#not sure if that’s need but just in case

[pellucid-constellations]

Look After You (1)

Pairing: Bucky x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes has been in the business of protecting people since his pardon. You have been in the business of doing whatever the hell you want since birth, according to Bucky’s observations. But he’ll look after you—protect you with all he has. Because it’s his job. And maybe for other reasons.

Word count: 4.3k

Chapter warnings: Mentions of stalking and crime, annoyance to lovers, Bucky's POV

a/n: Ahhhh I can't believe I have a Bucky series going rn guys. This was so much fun and so seamless to write it really felt like 2021 again <3 I really hope you enjoy and I loveee reading comments and feedback 🥰

Series Masterlist ♡

Main Masterlist 🤍

~~

Following his pardon, Bucky Barnes devoted himself to protecting people; after years of doing the opposite, he figured it was the way to go. He’d tried therapy, government work, even took a few community college classes to explore the world of engineering—none of it stuck.  

It wasn’t that Bucky was incapable. Thanks to the serum and quite a few years of being alive, Bucky was actually very capable of very many things. But he never felt fulfilled. Something was always eating at him. Something that settled once he got into this line of work. 

He’d approached it through the government at first, acting as a sort of protective agent for high-ranking officials and their families. And that was fine, but it wasn’t. The people he protected weren’t in any real danger—nothing imminent. They were mostly 60-year-old men having affairs and glaring at Bucky every time he tagged along to the “secret dates.”

Bucky found that he did not feel fulfilled again after one year of that work, so, he pivoted. 

With his connections to the (former) Avengers, Bucky knew… people. And those people knew people who got themselves into trouble a lot. Foreign adversaries, high-profile stalking, witness protection; Bucky began to see it all, and it meant something this time. These people needed help, begged for it, and Bucky had the skills and means to protect them. 

Everything was mostly short-term, and he wasn’t allowed to kill anyone… technically. It may seem easier to simply take out the cause of his clients’ woes, but that wasn’t what he did anymore. That, and doing so would put his pardon into jeopardy. So, Bucky protected them for the finite amount of time it took for the adversary to be neutralized by law enforcement, or for the amount of time it took for witness protection to finalize their case. 

He did not become attached or invested in his clients for this reason. If he got invested, things got messy. Bucky needed to have a clear head to analyze situations and be a third party to the danger he was dealing with. Bucky didn’t have time to be worried or scared or even be angry at the situations his clients were in. 

He was good at his job—seasoned, even. 

And then he met you. 

Bucky got the call on a Tuesday. Your file entered his classified email inbox shortly after he’d agreed to the case. He'd taken similar cases before—a celebrity with a crazed fan who wouldn’t leave her alone, an address leak, and a home invasion. It was all textbook stalking that Bucky could surely handle.

Your team had tried general security, but the home invasion had occurred under their watch, and they weren’t taking shortcuts anymore. Your safety was a top priority, according to the 500-word email drying out his eyes, and they would pay any amount to ensure it. There was also a charity gala coming up that you needed to attend and you just got the part in a new movie and blah blah blah. 

Bucky didn’t need all the details. 

With his gun and several other weapons lining his body, Bucky tucked the hem of his jeans into his boots and walked out of his Brooklyn apartment. You living in New York was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he knew the area and didn’t need to hop on a plane and rent a car to get to you, but a curse because New York was huge, and it could make keeping an eye on you difficult. He was experienced and knew how to track, but if you slipped from his gaze, it would only take a second for you to be taken. 

Bucky brushed away the thought as he mounted his bike. If you listened, which all his clients did, everything would be fine. The next few weeks would be a pain in the ass, sure, but you would end up alive, and whatever freak was sending you drawings and breaking into your house would end up in jail. 

The bike roared to life and peeled off from the curb. You were staying at a decoy apartment in Queens, a far cry from your Upper East Side penthouse, which he was sure you loved. He had researched you in depth when he got the assignment, and in that short time, he learned that you enjoyed the finer things in life—dinner parties with your friends, expensive coffees, shopping trips followed by lying on the beach. 

This entire ordeal was probably so harrowing for you. 

Bucky looked within himself to find the morsel of pity, but then found it. Because although you were rich and loved by the masses, there was also a creep breaking into your house and possibly threatening your life. 

It wasn’t his job to judge his clients; it was his job to protect them. 

He parked his bike three blocks away from your apartment, going down a few wrong roads, before backtracking and making his way to the correct building. He hadn’t spotted anyone tailing him. Yet. 

The apartment he had set you up with was modest and certainly not the worst Queens had to offer. It had the cliche exposed brick lined with fire escapes and paint-chipped signs advertising companies that no longer existed, but the inside had been remodeled recently, and you technically had the penthouse suite. Not that that meant much in a building like this, but he really had tried to make sure you were comfortable. 

His efforts obviously meant very little. Bucky knocked on the front door in the pattern he had emailed you, informing you to never open it unless you heard that exact rhythm, but he didn’t get to finish. The door was ripped from its hinges on the third knock. 

And there you were. Dressed head to toe in expensive athleisure, hair still freshly done from whatever treatment you’d gotten recently, you smiled at him while also looking thoroughly unimpressed. The opposite expressions still looked kind somehow, and Bucky was aware of the copious amounts of media training you’d probably undergone. 

“Bucky?” you asked, greeting him like he was late for a housewarming party and not walking into an apartment with a Stark-level security system. “I was wondering what time you were coming! Talia mentioned we would be meeting today, but I thought it would be much later.” 

Bucky looked over your shoulder to assess the space for a brief moment before clearing his throat and furrowing his brow. “I was told your other security team ended their service last night, so I would be starting as soon as they left.” 

You blew out a light-hearted breath and swatted the air, “You could have started a little later. You already moved me all the way to Queens in this… very cozy apartment. I would have been okay for a few more hours.” 

“I would have come earlier, actually, but your manager told me you requested that I not.” 

“Earlier? Bucky, it’s 7 am. How much earlier can you get?” 

Bucky raised his brows expectantly, and you gave a slight giggle that echoed discomfort, shifting to the side to let him in. He nodded to you and then counted each camera placed in the space. He looked for the locks on the windows next, and then felt the floorboards under his boot for the one that gave an inch. Good—everything was in place, and he knew where the closest weapon was if he were disarmed. 

Bucky looked out the window next, eyeing the apartment across the street to see in. He knew they couldn’t see him as he had the windows blacked out, but—

“Um, could you take your shoes off?” Bucky paused his inspection when your melodic voice hit his ears. “I just like to keep outside germs… outside, you know? And if I’m going to be here a while, I think having house rules might help. You’re going to be here a lot, right?” 

Bucky turned slowly, the window now at his back. You were still by the door, your hands intertwined by your waist, your host-like smile still wide on your pretty face. Bucky looked down at his boots that had too many things lining the ankles. He rubbed the scruff on his jaw and fought off the sigh building in his throat. 

“Let’s sit down,” he instructed, jutting his jaw toward the couch in the middle of the living room. 

You blinked, looking off to the side before sitting beside him. Too close. Bucky adjusted the legs of his jeans and scooted back a few inches, but you didn’t seem to notice the change. You only looked at him expectantly, your smile dimmed somewhat, but not enough to impede how bright and beautiful you looked despite the circumstances. 

Okay. Odd thought. 

He must not have his head on straight; your bubbly nature was confusing him. 

His clients were usually distraught and panicky by the time they reached him. Like you, most had already exhausted lesser security details and had dealt with weeks or months of danger. Hell, it was only two weeks ago that you had woken up to a shattered window and pictures of you strung up in your kitchen. 

But as he looked at you now… nothing. 

No fear. No panic. In fact, you looked pretty happy, not counting the subtle sidelong glances you made towards the interior of the older apartment. 

Bucky needed to remember that you were a movie star, born with an innate charm that you had honed since you joined the limelight at 16. Of course he was going to be taken by you. He was sure everyone was. 

Bucky flexed the muscle in his jaw and set his hands on his thighs. “I do have rules we need to discuss. None of them are house rules, but they are all rules that need to be followed for your safety, alright?” 

You nodded in what looked like jest. “Okay, yes. I’m being very serious now.” 

He eyed you for a moment, and then continued. “First, you didn’t follow my directions at the door. You don’t open that door unless I’m the one opening it or if you hear the knock we’ve discussed. I’ll change it every week, and from now on, we’ll do it in person so it won’t be in writing. I shouldn’t be knocking, though. I’ll have a key.” 

“A key to here?” you interjected, looking equal parts confused and disbelieving. 

“Yes to here. I’ll be living next door for the time being, so I’ll be close while you’re sleeping. As soon as you’re awake, I’ll be over. So, to answer your previous question, I will be here a lot.” 

“Isn’t that a bit much? My last team only escorted me—” 

“Your last team didn’t have a super soldier whose only job was to protect you. They were also the ones employed when your stalker broke in. Things are different now because they need to be different. Do you know my past? The things I can do?” 

Some of the humor melted from your face. “Yes.” 

“Good. Saves time. I’ll be here every morning at 7 am. You’ll give me your itinerary for the day the night before so I can plan for it. Once I get here, we’ll have a check-in. Anything new, any changes, you report to me then. I drive you where you want to go, and I vet each person you see. I have a list of your close friends and family that I’ve already cleared, but anyone else needs a two-day notice. When we’re out, I need eyes on you at all times. You have to go to the bathroom, you tell me. You want to go home, you tell me. A stranger on the street asks for directions, and I need to know about it.” 

“Bucky, I don’t really think—” 

“Not done,” Bucky shook his head. “I’m giving you my phone number. You use it if you hear anything at night when I’m next door, and you use it when you can’t see me in public. You don’t use it for anything else, got it?”

“Yes, but—” 

“The police and my guys are looking for whoever this creep is. They have a few leads, and I’m honestly more confident that we will find him before the cops, but it’s going to take a while. That means you’re gonna have to be comfortable with all of this for at least a few weeks.” 

A pause. 

“Done now?” you asked. 

Bucky could feel his reproach building as he slowly nodded. You took a deep breath in and shrugged your shoulders up towards your ears. 

“Okay, well, I don’t know who you’ve worked with in the past, but people in public are going to be asking me for a lot more than directions. If I leave the house most days, I get stopped by at least a dozen people asking for pictures or just saying hello. Do you want me to get their contact info one by one, or should I just ask for a pic of their social security card to speed up the process?” 

Bucky jutted his jaw to the side in place of a response. You took that as an invitation to continue. “I also don’t love that I have to have my entire day planned out the night before. I like to be spontaneous sometimes, you know? I’m also on the waitlist for my workout classes often, and I can’t know if I’ll get off of it that far in advance. Wait, are you going to be like, in my classes with me?” 

You kept going after that, complaining next that 7 am was too early, and then that he needed two entire days to vet your friends before you could see them, and then that you had to tell him when you were going to the bathroom because that was embarrassing and not right. Bucky listened to each word with his hands limp between his legs, his ass sinking deeper into the couch. 

This was going to be a lot harder than he had anticipated, and not even because you were a celebrity. Because he had accounted for the fans and paparazzi, but he had not accounted for you being so nonchalant about a crazy person coming after you.

“Okay, okay, listen to me,” Bucky grunted, interrupting your spiel on good restaurants and why none of them would be in Queens. “I get it, okay? You’ve had to uproot your life, and it’s not fun. I know it’s not fun. But your life is the thing at stake here. Your. Life. The guy knew where you lived, knew how to get in—I saw the things he left. I don’t work paparazzi security details. I turn down dozens of cases a week because they don’t fit the level of safety that I work for. I took yours minutes after getting it. Does that tell you anything?” 

You huffed and gave a poorly concealed eyeroll, but Bucky’s trained eyes caught the fists you were making against the couch cushion. He saw how your shoulders slumped an inch and how something deflated in your posture. Still, you didn’t relent. 

“Alright, I get it, oh great and scary super soldier,” you laughed off, grabbing your phone from the coffee table. “Put your number in then. I’ll follow your rules.” 

Bucky kept you in his gaze as he grabbed it from you and then handed it back. “Add me to the face recognition.”

“What? No way. Why on earth would you need that?” 

“Can’t have secrets. And if there’s an emergency, I need to know that nothing will hold us up. Even if that’s just having a phone I can access.” 

“You’re insane. I’m not giving you free rein of my phone.” You held the device close to your chest in horror, clutching it as if it would protect you from Bucky’s words. 

He only sighed from a place deep within his chest. “Relax. I’m not interested in your texts or whatever else you have going on in there. In fact, I’m not really interested in anything that has to do with you other than your safety. So stop worrying about pilates and your brunches, okay?” 

You scoffed, and then you scoffed again. Tapping the screen a few times, you held then held it out to Bucky, unlocked and ready for his invasion. “You sure are charming, aren’t you?” you gritted out. 

He allowed a slight upturn of his mouth. “Enough to get the job done.”

~~

On the third day of your protection detail, Bucky began questioning his sanity. 

Y/N: Boooring right? I hate table reads when I only have like two lines

Bucky pursed his lips and glanced down at your text. 

Bucky: I told you to only use this number for emergencies. 

Y/N: A period??? What have I done to earn such anger from you :(

Bucky: What the hell are you talking about?

Someone from across the room called your name, pulling your attention from the pointless conversation with Bucky, and he almost sighed in relief. 

As it turned out, you did not listen to his rules. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair to say. You listened to some of his rules. Sometimes. You gave him an itinerary each night, but would you actually stick to it the next day? That was a question Bucky quickly realized he needed to ask. And sure, you stayed in his line of sight, but being a super soldier meant he could see very far away, and you sure did love to take advantage of that. 

God and the texting. Bucky was pretty sure you did it to annoy him. He got good morning texts, goodnight texts, texts about the people in the room he was in, and if you liked the meal you were eating; each time you picked up your phone, it was as if you were programmed to send him a meaningless message. 

The first morning, it had scared the shit out of him. You were the only person who had the number, so when he heard the notification ding on his nightstand, he jumped from bed and was halfway dressed in the hall before he read it. All you had said was ‘good morning’ with a winky face that personally offended him. 

You thought it was hilarious when he came in a few minutes later—fully dressed—with a stern expression and a mean talk. Of course, that had done nothing to abate the constant text messages, and he was sure you would start calling him if he wasn’t constantly with you. 

“Y/n, do you have a moment? I want to run you by the hair and makeup team we just hired.” 

Bucky perked up from his storm of annoyed thoughts in the corner of the room. He kicked off the wall and hovered a few feet away as you nodded with a smile and made a joke he didn’t have context for. 

Right, you leaving the room without checking in with him. Perfect. 

Navigating through a sea of trailers on a lot with the sun beating down on him was almost nauseating. He caught the producer eyeing him a few times, with fear or concern, he couldn’t tell, and Bucky slid his sunglasses on to hide the fact that he was eyeing her as well. 

And you, but that was for business purposes. 

You looked more casual today, with a large college sweater pulled over fleece pants and shoes that Bucky knew you couldn’t run in if he needed you to. 

“If those damn slippers fly off, I’m dragging your ass around New York like a sack of potatoes.” 

“They’re comfy, Bucky. I’m not wearing running shoes to a table read.”

Bucky was learning—rather reluctantly—that no amount of fear or harsh talk was going to make you take things seriously. So, he was just going to have to be extra serious for both of you, even when you made it hard with your stupid emojis and the shimmery sunscreen you wouldn’t stop talking about that caught the sun just right. 

God, you pissed him off. 

You met the hair and makeup team, whom he hadn’t been able to research beforehand, and then introduced him to the hair and makeup team, the hand on his back entirely inappropriate and burning a hole through his shirt. 

“Oh, wow, y/n, you have an Avenger as a bodyguard? How marvelous,” the hairstylist, Barbara, cooed. 

Bucky offered her a smile that looked like he had eaten a lemon, and the middle-aged woman quickly turned back to you, gushing over your complexion and how it was going to work perfectly with the products she had. 

Bucky didn’t have the mind to correct Barbara, and he also didn’t have the clearance to explain the real reason he was here. People didn’t know what you were going through, and they wouldn’t until the bastard was caught. It was safer that way. 

Bucky didn’t miss the way you slunk behind him slightly when the conversation went to your past security detail and how handsome he was. She had seen pictures on Twitter, Barbara explained, and she couldn’t get over how tall and good-looking he was. 

“Oh, not as handsome as you. Obviously, Mr. Barnes,” Barbara called, her hand landing on vibranium as she laughed and missed the fact that you had started picking at your fingers. 

Bucky did not miss it. He did not miss anything. 

“Thank you. We have to get going, though. Your appointment?” Bucky directed the question toward you, watching your expression shift back to effortless ease that made you look pretty in a way that was good for movies. 

“Right, yeah. It was great to meet you, Barbara. I’ll see you when filming starts!” 

The car ride back home was relatively silent, which was strange and almost alarming for Bucky. Granted, he’d only been in vehicles with you for a grand total of three days, but you always talked for the entire ride in his limited experience, and right now, nothing. 

He surprised himself by breaking what he thought was welcome silence. “Those slippers hold up then?” 

With your gaze down toward your fingers, you allowed a small smile to creep up. “They are not slippers, Bucky. They’re very fashionable right now. I’m going to get you a pair.” 

“I’ll toss ‘em.”

“You won’t. I've been watching you eye them. You’d kill for the comfort, I just know it.” 

“You know nothing. I hate those things. Can’t get anywhere with them.” 

“I got around just fine.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and looked through each mirror in the car once, and then twice. He looked to you next, admiring—or observing, rather—the ease that didn’t look as fake anymore. You tapped your index finger on your thigh and then moved it to the car door. 

“Hey,” you called out. He felt your gaze on the side of his face.

“Yes?” 

“I know this isn’t part of the itinerary, but can we stop somewhere?” 

Bucky found himself inside an entirely too-hot ice cream shop about ten minutes later. The older woman behind the counter was sweet, but everyone was a suspect to him, so he watched her carefully as you bent over to look at the flavors. He shouldn’t have said yes, but you were talking again, and he gave in too easily. 

“You’re not going to look?” you asked, a sample spoon loose between your fingers. 

“I’ll get vanilla.” 

“Vanilla?” you exasperated, hand jutting to the tubs behind plexiglass. “But you haven’t even looked at the options. What if there’s something better?” 

Bucky looked to the exit and then to the door leading to the back of the shop. He accounted for the camera in the far corner and stepped a few inches closer to you. 

“Vanilla’s always good,” he simply offered. 

“Right. I’m sure you’ve been getting that same flavor since, what, the 1930s?” 

The older woman snickered and raised her brows, hoping for a reaction she wouldn’t get.

“Pick one, y/n. We’re behind schedule.” 

You scoffed, one of your favorite things to do, and muttered, “Behind schedule to go sit on my ass at home.” 

The reprieve from your sass apparently only lasted for the car ride, and Bucky did not ask what made you upset as he ordered his vanilla scoop and ignored your eye roll. He felt like he wanted to ask, maybe, but that was not his job. He didn’t get invested in his clients. That made things messy, unworkable. 

You were fine, anyways. You bounced back after only a few words from him and a container that held more toppings than actual ice cream, so you were fine. 

Bucky monitored the sidewalk as you stepped out from the shop and mindlessly meandered back to the car. He looked both ways, profiled two men who obviously recognized you, and then placed a hand on your lower back to usher you into the car. He held your ice cream with an unimpressed look as you buckled your seatbelt, and then watched your head as he closed the door. He locked it for the short jog over to the driver’s side, regretting his own ice cream as it slowed him down getting back in. 

All the while, you tapped at your phone and dug into the sweet concoction that made Bucky sick just looking at it, not a lick of concern on your face. 

“You could at least act a little cautious, you know,” Bucky deadpanned, pulling away from the curb after letting every car pass on the street. “Might do you some good.” 

You knocked your head back on the headrest. “You need to chill out a little. You’ve been with me for days and nothing’s happened. You’re scaring people. You freaked that little girl out yesterday when she asked for a picture. She cried.” 

“I was more worried about her dad,” Bucky grunted out. “And she didn’t cry. It was windy. Her eyes were watering.” 

“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that.” 

[astrobydalia]

Smoking Hot

|| Summer Astro Notes

work by astrobydalia

I've spoken about how 7th house synastry isn't always rainbows and butterflies bc it rules over open enemies too. But something undeniably good about this synastry is that it makes you able to perfectly coexist and work with the other person even in those cases where you don't like each other. With this synastry it is easier to detach and put your differences aside if you both have some common goal and/or need to resolve a conflict. 7th house synastry makes it easy to end up on good or polite terms with a person

Scorpio Moons don't handle conflict very well. They present themselves as being all tough and badass and like they are cool with entering conflict and drama but that's only if they feel they have power over other people in the situation. When they are the ones being exposed or emotionally vulnerable they chicken out and dissociate from intensity asap

Scorpio Moon in general is the most sensitive moon sign hands down but not in a good way, like the biggest whining behavior I've seen were form scorpio moons. Also their empathy tends to be pretty self-serving if I'm honest with you since fixed energy is more focused on the self and self-preservation, specially the taurus-scorpio axis

Virgo/Gemini ASC or Mercury in the 1st house people are know-it-alls. They come across as know-it-alls. Every time they open their mouth it's to either teach you, narrate you, inform you or lecture you about something. They're literally Jiminy Cricket

I've found that Taurus Moon men give off this vibe of being a secure provider but they're actually closeted mamas boys. They expect to be provided for by women both emotionally and financially.

Libra ASC men and chasing much younger women!!! Leo DiCaprio is the prime example but I've seen this so so so much with ppl I know irl too. This happens because they have Aries DSC and Aries is the first (aka, the youngest) sign of the zodiac, so Libra ASC tend to be attracted to people who have this fresh, new and inexperienced vibe to them

Air venus/moon natives will get the ick if they sense that you like them a lil too much💀​

Aries Venus loves to be adored and admired in a relatioship more than Leo Venus. I've noticed that's actually what makes them stay longer in a relatioship once the initial thrill is over: they wanna feel like they're able to charm and fascinate their partner as if they just met for the first time. Unlike Air Venus, they definately don't run away if they sense that you like them too much, for Aries Venus their partner being obsessed with them is a huge thing I've noticed

Pisces/Neptune influence on the ASC will either make you look devilishly glamorous and etherial or look homeless and disheveled there's no in between

Mars-Uranus natives completely transform in the bedroom. I've noticed that with Mars-Pluto or Mars-Neptune aspects their sexual energy is palpable and can be sensed and perceived in their overall vibe (in other words, it's easier to guess their kinks). With Mars-Uranus natives you will not see it coming and their kinky/sexual side will shock you

5th house synastry and fighting the urge to giggle like children around each other

Planets do not interact with each other the same way and that depends on the nature of the planets themselves (and the aspects, dignities, etc). For example, Jupiter doesn't always expand what it touches, it can also bring moderation through wisdom, that is the case with Mars for example. In Roman mythology it was said that the reason why Jupiter is right behind Mars in the solar system is because Jupiter wants to keep an eye on Mars to make sure the god of war doesn't bring too much chaos and bloodlust to Earth. In other words, Jupiter does not expand Mars per se because their natures crash (mars is hostile, Jupiter is giving) and social/generational planets always dominate over personal planets. Jupiter is more likely to expand a planet like Venus, Moon or even Sun. Real example: with Jupiter-Mars conjunction in synastry, Jupiter person will motivate Mars person but will also not hesitate to keep Mars person accountable for their actions and make sure they do not cross lines

virgo sun/asc 🤝 wearing glasses and rocking the hot nerd look 🤓

Scorpio is meant to purge and transform things into something better, it's meant to be constructive not merely destructive (all fixed signs are about building UP). That's why when scorpio placements focus on revenge, they just end up finding their own self-destruction

Scorpio Mars people are very influential I’ve noticed. People start changing or doing things differently in some way after meeting them

Scorpio Mars 🤝 their inability to communicate clearly. Out of all scorpio placements scorpio mars are the ones who wanna play the mind-reading guessing game the most. They will love keeping you on the edge wondering their next move, what they're thinking, etc

Another thing is that I've seen many scorpio placements who aren't necessarily all into spirituality or occult and stuff, many of them had an almost superficial interest in it (esp scorpio sun), but that's not the case with Scorpio Mars. Every single Scorpio Mars I've seen was NECK DEEP into spirituality, occult or even religious stuff in some some way even if it was just privately bts.

Sagittarius Venus natives are very experimental with their style and aesthetics, they are the most eccentric venus sign from what I've seen but in a really pretty way. They remind me of Harper from Wizards of Waverly Place

I've noticed Libra Mars/Mercury are very controlling but in a very subtle and undercover way. The type to present their demands as suggestions that could benefit you.

Libra Mercury specially will elegantly always lead (cardinal) the conversations and narratives to where they want to without much effort. They're like the orchestra director of conversations an narratives

Scorpio Suns are either so chill, calm and quiet people or really loud and chaotic people who can't go a day without drama

No one talks about how Gemini/3rd house placements are just as obsessed with their friends and friend groups as Aquarius. The difference is Aquarians are a lot more cult-y about it

To elaborate, Aquarius/11th house placements don't have friends, they have minions, I rest my case. This is literally them:

Something I've noticed with Virgo Mercury is that no matter how polite or light-hearted they try to be, what they say always has this bossy undertone to it kinda like "I am right and you have to listen to what I say" vibe lmao. They're very intense when expressing opinions or making decisions

People with Scorpio+Virgo combo in their chart have a reputation for being rough around the edges and rather unkind or unfriendly. Their energy is rather unwelcoming if you're not close with them and they tend to be very irritable and controlling

Fire risings just ooze this "idgaf" energy, they always look joyful and like they're down for some fun. I noticed all of them enjoy getting recognition, not just Leo. They don't hold back and never wanna miss a chance to express themselves

Earth risings' demeanor give off NPC vibes🧍‍♀️​🗿. They often come across as rather inexpressive or very collected and controlled behavior

Water risings appear to be approachable, vulnerable and open but they aren't.​ If you try to get a lil too close to them like an air sign they will literally glare at you. They remind me of the Grinch a little? 😭 No one gatekeeps their personal space more than them which is ironic bc their aura makes a lot of ppl feel the urge to get closer to them. They are the most likely to attract stalkers or ppl who secretly fantasize with them.

Air risings think about changing their entire life and identity at least 5 times a day. They are rather fluid and unpredictable it's like they're constantly exploring themselves. They are the real mysterious ppl bc they will always have you wondering who they really are cause they don't fully know themselves. It's like they are people without a conclusion in who they are that's the best way I can describe them

I've said this before but Scorpio ASC really is one of the most common rising signs in celebrities due to Leo 10th house (derivative system). Also Earth ASC is very common in celebrities or public figures too since Air 10th house gives a career where you have prominent presence in media and communication. Most common earth asc is Capricorn cause venus ruling 10th house gives wealth and favorable reputation. Most common Air ASC is Gemini (Pisces 10th house) and for fire ASC is Leo (venus ruling 10th house) . But the top most common one as per my observation is def Scorpio ASC

With that said Venus is def more about manifesting abundance and success than Jupiter. I saw a reel that ranked the most common sun signs in billionaires and the top 3 were Libra, Taurus and Pisces.... What do all these signs have in common? VENUS. Many wealthy and successful people have Venus influencing their MC/10th house but very few have Jupiter there. If you wanna manifest I'd say focus more on your Venus sign and the energies ruled by venus in your chart

Again I've said this before Jupiter is a boost in terms of expansion, opportunities and wisdom but its energy on its own does not guarantee anything. Let's remember that Jupiter is debilitated in two earth signs (virgo and Capricorn) which means Jupiter is not about materializing stuff per se, Jupiter is about giving you the wisdom, support, hope, faith and guidance you need which is crucial for manifesting yes but the rest is up to you.

For the most part, I've seen Lilith in the 1st house tend to be patronized more than anything, people tend to not respect them and wanna treat these natives like they're dumb. But I've noticed this happens bc ppl with this placement (or prominent Lilith in general) are often very intelligent and they tend to get minimized a lot bc others feel threatened by them

The most stereotypically neat-picky and perfectionist virgo placement is Virgo Venus. They expect things to be done a certain way and this can be easily felt in how they interact with others which can make their love and affection feel rather conditional. They're not good at faking kindness. I've spoken before about how their social behavior tends to be very dry, and I've also noticed they tend to be openly judgmental and don't really care if they make people around them uncomfortable

we all know juno/venus in the 1st house gives off wife/husband material but have you ever met someone with moon in the 1st house? these people's pull game is LETHAL. Lunar energy is way more powerful than venus in terms of charm and attraction cause moon knows how to tug at you heart, your deepest needs and soft spots. And so natives with this placement make soooooo many people weak for them even if those people wouldn't normally consider the native their type initially (applies for cancer asc too)

Aquarius and Virgo are very similar in how they both seem to have opinions on how things could (and should) be done better. They both tend to come across as know-it-alls

Sun conjuct the ASC or in the 1st house in synastry is very common between people who really like eachother both in a romantic and platonic way. I've noticed this overlay tends to create a very strong bond and attraction. A lot of admiration as well

If you got someone's Lilith on your ASC/1st house big chances are this person is simultaneously disgusted and fascinated by you. I've seen the Lilith person often tends to heavily judge the house person but at the same time they admire the house's person nature and how they effortlessly embody the qualities the Lilith person sees as forbidden and out of reach

Libra Lilith is a very disappointing placement. I've seen slut-shaming is a huge thing with them as well as dragging the shit out of others for very superficial reasons (money, status, looks, etc). They give too much importance to things being "cool" like some air-headed high schooler. Also, they handle conflicts in a very cowardly manner and tend to make promises and commitments they later can't keep.

Taurus placements often times strike me as very conceited tbh, specially sun, venus and mars. They act like they are the only ones in the room with standards, taste or common sense.

Also, I've noticed underdeveloped Taurus placements tend to be secretly rather envious? They focus too much on what others have that they don't, they wanna be the ones who notably have more

Both Aries Moon and Scorpio Moon have volatile emotions I've observed since they share Mars rulership, they tend to explode out of nowhere. The difference is that Aries Moon tends to get over it fast like sometimes it's even amusing to see them mad, they will put you in your place and move on. I've noticed they don't really hold grudges much cause they don't really take things too personally and when they do they attack ppl's actions no ppl themselves if that makes sense. Scorpio Moons in comparison are much more catastrophic when going about their emotions, they fr act like it's the end of the world and 9/10 times WILL make things personal. They act like it's fine once the heat dies down but they actually tend to secretly hold on to that anger and resentments for a long ass time if not forever

Aquarius Moon is the most independent moon sign, they tend to be precocious children who grow up really fast, maybe too fast. I've seen that they are forced into adult life VERY early on and they seem to stomach it like it's nothing. I've seen several ppl with this placement who were literally kicked out of their house by their family. It won't be that extreme in all cases, but there seems to be a theme with Aquarius Moons in general and being emotionally disconnected from any sense of dependability on others... for better and for worse

work by astrobydalia

[luveline]

May I request a Johnny Storm x reader where reader is a spy that was sent to get info out of the fantastic four but ends up falling in love with Johnny

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.1k “What’s that?” 

“That?”

You nod, fingertip pointing at the box under Johnny’s bed. He, having been sat rather unassumingly in his favourite chair, follows your gaze, and goes completely still.

“That’s my, uh. Collection.”

“Your collection.”

“Uh-huh.”

His collection of what?

You lift yourself up where you’d been laying on his floor and turn onto your stomach, shuffling toward the end of his bed to reach beneath it. The box is slim and flat but hefty, bending your hand where you attempt to grab it one handed. The other hand keeps Johnny away, and your giggling is only a quarter fake at this point as he mutters expletives. 

“Be careful!” he says. 

“I’m not gonna ruin your pornography, Mister Storm,” you croon. 

“I mean with your hand. It’s a heavy box.” 

“Oh.”

His laugh borders maniacal as you pull out his box, but you don’t get why. He’s like, always like this. Always happy. Even when he’s angry, it’s like he’s not truly angry. He runs on fight or flight, flight flight flight, but you’ve learned he gives it good when he needs to. 

He’s half adrenaline, you think. Makes sense for a boy who can spontaneously catch flame whenever suits. 

“What is this, then?” you ask. 

“My box.”

“Thank you, Johnny. You’re truly one of the greatest minds of your generation.”

“Open it.”

You look at him from over your shoulder. He’s joined you on the floor, a warm hand pressed to the small of your back, his blond hair softer in the warm lighting. You’d make a joke about being ginger-headed if you thought he’d take it well. You’re uninterested in becoming human kindling, and you don’t trust Johnny Storm to keep you safe. 

Or, that’s what you insist. 

“I better not see any pin-up girls in here,” you warn lightly. 

Right, ‘cos, unfortunately, unkindly, Johnny Storm thinks you’re in love. Like, you’re going steady, monogamously, and another woman’s photo might piss you off. 

“I wouldn’t have that kind of stuff,” he says. His cheeks seem to pink with your knowing stare. “Anymore! I don’t need pin-up girls, do I? Got the real deal right here.”

“Shut up.” 

He obeys. 

Johnny pulls you into a sitting position. He’s gentle. You want to hit him (you wouldn’t) (it’s about protecting your best interests, even if you know you couldn’t hit him now, not when he’s only ever touched you nicely). 

“Promise it’s not illicit?” you ask. 

“Baby,” he laughs, which is a whole other thing. Like, who does he think you are. “Just open it.”

You crack open the cases latch and flick the lid. The hinges are tightly sprung, and it stands at three-quarter mast by itself. There, inside two velvet borders, lays a circle rattle in the shape of a duck, and a letter folded into a thick square. 

You realise you’ve stumbled onto something precious, but Johnny stops you before you can close the box. 

“That was mine,” he says, “and my mom’s, before.” 

“It’s carved?”

“It’s wood.”

You hesitate to pick it up. “Can I?”

“Sure you can. I told you to open it.”

You put the box between you and Johnny and bring the rattle closer for inspection. Shaking it gently reveals a sound like dried rice plinking against thin walls. There’s a notch at the bottom where the rice might’ve been poured inside. It’s… so human. So fragile. It’s nothing like you thought Johnny would be. 

Even his room. You’d expected a grand, almost palatial sort of thing full of modern gadgets and, perhaps, a few distasteful posters —Johnny Storm, the single sweetheart of Manhattan, you hadn’t believed it for a second. Thought him rude and boyish, scowled at his infomercials and rolled your eyes whenever his infernal billboards darkened your apartment window. You’d figured him out before you got here. You knew exactly how to make him want you: rich boy wants what he can’t have. He needs intrigue, delight, a fight and a good long chase, and then, before he could lose interest, a kiss. Maybe something rather less chaste, only, Johnny doesn’t let you get him into bed. He kisses ardently and laughs into your mouth whenever your fingers flirt with his belt. Talks about movies and shopping and dates, instead. 

“I should’ve given it to Franklin, I know, but I couldn’t, you know. Couldn’t bear to give it away yet,” he says, starting brave, ending soft. 

“That’s okay,” you say, though you can’t work out why. “You don’t have to give it to him yet, or ever. Franklin has enough. You can keep it safe.”

“It was selfish, though. He should get something from his grandma.”

“Mm, maybe. I don’t know, though, baby. I think Franklin has more than enough. You can share it with him later, when he’s older. When he knows how important it is.”

“Yeah.” 

You squint at his tone. “What?” 

“Nothing, just… can’t trust myself to take it out of the box.”

“Why not?” you ask.

“I’m sort of made of fire. Like, I’m made of fire? You’ve seen me do that, right?”

“Sure, but you control it.”

He shrugs. “And one day I won’t be able to.”

“Shut up. You don’t believe that. Shut up!”

His eyes widen slightly. “It’s not always easy.”

“I didn’t say it was. I figure that’s why you’d never do that. It’s not easy, and Johnny doesn’t do easy.” 

“You know I love it when you talk about me like I’m not here–”

You press your hand to his face, annoyed, worse when he licks at your palm, slightly less when he gives it a nibble. 

You place the rattle back carefully into the box and close it.

“You could’ve read it, you know,” he says, taking your damp hand and pressing it to his neck. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you let me?”

He doesn’t look sick, but it’s a shade of nausea. Too much sincerity for the poor guy, you think, turning your hand in enough to stroke the slope of his neck. He relaxes some under the touch. The pit of your stomach gives a sickly twist.

“Don’t let me, Johnny,” you say, rubbing at his jaw with your thumb. 

He snorts, turning his head to bite your thumb. “Quit it,” he says, muffled from behind your skin. You wrinkle your nose at him, not that that matters to him. He just keeps on biting you. “Let you do whatever you want. But me first.” 

You take your hand back and wipe his spit into his thigh. You have no idea why it makes him cackle. 

[kirabug-tumbles]

If you want a hydra with multiple heads, rescue is really the way to go. We’ve got hydras with three, four, six, and eight heads all ready to adopt right now, for just the adoption fee and the neuter/spay fee. Sure. they’re all a little older than a kit, but our foster parents ensure every hydra is house trained and monster trained before it leaves.

We have some tougher cases we’re working on right now that could use your funding. Tammy and Edmund here were both part of a fighting ring, which is why Edmund has 32 heads and Tammy 64. As you can see, up at those numbers they start to fight among themselves. We need your generous donations of XXS muzzles (90), blankets, toys, and hydra chow. You can pay using any of the methods on the next page. If we work hard we can get Tammy adopted out by Christmas.

well yeah i have a pet hydra and it only has one head. i'm not going to cut its head off just to make it look cooler, you asshole. that's seriously unethical. and i'm not letting you cut its head off either. if you really want a hydra with multiple heads, you should go for a rescue- but if you want your pet to look cooler at the cost of its physical health, maybe you shouldn't get any kind of pet at all. no, the hydra's not for guarding my evil tower, it's my pet. have you ever heard of a pet? like a puppy or a kitty? you think i can't defend my evil tower by my self?

[bodhiscurls]

your number one fan. ( johnny storm )

what it feels like when johnny storm dates a popstar; including saving you from paparazzi but only unless you say the magic word (or kiss, rather) , coming to the rescue at a power outage at your shows (he brings the fire, literally), in the thick of the lonely night during long distance where he'll fly however far he needs to to kiss you goodnight and not being allowed anywhere near your paper notes in case he burns any future singles to the ground which makes library dates super hard (sighs).

human torch! johnny storm x celebrity! popstar! fem! reader

themes: mainly fluff! minor angst from long distance relationship, this is like a hybrid oneshot/headcanon idk

inspired by this request - everyone say thank you bri! hope you like it honey, @goodnightngoread <3

masterlist.

johnny storm who saves you from the paparazzi!

it's no secret that johnny storm loves to pack on the pda; to let the whole world that he's taken, and he's taken by the world's most beautiful woman too. he's proud of you, he wants to show you off at any chance he can get, whether it's in the crowd at your shows, on live television where he blows you a kiss through the screen knowing you'll be watching or now, in the street.

it's dark, the evening air settling in as you both leave a high-profiled, michelin-star restaurant, because johnny storm sure as hell loves to spoil you- despite your pleading, saying its not necessary, you've long learnt your lesson and given up, knowing johnny does what he likes and you go along for the ride.

he walks right behind you, your back pressed against his front as he wraps his arms around your chest, holding you tight to him. you walk slowly, feeling his heartbeat dance along to your own rhythm; a sacred song the two of you will only ever sing as he walks you back to an apartment he has fifteen minutes away.

you're wrapped up in his red jacket and he rests his head on the worn leather clad on your shoulder, and a mixture of his aftershave and your sweet perfume intertwines and he inhales softly. you're humming a tune gently as he matches his steps to yours; though it looks more like a waddle as you both try not to trip over each other albeit johnny would never let you fall, he'd soften the blow in an instant.

"i had such a good time, baby," he drawls into your hair and you beam pure sunshine, no flame is needed, johnny can already feel the warmth, the magnetic pull of his soul to yours and you lean back into his embrace.

"well the good news is hotstuff, the night is not over just yet," you breathe back, and you spin lightly in his hold to press a kiss to the corner of his pink lips. he turns his head at the last second so he catches the centre of your lips instead before he melts in completely. its hungry, its swallowed with all the love and affection that when he pulls apart, he's breathless and you're his oxygen. you're a second away from chasing after his lips again when he chuckles softly to himself at the way your lipstick is smudged, bleeding out of the line of your lips and onto his own. it's messy, on the brink of becoming undone and there's a glint of mischief in your eyes as you plant a firm kiss to his cheek, fingers tracing over the outlines of the wrinkles and etches of your kiss now branded in red and he grins, proud to be marked and only ever known as yours.

"perfect," you mumble and he tries to fix your hair from where he's tugged at the strands in the midst of a steamy makeout. its tender and sweetly soft as you stand in his hold and he brushes the tendrils free from your blushing face, lingering on a few as they wrap around his fingers and he lets them go.

"yeah, you are," and he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. and he's inches away when he can see the upcoming blinding flash of cameras streak and swarm you like an army of bees. there's yelling, the blur of people nearing closer to you, the screaming of his name and yours metres away and you feel the panic rise in you.

"johnny?" you whisper and he nods firm,

"don't worry shortcake, i got this," and determination sets itself into his gaze and he stares up at the sky. his hold on you tightens and you feel the heat rise slowly, swarm you like a gentle hug, a carress of fire, but you blink slowly.

you haven't moved.

"johnny?" and he shakes his head, pretending to try again.

"it usually works," he shrugs and then he leans in close to you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, "maybe you need to say the magic word?" and you roll your eyes, dramatically throwing your head into his chest with a soft thud, it knocks him back slightly but he pokes his tongue into his cheek, standing, unwavering until you break first.

"please?" you plead as much as he loves to hear those words from your lips, he's looking for something a little more.

he pretends to think about it as the light draw nearer and you whine, pounding your fists softly against the muscles of his chest that radiate and rumble with joy of teasing you, "that was lovely, but nope," and then you meet him with a death glare, pure stone and steel and he feels a trickle of sweat slide down the back of his neck.

"flame on," you grit out and he grins, flicking your nose,

"almost, doll. its just missing a little something ..." he trails off, tapping his finger against his lips and you roll your eyes, knowing that johnny storm is a man of dramatic flair so you huff, stamp your heel to the ground and kiss him. you've basically thrown yourself into him to smash your lips on his as the yelling drums louder and louder his hands wrap around your waist firmly as yours interlock around his neck and he presses you against him tight.

"here we go, dollface," he whispers before all you see is pure red.

the flames engulf him but he's careful not to burn you, and when you're airborne you have to scrunch your eyes tightly, aware of the height he's raised you two at and he murmurs words of comfort into your hair that you greatly appreciate. "you're doing so well baby, i'm not gonna let you fall," and you believe him, it's just so high up here. he takes his time when he lowers you down to the ground and you exhale so loudly, grateful to feel the floor beneath you and the grounf to steady you.

"what took you so long?" you gasp, trying to regulate your breathing and johnny shrugs, trying to hide the smirk of knowing that when you wake up tomorrow morning in his bed, flicking on the news, you'll find a picture of you and him locked in a hurried kiss, and the world will once again know (as if they didn't already) that johnny storm is yours and you are his.

"you didn't say the magic words," he gets out before wrapping you in a hug, steadying you on your feet, "its scientifically proven that i perform a lot better after a kiss."

and johnny storm, as loud as he loves, is true to his heart and is no liar.

. . .

johnny storm who comes to the rescue during a power outage at your shows!

its hard not to notice the human torch. he's famous in his own right. but its also hard not to recognise johnny storm who sits at the highest point in the venue, a giant "president of the fan club" poster he waves in the air with your tour merch splashed across his chest.

his smile is contagious, his laughter your favourite sound and if you close your eyes you imagine the faint beat of his heart that steadies your own. the first time you performed with him in the crowd, nervous was an understatement. you had just started dating and you were wide-eyed, eager-hearted, desperate to impress him. tens of shows later and sometimes it still feels like the very first time, you get nervous and then you see the fond look of adoration sent from you above and the world spins a little slower, giving you time to regain control of your feet and your fate.

even unwillingly, without you knowing, like it's your body's natural reaction, your eyes search for his through every crowd and sea of souls till they settle on his and when they do, its like they bring you home.

your fans love having johnny at the shoes too, they coo and cheer and johnny storm is a damn superhero.

when the lights flicker off and the sound of your background vocals, when everything just seems to stop and fade into the darkness, he comes to rescue the day. there's chants of "flame on!" that take over but you can here is faint, "i'm coming, doll!" as he lights up, and then drops down barely a milimetre from you.

johnny only needs to flame a hand to give some warmth to the crowd, some light to see in the darkness and keep the show running but he burns his whole body to let you know he's here, he's willing to do anything for you. he does marvel in the praise and adoration of his skills as he performs a few tricks; giving in to the attention and you don't even hide back the happiness the sight of him brings you.

after a few minutes more of being the main act, he sits on the edge of the stage next to you, your feet dangling next to his as he takes one of your hands, interlocks it with his and places it firmly in his lap. a human campfire, if you will as you take an acoustic version of your songs.

he sings along to every word he knows by rememberance, he's burned them into his soul, into the rooms in his mind dedicated to you and after every line, you find yourself looking to him again, singing to him.

because when you can feel him in everything around you, it's hard to remember that there's a world watching, it feels as though it all just crumbles to ash, hides in the smoke. right here, right now, there's a room of people filled who love you completely, at the centre- burning bright and whole sits the love of your life, johnny storm.

the powers may be out, but johnny keeps it running all night long without complaint- and he'd do it a million times more to keep that show-stopping smile printed on your face.

johnny storm who hates long distance but will do anything to make it work!

you haven't seen johnny in weeks; and its the longest you've ever gone without him. you have your scheduled morning and evening calls but its just not the same. the rasp around the edges as he breathes out "i miss you" tugs at your heartstrings painfully and you want nothing more to just curl up in his arms, roam your fingers through the blonde locks and stare into your favourite colour eyes- blue like the ocean waters that call you home.

you've spent the day doing fan service, filling the johnny sized hole in your heart with others who love and support you. and part of it works, you smile, you laugh, you joke and pose for pictures, you listen to stories and tell your own and when you leave the venue, the 5'10 aching weight is slightly lifted from your heart.

it was busier than you anticipated today and so you missed your morning call as well as breakfast, being pushed to a workout facility to exercise and then practise your dance sequences. and being on the go makes it easier to forget that when you turn in for the night, you're lonely and alone all the same again.

you drag yourself to the hotel room, letting exhaustion win over as you collapse onto the bed. the shoes are still on your feet, your outfit still clinging to your frame as your head pounds, pressed into the mattress as you just hope and beg that sleeps takes you early; rescues you into a soft dream escape where all you see is johnny.

the phone rings and the shrill noise causes you to groan in annoyance further, you just want to be left alone to sulk in peace. to rot out this bad mood where you don't have the energy to people please today. the ringing doesn't stop and you use every ounce of your energy to force yourself up, lean over and snatch the phone from the handle with such grear ferocity.

"what?" you snarl, and it's so foreign, so strange as it leaves your lips that you don't have time to apologise, wipe it clean from memory and start over- the persona you have programmed into your mind just slipping free.

a moment passes between the line where all you hear is a slow inhale.

"honey?" and you instantly crumble.

"i'm sorry," you breathe, face hot with tears that just fall and fall and fall. they drown you, soak up the earlier good feelings and stain your cheeks, "i didn't mean to-" you clear your throat but the voice miles away on the line leaks through with blatant concern.

"babygirl, are you okay?" and you can imagine him now, the cute furrow in his brow, the pout of his bottom lip and you soften, trying to regain composure and bite back the rising despair falling all over.

"yeah!" you try for upbeat, "yeah," you wipe away the snot hurriedly, "i uh, caught you on tv earlier you looked so good, baby!" you gush, cursing yourself for being so ridiculous but johnny storm on the other side doesn't believe you one bit.

"honey," he whispers, "you're upset and i'm not there," his voice sounds pained, like all this distance is hurting him too, you just can't see it.

"i'm fine bug," you blink slowly, trying to gather yourself, "it's just one of those days, you know?" you try to laugh it off and he exhales quietly.

"i miss you," it comes quiet, not like all the times you've said it before. it leaks with desperation, the days of yearning and the outstretched longing of your soul that just screams for johnny and nothing else will minimise the urge.

"i miss you," he returns back with the same empty sadness that consumes him, "i think i might just die," he dramatically gasps and it bursts a real giggle from you, except laced with the sniffles and tears it comes out like a slob. johnny hums satisfied nonetheless and you can imagine him leaning into the phone, his soft pink lips whispering the words and as they settle into the grin he reserves just for you. the phone tucked securely beneath his ear and resting on his shoulder as he scratches herby's head or he balances franklin on his hip.

"johnny," you scold but the burn doesn't land, "just a few more days, right?" you hate yourself for how small and desperate you sound, it echoes in the quiet of the night, the stillness of the hotel room where you've never felt so lonely.

"just a few more, darlin" he promises and as much as you'd love to stay all night and talk with him till the sunrise but you've got to get up early for rehearsal all over again so its time for you to face the dark, wallowing emptiness and to turn in for the night.

you reimagine him whispering "i love you" just as he did moments before repetitively that it lulls you to sleep so easily and you don't remember when you completely listened to the darkness. you're wrapped into the sheets, tangled into the creases of the pillows when you hear a faint tapping.

you must be dreaming and continue to ignore it when the tapping gets louder and more frequent and you recognise the pattern of knocking from your real bedroom door. you're half asleep and your feet move on their own accord, like a lightning reaction leading you to the own who rotates your earth, spins your entire universe and you open the door to balcony with such disbelief.

"johnny?" you blink, exhaustion laced in your features and sleep heavy on your mind that everything looks too blurry, but the piercing blue brings you right to reality and into his arms.

"hey baby," theres a faint smell of smoke that lingers and you just feel yourself lift off the ground and jump into his arms. he catches you with ease, like its all he's known his entire life and holds you against him so tightly. it speaks volumes of love, the days and nights where he hasn't been able to hold you and the future in which he wishes he'll never have to leave you.

"you're here," you breathe, feeling the tears collect at your waterline all over. he presses his thumbs into them, catching the strays that fall and pushes his forehead to yours.

"i'm here," he confirms and it breaks his heart all over to see you so distressed, to see you hurting just as much as he has; he's also just very good at hiding it in public. but when he's alone and he can't see you, can't feel you- he feels himself collapse entirely.

you think he's saved you tonight, come to your aid and crushed the melancholic thoughts of missing him, but as he holds you now, its you putting all his pieces back together. melting and moulding the heat that radiates from him but affirms it with your shared love.

you feel like home and he's missed you so much that he can't wait for the tour to end, to be back in your place and have sunday dinners together all over. to reach across the sheets and feel your hands, to see your things all over his place- little remenants of you, to just have you in his vicinity.

but for now, he'll settle for flying and burning miles and miles as he visits you in different states, holding you for the hours he can before he has to make the journey back. because hours on the road to get minutes with you? that seems like a pretty fair deal to him.

. . .

johnny storm who is banned from your songwriting sessions!

the first and last time johnny storm ever joined you for a songwriting session, the two of you had been wrapped up in the corner of a library. he was swinging on his chair, busying himself with science fiction as you flicked through some of your journals to try and draw out some inspiration, gather some themes for your new album and to be surrounded by stories? what better place to scope out some fresh inspiration than a library.

when you first approached johnny with the idea he tried to hide his lack of enthusiams, instead soaking up yours as he let you lead him to a corner where the two of you could sit unnoticed, research and just give yourself some breathing space to feel inspired. and it was working for the first 20 minutes until johnny let the boredom sink in, he'd lean in, tease you with a kiss to your jaw, then your neck, lingering longer each time, grazing his teeth across your skin in an agonising tease.

"johnny," you hissed, splashes of red flushing up from your neck, burning the tips of your ears, "this is a public space," but he remained undeterred. he busied himself, planting kisses whenever you left yourself exposed and when he realised you weren't paying him the attention he so desperately craved, he placed a warm hand to your thigh and let it wander just a little bit higher. he let it just stay there, grip your skin firmly, letting the tease die there- he wanted you to come seek him out, to play into his game.

you leaned into his hold, stroking the back of his hair to where it meets his neck and tugged lightly, "johnny," you murmured, your pretty pink lips curled into a sweet smile.

"yes, my love?" he hummed into your neck.

"shall we just get out of here?" and it was meant to be a trap, he'd get excited and you'd shut down his hopes then and there. kind of like what you'd do to tease a child, except all you saw was a flame derived from excitement and burn your paper notes to ash.

he looked guilty as he met your parted lips, exasperated with disbelief. you stared at the crumbling, how it fell from your fingertips and faced him with a pure fire of your own, blazing with rage.

"you did not,"'you gasp in horror and his hands are immediately up in defense.

"hey- you started making all these fun suggestions," he tried to excuse but you shove him with a force that almost pushed him to the floor.

"can anyone smell that?" a rogue voice in the distance called, you stared at johnny; the panic setting in as he matched your intensity. grabbing and salvaging what he could, dumping into your tote as he locked his hand in yours and the two of you ran.

that was the last time johnny storm was allowed in a library or in one of your songwriting sessions ever again.

except now, where your songwriting sessions are beyonf libraries and the studio, extending into the late hours of the night- where an idea hits you and consumes you that you just have to get it out of your mind and onto the page.

so johnny storm stands at the door, leaning his body weight across the frame as the one am cold bites at his bare chest.

you look so beautiful in your own element, you're dressed in one of his t shirts, sitting cross legged on the floor, surrounded by a plethora of random notes, crumpled paper balls, a million biro pens- one holding your hair up as a guitar shifts in your lap.

it's pitch black save for a small lamp, emitting warm light over your head as you mumble a melody, cut yourself off and start over, a lot more confident. your murmurs of words and strumming of chords are cut short when you hear his own rumble at the door.

"baby, i love you but its one am," he almost whines, sleep etched into his voice that lowers an octave as he stares down at you, "come back to bed," its a soft order- bedtime is strictly his time.

"you gotta hear this one, i'm almost there," and the amount of times johnny has heard this spiel from you, he knows its futile arguing. so he takes a seat six feet from you on the floor and motions for you to continue, you beam and strum the guitar softly, and when you sing its so clear that its written about him, written for him.

you're bashful under his attention and love leaks from his melting heart, you're so perfect and he thinks just how did he get so lucky in this lifetime to adore and cherish you. billions of people on earth and johnny storm has met his match in the shape and form of you.

love and fondness warms the air, his heart beating softly as the background bass to your chords as you meet his gaze, giggle softly and continue. he wants nothing more to reach out, hold you, squeeze you till you're conjoined into his existence and nothing separates you but you have this damn rule of him and paper.

so he waits quietly, you finish and flush under his praise, his applause and then he extends his arms, actions not words asking for permission and you soften.

"do you promise to behave yourself?" you raise your eyebrows and he chuckles at the memory, scoffing lightly before slipping on that easy grin you've written into all your songs.

"i promise," he mumbles and you extend your own arms. he crosses the distance in a second, lifts you up so you sit in his lap, his bare chest to your back and he rocks you against him quietly.

"let me hear it again baby, from the beginning," he asks and you grow excited at his interest, fingers finding the strings and starting again. he tries to stay awake, he really does but the gentle sweep of your voice drifts him to sleep as he lowers his head into the crook of your neck.

and when you finish, your ears catch hearing of the gentle snores that escape him and you set the guitar to the side, the notes are abandoned, the song is recorded and everything, every single thing leads right back to him.

it doesn't matter if its in libraries, studo sessions or on the floor of his living room, johnny storm lives and breathes your inspiration- you could be anywhere with him and itll be fine because johnny storm is the music. he's every song you'll ever sing, every moment big or small that you breathe, he's everything.

riya saying hi: unashamed to admit that the last scene kinda inspired by taylor singing to joe (if you know you KNOW) and ahh this ended up being longer than i thought itd be, let me know what you think ! i'd love to do a part two on this but yeah, still working on those requests (coming soon) and i love you! see you soon! <3 🥺💘

[blossomcola]

jealous! Gp! Daniela sending video of you giving her a blowjob or she giving you backshots to someone when they tries to flirt with u...

pairing. jealous!gp daniela avanzini x fem reader.

content warnings. none i guess.

thinking of daniela as the kind of girlfriend who would have your social media on her phone... it’s not that she’s invading your privacy or distrusting you, but she needs to be reassured of your fidelity! of course she trusts you and knows that you will never fool her, but daniela needs to make sure of your words from time to time.

and of course she is a more than a jealous and possessive girlfriend. she wouldn’t tell you that you can’t post pictures of yourself because she has no problem with you posting pictures of yourself! most of the time, she’s the one who takes the photos, or they're taken when you’re on your romantic outings with her, so she has no problem with you posting things on your instagram — the problem is the type of reaction you get from them; yes, you’re pretty and hot, but that doesn’t mean every guy has to respond to you with hearts or fire emojis! it seems that having daniela in your description next to the date you officially started dating her is not necessary because no one seems to care that you’re always shouting from the rooftops that you have a girlfriend 😤 you can literally post a picture with daniela on your story and everyone will think it’s just your hot, pretty friend, without even considering that she’s been your girlfriend for months...

it’s good that daniela has a folder in her gallery with photos and videos of you where she’s fucking you or you’re fucking her, just in case! you don’t mind at all that daniela films her intimate moments with you because you have no problem with it, so she’s more than happy to be able to have content to show everyone that you’re hers 🥰 she loves it when a guy replies to your story with a heart–eyes or fire emoji, daniela responding as you and attaching a file with the option to view only once, deluding the guy into thinking it’s a risqué photo so that when they open it, they’re surprised to find it’s a video of you sucking daniela’s cock... if she is in a bad mood where she could easily exterminate anyone, she is able to put the video to watch more than once, making that person see the video of you drowning in her cock every time the chat is opened 😭 daniela has no problem making each of your followers understand that you already have an owner and she also has no problem posting some kind of video in your stories!

[badathumanemotions]

hey i am obsessed with your work!! could you write emily x fem reader where it’s the reader’s first time with a woman and emily talks her through it with sub dom themes?

thank you!! <3

Without Warning

Emily Prentiss x Fem Reader

MDNI Masterlist CW: Smut, Fluff, Questioning Sexual Orientation, Losing Lesbian Virginity, Sex Dreams, Dom Sub Undertones, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Scissoring/Tribbing, Morning Sex. WC: 21,247

(Not Proof Read)

You hadn’t expected to be assigned fieldwork so soon. Still new, still learning the way the BAU functions differently than anywhere else you’ve worked before. Most days you feel like you’re treading water, smiling when spoken to, staying quiet when you’re unsure. Which is often.

You’ve only been with the BAU a few weeks, still trying to keep pace with the way things move here. The others talk in shorthand, finish each other’s thoughts. You spend most of your time watching, listening, trying not to say the wrong thing.

Trying not to stare when Emily Prentiss walks into a room.

You don’t know what it is about her. It started on your first day and hasn't let up since. There’s something magnetic about the way she carries herself, so in control, like nothing phases her. She’s all dark eyes and sharper edges, long legs and measured steps, and when she smiles—it knocks the air right out of you.

This case came fast. A series of murders across the county. Women targeted, all with backgrounds in foster care. The kind of pattern that makes your stomach knot. You’d sat in the briefing room with your notes clenched too tightly in your hands, trying to keep your face neutral while Hotch laid out the facts. When he said you’d be riding with Prentiss, something in your chest tightened before you could stop it. She glanced at you across the table, unreadable as ever, then gave the smallest nod.

You’re meant to be interviewing a witness. A neighbour. Someone who might have seen something near the last crime scene. That’s what you were told, anyway.

The house is about fifteen minutes outside of town, tucked along a wooded edge of the road. The lawn hasn’t been mowed in weeks, and the shutters sag unevenly over dirty windows. Emily doesn’t say much during the drive, just keeps her eyes ahead and taps the steering wheel with her fingers now and then. She doesn’t need to fill silence. You’re not sure if you find that comforting or unnerving.

The woman who opens the door looks ordinary. Thin, tired. She wipes her hands on her jeans and glances between the two of you with a smile that feels too practiced.

Emily speaks first.

“Ma’am, we’re with the FBI. Just a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

The woman nods, steps back to let you in.

You follow Emily through the threshold, scanning the space instinctively. The air smells like dust and something chemical underneath. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust. Then it happens.

The shift.

You see it before you understand it. The woman’s hand reaching for something near the couch. A glint of metal.

“Knife!” you shout, but she’s already moving.

Emily doesn’t hesitate. She’s there in a flash, intercepting the woman mid-swing. The force of it knocks the end table over. You try to step in, try to flank the attacker, but the unsub spins fast and lands a solid hit across your ribs that sends you sprawling to the ground.

Your vision jars for a second. Everything tilts. You can hear the fight still going.

Emily is relentless. She meets the next attack with a brutal elbow to the woman’s jaw, takes the knife with her free hand and tosses it aside. She moves like she’s been trained for chaos, like her body already knows what to do without needing to think.

She’s beautiful in motion.

Focused. Fearless. Her shirt pulls tight across her back as she pins the woman to the floor, muscles flexed and body pressed down with a kind of effortless control that leaves no room for argument. There’s a cut blooming red at her temple, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

The cuffs snap around the unsub’s wrists before you’ve fully caught your breath.

Emily straightens, breathing hard, hair falling over one shoulder as she looks toward you.

“You good?” she asks, voice low and calm but still edged with adrenaline.

You nod, already scrambling to your feet, breath shaky. “Yeah. She hit harder than I expected.”

Her gaze lingers on you a moment longer. She closes the space between you and checks your side with a light touch, fingers grazing the curve of your ribs. It sends a jolt through your entire body.

“She got you good,” she says, almost under her breath. “But you moved quick.”

You manage a faint smile. It feels like your skin is buzzing under where her hand just was.

Emily looks at you like she sees something she hadn’t before.

You don’t trust yourself to hold her gaze.

The walk back to the SUV is quiet. Your heartbeat hasn’t slowed since the moment she took that woman down. You tell yourself it’s just the adrenaline. The shock.

But the truth sits heavy in your chest.

It wasn’t fear that made your breath catch.

It was her.

Emily had barely looked at you after the takedown. She drove back in silence, one hand loose on the steering wheel, window cracked just enough to pull in air. Her face stayed calm, unreadable. You couldn’t stop looking.

Now you’re watching her through the glass.

She’s in the interrogation room with the woman she cuffed not even an hour ago. Your unsub. She doesn’t raise her voice. Doesn’t need to. Her tone is measured, even — but there’s something underneath it, something unshakable. She leans forward just slightly when she speaks, her fingers pressed lightly against the table. Her body language says she’s in control. Always has been. The unsub shifts in her seat, eyes darting. Emily doesn’t blink.

It’s not the first interrogation you’ve watched since joining the team. But it’s the first time you’ve felt something hot pool in your stomach over it.

You don’t understand what’s happening.

Your pulse has been out of rhythm since that fight. Since her hand touched your side, steady and sure, like it belonged there. You told yourself it was nothing. Adrenaline. The crash of the moment. But now, with Emily poised in the chair, gaze sharp, voice low and unrelenting — something inside you clenches again, and this time there’s no excuse.

She’s breathtaking like this. Commanding. Composed. Completely focused, like the rest of the world has narrowed into one point in front of her.

You’ve never looked at a woman this way before. Not like this.

And she’s not just any woman. She’s your colleague. She’s Emily Prentiss.

You drag your eyes away, force your gaze down to the file in your lap. Your skin feels too warm. You flip the page even though you haven’t read the one before it.

You’re not supposed to be thinking about her like this. You’ve never thought about any woman like this. And yet—

You glance up again before you can stop yourself. She tilts her head, studying the unsub, waiting out the silence in a way that makes it clear she’s already won. There’s something in the way she holds herself. Like she was built for this kind of pressure. Like she likes it.

And you? You’re losing your mind a little bit.

You cross your legs and press your thighs together, hoping no one notices the way your breath keeps catching in your throat.

She’s not even looking at you.

But she doesn’t need to.

She already has you.

It takes another couple hours to wrap the scene. The local police thank the team, their tone shifting now that the case has been closed. The unsub finally cracked under Emily’s calm pressure, laid everything out with the weary defiance of someone who knows they’ve already lost. There’s still paperwork to coordinate, final reports to skim, chain of custody confirmations. You try to focus. You really do.

But she’s still in your head.

You keep catching yourself watching her. Emily, standing by the whiteboard with her arms crossed, nodding at something Morgan says. Emily, phone tucked to her ear, jaw tight, eyes moving as she listens.

By the time you’re in the SUV again, you’re overtired and wound tight in a way that makes your thoughts feel like static. JJ rides up front. You sit behind her, your cheek resting briefly against the window until the cool glass becomes uncomfortable. Emily’s beside you. Not quite close enough to touch, but you’re hyper-aware of every movement she makes. The way her knee shifts. The way she exhales. The quiet clicks of her fingers unlocking her phone.

Back on the jet, there’s a lull. Hotch gives his usual rundown before sitting down to start on paperwork. Morgan and Rossi talk quietly over coffee near the back. JJ stretches across two seats and closes her eyes. Spencer is nose deep in a book. The cabin dims. Someone puts on music low enough not to disturb anyone. You sink into a window seat with your legs tucked under you and stare into the dark.

Emily slides into the seat across from you. Not next to you, not far away. Just close enough to look up and catch her eye if you’re brave enough.

You’re not.

She crosses her legs, opens a folder, reads by the low amber light above her. You try not to stare at her hands. Try not to wonder what it would feel like to be touched by them. The thought comes uninvited and too vivid, and it makes your skin prickle.

This isn’t you. You don’t feel things like this. At least, you didn’t.

But watching her fight today, watching her interrogate, watching her be — it unlocked something that hasn’t let go since. And the worst part is you’re not even sure you want it to.

You try to close your eyes.

Try to forget the heat of her body close to yours, the way her voice dropped when she asked if you were okay, the way her touch lingered for a breath too long.

But it follows you all the way home.

You barely register unlocking your front door. Just enough focus left to turn the deadbolt behind you and shuffle into the dark. The apartment is quiet, still smelling faintly of whatever coffee you brewed before leaving for the case. You drop your go-bag near the couch, strip down in the hallway, and leave your clothes in a trail to the bedroom door.

You don’t even shower. Just strip down to your underwear and crawl into bed, limbs heavy and sore from the day. You blink at the ceiling, trying not to think about the way your body reacted to her earlier. Trying not to remember how her voice sounded through the glass, calm and sharp and deliberate. Trying not to remember the heat that bloomed low in your stomach when her hand found your side.

You think of her.

The way her breath caught after the fight. The way her fingers brushed your skin like it was nothing. Like she didn’t even notice.

You do.

Sleep drags you under before you can stop thinking about her. Now, you’re dreaming, though it doesn’t feel like a dream yet.

It feels like warmth.

Like silk under your bare feet. Dim light flickering at the edges. The air smells faintly of something sharp and floral. You know it’s not your bedroom. Not your sheets. But you don’t care.

Emily stands in front of you.

Her black blouse is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves cuffed to her elbows, hair swept back like she’s just taken it down for the night. She looks at you the same way she did in the field. Confident. Composed. Her hands rest on her hips, her weight balanced easily like she could lunge forward without warning.

You should say something. Ask what this is. Why she’s here. But she tilts her head, and you lose the thought.

“You keep staring at me,” she says, her voice lower than usual. Smoother. “At work. In the car. Even after the fight.”

You try to speak. Nothing comes.

She steps toward you. One slow step, then another, until the space between you disappears. Her fingers brush your chin, tilting your face up to meet her eyes.

“You think I don’t notice?”

Your heart pounds. You know you’re dreaming now, but that doesn’t help.

Emily’s mouth curves into something wicked.

“You like watching me,” she murmurs. “Don’t you?”

She reaches out, hand sliding just under your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“I don’t mind,” she says. “But if you’re going to look at me like that…”

Her other hand touches your hip, grounding you. Her thumb presses in just slightly, then drifts up your side, tracing the curve of your waist. Her touch is light. Teasing.

“I want to hear you say what you’re thinking.”

You shake your head, breathless. She smiles.

“Oh, you’re shy here too?”

She leans in, not to kiss you, but to whisper against your mouth.

“I like shy. I like making them squirm.”

Your breath catches. Her lips trail down the side of your neck, slow, deliberate. A kiss just below your jaw. Another at your collarbone.

Your hands twitch at your sides.

She takes your wrist, guides your hand to her waist.

“You can touch me.”

You do. Lightly, afraid you’ll break the illusion. Her body is warm beneath the fabric. Solid.

Emily pulls back just enough to look at you. Her eyes are sharp, hungry.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” she says. “If you don’t want that, stop me.”

You don’t move.

She kisses you like she owns the moment. Her mouth opens over yours, tongue teasing, never giving too much. You try to keep up, but she controls the pace. Every time you lean forward, she pulls back slightly, letting you chase her. Her hands slide down your sides, over your hips, grounding you again.

Her thigh presses between yours, slow pressure building.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

You shake your head.

She hums, pleased.

“Good.”

Emily kisses you again, slower this time. Deeper. Her fingers skim under the hem of your shirt, warm and steady. You flinch at the touch, but not from fear. Your stomach coils tight. Her hand moves lower, easing across your waistband.

“You want me to touch you?” she whispers. “All you have to do is say yes.”

Her fingers dip—

You jerk awake.

It’s instant. No slow rise to consciousness. One second you’re under her touch, her mouth, her grip. The next, you’re staring at your bedroom ceiling, heart hammering like you’ve run a mile.

Your thighs are clenched tight. Your underwear is damp. Your whole body feels strung out, like it didn’t get the memo that it was a dream.

Your hands tremble as you push the blankets off.

It wasn’t real. But it felt real. And god help you, you want to go back.

Your hands tremble. You wipe sweat from your brow and flop back against the pillow.

You can still hear her voice.

All you have to do is say yes.

And fuck, you almost did.

Coffee doesn’t help.

You’re on your second cup by the time the bullpen starts filling in, but the lingering heat from last night clings to your skin like static. You slept maybe four hours. Every time your eyes shut, she was there again. Hovering just out of reach.

You try not to think about it.

Try not to replay the way her voice had dropped. The feel of her mouth, her hand sliding down, the pressure just before

You take a longer sip. Burn your tongue. Serves you right.

Emily walks in fifteen minutes later.

You feel her before you see her. A shift in the air. A scrape of her boots on the polished floors. When you look up, she’s already mid-conversation with Rossi. Her blouse is black today. Tucked in, sleeves rolled once. Her hair is pulled back in a clean, effortless effortless pony tail, bangs framing her face. She laughs at something he says, then glances around the room, scanning.

Her eyes meet yours.

You look down too fast, like a rookie. Your cheeks are on fire.

You pretend to read your file. The words blur.

The team is catching up on paperwork from the field. No fresh case. Low energy. Just the low hum of keyboards and the occasional sound of turning pages. And her voice, when she picks up the phone.

You try not to watch her. Really, you do.

But when she leans back in her chair to reach for something, when she adjusts the collar of her shirt, when she lifts her cup to her lips and your brain betrays you, imagining what she can do with that mouth.

You squeeze your thighs together under your desk.

This is bad.

Because you can’t act normal around her. Not today. Every word she says hits too deep. Every movement feels deliberate, even when it’s not. You half expect her to walk over and whisper something filthy in your ear, even though she’s been nothing but polite. Professional.

And that makes it worse.

You’d almost be less embarrassed if she did say something. If she teased you. If she acted like she knew.

But she doesn’t. Or maybe she does and just enjoys watching you squirm.

It’s a long, unbearable day.

Emily brushes past you in the kitchen and your entire body goes still. She says excuse me like she always does, but the way her hand settles lightly at the small of your back nearly makes your knees give out. You nearly drop your mug. You thank her too quickly, too breathlessly. She raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Back at your desk, you can’t even focus on your screen. Your report’s half-finished and riddled with typos.

At one point, JJ leans in and asks if you’re okay. You nod, but your voice cracks when you answer, and she gives you a weird look.

You want to go home.

You want to sleep without dreaming. Or maybe you want to dream again, but finish this time.

And through it all, Emily doesn’t say a word. Just works like she always does, calm and in control, like she has no idea what kind of chaos she’s left you in.

But there’s something in the way she looks at you now. Just for a second, now and then. Measured. Knowing.

The bullpen is quieter in the late afternoon. Case files have thinned out. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee and recycled air. You’re at your desk trying to focus on paperwork, but your brain’s been unreliable ever since you got back. Every time Emily walks past, your thoughts scatter. Every time she speaks, something in your chest stirs. It’s getting harder to pretend it’s not happening.

You’re so deep in a sentence you barely notice her at first. Emily curses under her breath, smacks the side of her monitor once, then crouches beside the CPU tower under her desk like she’s debating violence.

“Need help?” you offer, already on your feet.

She waves a hand at the frozen screen. “The damn thing won’t stop glitching. I’ve restarted it twice and Garcia’s not answering.”

You drop to one knee beside her and tap a few keys. Then you reach underneath, flip a switch tucked behind the port box, and press a command to reboot it in safe mode. Emily leans close enough to see what you’re doing, then blinks when her desktop flickers back to life.

“What the hell did you just do?”

“I’ve seen Garcia fix it like that before.”

There’s a pause. You expect a thanks or a joke about turning it off and on again. Instead, Emily smiles—slow, curious—and says, “You’re a quick study. Makes me wonder what else you’re eager to learn.”

Your breath catches. You know it’s probably nothing. Just something people say.

But she holds your gaze for a second too long.

You retreat to your desk before your face gives you away. Your skin feels flushed, and the words won’t stop repeating.

Makes me wonder what else you’re eager to learn.

You don’t get much work done after that.

That night you dream of Emily again.

You’re in her apartment, though you’ve never seen it. You just know. The lighting is low, amber and soft, and she’s already moving toward you like this has happened before, like this is inevitable.

She touches your waist first. Fingers sliding under your shirt, nails grazing your ribs. She kisses your throat and says it again, voice velvet-smooth and far too steady.

“You’re a quick study,” she murmurs. “Makes me wonder what else you’re eager to learn.”

Your mouth opens to answer, but nothing comes. There’s no room for words when her lips are on yours.

It’s slower than the last time, more confident. Her hands explore like she's travelling familiar terrain. She lifts your shirt with practiced ease, unclasps your bra without asking, watches your reaction as she exposes you inch by inch. Her expression is the same one she wore in the field—focused, calm, in control.

“You’ve thought about this,” she whispers. “Haven’t you?”

You nod. It’s the only thing you can do.

She backs you toward the bed, and you let her. She pushes your pants down your hips, strokes your thighs with deliberate care, like she’s taking her time just because she knows you’ll let her.

“You have no idea how many things I could teach you.”

Then her hand is between your legs. Not teasing this time. Not suggestive. Her fingers sink into you and you gasp—sharp and wanting—hips instinctively bucking.

She’s murmuring something you can’t quite hear, something low and indulgent, while her fingers curl and stroke and build pressure in slow, devastating waves. Your breath is hitching. You reach for her arm, not to stop her but to anchor yourself.

You’re close. So close. The kind of edge that burns in your belly, your thighs shaking, your body begging for release.

And then—

You wake up.

Sweaty. Gasping. Alone.

You grab the nearest pillow and drag it over your face, half hoping it’ll smother the need still pulsing between your legs.

This is getting dangerous.

You don’t sleep much after the dream.

You spend the morning pretending you’re fine. Coffee in hand, files under your arm, your polite smile locked in place like it might save your life.

But Emily’s already in when you get there. Sitting at her desk, legs crossed, eyes scanning something on her screen. She looks up when she hears you. Her eyes meet yours and for one terrible second, you're sure she knows. That she can somehow see it, smell it, read it all over your face.

“Morning,” she says, calm and even, lifting her coffee in greeting.

“Morning,” you manage, voice tight.

She doesn’t ask if you’re okay. She doesn’t need to.

You don’t miss the slight tug of her mouth. The way her eyes linger for a beat longer than necessary before flicking back to the screen.

You go about your day like you’re not constantly thinking about the way she’d looked in your dream. The way her voice had dipped low. The way her fingers had felt curling into your body.

You keep replaying the moment she’d said it. “You’re a quick study. Makes me wonder what else you’re eager to learn.” That line. That smile. That impossibly smug, impossibly sexy way she’d said it.

You spend most of the morning trying not to stare at her. You fail. Often.

And she doesn’t help. Not even a little.

She finds reasons to come by your desk. Small things. Asking for an old file she could easily grab herself. A question about phrasing in a report she definitely already knows the answer to. Leaning over your shoulder to look at your screen, close enough for you to smell her perfume.

Every time she speaks to you, it’s like your brain short circuits. You nod too fast. Laugh too loud. You keep hoping she won’t notice. But you see the way her mouth curves every time. Like she does. Like she’s clocked all of it and is just waiting to see how long you’ll last before saying something.

At one point in the afternoon, you pass her in the corridor near the break room. She’s just exiting, sipping from a fresh cup of coffee, and steps aside slightly to let you through. Her hand brushes your arm—light, barely anything—but you swear your heart stops.

“You alright?” she asks. Innocent. Friendly.

You nod. “Fine.”

She watches you for a second longer than needed. “You look a little warm.”

You freeze. She gives a small shrug, lifting her mug toward her lips.

“Maybe it’s just me.”

She walks off without waiting for a reply.

You stand there with your face on fire, wondering what the hell that even meant. Was it nothing? A throwaway comment? Or was it the kind of thing someone says when they know they’ve been starring in your dreams two nights in a row?

The rest of the day is no easier.

Emily is sharp as ever in the briefing. All business. Until she glances your way while talking and catches you mid-drift. Her brow lifts, just a little. You snap back to attention like you’ve been smacked.

After lunch, you’re alone in the kitchenette when she steps in behind you. You’re pouring coffee, nearly spilling it when she speaks.

“That one’s strong,” she says. “Might keep you up tonight.”

Your hand trembles slightly as you set the pot down. You don’t dare look at her.

She hums lightly, then steps past you to grab a stir stick. “Unless that’s what you’re hoping for.”

You glance up at her, throat dry. But she’s not looking at you. Not really. Just giving the smallest smile, amused, unreadable. Then she turns and walks off.

You sink into your chair at your desk five minutes later and stare blankly at your screen for a good ten minutes before remembering how to type.

By the time the day finally ends, you feel wrung out. Strung up. Like your skin is one touch away from betraying you completely.

You wait a few minutes longer than usual before packing up. Just in case she’s hanging around. You can’t take another smirk. Another sideways look. Another maybe-provocation.

You’re halfway through shutting your monitor down when you hear her voice behind you.

"Hey," she says, voice easy. "You doing anything tomorrow night?"

You turn, pulse already picking up. Emily's standing by your desk, coat folded over one arm, phone in hand. She looks casual. Relaxed. Like she didn’t spend the whole day getting under your skin.

Your brain stutters through about four useless answers before you manage a shrug. "Not really. Why?"

She smiles, and it’s just crooked enough to be distracting. “I’m having a few people over. JJ and Garcia. Just a casual thing. Wine, pizza, a movie if we get around to it.”

You blink. “Oh. That sounds fun.”

"You should come," she says, like it’s nothing. Like she didn’t just casually throw your whole weekend off-balance with four words. "Girls night. I figured it might be good for you to unwind."

There’s a warmth in the way she says it. Not pity, but familiarity. Like she remembers what it’s like being new to all this.

You smile before you can help it. “Yeah. Sure. I’d love to.”

Emily gives a little nod, eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “I’ll text you the details.”

She’s already turning to go when she throws one last glance over her shoulder. “Wear something comfortable.”

And then she’s gone, striding off with that same infuriating confidence she carries everywhere. You watch her disappear around the corner and only then realize your heart is doing that fast, flustered thing again.

You gather your things slower than necessary, replaying her voice in your head. The invitation. The glance. The way her mouth pulled into a smirk like she already knew you’d say yes.

You don’t know if it’s meant to be anything more than friendly. You don’t know if she’s toying with you or just being nice.

But you know one thing for sure.

You’re definitely not going to get much sleep tonight either.

That night you dream of Emily again.

There’s no lead-in this time, no hazy slow burn. Just the sharp snap of awareness that you’re dreaming, and she’s already there — already touching you.

You’re on your back, half-dressed, her fingers working at the button of your jeans like she’s done it a thousand times before. Your breath catches when she tugs them down your hips and lets them fall to the floor, taking your underwear with them. The air is cool against your skin. Her hands are anything but.

She pushes your thighs apart and settles between them with a steady, deliberate motion that steals the words from your mouth. You reach for her without thinking, fingers twisting in the dark fabric of her shirt as her mouth finds the inside of your thigh. She doesn’t speak. Just kisses, slowly, higher, higher, then pulls back with a smile like she’s savouring how much you want this.

When she finally licks into you, it’s not tentative. It’s hungry. Like she’s been thinking about this just as long as you have.

Your hips jerk. She doesn’t stop.

She keeps you open with her hands, tongue moving in long, teasing strokes that make your head fall back against the pillows. Every flick, every press, pulls you closer. Your breathing turns shallow. One of her hands slides up your side, under your shirt, palm pressed flat just beneath your ribs to hold you down when you start to squirm.

It’s too much. Not enough. You gasp her name but it comes out half-broken.

She hums low against you like she enjoys the sound, and the vibration shoots right through your core. Your legs start to tremble. You're trying to hold still but your body’s acting on its own now, chasing what she’s building.

You’re so close.

So close.

Your fingers dig into the sheets. Your whole body coils, desperate for release.

And then—

A car horn blares outside your window, loud and jarring.

You jolt awake with a choked breath, your body arching slightly off the bed.

You’re in bed. Alone. The ceiling spins above you, and your skin is hot and flushed and painfully untouched.

“Fuck,” you whisper, hoarse and furious.

You fling an arm over your eyes, the throbbing between your legs bordering on unbearable now. Your whole body had been ready to let go. It felt like you were seconds away from unravelling completely and now you’re just… left with nothing.

Just wet underwear and frustration sharp enough to bite.

You lie there, fuming, breath ragged, heart pounding, thighs still twitching with the ghost of her mouth.

This is getting ridiculous.

You spend most of the day avoiding your own thoughts.

The dream won’t leave you alone. It follows you like static, clinging to your skin, fuzzing around the edges of everything. You can still feel her mouth on you, phantom pressure between your legs, your body remembering all the things your mind is trying not to.

You clean your apartment even though it’s not dirty. Wipe down surfaces that don’t need wiping. Rearrange books, scrub the inside of your fridge, throw out condiments that expired two years ago. You take a shower that’s too hot and too long, hoping it’ll burn away the tension lodged deep in your muscles.

It doesn’t help.

Neither does changing outfits five times or spending an hour trying to decide if doing your makeup would seem like trying too hard. You tell yourself it’s just a casual girls’ night. Drinks and snacks. Probably a movie or some gossip. Just JJ, Garcia, and Emily.

Emily.

You blow out a sharp breath and lean your hands on the edge of the bathroom sink, staring at your reflection like you might be able to talk some sense into yourself. But the thrum under your skin has only grown stronger since last night. A nervous energy that won’t quit. You hate how jittery you feel. Like a kid with a crush. Like a live wire waiting to spark.

You almost text Garcia to cover for you. Twice.

But you don’t.

When you finally leave the apartment, it’s almost an hour earlier than you need to. You kill time driving around for a bit, windows down, music low, trying to steady your breathing. When that doesn’t work, you park outside Emily’s building and just sit there in the car, hands gripping the steering wheel.

You tell yourself to relax. It’s just a night with friends. You’ve done this before.

But you haven’t. Not like this. Not with her.

Emily’s apartment is warm when she opens the door. Not just in temperature, but in atmosphere. Soft yellow light spills from the lamps instead of the overheads, and there’s something cooking that smells spicy and homemade. Music hums from speakers in the living room — something mellow, mostly instrumental, just loud enough to fill the space without needing to talk over it.

“Hey,” she says, stepping back to let you in. “You’re early.”

You hand her the bottle of wine you brought. “Sorry. I can leave and come back in five minutes if that helps.”

She smirks, one brow lifting. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just in time to help me set up.”

You follow her in, trying not to get distracted by how relaxed she looks dressed down in comfortable clothes. Her hair pulled back loosely, some strands already escaping. She’s so casual like this, off-duty but still in control of every detail.

JJ and Garcia arrive together not long after, arms full of bags and containers, both already laughing about something before they’ve even made it through the door. And just like that, the night begins to take shape.

You find your place easily among them. It surprises you — how natural it feels. No one treats you like the new one tonight. The conversation starts with food, then slides into favourite shows, bad dates, and what it’s like trying to explain your job to people outside the Bureau. Garcia keeps steering things into more risqué territory when she can, and JJ just laughs and eggs her on.

You mostly listen at first. Not out of discomfort, just curiosity. You like watching the way they interact, the rhythm they’ve built over years of knowing each other. You’re new, but they don’t make you feel like an outsider.

Still, it’s impossible not to track Emily in every room she moves through. She’s magnetic, even when she’s not trying to be. Even when she’s just leaning back on the couch, ankles crossed, sipping her wine like she isn’t completely occupying your every thought.

Even off-duty, she moves with purpose. When she sits, she leans into the conversation fully. When she makes a joke, her eyes flick toward yours. When she laughs — deep and unfiltered — it lands somewhere right beneath your skin.

You wish your brain would behave itself.

You’re too aware of how she sits next to you, thigh brushing yours when she shifts. Of how her arm sometimes stretches along the back of the couch, resting just behind your shoulders. Of how her laugh — sharp and full and real — sends a little ripple down your spine every time.

When you glance at her, sometimes she’s already looking. Sometimes she just smirks like she knows something you don’t.

Garcia’s halfway through a story about a disastrous first date involving a karaoke bar, a broken heel, and a man who tried to freestyle a love song in Spanish, when you realize you’ve stopped tracking the words entirely. You’re smiling, nodding along, but your head’s somewhere else. Caught again in that low, persistent buzz under your skin that’s been there since you watched Emily take that unsub to the ground like it cost her nothing.

You’re not used to feeling like this. Not with a women.

You laugh when you’re supposed to. You sip your wine and nod and ask questions and smile like nothing’s wrong. Like you’re not coming apart over a crush.

Emily nudges you lightly with her elbow, her voice low against your ear.

“You okay over there?”

You blink. “What?”

“You’ve gone quiet. That’s all.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Just listening.”

She holds your gaze for a second too long before nodding, turning her attention back to JJ and Garcia. But the corner of her mouth tugs upward, like she knows you’re lying.

You sip your wine too fast and feel your face heat.

You need to keep it together. Tonight is just drinks with friends. You’re imagining things. You have to be.

The shift in conversation happened somewhere between a shared laugh and the clink of glasses against the table. Garcia stretched out on the floor, head propped on a throw pillow, and sighed dramatically.

“Alright. Worst sex.”

JJ nearly choked on a chip. “What?”

“Worst. Sex.” Garcia grinned, pointing lazily between them. “We’ve all had at least one disaster. Let’s normalize the cringe.”

Emily lifted her brows. “What is this, trauma bonding?”

Garcia grinned wider. “Exactly.”

JJ rolled her eyes but smiled. “Okay. I’ll go first, just to get it over with.” She reached for her drink, took a sip. “There was this guy in high school. We were both… enthusiastic. But he had no idea what he was doing, and I didn’t know how to say no. It was quick. Really quick. And then he cried.”

You winced sympathetically as they all burst out laughing.

Garcia twirled the stem of her glass, eyes bright with mischief. “Okay, so mine wasn’t horrifying, but… deeply, deeply uncomfortable.”

JJ grinned. “Go on.”

“There was this guy I met through a tech networking event. Tall, kind of hot in a twitchy coder way. We go back to his place, everything’s going fine, until he—” she paused dramatically “—starts narrating.”

“Narrating?” you echoed.

Garcia nodded. “Like, full-on audiobook-style. In the third person. ‘She gasped as he caressed her supple thigh.’”

You blinked. “No.”

“Oh yes. ‘Her breath came in shallow pants as passion overtook them both.’”

JJ nearly choked on her drink. “Did he stop at any point?”

“He only got more into it. Switched accents halfway through. By the end it was like being seduced by a very confused Shakespearean pirate.”

Even Emily laughed at that, covering her mouth briefly with her hand.

Garcia shrugged, mock-tragic. “I faked a leg cramp to make it stop. Haven’t read erotica the same way since.”

You laughed along with them, warm from the company and the low hum of vulnerability that had snuck into the room.

Emily leaned her elbow on the arm of the couch. “I had a one-night stand once who asked to be called Commander.” She held up a hand. “Not ironically.”

“Commander of what?” JJ asked, half laughing.

“No idea,” Emily said. “He wasn’t commanding much.”

The group laughed again. You looked down at your drink, rolling the cool glass between your palms.

When the laughter faded, Garcia’s attention flicked back to you. “Alright, quiet one. Let’s hear it.”

You glanced up, considered your words. “I don’t know if I have a worst. They’ve all kind of… blended together.”

JJ raised a brow. “That bad?”

“Not terrible,” you said slowly. “Just… average. Fine. No horror stories, but nothing worth remembering, either.”

Garcia made a sympathetic noise. “A sea of beige.”

You smiled faintly. “Pretty much.”

When you looked up again, Emily was watching you. Not overtly, not pointedly. Just something about the angle of her gaze, the way her attention lingered a half-second longer than necessary. Like she’d filed your words away somewhere quiet.

She didn’t say anything, but you felt the weight of her silence.

Not judgment. Something else.

Curiosity.

It settled in your chest, heavy and strange. You weren’t used to being the one looked at like that.

Garcia grinned over the rim of her glass and said, “Okay, I want to raise the stakes. What’s the most adventurous place you’ve ever had sex?”

JJ leaned back with a small groan. “You’re going to make us admit we were once young and stupid, aren’t you?”

Garcia raised her hand. “Guilty as charged.”

“I’ll go last,” Emily said with a slight smirk, and the way her eyes landed on you made your stomach tighten.

JJ sighed. “Alright. I’ll bite. Um... college, football stadium, upper bleachers. It was freezing, and I remember being more worried about getting caught than actually enjoying it.”

Garcia gasped. “JJ!”

JJ held up her hand. “I was nineteen and dating a linebacker, okay? Not my finest moment.”

“Mine was more recent,” Garcia said proudly. “Well, recent-ish. There was this guy I met at a cybersecurity conference in Denver. We both ditched a keynote, ended up in one of the demo rooms—”

“No,” JJ said, already laughing.

Garcia beamed. “Yes. On the table. Right next to a whiteboard that said 'penetration testing'.”

JJ nearly spat her drink. “You're kidding.”

“I never joke about puns and sex,” Garcia said solemnly.

The room was warm with laughter again. Then eyes turned to you.

You hesitated, cheeks hot, but didn’t look away. “Mine’s not that exciting. Nothing too wild. Honestly, probably... not worth mentioning.”

Emily tipped her head, amused. “Really?”

You shrugged with a vague smile. “I mean, if we’re being honest? I think I’ve had more mediocre sex than anything worth retelling.”

That quieted things for a beat.

Garcia looked at you, softer now. “That’s more common than people admit.”

Emily, though, didn’t speak right away. Her gaze was steady, one brow raised ever so slightly, a flicker of curiosity behind it. You could feel her attention settle on you in a way that made your breath catch, your skin go warm.

When she finally did speak, it was low and almost teasing. “Sounds like you’re due for a better story.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not with your heart thudding the way it was.

Garcia moved the conversation on, asking JJ if her college boyfriend was any good, and the room filled again with laughter and chatter. But you stayed quiet a beat longer, eyes fixed on the edge of your glass, trying not to think too hard about what Emily had said. Or the fact that her gaze hadn’t quite left you yet.

The lull that had followed Garcia’s last story hung in the room like something warm and heavy. The laughter had softened into quieter smiles, everyone a little sunk into the couch cushions now, a little more relaxed. That particular kind of ease that only came from hours of comfort and a touch too much honesty.

Garcia stretched her legs out, nudging JJ’s foot with hers. “Okay. We’ve covered bad and weird. Now the real question. Ever hooked up with a woman?”

JJ gave an incredulous laugh. “Seriously?”

Garcia nodded, completely unbothered. “We’re in too deep now to play modest. Spill.”

JJ groaned lightly but gave in with a shrug. “I made out with a friend once in college. It was a party thing. We were drunk. It didn’t mean anything and we never talked about it again.”

Garcia grinned. “I knew it. You’ve got repressed college chaos written all over you.”

JJ rolled her eyes. “It was barely anything. Just curiosity and too much tequila.”

Garcia turned her smile on herself. “I’ve kissed a girl. Truth or dare, senior year of high school. Lots of lip gloss, zero follow-through. Pretty sure I just wanted to prove I’d do it.”

She looked over at Emily. “I’m guessing you’re going to outdo us all.”

Emily didn’t answer right away. She took a sip from her glass, her expression unreadable until her eyes cut sideways in that deliberate way she had when she was about to say something that might shift the room’s temperature.

Emily raised an eyebrow, slow and deliberate. “You’re assuming I have some kind of wild story.”

“You definitely do,” Garcia said with a smirk.

Emily tilted her head slightly. “Fine. I’ve been with a few women. A couple casual. One serious.”

JJ blinked. “Oh.”

Emily gave a small shrug. “I don’t really see the point in limiting myself. I like who I like.”

Your stomach fluttered. No one else reacted much. Garcia gave a satisfied little “knew it” noise and JJ just nodded but your whole body felt like it had tilted toward her.

Garcia then gave a low whistle. “That’s the coolest thing anyone’s said all night.”

JJ nodded, recovering with a grin. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Garcia didn’t hesitate. “What about you?”

You felt the question hit before you even registered the words. It took a second too long to realize she meant you.

“Me?”

Garcia raised her eyebrows, amused. “Yeah, you. Don’t try to dodge now.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly aware of your posture, your hands, your breath. “Um. I… no. I haven’t.”

JJ’s head tilted. “Never?”

“Not like— I mean— no. Not really,” you said, voice pitching higher with every word. “I just haven’t. It’s never come up. Or… maybe it has, but not in any way I would’ve actually—” You stopped, blinked hard. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Garcia smiled gently. “You’re saying you haven’t.”

“Right,” you breathed. “Exactly. That. I haven’t.”

JJ gave a little shrug. “That’s fair. I mean, it’s not like most people go around collecting experiences just to check boxes.”

You nodded too quickly. “Right, yeah, and not that I wouldn’t— I mean, it’s not about not being open, it’s just—”

Your words collapsed on themselves, and you caught them too late. The heat climbed up your neck like wildfire.

“I mean, I guess I’ve just never been in a situation where— it’s not that I’m not curious or— no, not curious, that’s not— I mean—” You groaned softly, pressing a hand to your temple. “Wow, I need to stop talking.”

Garcia laughed, not unkindly. “Babe, you’re spiralling.”

JJ grinned. “It’s endearing though.”

You gave a strangled laugh, trying not to bury your face in a cushion. “That’s a generous word for it.”

But Emily hadn’t said anything.

You didn’t dare look at her, not yet, but you felt her. Present. Still. That heavy awareness crawling up your skin. When you finally glanced her way, she was already watching you.

Emily leaned back in her seat, slow and smooth. One arm draped over the back of the couch. She was still watching you. You could feel it, heat blooming along your skin in the places her gaze didn’t even touch. She didn’t press. She didn’t tease. She just looked.

And smiled.

It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t surprised. It was something else entirely.

A smile that knew something you didn’t.

She looked at you like she saw something she hadn’t expected but found… interesting.

Her voice was low when she finally spoke.

“Good to know.”

The words curled around your spine.

JJ and Garcia moved on quickly, bickering over something else. Another story, another joke, another ridiculous confession. The moment passed for them.

But not for you.

Your stomach flipped, something twisting tight and warm and impossible to name. You swallowed hard and turned back to the others, trying to tune back in, but everything else felt dim now. All you could feel was Emily’s eyes on you and that little smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

Like a challenge had been issued.

And accepted.

Something shifted after that.

The easy warmth that had carried through most of the night was still there on the surface, in the laughter and teasing that followed, in the half-hearted debate over who was finishing the last of the snacks and whether Garcia’s playlist was too chaotic for the mood. But under all of that, something else simmered. Something quieter. Heavier. Charged.

It was the way you became hyper-aware of Emily’s presence—every time she leaned forward to grab something off the table, every subtle brush of her hand near yours, every glance that lingered just a second too long.

It was the way you found yourself watching her mouth when she smiled. The way you couldn’t stop wondering if she was still thinking about what you’d said. About how you’d said it.

And most of all, it was the way she didn’t look away when she caught you looking.

When Garcia finally stood with a stretch and a yawn, claiming she had brunch plans in the morning, JJ followed with a murmured agreement, both of them already slipping into the familiar rhythm of gathering their things. You stood too, out of habit more than anything, but your feet felt strangely heavy.

“I’ll walk out with you,” JJ said as she grabbed her coat. “You staying?”

You gave a small shrug. “Thought I’d help Emily clean up.”

Garcia glanced over, smiling like she couldn’t help herself. “Of course you would. Teacher’s pet.”

You scoffed under your breath, not bothering to argue.

Emily called from the kitchen, her voice dry, amused. “You do realize I grade on a curve.”

JJ chuckled and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t let her rope you into reorganizing her spice rack.”

“I only did that once,” Emily said as she stepped into view, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. “And it was deeply satisfying.”

Garcia laughed. “Okay, now I’m leaving before I get recruited.”

You smiled and hugged them both on their way out. JJ offered a quick “See you Monday,” and Garcia added a sing-song “Good luck.”

Then the door clicked shut behind them.

The silence that settled after they left wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t the same as before either. There was a stillness to it that made your skin feel just a little too warm.

“I can grab the glasses,” you offered quickly, a little too quickly, already halfway to the table before Emily could respond. You needed something to do with your hands.

“Be my guest,” she said lightly, her voice floating in from the kitchen.

You scooped up the glasses, including the ones that were still half-full, focusing too hard on the way they clinked together. When you brought them into the kitchen, Emily was rinsing out a bowl, her sleeves pushed up, forearms damp. She didn’t look over as you set the glasses down beside her.

She handed you a dish towel without a word, and you took it with a nod, beginning to dry them one by one. The silence wasn’t awkward. But it wasn’t exactly easy, either.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter than before.

Emily glanced your way. “I’m glad you came.”

You gave a tight nod, folding the towel in half. “It was really nice. I don’t know. I haven’t had something like this in a long time. Just… laughing, relaxing. Not thinking about work for once.”

She hummed in agreement but didn’t fill the space with anything more. She didn’t need to.

Your fingers fumbled slightly on the rim of a wine glass. You cleared your throat. “I, um… Can I say something kind of dumb?”

Emily leaned back slightly, drying her hands on her own towel. “Sure.”

You focused on the sink instead of her. “Earlier. When Garcia asked about, you know, hooking up with women. I think I made it weird.”

Her lips twitched, just slightly. “You didn’t sound like an idiot.”

You shook your head. “I just… I wasn’t expecting the question, and then I was thinking too much, and I couldn’t shut up, and then I realized I probably sounded like I was twelve and—”

“You were honest.”

You blinked. Her voice was steady. Still soft, but more certain than yours had been all night.

Your breath caught. You glanced down at the counter, your fingers tracing the edge of the towel. “I guess I was.”

Emily was still watching you. And the space between you suddenly felt smaller than it had been a moment ago.

You took a breath. “That’s not the stupid part.”

She tilted her head slightly, curious. “No?”

“No,” you said, almost too fast. You looked up at her again. “The stupid part is that I’ve spent most of tonight trying to work up the nerve to talk to you. Just you. And now this is what I’m going with.”

Emily didn’t speak right away. Her gaze flicked across your face, slow, measured. Then she straightened from the counter, took a step forward.

You pressed forward before you could lose your nerve. “I’ve been noticing things. About you. Or maybe just noticing you more, I guess. And I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Only that I think you’ve noticed it too.”

Emily smiled, slow and deliberate. “I have.”

You weren’t breathing right. “And that’s not a problem?”

She stepped closer. Not dramatically. Just enough that you felt it. The shift. The heat.

“No,” she said, soft but definite. “It’s not.”

And the air between you, impossibly, thickened again. This time with something unmistakable.

The silence stretched, but neither of you moved.

Then Emily took a slow, measured step forward. She didn’t reach for you. She didn’t speak. Just shifted closer in a way that didn’t ask anything of you but offered something all the same.

Your heart was hammering now, the rhythm loud in your ears. You watched her, not even pretending not to.

She stepped in again. Still careful. Still giving you space to stop her. To say no. You didn’t.

Your breath hitched, not out of nerves now but something sharper. Want, maybe. Anticipation. You weren’t sure you’d ever wanted anything the way you wanted this.

Emily’s gaze dropped to your mouth, then lifted to meet your eyes. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nodded before she even finished the sentence.

When she finally closed the last bit of distance and kissed you, it was soft and slow, like she meant to memorize the shape of your lips. You leaned into her without hesitation. Her hand came up to your jaw, gentle but sure, anchoring you in a way that made your knees feel unsteady.

It wasn’t rushed. There was no urgency. Just the quiet, certain heat of something new beginning.

You weren’t thinking anymore. Not about the girls’ night. Not about what you had or hadn’t said. Just her mouth on yours, warm and sure, and the quiet way her thumb brushed your cheek like she was still asking. Still waiting to see if you’d pull away.

Emily kissed you like she had time. Like there was no pressure to rush. But something in you cracked open the second her lips met yours. The restraint, the caution you’d been clinging to all night dissolved in an instant.

You pushed in, kissed her harder, like your body had finally caught up with everything your brain had been trying to suppress. A soft sound escaped you, half relief, half disbelief, and your hands moved on instinct, unsure where they were supposed to go but desperate to touch something. You caught the edge of her shirt, fingers curling there, grounding yourself.

Emily didn’t pull back. She made a quiet noise against your mouth that felt like approval and let you take the lead for a second. Let you show her how much you wanted this. How long you’d been holding back.

But once that first burst passed, the panic of inexperience caught up with you. You faltered just slightly, breath stuttering as the kiss slowed. Your hands hovered at her sides, unsure, like you’d just realized you were way out of your depth.

Emily eased off enough to rest her forehead against yours. Her breath was warm, shallow, matching yours. She gave you time, didn’t speak right away, just let the space pulse gently between you.

Your voice was barely there when it came. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Emily’s fingers brushed your wrist, her touch light. “That’s okay.”

You swallowed. “I want to. I just… I don’t know how to…”

“You don’t have to know anything,” she said, soft and even. “You’re doing fine.”

You let out something close to a laugh, nervous and breathless. “I feel like I’m going to forget how to breathe.”

Emily smiled against your cheek. “That happens.”

Her hand slid down to rest at your hip, steady and sure.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” she murmured, voice low, “but I do.”

Her fingers curled lightly around you, and before you could answer, she tilted your face up with gentle authority.

“That’s why I’m going to take care of it. Take care of you.”

Your stomach flipped. You held her gaze, caught between nerves and something far deeper.

“I’m going to tell you what I want,” she continued, slower now. “And you’re going to listen. You’ll let me show you.”

You nodded, maybe too fast.

Her hand tightened lightly at your hip. “I need to hear it.”

“Yes,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

That earned the smallest smile. Not sweet. Satisfied.

“Good girl.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Your face went warm. You didn’t look away.

Emily leaned in just enough to speak against your ear. “Come with me.”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t have to.

She took your hand without waiting and turned, leading you down the hallway like she already knew you’d follow. You did. Silently, pulse pounding, the air between you tighter with every step.

She didn’t rush. Her fingers stayed curled around yours, grip firm, grounding. When she pushed open the bedroom door, she didn’t look back.

You stepped inside after her. The door clicked softly shut behind you.

Emily turned, and this time, when she looked at you, it was unmistakable.

“You’re mine tonight,” she said, voice velvet and steel. “You do exactly as I say.”

You swallowed hard, heart threatening to spill over. “Okay.”

Her smile deepened, slow and sure. “Take a breath.”

You did.

Then she stepped in close and kissed you again, and nothing in you wanted to stop her.

Emily’s lips met yours again, slow and deliberate. Her hands slid to your waist, steady but gentle, pulling you closer just enough to erase the space between you. The kiss deepened, but there was softness beneath her confidence, like she was carefully testing the waters.

Your hands trembled, hovering uncertainly before settling lightly against her sides. You weren’t sure what to do next, the flutter in your chest mixing with a growing heat.

She broke the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips, her voice low and coaxing.

“Don’t rush. Just follow me.”

Her fingers traced a teasing path along your ribs, then moved to peel back the fabric of your shirt slowly, as if savouring the moment. Every touch was deliberate but gentle, coaxing you out of your hesitation.

Her eyes met yours, glinting with something mischievous and a little wild.

“You’re new to this. That makes it all the more fun.”

You swallowed hard, breath hitching.

Her hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingers cool against your skin, exploring carefully.

“You’re safe with me,” she whispered near your ear. “Let me show you how good this can feel.”

Her touch grew bolder, sliding lower toward your waistband, teasing but patient.

“If anything feels too much, you tell me. But I have a feeling you’re ready to see just how far this can go.”

You couldn’t help the small, nervous laugh.

Emily’s smile deepened, half encouragement, half challenge.

“Good girl.”

Emily kissed you like she had all the time in the world. Then she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. There was heat there, sure, but also something steadying. Grounded.

“Take my shirt off,” she said, voice low and certain.

Your breath caught. You nodded, hands already lifting, though your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the hem.

She didn’t move. Didn’t help. Just watched you. Let you do it.

You pushed her shirt up slowly, knuckles grazing her skin. It slid easily up her torso, revealing pale, warm skin inch by inch. You tried not to stare, tried to keep your breathing even, but she was right there, and every part of her you uncovered felt like something you weren’t supposed to see. Not because it was off limits. Because it was sacred.

Emily’s voice came soft but firm. “You can look, sweetheart.”

You did.

She smiled, not smug but knowing. Like she’d seen the hesitation in your fingers and wanted to give you permission. Like she already knew this was new for you and wanted you to sink into it anyway.

“Now the rest,” she said.

A soft line of muscle curved beneath her ribs. A faint scar ran just above her hip, a pale streak your fingers almost followed. Her skin looked impossibly smooth, touched here and there with freckles you hadn’t noticed before.

When the shirt bunched at her shoulders, she raised her arms for you, slow and unhurried, eyes still on your face. You peeled it the rest of the way off, careful, reverent without meaning to be.

You stood there holding it for a second, unsure what to do next.

Emily took it from your hands and let it fall to the floor. Then she stepped in, close enough that you could feel the heat of her body. Her hands settled lightly at your waist.

“You can touch me,” she said, voice low. “Anywhere you want.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came.

She smiled, soft and knowing. “You don’t have to ask.”

Your hand rose like it belonged to someone else. You brushed your fingers along the slope of her collarbone, watched the way her skin warmed beneath your touch. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move away. She let you explore, let you linger.

You traced down the curve of her shoulder, then across the edge of her bra, skin to fabric. Her breathing changed slightly. Not loud, but noticeable. She was letting you affect her.

“You’re doing fine,” she murmured.

Your fingers trailed lower, over her ribs, along the bare skin just beneath the band of her bra. Every place you touched felt new. You’d never seen a woman like this, never touched anyone like this, not like it meant something. And definitely not someone who looked at you the way Emily was looking at you now—like you were allowed to be bold. Like she wanted you to be.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this,” you whispered.

She tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Like I don’t want to stop.”

Emily smiled. “Then don’t.”

You leaned in, heart hammering, and kissed the base of her throat. She let her head fall back, giving you more. And when your lips brushed lower, across her chest, her fingers tightened lightly at your hips.

Still steady. Still letting you lead.

But her voice was lower now, more sure than ever. “Take the rest off.”

You hesitated, but she didn’t rush you.

So you did.

Hands trembling, heart full, eyes locked to hers. Undressing her like you were peeling away something holy. And all the while, Emily just watched, calm and quiet and entirely yours.

Emily’s hands found the hem of your shirt, fingers brushing your sides. She didn’t rush. Just that small touch was enough to make your breath catch.

“Arms up,” she said softly, a faint smile tugging at her mouth.

You obeyed without thinking. She pulled your shirt over your head, slow and smooth, her fingertips grazing bare skin on the way up. Her eyes stayed on you as she dropped the shirt to the floor. Her gaze wasn’t harsh or assessing. It lingered, deliberate, taking you in like she wanted to memorize every part of you. The thrill of it hummed under your skin.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, not as a compliment, but as a fact.

Your stomach flipped. You started to speak, but her fingers skimmed along your waistband and you forgot how to form words. She didn’t reach for the button. Not yet. Just let her knuckles trace the edge of your jeans, featherlight and maddening.

“Can I?” she asked, voice lower now.

You nodded too quickly. “Yes.”

Emily’s fingers dipped to the button and slid it open, then slowly tugged down your zipper. Her hands brushed your hips, then slid the denim down your legs with aching patience. Each inch of skin revealed felt like it was being unwrapped for her and her alone.

She helped you step out, then her hands smoothed back up your thighs, dragging the faintest touch behind them. She didn’t reach for your underwear. Not yet. Her thumbs traced the curve of your hips, your waist, the dip below your ribs.

Her mouth came close again. “Touch me,” she said, low and coaxing. “Anywhere you want.”

You exhaled shakily, your fingers lifting to her skin, unsure where to start. She guided your hand to her waist, and the moment you felt the heat of her there, under your palm, something in you settled. She was solid. Warm. Real.

“You won’t get it wrong,” she whispered.

Your fingertips wandered. Her side. Her stomach. The soft skin just above the band of her underwear. She let you explore, let you learn her, while her hands kept wandering over your own bare skin, teasing, coaxing, always just enough to leave you aching for more.

You didn’t know how far she’d take this. You only knew you didn’t want it to stop.

Emily’s lips brushed your jaw, then down your neck, slow and deliberate. Her fingers kept tracing along your bare skin, touching just enough to make you tremble. You were warm all over, flushed and breathless, your hands resting uncertainly against her sides.

“Look at me,” she said, voice a little rough now.

You did. Her eyes held yours like a tether, steady and inescapable.

“Take off my bra.”

Your fingers shook slightly as you reached behind her, fumbling just once before the clasp came undone. The soft stretch of her bra gave under your touch, and Emily held your gaze as the straps slipped from her shoulders. She didn’t move to cover herself. She let the bra fall away.

And your breath caught.

You hadn’t expected to be so overwhelmed by the sight of her, but there was something dizzying about it. Her breasts were full and natural, everything about her unapologetically real, the gentle swell of her curves pulling your eyes with magnetic force. You hadn’t meant to stare, but your gaze lingered, helpless.

Emily tilted her head, and her smile was quiet but unmistakably knowing. She saw it all—the stunned look in your eyes, the flush creeping up your neck.

“You like looking at me,” she said, not a question.

You nodded, mouth dry. “You’re beautiful.”

She stepped closer, closing the space between you. Her hands found your wrists, and she brought them slowly upward until your palms hovered just in front of her chest.

“Then touch me,” she said, voice lower now. “Here.”

Your breath hitched. Your fingers curled slightly, brushing the warm skin just above the soft curve of her breast. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t push. She just waited for you to want it enough.

And you did. God, you did.

You let your hands settle there, the weight and heat of her beneath your palms making your whole body buzz. Her nipples were already peaked, and the contrast of softness and firmness under your fingers sent a jolt through your core. You felt clumsy, heart racing so fast it was hard to think.

This wasn’t just curiosity. This wasn’t just exploration.

This was hunger, finally given permission.

Emily let out a quiet hum, her eyes half-lidded as she watched you. Her hands slid to your waist, thumbs stroking bare skin.

“You’re doing so well,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. You were drunk on the way she felt, the warmth of her, the way she leaned into your touch without hesitation. And the more you touched, the more you wanted.

You didn’t know exactly what came over you. Just that touching her wasn’t enough anymore. That the sound of her breath catching, the way her eyes fluttered when you brushed your thumbs across her nipples, had lit something up inside you.

You wanted more of that. Needed it.

Your mouth found her collarbone first, uncertain but eager. A kiss. Then another. Emily’s skin was soft beneath your lips, tasting faintly of salt and skin and something entirely hers. You trailed slowly lower, guided by instinct, spurred on by the quiet sound she made when you grazed your teeth lightly just below her neck.

Her fingers tightened at your sides, not harsh but anchoring. She wasn’t stopping you. If anything, she was letting you take what you wanted.

And you wanted everything.

You dipped lower, kissing down her sternum, pausing just above the swell of her breast. You hesitated for half a second, looking up.

Emily met your eyes. “Go on,” she said, breathier than before. “You can taste me.”

That was all the encouragement you needed.

You closed your mouth around her nipple, tentative at first. The moment you did, she let out a soft moan. Low, real, impossibly beautiful. Your body pulsed in response. That sound undid you. You sucked gently, then swirled your tongue, just to see if she’d do it again.

She did.

Her head tipped back slightly, lips parting as another soft moan escaped. And you felt it everywhere. Like electricity under your skin.

You kissed and licked and sucked until you were shaking with the need to hear more of her. The sounds she made were delicate but raw, encouragement in every breath, every subtle shift of her hips toward you. She threaded her fingers into your hair, not controlling, just holding you there, as if she didn’t want you to stop either.

You shifted to her other breast, more confident now. Greedy for more of her. You loved the way her breath hitched when your teeth grazed lightly, the way her back arched the slightest bit when you lathed her with your tongue.

God, she was beautiful. And you were making her fall apart.

The power of it sank into your bones, heady and wild. You wanted to worship her. To make her keep making those sounds for as long as she’d let you.

You stayed there a little longer, mouthing at her skin like you could commit the shape of her to memory. You dragged your tongue slowly across the soft curve of her breast, kissed the underside, then pressed your lips to the spot just above her heart. She made a sound again, breathy and quiet, like she was feeling everything you were giving her.

Her fingers slid from your hair, tracing lightly along your jaw, then down your neck. “You’re doing so well,” she said, her voice low and warm.

You swallowed, flushed with the praise, and kissed your way back up to her mouth. She kissed you like she already knew exactly how you liked to be kissed. Deep and unhurried, her hand settling at the base of your throat.

When you finally pulled back to breathe, she looked at you with heat that made your stomach flip.

“Now,” she said, with a touch more certainty, “take off my panties.”

You nodded before you could think. Your hands drifted down to her hips, fingertips brushing the waistband. She didn’t move to help. She just watched you, letting you fumble your way through, your fingers snagging slightly as you eased the lace down over her thighs.

You kept your eyes on the fabric at first, too focused to look up, then finally you dared.

She was beautiful.

Your gaze flicked over the dark hair between her legs, the softness of her skin, the quiet confidence in the way she stood, letting you see all of her. She didn’t flinch or hide. She wasn’t performing either. She was just… letting you look. Letting you want.

Emily’s fingers trailed from your wrist up the length of your arm, slipping over the curve of your shoulder. Her touch was featherlight, deliberate, like she was studying the way your skin responded to her.

“You’re still wearing too much,” she said quietly.

You shivered.

Her hand settled at the base of your spine, the heat of it making your breath catch. She leaned in, her mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Let me see you.”

You nodded, unsure if your voice would work even if you tried.

She took her time. Her fingers found the clasp of your bra with ease, not fumbling, not asking, just knowing. She didn’t undo it right away, just let her knuckles brush across your back. You could feel her breathing behind you, calm and steady, grounding.

Then she unhooked it.

You felt the fabric loosen across your chest, her hand guiding the straps down your arms one at a time. She let it fall between you, her eyes lowering as she took you in.

Her gaze was careful but unflinching, like she didn’t want to miss a single detail. Her hands rose again, slower this time, fingertips brushing the sides of your breasts, light enough to make your skin prickle.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, not as a comfort, not as a line, but as a truth.

You tried to respond but couldn’t. Your mouth had gone dry. You couldn’t remember how to stand still, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move either.

Her hands dipped lower. She traced the waistband of your panties, her thumbs brushing over your hips, smoothing along the edges like she was testing how much you could take before unravelling.

“You want me to keep going?”

You nodded, eager and breathless.

Emily’s voice was quiet but firm. “Use your words.”

Your breath stuttered. “Yes. Please.”

Emily smiled, soft but sure, and knelt just enough to ease the last barrier down your thighs. She didn’t rush. Her palms dragged slowly over your legs as she pulled the fabric away, and you swore every nerve in your body sparked to life under her touch.

When she stood again, her gaze swept over you without hesitation.

And you let her look.

Because in her eyes, you weren’t something to be embarrassed about. You were something to be savoured.

Emily leaned in, pressed a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another at your jaw. Her voice was low when she spoke. “Get on the bed.”

Your legs moved before your brain could catch up. You climbed onto the mattress, heart still pounding, skin warm and bare beneath the dim light. You sat back on your heels, unsure what to do with your hands again, unsure of anything except that you wanted her.

Emily joined you without hesitation, kneeling close, the mattress shifting beneath her weight. Her body was all soft skin and quiet strength, and when she reached for you, it was to draw your hand into hers again.

“I want you to touch me,” she said, clear and calm. “Anywhere you want. However you want. You have permission.”

You swallowed hard. “You’re sure?”

Her hand lifted to your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your lips. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

You nodded, pulse racing. “Okay.”

She leaned back slightly, giving you room, her expression soft with patience. The invitation was real. She was offering herself to you. Not just physically, but with trust, with confidence, with the kind of permission that made your stomach flip and your fingertips itch to move.

You reached for her slowly, starting with the curve of her shoulder, your hand gliding down the length of her arm. Her skin was warm, smooth. You traced the line of her collarbone, watched the way her breath hitched slightly when your fingers grazed just beneath it.

Your other hand found her waist, and you leaned in closer, letting your fingertips explore the dip of her side, the curve of her hip. Her skin tightened there, a slight shiver running through her.

You looked up, half-questioning.

Emily’s eyes were darker now. “Keep going.”

So you did.

You ran your palms up her sides, over the swell of her breasts, careful at first. She inhaled slowly when you cupped them, the weight of them perfect in your hands. Her nipple hardened under your thumb, and the quiet sound she made in response made your stomach twist with need.

You did it again, slower this time, and she let her eyes flutter shut for a second.

You kissed her collarbone, then lower, your mouth moving with growing confidence as you explored every inch you could reach. Her reactions—small gasps, sharp intakes of breath, the way her hips shifted subtly toward you—became their own kind of map.

You learned quickly what made her sigh, what made her arch into your touch, what made her fingers grip the sheets without meaning to.

And you wanted to learn everything.

Your hands moved with more confidence now, your mouth pressing slow, open kisses over the swell of her breasts, down the plane of her stomach. Every sound Emily gave you in return felt like reward. Encouragement. Proof that you were doing something right.

Emily’s breath hitched, and she looked down at your hand, then back up at you.

“Massage them,” she said, voice quiet but sure. “Not too soft. I like pressure.”

You adjusted, cupping her fully, watching the way her chest rose under your touch. Her skin was warm, her nipple tightening against your palm. You glanced up again, gauging her reaction.

She gave you a small, wicked smile. “They’re sensitive.”

You let your thumb drag over the peak and she inhaled sharply.

“Pinch a little,” she said. “Not too hard. Just enough.”

Your fingers obeyed, slow and careful. Her eyelids fluttered, lips parting as she let out a low sound that lit something hot in your chest.

“Good,” she breathed. “Now your mouth.”

You didn’t hesitate this time. You leaned in and took her nipple into your mouth, sucking softly first, then harder when she guided you with a whispered, “More.”

Her hand came to rest lightly in your hair, not pushing or holding, just staying there while your tongue moved and her back arched under you.

“That’s it,” she said, voice raspier now. “Just like that.”

You didn’t know you could make someone sound like that. And now that you had, you needed to hear more of it.

Your mouth moved with more confidence now, lips sealing around her nipple, tongue circling before you sucked again, just like she’d asked. The sound she made in response was low and breathless, and it thudded through your chest like a heartbeat.

Her fingers curled a little tighter in your hair, not controlling, just anchoring, her body shifting beneath yours. You could feel how her breath stuttered when you scraped your teeth ever so lightly, how her hips gave a tiny, involuntary twitch when you pinched the other nipple between your fingers.

“Keep going,” she said, a little rough now, voice deeper. “You’re doing so well.”

Your pulse was racing, your nerves strung tight with the weight of her body and voice. Every sound she made, every flicker of pleasure across her face, pulled you deeper. You kissed down her chest, your mouth trailing slow heat along the curve of her breast and back again. You wanted to explore more, to find out what else made her gasp like that.

Your hand slid down, tentative, brushing over her side and across the dip of her waist. Emily shifted slightly, parting her legs just enough to guide you where she wanted you.

She met your eyes, gaze dark and certain. “You can touch me wherever you want… but if you really want to make me feel good, I’ll show you how.”

You nodded, breath shaky, fingers trembling a little as you rested your palm on the inside of her thigh.

Her voice dipped even lower. “Start slow. Use your fingers. Just there.”

She guided your hand again, her own resting lightly over yours for a beat before letting you continue on your own. Her thighs parted more, and you followed the direction of her gaze, your fingertips brushing over soft hair and flushed skin.

She gasped quietly when you found her, and your whole body warmed with it.

“Just like that,” she said, her hips tilting up to meet your touch. “Now rub in slow circles. Gentle.”

You followed her words, watching her reactions, studying every shift of her body. She kept whispering what she liked, what she wanted more of. You were listening so closely you felt like you could hear her heartbeat under your skin.

“Good girl,” she breathed when you did something right, her voice curling around the words like a reward. “Keep going. You’re making me feel so good.”

You brushed over her clit gently, testing, and the sound Emily made—low and pleased—went straight through you. You circled there, light and careful, your fingers gliding over her with an ease that made your own thighs clench. She was soaked, velvet and heat beneath your touch, and the realization of just how wet she was because of you sent a pulse of arousal between your legs.

You couldn’t help it. The more she shifted into your hand, the more you felt how her body welcomed you, the more turned on you became. You ached, breath shaky as you focused on her reactions, trying to memorize what made her sigh and what made her hips twitch. Your whole body buzzed with it, a thrilling hum under your skin that left you needing friction, contact, something to ground you.

“God,” you whispered without meaning to, breath hitching as your fingers traced her again. “You feel so good.”

Emily’s hand touched your shoulder lightly. “So do you. You’re doing perfect.”

You nodded, lips parted, every nerve lit up. You kept circling her clit slowly, your fingers moving more confidently now, watching the way she tilted her hips, chasing the pressure. You could feel her getting even wetter under your touch, and it made something hot pool low in your stomach. Your own arousal dripping between your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t stop your fingers from exploring every inch of her.

“Inside,” Emily said softly, her voice steady but lower now. “Slip your fingers inside me.”

You dragged your fingers down, collecting the slickness there, and pushed in carefully. She was hot and tight, her walls hugging you, and the feeling of being inside her made your head spin.

You let out a shaky breath. “Oh my god…”

Emily gave a soft moan, one that made your pulse pound harder. “Keep going.”

You added another finger, her body stretching around you, welcoming you in. Your thumb returned to her clit, rubbing it in slow circles as your fingers curled gently inside her, and the sound she made—throaty and desperate—was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

“Just like that,” she said, her voice breathless. “Don’t stop.”

Emily's breath caught, hips rolling into your hand, and she reached down, her fingers brushing your wrist. Not to stop you, but to guide. Her touch was gentle, instructive, the way she always was when teaching. Steady. Sure.

"Slow your fingers just a little," she murmured, her voice low and coaxing. "Feel how wet I am? You don't need to rush."

You adjusted your rhythm, letting your thumb move in slower, more deliberate circles over her clit while your fingers curled inside her. The change made her inhale through her teeth, and that sound sent another surge of heat through you. You felt her tighten, pulse around your fingers, and your heart kicked in your chest.

You could barely breathe, mesmerized by the way she felt. The way she responded to you. Slick heat clung to your fingers, and the way she opened for you, the way she moved with you, made you feel like you were learning a secret language only the two of you could speak.

"Try pressing harder now," she said, her voice dipping slightly, threaded with a restrained sort of hunger. "And angle your hand up, just a bit. There. Feel that?"

You did. The soft spot inside that made her gasp when your fingertips brushed it. You felt your own breath stutter, desire tightening through your belly.

You couldn’t speak. Your mouth was dry, your body flushed with heat. But you obeyed, pressing into her with more confidence now. Each roll of your fingers inside her, every slow swirl of your thumb over her clit, pulled more sounds from her. Soft moans. Sharp sighs. Her thighs quivered beside you, her belly tight with pleasure.

"You can go a little harder," she encouraged, her tone more breathless now but still holding that note of control. "A little faster. There. God, yes."

You could feel her getting closer. The way her muscles tensed, the way her hips chased each thrust. It made you hungrier, more desperate to push her over that edge.

"You like making me feel this good, don’t you?" she asked, her hand cupping your jaw, tilting your face to look at her.

You nodded quickly, eyes wide, your voice catching in your throat. "Yes. I… I really do."

"Then keep going," she whispered, her lips brushing your temple. "Don't stop until I cum on your fingers."

That command lit a fire under your skin. You tightened your focus, fingers working her just right, thumb slick and steady on her clit. She was soaked, impossibly warm, her body drawing you in and clenching around your fingers in waves.

You wanted more. Needed more. Her moans had rooted deep under your skin, blooming in your chest like something wild. You stayed with your fingers for a moment longer, feeling the slick heat of her, the way she clenched around you, but the ache inside you pushed harder.

And you wanted her praise again. Needed her to tell you you were doing good.

So you leaned down.

Your mouth found her, and you sucked her clit gently between your lips. The moment it happened, she gasped, hips twitching under you.

"God," she breathed, her hand tangling in your hair, not guiding, just holding. "Yes… yes, just like that."

You moaned into her, the sound vibrating softly against her. Her taste coated your tongue, and the way her body reacted to every careful suck, every swirl of your tongue, sent sparks down your spine. You wrapped your lips tighter around her, letting your tongue flick slow circles before sucking her clit into your mouth again, holding it there until her thighs trembled against your shoulders.

"You're doing so well for me," she said, voice rough with pleasure. Her praise was like gasoline to the fire already tearing through you. "So eager. So fucking sweet."

You pushed in deeper with your fingers again, curling them just right while your mouth stayed focused on her clit, and that pulled another cry from her. Her hand tightened slightly in your hair.

"You wanted this, didn’t you?" she asked, breathless. "You wanted to hear me fall apart for you."

You nodded against her, mouth still moving, tongue pressing and swirling, trying to learn every inch of her. The softness of her skin, the subtle scratch of hair under your fingers, the heat that seemed to pulse harder with every second.

"Don’t stop," she said, voice breaking just a little. "Make me cum, sweetheart. Show me how badly you want it."

You moaned again, pressing in harder, lips slick, chin wet, every muscle in your body focused on giving her everything she asked for.

Emily's voice wavered above you, breath catching as her hips rolled in time with your mouth. You didn’t slow down. Couldn’t. The taste of her, the feel of her body under your hands, the way she responded to every flick of your tongue—it had you spiralling.

Her hand cradled the back of your head now, fingers threaded gently through your hair. Not holding you in place, just feeling you there.

“God,” she breathed. “You’re a natural.”

The praise hit you like heat rushing down your spine. You moaned into her, lips tightening just slightly around her clit, your tongue circling in response.

She let out a sharp breath, pleasure etched into her every word. “You really didn’t know what you were doing, huh?”

You shook your head, the motion slight, your mouth too full of her to speak.

She laughed, low and wrecked. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Your heart thudded, everything in you pulling toward her voice, her pleasure, the praise she gave so easily. Her thighs trembled again, and you shifted your fingers, curling them deeper, more confident now, coaxing her toward the edge. You’d never wanted anything more than to give her exactly what she needed.

You sucked her clit into your mouth again, slow and deliberate, and the sound Emily made was nothing short of wrecked. Her hips bucked in response, legs tightening around you just enough to make you feel surrounded, grounded in her body and her need.

She was soaked beneath your fingers, your knuckles slick where you kept curling them up into her heat. The warmth of her, the way she pulsed around you, the taste of her on your tongue—it made your whole body thrum. You were soaked, throbbing, every nerve pulled tight with how much you wanted her praise, her pleasure, the feeling of giving this to her.

Emily’s breath caught as your tongue moved in tighter circles. “That’s it,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “You’re doing so well.”

Your heart skipped. You could feel yourself clench around nothing, her words alone making you ache. You wanted more of them. Needed them. You curled your fingers just right again, angling upward the way she’d shown you earlier, and her hips jerked.

“Mmm—yes. There. Right there,” she panted.

You kept going, pressing deeper with your fingers while your mouth worked her clit in slow, rhythmic suction, your tongue flicking at the swollen bundle of nerves. You could feel how close she was. The way her thighs trembled. The tension coiling tighter in her stomach. You were learning her like a language, and she was teaching you everything with each gasp, each twitch, each instruction.

“Look at you. You want to make me come, don’t you?”

You moaned softly, mouth still on her, and her whole body responded, hips canting forward. You pressed harder, tongue swirling around her clit as your fingers pumped deeper, steady and slick.

“Good girl,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “Don’t stop. You’re going to make me come just like this.”

And you would. You wanted that more than anything. To feel her fall apart from your mouth, from your hands, from the way you were learning every inch of her. Your own thighs rubbed together, aching from how turned on you were, but you didn’t care. You were completely focused on her—on the way she started to lose rhythm, gasps breaking apart, her moans high and desperate now.

You could feel it. She was right on the edge. And you were going to take her over.

Her body arched under your mouth, her hips jerking forward as your tongue flicked faster, more focused, your fingers curling up with deliberate pressure, just the way she liked. Emily’s breath caught in her throat, a strangled sound that turned into a low, drawn-out moan.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, her hand fisting in the sheets, the other trembling against your shoulder. “Don’t stop. Right there, right there.”

You kept the rhythm steady, your lips sealed around her clit, sucking gently, tongue circling, fingertips pressing deep inside her heat. She was so wet now, your hand soaked, the slick heat of her dripping down your wrist. Your whole body ached with how much you needed her to fall apart. You wanted to be the reason she lost control.

Then her moan broke into something sharper, a high cry that sounded like it surprised even her. Her thighs clamped around you, shaking.

“I’m—fuck, I’m cumming,” she choked out.

She shattered against you, her body jerking with each wave of it. A hot rush slicked over your hand, sudden and intense, and you felt her tense again with the force of it, hips lifting off the bed. She was gasping, half-laughing, completely undone as her orgasm crashed through her, and your hand was still moving, fingers soaked and still inside her, tongue slowing as you rode it out with her.

The wet sound of her release filled the air, and you didn’t stop until she was pulling back, trembling, breathless, her body still twitching beneath your hands.

You lifted your head slowly, lips slick, blinking up at her.

Emily let out a breathless laugh, collapsing back onto the pillows, one arm thrown over her eyes.

“Jesus,” she murmured, voice low and wrecked. “You really are a fucking natural.”

Emily was still catching her breath, chest rising and falling with each slow exhale. Her hand drifted down from her face to trace lightly along her belly, then lower, as if to remind herself she was still there, still real. Her eyes found you again, half-lidded and warm, a lazy, sated smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“You were perfect,” she said, her voice rough and low. “So eager.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You were buzzing, flushed with heat and pride, and the taste of her was still warm on your lips. You looked down at your hand, fingers slick and glistening, and something bold in you stirred. Slowly, you raised them to your mouth. Your tongue darted out first, then you took them between your lips, sucking gently, tasting every trace of her.

Emily watched you with a look that changed as you did it. That satisfied softness sharpened, her eyes darkening with something hungrier. She sat up slowly, one hand reaching out just as you let your fingers fall from your mouth.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, voice rough around the edges.

Her hand slid over your belly, fingers curling tight around your hip as she pushed you onto your back. The shift was effortless, like claiming what was hers. Her body came with it, following you down, the weight of her pressing into your skin just enough to leave your breath shallow.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” she whispered, mouth brushing your cheek before trailing to your ear. Her breath was hot. “I’m not done with you.”

Her hand trailed lower, slipping between your thighs. The sound she made when she felt how wet you still were—deep and guttural—pushed your knees wider without her having to ask.

“Fuck,” she muttered, fingers teasing through your slick. “You’re soaked. All for me.”

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough.

Emily pulled back just far enough to look at you. Her hair was wild now, her lips flushed, and her stare pinned you in place. “You’re going to rub that sweet little cunt against mine,” she said, low and slow. “You’re going to let me feel you cum like that.”

Your breath caught, body already shifting under her words. The heat in her voice spread through you like a slow current, waking something deep in your belly.

“But first,” Emily said, bending to press her mouth to your collarbone, “I want to feel you a little longer.”

Her tongue traced a warm line against your skin before she kissed you there, slow and wet. Her fingers glided through the slick between your thighs, knuckles dragging just enough to make you twitch. Every pass was measured. She could’ve gone deeper and faster but she didn’t. She played, brushed her fingertips over your entrance, circling just inside without giving you the pressure you craved.

You whimpered, hips tilting in a silent plea.

Emily’s lips curved. She nuzzled against your neck, voice all silk and sin. “Look at you. Barely even touching you and already so desperate. Is that for me, baby?”

You nodded fast, breath catching again. “Yes. Please, I need—”

She slid a single finger into you, the movement slow and deliberate. It had your mouth falling open, your legs parting wider around her.

“There it is,” she whispered, mouth dragging up to your jaw. “God, you feel so fucking good around me.”

Your hands found her shoulders, clutching at bare skin. “Emily—”

Her teeth grazed your earlobe. “You gonna tell me what you want? Or do I have to keep teasing you until you forget how to speak?”

“More,” you gasped. “Please, more.”

She gave you a second finger, curling them inside you, her thumb pressing lightly against your clit—not enough, but enough to make you whine.

“Good girl,” she breathed, pumping slowly. “So wet. You like having my fingers in you like this?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. Yes, I—fuck—yes.”

“Thought so,” she said, lowering her mouth to yours for a kiss that was all tongue and heat. “Now lie back. Let me see you.”

You shifted, spine arching as you settled into the pillows. Your legs stayed open for her without thinking. Emily sat up just enough to look you over, her hair messy, lips kissed red, eyes dark with hunger.

“You’re unreal,” she said. “Every fucking part of you.”

Then she moved—slow and smooth, her thigh slipping between yours, her hips lowering. You felt the heat of her before you felt the slick glide of her against you, wet and soft, her skin sticking to yours in the most delicious way.

You both gasped, the contact sparking low and deep.

“Oh my god,” you breathed.

Emily moaned softly, grinding in slow circles. “You feel that? That’s us. That’s what I’ve been thinking about since the second I saw you.”

She adjusted the angle, and the drag of her clit against yours made you jolt.

“There it is,” she whispered. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel everything.”

Your body bucked on instinct. You ground down again, chasing that flash of friction. Your thighs tensed around hers, desperate to pull her closer, to trap her right there and keep her locked against you.

“Fuck, yes,” Emily gasped. Her hands grabbed at your waist, dragging you tighter until your soaked skin pressed flush to hers. You both hissed at the contact, wet and slippery, Too much and not enough.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Every shift of her hips rubbed your clit against hers, sending sharp jolts through your nerves. The drag of her heat over yours was filthy, obscene, perfect.

She moved harder, sloppier, chasing it with you. Your moans tangled together in the hot air between your mouths. You clutched at her ass, pulling her in, rolling your hips like you needed to fuse your body to hers.

“Just like that,” she panted. “Fuck yourself on me.”

You were already there. Mindless with it. Sweat clung to your skin, her thigh slid against yours, everything wet and slick and pulsing.

You whimpered and rocked harder, your rhythm messy now. Her hand slid between your bodies, fingers catching where your clits met. She didn’t do anything with them. She just held you there, pressed firm so every grind sent heat shooting up your spine.

“You’re gonna cum like this,” she breathed, voice cracking at the edges. “Fucking soaked, fucking desperate. I can feel you shaking.”

You couldn’t even answer. Your whole body was locked in it, your breath caught, nails digging into her hips, legs shaking.

Emily ground down harder, pace rough and frantic now, her body shuddering every time your clits dragged together.

“God, you’re hot like this,” she said, mouth finding yours, swallowing every cry, every gasp. “Don’t stop. Rub that pretty pussy against me until you cum.”

And you were so fucking close. Right there. Thighs trembling, everything inside you wound tight and screaming.

“Please,” you gasped, voice cracking.

Emily groaned. “Please what?”

You could barely form words. Your body was shaking, your clit throbbing where it dragged over hers. Every motion was soaked and slippery, the obscene squelch of it only making you wetter, needier. You choked out a moan.

“Please, Emily, I need it. I need to cum.”

Her laugh was breathless and low. “You do? You that close already?”

You nodded frantically, grinding up into her. The movement made you sob, your stomach tightening.

“Then earn it,” she said, voice thick with arousal. “Show me how bad you want it.”

You whined, high and broken, and did exactly that. Your hands gripped her ass, dragging her harder against you, the press of your hips relentless. The grind of her against you was so slick, your clits slipping and catching over and over in that perfect, swollen rhythm. You could feel how wet she was, how swollen and hot, and it only made you push harder.

You cried out, your thighs trembling, the friction sharp and pulsing. She wasn’t teasing anymore. She was grinding right back, riding the pace you set, chasing her own release while coaxing yours out of you.

“Emily—please—fuck—I need it—” It came out as a sob, a moan, everything tangled.

“I know, baby. I can feel how close you are. That little clit’s throbbing, isn’t it? You can barely keep going.”

You gasped, nodding helplessly, hips jerking as your whole body wound tighter. Your hands clutched her waist, fingers digging into the slick heat of her skin, and you didn’t care that your rhythm had gone frantic. You didn’t care that you could barely breathe. You just needed it. Needed her.

The pressure broke all at once.

Your hips jerked, mouth falling open on a strangled cry as your orgasm slammed through you. It wasn’t slow or soft. It hit like lightning, raw and electric, rolling through every muscle and setting your nerves on fire. Your thighs clamped around Emily’s, the only thing grounding you as you came hard, grinding through it with desperate, stuttering movements.

Emily didn’t let up. She kept moving with you, kept the slick friction between you going as you writhed beneath her. Her hands held your hips down, guiding your motion even as your body trembled uncontrollably, dragging out the pleasure until it felt unbearable.

“That’s it,” she groaned, watching you fall apart. “So fucking beautiful like this. Look at you. Can’t stop cumming, can you?”

You whined something broken, maybe her name, maybe nothing at all. Your fingers dug into her arms, eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping free from the sheer intensity of it. Everything pulsed. Everything clenched. Your clit throbbed with every roll of her hips, every brush of slick heat against you, and you couldn’t stop moving. Couldn’t stop chasing it even as it shattered you from the inside out.

Emily leaned over you, close enough to pant against your cheek, her voice soft and low. “You feel so fucking good. Making a mess all over me. You came so hard for me.”

Emily was panting now, loud and ragged, her rhythm falling apart as her slick body slid against yours. Her grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place while her thigh flexed under yours. Every grind of her body sparked another jolt deep in your core, the mess between you only heightening the urgency.

Her moans were getting louder, rough and unfiltered, like she couldn’t control them. Her movements grew frantic, your soaked cunt dragging against hers in wet, desperate strokes that made both of you shudder.

"Fuck," she choked out, voice breaking on the edge. "You're making me lose it."

Your legs trembled around hers. You felt everything. The tension coiling in her body, the slick slide of your clits catching just right, the heat rolling off her skin in waves. You couldn't stop, didn’t want to. Your hips moved on instinct, chasing it again even as you throbbed with oversensitivity.

Emily’s head tipped back, hair sticking to her damp shoulders, her mouth parted in a gasp. Her fingers dug into your thighs, pulling you tighter against her, grinding until her whole body seized up.

You watched her come apart.

She arched hard, her thighs trembling as a guttural cry ripped from her throat. Her hips bucked once, twice, then stilled in a slow, grinding push that kept you locked together. Her orgasm ripped through her like it had been waiting, building under the surface, and now it flooded out all at once.

She cursed under her breath, barely coherent, her body twitching through every wave of it. Her hands were still on you, still gripping, like she needed to feel you under her to survive it.

You were shaking too, lips parted, watching the way she unraveled. There was no control left in her. Just raw need and overwhelming release, her body slick and flushed and beautiful in the afterglow.

When her breathing finally slowed, she slumped forward slightly, not close enough to kiss you, but her hand found yours. She laced your fingers together, squeezing tight, grounding herself even as both your thighs still twitched from the lingering heat.

Emily eventually shifted, sliding her thigh out from between yours with a slow, deliberate motion. Her body was still warm, still humming, but the tension had melted away. She collapsed beside you with a satisfied groan, dragging a hand lazily up your stomach.

Neither of you said anything right away.

The room was quiet except for your breathing, still slightly uneven. Sheets tangled loosely around your legs, the air thick with sweat and heat, but not uncomfortable. Your skin buzzed with aftershocks, the ache between your thighs grounding you even as your mind started to slip.

Emily reached for the blanket at the foot of the bed and tugged it over both of you, her hand brushing over your hip as she settled back. Her bare arm curled around your waist, guiding you closer until your body pressed against hers, skin to skin. Her breath tickled the top of your head when she spoke.

“You’re something else,” she said softly, almost a laugh.

The corner of your mouth lifted, but you didn’t say anything.

Her fingers traced a slow line up your spine, and the comfort of it sank in deeper than you expected. The sex had been intense, sure, but now everything felt softer. Calmer. You weren’t used to this kind of quiet.

Emily’s thumb skimmed over your shoulder blade, then stilled. She glanced down and caught the tension creeping back into your face. The way your brows had drawn together just slightly. How your gaze had fixed somewhere past her collarbone, unfocused.

“You good?” she asked gently.

You blinked, trying to clear your thoughts, but she could see it. The overthinking settling in behind your eyes. The way your body, even as it rested against hers, had gone just a little too still.

Emily didn’t push. She just waited, her hand smoothing in slow strokes over your back. Warm, steady, unhurried. Something in the way she watched you made it clear she wasn’t going anywhere.

You didn’t answer right away. Emily’s hand was soft against your back, tracing idle lines over your spine like she could keep you calm just through touch. It almost worked. But the silence stretched too long. Your head filled it with noise.

“I don’t know what happens now,” you said, your voice small in the dark.

Emily’s hand stilled.

You were still looking at the wall, your cheek pressed against her shoulder. You hated how unsure your voice sounded, how exposed it made you feel, but it was already out there.

“I mean…” You tried to laugh, but it cracked halfway through. “I’ve never done this before,” you admitted. “Not with a woman. Not like this. I thought it would be confusing, but it’s not. That’s the problem. It felt too easy. Like something clicked into place.”

The lump in your throat made your next breath catch. You buried your face further into her shoulder, suddenly ashamed of how much you felt. Of how quickly it was all happening.

“And now I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know when it happened but it hit me so fast, and I just feel like I’ve been spinning trying to catch up ever since.”

You paused, your voice catching. “What if this was just… fun for you? Just sex? What if I’m the only one who feels like this means something?”

That was the part you hadn’t meant to say out loud. You could feel your cheeks flush and the pressure build behind your eyes.

“I know it’s fast. I know I probably sound ridiculous. But I just… I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t know how to act or what to say, and I keep thinking maybe this didn’t mean the same thing to you. Maybe it was just something we did. Maybe you don’t want anything more.”

You swallowed hard and kept your voice quiet. “Because I do. I want more. I want you.”

Your fingers fidgeted against the sheets, nervous energy building in your chest with every word.

You felt her breath deepen beside you, but she didn’t interrupt. She let you speak.

The room was quiet except for your heartbeat, loud in your ears. You kept your face hidden, ashamed of how raw your voice sounded.

“I guess I’m scared,” you whispered.

You didn’t need to say more. Emily could feel the rest in your silence. The knot of emotion under your ribs. The fear of being too vulnerable, too intense, too open. The fear of hoping for something real and being wrong about it. You wanted to believe this was more than a night, but you didn’t know how to ask. You didn’t want to put words to it if it would make her pull away.

Emily shifted slightly, just enough to nudge you back so she could see your face. Her hand found your jaw, coaxing you gently to look at her. She didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at you with something soft and steady in her eyes, something that made your chest ache.

Then her thumb traced just beneath your cheekbone.

“You’re not too much,” she said, quiet but certain. “Not even close.”

Your throat tightened again, but this time it wasn’t fear that did it. It was the way she looked at you. Like you weren’t something complicated or fragile or difficult. Just someone she wanted to hold.

She kept her tone gentle. “And it wasn’t just something we did. Not to me. You didn’t imagine any of this.”

You felt her exhale, like she was grounding herself in the moment.

“I’ve been where you are. I’ve had the same questions, the same doubts. Wondering if I was reading it wrong, if I’d come on too strong, if I was going to wake up in the morning and regret how much I let myself want someone. I’ve been that afraid.”

Your fingers had stopped twitching. Your breath slowed just enough for her to notice.

“But I’m not afraid now,” she said. “Not with you.”

You swallowed thickly, throat tight, but you didn’t interrupt. You didn’t want to.

Emily’s voice was steady now, more sure of itself. “From the minute you walked into that room, something in me just… locked on. I don’t even know how to explain it. You were this quiet thrill, like the air changed when you spoke. And then you kept doing it—you kept showing up, asking questions, teasing me, letting me see you little by little. I didn’t even have time to guard myself.”

She paused to brush your hair behind your ear, tucking it back like it was second nature.

“I didn’t mean to fall for you this fast. But I did.”

Your heart tripped over itself.

“I want more too,” she said, simply. “Not just tonight. Not just sex. I want you. And I want everything that comes with you—nerves, overthinking, uncertainty. All of it.”

You let out a shaky breath, and she pulled you a little closer.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured. “I want to figure this out with you. However we need to. However slow, or messy, or uncertain it gets.”

You turned your face toward her, just enough to finally meet her eyes.

She smiled.

“I’m in this with you,” she said.

And you believed her.

You let out a slow breath, your body sinking deeper into the mattress, your cheek resting against Emily’s shoulder. The weight of her words lingered in the quiet, soothing something unsettled in you. You didn’t say anything more, but she didn’t ask you to. She just pulled you a little closer, like that was answer enough.

Her fingers traced along your arm, light and unhurried. You could feel the edge of her smile against your hair.

“Still thinking?” she asked quietly.

“Not as much,” you said. It was the truth. The tension that had coiled in your chest had loosened, replaced by something gentler, something safe.

Emily hummed. “Good. You don’t have to figure everything out tonight.”

You nodded against her. Your limbs felt heavy now, your body warm and worn in the best way. The kind of exhaustion that only came from feeling everything, all at once.

Emily shifted just slightly, pulling the blanket up over you both, her hand smoothing along your back. “Sleep,” she said, her voice low, already softening with fatigue. “We’ll talk more in the morning if you want.”

You nodded again, this time slower, your eyes already closed. She didn’t say anything else, just kept her hand on you, grounding you with the steady rhythm of her breathing. You let yourself melt into it, wrapped in her touch, her warmth, the quiet promise of more.

Sleep came easy.

You woke to the softest pressure against your skin.

Not the sharp, hurried kind of someone restless beside you, but the deliberate weight of lips moving slowly across your shoulder. Each kiss was warm and unhurried, spaced by seconds, not breathless need. It pulled you gently from sleep, your senses swimming up through the comfort of sheets still heavy with the scent of her.

Emily’s body was still tucked behind yours, close and familiar now. Her arm lay across your waist, her fingers splayed lazily just under the curve of your ribs. You felt her shift slightly, her thigh tightening around yours, drawing you back more firmly against her.

She kissed you again, then again, trailing along the slope of your neck like she couldn’t help herself. Her hand rested low on your stomach, not moving, just holding you close.

You made a small, sleepy sound, and she smiled against your skin.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice soft and warm from sleep.

You turned your head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of her messy hair, the bare curve of her collarbone, the sleep-heavy fondness in her eyes. You smiled back, still not fully awake.

Emily pressed another kiss beneath your ear. “You don’t have to get up,” she said, brushing her fingers lightly along your hip. “I just... didn’t want to stop touching you.”

You shifted toward her instinctively, the memory of last night slowly returning like warmth creeping back into your limbs.

Her hand drifted lower, fingertips tracing small, absent-minded patterns against your skin. “Can I do something?” she asked, barely louder than a whisper. “I want to make you feel good.”

There was no pressure in her voice. Just openness. A softness that made your chest ache.

You turned onto your back, eyes meeting hers as you nodded.

Emily leaned in and kissed you, slow and familiar, tasting of sleep and something deeper. She didn’t rush. She didn’t need to. She kissed you like she was still discovering you, like every little sound you made mattered.

Then she shifted down, dragging the sheets with her, pressing her lips to the underside of your breast, the centre of your stomach, the inside of your thigh. Her hands caressed your skin like it was something worth savouring. Nothing rushed. Nothing harsh.

She looked up at you once more before lowering her mouth to you.

“Just relax,” she whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

You sank into the bed as Emily eased lower, her hands smoothing over your thighs like she was coaxing you open, not just physically, but entirely. There was something in the way she touched you now that made it different than last night. Slower. Steadier. Like she wasn’t just trying to make you feel good, but trying to learn every inch of you in the process.

She kissed the inside of your knee, then further up, mouth soft and warm, her breath brushing your skin just seconds before her lips did. You felt her pause, her cheek pressing against your thigh, and when she looked up at you again, her eyes were so full of affection it almost startled you.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she said, not as a compliment, but as a quiet truth.

Your breath caught as her mouth lowered again, this time where you needed her most. She started with a gentle kiss, the lightest press of her lips against your folds, slow and deliberate, easing you open with nothing more than patience. Her tongue followed, warm and wet and unhurried, exploring you like you were something sacred.

Your hips twitched despite yourself, a quiet gasp slipping from your lips as she found your rhythm without needing direction. Her tongue moved in soft, purposeful strokes, not chasing your orgasm, but savouring every reaction, every flutter of your breath and shift of your legs.

She hummed against you, a quiet sound of approval, her hands stroking your thighs, grounding you. When you looked down, you found her already watching you, her eyes soft, her mouth still moving with focused intent.

There was something disarming in the way she held your gaze. She wasn’t seeking praise or dominance or performance. She just wanted you. The sounds you made, the way you trembled under her, the way your fingers gripped the sheets and then slid back to her hair like you couldn’t bear not to touch her.

“Emily,” you breathed, voice thin and high.

She didn’t answer, just kept going, her pace steady, her mouth coaxing you toward the edge like it was the only thing she wanted in the world. Her hands never left you. One rested at your hip, firm and reassuring, while the other brushed soft strokes along your ribs, soothing and tender. It kept you from floating away too fast, from losing yourself entirely.

You felt your body begin to build, not in a sharp climb, but in warm, rolling waves that carried you closer with each pass of her tongue. There was no rush. Just heat and care in the way she held you there, letting it grow, letting it take over.

Your thighs tightened around her, your breath catching as the warmth twisted into pleasure and the pleasure into something deeper.

You didn’t want her to stop. You didn’t need words to tell her that.

Emily’s mouth stayed steady on you, lips wet and open around your clit as she licked with long, unhurried strokes. Her tongue flattened and dragged, then flicked, then circled, never quite settling into a rhythm, always keeping you just off balance. The way she moved was intentional, practiced, but not preformative. She wanted to feel you come apart for her.

Her fingers spread you open, the pads of them gentle against your folds, stroking through your slick. She moaned when she felt how soaked you were, her lips parting around you to taste more, deeper, letting the wet sounds fill the quiet room as she fed off every shift of your hips.

You writhed against her mouth, breath coming shallow, one hand buried in her hair, the other clenching at the sheets. She flicked her tongue with more focus now, tighter circles, dragging it down to tease lower before pulling back up again. Every pass sent heat surging through your belly, tightening, curling, growing sharper with each stroke.

Then her fingers slid into you.

The slide of her fingers deep inside you matched the pace of her mouth. She thrust slow, firm, curling just right to stroke against the place that made your legs jerk. The stretch filled you perfectly, her palm pressing snug against you with each movement, slick sounds growing louder as your body responded.

Your thighs trembled around her shoulders. Every time you shifted your hips to chase more, she adjusted to meet you. Her nose nudged against your skin, her breath hot, her hums sending small vibrations through your clit. She pressed her tongue flat again, holding it there while her fingers curled deeper, then picked up again, faster now, sucking gently before teasing you with a soft kiss.

Your body was flushed and tense, every muscle pulled tight. Pleasure crawled up your spine, low and heavy at first, then sharper. You whimpered her name without meaning to, voice high and shaky. She groaned into you, and the sound made your stomach clench.

She never broke focus. Just stayed between your thighs like she belonged there, mouth slick, tongue relentless, fingers thrusting deeper and faster. The drag of her knuckles against your folds only made it wetter, messier, your slick dripping down her hand.

You clenched around her fingers, back arching as the pressure crested. It was overwhelming. The way Emily stayed locked on you, her mouth warm and wet, her tongue focused and sure, sent everything surging too fast to hold back. You cried out, the sound catching in your throat as your body broke apart under her.

It started low in your belly, a tight pull that snapped all at once, heat flooding through you in waves. Your thighs quivered around her shoulders, hips stuttering against her mouth as she worked you through it, not stopping, not even easing up. Her tongue stayed firm, lapping every twitch, every pulse, her fingers still moving inside you with that perfect rhythm.

The climax dragged on, drawn out by her patience, her precision. Your whole body was on fire, muscles locked, toes curling, voice gone hoarse from the sounds it tore out of you. She didn’t let you go until your body slumped back against the sheets, shivering and spent, chest heaving with each shaky breath.

Only then did Emily slow, her kisses turning softer, gentler. She eased her fingers from you, dragging her mouth lower to press one final kiss to your inner thigh before lifting her head. Her lips were slick, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark as she looked up at you.

“Hi,” she said softly, her voice a little hoarse too, like she’d forgotten to breathe.

You blinked at her, still trying to catch up with your own heartbeat.

She smiled and crawled back up your body, pressing a kiss just under your jaw. “You okay?”

You nodded, still dazed, body thrumming from the aftershocks. “Yeah.”

Emily tucked herself beside you, arm wrapping loosely around your waist as you tried to remember how to speak again.

Your limbs felt boneless, melted into the sheets with the weight of release. Every inch of your skin buzzed, hypersensitive and warm, and Emily’s touch grounded you. She didn’t let go, didn’t rush to fill the quiet. Her arm stayed snug around your waist, her thumb tracing slow circles over your hip as if she couldn’t quite stop touching you.

The room was still except for your breathing, still ragged, still coming down. Her body was pressed along your side, not heavy but solid, her warmth soaking into you like sunlight under covers. She leaned in, nose brushing the edge of your cheek, lips ghosting over the curve of it like a secret.

“Should I get you water?” she murmured, quiet enough that the question barely stirred the air between you.

You shook your head, your voice a scratchy thing when you finally found it. “No. Just… stay.”

That earned the smallest smile. She tucked her head beside yours, her hand splayed across your stomach like it belonged there, her breath soft against your neck. You could feel the steady rhythm of her heart where your bodies touched, slow and sure.

The silence stretched, not awkward, but thick with everything unspoken. You let it be. You needed to come back to yourself, and she gave you the room to do it, her presence a constant hum beside you. She didn’t rush your recovery, didn’t fidget or pull away.

At some point, her fingers found yours under the sheets. She laced them together loosely, your hands resting between your ribs.

“You’re incredible,” she said finally, her voice low, reverent in a way that made your chest ache. “The way you fall apart for me…”

You turned your head, forehead brushing her temple, not trusting yourself to respond without unravelling all over again.

She gave your hand a light squeeze. “We don’t have to talk about anything yet. Just… don’t disappear on me, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

“Good,” she said, like it meant everything.

She kissed your shoulder. Slow. Thoughtful. A thank-you. An I’m still here.

You turned toward her slowly, meeting her gaze. Her hair was mussed and falling into her face, and she looked unfairly good in the dim light filtering through the curtains. She looked at you like she had nowhere else she’d rather be.

“Come here,” she said, pulling you gently until you were tucked against her, face resting near the hollow of her throat. Her fingers found the base of your spine, tracing there idly. “You don’t have to be anywhere, don’t have to think about anything else. Just stay with me.”

You could hear her heartbeat again, steady and low beneath your cheek.

“You always like waking people up that way?” you teased quietly.

Emily’s chest shook with a soft laugh. “Only when I really like them.”

You smiled against her skin. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” she said, dropping a kiss to your temple. “And I really, really like you.”

You were quiet for a second, letting her hold you. “I like you too,” you whispered. Then, lighter, “I think I’m a little obsessed with you, actually.”

Emily hummed, pleased. “Good. I was worried I was the only one.”

Her hand wandered again, just lazy touches now. The soft drag of her fingertips up and down your back. The curve of your waist. The backs of your thighs. Nothing urgent, just a kind of gentle claiming, like she needed to keep you close. You felt yourself relaxing deeper into it, your legs tangling with hers, your nose tucked near the line of her jaw.

“Can we stay here for a while?” you asked.

Emily leaned in, lips brushing your cheek. “As long as you want.”

So you stayed, skin against skin, your bodies cooling together under the covers. There was nowhere else to be. Just her, and this, and the quiet hum of something new settling warm between you both.

[fish-fried-arugula]

Obviously me having POTS and fibromyalgia means I just want attention. I mean look, I’m outside all the time getting attention from strangers by telling them unprompted that I have these conditions.

Wait… oh wait no? My bad, I’m actually confined to my apartment while I spend all the mental effort I have available to me trying not to break down in tears from pain while no one is near me at all.

Before I got meds for fibromyalgia that are like a fucking miracle, I got down to not being able to walk more than 1k steps a day, with many days being at 250 max. In case you’re wondering, you cannot feed yourself and go to the bathroom with that many steps in a day. I just had to wait for my wife to get home and help me and got multiple utis from being unable to go pee when I needed to.

Virtually no one is going to be willing to commit to the kind of self imposed isolation and physical limitation it would take to fake this. But sure, we are all really just seeking attention.

nobody is faking POTS, fibromyalgia or ME/CFS for attention because nobody gives a fuck if you have POTS, fibromyalgia or ME/CFS. these are three conditions people are always accused of faking online (largely because they’re common chronic illnesses and young women are disproportionately effected by them 😃) and it’s like…..look around bitch. when was the last time you saw a fund for a cure CFS walkathon? you ever see a Google banner for fibromyalgia? these are illnesses that suck to have and that you are often treated like absolute dogshit by the medical community and pop culture at large if you do have them. you don’t get positive attention, or any attention at all, if you’re at home laying down 85% of your life.

[emotionalrodent]

Batboys X Reader Headcanons!

Prompt: Do they enjoy loving or being loved more?

Characters: Jason, Bruce, Dick, and Tim

CW: None

———————————————————————————

Jason

Being Loved

Jason often has a hard time truly seeing his own worth. His death and the aftermath surrounding it is often a factor that contributes to his complex self image. From his perspective, Bruce didn’t care about or love him enough to choose him. You seeing him, understanding him, and looking out for him as him head over heels for you. Jason also isn’t the best at expressing his affection at times so you showing him that he doesn’t need to do anything to earn or deserve your love has had him in tears a few times now (even though he won’t admit it). Jason relishes in being loved by you because of the security and comfort you bring. He does everything he possibly can to replicate the warmth your affection brings him for you.

———————————————————————————

Bruce

Loving

Despite what most people will believe, the death of Bruce’s parents had a profound impact on his growing mind. Bruce was just a child when he lost his parents. He didn’t just lose them though. He lost opportunities as well. He lost the opportunity to love them for as long as he was owed, the opportunity to look to them for support, to grow alongside them. As a result, Bruce doesn’t waste a second of his time with you. He shows you the importance you hold in his life each opportunity he gets, even if his time with you is short. Of course, Bruce indulges you in anything you want or need as well, having more than enough money to do so. He never wants you to worry for a second about anything at all and will do his best to make you the happiest possible. He adores your laugh and the way your personality mingles with his own, so he’ll do everything in his ability to express that fondness.

———————————————————————————

Dick

Loving

Dick loves the feeling of being in love, being able to give himself completely to you knowing you’ll act as his safety net is all he needs. He enjoys the chase too, of course. Dick loves the banter, the stolen glances and the flush of pink on both of your faces before you’re even his. Though, similar to Bruce, there isn’t a moment with you that goes unappreciated. He too experienced loss at a young age and strives to never feel like he didn’t enjoy you while he had you. Above all though, Dick loves being able to make you happy. He’s over the moon each time he gets so much as a smile from you and will do anything to make sure it doesn’t fade.

———————————————————————————

Tim

Being Loved

Tim likes having someone to care for him when he needs it most. He’s so used to doing things for the good of others and burning himself out that the small moments of your company mean the world to him. He loves the small things you do to show your concern for him. The days you cook for him, remind him to care for himself, attempt to help him with his most troubling cases and listen to his ramblings are everything to him. He’s an incredibly observant person which makes your surprise and appreciation when he remembers the smallest aspects about you worth all his attention to detail. So when you do the same for him, he finds it adorable and incredibly flattering. Tim loves seeing the effort you put into loving him and the extent your care is shown.

————————————————————

Hey everyone, this is my first time writing headcanons and I really liked it so I think I’ll be doing more like this soon! I also had an idea for Damian but I’ve never been able to find a definitive answer on how old he is so I’m not sure if I’m comfortable writing for him yet. If you guys would like that then let me know his age so I can decide if I’ll write for him. I hope you guys liked this as much as I did making it. Thank you for reading!

[kattheogcat]

Don't look for me! Please do...

Pairing — Lando Norris x afab!Reader

Summary — Sometimes feelings build up and sometimes they reveal themselfes with an explosion...

Genre — angst, established relationship

Wordcount — 2.8k

Warnings — fighting, yelling, colorful language right from the start, misscommunication

Rating — pg-13

A/N — I will repeat myself until my thumbs go numb but, don't kill me about inaccuracys of the world of f1. I'm new here TT

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©kattheogcat on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

“You know what? Fuck you! If you can´t even take the time for 5 seconds to greet me, then don´t count on me caring to see you tomorrow either!” you hissed at the wide-eyed man leaning against the headboard of your shared hotel room bed.

“Don´t search for me at the paddock.”

And with that you were out.

Grabbing your purse, phone and keycard you turned and walked out of the room, door slamming shut behind you.

Angry tears were brimming in your eyes, making it hard to see where you were going and causing the pulsing behind your forehead to grow stronger by the second. The headache you were sporting wasn´t new. It wasn´t cause by your anger or by the yelling, not it had been persistent ever since you walked out of work just the day before. The situation not making it better in the slightest.

Said headache also being one of the reasons why you had walked out on him in the first place.

You were understanding for everything concerning Lando´s career. The constant travels, the media circus and it´s focus on you and everything you did, said or posted, watching fangirls swoon over him online and trackside or the regular allnighter you pulled just to see his face on a 30 minute videocall before you fell asleep or had to go to work.

All of it you understood. Did it make you jealous from time to time to watch him smile for the camera while you had to sit at home? You´d be lying if you said not but you loved him, and you loved watching him doing what he loved. But sometimes you wished you were more present in his life.

Sometimes, in moments like now where you felt awful to begin with you wished he had the time and foresight to see what you needed. Well he did have the time, was known to take it for Cisca and Adam every time his parents came to watch him race however you apparently were a different case.

It ate at you, at your self-esteem and value to the one you´d lay your life down for and frankly in this moment, you weren´t sure if you should have said yes to the ring around your finger just a few weeks back. Was this how you wanted the rest of your life to go?

Overlooked and underappreciated? Because that's what it felt like to you; being ignored and taken for granted at times.

With a soft sniffle you tried and failed to keep in, you stepped into the elevator at the end of the hallway, pressed the button with the big 4, the irony did not escape you, and leaned against the wall as the door closed with a ding and hummed to life while going down.

The door opened and you rushed out just to frantically knock at the one room you knew would let you in in a heart beat.

Cisca was already in her sleepwear when she opened a little stunned but immediatly opening her arms for you to fall into.

The floodgates opened and every tear you head managed to hold at bay started rolling down your face uncontrollably.

“Oh, darling whats wrong?” she whispered into your ear and you choked on your own words trying to get something coherent out of your mouth.

Lando´s mother had been your rock since day one when you still weren´t sure how to act with the publics eye on you and ever since then she was the one you turned to when you needed some motherly attention.

She pulled you inside, sat you down on the couch and simply held you until you had calmed down enough for your breathing to slow and your shoulders to relax under the soft touch of her hand on the back of your head.

“That´s good, just breath my sweet girl. Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

Though her words were reassuring, she wasn´t sure what to make of the situation herself.

Earlier when she had seen you at the paddock you seemed to be doing alright. A little more subdued then she was used to from you but you were standing and smiling at crew and fans with a softness Cisca had never seen in any of the girlfriends her son had brought home and introduced to the wild world that was F1. It was like you were made to fit right in.

Honest, kind and bright without taking shit from anyone. Thats how she knew you and thats how she wanted you to stay. Whatever was making you this shaky and slightly sick version of yourself, she wanted it to be gone.

Your breath fanned gently over the skin of her neck where you were hiding, enough to feel you fall asleep on her. Cisca laid your head down in her lap, the bathroom door opening as her husband stepped out. Equally as ready for bed as Cisca was and equally as confused when he saw your passed out form laying on their hotelroom couch.

The tear track still very visible and slowly starting to dry.

“Can you give me my phone?” Cisca hummed and pointed to her phone on the nightstand.

Adam nodded and grabbed the device.

“You think Lando knows something?”

“You mean why she came to us instead of him? I have a hunch that he does.”

And she was proven right.

Lando had texted him just 10 minutes ago when she was still busy trying to shush your weeping. The pained frown never leaving your face as you breathed on her lap.

Please tell me she´s with you mum? - Lando

She´s here, don´t worry – Cisca

But can you please enlighten me why your fiance came crying to our room? - Cisca

I was being stupid – Lando

That i can see baby – Cisca

Thanks mum – Lando

I´m sorry baby but when your usually always smiling love practically fled to cry, one tends to wonder – Cisca

I may have let stress get to me. She hasn´t been feeling well and i didn´t notice... - Lando

Oh lando – Cisca

I know! - Lando

She said she won´t be coming tomorrow and i can´t even fault her for it. This time i was the muppet – Lando

I’m sure its nothing you can´t fix – Cisca

Can I come get her? – Lando

Let her sleep. I’ll see what I can do for you tomorrow morning – Cisca

Thanks mum – Lando

Go sleep. – Cisca

--------

Left behind and now pacing tracks into the floorboards, Lando stared down at his phone. He was relieved that you weere safe and not aimlessly wandering around the hotel grounds at night but the feeling was only minor compared to the guilt he was carrying with him at the moment.

The things you had thrown at him in your anger weren’t baseless, he knew that and he also knew that you could have been much firmer in your way of arguing if you had wanted too. That fact that you hadn’t was just another testimony to the fact that you weren’t feeling well enough to maintain your point and that you were crumbling on the inside.

Ever since he had known you when you were barely 15 years old while he was a teenager himself, he had always known you to be a firm believer in fighting for your beliefs in a rational, calm, yet fierce way. Sure you could scream and yell to the point someone who didn’t know you as well as he did would back up in fear but that was rare. And the fact that you so easily broke told him more about himself then about you.

“I smile, I understand and I see you living for racing and I love that. Watching you race even if you finish P10 or lower, I still love it because that’s part of what makes you you! But today I needed you to see me too! I travel whenever I can, barely catch a breath between work, flights, races and going back to work and miss sleep to see your face at ungodly hours but I want to do it! For you, because I fucking love you, you absolute idiot. And then you can’t even give me 30 seconds to hug me? That’s all I needed. 30 seconds when I was right there. Right next to your parents…” Your words were still ringing in his ears.

You were right, of course you were. He took the time for his mum and dad so why not for you. When it was so evident that you weren’t at 100%. That for once you needed him to look at you and see you. Really see you. Because now that he thought of it, the signs were all there.

All the subtle clues he should be able to puck up just by glancing at you were there, were almost screaming at him. And he chose to not see it, not in that moment.

Lando had told his mum that he understood why you didn’t want to come see him tomorrow. That wasn’t a lie. But it still hurt.

Hurt to think he was the reason you didn’t want to see him and yet he had no right to demand you being there after failing to uphold his part of what he had promised you when he asked you to be his wife even if you had not even set a date yet.

How could he have fucked up so bad…

---------

The next morning you woke up feeling better and worse.

Your head wasn’t pounding anymore but your eyes were puffy, red and burning from crying yourself to sleep the night before.

Mortification settled in your bones when you remembered crashing your future parents in laws night just like that and you sat up so quickly you felt a bit dizzy.

The room was empty. Cisca and Adam having left for breakfast as the sticky note left on your phone told you along with a set of fresh clothes Lando must have brought down for you before he left.

Oh fuck.

Had you really told him not to search for you? That you weren’t going to come? And he just took it? Believed you like a kicked golden retriever?

What an idiot. You and him.

You for ever believing you could stay away from any track Lando was driving on and him for believing you in your frustration and anger.

A perfect match you were.

I’m sorry, love. You were right, I haven’t seen it. Haven’t tried to see it which was my fault. You sacrifice so much for me and I took it for granted. I understand why you don’t want to be here today. To be honest, I’d rather not be here either. Not without you... – Lando

Flopping face first back into the couch pillow you barely could hold back the scream of frustration building in your throat.

“I am stupid.” You muttered into the silence of the room before moving of the couch.

You hurriedly got dressed, went back to your room to get ready, maybe take some Ibuprofen and get your ass to the Circuit.

The fan posts about Lando arriving alone on Instagram and tiktok weren’t lost on you. They were theorizing like crazy, throwing the words breakup and fighting around like confetti and made your stomach roll.

Yes you were fighting but what couple doesn’t at times?

The thought of breakup now seemed utterly ridiculous and when the car stopped, you almost flew out of the door.

Armed with your paddock pass you waved politely back at some fans who smiled at you, took a selfie here and there with some particularly dedicated ones and marched straight into McLarens hospitality unit.

Oscar, surprised at seeing your face, stopped in his track. Lando must have told him.

“Y/n? You came!”

“Of course! Where-“

“Drivers lounge.”

The Australian nodded back to where he just came from and you give him a thankful sidehug.

“Get him back on track woman.”

“Will do!”

With your heart pounding in your ears you came to a halt in front of the drivers lounge. While you had made valid points yesterday, you knew that your words were fueled by hurt and pain and that in itself had fired you up more then when you would have felt alright.

You were sensitive, reacted harshly instead of talking like a civilized person and had thrown things at him he had no idea were even an issue. That was on you.

That was something that you could have spoken about before it came to a fight that could have been prevented if handled accordingly.

Gently you knocked, signaling that someone was about to come in. Lando didn’t answer. He was sprawled out on the papaya colored couch, back leaning against the rest, man spreading like there was no tomorrow and his head laid back with his eyes shut. Even like that you could see the frown etched into his features. A muffled grumbled left him at the sound of the door opening and closing again with being spoken too.

Lando knew it couldn’t have been Oscar and besides drivers and their family nobody was supposed to enter the drivers lounge uninvited. The fact that someone had entered left him suspicious enough to look up enough to be able to squint against the blinding overhead lights of the lounge.

At first nothing happened, his brain not able to catch up with the fact that it was you leaning against the door, hands clasped together in front of your midsection and fingers nervously fiddling with the fabric of your shirt. Y

“Hi…” you whispered, hesitating to speak louder in fear of disturbing the peace that was settled over the room save for the humming AC.

When it fibally clicked that he was in fact not imaginibg thibgs or seeibg ghosts and that you were actually standing in the same room with him after telling him you wouldn’t be there today, he almost fell over as he jumped to his feet.

He was still dressed in his orange polo shirt and simple black jeans, curl hair sitting messily and slightly longer just the way you liked it on his head.

“Wait huh? Love what– but you said and–“ The McLaren driver took a deep breath at seeing the little smile tugging on your lips as he fumbled with what to say before eventually rushing forward.

You found yourself in his tight embrace just seconds later, his warm breath fanning over your ear and making your dangling earring brush against the skin there.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” He pulled away just enough so his hands could frame your face, gently forcing you to look at him directly. Not that you were trying to escape it.

“I am so sorry, my love. For not seeing that you weren’t okay, or not taking the time to-“

“No, I’m sorry. You couldn’t have known because I didn’t say.”

“But I should have seen it. Mum saw it for fucks sake!”

“Your mom stood next to me for nearly 2 hours, Lando. You haven’t seen me all week. How would you have known?” Tilted head and another apology on your lips your fingers brushed through the curls on the base of his neck. Hands thrown around his shoulders.

“Still. I would have understood if you–“

“Stayed at the hotel? Do you really think I’d do that? That I could bring it overmyself?”

“You have good reason not to.”

“And an ever better one to do so.”

Lando leaned his forehead against your own and your eyes fluttered shut at the calming proximity. His scent tickling your nose pleasantly.

He couldn’t help but lean in and press a series of kisses to your face. Your cheek, nose, forehead and last your lips. A touch so soft and hesitant like he was scared he’d scare you away again that It left your heart aching.

“I think–“ you began and paused to think. “– that we both have handled things wrong. That we definitely need to work on time and stress management—”

He couldn’t help but laugh.

“—and that I should be clearer with what I’m feeling when you aren’t there to hold me. Because this could have been avoided if I had just told you about my headache and being exhausted.”

Your eyes flew over his face, taking in every detail like you could possibly ever forget it.

Lando nodded.

“I’m still sorry, my love.”

“Yeah, me too baby.”

You let your arms fall down to his side just to wrap them around his back.

“And now please just hold me. My week was horrible and I missed you…”

Never in his life had he complied that quick to a request.

[kenniesf1]

request!!

With F1’s summer break just around the corner, I keep imagining a popstar!reader x Oscar Piastri SMAU where they have this whirlwind summer fling—late nights, secret getaways, soft moments no one else sees. But once the season kicks back up, they stop talking… and suddenly she’s dropping music about him, after she softlaunced him for pretty much 3 weeks straight and her fans can help but wonder who “he” is. And of course oscar hears her new releases.

also btw i LOVE your fics!! keep them coming 🙌💕💕

the right beaches | OP81

masterlist

pairing: oscar piastri x singer!reader

summary: oscar and reader have a short-lived fling over summer break, only for the excitement to die down when they returned to their lives. oscar listens to her new releases and realizes he wants the reader back.

note: i'm about to enter the STING ZONE (writing in second person) 😏 ty anon for this amazing fic idea i love ittttt

ynln

liked by noahkahan, user1, and 2,319,844 others

ynln the 'utopia' tour!!!!!!! i'm so, so conflicted on how to feel about the us leg ending. on one hand, i had the best time meeting you guys, playing for you, and getting to be on the receiving end of all your love and support. but on the other, i'm going to miss you guys so much 😭 taking a little break (tropical yn, on her way to you right now) before the european leg!!!! thank you to everyone who has made my dreams possible 💞

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user1 seattle n2, you'll always be famous!!!

user2 AHHH i was at seattle n1, she was so stunning!

user3 she played 'the perfect pair'!!!!

sabrinacarpenter my idol be like: liked by author

clairo it's never over 🥲

ynln we'll always have our private concerts

user4 i loved concert vids but i'm sooo excited for yn on vacation

user5 IKR i hope she does vlogs like she did when she was in paris

urfriend1 the backstage misses me, doesn't it?

ynln ho i miss u too :(

user6 let mother rest!

user7 fr those vocal chords be TIRED

chappelroan can i be a guest in europe????

user8 OMG CHAPPEL PLEASE

ynln what user8 said 😉

metlife In the hall of fame, for sure!

ynln 🥹

user9 pray she's working on the new album over break 🤞 liked by author

user10 OH MY GOD

oscarpiastri posted a story!

oscarpiastri excited for a tropical summer break!

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user11 lord forgive me for these sinful thoughts

user12 smiley osc 😮‍💨

lando see you in three weeks mate

oscarpiastri i'll miss you buddy

ynln playing a case of you - joni mitchell

liked by gracieabrams, oscarpiastri, and 2,459,174 others

ynln beach babe!

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user13 im so confused why is polite cat oscar piastri in the likes 😭

user14 he's everywhere but in my bed

fayewebster my wife (yn) has gone to war (well-earned vacation)

ynln i've got a locket with you in it, baby

user15 AHHH she's too cool for school

user16 YN! drop the new album and my life is yours

ynln let me work on it goddamn it 😖

user17 oscar x yn... can she be on the f1 movie soundtrack????

user18 beach babe indeed

gracieabrams if being a singer doesn't work out, you can always be a photographer

ynln or i can be your house wife :))))

user19 the song choice 😩

a few days ago... july 9th, 2025 - 22:43

It is late. Well, not even. Most of your shows run later, with you getting home well past 1 in the morning. So it isn't really late. For your rest-obsessed mind, your body that needs to make up for the nights spent writing and days spent recording, it sort of is.

Your friends have dragged you to a club, one you didn't bother with the name of, using that same tired excuse of 'we're in our twenties, we're alive to go to clubs.' You would've gone without the hassle, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't fun to annoy them. As your group approaches the neon signs, the sounds of the crowd moving and singing along, the excitement slowly seeps into your body. Your expectations for this break aren't all that high--you just want to rest and spend time with your friends. With a career like yours, one that gets more demanding as it goes, it's not all that easy to cruise through with high expectations. You've learned that the hard way.

The club is open, the salty sea air filling your lungs comfortably. Somehow, once your friends have wiggled through the crowd to reach the bar, the air gets incredibly hot and sticky, making you crave a towel and a cocktail, ones you could take to the beach a few meters away and enjoy, solitary. It takes your friends five, maybe six minutes (a new record), to plead with you, asking you if you could go over to the bar and leverage your fame for a couple of free drinks (it doesn't seem to occur to your friends that your music resonates with dramatic teen girls, not muscular bartenders).

You aren't in the mood to use it today. Pushing through the ignorant crowd, which you predict would've continued to dance, even if a tsunami sweeps the place, you reach the bar, wooden, covered in tropical flowers and cute marker-written notes from former customers. Your arms extend to the edge of the bar, vying for the bartender's attention. The man, dressed in a tight black t-shirt, is moving along to the music, lost to the drinks he is carefully making. You don't mind; you have all night.

When he finally turns around, just as you are about to order, an accented voice interrupts, "One vodka tonic, please." Your head spins around to see who in the world thinks that highly of themselves, not to wait in the customary way, only to be met with quite possibly the most beautiful man you've ever seen. You've always found it weird to call a dude beautiful, but when it comes to the guy besides you, there's really no better word. He's in a simple white button up, the sleeves rolled up, accentuating his upper arms. The top few buttons are left opened (on purpose, considering the look of this guy) in such a way that you can't see much but you can see just enough.

He notices you staring. At first, he slightly smirks, imperceptibly. When your expression doesn't change, he realizes he has cut in front of you. As if turned on by a switch, his cheeks redden and he smiles, raising his arm from the bar to bashfully rub the back of his neck.

"And whatever the lady wants," he adds, extending his smile, "on my tab." Normally, guys like this piss you off. Those large smiles of theirs are so obviously fake, just like their veneers. But not this guy's. No, he seems to be genuine in every little action. In his stance, in his hands, in his eyes.

"Vodka Red Bull," you order, sending him a curt smile as a 'thank you.' He bites his lip when you tell the bartender your order, kicking his feet around while you wait for the drinks.

"Sorry about cutting in front of you," he reaches his arm out. "I didn't mean to. I'm just by myself here and I could really use the drink." Without a word, the bartender pushes the two drinks towards you, the check under the vodka tonic. Before taking a sip, the man signs the check, leaving quite a hefty tip--and then he turns his attention to you.

You take the straw of your drink between your fingers, stirring, "That makes two of us." There's something so... uniquely special about absolutely needing a drink, and sharing that with another person. It's a bit raw, incredibly honest. I'm supposed to be having the time of my life but I need a temporary escape, a fix.

"Why a Red Bull?" he asks, walking to the edge of the club's property, outlined in plants and tropical trees.

He definitely looks familiar, "Why not a Red Bull?" The man shrugs, conceding the point willingly.

"Okay then," he switches, "why the drink?" He must be able to sense your hesitation because he gestures to himself and adds, "I'll go first," with a wink. "I'm on a three week break from work and it's super stressful and no one I'm here with seems to want to validate me in that. They're all just trying to get me to party and drink when I want to prepare." You tilt your head, examining him.

"Makes sense," you reply. The wheels in your head are spinning, trying to pin his words to the blurry idea you have of him in your head. "You look familiar," you finally tell him. He takes a sip from his drink to conceal his smile--it doesn't work in the slightest.

"Could say the same about you." Now you're both standing there, each leaning against opposing trees, taking one another in. He seems to be doing better at this figuring-you-out-thing because he's got a glint in his eye, shiny and planned. You can't place it, but you can remember it. "I'm Oscar Piastri," he gives in, his hand extending to shake yours. No one has shaken your hand in forever. "I'm a Formula 1 driver." Right.

"Oh," you comment, mainly to yourself. "I knew that." It isn't a loaded statement, just a blank one. You did know him. You've heard the stories, mainly from your friends, who followed the sport much more closely than you did. "So when you say job, you mean racing to the possible death at 200 miles per hour?"

He flashes that dangerous grin again, "Was that not implied?" Oh, he's cute. Oscar Piastri's got that sarcastic, mysterious, undeniable look to him and it is fucking working.

You shake your head, another sip, "Do you know what I do?" You ask it as a joke, not anticipating much, but Oscar's back straightens against the tree.

"You're a singer," he shrugs, as if it is oh such common sense. "Yn, right?" You can choose, in that moment, to be freaked out and ruin this perfectly fine (and somewhat flirtatious) interaction or to suck it up and give him the same energy back.

"Yep," you pop the p, "how'd you know that?"

"My sister likes your music?"

You cross your arms, only in a different way, bearing a different intention, than you did a few minutes before. "You here for an autograph?" you coyly ask.

He pushes himself off the tree, getting closer. "Among other things."

july 10th, 2025 - 1:07

The conversation absolutely flowed between you and Oscar, natural in its origins and destination, more like a river you stumble upon than one you labor endlessly to forge. He's sweet, charming, but also very touch-and-go. You don't feel unsafe with Oscar, and he doesn't feel bored with you.

Right now, the two of you are holding hands, stumbling towards the beach in front of the club--the one you've known you were going to end up at. He's telling a story about a race in Hungary in 2024, not-so-subtly dropping innuendos and comments and winks and smirks and glances. Oscar Piastri, you think. You're interesting.

He pulls you toward the low waves, cool water splashing against your ankles. There's a few staggered people around the coast, but Oscar makes it feel like it's just the two of you. His hand is on the side of your head, in your hair, and his eyes are so intently looking into yours that you can't help but back away. With his confidence, no shocker he's an F1 driver.

"Come," he says, stepping deeper into the water, "let's get in." You just laugh. Here's a grown man, up to his knees in salt water, ruining a pair of respectable slacks--the same man you've been calling mysterious and dangerous. Well, he definitely still is those things. But right now, with that childish look on his moonlight soaked face, he's just... nice.

"No fucking way I'm going in there," you reply, switching the bunched up ends of your dress from one hand to the other. You're keeping a careful eye on the waves splashing against you. He put his hands on his hips, cocking his head against you. You shake your head no in response. Oscar just takes that as an invitation to walk back over, his face colored with shades of slight embarrassment and disappointment. Just when he reaches you, his hand pulls you close. You can feel him breathing erratically, but you can't focus on anything else but his lips. As the two of you lean in, you catch an undetectable flash of a grin. He pulls your arm towards him, sending you both deep into the water.

july 12th, 2025 - 3:26

You tap your pen against the crumpled note pad, as if tapping continuously will somehow make your brain work. So much for that. The only lights in the room are the ones emitted from the weak lamp behind you and from Oscar's phone. "Said I'll see it to believe it, but what?" you ask yourself, twisting the ends of your hair in confusion. You repeat the lyrics again, like rolling a stone over in your palm, hoping you see a part of it you haven't before, "Said I'll see it to believe it, but what?" Oscar puts his phone down, turning around.

"Okay, what are the lyrics again?" he asks, rubbing his eyes as they adjust to the dim light on your side of the bed.

You just look at him. "What do you mean?" He gestures to the notebook, still rubbing his eyes. Drama queen, you note.

"You're going to be up all night if you don't finish this chorus--"

"--verse, actually--"

"--so let me help you finish it," he states confidently, pulling the notepad out of your unconsciously strong grip. "Said I'll see it to believe it, but," he reads to himself.

"Osc, it's fine," you say, starting to fight him for the notebook, which he holds further and further away from you, still reading your draft, "you could've just told me you want to sleep, I can finish this later." He shakes his head, a smile betraying his 'tired' demeanor.

"I know you, Yn," he teases, sing-songy, "I might be able to fall asleep but you'll be up all night trying to write this. Let me help." You finally snatch the pad out of his hands, falling into him on the bed.

"You're not a songwriter, Osc," you say with a smile, hoping desperately it doesn't come off as an insult.

He crosses his arms, coy. I guess he just always looks hot. "You know, contrary to what you might think," he starts, pulling you up from his lap closer to his face. Easily, he can see the blush coating your cheeks, "I went to school. Even graduated. Shocking, I know."

"I wasn't insinuating you were uneducated, Osc," you reply, trying to wiggle out of his firm grasp on your sides.

"So then let me help," he enunciates, ending the statement with a flash of a huge smile. Oscar Piastri. Fucker knows how to use that goddamn smile to get what he wants. You sigh, loudly and obnoxiously, before making a big show out of passing him the notebook.

"Hm," he lets out, eyes going over the few lyrics already written down. He gently kisses the top of your head, eyes never leaving the paper. "Okay, what about this? Said I'll see it to believe it, but I don't know the actual truth? That good?" You, once more, seize the notebook from his hand, and, with the click! of your pen, write down the lyrics he said. "Good, huh?" he boasts, putting his arm over your shoulder, pulling you back in the nook of his arm.

"Not yet," you mutter, unaware, "too many syllables. But maybe it'd work with 'I know the actual truth.' How's that?" He shrugs, mouth in a straight line.

"But you don't know the actual truth," he retorts. You look up at him, his face brightened and smiling down at you, so absolutely domestic that it melts whatever's left of your already stolen heart. Maybe the clues he left are the ones he's getting rid of now.

"Who does?" you ask, rolling your eyes playfully. Except, when you say it, your eyes fly back to Oscar's, which are, predictably, staring back at you, wide with importance.

"Write that down," he urges, left hand shaking at you to hurry.

"'Said I'll see it to believe it, but who knows the actual truth,'" you read out, voice slightly muffled due to the pen cap you're holding between your teeth. You take a slight moment, going over the line once more as you feel Oscar's breath on the side of your neck. "Cause I'm sure now." Once you're done messily scribbling your lyrics, you let go of the notebook, finally able to tuck yourself into Oscar's side, without petulant worries about a song that you know will eventually get done.

"Thank you for letting me help," he quietly utters into your hair, peppering gentle kiss after kiss. It was a bit worrying, how easily you can envision this never ending.

"Thank you for helping," you reply, pulling his hand to your mouth so you can return the favor with a kiss on the back of his palm.

ynln

liked by logansargeant, phoebebridgers, and 2,830,915 others

ynln i've got a surprise for you!!!! since i'm SO dedicated to my craft (translation: i've met someone 🫢), i decided to find a (surprisingly good) studio and record over vacation!!! 'beaches' is out tomorrow:

'Cause days blend to one when I'm on the right beaches And the walls painted white, they tell me all the secrets Don't wait for the tide just to dip both your feet in 'Cause I'm sure now, I'm sure

here's a sneak peek at the chorus!!!!!

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user20 SHE MET A BOYYYYY

user21 beach babe met beach boy????

user22 oh she's down so bad

user23 i need this now!!!

user24 it's gonna be such summer vibes i can't waittttt

oscarpiastri Cute song! liked by author

user25 is it about the oscar guy in her comments?

user26 as an f1 fan, i don't think so, oscar's just very friendly. i also think he went to the same place she's at for vacay so they might've met

user27 as another f1 fan, i totally think it could be him!

reneerapp H O T

ynln T H A N K Y O U

user28 logan's in the likes too????

july 15th, 2025 - 06:13

The sun is, for the first time these past few days, not blinding, opting to hide behind the thin veil of clouds in the sky, possibly as a service to you and Oscar. Unlike your night owl friends, he's offered to meet you early, promising he knows the best spot to watch the sunrise from. A line, for sure, one used often, but Oscar clearly meant it. The two of you have trailed through the edge of a forest near the beach (not an easy feat, considering you were in thongs (guys, that's a flipflop, let me live, i'm being british 😛)). As you two walk, he lets you hold his arm for balance, laughing fully every time you dramatically trip on a small pebble).

And now you're here. This part of the beach is much more secluded, granting you privacy that only you and Oscar, as figures in the media, can fully appreciate. He's laying on his towel, eyes barely opened, staring at the sky. Against his thigh rests his coffee (which he stubbornly brought in a coconut, making you question if you really like this man). His hand, at first, was near your leg, but he quickly interlocked it with your hand without a second glance.

"I'm really glad to have met you," you say, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand. Oscar pushes his sunglasses up with his free hand, squinting eyes on you. "I mean, I love my friends, but I feel like you kind of, I don't know, get me? It's really nice." His face is almost frozen, giving no indication of how he feels. You try to cover your tracks, hurrying to add, "Not that we're, like, being serious or anything. Like, I know you're busy and I'm busy, I just wanted to tell you that I'm having a good time. No subconscious messaging or anything." You laugh, uncomfortably and incessantly, worrying about the look on his face. Suddenly, he pushes himself up on his elbows, quickly leaning in to pull you into a kiss.

God, he's way too good at that, you think to yourself. This is definitely going to be a problem.

"I know what you meant, Yn," his voice announces in that annoyingly cute way, "I just like seeing you squirm." You push him away, almost spiling the coffee. His hand flies to the coconut, steadying it, stupid and stubborn and wickedly pretty expression still gracing his face.

july 17th, 2025 - 14:25

"You wanna hear something really funny?"

"Respectfully, Yn, you find the dumbest things funny."

(Scoff) "How dare you! There's nothing respectful about that!"

(Shrug) "Then I said it disrespectfully."

"And here I was, about to share a stroke of comedic genius. But now I won't."

"We both know you will."

"Yeah, I will. My street?"

"Mhm."

"It's 69 Greenwich Street."

"So not funny."

july 18th, 2025 - 20:43

"Oh my god that book was so fucking good. I need to go buy the second one."

"Oh, I already bought it for you."

"Oscar, what?"

"Yeah, I was near the book store and I remembered you telling me about it so I bought it for you. No big deal."

july 20th, 2025 - 09:46

"You look really nice, Yn."

"You're one to talk, Piastri."

july 20th, 2025 - 23:09

"Oscar! It literally just hit me!"

"What?"

"You didn't like that I had a vodka Red Bull because you drive against Red Bull. I'm literally so smart."

oscarpiastri

liked by lewishamilton, quadlock, and 1,393,502 others

oscarpiastri met some cool people in bali :)

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ynln it was so nice to meet you!

oscarpiastri back at you

user29 ok this is either they're-in-love confirmation or we-are-strangers confirmation

user30 leaning to the latter (for my emotional health)

user31 ugh he looks so hot

user32 ARGHWGGHAUGQPERUGBR

lando party w/o lando?

oscarpiastri well, i didn't want to break my nose, so yes

charles_leclerc Deserved rest 💪

oscarpiastri Wish you were here, would've been fun!

logansargeant this is not my oscar piastri

oscarpiastri me when i want attention be like

logansargeant ok u caught me im jealous

oscarpiastri fly down 😘

user33 oscar's not with that singer, he's dating logan clearly

alex_albon 😂

mclaren We really shouldn't be seeing this...

oscarpiastri lando's done worse 😅

lando sybau sybau sybau 🥀

july 24th, 2025 - 15:32

Media day is a day where drivers do pre-race interviews and funny videos for their team's social media, to advertise and to get their thoughts out about the progression of both their season and their team's. What childhood memory did you lose to remember that now useless fact?

You're sitting on the floor of your New York apartment, back against the side of your couch, as your TV plays the interviews in Belgium at the loudest volume. Some neighbor will surely have a problem, so you enjoy the few moments you have, replaying his voice in your head, as if memorizing it will change anything.

You haven't really heard from Oscar. It was to be expected. Both of you agreed that this was a fling, nothing more. Him leading the standings, you with an album release on the way. Neither of you needed another thing to add to a stacked, hunger-satiating plate.

Well, you may not have needed it, but it became clear to you quite quickly that you definitely wanted it. Sitting there, eating a bag of sour gummy worms and drinking room temperature Dr. Pepper, you watch him in his element, bearing the most honest of smiles. You don't know what to do. Your phone lies unlocked in front of you, on his contact, right next to your notebook. You are hoping that the least the universe could do was give you some kick-ass songs from this shitty experience. Right now, it doesn't seem like that's going to happen.

You chuck another gummy worm in your mouth, miserably listening to Oscar talk about how good his vacation was. How relaxing. That's nice. What a fucking guy, you think to yourself. That's what he is. He's a guy, a boy, he's not a man or anything. I clocked him with that stupid 'beach boy' nickname. I'm cosmically stupid.

Suddenly, you feel the urge to write. It's less like your mind is willing you, more like it's your pen, reaching for the paper like a moth to a flame. Real man, you think to yourself, looking at the title of what is apparently your next song, Oscar's haunting voice playing in the background.

(spa, belgium)

july 24th, 2025 - 21:17

Oscar's pathetic. He must be. He's lying in his hotel room, in the most comfortable bed he's ever been in, yet sleep evades him. He has a structure he likes to stick to during race weekends. Being unable to sleep because he's thinking about a girl he's know for three weeks isn't (and never will be) part of that structure.

Evasive Yn Ln, imperceptible Yn Ln. She must be a witch, right? There's no other explanation for the voice in his head, the one replicating her songs and her sweetly weird pronunciation of her t's. It calls him to her. His phone, over the past few minutes, has gotten closer to his face. He's replaying videos from his summer with Yn.

One of her trying to surf. One of them on a jet ski, her hands around his waist, chin on his shoulder, face bearing a beautiful smile. One of her dancing to her music on a crowded beach, holding a beer in one hand and making fun of something called a 'frat-boy flick.' And then came the videos from her concerts, which the internet is happy to provide.

She's got a song called 'lovesong,' which Oscar feels so insanely confused about. His feelings are so muddled they may as well have been rained on. It's a beautiful song, one he can't forget if he tries. But something twists in his stomach whenever he gets that painful and common reminder that it wasn't written for him.

She's singing into a microphone, strumming the chords on her sticker-laden guitar, smiling. Oscar sees her in the back of her mind right now, knowing she's doing anything but smiling. Hell, knowing Yn, she's probably writing a song about him right now. And not one he's going to like.

And yet.

He adjusts himself in bed, still scrolling. He's going to be scrolling for a while. That's what mistakes do. They linger in your brain, they're felt in every touch. Oscar's going to be feeling them for a long time.

ynln

liked by lexijayde, user34, and 3,008,961 others

ynln single number twooo! summer time in my favorite city always heals everything! the newest single coming your way (releasing midnight est) is called 'real man'. here's some lyrics:

And I already told you I'm not part of the band Please forgive me just for thinking it's a fleetin' romance I guess no one ever taught you how to be a real man

hopefully, the album will be done 🔜

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user35 who messed with my queen?

user36 we go to war when 'real man' drops

user37 why do the best girls always get the worst guys?

lexijayde her pen ✍️ ✍️ ✍️

ynln my pen <<<< your everything

user38 i feel bad for yn... but i know this album's gonna slap

user39 IM IN LESBIANS WITH HER

yourfriend2 could he hold it down and take it, if you gave him a chance?

ynln STAWP leaking my lyrics 🥰

user40 yn's friends just dropping the lyrics like it's nothing is killing me

user41 god's strongest soldier

user42 this is 'norman fucking rockwell' 2.0

user43 EEK!

yourfriend3 he wasn't a real man, dab on it and move on

ynln 😶‍🌫️

july 27th, 2025 - 15:28

When the FIA announces the red flag, everyone's annoyed. He gets out of his car, in a rush to find his phone and headphones, pushing past personnel with as much ease as he overtakes Lando. He's in the bathroom right now, hurrying to plug his headphones in so he can listen to Yn's new songs.

He knows it's about him. Fuck, that doesn't look good. A song called 'Real Man,' surely satirical, and he can tell off the bat it's about him.

And I already told you I just wanted to dance Could you see me standing out here with my outstretched hand?

The verses weren't too bad. They hit Oscar like a pile of bricks, a gift that keeps giving until he feels like he's driven through Yn's brain, on a track that will probably never exist again. He is perched against the sink, one hand steadying him, the other holding his phone as close to his face as possible. Oscar is absolutely fucking pathetic! He can't even look himself in the eye, he cranes his neck down to not make eye contact with the mirror.

I guess no one ever taught you how to be a real man

Oscar immediately thinks about his mom. God, she would be livid if she knew how he'd acted. His sisters even more so. He turns the faucet on, splashing some cold water on his face. Truly, he shouldn't care this much. It's been a few weeks of knowing you--surely, it isn't normal to be this fucking hung up.

Because that's definitely what he was. Hung the fuck up. On everything about you, too. It's not like there were many things he disliked about you that he can find solace in. No, he's forced to face you in your entirety, through this stupidly catchy song and through all of those videos that keep popping up on his fucking feed (it's definitely not because he's been liking and saving all of them).

He's sitting in the garage, hiding from the cameras, and he's thinking about you. He's talking to Tom, focusing his vision on the statistics on the screen in front of him, and he's thinking about you. He's pulling his balaclava on, his gloves on, his helmet on, as he steps into his car, reaching out to the steering wheel--yet he's thinking about you. Fuck.

july 27th, 2025 - 18:03

So... that shouldn't have been possible. The rolling start, the ticking time bomb that was those degrading mediums. You. Oscar's race consisted of thinking about you (the only exception being his lap 1 overtake, where he was only half thinking about you). It shouldn't be possible for a driver, as off and unfocused as he was, to win. Formula 1 must have gotten too easy.

Yet, here is Oscar, parking his car in front of that beautiful #1. He takes a second to breathe, even though it is a bit more difficult to do so, before he steps out, careful not to slip. His arms punch out in glory, the crowd erupting behind him. Lando and Charles pull in as well, clearly not as jazzed as he is. Oscar jumps off the car, heading straight to where his mother and grandfather are standing, cheering. He pulls his mother into a hug first, his mind so dizzy on the culmination of this insane fucking weekend that her compliments slur together. His grandfather is beside them, reaching out to Oscar the second Nicole is done. Oscar's mind is fucking with him again because he truly can't tell if he's happy, sad, or some other much more complicated word.

His grandfather's first race and he wins it. His mom, who he hasn't seen in a few weeks, clapping and trying to hold back her tears. His heart strains towards this moment, drumming in Oscar's chest, telling him to enjoy it, live in it, breathe it the fuck in. But he does miss you. He's selfish and rude and unappreciative, feelings which he will definitely rot in later, once he gets back to Monaco. But he wants you here. Really fucking badly.

july 27th, 2025 - 12:03

Oscar won his race. Plain and simple. He was really fucking good, too. You're still curled up on your couch, your cats roaming the living room and leaving whenever your reactions get too loud. Even when they announced the red flag, you stayed in your spot, the only movement between the start and end of the race being the repositioning of your blanket (the stress and adrenaline were keeping you warm).

It's really hard, not to text him right now. You know he probably doesn't want to hear it--or even care--but you miss him and you want the best for him. After all, that is why all of this is happening in the first place. Oscar deserves the best, and you do too, and being together wouldn't give either of you what you deserve. Right?

You really miss him, though. Your hands ache for your journal, for the feel of the smooth pen in between the pads of your fingers. The ruffle of pages and the inhibiting smell of ink splotches, they bring an unparalleled comfort to you. You need that right now. The cameras zoom in on Oscar's face. He's smiling, bright, that beautiful smile that you see when you close your eyes. His dimples are incredibly prominent, pairing with his deep hazel eyes to create an image you're unlikely to ever forget. He looks so fucking happy. He's hugging his mom, his grandfather, and giggling as the swarm of Papaya engineers huddle around him in support.

You wish you were there. But, simply put, you're not. You're in New York City--the place you have always insisted to be the best. It doesn't feel like it. Fuck it, you think to yourself.

'Good job :),' you text him, hurriedly putting your phone on DND and throwing it across the room. Instead, you pick up your journal, beginning to scribble down lyrics in a dire attempt to capture Oscar and those beautiful brown eyes--the prettiest eyes you'd ever seen.

july 29th, 2025 - 2:47

It has been impossible to sleep. Hungary is coming up in less than a few days and still--still, still, still--you're on the forefront of his mind. He can't catch up to you, no matter what moves he pulls or what daydreams he envelops himself in. You're simultaneously far off and right there. That text you sent--that mindless, but in no way meaningless--has been memorized, tattooed onto the side of Oscar's brain.

He knows what he has to do. In fact, he feels stupid for not knowing sooner. Not knowing about this whole ordeal or about how prevalent you would remain. Oscar's calling everyone who works for him, anyone who can get him a fucking flight.

(new york city, ny, usa)

You are dreaming again. Usually, the dreams start in that nameless club you met him in. In the dreams, you do it right. Well, not really. You're unsure how to do it right. It seems like, no matter how well you string the words together, how adamant you are, he's always an arm's reach away. The only thing separating you is consciousness, as well as the Atlantic Ocean.

This dream takes a different turn however. Out of nowhere--interrupting one of the better dates included in these dreams--loud knocking begins, to the backdrop of heavy rain, pitter-pattering on the sidewalks. Five minutes of you convincing yourself it's the dream pass until your body can no longer lay there, limp and tired, and not do anything about whatever psycho is waking you up at... 2:47 in the morning? you think to yourself, rubbing your eyes. You grab a big t-shirt off the edge of your bed, making your way to the front door. The knocking hasn't eased up, in volume nor in strength or repetition.

"What do you want?" you drag out the last word, making it clear you're annoyed, when you realize it isn't some random standing in front of you, it's him. It's Oscar?

He's been knocking for a while. His clothes are fully wet, dripping on their own, his hair basically slicked to his forehead. It's hard to pretend he doesn't still manage to look sinfully good. His mouth is parted--he wants to say something, but the words aren't flowing out like he expects them to.

"Hi," Oscar finally breathes out, his body moving with him. You cross your arms. It is painfully clear that, even without an apology, you are considering letting him in and just letting it go. You shouldn't, you know that. So you close the door behind you, stepping into the rain with him. "I'm sorry," he finally says. You don't reply, allowing him to continue.

"I'm so fucking stupid, Yn," Oscar laughs, almost in horrendous awe of himself. "I can't even imagine what I was thinking, pulling that stupid line about needing to focus on racing. It was incredibly shitty and not even fucking true and I don't even know what else to say except that I am a moron." He takes your hands, gently, and when you don't pull away, grips them a bit stronger.

"I know you saw the race," he says, his voice soft, beckoning you back to him without even meaning to do so. "The entire time--the entire weekend, for fuck's sake--I spent thinking about you. It should have been a miracle for me to even finish the race, much less win." Oscar starts laughing again. You've missed the sound, sure, but you don't quite know how well his finding humor in this sits with you.

"It should have been a miracle," he repeats, his eyes staring into yours, "but it wasn't." Your eyebrows furrow. "I can't do anything without you. Or without thinking about you, I guess. All this shit about wanting to focus on racing and not being able to be with you--I had it all wrong! You literally take up every waking moment of my time. When I'm not thinking about you, I'm dreaming about you or I'm watching your concerts or rereading our texts. I need you in my life, Yn. I was so stupid before. I can't even..." he struggles to find the words. "I just... what was I thinking?"

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of you scanning him, trying to answer the myriad of questions your doubtful brain comes up with, you smile. "You clearly weren't," you grin, pushing your hair out of your face. "What are we going to do about that?" Once Oscar catches that glint in your eye, he, too, can't help but smile. His right hand slides away from yours, snaking to the small of your back. His left goes up to your lip, wiping off the raindrops carefully.

"I've got a few ideas," he leans in, the space between you almost non-existent.

"Oh yeah?" you joke. A beat passes. You put your arms around his neck, pulling him in as close as possible and kissing him in a way you never had before. All of Oscar's kisses were destructively good, but this one was borderline dangerous. Maybe even addictive. The rain dances on your skin, soaking you in the moment. When the two of your pull away and give each other soft smiles, it's clear.

ynln posted a story!

ynln back to the place where it started so i can announce 'this is how tomorrow moves'!!!! out august 29th!!!!

single #3: 'ever seen', out tomorrow

oscarpiastri playing ever seen - yn ln

liked by yourmom, oliviarodrigo, and 1,529,747 others

oscarpiastri i've got the prettiest eyes she's ever seen??? (tagged ynln)

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user44 my favorite crossover episode

lando my eyes are better 😤

oscarpiastri that's funny because i don't remember asking.

lando you didn't need to add the period at the end, asshat

kimiantonelli my girlfriend loves your girlfriend!

olliebearman kimi no i don't??? not yet, oscar, but i will listen, i promise

isackhadjar y'all need to figure ts out

user45 can i be adopted?

ynln beach boy reveal!

oscarpiastri you ever gonna stop calling me that?

ynln no 🥰

oscarpiastri yay!

user46 i'm grieving my nonexistent relationship with him

user47 you and everyone else, sister 😔

logansargeant who is this DIVA 💜

oscarpiastri MY girlfriend...

danielricciardo SOMEONE had a good summer

oscarpiastri understatement of the century

nicolepiastri She looks so kind!!!! I can't wait to meet her, Oscar!

ynln mrs piastri you're so cool thank you so much this means everything to me thank you

oscarpiastri thanks mum, she's passed out

alex_albon lilymhe why won't you write me a love song?

lilymhe why won't you write ME a love song?

alex_albon i have, it's in my diary :)))

georgerussell63 what about me?

alex_albon girl there's more for you than for lily 😉

oscarpiastri stream my girlfriend's album when it comes out!!!!!

ynln

liked by carlossainz55, ediepiastri, and 3,074,298 others

ynln it's out!!!! 'this is how tomorrow moves' is available in record stores (my preferred method of listening) or wherever you stream music! this album is summer in new york, secret sunsets on the beach, sleeping in with pretty boys. it means everything to me!!!!! i hope you guys like it and tell me your favorite track!! (p.s. mine's 'coming home')

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oscarpiastri mine is ever seen!!!! or beaches!!!! or take a bite!!!! or everything i want!!!!

lando i'm sensing a pattern 🤔

ynln oscar's love songs 🤗

hattiepiastri pro tip 🤓 don't let your brother date your favorite singer, it ruins all her songs for you

ynln i'll write a song about you too bby don't worry

oscarpiastri why does my family like you more than they like me?

nicolepiastri We WOULD like her better if you actually let us meet her, Oscar

kimiantonelli i really liked it yn, 10/10

ynln you are the youngest person EVER thank you kimiiii

charles_leclerc hello daughter-in-law!!!!

ynln papa?????

oliviarodrigo My new favorite album!

ynln from you, that means so much

user48 AHHHHHHHHHH

user49 AHHHHHHHHHH

user50 she's so in love i'm crying for her

mclaren Playing this in the paddock 🎵 liked by author

fayewebster i wish i wrote girl song ❤️‍🩹

ynln you wrote kingston, be fr!

oscarpiastri i can't believe i didn't know i was in love with you immediately

ynln definitely took you a while 😥

to anyone reading this who thinks they might possibly potentially maybe have a fic idea please use the request!!!! i have the most fun writing those and it guarantees that some people will enjoy it, which is literally all i can ask for :)

[rustcoloredraccoon]

I actually just had conversations with a mutual about this exact topic a few days ago and how it seemed entirely random which story ended up popular. In our case, the two stories were similarly tagged and had similar summaries, posted just a few days apart.

I'm sharing part of the rant I went on in our DMs because I feel like it's important to add this, even if it is just rehashing what has been said a million times before

The other things I talked about but will not share due to other topics and information present in the texts:

- more about tropes, as soulmates will always outperform a less popular trope, even if it is shorter and you put less time and effort into it;

- timing, especially during event weeks when a lot of really popular writers are also sharing their works, so yours might get lost in the sea of the other works if you're not one of the big ones. This should not discourage you, because eventually people will come back around and read yours as well. Maybe sometimes you just need to be patient because eventually the readers will find you and realise they have overlooked a diamond in the rough.

- not everyone will write the next fandom epic. The words I specifically said about this were: "some people are just looking to spend the afternoon reading an accidental baby acquisition or omegaverse fic, and I'm here to cater to them."

Sure, we all hope that one of our fics will be the Next Big Thing, but it's okay if it's not. What you think is just a mid work might be someone else's favourite fic they constantly return to when they had a bad day.

I hope this whole message doesn't come off as arrogant or full of myself. I'm not one of the biggest writers in my fandom, nor have I been in it the longest. But I have been fortunate enough to have several people who I know like to read my fics and will leave comments as well more often than not. And even if it was just one person (other than me) who enjoyed it, then posting it was already worth it. If it made their day just a little bit better by offering a distraction, then my time and effort had not been in vain.

And for those who never gathered the courage to comment, but still reread the story 50 times and could only leave 1 kudos, I see you and thank you and I love you.

My friend said this about AO3 and it’s honestly so true

[slushycoookie]

Clark knew about your fear of heights.

He just didn’t expect you to be standing on the roof of the Daily Planet, right on the edge, with determination in your eyes. You wanted to conquer your fear. Clark thought it was okay to be afraid of high places, but you argued that you’re dating a superhero who can fly. It wasn’t an option.

If only you came up with a different way to face your fears.

“You know,” Clark starts, looking down at the street beside you, dressed in his suit, “we can always start with something small. Like a tree. There are some pretty tall trees out there.”

You side-eye him, “What tree do you know that has the height of a skyscraper?”

“None, but I’m not comfortable with you jumping off of a building.”

“Me neither, but this is the quickest way to get over it.”

Get over it? He's not a psychologist, but he knows facing your fears isn't resolved in a night.

Clark sees your legs wobbling with each minor step you take. Your shirt practically wrinkled due to the amount of times you gripped it out of stability. He wants to hold you close and calm the shakes, but you’d get mad at him for stopping your plans. So he’d have to suck it up and hug you later.

“Okay, eyes on me.” You watch as he steps off of the ledge, beginning to float. His cape flowing along the nightly breeze when he reaches for you. His hand out, ready for you to take. “No rush. I’m ready whenever you are.”

You exhale, wiping your palms. Clark hides a smile as he knew how sweaty they can get when you’re nervous.

“You’ll catch me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Like I’m serious, Clark, don’t drop me.”

“You know I won’t.”

“Okay…” You take his hand, and he pulls you to him. You shriek before burying your face against the symbol on his chest. The same position you always take whenever he flies you anywhere. His arms are tight around you, his number one priority being to make sure you don’t fall.

“I got you.”

Those three words lessens the tension in your shoulders. You slowly look up at his eyes and his breath hitches. The moonlight makes you glow despite being scared out of your mind. You’re so beautiful. It’s attractive how brave you are at this moment. But he needs to focus and not think about kissing your perfect lips.

“You okay?”

You glance over his shoulder before shutting your eyes, “Uh-huh. I don’t know how you do this everyday.”

“It helps that I don’t die if I fall.” He smiles at your snort, glad that he’s making you feel better.

You try to look down, the grip on his suit getting tighter as you see how high up you are. Practically over 300 feet in the air. The cars below are small in your eyes, the people walking past even smaller. Clark doesn’t speak, watching you get used to the height. The way the corner of your lips slowly curl up at the sight. How your grip doesn’t become as tight as each minute passes.

Slowly, he drifts further away from the ledge, doing a small spin to get you more comfortable. His cape helps block out anything that appears too far in case you start panicking. You don’t. Instead, you pull back a bit, getting bolder.

“Be careful.”

“I’m fine. I have you.” Clark affectionately squeezes your sides. He hears your fast heart beat slow down the longer you stay up here with him. “God, what was I so afraid of?”

He hums for a moment, “Falling and dying.”

“That, yeah. But I should’ve done something like this sooner…”

Clark’s brows scrunch, “Like not jumping off a building, right? Please tell me you mean something else.”

“Yes.” You reassure him by leaning forward, rubbing his nose against yours, “Thank you for doing this with me. You didn’t need to.”

Clark’s hold turns into a hug, his thick arms embodying your entire frame, “I wanted to. Even if your methods are…extreme.” You give him a shy smile when he continues, “But you didn’t need to do this. I don’t want my identity to force you into doing things you didn’t want to do.”

“Oh no.” Your face drops, “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”

“A little...”

You exclaim, hiding your face out of embarrassment, “I’m sorry! I just thought that I should be better at being Superman’s girlfriend and not just Clark’s.”

“You’re a good girlfriend to Superman and Clark.” He puts your chin up to look at him, “They-I-like you for who you are. I wasn’t bothered at all by your fear of heights. You’re already amazing to me.”

Your arms find their way around his neck, wide eyes pulling him in. “You’re sweet.”

The kiss he shares with you is long overdue. Clark still keeps a firm hold on your body to make sure you’re stable while he’s immersed with your lips. The soft touch ending the night off on a high note.

When he places you safely back on the roof, you fall to your knees, happy to be back on something solid.

“No more practicing off of buildings anymore, right?”

“I didn’t say that.” You turn, pointing at him. “This was just the first night. I have to do it more than once to get comfortable.”

Clark grimaces. While he absolutely agrees you should practice more often, next time he’s going to find a tall enough tree for you to start with.

A/N: This is for all the girlies who love Superman but can't deal with heights <3 Me included

[starsswirl]

Come in with the rain

clark kent (2025) x reader

summary: golden retriever!clark can’t stay away from black cat!reader. Even with the initial uncaring front they put on, his attention and care towards them breaks down a few walls. maybe all it takes is a little rain to wash away the indifference and let a little love shine through.

warnings: bad coffee

a/n: i cannot tell if i encapsulated black cat and golden retriever correctly in this fic but i still hope its good

You were in the perfect writing zone. Earbuds in and fingers typing across the keys trying to keep up with the flow of words coming out of your head.

Writing articles never always came so easy for you.

Sometimes you have everything planned out in your head of what you were going to write for the Daily Planet. Paragraph topics covered. Multiple people standing out in your head for the perfect quote. Even down to the nitty gritty of the perfect witty lede to draw readers in.

Other times, not so enjoyable. Recalling hours of sitting and staring at your desk praying to anything that some inspiration can strike you. Countless nights in your bed, eyes straining from the bright light of the laptop screen, frustrated that the article deadline is so soon and you have nothing to show up for it.

So far, you were lucky. So far, you were in the middle of writing about the newest shops opening around Metropolis. The words typed on the screen so easily you don’t even notice yourself absentmindedly nodding along to the song blasting in your ears.

That is until, like clockwork, Clark Kent interrupts the moment with a tap on the shoulder.

“What are you listening to?”

“Uh nothing really,” you say taking out an earbud. You were too embarrassed to admit what you were truly listening to.

“I was just curious. I mean, you looked really into the song. You were nodding along and everything.”

“I really don’t think you’ll know the artist that well. And being honest I like to gate keep,” you deflect by facing back towards your computer screen. You hoped that Clark would drop it and leave you alone. But that is never the case.

“I can see on your phone screen that you’re listening to Taylor Swift.”

“So what? Some of her songs are really good,” you say defensively. Even if you were the biggest fan in the world or barely knew her discography, you could not help but diminish the fact you got caught listening to her.

“No, there is nothing wrong with Taylor. I even enjoy a few of her songs.”

“Okay? Do you want a medal or something?”

“Uh no I do not. I actually enjoy trophies instead of medals.”

You let out an exhale forgetting how oblivious Clark is to sarcasm. You’d think you would learn by now from how often you would shoot a sarcastic jab his way and he act like you told him something thoughtful.

Leaning back in your chair you feel the writing zone slowly seep out of you as Clark continues to ramble about the gratification of receiving a trophy over a medal. You so desperately want to go back to writing because it will take forever to get back into the zone once you are out of it.

“Did you need something?”

“No I didn’t. I just wanted to come over and say good morning. So good morning! I hope you have a great, productive day,” Clark says flashing a wide smile.

“Oh uh thank you. You too.”

Now that had thrown you off. Nobody has ever made their way just to wish me a good morning before just because they wanted to. Sure sometimes someone says it in passing while you are walking past their desk in the morning. Or even at the cafe down the block when the barista says ‘good morning’ and it is just reflex to say it back.

But a good morning and a wish to have a good day? That is too much. Clark is not there for much longer before Perry barks at him to go back to his own desk.

You cannot help but watch as he walks away and ponder at just the entire existence of Clark Kent. How can somebody be so considerate as him? Why would somebody so considerate?

So caring and sweet. As if he has never seen the dark reality of the world we live in and he still smiles through it every day.

It must be an ulterior motive right? He has to secretly want something from you. There is no other reason for him to be this nice to every body. Maybe he wants to steal your article ideas for his own. Maybe he wants to associate himself with you to try to seem more professional to others at work.

Or maybe he just wanted to be around you for you.

You shake the thought of Clark out of your head as you try to bring your focus on your own writing, not the cute way his smile lights up his entire face and defines his dimples. Definitely not.

It is not too long before he approaches again. In fact it was exactly an hour and thirty-two minutes later. The only reason why you know this is because you checked the time before you got back to work, totally not because you were counting the minutes until he came back over.

This time now, his large hands envelope a small and steaming cup of coffee. He extends it to you, but you are hesitant to take it.

A voice in your head saying, what if he does not want to give it to you? Maybe he just extends his arms like that out of habit. Imagine the embarrassment of taking the cup and Clark saying it was not meant for you.

You would rather eat worms than have to live through that scenario so you stare at Clark waiting for him to say something. Anything.

An awfully long silent minute passes, both of you waiting for the other to speak first.

“Do you not want it? I thought you liked coffee. I can get you something different,” Clark says as his eyes never leave you face. A look of mild confusion and a glimmer of hope is painted across his face.

“Wait. That is for me?”

“Yeah. I got it for you. I noticed you did not have a drink on your desk, and even though coffee is not very hydrating it is still better than nothing. And maybe you would enjoy the energy,” he says in a matter of fact way. He extends his arm again, seemingly more desperate for you to take the drink than before.

You take the cup from his hands, careful not to brush his fingers with yours, but it did eventually happen. The contact is not what you expected at all.

Usually when you accidentally brush your hand against another person’s hand it is cold and unfeeling. Something that means nothing and will never mean anything.

But with Clark, his hands are warm. Obviously from the cup of coffee he was holding, but something in your heart tells you his hands are always that way. You want to hold them, intertwine your fingers with his just to know what it felt like.

You want his hands to hold your face while you softly nuzzle against his wide palms. Because while his hands may hold warmth they seem to hold so much more. They send a message of emotion, tenderness, and even possibly love without him having to even say a word.

You take a tentative sip of the coffee, preparing yourself for a small burn in case the coffee has not had enough time to cool down, but what you did not prepare yourself for was the taste. You immediately scrunch up your face in discomfort.

The effort it took for you to swallow that small sip should not have been that hard. But when you have to give yourself a mini pep talk just to swallow, you know something is very wrong.

It was a taste like you have never tasted before. You have had black coffee sure, but somehow this was much worse. Nothing in your mind could comprehend what in the world you just drank.

“What is wrong? Are you okay? Do you not like the coffee? I only put a little creamer and sugar in it. Isn’t that what you usually do,” the never ending questions escape Clark’s mouth before you can interject. Your heart wrenches at the sight his worried face. Wanting so bad to tell him it is okay, but you cannot bring yourself to lie to his face about how the coffee truly tastes.

You hold out the cup towards him and cough out a small “try it for yourself” to hopefully let him understand that it really was that bad.

Clark cautiously took one slow sip of the drink and it was clear on his face that he did not find the taste appetizing either. He quickly went over to the nearest trash can to throw it away before returning with apologies spewing out of his mouth.

“Are you sure you put milk and sugar in the drink?”

“Yes! I really tried to mimic what you usually do. Let me show you what I did,” he says before making a beeline towards the coffee station, desperate to make up for whatever fluke happened with the drink. You following suit.

He pointed out the creamer he used, exclaiming exactly one and a half. Just like you do. Then he picked up four white packets explaining how he used them exactly how he saw you do.

You are really impressed at how observant Clark is to your daily habits, down to exactly how you make your coffee. But those are not the sugar packets you use, not even close because of the word ‘salt’ printed on the side catches your eye.

Granted whoever organized the sugar packets right next to the salt packets really should have thought it through more. And who in their right minds designs salt packets to have the exact same font and color as sugar packets without thinking that there was a high possibility they could get mixed up.

So there was no reason in your mind to blame Clark for any of this at all. It was all just an accident. A terribly salty accident.

After you point out the mix up, Clark’s hand shoots up to his face. A regretful sigh escapes his lungs as he mutters something about being ‘stupid.’

“Hey. You are not stupid at all. It was an accident, even the best people are allowed to have accidents. And plus, you are among smartest people I know. I do not blame you at all for what happened and I am still very flattered that you even considered making me coffee in the first place,” you exclaim before even thinking about what you said.

You do not know what came over you when you let out that entire spiel. Reassurance and compliments are not things you usually give out to just anybody at anytime. Most of the time you think a simple ‘it’s okay’ suffices before moving on.

With Clark, it felt natural. It even felt a little good telling someone something nice like that. Definitely not good enough to do it more often or with other coworkers, but maybe just to Clark. After all someone who spreads so much kindness does need to be given kindness back.

You cannot stop the sheepish smile spreading across Clark’s lips. As if you would ever not want to see him smile. It hurt you when he gets upset, so having him smiling eases your heart and puts your worries to rest.

“Thank you,” Clark says. The way he says it makes it sound like he truly, utterly meant it. As if that little praise from you filled him with so much happiness.

It felt right to not force anymore conversation between you two, at least to you, so you walk back to your desk and get back to work. Not because you wanted to get away from him, but because you genuinely did not have much else you thought was interesting to say.

Hours pass and the work day ends. Finally. Goodbye loud chaos of the bullpen, hello quiet comfort of your bed.

That is until on your walk home you get caught in a downpour of rain. Day after day of not checking the weather coming to bite you. You are now really regretting not buying mini umbrella you saw while shopping a few days ago.

Coming down like sheets, you cannot avoid getting entirely soaked from head to toe. Luckily for you, you decided to leave your notebooks and computer at work so you could properly relax at home.

After you realize you are far too gone to get out of the rain, you decide to just push through it. Reasoning that you were already so drenched so it is not like you were going to get even more wet by continuing your walk home.

Suddenly the rain stops hitting you, but you can clearly see the rain still falling right infront of your eyes. You look up to see a suit jacket above you. The arms holding onto the jacket are strong and defined.

Clark.

“My apartment is right down the block. Please come with me and get out of this rain,” he urges. Nothing but worry knitting his brows, almost as if he thinks that if you stay in the rain for much longer something bad would happen.

You do not have to be told twice to follow after him, especially by the way he looks with his hair and shirt soaked.

If he was not so close, you would not have hesitated to slap yourself to knock you out of your dazed thoughts about him and the way he looks right now. But having to make up an excuse for slapping yourself back to normal is for some reason really hard.

It does not take long before you both rush into his apartment. Clothes dripping and body shivering, but you cannot shake the feeling of comfort right as you walk in the door.

“You know, my favorite Taylor Swift song is “Come In With The Rain.” Seems fitting right about now,” he says making a small joke of the unideal situation. A small chuckle even escapes under his breath, one of genuine humor or one as a coping mechanism, you could not really tell.

Either way that does not stop you from breaking out into laughter. Not just a chuckle or even a giggle. Full blown laughter that makes you run out of breath in the best way.

You do not really even know why you think what he said was so funny. The situation of the rain and Clark’s joke just really got to you. Or maybe just Clark’s presence overall just made you feel less guarded enough to laugh freely.

It takes you a good moment to collect yourself, taking a few steadying breaths. When you look at Clark you do not find him awkward seeing you break out into laughter like that out of nowhere as you expected. Instead of making you feel bad, a look of admiration shines onto his face.

“I have never heard you laugh like that. I think it is my new favorite sound.”

“Well…maybe just need to continue to keep being funny,” you say sarcastically. You had no idea what to say to that and it obviously showed with how you responded. Sarcasm being a second language to you.

Clark just chuckles again and lets out a joking ‘aye aye captain.’ He leads you through his apartment as if it so natural for you to be by his side. He hands you stacks of towels and a fresh pair of clothes for you to change into.

The both of you, now dry and in much more comfortable clothes, sit on his couch. Close enough to brush arms if one of you moved. He is emanating warmth just from his proximity. Enough to make you feel even more at home next to him.

You did not dare to move even an inch because you would be utterly upset if you brushed against him and he scoots away.

But then he scoots closer to you tentatively. Seemingly wanting no distance between the two of you, but still being respectful not to crowd you too much in case you did not like it.

After a short moment, you feel comfortable enough to truly relax against him and let yourself lean on him just barely. Only enough to have your side pressed against his in a soft way. A small, easy silence falls between you.

“I like you, Clark,” you say earnestly as you look up at him.

Saying this was not this big confession of feelings, at least it did not feel like one.’Sure you did actually harbor romantic feelings for the man, but the reason you said this was more out of pure fondness than anything else.

You wanted tell him that you appreciate him. Him wanting to know more about you Him making you coffee. Him letting you into his apartment. Him being near you. Him just existing in general.

“I like you too,” Clark responds in an almost adorning manner.

Before you know it he begins to lean in and you do not pull away. You did not want to. This moment felt like a moment that would change your life. All because of Clark.

You never thought you would find yourself here. Hair wet and sitting on Clark Kent’s couch of all places. Close enough to see his chest rise and fall steadily. Expressing feelings you have never expressed so willingly with another person before.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers an inch away from your mouth. Ever the gentleman he is, even when his eyes hold absolute desperation and longing he still asks for consent.

Instead of answering him you meet him halfway. The kiss is not rushed or passionate. It is soft and warm. Like you both have been waiting your entire lives just to feel each others lips.

A click of two puzzle pieces together. It feels like a mutual understanding between the two of you. You do not need a steamy kiss to prove your feelings for one another.

That being together, as each of you are, is just right.

[mistyrani]

Sistery

Jeong Dahyun x Male Reader

t/w: incest

You're 27, living in Seoul for seven years, distant from your family in Seongnam.

Your phone ringing with an unknown number.

Spam? A scam? You answer cautiously, "Hello?"

A young woman's voice, little bit familiar, answering, "Oppa, it's me, Dahyun!"

Your mind blanks. Dahyun? Your little sister? Her voice is deeper, confident, not the squeaky kid you last remember.

"Wait, what? Dahyun? How...?" you fumble.

Switching to video call, half expecting a prank.

Her face fills the screen, sharp cheekbones, bold eyes, a sly grin. She's look like a stranger in your sister's skin, nothing like the kid from seven years ago.

"Holy shit, you're... grown," you blurt, stunned.

She laughs, tossing her dark hair. "Yeah, time's a thing, Oppa. I'm coming to Seoul tomorrow with a friend. Can I crash at your place? Just me, for a night or two. Need a break from Seongnam."

"You've got a phone now?” you ask, still reeling. "Since when?"

"I got it last year," she says, rolling her eyes. "Mom and Dad finally caved. Said I'm 'responsible' now." She snorts, mimicking their tone. "Anyway, can I stay or not?"

"Yeah, sure," you stammer, brain catching up. "Just you, right?"

"Yep!" She grins. "Thanks, Oppa. Send me the location, I'll catch you up when I'm on my way."

"Yeah, I'll send it, take care."

Next day goes well, when the night comes.

You scramble to tidy your place, not want her complaining about your mess apartment to your mother.

When the doorbell rings, there's Dahyun, surprisingly tall, fit, in a purple blouse with grey sweater and jeans, backpack slung casually. Her friend shy and mousy, waves and leaves.

Dahyun strides in, scanning your apartment with a teasing smirk. "Wow, big city life, huh? This place is... cozy. It's been a while, Oppa."

You chuckle, still thrown by her presence. "Yeah, been a while, you want drink? coffee? tea?"

She flops onto your couch, kicking off her sneakers. "Anything's good," she said.

Over takeout bibimbap, you two chats, her art classes, her part-time job at a cafe, her dream of ditching from Seongnam.

"How'd you get a phone, anyway?" you ask, still curious. "Mom and Dad were strict about that."

She shrugs, chewing. "Hey, I'm 18, not a baby. They trust me... mostly," she added smirks.

"You sound like me at your age," you say, half-smiling. "They still on your case?"

"Always," she groans. "They don't get me. You escaped, though." Her tone's light, but it stings, reminding you of the gap you've let grow.

Her gaze lingers, probing. "You ever miss us, me? You're, like, a ghost. I didn't get to touch in with you, even before this phone."

Guilt twists your gut. "I miss you," you admit, voice low. "Work's a lot, but... I'm here now."

She smiles, softer. "Don't ghost me again."

She's mid-sentence, laughing about some cafe customer who tipped her with a cheesy love note.

Your phone ringing. The screen shows "Mom."

You pick up, "Hey, Mom, what's up?"

Her voice is rushed, "Sweetie, it's about Dahyun. She's supposed heading to Seoul today with a friend, said she needs a place to crash. Can you let her stay at your place? Just for a night or two."

You blink, confused, glancing at Dahyun, who's sprawled beside you, scrolling her phone with a grin. "Uh, Mom, she's already here," you say, brow furrowing. "Got here a couple hours ago."

"What?" Mom's voice spikes with surprise. "She didn't tell me she was already there! Put her on, let me see her."

You switch to video call, angling the phone so Dahyun's in the frame.

She scoots closer, her shoulder brushing yours, and you catch a whiff of her perfume, something floral, womanly, not the bubblegum scent of the kid you remember. It throws you for a second, her presence so different, so grown.

She leans in, her hair tickling your arm, and flashes a cheeky smile at the screen. "Hi, Mom! I'm fine, at Oppa's place now."

Your mom's face softens, but her eyes narrow. "Dahyunie, why didn't you tell me you were already there? I was worried sick!"

Dahyun shrugs, unfazed. "Forgot to mention. Oppa's taking care of me. His place is... small, but it's cool." She nudges you playfully, her elbow grazing your side, her confidence, her scent, the way she's no longer just your little sister.

"Small?" you mutter, faking offense, and she laughs, her voice richer than you remember.

Mom sighs, relieved but exasperated. "Just behave, both of you. And Dahyun, let me know next time!"

"Got it, Mom," Dahyun says, rolling her eyes but smiling.

You end the call, and Dahyun leans back, her shoulder still close.

"She's so extra," she says, shaking her head. "But, like, thanks for letting me crash, Oppa."

You nod, still processing how she's here, filling your space with this new version of herself, bold, vibrant, a woman now. "No problem, just... don't act like I'm a stranger," you say.

She grins, teasing. "Alright... Anyway, got any snacks? I'm starving again."

You laugh, standing to grab some chips from the kitchen, but her scent and the casual brush of her touch linger in your mind, a reminder of the sister you're only starting to know.

It's late, past midnight, and the Seoul skyline glimmers faintly through your apartment's small window.

You and Dahyun are still on the couch, the TV flickering with some muted K-drama neither of you is watching.

Dahyun's curled up, legs tucked under her, her sweater draped over the armrest, she's sipping a soda you found in the fridge, her eyes bright despite the hour, and you're both caught in a rare, quiet moment that feels like a bridge to the past you've missed.

"You finished your school?" you ask, leaning back, "You said art's your thing now?"

Dahyun nods, her fingers twirling a strand of dark hair. "Yeah, I'm into sketching, digital stuff mostly. My teacher says I've got 'potential,' whatever that means."

She snorts, but her voice softens. "I wanna do something big, Oppa. Maybe design for games or films, move to Seoul, or another big city for real. Seongnam's too... small, you know? Feels like I'm stuck in Mom and Dad's bubble."

You nod, remembering that suffocation, why you left. "Seoul"s not easy, but it's alive. You'd fit in here."

Her ambition surprises you, she's not just dreaming; she's planning. "Got a portfolio or something?"

She nods, grins, pulling out her phone. "Wanna see?"

She shifts closer, her knee brushing yours as she swipes through sketches, vivid characters, sleek cityscapes, all bold lines and colors.

"This one's for a game concept," she says, pointing at a cyberpunk warrior. "Took me weeks."

"Damn..." you say, genuinely impressed. "This is legit. You're serious about this."

Her smile widens, but there's a flicker of doubt. "You think I can make it? Mom thinks it's a hobby, not a career."

"Screw that," you say firmly. "You've got the talent. Keep at it, and you'll prove her wrong."

She laughs, nudging your shoulder playfully. "Thanks, Oppa. You always got my back."

She shifts, stretching her legs across your lap like it's nothing, her bare feet grazing your thigh. "Okay, your turn. Spill. You got a girlfriend? Some fancy Seoul girl keeping you busy?"

You chuckle, caught off guard by her bluntness. "Nah, no girlfriend. Work's life, sad as that sounds. Dated a bit, but nothing stuck."

She raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. "What, no one's good enough for my big brother? Or are you just picky?"

She pokes your side, her fingers lingering, playful but with a naughty edge that wasn't there years ago. "Come on, there's gotta be someone."

You shake your head, feeling the heat of her gaze. "Nope. Too busy for that drama. What about you? Got some high school boyfriend sneaking around?"

"Hahaha..." her laugh is loud, almost a cackle, and she kicks your thigh lightly, "Me? Please. Guys at school are idiots. All they care about is flexing for Instagram."

She leans closer, her voice dropping, teasing. "Besides, I'm holding out for someone... cooler. Maybe a Seoul guy," her tone flirty, not quite sure if she's joking or pushing something else.

"You got standard," you say, half-laughing, nudging her legs off your lap. "But don't go breaking someone hearts yet."

She pouts, exaggerated, then grins, her eyes sparkling. "What, you think I'm trouble now? or maybe I am," she sticks out her tongue.

"You're definitely trouble," you mutter.

She stretches, her shirt riding up to reveal her smooth stomach, her hips shifting as she leans closer. "You're dodging my question," she says, her voice low, a naughty glint in her eyes.

"You're 27, living in this Seoul life, and no one's caught your eye? I don't buy it," She pokes your chest, her nail dragging slightly, and you tense, caught between amusement and unease.

"Stop fishing," you say, forcing a laugh, nudging her legs off your lap, "I told you, work's my life. No time for that."

You stand, needing distance, and head to the kitchen to grab another soda.

Her laughter follows you, light but with something sharper. "Lame excuse..." she calls. "Bet you're hiding some spicy stories."

You roll your eyes, cracking open the can, "You're too nosy for your own good," you shoot back, leaning against the counter.

She's sitting up now, her hair falling over one shoulder, her lips curled in a smirk that's far too knowing for the Dahyun you remember.

"Nosy? Me?" she gasps, mock-offended, then slides off the couch, padding barefoot toward you.

She stops close, in front of you, too close, her perfume wrapping around you again. "Maybe I'm just curious about my big brother's life. Or..."

She tilts her head, her eyes flicking over you, teasing. "Maybe I wanna know what kind of guy you are now."

Your throat tightens. "Dahyun, chill," you say, "You're my sister. Don't play like that."

"What, I can't mess with you? I'm not a kid anymore, Oppa," she pouts, steps back, twirling a strand of hair, her shirt hugging her curves in a way you wish you hadn't noticed.

You clear your throat, glancing at the clock. "It's late. I'm taking the couch, you get the bed." You grab a blanket from the closet, tossing it onto the couch, trying to shake off the tension.

She watches, leaning against the counter, her expression softer but still unreadable. "The couch? Really?" she says, crossing her arms, her tone half-teasing, half-concerned. "You're too tall for that, dummy. I'll take it."

"I'm good," you insist, spreading the blanket. "You're the guest. Bed's yours."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue, grabbing her backpack and walk toward bedroom. "Ughh... fine, you said don't be a stranger," she is mocking you.

She pauses at your bedroom door, looking back. "Anyway... thanks for letting me crash. And for, like, actually talking. I missed you."

Her sincerity catches you off guard, cutting through the earlier tension. "Missed you too," you say, voice softer. "Get some sleep now,"

She sticks out her tongue, playful again, then enters into your room.

You settle onto the couch, you're too long for it, the springs creaking under you. You lie awake, staring at the ceiling.

Your mind's a mess, guilt for the distance you've kept, confusion at her new boldness, and something unsettling about how her touch, her scent.

She's your sister, but the woman she's becoming is a stranger, and this visit is stirring things you don't know how to handle.

The bedroom door creaks open, and your eyes snap wide.

Dahyun steps out, barefoot, wearing one of your old t-shirts, too big for her, slipping off one shoulder, barely covering her thighs.

Her hair's mussed, her eyes heavy but sharp, "Can't sleep," she murmurs.

She walks toward the couch, her hips swaying just enough to make your pulse spike. "Your bed's comfy, but I'm too wired. Mind if I chill here?"

You sit up, blanket sliding off, suddenly aware of your thin sweatpants "Uh, sure," you say, voice rough, shifting to make room. "What's up? Seoul too exciting?"

She laughs, low and throaty, dropping onto the couch beside you, closer than necessary. Her bare thigh brushes yours, warm and soft, and you shift, trying to hide the heat creeping through you.

"Maybe," she says, leaning back, the T-shirt riding up higher, exposing more of her smooth, toned legs.

"Or maybe it's you. Been forever since we hung out like this, Oppa." Her eyes flick over you, lingering on your chest, then lower, and you swear her lips twitch into a smirk.

"Stop that," you mutter, half-joking, half-serious, pulling the blanket over your lap. "You're being weird."

"Weird?" She pouts, but it's playful, her eyes gleaming.

"I'm just catching up with my big brother. Can't I have a little fun?" She shifts closer, her shoulder pressing against yours, her perfume overwhelming now, making your head swim.

"You're not this boring at work, right? Got any wild Seoul nights you're not telling me about?"

You swallow hard, she is making you hard to think. "Dahyun, it's late. You should sleep," you say.

Her hand grazes your knee, light but deliberate, and your cock twitches, a surge of guilt following fast.

She's your sister, but the way she's looking at you, the way her touch lingers, feels like a line you're both teetering on.

Her fingers tracing a slow circle on your knee. "You used to tell me stories, remember? When I was little. Now I'm not little anymore, Oppa."

She leans in, her breath warm against your neck, and you freeze, every muscle tense. "Tell me something... exciting."

Her eyes flick down, catching the bulge under the blanket, and her lips curl into a smirk, wicked and knowing.

"Dahyun, stop," you say, voice rough, shifting to put space between you, but the couch is too small.

"You're my sister," you mutter, but it's weak, your pulse racing, your cock hardening despite the guilt clawing at you.

Her hand grazes your knee, slow, her fingers tracing up your thigh, stopping just short of dangerous territory.

"Sister?" she laughs, soft and throaty, leaning closer, her breath hot against your jaw.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Oppa. You see that, right?"

Her hand slides higher, brushing the edge of your sweatpants, and you grab her wrist, stopping her, your grip firm but shaking.

Her eyes meet yours, bold, unapologetic, and fuck, they're dark with something you can't ignore, desire, maybe, or just a game she's playing too far.

"Don't," you say.

She doesn't pull back. Instead, she leans in, her lips inches from yours, her bare thigh pressing harder against you.

"You're acting like you don't feel it," she whispers, her fingers slipping free of your grip, grazing your inner thigh now, dangerously close to your cock, which is fully hard now, straining against your sweatpants.

"I saw how you looked at me earlier. You like this, don't you?"

Your breath hitches, guilt and lust warring in your chest. "Dahyun, this is wrong," you manage, but your body's not listening, your hips shifting slightly toward her touch.

She's right, you looked. Her curves, her exposed skin, the way her T-shirt clings to her tits, it's been fucking with you all night.

But she's your sister, and the shame burns hot, even as your cock throbs under her teasing fingers.

She shifts, swinging a leg over you, straddling your thighs, the t-shirt riding up to show her black lace panties fully now clinging to her pussy, a faint wet spot visible for you.

"Wrong?" she murmurs, her hands on your chest, nails digging in as she leans forward, her breasts pressing against you through the thin shirt.

"Then why aren't you stopping me?" her hips roll slightly, brushing her heat against your erection. "Shit!" You groan, low and growly, your hands gripping the couch to keep from grabbing her.

"Fuck, Dahyun," you growl, as she grinds again, slow, her eyes locked on yours, daring you to push her away. "We can't."

"Can't?" she smirks, leaning in, her lips brushing your ear, her tongue flicking out to graze your lobe, "Your cock says otherwise, Oppa."

Her hand slides down, palming you through your sweatpants, and you hiss, your hips bucking into her touch before you can stop yourself.

She moans softly, "You're so hard," her fingers wrapping around your length through your sweatpants, stroking slow, teasing.

You grab her hips, meaning to push her off, but your fingers dig into her soft flesh instead, pulling her closer.

"We're fucked if we do this, Dahyunah" you say, voice shaking, but your hands betray you, sliding under the t-shirt, finding her bare waist, her skin hot and smooth.

"We're already..." she whispers, her lips grazing your neck, her hand slipping into your sweatpants, wrapping around your bare cock.

Her fingers stroking you slow and firm, and you groan, your head falling back, drowned by the heat of her hand.

"I'm not a kid, Oppa," she murmurs, her thumb circling your tip, smearing precum. "I want this. You don't?"

You're gone, can't hold the line.

You pull her closer, crashing your lips against hers, hungry and desperate, tasting her, sweet her tongue meeting yours with the same need.

She moans into your mouth, her hand stroking faster, her hips grinding against your thigh, her panties soaked now.

You break the kiss, panting, "This is so fucking wrong," but your hands are under her shirt, cupping her tits, her nipples hard against your palms as you squeeze, making her gasp.

"Then stop," she challenges, but she's grinding harder, her hand pumping your cock, her eyes filled with want.

You don't stop. You can't. You push the t-shirt up, exposing her breasts, perky, perfect, nipples begging for your mouth.

You lean down, sucking one, tasting her, and she cries out, "Fuck, Oppa!" her hips bucking, her hand tightening on your cock.

You pull back, grabbing her panties, yanking them down her thighs. Her pussy's glistening, pink and swollen, "Fuck, you're so wet."

Your fingers slide through her folds, slick and hot, and she moans, loud, her body arching into your touch. "You're asking for this," you growl, your thumb circling her clit, making her tremble.

"Yes, fuck, I want this," she gasps, her hands clawing at your shoulders, pulling you closer. "Fuck me, Oppa, please."

You're too far gone. You shove your sweatpants down, your cock springing free, hard and leaking. You grab her hips, pulling her onto your lap, lining up with her dripping pussy.

She sinks down, taking your cock inch by inch, her tight heat swallowing you whole.

"Fuck!" she cries, her head falling back, her nails digging into your chest as she starts to move, slow at first, then faster, riding you hard.

Her tits bounce with each thrust, her pussy gripping you, wet and perfect. You grab her ass, slamming up into her, matching her rhythm, the couch creaking under you, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room.

"You're so fucking tight," you growl, your hands squeezing her ass, spreading her wider as you pound into her.

She's moaning, unhinged, "Oppa, fuck, you're so big," her voice breaking, her pussy clenching as she rides you, her eyes rolling back.

You feel her tightening, her body shaking, and you know she’s close. "Cum for me," you demand, your fingers finding her clit, rubbing hard.

She screams, "Fuck, I'm cumming!" her pussy spasming around you, her juices soaking your cock as her body shakes, her cries loud and desperate.

You're not far behind, the sight of her, your sister, lost in pleasure, her tits bouncing, her pussy dripping, pushing you over the edge.

"Fuck, Dahyun," you groan, pulling out at the last second, cumming hard, thick ropes spilling across her stomach, dripping down her thighs.

She collapses against you, panting, her body slick with sweat, your cum smeared on her skin.

The silence is heavy, broken only by your ragged breaths. Guilt crashes in, hard and fast, as you realize what you've done.

She's your sister, and you've crossed a line you can't uncross.

She shifts, her eyes meeting yours, soft but unreadable. "Don't say anything," she whispers, her voice shaky but firm. "Just... don't."

She slides off you, grabbing the blanket to cover herself. "I'm going back to bed," she says, barely audible, and disappears into your room, leaving you on the couch, cock softening, guilt burning, and the memory of her heat, her moans, seared into your mind.

a/n: part 2?

part 2

[musingsofheaven]

MEDICAL MISCONDUCT

summary: You lost your virginity and now you’re 99% sure your vagina is broken. Google isn’t helping and your pussy feels like it got hit by a truck. So naturally, you make a clinic appointment under a fake name and pray the doctor isn’t someone you know. Spoiler: she is. Even worse? She’s very thorough. Like, too thorough.

pairings: gynecologist!tashi duncan x afab!reader

warnings: 8.1k words. mature themes. medical malpractice. dubious consent. age gap. power imbalance. fingering. clit stimulation. voyeuristic undertones. power imbalance. shame / humiliation. internalized guilt. read responsibly.

note: very very much requested by the many! so here it is. pls let me know if u enjoy it by supporting me mwaaa

Spent the last twelve hours convincing yourself it was fine is not the night you want to spend. That it was normal for your pussy to feel still raw, for the soreness to bite every time you shifted in bed, for the sting that made you flinch on the toilet at three a.m. It’s supposed to feel like that after the first time, right? That’s what Google said between the search results you clicked in a panic, phone screen bright against your pillow while your heart pounded too hard for how quiet your room was.

“Why does it still hurt after the first time”

“Is it normal for the first time to hurt 12 hours later”

“How to know if you tore down there first time”

“Will it get infected”

“Is he too big or am I too small”

“Is pain normal after losing virginity”

“How long do you feel pain after the first sex”

“Is bleeding normal after first sex”

“pain when sitting down after sex”

“When should I see a doctor first time with sex pain”

“feels swollen down there after the first time”

“How to know if something is wrong down there”

You pulled your knees up to your chest under the covers to press your thighs together until your hips cramped, but the soreness didn’t go away. It wasn’t even bleeding. It’s just tender, throbbing every time you move. Your brain wouldn’t shut up, cycling every worst-case scenario. Infection. A tear that won’t heal. Some hidden problem that would mean you’re broken forever. It was supposed to feel good because that’s what your friends have been telling you. Unfortunately, you are experiencing the opposite. It left you limping around your room and wincing when your jeans pressed against your cunt. Now you are cursing yourself for not telling him to slow down.

In the morning, you couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror while you brushed your teeth, but you checked anyway. Shifting your hips and pulling your waistband down to peek. Eyes caught on the soft folds that were still a little puffy. A shade darker than usual. Too tender when your fingertip brushed the edge. No blood. No weird discharge. But you still didn’t feel right. Your finger hovered over the clinic’s online booking site for fifteen minutes before you typed in a fake name, a new email you made just for this, one you could delete after. You picked the soonest slot you could find. Ignoring the guilt in your stomach when you saw the price and just pressing confirm before you could change your mind. The confirmation pinged your inbox a minute later.

From: womensclinic@gmail.com

Good day. Your schedule for your appointment has been confirmed. Please come tomorrow, Wednesday at 10:15 AM. Your doctor will be Dr. Duncan. Please arrive 10 minutes early. If your name has been called during your schedule and no one answered. Your slot will be voided. Let us know if you need to reschedule. See you.

You swallowed hard when you saw the doctor’s name, the Duncan pulling at the back of your memory. Your mom’s best friend’s sister, wasn’t it? The pretty one you saw once at that family barbecue, the one who had soft hair and toned arms, the one who had smiled at you when you tried to hide behind your mother’s shoulder. You hadn’t even realized she was a doctor then, too busy counting the freckles on her shoulders when she laughed, the warm gold in her eyes. Your stomach twisted, heat crawling up your neck. Maybe it wouldn’t be her. Maybe it would be someone else with the same last name.

Maybe it didn’t matter, you told yourself while clutching your phone to your chest while you lay back down. Head up and staring at the ceiling as your cunt pulsing softly under the thin fabric of your shorts. It was just a check-up. Just to make sure you weren’t broken. Nothing more. You closed your eyes so you could sleep, but it kept replaying that experience in your mind. Like everything. How you bit your lip to keep from making a sound. How it burned when he pushed in. How it hurt more than it felt good, how you tried to pretend it didn’t. How you said it was okay. But you did all of that instead of saying shit. You let your legs shake through it. You just let yourself cry and gaslight yourself. It's normal because it’s the first time. That's what you said in your head right? Don’t forget how you convinced yourself that it wasn’t supposed to feel like that. So why does it keep hurting? You know that and maybe tomorrow, you'll get your answer.

And you will get it. Today. The day passed so fast because you’re already in the clinic before you even enjoy your sleep last night. The air in the clinic feels too clean. The air is cool against your bare legs while you sit in the waiting room with your knees pressed together. There’s the quiet blow of the air conditioner mixed with the sound of shuffling papers from the front desk. A scent of hand sanitizer is clinging to your nose with every breath you take. Your phone screen lights up in your hand, but you don’t open any notifications. Just let your thumb swipe over the glass again and again until your skin feels warm under your touch.

A dress felt like a good idea when you left the house. Easy to slip off. Easier to move in. Less pressure on your hips and the tender spot between your legs that still catches when you step wrong. It’s a pale color that makes you feel small, soft, like maybe it will make you look innocent enough that this will all be quick and easy. It shifts when you cross your legs and brush over your thighs. Keep reminding yourself that you’re still not comfortable. That the soreness hasn’t gone away yet.

There’s a soft ding sound from the front and the woman behind there looks up before calling your fake name. A polite smile is given to you when you walk over, but you can’t return it. Your cheeks are burning while you pull your dress down anxiously, and your sandals make a sound with each step you make on the clean tile floor. She doesn’t ask questions. She just checks something on the screen and asks you to sit for a moment and the doctor will see you soon.

You let the wait stretch around the clinic. Each second still feels heavy in your stomach, and your eyes keep darting to the fogged glass door that leads to the hallway. The coldness of the air conditioner doesn’t also help you. You are praying to everything that the Dr. Duncan they’re talking about is not Tashi Duncan. It should be just a coincidence. Just the same surname. But when the handle clicks, your breath stops. When she steps out in a coat with a clipboard in her hand, all you think is ‘Why is she the Dr. Duncan in front of you right now?’

She’s wearing light makeup and her skin glows under the clinic lights. The gold flecks catch in her brown eyes when she scans the room for a moment before her gaze passes over you. She looks back again and again. Lingering just a second too long before her lips curve into a soft smile. She calls your fake name, but it sounds strange in her mouth. It feels like it doesn’t fit there. Your stomach pulls into knots while you’re forcing yourself to get over it and stand up. Hands can’t rest so you pull it down again. Fingers brushing over the fabric so you can hide how your legs shake underneath.

Tashi turns before motioning for you to follow her. There’s the scent that smells so fresh and clean that drifts back while you’re trailing behind her into the hallway. The room she guides you into is big enough for whatever needs to be done inside. There’s a soft pink chair in the corner. You like how the counter looks neat and organized. It’s full of gloves, cotton swabs, small bottles of clear liquid, and a container for used instruments. There’s a fabric that covers the exam table, but she doesn’t instruct you to lie down there yet. She sets the clipboard down and sits on a stool. Her knees spread slightly to balance while she looks at you.

Her smile softens. It’s warm but edged with something careful. Something that says she knows exactly who you are. Fingers tap lightly on the clipboard, and she looks up. Her eyes are holding yours. “So, what brings you here today?” How will you answer this? What really brings you? Because you’re a nervous wreck? Because you don’t know if it’s normal? Because you might be overreacting? Before you open your mouth, it already feels dry like there’s sand on it. Teeth keep biting your cheek to feel a little comfort but you feel the opposite. Breath stuttering and glued down inside your body. Can’t even think or blurt out proper sentences without hands gripping and crumpling your dress. Eyes can’t rest and keep darting to the wall behind her.

“I… um. I had sex. For the first time. Yesterday.” Tashi doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just nods, her eyes calm, letting you continue. “It still hurts. I know it was supposed to hurt. Um. Like… The first push? But it still hurts now. It’s not bleeding, but it just… it doesn’t feel right.” You watch her shift and the stool creaks along with it. She reached forward and her forearms sat prettily on her thighs with her hands clasped closed together. Head tilt to the side while her hair relaxes as she focuses her attention on you.

“Does it hurt all the time? Or only when you move or go to the bathroom?” Your throat tightens as you swallow. Eyes flicking down to the floor. “When I move sometimes. And when I pee, a little.” Her nod is slow and reassuring. “Any itching, burning, or unusual discharge?” You shake your head quickly while quietly pulling the hem of your dress down again. “No. Just… sore.” She hummed. The only sound in the room is when she’s not asking something and when you’re not answering, as his fingers tap once against her knee.

Her eyes keep going down but she keeps catching the way your thighs press together before looking at your eyes again. “It’s actually good you follow your instinct to go to the clinic since it’s been worrying you,” Her voice is calm. It’s steady and low enough to make the small room feel smaller and warmer while you shift on your feet. She doesn’t break eye contact, she’s holding, and doesn’t let you lie and hide because she might know how messy you feel right now.

“I have more questions for you before we proceed looking at what might be the problem, is that alright?” You nod. A small and quick movement. Your heart is thumping so hard you can feel it in your cunt. A soft and dull pulse that makes you wince. Tashi notices, but her expression doesn’t change. “When was your last period?” You tell her, voice quiet, and she makes a small note on the clipboard. “Have you been on any birth control, or was it protected?” Your hands twist tighter in your dress, and you nod, adding, “Condom.”

Her nod matches yours, slow and calm. “Good. Any history of infections down there?” Her question brings more shame, but not bad shame, but maybe… Maybe you are just really embarrassed. You shake your head before answering, “None.” She writes it in her notes quickly before finally setting the clipboard aside, and she sits straight up. Placed her pen in the pocket of her coat before resting her hands on her thighs. “That’s all my questions for now, and I appreciate you being honest with me, consider… You know. Anyway, the check-up is just looking into if everything is healing the way it should and also if there is no other problem we need to worry about.”

Head bobbing up while you anxiously pick the loose threads on your dress. Breathing still heavy and letting out shaky exhales. “Okay.” Tashi’s smile stays the same before she stands up to reach for a small stack of gowns folded neatly on the counter. The fabric looks thin. Just like the basic ones you always see in the hospital and TV shows. It’s the blue one. She gives it to you when she turns around. “Here, put this on, open to the front. You can change behind the curtain over there. Just leave your dress and underwear on the chair, and let me know when you’re ready.”

Your hands are shaky when you take it from her. It’s worse because your breathing is still fucked. It catches in your throat when your skin touches for a few seconds. The fabric is cold against your finger, which must be because of the air conditioning here that made this gown feel this way. There's also a curtain in the corner of the room. It must be where you are supposed to change. The curtain is just a typical one but in a cream color that feels soft when it brushes against your shoulder when you go inside it. The rings above clink when you push them close around your body. The heart keeps beating and it seems the one down there is also in competition on the way it thumps too. It’s like some goddamn billboard propaganda in front of you that keeps reminding you how it feels sore. Fingers shake when you pull your dress above your body until it slips over your head and you put it in the chair beside you.

The bra wrapping around your body is suffocating against your chest but you leave it on because the only part she needs to see is down there. Your thumbs hook the side bands of your panties before pushing them down. The cold air immediately hits your skin, especially the mound of your pussy. The gown rustles when you put it on your body, the thin fabric brushes against your body, and the length is long enough to cover your knees. It gapes open in the front, and you clutch it shut with one hand while you step out from behind the curtain. Eyes under the bright light above the exam table.

Across where you are standing, Tashi is pulling a pair of gloves as she lines up a small packet on the tray. She also got a bottle of clear gel… You are sure that’s a lube but you can’t really tell since you never use one. You continue to watch her as she checks the seal before setting it down, her gloved fingers moving with practiced care. Tashi glances up when she realizes you’re already done and waiting for her. She scans over you for a moment before giving you a nod. “We don’t have to rush, okay’ You can take your time to breathe and just come to me. Lie down on the bed whenever you are ready.”

And you do. Feet walking like they have own their own life. The exam table is just what you expected. Comfortable and soft underneath our knees when you climb up. The fabric is soothing when the edge brushes against the backs of your thighs after you sit. You clutched the front of the gown tight around yourself when you settled there. The fabric is thin enough so the air is sneaking through it and you can feel the coldness inside. This makes your knees press together because of the shiver and the desire to hide yourself, but the gown shifts each time you move. It slips against your skin, reminding you how exposed you’re about to be.

Tashi rolls over on her stool, stopping a few inches away. She just stays still for a while like she’s having second thoughts about being your doctor as if she didn’t see you many times in your life. Her gloved hands are resting on her thighs while she looks up at you. Her eyes hold yours for a moment before she nods toward the table. “Go ahead and lie back for me. Alright, just gonna have a look, okay? We’ll take it slow.” Your legs feel like there’s added weight to them when you shift because it feels harder to do it. You slide down back until your shoulders meet the soft fabric. It feels comfortable under you. It clings to your skin where your thighs touch it too. The edge of the gown rubs against your skin when you clutch it tighter.

The heat head moves up until it reaches your neck and spreads all around your chest while the beat is hammering in your cunt. The soreness is pulsing when you shift your hips. She waits for you with calmness in her eyes. Just watching you get comfortable and settle before she goes closer. Her gloved hands creak softly when she adjusts her grip ok the edge of the table. “You’re doing good. Take a deep breath for me.” Tashi rolls closer on the stool, stopping just in front of the table while she looks at you. She’s steady and her eyes stay soft for you. Not even rushing because she can feel the embarrassment and nervousness coming from you. She just let you take a breath that shakes when it leaves your lips.

You can feel the cloth under you is getting warmer now which you prefer it that way. It feels soft where it presses against your thighs. This will be at the top of the pyramid of your most embarrassing experiences you do in life. It’s embarrassing to the point that even the edge of the gown just brushes against you when you shift, it's already making you uncomfortable and want to go six feet under. “Can you open your legs for me?” Her voice is gentle and softer than the cool air that moves across your skin. To the point it sinks into the quietness of the clinic while you shut yourself and swallow your shame. You can feel your body heating up while you open your legs for her slowly. The fabric of your gown slides down and it reveals your soft inner thighs and the pare skin that’s tender when it moves.

Your cunt feels exposed, the cool air brushing over your folds, making you clench around nothing when your legs settle open. “That’s it,” she mutters. She looked down for a second before quickly looking up like she didn’t just do that. Her eyes are now on your face and her hands are resting on her lap. She leans closer to take a closer look. You can smell the soft expensive scent from her soap that mixes with the sterile air. “Is it alright if I take a look?” she asks like it’s just confirming because she knows she needs to look for her to know what’s happening. Shaky breathing left your lips and fingers clutching anxiously at the gown tighter over your stomach before you gave her a nod. You look away because you might melt and cancel this if you hold her gaze. “Yeah,” you manage to say, your voice low. She leans forward, her eyes scanning down, looking carefully without touching yet. The soft hum of the lights above fills the room while she checks, her eyes tracing the lines of your slit, the puffy folds that still feel swollen, the small glisten where your slick has gathered without you meaning for it to.

“Thank you for letting me look,” she says softly before sitting back. You don’t know what's making you melt if you're honest. Her voice? Her words? Her look at you? Maybe it’s all the three. You feel her hands adjust on her own thighs while her thumbs tap before she glances back up at your face. “Would it be alright if I touched, just to see where it hurts?” That made your breath catch. Heat pools in your belly and spreads until it sends a pulse in your pussy. The soreness is still there but now it’s drowning in slickness and something warm. Legs shifting and opening a little more for her without meaning to. Like you don’t even know you are presenting yourself to her. The gown slips more to your thighs while you nod as an answer. Teeth caught on your lower lip before you managed to say, “Okay.”

“Let me know if anything hurts too much, or if you want to stop,” she assures you, and waits for you to nod or say something to her before she can proceed. Hand shifting and moving slowly until it came in front of your cunt. Just hovering above it and not touching. It might be some sort of magic but she feels your warmth from your skin reaching hers before she even can put her hand down directly to your pussy. She doesn’t know how, but maybe it’s just the tension that makes her feel it. The muscles in your thighs tighten when her she lowers her hand and her fingers brush lightly against your outer lip. There’s a soft gasp that slips from your lip. The touch is gentle. It’s not pushing. It’s just enough to feel the heat there.

“Does it hurt when I touch you here?” Her voice is calm when she asks you. Her fingers glide to the puffy lips of your pussy. Just tracing a line at the softness without pressing it forward. Your breath shakes and your bones feel tense with your hip shifts. Fingers slide over the spot that feels too sensitive at the moment. So the soreness flares before it goes back to the warm throb feeling. “A little,” you whisper. The word barely leaves your mouth.

She hums as an acknowledgement of your answer. A low sound that vibrates in the quiet room with her eyes still focused on your cunt while her fingers continue to work. It’s not heavy. It’s careful and light like she doesn’t want it to hurt. Just tracing the slick that is gathering at the edge of your folds.“And here?” she asks to check if you feel any discomfort with her fingers brushing higher. It’s closer to your clit but she’s not touching it yet. It’s like just skimming along the crease where your thigh meets your pussy. Legs twitching because of that and made you release a small whimper too before you could swallow it back to your throat. It also clenched again around nothing and she saw it happen.

“Nnngh- feels weird,” you let out a whimper you didn’t even realize it because you had to answer her. Your fingers were wrapped and gripping on the edge of the gown. It’s so hard that it gave the fabric wrinkles. “It’s okay,” Tashi assures you with her low and steady voice. She looks up for a few seconds just to check if you are doing okay there. It didn’t take long before he looked back away to move down to your body and watch how it reacts under her touch. “You’re doing good.” Her fingers move back down, sliding along your slit, pressing a little firmer without going inside, testing how your body moves under her hand.

The warmth of your cunt spreads around her gloved fingers, your hips lifting slightly when she reaches the most tender spot, the soreness biting for a second before it fades into that soft, warm throb again. “Tell me if it’s too much,” she says, her thumb brushing over the soft mound above your clit, not pressing, just resting there while her fingers trace the puffy lips of your pussy, exploring the shape of you under her hand.

Tashi moves close and the stool moves along with it. The sound of the wheels stopping as she settles much closer and her gloved fingers pause on your inner thighs. The heat of your flesh met the coldness from the latex as she takes a deep breath with her eyes focused but at the same time, she looks like she’s thinking about what she should do. At this point, the gown is not doing anything to cover your body and it leaves you open to her eyes. Folds still glisten under the light of the room each time your hips twitch. “Can you relax your legs a bit more for me?” she asks, her voice can already be considered a whisper how low and soft it is. Warmth rushes across your cheeks as your knees fall to the side wider for her.

She asks, her voice soft, just above a whisper. Heat rushes across your chest while your knees fall wider, thighs opening under her watchful eyes, the soft skin of your folds spreading a little more. The air hits the wetness gathered there, making your cunt clench around nothing, a small gasp leaving your lips. “Good, thank you.” Her eyes trace the shape of your slit before she lets her gloved hand move, fingers gently touching the outer lips, spreading them just enough to look.

The latex drags lightly over your folds, parting them, letting the softer, pinker skin inside catch the light. Slick gathers at the edge, coating her glove, a soft string breaking when her fingers pull back slightly. “I need to ask a few questions, okay?” Her tone stays calm, but her eyes lift to yours, waiting for your nod before she continues. “When you had sex, was it difficult for him to enter you?” Her eyes flicker down again, thumb brushing the edge of your mound, spreading your folds wider. Your throat feels dry, a flush creeping higher across your chest.

“Um,” you start, your voice too soft, so you swallow, blinking hard. “It took a while.” A soft hum leaves her, like she’s taking note. Her fingers slide down your slit, tracing where your slick clings. It stops just before your clit while letting you oak into the glove. “Was it painful the whole time, or did it get easier?” she asks as her fingertips brush the edges of your folds. She spreads them gently so she can see how you twitch under her touch. “It hurt,” you whisper in a tight voice. Your hips are shifting against the table and pussy is pulsing as her finger slides lower. “It was… sore the whole time.”

“Did you feel pressure, like it was too much?” Her voice is calm, but her eyes stay focused on your cunt. She watches the way you clench each time her fingers glide over the swollen skin. Your lips part, breath catching. “Yeah.” Her finger circles the opening without pushing in, testing how your folds part around her glove. “Did you feel him hitting deep inside, or was it more at the entrance?” she asks. Your face heated up before your eyes look away. Just staring at the ceiling while you try to find words. “More at the entrance,” you say, and voice small. Breath shaking when her finger drags across the spot that feels tender.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says softly. Her thumb brushes your inner thigh, grounding you as she looks back up for a moment, holding your gaze before she glances back down at your open, glistening cunt. “I need to check inside to see if there’s any tearing or swelling that didn’t go down.” Her hand lifts slightly hovering over your pussy. Your skin is heated, but not enough to feel the cool air between her glove and your slit. Don’t forget how your chest feels, as it makes it hard for you to breathe. Your legs are spreading a little more without thinking. Your cunt is pulsing with each quiet breath you take.

“Will it be okay if I put a finger in?” she asks while pretending this is all just a normal assessment. Her eyes are steady as she waits for your answer. Your throat bobs, and a soft, embarrassed sound slips out before you can swallow it down. The soreness between your thighs throbs, but the thought of her finger inside you sends a wave of heat down your belly. It’s pooling low that makes your hips twitch. “Okay,” is the only thing you can say and it’s just a very unsure quiet whisper. It’s barely louder than the air conditioner in this room but she managed to hear it. How can she be a doctor if she’s not going to listen to her patient, right? Tashi nods once before reaching for the small bottle of lube on the tray beside her. The cap clicks open with a soft pop. Clear gel glistening as it drips onto her glove, catching the light before it rolls down her palm.

“Thank you for letting me know,” she says as she rubs the lube between her fingers. The slick sounds fill the space before she brings her hand back down toward your open, waiting cunt. The lube glistens over Tashi’s gloved fingertips, dripping in a clear string before she rubs it in, coating her index and middle fingers until they shine under the bright lights. Her eyes stay on your pussy, the gown pushed so high it doesn’t even cover your hips anymore, your thighs trembling slightly with every breath you take.

“Let’s take this slow, okay?” Her voice is soft like she’s done this a thousand times. The way her eyes drag over your folds feels heavier than it should. Her thumb settles near the top of your slit before. Pressing down just enough to expose your clit. The hood pulls back as the cool air rushes over the sensitive spot. The sudden contact makes your hips twitch. One embarrassing sound leaves your throat. “Shh, it’s okay,” she assures you, but the smirk forming in her mouth says otherwise. It didn’t stay long on her face, though.

She thumbs your clit lightly and softly. It’s careful and gentle circles. Just testing how you react. The friction is soft but direct, making the tightness in your belly pull tighter as your cunt clenches, wetness gathering at your opening, dripping onto the fabric beneath you. “Does that feel sore, or just sensitive?” Her voice stays calm, as if she’s just taking notes, her thumb circling again, pressing a little more firmly, making your back arch off the table. Your breath leaves you shaky. “Sensitive,” you whisper with your face hot. Hands gripping the edge of the gown to keep them from flying to cover yourself.

“That’s normal,” she says as her thumb flicks a little faster. It drags slick across your clit as it swells under her touch. “Your body is just responding.” A soft breathy noise slips from your lips. The rising of your neck. “It’s… too much,” you say. Hips shifting as you try to keep still, but her thumb just keeps moving. Continuing to spread your slick higher across your folds. “It’s alright.” Her tone is even, but her eyes stay focused on how your pussy glistens each time her thumb drags over your clit. She watches the way your cunt twitches with each pass.

“You’re doing good.” Her other hand lifts, lube glistening as she holds her finger just over your opening, letting a drop drip down onto your slit, the coolness making your thighs jump. She rubs it in with her thumb, smearing it over your clit one last time before she shifts lower. “Does your mother know you’re here?” she asks like she’s gauging for a reaction. Her voice is casual, the one she uses when you both see each other at gatherings. The question makes your eyes snap open. Your throat catches your breath, and you are not letting it get out. Your lips part, but nothing comes out for a second. Heat floods your face, your chest rising, and falling too quickly as you try to find your voice.

“No,” you whisper before your gaze darts away. “I figured,” she says, thumb pressing gently against your inner thigh, keeping you open. “It’s okay. It’s good you came in to get checked.” She tests the water by her finger circling at your opening. She gathers the mixed lube with slick and she pauses to look up at you. Just waiting for you to notice she’s looking at you before she speaks. “I’m going to put one finger inside of you, and I’ll be gentle. Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

The words feel heavy. It sinks into the quiet between the soft sounds of your breathing and the wetness gathering at your cunt. Your thighs tremble. Hips pressing down into the table as your body betrays the nerves swirling in your chest. “Okay,” you said to her like you are giving control to her over your body. It’s barely louder than a breath. She nods once, her eyes dropping back to your pussy as she presses her fingertip against your entrance. The lube makes it easy for her to slide in slowly, and the stretch makes your walls flutter around her as she pushes deeper to test how much you can take.

“That’s it,” she says quietly, watching the way your folds cling to her glove, the way your cunt pulls her finger in as she sinks it deeper, pausing halfway to let you breathe. A soft, choked sound leaves your lips, your hips lifting slightly as your pussy clenches around her finger, the wetness making everything louder, slick sounds filling the small space as she holds still. “Doing good,” she says, her voice calm, pretending it’s just another exam as her thumb shifts back up, brushing lightly over your clit while her finger curls gently inside, checking for the tenderness you told her about.

Your breath breaks, hips twitching again, the heat in your belly curling tighter while your pussy throbs around her finger, clit pulsing each time her thumb brushes over it, making you clamp down on her finger before you can stop yourself. “It’s normal,” she says with her thumb moving again. It’s circling your clit softly as her finger curls just enough to press against that tender spot inside. “Your body’s just responding, that’s all.” Tashi pushes her finger in deeper, the slow stretch making your pussy flutter around her glove, walls tightening before you can stop it.

The lube makes it easy for her to slide in fully, her palm pressing against your mound as her thumb settles back over your clit, rubbing it in small, careful circles. A soft, choked sound slips from your lips. “Nnngh-” Your hips lift off the table, thighs trembling as her finger curls inside, pressing along your walls, testing how you react with each small movement. The wet sounds fill the room, slick dripping down to the fabric beneath you.

“Breathe,” she says softly. Her thumb is dragging over your clit. She’s pressing down just enough to make you gasp again. Her eyes stay focused on your cunt to watch the way your folds cling to her finger, and how your clit twitches under her touch. She starts a slow rhythm. Finger dragging out before sliding back in, and curling just a little deeper each time. The pressure inside builds in waves that make your thighs shake. The warmth in your belly is tightening with each stroke.

“Do you touch yourself?” she asks like she’s just checking another box on a form. Your breath stutters. The question hits harder than it should as heat rises up your neck. “I-” Your voice breaks, so you swallow, blinking up at the ceiling. “Only did it… twice.” Her thumb circles your clit again, pressing softly as her finger pushes in deeper, the heel of her palm brushing against your mound with each slow thrust. “Only twice?” Your hips twitch and press down against her hand even as your mind screams at you to stop.

“I didn’t… try again,” you whisper. It’s clearly evident how embarrassed you feel and it burns in your chest. “That’s alright,” she says as she continues to flick and rub lightly at your clit. The small motion sends a shock through your body. It’s making your pussy clench hard around her finger. “It’s normal to be curious.” A small broken moan escapes your throat with your thighs clamping shut around her hand as your cunt throbs around her finger. The pressure inside building too quickly. “Ah- mmn-”

“Easy,” she says, her voice still soft, her free hand pressing against your thigh, gently urging you to open again. “I need to keep checking you, okay? Just relax for me.” Your legs hesitate. You are holding tight around her wrist for a moment before you force them to fall open again. The cool air rushes over your slick folds as her finger curls inside. She’s pressing against a spot that makes your hips jolt. “That’s it,” she says, pressing her thumb against your clit again to rub in slow circles as her finger moves deeper. The wet, soft sounds fill the small room each time your pussy clenches down around her.

A small breathy whimper slips out. “Mmf-” Her eyes never leaving the way your folds spread open around her glove, your slit glistening under the bright lights. “Just like that,” she says, her voice steady. “Your body is just responding. It’s completely normal.” Her finger drags out slowly before pushing back in, thumb pressing down against your clit each time her hand rocks forward, sending heat pooling low in your belly. Your breaths come in soft, shaky gasps, hips rolling without you meaning to, chasing the friction each time her thumb circles your clit, each time her finger pushes in deep.

“Hah- ahhn-” Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to muffle the soft, needy sounds spilling out, but it only makes the heat in your cheeks burn hotter. “It’s alright,” she says, her voice calm, thumb pressing down a little firmer as her finger curls inside, pressing against the spot that makes your pussy clamp down again, the slick sounds louder as wetness gathers around her glove. “This is just part of the exam.” Wet sounds fill the room each time her finger sinks back in, her thumb circling your clit just enough to keep your hips moving against her hand. Heat builds in your lower belly as each slow drag of her glove inside makes your thighs tense.

Moan slips out when her finger curls to press against a spot that sends a wave of pressure up your spine. You clamp your hand over your mouth to try to swallow the next sound, but it still leaks out as a muffled “mmf- ngh-” Her voice cuts through the quiet. “Did he use his fingers on you before you had sex?” Your eyes snap open, heat flooding your cheeks. “Um-” Her thumb sliding down to press lower, almost touching your opening before gliding back up to your clit. “It’s okay,” she says.

Her finger drags out, slow, almost to the tip, before sliding back in, making your pussy throb around her glove. “I… I don’t think so,” you manage to whisper, staring at the ceiling, trying not to look at her, your hips still rocking down, chasing the friction even though you’re too embarrassed to stop. “Hmm.” She hums softly, thumb rubbing a slow circle over your clit while her finger presses deeper. “Sometimes it helps to prepare you, so it doesn’t hurt as much.” Your lips part, another soft whine slipping out as your walls flutter around her finger. “Nnn- ah-���

“Did he go slow, or did he just… push in?” she asks, her voice staying calm, as if this is a normal part of the check-up. Your thighs tremble, the warmth pooling between your legs turning heavier, thicker, each small touch making your cunt clench down around her finger. “I- I don’t know, it hurt.” She nods, her eyes fixed on the way your folds spread around her glove, watching how slick they gathers at the edges, dripping down to the fabric beneath you. Her thumb presses a little harder against your clit, dragging in a slow circle that makes your hips jerk.

“That’s alright,” she says, her finger curling inside, pressing again against the spot that makes your breath catch. A soft, shocked gasp leaves your throat, your thighs starting to close around her wrist as the pressure inside you builds, each movement of her thumb making it harder to keep quiet. “It’s okay, I just need to check a bit deeper,” she says, and before you can register it, another finger presses against your entrance, the cool lube making it slide in easily, stretching you wider.

A high, breathy moan tears out, “Ah- nghh-” Your hips jump. “Does it hurt?” she asks, her tone steady, eyes flicking up to watch your face while her fingers sink in fully, spreading you around them. A wave of heat floods your chest, your pussy pulsing around the stretch. “N-no,” you breathe out, the word catching as her thumb rubs over your clit again, the added pressure making your back arch. “Good,” she murmurs as her fingers move in a slow rhythm. Keep dragging out before pushing back in. Her thumb is keeping a steady pressure on your clit as she works you open.

Wet sounds mix with your quiet breathy whimpers. The table crinkles under your shifting hips each time her fingers curl. It’s pressing against that tender spot inside of you that makes your thighs tremble. Hand gripping hard at the edge of the table, which makes your knuckles white. On the other hand, your mouth is covered to muffle the soft, helpless sounds spilling out as your cunt tightens around her fingers. Slick dripping down with each slow thrust. “Relax your legs for me,” she says with her thumb brushing over your clit. It’s making your hips twitch.

It’s hard to keep them open, especially when your thighs instinctively try to close around her wrist as your body tenses. You feel it deep, and it’s new to you, considering you only did it a few times. It’s overwhelming with the way she presses and how her thumb keeps resisting your clit. “I need you to stay open so I can check properly,” she murmurs calmly but her fingers didn’t stop. You can hear the wet sounds come from you as she keeps sliding it in and out. The pressure is building in your stomach and is so close to bursting. Breathing comes in short and soft pants with your thighs shaking. You really try your best to keep them open but they keep closing. The beating below just keeps getting worse because her thumb circles your clit with each slow thrust of her fingers.

“Mm- ah- mmph-” The sounds slip out no matter how hard you try to stay quiet, your eyes squeezing shut as the wave inside you keeps climbing, your pussy clenching around her fingers, slick making it easier for her to keep moving, each small movement sending sparks of pleasure through your lower belly. Tashi’s fingers keep moving inside. It’s slow and steady and pressing deep each time they sink in. Her thumb circles your clit and rubs just enough to keep the tension building. The heat low in your belly grows thicker and heavier, until it feels like you can’t hold it in anymore.

Wet sounds fill the room. It mixes with your soft, helpless whimpers each time your hips rock down. You’re chasing the friction even as embarrassment burns across your chest. “Hah- ngh- mmph-” The sounds slip out as your hand clamps over your mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut while your pussy continues to suck her fingers in. The wetness between your legs is just an advantage for her to easily push it in deeper and hit the spot that will make your thighs shake.

“It’s alright,” she talks you through it while her thumb continues to circle in a way that makes your back arch. Your hips twitching as the pressure builds, your body trembling, your toes curl. The warmth flooding your cheeks as your pussy pulsing around her fingers and breath coming out in short shaky pants. The wave inside you climbs higher and pushes until it breaks all at once. A soft, broken cry tears out from behind your hand. “Nn- ah- ahhnn- !”

Your legs clamp shut around her wrist to trap her hand there while your cunt tightens. Pulsing hard around her fingers as slick drips out and wetting your thighs and her glove. Your body shakes even every nerve alive as the orgasm rushes through you. The feeling leaves you gasping moaning mess as your hips grind down against her hand. You’re chasing every last drop. You can’t look at her because your hands are covering your face. Doing that to try to quiet the sounds, but your body keeps trembling. Thighs pressed tight together and keeping her fingers inside as your pussy flutters around them.

“Shhh,” she says softly with her fingers stilling. She lets you ride it out while you hide your face and breath catching with each small aftershock. Shame crawls up your spine as the guilt is heavy in your chest and your legs stay locked around her wrist. It’s trapping her there. “I’m- I’m sorry-” The words break. Muffled behind your hands and eyes squeezed shut, too humiliated to look at her. Tashi’s voice stays calm and almost gentle. “It’s okay. You’re not the first one this happened to, and you won’t be the last.”

That caught you off guard especially how she said it. It makes your breath stutter as your thighs are still trembling. Cunt pulsing weakly around her gloved fingers. Wetness is dripping down on the fabric under you. “It’s normal,” she says in a soft voice. Her thumb brushes lightly over your thigh. She pulls her fingers out carefully while you keep your face covered, your body still shaking, the slick from your cunt coating her glove, shining under the light. The sound of the glove stretching as she moves fills the quiet room. She glances at the mess coating her glove, lifting it to her mouth when she knows you’re too busy hiding to see.

Her tongue drags over the slick latex that makes her eyes half-lidded for a moment as she tastes it. The faint salt and sweetness mix on her tongue before she licks it clean. It’s slow. She’s savoring it before pulling the glove off and tossing it into the bin. Your legs stay shut tight, face still hidden, and breath coming out in shaky huffs. Tashi’s hands find your knees, prying them open again with calm pressure. She looks down at your pussy and can see the the folds puffy and glistening. It’s still twitching softly under the light.

“See?” she says. Her voice is low but clear as her eyes watch the slow drip of slick from your swollen cunt. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything looks healthy.” Your face stays hidden behind your hands, breath still shaky while your legs remain open, the gown bunched around your waist. Slick drips down your folds. Sticking to your thighs. It’s like a warm, and humiliating reminder of what just happened. A soft rustle comes from beside you as Tashi grabs a few tissues. The sound of the box crinkling in her hand.

She moves closer with her hand brushing your knee. Pausing for a moment before she starts wiping between your thighs. “It’s okay,” she says calmly as if she’s done this a hundred times. The tissue drags across your pussy. Warm wetness smears before it’s cleaned away. Each swipe is careful, and slow. She’s making sure to catch every drop. “You’re alright.” The touch is gentle, but it makes your cunt twitch. Your breath catches in your throat as she cleans around your folds. She continues wiping the mess off your skin.

Heat surrounds your neck like a collar while you squeeze your eyes tighter. You try not to let out any more sounds. “You did good,” she says quietly before folding the tissue and reaching to clean the last bit of slick pooling near your slit before dropping it in the trash. You stay frozen, face still hidden, and your thighs pressing together once she’s done. She lets you close your legs. Her hand is giving your knee a small squeeze. Heat still burns in your face while your legs stay open. The gown pushed up around your waist while leaving your cunt sticky and swollen under the light. “If the pain continues, message me, okay?” Her voice drops softer, almost warm, a small smile in it you can’t see. “Or call me. I’ll take care of you.”

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⠀⠀⠀twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.

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