#he deserved to be though he did get hit in the face

[theonlyonesora]

The Man Who Married Me

PAIRING: Lewis Hamilton x Reader x Max Verstappen

CH – 34

It was a quiet Monday night in London, but your apartment echoed like a cathedral. The air was too still, the corners too bare. The couch sat awkwardly, almost lonely, without the warm clutter that used to surround it—no video game controllers, no shoes kicked carelessly by the door, no Roscoe snoring in his bed by the window.

Uma batida quebrou o silêncio.

You opened the door, and there he was—Max, still in his Mercedes hoodie and travel-wrinkled jeans, hair tousled, eyes warm. He looked like someone arriving home, even though this had never been his place.

“Congrats,” you began, but the words were drowned by the look on his face. He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking around you.

"You were robbed," he said bluntly. “What happen?”

You couldn’t help but let out a tired little laugh. “Some of Lewis’s friends came to get his things.”

Max stepped inside slowly, like the room might crumble under his weight. His eyes scanned the shelves—empty. The coffee table—bare. The TV—gone.

“That wasn't an exaggeration. They practically took everything. Can they do that?”

“Honestly,” you said, walking toward the kitchen like it didn’t matter, “I don’t really care.”

He stood there, still stunned. “Seriously, even the TV?”

“Max,” you said gently, turning back to face him, “relax.”

His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

You shrugged. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t, really. And he knew that.

You leaned against the counter while Max stepped closer, his voice quieter now.

“It’s just… it doesn’t seem fair,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “You loved this place. You made it a home.”

You didn’t respond at first. Instead, you reached for a glass of water, letting the silence answer for you.

Finally, you offered a small, tired smile. “I can buy it all back. The speakers. Even the damn TV. None of it matters.”

Max’s jaw tightened. “What does matter?”

You hesitated.

Then, “Peace.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

You were standing in the ruins of a shared life, but somehow, Max made the air feel less heavy. Like he wasn’t afraid to see the mess. Like he’d help carry the weight if you asked.

“You did come here just to see me?” you said softly.

He didn’t answer it. Instead, you reached out and touched his hand. And for the first time in days, you let someone stay.

“I didn’t expect it to hit me like this,” he admitted softly. “Seeing everything gone.”

“It’s okay. I think I needed it to feel real.”

He walked toward you. “And does it?”

You nodded, then looked away, eyes glistening. “It hurts. But yeah. It’s real now.”

Max’s fingers reached out gently, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

There was a quiet understanding between you both — the kind that came not from words but from being there. Through the silence. The fire. The grief. And now… the after.

You leaned into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you. The embrace wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t urgent. It just… was. Safe. Familiar. New.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your hair.

You closed your eyes. “I missed you too.”

Later, when the lights were dim and the world outside had disappeared, you found yourselves in bed. It wasn’t a decision, not exactly. It was something that unfolded like a soft breath — one glance, one kiss, and then another.

Max was gentle with you. Reverent. Like touching you was something sacred.

Your fingers explored his face as if memorizing the curves of him again — the furrow in his brow that deepened when he looked at you too long, the faint scar above his lip, the softness in his gaze when you whispered his name.

The moment wasn’t about lust. It wasn’t about escape.

It was about reclaiming something that had been lost. About anchoring yourselves in something real, even if it was fleeting. Even if it was fragile.

Afterward, you lay beside him, the sheets tangled around your legs, your breath slowly evening out.

Max traced idle shapes across your bare shoulder, and you rested your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you whispered.

“I wanted to,” he said. “I always want to.”

You didn’t reply — not with words. Instead, you laced your fingers with his, let the silence say what your heart couldn’t yet.

.

The familiar hallway of his parents’ house smelled like old wood polish and jasmine. For a moment, Lewis let himself breathe it in, let Roscoe’s eager paws on the floorboards distract him. The dog bounded toward him the second the door opened, tail wagging like he’d never left.

“I missed you too, buddy,” Lewis murmured, dropping to one knee and burying his face in the dog’s fur.

Anthony clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Come in, everyone’s here.”

“Yeah,” Lewis said, rising to his feet, trying to summon something resembling normal.

He greeted his brother, Nicolas, then stepped inside, expecting quiet, expecting space to think. Instead, he was met with clutter — not the comforting mess of a lived-in home, but the stark, awkward presence of things that didn’t belong.

Art. Sound systems. A stack of records he hadn’t played in years. And there, mounted awkwardly between two chairs — the TV from the apartment.

“What the hell?” Lewis said, blinking. “Did you bring the TV? I gave you a list.”

Nicolas looked confused. “What list?”

Lewis turned to his friends, eyes narrowing. “The list I gave you. The one with the stuff I told you to pick up. My stuff.”

One of them shrugged. “You can’t just leave her with everything, man. Come on.”

Lewis’s stomach twisted. He began scanning through the rest of it — shoes that weren’t his, kitchen gadgets he never touched, and then—He froze.

The painting.

A Hajime Sorayama original, commissioned years ago. It was surreal, gleaming in silver and copper tones, stylized and strange like all of Sorayama’s work — except the face. That wasn’t a robot.

That was her.

One of his favorite photos. A moment she didn’t even know he captured: sitting on the terrace, the sun on her face, reading some god-awful finance book.

Lewis’s jaw clenched.

“Does this look like it’s mine?” he asked quietly, holding the painting in both hands.

“It’s just a painting,” someone muttered.

“No,” Lewis said, his voice rising now, cracking around the edges, “it’s not just a painting. It’s a piece of her life. It’s hers. Jesus Christ.”

“Come on, man,” another said. “Leave the bitch empty—”

The words hung there like poison. Lewis didn’t even raise his voice.

“Watch your mouth,” he said coldly. “She’s still my wife.”

Silence. Even Roscoe stilled, watching him from the corner.

Lewis took one long breath and let it out slowly.

“You know what?” he said, setting the painting down gently, like it was fragile. “Get out. All of you.”

One of them laughed nervously. “Come on, Lew—”

“Now.”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

One by one, they filed out, eyes averted, no apologies offered.

When the door finally shut behind the last of them, Lewis stood alone, surrounded by things he didn’t want, with a dog watching him like he knew something was broken.

He sat down, hands on his knees, the painting staring back at him.

What the hell have I done?

And for the first time in days, he didn’t think about Ferrari, or the headlines, or the race.

He just thought about her. And everything he couldn’t fix.

Not anymore.

More 10 chapter left...

TAG LIST: @virtualperfectioncat , @starrgir1 , @the-secret-formulaone, @anunstablefangirl, @tillyt04, @dakotapaigelove, @loadedwafflefries, @forensicheart, @lorena-mv33, @d0llyh3rtz, @teenagetoadghostwobbler, @mizelophsun11, @herdetectivetheorist

[favoritesupernova]

smarty pants!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ math nerd!sator x secretly smart fem!reader

chapter 8: the big bang

series masterlist

genre/tags/cw: non-sorcerer au, university au, nerdjo and his math problems, secretly smart fem!reader that has her struggles, nerdjo stuttering, angst, cussing, addiction (alcoholism), mental illness, they actually make physical contact, pining, yearning, mentions of violence (fighting), feelings

⭑.ᐟ - satoru wakes up in the hospital after a rough night out, but you're by his side. relief settles, with no serious injuries, but his heart still hurts for something.

satoru wakes up after six hours, the flourescent lights blinding him as he flutters his white eyelashes. his head is pounding and it is hard to keep his eyes open because of the throbbing pain.

it all goes away when he hears your sweet voice. "satoru. oh my god, you're finally awake," you say hovering over him, covering up the light. tears start to form in your eyes out of relief, and you couldn't do anything but hug him.

his arm instinctually finds you, wrapping around your waist. you're still wearing the same outfit as last night, making the memories rush back to him. 'oh yea, i did get into a fight,' his mind flashing back from socking sukuna.

your body starts to heave, tears falling on his shoulder, a feeling that you both know so well. "hey, hey, hey," he starts to speak with his hand circling your back, "it's okay, i'm okay. no need to cry."

his words doesn't help, because you feel so guilty. "no, satoru! it's my fault you're even here. i should have never even pressured you into going and i should have told sukuna to fuck off and-," your words are cut off by him wrapping his hands around your neck. he makes you look at him, no room to have your eyes wander.

with noses about to touch, you feel his breath against your skin. your face heats up by the closeness of his face. "it is not your fault. he got what he deserved and if it meant me possibly having a concussion from defending you, so be it." a tear runs down your face and your lip quivers.

before the tear falls near your lips, his thumb runs over it, brushing it away. satoru then puts his hand the side of your face. you lean into his palm, making him carry the weight of your head. satoru doesn't mind though. he would carry all of you, your trials and tribulations, if it meant having by his side.

you both stare at each other, not breaking eye contact. it's just you and him, and you just want to swallow this moment whole. it's quiet, the only sound is the monitor beeping, pretty fast at that. his thumb runs over your cheek, helping you calm down from your state of mind.

of course, the silence breaks from shoko and suguru busting in. your head snaps at them, slowly breaking away from satoru. already, satoru misses you, the warmth you provided him, the cold air hitting him. while you look away, he doesn't, his blue eyes stay focused on you.

"i need to go to the bathroom. i'll give you guys some space to talk," you say making an exit out of the room. shoko runs to him first, making him grunt by the sheer force she pummeled him at. "look at you, fighter boy," she says giggling. suguru doesn't find it funny.

instead of suguru hugging him out of relief, he jabs his shoulder, making satoru wince. "ow, man, what was that for?" suguru still doesn't show a smile. "for being stupid," suguru says, his voice low and void of any joy.

"seriously man. what were you thinking fighting sukuna. you've never even gotten into a fight in your life, let alone someone that could have killed you!" satoru doesn't say anything, because he is right. sukuna could have done a lot worse, but he does not regret what he did.

the room goes still, nobody daring to say a word. "man, you know how worried we were. especially y/n. she was a mess, and wouldn't leave your side, crying about how it was her fault,' suguru explains to satoru, but he doesn't need him to say it. he already knows.

"i know, suguru. i don't need a lecture," rolling his eyes, making suguru even more furious than he already is. "don't be all sarcastic on me now. i got a black eye, because i was defending you." satoru didn't even notice until suguru said it. now, he starts to feel even worse.

he mutters an apology, so quiet that the beeping of the monitor overtook some of the sentence. shoko breaks the silence, "you got one hell of a right hook though," making even suguru giggle a bit. the energy shifted, and now it just feels light-hearted, reminiscing how satoru almost had him.

after the nightly recap, shoko leaves the room to check in on you in the restroom, leaving suguru by himself with satoru. he takes a seat next to the bed with his hands crossed in his lap.

"all of this aside, i'm being serious about y/n. she was a wreck," suguru says, making satoru's head tilt at the mention of your name. "the doctors almost hospitalized her at one point, that's how messed up she was. why, satoru? why did you punch him?" the question hangs heavy in the air.

satoru takes a deep breath, taking all the information in. he knew you were worried, but he didn't think you were that worried. you never left his side, making his heart race at the thought of you by his hospital bed, waiting for him to open his eyes.

the stillness settles, "because, i care for her, suguru," satoru says. "you should have heard the shit sukuna was saying bro. it was nasty and i couldn't take it anymore. it had to be done." suguru hums in response before he speaks.

"do you only care for her, or do you feel something stronger?" now this weighs hefty on satoru's chest. does he? he reminisces the moments he has with you. whenever he is with you, it feels like there is nothing else in the world. you make his heart flutter every time you laugh or smile. when you tease him, his face gets flushed. he sees your reaction every time he does something nice for you, making him get butterflies in his stomach.

yeah, he does have feelings for you. but do you feel the same way with him?

before satoru could tell suguru his revelation, you and shoko walk in, accompanied by a physician. luckily, he only has a minor concussion and some bruising on his ribs, nothing too serious. everyone's shoulders don't feel as heavy anymore and they are ready to sleep once satoru is done with his paperwork.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"alright, y/n. you're stop before i have to drop these idiots off," suguru says, making shoko and satoru huff in despair. you collect your things and say your goodbyes to everybody.

you get out of the car and make your way inside your complex until you hear a car door slam. you turn your head at the sound, only to see satoru standing outside with his stuff. "can i come in? i know you have a change of clothes for me. i stink," he says, mildly yelling, because of the distance between the two of you.

a smile graces your face, the smile that he likes very much. "of course," you say softly, "be careful with the sunlight. can't have you pass out on me."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your apartment is dark, which is good because satoru can't be around light that much anyways. that also means no television or phone screens to distract you guys from weird small talk. both of you are freshly showered, washing away the hospital smell, and now carrying a floral aroma.

satoru decides his first meal is going to be instant noodles, making you some first. the gentleman that he is. now, both of you are slurping down your food, not knowing how hungry you guys were. satoru was even debating if y'all should go for seconds.

hours pass, but your conversations with each other never die. childhood, what the future holds, movies, and embarrassing stories spill from you and satoru. it feels so good for both of you, how easy it is to talk to each other, never feeling that with anybody before.

you feel so light when you're with him. this ache in your chest every time he leaves makes you nervous, but you're not unaware of your feelings. you like satoru, but can he handle you? that question wracks you when you think of him.

the space between you two is not small at all. while he is sitting up, you're laying down with your legs draped over his. you don't even feel his hands over your shins, his fingers absentmindedly raking up and down your skin. you both are just so comfortable with each other, making it hard to even care how you two are set up.

slowly, the conversation dies down, the static in the air getting louder. your subconscious takes over, and you scoot closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. your head leans on his shoulder.

satoru tenses up, your actions were sudden, but he doesn't mind. his head lays on top of yours, both of you looking at the blank television ahead.

what satoru does next has him scared, but he can't hide it anymore. he takes one of your arms off of him, making you look directly in his eyes. fuck, you're so beautiful when you look at him like that.

"y/n," he starts speaking, a lump starts to form in his throat, "i know i fucked up by punching sukuna, but i would do it a million times if it meant protecting you." his words send goosebumps down your arms, a chill going down your spine. "i-i've never felt like this with anybody before. fuck, i have never even defended myself like that before, but i need you to know that-," he goes silent.

your breathing starts to get heavy, waiting for him to finish his sentence. the suspense is killing you. "i need you to know that i feel something for you. something stronger than just caring for you," and there it is. satoru likes you, and you like him, but you're so scared.

his confession lingers a bit before you say anything. "satoru, i feel the same way," now it's his turn to take a deep breath, but your next words shatter his heart. "we can't be together though."

satoru looks like he could cry. you hate how his face just fell, but you feel as though that's the truth. "i'm a mess. you deserve someone better than me. i have so much baggage and i can't bring you dow-," your sentence is interrupted.

his hands fly to your face, and his lips find yours. your eyes widen at his actions, but you settle into his kiss. go, your lips are so soft, and he doesn't want to pull off of you. after a few seconds, he unfortunately does.

"don''t even think to finish that sentence," he says with his lips a darker shade of pink. before you can even refute, he starts to speak. "i don't care about your 'baggage' or that you're a 'mess'. i will carry the weight of your world if it meant having you with me. i don't care how much you try to push me away, it's no use. i want you, and you want me. just let me be with you."

you can't even say anything, but actions always speak louder than words. you kiss him, and you kiss him hard. satoru's hands find your waist and your arms wrap around his neck. you pull off of him, "o-okay," you whisper, making satory smile. "okay, let's do this."

satoru stands up, picks you up and spins you around. he pecks your face a dozen times before he sets you down. your arms are still wrapped around him. he places a chaste kiss on your lips, making you blush in return.

"you know, i've never had a girlfriend before," and his confession makes you laugh. "i'm just glad you're my first girlfriend. out of all the girls that i could have gotten with, none of them compared to you." you squint and slap his chest, "oh. so i should be watching out for any girls that try to come your way then?" your voice teasing.

he leans down, closing the space in between you two. "of course not. i won't even look at another girl again. and if one tries to hit on me, i will pull out a particle accelerator." his tone comes out serious, but the delivery was comedic, earning an ugly cackle out of you.

satoru plants one more peck to your lips. "let's go to bed. it's been a long day, and i want to snuggle with my girl-friend," he says tilting his head at every syllable.

your bed is soft and smells like his favorite scent, you. shortly, sleep takes over you, but not satoru. his arm is wrapped around your shoulder, while a hand lays on his chest. he can feel your breathing against his neck, but it does not bother him.

he feels invincible, like he could take over the world. as long as he has you, nothing could stop him. he is yours, and you are his. there is nothing satoru wouldn't do for you, even if it meant going back to that smelly study room.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

< previous chapter | series masterlist | epilogue >

well! i think that's it for this series. this is the first time i ever wrote something like this, so please do not mind the mistakes.

this fic was completely out of my comfort zone, as well as my other oneshots/drabbles i have posted. the things i normally write are nothing like this, but the amount of support i have gotten is amazing.

thank you to everyone who enjoyed this series! again, this is my first time writing something of this sort, so it's probably not the best, but i am super proud of it! thank you, thank you, thank you!

an epilogue will be uploaded soon, and it will be fluff so don't worry. just bare with me, i am super busy, because uni is starting again!

please like, comment, follow, and reblog for more!

art by @ leimiruu on x

divider by @uzmacchiato

taglist: @nanamineedstherapy @meanderingwistera @bunn1o @wiggly-yrath

[sayakosama]

i got a little carried away •~•

anyways, here’s some extremely ooc simon riley x reader smut, not proof read, english aint my first language, this is my first post, and i WOULD LOVE me some feedback 🩵 have fun reading

MDNI

including: belly bulge, possessiveness, pet names (baby, sweetheart, sweet, gorgeous, darling), trapped together, one bed, baby sitting, (kinda) enemies to lovers

wc: ~11.5k (i think)

NOT LORE ACCURATE

nsfw under the cut

The day you received a friendly text from your superior, Captain Price, asking you to watch his new born daughter Kelly, you knew nothing about what that fateful night held in store for you.

You, of course, instantly agreed; you did not get to work with children at all, even though you loved them with all your heart, but to tend to childrens wounds was not part of your work agenda as a military nurse.

You were stationed as a nurse on most bases and camps where Captain Price’s taskforce was also active.

You had grown well accustomed to the members and held a nice kinship with most of them.

After you answered your Captain’s text, claiming how excited you were and that he and his wife needn’t worry about anything and they should just enjoy their well deserved date night.

The next day, after you finished some paper work, that had been lying around your desk for quite some time, you made your way home.

Making your way to your car, a deep voice called out your name. Turning around, you recognise your Captain’s silhouette jogging in your direction.

“Good thing i still caught ya. Just wanted to give you a heads up, another one of our team is coming tonight. I just sent out messages to everyone i trusted, so it got kinda messy when the both of you responded so quickly, and I thought that two people would be better anyways for Kelly’s arse since my wife and I barely can take care of ‘er without getting burnt out” He looked at you apologetically, before putting a hand on your shoulder: “Thank you so much for watching ‘er tonight. I’m warning ya tho, bring something warm, there’s supposed to be a snow storm tonight”

You did hear about that snowstorm that was said to be the hardest one to hit ever since the start of winter.

“Yeah, I did hear about that one, I just hope the news overdid it again, like that one time there was supposed to be a rain flood…” You shook your head laughing at the memory.

You took the day off, because you were convinced the news didn’t lie when they said the flood would come in high and mighty, only to be met with barely 15 minutes of rain that wasn’t even enough to water your pink coloured peonies that were adorning your front garden.

“I thought about ordering some take out or pizza for you guys, would you be up for that?”

He asked, while you got to unlocking your car.

You nodded your head, take out sounded real nice.

“I’ll pay tho, can’t be in debt to my Captain”

He tsk’d and shook his head while doing a dismissive hand movement.

“Bollocks, yer already watching that little brat, the least I could do is treat ye both to dinner”

After some time spent arguing about who should be the one paying and wether it was a nuisance for you to watch Kelly, the Captain looked at his watch with an alarmed face and cursed under his breath: “Ah shite, I should definitely get going, my wife wants to get going timely”

You said your goodbyes and he went off with a slight jog in his step while you got in your car.

Just as you were about to drive off you noticed you never asked for whose company you were to expect.

You put on some comfy clothes, a tank top and some comfy pyjama pants, along with your coat and a pair of gloves before leaving your house.

In your bag you carried your candle and some baby treats in the hopes of calming Kelly down in case she was to throw a tantrum.

It was snowing when you got to your Captain’s house, making the neighbourhood look like a christmas wonderland.

Garlands and lights were strung across the rooftop of his traditional but modern house, a few faux icicles hanging from the windowsills. Lounging on the front porch you spotted a light-up reindeer with some ribbons (definitely courtesy of his wife, you were sure).

You pressed the door bell, and while waiting for someone to open the door, you let your gaze wander; some day, you would love to call a house like this your own, with a loving and doting husband and some lovely kids at your side. Preferably at least two. Maybe three.

But unfortunately, your job didn’t leave a lot of time for dating and getting to know new people, especially those that would be understanding of your job and life. It was hectic, brutal, exhausting. Often times you saw injuries, that would haunt you for days and nights, broken bones that are sticking out of bloodied skin, bombed off limbs or cut off fingers.

Nobody could call your job particularly nice, but if filled you with a type of macabre satisfaction and pride you could not describe.

Soldiers, your teammates, were putting their lives on the line for this country, the least you could do was patch them up and take care of them. You do not know why, but it felt like an instinct. You knew what people needed, and taking care of the injured was part of your personality, some motherly responsibility you could not let go of, no matter how hard you tried.

The door was opened, interrupting our train of thoughts.

“Hey, I brought some wine as a-“ before you could finish you looked at who was standing in the door way, and it was not your captain.

His shoulders were filling out most of the doorway, his height towering over you easily. In order to fully look at him, you had to crane your head.

‘I forgot how tall he was…’ you thought to yourself.

Of course, you had worked with Simon “Ghost” Riley before, patched him up and fixed his busted knuckles more than just a few times, one time even his nose and lips.

That did not conclude you were particularly fond of him and you were a 100% sure that the feeling was mutual.

Everytime he came in, he was rude, not just grumpy because he obviously was hurt, but he went out of his way to make snide comments about your appearance, your way of bandaging his biceps or sewing his torso.

His unusually handsome features and more than fit body did nothing the overshadow his shitty personality.

“Yer gonna come in or do you want to freeze yer arse to death?”

You jumped a little at his rough-edged, deep voice, that had a mocking tone to it.

You lowered your head, wiped off your shoes on the door mat that said some corny christmas phrase and took them off before stepping off so you wouldn’t track in the snow and get the floor wet.

“Hurry up, it’s getting cold”

You rolled your eyes with your back turned to him. You had never openly expressed your disdain for his commentary and his behaviour, but you guessed it was obvious to him how much you disapproved of him.

“Ah, y/n, there you are! Simon came a little earlier so I could show him the important things and stuff, I’m sure he will explain everything to you later! We are off now, moneys on the counter along with some menus of our favourite places. If you have any questions, please call, we won’t be bothered by it at all!”

His wife came in to your view from the behind the corner and added: “Kelly is sleeping right now, but she usually wakes up around 8, so in about…” she checked the beautiful gold watch on her wrist “an hour. After she had her dinner bottle she usually sleeps for a few solid hours before waking up again. We should be back for the third feeding though.” she concluded while grabbing her designer purse and putting on her high heel boots.

Her husband handed her her coat, kissed her on the forehead and takes her hand before saying their goodbyes.

With that, he shut the door behind him and his wife, who - respectfully - was looking like she was in for a railing tonight.

“Well then… Let’s take a look at the menus they left behind, shall we?”

You turned around, a fake positivity adorning your voice, an attempt to alleviate the thick tension between the two of you.

Simon didn’t reply, but judging by the heavy footsteps that you heard behind you, you assumed that he was agreeing with you. A man of his size had to eat a lot, you thought.

Sitting down at the dinner table in the spacious kitchen that sported a high tech oven and a kitchen island, you looked at the restaurant brochures laid out in front of you.

“What do you usually like to eat when ordering takeout?” you asked, genuine curiosity laced your voice as you picked up a flyer from a place called “Slice, Slice, Baby”.

“Not that kind of crap” He mumbled and snatched the menu of the millennial pizza place right out of your hand.

“Hey-“ you started, but quickly shut up once you realized how closely he was standing behind you.

Normally you were the one standing when tending to his wounds, so you did not get o see Simon at his full height very often.

Once he came in to your tent or room, he was already lying or sitting down on your doctors table and you were leaving again before he got the chance to stand up and dress himself.

He was big. Like, really big. And you were not one to be intimidated easily, but Simon’s dark clothing and his towering figure behind you make goose bumps spread on your neck and an indescribable feeling pool in the pit of your stomach.

Once you realised how weird you must come off, staring at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, you swallowed hard and decided to continue the conversation on different terms.

Simon, in that moment, didn’t mind your weird staring at all.

Your big eyes and your plush lips were drawing him in like nothing else ever has.

The innocent look in your glistening eyes was enough to get him half hard already, and if you unconsciously licked over your lips one. more. time.

Simon did not want to imagine what came after that. Not when it was clear you despised him with all your might.

I mean, he totally did imagine that a thousand times already, at least a thousand times. But being in such a close proximity to you was dangerous. It was testing his self restraint and patience like nothing else ever had.

Simon had laid on hard, frozen grounds with a sniper rifle pushed to his eyes for longer, thinking that he was about to freeze his left testicle off, but even that wasn’t as hard as his dick being completely alone in a room with you.

“Simon?”

He snapped out of his filthy thoughts, only to find you waving another one of those stupid menus in front of his stomach, probably because you did not want to stretch in an awkward position just to reach his face.

He sat down beside you then, taking a lot at what was laid out before him.

“Let’s decide by terminating. Me, personally, I hate arabic food”

“WHAT?!” you exclaimed on his left, shocked.

“I will not elaborate further. What are you terminating?” he asked casually, while putting a brochure aside from an arabic restaurant called “the caravan”.

“Hmm…” You thought about it for a moment.

“I guess I would rather not eat Indian Food today, I am just not in the mood for something too spicy”

You loved spicy food, but destroying the toilet and getting red as one of the chillies that would probably end up in your mouth did not stand on the bucket list of “things i want to do in front of my lieutenant”.

“Well, I guess that automatically makes Thai cuisine a non-contester too” he grumbled, leaning back in the chair that he made look comically small.

You looked at him for a short second, noticing how the tight t-shirt he was wearing stretched over his thick biceps when he crossed them over his trained chest.

You were surprised though, that he could muster up such a civilian answer, instead of coming with a rude comment like “What, can’t handle any spice, you pathetic weakling?” Not that he ever called you pathetic, or weakling, for that matter, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“I guess it does, yeah… That leaves us with Italian and Chinese” You came to a conclusion, putting the menus of an actual pizzeria and a chinese restaurant in between the two of you.

“I never had chinese”

“WHAT?!” you exclaimed a second time this evening, and this time, you couldn’t contain what followed: “where the fuck were you born, on fucking Uranus? Saturn?” You turned to him in disbelief.

Since he didn’t have his mask on you could clearly see how amusement grazed his handsome facial features, his left brow furrowed just a bit, his full and scarred lip lifting.

He opened his mouth, revealing a set of surprisingly straight teeth, but before he could even get out a word, you were already rambling on.

“That’s it, we are eating chinese tonight. And I don’t even care if you want it or not, I will pick something out for you and you will like it, whether you want it or not!”

Quickly, you scribbled down the numbers of what you would be ordering for Simon and yourself on a piece of napkin. You would definitely not memorise all that, you picked out quite a bit for Simon to eat, since with that stature, he would need to eat a lot more than you, you assumed.

Simon didn’t utter a word while you silently threaded through your final choice and just snorted when you said you would like a coke zero cherry with your meal.

Opening the fridge you found a few beers, some liquor and a few different types of wine.

You frowned upon seeing the selection.

“What, nothing to yer liking, princess?”

You jumped a bit, his voice was so close to your skin, as if he was standing directly behind you, taking a peek over your shoulder.

“I- I don’t really drink…” You admitted. Taking some breaths you tried to steady your heartbeat, but instead of air that was supposed to clear your head and calm your racing heart, you breathed in a full breath of his perfume; strong, with a hint of ice and pine. It fit Simon perfectly. And although you did not like what it did to your head, you must admit that you felt really light and warm all of a sudden. Like an unknown heat was creeping up your neck and your cheeks, quelling from the deepest pit of your stomach.

“Well, that’s just unfortunate.. This stuff tastes real good mixed with milk” His thick arm extended past your left side into the fridge, only to come out, holding a bottle of gold liquor.

“Really? I mean, a little bit surely won’t hurt, right?” You shrugged your shoulders and gave Simon a small smile.

Unexpectedly, you had to admit that Simon did not throw comments your way that hurt you in any way until now, so you cut him some slack.

Maybe he just wanted to look good in front of his superior or he was just different when out of service.

What you did not know was that Simon indeed was one of the first few people to respond to the Captains message alongside you, but he did not plan on coming too, since the other two people were enough.

But when Price told him it was you and some scrawny boy that had taken interest in you, jealousy sparked inside him. He told Price, that under any circumstances, he and you were to watch Kelly, not you and that boy whose name Simon did not even remember.

Simon had taken an obvious liking to you. He just did not know how to show it. And frankly, it was wrong to do so if he could; he was almost 10 years older than you, a giant of a man in his thirties, and you, an innocent military nurse who was adored by everyone and would surely not indulge in his needs and would not accept his way of showing his love.

But oh, god curse him, all that Simon wanted to do when you looked at him like you were doing just now; doe-eyed, holding a baby bottle in hand since it was almost Kelly’s feeding time, looking so domestic, all he wanted to do was to rip open your pretty pyjama pants with teddy bears and choo choo trains and fuck you raw over the kitchen island. He would breed you over and over again, and as soon as the two lines on the test came, he would build you a beautiful house with peonies you so obviously loved (yes, he had stalked where you lived, but he just drove past your house ONCE. And stayed until you went to bed with your curtains open, panties barely peeking through your sleeping shorts. Simon had jerked himself so hard that night that he came all over his steering wheel and cargo pants, right in the dark of his car. All just because he saw a sliver of your panties, through a looking glass..)

“How about I go get Kelly and you make me that drink you talked about?” Once again, you ripped the blonde man out of his thoughts.

He nodded and emitted a grunt that sounded like agreement and got going.

A few minutes later you carefully stepped down the stairs, a bundle of pink blanket in your arms, while softly cooing to it.

“Oh, you have a lot to say, don’t you?” You said in a high pitched voice, giggling when little Kelly started babbling again.

“Yes, yes, I know! I completely agree!” You indulged in her antics once more before fixing your gaze on Simon, who stood behind the kitchen isle, two low ball glasses in front of him.

“Look, Kelly! That over there is your uncle Simon!” You turned your body so she would see Simons figure. Upon seeing him she went quiet.

No babbling, no cooing, no yapping. Just one judgmental and suspicious stare at Simon.

He took an experimental step towards her to which she leaning further away in your hold. Another step and her face started to contort as if she was about to start crying any second.

Defeatedly, Simon held his hands up and shook his head: “Okay, okay, I get it brat”

You chuckled a bit, looking at Kelly and patting her back lightly “I think I should be the one handling her then”

“Copy that”

With that, Simon made his way into the living room and chose a seat from which he could silently watch how you walked towards the counter where Kelly’s fresh bottle stood, bouncing her on your hips in the process.

She drank only half the bottle before you went to grab one of the muslins to lay across your shoulder and then began burping her.

The sight was cute, Simon thought to himself. Wholesome. Domestic, like a dream.

He knew, that one day, he would retire from military life, with enough money to his name to build you your dream home, buy you a brand new car in which multiple strollers would be able to fit and pay for your childrens college tuition.

And he knew that you would be the one that was at his side, no one else.

Deep in his thoughts about your future life with you, he did not hear the door bell and did not hear how you paid the delivery guy with your own money and did not see how you put the plastic bags on to the kitchen counter before coming to lean in to the door way of the living room.

“Simon?”

“Yes, princess?”

“You coming?” You cocked your head to the side, a faint red dusting your cheeks. Your body was tilted slightly forward, giving Simon perfect access to stare into the cleavage of your thin tank top.

Thankfully, the Price’s house was well heated.

He stood up with a groan, watching how your head raised itself up to meet his blue gaze.

“Very excited for what I have to eat now”

He said, walking towards you and putting a hand around your shoulder to lead you back into the kitchen, since you wouldn’t budge from the doorway.

The sudden body contact was enough to make your shoulders go rigid, goose bumps rising on your arms and décolleté.

Simon and you arranged the different containers on the table, laying out two sets of cutlery and glasses for your cherry coke.

“Okay, time for the big reveal!” You said, the saliva already pooling in your mouth upon smelling all the different tasty dishes.

“This one is… Chop Suey! Over here we have.. Baked Chicken with Rice and Sweet-Sour-Sauce, which is my personal favourite, if I am being honest” you said, already grabbing the chop sticks the restaurant sent alongside the dishes.

While you continued to explain the other dishes you ordered, Simon only had eyes for you. Of course, the food smelled great, but he was so sure that nothing could taste better than your sweet, soft pussy.

Fuck, he was hard again.

You looked at him expectantly, hoping that his nice streak would hold the rest of the night and the wouldn’t make fun of you for ordering so much food.

“So, did you get a specific one just for you or am I expected to taste test everything?”

He chuckles, grabbing his chop sticks too.

“Me, personally, I would recommend you try everything. You only know what the best thing is if you have comparisons. You know?”

Simon nodded his head, looking at you while you picked up a piece of chicken with some stir fried noodles effortlessly.

“Oh, wait- do you know how to eat with chop sticks, I could also find you some western cutlery if that’s what you prefer?”

Simon looked at your dainty hand, holding the wooden chop sticks, when an idea popped into his head.

“I wanna experience it to the max, you think you could teach me?” A slight grin was gracing his face.

Clueless, you eagerly agreed: “Yes, of course.” Adjusting your hand so Simon would have a clear view of how you hold yours, you started to explain “There’s a few different ways on how to hold them, but i prefer it this way-“ You point your finger to the hand holding the chop sticks.

“You put it on your middle finger, brace it against your index finger, and hold it with your thumb. Your ring finger and the small one are not doing anything really”

Simon made some awkward moves with his fingers, manoeuvring the chop sticks weirdly in his big hands.

A chuckle escapes your glossed lips “No, no, no, wait- can i?” You put your own chop sticks aside and held your hands over his own until he granted you consent to touch his veiny hands.

Your soft finger pads against his rough hands drained all the blood from Simons head, sending it straight to his big cock, wich was -once again- straining against his cargo pants so painfully (he did not have time to change after training).

“Now try to move them” to Simons dismay, you let go of his hands rather quickly, too quickly for his taste.

At this point, Simon understood on how to use them in theory, but in practice, it was still looking a little bit rough.

You laughed again, this time not able to contain how funny you thought this sight was: Lt. Simon Riley, almost 2 metres muscles and strength, who took down men with a swing of his arm and bulky leg on a daily basis, who killed people without blinking, was fighting with chop sticks, having trouble with getting them to obey.

“The way you’re holding them looks pretty good, try moving the upper chop sticks weirdly up and down” You pointed at his index finger, which was decorated with a big scar round-around.

You vividly remember where that one came from, one of his enemies had tried slicing his fingers off, only to fail miserably. All that was left after your stitches was a minor scar, Simon was still able to love his finger just as before since nothing major had been injured.

Suddenly, looking at his hands, thoughts of how and in what other ways his hands would be of good use. You never thought these things before, especially not of Simon- almost an hour ago you were sure you absolutely hated the living fuck out of this man.

Suddenly, you wanted this mans fingers inside of you, wanted to suck his thumb, swirl your tongue around it, acting as if it was his-

*crack*

The chop stick that Simon had to move was broken in two, the pointed end of clattering on to the table.

“Oh.” you said quietly, gaze still pointed at his hands, his knuckles turning white.

“Sorry.”

Your gaze shot up to his.

Never, never in your few years than working with Simon and the taskforce, not once, did he apologise. For nothing. And now he’s apologetic for breaking a wooden CHOP STICK??

You stuttered, not knowing how to answer “Uhm… Maybe there’s some metal chop sticks or some thing like that some where here in the drawers” you said, already beginning to get up from the table, when suddenly, Simons hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back into your seat.

“Don’t bother” His voice was gruff, he wasn’t looking at you while leaning back in his chair to pull out the trash bin drawer from beneath the sink and throwing his chopped up chop sticks away.

“How did you manage to snap them? I mean, I already struggle with breaking them apart…” You looked at your chop sticks, which were definitely not cleanly broken apart, but rather looked like they had been clawed and bitten at, torn apart.

“Look at my hands, princess”

A red hue crept up your neck when you looked down at the table where his fist was lying beneath yours. With his left hand, he took yours and put it against his right hand.

“You see?” A smirk was playing across his lips.

You swallowed hard, then nodded.

“Yes, I do..” you murmured quietly.

Simon suddenly held your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. His lips were scarred, but oh so tender, his hand was calloused but they held yours, that was so much smaller than his, with such devotion it made you melt.

What was this sudden affection from Simon, why was he so nice?

“Simon?”

“I love how you say my name”

Again, you were surprised, your eyes going wide and just deepening your question.

“Why are you like this?” You regretted the question as soon as it left your mouth

Simons brows were drawn together, a confused look on his face.

“What do you mean, why are you like this?”

In your head, you facepalmed, bitch slapped yourself and kicken yourself in the ass all at the same time.

“I mean, you are so nice all of a sudden, when before you were so-“ just as you were about to finish, Kelly started screaming from upstairs.

“Oh shit- Uhm… I’ll be back in a sec!” You said, bolting upstairs.

Simon decided that in the mean time he would look around some, to determine whether there was anything that needed tidying up or anything like that.

He noticed the snow storm had gotten a lot thicker than when he last checked, and that he forgot to serve you your mix of vanilla liquor and milk. He decided to put it in the fridge, in order to keep it cold and tasty, there still was plenty time for you guys to drink it later.

Just as he finished throwing away the plastic bags and putting the stuff back in the fridge, you came back with a fussy Kelly. At this point she had stopped screaming and instead was “just” crying.

“I thought that I’d try the rest of what she left, could you heat it up for me real quick?” You asked, bouncing her on your hip to calm her, just as you had done before.

“Of course” Simon replied.

“Did you already look outside? The storm has gotten pretty bad” He said while heating up the left over milk from before.

You craned your head to the floor-to-ceiling-window beside the kitchen island, only to notice that the snow had already covered a good few decimeters of the ground.

“Oh shiiii- I shouldn’t cuss in front of a child…” You stopped yourself before you finished voicing your genuine reaction. If this went on like this, or even worse, you would definitely not make it home in your car, which wasn’t built for this type of weather.

Simon chuckled while coming up behind you so the baby wouldn’t get scared of him and start screaming again, since you were cradling it horizontally against your chest now.

“Doubt she’ll remember this” he said, while embracing you from behind with hus left arm, bringing the bottle to Kelly’s mouth.

“Simon, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper.

“Thought this was the best way she’d get used to me, y’know?” he grumbled, his voice matching the volume of yours.

“Oh- that… that actually makes sense” you said, surprise evident in your voice.

His laugh was deep, as if stones were rumbling down a high mountain. You could almost feel its vibration from Simons chest against your back from how close he was standing.

The two of you stayed like this for quite some time, burping Kelly together, in which you were holding and rocking her and Simon was doing the patting on the back.

At the end, you brought her back up into her crib, laying her onto her back, Simon watching over you quietly from the door way of her nursery.

You closed the door as silently as you could, making your way down before you dared to speak again.

“I think we make a pretty good team” You said, offering your best smile to Simon.

While holding Kelly you thought about what you were about to ask Simon just before you were interrupted.

It did not really matter, why he was nice to you, the only thing that was important was to keep it that way.

“Yer thinking right, doll” A lazy grin spread over his scarred lips, igniting something in your stomach that has been glimmering for the entire evening already.

“Well, uh- I think the food might’ve gone cold now, and to be honest, I am not really that hungry anymore after watching a baby vomit on your shirt, so… How about you go change and I pick out a movie or some music?”

you suggested wearily, wondering if you were taking a step too far.

“You don’t like me in my work sweaty, vomited-on work clothes?” Simon joked, opening his arms as if he was about to pull you into a hig.

“No, gosh, no - I mean, yes, no, i mean - URGHH!” you slap both your hands over your face, getting a laugh in response from Simon.

“Dollface, I know what ye mean, ye did the right thing by coming in here in comfortable clothes” he teased, already making his way over to his back that was laying in the entrance of the room. “Be right back” he claimed, making his way over to the bathroom.

When he came out, he headed straight for the kitchen to get you the drinks and ingredients in case you wanted more of it.

Meanwhile, you already chose a movie and some chill playlist on spotify and connected your phone to the tv in case Simon didn’t feel like watching anything.

“Here, we forgot about this”

You looked up from your phone to see what Simon was talking about, but instead of boring lounge wear you expected him to wear you were met with a pair of grey sweatpants, hung long on his lips and a tight black shirt that looked like the one he wore before.

His short hair was ruffled and wet, just like his face, as if he had washed it in the sink, to cool off.

Lowering your gaze back to his outfit you noticed multiple things; first, his torso. His nipples were hard, even though the house was fairly warm, his biceps was straining against the fabric, just like his chest. His tattoos looked like an extention of his t-shirt, peeking out from under his collar and going down to his hands.

Second, you noticed something in his sweat pants. And you weren’t stupid, as a nurse you knew basic human anatomy, and you for certain knew two things about this situation: There wasn’t a phone or a suspiciously shaped item in Simons pocket, and that his dick was fucking huge.

Third, you noticed how he sat down next to you already and you were still staring shamelessly.

Averting your gaze from his huge fucking cock and thighs, you explained your plan: “So i thought that until both of them return we could just watch this movie, it’s one of my favourites and i also picked out some back ground music - I hope you like jazz - because I thought that, in case you want to talk and relax a bit, because I am pretty sure that a Lieutenant like you has a lot to do, a bit of music would be a lot more fitting than Interstellar, because I always cry when watching it, no matter how many times it’s-“ Your anxious rambling was cut short by your phone ringing.

When looking at it, you picked it up from the table and answered it.

“Hey, Captain, everything alright?”

Simon looked as your face contorted into one of worry and confusion.

“Wait, yes, wait a second, let me put you on speaker” you said, putting your phone between you and Simon on the table so he could listen to the conversation as well.

“Okay, Lt., you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Captain” Simon said, leaning forward with his elbows propped up on his knees.

“If you happen to look outside you’ll notice this shit show of a snow storm has gotten a lot worse, we can’t get back in this weather. We have to sleep in a hotel room in the night, would you be able to watch over Kelly for the night? I guess you won’t be able to get back home either”

“Yes, of course, no problem for me.” You said in an instant. “For you, Simon?”

“‘Course not” he said, shaking his head.

“Great, thank you. Look, theres a guest room downstairs, on the left side of the powder room. There’s also some formula left inside the cupboard over the sink, in case Kelly drank all of what we had prepared”

Your Captain continued to explain a few things, like where to find spare towels, tooth brushes, pillow cases and how to put the alarm on.

“Ah, just one more thing; the heater in the guest room doesn’t work, but there should be a few extra blankets in the dre- no? Oh, apparently the spare blankets are in dry cleaning, sorry guys”

With that, the call ended and Simon and you were left to be alone.

“Well… Music or the movie?”

You guys decided on the movie, and after crying when Cooper received his messages from earth, especially Murphy surpassing the age that her father was when he left her, and Murphy dropping the “no parent should have to watch their kid die”-line, you decided that you had embarrassed yourself enough for today.

“I think I should go to bed…” you sniffled into Simons chest, where he pulled you into after noticing your silent sobs, comforting you wordlessly.

“You sure?” He asked, looking down at you, where you were holding a crumpled up tissue in your hand against his chest, your nose and eyes a little red, wet and puffy.

Red, wet and puffy.

Simon could definitely think about more than just your face that he could bring to that status.

“Thank you…” you whispered, getting up and collecting your phone. Or at least, trying to. Throughout the whole movie you guys emptied both the milk and the liquor and it was obvious that your body was not used to this kind of alcohol intake, making you fall right back into Simons arms. Or rather, his lap.

Yelping, you landed right on his crotch, your fingers searching for stability in his wide shoulders.

Well, now you know why neither you nor he had any problem with you crying into his broad, plush, muscular chest.

“Simon.. I’m so sorry… I am just embarrassing myself today” you started, tears already starting to form from embarrassment.

“y/n, look at me. In no way, did’ya embarrass yourself today, a’right? Come on now, you go get ready for bed, I’ll take care of the beds”

With a slap to your upper thigh he helped you up on your feet and led you into the bathroom, bringing you a tooth brush and tooth paste.

A few minutes later, your teeth and hair were brushed and your bun was undone.

When you opened the door, you were met with Simons broad chest, blocking the way out.

He didn’t hesitate to drop to bomb: “Theres only one bed”

“Oh… It’s okay, I can sleep on the couch, it won’t fit your body either way” you said, shrugging your shoulders.

“Not under my watch. Sleep in the bed please.”

The fact that Simon said please was the only reason why you were now lying in the guest bedroom of your Captains house. Shivering. It was so goddamn cold in this fuckass room.

You just couldn’t stand it.

Without thinking about it you made your way out the door and to the living room, only to be met with an empty couch, illuminated by moon light.

“Simon?” You softly called out.

Behind you, you heard soft footsteps.

Turning around hastily, you saw how close Simon was standing behind you.

“God, Simon, you scared me!” You exclaimed timidly. “What were you doing over there, on that wall?”

“Heard some weird noises and went on high alert” he grunted.

“Simon… It’s so cold im there… “ you admitted, fiddling with the strings of your pyjamas.

“Let me check if I can fix the heating”

An hour later and Simon still hadn’t been able to figure out what was wrong with the heating unit.

“Sorry, but I don’t think I can get this running, princess”

In the meantime, while he was trying to fix the heater, he had lent you his hoodie that he had with him.

Engulfed in his smell, his natural musk, his detergent and something that smelt utterly like Simon. You basically drowned in the fabric because it was just so big on you, which led you to think about other things about Simon that could be described only as big. Like his chest, his biceps, his bulky thighs, and apparently also his dick.

Watching Simon work on the heater, his arms and hands flexing, his rippled back on display, the muscles showing through his tight compression shirt… it made the heat that had built up in your lower stomach so much more intense.

“I mean…” you purred (the alcohol clearly hadn’t lost its effect on you yet) “maybe… you could keep me warm”

Simon sucked a deep breath in, turning around dangerously slow.

“What did you just say?”

“We could share the bed, if you don’t mind” you gesture to the (at least) queen sized bed.

“Theres enough space for the both of us, you could share your warmth and I hardly believe that the couch is big enough for your body. It’s basically a win-win situation” You plumped down on the bed, before letting yourself fall against the mattress.

Simon watched how your tits bounced when your back hit the soft mattress, not contained by any bra. Your perky nipples were poking into your tanktop, it was evident that you were cold.

He reluctantly agreed. Not because he didn’t want to of course, but because he did not deem himself restrained enough to be able to withstand the pull your soft and pliant body had on him.

“Let me get my pillow” he said and thus disappeared into the living room.

When he came back, he found you already curled up under the only blanket that was available, hidden beneath the hood of his sweater.

He laid down beside you, carefully slipping under the blanket while you inspected his every move with wide eyes. Simon turned his back to you, flexing his muscles as he put out the light.

The both of you were now lying in complete darkness.

A few breaths passed before your fragile voice reached Simons ear.

“Simon Riley… Is that your full name”

“Affirmative”

“Do you have any nicknames?” You propped your head up on your hand and elbow.

“Lt. or Ghost”

“Not your callsign, silly. Like something that friends would call you” A slight chuckle escaped your lips.

“Why do ye wanna know, yer thinkin’ we’re friends?” He lifted his torso from the mattress, propping his head higher on his fist, looking down at you.

“Are we not?” you innocently asked. Simon could see the way your lashes were fluttering, face slightly illuminated by the moon light seeping through the curtains.

“Sweet’eart, I would love to believe we’re way past that stage” his voice was husky, laced with lust, his face incredibly close to yours all of a sudden.

“What are we then?” Your voice was timid, nothing more than a whisper, almost completely silent.

Simon hesitated for a second.

“Want me to show ya?”

You hesitated for a moment.

Then, almost silent; a plea.

“Yes, please”

That was all that Simon needed to hear.

Under the blanket, his left arm moved fast, grabbing your waist, wrapping around it and pulling you impossibly close to his chiseled chest.

A yelp escaped you upon that sudden movement, quickly turning into a whimper once his lips met yours.

You couldn’t concentrate, everything was so overwhelming, so confusing, so much, so Simon fucking Riley.

You couldn’t kiss him back, you didn’t know what to do, how to react.

Noticing your lack of reaction, Simon carefully pulled back.

‘Oh, fuck’ was the only thing racing through your mind.

Everything was hazy, but one thought that was clear the whole time, was how you wanted more of Simon than just this failed but passionate kiss. You just needed him to be slow and let you grasp all that was going on

“Simon… I- I didn’t kiss anyone for a long time…” you admitted, hesitancy laced your voice.

“A gorgeous thing like you?” you could hear the disbelief in his voice, but somehow it didn’t give you that feeling of him trying to shame you for it. Now that you really thought about it, Simon probably never wanted to shame you in any way or form, it was just how he expressed his feelings.

You nodded, flooded with new revelations; all those time in which he said how that particular shirt accentuated specific parts of your body immensely well, or how he told you that not one of those “lanky boys” was worth your time.

“Wan’ me to go slow, sweet’eart? Show yer mouth how to speak for itself?” Simons voice sent shivers down your spine, adding to the ever pooling heat in your lower stomach and now also your panties.

“Yes, Simon. Please, that would help a lot” You put your right hand onto his cheek, feeling the little stubble of his shaven beard beneath your fingers. You watched him as he nuzzled his head further into you, half-lidded eyes looking right down the valley of your eyes into your soul.

“A’right, sweet’eart. Let me take care of ya” With that, he sat up and pulled you up with him, letting your pussy settle right against his growing bulge.

You whimpered, the intimate contact making your body shiver.

“Can I put my hands on yer ass?” His voice was calm, collected, the total opposite of what his hammering heart told you beneath your fingertips, that were splayed out right above his heart.

You nodded, but that didn’t cut it for Simon: “Use yer words, baby”

“Yes, please”

“Good Girl” His breath ghosted your lips before one hand started to push you into him by your ass, while the other one tenderly brought your neck closer.

This time, his lips weren’t trying to devour you, they were trying to savour you, your taste, your scent, the way you moved, the way you whimpered and the way your fingernails gripped his shirt.

You, on the other hand, were so grateful for Simons understanding, apparently you had a really wrong idea of him before this evening.

You remembered Simon as a brute, a mountain of muscles and pure hatred, but instead he didn’t do anything but treat you nice, make you giggle and help you.

His lips weren’t as soft as you imagined to be, nothing some of your chapstick wouldn’t be able to fox though, a scar ran across his cheek, over his lip down to his chin, and you were sure if you were to let your tongue wander over it, you’d be able to feel it.

So you did.

You let your tongue run over his lip, just for a second, but it was enough for Simon to voice out a groan and make his dick twitch, making your pussy clench around nothing.

Your fists tried to pull Simon in even more by the fabric of his t-shirt, Simon took that as a sign.

He broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his, before it broke off and dripped down onto Simons hoodie you still didn’t take off.

Before you could ask what was wrong or get insecure, Simon got rid of his t-shirt, leaving him only in his boxers and sweatpants.

You could clearly make out a v-line and chiseled abs on Simons body, and even though you had seen different parts of his body naked before, you never took the time to appreciate what was in front of you.

You sucked a deep breath in: “You’re so… wow” was all you managed.

“Wow? Elaborate please” Simons left hand caressed your chin, while you leaned back to trace a finger down his pecs, his abs, his happy trail and v-line. Your other hand was gripping his veiny fore arm, which still had a hold on your ass.

“I- I don’t know how to describe it…” you said to him, keeping your gaze fixed on his muscular shoulders.

“Want me to go first?” He asked, and then continued without waiting for an answer: “Your face and its expressions are the cutest thing I have ever seen, your eyes are so fucking gorgeous, every time I look into them I get lost in them. I want to kiss your lips everyday from now on because -fuck- I might’ve only had a short taste of them but they taste so fucking sweet it hurts. You know what else hurts? My dick.”

You gasped, covering your face with your hands.

“It’s true, just looking at you gets me so gucking hard” He tilted your chin up again, forcing you gently to look at him.

“Is this… like- dirty talk?” you asked, ashamed of your own inexperience. It wasn’t like you’re a virgin anymore, but basically you were. You did nothing to explore the world of sex and pleasure, often times you were too tired after work to even explore yourself. But Simon didn’t laugh at you, didn’t look at you funny or pulled back.

“It’ll be whatever you want, baby. Just want’cha to voice out your thoughts” He started kissing your neck, but after only a few kisses and a few seconds of silence, you were done with thinking about it:

“You- I- You make me feel all warm inside and, you know, down there-“

“Your pussy?”

You swallowed hard before allowing yourself to say it “yes, my pussy. It gets all tingly and all I can think about is you, and how muscular you are, how much work it must’ve been to get this physique… It just.. turns me on so much, I want you everywhere” Your hands do the wandering over his beautiful body while your eyes stay focused on his face.

Simon licks his lips as you continue with your confession. “I was never one to be attracted to tattoos but there’s something about yours that just makes me wanna trace them, until they go lower and lower” Your index finger traced the line between his pecs, his abs, over his belly button down to hie happy trail, where it stopped.

“But I don’t have a tattoo that goes down to my cock, sweet’eart” He took the wandering finger into his, pulling it to his mouth and planting a kiss on it. “I’ll keep it in mind for next time” Simon breathed, while pulling you forward by your hand, making you fall onto his naked chest.

A short yelp escaped you but was quickly cut short when his lips met yours once again.

His arms wrapped around you caging you against his chest while yours traveled up to his shoulders and short, blonde hair.

Simons tongue darted out to your lips, silently asking for permission.

You opened your lips, letting your own intertwine with his, pulling whimpers from you.

You had never felt anything like this.

Your body was on fire, your pussy and breasts started to ache.

You pulled back, catching your breath, while simultaneously trying to get rid of Simons hoodie.

Simon was silent, not saying anything, just watching you.

His eyes were trained on your upper body that was now only clad in your thin tanktop.

While you were peeling the last piece of clothing off your torso, you studied his face.

His eyes had darkened, the blue of his irises almost nonexistent. His nose was beautiful, still straight with just a small hint that it was once broken (courtesy of yours truly). His left eye brow hat a scar going through it, that looked like a small cut.

You pulled your tanktop over your head, and before you could even throw it to the side you heard Simon take a sharp breath in.

“Fuck me, yer beautiful. Gorgeous. The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen”

Your face went red at his compliment. There was only a few people who had seen you naked, and none of them had ever called you pretty or anything like that.

“Can I touch them?”

You nodded, scooting forward on his dick, making a small moan escape you from the friction it caused against your poor little clit.

Simon pulled you closer and put his mouth on your nipple, the other one being toyed with by his monstrous hands.

You moaned at the feeling, Simons tongue was so skilled, it made you wonder where else it would feel good.

It didn’t take long before you began subconsciously grinding on his impossibly big bulge.

Simon took that as a sign to move on, detach himself from your breasts and instead roll over with you on top of him.

Your back hit the mattress softly, Simon standing up and ridding himself of his sweats. Upon seeing this you did the same, pulling off your pyjama pants, put keeping your panties on.

Looking at Simons Calvin Kleins you could clearly see a dark, wet patch on the front of his bulge.

“You see how hard I am for you?” His voice was scratchy, tingling in your ears and spine.

“Yer body is doing this to me, ye’re so gorgeous, so sexy, fuck me…” His voice got breathy when you leaned forward, touching that wet spot with your finger tips.

“Can I touch… it?” You looked up at him, lashes fluttering.

“What’s ‘it’, sweet’eart?” His right hand caressed your cheek before moving down to your chin, his thumb resting on your lower lip, pulling it slightly down.

“Your cock…” you whispered, darting your tongue out, pulling his thumb into your mouth to suck on it lightly.

“You wanna touch it? Jerk me off till I cum all over your pretty face? Or you wanna suck my cock, make you choke on it and spray my spunk deep into your throat?” Simon growled, looking down at you, making you feel so small and submissive.

Words never had that effect on you, but Simons voice and his lewd words were making you rub your thighs together and grind on the sheets, your pussy begging for at least the smallest relief.

“I wanna try sucking on it…” You admitted, your hands wandering to the hem of his boxers, pulling them down.

His cock sprung free, hitting your face in the process. Your senses were clouded with Simons scent and presence as you came closet to his dick, experimentally taking it in your hand, wrapping your fingers around it, before spitting on his tip, making him moan.

You pressed a few light kisses on hie tip, precum sticking to your kiss-swollen lips. You pumped your hand up and down as you seductively licked the pre of your lips, looking at Simon while doing so.

“Yesss, fucking good girl..” he said between clenched teeth.

That was your clue to finally take him into your mouth, starting out slow, licking his tip with the tip of your tongue, sucking on it like an ice-pop.

Simons hands travelled behind your head, both of them guiding you slowly and gently, lower and lower until you were gagging, nose buried in his dark-blonde happy trail.

“Yess, fuck, look at how deep I am, can feel myself down your throat” He whispered, a hand caressing the clear bulge in your throat.

You, meanwhile, were concentrated on breathing through your nose to minimize the gagging, and when he started fucking your throat you let one of your hands travel down to your panties, slipping inside of them.

You could feel your arousal coating your fingers, the slick sticking to your white cotton panties, making you moan around Simons dick.

You kept jerking Simons dick while sucking his tip, before he took that hand off his dick to make you deep throat his dick again, groaning loudly when his balls hit your chin, messy and full of spit, dripping down onto the floor and sheets.

Shortly after, he pulled your eager mouth off his dick by your hair: “Let’s stop there, wanna cum inside of you, all of it. That okay?”

You nodded your head, taking your hand out of your panties to take them off instead.

“Words, sweets” He helped you take your panties off, holding them up to his nose, licking a stripe over them before throwing them behind his shoulder, on the floor.

“I want you to come inside of me, please, Simon” You leaned back, spreading your legs, letting him have full sight of your dripping pussy.

“Wanna taste ‘cha, may it?” He leaned down, crawling from the bottom of the bed towards you, grabbing your lower leg, massaging it.

From your angle, he looked like a predator, ready to feast; broad, dangerous moving shoulders, big arms, want in his eyes.

“Yes, but I didn’t shave… or shower…” you whispered, scared your confession may drive him away.

A lazy, dangerous grin spread across his lips:”Your pissy boys may be scared of a little flavour, but I certainly ain’t” with that, he grabbed your hips, pulling them towards him and diving head first into your soppy folds.

“Ahh- Simon” You moaned, shocked by the sudden feeling of his tongue collecting your slick.

What you didn’t know, was how Simon had to hold himself back so much. Like you wanted to hold back a leashed wolf from eating his prey; he only held back to not hurt you and drag your back through the mud.

He had dreamt of this so many times, wished you would wake him up by suffocating him with your pretty pussy, or how you would lie next to him, sleeping soundly, in such a deep slumber that you not recognise how Simon would make his way down your body to taste and smell the haven between your legs, wet and warm from sleeping in his arms.

Oh, and you tasted even better than Simon could ever imagine, and now he was certain he wouldn’t be able to go a day without this. May it be for breakfast, tea, lunch, coffee, dinner, dessert, midnight snack, he just wanted to taste you on his tongue, feel your slick on his face, smell in between your wet folds for eternity.

He would quit smoking to keep his taste buds intact.

By now, he was hungrily lapping at your tight entrance, his left thumb playing with your swollen clit.

“Simon- fuck-“ you were trying to form words, but you were interrupted by your own moaning as the Lieutenant between your shaking legs slowly started to push his thick tongue into your vagina.

His tongue was fat, long and absolutely ruthless inside of you.

Your hands were gripping his hair, moaning and pulling, but Simon didn’t let up.

Suddenly, in between his pussy drunk frenzy, he noticed your body starting to shiver, your legs shaking, your breathing quickening.

Simon was an experienced man, he knew what this meant, and you probably did not even know; you were about to cum, hard.

“Si- fuck, ahh~ Si-Simon, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god-“ you were chanting, like a prayer, before you were interrupted by your own screamed moan, so loud Simon thought (just for a second though) that hopefully, you didn’t wake the kid.

Your juices were flooding his tongue, coating hus face in a glistening sheen, the noises being almost as loud as your lewd moans.

“Oh my god, fuck, Simon…” you panted, looking at him while he collected your sap on his face with his fingers and put them in his mouth.

“I guess you liked that, based on the way you moaned my new nickname?” he said as you sat up and reached out to caress his neck and pull him closer.

“Yes, I did…” you admitted, looking down at his cock, which was now leaking more pre cum than ever.

“Do you wanna continue, darling?” His hands travelled over your arms, one hand going up to tilt your chin up.

You nodded, “Yes, please. Can we switch positions though? I would like to give it back to you and do all the work” you said, gaining more and more confidence, thanks to Simons way of appreciating and worshipping your body.

“Ye wanna ride my cock?” he asked, already leaning against the cushioned headboard, beckoning you to him.

You nodded, climbing into his lap, carefully using your hand to aline his fat tip to your tight hole, carefully pushing it in.

Once you sank down on his tip, you braced yourself against his broad shoulders, his hands finding their place on your waist, almost circling it entirely.

You leaned forward, planting kisses on his lips, tasting yourself. Simon grinned against your lips as you struggled with a whimper to take more of him, his cock just so incredibly thick, it was hard for you, especially since it’s been so long, and Simons dick is for sure the longest and thickest you ever had.

“Easy, go slow, use what you already took” He groaned against your lips, kneading your ass.

You followed his advice, rocking yourself down on his tip, taking more of him each time you ket your hips down, until he bottomed out. A moan accompanied the meeting of your cunt against his pelvis, his tip meeting your service.

“Atta girl, lean back a bit so I can admire you” he said, detaching himself from your raw-kissed lips.

“Oh, fuck me…” he groaned, looking down at where the two of you were connected. You followed his gaze, only to find your belly bulging where his tip was meeting your walls. Experimentally, you rocked your hips up and down, watching how the bulge in your stomach seemingly hid beneath the skin only to reappear once you bottom out again with a loud moan.

“Si- you’re so big…” He chuckled, rubbing your clit with his thumb while responding: “Yer the one who’s tight, makes my cock so fuckin’ hard” his voice was laced with restraint, as if he was muzzled, holding back from grabbing your waist and fucking up into you like your a fuck doll.

You were bending forward, grindig your clit on his pelvis instead of his fingers now, moaning softly when he started leaving open mouthed kissed down your neck and shoulders.

After some time, your frustration became evident, the friction of his happy trail against your clit and folds enough to rile you up, but not enough to push you over the edge. Your legs were starting to give out, still shaky from your previous, mind-wrecking orgasm.

Sighing, you timidly spoke up, looking up at the blonde haired Lieutenant:

“Simon… I can’t do it…”

His eyes were fixed on yours.

“Wan’ me to help? To take care of you and that needy pussy?”

You halted on his dick, now sitting idly on it, while his hands moved down to your hips, pulling you onto his torso, making you grab his biceps and shoulders.

“Yes, please” you murmured into his neck. Taking a deep breath, taking in his scent: a little bit of sweat, smoke, pine and detergent. And something else, like a little bit of faded, masculine perfume, a musk. The combination fit Simon so incredibly well.

“I won’t be able to hold back, that alright with ‘cha?” He asked solemnly, pushing a small strand of straying hair out of your teary eyes.

“Are we gonna have a safe word or something like that?” Your voice trembled slightly, was it fear or anticipation of what Simon would do to you.

“Safeword’s cigarette. That good?” He looked at you again, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Yes, take care of-“

you were interrupted by Simon driving his hips up into yours immediately, a loud moan escaping you, startled by the sudden intrusion.

“Fuck yeah, take it, wanted this for so long” Simon confessed, hands gripping your ass and hips hard enough to leave prints.

“Dreamt about this, every. fucking. night” He accentuated his words with fast slaps to your ass cheek, so hard you were certain you’d have trouble sitting down tomorrow. Walking too, but that was because the way he was bullying his cock against your cervix was just straight up mean.

“Simon, Simon, Si- oh, god!” you were reduced to a moaning mess, eyes rolling back, head lolling.

“Simon or Si will do, sweet’eart”

Balls slapping against your ass, folds dripping down onto the sheets from the squelch your pussy emitted. It was filthy, Simon fucking you raw, literally: every one of your nerves was one fire, as if your bones and muscles had been stripped from skin, laying blank for him to ruin with his cock, unsullied without any barrier between the two of you.

“You’re mine, fuck, this pussy ‘s mine, has been for way longer than you could ever imagine” Simon groaned out, voice a dark timbre from the way he was fucking you so feral, muscles tense, legs bent, biceps straining.

“Yes, faa- yesyesyesyesyes, yours, mine- I mean, yours- ahh, fuck!!” You rambled, spit slipping out onto Simons chest where you held on for dear life, no thoughts were occupying your head except for ‘SimonSimonSimonSimonSimon”.

This was lewd, filthy, naughty, Sex at its finest, rawest, best.

Simon was fucking you so good, and you didn’t feel your second orgasm approaching with light speed until it was too late: “Oh, fuck, Simon, I think I’m gonna- Oh, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum- cum- cumming, ahhh~”

You were a moaning, whimpering, screaming and crying mess, all at the same time while gushing and squirting on Simons hard abs, leaving his hair-covered skin and the sheets beneath wet and sticky.

Even after your intense release, Simons pace and brutality on your pussy did not falter, he was fucking you through it ferociously, chasing his own release, the bulge in your belly so fucking evident.

“Oh, fuck, please, I need you to cum so deep inside of me” You were babbling, still drunk on dick, fucked so dumb by Simons far cock.

“Cum inside, please, fill me”

And oh.

That did it for Simon; with a few deep, harsh thrusts you felt his sperm hit your womb, or at least it felt like it. So deep inside, it felt like it was not filling your cunt, but instead your whole stomach, lungs and throat.

Even after coming to a halt and letting his heavy head fall down onto your shoulder and groaning out a few “Fucking ‘ell…”’s, Simon did not even remotely think of leaving your pussy.

His arms - still wrapped around you - relaxed, still holding you tightly against his chest.

His chest. His heart was still beating so fast in it, your cheek mushed into his pec right over it, listening to his heartbeat while your hand lazily held his biceps.

A few moments later your fingers started to move from where they were resting, slowly starting to trace his tattoos.

You were so gentle with your touch, as if this man didn’t kill people on an almost daily basis, as if he wasn’t ruthless, making his training recruits cry every time.

Your breath slowed down, your body loosing all the tension from earlier, while you were wrapped in his warm, secure embrace. Safe.

“I feel so safe right here. So content. As if nothing in the world could hurt me” your voice was mere above a whisper, your head craning back to look at his beautiful eyes, still hazy from the night of his life.

“I’ll make sure nothing will” Simon kissed the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“O’Course you can, sweets” He lifted hie hand from your butt to sling it around your shoulders, caressing and playing with your hair.

“Do you- is this- I mean… Is it normal for you to just… have sex with people you barely know and hate?” You looked up at him, wide eyed, anxiously waiting for an answer.

“Sweet’eart, I’m nine inches deep inside a’ ya, and you assume that I hate ‘cha?” He chuckled, meeting your gaze.

Your cheeks turned red, looking down at your hands, resting on his plush chest.

“And no, it probably ain’t normal, but look at my job and yours. Nothing normal about tha’”

You laughed at that; “You’re probably right. What about the fact you barely know me?”

Simon took a deep breath, tightening one arm around your middle, while the other one snaked up to rest behind your neck, keeping you close.

“I might not know what’cha favourite color is, or how you like your eggs in the morning, how many siblings you have and what ambitions ye have, but I know how you react to me when I’m hurt, how cute ‘cha are when you get mad at me and what a beau’iful soul ye have”

Tears welled up in your eyes; you never ever, in your whole life, had expected Simon to have such a soft side. His soft voice, his caring actions, the way he was looking at you.

You were overwhelmed with post-orgasm feels, not being able to entirely grasp the situation you were in.

“And you know what, gorgeous? We’ll figure everything out, first thing in the morning, starting with how you like your eggs, a’ight?”

You nodded your head, smiling through teary eyes while Simon swiped a stray droplet from your cheek: “That sounds great, thank you-“

A loud cry pierced your bubble, making you jump.

“Well, Kelly, it seems, wants some attention. I’ll try calming her down, you get my spunk cleaned from between your pretty thighs” With that, Simon pulled out of you, pulled his boxers ands sweats onto his legs and disappeared into the dark hallway after leaving a kiss on your forehead

a/n: hope you liked it 🩵 if you have any questions, suggestions or anything you would like to share, please don’t hesitate to do so!! i am new to posting stuff, so please be nice, but feel free to leave advice/critique >.<

thank youu!!

[mejaemin]

jukebox — for you (leehi) : with mark from nct please my lovely lia. congratulations on your 1000 follower milestone, you deserve this and so much! you’re a talented writer and the recognition you’re getting makes me so happy :’)

for you ♬ with mark lee

summary: you and your best friend keep sending signals to each other, yet neither of you get the message warnings: fluff, so many frank ocean mentions, kinda shitty ending, lowkey lost the plot but i kept the f2l and a bit of oblivious-ness !!! i also went wayyyy over the wc because it’s markie’s big day and i can’t be normal about him and frank EVER an: thank you soso much my annie for requesting !!! you’re the sweetest and ilysm, thank you always for your support 🤍 enjoy this !!! and of course, happy birthday to our boy mark lee !! had to come out of hiding to post him

it’s late into the summer night, and you and mark have resorted to just laying in his car, seats rolled all the way back with the sunroof open. he plays frank ocean’s skyline to via aux, and with the sunset, salty air hitting his nose, mark thinks this moment, life even, couldn’t get any better.

he looks to you, all cozy in your hello kitty blanket, so different from his spider man one. you have your phone in front of your face, trying to capture the sunset from where you’re laying, and his heart picks up at the way your tongue peeks out, your eyes sparkling, glowing orange as if they hold the whole world. it feels like they do. 

“you’re beautiful.” he says, and he didn’t even get a second to think about what he was gonna say, or if he even wanted to say it at all. he suddenly just felt so, so overwhelmed, it slipped out before he could even grasp what was happening. 

you finally snap the perfect photo, and turn to him with a smile, one that’s not as big and hangs open a little in confusion. “what?”

“sorry, i didn’t mean to say that- you are, but-” he sighs, running a hand down his face, turning his full body towards you. “sorry. i just feel so happy when i’m with you, y’know?” he feels nervous, he has the urge to say so much more, ramble and pour his whole heart out to you, but he just bites his tongue in fear of crossing the line. 

then, you relax, smile setting into something that seems a lot more comfortable. “i feel the same.” you giggle when he returns it, “slow down, by the way, or i’ll think that you like me or something.” once again, you let out an airy chuckle, smile fading as you fall into a silence, focusing on your hands and the music playing. bad religion is on now, and it almost makes you laugh once again.

he’s quiet too, taking note of the song playing as well, and it makes him want to curl into himself that much more. but, looking at this moment, feeling the atmosphere, and just how perfect it is, he almost feels as if he can’t let go. “but, like.. what if i did though? like, what would you say?”

you freeze, trying to hide the way your eyes go wide, pulling the blanket under your nose to hide your warming cheeks. “i wouldn’t believe you. because there’s no way you do.”

he sits up, “are you crazy? anyone would be crazy if they didn’t see what i saw in you. you’re amazing.” he rolls all four windows down in the car, gesturing to the scenery. the sky is getting darker, and though you’re far, you can see the beach, and the waves slowly crashing into the sand. “i’d never take anyone here but you.”

“oh.” yeah, oh. it never dawned on you that all these things meant something different than how you saw it at face level. this felt normal, simple, regular. all those moments of him playing your favorite songs on his guitar? listening to frank ocean at 9pm, singing a song about unrequited love at the top of your lungs together? it didn’t seem like anything else. but now, you look at him, you see him, and how he looks at you with eyes so big, so full of hope and fear and the whole wide, god damn world inside of them, you finally feel the weight slowly falling off your shoulders. 

“..does that make you uncomfortable?”

you immediately shake your head, face still hidden in your blanket. “no.. i’m just.. i don’t know what to say. i’m really happy.”

he rolls on his back, putting his hand over yours, holding it tight. he watches the stars, doesn’t look at you, but with a content smile, he just says, “then let’s be happy.”

nct 🏷️ @chenlezip @cinnayomiroll @prettymoles @jia127zen @polarisjisung @ikozen @tinkerbell460 @ninety-nite-99 @markkiatocafe @hyckiszn

[fuckyeahyearning]

Spa Days (GN Reader Version)

Hector Valentino Airnesto Condicionado x GN!Reader

Fluffy smut ahead! (18+)

WC: 1,628

You always knew that you would eventually have to return to work, regardless of whether you want to or not. Thankfully, Hector will always be there to hold you after a long day.

---

He had longed for you, for so impossibly long. 

The exquisite curve of your neck and the goosebumps that form there when the cold air hits your skin. The sweet tenderness of your lips… 

You are so unfathomably beautiful. 

Today you seemed to have had a particularly difficult day of work. It shattered his heart to see such tension in your shoulders, such weariness in your face. 

You were sprawled on your bed, exhausted, mindlessly scrolling when you heard the faucet turn from the half-opened door of your bathroom. Curious, you wandered in. 

Hector looked up and smiled at you from beside the slowly filling bathtub. 

“What’s all this?” you ask. 

His smile broadens and he gestures down to the water. You now noticed the sweet smelling bath salts swirling on the ceramic, slowly dissolving. 

“It’s for you, my love. You deserve to unwind after today. You deserve to be… pampered.”

“Oh, my sweet thing,” you say, moving to cup his stubbly cheeks in your hands. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Shock, quickly followed by fury, storms across his face. His hands fly up to grip your wrists. “Never say such things! That’s ludicrous!” But he softens again almost immediately. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to speak so crossly to you.” His grip on your wrists loosens, though he kept his fingers pressed gently to your pulse point. “I just can’t bear to hear you speak of yourself that way.” 

You press a light kiss to the tip of his nose in thanks. The intimacy of it leaves him flushed. 

“Ah..” he sighs, locking eyes with you for a mere moment before it becomes all too much. Sometimes it still feels like he should be loving you from a distance; like none of this is truly real. God, how he wants to breathe you in. 

“Well, I believe your bath is almost ready, mi vida.” 

Before you can move, Hector’s hands flit down to your shirt, his slender fingers nimbly releasing each button as they move down your abdomen. The shirt falls to the floor, forgotten, and his hands move to your waist. He drags his fingers across the skin of your back, making you flit your eyes closed and hum in pleasure at the sensation. You feel him press gentle kisses to your collarbone as he swiftly unclasps your bra. 

He pulls you into him, nestling his face in the crook of your neck. You enjoy the warmth of his flushed cheeks against your skin and releases you. 

After shedding the rest of your clothes, you step in the tub and sink into the irresistibly warm water with a contented sigh. You rest your neck on the folded towel Hector had already placed there for you and you relish in the knowledge that you are cared for. 

Hector cannot help but bask in your beauty. He languidly drags his eyes along the rosy hills and valleys of your body. The water is cloudy now from the lavender bath salts he had added, and he had to admit… seeing you undressed yet obscured from full view in the milkyness of the water- it somehow felt more filthy than simply seeing you bare. It took all of the strength in him to tear his gaze away for even a moment, nevermind long enough to give you some alone time. Like parting from his soul, he slinks away and eases the door shut. 

You’re not sure how much time passes (a few minutes, half an hour?) while you laze and doze in the tub, but you open one eye when you hear Hector creep back into the bathroom. He’s carrying a fluffy bathrobe you had never seen before. 

“Where did you get that?” you ask, grinning. Ah, to be the object of such thoughtfulness! 

Fhe

“I got it a few days ago, actually. The world seems to be bearing down on you so much these days, I want to give you what comfort I can.” He holds out a hand to you, gesturing for you to step out of the tub. “I want to take care of you,” he purrs. 

You rise and take his offered hand. As soon as your feet hit the floor he envelopes you in the robe. “It’s so warm!” you gasp, delighted. 

“Does it surprise you that I think of everything?” he asks, a glint in his eye. 

He takes your hand again and, pausing to pepper kisses across your knuckles, leads you into the bedroom. The dark room is illuminated by candlelight - where did he even get so many candles? It was almost unrecognizable. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do all this…” you sigh.  

“But I did,” he says, looking back at you. “Just as I have to eat, drink, to breathe air. I see you tired and in pain and I am implored to act. It’s not a choice.” 

“Even so,” he smiles, “this is still what I would choose to do.” 

Your heart flutters, dances, leaps out of your chest as you follow him to the bed, and for a moment you’re grateful to the dim lighting for concealing your spreading blush. 

“Lie down for me,” he coos. 

You assent and make yourself comfortable on the bed, with Hector sitting next to your feet. A beat passes and he produces a tube of lotion and spreads it onto his hands. He rubs the cream into the skin of your legs and feet attentively, making gentle circular motions with his thumbs. He kneads into your pliable flesh diligently, utterly absorbed in the task at hand. 

You are exquisite. His hands reach your thighs and he shivers at the joy of it. His movements slow here, where he knows is sensitive. He grips the underside of your thigh and swings your leg over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around it as if it were precious. His stubble prickles your skin as he plants kissing along your calf, knee, and thigh as he hunches forward toward you. He places a final kiss at the junction of your hip and pelvis. 

He rests his head on your lower stomach, looking up at you through his thick, dark lashes. The candlelight is caught flickering in his brown eyes, turning them golden with his craving for you. 

“Turn over, my dove,” he said firmly, “and leave the robe behind.” Not commanding, but in a way that conveys his confidence in your pliability. It conjures a fluttering somewhere in the depths of you. 

You flip over and settle back in, resting your head on your folded arms. Hector is on you again in moments, spreading the lotion on the small of your back. He works upwards applying just enough pressure to draw quiet, happy moans from you. He savors every noise as he feels the muscles beneath him loosen and relax. 

You are enveloped in his warmth; in his devotion to you. Thoughts of anything as trivial as work are lightyears away from you. 

Hector’s hands wander down your back, your ass, your legs….. 

Before your mind can make sense of what’s happening his fingers have found themselves between your legs,. His breath is hot against your ear as his fingers first probe and then spread you open.

“My sweet, sweet, thing…” he rasps. “Please relax for me.” 

You can’t stop the strangled noise that escapes you when he plunges his fingers into you. 

He hums into your ear in satisfaction. His lubed fingers slide deliciously deep into you. Lazily at first, so he can watch you wiggle and squirm when you inevitably long for more friction. But you never need to ask him for something twice. 

He takes his time with you, probing and exploring you with patience. Before long, his movements quicken to please you. His slender fingers pump into you and curl ever so slightly, pressing against your fleshy walls. His left hand reaches down to grip you before pulling you backwards, deeper onto his fingers. “You are always a sight to behold, but it is simply magnificent to see you so weak from my fingers….” he sighs, and you whimper. “To say nothing of how warm you are; it’s heavenly.” 

More squeaks escape you as you as he quickens his pace. 

You feel his snicker more than you hear it. “You like hearing how lovely you feel, don’t you? Well, you know me… You know it is my heart’s desire to indulge you,” 

He slows for a moment, pulling almost completely out of you and you whine in protest. “Oh, I know…” he whispers darkly, his lips pressed to your earlobe. “I just wanted to hear those sweet little utterances of yours…” 

You buck your hips backwards onto his fingers and he laughs in surprise, though he hastens again to match your speed. The squelching noise his soaked hands make is obscene. 

“I’m sorry, that was cruel of me, wasn’t it? I just can’t help myself when you sound so…saccharine. That’s it, my love, release your frustrations. Unwind in my hands.” 

The heat of his breath, the adoration in his voice, the lingering lavender-like smell of his dedication to you all bring you so much closer to release. He must feel your muscles tightening and hips bucking because he quickly presses his plush lips to your skin and mutters, “You’ll come for me, won’t you? Please, my love, I know you can.” 

With one last keen half-burried in your pillow, you clench once more around his fingers and the sweltering coiling in you finally snaps. You come undone in the palm of his hands, crying out and scratching at your sheets. 

His tongue reaches out to trace the curve of your ear and he says, “I hope you feel as unburdened as you sound, my love…” 

[scrapyardboyfriends]

Episode Thoughts…

Well…fuck you John. But congrats on finally actively doing some villainous things and being a little evil. Or a lot evil. I need you to go to prison and rot there for a long time because I know that you wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Ugh! Poor Robert. His face after he hit John. The fact that it basically happened in the same place he hit Lee. He was just having all sorts of flashbacks to that moment. I don’t blame him for wanting to run. But also maybe stop hitting people with metal objects before you think things through. I get it though, he basically asked for it with the headlock and the begging for your life thing. And honestly, he deserved it too. Son good job.

I feel so bad for him though. Because yes, he has technically done all of the things. But he tried to get a legit job with Caleb and John got him fired through blackmail. He tried to work at the farm but John’s slurry leak meant Moira could no longer pay him. So he stole some weed that Ross and Lewis grew and sold it to the drug dealer Mack brought into things and definitely would have not backed off once Mack pulled out of the sale, Moira. And he bought some land to try and make a profit and have something for himself and then Kim had to go and be too eager so he keeps the land. All the while, he’s struggling with post prison ptsd. He’s not sleeping. He’s depressed. He’s having to watch the love of his life be married to his half brother. His half brother is not who he seems to be and Robert is the literal only person who can see that. And John is using that against him. He’s gaslighting him and everyone around him and he’s listening in on private therapy conversations and using that against him to trigger him and traumatize him further. Give him a break!

I don’t totally blame Aaron though. Because yes, from his perspective, especially after all of this today and his rant in the pub, he just sees Robert causing trouble. He sees the old Robert and not the one who had multiple growth journeys. But still, he did pull Ross off of him initially and I saw that little smile when they were talking about Robert’s schemes. And even though he’s all grr get out of the village and he might try and report him to the police tomorrow, we’ll see, he’s still going to be like “wait no don’t leave” on Monday so…both of them say and do a lot impulsively without thinking things through. And they know that about each other which is why they’re good together because they can calm the other down sometimes.

It was a rough watch but hey at least they interacted today. And Danny didn’t look like a complete zombie. He had some spark and fight today cause he got to yell at Ryan. He even almost looked like he cared about John for five minutes. So good job. Haha. And Ryan was amazing today.

Back in world, I’m glad Robert got to go on his little anti John rant in the pub and tell everyone to stick it because he will be vindicated. And all of those people are going to regret not believing him.

It does kind of suck that Cain is no longer an option for him to go to though because now he just wants to kill him for Ray scaring Kyle.

This was a good episode though, even if it was kind of brutal for us. I think all of the stories intertwining is so good. Even the cafe got a little bit today with Ross going in and looking for Robert. And Robert really is at the heart of it all and I love that for me. Haha. And I think the show has improved in general recently with all of these overlapping stories that play into each other. But I think if you removed the Robert of it all, not only do some of those connections lessen but he just adds so much to them. He’s just such a watchable character and actor and I think the show is damn lucky to have him back.

[lovetrouble123]

Unfinished Draft (Bruce)

Synopsis: A calm morning ruined by insecurities

TW: suggestive content

A/N: we got another fic I can’t bring myself to finish🗣️

Masterlist

➽──────────────❥

The warm sunlight streaming in through the half pulled curtains was what woke Y/N from her slumber. She softly moaned in protest as her eyes fluttered open to find her husband’s side of the bed empty.

The woman laid there for a moment allowing her hazy morning eyes to adjust before she sat up, softly moaning in pain. If she didn’t remember last night, she would have figured she got hit by a bus considering how much her body ached.

The woman squinted her eyes as she looked at the clock that sat on the dresser across from the bed, but then her eyes shifted to the man who had emerged from the closet carrying a black blazer.

The man was practically dressed for his day at work—white button up, black slacks, a matching tie—and he didn’t seem to notice the woman who was staring at him.

“It’s rare that we’re awake at the same time.” The woman began, “I’ve missed watching you get dressed in the mornings, Bruce.”

Bruce slipped the black blazer over his button up and turned to face his wife. “Good morning, Y/N. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Y/N softly smiled and shook her head. “You didn’t.”

“I’m glad. How did you sleep?”

“I slept okay. You?”

Bruce gave a slight nod at his wife’s question but stayed silent. He gave the woman a once over, taking in the bed sheet that pooled around her waist. He tried not to stare at the bruises he left on her skin from the previous night, and instead met her gaze.

For a moment, Bruce didn’t say anything, but when he did, the air in the room shifted.

“We need to talk.”

Y/N felt her stomach twist at her husband’s words. Everyone knew that those simple four words were never a good sign, and honestly, they could mean anything. A breakup, a divorce, uh…literally what else could it mean for a couple that was together for decades now?

Y/N tried to remain calm, though her brain her told that it was going to be bad news. Something like a divorce in the seeable future.

But Y/N finally opened her mouth, brining the bed sheet up to cover her whole body. “About?”

“About last night.” Bruce replied, taking several steps toward the bed.

“What about it?” Y/N asked, her voice soft.

Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair, and for once, he seemed genuinely nervous which was odd for the Batman. “I love you, and I appreciate everything that you do for me and the kids. You’re always there for me and them, but…”

Oh lord. Here it comes.

“I feel like I haven’t been able to properly reciprocate.” Bruce admits, “you give so much and I feel like I can’t give you what you need.”

Oh.

Well…that’s not that bad, right?

“Bruce, what’re you talking about?” Y/N continued, her nerves slowing down.

“I feel like I’m failing you. I’m always preoccupied with work, both at Wayne Enterprises and as Gotham’s protector. I don’t give you the attention that you deserve. I allow everything else to take priority over you.” Bruce pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing, “I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you, Y/N. I do so much. But I’m torn between my duty as the Batman, and my duty to be your husband.”

Y/N could only stare at her husband as he spoke, listening to him explain how he wasn’t fulfilling her needs. In actuality, the woman never complained about the lack of attention or time he gave her. She knew how Bruce was ever since the very beginning of their relationship, she married him with the knowledge that the man was going to be a workaholic. Y/N was never surprised or disappointed whenever Bruce couldn’t make it home from work or missed an event.

But now, here he was telling her that he wasn’t being a good enough husband. That he wasn’t being there for her like he was supposed to be. Bruce was confessing to her that he felt like he was a failure. The man sounded so defeated, and the woman couldn’t believe it. So many questions were running through her mind.

Why was he bringing this up now? After all these years together?

Y/N raised a brow, “is this a thing about performance in bed? I mean, I know we’re in our forties but—.”

Bruce shook his head right away, a look of surprise crossing his face. “What? No. God, no. This has nothing to do with our sexual intimacy. This is about me neglecting you. I barely provide you with the attention you deserve. I don’t spend as much time as I need with you. My focus and attention is constantly on Gotham and my work. I don’t give you the affection and love you deserve as my wife.”

Y/N cupped his cheek, holding the blanket over her nude chest. “Bruce, I have never once complained about the neglect. I knew what I was getting myself into the day I said ‘yes’ to you.”

[chidoroki]

Wind Breaker ch184-185

I love how gently he gets Natsuki to apologize. He doesn't shout at her nor does he twist her arm (literally or figuratively) forcing her to do so. He just confirms he saw the whole ordeal and trusts that she'll speak up and that glance is all it takes. She complies because she knows it's the right thing to do, regardless of this whole mess being a mistake or not, but also kinda out of fear too I feel like? And I'm sure Sakura sees how terrified she is as well and is trying to resolve this issue as peacefully as possible.

And I think that's why he decides to restrain this fool in such a swift and easy manner. While I have no doubt that Sakura could easily knock this dude out with one punch, causing a brawl to break out while the rest of this guy's buddies are standing by would probably only scare Natsuki more. Not to mention that Sakura would have to focus on protecting her then too.

Again, I believe Sakura could solo such a fight against all these guys with ease and still keep Natsuki safe, but it's best not to traumatize this poor girl further. Tossing in the threat works just fine though.

Thank heavens Kotoha slid her number into his phone all the way back in ch34/ep11 so this little moment can happen and relieve some anxieties. I wonder if they've actually ever texted before this and if so, what about.

Little detail that I'm only bringing up because of the events of ch187 but Sakura is still consistently avoiding using Kotoha's name, even in his own thoughts. Unintentionally, of course, since he didn't even realize doing so.

Oh sweet child, why and how long did your incompetent mother leave you alone like this for? On second thought.. nevermind. Don't tell me. I'm curious but I fear knowing will make me even more upset.

Honestly.. yeah. Once someone so important burns your bridges, it's hard to open up and let people in again. You gotta do what you can to protect yourself, ya know? The thought of being alone for all your life hits hard and I kinda wish it didn't.

Bless Sakura for admitting that he's just as scared as she is. Not only does it put him and Natsuki on even ground, but also sorta confirms Kotoha's assumption about him from way back in ch1, when she's like "I said you were alone, but I can tell that you're not alone because you want to be."

I love how this one panel reflects the river onto his face, almost as if it's showing the cracks in his tough guy facade and allowing his feelings to seep through.

No truer words have ever been spoken. These townspeople will absolutely warm up your heart and treat you like family. It's hilarious that Sakura is telling her this as if it's a major threat and how Natsuki's visibly worried about it actually happening.

His precious smile!! Powerful enough to add several years onto my life! God, he's so adorable when he wants to be! I'm so happy that Sakura learned to accept everyone into his life and how he's simply thriving off of all their love. He definitely deserves it!

Even after all the heart to heart chatter, he still gives Natsuki the power to make her own choice on what she wants to do and I think that's pretty great. Telling her that she should at least give other people a chance first also reminds me of Kotoha's advice (ch1/ep1) to Sakura about meeting the Furin kids before getting so hellbent on becoming the top of the school all by himself.

Sakura's Piggyback Services are back in business. How many times is this now? Off the top of my head I remember old lady Chiyoko and then Kiryu once as well.

Once more with the gentle nudge to apologize which I welcome just as much as the first time. It also helps Natsuki start off on a better foot with everyone if she's truly gonna give them all a chance.

Oh girl, if only you knew. You'd be so proud to hear him share advice similar to what you once gave him.

Ah hell, who am I kidding, she is proud. Thankful even, that Sakura managed to bring Natsuki back and successfully talked some sense into the kid.

Pfftt help! They really are so similar, it's adorable how quickly Natsuki became Sakura's little shadow. I really hope our boy takes the time to visit the orphanage more after all this.

Sakura being obsessed with omelet rice will never not be funny.

I know it wasn't too long ago but I vividly remember bouncing in my seat at work upon realizing that we were indeed FINALLY getting into Kotoha's backstory! Even now it feels kinda surreal to think about but I'm so very thankful for everything we got.

It is absolutely because Kotoha's been a total sweetheart this entire story that I simply never imagined she would be such a little menace (affectionate). Well, up until Sensei mentioned a couple chapters ago that she used to be as feisty as Natsuki, but still.

The usage of this sludge imagery to represent her buried feelings was real nice too. Again, would've never guessed she was such an angry child, like granted she occasionally gets annoyed at Umemiya in the present, but I just chalk that up to typical sibling behavior and nothing too serious.

Sweetie you can be my angel or my devil.

Another thing I really like is hearing how drastically her inner thoughts contrast her spoken words, like Kotoha truly doesn't want to come off as rude, but the anger she feels is overpowering her rational mind. I hope that the anime includes them whenever these chapters do eventually get adapted, since I've seen others that just leave out internal monologues all together. Anyways, Ume remains the sweetest boy alive.

My god, her anger is just so intense and unfortunately for her I kinda love it? like yeah, of course I don't want to see my girl snap like this but these panels convey it so well, from the bubbling sludge to the sheer amount of force Kotoha slams that wallet down the ground and that look of pure rage on her face. Damn.. it's wonderful.

And I know it would've totally ruined the moment, but I half expected the wallet to bounce right into Ume's face with how high it flew back up into the air..

[lenodrysalad]

Hot. Bitch.

EDM vs. VGK || Feb 6, 2024

for @dwisp

[whimsicalscribblr]

Today I got to buy a random kid at kroger a pack of pokemon cards and MAN WAS THE KID'S DAD CONFUSED nfbasndfsghd the kid was looking at me and my friend in front of the vending machine with so much joy and curiosity that I was like "fuck it" and bought two packs so I could give him one. Pokemon cards are made for kids and with the prices I see people selling packs for in my area, god knows that kid probably hasn't seen any cards for months.

I may not have a lot of extra cash to spend (looks at the amount of money i dropped today getting an older video game deluxe edition set bc im impulsive) but I'm glad I go to make this random kids day lol.

It was also really funny how stunned the Dad was that some random dude in a kroger deadass bought his son a pack of cards LOL

[mcrdvcks]

two sugars

chapter summary: As the Avengers team medic it's your job to take care of everyone. So why does Bucky feel like he gets special treatment? Surely a medic wouldn't know the exact way he likes his tea. word count: 4.0k+ pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader notes: this is sometime post civil war but the avengers are a big happy family :) i just love the idea of medic!reader, and a reader who take cares of bucky even when he thinks he doesn't deserve it warnings/tags: medic!reader, mentions of violence, mentions of blood/injuries, fluff, angst, possible inaccurate depictions of medicine

The quinjet’s rear ramp hissed open onto the compound’s flood-lit tarmac. Everyone scattered toward post-mission routines—Thor to the kitchen, Natasha to the debrief, and Tony already complaining about “arrow residue” in his repulsors. Bucky tried to drift with the crowd, jacket pressed close to hide the dark bloom seeping through his side.

“You can limp faster than that, Barnes.”

You fall into step beside him, sweatshirt sleeves shoved to your elbows, med bag bumping your hip. Bucky answered with his best frown. “Took a scratch, that’s all.”

“Scratch?” You tugged the jacket hem and the fabric stuck to his ribs with an audible peel. “That’s shrapnel and at least two stitches.”

“Good thing I only need one.”

“Math is not your strong suit tonight. Med bay—now.”

He could’ve kept walking, you’d seen him yank bullets with pliers before. But the way you were already cataloging his breathing, the way your fingers hovered without quite touching—something in him unclenched. So he followed.

---

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you snapped on gloves, murmuring absent comfort. “Top bunk’s free if you need to crash after.” Bucky eased onto the exam table, metal fingers curling off the edge.

“You really hate me, don’t you?” he grumbled while you cut away the ruined shirt.

“I don’t hate you,” you said, then winced theatrically. “I just hate that you treat medical like a voluntary suggestion.”

“That’s a lot of sugar-coating for ‘pain in my ass.’”

“Sugar-coating? You take two sugars in your tea.” You sterilized the wound, and he hissed. “Hold still.”

He did, but only because you asked. Because the gentle press of your palm over gauze was somehow louder than the sting of antiseptic. Because—though he’d never admit it—he trusted those hands more than the vibrating hum in his own metal arm.

“Shrapnel’s shallow,” you said finally, suturing. “You’ll live to brood another day.”

“Lucky me.”

You tied the final knot, slapped a gauze pad over it, then—softly—tapped his knee. “Go shower. I’ll re-dress it in the morning.”

“Thought you were off tomorrow.”

“Barnes, I saw you take that hit through a concrete wall. I’m not clocking out until I know you didn’t bleed through the mattress.”

He opened his mouth—some dry retort about over-caring—but you were already disinfecting the tray, back turned, humming off-key.

---

Bucky padded into the kitchen wearing sweats with damp hair, intent on pilfering chamomile. The compound was dark but for the fridge glow and the soft blue of tablet screensaver fish.

A lone mug waited by the kettle. Steam coiled up, lazy with two sugars stirred in.

There was a sticky note with your handwriting: “For not bleeding on the mattress. —Night watch”

He stared and noticed the tiny doodle of a star in the corner with five uneven points. The soft spot in his chest, poorly armored, thudded once.

He made himself a second mug—because the first felt too much like you standing there—and carried both down the hall.

---

The only light came from the vitals monitor you’d dragged over “just in case.” You were slumped in the visitor chair, hoodie hood halfway over your face, but awake—eyes on the empty bunk you assumed he’d take.

Bucky set the untouched mug on the table and slid the other toward you. “I figured you could use a refill.”

You blinked up, sleep-rough voice. “I thought you hated chamomile.”

“Growing on me.”

A beat. Then your gaze dropped to the clean bandage at his ribs, then to the tea. “Vitals look good,” you said quietly. “Pain level?”

“Manageable.” He nudged your foot with his socked one. “Go sleep in a real bed.”

You made a face. “Orders?”

“Suggestion.” His mouth twitched. “I hear those are optional.”

You laughed—soft, tired, the sound a little cracked around the edges. But you stood, stretching. “Fine. Wake me if it starts hurting worse.”

He saluted lazily. “Yes, doc.”

Before you left, you hovered in the doorway, studying him like another chart to file. Bucky lifted the mug in thanks.

When the door whispered shut, he exhaled into the quiet. The compound was never truly silent—vents sighing, arc reactor pulse traveling the pipes—but tonight it felt close. Close enough that he could hear the scrape of your chair being pushed into a corner, the distant thump of your sneakers heading for the dorm wing.

He took a sip. Too sweet, like always. But he didn’t mind.

Across the room, the monitor’s soft beep kept time with his heartbeat—steady, unhurried. Unusually calm.

Maybe he’d never say it out loud, maybe you’d never ask, but the truth sat warm in his hands—for someone who used to be a weapon, he was surprisingly okay being someone’s patient.

And maybe, just maybe, you were becoming the safest place he’d ever been patched back together.

He lay back, closed his eyes, and let the steady beep carry him toward sleep. No dreams, no ghosts—just chamomile with two sugars cooling on the bedside table.

---

When you walked into the kitchen, Wanda was already massaging her temples. Before you could ask why, she spoke. “Apparently, Clint’s midnight snack was the last of Thor’s Pop Tarts.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow from the coffee machine. “That man has a death wish.”

You shrugged out of your hoodie, sleepy grin in place. “‘Again’ has to be implied. What flavor?”

“Frosted cherry,” Wanda muttered, as if reciting a crime scene. “Thor’s favorite.”

Bucky whistled. “Clint better start running now.”

You laughed, then popped open the cabinet beside him and grabbed a mug—one of the few without cracks or Stark-brand snark printed on it. You poured coffee for yourself, then, almost absently, reached around and refilled Bucky’s too. Two sugars and a quick stir. Your left hand remained braced on the counter while your right did the pouring. He noticed the way you didn’t ask if he wanted more—you just did it, then dropped a tiny packet of vitamin C gummies next to his mug like it belonged there.

He blinked. “Uh… thanks.”

“Breakfast of champions.” You nudged the gummies closer. “Take those.”

Wanda smirked into her own cup. “Mother hen back at it?”

“Hush,” you said without heat, already fishing in the fridge. You snagged strawberry jam—he liked that brand, the one with whole berries—and set it next to the toaster before sliding two slices of rye into it, same as last time.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Sam and Steve, who were locked in an animated debate over training schedules and paying zero attention to you. No one else seemed to be getting stealth-medic treatment.

The toast popped. You buttered it, then passed the plate his way. “Eat. Protein shake later if you’re still looking pale.”

“I’m not pale,” he muttered.

You tapped the inside of his right wrist, just where yesterday’s IV line had been. “Humor me.”

Steve reached for the jam and found an empty spot—your hand was there first, sliding it to Bucky. Steve redirected to peanut butter without comment.

Bucky sipped. Sweet, perfect. “You remember how I take it?”

You shrugged. “Memory’s my job.”

“Don’t see you memorizing Clint’s coffee,” he mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He bit into the toast.

Thor stormed in then, cape swinging. “Who has eaten the sacred pastries of Pop-Tart?” he bellowed.

Clint darted behind Vision like a toddler hiding behind a sofa. Chaos erupted—Wanda sighing, Vision tilting his head, and Tony strolling in with an energy bar and an amused grin.

You, unfazed, passed Bucky two ibuprofen tablets, whisper-soft: “Take with food.” Then you patted his left shoulder once, and crossed the room to break up Thor’s thunderous rant before it hit Category Five.

Bucky watched you go, tablets warm in his palm. Nobody else got those taps, that quiet voice.

Steve elbowed him. “You spacing out?”

Bucky slid the pills into his mouth and chased them with sweet coffee. “Just thinking.”

“Anything good?”

He watched you over by the fridge, coaxing Thor into accepting a toaster strudel peace offering. You glanced back once, checked the bandage line beneath his tee, subtle as blinking, then returned to the thunder god.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Good.”

Sam squinted. “Why’re you smiling like that?”

Bucky’s face smoothed. “I’m not.”

Steve chuckled. “Sure, pal.”

The kettle hissed again—fresh water. You were already setting out a chamomile bag beside it. Just one cup this time. For him. Bucky swallowed more toast and decided maybe gummies at 0800 weren’t so bad.

---

Tony paced, ranting about arrow residue again while you stood on a step-stool rewiring Bucky’s prosthetic calibration dock.

“This will cut recharge time by half,” you told him, finishing with a screwdriver flourish. “Left side ports were overheating.”

Tony paused. “You don’t do house calls for my suits.”

You shrugged. “Your suits don’t bleed.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. He flexed the metal fingers experimentally and they were already smoother.

---

You nearly collided with him outside the med bay, arms full of supply boxes.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He took the heavier crate with his left arm while you kept the lighter. Inside, you labeled shelves while he stacked gauze packs. “Dinner?” you asked without looking up. “Kitchen has turkey chili. I set aside a bowl, no beans.”

He stilled. “You remembered that?”

“Try forgetting a thirty-minute rant about legume betrayal,” you teased.

He coughed, embarrassed. “Wasn’t a rant.”

You just smiled, scribbling a date on a vial.

He noticed: no one else had personalized bowls waiting. No one else’s preferences pinned to sticky notes.

---

Bucky exited the shower, his shoulder stiff. You were leaning against his door with a pill bottle in hand. “Forgot your evening dose,” you whispered. “Take with water.”

He accepted it. “You chasing everyone around like this?”

“Only the stubborn supersoldier who forgets he’s breakable.”

A beat hung between you. He swallowed the pill and handed the bottle back. “Thanks,” he said, soft.

You patted his metal wrist—short, warm contact that didn’t clang like steel should. “Sleep. I’ll check the bandage tomorrow.”

You pushed off the wall, heading for your quarters. Bucky watched you go, mind replaying the day’s subtleties: the mug, the toast, the custom dock fix, the bean-free chili, the midnight meds.

He’d been trained to notice patterns—threat vectors and escape routes. Tonight, all he saw were gentle fingerprints no one else seemed to receive.

He brushed the healing edge of his sutures, feeling the ghost of your careful pressure. The soft spot inside his chest thudded, confused.

With a quiet sigh, he stepped into his room, door sliding shut behind him. The compound settled, vents humming. Somewhere down the hall, your laugh floated out of a late-night movie with Wanda.

He found himself smiling at the sound—unbidden, uncomplicated—then shook his head, still not quite understanding why any of it felt different.

But he noticed. Oh, he noticed.

---

The mission had been small. Routine, even. Just recon, in and out. But somehow, recon turned into a shootout, the shootout turned into a building collapse, and the building collapse turned into Bucky sitting on a gurney again, shirtless, with dried blood streaked down his spine.

You weren’t saying anything.

That was the part that made him nervous.

You were always talking. Even if it was just quietly—nagging, joking, grumbling about the lack of gauze. But now you were just… cleaning.

“I’ve had worse,” he offered.

Your latex gloves snapped as you peeled them off and tossed them into the waste bin. “You didn’t say you were hit,” you said flatly. “You walked off the quinjet, sat through debrief, and then I found out from Steve that there was blood on your back.”

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed. “…It didn’t feel like a big deal.”

You grabbed a new pair of gloves, and didn’t even meet his eyes.

He winced. “Okay, maybe not the best choice of words.”

“I’m not mad,” you said, finally stepping forward with fresh antiseptic. “I just—if there’s something wrong, I need to know. That’s literally my job.”

“I know,” he said. Then quieter, “Didn’t want to make a fuss.”

Your fingers slowed. You sighed. “You never do. That’s the problem.”

The sting of antiseptic burned, but he didn’t flinch. Just watched you—how focused you were, how your brow furrowed when you worked, how you used your bare palm to gently steady his vibranium shoulder without hesitation.

---

Bucky wandered in, shirt finally replaced, hair still damp. You were at the stove, humming. Something savory simmered in a pot, and when you turned, your expression softened. “Sit. You look like hell.”

“I feel like it,” he muttered.

You slid a plate across the counter. Roast chicken, soft rolls, roasted potatoes. All stuff he actually ate. You didn’t even ask.

“No peppers?” he said quietly.

You shot him a look. “I learn.”

He glanced toward Wanda, who was eating leftover takeout. Sam was microwaving a burrito. Steve had a protein shake. Natasha wasn’t even around.

Just you, making an entire meal—for him.

“Did you… cook this just for me?” he asked before he could stop himself.

You didn’t answer right away. Just poured him water, nudged it toward him, and said, “you didn’t eat after the mission. Figured you’d need something.”

That was all.

No smile, no brag. Just facts.

He stared at the plate. Then the water. Then you.

And suddenly, it clicked. Really clicked.  You didn’t do that for anyone else. He watched as you turned back to the stove, scooping out a second helping for him without asking.

---

“Left arm up.” You raised your voice slightly over the compound’s gym speakers, watching Bucky jog to a halt near the sparring mats. He’d been training with Sam—light footwork drills, nothing too intense—but you’d caught the wince when he landed on the wrong foot. Twice.

Bucky didn’t argue. Just stood still while you tugged his sleeve up past his elbow. The metal gleamed under the overhead lights, scuffed from friction burns. You pressed your fingers to the joint just above his wrist.

“Feels fine,” he said, too quickly.

You didn’t look at him. “You ever consider letting me finish an exam before making declarations?”

“Not really.”

You held out your hand. “Knife.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Back of your waistband, Barnes. Don’t pretend it’s not there.”

With a grunt, he pulled the hidden blade and handed it over. You set it beside the med kit you’d brought out for him, then gently tilted the arm back and forth, checking the rotation.

“I adjusted the resistance last week,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. “Feels like it’s dragging again. Could be a wiring imbalance.”

“You’re the only one who notices stuff like that,” he said before he could think better of it. You glanced up. He didn’t move. “…I mean,” he continued, “I don’t think Tony even knows how this part works. But you always—”

“That's because you clench your fingers when you're in pain,” you interrupted, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Metal doesn’t bruise, but tension still shows.”

You flexed his hand slowly with both of yours, checking the motor response. Warm hands on cold vibranium.

Across the gym, Sam watched for a beat before wisely deciding now was the time to disappear.

---

He came back from the shower and found the bandage drawer in his bathroom neatly restocked. Same with the small jar of the eucalyptus balm you’d quietly started using on the nerve scars along his shoulder. He never asked for it. Never mentioned when it ran out. But there it was.

A sticky note sat on the lid, folded in half.

“Start with a thin layer. Don’t overdo it or you’ll smell like a tree. —Y/N”

Underneath was a doodle of a tiny pine tree with a frowny face sat in the corner. He set it down, sat on the edge of the bed, and rubbed his hand over his face.

You were everywhere, quietly.

In the gym, reminding him to stretch after missions. In the kitchen, always placing the sugar on his side of the table. In the med bay, adjusting the light so it wouldn’t buzz when he sat under it. In the way Wanda handed him a book and said, “Y/N thought you’d like this one.”

You never called attention to any of it. Never asked for anything back.

And somehow, it all hit him right now, in the silence of his own damn room.

You weren’t just being kind.

You were being kind to him.

He leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. The balm sat next to him, untouched.

And suddenly, all he could think was: When did I start needing her?

Not just the medical part. Not just the stitches and the vitamins and the “take your painkillers or I’ll sedate you myself” threats.

But you.

All of it.

He grabbed the sticky note again, turning it over in his hand.

Then grabbed the balm, because yeah, maybe he did smell like a tree. But if it meant you’d still be hovering nearby tomorrow, clipboard in hand and eyes soft with concern?

He didn’t mind at all.

---

You were in the med bay, updating reports and reorganizing supplies. Calm, routine stuff. A protein bar sat on a napkin next to your tablet, but you hadn’t even taken a bite.

The team had been deployed on a perimeter sweep near Budapest—low threat, minimal risk. You hadn’t worried… until the comm crackled to life.

“Y/N.” It was Steve. His voice was tight. “We need med bay prepped. ETA fifteen minutes.”

You were already standing. “What happened?”

There was a pause. “Bucky’s hit. Left side. Took a hit shielding Nat from debris. We’ve stabilized him, but he’s not great.”

Not great.

Your stomach dropped. “Vitals?”

“Still with us. But you’ll need to dig deep.”

You were already moving. Vitals cart on, sterilizers heating, IVs prepped, and sutures laid out. You opened the drawer with the trauma shears and had to stop—both hands braced on the metal edge as your throat locked tight.

A cold rush of adrenaline prickled your skin.

He’s still with us.

But “not great” was a hell of a distance from okay.

You scrubbed your hands, twice, and blinked hard. A few tears fell anyway, streaking silently down your cheeks before you wiped them off and pulled your gloves on. No time for panic. No time for feelings.

You weren’t his person. But somewhere along the line, he’d become yours.

---

The rear ramp dropped. Tony hovered in with the stretcher as Sam helped guide it. Natasha’s jaw was set, her hands smeared with blood—his blood.

And there he was.

Unconscious. Pale. Lips slightly parted like he was stuck in a breath. His vibranium arm was twitching involuntarily.

You snapped into motion. “On the table—now. Hook up the monitor. Nat, give me the full report while I—damn it, someone get this vest off.”

Natasha rattled off the damage as you cut open the combat suit. Shrapnel through the lower left ribs. Vascular trauma. Debris burn across the shoulder. One lung likely bruised.

“Vitals are dropping,” Steve muttered. “Y/N—”

“I know.” You clamped gauze to the worst bleeder, then barked, “Steve, scrub in or get out.”

The room cleared fast.

You didn’t notice your hands trembling until you felt the blood pooling under your glove, hot and sticky. You dug in anyway.

---

He was stable. Bandaged and hooked up to monitors. His chest rising and falling, slower now. Normal. You sat beside him, stripped of your gloves and gown, hands raw from scrubbing, and eyes blurry.

You hadn’t left. Hours had passed. Everyone else had, but not you.

“You okay?” His voice rasped through the quiet.

You startled, looking up—Bucky’s eyes were half-lidded but open, watching you.

You sniffed, tried to smile. “You’re awake.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You exhaled, shoulders dropping. He blinked slowly. “Your eyes are red.”

You rubbed your sleeve across your face. “Long day.”

His brow furrowed. “Y/N.”

“I’m fine.”

“You were crying.”

“No, I—”

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, low but steady. His vibranium arm, clumsy but precise, reached up and caught your hand. Gently tugged.

You tried to resist, just a little.

“C’mere.”

You let him pull you. One second you were sitting stiffly in the chair, the next you were curled against his good side, your forehead tucked under his jaw, cheek pressed to the edge of his shoulder.

He held you. A warm, real, heartbeat under your ear.

“I told you not to be a hero,” you whispered into his collar.

“Wasn’t trying to be. Just saw Nat about to get flattened.”

“You took a rebar to the ribs, Barnes.”

“Still breathing, aren’t I?”

You let out a weak laugh—half sob, half laugh. His hand came up and cradled your head gently before he pressed a kiss to your hairline. “I’m okay.”

“You weren’t,” you said, voice cracking. “Not for a while. You weren’t.”

His hand never stopped stroking your hair. “But I am now. Because you’re here.”

You gripped his shirt harder, hiding your face. “Don’t do that again.”

He didn’t say anything. Just held you closer. And for the first time in hours—maybe longer—you finally let yourself fall apart. And he didn’t let go.

---

The med bay was quieter than usual.

Bucky was sitting up now, monitors off, bandages fresh. He’d been cleared for light movement earlier that morning, and now he sat on the edge of the bed, tugging awkwardly at the edge of his hospital tee like it was itching.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him. “Looks like you’re getting ready to make a break for it,” you said lightly.

He looked up, lips twitching. “If I had my boots, I might try.”

“You’d make it about ten feet before collapsing.”

“Worth it.”

You pushed off the frame, stepping into the room. There was a new cup of tea in your hand—same chipped mug, same two sugars. You set it down beside him on the table without a word.

Bucky stared at it for a second, then up at you. “I’m getting the feeling you’re trying to fatten me up,” he said.

You shrugged. “Easier target.”

That earned a quiet laugh. He picked up the mug and sipped, but his gaze didn’t leave you. “You didn’t sleep,” he said after a beat.

You blinked. “I did.”

He gave you a look. “Y/N.”

You sighed. “Okay, maybe not a lot.”

“You stayed with me. Again.”

“I always stay with patients.”

“No, you don’t.”

Silence. He set the mug down, slow and deliberate, and reached for your wrist—not fast, not demanding, just enough to make you stop retreating. You let him take your hand.

“I remember,” he said quietly. “When I woke up. You were crying.”

You swallowed. “You were bleeding out. I didn’t know if I was gonna lose you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I could’ve.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “But you didn’t.”

Your breath hitched. “I can’t lose you, Buck,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I can’t.”

He tugged gently, pulling you between his knees, one hand still cradling your fingers, the other resting lightly against your hip.

“You’re not gonna,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere. Not from you.”

Your eyes were glassy again. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It is,” he said. “Now it is. Because this—” his vibranium hand tapped his chest, just above the fresh bandage “—hurts like hell. But not half as bad as seeing your face when I woke up.”

Your breath caught.

And then he leaned up, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Your lips met his—warm, careful, steady. Like a promise being made in real time.

When you pulled back, your forehead stayed pressed to his. His eyes were half-lidded, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“You kiss all your patients?” he whispered.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Only the ones who try and disobey medical orders.”

He grinned, a little crooked. “I wasn’t gonna disobey.”

You arched a brow. “Liar.”

He kissed you again. This time a little firmer, more sure. And when you pulled away again, his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you close.

“Stay a little longer?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

[you-have-a-metal-arm]

JAMES?

pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count : 1.2k

Warnings : Just general fluff

Summary : When you call Bucky “James”—a name no one else dares to use—he reveals to a stunned Steve and Sam.

Authors Note : Hey y’all i’m back!!! Enjoy this fic 🙈

You stood quietly in the doorway, arms crossed as you watched him. His hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his temples, and his jaw was set in that stubborn way it always was when he refused to admit he was hurting. You let out a soft sigh. You hated seeing him like this—so hard on himself, so weighed down by things he didn’t deserve to carry.

He didn’t notice you at first, too lost in his own storm. But you stepped forward, not hesitating for a second.

“James.”

Your voice cut through the room like a blade, soft yet sharp enough to reach him. The sound made him freeze mid-punch, his metal fist stopping inches from the bag. His head turned slowly, his stormy blue eyes locking onto yours. And in an instant, the tension in his shoulders melted. His gaze softened in a way that made your heart ache, because you knew—you knew—no one else ever got to see him like this.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough from exertion but laced with something warmer. Something vulnerable.

Steve, halfway through a set of sit-ups in the corner, dropped to the floor in disbelief. “Wait—what?”

Sam, leaning lazily against the wall with a water bottle in hand, nearly spit out his drink. “Hold the hell up,” he said, straightening. “Did she just call you James?”

Steve sat up fully now, wiping his forehead with his shirt and glaring at Bucky like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “She did. And—” his voice faltered as he pointed a finger at Bucky, “—you’re okay with it?”

Bucky glanced at Steve, then at Sam, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. But when he looked back at you, something in his expression shifted. He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Yeah. So?”

Sam’s jaw practically hit the floor. “So? You nearly ripped my arm off when I tried calling you that one time!”

Steve nodded furiously. “He’s not exaggerating. You said, and I quote, ‘Don’t ever call me that again unless you want to find out how fast I can break your jaw.’”

“Exactly!” Sam threw his hands up. “And now she just waltzes in here, says James like it’s nothing, and you’re—what? Cool with it?”

Bucky’s gaze hardened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “She’s not you.”

“Oh, no, we get that,” Sam said sarcastically. “But why the hell is she the exception?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His hand flexed at his side—flesh and metal both—but his focus stayed on you, his eyes tracing the curve of your face as if grounding himself. Finally, he said, quietly but with conviction, “Because she’s mine.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Steve and Sam exchanged a look—a mixture of shock, disbelief, and maybe even a little amusement—but neither of them dared to speak.

You, however, raised an eyebrow, lips twitching as you fought back a smile. “Yours, huh?”

Bucky’s ears turned a faint shade of pink, but he didn’t back down. His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Yeah. Mine.”

“God,” Sam muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “This is so disgustingly soft, I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Agreed,” Steve said, though there was a small, knowing smile on his face as he stood up. “You two can have your… moment. We’ll leave.”

As the door closed behind them, you turned back to Bucky, who was already watching you like you were the only thing that mattered. His expression had softened completely now, the rough edges smoothed out into something raw, something real.

“James,” you said again, stepping closer, and you saw the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his lips parted slightly like he needed to hear it just one more time.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” you said softly, reaching up to brush a strand of damp hair away from his face. “Come take a break.”

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face like he was searching for something. “I just… I didn’t want to bother you. I needed to work it out.”

“James,” you said, firmer this time, and his breath hitched like the sound of his name from your lips alone was enough to shake him. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and his hand—metal and warm and steady—reached up to wrap around yours. He held it there, against his cheek, like he was afraid you might pull away. “It’s not just the name,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “When you say it… it’s different. It feels… good.”

Your heart swelled, and you gave him a small, reassuring smile. “That’s because I love you, James. All of you. Even the parts you don’t think are worth loving.”

His eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them again, they were glassy, like he was fighting to keep the emotions at bay. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop it,” you said gently, stepping closer until your foreheads touched. “You deserve everything. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just held you there, close, his arms wrapping around your waist like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world. And maybe, in some ways, you were.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

“James,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his. “You’re safe with me. Always.”

A soft, broken laugh escaped him, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re all I’ve got,” he whispered, his voice muffled but full of emotion. “And you’re all I need.”

You held him there, running your fingers through his hair, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself just be. Vulnerable. Loved. Yours.

Thanks for reading 😁

[nanaslutt]

nanami “helps” ino fuck his girlfriend (drabble)

minors and ageless blogs dni (18+ only)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ ࿔

“like this?” ino asks nanami while he thrusts into you in missionary, trying to hit your sweet spot. ino jerks and gasps again you when nanami grips his hips from behind and helps him roll his hips more, making his tip push right against that sensitive bundle inside you, making you gasp. “good boy, roll your hips and aim upwards, that’s where her gspot is.”

sex with ino was more than amazing, but sometimes he struggled finding that spot with his cock, he never left you unsatisfied though. you cry out when nanami reaches under your bodies and grabs your thigh in his massive hand, pushing it back. “put her leg over your shoulder, it makes it easier to penetrate her deeper.” just like he said, when ino put your leg over his shoulder and leaned over you, he slammed his cock inside you and stars erupted behind your eyes when he hit that spot dead on.

“did that feel good? did he hit your gspot sweetheart?” nanami asks, keeping his hands in his pockets like a gentleman even though you can see his cock twitch in his pants. it’s so big, tenting the fabric and making you wonder just how big it is under there. you nod as an answer, and he gives you a warm smile that melts you from the inside out.

“n-nanami, am i doing it right? is this good?” ino asks through a cry, his hips stuttering and shaking as he tries to hold back. “ask her if you’re doing good.” nanami replies, removing his hand from his pocket to brush his fingers down inos sides in a feather like motion. ino shivers.

“h-he wants you to praise him.” you whine. you know he can feel you squeezing around him, showing him how much you like it, how close he’s getting you. nanami hums, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine and making you clench around your boyfriends cock as his mentor slides his hand down to his peachy ass.

“is she right?” he asks, gripping a handful of his ass. the sight makes you gasp, even more so when he pushes hard against his ass and forces him deep inside you. “yes, yes, please, tell me i’m fucking my girlfriend good, p-please.” kento grabs his ass again, and when his thumb accidentally—or maybe not so accidentally, rubs against the side of his hole, ino stiffens and bites his lip, hard, before his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses and you feel him shoot inside you. the first time he’s ever finished first.

“ino? what was that? did you just come?” nanami asks, ino whines in response, you hold him tightly against you and dig your nails into his back and squeeze around him when his warmth fills you. “that doesn’t deserve praise. you need to make sure you always bring your partner to orgasm before you.” he scolds, making ino whine again. you can’t help but smile and kiss his head.

“again.” nanami orders abruptly, making ino unbury his head from your neck to turn and stare at him. his face is stern, unwavering, “i do not care if you are sensitive, you came before your partner, so now you will keep fucking her and finish her off.” as if that wasn’t incentive enough—fucking his girlfriend again while his mentor watches, he adds, “maybe then i’ll give you the praise you want so badly.”

[holdinggrudges]

i can be your antidote - sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, sex curse, fuck or die, mildly dubious consent (because of the fuck or die of it all), fem!reader, mutual pining, unprotected piv sex, cumplay (just a little), nipple play, size kink

word count: 6.3k

summary: You fucking hate witches. Especially the one that hit you and Sam Winchester, whom you've been harboring a crush on for years, with a sex curse.

notes: i don't usually even read sex curse/fuck or die fics. i have no idea where this came from. i think i was possessed by some sort of horny demon or something. anyways i've been looking at this one so long that i have no idea if it's even good anymore. hope you all enjoy it lmao. also, divider by @cafekitsune <3 EDITING THIS TO MENTION THE TITLE IS FROM DISEASE BY LADY GAGA OKAY BYEEE!!!

crossposted on ao3

You fucking hate witches. 

Some of them are alright. Some of them are kind and generous and only use their magic for protection and good luck and they only put hexes on people who really deserve it. You don’t mind those sorts of witches. Most of them, though, like the one currently throwing you across the room, are the fucking worst. 

Your back slams into the wall before you tumble to the ground—maybe two, three feet away from where Sam is currently stumbling back to his feet—and the impact knocks the breath right out of your lungs. You groan, shoving up on your hands; you don’t have time to try and catch your breath. This witch is, frankly, kicking your asses. But right now, she’s focused on Dean on the other side of the room. If you’re quick, you might be able to get the jump on her. 

You drag yourself up to your knees, just high enough to be able to access the gun in the waistband of your jeans and to aim it straight for her fucking head. Once you’ve got the gun in your hands, though, several things happen in quick, extremely unlucky succession. 

The witch gets Dean on the ground and turns her head just as you raise the gun to aim right between her eyes, and she begins to chant, crackling, magical energy sparking in the space between her hands. You have just enough to time to think—fuck it. If I’m going down, I’m taking her out with me—before that energy is shot straight at you. You squeeze your finger on the trigger just as Sam, who has apparently recovered enough to try to take a bullet for you, jumps in front of you, knocking you back and sending your aim way wide so the bullet hits the wall instead of the witch’s skull.

And the worst part is it doesn’t even work. Six feet and four inches of pure muscle barrels into you, has you slamming right back against the wall with a pained, breathless grunt, and still, you feel the magic when it hits you, the energy of it spreading over your skin and sinking into your bones like an electric shock. Either you hit your head when you hit the wall, or the spell is making your head swim, leaving you too disoriented to tell which way the witch goes when she runs out the door. 

Sam groans where he landed half on top of you. You blink in an effort to clear your vision, blindly reaching out to touch his face, to check if he’s okay. You don’t know exactly what that spell did, you were too far away to hear exactly what she was chanting, but you can feel it tingling across your skin, settling in like it’s making a home there. Sam got blasted too, that much is clear when your hand lands on his cheek and magic sparks across your palm. 

He sucks in a breath, flinching away from the foreign feeling at the same time as you yank your hand back. “What the hell did she do to us?” he asks, shoving up on his arms to look down at you. And isn’t that just the million dollar question?

You’re on the phone with Bobby almost before you’ve even made it back to the Impala. All three of you agree whatever is going on with this hex you’ve been hit with, you’re in over your heads. You need some expert help. 

“You get the witch?” Bobby greets, just rubbing salt in the wound. 

“Uh. No,” you answer, climbing into the backseat of the car. You and Sam have been avoiding touching as much as possible, and it’s been shockingly hard. Honestly, you never noticed how closely you usually walk until every brush of your shoulders or hands sent sparks cascading over your skin. “There’s been a bit of a…complication.” 

There’s silence, and then an exhausted, beleaguered sigh from the other end of the call. “You idjits managed to get yourselves cursed, didn’t you?” Bobby asks, his tone exasperated. 

Ugh, God. The sun must’ve recently peaked in the sky, beaming down on the car and cooking you like you’re in a damn oven. You don’t remember it being this hot before. “Jesus—Dean, can you turn the air up?” you call out to the front before deigning to answer Bobby’s question. “Yeah. Yeah, she hit me and Sam with some sort of spell before I could shoot her. Problem is, we can’t really tell what sort of spell it actually is. It’s sort of creating like…static electricity? Every time we touch it’s kind of sparking.” 

“Well, did she say anything?” Bobby asks. 

You frown, irritated.  “Don’t you think if I knew what spell she cast, I would’ve told you? I was too far away, I couldn’t hear what she was saying.” 

From the front seat, Dean says, “I heard it, sort of. She was speaking Latin for sure, something about cupid?” 

As Dean says this, you watch Sam’s eyes go wide and his face go a little pale, which really doesn’t seem like a very good sign. “Cupiditas?” he asks. And it’s strange, looking into the front seat, you notice Sam’s face is a little red, a sheen of sweat starting to build on his forehead. Clearly, he’s noticing the heat as you are. And though you have a bit of a hard time drawing your eyes from Sam—though, when don’t you?—you can see that Dean doesn’t seem to be hot at all, not seeming bothered by the way the car is cooking you. 

“Yeah! Cupiditas con… something,” Dean confirms. 

You repeat what Dean said to Bobby, and you hear the pages he’d been flipping through stop turning. “You know, I wish you three would stop putting me in situations where I have to explain shit like this to you,” he mutters. 

You feel as out of the loop as Dean, which is not a very comfortable feeling to have. Sam seems to have some idea of what’s going on, if the look on his face is to be believed, and Bobby’s long-suffering complaints make you believe he knows exactly what spell you’re suffering from. “Explain shit like what?” you ask. 

“She hit the two of you with a damn sex curse, is what,” Bobby says, and you feel your stomach drop out your ass. 

“A sex curse?!” you repeat, incredulous. Of fucking course this would happen to you. “You’re joking. That’s not a real thing.” 

“It certainly is. And deadly, too,” Bobby says, and you hear the turning of pages start up again until he finds what he’s looking for. “Says here you’ve only got about two hours before the, uh…lust heats you up too hot, cooks your brain inside your damn skull.” 

Well. That at least explains why it’s so damn hot in here. “Well, how do we make that not happen?” You’re pretty interested in not getting so horny you literally die, thanks. 

Bobby is silent for a moment, his discomfort with the subject warring with the knowledge that time is of the essence. “You’ve gotta…sate it,” he says haltingly. “You’re an adult, I’m sure I don’t have to explain how. It won’t break the curse completely, but it’ll buy Dean time to find the witch and kill her; that’s the only way to actually break the curse.” 

Oh, fucking hell. “So…we’ve got two hours, unless we…” you trail off, your stomach flipping at the thought. Sam’s hands desperately tugging at your clothes, needy, he’s got to have you or he’ll die, literally. You tug at the collar of your shirt, sweating for real now, and shake it off. “But if…if Dean finds the witch before then, then we wouldn’t have to. Right?” 

“If you wanna tempt fate like that, be my guest. But it’s gonna be uncomfortable as hell. Soon enough, it’ll be pretty hard to remember exactly why you’re tempting fate in the first place.” You hear Bobby slam the book shut. “But if you do decide to sate the curse, keep it to yourselves, please. I already know too much about this, and I don’t wanna know any more.” 

You swallow, your mouth dry with the images swirling through your head again. Familiar ones, sure; this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever thought of Sam like that. But these images are so vivid, so intense, shooting arousal down your spine and building in your gut faster than you’ve ever known it to do so. “Alright. We’ll just…let you know when we—when Dean gets her, then.” You hang up the phone, turning your attention to the front seat where both brothers are staring at you, eyes wide. Right. They could hear your side of the conversation. 

“A sex curse?” Dean asks, voice flooded with disgust. Like Bobby, he probably already knows way more about this than he’d like to. 

Sam though…his expression is strange, a little unreadable. You wish you could get a better handle on his thoughts here because you have pretty mixed emotions, yourself. On the one hand, you’ve wanted Sam…God, since you met him. The only thing the curse is doing is amplifying it, turning that desire into something deadly. But this was never how you wanted it to happen, although you’re not sure who would ever want a sex curse to be the reason they finally got to kiss their crush. 

You relay what Bobby told you to the boys, everything Bobby told you, even when the mention of sating the curse makes Dean’s lip curl in disgust. It doesn’t escape your notice that Sam visibly relaxes when you say that you don’t necessarily have to do anything, so long as Dean is quick enough, and it stings a little, the idea that he would rather push through the discomfort of arousal burning him up from the inside out than touch you. 

Dean nods, untwisting his body to face the front of the car again. “Alright. We’ll get you two back to the hotel, and then I’ll kill the bitch.” 

By the time Dean drops you and Sam back at the room, the effects of the curse are in full swing. You’re so hot, stripped down to shorts and your sports bra and still sweating buckets. Sam is in a similar state of undress, his shirt tossed somewhere across the room after the heat became unbearable. Of course, you only know this from quick glances because if you look at him too long, the urge to touch him, lick him, bite him, starts getting almost too strong to ignore. Every time you see his pecs out of the corner of your eye, your mouth starts to water. It only takes half an hour for it to start to get a little bit too much. 

“Do you think Dean’s found her yet?” you ask, striking a conversation just for any type of distraction from the ache between your legs. And it does ache; you think you may have ruined both your underwear and these shorts from the way your cunt is dripping. 

Where you’re looking at him in your periphery—in an effort not to exacerbate the flooding of your panties—Sam shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is low and rich and almost rasping, and you squirm where you’re sitting as it hits your ears. “He texted me a few minutes ago, said he thinks he’s getting closer, but…” But it’s not looking good. The words hang unsaid in the air. 

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “We might not have a choice,” you mutter, glancing at him through the gap between your fingers. Your eyes zero in on the hollow of his neck, your entire body buzzing with the need to attach your mouth to it, to see what noise he’d make if you did. You can’t drag your eyes away. “He’s not gonna find her in time.” 

Sam’s gaze turns to you, and you finally manage to lift your eyes to watch his drag down your body, his pupils blown so wide you can no longer see the hazel of his irises. “He might,” he protests, but the argument falls flat with the way his eyes are locked on your cleavage, glistening with sweat. 

“And if he doesn’t?” you ask, lifting your head from where you’ve been hiding behind your hands. Seeing him full on, no hiding in your periphery or stealing quick glances, it’s like staring straight into the sun. Blinding. You have to take a deep breath and dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you to keep from reaching out. “How long are we gonna push it? Are we gonna let it kill us just so we don’t have to—”

He interrupts you with a rasp of your name, and you almost groan out loud at the sound of it. Fuck, you’ve never needed anything like you need him right now. Like air, like water. “That’s the thing, I don’t want to have to. I—God, it feels like…forcing you. It feels wrong.” 

Is that his hold up? He thinks you don’t want this? Jesus, you’ve gone this whole time thinking he’d literally rather die than fuck you, and it turns out he was just scared you didn’t really want him, that the curse was making you feel things you’d never feel otherwise. “Sam, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you’re hot. I’d way rather have sex with you than die.”  You watch his hands flex, his fingers spreading before he balls them into fists, and your cunt flutters. “Actually, the list of things I’d rather do than fuck you is probably significantly shorter than the opposite. Not…not just because of the curse.” Of course, the curse is definitely making it worse. You can’t stop thinking of how good his thick fingers would feel curling inside you, imagining how attentive he’d be. How generous. Normally, you can curb it a little, save those thoughts for late at night, guilty and shameful. But right now they’re sticking at the forefront of your mind, no matter how hard you try to think about literally anything else. 

You watch the conflict in his mind playing out on his face before he groans and rubs his hands over it. “You don’t get it; it’s not—I don’t want to just be someone you fuck, I want…I want everything,” he tells you, and if your heartbeat wasn’t already erratic, it would be skipping in your chest right now. “And this is just absolutely the last way I wanted you to find out, but that’s why I’m not…I just don’t know if I can do this if this is all I’m gonna get.” 

“Oh, Sam.” His name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re saying it. You stand up and cross the room to sit next to him on the bed, and you don’t miss the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his eyes flick down your body for just a moment, the way he twists his fingers into the sheets. You set it aside for now; this is more important. He is more important. “You really don’t know?” 

He’s silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face; although for what, you don’t know. “Know what?” he asks, his voice quiet as a breath. 

You lift your hand to touch his face, and this time, when the magic sparks across your skin, it feels like a salve, cooling the skin of your palm. From the way he sighs, you imagine he’s feeling the effect as well. “Of course I want that. Who wouldn’t want everything with you?” You’re so engrossed in the look on his face—wide-eyed awe, as if he truly never believed you could want him too—that the sparking of his hand touching your waist makes you jump. Oh, but God, the relief is instantaneous. If just this, your hand on his cheek, his hand on your waist, feels this good, how good would it feel to kiss him? To drag his shorts down his legs and sink down onto his cock, feel the way it stretches you out— “Now if you’re properly reassured, could you please, please fuck me already?” 

Sam may have the self-control of some sort of divine being, but he is, in the end, only human, and the curse is deep, and hot, and needy. You can see it the moment his restraint snaps, and even if you couldn’t, he drags you in and plants his lips on yours. Every feeling is amplified tenfold, and as you gasp at his hungry kiss, Sam takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, his free hand coming up to the back of your head to hold you close, guide you how he wants you. It’s not how you imagined he would kiss you, not really, but it’s exactly what you need right now, and the magic sparks down your spine in a wave of cool respite from the heat that had been eating you up. 

Then he pulls away—to speak, or maybe just to breathe—and the heat surges back in instantly, stealing your breath and leaving you panting into his mouth as you frantically drag him back in. “No,” you groan, shoving your hand into his hair to keep him from pulling back again. “We have to keep—oh, fuck.” 

The feeling of his hand shoving under the fabric of your sports bra, pushing it up to expose your breasts, shuts you up quickly. He brushes his thumb over your nipple, and you moan, pleasure sparking across what feels like every nerve ending you have. He doesn’t pull away to speak this time, well aware now that the relief you’re both feeling is very dependent on the contact. “I wish I could take this slow,” he mumbles, and you feel his voice buzzing against your lips. “Lay you down and taste every inch of you until you’re begging for my cock.” 

As if you needed to be any hornier. “I’m already begging for it,” you tell him, before dragging his bottom lip between your teeth. The noise he makes goes straight to your cunt, and you scramble to climb onto his lap. Fuck, you can feel how hard he is underneath you as you straddle him—even through the layers of fabric separating you, he feels huge. You need him inside you yesterday. “Next time—” you start, although it’s a little hard to speak with Sam’s tongue dragging over yours on nearly every other word— “we can have slow and sweet and whatever you want. But if you’re not inside me in the next two minutes, I’ll kill you before the curse even gets a chance, I swear to God.” 

Sam laughs, like you’re joking. You’re absolutely not. “Alright, I got you,” he mutters, and your brain registers the magic sparking across your skin before his hand as he shoves it under the waistband of your shorts. Your entire body jolts as he brushes a finger over your center through the fabric of your panties, but only because it feels so good, more intense than it has any right to be. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” 

You hardly have the brain power to even kiss him anymore, but it doesn’t matter as much now. His hand in your pants is providing infinitely more relief than kissing him could hope to achieve. You drag your lips down his neck before laving your tongue over the hollow of his throat, tasting the sweat that’s gathered there. “I need it so bad,” you mumble against his skin, and apparently you’re so fucking desperate for it that you’ve been reduced to cheesy, porny dirty talk. 

Sam doesn’t seem to mind. He tips his head back on a groan as you scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his throat. “Yeah? I can tell. You’re soaked,” he says, and then his fingers deftly tug the fabric of your underwear aside so he can press a finger inside you. You’re pretty sure you see God. From the look on his face, Sam might be in the same boat. “Fucking hell—off. Off, take them off.” Tragically, he removes his hand from your cunt, and you could actually cry at the way the overwhelming heat comes slamming back into you the second his touch leaves. But it only takes a moment before magic is sparking over your skin again as his hands brush your hips in his efforts to drag your shorts and underwear down your legs. 

You take over once he’s got them halfway down your thighs, crawling off his lap in favor of ridding yourself of the offending garments. And while you’re at it, you drag your sports bra over your head too. In the time between you crawling off him and tossing your bra carelessly aside, Sam has followed suit. When you turn your attention back to him, he’s entirely bare, having tossed his pants and underwear to the same careless void you’d abandoned yours to. 

Despite your desperate urgency, you take a moment to let your eyes fall to his lap, and fuck, your mouth waters at the sight of him, hard and leaking. He’s…God, you expected him to be big—he’s six foot four for fuck’s sake, of course he’d be big—but this is just absurd. You can’t help but reach out, gingerly wrapping your fingers around his length. You’re so engrossed in the way your hand looks wrapped around him that you almost miss the choked little moan he gives, his body bowing towards you. 

“Please,” he groans, and then he reaches out to grab you by the shoulders, tugging you back in close again, urging you to reclaim your perch on his lap. “I wanna feel you, I need to—God, you’re so hot; please let me fuck you.” 

You aren’t sure if he means it as a compliment, or a comment on the insane waves of heat radiating off your skin. Either way, you’re more than willing to fulfill his request. “Yeah. Yeah, anything,” you murmur, ducking your head to press your forehead against his. From this angle, you can almost see as you use your grip on him to guide his cockhead to line up with your entrance. Where you touch, the magic between you sings. It’s nearly automatic; you sink down onto his cock without so much as a second thought. 

Despite Sam’s…considerable size, somehow, you expected the slide to be easy, what with the aching desperation of it all. You’d expected your dripping cunt to suck him right in, make the stretch of taking his cock bearable. It seems even sex curses can’t work miracles, though. “Fuck, Sam—” you choke out, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. The stretch doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but it’s so much—would be so much anyway, even without the curse amplifying it and making it so much more. You have to stop and take a moment just to remember how to breathe before you’ve even sunk to the top of your hand, wrapped no less than halfway down. 

“I know.” His voice when he speaks is rough, teeth gritted like it’s a real test of his strength to keep still, to keep from fucking up into you, to keep from making you take it. God, you almost want him to, but the soothing tone of his voice is nice too. It rumbles in his chest, echoing through your body just as sure as the pleasure of his cock stretching you out. He brushes his hands over your shoulders and down your back to finally land on your hips. You think maybe he means to keep his grip gentle, because the pressure of his fingers digging into your skin fluctuates, like he’s fighting the urge to bruise you. He’s not doing a very good job of it, though, and it sends a thrill up your spine to know he’s going to leave his mark there, even if that’s not his intention. “I know, take your time. I’ve got you.” 

It’s a sweet sentiment, but you both know time is something you actually don’t have a lot of right now. You can feel the heat crawling up your spine even now, though Sam’s cock spearing you open is holding it at bay. Somewhat. So you dig your fingers into Sam’s hair to steel yourself, and you sink down. And down, and down, until you can’t imagine how there could possibly be more to take, and then, finally, your hips kiss his, and he’s bottomed out inside you. “Fuck,” you groan, panting against the skin of his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. It feels like your lungs emptied out in an attempt to make room, like he’s buried so deep inside you they can’t quite fill right anymore. “Oh, fuck.” 

Sam makes an attempt to soothe you, laying hot, open mouthed kisses over your neck and shoulder. “So good, you’re so good, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling over your skin. His hands abandon their stations at your hips to pull your face up so he can press those same kisses all across your face. “Taking me so well, so perfect for me.” 

Fuck, but he’s got your number, doesn’t he? The praise hits like a drug, zipping down your spine to your cunt and making you flutter around him. It’s frankly entirely unconscious when you shift your hips, but the stars that erupt in your vision when he moves inside you have you moaning in tandem with him. 

“Shit—” He drags you into a messy kiss, all open mouths and panting breaths, his hands buried in your hair. “Can I—God, please, can I move?” You’ve never heard him sound like that before, just the very edge of a whine in his voice as he pleads against your lips. He sounds wrecked, and it feels…good, heady. Powerful. You want to drag that voice out of him a hundred more times, make him whine for you like that for the rest of his life. 

You shake your head, tilting your head down to press a biting kiss on his jaw. “No. No, I’m gonna…” With that, you brace your arms on his shoulders and your knees on either side of him and lift your hips until you’ve nearly moved off him entirely, just the tip of his cock still pressed inside you. And then you drop back down. You feel every inch of it as he drags along your walls, and though it’s easier to take this time, the stretch is still intense, still nearly makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

You force yourself to keep your eyes forward, though, because the look on Sam’s face is almost as good as the stretch of his cock. His brows furrow, face twisting in his pleasure, and his mouth falls open, like he wants to moan but something is holding him back. And, well. That just won’t do. 

You lift yourself up to drop down again, satisfied when Sam groans and drags his hands down your back to dig his fingers into your hips again, pressing into familiar aches. You duck to press your smug smile against his neck, and find it so slick with sweat that you can’t help licking a stripe up his throat. “I’m gonna ride you so good, Sammy,” you mutter, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. His hands help guide you when you bounce this time, and it only makes the slide more delicious, makes your words drag out into a moan before you can continue, “Fuck, do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this? See your face while I make myself come on your cock?” You start up a steady rhythm with Sam’s grip spurring you along, lifting up to slam back down again, his cock spearing you open again and again and again. 

Once you’ve got into the rhythm, his hands move from your hips to your upper back to drag you closer until he can lean down and press his face in the valley between your breasts, kissing and biting and licking the soft skin there, and all the while his hands keep pressing you closer, keeping your chest arched into his mouth. “How long?” he asks, his voice muffled as he drags his lips over the swell of your breast to leave his biting kisses there too. 

You drag your hands up into his hair as you roll your hips, moving in more of a grind now than a bounce, and the new movement means his cock is frankly unrelenting against your g-spot, the pressure of it never leaving, only shifting. The feeling is near overwhelming, has your hips faltering so much that Sam has to bring his hands back to your hips just so you keep moving. “Mm, God, forever, feels like,” you answer, once you’ve gathered enough brain power to even process that he had asked you a question. “Since the first time I saw you, probably.” Saying it out loud, it feels a little bit creepy to confess that you’ve been fantasizing about riding him since the moment you met him, but you’re a little too blissed out at the moment to feel embarrassed about it.  

Besides, judging by the way Sam groans against your chest and fucks up into you, he clearly doesn’t find it creepy at all. “Guess I’d better make it worth the wait, then,” he mutters, before dragging the blunt of his teeth over your pebbled nipple and then moaning against it when the shock of pleasure makes your grip tighten in his hair. And, fuck, if you thought it was good before…

He digs his heels into the bed to brace and starts thrusting up to meet every roll of your hips, his cock pounding so deep inside you now that you swear you can almost taste it. If there was enough room in your mind to even process it behind the fog of lust, you’d realize he’s fucking needy, desperate little moans from your throat with every thrust. And all the while he keeps his face buried in your tits, despite the way they bounce with the force of his thrusts. He drags his teeth over the skin between them, laves his tongue over your nipples, making noises like there’s no place he’d rather be. It’s intoxicating. 

And you’re so close, toeing the edge and hurtling ever closer with every thrust Sam pounds into you. The entire energy of the curse settles in your core at the same place the coil of your impending orgasm grows ever tighter. “Sam,” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, and you use your grip in his hair to drag him up, to kiss him messy and deep. You swallow the sweet, hungry noises he’s making, and he nips at your lip, and you are so fucking close. “Please.” 

Sam’s got you. Of course he does. He brings one hand from your hip to press between your legs and rub his thumb over your clit in quick, firm little circles. “Come on, pretty girl,” he murmurs, “let me feel you come on my cock.” 

And who are you to deny him anything he wants? You cry out as your orgasm explodes through you, whiting out your vision with the force of it. You’ve never come so hard in your life, and it just keeps going, burning up your spine like it’s singlehandedly eating up the energy the curse had created in your body. You’re just conscious enough to feel when Sam’s cock twitches and spills inside you, the frantic spasming of your cunt milking him for all he’s worth. 

You do come down, eventually, your fingers aching where they’ve been white knuckled in Sam’s hair. You bury your face in his neck and try to catch your breath, and his nose presses against your hair as he seems to do the same. It takes you a moment to notice—and you think you can be excused, considering you just came so hard you saw God—but despite the cum that you can feel slowly beginning to seep out of you, Sam is still hard, and doesn’t seem to be softening. Like, at all. And once you notice that, it’s a quick step to realize that the heat at the base of your spine, while significantly lessened, has not completely subsided. 

Fuck. “She’s not dead,” you groan, which morphs into a whimper when an involuntary shift of your hips makes Sam’s cock press against your oversensitive sweet spot. “God, we’re still cursed.” You can feel the awful heat starting to build again, that same devastating arousal eating at you despite the way you’re still trembling all over with the aftermath of your last orgasm.

You feel Sam’s lips press against your hair, soothing hands rubbing up your sides as they do. “We’ve probably bought enough time,” he offers, smoothing his thumbs over your hip bones. It seems sweet, until he smooths his hand down your thigh and keeps talking, “If you can’t go again.” And that? Well, that sounds like a challenge. 

Pushing through the oversensitivity, you rock your hips down, dragging your nails down the back of Sam’s neck and shoulders in an effort to dull the feeling. “Oh, I can go again,” you retort, with a confidence that you’re not sure you’ve really earned, considering the way your thighs are shaking. “Just…not on top.” 

The rumble of Sam’s laugh in his chest is your only warning before you’re suddenly bouncing on the bed on your back, a shocked yelp passing your lips at the sudden movement, and the sudden emptiness—your cunt clenches around nothing but air, Sam’s spend spilling from your fluttering hole.  

“There,” Sam says, his face smug as he climbs over you. “Problem solved.” 

You roll your eyes, ready to shoot back some sassy retort of your own, but Sam’s not looking at you. Not at your face, at least. Instead, his eyes are trained between your legs, and simply because it seems like it would be more effective than a sarcastic comment—and not because of the way his eyes glaze over a little while he’s staring, definitely not—you let your legs fall open a little further. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and then he reaches between your legs to press two fingers in your cunt. It takes you a moment to realize he’s pushing his cum back in, gathering up whatever had spilled from you when he pulled out and fucking it back into you with his fingers. 

You groan, tossing your arm over your eyes. It’s not really something you’d thought you’d be into, but now that he’s doing it… “Fuck, Sam…” 

Sam laughs, but it comes out a little breathless, and you lift your arm to watch him as he draws his fingers from your cunt and brings them right up to his mouth to lick them clean. Holy fucking shit. “Yeah,” he mutters, tucking his hand under your thigh to lift your leg up onto his shoulder, “That’s sort of the idea.”

He doesn’t waste much time after that, lines himself up and pushes in. You’re so sensitive; it’s so good it almost hurts, and though this angle doesn’t allow him to get nearly as deep, it’s clearly better for him to drive into you. His thrusts are quick and punchy, drawing little ‘ah’s from your throat as he drags you back to the edge faster than you would’ve thought possible. Maybe that’s the curse. Maybe he’s just that good. 

“Come on, baby,” he mutters, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face, down your neck. “You can give me one more, yeah?” You don’t even notice his arm move, but between one blink and the next, he’s got his thumb back on your clit, rubbing circles over the sensitive bud. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down his back as you arch your own. “God, don’t stop, fuck—”

You feel it the second it happens. It’s completely instant, the sudden and total disappearance of the magic that had been consuming your and Sam’s bodies. The witch is dead, the curse is broken, and the complete relief in tandem with Sam railing you into the fucking bed sends you careening over the edge in an instant, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut. 

Sam groans and digs his teeth into your shoulder, following right after you as the curse dissipates from his body as well. 

The two of you don’t talk for a long while after that, going about the motions of recovery and cleaning up in silence. He pulls out—the both of you hissing with oversensitivity at the motion—and heads into the bathroom to get a rag. He wipes himself down and then you, mindful of the way you wince when he presses too hard. 

You catch his wrist when he goes to walk away. “I meant what I said.” You wait until he turns to look at you, and then you tangle your fingers in his. “It wasn’t just about the curse for me.” 

You can see it on his face, the hesitance. Like he really never thought he could have this. Fuck, if you had known, you’d have told him years ago, just to make sure he knew how adored he was. How adored he is, always. 

“Yeah?” he says, his voice quiet as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s sweeter, much more tender than any of the kisses before, and this is exactly how you had always thought Sam would kiss you. With his entire heart on his sleeve. “Me too.” 

Maybe you’ve got a little to thank witches for after all. 

[drewsephrry]

Love Island - Episode 9: Imperfect for You

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 5.7k

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos

series masterlist

The moon hangs heavy over the villa, draping the yard in a silver glow that feels too quiet, too still, compared to the muffled laughter and clinking glasses drifting up from downstairs. Y/N doesn’t move. Her hand rests on the door handle like letting go of it would make everything real.

“I…I didn’t think you’d actually come.” He says, voice low, caught somewhere between relief and disbelief. She swallows, eyes flicking away.  

“Me neither.”

A silence sits between them for a beat too long. Then he gestures softly toward the couch. No pressure, just hope. She walks in slowly, almost cautiously, smoothing the fabric of her jeans as she sits down beside him, though not too close. Her body is angled slightly away.

“You wanted to talk.” She says, staring down at her hands. “So…talk.”

He hesitates, his breath shaky. 

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Maybe the part where you lied to me?” She glances up at him, sharp now.  He nods, as if the hit is deserved. 

“Right. Fair.” There’s another pause, heavier this time and when he speaks again, his voice trembles just enough to show the crack beneath it. “I didn’t tell you about my last relationship because…I thought if you knew, you’d look at me the way I look at myself. And I already hate myself enough for what I did. I’ve gone to therapy, I had multiple conversations, apologies that probably didn’t fix anything but I still said them. I mean…I even apologized to her mom. I’m not proud of who I was. But I’ve tried to change. I have changed.”

She doesn’t answer right away. She just stares at him like she’s searching for the lie in his eyes.

“You could’ve told me.” She finally says, her voice sharp with emotion. “Maybe we could’ve saved ourselves from all of this.”

“I know.” He replies, voice raw. “I was a coward. And the other night, I was a massive dick to you. You were trying to help and I blew up. That’s on me. Every second of it.”

He leans forward slightly, eyes locking on hers with a sincerity he rarely lets show.

“I like you, Y/N. So much it scares the hell out of me. And I will fix this. I’ll fix all of it. If you let me.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. 

“How do I know this isn’t just love-bombing?” She asks quietly. “How do I know you’re not just saying all the right things because you think that’s what I need to hear?”

His face falls and for a moment, he just stares at her, unsure if he should be hurt or if he deserves it.

“Y/N-” “No.” Her voice cuts through his like a knife. 

“I can’t sit here and listen to the same lines I’ve heard a hundred times. ‘I’ve changed.’ ‘It won’t happen again.’ Spare me.”

His jaw tightens. The words sting more than he expects.

“I’m not like him!” The words come out louder than he means and her face shifts, just slightly, but enough.

“Him?” Her voice is smaller now. Unsure. He runs a hand over his face, like he’s trying to wipe the moment away.

“Kelce told me. About your ex.” He says it carefully, almost like he doesn’t want to say it at all. “What he did.”

Her body tenses. She looks away, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on nothing.

“That’s not your business.”

“It is.” He softens. “Because it’s still in the room with us. Even when you pretend it’s not.”

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me right now.” She exhales loudly.

“I’m not. But you call me out for not being honest with you and I get that. I do. But you haven’t been either.”

“You didn’t ask.” She snaps. The words are quick, like armor.

“I didn’t want to push.” He pauses. “But I’m not gonna pretend like it doesn’t matter. You were hurt. And whether you like it or not, that matters to me.”

She stands abruptly and for a second, he thinks she’s going to walk out. But he reaches out, catching her hand. Not to stop her, just to hold something steady.

“I’m not like him.” He says again, quieter this time. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what happened to you. For how it’s still with you. And I’m sorry if I brought even an ounce of that back. You didn’t deserve that. Not then. Not now.”

She doesn’t speak. Her breath trembles and when her eyes meet his, there’s a storm building behind them.

“I’m not asking you to forget it.” He adds. “And I’m not asking you to forgive me. But I know what we have, whatever it is, it’s real. I feel it. I know it.”

He lets go of her hand.

“If even a part of you feels it too…just give me a chance. One more. I’ll spend every day showing you, proving to you that I’m not him.”

She stares at him, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I’m not going to apologize for not telling you.” She says quietly. Rafe nods without hesitation. 

“You don’t have to. I get it. You didn’t owe me an explanation. That’s fair.”

“But I am sorry…for pressuring you to open up.” She glances down, her voice softer. He shakes his head. 

“You don’t need to apologize for that either. This was gonna be a thing sooner or later. I’m just glad it happened now, early enough that I might still have a shot at earning your trust back.” He exclaims. She nods slowly, but her expression stays guarded. 

“It’s going to take more than this conversation.”

He nods right back. 

“I know. I’ll do whatever it takes. You want me to beg? I’ll beg.” He suggests and her mouth lifts into a smirk. 

“A little groveling wouldn’t hurt.”

Without missing a beat, Rafe slides off the couch onto his knees, taking her arms gently.

“Y/N-” “Oh my god, get up!” She says, half-laughing as she pulls him back up. He grins, now standing in front of her, his eyes flicking between hers and her lips. She mirrors the movement without meaning to.

“I’m gonna need time.” She says quietly. “To move past this. To trust you again.” 

A beat. 

“Though…a kiss like the one downstairs might help.”

He smirks and steps in, hands landing softly on her waist. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs. “You mean the ‘10 out of 10’ kiss?”

She groans, pulling back and rolling her eyes. Rafe laughs and tugs her back toward him.

“You’re insufferable.” She mutters.

“You’re gonna have to deal with it, sweetheart.”

Her heart flutters at the pet name, but she tries to play it off. He keeps going, eyes glinting.

“And let’s be real, I’m gonna remind you about that kiss for a long time. Didn’t you call it-what was it? ‘The most amazing kiss of your life’?”

“I never said that.” She insists, shaking her head.

“That’s what I recall.” He teases.

“Are you trying to gaslight me right now? I never said that.”

“No?” He leans in with a smirk. “Hmm. Must’ve been the wind.”

She laughs despite herself, fingers weaving behind his neck.

“This is so wrong.” She murmurs. His brows furrow in confusion. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just…kind of toxic, isn’t it? We barely talk things through and then end up right back to our usual horny selves. Like, nothing happened.” She replies.

“Wait, are you horny right now?” He asks with faux innocence.

“Rafe!” She gasps, laughing as she swats his chest. “I’m being serious.”

“Okay, okay. I get what you’re saying.” He pauses, then shrugs. “But why is it wrong? We’re figuring it out. Following our hearts…or whatever Taylor Swift lyric fits here.” He tries not to sound as corny and she snorts. 

“She hasn't said anything like that. Just...I don’t want to get into stupid fights with you just to end up making out a few minutes later.”

“So…we are going to make out?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup her cheek.

“Oh my god, do you hear anything I’m saying that isn’t about kissing?” She stares up at him in disbelief. 

“I do. I swear I do. But you’re just really pretty. It's distracting.”

She blushes and hits his chest again, though this time she leans in.

“I hate you.” She mumbles.

“No, you don’t.” He whispers, smiling as their foreheads meet. “Can I?”

She nods just as he closes the distance. Soft, slow, but with purpose. His mouth finds hers without hesitation and this kiss is different. It’s full of emotion, but also something darker, possessive, desperate, aching.

It’s gentler than before, but hot enough to make her forget everything else. Forget the kiss with Ryan. The one she shamefully leaned into. The one that had rage flashing behind Rafe’s eyes and a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Now, his hands grip her waist tighter, pulling her against him like he needs her there. Like she’s the only thing grounding him. She gasps softly into his mouth and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

His voice drops an octave, low and raspy against her lips. “So…are you getting turned on?” He asks and she giggles, breathless, eyes flicking up to his with flushed cheeks. 

“Honestly? Shut up.”

But her mouth crashes back into his before the last word even finishes. This kiss is hotter. Hungrier. His hands slide down her back, then lower, cupping her ass and pulling her harder against him. She moans softly and he groans into her mouth like it’s driving him insane. 

When they finally come up for air, her fingers are tangled in the chain around his neck, her thoughts spinning.

“You good?” He murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with a tenderness that almost undoes her.

‘Yeah.” She nods. “Because we’re gonna be fine.” She exclaims. His lips twitch into a smile before he leans in and presses a soft, final kiss to her lips.

“We should…probably head downstairs.” He says, though he doesn’t move an inch. She turns toward the door, but Rafe stays put, exhaling hard through his nose.

“Just…give me a second.” He mutters, nodding down toward his pants, where the fabric is visibly strained. “He needs to chill.”

“I’m sorry.” She chokes on a laugh, hand flying to her mouth. “He?”

Rafe looks away, clearly flustered, trying to will his body into cooperation.

“George.”He mutters, with that smug little grin.

“George?” She raises her brows.

“You know…curious George.” He explains, scratching the back of his neck and she chuckles again.

“Oh, I’m absolutely telling the girls.”

“No. Y/N, wait-”

But she’s already slipped through the door, laughter trailing behind her.

“Fuck me.” He groans, chasing after her, catching up just before she reaches the stairs.

“Please, sweetheart.” He says, voice dropping into that low, sweet tone that usually makes her knees weak. She smirks over her shoulder. 

“You said you’d make it up to me any way I wanted.” She recalls, with wide eyes and pink swollen lips. 

“Fine.” He exhales, jaw tense “Go. Just…I seriously need a minute.”

She kisses his cheek, laughing softly.

“I said go.” He calls after her with a grin, adjusting himself with a wince.

“Sorry!” She shouts from halfway down the stairs. “Sorry George!”

His laugh follows her, thick with amusement and frustration.

Confessional - Y/N

She stares at the camera, slightly traumatized.

“I am never seeing Curious George the same way again.” She shakes her head. “Ruined. Completely ruined.”

The night winds down as the girls gather upstairs in the makeup room, wiping off their glam and slipping into cozy pajamas. Laughter bubbles up as they rehash the challenge.

“Maddy, you got the best one!” Alyssa teases, referring to Kelce’s win. The girls laugh as Maddy pulls on one of his hoodies.

“Guess I’m lucky.” She says with a shrug and a small smile.

“Anything exciting happen tonight?” Cleo asks, dragging a makeup wipe across her face. Sarah lifts a brow at Y/N, who meets her gaze for a second. Y/N gives a subtle shake of her head before turning back to the group.

“Y/N…” Kiara says, looking at her. “You and Ryan were talking before the challenge, right?”

Y/N exhales quietly, grateful they hadn’t caught the moment between her and Rafe. No one’s brought it up, yet.

“Yeah.” She gulps. “He pulled me for a quick chat. He was really sweet, honestly.”

“How are you feeling about him?” Cleo asks, eyes curious. “I mean…you did give him a ten.”

Y/N lets out a small laugh. 

“Okay, to be fair, I didn’t even know that was him when I rated him. But yeah, I told him I want to get to know him. And the kiss didn’t hurt, that’s for sure.”

“What about Rafe?” Abigail chimes in, focused on braiding her hair. Y/N’s smile fades a bit. She glances at Sarah before answering.

“It’s still… complicated.” She replies, her voice softer now. The room quiets for a moment.

“Take your time with it.” Maddy offers gently.

“Honestly, Ryan’s a way better option anyway.” Kiara adds, applying lip balm with a casual shrug.

Y/N doesn’t say anything. She just sits at her vanity, staring at her reflection in the mirror, silently nodding as the buzz of conversation moves on around her.

Downstairs, the boys are in full post-challenge mode. Shirts coming off and banter flying.

“So…Ryan.” Topper says, tossing his button-up aside as he eyes him with a pointed look. “Enjoy tonight’s challenge?”

“Didn’t we all?” Ryan replies with a light scoff, earning a few nods and chuckles from the others.

Topper glances over his shoulder toward Rafe, who’s folding clothes in silence, clearly uninterested in the conversation.

“Just asking.” Topper continues, tone more loaded now. “You did get a solid ‘10’ out there.”

That grabs Rafe’s attention. He shuts the closet door a little harder than necessary and makes his way back to his bed without a word.

“It was…nice.” Ryan admits, a small grin creeping in as he thinks back to the kiss.

“The kiss or the rating?” JJ asks, half-curious, half-confused.

“Uh, both, I guess.” Ryan scratches the back of his neck and grabs a t-shirt to throw on. Topper leans back, watching Rafe again. 

“She’s a pretty little thing, huh, Ryan?”

Rafe shakes his head subtly, trying to signal Topper to drop it.

“Yeah, for sure.” Ryan replies casually. Rafe picks up his phone, suddenly very interested in whatever’s on the screen.

“Would you pick her in a recoupling?” Topper pushes, eyes flicking between Ryan and Rafe.

Just as Ryan’s about to answer, the bedroom door swings open. Laughter fills the room.

“I’m serious, Sar!” Y/N’s voice rings out as she enters, wearing Rafe’s hoodie which is oversized on her, paired with boxer shorts. He looks up instantly, a smile breaking across his face.

She walks toward their bed, resting her water bottle on the nightstand as he lifts the blanket for her. The other girls start settling in and the tension in the room visibly eases.

“Neighbor.” Ryan says with a nod toward her as he slides into the bed next to hers.

Y/N nods back politely, adjusting herself under the covers. Rafe watches their exchange carefully. His hand slips beneath the blanket, resting gently on her thigh, giving it a light squeeze.

“I love that hoodie on you.” He murmurs, voice low so only she can hear. She glances over at him, smirking. 

“Looks better on me, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely.” He grins, eyes tracing her face as she snuggles into the fabric.

“It still smells like you.” She mumbles, nose wrinkling playfully.

“Is that a good thing?” He teases, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“God, no.” She groans jokingly.

“Oh, really?” He says with mock offense before suddenly launching into a tickle attack, his hands finding her waist. Her laughter breaks through the quiet hum of the room.

“Stop!” She gasps between giggles, trying to wriggle away.

When he finally pulls back, triumphant, she collapses against her pillow, breathless and glowing. Her eyes flicker to his lips for just a second before darting away nervously, checking to make sure no one else noticed.

Right then, the bedroom lights shut off.

“Good night.” She whispers, turning over.

Rafe hesitates, watching her. To him, it almost feels like things are falling back into place. Gently, he wraps an arm around her waist.

“Is…is this okay?” He asks, his voice soft.

She nods slowly, pressing back into him as he spoons her. His hand stays steady on her waist, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

And for now, that’s enough.

Morning sunlight creeps into the villa as the bedroom lights flicker on. Groans echo around the room as the islanders slowly stir to life.

Y/N pulls the duvet over her face, resisting the day with every fiber of her being. Rafe stretches beside her, arm brushing hers before he leans back against the headboard.

Suddenly, a burst of energy enters the scene. Sarah, wide awake and grinning, launches herself from her bed straight onto Y/N.

“Oh my god, Sarah.” Y/N groans, voice muffled by the blankets as Sarah giggles.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Sarah chirps, wedging herself between Rafe and Y/N like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Rafe just laughs, shaking his head as Y/N’s face peeks out from under the covers, eyes squinting against the bright lights.

“Get up, girl!” Sarah urges, grabbing Y/N’s shoulders and giving her a shake.

“Sarah…”

“Come on. Big day ahead. And I want you to curl my hair like you did yours the other day? It was so cute!” She exclaims. Y/N groans but finally sits up, adjusting Rafe’s hoodie on her shoulders. 

“Why are you so energetic right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.  

“Good sleep? Positive vibes? Who knows.” Sarah shrugs. She hops up and tugs on Y/N’s hand, urging her out of bed.

“You’re literally the most impatient person alive.” Y/N mutters, stretching as she stands. Her hoodie lifts slightly, revealing a flash of skin. Rafe watches, a smirk tugging at his lips. Ryan, from the bed nearby, does too, but more discreetly.

Y/N grabs her water bottle, letting Sarah drag her toward the hallway. The two of them head upstairs, just the two of them, chatting casually as they brush their teeth and wash their faces.

“So…” Sarah starts, drying her face with a fluffy pink towel. “What actually happened last night? You totally skipped over the Rafe part when the girls were asking.”

Y/N spits out her toothpaste and sighs. She dries her face with a towel and walks into the makeup room next door, Sarah close behind her.

“We talked.” She says, settling into her seat. “He explained his side. Said he didn’t mean to hurt me, that he was sorry.”

Sarah listens closely, perching on the edge of the counter.

“And…okay, this is something I haven’t told anyone in here.” Y/N continues. “Before Kelce, I dated this guy. Total douche. Cheated on me. Left me feeling like shit.”

Sarah reaches out instinctively, squeezing her hand. “Y/N…”

“I’m fine now, but…that’s why I reacted the way I did with Rafe. Anyway, Kelce told him and Rafe said he didn’t want me to think of him like my ex.”

Sarah nods, quiet, letting her friend talk.

“He said he was willing to do anything to make it up to me and regain my trust. I told him I need time to think. But also…that the kiss during the challenge was really good. And one thing led to another and…we made out. A little.”

“Oh?” Sarah raises her brows.

“And now I feel like such an idiot.” She pauses, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Why?” Sarah tilts her head, waiting.

“Because I said I needed space, but then I jumped right back into kissing him like nothing happened. It’s like…my brain and my heart just aren’t on the same page.”

Sarah nods, letting her speak.

“And what we have? It’s starting to feel real. Stronger even. But…I’m so confused.”

Sarah reaches out, brushing Y/N’s hand gently. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to figure this out right now. Feeling like this is normal. And I know you’re worried, but Rafe is totally down bad for you. Everyone can see it. I honestly believe he wants to make this work. He’s not just saying things to mess with you or make you feel stupid.”

Y/N looks down, voice softer. 

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the girls. I love them, I really do, but I was scared of being judged for forgiving him so fast. Actually, I was trying to find you last night to tell you first. But then Topper cornered me with some protein powder rant or something.”

Sarah laughs softly.

“You’re the one person I thought would really understand me.” Y/N says, glancing over at her. “You’re my best friend here.”

Sarah’s face softens. She pulls Y/N into a tight hug.

“I love you.” Sarah whispers.

“I love you too, Sar.”

“And for the record.” Sarah says quietly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you forgive him, that’s your choice. And if anyone judges you? That’s on them, not you. Period.”

Y/N nods, a small, grateful smile playing on her lips.

“So…” Sarah leans back. “What about Ryan? No pressure, but you said you wanted to get to know him.”

Y/N exhales. 

“He’s…different.”

“Different how?”

“He’s softer. Calmer. Compared to Rafe, he feels more…balanced. At least from what I’ve seen so far.”

Sarah watches her, nodding slowly.

“I like where things are going with Rafe and I’m open to giving him another chance.” Y/N says. “But I’m not closing the door on Ryan either. It’s still early.”

Before Sarah can respond, the makeup room door swings open and the rest of the girls pour in, filling the space with chatter and laughter.

Y/N gestures for Sarah to take a seat so she can start on her hair and just like that, the morning rolls on. Chaotic, loud and full of possibilities. 

As the girls finish getting ready, a knock sounds at the door, barely catching their attention. It creaks open a moment later and Ryan steps in, one hand covering his eyes, the other holding a glass.

“Is everyone decent?” He calls out, nearly bumping into Maddy, who laughs and steadies him.

“We’re good.” She grins, pulling his hand down from his face.

He blinks, adjusting to the light, eyes scanning the room until they land on Y/N. She’s sitting in front of the mirror, nearly finished with her makeup.

“Hey.” She says, smiling.

“Hi.” He returns the smile, stepping closer. “I made you a smoothie. Strawberries, bananas and blueberries. Hope you’re not allergic or anything.”

Y/N looks up at him, surprised and touched. She stands, wrapping her arms around him in a quick, warm hug.

“Thank you.” She says softly, pulling back to meet his eyes. “That’s really sweet of you.”

He hands her the glass with a small smile. 

“No allergies?”

“Nope. Don’t worry.” She shakes her head.

“Oh, good.” He lets out a breath of relief. She takes a sip and her eyes widen.

“Okay, wait-this is actually amazing. Thank you, Ryan.”

He grins, nods once and heads out. The moment the door clicks shut behind him, the room bursts into squeals.

“Told you. The better choice.” Kiara points out again.

Meanwhile, Rafe, Kelce and Topper are mid-set, sweaty and shirtless, but the vibe is easy, until Rafe speaks.

“Y/N and I talked last night.” He says, grabbing a towel and wiping his face. His tone is casual, but the look he shares with Kelce has weight. 

“Yeah?” Kelce raises a brow. Rafe nods. 

“It wasn’t everything, but…it felt like a start. She said she’s open to forgiving me. Eventually.”

Topper doesn’t miss it. He glances over, unimpressed. 

“So not actually forgiven, but you’re getting there?” Topper asks.

“I mean…we kissed.” Rafe says it with a small smirk, but his eyes flicker with hesitation.

“Okay, that’s something.” Kelce replies, leaning against the bench. “How’d it feel?”

Rafe shrugs, then nods slowly. 

“Real. She wasn’t trying to shut me down. I didn't pressure her. It was just…her and me. Like before all the bullshit.”

“So why not forgive you already, then?” Topper asks, grabbing a dumbbell. “She kissed you but still left you hoping for her forgiveness?”

“She’s being careful.” Rafe replies. “I don’t blame her. I didn’t exactly make it easy to trust me.”

Topper scoffs. 

“I just don’t get it. If she’s still into you, then why all the ‘I need time’ crap? What? Is she keeping you on standby while she explores other options?”

Kelce’s head turns sharply. 

“Don’t do that.” He mutters and Topper blinks. 

“What?” He asks.

“Don’t talk like she’s playing him. Or like she owes anyone an answer right away.” Kelce says flatly. “You don’t know what she’s feeling.”

Topper lifts both hands in defense. 

“Alright, relax. I’m just looking out for Rafe.”

“Cool. Look out for him without throwing Y/N under the bus.” Kelce grabs his water and walks off.

Rafe stays back, running a hand through his hair, somewhere between frustrated and hopeful. Topper watches him for a second longer, then claps a hand on his back.

“Just…keep your head clear, man.” He mutters. “You’ve been through enough already.”

Rafe doesn’t answer. He just stares straight ahead, caught between the weight in his chest and the hope still tugging at it.

Confessional - Rafe

“She just needs time. That’s fair. Honestly, after everything...I get it.” He nods slowly, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. “I know she’s not playing me. She wouldn’t do that.”

The day drifts by in a haze of sunshine and splashes, the islanders lounging by the pool or stretched out under the sun. Kiara catches Pope’s eye and motions for him to join her. They head over to one of the yellow couches, the warmth still radiating off the cushions. She adjusts her sunglasses as she settles in, lips pressing into a line.

“How you feeling today? Having fun?” She asks, casual but kind. Pope leans back, smiling. 

“Yeah, it’s been chill. I think we all needed a pool day.”

She nods, agreeing, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Listen…” She starts, hesitating. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a few days now.”

Pope squints, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. His expression shifts.

“I liked the time we spent together. You’re a great guy. But-”

“I get it.” He cuts in gently, a familiar weariness in his voice. “I’ve had this conversation before. You’re not interested. It’s okay.”

Her face softens, eyes searching his. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” He replies quickly. “I just…wish I knew earlier.”

Kiara fidgets with the corner of a pillow. 

“You didn’t waste time, Pope. I really did enjoy getting to know you. But we don’t have that…spark. We just don’t click like that.”

“I get it, Kie.” He says, gaze dropping as he looks away.

“You can still meet new people.” She offers quietly. He nods, jaw tight, emotions tugging just beneath the surface. 

“Is that all?”

“I’m sorry.” She says.

“Yeah.” He says, standing. “Me too.”

She rises with him, smoothing her bikini bottoms before looking up. 

“Can I… give you a hug?”

He doesn’t hesitate, steps forward and pulls her into a hug, brief but sincere. He presses a kiss to her temple and offers a small smile before walking off toward the guys.

Kiara makes her way back to the sunbeds, dropping onto the empty one beside Y/N and Maddy. Both girls peek at her over their sunglasses.

“I think I hurt him.” She says quietly. Y/N sits up slightly. 

“What did he say?” She asks.

“That it’s not the first time he’s heard this. And when I apologized, he could barely look at me.” Kiara explains and Maddy sighs. 

“He really felt something with you, Kie. That’s why we told you to talk to him sooner.”

“I know.” She murmurs. “But…am I the bad guy here?”

Y/N shakes her head. 

“No. Your feelings are valid. But so are his. He liked you and he tried. So did you. You can’t force something that’s not there. But you also can’t expect him not to be hurt.”

“I agree.” Maddy adds, reclining again. Kiara lets out a slow breath and glances over at the kitchen, where JJ is trying to distract Pope with small talk and laughter that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

As the sun sets over the villa, the islanders get ready for another lively night. Cleo lounges on the daybed with a drink in hand, laughing with Maddy and Kelce when Pope walks over.

“Hey.” He says, offering a small smile. The group makes room for him, but then he glances at Cleo. “Actually...I was hoping to talk to Cleo for a second.”

Cleo raises a brow, surprised, but Maddy grins and gives her a playful nudge. With a reluctant smile, Cleo stands and smooths down her dress before following Pope over to one of the couches.

“You look really pretty tonight.” He says, sincere.

“Thanks.” She replies softly.

Pope takes a breath, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. 

“Okay, I’m just gonna be upfront and say it. You’re amazing, Cleo. And I was an idiot for not realizing it sooner. And I want to get to know you, if you’re still open to that.”

Cleo studies him, not saying anything at first.

“Pope…” She finally says, her voice calm but guarded, “I’m not interested in being someone’s second choice. You and Kiara just ended things and now you’re here saying all this to me. Can you see how that might not sit right?”

“You’re not a second choice.” He says quickly. “What you said the other night...I felt it too. I just didn’t know how to deal with it then.”

“So how do I know this isn’t just a rebound? How do I know you mean any of this?”

Pope sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I get it. The timing sucks and it probably looks messy. But I’m not making this up. I’m genuinely attracted to you and not just physically. I want to see if there’s more there. I’m not expecting an answer right now, just…think about it?”

Cleo pauses, letting his words settle.

“I want to get to know you too.” She says carefully. “But if this is just your way of getting over Kiara, I need you to be honest now. I’m not signing up to be someone’s distraction.”

“I swear, Cleo, that’s not what this is.” Pope says earnestly. “Just give me a chance?”

Cleo watches him for a long second, then finally gives a small nod.

“Okay.” She says softly. He smiles, visibly relieved. 

“Yeah? Okay.”

They sit for a beat, the tension easing slightly, but the air still thick with possibility.

Meanwhile, on the couch beneath the terrace, Rafe and Y/N sit close. Close enough to feel each other’s presence, but not quite touching. Y/N’s eyes scan the villa, landing briefly on each islander.

“You nervous or something?” Rafe asks, his tone casual but observant. His arm slips around her shoulders. She stiffens for a second before letting out a quiet breath.

“Sorry. It’s just…” She hesitates, trying to find the right words. “I haven’t told the girls about us…possibly making up.”

“Okay?” His brow furrows slightly. 

“I mean, we talk about everything. And I didn’t want them to judge me for trying to fix things with you. They weren’t exactly Team Rafe after…you know.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.” He says, nodding slowly. Then, more gently. “I…uhh…told Topper and Kelce.”

His fingers trail lightly along her arm, not pushing, just letting her in. She blinks, then nods. 

“No, yeah…I get that. I just wasn’t ready. But I will be.”

He nods again, letting it land without pressure.

“Is that why you’ve been kind of distant?” He asks, his voice softer now. There’s a flicker of something in his expression, hurt. “Afraid they’ll see us?”

“I’m sorry.” She says quietly. “Everything just feels messy right now.”

“Don’t apologize.” He says, shaking his head. “Seriously. You’re here. That’s what matters to me.”

She melts a little, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He immediately darts his head around, pretending to scan for witnesses like a spy. She bursts into laughter.

“Oh! By the way, can I tell you something?” She asks, her voice dipping conspiratorially.

He claps his hands and rubs them together like he’s prepping for drama.

“Spill the tea.”

She chuckles again.

“Last night, during the challenge, when you had headphones on and Alyssa came up to you, she stopped and said ‘I never got my chance with him, sorry, Y/N’ but in this super passive-aggressive, mean girl voice.”

Rafe raises his brows, unsurprised. 

“Honestly? Not shocked. You remember how she was when she first got here. I told you I didn’t trust her.” He exclaims.

“I know. It just threw me off because she’s been nice since our talk.” She sighs.

“You’re not seriously thinking about talking to her again, are you?” He asks, suddenly serious.

“I mean…I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t-” “You shouldn’t.” He cuts her off.

“But-” “No buts. You already gave her a second chance. She said she wanted to be your friend and now she’s pulling this? Nah. She’s not genuine.”

“Rafe-”

“You don’t see it or maybe you don’t want to, but she doesn’t care about you. If she did, she wouldn’t keep doing this. Did she even apologize?”

Y/N slowly shakes her head, lips pressing into a tight line.

“Exactly!” Rafe throws his hands up like it proves his point. She lets out a sigh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Okay.” She says, her voice a little steadier now. “I’m not going to bring it up with her. It’s not worth it.”

Rafe nods, firm. 

“Good. You shouldn’t let people walk all over you.”

She gives a small nod back.

Suddenly, the sharp clack of heels cuts through the night. The bedroom door swings open and a figure steps out from the corridor of flowers. The villa falls silent as everyone turns to look.

From the beanbag, Sarah gasps. 

“Ariana? What are you doing here?”

to be continued...

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[amorwrld]

sweet mornings - clark kent.

-> summary: an unusual morning, waking up next to your hunk of a man superhero boyfriend, where he makes you yummy pancakes and show you just how much he loves you...

-> word count: 2.1k, tysm for my first clark fic?????? i wasn’t expecting that many notes, ily guys sm!!!!!!!! here’s my second for my superman girlies, hope you enjoy, mwah!

-> (tags and warnings): flashbaks will be in bold and italics, mentions of y/n, reader knows about his secret, minor violence, some mature language, messy makeout, small sexual innuendos, if i missed any let me know! pls reblog, and give us author’s feedback! ❤︎

-> (credits): all pictures from pinterest!

━━━━⊱ 🦸🏻‍♂️ᯓ★ ⊰━━━━

you couldn’t understand why your body felt so warm and snug. then you remembered the night before, where your boyfriend begged and begged for you to stay the night. so here you were, your back against his bare and warm chest, his huge arm wrapped around you, and a thin sheet coating your bodies. you had attempted to pull away, but it's like he knew, and just pulled you closer to him. not a single complaint from you.

you turned swiftly and gently, wanting your boyfriend, who, the night before, saved the metropolis from a small, alien-like creature that ran around and destroyed dog parks, sleep peacefully. clark’s face was drawn in with a tiny frown, the stubble on his cheeks more prominent, his long lashes touching the upper parts of his blushed cheeks, and that damn curl coating his forehead.

you love to stare at him. he was so damn beautiful and deserved to be admired. just like he did with you. a few people in his life knew about his secret, trusted and loyal people who he could count on, and you were one of those. you remember the night so clearly when you saw him transform. it was all so sudden and unexpected, one second you were walking home, then you saw from a dark alley clark remove his glasses and switch into his supersuit.

by that time, you had barely started to get to know each other, had some coffee dates, went on interviews together, and worked after hours to finish researching or articles. you didn’t say a single thing after the revelation. you a matter of fact, distanced yourself, and almost put a transfer form to another article company to avoid seeing him. you didn't want to risk yourself with danger, and especially clark, who needed protection from his enemies.

yet clark wasn’t having it. his heart broke a little each time you declined his offers to go out, rejected working after hours, and even the small notes he would write and place on your laptop. he couldn't comprehend why you had placed this barrier, why you were so distant and far, why you couldn’t even look him in the eyes without running away. he was so close to blaming jimmy, but he realized it wasn’t him. it was something you had seen or heard.

like most people when they saw him as superman, they ran up to him, thanked him, offering him hospitality, hugs and affection. though with you, that night of a confession, you just stared and ran off after he saved you from a car hitting you. clark followed close behind, still in his suit, watching as you sped walk close to your flat.

“miss? miss are you okay?” he called out, your head turning back to watch him land behind you. “i’m okay! just want to get home, it’s freezing out,” you smiled, fakely walking past him, trying to avoid any conversation with clark. “i can walk you home? you must be startled still after what happened,” he offered, but you declined.

“you can get on going, superman, i can manage.”

“miss y/n, i promise my only intentions are to keep you safe and ensure you get home without any complications,” he spoke with a deep frown in his face. clark towered over you, his 6’4 frame making you look tiny against him. “it’s funny how you know my name, when we’ve never met before, not like this…” you said curious.

his blue eyes widen, clearing his throat, now nervous and shifting his weight from a foot to another. “what are you referring to ‘not like this’ miss y/n?” he asked carefully, taking a step closer to where you stepped back, fixing the strap of your work purse, “i believe we both know.” you smiled and continued walking, clark reaching you again in a matter of seconds, quickly bluttering out “do you know who i am?”

“and if i did? what would it change?”

“it would change everything miss y/n.”

clark persuaded you, and that's how you ended up at a burger diner near your flat, where he explained everything. about how he came here, his parents, smallvile, the accomplishments, the iconic black rimmed glasses, and his duty. he had his theories that you could’ve possibly known about him, but he never thought much of it until then and that approach. You knew clark and superman didn’t mean harm, just wanting to make the world a betterplace, so you trusted, just like he did with you.

a year later, those coffee dates turned into a regular daily routine. you both were so careful to never expose his identity, changing the everyday routes to where you couldn't be exposed, having secret meetings in cleaning supply closets, and even far as to put on a show for your coworkers, who sensed the relationship, just didn't say anything.

clark stirred after a couple of minutes, the sunlight flashing his skin in a glowy manner, his eyes piercing blue, and eyelids softly swollen after being asleep for so long. he looked down at you immediately, a small smirk creeping onto his pink lips, “how long have you been awake?” you put on a playful thinking face, “not too long, just watched you snore away.”

“i don’t snore,” clark defended, brushing your hair back softly, his other hand drawing small shapes on your bare thigh. “good morning, miss y/n, how’d you sleep?” clark whispered, your eyes glazing with his. “i slept wonderfully, had this huge hunk of a man hold me all night, and you?” you say softly, your nose pressing against his where he smiled. “you know i always sleep better with you here, in my bed, in my arms…”

“so cheesy,” you tease.

“but it’s the truth, this being here with you, waking up next to you, beats anything,” clark kisses your forehead, his lips lingering for a few seconds. “let’s get up, i have a spare toothbrush in my bathroom drawers, and you can use some of my clothes,” clark gets up, stretching his body, his abs, back muscles, his biceps in full show, making you feel flustered.

true to his word, he hands you a red and blue toothbrush, you brush your teeth together, clark quickly doing it since he insisted on making fresh-brewed coffee. his walk-in closet was full, full of his work suits, a couple workout sets, some jerseys, and lots of lots of shoes. you grab a white button-up, seeing how the other shirts fit too loosely, along with a pair of his socks.

you fix your hair into a messy half-up half-down, pulling some pieces of hair into the front, you walk out to the kitchen, where clark had already begun preparing pancakes. he pulls you close to him, pressing a kiss onto your lips, his head twisting ot the side. clark’s hands ride along your sides, one hand dragging from your spine down to your ass, where he gives it a small squeeze. “haven’t kissed you properly, missed your lips on mine, good morning sweetheart,” he said with a big grin, continuing to make pancakes as if the kiss had no affect on either of you. “good morning handsome, where can i help?”

“bacon is cooking, coffee is brewing, i got the pancakes. you can help with the eggs and fruit?” clark suggested seeing how you quickly nodded and washed your hands. “do you want the eggs prepared any certain way?” you asked him, “i have no preference, do them the way you like, i’ll eat it,” clark spoke, placing a kiss on your neck, his hand creeping up around your waist.

“easy superman, you have pancakes that cannot burn on the stove.”

“would rather eat you for breakfast,” clark says nonchalantly, biting his lip as he flips two of them, as you show him a side eye. you cut enough strawberries and kiwis, picking a few blueberries and place them into small bowls with a splash of honey and granola. you decide to make sunny-side-up style eggs for you and clark, placing them neatly next to the fresh pancakes.

clark set up the table near the window that looked out to metropolis, kissing your head twice as he helped you carry everything to the table. having the day off together was so convenient and smart, and mornings like this with him were usual or common. despite working in the same establishment, you both had difficult schedules, especially with clark since he was also a literal superhero.

clark watched you finish your breakfast, as he had finished way before you, talking about how he defeated the creature from yesterday. he invariably got so excited speaking on these small missions, no matter how big or small; they always made an impact to him and the world. he would forever do it till he no longer could.

“you got a little something here sweetheart,” clark leaned over, removing a tiny spot of chocolate from the inner corner of your lips, licking his thumb afterward. you picked up the dishes, setting them in the sink and walked back to where clark was. he was manspreading, a hand resting on his thigh just observing you.

he looked so huge, he always did, but him like this, bare chest, and just a pair of plaid pants covering him? you could die a happy woman. clark had a shy demeaner, but he was compassionate, a huge nerd, super romantic, very much old school, and overall the best person you could ever ask for to be by your side.

you grip his shoulder as you sit on his lap, his hand graze your thighs, running them up softly, gently squeezing tiem from time, just staring at you in a lovey daze. you would've never imagined you would date a superhero, you never imagined that clark would be yours and you be his. but you would do it all over and over again.

one of his hands came up, his thumb undo the top three button of his shirt that was on you, gently pulling your face down to his. his lips meet in a soft but eager kiss, a hand holding the back of your head, your breathing more rapid and heavier as he presses himself against you. he could taste the sweetness of the strawberries on your lips, growing more and more obsessed by the minute. he had to hold himself back once you began to slowly grind yourself on him, without even noticing, he just kissed you harder and more passionately.

clark's hand came under his shirt, gently groping your boob with his hand, squeezing your nipple in a pleasurable manner with his index and middle fingers, hearing you whimper while tugging his curls. “you’re so beautiful, just like this, with my shirt on, in my home, kissing me,” he said breathless feeling the tiny smirk playing on your lips. “i’m so madly obsessed and in love with you darlin’…” clark discloses, his blue eyes wild.

he slowly undoes the rest of the shirt's buttons with one hand, his other hand keeping you steady as he places wet kisses along your neck and down to the valley of your breasts. he wasted no time, effortlessly picking you up and placing both your legs around his torso, leading you into his bedroom, where his lips never stopped moving against yours. “could never get tired of you, i want all of you, forever.”

your hips bucked against him, as he continued to fondle with your bum, it was so amusing to him, watching you get aroused by the second, made the game, the chase, more exciting. he set you down, you watch as he got down slowly, removing your underwear, kissing the flesh of your thighs. “always so soft and sweet,” clark rehearsed, he dragged his tongue near your pelvis to your hip bone, feeling you quiver as clark placed a single kiss on your hip bone.

if there was one thing clark loved to do, it was appreciating the beautiful body you had. kiss over every stretchmark, scar, mole, any imperfection. his lips find yours once more, dragging your bodies to his bed, you obliged to his tongue entry, tasting the chocolate taste, desperate to feel him against you. you could feel his cock grow heavier and harder by the second, not resisting the urge to palm him as he kissed your neck, your eyes rolling back when he softly ran his fingers against your slit.

it hadn't been long, but with your busy schedules, you hadn't had sex with him in two weeks. you were a starving woman, and all you wanted was to feel him inside you. clark kissed all the way down, teasing you, edging you, marking you. he watched you, eyed as your chest rose up and down, clark slowly removed his plaid pj’s, his cock springing out and hitting his lower belly.

“i’m gonna fuck you now, miss y/n…”

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