ny0sang

[ny0sang]

𝓢𝓪𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓻𝔂

Tangerine (Bullet Train) x Reader / Y/N | Smutty one-shot

You fucked up the mission on purpose. Not enough to get anyone killed—just enough to get him angry. Because it’s been two months since Tangerine touched you, and you’re done pretending you don’t want it again. You just didn’t expect him to take it so personally. Now it’s late. You’re alone. And he’s about to remind you exactly what happens to brats who go looking for trouble. With his hands. With his voice. And with no intention of being gentle.

!NSFW! | Please do not engage if you're a minor

Masterlist

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♡ warnings and deviant lil things to look out for: a dangerously hot British man in a three-piece suit, rough and mean, brat taming, degradation + praise, fingering (f receiving), orgasm denial, overstimulation, dominance/submission dynamics, filthy mocking dirty talk, power play, slight breathplay (hand on throat), begging, rough handling, clothing destruction, emotional tension, and one very desperate, ruined reader.

♡ word count: 5.2k (yes, I love teasing; yes, I love taking it slow; yes, I love desperation)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The safehouse was a rotting husk of a place, barely lit, walls stained with time and someone else’s failures. Fluorescent lighting buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow that flickered every few seconds like it was just as irritated as he was. The smell of old ramen, gunpowder, and sweat clung to the walls like it had settled there decades ago. The single window overlooked an alley filled with rusted pipes and neon reflections in dirty puddles. Outside, Tokyo pulsed. In here, everything was still.

Too still.

Tangerine hadn’t spoken since they got back.

He stood with his back half-turned to you, weight shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, like his body was begging for violence even if his mind was trying to hold it together. His shirt was sticking to his back—blood or sweat, maybe both—and his shoulders were tight beneath the stretched fabric of his brown pinstripe vest. The jacket was gone, tossed across the floor in a moment of silence you hadn’t dared break.

He was all angles and tension. The white collar of his shirt was open, the top buttons undone, exposing the sharp line of his throat and the beginnings of a bruise blooming along his collarbone. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, forearms corded with muscle and littered with small cuts. His knuckles were scraped raw. One hand flexed at his side like he was itching for something to hit.

Or someone.

The tie hung askew around his neck, the fabric dark and fine—black silk, maybe—with a subtle gold pattern you hadn’t seen before. It should have looked ridiculous, the whole put-together, three-piece ensemble crumpled and stained with the aftermath of the night. But it didn’t. It looked like him. Unraveling, yes, but powerful. Dangerous. Beautiful in the most violent kind of way.

He hadn’t looked at you since the safehouse door slammed shut.

And you knew why.

You’d fucked the job. Deliberately. You’d left your post, let the target slip just long enough to force him into the line of fire. Not enough to get him killed—never that—but enough to get his attention.

Because he hadn’t touched you in two months. Hadn’t looked at you like he did that night. The night where hands had been fists in your hair and your back was against a motel mirror while he told you you made him lose control.

And then he spent the next sixty-three days pretending it didn’t happen.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

So you lit a match.

And now he was smoldering across the room, jaw clenched, shoulders squared, eyes fixed somewhere far away like looking at you might make it worse.

You crossed your arms and leaned your hip against the table, watching him with the kind of calm that begged to be shattered.

“Go on, then,” you said, voice low, sharp around the edges. “Say what you’re thinking.”

That finally got his eyes.

Blue. Cold, but burning from the inside out. He turned his head, slow like a weapon, and when his gaze hit you it felt like it scraped down to the bone.

“I’m thinkin’ if I open my fuckin’ mouth, I won’t stop.”

You tilted your head, the corner of your mouth lifting, just enough to challenge.

“Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”

His face twitched. Just a flicker at first—barely noticeable. A muscle in his cheek. The flare of his nostrils. But his hand curled into a fist again, and this time he didn’t bother hiding it.

He took one step forward. Then another.

The air thickened with the weight of him. The crackle of a storm you’d summoned on purpose. 

“You’re gonna tell me what the fuck that was tonight.” His voice low enough to make your chest tighten.

You blinked slowly, meeting his fury with something steadier. Something reckless.

“Sloppy fieldwork,” you said, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m only human.”

His mouth twitched—something between a laugh and a threat.

“Don’t insult either of us.”

You leaned in slightly, close enough to see the flecks of darker blue near his pupils.

“Sloppy fieldwork,” you said, letting the words hang just a second too long, the barest tilt of a smirk on your lips. “It happens.”

He laughed—short and bitter, no humor in it. The kind of sound that said he was seconds from either snapping or walking out.

“Not to you, it doesn’t.”

You didn’t answer. Just leaned back against the table, palms braced behind you, fingers curled loosely over the edge of the wood. Casual, like you weren’t waiting for him to explode. Like you hadn’t been hoping for it since the second you let that target go.

Tangerine took another step forward. The overhead light caught on his cheekbone, the cut just beneath his eye, the sweat shining on his throat. His eyes narrowed as they swept over you—slow, assessing, like he was looking for something to break.

You didn’t look away. That was part of it. Letting him see that you weren’t afraid. That you wanted him on edge.

“Why’d you pull off your post?” he asked, quieter now. Controlled. Dangerous.

You shrugged, deliberate. Shifted your weight on the table like you were bored of the conversation. But you knew he caught it—how your thighs pressed together for just a second. How your fingers dug in a little too hard.

You couldn’t help it.

Because even as you stared him down, you remembered.

His hands gripping your hips so tight you thought he’d leave bruises under your skin. His voice, rough and low and wrecked, right against your ear—telling you to shut the fuck up, telling you you were taking it so well, telling you he was going to ruin you. The bathroom mirror smeared with fog and sweat, the sink digging into your spine. Your legs shaking. His breath ragged as he came with a snarl and refused to pull out until he’d wrung you dry.

You swallowed. Blinked. Blinked again.

He was still staring. Still waiting. And you weren’t giving him anything.

“You’re gonna tell me,” he said, stepping in close now, voice edged like a blade. “Right now. Why you botched the job. Why you put me in the fuckin’ crosshairs.”

You met his eyes, heat curling tight in your chest. The line between danger and desire was paper thin and fraying fast.

“I already told you,” you said softly. “Sloppy.”

He scoffed, looked away for the first time, like the sight of you was making it harder to breathe.

And maybe it was.

You watched the muscle in his jaw jump as he tried to reel it back in. That same jaw you remembered grinding against your shoulder as he buried himself in you with a force that bordered on punishment. The smell of gun oil and sweat. The taste of him, salt and adrenaline. Your name torn from his throat like it cost him.

“Careless,” he said, quieter now, shaking his head. “That’s what you’re going with?”

You nodded once. The picture of calm.

But your fingers were still gripping the edge of the table.

And your whole body was humming.

He stepped in close enough for his thigh to brush yours, close enough that the warmth of him hit you like a fist in the ribs. His hand dropped to the table beside your hip—knuckles split and still stained with dried blood.

When he leaned in, his breath hit your cheek. His voice dropped to a murmur.

“You trying to piss me off?”

You tilted your chin up just enough to look him square in the eyes.

“Wouldn’t take much.”

For a second, neither of you moved. The air was buzzing, brittle. One word, one shift, and the whole room would ignite.

And beneath your skin, under the sarcasm and bravado, your nerves were already burning. Because whatever happened tonight, you knew it wouldn’t be clean. It wouldn’t be gentle.

It hadn’t been, that night.

And if you got your way—it wouldn’t be now either.

You didn’t move.

Not when he leaned in, not when the edge of his knee bumped yours, not even when the muscles in his forearm tensed just beside your hip—like he was resisting the urge to put his hands on you. Maybe around your throat. Maybe under your shirt. You couldn’t tell which would come first, and god, you wanted both.

He didn’t touch you.

And somehow, that was worse.

You stared back, letting your gaze flick from his eyes to the corner of his mouth, then lower, to the sharp ridge of his throat. His pulse ticked there, hard and fast. And he saw you watching it.

That silence cracked at the edges.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, low, voice fraying around the edges. “You think I’m gonna let this slide?”

You gave him a small smile—just enough to piss him off, just enough to say I dare you.

And beneath it, that memory flared again—sharp and fast like a slap. His hand buried in your hair, yanking your head back as he panted over you, saying things no one else had ever dared. That voice, filthy and raw, hissing how tight you were, how needy, how he knew you liked it rough because your cunt didn’t lie the way your mouth did.

Your thighs pressed together before you could stop them. A flicker of motion. But he saw it. Of course he did.

His lip curled—not a smirk, something darker. Something more like disgust twisted with heat.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head, but he didn’t pull away. “That’s what this is.”

You arched a brow, kept your tone light even though your chest was tight.

“What’s this, exactly?”

He exhaled hard, sharp through his nose. Like he was trying to keep himself tethered.

You didn’t let up.

“You’re mad I fucked up,” you said, quiet, letting your voice go soft enough to pull him in closer. “But you’re not mad because of the job, are you?”

That was the final crack.

His fist slammed down onto the table beside you—not close enough to hurt, but loud enough that your bones flinched.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t twist this into something else.”

You blinked slowly. Held his gaze.

But your mind twisted anyway.

To the way he’d held you down against the mattress, both wrists pinned with one hand while he’d taken you so deep you’d sobbed into the sheets. To the snarl in his voice when he told you no one else would ever fuck you like he did. No one else would be allowed.

“You pretending that night didn’t happen?” you asked, voice quieter now. Not mocking. Curious. Wary.

He didn’t answer. Just stared. A war behind his eyes.

You pushed.

“You pretending you didn’t like it?”

His hand twitched again—like he was imagining wrapping it around your throat. Or your waist. Or back into your hair, where it had been when you came on his cock so hard you nearly blacked out.

You looked at him, and your voice dipped into something dangerous.

“I’m not.”

That landed. Hard.

He stepped back, just half a pace, like your words hit harder than they should’ve. Like he needed distance to breathe.

You missed the heat of him immediately. Missed the threat. Missed the weight.

And that was the cruelest part of all. You didn’t just want him angry. You wanted him to break. To admit that he hadn’t stopped thinking about that night any more than you had. To touch you like he was still haunted by it.

But Tangerine?

He was a master at pretending. At swallowing down the heat until it festered.

Still, even now—his chest heaving, teeth clenched—he wasn’t moving.

And that was fine.

Because neither were you.

You could wait.

But not forever.

Tangerine stepped farther back, just enough to breathe, like proximity to you was a chokehold all its own. His tongue rolled against the inside of his cheek, jaw clenching so tight the muscle jumped like it was trying to tear free.

You stayed where you were—legs still slightly spread on the table edge, palms resting behind you, fingers still curled. 

Another flick of the match.

He was shaking with the effort not to touch you.

“I should’ve let you eat the bullet back there,” he muttered, more to himself than you, pacing in a tight, agitated line now. “Would’ve solved the fuckin’ problem at its root.”

You cocked your head, slow and lazy. Watched him like he was theatre.

“Big talk for someone who dove in front of it instead.”

He stopped mid-step. Turned.

“Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself.”

You gave him a look. That slight lift of your brow that always meant oh, darling, I already have.

He laughed again—mean this time. Dry and incredulous.

“You’re unbelievable. You know that? You botch the op, nearly get me fuckin’ gutted, then sit there like it’s a performance and you’re waitin’ on applause.”

You shrugged. Let your eyes slide down his frame—those wrinkled suit pants, the strained buttons on his vest, the deep shadow of sweat at his chest.

“Didn’t say anything about applause,” you said, sweet as poison. “But you are putting on quite a show.”

That did it.

He moved before you could blink.

One hand slammed down on the table beside your thigh, the other wrapped hard around the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. His grip wasn’t cruel—but it wasn’t gentle, either. Firm enough to hold. To command. To warn.

His face was inches from yours now. Close enough you could feel the heat rolling off him, could see every thread of fury stitched into the cut of his mouth.

“Is that what this is, then?” he hissed. “You wanted this? Wanted me fuckin’ angry? Wanted a reaction?”

You didn’t flinch. Let him feel your pulse hammering against his palm.

“Maybe I just missed the version of you that actually felt something.”

His breath hitched. He didn’t blink.

“Careful.”

You smiled.

“You weren’t careful that night.”

That was it.

The snap wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a yell or a punch or some dramatic outburst.

It was quieter.

Sharper.

Like a lock giving way.

Then he moved.

Your back barely had time to register the press of his palm before it slammed against the table. You let out a startled grunt, palms catching on the rough edge of the wood, the impact jolting up your spine. One of his knees shoved between your thighs, kicked them apart like he was claiming territory, not asking for space. He crowded into you from behind, hips against your ass, chest heavy against your back.

“You don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you?” he growled, voice right in your ear, low and hard and seething. His accent clipped, brutal. “Pushin’ and pushin’, beggin’ for it without sayin’ a fuckin’ word.”

His hand found your waist and yanked you back against him, grinding his hips into yours so you could feel the full, heavy length of his cock through your clothes. No teasing. Just a warning.

A promise.

“That what you want, love?” he hissed. “You want me pissed off? Want me to treat you like a fuckin’ brat who needs to be put in her place?”

You made a sound—half gasp, half yes—but that wasn’t good enough.

His fingers tangled in your hair, yanked your head back until you were arched over the table, neck bared.

“I said,” he growled into the shell of your ear, “is that what you fuckin’ want?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

He chuckled, dark and sharp.

“Course it is. Dirty little thing like you—actin’ up on purpose, flashin’ your attitude around like I won’t take you apart for it.”

His hand slid around your throat—not squeezing yet, just there, firm and steady. Controlling. Holding you still as he ground into you again, the pressure of his cock making you squirm. He hissed through his teeth.

“Fuckin’ knew it. Knew you were actin’ out. Could see it the second you pulled off your post. You don’t want discipline, love. You want to be ruined.”

He pushed forward again, his grip tightening slightly, just enough to make your pulse throb under his fingers.

“You want to be reminded what it feels like to be nothin’ but a hole for me to fuck.”

Your breath stuttered.

He smiled against your neck, mean and satisfied.

“That’s it. Go quiet now, yeah? Finally understand the fuckin’ gravity of what you’ve done?”

His voice rasped against your ear like gravel and heat, the scent of sweat and cologne rising off his chest where it pressed to your back. One hand still braced against your thigh, holding you open, and the other curled under your shirt—rough fingers palming up over your stomach, your ribs, until his hand was full over your breast.

“Gravity of what you’ve done,” he muttered again, almost to himself now, like he was trying to tether his own restraint by repeating it aloud. “Can’t fuckin’ believe you—”

You made the mistake of laughing. Just once. Sharp, breathless, defiant.

“Bet you say that to all the girls who nearly get you killed.”

His hand on your breast squeezed—firm, punishing. You gasped, and he leaned in, biting the corner of your jaw just enough to sting.

Then he stepped back, just barely, and in one sudden move ripped your shirt clean down the middle—buttons pinged off across the floor like gunshots.

“Hey,” you managed, grinning despite yourself, “this your version of foreplay? You planning to leave me naked and unemployed?”

He looked down at you—disheveled, mouth flushed—and there was no mercy in his expression. Just disgusted arousal, and fury held at the edges of his clenched jaw. His lip curled under that sharp moustache, brows drawn low and tight. His chest rose hard with every breath, the veins in his forearms standing out like he was fighting himself not to ruin you entirely.

He reached between your thighs again—but this time, not to touch.

To strip.

His hands gripped the waistband of your jeans, and without a word he yanked—hard. The fabric caught at your hips for a second before giving way, seams protesting as he shoved them down your thighs. You could barely catch your breath before your panties followed, dragged down with the same rough urgency, cool air rushing over soaked skin.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered under his breath, and the words weren’t even meant for you. More like a slip of truth he hadn’t meant to let out. His jaw clenched hard as he tossed the bunched fabric somewhere to the floor behind him, like it offended him just by being in the way.

You were bare now—legs spread on the table, breasts heaving from your ruined shirt, hair tangled, lips parted.

He looked at you like he wanted to break something.

Then he spit.

Right into his hand. No hesitation. Just raw, wet, unceremonious.

“Cheeky little fuckin’ brat,” he growled. “I’ll give you somethin’ to laugh about.”

Two fingers—slick and thick—shoved into you in one cruel, punishing thrust. Your legs jolted, and your cry was strangled into a half-formed word. He didn’t ease up. He fucked you with them, hard and fast, like he was trying to make you regret every word that had come out of your mouth.

His other hand kept your breast pinned under his palm, his thumb brushing over your nipple in hard, tight circles—just enough to make your back arch.

And still he watched you. Jaw tight. Moustache twitching slightly as his mouth parted with a hissed breath.

“You feel that?” he said, voice low and vicious. “That’s me bein’ nice.”

You whimpered.

He smirked. The cruel kind.

“And I’m not fuckin’ known for bein’ nice.”

He curled his fingers inside you, hit something sharp and mean, and you cried out again—louder this time. His eyes flicked down to your lips, then your throat, then lower.

He leaned in, kissed your neck—open mouth, teeth grazing skin. Then down—lips trailing to your shoulder, the slope of your breast where your shirt hung off in tatters.

“You go quiet now,” he murmured against your skin, voice like thunder low to the ground. “Or I’ll make it worse.”

But his fingers didn’t stop. If anything, they went harder.

You tried to hold still. Tried not to give him the satisfaction.

But it was useless.

You were dripping around him, and he knew it, your thighs trembling where he held them open, your breath caught somewhere between a whimper and a sob.

And he could feel it. The way your body clenched, fluttered, desperately close to the edge. It only made him meaner.

“Look at you,” he muttered, lips dragging across the curve of your shoulder, his voice like a blade against your skin. “Legs spread, tits out, cunt so wet I could drown in it—and still you act like you’ve got control.”

His thumb slid up—slick from your arousal—and found your clit without mercy. Not teasing. Not soft. Just pressure. Hard and steady and cruel.

You choked on a moan, spine arching against his hand, trying to pull back from the overstimulation, but his other hand was already at your waist, pinning you to the table like you were nothing but a body to be used.

“You gonna come already?” he asked, mocking, a sneer in the back of his throat. “That easy for you? Thought you were tougher than that.”

His fingers curled inside you again—deep, punishing—and he growled when you gasped his name like it might save you.

“Oh no, love,” he murmured, breath hot against your ear. “You don’t get to come just 'cause you sound sweet beggin’ for it.”

You were so close—your muscles locking, your thighs shaking, your breath coming in desperate stutters—and he knew. Of course he did.

So he stopped.

Pulled his fingers out like he was disgusted with the feel of you. Your body jolted, air punched from your lungs in a stunned sob of denial.

You turned your head, dazed, mouth open, ready to plead without shame.

But he was already looking at you. Smug. Dangerous. His fingers, slick and glistening, flexed in the air between you like he was toying with the idea of giving them back.

Then he reached out and grabbed your chin, hard, forcing you to face him.

“Yeah, there it is,” he said softly, a cruel kind of satisfaction in his tone. “That’s the look. All wide-eyed and ruined, like you’ve only just realised you’re not the one in charge.”

His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, pressing into your mouth until you opened for him instinctively.

“Good girl,” he muttered, then pulled his hand away just as quick.

You whimpered again—helpless, ruined, empty.

He leaned in, voice low and tight in your ear.

“You wanna come?” he asked.

You nodded.

He bit down on your earlobe—just hard enough to make you flinch—and said, “Then fuckin’ earn it.”

He didn’t give you time to breathe.

One second, you were laid out and gasping, and the next—he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you over with a grunt, manhandling your body like it didn’t matter how it landed, just that it was his to move.

Your chest hit the table, cheek pressed against the cold surface, your ruined shirt hanging off your arms. Your ass bare, thighs still trembling. He kicked your legs farther apart with his foot, planting one firm hand between your shoulder blades and pressing down until your back arched deep and low, your body exposed and helpless for him.

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he muttered behind you, breath ragged, voice full of venomous praise. “This body—drives me bloody mad. All curves and heat and attitude. Always walkin’ around like you don’t know exactly what you do to me.”

His free hand found your ass—gripping it, spreading you wide, his fingers hot on your skin.

Then, just as your breath stuttered, he reached around and shoved those same fingers—slick from your cunt—right up to your lips.

You tried to turn your head, but he caught your jaw with his thumb, guiding you, forcing you to face him as he leaned in over your shoulder, lips brushing your ear.

“Suck.”

It wasn’t a request.

You hesitated—just for a second.

He laughed.

“Come on, love. Don’t get shy now. You were so loud a minute ago.”

You opened your mouth. He slid both fingers in, deep past your lips, pressing down on your tongue. You tasted yourself instantly—hot, slick, filthy—and your eyes fluttered as he held them there.

He groaned, rough and low.

“There you go. Tasting your own fuckin’ mess. You make such a state of yourself for me, don’t you?”

You whimpered around his fingers.

He leaned in, lips at your ear again.

“Makes sense. That’s all this mouth is good for—bein’ stuffed full or shut the fuck up.”

Then, without warning, he pulled them out—wet with spit and your slick—and shoved them straight back inside you.

You cried out, body jolting as he fucked his fingers deep, hard, and perfect, angling just right to hit that one unbearable spot inside you. Over and over. Fast. Precise. Cruel.

His other hand wrapped around your throat from behind—fingers strong, holding you down against the table, not squeezing but anchoring you in place.

“Don’t you dare come,” he hissed, thrusting his fingers in again. “You even think about it, and I’ll stop right fuckin’ there.”

You were shaking—helpless, dripping, your body a live wire under his control.

And he wasn’t touching your clit. Not once. Just that steady, brutal pace, fingers curling perfectly inside you, dragging along that spot like he was studying your body, not letting you have what you wanted.

“Oh, you want more, don’t you?” he mocked, voice low, breath hot at your neck. “Grindin’ down like you’re fuckin’ desperate. Like I didn’t tell you to behave.”

His fingers slammed into you again—harder now, fast and deep—but still controlled. Still measured. Still maddeningly just shy of what your body was begging for. His palm remained locked around your throat, keeping your chest pinned to the table, your breath shallow, your back arched like a perfect offering.

You were stretched out across the table, bare and trembling, every muscle burning with tension. His palm stayed firm around your throat, anchoring you down, forcing your chest into the cool wood as your back arched involuntarily—offering yourself like some desperate little thing. Your breath was ragged, catching in tiny gasps as his fingers drove into you, punishing, unrelenting.

And then you broke.

It wasn’t graceful.

It wasn’t a choice.

It spilled out of your mouth like a sob.

“Please—fuck, please—I need to come, I need you to—please, fuck me—”

He let out a low, incredulous laugh. Not amused. Just vicious.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said, tone sharp and dripping with smug satisfaction. “There she is.”

You whimpered, legs shaking, face pressed to the table, humiliation burning hot beneath your skin. You didn’t care. You needed it.

“You talk such big fuckin’ game, don’t you?” he murmured, leaning close, voice rough against your ear. “And now look at you—soaked, spread, and sobbin’ for it.”

Then his hand lifted from your throat.

Not slow. Not gentle.

It left you cold for a beat—exposed, air rushing in. But before you could even process it, his hand found your clit, finally, and pressed down with filthy precision. His fingers inside you never slowed, never lost rhythm. But now his other hand worked tight, devastating circles over that bundle of nerves, dragging you toward the edge with terrifying efficiency.

“You want to come?” he asked, lips grazing your jaw. “You want to come like a good little mess?”

“Yes—yes—please—”

“Then fucking apologise.”

You blinked. Shuddered.

“I—” Your voice caught, breath shaking. “I’m sorry.”

He rewarded you with a slow, deep curl of his fingers that made your hips jerk violently.

“Again,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry—fuck, I’m sorry I—”

He stopped. Both hands. Just... stopped.

The emptiness hit like a slap.

You whined—desperate, broken—hips twitching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

“No stutterin’,” he said coldly. “Say it properly or you get nothing.”

You sucked in a breath, forcing your voice out steady through the trembling of your entire body.

“I’m sorry I acted like a brat. I’m sorry I ruined the job. I just wanted—wanted you to fuck me again. Please.”

He groaned low, dark and pleased.

“There’s my good little mess.”

And then he gave it back.

Fingers deep again, thrusting hard, relentless. His thumb circled your clit with practiced cruelty, and your body sang with it—hips grinding into the pressure, legs twitching uncontrollably as he built you up again.

“Say it while you come,” he growled, voice thick with power. “Apologise while you fall apart for me.”

But he didn’t rush you there.

No, he took his time.

His fingers worked inside you in relentless, aching rhythm—deep and punishing, stroking that perfect spot again and again while his thumb dragged slow, filthy circles over your clit. You were shaking, twitching under his hands like your body had stopped belonging to you, like it only answered to him now.

“Yeah,” he murmured, lips dragging along your spine, breath hot and thick against your skin. “That’s it. Good girl. Feel it. Every fuckin’ second of it.”

He leaned in, kissed your shoulder—open mouth, tongue hot and heavy on your skin. Then lower. The blade of your shoulder blade, the dip of your back. His moustache scratched over your skin, and the heat of his breath raised goosebumps in the wake of every kiss.

“Made such a fuckin’ mess of yourself for me,” he muttered, dragging his mouth up to your ear again. “All that mouth, all that fight, and now look at you. So fuckin’ wet I could hear you beggin’ before you said a word.”

Your breath broke on a sob. The pressure was unbearable now—pleasure wound so tight it felt like pain. His fingers never stopped. His thumb worked faster, harder, and you could feel it coming—rising slow, sharp, like a wave with nowhere to crash but through you.

“Go on,” he growled, voice hot against your ear, fingers fucking into you like he owned every inch. “Come all over my fuckin’ fingers, you needy little mess. Show me what that bratty cunt was beggin’ for.”

And you did.

The orgasm took you like a blow—violent and all-consuming, your muscles locking, your back arching hard against his chest as the world narrowed to the feel of his hands, his mouth, his voice.

“I’m—fuck—I’m sorry,” you gasped, broken and raw, the words tumbling from your lips again and again. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—Tangerine, please—”

He didn’t stop. Not for a second.

You came hard, sobbing through it, body convulsing in his grip, and he watched you. Felt every tremor with his hands, every flutter of your cunt around his fingers, and just held you there—working you through it like you were something to be played.

And as you slumped, twitching and spent against the table, he leaned in close. Pressed his lips just beneath your ear, voice low and thick and utterly filthy.

“That’s my girl. Wrecked and sorry for me. You’ll remember this every time you get mouthy again, won’t you?”

He kissed your temple—surprisingly soft.

But then he laughed, low and dark.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m not fuckin’ finished with you yet.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

DO NOT COPY, REPOST, TRANSLATE, TOUCH, PRINT, UPLOAD, DOWNLOAD, AAAHHH.

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[ny0sang]

apartment 5c | bob reynolds

summary: one of bob’s roommates — johnny storm — brings home an unlikely guest

pairing: bob reynolds x stripper fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

content: au where pb&jj live together, reader is a stripper but not brought to the apartment for that purpose! the job itself is mentioned briefly. mentions of being homeless and violence. bob is #1 at being awkward around ppl he finds attractive, reader teases bob and of course, bob is immediately down bad

a/n: not proofread. i like confident women with bob. also all my bob fics 🤝 saying goodnight bob

Bob liked routine.

He liked to wake up at the same time, every morning, put his favourite slippers on that he had neatly positioned next to his bed and sit in the kitchen for at least an hour eating cereal out of one of the last clean bowls in the apartment since the three other men living there — Joaquin Torres, Peter Parker and Johnny Storm — hadn’t the faintest idea what a Scrub Daddy and some dish soap could do to their dirty dishes.

He would eventually clean them; but he’d let three days pass before the pink rubber gloves were yanked to his elbows and covered in soap suds.

Eventually, the three day time limit had reached its end and Bob stood at the kitchen sink, clad in hot pink gloves, scrubbing the remnants of a protein oatmeal off of the bottom of a bowl. His lips pulled into a thin line as he wrestled with the stubborn food, Bob silently cursed his roommates for their minimal skills in the dishwashing department — even rinsing the bowl out would suffice.

Regardless, Bob refused to live in squalor, and desperately needed a bowl for his cereal for the hour he would spend livening himself up for another day spent concealed in the confides of Apartment 5C. Away from people, away from the threat of something going massively wrong if he was met with an ounce of stress in the hustle and bustle of New York City.

Once the dishes were — reluctantly — cleaned, Bob perched himself on his favourite stool at the quartz island, his eyes trained on the orange tinged skyline from their fifth floor apartment. He sat with his cereal stewed in milk for ten minutes, the first spoonful almost passed the threshold of his lips when Joaquin Torres burst through the serene bliss Bob had been experiencing.

Joaquin practically bounded round to meet Bob, his arm slouched over his shoulder as he jostled his roommate around a little.

“I think we are living in an alternate universe, Bob.” Joaquin whispered.

Bob looked to his friend, “What?”

“You remember the woman, Johnny took home last night, right?”

How could Bob forget?

It was in Johnny Storm’s repertoire to bring new faces through the front door of Apartment 5C, flirtatiously tugged into his bedroom with a handful of kisses on the journey for a night tangled in the sheets. His best friend, Peter Parker, the Friendly Neighbourhood Spiderman — vigilante for medium — subtly turning the volume of the TV up and rustling his bag of popcorn obnoxiously to cover the banging of Storm’s headboard against the wall.

The night prior had Storm’s two of the three roommates scratching at their heads when his new face for the night had him dragging a hot pink duffle bag and a cabin suitcase across the threshold. The matter of fact was, Johnny’s one night stands never brought any baggage aside from a purse and an abashed smile if eye contact was made from prying eyes in the living room.

And you? The woman he brought in?

You were potentially the most gorgeous woman Bob had ever laid eyes on. Naturally, it didn’t go amiss that all of Storm’s one night stands were pretty, but you took the cake. You had met Bob’s curious gaze with a genuine smile that had his jaw slacken and his throat constrict; his mouth feeling like it had been stuffed with cotton. A shy wave was sent his way, and Bob almost whimpered.

Thankfully, your attention had been diverted to the poor decoration clash between the four roommates before you had disappeared into Johnny’s room with your sweet toned voice lathering the apartment up like it had been dipped in honey.

Bob, quick to clear his head, nodded, “Yeah.”

“J-Storm is sleeping on the couch.” Joaquin widened his eyes for the theatrical aspect of his storytelling, “I don’t think they—you know—fucked. Isn’t that super out of character for Johnny?”

A little. But who were they to judge.

As Bob mulled over his answer to Joaquin’s theory of an alternate universe where Johnny Storm didn’t sleep with the women he brought into their apartment, Peter Parker strolled in with his knuckles rubbing at his eyes and a large yawn elicited from the depths of his soul.

He flicked a web at the remaining, speckled banana in the fruit basket and peeled away as Bob answered.

“Maybe she didn’t feel comfortable after they made it back?” Bob reasoned, “And it would be kind of cruel to send her home at two in the morning.”

Joaquin scratched his brow bone, “Or—hear me out—the ladies man is actually attempting to lock this one down.” He looked valiant in his theory, “Chivalry isn’t dead, bro.”

Peter chimed in.

“Who are you talking about?”

In the time that Joaquin responded Storm, Bob had said Johnny.

Peter — knowing Johnny Storm best — shook his head whilst he took a bite out of the banana, “That’s one of his closest friends. They’re not hooking up.”

Bob and Joaquin snapped their heads to Parker who hadn’t noticed their stares until momentarily after the fact. Solely focussed on peeling the fibrous phloem bundles, Peter let his eyes drift to see the two men in unison with their perplexity.

“Then…Why did he bring her home?” Bob blinked, “In—Into his room?”

“Oh.” Peter threw the last of the banana into his mouth and chewed whilst he spoke nonchalantly, “She needed a place to stay for a bit. He’s set his room up for her and he’s taking the couch.”

Joaquin guffawed, “When was this going to be a group discussion? Peanut Butter and Jelly Squared? Imagine I walked out with my junk hanging out, bro.”

“Right.” Peter screwed his face up, “Because, you’re casually doing that anyway.”

Bob wrung his hands, “Does she feel safe enough to live with three guys? I—I mean, we are safe. Obviously.”

“Obviously, Bob.” Peter and Joaquin said in unison.

“Right.”

Bob looked back to his cereal swimming in milk, a peculiar relief settled in his bones that you were solely Johnny’s closest friend, and not someone he had taken in for a tangle in the sheets. Not that he’d ever act upon his immediate attraction to you.

Suddenly, his head already swarmed with the possibilities of having to interact with you. It wasn’t second nature to someone like him to excel in sudden human interaction with a stranger he just met — let alone a cute one. He could see it unfolding, in the hallway, side-stepping in the same direction, his face burnt with mortification.

His roommates would goad him for months.

Peter coughed, “Shit. I should probably take my mask off of the coat hanger at the door.” He stood as Joaquin nodded with a response of his wise decision to conceal his identity of the true face behind the mask of Spiderman. Peter saluted, “See ya, fellas.”

Peter left with a slight stumble over the corner of the thrifted rug, leaving Joaquin and Bob to their own devices in the kitchen. Bob picked at the threads of his navy sweater, his ears perked to hear your laughter from behind the thin wall — and what a symphony it sounded like.

“At least it’s a change from the headboard.” Joaquin noted with a laugh as he turned on his heel, “One more bang against that wall, and they would be fucking in the living room.” He yawned, “Training with Cap. See you tonight.”

Bob mumbled a farewell when Joaquin passed him with a firm pat to his shoulder. He remained seated, thumbs twiddled as he second-guessed taking his breakfast to the safe haven of his bedroom at the very end of the hallway, to minimise excruciating small-talk. Suddenly, he cursed his rare win on drawing the longest straw out of the four roommates to see who would get the room with the biggest floor space and best view.

As soon as the thought flew into his mind, the padding of bare feet against the linoleum blew his idea out of the water.

“Good morning.” You beamed as you rounded the island in the kitchen to get to the fridge. Bob almost malfunctioned. You had entered in an oversized tee that had succumbed to your own personal DIY — the collar cut so it slipped down one shoulder to expose bare skin. When Bob didn’t return any words, you shut the fridge and turned, “Oh. I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself.”

Bob — albeit hesitant — shook your hand as you spoke your name. He returned, “Bob.”

You sat down on the stool next to Bob, a glass of orange juice in hand and quick to explain that you were explicitly Johnny Storm’s friend and nothing more. Bob nodded awkwardly, you had thrown his morning routine for a loop. Pretty with a nice smile, immediate with pleasantries when Bob was so used to being skimmed over. And, as you settled in by reading the newspaper that had been amongst the junk mail for Apartment 5C; Bob didn’t miss the blossoming bruise painted across your left eyelid.

He wondered how you managed to score such a hefty contusion.

Unbothered by Bob — who had been practically vibrating next to you — you picked the corner of the newspaper, uninterested in the contents until you came across the Daily Horoscopes segment. You hummed in delight, straightening as you flicked out the newspaper for dramatic effect.

“What’s your Star Sign?”

“I’m sorry?” Bob mumbled.

“You know. The twelve symbols in Astrology? Your Zodiac?” You folded the paper in half to show Bob, shoulders touched as you leant in without worry for consequences.

Bob narrowed his eyes at the page, distracted by how good you smelt, “Oh. I—I think I am a Cancer.”

“Water!” You chimed in gleefully. Extending the gap between you both again, you began to read out Bob’s upcoming months as a Cancer, finishing the last sentence with a teasing hum, “The next twelve months could find you embracing new beginnings, with a chapter that sees you expanding exponentially.” You slapped the newspaper shut, “Now, I don’t plan on staying for twelve months — but your matching sign was mine.”

You were definitely Johnny Storm’s friend.

As if on cue, Storm sauntered into the kitchen, eyeing you sat next to his roommate who was tomato red from the neck upward. Amused, Johnny chuckled and shook his head; a warning look sent in your direction which you returned innocently.

“Is she bothering you, Bob?” He questioned, head in the fridge to locate his leftover pizza from two days ago. His voice muffled slightly, “Just let me know if she is.”

Bob was quick to jump to your defence.

“No. No, not at all.”

You spared him a wink, “See? I’m on my best behaviour, Stormtrooper.”

Johnny pulled at the cold pizza, cheek full of dough as he shook the slice at you, “She’s acting like this because she thinks you’re cute, Bob. Give me a safe word, I mean it.”

Bob couldn’t have prayed more for the ground to swallow him up whole. He hadn’t expected such a forward conversation to disrupt the usual 8AM blissful peace. The situation was chaotic, you and Johnny continuing your back and forth banter as Bob was still stuck on Johnny’s admission that you found him along the lines of cute?

If he read between the lines — which Bob tended to lean towards doing — that meant you saw him as the equivalent to a calendar with every month brandishing an image of a baby animal with wide eyes. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He’d take his wins where he could.

Not expecting any inclusion going forward, Bob stabbed at his soggy cereal was near the lines of dissolving into the milk. He wasn’t one for food waste, especially in todays climate, so he grimaced and powered through a spoonful at a time.

You and Johnny had began bickering over your inability to not scare off the introverts of society, switched to another topic that went over Bob’s head. It was unusual to have this many people in the kitchen at the specific time he would eat his cereal and watch the New York skyline from the broken window that lead out onto the fire escape; so Bob went elsewhere in his mind.

Nobody would think to include him.

“So, what do you think, Bob?” You cut through his own thoughts, concise in your intention to usher him into the conversation. He blinked at you, a bright smile on your face that met your eyes as you awaited his response.

Bob croaked, “I—I wasn’t listening.”

“Would you like to bar hop tonight?” You didn’t know him in the slightest.

“Oh…No. Thanks.” He offered a meek smile with his rejection, “Going out to drink isn’t really my thing. My roommates can tell you that.”

You almost frowned, “OK. We can stay in, if you would prefer that?”

Bob didn’t like being put under pressure. But, God, you were so unbelievably pretty. Surface level criteria, but he would love to get to know you more. Without the prying eyes of one out of the three roommates waiting on his answer.

Bob Reynolds had a terrible time at undoing the personality trait of a people pleaser. And, the way you were doe-eyed at him, he almost said yes to an out of character night swarmed in intoxicated New Yorkers who would stand on is toes and spill sticky drink on his favourite sweater.

No. This time; he would stand his ground.

“Cucumber.” Bob blurted out. He stared at Johnny Storm who furrowed his brow. Come on, Storm! “C—Cucumber.”

A look of concern crossed your features, “Did I break him?”

Johnny finally clocked onto Bob’s sudden obsession with the word cucumber when his roommate desperately flitted his brown eyes between him and one of his closest friends. Ah. Right. The safe word — Cucumber — that hadn’t been announced. Initially, Johnny had said it as a joke, but by the way Bob’s ears burned neon red along with the pulsating vein in his forehead; he had taken his offer in a literal sense.

Not wanting to fluster poor Bob further, Johnny gave a curt nod and guided you out of the kitchen by your shoulders, and leaving Bob to cool off from the prolonged encounter and eventually clean off the bowl of disintegrated cereal.

It had been hours since the 8AM kitchen debacle and Parker, Johnny, Joaquin and you had exited Apartment 5C in your best nightlife attire to hit a couple of bars. This had left Bob to his own devices, and clear from enticing out that side of him when under an incredible swell of anxiety. He was happy. Deep into a book for most of the night, the TV on the Bake Off show for ambient noise; he almost missed the jingle of keys and snickers behind the door to the apartment.

Four bodies stumbled in, Peter was able to flick a web, unbeknownst to you, to save himself and you from toppling into Joaquin and Johnny who had met the same fate of carpet burn on their elbows from hitting the ground.

Bob perked his head up over the back of the sofa to watch the commotion unfold — not missing the way his stomach sunk as you patted Parker’s chest as thanks for saving you.

He should’ve been a people pleaser.

First to beeline for the living room, you slumped next to Bob on the couch with a hazed look on your face. Makeup still intact, it was evident the bruise on your eye was no easy feat to cover as it shone through the glitter on your lid. Radiating warmth, you let out a deep exhaled of content with your head lolled onto the headrest as the three of Bob’s permanent roommates filtered in — Peter balancing four grease splotched pizza boxes on his head to prove a point to Joaquin.

“I get it, the balance of a. . . Spider.” Joaquin flashed his teeth in a knowing grin as Peter threw him a petulant look.

“Just sit down and give us the pizza.” Johnny clicked his fingers at the space on the rug next to him and Peter obliged, quick to throw the first box open and steal a slice. Johnny shoved Parker’s shoulder before taking the second slice of Pepperoni, “That was the biggest slice, Parker.”

Peter smacked his lips, “Mhm. And it tastes great too.”

“We all know Peter likes the big ones.” Joaquin added, his forearms up in a makeshift shield as Peter threw a hard punch his way for the unnecessary innuendo.

You sunk into the cushions, your hands splayed across your stomach that moved when you laughed at their antics. You were the first to acknowledge Bob, “Do you have to listen to this every single night when you’re trying to wind down, Bob?

Bob felt himself get hot.

“Oh, sometimes.” He cleared his throat to hide the fact his voice was a few octaves higher, “I’ve learned to tune them out.”

You laughed — Bob grinned.

“You’ll have to teach me. I swear my ears are ringing from them talking over each other rather than the club music.” You extended a hand out to take a slice of pizza from Joaquin, “Thanks, Jackie.” You took a bite and turned your attention back to Bob, “Did you have a nice night?”

He nodded, “Yeah. I watched some Bake Off.”

“Bake Off? I love that show. I was heartbroken when Mary Berry left.” You swallowed, “She was the best part of that show, you know that right?”

“A real treasure.” Johnny cut into the conversation with a teasing drawl.

“Shut up. I’m talking to Bob.”

Johnny held his hands up in surrender. Satisfied that your best friend was stepping behind the lines again, you shifted in your spot to fully face Bob; one leg tucked under your backside. You ran a thumb across the corner of your lips to remove the excess of pizza sauce, your lashes batted when you noticed that Bob flicked his attention down to your lips and back up to your face.

Oh. You had him.

There was a split in the atmosphere, thickened with a new tension that Torres, Parker and Storm had no business being in. It was suffocating, the waves of attraction palpable between both you and Bob — despite Bob missing that note entirely. Johnny slowed his chewing on the fourth slice of pizza he had managed to devour, his eyes going between you and Bob as you sat grinning like Cheshire cats at one and other whilst continuing your in depth conversation about the Saint: Mary Berry.

Napkin to his lips, he wiped the grease off and smacked Peter on his chest with the back of his hand. Unaware, Peter groaned and shoved at his friend’s shoulder whilst he tried to fight for the last slice of pizza in the box. Johnny was quick to grab the male’s bicep and haul him up.

“Hey—” Peter went to argue his case when Joaquin caught his attention with his finger pressed to his lips. “What…? Oh.”

The three men casually whistled their way out of the living room, the door cracked open three inches wide so they could eavesdrop from their respected rooms — Johnny in the bathroom whilst he waited for you two to clear his makeshift bed on the couch.

Bob sent an apologetic look your way, neither of you missing the theatrics of his roommates. Unfazed with an award-winning grin, you bent at the waist to fiddle with the strap of the heel that had been chafing a raw blister above your ankle.

“Do you need a hand?” Bob blurted in an almost plea like manner.

Unsure of what sort of brain-rotting trance he was under where his ability to remain stoic — albeit minimal — in circumstances such as this. If he was a dog, he’d ought to be howling.

Exhaling with relief from the loosened strap you tended to the other one, “I’ve got it, thank you.” You straightened your back once the heel was off of your foot, “I’m a pro at a heel removal. Although, rookie error on my behalf for not taking blister plasters with me.”

Bob thought to the drawer crammed to the brim with medicinal items, such as plasters, alcohol wipes and a few stragglers of pain-relief pills that had been accidentally popped into the drawer and left to rot. Quick to jump to his feet, he held a shaken finger up to you which translated to: Please don’t move. Before he slid to the exact drawer in his head and rummaged to the back of it for the blister plaster pack Parker had purchased for his chafed nipples.

Apparently being Spiderman had its cons.

Returned to the living room with plasters in hand, Bob blacked out the programmed shyness, and knelt at your feet to tend to your minor wounds.

“Oh—! You do not have to do that.” You exclaimed with a gentle swat to make Bob get up from his spot on the floor. When he waved you off, you knelt back on the palms of your hands and watched him carefully. Quick to strike up another conversation, “So, Bob. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m—I’m unemployed, you could say.” Bob swallowed the embarrassment he felt. He wasn’t sure of your character past the one conversation prior to the one you were sharing now, but he prayed that his confession of being jobless — in a regular civilian way — didn’t make your nose turn up in judgement. He smoothed the plaster against your skin and was quick to add, “How about you?"

You sighed. Oh no. You thought he was a bum.

“I was a stripper—Thank you for doing that.” You admitted quietly to Bob who remained unchanged to your confession as he stood and returned to his seat on the couch. You picked at the threads of your skirt, “I love to dance. My boss wanted me to do more than just dance when he saw me being requested more.”

Bob nodded along.

“I slept where I worked. So, when I said no, he fired me and made me homeless in one sitting.” You gestured to the purpled bruise spread across your eye, “And he gave me this shiner for good measure. A real charmer.”

“I’m sorry. For how he treated you.” Bob was genuine and that fed through in the tenderness of his words.

You smiled, “Not because I’m a stripper?”

“What—? No. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He affirmed, “I—In fact, I would love to see you dance.” Bob immediately paled at his choice of words. Mouth dried, in an attempt to save face, he stammered, “I didn’t mean—What I meant was—”

He was fighting a losing battle.

But, he couldn’t mistake the subtle shine in your eyes of — was it? — fondness. You let out a gentle laugh, your hands pressed to the cushioned base of the sofa, your body leant forward into Bob where you pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth; which had Bob almost chasing you for more when you pulled back.

Expressing further affection, your thumb swept the gloss smeared on Bob where you had kissed him before running your palm to his unkempt hair and brushing the stray hairs away from his face.

You stood from your spot next to him.

“I like you.” You tapped your finger to your glossed lips, “I think I’ll keep you.”

“Safe word, Bob!” A muffled call from Johnny in the bathroom, “Remember the safe word!”

You rolled your eyes, “Goodnight, Bob.”

[ny0sang]

hi! I’m a new reader and I’m absolutely love your marvel fics!

i was wondering if we could do kinda of a jerk reader and bob Reynolds? Like, she’s just mean and doesn’t talk to anyone. The type of person to drink while driving during a mission? The new avengers (much more, the public), doesn’t like this attitude? And Yelena has told her many times to stay away from bob to not remind him of something; trauma issues?

So imagine his surprise when she came back into the tower, saw him crying on the balcony and just silently just sat there. He was told she was a jerk, a rude person but she was just silent, rubbing circles on his back!

If you want to add more, you can but I LOVE your angst fics so much.

thank you in advance, kisses, adria

Break The Mask ~ Robert "Bob" Reynolds

synopsis: You've stopped trying to change how people see you but then there's Bob

tw: fem!reader, reader isn't really a jerk but she acts like one, Ava sees through reader and they become friends, reader gets a cut on her hand and passes out from both blood loss and hyperventilating, reader talks about punching a man that harassed her friend, Bob might be a little OOC, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

This is my first Bob Reynolds fic, I hope I did him justice. Hi, Adria!! I'm so glad you like my Marvel fics!! Marvel was the first fandom I ever wrote for so I take pride in a lot of them!! Sending kisses back to you!!

➽──────────────❥

It's not that you liked being an asshole, it's just want people expected. At some point, it became easier to go with what they thought instead of trying to prove them wrong. The public didn't like you, one photo of you taking a drink from a suspicious can and you've suddenly been marked as a person who drinks and drives.

When you were branded a New Avenger, you saw the headlines.

Menace To Society Y/n is apart of the New Avengers? How will she be able to protect the world when she can't play nice?

You knew what the others thought of you, you didn't want to be mean. But they were all jerks to you first, not even in the way that they are with each other. They had genuine issues with you, every words slicing through your brain like a knife.

You would have thought Yelena would have been able to realize it was all a mask. But you thought wrong, "Stay away from Bob, alright? He doesn't need you being an ass and reminding him of father. Just leave him alone." The underlaying threat wasn't missed by you but you said nothing, just crossed your arms and left the room.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You kept up the mask, the one that would fall when you were alone in your room. The one that wanted to crack just a little bit more with each harsh word thrown your way. The one that wasn't enough to keep the frown away when an insult was unwarranted.

You weren't sure when Ava started showing up in your room later in the night, but she had a peace offering each time. A plate of leftovers if you skipped dinner to avoid the others or some other snack since you would, inevitability, leave dinner early to escape the harsh words.

"Why are you being nice?" You had the courage to ask Ava one night.

"Even assholes need to properly eat," was what she told you before phasing through the wall back to her room.

That was the start of you two sitting in your room in silence, a movie playing while you ate whatever she brought you. You knew better than to risk your luck, to ask her to have the others stop with their words, but she did and that was enough.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"You know, you aren't as high and mighty as you think you are," John casually threw at you, you paused behind the couch. No one was looking at you, but your eyes darted around the room as they slowly filled with tears.

"I don't think I'm high and mighty," was all you could throw back before leaving the common room, your shoulders tense as you heard John's last remark.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. You know you're high and mighty," you could just hear the eye roll in his voice. Your lip quivered and your breathing started to heave but you didn't let the tears fall until you were safely in your room and under your blankets.

Ava joined you a little while later, silently slipping under your covers and awkwardly rubbing your back. You were full on sobbing and couldn't keep your feelings back anymore. "I don't want to be mean! It wasn't even an alcoholic drink, it was one of those liquid death cans," you gasped for air as you paused. "I hate hurting others, it's why I refuse to kill unless I have to. I know what it's like to have others be mean to you, why would I want people to go through that because of me?" You were looking at Ava, her face neutral like it almost always ways.

"Why do you let them be mean to you then? I'm sure if you explained everything they'd understand," Ava gently told you.

"No one believes me," you whispered, your eyes casting down to the sheets of your bed. The ones that reminded you of when you were little in your parent's bed, when you were still seen as the nice girl you knew you were.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You noticed it before you realized you noticed it, Robert Reynolds started to stare at you. You weren't sure if it was because you spent more time by Ava instead of just leaving rooms. You weren't sure if it was because everyone also picked up on the fact that you no longer entertained their jabs and insults.

In reality, it was because Void was quiet when Bob looked at you. He wasn't entirely sure why, he had to think it was because you could throw an insult in a more effective manner than Void ever could. You could look someone in the eyes and tell them their darkest fears without blinking.

Yelena picked up on it too, she thought it was because you said something to Bob. So she waited until he wasn't in the room when you were. You were simply just in the kitchen with Ava, trying to find something to keep the hunger at bay until dinner. "Did you say something to him?" Yelena was staring at you and you scrunched your eyebrows.

"What? Who?" You asked, your eyes roaming over the others in the room, none looked particularly upset.

"Bob, did you insult him? Make him upset?" Yelena was walking closer but you vehemently shook your head.

"No, why would I?"

"Oh, I don't know because you're an ass!" Her eyes were blazing at the thought you made Bob upset. "He's always staring at you with wide eyes, like you've said something. So what did you tell him? Did you project your fears onto him? Tell him no one likes him? That you don't trust him? That you hate-" You cut Yelena off by slamming the coffee cup you were holding, the one everyone knew was your favorite after you drunkenly confessed it was your mother's, down on the counter so hard it broke. You didn't register the gasps of the others, the way Ava tried to calm you down before you got too worked up and crashed because the last thing you had from your mom was broken.

"Do you really think I would go that low? That I'm that much of an ass?" You slammed your hands back down on the counter, causing one of the shards of your cup to slice it open. You glanced down and gasped, you didn't realize you broke the cup until it was too late. Your lips wobbled and your sob broke through your throat faster than you could stop it. You barely heard the others, the concern for the blood gushing from your hand or the way you were practically suffocating yourself with the gasping breaths you were pulling in. Everything got dizzy before spinning and you hit the floor with a loud thud, one that echoed in your mind before you were out.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You woke up a few days later, it was apparent your body needed the rest. The doctor of the med floor told you that everyone else was on a mission and you nodded. You went back up in the elevator and stopped on the common floor, your mission for food on the forefront of your mind.

You saw Bob on the balcony and you could hear his sobs. The hunt for food was forgotten and you just went to sit with him. You wanted to say something, to do something to help, so you rubbed small circles on his back. You sat close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him and could comfortably reach his back, but far enough away to not crowd him. Your eyes were trained on the cityscape ahead of you while you let Bob cry it out.

Bob, on the other hand, was confused. You were supposed to be a jerk, one that everyone told him to stay away from. One that clearly had a favorite in Ava, but here you were not like they said you would be. You were just... you? You were someone rubbing small circles on his back, offering him support without suffocating him with your presence like the others. You were the only person who could make Void quiet just by being there. You were the only one who looked at him without the underlying fear of what he could do. You were comforting him and he was realizing you weren't as mean as the others thought.

You noticed his sobs ending before he did and once they were done, you stood without a word and went to the kitchen. Bob followed silently, watching as you rummaged the fridge and grabbed a container of leftovers that Ava had been fiercely protecting and keeping for you. He wanted to show you the mug, the one he had been meticulously glueing and piecing back together for you, but he was scared to leave you. Scared that Void would come back and tell him all the hurtful things that made him cry in the first place.

You seemed to notice, you always seemed to notice everything about him. "Are you going to follow me around?" You questioned. It came out blunt and your eyes widened slightly before you continued talking. "I don't care if you do! I just would like to know beforehand," you rushed out.

"You, uh, you keep... him quiet," Bob whispered and you nodded.

"Well, ok then. Just, uh, let me use the bathroom alone, alright?" You tried to make a joke, it failed but Bob let out a small huff of a laugh in solidarity of your horrible joke.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"I told her to leave him alone!" Yelena shouted on the plane ride home, the tablet with the tower feed in her hand. Ava looked at it and saw the small smile you had when you were relaxed on your face.

"She's not an ass, or at least not a real one," Ava spoke in your defense for the first time, finally fed up with the other's enough to go against your wishes. "She's just playing the role you all put her in, the one everyone has always put her in," Ava added on before going quiet.

"What do you mean?" Bucky spoke, his voice quiet. He had witnessed the harassment of the others but he also didn't know the full extent.

"Y/n, she hates being mean. She wasn't planning on being an ass to us but we were first. We saw her the way the public wanted us to see her. We see the mask she puts up to protect her heart, the mask that's slowly cracking because she truly believes that you all will never see her for who she really is," Ava explained, her annoyance showing in the clipped way she spoke before ripping the tablet from Yelena. Ava backed the security footage up to when you left the elevator before flipping it for everyone to see. "This is the real y/n, the one that I know," she let them watch you and Bob, let them see the real you.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Bob really did follow you everywhere, except the time he ran off into his room after telling you to wait outside the door. He emerged with his hands behind his back and his eyes downcast. "It's... it's not perfect, and no longer usable, but," Bob held the mug out to you. You could see the cracks, the lines of glue in them. But you took it from Bob with gentle hands, your eyes tearing up.

"You fixed it?" You looked up at him and he nodded, looking away from your face. "Thank you," you whispered, pulling the mug to your chest to hold closer to your heart.

"Well, I... I know that it was your, uh, mother's, and that you're... attached to it. It's nothing," Bob shrugged but you shook your head.

"Robert, it's everything," you breathed out, missing the smile that crossed his face at his full name falling from your lips. "Come on, I'm keeping this safe in my room," you told him, reaching a hand out for his. You needed to ground yourself, to let you know that someone does care enough to do something like this for you. Bob took it without hesitation and you two walked hand in hand down to your room.

Bob took in every sight and smell of your room just in case he'd never get to be there again. You had a bookshelf along the wall perpendicular to the window with a big chair at a diagonal in the corner. It was mostly facing the TV you had on the wall across from your bed, the bed that had white sheets with little green flowers as the pattern. The rumpled white blanket pulled in a manor that allowed Bob to see the thinner light green fluffy blanket you also had. Your room smelt of you, the lavender shampoo and conditioner you used, the naturally scented body wash and the lotion you wore that smelt of dewy cassis and sheer musk. You refused to use the overhead light, going as far as keeping a remote velcroed to the wall so you could turn on your fairy lights.

"You have a nice room," Bob told you, suddenly feeling more at ease.

"Oh," it was your turn to feel nervous. "Thanks," you muttered, placing the mug on your desk that held a laptop and some sketches. Bob watched as you made sure there was a few things around the mug, as if they were a barrier, before turning to him. "I, uh, do you want to watch a movie or something?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Bob nodded and you motioned to your unkempt bed and you both sat down on it.

That's where the team found you an hour later after getting back and changing, both of you wrapped in blankets with Jim Henson's Labyrinth playing on the TV. Ava didn't hesitate to climb into your blanket with you, her eyes trained on the TV. The others froze, you looked so at ease, your hand holding Bob's while you had a soft smile on your face while Ava curls into your side like a cat. They just slowly left the room while the three of you sat in silence watching the movie.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

At first the team thought you were trying to manipulate them, but one insult thrown your way and suddenly Bob's eyes got golden and they backed down. They expected you to use that fact to your advantage, to throw jabs and insults to them since they couldn't to you. But you would give them a greeting before scurrying off like you normally would before, just with a weak smile on your face. They noticed the smaller things you did for them, the things they never questioned before. John never seemed to run out of those super green smoothies he would drink after early morning workouts, Alexi never ran out of Wheaties, Yelena would always have those protein bars and popcorn stocked for her late night snacks.

A few weeks of you not changing, not being mean, let them know you truly were a nice person. And they finally got you to set the record straight, "Why does everyone think your an ass?" John bluntly asked. Your hand automatically reaching to land on Bob's shoulder, just knowing that his eyes were golden rimmed.

"I punched someone in public once, it was before I could control my heightened strength. He went flying across the space, he was fine though! At least physically, he had grabbed one of my friends in the park and I reacted before I thought. From then on, everything the media and public found was twisted to make me seem like the bad guy since the man I punched was influential. In truth, only one of those were real, and that was I wasn't, and I'm still not, the least bit sorry for punching him," you explained, leaving out the specifics.

You saw a bunch of emotions cross their faces, "So you're saying, everything we thought we knew was fake?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Walker," you nodded before getting up and leaving. You weren't ready for the rest of that conversation, you didn't want their pity or their endless apologies for judging you.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Bob hesitated outside your door, you told him that is Void ever got too loud or if he simply couldn't sleep, your door was open. But he didn't want to wake you, it was late and you were probably asleep. What if you yelled at him and told him that you, "Bob?" Your voice broke through his thoughts. "Do you want to come in?" Bob nodded and you stepped aside, your fairy lights were off but the glow of the TV lit up the room enough to let Bob know you were alone.

"Can I just stay in here?" Bob couldn't make eye contact with you.

"Of course, come on," you gently gripped his hand and pulled him to your bed. "I'm watching Criminal Minds but I can turn it off if you want me to," you offered but Bob shook his head.

You two laid in silence for a while, the TV a low hum in the background. Your eyes stayed trained on the TV but Bob was watching you. His eyes ran over the lines of your face and watched the way your eyelashes kissed your cheeks with each blink. He realized he would watch and look at you for the rest of his life if he could. He knew he was in love with you but he wasn't sure if you were in love with him. You seemed to be more comfortable with him, but you were also comfortable with Ava. He knew he could ask you, that even if you didn't like him, you wouldn't hate him for liking you. But he was worried that you wouldn't let him be this close, to lay in bed with you lit only by the moon through the window or the TV on the wall. Bob watched the way your blinks became slower and longer, his eyes trained on the way you would try and fight it. You turned to look at him, your movements slow and smooth. "Are you tired? Cause I am but I don't want you to feel awkward staying awake while I'm sleeping," you rambled lightly, your filter falling as your brain was fighting sleep.

"Yeah, yeah, I am," he nodded slowly and your smile turned sweeter than honey.

"Ok, good night, Robert. I love you," you sighed, curling into him as your breathing evened out. Any sleep that was slowly invading Bob's mind was gone at your words, sure you two were close and you were casual about your affection, but you've never said you loved someone in the tower before.

"I love you too," Bob whispered in your hair, not wanting to not return the words. You'll have to remember it in the morning, you weren't drunk or inebriated at all.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Robert?" You called out as you felt the empty space next to you. You panicked as you realized you couldn't see him but then the bathroom door opened and he walked out. "Oh, thank god," you mumbled out, relaxing back into your bed at the sight of him.

"What... what's wrong?" Bob was confused, he heard you call out to him.

"I thought you left," you told him, staring at the ceiling. "I thought I scared you off last night," you added on.

"So you remember?"

"That I said I love you? Yeah, cause I do," you affirmed.

"As a friend...?"

"If that's what you want," you shrugged, trying to put your uncaring mask back into place just in case.

"No!" Bob shouted only to quiet down. "I mean, no. That's not what I want."

"So I didn't mess this up?" You questioned.

"No, you didn't," he shook his head, his curls flopping around a bit.

"Good, come back to bed. It's early, I'm tired, and I sleep the best with you next to me," you told him, opening your arms for Bob to climb in with you.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

[ny0sang]

An Aviation Special

Summary: You had always wanted to experience Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but when it starts to go sideways thanks to your travel companions, you fear the whole trip, maybe even the whole city, has been ruined for you. But then a handsome stranger swoops in when some drunk idiot gets too handsy, and your night takes an unexpected turn for the better. 

Pairing: Javy Machado x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 3.5K 

Warnings: Fluff galore, language, drunk idiots and handsy men, mentions of flashing. 

Notes: Written for @thedroneranger's pick your poison challenge, with a Mardi Gras board of my dreams. 

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You were doing your best not to panic, choosing instead to focus on the annoyance coursing through your body instead. Your sister and her friends, her stupid, reckless friends, had done what they always did and got a little too wild, and while you had slipped away to the bathroom, they thought it would be a great idea to switch bars. Instead of waiting for you, they had shot a text to the Bachelorette Bead Bash group chat that you had created, telling you where to meet them. Only now you were there, and they were nowhere to be found. And to top it all off, your phone was dead. 

“Stupid, stupid bridesmaids,” you muttered under your breath, pushing through the rowdy crowd of people none-too-gently to get to the bar. You tried not to cringe when you felt how sticky it was, immediately withdrawing your hands. “Excuse me,” you said, speaking a little louder when at first you didn’t get the bartender’s attention. He turned to you with a bored, exasperated look on his face, clearly annoyed with all the drunk tourists taking up space. “Do you happen to have a phone charger? I just need it for long enough to make one phone call, I promise.” 

“No, sorry.” 

You groaned as he walked away without another word, resisting the urge to stomp your foot in frustration. This was just your luck. 

“I don’t have a charger, but flash your tits for me, gorgeous, and I’ll give you some of these beads.” 

You turned your head to the drunk idiot standing far too close to you, a scowl on your deep purple painted lips as he shook the aforementioned colorful beads in your face. He reeked of sweat and cheap liquor and his eyes were glazed over as he leered at you. 

“How about you take those beads and strangle yourself with them instead?” you snarked back, and to your disgust, the guy and his buddies only laughed. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, turning away from him and taking a step to start forcing yourself through the throngs of bodies that were almost certainly violating some sort of fire code. You didn’t get far before a hand was grabbing your arm, jolting you back. 

“Come on, baby, you know you want to.” 

The panic was trying its best to creep up again, but the annoyance was also morphing into anger as you narrowed your eyes. You were contemplating the risk of slapping him across the face when a voice spoke up from beside you. 

“I think she said no, man. But those girls over there look pretty eager.” 

The guy almost stumbled in his intoxication when he turned to see where the newcomer was indicating, shouting in excitement at the view of three women standing on a table pulling their shirts up as plastic flung in their direction. Him and his friends moved in that direction without another glance at you. The bouncer of the bar was also heading their way, and you breathed a sigh of relief that not only were the guys leaving you alone, but hopefully those women would make it out of here safely, too. 

“Pawning my problem off on other women goes against every feminist bone in my body,” you said, turning for the first time to put a face to the voice who had come to your rescue. You’re met with a startling pair of dark eyes and a jawline that should be illegal. His smile was warm and amused, and despite all the irritation you were feeling, you couldn’t help but take a moment and think damn. 

“It seemed like they would welcome the attention a lot more than you were,” he justified, and his voice was as smooth this time as it was the first time he spoke. You gave a noncommittal hum in response, and he raised a thick eyebrow as his smile grew. “You’re welcome.” 

“I didn’t say thank you.” 

“Were you planning to?” he challenged, and you felt a fluttering in your stomach at his playful tone. You contemplated for a moment, eyes narrowed and colorful lips pursed. You could see the amusement dancing in his gaze as he stared back at you, waiting. 

“Thank you,” you finally said, only a little bit begrudgingly, and the stranger nodded in satisfaction. 

“You’re welcome,” he repeated. “Also, there’s a place a few bars down that has a charging station. I overheard you asking the bartender.” 

"Oh my god," you groaned in relief, "are you serious?" 

He laughed, the sound washing over you. He motioned for you to follow him through the crowd toward the exit. You hesitated for a moment, remembering that you were in a city you had never been in before during their busiest tourist week of the year, and you didn't know this man. But then a cheer came from the corner, and when you glanced over, one of the guys from earlier had climbed on the table and taken off his shirt, plastic beads flying everywhere. You winced and turned back, nodding once. As you made your way out of the bar and onto the bustling street, you couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he navigated through the chaos. 

"I'm Javy, by the way," he offered once you made it onto the sidewalk. 

"Nice to meet you," you replied, offering up your name in return. He stuck close to you as he guided you down the overly crowded streets. You tried your best to ignore the lingering unease that clung to the back of your mind, but you found that his confident demeanor made it easy. "Are you a local?" you asked. 

He flashed you a charming smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I used to be," he explained. "I grew up here, but I live in California currently. But New Orleans will always be home in a lot of ways. I take it you're not?" 

"No," you snorted, narrowly avoiding running into someone running in the opposite direction. Your arm brushed against Javy's as you pushed slightly closer to him, and you tried to ignore the heat that the slight touch caused. "I'm here for my sister's bachelorette party. The city had always been on our bucket list to travel to together, but then her friends decided they wanted to overtake the whole trip and make it Mardi Gras of all times." 

"I take it you don't like these friends?" he asked, a hint of humor in his voice. 

You gave him the biggest smile you had since you met him a few minutes ago, and he was laughing before you even spoke the words. "Understatement of the century."

You go on to tell him about how they had pretty much blown the itinerary you had carefully crafted as maid of honor, including how they left to go to the next bar without you, and then not been there when you showed up. You weren't sure why you were telling a man you didn't know all of this, but it felt good to say it out loud nonetheless. 

"They sound like they suck," he said plainly once you were done explaining. You let out a very unladylike snort as you agreed. 

"What about you?" you asked, "what brings you back?" 

"Ironically enough, I'm here for my best friend's bachelor party. There may have been an incident with a few of the groomsmen getting drinks thrown on them, and I ran into one of my cousins at the bar we were just at, so I told them I'd meet up with them once they came back out from going back to the hotel to change." He flashed you another smile, his eyes shining with a genuine warmth. "I suppose everything happens for a reason, though." 

You chuckled, and he winked as you arrived at what you guessed was your destination. Javy held the door open for you, gesturing for you to enter first. Inside, the bar was as lively as the others you had been to, but the atmosphere was strangely inviting. You followed as he led you to the back corner where a row of charging stations lined the wall. You tried not to groan when you saw all of them were in use. 

“Clearly I’m not the only one in New Orleans who went out without a fully charged phone tonight,” you muttered under your breath. A gentle hand on your arm had you turning your gaze to the man who had led you here, his dark, kind eyes meeting yours. 

“Let me buy you a drink while you wait for one to open up.” 

You hesitated for a moment, weighing your options. There was something about Javy that intrigued you, a magnetic pull that you hadn't felt in a very long time that made you want to spend more time in his company. You desperately needed to charge your phone and get in touch with your sister and her friends, so you'd be waiting here no matter what anyway...there was no harm in a drink, you rationalized. 

"Sure," you finally said, unable to resist his charming smile. "A drink sounds great." 

You followed him to the bar, squeezing through the crowd until you found a spot where you could lean against the counter.

As you waited for someone behind the bar to notice you, Javy leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. "What would you like?" he asked, his voice tinged with what you thought was anticipation.

You turned to face him, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot through your veins as your eyes met. His gaze was intense, yet inviting, pulling you into a world of possibilities. "Surprise me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the clamor of the bar.

With a mischievous grin, Javy flagged down the bartender. You couldn't hear what it was that he ordered, but before long, two stemmed cocktail glasses filled with a vibrant purple liquid garnished with a lemon peel and a deep red cherry were set down in front of you. "Mardi Gras special?" you asked with an eyebrow raise. He laughed as he grabbed both drinks and then nodded his head toward one of the barstools at the very end of the charging station that had just opened up. You hurried over to it before someone else could, sliding onto the barstool almost clumsily. Javy made himself comfortable leaning against the counter beside your stool, facing you. He handed you one of the drinks after you had plugged your dead phone in. Making the conscious decision to enjoy your time with him as much as you could, you placed the screen face down. 

"It's called an Aviation, actually." 

He looked almost amused as he brought the drink to his lips. You studied him closely as you did the same, letting the flavors of the gin and lemon dance on your tastebuds. 

"What do you think?" he asked. 

"It's delicious." 

"I'm glad you like it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He watched you intently, and you didn't miss the way his eyes flickered to your lips when you licked away a stray drop of the liquid when you took another sip. The air crackled with tension, and you had to fight the urge to lean closer to him. He cleared his throat, looking away momentarily. You tampered down the shiver that threatened to run through you. 

"So why'd you leave New Orleans?" you asked, breaking the silence. 

"Work," he explained."I'm in the Navy, so I've lived all over the place." 

"The Navy, huh?" 

He hummed in confirmation.That glint in his eyes that made you feel like you were missing something was back, and your eyes narrowed in curiosity. "And what do you do in the Navy?"

A smirk played on his lips. He tried to cover it by taking another sip of his drink, but you saw right through it. He set the glass down, folding his hands together as he stared at you. "I'm an aviator." 

You paused for a beat, looking down at the purple drink before looking back at him, the joke you had been missing clicking into place in your head. 

"Okay," you said slowly, and Javy was already chuckling from his spot beside you. "I see what you did here." 

His laughter was loud, but not obnoxiously so, instead surrounding you like a comforting warmth. You couldn't help but join in with him, your giggles blending seamlessly with his. 

The atmosphere around you seemed to fade into the background as the two of you talked, the conversation flowing easily between you. The more you learned about Javy, the more intrigued you became. His passion for flying was evident in every word he spoke, and it was contagious. You found yourself hanging onto his every word, mesmerized by his experiences and adventures. And when you spoke, he listened with genuine interest, occasionally interjecting with laughter or witty remarks. The more you talked, the more drawn you felt to him. There was something about his easy charm and attentive nature that made you feel seen and understood.

Eventually, your phone buzzed with a notification, indicating that it had finally regained some charge. Reluctantly, you flipped it over and glanced at the screen. Reading through the few messages that you missed in the chat, you snorted in disbelief. "My sister and three of her bridesmaids started throwing up at the last bar they went to." 

"Yikes," Javy winced. "Are they okay?" 

Your heart fluttered at the concern he showed for people he didn't even know. Damn damn damn. 

"They're fine," you assured him with a small smile. "The other two have already dragged them back to the hotel to sleep it off. Guess the night is over." 

You felt sad as you said the words. The night had started a shit show, but talking to Javy had turned it around. You weren't really ready for it to come to an end just yet. 

As you reached to unplug your phone, Javy's hand gently clasped yours, halting your movement. "You don't need to rush off just yet," he said softly, his warm gaze holding yours. "Why don't you come hang out with me and my friends instead?" 

You looked at him in surprise, shocked by the offer. 

"Don't you think your best friend will be mad that I'm crashing his bachelor party?" 

"Not even a little bit," he assured you. "They're all good guys, I promise." 

You chewed on your bottom lip as you contemplated. 

You knew that you should decline. Going off with a group of strangers in a city you barely knew didn't exactly scream "intelligent decision." Still, you found that you wanted to take him up on it. 

Reading the apprehension on your face, Javy continued on, more eager now as he tried to convince you. "Look, as a Louisiana boy, I can't bring myself to allow you to leave New Orleans without actually enjoying yourself. You deserve to have a good time." His hand settled on yours again and squeezed gently. When he spoke, he was shyer than he had been all night. "And if I'm being honest with myself...the last thirty minutes with you have been the highlight of my trip home, and that's saying something. I'm not really ready for it to end yet." 

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You gazed into his eyes, searching for any hint of deceit or ulterior motive. But all you found was sincerity and an excitement that you felt flicker in you, too. Against your better judgment, you nodded. You were tired of playing by the rules, tired of always being the responsible one. Maybe tonight could be different.

"Alright," you conceded, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Lead the way."

Javy's grin widened, and he intertwined his fingers with yours before guiding you out of the crowded bar. The night air hit you with a welcome change as you followed him through the lively streets. 

His friends waited at a bar just a few blocks away. As you approached, their laughter and boisterous conversation spilled onto the sidewalk. When they saw Javy walking hand in hand with you, their eyes widened with surprise. Almost instantly, the cat calls started. 

Javy rolled his eyes, and you couldn't help but laugh lightly as you leant against him. "Yeah, yeah. Knock it off." 

He introduced you to each of his friends amongst their teasing. They were a rowdy group, and it wasn't hard to see how much they cared for each other. The camaraderie instantly calmed you. 

It was surprisingly easy, letting yourself have fun with this group of strangers. They accepted your presence like it was nothing, involving you in every conversation and debate they had, and within a few hours, you felt like you had known them for a lot longer than you really had. The night continued on, a whirlwind of pretty purple drinks and colorful masks and exuberant laughter. Vibrant jazz music reverberated through the air, the streets full of purple, gold and green chaos. You could feel the pulsating energy of the city surging through you, and this is exactly why you had always wanted to come here. 

At some point, Javy grabbed your hand, beckoning you to dance with him. You giggled happily as he twirled you. The world around you melted away, leaving only the pulsating music and the warmth of his touch. You were tipsy from all the alcohol and the thrill of an unexpected night with a man who made you feel something no one else ever has. You wished it wouldn’t have to end.

“Me either,” he said, making you realize you had said that out loud. But instead of feeling embarrassed at your slip, you giggled and leant into him further. 

“I mean it,” you insisted. Javy’s smile had become familiar to you tonight, and the butterflies erupted in your stomach just as they had the last few hours when he flashed it in your direction. “You know, you’d make the perfect wedding date, if only you didn’t live so far away.” 

He hummed in what you thought was agreement, but didn’t say anything. The look he gave you was contemplative, like there was something he was trying to figure out. “What?” you asked. 

“When’s the wedding?” 

You threw your head back in laughter, realizing what he was getting at. “Still a few months away. You’ll have completely forgotten about me by then, I’m sure.” 

Javy's eyes sparkled as he pulled you even closer, his hand still holding yours tightly. "Oh, I highly doubt that," he replied, and the way his voice dropped sent shivers down your spine. "Seriously. When's the wedding?" 

"The second weekend in May." 

"If I'm not deployed, I'll be there." 

You shook your head in disbelief as more giggles escaped, completely enraptured by this man. "Sure, Javy." 

His smile softened and he raised a hand to cup your face, and you couldn't help but instinctively lean into his touch as his thumb brushed your skin. "I mean it. I want to be there. With you." You searched his eyes for a long moment, searching for anything other than the sincerity and tenderness staring back at you. You felt a rush of emotions when you found none. In that moment, looking at you the way that he was, he felt like so much more than just a stranger you met on a wild night out in New Orleans. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you raised on your toes and pressed your lips against his. 

The kiss was soft at first, gentle and sweet, but it quickly deepened into something more passionate. For a moment, you hesitated, wondering if this was the right thing to do, but then you realized that you didn't care. You found yourself lost in him, and everything else faded away. All of the tension that had been building between the two of you that night was pushed into this one moment. You nearly stumbled at the intensity, but Javy just pulled you closer and kissed you harder. He tasted like gin and lemons and cherry from the purple drink you both had been drinking all night, and you realized it tasted even better from him. 

Finally, the two of you broke apart, both panting heavily. You gazed at each other as you tried to catch your breath. Your heart was pounding in your chest as he brushed some of your hair out of your face. 

You swallowed thickly before speaking, your voice trembling just slightly. "I want you there, too," you said, and you knew it was crazy, but you also knew you meant it. 

A slow grin spread across his face, and before you could say anything else, Javy's lips were back on yours.

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Main Masterlist

Notes: I'm kind of feeling a part two? Maybe? I'm actually so in love with this man, it's unreal.

Thanks to @thedroneranger for the incredible banner, and to @roosterforme @mak-32 for their help, and to @sylviebell for catching an embarrassing amount of typos after I thought I was already done editing

[ny0sang]

Businessman/CEO! Josh Washington is engraved in my brain like a parasite

Warmings: sexual content, 18+, universe where prank never happened, first ever post 😭💔🥀

Businessman!Joshua Washington is 100% a nepo baby. I can imagine him being an executive at the entertainment company where his father directed films. I feel like josh wouldn’t care about the bad press and people thinking his dad got him the position, in reality, josh entirely wanted to follow his father’s footsteps and become a director. What got him ahead of his own father is his talent and people skills, the mix of being born a socialite and having genuine talent got him to the top.

Businessman!Josh is very similar to Tyrell from Mr. Robot without the corruption, he genuinely cares for the company and would still do the job without the ridiculous pay. Speaking of the pay, when you get with josh you wouldn’t have to worry about any type of bills to pay and anything you even glance at when shopping is yours. Even with your own money, he would spoil you rotten with lavish gifts, secluded vacations in privately owned islands, and blinding jewelry with royal history.

Businessman! Josh definitely spends most of his time working. Even on his days off with you, you have to get his attention off his personal computer. During your laid back dates where it’s just you, him, and your private chef in your shared New York Penthouse overlooking Central Park josh talks about what’s going on with the company. I can imagine josh looking for a genuine relationship instead of his colleagues preferred “transactional” relationships. He met you when you both were interns competing for the same position. He officially fell in love with you when you won the position, despite him having the upper hand you showed in the work.

Businessman! Josh who convinces you to retire early and take care of your shared home and “family” (two pet dogs) when your relationship gets serious. When you do give in and live the domestic life josh is over the moon. He is attracted to how you can step up when he needs it but ultimately lets him take the wheel. Even with him at such a high position with a lot of power and influence, he is still at heart a prankster. What initially attracted you to him was how funny he was, nothing is worth more to him than your smile and the music of your laughter.

Businessman! Josh 100% got Chris a job at the company, you even joke that Chris is his “work husband”. With them working together it’s regular that you, josh, Chris, and Ashley have double dates at exclusive restaurants. You and Ashley become close friends and even start a little book club. Eventually you help her with financing her publishing company.

Businessman! Josh still has group vacations, once he gets serious with you, he turns the vacations to be more secluded. Only inviting his sisters, Chris, and Ashley. Josh loves showing you off, whether it be at company events, galas, banquets, or any type of function where a camera is in both of your faces. Josh definitely has a collection of those paparazzi covered magazines where it’s just you two in your yacht in Monaco with the title “Lovers in Paradise?”. He definitely jacks off to the all the material, he doesn’t know if he finds the fact that the entire world knows you belong to him or how you look in that tight bikini. He definitely is embarrassed and keeps his little secret from you. Every time you to are out he loves to give the paparazzi a show

Businessman! Josh who loves being laid back with you more than ever. He craves human connection more than ever with the added responsibility. With every speech he gushes about how you are his rock and the foundation of his work. Being CEO has his perks, like fucking you on the top floor of the building in his office, the entirety of the world in view as you take in his entirety. Josh feels the most powerful when he has you on his desk splitting you open leaving you ruined for another man. It’s almost as if he’s trying to get you as loud as he can so the world knows the beautiful song of your moans and screams of pleasure.

[ny0sang]

Butch patriarchy is hot and I'm tired of pretending it's not.

Oh??? You want me in a pretty little dress with my tits half out and no panties on when you get home? You want me to sit on your strap while I feed you your dinner? You wanna spend your days off breeding me full and using me like a good dumb little slut?? You want me to be your perfect little wife that you use to destress after a long day at work???????

Like PLEASE let me hand you a drink and give you a shoulder massage when you come home and let me moan like a bitch when you shove your cock into me and let me make the house you worked so hard for a home baby I'll be such a good little wife for you no thoughts only cum

[ny0sang]

[ny0sang]

OUR Girl

Summary: Joaquin shares his girlfriend with his new roommate.

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x reader x Bob Reynolds

Warnings: joaquin and bob are roommates, open relationship, potential poly relationship, Joaquin being a perv, smut, porn no plot, oral (f and m receiving), piv, aftercare mentioned, MDNI 18+

Bob lets out a groan against your lips as you grind down on him. He uses all of his willpower to pull away from your addictive lips. He has to hold himself back from completely fucking you into oblivion when he gets a look at you. The sight of you in his lap has him spiraling.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" He asks shakily. He glances at Joaquin who's sat in a chair near the bed, not at all bothered by the sight in front of him.

"Relax man, I'm okay with it. My girl can have whatever she wants and right now, she wants you. Right angel?"

You pull your face out from the crook of Bob's neck. Seeing his current state– bruised lips, messy hair, lust filled eyes– there's no doubt about it that you want him. You bite your lip and nod, not looking back at Joaquin.

Joaquin smiles and shrugs at Bob, giving him the go ahead to continue. With your boyfriend's consent, Bob gives in to his desires and slams his lips back onto yours. He greedily grips your ass as if you were his. And at this moment, you are.

Joaquin leans back against his seat, legs spread with a satisfied smile. He doesn't touch the bulge dying to be released from his jeans. Not just yet.

Bob kisses your neck as he hoists you up to lay you on the bed. He pulls your top up just enough to kiss your breasts. As he makes his way down your body, you glance over to Joaquin who tilts his head. "You having fun angel?"

"Uh huh– oh fuck!" You throw your head back as Bob eats you out. When the fuck did he remove your pants and panties? You thread your fingers through his long brown locks, brushing a few strands away from his gorgeous blue eyes.

"Damn that's hot," Joaquin mutters before unzipping his pants and pulling out his aching member. His tip is painfully red with precum oozing out. He spreads his precum along his length, moaning at the sight in front of him.

At first, the idea of letting another guy, especially his roommate, fuck you made Joaquin feel a bit uneasy. But when you told him how hot you thought Bob was and how you wanted him, he couldn't say no to you. He wanted his girl to be happy. And God was he glad he agreed. The sight in front of him was hotter than he could have ever imagined.

"Joaquin," he's snapped out of his trance by your voice. He looks away from Bob between your legs up to your face. He knows what you want from the look on your face. He gets up from his seat and saunters over to you.

You lift your head slightly to meet his lips. His hand softly cups your face as you make out with him. One of your hands grabs his dick, replacing his hand. He groans into the kiss. "You want it?" He mutters against your lips. You nod. "Have it then." He stands up and moves a bit closer so you can bring him to your mouth.

He throws his head back as you take him into your mouth. He gently holds the back of your head, slightly thrusting his hips every so often. He feels your moans send shockwaves through him. He glances back down to Bob and realizes that he's fingering you now.

He taps his shoulders to grab his attention, "curl your fingers like this," he shows him the motion, "she likes that." Bob nods and does as Joaquin says. Lo and behold, your moans get louder, even with Joaquin's dick in your mouth. "Fuuuuuck angel that mouth is heavenly!" He rests his hands on the back of his head, reveling in the sensation of your mouth.

"Bob, c'mere. You're gonna wanna feel her mouth." Joaquin steps away, much to your dismay and kisses your pout away. Bob kisses your clit one last time before getting up to take Joaquin's previous spot.

Joaquin flips you over so your ass sticks up in the air, giving Bob space to sit in front of you. Your eyes light up and you eagerly reach to touch him. Just from your hand, Bob feels himself turn to putty. No drug can make him feel as good as he does right now.

"You think that feels good? Just you wait, go on show him baby." You nod to your boyfriend and lower your mouth down on Bob's aching member. Bob throws his head back against the headboard with a thud, not caring if it hurt or not.

Joaquin pumps himself a bit before sliding into your seeping hole. You have to pull away from Bob to let out your moans, still pumping him with your hand. Both your arousal and Bob's saliva makes it fairly easy for Joaquin to slide in and out, and it drives him crazy. "Fuck angel, you're so tight." His eyebrows scrunch together as he speeds his thrusts.

Each hard thrust causes you to choke on Bob's dick. He runs a hand through his sweaty brown hair, completely lost in the pleasure your mouth is giving him. "Shit- I don't think I've ever felt anything like this." He groans when he looks down into your eyes staring right back at him. The sight has him close to cumming.

You feel him twitch in your hands and you grin, "I want you to fuck my throat." You watch in amusement as his eyes darken. He grasps your head and harshly begins thrusting up. Your eyes begin tearing up and Bob would almost feel bad if he wasn't so close to his climax.

Bob begins to shake as he finishes in your mouth. You swallow every last drop, opening your mouth to show him. He moans at the sight. If he wasn't so exhausted, he'd want to go again.

Once you lift off of him, Joaquin pulls you up against his chest. "My turn," he whispers in your ear and sucks on your neck. You grasp the hairs at the back of his head and squeeze tightly. Joaquin is about to move a hand to rub your clit but pauses. "Bob, rub her clit for me will ya?"

Bob frantically nods and obeys. As he does so, you clench down on Joaquin, causes him to groan in your ear. "I'm close mi amor. Think you'll be cumming soon?"

You nod, jaw slack ans your eyes rolled to the back of your head, already on the brink of your orgasm. You turn your head so you can kiss Joaquin, sloppily at that with your mouths open to moan. Bob stares up in awe at you two. His eyes trail down to your tits and begins lapping at one while squeezing the other.

By the end of your activities, you were covered in both men's saliva and seed. But of course, they both took care of you afterwards. "I- I've never experienced any of that before." Bob explains, suddenly shy again.

"Neither have we." You say, snuggling further into Joaquin's side with his arm wrapped around you. "I don't know about Quin here but I'd be okay with making this a regular thing." You look up at your boyfriend with a suggestive look.

He looks down at you with a raised brow. He shrugs, "it was hot, that's for damn sure. What about you Bob? How do you feel about joining us more often?"

Bob's eyes widen as he stutters for the words to say. "I- if you're both okay with that then sure! I- I'd like to join." He gives you a shy smile and your face lights up. You hold out a hand for him to take and bring him closer to you. You fall asleep between the two men.

[ny0sang]

FUCK TUMBLR THE FIC I WAS JUST READING DISAPPEARED

[ny0sang]

bucky shushing you on his cock while you’re hips are grinding needy into him, — tears pricking your eyes from the overstimulation.

he’s had you sat on his cock for a good two and a half hours and has managed to pull a handful of orgasms from your pretty pussy — but he wanted more

“buck…” you tip your head back as he has you sat on his cock — the two of you on the floor. your back was pressed against his chest as he had you in his lap, your legs spread eagle over his thick thighs to have you spread wide for him in front of the mirror

you looked like sin

“look at you..” he growls softly into your ear, your cunt throbbing around his thick cock shoved deep into your cunt. you were dripping over his length, down to his balls and the carpet

you watched as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you up on his cock and watching as he forcefully sits you back down

“daddy…pl-please…‘s too much…” you fall forward as your hands land on the carpet and you look back at him through the mirror

you just gave him the perfect angle

“sh-sh-shh baby,” he coos, leaning forward enough to grip your chin with his metal fingers and sticks his two fingers in your mouth

“you’re gonna take what daddy gives you, okay? and you’re gonna be a fuckin’ good girl about it while you watch.” your eyes can’t tear from his as he starts to thrust into you, tears pricking your eyes from the sudden force of how deep his cock is going now at the new angle

“gonna fuck this tight pussy so deep, pump you full of my cum,” he groans as he takes his metal hand from your mouth to send a smack on your ass

“fuck…please daddy…” you watch his eyes snap to your at your plea

“yeah baby? you wanna be bred, huh? have this slutty little pussy leakin’ of daddy’s cum for days is that it?” and you nod with moans slipping from your mouth as he grins wickedly

[ny0sang]

Things Carlisle Does That Shows He Loves You

He wakes you up every work day, in the morning with your favorite cup of coffee or tea.

On weekends, it's gentle kisses and cuddles until you wake up.

You will mention something in passing, an author you like, a book you were wanting to read, flowers you thought were pretty, a purse you were thinking about buying, and less than two days later it appears.

He always walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to traffic, without drawing attention to it or even without a thought, he just does it.

He'll fix your posture without a word, straightening your shoulders gently with a hand on your back while you're reading or cooking.

When you're talking, he listens with such a focus it feels like you are the most important thing in the world. (To him, you are.)

He memorizes your routines. Lights dimmed before bed. Blanket folded just the way you like. Coat ready by the door if it's raining.

Because he spent the night at your place before he spent the night at your place, he made a mental list of all the products you use in your routines, and bought all those products for you so you are comfortable and able to keep your routine at his house. (He definitely got help finding products from the girls.)

The man literally learns how to cook for you. Enough said.

Anything that you can possibly need when you spend the night, he made sure he has because he never wants you no not have what you need in his house.

[ny0sang]

the parts you’ve been taught to hate - pedro pascal x f!reader

After a day out with your mother turns cruel, you come home unraveling—every word, every criticism carved into your skin like a scar. Standing in front of the mirror, you see only what’s “wrong.” But Pedro sees you differently. With quiet love and unwavering tenderness, he reminds you that the parts you’ve been taught to hate are the very ones he cherishes most.

A/N: I wasn’t going to write anything until the weekend but this household just keeps on giving me content to work with. I was very emo writing this while listening to what was I made fooooor

warnings: reader has body image issues, criticism from mother and self hate, comfort/angst, fluff, Pedro being a sweetheart reassuring, happy ending. If you think I’m missing any warnings, let me know!

masterlist

🔞minors dni. I am not responsible for what you choose to interact with.

🚨do not copy, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

——————————————————————————

You come home in silence.

The kind of silence that feels like a weight, thick in your lungs, heavy in your limbs. Your keys clink against the hallway table like they’re mocking you—too loud in a house that’s supposed to feel like a safe place.

But you don’t feel safe.

You stand in front of the mirror, still in the clothes you wore out with her. You shouldn’t have gone. You knew better.

“Are you really wearing that?”

“That color draws attention to your hips.”

“You’d look prettier if your face wasn’t so tired.”

“You know, some people try a little harder—get their arms toned, maybe fix their teeth…”

You stood in front of the mirror, observing your body. Your face. The things that were wrong about you.

At least, the things you’d been told were wrong.

Pointed out. Repeated. Embedded.

The thickness of your thighs, the way your stomach looked when you weren’t standing up straight or sucking in. The curve—or lack—of your waist. Your arms, the softness of them. The way your boobs sat in certain shirts, always either too much or not enough.

You just couldn’t pick what you hated the most.

Because it all felt like too much. Or never enough.

Never the right kind of anything.

And it was so loud in your head.

Each word echoes like glass breaking, and you can’t stop replaying them. It’s always the same script. Same tone. Like she’s pointing out smudges on a mirror—but it’s your body. Your body, that you’ve spent years trying to make peace with, only to be reminded it’s still not enough. That you’re still not enough.

You press your fingers to your stomach, to your arms, to the curve of your chin. The parts she noticed. The parts she made you hate. Maybe they were fine before—maybe you didn’t love them, but you didn’t flinch. Now they feel foreign. Exposed.

Then—soft footsteps. A shift in the air.

Pedro.

The front door clicks open. You don’t move.

“Mi amor?” Pedro’s voice is soft, already closer than you expected. “I saw your shoes—why are you standing in the dark?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You hear him pause. Then, slow steps.

He sees you.

His arms slide around your waist from behind, warm and careful. He rests his chin on your shoulder. You tense, even though you don’t want to. He notices that too.

“What happened?” he murmurs.

Your throat closes up. Your voice, when it finally comes, sounds thin. “She said… things.”

He doesn’t ask who. He doesn’t need to.

You lift your gaze to the mirror again. “I can’t change these things.”

Pedro’s grip tightens gently, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip. The same hip she criticized earlier over lunch. He kisses the curve of your shoulder.

“I love these things,” he says simply.

“I see the body that holds you together when the world falls apart.”

Another kiss, just behind your ear.

“I see the thighs I dream about when you’re not in bed with me.”

“This,” he presses another kiss to your upper arm, “is soft and warm, and it holds me when I can’t sleep.”

You shut your eyes, the tears creeping in, but he kept going.

“I see softness I crave, skin I miss when I’m away from you for more than a few hours.”

“I see you, mi amor. And I love every inch. Not because it’s perfect. But because it’s yours. And you’re mine.”

You turned in his arms, burying your face in his chest. He held you like he was made for it.

Like you were made to be held.

“These things are yours. And I love them because they’re part of you—not in spite of it.”

His voice is quiet, but firm. “And anyone who makes you feel less than holy for that doesn’t deserve the sound of your voice, mi vida. Let alone your attention.”

You feel his arms around you, strong and sure.

Pedro doesn’t say anything else for a moment. He just holds you. And in that silence, you feel it—the weight start to lift, just a little, like he’s carrying some of it for you without needing to be asked.

You lean back into him, and your shoulders drop for the first time all day. Your chest presses to his as you turn slightly, just enough to bury your face in his shirt. He smells like laundry soap and warmth. You inhale. Let yourself melt.

“I don’t want to feel like this,” you whisper.

“I know, baby.” He presses his lips to your hair. “You don’t have to do anything right now. Just let me hold you.”

And so you do.

For a while, that’s all there is: the rise and fall of his chest, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back, his other arm looped securely around your waist. No fixes. No advice. Just presence. Just love.

Eventually, he leans back a little to look at you. His thumb brushes the corner of your eye, catching a tear you hadn’t noticed had slipped free.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s get cozy. No more mirrors. No more noise.”

You nod.

He guides you to the bedroom, pulls out your softest pajamas—the ones you always forget you own until he finds them for you. He doesn’t rush you. Just sits on the edge of the bed while you change, his gaze never anything less than tender.

Once you’re in fresh clothes, he helps you wrap up in one of the throw blankets you own and walks you to the couch like you’re made of something delicate. Maybe you are, tonight.

“What do you feel like watching?” he asks, brushing your hair back behind your ear.

You shrug.

He smiles softly. “Something with a happy ending. Something where nobody talks about anyone’s body unless it’s to say they’re beautiful.”

You manage a small laugh. He takes it like a trophy.

He puts on a familiar movie, one you both love but don’t need to pay attention to. Then he settles beside you, arms open, and you curl into him without hesitation this time.

His hand strokes your arm, slow and grounding. “You know,” he says after a while, “I think your body’s perfect. But not just in the way people say that word without meaning it. I mean it. Every part you’ve ever apologized for—those are my favorite parts. The parts I kiss first.”

You don’t answer. You just pull the blanket tighter and rest your cheek against his chest, the steady beat of his heart reminding you you’re safe.

And for the first time in a long time, you start to believe that you deserve this. That there’s nothing wrong with your softness, your shape, your tiredness. That you’re not broken, not in need of fixing—just love.

And love is exactly what you’re wrapped in now.

——————————————————————————

From the girl that made you all weep with that Bucky fanfic, here comes Pedro and body positivity. Who needs tissues?

Hope you’ve enjoyed reading! Let me know what you think about it and I hope it has served of some comfort.

Reblogs, likes and comments help stories grow! Thank you as always for the support ✨✨✨

[ny0sang]

glow up. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you.

content: skincare theft, married banter, face-sitting (explicit), soft!dom!pedro, established relationship, fluff & smut

---

it starts, as always, with a missing serum.

“pedro,” you call from the bedroom, already suspicious.

“what?” he yells back from the bathroom — too quick. too guilty.

you walk in to find him standing in front of the mirror, shirtless, gently patting your $80 moisturizer into his cheeks like it’s his.

you cross your arms, trying to hide your smile. “stealing my skincare again, pascal?”

he turns, grinning like a thief mid-heist. “borrowing. borrowing, baby. i’m preserving my youth.”

“you’re preserving my expensive shit.”

he shrugs, unfazed. “you married me knowing i was a skincare freeloader.”

“i thought that meant the occasional mask.”

“i’m a changed man.”

you roll your eyes as he gently pats his glowing cheeks, totally unbothered.

and then — then — he looks at you in the mirror and smirks.

“also,” he says, voice casual as he smooths cream across his cheekbones, “just prepping your seat for later.”

your mouth opens. closes. opens again.

“…excuse me?”

he pats once more. “gonna be extra soft for you, sweetheart.”

“pedro—”

“what?” he asks, all innocent as he puts the lid back on your moisturizer. “just want you to be comfortable.”

you pretend you’re unbothered.

you try to hold your ground as you climb into bed later, pretend you’re not already aching from the casual filth in his voice.

but pedro’s not done being a menace.

you straddle his lap in the dark, and he grins like the devil, hands smoothing over your hips. “you smell like that rose oil.”

“you smell like my entire skincare shelf.”

“then we match.”

he kisses you — slow, soft, deep. and when he pulls back, he runs his nose along your jaw and murmurs:

“come sit, baby.”

you blink. “you’re serious.”

“always,” he says, settling against the pillows. “let me take care of you.”

and he does.

tongue slow, steady, perfect. hands holding you open, thumbs stroking your thighs, his growls vibrating up your spine. and every time you try to lift off, overwhelmed, he pulls you back down — gripping your hips, needy, devoted.

he moans against you, and you gasp, pressing your hands into the headboard for balance.

“god, pedro—”

he just hums like yes, that’s the idea, and keeps going until your legs are shaking and his face is soaked.

after, you collapse beside him, sweaty and breathless, and he drags you into his arms with a grin.

“see?” he pants. “flawless execution. and glowing results.”

you smack his chest.

“you’re insufferable.”

“you love me.”

“i do.”

“and my skin’s never looked better.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work.

© lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

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[ny0sang]

The Plus One

Summary: You couldn’t believe he was here. He had told you he would be, over and over again, but part of you had convinced yourself it was too good to be true. There was no way a man as perfect as Javy Machado would be so into you after you spent one night together, months ago, that he’d fly out to be your date to a wedding for people he’d never met before. Yet here he was, looking as good as a dream. By the end of the night you knew one thing for certain: a weekend with him would never be enough.

Pairing: Javy Machado x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Fluff, language, smut-esque but not detailed. Suavy Javy, because he’s a warning. 

Notes: A not-so-subtle follow up to An Aviation Special, but can be read on its own! 

----

____

You had to make a conscious effort to keep your eyes on your sister and your new brother-in-law as they exchanged vows at the altar, as opposed to letting them stray to the man in the 8th row in the dark blue suit. 

You couldn’t believe he was here. He was actually here. 

He had told you he would be, over and over again, but even after three months of talking on the phone almost every single day, falling a little bit more with every conversation, part of you had convinced yourself it was too good to be true. There was no way a man as perfect as one Javy Machado would be so into you after you spent one night together, months ago, that he’d fly out to be your date to a wedding for people he’d never met before. Once his original flight had gotten canceled and then the next one delayed, you had convinced yourself it wouldn’t happen at all. 

Yet…here he was. Slipping in right before the ceremony started, looking just as dashing as you had remembered, and smiling at you like you were the only one in the room. 

Holy shit. 

You took in a deep, silent breath through your nose and forced yourself to center on the words being spoken by the happy couple. It was almost over, so it wouldn’t be long until you could speak to him. 

Only it really, really was. Your job as maid of honor didn’t end after the ceremony. Pictures lasted almost 45 minutes, and then you had to help your sister bustle her dress, and the tiny buttons were impossible to find amongst the miles and miles of fabric of her train. The cocktail hour was over by the time you were done, and dinner started immediately after that. You kept glancing at where he was sitting from your spot at the bridal party table, and each time you met his dark eyes, you could feel the flush heating your face.

You barely remember giving your speech, and the best man’s lasted so long, you almost requested the DJ play the Jeopardy theme song. The first dance was beautiful, but throughout the whole thing, you felt the anticipation bubbling inside of you, so hot you thought you were going to implode. Your fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against your thighs as you watched the couple twirl around the dance floor for the entire length of the song. Once it was over, the DJ invited everyone to gather on the dance floor as something more upbeat started playing through the speakers, and you were out of your seat and moving through the rising crowd. Your eyes never left his as you made your way toward him, and your smile grew the closer you got. The nerves faded away to make room for the excitement you felt at finally, finally seeing him again. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he called out once you were close enough to hear him, a mischievous grin on his handsome face, and you giggled as you launched yourself at him.

His strong arms wrapped around you, your feet leaving the ground as you buried your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of him that you had really only experienced once, but that somehow seemed familiar in all the best ways.  

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you whispered into his ear, and you could feel the rumble in his chest as he laughed. He set you back down, but kept a hand on the small of your back, your body staying close to his.  His dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, and the look in his eye was one no man had ever given you before. 

“I told you I would be,” he said. He raised his other hand to your face and let the back of his finger run gently down your cheek. You couldn’t help the shiver that went down your spine at his touch. “You look beautiful, by the way. Even more beautiful in person. Just like in New Orleans.”

“Javy,” you breathed, unable to produce any other words now that you were this close to him - that he was really here, after so many months of just hearing his voice or seeing him through a screen. If it wasn’t for physically feeling his hands on you, you would think you were dreaming. You could feel the thrum of electricity starting in your veins, and by the way his gaze darkend when it flickered to your mouth, you knew he could, too. 

“My name sounds better in person, too.”

You groaned out loud, the combination of his words and that look in his dark eyes proving to be too much. Unable to resist, you pulled his face to yours. His lips were soft as they met your own, and he didn’t hesitate to press even closer, coaxing your mouth open for him. His kiss tasted even better than you remembered.

You let yourself get lost in the moment, the music fading into the background as all of your senses honed in on this man. He pulled you impossibly closer, your body now completely flush with his. Every touch sent a jolt of heat through you, igniting the fire that had been smoldering since that night in New Orleans. No amount of talking on the phone could have prepared you for how good it would feel to finally have his hands on you again. It took everything in you to pull away before you let it completely consume you. And you knew it would have been so easy to let that happen. You had discussed that very scenario in one of the calls that had gotten a little heavier than it probably should have, him describing how it could go in very nice detail. 

You had a fleeting thought that maybe you should be worried about how simple it was to lose yourself in him, all things considered. Just like that first night, though, and all the conversation in between then and now, it all felt so, so right. 

But you were surrounded by your family, and jumping his bones in the middle of the ballroom probably wouldn’t be the wisest decision, even if it was all you wanted at that moment. 

“I have to make it through this reception,” you told him, breathless and flushed. 

Javy swallowed deeply, but nodded in agreement. He kissed you again, quick and sweet and not nearly enough. He leaned his forehead against yours, and for a moment, you were both still, breathing the other in. Then he took a deep breath and stood up straight, sending you that charming smile you hadn’t been able to get out of your head. He held his arm out, and you linked yours through it. 

“Drink?” he asked, and you smiled as you nodded. While you waited in line at the open bar, he leant down to whisper in your ear. “Do you think they have aviations on the menu?” 

You threw your head back as you laughed, remembering the pretty purple cocktail he had bought you during Mardi Gras. “I can confirm that they do not. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t try and convince her to add it.” 

“Damn,” he cursed jokingly, no real heat behind it. He shot you a wink before asking you about how the morning had gone for you, knowing how stressed you had been over it. You talked quietly to one another as you slowly moved forward to the bar, and it wasn’t too long before Javy was ordering both of your drinks for you. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized he remembered exactly what you had said your go to normally was. You turned your head to try and hide the wide grin threatening to take over your face and pressed a kiss into his shoulder through his suit jacket. You didn’t miss how he shivered slightly at the action. 

The next few hours passed by in a blur, yet felt like it moved at a snail's pace all at the same time. Javy was never far from your side, being surprisingly willing to meet all of your family and friends. He introduced himself as a friend, but you didn’t miss the twinkle in his eye when he shot you a look as he said it. It made you giddy, even as it fueled the feeling that this was too good to be true. How in the hell had you gotten this lucky? 

You swayed in his arms now, an old slow song playing through the room. He held you close, his fingers running softly over the skin of your back where your dress dipped low. 

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” you murmured, lifting your head off his chest to meet his gaze. “I’ve been dreaming about this for months.” 

“Dancing with me?” he joked. The confident, teasing glint in his dark eyes made you immediately feel more at ease, to where you didn’t worry about dishing it right back at him. 

“Among other things, I suppose.” 

He laughed lightly, and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped to match. He pulled you closer, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Cheeky,” he whispered into your skin. You hummed in response, neither confirming nor denying, and let yourself sway with him for another moment in silence before he spoke up again, touching on the first thing you had said. “Didn’t think I’d show?”

His tone was the same playful one as before, but you could sense the thread of insecurity in it, too, and wanted to alleviate it. 

“It’s not that,” you assured him. You trailed your finger down the lapel of his jacket, smiling softly. “Most guys…I don’t think they’d go through the effort. They certainly never have before. So I guess I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that you’re real. Does that make sense?” 

Javy nodded slowly, a contemplative look crossing his face. You let him process your words, moving together with the music. You straightened his sage pocket square and let your hand rest there, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm. Another moment passed before he was softly speaking your name. He hooked his finger beneath your chin to guide your eyes back to his. His stare was darker now, more intense than it had been all night. You barely had time to furrow your eyebrows in confusion, let alone question him, before he was swooping down to capture your lips with his. Your squeak of surprise turned into something closer to a moan as he kissed you harder than he had all night. You sunk into it without a second thought. 

When he finally pulled back, you were left breathless, your lips tingling from the intensity. His hand lingered on your cheek before he let it trail down the column of your throat, going as far as your collar bone before it dropped. You felt the warmth of his touch sear through you, making your heart race even faster.

“I’ve been counting down the days until I could do that,” Javy confessed quietly, and you had to bite your lip to keep the whimper from escaping. His voice was low, like it was just for you, like you were the only two people here. His eyes were filled with desire, but also with something deeper, more profound. It mirrored exactly what you were feeling inside, even if you didn’t quite understand it. 

“Javy…” you started, your voice coming out breathier than you anticipated, and you watched his eyes darken at the sound of his name like that. “I-” 

Before you could continue, you were being tapped on the shoulder. You turned quickly, startled by the touch. Another of your sister’s bridesmaids was there, a smirk on her face as she looked you up and down. You couldn’t help the heat that crept up on your face, embarrassed at how you and Javy must look on the dancefloor right now. 

“Your sister and the hubs are ready to do their exit. Can you go tell the DJ?” 

Part of you was annoyed that she had interrupted you when it would have been just as easy for her to fulfill the request. But the other part of you knew that this meant the night was almost over. 

“Yeah,” you told her, “I got it.” 

You turned back to Javy once she walked away. He was looking at you with a knowing, anticipatory look in his eyes. They seemed darker than they were before, like he also put two and two together on what the bride and groom’s exit would mean. Without missing a beat, you raised on your toes to kiss him again. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

You stood with your parents as your sister and new brother in law made their way through the crowd, hugging everyone goodbye. You were glad that your dress was long enough to hide your tapping foot as you urged her to move a little bit faster. When she finally got to you at the end of the line, she sent you an overdramatic wink as she pulled you into her arms. “He’s cute. Don’t worry about cleaning up. My wedding planner is on it.” 

You had never been more grateful for your older sister in your entire life. 

It was only a few minutes later that you had bid your own goodbyes to everyone and had Javy’s finger’s locked with yours as you tugged him out of the ballroom. You turned the corner to a long hallway before you stopped him, your hands cupping his face to pull his lips to yours. His big hands fell to your waist.

It was urgent, hungry, and the raw electricity between the two of you crackled. 

“I don’t want to assume anything,” he managed to say between kisses, his lips trailing to your jaw as you both breathed heavily. “But my room is right upstairs, and-” 

“Yes,” you said. 

He pulled away far enough to look into your eyes. “Yes?” 

You bit your lip, nodding quickly. “Yes.” 

As soon as you walked through the door of his room, he had you pressed against it, claiming your lips again. You moaned into his mouth as you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close. He lifted you into his arms, but your long dress made it impossible to wrap your legs around him like you so desperately wanted. He must have realized that too, as he deposited you onto the counter just to the right of the door, never breaking the kiss. You bumped into various travel size bottles, and you thought some of them might have toppled over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care; you were far too invested in this man, instead. 

When you had to pull away for air, you rested your forehead against his, breathing hard. 

“Javy,” you whispered, your voice sounding wrecked even to your own ears. He was staring intently back at you, dark with need and something.

“You make me crazy,” he confessed before you had the opportunity to. His voice was husky and rough, and your eyes fluttered shut at the words. 

“I’ve never felt like this before,” you said in return. 

He whispered your name, so softly you almost didn’t hear it. Your eyes opened slowly, looking at him. He didn’t need to say anything - his eyes said it all. You pushed his jacket off of his shoulders as his fingers found the zipper at the back of your dress, and then he was helping you down from the counter, and the material pooled at your feet. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he told you. Without another word, Javy scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the bed, laying you down gently before shedding the rest of his clothes. When he lowered himself onto the bed over you, his touch was reverent, his kisses slow and deep, and you knew you would never be the same again. Every moment with him felt like a dream, surreal and intoxicating.

He lit every single nerve ending on fire as he coaxed you to orgasm again and again, and by the time he came for a second time, you were nearly boneless, covered in sweat and completely satiated. You laid curled against his chest, your finger tracing the divots in his abs as his hand ran up and down your bare back. 

“This can’t just be this weekend,” Javy whispered into the quiet room. You picked your head up to meet his eyes, and he was already looking at you. “Tell me we can make it work.” 

You studied his face for a moment, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation, but all you found was a raw honesty that nearly took your breath away all over again. 

Part of you had been worried that this weekend really would be all that it would be. You had a whirlwind night together that ended far too soon months ago, and talked nearly every day since in anticipation of finally having the time you wish you would have then. There was a fear that perhaps it was a weekend meant for finishing what you had started. But instead, it had just stoked whatever had already been brewing. 

“We can make it work,” you said with conviction.

Distance be damned, he knew, without a doubt, that one weekend with him would never be enough. Not even close. 

--------

Notes: This was supposed to be just straight smut....clearly, it didn't turn out that way lol. I hope you enjoyed it!

Thanks to @roosterforme @sylviebell and @mak-32 for reading it over and all the help along the way!

Main Masterlist

[ny0sang]

santa baby (been an awful good girl) // coyote x f!reader

pairing: javy coyote machado x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: coyote dresses up as santa + reader is only human = reader and coyote get it on in santa's workshop

word count: 6.6k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: unprotected sex, explicit PiV sex, a bit of dumbification, slight overstimulation, lowkey desecrating the concept of christmas but like in a hot way

A/N: i...i have no excuse. thinking of javy being dorky during sex has effectively ruined me. merry chrysler

The second Sunday in December was the tree-lighting at Miramar. 

The event entailed, of course, the lighting of the tree at the center of base, but also a crafts market, an ugly-Christmas sweater competition, and breakfast-for-dinner, but most importantly: a meet and greet with Santa. 

While it wasn’t required attendance for any of the Service members, most everyone who wasn’t on leave found some way to be involved. You found yourself at the cookie decorating station, trying to teach kids a modicum of restraint, and sneaking glances at your boyfriend over in Santa’s Workshop. 

That’s right, Javy Machado – distinguished Lieutenant, Louisiana’s finest, and your personal hero – was currently drowning in red velvet and faux ermine, dressed up as jolly old Saint Nick. His diamond-sharp jawline was hidden behind a monstrosity of a fake beard, but he had managed to master the twinkle in his eye. The night was winding down, but he showed no waning energy, just endearing interest in each and every child that made its way into the small structure. 

You could just barely see him through the front window of the Workshop, but every time you looked over at him, your heart fluttered. 

It was the way he hunched his shoulders, clearly trying to diminish his size to make himself seem less intimidating. 

It was the way he met each child’s eye, exuding comfort and kindness. 

It was how after a couple of minutes, even the shyest child seemed to relax against him, how their smiles brightened and their giggles echoed around the family center. 

You knew Javy was a total sweetheart, but it made you so proud to see how special he was making this Christmas for each of these kids, some of whom were having a dark season with their parents being deployed. 

There was a clatter and you looked away from the workshop to find RJ, one of Payback’s kids, looking guiltily up at you, holding an entire paper plate covered in Snowman sprinkles. The faint outline of a sugar cookie was visible under the blue-and-white pile, but not by much. 

Good thing it was only the ninetieth time this had happened today. 

“Happens all the time,” you said brightly, keeping your voice happy so the kid wouldn’t panic, and thinking of a diversionary topic. “Did you see Santa already?”

RJ nodded, willingly distracted. 

“He said he’d get me a Lego set!” he said, the slight lisp in his voice absolutely adorable. “A Lego set!” you repeated, folding the plate slightly so that you could pour the excess sprinkles into a dixie cup. “One of the Star Wars ones??”

“Yep!” RJ told you excitedly, his eyes widening, the sprinkles dilemma forgotten. “With an X-wing, so I can have a plane, like Daddy!” 

You finished pouring off the sprinkles, and turned the still-overly-sprinkled-but-now-recognizable-as-a-cookie plate back to RJ. He grinned up at you through a missing tooth and you couldn’t help but smile back. 

Payback might be nearly as bossy as Mav when you were up in the air, but he did have damn cute children. 

You were halfway through helping RJ with a sleigh-shaped cookie when the Christmas music they’d been cranking turned off with reverb, and someone cheerily announced over the loudspeaker that it was time for the festivities to draw to a close. Overhead lights turned on, dispelling the ambiance created by thousands of christmas lights, but you were halfway through the cookie, so you two kept working on it. 

What were they going to do? 

At some point, Reuben came over with a couple wrapped packages tucked under his arm, giving you a grateful look for keeping an eye on his son. 

The only warning you had was RJ’s reverent gasp and the widening of his eyes before you felt familiar hands on your waist and an unfamiliar beard scratching your neck. 

“Santa,” RJ breathed, and you tried to delicately step out of Javy’s grasp as he realized he couldn’t exactly greet his real-life girlfriend while there were still kids who believed in the magic of Santa within eyesight.

Javy cleared his throat and you pressed your lips together to hide a smile as you watched your boyfriend stand up straighter under the boy’s worshipful gaze.  

“RJ,” Javy said, his voice pitched lower than normal, to disguise it, and you noticed he was avoiding Reuben’s gaze pretty determinedly. “Doing some serious cookie decorating, I see?”

RJ nodded animatedly, holding up his plate to show “Santa” and nearly tipping both cookies off it in the process. Reuben dove for it, and you tried not to laugh, leaning lightly against Javy. You noticed absently that he must’ve taken the suit padding out, because you could feel his stomach through the red velvet.

Unfortunately, when RJ looked up from his plate, he noticed your lean, as well as Javy’s hand on your hip. He frowned, his small forehead wrinkling, and he tipped his head up at Javy. 

“That’s Coyote’s girlfriend,” he told Javy archly. 

“Uh,” Javy stalled, and you again found yourself fighting the urge to laugh, “yes. And…that’s why I want to steal her away for a moment. Coyote’s been a really good boy this year, and I want to talk about what kind of present he would want.”

RJ’s eyes narrowed, and he was about to say something else, before Reuben gave an exasperated sigh. 

“For God’s sake,” he muttered, reaching for RJ’s cookie plate, effectively poaching the boy’s attention. 

“Let’s show these cookies to your Ma, yeah, Junior?” he asked, before turning back to you and Javy. “And you two– behave.”

He spun on his heel, and RJ waved enthusiastically to you before following his father happily, and you turned to Javy, smiles breaking over both of your faces. 

“Not your most graceful, lieutenant,” you teased him, but Javy was already looking around the recreation center. 

With the overhead lights on, and the Christmas music off, it was rapidly emptying. Teams had already been tasked to come in tomorrow to clean it out, so for now everyone was clearing out, trying to get their kids home before the sugar crash set in, and Javy’s gloved hand found one of yours. 

“Come on,” he said quietly, in his normal voice, and you followed him instinctively when he tugged lightly on your grasp. 

You were surprised when he led you back over to Santa’s Workshop, and you ducked into the entryway. 

It wasn’t a large space, something constructed of red and green painted plywood pieces, barely big enough to accommodate Santa’s throne. The throne itself was a replica of the Iron Throne that Fanboy had paid a preposterous amount for, and had been convinced to donate to the greater good. He had then had to be led away from in agony, as Army Wives sanded down the pointy edges, and repainted the swords as candy canes.

“Nice digs, Santa,” you said wryly, your sentence ending on a squeak as Javy pulled you into his arms. 

Kissing him with the fake beard was funny, but his mouth was distracting enough that you soon forgot. 

You melted into him as you always did, your hands pressed against his broad chest. Javy’s strong arms banded around you as he kissed you hungrily, like he’d been waiting, like he’d been missing you. He tasted like peppermint, like the candy canes the “elves” (Natasha and Jake) had forced on him any time he started looking bored. 

When he pulled back, you were breathless, blinking up at him slowly. 

Javy smiled at you softly, his own chest rising and falling underneath your hands. He was so unbelievably handsome, always, but you loved his sweet smile. 

Especially how it looked from this close. 

“Hi,” you whispered, and Javy groaned, leaning down to kiss you again. 

His tongue swept into your mouth, and your knees almost buckled, causing you to cling to his shoulders. He was so strong, so big, and you knew he loved holding you, nearly as much as you treasured being held.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, and you felt your skin heat. You were just wearing a festive sweater under a pinafore-style skirt, aiming for comfort and festivity over something that accentuated your figure.

“It’s just a–” you tried, but Javy made a disapproving sound and kissed you firmly, interrupting your rationalization. 

“Beautiful,” he insisted, after a moment, and you nodded dazedly. 

Javy hummed, approving, and he shifted to pull off his gloves. A moment later, you felt his index finger under your chin. He tilted your head up towards him, and his kiss turned gentle, indulgent. 

“I could feel you watching me, you know,” Javy murmured, between kisses. 

 You shivered when his thumb brushed over your jaw. 

“Hard not to,” you managed to say. 

Javy laughed, a low, warm sound, that you felt like a caress. 

“What is it, honey,” he teased, brushing light kisses up your cheek, and ducking his head to reach behind your ear, “the red velvet doing it for you?”

You let out a breathy gasp when you felt his teeth ghost over your earlobe. 

“‘Course not,” you mumbled, but it didn’t sound convincing. 

It actually wasn’t the red velvet. 

It wasn’t even how sweet he had been with the kids, which was pretty darn sweet. 

“What was it?” Javy asked, as he kissed down your neck. 

You shivered as his tongue and teeth teased you. When he reached the collar of your sweater, he nosed it aside, and sucked lightly at the space where your neck met your shoulder.

“The glasses,” you blurted. 

You felt him hesitate, and he pulled back, looking at you amusedly. 

“The glasses?” he echoed, and you tried not to squirm. 

“Well, and the beard,” you admitted. “Not the actual aesthetics, just, like, the idea of them…the idea of older you. Silver fox Javy, you know, graying and—”

With a whoosh, the overhead lighting in the recreation center shut off. 

You turned to look out the window, surprised to find that no one else was left in the recreation center. They had cleared out quickly and the large room was suddenly dark, except for the lights strung around the “roof” of Santa’s Workshop. 

When you looked back at Javy, his teeth gleamed as he smiled.

His hand trailed down his arm till it tangled with yours, and he pulled you deeper into the workshop. 

“Javy, we should go–” you started to protest, but you broke off when he sat on the throne. 

The twinkling lights cast a golden glow into the otherwise dark room, and even in the shadows, Javy looked so damn sexy. He shifted in the seat, his thighs spreading, and planted his boots on the ground. He still held your hand, and you really did feel like you were standing in front of a throne, a queen to his king.

“It’s just us, honey,” he said, his voice deep, and you were having a hard time coming up with a response. Not when he looked this good, not when he was looking at you like that, not when you could already see the outline of his hardening dick against the inside of his velvet suit. 

God, what a thought–velvet and Javy. 

Your mouth practically watered, and when Javy tugged lightly on your hand, you let him pull you. You stood between his spread legs, the throne tall enough that you barely had to bend down to kiss him. This kiss was impossibly slow, leisurely. 

Javy’s hands trailed down your body, settling under your ass as he pulled you closer to him. You whimpered as his touch pulled you flush against him, his body hard against you, and his fingers gripping the flesh of your ass. Your own hands ran over his chest, around the back of his neck, anchoring you to him.

His big hands kneaded your ass, and you whimpered against his mouth when he guided you slightly sideways, against where his dick rested on his thigh.  

You felt your kisses turn lazy as he overwhelmed you. 

His big hands, his strong thighs, his hot cock, his broad chest…you felt your knees weaken as the kiss deepened. 

Javy knew, and he pulled back, giving you space. His hand found yours again, and he led you from between his legs, before reaching under your skirt. 

His touch was slow, certain, as his fingers trailed up your thighs to your waistband, where he found the edge of your tights, and slid them down your legs. He went slowly, and you were grateful for it; your head was spinning and you didn’t feel like you could catch your breath. You watched as he pulled the tights down your thighs, prompting you to step out of your shoes first. 

“Here, honey,” he prompted, guiding you to balance on the thick toes of his boots, so you wouldn’t have to stand on the floor, before he peeled your tights off. 

That thoughtfulness, combined with the determined carefulness with which he undressed you, sent another wave of arousal for you, and you followed his instruction without thinking. 

His hands were back on your legs then, reaching under your skirt again, up and up, and you shivered when his hands ghosted over the front of your underwear. 

“Were you telling the truth?” he murmured, his voice low, and you pressed your lips together to trap a whine inside your throat. “Am I gonna find you worked up under here?” 

You weren’t sure until his fingers pressed between your thighs. 

And then you moaned, you couldn’t help it. Javy’s fingers pressed into your center over your panties, his touch collecting your arousal and you felt the drag of wetness between his finger, the thin fabric, and your skin. 

Javy hummed his approval, and his pleasure had you bowing into him. 

“Javy,” you whispered, not sure what you were asking for, but certain he would know. 

“C’mere, baby,” he said softly, pulling you into his lap, his hands not leaving your panties, but still keeping you covered by your skirt. He guided you over his thighs, your legs spreading to rest in his lap, and you immediately were obsessed with the feeling of velvet stretched over his strong thighs. 

You looked up at his expression, and you felt your heart flutter. 

Christ, he was so beautiful. 

His expression was one of intense focus, but the panes of his face were so gorgeous, all the more for the fondness between the both of you. 

You pressed yourself up to kiss him, knowing you’d stumble over finding the words to tell him. Javy’s lips were so soft, his mouth so gentle, and the hand that wasn’t under your skirt cupped the back of your neck. The tenderness in his touch coupled with the strength in his hands was a heady combination, and you melted into his arms again. 

After a couple long, sweet kisses, you felt his hands move against you. 

You broke away from his kiss, breath catching as Javy dragged a thick finger over your now soaking panties. 

“You’re so warm here,” Javy murmured, his voice almost reverent, and your hands splayed over the red coat, grasping whatever you could. The pressure of his hand and the deep timbre of his voice were enough to drive you mad, and he knew it. 

“You feel so good, honey, so inviting…” Javy continued, and he pushed your panties aside. 

You whimpered at the first brush of his fingers against your core, slickened by your arousal, and warm against your skin. Your fingers scrambled to undo the red coat, fumbling with the buttons until you had the jacket undone, and you could feel the familiar cotton of his white undershirt. 

It wasn’t enough, you needed his skin. 

“Off,” you mumbled, and Javy chuckled as you pulled weekly at the bottom of his undershirt. It took some maneuvering, but you got the jacket off, then the undershirt, and then decided the beard and hat – while they had their charm – needed to go as well. 

And then you were breathless for a whole other reason. 

“You look like a damn fireman calendar,” you told him, your voice somewhere between amused and chagrined at the perfection that was a shirtless Javy Machado in red velvet pants and thick black boots, reclining in a garish throne. You decided that indulging the fantasy couldn’t hurt, and you guided the suit jacket up over his shoulders again. You tipped your head to the side, regarding your amused boyfriend.  

“Some mom in New Jersey would lose her shit,” you told him honestly, and it probably should’ve made you jealous, but it made you just so damn thankful he was all yours. 

You watched Javy’s abs contract as he laughed, pulling you back to him, and you smiled as he kissed you. You loved that it was like this with him – playful and fun, as well as just so fucking hot. 

It only took a moment for the laughter to fade from your kiss, and Javy’s hand was back inside your panties a moment later. 

He pulled a finger through your folds and your head fell back at his tease. He gathered your arousal with his finger, pulling his hand back up to the top of your slit. He found your clit easily, a familiar path, and when he pressed firmly, your legs jolted. 

“You’re Coyote’s girl, aren’t you?” he said thickly, and you wondered if he was thinking back to what RJ had said, or if he just liked the thought of you being his. Either way, you nodded weakly, overwhelmed by the pattern he traced over your clit. 

Javy turned his head so he could kiss your neck again, his lips pressing into you, tongue teasing you in a motion that mirrored his fingers at your core. You leaned into him, loving his strength and his focus on you. His hand, his mouth, his broad chest, all had your head swimming, and building up a heat within you. 

Your hips were moving, rocking into him, and you felt empty, needy. 

“Answer the question, honey,” he murmured into your neck, and he pulled back his hand to readjust. 

“Yes, Javy,” you breathed, forming the words feeling like a gargantuan effort, “yours.”

“Damn right,” he said, and then a finger was pushing through your folds as his thumb traced over your clit. 

You moaned as he pushed into you, a steady intrusion and just what you wanted. You rocked your hips into his touch, seeking more, deeper, and Javy chuckled. 

“Easy, baby,” he said softly, and you shook your head. 

“Need you, Javy,” you protested. His finger was thick, brushing into you, but you knew it wasn’t enough, knew it wasn’t what you needed. He grunted, shifting again, and then another finger was between your legs. Javy’s hand on your hip angled your hips downward, and your mouth fell open when he lifted his palm so you could grind your clit against it. 

His fingers inside you were pressing deep, stretching you, and you welcomed the width of them as you ground into his palm. 

“Baby, fuck,” you panted, and you felt his hips jerk up into you. 

Which had the opposite effect than what he had intended. 

Because his fingers were good, and his hand was good, and everything felt so fucking good– but you knew what was between his legs. And his hand wasn’t enough. 

“You need to be fucked, don’t you, honey,” Javy asked hotly, his voice low in your ear. You nodded desperately, your hips working against his fingers eagerly. He’d fill you so good, fuck you so full, and you needed it, needed him. 

You were overheating in your sweater, nearly wild with wanting him so bad, but you were taking everything he’d give you, always would. 

“Please, baby,” you whispered, and it sounded like a whine. You felt his hips press up again, an unintentional response, and your hips worked faster. 

“‘s too fast, sweetheart,” Javy said, but it sounded like maybe he was trying to convince himself too. “You’re not ready…”

You moaned, your head dropping to his shoulder. 

You knew he was right, knew you had to be worked up to taking his cock, but you wanted to be full of him, wanted to feel like his, wanted him to push everything else out of your mind with his dick. 

“Please,” you whimpered, unafraid to beg, and you felt Javy’s breath catch. 

“Cum for me first, honey, come on,” he said determinedly, and you would’ve scowled at him for his stubbornness, but he was working your body so fucking well. 

His fingers were pressing deeper inside of you, searching for the spot that would tip you over the edge. He knew when he found it because your whole body seized, and he fucking cooed, pleased and proud. His fingers worked faster inside of you, his palm grinding back into your clit, and you felt your body hurtling towards completion in spite of yourself. 

You whimpered his name, and Javy soothed you, his other hand falling to your ass again. He pressed you into him, shushing you as you trembled, and it was too much, too fast. 

Your orgasm broke through you, heat crashing over you as your boyfriend rocked you in his lap. You were shaking, you were pretty sure you were babbling, as Javy worked you through your orgasm, his strong fingers pulling steadily inside of you. 

You shuddered as you came down, the world fading from technicolor to the dark light of the rec center, and the ringing in your ears quieted enough to hear Javy murmuring praise into your ear. 

“So beautiful, honey, always so beautiful when you come. Fuck, you did so good, coming on my hand like that, such a good girl for me, always so good…”

You were pressed into his chest, and you snuggled closer to his warmth, temporarily sated. You felt Javy shift his hand, pull your panties back down before sliding his hand out from under your skirt. A moment later, you felt his chest vibrate, and when you pulled back to look, his eyes were closed, head tilted back, his fingers between his lips.  

“So fucking sweet,” he said, almost to himself, licking your orgasm off his fingers. You felt your core clench at the sight of it, at the everything of him, and you tilted your head up to him, needing his kiss. 

Javy acquiesced, and you both moaned when his tongue swept into your mouth, sharing the taste of your release. It was so hot, everything he did was so hot, and impossibly, you needed him again. 

You reached down between you, your fingers skating over velvet until you found his cock. He was fully erect now, trapped against his thigh, and when your fingers coasted over him, Javy’s breath caught. 

You hummed when his hips pressed up into your touch. 

Even without your body moving to encourage him, his thighs pushed his dick towards your hand, and you loved the feeling of him. Even through the soft material, he was so hard, so thick, and you were desperate for him. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Javy panted, and you loved it when he sounded like that, like he was barely clinging to sanity. 

“Don’t want to wait,” you trailed your hand up to his tip. You couldn’t feel the details of him through the suit, but you knew his cock, you knew where he was sensitive, and Javy groaned as you traced over him. He mumbled something into your sweater, but you couldn’t hear it. 

“Please, Javy,” you whispered, and he groaned again. 

His hands were on your waist, and they tightened when he pulled back. You were surprised by the truly forlorn look on his face when he looked up at you, and your hand paused, suddenly concerned. 

“I don’t have a condom,” Javy said dejectedly. “I’m sorry, honey, it felt pervy to put it in a pocket around all the kids and I–”

“We don’t need one.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but as soon as the words were out, you knew you meant them. You’d been exclusive for a couple months now, and you were tested regularly, and you trusted him. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted it– the more you needed it, the more you knew it was exactly what you needed.

Javy was so still underneath you. 

He was looking at you so closely, hope and caution warring in his expression. 

“Are you absolutely certain, honey?” he asked, and the way he was double checking was all the confirmation you needed. 

You leaned down to rest your forehead against his, loving the way his eyes followed you, even this close. You lowered your head to his, pulling back slightly when he reached up to kiss you. 

“100%,” you said against his lips, and Javy moaned, something deep in his chest, the hottest sound you’d heard. 

He surged up to kiss you, and you felt dizzy from the lingering taste of you on his tongue. When he pulled back, you were both breathless, just shy of giddy.   

“You want me to fuck you bare, sweetheart?” he asked, and his soft question made you shiver. 

“Please,” you managed, and Javy huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. 

“You’re gonna let me into that pussy raw?” he breathed, and you squirmed in his lap. You wanted him so badly, needed to feel him, just him. “Gonna let me fill you up, feel this cock press all the way into you?”

“Javy,” you moaned his name, fully wanton, unable to say anything else. 

Your hips were already rocking into him, craving the stretch of him. 

He seemed to understand, guiding you back to stand on his boots, while he shifted, sliding the suit pants down his thighs, along with his underwear. The red velvet pooled over his boots, brushing the tops of your feet, but you barely noticed. Instead, your eyes were trained between his thighs, where his dick was resting against his stomach. 

He had such a pretty cock. 

Long and heavy, curved slightly to the side, a plump head that felt absolutely unreal when it breached you. You were practically salivating for it, and you pressed your thighs together as you balanced on his boots. 

“Now you,” he prompted, and he helped you out of your sweater and skirt. A moment later, you felt Javy pull your panties off, now with no worry for the suit. 

He dropped the thin fabric to the ground and you stepped out of it, his fingers curled up to cup you. God, you loved how he touched you, so certain and steady, like him. You clutched his shoulder for balance, and Javy’s hand tightened over your pussy, pulling him to you by your pussy. 

You might as well have been on a leash. 

You could feel your legs trembling, you wanted him so bad. He guided you back onto his lap, your legs spread over his thighs again, but it was different now, because you could feel him. When you settled, your core brushed against his hot cock, and you both hissed out a breath. Desperation seemed to build between you, and Javy finally, finally let go of you, reaching down to hold his cock steady as you lowered yourself towards him. 

“Give me that pussy, baby,” he commanded, his voice low, and you wanted nothing more. 

When you felt the first press of his fat cockhead between your legs you felt like weeping. It was the smallest brush, but he was so thick, so broad, a promise. You held your breath as you lowered yourself down, a high-pitched moan working out of you when the head of him was fully inside you.  

“Ah, honey,” Javy breathed. 

It sounded like he was praying, and you understood, because it was just the tip of him, but already you were dizzy with how full you felt. 

You looked between the two of you, at the vision of his fat cock pressing into you and you moaned again. You looked so good together; it was amazing that he fit, that you could take him. You could feel his eyes on you, knew he was watching your face as you were watching where you were joined. 

“It’s so good, Javy,” you whispered, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. Your nails were probably leaving marks, not that either of you cared. 

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Javy said, his voice hoarse, “it’s so fucking good. How does my dick feel inside you, just me, so close to you?”

Your eyes closed and your jaw fell slack as pushed yourself farther onto him. The stretch neared on painful but nowhere near painful enough to make you stop. You felt him, like he said, you felt so close to him. It felt perfect, like you were made for this stretch.

“Halfway, baby,” Javy encouraged, and you practically choked at his words. 

Fuck, you thought you were farther along than that; it felt like you’d gotten farther along than that. 

But when you opened your eyes, there were still inches left of his cock, thick, searing length that you needed to fit inside of you. Javy’s hands rubbed encouraging circles on your back, and you realized your thighs were shaking. It felt like you were boiling, melting, but you knew you couldn’t stop, knew you needed to take all of him. 

Still, you couldn’t stop your whimper, “It’s too big, baby.”

Javy’s hips jerked up at your words, and his head fell back against the throne as he forced himself down, to be still. You both groaned at the ground that gave you, and Javy’s chest rose and fell rapidly. 

“You can do it, honey, you’re doing so good for me, so damn good,” he gritted, and you loved him so much. 

Loved that he was fighting for control but he still found breath to encourage you, soothe you, care for you. Your face felt wet, from sweat or tears, you couldn’t tell, but you made it the final few inches. 

When your shaking thighs met Javy’s legs, you both let out a trembling breath, and Javy wrapped his arms around you tightly. 

“Just stay here for a moment, sweetheart,” he whispered, and you lay your head on his shoulder, resting. 

You were so full. 

So sated, so absolutely content, like all you ever wanted to be was in this moment. You wanted to wrap this feeling up, remember it forever, this closeness. This perfection. 

Javy’s hands were still moving slowly up your back, his fingers pressing gently over you. You recognized he was breathing deeply, whether to help you monitor yours or because he needed to be controlled, you weren’t sure. 

You felt out of your body. 

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but it was long enough for the stretch to ease and your body to adjust. As you accepted him, as you welcomed him, your head cleared slightly, and you became aware of the gnawing need at your core. 

You needed him to move. 

You shifted in his lap, just slightly, and Javy’s breath punched out of him, as you clenched around him. 

“Jesus, honey, warn a man,” he choked, and you smiled. 

“Can’t help it,” you said, honestly, “just feels too good.”

“You’re telling me,” he murmured, turning towards you. 

He kissed you slowly, languidly, his tongue pressing between your lips as he gently pushed his hips upward. You felt your limbs go lax; he wasn’t even pumping but he was so damn deep inside you. It felt like a caress, something gentle and sacred, and you rested on him. 

He pressed up again, and he broke the kiss, his warm breath coasting over your lips. 

“Feels fucking unreal, honey,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re so tight, so wet. God, I can feel every inch of you like this, feels like heaven.”

You hummed your agreement, turning your head to kiss along his jaw. Your lips brushed over his jawline, your tongue tasting his sweat, kissing him lightly as he rocked slowly into you again. Time felt like molasses, seeping so slowly by, and everything was distilled to the press of his hips into yours, of his cock straining inside of you. 

You whispered his name, and his hands slipped from your back to your waist. 

“Need something, honey?” Javy asked, and you whined in response. 

He was slow and steady, unhurried, stoking that heat inside of you. It was perfect, it was killing you, you needed more.

“Do you think,” Javy’s voice was still breathless, but took on a teasing lilt, “you were naughty or nice this year?”

You swatted at him weakly, his chest already huffing as he laughed. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled, turning to a moan at another gentle rock.

“You know I’d know if you’d been bad or good,” he said, amusing himself even as you squirmed on his cock. “I’ve got a list.”

“I swear, Javy–” 

“Do you think you’ve been a good girl for Santa?”

God, he was such a dork, but he was also so hung, and you couldn’t handle both at once. But then Javy’s hands wrapped under your ass again. Before you could sigh in relief, he lifted you up, strong arms fully pulling you off his dick, and then thrusted up into you. 

You screamed. 

You couldn’t help it, you felt it so much, so deep, so fucking full of him, and Javy’s proud laugh turned to a groan as you clenched around his cock. He’d scrambled your brain with his dick, that was the only explanation, because you were moaning and you felt every limb shaking, and you needed him to do it again. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted someone to hear us,” he chastised you gently, and you whimpered at his words. 

You both knew no one was left in the rec center, probably not even the parking lot, but fuck if the idea of someone walking in on you fucking your boyfriend on this throne of his didn’t turn you on even more.  

Javy sighed, something awed. “Is that it, honey? You want someone to see you? Want someone to walk in on you milking this bare cock? Want someone to watch me shove it so deep into your pussy, see how badly you need it?”

He lifted you again before you could respond, his strong arms pulling you up and then bringing you back down into his lap, his cock thrusting deep into you. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only want more, need more. You felt something drip out of your mouth, realized belatedly you were literally drooling. 

Javy swore when he felt it, too, and his hips moved faster. He held you steady as he pushed up into you, slamming his hips up to meet yours. 

It was fast, it was rough, it was so, so deep, and you could only think that you needed him to keep going. 

Javy was grunting with each thrust of his hips, a gorgeous sound that had your mind racing. You could feel his balls slapping against your ass as he drove into you, so deep, and you scrambled for purchase, your hands clinging to the back of the throne, anything for leverage as he pumped into you. 

“I wouldn’t care,” Javy said, almost growled, and you felt your core clench tighter on him at that tone in his voice. “Fucking Simpson could break in now, honey, and I wouldn’t care, I couldn’t stop. You think anything could stop me now that I’ve felt this bare cunt around my cock? Nah, it’s too good, it’s so damn good. Fuck, honey, you feel—”

He broke off, and you felt his teeth bite into your shoulder, grounding himself as he drove into you. Vaguely you knew you were close, knew it in an abstract scientific way, because you could barely string two thoughts together, much less words. 

You could only cling to him, to your sweet, strong, Javy.  

“Riding me so good, baby,” Javy mumbled into your shoulder. “Being so good for me, honey, you’re always so good for me. My best girl, my beautiful, best girl. Sweetheart, I’m close, are you close?”

You nodded, or maybe you wailed, but you knew he could hear you, because his thrusts got more frantic. His thrusts were getting shorter, and you realized it was because he couldn’t reach as deep as he wanted, as fast as he wanted. Javy made a noise of frustration and his thighs flexed, then he was lifting you. 

Still impaled on his cock, he shifted you, turned you, and then your back was pressed against the cool surface of the throne. Javy was between your legs, then, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him back into you. 

“Please, baby,” you whimpered, and Javy groaned in response. 

“Anything, fuck, you know that, sweetheart, anything,” he whispered, and then he grabbed the throne. 

All you could do was take it. 

Lie in the space between his arms, between his legs, clinging to him as Javy gripped the throne for leverage and thrust into you. You were held firm as he thrust into you, the new angle causing his dick to brush against a spot inside you that had your toes curling. 

“Right there, Javy,” you cried, and you felt him press deeper, determined. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he panted, as his hips slammed into you. “God, you feel so good, I’ve got you… I know you feel good too, come for me, please..feels like fucking home in you, please honey, I need to feel you come–”

The throne was shaking with each of his thrusts and he pulled you even closer to him. Your body shook with each rutt of his hips, but as you molded to him, your clit brushed against the hard wall of muscle that was Javy. His cock hit that spot deep inside of you, your clit rubbed against his skin, and it was overwhelming, it was everything, it was enough. 

“Come with me,” you gasped, begged, feeling a blinding heat at the tips of your toes. Javy groaned, and you knew he wanted to protest, but as your body seized, you felt him tense with you.   

You cried out as you came, exhausted and overwriting and flying, but you felt it, felt him. Javy surged up to kiss you, his mouth locking on yours. You were too tired to kiss, too poised to respond, but so was he. And as you tipped over the edge, as you cried against his lips, Javy’s strong hips stilled, and you felt his chest heave as he pumped into you. Then you were warm, so warm, feeling his cum spill inside of you, feeling the world burn around you. It was everything, you and him, locked together and spiraling, shaking. 

You were so full. 

Javy collapsed against you, somehow finding the strength to push himself onto the throne beside you. You fidgeted, squirming until you were once again in his lap, panting and shaking, as Javy held you tight while your orgasms rolled over you. 

You were grateful for the Christmas lights. 

They were a gentle light, soft when you opened your eyes, illuminating Javy’s profile like a poem. Sweat slicked between both of your bodies, and you didn’t want to think about the state the suit was in. You could feel Javy’s heartbeat through his chest, a pounding rhythm, strong and steady as he was. 

You should get up. 

But you snuggled deeper into his chest, relieved by the deep breath you felt him draw. You both basked in the muted light, the warmth of each other's arms, and you decided the feeling was also the answer to Javy’s question– you’d been nice.

.............

Tagging some mutuals, some folks who asked for it, and general lovers of Javy: @daggerspare-standingby @blowmymbackout @teacupsandtopgun @mandylove1000 @callsign-fangirl @cheekymcgrath @goldenseresinretriever @mxgyver @laracrofted @coyotesamachado @wildbornsiren @bradshawsbitch @sebsxphia @roosterforme

[ny0sang]

bad liar

the daggers of love masterlist

premise: hooking up with your brothers best friend is not a mistake you wish to repeat. watching each other get off seems like the only viable option to restrain yourselves.

pairing: javy 'coyote' machado x seresin!reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: eighteen+ content, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, coyote is a little tease, references to past hook ups, spit mention, pet names (bunny is readers nickname, baby), a touch of enemies with benefits, reader and jake are step siblings therefore reader is not written with any ethnicity in mind.

note: it's insane ya'll don't write for this pretty man more. but this is basically a prequel to the full fic i have planned for javy aka brothers best friend galore!

“You’re not playing fair, bunny.” Javy smirks at the scowl you give him for the childish nickname. His tongue runs along his bottom lip like the predator of his own nickname would its prey—coyote vs. bunny.

“I didn’t know you made the rules.” You retort, trying to act as unphased as one can with their hand between their legs, touching themselves in front of their brother's best friend. 

His head falls to the side, giving you a cheeky look that makes your lower belly burn. “I mean, it’s not really fair when you’re doing this to keep my hands off of you, and I can’t see that pretty pussy that I want so badly.” His own leg that's bent, and on the couch, the two of you share kicks at your ankle gently. Trying to pull your legs apart, spread you for him so he can see between your thighs. 

“Or I could just,” his hand leaves his cock, which is hard and leaking against his fingers, to lean forward and wrap itself around your calf. 

“Javy!” You scold him, kicking his palm with your foot, your legs flailing for half a second to get him away from you and back to his spot on the other end of the couch. His laughter makes your own bubble up inside of you. “Stay on your side.”

“Then let me see you.” He leans against the arm of the couch, his fingers coming back to his cock. Thumb running along the head slowly before he strokes down, a hitch in his breath. “Please, baby.” 

The dip your stomach does from the silly pet name, the way his chest falls heavy each time he moves over the head of his cock—flashbacks of the noises he made when he ran it through your wetness before pushing in and stretching you to the point of burning pleasure at your spine, the first few thrusts feeling like he was splitting you in two, Javy’s mouth hovering over yours, “I know you can take it, baby." 

And why shouldn’t he feel as fucking wrecked as you do right now, when he’s not even inside of you? This was the whole point of this, wasn’t it, to get all your feelings out this way instead of actually sleeping together again. 

Jake would kill the both of you. And while you hate labeling it a mistake, it’s not something you think should happen again for that very reason. You were notoriously bad at keeping secrets, and you’d like everyone to continue to think you found Coyote to be as annoying as the first day you met him—and not currently giving you the type of bedroom eyes that make you willing to risk your pride and the wrath of your brother to feel the weight of his cock against your tongue or his fingers in your hair guiding your pussy down onto his length. 

So without another objective thought, you spread your legs, and while Javy was still adorning his gray shorts, you were completely bare from the waist down. The burning look that flashes over his face, like he’s starved and it’s taking everything inside of him to not connect his mouth where your fingers are currently rolling your clit, has you whimpering. 

Your wetness completely on display for him. Showcasing the arousal that’s gathered against your thighs and coated your fingers and pussy. Any shyness you could possibly feel draining from your body thanks to your own desire and how he’s devouring you with his stare. 

“You drive me crazy,” he says, half laughing, half groaning. Teeth rolling his bottom lip between them. 

“Good, because the feelings are more than mutual.” You can’t even pretend to give him your regular flare of annoyance in your voice. Of hatred, because it’s drained from your body completely. 

“I might be a little jealous if this is how your body reacts to someone you dislike as much as you claim to.” 

“New rule, no talking.” 

He chuckles. “Now you’re pretending like you don’t get off by every word I say? You’re just full of lies, aren’t you, bunny?” 

“Don’t-”

“First you claim you hate me, but you were wet even before you started touching yourself. I didn’t even try to touch you, and I made that pussy wet.” He smirks, “and now you don’t like when I talk, when I specifically remember walking you through coming on my cock the last time you were wrapped around it. And your fingers haven’t stuttered once.” He locks his eyes on yours, “you wish you hated me, baby. So so badly, don’t you? It’s okay,” he teases. 

If your cheeks weren’t on fire and your body completely inflamed from not only his dark eyes but his—annoyingly correct—words, you’d do something other than reach your foot out and hit his calf with it. 

And you want to hide your face in the pillow at your back when you watch his neck bend to spit on the tip of his cock and rub it along his shaft, the soft squelch of your own bodily fluids that made a similar, more filthy noise the last time you were this wet—this in need. 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. 

The longer your eyes lock, explore, and the more Javy opens his mouth, the closer you get to begging him for something that can’t happen. 

The ache in your core only grows more and more intense, like there’s a fire in your insides, the longer you rub fast circles against your clit. Coiling up for a release that won’t even come close to satisfying in the way it would feel with Coyote’s hands replacing yours. 

“All you need to do is ask, baby.” You hate that he knows what you’re thinking; the intensity you’re feeling as wrecked and heady as you are just from the prospect and desire of wanting—needing—him. While the animalistic look in his eyes and the soft grunts he’s letting out are making him look composed, as if he’s just waiting for you to ask. To beg him to fuck you. 

You shake your head, an attempt at a scowl making him smile. 

“Always such a good girl. Even when you’re so close to coming for me.” The muscles in his arm strain with each stroke to his cock, his hips pressing up each time you let out a noise. “It would still count as you making yourself come if you used my tongue. Fucked yourself against it. It’d feel so much better than your fingers, I promise.”

“Fuck,” you whimper. Your head in a repeated shake at this point; your own words are more of you trying to convince yourself of the truth that lies within them than Javy. “We can’t.” 

"But we both know that you want to, don’t you?” 

And without hesitation, as if it’s a muscle memory reaction, your body answering for you, you nod. “Fuck, yes.” 

“God,” he groans. Exasperated and frustrated, the filthy sound more like a growl than anything else, and it makes you clench. Has you right at that precipice, “come for me. Remind me how pretty you sound saying my name.” 

[ny0sang]

AT THE SAME DAMN TIMMEEEEEE