#what if you had A COOL RIDE that let you DO THINGS YOU NEED TO DO wouldn’t that be JUST THE WORST | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

witchywithwhiskey · 11 hours ago

Text

🍻 beer and bad decisions 🍻

pairing: best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've been hooking up with your best friend, steve rogers, and when he walks you home after his birthday celebration, you end up drunkenly making out against your front door—which leads to some reckless decisions.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, pwp, porn with feelings, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, just the tip, drunken kissing that leads to sex (both are clear-headed by the time they get to sex though), consent checks, enthusiastic consent, dry humping, vaginal fingering, thigh riding, nipple play, cockwarming, sex toys, dirty talk, daddy kink, breeding kink, praise kink, brief degradation kink, begging teasing, pet names (sunshine, baby), aftercare, happy ending

word count: 7.3k

a/n: after angsting all week about what i was going to write for steve rogers' birthday, i had a stroke of inspiration yesterday and then i worked on editing this fic today—and i'm getting it posted just in time!! i really, really, really love this fic ☺️ i wanted to do something with 'drunk makeout session' and 'just the tip' and this idea came together so well it actually surprised me! it might be my favorite birthday fic for steve that i've written yet! so i hope y'all enjoy ♡

A cool breeze swept through the dimly lit Brooklyn street, rustling the leaves of the trees lining the sidewalk and chasing away some of the July humidity that clung to the late evening air.

An errant gust brushed along your legs, flirting with the edge of your dress as it swirled around your thighs. It teased you, as if hoping to catch your attention.

But you paid the summery breeze little mind. You had more important things to focus on, like drunkenly making out with your best friend, Steve Rogers, against the front door of the Brooklyn brownstone where you lived.

His big body was curled around yours, his thick, muscled arms feeling like bands of steel as they held you tight to his broad chest. His palms cradled your body, fingers splayed and digging into the bare skin of your back where your dress dipped low.

You could feel his need in every point of contact where he touched you, his hands clinging to you like he was afraid you’d be swept away on the summer breeze if he loosened his hold even a little bit.

The way he held you made you feral, ravenous. You’d never get enough of Steve Rogers, and if he let you go—even for a moment—your body would combust, leaving only ashes and devastation in your wake.

A moan dragged its way up your throat, spilling into Steve’s kiss.

He slipped his tongue past your lips, messily licking the filthy sound from your mouth. His hands slid down your spine, bunching in the sweet sundress clinging to your curves as he hauled you even closer, until there wasn’t any space remaining between you.

Steve’s rumbling groan tasted like beer and bad decisions, and you gulped it down eagerly.

The heady flavor of him went straight to your already hazy mind, making the edges of your mouth curl into a smile, before you met his tongue with your own, kissing him like you were starved for him.

Your fingers trailed up over Steve’s broad shoulders, reveling in the strength hidden just beneath the surface, before diving into his soft, blond hair. You raked your fingers through it greedily, mussing it up the way you’d wanted to all night.

It had been torture to keep your hands to yourself at the bar where all your friends had assembled to celebrate Steve’s birthday, but you and your best friend were still keeping your hookups a secret. You’d both agreed not to tell everyone and risk blowing up the friend group until you knew what you had was real.

It had occurred to you, though, while you’d been playing the part of the dutiful best friend and merely watching as Steve politely shrugged off the attention of other women that you were kidding yourself. What you felt for him was plenty real.

But you weren’t ready to have those thoughts yet, so you’d drowned your feelings in beer and tried to have a good night at your best friend’s birthday party.

Steve didn’t make it easy to not think about him. You caught him staring at you across the crowded bar too many times to count throughout the night, even as his friends tried to get him drunk by buying him birthday beers.

No matter what, though, Steve’s eyes always found you, and when the time came for everyone to go home, he’d insisted on walking you back to your Brooklyn brownstone.

You’d hardly lingered even a moment at your front door before you were kissing your best friend, abandoning the pretense that you didn’t want his kiss more than you needed air.

“Invite me inside, sunshine,” Steve growled against your mouth, his hips grinding the hot, hard length of himself into your belly. “Or I’m gonna fuck you against your front door.”

He sucked your lower lip into his mouth, dragging a whimper from you that had another, feral growl rumbling in his chest.

“Unless you wanna give your neighbors a little show?” he mumbled against your lip, laughter in the warmth of his tone.

You knew he was joking, but you still snorted at his suggestion. Your neighbors weren’t the type to take kindly to such a performance, but that wasn’t the real reason you didn’t like the idea—you didn’t want anyone else to see that side of Steve Rogers.

He was all for you.

“No way, Rogers,” you shot back, your voice dripping with breathy excitement even as you tried for a teasing tone. “This show’s all mine,” you said, your hand slipping down his chest and palming his cock possessively through his jeans.

Steve’s hips kicked forward, grinding his hardness into your palm. He tried to kiss you, but he let out a groan so tortured, you began to take pity on him.

“You wanna—” you started to say, then you remembered something crucial and a bolt of sense shot down your spine. Your body stiffened in your best friend’s arms.

Immediately, Steve eased back, giving you some space and straightening up so he could catch your eye. You’d known each other a long time, long enough that you could read the question in his blue eyes without him having to voice it.

“I don’t have any condoms,” you explained, your voice filled with anguish. “We used them up last week and I forgot to get more.” Hope made your body thrum as you asked, “Do you have any?”

Your best friend grimaced, his expression one of misery, and all the hope you’d felt a moment ago shattered. Steve’s head dropped, his forehead pressing to yours as he confirmed what you already knew.

“I don’t,” he said. “I meant to pick some up and forgot.”

You hummed in resigned acknowledgement, but even with that knowledge hanging in the air, you couldn’t seem to untangle yourself from Steve’s arms.

Your nails raked idly through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and you breathed in the comforting scent of him—the cologne he always wore and the leather of his jacket.

Steve didn’t pull away either, holding you in his arms while his hands skimmed lightly up and down your back. Eventually, they settled on your waist, his fingers groping lazily at your soft curves.

Without saying anything, your bodies drifted closer together, as if your hearts and hips were magnetized and there was nothing either of you could do to resist the pull.

Steve’s bulge brushed teasingly against your belly, and heat surged through your body, making you suck in a sharp breath as you pressed closer on purpose.

He was so big, his shoulders so broad. His hardness was so hot and thick against your stomach.

You and Steve had been hooking up for a few months—ever since that fateful night when you’d leaned in to kiss him on the cheek after he’d walked you home, and you’d ended up kissing him on the lips.

Even so many weeks later, you weren’t sure if he’d turned his head or you’d somehow missed. Personally, you suspected it was a combination of both, your bodies giving in to the attraction you’d both kept secret for years.

But it didn’t matter, because that accidental kiss had led to more, and the two of you had been hooking up every chance you got ever since.

And that meant you knew all too well how good Steve’s cock felt inside you while he was wearing a condom—and you imagined he probably felt even better bare.

In your opinion, your best friend’s cock was perfect.

He was big and thick and filled you so good, stretching you out to make room for him without hurting you. And if it was that good when he wore a condom, you knew that letting Steve Rogers bury his cock in your cunt without anything between you would be amazing.

It could even be life-changing…

“Y’know there’s plenty we can do without condoms,” Steve said, tearing you from your dangerous thoughts and towing you back into the moment.

His big hands were sliding around to your ass, his fingers digging in so he could hike you up against his thigh, which he pushed between your legs.

“Bet I could get you off without even putting it inside.”

Steve’s smirking mouth found yours and he kissed you deeply, his lips sliding slowly against yours as he guided your hips to rock against him. He knew exactly what he was doing, angling you just right so your pussy dragged against the hard denim of his jeans and the thick muscle beneath.

When your clit bumped against his hip, you tore your mouth from Steve’s with a gasp, but he only let out a low growl and chased after you, drinking down the sound like a starving man.

You moaned your pleasure into your best friend’s mouth, feeling the tantalizing breeze swirling around your bare legs, teasing against the heat between your thighs.

Already, you could feel yourself making a mess of your panties, soaking through the thin fabric to the point that you worried you’d leave a wet spot on Steve’s jeans with how tightly your soft, sodden pussy was pressed against his leg.

You knew Steve was right—he could absolutely make you come just by having you hump his thigh, but it was a special day and that didn’t seem good enough.

“But it’s your birthday,” you whined, pulling back enough to pout up at your best friend, giving him your best pleading, puppy dog look. “I want to give you more than some dry-humping, at least let me give you a birthday bj.”

“Baby,” Steve cooed admonishingly, sending sparks of pleasure dancing in your head. “There’s nothing dry about what I wanna do with you,” he rumbled, his hand sliding down your ass and slipping under your dress, finding the drippy slit between your thighs from behind.

The moment Steve’s fingers brushed against your aching core, you buried your face in his shoulder, muffling the obscene moan that spilled from your lips. Your body flushed hot, your muscles spasming as you tried to hump against his thigh and push back against his fingers at the same time.

Steve was stubborn when he wanted to prove a point, so his fingers pressed deeper, pushing your panties into your drippy, throbbing heat. He rubbed his fingertips along your soaking wet slit, rumbling a sound of deep male satisfaction in his broad chest.

“See, sunshine, you’re already fucking soaked for me,” Steve purred, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It’d be a shame to let this go to waste.”

Between his fingers rubbing your pussy and his warm breath ghosting over your cheek, your best friend’s touches sent delightful shivers up and down your spine, and it wasn’t long before you were trembling in his arms.

“Besides, it’s my birthday,” he went on, his voice dropping low so it wouldn’t carry on the evening breeze. “Which means you should let me have what I want—and what I want is to rub my cock against your hot, wet pussy until we both come.”

A breathy little laugh escaped your lips, and your shoulders shook under the onslaught of pleasure your best friend was wringing from your body on your front stoop.

It didn’t take much thought to realize Steve was right. It was his birthday, and you wanted to give him exactly what he wanted. But that didn’t mean you had to make it easy for him.

“I guess that’s how it works,” you said, heaving an exaggerated sigh. Leaning back, you caught Steve’s eye and gave him a playful smirk to let him know you were joking, and were gratified to see his gaze sparkling with humor.

Then you did the hardest thing you’d ever done in your life—you extricated yourself from Steve’s arms, pushing his hand out of the way and easing off his thigh before digging in your bag for your keys.

You spun around, grateful Steve still kept his arms looped around your waist since your knees were a little weak, and unlocked the door.

Before you opened it, you cocked your head to the side and turned to Steve, letting your eyes rake over his handsome face as you shot him a flirty smile and murmured, “But just so you know, the offer for a birthday bj is still on the table.”

He chuckled, the sound husky and hot as his hands gripped your hips and he ground his erection into your ass. “Good to know, sunshine—now get this cute butt inside,” he rumbled, pushing you gently through the front door of the brownstone.

You lived on the top floor of the building, which had been converted into apartments, and thankfully, you and Steve knew the way up the stairs well enough that you didn’t have to pay much attention.

Instead, you could focus on more important things, like kissing and groping each other’s bodies, trying to make the other even more feral.

You grinned when you felt Steve’s cock twitch whenever your palm or fingertips brushed against it, drinking down his groans of torture, just like he smirked and greedily devoured your moans when he copped a feel under your dress, cupping your pussy possessively in his big hand and making you clench pitifully around nothing.

At the door to your apartment, Steve barely gave you a chance to unlock it before he was propelling you through it and kicking it closed, reaching back to make sure the lock had latched.

From there, the two of you made quick work of shedding your clothes. Steve helped you drag your dress up over your head, tossing somewhere in the hallway as you stumbled together toward your bedroom.

His shirt joined it a moment later, and you paused in the threshold of your room, admiring the broad shoulders and golden, sun-kissed skin of your best friend’s bare chest. A dim lamp was on beside your bed, and you took a moment just to appreciate the gloriousness of Steve Rogers.

After a slow sweep of his body, the urge to touch him struck again, and you crashed back into your best friend, your mouths fusing together in a fierce kiss while your hands continued exploring.

Your fingers trailed across the breadth of Steve’s shoulders, then down the sculpted planes of his pecs until you reached the little divots demarcating his abs. You loved the layer of softness covering his muscles, and the way his waist tapered down, as if inviting you to his cock.

Steve huffed a shaky laugh, his stomach contracting beneath your touch when your fingertips dug hungrily into his abs, and you felt him smile against your mouth.

With a grin, you suddenly remembered your best friend was ticklish. But before you could exploit that knowledge, he was shucking off his jeans and boxer briefs, letting his cock bounce free, and distracting you entirely from thoughts of torturing him with tickles.

Steve Rogers’ cock was a thing of perfection. You swore it was sculpted by the gods themselves to turn you into a squirming, lustful creature with nothing on your mind besides touching him, stroking him, taking him inside your body.

If you’d been able to speak in that moment, you would’ve blurted that he could take any hole he wanted for his birthday, just so long as he was inside you. But then you remembered what he wanted, and heat suffused your body, gathering between your thighs.

Unable to hold back another moment, you reached for him, your fingers curling around the perfect girth of Steve’s cock. He was long and hard, and you knew from experience that he filled you up perfectly, like his body was made to fit your own.

When you gave him a firm, affectionate stroke with your fist, you wrung a pleasured groan from your best friend, his head tipping back and showing off the long length of his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing just for you.

“Sunshine,” Steve growled, his voice a low, delicious rumble that licked a long line of heat down your spine.

You watched as he gathered himself and reached behind your back.

With a quick twist of his fingers, he undid your bra and yanked it off your body. The garment had barely hit the floor before his hands were on you again, his big palms cupping your tits, fingers plucking at your nipples.

The cool air of your room teased across your bare skin, warring with the heat building in your body, erupting in bursts of pleasure everywhere Steve touched you. It felt so good, but it wasn’t enough—you didn’t think you’d ever get enough of him.

So you kissed your best friend harder, your tongue tangling with his as you moaned into his mouth and stroked his cock. His fingers pinched your nipples and pulled, sending sparks of an aching, exciting pleasure through your body, and you mewled loudly, squeezing his cock tight in your fingers.

Steve thrust into your grip, chasing your hand as you pumped his cock in a slow, lazy rhythm. Your mouths slid against each other messily, the kiss devolving as both your moans grew louder.

Steve’s hands skimmed down your sides, grabbing the plush curve of your hips in a delicious squeeze before slipping his fingers under your panties and shoving them down to your feet.

Finally, you were both naked, and you pressed close to him, mindless moans falling from your lips as you felt the heat and solid firmness of his body against yours. It felt so fucking good, you could lose yourself in it.

Steve growled against your mouth, pulling you back into the moment as he muttered, “Get on the bed before I toss you down myself.”

A panting laugh burst from your lips even as a bolt of heat shot straight down your spine. The thought of your best friend manhandling you onto your bed was too good to pass up, so you hooked your free arm around his shoulders.

“Mm, actually I think I’d like to see that, Rogers,” you shot back, an insolent challenge in your tone. To drive your point home, you nipped at his lower lip playfully, satisfied when it had the desired reaction.

With a deliciously deep growl, Steve grabbed the backs of your thighs and tumbled you down onto the bed. Your back landed on the soft blankets, but he didn’t stop there, his hands digging beneath your body and moving you up the mattress until your head hit the pillows.

A delighted, breathy laugh tore from your lips and you wrapped your free hand around the back of Steve’s neck, dragging him in for another messy, filthy kiss. He licked your laughter from your tongue, your hand still pumping his cock while he manhandled you into the position he wanted.

His hands slid down to your legs, grabbing them and pushing your knees up toward your chest, spreading your thighs until they bracketed your breasts. Then he sat back, his cock slipping from your grasp, and stared down at you, a smirk on his flushed face as he admired his work.

You were folded in half, your pussy on full display for your best friend while he loomed above you like a golden god. You were entirely at his mercy, and you couldn’t possibly be happier.

Steve’s blue eyes were bright and shining in the dim light of your room, all remnants of the drunken haze having been burned away by his desire for you. He looked so handsome—his blond hair mussed by your hands, and his eyes burning with lust for you—that it took your breath away.

Your heart thumped in your chest, butterflies whirled in your belly, and you knew right then that Steve Rogers was way more than your best friend. He was…yours.

He was yours and you were his. But what that meant, and how exactly you felt about him, could wait to be unpacked and discussed in the morning.

Still, you suspected Steve had an idea about what you were thinking and feeling by the way his eyes narrowed on you, darkening when they raked over your expression.

He’d been your best friend long enough to know you, and somehow, you were sure he knew exactly how you felt—and he felt the same way.

A shaky smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you stared up at him, feeling just as clear-headed as he looked—if a little drunk on the yearning desire simmering between you.

Steve smiled back at you, his eyes filled with so much affection, it made your heart feel warm and cozy and secure.

“Ready, sunshine?” Steve asked, his words gruff and tentative.

You got the sense he was asking about more than just what you two were about to do. But Steve Rogers was your best friend, and you knew you were safe in his hands. So you nodded, your mouth curving into a beaming smile.

“Ready, Stevie,” you answered sweetly, tilting your hips up and holding your legs spread for him, giving him your pussy the way you’d already given him your heart.

A grin stole across his face and Steve shifted closer, until his cock slid against your pussy, making you whimper while he grunted at the feel of you.

“Fuck, baby,” Steve groaned, staring down at his cock dragging between your slick folds. “You have the prettiest pussy, ya know that?”

His hands stroked down your inner thighs, goose bumps raising in their wake, before settling in the juncture between your legs. Using his thumbs, he pushed his cock deeper into your slit, bullying between your soft, swollen lower lips to drench himself in your dripping desire.

“The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen in my life.”

His voice was ragged with barely leashed hunger, his blue eyes dark and focused as he stared down at where his cock was splitting your pussy lips open around his thick length. He rolled his hips, fucking against you at a steady, maddeningly slow pace.

“Steve,” you cried in a keening whine, lifting your hips up off the bed to roll against the underside of his cock. Your fingers clawed at the blankets of your bed, desperate to cling to something while he drove you wild.

You could feel every hard ridge and throbbing vein on his shaft, could feel the way the flushed tip bullied your clit as he pushed through your folds over and over and over again. You could feel the way your slick coated his hard length, making him slide more easily against your hot, needy cunt.

“Fuck,” you cursed, your body writhing on the bed. Your lips moved, words spilling from your mouth before you could even think to bite them back. “Oh god, daddy, you feel so good.”

A low, delicious chuckle sounded above you and you cracked your eyes open in time to see Steve flicking his gaze to your face. He wore a crooked grin that only highlighted his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“Already calling me daddy, baby?” he teased, leaning down until he was hovering above you, his thumbs still pressing his cock as deep into your slit as it would go without pushing inside your tight hole. “I’m not even inside you—usually you don’t go dumb for me until I’m balls deep in your hot little pussy.”

Steve’s words sent a rush of heat through your body so devastating, your spine arched up off the bed and your eyes rolled back in your head. A loud, throaty, obscene moan wrenched from your lips, and you could feel your cunt clenching pitifully around nothing.

You were so lost in the reaction of your body, your mouth opened and you spoke again without thinking.

“Put it in, Steve,” you panted, still squirming beneath his larger form. With great effort, you opened your eyes and met your best friend’s gaze. “Just the tip, just a little bit. Please.”

At your pleading words, Steve went completely still.

You expected him to shut you down—gently, of course—so you were surprised when you saw the conflict in his eyes.

His mouth twisted with desire, and his gaze turned scorching as he stared down at you. But his brows were pulled together, a divot of uncertainty marring his handsome face.

“Sunshine,” he growled, his voice a deep, delicious rumble as he shifted above you, planting his hands on the mattress on either side of your body so he could lean down close to you.

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he went on.

“I don’t… I genuinely don’t know if I’ll be able to stop,” he confessed, his words rough and blistering, like he’d dragged them from the depths of his soul. “I know how good you feel with a condom—like fucking heaven wrapped around my cock…”

He trailed off, his fingers smoothing over your cheek before trailing down to trace along your lower lip. You stayed still, your breath caught in your throat, mesmerized by the sight of your best friend wrestling with your request for him to fuck you bare.

“If you let me put it in without a condom, even just the tip, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to stop myself from pushing all the way in—from pounding into your cunt until I make you come on my cock and fill you up with so much of my seed, you’ll be leaking for the rest of the night.”

Shivers zipped through your body until you were trembling beneath Steve, and you had to close your eyes for a brief moment while you collected your thoughts, which had been scattered across your bedroom floor by his filthy words.

When you blinked your eyes open, you found your best friend—your Steve Rogers—watching you closely, his brows still furrowed with concern. For a moment, you were so thankful that life had led you to him, because you didn’t want to be in this moment with anyone but him.

You knew it was risky to have bare sex. You were on birth control, but you knew there was always the possibility that it failed, which was why you used condoms.

But in that moment, you didn’t care about the risk half as much as you wanted Steve to fuck you bare. And once you allowed yourself to want that, you wanted it so fucking bad.

You wanted Steve to fuck you raw and come inside you, fill you up until his seed spilled over.

Besides, you reasoned with yourself, if the worst happened, you knew your best friend wouldn’t abandon you. You’d never felt safer than in Steve Rogers’ arms, and you knew that if you got pregnant, you’d figure it out together.

So you let a smile curl the corners of your lips and you turned your head, pressing a sweet kiss into the palm of Steve’s hand. He’d been cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek, while he waited patiently for you to make your decision.

You could still smell the faint trace of beer on your breath as you exhaled against Steve’s palm, and you remembered what you’d thought when you were drunkenly making out against your front door—he tasted like beer and bad decisions.

Maybe someone else would say your decision was a bad one, but you didn’t care. It was yours, and it was Steve’s, and you were excited to make it together.

“I trust you, Steve,” you whispered, turning your face back to him. You stared deep into his eyes, showing him the surety of how you felt. Then you let your mouth curve into a playful smile. “What’s a little birthday breeding between friends?”

Steve’s expression was inscrutable for a moment. Then a grin broke across his face like the sun emerging from behind a cloud, and he huffed an amused laugh.

Ducking his head, he stole a kiss from your lips before pulling back to hover above you again.

“You’re ridiculous, sunshine,” he murmured, nothing but affectionate teasing in his tone. He pressed his forehead to yours, and you stayed like that for a moment before he spoke again. “We’ll get the morning after pill tomorrow, yeah? I’ll take care of you—we can watch all those silly movies you like.”

Happiness bubbled up inside you and it spilled out in the form of a goofy laugh, which you silenced by wrapping your arms around Steve’s shoulders and dragging him down for another kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, the two of you savoring each other as the heat between you began to build again.

“You’re the best, Stevie,” you said sweetly on an exhale, your lashes fluttering as your eyes opened. You met Steve’s gaze above you, trying to fight off a flirty smirk as you taunted him. “Now, will you put it in already?”

Steve huffed a surprised laugh, stealing one last kiss before sitting back up on his knees and shooting you a good-natured glare. “Remember, sunshine, it’s my birthday—so be good.”

At the steely, commanding growl in your best friend’s voice, you lost the fight against the smile trying to spread across your face. You grinned up at Steve as you settled back into the pillows on your bed, spreading your thighs wider and using your arms to push your tits together, offering them up for your best friend.

“Yes, sir,” you purred, watching Steve’s gaze rake appreciatively down your body until it fixed on your cunt, where his cock was still wedged between your folds.

Before you could tease him any more, Steve pulled his hips back and pushed forward, dragging the hard length of his cock through your drippy, messy pussy lips.

A moan tumbled from your lips, and your hands found their way to your tits, your fingers pinching your nipples while Steve slid his cock through your slit, coating himself in your slick juices.

He thrust against you a few more times, his pace slow and controlled, driving you wild until you were whining and writhing beneath him, staring up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Please, daddy,” you panted pitifully. “Just the tip.”

Steve’s eyes flicked to yours, so much heat in his gaze that you felt it burning through your entire body and making your cunt pulse between your thighs. His blue eyes darkened as he watched you, a wicked smirk curving his perfect mouth.

“Ya want the tip, baby?” he crooned, his tone patronizing and a little bit mean.

A woeful whimper fell from your lips as you nodded your head eagerly, your eyes opening wide and giving Steve your best pleading look. “Please, Stevie.”

His grin widened, turned wolfish, and it was your only warning. He pulled his hips back until the tip of his cock notched at the entrance of your tight hole, ready to give you exactly what you wanted.

Steve paused there, both of you holding your breath. Your eyes locked with his, a hungry, greedy smile curving your lips to match his grin, and then he was pushing forward.

Your chest heaved with a gasp, your tits bouncing, when the thick head of Steve’s cock slid into your pussy. He breached you slowly, making you feel every bit of your pussy enveloping the tip of his cock in your warmth.

Once he was inside, Steve paused, his eyes sliding closed and his head tipping back. An obscene groan fell from his lips, and it looked like he was having a religious experience.

You understood, because the feeling of having the hot, hard tip of your best friend’s cock inside you bare was searing itself into your mind.

Time stretched on, and it felt like the entire universe was rearranging itself to lengthen the moment, letting you live in it long enough to savor it fully—and then grow restless for more.

Before you could beg your best friend to stuff you full of even more of his cock, Steve pulled back. The tip slipped out of your tight hole, so he was only pressed against your entrance, and it left you feeling so empty you could cry.

A whimper of protest tumbled from your lips and Steve cooed your nickname soothingly as he pushed the head of his cock back into your snug cunt. You moaned your appreciation, your nails digging into his taut forearms while he held himself above you.

“Christ, baby, you feel so fucking good,” Steve groaned, rolling his hips in steady, measured movements so he was fucking you with only the tip of his cock. “Your pussy’s so warm and tight—it feels like you’re sucking me deeper, sunshine, do you want me deeper?”

“Nngh, yes, please,” you cried, your arms hooked around the backs of your knees, keeping your body folded in half because you knew if you let go, you’d drag Steve deeper into your pussy in an instant. “Gimme your cock, daddy, stuff me full—please, Steve, I need it!”

“Then take it, sunshine,” Steve growled, thrusting into you another inch, his eyes closing as he reveled in the feeling of your tight heat wrapping around his cock. “Fuck, so good, baby. You feel so good on my cock.”

“Steve,” you wailed your best friend’s name on a choking sob, pleasure sweeping through your body in dizzying waves. “You’re splitting me open—oh god, it feels so good, daddy, I want it all!”

Steve was burying his cock deeper with every roll of his hips and it felt so scorchingly good. His hot, hard cock was spearing into you, rewriting the very fiber of your being to etch himself into your soul—and you welcomed it happily, eagerly.

“Please, Steve, give it all to me! I need it—I need your cock, please!”

“You want it all, you’ll get it all, baby,” Steve grunted, his hips snapping forward with a vicious thrust. The move pushed his hard length all the way into you, so you were completely connected in the most intimate way possible.

Pleasure surged through your body in a devastating swell, and a scream fell from your lips when Steve finally filled you up to the hilt. His cock was stuffed so deep in your pussy, you could feel his balls nestled against your ass. And it was exactly what you needed.

“Thank you, daddy,” you sobbed in pleasure, your mind scattered in the wind, your hands reaching blindly for your best friend. “That’s s’good—so full, ungh, yes.”

Steve chuckled, leaning down and gathering you up in his arms. His mouth found yours and he kissed you sweetly, sucking on your swollen lower lip before licking inside your mouth. His tongue stroked against yours, wringing a soft moan from you before he pulled back.

“Thank you, sunshine,” he murmured, the warm tone of his voice so drenched in affection it penetrated some of the blissful haze filling your head. “Feeling your precious cunt wrapped around my bare cock is the best birthday gift anyone’s ever given me—you feel like heaven, baby, like you were made just for me.”

“I was, Steve,” you babbled, your heavy-lidded eyes blinking through the fog of pleasure to focus on your best friend. “I was made for you, and you were made for me—you fill me up so good, Stevie.”

Your words dissolved on a whine, your hips writhing beneath Steve’s big body, wordlessly urging him to move and fuck you.

With another sweet kiss that stole your breath, Steve took the hint. His hips pulled back a little, then he rocked into you, his cock splitting you open all over again. He cradled your head in his hands as he rolled his hips, fucking you in deep, firm thrusts.

Your tits bounced against his chest, his warm, taut muscles rubbing the puckered peaks of your nipples, and you arched your spine to get more of that delicious friction. Needing him closer, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, and you clung to him, your fingers tangling in his soft, messy hair.

But it wasn’t enough. You didn’t know if you’d ever get enough of Steve, get close enough. You wanted to be wrapped around him, pressed so tight it felt like you were one.

So you curled your legs around the backs of his thighs, using the leverage to meet his thrusts and drag him deeper into your body until you were nearly fused together. The two of you were little more than tangled limbs and writhing hips, your cunt grinding down on Steve’s cock as he throbbed inside you.

And all the while, your mouths stayed slanted together, even though you were long past being able to kiss.

You tasted beer on Steve’s breath as he panted into your mouth, and you moaned your pleasure right back, smiling wildly when he licked the sound from your lips.

Nothing about this was a bad decision, you decided. It couldn’t be, not when it felt so fucking right.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m getting close,” Steve rasped against your mouth, one of his hands cupping the back of your head. He curled the fingers of his other hand around the curve of your shoulder, holding you in place while he pounded into you. “Tell me what you want, sunshine.”

“Come inside me,” you gasped, tugging on his hair until you could look into your best friend’s eyes. “Breed me, Steve, fill me up over and over until your seed is dripping out of my achy hole.”

Your best friend’s eyes darkened so much they were nearly black, his handsome face twisting with feral hunger as he fucked you harder, rutting deep inside you with his thick, heavy cock.

“You’re such a filthy fucking slut, sunshine,” he growled, staring deep into your eyes, his gaze reverent and wild, “And so fucking perfect.”

His fingers brushed against your cheek with a surprising gentleness, and then he was stretching his arm out, fumbling with the drawer in your bedside table while he held your gaze with his own.

Your heart lurched in your chest when you realized what he was looking for, and your pussy squeezed excitedly around his cock. “Daddy,” you breathed, need dripping from your tone.

The way you sounded made Steve’s lips curve into an arrogant smirk, but he had every right to be arrogant. He knew exactly how to use that perfect cock of his, and he knew that pairing it with the toy in your bedside table would thoroughly ruin you.

“You’ve been such a good girl for daddy, sunshine, I’m gonna make you come so hard,” Steve promised.

He snagged the small, but powerful vibrator from the drawer and brought it toward you. With deft hands, he slipped it down between your bodies, wedging it against your clit and holding it steady while he fucked you.

“I wanna feel your greedy cunt milking all the seed from my balls, baby—gonna fill you up and breed you good.”

Then, Steve pressed the button on the toy and it came to life, sending wickedly strong vibrations straight into your clit.

Sparks danced across your vision and you sucked in a sharp breath, your body careening toward your release at breakneck speed.

Between Steve’s thick, perfect cock filling your cunt and the vibrator pressed to your clit, you never had a chance of holding on to the edge. Your best friend pushed you over and the tension in your body snapped, sending you into free-fall as you came apart on his cock.

A strangled scream tore from your lips and your body clenched hard, your cunt squeezing so tight around Steve’s cock, he grunted loudly.

The flash of his feral grin and the hungry spark in his blue eyes were the last things you saw before your eyes rolled back in your head and you lost yourself in the ecstasy of your release.

Your body convulsed with pleasure beneath Steve’s heavy form, and he groaned his own need, his hips rutting into you as he chased his peak. He found it only a moment later, the vibrations from the toy and the tight squeeze of your throbbing pussy too much for him.

Steve came with a roaring groan, tossing the vibrator onto the blankets before wrapping you up in his thick arms. His hips shoved flush against yours, his cock filling your cunt as it twitched and spilled his seed against your cervix.

You were still gasping for air, the waves of your release crashing through your body. You could feel him throbbing his load into you and you moaned softly, tugging on his hair until his mouth found yours for a messy kiss.

You kissed as your bodies writhed together, eking out every last bit of pleasure from your releases.

Even when you were both spent, Steve’s body slumping down on top of you��as much as he could without crushing you—you kept kissing. You made out for long, languorous moments until your mouths finally slowed to a stop.

“I’ll never get tired of kissing you, sunshine,” Steve murmured against your lips, one of his hands cradling the back of your head while the other stroked your thigh soothingly. “You taste so sweet, like sunshine and summer breezes.”

You laughed breathily into your best friend’s mouth, voicing the thought you’d had earlier in the night, when you’d been making out against your front door.

“You taste like beer and bad decisions,” you said, swallowing the grunt of protest from your best friend. “And I love it, Stevie—I never wanna kiss anyone else.”

A slow smile curved the corners of his mouth, pressing his happy grin into your lips, and it wasn’t until he spoke that you realized what you’d said.

“You love it, huh, sunshine?” he teased, rolling onto his side and dragging you with him, hiking your thigh over his hip so his cock didn’t slip from your pussy. “Is that the only thing you love, baby?”

Steve pulled back, giving you a mock serious look, the edges of his lips fluttering as he held back a smile. He looked so devastatingly handsome, his cheeks flushed pink, his blond hair mussed, his blue eyes sparkling with humor and affection.

“It’s my birthday,” he said in an overly serious tone, fighting to keep the stern look on his face. “So you gotta tell me the truth.”

You knew what Steve was asking of you, but you weren’t ready to confess your feelings for him just yet. So you rolled your eyes in an excuse to look away from the all-too-knowing gaze of your best friend, and shook your head at him.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Rogers,” you hissed with little heat, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck and dragging him close. “Besides, your birthday’s probably over by now,” you mumbled against his mouth, nipping playfully at his lower lip.

Steve chuckled, his warm breath ghosting over your skin and making you shiver. His hand slid up your thigh and groped your ass, holding your hips tight against his body, making sure your pussy was keeping his cock warm until he was ready for another round.

“Guess I’ll have to wait until next year to get the truth out of you, huh, sunshine?” Steve asked teasingly, a laugh in the warmth of his tone.

Instead of answering, you slanted your lips to his and kissed your best friend with all the love you had for him.

You felt him take a deep breath, his arms tightening around your body, crushing you to his chest as he kissed you back, showing you he felt the same.

The words and confessions of feelings could come later. For the rest of Steve Rogers’ birthday, you were happy sharing nothing more than beer and bad decisions with him.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers' birthday #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #best friend steve rogers #established relationship #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans characters #witchywithwhiskeywork

208 notes · View notes

biellescouts · 2 days ago

Text

go ahead and flake on me, flaker.

spiderman!mark lee x f!reader

a/n; this is low-key inspired by my crush augustinthewinter oops

cw: curse words, kissing, nomin

summary: markie’s acting so strange lately… he keeps flaming out on me

you stared at yourself in the mirror as you got ready to go. yanking a long sleeve over your head and being sure to smooth your hair down after. you breathed out a heavy exhale. today was hyuck’s birthday party that you had organised and it had to be perfect.

your attention was dragged away from figuring out whether one of your eyes is bigger than the other by the buzz of your phone against the nightstand.

markly is calling

you pressed accept and put it on speaker before making your way to your dressing table. “what is upp?” you chirped, slathering your face in some spf moisturiser.

“hey, y/n. you almost ready to go?”

“yup, i’m coming down soon.”

“bet, i’m outside.”

after quickly doing your lip combo and sliding on your converse, you made your way down to mark’s car. though you liked to consider yourself an overly organised person, there were still a few things that you needed to pick up before the party which was now in 2 hours. basically no time.

mark was silent the whole ride. which would’ve been relatively normal if he wasn’t literally mark lee.

you gently poked his thigh over the console. “you good?”

he just nodded, “mhm.” never taking his eyes off the road.

when you pulled into the target parking lot, mark looked around, hesitating to get out of the car, like he was waiting for you to leave first.

“uhh, we not going in?” your brows furrowed.

mark looked around awkwardly, “oh uh, you go ahead. i kinda wanted to stay and listen to the radio. i'm really into the news lately.. yeah.” he scratched the back of his neck.

you squinted your eyes at him for a second, “yeahh, okay. well, i'm only getting candles so hang in there until then.” he shot you an awkward smile before you got out of the car, heading for the store

mark had been acting super.. odd, lately. he could hardly ever hang out anymore, and when he finally could, he would always make up some dumb excuse for why he had to dip out early. it was starting to become pretty obvious that something was going on.

after your little target run and a 15 second staring contest after mark frantically turned off the radio, mark drove you back to his apartment where you found hyuck waiting on the couch.

“haechannie!” you ran to the couch, damn near jumping into his arms and wrapping him in a bear hug, “happy birthday, cutie.”

hyuck let out an excited noise muffled by your arm around him. you pulled away from him, “oh, sorry dude.”

he spat out some of the fluff from your sweater, “it’s cool. it’s my birthday so! literally nothing could annoy me today.”

you smiled widely at his excitement. seeing him happy brought a great deal of warmth to your heart. you sat down next to him on the couch and the two of you started to talk about the party and how excited you both were while mark busied himself in the kitchen, unpacking your target haul which turned out to be way more than just candles.

you stayed on the couch with hyuck, watching as he bounced up and down slightly with excitement. “i can't wait for everyone to get here,” he moved his hand to rest on your arm, “especially since jaem texted me saying he and jeno are bringing me something ‘special’.”

you raised an eyebrow at him, “hello? special like what?”

“mm, special like expensive..” he flopped back dramatically against the couch cushions, “they both work at that fancy place in manhattan now, so they can afford to spoil me properly.”

“jesus, haechan.” you laughed at him.

you heard the sound of mark dropping something followed by a quiet curse from the kitchen and whipped your head in his direction but hyuck just waved his hand dismissively. “he's fine, he's fine. hey, did you call everyone to remind them about presents? because I swear if johnny shows up empty handed again-“

“uh no, no, not yet.” you scrunched your brows over at the kitchen before turning back to hyuck and lowering your voice slightly. “hey, is it just me or is mark being kind of... weird today? and like, every day this week.”

hyuck peeked over the couch at mark pacing for a moment before he shrugged, “um. no. don’t worry about it, though, party’s in like 40 minutes. get excited again!”

you pushed yourself off the couch, ignoring hyuck's dramatic protests for you to stay as you made your way to the kitchen. mark was hunched over his phone, seemingly studying apple maps with intense focus. you leaned against the counter, watching him for a moment.

“you good? you seem off.”

mark jolted up, “shit- oh, hey,” he straightened his posture, rubbing the back of his head. his eyes darted around the kitchen, not quite meeting yours. “just, uh, making sure everything's organised. you know how hyuck gets about this stuff.”

you squinted at him. that was definitely a lie — hyuck couldn't care less about party organization as long as there’s booze. before you could call him out on it, mark's phone buzzed. he grabbed it so quickly he almost dropped it, glancing at the screen with an expression you couldn't quite read.

“i gotta- there's something i need to...” he gestured vaguely towards the door, already backing away.

“mark, bro!”

“gimme 10 minutes.” he pleaded, and just like that, he was gone, leaving you standing in the kitchen surrounded by half-unpacked target bags. “fuck me, dude.”

you sighed, turning your attention to the scattered grocery bags. whatever was going on with mark had to wait — you had a party to set up. you pulled out the some fairy lights, arranging them strategically around the living room while hyuck provided unhelpful commentary from his spot on the couch.

“a little to the left- no, no, my left- no, wait, the first spot was better...”

“aye, cut it out, haechan. it's your birthday, not your interior design debut,” you teased and he just pouted in response.

as much as you tried to occupy yourself, you couldn't help but be painfully aware of mark's absence. usually he'd be right there with you, probably tangling up the lights or making terrible puns about the party supplies.

“y/nnie, he streamers are crooked!”

“dude.” you turned to face him, you placed a hand on your hip, “since you're such an expert on crooked streamers, why don't you get off your butt and come help me?”

he clutched his pearls, “but i’m the birthday boy.. i'm supposed to be lounging and being waited on.”

“you can lounge at your birthday party.” you grabbed a pack of balloons and tossed them at him. he caught them with a whine but finally got up from the couch.

as you worked together, hyuck's presence made it easier to ignore the nagging worry about mark's disappearance. the two of you fell into an easy rhythm - you hanging decorations while hyuck attempted — and mostly failed — to blow up balloons without getting light-headed.

"haechan, your face is turning the same color as those balloons." you laughed out.

“bro, i swear there’s something wrong with them.” he huffed, out of breath.

“out of breath from blowing balloons is crazy, actually.” you laughed out.

you pulled out your phone while hyuck continued his dramatic balloon-related suffering on the floor. ycrolling through your contacts, you hit renjun's number first.

“hello?” renjun's voice crackled through the speaker.

“hii, just checking you guys are almost ready. and uh, bringing presents?” you put the phone on speaker so hyuck could hear.

“yeah, we're getting ready now. jaemin's been wrapping the same gift for like an hour because he keeps messing up the corners.”

“it needs to be perfect!” you heard jaemin yell in the background.

“it's just gonna get ripped open anyway,” jeno's voice chimed in, followed by what sounded like jaemin throwing something at him.

“we're already together, so we can leave pretty soon” renjun explained. “and jeno and jaemin are acting like an old married couple as per usual.”

“no we’re not!” jeno protested.

“sure, man.” renjun chuckled. “anyway, we'll be there in like an hour. just gotta pry these two apart first.”

“kay, bye.” you squeaked, hanging up the phone.

you walked around the apartment, scrutinizing every detail. the fairy lights cast a warm glow across the room, and despite hyuck's earlier complaints, the streamers looked perfectly fine. the snacks were nicely arranged on the coffee table, and you'd managed to create a decent photo backdrop on one wall with some of the balloons.

“wait, everything looks so good…” you whispered, more to yourself than to hyuck, who was back sprawled across the couch scrolling through his phone. “it’d be nice if mark was actually was here to see it.” you sighed.

“trust, he’ll be back,” hyuck said without looking up, completely unbothered. “he always comes back.”

something about the way he said it made you pause. because what does that even mean… it wasn't just casual reassurance — it sounded like he knew something you didn't.

you decided to freshen up before everyone arrived, heading to your room where you'd laid out your outfit on the bed.

“y/n! jaemin just texted, they're like ten minutes away!” hyuck called through the door. “please tell me you're not going to take forever to get ready!"

“yeah yeah.” you called back. you changed into your outfit — a cute black top with a matching midi-skirt that made you feel confident despite the weird energy of the evening.

you gave yourself one last glance in the mirror before hurrying out to join hyuck. just in time too because as soon as you came out, the doorbell rang and hyuck almost face-planted trying to answer it.

“happy birthday!” three voices chorused as soon as the door swung open. renjun, jeno, and jaemin piled in, arms loaded with presents and various snacks.

“jesus, jaem, is that what took you so long?” you laughed, eyeing jaemin's impossibly pristine gift wrapping.

“listen. i don’t play.” jaemin defended himself.

“no, yeah. ‘course.” you blinked and jeno's face just scrunched up.

renjun piped up, “hey, where's mark? usually he's the one opening the door looking stressed about party logistics.”

you felt your smile falter ever so slightly. “oh, he's just... running an errand. i don’t know.”

“what a host.” he raised an eyebrow and you just sighed.

before you could respond, more guests started arriving, saving you from having to explain mark's mysterious absence.

the party was in full swing now, music vibrating through the apartment as you gathered everyone together near the balloon backdrop you'd set up earlier.

“okay, haechannie, you go in the middle!” you directed, watching as he immediately started posing while everyone shuffled around him. he had definitely rehearsed.

“na jaemin, stop fixing your hair, it looks fine.” jeno tried to push jaemin’s hands away from his bangs.

“that's what you think,” jaemin muttered, but finally dropped his hands.

you set up your phone timer and rushed to join the group, squeezing in between renjun and hyuck. the photos came out cute — everyone laughing and making silly faces and then jeno somehow managing to look like he was on a magazine cover.

but as you flicked through them, each one felt incomplete. it was painfully obvious that mark was missing. you glanced at the time — he'd been gone for over an hour now.

“okay, okay, let's take some silly ones!" hyuck suggested and jeno groaned.

“christ.”

— but you were already backing away from the group. “i gotta use the bathroom real quick,” you said, heading down the hallway.

you reached for the bathroom door handle, pushing it open without thinking — only to hear a startled “privacy, pri- i’m in here!”

“shit, sorry.” you caught a glimpse of familiar dark head of hair and what looked like red spandex before you instinctively slammed the door shut.

wait…

you reopened the door just enough to slip inside — and make sure no one sees the butt ass naked mark in the bathroom — closing it quickly behind you.

mark stood there frozen, in only his boxers and a spider-man mask dangling from one hand.

“dude, i can explain-“ he started.

“go ahead.” you cut him off, keeping your voice low despite the music muffling any chance of being overheard.

“because i've been worried sick about you disappearing all evening, and now I find you in here..” you waved your hands in his general direction, “doing whatever you’re doing. wait, what the hell are you doing..?”

mark cringed, hyper-aware of the situation he was in. “you found me!”

“what are you actually doing right now.”

“hide and seek?” he looked like he didn’t even believe the reason he just gave.

“okay, enough of the excuses now. like for real. cause i’ve been really worried about you these past few months because you keep going missing and you just brush it off every time. i know you’ve been lying to me. what is up with that?”

his expression became serious, “y/n, i’ve hated lying to you. every time i had to come up with some shitty excuse, i’ve felt awful.”

“you never had to lie about anything, mark. i’m your best friend, you’re just supposed to tell me.” you frowned at him and he could have sworn he heard his heart shatter.

“it's not- I just- I had to...” he trailed off, running a hand through his disheveled hair and taking a deep breath. “there was this thing downtown, and i mean, i couldn't exactly tell you-“

“tell me what, mark?” you stepped closer, arms crossed. “another shitty excuse? that all your disappearances were because you- you’re-“ you glanced down at mask in his hand before he swiftly threw it across the floor.

you froze, pointing at him, “woah. no. pick that up.”

“y/n. chill on me.”

“mark lee.”

“okay, hear me out,” he pleaded, “remember that ski trip? with hyuck and renjun? when that huge like— snow, monster.. thing attacked us all. but then he showed up?”

you frowned, remembering the terrifying incident. “uh, yeah, it was scary as fuck. but like, what does that have to do with anything?“

“you said you owed him your life,” mark continued softly, “and you screamed in his ear. super fucking loud.” he subconsciously rubbed his own ear.

you looked off to the side and scoffed, “acting like you were there. you literally pussied out as soon as it showed up.”

“trust me i was. i know that after he pulled you out of the way, you immediately started crying. you were wearing that blue ski jacket with the fuzzy hood, and you had snow in your hair, and-“

your eyes slowly widened as you connected the dots in your head. “shut up..” you whispered. “you’re him?”

mark flushed slightly, holding his arms out, “i meannn…”

“mark lee saved my life..?”

“yo, that’s crazy.” he brought his fingers up to his lips as if he was in deep thought, “like when you put it like that, that sounds cra-“

you cut him off by leaning in and softly pressing your lips to his, wrapping your arms around his neck. his hands found home on your lower back as he sighed into the kiss. a noise that brought you back to reality.

you pulled away, “wait, shit! oh my god, i’m sorry. i didn’t even ask-“

“no, it’s okay! i- uhm, i kind of wanted you to do that.. i don’t know.” he looks downwards.

“oh, purr.”

“wait— did you just kiss me ‘cus i’m a superhero? ‘cause that’s literally fine, but like-“

“god, mark, no. i’ve kind of liked you for a while. i guess the fact that you literally helped me escape death really solidified it for me. i don’t know..” you shrugged.

he looked at you with warm expression before realisation hit him and his eyes widened, “yo, i’m literally naked…”

you laugh at him, “oh yeah, i lowkey forgot.” you turn around allowing him to start dressing. “y’know, this actually explains a lot.”

he scoffed, “pfft. what do you mean?”

“your excuses were ass. it was only a matter of time till i found out.”

“what? no.. i was so stealthy.”

you laughed at him, “sure, mark. i-

you were interrupted by loud banging on the door. both you and mark flinched.

“Y/N Y/L/N! I KNOW YOU’RE NOT POOPING AT MY BIRTHDAY PARTY.”

you slowly opened the door, “hi, haechannie…”

“ew, no i can smell it. i can’t believe you’d do this to me—” he frowned and you rolled your eyes.

“no one’s pooping, hyuck. don’t be dramatic.”

“huh. well- oh hello. why are you in the bathroom with mark? and you did it at my birthday dinner…”

“girl stop. mark just got here actually.” she turned to look at him, unsure of how to explain. all he could do is hold up a hand to wave awkwardly, “hey man.”

“mm yeah. nice of you to swing by, mark.” hyuck raised a brow at him. how’d you sneak past the door? you’re so sneaky, like, uhh… like a bug.” he raised his brow once again. “huh, mark?”

mark just looked from side to side, “what are you saying to me right now?”

a/n; takes a long nap…….. this came to me in a hallucination

82 notes · View notes

zstartrixxx · 2 days ago

Note

What do you think marriage would be like with Jack’s characters? Cause I headcanon this..

Roy Goode ( fake marriage to get him out of jail / use as an alibi that turns real after a while )

Patrick Sumner ( arranged )

Oliver Mellors ( slow burn / like after the war husband dies and he’s the gamekeeper who takes care in more way - emotional, etc. )

Remmick ( reincarnation )

Lion Kaminski ( drunken mistake / like the vegas wedding trope after a fight with Stan )

MY GOD THESE ARE MAGNIFICENT HEADCANONS!

okay, here are mine (i took extra time to make these more detailed, hope you enjoy):

— Roy Goode:

You and Roy Goode bump into each other at a saloon party in Atascadero. After everything he's been through, all he wants is peace and quiet in his new life—but everything changes when he sees you dancing and laughing with your friends. At first he keeps to himself, shy and dazzled by how you smile and joke around, until he finally gathers the courage to approach:

"Hello, ma'am, nice weather we're havin', ain't it?" You stare at him with a big question mark on your face, then burst out laughing—and he laughs too, nervously. You pull him to dance, and from that night on, you're inseparable. Like, he'll insist on taking you home on his horse, learn "these gentlemanly things" from his older brother, and when he discovers you're an avid book lover, he becomes even more obsessed with you, striking up conversations about the latest books you've read.

He writes you letters in his tortured handwriting (poor guy), but you grow increasingly flustered by this man, until the first kiss happens—quick and simple at first, until you start dating and well... you're a virgin. You'd only marry "pure," but desire wins and you decide to just taste a little—I mean, with the wedding scheduled soon, what's the harm in a little preview?

Done and done: you ride that cowboy like there's no tomorrow. When you walk down the aisle, Roy in his all-black outfit, hat and a grin ear to ear, you're certain he's the love of your life.

The wedding itself is simple. Goode genuinely tries to be good to you at all times; if you have kids (biological or adopted), he'll strive to be everything he never had, and life with him will be uncomplicated.

— Oliver Mellors:

Oliver proposes to you the moment you separate from your then-husband. He won't be the "other man" in your life anymore, can't stand being sidelined, and so he's determined to have you by his side as soon as you're "free." Not out of possessiveness or fear of losing you—it's something deeper, almost complex, this need to truly have you, to desire you so intensely he'd celebrate your union immediately.

The relationship itself was slow: it started with discreet glances, then subtle touches, until the big embrace came, the desperate kiss, the guilt-ridden tears, the rushed sex full of whimpers and moans—until finally, the weight of conscience lifts and you both realize how much you want each other.

Marrying Mellors means being well cared for, well treated, very well served in every way. Kept warm on hot nights, cooled on freezing days; with him, you'll feel the freedom of love—that unique feeling where you can be you, screaming and jumping for joy naked or simply collapsing in his arms after bearing the weight of the world. Because he loves you, and sharing his name with you is his ultimate proof.

To truly become one. An incurable romantic.

— Lion Kaminski:

He wants to marry and start a family. He has no doubts—it's right there in his Kaminski Kleaner future plans collage—but Stan's constant interference, his acute possessiveness in dictating right and wrong, what Lion should or shouldn't do with his life, nearly derails it. Until he meets you. With you, Lion finds the courage to say enough, to draw the line and live his life. So one random day, with no glamour or special occasion, he wakes you up whispering: "Hey, let's go get married?" You're surprised at first, but you'll say yes to that madness, and soon you're exchanging vows pulled up on your phones before a judge—sometimes an Elvis impersonator, Lion in a windbreaker and running shorts, you in a bridal dress bought last-minute at a shop nearby.

Stan freaks out, obviously, but what can he do?

As a husband, Lion is... kinda timid? Like, he's always side-eyeing you, waiting for you to make the first move, watching you with starry eyes and an open mouth as you do the simplest things, always making sure you finish first during sex before just wanting to cuddle.

He exudes that kind of husband energy.

— Patrick Sumner:

This man is so traumatized by the whole marriage thing (thanks, childhood) that the first thing he does after you wed is ensure—absolutely ensure—you won't abandon him. To him, that would be the ultimate betrayal. So he takes this institution very seriously.

Serious, centered, pragmatic, and very clinical. Patrick systematizes your marriage like he's dissecting a corpse—because loving you sickens him with its intensity. He sometimes lies about his own state, bottles up feelings and trauma, all to keep you smiling. You don't deserve a madman for a husband.

So Patrick is the serious type of husband, the one who sits beside you smoking, listening to you talk while he writes in his journal, slowly unwinding.

— Remmick:

Here, we'll explore two scenarios:

REINCARNATION You die and revive countless times while he remains immortal—your soul never forgets his, so no matter how, where, or when you're reborn, you'll always find each other again. And maybe, just maybe, you'll discover why you can never stay together. Is it a curse? Some cruel joke by God (or whichever deity)? Or just the vampire's rotten luck to love and be loved, yet never truly have you?

Remmick may die like you, and each time he resurrects, he's cursed anew: vampirism, chronic illness, a world war, madness, some insurmountable obstacle... But he's always drawn to your soul, and when you casually cross paths, his eyes widen—he knows it's you.

The wedding is always poignant, laced with strange nostalgia (you've done this in other lives), and always bittersweet, because separation will come. But sooner or later, you'll meet again. And in every life, he'll say something like:

"I'll love you in this life as I did the last, and as I likely will in the next."

MARRIED TO A VAMPIRE As his wife—human or not (though I prefer imagining a human scenario here)—you'd share an intense marriage with Remmick. Imagine sharing memories and experiences telepathically, feeling what he feels, and how that could amplify every aspect of your life?

Remmick would cling to you, half-desperate, half-famished. Possessive, perhaps, but when he made you his eternal companion, he did it to ensure you'd truly become one.

(And yes, he'd always find a way to drool over you—if you catch my drift—and lick a drop of your blood as an aphrodisiac...)

#love sm to make these hcs #roy goode x reader #lion kaminski x reader #remmick x reader #patrick sumner x reader #oliver mellors × reader #[⛦] zstar anons&requests

131 notes · View notes

mingispelvis · 7 hours ago

Text

Focus On Me

Genre: SMUT, Mingi x reader, afab reader, One Shot

Length: 2k Rating: Mature/R

Summary: You’re obsessed with Mingi’s body.

Warnings and fic under the cut :)

not proof read

Warnings: use of nicknames (pretty lady), thigh riding, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (don’t u dare!), finishing inside (YOU BETTER NOT!!!!).

It was about that time: ovulation. Your body had been preparing for the primal ritual of mating in order to reproduce. Little did she know, no reproduction would be occurring this month, or any month for a very long time. You were in the prime of your life- stable job, good group of friends, and you had a super hot fuck buddy at your beck and call. That fuck buddy was named Song Mingi, and you’d met him at a random salsa dancing class your friend and her boyfriend invited you to. You’d agreed only if her boyfriend invited someone hot that he knew. Thus, you and Mingi learned salsa that evening, and were doing the tango in the sheets that night. Mingi was definitely your type of guy: tall, slightly tanned, dark hair, and toned. You purposely kept your distance emotionally due to the speed at which your life was going- you didn’t want to fall for your fuck buddy.

Mother nature was making it very clear that no matter how many different ways you placed your vibrator on your lower body, you would not be pleased. Ovulating meant you were at your horniest, and you needed to let your freak flag fly. It was time to text Mingi.

Me: Busy tonight? (1:45pm)

SMG: Nope. What were you thinking? ;) (1:47pm)

Me: You fuck me until I beg you to stop? (1:47pm)

SMG: See you at 10 ;) (1:48pm)

You and Mingi were incredibly sexually compatible. He let you take control when you wanted, or he’d take control if you were in the mood to be dominated. He didn’t mind having passionate, meaningless sex, and not talking for weeks between. Besides being hot and a great fuck, he was also smart. The post-coital pillow talk was never devoid of laughs, and you could speak to each other about your work without the other getting confused. You always get a little tickle in the pit of your stomach when you know you are about to see Mingi. You took extra care to shave every hair off your body, wash the grime out of your hair, paint your toes and nails, and wear matching underwear. You even set out some nice candles for scent and mood lighting and turned on a nice sexy playlist. You weren’t sure why you wanted things to be so nice for someone who was just a fuck buddy, but you didn’t have time to linger on that thought. It was 10pm and Mingi was always punctual.

You opened the door to see Mingi in a white button up and jeans- he must have come straight from work. He smirked slightly and in the dim light you could see the sparkle in his eyes.

“Hey pretty lady,” he gave you a once over as he stepped into your home and removed his shoes.

Before you could speak, Mingi ran his arms over your see-through, red robe that you’d quickly draped over your body before answering the door.

“Mmmm. You wearing this sexy little number for me?” Mingi asked, rubbing the sheer material between his fingers. When his eyes met yours, you felt that butterfly in your stomach again.

“No talking, only fucking.” You deflected, grabbing his wrist and leading him to the couch. You pushed him down and straddled him. Mingi placed his hands gingerly on your hips. You’d meant to immediately lean down and kiss him, but something stopped you. You bit your lip as your hands landed softly on Mingi’s broad shoulders. You rubbed your hands across them, letting the cool, rough material of his shirt outline his muscles. Mingi watched your pupils dilate as you moved your fingers to trace the veins in his arms, traveling down his thick bicep.

You couldn’t help but moan. You weren’t sure why his body was doing this to you, especially since you’d seen it multiple times before.

“You like what you see, pretty lady?” Mingi was grinning as you interlaced your hands with his larger ones.

“Your body…it’s…” you let go of his hands as you tried to get your brain to focus on words. Unfortunately, your eyes had roamed to Mingi’s waist. You placed your hands on his waist, thin, yet firm, and traced upwards, following the “v” shape that the muscles in his back allowed him to have.

“It’s…? What is it, pretty lady? What do you think about my body?” Mingi was teasing you now, but it affected him. He loved the compliments and you could feel him hardening underneath you. When he shifted beneath you, you were drawn to his thighs. Thick and hard, you began to grind on them. Mingi gripped your waist again, flexing his thigh, to aid you in your movements.

“It’s crazy. Your body is crazy.” you responded, almost breathless with desire. You steadied yourself against his stomach, feeling obscured ab muscles there as well. You threw your head back as you moved faster on Mingi’s thigh. He took this opportunity to nip at your neck, jaw, and then your lips. He tasted sweet and savory, and you inhaled his scent deeply- a deep spice with an underlying musk. You sucked on his lips, moaning again as you appreciated their plumpness, their softness.

“Mingi, your body is driving me crazy.” you breathed your admission into your kiss.

“I can tell. You’re about to grind a hole into my jeans!” Mingi whispered back. You didn’t stop kissing Mingi, even when he lifted you up to carry you to your bedroom. You just wrapped your legs around his slim waist, never letting your lips leave his smooth skin.

Mingi attempted to lay you lightly on your back, but the moment your feet hit your carpet, you yanked Mingi down. You were intoxicated by him. Kissing him passionately and running your fingers through his hands as if you couldn’t grasp onto enough of him, you moaned his name in his mouth. Mingi escaped from your grasp long enough to pepper kisses down your body, his left hand tugging at your bra, his right hand tugging at your panties. You got the hint and lifted your hips to allow him to pull off your panties, while you finagled your hands behind your back to unclasp your bra. Mingi’s lips never left your body as he began to roll your nipple in his fingers and swipe up and down your leaking folds. As deft as he was with his mouth, Mingi decided he wanted your upper lips rather than your lower, so he slipped two fingers into you.

“You're already taking my fingers so well baby.” Mingi cooed as he curled his fingers up to reach your sweet spot. He worked you slowly but firmly, a brutally calm pace that had you quickly seeing stars. You gripped his broad shoulders again, biting your lip as you glanced at the way his shoulder muscles moved as he pumped in and out of you. That was enough to push you over the edge, and you released all over Mingi’s fingers. He’d waited long enough- you could feel his cock straining against his jeans- and Mingi pulled down his jeans and briefs in one swift motion. You used this time to scoot to the head of the bed and pull up your thighs, spreading your legs in anticipation.

“Fuck,” Mingi pumped his leaking cock once, pupils blown at the sight of you presenting himself before him. He took little time to line up and press slowly into you. You always fit like a glove. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. Moaning in unison, the two of you locked eyes. Mingi began to move, relishing in each inch he got to feel of you. You didn’t have time for that, though. You wanted more. You pushed him off of you and pulled him down onto his back. Eyes wide, Mingi let you manhandle him, and smiled as you squatted over him and slowly lowered yourself onto his erection. The electricity between the two of you gave you energy you’d never experienced as you began to bounce up and down. You steadied yourself on his chest, but angrily grabbed at his shirt as you realized it stymied you from feeling his warm skin. Mingi began to quickly unbutton his shirt as you continued to ride him mercilessly. Free from the confines of cloth, Mingi’s abs beckoned you. You slid your hands slowly up and down his chest- obsessing over every valley and hill of his abdomen. It was too much.

“Fuck!” You exclaimed, throwing your head back. You placed one hand behind you, and used the other to rub frantically around your clit. Mingi could see and feel your desperation as you clenched around him, and did the gentlemanly thing of helping you. He gripped your hips, planted his feet, and fucked into you at the same pace you’d been riding him.

“Yes Mingi, just like that,” you commanded, chasing the high that you’d been waiting for for days. Surprisingly, it burst out of you faster than you’d anticipated, and you yelped as Mingi continued to pound into you- the squelch of your juices motivating him to keep making you feel amazing. You went limp in his grasp, gasping for air as your second orgasm lingered, a tingling feeling throughout your body. Mingi stopped, pulled out of you, and rolled you to your side. Your chest was still heaving, your body still reeling, and Mingi was ready for cuddles. He curled up next to you, but you stopped him.

“What are you doing?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you done? You’re not tired?” He raised an eyebrow back.

“Never. Get back in here!” You pointed to your pussy as you lifted your thighs.

Mingi laughed loud, heartily, and positioned himself on top of you again. The thing about Mingi was that he looked like a fuckboy. He looked like someone that would pound into you for 30 seconds, pull out, bust on your stomach, and then ask if you could call him an uber. Mingi wasn’t a fuckboy, though. He was a man that was passionate and empathetic. He was emotional. So when he got the opportunity to be with a beautiful woman with an sex drive to rival his own, he cherished the time. He slid into you slowly, pulled out slowly, and breathed deeply. He knew you were sensitive, so he was careful. Soft.

You didn’t want soft.

“Please, Mingi. Fuck me hard.” you begged.

“Whatever you want, pretty lady.”

He whispered as he placed his head in the crook of your neck. He interlaced your fingers with his, and lifted your arms to lay on either side of your head, squeezing your hands tight as he began a pace that had you rambling. Skin on skin, it felt like you and Mingi were one. Your head was swirling and all you could think about was him. Mingi leaned up to see your eyelids heavy, but your eyes staring directly into his with a fiery want.

“That’s right baby, focus on me.” Mingi’s eyelids were low, his voice a rumble, as he coaxed you into your final orgasm of the night. Your obsession with Mingi’s body had you shaking as you gushed onto his cock. You pulsed and clenched in a way that caused Mingi to groan loudly, falter in his pace, and start breathing faster. He fell back on top of you- chest to chest- lips at the shell of your ear.

“Oh pretty lady you’re gonna make me- ugh- fuck!” Mingi couldn’t finish his sentence as you wrapped your legs around his waist and had him hit a spot deep inside you. Fucking you faster and faster, Mingi chased his orgasm. One final thrust, one long groan, Mingi stilled as he spilled inside you. He throbbed and groaned your name, never letting go of your hands, breathing heavily until he could finally come down.

“Fuck am I glad you’re on the pill,” Mingi laughed lightly, “because I think I just put a month’s worth of cum in you.”

“Yeah I think you like when I talk about how hot you are.” You teased.

“I think so too.” Mingi scratched at the back of his head, cheeks turning redder than they already were from exertion.

Mingi cleaned you up, grabbed you some water from the kitchen, and proceeded to do his duty as big spoon. As the two of you talked, tangled in each other’s limbs, Mingi lightly rubbed up and down your curves. He looked you deep in your eyes. Every word you spoke, he heard. Maybe one day you’d realize he was focused on you, too.

~~~

Tag list: @mingisprincxss I hope this fits your request!

#wonderlandnet #ateez smut #mingi smut #focus on me #ateez #mingi x yn #mingi x reader

21 notes · View notes

moeblob · 9 months ago

Text

it is almost midnight why am I still drawing art ...

#picrew baby crew #ok i will try to be concise on the explanation lmao #ages ago someone in the discord server im in was like... in the mood to do a couples picrew but asked with whomst #and im like oh oh pick me ! and they did #but the thing is ? they had yet to meet me irl and had never seen me in a picture so like #they just made me look like ferdinand basically #so i have a lot of cute lil picrew of them and my ferdsona as they dubbed it #and it was super fun bc neither of us care to be limited to a gender so in some i was more feminine and in others they were #and so tonight they posted some halloween ones and im like oh man thats so cute #but i asked them in private hi would you be cool if i had a different sona to use ?#bc by now i have actually met them face to face and so they know what i look like irl #and and so i got to describe a new sona and thats the lil blonde buddy #and since i wanted to be a werewolf theme (i had three options) they were like cool ill make myself lil red riding hood then #and it was SUCH A cute lil picrew so i drew the designs #but i have noticed in my games lately if i get character design im like ... various shades of blonde #and i am a freckle addict in games that let me have a freckle option i need freckles in game so #ta da lil blonde fella with freckles !#that was probably not concise but its fine i think ???#anyway shout out to them for being super cool and chill

48 notes · View notes

the-maid-of-witchwood · 3 months ago

Note

Gimme your favourite au ideas and who you'd throw into them (or like one au idea you like because you have like the neatest ideas)

Again, I’m gonna pull out a list of AUs I have previously written because I’m way too prepared for this.

Carrie AU 2.0

Has no relation to the first beyond being another play on Carrie. The whole thing takes place at the Starlight Theatre where Ruth ends up playing the lead in Cinderella’s Castle. Zoey, pissed and bitter about playing second fiddle to some dorky soprano, just decides to trash her opening night. Or the one where Zoey takes method acting as the Stepmother too far. (If you’ve seen CC, you’ll know what I’m hinting at). Ruth snaps and wipes out half of Hatchetfield before curtain call.

Also Lautity are here just flirting in the background the entire time. Like, they are the only survivors because they thought the other looked good in this hot all done up and left to make out.

Cinderella’s Castle

The one where Stephanie doesn’t have a good time. I’ve already spoken about it on here but it’s essentially the plot of CC but set in Hatchetfield, with some of the lore weaved in. Just for fun and angst. So you know she’s being dragged through that ringer.

Corpse Bride

Pete is Victor, Grace is Victoria, Steph is Emily. Need I say more?

Crossed Timelines

Having been killed by Max, Ruth and Richie wake up in some random location with Pete, Steph and Grace. But it’s not their Pete, Steph and Grace. It’s the ones from another universe where Max killed them three instead of Ruth and Richie. Basically everyone argues who had it worst and trauma bonds. Essentially reincarnation.

Dæmons (His Dark Materials)

Just shenanigans involving everyone having dæmons. That’s it. Mainly fluff and chaos.

Dirty Dudes Must Die

Written as a mock Nightmare Time episode. Essentially follows Steph discovering the guys at school being shitty to Grace, the school refusing to do anything, Grace getting kicked out of home for ‘sleeping around’ and subsequently her deciding to take revenge. Only things go horribly wrong and she ends up with four bodies on her hands. Fortunately the nerds who keep getting in the way are more than happy to help.

Hatchet Swung the Other Way

Gabe is the bully and everything changes. Not really. Essentially just a role swap: the cool kids are now the losers and vice versa, Gabe - Max, Grace - Steph, Steph - Pete, and so on and so forth. Potentially might take place at Abstinence Camp.

Heathers

When Richie said he hated Stephanie Lauter and wanted her dead, he didn’t mean it literally. Would be nice if Max knew that. Also it’s totally unfair that he has to put up with her annoying ghost instead of Max when it wasn’t even his fault she was stupid enough to drink drain cleaner in the first place—

Ride the Cyclone Tearjerker

Six teenagers die at Watcher World. However, Miss Holloway refuses to let Blinky torture all of them - so they reach a deal, she can bring one back to life. However, rather than pick herself, she leaves the decision to the teenagers. Aka, Ruth lets out her inner theatre kid for an hour and a bit; Steph and Richie attempt to kill each other a second time; Grace has a mental breakdown/crisis of faith in the corner; Pete is literally the only ‘normal’ one; and Max honestly doesn’t know why he’s here.

Sail Away to Canada

An alternative NPMD ending where they do actually sail away to Canada and get new identities. A lot more slice of life and silly scenarios of them trying to remain undercover… until Solomon drags them back to deal with the mess (Max’s ghost) they left behind. Only there’s one issue: Grace may or may not have lost the winning card of her chastity to Lautski and they might have to aggressively play Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who’s taking the bullet.

Something Fun, Something Tasty

Another alternative NPMD ending where Steph’s sacrifice isn’t the death of what she cherishes most, but they’re humanity. Pete and Grace struggle to adapt to their new life as… whatever the heck they are now. Monsters? Pets? Vessels? Steph just feels incredibly guilty; she’s also kinda the new Miss Holloway.

Take a Walk in My Shoes

Steph and Grace wake up in each other’s bodies in what they think is just a random nightmare. With the help of Pete, they slowly uncover that there’s something a lot more sinister going on at Abstinence Camp. And maybe a certain deal that was stuck between Mayor Lauter and the Jerries over a black book…

The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals

Essentially TGWDLM but Pete is Paul. And he has the unfortunate fate of losing one girlfriend to the apocalypse, while trying to escape with the other. This definitely isn’t something that’ll be used against him in the final act…

#mari’s asks

4K notes · View notes

lacydollette · 6 months ago

Text

after bf!rafe surprises doll!reader by buzzing off his hair, she can't keep her hands to herself, feeling extremely horny whenever she looks at him

warnings: rafe x fem!reader, pure smut, praise, little degradation, making out, tit sucking, oral (fem receiving), face riding, explicit language, 18+

You lay sprawled on the lounger at tannyhill, sipping iced coffee, and scrolling lazily through your phone while tanning. You knew Rafe was up early today and had been out running errands for Ward, but he'd been gone for hours, and you were really starting to miss him. Just as you were considering calling him, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. You perked up, stretching lazily "About time, ray! How dare you keep me waiting so long.”

But when Rafe stepped into the room, you froze. Your mouth fell open slightly, sunglasses sliding down your nose as you took in the sight of him. His hair—his perfectly tousled, dirty-blond hair was gone. Completely buzzed down to almost nothing.

The sharp angles of his jawline, the slope of his cheekbones, and his ocean-blue eyes were suddenly the stars of the show, all of his features more prominent than ever. "Holy shit," you muttered, standing up slowly. Rafe smirked, trying to play it cool as he tossed his keys onto the counter. "What? You don't like it?"

"Are you kidding me?" You gasped, crossing the room in a daze. Your fingers reached out instinctively, brushing over the soft, short stubble of his buzzed hair. "You look... different." His grin widened as your hand lingered on his head while his found the curve of your ass. "Different good or different bad?"

You teasingly bit your lip, "Good," eyes locked on his. "Really, really good." Your fingers drifted down to his jaw, and you tilted your head, studying him like he was a work of art. "It makes your eyes pop even more. God, Rafe, why didn't you do this sooner?" He chuckled, taking your wrist and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. "Didn't know I needed your approval to change things up."

"You don't," you said quickly. "But, wow. Like, really, wow." Rafe’s ego was definitely fueled by your words, your approval meaning everything to him.

Everything else passed in a blur, but you couldn't keep your eyes, or your hands, off of your boyfriend. Every time he passed by, you reached out to touch his head or his face, not believing how effortlessly handsome he looked, stealing kisses amost every minute. And Rafe—well let’s face it. He absolutely loved it.

A little later, you were curled up on one end of the couch, watching Rafe as he sat on the other. He was sprawled out, completely manspreading right infront of you. Fucking tease. His phone was in his hand, and he looked completely absorbed in whatever he was doing. His jaw clenched slightly as he concentrated, his brows furrowing just enough to make him look impossibly sexy.

You couldn't take it anymore.

Without an ounce of hesitation, you jumped up and crawled over to him, grabbing his phone and tossing it onto the cushion beside him. "Hey, what the-" Rafe started, but his words were cut off as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Your hands were on his face in an instant, lips crashing against his in a heated kiss.

Rafe froze for half a second before groaning against your mouth, his hands sliding up your plush thighs to grip your waist. "You're killing me, Rafe," you murmured breathlessly between kisses, your fingers threading through the short stubble of his buzzed hair. "You look so fucking good. I can't even think straight."

"Yeah?" he rasped, his voice low and teasing. "Is that why you're humping my leg like a bitch in heat right now?" You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes dark with desire. "Shut up," you whispered, kissing him again.

Rafe growled against your lips as the kiss deepened, both of you losing yourselves in the heat of the moment. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders and down his chest, your red nails scraping lightly against the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. His hands were just as eager, gripping your hips firmly, pulling you flush against him as your bodies rubbed against each other.

"Doll," he murmured against your mouth, his voice low and full of want. Without warning, Rafe's hands slid under your thighs, gripping you firmly as he stood up in one fluid motion, taking you with him. You gasped, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you toward his bedroom. "You're not playing fair," you teased, breathless, as your arms looped around his neck. "Fair's overrated," Rafe shot back, smirking as he kicked the door shut behind him.

He tossed you onto his bed, your hair splaying out across his pillows as you landed with a soft gasp. Before you could say a word, he pulled his shirt off in one swift motion, revealing his toned chest and making your heart race even faster. He was on you in seconds, his hands braced on either side as he hovered over you, his ocean-blue eyes dark with hunger.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again. Your hands roamed over his bare chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle and pressing against his warm skin. You arched into him, your body craving every bit of contact you could get. His lips moved down to your neck, nipping and sucking just enough to leave faint marks.

As his hands slid under your top, pulling it up and over your head, you let out a soft whimper, desire building with every touch. Rafe pulled back slightly, his gaze raking over you, taking in the sight of your perky tits. You were perfect. He immediately leaned in, capturing one of your nipples between his lips. You tugged him closer, nails digging into his shoulders as you whimpered out, "I need you, Rafe."

His breath hitched at the raw need in your voice, his hands sliding down your sides as he licked and sucked all over your chest, his touch leaving your cunt aching for him. "Tell me what you want," he said against your skin, rough and low. You pressed your head into the pillow, biting down on your bottom lip, "I want to sit on your face."

Rafe froze for half a second before a devilish grin spread across his lips. "Yeah?" he said, his voice laced with amusement and excitement. You nodded eagerly, licking your lips as you looked up at him with anticipation. "Whatever you want, Doll," he said, his voice dropping even lower as he leaned back, settling himself against the pillows and pulling you with him “Come here."

Your pulse raced as you straddled his chest, hands braced on his shoulders as you hovered over him. Rafe's hands slid up your thighs, his digits pulling the soft lace of your soaked panties to the side. "Shit—you’re drippin’, baby.” he murmured, his blue eyes locked on your as you positioned yourself over him.

Rafe’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he kissed your inner thighs, his touch sending sparks through your entire body. You threw your head back, a soft moan escaping your lips at Rafe's teasing. He didn’t waste anymore time though, his tongue lapping through your wet folds, leaving you gasping for air.

“Such a sweet fucking pussy.” he mumbled quietly, his hot breath against your core sent shivers down your spine. You gripped the headboard for balance, head tilted back, a soft cry escaping your lips as you shuddered against him.

"ray—oh my god," you whimpered, voice shaky as you rutted your soaking cunt against him, his lips wrapping around your sensitive nub, sucking and circling his tongue as if his life depended on it. Your fingers instinctively drifted to his buzz cut, the soft, bristly feel of it only adding to your overwhelming senses. You couldn't stop touching it, letting your nails lightly scrape across his scalp as you rocked against him.

"That.." you breathed, voice trembling, "feels so fucking good." The sound of your voice, so needy and desperate, only spurred him on. His grip on you tightened, helping to drag your cunt against his tongue. “you’re gonna make a mess for me, baby?” he groaned, his blue eyes looking up at you from between your legs. You nodded hastily, the band in your lower stomach about to snap as Rafe moaned against your clit. within moments, you fell apart completely, body trembling as you released all over him, moaning out his name.

You were panting as Rafe lapped up your juices, overstimulating your poor cunt as your legs trembled, “Shit.” Carefully sliding off of him, you leaned down and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands found his head again, fingers stroking the soft buzz as your body pressed close to his. "You really can't stop touching it, huh?" he teased, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. You grinned, cheeks still flushed from your orgasm. "Can you blame me? You look so good, rafey. It's actually insane."

He chuckled, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. "If l'd known buzzing my head would make you act like a needy little slut, I would've done it a long time ago." You rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t help the tingling sensation in between your legs. "I'm serious," he murmured, smirking. "I'm definitely keeping it now. If this is what I get, l'm never growing it out again."

"You better not," you teased back. Rafe let out a low chuckle, but his amusement faded quickly as your lips attached themselves to his jawline, your eagerness reawakening. Your teeth grazed his neck before you pulled back to meet his gaze. "I want more, Rafe." His blue eyes darkened, and a cocky smirk spread across his lips.

"You want more, huh? Still can’t get enough of that shit?"

LINKS .ᐟ doll!reader masterlist

TAGS .ᐟ @gibson-g1rl @beausling @rafescokewhore @rafeysbunny @rafesweetie @rafeslacy @rafesangelita @starkeysprincess @starzify @drewspinkbunny @whinyangel @httpsdrewstarkey @rafey-baby @littlelamy

#works ₊˚⊹♡#doll!reader x rafe cameron 𝜗𝜚 #rafe x doll!reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe cameron

3K notes · View notes

geminiwritten · 26 days ago

Text

safehouse ; joaquín torres

fandom: marvel

pairing: joaquín x reader

summary: you're an ex-assassin trained by hawkeye and black widow, and your old friend sam needs your help on a mission alongside his new protege... but things don't go exactly to plan and you end up indefinitely stuck in a safehouse with joaquín

notes: danny ramirez has me in such a chokehold, he made me write smut!!! kind of... upon reread, i feel like this might flop? and i'm a little extra nervous about it because it's my second first attempt at smut, so i hope it doesn't suck! please, please, please let me know what you think! i need feedback! and also, sorry if it's shitty, i'm so out of practice with marvel, i'm just feral for this man...

warnings: swearing, sexual tension (lots), mention of guns / weapons, very minor descriptions of violence, italics, mention of a toxic ex and toxic behaviour, very out of date marvel knowledge, super horny, and SMUT-ish? (masturbation, dirty talk, thigh riding) so 18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

word count: 15295

“I’m going to do a quick sweep,” Joaquín says. “Make sure we weren’t followed.”

You nod once, doing your best to flash the hottest man you’ve ever seen a cool, easy smile.

“Copy,” Sam says as he walks further into the house. “Echo, you’re with me. Let’s clear this place.”

You roll your eyes and follow Sam deeper into the safehouse, forcing yourself not to glance back as Joaquín slips out the front door.

“That’s not my name anymore,” you mutter, sheathing a dagger in your thigh holster. “And would you slow down?”

Just an hour ago, you were waiting at a secret meet-up spot for Sam to fill you in on this special mission he needed your expertise for. You weren’t keen on coming out of retirement, but he’d practically begged you over the phone—and you had no excuse good enough to say no.

So there you were, waiting, when all hell broke loose. You don’t know who they were, but they came at you hard and fast, raining hellfire just as Sam—and his stupidly gorgeous protege—showed up. You fought your way out and found refuge in this safehouse. Now all you need to do is make sure you’re actually safe before figuring out what the fuck just happened.

“All clear,” you tell Sam as you return to the landing just inside the front door of the old townhouse.

He nods. “Looks like we’re good.”

You tuck your gun away and start fiddling with a strap on the sleeve of your jacket, keeping your gaze locked on Sam beneath a furrowed brow. You’ve always been particularly good at death stares, and if Sam was a lesser man, he’d probably keel over by now.

But instead, he grins. “What’s that look for?”

“You know damn well what this look is for,” you mutter.

He raises his brows, waiting for you to snap.

It doesn’t take long.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you hiss, just in case Joaquín is within earshot. “Two weeks ago you just happen to be in town, we catch up for a drink, and I drunkenly confess that I think your little protege is hot. Then all of a sudden, there’s a mysterious mission that requires both of us?”

He chuckles quietly, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’d call that a coincidence,” he says. “Oh, and I think your exact words were a walking wet dream with a stupidly perfect smile.”

You narrow your eyes. “Whatever you’re playing at, stop it. I’m here now, so I’m going to help us get out of this mess—but that’s it.”

“Would you calm down?” he sighs, leaning back against the wall—awkwardly, thanks to the shield on his back. “The kid has a thing for you too, so I just thought—”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes. “He’s like... obsessed with you. As soon as he found out I was catching up with you the other week, he wouldn’t shut up about it. Kept saying how he used to track your missions when you were working off-book with Hawkeye and Widow.”

You raise your brows, crossing your arms. “Oh, cool. So he’s a stalker obsessed with a version of me from years ago? When I was training every day and hadn’t just been dragged out of retirement.”

Sam gives you a flat look. “Would you stop calling it retirement? It was an elective hiatus—at most—and you’re still in your physical prime.”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “Tell that to my knees.”

Sam smirks. “I’m sure Joaquín won’t mind if you can’t get on your knees. Laying down would be just as—”

You cross the room in one step and punch him in the shoulder. “Dude! Seriously?”

He chuckles. “Okay, look, I wasn’t lying about the mission. I really do need your help on this. And so what if maybe you find a little love along the way? You’re both into each other and I know you both very well. You’d be great together. Plus, you’re both equally irritating, so really, this is an entirely selfless act. Why would I want to double your annoyingness?”

You sigh and lean back, propping one arm on the post at the end of the stair banister. “It just doesn’t work like that, Sam. Not for people like us. We don’t date—it’s not realistic.”

He rolls his eyes again and pushes off the wall. “Whatever you say, Echo. But I can see the way you’re looking at him. So if you want me out of the house, just say so. I’ll go for a walk or something.”

Then he winks and turns into the small living room, making the cheap furniture look ridiculously tiny compared to his broad, geared-up physique.

After a hot minute of seriously considering whether or not you could get away with ditching this mission entirely, you sigh and follow Sam—stripping off your gear as you go.

You unzip your jacket and shrug it off, tossing it over the back of the couch as you pass through the living room. There’s a narrow archway leading into the kitchen, where Sam is already cracking open the fridge like he owns the place. You stop at the island counter and reach up to slide your weapons harness off your shoulders. It drops into your hands with a familiar weight before you set it on the bench.

Next, you unclip your belt and bend down to unfasten the straps of your thigh holsters, tugging them free one at a time. You reach lower, dragging a short dagger from your boot and adding it to the pile. Then your gloves—peeled off and tossed carelessly onto the heap of weapons—before grabbing the hem of your long-sleeved tactical shirt and yanking it over your head.

You’re down to your compression shirt—tight, unforgiving, and clinging to your body like a second skin—as you lean one hip against the counter and finally let out a breath.

“Damn,” a voice says behind you—Joaquín.

He’s standing just shy of the archway, making it look comically small with the bulk of his gear. His cheeks are flushed, dark curls damp with sweat, and his lips curved into a soft, crooked smirk.

You want to say something snarky—ask if he sees something he likes, maybe point out a non-existent drop of drool on his chin. But you can’t. Because you’re giving him the exact same look—all heat, all want, no shame.

Joaquín isn’t just gorgeous, he’s fucking badass too. You nearly lost your cool when he wrapped you in his arms during the earlier ambush, just before rocketing into the sky. You weren’t scared—just absurdly, wildly horny for the hot guy with mechanical wings flying you to safety.

“Alright, you two,” Sam says, dropping a half-empty bottle of orange juice on the counter. “Save the saucy looks for later. First, we need to get in touch with the Secretary of Defence—see if we can start an investigation into whoever attacked us. Then we’ll figure out how long we’re stuck here.”

Joaquín eyes the juice suspiciously. “How do you know that’s not expired?”

Sam lifts it up. “Oh, it’s very expired.” Then takes a swig anyway, grimacing as he swallows.

“Gross,” you mutter, turning toward the sink.

You twist on the tap and squirt a half-crusted blob of soap from the sad little pump bottle on the windowsill, scrubbing the dirt and dried blood—thankfully not yours—off your hands.

“Alright,” Joaquín says, “how do we contact the Secretary?”

Two weeks. It’s been two whole weeks of living in this godforsaken townhouse in bum-fuck suburbia, with barely any information on the assholes who forced you into hiding.

All you do know is that they were after you.

Yep. Someone’s been holding a serious grudge, just waiting for you to crawl out of retirement to make a move. So Sam made the call—told you to lay low at the safehouse, use an alias in case any nosy neighbours came sniffing around, and to simply wait while he tries to dig up more information on whoever sent the thugs.

And the worst part? He assigned Joaquín as your full-time protection detail.

Which means not only are you stuck in this crusty old house, but you’re stuck with one very attractive, very tempting man who apparently has no idea just how goddamn gorgeous he is.

“You finished with this?” Joaquín asks, brows raised as he slowly reaches for the plate in front of you.

You’re standing at the kitchen island, bent forward with your elbows on the bench and your chin resting in your palms. Across from you, Joaquín is washing dishes. Shirtless. Wearing nothing but a loose pair of grey sweats, skin still damp from the shower, curls sticking to his forehead, and looking like every fantasy you’ve ever had come to life.

“Hello?” he says, waving a soapy hand in front of your face. “Anyone home?”

You blink and force your eyes away from the absurd perfection of his body, dragging them up to his equally unfair face.

“Sorry,” you mutter, cheeks warming. “Yeah, I’m done.”

He flashes that boyish grin, picks up the plate, and turns back to the sink—letting you go right back to ogling him in peace.

Your eyes drift over the muscles in his back, watching them roll and flex as he scrubs. You’re nearly tempted to dirty another dish just to keep the view going. Because this? This right here—domestic Joaquín, shirtless and glistening—is enough to keep your imagination busy for a very long time.

Not that you’ve had much opportunity to indulge those fantasies, because Joaquín is here all the damn time. He only leaves when Sam calls him out—usually for groceries, clean clothes, or a quick intel drop.

You’re almost never in the house alone.

Which means your fantasies have been... limited. Mostly to rushed moments in the shower or late at night, when you’re pretty sure—hoping—that he’s asleep.

“You know,” he says, breaking you out of your dazed—and admittedly filthy—thoughts, “if someone told me a few weeks ago that I’d be stuck in a safehouse with the Red Echo, I probably would’ve fainted.”

You frown curiously, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

When he turns around, your breath catches. Yeah, okay, you saw his abs like five minutes ago, but that doesn’t make them any less ridiculously sexy.

“Why’s that?” you ask, determined not to let him fluster you any more than he already has.

His cheeks flush, eyes dropping to the dish towel he’s drying his hands with. “I was, like... obsessed with you. I’m sure Sam mentioned it. Used to track your missions with agents Barton and Romanoff. Thought you were the coolest assassin ever.”

You let out a soft laugh, straightening up and leaning a hip against the counter. “Do I live up to the legend, then?”

His eyes widen as he nods. “Oh, yeah. You’re badass.”

You feel your cheeks heat even more, quickly dropping your gaze to hide the stupid smile trying to sneak its way onto your face—just because he called you badass.

Despite living together for two weeks, you’ve mostly avoided getting too personal. Most of your time has been spent in companionable silence, watching TV or reading. When Sam’s over, you all talk and joke, but when you’re alone, you let the tension do the talking. Exchanging nothing more than heated glances and softly spoken words.

You’re not entirely sure why you’ve kept your distance—maybe because you know this is temporary, and you don’t want to get too attached. But it’s getting harder by the day. Joaquín is charming. And so painfully attractive that playing it cool is starting to feel impossible.

“It wasn’t that badass,” you say, folding your arms. “Working with Clint and Nat, I mean.”

He frowns, unconvinced. “I find that hard to believe.”

“No, really,” you insist. “It was brutal, mostly. I got beaten up, like, a lot. I wasn’t raised an assassin like they were—I had to learn. So if I wasn’t getting my ass handed to me in combat, it was one of them kicking my butt during training.”

He chuckles. “Really? Who was worse?”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling—his grin is stupidly infectious—and tilt your head in thought.

“Hm,” you hum. “I know I should say Nat, but... it was probably Clint.”

Joaquín raises a brow. “How?”

“Oh, he was like a drill sergeant. Had me learning everything, all at once. My hands were bleeding from archery, my limbs were bruised from hand-to-hand, and my head was always throbbing from getting slammed into mats. And he didn’t let up. Told me the enemy wouldn’t, so why should he— unless I was genuinely wrecked. Nat was a little more forgiving. I think her childhood made her more empathetic when it came to training. She didn’t want to push me too far. Clint, though? He needed me to be tough. It was a good dynamic—very good cop, bad cop.”

“Wow,” Joaquín murmurs, eyes a little dazed as he just stares at you.

You pause, brow furrowing. “What?”

He shrugs, tearing his gaze away as he turns to hang the dish towel over the oven handle.

“Nothing, just...” He looks up at you again, all warm eyes and stupidly perfect cheekbones—like he doesn’t realise how dangerous he is. “You’re really cool.”

“You’re pretty cool too, Falcon,” you say, letting a small smirk curl your lips. “With or without the wings—I know you’re a badass too.”

He meets your stare with dark eyes full of challenge. “I am pretty badass. Could probably give you a run for your money.”

The mood shifts, the light teasing between you pulled tighter—tension creeping in, hot and deliberate.

You arch a brow. “You think?”

He nods, arms crossing over his bare chest in a way that makes your thighs clench. “I do.”

“Bold, Torres,” you murmur, narrowing your eyes. “Care to prove it?”

He steps around the kitchen island—two strides and he’s in your space. “Name a time and place, cariño.”

“Right now,” you say, holding his heated stare. “Backyard.”

That panty-melting smile flashes across his face as he leans in. “You’re on.” Then his voice drops—lower, rougher, almost lethal. “Be lying if I said I haven’t been dying to get my hands on you.”

Your heart lurches, then takes off, sending a hot rush of blood straight to your head.

“Professionally, of course,” he adds quickly, and you might’ve believed the cool confidence if it weren’t for the blush creeping up to the tips of his ears.

“Of course,” you echo, your voice soft—breathless.

The air between you thickens, crackling with heat as your eyes lock—tension simmering, slow and dangerous.

Then his phone chimes, and you both flinch.

He moves to check it while you step back, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“Just Sam checking in,” he mutters, glancing up. “Should I tell him I’m about to kick your ass, or...?”

You roll your eyes. “Try it first. Before claiming victory.”

Then you turn and head into the small living room, taking a right at the front landing and making your way down the hall toward the back door.

The backyard isn’t much—patchy grass, some cracked pavers, and a chain-link fence that barely shields you from nosy neighbours. But right now, with Joaquín standing across from you, shirtless and barefoot in the glow of the setting sun, it might as well be an arena.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, all cocky grin and coiled muscle.

You roll your neck and stretch out your arms. “Oh, I’m ready.”

He waits a beat before making the first move—a quick step in, testing you with a light jab. You dodge easily, grabbing his wrist and twisting, using his momentum to spin him around. He grunts, surprised, but recovers fast, sweeping a leg toward yours.

You jump, laughing as you land and press your body into his from behind, locking an arm around his throat in a loose hold. “That all you got, Torres?”

He chuckles, low and warm. “Just getting started.”

He bucks back hard, breaking your hold, and in the scuffle, you both stumble—him catching your waist, you grabbing his shoulder—and suddenly, you're tangled, chest to chest, breathing hard.

“Careful,” he murmurs, his breath hot on your skin, “you might enjoy this a little too much.”

“Speak for yourself,” you shoot back, but your voice is ragged, traitorous.

He smirks and tries to pin you, but you twist at the last second, hooking your leg around his and taking him down—landing right on top of him.

Straddling him.

You both freeze.

Your thighs press against his hips, your palms on his bare chest, heat sparking where your skin meets. His hands hover near your waist, not quite touching, but God, you can feel the tension in his fingers, the flex of restraint.

“Not bad,” he says, voice low and uneven.

You smirk, grinding your hips just slightly—for dominance, of course. “Say it.”

He looks up at you like he’s starving. “You’re dangerous.”

“And?”

His hands finally settle on your hips. Firm. Possessive.

“And you’re really, really hot when you’re trying to beat the shit out of me.”

Your next breath shudders out of you.

And then the back door creaks open.

“Am I interrupting something?” Sam asks, arms crossed as he stands on the porch.

You jump off Joaquín like you’ve been burned, nervously brushing non-existent dust from your knees.

“Nope,” you say, way too fast. “Just sparring.”

Sam raises a brow. “Sure. Sparring. What’s that move called? Cowgirl?”

Joaquín, still on his back in the grass, just grins up at you. “Maybe we could try reverse later.”

You narrow your eyes, pursing your lips to keep from grinning. “Without an audience, preferably.”

“Promise?” he asks, his gaze shameless.

You can’t stop the quiet laugh that slips out as you shake your head, leaning forward to offer him a hand. Joaquín takes it, and you help him off the ground before turning back to Sam.

“So, Cap,” you say. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in,” he replies, eyes flicking suspiciously between the two of you. “I texted Joaquín to let him know I was dropping by.”

Joaquín scratches the back of his neck, sheepish. “Yeah... not gonna lie, I didn’t fully read the text.”

Sam raises his brows. “Distracted?”

His tone is playful, but you catch the underlying suggestion—it’s a test. Joaquín is still on duty. He’s your protection detail, and he’s supposed to be focused.

“It was my fault,” you jump in. “I bet him he couldn’t take me in hand-to-hand.”

Sam snorts. “Please. All you’d have to do is flash him a smile and he’d be on his knees.”

Joaquín’s jaw drops, his cheeks going a deep, furious red.

You turn to him, grinning. “Is that true?”

He stares at you with wide brown eyes. “I—I mean, well—no, but—”

“Save it, man,” Sam laughs. “You’re just digging yourself deeper.”

Despite the nerves fluttering in your chest, you keep your cool. You pat Joaquín’s bare chest—your palm lingering just long enough to feel the heat of his skin—before turning back to Sam and walking toward the porch.

It takes Joaquín a full minute to remember how to move, but eventually he follows. You all make your way inside and settle into the cramped little living space, listening closely as Sam delivers a brief—and rather disappointing—update.

They still don’t know much about who ordered the hit on you, but they’re not giving up. New leads might turn up in New York, and they’re even considering reaching out to the Winter Soldier and his new team.

“So what does that mean for us?” you ask, gesturing vaguely between you and Joaquín. “We’re surviving just fine, but I’d really like to get back to my life. And I’m sure Joaquín would—”

“Actually,” Joaquín cuts in, flashing that crooked grin that threatens to short-circuit your brain, “I think I’m having more fun here.”

He even throws in a wink for good measure.

You feel your cheeks warm, but Sam keeps talking, mercifully ignoring the exchange.

“I know it’s not ideal,” he says, “but it’s the safest place for you right now. And I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. I was the one who dragged you back to work, so I’m going to be the one to find these guys and stop them.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, sinking back into the couch. “Alright, fine. But if we’re stuck here indefinitely, I’ve got a list of demands.”

Sam nods. “Anything. Just say the word.”

The next afternoon, Sam returns with everything you asked for. He brings a large duffel packed with the exact clothes you requested, a trunk full of groceries—including all the pantry staples that the house has been lacking—and the box from under your bed containing... personal items.

“I had a Secret Service agent swing by your apartment,” Sam says, setting the box on the coffee table. “No one opened it, but something definitely started... buzzing on the way over.”

Your eyes go wide as you snatch the box off the table. “What the fuck, Sam?”

He chuckles. “Hey, you’re the one who needed it.”

“Yes,” you snap, cheeks burning. “Because it’s got personal shit like tampons and pads—which I’m going to need if we’re stuck here for another two weeks.”

Joaquín’s laugh carries from the kitchen, where he’s putting away the groceries. “What else is in the box?”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder, eyes narrowed and lips twitching. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Cool it, you two,” Sam says. “You might be stuck with each other for a while. Don’t make it weird.”

The next week is nothing if not weird. And tense. And so full of heat and frustration, you’re surprised the walls haven’t caught fire.

Because after that little spar in the backyard, something shifted—snapped, like a rubber band pulled too tight. Now, you and Joaquín just can’t seem to stay out of each other’s way, no matter how hard you try.

He’s everywhere. In the kitchen when you’re trying to make coffee—shirtless and smug, all lean muscle and unintentional teasing. He’s always leaning in too close, brushing your waist with his fingertips, pressing his body against yours to reach for something he absolutely does not need that badly.

And the couch. That small fucking couch that leaves no real space between the two of you. His leg against yours. His arm slung casually behind your shoulders. The whole tiny room suddenly suffocating with his heat, his scent, the sheer proximity of him turning your brain to static.

Then there’s the time you turned the corner just as he was grabbing his towel out of the dryer—both of you freezing as you came face to face with damp skin, low-slung fabric, and absolutely zero shame in his smirk.

In that moment, you decided—two could play at this game.

So, you stopped wearing pants. Not all the time—just before bed. Sometimes it’s little booty shorts, or cute boyleg underwear. But mostly, it’s just an oversized tee and nothing else.

And the way his eyes track your bare legs like he’s a man starved? Yeah. You’ve noticed.

But then there was the morning you’d opted for a bath instead of a shower—to deal with the ever-building frustration twisting low in your belly. You were already settled in the steaming tub, surrounded by bubbles, one of your favourite toys waiting on the vanity… when he fucking walked in.

You both froze. Eyes wide. Lips parted. His gaze drifted to the magenta-pink silicone on the counter. And then he grinned—slow, wicked, and impossible to look away from—before dragging his eyes back to yours.

You shouted at him to get the hell out. Which he did. Eventually. Without even pretending not to sneak one last glance at the toy.

That was the final straw.

You need boundaries. Rules. Anything to help you survive this unbearable, unrelenting tension crackling between you. Before one of you snaps and professionalism goes flying out the window.

“I think we need to set some ground rules,” you say, planting both hands on the kitchen island.

Joaquín turns away from whatever he’s stirring on the stove, brow raised and an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “Rules?”

You nod. “Yes. Boundaries. Something—anything—if we’re going to survive this.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Alright. What kind of boundaries?”

“First,” you say, narrowing your eyes at his bare chest, “you need to start wearing shirts.”

His brows lift, brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Really?”

You nod again, firm.

“Okay,” he says, “then you have to wear pants.”

“Fine,” you mutter.

“Fine,” he echoes, turning back to the pot on the stove.

“And you need to knock,” you add. “I don’t care what room it is, or if you just saw me walk away. Knock.”

He laughs, shoulders shaking as he stirs. “Noted. Must knock.”

“Good.”

You hesitate, debating how to phrase the next rule without admitting just how badly you want it.

“And no—” you clear your throat, “no touching.”

That gets his attention. He turns back around, smirk softer now, more curious than cocky. “No touching?”

“Exactly. If you need to get past me, just say ‘excuse me.’ And we can get Sam to bring over a bean bag or something. That couch is way too fucking small.”

He watches you closely, tongue dragging slowly across his bottom lip before he catches it between his teeth. The sight alone steals your breath—but then he moves. He steps away from the stove and toward you, all heat and intention, bringing with him that warm cinnamon scent that scrambles your thoughts and short-circuits every nerve ending in your body.

“You really don’t want me to touch you?” he asks, voice low.

“There’s…” you swallow, “there’s no need for you to touch me, so…”

He tilts his head. “Nothing you need that might require a little contact?”

You freeze, like your brain just blue-screened—unsure whether to slap him, kiss him, or straight-up combust.

“No,” you manage, though your voice is breathy. Traitorous.

“Okay,” he says easily. “I won’t touch you.” Then he leans in, voice low and smooth. “Not until you’re begging me to.”

Your breath hitches, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

He straightens, grin cocky. “You heard me.”

“You think I’m going to be begging you to touch me?”

He nods once. “Oh, yeah.”

You scoff. “No chance, Torres. If anything, you’re the one who’s going to crack first.”

“That so?” he says, arching a brow. “Sounds like a challenge.”

You take a step back, crossing your arms. “You’re on.”

His gaze tracks your face like he’s memorising it, heat pulsing between you. One wrong move and this whole damn place could go up in flames.

“Any other rules?” he asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, letting your eyes drop to his chest. “Now put on a shirt.”

He arches a brow, gaze dropping as he steps back just enough to get a better look. “Then you better put on some pants.”

“Fine,” you huff, turning on your heel and storming out of the kitchen.

Behind you, he lets out a low whistle, voice pitched just loud enough for you to hear. “You are fine.”

And the worst part? It still makes you blush. That smug little comment sparks something inside of you, heat curling low in your belly—warm, aching, and impossible to ignore.

You’re pretty sure you’ve just made the dumbest bet of your life.

After pulling on a pair of sweats and giving yourself a whispered—but stern—pep talk in the bathroom mirror, you head back downstairs. Joaquín’s got a shirt on now and is ladling something hot and delicious-smelling into a bowl.

“Smells good,” you say, stopping on the other side of the island counter.

He wipes the edge of the bowl with a dish towel before sliding it toward you. “It is good.”

Then he hands you a spoon before fixing his own bowl and standing across from you at the bench, just as you’re gently blowing on your first spoonful.

“Sopa de fideo,” he says. “Mexican noodle soup.”

You take a cautious taste—and nearly moan, just barely stopping the sound from crawling up your throat. But Joaquín isn’t stupid, he sees the way your eyes glaze over and your shoulders ease in quiet bliss.

“Told you it was good,” he says, wearing that infuriatingly smug look.

Your cheeks warm under his gaze—those big brown eyes locked on you as he lifts his spoon to his mouth. It shouldn’t be erotic. And yet, the way his lips close around the spoon before dragging it out again sends heat straight between your legs.

You swallow hard and prepare your next spoonful, letting it cool while praying he can’t read you as easily as you suspect he can.

“So, you cook and you fight. What’s your angle?”

He cocks an eyebrow as he swallows. “My angle?”

“You’re almost too good to be true,” you say, fighting the urge to melt at that stupidly gorgeous smirk. “So why are you single?”

He shrugs, casual as anything. “Just waiting for the right girl.”

Your brows lift. “Oh, really?”

He nods and takes another spoonful like it’s no big deal.

“What’s she like, then?” you ask, trying to match his calm confidence.

He grins—mischievous and warm, with a spark behind his eyes that makes your chest tighten.

“Oh, she’s awesome,” he says. “Total badass. Ex-assassin. Worked with the Avengers. Can definitely kick my ass—it’s super hot.”

You roll your eyes and shovel more noodles into your mouth before your smile gets out of hand.

“She’s stupid pretty too,” he adds. “But obviously doesn’t know it.”

Your face heats to an impossible degree, and you drop your gaze to your bowl, pretending to study the swirling noodles.

“And she’s smart,” he goes on, completely unperturbed. “Witty as hell. The verbal warfare? Honestly, it’s better than foreplay.”

You almost choke, barely managing to swallow without incident. When you look up, he’s just standing there, all cheeky and red-faced like he didn’t just soak your underwear with three lines of dialogue.

“Wow,” you mutter. “She sounds pretty great. Sure you’re up for the challenge, though?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he says, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on the counter. “I know her weakness.”

You lean forward too, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Kryptonite?”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes darkening. “Me.”

It’s just one word, but it slides in sharp and smooth—curling under your skin and lighting you up from the inside.

You want to reply—say something snarky, or at least tell him he’s full of shit—but you can’t. Your voice is stuck somewhere in your chest, tangled up with the fire burning hot and bright for the man grinning at you. And goddamn, he might just be right.

You finish your dinner in mostly comfortable silence, too flustered to manage much more than the occasional hum of agreement while Joaquín talks. His smile never fades, and that infuriating sparkle doesn’t leave his eye—not for a second. He knows he’s got you breathless, rattled, right where he wants you. And if you’ve got any hope of winning this bet, you’re going to need to flip the script.

“I’ll wash up,” you say, already rounding the island toward the sink.

He steps aside, placing his empty bowl into your outstretched hand with a note of hesitation.

“You sure?”

“You cooked,” you say with a nod. “I’ll clean.”

He moves a few more steps around the bench, trading places with where you’d eaten your dinner.

You turn to the sink and start the tap, sliding the plug into place before adding a generous squirt of dish soap to the growing pool of hot water. Then you move to the stove, wiping it down with a sudsy cloth and scrubbing at a few stubborn spots where the sauce had dried.

Once the sink is full, you plunge your hands into the bubbly water and start with the cutlery. You keep your head down and your eyes on the task, refusing to give in to the weight of Joaquín’s stare burning into your back.

“So,” he says after a beat, voice laced with something devious, “you clean and you fight. Why are you single?”

You roll your eyes, grateful he can’t see the stupid smile tugging at your lips.

“That’s kind of a long story,” you reply.

He chuckles. “Baby, we’re stuck here indefinitely. No story could be that long.”

Your heart stutters at the pet name. It’s tossed out casually, with no serious intent—but it still leaves you feeling way too warm.

“I guess not,” you say with a breathy laugh. “I’m single because I choose to be—after a series of poor decisions. And I became single after my last boyfriend because... well, apparently my taste in men needs work.”

“How bad are we talking?” he asks.

You shift a handful of soapy cutlery into the empty side of the sink and rinse them under the cold tap.

“Short version? He was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent turned HYDRA,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “The long version involves a lot of weird behaviour, some questionable kinks, too many fights to count, and probably one of the most violent breakups in history.”

Joaquín raises his brows. “You kicked his ass, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply, turning back to the sink.

“Good,” he says simply.

You reach back into the water, feeling around for any remaining cutlery when—

“Fuck,” you hiss, yanking your hand out of the sink.

Blood smears across your knuckles and trickles down your wrist in a messy streak of crimson and bubbles.

“What happened?” Joaquín is beside you in an instant, his eyes wide, hands hovering like he wants to help but isn’t sure where to start.

“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “I’m fine. It’s not that deep—it just looks worse with the water—”

“Pause the bet,” he says firmly, cutting you off as he steps in and gently wraps his hand around your wrist.

“Joaquín,” you sigh, “I’m okay. I’ve had worse.”

He doesn’t look up. His eyes stay fixed on your hand, brow furrowed. “I don’t care. I’m helping you.”

He leaves your side for only a second to grab the first aid kit from the cupboard above the stove. Then, without a word, he takes your uninjured hand and leads you to the lounge.

“Sit,” he says, voice low.

You do as you're told, sinking into the cushions as your heart thunders in your chest. He sits beside you—close. Too close. His thigh presses against yours, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. And his scent—ugh—like fresh-cut cedar and rain-damp leaves. But there’s heat beneath it, too. Something rougher. Like sweat, smoke, and the kind of trouble that finds you even when you hide.

“You alright?” he asks, opening the kit on the coffee table.

You straighten, quickly realising that you'd been slowly leaning into him.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “I’m good. Sorry.”

He chuckles softly, then takes your injured hand again—holding it in his lap like it’s the most important thing in the world. He works quietly, carefully, seemingly unaware of the tension crackling between you as his fingers graze yours with the utmost care.

It’s almost hypnotic, the way he moves—cleaning the blood, dabbing antiseptic, wrapping your knuckles with gauze. But even when he’s finished, he doesn’t pull away. His touch lingers, his thumb stroking softly over the delicate bone in your wrist.

His eyes flick to yours, then drop to your mouth—lingering there as he leans in.

“You know,” he murmurs, “if it weren’t for this bet…”

His hot breath brushes your lips, and your heart starts to beat so hard you wonder if you’ll survive it.

"You’d what?" you ask, trying to sound steady—but your voice betrays you.

“I’d kiss you,” he whispers.

Your breath catches. Your chest aches. Your pulse is a drumbeat in your ears—so loud you can’t hear a single thought.

You want to let him. You want to close the space between you and let him do every wicked thing he’s thinking. But you can’t. You won’t. You need to win.

Instead, you smile—slow and dangerous.

“Bet’s back on, Torres,” you say, standing as you slide your hand from his.

You head back to the kitchen, steady and deliberate, refusing to let him see just how much he’s gotten to you.

Behind you, he exhales a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

You don’t look back, but your grin is smug—and you just know his is cocky. He’s loving the chase just as much as you’re loving the game.

Back at the sink, you crouch down to rummage through the cupboard for the pair of rubber gloves you know you saw earlier. Once you find them, you slide them on with a snap and return to washing up, ignoring Joaquín’s protests.

Eventually, he gives up with a dramatic sigh and grabs a dish towel, falling into step beside you to dry and put things away. The air between you simmers with silence—thick and heavy, like steam clinging to your skin. You exchange the occasional quiet ‘excuse me’, the barest brush of hands, and a few glances that linger a second too long. But mostly, it’s just tension. Hot and unbearable.

The kitchen is too small. The space between counters is too narrow. And Joaquín is far too fucking attractive to focus on anything else. That soft smile. Those gentle, dark eyes. The sharp cut of his jaw, dusted with just a hint of stubble. And his curls—God, those curls. They make your fingers twitch with the urge to sink in and pull.

As soon as you finish wiping down the sink and peeling off your gloves, you open your mouth to say you’re heading to bed—but Joaquín beats you to it.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night,” he says, already edging out of the kitchen. “I know it’s early, but I’m... spent.”

You nod, heartbeat still a little too fast. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I’ll be quick in the bathroom,” he adds, flashing a soft smile. “Good night.”

“Night, Torres.”

And then he’s gone.

You wait a few minutes before following, keeping yourself busy by wiping down the benches—again—and tidying the lounge room. Once you hear the soft click of his bedroom door shutting, you quietly pad upstairs and slip into the bathroom.

You’ve each got a drawer in the vanity now, and you’ve promised not to look in the other’s... though the curiosity is killing you. Not that you really care about toothbrushes and dental picks—because of course he uses them. Have you seen those teeth? No, what you’re more interested in is whether there are any... toys. Or condoms.

Because really, why would he need condoms at a safehouse?

To fuck you, maybe?

God, you hope so.

Barely clinging to your restraint, you brush your teeth, wash your face, and tiptoe into your room.

The house is almost too quiet tonight. And oppressively warm. You’re not sure if it’s the creeping summer heat—or just the tension between you and Joaquín—but either way, you need to let off some steam.

There’s only one thin wall between your room and his, which isn’t ideal for what you’re about to do—but you’re pretty sure you’ll go insane if you don’t. So you suck in a deep breath and quietly slide the box from under your bed, picking out your quietest—you hope—vibrator before climbing up onto the mattress.

Every shift of the sheets and every sharp inhale feels too loud in the dark room. You try to stay still, to keep calm, but your body won’t listen. It’s too wound up. Too eager.

You shimmy out of your underwear and toss them toward the foot of the bed, letting your knees fall open as you move the toy to the apex of your thighs. You’re just about to press the little button when—

A groan.

Soft. Clipped short. But it definitely happened.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, scrambling onto your knees.

You know Joaquín’s room mirrors yours—bedhead pressed against the same wall—so you inch up and press your ear to it, holding your breath. Listening.

There’s the quiet rustle of sheets. Barely audible. The faint whisper of wind—your window, probably. And then—a sigh. Soft and breathy.

Your eyes widen as you lean impossibly close.

Another groan—louder this time. Not stifled.

Oh, God. Is this real?

Then you hear it. The quiet slap of skin on skin. A steady rhythm, fast and getting faster.

Holy fucking shit.

You drop back onto the mattress, toy still in hand, and resume your position. You suck in a breath as you press the cool silicone to your core, hissing it out through your teeth at the contact.

Then—a hitched breath. Sheets shifting. Silence.

Oh. He heard you.

Fighting a wicked grin, you press the button and the toy hums to life in your hand—a soft whimper escaping your lips as you melt into the pillows.

Through the wall, you hear a strangled, “Fuck.”

Your heart leaps—racing now, pounding against your ribs.

You squeeze your eyes shut and picture him. Sprawled on the bed. Eyes dark and dazed. Boxers shoved halfway down his thighs. Hand wrapped tightly around his cock.

It makes your thighs quiver.

Another groan rumbles through the wall, and you arch into the toy, pretending it’s him instead—his hand, his mouth, his breath hot on your skin.

“Oh,” you sigh, all hesitation gone. “Joaquín.” His name slips from your lips like a prayer. Barely audible—but you know he hears it.

Because his rhythm falters—then quickens. His breath is shallow and sharp now, rough and uneven.

Normally, you’d take your time—drag it out until the ache is unbearable. But not tonight. You can’t stop. You won’t. Not with the image of him burning in your mind—eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed, lips pink and parted as he pants.

You’re already close. So close.

And by the sound of his soft whimpers—threaded with your name—he is too.

You bite your lip to hold in a moan, desperate to hear his sounds over your own, but it escapes anyway—soft and broken.

Then you hear him. A low groan. Raw and wrecked.

You writhe against the sheets, your hand shaking as it clutches the toy. Whispers. Sighs. Soft moans—some his, some yours. At this point, you can’t even tell. All of it winds tight behind your hipbones, pressure threatening to burst.

Then his breath hitches. Stutters. Breaks. And your name—your name—leaves his mouth in a low, guttural groan.

It isn’t quiet.

It isn’t hesitant.

It’s loud. And it’s enough.

You break.

His name tumbles from your lips, over and over, a reverent chant as you fall over the edge—boneless, breathless, and blushing.

You wake too hot and far too exposed, sunlight spilling through the blinds you forgot to close. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, your thoughts still slow and hazy—

Then you bolt upright, the memory of last night burning fresh in your mind.

Fuck.

The sound of the bathroom door closing—right across the hall—makes you jump. Your head snaps toward your own door, left ajar in your rush to get to bed. God, that was stupid.

After a solid ten minutes of berating yourself for acting like a cat in heat, you finally drag yourself out of bed and pull out some clothes. You wait until you hear Joaquín leave the bathroom before darting across the hall and practically slamming the door behind you.

You spend longer than usual in the shower, one eye on the door through the fogged glass. You’re not sure what you’re hoping for—maybe that he’ll walk in by accident again. Or on purpose. Maybe join you. Show you exactly what he’d been doing to himself last night.

The thought alone makes you ache, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

You shut off the water, dry off, get dressed, and brace yourself to face the man who starred in every hot dream you had last night.

Maybe you need a new house rule: no mutual masturbation through the wall.

“Morning,” Joaquín says the second you step into the kitchen.

He’s leaning against the counter beside the coffee machine, one hand cradling a mug and the other braced casually behind him. His eyes are dark and wicked, glinting with something that makes your heart stutter.

“Morning,” you mutter, keeping your gaze low as you head for the fridge.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

You swallow hard, willing your cheeks not to flush. The asshole knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Yeah,” you say lightly. “Great sleep. You?”

“Best I’ve had since getting here.”

You nod, lips pursed as you pretend to study the fridge’s pitiful contents. “That’s good.”

A beat of silence follows—thick and humming with everything you’re both refusing to say.

Then he breaks it with a simple, “Coffee?”

Your stomach growls in response, and when you glance over your shoulder, it feels like all the air has been knocked out of you by just how downright delicious he looks. He’s in a muscle tee, arms bare and still gleaming from the shower, curls damp and falling over his forehead. His smile is devastating—lazy and knowing—and has no business affecting the parts of your body that it is.

You snap your eyes to the machine instead, clearing your throat. “Yes, please.”

He nods, sets down his mug, and reaches into the cupboard for a clean one. You stay planted on your side of the kitchen island, knowing damn well that you might not make it out of this room with your dignity intact if you get any closer to him.

It doesn’t take long before he sets the steaming mug of fresh coffee on the bench in front of you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, wrapping your hands around it.

He nods, watching as you blow gently across the surface of the liquid.

When you glance up, he raises his brows—a silent question.

“It’s hot,” you say simply.

He chuckles, low and warm. “Like last night.”

Your eyes go wide, and you nearly drop the mug.

“The temperature,” he amends quickly. “Just couldn’t cool down. Summer is definitely on its way.”

You narrow your eyes, carefully setting the mug back on the counter as you drag your tongue along your top teeth. He just stands there—smug and unrelenting.

“What happened to boundaries?” you ask, arching a brow.

He laughs again, and the sound is somehow hotter than the coffee. “What do you mean? A wall is a boundary, isn’t it?”

Then he turns, drops his mug in the sink, and flashes you one last, infuriating wink before strolling out of the kitchen—like he didn’t just fry every nerve ending in your body.

You spend the rest of the day avoiding him.

You can’t so much as be in the same room without seeing mental images of him sprawled naked on his bed, getting himself off to the thought of you.

And God, doesn’t he know it.

The smug smile on his lips hasn’t faltered in hours. Every time you pass him—every time you glance at his stupidly handsome face—there it is. Those pretty pink lips, curled into the most delicious, insufferable smirk you’ve ever seen.

If Sam doesn’t find whoever’s trying to kill you soon, you might just die stuck in this safehouse with Joaquín.

Then it hits you.

You’re out on the back porch, a book in your lap, pretending to read when the idea flashes through your mind like a lightbulb flicking on. Your eyes go wide and you shoot up from the old porch swing, your book dropping to the ground as you sprint into the house.

“Joaquín!” you call. “Joaquín, I think I know who it is!”

You turn into the lounge room—empty.

Then duck into the kitchen—also empty.

When you spin around to double back and check the other side of the house, you run right into him. Chest-first. Firm, warm… and damp.

You glance up. “What the fuck?”

He’s in gym clothes, sweat trailing from his cheekbone to his jaw, curls sticking adorably to his glistening skin. He must’ve been working out. Where? You have no idea. But whatever he was doing was clearly working his body, and it’s probably a good thing you hadn’t witnessed it. You might’ve dropped dead on the spot.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, slightly breathless, a hint of panic in his tone.

You step back quickly, dragging your eyes up to his face—away from the tight gym clothes that are making your mouth water.

“I—I think I know who it could be,” you say.

He frowns. “Who?”

“Whoever’s after me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Remember last night, I told you about my ex?”

He nods.

“Well… when we broke up, it was messy. He tried to get me to join HYDRA. Told me he loved me and couldn’t live without me. Said I didn’t know the whole story, but once I did, I’d want to join them.” You hesitate. “I told him to eat a bag of dicks. Then it got physical. We fought. He almost had me—but I got lucky. I couldn’t kill him, though. So I let him go.”

You feel almost stupid admitting it, but Joaquín doesn’t look even remotely judgmental.

“The last thing he said to me,” you continue, “was that he’d never give up. That he’d find a way to get me back or—”

“Or what?” Joaquín prompts.

“Or he’d kill me.”

His brows shoot up. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, that’s probably something you should’ve told Sam earlier.”

You shrug, sheepish. “I kind of forgot. I didn’t take it seriously. He always said stupid, dramatic stuff like that.”

Joaquín blinks hard, like he’s physically stopping himself from rolling his eyes. “You really need better taste in men.”

You glance up at him through your lashes, dragging your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’ve got much better taste now.”

He inhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut like you’re dangling a drug in front of a recovering addict.

“You’re going to kill me,” he mutters, stepping back. “We need to call Sam.”

You nod, eyes shamelessly glued to his ass as he turns away. “Yeah. Call Sam.”

A few hours later, under the cover of darkness, Sam arrives, and you all gather around the small kitchen island to discuss the possibility that your ex is behind the attack.

It all seems to add up, and Sam quickly calls the contact in the Secretary’s office who’s helping him. He explains the situation, gives your ex’s name, and starts organising a team to locate and apprehend him.

You want to ask if you can come along—this is your mess, after all—but you know he won’t say yes. And a small part of you wants to stay here, in the house with Joaquín, because suddenly this little townhouse feels a lot less godforsaken than it did before. And you don’t really want to leave…

“Alright,” Sam says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “They’re looking for him now. They’ll let me know as soon as they have any leads, and then we’re going in. He’s been mostly MIA for the past few years, but when he’s popped up, it’s been suspicious.”

You nod. “So, he’s still HYDRA?”

Sam shrugs. “I’m not even sure HYDRA is still operating. But whatever he’s up to, it’s definitely nothing good.”

“Why?” Joaquín asks, his eyes locked on you, a playful smirk trying to appear but looking a little forced. “Thinking about getting back together?”

You narrow your eyes, lips pulling into a soft, amused smile. “Torres, are you irrationally jealous of my ex?”

He scoffs. “No. Absolutely not. Just—”

“Oh, man,” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “What the hell have I done leaving you two alone for this long?”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, Sam.”

Joaquín chuckles.

Sam’s eyes narrow at you, amusement written all over his face. “Did I hit a nerve?”

You ignore him and turn to leave the kitchen.

“You know,” he calls after you, “you have my blessing. If you two want to fuck, I don’t—”

“I’m going to shower now,” you cut in, shooting a lethal glare over your shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

You hear them both giggling as you ascend the stairs, rolling your eyes again when you reach your room. You grab some clean clothes and carry them into the bathroom—only to realize your towel is still in the dryer. You start the shower, letting it heat up, then duck out and begin heading downstairs to get to the laundry.

But then you hear your name and freeze mid-step, leaning over the banister to listen closer.

“So,” Sam says, “you two haven’t… you know?”

“No,” Joaquín replies. “We haven’t slept together.”

Sam chuckles. “You sure? Because you can practically taste the sexual tension in here.”

There’s a brief pause, then a heavy breath—Joaquín’s, you assume.

“Something… kind of happened last night.”

Your eyes go wide. No way he’s about to tell Sam—

“We could hear each other,” he says, “through the wall.”

Another pause.

“Doing what?” Sam asks slowly, as if unsure he really wants the answer.

“You know,” Joaquín says. “Getting off.”

“Oh, my God!” Sam exclaims.

You drop your head into your hands, cheeks burning against your palms.

“Shut up, dude!” Joaquín hisses. “I doubt she’d want me to tell you that.”

“Then why did you?”

“You basically asked!”

Sam scoffs. “I asked if you’d slept together. Not if you’d jerked off on opposite sides of the wall. Jesus Christ, how old are you? Eighteen?”

“Shut up,” Joaquín mutters, his voice muffled like he’s covering his face.

You start quietly continuing down the stairs, deciding you’ve eavesdropped enough. Until—

“Okay,” Sam says, “so if you’re into each other, why haven’t you slept together?”

“I don’t know, really,” Joaquín replies. “She’s cautious, I think. And I don’t want to pressure her. But God, it’s so fucking hard.”

Sam chuckles. “I bet it is.”

“Dude,” Joaquín says, deadpan.

“What?”

Joaquín sighs, exasperated. “Look, I really like her. She’s so much cooler than I ever imagined. I don’t want to blow it by—”

“Blowing it?” Sam cuts in.

“How old are you?” Joaquín fires back, and you can almost picture him narrowing his eyes at his mentor.

“Sorry,” Sam mutters, though he’s still laughing softly. “I’ll stop.”

“Good,” Joaquín says, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to ask her out properly once all this shit is over. I want to try actually dating her. Like, romantic-styles.”

Your heart thuds harder in your chest, your pulse pounding in your throat.

“Romantic-styles?” Sam repeats.

“Yeah. Like flowers and dates, stolen kisses, late-night talks, anniversaries, handmade cards—”

“Making love under the moonlight?” Sam interjects, voice dramatically wistful.

“Yes,” Joaquín says firmly. “I want to make love to her under the moonlight, goddammit. I want all the dumb, romantic, cheesy shit you see in movies. Because I like her. A lot.”

Sam whistles under his breath. “Damn, son. I think you’re whipped.”

“Shut up,” Joaquín mutters.

You’re frozen halfway down the hall toward the laundry. Your cheeks are burning, your heart is racing, and you can’t remember how to breathe. Everything Joaquín said is possibly the lamest thing you’ve ever heard—in real life—but somehow, it’s making your head spin and your chest ache.

Then you hear footsteps.

Startled, you hurry down the hall, silently thanking your years of training for lightning-fast reflexes. You duck into the laundry, grab your towel from the dryer, check the hall is clear, and bolt back upstairs.

Then you lock yourself in the bathroom. Panting like you’ve just run a marathon and blushing like a fool in love.

After an intentionally cold shower, you throw on a pair of sweats and an oversized tee before making your way back downstairs. The house smells like roasted garlic with a hint of herbs—rosemary and thyme, you think—and the closer you get to the kitchen, the richer and more mouthwatering it becomes.

By the time you step into the kitchen, you’re practically drooling. And not just because of the drop-dead gorgeous man at the stove, cooking like it’s his own personal brand of foreplay.

“Damn,” you sigh. “That smells incredible.”

Joaquín grins over his shoulder, flipping something in the pan without even looking. “Garlic and herb roasted chicken, with caramelised onion and sweet potatoes.”

You lean forward and rest your elbows on the kitchen island, propping your chin in your hands. “It’s like you walked straight out of some lonely housewife’s favourite sexual fantasy.”

Sam chuckles from across the room, one shoulder braced against the wall. “You sure it’s not your fantasy?”

You roll your eyes. “Why are you even still here? Shouldn’t you be out looking for my asshole ex?”

“I’m off the clock until we’ve got a confirmed location,” he says with a smug grin. “And Joaquín invited me to stay for dinner.”

You stand upright, crossing your arms and scowling at him. “This is a safehouse, Sam. We’re supposed to be undercover, not hosting dinner parties.”

He raises a brow. “If you want to talk about the stuff you’re not supposed to be doing in this house, we can—”

“Okay!” Joaquín cuts in, just a little too loudly. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s plate up.”

You and Sam both glance at him with narrowed, knowing eyes. His cheeks are pink, brows lifted, and his mouth is pressed into a tight smile.

With a sigh, you decide to let it go and start laying out plates and cutlery while Joaquín serves. Each of you gets a full plate of the mouthwatering dinner he’s somehow whipped up, despite constantly complaining about the grocery situation Sam leaves him with. Then you all move into the dining room on the opposite side of the entrance hall from the lounge. You’ve barely used it since hiding out here. It’s small, just like the rest of the house, and wouldn’t comfortably seat more than four people around the circular table.

It’s quiet at first—the only sound the soft scrape of cutlery on plates as you all dig into what is, frankly, an obnoxiously delicious meal. You can feel Sam’s eyes flicking between you and Joaquín, that annoying little half-smirk tugging at his lips.

You can also feel the heat of Joaquín’s thigh brushing close to yours—because for some stupid reason, you decided to sit next to him instead of Sam.

“She’s all tough now,” Sam says, leaning toward Joaquín and eyeing you as you sip your wine, “but just wait until she’s had two more glasses.”

You set your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “I will bury you in the backyard, Wilson.”

Joaquín chuckles, eyes still on you even as he mutters to Sam, “Pretty sure that’s the fourth time today she’s threatened someone with murder.”

Sam raises his brows, that smirk deepening. “And you still want to date her?”

Joaquín grins—all cocky charm and perfect teeth. “Are you kidding? That’s half the appeal.”

Your wide eyes snap to his, heat rising from your chest right up to the tips of your ears.

“What?” he says with a casual shrug. “It’s true.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pinch the bridge of your nose, silently begging the floor to swallow you whole—just to escape his stupidly perfect face… and Sam’s insufferably smug one.

After a beat of silence—far too brief for your liking—Sam starts up again, eyes locked on you and sparkling with mischief.

“So, what happens if it is this ex-boyfriend of yours?” he asks.

You raise a brow, swallowing your mouthful of food before replying, “Isn’t that your job, Captain America? Last I checked, lowly civilians like me don’t get to decide the fate of the bad guys.”

“But if you could,” he presses, propping one elbow on the table, “what would you decide?”

You bite your lip, gaze drifting to a blank spot on the wall behind him as you consider it.

“I’d probably kill him,” you say simply. “Or send him to the Raft.”

Sam’s brows lift. “Really? That harsh?”

You nod, stabbing a piece of potato like it insulted your bloodline. “He’s an asshole. And obviously a dangerous one. So if it’s between my life and his? I pick mine.”

“Wow,” Sam mutters, glancing down at his plate.

You frown. “Why is that surprising? He’s a dirtbag.”

“I mean, now he is,” Sam says with a shrug, his eyes sliding—none too subtly—toward Joaquín, “but from what I heard, the two of you were pretty serious. Like, real serious.”

“From what you heard?” you echo, incredulous.

“Yeah. Barton and Romanoff used to mention it. Apparently, you were talking marriage. Settling down. Getting out of the game.”

You drop your knife and fork like they’ve scalded you, lips parting in disbelief at the sheer nerve of the man across from you.

Joaquín shifts beside you, visibly tense. His jaw works as he stares down at his plate, knuckles white around his cutlery.

“Seriously, Sam?” you ask, leaning forward. “You’re asking me if I’m still in love with the man we think just put a hit out on me?”

Sam just nods and pops another bite of chicken into his mouth, utterly unfazed.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then—

“Are you?” Joaquín asks.

Your eyes snap to him, brow furrowed. “No, you idiot. I’m not.”

Then you turn back to Sam, who’s clearly seconds away from laughing. “And you—what the hell was that? Just because I once considered marrying someone I was in a committed relationship with doesn’t mean I’m still hung up on him. In fact, if he wasn’t actively trying to kill me, I wouldn’t even be thinking about him right now. Because you know what? The only goddamn thing on my mind lately is this—” you shoot a pointed look at Joaquín, heat blooming in your chest— “this unholy combination of soft curls and filthy intentions—which, by the way, you are one hundred percent aware of.”

Sam makes a choking noise, but you don’t stop.

“So don’t play dumb. Or coy. Or whatever little psychological warfare tactic you think you’re running to stir shit up. We don’t need your help turning up the tension in this house.” You stand abruptly, flustered and flushed. “It is already stifling in here. And I swear to God, I am this close to snapping.”

Then you pick up your plate, turn on your heel, and storm back through the house toward the kitchen—heart pounding in your ears, and face so hot you’re amazed you haven’t already burst into flames.

“What did she just call me?” you hear Joaquín ask.

Sam chuckles. “I believe it was an unholy combination of soft curls and filthy intentions.”

Joaquín laughs quietly, and you hate the way the sound alone makes you smile.

“Damn,” he mutters.

“She likes you, Falcon,” Sam teases. “The big bad assassin lady likes you.”

You roll your eyes and drop your plate on the kitchen island, deciding to finish the annoyingly delicious dinner before cleaning up.

Fifteen minutes later, once you’ve decided you’ve regained enough dignity to face them again, you move your empty plate to the sink and head back to the dining room. Without saying a word, you stack their plates in one hand and grab your wine glass with the other, downing the rest of it in two bitter gulps.

Then you return to the kitchen to start washing up, half-listening as their conversation drifts from the dining room to the lounge.

Once everything is clean, you refill everyone’s wine glasses and join them in the lounge room, dragging a chair in from the dining room since there’s no space left on the tiny couch.

Thankfully, the conversation doesn’t stray far from work. Joaquín asks Sam about the plan once they manage to locate your ex, and Sam reassures him that they—whoever he’s working with—have it covered. You can tell from Joaquín’s steady stream of questions that he’s worried. And it’s not just the standard concern for civilian safety. He’s worried about you.

And damn if that doesn’t make your heart ache a little.

Eventually, Sam flicks on the TV and picks a movie. You can tell he’s had enough of Joaquín’s interrogation, so you play along and pretend to be invested in whatever crappy comedy he’s chosen.

On your way to refill everyone’s glasses, you grab a spare blanket and lay it out on the lounge room floor. Then you steal two cushions off the couch and settle down on the blanket, wine in hand, pretending to watch the screen while trying very hard to ignore the weight of Joaquín’s gaze.

An hour and almost two bottles of wine later, the movie ends, the screen bathing the dark room in soft white light as the credits roll.

“Alright,” Sam sighs, tipping the last of his wine into his mouth. “No way I’m getting home now. I’ll crash on the couch.”

You and Joaquín snap toward him in unison—eyes wide, lips tight.

“What?” he deadpans. “I’ve had too many drinks and I don’t feel like catching a cab. You two can keep it in your pants for one more night.”

Joaquín takes a long breath through his nose, his jaw flexing with tension. You’re not sure what shifted in the last couple of hours—maybe Sam’s meddling worked—but the tension in the room is unbearable. Your heart won’t slow down, your skin feels too hot, and honestly, if you don’t feel Joaquín’s hands on you soon, you might actually go feral. Claws out, back arched, hissing kind of feral.

“Alright,” Joaquín mutters through clenched teeth. “Take the couch.”

You collect the empty glasses and take them to the kitchen while Joaquín grabs the blanket from the floor and drapes it over Sam, who’s settling into the world’s smallest couch like he owns the place. Then you move quietly back through the lounge room and meet Joaquín at the bottom of the stairs. The air between you is practically humming—so thick with tension one spark might blow the whole house sky-high.

“G’night,” Sam mumbles, entirely too smug.

“Night,” Joaquín replies, clipped.

“Night,” you echo, with a glare over your shoulder. “Hope your back hurts in the morning.”

Sam chuckles behind you, completely unbothered by the two of you stomping up the stairs like thunder.

You head straight for the bathroom, flicking on the too-bright light before stopping in front of the vanity and grabbing your toothbrush from the cup beside the sink.

Your reflection is a perfect mirror of how you're feeling—which is absolutely and completely wrecked. Your hair’s a mess, your lips wine-stained, your cheeks flushed, and your eyes wide and dark with an unrecognisable kind of hunger.

It’s almost laughable, the way your reflection exposes just how utterly undone you are by the man standing beside you.

Joaquín grabs his toothbrush and silently takes the tube of toothpaste from your outstretched hand. Then you both take turns wetting your brushes before wordlessly starting to brush your teeth.

You glance at him in the mirror, shamelessly studying the pretty features of his perfect face—soft curls, straight nose, sharp jaw, and those same wide, hungry eyes staring intently at his own reflection.

His elbow brushes yours, but he doesn’t seem to notice—not in the same way you do, at least. A sharp jolt of electricity shoots up your arm and through your shoulder, making you shiver.

He catches your eye in the mirror and pauses, quirking a brow—just the tiniest, stupidest smirk. But it still sends your heart vaulting into your throat.

The heat in your cheeks intensifies as you duck your head and focus on rinsing. The water is cold as you splash it over your mouth, but it does nothing to cool the fire simmering beneath your skin.

“This is torture,” he mutters.

You dry your mouth on a towel before straightening, frowning at him in the mirror. “What?”

He gives you a flat look. “This. You. Me. Captain fucking America sleeping on the couch.”

Your breath stutters, and you have to grip the counter to steady yourself. “It’s one night. We can do one more night.”

Joaquín blinks, then turns toward you—actually looking at you, not your reflection. “One more night,” he says quietly. “Then what?”

Your eyes drop to his lips, lingering there as his tongue flicks between them. “You know what.”

“Say it,” he mutters, stepping closer.

Your breath hitches, still locked on his mouth.

“One more night,” he repeats slowly. “Then… what?”

You let out a shaky breath and take a reluctant step back. “Then…” You swallow, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Then you fuck me so hard I forget why we waited this long.”

He stops breathing.

His eyes go wide—impossibly dark. His whole body goes still.

Your stomach flips. Your knees wobble. But somehow you keep moving, brushing past him and walking straight into your room.

You feel the heat of his gaze on your back. The phantom drag of his fingers down your spine—even though he hasn’t touched you. Not properly. Not since you made up that stupid, wildly ineffective rule.

You shut the door without looking back, not trusting yourself to survive what you’d see—him, still standing there. Mouth open, eyes black, foamy toothbrush dangling stupidly from his lips.

God, even dental hygiene is sexy when he does it.

You fall face-first onto the bed, groaning into the sheets.

It’s going to be a long fucking night.

You spend an hour trying to fall asleep. Tossing, turning, blankets on, blankets off. One pillow, two pillows, fluffed pillow, no pillow. Nothing helps.

Sleep evades you.

You’re too hot. Too wound up. The wine and the tension are thrumming through your veins like electricity. Your pulse won’t slow. Your breath won’t settle. All you can think about is Joaquín—his stupid smile, his eyes, his lips, his hands. The way all of it would feel against your burning skin. The way he’d unravel the knot sitting low and tight behind your hipbones, slow and deliberate and maddening.

It’s too much. You can barely breathe.

You need to do something.

After what feels like an eternity, you throw the blankets off and lean over the side of the bed, reaching underneath until your fingers find the box. You slide it out and fumble through its contents for your little bullet vibrator. It’s not the quietest, but it’s efficient—and at this point, you don’t care what Joaquín hears. You just need release.

You use your phone’s flashlight illuminate the box, but after a few seconds of empty searching, you remember… it’s in the bathroom drawer.

Of course it is.

With a quiet sigh, you swing your legs off the bed and pad softly to the door, careful not to let the squeaky hinges whine too loudly. You don’t bother with the lights as you tiptoe into the bathroom, stepping up to the vanity and slowly sliding open the top drawer—your drawer.

You quickly find the small vibrator and wrap your fingers around it before gently shutting the drawer. Then you turn and tiptoe out of the bathroom, your bedroom door in sight when—

Joaquín steps into your path. Shirtless. Curls a mess. Nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips.

You duck your head and try—feebly—to sidestep him, but he moves with you, crowding into your space until your spine meets the bathroom doorframe.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice low and rough.

He steps in closer, slow and deliberate, and the hallway suddenly feels too small. Too warm. His face is cast in soft shadow, but you can still see every perfect line—sharp cheekbones, full lips, that frustratingly elegant nose. The kind of face sculptors dream of and sinners pray to.

But it’s his eyes that undo you.

Dark. Wild. Burning with something untamed. Hunger, yes—but barely restrained. Like he’s holding himself back with a single fraying thread, one you’re both terrified and desperate to snap.

You manage the smallest nod.

He edges even closer, his bare chest now just a breath from your peaked nipples beneath your thin cotton shirt.

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” you murmur, voice embarrassingly breathless.

His jaw ticks as he looks at you—like he’s trying not to do something reckless. Then his tongue slides slowly across his bottom lip. “You’re not wearing pants.”

“Guess we’re both breaking rules,” you whisper.

He lifts a hand to your face, knuckles grazing from your cheekbone down to your jaw. “What’s one more, then?”

Your breath hitches, heart pounding in your throat. “Which one?”

He hums softly, his eyes trained on his fingers as they ghost along your jaw and down the column of your throat.

“Guess,” he says quietly.

Then he grips your chin. Hard. Fingers digging into your jaw, forcing your mouth open.

“You have no fucking idea how hard it’s been not to touch you,” he growls.

Then he surges forward and crushes his mouth to yours, all heat and hunger and pent-up fucking agony. It’s not soft. Not sweet. It’s a collision—teeth and tongue and a groan so guttural it vibrates against your lips. You gasp into him and he swallows it whole, devouring you like he’s starving.

Your head hits the doorframe with a soft thud, but you don’t care. You’re too far gone. His hands find your hips, rough and possessive, gripping you like he wants his fingerprints embedded in your bones.

You whimper—and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

He shoves a knee between your legs, pressing his thigh up against your core. The pressure punches the air from your lungs—hot and perfectly placed—and your hips grind down on him before you can stop yourself.

He groans into your mouth, deep and wrecked, and then his teeth catch your bottom lip in a sharp, punishing bite. Not enough to break skin, but enough to make you gasp.

“Shh,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Gotta keep it down, baby. We’ve got guests.”

Then he kisses you again. Harder. Desperate and possessive. Like he’s trying to brand you with his mouth alone.

You try to lift your hands—to touch him, to feel—but he’s faster. He catches your wrists and slams them above your head, pinning them with one hand as the other slides down and cups your breast, rough and reverent all at once.

You gasp against his mouth, a shocked, breathless sound that he swallows greedily.

Then he stills.

His eyes drag up to where your hands are trapped. To the shape pressed between your fingers—small, hard, and anything but innocent.

He pulls back just enough to uncurl your grip, slow and deliberate. You try to pull away, but he’s stronger—too strong—and within seconds, he’s holding the little vibrator up between two fingers. Right in front of your face.

“This what you came out here for?” he asks, voice ragged, low, thick with disbelief and something darker.

You can’t answer. You’re too stunned. Your breath is coming in shallow gasps, your chest rising and falling like you’ve been sprinting.

He drops his gaze to your lips, then back to your eyes. And smirks.

“Nah,” he murmurs, voice like smoke. “You don’t need that.”

The vibrator drops from his hand, hitting the floor with a soft, humiliating thunk.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then he’s on you again.

His mouth crashes into yours—devouring, claiming—like he needs you more than air. Like kissing you is the only thing keeping him alive.

You moan into him, fingers twitching with the need to touch, to claw. He releases your wrists and you drop them instantly to his shoulders, then into his curls, grabbing hard enough to make him groan.

His hands find your hips again, rough and greedy, dragging you closer until his thigh slots back between your legs. The pressure is maddening. Perfect. You grind down with a gasp, hips rolling instinctively against the solid muscle.

He pulls back just enough to smirk against your mouth, that dark, cocky glint flashing in his eyes. “Yeah,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “Just like that.”

His fingers tighten on your hips, guiding you into another slow, filthy grind. The drag of fabric against your clit electric. You whimper and drop your forehead to his, your breaths mingling in the heat between you.

Every rock of your hips sends sparks shooting up your spine, the ache between your legs growing unbearable. His thigh flexes beneath you—deliberate, teasing—and you feel his breathing start to match your own, ragged and fast.

“Gonna cum on my thigh, baby?” he asks, breathless but teasing.

You can’t form words. You just whine—a needy, broken sound that ghosts past your lips and makes him chuckle, low and dangerous.

“That’s it,” he mutters, guiding you a little higher on his thigh. “That’s my girl.”

You grind harder, chasing the friction, the pressure, the devastating edge that’s so close it hurts. His hands are locked on your hips, dragging you over him like he wants to leave bruises behind.

“You feel that?” he rasps, mouth brushing your jaw as he speaks. “How fucking wet you are for me?”

You nod—frantic, breathless—but it’s not enough. He growls low in his throat and suddenly pulls you down harder, his thigh flexing beneath you. You bite down on a cry, head tipping back against the doorframe as your body trembles.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” he breathes, watching your face like it’s the most obscene thing he’s ever seen. “Soak my leg, baby—come on.”

One hand slips up your shirt, calloused fingers grazing the bare skin of your belly before cupping your breast—no bra, just heat and softness and a tight nipple begging for attention. He rolls it between his fingers, rough and greedy, and your hips jerk in response.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking responsive,” he mutters, leaning in to bite down on the soft skin beneath your jaw.

You gasp, nails digging into his scalp, dragging him closer.

“Please,” you whisper, not even sure what you’re begging for—release, more, everything.

He lifts his head, eyes dark and glittering with wicked intent. “You wanna cum for me, baby?” he asks, voice thick and taunting. “Wanna make a mess all over my thigh like a needy little slut?”

You whimper—pathetic and wrecked—and he smirks. “Then take it. Rub that desperate little pussy on me like you mean it.”

He moves his thigh up harder, fingers biting into your hips as he guides you, using your body like it’s his to play with. And it is.

You’re grinding shamelessly now, panting into his mouth, broken noises falling from your lips as the heat builds. You’re close—so fucking close. Muscles tightening, vision going spotty—

“Cum for me,” he growls. “Right fucking now.”

And you do.

With a strangled whimper, you break—hips jerking, thighs quaking, mouth falling open in a silent scream as pleasure tears through you like a live wire. You bury your face in his neck, biting down on a gasp, desperate to stay quiet.

A muffled moan slips out anyway, ragged and breathy against his skin. He groans, low and wrecked, one hand fisting in your hair as your body trembles against his.

“Shh,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple, even as his thigh flexes beneath you to draw out every last wave. “You’ve gotta be quiet, baby. Sam’s just downstairs.”

But you can’t stop shaking—your orgasm crashing over you in hot, relentless pulses—your nails clawing at his back, your teeth sinking into his neck to stifle another sound.

He holds you through it, breath thick and uneven, a dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he feels you unravel.

“So fucking good for me,” he whispers. “So sweet when you try to behave.”

He kisses you again—slow, filthy, coaxing you through the aftershocks with soft praise and a hot tongue. His lips drag along yours like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to taste every noise you made.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathes, eyes half-lidded and burning. “So fucking sexy.”

Then, without warning, he lifts you—strong arms locking under your thighs, making you gasp as your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. You cling to him, giggling breathlessly against his shoulder as he starts walking down the hall.

His mouth finds your throat again, biting softly as he mutters, “You know I’m not stopping ‘til you’re ruined for anyone else, right?”

You let out a wrecked little laugh, and he grins—dark and dangerous.

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, voice wrecked and wicked. “Gonna make that pretty little mouth scream my name ‘til it’s the only word you know.”

You shudder—helpless, breathless—and he chuckles low in his chest, kissing the hinge of your jaw as he kicks open his bedroom door.

The door clicks softly shut behind you as you both step out into the hall, but neither of you move.

Joaquín’s back hits it a second later, pulling you with him—your chest flush to his, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a moan.

“Joaquín,” you sigh, warning in your voice but no real conviction behind it.

“Mmh?” He leans in, mouth already dragging along the curve of your jaw, his hands low on your hips. “Just one more.”

You bite back a grin, threading your fingers through his messy curls as his lips brush yours—soft, slow, intoxicating. His tongue teases your bottom lip, coaxing it open, and before you can stop yourself, you’re kissing him again.

Deeper this time. Greedy. Sweet. A little wrecked.

His hands wander. Squeezing. Grabbing. Remembering every filthy, delicious way they unravelled you last night.

He trails kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat, sucking a bruise into the dip of your collarbone as he lowers himself slowly.

Dropping to his knees.

You tip your head back, lips parted and panting softly.

“We—We have to go downstairs,” you murmur, though you don’t try to move.

“I am downstairs,” he mumbles, lifting the hem of his shirt to kiss your stomach.

You let out a shaky little laugh, your breath hitching as his tongue slides over your hipbone.

His hands slip up beneath the shirt, fingertips dancing over your hot skin like he’s thinking about dragging you back to bed. Again.

You’ve been trying to get downstairs for over an hour now. This is the furthest you’ve gotten.

“You’re not helping,” you hiss, voice catching as his knuckles graze the underside of your breast.

“I’m not trying to.”

You thread your fingers through his curls and tug, reluctantly pulling his mouth away from you. He looks up at you through thick lashes, eyes dark and hungry, grinning like a man thoroughly satisfied with his own choices.

“Come on,” you sigh softly, wanting nothing more than to have his head between your legs again like it was twenty minutes ago.

He rises to his full height with a playful eyeroll, slipping one hand into yours and lacing your fingers. Then he uses his free hand to cup your head and pull you toward him, pressing a tender kiss to your temple before turning down the hall.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says with a soft chuckle.

You giggle quietly, biting your lip to stop yourself from begging him back to bed.

Halfway down the stairs, he leans in, lips brushing your ear. “You realise I’m gonna spend all day thinking about what you sound like when you cum.”

You nearly trip, but he catches you easily—smug and warm behind you, his laughter a hot puff of air against your neck.

You elbow him, but you’re smiling, flushed and glowing and absolutely ruined.

You let him lead you into the kitchen, fingers still laced together, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. You try not to look like someone who’s just had every bone in her body melted and rearranged—but the limp in your step and the heat in your cheeks aren’t exactly subtle.

Sam’s already there, leaning casually against the counter beside the coffee machine, mug in hand. His eyes sparkle with that familiar, knowing mischief the moment you enter.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to join the land of the living.”

You pause at the edge of the kitchen, but Joaquín doesn’t.

“Morning,” he says easily, strolling over to the coffee machine like he hadn’t just threatened to make you scream his name five minutes ago. “Coffee?”

Sam takes a long, deliberate sip from his mug. “It’s probably cold by now. Didn’t think you two were ever coming down.”

You press your lips together, fighting back the embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Joaquín just shrugs.

“We got distracted,” he says, opening a cupboard and pulling out a mug. “Important business.”

Sam snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, I heard. Whole neighbourhood did.”

You choke on your breath. “Oh my god.”

Joaquín turns to you, mug in hand, a smirk spreading across his face—smug and utterly unrepentant. “She’s loud when she’s happy.”

Your eyes go wide, and you’re surprised you don’t implode on the spot.

Sam groans, setting his mug down with a thud. “Jesus Christ. I take it back. You’re officially banned from happiness.”

Joaquín just grins wider. “Too late.”

You drop your face into your hands with a soft groan.

“At least one of you has the decency to blush,” Sam mutters as he walks past you.

You drag your hands down your face and shuffle further into the kitchen, stopping at the island across from where Joaquín is pouring two cups of coffee.

He nudges the mugs toward you, but neither of you makes a move to grab one. Instead, he steps around the island, slips his arms around your waist, and pulls you in—pressing you flush against him as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, breathing you in like he’s trying to memorise every trace of you.

All of it completely shameless, even with Sam just a few feet away on the lounge, sipping his coffee and looking vaguely traumatised.

Honestly, though? You can’t bring yourself to care either.

Your hands drift up Joaquín’s arms to link behind his neck.

“You hungry?” you ask.

His head snaps up, eyes dark with immediate interest. “Yes.”

You roll your eyes, thighs clenching despite yourself. “Not like that. I meant actual food. You know—sustenance.”

“The other thing is sustenance,” he mutters, mouth finding your neck again.

“I’m still here,” Sam calls. “And you’re still not quiet. Do either of you know how to whisper?”

Joaquín lifts his head and glances toward the lounge. “We didn’t invite you to stay. Feel free to leave anytime.”

Sam shakes his head, laughing in disbelief. “You two should be thanking me.”

You frown. “For what?”

“Introducing you,” he says, pausing like he expects applause. Then he sighs and adds, “And tracking down your shady ex.”

That gets your attention. Both you and Joaquín straighten, turning toward him.

“You have a location?” you ask.

Sam nods. “We’re organising a strike team. Intel says he’s been renting this place under an alias. Plan is to hit him when he’s not expecting it.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight,” he confirms, pushing off the lounge. “Which means I’ve got a team to prep.”

He moves into the kitchen, drops his empty mug in the sink, and glances back at you.

“If your hunch is right and he’s behind everything… you’ll be able to go home soon.”

You nod, trying to ignore the tight knot forming in your stomach. “Great.”

Joaquín slowly releases your waist and lifts his coffee, taking a sip to hide what you know is a frown.

You wait for Sam to gather his things and bid you both goodbye, stepping out the front door with a knowing smirk and muttering something about ‘getting the house fumigated’ after you two finally move out.

When the door clicks shut behind him, you turn to Joaquín, who’s settled on the tiny lounge, elbows resting on his knees and fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping in front of him.

His hands immediately find your hips, like that’s where they’re meant to be.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tugging you onto his lap.

You straddle his thighs, hands pressed to his chest. “You know,” you say, resting your forehead against his, “if you wanted to stay here a while longer… I wouldn’t be opposed.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, breath ghosting over your lips. “Yeah? You want to stay in this tiny house with paper-thin walls?”

“I’d stay anywhere with you,” you whisper, so quiet it barely registers—as if saying it aloud makes whatever this is feel real. Too real.

His breath stutters. His fingers tighten at your waist.

“Really?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“What about my apartment in D.C.?” he asks, leaning back to study your face with wide, hopeful eyes. “It’s not much bigger than this, but—”

“Okay,” you interrupt, pressing your lips together to keep from grinning like an idiot.

His eyes go even wider. “Really?”

You nod again, giggling. “Let’s call it an indefinite sleepover. Just in case you get sick of me and want to send me back to my own place.”

He laughs too, the sound rumbling deep in his chest beneath your palms. “I’m never gonna get sick of you.”

“You sure about that?” you tease, shifting your hips to grind down against him.

His breath catches, lips parting in a soft sigh.

“Baby,” he whispers, “we’re just getting started.”

Then, before you can blink, he lifts you, flipping you onto your back and pressing you into the couch cushions. He hovers over you, lips finding yours like they belong there—sliding against yours and stoking that slow-burning flame deep in your belly. The same flame he lit the first day you met. The flame that now blazes so bright, your whole body glows—burning beneath his touch.

He pauses, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and uneven.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice thick with promise, “I plan on making you forget your own name by the end of today.”

You grin, tugging him down for one last kiss—soft, slow, but packed with everything you feel.

“Good,” you whisper against his lips, “because I don’t want to remember anyone else’s.”

END.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #danny ramirez x reader #captain america: brave new world #joaquin x reader #falcon x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america #danny ramirez #falcon #fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #oneshot #imagine

2K notes · View notes

shy-writer-999 · 6 months ago

Text

It's getting hot in here...

Summary: After a nice meal, you start to feel weird. Did you eat something funny? It turns out everyone is feeling the same, and there's only one thing to do about it. Read content warnings please!

CW: Lots of nasty sex. Afab reader, G/N language. Aphrodisiacs. TONS of zosan gay shit (like 50% of this fic). Could be considered dubcon because the aphrodisiacs are strong and reader keeps losing touch with reality, but it is consensual >_> Voyerusim, dacryphilia, begging, dry humping, edging, masturbation, "good boy," riding, prone bone, you name it. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS (VERY) NSFW CONTENT.

Something was in the water at the new island the Sunny anchored on. Or was it in the wine? The bread? The butter? You couldn’t remember what you ate. Your memory of the night was blurred—scattered scenes played through your mind the next day. Your recollection was… messy and nonsensical. You tried to recount the night.

In the early hours of the night in question, Sanji went into the island’s town to get supplies and ingredients for dinner. It was a nice day full of free time, clear skies with a slight breeze.

Nami and Robin went shopping and they wouldn’t be back on the ship in time for dinner. Brook, Usopp, Chopper, and Franky went off and did god knows what. Similarly, they wouldn’t be back in time for the evening meal. Sanji promised to make enough so they could have leftovers later.

When everyone went on their separate outings, that left you, Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji on the ship.

It was a small, simple, and delicious dinner that night. An intimate setting with just you four, a nice opportunity to hang out with part of the East Blue crew. You were soaking in some modicum of silence and peace (whenever Luffy allowed it) on the mostly empty ship.

Aside from Luffy’s chomping and smacking noises while he ate, dinner was relatively silent. Sanji and Zoro weren’t butting heads for once, either. You sat at the table, talked sparingly, and drank some of the wine that Sanji bought in town.

When dinner was over, you helped Sanji wash up (like usual), then you sat at the dinner table and did some reading.

An hour or so passed. You read your book while Sanji prepped food and cleaned the kitchen a few feet away. Gradually, the room got warmer. You opened a window, letting in some of the cool evening air, propped a door open, and sat back down again.

After a few minutes, you noticed that you felt a bit ill. Lightly perspiring, you almost shivered—your limbs felt heavy, you felt light-headed. You tried to reason it away. Did you have too much wine?

No, you didn’t. You stood up, and as you rose to your feet you realized that you felt like you were going to pass out. At the same time, your body started to buzz. You had never felt like this before. Something was seriously off.

Sanji was still in the kitchen cleaning up, and you staggered in his direction, stopping at the sink to splash some water on your face. The cold water felt great on your hot cheeks, and you could have sworn you saw steam rise up from where the cool droplets met your skin.

“My love, are you alright?” Sanji’s sweet voice shocked you out of your feverish stupor. You had almost forgotten he was there. When you turned to face him, your body pulsed and heat tingled outwards from between your legs, radiating to your whole body. He had never looked so good before.

The blonde’s eyes widened in shock—your pupils were dilated, your breathing was shallow and quick, and your face was covered in a sheen of sweat. He brought a hand to your forehead and confirmed that you had a fever. “Are you sick, dearest? You don’t look well.”

When his skin touched yours, your breath hitched. “Sanji, I don’t feel too good.”

“Do you need to go lay down? I’ll get Chopper to come take your temperature and give you something to help you feel better, okay?”

You didn’t know it, but Sanji was starting to feel ill, too. He was sweating just barely and had, up until that point, been blaming it on the fact that he just cooked and cleaned and was a bit exhausted. But what was more concerning to him was that in your feverish state you looked even more beautiful than usual—no, beautiful wasn’t the right word. In his mind he remarked that you looked fucking hot. Stunning. Sexy, even.

He could rip your clothes off here and now and ravage you, had you been up for it. But that sentiment wasn’t necessarily out of the norm, rather, it was that you were evidently sick, and he was starting to feel a bit woozy himself.

Maybe the food had turned, and he didn’t realize it, so you were both suffering from food poisoning. But that would have been very unlike him to not pick up on the food tasting rotten. It must have been something else. Did you both pick up some virus from the last island you were on? Like Nami on Little Garden that one time?

A soft whine slipped out of your lips. The noise made his stomach flip. You sounded like you were in pain but… you also sounded a bit erotic to him. In this state, his mind raced. Is that what you would sound like in bed? Whining like that?

Sanji mentally berated himself more than ever before, letting self-disgust wash over for a moment before he shook it off. When he got back to his senses (he had been staring at you for only a couple of seconds), he started to guide you to your cabin for some rest. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s get you to bed.”

But no matter how many internal curses he threw at himself, he felt a tent forming in his pants. Something weird was happening.

He balked at the idea that seeing you in your current state was getting him so flustered. You were ill, after all. What sort of gentleman would he be right now, if he was thirsting over you while you had a dangerously high fever and were obviously in pain?

As he tried to shrug off how odd he was starting to feel, the blonde chef guided you down the hallway and towards your room. You walked behind him and your vision started to get splotchy. With every degree your fever worsened, you felt something get more intense—was this feeling arousal? At a time like this?

Sure enough, heat bloomed between your legs; small zaps of pleasure radiated outwards with each step. The arousal-sickness combination was disorienting and concerning.

And not only were you just aroused, but it was coupled with wild sensitivity—as you moved, the fabric of your pants brushed down there, sending an electric shock up your spine as the tingling sensation intensified. Were you hallucinating, or was wetness seeping out of your core, saturating your panties?

The walk down the hallway felt like years.

By the time you were almost to your bed, you were soaking wet from nothing other than walking. You tried to squeeze your legs together. Was there a stain on your pants from how unreasonably wet you were? Should you hide it? The fabric of your pants was rubbing you just right, and, in the moment you sat on the (conveniently large) bed, you convulsed in pleasure. Undeniably, you moaned. A quiet one, but a moan, no less.

You sat there for a few seconds, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as you positively buzzed in pleasure. You didn’t know what was happening, and you were unaware that you were slowly rubbing your thighs together, drawing out more tingles of pleasure. Was that an orgasm?

Sanji’s mind was racing, and he was hyperaware of everything—every shallow breath and flutter of your eyes was making his heart patter and the tent in his pants grow. He was fully erect now, and his mind was so scrambled that he didn’t even think of hiding it. He almost couldn’t breathe. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

It was from this point on that you started to question if any of this was real or if you were just having a fever dream.

Sanji stood over you, watching in what could be called a mixture of concern and rabid desire. Your eyes opened finally, and it felt like you had tunnel vision. You noticed it then—his erection, hard and big. There was a visible stain on his bulge where precum pooled into the fabric. His cock twitched when he realized your eyes were focused on it.

“A-are you okay?” Sanji asked. He didn’t know what to say. He needed to drag himself away to a bathroom and deal with this.

His words got caught in his throat as your body literally worked against your own whims. Your fingers moved like they were being controlled by a puppeteer—you watched them in third person as they trailed down your abdomen and came to rest over your throbbing core.

Looking up at him, you gave yourself a squeeze through your pants. Some erotic sound tumbled from your lips. Your fingers started to circle over the fabric of your pants where your clit must have been, and you spread your thighs a bit. You couldn’t control yourself.

“Help, Sanji,” you whispered, mouth dry. “Don’t know what’s happening. Can’t stop.” Your fingers moved faster, building a crescendo of pleasure that would crash onto you soon. You felt like you were going crazy with need. No longer focused on the fever wracking your body, your mind knew only one thing: you needed pleasure.

If you didn’t get more soon, you were worried you’d pass out. Or something would happen. Would you go crazy?

“H-help?” Sanji’s voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

“Touch me,” you whimpered, fingers moving faster now. His jaw dropped.

Luffy suddenly staggered to the door and leaned on the frame. He was unbothered by the sight in front of him and, quite frankly, he looked a damn mess. His hair was plastered down on his forehead in sweat, he had no shirt on, and his pajama pants were riding down, showing the band of his boxers.

“Guys,” Luffy’s voice was strained. “I feel really weird.”

Your eyes darted down. Luffy was rock hard, bulge standing out against the gray fabric of his pants. His cloudy vision came to rest on your chest. With no care in the world, one of his hands reached down to start rubbing himself.

“It won’t go away no matter what I do,” Luffy rubbed the heel of his hand down the outline of his erection, and his words were broken by a loud grunt. “I came here to ask for help but it—it looks like you beat me to it.” He cracked a grimace/smile and threw his head back after a moment, leaning his whole weight on the door frame as he touched himself through the fabric.

You snuck a hand into your pants. Brushing your clit gently, you keened. You were on autopilot, incapable of controlling your actions and not the most cognizant. All you knew was you needed more, and if you didn’t get more, something bad would happen.

“Mmmphhhh,” Luffy stifled a groan as he squeezed himself, lost in his own world. “It’s like my body is on fire.”

Your vision went black around the edges—you started to rub faster, spreading your legs open wide and creeping your fingers under your panties.

Burying your hand in your underwear, you hissed in air at your teeth as your fingertips came in contact with your hot folds. Your back arched and a needy sound trickled out. “F-fuck, Sanji help me.”

Sanji froze, eyes glued on your hand that was shoved down your pants, stirring under the fabric. The stain on his pants got bigger and wetter—it was very noticeable.

“What do you want me to do love?” He asked in a hushed, hesitant tone. He was holding onto his last shreds of reason, trying not to pounce on you, but those shreds of rationality were slipping out of his grasp like sand.

Your vision started to go black. You closed your eyes, lost in the pleasure that you pulled from yourself in a daze. Sanji reached a hand up to your core and ran a thumb up and down over the fabric above your clit. Your wetness was seeping through the layers already.

Some amount of time passed. You came and it helped you regain lucidity. When you opened your eyes—you had no clue how long it had been—you were laying on the bed and Luffy stood over you, watching intently.

Sanji was sitting at the end of the bed, now shamelessly digging his thumb into the tip of his cock, playing with his slit as clear precum seeped out of it. His hips bucked upwards a few times and you watched. You realized that you were touching yourself, moving your fingers in swift and messy need.

Luffy leaned in and pressed his lips on yours. The first few kisses were surprisingly sweet, loving, even, but they quickly turned sloppy. He maneuvered onto the bed—now, his knee was pressed against your core, a hand braced on one side of your head, and the other rested on your cheek as he kissed you passionately.

You made out for a few seconds, grinding down onto his knee a bit, aiming for friction. Your mewls were driving him and Sanji insane—the blonde continued to tease himself and stroke slowly while he watched Luffy take in every inch of you with his lips. The captain’s lips moved south.

He pulled your pants and panties off quickly, spread your thighs wide, and started to eat you out on the spot. Pressing his tongue on your clit, the captain drew soft circles around your sensitive bud, then he swiped his tongue up and down along your entrance. Luffy wasted no time slurping and greedily licking every inch and crevice of you that he could.

You started to lose touch with reality again—you realized, distantly and in third person, that whatever was wrong with you seemed like you would start to black out any time you went too long without an orgasm. As you were making this conclusion, a loud thud at the door distracted you once again.

Zoro’s body had dragged him across the ship, bringing him to your room of its own accord. He could hardly walk, slamming into the door frame, and before he knew it, he was sitting on the bed next to Sanji, eyes darting between Luffy eating you out and the blonde’s fist stroking and squeezing his hard on.

Your eyes shifted to Zoro, sitting with his legs spread wide on the bed next to Sanji. The swordsman started running a palm over his clothed erection. His breaths were fast, his cheeks were bright pink, he didn’t seem fully aware of the fact his eyes were glued on his nemesis/frenemy’s fist pumping over his cock.

No one said a word for a few moments. It was a silent agreement—whatever was happening needed to be addressed, and there was only one thing to do.

It had been too long without climax for you (again). Your vision went black and your mind went blank. When an orgasm finally crashed into you, minutes later, it brought you back to reality and a few moments of lucidity. Your ears were greeted by a cacophony of ragged breaths and deep groans to your left.

Turning your head, your eyes were met with the sight of two people (who you thought utterly hated each other) entangled on the bed.

Sanji was completely naked, while Zoro had on short, tight, black boxer-briefs. He was on top of Sanji, rubbing his aching erection on Sanji’s while his brows furrowed and needy sounds trickled out of his mouth. Every few seconds, Sanji let out a whimper and arched his back off the bed.

“Don’t stop,” Sanji gasped, grabbing fistfuls of sheets as Zoro’s muscles rippled.

“I f-fucking can’t,” the swordsman grunted in response, his tone tinged with annoyance.

Your eyes stayed glued on the pair, bewildered and feral, until Luffy’s tongue, buried inside of you, demanded your attention. Was he using his devil fruit powers? Head had never felt this good before. His tongue prodded your pulsing hotness, sliding up and down greedily between your lips before pushing inside of you again.

The slurping noises from your captain were sinful. Your eyes crept from his head buried between your legs to the sight of his hips rutting on the sheets beneath. His cock craved friction. He wished his tongue wasn’t buried in you but something else instead.

Grabbing tufts of Luffy’s hair, you dragged his mouth closer, pressing his roaming tongue as deep as physically possible.

“L-luffy, need m-more. Please.” You begged, vision getting blurry around the edges. You felt hotter than before.

Instead of your captain’s voice in response, a loud moan from Sanji answered your pleading. Your eyes snapped to the pair of men again—Sanji was squirming under the swordsman, shuddering and clawing at Zoro’s biceps now as he grinded up into his cock.

“Cumming,” the blonde grunted, pushing his hips upward, grinding harder onto Zoro. “I’m c-cumming, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The chef came on his own stomach while Zoro rocked his hips into the blonde’s shaft with more urgency, overstimulating him and eliciting desperate cries.

“Can’t stop,” Zoro choked out amidst his own moans and heaves for air.

Tears pricked in the corner of the chef’s eyes, but he didn’t tell the swordsman to stop, in fact, he rutted his hips up again and again. He was gearing up for yet another orgasm when Zoro brought him into a kiss and trailed his fingers towards the blonde’s erection.

More moments fleeted by—more gut-wrenching pleasure from Luffy’s tongue inside of you, hazy images of Sanji and Zoro grinding on each other, smearing the milky puddle of cum all over Sanji’s abdomen on Zoro’s underwear and abs.

Your eyes fixated on the outline of Zoro’s erection through the damp fabric. You were mesmerized.

Time faded into oblivion. The next memory you had was of Zoro flipping you over, onto your stomach, and climbing on top of you. He positioned you in prone bone, pressing his chest on your back. Trailing his fingers down and squeezing a rough handful of your ass, he then dipped two fingers into your hot folds and coaxed fireworks of pleasure from you.

Zoro relished how wet and ready you were for him thanks to Luffy’s previous work. He played with you for a little while, dragging his finger pads across your g-spot repeatedly and curling them upwards inside of you until you begged for more. When he pushed his cock inside, he felt so big that it was almost painful. He entered you centimeters at a time, and when he finally bottomed out and the ring of hair around the base of his cock met your flesh, his hips started to pump into yours rhythmically, gaining speed each moment that passed.

“Feels hot and s-sticky inside,” he gasped, hips shuddering into you as his tip passed your g-spot. You shifted under him the slightest bit, drawing a sensitive gasp from the swordsman. Every movement from him felt euphoric—and coupled with his weight on top of you, you felt like you were going crazy with desire. He couldn’t fuck you fast enough.

Turning your head, you realized that Sanji had one hand wrapped around his cock again but was now in a similar position to you. He was flush with the bed, chest pressing on the covers, simultaneously stroking himself and humping the sheets as he watched Zoro fuck you.

Zoro groaned pure filth in your ear. “Just like that, baby. Fuhccckkk. Feels so good.”

Each pass of Zoro’s length inside of you and past your g-spot was met with a squelching noise from how wet you were—every roll of his hips pushed him deeper inside of you and it felt like you were floating.

As Sanji watched, his fist moved faster and so did his hips. He roughly jerked his length and rubbed his glistening tip into the covers. His cock felt hot, it was pulsing, and each brush of his flesh against the fabric made him shiver. He was working off of animal instinct alone, eyes so dilated and mind so foggy that all he knew was that he felt good and he didn’t want it to stop. He could watch the pair of you for hours. He didn’t care.

Voice husky and bathed in lust, Zoro was getting more worked up. “Say my name,” he groaned as his length passed in and out of you. “Say it.”

Before his name could exit your lips, Sanji moaned into the sheets below. “Zoro. Zoro. Hah, fuck, Zoro.” Moments later, you watched him orgasm all over the sheets below, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut.

Hearing the chef’s desperate, pathetic mewls made Zoro fuck you faster. Just when you thought you were at the precipice of orgasm, Zoro reached a hand under you and started to rub your clit, then he bit your shoulder. The pain felt good, and the combination of sensations was overwhelming—your orgasm was intense, shocking, and ecstatic.

A fleeting thought passed through your mind—where’s Luffy?

He was perched at the end of the bed, touching himself to the sight, waiting for his turn, which he promptly took when Zoro was done with you.

The next scene in your memory was Luffy fucking you, but you weren’t quite sure how you got there. You did remember that right before Luffy touched you, he asked you softly, “Do you want to keep going? Or have you had enough?”

You croaked out an eager, “more.”

“On top?” Luffy asked, waiting for your confirmation. And when you again agreed, he shifted, so he was laying on the bed, and you were on top of him.

Sinking down on his cock, you started to ride him. His hands came to rest on your hips and his eyes looked hungry. As if he wasn’t full from the ridiculously huge meal he just ate.

Parallel to you and Luffy, Zoro had Sanji on his lap. Zoro’s chest pressed on Sanji’s back, so the chef was facing you and Luffy. The swordsman’s large, rough hand wrapped around Sanji’s front. Languidly, Zoro played with Sanji’s shaft, teasing him at a snail’s pace.

Zoro wasn’t all there mentally because of (what you deduced to be) the aphrodisiacs. It’s like he was running on pure thirst. Something in him wanted Sanji to beg and wanted to see you getting off to the sight. He was getting a kick out of the cook being absolutely pathetic. He wanted to see him be utterly shameless.

“’m gonna cum,” Sanji whimpered, writhing around on the stocky pair of hair thighs underneath him.

“Shhh. Not yet, cook. Can’t you hold on for a little bit longer? Don’t you want to watch?”

Sanji got quieter and nodded, holding his orgasm at bay as best he could while he watched you ride Luffy, who was practically growling out commands faster than you could keep up.

“Faster.” “Faster.” “Harder.” “More.” Every time he spoke, you did as he said. You did so until your legs started to burn, until your thighs started to shake, until he was doing all the work for you, lifting you up and down on his shaft.

He pressed his tip on your spongey hot spot and wrenched pleasure from you. Zoro edged and teased Sanji within an inch of his life while the pair of them watched—it was almost cruel. The cook was in tears over how good it felt, how badly he wanted to keep cumming, and how much it was getting to his head.

“Please Z-zoro, fuck, please.” Sanji was close to his breaking point.

“Just a bit longer, curly brows, hold on.”

A few more seconds passed. It didn’t take long for Luffy to bring you to the brink of orgasm, which was what Zoro was hoping for. As you started to shake, eyes rolling back in white-hot pleasure from your orgasm, Zoro finally gave Sanji permission to cum.

You hadn’t expected the swordsman to be this controlling, this mean, and this verbal.

“Mmmphhhh. Just like that,” Zoro exhaled while he watched you cum all over Luffy’s cock. “Now you can cum.” He then murmured something in Sanji’s ear that would have left you gob smacked if you had enough wherewithal to think. “There’s a good boy.”

While Sanji painted his own stomach white, you collapsed on top of Luffy. He kissed the side of your head and started to pet your hair.

“You need a break?” He asked you, voice tender and kinder than usual. You nodded and then drifted into unconsciousness for some period of time.

Memories after this point completely faded to black. You had some notion of waking up and sucking Zoro off and then riding Sanji until he cried again, but… the images were blurred. Someone came on your face, two indiscernible figures in your memory were entangled on the sheets again, but… you drew a blank after a point.

---

When you finally came to, you concluded that whatever the fuck that was must have been a very strong aphrodisiac. You couldn’t figure out what it was in though—the wine? The water? Something in the food? Whatever it was, it must have gotten out of your system through sheer number of orgasms and hours of fucking.

You were still on your bed, under the covers and tucked in along with Luffy. Sanji and Zoro were off somewhere, presumably getting cleaned up but…? Who knows.

You checked the clock—it was around 10:00PM. You, Sanji, Luffy, and Zoro had been going at it since 5:00PM, shortly after your early dinner. So… almost five whole hours? But you didn’t feel like it, really. You weren’t sore or anything which was a feat in itself.

Putting some clothes on, you wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water. You were parched. You’d have to wait to debrief until you saw Zoro or Sanji, or until Luffy woke up.

You walked into the kitchen and were met with a sight that broke your brain for a second. Nami, Robin, Franky and Usopp were at the dinner table, chowing down on the dinner leftovers Sanji packaged up for them in cute little serving boxes. They must have just gotten back from their outings.

Your eyes flashed around the room—wine bottles were open. They were having a grand old time.

Your stomach sank. Fuck. They were about to have even grander of a time if they kept eating and drinking like that. You’d have to sit yourself out for round two—not sure you could handle it, honestly.

After that night, you came to a good understanding of the dynamics with each man in bed. Not only from your memory, but because you went in for seconds with each of them at some point. Luffy was greedy and forthcoming, but kind, like usual. Zoro was an absolute machine, filthy and verbose. And Sanji was, well, Sanji. He was doting, pathetic, and desperate. What a good variety to choose from—you were never left wanting again.

ik im gonna look back at this later and go GOD DAMN woman, were you okay? frothing at the mouth. anyway...

thanks for reading!! this was pretty challenging for me, i wanted it to be halfway decent but just couldn't get it anywhere i wanted really T-T idk if i'll ever live up to the luffy aphrodisiac kinktober fic i wrote :p

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

dividers courtesy of @issysh3ll taglist @eggrollforyou !

2K notes · View notes

harrysfolklore · 10 months ago

Text

still a little bitch - cs55

summary: yn piastri and carlos sainz don’t hate each other anymore, but she still calls him a little bitch. PART ONE word count: 9.1k + social media posts

folkie radio: HERE IT IS !!!! THE LONG AWAITED PART TWO OF LITTLE BITCH!!! i’m going to be completely honest with you i’m beyond terrified of posting this. little bitch was overwhelmingly liked by all of you and i’m scared this won’t live up to it 😭 but i really really hope you like it. i’m not a fan of doing part two’s of fics but this one deserves it <33 buckle up for a ride or angst, some tears and a lot of little bitch calling. LOVE YOU ALL

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

INSTAGRAM

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 302,625 others

ynpiastri highlight of imola: LEO LECLERC

tagged: landonorris, oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc

view all 3,998 comments

username1 OMG LEO IS SO CUTE

username2 MISS THE SECOND PICTURE ???

username3 PIASTRI SIS HAS A BF?? OMG

alexandrasaintmleux My boy 😍😍

username4 what is carlos doing in the likes i thought they hated each other 😭

username5 HOW DOES OSCAR FEEL ABOUT HER BF I NEED TO KNOW

username6 not tagging the person in the second pic she’s such a piastri

landonorris You’re not slick at all my friend

↳ ynpiastri i literally never asked for your opinion

↳ username1 HEEELP

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

If someone had told you a year ago that you would be making out with Carlos Sainz in his driver's room hours before the Monaco Grand Prix, you would've laughed in their faces and told them they were completely out of their mind.

Because why would you ever think of even breathing near the little bitch, right?

And yet, there you were. Your bodies pressed together as his lips explored your neck.

"Carlos," you murmured, your fingers tangling in his hair, "we shouldn't... someone could come in..."

He lifted his head, his brown eyes gleaming with desire. "Do you want me to stop, hermosa?"

"No," you admitted, "I don't want you to stop."

A satisfied smile played on his lips before he pressed them against yours again. His hands caressed your hips, pulling you even closer.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he whispered against your lips.

You couldn't help but smile. "The feeling's mutual, you little bitch."

He chuckled softly before speaking, "And to think that you hated me."

"I still do," you replied, but your tone lacked conviction. "It's just… I hate you a little less when you do that."

His lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear, making you shiver.

"Oh yeah?" he murmured, his hot breath against your skin. "And this?"

You let out a small moan, your nails digging slightly into his shoulders. "Maybe I hate you even less now."

He laughed softly, his hands sliding under your t-shirt. "You definitely don't hate me."

Almost a month had passed since that night in Carlos' car, and things between you two were amazing. You hadn't put a label on what you were yet, but you felt happier than ever.

You found yourselves seeking each other out more and more. But it wasn't just about the physical attraction or the tension of your bickering anymore. You discovered a side of Carlos you'd never seen before – his warmth, his humor, his vulnerability.

And you finally let your guard down and let him see that part of you, too.

The sarcastic remarks and playful insults were still there, but now they were tinged with affection rather than malice. Your friends had started to notice the change in your dynamic, especially Lando, who couldn't quite hide his knowing smirk whenever he saw you two together.

However, you decided to play it cool, not letting your friends know that there was something more between you and Carlos. They might be able to tell by now, but you still didn't want to admit it to them.

Which lead to secret rendezvous in hidden corners of the paddock become frequent occurrences. Like right now.

"As much as I'm enjoying this," you said as his lips still lingered on your neck and his hands roamed underneath your shirt, "I should go, someone's probably coming to get you shortly."

Carlos let out a soft groan of but nodded, slowly pulling away from you.

"You're right," he admitted, his hands reluctantly leaving your skin. "I wish we could stay like this, though. "

"I know," you smiled, reaching up to smooth his tousled hair. "But we can't risk getting caught, especially not today."

He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Tonight, then? After the race?"

"Assuming you don't crash into a wall, sure," you teased.

"Such faith in me," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll show you, hermosa. Watch me on that podium."

You were about to retort when a sharp knock on the door made you both freeze.

"Carlos? Five minutes until the briefing," came a voice from outside.

"Coming!" Carlos called back, "Looks like our time's up."

"I'll sneak out after you. Good luck out there, little bitch," you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Gracias, mi amor," he murmured, the endearment slipping out naturally.

You paused for a moment, surprised by the warm feeling that spread through your chest at his words. But there was no time to dwell on it. With a final kiss on your lips, he was out of the room.

Your heart was pounding as you tried to casually make your way out of Carlos' room. You were so focused on appearing nonchalant that you almost walked right into Charles.

"YN?" he said, his eyebrows raised in surprise and a knowing smirk slowly spreading across his face. "What are you doing here?"

You felt your cheeks flush as you scrambled for an explanation. "Oh, Charles! Hi! I was just… uh… coming to wish you good luck on the race."

"In Carlos' room?" his smirk widened.

Your heart sank. Of course he'd noticed where you'd come from. You tried to keep your voice steady as you replied, "No, no… I just got a bit turned around. All these corridors look the same, you know?"

"Uh-huh," Charles said, clearly not buying it for a second. "Well, thanks for the good luck wishes. Though I'm not sure how sincere they are if you're sneaking out of my teammate's room."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the knowing look in Charles' eyes made you realize it was pointless. He'd figured it out.

You were surprised Alex haven't told him already, anyway.

"Relax, YN. Your secret's safe with me," he said with a wink. "Though you might want to fix your hair before you see your brother. It's a bit… disheveled."

You groaned, quickly running your fingers through your hair as Charles walked away, still chuckling. You tried to make the flush on your cheeks go away as you reached McLaren hospitality.

Carlos Sainz was driving you crazy in the best possible way.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

INSTAGRAM

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 304,566 others

ynpiastri LECLERCCCCCC FINALLY WON AND PERFECT PODIUM TYSM MONACO 😩😩😭

tagged: oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, lilyzneimer

view all 4,017 comments

username1 I NEVER SAID ANYTHING BAD ABOUT THE MONACO GP

username2 her friendship with charles is so underrated love them

landonorris I wish my best friend celebrated my podiums like that

↳ ynpiastri i wish my best friend got more podiums to celebrate

↳ username1 HELPPP 😭

username3 UM HELLO??? posted sainz, TAGGED HIM, said it’s a perfect podium and she’s not coming for his neck for the touch with oscar on track that made the race re start ????? WHAT IS GOING ON

↳ username2 OH I SEE

charles_leclerc Thank you for coming to Ferrari just to wish me good luck and not anything else, that was definitely what made me win 😉

↳ ynpiastri stfu

↳ alexandrasaintmleux 😂😂😂😂

↳ oscarpiastri I’m really confused right now

carlossainz55 ❤️

↳ username1 BITCH WTF

↳ username2 ENEMIES TO LOVERS ???

TWITTER

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The party at Jimmy'z was in full swing, the air electric with the excitement of Charles' Grand Prix victory. The club was packed with F1 drivers, team personnel, and celebrities, all riding the high of the race day adrenaline.

You stood near the bar, your fourth glass of champagne in hand, feeling pleasantly buzzed. The room spun slightly as you looked around, your gaze inevitably drawn to Carlos. He was across the room, laughing with Pierre and Charles, but his eyes kept finding you in the crowd.

Every time your eyes met, you felt a jolt of electricity. The memory of his touch from earlier in the day lingered on your skin, making you crave more. You watched as he excused himself from his conversation and made his way toward you, weaving through the crowd with effortless grace.

"Enjoying the party, hermosa?" he asked, his voice low and husky as he leaned in close.

You shivered at his proximity, the scent of his cologne making your head spin even more. "It's alright," you said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Could be better though."

Carlos's eyes darkened at your words. He glanced around quickly before leaning in even closer, his lips barely brushing your ear. "Meet me outside in five minutes."

Before you could respond, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd. Your heart raced as you waited, trying not to watch the clock too obviously. When five minutes had passed, you made your way outside, your steps slightly unsteady.

The cool night air was a relief after the stuffy club. You spotted Carlos in one of the alleyways behind Jimmy'z. He turned as you approached, a smile spreading across his face.

"Remember the last time we were here?" he asked, pulling you close.

You giggled, the alcohol making you bold. "Yeah, when you kissed me unprovoked."

"Unprovoked?" Carlos raised an eyebrow, his hands settling on your waist. "I was being provoked by how insanely gorgeous you looked. Still do, by the way," he leaned even closer. "And if I recall correctly, you enjoyed it a lot."

"Maybe I did," you giggled, drunkenness clear in your every move. "Should we do it again?"

Without overthinking, you closed the gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a bold, impulsive kiss. It was tentative at first, testing the waters, but then you felt Carlos smile against your lips, his hands tightening on your waist as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

As the kiss intensified, you felt Carlos's hands slide from your waist to your lower back, pressing you even closer against him. The heat of his body contrasted with the cool night air, sending shivers down your spine. Your own hands moved up to tangle in his hair, earning a low groan from him that you felt more than heard.

Breaking apart for air, Carlos rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in quick pants. "I'm crazy about you, Piastri," he murmured before leaning in for another kiss.

You were so lost in the moment that you didn't hear the footsteps of someone approaching.

"You freaking muppets! I knew it!"

You broke apart, startled, to see Lando standing there, a triumphant grin on his face.

"Lando!" you whined, burying your face in Carlos's chest. "Leave us alone!"

Carlos chuckled, his arms still around you. "How long have you known, cabron?"

"Please, you two are about as subtle as a neon sign," Lando smirked, crossing his arms. "Oh, this is too good. You two are so busted."

"Lando, please," Carlos started, but you cut him off.

"Go away, Lando!" you whined, clinging to Carlos. "We're busy."

Lando laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. I'll leave you lovebirds alone. But we're definitely talking about this later!"

As Lando walked away, you turned back to Carlos, wrapping your arms around his neck, suddenly feeling very tired and more than a little drunk. "Take me home?" you asked, your words slurring slightly.

"Of course, mi amor," Carlos nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'll drive you to Oscar's."

"Nooo," you whined, clinging to him. "I want to stay with you tonight. Please?"

Carlos hesitated for a moment, clearly torn. "YN, you're pretty drunk. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

You nodded vigorously, then immediately regretted it as the world spun. "I'm sure. I just want to be with you. Please?"

"Alright, alright, you win. Let’s get you back to my place," he said gently, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you.

You beamed at him, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, little bitch."

The night might have been a blur, but one thing was crystal clear—you were falling hard for Carlos Sainz, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

INSTAGRAM

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux and 347,088 others

ynpiastri have you guys ever tried hangover pancakes ?

view all 4,173 comments

username1 OMG???

username2 SHE DOES HAVE A BF

lilyzneimer 👀👀👀

username3 BITCH THATS CARLOS SAINZ

↳ username1 nah there’s no way, they hate each other

charles_leclerc I did before you did

↳ ynpiastri don’t be jealous charlie 😚

landonorris BUSTED BUSTED

↳ ynpiastri bro get over it

↳ landonorris never

↳ username1 LET ME INNNNN

username4 people saying this is carlos sainz, do you guys not know their history or something

↳ username5 yeah but enemies to lovers is a real thing

oscarpiastri 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

↳ ynpiastri ily can you pick me up?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You could practically hear your friend's and brother's laugh through the phone as you muted the conversation. Shaking your head, you grabbed your jacket and headed out to meet Carlos.

He was waiting for you outside, leaning against a lamppost with casual smile. The sight of him - dressed in jeans and a simple t-shirt, his hair slightly tousled by the breeze - made your heart skip a beat.

"There you are," he said, his face lighting up as you approached. "Ready to go?"

Without thinking twice about it, you wrapped your arms his shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss, taking him by surprise. Carlos' eyes widened but he quickly melted into it, his arms wrapping around your waist. When you finally pulled away, he was looking at you with a mix of delight and wonder.

"Well," he said, a bit breathlessly, "that's quite a hello. What was that for?"

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite the blush creeping up your cheeks. "Do I need a reason to kiss you?"

"No, hermosa," he said, pulling you closer. "You never need a reason. You're allowed to kiss me whenever you want."

With a playful glint in your eye. You pulled him in and kissed him again.

God you were down bad, it's embarrassing.

"Dios mio," he murmured as you pulled away, "I could get used to this."

You laughed, linking your arm with his as you started walking. "Don't get too comfortable, little bitch. I still have a reputation to maintain."

Carlos chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Of course, Piastri. Whatever you say."

As you strolled through the streets of Montreal, you found yourself initiating more little touches - a squeeze of his hand, a kiss on the cheek, leaning into him as you walked. Each time, you noticed how Carlos's face would light up, how he'd pull you a little closer.

It occurred to you that maybe he'd been holding back, worried about pushing you too far or too fast.

For the past month, you'd been letting your guard down, bit by bit. Carlos had somehow managed to sneak past your defenses with his charm and the warmth that had been hidden beneath all that banter. You'd always prided yourself on being independent, on not letting anyone get too close. But with Carlos, things felt different, at least now they did.

Still, there were moments when doubt crept in, when old insecurities bubbled to the surface. What if this was all just a fling for him? What if you were reading too much into the way he looked at you, the way he seemed to treasure every kiss and touch? What if you eventually went back to your bitterness towards each other?

You hadn't put a label on whatever this was between you, and the ambiguity sometimes left you feeling unsteady, as if you were walking on a tightrope without a safety net.

But bringing it up to him felt intimidating.

"Whats on your mind?" Carlos asked once he noticed that you went quiet and your eyes were wandering.

You considered bringing up the subject, but decided to ignore the thought for now.

"Nothing," you replied with a small smile, squeezing his hand. "Just thinking about how Lando is going to have our heads for not wanting to hang out with him."

Carlos chuckled, shaking his head. "Lando will survive. He can’t have us all to himself all the time."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

TWITTER

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

As the Spanish Grand Prix weekend approached, you found yourself in Barcelona, exploring the city with Carlos in a way you never imagined possible.

The man who once irritated you beyond belief was now showing you his childhood spots, sharing stories of his youth with a boyish enthusiasm that made your heart flutter.

When you told Oscar about your plans to head to Barcelona early with Carlos, you braced yourself for the teasing that was sure to follow.

Your brother didn't disappoint, his eyes lighting up with mischief as he launched into a series of jokes about you "fraternizing with the enemy" and how you'd "finally succumbed to Sainz's charms." But beneath the banter, you could see the genuine happiness in Oscar's eyes.

After the laughter died down, he pulled you into a hug and told you he was glad you'd found someone who made you happy, even if it was "that Spanish menace."

He was the best brother you could've asked for.

"And this," Carlos said, gesturing to a small, unassuming restaurant tucked away in a narrow street, "is where you'll find the best paella in all of Barcelona. Maybe even in all of Spain."

"That's a bold claim, Sainz," you raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You better not be overselling it."

"Would I ever lie to you, Piastri?"

"Yes, absolutely," you retorted, but there was no bite to your words.

As you sat down to eat, the aroma of saffron and seafood filled the air. Carlos watched expectantly as you took your first bite, and you couldn't help but close your eyes in delight at the flavors.

"Okay, I'll admit it," you said, opening your eyes to see his triumphant smile. "This might actually be the best paella I've ever had."

"I told you!" he exclaimed, looking far too pleased with himself. "Never doubt a Spaniard when it comes to paella."

"Alright, you win this round," you rolled your eyes playfully, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips.

As you continued to enjoy the meal, a comfortable silence settled between you and Carlos. It was in these quiet moments that you found yourself marveling at how far you'd come - from barely tolerating each other to... whatever this was now.

"You know, I've been thinking," Carlos broke the silence, his voice softer than usual, "We've talked a lot about my childhood here in Spain, but I realize I don't know much about your early years in Australia."

You looked up from your plate, a bit surprised by the sudden change in topic. "Oh, well, what do you want to know?"

Carlos leaned forward, his elbows on the table, genuine curiosity in his warm brown eyes. "Everything. What was it like growing up there? What did little YN enjoy back then?”

You paused for a moment, caught off guard by Carlos's question. Your mind immediately went to your childhood memories with Oscar, and you found yourself launching into a familiar narrative.

"Well, growing up in Australia was quite an adventure, especially with Oscar around," you began, a fond smile playing on your lips, “Oscar's always been obsessed with anything that has wheels. Even as a toddler, he'd zoom around the house with his toy cars, making engine noises..."

As you launched into the story of Oscar's journey from go-karts to Formula 1, you found yourself getting carried away with the memories. You talked about the early morning drives to races, the smell of petrol and rubber that became a constant in your life, the way your parents juggled work and Oscar's growing career.

"...and then there was this one time, Oscar was about 14, and he'd just won a major championship. The interviewer asked him who his biggest inspiration was, and do you know what he said?" You paused, smiling at the memory.

Carlos shook his head, completely engrossed in your story.

"He said it was me. Can you believe that? His older sister who couldn't tell a thing about cars. I think I cried for an hour after that interview."

As you finished your tale, you noticed Carlos watching you with an unreadable expression. "What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Carlos smiled softly, reaching across the table to take your hand.

"Hermosa," he said gently, "I asked about your childhood, and you've told me all about Oscar's racing career."

You blinked, realizing he was right. "Oh, I... I guess I got carried away. Sorry about that."

"No, no," Carlos squeezed your hand reassuringly. "I love hearing about Oscar, truly. But I want to know about you. What did you like growing up? What were your passions, your dreams?"

You blinked, suddenly realizing that you had automatically steered the conversation towards Oscar, as you had done countless times before when asked about your childhood. The fact that Carlos had redirected the focus back to you left you momentarily speechless.

"I... wow," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't think anyone's ever asked me that before."

"Really? But surely people must have been interested in your childhood too?"

You shrugged, feeling a sudden lump in your throat. "Not really. I mean, Oscar was always the star, you know? My pride and joy, the racing prodigy. People were always more interested in his story."

Carlos squeezed your hand gently. "Well, I'm interested in your story. Tell me about little YN Piastri, not just Oscar's sister."

You took a deep breath, feeling a lot of emotions you couldn't quite name. Carlos's genuine interest in your personal story touched something deep within you, a part of yourself you'd almost forgotten existed.

"Actually," you began, your voice soft as you delved into long-buried memories, "I was always drawn to art. Not just painting or drawing, but all forms of visual expression. I remember spending hours in our backyard, arranging leaves and flowers into patterns, or using chalk to create massive, colorful murals on our driveway."

"That sounds beautiful. Did you take classes?" Carlos leaned in, his eyes bright with interest.

"Not really. I wasn't great in school, to be honest. Sitting still, focusing on textbooks - it just wasn't my strong suit. But give me a blank canvas or a lump of clay, and I could lose myself for hours."

"So why didn't you pursue it?" Carlos asked gently.

You paused, considering Carlos's question. It was something you'd never really articulated before, even to yourself.

"I guess... I never saw it as something to pursue," you said slowly. "My focus was always on Oscar. From the moment he started showing promise in racing, I just naturally fell into the role of his protector, his support system."

You smiled softly, remembering those early days. "Oscar was so talented, but he was also just a kid with big dreams and even bigger pressures. I felt like it was my job to shield him from the worst of it, to be his safe haven. It wasn't a sacrifice, not really. It was a choice I made out of love. Oscar's success, his happiness - that became my passion."

"But what about your art?" Carlos pressed, his tone careful but curious.

You shrugged, a mix of emotions flickering across your face. "It just… faded into the background, I guess. There were always races to attend, equipment to pack. My sketchbooks got buried under stacks of racing magazines. My easel gathered dust in the corner of my room."

Carlos reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "YN , that's… that's incredibly selfless of you. But don't you miss it?"

You felt a wave of emotion wash over you at Carlos's question, his gentle touch grounding you.

"I do," you admitted softly, your eyes meeting his. "I've been Oscar's sister, his supporter, for so long. I'm not sure I remember how to be anything else."

"Oh, mi amor," Carlos said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "You're so much more than just Oscar's sister. You're YN - a woman with a beautiful heart and a determinate mind. Your love for Oscar is admirable, but it doesn't have to be the only thing that defines you," he paused, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, "I'm honored to be close to that woman. The one who sees beauty in leaves and flowers, who can lose herself in creating art, even when she forgets about it."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. But old habits die hard, and you found yourself deflecting with humor. "Wow, Sainz," you said, a teasing glint in your eye. "Are you always this sappy, or am I just special?"

Carlos's face broke into a grin, recognizing your playful tone. "Only for you, Piastri. I have a reputation to maintain, you know."

"Oh please," you rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "Your reputation as what? A little bitch?"

Carlos' face broke into a wide grin, "One day you'll stop calling me that."

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension of the earlier conversation dissolving into familiar banter. "Keep telling yourself that, Sainz."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 328,625 others

ynpiastri te quiero barcelona 🫶

view all 4,188 comments

username1 OH

username2 WHAT IS HAPPENINGGGG

alexandrasaintmleux 👀❤️

username3 SHE THINKS SHES SLICK CROPPING CARLOS’ EYES GIRL WE CAN TELL ITS HIM

lilyzneimer 🥹

username4 the piastri - sainz beef turning into piastri - sainz romance wasn’t on my bingo card

nicolepiastri You failed Spanish like three times in high school…

↳ username1 HEEEEELPPP

↳ oscarpiastri 😂😂😂😂😂😂

↳ username2 mama piastri is too iconic for constantly dragging her kids

↳ ynpiastri 😩

landonorris I SEE HOW IT IS NOW

↳ username1 help lando’s dreams came true

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Saturday arrived in Barcelona, which meant it was time for qualifying.

After your quick rendezvous with Carlos in his motorhome - something that was routine by now- you made your way towards the paddock club to meet Alex and Kika. Your mind was still buzzing from Carlos' touch, your skin tingling where his lips had been just moments ago.

Your hair was slightly tousled, a result of Carlos' fingers running through it. You could still feel the ghost of his kisses on your neck, and the memory sent a shiver down your spine. Pausing briefly, you tried to smooth down your clothes and fix your appearance in the reflection of a nearby trailer. The last thing you needed was more knowing looks from your friends, you had enough when Lando teasing you and Carlos whenever he had the chance.

Approaching the paddock club, you spotted Alex and Kika waiting for you near the entrance.

"Hey, there you are!" Alex called out as you neared. "We were starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "In a place I've been coming to for years? Not likely."

The three of you sat down at a nearby table and ordered something to drink. The conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from race predictions to the latest paddock gossip.

"So," Kika said, leaning forward towards you, "how are things going with Carlos? You two seem pretty cozy lately."

You felt a blush creeping up your neck, the warmth spreading to your cheeks. You took a sip of your drink to buy yourself a moment, but you couldn't hide the smile that tugged at your lips. "Things are good. Really good, actually."

"But…?" Alex's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied your face.

"But nothing," you shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "We're just enjoying each other's company."

Kika's eyebrows shot up, her expression a mix of surprise and disbelief. "Wait, has he not asked you to be his girlfriend yet? I thought for sure you two would be official by now."

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, bringing all your insecurities rushing to the surface. The ones you've tried to push away since this thing with Carlos began.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your friends knew you too well. The smile you'd been wearing moments ago faltered, and you could feel the doubt creeping in.

"Hey," Alex said softly, reaching out to squeeze your hand. "I'm sure it doesn't mean anything. Carlos is crazy about you, anyone can see that. Every relationship moves at its own pace."

You nodded, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Yeah, of course. We're just taking things slow, that's all."

But as the conversation moved on to other topics, you couldn't shake the doubt that had taken root in your mind. You found yourself only half-listening, your thoughts a swirling mess of questions and insecurities.

Why hadn't Carlos made things official? Was he keeping his options open? Were you still just his rival's sister who picked fights with him in his eyes? The rational part of your brain tried to argue that labels didn't matter, that what you and Carlos had was special regardless of what you called it. But the insecure part wouldn't be silenced so easily.

As you sat there, surrounded by the chatter of your friends and the energy of the circuit, you felt a strange sense of isolation creep over you. You were in Carlos' home city, surrounded by his world, and yet you'd never felt more unsure of your place in it.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

ynpiastri has added to their stories

carlossainz55 replied to your story

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

"Finally," Carlos breathed, as he opened the door. Before you could utter a word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside, kicking the door shut behind you. In one fluid motion, he pressed you against the wall, his body flush against yours.

"Carlos, what-" you started, but he silenced you with a searing kiss.

When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless. "Sorry," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "I've been wanting to do that all day."

"You saw me right after the race, you needy little bitch."

Carlos' hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer. "That was hours ago. Far too long."

"Seriously?" you teased, though you couldn't keep the affection out of your voice. "You're ridiculous, Sainz."

"Maybe," he conceded, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. "But you like it."

Carlos began to trail kisses down your neck, his touch igniting sparks across your skin. You laughed as he pulled you towards the bed, your fingers intertwining with his.

"Slow down, hotshot. The bed's not going anywhere."

"But my patience might," he turned to face you, "Do you know how hard it was to focus on the post-race interviews when all I could think about was getting you alone?"

"Oh, poor baby," you teased gently, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. "It must have been tough, going over the race data after a P6 finish."

Carlos groaned dramatically, pulling you closer. "Torture, hermosa. Absolute torture."

Carlos guided you towards the bed, his hands never leaving your body. With a gentle push, he lowered you onto the mattress, quickly following to hover above you. His lips found yours again, the kiss deep and passionate, as his hands roamed your sides, slipping under the hem of your shirt.

You arched into his touch, your own hands exploring the firm planes of his back. Carlos broke the kiss to trail his lips along your jawline, down to the sensitive spot on your neck that always made you gasp.

"You're really needy today, aren't you?" you said, running your fingers through his hair.

Carlos' lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes softening with affection. "I'm always needy when it comes to my girl," he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips once more.

Your breath caught in your throat, not just from the sensation of his warm breath on your skin, but from his words. My girl. The phrase echoed in your mind, stirring up the doubts you'd been trying to push away.

Suddenly, Kika's voice from your earlier conversation rang in your ears. "Wait, has he not asked you to be his girlfriend yet?"

The warmth that had been building in your chest turned cold as uncertainty crept in. If you were his girl, then why hadn't he made it official?

Carlos must have sensed your sudden tension because he pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing. "YN? What's wrong?"

You forced a smile, trying to shake off the doubts. "Nothing," you said, your voice not quite as steady as you'd hoped.

He studied your face for a moment, concern evident in his eyes. "Are you sure? We can stop if you're not feeling it."

"No, no," you assured him quickly, not wanting to ruin the moment. "I'm fine. Just… got distracted for a second."

Carlos didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded slowly. "Okay, but promise me you'll tell me if something's bothering you?"

You nodded, pulling him back down for another kiss. As you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours and his hands on your body, you pushed your concerns to the back of your mind.

A few moments later, you laid tangled beneath the covers, your head resting on Carlos' chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare shoulder. The afterglow should have been blissful, but your mind was elsewhere, racing with thoughts you couldn't quiet.

Carlos must have sensed your unease because he shifted slightly, tilting his head to look at you. "YN? What's wrong, hermosa? You seem… distant. Are you not feeling well?"

You sighed, debating whether to voice your concerns. "It's nothing, really. I just…" you trailed off, unsure how to continue.

"Hey," he said softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?"

You bit your lip, your heart racing. "It's just… when you called me 'your girl' earlier… I don't know. It made me think."

"Think about what?" Carlos' brow furrowed slightly. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no, you didn't," you assured him quickly. "It's more about… us, I guess. About what we are. What this is between us."

"YN," he said, his voice low and intense. "I thought I've been clear about how I feel about you. I've been yours since that kiss at Jimmy'z last year. Maybe even before that, if I'm being honest."

His words should have reassured you, but they only made your anxiety spike. You sat up abruptly, pulling the sheet around you.

You'd wanted clarity, but now that you had it, you didn't know how to handle it.

"But what does that mean, Carlos?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly. "We've been doing... whatever this is for months now, but we've never really talked about it. We haven't put a label on it."

Carlos sat up too, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "I didn't think we needed to. I thought it was obvious how I felt about you."

"Obvious?" you repeated, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice. "How is it obvious when we've never actually discussed what we are to each other?"

Carlos reached for your hand, but you pulled away, standing up from the bed. You began pacing, your mind racing.

"YN, please," Carlos said, his voice soft. "Come back to bed. Let's talk about this."

You shook your head, reaching for your clothes. "I can't... I need to think. I need some space."

As you hurriedly dressed, Carlos got out of bed, pulling on his boxers. "Are you really running away, Piastri?" he asked, a hint of anger in his voice now. "I thought we were past this. That you weren't that arrogant girl who was ready to pick up pointless fights with me anymore."

His words stung, cutting deeper than you thought possible. It felt like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs and leaving you reeling. The accusation brought back all the insecurities you'd been trying to suppress, all the doubts about whether you deserved this happiness with Carlos. It was as if he'd reached into your chest and squeezed your heart, leaving you raw and vulnerable.

You whirled to face him, eyes flashing with hurt and anger. "Arrogant? Is that what you think of me?"

"No, that's not what I meant," Carlos ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice. "I just... I thought we'd moved past the point where you'd run away instead of talking to me."

"Maybe I wouldn't feel the need to run if you'd actually communicate with me," you shot back.

"Communicate?" Carlos scoffed. "That's rich coming from you. You're the one who's been keeping me at arm's length this whole time!"

The accusation hit you like a slap. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on, YN," Carlos said, his voice rising. "Every time things get too real, you pull away. You make a joke, you change the subject. It's like you're afraid of admitting that this might actually mean something."

"That's not fair," you protested, feeling tears prick at your eyes. "I'm here, aren't I? I've been here! But how am I supposed to be sure that this isn't just a fling for you? Or some twisted way to mess with Oscar?"

"Oscar?" Carlos looked you with wide eyes, shaking his head, "What does Oscar have to do with anything? This is about us, YN. You and me."

"Is it?" you challenged, your voice breaking. "Because sometimes I don't even know what 'us' means. Are we together? Are we just having fun? How am I supposed to know?"

Carlos' expression softened slightly, but his frustration was still evident. "You're not being fair, Piastri. I've always been the one to show my desire to be with you. I did it that night after Lando's party, remember? But you're the one who runs away when things get real."

His words hit home, and you felt a fresh wave of guilt and confusion wash over you.

"I don't... I don't run away," you said weakly, but even to your own ears, it sounded unconvincing.

"Don't you?" Carlos asked, his voice softening. "Every time I try to take a step forward, you take three steps back. I'm not the one who's afraid of labels here."

Silence lingered in the air, you felt physically sick. Carlos' words were true, every single one of them, deep down you knew it. As much as you tried to let your guard down with him, your self defense mechanisms always came through.

"When are you going to stop sabotaging your own happiness for other people?" Carlos asked after another minute of silence. "This isn't about Oscar, or anyone else. It's about you being too scared to admit that you might actually care about me."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, once again. "Scared? You think I'm scared? I'm terrified, Carlos! Terrified of getting hurt, of ruining everything. And you're not exactly making it easy.""

"How am I not making it easy?" Carlos demanded, his voice rising. "I've been nothing but clear about my feelings for you. Every time I get close, you shut down!" Carlos shouted, his frustration boiling over. "It's like you're allergic to any kind of emotional intimacy!"

"Oh, that's something coming from you," you spat back. "Mr. 'I-can-charm-anyone-with-a-smile'. How do I know this isn't just another conquest for you?"

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You saw the hurt flash across Carlos' face, quickly replaced by anger.

"A conquest?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "Is that really what you think of me? After everything I've shared with you?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," you said, your voice breaking. "This whole thing is just... it's too much. I can't do this."

You turned towards the door, reaching for the handle. Carlos stepped forward, his anger dissipating, replaced by desperation.

"YN, wait," he pleaded. "Please, don't go. Not like this. Let's talk, mi amor. Don't run from me."

The term of endearment, spoken so softly, almost broke your resolve. You paused, your hand on the doorknob, torn between the urge to flee and the desire to fall into his arms.

"I... I can't, Carlos," you whispered, your voice thick with tears. "I need some time. Some space to think."

"YN, please," Carlos said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We can figure this out together. Just... stay. Please."

You turned to look at him one last time, your heart breaking at the pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry," you managed to say. "I'll... I'll call you later."

And with that, you stepped out into the hallway, leaving Carlos standing alone in his room.

You immediately felt like you made a huge mistake.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You were curled up on the couch in your apartment, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, staring blankly at the TV screen. The sound was muted, the flickering images providing a distraction you desperately needed but couldn't quite focus on. Your phone lay face down on the coffee table, ignored despite the occasional vibration of incoming messages.

Your mind wandered to Carlos, it always did.

The memory of your argument played on repeat in your head, each hurtful word a fresh wound. You couldn't shake the image of his face - the hurt, the anger, the desperation in his eyes as you walked out the door. It haunted you.

Everything that had happened that night felt like a blur. The passion of your initial encounter, the tenderness of his touch, the way he called you "his girl" - it all seemed so perfect until your insecurities came crashing in. You wondered if you had overreacted, if you had let your fears get the best of you.

Carlos had been right about one thing - you did have a tendency to run when things got too real. It was a defense mechanism, a way to protect yourself from getting hurt. But in doing so, were you sabotaging your own happiness, like he said?

The only thing you were sure about was that it wasn't physical attraction or the remaining tension of your bickering from last year anymore, Carlos saw you in a way no one else did, and that terrified you as much as it thrilled you.

Your conversation with Lando from earlier that day came back to you. You had called him in a moment of panic, spilling out all your fears and doubts. Lando, ever the unusual voice of reason, had listened patiently.

"YN," he had said, his voice gentle but firm, "you can't let your insecurities ruin what you and Carlos could have. I've known him for years, and I've never seen him like this with anyone else. He really cares about you."

"But what if it doesn't work out?" you had asked, your voice small. "What if we end up hating each other again?"

Lando had chuckled at that. "You two are so stubborn, you know that? You're both so afraid of letting your guard down that you're pushing each other away. Someone needs to take the first step, YN. And from what Carlos has told me, he's been trying. Maybe it's your turn."

His words echoed in your mind now, mixing with the memory of Carlos' plea for you to stay.

You made a huge mistake by walking away that night, and now you didn't know how to fix it.

A soft knock on the door startled you out of your thoughts. You hesitated, not wanting to face anyone, but another, more insistent knock followed.

"YN? It's me, open up," Oscar's voice called from the other side.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself off the couch and shuffled to the door. When you opened it, your brother's concerned face greeted you.

"Hey," Oscar said softly, his eyes scanning your disheveled appearance. "Can I come in?"

You nodded, stepping aside to let him enter. Oscar walked in, his gaze taking in the dim lighting and the general disarray of your usually tidy living room. He turned to face you, worry etched across his features.

"What's going on, sis? I heard you're not going to Austria," he said, his voice gentle but probing. "And it looks like you haven't slept in days."

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "I just need a break," you mumbled, moving back to the couch and curling up in your previous position.

Oscar followed, sitting down beside you.

He reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch gentle and familiar. "YN, talk to me. What's really going on? Is this about Carlos?"

At the mention of Carlos' name, you felt a fresh wave of emotion wash over you. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. Oscar noticed your reaction and pulled you into a tight hug.

"Oh, sis," he murmured, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "What happened?"

You buried your face in your brother's shoulder, finally letting the tears fall. Between sobs, you started to explain everything that had happened in Barcelona - the conversation with Kika and Alex, your growing insecurities, the night in Carlos's hotel room, your argument. As you spoke, you could feel the weight of the past week pressing down on you, the emotions you'd been bottling up threatening to spill over.

"…and now, I don't know what to do," you finished, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I've ruined everything."

"YN, listen to me. You haven't ruined anything," Oscar said, "Relationships are complicated, and misunderstandings happen. But from what you've told me and what I've seen, it sounds like Carlos cares about you a lot. And I think you care about him too, more than you're willing to admit to yourself."

"But what if it all goes wrong?" you wiped your eyes, sniffling. "What if we end up hating each other even more than we did before? What if... what if I'm not enough for him?"

Oscar shook his head, a small smile on his face. "You've always been your own worst enemy, you know that?" you almost rolled your eyes at he familiar statement. "Remember when I left for boarding school? You were so upset, convinced that I was leaving you behind forever. You didn't want to say goodbye, afraid it would hurt too much."

The memory flooded back, and you felt a lump form in your throat. "Yeah, I remember," you said softly.

"But do you remember what happened after?" Oscar prompted.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "We ended up talking more than ever. Phone calls, letters, video chats…"

"Exactly," Oscar said, squeezing your hand. "You were so scared of losing me that you almost pushed me away. But when you finally opened up, our relationship grew stronger than ever."

"That's different, Oscar. This is… it's Carlos. It's complicated."

"Is it?" Oscar challenged. "Or are you just making it complicated because you're scared? I've seen the way you two look at each other. It's not just some leftover tension from your rivalry. It's real."

You sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. "But what if-"

"No more 'what ifs'," Oscar interrupted. "You can't live your life afraid of what might happen. You're missing out on what's right in front of you," you were quiet for a moment, considering his words until he spoke again, "I know you’ve held back a lot in your life—for me, for our family—but I don’t want you holding back when it comes to Carlos.”

You blinked, slightly caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Oscar hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I mean… I’ve seen how much you sacrifice for the people you love. You’ve put so much of your own life on hold to support me, and I’ll always be grateful for that. But when it comes to Carlos—this thing between you—it’s different. I would never forgive myself if you sacrificed that for my sake.”

Your heart clenched at his words, and you realized how much Oscar understood you, maybe even more than you realized. “Oscar, I’m not holding back for you, I—”

“I know you’re not doing it consciously," he interrupted gently, "But I can see it. You’re worried about how our dynamic will change, or maybe how I’ll react. But, YN, I want you to be happy. If being with Carlos makes you happy, then I want you to go for it. Don’t worry about me. Don’t worry about anyone else.”

You sat there, absorbing what Oscar said. His words made you feel a lot of different things all at once. You realized he was right - you had been holding back, not just with Carlos, but in many parts of your life. This scared you, but also made you feel free.

It was time to put yourself first.

"I hate that you're always so wise, you're my little brother, I'm supposed to be the one giving you advice, not the other way around."

"To be fair, I was thrown into the motorsport world at an early age, you experience all kinds of drama there," he shrugged, making both of you laugh, "Now, are you going to talk to him, or do I need to drag you to Austria myself? Or even Madrid?"

You let out a small laugh, the first genuine one in days. "I guess I'll talk to him. But I still don't feel like going to Austria, I need some time to gather my thoughts."

"Fair enough," Oscar nodded, "Just don't take too long, okay? You both deserve to be happy. And Lando is freaking out because you're ruining his dreams again."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 397,538 others

ynpiastri i almost forgot how it felt to watch a race on tv. congratulations boys 🥳 and ty to my queen @carmenmmundt for the last picture

tagged: oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, georgerussell63

view all 4,288 comments

username1 QUEEN WE MISS YOU WHAT HAPPENED

username2 the paddock is not the same without the most iconic piastri

lilyzneimer 🤍

carmenmmundt 😚😚

username3 im pretty sure this is the first time she’s not at a race since oscar’s f2 days

username4 THE 55 HELLO?????

username5 WHATS THEIR SHIP NAME?? PAINZ???

username6 she’s down bad for the smooth operator this is what i call enemies to lovers

landonorris You seem happy for my DNF…

↳ ynpiastri stfu

carlossainz55 ❤️

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You paced nervously in your apartment, your heart racing as you waited for Carlos to arrive. The soft carpet muffled your footsteps but did nothing to quiet the storm of thoughts in your head. You had rehearsed what you wanted to say a hundred times, but now that the moment was here, all your carefully prepared words seemed to evaporate.

Your eyes flitted to the clock on the wall, then to your phone, checking the time for what felt like the thousandth time. The knock on the door made you jump, your pulse skyrocketing. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. "It's just Carlos," you told yourself, but that thought brought both comfort and a new wave of anxiety.

With trembling hands, you smoothed down your shirt and ran a hand through your hair before opening the door. Carlos stood there, looking tired but as handsome as ever. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through it—a nervous habit you'd noticed before.

His eyes lit up when he saw you, a mix of relief and apprehension in his gaze. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, the air heavy with unspoken words and emotions.

"Hi," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You stepped aside to let him in, hyper-aware of his presence as he moved past you.

"Hi," he replied, his voice warm as he entered.

You led him to the living room, settling on the couch. There was a moment of awkward silence, the tension palpable. You both opened your mouths to speak at the same time.

"I'm sorry—“

"I wanted to—"

You both laughed, some of the tension dissipating. The sound of his laughter, even tinged with nervousness, helped to ease some of your anxiety.

"You go first," Carlos said, his eyes soft as he looked at you. His gaze was patient, encouraging, and you drew strength from it.

You took a deep breath, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, knowing he deserved your full honesty. "Carlos, I'm so sorry for running away in Barcelona. It wasn't fair to you, and I've been kicking myself ever since. I… I panicked. Everything was happening so fast, and I just… I couldn't handle it."

He nodded, his expression understanding. He reached out to take your hand, his touch sending a shiver through you. "I appreciate that, YN. Truly. But I owe you an apology too. I shouldn't have pushed you or made assumptions about your feelings. I got caught up in the moment and didn't consider how overwhelming it might be for you."

"No, Carlos, you were right," you shook your head, squeezing his hand. "I do run away when things get too real. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to myself either."

You paused, gathering your courage. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure Carlos must be able to hear it. "The truth is, I care about you. A lot. More than I've cared about anyone in a long time. And that terrifies me."

Carlos moved closer, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. The tenderness in his touch almost undid you. "Why does it terrify you, mi amor?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours.

You leaned into his touch, feeling tears prick at your eyes. The vulnerability of the moment was almost overwhelming, but you forced yourself to continue. "Because I'm not used to feeling this vulnerable. I've always prided myself on being independent, on not needing anyone. It's been my armor, my way of protecting myself. But with you… you see parts of me that I don't show anyone else. You've managed to slip past all my defenses, and it scares me how much I want to let you in completely."

Carlos listened intently, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as you spoke. His warmth, his steady presence, made the walls you had built around yourself seem almost unnecessary.

"It's okay to be scared, hermosa. I understand why you feel like you need to protect yourself. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I’m here, and I want to be here for you, with you."

Your heart swelled at his words, and despite the vulnerability, a small part of you felt lighter, freer. "I’ve never let anyone get this close before," you admitted. "But I don’t want to keep running, Carlos. I don’t want to keep pushing you away."

Carlos smiled softly, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. "I don’t want you to run, either. I want us to be together, whatever comes next. But only if that’s what you want."

You exhaled shakily, emotions swirling inside you like a storm. "It is what I want," you said, your voice firm but laced with emotion. "I want to be with you. I’m tired of being scared of something that could be so good."

A look of pure relief crossed Carlos' face, and he pulled you into his arms. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling his heart beating steadily under your cheek. His arms wrapped around you tightly, as if he were afraid you might disappear.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whispered, answering the unspoken fear that lingered between you both.

Carlos kissed the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair. "You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that."

You pulled back slightly to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest, "I promise I'll change, I'll be-"

"Mi amor," Carlos interrupted softly, "I don't want to change you. I fell for you exactly as you are—stubborn, brilliant, and fiercely independent. Those are the qualities that drew me to you in the first place."

You couldn't help but smile at that, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Even when I was being a pain in your ass?" you asked, a hint of your usual sass creeping into your voice.

"Especially then," he chuckled, the sound warming you from the inside out. "You know, even when we were at each other's throats, I was always drawn to you. I wanted to know you better, to understand what made you such a firecracker."

"Really?" you asked, surprised.

"Really," he confirmed, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Besides, you were infuriatingly attractive when you were angry. The way your eyes would flash, the flush on your cheeks… it took everything in me not to kiss you right then and there sometimes."

You felt a familiar warmth spreading across your cheeks at Carlos' words, but you couldn't help the playful smirk that tugged at your lips. "Oh, so that's why you were always trying to rile me up, huh? And here I thought you were just being an insufferable little bitch."

"Ah, there's the Piastri I know," Carlos threw his head back in laughter. "I was wondering when your sharp tongue would make an appearance."

"You love it," you teased, feeling more like yourself than you had in days.

"I do," he admitted, his eyes twinkling.

Carlos' gaze dropped to your lips. Slowly, he leaned in, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn't want to. Not anymore.

Your eyes fluttered closed as his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if he was still afraid you might run. But as you responded, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer, the kiss deepened, filled with all the emotions you had both been holding back.

When you finally pulled apart, Carlos rested his forehead against yours. "I meant every word I said," he murmured. "I'm serious about this. I want to make this work."

You took a deep breath, your heart racing for an entirely different reason now. "I'm serious too, Carlos. It scares me how much I want this, but… I want to be with you."

The smile that broke across Carlos' face was radiant. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you again.

"You're still my little bitch after all," you couldn't help but laugh as you parted.

"When are you going to change that to something more romantic, hmm?" Carlos rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "'Mi amor,' perhaps? Or 'cariño'?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I failed Spanish in high school?" you rolled your eyes back at him. "And I thought you liked it when I called you that. Didn't you say once that it turned you on?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that statement," he said with a grin. "But how about this—you can call me your 'little bitch' if you want, but I get to call you my girlfriend. Deal?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the word 'girlfriend.' It should have scared you, but instead, it filled you with warmth.

"Deal," you agreed, pulling him in for another kiss.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 402,726 others

ynpiastri fitting 💋

view all 4,688 comments

username1 OMGGGG

username2 ICONIC

alexandrasaintmleux 😂😂😂😂

username3 WHOS THE BOYFRIENDDDD

logansargeant Is this who I think it is? 👀

↳ ynpiastri little bitches everywhere

username4 THATS CARLOS CONFIRMED

username5 CARLOSYN PAINZ 😩

landonorris BITCH FINALLY

↳ username1 i bet lando manifested this

nicolepiastri We been knew since Singapore 2023, by the way

↳ ynpiastri MUM 😩

↳ username2 I LOVE YOU NICOLE PIASTRI

carlossainz55 ❤️

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Hungarian Grand Prix had been a whirlwind of emotions. The entire paddock was still buzzing with excitement over Oscar's maiden Formula 1 victory.

Your little brother had driven the race of his life, leading most of the laps to take the checkered flag. The memory of him standing on the top step of the podium, eyes glistening with tears of joy as the Australian national anthem played, was one you'd cherish forever. The pride you felt was indescribable - your baby brother, the kid you'd watched grow up and chase his dreams, was now a Grand Prix winner.

It had been three blissful weeks since you and Carlos had officially become a couple. After your heartfelt conversation at your apartment, you had both taken the time to navigate this new phase of your relationship, and it had been everything you could have hoped for.

Telling your close friends and family was the easy part. Lando practically squealed with delight, Oscar and Carlos had a nice chat, and of course, Nicole Piastri, a fan of dragging her own kids, reminded everyone that you failed Spanish in high school multiple times, so Carlos had to make sure to constantly translate for you. The rest of the paddock had quickly caught on, and soon, Carlos Sainz and the eldest Piastri were the talk of the town.

But you didn't mind the attention. Being with Carlos felt so natural and right.

Now, as you sat in the airport waiting for your delayed flight to Monaco, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. Sure, the hours-long delay was less than ideal, but you were surrounded by the people you cared about most, celebrating Oscar's first win with good old fasioned airport McDonalds.

"I can't believe Oscar got his first win," Lando exclaimed, already halfway through a Big Mac. "That's crazy, mate."

"I know, I still can't believe it," Oscar beamed, "It hasn't really sunk in yet."

You reached over to give your brother's arm an affectionate squeeze. "I'm so proud of you, Osc. You deserve it."

"Thanks, sister. Couldn't have done it without your support all these years."

"Oh, come on," you teased, "I didn't drive that car. That was all you out there."

"Yeah, but you've always been there," Oscar insisted, his voice softening. "Through the karting days, the junior formulas, all of it. It means a lot."

You felt a lump form in your throat, touched by your brother's words. You pulled Oscar into a tight hug, blinking back tears of pride and joy. "You're my little brother, Osc. I'll always be in your corner, no matter what."

Oscar returned the embrace, squeezing you tightly. "I know, YN. And I couldn't ask for a better cheerleader."

When you finally pulled apart, you noticed the others watching with fond smiles.

Across the lounge, Carlos was engaged in an animated conversation with Lando, their voices a low hum in the background. You couldn't help but watch him, admiring the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the graceful movement of his hands as he gesticulated. Even in casual clothes, hair slightly mussed from the long day, he took your breath away.

As if sensing your gaze, Carlos looked up, his eyes meeting yours. The soft smile that spread across his face sent a flutter through your chest. You patted the empty spot next to you on the couch, a silent invitation. He nodded, excusing himself from his conversation with Lando, which couldn't help but tease about the two of you being codependent now.

"Missing me already, mi amor?" Carlos teased as he approached.

You rolled your eyes playfully, but couldn't keep the smile off your face. "Don't flatter yourself, Sainz. I just didn't want you to strain your neck looking over here every five seconds."

Carlos chuckled as he sat down next to you, immediately wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. "Ah, but how can I resist when the view is so beautiful?"

You snuggled into his side, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne. "Smooth talker," you murmured, but there was no bite to your words.

"Only for you, hermosa," he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

For a while, you sat in comfortable silence, watching as the sun began to set through the large windows. The quiet was occasionally punctuated by laughter from where Oscar, Alex, and Lando were playing some sort of card game.

"How are you feeling?" you asked Carlos softly, noticing the slight droop to his shoulders.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Tired," he admitted. "It's been a long few weeks. But happy," he added, squeezing you gently. "Very happy."

You smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I'm glad. You drove amazingly this weekend, you know."

"Thank you," Carlos leaned into your touch, his eyes softening. "It means a lot coming from you."

Carlos let out a contented sigh, his hand coming up to cover yours where it rested on his cheek. "I can't wait for the summer break, you know?" he murmured. "Just you and me, in Mallorca. No distractions, no obligations..." he turned his head slightly to press a kiss to your palm, his gaze holding yours. "I've been looking forward to it for weeks. Getting you all to myself, finally."

"That sounds perfect," you sighed happily. "Though I hope your plans also include plenty of time for just lounging around and doing absolutely nothing."

"Of course, whatever you want, hermosa."

"Whatever I want, huh?" you teased, a mischievous glint in your eye. "That's a dangerous offer, Sainz."

"I think I can handle whatever you throw at me, Piastri," he grinned, leaning in closer.

You were about to reply when a french fry hit you squarely on the forehead. You turned to see Oscar looking at you with mock disgust.

"Seriously, you two? We're right here," he groaned.

"Oh, like you and Lily aren't just as bad," you retorted, throwing the fry back at him.

Oscar caught it mid-air, popping it into his mouth with a grin. "At least we have the decency to be gross in private."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to see you all lovey-dovey," Lando chimed in.

"Shut up, Lando," you rolled your eyes, "I seem to recall you being the one who was pushing for this whole thing in the first place."

"Yeah, well," Lando shrugged, "I'm starting to think I preferred it when Carlos thought you were insufferable and you called him a 'little bitch'."

You couldn't help but laugh at that, glancing over at Carlos and pecking his cheek. "Oh, I still do."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri 403,664 others

ynpiastri my little brother, the grand prix winner 🥺

oscar, watching you stand on that top step today brought tears to my eyes. i still remember the day you left for boarding school to chase your racing dreams. i felt like i was losing my little brother, and a piece of my heart went with you.

but seeing you now, living your dream and achieving what so many thought impossible, all i can feel is an overwhelming sense of pride. you've grown into an incredible man and driver, but you'll always be that kid who used to steal my snacks and beg me to play race cars with him.

your journey hasn't been easy, through every challenge, every setback, you kept pushing. and now, here you are, a grand prix winner, battling with the best (and occasionally a spaniard little bitch 😩)

you've grown so much, but some things never change. like how we're celebrating this monumental victory - stuck in an airport, chowing down on mcdonald's.

i love you so much, little bro ❤️

tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris, carlossainz55, landonorris, alex_albon

view all 4,648 comments

username1 im SOBBING this is so beautiful

username2 THE PIASTRI SIBLINGS ARE JUST TOO PURE

mclaren 🧡

nicolepiastri 🥲🥲🥲

username3 AHHH THE PICTURE OF HER AND CARLOS IN THE PLANE I CANT

username4 this is too pure as an eldest daughter im sobbing

username5 PAINZ CONFIRMED

carlossainz55 ❤️

↳ username1 he only comments hearts come on bro

username6 THE LANDOSCAR PIC🥺

oscarpiastri Sis, you've got me tearing up in the middle of this crowded airport. Your support has been the backbone of my journey, and I couldn't have done this without you. You've worn so many hats - cheerleader, mentor, occasional bodyguard (those Twitter wars were something else 😂 but look at you and Carlos now). But most importantly, you've been my rock. When Mum and Dad couldn't be there because of work, you stepped up. You've been my third parent in every way that counts. So yeah, we might be stuck in an airport eating McDonald's right now, but I wouldn't want to share this moment with anyone else. You're the best sister and 'bonus parent' a guy could ask for.

↳ ynpiastri bitch stop it my therapist has enough issues to deal with (ILYSM)

↳ username1 SHES SO REAL

↳ username2 OSCAR CONFIRMING CARLOS-YN

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

TWITTER

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in oranges, pinks, and purples. The water was gently hitting the side of the yacht, making a calming sound. This peaceful feeling matched the quiet mood around you and Carlos.

You were sprawled out on the deck, lounging on plush cushions as the warm Mallorcan breeze caressed your skin. Carlos lay beside you, propped up on one elbow, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

"You're staring," you murmured, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Carlos didn't even try to deny it. "How can I not?" he replied, his voice low and husky. "You're breathtaking, mi amor."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, still not entirely used to the way Carlos could make you feel with just a few words. "Flatterer," you teased, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair.

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly in contentment. When he opened them again, the look he gave you was filled with such warmth and adoration that it made your heart skip a beat.

"It's not flattery if it's true," Carlos insisted, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

You couldn't help the small gasp that escaped you as his lips trailed up your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Carlos," you breathed, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver through you. "Yes, hermosa?"

"Kiss me," you demanded softly, tugging him closer.

Carlos was more than happy to oblige, capturing your lips in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened. You lost yourself in the sensation, in the taste of him, in the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

When you finally broke apart, Carlos rested his forehead against yours. "You drive me crazy, you know that?" he murmured, his accent thicker than usual.

"Good. That's the plan," you grinned

Carlos groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "You'll be the death of me, Piastri."

"But what a way to go," you quipped, running your hands down his back.

He chuckled against your skin, the sound sending pleasant vibrations through you. "Indeed."

As Carlos lifted his head to look at you again, something caught your eye over his shoulder. Squinting slightly, you realized what it was and couldn't help but let out a small sigh.

"What is it?" Carlos asked, noticing the change in your expression.

"Don't look now, but we've got company," you said, nodding slightly towards the distance. "Paparazzi, about a hundred meters out."

Carlos groaned, dropping his head back to your shoulder. "Can't we have one moment of peace?"

You ran your fingers soothingly through his hair. "Hey, it's okay. We knew this was part of the deal."

"I know. I just… I want to keep you all to myself sometimes."

The possessiveness in his tone sent a thrill through you. "Well," you said, a mischievous glint in your eye, "if they're going to intrude on our privacy anyway, we might as well give them something to see."

Before Carlos could react, you pulled him down for another kiss, this one slower, deeper, and decidedly more public-friendly than your previous ones. When you pulled back, Carlos looked slightly dazed.

"Dios mio, your family is going to see those," he shook his head, "What will Nicole Piastri think of me? Oscar will run me off the track, too."

You laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, please. My mum adores you, and you know it. As for Oscar, well… he'll just have to get used to it," you shrugged, "He was the one who encouraged this to happen anyway."

Carlos only shook his head with a smile, pulling you in for another kiss, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, feeling his skin against yours.

When you finally broke apart, Carlos's eyes were soft, "Te quiero," he whispered, his voice husky and filled with emotion.

You couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips. "I failed Spanish, remember?" you teased gently, your heart racing in your chest.

Carlos's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled back. "I think you know what that means," he replied, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I love you too, you little bitch."

Carlos let out a dramatic groan, but the affection in his expression was unmistakable. "I should have known the sappiness wouldn't last."

"Hey, you signed up for this," you teased, poking him playfully in the chest. "Might as well accept it."

Pulling you close, Carlos pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "Gladly, mi amor. Gladly."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

TWITTER

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

INSTAGRAM

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 476,458 others

ynpiastri he’s still a little bitch 😚

tagged: carlossainz55

view all 4,987 comments

username1 AHHHH

username2 THIS HARD LAUCH

alexandrasaintmleux love to see you happy my girl 🥰

lilyzneimer 💓💓

username3 THIS is enemies to lovers

username4 i still can’t believe they’re together 😭 THEY HATED EACH OTHER

georgerussell63 WELL FINALLY

↳ alex_albon For real

↳ username1 THE ENTIRE GRID JUST KNEW

↳ ynpiastri why are all of you so damn nosy

↳ pierregasly Or you and Carlos were too obvious

↳ charles_leclerc 😂😂😂😂😂

oscarpiastri Yup, this is weird

↳ username1 OSCARRRR

oscarpiastri However, I’m really happy for you sister ❤️

↳ ynpiastri ily little indirect matchmaker

carlossainz55 You’ll never stop calling me that, won’t you hermosa?

↳ ynpiastri NEVERRR MY LITTLE BITCH FOR LIFE

4K notes · View notes

flwrkid14 · 3 months ago

Text

Tim Drake's Immortal Babysitter

Tim Drake has always had someone watching over him. The Bast just don't know it.

Because before Tim was Red Robin—before he was even walking—the Drakes made a deal. They were rich, busy, and too occupied with their globe-trotting lifestyle to actually raise their son. But they still wanted Tim protected. Watched over. Cared for.

Enter Danny.

Young-looking, strangely unaging, with sharp blue eyes and a warm smile, he seemed like a responsible college kid just looking for a babysitting gig. Only he wasn’t. Because behind the casual charm and the easy grin was Phantom, the immortal protector of Amity Park—now moonlighting as the personal bodyguard of one Tim Drake.

The Drakes paid him an obscene amount of money to keep their son safe. But Danny didn’t do it for the money. He did it because he promised.

And Danny always keeps his promises.

-—

Tim doesn’t remember a time without Danny.

Danny, who stayed with him when his parents were gone for months at a time. Danny, who dried his tears and soothed his nightmares. Danny, who bandaged scraped knees and taught him how to ride a bike. Danny, who picked him up from school and brought him home to a warm meal, even when his parents didn’t care enough to call.

And when Tim got older—when he grew sharper, smarter, and far too observant—he started noticing things. How Danny never seemed to age. The way Danny was always there, no matter what. How he could do things no normal person could do—like pull Tim out of the path of an oncoming car and somehow appear twenty feet away a second later, holding him safely in his arms.

Tim figured it out by the time he was ten.

"You’re Phantom, aren’t you?" he asked one night, voice steady, too sure for a child. Danny stared at him for a moment, then huffed out a tired laugh. "Yeah, Tim. I am." Tim blinked once. "Cool. Can you teach me how to fight?"

Danny had laughed so hard he nearly cried. And then, he did teach him.

-—

So by the time Tim became Robin, Danny already knew.

He didn’t try to stop him. He didn’t tell him it was too dangerous. He just smiled wryly, ruffled Tim’s hair, and made him promise to let Danny help.

That way, when Tim was too tired to make it home? Danny was there, carrying him back to his apartment. When Tim got injured? Danny was the one who patched him up before anyone else could even find him. When Tim couldn’t stand after a fight? Danny was the one pulling him into his arms, flying him away before the family even realized he was gone.

And no one knew.

The Bats didn’t notice the subtle extra layer of protection. The faint wisp of cold air that followed Tim after patrols. The second shadow lingering on the rooftops.

None of them saw the glimmer of white hair that flickered out of sight or the flash of toxic green eyes that glared from the dark whenever someone got too close to Tim.

And Tim? Tim was happy.

Even when Bruce found out about Tim’s parentless situation and, with all his good intentions, suggested adoption—offering to bring Tim into Wayne Manor, to make him part of the family—Tim just shook his head.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said easily. Bruce blinked. "Tim, I can give you a home. You don’t have to—" "I already have a home," Tim interrupted softly. Because he did. Because Danny was his family.

-—

The family doesn’t know. They don’t know that when Tim comes back from a rough patrol, there’s already a cup of hot chocolate waiting for him at home. That when Tim is too tired to train, there’s someone helping him stretch and taking care of his body. That when Tim doesn’t answer his comm, it’s because Danny is already there.

And when Tim is Red Robin, moving with practiced ease through Gotham, Phantom is always nearby, invisible to everyone else but always watching over him.

Tim doesn’t need to be adopted. He doesn’t need a Bat symbol on his chest to feel safe. Because he has Danny, and Danny has him.

And that's all he'll ever need.

#tim drake #danny phantom #danny fenton #batfam #dc x dp #janet definitely knew there was something special about danny which is why she hired him instead of some professional 5 star nanny #danny becomes tim's pseudo father #tim basically gets adopted by danny

2K notes · View notes

millermouth · 4 months ago

Text

Part III

Summary: After an accidental Freudian slip in bed with your husband, you and Joel agree to take a step back. Boundaries are drawn, lines are reinforced—but the damage is done, and even the strongest of willpower can't keep you apart.

|| smut MDNI 18+, little bit of angst there too, starting to not really be able to say this isn't cheating anymore yikes, dirty talk, pinv, riding, breeding kink, no outbreak, little bit of action with Tommy (f!receiving oral) Joel Miller is starting to catch feeeeelingssss ruh roh || notes: oh boy oh boy did I get secondhand embarrassment from this one. I think my eyes might start bleeding if I try rereading this again so plz lmk of any errors

Tommy had always been good to you. Patient, eager to please. He took his time, hands kneading the soft skin of your thighs, mouth dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along your inner leg like he was savoring you. Like he loved you. And he did. Maybe that was the problem.

Because love wasn’t the same thing as knowing.

He wanted you to feel good, of course he did—but there was something hesitant about it, something careful. Like he was trying to do right by you instead of wreck you. Like he was holding back.

His tongue traced a path through your folds, licking and eating and suckling everywhere except where you needed him most. You squirmed, hips pushing up into his mouth, searching for that right spot, just a little higher, to the left…

You hummed when his nose nudged your clit, eyes fluttering shut, and what you didn’t mean to do was picture another man with the last name Miller instead of the one between your legs.

But you did.

And you didn’t picture patience. You pictured hunger.

Joel had devoured you, consumed you like he’d been starved for it, like he would’ve died if he didn’t get his mouth on you, inside you. He hadn’t wasted a second searching—he knew exactly where to touch, exactly how to work you open, like he’d memorized your body before he even had his hands on it. And God, those hands. The way they parted your thighs like the sea, fingers digging deep like they belonged there, like they were meant to bruise.

And his filthy, sinful mouth—

That voice, rough and low as he’d murmured against your soaked skin, coaxing you through every little whimper and gasp, urging you to let go, just one more, pretty girl, gimme another. You’d come on his tongue again and again until you could barely breathe, until you were trembling, until he finally, finally let you rest.

Tommy just didn’t do things like that.

Tommy felt like warmth, like comfort, like the hands of a man who wanted to love you—but not the hands of a man who understood you.

And maybe that was why you didn’t even hear yourself when it slipped out–

“Joel–”

And then there was silence.

Thick and suffocating, pressing against your ears, your chest, your ribs.

Tommy had stopped. You barely registered it at first—so lost in your own head, in the whiplash of pleasure and horror—until you felt the absence of his mouth, the cool air licking over your slick skin. He had frozen in place, his breath still warm against your thigh, but he wasn’t moving.

And then, slowly, achingly, he sat back.

You didn’t want to look at him.

Didn’t want to see the way his brow furrowed, his mouth parted like he was going to say something but didn’t quite know how.

Didn’t want to see the way his hands flexed against your legs before he let go of you completely and sat back on the pillows beside you.

The space between you suddenly felt massive.

“Oh, God,” you croaked, your stomach bottoming out. “Oh, Tommy, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

You scrambled, heat clawing up your throat, shame like a hand around your neck. “It was just—my head was all over the place, I wasn’t thinking, I—I swear I didn’t mean it, Tommy, I—”

“Stop.”

It wasn’t angry. If it was, maybe it would’ve been easier. Maybe you could’ve handled that.

But it was quiet. Resigned.

Tommy exhaled, dragging a hand down his face before finally meeting your eyes. You wished he hadn’t.

Because there it was. Not fury. Not disgust. Hurt. Disappointment.

“I, uh…” He let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh. Like he couldn’t believe it. “I guess I should’ve seen this comin’.”

Your pulse stuttered. “Tommy, no—”

He shook his head, lifting a hand, stopping you again. “I knew this wasn’t gonna be easy,” he murmured, voice low, rough. “Knew feelings could get mixed up. Thought we could have rules and make it simple.” A humorless chuckle, a shake of his head. “Jesus.”

You swallowed thickly, throat raw. “I love you, Tommy.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and something inside of him cracked. He nodded, reaching for you, letting you lay your head on his chest. “I know.” But when you looked up, his jaw tightened, his fingers curling into loose fists. “I just—I see the way you two are lately.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his voice softened. “You and Joel.”

Your breath caught.

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. “There’s just…this energy between you. Always has been, I guess, but now…” He huffed out another short, mirthless laugh, shaking his head again. “Shit, I don’t even think you two see it. Not fully.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Maybe you had seen it. Felt it. Maybe you’d been feeling it since the very first time, but you had locked it up, shoved it down, willed it away because you loved Tommy. Because you had made a choice.

Hadn’t you?

Tommy sighed, rubbing at his temple. “I just wanted a family with you.” His voice was thick, hoarse, like he was forcing the words through gravel. “More than anything.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I still do.”

You blinked hard, nodding, hands trembling as you reached for him. “And we will, Tommy, we—”

The arm he had around you stiffened, fingers twitching as you touched him.

“That’s the thing, though,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “We’re sittin’ here, prayin’ for somethin’ to take, prayin’ for this baby—and when I picture it…” He trailed off, shaking his head, letting out a breath that sounded defeated.

Your stomach twisted. “Tommy.”

He blinked down, eyes focused on the blankets. “When I picture it,” he repeated, slower this time, like he was barely holding himself together, “I dunno if I see me anymore.”

It felt like a gut punch.

His jaw flexed, something breaking in his voice. “I knew it might get messy with Joel. Knew we might have to separate things in our heads, that you’d be spendin’ time with him, that it’d be—” His breath shuddered. “That it’d be him touchin’ you, not me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, his fingers tightening. “I thought I could let it slide if it made you happy.”

Tommy’s words still hung heavy in the air, thick as smoke, curling in the space between you.

But you wouldn’t let them settle. Because he was wrong.

You let out a slow breath against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your cheek, the familiar warmth of him. Then, with purpose, you pushed yourself up, sitting back on your heels, straddling his lap. Your hands pressed against his bare skin, grounding you both as you looked down at him—really looked at him.

“Listen to me.” Your voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. His eyes flicked up, wary but locked onto yours. “If this works—if we have this baby—that’s ours, Tommy. Yours and mine.” You shook your head, fingers tightening slightly where they rested against him. “Not Joel’s. Ours.”

His jaw tensed, something flickering behind his eyes. You didn’t let him look away.

“I love you,” you continued, voice unwavering. “I chose you. I choose you.” You swallowed, feeling the weight of every word. “Yeah, it’s gonna be weird at first, but this—this is about us, not him.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching against your thighs. “I just…” He hesitated, looking up at you, searching. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You’re not,” you said instantly. “You won’t.”

His hands slid up, gripping your hips now, solid and warm, like he needed to feel you, to believe you. His brow furrowed, lips parting slightly, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, slowly, his grip tightened.

You felt the shift in him before you saw it. The way his body responded to yours, the way his fingers curled into your skin, grounding himself in you.

His eyes darkened just slightly, flickering down to your lips before dragging back up, searching your face.

You leaned in first.

The kiss wasn’t gentle—it was deep, tender, his breath hot against your mouth as he surged up, pulling you down, swallowing the last remnants of doubt between you. His hands traveled, skimming up your back, one sliding into your hair, the other gripping your waist like he needed to feel every inch of you, needed to remember.

A soft sound slipped from your throat as you shifted against him, the hard press of his body undeniable beneath you. The heat between you burned away the uncertainty, leaving only this.

His tongue slid against yours, slow and deliberate, as if reclaiming you, as if reminding you—you were his.

His grip tightened. Then, with a rumbling deep in his chest, he flipped you onto your back.

And for a second—just a split second—your mind flickered back to the last time someone had pinned you down like this.

You shoved the thought away, sealing yourself in this moment. In him.

Because you had made your choice.

Hadn’t you?

The tile shop smelled of fresh-cut stone, sawdust clinging faintly to the air beneath the sharp scent of industrial cleaner as you browsed the samples.

Joel walked beside you, giving you advice on the best materials for the bathroom remodel. He fit in here, comfortable among the stacks of flooring samples, the thick catalogs of material swatches, the talk of grout and durability.

When you reached the section of colorful tiles to pick from, he grabbed a copy of Home Building magazine from a nearby shelf in his hands, flipping through it absently as he leaned a hip against the counter of the showroom.

“So, you gonna tell me why Tommy was bitin’ my head off yesterday on a job?” His voice was rough but casual, like he wasn’t too concerned.

You blinked, stalling mid-step by the tile wall. “Huh?”

Joel looked up at you, gaze darkening like he thought you were playing dumb. “Was layin’ into me about every little thing. Usually, I can take one or two from ‘im—ya know, messin’ around, shootin’ the shit.” He flipped another page, shaking his head. “But this was different. Something got under his skin.” Then, content, he shut the catalog, setting it down on the counter and tilting his head.

Your stomach twisted. You dropped your gaze, fingers grazing over the veins in a slab of white marble, tracing the golden and brown threads weaving through the cool surface. The crisp, clean lines blurred as your thoughts ran too fast, searching for a way to frame this—if there even was one.

Joel called your name, and you hesitated before looking at him, only to drop your gaze just as fast, settling on his boots instead of his face.

“What’s goin’ on?” His voice came softer this time, a low murmur. He stepped toward you, his presence shifting the air around you, pulling tighter.

“I, uh…” Your lips pressed into a thin line. The words felt jagged in your throat, difficult to shape. “I may have screwed up.”

Joel’s brows pulled together. “Oh?”

“The other night, Tommy and I…we were…” You flicked your eyes to his, then around to check your surroundings before lowering your voice. “Ya know.”

Joel gave a slow nod, urging you to continue.

“And at one point… I was just trying to get myself there, ya know, I was close but couldn’t quite manage to…” You sucked in a deep breath, your skin prickling with heat. “I said your name.”

His frown deepened, forehead creasing, but he didn’t say anything—didn’t seem to fully understand yet.

You swallowed, heart drumming hard. “I said your name, Joel. Instead of his. Instead of my husband’s.”

Realization crawled over his face, slow, dawning. A flush crept along the tips of his ears, darkening the already pink hue to his skin.

“Oh, shit.”

“Oh shit is right,” you muttered, turning back to the tiles, though the intricate veins of marble couldn’t hold your focus.

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “This has gone too far,” he mumbled. “We can’t keep… this is too messy.”

You nodded, though it barely felt like agreement when there was a lump growing in your throat, thick and suffocating.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

The air outside was crisp, the sun starting to dip just enough to soften the light when you finished up with the tiles. You adjusted the weight of samples in your arms, stepping toward Joel’s truck.

Joel walked beside you, quiet. He’d been quiet ever since you left the showroom, brooding and only giving answers when needed, only talking to the salesman about the projects he was working on.

You grabbed the handle of the passenger door to open it—

But before you could, his hand shot out, slamming it shut again.

You startled, jerking slightly as his palm flattened firm against the metal. The space between you shrank, the air suddenly heavier as you turned to face him.

Your pulse skipped. “Joel?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Just kept his hand there, his jaw tight, something unreadable pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Then, after a moment, he swallowed, inhaled deep through his nose, and said, “I’m only gonna say this once.”

Your stomach tightened.

Joel turned his head just slightly, gaze flicking to you beneath furrowed brows. His voice was low, measured, but careful. So careful. It didn’t match the weight of his words.

“And then never again,” he murmured. “You hear me?”

You nodded, barely breathing anymore.

Joel inhaled again, like he was bracing himself. Then, finally, “My head’s all messed up over this,” he admitted, voice low, gravel-rough. “I ain’t been right since the first time. Since you.”

Your stomach clenched. Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his mouth, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “Tried to put it away, pretend it don’t mean anythin’. Tried to tell myself it’s just sex, just a favor, just somethin’ to get you and Tommy what you want—”

He huffed a short, bitter laugh, gaze flicking away for a second before finding yours again.

“But it ain’t just that. Not for me.”

Heat bloomed beneath your skin, thick and suffocating.

Joel’s fingers flexed against the truck door. His jaw tensed. “I ain’t been with anyone else since this started.” He let the words settle, let them sink in. “Haven’t even wanted to.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He shook his head again, his voice getting rougher, rawer, the truth scraping its way out of him. “And now I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. Can’t stop wonderin’ how you’re gonna sound, how you’re gonna feel every time I close my damn eyes. Can’t stop picturin’ you in my bed.” His breath shuddered. “I can’t even fuckin’ touch myself without seein’ you.”

You felt something tighten low in your stomach, sharp and unbearable.

His voice dipped, low and ragged. “And I—” He stopped himself, swallowing thickly before murmuring, almost like a confession, “I like it too much to want to stop. But we have to.”

Your chest rose and fell faster, your pulse hammering as your fingers twitched toward him. The storm of feelings in your head was screaming at you to stop reaching out to touch him. You couldn’t help it. Your body moved, closed in, your eyes dragging over his face before landing on his lips.

How could you feel like this?

How could you want two men at once? How could you look Tommy in the eyes, tell him you loved him, tell him you chose him, and then stand here now—your body tilting toward Joel like you didn’t have a choice in the matter? But the truth was, you had never chosen this. You had never asked for this. It had crept up on you in stolen moments, in the space between duty and desire, in the unspoken, in the way Joel knew you without even trying.

He was so close. So warm.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? You had always loved Tommy differently. Steady, safe, the warmth of something real and tangible, the kind of love that built a future. But Joel? Joel was something else entirely. He was unshakable—a presence that settled deep in your bones, that lived in the quiet parts of you, the places you had never let anyone else see. He was the ache in your stomach when his voice dropped too low, the heat in your chest when he looked at you just a second too long, the part of you that had been unraveling since the first night his hands had been on you.

The lines between them were blurred now, bleeding into one another, and you were standing in the middle of it, grasping at both of them, unsure which one would steady you first.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising beneath your palm, the warmth of him soaking into your skin like he belonged there.

And then, just as you began closing the distance between you, Joel pulled away.

His hand shot up, covering yours, pressing it firmly against his chest for just a second before peeling it away.

His head shook once. “No,” he said, rough. “We can’t.”

Your stomach dropped. His gaze met yours, full of something aching and raw, but his next words were firm.

“I won’t do that to Tommy. We said we wouldn’t let it get messy.”

Your throat bobbed, “Joel…”

He shook his head again, jaw tight as he released you, stepping back like he had to. Like if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to. A humorless huff of breath left his mouth before he said, “Already broke two rules, didn’t we?”

And when you didn’t reply, he shook his head and opened your door, “Get in the truck.”

The drive back was quiet.

Not the easy kind, not the peaceful kind—it was the kind that sat heavy between you, thick and charged, the kind where every breath felt too loud, where neither of you dared to fill the silence because what the hell was there even left to say?

Joel kept his hands on the wheel, his fingers flexing against the worn leather grip, his gaze fixed on the road like if he looked at you for even a second too long, he might crack.

You kept your hands in your lap, fidgeting and trying to ignore the way your skin still burned where he had touched you—where he had stopped touching you.

The truck rumbled as he pulled up in front of your house, tires crunching over gravel. He shifted into park but didn’t kill the engine. Didn’t move.

You turned to him, clearing your throat, “Next week, for your birthday–”

Joel’s knuckles flexed against the steering wheel, “What about it–”

“Tommy and I want to have you over,” you said simply. “I’m cookin’ steaks. There’ll be cake and the whole nine.”

His head turned slightly, brow furrowing. “What? Why?”

“I want—” You stopped yourself, pulse skipping before you corrected, “We want to. It’s just dinner, Joel. If not for me, for him. For Sarah. Just a regular family dinner.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “You remember what happened the last time you hosted one of them?”

His lips twitched at the corners, and for the first time since the tile shop, the tension cracked, just a little.

Your shoulders sagged slightly in relief, and for a second, things felt normal again. But then his gaze found yours. And just like that, the moment was gone.

For a second, you thought he might refuse. That he’d tell you it was a bad idea, that it was too much, that after everything that had happened, sitting at the same dinner table with you would be the last thing he wanted.

But he didn’t. Instead, he let out a slow breath, eyes flicking away like he was trying to find an argument and coming up empty.

Finally, he gave a small nod. “Alright.”

Your chest loosened. “Good. Be here at six.”

You reached for the handle, pushing the door open, stepping out into the cool evening air. The truck door creaked as you turned back, gripping the edge of it for just a second longer than necessary.

Joel wasn’t watching you, just staring forward at your house, the glow of golden hour drenching everything in a deep orange.

“And Joel?”

His eyes turned to see you, like he had just pulled himself from a deep thought, “...Hm?”

Your lips parted, and you took a slow breath, steadying yourself, forcing your tone to be calm, deliberate, heavier than anything else you could’ve said.

“Fuck those rules.”

You slammed the door shut before he could say another word.

The dinner went fine.

Really, it did.

Sure, there was tension, but it stayed beneath the surface, stitched up neatly between polite smiles and easy conversation. You played your part well—a good wife, a good sister-in-law, a good aunt to Sarah.

She didn’t need to know how messy things had gotten, how tangled things had become between the most important people in her life. She laughed when you teased her about school, rolled her eyes at her dad’s bad jokes, and beamed when Tommy ruffled her hair like he always did. Normal.

Joel did the same. Sat across from you at the dinner table, calm, collected, focused on his plate like the steak needed his full attention. He spoke when he had to, laughed when it was natural, let Tommy rib him about finally letting himself be celebrated for once. If anyone had been watching closely, they’d say he was fine.

But you caught him looking.

You weren’t sure if it was just a ‘he glanced at you at the same time you glanced at him’ kind of thing, awkward and just coincidence. But it happened too often for that. His eyes dragged over your face for a second too long when you passed him a dish. His fingers would flex around his beer bottle when Sarah chatted to you about soccer. He sat back in his chair at one point, fingers tapping idly against his thigh, gaze slipping to your mouth before he forced himself to look away.

And then later, when you were singing him an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday—Sarah belting, Tommy grinning, and Joel blushing crimson with a hand over his face—you saw the way the candlelight flickered in his eyes.

“Make a wish!” Sarah exclaimed as the song died down.

Joel leaned forward, jaw tight, hands moving to brace against the edge of the table. The room quieted, waiting. And just as he was about to blow them out… He looked at you.

It was quick, a flick of his eyes, a second too long, a beat too heavy. But it was enough. Enough to make your breath hitch, enough to send something sharp and aching down your spine.

Like whatever was running through his head had everything to do with you and nothing to do with wishing for more wishes.

Then the candles went out.

Cheers from Tommy and Sarah filled the room, shattering the moment, breaking the thread stretched too tight. You quickly joined the raucous applauding and Joel sat back, shaking his head when Sarah asked What’d you wish for, Dad?

He didn’t answer.

And you didn’t need him to.

Dinner went fine.

You had been halfway through folding laundry when a knock came at the door a few days later. It was sharp, impatient–a knock that made your stomach tighten before you even reached it.

And as you opened the door, you couldn’t help the surprise on your face when you saw him.

His dark hair was mussed, a mess of waves from a long day’s work, damp strands clinging to his temples. His shirt was stained and sweat-damp at the collar, fabric sticking to the broad stretch of his chest, fresh smudges of dirt and grease painting his skin like he hadn’t even stopped to clean up.

His breath was uneven, shallow, like he had rushed here, like he had spent the whole damn day working through something only to find himself on your doorstep.

“Joel?” you began, looking around for your husband’s truck, “Where’s Tommy?”

“Sent him to talk to the concrete guys.” His voice was rough, like he wasn’t sure he should be here—but he came anyway.

Silence stretched between you, thick and humming. He hadn’t stepped inside, and you didn’t make a move either.

Finally, he took a deep breath, “Did you mean it?”

You blinked at him, confused.

“When you said fuck the rules.”

Your stomach flipped into your chest, your heart beginning to thunder in your throat. His eyes stayed on you, dark and searching, waiting, almost pleading.

“Yes,” you finally said, voice cracking.

He lunged.

His hands found your face, fingers cupping your jaw with such tenderness that contrasted his need, tilting your head up as his lips crashed into yours—hot, feverish, desperate. You gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed it down, kissing you like he had been starving for it, like he had spent days, hell, months holding himself back only to break now, to let it consume him whole.

You molded together like this wasn’t the first time but the thousandth, like your lips had already memorized the shape of one another, though the heat and the desperate way you clung to him told a different story. Your hands twisted in the worn cotton of his shirt, pulling, yanking, tearing it over his head, arms snaking around his neck as he pushed you back. You only heard the click of the lock as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Your spine hit the wall with a dull thud, and he barely paused. He only stopped to pull your shirt over your head, discarding it like it was nothing before pressing his body flush to yours.

You felt everything–the heat of his skin. The rough scrape of his jeans. The hard, thick press of him between your legs. But it wasn’t just that, it wasn’t just the way he fit against you, the way he felt. It was how hungry he was.

How he touched you like he was mapping you out by memory, hands skimming over your ribs, splaying over your waist before dipping lower, gripping your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. He hoisted you up like it was nothing, like you belonged there.

Your legs locked around his hips, his hands gripping tight beneath you, holding you up, holding you still, pressing you harder into the unyielding wall behind you.

“I’ve wanted to kiss these perfect, sweet lips for so goddamn long,” he breathed, his voice low, wrecked, nearly shaking.

A sound caught in your throat—half gasp, half moan—as Joel kissed you again, deeper, rougher, claiming every inch of your mouth like he wasn’t ever going to stop.

His body was unrelenting, his grip unyielding, his hands moving—always moving, like he couldn’t touch enough of you at once. One held tight to your thigh, pulling you tighter against him, the other sliding up your spine, fingers curling into your hair, tugging just enough to make your head tip back, exposing more of your throat to him.

And he took it. Mouth dragging lower, teeth grazing, lips parting, sucking, tasting.

Your hands were everywhere—gripping his shoulders, clawing at his back, desperate, needy, as he ground into you, hips pressing tight between your thighs, and suddenly there was no air left between you at all.

There was only heat, hands, breath, and want.

And Joel. Only Joel.

His grip tightened, fingers flexing where they held you, keeping you locked against him, and then he was moving—pulling you with him, dragging you away from the wall like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you for even a second.

Your hands twisted into his hair, keeping him close, lips still fused as he carried you across the room, each step heavy, deliberate, every inch of you pressed against him.

Then, suddenly, your back hit the couch.

The cushions dipped beneath you as Joel settled you down, kneeling between your legs, breath coming short, hands already at your waistband, already pulling, already seeking more.

Your eyes flicked open just as his fingers curled into the denim, but you stopped him.

Your hands covered his, stilling him, and for the first time tonight, Joel froze. His chest rose and fell sharply, his knuckles flexing beneath your touch, his eyes flicking up to yours.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” you whispered.

He didn’t move, you weren’t even sure if he was breathing. He only watched you, pupils blown wide, his jaw tight, like he was caught between disbelief and surrender.

You pushed up, slowly, deliberately, until you were eye level with him, until your mouth was brushing against his again, tongues sliding, teeth nipping, pulling another wrecked sound from deep in his throat. You moaned into him, hands dragging over the planes of his chest before pushing him back, turning him toward the couch.

You stood before him, slow and measured, fingers hooking into your waistband.

Joel’s throat bobbed, his eyes dragging down your bare chest, lower, blazing as they followed your hands, as they lingered where your fingers began pushing your pants down. His breath came rough, unsteady.

"Go on, baby," he rasped, voice wrecked, thick fingers gripping the couch. "Take ‘em off. Show me what’s mine."

You smiled coyly, dragging your shorts down agonizingly slow, and once they were discarded, Joel immediately sat up, hands grabbing for you, fingers spreading wide over your thighs like he couldn’t bear to not touch you another second.

One hand traveled up, dragging from the inside of your knee to the damp heat between your legs, where the lace of your panties was practically soaked through already.

His fingers curled, a low, rough chuckle slipping from his throat as his thumb pressed into your panty clad center, just slightly, just enough to make your breath catch.

"These are cute," he murmured, teasing, and then leaned forward, his mouth finding your hip bone, lips dragging over soft skin, kissing and teasing. His fingers stayed firm, still gripping your thigh as his teeth scraped over the soft flesh of your stomach. His lips traveled lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the fabric as it sat just over your thigh, catching the delicate lace between his teeth.

And then he bit down. And ripped them straight off.

"Joel!!" you screeched, your body lurching forward, grabbing at his shoulders, breath knocking out of you at the sheer force of him.

He hummed, satisfied, palming your ass, still gripping you like he wasn’t finished yet.

"Think I’ll keep ‘em," he mused, voice deep, smug, his free hand stuffing the ruined lace into his back pocket.

Your breath heaved out of you, body buzzing as you giggled, shaking your head and climbing on top of his lap, “You are so bad,”

Joel just grinned, hands firm on your cheeks, guiding you, pulling you closer as you sat down on his lap.

The rough grit of denim met your bare center, and the friction sent a sharp pulse of heat through your core. You shivered, sensitive, every nerve ending alight as you rolled your hips down onto him. Joel sucked in a breath, his fingers flexing where they gripped your thighs, but he didn’t push you down, didn’t move to take over, even though you could feel how badly he wanted to. He was holding back, letting you have this moment, letting you grind against the thick press of him as slick coated the seam of his jeans, your body aching for more.

"Help me get these off?" he muttered, voice low, thick, barely in control. His hands stayed on your thighs as you reached down, fingers fumbling with his belt, the clatter of the buckle mixing with your heavy breathing.

With shaking fingers, you dragged the zipper down, the sound barely louder than the ragged breaths filling the room. He lifted his hips, only releasing you to shove his jeans down to his knees, hissing through his teeth as his cock sprang free, thick and hot, the head already glistening.

The breath of relief he let out was cut short as your fingers wrapped around him, slow, deliberate, dragging along his length just to watch his face twist in pleasure. His whole body tensed beneath you, jaw clenched tight, chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths as he let you stroke him, let you feel every hard inch of him. His cock twitched in your grip, heat pooling between your thighs at the sheer size of him, the way he pulsed in your hand, the way his fingers dug into your skin, like he was fighting to keep himself from flipping you over and slamming you into the couch right then and there.

"Next time," you whispered, leaning in until your lips brushed his ear, voice dripping with promise, "you're at least gonna let me suck your cock. Deal?"

A sound ripped from his throat, half-growl, half-moan, and his hand shot up, tangling in your hair, gripping hard as he crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you deep, all tongue and teeth and hunger. His free hand slid down your back, rough fingertips dragging over heated skin before gripping your ass, kneading, pulling you against him, pressing you flush to the heat of him.

"Next time," he muttered, voice thick, heavy, wrecked, "but if you don’t sit on my cock right now, I swear to God, I will flip you over and—"

You cut him off with a smirk, lifting yourself up just enough to run him through your soaked folds, teasing, coating him in you. His breath hitched, sharp, his grip tightening against your hips, his whole body going rigid beneath you.

"You’ll what now?" you teased, notching the head of his cock at your entrance.

The thickness of him was always overwhelming. No matter how many times you had taken him, no matter how much he stretched you, there was always that moment when your body had to adjust, had to accommodate the sheer size of him. You moaned as you sank down slowly, taking your time, feeling the slow, delicious stretch as he filled you inch by inch.

Joel's head fell back against the couch, brows furrowed, his lips parting around a broken groan as he let you take him, let you work yourself down onto him at your own pace. His fingers flexed against your waist, gripping tight, sure to leave bruises, but he didn’t force you down, didn’t rush, just let you feel it, let you savor the way he filled you completely.

"Goddamn," he gritted out, voice strained, body trembling with restraint, "takin’ me so well, baby. Fuck, just like that."

You whimpered, nails dragging across his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as your body stretched around him. He felt impossibly deep, hitting that spot inside you that only he knew, that made your whole body tense, made your breath catch, made your mind blank as you sank down, down, down, until your ass pressed into his thighs.

Joel let you have a moment to adjust, chest heaving, his hands dragging up your sides, fingertips trailing over the swell of your breasts before sliding back down to grip your hips, strong, steady, grounding. And then, just when you thought you could start moving, he gripped you tighter and thrust up into you, sharp and deep.

Your gasp broke into a moan, your head tilting back as the sensation sent heat flooding through your core. His grip tightened, his pace rough and demanding as he fucked up into you, his hips meeting yours in quick, brutal strokes, forcing you to take every inch of him.

"That what you needed?" he grunted, his voice a low growl, his hands guiding you now, forcing you to ride him, making you take it.

Your whole body was burning, desperate, aching as you rocked against him, every stroke pushing you closer and closer to the edge. His teeth dragged along your throat, lips and tongue soothing the marks he left behind, hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples as he groaned into your skin.

"Love watchin’ you like this," he murmured, voice wrecked, his breath hot against your neck, "been dreamin’ of this–you bouncin’ on my cock, lettin’ me ruin you. Such a good girl for me, huh?"

“Yes, Joel, yes–”

You clenched around him, your body tightening in response, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach.

"Fuck, baby, you gonna come for me? Already?”

No. Not yet. Not yet, because this moment was too much, too big, and you wanted to feel every second of it. But he needed to know. He needed to.

He slowed down so his thumb could press against your clit, slow, teasing, deliberate, and your whole body jerked, oversensitive, and barely holding on.

“Joel,” you whispered.

"Yeah?" His voice was a low rasp, breathless, wrecked as his half hooded eyes gazed up at you.

Your hands slid up to his neck, playing with the nape of his hair as you tried to find the words.

"I—" you swallowed hard, heart hammering as you tried to catch your breath. "I took a test this morning."

Joel stilled. The gentle teasing of his thumb stopped. His hips halted.

Everything stopped.

He blinked up at you, lips slightly parted, completely still beneath you. "What?"

“I’m pregnant,” you said, biting your lip as you gauged his reaction.

His hands spread wide across your waist, fingers pressing tight, thumbs tracing slow, reverent circles. Then, lowering, splaying over your stomach.

"Carryin’ my baby in there, huh?"

Your heart skipped.

"Joel…"

But suddenly, you weren’t in control anymore. You’re not sure you ever were to begin with.

His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in, holding you so tight against his chest that there was nowhere to go, no space between you at all. His muscles flexed, his grip firm, and then he drove up into you, his cock punching so deep you felt the thick, unrelenting stretch of him in your stomach.

You gasped, body jerking against him, the sudden force of it making your breath catch as pleasure cracked through you like a whip.

"Fuck," he groaned, the sound raw, guttural, his head tipping back for a split second before he resumed his hungry kisses to your flesh.

He thrust up hard, sharp, thick heat dragging along your walls, stretching you open, making you take every inch. The press of him was almost unbearable, every push hitting that spot inside you that made your whole body tremble and your moans break apart into sharp, breathless whimpers.

"You’re carrying my baby." he groaned into your skin.

"Joel!" you screeched, head tilting back, body arching, your nails digging into his shoulders as his mouth found your throat, biting, sucking, marking. His cock dragged through your slick, gliding easy but so thick, so deep, pressing right up against that sweet spot over and over again.

But still—you hadn’t said it.

And Joel knew it.

He slowed, hips dragging deep, deliberate, making you feel all of him, every thick inch stretching you open.

"You can say whatever you want," he murmured, voice low, rough, thick with something dark and heavy. His hands slid up your back, pulled you closer, his lips brushing over your ear.

"But who's been fillin’ you up every month, huh?"

He rolled his hips up slow, so deep, and you whimpered, clenching down around him.

"Who’s been fuckin’ you until you see stars? Who’s made you come on his cock over and over again, baby?"

His voice turned gravelly, filthy, absolute sin.

"Sure as hell ain’t my baby brother."

Your whole body trembled, on edge, breaking apart, so close to coming, but he wouldn’t give you what you needed.

"Say it," Joel demanded, his grip tightening around you,

Your lips parted, a whimper slipping out, but nothing came.

He growled, snapping his hips hard, making you cry out.

"Say whose baby this is."

You were right there, right on the edge, pleasure coiled so tight you could barely breathe.

"Say it, and I’ll let you come on my cock again."

Your whole body shook, thighs trembling, head tilting back as the words finally tore from your lips.

"It’s yours, Joel," you gasped, the words breaking, desperate, ruined. "It’s yours—fuck—"

His breath hitched, sharp, ragged, completely wrecked.

"That’s right."

He pulled you against him just right so you were grinding into him, your clit catching on the patch of curly dark hair at the base of his cock where your hips met. The moan that left your throat was downright obscene as you felt the pleasure shock through you.

His hands moved to grip your hips so tight it was bruising, his mouth crushing against yours, teeth dragging over your bottom lip, his pace wild, desperate, unstoppable as he dragged you against him again and again.

"You’re mine," he groaned, voice breaking, fucking into you with everything he had, filling you over and over, relentless. "My baby. My girl. My fuckin’ perfect girl, carryin’ my baby."

"Joel!" you screamed, your whole body locking up, pleasure ripping through you like fire, waves of heat curling, crashing, drowning you.

"That’s it," he rasped, feeling you tighten around him, feeling you break for him as your clit kept rubbing perfectly against his pelvis, sending shockwaves through you as he held you through your climax. "That’s it, my good girl, gonna fill you up again, baby, gonna take it? Gonna take my come again?"

“Yes, Joel, yes, yes, yes,” you blubbered, clinging to him.

And then, with a rough, broken groan, Joel buried himself deep, pressing flush, full, spilling inside you, filling you completely.

Your whole body continued to tremble as you both caught your breath. Your thighs were shaking, limbs weak and boneless as you sprawled over him, completely spent, completely ruined. Your heartbeat was thunderous, hammering in your ears, every nerve ending still shivering from the aftershocks.

His hands were still gripping your hips, tight, possessive, unmoving, holding you flush to him, keeping you there with him. His head was tipped back against the couch, chest rising and falling fast, lips parted as he caught his breath, his skin hot and damp beneath your palms.

Slowly, reality began creeping back in.

Your fingers traced mindlessly over his broad shoulders, the damp curls at the nape of his neck, still coming down, still floating in the hazy, fucked-out warmth of it all.

Joel’s grip softened, his hands sliding up your back, slow, lazy strokes over sweat-slick skin. His breath was still uneven when he finally muttered, voice wrecked and hoarse, “Christ…made me lose my damn mind there for a minute.”

You huffed a quiet laugh against his shoulder, still not ready to move, still too high from everything. But you lifted yourself up just slightly so your forehead pressed to his, nudging your nose against his, his lips grazing, teasing, kissing you slow and deep.

And then you looked up as movement caught the corner of your eye.

And froze.

Everything in you turned to ice.

Because standing in the doorway, staring at the two of you, was Tommy.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698 @doblasftcisco @devotedlypaleluminary @elsplayground @puduvallee @victoriaholland @legoemma

#family matters #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #the last of us #tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

luveline · 5 months ago

Note

I would love to hear more about post-prisoner!spencer and shy!reader now that they’re dating pretty please they’re so cute 😭💗

“You’re doing it again,” Spencer murmurs.

You let a breath slip from between your lips, blinking. “Mm?”

“You’re having a hot flush.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be– I’m not telling you so you’re sorry,” he murmurs, fondness sinking into every word. “Why do you get so hot like this? Is it the socks?”

You had to ditch your stockings when you got back to Spencer’s place, sick of them pinching and riding all over the show, but then Spencer worried about cold floors and nagged you into wearing his socks and it doesn’t matter, it’s not the socks. “It’s just a girl thing, sometimes,” you murmur back.

“Is it?”

“Think so.”

Could also be that Spencer’s in the corner of the couch and he’s pulled you against him, half sitting and half laying, nosing slowly at the side of your face whenever he remembers to do it, which is often. He doesn’t realise what he’s doing, clearly, if he’s concerned again about your temperature.

“I’m fine,” you say, willing him to stop talking about it.

“I don’t really know anything about hot flushes,” he says. You can hear the wrinkle in his nose. “I think it’s a gap in my knowledge. Not anything useful.”

“It’ll go away in a minute.”

“Did you want me to open a window?”

Spencer moving is the very last thing you want, despite your body’s constant overreaction; his being close to you is like this insane gift you haven’t learned to accept, but you’re obsessed with nonetheless. You’ve learned to relax into his touching and his embraces despite your initial nerves (which is putting it kindly), and you can’t help yourself now as he attempts to move you. You whine in loud, uncharacteristic displeasure and turn on your side to be facing his chest. “No,” you say into his t-shirt, squeezing yourself as close to his body as you can.

“Okay, okay, I won’t.” He doesn’t hold you immediately, and you tense, but as quickly as you’ve gone rigid the sooner he’s wrapping his arms around you in return. “This won’t help you cool down.”

“Sure it will.”

Spencer laughs softly. For a minute you hide in his front, your heart uncomfortably quick in your hands, but he has a talent for putting you at ease, letting his fingertips tumble up and down your back.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Tired.”

Spencer blows a cold breath at the top of your head. “Then sleep.”

“Gotta go home.”

“No, you don’t. You can stay…” He’s murmuring again, “There’s more than enough room for both of us in my bed, and I’ll drive you home in the morning so you can get ready… You don’t have to leave.” He kisses your forehead. “Please don’t go home.”

“I…” You lift your head, putting you both eye to eye. “Why’d you want me to stay this bad?”

“Trick question.”

“I’m serious.”

“You are?” He moves to cradle the side of your face. “I want you to stay ‘cos I do. There’s not really another reason, I just want you to be here with me instead of away at your place, I don’t think we need… you don’t need to go home, do you?”

“No,” you say, tentative, but not reluctant, “I don’t. I’ll stay.”

“Yeah?” Your face must betray you. Spencer takes pity on you and stops pouring his gaze all over you, instead ducking down to kiss you chastely. “So shy,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Stop it.”

“So warm…” He smiles into another kiss before pulling quickly away. “It’s good, you should stay, I need to figure out the cause of all these crazy hot flushes.”

You settle back against his chest. “Go ahead,” you say with a sigh. He’ll never guess it’s him, and you’re not about to tell him.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

vingtetunmars · 1 month ago

Text

Cool Your Engine

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: A summer car breakdown leads to unexpected sparks when you're met with Eddie Munson, the mechanic.

Tags: NSFW, mechanic!Eddie Munson, meet cute, hooking up, smut (18+), Eddie is flirty, but reader is equally as flirty, so Eddie gets flustered, things gets steamy. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: Here's another one for yall who hasn't moved on from spring 2022 (dw me too). And I have to warn you guys, it's my first time writting smut. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 3k

masterlist

It happened three songs into your summer mixtape, somewhere between “Jessie’s Girl” and the first crackle of heat warping off the pavement. Your car coughed, shuddered, and gave up like a dramatic theater kid—right in the middle of the road.

“Seriously?” you muttered, pulling off to the shoulder with what little momentum you had left. A few horns honked in passing, but it wasn’t like you’d planned a breakdown in 90-degree weather with no shade, no A/C, and no clue what was wrong under the hood.

You kicked the tire. Like that would help.

Eventually, with sweat creeping down your back and patience fraying, you called it in. The tow truck guy took his time—of course—and an hour later, your car was being dragged into Thatcher Tires, a squat little shop tucked behind a gas station and halfway disguised by trees.

The tow truck rolled to a stop in front of an open garage bay. Music drifted from a beat-up radio inside—Ozzy—and you caught the glint of metal tools scattered across a workbench.

Then he stepped out.

He looked like a movie cliché. Grease-stained jeans, sleeveless band tee clinging to his arms, dark curls tied back with a red rag. There was a smear of oil across one cheek, a socket wrench in one hand, and the swagger of someone who’d definitely been kicked out of detention more than once.

And you knew him.

Eddie Munson.

High school’s resident chaos goblin. All leather jackets, bad reputation, and devil horns. You hadn’t really talked to him back then — different friend groups, different universes — but Hawkins High wasn’t exactly huge. You knew of him. He knew of you.

And now, apparently, he was the one holding your car’s fate in his ring-clad hands.

“Well, well,” he said with a grin, looking you up and down with obvious amusement. “Didn’t expect you to show up here. This some kind of undercover royalty mission?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

He gestured to your car with theatrical flair. “You know. Hawkins High’s golden girl, stranded in the heat. Sounds like the setup to a John Hughes movie. Except I’m pretty sure I’m the bad influence your parents warned you about.”

You stared at him. He was laying it on thick. Bold move.

“…The engine died,” you said coolly, not missing a beat. “Right after I put in gas. Which makes me think maybe it just gave up on life.”

“Tragic,” Eddie said, walking over to pop the hood. “Sounds like it’s got a flare for the dramatic. Can’t blame it. If I had to live off gas station hot dogs, I’d probably give up too.”

He bent over the engine, giving you an unfortunate front-row view of his torn shirt riding up at the back. You fought the urge to laugh.

Then, without looking at you, he added, “So, you come here often? Or do broken engines just bring us together?”

You blinked.

Oh. So he wanted to play this game.

A slow smile tugged at your lips.

You stepped a little closer, just enough that he noticed the shift in space. “Only when the universe decides to throw me at high school delinquents.”

Eddie straightened, wiping his hands on a rag that only made them slightly dirtier. He caught your gaze and faltered for just a second. “Touché.”

You tilted your head, pretending to inspect the engine. “So, you actually know what you’re doing? Or is this where you tell me I need a whole new car?”

He let out a breathy chuckle, tapping the wrench against his palm. “Nah, lucky for you, I’m the best thing that ever happened to this shop. You’ll be back on the road in no time.”

“Good,” you said, shooting him a look. “I’d hate to have to call another mechanic. One that isn’t flirting with me in broad daylight.”

That shut him up.

For a beat, Eddie opened his mouth—then closed it again. He wiped his hands harder. “Uh. Right. Yeah. I’ll, um, go take a look at the engine now.”

You bit your cheek to keep from laughing. This was going to be fun.

Eddie cleared his throat, dragging his focus back to the car like it hadn’t just gotten lightly roasted by someone way too cute to be standing in his garage, in his space, casually dismantling his ability to flirt like a functioning adult.

He leaned over the engine again, muttering something about valves as he poked around with the tip of his wrench. You folded your arms and leaned back against the car next to yours, watching him like he was a particularly entertaining movie.

“So?” you finally asked. “What’s the damage, Doc?”

Eddie popped his head up, giving you a crooked grin. “Well, after a very scientific examination—by which I mean looking at it and poking it a few times—I’d say your alternator’s fried. That, or your battery connections are shot. Could be both. Either way, your engine wasn’t getting the juice it needed.”

You blinked. “English?”

He laughed. “Car no get power. Car sad.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile snuck in anyway. “Got it. And how long does it take to un-sad the car?”

Eddie straightened up fully, wiping his hands on the same greasy rag as before. “If it’s just the alternator, I can probably have it fixed by tomorrow evening. If I gotta order a new part, we’re talking… two days, maybe three. Depends how fast the delivery guy wants to piss me off this week.”

You nodded, pretending to calculate your suffering. “So I’m without a car for at least a day. What a tragedy.”

Eddie shrugged, tilting his head. “Could be worse. At least you broke down near home. And hey, now you get to hang out at Hawkins’ hottest summer destination: the Munson Garage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what this place is called now?”

“Unofficially. Only the cool people call it that.” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck with his oil-slicked hand and instantly regretting it when he smeared grease across his skin. “Which, apparently, now includes you.”

There was a pause.

You smiled again—slow and knowing.

He caught it and groaned. “God, I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ with satisfaction.

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’m gonna pull the battery and check a few more things. You’re welcome to chill if you want. The office has A/C and a semi-functioning coffee machine. Emphasis on ‘semi.’”

You considered it, then nodded. “Fine. But if that coffee kills me, I’m suing.”

He gave you a mock salute. “Deal. You die, I get sued. That’s the American Dream, baby.”

You pushed off the car and made your way toward the garage office, brushing past him just close enough that his breath hitched—and if you smiled to yourself as you walked away, well…

He didn’t have to know that.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

You stared at the buzzing fluorescent light in the garage office. It blinked in uneven spurts, casting a depressing glow over the chipped coffee table, stained carpet, and stack of Auto Weekly magazines no one had touched since 1981. The A/C hummed like it was on its last leg, doing its best to fight off the heat bleeding through the windows.

You checked your watch. Five minutes had passed.

You tried sipping the coffee.

Immediately regretted it.

You set it down and stared at the door leading back into the garage.

You didn’t have to sit here. He’d invited you to stay, hadn’t he?

Yeah. Totally invited. It wasn’t weird. Not weird at all.

With that flimsy justification, you pushed open the door and stepped into the garage again—where the air was hotter, thicker, and scented like motor oil, grease, and faint cologne. Not that you minded.

Eddie was crouched low at the front of your car, hands deep in the engine. He hadn’t noticed you yet, music from a nearby radio low but loud enough to cover the creak of the door.

And yeah—damn.

The band tee he wore earlier had ridden up again, revealing the sharp lines of his back and the tattoos inked along his side, smeared faintly with grease. His arms flexed as he twisted something with a wrench, a loose strand of hair falling across his face. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge across his temple.

You shouldn’t have stared. You definitely shouldn’t have bit your lip.

But it wasn’t your fault he looked like the cover of a very specific kind of magazine right now.

Eddie finally looked up—and startled just slightly when he saw you there. “Back so soon? Office too glamorous for you?”

You shrugged, walking over like your pulse wasn’t doing weird things. “The light was flickering like it was trying to communicate with the dead. And your coffee? Crimes against humanity.”

Eddie grinned. “Told you it was semi-functional.”

You leaned against the worktable beside him, arms crossed, pretending you weren’t definitely watching the way his curls stuck to the back of his neck. “So what’s the verdict? Is my car dead or just in a dramatic coma?”

He wiped his hands off on a rag, then gestured vaguely toward the engine. “Still coma. She’s responding to tests, though. Could pull through with some TLC and a couple hundred dollars in parts.”

“Hmm.” You leaned forward, peering into the engine like you knew what any of it meant. “You really talk about cars like they’re people.”

He looked at you, a flicker of something dancing behind his eyes. “They kind of are. You learn their moods. Their quirks. Some scream for attention, others give you the silent treatment.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Sounds like high school.”

You both laughed, and for a second, the sound softened the space between you.

Then Eddie cleared his throat. “You didn’t have to come out here, you know.”

“I know.” You looked at him, bold enough to hold the stare. “Just figured you were more interesting than a flickering light and expired magazines.”

His smile twitched, but he didn’t look away. “Careful, princess. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

You tilted your head, considering him, considering your words. “What if I already do?”

For a split second, his confidence wobbled. A flush bloomed at the base of his neck, just barely visible through the smears of grease and heat.

“Well,” he said, eyes flicking down and then quickly back up, “then I’d say you’re making some very questionable life choices.”

You smirked, leaning a little closer. “Yeah. I tend to do that in the summer.”

Eddie blinked—visibly short-circuiting.

You didn’t press your luck. Just gave him a wink, turned around, and went back to pretending to look at the tools like you hadn’t just broken his brain.

From behind you, you heard him mutter, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath.

Victory.

You eventually peeled yourself away from the garage — mostly because the heat and Eddie were making it difficult to think straight.

After making a call, you walked back to Eddie, “I’m gonna have to leave her here for the night,” you said, glancing back at your poor, sunbaked car. “I’ve got places to be, and unfortunately none of them include waiting around in a garage for a miraculous resurrection.”

Eddie wiped his hands on that same rag, slinging it over his shoulder like a towel in some kind of car commercial. “I can work on it tonight, if you want. Should have her running by tomorrow.”

You tilted your head. “You offering that as a mechanic or a... friend?”

He gave a soft snort. “Well, the mechanic gets paid. The friend just wants an excuse to see you again.”

You tried not to let your smirk show too much. “Good thing I like both of them, then.”

That time, he definitely blushed — just a flicker, but you caught it.

A car horn sounded from outside. You glanced toward the open garage doors and saw your friend’s car pulling into the lot, waving lazily out the window.

“That’s my ride,” you said, already taking a few steps back.

Eddie nodded, brushing a grease-streaked curl from his cheek. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You paused at the door, hand on the frame. “Don’t let her give you too much trouble,” you said, nodding at your car. “She can be dramatic, but she’s got heart.”

“Sounds familiar,” Eddie said, giving you a little grin — and a little look.

You raised your brows. “Careful, Munson. You flirt like that again and I might think you’re interested.”

He opened his mouth, but whatever clever reply he had fizzled the moment you winked and turned on your heel.

As you slid into your friend’s passenger seat, you couldn’t help but glance back once. Eddie was still standing there, rag over his shoulder, watching you go with a look that made the inside of your chest feel like someone had lit a match.

Yeah. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The next afternoon, you were back — sunglasses perched on your nose, summer breeze tousling your hair as you stepped into the garage.

Eddie was already elbow-deep in the hood of someone else’s car, but the second he looked up and saw you, something in his face lit up. He wiped his hands off and met you halfway across the garage.

“She lives,” he said, nodding toward your car parked by the side. “Got her purring like a kitten. You’re all good to go.”

You gave him a pleased grin, twirling your keys around one finger. “So does this mean I owe you dinner, or just my eternal gratitude?”

Eddie blinked — caught for just a second in that space between flustered and wanting to flirt. “Depends. Are you offering?”

You tilted your head, amused. “I might be.”

He was the one who took the step closer this time. “Careful,” he said, voice low. “You say things like that and I’ll start thinking today’s gonna get even better.”

Something in the air shifted — like it always did when you two were alone.

It was supposed to be a quick stop. Grab the car, say thank you, go. But the way Eddie was looking at you — like you were trouble in the best way — made your pulse kick up.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, but didn’t back away.

“So are you.”

He reached up, gently brushing your sunglasses to rest on top of your head. The moment your eyes met without the tint between them, something snapped.

You closed the distance first — not quite a kiss, but your lips just a breath away from his. “Is now a bad time to say I’ve been thinking about you?”

Eddie exhaled through a laugh, but his voice came out hoarse. “Only if it stops you from doing something about it.”

And then you did.

You kissed him.

It was slow at first — like testing the water — but when his hands found your waist and you backed him against the wall beside the garage’s tool chest, it deepened. His lips were soft but urgent, fingers flexing against your sides like he couldn’t believe this was real.

He broke away just long enough to say, “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”

You smiled against his jaw, lips brushing his skin. “I’m counting on it.”

Clothes stayed mostly on. But hands wandered. A little too long under your shirt, his rings cold against warm skin. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging a soft noise from the back of his throat that made your stomach flutter.

The garage door was still open.

“I should not be doing this here,” you murmured against his lips, breathless, giggling.

“Tell that to yourself, then,” Eddie said, nipping at your bottom lip.

You kissed him like you meant to stay longer — and Eddie kissed you back like he didn’t want to let you leave.

What started near the open garage doors quickly got too bold, too heated. A quiet moan slipped out before you could stop it, and Eddie froze like a deer in headlights. His eyes darted to the open lot.

“Office,” he mumbled. “Now.”

You both practically stumbled inside, laughing between kisses. The office door shut behind you with a muffled click — suddenly, the hum of the fan was the only sound, and it felt like you were in a different world.

Eddie backed you against the wall first, lips trailing down your neck, one hand resting just above your hip while the other cupped your cheek. He kissed you like he was trying to learn you — slow at first, but full of quiet hunger.

Then he stopped.

His eyes searched yours, lips parted, chest rising and falling. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “With me?”

You nodded, without a second of hesitation. “Are you seriously still asking that?”

A beat passed. Then he muttered, “Okay,” like a promise.

His fingers slid under your shirt again — bolder this time, less cautious — and you tugged at the hem until he helped you pull it over your head. You made quick work of his, revealing the lines of his pale torso, lean and dusted with grease smudges and freckles.

You kissed each other like you were making up for lost time.

Eddie's hands wandered lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you up against the wall, breath hot against your cheek. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured.

“It’s not enough,” you whispered back.

That did it. His mouth crashed into yours again — desperate, teeth and tongue and breathless heat.

Then he carried you to the desk, setting you down like you were something fragile. The fan buzzed above as his fingers skimmed over your waistband, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“Still good?” he asked.

You answered by kissing him again, and guiding his hand where you wanted it.

His fingers traced gentle shapes over your clit — feather-light at first, almost teasing, like he wanted to hear you beg. When he slipped past the seam and touched you — properly — your breath hitched.

“God, you're soaked,” he whispered. “Is that all for me?”

You nodded, flushed and smiling. “Who else?”

He watched your expression the whole time, eyes dark, lips parted, the tips of his fingers slick with you. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so soft…”

Your hands slid down to his belt, tugging at the buckle with shaking fingers. He let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

When his dick pressed against your thigh, hot and heavy even through his boxers, you felt the last of your patience snap. He leaned over you, foreheads touching, both of you half-dressed and frantic.

“Please,” you said, soft, just for him.

He kissed you again before he pushed down his boxers past his knees. When you saw his dick, thick and flushed, your stomach flipped in the best way.

He lined up, pushing in slow — steady, careful, giving you time.

His breath hitched as he slid into your entrance, stretching you in a way that made you gasp into his shoulder. His hands shook a little where they gripped the desk beside your hips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, dick buried to the hilt. “You feel… insane. You feel perfect.”

Eddie kissed every inch he could reach — your shoulders, your jaw, the hollow beneath your ear. His hands gripped your hips like he couldn’t let go. You tangled your fingers in his hair, nails dragging lightly down his back.

You whispered each other's names like secrets. You clung to him like he was the only real thing in the world.

The desk creaked beneath you with every thrust, the sound swallowed by the way your bodies met, again and again. His hands gripped your waist like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“I’m—close,” he admitted in a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours.

You nodded, moaning softly. “Me too. Don’t stop, Eds, don’t—”

You came first, thighs trembling, body arching as pleasure rolled through you in slow waves. Eddie followed almost instantly, hips stuttering, arms wrapping tightly around you as he let go with a broken sound against your neck.

For a long time after, the only sounds were your uneven breathing and the faint faint creak of the ceiling fan. He was still buried inside you, arms loose around your waist.

You were still curled up in the mess of discarded clothes and paperwork, your head against his chest, the fan doing a miserable job at cooling the both of you down.

Eddie was blinking up at the ceiling, completely flushed, dazed.

You grinned, breathless. “Don’t worry... I’m still gonna pay for the car.”

He let out a helpless laugh and pressed a kiss to your hair. “That’s not even close to what I’m worried about.”

#kar's fics ☆#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things

873 notes · View notes