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gf2bellamy · 4 months ago

Note

I have no idea if I hallucinated that requested this or smt, so totally ignore this if i've already asked.

But could you ever do a fic where spencer is at the hospital from that time he got shot at, and reader gets his belongings while he's in surgery and she sees a ring box in between them. (Engagement ring ofc) And she talks with spencer after and tells him that she saw it.

That's kinda the idea, love your work and thanks in advance if you decide to write it. 🥰

ring — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: spencer is in the hospital because of his neck injury , mention of a shooting, reader being worried / panicked , a/n: hii !! i loved this request so much that i ended up writing like 5 different versions of it - i hope you like this !! <33 ( also i definitely got carried away with this )

Blake had practically shoved you out of the hospital waiting room, insisting you go to Spencer’s apartment.

You didn’t want to leave—not when Spencer was still in surgery, not when every second felt like an eternity of uncertainty.

But Blake had been firm but kind. “He’s going to be okay, but he’ll need things when he wakes up.”

You had resisted at first, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Garcia’s call hours earlier had sent your world spinning. “Spencer’s been shot,” she had said, her voice trembling.

You didn’t remember the drive to the hospital—only the blur of streetlights and the pounding of your heart. When you arrived, Blake had met you in the waiting room. She explained that a bullet had grazed Spencer’s neck, that it was serious but not life-threatening.

Still, the word “surgery” had lodged itself in your chest.

It wasn’t until the doctor emerged to tell you the surgery had gone well that you finally agreed to leave. Spencer was stable, but he wasn’t awake yet, and visiting hours were over. Blake had told you, “Go pack a bag for him. He’ll need clothes when he’s discharged.”

Now, standing in the middle of Spencer’s apartment, you felt weird.

The space was so him—neatly organized bookshelves, a chessboard set up on the coffee table, and the faint scent of Earl Grey tea lingering in the air.

It was comforting, but it also made his absence feel more pronounced. You took a deep breath and got to work, pulling out a duffel bag from his closet and starting to pack.

You began with the essentials: a few pairs of pants, sweaters , and socks. You couldn’t help but smile as you grabbed a handful of mismatched ones. But then you remembered his purple scarf, the one he always wore when the weather turned chilly. It was his favorite, and you knew he’d want it when he was discharged.

The problem was, you couldn’t find it.

You opened drawer after drawer, your frustration growing with each one. Spencer was organized, but the scarf was nowhere to be found.

“Where is it?” you muttered under your breath, your hands moving faster as you rifled through his things. You checked the top shelf of the closet, the hooks by the door, even the laundry basket, but it wasn’t there.

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, you pushed aside the row of clothes hanging in the closet, your fingers brushing against something soft and familiar.

There it was—tucked away in the very back, as if it had been hidden on purpose.

But as you pulled the scarf free, something else tumbled out, landing softly on the carpet at your feet.

A small, rectangular white box.

Your breath hitched as you stared at it, your mind racing.

You carefully placed the scarf in the duffel bag, your hands trembling slightly as you bent down to pick up the box.

The box was too small, too specific to be anything ordinary. You held it in your palm.Slowly, almost hesitantly, you lifted the lid.

And there it was.

A ring.

A beautiful, delicate ring with a diamond that caught the dim light of the room, scattering tiny rainbows across your hand. It wasn’t just any ring—it was an engagement ring.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the air out of your lungs. You sat down heavily on the edge of Spencer’s bed, your legs suddenly unable to support you.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Your eyes were wide, your mouth slightly open as you stared at the ring, unable to look away. The diamond sparkled, almost as if it were alive, and you reached out to touch it lightly, as if to confirm it was real. The metal was cool against your skin, the stone smooth and perfect.

Your mind raced, trying to process what this meant. You couldn’t help but already imagine the moment he might have planned—his nervous smile, his hands fidgeting, his voice soft as he asked the question. The image was so vivid it made your heart ache.

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, the ring cradled in your hand, your thoughts spiraling. But then, like a jolt, you remembered where you were supposed to be.

The hospital. Spencer.

He was still there, still recovering, and you were sitting here staring at a ring.

Carefully, you placed the ring back in its box and closed the lid. Your hands were still shaking as you tucked the box into the duffel bag, burying it beneath the clothes and the scarf. You stood up, slinging the bag over your shoulder, and took one last look around the apartment.

As you locked the door behind you and headed back to your car, your mind was still spinning.

The drive to the hospital was a daze. The streets blurred together.

Before you knew it, you were pulling into the parking lot. You sat in the car for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly, trying to steady your breathing.

The ring. It was all you could think about.

Finally, you forced yourself to move, grabbing the duffel bag and stepping out into the cool night air. The walk to the entrance felt surreal, like you were moving through a dream. The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and you made your way to the waiting room.

You sat down in one of the stiff chairs, the duffel bag resting heavily in your lap. Your thoughts were a swirling mess, replaying every moment, every interaction with Spencer over the past few weeks. Things that had seemed innocent at the time now took on a new meaning.

A couple of weeks ago, he had dragged you into a jewelry store, casually asking what styles you liked. You had laughed it off, thinking he was just curious. Then there were the random dinners at different restaurants, him intently watching your reactions as you tried new dishes. “What kind of food do you like best?” he had asked, his tone light but his eyes serious.

At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. Now it all made sense.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice Blake walking in. She sat down across from you. It wasn’t until she spoke that you snapped back to reality.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You blinked, finally noticing her presence. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Thanks,” you mumbled, forcing an awkward smile.

Your voice sounded distant, even to yourself, and you could tell Blake wasn’t entirely convinced. She studied you for a moment, her gaze flickering to the bag in your lap.

“Did you get everything you needed?” she asked, her tone casual.

You glanced down at the bag, your fingers tightening around the fabric. “Yeah, I got him some sweaters, pants, and just… clothes in general,” you said, your voice trailing off as your gaze drifted to the wall behind her. Your mind was already wandering again, back to Spencer, back to the ring, back to the unanswered questions that were swirling in your head.

And then, almost casually, Blake added, “And scarves?”

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, your eyes locking onto hers. She was smiling slightly, her gaze knowing. “You found it, didn’t you?” she asked. She took in your wide-eyed expression, the way your hands tightened around the duffel bag, and she didn’t need an answer.

She already knew.

“He asked me for advice,” Blake continued, shaking her head as if recalling the memory. A soft laugh escaped her, and you could tell she was amused by the whole thing.

“He did?” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart was pounding, your mind racing to keep up with the conversation.

“Yes,” Blake said, her smile widening. “He wanted to make sure he got it right. Spencer’s not the type to do anything halfway, you know that.”

A smile tugged at your lips—maybe the first genuine one since Garcia’s call had shattered your world hours ago. You let out an emotional chuckle, the sound shaky. “It’s a beautiful ring,” you admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“It is,” Blake agreed, her voice warm. “He spent weeks looking for the perfect one. Even spent hours in one store, agonizing over the details. You should’ve seen him.”

You had to brush a tear from your eye as another chuckle escaped you. “That sounds like him,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

The thought of Spencer meticulously searching for the right ring, second-guessing himself, trying to make sure it was perfect—it was so him. So thoughtful, so Spencer.

It was a lot to process and your mind was still spinning, when suddenly a nurse appeared in the doorway of the waiting room.

“Are you two here for Spencer Reid?” she asked.

You nodded immediately, jumping to your feet so quickly that the duffel bag slipped from your lap and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Blake reached down to pick it up, handing it to you with a small smile. “He’s awake,” the nurse continued. “You can see him now.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, a mix of relief and nervousness flooding through you. You turned to Blake, expecting her to follow, but she stayed seated, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Are you not coming?” you asked, your voice tinged with confusion.

Blake shook her head, her smile soft and knowing. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she said gently. Her tone left no room for argument, and you realized she understood. The emotions were about to be high, the moment intimate, and Blake was giving you the space you needed.

You smiled, gratitude washing over you. “Thanks, Blake,” you said, your voice sincere. She nodded, her eyes warm, and with that, you turned and hurried after the nurse, the duffel bag clutched tightly in your hands.

The walk to Spencer’s room felt both endless and far too short.

Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts, a thousand questions, but all of them faded into the background when the nurse stopped outside a door and gestured for you to go in. “Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

The nurse gave you a reassuring smile before walking away, leaving you standing there, your hand hovering over the door handle.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and then pushed the door open. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft beeping of the heart monitor. Spencer was lying in the bed, his eyes closed, his face pale. For a moment, you just stood there, taking him in, relief flooding through you at the sight of him alive and breathing.

And then his eyes fluttered open, as if he could sense your presence. “Hi,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Hi, Spence,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you closed the door behind you and stepped closer to his bed. Your eyes scanned his face, taking in the faint lines of exhaustion and the bandage on his neck.

You set the duffel bag down on a nearby chair, your hands fidgeting nervously as you tried to find the right words.

But before you could say anything, Spencer’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “You’re here,” he said, his voice soft.

“Of course I’m here,” you replied, your voice breaking slightly. The words felt inadequate, but they were all you could manage. Spencer watched you with a weak smile, his eyes soft but tired.

You weren’t entirely sure how to approach the situation. Your hands hovered awkwardly at your sides, unsure whether to touch him or keep your distance.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, your voice gentle as you stood right next to his bed, close but not quite touching.

“I’m okay,” Spencer said. He tried to sit up slightly, wincing as he shifted. You instinctively stepped forward, your hands reaching out but still not making contact. “You sure? Do you want me to get you something? Water? A pillow?” you offered, your voice tinged with worry.

“No, no,” Spencer shook his head, managing a small smile as he finally settled against the raised bed. He glanced at you, his eyes searching yours, and then he whispered, “You can touch me.”

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him. He had noticed—of course he had. Your hesitation and your fear of hurting him if you touched him.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You immediately rushed to sit down on the edge of the bed, where he had slightly patted the space beside him with as much energy as he could muster. Your hands found their way to his face, brushing the hair away from his forehead, your fingers trembling as they traced the lines of his face.

“God, you scared me so much,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding in. Spencer closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as you continued to gently twist his hair between your fingers. Your hands eventually drifted down to his face, brushing over his cheekbones, your touch feather-light.

Spencer let out a soft sigh, his eyes still closed, his breathing steady but shallow. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

When he opened his eyes, you stared at him for a moment, trying to absorb the fact that he was really here, awake, and alive. The relief was overwhelming, but so was the flood of emotions you’d been holding back. You wanted to say so much, but the words felt tangled, caught somewhere between your heart and your throat.

Instead, you forced a small smile and shifted the conversation to something lighter. “I got you some clothes,” you said, gesturing to the duffel bag. “I figured your hospital gown isn’t exactly comfortable.”

“It’s not,” Spencer admitted, his voice still weak but with a hint of amusement. You set the bag on your lap and opened it slightly, pulling out a few items to show him. “I got you some books too,” you added, hoping to distract him—and maybe yourself—from the heaviness of the moment.

Spencer’s interest was immediately piqued, his tired eyes lighting up just a little.

“Which ones did you—” he started to ask, but then he stopped mid-sentence. His gaze had landed on something in the bag, and his expression shifted.

You followed his eyes and realized what he was looking at: the purple scarf. It was peeking out from beneath the stack of clothes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker.

Spencer’s mouth opened slightly, his eyes darting from the scarf to you and back again. You could see the realization dawning on his face, and your stomach dropped.

“It was an accident,” you finally said nervously, breaking the silence. Your voice was rushed, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to find it. I was just grabbing your scarf because, you know, it’s freezing outside, and I thought you’d want it when you’re discharged, and—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were rambling. “I’m sorry,” you added, shaking your head and offering an awkward smile.

Spencer, meanwhile, was full-on blushing, his pale cheeks now flushed with color. It was a stark contrast to how he’d looked just 20 seconds ago.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, clearly at a loss for words. His cheeks were still flushed, his eyes darting nervously around the room before finally settling on the wall behind you. He looked completely lost in thought, his mind racing a mile a minute.

“No—it’s… it’s okay,” Spencer finally managed to say, though his voice was quiet and hesitant. He still wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“Spence?” you asked softly, your slightly trembling hand reaching up to gently cup his face again. Your touch seemed to pull him back to the present, and his eyes slowly met yours.

“I’ve been planning this for a long time,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. Your hand fell from his face, but he caught it before it could retreat, his fingers intertwining with yours. His grip was firm, almost as if he were afraid you might pull away. “I asked Blake for advice,” he admitted, his tone sheepish.

“I know,” you whispered, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “She told me.”

Spencer didn’t seem surprised that Blake had shared that with you. Instead, he nodded, his eyes dropping to your joined hands.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “I had a speech prepared, and I—I was going to have this whole routine on how I would ask you.” He tightened his hold on your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m sorry you found out like this,” he added, his voice hesitant.

He opened his mouth again, meeting your eyes for a brief second before looking away, as if he couldn’t bear to hold your gaze.

The room fell silent. You could see the disappointment in his expression, the way he was beating himself up for not being able to execute his plan the way he’d envisioned. But to you, none of that mattered. What mattered was the love behind it, the thought and care he’d put into something so meaningful.

After a beat of silence, you finally spoke, your voice soft.

“My answer is the same either way,” you whispered.

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, he just stared at you, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“You want to…?” he started, but he didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The hope in his eyes said it all.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yes,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears welling in your eyes. “Of course I do, Spencer. How could I not?”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and pure joy. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire being. He squeezed your hand tighter, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again.

You smiled, your own eyes slightly glossy as you looked at him. The room felt quieter now, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

“Now you have to heal faster,” you whispered, your voice teasing but tender as you brushed your thumb over his fingers, “so we can get working on our wedding preparations.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up at the word wedding, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts shy and delighted.

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if he were trying to process the reality of what you’d just said. Then he let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and genuine despite the hoarseness in his voice.

“Wedding preparations,” he repeated, his tone a mix of awe and amusement. “I… I hadn’t even gotten that far in my planning yet.” He paused, his smile turning sheepish. “I was so focused on the proposal that I didn’t think much about what would come after.”

You chuckled. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve got plenty of ideas,” you said, your tone playful. “But first, you need to rest and get better. No more getting shot, okay? I can’t have my fiancé—” The word felt strange but wonderful on your tongue, and you paused, savoring it for a moment before continuing, “—running around getting himself hurt.”

Spencer’s smile widened at the word fiancé, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Fiancé,” he murmured, as if testing out how it sounded. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” you admitted, your voice soft. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering for a moment against his skin. When you pulled back, his eyes were closed, his expression peaceful.

“I’ll heal faster,” he promised, his voice quiet. “I’ve got a wedding to plan now, after all.”

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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hyuneflix · 4 months ago

Text

THE CURE • Bang Chan

sex therapist!chan x client!reader after years of unhappy endings, your friend suggests a trip to sydney's most up and coming sex therapist. you hadn't expected much, least of all to discover the cure you'd been looking for all this time was your therapist himself.

word count: 11k << back to dash // next episode >>

CONTENT WARNINGS

𐙚 - female masturbation, mutual masturbation, vibrator use, phone sex, guided masturbation, dirty talk, use of "slut" and similar terms, chan is called sir, lowkey orgasm denial, sub!reader, soft dom!chan slightly possessive chan, some mentions of a corruption kink.

! - inappropriate relationship dynamic (chan is her sex therapist), reader is written to be neurodivergent though it isn't explicitly stated, mention of dissociation and depersonalisation, brief descriptions of a dissociative episode, non-descript mentions of trauma around sex, therapy talk/setting. everything is intentionally vague but be careful nonetheless.

episode one - a cure for unhappy endings

Never in a million years had you ever expected you’d be sat in the plush, sleek office of one of Sydney’s most esteemed sex therapists.

You weren’t quite sure how your close friend had managed to convince you to make an appointment, her perky voice insisting it would magic away all of your problems while sliding an equally polished business card toward you. Perhaps it had been the conviction and openness with which she told you it saved her marriage that had you contemplating it in earnest. Alternatively it could’ve been her manner of being–the cheery disposition which led her to float into every room with a wide smile–one that made you sure she was doing something right. Whatever the reason you were here.

The waiting room looked akin to a modern showroom, the walls a crisp white save for a wide strip of matte black that accented one side of the room. Lounge chairs dotted the sizable space, the light grey of the velvety fabric contrasting against the one black wall. The greyscale of the room’s aesthetic was broken up by pops of green and gold, present in the flourishing of tall house plants that scattered the room beside towering, pale yellow-lit lamps. The floor looked to be a marbled stone material, perhaps a dark porcelain sleet or purbeck, partially hidden beneath a single rug that housed the centre of the room. Atop the geometric carpet a glass coffee table sat littered with pamphlets and magazines, a bouquet of white lilies placed in the very middle. The dreary silence of the near-empty space was compromised by the whirl of the air conditioning accompanied only by the occasional taps of keys echoing from behind the receptionist's desk.

You tapped your foot soundlessly as you awaited your appointment, fingers curled tightly around a paper cup. The cardboard was hot beneath your already too-warm palms, the container half-filled with a surprisingly expensive tasting coffee. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised that Sydney’s most up and coming sex therapist spared no expense when it came to their guests, though knowing so little about the person you were due to meet, your expectations were caught in a chaotic flurry of uncertainty and nervousness. You tried to still your restless limbs, planting your foot firmly against the solid ground as if the feeling of the floor beneath your shoes would heighten your senses, stilling your mind. Attempting, instead, to focus solely on the white noise that exhaled from the AC vent. You couldn’t, though. You never could. That was why you were here after all. You were so entirely unable to relax–to calm your nerves and quiet your mind–that even a climax was too far from reach. Your leg bounced anxiously at this, a huff of air from your parted lips sending strands of hair catching in the soft breeze it created.

Your eyes lifted to the clock above the reception, brows scrunching as the hand ticked slowly passed 3:15pm. Fifteen minutes behind schedule. It wasn’t the lateness that had your eyebrows furrowing in slight annoyance, it was the minutes more you’d have to spend in the presence of your own nervous thoughts. Swallowing down some more of your coffee you placed the paper cup on the small side table beside you, freeing up your hands as you dug around the contents of your tote for your phone. The aged white fabric, its front decorated with a bright sun and array of technicoloured pastel flowers, rarely left your side. It was a comforting piece of familiarity in the otherwise chaotic and ever-changing ambience of Australia’s once largest city. The external screen of your mobile lit up the moment it was freed from the shadowed confines of the multi-coloured canvas, revealing a few messages from the very friend who had placed you here on this day.

[ from: Matilda ♥️]

2:32pm: don’t forget ur apt ik what ur like 😉

2:55pm: istg if ur still asleep ?? i juss knew going out last night was a mistake smh

3:01pm: k i see how it is ,, enjoy being pent up for the rest of ur life cunt ❤️

You snickered at her quick descent into petty remarks, fingers tugging at the folded screen until it opened. Tapping in your passcode you responded, letting her know you hadn’t missed your appointment despite the simmering of an ache in your temple. She wasn’t wrong, going out last night wasn’t the smartest idea but you’d insisted it would help you get out some of that nervous energy that threatened to spill over in instances like this one. You theorised that with a pounding head and an undercurrent of nausea your racing thoughts would have something else to fixate on. Imagine your surprise when you awoke in near good health. It was only natural that the one time you didn’t mind feeling a little worse for wear you felt on cloud nine. You were cursed, that was the only explanation; one that felt even more true given your current occupancy in the waiting room of a sex therapist.

The creek of a door drew your attention away from your phone, a deep voice calling your name despite the absence of other customers situated in the expanse he’d entered. Your gaze fixed on the figure half-hidden by the door frame, eyes widening when you took in the details of the person a few feet from you. It suddenly became abundantly clear why the man before you was so successful in his attempts to fix his clients sex lives; he was exceptionally handsome. Attractive in a quiet and unconventional way but undeniably so all the same. His dark gaze was soft despite the all-consuming black holes his deep brown eyes became. They sucked you in without warning, swallowing you whole the longer you held his stare. It wasn’t just his enthralling pair of aphotic orbs that had the breath catching in your throat, everything about him seemed crafted by an artist so proficient in their technique you failed to scrutinise a single flaw.

You managed a smile as you grabbed for your coffee, swallowing down the last of the cooling liquid to discard in the metallic bin on your journey toward the magnetic man; the muted thud when it hit the bottom going unacknowledged as you passed. Your tote hung from your shoulder lazily as you followed him into his office, watching the way his upper back and arms flexed beneath his too-tight charcoal dress shirt. The silk-cotton sleeves, despite the slightly ill fit, remained rolled up mid-way; veiny arms on full display as he directed you toward another set of lounge chairs. You’d hoped to feel better once your appointment began–you usually did–but having laid eyes upon the man you were expected to speak openly with regarding such intimate details, you only felt worse. His pink, plump lips widened in a large smile as he motioned you toward one of the chairs. You complied, bag slipping from your shoulder as you lowered yourself into the comfortable leather.

“Sorry for the late start; had a meeting overrun.” He spoke with emphatic sincerity, dimples pressing indentations against his pale cheeks. You could only nod, mind preoccupied by the tufts of dark curls caught in the artificial breeze that pulsed throughout the space. The office was a little larger than the last room, the aesthetics similar save the large windows on one side of it; their transparency enveloping the area in a warm glow of natural light. The beating sun against the crystal clear glass contradicted the chill of the aircon, balancing the room’s temperature to near perfection. Yet, despite this, you felt far too hot with your flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. A symptom, no doubt, of the man sat across from you.

“That’s okay, I get it.” You murmured back, fingers toying with the hem of your checkered summer dress, the soft cotton providing your anxious energy with some relief. The man in front of you seemed to take note of your nervous fussing, eyes falling to your bare thighs momentarily to fix on the opening and closing of your fists around the hem. His tongue darted across his bottom lip adding a glossy sheen to his already enticing smile; deep brown pools still drinking in your itching fingers with an unreadable expression.

“I know you must be feeling nervous–that’s normal–but you don’t have to worry about diverging anything until you’re ready.” His smile widened, reaching beside him to grab a large ipad from a short table, action in tandem with the raising of his gaze. “Why don’t we start with introductions and then we can go over some basics; try and set a baseline for what you’re comfortable discussing?” You nodded at this, words failing you for a moment.

“That works for me.” Your mouth caught up with your brain, offering him a smile of your own.

“Good, well I’m Chan; Bang Chan. My friends call me Chris though, so you’re welcome to call me that.” His disarming nature was impossible to ignore, the tone of his voice paired with his approachable expression relaxing your shoulders. It had been hard to imagine that a man with such stature and poise could be so easy-going, but the moment a smile tugged at his lips it was as if his entire being beamed with it.

“I’ve never heard the name Chan before, I like it.” You thought aloud, earning a wide-eyed grin from the man in front of you. It was hard not to allow yourself to stray when a sparkle lit up his gaze; the soft glimmer of something unknown swimming in its brown depths. Its mere presence making it near impossible to cling to your inhibitions, to remain anything but comfortable beneath his stare.

“Thank you, umm, that’s the first time anyone’s ever told me that.” He practically radiated with warmth–giving the sun beyond the glass a run for its money–now shy gaze lowering to the device in his lap. Your confidence grew at this, the power balance between you shifting in your favour for just a moment.

“Well, most people are dumb I've learned.” Chan stifled a laugh at this, looking up at you through his lashes in brief acknowledgment before the dull tap of his purposeful actions against his ipad screen stole his attention near instantaneously.

“Hopefully I can be an exception to that rule.” He quipped back, earning a soft chuckle from you. “So your name is y/f/n, right?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, that’s me.” You exhaled a soft breath. Your newfound comfort was enough to simmer your busy brain, but your body had other ideas, hands fiddling with the decorative string of your pastel summer dress while the conversation flowed between you.

“No, that’s okay. Always better to make sure in case another y/n somehow wandered in.” It was his turn to offer a laugh, the contagious noise a chortle cut off by the push of air from his lungs. Breathy and short-lived, but genuine nonetheless.

“Now that would be a crazy twist of fate.” You humoured him, smile widening with every moment spent in his company. It was inexplicable the manner with which the air around you had changed–as if something magnetic and charged hung within its formless presence. You couldn’t see it, just as you couldn’t see the crisp air expelled from the AC, nor the humid warmth that radiated from the sun, but you could feel it.

“Truly, stranger things have happened though.” Chan looked up from his ipad, seemingly finished with whatever had occupied his attention. You figured it had been the documents you’d been asked to fill out before your session, pages upon pages of personal information and sexual history now ingrained in the confines of his mind. That was an odd thought to say the least.

“Ain’t that a fact–did you ever hear about that dude Mike Madman Marcum?” You distracted yourself from the rising discomfort, brain making leaps and bounds toward a vaguely relevant subject in its attempt to retreat.

“Mike Madman Marcum?” Another exhaled laugh from his nose followed his words, lips parted in a grin that showed his pearly teeth and a glimpse of pink gum. Again the craters grew in the soft dough of his cheeks, expression transformed from unreadable–nearly disinterested–to warm and inviting.

“Yeah, bro literally invented some sort of black hole, time travel portal shit and then mysteriously disappeared, like what?” You kept talking, brows raised in disbelief as if you hadn’t heard the story spilling from your lips until now.

“That sounds fake.” He shook his head, tipping it to the side afterward in interest.

“You’d think so but it's true.” You shrugged, ghost of a smile still present. It felt impossible not to have even a slight upturn of your lips around him; about as implausible as a rainy day during an Aus summer.

“How can you know that?” His laugh grew beyond the point of breathy displays of amusement to a noticeable chuckle.

“It’s a long story but there’s a police report about him and his time machine, bro got run out of his hometown and everything ‘cause of his antics. Then he makes the machine again somewhere else and ends up missing. It’s crazy, truly insane.” You filled him in, fingers still picking at the hem of your dress, out of habit more than nerves now.

“... You gotta send me that article ‘cause I’m curious not gonna lie.” His response had you tipping your head back in silent laughter, not expecting his genuine interest.

“Yeah? I’ll email you the podcast I listened to.” You nodded.

“You better ‘cause I'll lose sleep wondering about Mike Madman Marcum otherwise.” Sharing a laugh at his words, you couldn’t help but notice how melodic the different tones sounded together. Almost as if you were harmonising one another’s merriment. It charged the air with a new kind of unseen feeling, almost as if giving what had once been there more fuel.

“Oh, I will. First thing I’ll do when I get back home.” You promised, bottom lip enclosed by your teeth while you fought back your widest grin yet. Was it too much to call that sensibility between you chemistry? Were you the only one aware of the electric buzz that emanated through the air, feeling most active in the space that kept you from one another.

“Thanks, much appreciated. We should probably get back on track though, don’t wanna waste your money talking about time travel.” He maintained a smile, eyes leaving yours to trail across the brightly lit screen once more.

“Yeah, sorry, that’s my bad.” You apologised, fingers intertwining with one another to refrain from picking at the stray threads of your dress any longer.

“Don’t even mention it. Are wandering thoughts something that you get often?” He voiced aloud his observation, your shoulders rising slightly as the atmosphere around you changed again. Only, instead of the impalpable gravity that drew you to him, you felt something indiscernible push you backward.

“All the time.” You admitted, answer short.

“Do you feel that it encroaches on your sex life too?” He cut straight to the chase, your eyes blinking wide as your shoulders grew tense.

“Probably.” You retorted, shifting in your seat.

“Well, let me ask you this then–have you orgasmed before? Either from sex or masturbation?” He sounded so calm despite the words that left his plump lips, meanwhile your heart hammered in your chest, a contrast that felt improper, misplaced even.

“Oh boy, straight to the big questions… I don’t know. I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” You countered. You’d already given him a list of answers to these questions, and you’d hoped at the time you’d forgo the awkwardness of the current topic as a result. It was clear you weren’t that fortunate, but when had you ever been?

“What makes you uncertain?” The soft brevardo of his voice kissed the shells of your ears, so gentle and genuine in its delivery that it had you melting all over again.

“I wish I knew. I guess, when I’m having sex, at least, I don’t think I ever have. It’s like I automatically check out and leave my body. When it comes to… myself, I don’t know, that’s more of an unknown. It’s like I feel something but then right as the build comes I just can’t reach the end.” You said, as honest as you could be given the circumstances. Your cheeks were ablaze, heart nearly deafening in its antiphon.

“Okay, well there’s a couple of things to unpack there.” Chan nodded half heartedly, the thin apple pen pressed against the pout of his mouth in thought; eyes trained on the screen where a set of scribbles that made up his short-hand observations lay.

“Probably above your pay grade.” You joked, though a hint of sincerity simmered beneath the chime of your tone.

“Nothing is above my pay grade, don't you worry about that.” He offered you a reassuring smile, tongue darting out to wet his lips once more. It distracted you again, forcing you to once more confront the attractiveness of the man supposedly holding all the answers to your problems. “Let’s start with this, have you been to any form of therapy before?”

“Only when I was younger.” You blinked, willing your brain to focus on his words rather than the formation of his mouth as he spoke them.

“What was that for?” He queried, thick accent pulling at the syllables as they left his parted lips.

“My mental health among other things.” You retorted ambiguously, not wanting to ignite that storm within your consciousness.

“Okay, we don’t have to get into the specifics, that's fine; did you find it helpful?” Chan seemed to pick up on this, you weren’t surprised, of course he would.

“No, I’m not great with talking about my feelings–I don’t feel like it helps.” You admitted, shoulders slouching and rising in slight discomfort. You felt your foot shift restlessly, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement you made in the leather confines of your prison.

“So what was your motivation for coming here?” The curious man inquired, no amount of austerity present in his tone.

“My friend said I should try it, apparently you saved her marriage. She’s the most stubborn person I know so if she can do it I’m guessing I can too.” You were back to making light of the situation, hoping to pull another bright smile from the seriousness that clouded his expression.

“Glad to hear she found it so beneficial.” You’d been unsuccessful, managing only to ignite a momentary spark within his dark gaze before he was back to scrutinising you, gently still, but profoundly all the same. “So what I’m getting from this is that talking to you about the root cause of things isn’t going to be the most helpful approach for you?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” Your voice came out sheepish, body almost crumpling in on itself. You wished you had the answers, wanted nothing more than to be the perfect patient just as he had been the perfect therapist thus far.

“Well we can always try and go from there? We take a holistic approach to therapy so if one thing isn’t working we’ll switch it up, okay?” The man kept his eyes trained on you, flickering from corner to corner, taking in every nook and cranny of your features until they settled back on your uncertain eyes.

“Sounds good.” You forced a smile, the room around you shrinking in size in anticipation of what was to come. You could feel your mind failing you, the interior of the room transforming into a twisted, swirling haze of unfamiliarity. Of course, you didn’t know the place well, but all at once it didn’t feel as if you knew it at all. Like you’d never been here, like you didn’t remember coming here. As if you weren’t really here at all.

“The other reason I asked about your history with therapy is that you mentioned leaving your body when you’re engaging in sex with someone–did you ever discuss dissociation or depersonalisation with a therapist in the past?” His voice felt foreign all of a sudden, as if he’d been replaced by someone who looked like him, felt like him, should be him, but wasn’t.

“I did not.” You murmured, blinking in the hopes you’d return to your prior state of being.

“This is a little more of a personal question: have you experienced a traumatic event associated with sex or intimacy?” His voice rang in your mind, sounding almost like a bell as it echoed within the confines of your skull. You’d heard what he’d said, but it hadn’t settled enough to register. Instead it kept repeating, your brain trying to make sense of the words strung together, just enough to elicit a response from your parted lips, but not enough to make you remember.

“Uhh.” You felt like you’d been gawking for an hour, mouth opening and closing as you felt yourself move further and further from you body.

“Are you okay?” His voice pulled your gaze from the floor to his own pointed stare, those all-consuming pools of dark brown just enough to settle your momentarily.

“Yeah sorry, this- this is why I don’t find talking very helpful. It's like my brain just shuts down when shit gets real.” You stumbled over your words, fingers pressing against your temple in an attempt to coax your soul–or whatever it was that was retreating in haste–back to your body.

“Don’t apologise for that, you’re okay to react whichever way you need to.” He assured you, your heart dancing to the melodic tune his soft affirmations took on. “It sounds like what you’re experiencing are episodes of dissociation, and, while I can’t diagnose anything, or say for certain that’s what it is, it certainly appears that way. It’s common for people who have difficulties in this area to have a dissociative disorder or experience episodes of dissociation when they’re faced with a trigger.”

“So my trigger is sex?” You queried, words coming a little easier now. It was as if this feeling, the one he’d named dissociation, came over you in waves. You’d felt choked up, near to the point of drowning, mere moments ago. Now it felt like ripples more than strong currents.

“Maybe, that’s what we’re going to get to the bottom of. It could also be intimacy, your attachment to others or your own body. There are so many reasons why people feel they can’t cope with a situation, and their brain instinctually shuts itself down.”

“Okay, I guess it's reassuring knowing my body isn’t broken.” You muttered back, feeling rather deflated by now. The air felt sucked from your lungs, replaced by the salt water of your apparently dissociative episode. It made it hard to breathe, only managing laboured, reluctant breaths as if expecting another wave.

“Absolutely not, nothing about you is broken, not your body or your brain. Dissociation is a fear, stress or anxiety response; the same as fight or flight. It’s perfectly normal, your brain is just trying to protect itself as it's designed to do.” His smile was back, eyes forming crescents that threatened to conceal his caliginous orbs all together.

“So, like self-preservation?” You attempted to piece together the sentiments that fell from his lips so easily. Perhaps he really did hold all the answers, and that gave you a sense of belief, or attachment, that suddenly wanted him nearer to you.

“Exactly!” He beamed, fingers tapping mindlessly atop his meaty thigh. “What I want to start out doing over the next few sessions, however, is to focus on you and your relationship with your body. You should be able to pleasure yourself and know your body well before you trust someone else with that task, right?”

“That seems okay.” You nodded.

“Right, well we won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, but we’ll start you right from the beginning and we can skip ahead if needs be.” He continued, shifting easily back into the pensive professionalism that hid away his affectionate smiles.

“Alrighty.” Your foot bounced.

“Do you know where the pleasure points are on your body?” His eyes flickered from the ipad in his lap toward your furrowed features.

“I think so.” Your leg joined in the restless dance.

“Go ahead.” He urged, eyes tracing your figure in what you could only assume was acknowledgement of your nervous mannerisms.

“Oh you want me to- okay- there’s the clit, umm, there’s the nipples and somewhere there’s a g-spot.” You tried to act like the mature, confident adult you surely should be when discussing this topic at your age.

“Yeah, those are the main one’s sure. There’s also your inner thighs, your neck, your lips; some people find the bottom of their feet to be pleasurable, their ears, lower back, armpits–”

“Armpits? That’s a new one.” You cut him off with a surprised laugh, hand coming to cover your mouth as if to emphasise your bewilderment.

“Yeah there’s a lot.” He chuckled, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek “I noticed you said ‘somewhere’ when mentioning your g-spot. Have you ever found it yourself?” Chan asked, eyes darkening as he did so, an outcome you didn’t think possible until now.

“No, umm, my fingers aren’t very good at all that.” You shifted in your seat, pulling the hem of your dress further down your bare thighs, nails grazing your clammy flesh.

“Okay, have you used toys?” His voice had dropped an octave, a sound that had the air instantaneously charged again. It was as if the pull was back, but not without the push; both worlds colliding in one disorientating, magnetic combustion.

“I don’t even know where to start with all that.” You shrugged dismissively.

“So how do you usually masturbate?” Your mouth grew dry at his words, the hypnotic buzz that seemed to exude from him almost impossible to ignore now. How were you supposed to take his words so lightly? So entirely void of all subtexts and implications when he was staring at you with such heated scrutiny.

“I just… you know… my clit.” It was a miracle he had heard you, you were almost sure you’d been whispering. In the back of your mind you could hear a white noise that sounded like the crashing of waves, almost as if threatening another trip beneath the surface of reality.

“Okay, and does that make you climax?” You focused carefully on his words, using the image of his mouth as it curled around each syllable to guide you from the deep end. That tongue of his, a threat in itself, traced the seam of his bottom lip once more, lingering for a moment too long.

“I get close but err, I don’t know, I can never get all the way my mind wanders.” Distracting yourself from his plump mouth, you moved your own until a riposte drew from it.

“Okay, have you tried watching porn to focus your mind?” His response was near immediate, chin balanced on an open palm now as he leaned back in his chair, legs parting, elbow pressing deeper into the armrest.

“No actually, I haven’t.” You retorted, watching him nod gently as if contemplating his next words, long, pretty fingers clutching the pen as it moved across the screen. His hand moved from his chin to his throat, the back and forth motion as his reflexive state persisted an image that would surely haunt you. You’d never noticed that a person’s hands held their own beauty until now, each digit perfect in length and adorned with ridged veins.

“Alright, well then I think you have your first piece of homework.” He concluded, snapping you out of your day dream and forcing you to draw your eyes away from the sight. You managed a smile, waiting for him to continue. “I’m going to give you a starter toy, then I want you to go home. If you get in the mood, open up a porn site and type in solo female. Find a video that you think is going to be the most relevant to you and then, using your fingers or the toy, follow what the actress is doing in the video.”

“Right, okay.” You nodded along, thankful that your first session was drawing to an end. However, the prospect of an at-home-assignment was one that brought a new wave of uncertainty.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just you and the video. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work and that’s okay.” His smile was back, stature adjusting as he placed the ipad aside, both palms planting themselves atop his thighs.

“Uh huh.” You were distracted, but you’d heard him, contemplating his words with a degree of skepticism.

“What’s making you anxious?” He asked, and on one hand you wanted to blurt out ‘you’. It truly was a challenge all in itself to hear him speak about such a personal topic while he unconsciously made every action attractive and impassioned. From the flicker of his brow, to the rise and fall of his chest, you’d gone from hyper-aware of yourself to hopelessly unable to pull your eyes from his motions.

“I don’t know, guess I’m just not good at trying new things when it comes to this–I feel like I’m setting myself up for failure.” You admitted, the rise of his brows enough to have you wishing you’d kept it to yourself. That thought didn’t last though, not when the words that followed lulled your anxiety in a way never knew it could be.

“Failure doesn’t exist in this sphere, you cannot fail, only try and then if you want to, try again.” He leaned forward in his chair, less relaxed in his posture as he grinned at you encouragingly.

“Right, yeah. I don’t know. I feel like your positivity is so infectious but the moment I get home I’ll just be stuck overthinking again.” You chuckled, an undercurrent of nervousness pulling the whimsy from your tone.

“Well, why don’t I give you my work number and if you get nervous and need me to talk you down you can call me, yeah?” His assurances continued, palm reaching into the pocket of his cropped suit trousers.

“Are you sure?” You blinked at him, leaning down to pry at the strap of your trusty tote bag.

“Of course, whatever you need–I’m here.” He gleamed, and with the way he was looking at you so intently, you could tell he meant it.

The moment you’d gotten home you’d done as promised, sending the podcast via email before opening pornhub preemptively to get ahead of your ‘homework’. It was intimidating to say the least, even more so when the toy Chan had given you sat beside your laptop caught your gaze. The box called it a G-Spot Vibrator, at one time concealing the long, slightly curved pink device from view. Now the vibrator led there, taunting you with its unfamiliarity as your gaze shifted to and from the screen of the laptop. Eventually you chucked in your desk drawer defiantly, fixing your attention on the brightly lit screen to begin scrolling through the wealth of videos. You couldn’t decide on one, none of them seemed to match your skill level; their wrists expertly shiting fancy looking toys in a thrusting motion while their bodies shook and convulsed with over exaggerated pleasure. It was off putting, almost taunting the manner with which they played up every action and sound.

It didn’t take long for you to lose interest, opting to go about your evening as normal instead. Easily the events of the day became background noise as you took care of the needs you struggled with far less than. By the time you’d finished your skincare you were crashing down in front of the couch, mind wandering back to the soft spoken man who’d assigned you such vexatious and troublesome homework. A drama played on low volume in the backdrop of your thoughts, your mind's eye picturing the way your therapist's tongue had travelled across his plump bottom lip. It was miraculous how you’d so easily managed to commit every part of him to memory. You could see him as clearly as the ceiling above you, his veiny hands tightening around his thighs while his dark eyes both provoked and lulled your anxiety. You didn’t realise the extent of his intoxicating stare until you were without it, nor the heat with which it took in every detail of your face as you did his.

Before you knew what you were doing your fingers had begun shifting toward your already hard nipples, one hand covering your t-shirt clad breast. You squeezed softly, head falling further back against the sofa with your eyes now tightly shut. Your free hand skimmed lower, tugging the hem of your oversized shirt to cup your bare flesh. The action of your open palm squeezing against your clit and dampening hole was enough to have your thrusting gently upwards. What a dilemma that the very person who was supposed to be helping you pleasure yourself had become the object of it. The mere thought had you huffing in disbelief–just your luck.

Deciding to distract yourself you seized the opportunity to do the homework you’d been assigned. Getting up, you trudged the short distance to your desk, grabbing your laptop and the vibrator before returning to the sofa in haste. Your fingers continued tugging at your nipple, electric sparks travelling straight to your core. You kept the drone of the tv on as you clicked play on one of the videos, muting the sound to focus on the girl's actions. That earlier worked up feeling died down somewhat as you mimicked her movements. Taking the vibrator in your mouth you sucked on it stiffly, allowing your tongue to press against the base of it as you wet the velvet soft device. You should’ve known better though, then to think your mind could focus just because you willed it to. Instead, you began to wonder, deliberating whether Chan’s hard cock would feel this heavy between your lips; the thought drawing a hum from your stuffed mouth as you tried to concentrate on the video.

You felt yourself grow soaked at the image of your sex therapist pushing his member further past your lips, the tip of it entering your throat while he exhaled grunts. You thanked the heavens when the actress removed the toy from her mouth, switching the vibration on to press it against her clit. You did the same, body jolting at the unfamiliar feeling. You tried to keep up with her motions, alternating between teasing your soaked entrance with the toy and rubbing it against your clit. Your pleasure came and went as you did so, your clumsy movements trying to keep up with her own. You felt yourself grow frustrated as you did so, mind aching to return to the image of Chan using your mouth.

Your head lulled back at the thought of his hand clutching your hair with those big, veiny fingers, pushing your head down against his cock until your nose met his muscular flesh. Your eyes glazed over, the video no longer in focus as you fixated on the memory of his slender digits. They were so long and shaped in such a way that you were certain, in your imagination at least, they’d have no problem fucking you open. Neither an issue finding your g-spot; bringing you to a satisfying climax again and again until your body begged him to give you a moment to recover. You could picture it now: his large body hovering above you, one hand pushing you against the mattress to keep you still while the other pistoned his skilled fingers in and out of your gushing pussy. You knew you’d surely be convulsing like the girls in porn did, hips unable to keep still despite his heavy palm.

The movie playing behind your closed lids was enough to have you more worked up than you’d ever been before. You pressed the vibrator into your entrance letting it linger before you thrust it past your walls, leaving yourself no time to prep like the man in your imagination refused to. He touched you with an air of impatience, desperation even, as if he’d deprived himself of you for too long; torturing himself with the thought of how you’d feel constricting around his rock hard length. You marvelled at the way his cock would feel spreading you open deliciously. You imagined his member to be as veiny as his arms, the ridges pushing against your spongy walls sending a new type of wave throughout your body. No disconnection, no retreating. Just the crashing of ecstasy that was building up with every desperate push of the vibrator. Moans fell from your lips as you thrust the toy in and out, the length of it brushing blissfully against your clit every few motions. You pictured the push of his hips against yours, the feeling of his breath against your clammy skin and the melodic muse of his groans. You just knew your moans would sound perfect together; as harmonious as your chorused laughter.

It felt so fucking sinful fucking yourself with the toy he’d given you, imagining him in place of it. The revelation had your high approaching and your walls tightening as you tried to push yourself over the finish line. It felt like a knot, or a rubber band, constricting and pulling until it threatened to snap. You tried to imagine him circling your clit with his soaked fingers, his teeth latching at your throat as he painted plum coloured hues against your skin. You kept your frenzied motions up–thrusting and rubbing in desperation to cum–but the band never snapped. The knot coming undone as your stamina reached its limit. You felt overstimulated, but without the post-orgasm floods of pleasure that should surely be wracking your body. Instead, you just felt tired, defeated even.

You’d usually give up, the magic of the moment gone with the disappointment that overtook it. This time around, though, you were still endlessly frustrated. You wanted release so badly. Your hand pushed the toy back into your needy pussy as you let your mind wander back to the therapist clouding your mind with lust. This time, he coaxed you through it sweetly, whispering reassuring words in your ear as he took his time thrusting his fingers in and out of your hole. That dark gaze captivated you again. You imagined the way it would scrutinise you once more, peering up at your spent form as he trailed kisses down the valley of your plump breasts; close to where his busy fingers worked you open. Your imagination had you near sweet release again, the image of his plump lips latching at your clit was enough to have your back arching as you tried desperately to cum.

Cruelly, despite your best efforts, the blissful feeling died out like the embers of a long forgotten fire. The feeling becoming duller and duller till the pleasurable light flickered out for the last time. You let out a whine of defeat, chest heaving as you caught your breath before trying again. You tried, and you tried, but no matter how many times you thrust the vibrating device in and out of your puffy cunt you ended up exhausted and disappointed. Realising it wasn’t going to happen, you got up with glossy eyes, tears lining their brim as you wobbled over to the desk. You found your phone discarded by the vibrators packaging, the sudden igniting of the screen reminding you of its presence. Reminding you of your plan b.

You didn’t expect him to pick up, thumb between your lips as you chewed anxiously at your nail. By the third ring he did, though, your eyes widening not only at his quick response, but how real the situation suddenly felt. What were you doing? Had you actually called him? You had. That became abundantly clear the moment his voice filled the silence the call tone had left behind. “Hello?” The octave sounded a little rougher than it had during your appointment, leaving you suddenly panicked that you might’ve woken him up. Your eyes darted towards the time on your laptop’s screensaver 8:12pm visible in big letters.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, did I wake you up?” You quickly blurted out, back straightening in anticipation of his response.

“Oh hey, no you didn’t don’t worry. I was just listening to that podcast actually.” The strain in his voice dissipated, replaced instead by an enthusiastic tone.

“Really?” Your hesitance was gone, the swirling of something close to affection beginning to churn in the pit of your stomach. It reminded you of that prior unseen tension between you, the kind that felt like a perfect storm; a destiny playing out in a beautiful collision.

“Yeah, shit’s insane…” He trailed off, the muted clattering of background noise leaving you no clues as to what he could be up to. You wondered briefly how he spent his time when he wasn’t cooped up in his office. Did he frequent a bar? Maybe the gym? Did he have a favourite takeout spot? Or did he have a book of recipes he flicked through every night? Maybe he spent his time much the same way you did, curled up on the sofa with a show you only half-paid attention to.

“I know right, it’s wild.” You agreed, pushing the far-too-domestic thoughts out of your mind.

“Right? He just disappeared off the face of the earth.” Chan exclaimed, the distant, indistinguishable noises fading to a settled silence. “So, are you okay? Did your homework go okay?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” You admitted, growing a little sheepish at the turn in conversation. You couldn’t tell if you were flustered because of the subject matter, or because your cunt still throbbed and ached in desperate anticipation of something that would seemingly never come.

“Sure, what’s the matter?” He spoke, voice level as always.

“I tried to do the porn thing but I don’t know, I just felt way too uncoordinated and ended up getting distracted. But, like, this time it was a good kind of distraction and I got close so many times but I just couldn’t cum.” The recollection of your disappointing evening had you shuffling in your seat, the friction of your bare clit against the couch setting your over-sensitive body alight. You got a bit more comfortable, squeezing your legs together in the hopes the pressure would lull the ache. It didn’t, it seemed nothing would. Nothing except an outcome that you couldn’t attain.

“Okay, well that’s a positive development, right? You tried something new, it didn’t work but you gave it a really good go, yeah? You should feel proud.” His positive disposition had once filled you with so much assurance, but right now, it did nothing but taunt you. No shit it didn’t work, you were practically throbbing with desire, desperate for release.

“Right, yeah, I guess so.” You muttered.

“Did you try the toy?” At the mention of the vibrator–still close to you on the sofa–you felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure how, in your frantic mind, you’d figured that having a sexually-charged conversation with your very attractive sex therapist was going to help your situation. Right now, it only worsened it tenfold.

“I did.” You retorted shortly.

“Did it feel good?” You felt like your ears were playing tricks on you. Could’ve sworn his usually balanced voice wavered with something unknown. You wanted to call it restraint, but you knew that was surely your desires playing out in your mind; your current disposition plaguing all reason. He was good at that–consuming every part of you–and you were starting to think that was exactly what you needed. To be consumed. To not be able to have a single sense focused on anything but him.

“Uh, umm, yeah.” You felt your situation growing exponentially worse, body shifting again in a fruitless attempt at distracting yourself from the heavy throb between your thighs. You hadn’t even realised you’d managed a response, not until he was talking again, offering that same assurance that still held little weight.

“That’s another positive step, maybe we can give you more toys to try out to see if there’s one that can help you finish.”

“Uh huh.” You hummed, head pressing against the sofa, free hand skimming your bare thighs. You knew you couldn’t do anything about your situation, not with Chan on the phone, but frustratingly, you knew you couldn’t do anything about it without him either. It was a cruel catch 22; sit here and squirm beneath the mundane distraction his sentiments provided, or try and get yourself off again and again to the image of him in your head.

“Are you okay?” He seemed to pick up on your absentminded demeanour, pitch raising in slight concern.

“Just… frustrated. I’m open to trying more things but, like, I’m just… what about now?” You admitted, perhaps if you were honest about his situation he’d know the right thing to say. The perfect affirmation that would finally have you climaxing after years of pent up frustration.

“Oh… right. So when you say frustrated…?” He attempted to connect the dots, your eyes squeezing shut as you released a huff.

“I’m really fucking desperate to cum.” You spoke bluntly, the hand that sat at your thigh itching to circle your clit. The thought alone had your hips rising in ecstasy, eyes rolling back as you imagined your fingers strumming your sensitive nub in a frenzied attempt to cum. You’d have to keep quiet, you wouldn’t want your sex therapist to know you were trying to orgasm to the sound of his perfectly innocent intimate questions “Chan?” You questioned, when silence followed.

“Yeah, sorry, umm, just thinking.” He seemed distant now, and you suddenly regretted being so honest. Had you crossed a line? Well of course you had, many in fact. You hated that justifications followed suit; so surely you can cross one more, right? To give your clit that attention it so desperately wanted.

“Am I hopeless? Is there nothing I can do right now?” You asked in defeat, the ache almost painful beneath your continued resistance.

“You’re not hopeless, no– okay…” He started to speak, still sounding much different than he had moments ago. “I don’t usually do this, I’m not supposed to do this, but, if you want I can, umm, I can help you?” There was hesitance in his tone, uncertainty wrapped up in every syllable; leaking through each word the same way your cunt gushed at the prospect of his statement.

“Help me?” You uttered, not daring to believe he could mean what you thought he did.

“Like guide you.” Oh, you thought. So he meant exactly that. The man of your prior fantasies wanted to talk you through your masturbation. If you thought your desperation had reached maximum capacity before, then you were certain you were at the breaking point now. Your pussy clenched around nothing, whole body suddenly heavy with thick hot lust as you managed a response.

“O-Okay.”

“Yeah, you want that?” He was back to sounding level again, and how he could be in this situation you didn’t know. You didn’t care, though, not when your deprived cunt was about to get abused once again.

“Yeah, so bad.” Your voice no longer hid your frantic state, hips rising from the sofa, hand reaching between your thighs to ghost over your sensitive clit in an attempt to feel any relief.

“Mm fuck, okay.” Whatever professionalism he’d mustered up had quickly faltered, something close to a groan falling from his lips. “We can stop whenever you want to, I only wanna help you with this if you’re comfortable with it.” Before you could register his new state, however, the collected therapist was back. You questioned your sanity, were you hearing things now? Your mind conjuring mirages of your hot therapist moaning in your ear as he got you off. Fuck you wanted to touch yourself so bad.

“I want your help, Chan.” You confirmed, gnawing at your bottom lip as you ran a finger through your soaked folds, digit quickly growing sticky, body jolting from the small amount of contact.

“You sound so strained, gonna help you okay?” His voice held promise, and your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head at the prospect of finally cumming.

“Please.” You begged, restraint completely vanished along with any shame you might’ve felt about sounding so unbelievably desperate.

“You still wearing that pretty little dress?” His voice dropped an octave, his ability to stay unphased broken up by bouts of what you could only surmise was his body betraying him.

“No, just a t-shirt” You responded, mewls falling from your lips at the prospect of him being affected by your insatiable lust.

“Nothing else?” Chan questioned.

“Just the shirt.” You confirmed, finger circling your gushing hole as you awaited your sign to begin pleasuring yourself properly.

“Take it off for me, drag the fabric against your skin nice and slow. You doing that for me?” To your dismay, he had other plans, his request to take your time sending every one of your nerves into overdrive. You did as you were told, though, too turned on by the current events playing out to rush through it.

“Yeah.”

“Good, give your breasts special attention; squeeze them together, let the rough part of the fabric stimulate your nipples.” You followed his commands, putting your phone on loud speaker by your head to squeeze your breasts together; the fabric against your sensitive nipples sending waves of pleasure straight to your desperate pussy.

“When your shirt is off, bring your fingers to your mouth and get them nice and wet. You doing it baby?” Behind closed lids your senses were heightened, the sound of his voice from the speaker–so close to your ear–jolting your forward. Leaving your breasts alone for the moment, you removed the thin clothing, the air of your cool apartment stimulating your bare skin in a way that had your head spinning.

“Mhm.” You moaned loudly at the nickname, mouth stuffed with your fingers as you sucked on them. You were reminded of your earlier imaginings, the thought of his cock between your lips instead of your fingers pulling another pitchy groan from you.

“You like it when I call you that?” He asked, not waiting for a response before he continued. “Good, such a good girl, so responsive. Suck on your fingers till they’re nice and coated then I want you to play with your nipples okay?” You were frustrated at the pace he’d set, brows furrowed as you let strings of spit coat your fingers, hips continuously jolting as if trying to beg for your attention.

You couldn’t help the moans that spilled from your lips at the state you were in, cool air stimulating your already needy clit as you rubbed your soaked digits over your nipples. You played with them harshly, almost annoyed at the pent up feeling that grew and grew. With each pinch your pussy clenched around nothing, the emptiness reminding you of what you wanted there most; his cock.

“You sound so good, fuck, doing so well.” His resolve crumbled again, a huff of air the only release he could manage. “Take your time with yourself, okay?” Chan sounded strained now, the level part of him gone, replaced only by a man pushing his patience to unseen limits.

“It’s too much, wanna touch myself properly.” You whined, wetting your fingers some more to continue playing with your breasts.

“You’ll get there baby, don’t worry, not gonna leave your pretty pussy neglected.” Another desperate moan fell from your lips, noises carelessly flowing from you with complete disregard for your neighbours let alone the man on the other end of the phone. “You like that? Like me calling your pussy pretty? Mmm, I bet it is. I know it is.”

“Hmpf, Chan, please.”

“Ohmygod.” His ability to maintain level-headedness was slipping with every sound that fell from your lips. You sounded incredible, mind racing with vivid images of your legs spread, pretty fingers prying feverishly at your swollen nipples. “How does it feel baby?” He questioned, feeding his own thoughts more than yours with this request.

“Good but not enough, want more.” Your hips rose and fell, so unable to continue just playing with your plump tits when your aching, needy cunt was pleading with you to touch it.

“Okay baby, go slow, leave one hand playing with your nipples and let the other one start trailing down your body. Make sure you give every part of yourself attention, squeeze at your thighs, graze your tummy with your nails; do whatever feels best.” You released a sigh of relief, glad to finally be moving on from your top half.

“I’m doing it.” You murmured, trying to follow his direction as best you could. However, your hand skimmed your flesh clumsily, hurriedly, squeezing at your thighs to keep them pressed against the couch.

“Good girl, brush over your clit when you get there, okay? use your finger to push through your folds and spread your juices over your clit.” You did exactly that, digits instantly drenched in the sticky, wet mess soaking the sofa beneath you. Your entire body moved in haste, pushing your fingers between your pussy lips and up to your clit over and over, hips thrusting with them.

“Ah, fuck, that feels so good Chan!” You couldn’t control yourself anymore, moan after moan spilling from your gaping mouth as you repeated the motion.

“Yeah? fucking hell– sound so pretty, darling. Start circling your clit when you’re nice and soaked and make sure to give your entrance some attention too, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, god so good.” You mewled when the tips of your fingers prodded teasingly at your clenching hole. With every tightening of your pussy a new stream of sticky cum would gush onto your fingers, coating them deliciously for your sensitive clit’s unquenchable thirst for more.

“You doing that?”

“I think so.” You whined, near sobbing by now.

“Describe it for me.” He insisted, tone low with a growing impatience.

“I’m rubbing my clit with two fingers, now I’m moving them down and pushing the tips in.” You recited your motions, repeating each step with a thrust of your hips and a squirm of your limbs.

“Good, that’s good. Keep doing that for me until you’re ready and then I want you to get the toy I gave you.” His commands continued, the only thing keeping you grounded in this moment of uncontrollable, desperation for release.

“Alright. I already f-feel close.” You moaned, that tight feeling growing expanding, filling the empty place you wanted Chan to most.

“Drag it out baby, take your time.” His words drew a frustrated sob from you, eyes screwing even tighter shut as you circled your clit furiously.

“I wanna cum so bad though.” You cried, tears streaking your cheeks as your hips moved at their own accord.

“You’re gonna cum, baby, i’m gonna make you cum– fuck.” At his promise, you reluctantly pulled your hand away, blindly reaching for the vibrator. The moan that punctuated his sentence had a wave of arousal washing over you again.

“Are you touching yourself too?” You asked, the mere thought causing your cunt to clench in a way it never had. You bet he looked incredible with his fist wrapped around his cock, fucking his closed hand with the same amount of disregard you showed your sensitive nub.

“No. This is about you.” He broke your illusion, a whine falling from you lips.

“I’m getting the toy, what should I do with it, sir?” You clutched the vibrator, pressing it against your clit in anticipation of his next request. “Chan?” You spoke after a beat in time.

“Uh huh, yeah, fuck, sorry I’m still here.” Whatever thread of resolve he’d been clinging onto desperately was audibly gone. He sounded like a man starved. As if he himself was beginning to understand the torture you must be feeling to be deprived of sweet release the way he currently was.

“You sound good when you moan, can you do it again?” You pleaded, using the toy to circle your clit as you waited for him to comply.

“Mhm, yeah like this baby?” Chan didn’t disappoint, the sounds spilling from his lips sending jolt after jolt of mind-numbing pleasure straight to your core. “You like that, huh?”

“Yeah so much.” You moaned, rubbing the toy up and down your soaked folds; punishing your neglected hole with the velvety tip.

“God, so fucking hot, bet you look so good right now.” Chan seemed on a not-so-slow descent into madness, his palms no doubt twitching in place as yours had earlier, wanting nothing more than to palm his hard cock through his clothes. “Turn the vibrator on and do the same as earlier; give your clit and your hole special attention.”

“I’m so close, sir” You moaned, fingers fumbling with the button until the default vibration setting turned on. “Please can I fuck myself with it? Feel so empty clenching around nothing.”

“Fucking hell, your tight little pussy wants to get fucked so bad, yeah?” He moaned, so loudly that it almost felt like he was right there in the room with you.

“More than anything, please.” You pleaded, hips back to moving at their own accord as you circled your entrance with the vibrating toy.

“You sound fucking incredible begging for me like this baby–such a good little slut–so obedient.” his growls filled the air around you, cunt clenching at the image of his gritted teeth and clenched jaw. Gone was the pretty smile and the dimpled cheeks, no doubt replaced by a solemn expression and distant stare as his own mind busied itself with visuals of your submissive form.

“If I keep being good will you touch yourself with me?” You pleaded, tone wavering beneath the chorus of moans that flew from your lips with every exhale of breath.

“A-are you sure?” He stuttered, caught off guard by your comment. If you’d asked him to do this at the start of your call, he’d give you a categorical no. Now, though, beneath the heavy haze of lust, and battling with the feeling of painfully stiff cock confined beneath his work clothes, he could only comply eagerly.

“Yeah, please, wanna hear you moan some more.” Your voice was starting to break now, tip of the vibrator pushing further and further past your walls with every flick of your hand. You pictured how he must look, strong hand clasping desperately at his poor neglected cock; not even bothering to remove his clothes entirely before he was circling the base with his first.

“Fuck this is so wrong. God if only you could see what you’re doing to me.” Chan sounded like heaven, puffs of air exhaling from his lips as small grunts filled the room. He was no longer moaning for your entertainment alone, no, instead the noises were accompanied by the wet sounds of his fist stroking his length feverishly.

“Mmm I wish, wish it was you fucking me right now.” Not a lie, either. Your head couldn’t settle on one script to stick to: him jerking off uncontrollably or you bouncing on his cock. The latter would be quite the scene, pussy gushing around his pulsing member as you rode him with haste. His hands planted firmly at your hips to spur you on. You imagined it must feel blissful to feel his palms clasping at your body, keeping you grounded, reminding you the best things weren’t hiding in the corners of your mind but right here in reality.

“Baby, fuck, don’t say that.” Chan grunted again, sounds broken up by moans and curse words. “You fucking yourself nice and slow, yeah?”

“Yeah, not enough.” You sobbed, drying tear tracks repainted with fresh salty tears.

“So greedy, such a spoiled little pussy, does it wanna be fucked hard and rough?” His voice couldn’t find an octave, one moment it was deep, controlling almost in its approach to commanding your every move. The next it reached new heights, pitchy moans interjecting each breathless word. You liked this, felt like you were adding new polaroid pictures to a scrapbook keep-sake. Finding new things to add to a growing collection of moments you’d replay over and over again in your mind. You were good at that, fixating on one situation good or bad, thinking about it from every angle until the edges of it became frayed and aged. Until it lost all meaning; all feeling.

“Want you to ruin it.” You could barely form words by now, you wanted nothing more than to quicken your pace. You wouldn’t though, not without his word. There was something so hot about doing what your therapist told you to, even if he couldn’t see you, nor hold you accountable if you misbehaved. You wanted to be his good girl, his favourite patient; the only one who could corrupt him into breaking every rule he swore he’d keep. Maybe it was the power in an otherwise powerless dynamic that had you so hot on bothered, but really, truly, that didn’t feel like the perfect fit.

There was something about him, you couldn’t describe it. You could only remember how electric the air around you had felt, how badly you wanted to let yourself be pulled into his orbit, to centre him in every aspect of your life until he was the only thing that remained. All consumed, entirely taken up by him. Every crack in your broken mind filled with him, and his voice, and his promises to fix you. It was so undeniably unethical, let alone wishful thinking. You knew you were latching onto him, your next fixation, your special interest.

“Shit, you know I can’t do that, gonna have to learn to do it yourself.” His words reminded you just how hopeless your new infatuation was. Lust and affection were two different things, not mutually exclusive, in fact rarely hand-in-hand. Chan was trying to help, he took pity on you, right? Sure, somewhere along the way his cock had ended up in his fist, moans spilling from him like a pot left to boil too far too long. But that was a happy accident, an inevitability when you were moaning like a pornstar in his ear.

You were losing focus again. God, who knew your distraction would become a distraction from himself. But just as you’d begun to run out of momentum, mind conjuring up anxious thoughts and momentary bouts of shame intermingled with embarrassment, his voice sliced through the noise. “Pick up the pace for me, keep going, keep fucking yourself like a slut if that’s what baby girl wants.”

“So close. I-I’m fuck, fuck, so close.” You clenched around the vibrating device, the loud groans emanating from your phone’s speaker pushing you closer and closer to the edge. An edge… now that was new. Usually you felt a tightening in the pit of your stomach, an indescribable pressure that wanted to be released. But this felt more like a building of something that was destined to end in you reaching an undiscovered depth; the deepest darkest part of an ocean you’d yet to explore.

“Yeah? You sound so fucking hot baby, you gonna cum for me? gonna cum for sir like an obedient little whore?” The filth that was spewing from his lips so easily had your mind racing in an entirely new way. You couldn’t keep up with your body anymore, vibrator plunging in and out of your abused hole as if running on a motor. The space around you smelled like sweat paired with the sweet scent of your cum; the sounds of your wet pussy battling to be heard above your shrill moans.

“Want you to cum with me, you gonna cum with me sir?” You spoke between pants.

“I’ll cum with you, yeah, that’s so hot– I can hear how soaked you are, bet you’re making such a mess baby.” His groans did indeed sound perfect in harmony with your own, you’d been right about that.

“Would feel so good creaming your cock with my cum.” you murmured, biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from screaming.

“Ahhh, fuck, fucking hell I’m gonna cum.” He stammered and you could hear so clearly the sounds of skin slapping against skin. You could tell, even through the phone that his release was already leaking from the top of his angry head, every thrust of his fist wet. You could practically taste the salt of his cum on your tongue, the image of him dumping its entirety in your wide, eager mouth enough to have your hips spasming uncontrollably.

“Yeah? Me too, please, please.” You felt your body teeter so close to the edge you almost lost the ability to thrust the vibrator in and out of your desperate hole.

“That’s it, good girl– fuck– fuck yourself so good like you know I would.” It would appear that in his near-climax haze Chan had given up on the idea of not buying into your fantasy of fucking him. You liked to think he’d reached the point of complete inhibition, no longer able to keep up the facade. That perhaps he wanted your cunt just as badly as you wanted to feel his cock rammed deep inside you, tip prodding against your cervix with every well-timed thrust. “Would treat that pussy so well, yeah, would fuck you so well baby, fuck.” He was babbling now, barely indistinguishable beneath the sounds of wet fist fucking.

“Please, please.” Was all the words you could muster, so close now that you felt yourself being pushed from the edge you’d been almost afraid to fall from, vibrator hitting your spongy walls at just the right angle to have your toes curling and your body heaving.

“Keep going baby, keep going. Imagine it's me, yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Chan kept talking, seemingly unable to keep his desires pent up any longer as he too reached the edge. “Bet you’d love it, fuck such a good girl, taking my cock so well–you’d feel so good, tight cunt wrapped around me.” He was relentless now, words sending jolts of hot pleasure straight to your already overstimulated pussy.

“Be the only man to make you cum, you know I can.” He continued, barely able to get the words out between broken moans, each one louder than the next. “Gonna make your cunt mine baby, yeah, you want that don’t you? I’ll treat you so good don’t worry; i’ll take good care of your desperate little pussy.” The possessive growl he let out, paired with the absolutely sinful rambles he couldn’t seem to stop from spilling out of him, was more than enough to send you tumbling from the edge. You were rendered near immobile, white light breaking through the darkness behind your closed lids. Your hips shook, every limb twitching and seizing until all feeling returned.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been moaning his name, over and over until your voice was hoarse and your throat felt raw. You could feel every part of you grow stiff, chest heaving as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. One second you were pushing the toy in and out of your clenching hole, the next you lost all control of your body. It was easy to see why they called it little death, that feeling of going into a place filled with light, a place that threatened no return. No way to flee back to the safety of normalcy. It was a contrast to his dark gaze, the one that consumed you in the same way. It was like fire and ice, light and dark, yin and yang. So entirely wrong but right.

“Ah, you came, fuck, yeah, you’re so– god, I’m cumming too, fuck.” You realised then, as you caught your breath, listening to the sounds of his own release play through the speaker, that you didn’t want to return to normalcy at all. You wanted the light, you wanted the dark, you wanted both of them at once. No, not want; need.

You needed the dark to find the light. You needed him.

<< back to dash // next episode >>

taglist: @mangojellyyy • @diekleinesuesse

A/N: this was made to celebrate the 100 followers milestone so thank you so much to everyone who has been a part of that. this one's for yous <3

hope you enjoyed my first written fic! this was semi-unedited so if there are any major errors let me know. haven't done smut in a long time so fingers crossed it was okay lmao. there will be another episode but not any time soon, please see "genre" for more details.

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bcksbarnes · 3 months ago

Text

between a dream - final

pairing: tws!bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky barnes has just found out his entire life has been a lie. that his life as the winter solider has been nothing but mind control. instead of running off after his fight with steve, he returns to the avengers tower where he trusts no one. everyone takes turn on watch, and this time it's yours.

word count: 9.2K

read the: previous chapter

a/n: thank you all for the love and support with this fic! this has been such a wonderful series to write for. i hope you all like the last chapter! + shoutout to whoever sent in this prompt

To say that Steve was angry after he found out what happened in the training room was the understatement of the year. Steve rarely got upset … unless it had to do with someone on his team getting hurt, then yeah he was pissed .

You had been called into Steve’s office a few minutes prior, blindsided by his immediate anger. The office was more modern than the man himself, though the exposed steel beams reminded him of the industrial life in Brooklyn he once had, a personal touch from Tony. But, the floor to ceiling windows, the cool grey and blue tones, and everything feeling high tech made him itch.

The vein that ran down his neck popped, strained from how red his face was. You had been through hell and back with Steve out there in missions, there was always a chance you’d get hurt, but for some reason this ? This seemed to tick him off.

“You could have died!” He yelled, though he didn’t mean it in a way to talk down to you, but more in a way where he was concerned for your safety. “We had one rule! One !”

Steve’s hand slams down on the table in front of you, the loud smack echoing in the room and ringing in your eardrums causing you to wince. You weren’t exactly sure how he found out about Bucky’s lapse of judgement in the training room, you certainly didn’t tell him because you knew he would act like this, you knew he would get upset.

“Goddamnit!” Steve snapped again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he breathed out your name like a curse. “We’re pulling you out of there.”

“No!” You quickly interjected, standing up from your seat so fast that you didn’t register it had fallen back until you heard the soft thud against the carpet. “No, you can’t pull me out of there. It won’t happen again.”

“I told you when we talked about this that if he did anything out of line we were pulling you out of there. Did I not make myself clear?”

“Steve –.”

“I said, did I not make myself clear?” He cuts you off, his voice thick with emotion and anger.

Of course you remembered what Steve had said, it was the sole reason you didn’t run to tell him about Bucky’s … episode. How did he expect Bucky to come to his senses in a week?

“You’re not pulling me out of there.” You said back, your voice cracking slightly. The anger rose in your chest; you could feel it stick to you like honey. “A week is not long enough to train anyone. One session was not enough to expect him to snap out of this. You know that.”

Steve wants to argue with you, he wants to knock some sense into you and make you see his fear. Bucky’s not well and he knows it’s hard for him to even admit that about his best friend, it was the very over complicated truth. But the way his eyebrows raise at your words tells you that he’s momentarily reconsidering.

It was your chance to persuade him again .

“Come on, Steve. If no one took a chance on you then you wouldn’t be here.” You remind him, taking a step forward. “I was never expecting this to be easy, I know he can snap at any moment, but someone’s gotta help him. He has to trust one of us.”

Steve’s anger had seemed to simmer for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gently swallowed all his anxiety.

“And, I know my limits, I know what I can handle.”

It seems like this entire week has been you begging Steve to see your side of things. You understand his hesitancy, the way that he wanted to protect you and Bucky, but you knew that treating him like a vicious animal was only going to end up hurting him more.

“I’ll go talk to him.” You say, standing your ground. “We'll figure something out.”

Steve lets out a sigh, a silent cue that he’s been persuaded by your efforts. He knows it’s not worth the argument, because you’re going to do what you want anyway. Gesturing vaguely towards the door, Steve watched as you quickly made your way out of the office, bending down to pick up the chair you had dropped.

All you could think about on your way back to the dorm room were one very important question: how did Steve know about the incident?

You shake your head as you push open the door; the room was dark, silence lingering in the air and you could just make out Bucky’s outline under his sheets. It was comical how giant he was in comparison to the size of the bed, but you were in no laughing mood.

Using the darkness to your advantage, you quickly got ready for bed tossing on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. It felt like your mind couldn’t stop thinking like it was running a million miles a minute.

How the hell were you going to try and train Bucky without him killing you?

It seemed impossible the more you thought about it because, unfortunately, Steve was right. Bucky could overpower you in every scenario.

You didn’t even know where to begin with working with someone who is clearly in need of an intensive psych eval, which no one would be able to perform until Bucky got his temper under control … which was your job. A vicious cycle that all pointed back to you.

You approached your bed with a sinking feeling in your chest, the anxiety eating you alive as you pulled back the covers, sinking down onto the mattress. The sheets were cold from the lack of body heat, and a bit scratchy, making you more uncomfortable than you already were.

You can’t help but let out a loud sigh, your palms pushing into your eyeballs as you try to not let the weight of the last few days linger too long.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

The voice startles you, your hands pulling away from your face almost immediately.

It was Bucky.

His voice was a bit muffled since he was facing the wall, his way of shutting you out, but the room soon filled with sounds of the blankets shifting as he turned on his other side to face you.

“Doing what thing ?” You asked, a frown on your features though he couldn’t see it.

“Overthinking.”

It wasn’t what you were expecting him to say, because did Bucky even know you enough to know the signs? You didn’t think so, though he would argue otherwise. Because despite how quiet and reserved he was, Bucky paid attention.

“Lucky guess.” You mumble, shaking your head. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Yeah, and I thought you were grabbing a drink.” He says quickly, like he was waiting for a fight.

Another sigh leaves your lips, you could feel him staring at the side of your face, but refused to turn your head to meet his gaze. You could understand that he didn’t appreciate your little white lie, but deception wasn’t your motive here, you didn’t need him getting involved in this conversation with Steve.

“Steve’s right, you shouldn’t be training me anymore.” He breaks through the silence, his voice unwavering.

“What the hell do you know about Steve being right? You couldn’t stand the guy yesterday.” Your response is quick and snippy, even if your brain was telling you it sounded harsh there was no stopping you now.. You were wound up like a rubberband, and you were ready to snap.

“Isn’t that what you went to do? Go talk to Steve?” It sounds like a question he already knew the answer to.

“I’m not answering that.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He presses for more.

“Bucky, it’s not important what I went to do. Okay? Let’s drop it.”

You really weren’t in the mood to have this conversation, especially not now.

Staring up at the ceiling, you run your hand through your hair gripping it a little tighter than normal as if you wanted to rip it out of your head. Frustration seeped into your bones at this feeling that nestled itself deep into your bones. Bucky didn’t need fixing, he needed someone to guide him and all you wanted to do was show him that he’s more than the monster inside. Kinda hard to do when the monster had already showed himself.

“I told him.”

And there it was. The answer to the nagging question you had all night.

A chill suddenly runs through the room, the crackling of silence lingering in the air as you let out a shaky breath. Bucky had done nothing but talk about how little he trusted Steve, but the second something went wrong in your training session he ran right over to tell him. It felt like a betrayal, a knife right to your back.

“You what ?” You ask, feeling taken aback by his admission. Sitting up in the bed and turning your head to face in his general direction, you can feel the anger clawing at your chest again.

“I said , I told him.” Bucky repeats himself as he mimics your position and sits up now, the sheet slides off his torso as he swings his legs to hang off the edge of the bed.

Maybe it wasn’t his best idea to go to Steve, but after that training session all he could think about is how easy it would have been to press a little bit harder on your back and cut off your air supply for good.

Actually, a part of him wanted to.

The Winter Soldier did not want to stop.

It scared the fuck out of him.

“You know what happened in there could have been much worse. You’re lucky I didn’t break your neck or kill you for God’s sake.” Bucky says, his own emotion rising in his chest. He extends his arm as he talks to make his point.

“I’m a professional, Bucky!” You say back, your tone suddenly sharp.

It was one thing to be concerned for your safety, it was another to completely undermine your entire career and ability.

“And?” He snaps now, his tone growing more agitated. “You’re not supposed to get killed in a training session!”

“Lucky for me I didn’t!” You say.

You throw the covers off of you as you swing your legs over the bed, your feet hitting the solid ground, standing in one swift motion.

While Bucky is still sitting the two of you are eye to eye, and despite how dark it is in the room you can both feel how tense your gazes are on one another.

You so badly wanted to scream at him, to tell him that you were capable of handling yourself and you didn’t need him or Steve to step in and protect you. Especially not when you were supposed to be the one protecting him, helping him.

Bucky, on the other hand, wanted to shake some sense into you. It didn’t matter how trained you were, he was an unstoppable force. His brain was hardwired to kill. Point blank.

“Yeah, dumb luck.” He spits back at you. “What aren’t you understanding?” Bucky feels like he’s grasping at straws now, trying to convince you to listen.

“Don’t talk down to me like I’m a child.” You snap back at him, taking a step forward.

It’s all bubbling in your chest, this unfamiliar feeling of anger with him. Not only did you make sure he felt safe on that first night, but you stuck your neck out for him, convinced Steve to give him a shot before they went poking and prodding with doctors.

Now all Bucky was asking you to give up? To let someone else step in? Not happening.

“I will when you stop acting like one.”

Bucky slowly rises from the edge of the bed, his stature looms over yours in a way that still feels intimidating as it did the first time. The air is electric, crackling like lightning was about to strike, as if Zeus himself is waiting for a moment to throw the bolt.

Both of your eyes adjust to the darkness, it’s the only way either of you can make out the other's features. You can see the way his jaw is set and his nostrils flared; Bucky watches as your lips turn down into a frown, your eyebrows creased together as you refuse to back down.

Why couldn’t you see what either of you were trying to do?

Protect each other.

Bucky only thought about how you were the only person he could trust, and that included himself. So what was he going to do if he eventually hurt you? Or worse killed you? How would he ever look at himself again?

“You have a lot of nerve.” You growl.

Your hand coming up to poke his chest, it’s solid from the sheer mass of him, and he’s unyielding, but you poke him again to hone in on your point. Bucky does all that he can to ignore the tingling sensation that erupts through his veins at your touch, the same way he did when you touched his shoulder a few nights prior.

“You don’t know me. You know nothing about me. I’m here to help you, whether you like it or not, Bucky.”

Your voice wavers slightly again, feeling the emotional moment between you and Bucky pouring onto you. A second of silence passes allowing you to collect your thoughts and emotions, clearing your throat you’re about to continue but Bucky cuts you off.

“Fine,” he growls out, his hands curled into fists at his side. “And when I either try to kill you again or you get called to another mission that’s more important than I’ll make sure to hold back my ‘I told you so’s’.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You quip back.

Bucky opens his mouth as if to speak but he decided to shut it instead. It wasn’t worth the argument anymore. He had gotten out what he needed to say and that was that.

He writes off these feelings that bubble deep in his gut as … confusion. He’s starting a new life, his brain is all fucked up, the anger and sadness he felt about you was confusion, that’s all. That’s all .

“Forget it.” Bucky mutters, his hands moving to run down his face as shakes his head, a piece of his hair falling in front of his eyes as he does so. He wants this conversation over with.

You don’t want to forget it. This anger lives inside of you now and it wanted to surface, you needed Bucky to understand that you weren’t giving up on him, but the words won’t come. They get stuck in your throat.

“Fine.” You manage to say instead. “I expect to see you in the training room tomorrow morning. 7am. Sharp.”

Neither of you speak as the tension dissipates leaving an air of awkwardness in its wake. The room feels like it’s spinning as the two of you quietly climb into your respective beds, turned away from each other, completely closed off and not looking forward for what was to come.

The next day was … interesting to say the least. Bucky had shown up at 6:58am to be as punctual as possible. If you weren’t going to heed his warnings then he would be prepared, a good soldier. God, he hated thinking about it that way.

You decided to pausing on sparring for the time being, instead putting him through a vigorous workout routine that included enough cardio to knock out a horse, and strength training that would make Heracles’ knees buckle. Bucky didn’t break a single sweat, which was quite impressive.

Then came the mental aspect of all of this. You needed to push his boundaries and see how far you could go before the Winter Soldier mask slipped back on. You were trying your best to break him.

There were a few close calls during some of your sessions; one of your boxing sessions while he was doing a few rounds with the punching bag. You must have said something that triggered a memory because one second he was hitting combinations and the next second it was flying off the chain it was strung by, landing loudly against the concrete wall.

The impact was enough to make you both stop, your jaw slacked in awe as you turned towards him. Bucky’s chest heaved heavily, his shoulders rounded as he could feel the anger coursing through his blood.

Don’t attack. Do not attack.

Those are the only words flowing through his brain. You didn’t turn on the same switch as his trigger words, but there was always that instinct in the back of his mind when his rage simmered too close to the surface.

It happened again a few sessions later, but this time while he was running on the treadmill at full speed. He could feel the itch to protect himself, to make you stop shouting things to infuriate the beast within him. His metal arm was itching to get you to stop. But, the guilt of hurting you again is what held him back. He ran so hard and fast, his feet making loud thumping sounds on the belt that he ended up breaking the whole machine.

Bucky wouldn’t admit this to anyone but every night before he fell asleep, all he could remember was the sound of you sputtering for air as his knee dug into your back on that day that you two sparred. It ate him alive to know that he was capable of such things, it hurt even more to know how badly his brain couldn’t discern you from an enemy.

He knew you were equipped for this, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t scare the shit out of him to think of how fragile you were in comparison to him. He was a super soldier, an assassin, and as much as he wished he could assure himself that you were safe around him, it felt harder and harder every day.

Though the weeks passed quickly, you were seeing significant signs of improvement within Bucky that maybe he couldn’t see in himself.

They weren’t all related to his training either.

He would talk to Steve more, trying to make small talk when he saw him in the tower (though he still shied away from him when he brought up any mentions of the ‘30s, not feeling ready to delve into those memories yet).

Or after your training sessions, he’d bring you a cup of coffee - light and sweet - exactly how you liked it; either as a way to thank you for your time or an excuse to see you again that day, the jury was still out on that.

And by the time the six month mark had passed, Bucky had seemed to be flourishing, the two of you falling into a rhythm. The mornings were filled with training, your nights spent checking in with Steve on Bucky’s progress, and any down time trying to make him feel like he’s not some prisoner locked away.

“Hey,” you said one night as you entered the dorm room, your eyes immediately falling on him.

“Hey.” He responds back, his head tilting up to look at you. He was laying on top of the bed with his new cell phone, trying to figure out how to use the damn thing. Who invented such stupid devices?

“Come with me.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise at your words, and watches as you wave him over towards the door, gesturing to him to follow you. You don’t need to tell him twice. Tossing the phone onto the mattress he climbs out of bed to keep up with you.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited about the idea of spending more time with you. He found solace in those early morning training sessions, it was doing wonders for his mental health to not feel like he was going to snap every second. Plus the added bonus of getting your attention all to himself.

You lead Bucky down the hall to the elevator, pushing the button to the top floor. Standing shoulder to shoulder, Bucky’s gaze tries to remain in front of him on the metal doors. He so desperately wants to look over at you, to try and catch a glimpse into what you’re thinking; he barely understands his own mind, but he needs to know yours.

“Where are we going?” The hoarseness in his voice shocks him for a moment, clearing it as he flexes his metal hand. He seemed more fidgeted around you these days, like there was an itch that needed to be scratched.

“Somewhere different.” It’s vague, but it’s a response.

The elevator doors open up to a room built of glass, the warm lights lining the bar and the overhead steel beams. Hundreds of bottles of liquor line the wall and the floors are covered in a dark carpet that despite its years still looks brand new. It was something right out of Architectural Digest , a billionaire’s dream lounge room, but this wasn’t the place you wanted to take Bucky, it was only the passage, not the final destination.

“No one’s usually up here when it’s not the weekends” You explain as you lead him through the room. Bucky’s hot on your heels, never more than a few steps behind. “I figured since you probably haven’t had some fresh air since you’ve been here that it’d be nice to get outside.”

When you approach the door, all it takes is a swipe of your badge and the small beep to signal that it had unlocked. Pulling it open, you and Bucky are greeted with the balcony that overlooks the helipad landing at the tower, but more importantly the entire city right in front of you like a deck of cards.

Bucky didn’t realize he missed the fresh air until he found himself walking past you to stand at the railing, his eyes closed, sucking in a deep breath. His lungs fill up and it feels brand new. He might not have been free from the demons, but this new found freedom had given him so much to live for.

His hair blows softly in the wind, the night sky is dark above his head, and all you can do is stand back and watch in awe. He was so different from the night you first met him, maybe still closed off but not nearly the same person who wouldn’t eat his food in fear it was poisoned; now he was relishing in moments, enjoying his peace.

The warmth of your body standing next to him is immediately welcomed by Bucky when he hears you approach, his eyes flickering open and looking at the scene in front of him. It hits him all in that moment that he doesn’t remember the last time he took in the view? It had to be decades, maybe longer.

“Fresh air, hm?” He asks, his arms resting on the railing in front of him.

“Are you complaining?” You can’t help but tease him a bit, it was fun to poke the bear.

“No.” He stares out ahead of him, his eyes watching the streets below, the faint sounds of car horns and people talking hit his ear despite how high up it was. “It’s nice.”

“When I was a trainee they refused to let us out of the building, scared we were going to never want to come back in.” You chuckle at the memory. “Maybe they were right.”

Bucky chuckles with you. “Yeah, I can see how tempting that is.”

“I’m sure you haven’t had much downtime in a while.”

“No, not really.” He says, shaking his head. “Maybe since the war? Probably before it. And any time I get here is full of figuring out what the next thing is going to be.”

He speaks candidly with you because he knows he can. As much as he was trying to warm up to Steve, and he knew there was a soft spot inside of him for the man, he could be a little rough around the edges to talk to. Not that Bucky was delicate by nature, but it was different.

It takes a moment to find the courage within him before he speaks again.

“I’ve been really trying to remember who I was before all … this.” He vaguely gestures. “There’s been a lot of big gaps in my memory, but from what I can remember I was never this … this volatile man. I never felt out of control and now it feels like every second of the day I’m on the verge of some breakdown that is going to make it hard to snap out of.”

It’s wildly authentic and heartbreaking to hear Bucky’s words. You watch the side of his face carefully, you can see the way his emotions are written all over his features, the way he can feel the tightness in the back of his throat.

“You don’t see the improvements you’re making.” You say quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe not.” He swallows a bit, his fingers tapping on the railing. “Or maybe you and Steve see something in me that’s just not there.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

“I told Steve what happened on that first training session because I was terrified that if I killed one more person than I had no chance of ever recovering.” He admits, his head bows slightly before he turns to face you, his hands grip the railing a bit tighter. “ Especially if it was you.”

The admission makes your features soften, your eyes searching his face for something, you’re not entirely sure what. But all you can find is a man who is terrified, who is chipped – not broken, as fragile as a piece of porcelain. His blue eyes are a bit brighter than when he first came in, and if he looks in a certain light you’re positive that they glisten. There’s a faint scar on his forehead, a stark reminder of the pain that he inflicted when he felt like it was all too much.

“I never thought you were going to kill me.”

Was this sentiment good enough to even explain to him how absolutely fucked up this whole situation was? This man had a kill list that was miles long, but you? You were the one he couldn’t hurt.

“That’s not the point.” His tone is firm.

You knew it wasn’t, but what were you supposed to say?

“The point is that if something happened to you… if I did something to you…” Bucky’s voice breaks as he speaks, turning his body towards you. All the emotions were so unfamiliar he didn’t know how to handle them. “Then there would be no purpose in trying to help me. I’m too far gone - the Winter Soldier won.”

Panic settled in your chest as you watched Bucky bare his soul to you, the simple matter of fact was he was terrified, of himself, of how much he trusted you, and of the world.

“Hey, hey.” You can’t help but take a step forward, only letting a few inches in between the two of you. Your hand moves to rest on his shoulder like it did that night he had a nightmare. It amazed you how warm he was under your touch. “That’s not true. You’re not too far gone.”

All of the training sessions the two of you had together slipped into both of your minds. Bucky saw his failures, the moments he was so consumed by his instincts. You saw all his accomplishments, the moments after his failures where he pushed forward and continued doing the work.

“What if I am?”

Your eyes catch his and the both of you stand in silence. You can’t help but rub circles into his shoulder gingerly, something about the tenderness of the moment making you want nothing more than to comfort him.

Bucky’s heart stammers in his chest at your kind touch, the only real thing that lets him know he’s alive and not in some fucked up dream. Bucky doesn’t think anyone has ever touched him so carefully before.

“Then we keep trying.” You whisper, there’s a desperation in your tone because you want him to believe you. You need him to. “We don’t stop trying until you're better.”

Would Bucky ever truly be better? He’d spent a lot of time over the last few weeks wondering about that exact question. There was a point in this recovery where he had to accept that he was a tortured soul that would not be able to ever go to bed again without seeing the faces of the innocent victims he killed.

But you’re so convincing, your words make him feel something he hadn’t felt since the 40s when Steve found him tied down in that basement being experimented on; hopeful.

“When I sleep at night I don’t just see the people I’ve killed.” Bucky’s jaw tightens as he admits this to you. “I see all of the people who …” He can’t bring himself to say it, shaking his head. “...Who hurt me . I didn’t know what they were doing because the shit would get zapped right out of me and they’d put me on ice again.”

Bucky swallowed his emotions, trying not to let the memories come back too clearly in that moment. He’d always wake up more and more a shell of himself than the last.

“ Torture . They’d torture me then use me as a pawn to hurt innocent people.”

“How many do you remember?”

“All of them.”

Your heart sinks in your chest at the idea that he could still hear their screams, or their begs for mercy, or worse … their last breaths.

“I saw Steve and it was like someone punched me right in the gut, and turned back time. I saw him then I saw myself. Then I met you and I knew I had to figure this shit out.”

It’s unexpected for both of you, but Bucky brings his metal hand up to yours, wrapping it around your wrist. It’s cold against your skin, the material is smooth and polished despite the many divots that coat it. You want to run your fingers on it, to see how it moves and retracts with the heat of your touch, but he quickly snaps you out of that thought.

Bucky watches your face carefully as he moves your hand until it rests against his cheek.

“Bucky …” Your voice is soft, his eyes closing to relish in the moment and your touch.

Your thumb caresses his cheek and he leans his head into your palm. His face is scratchy, yet exceedingly warm in contrast to the metal. He lets out a shaky breath that he didn’t know he was holding, but maybe he had always been holding it in.

You were his comfort during these times, the only way he stopped himself from losing his goddamn mind.

Your touch reminds him of the day he found out you weren’t coming back after your first initial meeting.

Steve had explained it was for a mission, he knew it was important, but you had been the only thing tethering him down to earth. It was hard to cope with the fact that he didn’t know when he would see you again, so he tried to stay busy, to stay out of his own head. He failed miserably.

Bucky had needed your comfort during that time, needed someone grounding him to earth, but he would settle for it now instead.

“I want to be better. I want to get better.”

He knew this awakening was deep inside of him, this need to move forward, and now he was ready to bridge that gap. To start fresh. But below that need was another feeling, one that was not regret nor hope. No, this feeling was foreign to Bucky, an intense aching want. For what? For love, of course. For who? Guess.

His eyes open and he doesn’t realize he’s taken a step forward until the two of you are pressed together. His hand that rests around your wrist tightens slightly because he’s afraid that if he lets go that you will slip away.

“I never thought you were coming back after that mission. Now I’m finding it really hard to let you go.” His voice is sweet like honey despite how deep it is.

A blush creeps onto your features because it seemed the soft spot you had for Bucky was now only making room for the feelings that were starting to grow.

Your eyes swept over him taking in the fine lines by his eyes, down to the little marks he had on his cheeks. Despite being so close together in your sparring matches it had seemed like this was the first time you had really seen Bucky. Like really seen him.

“You know, you’re not allowed to say things you don’t mean.” You teased quietly.

“And who said I didn’t mean them?” He asked back.

A pair of matching smiles graces both of your features as he does. You swore for a half second you saw him gaze down at your lips, but by the time your brain had a chance to catch up he pulled your hand off of his face, intertwining your fingers together at your sides.

“We should get back inside. It’s getting cold out here.” You whisper.

That remainder of night ended in a way neither of you had expected, hands intertwined together until the very moment you two climbed into your separate beds across from each other. Bucky could feel his skin tingle at the way your fingers slide across his as you unravel from each other. He thought about it all night.

A few more months had passed, and time seemed to have flown by in a blink of an eye because it was now a one year from that day Steve had brought Bucky back to the tower, changing his life.

Bucky was determined now more than ever to get himself help; he didn’t lash out during training practices and he actually allowed Steve to set up some doctor’s appointments for him. Physicals, therapists, neurology shit; he didn’t even care at this point.

You made sure if you couldn’t be there for all his sessions that you’d at least check in with him afterwards to see how he was doing. You and Bucky had moved out of those dorm rooms, you were back in your old room - a much more spacious area that felt more like a one bedroom apartment.

Bucky was moved back to his room as well, which happened to be at the other end of your hallway. He hated the memories that came along with being back here, the vividness of him slamming his head against the wall always made a chill run down his spine. There was still a dent where it happened. But, he was happy to have a bigger bed to sleep in and stretch his body out.

He hated how you weren’t an arms length away anymore.

Unfortunately for him, Bucky’s heart seemed to have grown tenfold after that night on the rooftop. He had opened the floodgates and it left him tingling from head to toe.

When there were team meetings he found himself glancing at you more than actually listening to Steve. When he saw you in the common room reading a book, he couldn’t stop himself from asking what it was about just to hear your voice.

The hardest times for him to concentrate were the sparring practices.

Initially, Bucky had begged you not to start them up again, he was fearful that the voice would creep back and he didn’t want to have a repeat of your first time together.

He was able to persuade you for a while, always coming up with a new excuse why it would be better to focus on something else, but eventually it was time. Bucky had to prove he was capable of doing it.

The first few practices were slow and simple, working on carefully building a rhythm and never taking it too far or letting it get too heated. In those moments, Bucky felt like there were specific ways that his body moved that felt instinctive of the Winter Soldier; he avoided those for a while.

But, as most things did as those months went by, the sparring picked up to an easier flow. It soon, to his dismay, became Bucky’s favorite way to spend time together. Not only was it the intimacy in the time together, early in the morning when the sun was still rising, it was the moment that you and Bucky were the closest, where your touches mattered. Walking a fine line between a beautiful dance of two trained professionals doing what they knew best and two people looking for something more.

His hand would brush against your arm trying to grab you and win, not for the sake of the kill, but the sake of the competitiveness that was now inside of you. Except, it was that exact moment he touched your arms that would throw him off the attack. His brain would be all consumed by the feeling of you that made him hesitate; you used the leverage to grab his arm and flip him onto his back, your foot resting on his chest as you had effectively won.

“Oof.” He let out a puff of air again, because this happened every time.

“I swear, Buck, you’re letting me do that now.” You said to him during this practice.

It was exceptionally early in the morning, the windows showed a dark city skyline. Neither of you had been sleeping well since you had left your shared dorm rooms, and now this felt like the best way to get out some of that pent up energy.

“You don’t get to call me that.” Bucky says, his hand on his chest as he panted. “Steve barely gets to call me that.”

It made you happy to see the way the two friends had reconnected again. Bucky had remembered so much of their time together; two estranged brothers making up for lost years.

You chuckle as you hold out your hand to Bucky, wanting to help him up off the mat. He eyes your hand for a moment, slapping it playfully a few times; he didn’t want to get up yet.

“I feel like I’ve earned the honor, you don’t?”

“Hmmm, let me think about it.”

Bucky places his finger on his lips, tapping on them as he feigns being in deep thought, wanting to tease you.

“No.”

“Asshole.”

Bucky’s features soften letting a smile creep onto his face as he grabs your hand, pulling you down onto the mat so that your shoulders were touching. His head turned to face yours, the lighter feeling in his body evident by the smile that lingered on his features, so opposite of the darkness that consumed him when he had first arrived.

“I’d rather be an asshole than a killer.” He says.

Although it’s meant to be a joke, Bucky is still walking the line with learning how to be funny again; it comes across more as awkward humor. You crack a smile though as you turn your head, your cheek resting on the mat; the least you could do was pity him.

“I still kicked your ass.” You taunt.

His hand is still holding yours, actually he maneuvers it so that he can intertwine your fingers together feeling the way they lock like puzzle pieces. If there was a time where two heart beats synced together - it would be in this moment.

“Dumb luck.” The familiar words don’t make you angry as they did the first time he used them, now they made you laugh.

“You really underestimate my abilities, Barnes.”

“I don’t.” He shrugs a bit, his thumb now tracing patterns into your skin. “I know you’re more than capable of kicking my ass. I just think you have an unfair advantage.”

“And what’s that, hm?”

“Mmmm,” Bucky hums, his eyebrow raising a bit. “It’s already an unfair advantage, now you want me to tell you? So what? You actually know what it is and use it against me even more? Not happening.”

You laugh loudly as you playfully kick his shin, biting down on your bottom lip afterwards as you try to keep your composure. Neither of you were too sure when the change in your relationship went from trying to get Bucky to a state of not losing his mind to … this but neither of you were going to complain either.

“Ow.” He squeezes your hand as he feigns the injury, gently knocking his foot into yours back.

“I should never have given you two free access to the training room.”

Steve’s voice calls out as the delayed click of the door signals his arrival. You and Bucky sit up, your fingers slip out of each other's grasps. Bucky doesn’t want to let go of you though, so he keeps his pinky pressed against the side of your hand making sure you’re right there.

Footsteps echo in the room until Steve approaches, his arms crossed over his chest, his normally tidy blonde hair damp from the shower he must have taken. Bucky flexes his metal hand as he looks up at Steve, giving him a short nod.

“Afraid we’re going to hog it?” You ask, feeling Bucky’s finger wrap around yours.

You swear in that moment your heart drops. It takes everything in your body to not let your gaze drift over to him.

“A little bit. We have a new class of trainees coming in this morning, the last thing I need is to have them find you two goofing off. We’re a serious team, you know.”

Despite how stoic Steve could be at times, and you were sure his statement was serious, there was always a bit of playfulness in his tone.

“We didn’t think anyone would even be awake yet.”

The clock on the opposite wall said 6:25am which was early even for you and Bucky. Steve cracks a soft smile as if he knows that the two of you would be searching for a way to be alone.

“I’m kidding .” He reiterates what you already know. “ But you two do need to leave, I need to prep the room for the recruits.”

Bucky sighs as he stands up, brushing any dust off his pants before he outstretches his hand to you. You clasp onto it, Bucky helping you up off of the ground in one swift motion. You mimic his movements and brush yourself off once you’re standing.

Your hands drop from each other, though Steve catches right away how they linger for a moment before they do. He’s not naive.

“Don’t go too hard on them.” Bucky calls out as the two of you make your exit.

“Oh I will!” Steve calls back, laughs leaving your lips as the doors open to the hallway.

“He’s ridiculous.”

“You’re just figuring that out?” You say, tempted to elbow him.

“No, unfortunately when my memories came back all his stupidity came with it.”

Laughter filled the hallway as you two made your way to your respective rooms, caught up in chit chat and banter that seemed to fill most of your conversations now.

Your brain doesn’t even realize that you’ve made the wrong turn and followed Bucky to his room until you’re standing in front of his door. His arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back, his eyes never leaving you.

“Stalking me now?”

“Oh please.” You roll your eyes, playfully reaching out to shove his shoulder. “What can I say? When you’re not brooding you’re actually pleasant to talk to.”

“Mmm.” He hummed. “I should be offended.”

“No, it is actually fun to watch. It’s like you can’t stop yourself from pouting.”

“I don’t pout.”

“Oh you absolutely pout.”

Bucky chuckled as his hand wrapped around the door handle, letting it slowly turn as the door opened behind him.

“I don’t pout.” He argued with you as he nodded you into his room, a silent invitation.

The situation is so natural like the flow of a waterfall, fluid. You enter his room like you’ve done it a million times.

“Bucky, you absolutely pout.”

It’s all fun and games now as you hear him close the door behind you, this connection the two of you have built has made this transition a lot easier. Bucky had put in the work, you had done your job, and now it felt more like two friends who were enjoying their time together.

Bucky’s room is dark aside only broken up by the light from the lamp in the corner. The shades on the windows are closed and he seemed to have gathered some more personal belongings; his leather bound journal sat on his night stand, the string unwound letting you know he had probably used it that morning, and his phone sitting at the edge of his bed probably filled with dozens of missed calls and unread texts.

You don’t think he ever managed to figure out how to use it.

“I don’t pout, and you’re getting on my nerves.” He teases as he moves past you.

Bucky made his way over towards his closet, his hands gripping the end of his t-shirt as he slowly pulled it over his head, tossing it over to the chair next to him. It didn’t even cross his mind that you were seeing him without his shirt on, he couldn’t see how your eyes were fixated on him.

Now it was all that consumed you. His muscles were taut, you knew the serum kept him in shape, and golden for someone who had barely seen the sun in a few months.

It was as if someone had molded him right from stone.

But it’s the weave of scars that wrapped around his back and shoulder that really caught your attention. They were red, raw and dug deep into his skin. The metal around them was a stark contrast. Man and machine sewn together.

There was an ache deep in your chest to touch him to fix the wrongs of all people who hurt him. His past was etched into his skin and you wanted to erase every single part of it.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at you, still covered in a thin layer of sweat and he needed to take a shower. He catches your eye and tries to tell himself you’re not looking at him the way he thought you were. The way he hoped you were.

“Plan on watching me the whole time?” He asks, his eyebrow raising.

You want to make a funny joke, start back and forth with him that would make both of you feel at ease, but the words die in the back of your throat.

Instead, you step forward until you’re standing behind him. Warmth radiated off him like the sun, but you knew you wouldn’t burn the same. Your hands shake as you bring it up to his shoulder, your eyes intently watching yourself skim your finger over his scars.

Bucky’s head feels dizzy at your touch, his head bowing as he sucks in a deep breath. Your name leaves his lips; he’s warning you to not go further and pleading with you not to stop.

Finally, Bucky turns his body so he can face you, his eyes closing at the tenderness. The two of you seem to find yourselves caught in these moments of tenderness that never push the envelope. Maybe it was time to start.

“I’m fine.” He says despite there not being a question asked. You don’t believe him, and the way the frown on your features tells him that. “I mean it, I’m fine.”

“They hurt you.”

Your fingers trace the scars, your throat tightening at the idea of how much torture he went through. Decades.

When he fell from that train Bucky was dying, he thought he was being saved and instead he was brutally tormented. All he got with his second chance at life was PTSD and these scars.

Bucky’s breath shakes again at your touch, you made him believe, even if just for a second, that he was worthy of such kindness.

His eyes flutter shut as he grabs your wrist like he did on the night you two spent on the rooftop. Bringing your hand away from his shoulder and pressing it to his cheek, he does something this time that surprises you. Turning his face, Bucky presses his lips into the palm of your hand, his eyes opening now to watch you carefully.

He sees how your features soften, though he doesn’t realize how your heart beats a little faster or feel how your shoulders relax at his touch.

Every single second over the last year has led the both of you to this moment, it had all fallen so perfectly in place. Now was your moment.

“I’m fine.” He whispers against your palm.

Bucky’s hand grabs your wrist as he pulls your arm over his shoulder, his lips sliding down to your wrist then your forearm ending at your bicep, peppering trails of kisses as he mumbles I’m fine after each one.

The words are a mantra, a promise to himself all while pleading with you. He was fine.

Your body is begging you to call out to him, but instead you wrap your hand around the back of his neck threading your fingers through his hair. He had barely any time to cut it since that day at the river so it was a bit longer than he liked to keep it, brushing right above his shoulders. You thought of how you wanted to tie it up for him, get it out of his face.

You wanted to take care of Bucky again, not in the way you had with these training sessions.

No, you wanted to care for him in the way a lover would. The way soulmates did.

Your name leaves his lips as he leans his head down now only inches away from yours, it immediately snaps you back into reality. You breathe out as you realize how close the two of you are, the warmth spreading through your body like a wildfire.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, the very last of his control slipping in the back of his mind trying to stop himself from crossing that line. He thought of his therapy sessions, and how he was told he needed to start thinking about what he wanted in this life.

He wanted nothing more than you.

Bucky whispered your name again. His hand moved from your bicep to your neck, holding it tenderly as his thumb rubbed circles into your soft skin.

Life never prepares anyone for these moments; you know, the moments where the world spins a little faster and two souls feel like they’re intertwining. No, life never prepared you for the moment, but you never really cared what life threw at you.

You reached out to cup Bucky’s face with both of your hands pulling him forward until both of your lips pressed against each other; like it was a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled.

There’s no gasps of surprise or moments of shock because this was not surprising at all; actually it was the most instinctive thing either of you had done with one another. A song and dance that blended in perfect harmony.

The kiss isn’t rushed despite how wanted it is. Bucky’s hand grasps your neck a little tighter, needing to feel your skin under his touch. You don’t realize he’s backed you up against the wall until you feel the smooth surface, the soft thud of your body joining the sounds the two of you were making.

“Don’t do that.” He mumbled, nipping at your bottom lip playfully.

“Don’t do what?” You ask.

“Make me want you more than I already do.”

You don’t have time to respond with a moan or even a chuckle because Bucky’s leaning down to grasp your thighs, picking you up effortlessly as you wrap your legs around his waist. There was a desperation in the way you two touched each other as if both of you had been starved and now you were served a feast.

There’s soft murmurings that fill the room while the two of you continue to kiss:

I need you

You’re the best thing that has happened to me

Never leave me

Neither of you knew which voice said it anymore, because at this moment you are more connected to Bucky than your own body.

The sounds of breathless moans and pants fill Bucky’s room as you're soon carried over to his bed, your back hitting the mattress as he loomed over you. Contrary to how intimidating his size once was to you, you see him in a different light now. He’s softer, kinder, and full of this amazing wonder that makes you excited to see what the future has in store for him.

He stares at you like you hold the secrets of the universe.

He places his arms on either side of your head as he brushes his nose against yours, causing your head to tilt up and press your lips against his once more. It’s a quick kiss this time. His hands running up and down your sides while yours rest on his biceps; these touches felt like they took a lifetime to get, now neither of you would take them for granted.

“I told you, I’m fine.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I met you and I’ve been fine ever since.”

Your heart aches in your chest as you squeeze his arms tenderly, the smile on your features growing. You knew deep down that you had made a promise to yourself that you would always care for Bucky, but it was right then and there that you also promised yourself that you would love Bucky until your dying breath.

Don’t worry though, he had already made those vows to himself for you long ago.

“Promise me one thing.” You whisper back to him.

“Anything.”

“Don’t start pulling your punches now when we spar.”

He laughs at your words before he leans down to peck your lips again a few times, trailing them down to press against your jaw and collarbones. He couldn’t get enough of you now.

“You have nothing to worry about. You will kick my ass fair and square.”

He looks up at you as he rests his chin on your chest. There’s a brief pause and you watch each other, all of the moments you had shared in the last year had now been neatly wrapped up in a bow. He presses one more kiss to your skin before nuzzling his head on your chest; he was home.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, feeling the way he relaxed against your frame.

Bucky Barnes was in front of you, not a perfect man, but a new one.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #mine #i didnt mean for it to get this long #enjoy!#100 #200 #500

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bunny-jpeg · 7 months ago

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lovingly dominant

capt. john price

tags: smut/pwp, age gap (20s/30s), size difference/kink, dom/sub dynamic, bdsm au, virgin!reader, light bdsm, praise (kink)

a/n: in a surprising twist, bunny has written call of duty again!! expect more cod stuff into december when the f1 season is over and it stops eating my brain <3

john price considered himself a little old fashioned. he thought it was better to have his birdie of the week on her back and rut into her until they both finished. he had no need for whips, chains, collars, and whatever else the world of bdsm had to offer.

but after so many missions and so many years, the pollution of combat bled into his sexual desires. he craved for control, near domination of his birdie. yes, they looked cute on their backs and their soft noises. but it looked far more appealing to keep her blindfolded, second guessing what was being done to her while price's filthy words spilled across her brain like wine on a white carpet. tainting her. tainting you.

most dominants loved a trained submissive. loved that they knew the ins and outs of the dynamic, tinkering to their liking. price on the other hand had a thing for over eager virgins. ones who got all their bdsm know-how from horribly written fan fiction. he liked to teach and guide, he liked to shape his submissive into the perfect image of what could be.

and when he met you, oh, well something else came up. an unwavering possessive need. price tried to not get possessive, this was all just a little game for sexual pleasure. but when he found out his little trainee worked at a flower shop, it was all over for him. it was only doubled down when you had your first meeting at a coffee shop and you got the most delicious looking slice of strawberry shortcake.

the cream on the corner of your mouth almost made john price lose resolve. instead he covered up with a cough before you asked, "do you want some, mister price." and who was john price to deny such a lovely girl her offer. you even fed it to him, a glimmer in your eye and gentle smile.

"it's lovely, baby girl." he said before he wiped a bit of the cream off his beard which made you giggle. that giggle seared into his brain and he knew that you weren't getting with any other man.

you met at his flat a few weeks later, and you were eager. price liked that. sex was only half as fun when the person he was fucking was almost having a good time. you came over in a big sweatshirt and jeans that were a little baggy, something that covered up. it made price curious as to what was hiding underneath.

"look beautiful, birdie." he said as he guided you inside and you got your sneakers off. you looked over at him to help you through the flat. you held onto him a little nervous, the only familiar thing in the place. price held you by the middle and let you press your face up against his strong chest.

he was in a flannel with a white undershirt and jeans. you could see the gold chain around his throat and the heavy chest hair. you had seen him naked from photos shared and he had seen you naked, but to feel it up close left a shiver of excitement through you. he leaned down and kissed you on the top of your head as he led you to the bedroom.

he said, "afterwards, i'll make ya some dinner. not the best chef, but, i can cook ya somethin' to replenish the energy you spent fucking me." he then ruffled your hair, which made your heart leap and he got you onto the bed.

you nodded meekly, you looked so small. so innocent. a girl like you should be on dated with finance guys or even the artsy kind. not a weathered, older military man like him. but even things in smaller packages can be surprising, just like when you took off your clothes and revealed a matching set of bra and panties. a soft grey colour with pastel yellow accents. it made price have to adjust himself in his jeans.

"ah, pretty girl got a surprise for me. how sweet?"

you nodded, "i wanted to make tonight special. good luck for a long... dynamic between us. so, you don't get rid of me if i suck." and soon you were in price's embrace while you still sat on the bed. your cheek pressed hard against his soft but firm middle.

he petted your head a little and said, "ah, don't worry, petal. even if you do bad tonight, i got every intention of trainin' ya. make you the perfect girl." the words spoken hit right to your core and when he pulled away long enough to strip down, you felt your eyes go wide for a moment.

a photo couldn't capture every inch of john price's skin. the scars, the tattoos, the hair, the muscle, the fat. he was like a big brown bear and it made you soaked. you shifted a little in your spot on the bed and rubbed your thighs together in anticipation. it was surprising that you were still a virgin, but you always chickened out. now as an adult, you wanted to just get it over with. but, you wanted to have fun. and why not have fun with a well experienced dom who wouldn't half-ass your first time. it didn't hurt that he had the kind of looks that would make any man with half a brain jealous.

"i hope i meet expectations." he chuckled as he put his hands on his hips. his cock stood at full attention and you swallowed. there was something so masculine about him, but not in a toxic way. he played with your hair once more before he patted your cheek, "no need to gawk, petal. i'm not goin' anywhere." and you swallowed. he chuckled before he got into bed with you and slowly unwrapped you of your lingerie like delicate christmas paper.

he hadn't been this excited to upwrap something since he got the toy firetruck as a kid. but in total fairness, you were hotter than any fire red truck. his hands grazed across your body with total tenderness and his hungry blue eyes gazed the skin.

the stretch marks, the moles, your own scarring. you were beautiful in ways that price couldn't describe. to compare you to something would be unfair to the thing being compared to your beauty. he took you by the wrist and kissed the center of it.

"this is a promise, petal. for as long as you keep me as your dominant and you my submissive, i with cherish you, adore you, and most of all. make sure that you cum over and over again." before he kissed you on the lips and got you onto your back. he admired you, "usually i like to take pretty things on their hands and knees. but, tonight's gotta be special, right, doll?"

you nodded.

he tapped your nose and said, "ah, ah, ah. that won't cut it. the words are 'yes, sir', got it? would hate to bruise that little behind during our first time."

you found your voice and said, "yes, sir." and was met with a rough pat on the cheek before price pulled away to rest on his knees to fuck you with just right. you felt heat course through your body as you took in the sight of him. burly, large from top to bottom.

course dark hair on his body, a little heft in his middle (but who didn't love that), a sparkle in his blue eyes, and hands large enough to break things between the digits. he admired you in return and said softly, "pretty little petal, yeah? ah, who let ya be so beautiful?" he chuckled as he rubbed his cock up against your slick sex, "i got so much to teach ya. how to tie ya up, how to gag ya properly. mmm, we'll have so much fun." he then pulled away to grab a condom from the nightstand. he held up the silver foil to you and said, "rule one, play safe or don't play at all."

you nodded and remembered to reply, "yes, sir."

price gave you a smile that lit you up and said, "good girl." then quickly got the condom on. he admired your soaked sex for a moment longer, "she achin' for me, huh? cute." then slowly, almost agonizingly, he inched into you and felt the spread of warmth through his body.

heaven was created with your pussy in mind. price was never a quick finisher, but he almost finished inside of you when he managed to get all of himself inside of you. he kept eyes and ears open, the type of examining done in his line of work, to make sure that you weren't in too much pain.

"ya alright?"

you nodded and swallowed.

price added, "baby girl. words." and then nodded his head when you replied that everything was okay, he nodded and said, "roger that." which made you pussy clench. a smile spread across price's face as he leaned forward. he captured your hands in his and pressed them to the bed under you. he chuckled lowly, "ah, someone likes a military man? a man in uniform gets ya goin'?" he kissed your pulse point, "ah, too cute, petal. i guess seeing that on my description didn't scare ya off." he rocked against you, "know it's a crime to mess up a man's uniform."

you swallowed, "sir. fuck." and felt the strike of heat through your body. you had to admit, you had seen a few photos of him in uniform. the beret, boots and all. and it made something turn in your stomach. only added an appeal to him that made you hot.

price replied, "i guess it worked out. because i like cute little civilians who are more than eager to make me feel good. doin' your civic duty makin' me cum, baby girl." these was a tension in his voice that made you heart hammer and your throat feel tight. the bed squeaked a little under the both of you as he continued his movements. he knew he was going to have an amazing time with you.

you whined, "please, sir."

"tell me. tell me what ya like about it? what gets my baby girl goin'? i gotta know, because maybe i can get somethin' together that'll rock your world." his words were hot and your cunt fluttered around his achy, hard cock. for a moment he was uncertain if you were actually a virgin, you took him so well.

you moaned when you felt a spark of pleasure in your core, your entire life had just been your hands and an assortment of toys. but to have price work your body beautifully was something else. you replied sweetly, "i... i want to thigh ride you in uniform." you felt a flush of embarrassment.

he chuckled, "oh that would be quite the sight, huh?" he continued to move against you beautifully, "i bet that i could make ya cum just from my thighs. rub your cunt all over it, messin' up the fabric. higher-ups will be wonderin' about the pussy stains all over the fabric. maybe if i'm lucky i'll get some of your wetness in my beard. let 'em smell you on me." and well, that excited you deeply.

you arched your back a little bit, but price kept you pinned perfectly under him. you tightened your thighs around him and he continued to work your body. it wasn't rough sex, but it also wasn't boringly soft either. he worked you at a steady pace, like a man with immense stamina. he eyed the bounce of your breasts and he moved against you.

he licked his lips at the sight of you, "baby girl." he purred, "you're a dirty girl. but don't worry." he soon held onto your wrists instead of your hands, a further act of domination, "i like 'em dirty. i like girls i can sink my teeth into. soon enough you won't be able to cum unless it's my fingers, tongue or cock in you. ya got the kind of soft skin that would bruise perfectly. but be careful, petal, i can be quite mean with a paddle." and it was met with a heavy moan. music to his ears.

you had never been spoken to like this before, but it excited you. you wanted to be price's dirty girl any day of the week. you felt excitement cross over you as he picked up the pace. the two of you fucked heavily and it left a taste of want in your mouth. this was better than anything you hoped for. it wasn't just that price checked boxes on a superficial level, he knew exactly how to make you squirm and moan. heavy noises came from your mouth as he worked your achy cunt, you felt amazing.

"ya like knowin' that i'm your first. big, scary captain makin' a mess of the sweetest cunt in the world. knowin' in a way, i got ya for life." he licked his lips. he liked that you were pure in that way, call him old fashioned. but knowing that he got to have you first was sort of like getting the first slice of cake at a party. something he wished to sweetly devour. and with you it was with heavy thrusts and filthy words. taint you to his liking.

you whined as you clenched your fists, you tensed up and he loved the feeling. he could almost read your mind with how sweet you felt. he could nearly feel your heartbeat as he fucked you. he loved the sight of you, you looked damn near perfect under him. you said between heavy pants, "please, sir. fuck, please!"

"feel good, petal? like how i take you." he moved against you further and it left him feeling the anticipation for climax. he continued to fuck your sweet body, working every last centimeter of warm skin, "remember, ya gotta ask me to cum."

his movements were overwhelming, his pace left you feeling breathless. and in your first lesson of intimacy, you croaked out, "can i cum, sir? please, i need to cum."

and price could be a giving man. he looked down at you, haze in those blue eyes as he said, "of course, baby girl. cum for me, cum for your captain." and swore under his breath as you beautifully came apart for him. he held onto your wrists tighter and groaned. it paired nicely with your sweet little moans.

"sir! fuck!" you gasped as you clenched around him. you finished and it only prompted him to move faster while you laid in such a blissed out state. no one had made you finish like that, not even your own nimble digits.

but price was just that good.

the bed creaked further and the headboard hit against the beige wall of the bedroom. he fucked you faster and made sure to cram every inch inside of you. with a few more heavy strokes, he finished into of you with a heavy groan. he fucked you through his climax before he slowed to a stop.

he wiped the sweat from his forehead and exhaled deeply, "beauty, beauty. where has the world been hidin' ya from me." he chuckled as he kissed you on the lips. you melted against him and moaned.

when he pulled out, he got up with a creak in his hip to throw out the condom before he was back in bed with you. you were both naked under the covers as price traced your form with his calloused fingers. the roughness on your soft skin made you shiver.

"how about it, lovie." he said in that low, gruff tone of his. his hand grazed across your side and behind, "how about i invite the boys over and their little birdies and we can have a little playdate. introduce you to the group."

you swallowed, "play... date?"

price pulled you closer. he held onto you the way someone would hold a stuffed animal. he smiled at you, "don't worry, petal. no one's gettin' their hands on ya. not while i'm still breathin'." his voice was tinged with a possessiveness. you nodded in response and he added, "besides, i know i'll make the boys nice and jealous with you." he chuckled, "my beautiful baby girl." then kissed you on the lips.

you could only imagine what would happen at a playdate with price's friends and their submissives. it also didn't help that it made you a little excited as well. <3

#bunny writes #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #price smut #john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x you #price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price cod #john price call of duty #captain john price smut #john price smut #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty fanfic

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cinnxmxngxrl · 1 month ago

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“Stormy night” pt.2: Late night calls

Pre Outbreak!Joel Miller x babysitter!Reader

part two of STORMY NIGHT but can be read as a stand alone

part 1 here | Joel’s Masterlist here

Summary: Joel’s mind is full of doubts after you two slept together for the first time, but you remind him of how much you want him in a heated phone call.

WC: 3.3k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, age gap, phone sex, masturbation, joel feels insecure about his age, reader babysits sarah.

You’ve continued your life with normality, babysitting Sarah like you’ve been doing for the last six months.

Joel hadn’t touched you since that night a week ago in his kitchen. He hadn’t talked about it either. You didn’t insist. You wouldn’t even know what to say.

The silence screamed every time you looked at each other too long. It sat between you like a ghost, whispering reminders of the way his body had crushed yours into the counter, the way you’d gasped his name like a prayer.

But things had shifted—subtle, unmistakable. The air between you buzzed differently now, thick with something unspoken and restless. The way his eyes lingered on you when he came home and found you curled up on the couch. Like he was memorizing the shape of you. Like he was fighting the urge to touch. The way his fingers brushed yours a little too long when he handed over your pay. That fleeting contact burned like a brand.

He was more talkative too. He’d open up more often than before, telling you about his day—grumbling about busted tools, long hours, or the price of gas. His voice would soften when he talked to you, his words less guarded, like he forgot to keep the walls up. Sometimes, he’d even eat dinner with you before you left.

But he still hadn’t touched you. And it was killing you.

Because you remembered. Every second. The feel of his rough hands trailing over your skin, claiming every inch of you. The way his palms had held you like something precious, like he didn’t want to let go. The way he moved inside you, how his body fit against yours like you were made for him.

You still heard your own moans echoing in your head when you closed your eyes. Still felt the ghost of his weight pinning you to the kitchen counter, still ached from the way he took his time. You tried to recreate it, night after night, fingers buried deep between your legs—but it never came close.

It wasn’t Joel.

One evening, you were with Sarah, both of you sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, working on her science fair project—a little volcano that had already claimed half the carpet with glitter glue.

You first heard the rumble of the truck engine, then headlights sweeping across the living room wall.

Moments later, the front door clicked open and Joel stepped inside. He looked wrecked. Hair tousled. Shirt clinging to the sweat on his chest. Dust streaked across his jeans.

But his eyes—those warm, grey eyes—they looked like he’d barely slept, but yet they landed on you, and they didn’t leave. Heat coiled in your belly, sharp and familiar

“Dad!” Sarah shouted, springing up to wrap her arms around him. “Look at the volcano we’re making!”

Joel smiled, tired but real. “Goddamn, that looks amazin’, sunshine,” he said, voice full of that proud dad tone.

Sarah beamed, pulling him down to show him all the little details, explaining exactly how you two had made it and how the lava would erupt.

You watched Joel watching her, and something twisted in your chest. He looked at her like she was his whole world. That softness—the gentleness in his voice, the way he crouched next to her with such care—it made your heart ache.

Eventually, a little yawn slipped out of Sarah.

“Alright, kiddo. Time for bed,” Joel said, playfully squeezing her arm before leaning in to kiss the top of her head.

For once, Sarah didn’t protest. Didn’t beg for another episode of her favorite show. She just mumbled a sleepy “Goodnight, you two. Love ya,” and trudged upstairs.

“Sweet dreams, sunshine,” he called softly.

And then it was just the two of you.

The silence was immediate. Charged. Heavy with the words neither of you had dared speak.

“You alright?” Joel asked, voice low and rough.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with a slow, tired motion—like the weight of the world sat there. “I mean… well—” His words faltered, caught in something unspoken. “You been okay since… that night?”

There it was. The question hanging in the air, the elephant you both had danced around. He was addressing what had happened between you two.

You lifted your eyes to meet his—searching, honest. “Yeah. You?”

He swallowed hard. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I shoulda stopped. Shoulda been the adult.” He let out a humorless breath. “Hell, I am the adult.”

“I am an adult too, Joel,” you said quietly. “And you didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Your voice was steady, but your chest was tight with everything you wanted to say and couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t wanna screw this up. You’re… you’re important. To Sarah. To me.”

The way he said it—quiet, unsure, like it hurt to speak—made your chest tighten. You wanted to take that weight from him, to make him believe he wasn’t doing anything wrong just by feeling.

Your heart pounded. It thudded so loud in your chest you wondered if he could hear it. “Who said anything about screwing things up? You’re not screwing up anything.”

Joel exhaled slowly, like he was trying to breathe out the tension in his chest. “I been sleepin’ on the couch every night. Can’t even look at my bed without seein’ you in it. Smellin’ you. Even after changin’ the damn sheets.”

“I don’t want you to pretend nothing happened,” you whispered. The words cracked as they left your lips. Your hands trembled slightly, clenched into fists in your lap.

“I’ve been tryin’ not to think about it,” he said. “But I can’t. I walk around half-hard every time you’re near. I don’t know how to act. Don’t know what to say.”

“Joel—”

“I don’t get it,” he muttered. “You’re young. Hot. You could have any guy you wanted. Why the hell would ya want me? I’m old. Rusty. Can’t even get through a day without my back crackin’ in three places. Probably forgot half the shit I used to know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, almost laughing. “Joel, we had a great time the other night, it was probably the best night of my life. You’re overthinking it. Don’t do that.”

“You don’t get it… I—” He shook his head, covering his face for a moment. His shoulders hunched forward like the weight of his doubts was too much to carry. “I need time to process this, yeah? Gimme time to think, I don’t wanna ruin it.”

You nodded softly. You weren’t going to push, there was no use in that. That would only make him retreat.

If he needed time, then you’d give it to him. Even if it hurt.

You grabbed your bag quietly, your fingers lingering on the strap a moment before you murmured a soft goodbye. Stepping out into the night, the cold air hit your skin like a shock—but it was a relief, somehow. You let the door click shut behind you and took a deep breath, knowing this was far from over.

Joel had been tossing and turning for forty minutes, nowhere near sleep.

Your conversation kept replaying in his mind on a torturous loop. Your voice, soft and sure, kept echoing in his ears—“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” And it only made the ache in his chest deepen.

He cursed himself—quietly, sharply—for getting tangled in this whole mess.

Was it wrong? Maybe.

Sure, you were over a decade younger. But you were an adult. You wanted him, he’d never pushed you or forced you into anything. And It wasn’t like he was a pervert chasing every younger girl who walked by, it was only you that he liked.

And that terrified him.

What if this was just a phase for you? Just a fun, wild story to tell later, he pictured you laughing later with your friends telling them about— “That time I hooked up with the hot single dad I worked for.”

You were just a girl in her college years, trying to experiment, testing boundaries. Joel knew that world well—hell, he remembered exactly what it was like when he was your age: reckless, hungry for anything new, chasing moments that burned bright but didn’t last.

Joel wasn’t stupid. You’d get bored real soon, grow out of this. Move on and go for someone your age. Someone who didn’t wake up sore from bending the wrong way. Someone who didn’t carry the weight of a lifetime of mistakes.

Someone with a future who could provide something more than a mortgage and a busted back. Someone to have your own family with, not having to take care of someone else’s daughter. Not bound to a man still trying to figure out how to be enough—for himself, for Sarah… for you.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, curling into himself.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Joel’s name lit up your screen, and your breath caught in your throat.

You scrambled to grab it, heart thudding, fingers fumbling just a little like your body already knew it was him.

You answered quickly. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry for callin’ so late,” Joel said, his voice low and scratchy. It was that deep, half-broken tone, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. Like he’d been lying in bed thinking about you just as hard as you’d been thinking about him.

You could hear the exhaustion in him. And something else. Something heavier. Something low and aching, wrapped in need.

“I just needed to hear your voice. That okay?”

“Of course,” you said softly. “It’s good to hear yours too.”

“What’re you doin’?”

“I’m in bed.” You said, shifting under the blanket instinctively, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat pooling between your thighs, the empty ache. The place between your legs throbbed sensitive and wanting.

You heard his breath hitch—just a subtle catch, but it made your skin prickle. Your nipples tightened beneath the fabric of your shirt. Your thighs pressed together on their own. One little sound from him and your whole body was already unraveling.

“Me too,” he whispered.

“I miss you,” you confessed. “So bad it hurts. I wish you were here. I wish your hands wer—”

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice breaking. “You know you’re killin’ me right now, right?”

You smiled, cheeks heating.

Your thighs pressed together under the covers, trying to soothe the throb you felt blooming low in your belly.

Silence stretched between you, humming with tension. The kind of silence that pulsed with need, with wanting, with everything you both weren’t saying but felt too deeply to ignore.

Then Joel’s voice came back, low and thick. Like honey and gravel, dragging across your nerves.

“You touchin’ yourself, babygirl?”

You swallowed, heart hammering.

“Not yet.” Your voice came out breathy, almost trembling with anticipation. Your fingers twitched, already itching to move.

Joel let out a low groan—the kind that made your toes curl. You could hear the frustration in it, the hunger.

“Can I hear ya? Please. Lemme listen.”

Your breath caught. “Yes.”

“Good girl,” he rasped, voice like silk.

Your whole body shivered at the praise. You slid your hand beneath your oversized T-shirt, the fabric brushing over your hardened nipples. Your skin felt electric, too hot.

You trailed your fingers slowly down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties until you found your slick folds. You were drenched. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, your pussy aching, begging.

God, you were soaked. Swollen. Your body already reaching for something it knew only he could give.

“Tell me what you’re doin’,” Joel murmured. “Wanna picture it.”

“I’m… touching myself,” you whispered, lips parting as you circled your clit, just small circles around that bundle of nerves. A soft moan spilled from you, your hips already lifting slightly, chasing the sensation.

Joel’s breath hitched again. “You wet for me, baby?”

“So wet,” you gasped. “I’m dripping.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Wanna spread you open. Eat you out. Make you cum on my tongue.”

You whimpered, your fingers teasing just enough to build the pressure. Your hips rolled instinctively, chasing more. You imagined the scratch of his beard against your thighs, the heat of his mouth, the way he’d groan against you like he was starving.

“Joel,” you moaned. “I wish it was you…”

“I know, baby. Think bout my mouth on you,” he said, voice rough. “Think bout my cock inside you. Stretchin’ you out. Fillin’ that pretty pussy up.”

You sucked in a sharp breath and pushed two fingers inside your tight entrance, your walls clenching around the intrusion. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed him. The weight of him. The stretch. The depth.

You let out a cry, hips arching off the mattress.

“That’s it, babygirl. Touch yourself f’me. Make yourself cum.”

“Joel…fuck,” you gasped. “My fingers… they’re not enough. I want your cock. It’s so big—I need it.”

You heard the faint rustle on the line, Joel groaning as he fumbled with his belt. You could picture it so clearly—legs spread wide, back against his sheets, his strong hand wrapped around himself, around his thick, throbbing cock, desperate and slick, stroking to the sound of your voice.

Then you heard the wet sound of him spitting on his hand.

“Shit—I’m gonna give it to you next time I see you. Gonna give you my cock. It’s all yours.” You could hear the rhythmic creamy sound on the background. Wet and steady. Fucking obscene. It made your walls flutter again, clenching around nothing.

You moaned, waves of pleasure crushing over you as you pumped your fingers, knuckles deep, in and out of you, fucking yourself harder, the slick sound of your fingers echoing in the quiet room, your breath coming in gasps.

“Put the phone closer, baby… lemme hear how you fuck yourself,” he said, voice thick with breath, gravel dragging at every word.

There was hunger in it. A rawness that made your toes curl. Like he was starving for every part of you—even just the sounds.

You obeyed, lips parted, breath catching as you shifted the phone lower. Your hand trembled slightly as you moved it, angling the speaker toward the slick heat between your thighs. The wet sounds of your fingers working through your folds filled the receiver—slow, messy, obscene.

You heard him groan on the other end. Sharp. Desperate.

“Wish I was there,” he muttered. His breath hitch, the sound of him losing control. “Wanna bury myself in that sweet little cunt. Fuck you slow. Make it last all night. Give you every fuckin’ inch.”

You moaned his name with a broken sob of pleasure, thighs trembling, back arched as your fingers fucked into your drenched heat.

“Joel…fuck—” your voice cracked, wrecked with want. “Nobody’s ever touched me like you… nobody’s ever fucked me like you do.”

His breath came through the line sharp and ragged, almost pained.

“I know, baby…” he groaned, voice thick with pride and hunger. “You were insatiable. Wasn’t enough to fuck you in the kitchen, was it? No— you wanted my cock when I took you to bed too, again and again.”

Your body jolted with the memory. The way he had fucked you over the counter, so hard you nearly screamed. And then the multiple rounds that followed after you two went to bed, allegedly to sleep.

He had picked you up, carried you to his bed like you weighed nothing, and then mounted you like a man starved. He hadn’t just fucked you. He owned you that night.

“I kept beggin’,” you breathed. “Told you I couldn’t take another round but I still opened my legs for you.”

Joel groaned like he was in pain. “God, I remember. You said you couldn’t, but your pussy was still so fuckin’ hungry. Grippin’ me tight, milkin’ every drop I gave you. You took it so well f’me.”

“You came inside me so many times,” you whispered. “It was leaking out of me all night.”

“Shit— I remember when you were lyin’ on your stomach, ass all red from how hard I’d fucked you. Still twitchin’. Could barely breathe. You kept beggin’ me not to stop.”

“Tell me what you’re doing now” you begged, breathless.

“Got my fist ‘round my cock,” he said, voice breaking a little on a breath. “Squeezin’ tight. Thumb right over the tip. It’s—fuck—it’s leakin’, baby. Been hard since I called.”

You whined at that, pressing your fingers deeper, hips arching up. The ache inside you swelling like it knew his voice could reach all the way in.

“Wish it was your mouth,” he groaned. “Wish I could fuck into that pretty throat, hear you gag on it like a good girl.”

He groaned again, louder this time. The rhythm of his stroking matched the slick, wet sounds coming from your end of the line.

“I’m close… Joel, I’m so close—” your voice broke as your muscles tensed, your body strung tight like a bow, curling your fingers just right to hit your g-spot.

“I’m right behind you, baby… cum with me. Wanna hear you lose it.”

You cried out, pleasure crashing through you like a wave.

Your thighs trembled violently, your back arched, and you clenched down hard around your fingers. You came with a broken sob, his name falling from your lips like a spell.

“Oh, fuck—Joel—fuck—”

“Jesus, baby… I’m comin’,” he hissed. “Fuck—fuck, that’s it—your voice—your fuckin’ moans—”

You heard him gasp, and then his breath hitched a ragged, broken sound as he came. Hard. There was a wet, rhythmic slap and a final low growl from deep in his chest as he spilled into his hand, breathing heavy, almost panting.

You could picture him now—spread out, chest rising, hand still loosely around his softening cock, skin flushed, hair damp at his temples, thick ropes of cum coating his stomach.

“That’s my girl… fuck, you sound so goddamn good when you cum,” he said, still breathless. “Shit… made a mess on the sheets.”

“Was it worth the mess?” you murmured, breathless.

Joel let out a lazy chuckle. “Darlin’… you have no idea how much it was worth it.”

“Don’t change the sheets,” you said between gasps, still catching your breath. “I want to see it tomorrow.”

He chuckled, deep and low. “You wanna see my dry cum on the sheets?”

“I want the proof of how bad you wanted me.”

“Jesus… you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered, voice reverent.

“Just so you know, I’m not going anywhere, Joel. No matter how much you try to push me away.”

“Don’t say that shit unless you mean it,” he said, voice low, but vulnerable. “Not if this is just somethin’ you’re gonna grow out of.”

“I meant it, Joel,” you whispered. “I still mean it.”

“I just… I don’t get why. Why me? I’m not—”

“How can you not see it?” you said with a soft laugh, still glowing from the high. “Joel, the other night you made me cum so much I felt like I was gonna pass out. I’ve never been with a guy who could make me cum, and you do it just by talking to me. That’s how much I want you. How can you not understand?”

“I just worry… one day this won’t be enough. You’ll get bored once the thrill’s gone, that you’ll wake up and realize you should’ve been with someone younger. Someone who can give you a clean slate, not a man with a teenage daughter and a bad back.”

“I promise you, Joel, I’m not in this for the thrill,” you said gently. “You and Sarah… you both matter too much. I wouldn’t mess with that.”

Joel let out a shaky breath. “How can ya be so fuckin’ perfect and still want an old man like me?”

“Well, the old man has some serious skills.” You said, hearing his chuckle on the other side of the line.

“I just— Christ, I’m like fifteen years older than you. My back cracks every time I bend down to tie my boots. I make old man noises gettin’ outta bed. I got a mortgage, a busted knee, and a daughter who depends on me. I don’t exactly scream eligible bachelor, darlin’.”

“Joel, listen,” you tried to say.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered, quieter now. “You’re smart. Young. Fuckin’ gorgeous. You’ve got a future. Hell, I probably already lived through the best parts of mine.” He let out a bitter little huff. “What happens when you want marriage? Kids? I can’t start over again. I—I don’t know if I have that in me.”

“You’re not just some older guy to me. You’re Joel. The way you see me, the way you listen… that means more than anything else.”

He chuckled, shaky but real. “Damn, you’re good at this. Makin’ a man feel wanted when he’s been feelin’ invisible for so long.”

“Do you believe me then?” you asked. “That I want you? That I mean it?”

“I do,” he whispered, soft as a secret. “I wish I could be there right now,” he murmured. “Just to hold you. Just to—fuck—I don’t even know. Fall asleep next to you. Wake up with your leg thrown over me. Make you coffee in the mornin’.”

A beat passed. Then: “I know I’m older, baby. I know there’s things you’ll want one day that I probably can’t give. But I swear to God… if you let me keep you, I’ll try to do my best. I’ll damn well try.”

You smiled, curling into your pillow, heart full.

Your body still tingled, warm and sated, but it was his voice in your ear that soothed you. That made everything feel right.

Joel stayed on the line, breathing steady in your ear, until sleep took you both— the connection crackling softly, his breathing a steady comfort in your ear like a silent promise.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the support on the first part. It made me so happy to see how much you enjoyed it, I hope you liked this part as much🫶🏻🩷

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

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h4m1lt0ns · 18 days ago

Note

LH44 and younger!gf headcanons/blurbs 👀

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ pairing ︴lewis hamilton x younger!y/n

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ genre ︴headcanons & blurbs

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ warnings ﹕ some nsfw bits (mdni).

˖⁺ ⋆ .⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⋆｡˚ 𓂅 🧸 ⋮ just dominant

◜he’ll make you look in his eyes when you speak to him, he’ll even tilt your face up if he has to. he just loves seeing that lively glow in your eyes when talk to him about literally anything. lewis just adores your sometimes overtly optimistic outlook on life, that twinge of naïveté in your words. he loves just grabbing you and pulling you around, whether playfully or in bed, knowing you like it when he tells you what to do.

◟you were walking around the italian hotel room, ranting about something happened earlier during the day. lewis sat back on the sofa, thighs spread under his grey sweatpants, lip half bitten as he watched the thin silk of your mini white slip flow around your hips. as you passed by him, he grabbed your hand, “come here.” he said, patting on his lap, “come sit. it’s yours.” you didn’t even hesitate, immediately pulling yourself down on his body. your legs on either sides of his thighs, but he pulled you away from laying against his chest. he wanted to look at his pretty girl. lewis ran his hand over your hair, looking deep into your eyes, “keep talking come on.” he demands, seeing that innocent spark in your eyes. you could feel him getting hard under you, “don’t look away.” he said, big hand holding your jaw in place, forcing your eyes to remain glued to his. “keep talking to me, baby. your voice turns me on.”

˖⁺ ⋆ .⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⋆｡˚ 𓂅 🍯 ⋮ very affectionate

◜it feels like he’s devouring you when he kisses you. pours his whole heart and soul into kissing you — needy, all tongue and pure passion. very grabby, his hands are always on the small of your back, on your waist, or around your hip when you’re sitting next to him. kisses on your neck, on your wrists, on your forehead. a good luck kiss before every free practice, quali and race, before every interview and red carpet. always just feeling on you in some way.

◟“what are you doing?” you ask, soft smile on your face. lewis had extended his arm to gently rub the nape of your neck as he sat on the passenger seat of the his one off purple pagani zonda 760. he looks over at you—grateful that you had no problem driving around, especially with how much he hated driving off the track—shrugging as you cruised through the narrow streets under the setting sun of monte carlo, “nothin’ really..” he says, voice quiet. “just wanna feel my baby.”

˖⁺ ⋆ .⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⋆｡˚ 𓂅 🛥️ ⋮ huge on nicknames

◜it’s always some variation of “baby”, in a slightly teasing way. he loves pointing out how much younger than his you are just to be playful and somewhat authoritative with you. he knows exactly what to say to provoke you, to make you blush and trip over your words. he’s obsessed with the look on your face, slightly glazed over and mouth barely closed as you processed what he said. your flustered little reactions inflate his ego massively.

◟lewis’ hand was on your chin as he forced you to look up at him, “you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” he asked, voice slightly condescending as a small, faux pout settled on his lips. “‘cause i know how to get my sweet, little baby talkin’…” he trailed off. your throat was dry and you could hear your own heartbeat. no matter how many you saw him shirtless, you’ll never get used to the sight. his swimming trunks sticking to his thick thighs, his brown skin glistening after he took a dip in the salt water — his tattoos suddenly looking darker than usual. you swallowed, the slight bobbing of the large, sleek yacht on the mediterranean making you a little dizzy. jesus christ, he was so sexy. he gently stroked your cheek, “you still don’t wanna talk? i’ll make you talk, little baby.”

˖⁺ ⋆ .⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⋆｡˚ 𓂅 📷 ⋮ a slick show off

◜doesn’t matter if you two are making your paddock entrance, on a red carpet, at a gala, or simply just walking around a city. he will find a way to show you off. he has his pretty young thing on his arm, and he wants everyone to one know that you’re his. he proudly holds your hand everywhere, sure as he introduces you to everyone, charles and alexandra, fred, and even purposely walks by the mercedes garage. will ask you to kiss his cheek so your lipstick can leave a print, he knows someone will mention it, and it will give him a reason to gush about you.

◟it was you, him and his photographer, hanging out on a yacht just right before the monaco grand prix. he’s in this really sheer baby blue mohair excuse of a sweater, a deep v neckline that left nothing for the imagination. he’s decked out in all of his favourite rings, earrings and necklaces. he’s sat back, hand around your hip as he can see you burning whole into his exposed chest tattoos are spread thighs. he smirks a little, looking at your through his sunglasses, “you like what you see, baby?” he teases. you lean against him some more, resting your hand on his crème pants, your brand new birkin had already lost your attention as your greek god of a boyfriend was clearly setting up a shot as the photographer snapped photos of you two. he could see that that glint of obsession in your eyes, so he brought you even closer, pulling you into his lap. “there’s my pretty angel.” he purrs, knowing hundreds of people can see you, and knowing that these photos are going to be the first he plasters on both his instagram accounts.

˖⁺ ⋆ .⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⋆｡˚ 𓂅 🍸 ⋮ very soft, very sensual.

◜takes it all very slow, this is the last thing he want to half ass. always makes sure to set the mood, your intimacy is one of things he does not play about. he’s an absolute pleasure dom, seeing you completely lost in how he makes you feel turns him all the way on. he’s an eater, a certified munch, and he has light brown and ginger patches in his beard to prove it. his pleasure is the least of his worries, he’s already turned on by your mere existence, but he also knows that you need some extra love sometimes because your inexperience can make you a little shy and insecure.

◟“i’m-..i-i’m so-sorry!~” you whimper, lewis chuckles. one of his hand effortlessly held your thighs open, the other working in magic on you, knowing just which spots made you weak. “and why is my baby girl apologising?” he asks, voice low and teasing, accent pronounced. you could feel the hickeys he left on your neck tingling with each breath you tried to take. your fingers tangle in the sheets as you felt his tongue on you again, you inhale, tears down your cheeks. we’re you at number four or five? he wasn’t gonna let you get away with losing count. “because-.. i c-called you a-an old man.” you finally push the words off your tongue, and lewis pulls off of you, lips and chin glistening, his braids having come loose off his usual low bun. “you’re sorry, pretty baby?” he mocks, and you can only nod. “you’ll learn how to say ‘sir’ like the good girl i know you are. i dont care how much your legs shake. now say it.”

˖⁺ ⋆ .⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⋆｡˚ 𓂅 💸 ⋮ spoils you rotten

◜he loves, loves, loves spending money on you. he gets so unbelievably turned on when he sees you dripping in his wealth. there’s been a couple of instances when he’s almost embarrassed himself in public, only quickly throwing a jacket or a bag on his lap to cover up. he didn’t care what you wanted to buy, or when you wanted to buy it, he’s immediately handing you that metallic jet black card. lewis has all the money in the world, he’s not worried about how much you spend, the only thing he’s worried about is your happiness.

◟“come here, baby. try these on for me.” he says, handing you a silky black dress that stopped on your thighs, and some heels. he watches you try out skirts, dresses, bags, jewellery in the reflection of the private yves saint laurent dressing room. he’ll buy all of it, he couldn’t care less about the price of anything. he stared at you as you bent over to put the heels on, quietly placing a leopard print bag you tried on earlier over his lap. his heartbeat was all over the place as you turned around and faced him, giving him a small spin. “gorgeous. you’re fucking perfect.” he praised, immediately taking his phone out to capture the moment, adding the photos to the one hundred others he took earlier. “do you like it, baby?” you asked with that innocent smile he physically couldn’t resist. and as you turned around to face mirror again, he stood up and walked behind you, his muscular arms around your waist. “i love it on you.” he said, his hand coming up to your neck, gently stroking the delicate skin, your favourite necklace. “why don’t you try some jewellery for me, little baby?” he asked, voice deep in your ear. with his other hand, he’d reach in his pocket, pulling out a small cartier box that revealed a golden ring, a massive diamond sitting on top of it.

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me-kume · 14 days ago

Text

His pregnant wife | Sylus

Sylus x fem!Reader

The silence in the spacious bedroom was thick and heavy, like expensive velvet. Broken only by the steady ticking of the clock, it wrapped around you like a warm blanket, refusing to release you from the clinging embrace of sleep.

New life was growing and strengthening beneath your heart. Your belly had long since rounded, becoming heavy, making movement difficult, so you spent more and more time in bed. Under the strict supervision of your beloved husband, this life felt truly paradisiacal. Surrounded by care, tender as pure silk, you drowned in this intoxicating feeling. Pregnancy felt more like a resort with service above five stars. All inclusive, exclusively for you—for the one who first mercilessly stole his heart, then gifted him hope for a bright future. A future where he has a family. And Sylus would never tire of thanking fate for this.

Truly a gift from the universe—sensitive and shifting like hot coastal sand—yet it stirred all his senses, adorning his stern face with a barely perceptible smile.

A fragile sense of peace flickered where, by its very nature, it shouldn't exist. Sylus pushed away the nagging, acrid feeling of anxiety. The house was quiet. Even the floorboards didn't creak under the man's weight, and the black soles of his boots left no trace on the deep-pile carpet. Now everything was perfect. He was where he belonged—in love, boundless devotion, and the feeling of order, where everything was under control.

Sylus entered the bedroom without knocking. Not a single rustle under the veil of the first sunbeams. They avoided touching your face, wary of disturbing your sensitive sleep, tearing you from Morpheus's grasp. The baby was growing restless. Strong, healthy, robust like his father, he scarcely slept during the long autumn nights: tossing, kicking his tired mother in the belly and ribs, as if cramped in his allotted space. Such a tiny thing, yet already staking a claim to power.

In the pinkish-orange light of the morning sun, you looked especially pale. The dark circles under your eyes were more pronounced, and the hollows of your once-rounded cheeks struck Sylus as somewhat painful. His own flesh and blood was methodically destroying the most precious thing he had. It was cruel.

"Sy?" – still half-asleep, yet you sensed your husband's presence from a mile away. His aura, heavy and dense, enveloped the space like a grey thundercloud, and the saturated scent of ozone in the room overpowered any perfume.

How many times had you changed fabric softeners? Lit incense and placed diffusers, trying to add coziness, but his smell… thick and persistent, it seemed to have seeped into the very walls of this house, refusing to leave.

"There, there, kitten. I'm here. Why are you awake?" – His voice, deep and velvety, calmed your frantically pounding heart—an unwelcome remnant of nightmare, clinging like clammy sweat to your temples. "You look tired. Even more than yesterday."

You wanted to wave off his words, bite your tongue, keeping your worries to yourself, and just savor the moment where everything seemed too flawless. But his warm hands were already sliding behind your back, helping you sit up. That intuitive gesture of care lodged like a prickly lump in your throat, preventing a full breath. Some absurd sense of guilt settled deep within, as if lying to someone who sincerely, without a shadow of doubt, cared for you was fundamentally wrong?

"Don't waste energy on lies. You promised to be honest, remember?" – Long fingers carefully adjusted your pillow, fluffing the soft down inside. He did it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, as if he were born solely to lavish all his care upon his beloved—as if killing wasn't etched into his very destiny.

Reaching towards the nightstand placed right beside the bed for your convenience, Sylus picked up a glass cup with a chipped handle and handed it to you. The sweetish aroma of ginger, honey, and something more pungent—something you could never quite place—touched your sensitive nose. Your mouth went instantly dry, like a traveler's in the midst of an endless desert.

He knew your desires and needs better than you did yourself. Knew when it was time for vitamins, the exact time of your doctor's appointment, and the G-index of magnetic storms during which you constantly complained of migraines. He would never allow himself to miss the slightest detail and would always be there when needed.

"Drink. Nothing beats a vitamin bomb for morning sickness."

Your hands trembled almost imperceptibly as your slender fingers curled around the slightly warm, rounded sides of the cup.

Taking small, slow, careful sips, you tasted the water, slightly cloudy with lemon zest, and took a deep breath. The feeling of the night's nightmare on your skin evaporated as quickly as a trace of steam vanishes from a fogged-up bathroom mirror. Better, lighter—your body no longer felt like a heavy weight pulling you back into bed.

"Bothering you today?" – A broad, masculine palm gently covered the swell of your belly. Beneath that warm touch, faint kicks could be felt. Sylus found it amusing that this little one remained so active at any hour. "Little rascal. Already learned to demand attention." – A familiar note of mockery laced his tone. He enjoyed watching this new life grow within his woman, but you, attuned to his subtleties, saw the deep, almost indecent pride radiating beneath it.

"He's just active. Like his father."

"Then he needs to learn the cardinal rule: His mother is inviolable, and her comfort is the law for every member of this family. No exceptions."

#headcanon #headcanons #fanfic #fem reader #lads #lads mc #lads x reader #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x you #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus

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leriexoxo · 2 months ago

Text

Fashion Week Secret

Idol! Felix x Manager! Reader

Tags: smut, slow burn to explosive tension, voyeurism(ish), semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, deep voice kink, dom!Felix, full body worship, mutual obsession, overstimulation, aftercare, power shifts, minors DNI

Word count: 4k

Summary: An overseas fashion week trip. One hotel suite. Shared walls, flirty tension, and a deep voice you’ve been trying not to dream about. But when Felix catches you moaning his name with your hand between your thighs… he finally stops pretending.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You should’ve known better than to get so comfortable.

The hotel suite was quiet, too quiet—just the low hum of city lights filtering in through the drawn curtains and the occasional muffled sound of traffic several floors below. Felix’s bedroom door had been shut for nearly an hour, and after a long day of fittings, rehearsals, and a red carpet appearance, you were sure he was out cold.

You were his stylist, after all. You knew the toll it took on his body. And Felix? He’d barely kept his eyes open on the ride back.

So you let yourself relax. Just a little.

Your legs were folded on the plush hotel couch in the shared living area— The company had gotten a conjoined suite for you and Felix because you were the only staff aside the body guards that went with him to London. You had a wine glass half-full beside you, and your tablet dimly lit in your lap. You weren’t watching anything—not really. The book you’d downloaded earlier had taken a turn. A very explicit turn.

One page became two. Then five. Then… your hand started to drift.

Just beneath your loose sleep shorts. Just under the hem of your oversized tee. You weren’t even really thinking about it at first—just absentminded touching, grazing over already sensitive skin as the filthy descriptions poured across the screen.

Your lips parted, breath shallow. It was a slow build, not frantic, not rushed—just heat curling low in your belly as you circled your clit with lazy fingers, imagining a pair of hands that weren’t yours. Imagining lips, a tongue. Imagining a voice—

His voice.

That deep, soft rasp Felix used when no one else was around. The way he’d murmur, “You’re working too hard again,” when you fussed too long with his hair. Or the quiet chuckle he let out when you made some offhand comment and pretended it didn’t fluster you when he bit his lip in response.

That voice had been haunting you for months.

So it was only natural—maybe even inevitable—that your thoughts wandered where they shouldn’t. That your fingers moved faster now, hips tilting slightly as you stifled a moan behind your teeth. You imagined him between your legs. Whispering in that voice—

“…You really shouldn’t be doing that out here.”

You froze.

Fuck.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your fingers yanked back instantly as you scrambled to yank the throw blanket across your lap. The tablet slipped to the floor with a soft thud.

You turned your head slowly, your throat dry.

Felix stood just at the edge of the hallway, half in shadow. His messy blond hair hung in his face, his grey shirt wrinkled from sleep and riding slightly up his toned stomach. One hand was braced on the wall. The other… rubbed the back of his neck like he’d just woken up.

But his eyes?

Wide open.

Focused. Hungry.

“Felix—” you stammered, breath catching. “I thought you were asleep.”

He stepped forward, his voice dipping even lower as his head tilted.

“Clearly.”

There was a pause—thick, electric silence as the air shifted. The kind of moment that cracked open all the tension you’d both been dancing around for months. Every playful tease. Every prolonged glance. Every time he called you “noona” with that coy little smile and eyes that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

And now, he’d caught you touching yourself in the space you shared. Thinking about him.

Felix’s gaze drifted downward—just for a second, just enough to make your stomach flip. Then back to your face.

“You were thinking about someone,” he said quietly. “Gonna tell me who?”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. The heat rose fast in your chest, up your neck, blooming on your cheeks. You wanted to deny it. Laugh it off. But your body gave you away—still flushed, still aching.

“I—” you swallowed. “It was… just a book.”

Felix hummed, stepping even closer. He was standing right in front of you now, his hand sliding off the wall and down into the pocket of his sweats.

“I heard your voice,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself. “In my head. The way you talk. That deep voice… it gets to me.”

His lips twitched into something between a smirk and a growl. That voice—the one that already had you soaked—dropped to a rumble.

“You get off to my voice, noona?”

You clenched your thighs, unable to hide it. His eyes caught the movement.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, stepping closer, between your knees now. “You’ve been teasing me for weeks. Letting me flirt. Laughing when I called you pretty. You knew what you were doing.”

His hands were on either side of your hips now, braced on the couch. You were trapped beneath him—not forcibly, just undeniably. His breath tickled your lips. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your mouth and back again.

“You’re gonna let me help you now,” he whispered. “Or do I have to sit back and listen again?”

You swallowed hard. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He didn’t touch you—not yet. Just hovered. Eyes burning. That deep voice of his was doing terrible, glorious things to your body. It wasn’t just the sound—it was the control. The way he knew what he was doing. He could see the way you trembled, the way your breath stuttered with every inch he leaned closer.

Felix tilted his head. His voice was softer now. Curious. Teasing.

“Did you say my name when you touched yourself?”

You couldn’t look at him. Your eyes dropped to his chest—his shirt hung loose over lean muscle, collar stretched just enough to expose the curve of his shoulder. You couldn’t answer.

But your silence was the answer.

His breath hitched—subtle, quiet. You would’ve missed it if he weren’t so close. His fingers curled into the cushion at your sides.

Then slowly, he reached down and touched your knee. Just a brush of his fingertips over your bare skin. Your breath caught.

“You were thinking about me like that,” he murmured, trailing his touch higher—inch by inch. “While I was asleep. In the next room.”

“I didn’t think—” you croaked, but his fingers slid to the inside of your thigh and you forgot what you were saying.

“You didn’t think I’d catch you?” he finished, eyes darkening. “Or you didn’t care?”

You couldn’t lie. Not when his hand was so close. Not when your body was betraying you in every way—your hips tilting, your skin flushed, your thighs pressing together like they could hide how wrecked you already were.

Felix didn’t move any closer. He stayed there, fingertips resting right where the inside of your thigh met the edge of your shorts. Waiting.

“I didn’t mean for you to see,” you whispered.

“But you’re not stopping me now.”

Silence. Electric. Heavy.

Then, with the faintest movement, his hand slid higher.

Your breath hitched—you grabbed the throw blanket tighter, trying to keep it together. His fingers brushed just beneath your shorts, knuckles grazing heat.

“You’re so warm,” he said, nearly in awe. His voice was a soft, reverent murmur. “Fuck, you’re wet already.”

Your head dropped back against the cushion as a soft, desperate sound slipped from your lips.

That’s when his free hand slid up your body—slow, confident, not asking. It found your throat. Not squeezing, not rough—just resting there, his thumb against the side of your neck, feeling your pulse thunder beneath your skin.

“Still thinking about the book?” he asked, his mouth hovering just beside your ear now. “Or is it me now?”

You could barely breathe. “You.”

A low hum rumbled in his chest.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He didn’t move fast. He didn’t need to. His fingers moved under your waistband, dragging through slick heat, and his exhale came out shaky this time. Like even he wasn’t prepared for how turned on you really were.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmured. “Wondered how you’d sound. What your thighs would feel like around my head.”

You gasped, knees jerking, but he held you steady with a quiet command:

“Don’t move.”

Your breath trembled. “Felix…”

“Say it again.”

“…Felix.”

He pulled back slightly just to look at you. His fingers stayed buried between your thighs, barely moving now, just resting there while his other hand still cradled your throat gently. His expression was unreadable—but his eyes were pure fire.

“You wanna cum for me?” he asked, voice like velvet-wrapped sin. “Here, on this couch? Let me hear how you sound when it’s not in your head?”

“I—” You were going to say yes. Desperately. But—

His fingers moved. Barely. Just enough to stroke you once—long, slow, hot.

Then he pulled them out.

You whimpered. Actually whimpered, your thighs twitching from the loss.

He stood, looking wrecked but smug, hand still wet with your arousal. He stared at you for one long, aching second.

Then, with that same maddening calm:

“Get some sleep, noona. Call time’s early.”

And he walked back to his room.

⸻

You didn’t sleep.

Not really.

Even after Felix disappeared into his room, even after you shut off the lights and buried yourself under the hotel blanket, your skin still burned.

The ghost of his touch lingered between your legs. His voice—you get off to my voice, noona?—looped in your ears every time your eyes drifted closed.

And the worst part?

You still wanted more.

You thought morning might bring clarity. Distance. Maybe even an ounce of dignity.

But then he walked out of his room.

Hair damp from the shower, simple black T-shirt clinging to his frame, gold chain catching the morning light—and that look.

That look that said he remembered everything.

You froze at the mini breakfast table, coffee halfway to your lips. He didn’t say good morning. Didn’t smile.

He just looked at you.

His eyes dragged over your face, down your neck, slow and deliberate. No expression. Just… watching.

You looked away first.

The rest of the morning was torture. Silent, simmering torture.

He didn’t bring it up. Not once. But every time you reached for something, his gaze followed. Every time you spoke to someone else, his body leaned just a little closer.

In the car to the venue, you sat beside each other.

He stretched his legs wide.

Your knees touched.

He didn’t move.

You flinched. He smirked—barely.

By the time you were backstage for the event—a fashion week press day and show—you were vibrating with something between shame and arousal.

You could feel it in your skin. The flush that wouldn’t fade. The phantom pressure of his hand on your thigh. The ache in your core that hadn’t gone away.

And Felix? Felix was silent. Calm. But possessive.

He didn’t let you work on anyone else. Every time you tried to adjust another idol’s collar or fix a hem, he’d appear behind you.

Watching. Close.

You’d never realized how much space he took up until he decided to weaponize it.

And when you bent down to grab a safety pin near his feet?

He leaned down too.

Close to your ear.

“Will you read that book again tonight?”

You almost dropped the pin.

That night, after the show, the energy was buzzing. Everyone was high off the crowd, off the cameras, off the compliments. The team wanted drinks. You begged off early. Claimed exhaustion.

The second you reached the hotel suite, you collapsed onto the couch. Face buried in a pillow.

You couldn’t do this.

You couldn’t keep pretending you hadn’t been caught red-handed, soaking your fingers to thoughts of him. That he hadn’t touched you back. That you hadn’t begged with your eyes for him to keep going.

You were still lying there when the door opened.

Your heart jumped.

Felix walked in, quiet as always. Door clicked shut behind him.

You didn’t look up, but you heard him kick off his shoes. Shrug off his coat. You felt it when he stopped right behind the couch.

Then—

“You avoided me all day.”

His voice was low again. Not quite soft. Not quite angry. Just… stating a fact.

You clenched your eyes shut.

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Your breath caught.

He walked around the couch, coming into view, and you finally looked at him.

Big mistake.

He was still in his event outfit—tailored black pants, tucked-in dress shirt, collar loose, top buttons undone. Hair pushed back from his face. And eyes locked on you like a target.

“Did you touch yourself again last night?” he asked.

Your stomach flipped. “No.”

“No?” he echoed. “Even after I had you dripping with just my fingers?”

Your mouth went dry.

“Felix…”

He moved closer. Slow. Calm. Intentional.

“I could hear you breathing through the wall,” he said, tilting his head. “Thought you were gonna break.”

You swallowed. Couldn’t speak.

“Did you wait for me to fall asleep again?” he asked, now standing in front of you.

“I didn’t,” you whispered.

“No?” he said again, voice dipping dangerously. “So you just laid there. Soaked. Needy. Begging for something I started and didn’t finish.”

Your thighs pressed together on instinct.

And he noticed.

He leaned down. One hand braced on the couch beside you. The other slid slowly up the back of your neck, fingers sinking into your hair.

Then—

“You need me to finish it tonight, don’t you?”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it. Not a question, really. A statement. A dare.

He didn’t wait for an answer this time.

Felix surged forward, hand tightening in your hair as his mouth crashed onto yours—hot, hungry, devastating. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft. Just weeks—months—of teasing and tension unraveling all at once.

You gasped, and his tongue swept in like he owned your mouth.

Because he did.

Right now? He fucking did.

The kiss was messy, punishing, his body crowding yours back against the couch cushions. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was pulling at your oversized sleep shirt—ripping it over your head like it offended him just by existing.

“You think you can sit out here touching yourself like that and walk around pretending nothing happened?” he growled, voice dangerous.

You shook your head, trembling.

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were wild.

“I said—do you?”

“N-no—”

“That’s right. You don’t.”

His hands moved fast now—palming your breasts, dragging his thumbs over your nipples till your back arched, till you were gasping like he hadn’t even started yet.

“Do you know how fucking hard it was watching you today?” he snarled. “Seeing you flinch every time I looked at you? Knowing I’d barely even touched you and you were already ruined?”

You whimpered, and he grinned—sharp, dark.

Then he grabbed your thighs, ripped your shorts down, and dropped to his knees in front of you.

Didn’t say a word. Just stared at your soaked pussy for a moment like it was the best fucking thing he’d ever seen.

Then—

“Spread.”

You obeyed instantly, thighs falling open for him, heart hammering.

He didn’t give a warning.

He dove in, mouth hot and greedy, tongue licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit that made you scream.

“God—Felix—!”

He moaned into you, hands locking tight around your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the couch as he devoured you like he’d been dreaming of it every night.

His tongue was relentless—circling your clit, dipping into your dripping heat, then sucking your clit so hard you saw stars.

And that voice—even like this, he didn’t stop talking.

“So wet for me, fuck, I knew you’d taste like this,” he groaned. “You were made for me, noona. Made to sit on my face and scream.”

You did. Again.

Your fingers dug into his hair, hips bucking, and he just groaned against your cunt like he loved it—like the messier you got, the harder he got.

“I’m gonna fuck you after this,” he said, dragging his tongue flat against you. “You hear me?”

You nodded wildly, already trembling on the edge.

“Beg for it.”

“Felix, please—”

“No,” he said darkly. “Beg like you did last night. Like a needy little slut who couldn’t keep her hands off herself.”

You sobbed.

“Please, Felix—I need it, I need you—need your cock, please—”

He pulled back just enough to look up at you. His mouth and chin were drenched. His eyes were feral.

“Good girl.”

He stood, unbuckling his belt in one smooth motion, pants hitting the floor—and fuck.

He was hard, thick, and already leaking.

“Get on your knees.”

You dropped like you’d been waiting your whole life.

But he didn’t push his cock into your mouth yet.

He just gripped your chin, tilted your head back, and let that filthy voice wreck you.

“You gonna thank me for last night?” he whispered. “For leaving you soaking and untouched like a good little lesson?”

You nodded, tongue out, lips parted.

“Then open wide, noona,” he growled. “Let me fuck that filthy mouth the way you imagined.”

Your lips barely had time to part before Felix was pushing the thick, flushed head of his cock past them—slow, deliberate, hand cradling the back of your head with possessive precision.

“You can take it,” he muttered, voice low and tight. “You’re not shy when you’re alone with your books, are you?”

You moaned, cheeks flushed, tongue lapping eagerly as his cock slid deeper. The taste of him hit your tongue—salty, hot, real—and your thighs clenched together instinctively.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. “Your mouth feels even better than I dreamed.”

Your eyes widened. You looked up.

He smirked.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “You’re not the only one who’s thought about this.”

He rocked his hips, slow at first—testing your limits—but when you didn’t flinch, when your mouth welcomed him, he let go. His grip tightened in your hair as he fucked into your throat, head thrown back, jaw tense.

“Such a good girl,” he groaned. “Taking my cock like that… look so fucking pretty choking on me.”

You gagged once—he moaned louder.

“Shit—yeah, do that again. Show me how much you like being used.”

You did.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but your pussy was dripping—soaking the floor—and when you reached down to touch yourself, he didn’t stop you.

He watched.

He slowed down, panting, pulling out with a filthy pop and gripping his cock tight in one hand as he knelt to face you. His other hand slid down your stomach, under your panties, and found you instantly.

“Still wet,” he murmured like it was a reward. “Still begging.”

He kissed you then—hard and messy, tasting himself on your tongue—and dragged you back onto the couch, flipping you onto your back, knees spread wide. He stared down at your soaked center, panting like he’d been waiting for this since the day you met.

“You think you’re ready for my cock?” he asked.

“I’ve been ready,” you gasped, hips arching. “Please, Felix—”

He didn’t need more.

He lined himself up, his cock thick and flushed, precum still dripping down the shaft, and then—

He pushed in.

One slow, unrelenting inch at a time.

You both groaned—loud, desperate.

“God, you’re tight,” he panted. “So fucking tight—gripping me like you were made for this.”

You were.

He bottomed out, hips flush against yours, and stayed there for a beat—just feeling. Just breathing.

Then his mouth found your ear.

“Guess what?” he growled. “No more teasing. I own this pussy.”

And then he started to move.

Hard. Deep.

Every thrust knocked the breath out of your lungs, your nails digging into his back as he pounded into you like he meant to break something.

“You gonna cum for me?” he growled, voice wrecked and deep and so goddamn dirty. “Gonna cum on this cock like a good girl”

“Yes—yes, please—”

“You sound so pretty when you beg,” he whispered, sweat dripping down his temple. “Wanna hear you cry for it.”

“Felix—fuck, I’m—!”

He reached down, rubbed tight circles over your clit, and that was it.

You shattered.

Body trembling, back arched, thighs locking around his hips as you sobbed through an orgasm so intense it left you dizzy.

“Good girl,” he growled, voice cracking. “Now take mine—take it, fuck, I’m gonna fill you up—”

With one last brutal thrust, he pulled out and spilled on your stomach—hot, thick, endless. His cock twitched, and he collapsed forward, mouth pressed to your throat, body shaking with the force of it.

⸻

Minutes passed.

You couldn’t move. Could barely think.

And then— He lifted his head.

Kissed your jaw. And whispered, still breathless:

“You’re not done yet.”

He didn’t let you breathe for long.

Still hard—he pulled back, just enough to look down at your flushed, trembling body beneath him.

“Get up,” he murmured, low and commanding, one hand gripping your thigh. “Come here.”

You barely had time to protest before he lifted you—lifted you, like it was nothing—your legs wrapping weakly around his waist as he walked you straight to the floor-to-ceiling window of the hotel suite.

The city glowed behind you, all glittering lights and blurred motion. You couldn’t see a thing—but if someone looked up to the 20th floor?

They’d see everything.

Felix pressed you against the cold glass, forehead to your temple, cock resting against your soaked heat, one hand palming the back of your thigh to hold you open for him.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice dripping with reverence. “Dripping down your thighs. Skin flushed. Eyes glazed.”

He leaned back just enough to drag his fingers down your collarbone, down to your breasts, and then lower—trailing lazy patterns over your stomach, your hips, your thighs.

“Prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You moaned, squirming against him. He kissed your jaw, then your neck, then the curve of your shoulder.

Slow. Deliberate.

“You think this is just about getting off?” he muttered. “No, baby. I’m gonna worship every inch of you tonight.”

He set you down—not letting you fall—and turned you gently to face the window.

Then pressed up behind you, his cock sliding back in so deep it stole the air from your lungs.

“Want you to see yourself,” he whispered. “Want you to feel how good you look when I ruin you.”

His hands slid up your front—palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers as he began to move.

Slow, deep thrusts.

Measured. Precise.

You sobbed against the glass, forehead resting on your arm.

“You so good like this,” he whispered in your ear. “Every part of you. This body– fuck.”

He kissed your shoulder again. Then your spine. Then lower, fingers curling around your hips like he was holding something precious.

You were precious.

Even now, even when he fucked you so good you couldn’t breathe.

“You’re everything,” he murmured. “So fucking good. So perfect wrapped around me like this.”

You felt the edge building again—tight, hot, overwhelming. And he felt it, too.

He pressed harder, gripped tighter, and his voice dropped into a growl.

“Don’t hold back this time,” he rasped. “I want it loud. I want you to cum with my name in your mouth.”

“Felix—”

“That’s it, baby. Say it again.”

“Felix—fuck—!”

And you shattered.

Your body locked up, legs shaking, hands scrambling against the glass as the orgasm crashed through you like a wave. You screamed his name, broke apart for him, because of him—and he chased your high with his own.

“God— you feel too good—gonna cum again—fuck, take it, baby, take it—fuck—”

He spilled inside you a second time, deeper than before, pulsing hot and thick with a broken groan that buzzed in your ears long after the rest of the world faded out.

⸻

You both slid to the floor.

Sticky. Sweaty. Shaking.

Felix stayed wrapped around you, arms tight, hands soothing over your hips as your body trembled in the aftershock.

“You did so good,” he murmured. “So perfect for me.”

He kissed your temple. Your cheek. Your shoulder.

“Let’s clean you up,” he whispered next. “Get you water. Warm bath. My shirt. Then we’ll sleep.”

He tucked your hair behind your ear, eyes soft now. No teasing. No games.

Just him.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded, eyes full, throat too raw to speak.

He kissed your forehead.

“I’ve got you now, noona,” he murmured.

And he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Hi guys! So there’s a new Felix fic, I’m trying to write more of him, its nit easy writing for ot8 😩 but i LOVE the challenge. You know the deill though, if you enjoyed this one please leave a like and comment, and reblog too! Thank you for 1100+ ❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000

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tillysslife · 4 months ago

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ACTORS ON ACTORS–D. Starkey

pairings: drew starkey x actress!reader

warnings: actress!reader taking place of margot robbie in the barbie movie

word count: 1.9k

Your heart fluttered with nerves as you smoothed down your dress in the back seat of your Uber. It was a pink silky dress that clung to your curves, accentuating your skin tone beautifully.

You had recently been invited to the Variety set for a segment called Actors on Actors, and it felt like your career was skyrocketing over the past year. Last year, you won your first Oscars, for Best Actress in a Leading Role for your portrayal of Stereotypical Barbie in the Barbie movie. And now, here you were, doing an interview with the great Drew Starkey, someone who seemed so far removed from your own humble beginnings.

“We’re here, Miss Y/L/N,” your driver pointed out politely. You had been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for you to exit the car for the last two minutes.

“Right,” you chuckled, offering him an apologetic smile before taking the final steps to prepare yourself for the anxiety-inducing environment—another quick adjustment of your dress, lip gloss smeared onto your lips, and a toss of your hair.

When you forced a smile this time, you dialed it up to perfection—the smile that could only be produced from fear of constant scrutiny. “Thank you.” You beamed, accepting his help as he guided you out of the car.

You watched as he drove away, almost wishing you were him—escaping from your fears, the terror of being put on a screen that would magnify all your imperfections.

You were ushered into the warm studio before you could fully process the motions of your body. The exterior was dull, a stark contrast to the bright, welcoming interior. “You’ll be needed on set in about 15 minutes! Drew’s already here… oh, he’s so handsome, isn’t he?”

You zoned out the wide-eyed assistant. Normally, you would’ve made an effort to at least pretend you were interested in what someone was saying, offering the occasional noncommittal hum or nod. But under pressure, you were never great at multitasking, which felt ironic given your profession of pretending to have it all together.

Soon enough, you were whisked onto the set of the interview. The first thing you noticed was a broad-shouldered man, his presence larger than his already tall frame. You took in the room—two velvet armchairs sitting atop a grey carpeted floor, a decorated black table nestled between them. The set was simple, designed to ensure that viewers’ attention would be on the two actors, not distracted by anything flashy in the background.

But your eyes wandered upon seeing those sharp blue eyes meet yours across the room. His lips tugged into a small smirk as he registered your presence.

Your heels clicked against the floor, sinking into the plush carpet beneath your shoes as you made your way toward him. You summoned up all the charm and confidence you had, giving Drew a saccharine smile and extending your manicured hand.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m Drew,” he greeted, his large, rough hand meeting yours in a soft shake. You only had a moment to admire the sheer size and power of his hand before he withdrew it to his side.

A small blush crept up your cheeks, hopefully hidden behind the foundation meticulously applied earlier in the day. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been looking forward to this,” you admitted, your eyes flitting up to meet his. The dark lashes framing your gaze locked with his, an unspoken energy buzzing in the air between you.

Drew’s smirk softened, his blue eyes flickering with curiosity. “Likewise. You were incredible in Barbie,” he said, his tone warm but with an underlying admiration.

Your lips curved into a modest smile. “Thank you, that role meant a lot to me,” you replied, your voice quiet, reflective. “But I have to say, I’ve been hearing so much about your new project, Queer—I’m really excited to see it.”

Drew chuckled softly, a light blush creeping up his neck. “It’s definitely been a wild ride,” he admitted. He was about to expand on his opinion before the film crew instructed the duo to take their seats.

Drew gestured for you to take a seat first, nodding towards the area. You sank into the red armchair, crossing your legs, inadvertently making the hem of your dress rise. You watched as Drew settled into the chair across from you, giving you the chance to fully inspect him.

He was dressed in a matching navy pinstripe suit with a cream undershirt. His legs stretched long in front of him, posture relaxed, but his eyes were intensely fixed on you as if studying your every movement.

He rested his chin against the palm of his hand, his blue eyes never moving from your figure. “So, finally face to face with the exceptional Y/N Y/L/N.” He began, readjusting his position in the chair.

You breathily laughed “Wow what an introduction.” You smiled softly, your eyes flickering from his eyes, darting down to his lips and then back up again. “It’s hard to believe honestly. I’ve admired you and your work for so long. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment longer than I realised.”

“I just call it like I see it.” Drew’s smile grew warmer, his eyes flickering with an unknown spark. “But you know I was just thinking the same thing. It feels like we’ve both been running in separate circles, but somehow, here we are.”

You cocked your head to the side, the smile never leaving your face. You crossed your legs over the other and leaned slightly forward “Well if we’re giving out title, I guess I should return the favour. The incredibly talented Drew Starkey.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head lightly. “Hard to compete with Barbie herself.”

“Well you could pass as Ken.” You retorted, your eyes lighting up. He had this way of making you feel at ease, even though there was a whole camera crew filming you, watching you every move all you could think about was this beautiful man in front of you who made you laugh at every turn.

Drew laughed, the sound deep and genuine “I’m not sure I’ve got the abs for it.” He joked.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you fought back a grin “I think you’d be just fine.” The words escaped before you had permitted them, bringing the second and certainly not the last blush of the day.

His eyes light up with amusement. The ait between you two holding quiet electricity–the kind that settled in stolen glances and unspoken thoughts.

“So,” you continued, shifting the topic before the heat in your cheeks betrayed you again. “Tell me about Queer, I haven’t managed to watch it yet but I’ve heard it’s one of your most challenging roles yet.”

Drew nodded, his expression turning thoughtful “Yeah, it’s… different from anything I’ve done before, a period piece. The story is raw, really personal and significant. It follows this guy, Lee,in the ‘50s as he struggles with identity, his relationships. It’s messy and heartbreaking, but also really beautiful.”

You listened intentionally, caught up in the way his voice softened as he spoke and the passion in his eyes. “That sounds incredible. I think films that really shed light on hard topics are lovely. It’s what the key to acting is, it's truly storytelling. Especially for those who weren’t able to tell their own story.”

Drew nodded and the shine in his eyes confirmed that he admired your words. “I couldn’t have said it better.”

A few moments of prolonged eye contact lingered between the two of you, only broken by being signalled to speak.

“So, Miss Barbie. Tell me how that was like.”

You interlaced your fingers on your lap, gathering your thoughts to translate your thoughts in the best way. “Every role that I have the privilege to bring to life is an honour. But Barbie really spoke to me. As many other girls, I played with barbies growing up.” You laughed elatedly, recalling your memories. “ Barbie just seemed so… perfect, she was something that I looked up to. Even if I didn’t look like her it was so encouraging to see all of her careers and journeys. There are countless things that I loved while making this movie but it was truly inspiring to have so many strong and individual women in one space. The movie explores topics of patriarchy and male superiorism, something I'm sure every woman has unfortunately experienced before in their life. But then it shows how women come together, it isn’t a hateful jealous relationship, like how it is constantly portrayed in the media but it was true sisterhood. And god don’t even get me started on America’s speech or ‘What was I made for’, I’ll just start bawling.”

“Right,” Drew started, “I remember when I watched Barbie with my sisters the look of… feeling so totally understood was astounding from them, it hurt that this was something they could relate to. But it’s so powerful and impressive how you represented women all around the world, validating feelings they may have been harbouring.”

You met his gaze, your fingers absently tracing shapes in your dress. “Yeah,” you murmured, holding the weight of his words for a moment longer before letting out a light-hearted sigh. “Wow, that got deep fast.”

Drew tilted his head, scratching the back of his head with a smile “I guess you bring it out of me.”

You shook your head lightly at his antics “So, tell me something shallow about you. Balance things out.”

He chuckled, leaning back “Alright, um… I have an embarrassingly extensive collection of sneakers. I don’t even wear most of them, but I keep buying more.”

You gasped dramatically “Drew Starkey, a sneakerhead? Who would have guessed.”

He held up his hands “I contain multitudes.”

“Alright, my turn. I have an unhealthy addiction to lipgloss. If I leave my apartment without at least three in my bag, I go crazy fighting out what I’m missing.”

You felt Drew’s gaze flick to your lips, his smirk lazy but unreadable. “I noticed. Looks good on you.”

Your breath hitched slightly before you played it off with an eye roll “Very smooth, Starkey.”

He grinned, “I try.”

The crew began moving around the set, adjusting the cameras, but you barely noticed. The energy between you two was magnetic—effortless. It wasn’t just scripted conversation or polite industry chatter. It was real. And if you weren’t careful, it could become something even more dangerous.

But right now, you weren’t sure you minded.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fic #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x female reader #ˏˋ°•*⁀➷𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘'𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

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masamasan · 2 months ago

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[Hard Reset | Mark x You]

Summary: It’s one thing to get killed by a classmate you barely knew.

It’s another to wake up in a parallel universe where you’re dating said killer.

Now you had to figure out how to fake your way through this relationship long enough to ghost your homicidal superhero boyfriend for good.

A/N: Pictures by @/henzuu

Prologue

You were neither the childhood best friend turned love interest nor the villain with the tragic back story. There was just nothing remarkable nor distinctive about you. You were, what you’d like to call yourself, a background character. The one who showed up in a few scenes when the writers needed to fill space. Maybe the one who gets a speaking line or two, but no more than that. And you were fine with that. No messy love triangles, no world that relies on you to be saved, and most importantly, no near death situations.

Your dream was to finish high school, get into a decent college, meet a cute guy, and get married — the all-American fantasy, you could say.

What set you apart was your sharp mind. That’s what you were known for. You noticed things. You survived high school that way. But no matter how many times you replayed that day in your head, nothing could have prepared you for the explosion that tore through the roof of your classroom. Nothing could have prepared you to lie crushed beneath the rubble, paralyzed by pain and fear.

But the real anomaly came after — seeing someone painfully familiar hovering above the broken bodies of you and your classmates just before he delivered the final blow.

In the seconds between the blast and your death, you noticed everything: the black hair spilling from the edge of a yellow mask, the straight bridge of the nose, the upturned tip, the sharp jaw clench. The image hit you fast — and just before everything went dark, all you could think about was Mark Grayson.

That name echoed in your head, even as you jolted awake, yelping in pain. Your mind was foggy, your skin damp with sweat, and once your breathing slowed to something close to steady, the scene replayed. Again and again.

A dream? No. It felt too real. You remembered the crushing weight of the rubble pinning down your lower half, the way your limbs wouldn’t move no matter how much you tried. It wasn’t like a memory, it was like it had happened seconds ago.

But as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you started noticing the first fractures in reality. The duvet cover. Stripes. But you were sure you had just changed it to a floral one three nights ago. Then the carpet — grey, nothing like the soft beige rug you’d begged your mom to get. You sat up and looked down at yourself: a mismatched pajama set, green and pink, unfamiliar and ugly in the dim light. You’d never worn them before.

And then came the final sign: your mom bursted into the room, asking what was wrong — the same concerned tone, the same warmth in her eyes. But her hair. It was a completely different color, a completely different cut. Shorter. Darker.

That’s when it hit you.

You weren’t dead. But you hadn’t just dreamed, either. You’d pinched yourself more times than you could count. The sounds, the light, the weight of the blankets… all real. But whatever this was, it wasn’t your life. It wasn’t your world. It was close enough to feel familiar, but far enough to keep you on your toes.

You should’ve panicked. But after what you saw, what you experienced in that demolished classroom all you could think about was survival. You didn’t know how or why, but something or someone had given you another shot at life.

And you sure as hell weren’t going to die at the hands of Mark Grayson again.