#hes not short hes just height challenged

[darthkyuel]

A truly underrated Ben 10 moment

[smilesrobotlover]

Some love at twilight stuff with the fam. Rusl and Uli are cute, Colin is an annoying little brother, and Kori and Rela are bffs and do everything together. I love them all.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Weakness

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You use Bucky’s only weakness to your advantage until it bites you in the ass.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: feigning injuries; a sprained ankle; bruises; hiding injuries; combat fighting training; sparring sessions; mutual pining; Bucky being a doting sweetheart; Bucky being smug; Bucky being worried

Author’s Notes: This idea has been sitting in my drafts as a rough outline for months lol and I finally got the inspiration to make something out of it. I hope you will enjoy this! ♡

Masterlist

You love sparring with Bucky.

Maybe because you love the man.

But there is so much more to that, honestly.

You have basically sparred with anyone out of the team.

Steve is methodical. Always a teacher, always Captain. He calls out corrections in a way he does orders, his patience long-practiced. His strikes are accurate, economical, as if he calculates the exact amount of force necessary to bring you down and delivers it precisely, nothing wasted. But you always know he is holding back. He does not say it but you feel it in the way he controls every movement, never quite giving you the full weight of his strength. You learn from him, but there is always a ceiling to what he will allow you to take from the fight.

Natasha is sharp. She doesn’t coach you, doesn’t slow down, doesn’t hold back. She fights you like she fights anyone. You feel the sting of a bruise blooming before you even realize she struck you. And yet, when you get a hit in, when you shift fast enough to slip past her guard, her smirk is quicksilver - pleased, challenging, like she has just discovered something worth sinking her teeth into.

Wanda fights like she plays. Some days, she keeps her powers at bay, working only with what her body allows, light on her feet, swaying rather than striking. But she is not used to this. Not using her powers in a fight. So most of the time, she teases, powers tugging at your wrist mid-swing, a flicker of scarlett at the edge of your vision before she is suddenly behind you.

Sam is solid. He fights with his whole body, never wasting energy on anything that doesn’t serve his goal. He takes up space, keeps you on the defenses, his moves seamless. But he is generous too, throwing you a verbal lifeline mid-fight - “too slow, come on,” - challenging you in encouraging you. And when you get him down, he grins, bright and wide, like he wants you to win.

Clint fights like someone who doesn’t need to win, just needs to keep moving. He is slippery, dodging rather than blocking, grinning rather than growling. He makes a game of it, laughing at your frustration, forcing you to loosen up, to adapt, to try something unorthodox. He doesn’t spar to overpower. He spars to frustrate, to outlast, to make you think three steps ahead.

But Bucky.

Bucky watches you. Always. Even when he isn’t facing you directly, even when he’s standing in the shadows at the edge of the gym, you have his attention. It is something you have learned to steady yourself beneath. Because it never really seems to waver.

He is mindful. Of your form. Of your tells. Of how far he can push you. He does not go easy on you. Despite the obvious differences in height and weight and him being a super soldier. But he fights you like an opponent worth fighting. He fights you like himself. Precise. Controlled. Thoughtful. When he corrects you, it is not instruction, just a simple adjustment with the brush of his metal fingers nudging your wrist into a better angle, a small nod when you adapt.

And when you take him down - when you surprise him, when you shift your weight at the last moment and send him to the mat - there is that laugh breaking out. He is not stunned at the way you overpowered him. Not disbelieving. He merely laughs. A short burst of warmth, rare and genuine, something boyish in the way it escapes.

You live for that laugh.

Because Bucky knows your competence. He does not gift you victories because he knows you don’t need them in the first place. He expects you to win. He knows you can. And will. He does not say it outright, but you learned to read the subtle body language in the years of knowing him - the glimmer of something pleased in his eyes, the upturn at the corner of his mouth.

And when he helps you up - fingers gently curling around your wrist to pull you to your feet - he lingers just a little too long.

So yes, you love sparring with Bucky.

Basically, on the first day as an Avenger it was drilled into you that knowing your enemy is everything - know what you are up against, who you are fighting, how they move, what makes them weak.

You are good at this. At observing. You know how to study people, how to pick out patterns, how to find the smallest crack in an otherwise impenetrable wall and press until it splits wide open.

Still, Bucky Barnes is not an easy person to read.

But perhaps it was just a little too much fun figuring out what exactly his weaknesses are.

He doesn’t have many. His body is conditioned for war, his mind sharpened, his instincts too honed to give much away. If he has vulnerabilities, they are subtle. Nearly imperceptible to anyone who isn’t looking closely enough.

But you have been looking closely. For the better part of a year.

And then, about five months ago, something clicked.

Bucky Barnes does have a weakness.

A glaring one, in fact.

One so obvious you nearly laughed out loud when you finally pieced it together.

It’s you.

You are his weakness.

Bucky is a creature of routines.

The kind that keep him grounded in a world that still feels like shifting sand beneath his feet. And somehow, you have become part of them.

You don’t remember when it started, exactly. But you know that when you stumble into the kitchen in the morning, still half-asleep, Bucky is already there. Always. Sometimes with coffee already poured for you, sometimes just sitting at the counter like he’s lost, waiting like he’s been expecting something. You.

You tested it, once. You woke up later than usual, wanting to see if he still lingered. And sure enough, when you finally stepped into the kitchen, he was there, nursing a long-gone cup of coffee that was somehow still halfway filled, gaze fixed on the entryway even before you entered. Like he hadn’t been planning on leaving until he saw you. It’s when he loosened his grip on the poor mug. Flexing his fingers, as if he was close to shattering it.

Bucky is not a fan of crowded spaces.

He likes corners, walls at his back, exits in view. He keeps a respectable distance from most people, moving on silent feet, always aware of what’s around him.

Except when it comes to you.

You began to notice that in the common room. How he lets you sit closer than he does with anyone else, how he doesn’t shift away when his knee bumps his. How, when you walk side by side, he moves to make space for you without thinking. How he stops standing near the door when you are in a room, like some unconscious part of him doesn’t feel the need to watch his six when you are there.

And then there are the small things.

The way his arm comes up instinctively when you reach past him for something, like he is preparing to steady you or get it down for you if it is something you can’t reach. The way he steps in front of you if something startled him, body moving before anything else.

Little things. Automatic things.

And the most endearing part is, that he genuinely does not seem like he knows he is doing all that.

Bucky is strategic on missions.

He follows the plan without a hitch, keeps his cool and executes flawlessly.

Until you are in danger.

Then he gets frantic. He even tends to snap at Steve. He gets tighter, sharper, more lethal. It seems like instinct.

Just last month, you got cut along your thigh that you managed to patch up before the mission was even completely over. But Bucky was stoic and brooding. Frown on his face the whole time. He saw the blood, saw the way you had a limp in your step and something utterly cold settled in his eyes.

Sam later mentioned to you with a weird wiggle of his eyebrow that the man whose knife slashed you never had the chance to land another hit on anyone.

You started testing him in small ways. Seeing if he moves when you move. If he adjusts his strategy to keep you in his line of sight. If he listens to your voice above all others in a debriefing, even when Steve is talking.

And he does. Every time.

Bucky got mad at Clint once because he ate the last donut that was meant for you. Clint was genuinely terrified. He even went out to get you new ones.

Bucky picks up stuff from the common room he knows belong to you and takes it to your room.

Just yesterday, there was a book on your nightstand. One you had mentioned offhand in conversation weeks ago, something you said you wanted to read someday. And you know for a fact that Bucky got dragged into the city by Sam and Steve the day before.

After years as an Avenger, you learn to fool people.

You know how to smile when you need to, how to shake things off, how to deal with missions gone wrong or people unsaved.

But you can’t fool Bucky.

He just knows when something is off. He notices the way your voice shifts, the way your shoulders carry tension differently. You don’t have to say anything. He just knows.

And he never pushes. He lingers. He makes himself available. He sits beside you in silence when you don’t feel like talking. He glares at everyone who wants something unnecessary from you in times like those.

And then he would just go, come on, let’s go do something.

It is basically just watching a movie or cooking a dinner or baking cookies, but everything is more fun with him, and soon enough your smile touches your eyes again.

Bucky does not share.

He does not share his food. He does not share his belongings.

But he does with you.

When you are out and freezing, he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over your shoulders without a word.

He lets you take fries off his plate and lets you drink from his cup, much to Sam’s surprise and disgruntlement.

Bucky does not talk about his nightmares.

Not to anyone.

But on certain nights, when sleep refuses to hold him and his mind is drowning in things long past but never gone, he finds you.

You were in the common room when it first started. Months ago. Nursing a mug of tea, when he wandered in, looking lost and exhausted.

With a single glance at him, you nodded to the couch, shifting over to make space, and he came sitting down without a word.

He let you talk. He even seemed to relish it. Intertwining his hands at his front and laying his head back against the backside of the couch, closing his eyes and listening to your mocked aggravation at the fact that Sam left a half-eaten sandwich on the counter again.

He stayed until the sun crept in through the windows, slight snoring making you smile.

It happened again. And then again.

After a while, you started recognizing the signs when his nightmares are getting worse again. The way he drifts into whatever room you are in and stays locked in his own when you are gone on a mission or out with the girls. How he leans against the doorway for a second longer than necessary before stepping inside, like he is debating whether he has the right to be there.

Sometimes, he’d pretend he’s just passing through. He would linger in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee he doesn’t drink while you are having your conversation with Wanda and Natasha.

One night, he even came to your room. Knocking and standing there with his hands fidgeting at his sides, eyes shamefully lowered, looking so much like a puppy in search of some love.

He didn’t pretend. He didn’t offer excuses. He just stood there and you saw it in his eyes.

You took him in your arms and then you took him in.

First, he sat down on the floor beside your bed, back against the wall, knees drawn up like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. He didn’t say anything for a long time. You just sat beside him on the ground, laying your head on his shoulder.

Eventually, his breathing evened out, head falling onto yours.

He would fall asleep like that. Until you managed to get him to lie down in your bed beside you. He usually sleeps like a baby when he’s with you.

You are not stupid. Neither are you naive. You have always been good at reading people, at knowing them, at watching them, and deciphering the things they do not say.

And you know what this might mean.

You certainly know what it means to you.

The way your pulse picks up when Bucky walks into a room so casually because you are there. The way your stomach flutters when his gaze lingers on you. The way your chest gets so unbearably full when he does all those smallest things for you.

But you think you also might know what it means to him. He seeks you out for everything, on instinct or not. Smiling seems to come so easily to him when he is with you. You are the only person he lets into his personal space - the only person he doesn’t startle away from when it comes to accidentally touching.

But Bucky Barnes is not a man who allows himself to want things easily.

So, you will not force yourself upon him. You will not push. You will not demand. You will not take what he does not freely offer.

Because you understand that he does not fear pain, or war, or perhaps even death.

But he fears something real, something good, something that cannot be fought off with fists or buried beneath old ghosts.

Because he does not think it is something he deserves yet.

But you are willing to wait. Until he is ready. Until he is sure. Until he knows that this is what he wants.

And if he never is, if he never comes to you with certainty in his hands, if he never crosses the space between you - then you will wait anyway.

Because for him, you would wait forever.

****

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

There’s a smug grin on his face as he’s circling you.

And you know why it is there.

Because you are currently three losses deep into a losing streak against Bucky. And that just won’t do. You need a win.

You move first, closing the distance fast, testing his defenses. He blocks. A quick jab - he dodges. A feint - he doesn’t bite.

He knows your patterns, how you move, how you think. But you know him, too.

You go low, aiming for his legs, but he anticipates and shifts out of reach. “Getting predictable there, doll,” he drawls, smirking.

Yeah, you’re gonna wipe that off.

Rolling your eyes, you adjust. A punch goes up that isn’t meant to land, just to see how he reacts. He blocks high, but his balance shifts and there is a brief opening. A second and you are too late.

You strike fast, sweeping low again, and this time, you actually catch him. Not enough to take him down, but a start.

Bucky huffs, rolling his neck. “Not good enough, but better,” he teases, smirk still in place.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, lunging again.

He meets you halfway, and for a moment, it’s just movement - sharp and fast and fluid, but you keep your balance. You duck, weave, block.

You land a hit, but it barely fazes him. He grabs your wrist, twisting - flipping you, but you are prepared, rolling and springing back up.

“That all you got?”

“Come find out.”

He laughs brightly before going in for attack. You block his strike, twisting out of reach.

It’s definitely not all you got.

He is not expecting you to cheat.

Not that you call it cheating anyway.

You decide that it’s time to take advantage of that weakness of his.

After all, it has worked before. And it will work again.

Bucky feints left. You dodge, pivot, but let your foot catch just so against the mat to send you off balance. The stumble isn’t exaggerated - it doesn’t need to be. You land on your side, letting out a sharp breath as if this is not exactly what you were expecting, and grab your ankle, wincing.

Bucky stops immediately. Just like always. It’s the first time you feign your ankle getting hurt but he reacts all the same.

His shift is instant. His whole body tenses. Taking a step toward you with his brows furrowed tightly, he scans you like he’s already running through every possible way to help you. Carrying you to the medical wing, for example.

“Shit, doll. You okay?” His voice is softer now. Concerned. So genuinely worried, you might actually feel bad.

He crouches without hesitation, without a thought, eyes so intensely fixed on you. And that smug grin is as predicted wiped cleanly off his face.

“Lemme see-”

He reaches out to you but that is when you strike.

You twist up, leg sweeping out and knocking his feet from under him. His surprised noise is so satisfying as he goes down, flat on his back, sprawled across the mat.

Silence.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Bucky groans loudly.

You are kneeling beside him, grinning, chest heaving. “Kinda needed that win, Barnes. No bad feelings, yeah?”

Bucky just stares at the ceiling for a long moment, one hand scrubbing down his face. He exhales sharply, muttering something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like every goddam time.

The last time you used your little trick on him, you had sold a jab against your side, staggering back and exhaling sharply as if he hit some sensitive point. He froze instantly, eyes wide. And you spun him into a flawless takedown.

The time before that it was your shoulder. All you needed was a slight grimace in fake pain and his whole demeanor changed in an instant. His hands went up slightly, a step in your direction and that was your opening to duck under his arm, and bring him down with a precise twist.

Yeah, alright, people might believe that that technique is a little mean and it certainly wouldn’t help you at all in the open field, but Clint did tell you to try something unorthodox.

You stretch, still smirking, and tilt your head at him. “You know, you’d think after falling for this multiple times, you’d have learned by now.”

Bucky’s head rolls to the side and he glares at you. Not in anger, not even close. Just that specific kind of exasperation that you have come to learn is something only you get to see from him.

He huffs. “Should’ve known you’d pull this shit again.”

“Should have. And here I thought I am predictable.”

He gives you a flat, unimpressed look.

“Can’t believe I was worried.”

“Aww, you were?” you say sarcastically, lightly. Almost in a sly sing-song voice, because is is always worried. That’s the whole point of this.

Another hand drags down his face, but there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

****

You exhale deeply, rolling your shoulders, as you make your way down to the gym.

Your muscles are stiff. Everything aches in that dull, stubborn way that promises it will get worse before it gets better.

The bruises that paint your ribs throb with your pulse. You remember the sharp, biting crack when you hit the ground.

It was a mission for Steve, Nat, and you, though you definitely could have used some backup.

You feel terrible.

And you hadn’t told Bucky any of that when you came home yesterday, sometime late.

Instead, you sent him a quick I’m fine. Training tomorrow? and buried yourself in sleep before he could pry. You know how he gets, after all. How his worry manifests, his eyes linger and his mouth tightens when you brush him off. You did not have the energy for it last night. And you don’t have it now. He does not have to know what hits you have taken due to your own recklessness. You already got a lecture from Cap. Don’t need it from his best friend.

So you show up. Because, if you don’t, he will know something is wrong.

Bucky is already waiting for you, standing loose and ready on the mat. His eyes snap up the moment you enter, scanning you the way he always does. Checking.

You ignore his gaze.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” you say, tossing your water bottle onto the bench, forcing something light into your voice.

He smirks, arms crossed. “That what’s gonna happen?”

You step onto the mat, careful not to wince, careful to keep your breath even despite the sharpness pulling at your ribs. “Don’t sound so doubtful, Barnes. I’ll let you eat the mat.”

He snorts, tilting his head. “I sure like to see you try.”

He raises his hands, shifting into a stance, watching you closely. Too closely. There is something probing in his gaze today.

“How’d the mission go? Steve mentioned you guys ran into some-”

You don’t give him time to finish - time to think.

You move, fast, hoping to catch him off guard.

He sidesteps, but you strike again.

And immediately regret it.

Your ribs scream. Punishing. Your breath stutters, but you grit your teeth and keep going, keep pushing forward and attacking because if you pause, he will most definitely notice.

It goes on for perhaps a minute and you think you might actually be able to bite away the pain your whole body is consumed with, but then you stumble.

It’s a half-second of hesitation, a misstep that normally wouldn’t happen. But it causes you to trip away a few steps. Sharp pain courses through your ribs and a hand instinctively shoots up to your side. A hiss slips past your lips. Loud enough for him to hear.

But instead of reacting the way he always does - immediately stopping, immediately reaching - he just huffs amused, shaking his head.

“Bad time for trying that trick again, sweetheart. Shoulda known better.” There is that smugness in his tone.

His voice is light, teasing. His eyes are sharp, watching.

You grit your teeth, saying nothing.

He thinks you’re faking.

Which - fine. You have done this a few times. But now, with every movement grinding against the ache in your ribs, you wish he would just stop you.

Because it’s getting harder to hide.

It’s getting harder to see.

Bucky seems confused for a second when you don’t react to him at all, but doesn’t have time to act on it as you are going in for the next hit.

And Bucky dodges you too easily like he doesn’t even need to try. You swing again, slower than you should be, weaker than you should be - and he sidesteps, frowning.

“Tryin’ a new strategy?” he asks, but his voice is careful. His eyes are assessing.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just go again, ignoring the way your body protests, ignoring the way you are moving wrong like you are just a second behind yourself. You hope maybe muscle memory will carry you through.

It doesn’t seem like it.

Bucky stopped throwing punches himself, only staying in defense mode and he won’t stop fucking looking at you.

And then you pivot too fast - twist wrong.

White-hot pain flares through your side so fiercely, it rips the breath from your lungs. A harsh, unsteady sound falls out. You can’t catch it. You stagger, grip tightening into fists, trying to push through.

But Bucky’s expression now definitely shifted. Amusement gone. Smugness gone. His face is hard.

You ignore that and try to go in for the next hit, but Bucky steps in fast, too fast for you to counter in your state, hooking an arm around you, pressing your back against his chest. He doesn’t throw you - he could, easily, he would - but he just halts your movement, stopping you clean in your tracks.

The pain spikes again and you gasp sharply. Your knees nearly buckle and Bucky’s grip on you tightens.

His hands are firm around you. Steady. But his breathing is not. It’s fast, strained, the muscles in his arms locking as he keeps you upright.

“What the hell happened?” His voice is so low, so serious. There is an edge to it, teetering on loosing control.

“It’s not a big deal,” you grit out.

“Bullshit.” Now he sounds harsh.

But his fingers still press so gently into your side, checking you out.

You whimper, flinching.

And Bucky freezes.

“Shit.” He shifts his grip, an arm around your waist, moving you to face him and still trying to support you without making it worse. His heartbeat is fast. You can feel it. Even in his hands on you.

He grabs the hem of your shirt and lifts it enough to see your torso. A breath hitches. It’s not yours.

The bruises are bad. Worse than they were yesterday. Dark and sprawling across your ribs, blooming in ugly purples and reds. You feel the shift in him, the way his whole body goes still.

You watch his tense features in discomfort. His eyes are turbulent, filled with a wildness stemming from something dark that writhes beneath his skin and causes his hands to shake against you. A tremor passes his jaw.

He curses under his breath.

“You didn’t tell me.” His voice drags low.

“I didn’t think it was that bad.”

He lets out a deep and rumbling sigh. Trying to compose himself. “It is bad, Y/n! How come you thought it’s a good idea to train like this, huh?”

He meets your eyes. There is a sternness in his expression. His eyes are heavy.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

Bucky lets out a humorless breath. Closes his eyes for a moment until he takes a breath in again.

“I was already worried, doll. I always am. You know that, no?” he speaks solemnly. “You think not telling me makes this better?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

He shakes his head, exhaling profoundly through his nose. His grip tightens, but not enough to hurt you. He holds you carefully.

You take in a deep breath. “I- I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t wanna talk about it. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

His jaw is clenched and he bites his bottom lip, staring at the bruises littering your skin for a moment with eyes so dark they make you shiver.

“How did that happen? Who did this?”

You scoff half-heartedly. “Got a little messy. Pretty sure that guy’s not doing that well either.” You aim to get even the tiniest bits of amusement out of him but he might have gotten even more grim.

His touch is slow, a careful sweep of his finger across your skin, studying you for reactions.

He opens his mouth. Something on his tongue he wants to get out, but he hesitates. He swallows. Waits a few seconds. His voice is a rasp. “Don’t do that again.”

“Getting hurt on missions is kind of a normal occurrence, Buck. Not much I can do about that-”

“No, I mean-” he interrupts, voice quieter. “Don’t hide it again. Not from me. I- Just please.”

There is something in his tone that makes you stare for a while longer.

Then, you nod. Just once. But you mean it.

****

It took weeks for you to properly heal.

But finally, earlier today, you got the clearance of Dr. Cho - and Bucky, because he somehow told himself he has a say in that kind of thing - to step onto the mat again and resume training.

There is still a phantom pain in your ribs but it’s locked somewhere in the back of your mind.

But Bucky still would not stop fucking looking at you.

And it never is in a casual way. Bucky always watches you like he is waiting for something. Like his body is ready to move before his mind even has to tell it to. Like he is memorizing you, making sure nothing slips past him.

He is currently standing in front of you on the mat, rolling his shoulders, the stretch of muscle under his shirt shifting with the movement. The tension in his frame hasn’t faded, no matter how much you’ve reassured him. His fingers flex, then curl into loose fists.

Then his eyes find yours.

“Alright,” he says, voice low and edged with something firm, something not up for debate. “Don’t ever pull that shit on me again. You’re good enough as it is. No need for all that, yeah?” There is something heavy in his tone. “I'll even let you win this time if you need it so badly, doll,” he adds with a hint of humor that his voice lacked earlier, bouncing right back into your easy friendship.

You huff out a laugh and stretch your arms over your head, feeling the pull of muscles that have gone a little too long without use. “Trust me Bucky, I’ve learned my lesson.” Your voice is rather light, but it carries an edge as well.

Bucky’s jaw ticks.

There is something like guilt crossing his eyes for a second. Gone as fast as it came but you catch it. His lips are pressed together tightly and he seems to hold back an uncomfortable cough.

You’ve talked about this already. Plenty, in the weeks of your recovery. You told him you wouldn’t have believed him either after the many times you feigned injury during matches. That if anything, it was your own stubbornness that got you hurt and not him.

He only agreed with the stubborn part but he stopped bringing it up.

Still, you see he hasn’t let it go.

He carries too much guilt as it is. You don’t want him to carry more. So, you definitely won’t question his weakness during fights again. It was kind of funny, though, at least you’ll hold onto that.

You roll out your shoulders, shaking off the stiffness, then take your stance. “C’mon Barnes. You gonna fight me or just stand there looking pretty?”

His mouth twitches, a ghost of a smirk, maybe even a ghost of pink at the tip of his ears, but his eyes stay sharp.

He steps in, closing the space, moving with the same impossible control he always does.

You block his first strike, but it shakes through you. The force of it reminds you just how much power he’s holding back.

His eyes snap to your face. He doesn’t stop watching.

Studying.

Testing how you move, how much strain you can handle.

You feel yourself get into it again. The movement, the impact, the swiftness. The gym is filled with the sounds of breaths and footwork against the mat.

Bucky tests you, pushes you.

And you give as good as you get.

Your body remembers even if it’s been weeks. Your muscles adjust, wake up in a way they haven’t in too long. You move on instinct, dodging, striking, thinking, even pulling a move that you copied from Nat. One that Bucky didn’t see coming.

And it honestly looks pretty good for you, until your foot catches.

It’s nothing at first, a simple shift in weight, an uneven pivot that causes your balance to tip slightly off center. But a dizziness suddenly overcomes you and it’s too late to catch you. Your ankle twists, your knees buckle and the floor comes rushing up to you.

You hit the mat hard, landing awkwardly on your side, the jolt of pain snapping through your ankle up your whole leg, sharp enough for you to wince.

Shit.

You suck in a breath, already dreading what this looks like, what Bucky must be thinking. The timing couldn’t be worse. After everything - after the fights weeks ago, after the conversations, after the promise you just made to never feign getting hurt again - what else would he think?

But before you can lift your head, before you can force out some half-hearted quip, Bucky is already there.

Not hesitating. Not wary.

Rushing. Fast and frantic.

He’s at your side, crouching so fast his knees nearly hit the mat.

And you find yourself blinking at him stunned.

You expected him to pause. To hesitate. Maybe even get angry - to assume, even for a second, that you are feigning again, that you had just promised him not to pull that anymore but here you are.

But there is none of that.

Only the same panic from every other time you’ve dropped yourself to the ground on purpose. But this time it is real. There just was no way for him to know that. He still reacts the same.

“Where does it hurt, doll? Talk to me.”

His voice is calm, but his face is tight. His brows are drawn together, tension lining his mouth. The breaths he lets out are just a little too measured.

You blink at him, still baffled at the way with how fast he was there, how fast his reaction was.

“Just my leg,” you say, exhaling slowly. “It’s nothing. I just got dizzy and fell.”

That makes him frown, deeper than before. His hand moves so gently as he lifts the fabric of your training pants to get a look, taking your calve into his other hand. The touch sends a pulse of pain through you but you manage not to let it show on your face. You’ve had worse. You’re an Avenger, after all.

But Bucky’s jaw clenches so tightly at the sight of the swollen bone and the deepening flush of color on your ankle as if it is serious.

“Might have sprained it,” he mutters gruffly, and the displeasure in his voice is so clear.

“Think I’ll live, Buck,” you quip lightly and shift, trying to stand up but his hand doesn’t let up on your leg and he presses just lightly against your shoulders to make you sit back down.

“You still feelin’ dizzy?” he asks, basically ignoring what you said, voice dipping lower. His gaze locks onto yours. Intense.

You shake your head, trying to show him how casual this whole thing is but his eyes won’t stop searching you and it makes your stomach churn.

“I’m fine, Buck.”

His eyes don’t move. He doesn’t let go.

“Why did you even believe me?” You voice it light, but there is something cautious underlining it, you can’t shake. “Could’ve faked again.”

Bucky rakes a hand through his hair with a long breath. He averts his eyes.

“Saw you go down,” he says with a shrug that seems just a little too exaggeratedly indifferent. “S’ enough for my head to go straight to hell.”

That’s certainly not something you expected him to say and you are stunned once again. But you can’t help the way your belly does some delightful flips.

“And you promised me you wouldn’t,” he adds, shoulders straightening, like he is trying to shift your attention from the words he said before. From the admission he made.

“I’m really not going to do it again,” you promise again. But you won’t forget his words.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says sweetly, certainly, but the tension of your current situation lingers.

His touch on you is so damn careful, checking and rechecking, making you tell him what and how something hurts and you almost laugh out loud at his fussing.

“Buck, it’s not like I broke it,” you point out, a laugh in your voice. “I can still-”

“You’re not gonna walk around on that.”

You lift your brow at him, at his tone, an amused smile on your face but he just stares back. Without the smiling part.

Then he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face before standing to his full height, adjusting his stance before crouching slightly again.

“Alright, come on.”

You blink but his hands already settle, one beneath your legs, the other bracing your back, and you barely have time to react before he is lifting you, arms locking as he pulls you against his chest with an ease you could only dream of.

“Bucky-”

“Not a word,” he warns with a grunt.

You sigh, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Don’t care.”

****

A sprained ankle takes anywhere from two to six weeks to heal properly, depending on the severity. You’ve had a few sprained ankles in your career already, so you would know.

But yours sits on the longer end of that spectrum and it frustrates you to no end because what the fuck. You were just done healing and now you got to do it all again.

The first week, Bucky barely lets you breathe without hovering close. He is always there, catching you if you wobble because you are too damn stubborn and rather hop around the compound than use a clutch. Because that would make it too easy, wouldn’t it?

The second week you get snappish. Tony makes sure to leave the room when you enter, Sam gets defensive, Natasha just smirks what frustrates you even more, Vision is a fucking robot only answering in a robotic voice way that drives you up the wall when he gives you a list of stores around New York that sell kettle fries but you only wanted to know where they are in the compounds kitchen. And Bucky endures every tiny bit of it, only that he is entirely unmoved by your attitude. At one point you just taped your ankle and tried to go down to the gym but Bucky stopped you before you could reach the elevator. He already stood there, brow quirked, arms crossed, unimpressed but amused.

By the third week, he sat next to you during team training, watching, studying. You criticized movements, talked about strategies, and laughed at Sam when Nat made him faceplant onto the mat.

Then the fourth week rolled in and you could finally put weight on your foot without wincing. For you, that meant you were good to go train again. But not for Bucky. So that meant another week of waiting.

But now you are back on the mat. Fucking again.

And you promise yourself, you will not fall this time. Not on purpose, not by accident.

Bucky stands across from you, arms loose at his sides, weight balanced, watching as you roll your shoulders and move through your warm-up.

“Got any last words before I kick your ass, Barnes?”

His mouth twitches. That half-smirk, something smug but fond, something that flies through his blue eyes like a spark.

“I dunno, sweetheart. Wouldn’t wanna land you on the sidelines again.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Bite me, Barnes.”

The moment you move, he matches it.

His reflexes are quicker than yours - always have been, always will be - but your advantage is that you know that. You know him. His patterns, the way he shifts his weight, the way his left shoulder always tenses a fraction of a second before he throws a punch. You don’t need to match his strength to win. You just need to read him.

The first strike comes low, an attempt to test your footing, but you pivot fast, avoiding the sweep of his leg with a practiced step-back. You counter with a jab - not meant to hit, just to distract - but he reads it immediately, catches your wrist, yanks you forward.

You twist, using the momentum, your free hand shooting up - Bucky dodges, barely, but you are already adjusting, using your own imbalance to push into him.

His hands are always steady, whether he’s attacking or defending. He uses his strength not to hurt you, but to push you, to remind you that you can take it.

And you do.

Blow for blow, counter for counter.

You refrain from looking at his face because he looks distractingly hot with his hair falling into his eyes and all, whipping around with his movements.

The moment his weight shifts forward, you are already countering. Stepping out of reach just as his arm sweeps for your waist. Your breath comes sharp as you turn and aim a well-placed jab that he sidesteps.

Bucky’s eyes gleam. Thrilled.

“Not bad,” he calls, already throwing another feint.

“Not trying to be”, you fire back, ducking, moving with him like it’s a dance. Like your bodies know this better than your minds do.

You push - he counters. You feint - he laughs, quick and breathy. You strike - he blocks.

Fuck, you missed this.

But then, he shifts.

And something changes.

It’s in his stance. The way he adjusts - not a mistake, but a decision. And in the half-second, before you react, before you catch on, you realize you don’t know what he is planning.

Your body is moving, a reaction before thought, but he is quicker - and you only feel him wind his arm around your waist, spin you around, and crash his lips against yours.

You stagger, letting out a surprised grunt against his mouth, caught completely fucking blindsided, because - what?

His mouth is firm, demanding - and it sears straight through your skin, your ribs, right into your bones, into your pulse, because Bucky Barnes is kissing you.

It’s not soft.

Not hesitant.

Not careful.

It’s everything it shouldn’t be in the middle of a fight.

It’s so unexpected that you don’t even notice the moment your back hits the mat. Don’t notice the way he takes you down like it’s nothing, like it’s unpredictable, because you weren’t ready.

You didn’t see it coming.

By the time you blink, by the time your brain catches up, he is already above you. Hovering.

His weight is balanced, both arms braced on either side of your head, and he is looking at you like he just won the fucking lottery.

Smirking. So damn smug.

Because Bucky finally found out your weakness. And he used it to his advantage.

Because what else could it be than him?

“You cheated,” you breathe out. Where has all the air gone?

“You kinda started it, sweetheart.” Bucky grins so wide, so proud, so happy. He pants above you. His eyes are shining.

And then he ducks down again.

He kisses you once more.

Slower, this time. Deeper. With something that lingers, something that presses into you as his hand slides along your jaw, something that feels like it has been waiting far too long for this exact moment.

And you don’t fight it.

Because it seems, you no longer have to wait for Bucky Barnes.

“You’ll know… not just in the way they look at you, but in how they’re not looking anywhere else.”

- butterflies rising

[navybrat817]

Quiet the Noise

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: The noise is too much for Bucky some days.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Light angst, reflecting, comfort, fluff, Thunderbolts spoilers, established relationship, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: More Tower Shenanigans. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The world is too loud some days for Bucky. The non-stop noise consumed him until he couldn't hear himself think. Noise cancelling headphones didn't work since he still had too many thoughts running through his head. He longed for quiet and for a time when life wasn't so demanding, where he could sit with a book or relax and not worry about the next fight. Days like that he found himself on the roof sitting on one of the sofas, away from the team, looking up at the sky.

The night air was cool against his skin, a quiet contrast to the weight he carried. Even at the tower height, he could hear the hum of traffic below that never ceased. The distant but constant hum was like the heartbeat of the city, proof that the world kept moving, even as he sat still. It would never sleep, never stop.

The same could be said about him at times. He didn’t sleep some nights thanks to nightmares that had him waking up in a cold sweat, and he didn’t stop trying since he tried to atone for his past. He was still finding his way and carving his path, and he thought being a congressman was the next best thing toward helping people and contributing in a meaningful way. That didn’t last.

Had he done any good during his short term?

Here he was, back on a team, back in the fight, and maybe he never really left the fight altogether. He was mentally in a better place today than he was even a short time ago, but it took patience and grace when he sometimes felt out of sync in the modern world. It took self-compassion and forgiveness when the actions of his past unexpectedly crept up in his mind and weighed heavily on his heart. Each day he faced a challenge of some kind. Even breathing at times seemed both difficult and an accomplishment. 

“Just breathe,” he told himself. 

Bucky inhaled, exhaled, and looked at the stars, considering himself lucky since there was so many shining tonight. There wasn’t a single cloud to hide them either. As he continued to stare the sounds began to fade. Not completely, but enough that he relaxed into the cushions. He found himself smiling a little, too, since the twinkling brightness within the darkness made him hope for a better tomorrow. 

Tilting his head up more when another breeze rolled in, his hair brushed back from his face. For a second it felt like your touch, soft and calming. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes when the scent of your perfume drifted his way, centering him. He didn't have to look behind him to know you were there. The warmth of your presence spread to him like the lingering heat of the day, embracing him even in the night.

“Beautiful night,” you said, your voice even gentler than normal, like you knew everything was too loud for him. 

He opened his eyes, the stars sparkling even brighter than before, as if they were welcoming you to join him. Or maybe a higher being made the stars emit more energy to honor you. The science geek in him knew the logical reasons like atmospheric conditions and stellar brightness shifts, but he also knew there were all sorts of beings in the universe. He liked to think at least one saw the goodness and light within you and wanted to honor it in some way.

“It is,” he agreed, turning to look back at you. 

The lingering noise faded when he looked into your eyes. His chest felt lighter, the ringing in his ears gone. The peace he longed for, even for a second, was there and he savored it. In a way it was frightening how much of a hold you had over him. But you weren’t the kind of person who would exploit it, and he wasn’t the kind to lean on you as a crutch.

Which was why Bucky didn’t beckon you closer at first as much as he wanted to. You had already given him so much by giving your heart, and he didn't want to take more from you tonight. So you didn’t have to stay up on the rooftop with him if you didn't want to. But the tender smile on your face and care in your eyes wordlessly told him everything he needed to hear, everything to ease his worries.

“I don't want to bother you if you want to be alone, but I'm here if you need me.”

“I want you to be okay.”

“You’re a good man.”

“I love you.”

He answered the silent assurance by no longer hesitating and holding his hand out to you, which you graciously took. It fit perfectly, like it belonged there, like you belonged together. And once you sat beside him, he brushed his lips against your temple to assure you.

“You're never a bother, and I’ll always need you.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I’m finally believing that I’m a good man.”

“I love you, too.”

With a gentle smile and a heart full of love, he felt lucky to be under the same sky as you, noises and all. 

Your brows pinched when he took his hand away, but you smiled again when he slipped his arm around you. He got to hold you close and keep you warm while you leaned into him without hesitation. Resting your head on his shoulder, you didn't dare breathe a word. Neither did he. There was no need to fill the silence, no need to explain why he was up there and no need for you to ask. It was enough for him to know in this vast and overwhelming world that you were there- his safe space. 

So while the world is too loud some days for Bucky and he’s far from being a perfect man and hero, being with you brings him peace. 

And for tonight, that was all he needed.

Bucky deserves so much love, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[clockwayswrites]

DoMAYn Day 5 Ch 3, P 1

posting from the highseas! Masterpost

Bruce closes Leslie’s office door behind him as he steps in. She doesn’t even look up from the reports that she’s going over as she waves for him to take a seat. He does so, folding his hands as he waits for her to finish.

“Jason’s reflexes are slow, but there is already some improvement. He’ll need physical therapy to recover, and he might not recover all of the way. Also, we’ll need to get him in for an MRI and an EKG as soon as possible,” Leslie says. “Danny claims that he pulled Jason out quickly, but Jason’s been dead for months. We have to assume that there might be issues.”

“Right,” Bruce says as he rubs at his face.

“You have your own tests to run too,” Leslie points out, as if Bruce could have forgotten.

Despite the obvious, Bruce nodes. “Dick is on his way in. I’ve called in some help to check Jason’s grave without disturbing it. We’ll run DNA as soon as we’re home. But Leslie, even if he is a clone…”

“I know.” Her words are short but not unkind. “But your family deserve to know the truth, even if it won’t change how much you’ll love him.”

“Hn.”

“Don’t ‘hn’ me,” she says. “You’ll need to keep the wounds on his hands clean, but it isn’t awful. He’ll likely develop some bruises, but that is easy enough. The real challenge will be his mental state. I know that you don’t—”

“Leslie.”

“No, Bruce,” she snaps back. “You ignoring your own mental health is one thing, but this is your son—or at least close enough—who remembers dying. He needs the help of a professional. I don’t care what story you spin for the press, but find someone who can help Jason handle the fact that he died six months ago.”

Bruce takes a breath, lets it out slowly, and nods. “I will.”

“You better.” She says it like the treat it is.

“What about Danny?” Bruce asks, in part to change the conversation.

Leslie crosses her hands on top of her desk. “You are not Danny’s legal guardian.”

“Leslie.”

“Yes, Bruce?”

Bruce sighs. “I know you’ve noticed the same things I have about the boy.”

“You’re not his guardian, Bruce.”

“He pulled my son out of his own grave! He was there so that Jason didn’t have to come back alone. And he is scared,” Bruce says, temper barely in check. “He is scared. Worse, he’s confused by the fact that we care that he’s scared.”

Leslie’s chin dips as she sighs. “I know. His behavior is worrying.”

“Then let me try to help,” Bruce insists. “Let me try to pay back a little bit of what he’s done for me. If nothing else, for Jason. You’ve seen how attached he is to Danny.”

“Like a baby goose imprinting,” Leslie agrees with another sigh. She clicks open new files on her computer. “As I’ve said, his pulse and blood pressure are both worryingly low. Despite this, his reflexes are sharp. Mental acuity is a little low, but it’s late and he has every right to be tired. Also he’s a little dehydrated and could use a good meal or seven. He’s pretty much underweight for his age and height, but without records, which from the sound of it don’t exist, I can’t say if that’s a big issue or just how he’s growing. He wouldn’t let me take blood.”

It’s nothing unexpected, and Bruce nods, “Do you think that stems from him being a meta?”

“Maybe,” Leslie says even though she clearly means ‘no’. “My gut says it’s more than that. A kid doesn’t end up that confused over an adult caring about them unless they don’t have adults who care at home. There’s not enough there for me to make a report on, though. I mean, not outside of being in the middle of Gotham at this time of night, but that’s not exactly unusual around your lot. I assume you have someone looking into his home life?”

Bruce nods. “Barbara is on it.”

“Good. Keep me informed,” she says and stands. “And for now, take them both home, feed them a warm meal, and make sure they rest. I don’t care if they have to be put in a room together to keep Jason calm, you make sure that they rest, understood?”

“Understood,” Bruce agrees. It’s nothing he wasn’t going to do anyways.

“Good. I’ll be over at breakfast to get new data. With all the unknowns, the more we can track Jason’s progress the better,” she says.

Bruce stands. His hair is only messed up further as he runs a hand through it. “Thank you, Leslie.”

“Thank me by getting Jason therapy. I mean it, Bruce.”

Bruce just gives another nod and shows himself out of the office.

[hyenasaa]

Jjk headcanons with - short!fem reader ──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

In which i present you headcanons of how some of the jjk men would react to a partner that is shorter than them!! There is a little bit of spice in those so MINORS DNI!! Also maybe i will do a male reader headcanons soon, for now enjoyyy!!

Nanami Kento :

Nanami loves how you tuck perfectly under his chin. He rests his head on yours like it’s his favorite place in the world.

When you struggle to reach something? He’s there instantly — no teasing, no commentary, just helping with quiet affection.

“Tell me next time. I don’t want you climbing chairs in socks.”

He adjusts his stride to match yours on walks, and instinctively puts his hand on the small of your back to guide you through crowds.

If anyone makes a joke about your height, his expression tightens just slightly — and that person doesn't make another comment.

Secretly thinks you're absolutely adorable. Outwardly? Polite respect and subtle doting.

Gojo Satoru :

Gojo lives to tease you about your height. He will absolutely crouch slightly when talking to you, just to be dramatic.

“Aww, should I get you a step stool for this conversation?”

But the moment someone else mocks your height? Instant death glare.

“Only I get to call her small. And even then — with love, obviously.”

He loves picking you up randomly — over his shoulder, bridal style, cradled like a baby — all with zero warning.

Kisses your forehead constantly. Or the top of your head. Or pats your head and goes “boop.”

Your shortness makes him feral in bed — he loves the contrast, loves how you fit under him, how easily he can manhandle you. He’ll whisper things like:

“So small… and still you take all of me, huh? Impressive.”

Higuruma Hiromi :

He doesn’t comment much on your height — but he’s hyper-aware of it in subtle, caring ways.

Holds your hand while walking down stairs. Walks on the traffic side of the sidewalk. Always watches for obstacles you might not see.

If you’re having a hard time reaching something and don’t ask for help, he just calmly walks up and retrieves it for you, like it’s second nature.

Finds your height incredibly endearing — especially when you get a little snappy or try to act tough.

“You’re small, not weak. I know the difference.”

Absolutely loves resting his hand on your waist or low back — he’s tactile in quiet, comforting ways.

Geto Suguru :

Geto is obsessed with how much smaller you are. He thrives on it. He calls you “little one”, “petal”, or “my tiny queen.”

He’ll tower over you on purpose, tilt your chin up with a knuckle, and grin when you huff.

“You fit so perfectly in my arms. Like you were carved for me.”

He loves when you sit on his lap during serious meetings or when he’s reading. You trying to be assertive from that spot? He eats it up.

In private, the size difference makes him downright sinful. He’ll press you to the wall and whisper:

“So small… but you take everything I give you, don’t you?”

He spoils you absolutely rotten — he picks you up to kiss you, sets you on counters, lets you straddle his thighs and take control if you want it.

Ryomen Sukuna :

Sukuna is obsessed with your size. Your tiny frame feeds something primal and possessive in him.

He’ll grab you and pull you into his lap with a growl, murmuring about how easy you are to control — not to belittle, but because he craves the contrast.

“So delicate. Like a toy I never plan to share.”

You trying to challenge him when you're half his size? Instant turn-on.

He’ll lift you like you weigh nothing, pin your wrists above your head with one hand, and lean down to whisper:

“So little… and yet, look at you. Taking everything like you were made for me.”

But oddly, he’s protective as hell. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, it’s over. You're his, and that includes defending your honor with fire and blood.

Okkotsu Yuta :

Yuta is the softest boyfriend ever. He doesn’t just notice your height — he adores it.

Loves when you tug at his sleeve to get his attention, or stand on tiptoe for a kiss.

Will literally bend down without being asked, and give you the warmest, most reassuring smile as you reach up.

“I really like how small you are. I don’t know… I just want to hold you all the time.”

He lifts you up to sit on counters when cooking together. Loves when you wrap your legs around his waist to make up the difference.

Blushes like crazy if you ever wear something that shows a lot of leg — “Why does small make you this powerful??”

Itadori Yuji :

Yuji thinks you're the cutest thing on earth.

He constantly picks you up and spins you around. Like a puppy with a favorite toy.

“You're the perfect hugging size! I win!”

Will drop to his knees dramatically when you ask for a kiss just to be funny — or lift you up way too enthusiastically.

Loves spooning you from behind. The way you fit into him makes him feel so full of love he could explode.

If you’re insecure about your height, he just looks at you like:

“But you’re perfect like this. Why would I want anyone taller when I’ve got all of you right here?”

Fushiguro Megumi :

Megumi won’t say much at first — but you catch him doing things: like adjusting his steps, placing his hand on your lower back to guide you, shielding you in crowds.

He actually gets a bit flustered when you look up at him with big eyes. It short-circuits his brain.

If you ever wear oversized clothes? He dies. Just melts on the spot.

He’ll quietly bend down when you go in for a kiss, not making a show of it, but always meeting you halfway.

During intimate moments, the size difference makes him go a little crazy — he holds you close like you might break, but there's a heat in his eyes that says he likes the way you cling to him.

“I love holding you. Don’t let go.”

[sttm99]

Part 2

I like to think that Bakugo would like one of those bitchy girls that most people stayed away from.

"Oh her?" His friend would whisper about you as you stood before your locker, frowning as you looked at something on your phone. "Yeah, she's mean, really."

"She's rude, a bitch. Hates everyone."

What drives Bakugo is mainly the fact that he doesn't want to be 'everyone'. He's better. And because he knows what it feels like for people to stay away from you just because of what they've heard.

So he makes his move during one of the UA beach trips, when everyone's out on the sand, taking dips into the ocean. He's walking away from them, scanning the darkening sand in search of you.

He finds you near the far edge of the beach, where the place is darker, with less people, and he swears he sees a crab burrow into the sand.

But he doesn't mind much, walking over to you. You look back at him as he walks forward. You're sat on the sand, watching the waves, then Bakugo.

"What are you doing here?" You say swiftly, unfriendly as you stare him down.

He thinks you're so pretty, body clad in that cute two-piece, and your thighs stained with sand. It's hot, his eyes straining the darkness to see the grains glued to the back of your thighs.

"Last I checked, you don't own the fucking beach." He grumbles, sitting down a few meters away from you.

He succumbs to the urge to say more, to fill the silence, to keep you there with him.

"There's too loud." He says, motioning to where the others are yelling and laughing and dancing and swimming.

"What about the other side?" You raise a brow.

"Two many bitches swapping spit." He retorts, sitting with his legs straightened out, palms behind him to support his weight as he looks at you.

You chuckle at that, and you don't turn away from him, leaning on your hand, keeping your eyes on his.

Your eye contact is hot, he thinks.

"You're funny." You say, sighing softly as you turn back to the sea.

He huffs at that. He wasn't exactly trying to be funny, and he likes that. That he can make you laugh without trying. He thinks it makes you cuter.

He hopes it makes you think he's attractive.

"No one's here, you know." You turn to him, wriggling your brows mischievously.

His stomach tightens. "What?"

You snort. "Stop blushing, idiot. I'm not gonna make out with you." You're laughing. "Let's skinny dip."

And Bakugo's scowling at you for 1) making fun of him, and 2) that suggestion.

"It's fucking freezing." He scolds. "It's like 8 degrees here."

But you're already standing and grinning. "Aren't you a hero? This is endurance shit." You say, like you're challenging him.

And he's grumbling and huffing, but he's standing and running after you as you're sprinting to the water, untying your bikini. Your top goes flying in the wind as you hit the water, and he swiftly catches it before it disappears.

"Fucking idiot," he's yelling after you, pausing momentarily to drag his shorts down. He's trying to hit the water quickly before you catch sight of his dick. "You're gonna walk back fucking naked!"

"Aww, you're so little." You coo at him, laughing.

"Cause it's 8 fucking degrees!"

You were joking anyways. He's big, even in the cold. But you try not to think of that, not when he's so clearly cold, shivering as you beckon him closer.

"Come over here," you say.

"That's too fucking far. There's crabs. You come here."

You shake your head with a sly grin. "The water level here hides my breasts. So you have to come here."

He scowls at your logic, and you stick your tongue out at him.

"My dicks gonna freeze." But he's waddling in the dark water, making his way to you.

You're silent as he nears, taking in how he towers over you, how his body drowns yours, height wise and chest wise.

.

.

.

"What are you looking at?" His voice is raspy from the cold.

You smile coyly up at him.

His heart stops.

"You."

"Dude, where'd you disappear to?" Kirishima calls to Bakugo as he trudges into the room they are sharing.

But Bakugo's silent, repeating a series of numbers in his mind. He instantly goes over to his drawers, grabbing his phone and instantly punching it in, saving your contact in his phone.

"Dude, is that a fucking hickey?" He shrugs Kirishima off him, making his way to the showers, itching to get in and wash off all the sand from his body.

"I'm never fucking banging in the sand again."

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

You're bossy. And short.

(Sam Winchester x female reader)

Summary Sam gets drunk because he’s jealous and you try to put him to bed, but he decides to be difficult... CWs Drunk Sam. Jealousy. Flirting. Sassy Sam my beloved. Rated Teen. 2.1k words.

Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

“You’re bossy,” you hear someone mutter behind you.

You turn around, looking at Sam, dumbfounded.

“What?” you ask, not believing your ears.

“You’re bossy,” Sam repeats, in a so what? tone.

And then, looking you up and down in a way that makes you shudder, grinning to himself, he adds: “And short.”

You blink a few times. “Are… are you drunk?” you ask him.

Sam is standing in the door, leaning against it, his big frame swaying back and forth a little.

“Yeah,” he answers, raising his hands in challenge, before immediately needing to put one back on the door frame to stop himself from stumbling. “So?”

“Sam,” you say, finding your voice meet a pitch of reason and slight annoyance that you usually only ever have to use with Dean. “We’re on a case. You can’t just get shit-faced in the middle of a job.”

You turn around fully, leaning one hand on the table next to you to drive your point of reasonability home. But Sam just scoffs.

You hold your posture, pretending you're not distracted by his long neck, the tendons pulling there, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down every time he talks.

Or the little dip below that, where sometimes a little bit of sweat collects when he's exerting himself.

Or the way his hair is now falling over his forehead, soft and fluffy and how you just want to run your fingers through it.

Or how his drunkenness is making him look so limber, so unconcerned with being proper and decent and polite, and how his hips have a little sway to them that make you want to bite into the table top next to you.

You swallow, pushing all these thoughts down, which is easy, easy peasy even. Too easy almost, at least until you look at him again after a second and it all comes flooding back.

“Okay,” you say, proud of how little your voice is shaking. “Let’s get you to bed, Sasquatch.”

You walk up to him, taking one of his arms and laying it over your shoulder, which isn't helpful in the least and has the unfortunate side effect of, well, having his arm around your shoulder and also just all of Sam being pretty close to you. So, bad idea all around.

You press your teeth together, determined to come out of this with at least a little bit of your dignity intact.

As you lead him over to his bed, he mumbles: “Don’t need any help.” Now it's your turn to scoff.

“Yeah,” you reply, “you seem totally fine.” You reach the bed.

“Sit down,” you order, but Sam doesn't budge so you use his lack of coordination to push him back a little, making his calves bump into the bed and his ass meet the mattress. It would have never worked if he was sober, but you're okay with using this little advantage in your favor.

Sam sits, still swaying, looking up at you. You go for his jacket, pushing it off his shoulder, and Sam raises his arms trying to shrug it off, but is being the opposite of helpful.

“Jesus,” you say, “how did you get into this state? I saw you three hours ago.”

Sam is waving one arm trying to get his jacket off, and you lean back a little to avoid getting clocked.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “when you sen’ me away. Like I said, bossy.”

You mmh-hmm at him and finally get his jacket off, taking it from him and tossing it on Dean’s bed.

He will sleep more comfortably without it on, but the price you have to pay is seeing him in his shirt, a roughed jeans one that is, like most of Sam’s shirts, a little tight on him, mostly because of his height but also because he is just kind of crap at shopping for himself.

It has ridden up a little in his battle with the jacket, and its hem is now stopping over the waistband of his jeans, over the belt, drawing your eyes to places they are not supposed to be drawn to.

“Shoes,” you say to distract yourself, but Sam doesn't react. He's staring off into the room, his eyebrows pulled down and his mouth in a pout that you would love nothing more than to kiss.

You sigh, then kneel down in front of him.

“I don’t need—” he begins, but you interrupt him.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, “you don’t need help, I know.”

You start untying one of his big shoes, Sam squirming a little. It might be uncomfortable for him to be treated like this, but then he's gotten himself into this situation. He's just gonna have to live with it.

“Why’d you have to flirt with that guy?” you suddenly hear him ask, his voice low. You look up at him, tossing some hair out of your face in the process.

“What?” you ask, shaking your head a little. Sam’s expression is different, in fact his entire mood seems to have changed. Does he seem upset?

“The guy, the witness, the what’s-his-face,” he says, not looking at you, instead suddenly terribly interested in the nightstand next to the bed. “Why’d you flirt with him?” A huff leaves you.

“Sam, I was—" you start. "I was trying to get him to talk about where he got all that money from. I told you that. What do you mean?”

You shake your head, turning back to his shoes. If Sam is going to start giving you shit about using your charm to help solve a case and potentially save some people, you aren't going to give him the satisfaction of getting to do it to your face.

“But why’d you have to—” Sam hiccups a little, then continues. “Why’d you have to touch him and smile at him so much?” You can't help but chuckle. You look back up at him. “Cause that’s what flirting is, Samuel.”

Finally he looks at you. “’s Sam,” he mumbles, and then: “I hate it when you flirt for a case.”

Sam can be a bit of a square, but even for him this seems like an overreaction. Just then you pull his boots off him, after having fought his shoelaces which he’s tied in a weird double knot.

“Yeah, well,” you say, pushing yourself up with your hands on your legs. “Soon as you or Dean grow a pair of boobs I’m happy to stop doing it. Okay, get into bed, you’re going to sleep.”

Sam sways a little where he's sitting, thinking, definitely not lying down as you ordered him to. Then he looks down at his knees.

“I don’t like it when you do it,” he mumbles. You're just about to tell him that he can well and truly get off his high horse, when he adds: “He was starin’ at you and checking you out, being a creep an’ I just wanted to punch him.”

Hmm. Okay.

Weird reaction, and definitely not what you were expecting.

Shaking your head again, you sigh. “Look, he was a creep, but we got the info we needed and it might help us stop this thing before someone else gets hurt.” You shrugg. “If I have to endure the occasional ass grab for that then I think that’s not the worst deal.”

Before you even finish the sentence, Sam is suddenly standing up.

“Woah, woah, woah,” you say, having to take a step back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m ‘a go find him and beat the crap outta him,” he more slurs than says, “that’s what I’m doing.”

“Sam!”

“He can’t jus’ touch you and get away with it.”

“Sam, he didn’t,” you say, raising your hands in the hope to contain him. “I meant generally. He didn’t, okay?”

Sam looks down at you, a confused look on his face.

“Oh,” he says.

“Jeez, what is up with you?” you ask. He suddenly looks very embarrassed.

“I thought…” he mutters, but doesn't finish the sentence. He sways a little again, leaning towards you and for a second his height and broadness and the look on his face almost take your breath away. You put your hands on his elbows.

“Sit down before you topple, okay?” you say.

This time, Sam listens, plopping down on the mattress again. He's still looking embarrassed as you cross your arms in front of you.

“Look,” you say, hoping to put him out of his misery. “It’s really sweet that you want to defend my honor or whatever, but there’s no need.”

Sam smiles a little, bashful, lowering his head to hide it.

“And secondly,” you continue, hoping to finally put this topic, and this interaction that is driving you a little mad, to bed, along with Sam. “Secondly, I know flirting for information is probably below the high and mighty moral standards of Sam Winchester, but sometimes it works, and I’m okay with it.”

Sam looks up at you, eyes narrowed and expression confused.

“What?” he says.

“I said, that flirting for information—” you respond, but Sam interrupts you.

“No, I know,” he says, “but it’s not below my malty— I mean, mighty— I mean, moral standard. It jus’ makes me wish I was the guy.”

You take a sharp breath. What in the actual hell does that mean?

“That…you were the guy?” you ask, your voice careful. Sam opens his mouth a few times, always closing it again.

“I mean,” he finally replies, “I guess, yeah.”

“You mean the guy I’m flirting with?” you ask, wanting to be absolutely certain that you aren't misunderstanding anything.

“Yeah,” Sam confirms, throwing a shy look at your face, “that you were flirting with me instead. Touchin’ my hand on purpose and laughing at my stupid jokes and that, that thing you do with your eyes, where you, where you widen them a little and you lick your lips an’ you just—”

He stops suddenly, clearing his throat. “That.” He shrugs, looked away again. You feel like you have been struck by lightning.

“Sam,” you finally say. “You know that’s not how I actually flirt, right?” Sam’s eyes go up to your face again, not understanding.

“I mean,” you say, “that’s how I do it for these guys who already think they’re god’s gift to the world, who think I’m just some dumb girl who can’t wait to hear all the exciting bullshit they have to say.” Sam makes a grimace.

“But then…” he asks, needing to concentrate, “but then how do you really flirt?”

You can't help but bite your lip. Sam’s face is angled up at you, the low light from the other end of the room throwing gentle shadows across his beautiful features.

“Well,” you say, now feeling a little shy yourself. “I mean I’m not really a big flirt, but I guess if I liked a guy I would listen to what he says and care about what he thinks of what I do, and I would want to take care of him and bring him to bed when he’s being an idiot and gets drunk on his own.”

Sam breathes in slowly, looking at you unbelieving.

“Or,” you continue, too deep in it to stop now, “I might let him call me things like bossy and short, and secretly like it.” Sam winces.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice.

“That’s okay,” you respond. “I am bossy. And compared to you, everyone’s short.” He grins a little at that. There are a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Did I embarrass myself really bad?” Sam finally asks, voice quiet. You shrug again.

“Not too bad. If you’re lucky, you won’t remember tomorrow.”

“I think,” Sam says, his voice a little more confident, “I think I will remember.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. “How so?” Now it's Sam’s turn to shrug.

“Cause I guess you were flirtin’ with me,” he says, “and I’ve been kinda imagining you doing that for a long time now.”  

“Have you now?” you ask in a low voice. Sam nods.

Then, before you know it, he's reaching for your hand with his. He finds it, hanging at your side, and gently squeezes it, making goosebumps break out all over your body.

“Can you do it again tomorrow?” he asks carefully. “Flirt with me?” A grin spreads over your face.

“Okay,” you say. “But there’s other ways to do it. You don’t have to get drunk again.” Sam chuckles.

“That’s good, because I don’t thin’ I would survive that.” You chuckle as well.

“Go to bed, Sam,” you say, your voice gentle.

“Okay,” Sam says.

Then he's leaning back, dropping himself on the mattress, and very ungainly scooching himself into a sideways position.

You pull the thin comforter from the foot of the bed, and lay it over him.

“Night, Sam,” you say and look at his face.

“Goodnight,” he responds, looking at yours. 

[mrsfancyferrari]

Good Luck Kiss

Summary: Lando is a fully independent guy until you are around.

Song: Under The Influence by Chris Brown

Author’s note: I can't write short stories to save my life. I hope you enjoy this long journey which may take a full day to read. Please like, reblog and share this! <3

Word count: 8.6k

MASTERLIST - F1

Once upon a time, in the bustling world of Formula 1, there lived a young and aspiring driver named Lando Norris. Lando was known for his quick reflexes, fearless racing style, and unwavering determination.

However, there was one aspect about Lando that many people didn't know - he was a fully independent guy, except for when he was around a certain someone.

It all started when Lando Norris attended the annual Formula 1 convention.

Amidst the glitz and glamour of the event, he stumbled upon a mysterious stranger. The woman's name was Y/N, and you were equally passionate about motorsports.

The two instantly connected over your shared love for speed and adrenaline.

As they chatted, Lando couldn't help but be drawn to your infectious laughter and genuine enthusiasm. They spent the entire evening together, discussing their favorite races, memorable moments, and even daring each other to try out some racing simulators.

It was a night that neither of them would ever forget, as they had found in each other a kindred spirit and a racing partner like no other.

"Wow! You're good," Lando said, flirting/teasing. "You should come over to the McLaren paddock to check it out," he added with a mischievous grin, knowing that you couldn't resist the chance to get a behind-the-scenes look at the heart of Formula 1.

"You're inviting me to the McLaren paddock? Are you serious?" you asked, a mix of excitement and disbelief evident in your voice.

"I would absolutely love to! That's like a dream come true for any Formula 1 fan," you replied, unable to contain your excitement.

Lando smirked, already getting used to your smile. "Well, get ready for the ride of your life," he said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Because once you step into the McLaren paddock, you'll never want to leave."

Fast forward to the present, you had become Lando's best friend and constant companion both on and off the racetrack. You were there to support him through every victory and to lift him up during the challenging moments.

Together, you formed an unbreakable bond, a dynamic duo that pushed each other to new heights. Whether it was strategizing race tactics, cheering from the pit lane, or simply sharing a laugh after a long day, you were inseparable.

The McLaren paddock had become a second home for you, a place where memories were made, dreams were pursued, and the thrill of Formula 1 was lived to the fullest.

In addition to your close friendship with Lando, you also formed strong connections with the other drivers and their partners. The paddock became a tight-knit community where you shared laughs, stories, and even the occasional friendly competition.

It was a unique bond that extended beyond the racetrack, creating lifelong friendships that would continue to flourish even after the checkered flag fell.

As time went on, Lando found himself spending more and more time with you when they weren't in the paddock, and the press kept catching them together. Speculations about a romantic relationship between the two of you started circulating, fueling rumors and adding an extra layer of excitement to your already thrilling lives.

However, both of you remained tight-lipped about the nature of your relationship, preferring to keep it private and let the speculation run its course.

"Have you heard the latest rumors about Y/N and Lando? They're definitely more than just friends, I can feel it!" one fan excitedly whispered to another in the paddock.

"I don't know, they've always been so secretive about their relationship. But I wouldn't be surprised if they're actually together," replied another, their eyes fixated on you and Lando as you laughed together nearby.

"I heard they're the perfect match, both on and off the track. They bring out the best in each other," chimed in a journalist, discreetly taking notes.

"Well, whatever their relationship status is, they make a formidable team. I've never seen Lando so focused and driven before," commented a fellow driver, watching Lando's improved performance.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see if they ever confirm it. But until then, I'm rooting for them," concluded a teammate, smiling in support. . . .

"Where's Y/N?" Lando complained, sulking after not seeing his best friend for three hours.

This morning, he was required to film a go kart video for Quadrant for their marketing campaign and it was suggested that you be a part of it, which he had no problem with at all, he wanted you to be there regardless.

"Don't worry mate, I'm sure your girlfriend will be here soon," Max teased, nudging his shoulder against Lando's.

Lando gently shoved him back for his comment, a playful smile on his face. "She's not my girlfriend, Max. Y/N and I are just really close friends," he clarified, emphasizing the word 'friend' to make his point.

Deep down, though, Lando couldn't help but wonder if there could ever be something more between them.

"Yeah, yeah," Max replied, not believing him one bit. "I've seen the way you two look at each other. There's definitely something more going on there, mate."

Before Lando could talk back, footsteps were heard, and you emerged from the crowd of staff.

You emerged from the crowd of staff, donning a sleek black leather jacket that hugged your figure perfectly. Underneath, you wore a vibrant orange crop top that accentuated your curves and matched the colour of the McLaren, paired with high-waisted jeans that showcased your long legs.

Completing the ensemble were a pair of white sneakers that added a touch of casual coolness to your overall look.

As you approached Lando and Max, the mischievous smile on your lips hinted at the adventures that awaited the three of you, fueling Lando's curiosity even further about the potential for something more than just friendship between you.

"Sorry I'm late, boys. Traffic was a nightmare," you said, smiling at Lando, who couldn't help but blush at the sight of you.

"It's okay, we can start now," Lando assured, avoiding your eyes to calm down a bit.

"But when I'm 5 minutes late, I get yelled at," Max muttered beside him and received another shove from Lando.

Lando took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts as he prepared to introduce the go-karting video.

With you and Max standing beside him, he couldn't help but feel a surge of nervous excitement. "Alright, everyone, welcome to Quadrant's go-karting extravaganza!" Lando exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

"Today, we have two special guests joining us for some adrenaline-pumping action. Please give a warm welcome to the one and only Y/N and the ever-competitive Max!"

The crowd cheered, and Lando glanced at you. A mixture of anticipation and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on coursing through him.

Max playfully nudged Lando's shoulder, adding, "And let me tell you, folks, the competition between Lando and Y/N is about to get intense. I can't wait to see who comes out on top!"

After explaining the rules, the three of them started to change into their racing suits. Max slipped into his familiar Red Bull suit, while you and Lando excitedly put on the McLaren suits.

As Lando muttered, "Let me help you with that," he reached for your helmet, his fingers grazing your cheek as he brushed your hair away.

The intensity in his eyes remained unbroken as he carefully positioned the helmet on your head, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"Oh my god! You two better get a room," Max said beside you two, looking more frustrated than the two of you felt about your feelings for each other.

Lando quickly let go of you, a faint blush still lingering on his cheeks, and you said a quick thank you before rushing over to where Max was since it was you vs Max first.

The anticipation and excitement in the air was palpable as you both prepared to show off your go-karting skills.

You both got into your go-karts with the determination to start the video with a great race to capture the viewer's attention.

You gripped the wheel of your go-kart tightly, your heart pounding with anticipation. Lando raised the starter pistol, his eyes focused on the track ahead. "On your marks... get set..." He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Go!"

The sound of the pistol echoed through the air, and you and Max shot off like lightning. The thrill of the race fueled your determination to come out on top.

The wind whipped through your hair as you maneuvered your kart around the bends. The thrill of the race pushing you to your limits. As the laps flew by, the competition between you and Max intensified, fueling the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pressed down on the accelerator and zoomed ahead, determined to showcase your go-karting skills. Max, however, was not far behind, and the friendly competition between the two of you intensified as you maneuvered through the twists and turns of the track.

Max was hot on your tail, his competitive nature driving him to catch up and surpass you. The cheers from the crowd faded into the background as you focused on the twists and turns of the track, determined to give it your all.

The wind whipped against your face, causing your cheeks to flush with exhilaration. Every twist and turn of the track sent a surge of adrenaline through your veins, heightening your senses and sharpening your focus. The vibrations from the go-kart's engine reverberated through your body, adding to the excitement of the race.

As the race continued, you and Max pushed each other to the limits, maneuvering through the twists and turns with precision and skill. The crowd cheered as you both showcased your go-karting prowess, but Max's determination proved to be unmatched.

In the final lap, he made a daring move, overtaking you with a burst of speed that left you in awe. With a triumphant smile, Max crossed the finish line, claiming victory in the race.

Despite the disappointment of not winning, you couldn't help but admire Max's talent and sportsmanship, knowing that you had given it your all in a thrilling and unforgettable race.

Lando quickly ran over to you as you got out of the go-kart to check for any injuries while you assured him that you were fine.

Despite the loss, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for the exhilarating race you had just experienced.

"What about me? I think my legs hurt," Max muttered, acting like he broke his leg.

"That's karma for you," Lando replied, "You should have let Y/N win,"

"Never," Max said with a smirk, "I'm not one to let someone win just out of pity." Lando chuckled and patted Max on the back, "Well, Y/N certainly gave you a run for your money. It was an incredible race to watch."

Max's competitive spirit still brimming, he replied, "Yeah, they did. I'll give them that. But next time, I won't be so merciful."

You chuckle and playfully retort, "Oh, so you're admitting that you were being merciful this time?"

Max rolls his eyes and smirks, "Just you wait, next time I won't hold back and you won't stand a chance."

You and Lando got into your go-karts, the engines roaring to life as you prepared for the race. The smell of burning rubber filled the air, adding to the anticipation of the competition.

"Am I going to get my good luck kiss?" Lando teased beside you, causing a playful smile to spread across your face.

You playfully roll your eyes at Lando's comment and give him a playful shove. "You wish," you respond with a smirk.

Lando pleads, "Come on, just one good luck kiss! It worked last time!"

You laugh and shake your head, "Sorry, Lando, but I don't think a kiss will give you an advantage this time. You'll have to rely on your own skills."

Lando pouted, feeling disappointed that things didn't go his way. Max, who had been growing increasingly disgusted by the playful "flirting" between you and Lando, decided to take matters into his own hands.

Without warning, he fired the starting pistol, catching both you and Lando off guard and initiating the race with a bang. The sudden sound echoed through the air, signaling the beginning of another intense competition.

The race started off with a flurry of speed and adrenaline as you and Lando maneuvered your go-karts through the twists and turns of the track. Both of you showcased impressive skills, overtaking each other and pushing the limits of your vehicles.

As the race progressed, Lando began to gain a slight edge, skillfully navigating the corners and maximizing his speed on the straightaways. You gave it your all, refusing to let Lando take the lead without a fight. But despite your best efforts, Lando's expertise and precision behind the wheel proved to be unmatched.

You could feel the wind from Lando's go-kart as he zoomed past the front of your car, leaving you in his dust. His maneuver was both impressive and frustrating, as you had been neck-and-neck for most of the race.

"Hey, I thought you would take it easy on her?" Max asked Lando after he got out of the go-kart.

Lando chuckled and shrugged, " Since she wouldn't give me what I wanted, I had no choice but to do it."

"You would have won regardless, with or without the kiss," you said, also getting out of the go-kart. "It was a great race, Lando. You really showed your skill out there."

Lando grinned, still catching his breath. "Thanks Y/N."

Since you were tired from all the racing, the two guys decided to do some mini games to pass the time while you rested on a chair. They set up a table tennis table and started a friendly match, their competitive spirits still shining through.

As they played, you watched with amusement, enjoying the lighthearted banter and laughter that filled the air.

Occasionally, they would invite you to join in, but you declined, content to relax and soak in the camaraderie that had developed between the three of you.

After a few rounds of table tennis, they moved on to a game of darts, taking turns aiming for the bullseye with precision and skill. It was a refreshing change of pace from the intense racing, and you found yourself appreciating the moment of respite.

As you laid back on the chair, you started to fall asleep, the sounds of their laughter and the clinking of darts fading into the background. The exhaustion from the race and the adrenaline rush began to take its toll, and before you knew it, you drifted off into a peaceful slumber, feeling grateful for the bonds of friendship that had been formed during this exhilarating competition.

You knew that there would likely be photos or videos taken of you sleeping, but at that moment, you didn't care. The fatigue from the race had overtaken you, and all you wanted was a peaceful nap.

The trust and camaraderie you had built with Lando and Max allowed you to let your guard down, knowing that even if embarrassing moments were captured, they would remain within the circle of friendship.

The intense racing had left you physically and mentally drained, making the peaceful slumber that followed even more satisfying.

The adrenaline rush and the exertion of pushing yourself to the limit had taken a toll on your energy levels, and the nap provided a much-needed opportunity to recharge and recover. . . .

As you slowly opened your eyes, you were greeted by the refreshing sensation of coolness and shade. You thought the sun had shifted and now cast a gentle shadow over the area where you had been napping.

It was a stark contrast to the warmth and brightness that enveloped you before, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the respite from the scorching heat.

You looked over to see Lando holding an umbrella over you while being on his phone, and couldn't help but feel touched by his thoughtful gesture. Despite being absorbed in his own activities, he had taken the time to shield you from the sun and ensure your comfort.

You couldn't help but admire Lando's striking features. His curly hair, tousled by the wind, framed a face that exuded a combination of youthful energy and maturity beyond his years. His eyes, a vibrant shade of hazel, sparkled with intelligence and a mischievous glint that hinted at his playful nature.

The dimples that appeared when he smiled added an undeniable charm to his already captivating presence. And his infectious laughter, a melodic blend of joy and enthusiasm, never failed to brighten your day.

But it was his kind heart and genuine concern for others that truly set him apart.

His selflessness had been evident in countless small gestures, like now, as he shielded you from the sun without a second thought, demonstrating his unwavering commitment to the happiness and well-being of those around him.

His eyes then flickered up and met your eyes, locking in a moment of connection that sent a jolt of electricity through your body. In that instant, it felt as if time had stopped, and the world around you faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of unspoken emotions.

"Well good evening sleepyhead, how long have you been awake?" Lando teased, breaking the enchanting spell between the two of you.

The sound of his voice brought you back to reality, and you couldn't help but blush at being caught in such a vulnerable moment.

"Wait, did you say evening?" you stammered, trying to gather your thoughts.

Lando chuckled softly, his eyes still holding a twinkle of amusement.

"Well, time flies when you're lost in a nap, doesn't it? It's already late afternoon," he replied, a warm smile playing on his lips.

"What about the video?" you asked, sitting in panic that you ruined it because you were asleep.

Lando's smile widened as he reassured you, "Don't worry, we still have time to do the final if you're still up for it. Your nap just added a touch of authenticity to the footage."

You nodded, taking the umbrella off Lando so he could stretch his arm. As he did, you couldn't help but appreciate the way his muscles flexed and the way his sleeves rolled up, revealing his tanned skin.

It was moments like these that made you grateful for the unexpected connections you found in life.

"Finally she has risen from the nap of the century," Max said as soon as he saw the both of you walk into the staff room.

You couldn't help but blush at the teasing remark, but Lando's reassuring presence beside you made you feel at ease.

"We're definitely up for finishing the video today," Lando replied with a confident smile. "We just had a little detour, but we're ready to get back on track."

Lando replied confidently, his eyes glancing at you for confirmation.

You nodded, feeling a surge of excitement and determination to complete the project with the support of your newfound connection.

"I guess I can spend one more hour of my time to beat the both of you in go-karting," Max stated, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

You couldn't help but exchange a playful glance with Lando, silently accepting the challenge and looking forward to the friendly competition that awaited you.

"Challenge accepted," you replied, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

The upcoming go-karting race was not just a friendly competition between friends. It was the final showdown between Max and Lando, a battle that would determine once and for all who was the true champion of the track.

As Max and Lando did their slow walk for the video, the tension in the air was palpable. This final race was not just about winning a trophy; it was about pride, honor, and the ultimate bragging rights among friends.

The tension in the air was palpable, and everyone knew that this race would be the ultimate test of skill and determination for both competitors.

As they got into their go-karts, Lando gestured for you to come over.

Curiosity piqued, you approached Lando's go-kart, wondering what he had in store.

He leaned in and whispered, "I'm going to need my good luck kiss if you want me to win this race."

"Well," you whispered back with a mischievous glint in your eye, "if it's good luck you're after, I suppose I have no choice but to oblige. After all, we wouldn't want anything to hinder our chances of beating Max, would we?"

Lando grinned and nodded in agreement, his eyes gleaming with determination. He knew that every advantage counted in this high-stakes race, and he was willing to go to any lengths to secure the victory.

He also just wanted a kiss from you.

You cupped his face and gently placed your lips on his cheek, giving him the good luck kiss he desired.

As your lips touched Lando's cheek, a surge of warmth and determination spread through Lando's body. It was as if the kiss transferred a sense of confidence, fueling him with an electric energy that would propel Lando forward in the race.

As you pulled away, a spark of excitement passed between you, fueling your determination to win the race and prove to Max once and for all that you and Lando were an unstoppable team.

Lando's ears turned a shade of crimson, but his smile only grew brighter. He couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation and confidence, knowing that he had your support and the added boost of the good luck kiss.

"Thanks Y/N," he said, his voice filled with gratitude and excitement. "With your good luck kiss, I know we're going to dominate this race and show Max who the true champion is."

With determination in his eyes, Lando strapped on his helmet and revved the engine of his go-kart, prepared to give it his all in the race.

Blushing at his words, you playfully tapped Lando on the shoulder before walking over to the starting line with the starting pistol in hand.

The anticipation in the air was palpable as you raised the pistol, ready to signal the start of the race and unleash the fierce competition between Lando and Max.

The good luck kiss not only symbolized your support for Lando, but it also ignited a newfound confidence within him.

Fueled by the warmth and determination that the kiss brought, Lando was ready to give his all in the race, knowing that he had the power of your love and support behind him, making him unstoppable.

The sound of the starting pistol echoed through the air, piercing the silence and signaling the beginning of the race.

Lando's go-kart shot forward, the engine roaring as he accelerated with a fierce determination. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his focus fixed solely on the track ahead.

With every twist and turn, he pushed himself to the limit, fueled by the knowledge that he had your love and support propelling him forward.

As the race progressed, Lando skillfully maneuvered through the tight corners and overtaking Max with precision. Each lap brought him closer to victory, and his confidence soared with every successful maneuver. His determination never wavered, and he maintained a steady lead throughout the race.

In the final moments, with the finish line in sight, Lando summoned every ounce of his skill and experience. He pushed his go-kart to its limits, leaving his rival trailing behind.

As he crossed the finish line, a triumphant smile spread across his face.

Lando had emerged as the true champion, proving to Max and everyone else that with your support, he was unstoppable.

He immediately made his way to where you were, quickly jumping out of the go-kart and into your arms. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins as he held you tightly, his heart filled with a mixture of excitement and gratitude.

Breathing heavily, he looked into your eyes with a mixture of exhilaration and gratitude, knowing that it was your good luck kiss and unwavering support that propelled him to victory.

With tears of joy welling in his eyes, he whispered, "Thank you for believing in me. I couldn't have done it without you."

As you took off Lando's helmet, a mischievous smile spread across your face. Playfully, you pressed kisses all over his cheeks, purposely missing his lips. Lando couldn't help but laugh, feeling the warmth of your love and support enveloping him.

In that moment, he knew that your presence and encouragement were the true driving force behind his victory, and he was forever grateful for your unwavering belief in him.

Lando chuckled, his heart still racing from the intense competition.

"If it's good luck kisses that you need to win races, I'll gladly take as many as you want to give," you replied, playfully wiping off the remaining lipstick stains from his face.

Your presence and support had truly become his secret weapon, fueling him with the determination to conquer any race that lay ahead.

Lando couldn't help but blush at your playful gesture, feeling a surge of happiness and gratitude. "I wouldn't say no to more good luck kisses," he replied with a grin, his heart swelling with love for you.

"But can you promise me something?"

"What is it?"

Lando whispered, his voice barely audible. He pointed to his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "If I win a grand prix, you have to give me a victory kiss right here."

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked into his eyes, realizing that his request was both playful and sincere.

With a smile, you nodded and replied, "Deal. I'll be waiting to give you that grand prix victory kiss."

Lando chuckled, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I can't wait to win these races and claim my well-deserved victory kiss. You better start practicing your cheering skills because I'm going to need all the luck I can get," he teased, his voice filled with determination and anticipation.

"Trust me, I'll be the loudest cheerleader in the stands, I have no doubt that you'll win every race and I'll be right there cheering you on," you replied, your voice filled with unwavering belief and love.

Lost in the moment, the both of you didn't even hear Max do the outro for the video. The chemistry between you was undeniable, and it seemed like everyone around you could see it.

Max, who had been watching your interactions all day, let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you two ever going to get together?" he muttered under his breath, clearly sick of the two of you dancing around your feelings.

It was time to stop playing games and finally admit what had been obvious to everyone else for so long. . . .

And so, the whispers of Lando and your relationship spread throughout the racing community, with everyone eagerly anticipating the day when you would finally become more than just friends. . . .

The anticipation for the Miami Grand Prix reached fever pitch as fans eagerly awaited your relationship with Lando to blossom. The video had ignited a frenzy of excitement, and spectators couldn't help but wonder if the grand prix victory kiss would be the catalyst for your official union.

The anticipation for the Miami Grand Prix was at an all-time high, fueled not only by the excitement of the race but also by the fans' obsession with your relationship with Lando.

Everywhere you went, people asked when you were going to make it official, eagerly waiting for the victory kiss that had been promised.

The pressure was on, but deep down, you both knew that this race would be a turning point in more ways than one.

As Lando delved into intense discussions with the engineers, you took the opportunity to explore the bustling paddock. The atmosphere was electric, with the sounds of engines revving and the smell of burning rubber filling the air.

You wandered from team to team, immersing yourself in the world of Formula 1, gaining a deeper appreciation for the dedication and precision that went into each race.

The atmosphere was electric, with teams frantically making last-minute adjustments to their cars and fans eagerly snapping photos of their favorite drivers.

As you explored, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. The Miami Grand Prix was not only a crucial moment for Lando's racing career but also for your relationship.

"Y/N! Long time no see!" you heard from behind you, turning around to see who it was.

Standing before you was Alexandra Saint Mleux, the renowned fashion influencer and close friend of Lando. Her striking features, with piercing blue eyes and perfectly coiffed blonde hair, seemed to radiate confidence.

She was dressed impeccably, donning a tailored white pantsuit that accentuated her slender figure, paired with a bold statement necklace and stiletto heels, exuding an air of sophistication and glamour.

"Alexandra!" you exclaimed, a smile spreading across your face as you embraced your best friend in the paddock.

It had been far too long since you had seen each other, and you couldn't wait to catch up on all the latest news and gossip.

"How have you been?" Alexandra asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, eager to share the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed your life since the last time you had seen her.

"Oh, Alexandra, where do I even begin?" you replied, a mix of excitement and nervousness in your voice. "So much has happened since we last caught up. Lando, and I... it's all been a rollercoaster of emotions."

Alexandra was captivated by your journey and couldn't help but ask, "So, what's the deal with you and Lando? Are you two finally going to make it official?"

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Well, Alexandra, it's complicated," you say with a hint of uncertainty.

"Lando and I have been through so much together, and I care about him deeply. But there are still some things we need to figure out before we can make any official decisions."

Alexandra nodded understandingly, sensing the weight of your words. She quickly changed the topic, eager to distract you from the complexity of your relationship with Lando.

With a smile, she began sharing stories about her recent travels with Leo and Charles and the adventures they had together.

As you listened, the worries and uncertainties faded into the background, replaced by laughter and the warmth of friendship. . . .

"Y/N! Miss L/N!" A McLaren staff came out of nowhere, frantically looking for you. You turned towards them, a mix of surprise and curiosity in your eyes, wondering what could be so urgent that they interrupted your long-awaited reunion with Alexandra.

You turned towards the staff member, a sense of urgency creeping into your voice as you asked, "What's wrong? Is everything alright?"

"It's Lando,"

Startled, you turned to Alexandra and said, "I guess our catch-up will have to wait. Duty calls."

Alexandra nodded understandingly, giving you a quick hug before you followed the staff. "Take care, Y/N," she said softly, her voice filled with concern. "I hope everything is alright with Lando."

"I hope so too," you replied, your heart pounding with worry. "I'll find out what's going on and let you know as soon as I can." With that, you hurried after the staff member, praying that whatever had happened to Lando wasn't as serious as it sounded.

As they walked, you asked the staff member, "What happened? Is Lando okay?"

"He won't get in his car," the staff member stated. "He said he needed to see you before he goes."

Your heart sank as you realized that you had let the time slip away. You knew how important it was to be there for Lando before he left, and now you were filled with regret for not keeping your promise. You quickened your pace, hoping that you would be able to reach him in time and make things right.

"Kid, she's not coming," Zac tried to convince him, "You'll see her after the race anyway,"

"But I can't race without seeing her," Lando insisted, his determination unwavering.

"But Lando," Zac pleaded, "this is your chance to prove yourself on the track. You've worked so hard for this opportunity."

Lando shook his head, determination in his eyes. "If she's not coming, then I'm not going," he said firmly, his mind made up.

"Wait, Lando!" you called out, catching up to him just in time. "I'm here, I'm sorry for being late. I couldn't bear the thought of you racing without seeing you first."

Lando's eyes softened as he looked at you. A mix of relief and love filled his expression. "I can't do this without you," he whispered, taking your hand in his.

As you stood there, hand in hand with Lando, you knew that the cameras were capturing this intimate moment between the two of you. But in that moment, you didn't care about the public scrutiny or the potential backlash.

All that mattered was being there for each other, supporting one another through the highs and lows.

The pressure of the race, the expectations, and the regrets of being late all faded away as you stood there, united and ready to face whatever challenges came your way.

"What's the problem?" you asked worriedly, ready to fight anyone for Lando.

"I need my good luck kiss," Lando said desperately, his eyes pleading with you.

"You're telling me that you won't go because you wanted a kiss from me?" you slapped his shoulder gently, your disbelief evident in your voice.

Lando grinned sheepishly, his determination momentarily wavering. "Well, yeah, I guess so," he admitted, his eyes searching yours for any sign of agreement.

Despite the urgency of the situation, you couldn't help but smile at his request. You leaned in and pressed your lips against his cheek, sending a wave of reassurance and love through his body.

"Good luck Lando," you said.

"Thanks, I'll win for you, okay," Lando replied, grinning, running over to his car and driving off at the start of the race.

As you watched him go, a mixture of nerves and excitement filled your heart, knowing that you would be cheering him on every step of the way, no matter what.

"I can't believe that he wasn't going to go without your 'good luck' kiss," you heard Zac say beside you, tired of Lando's behavior.

"I know, it's ridiculous," you replied, shaking your head in disbelief. "But that's just Lando being Lando. He's always had this superstition about needing a good luck kiss before a race. I guess I've just gotten used to it."

"At this point, you two should get together," Zac stated.

You chuckled and glanced at Zac, feeling a blush creep up on your cheeks. "Well, maybe it's about time we make it official," you replied, a hint of excitement in your voice.

Zac grinned and nodded approvingly, knowing that you and Lando were meant to be together.

You smiled at Zac's comment, realizing that there was truth in his words. It was clear that your bond with Lando went beyond superstitions and good luck kisses.

As you watched the race unfold, you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, it was time to take your relationship to the next level. . . .

The Miami Grand Prix was a thrilling and intense race from start to finish. Lando showcased his exceptional driving skills, maneuvering through the challenging turns and maintaining a competitive edge.

He faced tough competition from other skilled drivers, each vying for the top spot. As the laps progressed, Lando's determination remained unwavering, his focus unwavering as he pushed the limits of his car.

Despite the challenges of intense competition and the demanding nature of the race track, Lando remained composed and strategic.

He skillfully navigated through tight turns, battled for position, and made split-second decisions to maintain his competitive edge. It was a true test of his abilities, but Lando's determination and skill shone through, propelling him closer to victory.

The crowd erupted in cheers as he made daring overtakes and showcased his racing prowess.

In the end, Lando emerged victorious, crossing the finish line with a triumphant smile on his face, proving once again that he was a force to be reckoned with in the world of racing.

You were on your feet as soon as he passed the chequered flag, your heart pounding with excitement. The roar of the crowd enveloped you as you joined in the celebration, cheering and clapping for Lando's incredible victory.

The moment was electric, filled with a sense of pride and joy that only intensified as you made your way to the podium to congratulate him on his well-deserved win.

Seeing his triumphant smile up close, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride and joy, knowing that you were there to witness this unforgettable moment in Lando's racing career.

Tears of happiness streamed down your face as you witnessed the culmination of his hard work and dedication, knowing that this victory was not only a testament to his talent

"Let's go, you have a grand prix victory kiss to deliver," Zac said, coming out of nowhere to help you get through the crowd.

People already started to give space as soon as they saw you, having a knowing grin on their faces. It was clear that they recognized you as someone special, someone who was close to the victorious driver.

As you made your way through the crowd, their excitement and anticipation grew, and you could feel their admiration and respect for being part of Lando's inner circle.

The moment you reached where Lando was, the crowd erupted into cheers once again, celebrating not only Lando's victory but also your presence and support throughout his journey.

As you approached Lando, he was still tightly embracing his team, their faces beaming with pride and joy. You waited patiently, soaking in the atmosphere and reflecting on the incredible journey that led to this victorious moment.

The sight of their camaraderie and shared joy warmed your heart, as you knew that their teamwork and support had played a crucial role in Lando's success.

As the team staff pointed at you and yelled, "Aye there's your girlfriend mate!", you couldn't help but blush.

Lando immediately turned around, his eyes falling on you, the biggest grin on his face. He hurriedly made his way towards you, pushing through the crowd, and swept you up in a tight embrace.

"We did it" he whispered, his voice filled with genuine happiness.

"You did it, Lando. It was all you," you said, your voice filled with genuine admiration and pride.

"No, you were my motivation to win," he replied, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips.

You rolled your eyes playfully, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck. "Oh please, don't give me that cliché line," you teased, a mischievous smile dancing on your lips. "But I'm glad I could be there to support you. Congratulations, champ."

You pushed his head gently closer, feeling the electricity between you two intensify as your lips inched closer. The anticipation grew with each passing second, and the world seemed to fade away as you both leaned in, your breathing becoming shallow and quick.

Finally, your lips met in a gentle, tender kiss, savoring the moment of victory and shared love. The kiss started soft and sweet, but soon grew more passionate and intense, fueled by the adrenaline and emotions of the triumphant race.

The kiss started softly, a gentle exploration of each other's lips, but soon grew more intense, fueled by the passion and desire that had been building between you for so long.

The once gentle kisses turned into a hungry exchange, as your lips moved together in perfect sync, leaving no doubt about the depth of your love and longing for each other.

As your lips moved together in perfect sync, Lando's hands tightened their grip on your hips, pulling you closer to him.

The intensity of the kiss mirrored the intensity of the emotions coursing through both of you, solidifying the connection that had been growing between you for so long.

Your hands were tangling in his sweaty hair, the sensation only adding to the exhilaration of the moment. The soft strands slipped through your fingers as you deepened the kiss, losing yourself in the taste and feel of him.

Time seemed to stand still as you both surrendered to the passion, knowing that this victory was not just about the race, but about the love that had brought you together.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from the kiss, your heart still racing with desire. "As much as I would love to stay here with you, you have a podium to attend in just a few minutes," you reminded him with a playful smile, trying to catch your breath.

Lando pouted at your response but knew he had to leave. "You know where to meet me right?" he whispered, his eyes filled with longing and anticipation, as he reluctantly pulled away, knowing that the celebration would have to wait until later.

"Of course," you replied, your voice filled with the same longing and anticipation. "I'll meet you at our spot as soon as the podium ceremony is over."

He grinned mischievously, stealing one last kiss before reluctantly tearing himself away from you.

The taste of him lingered on your lips as he hurriedly made his way to the podium, leaving you breathless and longing for the moment when you could meet again at your special spot. . . .

As Lando made his way to the media section to be interviewed for his win, his mind couldn't help but wander back to you. Thoughts of your passionate kiss lingered in his thoughts.

He couldn't wait for the podium ceremony to be over so that he could reunite with you at your spot and continue where you had left off.

However, he then felt something on his lips and he snapped out of it, moving away from it - it was a staff cleaning his lips with a cloth.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm only cleaning the lipstick from your lips," The staff answered, confused of his actions. He always let them clean his face before an interview.

He thought of the lipstick you had on which was now on his lips.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in Lando's mischievous mind. With a playful smirk, he leaned closer to the staff member and whispered, "Leave a little lipstick on, just to remind everyone who truly won today."

The staff member couldn't help but chuckle at Lando's mischievous request. Knowing that Lando was the race's victor and had a certain charm that couldn't be resisted, they nodded and left a hint of lipstick on his lips, complying with his playful demand.

As Lando headed to the media section, he couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence, knowing that he had left his mark not only on the race but also on the hearts of the fans.

As Lando approached the interviewer, he confidently took the microphone in his hand. The male interviewer greeted him with a smile, ready to delve into Lando's victorious race and capture his electrifying energy for the fans.

Interviewer asked politely, "Congratulations on your incredible win, Lando! How does it feel to come out on top today?"

"Thank you! It feels absolutely amazing. The race was intense, but I stayed focused and pushed myself to the limit. The car was performing exceptionally well, and my team did an outstanding job with the strategy." Lando replied with, "It's a fantastic feeling to see all the hard work pay off."

"You certainly had everyone on the edge of their seats! Can you walk us through that nail-biting overtaking maneuver in the final lap?"

"Oh, that was a heart-stopping moment for sure! I saw an opportunity to make a move, and I knew I had to seize it. The adrenaline was pumping, and I went for it." Lando explained.

"The car responded perfectly, and I managed to make the pass stick. It was a risky move, but it paid off, and I couldn't be happier with the outcome."

"I can't help but notice the lipstick stain on your lips," The interviewer commented on.

Lando chuckled, his mischievous charm shining through. "Ah, yes, a little souvenir from the victory celebration," he replied with a wink.

"Just a small reminder of the exhilaration and triumph of this race." The interviewer smiled, intrigued by Lando's playful nature, and continued with the interview.

The interviewer laughed, finding Lando's playful nature endearing. "Well, it certainly adds a unique touch to your victory," they replied. "Now, let's talk about the reaction from your fans. Social media is buzzing with excitement over your win. How does it feel to have such a dedicated and passionate fanbase supporting you?"

Lando's smile widened as he replied, "I am incredibly grateful for my fans. Their support means the world to me. It's humbling to know that my performance on the track resonates with so many people. I couldn't ask for better support."

"As you were about to pass the chequered flag, who or what were yout thinking of?"

"As I approached the chequered flag, my mind was filled with a mix of emotions and thoughts. Of course, my family and friends were on my mind, but Y/N was definitely the one who occupied my thoughts the most throughout the race. Her support and encouragement gave me that extra push to go for the win." Lando answered with a smile, his voice filled with affection and gratitude.

"Was your motivation to get your victory kiss?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Lando said, pointing at his face with a grin. "That victory kiss from Y/N was definitely a motivating factor. Knowing that I had her waiting at the finish line made me push even harder."

"Well, I'll let you go celebrate your win," the interviewer said, acknowledging Lando's eagerness to savor his victory. "But before you go, one last question: what does this win mean for you and your racing career?"

"This win means everything to me and my racing career. It's a validation of all the hard work, dedication, and sacrifices that I've made to get to this point. It's a stepping stone towards achieving my ultimate goals and solidifying my place in the racing world."

As the camera stopped recording and the microphone was taken from him, the interviewer thanked Lando for his time and congratulated him once again on his impressive victory.

Lando ran over to the podium, a mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion coursing through his veins. As he reached for the trophy, a surge of pride washed over him.

This trophy symbolized not only his victory, but also the culmination of years of hard work, determination, and perseverance.

Lando held the trophy high above his head, basking in the cheers and applause from the crowd, knowing that this moment would forever be etched in his memory as one of his proudest achievements. . . .

As you sat in Lando's driver's room, waiting for him to finish with his interviews, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration for his incredible achievement.

The way he spoke about you during the interview filled your heart with warmth, knowing that you were his biggest source of motivation and inspiration.

You couldn't wait to congratulate him in person and celebrate this momentous win together.

As you sat in Lando's driver's room, waiting for him to finish with his interviews, you couldn't help but remember the passionate kiss you shared before he had to leave for the race. Your finger grazed over your lips, still tingling from the lingering sensation.

Your hands were tangling in his sweaty hair, the sensation only adding to the exhilaration of the moment. The soft strands slipped through your fingers as you deepened the kiss, losing yourself in the taste and feel of him.

Your thoughts of the moment of the kiss were interrupted by the door opening and you quickly pulled your hand away from your lips, hoping no one had seen the intimate gesture.

It revealed a beaming Lando with the trophy in his hands. His eyes met yours, and a wide grin spread across his face as he rushed towards you, engulfing you in a tight embrace.

His head was buried into your neck, and you could feel his rapid heartbeat against your chest. The scent of victory and adrenaline filled the air as you held each other tightly, savoring the moment of triumph.

The world around you faded away, and in that embrace, you knew that you were not only celebrating his win, but also the deep bond and love that you shared.

"Can we continue what we stopped before?" Lando asked, his voice low and husky against your neck. You felt a shiver run down your spine as his words stirred up the same desire that had ignited between you earlier.

With a mischievous smile, you whispered back, "I think we can definitely make some time for that, especially after this incredible victory."

The anticipation in Lando's eyes mirrored your own as you both shared a knowing look, ready to relish in the passionate moments that awaited you.

Lando's hands were curling around your waist, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, and you couldn't help but melt into his strong arms.

In that moment, all you wanted was to lose yourself in his touch and continue where you left off, savoring every delicious second of the passion that awaited you both.

Your lips molded together in a perfect harmony, the softness of his contrasting with the passion in his kiss. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, a mixture of mint and desire.

As your fingers entwined in his hair, you reveled in the sensation of the sweat-soaked strands slipping through your grasp, adding to the intoxicating thrill of the moment. The world around you ceased to exist as you deepened the kiss, losing yourself in the electric connection that pulsed between you.

The pressure of his lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire within you that could only be quenched by his touch. Your hearts beat in sync, the rhythm of desire pounding through your chests.

Time seemed to stand still as you surrendered to the taste, the feel, and the sheer intoxication of his kiss.

Every nerve ending in your body came alive, as if electrified by the raw passion that flowed between you.

Lando pulled back slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Oh, trust me, baby," he said with a sly grin, "We're just getting started. I have plenty more in store for you tonight."

His teasing words sent a surge of anticipation through you, and you couldn't help but giggle in response.

"Is that so?" you countered, your voice dripping with flirtation. "Well, I can't wait to see what you have in mind. But first, let's celebrate this victory properly."

The air crackled with excitement as you both leaned in for another passionate kiss, ready to explore the depths of desire together. . . .

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

ravish

hitchhiker!readerxperv!loganhowlett

a/n: i recycled this old fic and made it a logan one yay! this was written the day after i watched once upon a time in Hollywood in theaters, clearly. haven't written smut in so long ;_;

wc: 2.4k

NSFW

18+ MDNI | age gap,oral sex, masturbation and sexual themes

summary: Y/N was at a festival last night and needs to hit the road again to go on her next adventure. she hitches a drive with someone who might just be that.

au: 1970's

You squirmed as your now blistered bare feet stood on the sizzling hot concrete.

Your arm was out, holding a thumbs up, hoping that one of the roadside drivers pull over and give you a lift. The leather backpack you were wearing was so hot it began to burn your lower back; summers in Phoenix, Arizona were practically unbearable. 

The air was dry and dusty; the back of your throat ached for a gulp of water. You had been dehydrated since you had woken up this morning.

You had gone to one of the biggest parties you had ever seen. You hardly knew anyone, and that was the joy of it; You met people from all over the States, Canada even people from Europe.

You had consumed lots of drugs and fun drinks during the night, all given to you by generous strangers.

You had lost your shoes sometime during the night, but that didn’t stop you from dancing to the music that filled your ears. Guitar strums resonated throughout the field, each chord amplified by the psychedelics you’d taken, making you feel the music deep in your bones.

Lighters were held high, illuminating the dark field. It felt like you were one with everyone in the stars.

This morning, you woke up in the middle of a flower field.

The blazing sun had pierced your vision, ripping through the haze from the pollen white flowers. Multiple ants covered your sugary drink. Disgusted, you tossed it to the side, got up and walked to the nearest busy street, which was farther than you had anticipated.

You were dressed in your crochet crop top and cut-off jean shorts from last night. Your wrists were decked in various friendship bracelets that you had received during the night, an odd custom for a party, but now you had keepsakes. You smiled, remembering the connections you had made.

Cars sped by, giving you somewhat of a  'refreshing breeze' to withstand the scorching heat of today. 

Your arm began to prickle, and the pounding headache of a hangover formed in your temples. You sighed impatiently as you tapped your foot on the ground.

I don't even care who picks me up, just get me out of here,

You thought.

Your stomach growled with hunger, you had only consumed liquid in the past 14 hours.

You observed the people in the cars that passed by you:

Well-dressed women who deliberately ignored your presence.

Families in full cars, with fathers who noticed your needy figure but quickly averted their eyes, conscious of their wives in the passenger seat.

Young men, young women.

New, inexperienced drivers

As you began to lose hope, a dodge challenger pulled over in front of you.

Cracking a smile, you skipped to the passenger window. The unknown man leaned over the console and rolled down the window.

"Whereabouts are you headed?" You asked, propping your elbows on the edge of his piping hot car. "I'm headed through Tucson, then El Paso." He spoke. 

The truth was, you didn't care about where you were going, you just wanted to go somewhere else. You had been hopping from state to state for the whole summer now, and you weren't going to stop.

You were young, wild, and free. 

"Perfect." You grinned and opened the door cheekily.

You sat down, propping your practically black feet up on the dash nonchalantly. The man just grunted and steered the car back onto the road.

You observed him quietly. 

The first thing you noticed was his height; he barely fit in the small car seats. His large hand wrapped effortlessly around the steering wheel, knuckles still marked with dried blood—evidence of a fight from the night before.

He had a tanned complexion, with dark hair that looked soft to the touch. His broad, muscular shoulders nearly brushed against you, and you caught a faint scent of cologne mixed with whiskey and woody cigars.

He wore a white tank top beneath a flannel, paired with worn work jeans. A pair of tinted aviators rested on the bridge of his angular nose, and his work boots, as dirty as your own feet, pressed down on the gas pedal.

 "What do you do for a living?" You continued eyeing him.

The man snorted. 

"I do all sorts of things. Mostly any job with tools." He replied. 

"So, a handyman?" You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

"You could call me that." He rasped.

"So, is that why you're going to El Paso? To work?" The car stopped at a red light.  The man reached into the glove compartment in front of you, his arm hair brushing against your thigh as he grabbed a box of cigars.

"You're a smart kid." He mumbled as he stuffed a cigar between his lips. He lit the end and took a drag;

"And you're running away from home," He offered you a cigar.

"Uh-no, I'm just on a solo adventure." You took a cigar from the box.

He lit the end with a swipe of his thumb and you inhaled; a dry scratchy feeling in your throat made you erupt in a coughing fit, trying to catch your breath.

The man found this amusing, his eyes crinkled as he grinned.

"If you don't smoke, kid, don't start now." He pulled the cigar from your lips and placed it in his mouth, where it joined the one he was already smoking. Now, two cigars jutted out from the side of his mouth.

"Jesus, you don't need to out-smoke me, I think you already did that." You crossed your arms with a huff.

"You're too innocent for smokes anyway...Also too innocent to wear whatever you have on now. It ain't covering much." He practically scolded, tightening his grip on the wheel.

Your cheeks flushed a bright pink.

"If it bothers you so much, stop checking me out, then." You rolled your eyes.

"Don't need to when it's all in your face. Can see your whole stomach and half of your ass is hanging out." He flung one of the cigars outside. 

"Perv." You looked out your window.

The man swallowed hard and stayed quiet, driving behind the other vehicles.

You picked up on his silence.

"Oh, you didn't like that did you?" You continued. 

He ignored you as you re-drew your attention to him, he stayed focused on the road in front of him.

You grinned.

This was amusing, you had a man about 20 years older than you all flustered because you caught him checking you out. You were probably his fantasy; young college girl age, petite, adventurous, non-commital. Compared to uptight, old fuller marital women of his age. 

The truth was, you've always liked older men but never attempted to be with one outside of your fantasies.

It was common for younger women to be coupled with older men, but the men from your town were distasteful, not like this man who was sitting next to you. 

You turned around in your seat and laid down to where your head was on his lap, and your feet were sitting on the passenger side door.

"What're you doin' kid?" He grumbled looking down at your face from the wheel.

"You want me to suck your dick don't you?" You met his eyes.

He scoffed and turned his attention to the road again.

"How old are ya'?" He took a drag.

"Pfft, I'm old enough." You replied.

He hummed in acknowledgement.

"Guess how old?" You added. 

"Early-twenties." He blew smoke out the window, cherry wood.

He guessed correctly. A devious smile curled at your lips.

"You sure know your young women pretty well, sir." You chuckled at your own joke.

The man took the hand that held the cigar and cupped your face roughly pressing his thumb on your lips, shutting you up. His cigar burned centimetres away from your face, a faint heat could be felt from the lit tip and the smoke drifted in your nostrils, the smell was intoxicating.

"Don't say things like that." He grumbled. You bit his calloused thumb seductively, giving it a soft suck which earned a raspy "fuck" from the man. 

"What's your name anyway?" He removed his thumb from your mouth placing the hand on the steering wheel. He squirmed slightly in the seat, readjusting his hips, and your head moved with him. He was getting harder by the minute.

"It's Y/N. You?" 

"Y/N?" He tasted your name on his lips. "-Logan." He growled, in a husky voice.

Your hands drifted down to your shorts, and you unbuttoned them. His eyes darted to your hands, and you felt his chest expand against your head as he took a deep breath.

You pulled them under your hips and let them bunch at your ankles. You spread your knees apart, exposing your clothed goods. You were wearing a light blue thong.

"You want to feel?" You lightly stroked your legs, prompting him to go the same.

Logan took one last drag of his cigar and threw it out the window, like the first one; his right hand was now free.

Instead of taking up your offer, he just returned his hand to the wheel, ignoring you.

"Fine then," You whined.

You pulled the fabric to the side, revealing your now wet folds.

You began to play with yourself, slowly. Rubbing supple, soft circles on your clit. Quiet moans escaped your lips as you built a rhythm. You knew where it felt good, you weren't new to touching yourself.

You turned your head to the side, facing Logan's shirt, you inhaled his scent and let out another moan.

Logan let out a low grumble from his chest and lowered his hand onto yours.

He guided your hand to insert your fingers inside of you. You let out a surprised whimper as he worked your hand to fuck yourself.

"Mh- I want- ah- your fingers, not mine- ah-" You managed between thrusts.

He removed your hand from your core and lifted it to his face, he inhaled deeply before mumbling another fuck.

"Taste yourself." He commanded as he brought your fingers to your mouth.

You complied, inserting your index and middle finger as deep in your mouth as possible, looking up at him while doing so. He watched you while biting his lip.

His hand snaked under your crop top, lifting it, exposing your breasts.

"Fuck sake," He breathed out after seeing what was underneath.

"Can't do this here." He jerked the wheel aggressively to the side, pushing you further into him.

He had pulled the car into an off-road wooded clearing a few miles away from the city; of course, it didn't take long for him to get there, he had gunned it the whole way; after all, he had more pressing matters to take care of.

You.

The both of you had made your way into the back seat of the car, your knees hung over his bulky shoulders, his face buried deep between your legs.

You were completely naked and he was fully dressed aside from the flannel that was discarded moments ago.

You gripped fist fulls of his hair as he lapped at your sensitive spot. Logan loved eating you out, your taste was sweet and your smell was intoxicating. Your wetness dripped off his chin as he sucked on your clit, sending you to another dimension entirely. He was skilled with his tongue, he knew how to keep a steady rhythm and when to switch it up. He groaned against you, savouring every second he had with you.

Logan had never been with such a pretty young thing like you before, he couldn't get enough.

He pressed his thick calloused index finger at your entrance while still using his tongue. Slowly, he pumped it deeper and deeper inside you, eventually reaching his knuckle. You moaned into your hand, trying to muffle the noise you were making. The two points of stimulation were too much.

You were already approaching your orgasm; Your hips bucked against his jaw and hand as you escalated gradually to meet that sweet release.

"Logan ah- I'm gonna cum" You exclaimed tightening your grip on his hair. This was the motivation for him to go even harder. He caught his breath against you between his thrusts. Pushing back against your clenching thighs and dove deeper, licking long fat strokes on your swollen clit. His coarse facial hair rubs against your skin, causing a slight burning sensation. Your knees shook as he picked his pace and enveloped your sensitive bud between his lips, sucking hungrily and giving it a slight bite.

Logan groaned as he heard your moan of surprise, you didn't know you like that. But he did.

You felt the pressure begin to pool out as your head tilted back with a loud moan:

Your fingertips and toes began to tingle.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

Your back arched instinctively.

Logan sent you over the edge, you fell in shambles of moans and whimpers as he slowly helped you ride out your orgasm.

"That's it sweetheart, good girl." He murmured with his mouth full of you as you caught your breath.

He slowly lapped you clean until you began to feel sensitive. Logan pulled back and looked at you hungrily as he licked your cum off his lips.

"You really like doing that don't you?" You asked breathless.

He snuck his hand down to your slick and now swollen pussy, using his fingers to spread you open. He observes it in awe as if he hadn't spent the last few minutes with his face right up there.

"It's... pretty...n' soft." He mumbled under his breath. Logan ducks down and places a long kiss right on the sensitive area, breathing you in once more.

You flushed a bright pink, embarrassed. You had never had a guy ravish you like this.

"Your turn, let's switch," You said propping yourself up on your elbows.

Logan chuckled."Nah, kid, we gotta hit the road." He tugged on his pants to relieve the pressure of his hard-on against the denim.

"But you-" You start but Logan cuts you off by pulling you in for a hungry kiss. His hand tangled in your hair as he pressed you to him, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting. You moan in his mouth again and he pulls away with a smirk.

"Later," He grits, pocketing your panties. "Get dressed," He spanks your ass and gets out the back seat.

"Yes sir," You excitedly find your clothes.

i feel like logan loves to eat out, oops :)

->-> click here for part 2 <-<-

->->click here for part 3<-<-

If you'd like to join my tagged list and be notified whenever I post new content, click ->-> HERE<-<-, instructions will follow.

->->masterlist<-<-

[alice-angel12x]

The Blue Knight pt.3

The complicated heart arch.

<- Part 2/ Part 4 -> this way

It was a challenge as we continued our journey through beast yeast. Each step of the way, we would find another shard of the light of freedom. Each time I would see this Silent salt figure and the green hooded figure, Bliss Butter.

But we continued to press on, till we came across a real Fairy Cookie! According to Pure Vanilla, White Lily Cookie had met this fairy. They saw it in the vision from the light of freedom.

I wish I weren't so out of the loop and receiving completely different visions. Nonetheless, the fairy Silver Bell Cookie led us to the Fairy kingdom to see White Lily Cookie.

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

Y/n and the others stood in awe at the beautiful kingdom made of plants and silver. The fairies sing a song to white lily cookie in the hope of her return. She is a hero, a savior of sorts to these cookies.

Y/n's heart tightens slightly, not helping with their slight sting of inferiority. Eventually, Silver Bell led them to a glass case, inside was the hero herself.

'Wow, she is really pretty,' Y/n thought to themselves. ' No wonder Pure Vanilla's heart still flutters for her.'

Y/n watched as Pure vanilla stood over her case, eyes full of longing. But just as Pure Vanilla explained the light of freedom, a new fairy arrived.

"Silver Bell! I hear you let outsiders into our kingdom," The gray and silver fair said.

"Ah! Mercy Knight Cookie! These cookies are friends of White Lily Cookie," Silver Bell explained.

"Well, his majesty has ordered that these outsiders be brought before him.

"The king wishes to see us?" Gingerbrave asked in awe.

"Elder fairy... He should have many answers about white lily Cookie's past, and this great calamity," Pure Vanilla thought aloud.

"Then let's not keep his majesty waiting," Y/n nods.

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

The group stood before the king, a moderately tall Cookie with a slim build, somewhat elderly periwinkle eyes and pointed eyebrows, and dark magenta dough. His pale lavender blue hair is styled into triangle bangs.

"So it is you. Those who claim to be white Lily cookies' ally," He says slowly. "Well, all but one of you."

He looks at Y/n Knight Cookie.

"I never met her, so I can't say I am. But Pure vanilla sees her as an ally, so I will too," Y/n Spoke, giving a nod to Pure vanilla who smiles back.

"I see cookies who bear the fate of the Dessert world on their shoulders before me," Elder Faeie Cookie says.

"A cookie who controls his own fate with his bravery," The king looks to Gingerbrave.

He shifts his gaze to Strawberry and Wizard Cookie. " A warm-hearted cookie who always puts her friends first. And a Cookie of short stature."

Wizard Cookie was a bit annoyed that his height was mentioned.

"And an ancient hero, a cookie of light who protects the balance of this world," He says as he walks past Y/n to Pure Vanilla.

"Your majesty, allow me to introduce us. This is Y/n Knight, Gingerbrave, strawberry Cookie, and wizard Cookie. And I am Pure Vanilla Cookie. We come from the land of Crispa. We have come to-"

"Find Dark Entrantress Cookie," the Elder faerie said.

"How did he know?!" Gingerbraves asked in awe.

"Since ancient times. I have protected this silver tree at the order of the witches." The King started to explain.

As he spoke Y/n's eyes wandered to the tree. A large tree with branches that twisted into the shape of the soul games. A large vine wraps around the trunk, keeping whatever is inside locked away.

As the fairies sang around the tree, visions flashed across Y/n's eyes. The tree on fire, the tree destroyed, the tree restored, a figure standing before the tree. They wore a green hood and a star-shaped candy jewel.

"The power of Virtue, purified by the witches themselves... The Soul Jam that you harness," Elder Faire's voice rings in Y/n's ear. "You are not the first to wield that power."

The faerie King began to tell the story of the legendary virtues, how they were to bring cookies into their golden age. But over time, they fell into darkness. As Y/n listened to the story, they couldn't help but feel like something was being left out.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty. I have a question," Y/n raised their hand.

"Yes?" The king asked patiently.

"Was there a beast who went by Bliss Butter Cookie? I think she had a star-shaped Candy Jewelry," Y/n asked slowly.

Everyone was silent. Pure vanilla and Co. were simply confused by the question. The fairies looked at her with bewilderment, but Elder Fairy tensed slightly. He walks closer to Y/n Cookie to whisper something.

"Hold onto that question," He says quietly.

He turns quickly and explains how to awaken White Lily Cookie. Just as Pure Vanilla Cokkie and the rest were about to leave, he noticed Y/n staying behind.

"Ah, Lov-.. Y/n, aren't you coming?" Pure Vanilla asked, concern in his voice,

"I need to speak with them, you go and collect the rest of the light of Freedom," Elder Faerie Cookie explained.

"I'll be fine, you go ahead," Y/n smiles slightly.

"Alright. We'll meet you back here, okay," Pure Vanilla replies.

Y/n nodes and quickly follows the fairy king.

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

The two walked silently through the kingdom's garden, and the silence was intense.

"So is there more to that story than you let on?" Y/n cookie asked.

"Indeed, for this beast stands apart from her peers. When the great witch created her, bliss butter was meant to be a guiding star. Guiding the cookies and her fellow virtues to the brightest possible future," The king explained.

"But when her peers fell to darkness, despair consumed her."

"So what happened? She doesn't seem to be sealed away with the others," Y/n pointed out.

"That's because Bliss Butter was Clever, and the power her soul jam granted her only more unpredictable," The king said darkly.

"What power?" Y/n asked.

"Bliss Butter's Light of Hope granted her the power to foresee every possibility. Meaning she could guide cookies to either fate or their doom. She saw where the beast's path led, so she pretended to aid the witch. From there, I am unsure why she vanishes. For all we know, this is all according to her plan," the Elder fairy said.

"So why keep this quiet? Why didn't you tell the others?" Y/n asked.

"Because after she vanished, the Blue Lily Dragon became the holder of her Soul jam. And she saw that the next holder would come asking about Bliss Butter," Elder Faeire Cookie pauses and looks to Y/n Sorrowfully. "And when that happens, Blue Lily Dragon would have long since perished. Leaving you with a heavy burden that I wouldn't even wish on my enemies."

__________________________________________________

DUN DUN DAAA!! till next chapter.

[aventurineswife]

Anaxa with a reader who acts like a mitigation unit for whenever he says something blasphemous and leaves people wanting to punch him lmao

The reader is soft-spoken and gentler in disposition (much like castorice) and not exactly on par with him in terms of ingenuity, so some people wonder how they ended up together. But eh, who cares? Anaxa loves them anyways. Though, spending time with him is not good for their heart since whenever he states something outrageous, the reader will chime in with a "he doesn't mean that" and attempt to smoothen the tension, only for this dromas loving nerd to ruin the peace by spouting something like "no, actually, I meant every word I say" and the reader just stares up at the heavens, gaze resigned, and inwardly prays that they won't be stoned to death in that very moment

Bonus if they're taller than anaxa. I just think it would be cute if the reader has to constantly bend down whenever anaxa has something to say. Just the overall trope of the tall one being meek and withdrawn while the short one is feisty and outspoken

“He doesn’t mean that… I think”

Summary: You're the tall, soft-spoken partner of Anaxagoras—the infamous scholar with a talent for making blasphemous statements that nearly get you both stoned on a regular basis. While he fearlessly challenges gods and sages with wild theories and cutting wit, you're always close behind, offering polite smiles, calming words, and the occasional desperate "he doesn’t mean that." Despite your gentler nature and quieter intellect, Anaxa is fiercely devoted to you, pulling you into his chaotic orbit with unwavering affection. It’s loud, it’s intense, and your spine might just be made of divine patience.

Tags: Anaxagorus x Reader, Opposites Attract, Height Difference, Chaotic Genius x Soft-Tall Partner, Damage Control Partner, Romantic Tension, Emotional Vulnerability, Found Family Elements, Slow Burn (Implied), Philosophical Drama, “He Doesn’t Mean That” Energy, Protective Reader.

Warnings: Themes Of Death And Loss, Mentions Of Religious And Academic Conflict, Blasphemy (Fictional Context), Light Emotional Angst, Mild Language, Potential Reader Endangerment (Non-Graphic, Played For Irony/Humor), Anaxagorus being Anaxagorus.

A/N: I love this man, can you tell? 😋💚

It always starts with him saying something he absolutely shouldn’t.

The atmosphere in the courtyard of the Grove is as tense as a taut bowstring. A gathering of scholars and disciples encircle the infamous Anaxagoras, their faces twitching with barely concealed disdain, curiosity, or both. And there you are, standing right beside him like a loyal, bewildered lighthouse in the middle of an academic storm.

“…And that, my dear sages,” Anaxa declares, arms dramatically flared, coat swishing like some peacock possessed by hubris, “is why divine authority is nothing but an inherited illusion. If a god needs worship to maintain power, is it not merely a glorified parasite?”

Silence.

Not a respectful kind of silence. The "someone-is-about-to-throw-a-chair" kind of silence.

You blink. Smile nervously. And step in, gently placing a hand on Anaxa’s shoulder—he’s still mid-pose, soaking in the shocked silence like it’s validation—and clear your throat. You lean forward slightly, voice as gentle as spring rain.

“He doesn’t mean that.”

“I do,” Anaxa replies immediately, not even turning to look at you. “And if anyone disagrees, they’re welcome to explain how an all-powerful being managed to trip over the concept of mortality.”

You don't even sigh anymore. You just look up at the skies, lips silently mouthing the names of all the gods, hoping one of them has a sense of humor.

People often ask how the two of you ended up together.

You, the serene, quiet mitigation unit who wears soft colors and softer expressions. Him, the sharp-tongued philosopher whose idea of a romantic date involves reading banned texts and dismantling holy logic.

“They're not even on the same wavelength,” someone once whispered, watching you gently tug Anaxa back from yet another oncoming theological brawl. “How does it even work?”

You weren’t sure either.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes soften when you’re the one holding the scalpel during a shared experiment. Or how he lets you tie his ponytail every morning, mumbling critiques about symmetry but never actually fixing it. Or how he always looks for you in a room before he speaks—to see if you're there to watch the world burn with him.

Maybe it’s just love. Bizarre, inexplicable love.

Even if that love occasionally comes with public threats of excommunication.

You’re taller than him, of course. He pretends not to notice. But when he speaks, you always instinctively lean down just slightly, hands politely folded, like you’re giving a particularly chaotic child your full attention.

“Listen,” he says one day, post-lecture, voice low and dramatic, “I’ve discovered a correlation between Titan souls and the latent fear gods have of mortality. My next paper will be titled ‘The Cowards in the Sky.’”

You stare at him. Then glance nervously at the passing sages.

“He doesn’t mean that,” you murmur.

“I do,” Anaxa snaps, tilting his head up at you with that familiar glint of mischief and defiance. “And if I vanish in the middle of the night, assume they finally sent divine assassins. You’ll avenge me, won’t you?”

You rub your temple. “I’ll try to negotiate.”

“And you call yourself devoted,” he mutters, smug.

Still, for all the chaos he invites, Anaxa clings to you like a man who has seen too much fire and finds comfort in quiet.

When the nights are cold and long, he curls against you like he’s hiding from ghosts, his left hand resting just above yours. Sometimes, in those fragile hours, he whispers the names of people who aren’t alive anymore. Sometimes, he whispers yours like it's the only name he trusts to stay.

You don’t always understand the depth of his genius. You don’t have to.

You’re there. That’s enough.

You ground him, and occasionally save both your lives from being pelted by rocks.

“I’ve concluded,” Anaxa says one day, while reclining on your lap beneath a half-dead tree, “that your spine must be made of divine patience.”

You smile faintly, brushing a strand of mint hair from his face.

“And I’ve concluded,” you reply, voice barely audible, “that your mouth is going to get us killed one day.”

He laughs.

“You love me, still?”

You lean down slowly, forehead resting against his.

“Unfortunately,” you whisper.

And he grins.

“Good. That makes two of us.”

[machinemonstrosity]

hjust a qusetion but , would you consider writing for the minions of mafioso's...... im really fond of them freaks << 3 3 33 .

WARNINGS - NONE , silly headcanons for mafioso's henchmen , technically not an x reader but i don't know how else to tag it

a/n - i didn't know what to write since there's nothing about these guys other than one render......i'll write more next time, i promise! working through mobile sucks so i apologize if the image sizes and qualities are bad.

Mafioso's henchmen act like goofy cartoon villain sidekicks. While they can be serious and will get the job done, most of the time people are wondering how they even got into the mafia in the first place. They're a capable group of minions — just not the best in terms of scare factor.

To conceal their actual names, they nicknamed themselves with numbers. They also thought it sounded cooler.

ONE (1)

Out of everyone who tried to puff out their chest to claim the title, 1 received it due to being the oldest and most skilled of the group.

He's the most reasonable and level-headed of the henchmen, although that doesn't mean much. They all tend to bounce the same brain cell around like a game of hot potato.

The most stubborn when it comes to the gang's shenanigans and plans. Yet every time, without fail, he'll still cave and tag along. “Can't let the rest of ���em get in trouble without me.” As he says.

He doesn't really express as much emotion as the others, but he will crack a noticeable smile or chuckle on occasion. Catching 1 letting out a full-on laugh is rare, normally only being something that happens with the rest of the minions. You're doing something right if he laughs around you.

TWO (2)

King of being competitive. Will absolutely take every small achievement or victory of his as a challenge to do better, especially if it's other people's. It happens to be playfully mutual among the others.

2 beats everyone at knife fights. Including 1.

He has a tendency to be the instigator of chaos. When they're inevitably caught causing a ruckus, all fingers are instantly pointing to him. Everyone still gets punished for it despite the snitching.

The tallest of the group. The running joke is that the tophat is the only reason for his placement on the height chart.

THREE (3)

The loudest of the group and the first to humor a terrible idea. That crowbar is always itching to be used.

3 is very short-tempered. He was unofficially banned from handling interrogations as the result of a group vote. The incident still isn't discussed to this day and is somehow still hidden from Mafioso.

Normally the last to show up for duty. This guy is an absolute night owl and stays up until the early hours of the morning. 

Magically, laundry duty always falls onto 3. Very cruel magic that has the other henchmen giggling and smiling like kids in a candy store. Laundry day rotations are basically nonexistent now.

FOUR (4)

Being the youngest of the group, 4 is a certified rookie. It gets him picked on sometimes, but it's all in good fun.

Surprisingly, he's only the second shortest of the group.

One of the most unconvincing gang members the world has ever seen. 4 is friendly to a fault, having gotten into multiple sticky situations in his naivety. His inexperience is sympathized with, but the boys are trying their hardest to toughen him up a bit.

No matter how many times the henchmen get asked about why they joined the mafia, 4 is the only one who never gives an answer.

Around you, the boys would be total sweethearts! They have one rule: if the big boss is alright with you, it's a pass in their book, too. Whether they were ordered to or not, they'll insist on keeping a careful eye on you and ensuring you're safe and sound. Escorts and free lunch are your new normal.

It may be a bit overbearing at times, but their hearts are in the right places.

Just know it won't be them answering the call if you get hurt. At that point, they're only the messengers.

[kaivenom]

can you please write a shanks + beckman x reader? I just wanna know how they'll operate given that they're sharing one s/o. THANK YOU in advance if you do write this.

Dating Shanks and Beckman HCS

Warnings: polyamory and NSFW part separated.

Masterlist

Surprisingly for them is a normal thing, like an unspoken agreement.

Since he is the captain and he is the right hand it is natural to share everything, they are best friends.

They have shared woman before, but only in bed... so a real romantic relationship is a little more tricky for them.

Not because the can't cooperate but because neither of them is the usual romantic partner type.

One of them is always with you, especially on battle cause they can't handle the idea of you getting hurt while they aren't looking.

Shanks is the one who usually acompanies you to shopping clothes, he says he wants to give you the best feedback ever... and he is, like your biggest fan and the best critic, sitting outside the changing booths and giving you scores, notes and everything.

On the other hand Beckman acompanies you to chores and grocery shopping, he is the type of men than carries all the bags.

They both try to teach you how to use their type of weapon, even challenging each other on what you would be better at.

Sharing a bed is easier that you thought cause you use Beckman's chest as a pillow and Shanks cuddles you as the big spoon in some sort of tetris, a funcional one.

Everyone on the crew knows not to mess with you and everyone outside the crew takes little time to get it.

They too are not really jelaous of each other, maybe it happens when you are spending much time with the other or you are annoyed at one of them and use it to your advantage.

Shanks gets all grumpy and pouty, really obvious and noisy, everyone knows when he is jelaous cause he wants them to know.

Beckman gets silent and isolates himself from the two of you, he groans for response and is short of words, only an apology, talking or kisses gets him out of the mood.

Towards others, they aren't jelaous cause how could you trade them for anyone else? but they made clear who you are with: an arm around your shoulder, dominant kisses, hickies on your neck, intimitading looks, etc.

But they still argue at some points cause they are two different type of people and they don't always argue with the other.

Before you entered the crew, the other members tried manipulating them so one of them says sorry first and they can talk, now you are here, that responsability is yours.

You are the one who makes them sit down and talk, or delivers messages, sometimes you even have to slap them on the nape as a reprimend.

Both of their PDAs are more reserved to the bedroom, even though that Shanks tends to kiss you a little more outside of the quarters.

Since the height difference is high, Beckman loves to kiss you on the forehead, and Shanks on the cheek.

Hugs don't ussually happen but when they do, you feel like the cheese of a sandwich being pressed between two big slices of bread.

NSFW

Like I said, they have experience sharing woman, so no problem from there.

The problem was making it romantic and not just erotic.

They wanted you to feel like their partner and not a one night stand, cause they know you know about their reputation.

Before having sex for the first time, they spent about a week arguing the best ways and positions to make you feel good and loved.

They even (somehow) made paper, scissors, rock to decide who would eat you out first.

When it happened, you were a little nervous but they took it so serious that soon enough you felt really relaxed and safe.

From that moment, they always try to be romantic while also savage to you.

And when you told them that they can be rough with you and after that compensate you with aftercare, they became beasts (in a good way).

Sometimes you can't walk after being with both of them, but you don't care, thats what you asked for, right?

You three konw that you can't be always together to have sex so you set a rule: if you want to have sex just two it's fine, but then you should say it to the third one.

Which often leds to a sesion of dirty talking, a little of vouyerism and another round of sex.

Shanks mouth is voracious while Beckman loves using his fingers on your clit.

They both love being sucked and jerked off, but they acknowledge your desires and retribute you right.

Their fantasy is for you to take them at the same time, and they are secretly training you for that, mostly using small toys on you while you have already one of them inside.

They aren't opposed to some kind of homoerotic tension while having sex, but probably will never do gay intercourse... but once you convinced them to make out.

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

James, Kitae and Jaegyeon x short reader (160-165 cm)

JAMES LEE

He doesn’t care much about the height difference. But will often kiss your forehead or nose it's adorable.

But he loves to manhandle you, not in a sexual way, just in the “tease you and carry you around like it’s nothing” kind of way.

He’ll silently hand you things that are out of your reach, like it's second nature.

He’ll crane his neck to listen when you speak and slow his pace to match yours. He’ll never make you feel out of place. Ever.

KITAE KIM

Another one who loves to manhandle you 💀

He’ll definitely make fun of your height, but as long as you’re efficient at work, he doesn’t mind. Still, you’re such a shawty.

Honestly, people might wonder how someone your size is with such a giant man, "Are you even safe?" they’ll ask. But one glare from him is enough to shut them up.

He’s not the cuddly type, but if you initiate it, he secretly loves how well you fit in his arms, and might just crush you (affectionately, of course🙂)

JAEGYEON NA

He’s exactly like that meme where the man loses his wife, finds her again, and lifts her in the air yelling, “I found my wife!”

He’ll call you “munchkin,” “shawty,” and all kinds of names, then squeeze you in big, warm hugs.

He genuinely finds you adorable, and sometimes just to tease you, he’ll take exaggeratedly long steps while walking.

Even when you're angry and arguing, he won’t take you seriously 😭 Instead, he’ll kiss you mid rant. You’ll try standing on the bed to appear taller, but that just makes him laugh harder.

JAKE KIM

A giant, but the gentlest one. He coos at you like you’re a child, only to pepper your face with kisses right after.

One time he challenged you to a sparring match and you went straight for the junk. Yeah… Jake kind of deserved that.

He loves hugging you from behind, resting his chin on your head, then starting a tickle war.

He’s big on forehead kisses, and he's another one who slows down to match your pace. He absolutely melts when you tug him down so you can talk eye to eye.

SAMUEL SEO

He’ll scoff and ask himself how he ended up with someone like you, but admits you’re not a pest, so he can tolerate it.

Height isn’t an issue for him. He doesn’t care what people say when you two go out... except he does care about appearances, so he’ll insist you wear heels often.

But later, reluctantly and only in private, he’ll give you a foot massage while muttering something under his breath.

He’ll taunt you when you can’t reach something, but still pass it to you eventually. If you try to act all mushy about it, he’ll just pat your head. (A lot of head pats, though. Way more than he’ll admit)

[lunarnightt]

Not a spring chicken :: Hayden Christensen x Fem! reader

Summery :: Hayden, your much older boyfriend, feels like he fails you when he doesn't get you to come during sex and your playful teasing doesn't make it any better so no Hayden has to prove he's still a spring chicken.

CW :: Smut! Minors dni! multiple orgasms, age gap relationship, mentions of self-pleasure, oral(fem! receiving), PinV, unprotected sex, soft dom! Hayden, slight porn with a plot, Hayden being the best boyfriend ever ofc.

Authors note :: If you're reading this, then that means this has left my drafts. I hope you all enjoy. Also, since this one is actually leaving my drafts, consider this my first smut ever to be posted here!

Word Count :: 5,003

Hayden had been quiet all day.

Not cold. Not distant. Just… quieter than usual, that introspective kind of quiet that came when he was in his head too much, and not enough in the moment. You knew why. You’d been teasing him for days now, playful jabs about that one time he came too soon, didn’t finish you off, and hadn’t stopped apologizing since.

You hadn’t meant to get under his skin. Well… okay, maybe just a little.

It was the height of summer, air thick, heavy, clinging. You were curled up on the couch in too, small shorts and an oversized tee, legs stretched out near the fan. Hayden sat beside you, shirt clinging to his sweat-damp chest, mindlessly scrolling on his phone, though the tension in his jaw said his mind was anywhere but relaxed.

He hated feeling like he’d disappointed you. Hated it more than he let on. Hayden had always been the type to put your pleasure first, always careful, always slow and intentional, always watching you with those stormy eyes, making sure he read every breath, every sound, every shift in your body.

And that one time? It stuck with him more than it did you. You joked, sure, but he carried it like it meant something bigger.

“Such a shame,” you murmured, smirking without turning your head. “Still haven’t proven me wrong.”

You felt his gaze before you saw it. That slow, heavy kind of look— the kind that made your skin heat more than the sun ever could.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just let the silence stretch for a beat too long before finally speaking, voice low, husky, and a little frayed at the edges. “…Are you trying to challenge me?”

You turned, kneeling on the couch beside him, a playful grin tugging at your lips as you leaned closer. “Maybe. What’s the matter? Scared you’re not a spring chicken anymore?”

That was it.

His hand came up to your chin— not rough, but firm, deliberate and pulled you into a kiss that knocked the air out of your lungs. It was messy, deep, and so full of quiet desperation it made your whole body ache. A sound slipped from his throat, low and raw, and you swore you felt it everywhere.

He wasn’t holding back this time.

His hand found yours, guiding it between his legs, letting you feel exactly what you did to him, how wrong your teasing was, how much you still had a hold on him.

“Feel that?” he murmured against your throat, lips brushing soft skin as he kissed his way down. “This is what you do to me.”

Another kiss. A soft bite to your delicate skin that had you squeezing your legs together.

“You think I don’t want you all the damn time?” he breathed, his voice rasping low like he hated admitting it out loud, like it made him vulnerable somehow. “You drive me crazy, sweetheart.”

And you did. You were the most beautiful thing to him and your body just drove him even more crazy plus with your bratty attitude thrown on top of it.

You moaned softly and cupped your hand around his bulge, softly rubbing it which made him whimper.

And you did.

You drove him insane, always had. But it wasn’t just the curve of your body, the way your skin felt under his fingertips, or the softness of your mouth against his. It was the attitude. That fire. The way you looked at him like you knew exactly what kind of effect you had on him… and still pushed every button you could find.

Hayden’s breath hitched as your hand moved slowly over him, cupping him through the fabric of his jeans with a soft, deliberate touch that sent a full-body shiver down his spine.

A low whimper escaped him, quiet, desperate, and completely unguarded.

His eyes fluttered shut for a second, and when they opened again, there was something different in them, a softness, but darker around the edges. Desire layered beneath admiration, and something else too… something like need.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, his voice nearly broken from how much he felt it, “what you do to me.”

You smiled, slow and wicked, but he leaned in before you could answer, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek like he needed to memorize the way you felt. “And you know it. You know exactly how to ruin me, don’t you?”

You didn’t deny it. Not when his voice shook like that. Not when your teasing had gotten him so far gone he looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship you or completely fall apart in your hands.

His fingers slid under your shirt, slow and reverent, as if asking for permission he already had. He kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, but no less intense. It was a kiss that said I need you. I still want to prove myself. I still want you to feel everything.

And he would. Not just to prove a point but because nothing else mattered to him the way you did.

You gasped softly when your back hit the cushions, your body already tingling with the heat of his mouth against your skin.

Hayden pulled your shirt over your head with an almost impatient gentleness, tossing it aside without ever taking his eyes off you. And then he was on you, kissing down your neck, tracing the hollow of your collarbone with his tongue, leaving slow, aching heat in his wake.

By the time he reached your chest, you were already arching toward him, needing more but he stayed steady, deliberate, lips soft against the curve of your breast before wrapping around your nipple.

A soft cry slipped from you.

God, he was so focused. Like you were the only thing in the world that existed in that moment. No distractions. No hesitations. Just Hayden, completely wrapped up in the way your breath caught and the way your hips shifted under him.

When he finally pulled away, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, your hands twitched at your sides, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer, something.

But he was taking his time.

Teasing you.

Punishing you, sweetly, slowly, for the days of merciless teasing you’d given him.

"Hayden..." you whined, voice trembling as he paused at the waistband of your shorts, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin just above your hips. "Please don't tease me..."

And he laughed, not mean, not mocking but low and breathy, like the sound vibrated right from his chest.

"But you've been teasing me for the past four days, sweetheart," he said, gaze lifting to meet yours. His voice was deep, rough at the edges, but his eyes… they were soft. So full of want it made your stomach flutter.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaned in again, brushing his lips along the inside of your thigh, making your breath stutter.

“I think you can wait a little longer, mhm?”

God, that smug softness in his tone was torture.

The kind of tone that said he wasn’t just going to make you pay, he was going to make you feel every second of it. And when he finally slid your shorts down, it was slow. Intimate. Like unwrapping something sacred.

Because that’s how he saw you. Sacred. Always had

Hayden’s lips trailed higher, slow and deliberate, his breath ghosting over your inner thigh as he let your leg fall naturally over his shoulder. His stubble grazed against your skin, and the sensation made you shiver, anticipation buzzing low in your stomach.

He kissed the sensitive spot just beside where you needed him most, tongue flicking out to taste your skin, and you couldn’t help the way your back arched, hips shifting restlessly beneath him.

You heard him chuckle quiet, low, and maddeningly soft.

“I haven’t even barely touched you,” he murmured, voice rough and dripping with heat, “and you’re already soaking wet.”

Your face flushed, breath catching in your throat as his fingers brushed the edge of your panties. His eyes never left your face, not for a second, as he slid the thin fabric to the side and leaned in.

Then finally, finally, his tongue dragged a slow, teasing stripe up your core, and it felt like your whole body lit up.

A moan slipped past your lips, involuntary, and he smiled against you.

But it wasn’t cocky. It was reverent. Like he was proud of what he could do to you, proud that you trusted him with this, with all of you.

He didn’t rush.

Every kiss, every flick of his tongue, was patient and deliberate like he wanted to savor you, make up for every second you’d teased him, and then some. His hands held your hips steady, fingers digging in just enough to ground you as he worked you open, slow and focused, like worship.

Like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

When Hayden ate you out, it was like you were seeing god. every single time your eyes would roll to the back of your head, legs would be shaking so violently before finally you reached that peak. then he would keep going, making you beg for him to stop but also for him not to.

Hayden swore when he was younger, he didn't care about that sort of stuff and never took the time to actually focus on it but now that he's older, god he became amazingly well at it which made you believe he was lying.

You were a moaning mess, your hands fisting the couch cushions underneath you as he went from soft licks and then to fucking you with his tongue. You whimpered, your head falling back before you felt him press a finger inside you.

If you weren't already moaning loud before then you were sure you were now because not only was he fingering you but he was licking and sucking on your clit.

When Hayden ate you out, it was like you were seeing god, every single time.

Your eyes would roll back, your thighs trembling uncontrollably around his head, and your voice would break into desperate moans that filled the room. He always watched you through it all, his dark eyes locked on your face like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And when you finally hit that high, shaking and breathless, begging him through gasped pleas and twitching hips, he didn’t stop.

That was the part that broke you.

He’d keep going, tongue relentless, lips dragging over your swollen clit as if he hadn’t just pulled the soul from your body. You’d cry out, beg him to stop, beg him not to and he’d laugh softly against you, low and wrecked, like he lived for the contradiction in your voice.

When Hayden was younger, he never paid much attention to this. Sex had been simpler, less about the details, more about release. But now?

Now, he was older. And with age came patience. Intent.

Now, he needed to see you like this, undone and shaking because of him. He swore he wasn’t this good before, but the way you clutched the couch cushions, the way your body writhed beneath him, had you thinking he was lying.

Because god, he was good.

Your whimpers spilled out uncontrollably as he flicked his tongue from slow, reverent licks to deep, focused thrusts, fucking you with his mouth like he had something to prove. And maybe he did.

Your head fell back, lips parted in a broken moan and then you felt him press a finger into you. Smooth. Precise. Curling just right.

And if you thought you were loud before...

Now, you were screaming for him.

Because not only was he fingering you, steady, deep, just enough stretch to make your toes curl but his mouth was back on your clit, sucking gently, tongue teasing as if he wanted to drive you straight into insanity.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he murmured between licks, voice dark and reverent, his breath hot against you. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

That’s what did it.

That final flick of his tongue, the way his fingers curled just right, the sound of his voice telling you he had you and it all snapped together in your chest and then crashed down in a tidal wave of pleasure.

You moaned his name, loud and desperate, as the orgasm tore through you, your back arching, legs shaking uncontrollably around his shoulders while he didn’t stop.

He held you there. Rode it out with you. Pushed you through every aftershock until your body finally gave out, collapsing into the cushions with a gasp.

Sweat clung to your skin, your thighs twitching from the overstimulation, and your chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. You were limp, dazed, totally at his mercy and he knew it.

Hayden hovered over you, his eyes dark and full of something wild, something hungry but still, his touch was soft.

When he reached for your panties, your hips barely lifted.

So he didn’t ask again.

Instead, he hooked his fingers into the thin fabric and with one firm tug, ripped them in half, tossing the ruined lace to the floor like it didn’t matter at all.

Because right now? All he cared about was you.

Hayden stripped quickly, breath uneven as he pulled off his shirt and boxers until he was fully bare above you. His cock sprang free, flushed deep red at the tip and already leaking, hard as stone and throbbing with need.

But it was the sight of you, flushed, panting, still glowing from your release that made him groan low in his throat.

“God, sweetheart…” he whispered, his voice thick, almost hoarse, as he reached out and cradled your cheek. His thumb stroked your skin with the same tenderness he always held for you, even when his body was practically vibrating with need.

He leaned in and kissed you, quick, but full of heat before pulling back just enough to breathe, “You’re so beautiful like this…" His eyes flicked down your body, drinking you in. Every inch. Every tremble. Every soft, open breath.

“All tuckered out,” he murmured, “but I really wanna show you how much of a spring chicken I still am.”

Then he smiled, that rare, sly smile that only came out when he was about to completely ruin you.

“Spread your legs for me, baby.” His voice dropped an octave and it wasn’t a request.

You slowly parted your legs for him, your body still trembling, your breath shallow but the way he looked at you, like you were the most delicate, beautiful thing he’d ever seen, made you feel safe.

Hayden moved over you, gently guiding one of your legs up and hooking it over his hip. His hands were big and warm as they steadied your thigh, grounding you. Then he dipped down, brushing his lips against your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, soft, reverent kisses meant to calm, to remind you he was here with you.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, but laced with care.

You nodded, breath catching in your throat.

Because Hayden wasn’t just big, he was the biggest you’d ever had. Thick, long, with that perfect curve that always stole your breath before it gave it back in moans. The stretch was something you never fully got used to that sweet sting that came with every time he pushed inside you, slow and deep, made you feel split open in the best way.

He lined himself up at your entrance, eyes flicking to yours one last time as if asking silently, you sure?

And then, slowly and carefully, he pressed forward.

You gasped, your mouth parting as inch by inch, he pushed into your tight heat, his cock stretching you open with an ache that made your toes curl. He was being so gentle, his hand gripping your thigh as he whispered soft things under his breath, things you couldn’t even catch through the haze, but you felt them in the way he kissed your shoulder, your neck, your lips again.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he sank deeper. “Fuck… you feel so good. So damn tight.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his back as he bottomed out, the tip of his cock pressing deep, perfectly, before he stilled, letting you adjust, just like he always did.

He remembered the first time. How your eyes had welled with tears, how he thought he hurt you. But you’d clung to him, told him to keep going, and the second he did…

You were wrecked for him.

Just like now.

Your walls squeezed him like a vice, so wet, so warm it made his head spin. He buried his face in your neck, groaning low as he finally settled fully inside you, his hips flush against yours.

“God, baby…” he murmured, his voice barely a breath. “You take me so good. Always do.”

And even though your body was still buzzing from before, you could already feel the build starting again.

Hayden started to move slow at first, pulling out just enough to feel the drag, then pushing back in with that same deep pressure that made your breath catch in your throat.

You moaned softly, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, nails raking up his back in long, deliberate strokes. The tension in his muscles twitched under your touch, and when your nails dug in just a little deeper.

He hissed.

Not in pain. In pleasure.

He loved when you left marks. Loved when your body responded to him so instinctively, when you couldn't help but grab, scratch, hold on like your body was trying to claim his.

“Yeah… yes, baby,” he groaned, voice raspy as his pace began to build.

Each thrust was a little faster now, deeper, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the room along with your moans. Hayden shifted, one hand reaching back to grip the arm of the couch for leverage, his biceps flexing as he used it to drive into you harder , smoother.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he muttered, panting as he buried himself deep, again and again, his voice thick and strained with need.

Your name spilled from his lips like a prayer between low, broken moans.

He loved watching your face, the way your eyes fluttered shut, your lips parted, every breath you took syncing with the rhythm of his thrusts. Your body clung to him like it never wanted to let go, your heat pulsing around him every time he drove in.

“God, you feel unreal,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours as his rhythm faltered for just a second, overwhelmed by how tight, how perfect you were.

“Look at me, baby.” His voice was firm but soft, commanding but tender.

“Let me see those pretty eyes while I fuck you.”

You moaned loudly, his name tumbling from your lips like a mantra as he drove harder and faster, his movements becoming a blur of urgency and desire.

The couch creaked beneath you, shifting with the force of his thrusts. It felt like everything around you was moving, the room, the air, the very essence of the world outside faded into nothing. All that mattered was him and how deep he was burying himself inside you.

But even the thought of how much you’d hate cleaning this up later flickered out as quickly as it came. Because every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, and the way Hayden was using his body, guiding yours, was mesmerizing.

He pressed your leg further down against the couch, forcing you to spread open for him even more, every inch of you exposed and vulnerable. The sensation was electric, your skin tingling with every push and pull.

“Fuck—Hayden, please,” you whimpered, voice trembling and breathless. But you had no idea what you were begging for; all you knew was the fire he was igniting inside you, how good it felt, how desperately you craved more.

His name fell from your lips again, softer this time, a plea wrapped in a moan, and it sent a shiver down his spine. You could hear the way he was breathing harsh and uneven, like he was barely holding onto control as he thrusted deeper.

“Just like that, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and thick, pressing kisses against your ear and down your neck, whispering sweet nothings that made your heart race. “You’re doing so good for me. So fucking perfect.”

His words washed over you, and with each thrust, it felt like he was pouring his love into you, every inch, every movement, every whisper.

The pleasure coiled tightly in your core, building and building, pushing you toward the edge. You could feel the heat rising, the pressure mounting, as he lost himself in you, and you lost yourself in him.

“Don’t hold back,” he breathed against your skin, the warmth of his breath igniting the fire within you. “Let it go, baby. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze, filled with that beautiful mix of love and desire. He was everything you needed, and in that moment, you knew there was no one else you wanted.

You whimpered, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as you held on to him, feeling your legs shake beneath you. That familiar coil of pleasure built up deep inside, growing tighter and tighter, and you could feel it threatening to burst free.

“I’m close…” you managed to whisper, voice breathy and trembling, and the sound made him chuckle lowly, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he moaned, the rhythm of his thrusts deepening as he sought out that spongy spot inside you, the one he knew would push you over the edge. Each powerful thrust hit just right, making your whole body quiver in response.

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, his breath ragged, filled with a desperate kind of need that mirrored your own.

His words were the last spark you needed. The heat pooled in your core ignited, that familiar wave crashing over you as your body tightened around him, muscles clenching as you fell apart.

“Oh god, Hayden!” you cried out, the pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and all-consuming. You could feel every inch of him as he filled you, stretching you perfectly, and with every thrust, he sent you spiraling deeper into ecstasy.

Hayden groaned, the sound deep and primal as he felt you clench around him, the way your body responded to his movements. “That’s it, baby, just like that,” he encouraged, his own pleasure climbing as he lost himself in you, every thrust matched with the rhythm of your release.

You were a beautiful mess beneath him, eyes half-closed, face flushed, and he couldn’t look away. He watched you come undone, heart racing with a mix of love and lust that left him breathless.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, burying himself deeper as he rode out your orgasm, driving you both to that point of bliss you’d been longing for.

You felt him twitching inside you, the rhythm of his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic as he neared his own release. You could sense the tension radiating off him, the way his breath hitched against your neck, and you wrapped your arms tighter around him, grounding both of you in this beautiful moment.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair, stroking gently as his head buried deeper between your neck and shoulder, savoring every second.

“Please… please come in me,” you begged, and those words were like a switch flipping. They ignited something primal within him, something that made his eyes darken with lust and his body surge with urgency.

“God,” he groaned, and just like that, he picked up his thrusts, driving into you harder, deeper, fueled by the thought of filling you, of seeing you swollen with his child one day. The very idea sent a wave of heat through him, pushing him closer to the edge.

The connection between you two intensified as he pounded into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room, mixed with your moans and gasps. Every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, and you could feel the heat pooling in your core again, rising to meet his urgency.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he panted, his voice thick with desperation and need. “I’m right there… don’t stop, don’t hold back!”

And with every word, every thrust, the tension built higher and higher, spiraling out of control until you were both teetering on the brink.

“Come for me, Hayden,” you urged, your voice a breathy whisper as you locked your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “I want to feel you.”

That was all it took.

With a primal growl, he surged forward, his body shuddering as he finally let go. “Oh, fuck!” he cried out, thrusting hard as he filled you completely, warmth spreading through you as you both surrendered to that blissful peak together.

You felt it wash over you, a wave of pleasure that mixed with his, leaving you both breathless, wrapped in each other as the world faded away.

The two of you lay there on the couch for a few minutes, breathless, bodies tangled in each other’s warmth, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your hearts beating in sync, trying to catch their breath.

Hayden didn’t move right away, letting the silence settle between you both. His forehead rested gently against yours, and he could feel your chest rising and falling beneath him, every breath a reminder of how close you were, how completely you had connected.

Finally, he pulled his head away from your shoulder, his eyes searching yours for that fleeting moment of vulnerability. Then, as if drawn by some magnetic force, he captured your lips in a deep but gentle kiss, soft and full of love. His lips were tender against yours, tasting of the shared moments, the heat of the passion that had just taken place, but now it was all about the love between you.

Slowly, he pulled himself out of you, his hand still trailing over your sides as he did. It was slow, deliberate, like he didn’t want to let go of you just yet.

“I love you so much…” he whispered against your lips, his voice quiet and sincere, a perfect contrast to the intensity of earlier. His hands traced up and down your sides, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, as if reminding himself that you were right there with him.

You looked up at him, eyes meeting his with that same intense love, your heart pounding, your own feelings a mirror of his. Every word, every action between you two, spoke volumes about how much you truly meant to one another. It wasn’t just about the heat of the moment, it was about something deeper, something that connected you both in a way nothing else ever could.

“I love you too,” you replied softly, your voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

And in that moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s arms, letting the silence speak the words that neither of you needed to say.

After a few more minutes of lying together in comfortable silence, you heard Hayden start softly laughing, the sound light and carefree, which made you lift an eyebrow in confusion.

“What?” you asked softly, the smile on your lips unable to hide your curiosity.

Hayden pushed himself up, locking eyes with you, and cupped your cheeks in his large hands. He gazed at you with that familiar gentle smile, his expression warm and sincere. Then, without warning, he placed a soft kiss on your lips before pulling away just enough to speak.

“I’m not a spring chicken now, huh?” he asked with a teasing grin, his eyes sparkling as if he knew exactly how to push your buttons.

You rolled your eyes playfully, a smirk forming on your lips. “Screw you, asshole,” you shot back, and his grin only widened, making him shake his head in mock disbelief.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Hayden chuckled, his voice thick with affection. But before you could retort, he suddenly scooped you up in his arms with surprising strength, causing you to squeal loudly in surprise.

“Hayden!” you laughed, your hands instinctively clutching him as he began walking through the house, your body still a little wobbly from earlier.

He smirked, his pace slow and confident. “I think one more round will do the trick, what do you say?” His tone was playful but with a certain promise, making your heart race in anticipation.

Before you could respond, Hayden effortlessly tossed you onto the bed with a gentle yet deliberate motion, causing you to land with a soft bounce. You blinked up at him, a mixture of surprise and amusement written across your face as you tried to catch your breath.

Let’s just say, Hayden definitely proved he was still a spring chicken.

Author's note :: I know I already did one of these but I am seriously proud of my work on this one! I hope you guys liked it and sorry if it's bad!