#there are so many swear words in this shirt

[fromdove]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⁞ fuzzy socks && kisses

word count: ~2308 words

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader

warnings: no warnings!! just fluff fluff fluff

dove's notes: hope you lovelies feel fed! i've been in kind of a writing slump lately but this got my ass out of it, thanks jason! you sexable man

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It’s late. Like... late-late. The kind of late that seeps into your bones.

Even Gotham—loud, wild, unapologetically feral Gotham—has finally surrendered, just for a moment, to something like stillness. The city glows in that soft amber-orange light, the kind that feels more at home in an old Polaroid than in real life. The sun is almost fully up now, low and golden, peeling the night away.

The usual chaos seems to fold in on itself, hushed by the light drizzle slicking the pavement, taming the streets into quiet. The rain isn’t a storm—just a gentle mist that turns the city’s sharp edges soft and blurry. Streetlamps still flicker with that worn-out, golden buzz—old, tired things that have been burning too long and just want to be left in peace.

Jason’s key slides into the lock with practiced ease, he turns the key just right, pushes the door so it doesn’t squeak, nudges it closed with the heel of his boot instead of the knob. and the door clicks shut behind him just as silently.

He doesn’t need to be sneaky here—not really. but old habits die hard, and years of slipping through shadows don’t shake off just because he’s home. His movements are practiced, second nature: helmet off first, carefully set on the shelf by the door. One boot, then the other—nudged off with the toe of the opposite foot, slow and quiet like the night depends on it.

The hardwood greets him with a low, familiar groan—right on cue. That same loose floorboard just past the entryway. The one he told himself he’d fix months ago. He meant to. Still does. He just... hasn’t gotten around to it yet. Too many nights chasing down people who make louder noises than floorboards ever could.

You don’t stir from the creak.

Turns out he was right. You waited up for him.

He’d asked you not to wait up. Not in a demanding way—never like that—but soft and worn-out. He’d pulled you in earlier, arms snug around your waist, face tucked into your hair. Kissed the crown of your head and mumbled it into your scalp. “Get some sleep, yeah? please don't wait.” Low, rough, he didn’t want to spend the rest of the night worried about you too.

And you had nodded against his chest, mumbled something into his shirt that sounded like “okay.” And then you’d looked up, eyes squinting, and stuck out your pinky.

“Promise,” you said, voice soft but still holding that stubborn spark. “Double pinky swear. Triple. Triple pinky swear with a twist. and the secret seal, you know the seal.”

You wiggled your pinky at him like it was the most sacred of all vows. you made it seem like it would physically hurt you for him not to make it official. And when he tried to pretend he didn’t remember the "secret seal", you just poked him in the chest, right over his heart, with a dramatic little hmph.

“Seal it,” you said. So he did. He kissed your pinky, then your forehead, and said something grumbly about how ridiculous this was. But he was smiling when he said it, all soft around the edges. so you didn't take him too seriously.

He should’ve known you’d break the swear the second his back was turned.

he should know by now what your promises mean.

When you say, “I’ll sleep, I pinky swear,” what you really mean is: “I’ll lie on the couch with something playing, just to fill the space. I’ll tell myself I’m not waiting, that I’m just resting, but I’ll keep glancing at the clock anyway. Keep listening for your key in the door without even realizing I’m doing it. I’ll stay like that until my eyes finally give up on me.”

And, well. here you are now, proving exactly that.

You're curled up in the corner of the couch, soft and still. One arm hangs off the edge, fingers loose and completely at ease. Your head's tilted in a way that would probably horrify a chiropractor, smushed against an old throw pillow that’s definitely past its prime. The blanket you meant to wrap around yourself is bunched awkwardly at your waist, halfway sliding off. Your feet are bare, sticking out at the end.

He shakes his head.

“You and the goddamn socks,” he mumbles, almost fondly.

You never remember them. He reminds you every time. Sometimes through gritted teeth, sometimes through a text sent from five rooftops away. Somehow, he always knows when you’re not wearing socks—even when he’s nowhere near you.

He swears you forget on purpose. Just to get under his skin.

He doesn’t care about Gotham winters—not for himself, anyway. But when it comes to you, suddenly it’s a national emergency. He’ll play the overbearing mom if he has to, lecturing you about cold floors and catching colds and how you’re definitely going to get sick if you keep this up. He just wants to make sure you’re warm and okay. And if that means telling you to “put on your goddamn socks” like it’s life or death—then yeah. He’ll do it. Every single time.

But it’s hard to be annoyed. Looking at you like this, he can’t feel anything but softness.

The TV’s still playing. Some old movie you’ve seen a dozen times, maybe more. you’ve worn this DVD out. You’ve cried during it, laughed at it, talked over it. The dialogue is quiet, the music gentle, and he recognizes the scene even without looking—it’s the one you always quote, the one that always makes you cry, even when you say it won’t this time.

He doesn’t move right away.

Just stands there in the entryway, taking you in.

There’s a soft crease pressed into your cheek from the pillow. Your lips are parted slightly, breath slow and even. One leg’s folded beneath you, the other hanging off the couch like you gave up halfway through trying to find a comfortable position.

For a moment, his chest aches with the gentleness of it. from how soft it all feels. The quiet trust of being missed. Of being waited for. Of being loved in a way that's steady and patient and real.

Eventually, he moves toward you, his steps light. Careful not to jostle the couch.

He crouches down beside the couch, one knee down first. Then the other. resting one forearm on the cushion as he watches your sleeping face up close for a beat longer than necessary. There’s a smear of mascara under one eye from where you must’ve rubbed it in your sleep. He notices the way your eyelashes flutter. The soft puff of your breath when you exhale. The faint remnants of whatever lip balm you’d put on earlier, faded into a subtle shine.

His hand hovers for a second before brushing a loose strand of hair off your forehead.

“You forgot socks again, sweetheart,” he murmurs under his breath.

He nudges one of your toes, just to check if you’ll move. You don’t. You’re completely knocked out.

God, you look so cold. He can’t seem to shake that thought.

He moves carefully. He takes one arm beneath your knees, the other under your back. He lifts slow. Doesn’t rush it. Your body sags against his shoulder with a sigh, head finding its usual home in the crook of his neck.

He holds you for a second longer than he needs to. Just standing there in the middle of the dim living room, the flicker of the TV painting sleepy shadows across the ceiling, your heartbeat slow against his chest.

Then he walks.

He walks you to the bedroom in silence, letting the movie play on in the background like white noise.

He leans down slowly, careful not to rush as he lowers you onto the bed. Your body melts into the mattress with a quiet sigh, your arms falling loosely by your sides, completely surrendered to the idea of rest.

Once you’re lying there, he pulls the covers up gently, making sure the blanket doesn’t drag over your face. Without really thinking, he shifts your pillow just a little, tucking it closer so you’re comfortable.

Then he slips out of the room for what feels like no time at all—just long enough to dig out a clean pair of his thickest socks. The kind so ridiculously bulky they look like something your grandma would have knitted with all the love in the world but zero concern for fashion.

The fuzzy, wool-lined ones, way too big for anyone but somehow perfect, the ones he bought you during some crazy snowstorm. the same ones you refuse to wear because you think they look ridiculous.

He kneels at the foot of the bed like he’s about to propose to your frozen feet and carefully peels back the blanket, just enough to free your toes. They twitch a little when the cool air hits them. He smiles to himself, like yeah, cold. thought so.

He warms your feet first with his hands. Rubs his thumbs gently over the arch of one foot, then the other. His palms are calloused, sure, but warm—so warm. He murmurs something barely audible while he works, something like, “You're going to be sick if you keep this up.” but there’s laughter buried in the rasp of it.

Then he pulls the socks on—slow and careful, making sure they don’t tug or stretch out of shape. He slips them onto your feet one at a time, smoothing the edges gently, his thumbs brushing softly over your ankles.

And then, like he can’t stop himself, before he pulls the covers back over your feet, he leans down and presses a slow, gentle kiss just above your ankle bone. Right in that little space between where the sock ends and your skin begins.

Then he stands back up and carefully tucks the two thick blankets around you—one side, then the other—making sure you’re snug. He even folds the top edge down near your collarbone, just enough so you won’t get too hot, but still stay cozy.

He brushes some hair out of your face. Lets his fingers rest there for a moment, just above your temple.

He probably should’ve showered by now—still smelling like sweat, gunpowder, and whatever else Gotham threw at him tonight.

Not wanting to dirty your bed, he quietly slips off to the bathroom.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The shower lasts about twenty minutes. He keeps it quick. Not rushed, just efficient. Muscle memory, mostly. Hot water, steam thick in the air, the scent of soap clinging to his skin. He scrubs away the grime of the city, the kind that seeps into your bones even when nothing technically went wrong.

He’s not injured tonight. No bruised ribs, no split lip, no blood staining his knuckles. Somehow, it was a quiet patrol—so quiet it made the back of his neck itch with suspicion. But nothing happened. For once, Gotham gave him her version of a night off.

And he took it. Reluctantly.

Now, clean but still a little damp, his towel-dried hair curling at the ends, he’s wandering down the hallway barefoot and shirtless. Jason’s a total hypocrite—always fussing about you wearing socks and staying warm so you don’t get sick, then here he is doing the exact opposite. If you were awake and saw him like this, he’d never live it down. But honestly, you’re no different—you’re always on his case about being careful and responsible. Guess that makes you two just two sides of the same stubborn coin.

Every step slightly quicker than the last, the hum of the apartment settling into sleep around him.

The bedroom door creaks faintly as he pushes it open. You’re still in the same position he left you in—curled up beneath the blankets, your breathing deep and slow. He smiles to himself.

He pulls back one side of the blanket slowly, careful not to let the cool air wake you. Then he climbs into bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. The sheets are warm. You are warmer.

As soon as he settles, you stir—just a little. Your body shifts with the change, but you don’t wake. Not really.

Still, your hand finds his.

It’s slow and searching, like your body is half-asleep but still knows exactly where it wants to be. You don’t even open your eyes. Just reach out blindly, fingers brushing along his until they slot perfectly between his own.

He Just stares at your face in the low light filtering in through the curtains. His chest tightens—not in the bad way, not like panic or dread. In the way that makes him feel too full. Like there’s something blooming under his ribs and it doesn’t know where to go.

You tug his hand toward you slightly, not even aware you’re doing it. He shifts closer without thinking, until his chest is pressed to your back and his forehead is resting in that familiar dip just behind your shoulder. He exhales slow. Letting himself sink.

Your skin is warm beneath his touch, and your hair still carries the soft scent of your shampoo.

He presses the lightest kiss to the curve of your shoulder blade, actually not even really a kiss—more like a pause. A place to rest his mouth.

Night, sweetheart,” he whispers. His voice is rough, a little low and lazy from sleep he hasn’t let himself have yet. But there’s something softer underneath it.

You don’t speak. You just make a quiet sound in the back of your throat—something between a sigh and a hum. The kind of noise someone makes when they feel something good and safe and familiar settle beside them.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[blood-smiles]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐓!

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ

↝ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈��𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 — TW : yandere character . SFW . Kissing . Slightly suggestive but nothing happens… yet ⁽⁽٩(๑˃̶͈̀ ᗨ ˂̶͈́)۶⁾⁾

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ

So.. You had a crush.

And not a little one, but like a BIG one, possibly the size of a house.

You loved your job because you got to see him everyday, your huge little crush. It may sound cruel, but you were happy that so many people died and needed to get fixed up— So that you could go see the beauty that your heart craves.

Dario Spade. A tall, ravenette with cheekbones that put live action Maleficent to shame, eyes bright as emeralds, chartreuse irises that you could get lost in any day of the week.

You sighed dreamily, wheeling in a dead body with a white sheet over it on a trolley. Your heart beat in your chest with the intensity of a war drum, delicate butterfly wings brushing against the walls of your stomach in a flurry.

You peeked your head into the room where the long haired male stood, writing something down in a black leather notebook.

You gently knocked on the door frame, your hands smoothing your hair before clearing your throat.

“Heeeeey.. What’s cooking, good looking?” You flirted hopelessly, your ancestors face palming from above at your courting attempts.

You leaned against the trolley, sending you stumbling forwards, thankfully Dario had moved swiftly and caught you in his arms.

“(Y—Y/N)!” He called your name with a soft tone of surprise, you batted your eyelashes, the gentle sound of his voice really did feel like the angels were singing a ballad just for you.

His lips moved to form words, and you just stared shamelessly, not even trying to hide your obvious infatuation.

His teeth were pearl white, straight and somehow attractive. You blinked slowly, nodding your head and smiling at whatever he was saying.

Dario.. The man that you are. You thought with no shame as you fidgeted with the buttons of your uniform.

Dario could just stare at you forever, but he didn’t want to scare you off so he just started clearing out the patient bed and carefully placing the new cadaver on the metallic chair.

“What are you doing?” You asked thoughtfully, leaning over to check out what the process of embalming was.

“Just.. Draining blood.” He murmured, looking at you from under his hair, a soft blush forming on his almost sickly pale skin.

“(Y/N).. A-Are you allowed to be here? I think.. That you might get in trouble if your supervisor notices..” 

You shook your head, ironing your shirt down with your palms, cooking up a reply to his sweet concern.

“Nuh-uh.. But you know I would kiss a rotting cadaver for you.” You watched how his body seized up with embarrassment, cheeks burning red again at your strange remarks.

Somehow it worked.

He swiped his split tongue over his bottom lip, a flustered whisper leaving his lips. You didn’t even know what he said, you were too focused on his tongue.

..His tongue must work wonders.

You forced your gaze up, looking into his eyes, only to find that they were already staring at you.

His hand fidgeted with a scalpel in his bony hand, mentally mapping out where he would make small incisions.

He could also practice.. cutting meat for you, so when you come home tired from work he can cut something up for you and feed you.

Just the thought of having a relationship as intimate and domestic like that made blood run south.

Now that he thought about it..

His house wasn’t very far from the mortuary, it was a quaint little flat with little light, just enough for one person or perhaps two.

“A-After I’m done with him would you..” he paused, eyes closing tight as the words climbed up his throat “—Would you like to have some tea with me back at my place?”

He did it, phew. He could swear that blood was about to start dripping down his nose, pressure built up in his chest as he awaited your answer.

“Hell yes.” You didn’t even blink while answering him, a dopey grin breaking out on your lips as you heard the words that you had been hoping for so long.

The drive to his house was smooth, instead of looking out the window at the scenery you found yourself staring at his pretty side profile.

What hair products did he use? No matter what day or hour it was, you always found that the raven hair atop his head was always styled and pristine, glossy even under the dim and cheap lighting of the mortuary.

You had noticed that he had put in some jewelry into his skin, something you were completely unaware about but somehow even more enamored by.

Your dear admirer almost bit a hole through one of his cheeks, his teeth nervously chewing on the soft skin of his inner cheek. It was so hard for Dario to drive and look at you at the same time, it was driving him nuts— It was like a dream having you in his passenger seat.

He had been so nervous since this morning, during his shower he had made up his mind about telling you what he really felt about you— How he followed you home everyday, how he knew things about you that even your own mother didn’t know!

That he sleeps in the same bed with you when you have nightmares, that he watches you bathe and fingers himself on your bed. Today, he made up his mind. He was going to make out with you until you saw stars— Today. He was going to make you allll his.

Dario stood behind you, his palm brushing the small of your back. Your inquisitive eyes roamed his apartment, the first item to greet you being a taxidermy mount of a deer on the wall, you blinked slowly, nodding your head as if approving of the internal decoration.

You were guided to a comfy couch, you know, like the ones that are so incredibly comfortable that you never want to get up from there ever again.

Dario came back to you with impeccable timing, two porcelain teacups in hand, a pleasant odor coming from the both of them, (favorite flavor) tea and.. Damiana tea?

You hummed, thanking him and taking the cup from his hand, sipping contently your warm beverage.

Dario sat beside you, you faced him and he did the same, his knee bounced anxiously.

He looked nervous, his fist tightened around his knee, trying to look into your eyes for longer than two seconds.

His mind completely blank, shit. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to ease you into his confession?

“Remember when we met?” You asked with an understanding smile, helping him out on the conversation topic. His face lit up and a fond smile spread over his face at the precious memories.

The old guy who used to work in your position died, Dario was apprehensive about anyone else other than him really coming into contact. 

He never had an easy time making friends or communicating with others, he felt as if every time he would open his mouth to speak he would get overshadowed by a more extroverted person, or get strange looks for simply commenting on something.

So naturally he was suspicious of you. Were you one of those people who only wanted to befriend him to look better in others eyes? 

He was originally pretty cold and rude to you, he couldn’t allow anyone else into his heart. Not when so many had taken it for granted and trampled all over it like it was nothing.

Dario watched you try and try again to befriend him, he genuinely thought that soon you would grow tired and begin giving the treatment that he gave you. Once, a time he truly regrets, he lashed out on you, going as far as pushing you into a desk corner, accidentally hurting you.

Yet you still stood there, despite getting humiliated and in this occasion, injured, you still mustered a smile, apologizing to him about coming on too hard. 

His heart cracked a little, he looked deep into your eyes, searching for a sign of malice— That you wanted to hurt him too, but he found nothing other than empathy and.. comprehension.

That day his heart melted, Dario let his walls down a little, enough for you to peek at his true self through cracks in the ice fortress he had built, though never enough to let you inside.

He noticed, you were dorky and a hopeless romantic, he couldn’t help but become slowly endeared by you, he wondered if you had practice dark magic on him, charmed him with your otherworldly powers.

He misjudged your character, you were sweet, caring, honest, a horrible flirt but most importantly, a good person.

He had found you. He had placed the scraps of his ruined heart in your hands, with affection and patience you took what was left and carefully stitched it back together.

It wasn’t perfect, there were still deep scars of trauma, open wounds that still needed time to be mended—But he had you now.

And you had him, you could trust him, that he would never hurt you like he had before. Never again.

Dario’s hands trembled around his empty cup, he took deep breaths, his heart beating in his throat. His brain told him to stop, that there was no way that you would ever take interest in a weird hermit like him.

But his heart lead him, it reassured him that you were different, that you would still be by his side even if you didn’t accept his feelings. The thought hurt more than he could handle, but he preferred having you around him even as just a friend rather than leaving you.

“(Y/N). I want to..to tell you something.” He spoke firmly, almost robotically. His hands began to break out in a cold sweat, an uncertain feeling of doom curling around him like dark smoke.

“I-I know we had a bad beginning, but. I really appreciate you, I don’t know what I would be like if you hadn’t come into my life.” His breath shuddered, getting closer and closer to revealing it all.

“Thank you. Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for everything.” 

“But.. I wanted to tell you something different. I don’t know how you will react, but I can’t keep it to myself anymore— It hurts so bad not knowing..” 

“(Y/N), I.. I think—No, I know that I’m in love with you.” It’s out, Dario thought, his eyes widening at his own words, he didn’t even think he would be able to get it out.

He eyed the bottom of your expression, not being able of meeting your eyes directly. What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if you hated him now?

He rushed to apologize after a beat of silence, oh dear, he had really done it now, hadn’t he?

“I mean! It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way! I-I understand—Ah! Uhm! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that!“ 

His eyes began brimming with tears, you hadn’t said anything yet. He had lost his first and only friend, all because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

He looked up at your expression finally, expecting to see a disgusted glare, perhaps even a hateful look but he was surprised.

You were shell shocked, your eyes were wide for a moment but the that melted away and a happy smile began to appear on your face.

“I love you too.” You replied, no sappy words or a cringy pickup line this time. Dario was going to cry again, not in dread, but in joy.

He jumped on top of you, his knees beside your hips, he trapped you inside his arms, his hands hovering over your cheeks, waiting for a sign to keep going.

“Sorry! Did I make you uncomfortable—“ he began shifting his body to get off, only to be stopped when your hands gently landed on his waist, keeping him in place where he was.

His cold hands finally touched the warm skin of your face, you watched how his pupils dilated at the soft feeling of your flesh. 

His green eyes really did sparkle like the rarest of emeralds, his pale cheeks gained color, a beautiful blush spread over his cheekbones, he looked like he almost couldn’t believe that this was reality.

He leaned in, looking into your eyes for approval, you nodded. Dario pressed his lips against yours with the softness of a feather, you thought he was going to pull away but were taken by surprise when he changed the position of his hand to grab the back of your head, fingers clutching your hair.

He angled his head, losing himself in the passionate kiss, he wanted to taste all of you, he tasted the flavor of (favorite tea) all in your mouth, it made him wonder if you would allow him to feed you like a baby bird.

He mewled into your mouth, not knowing what to do with this new level of intimacy. Your hands gently landed gently tapped his sides trying to tell him to let you breathe for a moment.

Dario pulled away for a second, he allowed you to take in as much as air as you needed, but just because you stopped doesn’t mean he did too, he pressed loving kisses along your face, beginning at the corner of your mouth then slowly trailing up, over your left cheek, and stopping at your temple for just a second then moving to gently nibble on your earlobe.

You couldn’t help but blush, not knowing that Dario could get this bold. He didn’t stop there, he gently kissed the underside of your jaw, nipping the sturdy bone structure ever so slightly.

He saw the way you averted his eyes, too embarrassed to make eye contact with him. How the roles had reversed, where did that sweet talker he knew go?

He didn’t need to say “I love you” out loud for it to be know, he spelled it out with his tongue already, he’s sure that you understood too.

Dario was breathless and flushed when he pulled away, he wanted to laugh at your face, you looked so surprised that he just wanted to kiss that expression off you.

“Stay over.. please?” He asked so nicely that you couldn’t find it in you to say no, he adjusted his position to sit next to you, with a hand he pushed you down to lay on his lap. His fingers gently patting your head in an attempt to relax you.

Dario would never let you go now. Or ever.

[binniesbobastay]

Bang Chan - Best Friends Brother Blurb

Bang Chan x afab!reader

@lovejisungie here, damn...

photos from pinterest

18+ content, minors dni... fingering, semi-public, language

wc: 1k

"Do you like it when I touch you like this?" Chan's voice drips into your ear. But you can hardly hear him through the fog that your heartbeat and racing thoughts combine to create.

Your fingers press harder into the wall behind you as you feel his hand travel further up your skirt. Skilled fingers run over the pillowy skin of your inner thigh, just barely grazing the seam of your panties.

"Answer me." He pulls back to look at you, eyes dark. This seems to do the job at pulling you out of the fog. Just a little.

"Huh?" you mumble, "What...?" Chan just smirks at this.

"I asked if you like it when I touch you like this." He repeats. You should say no. You know you should. And you know you shouldn't be here in the hallway with your best friends older brother... in their home... at her birthday party...

You excused yourself to the bathroom a while ago after one too many needy glances at the guy you haven't been able to get out of your head for as long as you could remember. Never in a million years did you think you'd ever end up in any type of situation like this with Chan of all people, pinned to the wall next to the bathroom door when you stepped out. Nor did you assume he'd ever reciprocate those feelings for the girl he's always called a bonus little sister... guess you assumed wrong.

"Yes," you whisper, shakily and without thought. Chan's lip curls up slightly, nearly into some type of subtle snarl. And you swear you hear a growl come from the back of his throat before his thumb rubs a strip up the damp fabric between your legs. He then tugs it to the side and your eyes go wide.

"Someone's going to..." you begin.

"Then you better come on my fingers before they do." Chan cuts you off. You feel a churning in your stomach that only grows when you feel Chan's fingers rub through your sopping slit. Your mouth drops open, head falling back against the wall. Chan moves his free hand, the one that's been rested on the wall beside your head and presses his finger to his lips.

"Not a fucking sound," he whispers, but then his fingers find your clit. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, digging your nails into his shirt in order to ground yourself. His lips quirk up.

"That's it...." he murmurs before starting a steady pattern, light circles. His free hand reaches for your face, tucking some hair behind your hair.

"You look so perfect like this... even better than I pictured." Your stomach drops at his words and you buck your hips against his hand when he starts to add more pressure. Chan leans in and you think for a moment he's going to kiss you... God, you want him to kiss you.

But he maneuvers his head to the side and kisses along your jaw, down your neck. You're not complaining. His lips feel like heaven... just like you always thought they would.

You feel his fingers slide down towards your entrance now, circling it next. This makes your eyes flutter shut.

"Can I?" Chan whispers in your ear. You nod, desperately, not trusting your voice. He obliges, carefully nudging a finger into you. You want to cry out, your head falling forward onto his shoulder.

"Shh, I got you," he coos, "Fuck, you're so warm... 'n tight..."

You finally let out a small whimper in response as he slides another finger in, curling them into you. He grabs your chin, pulling your head away from his shoulder.

"I said... not a fucking sound," he growls, fire burning in his eyes as he begins to pump his fingers faster. He didn't give you much time to adjust, but even the ache of the abrupt stretch feels amazing, so you don't protest.

Chan finally smashes his lips against yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You can't help but moan, grinding down onto his hand. He doesn't do anything to stop you, in fact he lets out a groan in response.

Your hands tangle in his hair, too lost in whatever the hell this is to care that you're in a fucking hallway and anyone could walk in on the two of you like this... even his sister.

You begin to tighten around his fingers and you know you're getting close.

"Chan..." you murmur against his lips. He pulls back and nods, having already felt you begin to tighten around him.

"I know," he murmurs, making sure he's hitting the spot he needs to. His thumb moves up to brush over your clit.

"Do it, I've got you... wanna feel it..." His words are the final push you need before you start to pulse around his fingers. You hold on tight to him, legs trembling and threatening to give out as that familiar wave of euphoria takes over.

Once you've come down. you're worried Chan won't be there when you open your eyes. But you sense him leaning closer and when you breathe the air, you can smell him. That clean cologne he always smells like is still there in front of you. So you open your eyes and there he is. That million dollar smile replaces the earlier heat in his eyes.

"Feel good?" He asks. You nod, slowly, your mind still processing what just happened. He takes his fingers away from you, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean.

"Fuck... you taste good." He hums, his eyes fluttering shut with his fingers still on his tongue. Your breath hitches at the sight and he chuckles when he picks up on that. He then leans in, kissing your forehead.

"C'mon, we'll get you cleaned up." He pats your side, ushering you back to the bathroom next to you.

"Chan..." you begin to speak.

"I know... we'll talk about it, yeah?" He says, opening the door. His words bring a relief over you... knowing that this was hopefully not the last time you'd be doing something like this. So you step into the bathroom and he goes after you, never taking his hand off your side.

a/n: hi! it's been a while, hasn't it? i got back from seeing skz last night and felt ✨inspired✨ so here's a little something! i might do more with it later if it doesn't flop LMAO. but welcome back if you were already around and welcome if you're new! i'll probably write some more so stay tuned!

[evansbuckle]

Mechanic!Singledad!Bucky Barnes AU

long awaited part 6! I think the reason i've been struggling to write this more is the fact that its in first person and I never write in first person. But alas, we're here!!! Likes & Reblogs are always appreciated <3333

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: use of y/n, reader has she/her pronouns, smut (oral), kissing, Bucky barnes being flirty as ever, swearing, pet names, way too many commas.

masterlist part one part two part three part four part five

Grease, Part Six

Waking up to the smell of pancakes is not common, but damn is it pleasant. The sweet waft of breakfast fills the bedroom as I stretch my body out on the king size bed, groaning lightly as I melt back into the mattress. My arms reach out to the spot next to me, finding nothing but bed. I stand up, grabbing a shirt off the floor, and make my way out to the kitchen. I lean against the doorframe for a second, taking in the sight in front of me.

Bucky stands over the stove, shirtless obviously, flipping pancakes and humming to the song on the radio. His head bops in time with the music as he wipes his hand on a towel, throwing it haphazardly over his shoulder. He moves to the cupboard, grabbing syrup and taking it to the table. 

“Enjoyin’ the show?” He catches me staring. I chuckle softly, making my way over to the table and sitting down.

“Obviously. If i was shirtless making breakfast think you’d enjoy the view too.”

“Damn straight.” He moves back to the counter, picking up the plate of pancakes, bringing it to the table. “You want coffee?”

I nod in response, enjoying the domesticity of the morning. He pours a cup, hands it to me, and sits opposite me. 

“How’d you sleep, sugar?”

I start eating the food in front of me, “Better than I usually do to be honest. Might have something to do with the human furnace who was next to me.” 

He laughs at that, nodding slightly as he takes a sip of his coffee,”Might do, or might have something to do with the fact that you were tired out.”

I choke a little on the pancake in my mouth, not looking up at him. “Am I wrong, sugar?” He stays smirking as I shake my head at him. He grins, all teeth, as he shovels food in his mouth. 

“I’ve got work today,” he starts, “So I won’t be around for long.”

“You kicking me out Barnes?”

“I, what? No, honey, I, what?”

“I’m kidding, relax. I have work too.” It’s my turn to smile as Bucky struggles to form a full sentence. 

“I still wasn’t trynna kick you sweetheart, you know you’re more than welcome to stay. Your car’ll be done tonight as well if you wanna pick it up.”

“Wow, yeah. That’s great.” We finish eating. “I should get going though.”

He nods curtly, following me into the bedroom as I chuck on a pair of Bucky’s sweatpants and put my shoes on. I move to stand in front of him.

“I’ve had a good time with you two,” I peck his cheek, “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, sugar. Later.” He watches me as I leave, softly waving when I disappear down the driveway.

The short walk back home in the fresh morning air lets me think. It had been a week since meeting Bucky, and it was one of the best weeks I’d had. Every waking moment was spent yearning for the soft, stable feeling he gave me, for the sound of his low voice. I didn’t know what this was turning into between us, but I knew I didn’t want it to come to an end.

I walk through my apartment door, greeting the sleepy dog on the floor with a head scratch. The clock on the wall read eight thirty, and I moved to my bathroom, needing to brush my teeth. Cheryl sat in the doorway of the bathroom, head cocked to the side, panting, as I get myself ready. She trails behind me as I move through the flat, happy to just be in my presence. I get dressed and leave for work, looking forward to getting my car back.

*

Work is work, and today it’s filled with elderly people. They spend the entire day filing in and out, buying tea and pastries, sitting together and laughing quietly. In quieter moments I text Bucky, replying to whatever car-related issue he was fixing at that time. I don’t realise the time until Margot, the manager, walks out reminding me that I can go. I don’t waste time, eager to get my car back, and to see the oily man who fixed it. 

The familiar scent of fuel welcomes me in, and my eyes immediately seek out Bucky, tucked away into the corner of the garage, lying under a car. I walk over to him, the sound of my footsteps catching his attention as he rolls out from under some car, grease smeared on his forehead.

“Hi sugar,” he drawls, stand up to lean against the car, wiping at his face.

“Hi Bucky.”

“She’s all done, good as new,” he leads me over to where my car is stationed, “or well, as new as can be.”

“Hey! It’s… vintage.”

He rolls his eyes at me, “Your keys are in the office, come on.”

Bucky leads us to the small office, heading in first. He takes a seat on the desk chair, and before he gets a chance to open the drawer I stand in front of it. His head tilts up as he looks at me, brows furrowed.

“Sugar, your keys are in there. You gotta-”

I shake my head no as I let my hands fall to his jaw, cupping softly as I place a tender kiss on his lips, letting heat build between us. He forgets what he was doing quick enough, hands coming to rest on my hips as he pulls me onto his lap. I giggle a little at the inconvenient position, and move myself onto the floor, situated between his legs. He lets out a little gasp when my hands come to fumble with his zipper.

“Y/n, you-”

“You’re not letting me pay you,” I undo the zipper of his jeans, “It’s the least I could do. Besides, it’s all i’ve been thinking about since yesterday.”

Bucky lifts his hips off the chair as he pulls his jeans down. He sits, leaning against the backrest, eyes darkened as he looks down at me. I let my hands trail up his muscular thigh, nails lightly raking over his firm legs. His boxers weren’t leaving much to the imagination, his excitement clear, and I chuckled softly. 

“Why’re you laughing?” 

“I’ve barely touched you, Bucky and you’re already hard.”

“My girl is on her knees in front of me and you expect me to not be? C’mon baby.”

I tried to ignore the way my heart fluttered at ‘my girl’ but when i looked into his eyes all i saw was sincerity; he meant it. I press a soft kiss to his thigh, then snap the waistband of his boxers against his skin. I pull them down just enough to free him, highly aware of the fact the door was unlocked, and Bucky wasn’t the only mechanic working today. 

He hisses a little as the cotton fabric drags over him, settled mid thigh. My mouth parts a little at the sight of him. Bucky was big, that was expected - his whole body was big. But his dick was beautiful: slightly curved, with a vein running along the underside, tinged red. 

“Unless you’re planning on using that mouth sugar you should probably close it.” 

I look up to him, tracing a fingertip along the vein, enjoying the way he twitched. I leave a trail of soft kisses along him, stopping just at his tip. His hand comes to rest on my face, thumb stroking back and forth on my cheek. I lick the leaking tip of his cock; saltiness settling on my tongue as he groaned a little above me, his thumb stopping. I do it again, moving my tongue down along his shaft, before coming back up, sucking his tip into my mouth. I do it again a couple times, letting myself get a little messy; spit pooling in my mouth. His hold on me tightens, head tilted back just a little bit. 

I swirl my tongue over the top, flicking my eyes up to find him watching my every move. His mouth parts just a little, tongue darting over his bottom lip as his breathing speeds up. 

I take him into my mouth fully, nose nestled just at his pelvic bone, and I don’t miss the way he holds back a moan. I hum a little around him, the weight and warmth of him on my tongue feels right. His hand grips the back of my head, holding me in place as his hips move, taking full advantage of my mouth. 

I reach a hand around to his balls, cupping, rolling, anything my mind can think of that would make him feel good. 

He groans then, whispering a “fuck, sugar” before his hips speed up. I hollow my cheeks, and breath through my nose as best I can as i feel his hips stutter against my face, just before he comes. 

I pull off him with a light pop, making sure his eyes are on me before i swallow, leaning in to kiss him while he calms down. 

“You are insane,” he says, voice raspy. “I’m so infatuated with you.”

I laugh at his confession, “No, that’s the post-orgasm brain that’s talking right now.”

He shakes his head, pulling up his boxers and jeans as he stands up. “No, it’s the truth, sugar. Although if your mouth has me reelin’ I dread to think how other parts of you will completely ruin me,” he gruffs out, hand finding the back of my neck as he pulls me in for a searing kiss; his tongue pushing into my mouth, meshing with my own.

Doesn’t last long as a knock on the door pulls us apart, both catching our breaths. The door opens, Sam stood grinning on the other side.

“Are you two done? I need a pen.”

Bucky scowls at him as he hands him one. I walk round the desk, grabbing my car keys from the drawer. 

“I should get going,” I smile at the boys. “Thanks for fixing her.” I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss Bucky’s flushed cheek, patting Sam on the back on my way out, giggling at the immediate questioning Sam subjects Bucky to.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

taglist: if you'd like to be added, lmk!

@yellowsbutter @stell404 @truebluehue @sophiiwasheree @witchywannabe3263 @schlattslonghairytoes @theirmindpalace @sebastians-love @mgchaser @rinisfruity14

[rafesslxt]

hellooo, could you maybe write about what it'd be like to live together with JJ? maybe the reader, JJ and John B already lived together at the Chateau but now it's the beginning of s4 where they built their home and everyone lived and worked together? about what it'd be like, how they try to make time for themselves and what struggles come with it.

I really enjoy your stories!!

...and they were roommates!

summary: how it is living together with roommates, reader x JJ x John B; words:

warnings: funny, some fluff, ooc maybe? idk

note: ty for requesting! i think i did it a bit different but hope u still enjoy <3

When the three of you decided to move in together, you had a plan and so many ideas. You knew it would be challenging in some moments but you did not expect..

🥛Empty milk cans

"Ugh JJ!“ you shouted through the house, the empty milk can in your fridge. You knew immediatley that it was him, he always did this and you already had catched him doing it. "Yo whats wro– oooh yeah, sorry." he smiled at you cheekily. "I swear I wanted to replace it today but -" before he could finish his sentence, a empty milk can flew his way.

🪥 Empty toothpaste

"Fuck fuck fuck, I‘m coming too late – guys! Did anyone see my shirt?" John B rushed through the house, stopping by the bathroom, rushing into it and grabbing his toothbrush. "JJ WHERE IS THE TOOTHPASTE!" John B screamed, JJ already running out of the house.

🥤After a party

You worked in a bar from time to time to get some extra cash. So it wasn‘t unusual that you came home late at night, tired and drained from the running around and smiling at every costumer. So when you came home, all you wanted to do was to eat something real quick, take a shower and go to sleep. But when you opened the door, you knew this was going to be a long night. Everywhere you looked were some of the red plastic cups you guys used, empty beer bottles and the floor covered in sand.

🧻 No toilet paper

JJ was sitting on the toilet, scrolling through his phone. And then, after an hour, JJ was ready to leave the bathroom. He grabbed to his left but - nothing. His head shot around, seeing the empty place where normally the toilet paper was supposed to be. "Guuuys! I need help! Can you bring me new toilet paper?!" It took a moment, until all of a sudden - a evil loud laugh echoed through the house. "Well - how does it feel to sit there - everything empty snd out of reach."

🥦 Grocery shopping

"yo y/n they have these gummies here that-" "no John B, we talked about that." it was the end of the month and money was a little tight so you told the boys no unnesessary snacks like gummie bears or chips. You filled your basket up with vegetables, some meat and a few things for the freezer for when you wouldn‘t have time to cook. "Eh, what the helly is that?" You rolled your eyes. "That‘s broccoli, JJ. In case you‘ve never heard about it; it‘s healthy - which means it‘s good for your body.“ "Oh ok so you can have your snacks but we can‘t?" It was like talking to a toddler.

🧺 Doing laundry

„JJ! I‘M GONNA KILL YOU!" JJ sighed, looking over at you while the two of you sat on the table, eating breakfast. "How is is that everytime that something is wrong, it‘s my fault?" John B came down the stairs, steams of hot air would come right out of his ears If you were in a commic. "Oh because maybe, you were the one who did the laundry this morning and put a fucking red sock in beteeen the white clothes where my shirt was in for my job interview!" „Chill out, it wasn‘t red, it was pink dude-" before he could finish his sentence, John B was alresdy at his troath.

🍺 Always beer in the fridge

There was always beer in the fridge. At the beginning of every month when their checks came in, they would make sure to buy as much beer as they could so there would still be something at the end of the month when they didn‘t have any money left. At some time, they even saved up some cash to buy a fridge just for beer.

🫂 Crying

JJ was the first who heard you sobbing on the couch, watching a movie in the living room. He was on his way to the kitchen when he saw you, face puffy, lips swollen from biting on them and heavy smudged mascara, running down your cheeks mixed wirh your tears. JJ quietly tip toed towards John B‘s room, where they argued about who should go down and comfort you so they both walked down, seeing If you were still there and crying; yes. The night ended wirh both of them of each side of you, all together under a huge blanket, eating ice cream, doing face masks while you told them how complex and loveable your favorite character was who had just died in your current show. Sigh, he was so misunderstood.

🎲 Gambling nights

You often sat together, the rest of the crew over too, some titting on the floor in front of the table with the monopoly board on it, some on the couch, draped in fluffy blankets. JJ was chesting, obvious to everyone when he pulled cash out of his pockets. But his motto; deny deny deny. Sarah was loosing everything she had right now, John B lending her money so she could continue playing. Kie was still arguing with JJ and you and Pope were winning the game. "Kay Pope, If I win, you have to do the dishes for the rest of the week." "I don‘t even live here!" "You in or what?" You didn‘t touched one dirty plate for the rest of the week.

⛺️ Tents

"I‘m so bored guys." you sighed, looking around the living room, your body hanging over it like a sack. "I have an idea!" You rolled your eyes before he could tell you his idea. "I‘m not going to skinny dip -" "which i wasn‘t going to say even auf it‘s a really great idea-" you threw a pillow against his head, letting it fall back onto the couch. "I was about to suggest that we build a fort!" You raised your head and looked at him, letting the idea run through your head. An hour later, the whole livingroom was covered in blankets of all kinds, fluffy, tiny, huge, any color, thick or thin. You got every pillow you‘ve found in the house. "This was such an good idea JJ!" "I know right? And we can still get nacked, don‘t even need the ocean!" Smack. The next pillow flew into his face.

🥧 Cooking/baking together

Cooking with the boys was alright until you started baking. Again, like toddlers. Dough on every surface, flour in your hair and on your clothes. They argued about everything. About the settings of the oven, how long it has to be inside, it alresdy started when mixing the ingredients together. "No! You first have to mix the dry ingredients together man!" "Oh alright Mr. i-know-everything! Why should we If it lands in the same pot at the end?" "Pot? You mean form?"

🕯️ Selfacare nights

"Wow, I feel so pretty." JJ sighed in front of the mirror when I was done applying his milky rice facemask for sensetive skin. "Okay John B, we have to do something about your eyebrows, I know Sarah hates them bushes." He raises one of them and puts a hand on his chest. "Excuse you?!"

🪭 Morning after the Party

They were fun until you had to work and came back from a long shift at the bar, cleaning up after them. So after the 100th time it happened, you wanted revenge. Maybe it was mean, but you had to at least once show them what it‘s like. So you cleaned the whole house like usual but instead of throwing everything out you collected everything in bags. When dou were ready, you walked into their rooms and emptied everything on the floor and on their desks or other surfaces. You had a good laugh when they woke up.

xoxo sarah <3

[sadeeeeee]

Hold Me Please

Angst with some comfort throughout

Pure fluff by the end

Established Relationships

(A little self-indulgent after a really bad day)

Warnings- one moment of swearing, mentions of depression, mental health and not feeling like enough

Synopsis- Chris comes over to check on you after you haven't been answering all day. He comes to find out just how bad things have been getting for you and comforts you through the storm in your head.

~

I lay my head up against the windowpane, watching the raindrops fall some faster than others and some slower almost like even the rains trying taunt me. This battle called life if you aren't deemed successful by a certain time by people who don't even matter - or maybe they do that's the worst part... you'll end up feeling like a failure. A feeling I know all too well now at this point.

I give a heavy sigh as I watch my phone light up with another message from Chris. I wanna answer back but every part of my body is exhausted. I don't even feel alive anymore at this point. I can't even bring myself to see what the message even said hence my surprise to hear knocking at my door and a very sweet familiar voice echo through my apartment.

"Baby it's me... I came to check on you I was getting worried since you haven't answered all day".

I begrudgingly get up and make my way down the hall to my front door I open the door just a crack to be met with a soft smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes no - worried eyes is all I can see. My heart aches knowing I made him so worried all day.

"Hey baby can I come in, I'm worried about you"?

I open the door wider and let him in. He places the bags he brought with him on my kitchen counter. He starts talking with his back turned emptying everything from each of the bags. "I thought maybe you were sick or something, so I got you some medicine and some of your fav-. As he turns around, he cuts himself off when he sees the tears brimming my already red eyes, I'm sure.

"Hey hey what's the matter what's going on" he asks calmly but with an obvious edge of concern. I struggle to get any words out every bad thought and past failures cone rushing to me all at once causing me to breakdown completely. He gently grabs me and holds on tightly. He wraps a hand around my waist squeezing tightly and places his other hand on the back of my head. Gently he sways us back and forth letting me cry into his shirt for who knows how long.

After some time, I stop crying and he pulls back just enough to see my face. "You wanna talk about it, you can tell me what's going on you know that". I pull away and walk over to the couch he follows after and sits close but close enough to still give me space.

"I don't even know where to start". "That's ok take your time I'm not going anywhere" he says as he gently takes hold of my hand.

I feel so lost like every day I'm just... here not even existing but, I try so hard to do everything right, but nothing ever feels like enough. Nothings ever enough for anyone. I feel like a failure I see everyone doing big things accomplishing so much I can't help but feel like somethings wrong with me. He listens intently and holds on to my every word. He doesn't speak not until I'm done, he always just listens always letting me be heard. "Every day just feels the same like I wake up with no purpose I'm just so tired Chris I don't know what to do anymore.

He looks into my eyes really looks at me like he's trying to memorize every part of my face before speaking up. "You don't have to have all your shit together". "Everyone feels like this at one point or another I know it may not feel like it but, its true". "Know that you have purpose, you're wanted and loved by so many". Now it's my turn to hold on to his every word. Each word feels like a tug on my heart like I'm closer to a fresh breath.

"There's a lot of loud noises but there's always a moment of calm or silence that can pull you out and that calm can be anything". "And when things feel like too much know, you can always call me I'll be there to help anyway I can even if it means just sitting with you in silence, I'll always be here for you baby". "I want you to know that you're not a failure far from it you're doing things at your own pace and that's ok there's no rule book to life - no guide on how to get everything right". He looks at me with somber eyes ones that hold pain but he's holding back wanting to make sure I'm ok.

There's this sinister semblance I've been indulging in. Not on purpose it's just how I've been living what I've always seen maybe I can pull away from it now slowly but surely. Maybe one day.

I look back up at him and fall into his touch. He immediately holds me impossibly closer, and he holds on tight - like if he were to let go, I'd wither away right then and there. "I just want to be happy, but I don't know how anymore". "It's ok we're not gonna be happy every day and know that's it's ok to not be happy or ok, it's ok to express those feelings too". "I'll be with you through every step helping you until you can feel content and happy again".

He kisses my temple so softly it's almost as if he didn't at all. He hugs me tighter and rubs my back in slow circles. We sit in each other's arms for the rest of the night. He said he wasn't going anywhere, and he meant it.

"I love you and you'll always be enough for me baby always remember that and if you ever forget I'll still be right here to remind you time after time.

There's almost like a break of air in the room like before he speaks up again in a whisper like if he speaks to loudly the world will crumble around us.

"You don't know how much you mean to me" he says while kissing all over my face. I crack a small smile, and he cracks one in return. He kisses the corner of my lips and whispers in between "this smile is what keeps me going so I'll do whatever it takes to keep it" he says with warm eyes and the softest smile.

I hug him back softly and bury my face in his neck and give a soft sigh. Not out of sadness or anxiety but because I know that even when I get my lowest I have him to pull out of that dark hole every time.

───✰✰✰✰✰─────✰✰✰✰✰──────✰✰✰✰✰─────

(A bit of a sad one, was feeling pretty bad last yesterday so thought I'd write it out in hopes of bringing myself some comfort. I don't know how I feel about this one but if you're feeling like this, I hope this could help in some way. Hope you all who reads this enjoy thank you for reading!!!)

[honeyrotsoul]

Paring: Melissa x Fem Reader (side nat x reader) (very brief mentions of taivan, shaunahat, jackieshauna, and lottielee - like very brief)

Word Count: Roughly 6000

Warnings: light smut (fingering), cheating (also an insane amount of swearing) (and a background character who is aware that she’s a background character)

I was trying to channel that little gray area between Melissa being a background character and Melissa being bold enough to cause harm on her own, but idk if I succeeded.

“I got a girl crush. Hate to admit it, but I got a heart rush. Ain’t slowing down. I got it real bad. Want everything she has. That smile and that midnight life she’s giving you now. I wanna taste her lips, yeah, cause they taste like you. I wanna drown myself in a bottle of her perfume. I want her long blonde hair. I want her magic touch. Yeah, cause maybe then, you’d want me just as much.”

–Girl Crush, Little Big Town

MELISSA WAS HOPELESSLY IN LOVE WITH YOU. She had been ever since kindergarten when you were the only kid who sat next to her. The only kid who thought she was worth talking to. Melissa was, unfortunately, used to being the background character in everyone else’s story. Honestly, that was kind of okay with her. She didn’t want or even like the attention that came with being a main character. Too much work, and a hell of a lot of trauma, it seemed. No, it was better this way. As long as you continued to shine your light down upon her, for you were like the sun to Melissa. And she was just lucky enough to orbit around you.

But you never noticed how Melissa felt, because you were dating Natalie Scatorccio. Freakin’ Natalie who wasn’t even a real blonde! So, what did Natalie have that she didn’t? Was it the bleach blonde hair that made her look like a rockstar when she did her eyeliner in that messy-on-purpose way? Perhaps it was the ridiculously expensive cologne that Mel wasn’t even sure Natalie could afford. (Did you buy it for her? Did Lottie help her shoplift it? Did she save up every few months for a single bottle? So many questions!) Or maybe it was her cool clothes and the faint scent of leather that followed her everywhere she went. Because Natalie Scatorccio was the epicenter of cool.

And Melissa was not.

So what, Melissa was a dork. What was wrong with that? She liked comic books and Star Wars and sports and quiet nights in. But maybe that wasn’t what you were into. Maybe you liked parties and music so loud that the beat thumped in your chest. Maybe you liked chaotic energy and a leader, not a follower. It was one of the things that Melissa always hated about herself. She wasn’t a leader. She was a follower, a loyal subject that was constantly looking for approval.

And that was how she ended up here.

She was standing in front of her mirror, studying herself. Maybe she should try a regular bra instead of a sports bra for a change? …Nah, she doesn’t want to make her boobs sit up that much. (Plus, her mom might suddenly get the urge to put her in a dress again, and the thought alone makes her shiver in disgust.) Would you even notice if she changed her look for the day? Probably not, but it was worth a shot, right? What would a girl like Natalie even like to wear?

God, this is so stupid. Melissa groaned internally. She pulled out a black t-shirt with cutoff sleeves. When did she even get this? She scrunched her nose, brows furrowed as she thought. Ah, now she remembers. It was that summer she spent with your family at the beach house. A seagull stole her shirt - for what, she doesn’t know - so you’d stolen one from your brother. Maybe that was why she’d latched onto you. You always took such good care of her. She liked that. She liked being seen by you, just a little. It was different from being seen by everyone else.

She’d brought cologne for the first time. She usually didn’t bother with things like that. She was always a little too embarrassed to buy it in front of her mom, anyway. Her mother already judged her enough. Or perhaps judged was the wrong word. She didn’t exactly judge her. Melissa knew that her mother loved her, she still showed it as best as he could. She just wasn’t exactly happy when Melissa traded dresses and ribbons for cleats and scruffed knees. In a way, Melissa got it. Maybe it was a little bit jarring for a person to think of their daughter as a princess only to find out that she’d rather be the prince. And now, every time Melissa came downstairs in cargo shorts and a snapback or rushed to open the door for a pretty girl, she was met with that indignant little sniff from her mother. At least she stopped telling her that it was just a phase. She was slowly coming around. Melissa just hoped that she would fully accept her before it was too late. Because, deep down, she was still just a girl. She wanted her parents at her wedding. She wanted to be walked down the aisle, just not in a big, poofy dress.

She didn’t want to look like a fucking cupcake.

Melissa puffed out a sigh and lifted the heavy bottle. Her mother had given her the cash to buy it, but only because she’d told her she was buying perfume instead. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have been so bad. Just because she was masc didn’t mean she couldn’t also wear perfume and do girly shit when she wanted to. She could be butch and still smell like a flower! But this was for your benefit. While she was studying the bottle, she accidentally spritzed herself in the face, which caused her to cough and gag. And then she ended up spraying too much in general, which fucking sucked. This was not going well.

Shit, she forgot to change her pants. She can’t go in cargo shorts again. She always goes in cargo shorts.

She pulled on a pair of jeans, which honestly weren’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but they would do. Melissa usually dressed for comfort over style, which wouldn’t do today. Today was about you and finally telling you how she felt, consequences be damned. She picked up her brush and was about to run it through her long, blonde locks but then thought against it. She placed the brush back down and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get that messy, fluffy look without turning her waves into a frizzy mess. Maybe she should get bangs? No, she’d look fucking stupid with bangs. She doesn’t have the forehead for that. She reached for her favorite pink snapback, remembered that she’d never seen Natalie wear a hat a day in her life, and reluctantly put it back.

Was this obsessive? Did changing herself to get a girl to like her make her some kind of freak? But wasn’t that what love was? Or wasn’t that at least what surviving on this floating space rock was? Learning to adapt, to fit in where you could? And Melissa so desperately wanted to fit in with you however she could. She knew that she should want someone who would love her as she was, but that had never worked out for her before. People only seemed to want her for who she could become, and not who she already was.

So, she would change. She would learn to be a chameleon, always changing.

She caught up to you in the courtyard, practically ran to catch you before you headed off to English class. And there you were, standing directly in the sun, looking as radiant as ever. You were laughing, standing there with all your friends. It felt like everyone loved you. And Melissa hated how she always felt like she was on the outside looking in. She didn’t exist until one of you spoke to her. Until you spoke to her.

There’s no way that Taissa Turner is that funny, but you’re still laughing. Maybe she would have believed it if it were Mari that you were laughing at. How many years had she been on this team, just for none of those girls to even know her name? And if they did know her name, they certainly couldn’t say anything beyond that.

But you knew her. You did. Because the moment you saw her, you smiled that big, beautiful smile at her and said goodbye to your friends before making your way over to her. “Hey”, you greeted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

Melissa feels her heart flutter. “Hey”, she greets in return.

You playfully nudge her with your elbow. “Why are you standing over here like a stalker? Come say hi to everyone.”

Melissa rolled her big blue eyes, shook her head. “No, thank you. Those girls will just keep asking my name over and over when I have literally always been here.”

“Hm”, you hummed in response. “Okay, well, there’s a party tonight. You should come by”, you said, looping your arm through hers.

Melissa groaned, looked up to the heavens that so brilliantly matched her eyes. “You know I don’t like parties. I always feel awkward and left out.” She glanced down at the chipped nail polish on your fingers. Pale blue. Maybe, subconsciously, she had an effect on you too. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“That’s all I ask”, you said cheerfully, smiling. “Hey, do you hear dripping?”

Melissa furrowed her brows in confusion. “Dripping?”, she repeated in confusion. “What-? No”, she said quickly.

“Huh, weird”, you said, equally as confused. You smiled a little, took a step closer. “You’re wearing the shirt I gave you.”

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m trying out something different today”, Melissa said. She had gotten a little dazed, if she were being honest.

You tilted your head, eyes drifting up and down her figure, before shaking your head. “Well, all of this looks really nice, but I like regular Melissa.”

This caught her off guard. “You do?’

“Yeah”, you nodded. “Like, where’s your funky little hat?”

She rolled her eyes in response. “I’ll wear it for you tomorrow, I promise.”

A teasing smile crept up onto your face. “Does the hat stay on during sex?”

Melissa’s pale cheeks heated up immediately. There was still a faint tan to her skin, making her look sunkissed. You always felt that if it weren’t soccer and you lived in a different state, Melissa would have been a surfer. She shoved you a little. “Shut up”, she murmured as you laughed loudly.

Melissa did end up going to the party. Not because she exactly wanted to, but because you asked and how could she say no to that pretty face? You were dancing to some TLC Song when she arrived - Baby-Baby-Baby, maybe? She didn’t really know the logistics or many of their songs, just that they were your favorite group. And you always looked the happiest, the most free, when you were dancing to their music, because you didn’t care what anyone thought of you.

You smiled just as brightly when you saw her. Somehow, it made Melissa feel all warm and tingly that you were always so excited to see her. Nobody else was ever really excited to see her. Except maybe Gen. Gen, aside from you, was the only friend she had in the world, or at least that was how it felt. Gen didn’t think she was boring. You didn’t either, to be fair. She couldn’t say the same for the rest of the team. “Hey, you. Get over here”, you called out to her.

Melissa didn’t know what came over her.

One minute, the two of you were dancing, spinning, laughing.The next, she had bit the bullet, She leaned in and kissed you. Your lips were soft, and you tasted like pure sugar and chocolate because you were always loading up on sweets whenever you could. Was this what heaven felt like? The little soft breaths that escaped you, the softness of your skin, the flowery scent of your perfume?

But it was all over far too quickly, because, suddenly, she was ripped away from you and Nat’s voice was ringing in her ears. “What the fuck, Melissa?!”, she shouted. Shouted so loudly, in fact, that the rest of the Yellowjackets heard and came rushing over. Great, now you had an audience.

Melissa let out an almost bitter sounding laugh. It was very rare that she had anything biting to say, very rare that she was anything but kind. But, sometimes, there was a spark within her. A tenacity that couldn’t be tamed. “Oh, so now you know my name?”

Silence. Nat let out a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You think you’re funny?”, she asked bitterly. “You kissed my girlfriend, and you think you’re fuckin’ funny?”

You just barely caught Natalie around her middle before she could lunge at Melissa. It wasn’t like Nat particularly liked to fight, but she certainly wasn’t above doing it. Especially when it came to you. “Stop it”, you hissed. “You’re making a scene.”

“You’re damn right I’m making a scene!”, Natalie exclaimed. “This bitch-”

Melissa bristled. She took a step closer, fists clenched by her sides. They were pretty evenly matched in height. Nat was 5’6, roughly. Melissa was 5’5, probably. But muscle mass made a difference, and Melissa certainly had more of it. Not that you’d noticed, or anything… “Oh, I’ll give you a fucking scene, Scatorccio!” Would she really? It was always hard to tell with Melissa. Sometimes, she’d stand her ground. Other times, she would get so close just to miss the mark and falter in the end. It was a real toss up.

“Hey!”, you interrupted. “That’s enough, both of you! You’re embarrassing me, and yourselves. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding. Melissa and I got caught up in the moment and she-”

“Stop fucking defending her!”, Nat groaned. “She knows what she did. And the only misunderstanding is going to be my foot up her fucking ass!”

“Oh, by all means, shrimpy, come at me!”, Melissa scoffed. She wasn’t scared of Nat. She could take her in a fight… couldn’t she?

Natalie laughed, bitter and hollow. “Don’t piss me off, Mel. We both know that if I actually did come at you, you’d piss your pants like you did in the second grade.” Somewhere behind you, Shauna Shipman snorts into her red solo cup. And when she can’t contain her laughter, she buries her face in Jackie Taylor’s shoulder as if the wide eyed girl alone is enough to stifle her little giggles. And, of course, when she starts giggling, Tai almost laughs as well. Van had to nudge her with her elbow. She might have been the only other Yellowjacket who sympathized with Melissa. When Melissa came out, Van was the one who helped her learn how to dress, how to feel comfortable now that she was no longer on the super feminine side of the spectrum. Sarcastic as she could be, Van actually liked Melissa.

It was ironic.

Melissa’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She would rather not relive one of the top ten most embarrassing moments of her life if she could help it. “Fuck you. You don’t scare me. None of you fucking scare me! You act like pretending that the rest of us don’t exist makes you a bunch of god damned kings, but it doesn’t! We’re still real people too! I’m still real, and I’m not going to keep taking shit off of you!”

Silence followed for a long moment. Nat snickered, then smirked. “Maybe you should be scared of me, Pissy Pants. Cause you aren’t taking my girl.” Natalie was usually so kind, so understanding, that this wasn’t like her. Sure, she was a little rough around the edges, but you couldn’t remember a single time where Nat was unnecessarily mean. This meant that Melissa had clearly stricken a nerve, which you guessed was fair. What happened next, though, was decidedly not fair.

Melissa had had enough. She’d had enough of fading into the background, enough of being made a fool of. She didn’t want to be a main character in this fucked up story, not really. But she didn’t want to keep quietly existing either. She had feelings. She was real. She existed! With a growl that would put even a tiger to shame, she rushed and launched herself at Nat. The thud that followed them both hitting the ground was so brutal that even you cringed. You were just barely able to get out of the way before the two girls began thrashing and rolling around, cussing each other to hell and back.

“Stop it!”, you shouted at the top of your lungs. “Stop it, both of you!” But your pleas went overhead, even though the music was significantly lower than it had been before. All eyes were on you. “Guys, can you please just knock it off?” You tried to break them apart until you caught an elbow to the face. You don’t know whose, but it decked you so hard that you staggered back and everything got quiet again. Even Melissa and Natalie were looking at you, wide eyed and shocked. Your nose felt all warm and tingly, so you reached up and gently touched your nose. Blood. You stared at the crimson liquid for a moment before shaking your head. “Oh, fuck this!”, you exclaimed bitterly before storming off.

Nat winced and detangled herself from Melissa. “Babe, wait, please-!”

Misty quickly grabbed Nat by the elbow, giving her a nervous smile. Misty Quigley, though a weird little loner, was one of the few people in the world that Nat actually liked and trusted. Although, she did love and care for all her teammates in some way. Misty was just different. Good different. “Just let her go, Nat. It’s Lottie’s house. What was the worst that could happen, right?”

So, you stormed off to the main house to get yourself together. You were in one of the Matthews’ many bathrooms with the sink running while you tried to clean yourself up. There was a knock at the door and then Melissa stuck her head in with an awkward, goofy smile. “Hey. I brought you some ice”, she awkwardly, nervously, holding up a small ziploc bag with ice in it. “I’m really sorry about-”

“Melissa, what the fuck was that?!”, you interrupted in pure astonishment. “You’re picking fights with Nat now?”

“I would say she picked a fight with me first”, Melissa murmured as she stepped fully into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. “She provoked me.”

“After you kissed me”, you muttered. It wasn’t accusatory. It was just a simple statement, the fact of the matter if you will. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Because I wanted to”, Melissa said, as if that was obvious. “I’ve always wanted to.”

“‘Because I wanted to’ is not a good enough explanation on randomly kissing your best friend at a party in front of her girlfriend”, you said flatly. This night had already caused you far more trouble than it was worth. Why couldn’t your life just be boring?

“It was the only way I could think of to get you to notice how I felt”, Melissa said quietly. “You see me, but you don’t always really see me. And I think… I think part of me likes having someone to revolve around. Like it makes me feel better about myself somehow. But I still… I still wanted you to notice. And you never did, because I’m not one of them.”

“One of who?”, you asked in confusion. “Melissa, you’re a Yellowjacket too!”

“But not in the way that you are!”, Melissa shouted, her frustration boiling over. “Not in the way that they are. You’re all, like, this tight knit little group that the rest of us can never reach. And you never even notice the rest of us, because you all date inside that group like an incestuous little family.”

“We do not-”

“Jackie and Shauna. Tai and Van. Lottie and Laura Lee”, Melissa listed off. “Hell, Crystal barely even existed until Misty started dating her. We don’t exist to you guys until one of you speaks to us. And the only reason you know that I exist is because we were friends before all this!”

“That’s not true.” Your face heats in indignation and a touch of embarassment. Was Melissa right? Were you and your friends all selfish, self centered assholes who didn’t acknowledge your fellow teammates until you had a reason to? No, surely not. Allie wasn’t part of the friend group, and- You inwardly cringed. And none of you tried to talk Tai out of her plan to freeze Allie out, which ended with the jv girl getting seriously hurt. Sure, some of you didn’t want to participate in Tai’s friends, but you didn’t try to stop her, did you? God, maybe you really are self centered assholes. “Don’t bring Laura Lee into this. She and Lottie deserve to be happy, really happy. You know their parents tried to convert them, and-”

“Did you know that Crystal’s real name isn’t even Crystal?”, Melissa interrupts. “It’s Kristen. You all got it wrong, and she never corrected you after she got nicknamed ‘Crystal the Pistol’, because she wanted to fit in. Or did you know that Robin cries so much because she wants to cry for her mom, except there is no mom to cry out for because her mom died. Or hell, did you even know that Gen is allergic to peanuts?”

It felt like way too much information all at once. “Crystal - Kristen - why would she - what?”, you stammered out. Because, unfortunately for you, you just couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that one of your teammates would lie about who she was. Weren’t you a safe enough space for a girl to at least correct you all on her name? “Robin’s mom… I didn’t…” And then, you think about Gen, which might be totally random, but what the fuck? “Why didn’t Gen say anything yesterday when I brought peanut butter cookies for everyone?” And then you were pouting, which only further proved Melissa’s point on how easily the main group got sidetracked when it came to your less interesting teammates. “I worked really hard on those cookies, man. I would’ve made something she could actually eat.”

“I dunno. She probably just didn’t want to hurt your feelings”, Melissa huffed.

You were silent for a moment. “...Did she eat the cookie?”

Melissa threw her hands up in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter whether or not she ate the god damned cookie!”

“I mean, it kinda does. She could’ve gotten really sick”, you mumbled. “I don’t want to be the reason she’s sick.”

“She probably gave it away. I get that you all think we’re dumb, but she wasn’t going to poison herself to make you happy”, Melissa scoffed bitterly. “You know what, never mind. Fuck this.”

“That’s not what I-” Your eyes widened a little as Melissa opened the door to leave. For what it was worth, you weren’t actually implying that Gen would have eaten that cookie just to spare you. You were only wondering what became of it, because you felt bad for giving it to her in the first place. You didn’t even think to check with Coach Martinez to see if any of your teammates were allergic to anything. You only knew that your friends weren’t, and fuck everyone else, huh? You groaned. You might have actually been a jerk. “Melissa, wait!”

You rushed after her, but the crowd had already swallowed you both whole and you couldn’t even see the top of her head. Panic swelled within your chest. You searched desperately for Melissa, but then a calloused hand caught your wrist. Nat. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You looked for Melissa once more, but still didn’t see anything. You practically deflated. “Nothing, I was just…” You weren’t sure what else to say. “My nose hurts. I couldn’t find my way to the kitchen for more ice.”

Nat’s gaze softened. “C’mere, princess. Let me look at you”, she said, guiding you away. You looked over your shoulder, but Melissa was still nowhere to be seen.

Later that night, you and Nat were making out in the backseat of your car. Typical Friday night, really. You were straddling her lap, her hands finding purchase on the small sliver of skin between your shirt and the band of your bottoms. It was all so familiar - the pressure of her hands, the squeak of the leather seats beneath your knees, the smearing of the fog on the window as your hand slipped down it. Nat knew all the right ways to touch you. She knew every place to caress in a way that would make you sing. She loved you. It was perfect. Normal. The usual thing that you expected.

So, why did it all feel so wrong?

You were thinking of Melissa, and that fact was driving you crazy. You weren’t even sure why. But you couldn’t help but to wonder if she was right. Were you only dating Nat because she was in the inner circle and you had never even thought of looking outside that? You loved Nat, but were you in love with her?

“Hey, um, actually, I don’t think I’m in the mood tonight”, you said softly, a little breathless.

Nat furrowed her brows in confusion. She hated to admit it, but she associated love with the physical aspect. She had reduced herself only to what her body was worth. So, when you wanted to stop, it felt like she had just been shot. But finally, finally, she nodded. “Yeah, okay, we don’t have to do this. We can just… talk.”

You gave Nat a sad smile. You didn’t want to just ditch her. That would be a little heartless. “Yeah, okay. We can just talk”, you agreed.

Natalie sat for a second, drumming her fingers against her thigh as she tried to think of something to say. “Did you know that Travis is dating Akilah?”, she blurted out.

You blinked before snorting. “Somehow, that makes no sense and perfect sense all at the same time.”

You and Nat sat in your car for hours, and then you dropped her off at Lottie’s, because she was still haunted by the idea of being at home. After that, you drove to Melissa’s house. You didn’t know why you did it. She probably didn’t want to see you. You drummed your fingers against your steering wheel, watched as she turned out every light in her room except for one single lamp. Definitely didn’t want to see you. But you wanted to see her. You needed to talk about… whatever the hell was going on between you tonight.

So, you scaled the siding of her house and climbed in through her window anyway. Melissa groaned the moment you landed with a thud on the carpet of her room. She was standing there in just a sports bra and boxers. Any other person seeing her like this would have made her embarrassed, but this wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen a thousand times before. “I knew I should have locked that stupid window.”

“You know, you’ve been doing a lot of talking today”, you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall. You’d seen these same forest green walls a million-and-one times. Forest green with large, pink leaves. “And you’ve been extra sassy.”

Melissa shrugged. “Maybe I’m just ready to be one of you now after all. Isn’t that what you do? Bitch at each other and then forgive each other?” You parted your lips to speak, but then quickly closed them. That was kind of what it was like. “You know, I thought I was ready to live my whole life in the shadows. I thought I could do it. But I don’t know if that’s really what I want anymore. I don’t like being seen. I want a quiet, boring life without a bunch of parties, or secrets, or lies, or drama. I want to meet a girl, and fall in love, and watch her walk down the aisle to me and know that she’s not thinking of someone else or wishing I was someone else. But I also don’t want to live my life being forgotten or an afterthought, or…”

Your gaze softened. “Melissa, you could never be an afterthought. And I would never forget you. It would be impossible to forget you.”

“But you never even considered me”, Melissa said quietly. “You just chose a girl who was, I don’t know, adjacent to me, but, I dunno, better? What does she have that I don’t?”

“It’s not about you lacking something or her having something”, you explained quickly. “It’s about feelings and - and - you’re my best friend.”

“Because I’m your best friend, you can’t ever fall in love with me?”, Melissa questioned. “Not even a little?”

“That’s not what I said”, you said quietly.

“I know you better than anyone else”, Melissa pointed out. “I know what your favorite color is. I know what time you take your meds everyday. I know - I know that you stopped needing an inhaler ages ago, but I still carry one on me just in case. I know what foods you love, and which ones you hate. Your favorite movies, what you sound like when you’re really laughing. So, why… Why was it never me?” She looked like she was on the verge of tears. You didn’t know what to say or do. But you knew that you hated watching the ocean in her eyes turn stormy. “Why was it never me?”

“It is you!”, you finally shouted, your head in your hands. “It was always you, okay? But it can’t - we can’t - it would change everything. It might ruin our friendship, and I-”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence. Before you could even think of saying anything else, Melissa had crossed the floor and kissed you again. Except this kiss lacked the innocence, the shyness, of your first kiss. It was passionate and hot and heavy and you couldn’t quite keep up. Was this really Melissa? Your Melissa, who was usually so sweet and brilliant and shy, kissing you like you were seconds away from filming a god damned porno? Where the fuck had she learned this? Who taught her this? Was it Shauna? You know she’d had a thing with Shauna. A very, very brief fling with Shauna that was really only an attempt to make Jackie jealous. (It worked.)

Melissa pulled back from you, just barely, as she began backing you towards her bed. She was a little breathless, her lips swollen from the kiss. “Whatever you’re thinking about, I need you to stop thinking about it. Think about me, please.”

You try. You try to put Natalie out of your mind. You try to stop wondering who taught your best friend to fuck like a god. But the little nagging voice in your head reminded you that this was wrong. That you had a girlfriend waiting for you. A wonderful, loving girlfriend. “But Natalie-”

“No”, Melissa said in frustration as she pushed you down onto the bed. Her voice was stern, lips pressed into a thin line. “Just… think of me for once, okay? Just think of me”, she whispered. You didn’t protest again. Would it really be so bad for you to have this? Just once? Melissa trailed open mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck, occasionally biting at the soft skin. At the same time, one of her hands trailed into the band of your pants. She didn’t move into your panties just yet. Instead, her fingers trailed downward, knuckles brushing over the dampness in the lace. “Is this for her or for me?” She looked directly in your eyes as she asked the question, her knuckles moving in slow circles.

You didn’t want to admit it. The word felt acrid on your lips. But you couldn’t manage to lie. “You”, you admitted quietly.

It seemed that that was all Melissa needed to hear. She finally slipped her hand into the band of your underwear, her fingers toying with your swollen clit until your breath catches in your throat and you’re whining, begging, for her to do something. Anything. You should have expected this. Even in friendly situations, Melissa always liked to tease you. She watched you squirm beneath her, listened to you plead for her, before finally gliding her fingers through your soft folds. Her fingers traced soft circles, teasing along the edge as if she had nothing better to do, before finally pushing a finger into your wetness. She’d never admit it out loud, but Melissa was still getting used to the intimacy part of being with girls. That meant she was also getting used to the way every girl felt a little different inside. Barely noticeable, maybe, but different all the same. You were tight, and warm, and so wet that it felt like extra slippery silk and Melissa might lose her mind over it.

She groaned, pushed in another finger. She watched your face - every twitch of your brow, the way your teeth sank into your bottom lip. That was encouragement, right? She pushed her fingers as deep as she could possibly get them, buried within you to the second knuckle. She moved slowly still, her eyes still watching your face. She wanted to learn your every response, every movement that made your breath hitch or your eyes flutter.

Your back arched the moment Melissa’s fingers started their slow, pleasurable torment against the damp heat of your skin. Every movement was tender and slow, but deliberate. Each stroke of your sensitive nerves like a question rather than a command. The words ‘do you like this?’ seemed to hang in the air without actually being said out loud. A strangled moan clawed its way up Melissa’s throat. She was enjoying this more than she ever thought possible. It was like she felt everything and nothing all at once. How wet you were, how her fingers were slick with the evidence of your neediness. The heat between the two of you pulsed like a heartbeat, almost palpable. Each stroke dragged a moan from you, each curl of her fingers against that particularly squishy, sensitive spot inside of you dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

You weren’t even sure what to focus on now - the intense look on her face? The flex of the muscles in her arm, the one that’s right next to your head, propping her up while she focuses so intently on pleasuring you. She wanted - needed - to make you feel good. Needed to take full advantage of this one, beautiful moment. She curled her fingers just right, right against the spot that made your legs tremble, over and over again. Your eyes met and, for a brief second, the air between you buzzed with something that ran far deeper than lust. Love. Affection. It was like trust made tangible. You pressed your hips forward, answering a silent question. Melissa’s thin lips curved up into a smile, a small one, before her fingers started moving again - deliberate and slow, like she already knew exactly how to unmake you.

It wasn’t just the way her fingers moved inside you, it was the way she whispered your name like it meant something sacred. This was more than just touch for her.

Melissa’s fingers picked up speed, just enough to bring you closer to the edge. Your breath stuttered, lips parted in a silent moan as Melissa’s fingers worked you deeper. It was like she was intent on torturing you, alternating between slow and deep and fast and hard. You both hated it and loved it at the same time. Every thrust was drawing you closer and closer to crescendo and you felt like you might burst. You blinked as your vision blurred around the edges. You reached up blindly with both hands, finding Melissa’s face, and pulling her into a kiss that was more like a cry - raw, desperate, real. Your mouths collided, hungry and uneven - teeth grazing, breaths mingling. You kissed her like you were trying to hold her together and unravel her all at the same time. It was that kiss, full of fire and passion and something dangerously close to love - that sent you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, the sound of her name muffled by the kiss. But you sobbed, too.

Because you knew that there was no going back from what you had just done.

[agyraty]

Jacob Black x Reader Pt 2

Part 1 Next Part

Wc. 1.1k

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Jacob had imprinted.

He didn't expect it to happen so soon, especially not with a girl he's never met before. Just a few weeks ago, he was sure his imprint would end up being Bella, that was until they were together for the first time since he shifted, and nothing happened.

He didn't know how to feel now that he knew you were his imprint, Happy, Disappointed? It was a mixture of things.

Right before he brought you inside the pack house, he made the others swear to tell you everything but imprinting. He didn't know why he did it, maybe it was because he'd rather you choose him out of your own feelings rather than some wolfy power telling you you had to be with him, or maybe it was because he was still caught up in the whole Bella situation. 

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Emily had given you a change of clothes from her closet, so you could have more than just a shirt to hide your naked body. After Jacob was finally able to coax you to calm down, you shifted back, completely naked due to your clothes ripping from your body during the shift. He looked away and pulled off his shirt, handing it to you. It didn't cover too much, but at least it went down to your knees. It was enough to make it to the house.

After you changed, the others, who were all like you, sat you down on the couch and explained what was happening to you and what it meant. They told you about the wolves and what their jobs were, which also told you that vampires existed. 

Never in a million years would you have thought vampires and werewolves existed, but here you were. You had so many questions and thoughts running through your head. You were a werewolf. Your job was to hunt down vampires and kill them.. Rip their heads off. 

You never thought your life would have any important meaning; you believed you were destined to finish school and live a boring life slaving away at some 9-10 job.

Sam, who you quickly learned was the pack leader, informed you about the hunt later that day, which you'd be joining to learn how they did things. A few vampires were in the area, and they were determined to take them down.

So here you were, a few hours later, standing with the others, your eyes darting around as they spoke amongst themselves. Safe to say, you were nervous. You didn't know what you were doing or if you'd even do it right. You could feel your heart pounding against your chest at the mere thought of messing up.

A hand landed on your shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts. You looked to the side, seeing Jacob stand beside you. “Relax.” His voice was gentle, mouth upturned in a smile that showed his perfectly white teeth. “You look like your gonna have a damn heart attack.” He chuckled softly at his own words.

Your skin burned around his hand in a way you couldn't explain. Your eyes met his, a small, nervous smile gracing your lips. “Just worried, you know. It's my first time. Who knows if I'll even do it right.” You admitted, eyes gazing down at your hands which were nervously fidgeting with each other.

“Don't be.” His hand gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his eyes never leaving your face. “I felt the same way my first time, but when you're shifted, and going after a vampire, it's sort of like instinct. Your body just knows exactly what to do.”

You looked back up at him, a more confident smile taking your lips. You felt a little better after what he said. You gave a small nod. “I hope so.” 

Your eyes met his, and you felt it again, the strange feeling in your chest, and the way your heart beat increased. Both of you just stared at each other, his hand never leaving your shoulder. That was until Sam's loud voice snapped you back into reality. Your back straightened, and your eyes went to look at him.

“There's one in the area, it's time to go. You all know what to do.” And with his words, everyone began to shift, including you.

You were all running quickly through the woods, chasing the scent. Somehow, you knew what you were smelling was a vampire, must be that instinct Jacob informed you about. The farther you all went, the stronger it got.

After a while, you could hear two voices in the distance speaking to each other, and the scent only getting stronger. It seems all your senses were enhanced due to your new power.

You were all led to a small plain, one where all the grass and plants were dead, most likely from the winter cold. It must be beautiful in the spring. You shook that from your mind as your eyes landed on two figures, one of whom you recognized..

Bella, the daughter of one of your dad's friends. You and she were never friends, more like acquaintances. She never seemed to be happy to speak to you, but it didnt bother you much, you didnt particularly like her. There was always something about her that never sat right with you.

You watched as she spoke to the man, who you could now tell was the vampire, and she seemed scared. Whod blame her, it was a freaking vampire.

You watched as Sam slowly revealed himself first from the thick trees, standing tall and snarling at the vampire. Bella looked like she had pissed herself, taking a few steps back, while Laurent only narrowed his eyes. You could just tell this man wasn't going to be hard to kill.

“See you soon.” He bid farewell to Bella before running in the opposite direction, Sam and the others following quickly. Jacob wasn't lying; your body was acting on instinct. All you knew was that you wanted to kill him.

Laurent threw Sams body in the opposite direction, but it didn't take long for him to stand up again. You all quickly chased him into the woods. 

You did notice something.. Odd, before following the others. 

Jacob paused for a moment, standing right in front of Bella, his eyes softening slightly as he stared at her with a look of longing.

He seemed to snap himself out of his thoughts, running behind the others while she took off in the other direction, tripping over her feet a few times.

˚☽˚｡⋆𓃦 ˚☽˚｡⋆

[wanderingxrivers]

I've done it! I have a finished object! Finally seamed together the panels for the Peek A Boo Tee (https://www.kniftyknittings.com/the-peek-a-boo-tee-free-pattern/) just in time to wear it for mandatory fun at my job in a couple of weeks. Slowly bit surely working my way through all my WIPs so I can cast on even more things.

[exopelagic]

i said i wouldn’t do it this time but it’s 3am and mods asleep. boy

[novaimperia]

★ asking roommate!sukuna if he’ll pretend to be your boyfriend

“what? no?”

at the moment, you’re both at a frat party you didn’t know the other would be at. if you knew sukuna would be here you still would have gone but, judging by the look of complete and utter irritation on his face, he probably wouldn’t say the same. actually, it was pretty funny to walk into the party, make eye contact with him and watch that ‘you’ve got to be fucking with me’ look manifest in his body language. 

what isn’t as funny is the weird guy in your lecture who can’t take a hint and keeps touching you. he’s here now and the shudders running up and down your body tells you very clearly he’s aware of your presence and has plans to do something about it. 

“sukuna, please. i’ll owe you one.”

sitting on a packed sofa, legs spread, he scowls up at you, piercings glinting with the movement. “i don’t need you to owe me one.”

“sukuna, come on. you’re a scary motherfucker, just be touchy with me for a second and intimidate him.”

he takes a swig of his beer. “put your big girl panties on and tell him to fuck off.”

okay, so clearly he’s not going to change his mind anytime soon. groaning, you stomp away from him and to your friends. you both walk over to the kitchen, intent to enjoy this party to the fullest. shots go down in flashes, music blares and deafen, you sway and grind and laugh. nothing will take away this burst of youth where recklessness meets lack of conceivable consequences. 

that’s what you think, anyway, until sweaty hands start rubbing your shoulders. you stiffen. 

“aw, you didn’t need to wear something so slutty for me. you’ve already got my attention.”

you can’t see your friends anymore – there are too many people, too tightly packed together, the lights are too dim and the music too loud to do something about the body pressed up behind you. hairs on your arm standing on end, you fight the disgust recoiling deep in your bones and firmly say, “i’m sorry, i’m really not interested. please leave me alone.”

“don’t be like that, baby. i see the way you look at me.” gripping your hips, he tugs you hard back into him when you try to shuffle away. his clutch is punishing and his nails dig into your skin. you hiss. “let’s go back to my place and i’ll show you a good time.”

pulling you away with him, your friends disappear in the crowd. you’re powerless against his strength. he’s too eager, too clumsy, too drunk to even have any semblance of sense. guys like him are dangerous. guys like him get what they want. guys like him don’t stop at ‘no.’ “let me go! let me fucking go!”

“don’t be a bitc–”

“you hard of hearing or something?” sukuna yanks the guys away by his collar, snatching him up like a puppy. “get the fuck outta here before i beat your ass.”

the guy scoffs, forcing a bravado on. "who the h-hell are you? this is none of your business; she's my girl."

sukuna takes a step forward. a cruel sneer twists his face into something dark, something sinister, practically malevolent. "yeah? explain to me how she finds her way into my bed then."

people are whispering; they've noticed the scene playing out. some are already getting their phones out to record, hoping for a fight. others are taking a step back. they whisper your roommate's name like it's a curse. it reaches your creepy classmate even through his drunken stupor. 

"s-shit." he raises his hands in surrender. "listen man, i didn't know she's with you. i swear. i'll go, alright? just forget about it."

personally unsure why he switched up so quickly when he was doing a fine enough job pretending sukuna's height itself wasn't pissy pants-inducing, you don't dare say a word that might bring his attention back to you. instead, you huddle a little closer to your roommate, who doesn't shake you off when you pinch his shirt for comfort. just like that, the guy that's been bothering you for weeks fades in the background, never to be seen again. hopefully. 

you sigh. “thanks, sukuna.”

he grunts. he’s about to leave, to go back to minding his own business and pretending he doesn’t know you, but then, as if he can’t really help it and he hates himself for it, he eyes you up and down. in that moment, whatever he sees, whatever assessment he makes of your appearance, contrasted with the scene you two find yourself in, urges him to say something that almost sounds painful, so unnatural, so alien to him it brings a shit-eating grin to your face. 

“i’m bored with this place. let’s go…” he winces, rolling his shoulder back. “let’s go home.”

[artficlly]

his girls [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x reader alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, alpine is a troublemaker, secret dating, swearing, kissing, alcohol, tony knows all, natasha too, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: hello! once again a fic no one asked for lol. i'm supposed to be on hiatus buuut i took some time this afternoon to write this because i'm procrastinating a uni assignment. i'm sure this concept has been done before, but i was thinking about that scene in rivals with the dog (iykyk) and yeah! step away from the usual angst and heartbreak i normally provide you all with. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You were careful.

Or at least, you thought you were careful.

For months, you and Bucky had kept your relationship under wraps. It wasn’t that you wanted to keep secrets from the team, but there was something thrilling about stolen moments and hushed conversations. About Bucky’s hand on the small of your back as he guided you through a crowded room, or the way he’d brush a kiss against your temple before disappearing down the hall.

You figured no one had noticed.

Until today.

It all started with one of many white hairs stuck to your t-shirt.

Natasha plucked it off you mid-conversation one morning in the kitchen while you were praying—desperately—to whatever all-seeing god might finally make the coffee machine work faster. Between the groaning, spluttering sounds and the blinking lights, it felt like the damn thing was possessed. With flawlessly manicured nails, Natasha held the hair up to the morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the compound.

“Is this Alpine’s fur?” she mused aloud, twirling the long, pale strand between her fingers.

“Probably.” you replied absently, more concerned with the coffee machine’s latest refusal to cooperate. You jabbed the buttons harder, ignoring the way Natasha’s eyes flickered with something dangerously close to amusement. 

“For all of Tony’s money, you’d think we’d have a coffee machine that actually works,” you grumbled.

“Turn around?” Natasha asked. There was a particular lilt to her voice, that barely concealed intrigue she tried—and failed—to mask whenever she was onto something. It set you on edge instantly, the tone that meant she was clicking a mystery into place, giddy with excitement beneath a thin veil of indifference. You didn’t trust it for a second.

“No, just—” You smacked the machine in frustration. It whined pathetically before the lights blinked off entirely. You let out a long, exasperated groan. “Why won’t this stupid fucking thing ever work—”

“Jesus, you’re covered in it—”

You froze mid-motion as Natasha yanked at your shirt, effectively grooming you like a monkey. Her sharp lips had turned up into a wicked smirk, the type of smirk that made dread pool in your gut. 

“Everything is covered in her fur,” you said quickly, still trying for casual. You reached for the plug, praying Natasha would drop it. “She sheds everywhere, especially on the couch.”

“Mm.” Natasha tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “And yet, I thought Tony hired cleaners for that? Especially with Kate always bringing Lucky around?”

You yanked the plug from the socket a little too forcefully. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t know. I just want this damn machine to work.”

Right on cue, a familiar voice rumbled behind you.

“Machine giving you trouble again?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest before resuming its normal rhythm—though maybe a little faster. You turned just as Bucky strolled in, looking frustratingly good despite the early hour. His hair was a little dishevelled, sleep still clinging to him in a way that made him look too soft for someone who could snap a man’s spine in half.

“There’s a trick to it, remember?” He stepped in close beside you, skin brushing yours as he reached for the machine. The scent of his aftershave lingered, warm and familiar. You tried—and failed—not to watch the way the muscles in his forearm tensed, veins shifting beneath his skin as he pressed a series of buttons.

“Barnes, you’ve got cat hair all over you,” Natasha noted, not even bothering to be subtle. You didn’t dare look at her. Instead, you busied yourself wringing your hands, pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of Bucky standing so damn close.

“Huh?” Bucky barely spared a glance at his shirt, where Alpine’s fur was unmistakably clinging to the fabric. “Oh. Yeah, guess I do. She always wants attention in the morning.”

Then, with one final smack, the machine roared to life. The rich aroma of coffee filled the air as liquid finally poured into your mug. You sighed in sheer relief.

“There you go,” Bucky said, looking down at you with a small smile, a few strands of dark hair falling across his forehead.

Your stomach did a stupid little flip. You smiled back, warmth creeping into your face. “Thanks.”

The machine beeped again, snapping you back to reality. You quickly grabbed the mug with both hands, muttered another thanks, and let Natasha tug you away.

“What was that?” She hissed, voice low as she turned to you with narrowed eyes.

“Huh?” You weren’t entirely listening to her words. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. You could still see Bucky standing in the kitchen, both hands braced on the counter as he waited for his own coffee. His back was turned, but even through the thin material of his fur-covered t-shirt, you could see the way his muscles shifted beneath it—

Natasha didn’t even humour your innocence. She crossed her arms. “You and Barnes?” 

“What about him?” You mumbled, pulling your gaze away as the elevator dinged, doors sliding open.

Her lips twitched, amusement clear. “Are you two—?”

You made a face at her. “What are you on about?” 

Natasha didn’t look convinced, but she let it go.

For now.

As the elevator hummed and Bucky was cut from your view as the doors shut, you took a sip of coffee, the liquid a few degrees between too hot and burning. It scalded your tongue, and with the phantom smell of Bucky’s aftershave no longer haunting you, you felt your mind snap back into action.

Right. Focus.

“We’re going to be late for the meeting,” you declared, shaking your head. “And that damn machine is the reason. You know what? Let’s take a detour to Stark’s lab and demand a better one.”

Natasha chuckled, pressing the button for a different floor.

“I like the way you think.”

—

You knew Alpine would be your downfall.

The little white menace was notoriously selective. If you weren’t Bucky, she wanted nothing to do with you. Everyone at the compound had suffered her wrath at least once—Sam even had the scars to prove it. Alpine liked to play dangerous games that usually ended in blood or a yowl of pain. You swore the Avengers bled more dealing with the feline than fighting aliens, wizards, or whatever else tried to obliterate Earth every other week. She was a cunning little creature, lurking around corners, hiding under tables, prowling along bookshelves. And just when you least expected it—bam. Teeth and claws bared, she would pounce, latching on like a tiny, vengeful spectre. This was her idea of fun. The Avengers had learned to tread carefully, tip-toeing around the compound whenever they knew she wasn’t safely curled up in Bucky’s room, where she ruled with an iron paw.

So, when you sat down on the couch one evening, and Alpine immediately hopped onto your lap, you knew you were fucked.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t so much as sniff at you in consideration before curling right up, purring loud enough to be heard over the football game droning on in the background—which you were only half paying attention to. 

You stiffened, caught between awe at the rare privilege and sheer dread at the witnesses currently gaping at you.

Bucky, for his part, had been sitting at the other end of the couch, flirting with danger in his usual way—stolen glances, conveniently placed touches as he shifted in place. Alpine, just as obsessed with him as you were (Bucky had taken to calling you both ‘his girls’ in private, which always managed to make you swoon.), had immediately perched in his lap when he sat down. Only when he carefully pried her off to grab another round of beers did the little white she-beast decide you were a worthy substitute, strutting over with lazy, languid confidence before settling down, blissfully unaware of what she had just unleashed.

The room fell into stunned silence. Several pairs of eyes locked onto you, breath collectively held. They were waiting for the yowl, for the inevitable attack, for you to tense up and leap to your feet in pain. But to your horror, the little sadist simply settled in. Cosy, unbothered, as if this had been the plan all along.

“Okay, what the hell is this?” Sam finally demanded, pointing an accusing finger.

You blinked down at Alpine, then up at Sam, stroking the soft fur like nothing was amiss. “Uh… a cat?” 

You were foolish and desperate enough to pretend this was completely normal, to gaslight the others into believing Alpine was a perfectly gentle and affectionate cat. A sweet, loving companion. Not a tiny, vengeful menace who had terrorised them all—and definitely not a creature who had only warmed up to you in recent months because you spent more time in Bucky’s bed than your own.

“The same cat that tried to claw out my eyeball for getting too close? And now she’s just—” He gestured wildly at Alpine, who flicked her tail with the smugness of a queen on her throne. “—cuddling with you like you’re her best buddy?”

“She likes me, I guess.” You blinked innocently, turning back to the TV, hoping he would drop it, but Sam, ever the dramatic, was not satisfied.

“Are you kidding me? That cat has tried to kill me.”

Natasha snorted into her drink. 

Alpine smugly licked her paw before resting her head upon your thigh and blinking her wide blue eyes at Sam, who shook his head with an exaggerated shudder.  “This is bullshit, and you know it—”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like you, Sam.” You huffed, scratching Alpine behind her ears. “She’s always been fine with me.”

“That is not true!” 

“She took a chunk out of my arm once,” Natasha added, ever the instigator.

“Remember when I gave her a treat and she bit me?” Steve piped up.

Bucky returned at that moment, frowning as he saw the conversation unfolding before him. You turned to him with wide, desperate eyes, silently pleading for help. Alpine, the little traitor, merely pressed her pink nose to your hand, rubbing her face against you with a contented sigh.

“She only likes people she’s comfortable with,” Bucky offered, setting the beers down with a clink, but his pitiful attempt to be helpful only added fuel to the fire.

The room exploded into a series of overlapping voices.

“I didn’t realise you spent so much time with Alpine?” Natasha’s sharp gaze flicked between you and Bucky, her smirk primed to taunt you both. 

“Buck, doesn’t she spend all her time in your room—?” Steve leaned forward, forearms braced against his thighs, invested now.

Sam jolted upright like he’d just solved a murder case. “Now, hold on a second—”

“You have been covered in cat fur a lot lately,” Natasha mused. “And you two have been suspiciously close—”

As you glanced over at Bucky, you couldn’t tell if his repeated blunders were intentional or borne out of genuine panic. He cleared his throat, his brows raising as he casually popped off the cap of one of the beers with his vibranium thumb in faux nonchalance.

“Coincidence.” He muttered with a shrug, tipping back a mouthful of the brew. 

Alpine, completely oblivious (or entirely aware of the chaos she’d caused), didn’t budge as Bucky sat back down beside you, levelling you with a look that screamed we are so screwed.

“You two aren’t even going to try to lie?” Natasha pressed.

“Lie about what?” You feigned innocence, but the act was flimsy at best. The jig was well and truly up.

Bucky, clearly done with this little charade, let out a long-suffering sigh that might’ve sounded exasperated if not for the telltale smirk tugging at his lips. Without another word, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you effortlessly against his chest, Alpine still coiled contentedly in your lap. The smug little she-beast didn’t even stir. She just purred loudly—too loudly, like she was taking credit for the entire thing.

“Wait a second!” Sam pointed a dramatic finger between the two of you. “How long has this been happening?”

“How long has what been happening?” Tony strolled into the room, a glass of amber liquid that looked suspiciously like whiskey in hand.

“Her,” Steve announced, gesturing between the both of you. “And Barnes.”

Tony didn’t even blink. “Oh, I already knew that. You didn’t know that?”

Bucky turned so fast you were surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.  “You what?”

“Oh, come on,” Tony drawled, making himself comfortable on the armrest of the couch like this was all just another day at the office. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice her sneaking out of your room at ungodly hours for the past six months? F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept flagging intruders, and, shocker—it was just you two, utterly failing at stealth.”

Sam threw up his hands. “Did you say six months?!”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but instead of answering, he just turned to you and, without hesitation, kissed you.

It was sudden but warm, his lips soft against yours like he’d been waiting for an excuse. The room erupted into even more noise, Sam shouting something unintelligible, Natasha making a sound of smug satisfaction, and Steve groaning like he should’ve known, but it all faded into the background.

You laughed against Bucky’s lips, breathless but entirely unbothered. “This is definitely her fault.”

Alpine, still purring in your lap like the devious little mastermind she was, flicked her tail.

Bucky just hummed, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Not complaining, though.”

And, truthfully, neither were you.

[em1i2a3]

Crying Lightning

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Lab Tech!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You have been studying a flower that Bucky brought back from one of his missions. When Bob comes to visit you in the labs to bring you lunch and messes with the unbloomed item you realize the sinister effects of it very quickly.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Ahem…We got a sex pollen fic, so there is smut, and fluff afterwards, and aftercare as well. Reader and Bob are close, and both of them have feelings for one another but it has all gone unspoken…Until now at least lol. There is swearing too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (…Y’all know what I’m gonna say. Wrap it up), Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Handjob, There’s a little bit of dominance from Bob/Sentry…And he talks you through it ahhahahahahah (oh god), Messy/Sensual Sex, There are like hints of primal energy sprinkled in here, but nothing too major, there’s mentioning of pheromones and stuff like that, Praise/Worship Kink, Spitting, Dirty Talk, Scratching, Some Choking (not rough), Cum eating, Aftercare.

Author’s Note: Woot Woot! We love a good sex pollen fic lol. Did I expect to be writing one? No. But I’ve always liked the concept and I’m so glad @mccinnamon-bun asked me to do this! Thank you <3, I really loved writing it! So so fun! Enjoy!

Word Count: 15,684

“I brought you something,” Bucky announced, stepping into your lab just as the doors slid open with their usual quiet hiss.

You didn’t look up right away. Perched cross-legged on the edge of your workbench, you were half-buried in mission reports that were a week overdue, scribbling notes with one hand and nursing a cold cup of coffee in the other. Your head snapped up, however, the second you heard the rustle of fabric and gear–a familiar sound you’d grown used to distinguishing in crowded hallways.

Bucky stood in the entryway, wind-tousled and still in partial tactical gear. The sleeves of his black shirt were pushed up to the elbows, revealing the flex of muscle and dull gleam of vibranium beneath. He had a look in his eye that was hard to read–half sheepish, half pleased with himself–and he was already fishing through one of the many compartments in his bag. He didn’t speak again until he pulled something out with a sort of slow care.

”Ta da.” You raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him pull something from his bag like it was a treasure he’d smuggled across enemy lines. You hopped off the bench with a soft thud and crossed the room toward him, curiosity instantly piqued–mostly because Bucky Barnes was not one to say ‘ta da’. Not unless he was hiding something behind that half-smirk of his.

Your eyes immediately caught sight of what he was holding.

The flower hadn’t bloomed yet, but even in its dormant state, it was breathtaking. The outer petals were tightly furled, each one smooth and iridescent like the type you would find on shells of certain mollusks–but it was shaded in a gradient you couldn’t quite place. They started as an inky, oil-slick blue at the base, then rippled out into smoky violets and blushing wine tones near the tips. Delicate veins shimmered faintly across the surface, catching the lab lights with a strange metallic luster, almost like the petals were dusted in powdered silver.

The stem curved gently, a deep green tinged with gold, and the leaves were narrow, slightly translucent, and lined with fine threads of coppery red. Even when it wasn’t fully bloomed, it had an energy to it. A heat, almost. As if it were responding to the proximity of warm skin and breath. You squinted at it.

”Bucky, if this is your idea of asking me out on a date, you really need to brush up on your courting skills.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter, head dropping forward briefly with a grin.

“Hey,” He said, handing the flower over to you carefully, “You’re the one who told me, if I saw anything weird, unknown, alien, or otherwise ‘botanically suspicious,’ I should bring you back a sample.” You gingerly accepted the stem, trying not to touch the tightly closed bud itself.

”Yeah, I meant specifiers, not some interstellar looking thing.” You shot back. He leaned against a nearby counter.

”Don’t say I never do anything for you.” He commented back. You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth betrayed your fondness.

”You absolutely broke every rule of containment protocol by walking this thing straight into my lab, but…” You gave the top of the flower another slow once-over, still entranced, “Thanks for thinking of me.” You turned, crossing to your bench and plucking a clean beaker from the rack. You filled it with a few inches of distilled water, and set the flower inside, watching it float just enough to stay upright. The petals didn’t open, but they flexed slightly–like they were stretching, or drinking the water you had put the stem in.

”So,” You started, glancing over your shoulder to where Bucky was still leaning, “Where’d you find it?” You asked, watching him give you a small, casual shrug.

”There was a patch of them, right off the tree line. I spotted them on my way back to the quinjet. Figured I’d snatch one up before anyone else trampled it.” You hummed, turning your head away–not noticing the way his gaze lingered on the flower for a beat too long. You were too busy cataloguing the possibilities in your head. It was too vibrant to be terrestrial, but it wasn’t necessarily alien. Possibly hybridized. The energy you felt coming off of it could’ve been psychosomatic–but you weren’t one to write something off without running tests.

“And you’re sure no one else touched them?” You asked, looking back over at him to see if you can spot any of the tells he had when he was lying. His brow lifted toward you.

”I mean…I touched one obviously.” You gave him a pointed look, and he immediately held up both hands.

”Didn’t eat it. Didn’t stick it up my nose. I was the only one that touched anything. Scout’s honor.” You snorted, and shook your head.

”Alright, Barnes…I’ll bite. I’ll run some diagnostics. Spectrograph, chemical composition, basic pollen analysis when it blooms…All the sciencey things that you don’t understand, then I’ll get back to you.” He gave you a mock salute and pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, going toward the door.

”Just make sure you name it after me if it ends up trying to kill you.”

”Noted,” You called, “But if it ends up giving me superpowers instead, I’ll be naming it after myself.” He was still laughing as the door slid shut behind him. You turned back to the flower, now gently swirling in the water–its petals flexing once more, as if hearing your voice. You leaned in just a touch, and breathed in slightly.

You could’ve sworn it hadn’t smelled like anything before, but now…

Now it smelled faintly of summer rain, citrus, and the soft trace of jasmine. It was warm, soft, and inviting, like it was trying to beckon you to come closer to it. You straightened slowly, then reached blindly across the workbench for a spare sheet of scrap paper, grabbing the pen you had tucked behind your ear.

”Initial scent: None. Notable change after water exposure–New profile: humid, citrus notes, floral base (jasmine like). Unsettling–shift occurred in under two minutes.” You tapped the end of your pen lightly against your chin, your gaze never leaving the beaker. The flower was still half-closed, petals fluttering slightly in the water like they were breathing–like they were aware. The surface tension of the liquid shimmered faintly around the base of the stem, as though reacting to something within the plant.

You didn’t like that.

Flowers didn’t just change their chemical profile that fast. Not unless they were highly volatile. Not unless they were engineered.

A muscle tensed along your jaw.

You slid the note aside and moved quickly now, grabbing a glass containment dome from one of the side drawers–a heat-tempered cloche you typically used when running long-term decay tests on bio-samples. It wasn’t hermetically sealed, but it would be enough to contain most airborne particulates.

Just in case.

You placed it gently over the beaker and the flower with practiced care, watching as the edges sealed against the bench with a soft thunk. The scent dimmed immediatel-ybut didn’t vanish. It clung to the air like it had already soaked into the fibers of your clothes, your skin.

You took a step back, and another, suddenly aware of the way the heat of the room felt a degree too warm.

Your eyes narrowed. You made another note.

“Mild thermal increase noted (subjective). Investigate potential volatile compounds. Possible synthetic ancestry. Unknown reaction to water exposure–possible activation trigger?”

You stood still for a moment longer, arms crossed over your chest now, staring at the flower like it might start humming.

Then you exhaled through your nose, gave your head a small shake, and muttered, “Okay, mystery plant. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

You turned on your heel and crossed to the far side of the lab, grabbing gloves, pipettes, and a test slide. You didn’t see the way the petals quivered beneath the glass dome. Or the way the center of the bud pulsed–slowly, rhythmically–as if something within it had begun to wake.

You were too busy prepping your tools.

You’d get your first sample from the outermost edge of the petal, where a small amount of condensation had begun to form–right where the flower had interacted with the water. It wasn’t much. Just enough to suggest a subtle chemical discharge. A secretion, maybe. Or pollen.

Your gloved fingers hovered just beside the dome.

You paused.

A thought scratched quietly at the back of your mind, the way instincts sometimes do when they’re not fully formed.

You didn’t ignore it.

You stepped back again.

Instead of removing the dome outright, you retrieved your small fume extractor arm—used mostly for soldering–and wheeled it over until its head hovered just above the cloche’s apex. You flicked the switch, and a soft hum filled the room as the extractor began to filter the air directly above the sample.

Another note:

“Smell is still detectable after containment. Strong. Possibly psychoactive. Proceeding with caution.”

Still, despite your wariness, you found yourself walking back toward the glass.

One more glance. Just to be sure.

The flower was still closed–but now its bud looked fuller. Like it had begun to swell. One of the petals had unfurled the tiniest bit. Barely a sliver.

But just enough for you to see a glint of gold pollen resting in the shadows of its center.

It shimmered like dust caught in a sunbeam.

You stared.

And then, carefully, you reached over to your comm unit and tapped the call button for your assistant team over in the biocontainment lab.

“Hey,” You said when the line clicked open, voice low. “I’ve got a…Weird one. Found by Barnes. It’s stable, but I want a second containment unit prepped in case things escalate.”

A pause on the line. Then:

“Escalate how?”

You glanced back at the flower. That scent. That impossible shimmer. You didn’t know yet.

“Just…Prep it,” You replied. “I’ll send over a sample in a few.”

And then you muted the line.

You looked down at the flower one more time.

It was no longer just beautiful.

It was waiting.

———————

It had been three days since Bucky dropped the flower off, and by this time it had bloomed. Not delicately, and certainly not in the way flowers usually did–with gradual graceful predictability. No. This thing had opened like it knew it was being watched and studied by you.

When you came down to your lab the morning after Bucky brought you the mysterious flower, the petals had fully unfurled–broad, sweeping things with a high-gloss sheen and hypnotic gradients that shifted from gold to scarlet to bruise-dark purple depending on the light. The stamen in its center now pulsed visibly, a slow inhale-exhale rhythm that made the entire structure look…Alive. The pollen shimmered every time it moved, a near-invisible cloud that never seemed to settle but floated in still air like it was defying gravity. Or logic.

You had kept it sealed tight under the reinforced cloche, and had the triple-filtered vents on and the entire section of the lab cordoned off with containment protocols. Your notes had doubled in size, and still, nothing definitive had come back from the biocontainment team. There were just vague updates telling you that they were behind on other specimens and that they would get around to it when they could.

So you worked around it. You monitored. You wrote. You catalogued symptoms–your own included, though they were still annoyingly ambiguous: mild temperature spikes, random surges of adrenaline, difficulty concentrating in bursts. But no rash, no lesions, no hallucinations. There was a kind of pressure, similar to urgency but just on the cusp of it, desire maybe–but for what, you had no clue. You had only inhaled a bit of the pollen and hadn’t been exposed since, so you didn’t dwell on it–not with your schedule stacked, and not with your own lab being as backed up as it was.

You were just rinsing a pipette when the door to the lab slid open with a soft hiss.

”H-Hey,” Came the voice you’d come to recognize more easily than your own thoughts lately. You didn’t need to look up to know that it was Bob, but you did anyways, just to catch a glimpse of him.

He was towering and soft-shouldered in a dark grey hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, worn sweatpants hugging the curve of his hips, and his crown of light brown hair was in absolute disarray, like he had it tied up and decided to let the locks fall free in front of his face. He looked like someone who didn’t have the slightest clue what he did to people around him, and he truly didn’t know.

The plastic takeout bag in his hand swung gently as he stepped inside, smiling at you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Brought y-you lunch.” Your stomach growled at the word lunch, and it echoed through the moment of silence that settled between you, which only made Bob’s grin stretch wider.

”Let me guess,” You started, pulling off your gloves and throwing them into the biohazard bin, “You timed this perfectly because you knew my stomach would start making monstrous noises, didn’t you?”He shrugged, with a small smirk on his face, setting the bag down on your cleared desk near one of your monitors.

”You skipped b-breakfast.” You held out a finger.

”No no…I postponed breakfast.” He shook his head.

”You always p-postpone breakfast,” He said, moving past you to pour you a cup of water from the cooler, his big hands making it look smaller than what it actually was, “And if I d-dont show up with something d-decent by 2 p.m, you would just end up inhaling the vending machine c-crackers and freeze-dried apple s-slices…Which is not s-sustainable i-in the slightest.” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his comments.

”Seems like someone has been watching me a bit too closely.” He turned and handed you the water, fingers brushing yours as he didn. His hands were boiling as usual, and it left the paper cup feeling warm from where his fingers had been holding it. His eyes lingered on your face a beat longer than necessary.

”I-I always watch you c-closely,” He said softly, like it slipped out before he could catch it. Immediately his eyes glanced down away from you, dropping to the floor for a second, before flicking away toward the cluttered end of your bench like he suddenly remembered a far more interesting smudge on the tile. His cheeks were red–not just a flush, not just a tinge, but a slow bloom of color climbing from the collar of his hoodie up to the tips of his ears.

You said nothing in response. Not because you didn’t notice–because you did. More because if you said anything, if you so much as looked at him with any kind of expression that acknowledged the truth buried in his voice, he might self-destruct on the spot. So instead, you took a slow sip of the water he handed you, letting the quiet hum of the lab fill the air between the both of you.

Then you turned on your heel toward the takeout bag.

”So what’s on the menu today, Chef Bob?” You asked lightly, pulling the plastic open and peeking inside, “Please tell me it’s not another one of your hot dog stir-fry’s.” He let out a groan.

”Listen…I-It was one time, I-I know nobody was a fan of it.” You grinned as you pulled out a tinfoil-wrapped container, unraveling it with careful fingers. A rich, savoury scent wafted up–soy and sesame and something sweet under it, like cane sugar with more of a freshness that was unexpected, “So what am I looking at?”

”Sticky rice, soy-glazed chicken, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “T-There’s some grated g-granny smith apple in the glaze…C-Cause I didn’t have honey.” You raised your eyebrows.

”Pretty decent alternative.” You replied.

”Yeah,” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, “You know how S-Sentry gets with processed s-sugars in his system. Makes him a-all buzzy.” You let out a soft laugh.

”So this is officially Sentry-approved, then?”

“F-For the most part,” He mumbled, “I-I think you’re the real t-test though.” That made you pause, glancing up at him, still holding the half-unwrapped meal in your hands, finding his gaze had landed on you again. This time it held something quiet but vulnerable. Expectant, even. Like he really cared what you thought.

And that was the difference between Bob and everyone else–you knew he didn’t make things just to impress. He made them because it gave him joy to offer them. He brought you food not because he wanted credit–but because he worried you wouldn’t eat otherwise. He brought you books because he remembered which ones made your eyes light up. He let you take his blood every month without protest, even when the Sentry made his pulse unpredictable or his veins hard to find, because he trusted you with every part of him–even that. And because of those little things, you always made sure to praise him.

Even when he burned the eggs.

Even when the pasta came out overcooked.

Even when the hot dog stir-fry almost gave you heartburn.

You forked a bite of the rice and chicken, chewed, and let your eyes widen a bit as the warmth hit your tongue. “Okay. Wait. This is actually good.”

He blinked, caught between shock and a smile. “Y-you don’t have to lie.”

“I would lie,” You said, pointing at him with your fork. “But not this convincingly. This? Bob. It’s delicious.” He looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with the praise. He rocked back slightly on his heels, running a hand through his already-messy hair, trying to hide the shy little grin that was pulling at the corners of his mouth. You watched the way his fingers threaded through the strands, the way his forearms flexed under the soft stretch of the hoodie.

You took another bite and leaned against the counter beside him, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

“Y’know,” You said between chews, “If Val found out you were secretly good at this, she’d start expecting meals during debriefs.”

”She’d want a report first,” He said, playing along, “T-Then she’d make Walker taste it for poison.” The both of you laughed lightly. The silence that followed was companionable. Safe. You brushed your shoulder lightly against his as you leaned forward to set the food container down beside the monitor.

His body went still at the contact.

Not because he didn’t want it. But because he did. You knew that reaction well by now–the micro-freeze, the way he’d let the warmth of your hand or arm settle into him like he was still learning he could have it. That it was for him.

You let your arm linger against his for just a second longer.

Then you pulled back, slow and easy.

He looked at you from the side of his eye. His voice was low when he spoke.

”H-How’s the flower?” You glanced toward the containment dome instinctively. The petals shimmered under the harsh lab light, colors shifting in slow gradients like they were part of something fluid, something still breathing. It looked even larger today. Full-bodied. Restless.

“Still haven’t heard anything back from the biocontainment lab,” You said, turning back to Bob and picking up your fork again. “Apparently they’re still backed up from the Skrull fungus incident.”

His face pulled slightly. “God…D-Don’t remind me of t-that.” You nodded grimly.

“I won’t…But this?” You took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “No movement. Just… opened. Big. Loudly. Like it knew I was looking at it.” Bob followed your glance as you continued to speak, “I breathed in a little bit of the pollen when I first got it–just a trace. It made me really warm. Flushed. But otherwise nothing dramatic. No side effects. No changes. So I think it was just my body reacting to whatever compound it’s putting off–probably a weird hybridization. Something experimental maybe.” Bob’s brow furrowed at this comment.

”You s-should’ve been wearing a m-mask.” You huffed a laugh, nudging your shoulder into his again.

”Please, I’m pretty sure I’ve been exposed to worse.”

“S-Sure,” He said quietly, his gaze fixed on you now, “B-But definitely not like this.” There was something layered in his voice—concern wrapped around protectiveness, softened by something you didn’t dare name.

You didn’t say anything to it. Just took another bite of the meal he made, let the flavor distract you from how closely he was watching you now. He shifted beside you, and you knew it was only a matter of time before–

“How’s the Golden God doing, by the way…Totally forgot to ask.” Bob rolled his eyes, “You know you’ve got bloodwork today, and I know how much he looks forward to that.” He grimaced.

”D-Darn…I f-forgot that was today.”

“You always forget,” You mumbled between bites, mockingly stern in tone, “Even though we’ve had the same schedule for, what–eight months?”

“Nine,” He corrected, “You count too?”

“Only because I have to track your blood chemistry, Bob.” He gave you a crooked smile, “Stick around,” You said waving your fork at him, “Let me finish this delicious lunch and I’ll get everything set up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave you a faux salute, backing off to give you space. You watched him for a moment out of the corner of your eye as he wandered slowly around the perimeter of the lab, hands in his pockets, shoulders soft beneath his hoodie.

Bob moved like someone who didn’t want to disturb anything. Not just the tools and data, but you–your space, your rhythm, your day. Even now, when he stopped in front of the containment dome, he didn’t lean close or peer in like most people would’ve. He just stood there, quietly watching.

The flower didn’t move. But the pulsing in its center seemed to slow, slightly. Steadying. As if recognizing something.

Bob tilted his head faintly.

But said nothing.

You finished your lunch in a few final bites, wiped your hands on a cloth, and pulled on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves.

“All right,” You called, walking over to the locked cabinet beside your centrifuge. “Time to sacrifice a little plasma for science.”

Bob grumbled playfully as he headed back toward the stool you always set aside for him during these sessions. “Sentry’s gonna make it d-difficult again. Last time you had to chase the vein for like five minutes.”

“Oh how could I forget,” You said playfully, drawing the phlebotomy kit from the drawer, “I’ve never met a God who’s afraid of needles. He flared your heart rate on purpose and kicked the adrenaline response. Your veins were literally jumping.” Bob winced at the memory and sighed.

”I-I don’t think he m-means to be a jerk a-about it.”

“No, he just is,” You turned with a teasing smile and raised your brow, “You listening in there Sentry, I called you a jerk.” A flicker of gold passed through Bob’s eyes, and his expression shifted just slightly. A pressure just beneath the surface of his calm exterior. You saw the way his jaw flexed. The way his breath caught on the edge of a heartbeat. It was gone just as fast as it appeared. You gestured to the stool.

”Alright, you know the drill.” Bob sighed and tugged his hoodie over his head with one hand, letting it fall across the nearby stool in a heap of worn fabric and static-charged threads.

Your breath caught for just a second–not that you’d ever admit it.

He was wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath. Simple, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. The fabric clung in all the places that mattered: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, the gentle taper of his torso. His arms were sculpted, the muscle built from the serum and his own training he did on the side with Walker–solid biceps veined faintly beneath pale skin, his forearms thick and freckled with golden hairs. Even through the shirt, you could see the subtle rise of his chest when he breathed. His body wasn’t exaggerated or showy like some of the other enhanced agents. Bob’s strength was honest, clean and quiet. The kind that didn’t beg to be seen–just was. He sat on the stool, leaned slightly forward, and offered you his right arm without hesitation–palm up, wrist relaxed, fingers curling just slightly where they hung over the edge of your tray. As always, he was warm. Always a degree or two above everyone else. Like the Sentry lived just beneath the surface, pulsing against the skin.

You pulled your chair close and gently cradled his arm in one gloved hand, “You good?” He nodded, jaw ticking faintly.

”Sentry’s a-already getting stirred u-up.”

“I figured,” You murmured, swabbing the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad, watching the way the fine blond hairs on his arm caught the light, “You twitched when I called him a jerk.” Bob exhaled a shallow breath, half-laugh, half-wince.

”Y-Yeah he–uh–didn’t like t-that.”

“Well, tell him to behave,” you said, voice softening as you spoke, instinctively adjusting your tone. You’d found, over time, that it wasn’t just what you said–but how. The Sentry didn’t respond well to authority. But he did respond to calm. To care. To you.

“I’m going to insert the needle now, okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He said quietly, “Keep talking through the process, t-that would help.” You gave him a smile–genuine and soft.

“All right…Just a little pressure here…” You slipped the butterfly needle in with smooth, practiced hands, watching the dark blood flood into the first vial like a ribbon of garnet. He didn’t flinch. His fingers curled just slightly, but that was it. You could feel the tension in him, though–not fear, not even discomfort, really.

Just a heightened presence.

You always felt it when the Sentry was nearby. Like a third set of lungs had begun breathing somewhere in the room. Like the molecules in the air shifted their charge.

“I’m taking five tubes,” You said gently. “You’re doing fine. Your blood flow is nice and steady today.”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob said, watching you with his head slightly turned. His voice had dropped to something deeper. Thicker. “That’s because o-of you.”

You glanced up.

He blinked, quickly. “Your voice. It…I-It helps.” You kept working, carefully switching out the first full tube for the second, then the third, eyes flicking to him only briefly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Or a cosmic honor. One of the two.” That got a smile out of him, even if it was small. The rest of the draw passed in familiar quiet–soft beeping from your equipment, the slow, gentle swirl of the containment fans, the hum of the overhead lights. His blood was warm in your hands. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you reached the fifth tube and carefully capped it.

You retracted the needle in one smooth motion, placing it in the sharps container before gently pressing a cotton ball to the puncture site.

“Pressure here, please.”

Bob complied, two fingers resting lightly over the spot. You retrieved a bandage, peeled it open, and pressed it into place over the cotton. Your hand lingered a second longer than it needed to. His skin was flushed warm beneath your glove. He smelled faintly of cedar and limes, probably from his shampoo. Then you leaned back in your chair and gave him a mock-serious look.

“So,” You said, cocking your head, “Does Sentry want a lollipop for his troubles?”Bob groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“D-Don’t get him riled up…” You laughed at the way his cheeks turned rosy again, as he attempted to hold back a smile, which failed.

”You sure?” You teased, “You don’t want me to pull out the glittery sticker chart?”

“W-We talked about this…He remembers t-things like that.” You both burst into soft laughter again, the kind that curled at the edges of your ribs and left everything just a little lighter.

And somewhere behind you, the flower twitched.

The petals shifted.

The pulse in its center matched his heartbeat.

But neither of you noticed.

——————

The next day, just after 2:00 p.m., the soft hiss of the lab doors made your head snap up again.

You were halfway through a long-winded notation on the flower’s latest chromatographic analysis when you heard the now-familiar rustle of footsteps and the unmistakable creak of someone cradling a takeout bag with too much care.

“Brought you lunch!” Bob announced.

He looked warm again–an oversized hoodie only blue this time, the same worn sweatpants from yesterday, and hair pulled back messily like he’d tied it in a rush. His free hand shoved deep into his pocket, but the other held a paper bag from a café you liked downtown. He wore the same small, crooked smile that made it difficult to think straight.

“Careful,” You warned playfully, turning in your seat to face him, “If you keep feeding me, I’ll start to expect this kind of treatment.”

Bob shrugged, walking in slow, casual steps toward your workstation. “M-might be worth it…Just to s-see you eat.”

You smiled at that–too caught up in the rare softness between you to notice the way the flower behind its containment dome had begun to stir.

Not much. Just a twitch of its outermost petals. A subtle change in the shimmer of its stamen. But you were facing Bob. You didn’t see the way it reacted to his voice.

“I-I got you the g-grain bowl you like. The one with roasted squash, the f-feta, that spicy vinaigrette you always try to recreate in your lab notebook–”

“I do not take vinaigrette notes in here,” You interjected, grinning.

Bob set the bag down gently on the corner of your cleared space shaking his head at you, glancing over at the dome just as the hum of your equipment shifted slightly. The air changed. Subtle, at first. Like something pressurizing behind glass.

He leaned over–only just–peering closer at the flower inside.

That was all it took.

The dome fogged instantly with a pale gold haze. Then–without warning–the containment glass shuddered with a sharp, pinging sound, like internal pressure had snapped a seal.

Then it ruptured.

The top of the cloche blew off with a muted pop, and a cloud of glittering golden dust erupted from the flower in a slow-motion burst. It expanded like fog, like breath in cold air–drifting, floating–straight into Bob’s face.

You froze for half a second. Then your instincts kicked in hard and fast.

“Shit—Bob!” You yelled, already leaping from your stool and hitting the emergency switch on the wall.

Red lights flashed as the isolation protocols kicked in. Vents slammed shut with a metallic clank, and the air filtration units hummed to life. Your console blinked through a security override as the lab sealed itself airtight. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drumbeat.

Bob had staggered back, coughing hard and pawing at his face, blinking rapidly. The golden dust coated his cheeks, his lashes, the curve of his nose, and clung to his stubble like cosmic pollen. It shimmered with a strange, otherworldly sheen–like it was alive, almost.

“Hey–hey–Bob, come here.” You grabbed him gently but firmly by the wrist, leading him toward the decontamination corner. “Don’t rub your eyes. Just come with me. You’re okay, just–just keep breathing.”

He nodded, still coughing, blinking fast. “I-it got in m-my face–feels like sand, b-but–s-sticky, maybe–” He stumbled slightly as you pushed the lever on the eyewash station.

“Lean in,” You ordered, voice steady. “Both hands on the sides. I’m gonna guide you.” You pressed the large silver button. The twin streams of water erupted instantly, and he hissed through clenched teeth as the cold hit. You steadied him, one hand braced on his lower back as he tilted forward.

”Keep blinking,” You instructed, “Get it flushed out. It’s probably just pollen but I can’t take chances, we still don’t know what that stuff is.”

“It’s–f-fine,” he said, spitting water out, breath hitching. “It doesn’t b-burn, just f-feels weird–” His voice was strained, breathless. You didn’t like the way his skin had started to pink at the edges, how the golden dust had clung even beneath his collar.

When the two-minute flush was over, you helped him lean back slowly, grabbing a towel from the stack nearby and pressing it gently to his face.

“We’re not done yet,” You said, pulling a second towel out and pressing it to the back of his neck. “Blow your nose. Three times. Then cough hard. I want that stuff out of your lungs if you inhaled any of it.”

He obeyed without protest, still coughing lightly between ragged breaths. The dust had left faint shimmer marks down the front of his hoodie, now slightly wet from the eyewash station. You reached over to the wall unit, flipped on the emergency fan array, and turned your console back toward manual override. The air slowly began to cycle through a localized carbon scrubbing system.

You turned back to him, grabbing a disposable cloth and wiping under his jaw, where a little gold still shimmered. His eyes were red-rimmed but clear. Breathing shallow, but not distressed.

You stepped back, hands braced on your hips, the overhead scrubbers humming louder now as the first cycle of filtered air began to push through the sealed lab.

Bob sat perched on the deacon bench, towel still clutched in his hands, his lashes dripping, cheeks damp, and glittered with flecks of gold the eyewash hadn’t quite cleared. He looked flushed–not sick, not distressed–just… warm. Lit from within, like something in him was beginning to glow. But you didn’t let yourself think about that.

Not yet.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, kneeling slightly so you were more at eye level with him, voice softening as you scanned his face for any irregularities. “Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? Anything weird?”

Bob blinked slowly, the water still dripping off the tips of his hair as he met your gaze.

“N-No…” He murmured, voice rough with lingering grit, “Just…Feel kinda like I s-snorted fairy dust.” He gave a weak little smile. “M-might be glowing in the dark now.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a half-relieved breath, giving him a playful–but firm–swat to the arm.

“This isn’t funny. You know we have to be in isolation for twenty-four hours now, right?”

Bob groaned, slumping back slightly against the bench. “Ugh. Great. Cool. L-love that.” You crossed your arms.

“We’re both trapped in here. With no way out. The lab is in full lockdown. Airlocked. Everything. Biocontainment protocol 9A.” He sighed, tilting his head toward you dramatically. “

It’s not like we don’t already spend the majority of our free time together or anything.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t act like this is some cozy movie night. You almost got yourself pollinated into another dimension.” Your voice was softer now. More affectionate, more playful. Your gaze dropped briefly–to the faint shimmer still clinging to the edge of his collarbone–and that’s when you noticed it.

You looked down at yourself.

Tiny flecks of gold sparkled faintly across your sleeves, dusted across the dark wool of your sweater and even the collar of your lab coat. The stuff was finer than you thought–so fine you’d barely felt it settle.

“Shit.”

“What?” Bob asked, alarmed.

You pulled your lab coat off immediately, shrugging out of it and tossing it into the nearest biohazard bin. Your sweater followed next, leaving you in the tank top you had underneath–thin, breathable, already damp with nervous sweat. The cold air bit at your arms, but it was better than risking more exposure. You grabbed a clean disposable mask from the supply drawer and tugged it on.

“You got exposed?” Bob asked, sitting up straighter.

You gave him a wry look as you reached for a pair of gloves. “You think that cloud only wanted you?”

He flushed again and shifted where he sat. “S-Sorry…”

“Not your fault,” you said quickly. “You didn’t provoke it.”

Bob’s eyes slid to the corner of the lab where the flower still sat in its shattered dome, motionless now, but unmistakably altered–its petals twitching like cooling muscles, the last of the pollen still floating down like it hadn’t quite obeyed gravity yet.

You pointed to his hoodie.

“That’s gotta come off too.”

He blinked. “W-What?”

“Bob. Your hoodie is covered. You’re basically wearing a glitter bomb.”

“Oh…Right.” He looked down at himself and, reluctantly, peeled the hoodie off over his head, careful not to shake loose any more of the clinging dust. The fabric crackled softly as the static gave way. You moved forward with a biohazard bag already open and waiting.

“Drop it in,” you said, and he obeyed, his white T-shirt riding up slightly with the movement. You caught a glimpse of pale skin, faint golden freckles across his lower ribs, the subtle cut of his hip. You averted your eyes quickly, pretending not to notice.

But he noticed.

You didn’t speak for a beat.

Then:

“Okay,” you said, stepping back with the sealed bag in hand, “Contaminated clothing secured. Isolation timer has started. We’ve got twenty-four hours to kill and a potentially sentient flower that just gas-bombed the strongest man on Earth.”

Bob blinked at you, then gave the tiniest smirk.

“Th-this gonna be in the report?”

“Oh, absolutely,” You muttered, deadpan. “‘Subject A leaned into mysterious glowing flower. Subject B now has fairy glitter in her bra.’”

He laughed. Harder than you expected. The sound echoed softly in the sealed room and you let it hang there for a moment. Eventually his laughter faded, but the heat that was beginning to build in the lab didn’t.

It wasn’t just the tension between you anymore–it was physical. Palpable. You could feel it crawling along the inside of your spine like static. Your skin felt…Tight. Like your clothes were holding in too much warmth. Like the fabric of your tank top was suddenly too heavy in all the wrong places and far too light in others.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, hoping it would pass, but it didn’t.

Bob was still sitting on the bench, towel now draped loosely across his lap, chest rising and falling more steadily than before–but even from a few feet away, you could see the faint shine of sweat beginning to gather at the hollow of his throat.

You squinted slightly.

“Is it just me,” You said slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your neck, “Or is it…Hot in here?”

Bob lifted his head toward you, blinking slowly. His cheeks were still pink–flushed in that way people only got when they were either just out of a fever or just getting into something much more compromising.

“I-I thought it was just me,” He said, adjusting how he sat. “I figured the air filters w-weren’t moving much cool air yet. It’s… It’s an enclosed space, so…” He trailed off, eyes catching briefly on your arms, the exposed slope of your collarbone, and then darting away again, as if ashamed of the glance.

You nodded, trying to focus–but it was getting harder. Your tank top clung to the skin beneath your ribs like a second layer of sweat-dampened silk. You could feel the heat collecting at your lower back, a slow, stoked furnace of warmth that wasn’t just the room. Your breathing shifted slightly. Shallower.

There was a kind of pressure building behind your sternum. An ache–not painful, not sharp. Just…Present. Gnawing. Low in your belly. You cleared your throat.

“Do you feel weird?” You asked, keeping your voice as casual as you could. “Like… more than just warm? Any lightheadedness? Sensory changes?” Bob didn’t answer right away. His shoulders rolled back slowly, and his hand came up to drag across the back of his neck. You watched the way his palm moved over the sweat-damp strands of hair, the tension in his forearm, the way his biceps flexed just slightly under the tight stretch of cotton.

He wasn’t looking at you now. But his voice was quiet when he answered.

“M-My heart rate i-is up,” He admitted. “But I d-don’t feel sick. I just feel–” He stopped. Swallowed. Then: “Wound up. I-it’s like I’ve been waiting for something to happen and m-my body’s just trying to stay ahead of it.” You stared at him, hearing as he listed out the same symptoms you were feeling.

Then there was the ache again–twisting low and slow, enough to make you shift your thighs closer together without thinking. You noticed the way Bob’s eyes tracked the motion and immediately flicked away. His chest was rising faster now. His jaw clenched, breath audible through his nose. Something was happening. Something chemical, something hormonal. Something Induced.

You took a slow breath, then glanced at the ruined containment dome, the flower sitting quietly like nothing had happened. Its stamen pulsed gently, and the last wisps of pollen still hovered in the filtered air like gold-lit ghosts.

”You said it didn’t burn when the pollen hit…” You murmured, “Just felt weird…Right?” He nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward your face, then to your mouth, then away. You swallowed hard, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. ”How weird?”

Bob exhaled a shaky breath. His hands flexed against his thighs, fingers twitching.

“It just felt really…Light,” he rasped. “Like ash. N-Not like sand–softer. Barely even there. But now–” He trailed off, and when he looked at you, it was like being seen for the first time. His pupils were blown wide, only a thin ring of ocean-blue clinging to the edge. His voice lowered.

“Now I feel like my skin is on fire. L-Like I’m burning…And everything’s so damn sensitive. I c-can’t stop–” His voice cracked, “–I can’t stop looking at you.” Your breath caught. The ache between your legs deepened sharply, twisting upward through your belly like someone had plucked a string that now hummed through your bones. The realization slammed into you with full force. The heat. The ache. The scent. The shimmer. The reaction.

Fuck. You staggered backward from the bench slightly and slapped your hand down on the comm panel by the edge of your lab table, hitting the line for Bucky.

“Come on, come on, pick up–”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice crackled over the line. “What’s up?”

“Bucky,” You said, trying to steady your breathing. “Where exactly were you when you found that flower? Be specific. What were the surroundings?”

“I told you, it was near the tree line,” He answered, confused. “On the way back from the ridge. Why?”

“Was there anything else? Anything that stood out?”

There was a pause. Then, “Uh…There was kind of a–garden? Like, a bunch of them. Just a whole patch. Maybe fifty or sixty, I dunno, they were all clumped together.”Another pulse of heat ripped through your core, and you clenched your thighs, biting back a soft, involuntary groan. You half-collapsed, catching yourself on the table edge before sliding down the side of it, pressing your forehead into your forearm.

“Where were they, Bucky?” You grit out through clenched teeth. “Was there a lab? A compound? A goddamn marker on the ground–anything?”

“What? Y/N, I don’t–wait, there was a lab…But it wasn’t even close. Maybe two miles east of it. Looked abandoned. You think it’s connected?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, voice rough, stomach clenching. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges. “That’s not wild growth, Buck. That’s a planted field. That was cultivated. You brought me a fucking bioweapon.”

There was silence.

Bob had shifted, and when you looked up, he was no longer on the bench. He had crouched behind one of the heavy lab tables on the far end of the room, head bowed, palms braced hard against the floor like he was praying—or like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I-it’s getting worse,” he called out, voice hoarse and echoing faintly off the tile. “I—I can feel it in my hands, my back—like I’m buzzing from the inside out. You need to go to another room, Y/N. Please. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen—”

“There is no other room,” you snapped, clutching your own torso, fingers digging into your tank top like it could peel the sensation off your skin. “We’re sealed in. Remember? Isolation. Twenty-four hours.”

You turned back to the comm, swallowing back the pulse building low in your belly. “Bucky, something happened in that lab. This isn’t just a flower. It’s engineered—enhanced. There’s pheromone manipulation in the pollen. Maybe synthetic hormones. We both got exposed.”

“What kind of exposure?”

You hesitated.

Then you exhaled shakily, voice lowering. “The worst kind. I think it’s… I think it’s sex pollen, Bucky.”

A beat of stunned silence on the other end. Then:

“…You’re shitting me.”

“I wish I was,” you hissed, grinding the heel of your hand into your temple, heart pounding. “And unless I get a suppressant cocktail in the next thirty minutes, I’m going to lose it.”

“What about Bob?”

You turned your head just slightly toward where Bob was crouched, shaking. His knuckles had gone white.

“He’s already losing it,” You whispered.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” you said, too fast. “Just…We’re locked in for twenty-four hours. There’s nothing anyone can do. Just… Just keep the others out. Don’t let anyone near the door.”

There was a long pause. Then Bucky’s voice dropped.

“Y/N. What exactly happened in there?”

You clenched your jaw and gave the only answer you could.

“I’ll tell you if we survive it.” Then you hung up the comm, bracing your hands on your knees as the ache spread like wildfire across your thighs, your chest, the hollow between your hips. Everything was overstimulated–fabric too rough, air too dry, skin too tight.

And then there was Bob.

You looked up slowly, panting now, vision swimming with heat and color. You could barely see his face in the shadow of the bench, but you heard his voice.

“I-It’s in me,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is. I can feel it in m-my blood. My skin feels like it’s too small. I’m–I’m shaking. I c-can’t stop it.” His breath hitched, voice breaking apart. “I can smell you. I c-can hear your heart. I can feel every molecule in this goddamn r-room. God, what is this stuff?” You were already dragging yourself across the floor, crawling on hands and knees to the nearest storage cabinet, yanking open drawers for anything–anything–that might help regulate internal chemistry. You were half-crazed with heat, sweat dripping between your shoulder blades, your whole body lit up like it had been set on fire from the inside.

“Okay,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “We’re gonna–we’re gonna figure this out. Just don’t come near me, Bob. Not yet.”

You couldn’t see him now, but you heard the thick, wet swallow from where he hid behind the bench.

“I w-won’t,” He rasped. “But…If you don’t figure it out soon…” His voice was barely audible now. “…I d-don’t know if I’m gonna b-be able to stop myself.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they hit you like a blow to the chest. A sharp pulse rippled through your core–your muscles tensed like a wire had snapped in your belly. The ache between your legs twisted again, hot and hungry, and a broken sound escaped your lips before you could stop it.

A whimper. Soft, shaken, and needy.

”Shut up,” You gasped, your voice hoarse with panic and arousal, hand bracing against the cabinet, “Just…Stop talking, Bob please…Your voice. Fuck sake.” Another wave of heat surged under your skin like a current of electricity. You curled slightly into yourself, arms trembling, every breath catching high in your throat.

“I–I’m sorry,” Bob groaned from across the room, his voice cracking with guilt and something far darker. You heard him shift, heard the thump of his back hit the cabinet behind him like he’d braced himself against it, like he couldn’t trust his limbs to obey. He let out a loud breath, shuddering.

”G-God, I’m–I’m sorry, I c-can’t even think straight–“ His voice broke on the last word, thick with restraint. You dragged open another drawer with shaking fingers, rummaging through cold metal and sterile pouches, tossing one after the other to the side. Glucose packs. Emergency syringes. No suppressants. No hormonal regulators. Nothing for this kind of exposure.

Your vision blurred as your stomach clenched again. You could feel sweat beading at the base of your spine, making your tank top stick like a second skin. You couldn’t stop panting. Couldn’t stop trembling.

”Fuck…” You hissed, almost on the brink of sob. You slammed the drawer shut with a metallic clang, the sound too loud, echoing in the sealed lab like it was mocking you. ”I can’t–I-I can’t find anything.” You wheezed, voice cracking. You braced your hands on the cold tile, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

The need was crawling over your skin like insects. Every breath was friction. Every shift of your body felt like dragging yourself through static. Your nipples were tight beneath your tank top, aching. You could feel your own pulse in places it didn’t belong.

“Shit–shit,” You whispered, eyes welling with frustrated tears. “Oh my god.”

Behind the bench, Bob made a low, strangled noise.

A grunt. Guttural. Desperate.

You couldn’t see him.

But you didn’t need to.

Because you could feel him.

You could feel the way the air changed when he moved. You could feel the ripple of heat that seemed to follow the sound of his voice. And worst of all–you could feel your body answering it.

Every cell in you was lit up with something heavy and humming. Something wild. Something designed.

You curled forward against the floor, pressing your forehead into your arm. You were panting now–wheezing, almos-trying to hold on. Trying not to cry.

You didn’t hear him crawl over, not until it was too late. Your breath was ragged, and your vision was swimming–and then warmth touched your arm. A large hand. Familiar. It closed over your bicep–but it lit your nerves on fire. You jerked away violently, scrambling back on instinct, collapsing onto your ass with a gasp. Your palm slammed against the tile and you skidded slightly, breath hitching as you spat out–

“Don’t touch me!” Your voice cracked, sharp and wet with panic. The motion made your spine arch, your tank top riding up slightly as your hip knocked into a rolling stool, the metal clattering away. Bob’s eyes widened in horror, hand halfway outstretched like it had betrayed him. He dropped to both knees in front of you instantly, not touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth coming off his body like a wave.

“Y/N–” He breathed, his voice hoarse, chest heaving, “Y/N I-I feel it too, I p-promise. I feel everyth-ing” His hand hovered near your shoulder again, hesitant. Then, slowly, gently, he reached behind your neck, cradling it with a trembling touch. His fingers were hot against your skin, too hot. “Look at me. W-We’ll be okay. We’ll be o-okay.” You shook your head, lip quivering as the tears came faster now. Not the kind you could hide or blink away–these ones slid heavy and helpless down your cheeks, pooling at the corners of your mouth. You were trembling all over, shoulders shaking, thighs clenching without relief.

”I-I feel like I’m dying,” You whispered, voice raw, “Fuck, Bob it’s so painful.” He nodded once, his face contorting with shared agony, as his hand slipped from the back of your neck to your jaw, like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you or let go.

“I-I know,” He rasped, his other hand gripping his thigh so hard it shook, “I-I’m burning from the inside out. I can smell y-you…I can s-smell everything–“ You swallowed, chest rising in short, hard jerks. Because so could you.

His scent was all over the room now. Thick and devastating. It rolled over you in waves—heat-warmed cedarwood, sweat, and something deeper. Instinctual. Masculine. Not cologne. Not soap. Something completely and totally him. A biological beckoning, chemical and holy and blinding.

It made your thighs twitch and your breath break.

And your own scent…You could smell it, too. Like heat-glazed citrus and clean skin. Something golden and heavy, threaded with notes of sun-warmed vanilla and fresh-cut stems. Like the wild edge of spring. It filled your nostrils, clung to your skin, hung in the air between you like a dare.

Bob’s eyes fluttered, jaw clenching again. He let out a low grunt, like the effort of staying still was costing him something visceral. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I-Isn’t there…a-any way we can stop this f-from getting worse?” You didn’t want to say it, you really didn’t. But the truth came out anyway, scraped and raw from your throat.

”Only if…” You swallowed. Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth, “Only if we have sex…” The words dropped like a stone.

Bob’s breath hitched so hard it almost sounded like a choke. His throat bobbed, and he blinked down at you, eyes wild and dilated, dark lashes damp with sweat and desperation.

There was a pause–long and shaking.

Then, softly:

“W-Would it be t-that bad if…If we did?”

You flinched. Just barely. The air stilled, vibrating between you. And then you shook your head slowly, tears welling again–not from heat this time, but from something deeper.

“I really didn’t want our first time together being l-like this.”

That stopped him cold. All the breath punched out of him in a single exhale. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His hand fell away from your jaw like it had been burned. His whole posture shifted–still close, but paralyzed with guilt.

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him now–if you looked into that face, flushed and desperate and filled with longing–you’d give in. Your breath hitched sharply—twice—before you folded forward on a gasp, one hand clutching your lower stomach like it might soothe the throbbing pulse building between your legs.

“God,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Oh my god, I—I can’t fucking take it.”

The ache had bloomed into something unbearable—wet and slick and throbbing through your core with every heartbeat. You were drenched, panties stuck to you, heat radiating off your skin like you were about to combust. Across from you, Bob made a strangled sound, his fists tight on his thighs, chest heaving as he forced shallow breaths through his nose—like if he didn’t, he might do something reckless.

“I c-can’t smell you,” He whispered, more to himself than to you. “I–I can’t smell you–I can’t–”

But he could. You both could. Your scent was everywhere–sweet and sharp and thick with want. It hung in the air between you like perfume, like bait, and you knew it was driving him mad.

You twitched again as another rush of slick gushed between your thighs and a broken moan slipped past your lips–soft, needy, involuntary. Your eyes squeezed shut as your hand pressed harder against your stomach, trying to contain it.

But it was useless.

“I can’t–fuck, I can’t take it–” You gasped, and before you could stop yourself, you were lunging forward.

You grabbed his face with both hands–hot, flushed skin beneath your palms–and crushed your mouth to his like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collision.

A mess of lips and teeth and spit.

You moaned into his mouth the second you felt him gasp beneath you–his lips parting wide in helpless surrender, his hands flying to your waist like magnets. The second he touched you, it was over. You melted into him, mouths sliding and sucking and devouring with sloppy, panting need.

Spit slicked your chin, his chin, your mouths, your skin. It dripped down between you as your lips broke and reconnected over and over in increasingly desperate, wet smacks. His tongue slid against yours, hungry and hot, and you whimpered into the kiss like your whole body was unraveling.

His hands squeezed your hips, hard–fingertips digging in, dragging you toward him roughly until your knees bumped his thighs and your chest hit his. You felt the tremble in him, felt the heat pouring off his body as he let out a low, feral grunt into your mouth, like he was trying to hold himself together and failing.

You pulled back just an inch, breath catching in your throat as a strand of spit still connected your lips, both of you panting so hard it echoed in the sealed lab.

“Fuck–” He gasped, chasing your mouth again, not even giving you time to respond before crashing back into the kiss, even hungrier this time. “You taste like–God–l-like sunlight–like h-honey–fuck, I can’t–can’t stop–”

“Don’t,” You moaned, sliding your tongue into his mouth again, letting it tangle with his, swallowing his sounds, his heat, his everything. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.” Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking at the damp curls as his hands roamed, gripping your waist so tightly it made you whine. He guided you into his lap without thinking, until your knees straddled his thighs and your body pressed flush to his. You could feel everything–the twitch of his erection beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the way his breath hitched when your hips brushed his, the way his hands couldn’t stop moving–gripping, sliding, needing. Every inch of you was pressed tight to him, and he felt all of it. The heat. The wetness. The hunger.

”G-God…” He gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder for a split second, voice thick, “I c-can’t–can’t stop–need…Need something–“ And then his hands flexed, dragging you forward–against him. You cried out, the sound strangled and high as he rocked your hips into his, grinding you against the thick line of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction sent a lightning bolt through your core, and your whole body spasmed in response, clutching at his shoulders as the contact jolted through your nerves.

“Oh–God–” You moaned, tearing your mouth from his as your head tipped back, spine arching. “Oh fuck–do that again–” He didn’t even answer. Just groaned–loud, filthy–and rolled your hips again. Rougher. Harder. Enough that your soaked panties dragged hot and slick over the outline of him, soaking into the soft cotton of his clothes and yours.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as your thighs trembled on either side of his lap. Your hands found his hair and tugged–hard–and he moaned so deeply it vibrated through your ribs. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your throat, open-mouthed kisses dragging over sweat-slick skin. His tongue was everywhere–greedy and reverent–and then you felt him kiss the top of your chest, right along the edge of your tank top.

You were panting, shaking, drenched in sweat and arousal. You couldn’t stop grinding down against him now, couldn’t stop chasing that friction as you rolled your hips again and again, letting your swollen heat drag along his cock in slow, devastating passes. The pressure built fast, sharp and aching, pulsing low in your belly with every movement.

Bob’s mouth trembled where it kissed just below your collarbone. His fingers slipped up your sides, shaky but sure–and then they hooked under the thin straps of your tank top.

“P-Please–” He rasped, looking up at you like he was about to fall apart. “Can I—can I see you?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. God, yes.”

He didn’t wait. He dragged the straps down your arms, kissing the slope of your shoulder as they slipped, one by one. Then he tugged the neckline down–slow, desperate–and bared your breasts to the heavy, sweat-damp air.

The second your nipples were exposed, he let out a groan–a sound so broken, it barely sounded human. His eyes glazed with worship, with hunger.

And then his mouth was on you.

He wrapped his lips around one tight, aching nipple and moaned–like he was dying for the taste of you. His tongue flicked, sucked, lapped, over and over, and you cried out, hips jerking uncontrollably in his lap as you rutted down against him.

“Oh my god–Bob–“ You gasped, fingers burying in his hair, yanking him closer, needier. “That–fuck–you’re so good…” He didn’t stop. If anything, he got more desperate. His tongue traced circles around your nipple, sucking it deeper into his mouth with each slow pull of his lips. One of his hands gripped your ass, guiding your hips faster against his erection, grinding you down until your whole body was quivering.

“Y-You’re so warm,” He panted between kisses. “So soft–God–“ And then he took the other nipple between his lips, just as eager, just as mindless. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe across the swell of your breast and you sobbed at the contact, your whole body arching into him. Bob groaned around your nipple one last time before pulling off with a wet pop, his mouth red and slick with spit. His eyes were blown wide, pupils so dilated there was barely any blue left–but there was something else swimming behind them too, something ancient, hungry, waiting to surface. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned in close, nudging your jaw with his nose, mouth grazing your cheek. Then suddenly–

He surged forward.

Your back hit the cold tile in one fluid motion, the breath punching out of your lungs as he guided you down with firm hands, mouth still dragging across your chest. The contrast between the icy floor and the furnace of your skin made you cry out softly, arching up into his touch.

“Bob–” You gasped, but your words cut off with a moan as his hands slipped low, gripping the waistband of your pants and underwear in one practiced motion.

“L-Lift your hips,” He instructed–voice rough and tight with restraint. You obeyed instantly, and he peeled both garments down your legs in a single fluid movement, baring you to the air, to him, to everything.

Your thighs quivered as the rush of cool air met the wet heat between them. You leaned up, grabbed the hem of your tank top, and tore it over your head. It hit the floor behind you just as Bob stripped off his shirt–his chest gleaming with sweat, muscles flexing, dusted with faint gold shimmer and a constellation of freckles across his collarbones.

You barely had a second to breathe before he dropped between your thighs again, mouth finding yours in a kiss so urgent and deep it knocked your head back against the tile. It was messier now–hotter, more desperate, his tongue fucking into your mouth with wild hunger.

Then he broke away just far enough to speak.

“I-I’m going to c-crawl on my fucking knees,” He growled, “And you’re gonna spread those thighs wider for me, and let me eat you until you come on my tongue.”You arched up with a moan, hips twitching off the floor. Your hands reached for him blindly, pulling at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your throat, your chest, your ribs.

“I need you so fucking bad,” He whispered, his voice darker now–lower, smoother. The stutter was gone.

You blinked through the haze, the heat, the sweat clinging to your lashes–and that’s when you saw it. The eyes. Not Bob’s soft blue. Gold. Molten.

“Sentry,” You whispered, breath catching.

But you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to.

His teeth scraped gently along your stomach, sending electric pulses through your nerves, and then he kissed the inside of your hip bones like he was worshipping an altar.

“You smell so fucking sweet,” He murmured, nose dragging through the crease where your thigh met your core, voice reverent and filthy all at once. “I can’t wait to have a taste.” You sobbed his name as your thighs opened wider for him, your body obeying without question. He slid his hands beneath you, lifting your hips off the floor, draping your thighs over his shoulders–his palms spreading across your lower back to anchor you in place.

“Look at you,” He groaned, lips brushing against your soaked folds without yet tasting. “You’re drenched…You’re so fucking wet I can see it drip.”

Then he leaned in.

And licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

You choked on a scream. Your hips jerked hard against his mouth, and his arms tightened around your thighs, holding you down as his tongue moved again–sloppier this time. Messier. Hungrier. He licked into you like he was starving. Long, deep strokes. Quick flicks. Circles around your swollen clit that had you crying out his name.

“God, fuck–yes–”

You gripped his hair hard, yanking at the sweat-damp strands, and he groaned like he liked it–no, loved it. The vibration of the sound against your core made your whole body shake.

“You taste like summer, like heat, like stars.” He moaned. “Absolutely fucking sinful.” He pulled back only long enough to look at you, his mouth wet, chin dripping with slick.

“I can’t wait to make you come on my tongue,” He growled.

And then he dove back in.

Tongue sliding flat against your clit, then swirling, sucking it into his mouth with slow, rhythmic pulls that made your vision blur. You cried out, grinding into his face, your hands clutching his hair, your whole body vibrating with sensation.

“P-Please–” you whimpered, barely able to breathe, “Please don’t stop–”

He didn’t.

He licked and sucked and groaned like you were his favorite meal, like he could do this for hours. His hands gripped your ass, dragging you tighter to his mouth, keeping you from squirming away.

You were going to come.

It was building fast–tight and white-hot and burning like it had nowhere else to go. You were right on the edge when–

He slipped one thick finger inside you.

You let out a loud gasp. It wasn’t pain–it was too much. Too good. The stretch, the pressure, the way his mouth never stopped moving.

“That’s it,” He murmured against your clit. “Take my fingers…Just like that…You’re so tight, fuck…I’m imagining how you’re going to take me.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned again–louder this time–and slid a second finger in, stretching you open. His fingers curled up, rubbing slow, teasing strokes into that perfect, devastating spot. Your walls fluttered, your thighs trembled.

“Oh god, oh god–”

“Come for me,” He growled. “Right now. Let me feel you.”

And he sped up.

Fingers pumping hard, mouth sucking your clit with filthy precision. You sobbed his name, your back arched clean off the tile, and you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like fire, like lightning–your thighs locking around his head, your hands gripping his hair as you wailed through it.

He didn’t stop.

Not when you cried out.

Not when you begged.

He kept sucking, licking, fucking his fingers into you as your body convulsed.

Your body was still twitching when he pulled his fingers free–slick and trembling, your core fluttering from aftershocks as he slowly sat back on his heels.

His chin was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes–those molten, god-touched eyes–burned down the length of your naked body like sunlight through stained glass.

“I should feel sated,” He murmured, voice too calm for the storm coiled in his chest. “I should be full from what I’ve just taken.”He leaned in. Slowly. Pressed one open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another–hot and reverent, just shy of your folds. His breath dragged over you, still sensitive, and it made you whimper.

“But I’m not,” He said low, his nose skimming up the inside of your leg as he worked his way toward your face. “I’m still starving.”

You were trying to breathe, but it wasn’t easy. Not with your pulse echoing in your throat, not with the ache between your legs still pulsing with the memory of his tongue, and certainly not with him looking at you like that.

“I’ve waited…So long to taste you.”

His voice was velvet heat–slick with need, rich with something that throbbed like want and worship tangled together.

He braced a hand on either side of your head as he crawled up over you, hair wild around his face, sweat glistening on the slopes of his shoulders and chest. The weight of him caged you in. It wasn’t heavy–it was all-consuming.

You reached up with a trembling hand and cupped his face. His skin was flushed, warm and slick, his jaw tight as though holding back something enormous.

“I can still feel you,” You whispered, voice raw. “On my mouth. On my thighs. Inside me.”

He smiled at that–but it wasn’t gentle.

It was hunger.

“You’ll feel me even more soon.”His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and his gaze flicked down–watching the way your mouth parted for him instinctively. He leaned in again, voice now a whisper of thunder against your cheek, “Imagine what it’s going to be like when I fuck you…” Your hips bucked helplessly beneath him, but he only smirked, catching them with a firm palm.

“Sentry,” You gasped, voice trembling as your thighs clenched under the weight of him, “P-Please. God—don’t you feel it too?!”

His nose brushed yours, breath hot against your cheek. He didn’t answer at first–just let that small, dangerous smile curl across his lips, teeth barely catching his lower lip before he released it.

“Of course I feel it,” He murmured, hips dragging downward, grinding his clothed cock into your slick heat. “It’s everywhere in me. In my chest, in my spine, my teeth.” His voice dropped to a darker pitch, and the gold in his eyes flared one last time before dimming. “I-I just know I’m going to get what I-I need…

Bob sat back on his knees between your spread thighs, hands sliding slow and sure down his stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants. “I-I already came once just from eating you out,” He confessed, voice timid now, “I t-think I have more in me…”

Then he tugged the sweatpants down.

Your breath stuttered in your throat.

His erection sprang free, flushed dark and glistening at the tip, already slick with the evidence of his earlier release. A thick bead of cum sat heavy at the crown, dripping slowly down the curve of his shaft, and your whole body twitched at the sight of it. The raw, shameless arousal surged in your belly like wildfire.

“Fuck–” You whispered, pupils blown wide.

He was beautiful. Veined and heavy and so hard it twitched with every breath. You couldn’t stop yourself. Your hand moved without thought–licking your palm once, slow and deliberate, before wrapping your fingers around him.

Bob groaned immediately–deep. His head dropped forward, curls swinging around his jaw, and his hips bucked into your touch as your hand slid down the length of him in a slow, sticky stroke. His cock throbbed in your grip. Hot. Pulsing.

“Mmmf–fuck,” He growled, the sound rattling against the walls. He dropped one hand down to your thigh to steady himself, the other bracing behind him as you worked him with your slick hand–up and down, tight and wet and slow, like you wanted to savor every second.

His breath came out in sharp pants, his face flushed, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb rubbed just beneath the swollen head, gathering that leaking slick and spreading it over his cock.

“God, I didn’t even have to touch you and you came.” You whispered,

“That’s what y-you do to me,” he gasped, voice shaking. “I couldn’t help it—god, I couldn’t fucking help it—” He surged forward, kissing you hard, and you moaned against his mouth as his hips began to stutter forward, chasing the motion of your hand with every pass.

It was hot, the way he kissed you–messy. His mouth was open, panting against yours, lips dragging along your tongue, teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth with a wet pop. He moaned into you with every stroke of your hand, deep in his chest, growling like it hurt not to move faster.

He kissed like he was about to fall apart in your arms.

Like he wanted to ruin you and thank you at the same time.

And you could feel it–he was close again. Already.

“G-God–don’t stop–don’t stop–” he choked out, hips bucking into your grip, his cock twitching hard in your palm.

Then his mouth tore from yours with a ragged moan, his body going rigid as he came–again.

Thick ropes of cum spilled across your stomach in hot, wet spurts–slicking your skin, painting the swell of your belly in messy, sticky heat. Bob cried out, breath catching, his hand clutching your thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints as his hips jerked against your hand one last time.

You watched it all, feeling it dripping down your skin. You slowed your hand, and then looked up at him. His eyes were fluttered closed. His mouth hung open, panting raggedly. His cheeks were red and damp with sweat, hair curling against his temples in loose, disheveled strands.

And then–

You ran your fingers through the puddle of cum on your stomach.

Bob’s eyes snapped open.

He watched, transfixed, as you dragged two fingers slowly through the mess he left on you–slicking them up, glossy with white.

Then you brought them to your mouth.

And sucked them clean.

He groaned–low and guttural, more animal than man. He surged forward and kissed you, hard–his mouth hot and open, tongue licking into yours like he needed to taste what you’d just tasted.

And when he pulled back–just barely–he looked drunk. Starved. His voice was hoarse, reverent.

“W-We taste so g-good together,” He whispered.

You whimpered, eyes wide and glassy.

And then your voice broke.

“I need you inside me.”

His breath hitched sharply. His eyes searched your face like a prayer–like he needed to make sure this wasn’t just the pollen, wasn’t just chemical.

But your body told him everything he needed to know. The slick between your thighs. The tremble in your voice. The way your legs fell open without fear. He saw your hand reaching for him–trembling, open, desperate–and instead of just taking it, he kissed it.

One slow kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then each fingertip in turn, reverent and breath-warmed. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even when his lips brushed the soft pads of your fingers. It felt like something sacred.

“I-I’m yours, Y/N…” He whispered, his voice wrecked–hoarse and honeyed, lined with awe. “All yours.”

Your chest trembled. Not from the pollen. Not from the heat. From the weight of it–his words, his body, his need. You brought your other hand to his cheek, touching the sweat-slick curve of his face, thumb stroking over his flushed skin.

“You’re burning up,” You whispered.

“So are you,” He breathed back.

But the ache had shifted now. It was lower. Thicker. No longer frantic. Just heavy. Full. Demanding.

His lips met yours again–slow this time, almost trembling. Not chasing. Not crashing. Just pressing. Full and warm. Your mouths moved in sync, deeper with every pass, until he adjusted his weight above you, one forearm braced beside your head while the other hand snaked down to your thigh.

His fingers curled around the underside of it, tugging you closer until your legs wrapped around him again and your slick heat pressed against his length. He groaned into your mouth at the contact.

“G-God, Y/N,” He muttered, dragging his mouth down to your throat, kissing the line of your pulse. “You’re s-still dripping. I can feel it–so hot, so wet for me…”

His hand shifted, reaching between your bodies. He stroked himself once. Twice. The glide was obscene, slick with both your arousal and his release from before. He cursed low under his breath–voice strained with restraint–and guided the thick head of his erection to your entrance. Then–he paused, letting his forehead press to yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered

“T-Tell me you want it.”

”I want you, Bob,” You breathed, “I’ve wanted you for so long…Please I want you inside me.” You begged, almost on the brink of tears just from the sheer anticipation that wracked through your body. He let out a long sigh and slid in, with such slowness you felt your whole body tense up.

You both gasped at the same time–loud, broken, raw. Your back arched and your thighs locked tighter around him as he pushed forward, inch by inch, stretching you wide with the thick, pulsing heat of him. He groaned above you, mouth falling open as your walls clenched around him, impossibly wet and tight.

“Oh–f-fuck…” He stuttered, his voice cracking like it couldn’t contain the feeling. “You feel…God…You feel like…Like e-everything.”

You whined under him, nails scraping lightly across his back. Every inch dragged through you like it was carved for you–hot, thick, filling. It was too much and not enough at once.

“You’re stretching me so good,” You gasped, voice shaking. “Bob–go slow–I wanna feel all of it.” He obeyed, hips moving with devastating care, sinking into you until he bottomed out, fully seated, buried to the hilt. The moan that left your mouth was guttural. His wasn’t any better. It came from deep in his chest–an animal sound, trembling and wrecked.

He stayed still inside you, just for a moment, just to feel everything, just to breathe.

Your chest rose beneath him in shuddering gasps, your nails pressing into the flex of his back as your hips trembled beneath the weight of him. He was deep–so deep it was hard to breathe–but it wasn’t painful. It was perfect. Like a lock clicking into place after too many years of holding the wrong key.

His forehead dropped to yours, your sweat-slick skin sticking where it touched, his breath ragged and hot against your cheek. His arms trembled faintly from the restraint, from the fire still licking through his blood, from the unholy grip of your body around him. His hands slid slowly from the curve of your thigh up to your waist, his thumbs brushing over your hips as if memorizing them. One hand trailed higher, tracing the line of your ribs, his touch light, soothing, trembling.

”You feel–“ He choked on the words, voice wrecked and shaking, “–Like…L-Like you were made for every inch of m-me.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your back arched slightly, hips shifting. The movement made him twitch deep inside you, and the sound he let out was hoarse and broken. Your lips brushed his, breath mingling.

“I need you to move,” you whispered. “Please, Bob. I need you to–”

He cut you off with a kiss.

Not desperate. Not wild. Just deep. Intentional. His lips dragged against yours in slow, soft strokes, his tongue slipping into your mouth like a secret. You kissed him back with a whimper, your hands cupping his face, fingers sliding into the damp curls at the base of his neck.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first.

A long, slow withdrawal that had your breath catching in your throat, followed by a deep, steady thrust that made you moan into his mouth. His hips rocked forward again, harder this time, but still slow. Still deliberate. Still savoring.

You felt every inch.

And he felt everything.

Your slick heat around him. The way your body welcomed him, tightened for him, trembled from the fullness. He moved like he wanted to stay inside you forever–long strokes that dragged through you with devastating patience, hips grinding at the end of each thrust like he wanted to feel the slick press of your clit against his skin.

He kissed you between thrusts–messy, wet kisses that dragged across your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again. His lips caught your whimpers. His tongue tasted your gasps. He moaned into your mouth when you clenched around him.

And then–

His hand slid up your chest, broad and warm, until his palm cupped the base of your throat. Not tight. Not forceful. Just there. Anchoring. Feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his fingers like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You’re burning,” He whispered, lips dragging across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “S-So warm…So soft…So alive…”

His hips rolled again, slow but deep, pressing into you until your breath stuttered beneath his palm. Your body arched into him helplessly, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, your mouth parting on a moan that he caught with a kiss–hot, slick, and panting. He swallowed it greedily.

The pressure of his hand on your throat didn’t restrict. It grounded. Like he needed to feel your heartbeat just to believe this was real.

You whimpered, and he pulled back enough to look at you–his curls dripping sweat, his lips swollen and damp, and those eyes, half-lidded and molten gold at the edges.

“G-God, I could be inside you forever,” he rasped, voice trembling like the words themselves threatened to undo him. “I–I never want to l-leave this. Never wanna stop feeling you like this…”

Another thrust–this one deeper, grinding. Your head dropped back with a gasp.

“Bob–” You sobbed his name like it was the only word you remembered, your fingers twisting hard in his hair. He groaned, deep and wrecked, his hips stuttering slightly as you tugged, his body responding like you’d yanked something primal out of him. His mouth found yours again, frantic and hot, tongue flicking into your mouth with messy, desperate hunger.

Then he pulled back just enough to see your face–flushed, dewy with sweat, eyes glassy and wide.

“Y-You’re close again,” He murmured, like it was something holy. His hand still cradled your throat lightly, thumb stroking gently beneath your jaw as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I–I can feel it, you’re tightening every time I move–you’re doing so good for me Y/N.” You whimpered beneath him, your hands clutching at his back, at his shoulders, pulling him deeper, harder, anything–

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, rocking into you again, the friction slow and devastating. “Let go for me. Come around me. I wanna feel it. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You moaned–high and soft and broken.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Just like that. You’re doing so good—G-God–you’re so perfect.” Your thighs shook around his hips. His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, splaying wide over your sternum, as if he could feel the orgasm building beneath your ribs. His other hand slipped to your hip, holding you still as he gave one slow, deep thrust that hit the exact spot that made your vision blur.

Your mouth dropped open in a cry.

“Come for me,” He begged, hips rolling again, steady and relentless. “Please–I wanna feel you–let me feel you come around me–”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the floor, your breath catching in a series of sobbed gasps as the orgasm ripped through you. He kept moving, kept whispering praise through your climax, voice ragged with awe.

“That’s it…That’s it, Y/N…You’re so beautiful like this–“ You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, your nails digging into his back, your body convulsing beneath him with every wave of pleasure. You could feel yourself pulsing around him, feel how it dragged a strangled moan out of his throat.

“I-I’m so close,” He gasped, his voice wrecked, his rhythm faltering. “W-Wanna fill you up–please–can I–?”

You nodded, breathless and trembling. “Yes–yes, please–I want it–give it to me–” With a broken groan, his hips jerked forward one last time–and he spilled inside you. His whole body shook as he came, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you like he needed to hold every part of you to survive it.

You could feel it–every throb, every pulse of warmth deep inside you. His moans, soft and shaking, buzzed against your throat as his breath caught in your skin.

He didn’t move for a long while.

Just stayed there–buried inside you, mouth warm against your neck, arms tight around your waist like he was anchoring himself to this moment, to the rhythm of your heart against his chest. His breath was still coming in short, shaken bursts, and yours wasn’t much better. You were both trembling a little–not from fear, not anymore–but from the rawness of what had just passed between you. Like your bodies hadn’t quite caught up to the aftermath of something so explosive, so full.

But the heat was different now.

It had shifted. Softened. Still warm. Still thick. But no longer blistering, no longer maddening. Just…Lingering.

Your hands slid slowly up his back, fingers tracing through the sweat that slicked his spine, dragging across the faint bumps of his vertebrae. He let out a soft, shaky sigh against your skin. Your fingertips wandered to his sides, palms smoothing gently over the curve of his ribs as if to say I’m here. Still here. I’m okay.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his shoulder—soft, damp, reverent. His skin tasted like salt and breathless devotion.

Bob shifted then, his arms loosening around you as he lifted his head just slightly, enough to look down at you. His hair was a light brown mess, damp curls stuck to his temples, a few clinging to his cheeks. He blinked at you–slow, still dazed–but there was something clearer in his eyes now. Something tender. His hand dragged along your side, skimming your ribs, and he leaned down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill–like maybe he never would. He kissed your mouth, then your jaw, then your neck, peppering slow, breathless kisses along the column of your throat. You giggled once–just a little–as his nose brushed the underside of your jaw, tickling your skin.

He pulled back just enough to blink down at you, lips wet and parted, chest still heaving.

”Y-You know I like you, right?” Your breath caught. Your fingers paused where they rested near the nape of his neck. His voice had cracked slightly on the word like, and you could tell he meant something so much more than that. Of course you knew his feelings for you, it was easy to spot, but hearing him say it aloud–even after the both of you just had the most carnal sex ever–still made you a bit breathless. You swallowed, then nodded–eyes searching his face, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“I like you too,” You whispered, your voice shaky and soft. “Always have…” Your cheeks burned, and not from residual heat. You traced a finger over the curve of his shoulder. “T-The circumstances right now are a bit c-crazy…But…Maybe after this…”You tried to continue, but your nerves tangled the words together.

He finished them for you.

“I-I’ll take you out,” He said, nodding once, as if promising both you and himself. “We…We can go to your favorite r-restaurant. And we can do this right…” He ducked his head a little, voice lowering to a smile. “W-Without the sex pollen.” You let out a laugh–helpless and bright–and leaned up to kiss him again. He grinned into it, just a little, and kissed you twice more, slower now, like sealing the agreement. When he finally pulled back, his thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his other hand still lazily tracing your hip.

His gaze dropped to your chest for a moment, then back to your eyes. “A-Are you still aching?” He asked gently.

You paused, body still humming with the memory of him, but no longer sharp with urgency. You shifted slightly, feeling the wet stickiness between your thighs, the throb finally quieting to something warm and dull.

“It’s dulled a little,” you admitted. “But I think we should wash up…”

He blinked, nodding. “R-Right. Yeah.”

You offered a small smile, brushing the sweat-slick hair from his forehead. “We’ve got that little makeshift shower unit in the corner storage. Emergency setup. I-I can activate it.”

He looked at you, eyes soft, one hand trailing lightly over your ribs again.

“I-I’ll come with you,” He murmured. “Just to m-make sure you’re okay.” His curls hung loose now, wild and slightly matted from where your fingers had yanked at them during your climax. The gold shimmer on his skin caught the low lab lights, making him glow faintly where he hovered above you.

“Aww,” you murmured, brushing a hand lazily over the sharp line of his jaw, “That’s sweet, Bob. Really. But we both know that’s not the reason you’re joining me.” Bob flushed immediately, lips twitching into a bashful grin.

“O-Okay,” He said quietly, nuzzling your cheek with the tip of his nose. “M-Maybe it isn’t…M-Maybe I just wanna wash you, and k-kiss you under the water…Until all this heat dies down inside me.” Your chest stuttered at that, heart tripping over itself. His voice was so soft, so wrecked, so full of you.

“Now that’s much better,” You whispered, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He smiled into it, and you felt the way his arms curled tighter around your middle, the way his cock–still half-hard inside you–twitched slightly at the praise. He sighed, then slowly pulled out, both of you gasping a little at the drag of it. You shivered, and he was already reaching for a nearby towel to cover you while you sat up. His hand cradled the back of your head as you steadied yourself. Always gentle, even now.

You stretched your sore limbs and started for the far corner of the lab where the emergency hygiene setup was stored. Still naked, still glowing with post-orgasm daze, you knelt beside the console and started activating the emergency rinse station–a compact but functional retractable stall with hot water access, a single pressure-nozzle head, and sealed drainage for contamination containment. You flipped open the sanitation kit, pulling out the packet of unscented soap, a washcloth, and the emergency towels folded like paper bricks.

Bob padded over behind you, and you heard him laugh softly as you organized the supplies with shaky hands.

“What?” You said over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow.

He scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “N-Nothing. Y-You just look really focused for someone who’s still naked and covered in glittery sex pollen.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, standing and turning to face him, “Remind me to access the cameras in here later and delete the footage of what happened…”

Bob raised his brows. “You think there’s audio?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. We shouted at each other and cried out mid-orgasm while covered in science glitter. If there’s audio, we’re already blackmail material.”

His face turned scarlet.

“Y-You think they’ll–”

“I don’t think we want our sex tape leaking,” You interrupted, grinning wickedly as you flicked the shower head on. Warm water streamed out with a pleasant hiss, filling the space with a light mist and the sound of soft rainfall. You stepped under it first, pulling him gently in after you. The water hit your skin and instantly began washing away the gold flecks still clinging to your chest and thighs.

Bob’s hands found your waist again.

“…M-Maybe I’ll take a copy,” He mumbled.

You looked over your shoulder at him with mock exasperation. “You’ll have the real thing almost every night, Bob,” you said, voice low and teasing. “I don’t think you’ll need a copy.” His breath hitched–barely–and then you felt his mouth press to the back of your shoulder, his arms circling your waist from behind.

“I-Is that so?” He asked, lips trailing kisses up your damp neck.

You tilted your head back against him, smiling into the steam.

“Oh, it’s definitely so,” You said, reaching back to cup the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as the water cascaded around you both–cleansing your skin, but not your hunger.

[bejeweledinterludes]

i was made for lovin' you.

OR after years of unsaid emotions, supressed feelings and goddamn urges— you and dean finally confront the thing you'd both been avoiding: how there's so much you wanna do in the darkness. and you're gonna make all come true. tonight.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : dean winchester x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 5.6 k.

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS LOOK AWAY !!!, lateish seasons (if you squint) dean winchester x reader's first time (not virgins though), unprotected (mostly) soft sex with feelings, feelings, feelings!, aka porn WITH plot!, p in v, handjob, dean being a munch ofc (this is canon. go argue with the wall.), swearing. please let me know if i missed anything!

𖤐 ────────────────────────

from the moment you first met dean winchester while working a case, you knew you wanted to fuck him.

which was a little strange, because you didn't think like that outright about too many men— not ones you knew in real life, anyway.

but here the stupid bastard was, with his annoyingly pretty face and those stupid, big, rough fightin' hands that could touch you everywhere, pull the prettiest sounds right from you—

oh, we're getting way too far ahead of ourselves. you shoved those thoughts away. come on, this was a freakin' case. lives were at stake.

and once the initial secret lust you had finally went away, you realized you were experiencing something much greater than some stupid crush on dean.

because the more hunted with him, you got to see not just the tough, hard-as-nails side of him— but you saw the other side.

his people side.

you got to see the way he interacted with every single person he encountered on a case, not resting until the threat was completely gone and ganked. and sometimes, when a case hit too close to home, he treated victims and affected family no less than his own fuckin' family.

and you knew from your own personal experience that he'd do just about damn near anything for the family he did have. saw the way he got all soft and sweet around kids— and after a good while, even around you.

and that's when you knew you were in trouble.

you'd known dean for years now. and nothing had ever come of you two except him being one of the greatest friends you'd ever had.

but god help you if you didn't want more.

and nothing like a quick fuck, either. no, you wanted to be there for everything— even on those deathly-quiet nights when dean's thoughts got too loud and the debilitating weight he was carrying all alone just got too heavy, you wanted to be the one keeping him afloat.

it was something dangerously close to love.

you tried to ignore it at first. push it down. and it did work-- for a while. until fucking dean started acting weird around you, too.

and now things were... complicated.

you didn't know exactly when things had shifted so much to the point that it almost became unbearable to even be in the same room as dean without either of you knowingly holding back just spilling your guts-- but god, it was worse than dying.

inevitably, one night, it all just snapped.

there was no dramatic fight, or screamed confessions from either of you. no, it happened late in the darkness, when you both were sharing a motel room.

which would have made you fond of all the times you guys had shared motel rooms in the past— you would've smiled at the thought of younger you trying to make the most out of the fact that you had to share a room with a fucking boy.

but dean was now much more of a man than ever before now.

thank god there's two separate beds, you initially thought.

now, though? there wasn't a need for two beds anymore.

because you still somehow ended up in dean's that was closest to the window.

in his lap.

and kissing him.

you were sure you were in just another one of your dreams or fantasies you conjured up to get off— but you could feel dean's hands on you through your shirt, grasping at the fabric. so this had to be real— but just for precaution, you roll your hips into dean's a little.

yeah. that sound he made when he grinds his hips up into your own was definitely real— and right in your mouth.

you knew you were probably moving too fast— but fuck if you cared. your hands sneak in between you both and trail downward on the front of dean's shirt, not stopping until you reach the hem— and your voice is a whisper against dean's kiss-swollen lips.

"arms up, de."

and dean obliges in a heartbeat, raising his arms up over his head immediately— and he's silently praising the fact he decided to just wear a t-shirt to bed.

you actually somehow had only seen dean shirtless once or twice over the years— the latest being last summer when the air conditioning in the bunker was broken, and you conveniently and hurriedly stated that you had to stay in your room the entire day—because it was so much more skin than you were used to seeing.

but now?

you're staring.

dean's looking at you looking at him— and if the motel room wasn't so dark, you could've sworn his face got a little pinker under your gaze.

but you don't dwell on that for too long. because your hands are itching to reach out and just touch— and the moment your fingers start to graze on dean's biceps first, his eyes flutter shut and he lets out a shaky exhale, fighting to keep himself under control.

because it's you that's touching him.

you're still touching him when you lean back and kiss his lips again— and dean is very aware of the fact that you still have your shirt on.

but you have to break the kiss after a while to get stupid air— and your hands are reluctantly taken off of dean's skin, much to his protest. but the words he was about to say die in his throat when he sees where your hands were going.

you grasp the hem of the oversized shirt you were wearing, tearing it over your head and discarding it in the same motion— all while you were silently thanking whatever had possessed you not to wear shorts to bed.

or a bra.

and now, dean thinks he might die.

it was his turn to stare, eyes raking and flicking over every inch of you as you're straddling his lap like he didn't know where to look first— and dean's just so in awe, he says what he was thinking out loud in a barely-audible.

"god, you're beautiful."

you can feel a blush burning your cheeks at dean's words-- and judging by the way his eyes widened ever so slightly when he uttered those words, you knew he meant it. you smile softly down at him, your voice just as quiet as his once was.

"you're not so bad, yourself.''

and that makes the corner of dean's lips turn up in a small, soft smirk. god, he loves you. and he's gonna show you that.

all night long.

dean starts with his hands, the rough callouses trailing up your thighs, hips, waist, stomach, tits, arms, back— fucking everywhere on your bare skin as he stares up at you.

but your hands move on dean, too— touching him everywhere you could reach before you go lower, your fingers grazing on the waistband of his boxers— but you look back up at him again, a silent question in your eyes.

dean looks confused for half a second— until he realizes you're asking for permission. then he nods, his heart feeling warmer than it was before.

you tear his boxers off in one fell swoop— and holy goddamn.

you stare— again. and dean's fighting the urge to roll you over onto the mattress and just taking you.

instead, he forces himself to stay still under you— because the urge to do that and see what you do next is stronger.

dean's smirking up at you. the damn idiot. and then he quietly murmurs out—

"your turn."

you'd almost forgotten you still had your underwear on— oh, but dean didn't forget. the speed at which you yank down the fabric and discard it somewhere in the motel room should be a world record.

you look back down at dean again when you get situated back on his lap— but he's not looking at you anymore.

no, the man gulps at the sight of your pussy being exposed to him— and it takes him a while to look back up at you, his voice low and rough.

"c'mere."

you obliged, one of your hands reaching down and grasping dean's own that had been resting on your thigh.

this was new. oh, so new. dean wasn't new to you by any means, and that familiarity, that bond was still there— but he was new in this sense. this was different.

this was real.

dean was a man who rarely ever got what he really wanted— so you wanted dean to get whatever he wanted out of what was about to happen between the two of you.

"tell me what you want, dean," your voice is a mere whisper. "tell me what you want me to do, and i'll do it."

dean really thinks you should be illegal. you're all he's ever wanted—and you're asking him what he wanted.

he doesn't answer right away— dean's eyes rake over your naked form in his lap, and he's got his hands resting on your thighs as he meets your gaze once more.

"touch me."

you knew what dean meant by that. dean knew what he meant by that. and you both were fully aware of the line you were about to cross. but you weren't even nervous. and neither was he.

so take your hands, reaching down and trailing a path on dean's lower torso before you take him all in your hands.

and dean thinks he might die.

again.

because you start stroking him slowly— you weren't an idiot, you knew if you went too fast at first, it would hurt dean like a motherfucker rather than feel good.

and you're just looking at him, reading his reactions, making sure that it feels good.

all dean can get out at first is your name. he had opened his mouth to say something, but that's all that came out in a broken groan. he's letting out these little broken noises of pleasure— and his head has to fall back on the shitty motel room’s headboard so he doesn't cum right there.

you keep your pace of your hand on dean's dick steady, only increasing the intensity after a few moments when you can tell he needed more— by the way he gripped onto your hip, his rough fingers curling into the meat of your skin— and by the way he was fighting back the moans that had been treating to escape his throat.

it was definitely embarrassing how close dean was to cumming already, he knew that. but he also knew it was because it was you who was bringing him there. not some quick fuck with a chick he'd met that night, or his own hand— no.

it was yours.

and that thought combined with the way you're still looking at him— in awe, like he's something out of a museum, gets him way closer to the edge you were guiding him to.

"i'm— fucking christ, jesus—"

your name along with the man upstairs' son had come out of dean's mouth in a desperate attempt to warn you that he was right there, all because of you.

"i gotcha, dean," you whisper, and your free hand not jerking him off reaches to cup the side of his face as his head's tilted up towards you.

"just let it happen."

and that does it for him.

dean cums hard, his hands clutching on your thigh and part of your hips with all he's got, gasping and groaning, letting little out broken moans the whole way down.

you just guide dean through it with your hand, watching him under you as his skin was all flushed and red now, hair sticking up everywhere (courtesy of your hands), his pupils blown out and half-lidded before shutting fully.

"y'okay?" you whisper, your eyes flicking over dean under you. his own eyes continued to be closed— and you take that time to grab a tissue from the nightstand, wiping your hand clean before looking back and giving dean your full attention.

your other hand was still on his face, your thumb grazing on his cheek now, and for a split second, you almost think dean must not have liked it, or you went too far, because he wasn't saying—

"holy shit."

the curse leaves dean's mouth as his eyes open— and all he can do is reach his free hand up that wasn't grasping yours between the two of you already and rest it on the one cupping his face.

you can't even open your softly smiling mouth to respond, because the next words are coming out of dean's mouth, his voice still raw and rough from the way you just broke him apart.

"you know what i wanna do right now?"

you tilt your head a little to the side, still looking down at dean below you with his back resting against the headboard as you so desperately wanted to know.

"what?"

dean's downright devilish smirk reappears— and his eyes flick down to your almost dripping pussy that was spread as you straddled his legs before looking back up at you, his voice still rough as ever.

"I wanna taste you."

and a strangled sound gets stuck in your throat at the mere thought of dean eating you out. maybe it was a little embarassing how breathless your voice sounded when you leaned just a fraction closer to him.

"then go ahead."

an actual growl escapes dean at that— and you don't need to tell the man twice. he's got you flipped over and pinning you down, your scorching back hitting the cold motel sheets before you can even blink. you stare up at him when he hovers over you, both hands on the sides of your head, holding him up— and he's just looking at you.

but dean doesn't stay like that for too long. his lips hit your neck immediately after he leans down enough— and he starts just attacking at your skin, nipping, biting, sucking— he draws a path all the way down, until he reaches your now sopping pussy.

dean changes his position when he does, spreading your slick inner thighs further apart and settling between your legs, wrapping a strong arm around the meat of your thighs.

but he hesitates for a brief moment. he likes eating out pussy, but did you enjoy it? his pussy-drunk eyes flick up to yours— and you're a sight all spread out for him, your back against the pillows and sitting up a little so you could watch.

"i ain't gonna be gentle. y'know that, right?"

you knew that dean had always been considerate of you, long before this night— for as long as you'd known him, for that matter. but hearing him tell you that he didn't want to be gentle made your gaze soften and a smile tug on your lips as you nodded in response.

"yeah, i know."

and in that moment, dean thinks he loves you.

well, in all actuality, dean knows he loves you— but seeing you all soft and just so goddamn pretty in the moonlight that's filtering in through the motel room window, he's well aware of the blessing that's before him.

dean gives you one last smile— softer this time. then he dives in, burying in his face and going at you full force, his tongue flat and working against your puffy, slick folds before letting out a groan that vibrates everything.

and dean was right.

he was not gentle about it.

your eyes threaten to flutter shut as dean's tounge works on you— but you force them to be half-lidded as you look down at the sight of dean eating you out like a starved man.

and he's looking right back at you as he does it.

your hand flies to grasp onto dean's that was still resting on your thigh as his mouth continues to attack you— and he gladly takes it in his, not faltering his pace once.

you couldn't help but bite down hard on your bottom lip, attempting to contain the moans and noises that were threatening to spill out of you— and dean isn’t having it.

“nuh uh, darlin’,” dean shakes his head between your thighs, talking right into your pussy between flicks of his tongue on your clit. “i wanna hear you— wanna hear how goddamn good i’m makin’ ya feel right now.”

and with that, your mouth drops open almost immediately. it's like a switch flipped in you— and the first moan you let out is his fuckin' name.

"dean..."

christ on a cross. dean had wanted to hear just anything come out of your pretty mouth, but his name being the first thing on the tip of your tongue does things to him.

dean's imagined you moaning his name countless times, of course, but nothing can compare to the real you right now— tits heaving, groaning and eyes fluttering a little each time he brushes on a few sensitive spots on your pussy with his tongue.

now, it's embarrassing how close you are to cumming on dean's tongue. and oh, he notices. he holds your bucking and writhing hips down with his free hand that's not grasping and holding onto yours—

and goes to fuckin' town.

"fuck— dean!" you think you're gonna pass out— because you could barely hear the sounds of dean slurping up your juices and sucking on your clit when you cum without warning, back arching off of the sheets and grinding into his tongue, your grip on his hand becoming almost bruising as the pleasure cascades over you in waves.

dean doesn't look away from you for a second as your pussy flutters on his tongue, moving his mouth slower once more to not let a drop of you go to waste, making sure you're completely spent, pulling soft groans and gasps from your lips.

your legs tremble and shake under the arm that dean had wrapped around your thigh— and he takes a second to just watch you in the post-orgasm state you're in.

"y'okay?" dean's voice is rough but soft at the same time, looking up at you from his position between your legs like you're the night sky itself.

you open your eyes again, lifting your head off of the pillows just enough to see dean's eyes looking right back at you— and oh, he's a sight, his lips, nose and chin absolutley covered in your slick— and his hair's even more messy than before now.

"yeah", you breathe out softly, managing a nod against the pillows. "yeah, i'm all good. c'mere."

dean sees the soft look in your eyes— and his own gaze melts as he obeys, lifting off of the mattress and out from between your legs to hover over you, your faces just inches apart again.

dean can't look away.

and he never wants to.

"you're goddamn gorgeous, y'know that?" dean murmurs as he looks down at your moonlit face.

at that, you reach your hand up in the distance between you two, cupping the side of dean's face— and his head immediately leans into your touch before you whisper back.

"and you're perfect, dean."

dean's chest tightens at that— and his gaze somehow softens even more. no one's ever called him perfect before, and he couldn't think of one person in his life who even believed that to be true.

but you were looking at dean like he was.

you notice dean's reaction immediately— it was hard not to with how close you were.

you meant those words you said to dean— because being perfect wasn't about having absolutely no flaws or weaknesses.

it was about knowing that, and still carrying on anyway.

and then it clicks. because you could talk all you wanted to dean.

or you could show him how perfect he was.

"lemme show you," you whisper before dean could even open his mouth to deny it. "let me show you how perfect you are, dean."

and those words are completely breaking down what little resistance dean had left. his eyes actually get a little misty as he’s looking down at you— because he can't believe you're here, telling him everything he's never heard before.

dean nods— and his voice is shaking with anticipation mixed with pure awe.

"yeah. yeah, okay."

and that's all you needed. you look at dean's face one last time before lifting your head to close the little distance between the both of you, kissing him with everything you had to give him.

you didn't kiss dean like before— that was in a state of pure lust, desire, and want. now, you're kissing him softer, slower, and with purpose.

and purpose was exactly what dean needed. he tries to keep himself upright and hovering over you, but the way you're kissing him has his arms trembling as you're literally melting him.

you only take my lips off of dean’s when the air he and you had been breathing through your noses wasn’t enough— and your thumb grazes on his cheek again as his forehead rests on top of yours, eyes fluttering a little as i whisper against his lips.

“lay down for me.”

you don't have to say it again. dean obliges in a heartbeat, lifting off of you and rolling onto his back in one fluid motion— and you follow behind, tossing your leg over his to straddle him once more

dean’s hands go to your hips once you’re straddling him, looking up at you now— he still looks a little wrecked from earlier, and his chest is rising and falling in a slower, steadier rhythm than before, like he’s trying to calm himself down.

but seeing your naked form straddling him like this once more is just making his heart start to thump against his chest— again.

your hands find dean’s own on your hips,your fingers trailing on his skin, grazing past his wrists and up his arms— you're not exactly slow, but you're also not very fast with it, either.

no, you take your time touching dean all over again, fingertips tracing over every scar and dent you could see and feel as you're straddling him. your eyes flick up to his face, meeting his gaze once more— but you just keep touching him.

"oh, look at you," your voice is an awed whisper while your hands move on dean’s chest, grazing on the anti-possession tattoo he had on his skin. "see? you’re perfect."

and dean can’t help the little shiver your touch brings him right now, even though he's literally just laying below you, half-propped up by the pillows like you once were. he just can’t help it, because you’ve always been able to get the best reactions out of him.

dean swallows hard as your hands continue their journey over his body— your fingertips roaming over his skin, tracing all the scars he’d earned, right across his chest and down to his stomach.

and his breath actually hitches when you touch his anti-possession tattoo again.

your fingers trace on dean’s tattoo, watching and loving his reactions to just your freakin' hands.

and your hands stay resting on dean’s chest, but a little closer to his shoulders, shifting closer to him in his lap, pressing the entirety of your bare body completely against his.

your voice is still a whisper when you talk again, searching his face as you ask him to do what you've always wanted to.

because you needed to show dean how much you wanted him.

"can i ride you?"

if dean was hard before, it's nothing compared to the way his dick almost hurts now, throbbing at the way you asked permission to ride him.

"god, yes" is what comes out from dean's clenched jaw, and his gaze is locked onto yours as his hands rest on your hips.

a soft smile tugs on your lips again, your gaze flicking down for a brief moment when you hear how strained dean’s voice was— and the sight of him hard for you sends a wave of heat that pools in your stomach, making you clench around nothing.

because you needed dean just as badly as he needed you.

your eyes flick back up to dean’s green ones. and you notice that neither of you are nervous for his to happen. this was dean, after all. you'd wanted him in the least friendly way possible for as long as you could remember— and now? it was actually going to come true.

you didn’t have to ask dean anything else, or even say something. he wanted all of you— and you were going to give it to him.

so that’s why you shift a little, reaching down and guiding yourself to sink onto dean, keeping his gaze while your hands are still on his shoulders.

a broken groan escapes dean when you start to lower yourself down on him— and his own body’s reaction to your walls sucking him in just makes him want you even more.

dean lets his gaze travel all across your face— and he’s still looking right into your eyes when he lets himself go completely slack underneath you, letting you take the lead.

your fingers dig a little into dean’s shoulder at the burning sensation of your pussy being stretched— and your breath hitches, hard. your head falls forward a little as you screw your eyes shut.

your mind had felt like it was going over a thousand miles per second, but when your legs finally hit dean's and your pussy hits the base of his dick, everything just... goes away.

and dean couldn’t keep himself completely still anymore. he actually growled a little when he felt you fully sink down on him, and the sound that left him when he feels your tightness around him was a little more primal-sounding than he’d like to admit right now.

"oh, fuck," he breathes out your name, "you’re tryna kill me."

you can only respond to dean’s words with a strangled noise as the burning sensation was becoming full-throttle now, your grip on dean’s shoulders a little tighter, your head still hung as you try to keep my breathing steady.

because you literally couldn’t move yet. it was still the best feeling you'd ever felt— but you had to get used to dean's dick being buried deep inside of you before you could actually start to move on top of him.

and the way you’re holding on to his shoulders right now and how you’re trying to hold back little noises is driving dean insane.

he’s gripping your hips so tight that it has to be almost painful, and his eyes are fixed on you, still watching you while he tries to stay still for you. but it was taking a hell of a lot of effort on his part.

dean's chest is rising and falling fast, and he can’t help it when he finally chokes out your name in a whisper, unable to keep it in anymore.

"move. please."

at dean’s plea, you flick your hips just a little to see if you were adjusted yet.

and oh, were you ever. your fingers finally release their death grip on dean’s shoulders, one of your hands finding and grasping one of his own that was on your hip— and you finally start to move on top of him, rocking your hips into his.

the groan that escapes dean is the deepest one yet, his hand clutching onto yours and his eyes shutting for a moment as he feels you moving, his free hand tightening on your hip again.

"oh, god," dean gasps out, "jesus—"

you let out a raggedy exhale mixed with a moan, attempting to stop your eyes from rolling back into your head as you continue to ride dean's dick. it was hard, but you managed to keep your eyes open and half-lidded and on him, wanting to see his face— and you grind your hips into his faster and harder.

seeing you like this was getting to be borderline unbearable for dean.

your tits are bouncing a little in dean's face, and you're just not letting up, and you're so tight and warm, and he just fuckin' loves you—

dean realizes he's gonna cum if you keep this up.

and the embarrassing part is you barely even started riding him.

so it’s a damn good thing he’s still got a shred of control over himself right now.

"je— s— slow it down for a sec, darlin'," dean manages to get out, gritting his teeth as his eyes screw shut. "please."

the moment those words leave dean’s mouth, you immediately do as he says— you don’t abruptly stop, instead gradually slowing your movements to allow for an easy transition.

your hand trails up from dean's shoulder to cup on the side of his face while your're still on top of him— your eyes then search his when you breathlessly whisper to him.

"you okay?"

dean opens his eyes when you ask him if he’s okay right now, knowing that was pure concern in your words. he’s taking a moment to let his body level out a bit, since you stopped like he asked you to. and when he does, he manages a nod once he’s able to somehow form words.

"yeah, 'm good, darlin’—" dean swallows and takes a big gulp of air. "just got a 'lil too close to the edge for a second there. don’t wanna blow it right now."

an exhale of relief you didn’t know you were holding in was let out at dean’s confirmation— and your thumb almost absentmindedly grazes on the skin of his cheek as your hand was still on the side of his face.

"oh," you also nod, gaze softening as you look down at dean under you still. his words make you feel warm inside, along with a little sense of pride, too— but you still had to confirm. "it doesn’t hurt, though, right?"

"doesn’t hurt,” dean responds immediately. and that’s a bit of a complete understatement, because being inside of you right now felt like heaven. his own hand comes up to where yours is, his fingers skimming over your skin as he smiles softly up at you once more. "just wanna be able to last a 'lil bit longer for you, 's all."

your eyebrows scrunch together at that, and your expression is almost goddamn melted at this point as you look down at dean. you weren't sure why those words impacted you so much, but your chest tightens with emotion before you speak again.

"oh, de," you literally whisper, your thumb still skimming back and forth on dean’s cheek. "y'know you don’t have to do that."

"yeah, i do," dean murmurs immediately in response, looking right into your eyes the whole time he talks. "i've wanted this— you for goddamn years. i'm not lettin' this end yet."

so you don't.

you nod, leaning in and pressing a kiss on dean's lips before you talk again.

"okay," you nod against his forehead. "just move me when you want to, alright?"

dean gratefully nods, too, appreciating your understanding. his hands find and hold your hips again—this time, with less of a death-grip. and after he takes a steadying breath, he starts to move you.

you just let dean work and grind your hips into his own, holding his shoulder and face with your hands, allowing him to take what he needed and set the pace.

after a while, though, dean lifts you up off his dick by your hips a few inches before setting you back down fully, repeating the motion— starting to actually fuck you a little.

you'd been quiet for the most part so far— but once the head of dean's dick brushes against that spongy spot deep inside of you, a string of broken moans and gasps spill from your lips.

and that just spurs dean on.

you'd both waited long enough now. it's been years of stolen looks, suppressed jealousy, unspoken thoughts and feelings— and tonight, you're making it all come true in the darkness of the motel room.

thank god dean's hands had been guiding your hips— because you're starting to unravel faster than you can comprehend. and so is dean.

dean's fucking up into you now like he'll never be able to fuck you again— which you both know wasn't true. and after tonight, you know you'd happily sleep with dean's dick buried inside of your pussy.

it takes only a whimper falling from your lips for dean to know that you're close— and your hand flies down to one of his on your hips again. he gladly takes it, wanting to hold your hand when he cums inside of you—

wait. is he allowed to do that?

"y— oh," dean groans out your name— he has not been silent throughout this entire ordeal, either. broken noises of pleasure and little groans of your name escaped his lips whenever your walls clenched around him. "can i— god—"

you didn't have to ask what dean meant by that. you nod almost frantically as his hand are still gripping your hips, guiding your pussy up and down his dick— and you squeeze his other hand tighter, the one you were holding.

and only then does dean let himself go, again.

your orgasm comes at the same time dean's does— and you both arch into each other and trembling as your moans echo off the motel room's walls. dean's face buries between your tits and groans into the skin while he spills up into you, your juices mixing with his.

you both stay like that for a while, naked, sweating, slick and gasping for air for god knows how long— until dean's raw and breathless voice vibrating on your breasts breaks the silence.

"i think i was made for you."

──────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new message from the author ! ↓

oh heyyy... are any of y'all still here ??? but seriously, on a real note— if you have stayed to the very end: first, THANK YOU for reading! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write, and i want to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

OH i also used a very special headcanon from @figthoughts' mastermind brain for this one because mr. dean winchester holding your hand while he eats you out is very much and totally 100% canon for me as well. fig you match my freak like no other and i hope to one day write as good and absolutely filthily as you do HEHE smooches to you my pookie <3

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[kateschi]

the katsuki bakugou effect

synopsis: where your husband, katsuki, has a way of calming your daughter like no one else can.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

katsuki’s ability to calm your daughter is nothing short of magical.

it doesn’t matter how fussy or inconsolable she gets; the moment he holds her, everything changes.

her tiny fists are no longer clenched in frustration, her loud cries slowly taper off, and her little body relaxes in his arms. his presence soothes her in a way no one else’s can.

you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve been at the end of your rope, trying everything you can think of to calm her.

you’ve rocked her gently, hummed her favorite lullaby, even tried a little soft talking, but nothing works.

when your baby’s tears start to escalate, and her little body trembles in distress, you find yourself on the edge of exhaustion.

but then katsuki walks in.

he steps over to you, and with a quick kiss to the top of your head, scoops her from your arms, then instantly, the tension in the room lifts.

his rough hands gently cradle her, and he murmurs something too quiet for you to catch.

you can’t help but watch in awe as she goes from wailing to calm in just a few seconds, her little face nuzzling against his chest. it’s like a switch flips, and you swear you can see her sigh in relief.

it’s always the same. as soon as katsuki’s around, she settles. she looks at him with a calmness that’s impossible to ignore, her tiny lips pouting slightly as she stares up at him.

her little hands grasp weakly at his shirt, her body relaxing into his hold as if everything is suddenly right with the world. and katsuki just holds her, always.

“you’re a softie,” you tease one day as you watch him rock her back and forth.

katsuki shoots you a glare, but it’s softened by the sight of your daughter curled peacefully in his arms. “shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it. and you can’t help but smile.

you cross the room, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. he stiffens for a moment, but the warmth in his eyes tells you everything you need to know.

“I’m serious,” you say. “you’re the softest guy I know.”

he lets out a gruff chuckle, his scowl deepening, though it's clear he's enjoying your attention as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

a few weeks later, you’re all at a class 1-a reunion, gathered at the old dorms. the atmosphere is lively, with the familiar banter of your old classmates filling the air.

midoriya’s sitting on the couch, holding your daughter carefully in his arms, cooing softly at her as the rest of the group laughs and talks around them.

but suddenly, the peaceful mood shifts. your girl begins to fidget in midoriya’s arms, her little face scrunching up in that all-too-familiar way before the whimpers start.

a soft cry escapes her lips, and then it builds, escalating into the full-blown wail you know so well. midoriya looks startled, glancing around as if searching for some way to calm her.

“uh, uh, it’s okay,” midoriya says, trying to gently rock her in his arms. “it’s okay, sweetheart."

but your baby’s cries only seem to grow louder, her face turning red as her hands flail helplessly. you glance at katsuki, already knowing what’s coming next.

without a word, katsuki stands up from his seat, the others giving him a bit of space as he walks over.

his eyes lock on your daughter, and there’s something about his gaze that makes everything else fade into the background. he’s not rushing, not frantic.

he just calmly steps in, his arms outstretched.

midoriya silently hands the little girl over. as soon as katsuki has her, everything shifts. he holds her against his chest, and his rough hand gently pats her back.

his thumb brushes against her little arm, his voice soft. “it’s me,” he murmurs, his tone low and steady. “it’s okay.”

your little girl hiccups, her cries fading almost immediately, and then she stops. her lips jut out in a pout, still a little upset, but no longer in distress.

she stares up at him, her wide eyes searching his face as if recognizing him. and then, she settles into the crook of his arm, her tiny hands grasping weakly at the fabric of his shirt.

the room is silent for a moment, everyone watching in awe as your girl rests peacefully in katsuki’s arms. he doesn’t even seem to notice the attention.

his focus is entirely on her, his expression softening as she calms.

you smile to yourself, watching him from the sidelines. even after all this time, katsuki never ceases to surprise you with how much he’s grown, how much he’s learned.

you remember when he first found out he was going to be a father, and how nervous he’d been (though he would never admit that).

but now, here he is, effortlessly calming your daughter.

“man, you’re a real softie now, huh?” kirishima teases from across the room, a wide grin plastered on his face.

katsuki’s eyes narrow immediately, and he glares at his friend. “shut the hell up, red.”

but the teasing doesn’t stop there.

kaminari, who’s been silently watching the entire scene, leans forward with a smirk. “I can’t believe it…the ‘explosion hero’ is actually the baby whisperer now?”

katsuki frowns, and his glare remains trained on the two of them. but there’s a slight restraint in his movements—one that’s only noticeable to you.

he’s trying to stay calm, and it’s all because he doesn’t want to wake your little girl up. you can practically feel the tension in the air as his patience wears thin.

sero, naturally, chimes in with a smirk of his own. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, man. I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be ‘aww’ing over a baby like some mushy ball of fluff.”

katsuki’s mouth opens, ready to fire back, but then he glances down at your sleeping daughter, her little chest rising and falling peacefully, and he shuts it again.

for a split second, his fierce expression softens. he takes a deep breath, holding the baby a little tighter.

“you’re lucky she’s asleep, or I would've blasted your asses to oblivion,” he grumbles, but the threat is half-hearted.

kaminari lets out a nervous laugh. “jeez, man, alright, we get it.”

you can’t help but chuckle softly, leaning against the doorframe as you watch them. 

katsuki’s eyes narrow in warning, but despite his frown, there’s a warmth to his expression that doesn’t go unnoticed when he looks back at d/n.

it’s moments like these when the rest of the world seems to disappear, and it's just him, her, and the quiet calm they share.

sighing in resignation, he shifts slightly, walking over to you. you watch as he makes his way across the room, still cradling your daughter in his arms, her tiny hands gripping his shirt as she drifts into a deeper sleep.

you don’t say anything at first, but as he gets closer, you meet his gaze with a soft smile.

there’s no denying the softening effect he has when it’s just the two of you—well, the three of you, if you count the tiny bundle in his arms.

he leans into you as he steps to your side, his broad shoulders brushing against yours, and without a word, he tilts his head slightly toward you, seeking the quiet comfort of being beside you.

“I told them to shut up,” katsuki mutters, his voice lower now, quieter. his usual fiery energy is subdued, and he seems content to just be in your presence.

he exhales slowly, letting the weight of the situation fade away. you reach up and gently touch his arm, a soft laugh escaping you.

"she's lucky you’re her dad," you murmur, your eyes flickering down to where your daughter is curled against his chest. "you’re so patient with her."

katsuki scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays his true feelings.

“I’m not some damn pushover,” he mutters, but there’s a softness in his tone that makes you want to kiss him.

and you do.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

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