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batsandbirdbrains · 3 days ago

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Inspired by the one anon who asked abt fics where Dick turns out to be younger than people think he is and the recs that were given:

What if it’s like a scenario where Dick’s parents / the circus changed his age in documents so he could perform. And his age changed all the time on paper because different countries had different rules, even different cities/counties might not be the same as the one next to it. And so Dick sort of forgets how old he actually is most of the time, he just sticks with whatever his parents last told him.

And he was told he was eight when they were in Gotham. He was just short for his age because he’s a gymnast, that’s what they told anyone who questioned them.

In reality, Dick was five years old.

And by the time he remembered he should probably tell Bruce that, it’s already been too long. It’s several months after Bruce has taken him in, after he already has been Robin, and it just hits him one day that he’s going to be turning six in March. Bruce thinks he’s turning nine.

And Dick gets this horrible terrible no good idea in his head that if Bruce finds out he lied about his age, that Bruce will get rid of him. Won’t want him anymore. Will call him a dirty liar and kick him to the curb.

And Dick can’t lose his new home. He loves Bruce. He loves Alfred. And he loves being Robin. So he keeps it a secret and tries to forget that he’s three years younger than he’s supposed to be.

It’s a damn good thing Dick’s parents were rigorous in his schooling, and by some miracle he tests into the proper grade for his age when Bruce starts him at Gotham Academy. It’s a bumpy start, but it’s easily explained away by the slight language barrier. Dick actually speaks and reads English just fine, he learned it the same time he learned French and Romani and Arabic, but it’s a good excuse for why his penmanship is clumsy and why he starts out just slightly behind his peers.

He puts so much extra effort into his school work that by the time he’s supposed to be 13, it’s recommended he skip a grade. Bruce is so proud. Dick is somehow managing to get by as a ten year old in high school, and he cannot figure out how he’s pulling this shit off. Talk about being a showman, because it feels like he’s playing the world’s most impossible role.

But then something happens when Robin is on a team mission with the young justice season 1 team. Some magic shit. Maybe Klarion does something, maybe it’s like the episode where the adults get separated from the kids, but instead of it being everyone over 18 is separated from everyone under 18, it’s anyone who’s a teenager and up being separated from the kids who are all 12 and under.

And no one can figure out where Robin is. And also Captain Marvel is missing. What the fuck.

Bruce is fucking freaking out because he cannot figure out why Dick isn’t anywhere, why he can’t get ahold of him. He’s convinced Klarion must be holding him hostage or something.

And then you have Dick and Billy saving the day on their side, and Dick convinced him to try to transform into Captain Marvel. Billy doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t want to leave Robin alone if it makes him disappear to, but Dick assures him he’ll be fine, they’ll both be fine.

And then they come up with a plan yadda yadda the world is saved Dick and Billy save the day, the rest of the episode doesn’t matter.

But Batman pulls Robin aside immediately once they’re all back together and asks him what the hell just happened.

And Dick just starts crying. He’s so stressed out. This whole situation was so scary and he wasn’t actually all that confident the plans he’d made would work he only pretended to be so sure of himself so Billy could do his part and not be scared too. And also it’s really fucking stressful being a ten year old in high school. It’s very hard. Dick’s life is very difficult, and now his dad is finding out that he’s not as old as he’s been pretending to be, and everyone else is there and going to find out to, and he’s so overwhelmed.

“I didn’t mean to,” Dick says through full on sobs, and Bruce is so concerned and he’s hugging Dick and trying to calm him down, but Dick has gotten himself all worked up. “They changed my age all the time so I could perform, I’d be six in one city and eight in the next and seven in another and I just I forgot I wasn’t really any of those and then you adopted me and I forgot I wasn’t really eight until it was almost my birthday but it was too late to tell you and you would’ve been so mad and you wouldn’t have wanted me anymore and I didn’t know what to do!”

“Hey hey hey, slow down, slow down,” Bruce tells him, “take a deep breath. You need to breathe, Robin.”

But Dick just falls against Bruce’s shoulder and cries. He doesn’t want Bruce to think his parents were bad parents. Because they weren’t, they were the best. They just had to fudge some things so Dick could perform with them, so he could have fun up in the air with them, lots of people in the circus lie about their age!

“Oh, chum,” Bruce coos, resting his cheek on top of Dick’s head, rubbing his back. “I could never not want you. I love you, it doesn’t matter how old you are.”

“You do now!”

It makes Bruce’s heart shatter into pieces. Because Dick really thinks there was ever a time he didn’t have Bruce wrapped around his little finger, he doesn’t realize that Bruce has loved him from the first moment he wrapped the tiny little acrobat in his coat and carried him away from the puddle of blood he’d been kneeling in.

“I have always loved you,” he whispers. “And I always will. But chum, this is important. I need to know how old you really are.”

Dick sobs into his shoulder one more time before he lets out in a miserable whisper that everyone manages to hear, “Ten.”

And Batman damn near breaks. He lets out a shaky gasp, and his grip tightens on Robin as his knees buckle and he falls to the floor, now holding Robin tightly in his lap.

“You were five?” he asks. “Oh my God, you were five.”

Batman has a breakdown right then and there, but he keeps it very contained. He refuses to let go of Robin, just continues hugging him close and whispering that he loves him, he’s not mad at him, he would never ever get rid of him.

Idk what would happen after this but I know for certain Dick and Billy become bffs.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #billy batson #young justice #batman #robin #will probably write another little Drabble where they find out when Dick is supposed to be 18 or older bc I think that would be fun too #anyway this will start my agenda of Billy and Dick needing to be bffs bc I love them I think they’re both menaces

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savanir · 2 days ago

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DP x DC Prompt [29]

Danny flees to Metropolis after a bad reveal and finds that its actually really easy to disappear in the gigantic city.

The only pushback (if you can call it that) is that he gets a personal visit from Marilyn Moonlight on her spectral horse and she tells him he's allowed to stay as long as he doesn't cause any trouble.

The last thing he wants is a fight with a city spirit...

He does odd jobs here and there, wanders around, watches the supers handle the threats.

It's not how he figured his life would go but it's alright, he's managing.

During one of his wanderings he overhears an argument at the back of a cafe.

It turns out that a sound and lights guy is a no-show and the metal band that's supposed to perform that night is scrambling to find a replacement.

Danny volunteers if they are willing to show him the setup, he figures he's technical enough, he can figure it out. (And he might use some of his ghost abilities to make things work, but that's besides the point).

This is how he meets their lead singer, one Siobhan McDougal. Its only later that he learns she's also known as the Silver Banshee.

It explains why he feels comfortable around her, she's nice and he absolutely doesn’t have an issue with her ghostly sensibilities.

She's the one to hire Danny to be their sound and lights guy permanently.

Danny also helps with marketing and merch down the line.

Everything is fine until one night there is a commotion at the venue and Danny goes ghost to help handle the situation.

Afterwards Siobhan as Banshee stares at Danny, who stares back, and they kinda just float and look and Danny starts to go gradually invisible when he's suddenly grabbed and held up and Siobhan is positively beaming at him.

"You're like me!"

"Uhm..."

"Boy Banshee"

"Technically, men can't be-"

"So adorable~"

Next thing he knows she holds him close. And well, that's really nice, just happy happy spectral vibes all around and Danny can't help but bask in it and would it really be so bad?

She's definitely squeezing the air out of him though, it's a good thing he doesn't need to breathe in that form.

After that he works hard at altering his ghost appearance a little to make it look like he has matching skull face paint going on when he transforms.

It helps with maintaining his identity too somehow...

Despite the fact that he's still using the exact same skillset, somehow, for some reason, nobody catches on that Phantom and Boy Banshee are incredibly similar.

#Siobhan has stopped with the rogue behaviour #but her morals are very grey. if Danny's parents show up and she learns what happens she's gonna scream in their faces #and then figure out a way to adopt Danny into her family #Danny McDougal sounds better than Danny Fenton anyway #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom #danny fenton #Siobhan McDougal #siobhan smythe #Silver Banshee #savwrites

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bluewxrld07 · 2 days ago

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Pins and Needles

Lando X Bff!Fewtrell!Reader

Summary: Y/N doesn't know where she and Lando stand anymore. Their once-tight friendship soon started to tear at the seams.

Warning(s): just pure angst, Lando being toxic (sorry y'all), making out, Charles Leclerc incoming, depression, lack of self-worth

A/N : I can't help myself y'all ok 🥲 This one is gonna hurt, I'm sorry but also not sorry. Enjoy 🙂 (Written and inspired by Nessa Barrett's song Pins and Needles)

Hand on the stove, I barely feel it

And when I let go, I'm already healing

This was not how it was supposed to go.

How it was supposed to wind up.

Y/N didn't even know how she got herself into this situation.

Deep down, she knew exactly how she got herself into this situation, she just didn't want to admit to it.

It started when one drunk night at the club in Monaco led to her becoming tangled up in her best friend's sheets, whispering sweet nothings to one another. The sly touches as the sun crept through the blackout curtains the next morning.

That was when their situation bloomed. Things had become messier between Lando and Y/N.

Little did Y/N realize just how deep she had fallen for the man she had known almost her entire life. He was comfortable. Familiar. Trustworthy.

At the start.

Things at the beginning were smooth. Nothing but absolute lust, addiction, and hunger. It rose and rose, some moments almot becoming reckless.

They couldn't keep their hands off one another. From sneaking around the paddock, to the club bathrooms, to the bedroom next door to Max's. It became reckless. Animals in heat. The craving was insatiable.

The pair didn't know if the sneaking around made them this way, or the fact that it was supposed to be a forbidden relationship. Max would've had Lando's head. He'd have six feet under the ground.

She didn't mean to fall more in love with the boy. She thought it would be harmless. Her feelings would subside. Not do the complete opposite and skyrocket. The way he had begun to treat their little situationship as if they were together is what got her the most.

He made her feel like she was the only one.

Till he slowly became more sloppy. Bailing out on plans more often, leaving her high and dry while saying something came up. The distance became clearer. It was the late-night visits that were only making a daily appearance. No talking, just becoming tangled in the bedsheets.

Their friendship had begun to fade out, only turning into meaningless sex. At least that's what she believed.

She never understood why. What had she done for him to pull away slowly? What was she missing?

Y/N couldn't tell anyone, as she didn't have anyone she told about it. Not trusting a single soul to keep it quiet if things got tricky. Especially not when Max had no idea of what was happening behind closed doors.

When he began to ask why her mood had become more glum, as if she had almost faded. She just used the excuse of lack of sleep, or was just having one of those days.

He didn't question it, only gave her a lingering look, then didn't push further. He knew better.

It wasn't long till she found out why. Why Lando pulled away from her, let their friendship fade out, as well as their late night hookups.

They say your name, I don't even hear it

You dug your own grave, and nobody's grieving

The articles all read and show him with a new girl, a blonde model and actress. She was pretty. His type, too. He looked happy, a genuine smile on his lips as he looked at her.

That's when she noticed the way her chest tightened, crashed in on itself.

He had been seeing this girl, Magui, she thinks her name was, without saying a thing to her. She thought they were close enough that he would've been honest. He has never lied to her. In all the years she had known him, it wasn't something he did.

She remembered when she found out, she sat there trying to figure out what to say to him. Her first message sounded angry. Hurt, betrayed, lost, and confused.

Instead, she clicked the power button off, thinking it was best to not say a word. Instead, she let it fade away. Let him fade away.

There had been a day Y/N was at her brother's, sitting on the barstool while he cooked food with Pietra.

"Is she nice?" she asks, hinting at Lando's new girl. Max looked at her with an unsure gaze, shrugging his shoulders.

"From what I can tell, yeah," he answers. "Still a bit skeptical about her, though. About her past, mainly. Everything is still unclear about what happened between her and Luisna. Lando won't really talk about it."

She nods, deciding not to push any further, picking at the food on her plate.

"Have you heard from him lately?" Pietra asks this time. "I haven't seen you two around one another lately. Usually it's hard to pull you both away from the other," she tries to joke. Max looked back at his sister with just as curious of a look.

"You two haven't been talking?" he asks, Y/N just shrugs.

"Not really," she admits. "Always says something's come up. It's fine, I'm not gonna push it. He's happy."

Max looks at her with a little bit of shock on his face. "You two have been close for years. Closer than him and me, why would he just push you away?"

Y/N knew the real answer to it, but she couldn't give that away. As she knew Max would lose his shit if he knew. Lando would be lucky to leave the brawl with a head on his shoulders if Max found out.

So instead, the girl just shrugs. "Don't know. Just assumed maybe he doesn't want to make things look weird with his new girl. Probably doesn't want her to think anything else."

Max scoffs playfully at that, pouring his eggs onto his own plate. "Trust me, if there was more, I would've known. She wouldn't have had anything to worry about. He'd have a lot more to deal with if that were the case."

She just stays silent, Pietra sensing the awkwardness in the room, deciding to change the subject.

Shot my heart with Novacane

Ice-cold, cut off my blood flow

It had turned into hearing from Lando every other week, and maybe seeing him when he came to help with collabs for Quadrant. When the pair would be streaming with the other streamers, he wouldn't so much as acknowledge her in the chat.

It would be short answers if anything.

Her chest burned every time she made eye contact with him, the gazes between the pair always having something between them. Something she couldn't quite explain.

It wasn't until she had been dragged out to a race day with Max and P, that she could feel the need to hide away in a corner for the rest of her life.

She kept her distance whenever Lando would come around, the boy not missing the way she would excuse herself when he came by.

He should've known.

He caused the tension between them. He pulled back when he only wanted to get closer to her.

He found another girl while in denial of how deeply in love he was with his homeboy's sister, and his best friend. Magui was his way out. His escape from his reality. Even if it wasn't the right way.

He had to let Y/N go, even if it meant he couldn't be in her life anymore.

At least that's what he told himself.

You think you're important,, boy, I've got bad news

You're mean and you're boring, they'll all forget you

Y/N had been standing over by the motorhomes, sipping on the coffee in her hand, when she felt someone bump into her back. The sip had turned into a mess, dripping down onto her white tube top she wore on the hot day.

She turned around to meet the eyes of a familiar Monégasque man, who looked at her in horror. "Shit, Y/N I am so sorry," he nervously chuckles, his eyes seeing the new stain on her top. "I should've been more careful. I was so caught up in the conversation I-"

"Charles," she giggles, making him look at her. "It's okay. At least it wasn't a hot coffee, yeah?"

He snorts while rubbing the back of his neck. "Now that I definitely would've never heard the end of."

She chuckles. "You still won't hear the end of this one," she jokes, making him give her a genuine smile before chuckling back at her. He motions to her shirt.

"At least lemme help get you a new top? I can't bear the thought of you having to be stuck with explaining how the stain came about."

"Ahhh I see you want to protect your perfect image, I suppose?" she tuts playfully, making him widen his eyes.

"What? No I meant like it would probably be annoying having to say the story a thousand times, or you could get weird looks from people, or-"

"Oh my goodness, Charles! I'm joking," she laughs while putting her hands on his shoulders. She watches him visibly relax at her touch and her words, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Sorry, I just," he chuckles breathlessly. "You make me nervous, is all."

She raises her brows, a small smirk on her lips. "Oh, I do now?"

He rolls his eyes with a groan. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this."

She hums. "I didn't know I made the famous Ferrari driver nervous," she jokes while crossing her arms and giving him a knowing look.

His eyes flicker down from her eyes to her lips for a split second, then he smiles at her. "A little."

"A little?"

He purses his lips. "Okay a bit more than a little."

She laughs at his little confession, Charles pinching her waist as he pulls her with him. "You can give me shit later," he laughs. "But right now let's go get you changed into something that doesn't have a stain on it."

She lets him drag her along to the Ferrari paddock, in search of Rebecca and Carlos, knowing the WAG always had a backup set of clothing on her when need be.

Once Charles had found them, he explained the situation, watching as Rebecca lit up and happily said she'd lend a helpful hand.

Y/N followed the girl, keeping up the small talk as they made their way to the Ferrari motorhome, where Rebecca had a cute top waiting for Y/N.

She knew she wouldn't hear the end of it, the color of the top being a bright Ferrari red. It was a one-shoulder cropped tank top, the color sitting beautifully on her skin. Rebecca gave her a low whistle, causing Y/N to chuckle and roll her eyes.

"Red looks so good on you," she says, making Y/N shrug. Rebecca gives her a knowing look, but says nothing as the pair made their way back to the paddock.

Charles did a double take when she returned, his eyes taking in the red top that adorned her skin.

He smiled as he walked up to her. "Red is your color I think," he says, making her roll her eyes.

"Rebecca said the same thing," she answers, watching him nod. "She's never wrong."

Y/N thanks Rebecca one more time, alongside a hug. "Think about it," Rebecca whispers into the girl's ear before pulling away with a wink.

Charles then walks Y/N back over to the McLaren paddock where her brother and P sat. Max frowned at his sister. "I've been looking for you. Where did you run off to?" his eyes then dart to the new top she was wearing, then back to Charles. He gave Max a look.

"I bumped into her and thought I could help her get a new top," he explains. "I felt bad. So blame me for stealing her. Sorry, mate."

Max chuckles while nodding. "Of course it's a red top too," he jokes, Charles ears turning bright red, he puts his hands up in defense.

"Blame Rebecca for that one," he sputters, Max doing a once-over with a smug smirk while nodding slowly. "Uh-huh," Max trails off. "Well, thank you for helping her out," he says, a smug smirk only getting wider.

Charles nods curtly, before facing Y/N with a small smile, and squeezes her side. "Good seeing you, cherie," he mutters to her, kissing her cheek before he leaves her. Y/N realizing her side feeling slightly colder than it did when his hand was there.

She turns to watch him leave and head down the stairs, biting her lip without realizing it. Her head turns back to face her brother and Pietra.

The pair is staring at her with smug and knowing smiles. Max leans back in his seat, crossing his arms and clearing his throat.

Y/N squints her eyes at them. "What?" Watching her brother nod at her.

"Someone has a crush."

She scoffs at her brother. "You're reading into things," she chuckles while shaking her head.

Pietra laughs. "Oh, honey, no. You two were staring at each other like you want to-"

"Don't even say what you're going to say," Max whines, covering his face. "I don't need to hear that."

Y/N just laughs, pointing at Pietra. "You're wrong on top of that."

Pietra rolls her eyes with a smirk, and before she can argue further, Lando is seen walking up to the group, making Y/N want to fade away.

Lando sees her, only doing a double-take when he sees the color of her shirt, also realizing that this was indeed not the color she was wearing earlier. He slowly points at her shirt, Max chuckles.

"Dear old Ferrari man has a crush on my sister," Max admits, then points at her. "She's crushing on him as well."

"Maxwell!" Y/N hisses, watching him crack up. She doesn't miss the way Lando's facial expression drops, something unreadable in his expression.

"What d'you mean?" he asks slowly. Y/N groans while hiding her face.

"What he means," Pietra starts. "Charles spilled coffee on her and helped her get a new shirt. And apparently that was his chance to get her in red."

Lando's eyes snapped down to Pietra, Max just sitting there in a fit of giggles as his sister kicks his shin.

"He was just being helpful," Y/N grumbles. "Besides, Rebecca was the one who gave it to me. Not Charles."

Max looks back at her. "Sure, we know that," he says between laughs. "But the eye fucking you two were doing before he left said more than that. Especially that little kiss move-"

"He kissed you?" Lando cuts in, his tone sharp and stern. Max and Pietra look at him with certain looks. His head and eyes only focused on Y/N in that moment, who was now shifting on her feet with her arms crossed.

"It was just on the cheek," she rolls her eyes before glaring at Max. "Stop making it sound like he laid me out on the table or something," she hisses, making Lando choke on his spit while Max gagged.

"That's vile, do not ever say that again," he points at his sister with a disgusted look. "Second, I'm only saying it because I think you two would be good together."

That makes her eyes widen in shock, watching him put his hands up in defense.

"Say what now? I thought you said no racers."

He hums with a nod before pointing out to Lando. "Yeah, I said that mainly for that one," he says, missing how his mate clenched his jaw. "Charles, on the other hand? I hope it does happen. He's one of the good ones."

Y/N coughs awkwardly, not missing the way Lando scoffed at his best friend's words, mumbling something under his breath as he crossed his arms.

"Can we just change the subject, please? I'm not crushing on Charles, and I'm not going to date him."

Max gives her a knowing look before turning his gaze towards Lando. He frowns. "You good, mate?" he asks, watching as Lando snaps his gaze at Max. He nods curtly.

"Just don't care to hear about her sex life, you muppet. Charles is a player and only wants what he can't have," he admits, not missing the way Y/N glared straight to the side of his face. "Anyways, we're getting ready to start. I was gonna walk you lots to the club level."

Max nods before taking Pietra's hand to guide her. Lando kept his pace next to Y/N's, the girl not missing how his hand would brush against hers every so often.

She could see the gears turning in his head, clenching his jaw every so often, as if he was preventing himself from saying or doing something he might regret. Max and Pietra were further ahead of them, happily making their way to the balcony in the club level of the paddock, overlooking the racetrack.

"He can't give you what I can," the brit says next to her, causing her to snap her gaze at him with a frown. She scoffs.

"That's awfully daft, coming from you," she shoots back. "You ghosted me, remember? You don't have a say in my actions."

"Oh, so you are seeing Leclerc huh?"

She scoffs. "Go check on your girlfriend, Norris. The one you dropped me for."

He glares at her. "Y/N-"

"End of discussion, Lando."

She walks away, a part of her wanting him to grab her and pull her back. Show her she was his. Even if it was behind closed doors. The other part of her was happy he didn't. She wanted him to see that he couldn't have her. He missed the opportunity.

Don't call me your ex, 'cause I never met you

She kept close to her brother and P the entire race, zoning out the entire time the race went on.

Her mind didn't know what to think.

She missed Lando. She really did.

The other part of her though, was also pulling towards Charles.

Y/N couldn't tell if it was just because of how Lando reacted, or because of how she felt a new feeling whenever Charles was near her.

Or how she caught her stare lingering longer on Charles as he took P2. Or how his eyes found hers in the crowd, staring back at her, his smile becoming wider when he saw she was staring first.

It's all pins and needles, babe

I feel nothing for you, nothing for you

Now, here she stood, in the VIP section of the Monaco club after Lando placed P1 at his home race.

She had a drink in her hand, pretty sure the glass could break under her grip. Her eyes did not leave the way his hands and body moved with the blonde on the dancefloor.

At this point she couldn't tell if she was jealous, or pissed off. Or both.

She watched as his hands moved along her body, how his lips never left her body as they danced. He looked like a wet dream.

"You hold onto that glass any tighter, it's gonna shatter and cut up that pretty hand," a familiar French accent says next to her. Her eyes snap out of the daze, turning to see Charles taking the spot next to her.

He nods at her slowly. "You alright, cherie?" he asks her, making her laugh to herself before spinning a finger around the rim of her glass.

"Honestly, I don't know," she admits, looking back at his confused frown. "Can I be honest?"

"Always."

She sighs. "I had been seeing this guy. We weren't anything exclusive, but at the same time, it felt like it. Then out of nowhere, he just stops. No explanation, no excuses, nothing. Just drops me like I'm nothing," she explains, letting a bitter chuckle leave her lips.

"Then I found out it's because he had another girl. I don't even know how long. It was just out of the blue, and I guess I shouldn't have been as upset as I was about it. But I can't help it."

Charles takes in every word she's saying, nodding and humming at the appropriate times.

"It burns my chest seeing them, seeing him, act like I never even mattered," she admits. "But then, I began to realize something else. There's this other guy. I didn't even realize I felt good around him. Like I could relax around his presence. Forget about why I was so hurt about the other guy," she explains, not even realizing how easy it had become to open up to Charles.

The way his expression showed no judgment. No sense of uneasiness as she spoke. Just a genuine expression that showed he was listening to her.

"And part of me wanted this guy I was seeing," she says more to herself. "But a bigger part of me really wants this guy that makes me feel seen. Heard."

Charles nods at her, taking a sip of his drink. "You alright if I give you my advice?" he asks cautiously.

She nods. "Always," she copies his words, making him grin at her.

He points at Lando. "He's an idiot for letting you go," he admits, watching her face contort to confusion, and then to shock before shaking her head.

"I didn't- How did-"

He laughs at her, stepping closer. "It's not hard to see. You two weren't as slick as you thought," he admits, Y/N feeling her face begin to heat up.

"I'm sorry," she admits with a sigh, looking down at her now-empty glass. "I didn't mean to sound like that. I just- I didn't have anyone I trusted to talk to."

"And I'm just easier to talk to? Someone you trust?" he asks her, leaning his elbow on the bar behind them, a knowing smirk on his lips. She snaps her head to him.

As she was about to say something, he stood up straight, walked to stand in front of her, and took the glass from her fingers. She doesn't miss the way his fingers brush hers, goosebumps rising on her skin. He places the glass on the mahogany behind them, his eyes lowering to her own. She gulps as she watches his smirk widen just slightly, while he places both hands on the bar behind her, caging her in. His face was dangerously close to hers, the Monégasque not missing the way her breaths came out shaky.

"As for this other guy," he starts, his tone lower. Darker. "I think he's very worth your time. He wouldn't make you feel like Lando did. He'd take care of you. Treat you right. Show you how a woman like you should be worshipped."

Y/N feels her pulse quicken. "Besides," he mutters, bringing his lips closer to her own. "If you're choosing between two people, choose the second. Because if you really did like the first option, you wouldn't have fallen for the second."

That got Y/N's insides churning, knowing deep down Charles was right. He was so right.

He chuckled darkly as he watched his chest rising and falling quicker after he said that, placing his lips closer to her ear as he placed a light kiss against the lobe. "The second guy also just really wants to be selfish," he admits.

Y/N smiles slowly at his words, letting herself indulge slowly with Charles. She lets out a gasp as she feels his lips planting feather-light kisses from her jawline, down to her neck and her collarbone.

She finally trails her hands up his button-up, slipping underneath the half-open shirt, slithering to rest on the bare skin of his back just before it meets the crook of his neck. His head leaves her neck, bringing his head closer to her own.

"So this other guy," she says breathlessly. "You think he'd worship me, huh? Show me how worth it I am?"

He hums with a nod, kissing the corner of her lips. Y/N found herself craving more, her body aching for his own against hers. Skin to skin.

"He'd do more than just that," he chuckles against her jaw. "He'd take his time with you. Show you exactly how a woman like you should be appreciated. Till you're shaking."

Y/N lets out a breathless moan at that, one of her hands finding his hair. "Spoil you to death. Treat you like the absolute Queen you are."

Charles brings his head back up to really look at her. Y/N staring back into his own eyes, flicking down to his lips for a split second. "Charles," she says softly, earning a hum from him. "Kiss me please."

That's all it took for Charles to take her jaw in his hands, placing a passionate and messy kiss on her lips. Their teeth clashed, tongues messily battling against one another as she kissed him with such need. Such obsession.

The more they kissed, the more they craved one another. Charles let his hands fall from her jaw to her hips, pulling her lower body into his.

Lando was long forgotten in Y/N's mind. He was the last thing she was thinking of; she could forget his name if Charles kept up the way he touched and kissed her.

Little did she realize, Lando was now frozen in his spot on the floor. His eyes darkened. He glared as he watched the girl his heart yearned for, and the guy who was going to be six feet under if looks could kill.

He could tell it wasn't just for show either. She really wanted Charles. Charles wanted her.

He only knew that because of how she was kissing Charles, it was the way she used to kiss him. His heart hurt, chest tightened. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene across the club.

Magui was long forgotten in that moment, Lando realizing he lost the girl he wanted most.

He should've known.

Y/N whines at the loss of Charles' lips when he pulls back, the man looking down at her blown-out state. Her lips swollen as her eyes look up at him with a knowing look.

"What do you say, cherie?" he says slowly, watching her slowly smile.

"I think I'm open to giving this other guy a chance," she jokes, watching him bite his lip to hide the big ear to ear smile that was forming.

He leaned down to kiss her once more, before breaking away and lacing a hand with hers.

Charles began to lead her away from the bar, his gaze locking with Lando's as they passed by.

He didn't miss the way Lando slightly mouthed a 'what the fuck' at his friend, a glare in his direction. Charles held his head up high, smirking at Lando, giving him a sly little wink before he turned his attention to Y/N.

Lando saw the way her eyes looked up at Charles, like she finally felt happy. At ease in his presence. Like she had forgotten Lando existed in that moment. She probably did, and that hit him like a truck.

He watched as Charles placed his other hand on her lower back to help keep her next to him as they pushed through the crowd, making sure not to lose her as they headed out.

Lando didn't even excuse himself from Magui, earning a shocked squeak from her as she watched him rush away from the dancefloor.

Lando scurried past everyone and towards the front entry, pushing past the people who were trying to congratulate him as he passed by.

He didn't give a single fuck about any of them, his mind only thinking about her.

Please. Don't go home with him

His mind begged, wishing she could read minds. Read his.

The way he knew he was already way too late. Months too late.

Once he had gotten outside, he had seen Charles shutting her door before turning to thank the valet workers. His eyes flicked twice over to Lando's state. Trying his best to hide the winning smirk as he saw the disheveled state of the British man.

Charles looked back at his car towards her window, before looking back at Lando. He walked up to him, Lando's gaze hardening as he got closer.

"Don't," Lando warns him.

Warning him to not cross this line. To not take the girl that Charles knew he was so in love with, not take her home. He didn't like this feeling. He hated it.

That's when he realized what it was.

Lando Norris was jealous. He was jealous beyond words.

He never gets jealous.

Not until now.

Charles chuckles at him, patting his shoulder. "Lando," he chuckles. "You ruined your chances. Give her the chance to finally be happy, hm?"

He shook his head. "You can't give her what I can give her."

Charles bites his lower lip before speaking. "That's the point," he begins. "I wouldn't treat her like shit, like you did. I'll give her everything she deserves, and more. Not give her nothing, like you gave her."

That made Lando feel like he had been shot in the chest.

“I won’t ever let her feel or think she’s only good for one thing,” Charles adds, giving Lando a knowing look. Lando’s face drops slightly, then frowns. “I’m going to show her she’s worth more than she could ever imagine. Because she is.” Charles admits, a genuine look in his eyes.

Lando doesn’t know what to say in that moment. He felt defeated.

Because part of him knew (all of him knew) that Charles was good for her. He wouldn’t treat her anything lower than the Goddess she was.

Lando just hated that it wasn’t him.

Charles pats him on the shoulder. "Goodnight, mate," he says before walking away and getting into the car. Lando watched as the pair drove off into the night. Something was burning inside Lando's chest. Burned in his eyes.

Tears.

Jealousy.

Need.

Y/N smiled to herself as Charles and she drove along the roads, his hand gently on her thigh while hers rested on top of his.

Her phone buzzed, not once, not twice, but three times. This caused her to pick it up and look down at it. She thought she would feel something, anything, as she read the messages.

Please, don't go with him. I'm so in love with you

Come back to me, I'll be better. It hurts to see you not with me. Hurts to see you happy with him. I'll prove myself. I'll do better, for you

It's always been you

Y/N takes a deep breath as she begins to type with her free hand.

Your time ran out. A long time ago, Lando. It's time I let myself be happy.

Goodbye Lando

With that, she turned her phone off and looked over at Charles. His eyes gazed back at her, nothing but admiration as he stared at her.

"You okay?" he asks softly. She takes a moment before nodding.

"Yeah," she hums. "I am now."

#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris angst #lando angst #lando imagines #lando x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #lando norris #ln4 #cl16 #y/n #angst #formula 1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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isabelckl · 2 days ago

Text

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 2

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 3

The hallway was loud in that late afternoon way—sneakers squeaking, lockers slamming, voices overlapping with end-of-day laughter and plans.

You slammed your locker shut a little too hard, and of course, because the universe hated you or just liked messing with you, half your shit tumbled straight onto the floor. Notebook, pen, lip gloss, a crumpled worksheet you didn’t even remember stuffing in there.

You sighed through your nose, already crouching — except someone beat you to it.

Ellie.

Hoodie half-zipped, guitar case strapped to her back, a mess of books pressed to her side like she was trying not to drop them too. She crouched down silently and started picking up your things like it wasn’t weird.

You stared at her.

She didn’t say anything. Just gather your stuff with careful fingers and then stand, holding it out.

“Here.”

You took it. Didn’t really look at her. “Thanks.”

You turned back to your locker to re-slam it shut properly and spin the lock. You glanced at her. She was still there. Looking at you. Kind of.

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

She looked like she was about to say something—her mouth opened just slightly—but nothing came out. Her gaze flicked down, then back up. Whatever it was, she swallowed it.

Turning, she walked off fast, slipping into the crowd of students in the hall like she hadn’t just hesitated in front of you for too long.

You frowned after her.

Then, right on cue, your friends slid up beside you like sharks sensing blood in the water.

One of them leaned against your locker, twirling her keys. “Ew. Were you talking to that lesbo?”

You didn’t even blink. “No.”

You started walking before they could say anything else, bag swinging off one shoulder, the hallway stretching ahead.

“Are you coming to Tyler’s party or not?” another one of them shouted after you. “You said maybe!”

You rolled your eyes and didn’t answer. You didn’t want to go to another party. Not tonight. Not with them.

Not when — you pulled your phone out, thumb brushing over the screen — you had more interesting things to do.

Like talk to E.

Your room was quiet, save for the low hum of music from your speaker—some indie playlist you didn’t even recognize anymore. You were lying on your stomach, legs swinging idly behind you, chin resting in your hand.

Your phone sat right in front of you. Screen still lit.

I’M IN CLASS T_T

ur insane for this (i’ve been blessed)

how AM I supposed to FOCUS after this ???

You smiled.

One of those dumb little smiles that slipped out before you could stop it. The kind you’d hide if anyone else was around. But no one was. Just you. And her. And the heat still humming under your skin from earlier.

You were about to finally reply when the dots popped up again.

She was typing.

One message.

two. three, four—

care to reply?

i wanna ask something, can i?

what did you think when you sent that pic to me…

what are you thinking now? ?

BRO

don’t leave me hanging

You let out a short laugh, pressing your cheek to the back of your hand. She was spiraling. A little desperate. It was cute.

You waited a beat. Then started typing.

You:

what was i thinking?

nothing really.

just wanted to show it to you ;)

She didn’t respond right away. You watched the read receipt hover.

u always send stuff like that to ppl on here?

You paused. Fingers resting above the keyboard.

You:

what

ur the only one who gets to see that

Maybe it was too honest. But you didn’t unsend it.

This time, the three dots didn’t show up right away. You just stared at your screen. Waiting.

You grinned at the screen, still resting on your elbows, fingers hovering as you typed slow—on purpose.

You:

do u wanna see the other one?

You watched the “delivered” turn to “read” almost instantly.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Came back again.

what other one…

A pause.

U HAVE TWO NIPPLE PIERCINGS??

You snorted so hard it startled even you. You dropped your head into the crook of your arm, shoulders shaking as the messages kept coming in.

why would u say that to me

how could u drop that like it’s casual

i’m in distress

i’m literally sweating rn

oh my god do u actually??

You didn’t answer right away. You let her spin out.

You:

u okay over there?

Another pause.

no.

u can’t just hot girl drop that and then vanish.

not when i have a brain

and nerves

and a vivid imagination

this is cruelty. actual cruelty.

You were fully grinning now, cheeks warm against your arm, kicking your feet behind you like you weren’t being a menace on purpose.

You:

i’m just saying

you asked for weird

and i deliver

okay then what's your favorite color

i am just a fragile nerd go easy on me

You rolled onto your back, holding your phone over your face now. As much as you liked getting reactions out of her, there was something genuinely fun about it.

Like she made it easy to be just a little unhinged.

You:

pink :p

what is your favorite color?

The dots appeared instantly.

green :B

(but like the gross kind. forest green. sweater green. mossy swamp witch green)

You laughed under your breath, thumbs already moving.

You:

that is such a weirdly specific shade

u could’ve just said “green” like a normal person

normal is boring

u said so yourself

You paused, smiling a little.

You:

okay moss witch

what’s ur favorite movie

wtf

why is this suddenly 20 questions

r u trying to date me or smth

You rolled onto your side, tucking your pillow under your cheek as your smile stretched into something smug.

You:

idk

maybe

depends on ur answer

Three dots. Pause. Then—

spiderverse

but if you tell anyone i’ll lie

You:

that’s such a loser pick

i respect it tho

10/10 taste

good

i was worried ur opinion might ruin my whole night

You giggled softly, shutting your eyes for a second. It was late now—later than you realized. You rolled onto your side, phone cradled in your hand, the screen's soft glow painting your pillow in blue light. Music still hummed low in the background.

Your thumbs hovered before you typed, casual like always, even though your heart tugged just slightly.

You:

i feel like we'd get along in real life, if ever. don’t u think?

She read it quickly. Typing bubble appeared immediately, like she’d been waiting.

uh, well... u have a lot of friends

i mean

it's obvious

with what you’ve told me before

You blinked.

Friends?

Yeah, you had them. Too many, maybe. But somehow, the way she said it—it didn’t sound like a compliment.

Your brows pinched.

You:

does it really show?

yeah

you’re like the type of person everyone wants to be around

You:

not really. some people hate me

say i’m a bitch

which is true

There was only a one-second pause before her reply landed.

bitch is cool

i don’t mind u bitching me around

Your laugh broke out, a little too loud for how late it was. You buried your face in your arm to muffle it, shaking your head.

You:

what

what did u say

really huh

i mean

it’s u

Your fingers froze for a second. Your stomach did a weird flip.

You:

me??

u don’t even know me like that

There was a long pause—just long enough to make you think maybe she wasn't going to answer at all.

i know things

You scoffed quietly, rolling your eyes, but the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. It was stupid. She was stupid. But God, she was good at this.

You pulled your pillow closer, half-buried your face in it, then typed:

You:

sounds creepy when u say it like that

we’ve been talking for two weeks

i like… have a little voice of u in my head now

like a little devil

whispering shit i shouldn’t do

You blinked, smiling slowly. There was something shameless about that last part. Something that curled warm in your stomach. She didn’t even try to sound casual. She just… said it.

You:

what kind of shit?

👀

nope

not letting u turn this around on me

u already sent me to horny jail once today

You laughed into your pillow, your cheeks heating again even though you were totally alone.

You:

fine

but admit it

u like having me in ur head

maybe

depends

does the little devil voice wanna come over and ruin my life more

You bit your lip, heart doing that dumb lurch it always did when she got bold like this. And God, she was getting bolder.

You:

that depends too

how ruinable is ur life rn

hanging by a thread

try me

You closed your eyes for a second, just feeling your pulse, your grin, the way your legs kicked lazily behind you like you were thirteen again and falling in love with someone you hadn’t even seen.

You:

u flirting with me?

i’m letting the devil in

You stayed up talking to her until 3 a.m. It wasn’t even deep shit. It wasn’t I had a rough childhood or let me tell you about my dreams kind of talk. It was mostly stupid stuff. Like whether grilled cheese should be dipped in ketchup or soup. Which celebrities you’d punch if given the chance. What your weirdest recurring dream was. (Hers involved being chased by a swarm of bees through IKEA. You still weren’t over it.)

Somewhere around 2:17, your jaw started to ache from smiling so much. Not even joking. Like actual muscle fatigue. And yet you kept texting her. Kept laughing into your pillow like an idiot. Kept rereading her replies while the night blurred and softened around the glow of your screen.

By the time your alarm went off at 6:15, you were practically in mourning.

Now, here you were.

First period: Calculus. A.k.a. hell.

You were slumped in your seat, hoodie pulled over your head like armor, the room lit in that offensive fluorescent way that made everything feel worse. Your chin was cradled in your palm, elbow sliding ever so slightly with each nod of your head.

The teacher’s voice was doing that thing again—half English, half pure math. Something about integrals. Limits. Derivatives. You didn’t know. You weren’t listening. You were floating somewhere between consciousness and dreaming of accidentally sleeping.

Your eyelids fluttered.

So close. And warm.

“Miss Williams. Forty-five minutes late.”

The sharp voice sliced through your haze like a ruler to the knuckles.

You lifted your head just enough to blink toward the front of the room.

Ellie.

Hood up, headphones half-shoved into her backpack. She looked like she’d just walked out of a crime scene and into a math test.

The professor didn’t even let her sit down yet.

“Just because you’re good at calculus doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply to you,” she snapped, arms crossed. “It’s called structure. You should try it.”

Ellie didn’t look up. Just gave a low, mumbled “Sorry,” and slid into her seat like she was trying to disappear into it.

You watched her from behind your sleeve. Her hair was still messy. Hoodie sleeves too long. Her fingers drummed quietly against her notebook, eyes half-lidded but still pretending to care.

Your head started to dip again.

Just a little.

Almost resting.

“And you,” the teacher snapped suddenly, her voice slicing sideways now. “If you’re so tired you can’t keep your head up, maybe you should’ve just stayed home and slept.”

Your heart did a lazy flip as you blinked up, caught off guard.

She was talking to you.

Of course she was.

You straightened, barely. “Wasn’t sleeping.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, turning back to the board like she hadn’t just publicly executed you. “Some of us actually care about your education.”

You resisted the very real urge to groan. Instead, you blinked slowly and stabbed her in the forehead with your eyes. In your head.

Can’t a girl be sleepy in peace?

What is this, the military?

You tugged your hoodie further over your eyes and sank back down.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Just once—soft, stealthy, like it knew you were in the middle of being very publicly humiliated and wanted to offer comfort.

You pulled it out, just enough to see the screen under the desk.

good morning :>

how’s ur morning so far?

You stared at it for a second, lips twitching. You could still hear the teacher yammering on at the whiteboard, numbers flying across the screen like you were in A Beautiful Mind but with less genius and more exhaustion.

At least I get good morning texts like this.

Some people have coffee. I have this girl.

You ducked your head a little lower and typed back.

You:

hell

the teacher just publicly executed me

im texting u from the afterlife

Three dots popped up immediately.

LMAOO

i told u not to stay up

now ur a corpse

a hot corpse

You bit back a laugh, teeth sinking into your lip as you stared at the screen. Your cheeks warmed, because it was stupid—but it worked. She worked.

You:

i’m haunting this class

spreading sleepy bitch energy

ur next btw

oh i know

i got reaped by the attendance lady this morning

she called me “wasted potential”

i feel like a tragic poet

You:

u are

i bet ur writing limericks in ur notes

nah

drawing boobs on the back page

stay humble

You pressed your fist to your mouth, hiding the very real giggle that almost escaped.

From the front of the room, the teacher said something about derivatives again. You didn’t care. E was texting you about boobs at 9:03 a.m. and somehow it felt like a gift.

u look hot rn i bet

You blinked, then huffed quietly through your nose. You typed back.

You:

nope. i’m wearing a hoodie :( i look like a tired thumb

and? it suits u

You bit your lip, eyes flicking up toward the front of the classroom where your teacher was scribbling something on the whiteboard that may as well have been ancient code.

You:

i don’t wear hoodies at school

it’s illegal

i’m wearing a hoodie rn :)

You:

lmao that suits u

You settled back in your chair, hoodie still over your head like armor, as you typed again.

You:

i only wore it now bc i have bags under my eyes the size of my regrets

aw :[

last night worn u out huh

let me buy u something

what do u want

You squinted at your screen, half amused, half melting.

You:

wait fr

ur buying me coffee??

duh

i take care of the girl i ruin

You:

YEY

i want a croissant and like

a gallon of sugar

You grinned stupidly at your screen, letting your cheek fall against your hand again. You didn’t even know where she lived. For all you knew, she was across the country, or halfway across the world.

But the thought of her—wherever she was—thinking of you first thing in the morning?

That was enough.

done

now look dramatically out the window like ur waiting for me

You snorted, resisting the urge to do exactly that.

tag list:

@eclipcee8 @darkdanixoxo @chappellroankisser @senjukawaragitr @saverdelrey @appleofmyii @wzcoffeefloomo @fatbootymuncher @oneinameliann @ilahrawr @spiderx18 @vampirq @mioluvzsevika @ff4mi @ggutpunch @ellies-dinosaur @butchchase @bambiaches @velvetinkbym @rhian88

#ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x you #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #tlou fanfiction #lesbian #wlw #ellie wlw #nerd ellie #eventual smut #isabelckl

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sunday-bug · 2 days ago

Text

The Celibacy Challenge

Pairing: New Avenger!Bucky x New Avenger!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3k

18+ Minors DNI (NSFW)

Synopsis: You decide you want to try a celibacy challenge with your boyfriend, Bucky. Who caves first? The New Avengers place their bets.

A/N: Is this based off a challenge that I failed with my husband? Hehe. Also, shoutout to my girls for betting against me - @soelstress @buckybarnes82 @buckybarnesfic / yes, it was ME, you were right.

“Why though? I just don’t get it, honey,” Bucky sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s supposed to be a challenge, baby! It’ll be fun.” You’d just gotten through a poor explanation of a sex experiment you wanted to try with Bucky, and he was less than enthused.

You show him the article you have pulled up on your laptop - 30 Day Abstinence Challenge: A Battle of Wills - and smile. “It’s meant to be hard… no pun intended. And at the end when we can finally have at it, it’s apparently explosive.”

Bucky furrows his brow, clearly unimpressed with the idea, and lowers his voice, his expression growing more serious. “Is it not explosive enough for you?” He blushes, looking around the empty common room before he continues more quietly, “Because It is for me.”

“Oh stop, it’s amazing, baby. You’re amazing. That’s not what I’m saying. Just try it with me? It’ll be good for us! And there’s this optional part that people add where they do yoga together at night. It’s supposed to help you relax and loosen your muscles.” You look up at him with a hopeful gaze, nearly begging.

He rolls his eyes. “I know how to help you relax and loosen you up already. We don’t need a sun salutation for that.”

You cock your eyebrow at him. “Didn’t know you were a yoga man, Buck.”

“I’ve dabbled… it was a long time ago - anyway, if you really want to try this, then I’ll do it with you.”

“Yay!” You squeal. “Let’s start fresh tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? So are you saying… ?” Bucky winks at you.

“Yes, Sarge. Take me to bed.”

DAY ONE

Bucky walks into the kitchen the next morning to you and Yelena at the breakfast bar nursing two coffees.

“So, yeah, it’s supposed to help you feel centered and then at the end, it’s apparently incredible.”

Bucky stops short and looks at you, “Really? You’re telling everyone about it?”

You shrug and smile, “I mean, yeah? Why not? It’s not like they don’t know we have sex, Buck. We’ve been dating for a while now.”

“Yeah, and we hear you sometimes. It will be nice to have silence for a month,” Yelena quips, sipping her coffee and eyeing Bucky.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair and preparing his own cup. “Fine.”

By the end of the day, everyone in the Watchtower knows about you and Bucky’s little challenge. John gave Bucky a nod and flexed his bicep as Bucky walked into the gym that afternoon - a silent show of support. Bucky sighed and popped his headphones in. As he’s doing squats, a large body appears behind him and waves in the mirror. Bucky grunts and hangs up the bar, taking out an earphone.

“What do you want?” He asks gruffly.

“Winter Soldier… I hear it’s going to be dry month for you! No snow in forecast,” Alexei jokes, his face turning red from holding back laughter.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky groans, returning to his workout.

“You can do it. You are strong - resilient. You survive Hydra. You can survive no lovemaking for month, eh?” Alexei elbows Bucky in the ribs.

Bucky glares daggers at Alexei and he finally takes a hint, walking off.

Meanwhile, you are working out on the opposite end of the gym, chatting through your jog.

“You’ll do great,” Ava says, running on the treadmill next to you. “It’ll go by fast. Plus, if we get called to a mission, it’s not like you’ll have time anyway.”

“You’re right. Honestly, though, I just love the thought of making him squirm,” you tease.

“You would,” she laughs. “You guys are cute together.”

DAY TWO

After dinner you walk into the living room to find everyone crouched down around the coffee table. Bucky had gone out to get more snacks for your movie night. As soon as you walk into the room everyone stiffens and Bob swallows as his eyes dart back and forth between the coffee table and you.

“What’s going on, you guys?” You ask suspiciously, walking quickly to the table to find any evidence. John puts a small notebook with writing you can’t make out in his back pocket and Yelena scrapes some coins into her hand. “Oh, hi girl,” she says, an attempt at nonchalance. “What movie should we watch tonight?”

You narrow your eyes at them all - your teammates, your friends - and cross your arms. “Bob, what’s going on?”

“Uh,” he stammers, looking around at everyone. “We were, uh, just… uh, making a list of movies we haven’t seen yet.”

“Really?” You ask, putting your hand out and looking at John. “Give me the notebook.” John stands up quickly and backs away.

“No,” he scoffs, backing into a wall. “It’s just a list of movies. I swear.”

You see Alexei’s body shaking with laughter out of the corner of your eye and turn toward him. “What’s so funny?”

“I cannot say,” he chuckles, running a hand through his beard.

“Alexei Shostakov, tell me now,” you demand, walking over to him. Bucky walks in at that moment, two grocery bags of snacks in hand and assesses the room.

“Is everything ok?” He asks, putting the bags down on the kitchen island.

“No!” You whine. “They are up to something!” You gesture to the team.

“You mean the bets?” Bucky asks casually as he starts to unpack the bags.

Your skin heats and you crane your neck to look at him. “What bets?”

“The bets on our challenge,” he explains, and Yelena and Ava groan. John throws the tiny notebook on the coffee table. “What the hell, Bucky? She wasn’t supposed to know!”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Doesn’t matter anyway. She’s gonna lose.”

Your heart skips a furious beat and you march over to him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You demand.

“Our challenge. You’re going to cave first,” he explains calmly, handing you an Oreo.

“We place bets,” Alexei says, walking over to grab a bag of Twizzlers. “We all agree that you cave first. You lose.”

“Are you kidding me?!” You shout, looking at everyone. “Glad to know you all think so highly of me. I’m going to win just to spite you all.” The team laughs, knowing you aren’t truly upset.

You turn toward Bucky and stand on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Prepare for the worst 30 days of your life.” Bucky chuckles, but you notice the hair on his forearm stand on end.

“I look forward to winning,” he quips back, his lips brushing your ear.

DAY THREE

Tonight you and Bucky head to the gym to do your new nightly yoga routine. You changed into shorts and a sports bra - your red set that he loves - and set your mats up. He saunters in, gym shorts slung dangerously low on his hips and no shirt.

“Ready to get all stretched out?” He asks, dimming the lights.

You scoff at his suggestive comment and settle onto your mat. “Yep,” you answer quickly, still annoyed about the bets.

“Good, I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he mutters, sitting on the mat across from you. “Take it away, sweetheart.”

You lead, talking about each position and how to breathe through them. You glance over at Bucky during downward facing dog and see him checking out your ass in your yoga shorts.

“Next up is called the happy baby pose,” you say, lying on your back. “You bring your legs up and grab your feet with your hands, like this.” You demonstrate, spreading your legs and grabbing your feet. Bucky’s throat bobs as he watches you model the pose and then he clears his throat.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re not slick,” he groans. “I’m not falling for your tricks.”

“You’re right. It’s not like you haven’t seen me in this position before. Many times,” you say with a wink. Bucky grabs his feet and follows your lead, stretching into the pose. His eyes find their way to you again.

“Enjoying the view?” You ask, looking over at him.

“Fuck yeah I am,” he growls before shutting his eyes. “But I’m winning this damn thing.”

You groan and sit up. “Fine.”

Bucky chuckles and you finish your last few poses before rolling up your mats. There’s a light sheen of sweat covering his back and you lick your lips. Fuck - look away.

DAY FOUR

Bed sharing was not without its difficulties. Cuddling was second nature at this point in your relationship, and many times the spooning and soft snuggles led to more. But not this month. You were not going to break first. Bucky pulled you into his chest, still half asleep, and nuzzled into your neck as morning light filtered into your shared bedroom. His breath on your skin sent an immediate jolt of pleasure between your legs and you knew you were in the Danger Zone.

“Time to get up!” You announce more loudly than normal, squirming out of his arms. You turn to look at him, and damn if he wasn’t a God among men. “Fuck,” you whisper, knowing this was going to be a lot harder than you thought. But it would all be worth it. Right?

You walk down to breakfast and see Yelena and John sitting at the table, while Bob is in the kitchen cutting up some fruit.

“Morning,” they all three say in unison, and John stealthily removes his tiny notebook from his pocket. You see the movement from the corner of your eye and glare at him. “Really, John?”

“Well?” Yelena asks, waiting for details.

“Jesus, guys. Nothing happened,” you say, reaching into the pantry for a box of Cheerios. “Sorry to disappoint. We’re still holding strong.”

DAY FIVE

“You’re doing a hell of a job rearranging furniture,” Bucky quips from the office off of the living room.

“I’m trying a new arrangement - the feng shui is off in here,” you mutter, pushing the couch a few inches to the left. “Everyone else will like it, too. Don’t worry,” you say.

“Oh, I’m not worried, doll - I’m just watching,” he leans back in his desk chair and winks. “Maybe it’s not the feng shui that’s off. Maybe you’re just missing something.”

Just a wink - just that little smirk sends heat flooding to your core. Fucking Bucky. Well, you wish you were. But here you are, arranging furniture just to feel something.

“Try moving the coffee table a little to the right,” he quips, fully watching you now, his legs spread in his chair, his arousal obvious. You want to pounce on him.

“Stop teasing me, you prick,” you whine, turning your back to him.

“Stop teasing me in those fucking leggings, then,” he says gruffly, walking out to you, eyes dark.

He looks feral. Like a wild animal - a hungry wild animal. A hungry, horny wild animal. Jesus. Your thighs clench together as he stands behind you, barely touching you. “You need some help with this?”

“Yes,” you admit. “Thank you. And stop breathing so close to me.”

He smiles and walks to the other side of the coffee table, helping you lift it with ease. “Where to?”

You groan under the weight of the table and nod your head to the right, “Just this way.” You let out a sigh as you both set down the table and Bucky’s lips twitch into a smirk. “I’ve been missing that sound.”

“What sound?” You ask, confused. Bucky walks to you and gets in your personal space without laying a hand on you.

“All your little sighs, your groans and moans, your fucking whimpers, you saying my name… Hell, you not being able to say anything because your mouth is full. I need to hear it.” He tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His dark blue eyes are stormy and full of want.

“Are you breaking first, then?” You tease, leaning up to softly kiss his lips.

“Never,” he whispers into your mouth before breaking away. He chuckles and adjusts himself before walking back to the office, leaving you there aching and full of need. Asshole.

DAY SIX

You walk to the garage to find Bucky working on his bike - tight black t-shirt, rag slung over his shoulder, and the smell of sweat and grease in the air. Nope. Nope nope nope. You turn back around, knowing you won’t be able to take this view without jumping on him.

“Where you off to, baby?” He asks before you get back to the door, wiping his hands on the rag.

“I was just looking for… a paintbrush. It’s not here,” you say, hand on the doorknob, eager to escape this honey trap.

“Could you bring me some water please? It’s getting hot out here,” he asks sweetly, and you now notice the sweat dripping down his temples and neck, pooling into the hollow of his throat.

“Uh huh,” you squeak out, rushing back into the compound to get you both some water. Your throat felt so dry all of a sudden - so thirsty. You steel yourself before walking back into the garage, and when you open the door you find your precious, evil man standing over his motorcycle, wiping his sweaty face clean with his t-shirt. His abs and biceps glisten in the sun shining through the open garage door.

“Thank you,” he says gruffly, reaching for the water bottle. He takes the cap off slowly, eyes never leaving yours, and takes a long drink, humming quietly as the cool water goes down his throat.

“You’re welcome baby,” you say, sitting down on an overturned bucket, feeling your knees getting weaker with each passing second.

“Would you hand me that wrench?” He asks, gesturing to the workbench covered in tools. You move your hand to what you think he’s asking for and he shakes his head. “The one to the left. There ya go. Good girl.” You pick up the wrench and promptly drop it on the floor at his praise.

“You okay?” He asks with a smirk. This motherfucker.

“Honestly?” You ask, about to combust.

“Honestly,” he encourages you with a wink.

“I need you to bend me over and make me forget my name,” you admit confidently.

He laughs and bites his lip. “You caving?”

“I’m caving,” you say with a shrug. “I need you.”

“Get your ass upstairs, then. I’ll be up in a second,” he growls.

“But I can’t lose! Everyone was betting that I’d cave first!” You whine, standing up and kicking the bucket like a child.

“Then we’ll tell them I caved first,” he says quietly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You’d do that?” You ask in amazement, ready to let him have you however he wanted.

“I just want to hear you sigh my name into my neck, baby. I could give a shit about some bets… Now, get upstairs. Take off that pretty dress. Lay on the bed. I’ll be there in five.”

You fly back inside and run upstairs to your bedroom, the ache building between your legs. You strip off your dress and get under the covers to wait for Bucky.

Bucky walks inside the compound calmly and washes the grease and grime from his hands. His dick is already hard, and frankly, he’s a bit pissed at the days that went to waste when he could have been buried inside you. He makes his way to your room and passes John.

“You look like a man on a mission,” John jokes, taking in Bucky’s focused saunter and dark eyes.

“I am,” he mutters, walking past John to your bedroom.

He walks through the door and closes it abruptly behind him.

“I’m sorry. This challenge was a dumb idea,” you admit, pulling the covers up to your chin. “I need you. I miss you.”

“It was a strange idea, love. I’ll agree, but the yoga has been nice. I love seeing you in all those positions,” he whispers, getting on the bed with you and pinning your wrists above your head.

“You’re not going to go easy on me, are you?” You ask, biting your lip and trembling.

“Not even a little bit,” he growls.

–

After you both thoroughly and completely fail the challenge (twice to be exact), you head downstairs for dinner with the team. John already has his notebook on the dining table propped open with a pen. You try your best not to make eye contact with anyone.

“You guys do anything fun this afternoon?” Yelena asks, raising a brow.

“Just watched a TV show together,” you answer almost too quickly.

“What show?” Bob asks genuinely.

“Golden Girls,” Bucky says at the exact moment you say “The West Wing”. You clear your throat and correct yourself, “Golden Girls”, just as Bucky says “The West Wing”.

“We watched both,” you say with a nervous laugh, putting some green beans on your plate.

Yelena walks over to get a plate and looks at Bucky. “James, your shirt is on inside out.”

John snorts from the dining table and you look at him warily, then to Bucky.

“Oh, yeah, it is,” Bucky looks down and shrugs, filling his plate and walking to the table. “What’s so funny, Walker?”

“You guys obviously caved. We just need to know who,” Ava says quietly, rolling her eyes.

Bucky scoffs. “It was me. She’s just too cute. Couldn’t help myself,” he says as he plants a kiss on your head. “Everyone happy?”

Bob’s eyes light up from the end of the table and he shouts excitedly, “I was right!”

Your eyes flit up to meet him. “You believed in me, Bob? That’s so nice actually.”

“Of course I did. Barnes never shuts the hell up about you. I knew he’d cave first. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you to-”

“That’s enough,” Bucky interjects. “I caved first. Let’s move on and enjoy dinner.” He looks at you slyly and winks before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I’ll always take the blame for you, sweetheart. But you’re going to pay me back later with your mouth.”

Your thighs constrict and you gasp quietly. Poor Bob. Awful at placing bets, but he’d never have to know.

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #new avengers #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #girlfriend!reader

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snapscube · 1 day ago

Note

I'd love to hear more about your thought process regarding the lyrics to your Deltarune song! Was it written with a specific POV in mind, or was it more so about the general theme/vibes of the newest chapters?

sure! i love talking about this stuff hehe. you could probably surmise from the font and left-aligned all-caps format of the lyrics that i was specifically trying to adapt the message from Gaster at the end of chapter 4 into lyrics while also mixing a bit of my general sentiment towards the overall story in there for flavor. so going line by line:

HOW MANY YEARS HAVE I SPENT ANTICIPATING THIS NEW CONNECTION

Very much the most "from Gaster POV" the song gets. literally just a direct adaption of Gaster messages like these

ALL OF US MARCHING ALONG YET STILL IN WAITING

I really wanted to include the recurring mention of how something or something within Deltarune as a whole has been "WAITING". We keep hearing this specific word and it really scratches my brain. DELTARUNE IS WAITING. It's so cool to me. Also the "marching along" being a reference to the beads at the hospital. Everyone walks along this path of prophecy and fate but in spite of the progress they make.... IT IS STILL WAITING.

YOUR OWN REFLECTION GAZES IN TURN AS YOU FACE THE LEGEND'S BENDING

The reflection line being meant to both capture the imagery of the reflection in the mirror in Kris's house AS WELL AS the running theory that the "Angel" from the prophecy is supposed to represent the player, which is why their image in the prophecy is blank. So as to reflect your own face onto the black screen in its place. Which I think is SUPER cool and compelling if true.

And then the line about the "legend's bending" being a reference to how in spite of everyone's appeal to prophecy... certain key factors of that prophecy seem to already be wildly out of line. It is bending, it's seemingly changing.

THE SHATTERED GLASS AND

"The shattered glass" once again being a reference to direct rejection of prophecy and what MUST be. The way that Susie punches through the glass of the final prophecy.

PARTS OF YOUR DREAMS THAT YOU WISH COULD BECOME ENDINGS

And my personal favorite line, the one literally being the reason I wrote and recorded this whole thing. I was humming to myself while listening to Neverending Night and the line "All of your dreams that you wish could become endings" entered my brain and became super sticky cause, to me, that's been the most compelling part of Deltarune to me for a long while. The idea that as far as we've heard Deltarune's ending is the driving force behind why it exists in the first place. The one that came from a fever dream so vivid that someone could dedicate their whole life to making it a reality. I love that kind of thing so much and it really strikes my heart.

ARE WITH YOU IN THE

Finishing the sentence about dreams with a reference to the recurring "with you in the dark" motif of Deltarune, butttttt cutting it off right at the final word to capture the nature of Deltarune currently being an incomplete story with room for our expectations and certainties to be challenged.

hope this was fun to read! :) it was fun to write. i'd love to do more if the inspiration strikes.

#deltarune #deltarune spoilers

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hyacinth-in-a-haze · 3 days ago

Text

Morning routine- Yandere kidnapper! x fem reader!

This is incredibly Yan nanami coded, and I refuse to apologise

@snail-day you understand the vision

---------------------------------------------------------

There is starting to be a routine to these days now.

He likes to let you sleep in most mornings, preferring to get up himself to do the chores and get breakfast ready for the both of you. Today he has chosen to make you a treat and go for pancakes, allowing them to come to room temperature on the kitchen table while he gets you up.

Your routine begins with the unlocking of your hand cuff while he peppers your face with kisses. Even though by now you've mostly settled into your role as his sweet little lady, he cannot be too secure. (Especially after the incident with you trying to break open the child safety locks in the bathroom cabinet) he always without fail will check for any bruises or sores to kiss better as you lay limply in his arms. You used to be much more of a wriggler he remembers but he supposes you probably still have some of the sedative in your system. No worries, he can simply carry you to the bathroom. Sitting you down onto the little shower stool he installed after your last accident caused you to hobble round the home for a few couple months. He decided the stool was a good precaution to avoid any further accidents between you two.

He unbuttons your sleep shirt easily before turning the water on, making sure it's just perfect before he cleans you off from the night before. Taking extra care when his fingers graze your inner thighs to only wash off the memories of last night with a tenderness he didn't show you then. Tilting your hair back to rinse shampoos and conditioner- a small fortune spent on what goes into your routine. Once you're clean it continues, he wraps you warmly and sits you down to your ten step skincare routine. Always setting a two minute timer exactly for him to brush your teeth. You're still so lethargic for this, opening your mouth without resistance. Before you'd end up spitting out blood by the end of it, but now he can be much more gentle.

Again he carries you to the bedroom, drying your hair before he picks out a new outfit for the day. Your wardrobe consists mainly of sundresses, not because he prefers how you look in them. But because they are just far more accessible for the both of you, easier to slip on and off. He helps you up again, you can walk now but he just wants to be safe when it comes to you, taking your arm to carefully lead you to the table.

By now your pancakes and hot chocolate are lukewarm as he cuts them into bite sized pieces. Gently feeding you as he calls out sweet little praises, dabbing at the syrup that falls down your chin with a delicate sigh. Your eyes don't react much to this anymore, each swallow is wary as if you wonder which bite will contain the sedative that keeps you frozen on the sofa while he is at work. But if you refuse to eat he is not above forcing nutrition into you by any means necessary. For all the gentleness that he performs now, it has cost you every sharp tooth and nail you fought with.

Once the plate is clear he gives you the little cup of your vitamins and pills. He tries to make sure your diet is well rounded but unfortunately it is hard to keep your vitamin d levels up from within the flat. Perhaps one day the two of you will have a garden with a tall fence around. Then maybe you could go outside for a bit each day, maybe without supervision. But for now you'll only feel the sun on your face through an open window. The pills have changed since you first were brought to your new home, originally it was only sedatives and birth control. One to keep you complacent and the other because a baby right then would have not helped you to settle down. Now the sedition is at a much lower dose, carefully weaning you from it to avoid any long term effects, and the birth control has swapped places with the prenatal vitamins, just in case any happy accidents occur. On some days they change, after your last accident he withheld any pain relief for a week to make sure you learned the lesson properly. He wouldn't want to have to teach you again.

He takes the cup up to your lips waiting for you to swallow them, you open your mouth when finished to prove no pill was stashed away. Your obedience is rewarded again with another flurry of kisses, trailing down your neck to the collarbone. He only stops once his alarm goes off, reminding him to leave for work in ten minutes, grumbling as he fixes his tie and loads the dishwasher.

He takes you to the living room finally, placing you down on your side of the sofa, a blanket draped over your shoulders and a second left over your legs. He reminds you that there is a snack plate and a lunch box ready for you in the fridge for when you get peckish. There are different hobbies to occupy you within arms reach, all of them domestic and soft just as he wants you to be. Embroidery, knitting, reading. The remote is available but he has most things on child lock so there isn't a point. He places a sippy cup of water down on the table as though that's nothing out of the ordinary before he crouches in front of you expectantly.

You lean forward and graze your chapped lips against his forehead. He brightens up and returns the kiss to you with all the passion you lacked.

“Goodbye my heart, I'll call you once I'm on break.”

He reluctantly makes his way to leave, making sure to not slam the door on his exit. Leaving you to collapse into the nest of pillows and wait.

He didn't even leave your cane to help you get around.

#fem reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere drabble #yandere nanami #yandere jjk #Yandere kidnapper

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strnilolover · 2 days ago

Note

step brother!matts the type of guy to cum in/on your underwear and make sure you walk around with it all day or at least until he can get his hands on you again

⌗ . . . KEEP IT

WARNINGS : SMUT. MATT CUMMING IN YOUR UNDERWEAR.

you were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.

everyone else in the house had already left—your mom, stepdad, chris—every single one of them left to the family event already. you said you’d be right behind them, matt willing to drive you both in his car since neither of you were ready by the time they were all ready to go.

but instead you were fifteen minutes late.

your back was against your bed, shirt bunched up and bra pulled down, your tits on display. matt was between your legs on his knees—one hand holding the front of your panties down while the other helped glide his cock over your soaked pussy.

“fuuuck.” he groaned, rocking his hips forward again, the head of his cock rubbing against your clit. “god, you’re so fucking wet. bet you’d let me slide in all the way if we had time, hm?” he knew you would if you didn’t tell him to make it quick because you had to be somewhere.

“matt please.” you whined, bucking your hips up to grind against him. and he grunted—more like a growl through his clenched teeth. “y’not not even touching me.” you whispered breathlessly, even you were shocked at how good this felt. at how wet and turned on you were.

“don’t need to.” he murmured. “you’re gonna cum just like this if i keep going. and I’m gonna make such a fuckin’ mess in these cute panties of yours baby.” and you whimpered his name again, quieter this time, trying not to move too much.

his hips rutted faster, messier. “gonna make you wear it out. my cum all in these pretty little panties. gonna sit through dinner, thinking ‘bout me.”

you gasped at that, your walls clenching down nothing at the thought of just sitting around everyone with his cum nestled between your thighs. it was so dirty—but fuck did you love it.

his cock slid over your pussy more, the pleasure making your back arch as he kept rutting right against your clit. matt moaned low and guttural as he jerked his hips a few more times, cussing under his breath and whispering about how good your pussy felt even if he wasn’t inside of you.

it wasn’t long before he was cumming right on your folds—thick spurts spilling over your clit and running down and soaking the fabric of your underwear.

your body shivered when you felt it, a whimper leaving your lips as his hips began to slow. matt panted above you, his eyes fluttering shut before he leaned back and looked between your bodies with a proud little smirk. but you weren’t wearing a similar expression—you started to pout. he didn’t let you cum. you were right there, so fucking close to the edge, and he stopped once he was done.

“don’t change.” and you stared at him wide eyed. your pouty expression faltering slightly. you didn’t think he actually meant it—you thought it was just dirty talk—a heat of the moment kind of thing. he saw the way your face looked and smirked. “i mean it. pull your panties back up, baby. let it stay there.”

“matt..” you tried to protest, but by the look on his face you knew he wasn’t gonna budge. and he made it more clear when he spoke again. “i said wear it.” and you felt your cheeks burn. but you did it. with trembling fingers, you shifted your body and tugged your panties back into place. you could feel the warmth of him still pressed into the fabric, and you flinched at the feeling.

matt smiled at you, his hand coming down to give a few pats to your thigh before moving his body off the bed to finish getting ready.

“good girl. now c’mon, don’t wanna keep everyone waiting any longer. get dressed and later i’ll finally let you cum, yeah?”

a/n : i fear this is hot and i need this to happen to me rn 🥰

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maskedbyghost · 6 hours ago

Text

this is part 2 to toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader, smut, mdni

You hadn’t planned to cry, and honestly, you weren’t even sure why your chest felt tight in the first place. It was just supposed to be a walk, nothing more, just some fresh air and sunshine and maybe a break from your own thoughts.

You thought moving your body might help. Maybe if you just walked far enough, breathed deep enough, looked up at the clouds instead of staring at your bedroom ceiling, something would click into place and you’d feel like yourself again. Like a person again.

But the universe clearly had other plans.

Because every corner you turned, there was another couple.

They weren’t even being obnoxious about it. It wasn’t the affection that made you roll your eyes or want to vomit. It was worse. It was the soft stuff, the connection you could feel without even hearing a word of it.

A guy was walking with his girlfriend, and his hand was resting right at the small of her back. Another couple sat under a tree with a checkered blanket spread out beneath them. She was half in his lap, trying to balance her drink, laughing at something he had said, and he was holding her as if she were made of glass and sunlight, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other brushing her hair with his hands, slowly.

An older couple walked by, holding hands, their fingers intertwined so casually that it made your throat ache. She was talking, he was nodding, and they stopped every few steps to point at the flowers planted along the sidewalk like they had all the time in the world.

And you just… froze.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even sadness, just this deep yearning that settled heavy in your chest and refused to budge, this desperate ache for something that didn’t hurt, something soft, something simple, something that didn’t feel like you were holding your breath all the time, afraid of saying the wrong thing or asking for too much.

You wanted to be held. Not grabbed, nor thrown onto a bed because someone couldn’t control themselves. You wanted to be chosen in the quiet moments, when there was no sex or tension or drama to sweeten the deal. You wanted someone to look at you and think, There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.

You sat down on the nearest bench, dropped your phone into your lap, and just stared at the grass. You didn’t want to cry in public, not really, but the sting was there, just behind your eyes, and you blinked fast, hoping it’d go away.

Your phone buzzed.

You didn’t even want to check. You already knew, somehow, like a sixth sense, or maybe just muscle memory.

“Come over. I’ll order Thai. You can stay.”

As if it was some kind of prize. Like the offer of food and his bed was supposed to feel anything other than a pity invitation. Like that sentence wasn’t the exact same breadcrumb he’d been throwing your way for months, just enough to keep you following, never enough to satisfy.

He wasn’t saying I miss you. He wasn’t saying I’m sorry I hurt you or I didn’t know what I had until you were gone. He was saying Come over. Like this was still a game he was winning.

And maybe a week ago, hell, maybe even yesterday, you would’ve paused. You would’ve stared at the message with that same dull throb in your chest and thought maybe this time will be different. Maybe he means it. Maybe he’s trying.

But right now?

Right now, you felt done.

Done with making excuses for him. Done with confusing attention for affection. Done with dragging your heart behind you like dead weight every time he pulled you back in with nothing more than a half-assed promise and a takeout order.

Your fingers hovered for a second, just long enough to acknowledge the part of you that still wanted to believe he’d ever be capable of giving you what you needed.

And then you typed:

“No. We’re done, Simon. For real this time. Don’t text me again.”

Your thumb hit send before your brain could stop you, before your heart could scream, before the echo of what if could take root and grow into something dangerous again.

And then, without waiting for the three dots to pop up, without giving yourself a chance to hesitate or soften or let him back in even a little you blocked the number.

And that was it.

Your hand was trembling, your eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall. And your heartbeat was steady in your chest, like it was relieved.

You looked up at the sky. Watched the clouds move slowly across the blue. They didn’t know what it meant to panic over someone who didn’t care.

You weren’t happy, not yet. But for the first time in too long, you didn’t feel chained to him anymore.

And that, in itself, felt like something.

...

You hadn’t seen him in over two weeks.

No texts, no calls, no sudden knocks at your door. No glimpses of him near your job, no DMs from new burner accounts, nor mutual friends trying to convince you he was “going through it.”

And honestly? You were starting to think he’d finally gotten the message. That maybe he’d realized what it meant when you said we’re done. That he’d felt the silence for what it was: a full stop, not a pause.

But then he showed up. Of course he did.

You were walking home from the grocery store, just a quick trip for bread and milk and some random snacks you didn’t need but bought anyway because the act of filling your cupboards made you feel happier. You’d just turned the corner onto your street, earbuds in, music low, mind somewhere else entirely, when you looked up and froze.

He was leaning against your building. And he had the nerve to be casual about it too, his arms crossed, head down like this wasn’t completely insane. He looked up when you stopped walking, and his mouth did that slow curl into a grin that used to make your stomach flip but now just made your jaw tighten.

You pulled your earbuds out and said nothing.

“Hey,” he said, as if this was normal or completely not out of bounds. “You’ve been hard to reach.”

“Simon,” you started, your voice flat, your pulse already kicking up. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “You blocked my number and my backup email. You weren’t really leaving me a lot of options.”

You blinked, stunned at how casually he said it. “So you decided to stalk me instead?”

“That’s a dramatic word,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you like you weren’t already backing away slightly, trying to hold onto your grip. “I just wanted to talk. You made that impossible.”

“I made it impossible because we broke up,” you snapped, dropping your grocery bag onto the steps with more force than necessary. “I told you not to text me. Not to call. I said we were done—done, Simon—what don’t you get?”

He smiled again, that infuriating smirk, like you’d just said something cute instead of trying to set a boundary.

“Yeah,” he said, cocking his head. “We broke up, sure. But that doesn’t mean you get to erase me.”

You stared at him, jaw slack. “Are you actually hearing yourself?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Simon said, stepping closer now, his voice calmer, which, honestly, made you want to scream. “You think a couple texts and a blocklist are gonna make me forget what we were? You really think that’s enough?”

“I don’t want you to forget,” you snapped. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to understand that this—whatever this was—is over. I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t belong to you.”

Something in his expression shifted then, just a flicker. A twitch of his jaw, a tightening of the eyes. You’d seen that look before, right before the walls went up. Right before the mask slipped into place.

“You keep saying we’re over,” Simon said slowly, “but you don’t get it.”

He stepped in so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the scent of his skin, that cologne he always wore too much of, the one that used to make you ache but now just made your stomach turn.

“You and me?” he whispered. “We’re never really over.”

Your breath hitched, and for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you felt that pull again. That old, broken, magnetic force that lived in the space between his mouth and yours, in the memory of what it felt like to be wanted by him.

But you were so fucking tired of confusing that with love. So you stepped back.

You looked him dead in the eye, and you said:

“What do you want from me, Simon? Seriously. Do you want me to scream? Do you want me to cry? Do you want me to fall apart in front of you just so you can feel something? Because whatever this is—it’s not love, it’s not real. It’s you, trying to control me. And I’m done letting you.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just stood there. And you picked up your bag again, turned on your heel, and walked away. You didn’t look back, didn’t have to.

Because this time? You were the one leaving him behind.

...

It had been weeks.

Weeks of silence, weeks of healing, and pretending you were ready to move on, even when your heart still felt like a battlefield he’d walked away from without ever looking back.

So when your coworker asked you out—the nice one, the one who remembered your coffee order and always held the elevator—you said yes.

You didn’t feel fireworks, nor did you get butterflies. But you also didn’t feel dread, or the bone-deep exhaustion that came from chasing someone who only ever looked back when you were halfway out the door.

And maybe that was enough. Maybe soft was what you needed now. Safe and simple.

He took you to a cozy little restaurant tucked off the main street, the kind with candlelight and mismatched chairs and a menu written entirely in cursive. He held the door open for you, pulled your chair out when you sat, complimented your dress without looking at your chest. And you smiled, even if it felt a little forced. You laughed, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You tried...

Halfway through the meal, you excused yourself to the bathroom. The ladies’ room was down a narrow hallway in the back, quiet and dim, music muffled through the walls. You were halfway there when you felt it.

That shift in the air.

That awareness that only ever came from one person. And you didn’t even get the chance to turn around before he was there.

He stepped out from the shadows of the hallway like a fucking ghost, like he’d been waiting, like he knew you’d be here and timed it down to the minute. And before you could speak, before you could even breathe, he had you pressed up against the wall, one arm caging you in, the other sliding slowly along your waist.

His mouth was at your ear in an instant, voice low, thick, dirty.

“Really, sweetheart?” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “This the best you can do?”

Your heart slammed in your chest. Your hands went to his chest, pushing lightly, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He leaned in closer, body not quite touching yours but so fucking close, you could feel the heat radiating off him like fire.

“You think he’s gonna fuck you better than I do?” he whispered, and it wasn’t even a question—it was filth wrapped in confidence. “You think he even knows what to do with you? Bet he doesn’t even know how you sound when you beg. Doesn’t know how your thighs shake when I’ve got my mouth on you—”

“Stop it,” you hissed, voice shaking, but your knees were already weak and your throat felt tight.

Simon smirked, eyes dark and gleaming. “Can’t stop thinking about it, can you? His hands won't feel right, will they? Bet you’d picture mine every time he touches you.”

Your hands pushed harder now, but he didn’t flinch.

“And what about when he’s inside you?” Simon rasped, mouth brushing your jaw, teeth grazing skin just enough to make you gasp. “You gonna close your eyes and pretend it’s me?”

“At least he’ll fucking stay,” you snapped, louder now, anger burning through the haze. “At least he won’t leave the second he gets what he wants. At least I won’t wake up to an empty bed.”

That got him. His jaw clenched instantly.

But he didn’t move. He just stared at you, breathing hard, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to touch you or punch a hole in the wall beside your head.

You shoved him. Hard.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

Simon didn’t move right away. He just stood there, watching you like you’d gutted him, like your words had cut deeper than you’d meant them to—but you didn’t regret it.

Not this time.

You stepped around him, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you, head high, heart pounding like it was trying to tear its way out of your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You walked straight back to the table, sat down, and smiled at your date like your ex hadn’t just whispered filth into your ear in a hallway like a man possessed.

“Everything okay?” your date asked gently.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “The bathroom line was just long.”

...

The walk back to your apartment felt like an out-of-body experience.

Your date had walked you home, smiling the entire way, hands tucked into his pockets, making soft jokes that you tried to laugh at, even though your stomach had been turning since the second you stepped out of the restaurant. He was kind. He listened, he held the door open, and he even complimented your dress without leering. And when you reached your door, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and gentle, just like the kind of kiss you should want from someone like him.

And you felt nothing. Not even a flicker, not even a spark.

You kissed him back out of politeness, maybe even a little guilt, and when you stepped away and thanked him for dinner, he smiled like he’d had a good time. And you hated that you hadn’t. Hated that he was everything you said you wanted—safe, respectful, sweet—and all you could think about the whole fucking night was Simon’s mouth, Simon’s hands, Simon whispering filth and promises and pain in your ear like he was made to ruin you.

By the time you reached your door, your hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from rage.

From this endless, exhausting loop of trying to do the right thing and still craving the wrong one.

You fumbled with your keys, cursing under your breath, eyes burning. You wanted to scream. Wanted to punch a wall. Wanted to shove Simon’s face into the fact that he’d broken you so thoroughly that now, even when someone was good to you, it felt wrong.

The door opened. And there he was.

Simon.

Sitting on your couch but he didn’t look cocky this time. Didn’t smirk or lean back with that smug glint in his eye. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, head in his hands like he didn’t even know what to say anymore.

You dropped your purse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” your voice cracked, sharp and loud in the quiet room.

He stood, slowly, but you were already walking toward him, hands clenched, eyes blazing.

“How dare you?” you hissed. “How fucking dare you be here again. After everything.”

“Just listen—”

“No!” you snapped. “No, you don’t get to talk. You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re confused about why I don’t want you in my life. You ruined me, Simon.”

He flinched, and good. You wanted it to hurt.

“You took everything I gave you, every part of me, and you made it ugly.” Your voice shook now, rage mixing with grief. “You used me when you wanted company. Tossed me when you were bored. And I kept coming back, like a fucking idiot, thinking maybe this time you’d mean it when you kissed me.”

He was quiet.

“I went on a date tonight,” you spat. “With someone who treated me like I mattered. Someone who held doors and remembered things I said and kissed me like he gave a damn, and do you know what I thought the whole time?”

Simon swallowed, barely whispering, “What?”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes now.

“I thought about you,” you said, voice cracking. “I thought about your fucking mouth, about your hands. I thought about how I’d rather have your soft kiss than his perfect one. And I hate myself for it.”

Simon took a step forward. “I never meant to—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice trembling now. “Don’t stand there and act like this just happened. You did this. You made me believe you’d never care, and now I’m so fucking broken I can’t even feel anything from someone who actually tries. I still picture you when I think about love, Simon. That’s the worst part.”

He was right in front of you now, his breathing shallow, his eyes wide as he just watched you split yourself open in front of him.

“I imagine you,” you whispered. “But better, softer, and kinder. I imagine you as the version I needed, the one I deserved, and it kills me, because I don’t even know if that version of you exists.”

Silence.

He reached out then, so slowly it made your breath catch, and placed one hand gently on your cheek, the lightest touch he’d ever given you.

“I can be him,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I swear to God, I’ll try. I’ll be him.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then another, on your temple. One on your cheek, your jaw, your nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between them. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You were crying now, full-on sobbing, body shaking like it had been holding this in for far too long. And he didn’t grab you, didn’t pull you into him like he used to. He just stood there, kissing every tear that fell like he was trying to wipe them from existence.

“I didn’t know how to love you right,” he murmured, voice breaking. “But I will. If you let me. If you give me a chance, I’ll change. I’ll do the work. Just… don’t shut the door on me yet.”

You didn’t answer.

Because even after everything, even through all the rage and resentment and raw wounds, his kisses still felt like home.

And that was the scariest part of all.

He kissed your tears like they burned him, as if each one that slid down your cheeks was proof of what he’d broken, and he was trying, pathetically, hopelessly, to piece it all back together with nothing but his mouth and the weight of his regret.

You didn’t say anything when he pressed his forehead to yours. Didn’t pull away when he wrapped both arms around you like he thought you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

You just stood there and let yourself breathe him in, his warmth, his scent.

“Let me show you,” Simon whispered, voice raw. “Please, just once. Let me make it right.”

You didn’t nod, you didn’t speak, but you let him take your hand.

He led you to the bed and didn’t tear your clothes off like he usually did. He didn’t grab or push or bite. He just kissed you, like you were something fragile, something he didn’t think he deserved to touch but was begging to try.

His hands trembled when he slid your top up over your arms. He took his time with every button, every hem, because rushing would ruin it. When your bra fell away, he kissed the center of your chest—not your breasts, not your neck—your chest, right over your heart, and rested there for a second like he was trying to feel it beat.

“You don’t have to forgive me now,” he whispered. “But I need you to know I’m gonna earn it. All of it. Whatever it takes.”

You didn’t stop the tears. You didn’t hide from them. They slid quietly down your cheeks as he lowered himself between your legs and pressed his mouth to your stomach, your hips, your thighs—anywhere but the place you were already aching for him.

“I’m gonna learn how to love you right,” he murmured against your skin. “I’m gonna give you every soft thing I never thought you’d want. You won’t have to beg for affection anymore. You won’t have to guess if I’ll stay.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, then finally pressed his mouth to where you needed him. It felt as if he was praying with his tongue. Like this was how he was going to worship you now.

You gasped, hands fisting the sheets, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

And he noticed. Of course he did.

He looked up from between your thighs, his face a mess of want and pain.

“You don’t have to cry,” he said softly, crawling back up your body. “I mean… I know why you are. But I hate that I’m the reason for it. I swear, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

You cupped his face, fingers trembling, and he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing holding him together.

He lined himself up, slow and careful, and when he pushed inside, he went still. Completely still. Just breathing against your mouth, his hands cradling your face like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this close again.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Fuck, you always did.”

He moved slowly, painfully slow. Like every thrust was an apology. Like he was rewriting the way he touched you, undoing every rushed, selfish fuck with something tender and earned.

Your tears didn’t stop. And neither did he.

He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, and your jaw. Whispered everything he’d never said when it would’ve mattered most.

“I’m gonna do better.”

“I’ll take care of you. I swear I will.”

“No more games. No more pushing you away.”

You whimpered beneath him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, clinging to him like you didn’t know how to let go anymore.

He rested his forehead against yours and kept moving, slow and deep, every thrust sending something hot and unbearable through your chest.

“You deserve flowers,” he breathed. “And check-ins. And hand-holding and fucking morning texts and someone who doesn’t make you cry every goddamn day.”

His voice cracked again. You felt it.

“And I want to be him,” Simon said, nearly choking on it. “I need to be him.”

Your body trembled beneath him. You were already so close, not just because of his cock, but because of the way he was inside you.

You came with a broken sob, your nails digging into his back, your legs shaking.

He came a moment later, groaning into your neck, and holding you tightly.

He didn’t pull out and didn’t move.

Just wrapped his arms around you, face pressed to your shoulder, and kissed you again and again and again, believing that if he just stayed close enough, the damage might finally start to heal.

...

Morning came quietly.

You woke to the pale gray light bleeding through your bedroom curtains, the kind of early morning glow that made everything feel hazy. For a few seconds, it was peaceful. Warm.

And then you remembered.

The weight behind you wasn’t just a dream.

Simon.

Still here, and breathing steadily against your back, one arm draped around your waist.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t that last night had been bad. It hadn’t. If anything, it had been too good. Too soft. Too vulnerable. It was the kind of night you used to pray for back when you thought he’d never give it to you.

And now?

Now it just felt like weakness.

You untangled yourself from his arm slowly, carefully, trying not to wake him as you sat up and slipped your legs over the side of the bed. But he stirred anyway, and you felt his hand twitch behind you, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

You stood up and didn’t turn around when you said it.

“Simon… you need to go.”

Silence.

Then the quiet sound of bedsheets rustling behind you.

“...You serious?” His voice was rough from sleep, low and uncertain in a way you weren’t used to hearing from him.

You nodded, still facing the window. “Yeah. I am.”

He sat up, and you could hear it, the shift in weight, the creak of the mattress, the pause before the sigh.

“Last night—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Was a moment,” you said, finally turning around to look at him. “That’s all. A moment of weakness. It doesn’t mean everything’s okay.”

He blinked at you, eyes bloodshot, hair messy, mouth parted.

“I meant everything I said,” he told you quietly. “Every word.”

“I know,” you said. “But meaning it isn’t enough. Not yet.”

He was quiet again, looking down at his hands, he didn’t know what to do with them now that they weren’t holding you.

“Okay,” he said eventually, dragging a hand through his hair and exhaling slowly. “Okay. I’ll go.”

You watched as he stood, pulled on his jeans, his hoodie, his boots. He didn’t rush, nor beg. He just moved with weighted sadness, like leaving was physically hard to do.

But at the door, he paused and turned around. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“I’m gonna prove it to you. That I meant what I said. That I’m changing. You’re gonna look at me one day, and you’re not gonna feel stupid for loving me anymore.”

You didn’t reply.

You just looked at him, arms crossed, your heart pounding.

And then he opened the door and stepped into the hall, casting one last glance back over his shoulder.

“I’ll win you back,” Simon said, voice like a quiet promise. “Even if it kills me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you didn’t breathe until you were alone again.

-----------------------------------------

@nightunite I'm not done with this bitch yet.

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley imagine #simon riley #simon riley smut

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littlelovelunette · 2 days ago

Note

Milf reader x vi cuz like look at her MOMMY ISSUES anyways so like reader fucking her and making her feel small and dumber than her

UNEXPECTED TURN

— SUB! VI X MILF! READER ★

Reader is a single parent in this au, Vi is an adult in this au— don't get weird ideas guys, age gap, fingering, clothed sex, mentions of being caught, implication of later sex, sub!Vi

★ YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. DON'T COMPLAIN IF YOU READ SOMETHING YOU DON'T LIKE—

Your daughter's friend Vi has been checking you out since the moment she walked in your apartment with your daughter— Melanie. Melanie asked Vi to sit by the couch and wait for her. The moment your daughter disappeared in her room, Vi started flirting with you in more ways than one. She was clearly eye-fucking you.

“You do this to all your friends’ mothers?” You asked, legs crossing as your eyes remained trained on the screen of your laptop.

“Not all of them are as hot as you,” Vi said, voice smug.

But you could say, her control was slipping. It was the way her thighs clenched together as if she was trying to hold onto the last string of self control. Her blue eyes gazed over to your cleavage, breasts almost spilling out of the top that felt a bit tight on your chest but you hadn't had the chance to change. You'd been busy.

“You're staring,” you said dully.

Vi cleared her throat, “No, I'm not.”

“I wasn't born yesterday,” you said, a slow smirk pulling on your glossy lips.

Vi felt her cheeks go red, heat spreading through her body in a way she hadn't ever felt before. Fuck it, Vi was supposed to be the dominant one, she always had been. Vi had always held the upper hand when it came to women and controlled how things went with them, even in the bedroom. Never once had she submitted to a woman.

Melanie appeared at the doorway, “Are you okay, Vi…?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vi looked at Melanie. “Totally wasn't checking your mother out,” she thought, placing her hands over her lap.

“You're acting a little off,” Melanie said, eyes squinted as she plopped onto the couch beside Vi.

“I'm fine,” Vi said, voice almost throaty.

You got up, “I'll get you both some snacks,” you smiled, grabbing your laptop off and walking out of the living room.

Hours passed by. It was late in the afternoon and Melanie was deep asleep on the couch beside Vi with her head lolled against the back of the couch. Vi had a controller in hand, lazily playing a video game until she saw you walk past the living room and suddenly she felt a heat pool in her stomach again. She couldn't control it. She put the controller down and rose to her feet.

“Y'know everyday I find myself wondering how a gorgeous woman like you is single,” Vi said, walking around the kitchen counter and close to you.

“You're telling me you think about me everyday?” You looked at her, something dark and primal in your gaze.

“That's not what—” Vi flushed. “...Maybe.”

“Is that right?” You stepped closer to her. “You do know I'm a lot more experienced than you are, right?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Vi swallowed, throat bobbing.

“That's supposed to mean,” you pulled her close by her waist, “I know how to handle naughty girls like you.”

“What if Melanie wakes up?” Vi asked, her voice shaking.

“I guess, you'll have to be quiet.”

That was hard to be when your fingers were so good in her, your long fingers twisted inside her making her back arch. Vi grabbed the kitchen counter with one hand, other hand on your shoulder as your fingers worked faster in her dripping pussy. Your hand was in her boxers and pants, easily fingering her so good while she broke down in front of you.

“Fuck, you're so good.” Vi threw her head back.

You grabbed her jaw by your other hand, pulling her in for a deep kiss so she'd stop whining and moaning loud enough to wake Melanie. Your thumb found her clit, pressing the pad of the finger firmly against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Vi squeaked softly in the kiss.

“There we go…” you chuckled and pulled away from the kiss as your fingers curled inside her, rubbing against her sweet spot almost excruciatingly.

Vi looked at you, eyes lust clouded as her eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth opened as if she would say something but the only thing that exited was a breathy “Ha…”

“Are you gonna cum, sweetie?” You asked, voice honeyed as you felt the way her walls fluttered around your digits.

Vi couldn't only muster a weak nod as she rutted against your hand, your fingers pumped faster if possible making her knees buckle. “I can't, I can't,” Vi whispered, her voice almost inaudible, her toned arms wrapped around you— holding on for balance.

“Cum for me,” you said, forcing her to meet your gaze and she did. She broke in your arms, because of your fingers, she was completely submissive to you. You helped her up on the kitchen counter, she sat there, catching her breath. She raised the waistband of her boxers and pants just enough to look at her messy, wet pussy.

“Fuck you.”

“Is that supposed to be on your to-do list?” You gave her a victorious grin, tasting her juices on your fingers. “Sweet.”

Vi rolled her eyes, “I should get going, it's getting late… but do tell Melanie I'll be back next weekend,” Vi got off the counter.

“Coming back to get fingered by her mom?” You asked with a sweet smile.

Vi didn't say anything, but her cheeks brightened red— there was your answer.

Yes.

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sowerpatch · 2 days ago

Text

terms of play [chapter 6 - turnover]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: A chance encounter in a nightclub ignites tension between Paige and Azzi, forcing emotions to the surface neither of them are ready to face. One night. One confrontation. Everything shifts. Warning: Substance and druge use. Semi sexual content. And Jake. Author's note: If this is what you guys are waiting for, I hope it meets your expectation. Word count: 5,226

The Grand Night Club, San Francisco. May 2025.

"Wait—shit," she muttered, eyes darting past her.

Paige pulled back abruptly, breath still caught between her lips, hand rising to the girl's shoulder as she stepped away.

The girl blinked in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

Paige barely looked at her. “You’re gorgeous, seriously, but I—just—sorry.” The apology hit the floor with all the sincerity of a half-finished beer.

“Asshole,” the girl snapped behind her.

Paige didn’t stop. She was already moving, shoving through the haze of music and bodies, eyes locked on a navy silhouette disappearing deeper into the crowd.

Azzi.

She was walking fast. Purposeful.

Paige slipped past a group of laughing dancers and turned a corner. The lights dimmed further near the back of the club, pulse of the bass thudding low against the floor. Her breath caught again, but this time for a different reason.

“Azzi,” she called out, more breath than sound.

Paige pushed through the last knot of dancers and caught up just as Azzi slipped past a shadowed corner of the club. Heart racing, she reached out and grabbed her arm with a little force.

The weight of consequence snapped back like a live wire. Azzi's tone didn’t rise. It cut clean and cold, sharper than the grip on her arm.

“If you still want that professional career,” Azzi said, eyes locked and merciless, “I’d let go. Right now.”

Around them, music was loud and lights shifted here and there. But Paige’s world narrowed to that voice. Her hand dropped. Her mouth opened, then closed again.

She hadn’t expected to see Azzi here.

The last she'd heard from interns and some of the Valkyries staff, Azzi was still in London handling Fudd Holdings business. And even if she’d flown back, this wasn’t the kind of place Paige ever imagined spotting her.

The club pulsed with bodies and bass. Too chaotic, too public, too far from the world Azzi kept wrapped in silk and distance. She also hadn’t expected Azzi to see her like that. Lips on someone else’s, mouth chasing heat, pressed against the wall of a dark bar like it meant nothing. It wasn’t supposed to matter. But something about it felt off, sour in her chest. Paige took a breath, words catching behind her teeth. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, exactly?”

The question came sharp and clean, slicing through whatever explanation Paige had lined up. She blinked once, stunned by the coldness wrapped around the words.

“I just thought…” Paige trailed off. “I just thought… what you saw—it didn’t mean anything.”

Azzi let out a short, cold laugh. Her eyes remained fixed on her, unblinking. “Funny. It looked exactly like what I’ve always expected from you.”

Paige’s brows pulled in, confusion flickering fast across her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “It means I drafted an exceptional athlete. One of the best. But that’s all you’ll ever be to me. A name under contract. Someone I pay to win games.”

The words landed with surgical precision. Paige stood there, visibly gutted.

“Anyway, you’re a grown woman. What you do outside of team hours is your business.” Azzi’s expression didn’t soften. “So, I’m not sure what you’re apologizing for because this—whatever this is—was never anything at all.”

Paige felt like she’d been slapped a million times.

“One last thing.”

Her gaze found Paige, sharp and deliberate.

“If you touch me again without asking, I’ll have HR involved.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Just disappeared into the crowd, leaving Paige frozen in place, the weight of the warning hitting harder than she expected.

Azzi climbed the staircase with her heels muffled by the plush carpet, posture steady and eyes cold.

At the top landing, a man in a black suit stepped forward from the shadows near a closed door. He gave a short nod of recognition.

“He’s inside?” Azzi asked, voice low but crisp.

The man didn’t speak. He only nodded again and pushed the door open for her with a slight bow before escorting her in.

She nodded back and followed with precision and authority.

The bass from the club below dulled to a hum. Laughter echoed across the lavish suite, and Trey Fudd reclined on an oversized couch, arms stretched, head thrown back mid-laugh.

His friends flanked him, drinks in hand, their eyes glazed. A tray sat on the table, glossy and too clean, with a thin line of powder untouched beside a gleaming credit card.

Her eyes found Trey’s with a burn that could level buildings.

His laughter died in his throat the second Azzi stepped closer.

Her presence swallowed the room. The air felt heavier, colder.

She glanced once at the table — at the powder, the mess, the recklessness — then back at him with surgical disgust.

“Azzi,” he said quickly, as if her name alone might soften the blow. “How did you even—how’d you know I was here?”

"Congratulations," she said, voice dripping with venom. "Barely a month out of rehab and you’re already back to snorting lines in public like it’s a family tradition."

Trey straightened, color draining from his face.

“I warned you,” she said, voice low and deadly. “One more slip, and I walk away. Completely. You overdose, you get arrested, you vanish off the grid again? I won’t lift a finger. I won’t bury you. I won’t save you.”

Trey stood frozen. His hands trembled slightly.

“You think I enjoy being the one who has to scrub your name from headlines? Who has to smile and lie while the company hemorrhages trust because the CEO’s son is a walking cautionary tale?” Her tone never rose, but it sliced deep. “You disgrace our name one more time, and I swear on what’s left of this family’s dignity, I’ll treat you like any other liability. And I’m very good at cutting those out.”

Trey swallowed hard, eyes wide.

But just Azzi turned to leave, the door burst open, and Paige rushed in, breath caught in her throat, hair a mess like she’d run from the end of the block. “Azzi.”

Her name rang out, sharp and urgent.

The room shifted in an instant.

Trey shot to his feet, eyes narrowing. “Who the fuck is this?”

Before Paige could answer, two suited men reacted on instinct, closing the distance and seizing her arms.

Her gaze swept the room, sharp with confusion, until it landed on Azzi. The sudden weight of where she was settled fast across her chest.

“Let her go,” Azzi snapped, voice like flint. Azzi was seething beneath her polished exterior. Rage pulsed beneath her skin, sharp and volatile, but so was the weight of exhaustion. “Paige, what are you doing here?” she snapped, not hiding the edge.

Before Paige could speak, Azzi motioned sharply to one of the suited men.

“Tony. Please escort Miss Bueckers to my car. Now.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Make sure no one sees her coming out from this room.” The suited man, tall and broad-shouldered, clasped Paige’s arm and pulled her out with deliberate force. She glanced back once, eyes searching for answers, but Azzi had already turned away.

When the door closed, Azzi faced the room with an icy calm that barely covered the heat surging beneath her skin. Trey stood stiff, his face pale. His friends sat frozen.

“That didn’t happen,” Azzi said, her voice like steel. “She was not here.”

She took a step forward. “And if anyone says otherwise, I will make sure you lose everything you think you’re entitled to. Try me.”

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. May 2025.

The black car rolled to a stop in the lower levels of the tower’s parking structure, headlights casting a faint glow across polished concrete.

Tony got out and opened the rear door without much of a glance of his passengers.

Azzi stepped out first. Her stride held purpose, movements clipped and controlled, like she had already filed the last twenty minutes under damage control.

She didn't look back. She didn’t wait.

Paige followed.

Her limbs were sore from the game, her chest still unsettled from everything that had unraveled since. Azzi hadn’t spoken a word in the car. She hadn’t asked if Paige wanted to go home. She hadn’t even acknowledged her while they both sat in the back seat.

Paige trailed a few steps behind, unsure if she was meant to keep going. She had no idea where they were headed, and Azzi hadn’t offered.

They stepped into the private elevator without speaking. Azzi swiped her keycard, the motion fluid, practiced.

The panel lit up and the doors slid closed behind them, sealing off the world below. Paige shifted her weight, eyes flicking toward the polished steel walls, then to Azzi’s reflection—composed, unreadable.

The ride stretched in heavy stillness. No music played. No questions passed between them.

When the elevator reached the top floor, a soft ding broke through the quiet tension. The doors opened to the penthouse.

Paige followed.

The moment she stepped inside, Azzi’s voice cracked through the air like a whip even before the door hadn’t even shut behind them.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

Paige stopped on her tracks.

“Did you even consider what would happen if someone saw you in that room?” Azzi’s voice rose, sharp and biting. “If anyone had the tiniest idea you were even near that scene—”

Paige stood still, heart hammering. Her thoughts spun, colliding with the sound of Azzi’s fury. She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Azzi’s words cut deeper. “There were drugs there, Paige. Drugs that could ruin everything.”

“I didn’t know!” Paige burst out, her voice frayed. “I didn’t even notice.”

“That doesn’t matter. Perception is everything.” Azzi’s voice was raw but sharp. “If a single photo, a whisper, even a fucking tweet gets out that you were in the same room as my brother with coke all over the table, you’re done. You understand that?”

Paige stared at her, chest rising too fast. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t find anything to say that didn’t sound like begging. Azzi wasn’t just angry. She was scared. And so was Paige.

She slumped onto the couch, her hands covering her face, the weight of everything finally breaking through. Her shoulders shook once, then again, and when she finally looked up, there were tears on her cheeks she didn’t bother to hide.

Paige dropped to her knees in front of her. She didn’t hesitate this time.

“Hey!” she said, voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, ma.”

Azzi let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-heartbreak. “You really picked a moment to start using nicknames.”

Paige tried to smile, but it faltered. “I didn’t want the night to end with you mad at me. That’s why I followed you upstairs. I didn’t want that to be the last thing between us.”

Azzi’s eyes were searching Paige’s face like she was trying to decide if she could afford to believe her. The air around them felt too fragile to break, like one more word might shatter whatever thread still held.

“I don’t even know what this is,” Paige said, her voice thinner than before, like the words scraped coming out. “But I’ve never fought this hard to matter to someone who won’t even look at me the same way twice.”

Her fingers curled into her palms.

“I joke around because I don’t know what else to do. I flirt because it’s safer than saying I care. But I do. I care more than I’ve ever let myself, and I don’t know if I’m making a complete fool of myself or if you’re just never going to meet me halfway.”

She let the words hang in the air between them, her throat burning.

“I followed you up there because I couldn’t stand the idea of tonight ending with you walking away. Mad. Hurt. Done. I messed up, I know that. But it didn’t mean anything. That girl didn’t mean anything. You—”

Paige faltered. Her eyes dropped to the floor, voice barely audible now.

“You mean more than I want to admit. And I don’t even know if I’m allowed to feel that way.” Azzi’s voice came quiet, softer than Paige had ever heard from her. Barely held together.

“You kissed her.”

The words were fragile, not a question, just a quiet fact. Azzi blinked once, then added, “You literally made out with her in the corner.”

Paige felt the shame hit square in her chest. “I know. That’s not—God, I know there’s no excuse.”

She exhaled hard, rubbing the heel of her hand against her brow like she could scrub the mistake away.

“It was stupid. I was stupid. I get reckless when I feel like I’m losing something I never really had. But that’s the thing. I keep trying to tell myself you’re just my boss, and we’re just two people who orbit in the same space. But it never feels that simple with you.” Then there was a shift on Azzi’s eyes. It was darker than midnight outside. “How did you expect your night to end with that girl?”

Azzi grabbed Paige by the wrist and pulled her up to stand. The motion wasn’t violent, but it was forceful, laced with frustration, and with something deeper she hadn’t named yet. “Huh, Paige?” She pushed with force. “Were you going to take her home?”

Azzi’s voice rose, and with another push, Paige stumbled back a step. “Was that the plan?”

Paige blinked, completely thrown. “Azzi, I don’t—what are you doing?”

But Azzi looked like she didn’t even hear her. Like something had cracked, and all that restraint she wore so easily had started to splinter.

Paige couldn’t make sense of it. She had seen Azzi composed in front of press rooms full of sharks. She had never seen her like this. Not this emotional. Not this affected. “Were you going to fuck her?” Paige flinched.

“Were you going to fuck her good?” Azzi was seething. Her breath ragged.

“I don’t know!” “Stop lying to me.” Azzi pushed her back hard against the wall. “Was this what you were thinking when she had her mouth on your neck? When you dug your fingers into her hips like you couldn’t wait to fuck her right there?” She stared at Azzi for a long moment. “Maybe I would’ve. I don’t know.” Azzi’s stare didn’t waver.

“She touched you like she had something to prove. And you let her.” Her voice dipped lower, bitter with restrained fury. “It’s almost insulting how easy you make it look. I could’ve done it better. I would’ve.”

A beat passed.

She took a single step forward, voice dropping. “You think that was good? The way she kissed you? The way she pressed into you like she had something to prove? I could make you feel like your whole body was mine to command.”

Paige's breath caught somewhere in her throat, her back still against the wall. Azzi hadn’t even touched her, not really, and yet the room felt heavier, denser with every word.

Her voice came out lower than she expected. “Azzi, what are you doing?”

It was meant to come out sharp, teasing maybe. But it faltered under the weight of Azzi’s stare, under the bite in her voice, the promise in it. Azzi’s voice dropped, eyes steady. “You want a girl who listens? Learns fast?” She leaned in, lips barely parted. “I can be your good girl, if that’s what you want.”

Paige’s chest rose unevenly. Her pulse hadn’t calmed since Azzi backed her against the wall. She was still trying to gather herself, still trying to decide if this was a warning or something else entirely.

“Last time I touched you…” Her voice broke through the charged air, low and hoarse. “You told me to ask for consent.”

Azzi's expression didn’t soften. She only looked at Paige like she was daring her to try again.

Paige swallowed hard. The tension curled down her spine.

“So, I’m asking,” she murmured, heat tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Can I...” A pause, quieter. “Can I touch you?” Azzi’s eyes flicked down to Paige’s lips. It looked soft and inviting.

The silence between them stretched, full of sharp edges and everything unsaid. For a long second, she didn’t move.

Then, without warning, as if something inside her cracked open, she surged forward and kissed Paige.

It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision of need and fury, messy and breathless. Teeth scraped. Fingers clawed at fabric.

Paige stumbled a half step back into the wall, catching herself only because Azzi held her there. Every ounce of restraint shattered the moment their mouths met.

“Touch me,” Azzi whispered, low and deliberate. “Touch me like you touched her.”

The words made Paige go still for just a beat.

Then she surged forward, pulling Azzi back into her like she’d been waiting to be told.

Her hands roamed as her body answered without hesitation. Her mind losing ground to heat. Every inch between them burned with intent.

The kiss deepened. Less war now, more hunger, more claim.

Her fingers followed the curve of Azzi’s jaw, her thumb grazing the tender spot just beneath her ear.

She leaned back slightly, their lips separating with a soft, lingering sound.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with longing.

Azzi’s eyes drifted shut, her breath catching as Paige’s hand slid to her neck, fingers threading through the curls that framed her face. Paige’s heart thundered as Azzi grabbed her by her shirt and pulled her toward the couch with deliberate force, their bodies colliding before Paige dropped back onto the cushions.

The look in Azzi’s eyes was searing—hungry, impatient—and it lit Paige up from the inside.

Azzi stepped back just enough to let the tension bloom between them. Her eyes dark, locking onto Paige like she was already imagining every way she was going to ruin her.

Her fingers moved to the top button of her blouse.

Paige watched, chest rising and falling fast, as Azzi worked each one open with deliberate slowness.

One.

Two.

Three.

The fabric parted inch by inch, revealing the glint of damp skin beneath, the curve of her collarbone, the faintest flush climbing down from her throat.

Paige swallowed hard.

The blouse slipped off her shoulders, caught for a second at her elbows before Azzi let it fall to the floor in a soft heap.

Time stretched.

Paige could feel the heat crawling up the back of her neck, pooling between her legs, spreading low in her belly like wildfire.

Her eyes drifted over Azzi’s bare skin, down the taut lines of her abdomen, the way her bra clung tight to her chest, damp with sweat from anticipation alone.

It was too much and not enough all at once. Every inch of her ached to touch, to taste, to lose herself in the woman standing before her like a slow-burning flame.

Azzi stepped between her legs, the air between them thick, buzzing, ready to snap.

Paige reached out instinctively, fingers brushing the side of Azzi’s thigh. She felt the slight tremble beneath her skin and knew Azzi was just as wrecked by the tension as she was.

Azzi leaned in, close enough that Paige could feel her breath across her lips, but she didn’t kiss her yet. She hovered.

Teased.

Let the moment stretch until Paige was straining for more, her whole body alive with wanting.

She climbed into Paige’s lap like she was staking a claim, her body flush against hers in one smooth, heated motion. Her grip on Paige’s shoulders was firm, fingers curling hard enough to make a point.

The grinding started.

There was nothing soft in the way she moved. Every shift of her hips, every inch of contact was laced with something deeper.

Jealousy.

Possession.

A fury that simmered just beneath her skin. “You let her touch you,” Azzi said, her voice low and sharp, almost a growl. “You let her kiss you like she had the right.”

Her hands slid up into Paige’s hair, not tender, but demanding, forcing Paige to look at her. Her breath shook between her teeth, and her eyes were wild with something she hadn’t bothered to hide.

“Did you like it?” she asked, her words clipped, dangerous. “Did it feel good when she put her hands on you?”

She leaned in closer, her mouth barely brushing Paige’s, her grip tightening in her hair. The weight of her body pressed Paige down into the couch, every inch of her coiled and burning.

"No," Paige whispered, her voice barely audible.

“No?” she echoed, bitter and breathless, her hips grinding down harder against Paige’s lap. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Her body pressed flush, heat radiating off her skin as she rolled her hips again, slow but punishing. Her breath hitched, but her gaze never left Paige’s, like she needed to watch every reaction, every falter in her control.

“Because I saw the way she looked at you,” Azzi hissed, jaw tight. “Like she thought she had a chance.” Her hand slid from Paige’s hair to the back of her neck, pulling her forward until their foreheads touched, rough and intimate. Her voice dropped, sharp and shaking.

“Tell me she didn’t make you feel like this,” she growled, hips dragging against Paige’s again, rougher this time.

She caught Paige’s bottom lip between her teeth, tugged—just enough to sting, just enough to punish.

“Because if she did,” Azzi whispered darkly, “I’ll fuck you right here until you forget she even existed.”

Paige felt it in the rhythm of Azzi’s body, the way she moved with sharp, almost punishing intent. Every roll of her hips came with a weight that wasn’t just desire.

Azzi's fingers clutched her like she was holding her in place, like she couldn’t stand the idea of letting go.

The heat in Azzi's eyes wasn’t the same kind she had seen before. It was darker. Fierce.

Her breath caught as the realization hit her.

Azzi Fudd was jealous.

A slow smile spread across Paige’s lips, sharp and cocky, her fingers tightening at Azzi’s waist.

“That’s what this is,” she said, voice low and taunting. “You’re jealous.”

Azzi scoffed, fingers still tangled in Paige’s hair, her body grinding down with steady, punishing rhythm.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, voice tight and low, heat laced through every word. “This isn’t jealousy.”

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing the corner of Paige’s mouth as her hips rolled again, deeper this time.

“This is control,” she whispered, breath hot against Paige’s skin. “I control you.”

“Fuck.”

Paige’s smile curled wider, lazy and smug. Her hands gliding down to grip Azzi’s ass, holding her there with just enough pressure to make her feel it.

“You keep talking like you're in charge,” Paige groaned, her voice soaked in heat, “but you’re the one grinding like you can’t help yourself.”

She leaned in, lips brushing Azzi’s throat without kissing, letting her breath drag slow and warm against her skin.

“Tell me, baby,” she whispered, her tone low and taunting, “how do you want me to touch you?”

Her fingers flexed against Azzi’s bare waist, teasing, not moving higher, not moving lower.

“Fast and dirty like you’re pissed? Or slow enough to make you beg?” “Fuck you.” “Oh no, babe,” Paige licked Azzi’s throat up to her ear and whispered. “I’ll be fucking you.” Azzi released a sound caught between a moan and a whimper, and Paige swore it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.

Paige’s fingers moved with intent, unfastening the button on Azzi’s pants with a practiced ease. Her touch dipped lower, pressing just enough to make Azzi’s breath catch, her hips twitching forward.

Azzi leaned in, her lips brushing against Paige’s, hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt like she needed something to hold on to.

Paige’s fingers slipped just beneath the waistband, slow and teasing. The heat between them impossible to ignore.

Then the phone rang.

A vibration buzzed loud against the cushion beside them.

Paige pressed her lips to Azzi’s throat, her tongue dragging slowly down to her collarbones.

Every touch was deliberate, a wordless dare for Azzi to forget the phone completely.

It rang again. Longer this time.

Azzi’s body stilled.

Her eyes dropped to the screen, and her heart thudded once—hard.

Jake.

The name glowed bright against the screen.

Paige saw the name too.

The tension in her spine pulled tight like a snapped wire, and she suddenly felt the weight of everything. The sweat on her skin, Paige’s hands inside her waistband, her thighs straddling someone who wasn’t supposed to be touching her like this.

“Shit,” she whispered, voice raw.

She exhaled shakily, then shifted, climbing off Paige’s lap with a kind of quiet urgency. Her back was already straightening.

The phone kept ringing, insistent, a sound that sliced through the heat of the room. Azzi answered the phone softly, but breathless. “Hey.”

“Hey babe! I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you okay?” Jake’s voice came through, full of concern.

“I was just in the shower,” Azzi replied quietly. The lie rolled in naturally.

“You’re still flying to LA tomorrow, right?” he asked after a pause.

Azzi glanced at Paige, who sat hunched forward, eyes fixed on the floor. Her jaw was tight, lips parted like a word had caught in her throat. One hand gripped the edge of the cushion, the other limp in her lap. The heat in her face had faded, replaced by something hollow and quiet.

“Babe?” Jake’s voice was steady, waiting for a response. “You still there?”

“Yes,” Azzi said, swallowing hard. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Great! My parents can’t wait to meet you. Looking forward to it.” Jake said with relief.

“Uh, yeah. I have to go now. I’ll message you when I land.”

She set the phone down without turning toward Paige. Something had changed, a tension neither of them wanted to admit, but both knew couldn’t be left unspoken. Paige stood, chest heaving, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. The second Azzi ended the call, the weight of it hit like a brick.

"You picked up," Paige said, voice tight. "You actually picked up his call."

Azzi didn’t turn around.

Paige stepped forward, her hands shaking. "After everything. After what you just said to me. You touched me like I was yours. You looked at me like I was the only thing in the world. And then you answered his call."

Azzi’s shoulders rose slightly with her breath. "It was just a call."

Paige let out a sharp laugh, one that cracked on the way out. "Are you serious? That’s what you’re calling it?"

She moved closer, her voice rising. "You don’t get to be jealous. You don’t get to fuck with my head. You don’t get to put your hands all over me and then act like that call doesn’t mean something."

Azzi turned around. Voice calm, almost cold. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. We weren’t supposed to happen.” “You’re afraid of wanting me.” Paige’s voice had dropped now, but it cracked on the edges.

“I’m not afraid of anything,”

Azzi held her posture with precision, but the pressure inside her was relentless.

Paige’s words sank deep, scraping against everything she worked to keep buried. Her chest felt tight. Her pulse throbbed at her neck, a quiet tremor she couldn’t stop.

She kept her hands still even though they itched to react, to reach for something, to push Paige away or pull her closer. She hated how right Paige sounded.

Paige stepped closer, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s face.

“I see you,” she said, voice steady. “Even when you think I’m not looking.” Azzi’s breath hitched. She stayed rooted in place. Her breath shallow, her expression carved from stone.

“You walk into a room like nothing touches you, like you’ve already decided how the story ends before anyone else can even read the first line.” Paige lifted her hand and touched Azzi’s cheek, the gesture soft, like she was holding something fragile.

“But I see past all of that. I see the way your eyes flick to me when you think I’m not watching. I see how your hands tighten whenever my name comes up. I see you.”

A flicker passed through Azzi’s eyes, too quick to name. Her jaw tightened, but she kept her stance rigid, as if any shift would crack through the restraint she fought to maintain. The heat behind her ribs rose, slow and aching, but she refused to let it reach her face.

“I can’t do this, Paige.”

The words landed like a final chord between them, cold and deliberate.

Paige’s expression cracked. She didn’t speak, but something shifted in her shoulders, in the way her arms crossed tight against her chest as if bracing for impact.

“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” Azzi continued. “Any of it. I shouldn’t have touched you. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”

Her tone didn’t falter, but there was weight behind every word, the kind that didn’t come from doubt, but from resolve.

“I let things get out of hand tonight. And almost,” she paused, her eyes flicking briefly to Paige’s mouth before she caught herself, “almost let it go further. But I can’t. You’re just starting your career. You deserve to do it clean without this distraction and mess tied to your name.”

Paige’s brows drew in, pain evident in her expression, but Azzi pushed on.

“I know I slipped. More than once. And it keeps happening, because around you I forget how to stay where I’m supposed to be, but it needs to end here.” Paige stood still for a long moment, her jaw clenched, her eyes locked on Azzi like she was trying to memorize every angle of her face. Her voice came quieter, but there was no hesitation behind it.

“What happened felt real,” she said. “At least to me.”

Azzi didn’t respond, but the silence between them thickened, stretched to its breaking point.

Paige stepped closer.

“When you stop being a coward to your own feelings,” Her voice lowered to a whisper, barely brushing the air., “you’ll know where to find me.” Then she turned and walked out with every ounce of hurt carried in the quiet strength of her exit.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Azzi remained frozen, her arms stiff at her sides, her breathing shallow. The silence in the room echoed around her now, louder than anything Paige had said.

She stayed standing for a moment longer, her eyes on the door as if willing it to open again, but it never did.

The strength she had wrapped so tightly around herself finally gave out.

Her shoulders dropped. Her hands trembled. And then her knees buckled beneath her, and she sank to the floor.

The first sob caught in her throat, sharp and sudden. She pressed her hand over her mouth, as if she could contain it, but the emotion came in waves, rough and merciless. Her face crumpled, her body folding in on itself.

For the first time that night, Azzi let herself feel all of it. And it wrecked her.

#paige bueckers #paige buckets #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi fic #pazzi #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfic #uconn wbb #azzi fudd fanfiction #azzi fudd #pazzi fics #terms of play series

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mcrdvcks · 1 day ago

Text

i hate it here

chapter summary: You meet Bucky at therapy where Dr. Raynor shares a small office with Dr. Cole. You two slowly connect over mystery books and coffee outings. Until one day you don't show up. word count: 3.4k+ pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader notes: i've mentioned a few times offhandedly that i have depression (and anxiety) and i that i have attempted - i don't want pity or anything, just stating a fact. i started therapy like 4 months ago and have been doing much better! anyways, i got to thinking about how one of the only characters who has been in therapy (in the mcu) is bucky. i guess you could kinda count tony, but he was talking to bruce so idk. anyways, that's how this came along. it was kinda my version of journaling, since i suck at it. please read the warnings/tags! warnings/tags: post tfatws, therapy, allusions to depression, alpine mention!, reader has a dog, mentions/allusions to a suicide attempt, some fluff, two people finding each other through trauma, insomnia, nightmares, slight angst, depressive spiral

The Brooklyn office is small—four hardback chairs, a scuffed laminate floor, and walls the color of old oatmeal. You’re already there when Bucky shuffles in, early as usual, hood pulled low despite the July heat.

You’re curled over a paperback, thumb smoothing the crease in the spine. He recognizes the look: concentration hiding nerves. He clears his throat, drops into the chair opposite you.

Silence stretches. Tick-tick-tick from the receptionist’s keyboard. Bucky counts each tap like gunshots until— “Chapter’s not great,” you mutter, not looking up. “It’s supposed to be a detective story, but the villain is obvious by page three.”

Bucky blinks. Small talk, right. He hunts for something non-awkward to say. “Maybe the detective’s just slow,” he offers.

That earns a tiny huff of laughter. You glance up, eyes warm but tired. “You ever read mysteries?”

“Not since… a long time.” He swallows. “But I used to like Agatha Christie.”

“Classic.” You close the book, mark your place with a Metro receipt. “I’m Y/N.”

He opens his mouth—hesitates—then sticks out a flesh-and-blood hand. “Bucky.” The metal one stays shoved under his sleeve.

The receptionist calls your name first. You stand, shoot him a quick, encouraging smile. Something inside his rib cage gives a startled twitch.

---

“Still having trouble sleeping?” Dr. Cole asked. She shared an office with Dr. Raynor, you were just lucky to find a therapist close to your place.

You shrugged, “yeah. It’s just insomnia. I did a sleep test, had to put the mask on and sleep with it for 2 nights. Doctor found nothing, so...”

"Let's talk about what happens when you try to sleep," Dr. Cole said, pen poised.

"I stare at the ceiling," you answered. "Count cracks in the paint, listen to Sparky snore, think about—stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Classes, rent, whether my brother’s eating decent food at school—everything that isn't restful."

Dr. Cole nodded. "Nightmares?"

"More like reruns. Same memories on loop." You rubbed your eyes. "They don't even change; they're just… loud."

She clicked her pen. "Medication helping?"

“I guess. Not with the sleep part though. But nothing helps with sleep.”

Dr. Cole tilted her head. “What do you do between the moment you turn off the light and the moment you give up?”

“Phone. Crossword. Sometimes I Google ‘why can’t I sleep’ like it’s gonna give a brand-new answer.”

“Ever try talking instead of scrolling? Out loud, I mean—narrate the day, get it out of your head.”

You snort. “My dog’ll think I’m confessing state secrets.”

“Sparky might surprise you.” Dr. Cole’s smile is small but real. “Okay, homework: pick one night this week, no screens after ten, narrate the day to Sparky, then lights out. Deal?”

“Fine. If she tattles, that’s on you.”

“Noted.” She scribbles, caps the pen. “Same time next week?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You stand, tugging your bag onto your shoulder. The chair legs squeak; the sound feels louder than it is.

---

Bucky’s still in the waiting area, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it owes him money. He glances up when the door clicks shut behind you.

“How’d it go?” he asks, voice low.

“About as fun as a dentist with feelings.” You fish the Metro receipt-bookmark from your book, wave it. “But I got homework.”

“Therapists love homework.” He shifts, pats the chair beside him that you’re about to vacate. “Good luck.”

“You, too.” You nod toward the closed door. “Raynor doesn’t bite, right?”

“She’s thinking about it.” His mouth twitches. “You really hate that book?”

“Detective’s got two brain cells, both fighting for custody. I’m gonna finish it just to spite him.”

“Want a recommendation when you’re done?”

“Only if it’s Christie.” You step backward toward the lobby doors. “I like the classics.”

He lifts two fingers in a mock salute. “Deal.”

The receptionist calls, “Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky pushes up, metal hand still hidden in the sleeve. As he passes, he murmurs, “see you next week, Y/N.”

Your pulse trips over itself. “Next week.”

---

Raynor doesn’t wait for him to sit. “Early again. You practicing small talk in the hallway?”

He drops into the chair. “Maybe.”

“How’s the loneliness doing?”

He thinks of a paperback clutched between your hands and the way your eyes lit when he said Christie. “Less loud.”

“That’s new.” Raynor flips her notepad open. “Let’s talk about it.”

---

A week later you’re back, five minutes early for once. Bucky’s already there—of course—thumb tapping a silent rhythm on his thigh.

“You beat me again,” you say.

“I’m competitive.” He nods to the paperback in your grip. “Finished?”

“Killer was the dog walker. I want my money back.”

He chuckles—actually chuckles. “Brought you this.” From his jacket pocket he produces a scuffed copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.

You take it, thumb the brittle spine. “Vintage.”

“So am I.”

You sit—this time in the chair beside him, not across. Your shoulders almost touch.

Receptionist looks up. “Y/N?”

You rise, clutching the book. “Hold my spot?”

“Always.” He watches you disappear behind the door, heart beating a little less like a war drum. Raynor will call it progress. He’ll call it something quieter: hope.

---

July heat’s worse a week later—New York humidity that sticks to your lungs. You and Bucky leave your sessions at the same time for once, shoulders brushing as the door swings shut.

“Raynor let you out early?” you ask.

“She thinks negative five minutes counts as progress.” He eyes the battered copy of Roger Ackroyd in your hand. “Any good?”

“Ten times smarter than last week’s disaster. Thanks for the rec.” You nudge his elbow. “Coffee? There’s a cart across the street.”

He squints at the sky. “Gonna melt anyway. Sure.”

---

The cart umbrella rattles in the breeze. You order an iced latte and Bucky sticks to plain drip, black.

“Old-man coffee,” you tease.

“Watch it, I’m sensitive.” He sips, winces. “So—you do the Sparky homework?”

“Yeah. She stared at me like I’d grown a second head, then fell asleep halfway through my monologue about rent.”

“Did you sleep any better?”

“Hour, maybe two.” You shrug. “But hey, progress.”

He nods, knocks a knuckle on the paper cup. “Nightmares kept me up. Raynor wants me journaling.”

“Journaling, narrating—therapists love verbs.” You dig in your tote, pull out a slim notebook. “Take mine. Blank pages intimidate me anyway.”

He turns it over. “Purple glitter stars?”

“Judge and I take it back.”

He clutches it to his chest. “No, no—precious now.”

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it. A beat passes; his smile lingers. Something warm hangs between you—comfortable, tentative.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, tapping the notebook. “For the… sparkly lifeline.”

“Anytime, Barnes.”

You check your phone. “Gotta run—class in fifteen. Same time next week?”

He hesitates, then, “Actually—Raynor’s moving my slot. Thursday, four?”

You scroll your calendar. “I can swing that.” Smile. “I’ll bring a better bookmark.”

He salutes with his coffee. “Deal.”

---

The waiting-room AC’s broken. You fan yourself with your Metro receipt as Bucky strides in, hair damp from a shower that didn’t stick.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey.” He holds up the notebook—half the pages now filled. “Turns out journaling’s just talking on paper.”

“Therapists everywhere rejoice.”

The receptionist calls his name first this time. He freezes. “Switch with me?”

You shrug. “Fair’s fair. Go.”

He exhales, heads in. As the door shuts, you spot the corner of a page sticking out of the notebook—your name scrawled at the top. Your heart skips and you look away fast.

---

Bucky’s session is short—fifteen minutes. He steps out, cheeks pink.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Raynor… uh, suggested social exposure therapy.”

“Meaning?”

“Coffee that isn’t from a cart.” He scratches the back of his neck. “With a friend.”

You grin. “I know a place that sells donuts bigger than your hand.”

“Sound dangerous.”

“Live a little, Barnes.”

He offers an arm—the flesh-and-blood one. You loop yours through without overthinking.

“Hope they have purple-glitter donuts,” he mutters.

You snort. “Don’t tempt me.”

Street noise swallows the rest, but the silence between you feels easy, not heavy. Two insomniacs, two notebooks, one slow, stumbling orbit.

And maybe—just maybe—sleep won’t feel so impossible tonight.

---

You push the shop door open, tiny bell chiming. The smell of fried sugar and espresso hits like a hug. Bucky’s already at a corner table, sunglasses perched on his head, studying the menu like it’s classified.

“Morning,” you say, sliding into the seat across.

He looks up, relief softening his shoulders. “Saved you the last maple-bacon monstrosity.”

“You get a medal for that.”

“Working on it.” He nods at your iced coffee. “Still cold-brew loyal?”

“Ride or die.” You sip. “How’s the notebook?”

He pulls the purple-star journal from his jacket, thumb tapping the cover. “Halfway through. Raynor says I’m oversharing—‘but in a good way.’”

“Therapist code for ‘keep going.’”

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “I wrote about… the bridge dream. First time on paper.”

You lean in. “Any lighter?”

“Maybe a gram.” He flicks his gaze to the donut display. “Your turn—sleep narration working?”

“Managed four hours straight on Wednesday.” You raise the coffee in salute. “Progress.”

He grins. “Therapists everywhere rejoice.”

A server comes by to hand off the plates: his chocolate-glazed, your maple-bacon slab.

You rip off a chunk, point it at him. “So—social exposure therapy. How exposed are we aiming?”

“Raynor suggested a museum. Crowds, but no one expects small talk.”

“I’m free Sunday afternoon. Think you can handle the Met?”

He pretends to weigh it. “If they still allow grumpy ex-assassins.”

“Only if they don’t touch the art.”

“No promises.”

---

You both pause at a sarcophagus. Tourists swirl around, soundtrack of camera shutters. Bucky leans close. “Mummies have it figured out. Eternal rest.”

“Jealous?”

“A little.”

You smirk. “Try counting cracks in the ceiling. Works great.”

“Smart-mouth.” He nudges your shoulder. Metal—the sleeve’s rolled up. First time he hasn’t hidden it.

You glance at the vibranium, then meet his eyes. “Cool arm.”

He exhales—some tension you didn’t know was there. “Thanks.”

A kid nearby gasps, whispers to her dad. Bucky stiffens. You step slightly in front of him, blocking the view. “Ignore them. They’re staring at the arm, not you.”

“Same thing.”

You tilt your head. “To me it’s just… part of the package.”

He blinks. “Package, huh?”

“Don’t get cocky, Barnes.”

He chuckles, shoulders loosening. You wander onward, conversation dipping from art to worst cafeteria food, back to sleep tactics.

---

Apartment’s dark except for phone glow. Sparky snores at your feet.

Your screen lights: Bucky Barnes – New Text

“Tried narrating to Alpine. She walked off mid-monologue. Rude cat.” “You asleep?”

You smile, thumbs flying.

“Wide awake, obviously.” “Want to test a theory? Phone call, five minutes max. Talking’s supposed to tire the brain.”

Three dots… then your phone rings.

“Hey,” you whisper.

His voice is low, scratchy. “If this puts you to sleep I’ll be offended.”

“Then be interesting.”

He snorts. “No pressure.”

Minute one: weather complaints. Minute two: misheard song lyrics. Minute three: you yawn.

“Tired?” he asks, softer.

“Keep talking.”

He does—about the Met gift shop, how the snow-globe pyramids looked fake, how he bought one anyway.

“Why?” you mumble.

“For you,” he says. “Figured you could narrate to it when Sparky’s bored.”

Warmth floods your chest. “That’s… weirdly sweet.” There was silence for a few seconds, except his breathing. You blink, heavy-lidded. “Still there?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Don’t hang up yet.”

“Not planning to.” He pauses. “Sleep, Y/N.”

“Night, Bucky.”

Phone still against your ear, you drift. First dreamless night in months.

Bucky listens to your steady breaths, eyes finally closing. Tomorrow’s problems can wait. Tonight, two insomniacs found quiet on the same line.

---

Dr. Cole taps her pen lightly on the pad. "You seem brighter today."

You shift slightly, feeling oddly caught out. "Actually slept last night. Whole five hours."

She raises an eyebrow, gently amused. "And what changed?"

You consider the phone call, the quiet voice on the other end, and shrug. "I think talking helps more than I realized."

Dr. Cole nods knowingly. "Having someone listen tends to do that."

"Yeah." You pick at your thumbnail. "I might be figuring that out."

"Good," she says simply. "Keep figuring."

---

Bucky’s waiting outside when you finish, leaning against the brick wall in sunglasses and a worn ball cap. He pushes off as soon as you step into the sunlight.

"Stalking now?" you joke, nudging his shoulder.

"Just passing by." He falls into step beside you. "Coffee? I need advice."

"Advice?"

He grimaces. "Raynor wants me attending a group session next week. Apparently, that's my next exposure step."

You glance at him. "Sounds terrifying."

"It is. Hence the advice request."

You smile softly. "I don't do groups, but… you handled crowds at the Met fine."

"That was because of you." He shrugs one shoulder, eyes ahead. "You distract me."

Warmth blooms in your chest. "In a good way?"

"In the best way."

Silence lingers, comfortable this time. The coffee cart is in sight, heat shimmering off pavement.

"Maybe… I could wait outside the group room," you offer quietly. "Just for moral support."

He stops, turns to you, eyes bright behind the lenses. "You'd do that?"

You tilt your head, fighting a smile. "I’d even bring a bad detective book."

"Deal."

---

The hallway smells faintly like industrial cleaner. You’re on a metal folding chair, feet kicked up against the wall, paperback open in your lap, Sparky dozing at your feet.

The group-room door opens. Voices murmur, shoes shuffle. Bucky emerges last, eyes slightly wide, tension in his shoulders. He spots you immediately, relief clear.

You shut the book. "You survived."

"Barely."

"Anyone bite?"

"Only verbally." He nods at Sparky. "She allowed?"

"Emotional support dog," you deadpan. "Completely legit."

He crouches slowly, metal fingers gentle against Sparky’s fur. She yawns, entirely unconcerned. Bucky straightens, a genuine smile tugging at his mouth. "Thanks for waiting."

"Always."

You start walking toward the exit together, his pace matching yours easily. "Was it worth it?" you ask.

He exhales deeply. "Yeah. Sort of. I talked. Once. About nightmares."

"That’s huge."

"Didn’t feel huge."

"It will tomorrow."

He looks sideways at you, hesitant. "Can I… call tonight?"

Your heart thuds softly. "Every night if it helps."

"It does," he says quietly. "It helps a lot."

The sunlight fades gold over the city as you step outside. Bucky pauses, hands in his pockets.

"You know," he says carefully, "I started therapy because the government made me. I stayed because… I thought it was the right thing to do. But now—"

"Now?" you prompt softly.

"Now I'm staying because it led me to you."

You swallow, suddenly shy. "That’s… nice."

He chuckles gently, shaking his head. "Yeah. Nice."

You bump his shoulder. "Don't mock my vocabulary."

"Never." He smiles. "Call you later?"

"Better."

He watches you walk away, heart steadier than it’s been in months.

---

Your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter, vibrating against your toothbrush holder. You squint at the caller ID, toothbrush in your mouth.

Dad.

You spit toothpaste, rinse quickly, and swipe to answer. "Hey, Dad."

"Y/N," he starts, tone already tense. "Got a minute?"

You sigh quietly, gripping the sink. "I have therapy soon. Everything okay?"

He pauses. You hear him clear his throat—never a good sign. "Look, I just got your mail. Bill from the hospital came again."

"Yeah, they keep sending it even though I set up payments—"

"I read it," he interrupts, voice clipped. "You know how it feels to read 'psychiatric hold' on a bill addressed to my kid?"

You close your eyes, jaw tightening. "I didn't ask you to open it."

"You're my kid. Of course I opened it. Y/N, we never talked about it. You just went silent, moved on like nothing happened—"

"I didn't move on."

"Then explain it," he says sharply. "Explain why you'd do something like that. Was it us? Your mom? Me? You never gave us a chance—"

"Dad, please stop."

He doesn’t. "We raised you to be stronger than this, Y/N. What happened to you?"

Your chest aches. Tears sting your eyes, hot and furious. "I have to go."

"Y/N—"

You hang up, tossing the phone onto your bed. You sit down hard, head in your hands, breathing jaggedly until your lungs ache. "Fuck," you whisper, wiping at tears you don't want to fall. "Fuck."

Your phone buzzes again. You don't pick it up.

---

Bucky checks his phone again—fourth time in ten minutes. The receptionist taps at her keyboard, and the clock above ticks louder than usual. Still nothing.

He types out another quick message:

"You close? Saving you a seat."

Five minutes pass as his knee bounces. Another text:

"You okay?"

Raynor opens her office door. "Barnes?"

He stares at your empty chair, then back at her. "Can we reschedule?"

She frowns slightly. "Is something wrong?"

"I gotta check on something." He stands abruptly. "I'll call."

Raynor just nods slowly. "Alright. Call if you need anything."

He’s already out the door.

---

He knocks gently at your apartment door, listening closely. "Y/N?"

No answer.

Bucky knocks again. "Y/N, it's me. You missed therapy. Just checking in."

Silence. Anxiety creeps up his spine, icy and familiar. He tries the handle. Locked.

He pulls out his phone again, sends a text:

"Outside your door. Please open."

Nothing. He leans his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes briefly. "Please," he murmurs.

Then, faintly, your voice comes through: "It's unlocked now."

---

Your apartment’s dark, curtains drawn tight. Sparky is curled on the couch, lifting her head as Bucky steps inside. You’re sitting cross-legged in the corner of the couch, eyes swollen, a blanket draped over your shoulders.

"Hey," he says softly, approaching slowly. "Mind if I sit?"

You shake your head silently, eyes fixed on your hands.

Bucky sits carefully beside you, keeping a cautious distance. "You wanna talk about it?"

You don’t answer. He waits, watching your profile, noticing the tightness in your jaw, the subtle trembling in your hands.

"My dad called," you say finally, voice thick. "He got a bill from the hospital. From… a while ago."

Bucky nods slightly. "Didn’t go well?"

A shaky laugh escapes your throat. "He blamed me. Said… said they raised me stronger. Like I chose to be weak."

Your voice cracks on the last word. Tears spill over, quiet and unstoppable. "I didn’t choose this."

Bucky’s throat tightens. "I know."

"He asked what happened to me," you whisper, voice breaking. "I don't know how to answer that."

He moves closer, gentle and slow. "You don’t have to know right now."

You swallow hard. "I keep trying to be better. Therapy, homework, all the fucking talking—but it’s never enough." You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to—"

"Hey," he interrupts gently. "Stop apologizing."

You cry harder, trying to hold back sobs that spill through your fingers. He doesn't say anything more—just reaches out slowly, carefully pulling you against him. You tense at first, then melt against his chest. His arms circle you gently but firmly, his hand stroking your back as you tremble.

"You don't have to do this alone," he says softly, his voice steady in your ear. "I promise."

You nod, unable to speak. Sparky whines softly, shifting closer, pressing warmth into your side.

Bucky holds you until the tears slow, until your breathing evens slightly, his grip never loosening.

"You don't have to explain anything," he whispers finally. "Not to him, not to me—not until you're ready."

You sit up slowly, wiping your eyes, embarrassed. "Sorry," you whisper again.

He squeezes your shoulder gently, shaking his head. "No more apologies."

You sniff softly, leaning your head back against the couch. "I missed therapy."

"Cole'll forgive you. I skipped too."

You glance at him, eyes tired but softer. "They’ll kill us both."

"They’ll deal." He smiles gently, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "You hungry?"

You shake your head slowly. "Not yet."

"Then we'll wait." He leans back beside you, Sparky settling between you both. "We have time."

You let out a breath, lighter now. The ache still lingers in your chest, but it’s quieter, bearable. "Thank you," you whisper.

He looks at you, steady and calm. "Anytime, Y/N."

sparky is actually the name of my one of my dogs, so you can tell i'm super creative, lol. to lighten things up, here's a picture of her:

we've had her since i was in elementary, so like 12-14 years? she's also around the same age. we think she's have golden retriever, half chihuahua. i know that sounds insane but google that and look at the pictures - a few of them look exactly like her. she's a rescue, so we aren't sure about age, etc. anyways, thank you for reading!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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dailyreverie · 3 days ago

Text

Washed away

A/N: You know that moment when you realize "being in the shower with Bucky would solve all my problems"? Yeah... that's what prompted this. I think I've had this idea in my head for around a year and then like two days ago my brain literally started writing it all and I finally got around to it. This was proofread by my dog, if there are any mistakes... ignore them I guess. Enjoy xx

Pairing: Tunderbolts Bucky Barnes x Thunderbolts f!reader

Word count: 2.7k

CW: MNI / 18+ Mentions of canon-related danger and being close to death (no one dies), and angsty feelings over that, anxious Bucky, mentions of blood and injuries, established situationship (i guess?), nudity, unprotected shower sex, oral (f receiving), p in v, reader and Bucky comforting each other, aftercare, Bucky being the sweetest.

Also available to read on AO3

The whole team had looked at you with worry, but you didn’t look back at them. You entered to your assigned room, rushing to the bathroom before anyone could see you breaking, or see how scared you still were. You heard Bucky far away, asking if you were okay from the entrance of your room. “Yes, I am,” was all you replied, and shut the door of the bathroom behind you.

You welcomed the warm water when it hit against your skin, soothing your tense muscles as it traveled down your body. The mission had been rough, intense; you couldn’t remember one that had ended with your body screaming at you to stop as this one had. But being ambushed does that, you suppose, it pushes you over the limit. And maybe a cramped motel shower was not the best place to wind down and recover, but it was what you had for now, and at least you had warm water.

Bucky and you had taken most of the attack, being caught in the middle and covering each other’s backs. He was as battered as you were; super serum healing and all, you could see his hurt in the way he held himself after, in how his hand held onto his ribs and the bright red wound on his forearm. But, yet again, he had the serum running through his veins to help him recover faster. He wouldn’t mind if you took the shower first.

The water turned brown under your feet as you scrubbed your aching body, feeling some relief as your fingers massaged the sore spots until there was no more grime on your skin, standing under the warm water and finally, taking a deep breath, begging your body to calm down the shakiness it still carried. You were alive, you had made it out, and Bucky had too, even when it started to seem that you wouldn’t.

You had been so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn’t hear Bucky knocking - twice, he had done it, and not once had you replied. You only heard him as the door creaked open. “You all right?” He asked, his voice careful and quiet.

“I’m fine,” Your voice almost said otherwise, as it cracked against the words. “I’ll be out in a minute.” You had been in the shower for a while, you realized. And he deserved hot water too. You wondered, then, if anyone had seen him walk inside after you, if anyone else knew you were sharing a room, or if you even cared if they found out.

John would be an ass about it, and Yelena would tease you endlessly. Still, you didn’t care, not right now.

Bucky’s tall frame still lingered on the other side of the shower screen, his silhouette fidgety, moving inside the small bathroom. You didn’t mind, as long as you could stay in the warm water, he could do whatever he needed out there.

And you didn’t mind, either, when the door slid open to reveal him standing there. His shirt had already been discarded, as well as his shoes, letting you look at him properly, at his already-healing bruises and hits, painting his middle and his arms with dried blood and swollen scars.

His skin was ashen as he looked at your beaten body, his features remained neutral as you met his eyes again. He was still shaken, too, but not for himself, you realized, when a sharp breath came out of his nose and his eyes softened for barely a second. Bucky stared at you with something more than just lust, with something that looked like worry behind his eyes as if he wanted to see, with his own eyes, that you were as fine as you claimed to be; as if he couldn’t wait until you got out of the shower to confirm; as if he were still scared too, still on edge after the mission.

His body being so close to yours wasn’t new, but the way he was looking at you was. Bucky’s eyes roamed across your body and parked on your ribcage, where a set of fresh bruises coloured your skin purple and red. His eyes were not intrusive, they never were. You stood under the stream of water, letting it crash against your elbows and chest while keeping your eyes clear so you could see him.

“Buck,” You whispered his name, just realizing then how quickly you could’ve lost each other back then.

There were no labels to what you two were, it had started way too casually, when the tension of training under each other had finally snapped. You wished it was just that, tension, but with every encounter, with every moment his body had found yours for the past few months, it was clear to you there was so much more. But you knew Bucky wasn’t ready - or you assumed so, at least - so you would remain like that. Casual encounters on lonely nights, shared rooms during missions, hidden kisses before heading into danger, and before saying goodnight, too. But no formalities, no labels, just sex - just closeness.

Which is why the look in his eyes sent your heart into a frantic beating, the longing in them that wanted to make sure you were okay, almost making your head spin.

Without a word, he removed the rest of his clothes and stepped into the shower. Soft fingertips made their way to the bruises on your body, caressing them softly as if that would make them go away. “Does it hurt?” his gravely voice asked, his eyes not leaving that spot.

You shook your head with a soft “no”, which seemed to be enough for him. Bucky closed the distance, standing impossibly closer to you, and hovered his lips against yours. He did it slowly, at first, his mouth slightly open and chest heaving, almost waiting for any confirmation, until he couldn��t hold himself any longer. Bucky’s lips crashed against yours hungry, impatiently, ravenous for your taste and the feeling of your skin against his. There, you were there with him. His hands remained soft, thumbs holding your sides as if you would slip away with the soap if he let you go.

“Never do that again,” He said against your skin, with feather-like kisses against every scar, every scrape, and every bruise, old and new.

“Don’t do what?” Your fingers pushed his hair back, as the water had pushed it over his face, and you rested your hands behind his neck. Bucky’s half smile was barely visible when he turned to kiss your palm, in his lifted eyebrow a knowing look that said you know what you did. “Oh… you mean saving your life?”

“I mean, putting yourself in front of danger,”

“Bucky, I swear I’m alright-”

“You got hurt.” He cut you off, giving you a long kiss afterwards. “You got hurt because of me.” His voice shook as his eyes went back to the bruises on your skin, the ones he felt so guilty for, even though he had nothing to do with them. You froze under his stare, his eyes pining you to the cold tiles behind you, not knowing how to calm his anxious mind down.

“Bucky,” You whispered his name again, hoping that would make him look up at you. And he did, for a brief second, looking up at you from under his eyelashes, before he dived to your neck and kissed you there.

His kisses were soft as they traveled from your neck, to your collarbone, to your breasts, taking one of your nipples in his lips and sucking on it lightly. You couldn’t help but arch towards him with a gasp of pleasure, letting him kiss the places that needed to be healed, the softness of his touch a contrast against the aching spots. He needed to feel you, to taste you, to make sure his mind was not playing any games with him and that you had made it out with him.

Bucky kept going down, down, down… kissing every inch he could until he reached your hips. He trailed kisses down your belly as he placed your leg on his shoulder, his kisses mixing with the warm water and heating you more than it. His eyes never left yours as his mouth found your center, tasting you and sending waves of growing pleasure all over your body with his expert tongue. You held onto his hair as you rode against his mouth, soft moans escaping your lips and his name like a prayer on your lips.

“Come on,” Bucky murmured against your clit. “I want to taste you.” He never stopped. Not for a second. Stars blurred your vision when a metal finger pushed inside you and curled against the spot he expertly found every time.

“Bucky,” You moaned, your head thrown back as a whimper left the back of your throat.

Another finger went inside you, his own moans from your arousal against his lips making your legs shake. It was enough to bring you over the edge, his mouth and fingers guiding you through it.

You only knew Bucky stood up when his lips found yours again, whimpers still leaving your lips as his tongue tangled with yours. Bucky still held onto your lifted leg as he pushed you further back to the tiles, his metal hand grasping your waist softly as he looked into your eyes. The water splashed against his broad back as it towered over you.

Never, in the months in which you had become closer in whatever agreement you both had, had you ever looked at each other like that, with such a softness that made your knees weak in a completely different way in which his mouth had just done.

He wrapped your leg around his waist, grinding his hips against yours and letting you feel how hard he was. You both moaned at the touch, your hands flying to his shoulders to keep you on your feet. Your eyes never left each other, letting the fear of almost losing this, almost losing him, sink in and wash away at the same time.

Bucky smirked at the feeling of your hand traveling down his chest and the hard lines of his body until it reached in between the two of you, aligning him to your entrance as you stroked him, his groan a delicious sound against your lips.

You sank onto him at the same time he thrusted into you, the sound of your combined pleasure echoing in the shower. His metal fingers held your waist in place carefully as he pushed against you; his touch, usually hard and hungry, was softer than ever, as if not wanting to give your skin any more bruises to deal with.

“I got you,” Bucky said against your jaw, his breathing getting more laboured. “I got you, and I’m never gonna let you go.” He found your lips as he said that, at the same time his fingers found your clit and began rubbing it. He claimed the little whimpers of pleasure you were letting out, almost bouncing on him as his hips began moving faster. “I got you, you hear that?”

You knew where his words were coming from, the need to make himself sure that he had you as much as you had him. As much as you could hear him, you couldn’t remember your own name, as it was only his that clouded your every thought, let alone any other words. “Yes, Buck,” You finally replied to his pleading. “I’m yours.”

“Fuck, say that again, doll,” His breath sent goosebumps around your neck before he kissed the skin softly.

“I’m yours,” His head was buried in your neck when you spoke it into the foggy bathroom, the warmth of the pooling pleasure and from his body pressed against yours almost too much for you to be able to form coherent words.

Bucky let out a noise, something between a fuck and a grunt. His thrust became sloppy, but he never once stopped rubbing your swollen clit. You whimpered his name, meeting him halfway as you chased both of your climaxes.

“Cum, baby. Cum with me.” He grunted, his lips crashing on you again. “Wanna feel you all over me.”

When he lifted your leg higher over his waist, reaching a spot further inside, you were sure you were going to die in his arms. You didn’t know what you were saying, what noises were coming out of your mouth, you only knew you were urging him to never stop, a new kind of death clouding your sight as you finally let it explode.

He reached it as soon as you did, sounds of pleasure mixing and reverberating in the cramped bathroom. His body all but melted under your fingertips, still clinging to each other as you came back from whatever paradise Bucky had just made you see. Because he always did, always made sure you felt like you never had before.

“You are always so good, always take me so good.” He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, and your jaw, before looking for your eyes and staying there for a few seconds, looking at each other and taking you both in “You good?” He confirmed, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your head was still spinning, but your smile and nod were enough for him to smile back with a soft laugh, and kiss your lips with so much love. Because that’s what it was, love, even if neither of you were brave enough to risk it all to admit it.

He let you go then, only to grab the cheap-smelling soap and rub it all over your body, even if you were already clean. Even with the lukewarm water, you stood there and let yourself be washed up again. It was your turn after, you took the soap from his hands and rubbed it all over his body, focusing on the swollen places, on the ones that were still burning red. You kissed every spot you could reach: the bruises on his back, the cuts on his arms, the soft skin in between shoulder and metal. All yours to have and to hold, to kiss and mend.

Bucky was quick to wrap you in a towel once he turned off the water, his hands moving up and down your arms to dry you off and to keep you warm. Ever so gently, he rubbed lotion on your ribs and back with a soft massage. You leaned against his touch, your back to his chest as his hands moved up and down your body.

He guided you to the bedroom, found the softest Henley for you to wear, and made you sit on the bed, putting every pillow and cushion against the headboard so you could be comfortable. You didn’t need all that, since the moment he sat next to you, you collapsed into his shoulder.

Bucky held you there, with an arm around your waist to keep you close. “I’m glad you are okay,” He whispered against your neck, placing a kiss there.

Your hand reached back to his jaw, holding him close to you. When you looked back at him, you saw that same look in his eyes from before, the one that caught you by surprise in the shower, for there were words that had never been said between you, words that you could see in his eyes as clearly as the blue in them.

“I’m alright, I promise.” You reassured him, since a speck of worry kept looming over his face as he looked you up and down again.

“I just- I don´t like seeing you hurt.”

“Well then, you better be more careful on the next mission.” You smiled at him, sleepily now, but hoping he could see in your gaze what you found in his. “Because I don’t like seeing you hurt, either.”

His jaw clenched, but he smiled nonetheless when your eyes found each other. He knew better than to get into the I-care-about-you-more argument, he had learned the hard way. So he simply did what he was best at: Bucky pulled you into his arms and tucked you both into the covers, holding you close to his chest, as it was the place he knew he could keep you safe.

🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut

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wonluhver · 2 days ago

Text

Mingyu Focus

M = Content Warnings for Smut

! = Personal All Time Favs.

Red Card [M] - smut/fluff, non-idol au, 80s au (aesthetics only), childhood friends to lovers, oneshot.

Mingyu's been there through everything. From childhood to now. What happens when he gets hurt and someone else has to step in and play the hero?

! Clarity [M] - bf's best friend mingyu, (awkward) acquaintances to lovers, the other side of the f2l trope, angst, smut, you could say there's a drizzle of fluff, one shot. side of bad bf!jungkook.

Mingyu doesn't want to pay you any mind. To him, you're just another girl that'll get her heart broken by his dumb best friend.

Why would he care, right? He shouldn't care about the crying sounds he hears from his bedroom when his friend stands you up for the girl he's actually in love with. And he shouldn't be getting close to you. He shouldn't dread the day his friend decides to end things with you and bring someone else home. He shouldn't be wishing to have met you first.

! Save the Date [M] - smut, fluff, angst, frenemies to lovers, oneshot.

5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend — before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernon’s place and be your date. this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.

Theories and Heartstrings [M] - Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!. angst, fluff, smut. completed series.

As a writer with a mildly cynical take on love, you’ve always believed people have a “type”—a pattern they never stray from when it comes to dating. And Kim Mingyu? He’s the textbook definition of someone who wouldn’t go for someone like you, nor would you go for him. But you test your theory when a fateful run-in with your charming neighbour sparks an unexpected attraction.

The plan? Go on dates with him and count how many it takes before your heart gets involved—if it ever does. But Mingyu is unpredictable, effortlessly breaking down your carefully constructed walls with every smile, every late-night conversation, every moment that feels too easy to be just an experiment.

The real problem? Secrets never stay secrets for long. And when Mingyu finds out the truth behind your so-called theory, will it prove you right, or that love doesn’t follow the rules you thought it did?

! Again and Again [M] - exes, fake dating, mutual pining, idol!gyu, vet!reader, mild angst, fluff, smut, oneshot.

your mother calls one day, asking if you’re bringing mingyu along for chuseok this year. in your panic, you end up giving her an affirmative—never mind the fact that you and mingyu have stopped seeing each other over half a year ago.

Covert Desires - spy au, mafia, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, mutual pining, spies, angst, fluff, killing, oneshot.

he mission is simple - infiltrate a high-stakes auction that the top leaders, businessmen, women, and politicians of the world attend every year and steal one of the most highly guarded and hidden-away paintings from the target’s collection. the only downside, you had to work with kim mingyu, whom you absolutely hated. and to make it even worse, you had to pretend to be his wife for this mission to work.

! Challenge me [M] - College!Au, porn with plot(s), crack, OT13 x afab!Reader (mingyu/scoups focused), smut. unfinished series.

you have never been a person to turn down a challenge, but when your best friend challenges you to hook up with 13 boys in one semester you kinda wish you were.

Wicked Games [M] - angst, fluff, smut (18+), bartender mingyu, friends to rebound fucking, no strings attached (fwb to lovers), mingyu/wonwoo focused. unfinished (? i think) series - still ongoing.

Kim Mingyu came into your life at a time when you needed a friend the most. And that he was: a friend that you could confide in and laugh together, share your secrets with and perhaps, share a burden that was too similar to his.

Kitty Claws - a svt spiderman x jujutsu kaisen au, spiderman!mingyu, blackcat!reader, lots of banter, mild fighting scenes = mentions of blood and injuries !!, fluff with angst if you squint. oneshot.

being a superhero isn't as easy as it seems, and it's even harder when you're notorious supervillain black cat with a past threatening to catch up with you and a pesky spider that won't leave you alone.

Get Him Back [M] - lead guitarist!kim mingyu x lead singer!fem!reader, romance, angst, smut (oral sex, unprotected sex (please stay safe irl!), wall sex, angry sex, overstimulation, dirty talk), exes to lovers au, band au, oneshot.

years after your messy breakup that broke up the band, you and mingyu are forced back together for a reunion tour—and the public can’t get enough of your chemistry. on stage, you’re electric, but backstage it’s all snide comments, heated arguments, and mingyu slipping in petty lyric changes just to piss you off. you’re not sure what’s worse: how much you still hate him or how much you don’t.

What Do I Call You? [M-ish] - college au, idiots friends to lovers au ; angst, fluff, suggestive ? slightly smutty? themes. football player!kim mingyu x fem!college journalist!reader. oneshot.

your best friend is a man of many facets - a creative architecture student, a skilled football player, a wonderful friend and a sought-after lover. not that he'd ever truly glance anyone's way, especially not when his heart has always been set on you.

! Dessert First [M] - baker! mingyu, wedding planner!YN, fluff, smut, angst, exes to lovers, oneshot.

You've got a great life. Your wedding planning business is booming, your clients are great, and you're finally over your ex-boyfriend after years of pining. Or you are, until the universe decides to test if those three things are actually true.

! Lost in the West [M] - fake dating (kind of), friends to lovers, holiday!au | fluff, smut, romance, oneshot.

where your best friend pretends to be your boyfriend for the holidays so you can avoid more nagging from your mother. except your whole family thought you were already dating.

!!! Kim Mingyu's (unhelpful) Guide to Losing your Virginity [M] - smut, fluff, humor, college au, best friends to lovers au, friends with benefits au, oneshot.

after accidentally telling your friends that kim mingyu took your virginity (he didn’t), you’re shocked when he proposes to relieve you of the fabled v-card for good (he does).

! The Very First Night [M] - angst, smut, exes to lovers au, roommates au. oneshot.

the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend

for my best friend who i promised i would post mingyu recs for,, youre welcome. ignore how half of these are exes to lovers, or fake dating to lovers... i'm okay...

other recs

244 notes · View notes

cinnxmxngxrl · 8 hours ago

Text

Imagine Joel taking your virginity

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

WC: 5.4k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, porn with no plot, unspecified but big age gap, oral (m!receiving), virginity loss, unprotected piv, thigh riding, daddy kink, baby-talking, young and innocent reader, creampie, condescending joel, terms like baby girl, sweet little girl etc.

Even thought this part is a standalone, you might want to read a previous part: Joel teaches you how to go down on him.

Today was just another quiet afternoon in Jackson, you’d been heading back from the greenhouse, you weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings, too focused trying to brush the dirt off your knees, until you saw them…

Joel was outside the stables, half-laughing about something with a woman, gray in her hair, deep lines around her eyes from a life lived outdoors, she looked about the same age as Joel. She was standing close to him, not too close, nothing inappropriate, nothing that would give you the right to get pissed, but the kind of close that felt natural.

You stopped walking without meaning to, and you watched as she touched his arm and laughed. They looked right together, and it hit you like a sucker punch, the breath caught in your lungs and wouldn’t let go. Maybe because you’d never look right with Joel next to you, at least not in the way people expect a couple to look. People didn’t assume you two were together, hell, you’d even been mistaken for father and daughter more than once whenever someone new showed up in Jackson.

You turned away, heading back home before you could watch more. You felt so small, so young, like some little kid playing grown-up. You weren’t enough, not for him, not when he could talk for hours with a woman who remembered the same pre-outbreak songs, who didn’t need Joel to teach her how to shoot, or how to suck him off, a woman who could take all of him, not just the tip.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed after you reached your house until you heard the door open, footsteps crossing the threshold. Joel’s voice followed a second later, light and casual.

“Hey, darlin’. You home already?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. You felt so insignificant, who were you trying to fool? There would come a day, because of course there would, when Joel would get tired of playing house with a little girl pretending to be a woman.

Joel walked into the bedroom, you didn’t look up, you were staring hard at the floor, fists clenched in your lap. He paused in the doorway, sensing the shift in the air instantly.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head.

“C’mon now,” he said gently, stepping closer. “I know when something’s up, sweetheart.”

You finally glanced up, and the moment your eyes met his, everything cracked.

“I saw you,” you said quietly. “With her. That woman.”

Joel blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Her. Outside the stables.”

His brow furrowed. “Oh, you mean Carmen?”

You nodded once, the name sounded even worse spoken aloud.

Joel crouched in front of you. “What about her?”

You let the silence hang for a second too long, he caught it, could see it on your face. What were you supposed to say? He hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t cheated or anything like that.

“Goddammit,” he murmured. “My baby’s got herself twisted up, huh?”

“She’s your age,” you whispered. “She laughs with you. She gets your stories. She probably remembers music on the radio. And—and—I feel like a stupid little girl. You’re a man. You’ve lived this whole life. I don’t even… I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, I just pretend, and you’re just—You’re Joel. You don’t need me.”

“You really are just a dumb little thing, huh?” Your breath caught, he wasn’t cruel when he said it, just… exasperated, deeply, lovingly exasperated “Little dumb baby.”

Your breath was shallow, tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. Joel didn’t say anything at first, just reached for your hands, gently unclenching them.

“I’m gonna say this once,” he said, voice low. “And I want you to hear me, alright?”

You nodded, barely.

“You’re my baby. You're soft, and sweet, and so fuckin’ easy to wreck I can barely keep my hands off you. You look at me like I’m good, even when I ain’t. And yeah, baby, I like that you need me. I like teachin’ you. I like when you look up at me all scared and excited, askin’ me to show you things no one ever has.”

He pulled your hands to his chest, right over his heart.

“I want you. I choose you. Every single goddamn day.”

Your throat closed, he sounded sincere, and you really wanted to believe him

“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asked. “I see someone who makes me laugh when I forget how. Someone who touches me like I matter. You know how long it’s been since I’ve felt that? I feel alive, baby. I feel like a man again. Not a ghost.”

You looked at him, really looked, and saw how wrecked he was now, how deeply this was hitting him too.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re not a phase. You’re not pretendin’. And you’re sure as hell not some kid to me, you’re my girl.”

“I just… I know I’m not what you’re used to. I’m not older. I don’t know how to do stuff. I had to ask you to show me how to… suck you, and then I couldn’t even take you, not really. Just the tip.” your voice cracked on that. “You’ve waited so long already and it’s not fair—”

“Stop.”

You blinked, his voice was quiet, but it had teeth. Joel pushed himself up slowly, sitting beside you on the bed, and looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You think I don’t want this?” he asked, voice low and gravel-deep. “You think I’d rather be off with some older, experienced woman who could deep throat me and ride me into the goddamn sunset?”

He shook his head, almost laughing, but there was no humor in it.

“You think I give a single shit that you don’t know what you’re doin’? Sweetheart, I like teachin’ you. I like that you’ve never done this before. I like bein’ the first cock you take. I like that I get to be gentle with you. Take my time. Watch you fall apart under me.” He leaned down, bracing himself over you, hand sliding to your cheek. “You think I’m sufferin’ ‘cause I only had the tip inside you? Baby girl, that was the best fuckin’ orgasm I’ve had in years.”

Your breath caught.

“You were clenchin’ around me so tight, I damn near came the second I pushed in. And you were so sweet—so good—lookin’ up at me all wide-eyed, sayin’ please, Joel, please just the tip, like you didn’t know you were ruinin’ me.”

You looked away, a bit embarrassed by the memory, but is hand gently brought your face back to his.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said, softly this time. “You think I want someone who’s had twenty dicks in her mouth and five up her pussy?”

Your eyes widened, Joel was always so blunt, you let out a startled laugh, he grinned, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip.

“I want you, baby. I want this tight, shy little thing that don’t even know how sweet her own mouth feels until I show her. I want the girl who looks up at me while she’s suckin’ and asks, am I doin’ good, Joel? like it don’t drive me fuckin’ insane.”

You nodded against him, voice small. “I just… I want to be enough for you.”

Joel pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up. You were so clueless, Joel thought, how couldn’t you see how much he loved how soft and innocent you were? How you were all he’d ever wanted? Your sweetness made both his heart ache and his cock throb.

“You are enough. You’re fuckin’ perfect for me.”

You searched his face, the lines, the grey at his temples, the quiet sadness behind his eyes, and all you saw there was truth.

“Even if I need you to teach me everything?” You whispered.

“Especially that,” he murmured. “’Cause I’m gonna teach you right. Teach you slow. You’re gonna learn everything from me, and only me."

“Joel... I wanna try again,” you said, and your voice came out soft, but sure. “With my mouth.”

Joel stilled, his eyes darkened slow, oh, the things you did to him, hearing you say those filthy things with that sweet, innocent mouth of yours. He smiled, slow, crooked, filthy.

“You mean suckin’ my cock?” he asked, all teasing drawl and patronizing sweetness.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want to.”

Joel’s hand slid higher on your thigh. “You askin’ real nice, baby girl.”

You leaned closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Please, Joel. I wanna make you feel good. Wanna do it right this time.”

He groaned, low and sharp, hand flexing on your skin.

“Alright, then, but only cause you want to, not because you feel like you need to prove somethin’,” he muttered. “Go ahead. Show me what you remember.”

He shifted back on the bed and unzipped his jeans with one hand, tugging them low enough to free his cock, already half-hard, thick, and flushed. You sat up on your knees between his legs, suddenly so aware of how big he looked like this, broad and spread out, just waiting.

Your hand wrapped around the base of him, he twitched in your palm, and you leaned down slowly, licking a soft stripe up the underside like he’d shown you before.

Joel exhaled sharp through his nose. “Thassit. Just like that, baby.”

“Hi there,” you said softly with his cock on your hand.

Joel huffed a laugh, low and almost incredulous. “You talkin’ to my cock now?”

“Maybe,” you said to Joel, before focusing your eyes back to his cock. “Hello again,” you said sweetly, leaning in to kiss the head. “Missed me?”

His breath was already hitching, you took it as a good sign and did it again, this time licking the head in slow, teasing circles, letting your tongue slip under the ridge.

“Look at you. Such a good boy. Getting all big and strong for me.”

Joel groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. You’re one of a kind, baby girl.”

You batted your lashes up at him. “You like it.”

“I love it,” he muttered, eyes fixed on your mouth as you gave another teasing lick up the underside. “Love my silly baby girl talkin’ nonsense while she plays with her food.”

You giggled and leaned in, rubbing your cheek affectionately against his cock like it was a plush toy. And then you leaned down and kissed it with over-the-top reverence, soft little “muah” sounds, little nose nuzzles. You really liked his cock, sure, it was the only one you’d ever seen in person, so you didn’t exactly have a reference point, but still… if you had to guess? It was the kind of cock a woman would want

He gave you that slow, dangerous smirk. “You gonna make out with him right in front of me, baby?”

You nodded solemnly. “Don’t be jealous, daddy. He deserves love too.”

Joel groaned like he was in pain, throwing his head back on the pillow. “Christ, you’re such a goddamn brat.”

You were driving him absolutely insane, on your knees, looking like a sweet little angel who’d fallen from heaven, your innocent little face nuzzling all over his cock, rubbing your cheek against it, pressing soft kisses… He wanted so badly to grab your hair, shove his cock down your throat and hold you there as he emptied his balls.

You kept flicking your tongue over his tip over and over again, watching as it began to leak more

“I’m your brat.”

“Damn right you are,” he said roughly, running a hand through your hair. “My sweet dumb baby. Givin’ daddy a heart attack every time she opens her mouth.”

“He missed me,” you whispered, tongue tracing around his tip. “He loves my mouth, doesn’t he?”

Joel’s voice dropped, rough and sweet and low. “Yeah, baby. He does. You got the best fuckin’ mouth. He wants you drooling all over him, don’t he?”

“Mhm.” You licked a fat stripe up the underside, then wrapped your lips around the head, making Joel moan, loud and unfiltered.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “You been practicin’ in your dreams or somethin’, baby girl?”

You smiled against him. “Just been thinkin’ about it,” you whispered. “Thinkin’ about makin’ you feel good.”

“Better just be that,” Joel groaned, “and not you practicin’ on any of those boys from round town.”

“Jooeeel,” you giggled, sweet and teasing, “you know I don’t want anyone else but daddy.”

He growled, and you let your lips close around the tip and sucked, hollowing your cheeks, going slow, shallow, just the tip, in and out, working your hand at the base to match like he'd taught you last time.

“Atta girl,” Joel groaned. “That’s it. Look at you. My good girl. My perfect little cockslut.” Joel’s hand came to rest on the back of your head, not pushing, just resting.

“Jesus, baby. You’re learnin’. Makin’ daddy feel so good…”

You moaned around him, and he twitched in your mouth, the vibrations were just adding to the intense pleasure you were already giving him.

“Fuck—yeah, do that again. Moan on it. Shit.”

You moaned and took him a little deeper, your throat felt tight, but you were determined, wanting to prove him you were a big girl, one that could take his entire cock in your mouth. You pulled back after you ran out of breath, and sucked softly on the tip, letting spit drip and smear down your fist.

He groaned loud. “Look at you,” he panted. “Look at this fuckin’ mouth, takin’ my cock so sweet. You were made for this, baby girl.”

You got bolder by his compliments, and licked down to the base and back up again. Let the head rest on your tongue and gazed up at him, eyes wide and wet, mouth full.

“Oh fuck, baby—don’t look at me like that, I swear to God—”

“You like that?” You asked, lips glossy with spit. “You like watchin’ me do it?”

“I love watchin’ you do it,” he growled. “You’re so good, baby. S’good for me. This mouth’s made for suckin’ daddy’s cock.”

You whimpered, and he caught your face in both hands, gently guiding you down again, rocking his hips just a little. He needed it, yes, he loved the gentle flicks of your tongue, the toying with his tip, but right now he needed to hit the back of your throat.

“You take what I give you,” he murmured. “Little bit deeper now. That’s it. Just like that. My good girl. Take him all the way. Show him how much you love him.”

You worked him with your mouth and hand together, taking breaks to lick, to suck, to breathe—and each time you paused, he praised you, whispered filth like you were doing him the biggest favor in the world.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so pretty like this… pretty mouth full of me…”

“Yeah, just like that, take your time… fuck, I ain’t gonna last…”

“You feel how hard I am for you? You know what you do to me, baby girl?”

You sucked him harder, hand twisting at the base, Joel groaned, full-bodied and deep. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “Ain’t gonna last another minute with you takin’ it like that.”

You whimpered around him, thighs squeezing together. Just his moans and those bold, filthy compliments were enough to get you wet and aching.

“Aw, baby’s gettin’ wet just suckin’ cock, huh? Poor little thing. Gonna need me later?”

You nodded, still bobbing, spit running down your chin. You pulled off just enough to murmur:

“He’s gettin’ twitchy.”

Joel grunted. “Yeah? You feel him startin’ to cum?”

“Warn me, daddy,” you said around him. “But I’m not stoppin’.”

You smiled and sucked him back into your mouth, sucking deep, and you didn’t let go until he was shaking, grunting, hips stuttering.

“F-Fuck… baby—daddy’s cummin’, he’s cummin’—fuck, right now—” Joel groaned, voice rough and desperate, his hips jerking up into you as the pleasure overtook him.

He came down your throat, hot and thick and salty, you liked the taste of it more than you did last time. You swallowed around him, let him ride it out in your mouth, his hands cradling the back of your head, thumbs stroking your cheeks like you were precious.

When you finally pulled off, he was panting, staring down at you like he didn’t know what hit him.

“Holy fuck, baby…”

You smiled, wiped the corner of your mouth. “Did I do good?”

Joel laughed, breathless. “You did perfect.” It was only the second time you’d sucked him, and you’d already outrun every other woman who’d ever been in his life.

He pulled you up onto his lap, arms tight around you. His thigh shifted beneath you, solid and warm, and you didn’t realize you were grinding down against it until he did.

“Ohh,” he said lowly, voice nearly a growl. “There she goes.”

You froze, a little ashamed by the fact that you were so horny you hadn’t even realized you were unconsciously humping his thigh, but Joel leaned in, lips brushing your cheek. “Don’t stop now, sweetheart. Keep ridin' me like that.”

Your eyes fluttered. “On… on your thigh?”

He nodded slowly, letting his hand drag up the curve of your back. “Mhm. That’s it. That’s what a sweet, shy girl like you needs. Nothin’ too scary. Just daddy’s thigh to start.”

“Joel,” you whispered, embarrassed and overwhelmed and aching so bad.

“S’just like dancin’, baby,” he cooed. “You know how to move your hips, don’t you?”

You nodded shyly, lashes still wet from sucking him, clutching at his shoulders. He adjusted your legs so you were straddling one thick, muscled thigh, your knees braced on either side of his, making you feel the corded muscle shift under you.

“Try movin’,” Joel whispered, voice all honeyed patience. “Rock your hips on me. Just a little to begin with. Just rub your sweet lil’ pussy on my thigh. Pretend it’s my cock if you want.”

You hesitated, but then rolled your hips forward, slowly dragging your clothed pussy over the ridge of his thigh, the friction made you gasp and clutch your fingers on his shirt.

“There we go,” Joel cooed. “See? That feel good? That’s what I’m gonna teach you to do all on your own. Go slow at first. Just lil’ rocks, baby.”

“Oh…”

“Atta girl. You’re doin’ so good. S’just like that.”

You moved again, the soft cotton of your panties growing damper with every pass. Joel watched you like a starving man, eyes hooded, hands staying right at your hips, guiding your movements.

Your breath came quicker as your clit caught on the firm pressure beneath you. The friction was perfect through your panties, rough enough to spark pleasure but safe enough not to scare you.

“Feel good, baby?”

You whimpered. “Y-yeah.”

“You ridin’ me now, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “Even if it’s just my thigh. So desperate to be a big girl, you just had to feel it, huh?”

You nodded, moving again, this time more confidently, moaning under your breath as the pressure hit just right.

“Aw, my poor baby,” he whispered, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “Look at you grindin’ all over me like you need it to breathe.”

Your cheeks burned, you buried your face in his neck as your hips rocked faster. “Feels so good, daddy…”

“I know it does. This is what happens when you trust me to teach you. I’ll show you everythin’, baby. Start you slow… get you used to it.”

You moaned into his skin, your clit catching just right on his thigh.

“Bet you’re gettin’ your pretty panties all wet, huh?”

You whimpered again in response.

“Yeah, I can feel it,” he growled. “Soakin’ through. You keep goin’, baby girl. Use me. Rub that little pussy right on me ‘til you cum.”

“God, Joel, it—feels so good—”

He nodded, hand sliding up your back. “I know it does, sweetheart. That’s your little pussy learnin’ how to get off. Keep goin’ for me

“Joel—”

“You need to cum,” he said, gently but firmly. “You need it, don’t you?”

“I—I think so—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Think real hard. Wanna cum for me, don’t you?”

You nodded desperately, now chasing every movement of your hips, the pressure was building and building, your clit throbbing against the strength of his thigh. He let you do your thing, just watched you unravel slowly, whispering praise like poison in your ear.

“That’s it. Just like that. Look at you—so sweet and dumb, so fuckin’ precious. Bet if I let you cum like this, you’ll be beggin’ me to show you what ridin’ my cock feels like next, huh?”

“I think—I think I’m gonna—Joel—”

You cried out, back arching, your thighs shaking as the orgasm hit. It was hot and dizzying and so much stronger than you expected just from grinding him, but you’d never done anything like this, never been talked through it like this, handled like this. You kept rocking even through it, drawn-out and needy, until Joel’s hands stilled you.

“Shh. That’s it. That’s enough, baby. I got you.”

Joel held you close through it, murmuring praise into your hair, arms wrapped around you like you were something breakable. When your breath finally slowed and your hips stilled, you whispered, “Joel…”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “Yeah, baby?”

You swallowed, voice small. “I think I’m ready.”

He stilled, blinking, breathing harder now.

“Yeah?” he said after a second, thumb still pressed to your mouth. “You sure, sweetheart? Don’t say it if you’re not. I can wait. I’ll fuckin’ wait forever for you.”

You nodded. “I want it to be you.”

Even though that orgasm had been mind-blowing, your body was still craving more. You were a little scared, but you knew Joel loved you, and that he’d take such good care of you in every step of the way.

Joel let out a shaky, wrecked sound and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your lips. He kissed you like you’d given him something holy. He felt so honored to be the one, the only one, to take that part of you. To be the first cock to stretch you open, to fill you up completely.

“Alright,” he rasped. “Alright, baby girl. We’ll go slow. Real slow. I got you.”

He laid you spread open on the bed, softly, like you were made out of glass. He kissed down your chest, your stomach, your thighs, murmuring as he went.

“I just…” You swallowed, cheeks burning. “I’m nervous. I don’t know what it’s gonna feel like.”

Joel exhaled softly, his voice dropped low.

“S’a stretch, baby. First time always is. You might hurt some. But I’ll be right here the whole time. I’ll help you through it. You just gotta listen to me, yeah?”

You nodded.

“Gonna be s’good for me,” he breathed. “You’ve been s’good for me already, haven’t you? Lettin’ me teach you. Lettin’ me touch you. And now you’re gonna let me take you all the way. That what you want, baby? Want daddy to take your little virgin pussy?”

Your thighs trembled. “Y-Yeah.”

Joel pulled back just long enough to wrap his hand around himself, hard, and heavy, all over again.

“Look at this cock, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You really think you’re ready for all this?”

Your eyes flicked to his cock, shy but sure, it was all you needed right now. “I want it.”

He groaned, moving between your thighs again. “Alright. Gonna give you just a little first, okay? Gotta stretch you open slow, baby. I ain’t lettin’ you hurt.”

His fingers stroked through your folds, slick and ready, spreading you for him, and then you felt the broad head of his cock, warm and insistent, pressing right at your entrance.

“Deep breath,” Joel said, his voice like velvet. “Just the tip first, like last time. Let daddy in.”

You exhaled, and he took that moment to push forward, just barely, just enough to breach you. You gasped, your whole body tightened around him instinctively, but Joel was already soothing you, already leaning over you with kisses and murmurs and praise.

You gasped—your hands flew to his arms, nails digging in. “Joel—oh—wait—”

“Shh, shh,” he soothed. “I know, baby. I know. It’s a lot. Daddy’s so sorry.”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. You were shaking, even if he wasn’t moving.

he whispered. “Too much?”

You shook your head quickly. “Just… hurts more than I thought.”

“I know, baby. I know it hurts. Just breathe f’me. You’re doin’ great.”

You tried to breathe through it, feeling the dull burn of being opened by something too big, too thick, but still, you wanted it, you wanted him.

“Shhh, baby, that’s it. You’re doin’ so good. Tight little thing, ain’t you? Gonna suck me in so sweet. I knew you’d be tight, but fuck—you’re squeezin’ me like you never wanna let go.”

You let out a shaky laugh that turned into a cry as he gave another slow push.

“It’s a lot, huh?” he whispered against your ear. “Big cock stretchin’ you for the first time. Feels full, don’t it?”

You nodded, jaw trembling. “So full.”

“Too much?”

“No. Keep going, daddy.”

His breath hitched. “Jesus. You’re so fuckin’ brave, baby girl.”

And then finally—finally—he was all the way in, buried to the hilt, making you gasp again. Joel froze, holding you tightly, his whole body shaking above yours.

“Christ,” he groaned. “You took all of me. First time and you’re takin’ me so goddamn deep. That pussy was made for me. You feel that?”

You could only nod. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes. Joel looked down, utterly wrecked by the sight of your pussy swallowing him whole, of that tight little hole stretched around him.

You could feel everything, every twitch, every throb, every part of him stretching you open in ways you’d never imagined. It hurt, he was so big, and your body was struggling to take it, but you knew the pain would fade, your just needed to give your body a minute to stretch, to get used to him, and once it passed, the good part would come.

Joel rocked gently, barely moving, just letting your body adjust. You whimpered at the pressure, at the fullness, at the intensity of it all.

Joel just babied you. “Such a sweet girl. So fuckin’ brave. You lettin’ me be your first, baby? Makin’ me feel honored.”

“Don’t move yet,” you whispered. “Just… stay.”

“I ain’t movin’,” Joel said. “You tell me when. This pussy belongs to you until you give me permission.”

Your heart ached by how sweet he was, you wrapped your arms around his neck, held on, breathed, and slowly, the pain dulled, the sting turned to heat, the fullness turned to need, you needed more, you desperatly needed friction.

“Okay,” you whispered. “You can move now.”

Joel pulled back, just a little, and then rolled his hips forward, slow and steady. And again, and again. Each stroke made you gasp, made you cling to his shoulders, the feeling of him sliding deep, hot and heavy and perfect, dragging against every tender, untouched nerve inside you.

Every thrust was shallow, slow, careful, but it still made your thighs tremble. The pain was a shadow now, replaced with a tight, delicious ache and something filthy blooming low in your belly.

“Good girl,” he kept whispering. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good. I knew you would. This sweet little pussy was just waitin’ for me, wasn’t it?”

You moaned so loud your throat felt sore. You would’ve been so embarrassed if you hadn’t been so completely lost in the overwhelming, electric pleasure coursing through your body.

He was trying to hold back, trying to stay gentle, because he knew how important a first time was, and you were his baby, you deserved for it to be nothing but soft and sweet. But in the back of his mind, he was already tasting the future, already imagining how he’d have you in all fours soon, when your body was ready to take more. He’d be rough then, fucking you deep and hard, just like he knew you’d want it once you got a real taste of him. But not now. Not yet.

“You wanted this cock,” he murmured. “You needed it. Wanted daddy to teach you how to take it. Fuck—look at you, baby girl, takin’ every inch. Buryin’ my cock all the way in this perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks, not quite from pain anymore, but from how full and overwhelmed you were. Joel kissed them away, he started to move faster, the heat built with every slow thrust, every slick grind of his hips against yours, and then his hand slid between you, thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts.

You arched under him, sobbing louder now, overwhelmed and shaking from how deep he was. It felt like he was in your stomach, stretching places you didn’t even know could feel pleasure.

“J-Joel, it’s so much,” you whimpered. “I—didn’t know it could feel like this.”

He groaned low, voice thick and wrecked.

“That’s right, baby. That’s me all the way up in there,” he murmured, pressing his palm flat against your lower belly, feeling the bulge where his cock reached so deep it made your eyes roll back.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock. Want this little pussy to milk me dry. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Y-Yes—yes—Joel—”

You didn’t even have to try, the tip of his cock found that perfect spot inside you, that sweet, aching place you didn’t even know could feel that good, and the moment he hit it you saw stars, and then he hit it again… and again… and again.

You came hard, it was all so new, so perfect. You clenched around him, voice breaking, and the spasms of your cunt made Joel snap. His thrusts got rougher, deeper, his hips stuttering as he groaned your name over and over again.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck—gonna fill you up, baby girl, give you every fuckin’ drop—mine, you hear me? This pussy’s mine.”

He spilled inside you, grinding deep, holding you to him as you both fell apart. You clung to him, trembling, panting, tears still slipping down your cheeks. It was strange, so strange, a sudden heat blooming inside you, you swore you could feel his thick and warm seed being spilled inside you, and then sliding back out, dripping from your sore, used hole, slick and messy between your thighs. You whimpered at the sensation, so sensitive now that even the slow trickle of it made you twitch.

“You did so good,” he whispered. “So goddamn good. You’re mine now, baby. Every part of you.”

Afterward, Joel gave a few slow, shallow thrusts to push his cum deeper inside you before going completely soft. Even as he pulled out with a low groan, he watched the last of his seed slowly drip from your hole.

“Fuck… look at that, baby,” he rasped, his voice still thick with lust and awe. “Can’t even keep it in. I filled you that good.”

You could barely speak, barely breathe. All you could do was lay there and feel his release leaking out of you in hot waves.

“Daddy made a mess in you,” he murmured, his thumb gently playing with the warm slickness, spreading it over your folds and making you flinch from the sudden sensitivity. “D’you want me to clean you up, baby?”

“Mmm, can I stay like this, daddy?” you whispered. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

It felt… nice. Comforting, even. Being this marked by him. Joel just nodded, he didn’t move away from you, he just stroked your face, your hair, kissed your cheeks and whispered how good you’d done, how proud he was, how much he loved you.

And even though your body ached, your legs were still trembling, and your thighs were sticky with him, you felt safer than you ever had in your life.

He kissed your face, your hair, your lips. You were still crying a little.

“You did so good, baby girl,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ good f’me. I’m so proud of you.”

You held onto him, safe in his arms, and whispered.

“…I love you.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than I ever thought I could.”

A/N: This definitely ended up being much longer than I intended, especially for pure porn without plot, lol

I’m so happy to see how much you liked the previous part I posted🥹 I immediately started writing this other one, and I hope you enjoy it just as much. If you do, please consider showing some support, it would mean the world to me🩷🩷

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

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