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scarletmika · 3 days ago

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Stay With Me : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Ex-Widow!Reader

Summary: Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more.

Warnings: fluff, angst, idiots in love, violence, death, language, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*

Word Count: 5,292 words PART TWO: Always : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,”

To be fair, Yelena Belova had every right to be apprehensive of your idea. It had only been a few months since The New Avengers had been formally established, and the team itself was still finding its groove working together. Standing up to Valentina and saving Bob from himself? That was one thing. Receiving missions from Valentina’s team, having to travel the globe in order to save innocent civilians? That was a whole other can of worms that they’d popped open without thinking of the consequences.

The amount of missions the team was needed on was slowly ramping up, going from just two a month to now almost four in just the last month. The entire team wasn’t always needed for certain mission: Bucky, Yelena and yourself had been sent on solo missions, while Alexei had tagged along with John and Ava on others (much to their dismay at times). There was always one agreed-upon rule: Bob was staying in the Watchtower.

It’s not that the team didn’t want Bob with them, because everyone did. They knew he wanted to feel wanted and feel useful, that he didn’t want to simply do the dishes after dinner every night and read through every book that had accumulated in his room. The problem came down to control. When they had fully explained what had happened that day in New York to him, the Void and how he became his worst fears, the small sense of control he seemed to have over his powers had slipped. His worst fear had quickly become losing control once again and hurting his team, hurting the people of the city.

You, though, had another idea.

“I think it’s time, Lena,” you tried to reason with her that night in the kitchen, the pair of you working on the load of dirty dishes together. Yelena cleaned while you dried them and put them away, working in tandem just as you had for many years within the Red Room, memories you both wanted to forget. “Bob is capable of controlling it, I know he is, he just needs help. Just let me train him, show him some basics and help him find that sense of control again.”

“And if he loses control? If the Void takes over his mind again?”

“I’m not scared of him,”

Yelena scoffed, shooting a smirk toward her oldest friend before focusing back on the dishes before them, hoping to finish them sooner rather than later.

“Just because you have a little soft spot for Bob doesn’t mean your idea is the best idea,”

“I’m not asking any of you to help me,” you shot back, bumping your hip against hers with a pointed look for her comment about your soft spot for Bob. “Just trust that I can do it. I believe in Bob, and that’s enough for me to try.”

Yelena paused at the sink, quietly watching as you placed the dishes up into the cabinet where they typically went, and let out a sigh, shaking her head.

“Fine, but it’s on you if it goes wrong,”

“Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Convincing Yelena was the part that you knew would be easy. You’d grown up just houses down from her, Natasha and Alexei, kept there under the watchful eye of your own Red Room spy posing as your mother. You’d escaped America with them, been trained through the Red Room and escaped mind control with Yelena by your side, and brought down Dreykov once and for all with her, too. There weren’t many people Yelena trusted in the world, but you were one of the very few. You knew it might take slight convincing, but she’d ultimately trust your judgement in the end.

Now, convincing Bob was a whole other story, one you knew wouldn’t be easy.

“No uh, no way,” you sighed, watching Bob pace his bedroom and wring his hands together. He glanced at you for just a second before shaking his hand again. “Using my powers means being the Sentry and I can’t be the Sentry without…you know…”

“And it’s been months since there’s been any incident, Bob,” you tried to explain to him softly. Without giving him a chance to pull away you reached forward, silently taking his tense hands in your own and squeezing them. “Look, you’re holding my hands and I’m not being transported into any shame room!”

Bob tried his best to laugh at your attempt to lighten his mood. His cheeks flushed a bright red as he pulled his hands from your own, shaking his head as he sat back down on his bed, picking back up the book he had been reading before you’d come in and pitched your idea to him.

You took a deep breath, wracking your brain for any idea to hopefully convince Bob that this was good for him, that learning control again would be good. The cover of the book in his hands distracted you, a smile crossing your lips in an instant as you recognized it.

“I remember buying that for you last month, along with the rest of the series,” you told him gently, sitting down on the bed beside him and gesturing to the book. “Seems like you’re enjoying it, since I’m pretty sure that’s book three.”

“It’s not bad. Helps pass the time,” Bob shrugged, looking back to you with a shy smile. “You have good taste.”

With a shared smile between you both, you bumped your shoulder with his lightly, glancing down at the book before looking back to his eyes. God, were you fond of those blue eyes.

“You trusted my book recommendations…can you trust me on anything else?”

Bob didn’t hesitate before speaking again.

“I trust you more than anyone,”

The way he said it, so sure of himself, made your smile grow even wider.

“Then trust me when I tell you that this could be good for you. Learning control again will help you, even just the smallest bit of practice and control can be good for you. Please, just try? For me?”

It was quiet between you both for a moment, eyes never leaving one another, before Bob’s voice came out softer than it had before.

“Yeah…yeah, okay. Let’s try,”

It was a process…a long process to say the least. It took almost two weeks before you could even get Bob fully comfortable in the full gym that tower had for him to even consider channeling his powers again. He never liked going to the training room when John and Alexei were there, Walker always managing to make snide comments toward Bob. You knew Walker cared, he just hated wearing it on his sleeve and masked it instead, but that didn’t mean you appreciated the small remarks.

Instead, you’d gotten Bob comfortable with heading to the training room whenever Bucky and Ava were sparring, the pair tending to leave you both alone unlike your other friends.

“I know you can do it. Just focus on it, channel your energy into it, and command your mind to do what you want it to do,”

You didn’t have an extension range of powers the way that Bob did, so you weren’t entirely sure that what you were instructing Bob to do was actually helpful to helping him learn control, or even get comfortable with his powers again. But he was trying, and that was enough for you.

Bob took a deep breath beside you, focusing in on the 20 pound medicine ball on the ground across the room from the two of you. He held his hand out, making your mind flashback to that day in the tower when you were forced to fight against him, something you had refused to do, and you saw the furrow in his brows as he tried to focus in and command the ball to move. There was silence in the room, besides the sound of Ava and Bucky talking across the room.

You watched Bob in silence as he seemed to grow more frustrated, desperately trying to move the ball across the room toward you both. You placed your hand on his arm, thumb gently rubbing across his skin in the most gentle and comforting way you could muster, tone hushed as you spoke just to him.

“You can do this Bob, just focus. You can do it,”

The tenseness in his body seemed to leave him at your words and your touch. Bob pulled his hand back in toward him, and for just a second, he was delighted as the weighted exercise ball finally moved across the floor.

Until it stopped just an inch after moving.

Bob’s head was buried in his hands in seconds, and you could see the deep flush in his cheeks through the cracks in his fingers as he mumbled to himself. You couldn’t entirely hear him, but you could make out the words “mistake” and “useless” clear as day as your hand made its way to his back, rubbing it comfortingly.

John Walker’s obnoxious laughter from the doorway cut through the silence of the room before you could encourage Bob to try again.

“Wow! I thought after a few weeks you’d have his control and powers in better shape there, Widow,” John whistled, stepping slightly further in through the doorway. You could hear Ava mumbling to Bucky about how this wouldn’t but good, but John didn’t seem to care. “I mean an inch! Wow! I mean hey, it’s not all about size right?”

“Walker, that’s enough-”

You tuned out Bucky’s scolding of John, looking back to Bob. His hands had left his face, his eyes trained on the ground, as he continued to mumble to himself about how he was useless. Your blood boiled in an instant, reaching down to take one of Bob’s hands in your own and squeeze it in comfort as you turned your glare back to John.

“Hey Walker? How about you shut it, yeah? If I wanted to hear an ass’s opinion I’d take myself down to the zoo and ask the fucking donkeys,”

John laughed again, shrugging off Bucky as he tried to place a hand on his shoulder, pointing over at you. Your hand tightened around Bob’s as he did.

“Want to say that again, Widow?”

“Ex-Widow, thank you very much. You should remember that your dick belongs in your pants and not in your personality,”

“Keep running your mouth. This little experiment here of yours isn’t good for anyone. Just because you’ve got a little soft spot for Bobby boy here doesn’t mean-”

Walker was cut off as the medicine ball Bob had been trying to move was flung across the room, narrowly missing his head and embedding itself in the doorframe behind him, shattering and splintering the wood and burying itself in the wall. Ava’s gasp was the only other sound as Bucky grabbed Walker almost by the back of his neck, shoving him out of the room with a gruff comment of “let’s go” as Ava followed behind.

Your eyes finally left the piece of exercise equipment now one with the wall of the room, gaze turning back to Bob. His hand was held up in the direction the ball had flown, but it was shaking slightly. You trailed your gaze up to his eyes to see he was already looking down at you, eyes blown wide as she stammered over his words.

“I wasn’t, that- that was a mistake. I didn’t- I really didn’t mean to do that he was, he was just- he’s such an asshole sometimes-”

Your laughter cut him off, pausing him in the middle of his tracks as you gripped his hand tighter, forehead falling against his shoulder as he stiffened for a moment, before relaxing and smiling slightly at the sound of your laughter ringing through the room.

“Oh my god, Bob, that was brilliant! I’m going to use that idea next time Walker decides to be a dick to mask his own troubles, that shut him right up!”

“I didn’t mean to, though,” he quickly backtracked, shaking his head as you lifted your head, looking up at him, though still holding his hand tightly. “It was a mistake.”

“Mistakes happen. We’re human, it’s natural,” she smiled at him, tilting her head toward the ball. “Now…do it again.”

Bob stared at her for a moment, truly trying to discern what he possibly could’ve done to deserve you. You’d stepped between him and Walker down in the vault, keeping the former Captain America from laying a hand on him, you’d almost died in the elevator shaft to make sure he didn’t. You’d refused to fight him that day in the penthouse, trying to bring him back, and it was ultimately you who was the first one to run to him and pull him back from the Void.

When he looked at you, he could feel the flutter in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. He knew what it meant, but he couldn’t find the words to say it. It was in thinking of that four letter word while staring down at you that he’d pulled the ball right back to the two of you, letting it hang in the air before you both for a moment before dropping it to the ground.

Your eyes had never left his, your smile only growing wider and your fingers slotting between his own.

“Not bad, Bob. Not bad,”

It was a month later that your idea would be fully put to the test.

HYDRA was the most stubborn organization, like an insect that just refused to die. Steve Rogers couldn’t stop them in the 40’s, and there was no stopping them now. They’d rebuilt momentum as an organization during the Blip, with cells popping up around the country. It didn’t take long for information to come in about their new main base; an underground compound hidden within the Five Ponds Wilderness in upstate New York. The New Avengers had been tasked with infiltrating and dismantling the base, taking in as many soldiers within for questioning by the US government, and recovering any intel that they’d managed to steal during their rebuild time.

It was an all hands on deck operation, the team knowing it was going to take all of them in order to fully infiltrate and dismantle this large base. In your eyes, that meant no one was sitting this one out.

“You guys handle dismantling and capturing soldiers. I’ll handle intel recovery…and I’m taking Bob with me,”

The comment had everyone at the briefing table pausing, including Bob, who had opted to sit in the corner of the room after you had asked him personally to attend the briefing with you.

John refused to meet your eyes, knowing his single apology weeks ago wasn’t enough to calm how angry you still were over the situation. Alexei and Ava shared concerned glances, while Bucky and Yelena seemed to have a conversation entirely with their eyes. The former Winter Soldier was the one to turn back to you, giving you a small nod.

“He’s ready?”

“I think he is,” you trailed your gaze over to Bob, giving him an encouraging smile. “The question is, do you think you’re ready?”

Bob looked at his teammates, his friends, seeing the apprehension in their eyes. But all it took was one look back to you, to the pride and encouragement shining in your gaze on him, that had him sitting up straighter.

“I am,”

It was that simple sentence that had Bob finding himself trekking through the wilderness of upstate New York behind you, decked out in a minimal tactical suit that the team had insisted he wear for the mission. He didn’t mind it, anything was better than that monstrosity that Valentina had put him in before.

“Is this normal?” Bob cautiously questioned you, stopping alongside you in a clearing in the woods you’d finally gotten to. “You know…splitting up? The team all uh, went another way didn’t they?”

“Our mission is intel recovery and intel recovery only, so it was easier for us to head through this separate entrance,” you explained, kneeling down in the leaves below your feet and brushing them away, revealing the steel door below your feet. You glanced up at him, smiling. “This should bring us closer to their control room, which minimizes the amount of fighting that we have to deal with.”

Both of you finally making your way through the hatch and down into the halls of the, Bob stuck close to your side as you guided him through the halls, earpieces in your ears alerting you to updates from the rest of the team. The hallways blinked in the emergency red lights you knew would be going off, signaling that the base was in lockdown mode. That meant your friends were doing their job further down the compound.

You’d briefed Bob on the mission on the very short jet ride to upstate. Taking the separate entrance would mean minimal fighting for both of you, which you wanted for Bob. You wanted to ease him into missions like this, especially when he was afraid to fully unleash his powers and be ‘The Sentry’ in fear of losing himself. You found a middle ground, instructing Bob that you would handle the majority of anyone you came across as well as the intel dump to your central computers back at the Watchtower. All he had to do was watch your back for stragglers.

With the compound in lockdown, most of the HYDRA agents had been pulled to the main fight. Using the tech embedded into your suit, you did a quick scan through the control room door, highlighting the agents that were inside.

“Just follow my lead and watch my back,” you mumbled to Bob, hand on the door of the control room, glancing back at him with a small smile. “You’ve got this.”

Within seconds of throwing the control room door open you were inside, launching yourself over the row of computers, legs spread as you took down two agents simultaneously with kicks directly into their throats. You ducked under another row of tables as shots rang out from the gun of another agent, propelling yourself up and above the table toward him. His gun tracked your movements, shots ringing through your ears, but the bullets hovered in place. Bob was barely through the doorway, one hand stopping the bullets from touching you while another held off the agent rushing toward him with ease.

In the signature move you’d learned from Natasha herself, your thighs enclosed around the neck of the agent shooting at you, twisting your body until you were both thrown to the ground, With another single twist of your legs you heard a crack, quickly scrambling back to your feet.

With one agent dead and two down you glanced to Bob, who was entirely fine holding back the agent that was struggling against his powers to get to him. Kicking the chairs before you out of the way, you quickly inserted the USB into the main computer drive, initiating the sequence to download any intel that HYDRA was harboring in the compound.

Bob was simply staring at the man in front of him, head tilted as the agent struggled against his mental hold on him that held him in place. Realizing that he needed to be focusing on watching your back instead of messing with the agent, Bob quickly threw him across the room, the agent’s head hitting a wall and knocking him out almost immediately. Bob smiled to himself for just a moment at the sight; he felt bad for hurting anyone, even if these people were bad people that needed to be stopped. But to have this kind of control over his powers was a miracle to him, something he didn’t believe was possible. And he owed everything to you-

“BOB!”

He frantically turned, seeing one of the agents back on his feet, hand wrapped around your throat and body pressed against the row of computers before them. He could hear your choked coughs from across the room, your feet pushing against the man’s chest in a desperate hope to knock him off of you. It was to no avail, though, as the agent lifted his other hand with some sort of device encased in it. The HYDRA agent pressed the button on top of the device, the entire body of it lighting up red in seconds.

“NO!”

You sucked in a deep breath as the agent’s hand was ripped from your throat in seconds, your own hands flying to your throat as you tried to regain control of your surroundings. Bob with a single flick of the wrist dragged the man aross the room, launching him into the wall opposite you at the speed of light, a sickening crack sounding through the room.

Your eyes locked with Bob’s for just a second before you both looked to the beeping, red device at your feet. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bob flew across the room in what seemed like a blink, grabbing hold of the device and launching it across the room toward the door where you had entered. In the next second he turned, covering your body with his own as he pulled you both to the ground just as the device containing a high powered bomb exploded.

In an instant your hands covered your ears, feeling the rush of heat from the blast and pieces of debris rush past you and Bob. He body stayed crouched over yours, keeping anything from the blast from hitting you. It seemed to go on for what felt like forever until all that was left was the smell of smoke and gunpowder in the air and the faint crackle of electricity from destroyed wires.

After another moment to recover, you crawled out from Bob’s arms, quickly turning to the harddrive behind you to pocket the USB and whatever intel you were able to download before the explosion. You turned back to the area of the blast, and felt your breath leave you at the sight.

The entire wall that connected to the main hallway was gone, the ceiling having come down on top of it as well, almost splitting the room into almost half of the size it had been when you had first entered and encountered the agents. Wires were exposed within the ceiling, pipes leaking down into the room as small fires burned in the explosion area of the rubble.

“Widow, Bob, answer us!” fully coming back to your senses, you could hear John’s voice through the earpiece in your ear. “We heard an explosion, does one of you copy?”

“One of the agent’s had a bomb, but we’re both fine,” you called back to the team, still breathing heavily as you surveyed the damage before you. “The room…not so much.”

“Did you get the intel-”

“That’s not important,” Yelena’s voice cut off John’s, and you could hear the concern within it. “What’s wrong with the room?”

“My best guess is we’re trapped now, given that an entire wall and half the ceiling was just blown out,” you relayed back to them. “We’re underground so I really don’t want to think about being trapped within a concrete room with what I can only assume is a limited amount of oxygen, so if the three super soldiers on this team could hurry their asses over here and help dig us out sooner rather than later we’d appreciate it.”

“Stay put, we’re on our way,”

“Stay put, as if we can go anywhere,” you mumbled to yourself, tearing the earpiece from your ear and pocketing it, ears still ringing slightly from the blast. “Bob, you okay?”

Your eyes stayed trained on the debris before you even as you asked the question. After a moment of no response you glanced to the side at one of the only walls that wasn’t destroyed, freezing in place at the sight of a black tendril like shadow crawling across the wall.

“I made a mistake…it’s my fault…”

Turning fully, it felt like ice had suddenly run through your veins at the sight before you.

Bob was on his knees on the ground, eyes trained on the floor, but he was barely Bob anymore. Half of his face, of the face of the beautiful, broken boy you’d fallen so irrevocably in love with over the last few months was still visible. The rest of him was bathed in shadows, tendrils of it seeping out through the floor and into the walls, as the Void slowly took him over.

“Bob…” your voice was low, cautious, as you took a single hesitant step back.

He looked up at you at he sound of your voice. One single blue eye remained, tears welling in it and streaming down his face, in contrast to the shadow and pinpoint dot that covered the other half of his face. He spoke like himself, but almost like there were two of him, a low and gruff second voice of his layered over it.

“It’s my fault. It shouldn’t have happened I- I made a mistake. I could’ve hurt you, I could’ve got you killed,” his voice broke for a second, a sob almost seeping out of him as the shadows took more of what was left of him away. “I’m useless. All I do is make mistakes, all I do is make everything worse.You shouldn’t have brought me, I wasn’t ready. I- I can’t hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

“You protected me,” you tried to explain to him, voice soft as you crouched down, bringing yourself down to his level as you held out your hands toward him. “You saved me. You didn’t make a mistake, Bob, neither of us knew he had a bomb. You did everything you could. Please just…just listen. Just come back to me.”

He stared at you, one blue eyes and one pinpoint eye, but your words seemed to go in one ear and out the other. The shadows still crept in.

“I’m better off dead. If I’m dead I…I can’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you,”

The shadows crept in again, that blue eye full of tears barely left to look at you, as the Void was seconds from swallowing him whole once again.

Panic filled you in that instance, at the thought of losing him, and you lunged forward. Your knees dropping to the ground in front of him as you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck as you cried, letting the shadows consume you as well.

“Don’t leave me…please don’t leave me,”

It could’ve been minutes, it felt like hours, but in reality it had only been seconds before your eyes opened once more. There were arms wrapped around your waist as your brain caught up with you that you were still with Bob. You flung back, prying your head from the crook of his neck as you pulled back to look at him, just as he looked back at you with a similar look of confusion.

One hand came up to cup his cheek, overwhelmed to simply see his face unmarked by shadows. His eyes trailed over your face before they flickered around the room, face contorting in confusion.

“This…this isn’t one of my shame rooms,”

You followed his gaze, breath catching in your throat automatically as you took in the room. The grand pillars in front of the staircase, the white and black tiled floor beneath your feet, the dim lighting you knew all too well.

The Red Room.

“No…it’s one of mine,”

Bob’s hand around your waist tightened at the sound of heels against the floor behind you. His hand never left you, and your’s never left him as you both turned to face the scene before you.

You were so young, only 9. You stood to the side of the room, still in your ballet flats and hair slicked back impeccably. You recognized the woman in heels, of course you did she’d been your instructor since you were barely old enough to be molded into one of their assassins. She came to a stop before you, glaring down at you. God, you were just a child.

“You were given simple instructions,” her shrill voice cut through the air as you tightened your hold around Bob at the sound. “A simple task. You have been a perfect student…only to fail now.”

“I’m sorry, mistress,”

“There are no apologies here,” her voice cut in again. “Only consequences.”

Two burly men entered the room, holding the arms of a body not much bigger than your own at the time. They tore the sack upon the child’s head off, revealing her face: Polina. You’d grown up together, progressed through every challenge together. Besides Yelena…she’d been the closest thing to a best friend you could have in a place like this.

Bob’s own hands on your waist tightened as the mistress pulled out a revolver from the waistband of her skirt, loading a single bullet into the chamber. Her gaze flickered back to your young 9-year-old self, glare harsher than it was before as she saw your eyes were closed. “Open your eyes, and accept your consequence.”

A single tear made its way down your cheek as this young version of you did as she was asked, holding back her own tears as she looked into the eyes of your friend, just as the mistress’s bullet pierced her skull.

“What…what happened?”

“Simple…I made a mistake,” was the only response you could muster back to Bob. You pulled your gaze from the bloody scene before you, turning back to the man you loved as he watched you. Shaky hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs gliding over his skin as you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Bob…we all have regrets. We all wish we could’ve done things differently. We all make mistakes, whether we want to or not, but it just means we’re human. We are not the sum of all of our mistakes, but what we choose to do differently because of them.”

Bob leaned into your soft touch, his eyes never leaving yours. He shook his head, choking on his own words as he tried to find the words to say.

“All I’ve done is cause you pain…cause everyone pain, because I keep- I keep making mistakes. I don’t know how to fix it,”

You thought about the next thing to say, what you could possibly say to get through to him, but words no longer seemed to do the trick. Instead, your hands held tight to his face as you surged forward, molding your lips to his own.

In a single kiss, you tried to convey every single thing that you needed him to feel. The way that you had cared about him from the moment you’d laid eyes on him, that one single look into his blue eyes had forever held him a place in your heart before you even realized he was the one occupying it. That in your eyes, he could do no wrong, that there was no mistake he could make that would make you love him any less. That you would walk through fire, cross any ocean, or throw yourself into the void of his own mind if that’s what it took to bring him back to you. The press of your lips against his own, the hesitant reciprocation back from him as he tried to navigate this new territory, his hands gripped onto your waist in hopes to ground himself in the moment, you tried desperately to ensure that he knew everything you needed him to know in that moment.

You pulled away, eyes closed as you felt him lean back into you, chasing after the feeling of your lips on his. Your nose brushed against his, hand moving from his cheek to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair.

“Just stay with me. That’s all I need…just stay with me,”

When you finally opened your eyes, you were back in the debris-covered room of the destroyed compound, still kneeling on the floor. You could hear the sound of your friends from beyond the debris, calling out for you as they tried to move the debris before them to get to you both.

All that mattered was the man still wrapped in your arms, shadows faded away as if they’d never appeared to begin with, leaving behind those beautiful blue eyes that shone brightly with one thing only: love.

“Always,”

1K notes · View notes

lovebugism · 3 days ago

Note

reader taking care of bob (thunderbolts) during a depressive episode? 🥹

ty for requesting!! — you like taking care of bob on his bad days. he isn't quite sure why (friends in love, fluff, thunderbolts spoilers, cw for mentions of depression and suicidal ideation | 1.4k words)

Bob has his bad days. And he’s not just talking about that stint in New York.

Sometimes he can’t get out of bed, can’t take care of himself, can’t go outside. There are days when he can’t find a reason to be an actual functioning human being, so he takes to rotting in his room — and trying not to suffocate beneath the crushing knowledge that the rest of the world is living on just fine without him.

He’ll hear the rest of the team laughing or otherwise arguing a floor below, while he hasn’t spoken a word all day because he can’t find the energy to. He’ll go to sleep without having left the four walls of his bedroom, or his bed for that matter, while fighting the black shroud of death that never quite seems to leave him.

It’s been that way his whole life: constant cycles of great days followed by the no-good-very-bad ones that he’s always distantly fearful might be the end of him. So Bob counts himself lucky that he’s got you for those days, and all the days in between.

“I think the blonde’s finally washed out,” you observe gently as you brush through his freshly washed curls. You get a whiff of the strawberry-scented shampoo with every swipe of the comb from where you sit just behind him on the bed. Bob, meanwhile, slouches on the floor between your legs and fiddles nervously with one of the many skincare products you’ve stacked beside him.

This is often what your “sleepovers” look like — which is what you call the many nights where the rest of the team’s out on a mission and you’re left babysitting the leftovers. (Bob’s almost certain you only call it that so you have an excuse to take care of him.)

“Really?” Bob hums distantly, fighting back a shiver. He’d much rather blame his chills on the water droplets falling from his hair and dampening the neck of his white t-shirt than the fact that he’s just not used to being touched so gently. Not used to being touched at all.

“Yeah,” you say with an audible smile. “I like your hair better this way.”

Bob scoffs pessimistically. “Shit brown?”

“It’s more like chocolate. Or chestnut, maybe— with little flakes of gold.”

Something in your words strikes him deep. Makes his chest go all warm and sparkly. He doesn’t know how you see such beauty in him when he can hardly look in the mirror without snarling in disgust most days. You still think he’s got so much good left in him, even after Valentina made him hurt you, even after he nearly took out a whole city without blinking.

He doesn’t get it.

In fact, the thought alone makes him so dizzy that his head starts to hurt.

“I— I’m sorry about this,” Bob apologizes through a breathy, awkward laugh. “Just— By the way.”

“Sorry about what?”

“You, you know, having to take care of me and everything.”

“Don’t apologize,” you giggle and drag the brush from his temple, around the curve of his ear, and down towards his neck. “I like taking care of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Bob chuckles with a stubborn shake of his head.

“I do. Honest.”

The mattress squeaks when you rise from it. Bob tilts his chin and peers up at you with a pair of dark, glittering eyes as you round him. “So… what?” he lilts with a shy half-smile. “You’d rather be here than off fighting crime with the New Avengers?”

“Yes,” you answer automatically, scoffing like it’s obvious, as you sit on the ground across from him. You settle between his parted legs with your own curled beneath you and twist the cap off of something that says deep hydrating face cream.

“I would much rather be here with you than god knows where with Walker trying to tell everyone what to do, and Ava and Yelena shouting at him, and Bucky trying to shout over all of them, and…”

You trail off. The lid unscrews with a quiet pop. You flash Bob a shy smile and a pair of squinted eyes. “Basically, what I’m saying is this is practically heaven compared to that.”

Bob’s face flares. He shakes his head and looks away. His eyes find a rogue piece of glitter in your carpet and lock there. “You don’t mean that…”

“Actually, I do—” You swipe two fingers through the white lotion and set it off to the side. “—Here. Look at me.”

You shift an inch towards him and lift a hand towards his face. Bob flinches on instinct despite wanting you so much closer. “Sorry,” he apologizes, ‘cause that’s his instinct, too.

Your eyes go wide and dart worriedly across his face. “Did I do something?”

“No! No, it’s not— It’s not you,” Bob stammers with his eyes squeezed shut. “It’s— It’s me. I don’t wanna…”

His voice breaks, fragile as glass, and he trails off. He doesn’t have the words for it — what he did to you, how he did it. He only knows that you saved his life, and touched his hand, and saw something that terrified you. He doesn’t know what it was, only that he won’t forget how frightened of him you looked.

You don’t look so scared of him now, though.

Instead, you look at him with your eyes wide and full of hope — like you love being this close to him, like you can’t wait to get closer.

“You won’t. I promise.”

This time, when you reach for him, you do it slowly. You give him ample time to stop you before you cup his jaw in your hand, slightly scruffy and still flushed from a steaming shower. You cradle his face in your palms without a vision of a long-gone horror flashing across your eyelids. You just feel safe. Warm. A strange sort of happy emotion that still makes you feel like crying.

“See?” you lilt with a sunshine smile.

Bob swallows hard as your fingertips swipe softly across his face. Your middle and ring fingers trace over the dark circles under his eyes in a feather-light touch as you rub in the moisturizer. Your fingertips follow his cheekbones as they rise to his temples before sliding down and across his stubbly jaw.

He keeps his eyes shut as he tries hopelessly to recall the last time he was ever touched this gently — if he ever has before — if he even deserves it.

“That day…” he starts suddenly, slowly. “You know, the day you guys found me…”

“Mhm?” you hum to egg him on.

“When you pulled me up out of that elevator…” Bob’s dark eyes flutter open again, swimming with honey and apprehension. “What did you see?”

He watches you falter, but only briefly. It’s a faint flicker in your eye that he wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t already notice everything about you.

Your face twitches slightly, like his question single-handedly brings back the dreaded memories you’ve been trying to shove down for years.

“Uh, Hydra,” you stammer, swallowing hard and sitting back on your haunches. You can’t find the strength to meet his gaze, so you focus on your hands as you rub the remaining moisturizer into your palms. “I came back from a mission I couldn’t finish— A children’s hospital full of ‘failed test subjects’ that wanted me to get rid of, and I couldn’t do it… And they punished me for it.”

You decide to save him the gritty, bloody details of what had happened to you that day, but Bob still flinches like he knows everything you’re not telling him. He feels like he does, in a way.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles when he can’t find the words to say.

You flash him a quiet smile and a soft look beneath your lashes. “It’s not your fault.”

Bob scoffs an emotionless laugh. “Well, I mean, it kinda is—”

You reach suddenly for his face again, and his eyes go wide. Your touch is still as gentle as ever, but stern still, as you force him to meet your gaze. “It isn’t,” you repeat with an unyielding stare. “And, you know, despite the circumstances and everything, my life’s actually gotten a whole lot better since you’ve been in it.”

Bob’s face burns at your confession, even more so at your touch. “...Really?” is all he can squeak out.

“Really,” you echo with a firm nod.

He shifts awkwardly, uncomfortable in his skin, and tilts his cheek further into your palm “Like… Even on my bad days?” he mumbles, distantly dreading the answer.

��Especially on your bad days,” you laugh. “‘Cause you’re the only one that lets me braid your hair.”

“That’s the only reason why you like me?” Bob laughs, trying to play it cool even though his hopeful eyes give everything away. “‘Cause I let you braid my hair?”

You smile at his smiling. “Mhm. The only reason,” you nod, obviously playful in a way that makes his heart skip a beat (or three). “Nothing else at all.”

#published by bug #thunderbolts x reader #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds imagine #bob thunderbolts #sentry x reader #sentry x you #sentry x y/n #thunderbolts #thunderbolts imagine #marvel x reader #mcu drabble

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jungwnies · 22 hours ago

Text

f1 grid (1/2) | friendly interactions... or not

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : meeting your friends who they seemingly get along with...kinda...not...really?

୨ৎ : genre : comedy (angst if u squint) / slight beef ୨ৎ : word count : 3008

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was so fun and unhinged i loved being able to create different personalities for the friends and everything LMFAO // oscar's was my favorite one to write i love it...

ʚ・max verstappen

you’d warned them ahead of time.

“he’s not rude, he’s just… quiet. and blunt. but like, in a sweet way. sometimes.”

that did not stop your friends from collectively side-eyeing you like you’d announced your boyfriend was a literal dragon.

“max verstappen? that max?”

“i just feel like he’d roast me for my driving.”

“do you think he even knows how to have small talk?”

you rolled your eyes. “he’s literally so normal. you’ll see.”

they didn’t believe you until thirty minutes into girls’ night, when max wandered in after his workout, sweat-tousled and comfy in joggers, and waved like he didn’t just walk into a room full of skeptical women.

“hi.” he looked between all of them. “you’re the ones who always send her those weird memes, right?”

cami gasped. “wait… you read our group chat?!”

you groaned. “max!”

“i didn’t scroll,” he said, completely unbothered. “i just saw the one where someone said ‘he probably dreams in dutch and drs.’ that was funny.”

syd choked on her drink. “…that was me.”

max turned to her, expression dead serious. “you’re not wrong.”

you covered your face. “this is going horribly.”

“no it’s not,” he said, crossing the room to kiss your forehead like it was nothing. “your friends are funny. i like them.”

that was the turning point.

thirty minutes later, max was sat between cami and val on the couch, holding one of their iced coffees like it was a fine wine, eyebrows furrowed.

“so you’re telling me,” he said, gesturing at syd’s phone, “this guy left you on read for four days, but still viewed your story?”

syd nodded. “yup.”

max shook his head. “he’s done. block him.”

“oh my god, you do get it!” she laughed.

“i’m not heartless,” he mumbled, cheeks slightly pink. “people just need to stop wasting her time.”

you leaned in from the kitchen. “should i be worried you’re starting a girl gang without me?”

he grinned. “we’re gonna get jackets made.”

later, as you walked him out so he could head back to the hotel, max laced his fingers through yours and said, “your friends are cool. i thought they’d hate me.”

you smiled up at him. “they thought you’d hate them.”

“that’s stupid.”

“they also thought you’d be scary.”

he stopped, leaned in close. “do i scare you?”

you laughed. “only when you’re behind me on track in karting.”

he smirked, kissed the tip of your nose, and said, “tell them i’m free next friday. i’ll bring snacks.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

“i’m warning you now,” you said as you opened the front door. “don’t act weird.”

“you’re dating lewis hamilton,” mariah whispered like you’d just casually admitted to dating royalty.

jess widened her eyes. “do we call him sir lewis? like—is that a thing?”

you didn’t have time to respond, because lewis walked in holding a box of vegan pastries and a bottle of wine, dressed in cozy neutrals and smelling expensive.

“hi, beautiful,” he said, kissing your cheek like nothing else in the room mattered. then he turned to your friends with a megawatt smile. “you must be the infamous trio. i’ve heard so many stories.”

nina blinked. “from her?”

he nodded, handing her the wine. “and i remembered all your names. don’t quiz me though. it’s been a long day.”

mariah snorted. “okay, i like him already.”

fifteen minutes in and they were obsessed. not just because he was lewis hamilton, but because he was soft-spoken, asked thoughtful questions, and had the kind of eye contact that made people feel seen.

jess: “so… do you ever get nervous before a race?”

lewis: “not as much now. i get more nervous when she’s watching.”

mariah: “why?”

lewis: smiles “because i care what she thinks.”

meanwhile, his hand never left yours. fingers brushing yours under the table. knuckles against your thigh. every now and then he’d look over at you with this quiet little smile, like you were some kind of calming center.

when you got up to grab more ice, you heard nina whisper:

“dude. he hasn’t stopped looking at her all night.”

jess added, “he gave her the softest little smile when she laughed at that dumb joke. i almost cried.”

mariah leaned in. “okay, no, but that man is in love. like, core memory level in love.”

you froze in the kitchen doorway. “he’s right there.”

“we know.” jess whisper-yelled. “and he doesn’t care. he’s a certified loverboy.”

when he finally left, he gave them all warm hugs and said, “thank you for loving her. it means the world.”

and before heading out, he turned to you, cupped your face gently, and murmured, “text me when you’re home, okay? sleep’s always better when i hear from you.”

when the door clicked shut, mariah flopped on the couch like she’d run a marathon. “girl. i can’t even be fake salty. he’s so in love with you it’s romantic comedy level ridiculous.”

ʚ・george russell

you knew george was a bit territorial.

not in a scary way — more like the gentleman version of a cat that rubs his head on you to claim ownership. he’d do things like put his hand on your back when someone complimented you. or slide closer when you talked to strangers in the paddock. but this? this was new.

“wait… who’s micah?” george asked as you grabbed your bag.

you blinked. “micah? my best friend?”

his brow furrowed. “you said you were going out with friends tonight, not… guys.”

you laughed. “babe, literally every friend i’m seeing tonight is a guy.”

his jaw did a subtle tighten. “right.”

when you got to the rooftop bar, george was civil. polite. british, even.

but the grip on your waist tightened just a bit when luca hugged you. and he didn’t laugh when micah said, “god, you’re so hot when you parallel park.”

george just said, “she’s hot doing anything,” with the fakest smile you’d ever seen.

you tried not to laugh.

halfway through the night, you leaned over and whispered, “you good?”

he smiled. “of course. why wouldn’t i be?”

you gave him a look.

he exhaled. “you didn’t tell me all your friends were dudes. i’m just trying to… assess.”

“assess what?”

“if i need to fight anyone.”

you snorted into your drink.

the turning point came when micah and luca started arguing over whether george clooney or paul mescal was the superior white boy crush.

micah went, “listen, i’d let paul ruin my life but george is my tax bracket soulmate.”

and luca added, “you’re forgetting dev patel exists, which is crazy because i would risk it all.”

george blinked.

then turned to you, slowly. “i’m sorry. are they all—”

“gay?” you said, trying not to wheeze. “yes. every single one of them.”

“oh.” he sat back in his chair. “oh.”

you leaned in, grinning. “were you feeling threatened?”

he cleared his throat. “i was… aware.”

“they all follow you on instagram, george. they send your shirtless pics in the group chat with heart emojis.”

micah shouted across the table, “he’s on my lockscreen!”

george turned red. “i—really?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” luca deadpanned. “it was a joke. you were standing next to lewis.”

later, on the uber ride home, george had his arm slung around you, looking appropriately sheepish.

“i really thought luca was into you.”

you laughed. “he literally helped me pick your birthday gift and called you ‘delicious.’”

“i wasn’t listening. i was too busy panicking.”

you kissed his cheek. “you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

he kissed the top of your head. “i’m also lucky your friends are hot and unavailable.”

“micah’s still flirting with you.”

george shrugged, smug now. “he has taste.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

when you told your friends you were bringing carlos to the group dinner, the reaction was immediate.

“wait—like carlos sainz?”

“the spanish one?”

“the one with the hair?”

“bro. he’s hot but does he talk?”

you laughed. “he’s so normal, guys. you’ll see.”

carlos showed up exactly two minutes early with a bottle of wine and a handmade bouquet he’d “accidentally” picked up on the way because he “thought it looked like something you'd like.”

immediate chaos.

“oh, he’s dangerous,” said tiff, already hiding behind her wine glass.

your bestie eli raised an eyebrow. “he’s not allowed to make eye contact with me. i’m weak.”

but then he spoke.

“so,” carlos started, standing there with his hands awkwardly folded in front of him, “who is in charge of… uh… the vibes?”

there was a beat of silence. then eruptive laughter.

“you mean like the playlist?”

“no, i think he meant the vibes.”

“oh my god he’s an actual golden retriever.”

“no, he’s like a very polite tourist.”

you couldn’t stop laughing. “carlos, baby, just sit down.”

to be fair, he tried.

he listened to the conversations, nodded thoughtfully, smiled politely.

but then he pointed to amara’s glass and said, “you drink that very fast. is that normal?”

she blinked. “…it’s a margarita, carlos.”

“oh. i like tequila. but not margaritas. they’re… too horizontal.”

everyone paused.

“too… horizontal?” eli echoed.

carlos nodded. “too flat. i like drinks that have… structure.”

you whispered, “i have no idea what he’s talking about.”

“he’s handsome. let him be strange,” tiff murmured.

but then he helped clean up the dishes without being asked. offered his jacket to eli when they stepped outside. complimented. tiff’s nail color in a way that wasn’t creepy, just genuinely curious. when amara made a joke, he laughed even though he clearly didn’t get it — just because everyone else was laughing.

by the end of the night, your friends were perched on the couch, dissecting him like an art exhibit.

“he’s awkward. but like… warm awkward.”

“like golden retriever professor awkward.”

“like if a sexy man had the brain of someone who collects model trains.”

you threw a pillow at them. “he’s just spanish!”

carlos poked his head in from the kitchen. “who is spanish?”

eli grinned. “you are.”

carlos blinked. “…yes. i know this.”

in the car on the way home, he leaned into you, a little sheepish.

“they laughed a lot.”

“with you,” you said quickly. “not at you.”

“…i was strange, wasn’t i?”

you kissed his cheek. “you were perfect.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

“okay. i need you all to be normal.”

you stood at the kitchen island while your three closest friends — maya, bri, and jade — collectively ignored you in favor of speculating about your boyfriend.

“i just feel like he’s intense,” bri said, sipping her wine.

“he’s monegasque,” jade replied like it explained everything.

maya added, “i bet he’s one of those guys who listens too closely and then says something super personal and makes you cry. in a good way.”

you groaned. “you guys are insane. he’s literally just charles.”

and then he walked in, hair a little windswept, cheeks pink from the cold, carrying pastries and wine with the proudest smile.

“hello,” he said. “i brought snacks. and the red wine that she said tastes like… uh… the floor?”

you winced. “i said it tasted earthy.”

he kissed your cheek. “same thing.”

to your surprise — and theirs — he fit in immediately.

and not just like, polite boyfriend sitting quietly kind of fit in.

like, full-on engaging, bantering, storytelling with hand gestures and wild facial expressions kind of fit in.

“and then,” charles said, wide-eyed, “i realized the bike i had taken was not my bike. it was—how do you say—locked to someone else's bike. so i am dragging two bikes across monaco like a thief.”

jade was crying. “did no one stop you?!”

“they stared! i waved and said, ‘it’s okay, i am very sorry!’ which is not helpful if you look like a criminal.”

bri gasped between laughs. “you’re unhinged.”

charles shrugged. “it is not my fault all bikes look the same.”

but what really got them wasn’t just the stories — it was how he looked at you.

when you got up to get more drinks, his eyes followed you automatically. when you sat back down, he rested a hand on your knee like it grounded him. when you laughed, he smiled like it was the only sound that mattered.

at one point, when you reached for the wine, he gently pulled it back. “drink water first,” he said softly, like it was second nature. “you get headaches.”

later that night, when he went to take a call from his brother, your friends immediately rounded on you.

“okay. i get it now,” maya whispered.

“he’s funny,” jade added, stunned. “like. actually funny. and kind of chaotic?”

“and so in love with you,” bri finished. “like, if you asked him to move to the moon with you tonight, he’d be like, ‘yes, let me pack my helmet.’”

you tried not to blush. “he is a little awkward sometimes.”

“he is, but in a hot way,” maya said. “like… emotionally available french cartoon character energy.”

you nearly choked.

ʚ・lando norris

“are you sure he’s ready for this?” you asked as you poured drinks.

your best friend zara smirked. “is he ready, or are you scared we’ll like him more than you?”

“both,” added amina, already plotting.

and then, of course, lando showed up five minutes early with takeout, a mischievous smile, and a hat too big for his own head.

he looked around the room. “so. you’re the ones she keeps texting during our dates.”

“depends,” zara said. “are you gonna give us something to talk about?”

lando blinked. “that sounds threatening.”

“good. you’re learning.”

they clicked immediately.

amina asked about his sim setup. zara grilled him about his spotify playlists. jules challenged him to mario kart and then screamed when he barely won.

and the whole time, lando kept up effortlessly — tossing jokes, throwing fake shade, and flashing you the smuggest grin every time he got a laugh.

“oh, so you think you’re funny now?” you teased.

“i know i’m funny. ask your friends,” he said, sliding closer.

zara leaned in. “he is. unfortunately.”

at one point, the conversation somehow devolved into an argument about cereal rankings.

“frosted flakes are top tier,” jules said.

lando gasped. “that’s so vanilla of you.”

“sorry, mr. i-buy-fancy-cereal-in-monaco,” jules shot back.

amina whispered to you, “i get it now. he’s just one of us in a more expensive hoodie.”

you smiled. “i told you.”

but it wasn’t just jokes.

it was the way lando would pause mid-story to rub your back. or how he leaned over to top off your drink without asking. or the moment you yawned and he whispered, “want me to wrap it up?” against your shoulder.

zara caught it and mouthed he’s obsessed with you across the room.

when he left that night, jules dabbed him up like they’d been boys for years.

“you’re alright, norris. for a mclaren driver.”

“i’ll pretend that didn’t hurt,” lando said dramatically.

zara hugged you and whispered, “he can stay.”

amina added, “but only because he beat me at uno.”

later that night, you were scrolling through your phone when lando texted: your friends are chaos and i love them. also, zara’s playing it cool but she’s totally a fan. i saw the twinkle. also also. you looked stupid pretty tonight. thanks for sharing your people with me <3

ʚ・oscar piastri

you’d prepped him on the way there.

“they’re loud. you’re not. please don’t shut down.”

oscar glanced at you from the driver’s seat. “i don’t shut down. i just… conserve energy.”

you laughed. “whatever you call it, try not to look like you want to leave the whole time.”

he rolled his eyes, but you caught the faint smile.

the moment you walked in, your best friend dani narrowed her eyes.

“that’s him?” she mouthed.

you nodded, and she replied with a very slow, hmm.

you sighed.

oscar stood next to you like a polite guest at a wedding, smiling faintly, hands in his pockets.

“you alright?” you asked, low.

he nodded once. “i just feel like i’m being judged.”

you smiled. “because you are.”

to his credit, he tried.

made small talk. laughed (softly) at jokes. asked how everyone knew you. but dani wasn’t biting. she stayed suspicious, arms crossed, watching him like she was waiting for a slip-up.

meanwhile, your friend luke — loud, dramatic, and a certified flirt — came up behind you and slung an arm over your shoulder.

“hey, sunshine. you look hot.”

oscar’s eyes did a slow blink.

you didn’t catch it — but dani did.

later, while you were grabbing drinks, dani cornered oscar in the hallway.

“so. what’s your deal?”

he blinked. “my… deal?”

“you like her?”

oscar’s brows lifted slightly. “very much.”

“then why do you keep glaring at luke like you want to run him over with a scooter?”

oscar blinked again. “because i do.”

dani paused.

“…okay,” she muttered, then turned and walked off — almost smiling.

back in the kitchen, luke was showing you something on his phone when oscar came up behind you and casually slid his hand around your waist.

you leaned into him instinctively.

“having fun?” you asked.

he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “loads.”

luke looked between you two. “oh. so you do like her.”

oscar blinked. “why does everyone keep asking me that?”

later that night, when you were saying your goodbyes, dani pulled you aside.

“i still think he’s too quiet,” she said, eyes narrowed. “but. he passed.”

you grinned. “he grew on you?”

she shrugged. “he has some personality. i just think he’s got trust issues.”

you blinked. “based on what?”

she looked over at oscar — who was very subtly glaring at luke again. “…girl. he’s five seconds from growling.”

in the car, you nudged him.

“hey. be honest. you hate luke, don’t you?”

oscar didn’t look away from the road. “he’s too friendly.”

you tried not to smile. “you mean he called me hot.”

“he also winked.”

“he’s gay, oscar.”

oscar blinked. “…is he?”

you burst out laughing. “you are so bad at this.”

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cressidagrey · 13 hours ago

Text

A McLaren Meltdown

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Mclaren’s staff reactions to Oscar Piastri’s surprise marriage reveal.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Sophie had three rules for race weekend PR.

Control the narrative.

Anticipate the chaos.

Never trust a “quick” fan stage.

She was halfway through writing a press release about tire strategy when her phone buzzed once. Then twice. Then thirty-seven times in under two minutes.

The group chat with the digital media team had caught fire.

[McLaren Media 🔥] 💬 “OH MY GOD.” 💬 “HE SAID HE’S BEEN MARRIED SINCE HE WAS EIGHTEEN.” 💬 “WE NEED A STATEMENT.” 💬 “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘MARRIED’???” 💬 “Lando spat water. There is video.”

Sophie blinked at her phone, stunned.

Then came the link.

She clicked. Watched. Listened.

Oscar, calm as ever:

“Well, I already did one of those things.” Lando, shrieking: “YOU’RE MARRIED?!”

Sophie made a sound not unlike a dying animal.

She stood, tablet in hand, walked to the nearest wall in the media trailer, and very calmly banged her forehead against it.

Twice.

Across the room, one of the interns whispered, “Is she okay?”

“No,” someone else replied.

Sophie turned to the team.

“Does anyone have a marriage certificate? A formal quote? A—a photo? Anything we can use?”

Her email pinged.

Subject line: Netflix Inquiry — Episode Rights: Oscar Piastri Reveal

Another ping.

BBC Radio Request: “Interview With the Most Mysterious Woman in Motorsport.”

And then, like he’d been summoned by sheer rage, Zak Brown strolled in, looking far too calm.

“Hey team. Saw the fan stage. Oscar’s married, huh? Wild stuff.”

Sophie slowly turned. “You knew.”

Zak gave her a sheepish smile. “Mark Webber mentioned it once. Years ago. Said she was great. Didn’t seem relevant at the time.”

“ZAK.”

“What?”

“HE’S BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS.” Sophie was dangerously close to combusting. “He’s our youngest driver and he eloped at eighteen. That’s relevant!”

Zak held up his hands. “I didn’t think it was a secret. Oscar’s a private guy.”

“Private guy?! He said ‘on the bed’ like it was a normal engagement location!” Sophie nearly shrieked. “Do you know how many headline puns they’ve made about that already?!”

Someone from graphics called out, “Can we use ‘Lights Out and Vows Away’ or is that too much?”

“It’s not damage,” Zak said helpfully. “It’s engagement.”

“I swear to God, Zak,” Sophie hissed.

Slack was already full of memes. Someone had gif’d Lando’s meltdown with the caption “Me finding out my best friend is secretly married like it’s a normal Thursday.”

The press inbox was collapsing under subject lines like:

“IS SHE A CELEBRITY?” “DO THEY HAVE A CHILD?” “LAN-DRAMA: Norris Betrayed???” “Can we get her on The Paddock Panel?”

Sophie clutched her forehead. “Okay. Okay. Deep breath.”

“We need Oscar to post something,” she declared, her voice rising above the din.

Zak tilted his head. “You sure? That might just fuel it more.”

“He already fueled it, Zak. He turbocharged it and strapped fireworks to the back.”

“Fair point.”

Sophie groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m going to have to rewrite everything. Update the media deck. Issue a statement. Reprint bios. Plan a WAG-friendly feature piece. And deal with Lando, who’s spiraling like his best friend betrayed him.”

A pause.

“And someone call Netflix,” she added darkly. “Tell them they just got their best episode of the season. No edits required.”

***

Andrea Stella prided himself on knowing his drivers.

Their tells, their ticks, the way they thought—how they braked, how they communicated, when they needed space and when they needed a push. It was part of his job. But it was also personal. He’d always believed that good leadership came from paying attention to the whole person, not just the lap time.

Which is why the events of this morning left him quietly, genuinely stunned.

He hadn't seen the fan stage live—he’d been in an engineering debrief—but by the time he stepped into the media office, it was all anyone could talk about.

Oscar. Married. For five years. Since he was eighteen.

The video played on loop in the corner of the room, muted but unmistakable. Oscar’s dry calm. Lando’s shocked scream. The social media team was in shambles. The PR team looked like they were trying not to hyperventilate.

Andrea just… stood there for a moment.

Watching.

Processing.

He felt the frown settle between his brows. Not anger. Not exactly disappointment. Just… a quiet ache in the chest of someone who’d thought he was closer to one of his drivers than maybe he actually was.

Oscar had been married. For five years. And Andrea hadn't known. Not even a hint.

He stepped out of the room, calm as ever, but his mind raced.

And then, with all the subtlety of a man who’d been blindsided one too many times today, Andrea found himself heading toward the physio area—toward Kim.

Kim Keedle was Oscar’s trainer, his shadow, his constant presence in the garage. If anyone knew Oscar better than Andrea, it was probably Kim.

Andrea found him in the paddock gym, casually adjusting a resistance band on the wall.

“Kim,” Andrea said, voice even. “Quick question.”

Kim turned, cheerful as always. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”

Andrea tilted his head, arms crossing. “Did you know Oscar was married?”

Kim blinked. Then blinked again. “Uh… yeah?”

Andrea waited.

Kim scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah. They’ve been married since—what—just after graduation? Felicity’s great. ”

Andrea was silent for a beat too long.

Kim winced slightly. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Andrea said softly. “I didn’t.”

And that—that was the part that surprised him the most. Not the marriage.

But the fact that Oscar, his driver, his stone-faced, brilliantly strategic driver, had managed to keep an entire wife away from the paddock spotlight… and never once let it slip.

He thought about all the long flights, the post-race reviews, the hours spent talking about the future. He had asked Oscar about his offseason plans, his training routines, even his travel preferences.

Never once had he thought to ask if Oscar had someone waiting at home.

And Oscar, ever calm, had never offered.

Andrea nodded slowly. “Thank you, Kim.”

Kim gave him a sympathetic smile. “He didn’t mean to keep it from you, you know. He’s just… private. He thinks if something doesn’t affect the job, it doesn’t need mentioning.”

Andrea looked away, exhaling through his nose. “Still. I would’ve liked to have known.”

“Yeah,” Kim said, voice gentler now. “I think he’ll understand that.”

Andrea gave a small nod, but the sting remained.

He wasn’t angry.

Just... quietly hurt.

Because he cared about his drivers—not just the helmets and telemetry and podium stats, but the people beneath all that.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought they cared enough to let him in too.

***

The room had all the energy of a bunker mid-airstrike.

Half the PR team was gathered around the conference table in McLaren hospitality, the other half hovering behind Sophie, who had summoned Oscar with the same tone one might use for code red, house on fire, or Lando’s Instagram Live just crashed the website again.

Oscar walked in like it was any other media meeting.

He sat down. Calm. Collected. Completely unaware that his entire personal life had set the internet on fire six hours ago.

Sophie didn’t even look up from her laptop. “Okay,” she said, voice clipped. “Let’s talk about The Reveal.”

Oscar blinked. “The what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Zak leaned back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying himself. “You nuked the internet with six words.”

Andrea Stella, unusually quiet, just sat with his arms crossed. Still processing. Still mildly wounded.

“‘Well, I already did one of those things,’” Sophie quoted flatly. “That’s what you said.”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. Because I did.”

“You have been married for five years,” Sophie said, very slowly, “and you did not think that was something the team—your teammate, your PR department, the people who make the media decks—should know?”

Oscar gave her a polite shrug. “I didn’t hide it.”

Sophie made a strangled noise. “You also didn’t say a word.”

“Different issue,” Oscar said mildly.

Andrea exhaled sharply through his nose.

Zak smirked. “To be fair, he has a point.”

Sophie gave him a look that could kill.

“We need a response,” she snapped. “A controlled response. Instagram. Twitter. Something that gives people what they want without fueling every gossip rag on Earth.”

Oscar nodded thoughtfully. “Okay.”

Sophie blinked. “Okay?”

“I already have a draft.”

The room fell silent.

“You what?” Sophie asked.

Oscar reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out his phone, and calmly opened his Notes app. “Wrote it earlier,” he said. “Figured you’d ask.”

He passed the phone to Sophie.

She scrolled.

Stopped.

Scrolled again.

By the third paragraph, she was blinking fast and biting the inside of her cheek. By the end, she was holding the phone with both hands like it was a fragile heirloom.

One of the interns leaned over her shoulder. “Did he just… write a romance novel in his Notes app?”

Oscar shrugged. “Seemed easier than a press conference.”

Andrea, still quiet, tilted his head. “You wrote this yourself?”

Oscar looked at him. “Yeah.”

Andrea just gave a small nod. No words. But something in his expression shifted. A little less hurt. A little more understanding.

Sophie passed the phone to Zak.

Zak read three lines, then huffed. “Jesus. You really are a wife guy.”

Oscar shrugged again.

“Well,” Sophie said faintly. “It’s perfect.”

Oscar took his phone back. “Should I post it now or wait until after FP2?”

Sophie threw her hands in the air. “How are you so calm about this?!”

Oscar looked up, deadpan. “Because I’ve been married for five years.”

And there it was again—that maddening, infuriating, charmingly psychotic Oscar Piastri calm.

Sophie sat down, defeated. “Fine. Post it. Pray Lando doesn’t say anything unhinged in the comments.”

Andrea glanced at him one more time. “Next time, Oscar,” he said softly, “you can tell us. It doesn’t have to be relevant to the car.”

Oscar looked at him, then nodded. “Noted.”

And with that, he pulled out his phone, opened Instagram, and hit post—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

(Which, to him, it probably was.)

Ten seconds later, Sophie’s phone buzzed again.

And again.

“Buckle up,” she muttered. “Here we go again.”

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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mejaemin · 2 days ago

Note

Congrats to you for the 700 followers!!🎉 i have a request…

Can I request for seungcheol 👀 prompt (ahem ahem) no.7💀

seungcheol + “swallow it. all of it.”

(18+ mdni !!) warnings: blowjobs, lowk face fucking a little , semi public (bathroom stuff.. again), met baby pt. 2 !!! an: someone cut his brows off bc if he raises them ONE more time freaklia is becoming permanent. i literally tried so hard to shorten this to make it ~300 words like ive been doing but i cant. met gala coups is too powerful

“fuck, baby, keep going,” seungcheol groans, gripping your hair like it’s his last bit of life.

you moan around him, unable to talk with the way his fat, heavy cock stretches your lips. thankfully, the music in the venue is loud enough to hide yours and his noises, bass-heavy rap muffling the sounds of groaning and soft gagging.

after a lot of convincing, you and cheol left the met gala, and instead of going straight to the hotel like he had wanted, you went to the after party of one of your friends. for the rest of the gala after your time in the bathroom, your boyfriend had struggled a lot with a certain.. problem, and you knew that it wouldn’t be long before he pulled you away from your friends and into a more secluded place.

there’s drool trailing down your chin, bubbling past your lips and dripping down his balls as he holds your head flush to his pelvis. your breaths are jagged as they flow through your nose, swallowing around his girth as he twitches, wildly, against your tongue.

finally, you pull off, catching your breath. “gonna cum, cheollie?” you ask, eyes innocent as you tilt your head up at him. your hand finds its way to his shaft, his body shuddering when you start stroking his length.

“yeah, baby, doin’ me so good.. gonna cum down your pretty throat..” he hisses, easing your head a little further when your lips wrap around his head.

he wasn’t lying, he’s so close and you can feel it in the way his ramblings are more frequent. through slightly tear-clumped mascara you look up at him, and his eyes are screwed shut, lip trapped in his teeth as you work him. your throat’s starting to feel sore, an ache starting up in your jaw, but you can’t bring yourself to care when the salty taste on your tongue gets stronger.

you’ve been in here for a while, and you know someone will come knocking soon. so, with cheeks hollowed, fists balled, you bring both his hands to the back of your head, letting him use you to finish himself off.

he loses all composure, chest rumbling with unending groans, teetering on the edge of whimpering, dick poking at the back of your throat with every thrust. he’s so hot like this, standing above you with such a rough grip on your head, a completely blissed out expression on his face. he finally reaches his end after one, two more thrusts, pulling out until just his tip is left in your mouth, stroking himself as his cum floods your tastebuds.

“oh my god.. so fucking good..” he moans, low and husky, “swallow it, baby..” his eyebrow perks up at the liquids spilling from the corner of your mouth, eyes tearing up. “all of it.”

you do, and stick your tongue out to show him, earning a cheek kiss in response. he wipes your tears, fixes your hair, then finally straightens himself out and ushers you out the door.

“find your friends, tell them we’re leaving.” he yells, music getting increasingly louder as you rejoin the crowd. “my good girl deserves to get fucked, don’t you think?”

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asgardian--angels · 2 days ago

Text

**URGENT** HELP SAVE THE USGS BEE LAB!

PLEASE circulate this as widely as possible, as soon as possible.

Hi all, you may not know me but I am a native bee researcher in the eastern US. People like me work to study and protect the 3600 species of native bees in North America, many of which are in severe decline.

We just received devastating news, that unfortunately was not surprising. The Trump administration's proposed 2026 budget is set to defund most of the ecological research happening at the USGS, and that includes zeroing out the budget for the USGS Native Bee Inventory & Monitoring Lab.

Don't know them? Maybe you've seen stunning photos like this:

These gorgeous and evocative focus-stacked photos of native bees on black backgrounds - all of which are public domain - come from the USGS Bee Lab (here's their Flickr). Through these, they've helped bring the beauty and importance of native bees to the public's attention. Hundreds if not thousands of news articles, videos, and publications use these photos.

But that is just one tiny slice of what the USGS Bee Lab does for pollinator conservation. Its primary role is much bigger; they provide technical support, research collaborations, and financial & grant partnerships to federal and state agencies, academic institutions and researchers, and much more, so we can study, manage, and protect North America's wild pollinators. They conduct research of their own that has led to species rediscoveries, and produce invaluable resources that have greatly advanced our understanding of wild bees and our approaches to studying and conserving them. They also provide the essential and irreplaceable service of bee identification. For those who don't know, identifying bees is hard. Sometimes Really Hard. And this lab is one of just a handful of places in the entire country who can identify some of the toughest groups of bees, and who sit on the forefront of breakthroughs on taxonomy and identification that the rest of us in this field rely on. Without this service, agencies and researchers trying to survey and monitor bees in order to track population declines, manage land, and get policy changed are stuck with a lot of nameless bees, severely limiting the usefulness of that data.

Tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of bee specimens pass through this lab annually, plus the thousands in permanent storage, from long-term monitoring efforts by state and federal agencies, and researchers like myself. They operate at a greater capacity than basically any other institution doing this kind of work. Few if any bee researchers in the eastern US, or even the country, have not benefitted from this lab's work, and those benefits are passed on to you through being able to protect pollinators and the services they provide both in agriculture and ecosystems.

This lab is headed up by scientist Sam Droege, who has dedicated decades of his life to this cause, and whom I consider not just a research partner but, humbly, a friend. I am utterly indebted to him for helping me get my start in this field, and for the support and kindness he has shown me and every other young professional who is passionate about pollinators. The Lab operates with an insanely small budget already, and a very limited staff, yet the impact they have is exponentially outsized. Losing the USGS Bee Lab would be a devastating blow to pollinator conservation in this country, at a time when native bee species are sitting on the precipice, and sustainable agriculture is non-negotiable for our future.

You can read more about the Bee Lab here. The Lab is not well-publicized, but it's a lifeline for the many dedicated people who work to try and protect pollinators and the environment at large.

SO WHAT CAN YOU DO?

Sam Droege has sent out a request for help, and has encouraged us to post on social media. This is what he wants you to do to help us save the Bee Lab.

This is verbatim:

What is Happening: · The USGS Bee Lab is at risk of being permanently closed due to cuts in the 2026 Federal Budget and looming federal RIF’s · Specifically, the Ecosystem Mission Area (EMA) budget, which funds the USGS Bee Lab and the Eastern Ecological Science center has been zeroed out · Thousands of layoffs to hit Interior, National Parks imminently - Government Executive What you can do · Write to your representatives, the White House, and the Department of the Interior that they should restore the funding for the USGS Bee Lab · Send digital or physical letters, write emails, post to social media What you should be highlighting: · Personal anecdotes about how the Bee Lab has impacted you or your organization · How important the research the Bee Lab is conducting is to your state Contact Information: 1. Representatives: Find Your Representative | house.gov 2. Senators: U.S. Senate: Contacting U.S. Senators 3. White House: Contact Us – The White House 4. Interior: [email protected] Send a copy of the letter to [email protected] Pass this email around. Post your response to social media

IT'S OK if you are not a scientist and have not directly interacted with the Bee Lab. Have you seen the lab's photos? Are you concerned about native pollinator declines? Are you aware of any pollinator conservation initiatives or policies in your own state - those almost certainly have drawn, directly or indirectly, from work the Lab has done. Speak about American food production and agriculture, how the Lab's research and collaborations are essential to safeguarding pollination services (this might help reach across the aisle).

Sam urges that these letters, emails, phone calls, etc, must happen quickly - within the next couple days. This information went out on May 8th and that is the day I am posting this. So please, don't wait.

If 'save the bees' has ever meant anything to you, this is the agency that is playing one of the biggest roles in this country in making that happen. Please, contact your representatives, and pass this call to action along however you can. Thank you.

#bees #native bees #pollinators #native pollinators #save the bees #usgs bee lab #usgs native bee inventory and monitoring lab #yes sam put his email out there so i'm going to post it as is #i just visited the lab in person a couple weeks ago and they're scrambling to get bee specimens in storage and out the door #i had that sinking feeling that i had to get my bees identified as soon as possible or i might not get the chance and here we are #i told him I'd help him in whatever way I can and so for his sake and mine please help us.#if you're a science blog and follow me PLEASE spread this around #time is of the essence. post on other platforms.#want something specific to mention? they rediscovered the chestnut mining bee. there's a smithsonian article that just came out #all about that. so you know. that was KIND OF A BIG DEAL #they also literally developed THE standardized protocol for bee monitoring. used by federal agencies and researchers alike.#THEY ARE THE BEE PEOPLE. THE BEEPLE. THE GOAT. THE OG

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starryhyuck · 21 hours ago

Text

unconditional. (m)

pairing: boyfriendsdad!jaehyun x afab!reader

words: 4.4k+

summary: the attraction you feel towards your boyfriend’s father is just a silly little crush… right?

genre: smut

warnings: morally corrupt jaehyun and reader, fingering, daddy kink, kitchen sex, bigdick!jaehyun, spanking, spitting, breeding kink, overstimulation, blowjob

You wish you could say that you and Sungchan were a match made in heaven.

Your relationship began like a fairytale, with late night conversations over the phone and a bouquet of flowers greeting you at the door nearly every weekend. Sungchan was such a gentleman that you couldn’t believe he was real. You raved to all your friends about him, telling them you’d be married by the end of the year.

As time went on, however, the spark you once had began to die out.

You knew you were torturing yourself by extending the relationship longer, unwilling to let go. You had grown close to his family, becoming almost a permanent fixture in his life. So after four years, you were pretty set on seeing this all the way through simply for the convenience of it all.

“Look at you two! So cute, I hope we see a ring on this lovely lady’s finger by next year,” Sungchan’s aunt coos, pinching your cheek while you smile tightly.

Sungchan’s arm tightens around your waist. “We’ll see.”

Family events are nothing new to you, but for some reason, this year feels a little more empty. You used to glance around and feel warmth bloom in your chest, but now, standing besides your boyfriend who’s started to distance himself, you want to go home and forget this even happened.

You find solace in the kitchen, sighing as you pour yourself another cup of eggnog. You eye the bottle of vodka next to it, silently dumping a healthy amount into your glass.

“Slow down there, tiger.”

A chuckle comes from your right, and you look to the side to see Sungchan’s father, Jaehyun. He grins as he takes the alcohol from you, twisting the cap and raising an eyebrow.

“What’s got you so worked up? Usually I’m the one being berated out there during the holidays.”

You laugh at him. Jaehyun’s always welcomed you with open arms ever since Sungchan first brought you home to meet him. He was so sweet that it made you understand why Sungchan said his father had to fight off women constantly. When Sungchan’s mother left the picture, you’re certain that Jaehyun’s phone blew up with endless requests from the beautiful single women in his life.

Still, despite this, Jaehyun’s never had a serious relationship since you’ve known him.

You asked Sungchan about it, but your boyfriend would shrug, stating that his father would wait an eternity for the right woman to come along.

“I’m a little on edge, I guess,” you reply, bashful that your boyfriend’s father caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. “Work has me spinning cartwheels for them.”

He nods in understanding. “Sungchan told me you got a promotion recently. I’m glad they’ve finally caught on to your potential.”

You flush at the praise. Sungchan hasn’t even congratulated you once, only relieved that you stopped complaining about not feeling appreciated. Your late night talks where you would share your hopes and dreams with your partner are a thing of the past.

“Thank you, Mr. Jeong,” you say.

He shakes his head. “I told you to stop calling me that. Makes me feel like an old man. Jaehyun is just fine.”

You giggle, ignoring the butterflies that swarm your stomach. “Thank you, Jaehyun.”

After dodging a few more conversations of you and Sungchan’s inevitable engagement, you retire to his childhood bedroom together. He exhales as he scrolls through his phone, one hand resting underneath his neck as he leans against the headboard.

“I’m going to play soccer with a few of my cousins tomorrow,” he remarks, not bothering to glance up at you.

You nod, well past the point of waiting for him to ask you if you want to join. “Okay. Sounds fun.”

As you lay in bed, huddled to the farthest edge of the mattress while a few pillows are stuffed between you and Sungchan, you’re consumed by the thought that you’re wasting your good years away in this doomed relationship. You sigh when you realize you won’t be slipping off to dreamland any time soon, pulling yourself out of bed and heading downstairs to the kitchen.

You’re surprised to see the lights still on, wondering if Jaehyun forgot to switch them off before retreating to bed. You receive your answer when you spot him sitting on the island, nursing a glass of wine.

“Did the family really tick you off that badly?”

He laughs when you enter, licking his lips. “I think I’m past the age where I need to explain my relationship status to relatives over sixty-years-old.”

You shrug, occupying the barstool next to him. “And I think I’m past the age where I need to explain why I’m not engaged yet to relatives over sixty-years-old. I’m always proven wrong.”

“You and Sungchan are far too young to be planning something so serious. They should give you a break,” he says as he rises to retrieve another glass for you, pouring until the red liquid fills up halfway.

“It’s tradition, I guess. Once you pass the four year mark, they say you should start dreaming about a huge ball gown and dresses for your bridesmaids.”

He raises an eyebrow. “But you don’t?”

You don’t want to start discussing your troubles with your boyfriend’s dad. It’s crossing a line you’re certain is written into law somewhere.

You brush it off. “Sometimes I do.”

The conversation lulls into a comfortable silence. Your nails tap against your wine glass, taking small sips of the drink even though you’d prefer something stronger at this point. Jaehyun opens his mouth to speak, and you think he’s going to excuse himself to go to bed, but instead he murmurs, “You and Sungchan haven’t been happy for a while. I can see it. You used to come over with starry eyes and clutch onto his arm until I thought it would fall off.”

You smile tightly. “We’re going through a rough patch.”

His lips flatten into a thin line when he replies, “If the spark is gone, there’s no use in reviving it. You’re beating a dead horse. I learned that lesson with Sungchan’s mother.”

Sungchan hasn’t spoken much about his parents separating. All he told you was that his mother was unhappy, and she and Jaehyun got pregnant too young to actually explore what life has to offer. It was an amicable divorce, and Sungchan was already about to enter college so it hadn’t impacted his life much.

His mother is barely around now, flying across the world and getting the chance to see what she couldn’t in her twenties. Sungchan and her call every Sunday, and you’ve only spoken to her once or twice over video.

“I-I want to love him. I want to love him as much as I used to,” you confess in a small voice. “We used to be so happy and I know we could be like that again if we tried.”

Jaehyun swallows. “Change is hard, I know, but you’re a beautiful girl. You’re dedicated to your work and any guy in this world would be lucky even to get a chance to speak with you. My son hasn’t appreciated your talents in a long time.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, downing the rest of the contents in your glass. “I shouldn’t even be speaking about this with you! You’re his father, and- and-”

“And what?” He whispers, inching closer to you until you realize you’re only centimeters apart. “Just because I’m his father means I can’t recognize how extraordinary my son’s girlfriend is?”

The tension in the room wraps around your throat, tethering you to the man you once believed would become your father-in-law. You wish you could say it��s the alcohol clouding your judgment, but you’ve thought about having Jaehyun like this since the day you met him.

“Jaehyun,” you say, eyelashes fluttering. “We shouldn’t.”

“I’ve waited so long for the perfect woman to come along. Imagine my surprise when she walks through the door, hand in hand with my own son,” he chuckles. “The irony of it all.”

Your breath quickens, nearly about to deny him again before his lips collide with yours. Your hands fly up to his face, cradling his jaw while his tongue searches the inside of your mouth. His hands snake around your thighs, moving you until you’re straddling him on the kitchen barstool.

Knowing how wrong it is for you to be kissing your boyfriend’s father only spurs you on even more. You don’t know if that makes you a bad person, but you’re too lost in Jaehyun to comprehend the result of your actions right now.

“Jaehyun,” you moan. “We should stop.”

“Tell me you want to and I’ll listen,” he says when he trails kisses down your neck. Your hips subconsciously roll against him when his teeth sink into your flesh, marking you as his. “Tell me to stop.”

But you keep your protests to yourself, joining your mouths again in a fervent kiss. You haven’t felt passion like this since your first date with Sungchan. The electricity between you and Jaehyun bounces off the walls, buzzing in your veins until you’re drunk on him.

His fingers ghost over the waistband of your pajama shorts, tip toeing on the edge while waiting for you to give him the green light. You’re just about to tell him to take you when a thud echoes upstairs, forcing you apart.

You gasp, your mind clearing from the fog. “Oh my God,” you murmur, climbing off his lap. You comb your fingers through your hair and step away from him.

He calls your name gently. “Wait-”

“This is wrong. We should have never done this. I- I- I need to go.”

You dart out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, lips still tingling from Jaehyun’s touch.

—

“Uh, I’m heading out now. Are you going to stay in bed?”

You can’t look Sungchan in the eye, digging your face into the pillow as you nod. He doesn’t prod any further and you eventually hear the door click shut. You peek your head out to glance at the clock on the nightstand.

It’s approaching noon and you still haven’t risen from your spot, afraid of facing Jaehyun downstairs.

You know you’ll have at least some family members present to act as a buffer, but guilt creeps up your throat at the thought of what you did last night.

Your boyfriend’s father? That’s a new low, even for you.

Of course, Jaehyun is exceedingly handsome and beyond your wildest dreams, but you should hold some loyalty to your boyfriend of four years. He’s the man you’re supposed to marry, and you’re not sure how you’re going to face him after nearly riding his father.

Your bladder drags you out of bed, and you praise the heavens when you hear loud chatter occurring downstairs. Maybe you’ll get lost in the mix and before you know it, Sungchan and you will be departing for the evening with no mention of how attracted you are to Jaehyun.

“There she is,” Sungchan’s aunt laughs when you sit down on the living room couch. “We thought you had disappeared! I knew there was no way you joined those rowdy boys for a game on the field.”

You smile politely. “Not really my thing. It was just so warm under the covers that it made it hard for me to leave.”

She leans over to pat your hand. “Now that my nephew’s run off, why don’t you tell me the real reason why you two aren’t engaged yet? Why, you’re perfect for one another! A match made in heaven!”

A gruff call of your name echoes from your right, and you tense when you turn to see Jaehyun standing there.

“Can you come help me prepare lunch in the kitchen?”

“Oh, Jaehyun,” Sungchan’s aunt says with a roll of her eyes. “I was just getting quality time with her.”

He grits his teeth, jaw clenched as he stares at you. A strike of arousal burns through your core at the anger looming behind his expression. “You can speak with her later.”

You excuse yourself, tail tucked between your legs as you follow him into the kitchen. You’re startled when Jaehyun actually begins to take out the ingredients from the fridge needed to make lunch, handing you a cutting board and a knife to start chopping up vegetables.

He switches on the oven when he says, “Did you want me to forget about last night?”

You almost slip and cut off your own finger, swallowing as you reply, “W-What?”

He leans against the sink, hands folded across his chest as he gazes at you. The lust swirling in his eyes is enough to give him away to anyone walking by, and your doe-eyed expression isn’t helping your case of passing this off as a platonic relationship.

“If you want to forget about last night, say the word and I won’t mention it again.”

You chew on your lower lip. “I-I don’t know. I don’t know what I want, Jaehyun.”

He glances towards the entryway, ensuring the rest of his family are still mingling in the living room, not bothered by whatever is happening in here. He slowly circles around the island until he’s right beside you, hands inching towards your waist.

He whispers, “Did you enjoy it?”

“Jaehyun-”

His grip tightens. “Because I was dreaming about tasting you the whole night. Had to fuck myself into my fist to find some relief.”

Your breath quickens. Your nails skirt over his abdomen, mouth watering at the visual of him laying in bed, one hand wrapped firmly around his length while thinking of you. You arch into his touch, core pulsating as his name leaves your lips.

“Jaehyun, I want-”

“What’s for lunch, dad?”

You spring away from Jaehyun, barely able to contain your shock when Sungchan casually walks into the room. You quickly preoccupy yourself with cutting the vegetables like you were meant to while Jaehyun smiles as if he wasn’t about to pounce on you.

“Kimbap. And I'm warming up the leftover pie from last night,” Jaehyun replies to your boyfriend. Sungchan has sweat dripping from his forehead, not bothering to look at you as he combs the fridge for a glass of water. “How was the game?”

“Same old, same old. Donghyuck has gotten dirtier than usual with his tricks,” Sungchan replies when he turns around. His eyebrows raise at you. “Oh, hey, babe. Didn’t know you were in here.”

“Just helping your dad,” you say with a forced smile. “Did you want me to add some tuna to your kimbap?”

He nods, rounding the island to kiss you softly on the forehead. “Perfect. Thanks, babe.”

When he leaves, you shut your eyes tightly. “We can never do that again.”

“Meet me here tonight.”

Your jaw drops. “We’re leaving tonight with everyone else-”

He steps forward, cornering you as one hand grips your hip, tugging your leg until it curls around him. He hovers over you, pushing his hardened member directly against your clothed core.

“Tell him you want to stay another day. Tell him you’re not ready to return to normal life. Then come downstairs and wait for me here.”

“…Okay.”

—

Jaehyun will admit he’s a little sadistic.

Lusting after you was never part of his plan, but the moment you walked through his front door, he knew he wanted you. He had waited so long to find the perfect woman after Sungchan’s mother left. He didn’t resent her, knowing how their marriage was the only way to satisfy the pressure they faced by getting pregnant so young. He struggled to date afterwards, never understanding the right thing to say and shying away from the women who only wanted to get him into bed.

But you were perfect. He felt like a dirty old man crushing on you, even though you were a grown woman who could make her own decisions.

He would speak to you late at night when Sungchan’s already drifted off to sleep. At first, he could tell how much you loved his son and it made him keep his distance. You and Sungchan were inseparable, and he swore that Sungchan heard wedding bells whenever he looked at you.

Over time, however, Jaehyun noticed that the spark between you began to fade. You would dance around each other at family gatherings, pretending to chuckle when someone would ask you about your future wedding date. Sungchan never looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky anymore.

Jaehyun was convinced you would break up before the next holiday, but for some reason, you stayed together.

Not that Jaehyun was complaining since he got to see you, but this just made it that much harder to control himself around you.

He looks at himself in the mirror, wondering how far he’s willing to take this without telling Sungchan. But then his mind strays, picturing you waiting for him, riddled with anxiety over whether or not he plans to show. He pushes his darkest thoughts away, relieved when he spots the kitchen light burning brightly downstairs.

When he enters, you exhale, “He’s going to hate me forever.”

He treads over, lightly kissing the corner of your mouth. “No, he won’t. How could anyone ever hate you?”

He feels the thump of your pulse when he brushes his lips over your throat. His hands slither down until he’s cupping your ass, squeezing the flesh between his fingers. Your nails dig into his shoulders, whimpering when his assault on your neck continues.

“J-Jaehyun-”

“I want you,” he groans, humping into you like a lovesick teenager. “I want to fucking ravage you all over this kitchen. I want to take you on every surface of this house so that I can think of you when you leave.”

You almost go limp in his arms at the confession. His resolve chips away when you lean in and whisper in his ear, “Take me then. Do your worst.”

The way you two move is messy, scrambling to rip each other’s articles of clothing off. He bends you over the kitchen counter, grunting when he pulls down your shorts and sees you bare for him.

“My son’s a fucking idiot,” he growls, running two fingers up your glistening petals. You shudder against his touch. “How can he keep his hands off of you? How can he not appreciate how perfect you are?”

You moan his name when he slides his digits into you with ease. He curls his fingers, watching your expression with lust clouding his vision. You’re everything he’s dreamed of, pretty and pliant and wet for him as small gasps fall from your lips.

He thrusts his fingers inside you, observing your body’s sensitivity to his actions.

“Haven’t been touched like this in a while, hm?” He asks while you blubber, barely able to catch your breath. “A pretty girl like you should be worshiped. He should be on his fucking knees for you every night until you’re begging for him to offer you a break. Call in sick just so he can fuck you the way you want.” You squeak when his other hand collides roughly against your ass. “But maybe you should be punished for being a bad girl. Look at you bending over for your boyfriend’s father.”

“Jaehyun,” you murmur, whining when he inserts another finger. “It feels so good.”

“I know it does,” he replies smugly, prideful in the fact that he’s the one making you feel this way. “You’re so tight. I don’t think I’m going to be able to fit my cock in this tiny pussy.”

“It’ll fit,” you whimper. “We’ll make it fit.”

He closes his eyes, clenching his jaw at how desperate you sound for him. All it takes is another curl of his fingers to have you clenching down around him, moaning as the band in your stomach snaps.

He’s fast to discard his pants, kicking them to the floor while running a hand up and down his length. You peer over your shoulder to assess his size, and his ego inflates when your eyes widen. He chuckles as he runs his tip over your slit, coating it in your wetness.

“Bigger than him?”

You swallow. “M-Much bigger.”

A sense of clarity strikes him. “Fuck. I don’t have a condom.”

His mind wracks through ways of how fast he can run to the liquor store down the street, but he’s thrown for a curveball when you say, “That’s okay.”

“Really?”

“I haven’t slept with Sungchan in a long time and he’s the only person I’ve been with for the last four years. I’m clean,” you explain, blinking innocently at him. “A-Are you?”

He rubs circles over your hip assuredly. “I haven’t slept with anyone in years either and I always used a condom.”

You bite your lip. “Then please, Jaehyun. Fuck me raw.”

Jaehyun thinks he sees the gates of heaven when he pushes inside you. You’re so warm and wet for him, stretching you out until your walls hug his cock snugly. Your jaw drops as he continues to press in, mewling when he’s only halfway.

“Why are you so fucking big?” You question, jumping when his hand spanks your ass again.

“Why are you so fucking tight? Christ,” he swears. “I’m gonna blow my load before I get a chance to savor you.”

It’s hot and fast as soon as he rams in and out of your cunt. You’re so lost in each other that you forget all about Sungchan. He leans over to trace his tongue over your lips, sloppily mixing them together until saliva runs down your chin. He ruts into you until your hips slam against the counter, surely leaving you bruises in the morning.

You open your mouth for him to spit down your throat, and he batters into your pussy even harder when you swallow for him.

“You know what’ll happen when I cum inside this tight cunt, don’t you?” He snarls in your ear. “You know what’ll happen when I stuff you full until I’m dripping down your legs?”

You exhale, “You’re going to breed me.”

He grins, licking the shell of your ear. “That’s right. I’m going to breed this perfect pussy and show everyone who you belong to.”

It must be the thought of your stomach swollen with Jaehyun’s child that sends you over the edge. You gush around his length, thighs shaking while he continues to pound into you. He grunts when he watches his cock disappear into your tight hole, your pussy forming a creamy ring around his base.

“Please, Jaehyun, please. Want you to breed my little pussy. I need your cum so bad, daddy.”

It’s the last word that causes him to spiral. A string of moans leave his lips when he spurts ropes of white into you, shuddering as the most powerful orgasm overtakes him. He swears he cums for at least a minute, emptying himself until he pours out of your cunt.

You giggle. “I’ve never seen anyone cum that hard for me before.”

He kisses your cheek. “Then they clearly didn’t know what they were missing.”

You continue to fuck well into the night, careful to keep your noises to a minimum in fear of waking Sungchan. Jaehyun takes you in the living room, on the stairs, and in his bedroom. You’re doused in sweat and cum by the end of the night, bouncing on him as he observes you gasping for breath.

He spanks you roughly. “Come on. I know you can do better than that.”

You bite on your lip to prevent your loud whimpers from spilling out. “I-I’m so t-tired, daddy. I can’t do it anymore.”

Your thighs slap against his skin as you rotate your hips, and he can identify the exhaustion seeping through your bones. It’s already been hours since you started, and he knows he should let you rest before Sungchan wakes up.

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs, flipping you over gently and thrusting into you. “Let daddy do all the work, hm? Poor girl, I really wore you out, huh?”

“Daddy,” is all you’re able to reply with, especially when the pads of his fingers rub against your clit.

You squirm away from the oversensitivity, but he holds you in place firmly. “Take it all, baby. Take everything that daddy gives you like a big girl.”

He runs his hands through his hair, pushing it away from his face so he can burn this memory into his mind for later. The sight of you spread out so neatly for him on his bed, dazed and delirious from your numerous climaxes is what he saves for when he’s lonely and thinking of you. This is an image he never wants to forget.

“Can you cum for me one more time, baby?” He asks, frowning when you shake your head. “I thought you were a good girl?”

“T-Too m-much, daddy,” you gasp. “It’s t-too much.”

His eyes narrow, angling his hips and pushing in until he finds the spot that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You spasm around him immediately, squirting over his cock and staining the sheets with your juices. Your body convulses from the force of the pleasure, and Jaehyun embraces you softly and coos in your ear until you regain your consciousness.

Your mouth drops open and he drops his knees on either side of you, pressing his cock between your lips. You suck eagerly, hollowing your cheeks out until he hits the back of your throat. He grunts, marveling at how well you take him before he cums on your tongue. You swallow every last drop, and he collapses on top of you as your limbs tangle together.

He hums, licking up the sweat on your neck. “Break up with him tomorrow. Then get your stuff and come back here.”

You laugh. “I need you to give me five business days until my body is ready to handle you again.”

He chuckles, digging his teeth into your skin playfully. “We don’t have to fuck. We can watch a movie, make dinner, lay in bed… I don’t care. I just want you here with me.”

Anxiety clouds your expression. “When people find out about us, they’ll make assumptions. No one is going to accept this easily.”

“That’s fine, I don’t give a fuck about them,” he replies casually, even though you both know that facing the music is going to become an upward trek. “Let’s just enjoy this moment together. I don’t want us to worry about Sungchan or my family’s judgment. Let’s be together and pretend we’re the only ones existing right now.”

So you and Jaehyun do exactly as promised, pushing away your real life problems in favor of falling for one another.

#nct smut #nct x reader #jaehyun smut #jaehyun

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oikarma · 17 hours ago

Text

love in the air

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: you take your long-time friend as your plus one to your dad's wedding. you catch the bouquet. maybe that's when you start agreeing with the internet that . . . lando norris is a little more than a long-time friend to you.

a/n: thank you to anon for the request i had no idea they were dating LOL this was so fluffy

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tiktok

@/landossluttywaist I CANT BREATHE LANDO WAS AT THE SAME HOTEL AS ME

user1 you rich rich, then

user2 she probably gets paddock passes for doing her chores user3 guys why are we hating on this girl let her be excited 😭 i would be too

user4 what hotel is it?

landossluttywaist he's gone now (this was as he was leaving) but it was the four seasons in philly

user5 thanks for respecting his privacy and not posting until he left!

landossluttywaist lol i love him but at the end of the day he's just a human who doesn't need people hounding him 24/7

user6 but what is he even there for??? philadelphia??? there's ltr nothing interesting there...

user7 idk bradley cooper is the best thing to come out of that town user7 omg and also they won the super bowl user7 but that was a long time ago user8 maybe he's just an eagles fan

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by versace and 7,032,810 others

gigihadid My darling B, what a wonderful thing it is that we found each other. I can't believe we're now married — I'm still smiling, because such happiness carries on for a long time. You are so kind, so sweet, so caring, so utterly magical. I am beyond lucky to have you. Your belief in me makes me who I am today and who I will be. This new chapter will be a long life, full of laughter, full of a new family.

∞ Always, your G.

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yourinstagram i'm so happy for you and dad <33 you are an amazing person and you bring so much light to our family! your dress was gorgeous but even more so was you. hope you have a great time on your honeymoon

gigihadid I love you so much ;) Thanks for coming. There's so much love in the air!! 💐 yourinstagram hey, hey, we talked about this gigihadid I didn't make the rule user1 i love how well they go together user2 bro if my step-mom was gigi hadid. user3 wait wait wait did y/n catch the bouquet??? user4 omg

user5 actually radiant

bellahadid best wishes from your baby sister 💕

gigihadid ❤️❤️❤️ user6 do they know they're real user7 omg bella drop the fit i NEED to know what you wore cause gigi's dress is already blowing all my expectations out of water

user8 man if only bradley had insta

user9 this is how i find out bradley cooper and gigi hadid are dating whaaaaat

user10 me too girl me too

user11 why is this the only post with photos????? i need to see all of it

user12 maybe they agreed not to post until after a certain time or like gigi got to post first cause yk it's her wedding user13 bella posted!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by lando and others

yourinstagram to the two of you 🥂

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user1 omg y/n paints?? did she do that?

yourinstagram yes 🙂‍↕️ i gave it to them as a sort of wedding gift! user1 aww that's so cute thanks for sharing with us <3 it's a beautiful drawing

user2 oh gosh that's such a beautiful place 🥺

user3 y/n were you at the bachelorette

yourinstagram hell yeah user4 we need the photos baddie yourinstagram maybe someday, lol

user5 wait where did they get married

user6 philly, the last pic is where they announced their engagement user5 ohhh no wonder

user7 lando you sly dog why are you in the likes

user8 well they're friends user9 dyt he went to the wedding user10 tbf wasn't he in philly a few days ago it's not crazy

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f1gossipofficial Lando Norris was seen at the wedding of Gigi Hadid and Bradley Cooper.

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user1 I KNEW IT

user2 you guys are crazy 😭 how could you even tell those were him

user3 he's with YN IN ALL OF THEM

user4 where did these even come from

user5 isnt he dating magui??

user6 lando? user5 yeah user6 probably, but he and y/n are good friends user5 shit man they look good together user6 what do you mean these are all 120p quality

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liked by others

f1gossipofficial Formula 1's YouTube account posted a full video of Y/N Cooper and Lando Norris on a Hot Lap.

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user1 why is this gossip it's literally just a video

user2 the way he looked at her and she started screaming at him 😭 poor guy just wanted some eye contact

user3 she's so precious but jesus the amount of swear words out of that girl's mouth user4 lando wasn't even shocked he was like well lol oops

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liked by f1 and others

yourinstagram lucky

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user1 LANDOS LUCKY CHARM SPOTTED

mclaren might need to keep you around in the paddock more often

yourinstagram 😕 'fraid i have a job

user2 oh she knows shes hot

user3 someone tell her we're not in texas anymore

user4 who cares she served

lando photo credits where??

user5 stop being a pick me lando user6 yn is this man bothering you user7 he just needs everyone to know yourinstagram let me breathe lan i can't like all these comments trashing you fast enough user8 i love her already

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f1gossipofficial Lando Norris and Y/N L/N after the Las Vegas Grand Prix

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user1 shit? shit!

user2 "we're friends" NO YOURE DATING

user3 are we sure that's lando?? it looks like y/n but we can't see the guys face

user4 yeah idk there are plenty of brunettes out in vegas user5 def yn tho shes wearing the same top in her last insta post

user6 she's so glad rn bradley doesn't have insta lol

user7 is gigi going to rat her out??

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

you spot him slouched against the side of the taco truck, curls flattened from sweat and his own hands. there's powdered sugar on his lips. his phone's in one hand, the other holding a half-eaten churro.

lando sees you and his face changes.

"you came," he says, voice a little hoarse. "finally."

you walk up, wobbly on your heels, heart all over the place. "yeah. i had to. you were being dramatic."

"i'm hard,” he says instantly. "and i missed you."

you nearly trip. "lando."

he shrugs, eyes dragging down your body without shame. "look at you. fuck. that top's killing me."

you’re giggling before you can stop it. "you're drunk."

"so are you. and you kissed me."

"you kissed me first, okay?"

"you were straddling me. in the club."

you pause. "you asked me to sit in your lap. you liked it."

lando nods. "loved it, yeah."

you're both quiet for a second. he's watching your mouth and you're watching the way his chest moves when he breathes. his hoodie's sliding off one shoulder and your fingers twitch like they want to touch him.

"you're so pretty it's making me insane," lando says. "like i want to fuck you and cuddle you at the same time and i don't know what to do about it."

you're breathless. "jesus."

"don't call him." your noses almost touch. "call me."

you laugh into his neck. "you're ridiculous."

"you're glowing" lando mumbles, hands sliding down your sides. "like. actually glowing. i can't believe i've known you this long and didn't do something about it."

you tilt your head back. "do something now."

he kisses you like you're a prize he's earned, slow, filthy, so hungry it makes your knees weak. his hands are all over--waist, hips, ass, back under your top like he needs to feel skin now.

you break away, panting. "lando, we're at a taco truck."

"yeah," he says, mouth all over your jaw. "so hurry up and let's leave. before i do something i'll get arrested for."

you grin. "you're such a slut."

"only for you."

he laces your fingers together and starts walking backward toward the street, still staring at you like you're his first and last meal.

"wait," you say, dizzy from everything. "what about your churro?"

"don't need it," he says. "got something sweeter now."

#formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #ln4 #bradley cooper #gigi hadid #oikarma ᯓᡣ𐭩

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esote-rika · 1 day ago

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𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 | 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!Reader Category: Smut 18+ MDNI Summary: You have several (stereotypical) assumptions about your nerdy coworker; he proves how wrong you are about them. Content: 3.2k, early season dom!Spencer Reid, bratty reader, reader has hair that can be put in a ponytail, brat taming, BDSM dynamics, sensation play (feather tickler hehe), reader is ticklish, spanking, making out, thigh riding, coworkers hooking up (are we even fucking surprised), hopefully still soft and sweet and hot. a/n: Listen I know I keep saying I’m taking a break but unfortunately I’m ovulating HARD; this is the last one for May, but there will be a part 2, I’m already planning it. I wrote this completely piss drunk (my friends can probably share screenshots as proof oops) and then sobered up enough to edit (might have missed some stuff). Based on a request that Tumblr ate 😭 but basically, BAU reader teases Spencer about sex only to find out he's a kinky BDSM dom. Hope u enjoy!

“What would you know about BDSM?” The question, spoken with a carefree laugh and just a hint of condescension, is directed at your coworker, who is currently stirring copious amounts of sugar into his coffee beside you.

Dressed in a tweed blazer that overwhelms his slight frame, Spencer Reid only tilts his head to the side, honey eyes keen and flashing with something you can’t quite place. You lean against the counter in the pantry, intrigued by his response. You’d expected a blush, chin tipping down, hair falling over his pretty eyes, lips uttering bashful, stuttering words.

Not… this. Regarding you with a frank, unblinking calm that has you shifting in place.

“Oh, right,” you roll your eyes teasingly, unwilling to let him see how easily his nonplussed reaction has fractured your easygoing facade, “You’ve read about it extensively, haven’t you? What do psychology textbooks have to say about whips and blindfolds, Dr. Reid?”

“Quite a lot,” he replies with a serenity that unnerves, “Some attribute it to the feeling of being safely back inside the womb.”

You scoff, “Right, because thinking of your mother during bondage is so sexy.”

“But,” he presses on, narrowing his eyes at you, patient but warning, “There’s often explanations that go hand in hand with biology. Deprivation of one sense tends to heighten the other. Physical restriction offers the same feeling, which then leads to altered states of pleasure. In a more emotional sense, surrendering your power to a partner communicates the highest level of trust, offering a deeper sense of intimacy for some people.”

So he does know a lot about it. Still, you don’t drop your teasing grin as you reply, “God, how do you manage to make BDSM sound so clinical?”

“Because it is a little clinical, if I’m just explaining it in polite conversation. The communication is better enjoyed if the actions match.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm hmm,” he smiles, dimples flashing, a show of innocence. A mask.

“And this information is from experience?” you tease.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His tone carries implication and it settles upon your stomach, heavy and warm. That makes you perk up, but you fight the urge to show your intrigue. Instead, you scoff, “As if there’s anything to know.”

He’s quiet. Sipping at his coffee, honey eyes twinkling over the rim of his mug. It’s infuriating.

“No way.” you huff, finally breaking. The lightness of teasing leaves your voice, shifting to something darker, more accusatory, “You expect me to believe you have experience? In BDSM?”

“Announce it to the entire office, why don’t you?”

You pause, looking at him almost in betrayal. Really, how could you not? Spencer Reid, who looks like his nose would start bleeding from the slightest sexual attention from a living, breathing person, has BDSM experience? The man who wears sweater vests and slicks his hair back like he’s a seventy year old librarian? You survey him today, in all of his rumpled, mismatched glory, trying to find one hint of his apparent favored pastimes.

He looks almost smug as he meets your gaze, cocking his head to the side.

“No way.” you repeat.

“You possess an awfully limited vocabulary for today.”

“Shut up, stop pulling my leg,” your eyes narrow suspiciously, still in disbelief.

“I’m not pulling your leg,” he says, allowing a small, almost imperceptible smirk to curve up his lips for one split second, before his face gets hidden by the coffee cup again.

“Prove it, then.”

The words startle both of you, but you’re stubborn enough to see it through. Meeting his gaze with a confidence that would seem sincere to the untrained eye, but Spencer has worked with you long enough to know it’s all bravado.

He looks at you, unsure. “Prove it?”

“Look who's vocabulary is limited now.”

He scoffs and lowers his voice, “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“I know what I’m getting into, I’m a grown woman, thanks.”

“Then I’ll fax you a copy of my rules. If they still seem like something you’d want to try out, come to my apartment Saturday night—that is, if we aren’t called in for a case.”

You shrug, the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Great, sounds like a plan. Don’t forget to fax.” You both know he wouldn’t.

By some universal twist of fate, that Saturday is devoid of any last minute cases. You spend the whole morning poring over the sixteen-page document that Spencer had sent over on Friday, reading through the risks—a lot of which you already know from your own research—his specific set of rules, and what he’d normally allow for a beginner. You don’t have the same perfect memory he does, but you’re sure you’ve memorized everything by the time you knock at his apartment.

“So you came,” he says, offering you a cool glass of lemonade, looking perfectly at ease as he leads you into his bedroom.

“Of course,” you say, looking around as you sip on the drink, taking it all in, “I was serious when I said prove it.” It’s dim, but nothing else is inside that rouses suspicion. It looks completely normal—a neat bed, a messy desk, haphazard piles of books—until your eyes land on the items on the dresser.

Silk ties. A paddle. Something that looks similar to a feather duster, but you assume it’s made with a different activity in mind. Your cheeks are aflame.

“You know the safe word?”

“Yes. Jupiter—you’re such a nerd, by the way.”

He laughs, taking you half finished glass and setting it down. “Do you have any objections to the terms I’d laid out? Additions?”

“I just need you to make a promise.”

“For what?”

“That this stays between us.” You face him, searching his eyes for any deceit. It’s always a risk, being a woman and engaging in anything that could be considered deviant, especially in an environment like the BAU, which is honestly a glorified boy’s club.

“You have my word. Everything that we do stays in this room.” he vows, stepping closer.

“And,” you bite your lip, “No sex, right?”

He shakes his head, “None. We’ll focus on sensations tonight, just to let you get a feel for things.”

It seems more intimate, just trusting him to tease and play with your body, but you’re glad that the boundary is set in place. Spencer seems to have gotten a lot of experience at this, and briefly, you wonder just how many other people has been in your place.

You push the thought away and smile at him. “Okay. Then that’s all on my end. I accept all your terms, and I remember the safe word.”

He hums, turning you around. Standing so closely behind you, his heat warms your back like a gentle fire. Long, elegant fingers that carry the lingering musk of old books and coffee gather your hair into a ponytail at the base of your neck. He secures it with a thin elastic, before leaning in, breath whispering goosebumps into your skin.

“Strip.”

There’s a sudden loss of heat as he steps back. You’re surprised to miss it, already, but even more surprised by his command. “What?”

“I said strip, angel.” he says, walking to your front with an expectant look on his face, “Down to your underwear.”

You sputter, looking up at him incredulously, but his face is serious. Patient, but serious.

“Do you need your safe word?”

You don’t reply, realizing that it’s begun and this is exactly what you agreed to do. To submit to him and his commands. The weight of this reality sinks in, rendering you mute and frozen, and he immediately softens.

Hands cupping your cheeks, Spencer looks at you with concern, “Hey, we can stop.”

“No,” you reply, forcefully. Stubborn pride pulsing through your veins—no way you’re stopping before you’ve even done anything, “I don’t want to stop, it’s okay. I just—okay. Strip.” you step back, nodding and muttering to yourself, “Okay, yes, I can do that.” Looking down, you fumble at the buttons of your blouse, undoing them with clumsy, unsure fingers.

He steps back to the dresser, retrieving the bundle of feathers, never averting his gaze. Wide brown eyes take you in as you lose your shirt, and then your pants, standing before him in matching lace underwear. A slow grin spreads over his lips, “You dressed up for me?”

You feel your cheeks burn, “No.”

“So you just wear expensive lace sets for no reason, even on Saturdays?”

“You don’t know what I like.”

A step closer, “I’m about to,” he says in a low, smug tone that has your breath catching, “Stay still.”

Stay still. Easy enough. Your eyes follow his movements, the way he brandishes the feathers in his hands. Your head cranes back as he circles you, and he tuts in disapproval.

“I said stay still,” he murmurs, hand cupping your jaw and adjusting your head forward.

“But—”

“But?”

“Nothing.” you squeak as you look ahead again. Your heart makes itself known, drumming in an exaggerated, hurried way that makes you want to shift. But Spencer said stay still, so you do.

A small part of you wants to scoff—why are you following Spencer Reid’s orders? This is ridiculous. Say the safe word and this would all be over. He’d never mention it to anyone else, like you both agreed earlier. You can get out, and you know for a fact that Spencer wouldn’t judge or protest.

But you don’t.

Because a larger, more significant part of you finds this whole thing incredibly hot.

Several seconds pass. Agonizingly slow. He’s drawing it out, you realize, testing how long he can get you to stay still. Or maybe he left. No, he wouldn’t—couldn’t, you’d hear his footsteps. Finally giving in, you look over your shoulder, brows knitted in confusion.

You’re met with a disapproving look and a shaking head. “Didn’t I tell you to stay still?”

“You’re taking too long,” you pout.

“That’s the second time you’ve disobeyed me, angel,” he tuts. The heat of his body envelops you as he steps into your space again, his chest pressing to your back. A hand skims over your side, warm and firm as it finds the swell of your hip, and sits there. A warning. “You know what’s going to happen when you do it thrice, don’t you?”

Your mind flashes back to the conversation and the list, the rules he laid out so painstakingly for you. Thoughtful and attentive, Spencer had made you read through pages of what he expects from this dynamic, the rules you must follow as his submissive, the punishment that will be enforced should you disobey.

Three strikes and you get spanked.

“I do,” your words drift out the most delicate breath, heart hammering even more now. “I remember.”

He hums when you are finally still. Lips land on your bare shoulder, chaste and warm, while his hand travels up your side, featherlight and teasing. They skim up your ribcage and you can’t help but gasp, fighting every cell in your body to keep from moving. Your compliance is rewarded by another satisfied hum, and then finally it touches you.

The feather.

Crawling up the back of your left thigh, soft as a whisper.

Ticklish.

“Fuck,” you gasp, jerking away from his grasp in surprise. You find yourself missing the feel of his hand on your waist before you realize your mistake.

“That’s the third.” he says, shaking his head.

“I wasn’t expecting it on my thigh!” you snap, suddenly feeling so exposed. To shield yourself, your arms cross over your shoulder defensively, voice lowering by way of apology, “I’m ticklish!”

He considers it for a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, but his eyes remain trained on you. Gauging your reaction, the same way he’d talk to a skittish witness. You find yourself shifting again, unused to being on the receiving end of such a stare. When he speaks, his voice is calm, as if he’s soothing a ruffled creature, “You’re welcome to say your safe word.”

The easy way out. But you’ve already gone this far, stripped out of your so-called armor, down to your lace underwear and allowed him to regard you in ways far too intimate for coworkers. It would be such a waste to back out now. Besides, he said the punishment would just be spanking, how bad could that be?

“No,” you reply finally, voice breaking through the silence that settled and swelled in the room, “No, I’m okay, I’ll—I’ll take the punishment, like I agreed to.”

He sits up straighter, “Are you sure?”

A gulp. “Yes.”

He pats his lap, “Come here then.”

You’ve lost count of how many times you felt warmth at your cheeks, but this feels like a wildfire has started now, smoothing over your face before spreading all over your body in an all consuming blaze. Flashes of those kinky magazines and news articles you’d rolled your eyes over flit through your mind, the models now replaced by the image of you and Spencer. He’s asking you to bend over on his lap to receive your punishment.

With a nod, you join him on the bed, your torso draping horizontally over his lap. Your legs are laid on the bed, and you hold yourself up by your elbows. From this position, he has perfect access to your ass, a large hand smoothing over one cheek.

You squirm, “Your hand’s cold.”

He laughs, “God, you never stop complaining, huh? I should add another one just for that.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

He sighs, “I know. You’re doing fine, all things considered. I’ll just do three, okay? For every time you moved.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to count.”

You inhale so sharply you almost choke on nothing. That had no business being as hot as you found it. His hand is on your ass again, and you have to dig into your brain to focus and answer, “Okay.”

The first strike comes quickly, a sharp sting followed by a cool, gentle hand soothing over it. You exhale a gasp along with the word, “One.”

“Good girl.”

Jesus Christ.

Another smack, this time on the other cheek. “Two… three.”

It’s over before you know it, barely even lasting three minutes, but it’s still managed to take your every breath away. You find yourself wishing he had added another strike, just so you could feel the sharp sting again.

“Are you okay?” his voice pulls you from your reverie, hands helping you sit back up beside him, “Do you need a break? I could get you some lotion—”

You tune him out, staring as he offers different ways to soothe the stinging. His hands keep making lazy strokes up and down your arms, eyes completely focused on you. Words are flying past his lips, attempting to reach you through this haze, solutions and probably another reminder of your safe word, but all you can think about is how close he is, how pretty with his earnest brown eyes and pouty lips, but also how hot and since when was Spencer Reid hot?

A familiar sensation settles low in your belly, slickness between your thighs, and oh my god you just want to kiss him.

So you do.

His lips are soft, pausing mid sentence for just one moment, before he’s kissing you right back, open mouthed and desperate, his hand cradling the back of your head, tilting it up so his tongue can dive deeper into your mouth. You moan, kissing him back with just as much fervor, scrambling forward in an attempt to get even closer. He tastes like mint and cinnamon, the oddest combination that has you sucking on his bottom lip, eager for more.

An arm wraps around your waist, and you find yourself on his lap again—no, on his thigh. Singular, straddling it with nothing but a tiny scrap of lace and his trousers in between your skin. Two degrees of separation. You moan again, biting down hard.

“Wait,” he pulls back, breathless, thrown off, “Wait this isn’t part of the agreement.”

You laugh, “I’m sorry, I don’t really care about it right now.”

Soft brown locks tickle your jaw as he ducks his head. Lips run over your collar, moist and gentle as he speaks, “I wasn’t really prepared for this. I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh.” you seem to deflate in his arms, despite the incessant pounding in your chest, the buzzing at your fingertips.

He looks up, surveys you like a puzzle to be solved. On his thigh, with barely anything on, practically throwing yourself at him. Muscle flexes and shifts beneath you, eliciting a gasp from your lips. It moves again, just as his hands hold onto your hips and keep you in place.

Your lips fall open, “Oh.” you repeat, but this time, it’s a low, breathy moan.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, watching you with a small smirk, “Move those hips for me, angel.”

You don’t need to be told twice, pressing down hard onto his thigh. The pressure gives your clit enough stimulation, pulling another moan from your lips. Louder this time. Loud and pretty, as his hands keep you steady, and your arms wrap around his shoulder, fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Oh god,” you gasp, staring right at him, at those intense hazel eyes that have turned nearly black. You ride his thigh shamelessly, finding a rhythm that you know will have the pleasure snapping within minutes. Paired with Spencer’s praise, the sweet kisses he’s laying on your jaw, you find yourself trembling in his arms as you rub yourself along his muscular thigh.

All of the anticipation seems to have built up to a fever pitch, his teasing, the spanking, it all floods back until your orgasm hits you like lightning. Razor sharp, every nerve of your body seems to sing and tremble from pleasure as Spencer keeps his thigh gently moving, helping you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” you whisper, burying your face into his neck.

He laughs, wrapping his arms tightly around you, “Are you okay?”

“Better than okay.”

Slender fingers card through the back of your head, tangles into your hair, “You did really well. We went a little off script, but it seems like you found it pleasurable, which is always the goal.”

Pleasurable is the understatement of the century, but your only response is a breathless chuckle. At the moment, that’s all you’re capable of.

“Okay,” you whisper into his neck, losing all ability to extricate yourself from him. He doesn’t seem to mind though, his hold on you just as tight, free hand rubbing warm circles over your bare back. “Okay, you’ve proved your point. You seriously are a dom.”

“Mhm.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“What? You can’t believe it? I literally just gave you one of the most hands on demonstrations anyone could ask for.” he says with a laugh. It rumbles through his chest, and the feeling makes something in your stomach clench pleasantly.

You lift your head, finally meeting his gaze. Your eyes flash with mischief when you reply, “I don’t know, I might need another one to fully understand it.”

He smiles back, wide and catlike, “Well then, I think that calls for an encore.”

Thank you for reading!!! also if you could give me some encouragement for my thesis that’d be much appreciated i’d give you so much brain kisses MUAH.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x fem!reader #dom spencer reid smut #early spencer reid smut #early season spencer reid #dom spencer reid #dom!spencer reid

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siri-ike · 1 day ago

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I can't believe I kinda forgot about this. But the people asked for more, and here it is.

(P.S. I would have reblogged from one of the requests, but I messed up some lines in the first part, so I had to edit it first)

The first thing they did was establish which wall separated Aqualad and Star. An easy feat, Kaldur just had to knock on each wall, and Star pointed out where it was loudest. Superboy was told to lie flat on the ground and do nothing but breathe. Dick examined every inch of his box over and over and found nothing. He wasn't even able to hack the computer. It wasn't advanced or anything. Aside from the weird ports, the computer looked pretty old.

The worst part was waiting.

Over the course of 30 minutes Dick watched his friends become more and more uneasy. Both Superboy and Starfire lay on the floor of their rooms, making sure to breathe. Kaldur was up to his shoulders in water. By now, he would have realized he couldn't swim in it either. KF was still asleep. It was important that the first part of the plan goes well. They can worry about Artemis' absence later.

"H̸u̶r̶ts, do̴esn̴'t it?" He wasn't speaking over a PA anymore. Apparently, he can just do that to his voice.

Robin kicked hard, in the exact spot the voice came from, but no one was there. The taller teen materialized behind him with a cold hand on his back.

"I ̴hate ̴waiting, ̴too." He looked different from before. There was a bruse on his cheek and he was wearing different clothes. What was he doing for the past 30 minutes?

"What do you want?" Dick spat. He knows full well how dangerous it can be to anger your captor, but patience is a very finite resource.

"There's another way out." He leaned in close to Dicks ear. "Confess."

"What do you want me to confess to?" Dick was sure he had never met this guy before. The only way this could be about something personal... "or should I ask, what does your boss want me to confess to?"

His smile was wide and unnatural. It's just enough to be unsettling. "No~ he doesn't know about this." He grabbed onto the colar of Robin's cape and started to sink into the floor, pulling Dick down with him.

Robin struggled as much as he could, even emergency releasing his cape, but it didn't matter. It was like this guy wasn't holding onto the cape at all, but his soul or something.

The pull came to a sudden stop, with just the big smile sticking out of the floor and a hand at his chest. "Your sins," the pause was short, but excruciating, "are your own." The mouth and hand disappeared, and Dick was able to get up again. But he didn't. He just sat there on the floor.

Why?

Why does he have to be so... powerless?

"Artemis calling team!"

Artemis? Dick tried to say something, but no words came out.

"Friend Artemis, what a joyous relief." Starfire wheezed.

Dick turned back to the monitors. Aqualad! He looked away for too long.

"Star, break the wall to Aqualad. Hurry." Dicks voice was so rough he barely understood himself. Star blasted one of the firewalls. It didn't work.

She blasted again and again, but they were impervious to her starbolts. "Friend Robin, it does not work."

Dick scrambled through the notes he'd scribbled on the back of his letter. That's it. "Star, take a deep breath, then blow it out into the fire on the wall to Aqualad."

"But that will hurt Aqualad and Kid Flash."

"I don't think it will, not if the watter puts out the fire fast enough."

"What if you're wrong?"

"Water is also a great shock absorber, and KF heals fast."

The coms were silent for a moment, but Star didn't move.

"It's a calculated risk. Trust me."

Dick heard a loud bang, and all the monitors turned off. "Robin calling team, can you hear me?"

"Why?" a small voice whispered in his ear. He turned quickly, but no one was there. It sounded younger than the teen from earlier. Younger than Robin even. Maybe around seven to ten? "Why would they trust you?" It sounded familiar.

"No!" He huffed. "How am I supposed to play your game when I can't even move my pieces?"

"Is that all they are to you?... still?" The child's voice sounded neutral. There was a total lack of emotion. It was almost like talking to Batman. "That's not what you were to me." A hint of sadness. So faint, most wouldn't notice.

*Boom!*

A loud crash shook the room. Could it have been Star?

*BANG!* *Crash!*

That one was bigger. It had to be the floor/ceiling between Aqualad and Superboys rooms.

(I'm sorry Artemis is purple, Tumblr has a very limited color selection.)

Danny Phantom:Villain for hire writing prompt

Danny goes to college after he becomes ghost king and gets bored when his life is no longer packed with chaos.

Sure he could head to the realms and fight some ghosts but that was just regular chaos and he wanted to mix things up a bit.

It’s around this time that Danny learns about the young protégés of the Justice league.

One day while the JL are at the watch tower having a meeting IN SPACE they are interrupted by a teenaged invader.

The whole team goes on the defensive when much to their surprise, the teen passes out his resume and pulls up a PowerPoint title “Phantom:Villain for hire”

He then goes on to explain that he’d been in the hero game for years in a small town where the media actively portrayed him as a villain for years before going completely dark on the matter when Vlad was kicked out of office.

He explains that he’d been in fights with various levels of villains and is incredibly versatile with his power output and fight difficulty.

Which is why he would be the perfect villain to have their protégés practice against!!

He can be their villain of the week that helps them learn valuable life lessons while giving them a very real challenge WITHOUT the risk of death or dismemberment!

he can even create schemes catered to lessons they want to teach their proteges

for a price of course….

years down the line when each of them officially join the league. one by one the team has a mental breakdown when they find the bane of their existence eating a bagel in the league cafateroa

#danny phantom #fanfic #dpxdc #dp x dc

6K notes · View notes

myfictionaldreams · 1 day ago

Text

⁀➷ Crave // Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: You're confident, loud, and always in control—until Eddie Munson’s praise turns you into something soft and aching.

Requested by: @peppers-hideout (they/them) -- thank you so so much for this request honestly I had so much fun writing it! Much love <3

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, pleasure dom!eddie, (eventual) sub!Reader, reader is described as extroverted to begin with, praise kink (!!), subspace, domestic fluff, teasing, dirty talk, one line of degrading, aftercare, oral (m receiving), rough sex, mentions of period

Words: 6.8k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

You were always the loud one.

The kind of girl who could walk into any room, whether it be a grimy bar off Main Street or the makeshift garage stage where Corroded Coffin practices, and just own it. Not because you were trying to. You just could. Talk with your hands. Magnetic and unapologetic. You were all coloured in the grayscale of Hawkins.

And somehow, you were his.

Eddie Munson, chaos incarnate. All black denim, tattoos and silver rings, always smelling faintly of smoke and cheap cologne, with a voice that could go from gravel to silk in the space of a sentence. He worked at the guitar store now – PickPlex - still played gigs, ran Hellfire, and cussed out anyone who disrespected one of his friends. But when he looked at you, it was like the rest of the world stopped existing.

He knew he was lucky to have found the other part of his soul. When the two of you were together, it just was. Soulmates in every sense of the word. If he was in the mood to burn down the patriarchy, you were right there with him with a lighter in hand.

You were his biggest supporter, his biggest cheerleader. There was no breaking the infamous ‘Freaks of Hawkins’, a name that had stuck with you both since high school.

You knew every little detail about Eddie, from his insecurities to his favourite pair of socks- the Led Zeppelin ones with the holes. Eddie similarly knew everything about you, which is why the shift caught him so off guard.

It started on a grey Wednesday. It was one of those Indiana days when the sky looked like wet concrete and everything felt ten degrees colder than it was.

It was your day off college, thank fuck, and you’d shown up at his trailer in sweats, hoodie pulled tight, socks mismatched and tucked over your swears. Your usual bursts of chaotic energy were nowhere to be found. No witty one-liners, no dramatic entrance, just a quiet groan as you threw yourself onto his bed, curled up like a cat, and clutched a microwave's heat pack to your stomach.

Eddie, who had followed quietly behind you, kicked the door shut, leaning casually against it, “Period week?”

You nod beneath your hood, burying your face into his pillow until he's sure you’ll smother yourself. “Feel like hell.”

He didn’t say much. Just kicked off his boots and climbed in behind you, pressing his chest to your back and draping an arm over your waist like he always did, only softer this time, his hand holding onto the heat pack for you.

Making sure you’re still breathing, he eases back your hood, happy to see your face squished on the side. This gives him the chance to kiss your cheek and nuzzle into your neck, breathing you in for a minute.

You hum contentedly, pushing your body back into his.

The calm only lasted for a moment before another wave of nausea and stabbing pain in your uterus caused a deep groan from you.

“You’re such a tough girl, baby,” Eddie encourages, voice low as he momentarily removes the heat pack, but only so he can massage the area that was aching. “So good for me.”

You went still, just for a moment.

Eddie was worried that he’d hurt you, but then he felt the shift as your body melted into his hold. The tiniest whimper slipped out, not quite intentional, like your brain hadn’t caught up with how your heart reacted.

He blinked, massaging your stomach, not daring to move anywhere else.

Just waited until your pain passed.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t tease him or laugh it off like usual when he was trying to be comforting. You always said his praises sounded like you were a dog he was trying to pet, but there was nothing this time. You just let him hold you. Curled up as small as you can and quiet in his arms.

One arm eventually reaches out, linking your fingers through his, resting on your stomach.

And that was it. No grand revelation. No instant fireworks or declarations of love. Just a moment. But something had shifted, even if it wasn’t verbalised. Because Eddie? Eddie knew everything about you, and the way you had melted into his hold was something new.

He didn’t push it. Not yet. But he filed it away like a secret.

It was a Friday.

You’d stopped by PickPlex after your last class of the day, the sleeves of your oversized sweatshirt pulled over your hands. Your backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. You were talking about your professor’s obsession with overly dramatic grading curves while flipping idly through the racks of guitar strings like they were with your attention, but Eddie could tell something was up.

You were hovering. Lingering.

He was behind the counter, working on restringing a battered Strat for a high school kid who swore he didn’t know how the neck cracked. Eddie had one knee up on the stool, tongue between his teeth in focus, his hair falling into his face.

“Got this back today as well,” you say casually, stepping up to the counter and sliding a paper across towards him.

He barely glanced up at first, “Yeah?”

Then he saw the red circle—a crisp, bold A-.

Eddie set the guitar down and leaned forward, pulling the paper towards him, recognising the title from the essay you’d written for the last 3 weeks. “Holy shit, that’s amazing!”

You tried to keep your face neutral, but your lip was caught between your teeth, eyes flicking away, unable to hold his excited eye contact. It was small, barely-there, but he knew you. Knew that it wasn't nerves when you bit your lip like that. It was hope. Hope that someone would notice. That we would see.

Eddie’s eyes flicked from the paper back up to you. Then he beamed, a dimple forming in his cheek.

“I’m so proud of you, Sweetheart,” he’s stepping around the counter now. “My smart girl.”

You froze. Just for a single beat. Then your eyes dropped to the floor, cheeks warming as your fingers tugged at the fraying cuff of your sleeve.

There was no holding back the smile now, even if it was smaller than your usual grin.

It was the kind of smile that Eddie just knew you kept for him. Felt it like a spark down his spine.

He wraps you in a joyful hug, swaying on the spot as you sigh into his hold, his lips pressing comfortingly against your forehead.

Eddie held you with no rush to let go – it wasn’t like the shop was rushed with customers – and thought about how you looked when he gave you that praise again. The way you softened was like something that finally settled in his mind. Oh.

Eddie Munson did not rush it. Did not shove you into a new rhythm or make a big deal out of it.

Instead, he started weaving it in, casually, like it had always been there. To be truthful, it always had been. Eddie was always an affectionate and complimentary boyfriend, but never before had it had this sort of effect, like your entire personality would shift.

So he wanted to see how to develop this discovery subtly.

It started with the laundry.

You were helping to fold his seemingly endless collection of band tees in his trailer, legs crossed on the beige couch, in nothing but a bra and leggings. He watched you smooth his shirts into near little squares, brow scrunched in focus, like it wasn’t even a chore, just something you did because you were here and you loved him.

“You’re such a good girl,” he said offhandedly, reaching for another shirt.

You faltered—not enough to seem obvious, but enough for him to see. There was just a little pause in your hands, a flicker in your breath, and you didn’t look up at him.

Eddie noticed.

And when you did glance up at him moments later, your lashes were lower than usual. Your smile was gentler as you began discussing what to have for dinner, brushing past your feelings completely.

Hellfire club. Chaos, as always.

Jeff was arguing about spell slots, and Gareth was making some insane suggestion that only fired up Jeff more. And you, usually loud, chiming in with jokes or snatching the dice out of people’s hands, were seated beside Eddie’s throne, legs slung across his lap.

He reached beneath the table, finding your hand in your lap and laced his fingers through yours.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

No reason. No context. Just because he wanted to.

The muscles in your legs seemed to relax further on his thighs, like your tension melted into the floor. Your body shifted closer so that your head could rest on his shoulder, and you did not say another word.

This wasn’t you. You were usually sitting at the other end of the table, mixing in with your friends, not at his side, clutching his hand like it's your lifeline or rubbing your body against his like a cat.

It was cute. So fucking endearing. But it was out of character, and Eddie was loving it.

A few days later, you were sitting at the diner counter after dropping off some library donations with Robin, still dressed in that little corduroy skirt that always made his hands twitch and talking animatedly about an old lady who tried to tip you with a bag of sweets.

“And then she told me I had a good soul, can you believe it? Me?” Your head tips back in a laugh, reaching across the table to steal one of his fries.

Eddie’s hand catches yours, the coolness of his rings stark on your skin. He didn’t kiss it. Didn’t joke, just held it there as his thumb runs slow circles across your palm.

“You’ve got such a big heart, babe. I love that about you. That old lady was right.”

There it was.

The lowering of your gaze, your shoulders slumping, and your breath hitching. It was like your body short-circuited.

The way your lips parted, but no words came out.

You weren’t just reacting. You were responding. Physically.

Not just to the words but to Eddie. To the way he spoke. To what they meant when they came from him. You looked down at your lap, suddenly too focused on peeling the corner off your napkin.

Eddie couldn’t help it. He smiled, slowly. Grinning like a wolf ready to pounce on his prey. But not yet, he’d wait. He wanted to see just how much he could play into this discovery.

You didn’t even realise you were doing it at first.

Stopping by his work a little more than usual. Bringing him coffee, you didn’t even like the smell. Sliding into the creaky stool by the counter like you belonged there, pulling your textbooks out like the music store was just another extension of your world. Casual.

But it wasn’t about the coffee. Or the studying. Or even Eddie.

Well, not exactly.

It was about the moment you can say, “I passed my midterm.” Or, “Professor Carmichael used my essay as an example.”

And it wasn’t even the grade that made you smile.

It was the smoothness of Eddie’s voice. The way it would lower, rich like honey.

“You’re such a smart girl. Knew you’d kill it.”

“Fuck, I’m proud of you, Sweetheart.”

“My brilliant girl. Look at you.”

Every single time, your heart would beat just that bit stronger. No matter how cold, your body would ignite with heat.

Even if you tried to hide your reaction, you couldn’t. Your automatic response was to look down, trying to hide the twitch in your smile, the way your breath slowed, and the way your body softened. But Eddie always noticed. Because he always watched you.

The way you leaned closer to the praise. The posture changes like you’re settling into something warmer, safer. Like you’re trying to become smaller and compact.

His confident, social, take no shit girlfriend, going soft at the sound of a few words.

So, of course, he started offering it more.

You were trying to hide a yawn behind your hand as you leaned against the counter, brows furrowed as you read through a textbook for college. The shop was quiet as it came close to closing, so the boss didn’t mind when you used it as a place to study, keeping Eddie company.

He stood on the other side of the counter, watching you closely.

Leaning closer, his lips brushed your temple. “God, you’re so focused when you’re learning. That’s so hot.”

It would have sounded like he was teasing you if he had used any other tone. But that same low, silky voice had you instantly biting your lip hard.

And later, when he walked out from the back room and found you curled in the battered armchair near the window, knees tucked under you and your sweater sleeves covering your hands, nose buried in a battered paperback - he didn’t say a word.

Because there it was again. That softness. The unspoken request. The way you glanced up at him, slowly with eyes heavy-lidded like you’d been drifting off and just waited.

The twinkle in your glazed-over eyes, he just knew you wanted him to say something.

“You’re my favourite thing to look at, you know that? So pretty.”

And you whimpered. A quiet, breathy sound like your body didn’t know what to do with how much it wanted that kind of attention.

Eddie smirked, flexing his ringed fingers at his side before offering you one. He was ready to close up the shop, take you home in his van, and wrap his arms around you.

It hit you out of nowhere.

One minute, you were tucked into Eddie's passenger seat, your leg bouncing, and fingers fiddling together in your lap. Humming along to his latest mixtape.

The next minute, the need hit you like a train as his words from the shop replayed in your mind.

It crawled under your skin, burned low in your stomach, and made you shift in your seat, like your body didn’t fit right anymore.

You glanced over at him. One hand on the wheel, his fingers tapping to the beat, eyes focused. Casual and effortlessly hot.

You swallowed, leaning over to turn down the song's volume, “pull over.”

Eddie’s brown eyes flick to yours, “What? What's wrong?”

Reaching across the arm rests, you rest your hand over the bulge in his jeans, squeezing his soft cock. Bold and direct like you usually were. The way he always liked. But instead of the usual firm touch that had him thrusting into your palm, it’s soft, barely even a ghost of pressure for Eddie, like you needed to ask permission even though you just knew you didn’t need to because Eddie made you damn aware that you could touch him any second of any day.

Swearing under his breath, the grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white. “Jesus H Christ, Sweetheart-”

“Please, Eds. I just wanna take care of you. I don’t want to wait.”

His heads whipping towards you, eyes alarmingly wide and that alone made your thighs press together to try and ease the throbbing pressure in your clit.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Yeah, fuck yeah. Okay.”

Without wasting another second, he swerves the steering wheel, causing the van to drive off the road dramatically, gravel crunching beneath. Managing to park just beyond the treeline, Eddie shuts off the engine, dousing you both in silence.

You both climbed into the back of the van, an area perfectly filled with plush blankets, cushions, and a couple of band posters pinned above the side panels like his bedroom. It was his little getaway, whether to practice his guitar whilst watching the sunset or to smoke a joint with a couple of friends. Over time, though, it had become your haven, a spontaneous and comfortable place for an orgasm or two.

Eddie lies back in the middle, his hands on your waist with the intention of helping you to straddle his waist, but that was not your intention as you drop to your knees between his legs.

No teasing. No commentary. Just that head burning low in your belly, fueling your movements, needing to soothe the emotions in your body. If he could praise you then you were damn sure making him feel good.

Eddie watched, trying to figure out where this energy was coming from, then his mind drifted back to the response you’d give him in the store.

“Easy Angel, I’ve got it. You okay?” Eddie asks as he watches you struggle to undo his belt buckle because your hands shake so much. Another sign that had him questioning which side of you he would be getting.

You nod, avoiding eye contact, fingers gripping his jeans just because you had to hold onto something as he pushes his jeans down to mid-thigh. “Just want you in my mouth. Want you to tell me I’m good.”

The outline of his now hard cock twitches in his underwear as he hisses through his teeth. Licking his lips, he wraps his fingers around your wrists, pulling your body up so that you’re now hovering over him, his mouth so close to yours. “You’re always good for me. My girl. Always so sweet even when you want to suck my cock.”

He sees it. The way the tremble stops, and eyes glaze over, breath fanning across his face. His cock twitches again.

Eddie sits up, his mouth pressing against yours with an urgency that has him moaning first. Your lips are always so soft against his, like pillows, and they taste so sweet from the lip balm you obsessively use.

With his fingers still loosely around your wrists, your hands press into his lower stomach, just to hold onto him. Leaning into his kiss more, you mewl as his tongue brushes against yours.

With a hand now cupping your jaw, tilting your face away from him, Eddie has the perfect angle to kiss along your neck, tickling that ideal spot to have you like putty in his hands.

“Yeah,” he whispered between kisses. “That’s it, you just wannabe my good girl, don’t you?”

The answer came in a head-to-toe shiver as you pull out of his hold, shuffling further down his body once more and hovering over his crotch.

Licking your lips, you reach beneath the waistband, easing out his cock, noting how it hardened at your touch. You open without question, taking him slow, inch by inch, with that look in your eyes like this wasn’t about you at all. It was for him.

“Fuck”, Eddie grunted, hips jerking slightly. “You’re doing so fucking good for me, Angel. Look at you.”

You moan around him, taking him deeper, tasting the saltiness and something that was just so uniquely Eddie.

He could feel the way his praises melted you From your mouth getting wetter, to your thighs squeezing together, your hands shaking as one holds the base of his cock and the other slips beneath his shirt to feel the soft layer of hair beneath his belly button.

“You’re so goddamn pretty like this. On your knees for me, just needing to hear how perfect you are.”

Your responding whimper nearly has Eddie orgasming already. Biting onto his knuckle to try and hold back, he just watches. Not thrusting, not taking. Just letting you take control and do what you like—pleasing him and getting drunk off his voice.

As much as sex was always a give and take motion, Eddie was very much a pleasure dom when it came to intimate moments. He got off on seeing you get off. Even before this revelation that his words were doing more to you than you first realised, Eddie loved nothing more than lying you back, a pillow beneath your hips and his face firmly between your thighs until you’re numb from the amount of orgasms.

Of course, with the years of dating him, you’d pleasured him, but it was never like this, never because you needed it. Not even wanted to pleasure, but needed to get him off, to hear his words, his moans, feel the hand on the back of your head with reassuring strokes of his fingers.

It was like a dormant part of your mind had finally woken up.

Your fingers graze over his balls, playing with them, and Eddie’s back arches, just about ready to blow.

“Wait- I want to finish inside you,” he gasps, trying to pull his cock out of your mouth but you’re determined and keep him in your mouth. “Fuck-! Yes, baby fuck yes!”

You both groan, Eddie deepper than you, as you swallow the hot cum down coating your tongue, lapping at the underside of his cock, his most sensitive of spots, until he slumps back in a satisfied heap.

Eddie gave himself one breath to get his composure before reaching for your body, fully intending to switch positions and repay the favour. However, you were already tugging his boxers back up, crawling into his lap like a sleepy kitten.

“I don’t wanna keep going,” you say quietly, settling your head against his chest, listening to the comfort of his racing heartbeat. Thump thump thump. “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

Eddie blinked, hands automatically holding your body closely, “You don’t want me to?”

You shake your head.

“I just needed to be close. Needed you. You always make me feel so good, so I wanted to do the same for you.”

He was quiet for a beat, trying to comprehend your words. “Angel.”

For a moment, Eddie’s worried that you’ve taken this whole praise thing the wrong way. He wasn’t saying these things to expect anything in return, and a heaviness settled in his stomach. But then he looked down at you in his lap, from the grateful smile and the loving look in your eyes and released a sigh, lips brushing against your hairline. “Of course. Yeah, sweetheart. Whatever you want, always.”

He held you for a couple of minutes, just breathing in your perfume, trying to find some composure after his intense orgasm as the van gently rocked from the breeze outside before finding any sort of motivation to drive home.

It crept into everything now. The way you’d gravitate toward Eddie like you needed to be touching him just to breathe right. The way your loud, teasing commentary during Hellfire sessions had quieted into soft chuckles.

You didn’t even notice how much softer you were around him, but everyone else did.

Dustin was the first to speak up.

“Is she sick or something?” he whispered to Gareth after one particularly mellow campaign night. You hadn’t interrupted once. Just smiled, laughed quietly, and curled into Eddie’s side like you were made to fit there.

Jeff snorted, overhearing, “Dude, she used to roast all of us for our dice rolls. Now she just smiles.”

“She’s still her and she can very much hear you assholes,” Eddie interrupts from the head of the table, his arm wrapped casually around you, his thumb rubbing slow circles into you hip as you gave the boys at the end of the table the middle finger. “Se’s just tired lately, so stop judging, yeah?”

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t just tiredness.

It was that look you gave him every time he called you good, every time he praised your kindness or told you how proud he was. That softness had settled deep in your bones, a kind of hush that bloomed just for him.

Still, he needed to check in later, when it’s just the two of you back in his trailer, the TV playing some old horror flick as your legs rest in his lap, his hand under your shirt resting on your bare stomach.

“You okay, Sweetheart?” he asks, trying to keep his eyes on the screen but spending more time glancing at your face, trying to see any signs that something was wrong.

You nod, idly running your hands over his forearms. “Mhm.”

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Eddie pushes, not satisfied with the response.

You blink up at him, eyes big, warm and open. “Just like being near you, Eds. That’s all.

“Yeah?”

You answer with a sweet kiss to the centre of his throat, directly over his adam's apple. “You make me feel safe, Munson.”

Fuck. That was it. That was the shift he’d been feeling. Not just a change in mood, but a change in trust. You weren’t just his loud, fearless girl anymore. You were letting him carry you a little and letting him be your softness and safe place.

The house party at Steve’s place was loud, chaotic, and everything you loved about hanging out with your friends.

Music blasted from the stereo, and people laughed in the kitchen over spilt beer and half-eaten pizza. Eddie was by your side, sitting on the couch, nursing a beer in his hand, his head tipped back with a laugh with Robin and Steve. You were laughing, too, throwing playful jabs at Harrington’s over-the-top party-hosting skills.

But there was something different tonight. Eddie noticed it almost immediately. You were quieter than usual, a little softer. Not in a bad way, just not as loud or bubbly. Your words were fewer, your movements more delicate as you leaned into Eddie’s warmth. Your usual mischievous grin had softened, and your laugh was quieter, most distant.

It wasn’t that you were sad; in fact, it was very much the opposite. You were still in the moment, enjoying yourself, but Eddie’s gaze kept flicking to you, watching the subtle changes. The way you stared into your red cup a little too long. The way your fingers tapped idly against your knee. The way your smile was smaller and your breath softer.

The way you had been acting wasn’t even necessarily a daily occurrence, either. This softness. There were still days when your loudness would return, the jesting with friends. In fact, yesterday, the two of you had sung karaoke off-key in the local bar just because you wanted to prove that you could hold a note longer than him. He watched, mesmerised, as you stood on a chair and belted out a song with all of your heart. His girl. His beautiful soulmate. Loud and proud.

But today, there was that change once more.

“Hey, Angel. You okay?”

Blinking slowly, like it was an effort to achieve, you give him an almost sheepish smile, resting your chin against his shoulder and breathing him in. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as he kisses the tip of your nose. He’d seen you go quiet like this after he complimented you on a particular burn against Harrington in this current war of words.

“Do you want to come with me for a second?”

You nod without hesitation, letting him guide you by the hand as he leads you away through the crowd. By passing the kitchen, he heads up the stairs, pausing at a door near the back of his house, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no other person was following.

The spare bedroom was empty. It was a quiet sanctuary away from the party noise, but the steady bass could still be heard thumping through the floor.

Shutting the door with a soft click, he turns to you, finding you flicking on the small lamp on the bedside table. Eddie licks his lips, watching you closely, from the way you awkwardly shuffle your feet, eyelids lowered like you’re embarrassed to meet his eyes, hands behind your back giving you an innocent demeanour.

Yeah. You were definitely in that praiseful headspace right now.

Eddie was quick to close the distance, needing to feel, touch, and protect you if that's what you wanted. Your lips parted, and his mouth is on yours, stealing all of your breath, hands firmly on your waist so you’re being pulled tightly against his chest.

Your hands circle their way into his hair, clutching it tightly and playing with the curls.

Eddie eases back, but only because he is dizzy from the lack of oxygen, resting his forehead against yours as he tries to compose himself. “You’re so quiet, baby.” Each kiss he placed against your cheek was slow, like he wanted to savour the taste of every inch of skin he reached, making his journey down your neck until you’re melting into his hands. “I know what you need.”

You felt a soft shiver run through you at his words. He was so close now. His hands lowring to cup your arse beneath your skirt, the firmness poking into your abdomen from his cock aching in his jeans.

“Eddie, I-”

He kisses you again, cutting off whatever you were about to say, deepening the movements until your tongues are dancing together, fighting for dominance in a way that you’re now ready to drop to your knees because the word Eddie, Eddie Eddie, was all you could think about. It was addictive.

“Let me take care of you. You’ve been so fucking good, so sweet for me tongiht. I can see it, baby. I can see you slipping into that space. Let me make you feel good. I know that’s what you need.”

You felt your body respond to him. The overwhelming urge just to rub yourself all over him, to feel him on you. You needed to please him, the way he always did for you.

“Please, Eddie,” you say breathlessly, chest chevy to suck in air until you’re dizzy and swaying in his arms. Your fingers release the firm hold on his hair, lowering them over his chest. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

His eyes flashed with something darker. The corner of his lips tipped up as he began to push you back against the bed, your body bouncing on the mattress, his body now hovering over yours, trapping you underneath him.

“You wanna make me feel good, huh? God, how did I get so lucky to get you, Angel?”

Your eyes are wide as you stare at him, his curls framing his face in darkness, the smell of his shampoo filling your senses. “Yes, Eddie. I just want to make you feel good. I need to.”

“Good girl,” he praises sweetly, running his hands down your body. His fingers trace the curve of your waist before slipping under your shirt, admiring the softness of your stomach skin. He pauses for a moment, just to watch your reaction.

Your hips roll, pushing his hands firmer against your body, thighs separating to give Eddie room to rest a thigh just there.

His eyes lowered, watching the way your panty covered pussy now rubbed against his jean covered thigh. He could feel the warmth of your arousal even through the denim, feel the dampness seeping through.

“I love it when you do that. I know you want to make me feel good and you will, because nothing turns me on more than seeing you cum, Sweetheart. Let’s see if you can take me, baby.”

Eddie’s gifted fingers lower to the edge of your crumpled skirt, lifting the flimsy material until your lace panties are uncovered. He sucks in a breath, even though he saw you dress in them earlier, seeing them pressed firmly against his leg had his abdomen tightening with the need to cum. With a breath that helps to soothe that fighting urge down, his fingers slid under the damp material.

His eyes close, groaning deeply as he plays with your wetness, spreading it over your pussy, soaking your clit before lifting his thumb to his mouth, sucking and tasting your juices.

“Taste so fucking good. What do you want, Angel? My fingers, mouth or cock?”

“Cock, Eddie please fuck me.”

Jeans and boxers shoved down, panties off and thrown across the room, Eddie has one hand around your jaw, possessive and dominant as he guides his cock to your pussy with the other hand.

With each inch that enters you, your walls squeeze, the thickness causing your eyes to roll back. Your fingers dig into his forearms, leaving crescent-shaped marks from your nails.

“Goddamn, baby. Always so tight for me. You love this, don’t you? Love being my good girl?”

You nod frantically, feeling his fingers squeeze just that bit tighter around your throat, not in a discomfort way but just to keep you right there.

Eddie fucked you slowly at first, deliberate and deep. He wanted to see how loud your sweet moans could be, almost wishing your friends downstairs could hear so they knew who you belonged to.

The noises coming from your cunt were just as obscene, the sloppy slick and slap as he moved in and out. You were burning from the inside out; everything started and ended with the man inside you.

“You’re takin’ me so well. So fucking good for me!”

You whined, clinging to his shoulders now as he lowered his chest to brush against yours, the clothes catching together and wrinkling as his hips chase that helpless desperation.

Then something shifted. A spark. A pulse of heat and need in your belly, tightening, growing with each thrust.

Your legs hooked around his waist tightly, grabbing the back of his hair, your voice coming out harsher than it had all evening. “Harder, Eddie. Fuck-harder, please!”

Eddie froze. Then grinned.

“There she is,” he breathed, cock twitching inside of you. “There’s my strong, fiery girl; I’ve been looking for you.”

Your pussy clenched hard around him as your continue to hold onto him.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he groans, snapping his hips forward with enough force that he has to hold your hips down onto the bed. “Hmmm, let me just try something first.”

You’re so deep within your arousal that you don’t respond at first, eyes closed and body trembling with restraint.

“Good girl”, he praises gently, kissing your cheek.

Your inner walls tighten in a quick burst, squeezing his cock, earning a deep groan from your boyfriend.

“Mm, fuck yes, you’re my little slut aren’t you.”

Nothing. Not even a whine, squeeze of your legs, or flutter from your pussy. Eddie chuckles, sitting up on his forearms as he stares at your face. You aren’t upset, but you aren’t reacting; you’re just blank like you weren’t there anymore.

His hands cup your cheek instantly, “Hey, hey. You with me?”

You nod slowly, eyes finally having some depth and life. “I’m okay. I just-”.

Eddie leans down, kissing your nose, lips, chin and cheeks. “I know, that wasn’t for you. It’s okay. I just wanted to see if you would be interested in anything else. But, you’re my good girl, and my perfect angel just wants to be praised, doesn’t she? For taking my cock so fucing well.”

There was. That deep clench that suffocated around his cock, the one that took his breath awy and confirmed his thoughts. “Oh yeah, there she is. Tell me Angel, tell me you’re mine and i’ll make you cum.”

“I’m yours,” you sob, tears welling in your eyes at just how overwhelmingly perfect this was.

Eddie's hips began moving more intensely than ever before, driving your body right to that perfect place.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Eddie- all yours, always-”

He kisses you so hard you forget how to breathe.

You came with him buried deep inside, clenching like a vice, sobbing through it. Eddie didn’t stop kissing you; he rocked you through it until a new warmth began to spill into you, dripping out with more obscene wet noises and causing more stains on the sheets.

His touches softened, lips encouraged with their touches over your face, bringing your hands to his mouth, kissing each finger.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he whispers, wiping the tears and sweat from your face with the corner of his shirt.

You nod with a tremble, “I'm ok, Eds.”

“You were incredible, so fucking incredible. All of you, my strong, perfect girl. I love you so much,” he buries his face into your neck, arms scooping beneath your back to wrap you in a hug.

You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. You wish you could return those praiseful words right back to him, but you couldn’t because you needed sleep—even if your last thought was the words, “I love you too.”

The party was still thumping downstairs, but in the quiet, dimly lit spare bedroom, the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

You were in and out of sleep. Body feeling like warm jelly, boneless and dazed, wrapped in Eddie’s embrace on the tangled bed. The room smelled like sex, sweat and Eddie’s cologne. Grounding.

Your cheek was resting against his chest, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers stroked playfully over the nape of your neck.

You weren’t crying. You weren’t sad. You were just… spent.

Eddie felt it. Every tiny tremble in your body, how you clung to him like he was the last steady thing in the world. You hadn’t spoken since you came so hard you’d forgotten your name – not because something was wrong, but because your brain had gone quiet. Floating.

Eddie had been researching different BDSM terminologies, especially since finding out that he liked to be referred to as a pleasure dom. As you began reacting so well to the praises, he wanted to see what else he could learn to help benefit you.

Which is why he now knew you did not like degrading, having had no physical or verbal response during sex.

He also knew that what you were experiencing right now was something called Subspace. You were deep in it, still floating in that blissed-out, fragile place that made you extra soft and sleepy.

“Hey, baby,” Eddie gently spoke, his voice cracking as he did so. “You still with me?”

You nod, somewhat awake, cheek still smushed against his shirt. “Mmhm.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, smiling against your damp forehead. “You did so well for me tonight. So, so fucking good. I’m gonna clean you up now, though, ok? I don’t want you to wake up later feeling gross. Need to get you nice and comfortable.”

After another barely there nod, Eddie carefully slips out of your hold, readjusting his boxers and jeans, rebuckling the belt and straightening himself. He could shower later when you were wrapped up safely in his bed.

With careful coaxing, Eddie helped you walk to the bathroom across the hall and sit on the counter. With warm water on the corner of a towel, he wiped away the sins between your legs, being careful as he moved.

You whimpered, shoulders hunching over, and legs trying to sht at the overstimulation. Eddie, ever the caring boyfriend, took his time, talking you through the touch. “I know, baby. I’m being as gentle as I can, but I need to take care of you.”

You’re practically asleep again by the time he’s stuffing your panties into his back pocket and straightening your clothes. With his leather jacket wrapped around your shoulders, he helps you down the stairs. “Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

You barely remember the taxi ride home. You were just aware of moving around and leaning heavily against him, and of the moment when the world began to strongly smell like him and home.

Finally, you were being helped out of your clothes and into one of his old shirts. Then, you were tucked into his bed, and he lay beside you in just a pair of boxers.

Only once you were warm and safe in the dark did he speak again, not even sure you were awake.

“Hey, how are you feeling? Do you feel alright now?”

He’s surprised when you react with a subtle tilt of your head against his chest, curling further into his hold, “Yeah, Eddie. I’m just- I don’t know. I felt so close to you earlier. I think I just dropped, is that the right word for it?”

Eddie nods, striking his fingers against your cheek, picturing your face in the dark. “You don't have to explain it, sweetheart. I get it. I felt it too”

“I just wanted to make you feel good. You always take care of me. You're always saying how I'm your best girl, and I just wanted to give that back, even if it was a lot.”

“It was a lot,” Eddie agreed. But I loved every second of it. And you were perfect. You don't need to do anything for me. You could slap me in the face, and I'd thank you for it.”

You laugh tiredly against his chest, “I'm not going to slap you, Eddie.”

“You know what I mean,” he chuckles, tightening his hold. I’ll always take care of you because you’re my best girl, and you’re going to mine forever and always, right?”

“Forever and always, Eddie.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #mine*#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson one shot #stranger things smut #stranger things one shot

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aleese1111 · 2 days ago

Note

more seong je 🙏🙏

bruises & glances | geum seong je x fem!reader

summary: in a cramped tteokbokki shop near a shadowy bowling alley, a girl spends her nights serving bloodied high schoolers without asking questions—until one night, something crosses a line. when a stranger touches her, geum seong-je, a boy known more for his fists than his words, retaliates without hesitation, leaving behind shattered tables, silence, and a stare that says too much.

warnings: [fluff i think] physical violence , sexual harassment (non-explicit but invasive behavior and unwanted touching) , mild language and verbal threats .

author's note: requests more seooongg jeeeee !!! i posted three times today... i need a life. request pleaseeee!! bmf.. heh.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

the scent of chili paste and frying oil curled into the air, familiar and warm. the kind of smell that clung to hair, to clothes, to memories. most nights were loud but manageable—tables full of boys too beat-up to sit properly but still hungry enough to eat like wolves. she’d grown used to the noise, to the bruises, to the way no one said what really happened just down the alley where the underground lights flickered.

grandma never asked questions. just fed them. scolded them. patched a split eyebrow here and there. she treated them like stray dogs that knew how to come home.

and like clockwork, they kept coming.

the restaurant sat just a few minutes from the old bowling alley buried under a laundromat—half-forgotten unless you were a teenager looking for a fight or a place to disappear. she never went down there, but she knew what kind of things happened in the dark. you could always tell who came from the alley by the way they limped in, the blood on their collars, the way they tried to pretend they weren’t hurting.

but when he walked in, it never felt like routine.

he didn’t come every night. didn’t need to. just his presence made the walls feel narrower. the tables quieter.

he always moved like he didn’t care who was watching. like he was looking for something to break or someone to dare him. but tonight, something about him was more frayed. his lip was split. his knuckles raw and red like they’d never had time to stop bleeding.

he slid into his usual seat, his two friends following behind without a word.

she looked up just as he glanced over. neither of them looked away quick enough.

her heart tugged in her chest like it forgot what pace it was supposed to be on.

she grabbed her notepad, walked over.

“usual?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

he looked at her longer than normal.

“…unless you got something sweeter,” he said, voice low and lazy, a grin playing at the edge of his mouth.

her cheeks warmed instantly. she scoffed under her breath, half a laugh, and turned away before he could see too much.

she didn’t know what they were to each other—barely spoke, barely looked—but it was there. in glances. in how their eye contact always felt long and intense before he left. in how he didn’t let anyone else take his order.

the bell above the door jingled again.

two guys walked in. too old for high school. too confident. they sat near the middle table, legs wide, arms thrown over the chairs like they belonged there.

they didn’t.

she could feel their eyes before they even said anything.

she kept it neutral. polite. brought water. took the order.

and as she turned to walk away—

“damn,” one of them muttered, eyes on her legs. “this place got real good lately.”

his friend chuckled, louder. “think she’s on the menu?”

she kept walking, shoulders stiff.

then—

a hand. fast. grabbing.

a squeeze.

the tray hit the floor with a crash. water spilled out in every direction.

her breath caught.

she spun, slapped the hand away hard. “don’t touch me.”

there was no room to think. no time to process.

a chair screeched.

he was already up.

no warning. no noise.

he moved like something had snapped in his chest.

within seconds, the creep was on the ground—throat grabbed, a fist already crashing into his face.

again.

no yelling. no insults. just the dull thud of bone and skin and table legs shifting from the weight of it.

his grin was back—but this time it was wild. dangerous. like he was enjoying every second of it.

his friends didn’t move at first.

only when blood started smearing the floor did one of them speak.

“hyung—”

“don’t.”

his voice was flat.

“i’m not done yet.”

the man on the floor groaned, face swollen, one eye already shut.

she stepped forward, heart racing. “stop—please.”

he didn’t even look at her.

his fist came down again.

“you shouldn’t have touched her,” he said, like he was speaking to himself more than the man below him. “fucking dumb move.”

Blood splattered across the linoleum. The man beneath him whimpered. Hands up. Seong-je didn’t care.

His two friends rushed in, grabbing his shoulders. It took both to drag him off.

he stood, shoulders rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.

grandma stormed from the kitchen, spatula in hand, yelling curses only old women and gods understood.

smack!

she hit the guy on the back with a force no one expected. “you low-grade eel! you dog-faced worm!”

smack!

“get out! if i see you again i’ll stir-fry your intestines!”

the man scrambled out, barely conscious, his friend dragging him like a bag of trash.

and then—

silence.

the chairs were still crooked. her tray was still on the floor. blood still dripped from his hand.

she picked up a napkin and stepped toward him.

“you’re bleeding,” she said softly.

he looked at her for a moment like he hadn’t heard. then down at his fist.

“…it’s nothing.”

she gently reached for it anyway, dabbing the cuts.

he watched her.

not her hand. not the cloth.

her.

“you always fight like that?” she asked, voice quiet.

his jaw twitched.

“only when they deserve worse.”

her eyes flicked up. “you think he did?”

his lips curved, slow. “you don’t?”

she hesitated, then shook her head. “i didn’t say that.”

his grin widened just slightly. “good.”

a pause.

“you really didn’t want me to stop, did you?” he added, voice low, nearly teasing.

her breath caught. “that’s not what i—”

“i could tell.” his eyes glinted, dangerous but amused.

her face flushed, and she looked away, trying not to smile.

“you’re messed up,” she muttered.

“i know,” he said. “you don’t seem to mind.”

the corner of her lip twitched despite herself.

he stepped back, turned toward the door. the moment hung too long, the space still too charged.

but then he stopped just before the threshold.

and he looked back.

his breaths were deep now. measured. like he’d been holding something in the whole time.

his gaze wasn’t teasing anymore.

not wild. not cruel.

just… focused. unreadable.

something flickered in it—something that didn’t belong in a boy who enjoyed breaking people.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

#weak hero class #weak hero class 2 #whc2 #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class 2 x reader #geum seong je x reader #seong je x reader #seong je #geum seong je #k drama x reader #kdrama x reader #x reader #aleese1111

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honeyslibrary · 2 days ago

Text

Sunshine | Luke Hughes

Pairing; Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, fluff, overuse of '—' probably (I can't help myself I'm sorry😞), edited once!

Request; 'can you do one about luke where like they are long distance since he moved to NJ and they finally get to spend the summer together after being apart the whole season’

Word Count; 7.8k

Authors Note: Thanks so much for the request, friend!! This was pretty fun to write, and I hope you like it!!. I won't spoil anything in the author's note, but let's just say this is kind of a self insert, aka something I occasionally fantasize about. Any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated!! Love you guys!! -Honey

The scent of fryer oil clung to your clothes as you pirouetted between tables, delivering plates with a flourish that wasn't part of your usual workday choreography. You caught yourself humming between orders, your smile wide enough to make your cheeks ache by mid-shift. Every time the door chimed, your heart performed a little somersault before settling back when it wasn't him, even though you knew perfectly well Luke wouldn't be walking through the restaurant's doors tonight.

"Earth to crazy girl," Mia teased, bumping your hip with hers as she passed with a tray of drinks. "Table six has been trying to get your attention while you've been daydreaming about hockey boy."

"I wasn't—" you started to protest, but the knowing smirks from your coworkers silenced you. Marcus, wiping down the counter, made exaggerated kissing noises.

"Two months," you reminded them, feeling warmth creep up your neck. "You'd be excited too."

"Oh, we know," Mia laughed. "You've only mentioned it every fifteen minutes since you clocked in."

You'd originally planned to join his parents at the airport, had even begged your manager for the night off, but Friday nights were non-negotiable at Lakeside Grill. The bitter disappointment had faded to resigned acceptance, tempered by the knowledge that in just a few hours, the distance that had stretched between Michigan and New Jersey would finally collapse.

When you finally shed your name tag and push through the back door into the crisp April air, the clock on your phone reads 11:32 PM. Your fingers trembled slightly as you unlocked your car, the exhaustion from your double shift evaporating at the prospect of seeing Luke. You slid into the driver's seat and immediately called, pressing the phone to your ear as it rang.

You'd texted him obsessively throughout the day. First when their plane departed Newark, again when they landed in Detroit, and several times after that with increasingly transparent excuses.

"Hey, you," Luke answered, his voice a warm rumble that made your stomach flip. In the background, you could hear the familiar chaos of his summer home. Dishes clinking, Jack's laugh, what sounded like ESPN playing on the TV.

"I just finished up work," you said, trying to keep the breathless anticipation from your voice as you navigated out of the parking lot. "I'm on my way over."

There was a pause, some shuffling on his end. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped a notch lower. "How about you just come over tomorrow. It's late." Your hand froze on the gearshift. A car behind you honked as the exit to the main road remained clear but your vehicle didn't move.

You waved an apologetic hand and pulled out, trying to process his words. "You don't want to see me?" The question slipped out before you could soften it, vulnerability naked in your voice. The red traffic light ahead bathed your dashboard in crimson, matching the flush of embarrassment warming your face.

Luke's chuckle filtered through the speakers, but it sounded strained. "Course I do, don't be silly." A pause. "It's been torture, honestly." The light changed to green, its glow illuminating the empty intersection as you accelerated through.

Something felt off. The Luke who had FaceTimed you just yesterday had been counting down the hours until you'd be together again. "Then why?" You didn't bother hiding the confusion or the hint of hurt that crept into your tone. The late-night streets of your small Michigan town stretched empty before you, streetlights creating pools of yellow that your car passed through rhythmically.

"It's late, sunshine. I don't want you making the drive over." His voice was gentle but firm, the tone he used when his mind was made up about something.

Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "It's only half an hour." Even that was generous at this hour, with the freeways clear and most of the town asleep, the drive to the lake house where he spent his summers would be closer to twenty minutes. You'd made the journey so many times you could navigate it half-asleep, following the winding roads until they opened up to the glittering expanse of water and the cape cod style house that his brothers had bought after making it to the NHL.

The property had quickly become your second home over the past two years. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft rush of air from your car heater and what sounded like Luke moving to another room, the background noise fading.

He let out a small sigh, that particular sigh you'd come to recognize, the one that signaled the conversation was effectively over. "I'll see you tomorrow, I promise. I'll come and scoop you around eleven?"

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying the chapped skin there as disappointment settled heavy in your chest. Two months of falling asleep to texts instead of his heartbeat, of watching his games on a screen rather than from the stands, and now another night alone when he was just a short drive away. "Fine," you finally conceded, the word coming out more clipped than intended. You softened your tone, not wanting your reunion to start with tension. "I miss you, that's all."

"Miss you more," he replied, and despite your disappointment, the familiar phrase made your heart constrict. "See you tomorrow, okay?"

As you hung up and turned your car toward your apartment instead of the lake, questions swirled beneath your resignation. In two years together, through multiple separations due to his hockey schedule, Luke had never once not wanted to see you immediately when he got home. Something wasn't adding up, but perhaps it was just exhaustion clouding your judgment. Tomorrow would bring clarity, you told yourself, even as a nagging unease settled beside the anticipation that had carried you through your shift.

Sleep came fitfully that night, your dreams a fragmented mix of anticipation and unease. You didn't set an alarm, allowing yourself to sleep however long your body wanted. Once awake, you reached for your phone with eyes still half-closed, only to jolt fully awake at the notification glowing on your screen.

Lukey [8:12 AM]: Good morning, baby. Wear your favorite sundress today.

You blinked at the message, sleep evaporating as your thumbs moved quickly across the keyboard.

You [9:34 AM]: Good morning to you too. Why the specific request?

The reply came almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for you to wake up.

Lukey [9:35 AM]: Don't worry about it :)

You [9:35 AM]: What are you up to?

Lukey [9:36 AM]: If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it? See you at 11 ❤️

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, you tossed aside your comforter and padded to the bathroom, suddenly grateful for the deep conditioning treatment you'd given your hair last night. The disappointment of not seeing him had translated into a lengthy self-care ritual. Face mask, hair treatment, a leisurely shower, a coincidence that now seemed to be luck.

Standing before your closet an hour later, freshly showered and made up with more care than your usual weekend routine, your fingers skimmed past hangers until they found the familiar fabric. The pastel yellow sundress had been an impulse purchase last summer, right before a family barbecue, the first one that Luke attended with you.

You still remembered the way Luke's eyes had lingered when you'd first worn it, how he'd whispered "You look like sunshine." when your cousins were out of earshot, thus birthing the familiar term of endearment. The dress flowed around your knees as you twirled once before the mirror, the delicate floral pattern catching the morning light. You paired it with simple sandals and minimal jewelry, just some small dangly earrings and a necklace Luke had given you last Christmas. The familiar weight of the pendant against your collarbone was comforting, a tangible reminder of promises whispered across pillows and state lines.

At precisely 10:57 AM, a knock sounded at your apartment door. Your heart somersaulted in your chest as you crossed the living room, taking one steadying breath before turning the handle. And there he was. Luke filled the doorframe, taller than you remembered somehow, his broad shoulders blocking out the morning light from the hallway windows. His curly hair was shorter than when you'd last seen him, the fresh cut accentuating the sharp angle of his jaw. But his eyes, those warm green eyes that crinkled at the corners, were exactly as you remembered, now widening slightly as they took you in.

For one suspended moment, neither of you moved. Two months of FaceTime calls and late-night texts crystallized into this single point of reconnection, the air between you charged with everything unsaid. "Hi," you breathed finally, the single syllable barely audible.

Luke's face broke into that crooked smile that never failed to make your stomach flip. "Hi yourself, sunshine." And then the space between you disappeared as he stepped forward, one arm circling your waist while his other hand cradled the back of your head.

The kiss was gentle at first, a reacquaintance, before deepening into something that spoke of lonely nights and patient waiting. When you finally pulled apart, you noticed the faint circles under his eyes that the phone camera had never quite captured. "You look tired," you murmured, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

"Worth it," he said simply, stealing another quick kiss before adding, "I've missed this face."

You smiled against his lips. "Just my face?"

His laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating where your bodies pressed together. "Among other things." His gaze dropped to your dress, appreciation evident in his expression. "You look beautiful."

"Like I'd forget your not-so-subtle favorite," you teased, stepping back to give him a proper view with a small twirl.

Luke caught your hand mid-spin, interlacing his fingers with yours. "Ready to go? I've got plans for us."

"Is that why you wouldn't let me come over last night? Secret preparations?" The question was light, but curiosity still nagged.

A flicker of something, hesitation perhaps, crossed his face before his smile returned. "Something like that. Come on, chariot awaits."

His Ford Bronco sat in your apartment complex's parking lot, freshly washed by the looks of it. Luke opened the passenger door with an exaggerated bow that made you laugh before sliding into the driver's seat beside you. "So where are we—"

"Nope," he interrupted, turning the key in the ignition. "No questions. Just trust me?"

You settled back against the leather seat, watching his profile as he navigated through the Saturday afternoon traffic. The familiar contours of his face, the way he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the radio, the scent of his cologne filling the enclosed space, all of it felt like coming home after a long journey.

Twenty minutes later, Luke turned onto a familiar tree-lined street, and your heart gave a little leap of recognition as Marigold's distinctive blue awning came into view. "You remembered," you said softly as he parked, eyes fixed on the cozy brunch spot where you'd had your first official date two years ago.

Luke's expression softened. "Course I did."

Inside, the hostess led you to a corner table by the window. The same table, you realized with a start, where you'd sat that first morning, nervous and trying not to show it. The restaurant hadn't changed much: still the same exposed brick walls covered in local artwork, still the hanging plants creating pockets of privacy between tables, still the mouthwatering smell of their famous lemon-ricotta pancakes permeating the air.

"I took a chance they'd have an opening," Luke admitted as you settled into your seats. "Called them last week from Jersey."

"You did?" His smile turned sheepish.

"Yeah." He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "But brunch isn't the only surprise."

From his jacket pocket, he withdrew a small velvet box, sliding it across the table toward you. Your breath caught in your throat as your fingers hovered over it. "Luke..."

"It's not a ring," he clarified quickly, a flush creeping up his neck. With trembling fingers, you opened the box to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, its chain fine and shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the window. And there, dangling from the center, was a perfectly crafted silver lily, small but intricately detailed, your favorite flower. "Happy belated anniversary," Luke said softly, watching your face. "I know the flowers I sent weren't much—"

"They were perfect," you interrupted, remembering how the unexpected delivery had brightened your apartment on that otherwise ordinary Tuesday in March, your actual anniversary.

"But I wanted to give you something more permanent," he continued. "Something you could have with you even when I'm not." Tears pricked behind your eyes as you lifted the bracelet from its velvet nest.

"It's beautiful." Luke took it gently from your hands, motioning for your wrist.

As he fastened the clasp, his fingers lingered against your pulse point. "I had it custom made at a small shop in Grand Rapids. The jeweler thought I was crazy with how specific I was about the lily."

You turned your wrist, watching the charm catch the light. "Thank you," you whispered, emotion making your voice thick. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you too," he replied, the simple declaration filling the space between you with everything that two months apart had left unsaid.

The words hung in the air between you, warm and familiar and heavier in person than through a phone screen. A comfortable silence settled as the waitress approached with steaming mugs of coffee, giving you both a moment to collect yourselves.

"So," Luke said after taking a sip from his mug, "tell me everything I missed. And don't say 'nothing' because I know how that brain of yours works."

You laughed, stirring cream into your coffee. "Well, Mia at work has been relentless with the teasing. You should have heard her last night when I kept checking my phone between orders."

"I hope you set her straight about how incredibly cool your boyfriend is," he grinned, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Oh absolutely. I told them all about your exciting life of hotel rooms and ice baths."

Luke clutches his chest in mock offense. "You wound me. What about the glamorous team plane rides? The thrilling post-game interviews where I say the same five phrases in different orders?"

The laughter that bubbled up from your chest felt like releasing a breath you'd been holding for two months. This, the easy banter, the way his eyes never left your face even as he reached for his water glass, this was what FaceTime couldn't replicate.

Your orders arrived with impeccable timing: lemon-ricotta pancakes for you (just as you'd had on your first date) and the breakfast skillet loaded with everything for him. Luke immediately cut a piece of his pancake, raised an eyebrow in silent question, and you nodded, opening your mouth to accept the offered bite. "Still as good as you remember?" he asked, watching your reaction intently.

You closed your eyes briefly, savoring the perfect balance of savory and sweet. "Better."

The conversation flowed as naturally as it always had, filling each other in on the details that text messages couldn't capture. The way his new teammate Brett had adopted a stray cat that now terrorized him and his wife, how you started going on morning walks while listening to old funk albums, his ongoing battle with the dry cleaner that keeps giving him the wrong suits.

As you shared the last bite of pancake, Luke checked his watch with what seemed like exaggerated casualness. "Got somewhere to be?" you teased, dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

"Actually," he said, signaling for the check, "we do have somewhere to be. If you're up for another surprise."

"Another one? You're spoiling me, Hughes."

His smile turned mischievous. "Day's just gettin' started, sunshine."

Back in the Bronco, Luke turned up the radio, your favorite station already programmed in, and headed toward the highway instead of back toward your apartment or the lake house. "Going to give me a hint?" you asked, watching the familiar landmarks of your town give way to the interstate.

"Not a chance," he replied, reaching over to lace his fingers through yours. "But you might want to grab your sunglasses from the glove compartment. It's supposed to be bright today."

A little over an hour later, your curiosity peaked as Luke guided the Bronco off the highway and followed signs toward Detroit. Your mind raced through possibilities. A museum? A concert? Shopping? Nothing felt quite right for the secretive smile playing at the corners of his mouth. When he finally turned into a massive parking lot and you caught sight of the distinctive entrance sign, your jaw dropped. "The Detroit Zoo?" you exclaimed, straightening in your seat. "Luke, how did you—"

He parked the car, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Know that you've been wanting to come here? Particularly to see the new penguin exhibit that opened while I was gone?" He tapped his temple. "I pay attention."

"But I never mentioned—" You paused, realization dawning. "You stalked my Facebook."

"Maybe," he admits, reaching into the backseat for a small backpack you hadn't noticed before. "You shared it about a month ago, commenting about how you hadn't been to the zoo since you were a kid. I might have done some planning right then and there."

Warmth spread through your chest at the thought of him, tired after practice or a game, scrolling through his feed and filing away this small detail about you. Not just remembering it, but building it into today's reunion. "You never cease to amaze me," you said softly.

Luke leaned across the center console, brushing his lips against yours. "That's the plan, sunshine. Keep you on your toes for the next sixty years or so."

The zoo was bustling with weekend visitors, families with strollers and couples walking hand-in-hand beneath the canopy of spring trees. Luke purchased tickets at the entrance booth, waving away your offer to split the cost with a firm "Anniversary, remember?"

"Our anniversary was in March," you reminded him, accepting the map he handed you.

"Which makes this our belated celebration," he countered, pointing to a spot on the map. "Penguins first? Or do you want to wander and find them later?"

You studied the map, noting the penguin habitat was on the far side of the zoo. "Let's save them for later. Build up the anticipation."

The day unfolded like something from a dream, the kind where everything aligns just right. Luke kept his arm around your waist as you wandered from exhibit to exhibit, stopping to watch the tigers lounging in the sun and the otters tumbling playfully in their pool. He listened attentively as you shared random animal facts you'd accumulated over the years, never once making you feel self-conscious about your enthusiasm.

"Did you know giraffes have the same number of vertebrae in their necks as humans do?" you asked as you watched one gracefully bend to drink. "Just seven, but theirs are way longer."

"I did not know that," he said, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Tell me another one."

By the time you reached the polar bears, the clouds had given way to the bright sun that glinted off the water in their enclosure. Luke guided you to a shaded bench nearby, unzipping the backpack to reveal two bottles of water and a container of sliced fruit. "You thought of everything," you marveled, gratefully accepting the water.

"Mom helped," he admitted, offering you a strawberry. "She packed this this morning while I was picking up your bracelet." You glanced down at your wrist, where the silver lily caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above.

"So that's why you didn't want me coming over last night."

A flicker of something, the same hesitation you'd noticed earlier, crossed his face before he nodded. "Had to keep the surprise intact."

You studied him for a moment, noting the way his eyes didn't quite meet yours. "Luke Warren, are you hiding something else from me?"

He popped a grape into his mouth, taking his time chewing before answering. "What if I am?"

"Then I'd say you're being very mysterious for someone who usually can't keep a secret to save his life." You bumped your shoulder against his. "Remember when you tried to surprise me for my birthday last year and ended up telling me the plan three days early because you were too excited?"

Luke laughed, the sound echoing in the open air. "That was different. This is... bigger."

"Bigger than my birthday?"

Instead of answering, he stood, offering his hand. "Come on, I think it's time we found those penguins."

The Polk Penguin Conservation Center was everything the article had promised, a stunning 326,000-gallon aquatic habitat where deep-diving penguins swam with breathtaking speed past the glass viewing areas. You stood transfixed as they rocketed through the water, their bodies sleek bullets of black and white. "They look like they're flying underwater," you mumble, pressing a hand against the cool glass.

Luke stood behind you, his arms encircling your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. "Worth the wait?"

"Absolutely," you breathed as a particularly bold penguin swooped close to the glass before darting away in a flurry of bubbles. You could have stayed watching them for hours, but eventually the growing crowd prompted you to move along, making your way through the rest of the habitat. As you emerged back into the sunlight, Luke checked his phone, typing something quickly before pocketing it again.

"Everything okay?" you asked.

"Yes," he assured you, taking your hand again. "Just checking in with the parents. Dad wanted to know if we'll be back for dinner."

"Will we?"

Luke smiled, the secretive edge returning. "That depends on you, actually. But first, I have one more stop in mind." He led you along the winding paths until you reached the zoo's central garden, a beautiful space with flowering bushes and a small pond where koi fish swam lazily beneath lily pads. A musician was playing guitar on a nearby bench, the gentle melody floating through the air. Luke drops his backpack. "Dance with me?" Luke asked, extending his hand with a formal bow.

You glanced around at the other zoo visitors, some watching the musician, others passing by on their way to the next exhibit. "Here? Now?"

"Here. Now." His eyes held yours, unwavering. "Don't leave me hangin'."

Placing your hand in his, you let him pull you close, his arm wrapping securely around your waist as you began to sway to the gentle rhythm of the guitar. The yellow fabric of your sundress fluttered around your knees, catching the afternoon breeze. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you held each other following the chords.

"I used to imagine this," he murmured against your hair. "During away games. When I couldn't sleep in hotel rooms. I'd close my eyes and remember how it feels to hold you like this."

Your throat tightened with emotion. "Me too. Except I'd wear your old Devils hoodie and pretend it still smelled like you."

Luke pulled back just enough to look at your face, his expression softening. "I'm sorry about last night. I should have just told you to come over. Would have saved us both a lonely night."

"It was worth it for all this," you assured him, gesturing to the beautiful garden around you. "Perfect day."

"Not quite perfect yet," he said, something shifting in his tone.

Before you could question him, he stepped back slightly, still holding your hands in his. The musician, you noticed with sudden clarity, had switched to a slower, more deliberate melody that sounded strangely familiar. Luke was lowering himself to one knee on the brick pathway, and the world around you seemed to freeze in place.

"Luke," you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"I told you earlier that the bracelet wasn't a ring," he said, voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "But I never said there wasn't a ring." From his pocket, he withdrew a small velvet box, different from the one that had held the bracelet, this one midnight blue instead of black. Around you, other zoo visitors had begun to notice, a small crowd forming at a respectful distance.

"I had this whole speech planned," Luke continued, looking up at you with those eyes that had captivated you from the very first day. "About how these past two years have been the best of my life. About how even when we're apart, I feel connected to you in ways I can't explain. About how I want to build a life with you that's as beautiful and unexpected as finding you was in the first place."

He opened the box to reveal a ring that caught the sunlight, sending prisms of light dancing across your dress—a solitaire diamond on a delicate band, simple yet stunning.

"But standing here now, looking at you in that gorgeous dress with those eyes that see right through me, all I can think to say is this: I love you. More than hockey, more than anything. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you." His voice caught slightly. "I know we're both young, and we don't even live in the same state half the year, but none of that matters to me. When you know, you know. And I've known since that first summer that you're the one I want to build my life with. Will you marry me?"

Time seemed suspended as you looked down at him: the boy who had become a man before your eyes, who sent you souvenirs from every state he traveled, who beat the Tetris levels you couldn't, who loved you more than you ever thought possible. "Yes," you whispered, then louder, "Yes, Luke. Of course, yes."

His face broke into that brilliant smile you loved so much as he slid the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. The small crowd that had gathered broke into applause as he stood and pulled you into his arms, lifting you slightly off your feet in his enthusiasm. When he set you down, he pressed his lips against yours eagerly, rushed passion and genuine happiness flittering between mouths before allowing you to examine the ring, now sitting perfectly below the delicate lily bracelet on your wrist. "So this was the plan all along."

Luke laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. "Quinn and Jack were helping me set up. I had candles and flowers all over the lake house, planning to propose there. But I changed my mind last minute."

"This was perfect." you said softly. Your lips form a pout, catching his lips delicately, before he pulls away.

"Everyone's waiting at the lake house. My parents, your parents, Quinn, Jack, they're all there for dinner. If you're up for it."

You smiled, shaking your head in amazement. "You really did think of everything."

"I had many months to plan," he reminded you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "And now I have a lifetime of loving you to look forward to."

As you walked hand-in-hand toward the zoo exit, the afternoon sun warm on your shoulders and the weight of the ring still new and thrilling on your finger, you couldn't help but think of how truly blessed you were. "Ready to go tell everyone?" Luke asked as you reached the parking lot, his Bronco waiting like a chariot to carry you to the next chapter.

"Ready," you confirmed, squeezing his hand as the future unfurled before you, as bright and promising as the yellow dress you wore and the boy who loved you.

The drive back to the lake house felt surreal. You kept stealing glances at your left hand, where the diamond caught the late afternoon light streaming through the windshield. Luke caught you looking for the third time and smiled, squeezing your knee gently. "Happy?" he asked, eyes flicking between you and the road.

"I keep thinking I'm going to wake up," you admit. "That I'll be back in my apartment, and you'll still be in New Jersey, and this whole perfect day will have been a dream."

Luke's hand moved from your knee to capture yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. "Not a dream, sunshine. Though I'm pretty sure I've dreamt about this exact moment more times than I can count."

As the highway gave way to the familiar winding roads that led to the lake, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttered in your stomach. "So everyone already knows? That you were proposing today?"

"Well, they knew the plan," Luke amended with a hint of mischief in his voice. "But they don't know your answer yet."

"You weren't sure I'd say yes?" You raised an eyebrow, unable to keep the smile from your face.

Luke's cheeks flushed slightly. "I was... cautiously optimistic." He turned onto the tree-lined private road that led to the property. "But Jack kept teasing me about having a backup plan. As if I could ever have a backup plan for you."

The familiar house came into view, its large windows reflecting the golden afternoon light off the lake beyond. In the circular driveway sat your parents' familiar sedan, parked alongside another car and what you recognized as Jack's truck. Your heart performed a little somersault at the realization that they had all gathered here, waiting for this moment. Luke parked the Bronco and turned to face you fully. "Ready to get ambushed?"

"As I'll ever be," you replied, leaning across the console to press a quick kiss to his lips. He caught you before you could pull away, deepening the kiss with a newfound urgency that made your head spin.

When he finally broke away, his eyes were darker, more intense. "Just wanted one more moment where it's just us," he explained softly.

Hand in hand, you approached the front door. You smoothed down your sundress with your free hand, suddenly acutely aware of the day's adventures in your slightly windblown hair and sun-kissed cheeks. The door swung open before Luke could even touch the handle, revealing Jack, his smirk eerily similar to Luke's own.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. "Look what the cat dragged in." His eyes dropped pointedly to where your hands remained intertwined, then to the ring now adorning your finger. His smile widened impossibly further. "Guess baby brother didn't chicken out after all."

"Shut up, Jack," Luke said good-naturedly, shouldering past him into the house. The familiar scent of something pasta, rich with garlic and herbs, made your stomach growl despite the late brunch.

"They're here!" Jack called out, unnecessarily loud given the fact that everyone was already gathered.

There was a flurry of movement as people emerged from the kitchen and living room area. Your mother appeared first, her eyes immediately finding yours with a question in them that was answered by your beaming smile. Behind her came your father, trying and failing to look casual despite the slight redness around his eyes that suggested he might have been more emotional about this day than he was letting on. Ellen appeared next, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her face lighting up as she took in the scene. Quinn followed, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other, clearly in the middle of recording the moment.

"Well?" Ellen prompted, looking between you and Luke with barely contained excitement. "Do we have news to celebrate?"

Luke turned to you, his eyes soft with an unspoken invitation for you to share. The weight of everyone's gaze felt momentarily overwhelming until you lifted your left hand, the ring catching the light streaming through the windows. "We're engaged," you announced, your voice strong despite the emotion making your heart race.

The room erupted in cheers. Your mother was the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight embrace that smelled of her familiar perfume. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart," she whispered against your hair, her voice thick with emotion. Over her shoulder, you caught sight of your father shaking Luke's hand before pulling him into a quick, firm hug. The sight of the two most important men in your life embracing sent a fresh wave of emotion through you.

"Let me see, let me see!" Ellen exclaimed, gently extracting you from your mother's arms to examine the ring. "Oh, Luke, you did good. It's absolutely perfect."

"Just like her," Luke said, the simple statement causing a fresh round of happy tears to spring to your eyes. Quinn approached next, phone now pocketed as he wrapped you in a bear hug that lifted you slightly off your feet.

"Welcome to the family, officially," he said, setting you down with a grin. "Though we've considered you a Hughes since Luke first brought you home with those puppy dog eyes two years ago."

"I did not have puppy dog eyes," Luke protested, though his expression as he watched you being welcomed by his family suggested otherwise.

Jack slung an arm around Luke's shoulders. "You still have puppy dog eyes" He turned to you with a wink, teasing. "Life with no chance of parole for you, eh?"

"Jack," Ellen chided, though her smile remained firmly in place.

Your father cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. He was not typically a man of many words, preferring to express himself through actions rather than speeches. But now he raised the glass of what appeared to be whiskey that Jim had just handed him. "To Luke and his impeccable taste," he began, his voice gruff with emotion. "And to my daughter, who has never looked happier than she does right now. May this be just the beginning of a lifetime of joy for you both."

"Hear, hear," Jim echoed around the room as glasses were clinked together. Luke found his way back to your side, his arm sliding naturally around your waist as if it belonged there. Which, you supposed, it did.

"Dinner's almost ready," Ellen announced. "The boys have been grilling all afternoon, and I've got about six side dishes that need final touches." She turned to you with a warm smile. "But first, I think these two need a moment to breathe. Why don't you two get some air?"

Luke shot his mother a grateful look before guiding you toward the back of the house. As you slipped out the sliding glass doors onto the expansive deck, you heard the animated chatter resume behind you—your mother already deep in conversation with Ellen, no doubt discussing wedding details you hadn't even begun to consider.

The late afternoon sun hung low over the lake, casting long golden reflections across the rippling surface. The wooden dock extended from the grassy backyard into the water, bobbing gently with the mild waves. It was your favorite spot at the lake house, where you and Luke had spent countless hours talking, swimming, or simply sitting in comfortable silence.

"You okay?" Luke asked as you reached the end of the dock, both of you slipping off your shoes to dangle your feet in the cool water. "I know it's a lot all at once."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, watching a pair of ducks paddle by in the distance. "I'm really good," you assured him. "Just processing that this is real. That you're really here, and we're really engaged, and our families are inside already planning our wedding probably."

Luke chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where you were pressed against him. "Mom's had a Pinterest board for at least a year. I caught her looking at it over Christmas."

"You're kidding."

"Dead serious. Quinn ratted her out." He kissed the top of your head. "But we don't have to decide anything right away. We can take our time, do this however we want."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. The two of you sat on there, on the end of the dock, your head resting on his shoulder, for a few minutes, watching the sun setting along the water.

Soon enough, the sliding door opened, and Jack's voice carried across the yard. "Lovebirds! Mom says dinner's ready, and Dad's threatening to start without you!"

Luke stood first, offering you a hand up that you gladly accepted. Before you could head back toward the house, he tugged you gently into his arms, one hand cupping your cheek with impossible tenderness.

"Thank you," he murmured, his eyes searching yours.

"For saying yes?" you teased lightly.

He shook his head, expression serious despite the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "For making every homecoming feel like this. Like no matter where hockey takes me, I have something infinitely more valuable to come back to."

Your heart swelled as you rose onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. "Always," you promised.

The word hung between you, as golden and full of promise as the sunset beginning to paint the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink. It was a promise neither of you made lightly, to be each other's constant in a world of variables, to be home for each other no matter the distance.

Hand in hand, you walked back toward the house where your families waited, the yellow sundress swishing around your knees and the evening breeze carrying the scent of grilled steak and the subtle promise of summer. The weight of the ring on your finger still felt new and thrilling, but the feeling that bloomed in your chest as Luke held the door open for you, that feeling was as familiar and essential as breathing.

Inside, the dining table had been set with Ellen's best dishes, bottles of champagne chilling in ice buckets at either end. As you took your seat beside Luke, surrounded by the people who had shaped both of your lives, the conversation and laughter flowing as naturally as the lake waters outside, you couldn't help but think that for all of Luke's careful planning and perfect surprises today, this moment of belonging, outside of his proposal, was the next best gift.

Jim raised his glass once everyone was seated, his expression uncharacteristically emotional. "To the future Mr. and Mrs. Hughes," he toasted, his voice steady despite the moisture gathering in his eyes. "May your love story continue to be written with the same beauty with which it began."

As glasses clinked and smiles were exchanged across the table, Luke's hand found yours beneath the tablecloth, his thumb brushing over the ring he'd placed there just hours ago, an unspoken reminder that this was just the beginning.

"I love you," Luke whispered for your ears alone.

You squeezed his hand in response, knowing that whatever the future held, whatever cities hockey might take him to, whatever challenges might arise, the foundation you'd built together over the past two years was strong enough to weather any storm.

"Love you, too," you echoed softly.

Dinner stretched languidly into the evening, multiple courses interspersed with stories and laughter that left your cheeks aching. Your father, usually reserved, had warmed up after his second glass of wine, regaling everyone with embarrassing childhood stories that made you hide your face in Luke's shoulder. Luke's arm had remained draped across the back of your chair, his fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder in a gesture so casually intimate it made your heart flutter even after two years together.

"Remember when she insisted on wearing her tutu to soccer practice?" your mother chimed in, eyes twinkling with mischief. "The coach didn't know what to do with her."

"In my defense," you protested, "I was five, and I thought tutus were appropriate for all athletic activities."

"Not much has changed," Luke teased, earning himself a playful jab to the ribs. "What? You still have strong opinions about athletic wear."

"Says the man who refuses to wear anything but black compression shorts under his gear for 'luck,'" Quinn interjected, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

The conversation flowed easily between hockey stories, childhood memories, and tentative wedding ideas that Ellen couldn't help but slip into the conversation. Jim had opened a second bottle of champagne somewhere between dessert and coffee, insisting that such an occasion warranted proper celebration.

As the clock on the mantel chimed ten, your father stifled a yawn. "I hate to be the one to break up the party," he said apologetically, "but some of us don't have the stamina of you young folks anymore. Early meeting tomorrow."

"Yeah," your mother agreed, though her reluctance was evident in her voice. "It's a bit of a drive back."

Ellen nodded, beginning to gather some of the dessert plates. "We're gonna get going too, actually."

"You're leaving?" Luke asked, surprise evident in his voice as he looked between his parents.

Jim exchanged a knowing glance with Ellen before clearing his throat. "Thought we'd give you two some privacy to celebrate properly."

"We're out too," Quinn nods, already standing and shooting Luke a barely concealed wink.

"That's right," Jack added, his expression all innocence despite the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Wouldn't want to be a third and fourth wheel on your engagement night."

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized what they were doing, orchestrating an obvious exit to leave you and Luke alone in the lake house. Luke's arm tightened around your shoulders, his own face slightly flushed.

"You don't have to—" you began, but Ellen waved away your protest.

"Nonsense, sweetheart. You two deserve some time alone after being apart for so long. Besides," she added with a gentle smile, "It seems only right that you should have it to yourselves tonight."

The next fifteen minutes were a flurry of hugs, promises to call tomorrow, and last-minute wedding suggestions that you nodded along to without fully processing. Your mother hugged you especially tight at the door.

"I always knew he was the one," she whispered against your ear. "From the first time you brought him home. The way he looked at you, like you were everything."

Emotion tightened your throat as you squeezed her back. "I love you, Mom."

"Love you too, sweetheart." She pulled back, dabbing at the corner of her eye. "Enjoy your night, we'll talk details soon."

You and Luke stood on the porch, waving as both families piled into their respective cars. Quinn shot Luke a thumbs up from the passenger seat of Jack's truck, and Jack made a gesture that Luke quickly responded to with an obscene hand signal of his own, hidden from the parents' view.

"Brothers," Luke muttered, despite the smile playing on his lips

With final waves, both cars pulled away down the private road, headlights sweeping across the front of the house before disappearing around the bend. You stood in the doorway watching until the red taillights vanished around the bend, Luke's arm secure around your waist.

"Alone at last," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I think that's the fastest I've ever seen my family clear out of here."

You laughed, leaning into his embrace. "They weren't exactly subtle about it."

"Subtlety isn't really a Hughes family trait," he admitted with a grin, leading you back inside and closing the door behind you. "But I can't say I'm complaining."

The house felt different now. Quieter, more intimate, the spaces that had been filled with laughter and conversation now containing only the two of you. The dining room table still held the remnants of your celebration dinner, champagne glasses with lipstick marks and cake crumbs telling the story of the evening's festivities.

"Should we clean up?" you asked, though the thought of mundane chores seemed at odds with the electric anticipation humming beneath your skin.

Luke shook his head, taking your hand. "Tomorrow. I have something to show you first."

Curiosity piqued, you allowed him to lead you through the familiar path up the wooden staircase. When you reached the door to his bedroom at the end of the hall, he paused, turning to face you with an expression that mingled nervousness and excitement.

"Close your eyes," he instructed softly.

You did as he asked, heart fluttering with anticipation. You heard the door creak open, felt Luke's hands gentle on your shoulders as he guided you forward into the room. The subtle scent of roses reached you before he spoke again.

"Okay. You can look now."

When you opened your eyes, a soft gasp escaped your lips. The room was transformed from the familiar space you remembered. Dozens of candles in various sizes were arranged across every surface, unlit but ready to cast their warm glow. Rose petals in deep crimson created a path from the doorway to the bed, where they were scattered across the navy comforter in a striking contrast. The curtains had been drawn back to reveal the panoramic view of the moonlit lake, silver light dancing across the gentle waves.

"Luke," you breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. "When did you—"

"I had help," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "Jack and Quinn set this up while we were at the Zoo. It was supposed to be part of my original proposal plan, but...ya know." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "I still wanted the night to be special."

You crossed to him, rising on tiptoes to cup his face in your hands. "It's perfect," you whispered, emotion making your voice catch. "All of it."

With careful movements, he pulled away, and reached for the bedside table, retrieving a lighter to begin illuminating the candles. One by one, small flames sprang to life around the room, casting everything in a warm, golden glow that made the rose petals seem to shimmer. When the last candle was lit, Luke dimmed the overhead light, leaving only the dancing flames and moonlight to illuminate the space.

"There," he said, turning back to you with such tenderness in his eyes it made your breath catch. "Now it's perfect."

You moved toward him, drawn like a magnet to his warmth, his solidity, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the fresh rose petals and lake air drifting through the partially open window.

"I missed you." you whispered, reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble. "Two months is too long."

Luke caught your hand, turning it to press a kiss to your palm. "I'll quit the NHL," he murmured against your skin, "just wanna be with you."

"Oh wow," Your eyes widened with amusement. "I think Devils fans would kill me."

"We can go off the grid." A teasing smile on his lips as he drew you closer. "Survive off of my ELC money."

Your fingers traced the neckline of his shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric as you threw your head back with a laugh. "Whatever would we do with all that time alone?" you asked, your voice deliberately innocent despite the heat building between you.

Luke's eyes darkened as his hands slid from your waist to your hips, drawing you impossibly closer. "I have a few ideas," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low register that always made your stomach flip. "Starting with properly celebrating our engagement."

You can find the 18+ extended cut of this fic, (5k+ words of smut), on my Patreon, or via the direct link: HERE

#luke hughes #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes fluff

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bratbarzal · 3 days ago

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for your valentines event ³⁾ "you've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" "....." "move over, you're lucky i'm hungry." with quinny ❤️

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

"you've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" "....." "move over, you're lucky i'm hungry." with toxic!quinn!!! ALOOF!QUINN TRUTHERS THIS IS YOUR MOMENT!!! this came to me in a fever dream last night tbh and escalated so hope you enjoy once again I took creative liberties with the exact wording (I didn't want it to be too much like the nico blurb) and I'm not sure this fits the vibe of the prompt but I saw I'm hungry and my mind went to one place!! and I don't even think this mentions valentines but what can you do it's may!!! (post requested blurbs within a normal response time you say??? who do you think I am?) I'm not great at writing smut but I did my best and my best is probably taking things too far with random interlinked plot dotted throughout

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut!! the filthy kind tbh - dom!quinn, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, squirting, slight/light/barely even spanking if you want to be dramatic lol, degrading comments maybe, brief mentions of previous sexual encounters, quinn is a menace and a dirty talking tease :) ~cheating but not really it's a first date with no labels that's going nowhere and reader and quinn have history. he's an asshole :) but I'd let him do unspeakable things also

4.7k words!!

The last place you expect to run into Quinn Hughes is in the middle of a bar.

The venue is too crowded to be somewhere he would usually visit - rowdy guys in the corner watching the baseball on the TV, even though you're not sure it's even live, a couple pool tables occupied with the kind of people who would recognise him in a heartbeat - and maybe that's why you chose it in the first place.

But you should have run for the hills the second you saw Elias Petterson and Brock Boeser on your way in. You should have known it would only be a matter of time before Quinn himself showed up, and that you would have no chance of escaping before he saw you.

"Was gonna offer to buy you some fries to share," he comments as he slides into the booth beside you, his eyes assessing the rest of the bar as if he's trying to gauge who might notice him talking to you. "But Petey said you were meeting someone,"

God, he can be such an asshole when he wants to be.

You haven't seen him for weeks, he's been ignoring your texts for weeks, and he can't even look you in the eye?

This is exactly why you keep telling yourself that you're done. This is exactly why when you mention him to your friends, they roll their eyes and tell you to just block his number and move on.

But they haven't seen the parts of him you've seen - the parts you so desperately cling to when he's cold like this.

"I am."

"I don't see anybody."

"He got held up at work."

"Of course he did." he scoffs, "You're being stood up. You're lucky I'm hungry though, I'll save you the embarrassment of sitting here on your own."

"Just because you're an asshole who ghosts girls the second things get serious, it doesn't mean Justin is."

"You don't have to get protective, sweetheart," he purrs, glancing down at you in a way that shouldn't make your throat seize, "Just saying, it's the oldest trick in the book. I was gonna sit with you but if you're gonna be snippy about it, I'm sure Justin will turn up eventually."

Asshole.

You couldn't be more thankful for the buzz of your phone on the table, pulling you from the depths of Quinn's gaze as you glance down, Justin's name flashing on your lock screen.

Quinn quirks a brow as he looks down, too, watching as you swipe into the message.

I'm here.

And then you glance to the entrance of the bar, relief flooding your system at the sight of him - not a sensation you ever thought you'd be feeling when you agreed to meet up with him after months of him asking.

But you're supposed to be getting over Quinn Hughes.

Justin is sweet, and you suppose he's attractive in a cute sort of way. He doesn't make your head spin, or your heart pound, or your stomach swirl into knots, but you're not supposed to want that, so he's the next best thing.

You edge past Quinn without sparing him another glance, hoping it hurts him in some way - hoping he at least feels something at your feigned indifference - and you proceed to spend the rest of your night unable to shift that hope.

Every time you force a laugh at one of Justin's attempts at a joke, you hope Quinn hears it.

Every time you try to flirt, you hope he sees it.

Every time you lean over the table when the two of you move over for a game of pool, you're hoping Quinn's watching.

And you think it must be the karma that comes from craving his attention that has you colliding with somebody else on their way back from the bar, their drink spilling all the way down the front of your top until it sheers out a little, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom to go and try clean up.

You really hope he didn't see that.

You're thankful it was vodka soda and not cranberry, the stain easy to shift with a little water and a blast of the hand dryer, and you're shrugging the top back on when you hear the rap of knuckles against the door.

"Yeah, sorry," you call out, shuffling towards the entrance, "I'm finished, it's all y-,"

Quinn stands on the other side of the door when you swing it open, hair astray like he's been running his hands through it endlessly, and his stature imposing.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he crowds into your space, backing up until you’re both in the bathroom, and he’s reaching back to lock the door behind him.

“Told you, I’m hungry,” and the look in his eyes confirms just that - dark and dangerous, a stormy swirl of greys and greens that make your breath stutter, the intensity sweeping straight through you.

He advances on you slowly, your feet stumbling back until you can steady yourself against the bathroom counter, and his gaze drops agonisingly down your body, lingering way too low for any sort of friendly admiration - because that's what he'd said the two of you were too many times to count, just friends.

You feel goosebumps rise as Quinn's head tilts, his eyes meeting yours just as the calloused pads of his fingertips graze the soft flesh of your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt.

"You wore this that time we fucked in my car after a game," he mutters, pushing ever so gently until his hand slips beneath the fabric, "Did you think of me when you put it on?"

"No," you gulp, your tone entire unconvincing.

The guys had all gone out after a win, and Quinn had texted you his location - meeting you outside the bar so that the rest of his teammates didn't see you and him together - and had driven you out to some random parking lot, had you crawl over the centre console into his lap, and had pushed this exact skirt up until it bunched at your hips and he could watch himself disappear into you.

It was so hot and sticky that you remember swiping little jagged finger marks against the fog on his window, and you wondered the next day when you saw him and he pretended that none of it happened if he had just wiped them away.

You'd remembered the incident as you were getting dressed, earlier, smoothing your hands down your hips and picturing the way his knuckles whitened as he took the skirt into his grip.

You don't get how he can so easily pretend the two of you are nothing when he remembers, too.

"So you wore it for him?" He doesn't push any higher, but his hand forms an authoritative grip around the back of your thigh, squeezing until they part by instinct, and he uses the leverage to slot his own leg between yours so that you can't fully close them again.

He knows how to work you like it's second nature to him.

He brings his other hand up to shift your hair back over your shoulder, clearing a path from your neck to your collarbone where he can trail his knuckle along the smooth skin just to make you shudder.

You shake your head, again, an unconvincing response, but what else can you do? You're too breathless to speak when he crowds into your space like this, and all you can smell is his cologne, and all you can feel is anticipation of his touch.

"Does he know you like being kissed right here?" His thumb presses down on your pulse point, the pressure firm in a way that makes your spine stiffen, and he tilts his head again as you meet his eye, his smirk condescending and so so sexy.

"We haven't kissed yet," you blink slow, trying to shake the daze he's put you under.

"Ahh," the grin Quinn gives now gives a flash of teeth, and you gulp at the visual it brings - said teeth sinking teasingly into the plush skin of the thigh he's still holding, and it's only then that you notice how his hand has moved, how his fingers are now curled into the leg of your panties. "So he's not taking care of you?" And then he pulls, and you gulp as you feel the fabric fall in his clutch, loosening once they're not flush around your hips anymore and dropping when he's pulled them down enough.

"Quinn," you warn, and he waits, to give him credit - his dark eyes narrowing in on yours, pupils blown, his tongue swiping out against his lips, and it takes you back to another night, a few weeks back.

Quinn turning up at your apartment late, his game having gone into overtime and then a subsequent shootout, and he looked exhausted - hair a mess, eyes sunken, shoulders slumped. The team had lost, and the first place he thought to go was to you, and maybe this was the delusion your friends kept warning you about when it came to him, but it had been the first night things between the two of you had been slower and softer.

The way he kissed you was different - it wasn't a rushed fumble into more, it was intentional and tender, he took his time advancing it into something more, and when he finally backed you into your bedroom, the two of you laid together far beyond the two rounds he managed before tapping out.

He let you stroke at his hair, and kiss at his skin, and see him beyond the cold and unattached version of himself he so often gave to you. And he didn't leave until the next morning.

And sure, that was the last time you saw him, and every text you've sent him since has gone unanswered, entirely, but you can't help but think something changed that night.

Something he doesn't want to acknowledge, now.

A loss of control, or a surrender to his feelings.

You can only hope it's finally the latter.

And because of that blind hope, you can't bring it in yourself to push him away - not if this is the only way he's going to let you have him, teasing and detached.

You swear he sees the moment you give in, when something shifts in his gaze, and he slowly, tormentingly drops to his knees before you.

He looks up at you from the lower position, palms caressing your thighs as he pushes them both up, your skirt following his ministrations and bunching at your hips until you're bare to him, and it's only then that his eyes shift - somehow you feel the intensity of them as much as they stare at your very core than you had when he was looking back up at you.

"Please," you whimper pathetically as he admires the way your legs part even further without prompting, the way your body crumbles and you lean back against the counter, arching to reveal yourself to him entirely.

"Look at you," he mutters as he brings one of his hands to the apex of your thighs, using his fingers to swipe through your folds and pulling them back to show you the sticky mess that now coats them, "So wet, already."

"Quinn,"

"For him?"

You shake your head as he repeats his actions, running his fingers from your entrance and bumping them teasingly against your clit, looking up at you again with a raise of his brow, prompting a further response and pressing lightly at the bundle of nerves until you answer.

"For you," you breathe, your hips stuttering forward to try and increase the pressure - but he knows you too well, anticipates your impatience and lightens his touch even more. "Only you."

"Good girl."

You gasp the second his mouth makes contact with your core - tongue pressing flat between your folds until he can lick a firm stripe upward, his lips closing sloppily around your clit until he sucks it into his mouth, the pressure of his kiss divine and mind-numbing.

Your feet stumble a little against the floor, and he braces his hands against your hips, pulling them firmly against his face so that he can hold you in place, and all you can do to maintain your balance is curl your fingers into his thick hair, pulling and tugging as you please - as he pleases you.

And God, you can't believe you thought you could just give this up. He's so good. So fucking good it's insane. And you really considered leaving things alone with him, for what - some nice guy from work who barely knows how to flirt with you?

Quinn's fingers curl into the soft flesh of your hips, the pressure firm enough it'll probably bruise by the morning, and he's nipping and licking at your pussy like he can't get enough - the sound of it alone is obscene enough to make your legs feel like jelly, and you're pretty sure you're going to collapse if he carries on like this.

You tug a little harder on his hair until he parts with a wet pop, the sound making your throat go dry so that all you can do is pant down at him in response.

And his eyes are clouded over, entirely, a hunger you've never seen before taking over him. His lips are parted and slick, and his chest is heaving like he was depriving himself of breath, and the sight of it takes your breath away.

You heave yourself up onto the counter behind you, parting your legs again and leaning back a little onto your hands - all without saying a word.

You don't need to say anything, though. Not to Quinn.

He's diving straight back in as soon as you're situated like a man starved, and from where you are now, you can shuffle into him a little, grinding against his tongue as it works against you - works inside you, even, and you slap a hand to your own mouth in a last-ditch attempt to conceal the moans and whines before they carry way beyond the locked door of the bathroom.

Quinn's displeasure with that fact is obvious when he pinches and smacks at the side of your ass, his hand shooting up until his fingers curl around your wrist and he tugs it away from your mouth, pulling away from your pussy to glare up at you from between your legs.

"Don't you dare," he huffs, "I'm putting in the work, I wanna hear how much you like it,"

"But Quinn-,"

The press of his finger into your entrance cuts you off, and the squeaky, surprised moan you let out seems to echo off of every wall, heat creeping up your neck as you hear how pathetic you sound as he pushes the digit all the way in, pressing as far as it will go into your spongey walls until your back is arching and he's straightening up with it still inside you.

"You think you can hide from me?" He asks as he crowds back into your space, your faces level and his other hand coming down onto the counter beside you. "You think I don't know how to make you scream for me?"

He presses another finger into you, and the slow stretch of your walls around him has your eyes fluttering shut, your head lulling forward until it bumps into his, and your clammy foreheads press together. He shakes against you with a dark chuckle, allowing you a moment to adjust until he's thrusting them in and out, stroking up until he presses into your g-spot.

You haven't been with anybody since you were last with him - you haven't been with anybody since you were first with him, however many months ago that is, now - and you're pretty sure he knows that, for as much as he's been teasing you about your date.

"You think you can walk around in this skirt, bending over pool tables, looking this pretty, and I'm just gonna sit back and watch you with another guy?"

"No," you whine, your hips bucking and your hand reaching out to clutch at his shoulder, nails digging in through his shirt until you hope they leave a mark, too. You hope there's something left behind to remind him of this tomorrow when he wants to pretend you don't exist, again.

"No, that's right," he patronises, his lips nipping at your jaw when he leans in and brushes the bridge of his nose against your temple. "'Cause you're mine, aren't you?"

You nod frantically, chasing something more from him, as if he could possibly give you anything else - your back arching until he retracts his fingers, ignoring the instant whine you give only to push three inside, your mind going blank at the pressure of it all.

"Oh my God," you throw your head back, giving him access to the front of you, your neck bare all the way down to the low cut of your top, and he takes full advantage of the space.

You can't even bring yourself to care about marks, as stupid as it is to let him touch where someone else might see - and there's a voice in the back of your head that tells you he wouldn't risk it, anyway.

Quinn doesn't want anyone talking, not about you.

He'd rather keep you some dirty secret confined to the back bathroom of a dingy bar, the front seat of his car in the middle of some random parking lot, or the privacy of your apartment on the other side of town.

But that was before Justin, who's voice carries through the thick wood of the bathroom door accompanied by a few bangs and a call out of your name - and Quinn is the first to react, his movements more vigorous and intentional.

You grab at his wrist in some weak attempt to slow him down, but he won't budge, and then you're too consumed by how good it feels to actually get him to stop.

Your jaw goes slack as Justin calls your name again, and you can't move, can't breathe, can't blink without your space being consumed by Quinn.

"Are you good? You've been in here a while, your shirt isn't ruined, right? You can cover up with my jacket if you need to!"

You press your hand to your mouth to try and conceal the moans he's eliciting from you, his pace unrelenting as your eyes go wide, and you hate how much it spurs you on to see him enjoy this.

“Tell him you’ll come in a minute,” Quinn mutters into your ear, his fingers relentless in their movements as they curl inside you, his palm firm against your clit.

“I’ll come-,” you squeak, arching into his touch as his lips press wet, hot kisses into your neck, “I’ll come out in a minute!” You call, a little steadier though still breathless. "It just needs to dry off a bit!"

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Justin calls through the door, and you feel the vibrations of Quinn’s groan into your skin.

“Tell him I’m helping you just fine,” his mouth moves against your jaw, the low hum of his voice carrying all the way down to the base of your spine in a persistent, dizzying vibration. He starts to shake his hand with his fingers still inside you, and the pressure inside you builds to the point you think you might burst, your thighs trembling and your hips stuttering against him. "Go on, tell him you're all taken care of,"

"Tell-," you stutter mindlessly, your only thought to repeat him, not even considering what you're repeating. "I'm-,"

Quinn chuckles darkly against your throat, his teeth nipping into the sensitive flesh - and you swear you can feel him everywhere. He's relentless, he's unforgiving, he's determined to get you to come with Justin on the other side of the door, and you're in no fit position to stop him.

"I'm fine," you call out in one last attempt, praying to whatever god is up there that he finally gets the hint and leaves.

There's no way you can be quiet about this.

"Alright, I'll get you another drink!"

"You're gonna need one, aren't you baby?" Quinn asks, his grin smug and his tone teasing as he parts from your neck, your faces level again as he juts his chin to catch your drooping gaze, the pet name doing little to rouse you from your stupor as he draws you closer to an orgasm. "Gonna make you come so hard it fuckin' drains you," he promises, "Gonna make you walk back out there and sit in a mess in your panties while you talk to him, and all you're gonna think about is this."

"Quinn," you cry out, the mind-numbing pace of his fingers rubbing into your pussy bringing tears to your eyes, and your bottom lip pops out in a pout as you try to chase him for a kiss. "Please, please, please," you beg as he evades you, keeping up the fervour with his hand. You need something to occupy your mouth so you don't scream out, and he hasn't kissed you yet - not tonight, not properly.

"You think you've been good enough for a kiss?" he taunts, his fingers curling inside you just when you're at the brink, "You think that a naughty girl who's letting me fill her pussy with her date standing just outside deserves a kiss?"

"Yes," you whine, "Quinn," and plead, and you bat your lashes in one final attempt at convincing him, your eyes watering, lips trembling, spine tingling as he considers it for a brief moment.

"Come," he commands, "And then I'll kiss you."

You groan, throwing your head back as he brings his other hand into the mix, swiping at your clit with a feverish speed until you really feel like you're about to scream, gripping onto him for dear life as his three fingers plunge all the way into you, to the bottom of his knuckles, his touch pressing against the deepest part of your core until you fall apart.

And it's a mess.

The counter becomes slippery beneath you, your thighs coated in your own slick, and the way you hear Quinn remove his fingers makes you wince more than the feeling, itself.

He's still looking down at your pussy when your vision comes to, blinking away the white spots in your eyes until all you can see is him - in a daze at the way you can feel your walls contracting still, missing the way he had them filled just seconds ago.

You think you're shaking all over, too weak to move - to lift yourself onto your legs, to even lift your arms to do anything about how bare you are to his hungry glare - and you're struggling a little to catch your breath, if you're honest.

You feel hot all over, too. In your head, on every visible surface of your skin - and you can't tell if the flush is from the physical activity or the sheer mortification of the fact you just squirted in front of him.

Your last shred of dignity probably disappeared as soon as that drink fell into your lap, there's no use in denying it now.

And just as he said, Quinn bends to retrieve your panties from where they hang from one of your ankles, bending your leg to slip it in the other side and pulling them up until you can shimmy your hips into them despite how wet you feel all over. He puts one hand down beside you on the counter once they're in place, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a little lighter but stormy, nonetheless, a million unspoken thoughts swirling behind those cloudy irises.

"You said you'd kiss me," you mumble, feebly, leaning into his touch when he pushes a strand of hair back out of your face.

"Did I?" he smirks slowly, those same eyes now tracing your lips.

You nod, your tongue swiping out against them in preparation.

He hums, teasing as he leans in, and he brings his free hand up to your mouth, hooking one of the fingers that had just been inside you against your lips until they part, pushing the digit in until it's pressed against your tongue, and you close your lips around it by instinct.

He watches as your cheeks hollow, satisfaction in his stare, and the slight upturn of his lips causes your chest to puff with pride, opening your mouth again so that he can slot the other two fingers in.

"Maybe you are a good girl," he mutters, and you nod, humming around the taste of your own release until he pulls his fingers out with a pop, using them to grasp at your chin and pulling you forward until your lips collide.

It's almost like he's trying to chase the taste of you, his tongue licking into your mouth and then he's actually sucking at yours, your hands clutching at the chest of his shirt to keep him close, letting him do whatever he wants for as long as he wants, because you're trying to get your fill.

Him using you like this seems better than the alternative - him ghosting your for days or weeks at a time, making you feel like you don't matter to him in the way he matters to you, or that he'll never feel the same way.

But there's something desperate in the way he kisses you - you think that's why he tries to deprive you of it, like you'll be able to read him through the taste on his tongue.

And you get a little greedy with his affections, probably, your hands sliding down until they meet his belt, and he pulls away before you even realise, stepping back completely so that you can't reach and running a hand through his already messy hair.

"Or maybe not."

"I just thought-,"

"You really are naughty, huh?" he chuckles, "What were you gonna do, make him wait out there all night while you tug at my cock? Get on your knees for me while your sweet little boyfriend buys you drinks and sits alone?"

"No," you pout, "He's not my boyfriend, he's just a guy from work."

"Just a guy you're using to make me jealous."

"Don't flatter yourself," you scoff, suddenly finding the nerve to stand up to him - the smirk he sends your way a touch too deep, and lasting a second too long. "I didn't even know you'd be here. Not everything is about you."

"Not what you were saying when my face was just between your legs." He shrugs as he takes another step back, and the grin you found so sexy mere minutes ago now makes you want to smack him as you watch him retreat. "I'll see you around, pretty girl, don't forget to clean up after yourself before you go back out for your date."

He winks before he leaves completely, leaving you alone in your own sticky mess, feeling dirty and used just like you always do when he disappears.

You find yourself wishing he stayed as you shuffle completely off the counter, pushing your skirt back down and grabbing some paper towels to clean the spot you were just sat on.

He'd stayed that night in your apartment, and you really thought things might change after.

But you should know by now things will never change with Quinn.

Especially when you head back out into the bar and find him speaking to Justin, shaking his hand with the exact same one he'd just used to bring you to a screeching orgasm, a crooked smirk stretching across his lips as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye before he leaves for the night.

Especially when he texts you moments after, your screen flashing with his name until you press through and read, He'll never be good enough for you.

And especially when you're answering the door of your apartment to him again a week later, falling back into the same pattern and letting him charm his way back in, no matter how shitty you feel when he disappears afterwards.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #the fact that the middle pic is barzy kills me every time lmao #Pinterest boyfriend to his core #me writing smut is mental work honestly be kind to me lmao #this is so far removed from anything I've ever posted idek who I am #*writing #.ve #💌.valentinesevent

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