His tongue danced with hers whilst she held him closer to her face by the back of his neck. Her soft moans only encouraged him more, as did the growing friction her hips created against his.

"Yeah, you gon' have to come up outta these," he mumbled against her lips as his hands fumbled down to her shorts, pulling them down her legs.

"Elias..." she whispered, tugging at his belt. She was almost naked whilst he was still half clothed.

He smiled at her, pulling away from her lips to kiss a trail down to her pelvis. "Hold on, baby. I wanna make you feel good first." He kissed her clit over the lacy underwear she wore, and she shuddered, leaning back further into the pillows.

Stack used his thumb to rub her clothed clit, watching how her legs started to close around his hand. "Baby, please," she whined, and it didn't take long for him to give in to her pleas, taking off her underwear.

Just as quick as he had done that, his head lowered closer to her core, his mouth latching onto her creaming opening. His tongue licked up and down, his hand holding either side of her hips as he ate her out. She let out a loud moan, her hands gripping the back of his head.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," she breathed out, her eyes fluttering with pleasure.

"Yeah?" he mumbled against her, the vibrations just adding to the feeling.

Stack lapped at her for all she was worth, the unholy sounds emitting from her lips and his work. He used his thumb to rub her clit as he continued to work her away with his tongue. She writhed underneath him, feeling that familiar coil inside of her begin to surface.

"Why you moving away, huh? You can take it mama, I know you can," he assured her, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he briefly looked up at her. The sight alone almost made her cum right there; his mustache and goatee coated in her fluids.

She couldn't keep it in, especially when he went back to her with his tongue, his two fingers pumping in and out just as fast. "Shit, I'm gonna─── Oh, my God," her moans aligned with her release, all over his mouth.

Stack continued to eat her out through her high, her hips grinding into his face as he sought more. "Baby let up," she groaned, trying to push his face away.

"One more, baby. For me?" How could she say no when he was making feel that good?

It wasn't long before she came again, her body letting up as Stack cleaned her up. Only he could make her tap out like that.

He finally moved his head from between her legs, hovering over her as she grabbed his face, pulling him down for a messy kiss. She licked over his lips, moaning at the taste of her on him. His hand travelled to her throat, the same arm that was newly inked now right in front of her.

Stack's tattoos were such a turn on, it was almost impossible to describe. If he wanted to make her orgasm fast, all he had to do was talk her through it, or have her analyse his tattoos. Easy.

"You not tapping out on me, are you?" he smirked, as she gave him a lazy smile. She could feel his dick through his pants at her entrance. Shaking her head, she let go of him to take his belt off, eyes on him as she pulled him out of his boxers.

He briefly got up to take them off all the way, before he settled back between her legs, hiking them up his hips. She let her arms rest over his shoulders as he pushed in, both of them groaning.

He fit so perfectly with her, and he made her feel that way every time, through sex or not. The sound of skin slapping soon took over the room, as did their moans.

Stack ground his hips into hers, his head resting in the crook of her neck, leaving small love bites where he could.

"You're doing me so good, E," she whispered lowly in his ear which only spurred him on. He picked up his pace, finding that spot of hers that had her arching into him.

"Like that, baby? Hm?" he asked as she could only not in reply, too far into it to speak actual words. Stack fucked her so good, without fail every time.

He looked down at where they connected briefly, fascinated by her precious pussy taking him in so well. "You're doing so good for me, pretty." he told her, his eyes back on hers.

She managed to keep the contact for a few moments before he had her eyes rolling at the back of her head, her muscled walls clenching around his dick.

He grunted at that, feeling himself close to unravelling. But like he always did, he wanted her to come first.

"I'm almost there, E, keep going─── Yeahhhh, just like that," she moaned, whining even as she felt herself about to come for the third time. She held his head to her face as he kissed her, groaning as she reached closer and closer to her climax.

"Fuck!" she screamed as he cum coated his dick, spilling out as he fucked her through it.

"You got it baby, shit, I'm gonna cum too, hold on," his words trailed off to a whisper as he came in her, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusted to the overbearing amount of pleasure only her man could give her.

Stack's thrusts slowed down as he pushed his seed back in her, a lazy smirk on her face as she watched him do so. He pulled out slowly, gently laying on top of her. She brought her legs around his waist, kissing his temple as they caught their breath.

"Damn," Stack sighed happily. "Might have to get my whole body tatted up now."

taglist. @childishgambinaax @abriefnirvana @blackisy2k @chrisevansmentee @siasoup @amethyst09 @heauxtales @skywalker0809 @thelightknight21 @klssngss @atomicearthquakemusic7 @oc3anbxbyxoxo @honestlyurslol @simpingfor-wakasa @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @favoritten

[godmadeaterribleerror]

If You Need To Hear It

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, pre-established relationship (sort), light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v), humor.

Summary/Warnings: After a tense case, Dean decides to remind you of what you mean to him on the roof of the Impala.

Author's Note: Request from @grosskyjaja! Once again, I can't just be horny, I gotta have feelings too. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.4k

You’re drenched in things that should never be outside of bodies. Your hair is stuck to your brow, and your fingers are caked in dry blood. Something thick is spattered over your jeans, and there might be hair that isn’t yours in your mouth.

And that was a good hunt.

No deaths. No major injuries, either. Just a few traumatized housewives, and fingernail marks on your palm from when they’d been flirting with Dean in front of you. So you have no real reason to feel horrible. You’ve been covered in worse. You’ve killed more things, and come a lot closer to losing Dean—and actually lost him—in a much realer way.

But you were tired. The week had been filled with women—who had teeth that were straighter than yours, and hair that was better kept—shooting you bitter glares as you stood a little closer to Dean than you needed to. Now, you just want to go home.

And Dean hasn’t fared much better, in the aftermath. At least he remembered extra clothing, though. Clothing that he ditched in favor of his stupid fake-fed suit, in favor of you—after a long, hot shower and a lot of scrubbing your skin until you skin is raw and untouched by blood—wearing his extra shirt and too big boxers.

“They look like shorts-“

“Not they don’t.” You’d grumbled, and Dean had sighed.

“We can stay the night,” he’d said your name, not fully looking you in the eyes. “Most places are closed, I’ll go out and get you a new shirt and pants in the morning.”

“From where?”

“Store.”

“Dean.” You’d given him a flat look, shoving your bra—the only thing you’d been wearing that wouldn’t have to be burned—into your bag. “We’re in Northern Idaho.”

He shrugs. “They got stores. Don’t be classist, sweetheart-“

“I’m not. They won’t have anything I’ll wear twice.”

“They might-“

“They won’t.” Maybe he doesn’t want you to keep wearing his shirt. The thought just makes you more exhausted. “I’m being pragmatic, not elitist.”

Dean frowns. “I didn’t say elitist.”

You shrug, wrapping your arms around your chest. “I know. Elitist is what you meant.”

He snorts. “I love it when you talk dirty-“

“Dean.” You’d snapped, and he’d stilled. Your distress must have been audible. “I just want to go home.”

That had been enough. You had fresh clothing at home, and a bed without lumps, and—if you were lucky—maybe Dean would let you crawl into his arms and not let go until morning. 

He’d packed everything up and into the trunk of the Impala without another joke, and when you crawl next to him on the bench, his arm goes over your shoulder and stays there. He doesn’t stop touching you for the entirety of the drive. Lots of fields and forests and sky, Dean’s hand either rubbing small circles on your upper arm or resting on your thigh.

You know he’s pushing Baby to her limits, just to get you home. Or get away from your sulking sooner. You can’t blame him. You’re glaring out the window as if the trees are responsible for your exhaustion.

And it’s so stupid. It was a good hunt. It was an objectively good hunt. And Dean didn’t even flirt back. 

But you’re not his. Not officially—though through your whole body you’re only ever sure of one thing, and it’s that you’re Dean’s—and not in a way that gives him any claim over you. 

Which means that Dean’s not yours. And you have no claim over him. So if he’d decided to indulge one of those housewives, you’d have no good reason to stop him.

You try not to think about it too often. How Dean could, on any day, just decide that he was done with you. You’d wake up, and suddenly last night would be the last night. The last time you’d touch him. The last time he’d touch you.

And you really, really try not to think about it. But the floodgates have been opened, and now you can’t stop.

Dean might be able to sense it. 

Maybe that’s why he’s touching you, even as the air becomes wired with silence. He’s trying to remind you that for now, he’s here with you.

For now.

“It’s gettin’ late.” He mutters, and you only hum. You’d left at dawn, but Montana was a big state. You’d only just crossed the border into Wyoming, and the sky is already dark and scattered with scars.

“You know where we are?” 

Dean shakes his head. “Think it’s nowhere. Haven’t see a sign for miles. And I can soldier through, sweetheart-“

“No.” You sigh. “It’s fine. I can-“

“You’re not driving.”

“Dean-“

“It’s not cause I don’t trust you,” he says your name, giving you a pointed look. “It’s cause you’re tired. We’ll just sleep out here.”

“Out-“ You blink at him. “In the car?”

“Yeah, Baby’s safer than a motel. I used to sleep in her all the time, when it was just me-“

“But it’s not just you-“

“We’ve been closer than squished in the car, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is a drawl, and he squeezes your thigh like a reminder. As if you could ever forget. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got a gun, and you’ve got me.”

You don’t have him. 

You give in anyway.

And it’s only an hour before it’s too much. Dean pressed up right behind you—there wasn’t any cold to huddle against, but he hadn’t seemed interested in hearing that—with his knee almost between your thighs, his face near your neck, and his arms wrapped around your stomach. 

Everything smells like him. Even the blanket he’d pulled from the trunk. And you’d thought it would be good for him to hold you like this, but this isn’t in the sanctity of his bedroom. No one but you has ever been allowed in his bedroom. You know for a fact other girls have been in this position.

In the Impala, Dean wrapped around them like he’s never wanted to be anywhere else.

You used to be jealous of them, and how they got to be close to Dean, even for a night.

Now, you know it’s never enough. And you’ll never be able to admire those girls more, for having Dean once, then walking away.

There’s a chance they didn’t have him quite like you do. His laughter and company and stupid blanket, his shirt over their body and his total vulnerability as he sleeps.

You’re trying not to think about it.

But it’s hard with Dean pressed right behind you. 

It’s another hour before you squirm away and climb outside. You need the air, the isolation, the anything but Dean holding you like he’d like to keep you, when he doesn’t. 

You just need space.

And there’s a lot of it, above you. Glittering in the sky as you climb onto the roof, and seemingly infinite with the flat skyline. You lay flat on your back and watch it until you feel sleepy again. And Dean will be pissed if you fall asleep outside, but you’re so tired-

“Come back inside.” 

You feel a tap on your knee, and push up to see Dean frowning at you.

“You’ll get sick, sweetheart-“

“I’m fine.” You mutter, lying back down. “I’ll be in soon.”

Dean makes an odd sound. “Will you.”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you come out in the first place.”

“I- Just wanted to watch the stars.”

“Could’ve woken me up.”

You rise back up, and Dean’s almost glaring at you. As if you’ve offended him. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

His jaw twitches. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“What I-“ You frown at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lets out a long sigh, rubbing his brow with a hand. “Alright. We’re doing this.”

“Doing- Dean!”

He’s yanked you forward until your knees are dangling off the side, and he’s standing between your legs. Pressed between your legs. Pressed into you, and barely a breath away as he scans over your face.

“Dean?” You whisper, unable to move away, and his face tightens. “What’s-“

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I- I’ve been in the car with you all day-“

“But you’re not talking!” He snaps, his tone heavy. Like this is painful. “Ever since we did the interviews, you haven’t talked to me or let me touch you, and I don’t know what I did wrong, baby, but I can’t fix it if you keep-“

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You grab Dean’s face between your hands, shaking your head. He can’t be allowed to think that. “I- It was me. And it’s stupid.”

He frowns. “Not stupid if it makes you upset.”

“It is,” you mumble. “It’s- Don’t worry about it. You didn’t even do anything, or pretend you would, but I- Never mind.”

Dean’s not pulling away. He’s just examining you. Like the answer will be written all over your face. 

It might be.

Because you can see the exact moment he gets it. His eyes widen, he lets out a sharp breath, and then he presses in closer with a small smirk.

“Were you jealous?”

“I- no-“

“Yeah, you were.” He shakes his head, letting out a dry laugh. “You were upset I might- Son of a bitch-“ He says your name, and looks far too amused for how your face might be burning. “Why didn’t you say something-“

“Because it’s dumb!” You snap, and he doesn’t even pretend to flinch when you shove at his chest. “You weren’t doing anything, and it’s- it’s not like we’re together-“

Dean catches your hand and tugs you forwards, all but pinning you to his chest and scanning over your features with a small frown. “Say that again.”

“I- It-“ You voice is going a little hoarse, but Dean won’t stop staring at you. “It’s not like we’re together-“

“Wrong.” Dean certainly looks offended now, shaking his head with a tight frown. “I got two women in my life, and it’s her.” He pats Baby’s hood with a grin, and it’s hard not to roll your eyes at him. “And- Hey. Saw that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You’re starting to smile.

You’re not sure how he always pulls that out of you.

But he’s Dean. So he does.

“Stop getting smart with me,” He mutters, leaning forward to bump his nose with yours. “I’m trying to be helpful-“

“You are being helpful.” You sigh, dropping your head into his shoulder. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Wasn’t stupid.” Dean’s hand finds its way into your hair, running it carefully through his fingers. “Nothing you do is stupid. Can be dramatic, but not stupid.”

“Thanks.” You mumble, and he shrugs, his fingers stilling suddenly in your hair. 

When he speaks again, his voice is impossible low, and rough, and right in your fucking ear. “You still doubting that I mean it, babygirl?”

“Mean what?”

He chuckles, and god, his voice is getting deeper. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I-“

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart,” Dean’s palm starts to rub right over the cloth of your shorts, and your breath hitches against his skin. “You’re not that good at it.”

“‘m good at it.” You’re already a little dizzy, but Dean’s all around you and pressing down. “You- I-“

“I know. You need some extra attention? Need me to fuck you until you get that I damn mean it?”

There it is. The deepest voice. The sex voice, that he’ll almost growl in your ear on a case before pulling you into a closet, or hum at you in the kitchen before herding you back to his bedroom.

Asshole. 

He knows you’d jump off a roof if he asked you with that voice.

“Answer me,” he mutters your name, teasing his thumb up and down your still-clothed slit. “Gotta hear it.”

“Ye-“ You let out a breathy moan into his shoulder. “Yes, please-“

“There she is.” He’s almost crooning at you, and it’s enough to make you start grinding onto his hand. “Never anything stupid with you, my smart girl.”

You squeak as Dean tugs you back by your hair, and even in the dark of the night, he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. Pretty green eyes darkened and focused wholly on you, an expression of something dangerously close to reverence all over his face as he scans over you. 

His hand moves away from your core, bracing him on the hood of the Impala, but you don’t get a whine in protest before he’s pulling you into a long, deep kiss. Taking his time, pressing his tongue into your mouth and humming when you part without a thought, never coming up for air because you don’t need it. You have Dean, grunting when you almost fall over his body, moaning his name against his mouth because if he’s going to let you have this, you’re going to take all of it. 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters your name, pulling you back with a lazy grin, and you can only pant and drop your brow against his. “Never think I want anyone but you. Ever.”

“Dean, you-“

“No.” He shakes his head, pressing a softer kiss and mumbling against your lips. “You’re my girl, baby. Don’t forget it.”

You sigh. “I can’t tell if you’re talking to me or the car.”

Dean barks a laugh, and it pulls a smaller smile onto your lips, that splits into an almost stupid grin when Dean grabs you back into another long, slightly rougher kiss. More teeth and spit, a little bruising and mind-numbing. He might be trying to sedate your brain into not overthinking.

If he is, it’s working.

“Right now I’m talking about you, pretty girl.” He hums, the outline of his cock pressing against your inner thigh, and you can’t even think of a quick comeback.

All you can really think is Dean, handsome and somehow yours. Against all odds and reason, Dean seems to think he’s yours.

And you could never hate yourself enough to deny him.

“That’s good.” You whisper, and Dean chuckles.

“Yeah, it is. C’mon,” his hand goes back to pressing between your thighs, and your hips buck. “Lemme show you, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good.”

You nod, already humping his hand as he rubs around your clothed clit, and Dean hums your name.

“Words-“

“Yes, please.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hold on.”

 Dean hooks his fingers on your underwear, pushing it to the side before shoving one finger right into your pussy, and you let out a high squeak.

“Jesus.” He mutters, glancing down to where you’re squeezing around him. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, baby. This all for me?”

You nod, your brow pressed back to his. “Only for you, Dean, only ever for you-“

“Fucking-“ Dean groans, pulling your lower lip between his teeth. “You’re so perfect baby. Always so ready for me-“

You moan as two fingers slam into you, scissoring and pumping with a rough, precise speed, Dean grabbing your chin and angling your head to the side. His kisses fall to your neck as you start to hump against him, scratching at his neck and whining whenever he lets his thumb flick over your clit. You’re already going out of your mind, Dean’s somehow still tucked into his pants, and you want more. 

You must have said it aloud, because Dean chuckles against your neck. “This not enough for you, sweetheart?”

“I- It is- I- Feels so good-“ You moan, your hips jerking as Dean crooks his fingers against the deepest spot inside of you, and his grip tightens.

“Gotta stop squirming, baby.”

“But I want you-“

“You got me.” Dean starts to rub over your clit, and you shake your head, your voice almost a whine.

“But I want you,” You repeat, grinding over his bulge, and he lets out a long hiss, his fingers in your cunt picking up to a brutal pace. “Please.”

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, pulling back to watch you with that reverence again. “This not enough for you, babygirl? You wanna take my cock too?”

You nod frantically, squeaking when his fingers start to rub on that deep spot, his thumb teasing feather-light touches over your clit, and you’re going to fly out of your skin-

“One time.” He holds your gaze, and you might fall apart just from the sight of him. Blown-out pupils on yours, his jaw set as he watches you, so handsome and somehow yours- 

“Dean-“

“Just one, babygirl.” His thumb presses down and starts to roll firm circles around you, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “There you go, wanna see you cum one time before you take my cock, you can do it-“

It’s like he flips a switch. Your orgasm crashes through you with a high, wanting sound of Dean mixed with pleas, and he swallows it with another rough kiss. You’re only seeing stars and feeling an impossibly good rush of pleasure through your whole body. There’s a brief moment where Dean fingers are gone and you whimper at the lost, but Dean’s knee presses right against your cunt, and you let out a soft, easy sigh.

“Feel good, sweetheart?”

If his question is teasing or mocking, you really don’t fucking care, and nod dumbly as he pulls away. 

Dean only laughs, his fingers—the ones that had just been fucking in you—coming up to his mouth. He licks them clean, his gaze never leaving yours, and your hips roll against his knee.

 “I- C’mon, Dean, please-“ 

“Christ,” Dean mutters your name, brushing some of the hair stuck to your brow away. “You’re like- My dream girl. You know that, right?”

“I- I think I do.” You lean forward, continuing to grind onto him as your hand wanders down to squeeze his cock, straining through his pants. “Can you show me?”

His eyes flash, and he swats your hand away, pinning it to the hood. “You still need my cock, sweet girl? Still need me to fuck you on the roof, make you scream so all of Montana can hear?”

“We’re in Wyoming,” you whisper, and Dean shrugs.

“They can hear too. You want it?”

You nod, not breaking Dean’s gaze. “Yes.”

He’s so fast you almost aren’t ready. Kissing you so harsh you think he’s trying to meld his lips to yours, before pulling you right into his chest and sucking a sloppy line along your jaw and neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder in a desperate play to keep steady, but it’s not needed. 

Dean won’t let you fall.

There are a few things that break through the haze of Dean’s lip, nipping on your neck. The sound of the Impala door opening and the rustle of a belt, as well as the feeling of big, calloused hands kneading up your thigh before pulling down your shorts, and taking your panties with them.

It’s a quick second, where you’re completely bare and shivering from the cold air on your pussy. But then you hear the door close, Dean’s mouth slams back over yours in a demanding, harsh kiss, and you’re never going to be cold again.

His dick slams into you in one, movement, and your mouth falls open at the perfect stretch of him inside you. Dean takes advantage of it, pushing the kiss further until you’re melted over him, fluttering slightly around him as a second, tiny orgasm rips through you.

“God, fucking-“ Dean groans your name, pulling all the way out before slamming back in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know baby. You’re so fuckin’ tight, feel so good wrapped around my cock, wanna-“

“Do it.” You mumble, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Wanna feel it, please. Need to feel it.”

He groans, his hand moving back to brace himself against the Impala’s roof. “You sure-“

“Yes.” It’s the easier question to answer. 

And the certainty in your voice pays off. Dean’s will snaps with a half growl of your name, and you’re gone.

Usually, Dean lets you lead with sex. And you almost always make it slow. You’ve wanted to savor it as much as you could, to stretch out the stolen moments because you’d thought, one day, you’d never have them again. You’d give Dean everything you had—on your knees and riding him and splayed out below him, trying to put on a show when he’d bury his face in your cunt—because you’d thought it was what you needed to do for him to come back. 

He’s going to come back no matter what. 

And it seems to be your turn to take.

Dean’s almost feral against you. Hammering his hips into your sensitive cunt, splitting you open and pressing against that needy spot over and over until you’re a moaning, writhing mess in his arms. His lips never leave your skin for a second, kissing and biting over your shoulder, nipping at the base of your neck before rising back up to mutter filthy praise against your lips.

“Takin’ me so good, sweetheart, fuckin’ made for my cock,” his thrust are already starting to grow uneven, and when you bite on his lower lip, he slams into you so hard stars start to form behind your eyes.

“Dean.” You gasp, and he groans as you squeeze around him. “Feels so good, you’re- God-“

“You like takin’ my big dick, baby?” He drawls against you, adjusting your hips to hit you impossibly deeper. “Shit, you feel like heaven, wanna- Fuck-“

There’s a tension in his voice, even if he doesn’t stop moving, and you frown. “What’s-“

“Forgot a condom.” Dean grunts, rutting against you as he drops to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m not gonna last, sweetheart- I gotta-“

“Inside.” You mumble, your breath hitching as he bottoms out again, the angle making your clit rub against his abdomen. “Dean, please- I said I wanna feel it-“

“Shit,” he moans your name against your skin, cock twitching in your cunt. “You’re so- Fuckin’ love you, baby, I’m gonna-“

He moves back up to kiss you as he chases his release, still fucking moaning down your throat as he fucks you desperately through it.

But then he doesn’t stop. Dean’s cum is dripping out of your pussy, down your thighs and onto the roof of the car, but he’s not slowing down. Still half-hard and grabbing your waist until you’re sure it’s going to leave a bruise—you hope it does—and fucking his cum back into you, until you’re so impossibly full you think you’re going to fucking die from it, and he- He’d said-

“Dean-“

“Last one,” he mutters against your lips, rolling his hips in a sharp circle that makes your squeak. “You can gimme one more, pretty girl, c’mon,” his thumb moves to your clit, and your hips jerk off the bed.

“God-“

“Not god. Just me” Dean laughs at his own joke, pinching you and rolling the nerves between his fingers, and there’s a tight coil deep in your gut that about to snap, and-

“Dean, please-“

“I know,” he hums, and this is too soft a kiss for how he’s still bruising your cervix, how you’re on fire and he’s still using his sex voice. “Squirt on my cock, baby, you can do it, so fuckin’ gorgeous all fucked out ’n full of me-“

He gives a small, harsh slap to your clit before pressing his palm and rubbing it back and forth, right as his cock presses on that hypersensitive place inside of you, and you cum with a scream that echoes through the night.

Something is flooding out from between your thighs, but in the white-hot daze of your orgasm, you really can’t tell if it’s pee or Dean’s cum-

Not Dean’s cum. He’s still buried inside you, mumbling low words as he kisses all over your face, holding you as you shake slightly against him. 

“You fucking soaked me, sweetheart.” He chuckles, kneading gently against your skin. “C’mon let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.”

There’s no way you’re in danger of catching a cold. You’re all warm as Dean slowly pulls away, making a movement like he’s considering diving between your legs and licking you clean, but deciding against it and hauling you fully into his arms instead.

You’re grateful. Right now it feels like one touch could set you over the edge again, and you’re not sure you’d be able to take it. Dean’s mouth on your still aching cunt might actually kill you. It can be an experiment for another time, when you’re not in the middle of nowhere.

Because there will be another time. Dean wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want more times. Wouldn’t be cleaning you up with his own shirt, and grinning at you so affectionately when he tries to replace your shirt, and you shake your head in a cock-drunk daze. 

“Sweetheart, it’s covered in-“

“I know.” You mumble. “I like it.”

He laughs, kissing you once with a grin. “Alright then, dirty girl. Keep the freakin’ cum shirt, see if I care.”

You smile like an idiot as he pulls away—likely cleaning the roof—and then it hits you again. There will be more, because Dean- He- He said-

You sit up suddenly, pushing open the door, and Dean is running back in a second. He doesn’t get to bend down to your level, though. You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his stomach before he gets the chance.

“I, uh-“ He clears his throat, tugging on your hair until you look up to meet his gaze. “What’s- Are you good?”

In the dark, with all the shadows and lights, and the vast night sky above him, he looks like an angel. Not the real kind, but the story kind. That only protect and care and guide you home, even if—as long as Dean is here, with you—you’ll never need to be guided.

Dean is home.

“I love you too.” You whisper, and his eyes widen. “And you don’t have to say anything. I know you feel it too, and I- you’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s it.”

He nods slowly, his thumb dropping to trace over your lips. 

“Only competition I have is Baby, right?”

Normally, Dean would laugh at that. But tonight, his throat just bobs as he shakes his head.

And his voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“Never any competition for you. I feel it.” He mutters your name with that same reverence returned. “Always feel it. And I- Thank you.”

You can’t stop your smile. “Of course. I love you, Dean. I mean it.”

His lips twitch. “I know.”

End Note: God, help me. I'm giving myself impossible standards.

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[no-144444]

When are we getting more playing favourites? I’ve read it like 3 times now and can’t wait for more!

firsts- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries, smut! (in this chapter) 18+

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve more to come...

Your hotel room was quiet. Eerily so. 

“We’ll get through it,” he shook his head, pacing the room. “We have to.”

“Oscar,” your voice broke, arms wrapping around your legs as you sat at the top of the bed. His head snapped to you, eyes wide with panic. “We can’t fight them.”

He crossed the room and sat beside you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you, smoothing down your hair. “We have to,” he whispered. “We will.” 

“And what can we even fight them on?” you whispered, a tear falling. “Unlawful termination? That’s not going to get you a contract with them again. I need to start fighting my contract. I need to get to Aston Martin-”

“You can’t win a championship with Aston-”

“Why would I ever want to win another championship without you?” You questioned, a confused look on your face. He stopped for a moment. Did you really mean that? You’d give up a championship for him. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut and hugged at the same time, and he didn’t know what to do other than kiss you. You kissed him back, just as desperate, as if you were searching for an answer to your impossible situation. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much,” and he kissed you again. Oscar was acutely aware you’d never said you loved him back, but he felt it. He felt it in the way you stuck to him like glue. How you always took time to make him a hot chocolate when you made your coffee. How you listened to him talk and talk, all the fucking time. How you spoke to and spent time with his family. How you kissed him. How you’d give up a championship for him. 

A thousand thoughts at once ran through your mind, you’d both been teetering on the edge of this for months. Those heated kisses and borderline explicit touches, and yet you’d never done anything really. You wanted the first time to be special, and I guess it doesn’t get much more special than realising you’ll have to either fight a lawsuit or work out of different garages. You pulled at his hoodie, signalling that you wanted it off and he pulled back, eyes wide. “Are you-?”

“Are you okay with-?” 

You both stared for a beat, then chuckled. “You go first,” you offered, heat crawling up your cheeks as you watched him blush. 

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, sitting back. “And if you do, just remember we can pull the plug anytime, right?”

You nodded, biting your lips. Why did this feel humiliating? “I’m sure,” you looked down, then back up at him. “Are you sure you want this?” 

He could barely hide his smile, though he did try, and it just made you laugh. “I’m pretty fucking sure,” he nodded, and pulled off his hoodie. It always shocked you how fit Oscar was. Like obviously, he’s hot, you have eyes. And you two always work out together, so you know he’s strong, it just doesn’t register in your head that Oscar would be so built. You smoothed a hand down his chest, letting your eyes explore as he watched you, an amused smirk on his lips. “Like what you see?” he teased, throwing his hoodie off the bed as you chuckled. 

He leaned over and kissed you again, his hands venturing under your hoodie and holding your hips with a kind of care you’d never felt before. You froze. He noticed and pulled back immediately. He didn’t want to fuck this up. He didn’t want to make this awful for you. He wanted this to be one of the only ‘firsts’ in your life that wasn’t tainted by something bad happening, not after your first win. “Is everything okay?”

“I’ve never… done this before,” you admitted. “I’m kind of… scared.” 

He shrugged. “That’s alright,” he smiled. “We can take it slow,” he offered. “Or not at all.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I want to do it. Maybe, just slow, if that’s alright?”

He nodded and reached out a hand to take yours. “We’ll take everything at your pace, yeah?”

You smiled at him and nodded, lunging up to kiss him again. You loved kissing Oscar. It was so simple, but so lovely. Something so intimate about it too. 

His hands reached the bottom of your hoodie and he pulled back for a brief second. “I’m going to take this off, is that alright?” 

You nodded quicker than you thought you were, and held your arms up for him. Now you were in a bra and a pair of his boxers as sleep shorts. You could feel the slight chill from the open window, but felt the heat radiating off of Oscar even more. You shivered as he kissed you again. 

“Is this alright?” he asked through kisses, his left hand gently making its way into your underwear. His voice was deep, deeper than you’d ever heard it. It was hot. He was hot. You nodded, pulling him down by his hair so you could kiss his neck. The second his fingers made contact with your clit, your brain short-circuited. You let out a moan as he started with soft circles, gently touching you, testing the waters. If the way you were writhing beneath him was any indication, he was doing a good job. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” you whined, closing your eyes as he sped up his movements. You tried to continue with your assault on his neck, but your body was just so focused on what was happening between your legs. “So good.”

He slowly pushed a finger into your cunt, and you gasped. He chuckled lightly. “You’ve never played with yourself?” he questioned, his voice low, like it was a dirty secret. You shook your head, looking up at him as you gripped at the back of his neck, grinding onto his hand. “Fuck,” he groaned, biting his lip. “You’re so beautiful.”

You involuntarily whined at his words, making him chuckle yet again. You looked away, embarrassed, but he used his other hand to pull your face back. He kissed you gently, a smile on his lips. “You’re doing great, baby,” he whispered. “You just focus on how you feel.”

You nodded, following his instructions, feeling everything he was doing to you. It was maddening, the soft circles, the way he spread you out for himself, his voice, everything. Slowly, pressure began to build in your stomach and your grip tightened. He noticed, because of course he did. His fingers moved faster. “Close, pretty girl?” He didn’t need an answer to know he had guessed correctly when you tightened your grip again, and moaned straight into his ear, the noise going straight to his cock. “Alright?”

“Holy shit,” you whined, your hands cupping his cheeks. “I’ve been missing out,” you joked, and he laughed, dropping his head against your chest. 

“Yeah, you have,” he chuckled. “But we’re here now. Are you alright to keep going?”

Though you were tired, you nodded, not wanting this to end. He slowly took his hand out of your pants, you hissed at the loss of contact and he genuinely didn’t know how long he would last if you kept making those noises the way you were, and how your nails had been digging into his back. He’d never guessed he’d be into being scratched, but it felt good. Anything with you felt good. “Okay, I’m going to take these off now then, is that alright?” He asked, his hand at the edge of his your boxers. 

You nodded. This was the moment. This was it. “Yes.”

He slowly pulled them down your legs. You sat up (to his surprise) and his mouth actually watered as you pulled off your bra. Fuck. How was he going to get through this without cumming in his pants? He quickly pulled off his shorts and underwear and grabbed one of the complimentary condoms the hotel had in every room (he’d chuckled at it originally, mentally joking about how he’d never use it, how wrong he was). He caught a glimpse of your face, your jaw was dropped. 

“What?” he questioned, panic in his voice. 

“You’re huge,” you admitted, not even realising what you were saying, just staring at his dick and wondering how the fuck he was supposed to fit. He smirked. Ego = boosted.  

“It’s kind of average, no?” he questioned, trying to hide his smirk as he blushed. Granted, he knew he was above average, but not by much- anyway, he moved on to the important thing. “I’m going to push in slow, alright?” he told you, and you nodded. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am, are you?” you asked, taking his hand. He liked this. The gentleness. The softness. 

He smiled. “Better than alright.” 

And he slowly pushed in. He was huge, filling you so much so you thought you could feel it in your lungs for a moment, after a moment to get used to the stretch, he started moving, and god, it was euphoria. Why had you never had sex before? Why had you never fucked Oscar before? He was so sweet, so perfect, so… him. 

“You doing alright?” he checked, slowly moving in and out of your dripping pussy. Your breath stuttered with every thrust, and he could see the way your eyes glossed over as you focused only on the sensation he was providing. It gave him more motivation to not cum. He had to make you feel good. 

“Perfect,” you said, breathless, right before a particularly hard thrust pulled another moan out of you. His lips lowered to your neck as his thumb started gently rubbing over your clit, making you writhe beneath him. 

“Gotta stay a bit more still baby,” he grunted, placing his hand on your stomach, holding you down. Your hands went to run up and down his back, moaning into his shoulder as the sensation built, hot and heavy in your stomach for the second time that night. “Let go whenever you’re ready, I want you to cum for me.” 

Fuck he was hot. Like, really hot. He changed the angle, somehow getting deeper than before, and you almost screamed. He chuckled, kissing you again. “Osc, I-I’m going to cum-”

“Cum for me, please baby, cum all over my cock,” he had a filthy mouth. As he picked up the pace, so did his grunts and small whines, they were music to your ears, making you tighten around him. “Come on baby, all over my cock.” 

And you did. “Fuck! I love you,” you rushed out as your body spasmed, cumming on his cock. His jaw dropped and he started moving quicker, racing to get to his own high. 

He did. “I love you,” from his lips like a mantra. He stilled inside you, pushing in as far as he could and cumming in the condom, your name on his lips. 

You stayed like that for a moment, your eyes closed as your pussy contracted around him, him on top of you, closer than you’d ever been. “Fuck,” he breathed out, pulling out of you as you hissed at the overstimulation. “Are you alright?” he asked, sitting up beside you, disposing of the condom in the bin beside the bed. 

You were exhausted, but more than happy. You nodded. “Better than alright,” you cracked a smile, turning to him. You weren’t nervous, being naked in front of him. You weren’t scared of what he’d say. You trusted him, utterly and completely. 

“You said you love me,” he chuckled, emotion building in his throat and behind his eyes. “Did you mean that?”

You reached up and cupped his cheek, pulling him down to kiss you again. “I love you,” you whispered. He nodded. 

“I love you too,” he smiled. He leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and taking your hand in his. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you smiled. “And we’ll fix this.”

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[posttexasstressdisorder]

Lucky to have just finished up with all the "dental work" that needed doin' in my long-neglected mouth. For free, as part of Medi-Cal/MediCare.

The last time I got a crown at a "regular dentist" in 2010, I had to pay $2,800 for it, and had to wait two months to get it. They just got done replacing all four crowns on the teeth I have left. For free. And each only took two weeks to design and make in-house. Every one of the crowns they made fits and looks better than the ones they replaced, some of which had metal cores that were only coated, one going all the way back 30 years.

Things have evidently progressed greatly in the last 15 years...the Xray thing is no longer a machine as big as the room, and cardboard thing you bite. Now it's a small hand-held thing that looks like a miniature cop radar gun, and you bite a plastic doo-dad, and the thing comes up on the computer screen almost instantly. Progress.

But here's the deal: Years of neglect and abject depression take their toll on how often you do all the things they tell you to do daily if you want to keep your teeth.

Sometimes you can look up through the greyness and realize it's been weeks since you even thought about it. You have to admit it's low on the priority list when you're close to ending it all.

So it's hard to get back into "proper tooth/mouth care" after a lifetime of sporadic "only go to the dentist when something's wrong" care.

I haven't missed an appointment since this round of work started, and they were able to complete it all within a year. They told me what they needed to do, made the plan, and did it.

But I still have a hard time being motivated to brush my teeth. After the years of depression, my monkey-mind still tells me it's not necessary and it's bullshit.

But, I'm makin' a stab at it. Starting to use Fluoride toothpaste was a big concession from me, I've avoided it until now. And the whole floss thing...I have never done it. Ever. If something got stuck, there's toothpicks. But I'm trying to make myself do it every night before bed now. It's not a "natural" thing to me. Baby steps, I guess.

its crazy how teeth problems can fucking kill you and not only are dental services not free they cost a ludicrous amount and require an entirely different type of insurance than the rest of ur body. aside from the eyes, of course, which need a third type of insurance. What are we even doing man

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When you don't know why Bob doesn't like you, but a relapse forces you to find out.

(Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader) Part 1/?

You don't think Bob likes you very much. Especially when the situation goes from being a ragtag group of underdogs to a fully blown Avengers Avengerz(!)-living-together-in-the-tower deal.

In fact, maybe he just doesn't think much about you at all. He's quiet, shy even, with most of the team, but on the rare occasions he contributes more than a mere small smile, you're the last person he's talking to.

It doesn't bother you much. So what if Yelena is his keeper, making sure he's alright and keeping a tactful eye on him? Obviously he'd be more open with her. But still, you wonder if you ever said something wrong, or were too harsh on him when you all first met. (Hell, he'd even rather talk to Walker than you, it seems.)

Okay, maybe it bothers you more than you'll admit.

You've never been one to make friends easily, but when you can't even win the affections of someone who literally has the living embodiment of guilt and resentment fighting for dominance inside of him, then there must be something wrong with you.

But you get on with life. The new version of it, anyway. You train, you go on missions, you sleep, and you do it all again. Occasionally, the team starts to develop into something more important to you. They have your back, and you have theirs.

Still, even with all this, Bob doesn't bite. Not when you offer him coffee, not when you ask him about what book he's reading, and not even when you try to crack jokes about the team's questionable public branding.

So you give up. You keep your head down. But then one day, Yelena asks you to hang back from a mission to keep an eye on Bob, who seems to be in his head more than usual.

"Maybe it'll be good for you two," she says, not unsubtly. "Get to know each other a little."

Great. Now you know everyone has noticed the rift between you.

You stay out of his way, poking your head around the corner ever now and again, catching him sitting in front of the window and looking out at the sky. You know better than to ask him if he's okay, so you stay hidden.

Except one time you look out, expecting to see him there, and he's gone. Shit. You've lost the biggest asset and most dangerous weapon in New York.

You quickly head to his room, certain he's fine, but not wanting to be responsible if he's not.

When you get there, the door is partially open, and you gently push it the rest of the way. The lights are out. You look around, and your heart stops when you see a shadow sitting on the bed. A black silhouette, sitting very still. Your head suddenly fills with memories of that day, when you were forced to relive the most horrific snapshots of your past: revisiting some of your most terrible deeds — ones that you can't outrun, even in your sleep, even now. It’s torture without the pain.

Without thinking, you reach back and pull out your gun, pointing it at the shape. Your hands are steady, but only just. You know from experience bullets will do nothing to stop The Void, but if the team comes back and finds your shadow burned into the ground, you at least want them to know that you fucking tried.

As soon as you do, the shadow moves. "Woah, woah," it says. "It's me." It reaches over and switches on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a relieving warm glow. It's just Bob, sitting on his bed, looking rightly panicked.

You immediately stand down, hooking your gun back into place. Your heart is still pounding. "Bob. You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were..." Then you immediately feel bad.

"Sorry," he says. "I just wanted to sit in the dark for a while. I should have thought--"

"No, don't apologize."

When you ask him what’s wrong, he’s cagey. You’ve done this dance before — trying to talk to him and getting little in return. He’s okay, you’re okay, so you give a small grunt and decide to leave.

But he stops you, a guilty look on his face. Finally, he explains. He always feels this way when the team leaves for missions, knowing how dangerous he is but hating knowing everyone is in danger. He wants to help, but has no idea how to harness his powers beyond simply controlling them. He looks up at you, suddenly quieter (if that’s even possible) and says that today feels even worse, because the one person who likes him the least is stuck babysitting him.

“Hold on,” you say. “What do you mean?”

Then it all comes pouring out. Bob thinks you hate him. You think Bob hates you. Neither of you hate each other. The realisation makes you laugh, hard. He doesn’t quite get there, but he does crack a confused smile.

Evidently, your resting bitch face paired with his natural shyness has caused a stalemate.

“Bob, I’ve wanted to be your friend this whole time,” you say, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I just stopped trying because you seemed…I don’t know, scared of me or something.”

“I think I am, just a little.”

“Don’t you have the power of a hundred suns or something?”

“A million exploding suns,” he says casually, shrugging. You don’t really know what to say to that until he cracks a smile, and you realise the only response is another laugh.

“Okay, well, for clarity’s sake, can we be friends now?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says. Emboldened, he holds out his hand. You look at it, remembering what happened the last time you accidentally grabbed his hand a year ago in that damn incinerator. (A trip into the "Void Rooms", even when brief, isn't good.) Your recollection must register on your face, because you see his smile drop. He pulls his hand back, but you know that in order for this to work, he has to trust you. And you have to trust him.

You reach out and grab his hand, gripping it firm in yours, shaking it as he wanted you to. Between your fingers, something is happening. There’s an invisible charge. Can he feel it? You shake it off.

“For what it’s worth,” you tell him. “I don’t see you as a burden. Nobody else around here does, either. I think we need you as much as you need us. And don’t be scared of me, because I’m not scared of you.”

That seems to unlock something in him. His shoulders drop, his chest expands and releases with a loaded, relieved breath, and his hand quickly relaxes in yours.

“Well…” he tears his eyes away from your hands, looking back up at you. “…That’s another person I can add to my very small list.” Another thought crosses his mind, causing the smile to fade.

"What would you have done?" he asks. "If it hadn't been me in here? If it had been...the other me? If I'd dragged you back into that place?"

You feel your fingers flex in your palm by your side. You'd go down fighting, is what would really happen. But you can't say that. You have to say something else: something not as desperate but equally true.

"I would have found you," you tell him. "I would have torn through every memory to find you, Bob. And we'd get out of there, just like we did before. Together."

His brow creases, watching you, ringing his hands, torn by some internal conflict you'll never fully understand. But he does soften still, giving you a grateful nod.

You leave him then, giving him the space he obviously wants. But what you don’t know is that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants to talk to you, to catch up on getting to know you. There’s so much he missed out on, because he’s stupid, and now he wants to do everything he can to make up for it.

What you also don’t know is that, despite being relieved that you two can now be friends, is that soon, there’ll be a whole new problem.

Soon, just being friends won’t be nearly enough for either of you.

Part 2 (aka: When you realize you're falling in love with Bob, and it sucks.)

[bn-stands-for-book-nerd]

I don't know if it's thought out - might be, might not and I'm not discussing it here - but the fundamentalist/conspirationist behavior pattern act by reinforcing itself at everyone's most logical and instinctive reaction : arguing.

It has to do with psyhological reactance, the fact that you want to go against coercion even if you'd have done what's coerced unto you without pressure. Ever planned to do something and went "now I'm not doing it." when someone ordered you to do it ? That's reactance. And it's even stronger on beliefs.

So this teacher did exactly what she needed to do. She held no grudge and let provocation go unanswered. That's how you work with people with firm beliefs. Reactance can't make them clench to their beliefs if noone try to strip them away.

It's hard. Like real hard. Because you want to help them, and experience reactance too when someone tells you the science you understand the world through is all but lies. But you have to reffuse the fight and let them see it's vain. Only then can they get to reevaluate.

Only hiccup is : You can't do this on a big part of society. It mostly works on individuals. On both it seems like it comes from a lack of agency. But a large group of people ? They seem to be faster to convince new folks because their "truth" is more simple and appeal to pride and fear. While science's discoveries tend to tell us we're not special and most things are grey.

I think one of the prime challenge of our time is to understand how to handle reactance on a societal scale to help people accept to let go of their pride-based beliefs.

Or maybe it's only a result of how capitalism has made us view the world in black v white, strong v weak, and made us all miserable ? Mabe that's why large parts of society seek shelter in grandeur delusions ? Maybe. Whould be simpler.

When I was getting my associates degree I took a Mythology class that I loved. But one of the girls in class was absolutely off the rails conservative Christian which made things… interesting.

The professor started off the class by being like, “Mythology is stories associated with religion.”

This girl. Haaaated that. She was like, “No, Christianity is true. It’s not mythology.” Mythology was delivered in the same tone as someone trying to spit excrement from their mouth.

The professor raised her eyebrows and said laconically, “Yes, most people believe their religion is the real one, that’s part of it, and the stories surrounding religion are referred to as mythology.”

The girl stewed in a hateful sullen rage. I truly don’t understand why she didn’t drop the class but perhaps it was court mandated education. We all expected her to drop the class but she dug in like a tick and derailed discussions as often as she could.

On a different occasion the professor was drawing a comparison between social constructs like gender. The girl raised her hand. The class hushed to hear her announce, “It’s just a fact that women like domestic work and even though men are awful and stinky we just have to love them anyway. It’s biology, we’re just hardwired like that.”

I was sitting next to my friend a baby gay Jewish girl and our eyes met in mutual hilarity while the professor tried to pretend she hadn’t just been stricken with a stress induced migraine while she steered the class away from that landmine.

The next sticking point was a week later when the professor informed us that many mythologies have overlapping events like floods but these didn’t necessarily happen in such literal terms. It was a metaphorical way to process and understand the world.

This girls hand shot up. I watched the professor exercise extreme self control to keep her expression bland before calling on her.

“The world did flood. And Noah saved all the animals. Before the flood all the water was in a dome outside the earth and then the dome broke and the world flooded. All of it.”

The whole class stared at her as if struggling to comprehend the overlap of her acceptance that the world was round while also firmly believing that there had previously been a barrier that held up all of the earths water before god smashed it in a fit of pique.

She raged under the attention, glaring balefully at our astonished faces.

The professor stared at her blankly, unable to form words to such a bizarre belief. I wanted to ask clarifying questions- what they’d drunk before the dome broke, if there were rivers or lakes prior, or did the dome allow some rain in somehow, but then I really looked at her.

She had the eyes of a feral, cornered animal who regarded any deviation in worldview from her own to be a physical assault on her person. Like the professor, I said nothing, and after a wretchedly long pause class moved on.

[lily-sofii]

shadow milk x faerie reader smut.... thats all i got...

The new favorite puppet

TW(?) : female reader, reader is a virgin, reader hates shadow but then loves him, shadow doesn't care about what you think (He just seeks pleasure), SHADOW MILK HAS TWO COCKS, double penetration, anal and vaginal sex, squirting, overstimulation (on both sides), in the end you like Shadow Milk

A/N: My current proofreader is on break, so this had to be read by my classmate (sorry babe). So, please excuse any mistakes we might have missed💕🙏 NOW UPDATED AND WITH A FEW MORE FIXED MISTAKES!!

Shadow Milk Cookie hates faeries. But you? He’d rather die than see your face ever again. The second he gets out of this prison, this tree, he’ll take his revenge on you. On all the faeries. But as far as things are now, that all remains a fantasy.

“Shadow Milk, are you even listening?”

Shadow Milk lets out a growl from annoyance, his eyes snapping towards you. You’ve been visiting him for days now… or has it been months? He can’t tell, time has become more and more distorted since he was captured. What makes it even worse is, that the only thing keeping him somewhat sane is your presence, and your never-closing mouth.

But don’t think too highly of yourself, you pathetic faerie, the company of a dying animal that can make noise and can be talked to would also suffice. Maybe Shadow Milk would have even preferred that over you. A goddamn faerie cookie.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, as I was saying…”

There you go again, talking about boring nonsense he doesn’t care about. It felt like death. Death of annoyance and boredom, and all of it by your hands. Or rather, your never-closing mouth.

His thoughts get interrupted by noises and screams coming from the faerie village nearby. The village where you live. Have they finally noticed you’ve been gone? Gone for literal hours? Honestly, he was surprised it took this long. Weren’t faeries meant to be caring to each other?

Maybe his intuition was right, maybe you were different.

Noticing the noise coming from the village too, you sigh and look at Shadow Milk, a panicked expression on your face.

“I-I think I’ve been here for too long. Sorry, I have to leave, now!”

Shadow Milk nods, his face returning to the one of boredom, even though he was excited. FINALLY you were leaving. A small bit of time of piece and quiet.. until you come back at least. Which, as far as his knowledge of you goes, will be tomorrow.

You quickly stand up from your sitting position, your foot catching on a root, making you fall back to the ground. How did a root manage to wrap around your ankle? That doesn’t matter, you need to leave, and fast. No one can see you here.

You roughly yank your ankle from the root, a tearing sound coming from it. You gasp slightly as you see it disconnect from the tree, a feeling of doom coming over you. What have you done? Is the silver tree gonna be okay now?

Your head turns to the path you came here from, hearing voices coming closer and closer. It’s the other faeries searching for you.

“Uh-oh, my cookie, you need to leave. We wouldn’t want you to be found near me and this prison, would we?”

His voice takes on a cocky, almost mocking tone. But he’s right, you have to go.

Glancing at him one more time you sigh, running the opposite way from the voices. They won’t find you that way, right?

Shadow Milk stays in his place, although not from his free will, hearing leaves and branches snapping under each of your steps. But he doesn’t seem to be the only one to notice the ruckus you’re causing. The faeries that were here to search for you seem to hear it too, running after you as fast as they can.

But that makes everything oh so better for him, doesn’t it?

Shadow Milk tilts his head to the root you tore out, a faint glow emanating from it. Oh, wasn’t he the lucky one?

And you the unlucky one who’ll have to deal with the aftermath of the mistake you have accidentally done.

—---------------------------------------

You were right, the voices you heard were the other faeries that were looking for you. And a few minutes after you ran from Shadow Milk Cookie they caught up to you.

But the good thing is that they were none the wiser about your visit to Shadow Milk… or the broken root of the tree he’s in.

But hey, today is a new day, I’m sure that the room has gone back and regrew into an even stronger one!

Honestly, who are you kidding? You certainly know that you’re just looking for an excuse to go back to Shadow Milk. I mean, who wouldn’t want to return back to the only cookie that has ever listened to them?

Looking around the faerie village you reside in, you make sure no one is looking before making haste. Everyone was always so busy from sunrise to sundown that they would almost never notice you going missing in this timeframe. So why not make the best of it.

Once you finally sneak your way into the forest that surrounds your village, do you truly feel safe. Like you can let out a sigh of relief, you didn’t know you were holding in. It all felt more peaceful, and that says a lot coming from a faerie.

Finding your way back to the path you seem to always come back to, your feet begin to move a bit faster. Were you truly getting excited about seeing Shadow Milk again? Sadly, yes.

Humming softly, you finally approach the tree, stopping dead in your tracks. Where is Shadow Milk? And why does the tree look so… dead?

You feel your heart crack as you run to the tree, branches broken and creeper torn off, left on the ground to rot.

Did you cause this? Was this all your fault because you ripped the root with your foot as you ran? Did you cause the death of the Silver tree? Did you cause the escape of Shadow Milk?

“Mwe he he… Look who came back to see the disaster they caused!”

You feel a similar hold of dread grip on you, the voice of Shadow Milk feeling like it was ripping your ears right off. Why does his voice sound so different? Wait, does it? No, of course not. You only think it does because of his freedom, because of the power he now holds. Don’t be fooled, he always held this power, but when he was in the tree, he couldn’t use it.

That is not the case now.

“Oh, are you even listening?”

He’s mocking your words from yesterday.

Shadow Milk’s eyes open in the shadows near the tree, his body fully covered in the shadows. He squints his eyes as he watches your movement, seeing you slowly turn back towards the village. Oh, are you gonna tell the other faeries? Tell them that you’ve been going to Shadow Milk daily and that you freed him? Oh, he doesn’t think so.

“Are you seriously leaving already? You’re always here for hours.”

Yes you’re seriously gonna leave! You need to tell the other faeries, they’ll know what to do! They’ll surely put him back in the prison where he belongs!

“You are quiet, are you shocked that this is all your fault?”

You shake your head and take a few steps back, your eyes wide with fear. You need to go back to the village and fast.

Turning on your heel you face away from Shadow Milk’s glowing eyes in the shadows, running away… or at least attempting to. Just a few steps in your escape and you hear Shadow Milk’s footsteps thumping behind you, catching up to you fast.

You let out a sob when you feel his hand grab you, stopping you in your tracks. He fists your shirt and slams you on the ground, pinning you to it. Just now do you see him for the first time in light. Just now do you see what he truly looks like. A dark jester with the eyes of a madman. A powerful madman.

The outfit he’s wearing resembles a medieval court jester, but something is… off about it. It may be the soul jam he has on the ruffled collar, or the jester hat he has on, but it was just… not normal.

But what beast cookie is normal?

“Why the rush? Let’s take our time like we always have.”

Let's not do that!

Shadow Milk cackles and grabs onto your faerie robe, pulling it off of your shoulders.

You were absolutely disgusted. Both because of his touch, and because you knew what he was gonna do.

The virginity of a faerie was sacred, and if Shadow Milk was gonna take yours, it would be as if he took away your very life.

“You don’t seem to like this…” Was he seriously cooing at you? “Well that’s TOO BAD! How do you think I felt when you stupid faeries stuffed me into a tree prison?!” There is his normal voice… well, a slightly angry one, but it feels more normal than when he was cooing.

He lets out an annoyed groan when he cannot pull your white robes off, deciding to rip them off. You gasp out a breath when you hear the white silk robes rip under his fingers, the fine material giving up under his strength.

He discards the silk robes aside, his fingers moving down on your cotton panties. the cotton felt pure before, but now his fingers were tainting it with his. Lovely sin. Every faerie cookie alway told you to not become tainted by sin, but Shadow Milk cookie’s touch felt so right, so holy… despite his actions being anything but that.

You cannot believe how right this feels. Why aren’t you fighting back? You’re a faerie for god’s sake!

“Stopped fighting back I see… hehehe, now we can finally both have fun. Don’t worry I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself too.”

God, yes please. You aren’t sure what switched inside you as a faerie, but this felt incredible. You don’t care that this goes against your faerie teaching anymore. You need Shadow Milk cookie, and you need him now.

He hooks his fingers under your panties and pulls them off softly, stuffing them in his pocket. Was he seriously pocketing your used panties to keep them for later? Apparently so.

Shadow Milk dips two of his fingers into your, surprisingly, dripping cunt, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

“I thought that faeries like you would hate this, but look at you.”

He pulls his fingers out of your cunt with an embarrassingly loud squelch, spreading them apart in front of your face, showcasing the threads of your arousal webbing between them.

“Already this wet without me needing to do anything. But I suppose that’s good, makes it less painful for the both of us.”

His blue hands reach under his ruffled collar, a soft click of his nails against a zipper being heard through the forest. Your breathing heavies when you see him opening his dark jester costume, revealing his scrawny, pale blue body to you. Your breath catches in your throat when the zipper stops above his crotch, a huge bulge visible.

When other faeries spoke about their sexual acts with one another, you alway heard them saying that cocks were big, but this… this seemed impossibly big. Shadow Milk cackles at your stare before slipping the sleeves of the jester overall off, before moving to his waist, pulling it down to his thighs.

Your eyes widen when you see his erections rise to his stomach, being finally freed from their cloth prison. Did he always wear no underwear under the suit? Wait, erections? There’s more than one?

“Well, well, you seem surprised, my little sheep (shadow). Have you never seen anyone like me? Actually… have you ever even seen anyone under these circumstances?”

God knows you haven’t, but you are not about to say that to Shadow Milk. You’d much rather die from embarrassment. You have only heard about this act from the other faeries judging their respective partners, but from what you remember, they never mentioned a cookie having two cocks!

Not bothering to fully take off his jester costume, he keeps it pooled around his thighs, kneeling between your legs. He grabs you by the calf and puts your legs over his lean shoulders, your knee pit now snugly fitting against his collarbones.

He grabs one of his cocks and presses it to your entrance, his mouth falling open slightly when he feels heat coming off of your body. That’s enough to tell him you want this too… you need this too.

“My little lamb doesn’t even need prep, does she? You’re so wet that I’ll slip right in.”

You squeeze your eyes shut from how humiliating his words feel, not having any need to see his smug face along with his words.

“No, NO! That won’t do! You have to watch! You have to look at me!”

Shadow Milk grips your jaw between his index finger and thumb, forcing your face near his. His tongue lolls out with an erotic-sounding ‘plop’ before moving to lick your cheek.

You let out a guttural sound of disgust, the rough texture of his tongue feeling absolutely disgusting on your cheek. But… you don’t want him to stop.

One of his hands slips from your jaw to your wrists and pins them above your head, his other hand still on one of his cocks.

You feel as if the wind gets knocked out of your lungs when he presses the tip of one of his cocks to your entrance, feeling his eyes boring into your soul. Your eyes snap open and look at him, seeing his face scrunched up in pleasure.

“Finally, your eyes are back on me.”

His hips snap to meet yours, the entirety of his cock slipping inside of you in one go. You throw your head back in pleasure, feeling him stretch you to limits you didn’t know were possible.

The hand that Shadow Milk had on his cock before now reaches to your lower stomach, pressing down on it slightly. Your mouth falls open with a loud moan as Shadow Milk’s hand makes contact with your stomach, pressing down on where his cock is inside you.

He cackles slightly as he begins thrusting his cock into your cunt, deciding not to even go slow. He knew you could take it.

You continue your song of pleasure as his hips thrust against yours in a fast pace, but you can’t help but notice his other cock pressing against your butt each time his hips snap back against yours.

Shadow Milk moves his hand from your stomach to your breast, giving it a rough squeeze. His head, which was looming over you to watch your pleasured reactions, lowers to your other, unoccupied breast, his mouth opening to let his tongue lick at your hardened nipple. The cry of pleasure you let out due to his action makes him feel more excited than he is until now, his hips picking up speed, his mouth wrapping fully around your nipple to suck on it.

Your brain feels like it’s melting. This is all too much. The cock ramming into your deepest parts, feeling as if it was ramming into your womb. The hand on your breast with your other breast having his lips wrapped around it, his other cock slapping against your skin. It felt unreal.

One of your hands manages to slip from his grasp, moving down to his other, vacant, cock. Your hand can’t even manage to fully wrap around his cock, but you still jerk him off in a loose grip.

Shadow Milk’s breath hitches as you slowly move your hand over his cock, your thumb running over the tip of his cock. He moves his mouth off your breast, his eyes moving to lock with yours.

“You ngh… slutty little lamb…”

His hand swats yours off his cock, pinning it back above your head.

“Oh, you’re seriously this needy? Well, who am I to decline?”

He grabs his cock and lines it up to your ass, but narrows his eyes upon doing so. You’re a virgin, aren’t you? You’re a faerie, of course, you haven’t done anything. Especially not in your ass.

Shadow Milk lets go of one of his cock and presses his fingers to your lips, smiling menacingly.

“Suck them or I won’t bother to prep you.”

Not exactly being keen on Shadow Milk shoving his cock into your ass without prep, you listen. Opening your mouth, he shoves three fingers in, making you gag as he pushes them all the way in, the tips reaching into your throat.

He laughs and snaps his hips, delivering an especially harsh thrust to your cunt. You moan around his fingers, flexing your arms to try and get out of his grip. You need to hold him.

When he’s satisfied with how saliva-coated his fingers are he pulls them out of your mouth, lowering them back to your ass.

He looks at you and slows his thrusts slightly, looking at your facial expression to note if he sees any discomfort or fear. But he sees none.

Taking it as a good sign, he presses one of his fingers to your entrance, pushing it in. You gasp and throw your head back, the cock in your cunt making you feel a bit better.

The finger in you didn’t feel painful as you thought it would, it just felt odd… uncomfortable. Logically so, it was an intrusion that your body was not made to take.

Shadow Milk presses his finger in deeper, the second knuckle of his middle finger now touching your rim. You groan and arch your back, your hips twitching to close around the cookie between them. He lets out an annoyed groan and lets go of your wrists, moving the hand that held you down to your clit, rubbing lazy circles on it.

You moan and move your now unrestrained arms up towards him, wrapping them around his torso. You need to feel closeness, to feel him.

“Ngh.. you’re doing so good, so good for me. Let’s do a bit more, yeah?”

He adds another finger into you, making you squeal out in pleasure. It no longer feels odd, it feels as if it was made for you. As if you were made for him.

Growing impatient he pulls his finger out of you, grabs his cock and presses it against your ass. You shudder and open your shaking thighs to allow him easier access, sighing softly when his tip presses against your entrance.

“It’s fine, my lamb… You better get used to this, we’ll be doing this together a lot more…”

He lets out a spine-tingling cackle, pushing the tip of his cock into you. He stops thrusting his other cock that is deep in your cunt in order to sheat his cock into your ass, his finger still rubbing your clit in an attempt to loosen you up more.

You moan and cling to him, pulling him close to you. One of your hands moves to the wrist of the hand that is rubbing on your clit, attempting to push him away weakly. It all felt like too much, but you needed more.

Shadow Milk snaps his hips forward and pushes his cock halfway into your ass, making you sob out in pleasure. He laughs and lowers his head, kissing your jaw and neck before biting down on it roughly, breaking your skin. You whine and squeeze your arms around him tighter, his rough-textured tongue lapping up the blood that runs from the bite he has created.

“Just a little bit more, then the real show will begin.”

He moans quietly as he drinks up your blood, making a hickey around the bloody bite mark. With your pleasure-filled brain you barely notice him sucking on your neck, or the fact that he’s inching his cock into your ass.

When he bottoms out, he lets go of your neck, his hips still, to let you adjust to your new fullness. One of his hands stays near your cunt, his fingers rubbing your clit, his other hand moving to your breast to squeeze it gently, twisting your nipple between his fingers.

After about a minute of adjusting you still feel slight discomfort from one of his cocks being in your ass, but you can’t take it anymore. You need him to move. You need him.

Shadow Milk raises his eyebrow and smirks when he feels you grinding back against his cocks, moving his hips to pull his cocks out slightly before snapping his hips back. Your mouth falls open in pleasure, letting all of the moans he causes to be let out.

Noticing that you’re in no pain or discomfort, he begins to thrust harder, his hips picking up speed too. His hand that’s on your clit begins to add pressure, and the hand that was on your breast moves up to your neck, squeezing it.

It isn’t enough to make you choke, but it’s enough to slightly restrict your airflow. It’s enough to stimulate you further, to excite you.

Shadow Milk shudders and pulls you closer to him with each thrust, feeling like he needs more. His thumb presses into your jugular notch, making his grip firmer so that he can move your body against his.

You loved this.

Gasping your eyes widen and you shake your head, your walls squeezing around his cocks. You were so close, just a little bit more to send you over the edge!

Understanding that you’re close, Shadow Milk gets rougher with his movement, moving down to capture your mouth in a hungry and desperate kiss. His lips part a bit, letting his tongue lull out to lick at your lips, his tongue moving into your mouth to explore it.

Your tongues dance against each other in a desperate, heated fashion, your bodies entangled in a passionate entanglement.

Rubbing on your clit faster, Shadow Milk breaks the kiss, his hips shuddering.

You let out an earsplitting moan, feeling the cock that is in your cunt cum inside of you, making you squirt around him. He shudders when he feels your walls squeeze around his cocks, still thrusting despite your overstimulation. You let out a sob from how overwhelmed your body feels, your hands move to push against his chest in a need to push him away.

“I know it’s too much, my lamb, but I just need a bit more… Just hold on a bit longer.”

Didn’t he also cum already? Why does he need to keep going? Is he purposefully trying to make you cry from overstimulation? It sure feels like it!

His hips keep moving, granted at a slower rate than before, but it still feels like it’s too fast for your oversensitive body.

His hips and movement begin to become more and more inconsistent, along with his speech becoming more and more blurted. What was before ‘Please, just a bit more’ and ‘You’re doing so good for me’ has now turned into incomprehensible babbles of begging and borderline sobbing.

Looking down at his expression, you can see he’s also overstimulated, the corners of his closed eyes having small tears forming in them.

Shadow Milk delivers a few more thrusts before lowering his head to your chest, biting down onto your breast in an attempt to hide his moan as he cums from his other cock, filling you up to amounts you didn’ know were possible. You flinch as you feel his cum flow into your ass, the sensation of his teeth on your breast sending you over the edge one more time. You sob and wrap your ankles around his waist as your overstimulated body delivers another orgasm from you, your hands pushing on his head to pull him off your breast.

Shadow Milk complies with your demand and lets go of your breast, grabbing onto your ankles to make you unwrap them from him.

“Don’t get too comfortable, this doesn’t mean I like you, my dear lamb.”

You gasp when your legs unhook from around his waist, falling down to the ground. He roughly pulls away from you, his cocks slipping from your holes.

Shadow Milk walks over to where his discarded clothes lay, putting them back on.

“I do hope you and I meet again, despite you being a faerie.”

And with that, the deceitful beast cookie disappears into the Shadows, not to be seen by you again.

You need to get back to the village and tell the other faeries about his escape, but it would be for the best if you left out the part about having sex with the escapee.

[iamthatonefangirl]

oh look it's me again but uh winter soldier with an exhibitionism kink👀

-🍒

I love u queen

public - nsfw winter soldier

okay so obviously these two are so fucking weird but I really want to explore this fuck ass relationship dynamic, so that’s kind of what I’m doing here. for the sake of writing this scene the way I want to, assume they've never been out in public together before.

fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. pre-established relationship.

~~~

when he grabbed your hand and started dragging you to the bedroom, you assumed you knew exactly what was about to go down.

except when you got there, he didn't immediately pull you into bed. he let go of your hand halfway through the room and walked over to the closet, leaving you stunned. what was he doing?

in a second, he was throwing something at you. you quickly grabbed whatever he'd tossed to you, some article of clothing, and you looked down at it to unfold it.

your little black dress?

you confusedly looked up at him for confirmation, and he nodded, pointing to it.

okay, so he wanted to fuck you while you were wearing the dress, apparently.

~~~

you were way off, apparently.

he wouldn't just tell you what he wanted, of course he wouldn't. when did he ever...

so after you finally realized you were going out, you were floored. he grumbled something about going to a bar, confusing the hell out of you.

so you decided to treat it like any other night out, do your makeup real heavy, thick eyeliner and dark lipstick. you could almost hear his whole body stiffen when he saw you all done up.

so you could still surprise him.

~~~

he took you a fairly decent bar, not one of those dingy crapholes you imagine he might go to while out on a job, looking for whatever sustenance he could find while working.

but still shoddy enough for him to be seen there.

that's when you knew for fact that there was an ulterior motive. sure, there always was with him, but now?

what was the plan here?

he didn't like to be seen, but he seemed to want to show you off. his hand never left your waist once, from the second you walked out the door until the point you ordered your drinks. and even then, he still held you like someone would try to take you from him.

regardless, he wanted the sprinkling of men in the bar to see you. to see that you were all dolled up, dressed nicer than anyone else there, and you were his.

so it's a power trip, you think. to have power over the other men in the room, that he had something they could look at but couldn't touch; could desire but couldn't have. to have the power of knowing he owns you, not only within the walls you live in, but everywhere you go.

you'd never seen him like this before.

you soaked up every second of it, of being the only person he directed any attention to in a room full of people. of finally having the chance to somewhat show off that you were, in fact, taken.

since you'd never have the chance to have a normal relationship with him.

you basked in it as long as you could.

~~~

he watched you every second, like a hawk.

he eyed you when you put on the dress, as you did your makeup so boldly, as you stepped out of the black taxicab. he watched you.

he knew this was a bad idea. he knew being seen in public with you was a bad idea.

but he had an idea in his head, and he wasn't going to back down now. so he plotted it perfectly.

over the course of one or two drinks each, you slowly meandered over to a darker corner of the room, far more sparse with people. men's gazes finally drifted away from you, focusing back on their beers, drowning their thoughts and forgetting entirely about you.

when he pushed you up against the wall, holding you by the hips, you knew.

he's about to pull something. in public.

"James, no," you hiss, holding your glass close to your chest and looking around the room for any onlookers. you found none, and looked back into his eyes.

you'd gotten good at reading him, a man of little expression and even fewer words. you had to given how little he spoke.

so when you looked in his eyes, you knew. he wanted this, but he wouldn't do something so bold without you agreeing.

this is stupid, you think. a terrible, horrible idea...

it's arguably even stupider that you're already out in public together, being seen together. granted, there were no security cameras in the place (something he'd taught you to look for) and nobody that appeared to be suspicious (something you knew he looked for everywhere he went).

so you looked around the room once more before setting down your glass and inching both of your bodies closer into the dark corner. you pulled his chest flush against yours.

and then his hands were on your thighs, trailing up underneath the fabric that left little to the imagination.

this was stupid. he was being reckless.

but he was still a trained... don't think about that.

he's trained for the worst of the worst. if it wasn't safe, he wouldn't do this, wouldn't put you in danger.

at least, that's what you try to tell yourself when your breath hitches. you try to hold it to keep yourself from making any noise as he touches you.

a metal hand comes to grope at your chest, and you swallow down a moan before it can escape your lips. he notices, obviously, and gives you a small nod to laud you for it.

he's on edge, you can tell. still listening to everything happening in the room, prepared for anything that might happen. prepared to get you both the hell out of there at any second should he need to.

his slight distraction makes him act more gently. he eases the hem of your dress up your legs ever so slowly, making only the slightest of adjustments.

his hand on your chest touches you over your dress, pinching at your skin through the thin material to softly rile you up.

this is a bad idea.

this is so fucking hot.

his fingers trail up your inner thighs, gently kicking one of your feet to the side only enough for him to get his hand between your legs. he teases, his fingertips barely making contact with your skin. it's only enough to tickle you, and it makes you shudder the more he does it.

he lays his mouth against your collarbone, placing a bite just enough to surprise you, while his fingers move from your thighs to find where you're not wearing any panties under your dress.

you're sure you feel him smirk against you.

you scan around the room again as he begins to tease, gently testing how tight you are, how wet and ready you are for him.

there's nobody watching, not that you know of. this corner is so dark, and there's not that many people here, and...

he slowly sinks two fingers inside of you, in a room full of half-drunk men you can't trust. in fucking public.

yet there's something about this that you might never get enough of. maybe it's the adrenaline, or it's the feeling of knowing you're the only one he would do this to. the proof that this is real, he is yours.

you decide it's the adrenaline rush.

you lay your head back against the wall as he sucks a hickey over your collarbone, fingers moving so delicately in and out of you, trying to make sure you're making next to no sound between your legs or from your lips.

you do a pretty good job of keeping your composure, you think, as you let him fuck you with his fingers against the wall of a literal bar. he keeps sucking hickeys across your chest above the neckline of your dress, leaving proof that this happened, so you'll both have a reminder for the next week of the crazy, sexy stunt you pulled.

you're never doing this again, you think.

but you're fucking loving letting him do this to you while the rest of the world seems to go about their lives, having no clue of what's going on right under their noses.

his fingers work in perfect rhythm, controlling whatever he can in such an uncontrolled environment.

"gonna come?" he whispers into your ear. it's so low you almost don't hear it, but you understand the sentiment. you nod and whisper, "more," into his ear, hoping no one else hears and catches on.

he gets the point, rubbing his thumb over your clit, now paying close attention to your face.

"my name. when you come," he whispers to you.

all the attempts to be quiet, to keep this dirty secret between the two of you right now, and yet he's still asking you to affirm his claim on you. even while you let him defile you in public, he stills wants the audible confirmation that you're his.

so you dig your fingers into his hair while you're holding him in place in front of you to preserve some of your dignity. he lets you dig your nails into his scalp as you summon all the self-control in your body.

"James," you whisper, little more than an exhale, and you shudder against the wall while you bite down on your lip, refusing to make another noise as you come harder than ever before.

this is the hottest thing he's ever seen, he thinks.

mission accomplished. this is what he wanted, to do this to you right here, tonight.

but he didn't anticipate the thrill being so... enticing.

he grabs your hand in his metal one, leading you across the room, back into the gaze of every man here, and drags you out the door.

you barely fix your dress to cover your modesty before you're in the light again, and you're pretty sure you watch him suck his fingers clean in front of everyone.

you're barely out the door, expecting him to hail a cab, but you're once again proven wrong. it's been a night of nothing but surprises, clearly.

he pulls you by the hand down the road and into a dark, creepy alley on the side of the building where the bar is.

he just can't get enough of this.

he hauls you further into the shadows, and you think you see a rat run by when he pushes you up against the hard brick, holding your head in one hand so it doesn't hit the wall.

he's scrambling, overwhelmed with the desire to take you right here, right now. his hands yank and pull at his belt buckle, trying to hurry up and fuck you already.

your hands are immediately on his, helping him shove fabric to the side before hiking your dress up and wrapping a leg around him to give him easy access.

his metal hand returns to hold your head, his other tightly gripping your leg in place around him, and then he's pushing inside you harshly. this time, you make no efforts to conceal the loud breaths and noises he's evoking from you, and you moan uncontrollably as he rails you in this dark alley in god only knows where.

you can tell he's far more riled up than usual, less worried about taking the time to fuck you properly and more worried about getting you both off. he's growling and heaving, even letting out small little whines every here and there that he'll never admit to, chasing after a climax you're both desperate for.

you get so caught up in the thrill, in the idea of what you're doing and hot wrong but how hot it is, and you're not even aware when you fall apart. your orgasm hits you like a truck, out of nowhere, and you cling to him all while sobbing his name loudly.

"fuck," he hisses when he buries himself in you once last time before letting go, filling you until the point you feel him dripping down your inner thighs while still buried inside you.

you stay like that for a while, catching your breath, the heat of the moment passing and making you realize the reality of what just happened.

you look up to meet his gaze. you want to be appalled, disgusted by what you both just did.

but there's not a single regret between the two of you.

~~~

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