#uh. in summary. i like space

[ngc-5194]

now is as good of a time as any to ask. so i will. what does your irl mean?

maria!! hihi!! <333333

my username is short for New General Catalogue Item 5194 also known as Messier 51a or the Whirlpool Galaxy!!!

^^ the girlie herself :]

[thisisbecausepolyvoreclosed]

Concept design for Jayden Shiba as he appears in discussions me and my friend, @dani-luminae , have about the AU we have going on Dani's fic, Love From The Stars.

Hailing from a family of pirates, Jayden Shiba like a-lot of pirates when Auradon was formed, was banished to the Isle of The Lost alongside his wife, Alexandria, something both hated and longed to be freed from and go back to travelling the world again. This hate and longing would lead to the pair meeting the imprisoned god, Hades, who recruited pirates like Jayden and Alexandria to help with a scheme to escape the Isle. It didn't work, of course. Plans like that never work on the Isle. But during all this, Alexandria would ultimately end up spending a night with Hades, something Jayden wasn't against, given the couples open relationship nature and therefore, list of lovers on both sides. But while both were aware due to lack of any good protection supplies on the Isle, both are caught off guard still by Alexandria finding herself pregnant from her night with Hades, with Alexandria caught off guard the most. And despite Jayden, after the initial shock, being fine keeping the baby, Alexandria ultimately feared the baby and its potential too much. And as a result of this, only a few hours after the baby was born, Alexandria would come to the decision to abandon the baby on Hades' doorstep, and while Jayden and her were iffy with each other for a bit after that, both still remained together as both still loved each other at the end of it all, but both after the baby were more careful with their lovers if they continued to have those.

But eventually during their time on the Isle, tragedy would strike when Alexandria became deathly ill and despite Jayden's best efforts to keep her alive, she would ultimately pass away, leaving Jayden bitter towards Auradon even when freed finally alongside everyone else on the Isle, unable to forget Alexandria's death and how it could have been prevented if they had the right medication on the Isle. Choosing to not join a crew, Jayden would travel the world like normal, but in a more slow way, unable to find the adventure in it anymore without Alexandria. One day though, Jayden finds himself being tracked down by that very same baby that had been abandoned with Hades, now a teenager going by the name of Reese, who in her search for answers on her mom, found Jayden...

[willyoubemycherryy]

No Guidance (Stack.M x R)

Summary: You’re just getting to the good part.

Contains: Flirting, some smut, Mary slander, cursing, everyone has a southern accent, platonic smoke with reader, a little dancing, MARY SLANDER, and I don’t care I don’t fucking like her, this is for the _ strictly for the _, kissing, making out, a hint of manhandling, established relationship, choking, allusions to sex and one brief flashback of some impact play, Michael B Jordan fine as hell, fine enough to bring me out of retirement

-There’s just not enough mindless smut of sinners, almost no x reader bc they’re all OC 😔 and please tell me how we feel about the daddy thing bc Stack screams daddy kink and in the next part👀…

A/N: act like I’ve been here the whole time.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉

“Uh-uh. We not doin’ none of that. Not tonight. Get ta steppin’”.

You level a look at the pale woman standing in the doorway, raising an eyebrow when she crosses her arms- fixing you with a glare of her own. She really was lucky you 50 percent Christian- otherwise, you’d have turned her every way but inside out.

It was no surprise that Mary was there- given her history with Elias or “Stack”. Of course she’d come running the minute she heard he was back in town along with his brother and cousin…but running to where? Not up in here.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere cause I have business in there.” Mary points the loud crowded space behind you and you push your shoulder from off the side of the doorway. You knew all about Mary. You may have empathized a little with her but you damn sure didn’t like her. She was the past in a future that needed her gone in order to make it and her refusal in understanding that irked you immensely. To you, she was selfish- plain and simple.

“You also ‘bout to have a foot up yo ass because the only business in there is the one my man is tendin’ to and you can’t possibly be talkin’ ‘bout him?” You pose it like a question but you leave no room for debate in your voice.

She was there for Stack. She wasn’t getting Stack.

Your question was met with a scoff but otherwise silence. Mmhm. That’s what you thought. Stepping back, you get ready to close the door since you were not about to stand and argue with Mary all night; fixing her with the same ugly glare she always gives you before leaning down to whisper in her face,

“Go be a good bitch and find a new master or I’ll be the one to walk you.”

Slamming the door with a satisfied grin, you turn around to go find a friend of yours and ask her to watch the door. It took some convincing since she was the strict one out of your group but it had to be her because as much as you love the twins and trust their judgment (mostly), Cornbread could not be the one to watch the door the entire night. After agreeing that you’ll owe her one, you leave to grab a drink of your own and judging by the look on Smoke’s face as you pass him- you didn’t look happy.

“Ooh. Who did it?” He drawls out as his eyebrows draw together in a slight frown. He knew about his brother and Mary’s sordid past because of course he did but he also knew how you and Stack have been since day 1.

He still remembers the day they met you…barefoot and sass-mouthed serving drinks at your mommas little dive bar.

“Aww twins~ Wait-! don’t tell me! Y’all gots ta be Double and Trouble!” Laughing like a hyena until your mama threw a spoon from the kitchen and you ducked- smacking your teeth before hurrying off to get their liquor.

That was it.

A pretty young server and good malt..until they came back for another couple rounds one night and you were still barefoot but this time, you wasn’t serving no drinks. Instead, you were standing in the middle of the room singing with a voice so sweet and strong that it rang through their head for the rest of the night. Smoke saw an amazing gift. Stack had seen a gift and something more…

“Just some go-go flour ranger. Nobody important.” Damn. Smoke winces with a soft hum at the insult yet knowing exactly who you mean. You always were creative with your insults- never missing in hitting where it hurt. Taking a deep breath, the beat of the music temps up and he passes you your drink and you sip at it, nodding along to the music as you start to loosen up. Tonight wasn’t the night and neither were any of the others. Tonight was supposed to be the continuation of their new pages turning- and that meant the end of whatever beef was between you, Mary, and his brother.

Smoke watches you start to move and raises a brow; broad smile growing across his face, making his dimples pop out as something comes to him.

“You gon’ sing a lil sum’ for us?”

Reaching out, he takes your hand to twirl you with a soft grin and you let go afterwards to fake think for a bit. Sammy currently had the floor and he was doing great plus…you sorta had other plans for the night. Smoke huffs a laugh, noticing that glint in your eyes- the one you got when you were fixing to get a kick out of causing trouble.

“Ohh, I get it. You in a just dancin’ mood tonight, huh?”

You get another drink and finish that one quick before nodding slowly before moving closer with a grin.

“Smoke, y’know, I neva’ woulda pegged you as a dancin’ man but if you’re offering-“,

“Oh nah baby, he ain’t but I am.”

The low words are whispered against the shell of your ear with a heat that sends shivers licking up your spine. Big, familiar hands fit themselves on your shoulders while Stack dips his head lower to press soft, full lips against your throat- directly over your pulse point and your heart jumps; you barely holding back a gasp. You look at the space where Smoke had been standing before he made himself scarce with a lighthearted “don’t wear y’selves out” and try to gather yourself, turning in Stack’s arms to face him.

Lidded, mellow chocolate eyes focused on you with plump lips pulled up in a smirk framed by dimples greet you and you roll your eyes. Shaking your head lightly as you swallow a whine.

There really was such thing as being too fine and Stack was proof. Strong hands glide themselves further down your sides, settling on the space just above your ass, never taking his eyes off yours and the intensity of him sparks something inside you.

“Been lookin’ for ya. Shoulda known yous’ somewhere in here causin’ trouble, hmm?”

It’s a lot warmer than you remember it being a couple minutes ago but no matter how deep you inhale, it doesn’t go away. That’s when you realize that the room hasn’t gotten any hotter than it’s already been.

But you have.

Your mouth barely opens to retort before Stack’s is covering it completely with his- slow, consuming and so deep. You truly can’t help the way you melt into him. Heart pounding with adrenaline and something much more tantalizing at the way Stack leads, plush lips firm against yours as you suckle at each others mouths. You only had two drinks but you already feel drunk; senses heightened and so sensitive that you’re borderline vibrating. Blood flowing through your system with a searing rush.

Stack harshly sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and your pulse drops like a boulder into the lava pooling in your lower stomach; sending waves ricocheting through your body before licking deep into your own just in time to muffle the nasty little moans threatening to slip out while his tongue memorizes every inch of your mouth and the pleasure has you on the way to out of your mind and he knows it.

You were unyielding to everyone and everything else except him and Stack used that to his advantage each and every time. He’d always been good at getting people to listen to him but the way you gave into him was the sweetest thing he’d come to know. From the way your doe eyes would get wide whenever he’d say or do something that set you off and you’d find yourself wanting him- to the way you were purring and sighing like a cat now, snuggling your soft pretty self tight against him while he devoured your mouth; lips smacking hungrily against yours.

By the time you two separate, his hand is a little too close to your throat and you suddenly want everyone to go home.

“Don’t be lookin’ at me like that baby. 'Else I might think we have a problem.” Stack drags his lips from the corner of your lips to your cheek, rasping lowly into your ear and you whine in frustration, shifting in his hold.

“And what if we do?”

The hand that was at first only close to your neck, slides up to wrap around it. Loose enough but heavy like a collar and you go dizzy from how hard your cunt throbs, biting your swollen lip as you bat pretty lashes up at him.

Now, Stack learned early that you had a thing for sass-mouthing. You, learned quickly that Stack didn’t have much patience for being sass-mouthed. So if there was something you wanted from him, you learned the first time he spanked your ass raw while being stuffed with three of his thick fingers but nothing else- to ask for it real nice and polite. Your tone though, would be the death of you.

“Then I’m sure we can come to an agreement”, his hand squeezes quick before releasing as he presses another hard kiss to your lips, “Right baby?” You nod before you can stop yourself, body roaring with molten need and you blurt out,

“Tell everyone to go home.”

A surprised bark of laughter shoots from his chest and he raises an amused brow as he looks down at you.

“C’mon, you know I can’t. We just opened this place a few weeks ago, mamas. Gotta break it in.” You throw your head back with a groan, rolling your eyes as you mumble under your breath.

“Wish you’d break me in…”

“Huh?”

“What?”

You ask back just as fast and Stack whistles lowly, shaking his head before dragging you in by your throat so close that you’re standing between his legs. He drops his forehead against yours and just takes a couple seconds to look at you- breathe you in before he has you begging for the better half of the night.

“Nah, what was that?”

“What was what?” You could play dumb with the best of em. Grinning innocently like you had all the time in the world to play your games and Stack was all too ready to play with you. Especially when he knew he’d win.

“You gon’ make me get it outta you, pretty girl?”

Your heart skips a beat and he notices your eyes doing the thing when you answer:

“If you think you can then go ahead.”

Stack nods slowly, moving his hand off your throat to take your hand instead. Rising to his full height, he leads you up to the office of the joint, guiding you in first then closing the door behind you both with a click and makes his way towards you.

His stride reminds you a lot of a predator getting ready to jump on their prey and you only hope that you’re left shaking afterwards…

Part 2🫶🏽

-p.s. can y’all guess who’s next?

Another note- agree or disagree about Mary in the comments but be respectful to one another. I delete comments and block people so chill and type accordingly.

[stellamarielu]

on the job

joel miller x female reader

summary: you and joel are forced to work together, but neither of you can get past the others stubborn attitude or contractor!joel and interior designer!reader fuck in a walk-in closet

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, pre outbreak!joel, he’s kind of a huge asshole sorry, teasing, degradation, dirty talk, slightly dubcon, fingering, use of nicknames such as princess sweetheart and good girl, finger sucking, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex, sex against a wall, kinda public sex bc it’s on a job site?? pull out game strong with this one

author’s note: based on this lovely request. i made joel a little mean bc it felt right but at the end of the day he will forever be babygirl. also, i know very little about both of these professions so i apologize for any inaccuracies in that department

You liked to think that you were easy to work with, always polite and mindful— pleasant even.

You mostly kept to yourself, especially when you were working on a project alongside others, however, not everyone shared your cooperative mindset.

In fact, you had worked with a multitude of assholes. Men who thought they held some kind of power over you, who flourished under the opportunity to demean and mock your job like theirs was more important, but none of them even held a candle to Joel Miller.

Your paths crossed when you were hired by a pretentious, middle-aged woman in Austin to help design the interior of her new home— a home that was still under construction.

To make yourself familiar with the layout, you visited the site multiple times in the weeks before construction was scheduled to finish.

It was always an easy and uneventful trip. You greeted the workers, took a few pictures, wrote down some dimensions and then you were gone in twenty minutes tops; but that all changed the day you met Joel. 

You waltzed into the house, waving to one of the men you had come to know from your previous visits and then you heard it, a deep berating voice targeted directly at you.

“Who the hell are you and why are you on my site without a fuckin’ hard hat?”

You stopped in your tracks as you were met with an unknown face. 

“Uh sorry. I’m working on an interior design project for the Johnson’s. They told me I was welcome to come check out the space if I needed anything.” You didn’t know why, but your voice was coming out in compliance, the tone hushed. 

The way this man approached you was incredibly entitled and unabashedly rude.

Normally you wouldn’t let some asshole like this get within two feet of you, let alone talk to you like that; but this guy had you questioning your morals for a split second. He was tall, and broad, and handsome. The southern drawl slipping from the smug curl of his lips and the flex of his biceps as his arms crossed over his chest, had your words stuttering.

“Well, until my job is finished, and the Johnson’s have the keys to their front door, I call the shots. And I don’t do well with unexpected visitors walkin’ around while my guys are trying to get work done.”

Your mouth nearly hung open at his words.

You’d barely said a word to him and he was coming at you with a disgustingly brash and assertive attitude. What the hell was his deal?

“Okay...” The word was drawn-out as it fell from your lips in annoyance.

“Well, it’s kind of funny, because this is probably the fifth time I’ve been here, and none of your guys seem to give a rats ass, so how about you let me do my job and I’ll let you do yours.” 

Finally, you had gotten past the stranger’s criminally good looks and stuck to your guns.

There was no way in hell you were going to let him reprimand you for doing your job. Afterall, you had every right to be here. 

“Yeah well, my guys will let you do whatever you want when you’re prancin’ around here in tight little dresses and high heels. You think they’re just bein’ nice for the hell of it?” 

His irritation was masked by amusement as he looked you up and down, dramatically raking his eyes over your body. 

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just drop the attitude and keep things professional.” The quality of your voice was stern, juxtaposing the way his eyes on your body had you suddenly feeling a rush of heat throughout your chest.

Anger.

The warmth was an angry fervor, definitely not one of lust or temptation. It was a burning irritation for the man standing in front of you, not a curious warmth for how his eyes clung to every curve of your body, taking his time drinking in any exposed skin.

His smile widened as he watched you falter under his stare. “I’ll drop my attitude when you drop yours sweetheart.”

“Listen, Mr-“

“Miller. Joel Miller.”

“Okay, Mr. Joel Miller. I have work to do, so I’m just going to walk past you, take a few notes and I’ll be out of your hair. Deal?” 

“Fine. But if I see you back here again you better be wearin’ a hard hat. Don’t need any trouble because you trip and hit your pretty little head.” He let his eyes wander down your body once more, his voice full of sarcasm.

“Yeah yeah, got it boss.” You scoffed as you pushed past his broad frame. You didn’t turn to look back, but you could practically feel his eyes burning into you as you swayed into the entry way, hoping it was the last time you’d ever have to speak to him.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

You ran into Joel a few more times, each meeting more infuriating and demeaning than the last. He always had a smart comment on his tongue or a mocking intention in his voice. 

Joel Miller had quickly become the bane of your existence; yet, for some reason there was a part of you, deep down, that always hoped to run into him when you went to scout out a new project for the house.   

Maybe because he was undeniably handsome, always walking around with a charming smirk on his lips and a devious glint in his big brown eyes. It was almost as if he were challenging you— seeing how far he could push you before you snapped. 

He continued to test your patience as you now stood in the giant walk-in closet off the primary bedroom.

You were trying to establish a color scheme sophisticated enough to fit Miss Johnson’s impossible to please pallet while Joel was making unnecessarily loud noises across the room.

He was far from graceful, the slamming and pounding of tools was all you could hear as he worked on one of the many intricate shoe shelves on the wall.

“I thought this side of the house was done.” You were speaking without looking in his direction, your eyes following the paint swatches on the wall. 

“Was.” Joel’s voice was gruff as he continued working.

“Until the queen decided she needed more storage for all her designer shit.” He was chuckling at his own words, side eyeing you from his spot kneeling on the floor. 

“You are genuinely the most unprofessional person I’ve ever met.” You dismissed his rude comment about the woman you were both employed by.

“That right?”

You refused to look at him, but you could hear the delight in his voice. 

“Absolutely.” Your response was curt, a quick and straight-forward delivery.

“Good.”

As if you couldn’t hate him more, the word leaving his lips had you turning your head sharply in his direction, an appalled expression plastered across your face. 

“God you get on my last nerve.”

“That right?” Again, his lips tugged into a smirk as he looked at you. 

You raised your brows in annoyance with a single nod of your head at his question.

“Good.” His voice was taunting as he watched you shake your head in frustration. 

You brought your eyes back to the wall in front of you, not giving Joel another second of your attention.

After a few seconds of silence his deep voice broke into the room. “You know, if you weren’t so uptight, maybe I’d ask you out for a drink sometime.” 

It took you a minute to register his words. Was he implying that he wanted to ask you on a date while insulting you at the same time? What a fucked-up, backhanded compliment; one that had your chest stirring with warmth.

“Well, I guess it’s too bad I’m such an high-strung bitch then.” Sarcasm dripped from your words as you kept your eyes trained ahead, your head spinning from Joel’s implicit interest. 

“I doubt you’d last one minute in the bar I’d take you to anyway.”

His comment had your head snapping back again. This time his eyes were already on you, waiting to see a reaction. 

“And why’s that?” Your voice cut through the room at his assumption. 

“Because it’s not exactly a five star establishment, and I think you’re just like all these pretentious fucks you work for.” He raised an eyebrow at you before turning back to the shelf in front of him, tending to a few finishing touches. 

“Always so put together, walking around here with your shoulders high.” He was nonchalant as he criticized you, hands busy taking measurements, not even paying an ounce of attention to the dirty look you were currently shooting at him from the other side of the room. 

“You think you’re better than everyone, but you’re just another pretty face with an overblown ego.”

There it was. The final blow that had your body tensing with anger.

You couldn’t believe that just a few seconds ago you were letting him flatter you, swooning under the smallest inkling of positivity he threw your way.

He was the worst kind of guy, the kind that built you up just to tear you down. The kind that wanted to make you feel worse about yourself so you would go running to him for a semblance of positive reinforcement.

Joel Miller liked the chase— thrived off being such a douchebag that women somehow ended up falling on their knees for him. But you, you weren’t going to be that woman. 

“Me? Talk about a massive-fucking-ego, take a look in the mirror Miller. You’re the one always making sure I know my place around here, acting like a fucking sociopath. It’s like you get off on being an asshole.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked directly at you, his expression unreadable, like your cruel words caused a switch in him to flip. 

“Maybe I do.”

“What?”

“Maybe I like gettin’ under your skin, watchin’ you get all flustered.” He spoke slowly, setting down his materials and standing to his feet.

“Think it’s kinda cute. You’re always tryin’ to act all big and bad, but I know I make you nervous. I can see it in the way you look at me.” He didn’t move, the smirk on his face causing your eyebrows to furrow in irritation. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, standing strong on your opinion that Joel was the world’s biggest asshole. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting his words get to you.

“You can stop wherever you’re going with this. I’m not here to play your little bullshit games, I’m here to do a job and get paid.”

“Who says you can’t have a little fun on the job?” His voice was laced with a deep seriousness as he set his tools down on one of the many shelves adorning the walls. You watched him over your shoulder but kept your back turned, your body still facing the wall.

“Turn around.” The command left his lips and you wanted to laugh at his attempt of authority but the sincerity in his voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“What? No-“

“C’mon sweetheart, I think we both know you like bein’ told what to do.” His voice cut you off, the signature smirk on his lips sending a buzz straight to your head.

You didn’t mean to, or maybe you did, but your body turned to face him, watching intently as he continued speaking. His broad frame emphatic as he stood across from you.

“I bet you like it, having someone boss you around. Makes you feel a little inferior.”

As the words left his lips he began walking toward you.

It was a casual stroll, not intense or threatening, yet you felt your pulse racing and your posture slumping at his advances.

“Oh please. You need a reality check Joel.” 

“Wanna give it to me princess?”

You kept the appearance of control as he continued moving forward, but internally you were fighting feelings of complete disarray.

You wanted to be offended— maybe even slap him across the face for his wildly inappropriate nickname and the implication of his words. But instead, you froze, his body now less than a foot away from yours and his words ringing in your ears. 

There was absolutely no denying the way his statement had your thighs clenching and your head spinning. Something in his delivery, smug and dirty with his eyes holding a perverted hunger and a promise of follow through, made you weak.

You kept your body from jolting when you felt the touch of his hand wrapping around your waist, finding purchase dangerously low on your back. 

“Bet you’ve never done anythin’ like this.” His voice was sturdy— rigid with power.

The weight of his hand was rough, his palm resting just above the curve of your ass. His touch was heavy yet temperate as he held you, softly pulling you’re your body further into his. 

“Lettin’ some guy you barely know put his hands all over you.”

You watched his eyes carefully, your lips parted but you couldn’t find any words to fill them. You weren’t sure if you wanted to tell him to stop or keep going. 

“Bet all the guys you hook up with are just as prim and proper as you. Can’t imagine that those dipshits graduating from UT with a business degree are fuckin’ you the right way.”

His other hand came to the small of your waist, the movement sending a faint gasp straight to your lips. Your reaction had Joel smirking, reinforcing his grip on your body.

“Probably don’t even know how to get you off.” 

“You’re disgusting.” Your voice was a whisper. The insult that you meant to hurl his way dissolved in a pitiful sigh at the way his fingertips were latching onto you.

“Am I? Bet you like that too.” This time he leaned in, causing his words to land directly in your ear, his breath warm on your neck.  

“Bet you want someone a little rough around the edges. Someone to fuck you real nice.” 

As he spoke, his fingers curled into your body. His grip on you constricting.

His frame pushed into yours, sending you shuffling backward until your back was met with the solid friction of the wall.

“Joel..” 

You were searching in your mind, trying to form an articulate sentence to explain why this was wrong; why you couldn’t be in this position with him.

But he had you trapped against the weight of his body— big and wide and rough.

Every single rational thought in your head dissipated, replaced by an instinctual need to have him fuck you against the wall of this ridiculously expensive closet.

He was right, you’d never done anything like this and the excitement of it— the risk, had your entire body burning with white-hot desire. 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” His hands were holding your hips, pressing you into the wall with his chest dangerously close to yours. 

“But I don’t think you want me to.” For a single second you could see an indication of honesty in his eyes as he looked you over, searching for any sign of distress on your face. And when he couldn’t find it, his stare narrowed and his hands held tighter, rotating your body in his grasp until your chest was pressed against the wall. 

“I think,” He leaned into you, your ass pushing against the bulge in his jeans as his hum landed on the skin right beneath your ear. 

“You want me to lift up this pretty little dress and fuck you nice and hard right here, against this wall.”

His hands found the hem of your dress, bringing it up just enough to bunch at your waist.

Your lower half was almost bare, the only clothing keeping your cunt from being fully exposed to him was the little black thong encasing the dripping mess that had now built up between your legs. It didn’t stop him from reaching between your bodies, pressing his thumb against your clothed entrance. 

“Fuck- you’re soaked princess.” The first word was a prolonged throaty groan, the rest of the sentence fumbling behind it. 

“How long you been thinkin’ bout this huh? Me touchin’ you, makin’ you beg for it.” He was having too much fun playing with you through your panties, his thumb threatening to dip into you even with the lace still covering your entrance.

He pushed against it, moving between your clothed folds and marveling at the wetness seeping through the material. 

“I’m not begging.” You managed to hiss out a response, turning your head to peer at him, your cheek nearly pressing against the wall. 

“Oh, so she’s always mouthy huh?” 

You watched the diabolical grin eat away at his face from the power trip of having you trapped under his weight.

You could talk-back all you wanted— be as bratty and uncooperative as possible, but it didn’t change the fact that he had you right where he wanted you. 

“Keep talkin’ baby, go on.” He innocently raised his brows at you, his voice taunting as the weight of his thumb danced between your legs.

“I Know you want this too. You act like you can’t stand me, but I see the way you look at me…” Your voice was quiet but strong as you held onto the last bit of composure you had left, using it to defy the man at your back.

You were trying your best not to lose your train of thought as you spoke. You wouldn’t give up the fight that easily, succumbing to his tempting words and lewd touches. You could tell Joel was used to getting his way and every muscle in your body ached to challenge him. 

“The way your eyes are glued to my ass every time I walk past you.” You glared over your shoulder as the words drifted off your lips in a gentle accusation. 

His dark chuckle filled the room as his eyes darted away from yours for a short second. Then his stare was back on you— more intense than before. The two of you watching each other, sitting in a pool of mutual revelation. 

You both knew it.

You knew since day one that there was a shared attraction, an unspoken sexual tension hidden behind rude words and unsavory exchanges.

What was happening now was just a detonation of built-up pressure that had been stewing for weeks; evident in the wetness at your core and the bulge in Joel’s jeans. 

“Anythin’ else you wanna say? Should probably get it all out before I have you all fucked-out on my cock.” His voice dropped to a low whisper as he hooked his thumb into your underwear, pulling the material to the side, not even bothering to take them off completely. 

A soft gasp slid from your lips at the cool air meeting your newly exposed center, the slick pooling at your entrance only adding to the airy sensation. 

“You’re so fucking arrogant.” 

The words barely left your lips when you felt his touch meet your core, his fingers spreading your arousal.

You had more to say to him, you wanted to tell him how annoying he was and how you had lost every ounce of decency by letting him talk to you this way, but the words were caught in your throat as he pushed two fingers into you. 

“Maybe I have good reason to be.” 

Your eyes were squeezed shut at the unexpected feeling of him filling you with his fingers, yet you could hear the smirk dripping in his voice.

“You ever think about that sweetheart?”

His words were impatient, the initial drive of his fingers into your entrance was rough, but now they slowly worked into you. His movements were careful— cautious even.

It was as if he wanted to take his time, watching your body and listening to the shaky breaths leave your lips.

His hand worked between your legs, searching for the exact technique that would send you spewing profanities and crumbling against the wall.  

He curled his fingertips at just the right spot, not too deep and not too forceful, just a gentle pulse that had an impulsive whimper pouring from your chest.

“Maybe I’m so arrogant because I know I’m good at what I do.” His words held a double meaning as he added a third finger to stroke your newfound sweet spot.

You almost yelped from the stretch, but you held it back as best you could, refusing to give him the gratification of your submission. 

The position he had you in; back arched and ass pushed out, made it almost embarrassingly easy for the addition of a third digit as he watched them to sink into you.

You couldn’t help but hum in approval as he stroked you repeatedly, rubbing against the inviting drawl of your walls. You tried not to lose yourself at his fingertips, knowing from the familiar coil of pleasure in your core that he could have you coming on his fingers at any given moment. 

“Thought you were gonna fuck me, huh?” Your voice was a string of moans as you tried your best to form a coherent sentence with his hand pushed between your bodies. 

As much as you didn’t want his movements to stop, you also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you finish when he’d barely even gotten his hands on you.

Knowing Joel, he would never let you live it down. He’d ride around on his metaphorical high horse and crown himself the king of female orgasms. So instead of letting him bring you to the precipice of release, you met him with a phrase of defiance. But your challenging words were really just a gateway to get what you wanted. You could put on a tough act, but at the end of the day Joel was right, you did want him to fuck you in way no one ever had— hungry and hard against the wall, right here in your client’s house.

In fact, the thought of it had taken over every fiber of your being. The anticipation of feeling him rail into you was clouding your judgement and coursing through your veins at an alarming speed. 

“Think you can take it?” His growl stuck in your ears as he pulled out of you. The lewd noises of his fingers plunging into the slick mess at your folds was quickly replaced by the sound of him fumbling with his belt buckle. 

“How d’you want it, huh baby? You the sentimental type? Want it nice and slow and deep? Or d’you just wanna be ruined? Want someone to be a little rough with ya?” He was asking, but you couldn’t help but note the rhetorical quality of his words as you heard the rustle of his jeans pushing down his thighs. 

“That’s sweet of you to give me choice, maybe you don’t like control as much as I thought- “

Your sarcastic remark was cut short at the abrupt stretch of Joel’s length slamming into you.

“Rough it is then.” His voice was a deep grunt echoing from behind you as he paused, giving you a split second to adjust before pulling back out and thrusting into you again. 

“Shit princess, didn’t think you’d be this fuckin’ tight.”

His voice swam with amusement and pleasure as he watched the way his dick fully disappeared into you with each thrust of his hips.

Hands pulled at your waist as you felt Joel drive deeper with every breathless groan floating off his lips. 

“Look at you, takin’ me like such a good girl.” The words weren’t sweet, instead they teased you, shooting out of his mouth with a mocking tenor. 

You couldn’t keep your body from reacting to his praise, albeit contemptuous, the words still held a deep truth about the situation unfolding against the wall of your shared employer’s closet. 

“Oh, you like that don’t ya? When I tell you what a good girl you are?” His voice was a broken growl of grunts and sighs as he fucked into you— vigorous and desperate.

His pace was unrelenting as he held onto your waist, pulling you back to meet him with every drive of his hips into yours. 

He let one of his hands travel up your body until he was reaching for your jaw, tilting your head up and back until your body was arched at a sinful angle.

“See, I knew you just needed a good fuck.” His groan was right in your ear now that he held your head close to his, the grip he had on your jaw was firm.

It was becoming impossible for you to keep quiet, the strength and depth of his thrusts were causing explicit moans to skate past yours lips.

The hand that Joel was using to hold your face was now maneuvering to your mouth in an effort to muffle the obscene sounds rolling off your tongue. Two of his fingers pushed at your lips, hooking into your mouth. 

“Knew that little attitude a’yours was all for show.”

You closed your lips around his digits as he railed into you, a guttural moan sliding up your throat and humming onto his fingers. 

“Fuck.” His fowl groan was a direct result of your soft mouth sucking around his fingers, mimicking the way you had his cock encased between your legs.

You invited his touch onto your tongue, swirling around his thick digits and sucking him in deeper, earning a prolonged sigh from Joel as he fucked into you even harder.

Each stroke of his cock had your body pressing further into the wall— his pace was mean and unyielding, like he had something to prove. 

With the hand not in your mouth, Joel reached around your body, his fingertips finding your clit and rubbing quick careless circles over the bundle of nerves.

Your body faltered under his touch, your knees slightly buckling, and if it weren’t for the weight of his body trapping you against the wall, you’d be a puddle on the floor. 

He slowed his pace slightly, taking his time to find that spot along your walls again. The one that he discovered just minutes ago when he was three fingers deep in your dripping cunt. 

Whines of approval vibrated against the pads of his fingertips still pressing down on your tongue. His hips began rocking into you at just the right angle— slow and deliberate, with the goal of feeling you coming undone on his cock. 

“That it baby? Right there?” Again, his words were a sadistic tease, but his voice gave way to pitiful throaty whines.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think with the way he was working you toward your release.

Everything felt so overwhelming, his unrelenting thrusts hitting you in the perfect place, his touch on your clit, rough and impatient and his fingers filling your mouth— all of it creating the perfect storm of inconceivable pleasure. 

A jolt of relief surged through your body as the pressure inside you snapped. You let yourself fall further into the wall as Joel’s name slipped from your mouth in a chant.

Hearing his name on your lips in such a distant and dazed voice, had Joel’s cock pulsing. Your walls were clenching from your climax, sucking him in deeper and he couldn’t handle the abundance of warmth enveloping him. 

Both of his hands came down to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as held tight.

His thrusts were merciless as he used you to reach his peak, chasing the familiar buildup of tension in his core as he drove into you at a startling pace. 

Then he pulled out abruptly. 

One hand on his cock, stroking just twice before spilling onto the skin of your lower back, the other pushing your dress further up your body to keep it from becoming a jizz painted mess. 

Silence filled the room.

Neither of you spoke as your hands pushed against the wall underneath your palms. You stayed pressed there, Joel’s body still behind you evident in the ragged breaths leaving his chest. 

Still no words were exchanged as you felt Joel take a step back, the warmth of his presence fading just slightly.

You dared to break your pleasure induced trance to look over your shoulder, only find him pulling his jeans back up his body and tightening his belt without even sparing you a glance.

You began to move until you were reminded of the thick warm mess resting on your back, keeping you from pulling your dress down.

Before you could do anything, Joel was back behind you, hooking his fingers into the waist band of your panties and tugging them down your legs. He stopped at your ankles to tap against your skin, prompting you to step out of them.

Once the lacy material was fully in his grasp, he brought them up to your lower back, using them to gather his spend. He cleaned his mess with the lacy material then pulled your dress back down to cover your lower half. A sticky residue was left on your backside as a plaguing reminder of what had just transpired between you. 

You turned to face him, watching as he crumpled up your ruined underwear and shoved it into his back pocket with a smirk on his face. 

“How about that drink? Could meet you tomorrow night, should be done here around five.” He was back across the room in an instant, gathering tools and not bothering to look in your direction.

His invitation was genuine, but his words lacked interest. 

“I’ll get these back to you then.” His hand came to rest on his back pocket, fingers tapping against the denim holding your used panties.

A self-righteous smile sat on his face as he shot you a look of pure deviance before his eyes were back on his hands as they worked to gather his materials. 

“Yeah, okay.” Your voice came out more flustered than you intended as you smoothed out your dress over your thighs.

Joel was heading for the closet door, tool bag clutched in his hand as he gave you one last gaze of victory.

“It’s a date.” The words were a grumble from his lips, the same ones that were busy parading a smug smile. 

Then he left you standing alone in the small room, your mind racing around itself and your legs still trembling.

A subtle grin rested on your face as you stared down at the floor, trying to find some sort of equilibrium before even attempting to move.

The giant walk-in closet still encasing a lingering heat of reckless choices as you prepared to go on with your day— business as usual.

my masterlist

[greengoblinswifey]

The Offer—Salesman x Fem!Reader

summary— After an encounter with the mysterious and dangerously charming salesman, you find yourself drawn to him and what begins as a simple game quickly escalates when he offers you a deal outside the Squid Game. based on this request.

warnings— sugar baby undertones, praise kink, fingering, oral(f!receiving), body worship, ass slapping, choking, unprotected sex, creampie.

The subway station felt like a dull hum in the background as you sat on a hard bench, looking at your phone. The notification from your bank app stared back at you, a harsh reminder of your poor spending choices. Shopping sprees, credit card bills, and an insurmountable amount of student loan debt weighed on you. You sighed, barely noticing the man who had taken a seat next to you until he cleared his throat.

“Rough day?” a deep, smooth voice said.

You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat. The man was striking, his tailored suit fit perfectly, his features sharp and symmetrical, with a mischievous glint in his eyes that sent a spark of unease and intrigue down your spine.

“Uh, yeah, you could say that,” you muttered, looking away as you grew flustered.

He chuckled softly. “Well, I can help,” he said, pulling out a neat red envelope from his briefcase. “How about a game?”

“A game?” You frowned, wary but unable to deny the curiosity bubbling inside you.

He opened the envelope, revealing a stack of blue and red tiles. “Ddakji,” he explained, holding up one of the tiles. “We take turns throwing the tile to flip the other. You win, you get 100,000 won each time. You lose,” his smile widened. “I get to slap you.”

Your stomach churned at the proposal, but the thought of cash was too enticing to ignore. “Whatever,” you said, your voice shaky but firm.

The first few rounds were a blur. He was calm, composed, and terrifyingly skilled. You, on the other hand, had no idea what you were doing, your tile landing uselessly each time.

“Not your game, is it?” he teased after you failed again.

“Nah,” you replied.

He leaned closer, and you smelled his cologne, subtle but intoxicating. Instead of raising his hand to deliver the promised slap, he surprised you by tucking the envelope into your hands.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Take my card instead.”

You blinked, staring at the card he offered. It was embossed with a phone number and a strange symbol. “What’s this?”

“For something bigger than a subway game,” he replied. His hand lingered for a moment on yours as he added, “How about I come over, and we talk a bit more? About the game, the prize, and— possibilities.”

Your heart raced as you nodded.

You led him to your apartment, your nerves heightened by his presence. He seemed so calm and confident, while you felt like a mess. Inside, he leaned against your kitchen counter, his jacket now draped over the back of a chair.

“You’re nervous,” he said, his lips curving into a small smile.

“Not nervous,” you lied, but your trembling hands gave you away.

He chuckled, taking a step closer. “You’re interesting. Most people I approach don’t look at me the way you do.”

“And how’s that?” you asked, swallowing hard.

“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” he said, his voice sending a shiver through you.

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, clutching the card tightly.

“Good,” he murmured. “Keep that curiosity. It might take you further than you think.”

You weren’t sure if it was a warning or what, but you couldn’t deny the way his presence filled the room, leaving you breathless and wanting to know more.

“You’ve got a fire in you. I like that.” His voice softened as he added, “But you don’t need to play any games to fix your problems.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I could take care of you,” he said simply. He stepped even closer, the space between you closing to almost nothing. “You wouldn’t have to worry about loans, bills—anything. We could come to an arrangement.”

You blinked up at him, your heart racing. “An arrangement?”

“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of.” He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering near your jaw. “I can take care of you in more ways than one.”

The way he said it sent heat through you. His gaze dipped to your lips again, and you found yourself leaning into his presence without even realizing it. “I’m down for that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. He tilted his head, his face now inches from yours. “Because I think you’ve needed someone to take care of you for a long time.”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours, unhurried, testing the waters. The kiss deepened quickly, fueled by what had been building between you since he first approached you.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue teased yours, earning a soft gasp. He took the opportunity to lift you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, his hands warm and steady against your ass.

“You’re something else,” he said against your lips, his breath hot as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and for a moment, the intensity softened into something almost tender.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “This could be the start of something very interesting.”

And boy, you couldn’t help but agree. The kiss reignited, deeper and hotter than before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him on the counter. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of something warm and spicy made your head swim.

“You smell incredible,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. He pressed his nose to the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply as his lips ghosted over your skin. “Too good, really. Makes me wonder if you’re even real.”

Heat spread through your cheeks, but his words lit something inside you. “I think you’re the one who’s too good to be real,” you teased back.

“Flattery, huh? I like that. But don’t think for a second I don’t see through you.” His hand slid up your thigh, his touch warm. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with another kiss, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip before pulling back to study your reaction. “No need to lie, sweetheart. I know.”

His hand ventured lower, fingers brushing over the fabric of your skirt, and he hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his tone serious, despite the fire burning in his gaze.

Instead of answering, you bucked your hips into his touch instinctively, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The corner of his mouth lifted in approval. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered.

His fingers worked, finding your dripping pussy and working their magic, skilled and precise. You couldn’t help but arch into him, your head falling back against the cabinet. “Look at me,” he commanded gently, one hand cupping your jaw to bring your gaze back to his. “I want to see those pretty eyes.”

You obeyed, locking eyes with him as his fingers thrusting inside you intensified, his thumb brushing over your cheek when you whimpered softly. “That’s it,” he said, “You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t form words, only nodding as waves of pleasure rolled through you. His digits curled expertly inside you, thrusting against that spongy spot that made your breath catch and your pussy throb. You thrashed and moaned, feeling practically possessed by pleasure. God, you really did need this. He probably thought you were a desperate slut. His thumb tilted your chin up slightly. “Say it,” he murmured, his tone coaxing. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you managed, your voice shaky. “Yes, I’m—I’m your good girl.”

His grin widened. “That’s my girl.”

Your hand gripped his muscular bicep as he stared down at you, the moment so intimate. Eyes locked on yours, two finger buried inside your pussy and a thumb rubbing your clit, giving you more pleasure your little fingers could ever manage to. Saving money had prevented you from even thinking of buying a vibrator. Soft moans left your lips as he rubbed rough circles on your bundle of nerves, your pussy clenching around nothing before he plunged his fingers back inside you. He thrusted roughly and you couldn’t help but clamp around him.

When the tension inside you reached its peak, he leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear. “Cum for me. Right here, right now. I want to see you fucking cum.”

And you did, trembling against him as his fingers pushed you over the edge, your breaths coming out in stuttering gasps. His praises washed over you as he held you steady, his grip comforting.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You stayed like that for a moment, letting the quiet hum of the room wrap around you as you caught your breath.

The heat between you both heightened as his lips trailed down your neck softly. His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you closer on the counter. He paused, meeting your gaze with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re addictive,” he murmured, voice rich and low. “I want to taste every part of you.”

Your breath hitched as he dropped to his knees, his hands steady on your thighs. “Can I taste you?” he asked, his tone sincere despite the hunger in his eyes.

You nodded, words escaping you entirely. His smirk deepened as he guided your legs apart, his lips brushing your inner thigh. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered, his voice soft. “And all mine.”

His tongue explored every inch of you, licking from your pelvis, then down to your clit. His focus on your clit, slurping and flicking it made your toes curl and your legs clamp around his head. He chuckled deeply, the sound sending vibrations through your body and he pried your legs open, continuing his feast.

“I’ve never seen anyone as stunning as you,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”

Each kiss on your clit and touch over your thighs sent sparks through you, and you couldn’t help the soft moans escaping your lips. He looked up, his eyes dark. “I want to hear you,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear how good it feels.”

You moaned loudly, your voice trembling with emotion. “That’s my good girl,” he said. “So beautiful, my perfect girl.”

As he continued to worship you, every lick and word worked together, unraveling you completely. When you finally came, trembling with his mouth on your pussy, he held your gaze, his expression softening as he spoke.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit. “Don’t forget that.”

When you came down from your high, he stood, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re everything I need,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours.

His hands gripped your hips as he lifted you slightly, settling you more securely on the counter. The warmth of his hard cock pressed against your pussy sent shivers down your spine, but his lips found yours again, slow and tender.

“Relax,” he murmured, “I’ve got you, baby.”

You exhaled shakily as he freed his hard cock moving closer. He dragged the thick, leaking tip along your folds before slowly inching inside your tight pussy. His forehead rested against yours for a brief moment, giving you time to adjust to his size. His hands were steady on your waist, his thrusts careful and slow. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes,” you whispered, and he smiled.

“Good,” he said, his lips capturing yours again, deeper this time. “I’ll take care of you, always.”

The praise flowed from him effortlessly as he began pounding into you. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured against your neck, his lips trailing kisses along your skin. “So good for me. Taking my cock so well.”

Your hands tangled in his dark hair as you tilted your head back. His pace shifted, repeatedly slamming against the sweet spot inside you and his lips found yours once more. “Cum on my cock,” he said, his forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve got you. Just cum for me.”

You gripped his bicep, your pussy responding to his words as your juices soaked his cock inside you. He held you steady, his praises unrelenting. “That’s it,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple. “You’re incredible, such a good girl for me.”

The moment lingered, but you didn’t let it fade completely. Instead, your shaky hands found his, as he helped you off the counter and his lips captured yours again. You guided him toward your bedroom, the two of you stumbling slightly as you moved.

“You’re mine,” he murmured between kisses, his words muffled but filled with conviction. “No one else gets you like this.”

The bedroom door swung open, and he didn’t hesitate, his hands finding your waist again as he backed you toward the bed. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he muttered in awe.

You moved onto your hands and knees, adjusting until your back arched perfectly, drawing a low hum of approval from him.

“There we go,” he said, his hand smoothing over the curve of your spine before resting on your hip. “Just like that, absolutely perfect.”

A sharp, playful slap landed on your ass, making you jolt slightly, and he chuckled. “Couldn’t resist,” he teased, his hand soothing over the spot. “You look too good like this.”

He held onto your waist as his cock rested against your pussy. “You’ve got such a gorgeous body,” he murmured, his voice dropping as his hands roamed gently over your ass. “You don’t even realize how stunning you are, do you?”

You felt his gaze on you lingering, as you wiggled onto his cock, “That’s it, bring that ass back just like that for me. You’re so perfect.”

You met his thrusts as he rolled his hips, his cock disappearing inside your pussy. Each time he bottomed out, his cock was covered in your cream.

“Fuck, you’re really enjoying this baby,” he hummed, staring at how wet you got his shaft.

He held you steady, his hands molding to your curves, his cock brushing against your cervix with each thrust, his voice warm as he leaned closer. “You’re incredible,” he said, his breath brushing against your ear. “Every single part of you fucking especially this.” He squeezed your ass gently, his admiration clear.

He placed a soft kiss on the back of your shoulder before wrapping his hand around your neck to bring you closer so you were arching off him. His pace quickened, each thrust deep, as he held you by your neck securely in place. You arched deeper instinctively, your back pressing against his chest, and his breath warmed your ear.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Cum for me.”

Your breaths quickened, and you couldn't help the loud moan that escaped you just as he requested. His grip was firm and his words spilled effortlessly, “That’s my good girl. You’re incredible.”

As everything built to a crescendo, you felt yourself shudder. His hand on your throat tightened slightly, steadying you through the moment. The world around you faded, leaving only his cock moving inside you, anchoring you. You were still squirting as he pounded into you and soon, you felt his sticky cum coat your walls.

When it was over, he pulled you close, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re breathtaking,” he said softly before retreating, leaving you to catch your breath.

Moments later, he appeared with a damp cloth, cleaning you up with a care that seemed to contradict his character. He set it aside, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk that was entirely too charming.

“So,” he said casually, folding his arms, “about those bank account details.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. He grinned, the shine in his eyes unmistakable.

“Relax,” he added with a soft chuckle, leaning down to brush a lock of hair from your face. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

[mephisto-reporting]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous.  His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

[cowboybeepboop]

Late Night

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut, gentle and romantic

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: Your friendly neighbor Clark Kent comes to your door one evening, allowing for the two of you to finally grow your relationship.

Warnings: This is not proofread what so ever, gentle/sort of shy Clark, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, p in v sex. 

a/n: Idk rn but I genuinely can't wait for David Corenswet to be Superman (Henry Cavill is so hot tho...). I’m already imagining how perfect he's gonna be as Clark Kent. As always, send me any requests you have and I hope you enjoy!

For months now, you had been quietly pining for the man who lived across the hall from me in our unassuming apartment building. His name was Clark Kent, and there was something about him that was utterly endearing. It wasn't just his chiseled jawline or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, but the kindness he exuded, the way he always had a helping hand ready for anyone in need. 

You had become something like friends, sharing the occasional awkward small talk as we passed by with our shopping bags or recyclables. You had seen him in various stages of undress, coming back from his midnight runs, his superhero-like physique hidden under loose-fitting t-shirts and sweatpants. 

Something that had fueled your evening pleasure sessions, everytime your eyes fell closed you could remember the image of his hardened abs, his huge and muscular arms. 

On a warm summer evening, there was a knock at your door. It was Clark, the guy from across the hall. He stood there sheepishly, his hand running through his black hair. 

He wore a white shirt that was unbuttoned and messy. He held a bottle of wine in one hand. "Hey", he said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I was wondering if I could get a favor?"

“Sure what’s up?” you give him a small smile, your eyes fall on his exposed chest before quickly flicking back to his face. His heart rate increased as he realized that you could see through the thin fabric of his shirt the toned muscles of his chest covered in a light layer of hair.

He cleared his throat, composing himself, holding up the bottle of wine. "I, umm, I was wondering if I could borrow your corkscrew. I lost mine."

“Yeah, of course. Come on in.” you move to the side, allowing him to come in. Your mind clouding with desire as he towers over you, his cologne filling your senses. 

He steps into your apartment, the tight space meaning his body brushes against yours slightly as he passes. The contact between you both is brief, but it's enough to send a shiver down his spine as he enters.

Your cheeks flush slightly as you realize your own appearance, wearing just a button down top that is unbuttoned enough for him to see your cleavage and your underwear. You awkwardly lead him to the kitchen, arm subconsciously moving to cover your breasts as you turn around, handing him the corkscrew. 

"Uh, thanks." He says as he takes the corkscrew from you. Even with your arm draped over yourself, he can't help but notice the glimpse of exposed skin, his eyes lingering before he catches himself and averts his gaze, forcing himself to stay focused on the task at hand.

He starts to open up the bottle, the action allowing him to look away from your figure for a moment and compose himself, his hands shaking slightly as he tries to concentrate. 

Your hand reaches out, fingers brushing over his. “Oh yeah this thing is weird, you kinda have to do it a particular way.” you murmur, taking the bottle from him as you fumble with the screw. 

He bites his lip as your fingers brush over his, his stomach swirling at the touch of your hand. He watches as you take the bottle from him, his eyes fixated on your every movement as you try to open the bottle.

"Thanks," he mutters, his voice low and a bit shaky. His eyes wander down, his gaze drawn to the way your top fits, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of your cleavage. 

“Mhm,” you reply as you pull the cork out, a small splash of wine staining your collar. You bite down on your lip while setting the bottle down, fingers rubbing the fabric. His eyes widen slightly as he watches the droplet of wine slide down your collar, the stains on the fabric making it even more translucent. 

Clark swallows hard, his mind wandering to inappropriate and ungentlemanly thoughts. He clears his throat, trying to look away, but he can't help but notice the way your fingers are now rubbing at the fabric, the motion only drawing his attention further to your chest.

You glance over him, hand falling from your shirt as you give him a soft grin, noticing the way his gaze lingers. 

His gaze flicks up to meet yours, his cheeks flushed. He realizes he's been caught staring, his eyes having been fixated on the way your hand moves over the fabric of your shirt, the motion stirring something deep within him.

"I, umm..." he stutters, his words failing him as he feels his throat dry up. He swallows slowly, forcing himself to focus on something else. "Thanks, for helping me open the bottle," he manages to say.  He shifts on his feet, trying to discreetly adjust himself as he feels his jeans becoming a bit tighter.

“Of course, do you want to share the bottle? Or do you have someone waiting for you?” you move slightly closer to him. 

His heart quickens as you come closer, his mouth going dry as your proximity makes it all that much more difficult to concentrate. He glances down at the bottle sitting on the counter, his mind racing with desire and indecision.

"No," he says, his voice low and a bit huskier than usual. "There's no one waiting for me." He looks back up at you, his eyes locking with yours, his gaze intense and filled with a mixture of nervousness and something more forbidden. "I'd like to share the bottle with you."

“Perfect.” You smile, stepping closer as you reach for the cabinet behind him, your chest pressing into his ever so slightly. You open the door, reaching for two glasses ​​his breath hitches as he feels your body press against him, the sensation sending a jolt of heat through him. 

Your chest rubs against his, and he can feel the weight and softness of you against his body. The proximity is driving him mad, his mind clouded by primal desires he's trying to keep in check.

He bites his lip, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the counter, trying to maintain his composure. His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he opens them again, his gaze fixed on your every move.

You step back, with the glasses in hand. “We could watch a movie?” you prompt as you pour some wine into the cups, silently enjoying the way he reacted to your touch. 

He nods, his mind still racing as he tries to calm his racing thoughts and the growing hardness in his pants. "Yeah, a movie sounds good," he mutters, his voice coming out a bit more hoarse than he'd liked.

As you pour the wine, his eyes follow your every move, the way your fingers grip the bottle, the way the liquid flows into the glasses. It's all too tantalizing for him. "What do you feel like watching?" He asks, trying to keep his voice level and casual.

“How about you choose?” you hand him a glass, taking yours in hand along with the bottle as you walk into the living room. Taking a seat down on the couch you sip on the wine, your eyes follow his every move, drinking in his muscular form. 

He tries to stay composed, forcing himself to look away and focus on the task at hand. Clark walks over to the DVD collection and scans the titles, his mind unfocused and his thoughts still lingering on you. After a moment of browsing, he picks a movie at random, inserting it into the player.

"All set." He says, returning to the couch and taking a seat beside you. You pull at the hem of your shirt, trying to prevent it from riding up too much while taking another sip of your drink. 

“Great.” you smile, sucking your lip between your teeth as you admire his side profile. He can't help but notice the way you fidget with your shirt, the action drawing his mind to places he shouldn't be going at the moment. 

He struggles to keep his eyes focused on the screen, his gaze keeping wandering over to you, admiring your features and the way the fabric clings to your body. Clark takes a long sip from his glass, the alcohol doing little to calm his racing thoughts and desires. He shifts in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust himself as his jeans grow even tighter.

“Is everything alright?” you notice his movements and set your cup on the coffee table, scooting slightly closer to him. His eyes widen slightly as you move closer, the proximity sending a fresh wave of desire through him. He swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"Yeah," he responds, his voice a little hoarse. "Everything's fine, just...adjusting." He glances over at you, his gaze lingering on your figure, his eyes tracing over the curves where your shirt clings to you, the way your position inadvertently exposes more skin.

“Clark?” your knee brushes against his thigh as you scoot closer. He stiffens as your knee brushes against him, the casual touch sending a jolt through him. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as he tries to maintain his composure.

When he hears his name, the way you say it, so soft and gentle, almost a whisper, it sends a shiver down his spine. He looks over at you, his eyes locking with yours, his gaze intense and filled with desire. "Yeah?" He manages to respond, his voice a bit shaky.

“Are you.. seeing anyone?” you chew on your cheek as you search his eyes. At your question, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty crosses his face. He holds your gaze, his eyes searching yours for any hint of insincerity.

"No," he says finally, his voice steady and sincere. "I'm not seeing anyone." He swallows, his nerves getting the better of him as he wonders where this conversation is going. He can't help but feel a flicker of hope and anxiety at the same time.

Your eyes light up as you press a hand to his thigh, “Then… well I hope i’m not misreading the situation,” you murmur, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It's unexpected, but oh so welcome. 

His eyes widen for a brief moment, before closing as he melts into the kiss. Every cell in his body seems to come alive, the taste of your lips on his sending him into a dizzying spiral of emotions.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his touch gentle as he leans into the kiss, deepening it as he loses himself in the moment. His tongue brushes over your bottom lip as he presses his chest against yours, pushing your back into the plush fabric of your couch. 

Your bodies meld together, your back sinking into the cushion as he bears down on you. His tongue teases your lip, requesting entry which you give him without hesitation.

His heart races as he feels the soft give of your body against his chest, the heat and pressure of your bodies mingling together.

His hand runs over your side, his touch gentle but firm as it moves over the curves of your body, his hand sneaking under the fabric of your shirt, needing to feel your skin against his. You lean back, gasping for air as his fingers explore your body. 

He takes your gasp as an opportunity to trail his lips along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he nips and kisses his way down your neck.

His hand moves under your shirt, slowly, his fingertips dancing across your bare skin, mapping out each contour and dip of your body. He groans softly against your throat as he feels your warm, supple flesh under his fingers. You feel so good against him, it's almost overwhelming.

“Clark..” you gasp his name as he unbuttons your shirt swiftly. He loves the way you say his name, the sound of it coming from your lips making his own name sound like a prayer.

He unfastens the buttons of your shirt, revealing more and more of your body to his hungry eyes. He peels back the fabric, his hands roaming over your now-exposed skin, his fingers tracing over your stomach and up to your chest.

He presses his mouth to your collarbone, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin, tasting your scent, committing it to memory. “Clark..” you moan his name again, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he kisses down your chest, hands landing on your breasts. 

His name slips from your lips again, the sound like a sweet melody in his ears. He can feel the pressure of your fingers on his shoulders, the touch driving his desire even higher.

His mouth travels down your chest, his kisses feather light and seductive as he moves over your breasts. His hands follow his mouth, palms cupping your breasts as he starts to massage the soft flesh.

He moans against your skin, his touch almost reverent. His body thrums with an aching need, the desire to be closer to you nearly overwhelming as he captures your lips in another hungry kiss. He cups your breasts in his hands, his fingers kneading the supple flesh as they press into your skin. His touch is soft but firm, his hands large enough to cover them completely

Clark pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss but keeping his eyes locked with yours. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving with anticipation. He can feel your heart racing beneath his palms as he gently caresses your breasts. "Are you sure about this?" He whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I don't want to rush you." His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

You smile up at him, placing a soft hand on his cheek. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life," you reply, your voice barely above a murmur. The sincerity in your tone sends a thrill through him, confirming that this is what you both want.

He nods, his expression serious as he leans back down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. He savors the taste of you, the feel of your body pressed against his. His hand slides up to the back of your neck, cradling it as he deepens the kiss, exploring every inch of your mouth with his tongue.

As the kiss lingers, he slowly starts to unbutton the rest of your shirt, taking his time to reveal each new inch of your skin. His eyes never leave yours, watching for any signs of discomfort or hesitation. You melt into him, your own hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as the fabric of your shirt falls away.

The moment your skin is fully exposed, the air in the room seems to crackle with tension. He leans down to press a line of soft, wet kisses along your collarbone, feeling your body shiver beneath his touch. He takes a moment to just look at you, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Your cheeks flush with pleasure as he says the words, his eyes devouring your exposed flesh. He takes his time, kissing and caressing every inch of your body, his hands moving in a slow, tantalizing dance that leaves you trembling with need. Each touch is a promise of what's to come, each kiss a declaration of his desire for you.

The room is filled with the sound of your mingled breaths and the soft whispers of your names on each other's lips. The anticipation is almost unbearable, but you both know that the slow burn of this moment is only making the fire between you grow hotter.

Clark finally takes one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling gently as he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. You arch your back, gasping at the sensation, your hands tightening in his hair. He teases and worships each peak, his tongue swirling and flicking, drawing out your moans of pleasure.

As you lay there, the warmth of his mouth on your skin, the softness of the couch beneath you, and the gentle pressure of his body above, you can't help but feel that this is exactly where you're meant to be. With each tender kiss and caress, he's claiming you, and you're willingly giving yourself to him.

The movie on the TV becomes background noise as the only thing that matters is the connection growing stronger between you both. His kisses trail down your stomach, his hands skimming over your hips to the waistband of your underwear.

He kisses the skin just above the waistband, the heat of his breath making you squirm. "I want to make this perfect for you," he murmurs, his eyes looking up at you for approval. You nod, unable to form words as your breath catches in your throat.

He takes his time, pulling down your underwear in one smooth motion, exposing your most intimate parts to his gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he looks at you, but he keeps his touches feather-light, his mouth hovering just above your skin without making contact.

Clark takes a deep breath, savoring the moment as he gazes down at your exposed body. He gently kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs, moving closer to the apex of your legs. His eyes are filled with a fiery hunger that makes your heart race even faster. He presses a soft kiss to your mound, feeling you tense up at the contact. 

Then, with a gentle caress, he parts your legs wider, his gaze never leaving yours. You can see the desire in his eyes, and it only fuels the fire burning within you. With a soft sigh, he lowers his mouth to you, his tongue tracing the seam of your folds with the lightest touch. You moan, your body trembling as he starts to explore you, taking his time to learn every curve and sensitive spot. 

Each touch is a declaration of his intention to worship you, to take things slow and savor every second of this shared intimacy. His fingers join his mouth, gently teasing and exploring, bringing you closer to the edge with every stroke. The room is filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths and soft whimpers, the only soundtrack to this passionate symphony of desire.

Clark continues his gentle exploration, his tongue circling your clit with a patience that borders on agonizing. He's not in a hurry; he wants to savor every moment of this, to make sure you feel loved and desired. His fingers slide into your wetness, curling gently as he begins to stroke you internally, matching the rhythm of his tongue. 

You can't help but whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as the sensations build within you. He's so attentive, so in tune with your body's responses that you feel like you're floating on a cloud of pure pleasure. Each kiss, each caress is a testament to the connection growing between you, and you know that this is just the beginning of a night that will change everything.

Clark's eyes never leave yours as he shifts his position, aligning his body with yours. His hand moves to guide himself, and with a gentle nod from you, he begins to press into you. His movements are slow and deliberate, his expression one of intense concentration as he tries to read your every reaction. You can feel the tip of him pushing against your entrance, the anticipation of what's to come making you squirm.

As he enters you, he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his voice a soothing balm to the building passion. He's so big, so thick, but he's so gentle that it's almost a surprise when he's fully sheathed inside you. You gasp, your eyes flying open, and he stills, giving you a moment to adjust to the sensation of being filled by him.

He waits, his eyes searching yours for any sign of pain or discomfort. When he sees none, he starts to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that makes your toes curl. Each thrust is met with a soft moan from your lips, his name slipping from your mouth like a prayer as he fills you completely.

The feeling of him inside you is unlike anything you've ever experienced. It's as if your bodies are made for this, as if every inch of him is meant to be connected to every inch of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands sliding down to grip his firm ass as he moves within you.

The room seems to spin around you, the only constant is the feeling of him, the sound of your hearts beating in sync. He kisses you again, his movements becoming more urgent as the passion takes over. You can feel him thickening, growing even more inside you, and you know that he's getting closer to the edge.

You whisper for him to go faster, to give you more, and he responds eagerly, his strokes deepening and quickening. Your body responds in kind, your hips rising to meet his, the friction between you building until it's almost unbearable. You're both so close, the tension coiled tight in your stomachs, ready to snap.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, it does. You cry out, your body arching off the couch as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He follows shortly after, his own release shaking his body as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

For a moment, you just lay there, your bodies entwined, your hearts racing. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulls back, his eyes searching yours for any signs of regret. But all he sees is pure satisfaction, a mirror to what's reflected in his own gaze. He leans down to kiss you gently, a soft promise of more to come.

[malum-forev]

Eyes, They Never Lie

Summary: Sam and Bucky try to recruit (Y/N), Bucky's ex and a former Avenger who has left that life behind. But they realize her life has changed completely once they meet a her daughter with striking blue eyes.

Pairings: Bucky x Former!Avenger!Reader

“They want me to assemble a group,” Sam takes a long sip of his beer, thinking that it’ll do something to ease his mind. “The New Avengers.”

Bucky lets out a low whistle.

“I know.” Sam mutters. So far, it’s Captain America and the Falcon, but other than that, he’s completely lost. “Back when Steve was here, there was a place for us to go. We could aspire to one day go into the compound and train, but now, anyone who is willing to be part of the team is scattered all around the world.”

Bucky hasn’t said anything, not because he doesn’t know how to help his friend but because he’s so lost in his own journey. Running for congress sounded like a good idea, until he started dealing with the political world. So much bureaucracy, so many people wanting to fatten their wallets. And not enough actual helping.

“You got any ideas?” Sam asks, bringing him out of his mind.

But Bucky just hums, because the idea he does have is crazy.

“C’mon I know that being a silent watcher is your whole deal but I need some help over here. How the hell am I going to build a team from zero?”

Bucky finishes his drink, as if that’s going to help jumpstart his confidence. “Are you looking for fresh meat? Or do you got space for an old timer?”

Sam’s eyes widen. “I thought all your fighting days were behind you.”

“I want out,” Bucky loosens the tie on his neck. “I want to go out on the field again. Really help.”

Sam runs a hand down his face, there’s hesitation in the way he looks at Bucky. 

“Unless…” Bucky gulps. “Unless I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“No, no.” Sam places a hand on his shoulder. “I just need to tell you something before you say yes to this-“

“What is it?”

“I was-uh-“ Sam looks up at the screen above them, not wanting to look at his friend in the eye when he says it. “I was gonna ask her to join, too.”

“Oh,” Bucky can’t help but think back to when you were his, at least for a moment. Every time he thinks about being happy, you’re right there next to him. 

You were the first woman he was actually interested in. He spent years wasting time with thousands of women, letting them in his apartment but never into his heart. But your eyes reeled him in from the moment you started as an agent. Steve would always tease Bucky, saying he’d have to see you fall in love with someone else if he didn’t ask you out. 

Those were the best years of his life. No doubt.

Until you left. You retired, and wanted nothing to do with him. And all the love you had seemed to evaporate from one day to the next.

But Bucky? He was still waiting for you to come back. 

“I-I thought she disappeared, retired.” Bucky stutters at your memory. 

“I found out where she lives now. And I planned on talking her into the group.” Sam looks down at the beer in his hand.

“I’m in.” Bucky says, but he’ll never be sure if he accepted because he wanted out of the political world or if he wanted another glimpse of you. 

-------

“The house is supposed to be up the road.” Sam mutters, trying to find cel reception. But the two of them were so deep into the woods, it was almost impossible. 

Bucky had always imagined you’d end up like this. Off the grid, living off your land. But in the dream, the two of you would be together. He’d spend the day cutting wood and harvesting whatever you’d grown, and you’d be deep into a hobby, spending your nights recounting your wild life. 

They see an opening up the road, but as they come closer, their eyebrows knit together.

“This can’t be it.” Sam says under his breath.

A huge cabin, surrounded by pine trees, is the only thing around. There’s a big tree at the front of the cabin, with a tree house on one of its branches. A glittery pink bike on the lawn along with a replica of Mjolnir next to it.

Sam parks his truck and they both step out cautiously. Bucky looks around, wondering how the woman who used to scream at the sight of a spider could live here, all alone.

As they come closer to the front door, they hear rustling from the tree house.

Bucky nudges his friend’s shoulder. “There’s someone over here.” 

Sam’s head whips just enough to see a pair of binoculars looking at them from the wooden window. 

“Hello?” He calls out but there’s no answer.

“Do you live here?” Bucky asks, only to be slapped on the chest by his friend.

“You can’t ask that! It’s creepy!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “How else am I supposed to get an answer if I don’t ask a question?” 

But there's no response from the person inside the tree house. Instead, there's clanking and banging and before they even realize it, there's a little girl pointing a bow and arrow directly at them.

"State your name! Now!" She tries to look menacing but her outfit is too much for the two men to handle. Sky blue rain boots with a purple tutu, a Def Leppard t-shirt and heart shaped sunglasses.

"Oh my god." Sam immediately melts. "Aren't you the cutest little thing I've ever seen."

But the little girl doesn't fall for the Captain's words, she points the arrow directly at Sam. "Don't make me repeat my question, I know how to use this."

"Do you live with an adult? Your aunt, maybe?" Bucky's throat dries up as he asks the question. He knew you had siblings before you went into the crazy line of work that were the Avengers, and he begged that the little girl before him was theirs.

Bucky spent hours thinking about you on the way here. He'd been dreaming of seeing you again, thinking of what must have changed and what stayed the same. But he never thought there was a possibility you had moved on.

"Is your-" Bucky clears his throat. "Is your dad home?"

Sam eyes his partner. "Smooth."

The little girl walks backwards until her back bumps into the cabin's front door. "I'll call my daddy."

Bucky's heart stops. After years, he was still thinking of you whenever his eyes closed, and you, you were completely over him. Started a family with someone else.

"I'm sorry, Buck." Sam pats his back, immediately noticing the shift in his friend's eyes.

"S'okay." Bucky mutters, grinding his combat boot into the ground. "I'm not here for her, I'm here to assemble the team."

"I know, but-"

"I said I'm fine." Bucky snaps, running a hand through his shorter hair.

You'd begged him, for years, to cut his hair.

"I love your long hair," you'd once murmured against his lips. "But I also love how you looked during the Howling Commandos era."

"Era? You're making me sound more old than I am." Bucky smiled against your lips.

"I'm just saying, you could shorten it." Whenever you looked into his eyes, it made him feel like he was the only thing in the world.

"I thought you liked pulling my hair." Bucky flipped you on the bed, taking in your bubbling laughter.

The creaking sound of the cabin door brought him back to now. Bucky sucks in air, preparing to meet the man who is apparently so incredible that you decided to drop everything to be with him.

He has to be at last six feet. Well I'm 6 foot 1, on a good day. Bucky responds to his own thoughts. And he must be jacked. Not as jacked as me, I'm the fucking Winter Soldier for fucks sake! He must love her. Well I, I've loved her every day since I met her.

It feels like it takes hours for this mystery man to come out. The door opens slowly, only to reveal... You.

Bucky's knees buckle as your eyes meet his. You hadn't changed a lick, and if he didn't know better, he'd think that you were still his. Bucky's hands ball into fists at his side, needing a physical reminder to not reach out and hold you. Beg for your kisses. Tell you he doesn't care that you left, just as long as you take him back.

"Sam? Bucky?" Your voice trembles. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

The little girl pokes her head from behind your legs. "Mommy!"

"Mommy?" Sam and Bucky shriek at the same time.

"Attack them! Take them down!" Your daughter laughs.

"Young lady!" You scold.

But the little girl interrupts you, raising a chubby hand to stop your words. "I've already told you my name is Tashi Romanoff."

"Tashi, please, go upstairs and play. I need to talk to them for a moment. In private." You enunciate your last two words, knowing they were her least favorite words in the world.

"Fine," she huffs, turning on her heels. But not before taking off her rain boots and heart shaped sunglasses to reveal a pair of striking eyes. Clear blue with a steel ring surrounding her iris. Bucky's brows furrow as he catches a glimpse of Tashi's eyes, almost the same exact shade as the one he sports.

"W-wai-She's-" Bucky stutters out, not being able to comprehend what just happened.

"Tashi, huh?" Sam raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah, she’s going through a phase where she refuses to be called by her name," you close the door behind you. "Auntie Nat came to visit us during the blip and she just latched on to her."

"W-was her dad blipped?" Bucky tries to act normal but his heart is beating out of his chest.

"Her dad isn't in the picture." You cross your arms. "She was a surprise."

"So-uh-so that means." Bucky points between him and the house. Not being able to get the words out. "There's no way that."

"She's not yours, Barnes." You roll your eyes at your ex boyfriend.

"But she-her eyes." He blinks.

"There are a lot of guys with blue eyes out there." You let out a light laugh. It was strangely easy for you to slip into how things were, teasing and sharing laughs was the base of your relationship with Bucky. But now, so much time has passed, and you're definitely not the same person you were back then.

"What are you guys doing here?" You look down at the floor as you ask the question.

"Someone out there has created a mind controlling substance that puts everyone in danger. And we need to stop him. We found his lab and we got some of the vials but we need your help taking him down." Sam says but you're shaking your head before he even has time to finish. "I want to form a group. The world needs us again."

"Look, Sam, I appreciate you going through all the trouble to find me but, as you can see, I have other priorities now." You look back into the house through the window to find your daughter peeking through the window.

"But-" Bucky speaks up but you stop him.

"You guys can stay the night if you'd like," you say, looking at the darkening sky. "But I'm not going back. There's a reason I left that life."

Bucky bites his tongue to stop himself from asking you what that reason was.

"Thanks for letting us stay." Sam smiles as he passes the threshold of your home.

You never thought this day would come. Seeing your daughter run around your back yard with one of your best friends.

“She’s beautiful.” Bucky comes to stand next to you, but you only hum in agreement. Words seemingly disappeared from your mind the second his scent wafted closer to you. Sandalwood and fire, clean linens with a dash of something else. So masculine, so protective. So incredibly, Bucky. 

“How old is she?” He asks.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” You take a deep breath in, letting him coat your lungs. 

“I just want to know.” Bucky tries to act innocently. He dissects every trait he can tell comes from you, but the rest, they look awfully similar to him. Tashi’s nose has the same bump as his and her eyes crinkle just like Bucky’s when she smiles. 

“Faking was never your forte.” You smile. “She’s not your daughter Bucky.”

“Bucky.” He repeats his name like it hurts him to say. “You never used to call me that.” 

“Well, I used to call you baby but I wouldn’t want Tashi to start asking questions about who my other baby is.” 

Bucky lets out a laugh, it’s a low grumble that shakes his ribs. It’s been so long since he felt this peace. “I missed this,” he lets the words slip out.

“I missed this too.” You say, barely above a whisper, stopping yourself before you say that you missed him. But you did.

Every day since you left, you thought of Bucky. Of the way he used to hold you so tenderly and the kisses he gave you at night. Of how he said I love you and made it sound like the only words that existed.

But all those memories were of the past, your life before Tashi came in. And you should keep them like that.

-----

The moonlight is the only thing that illuminates Bucky as he wanders around the cabin. He didn't mean to lurk but he'd woken up from a nightmare.

Your home was different than he imagined. A lot more stuffed animals and toys and less trinkets from your past life. There were a couple of pictures here and there but they were mostly of Tashi and you.

"What are you doing up?" Bucky jumps up at the sound of her squeaky voice.

Tashi looks up at him with those goddamned eyes. They looked so much like his, it was concerning.

"I-I couldn't sleep." Bucky rubs the back of his neck.

"Do you have nightmares?" She asks so innocently. If only she knew the things he dreamed of. "I have them too."

"You do?" Bucky whispers, making her nod her little head.

"Mommy usually helps be back to sleep but I don't want to wake her up." Tashi brings a finger to her mouth, motioning for the Sergeant to keep quiet. "Don't tell her I woke up, promise?"

"Promise." Bucky brings out his pinky, wrapping it around her little finger. "I'll let you in on a little secret of mine."

Tashi's blue eyes widen, urging him to go on.

"You may not know about me but, there was a time your Mommy helped me with my nightmares." Bucky smiles at the memory.

"I know about you, silly goose." Tashi covers her giggles with her hand.

"You do?"

She nods, holding her hand out and taking him to her playroom. Sitting Bucky in an incredibly small chair. "You're the boy from my book!"

Tashi places in his hands a hand sewn felt book. The characters were a bit wonky but Bucky could immediately spot himself in the fabric.

"You're the boy with the heart of gold and the arm of steel." She says, proudly pointing to the book.

"The boy with the heart of gold and the arm of steel would save anyone, especially the people he loved," Bucky read his description on the book. "People around the world misjudged him, but that didn't stop him from being good. He proved them all wrong."

"You're my favorite character," Tashi smiles wide. "Don't tell Uncle Sam."

"Your secret is safe with me." Bucky lets out a watery smile, setting the book down on the floor. "How about you go up to your room and I can tell you a story about your mom."

"Really?" Tashi jumps up.

"Only if you promise to try and go to sleep again." Bucky raises his eyebrow, trying to appear strong but the little girl already had him wrapped around her finger.

"Under one condition," Tashi crosses her arms. "I can go outside and get my Natasha figurine."

Bucky bites down on his lip. "It's quite late to go outside."

"Please?" She pouts. "It'll only take a second."

God she looks so much like you.

"Fine." Bucky gives in. "But I'll be watching by the door, can't let you go outside all alone."

The super soldier walks behind the little girl, watching as she runs outside and sifts through the grass.

Bucky should have known something was wrong, he should have heard them lurking in the bushes. But he was too distracted by her, too distracted by the idea that this could have been his life. That in some multiverse, Tashi was his daughter and he could've retired next to the love of his life.

But he didn't. And it was too late once he realized what was happening.

Tens of agents dressed in black closed in on the cabin, running onto the property. Tashi was the first thing they grabbed.

He heard her yell out his name, but it happened in slow motion.

"No!" Bucky screamed, running towards the man who kidnapped her. "Let her go!"

Tashi's red splotched eyes was the last thing Bucky saw before they crammed her into a black van and left down the only road. His feet burned as he ran behind them, but not even Bucky was able to catch up to them.

Once he came back to the cabin, Sam and you were running around trying to understand what happened.

"I'm sorry." Bucky lets the tears run down his face. "I couldn't stop them."

You dropped to the floor with a sob.

Bucky's knees finally gave out. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry- We're going to get her back, I promise that I'll get her back."

Authors note: hi hiiii omg I went a little bit overboard with this one. It's been a looooong time since I wrote something this long. I hope y'all like it! Xx

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @whoreforbarnes @ironwinnerwonderland @oikarma @ellabellabunny123

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

lotus

a/n: this has been sitting half-written on my pc for i don't even know how many months (tbh at least half a year. i was living somewhere else when i started it wow). finally took a deep breath and finished it (though with an ending that kinda flies by a bit because just wanted it to get done. i was scared that the story would never see the light of day, so zooming through the ending was a better option)

summary: a nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

warnings: massage therapist!bucky barnes x reader, smut, sex worker!bucky, bucky doesn't have the metal arm in this one, thinking that your friend just signed you up for a normal massage but then it turns out to be an erotic one, kissing, dirty talk, manhandling, fingering, toys, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, anal, double penetration

word count: 4000

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

With a hand tangled up in one of the ties of the robe you wore, you answered your front door after finally hearing the bells chime.

“Hi,” a soft smile swiftly warmed up the features of the man standing on the other side of the threshold, “are you miss Y/l/n?”

“Yeah, I am,” a tingle of nerves flickered through your body as your gaze washed over him, “you must be the masseuse.”

Why did he have to be so attractive? If it was this difficult to remember to breathe when he was standing completely out of your reach, then how were you going to survive a guy such as him touching you?

Following your gaze down to the folded-up table he carried, he nodded, “guilty,” before setting down the duffle bag he clutched in his other hand and extended it for you to grasp, “my name is Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you briefly shook it, “nice to meet you.”

“You too,” the touch faded, and he bent down to pick the supplies back up, “so, where should I set up?”

“Oh, in here, in the living room,” you gestured behind you and shifted to the side for him to enter. As he set up everything, you stayed at the perimeter and felt your heartbeat thump behind your ribcage, “is it weird that I’m a bit nervous?” you then quietly asked.

Briefly pausing his actions as he unfurled the massage table, he cast a glance your way.

“It’s not weird at all, it’s okay,” he stated in a calm tone, “but I assure you, this is a completely safe space, you’re in good hands.”

“I just–, this wasn’t exactly my idea, or even at all,” your hands fiddle further with the terrycloth tie around your waist as you began to ramble, “Nat, my friend, she told me that I needed to relax, so she booked this appointment for me as a treat. I don’t even know what it is she signed me up for, if it was just like a little five-minute long thing or what.”

“Oh no, she signed you up for the full package, 90 minutes.” 

“Really?” your eyebrows rose, “wow, that’s amazing.”

Once the table was set up and he rummaged through the bag for a towel as well as other supplies, his low timbre filled the room once more.

“So, before we start, I’d just like to ask if there’s anything off limits to you, anything you don’t like or that you’re not interested in? Or perhaps something in particular you’d like today?”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” your eyes narrowed slightly as you thought, quickly scanning through your body to get a good sense, “you can just be as rough with me as you want.”

“Alright, you like it rough, good to know,” you felt yourself suck in a silent breath at the way the phrase fell from his lips, “you ready to begin?”

“Yep,” you swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered he seemed to make you. 

He then lifted up the ivory sheets he’d sprawled out on the plush bench and held it up high, giving you a smidge of privacy as you dropped your robe to a nearby armchair, before laying down on the table and feeling the cotton drape over you. 

As you layed there on your stomach with your face comfortably nestled in the little nook, you sensed Bucky adjust the fabric, folding it down so that your entire back was exposed. 

A dull click found your ears as he pumped some oil into his palm. The very first touch conjured a brisk breath to fill your lungs as his hands slid along your spine, spreading the slickness around. 

Though when you finally managed to force yourself to relax into his touch, a soft moan slipped from your lips as his meticulous grip found a muscle particularly sore.

“Sorry,” you timidly apologized for the sound. 

But he simply zeroed in on the very spot that had made you groan and said, “don’t apologize, whatever bubbles up, please let it out.”

Your lips stayed half parted as his touch dug deeper, “it just feels really good right there...”

“Yeah, you seem to be holding a lot of tension in your back, especially right here between your shoulder blades.”

“Probably all the time on the couch,” you let out a pitiful chuckle, “I just kept on getting into uncomfortable positions and then stayed like that. Which, funnily enough, is pretty symbolic of how I ended up there in the first place, stuffing my face with Ben and Jerry’s and binging the most depressing of romcoms.”

“Bad breakup?” he guessed. 

“I don’t think you can call it a break-up if you never really were together in the first place,” you let out a sigh. Yet again had you fallen for a guy who’d turned out to be a complete and utter asshole, “men are just pigs,” you spat out, “no offence.”

“Oh, none taken,” he uttered, “you know, it’s actually very common for people to get this particular treatment after something like that.”

“Really? Your touch is on the same level as bawling your eyes out to Joni Mitchell?” you jested, “well, now I’m really happy that I let my friend talk me into this.”

Soon, when his touch had kneaded every inch of your back, it faded away and reappeared lower on your frame as you then felt him fold the sheet up to expose your legs, letting the thin fabric only drape across and cover the curve of your bottom. 

Once his touch had soothingly wandered up the length of your legs and as his broad palms dented your slightly parted thighs, you nearly didn’t notice through the trance-like state you’d drifted off to when his reach crept close enough to your core to feel the heat radiating off it. A gasp parted your lips as his fingers briefly ghosted against the very outside of your puff before retreating back down your thigh. 

“Is it alright if remove this for a bit?” he then asked as you felt his hand clutch the sliver of modesty that remained. 

“Oh, uhm,” you fought to comprehend his question through the haze you’d slipped into, both the haze of relaxation, though maybe more predominately the haze of sin, which was most likely what had swayed you to utter, “sure,” trying your best to stay calm as he removed the sheet completely. 

It became a difficult task to keep your quiet noises at bay and have them not seep through your heavy breath as he then began to massage the soft peak of your butt. 

You tried to remind yourself that it was the biggest muscle on the human body and thereby completely normal to be treated in this manner, but that truth would have been easier to swallow if it had been a less attractive specimen touching you in such a way. 

Eventually, Bucky’s lavish rubs came to spread you apart with each repetitive motion, surely granting himself a perfect view of just how mortifyingly wet you’d become. 

As he let his broad thumbs dig into your sitting points, you told yourself it was the slipperiness of the oil that caused his fingers to sweep closer to your core and not your own nectar that had leaked down towards his touch. 

It felt so good that your hips unconsciously tilted up and into his touch, as his thumbs slid close enough to caress your outer lips, nearly capturing them in a gentle pinch. 

You didn’t know how long it took, how long you essentially grinded into him as if you were in heat, but eventually, you snapped out of your fog and realized just where his fingers were. 

“U-uh… w-what are you doing?” your frame jumped slightly at the realization.

“Do you not like this?” his touch paused, though didn’t retreat. 

“Why–, uhm…” you nearly panted, “you’re just very close to somewhere else.”

And when he simply uttered, “yeah, I know,” in an almost amused and cocky tone. You swiftly propped yourself up onto your arms and glared back at him, successfully prompting him to rip his hands away.

Snatching the sheet back over your frame as you scrambled to a seat, you stared back at him in utter shock, “I’m sorry, but are you actually trying to sleep with me right now?”

His brows furrowed slightly as he blinked back at you, seemingly confused at your outburst, “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’ve had massages before, that was not–… that right there was something else. That was not you doing your job, that was your hands being persuaded by your dick.”

A nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh boy, I’m sorry, I thought you knew…” his glance fell to the floor as he then began to enlighten, “well, the lotus wellness center, where I work, specializes in the blend of not just physical and mental health, but also sexual health and satisfaction. An erotic massage, like the one you were signed up for, is one of the many services we offer.”

Your eyes had grown as wide as saucers during his explanation, “o-oh…”

“I totally understand if you wanna stop, if you’re not interested.”

“I–…” you tried to make heads or tails of the situation you found yourself in, “so you were gonna–, what? Fuck me?”

“I was gonna try and make you feel good, help you relax and unwind. You were signed up for the aurelia treatment which would involve me using my hands to pleasure you, as well as whatever toys you might be interested in.”

“Toys?”

“Yes, I have a generous collection with me,” he briefly gestured back to the duffle bag resting on the couch. 

“Okay, uhm…” one of your palms came down to brush over your features as you fought to comprehend it all.

“Do you want me to pack up and go?” you heard him ask. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, before you even realized it was moving, you shook your head. Letting your gaze flutter back up to find his, you exhaled lowly, “fuck…”

“I can also just give you a completely traditional massage if that’s what you want.”

“…and if I wanna try the other thing?” you nearly whispered. 

“Do you?”  

“I–…” you tried to speak, though couldn’t find the words and ended up just hazily nodding back at him. 

“Alright,” he gently mirrored the nod that still faintly rocked your head, “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise. You just say the word, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed, shivering slightly at the tingle of goosebumps that spread across your flesh. 

The way he held your gaze a moment longer before shifting it to the massage table you still sat upon made you feel as if you might melt off it entirely.

“Lay back down,” he faintly nodded to the bench. 

Your eyes stayed glued on him long after you now layed sprawled out on your back. 

Letting his touch graze the sheet you still absentmindedly clutched to your chest, he asked, “do you wanna keep this on?”

“No,” you shook your head faintly, “you can remove it.”

“Okay,” he gently peeled the fabric off of you, “just say if you get cold, alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fantasy you found yourself in. 

He began by working at your arms, tenderly spreading some oil across them and massaging down the length of them, one at a time, till his skilful fingers descended to work at your palms. It nearly felt as if he was merely holding your hand before he tossed you into the deep end with how intimate the simple beginning sensed. 

You couldn’t command your gaze to leave his visage as you traced his every move as if he was made of stardust. 

When his warmth let go of your hand, he reached for the bottle of oil that didn’t have a pump and unscrewed the top. Your bottom lip got caught by your teeth as he then poured a bit out over your stomach, curving the s-waves of droplets all the way up and across your boobs, dripping over your pebbly nipples as they stared back at him. 

As Bucky began to rub it in, he first stared softly down at your belly before swooping up, only to skip over your tits entirely and instead yanking a disappointed whimper from your lungs as he then commenced massaging your shoulders. 

You felt a bit lightheaded as you blinked up at him, all tall and broad, looming above your head and digging his warm touch into the base of your neck. 

Though when his rough palms finally did swoop down to caress your soft peaks, he quietly checked in, “this okay?” to which you simply nodded your head, eyebrows knitting together at the intenseness of the built-up anticipation.

Your entire chest cage heaved beneath his touch as he finally massaged your boobs, even occasionally fleeting away to ghost across your nipples, only to capture them in a pinch the next moment. 

You felt as if you were floating down a calm stream, letting the river of sin take you somewhere new and wonderful. 

Eventually, his broad palms swept up and down your form, though each time his reach dared to near your core, he barely touched you at all, missing entirely the spots that throbbed for attention, which of course only caused the sensation to deepen and render you even more desperate from his teasing. 

When he then shifted to stand to the side of the patted table, his deep voice washed over you once more as his touch stayed warm against your skin.

“Everything okay so far?”

“Yeah…” you hummed as you lazily blinked up at him, and the soft smile that curved your lips caused a similar one to bloom upon his own. 

His slow stride then carried him further down till his fingers began to dent the softness of your thighs. 

After he’d made your eyes flutter at the way he worked at the muscles in your legs, focusing on one thigh at a time, slowing working his way up till his fingertips stretched to dizzily brush against your outermost petals, it was then, that his sweeps grew and blossomed till one fleeting tease to your centre morphed into more as he kept coming back, each fluttering time slowly transforming till the maddening pets had become everything you’d dreamed of.

Soft whimpers flowed out of your lungs as he gently folded each of your legs up by your sides and cracked you wide open for him.  

As he gazed down at you with such intensity you’d never experienced before, it only took one step for him to change his angle and stand tall next to your hips. 

Letting his palms run up your inner thighs, the edges of each of his broad thumbs then met and joined on either side of your pussy as he captured it in a light pinch, making you moan softly, “fuck….” as his touch rolled your clit through your glistening puff. 

You nearly didn’t catch it because of how hard your own pants were, but Bucky’s own breaths had picked up as well and with a few stray curses seeping through his teeth as he continued to pluck at the strings of your pleasure. 

But then, before you could truly lose yourself to the ecstasy you felt flicking in your periphery, his hands slipped away, a smirk fast on his lips as a whine escaped you and he returned his attention to the rest of your body. Though thankfully, his torture only carried on a short moment before he finally granted you the first of many treats.

“Oh, yeah,” you couldn’t help but moan as he rubbed your clit and carried you over the peak. 

“Right there?” he leaned down closer to you as he kept up his pace, his free hand coming to rest right beside your head as he loomed over you. 

“Yeah,” you breathlessly panted as your body trembled beneath his touch. 

“Yeah?” he huskily echoed, nearly sharing your breath as he drew out your orgasm for as long as he could, and even as your body began to squirm at the sensitivity that swiftly set in, his touch never left you, only lightened to make it bearable and tickle you back from the high. 

He studied your features fiercely as his fingers then came down to tease your entrance. 

“How about this?” your leaky hole swallowed up the two digits he swiftly filled it with, “how’s that? Is that what you want?”

“Oh fuck!” your back briefly arched and lifted you off the table, closer to him for but a moment as sloppy sounds of your want echoed at the slow rhythm he played you at. 

“Or do you need a little more maybe?” he sneaked another finger inside, “huh?” his frame then bent down till you could feel his hot breath fan across your face, “what do you want? You want something more to make you feel good right here?” his fingers slid back out of your pussy and fluttered up till they found your puffy pearl, “or here?” he briefly soared back down to plug up your cunt once more, but only offered you one messily rock before his digits slipped back out and drifted down much further than you expected, “or maybe even here?” you let out a gasp as the slick pads of his fingers glided over your little rosebud. 

“I–, I–,” you struggled to answer him, feeling so foggy that you might just fall off the table, “fuck…” 

“I have any toy you could dream of with me,” he purred as your grip found his shirt for support, “so, what do you want?”

“I want–, I want–”

“What?” he pushed as he continued to stare down into your eyes. 

And as blinked back at him, only one wish came to mind, one that you timidly whispered, “y-you…”

But as fear began to prickle at your nerves, they all dissipated as the masseuse wasn’t offended at all, your words somehow conjuring a dazzled smile to appear upon his lip before he then chuckled warmly, “roll over for me.”

You nearly gave yourself whiplash from the hast you tried to fulfil his command.         

As he soon kneeled down to be on level with where your head was now twisted and resting on its side, his hand drifted up for you to spot the dildo clutched in his grasp. 

Handing it off to your flicking fingers, his touch briefly lingered on your cheek, stroking it softly as he said, “then pretend this is me, will you? Get it nice and sloppy for me.”

When you began to plant pecks across the silicon, your eyes shadowed him as far as they could as he straightened back up and walked back far enough to disappear from your sight, only for you to know where he’d gone to once you felt his mouth begin to devour you whole. 

It became difficult to concentrate on the task he’d given you, so much so that he had to remind you each time his lavish tongue buried between your legs caused your own to forget itself. 

Arching your ass further up towards his efforts, he tilted away from your drooling cunt and instead nipped up till he lapped against your other hole. 

“Oh, that feels really good,” you moaned around the dildo as you tried to catch a glimpse of him, though only saw the edge of one of his hands and they dented your bottom. 

“Yeah?” he let a dollop of spit drop to your rosebud before he nudged the pad of a thumb against it, “you like having this little hole played with?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, then watched as he momentarily dipped away to snatch up a butt plug from the zipped-open treasure trove his bag was. 

Once the toy was snugly buried within your little ass, he snatched the dildo out of your mouth and a string of your drool chased the silicone as he brought it back to tap against the sloppy petals of your pussy. 

It didn’t take very long after he’d begun to fuck you with the toy that you tumbled over the edge once more, making you that much more malleable when he yanked at your legs and manhandled you down to the bottom of the bench till your unsteady feet were once again on the floor and he had you bent over the table like a needy whore. 

That was also when your weak pleas began to bubble out, begging for him to fill you up with something other than a toy. 

Even though you couldn’t see his face, you swore you heard a tinge of astonishment in his tone when he asked you to clarify, making sure it really was him that had you begging and not just the way he made you feel. 

Though once you finally managed to convey the sincerity of your words and convince him of the way he and not just the acts he was performing, drove you wild, it was in the middle of chasing your next high that he broke his pattern and traded out the dildo with his own hard cock. 

A low moan seeped across your spine as he buried his length completely and let himself melt down against your back. Letting himself savour the sweetness of your warmth clenching around his fat girth, it took him a while before he finally began to move and soon found a steady pace that had your toes curling against the floorboards. 

His fingers gently dug into the soreness still remaining all down your back as his hips repeatedly collided with the plush of your ass in desperate thrusts. Though as his digits worked their way down the length of your spine, they eventually found the little plug that still remained in your ass. 

Teasingly twisting the toy, you thought that was everything he had planned, though all of those fantasies fluttered away when he suddenly yanked the small plug out and switched it with the bigger toy still firm in his grasp, your little hole only managing to wink up at him before he stuffed it full once more. 

You lost track of the amount of times he made you cum as the remainder of the intense dance became a bit of a blur. At one point he had you flipped around and lying on your back, gasping up at him as he folded you in half and nearly broke the massage table beneath you from how hard his deep strokes were. At the next, the dildo he drove you mad with was traded out with his own fat cock and he conjured a vibrating wand to hold against your puffy clit as he watched your pussy leak from the bliss. But at the end, once you were nothing more than a puddle on the table, his load painted against your tits as he let his frame drape down atop of yours, a hazy question left your lips.

“Is that usually how that goes?” you asked as you both panted, plastered against one another. 

Raising himself up only enough for his eye to catch your own, he uttered sincerely, “no…” and his gaze flickered down towards your lips, “no, it is not…” before he let himself give you the thing you hadn’t dared to request. The kiss was so sweet it nearly caused you to forget the sinful acts you’d just wrapped up.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[honeyandruin]

Torque and Tension - Mechanic!Joel Miller x Reader

____ •°• ⚙ •°• ____ ____ •°• ⚙ •°• ____ ____ •°• ⚙ •°

Pairing: mechanic!Joel Miller x Reader (also dbf!Joel)

Summary: Your dad’s best friend is a mechanic. You’ve been finding excuses to bring your car in—he’s been finding excuses to keep you close. One late night in the garage, the tension snaps.

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. Age gap (dad’s best friend). Praise kink (“good girl,” “you were made for this”). Sex in the garage (including over the hood of a car). Joel being big, sweaty, and losing control. Guilt, denial, and emotional restraint. Soft, intimate shower aftermath.

Word count: 6.7k

____ •°• ⚙ •°• ____ ____ •°• ⚙ •°• ____ ____ •°• ⚙ •°

You really did have a reason this time.

The check engine light had been blinking for two days—flickering on and off like it couldn’t make up its mind, like it wasn’t sure whether to ruin your week yet. By the third morning, your car started making a sound you could only describe as “anxiety in metal form.”

So you drove to the only place in town you trusted.

And that’s the problem.

Because Joel Miller owns the shop. Joel Miller has been fixing cars since before you were born. Joel Miller is your best friend’s father.

And Joel Miller is under your car with his shirt rucked up to his ribs and your ability to think clearly lodged somewhere between your thighs.

You shift on your feet beside the garage lift, arms crossed tightly against your chest. The fan in the corner of the bay blows hot air in lazy circles, mixing with the burnt tang of rubber and the sharp, dry bite of old oil. It smells like heat and metal and him—soap and skin and sweat, overlaid with that cologne he probably applies without thinking. That kind of clean, masculine scent that never fades. Just clings.

He’s flat on his back beneath the undercarriage of your car, a socket wrench clutched in one thick, stained hand, the other braced against the metal frame as he mutters something under his breath.

You can see a bead of sweat roll from the edge of his hairline, down the side of his temple. His shirt’s damp at the neck. There’s a streak of grease running from the side of his palm all the way up his forearm.

You’ve never been so jealous of a car in your life.

Joel’s voice cuts through the thick air, deep and rough like gravel dragged over concrete.

"How long’d you let it rattle like that?"

You blink. “Uh… not long. Just since yesterday.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, scooting further underneath with a scrape of denim against concrete. “This belt’s dry as hell. It’s been slippin’ for at least a week.”

You scowl down at his legs—long and solid, boots planted wide, knees slightly bent.

“I didn’t know it was a big deal.”

“It’s always a big deal when a car sounds like it’s tryin’ to cough up a lung.”

You bite your tongue.

Not because he’s wrong.

Because it shouldn’t do that to you when he gets short with you. It shouldn’t make your chest tighten and your face heat. You shouldn’t like the way he throws the full weight of his attention behind a reprimand, like your stupidity is a personal affront.

You glance toward the open bay door, sunlight slanting through the wide space, picking up dust and sawed-off shadows. No one else is here. Not Kenny. Not Zack. Not your friend. Just Joel. Just you. Just the lazy whir of the fan and the rhythmic click-click-click of the ratchet in his hands.

You hear him grunt.

Then he slides out from beneath the car, slow, like a movie scene you’re not allowed to be watching.

The first thing you see is his stomach.

Exposed skin.

Not toned. Not soft. Just… real. Solid. Covered in a sheen of sweat that catches the light.

You look up fast. Too fast.

But he notices.

His brows twitch just slightly as he sits up, shirt still bunched halfway up his chest, hands braced behind him as he stretches his back.

You pretend to be deeply invested in a smudge on your shoe.

Joel wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and pulls the rag from his back pocket, scrubbing at his forearms in slow, rough strokes. You swear you hear the fabric drag over his skin.

“You’re lucky,” he says, low. “Could’ve been worse. Belt’s dry but not cracked. I’ll grease it, retighten the pulley.”

You nod, because your mouth is dry and your throat is tight.

“Thanks,” you say. It comes out softer than you mean.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. Just grabs another rag from the workbench and scrubs at his arms in hard, focused strokes. You watch a streak of black fade from his wrist to his elbow, leaving behind red, raw skin.

He doesn’t look at you.

“You can sit,” he says, voice low. Almost gruff. “Be a bit.”

You hesitate, then take the bench near the wall.

He drops back under the car without another word.

And you sit in the heat, listening to the hum of the fan and the click-click of his wrench, pretending you’re not watching every flex of his arm, every shift of his shoulders, every slow drag of breath that smells like grease and soap and skin.

You hadn’t expected to leave your car overnight. When Joel told you it might take a few extra hours, you’d figured you’d linger around the garage, kill time scrolling your phone or walking the nearby strip until it was done. But then the sky started to dim and he said he wanted to run diagnostics before letting you take it back out—"just to be sure," he’d said, voice unreadable—and you knew it wasn’t a request.

Your dad offered to pick you up without hesitation. “No sense in waiting around that late by yourself,” he’d said over the phone. “Besides, I haven’t seen Joel in a while.”

You hadn’t thought much of it until your dad pulled into the lot, familiar truck rumbling low and slow into the driveway, just as the last of the sun dipped behind the trees. Joel stepped out of the garage as the headlights flicked off. And then, in an instant, you weren’t standing next to a man who barely looked you in the eye anymore. You were standing next to someone your father trusted.

Your stomach turned.

“Been a while,” Joel said with an ease that didn’t match the way he spoke to you. “You still tryin’ to squeeze another hundred thousand outta that Ford?”

Your dad laughed like it was an old joke. “Still runs, doesn’t it? And you’re still the only bastard I trust to keep it that way.”

They clapped hands and exchanged a look that made your chest tighten. There was history between them—respect, camaraderie, the kind of bond built in shared years and broken engines. It was a good thing. Normal.

But you couldn’t ignore the twist in your gut. Couldn’t stop the guilt from blooming beneath your ribs as you remembered how your eyes had lingered too long on Joel’s exposed skin earlier. How you’d sat on the bench with your legs crossed too tight, pretending not to watch the flex of his arms, the drip of sweat at his temple, the dark smear of grease along his collarbone.

You didn’t say much on the ride home. Just stared out the window, jaw tight, heart louder than the radio.

–

You return to the garage the next morning just after opening. Your dad dropped you off with a request to “give Joel my best” and a promise he’d see you later that night at home. The air is still heavy with late-summer humidity, thick enough to cling to your clothes as you step across the gravel lot. One of the bay doors is rolled halfway up, casting a slanted beam of sunlight across the concrete floor. You spot your car immediately—hood popped, turned sideways in the center bay—and Joel standing beside it, already elbow-deep in the engine.

He doesn’t glance up when you enter. Doesn’t greet you. Just wipes his hand slowly down the length of a clean rag and gestures toward the car with a small tilt of his chin.

“Found something else.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Timing’s off. Slight knock. You’d never hear it unless you knew what to listen for, but it’ll wear out the internals if it keeps runnin’ like that.”

You step closer, the scent of motor oil and dust growing stronger as you cross into the shadow of the open bay.

“I didn’t hear anything,” you say.

Joel finally looks up. His expression is unreadable, jaw set, brow faintly furrowed. “That’s ‘cause you weren’t listenin’.”

There’s no malice in his tone—just honesty. Matter-of-fact. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

He turns away before you can respond and grabs a slim metal tool from the bench. His movements are deliberate and calm, but his silence feels thick, pressing in at the edges. There’s something different about him this morning—focused, yes, but quieter. Like something unspoken is coiled beneath his skin, just waiting for the wrong word to shake it loose.

“You’re not careful with it,” he says, his back still turned.

You blink, startled by the bluntness. “Excuse me?”

“You drive it too hard. Push it when it’s not ready. Ignore the sound of it strugglin’. It’s not invincible, you know.”

The words are soft but direct. No raised voice. No frustration. Just a quiet kind of judgment that lands harder than it should.

You cross your arms, the heat creeping into your chest. “I don’t need a lecture.”

“I’m not givin’ one.”

He sets the tool down with a soft clink and turns toward you. The sunlight hits the edge of his face, casting a sharp line down his cheekbone, the smear of grease on his temple darker now in the angled light.

“I’m offerin’ to teach you,” he says.

You falter, unsure what to say to that. There’s no sarcasm in his voice. No teasing. He just watches you, steady and still, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next.

“I don’t know how to do any of this,” you admit quietly.

Joel nods once.

“Then come here.”

You step forward slowly, each footfall echoing faintly across the garage floor. The closer you get, the harder your heart pounds. By the time you reach his side, your hands feel clammy and your breath sits too high in your chest.

He points to a specific piece tucked within the open frame—metal and rubber and coiled tension that means nothing to you by name, but everything to the way the car moves.

“This is the tensioner,” he says. “Keeps the belt in place. If it’s too loose, it slips. If it’s too tight, it pulls too hard. Either way, it’ll eat through the engine.”

You nod, pretending you understand. You don’t. Not really.

“Here.” He reaches for a wrench—clean, heavy—and offers it to you. You curl your fingers around the handle. It’s warm from his hand. Solid.

But he doesn’t step back.

Instead, he shifts in behind you, one arm sliding carefully around your waist to reach for your hand on the tool. His chest brushes your back, and you freeze.

He doesn’t press. Doesn’t lean.

He just breathes.

“Hold it like this,” he says, voice low near your ear, almost a whisper. “Let it lock. Then turn.”

His hand stays over yours as you move, guiding you through the motion. His palm is rough, callused, the press of his fingers steady and firm. You feel every ridge, every tendon. The heat of his body behind yours makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He doesn’t move away.

You stare down at the engine, willing your pulse to slow, willing your knees not to shake.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “You’ll feel the pull when it’s right.”

And you do, but not from the belt.

From him.

Then, slowly, Joel pulls his hand back. Steps away. The space between you widens, but the air doesn’t clear.

He clears his throat and wipes his hands again.

“Good,” he says.

The word hangs there. Unfinished. Weighted.

You stand still for a long time.

Neither of you speaks.

—

You don’t hear the bell at first.

Your shop is too warm, too quiet. The kind of stillness that settles when you’re alone with routine—focused not by calm, but by the familiar rhythm of your hands. You’re stripping peony stems at the prep table near the back, thumbs slick with sap, the faint cut of green staining the pads of your fingers. The water’s cold against your skin where it splashed your forearms earlier. You’ve been too busy to wipe it off.

The scent in the room is thick and clinging. Wet leaves. Rosewater. A sharper, bitter green where eucalyptus hangs to dry in bundles from the rafters. Everything around you feels alive—stems reaching, petals opening—but there’s no sound besides the slow rustle of your hands moving, and the steady beat of your heart, louder than it should be.

Until the bell above the front door rings.

You glance up, mildly surprised. The morning rush is long over. No one usually comes in at this hour except the mailman, and he never—

It’s Joel.

Your hand stills.

He stands framed in the doorway, backlit by sunlight, boots planted solid on the threshold like he’s deciding whether to come all the way in. He’s in the same navy work shirt as yesterday—buttons undone at the collar, sleeves rolled halfway to the elbow, the edges of his white undershirt clinging faintly to his chest. There’s a smudge of something dark near his wrist. Oil, probably. Or maybe grease. His hair’s a little mussed, like he’s already run a hand through it more than once.

You don’t say anything. Not at first.

Neither does he.

Eventually, Joel steps forward, the door closing behind him with a quiet click. His boots are loud on the wood floor, the sound somehow more invasive in the softness of the shop.

You go back to cutting stems, or at least pretending to. He stops a few feet away, just close enough to fill the air with that familiar scent—soap, sweat, whatever cologne he wears that clings too deep into his skin to be store-bought.

He doesn’t browse. Doesn’t look around. Just stands there watching you work, like he has every right to.

“I tried calling earlier,” he says after a pause.

Your hand doesn’t slow. “I saw.”

“You didn’t answer.”

You reach for another stem. “You didn’t leave a message.” You glance up, “I figured you’d call back if it mattered.”

Joel’s expression doesn’t give much away. But his hands are in his back pockets, and you’ve seen him long enough to know that means he doesn’t trust them right now.

“What do you need?” You ask, voice calm. Cool, even.

His eyes flick to the flowers. Then to your hands.

“Just checkin’ in on the car.”

You don’t smile, but something shifts behind your ribs. That same pressure you’ve been carrying since the garage. Since you left his space and came back to your own, only to realize neither really feels neutral anymore.

“It’s running fine,” you say simply.

Joel nods once. Slow. His gaze lingers for a second longer before dropping.

There’s a bucket of hydrangeas on the floor to your left—half-submerged in murky water, their stems a tangled mess. You nudge it toward him with your foot.

“If you’re going to stand there, you might as well do something useful.”

He raises an eyebrow but crouches down anyway. Lifts one of the dripping stems with care he probably doesn’t even realize he’s showing. He holds it up awkwardly.

You reach for it.

The water rolls off in a slow line down your wrist.

“Clean the end. Diagonal cut,” you murmur, barely glancing up. “About an inch off.”

Joel watches you for a second, then steps closer. The flower still rests in his hand, suspended between you. You reach for the shears, grip light but steady.

He doesn’t move away.

Not even when your fingers brush his.

Not even when the cut lands too close to the base of his thumb.

The scent of the flowers is heady here. Sweet. Almost cloying. But it’s his breath you feel. His eyes you sense. The tension in your own body has nothing to do with the work and everything to do with the silence stretching taut between your bodies.

Joel looks down at your hands—your bare forearms, your stained fingertips. The soft pull of your mouth as you focus. He doesn’t speak again.

He doesn’t need to.

The weight of his gaze says enough. Too much.

You drop the stem into a clean vase and step back before you can do anything stupid. Before either of you says something that can’t be unsaid.

You drop the stem into a clean vase and step back before you can do anything stupid. Before either of you says something that can’t be unsaid.

But Joel doesn’t move.

He stands there longer than necessary, eyes fixed somewhere near your shoulder. He’s quiet in a way that makes your skin itch—like he’s weighing something in real time, trying to decide whether or not to let instinct win.

Then, slowly, his hand lifts.

You don’t flinch.

He reaches just past your ear, fingers brushing the edge of your hair as he pulls something free—a small, green leaf caught near the base of your braid. He holds it between his fingers for a second too long. Doesn’t look at it.

Doesn’t look at you, either.

Then his eyes flick down to your chin, and his brows pinch—just a little. Like he notices something out of place.

“Hold still,” he mutters.

You do.

He lifts his thumb, presses it gently to the corner of your jaw—light, dry, careful. He wipes away something—sap, maybe. Or dirt. You don’t know. You can’t think with his hand on your face.

The pad of his thumb drags over the soft line of your skin. Not a caress. Not quite.

But close enough.

Too close.

You feel your pulse jump in your throat, sharp and sudden. His touch is too warm. His breath too steady. You feel him before you see him—the weight of his stare, the quiet fall of his focus as he lingers there, not quite pulling away.

Then Joel blinks.

And the moment shatters.

He steps back like he’s burned.

“Shit,” he mutters. Not loud. Not angry. Just… resigned.

His hand drops to his side. He glances toward the door, jaw tightening.

“I shouldn’t—” He stops himself. Shakes his head. “I need to go.”

You don’t say anything.

You couldn’t if you tried.

He turns and walks out without another word.

The bell chimes once behind him, sharp and bright against the silence he leaves in his wake.

And you stay there, heart pounding, cheek still warm, wondering how much longer either of you is going to keep pretending.

—

The garage lights are off when you pull up in your dads car, except for one dim bulb still glowing behind the open bay.

The rest of the lot is dark. Quiet. The kind of quiet that settles when the world has moved on for the day—when businesses are closed, sidewalks are empty, and the only sound left is the cooling tick of your engine as you park.

Your heart is already pounding.

You told yourself you were coming for your wallet. That you thought maybe you left it in the center console after your dad dropped off your keys that morning. It’s a stupid excuse—thin and see-through—but it’s all you could come up with when you hit call on his number.

He didn’t answer.

But the door was unlocked.

You step into the bay before you talk yourself out of it, the soft echo of your boots on concrete announcing you before you speak.

He doesn’t turn right away.

Joel is bent under the hood of your car—again. Elbows braced, shirt clinging to his back with sweat. There’s music playing somewhere in the background—something low and twangy on a half-broken radio, the notes floating around like smoke.

You see him pause. Hear the click of the ratchet stop.

Then he exhales and straightens slowly, his movements tight. He glances at you just once before turning toward the utility sink near the corner of the bay.

You watch as he pumps soap into his palms, head down, shoulders tense. The water runs loud for a moment—harsh and quick—while he scrubs his hands under the stream. He doesn’t rush, but he doesn’t linger either. When he shuts the tap, he wipes his hands off on the worn towel beside it and finally turns back to face you.

His shirt is still damp. His hair curls behind his ears. And even from where you stand, you can still smell the oil on his skin. It clings to him like heat—faint and bitter and unmistakably Joel.

“I left you a message,” he says, voice low and rough. “Heard from your dad you’re driving upstate this weekend. Figured I’d check the plugs. Run a final scan.”

You nod, like you’re grateful. Like you’re not dizzy from the way he’s looking at you now.

“Wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” you manage. “I thought I left my wallet.”

Joel tilts his head slightly.

“Didn’t think you were comin’ back tonight.”

Your stomach flips.

“I thought I left my—”

“I know what you said.”

He says it quiet. No edge, no push. Just a statement. Heavy with something he won’t name.

You don’t move.

The silence stretches.

He tosses the rag onto the bench without taking his eyes off you.

“Find it?” He asks.

“What?”

“Your wallet.”

You swallow. You haven’t even taken one step towards your car, “No.”

Joel takes a step forward after closing the hood of your car.

Just one.

The lighting is bad. Harsh overhead, buzzing faintly. It casts long shadows across the concrete and catches on the sweat at his collarbone, the dark smudge near his temple. His fingers are still streaked with oil.

You don’t know if you want to touch them or fall to your knees.

He doesn’t get closer, but the air between you tightens. Pulls taut like a cable ready to snap.

“You need to stop,” he says suddenly. Voice quiet. Hoarse.

Your breath catches.

“Stop what?”

Joel shakes his head once. Slow. “Comin’ around like this. Lookin’ at me like that.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

His tone isn’t cruel. It isn’t even angry.

It’s worse.

It’s regretful. Raw. Like he’s already halfway through losing this fight and trying to pretend he isn’t.

You force a step forward.

Maybe two.

The scent of the shop rises up—rubber, fuel, sweat. And underneath it, faint but familiar, him.

He watches you like he’s daring you to keep going.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

That lands hard.

You stop walking. Swallow.

He’s still standing perfectly still, jaw tight, chest rising a little faster now. His fingers flex at his sides like they want to grab something. Hold it. Break it.

You want to say something sharp. Deflect. But nothing comes.

You meet his gaze, and the silence between you stretches tight, drawn so thin it could tear with a whisper. Neither of you speaks. Neither of you breathes. And then—almost imperceptibly—he shifts.

Joel moves first.

Not abruptly. Not dramatically. Just one slow, deliberate step forward, and then another, like he’s already made up his mind and his body is only now catching up. There’s no hesitation in the way he closes the distance—only weight. Only heat.

Like this was always going to happen.

Then his hands are in your hair and your back hits the side of the car hard enough to knock the breath out of you.

His mouth finds yours before you can gasp—hot, rough, desperate. All teeth and tongue and punishment. Like he’s mad at himself. Like you’re a sin he can’t stop touching.

Your fingers claw at the front of his shirt, yanking him closer. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it whole, one hand cupping your jaw, the other anchoring low on your hip. His thigh wedges between yours, hard and hot, pinning you in place.

“You have any fuckin’ idea,” he growls into your mouth, “how hard I’ve been tryin’ to be good?”

You shake your head, dazed, drunk on him already.

He kisses you again—filthy, possessive, not asking.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he mutters against your throat, licking a stripe up the skin before biting down gently. “And I sure as hell ain’t supposed to be doin’ this.”

“Then stop,” you whisper.

He growls.

“Too late.”

He lifts you effortlessly—hands under your thighs—and sets you down on the edge of the workbench with a low grunt. Tools rattle somewhere behind you, but neither of you notices.

Joel grabs your face with one hand, his thumb stroking roughly along your cheek as he stares down at you, breathing hard.

“You want this?” He asks.

You nod.

He shakes his head.

“Say it.”

“I want you.”

That’s all it takes.

The rest comes undone fast.

Joel surges forward like he’s been waiting years for permission—like the second those words leave your mouth, there’s no universe where he doesn’t ruin you for anyone else.

His mouth crashes into yours again—open, messy, all heat and breath and hunger. It isn’t gentle. It isn’t precise. It’s needy. The kind of kiss that tastes like restraint finally giving out. You moan against his lips and it only spurs him on, his hands already sliding down the backs of your thighs, gripping hard like he doesn’t trust himself to let go.

He lifts you without warning, big hands digging under your legs, your back arching as he sets you on the edge of the workbench with a grunt. The cool metal bites into the backs of your legs, a stark contrast to the heat rolling off him in waves. Tools clatter somewhere behind you from the movement, but neither of you registers the sound.

All you can feel is him.

His fingers spread wide over your skin, anchoring you, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind.

And when he leans back just enough to look at you—forehead pressed to yours, sweat slicking his brow, eyes gone dark and hungry—you forget how to breathe.

“You want this?” He asks again, his voice wrecked. Like maybe he just needs to hear it one more time to believe he hasn’t dreamed this.

You nod. Your voice barely comes out. “Yes.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Say it.”

And God, you want to be good for him. You want to give him everything.

“I want you,” you whisper, breathless, shaky.

His eyes flutter shut for half a second—like it hurts to hear. Like he’s been waiting for this and dreading it at the same time.

And then he drops to his knees.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t speak. Just spreads you open with both hands, and drags your skirt up so fast the fabric scrapes your skin. His breath hitches when he sees what’s waiting for him—slick, swollen, glistening under the dim light.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs. “No fuckin’ panties…”

You flush, your heart hammering in your chest.

“I didn’t plan on—”

“You didn’t plan on gettin’ fucked in my garage?” His voice is strained, but he’s already leaning in. “Coulda fooled me, sweetheart.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Hot. Open. Devastating.

He moans into your pussy like he’s starving—like he needs it to breathe. His tongue drags through your folds, slow and deep, and your head snaps back against the wall with a loud, broken gasp.

Everything goes hot.

The pressure of his palms on your thighs, the humid air clinging to your skin, the obscene sound of his mouth working between your legs—it’s all too much, too fast, and not nearly enough.

“Fuck,” he mutters into you. “This—this is what I’ve been thinkin’ about. Every night. Every time you walked through my shop like you didn’t know what you were doin’ to me.”

His tongue flicks your clit and your legs jerk.

He groans, low and filthy, like he’s grateful for your reaction. Like he needs it.

“You’re so sweet, baby,” he whispers, lips dragging across the sensitive skin there. “So soft. So wet for me. Fuck—you were made for this. Made to sit right here and let me taste you.”

You whimper. You don’t care how loud. You grind against his mouth because you can’t not, and he lets you. Encourages it. Holds you down with one arm across your stomach while he devours you like he’s trying to bury something in the act.

Your body burns. Your toes curl. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you pull, hard.

He groans and pushes a thick finger inside you.

You nearly scream.

“Jesus—Joel—”

“That’s it,” he breathes, pumping it slowly, curling it just right. “Fuck, baby. You’re squeezin’ me so tight. So fuckin’ good for me.”

His mouth finds your clit again and you shatter.

The orgasm hits like a truck—fast, hard, all-consuming. Your whole body locks up, your thighs clench around his face, and you cry out, loud and wild and unfiltered.

He moans against you while you fall apart, keeps licking like he can’t get enough, doesn’t stop until you’re trembling and panting and trying to push him away.

When he finally stands, he’s breathing hard. His beard is soaked with you. His lips are pink and swollen and glistening.

And he looks completely fucked.

“You okay?” He asks, voice hoarse.

You nod, unable to speak, your whole body still buzzing.

His hands go to his belt. His eyes never leave yours.

“You want me to fuck you now, baby?”

You nod again.

“Tell me,” he breathes.

“I want you inside me.”

He growls—actually growls—and frees himself with shaking hands. He fumbles with a condom, cursing under his breath, and when he rolls it on, you see how thick he is. How long. Your mouth goes dry.

He steps between your thighs and drags the head of his cock through your soaked folds.

“Shit,” he groans. “You feel that, darlin’? That’s how bad your pussy wants me. You’re so fuckin’ ready.”

You whimper again and he presses in—slowly, gently, watching your face.

Your mouth drops open. Your head falls back.

You’ve never felt so full.

“Goddamn,” he rasps, hips shaking. “Takin’ me so good. So fuckin’ right—Jesus, you were made for me.”

He doesn’t move for a moment. Just holds you there, bottomed out, letting you feel all of him.

Then he starts to move.

He fucks you slow at first, like he’s trying to make it last.

His hips rock into yours in long, deep thrusts that make your breath catch, your thighs tremble, your body arch. His hands are everywhere—cupping your jaw, sliding under your shirt, gripping your waist so tight you know you’ll feel the shape of his fingers tomorrow. The smell of oil and sweat still clings to him, thick in the air, mixing with the sound of skin meeting skin and the ragged, breathless groans spilling from his throat every time he sinks back into you.

“That feel good?” He grits against your ear, voice shaking with restraint. “Feel how tight you are, squeezin’ my cock like you don’t wanna let me go.”

You nod, gasping, already wrecked—and he kisses your shoulder, your neck, your mouth like he can’t pick where he wants to be.

But after a few more strokes, his rhythm stutters. His breath catches. And you feel it—the need, the desperation building behind every thrust.

Joel pulls out suddenly with a sharp, choked sound, and you gasp at the loss.

“Up,” he pants, grabbing your hand. “Come on—c’mere. Over here.”

You stumble down from the workbench, legs shaky, knees weak, and let him guide you across the bay—until the cool metal of your car’s hood hits the backs of your thighs.

He turns you gently, presses your palms flat against the surface, and says, low and breathless, “Bend for me.”

You do.

And then he’s behind you again—hot, heavy, hands greedy as he spreads you open, tilts your hips just right.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters when he slides back in. “That’s it. That’s the fuckin’ angle, baby.”

You cry out—louder this time. The stretch hits deeper now, every inch filling you so perfectly, so thoroughly it feels like he’s reaching parts of you no one else ever has. Your cheek presses to the hood, fogging the metal with your breath as he starts to thrust harder, rougher, the slick drag of his cock making your thighs tremble beneath you.

Joel groans behind you—long and low and needy—and his hand comes down on your ass in a firm, claiming grip.

“Goddamn, look at that,” he breathes. “Look at me, baby. Look at how pretty you’re takin’ it.”

You lift your head, barely, just enough to glance toward the windowed wall of the garage—and catch his reflection in the glass. His eyes are on you. Or more specifically, on the spot where his cock disappears inside you again and again, glistening and perfect and obscene.

“You see that?” He pants. “You see how good you look like this? Bent over your car with my cock buried deep in your tight little cunt?”

Your breath stutters. He presses deeper, and you feel your muscles start to tighten again, pressure coiling low and fast in your belly.

“Joel,” you whimper.

His hand slides up your back, slow and hot, until it curls around the base of your neck. He leans forward—chest against your back, mouth at your ear.

“You’re bein’ so good for me, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Takin’ every inch like you were made for it. You feel me right here?”

He presses a palm against your lower stomach and thrusts once, deep.

You cry out.

“Incredible,” he groans. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good. My good girl.”

That wrecks you.

You come with a sob, body locking up, cunt pulsing around him so hard he nearly drops his head to your shoulder and curses into your skin.

“Shit—fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he pants. “Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me—shit—gonna make me come—”

His rhythm breaks, thrusts getting sloppy, desperate.

And then he groans, deep and raw and wounded, as he spills into the condom with a final, shuddering thrust.

For a moment, all you can hear is the hum of the lights above, the soft click of cooling metal beneath you, and his panting breath as he leans against your back—sweat-slicked, trembling, completely undone.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, finally. “What the fuck are we doin’?”

You don’t answer.

You just feel his hand slide around your waist again, holding you close.

Because you both know—this isn’t the end.

Not even close.

—

The silence after is loud.

Joel doesn’t say anything when he pulls out. Just exhales, rough and uneven, and rests his forehead between your shoulder blades like he’s trying to remember how to breathe. His hands stay on your hips—one tight, one shaking—until your legs nearly give out beneath you.

Then he moves.

He tucks himself away, peels the condom off, and tosses it in the shop bin without looking at you. The air in the garage is cooler now. Your skin sticky with sweat, your heartbeat still trying to find its rhythm.

You’re about to speak—ask what happens now, what the hell that was—when his voice cuts through the quiet.

“C’mon.”

Just that.

He slides a hand beneath your shirt again—gentler now, fingers warm on your spine—and guides you toward the side stairwell, one that leads to the apartment above the shop. You follow him barefoot, legs unsteady, your skin still flushed and sore in the best kind of way.

The upstairs is small. Just a kitchen that opens into a living space, dimly lit, with a narrow hallway beyond it. Joel doesn’t pause. He just leads you straight to the bathroom, flicks on the light, and turns on the shower.

You stand there while steam begins to fog the mirror. Joel doesn’t look at you as he moves. Just grabs two towels, sets them beside the sink, and pulls his shirt off over his head. It’s only when he reaches for the hem of yours that his eyes finally meet yours again.

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t have to.

His hands are slow this time—soft, careful—as he undresses you, like he’s afraid you’ll flinch. When you don’t, he finishes pulling off what’s left of your clothes, then his own, and steps into the shower behind you.

The water hits first. Hot. Heavy. You lean into it instinctively, and he follows—arms bracketing you, one hand on the wall above your head, the other sliding gently up your side like he can’t help himself.

He doesn’t touch you like he’s trying to start something again.

He touches you like he’s still stunned you let him.

His fingers find your hair, work through it slowly. You close your eyes as he massages shampoo into your scalp with firm, steady hands, lathering without a word. When the soap rinses clean, he switches to your shoulders, down your arms, the curve of your spine, the backs of your thighs.

He scrubs the sweat and oil from your skin in reverent silence. Not a word spoken between you. Only the sound of water hitting tile, the gentle scrape of his calloused hands moving with surprising tenderness.

Eventually, you turn to face him.

He looks exhausted. Damp curls sticking to his forehead, chest still rising and falling like he hasn’t come all the way down yet. His eyes trace your face like he’s trying to memorize it.

Then he lifts one hand—just one—and wipes the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. His hand lingers.

And before either of you can think better of it, he leans in—slow, hesitant—and presses his lips to yours.

It’s not like before.

It’s soft. Careful. The kind of kiss that feels like an apology wrapped in something warm. His mouth moves gently over yours, no hunger, no heat—just something quiet and aching, like he’s trying to say all the things he never will.

When he pulls back, your fingers find his face.

You touch his jaw first—just a ghost of contact—and then cradle his cheek in your palm. The coarse stubble, the heat of his skin, the way his breath catches when you do it—it’s too much and not enough all at once.

He leans into your touch.

Like it hurts to be seen that way. Like it’s been so long since someone’s touched him with anything other than need.

And for a moment, the garage, the rules, the guilt—all of it—just falls away.

It’s only him. Only you.

And the silence in between.

“I shouldn’t’ve let that happen,” he murmurs.

You don’t reply.

Not because you disagree—but because it’s already too late.

Later, in the quiet of his apartment, you find yourself standing in front of his dresser while he digs through the bottom drawer.

“Here,” he says, tossing something soft your way.

You catch it.

It’s an old garage tee—black, worn thin, with a faded logo over the left breast: Miller Automotive. It smells like him. Like grease, pine soap, and something warmer. Something that makes your stomach twist.

You pull it on without a word. It hangs long on you, brushing your thighs, the sleeves swallowing your hands. Joel watches the whole thing from where he stands by the door, his expression unreadable.

“Bed’s this way.”

He nods toward the back room.

You follow.

The sheets are clean. The room is dim. When you climb in, he doesn’t hesitate. Just clicks off the bedside lamp and settles in behind you, one hand flat on the mattress between you like a line he doesn’t trust himself to cross again.

But he stays close.

So close you can feel his breath on your neck.

So close his voice, when it finally comes again, is barely more than a whisper.

“Shouldn’t’ve happened,” he says again, quieter now. “But I don’t think I could stop it even if we tried.”

You don’t say anything.

Just lay there in his shirt, still damp from the shower, the scent of him pressed into your skin, your body warm from where he’d touched it—held it—like something he wasn’t ready to give up.

Eventually, you fall asleep to the sound of him breathing beside you.

And the feeling of something unfinished still hanging in the air.

____ •°• ⚙ •°• ____ ____ •°• ⚙ •°• ____ ____ •°• ⚙ •°

Here’s another one shot, you freaky little fiends. I hope you enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, requests—whatever, send me a message and I’ll try my best to make it happen💚

[checkeredflagggs]

Stepping Up

Pairing: oscar piastri x spouse!reader

summary: when tragedy strikes Oscar’s in-laws, the Piastri’s step up.

a/n: needed to write something angst and this is what happened.

Warnings: Parental Death

Masterlist

Phone Call, Family Lawyer

Private Messages, Oscar and y/n

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 728,823 others

f1gossip: Uh-Oh! Something seems to be wrong in the world of Oscar Piastri, seen here rushing away from the Chinese GP despite his stunning win.

view all comments

user1: I hope everything is ok…

↳user2: I wonder what’s it’s all about…

↳user1: I suspect we’ll find out

user3: do you think it has anything to do with y/n? They weren’t at the GP and they’ve said they love the Chinese one!

↳user4: oh that’s a good point!

↳user5: oh I love y/n and Oscar

↳user6: they are such a cute couple!

↳user3: this is all making me hope I’m wrong…

↳user4: ngl me too — Oscar almost never runs off like that and for it to maybe include y/n?!?

user7: ok so i know he’s like rushing and maybe panicking but like? He’s so adorable?!?

↳user8: omg thank you for saying that i thought i was the only one

user9: sending good thoughts and vibes their way, if something has gone wrong…

user10: some gossip from the paddock is that not even Zak or Andrea knew why Oscar left in such a rush

↳user11: oh man that’s really not a good sign…

↳user12: not at all…

Private Messages, Zak and Oscar

Bluesky

user12: shit really??

user13: who?!

user14: ok but it would be fucking hilarious if this was about Max and Kelly?!?

↳user15: hilarious but that’s been known forever

user16: ok but who is it talking about?!

↳user17: Well it’s not the Ferrari or Alpine men

↳user18: not the Williams or Haas men either…

↳user19: just did a deep dive on the revolving door of Redbull and Racing Bull drivers — not likely

↳user20: I don’t think it could be any of the rookies??

↳user21: probably not George and Lance doesn’t have another girlfriend (that we’re aware of)

↳user22: Fernando or Nico??

↳user23: that’s my guess

↳user24: I’m gonna go wild shot and say Y/N Piastri!

↳user25: and I’m gonna say you’re crazy!

↳user26: they’ve never talked about kids and y/n has been so open about their life — it’s not them

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user and 827,382 others

f1gossip: Movers spotted going in and out of the Piastri residence in England! Is this the end for our favorite McLaren couple?

view all comments

user27: it better fucking not be

↳user28: your honor they’re my emotional support couple — they can’t be split up…

↳user27: you get me

user29: ok where are you getting this from?! They could literally just be getting new furniture or something?!?

↳user30: this looks like they’re taking EVERYTHING from their house though…

user31: what if y/n is the one who had a kid from a previous relationship?!

↳user32: don’t even speak that into existence

↳user31: no but listen — y/n misses the Chinese GP (despite saying it’s among their favorites and saying they’d be there)

↳user31: then Oscar is seen rushing from the race and then goes silent for like 2 weeks

↳user31: during that time we get a gossip piece that a racer’s partner has kids from a previous relationship

↳user31: and now there’s movers in front of the Piastri house?!

↳user31: Oscar found out about the kids and they’re breaking up about the secret

↳user33: I’ll agree with everything but the last bit — I think they’re moving to make space for a kid in their lives

↳user32: I like that thought more

f1partners

liked by user, user, user, and 493,923 others

f1partners: Missing in action! Y/N Piastri, Oscar’s spouse, has been absent for a third GP in a row — a shocking twist compared to last year when the Piastri’s ruled the paddock! Trouble in paradise or just a break in the chaos?

view all comments

user34: hey! Let’s normalize leaving them alone???

user35: they don’t have to go to every single race you know?!?

user36: let’s be real here — those 2 are so disgustingly in love, let’s stop it with the break up rumors??

↳user37: so true! They’ve literally never looked at anyone else ever

user33: user31 more proof I think! Y/N is definitely staying home to help the kid acclimate

↳user31: I’m starting to agree…

user38: ummm if Oscar is free…

↳user39: I want to know if they need a third!

↳user40: ok user38 you can have Oscar but I’d do some major crimes for even a moment of y/n’s time

↳user41: mood

Private Messages, Oscar and y/n

f1_updates

liked by user, user, user, and 627,823 others

f1_updates: Post Oscar’s win in Saudi Arabia, he seemingly dodged all questions related to his spouse, Y/N Piastri, and the persistent rumors of an imminent divorce. More proof of trouble?

view all comments

user42 or maybe he just wants to talk about his race???

↳user50: right? Like ask him about stuff that actually matters!

user51: god i wish people would just leave it alone???

↳user52: someone who gets me. like what does it matter if he and his partner are having issues or not??

↳user53: we’re here to watch him race, not speculate over his relationship status

↳user54: ^^^^

user56: I know it’s because he’s annoyed but god he’s so hot

↳user57: ngl i was watching yuki in the back being a cutie

↳user58: so real for that

Private Messages, Oscar and y/n

mclaren

liked by y/n, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 2,822,293 others

tagged: y/n, oscarpiastri

mclaren: Watch out Imola! The Piastri’s have arrived!

view all comments

user59: 3 kids?!?

↳user60: my jaw? Dropped!

y/n: Oh McLaren admin you didn’t have to roll out the red carpet!

↳mclaren: anything for our favorite Australian and his family!

↳y/n: you spoil me liked by mclaren

oscarpiastri: glad to have you guys here 😃

↳y/n: we wouldn’t want to be anywhere else

user61: ohmygod the Piastri’s are so cute!

↳user62: they really really are

charles_leclerc: does this make me a grandfather?

↳oscarpiastri: it does, yes

↳y/n: family dinner Tuesday

↳charles_leclerc: I’ll be there!

landonorris: uncle Lando to the rescue!

↳y/n: rescue from what??

↳landonorris: your ice cream-less existence!

↳y/n: you’re watching them when the sugar high hits liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri and y/n

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, logansargeant, and 1,834,734 others

oscarpiastri and y/n: Earlier this year, tragedy struck our family when y/n’s parents unexpectedly passed away in a car crash. In the aftermath, our lives were turned upside down when we took custody of y/n’s younger siblings. Since then, as many people have noticed, y/n has taken a step away from Formula 1 to focus on helping their siblings acclimate to a new life. As we continue to settle into our new normal, we ask for a measure of privacy and of grace — we’re happy together and that’s not going to change.

view all comments

user63: oops

↳user64: I bet some people are feeling very stupid right now

landonorris: make some space cause uncle Lando is on his way!

↳y/n: if you have any kind of candy or sweet food on you, turn your ass right around

↳user65: Shut. Down.

↳landonorris: 😣😣

user66: ok I’ve only had the Piastri’s for like a week but if anything happened to them, I’ll kill everyone then myself

↳user67: big mood

logansargeant: space for an American?

↳y/n: always Lo 🧡

charles_leclerc: how do you guys feel about dogs?

↳y/n: very enthusiastic

↳alex_albon: good because we’re converging on your house with furry cuddles

↳y/n: that’s gonna make some rounds on the internet Alex

↳alex_albon: regretted it immediately

user33: I told you all

↳user31: yes you did

Taglist

Please interact with my taglist post if you want to join — I don’t always check the notes on the individual posts

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @lost4lyrics @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @il0vereadingstuff @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @princessesgarden @galaxygurlll @shelbyteller @ihaveitprinteddout @allthings-fandom @mountainshuman @moonypixel @nikfigueiredo @daisydaze111 @deephideoutmilkshake @mimisweetz @books-fangirl-books @woderfulkawaii @fastandcurious16 @lilyofthevalley-09 @rexit-mo @alessa-the-enchantress @1800-love-me @greantii @toodeepintofandoms @tukes @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @lecfosimaxbull @dramaticpiratellamas @devilacot @supernatural-harrypotter7 @nightrose-18 @alexxavicry @vhkdncu2ei8997 @purplephantomwolf @shadowreader07 @spilled-coffee-cup @stuffyownswrld

[millers-girl]

bitter/sweet

a Dr. Jack Abbot one-shot (The Pitt)

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: when a stubbornly charming chef keeps showing up in his ER, Dr. Jack Abbot finds it harder and harder to ignore the pull toward something—or someone—he didn't plan for…

warnings/tags: slow burn, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine, food as a love language, age gap, fainting/medical emergency, mild language

word count: 5.5k

a/n: my new hyperfixation i guess ???

“Fuck,” you grumbled, clutching your thumb in a blood-soaked kitchen towel, the fibers more crimson than cotton. The pain throbbed in pulses, each step sending a sharp reminder up your arm. You kept your eyes on the linoleum floors, following the resident as he led you deeper into the chaos of the emergency department and into an exam room.

“Oh,” the resident, Student Doctor Whittaker, said, his voice pitchy as he glanced at the kitchen towel. He quickly averted his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Yeah, maybe we should keep that wrapped.” 

You arched a brow at him, settling onto the exam table as the paper crinkled beneath you. The air in the room smelled sterile – alcohol wipes, latex gloves, and that faint antiseptic sting. “You’re not afraid of a little blood, are you? Because hate to be the one to tell you – you might be in the wrong profession.” 

He gave a nervous laugh. “No, no – just… been a rough day,” he said, the humor dropping from his voice. “Can’t really handle another loss.”

You paused, tone softening. “Oh. Well, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You glanced down at the towel, now visibly seeping. “Did you get a hold of my sister?” 

He shook his head, eyes already shifting toward the door. “I tried, but she’s in the OR; still scrubbed in. But, don’t worry; Dr. Abbot is the attending on call tonight. He’s one of the best – ”

You frowned. “Abbot? Where’s Robby?” 

Before he could answer, the door opened and a tall man entered the room, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves with a practiced snap. His scrubs were black, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and his expression was carved from stone. His salt-and-pepper hair was short but wavy; he easily had fifteen or twenty years on you… Still, he was cute.

“Well,” he began, his voice low and even, “It’s almost nine, and contrary to popular belief, even Robby needs to go home and rest. So, lucky you – you get me.” 

You blinked. “Wow, smart and pretty. Lucky me indeed.” 

He gave a subtle eye roll before his gaze met yours – steady, unreadable, deeply hazel. “So, what’ve we got?”

Whittaker stumbled to present. “Uh – female, 27. Has a deep laceration on her thumb. Cut it open on a grater – ”

“Mandoline slicer,” you corrected.

Abbot moved toward you, taking a seat on the wheeled stool. As he unwrapped your hand, you couldn’t help but ask, “Careful – you’re not gonna get queasy, too, are you?”

Without missing a beat, he stoically answered, “Only if this turns into something worse than a hand injury… like small talk.”

You let out a surprised laugh, half from the pain, half from how dryly he delivered the line.

“You’re funny,” you grinned. “I like you.” 

He said nothing in response, merely peeled the cloth away, sticky and crimson, revealing the deep gash across the side of your thumb. Cold air kissed the open skin, and you hissed. He examined it without a flinch, gently turning your hand between his fingers.

“So, what were you doing with the mandoline slicer?”

“I’m a chef,” you answered. “The prep rush was insane today – guess my hand just slipped.” 

He pressed carefully at the space between your thumb and index finger. You flinched, instinctively pulling back, but his other hand caught yours firmly, anchoring it. 

“What?” you asked, watching his expression shift as he looked up.

“Stitches,” he decided.

“Fuck that.” 

He arched his brow. “It’s a deep cut; can’t just put a bandaid on it and kiss it better.” 

“Well, that’s because you haven’t tried,” you flirted, finding it to be an easy distraction from the pain. Still, his face remained unchanged. “Come on, are you serious? You really can’t just wrap it up and call it a day? I have to get back before the dinner rush.”

“It’s not optional,” he informed. “It’s not gonna heal if it’s not stitched up.” 

“Don’t worry,” Whittaker piped up again, voice chipper. “Dr. Abbot could do this in his sleep.” 

“I could,” Abbot said, already reaching for gauze. “But Whittaker’s going to do it instead.” 

“What?” You both asked, heads whipping to him.

“It’s a good learning opportunity,” he replied casually. “And Robby’s always goin’ on about how we’re a teaching hospital. Besides, it’s just a few stitches – a teenager could do it.” 

“A teenager is about to do it,” you muttered. 

“He’s older than you,” Abbot pointed out, making your frown set on him. 

“I want you to do it.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because he got queasy just looking at the kitchen towel,” you explained. You and Abbot both turned to Whittaker, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “It’s either you, or I wait for my sister to finish surgery,” you stubbornly gave him an ultimatum. “And she told me about those patient satisfaction scores.” You let out a low whistle.

Abbot stared at you for a beat, then turned to the student doctor. “Whittaker.” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Go get me the lidocaine.” 

You grinned in victory before offering your hand back out to Abbot.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he muttered, arms crossing.

“You and my sister should start a support group,” you shot back.

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, maybe we will.” 

When Whittaker returned, Abbot explained the procedure before getting to work: numbing first, then the sutures, probably six or seven. His voice was calm, precise. You clenched your other hand into a fist, eyes fixed anywhere but the needle. The sting of the lidocaine made your jaw tense.

“Ready?” Abbot asked. You nodded silently, lips pressed tight. 

His hands were rough but skilled, careful – you could sense it. 

As your eyes gazed over the room, they settled on the chain tucked beneath the neck of Abbot’s scrubs. 

“Military?” you asked, voice quieter now as your free hand reached out to pull at the dog tags.

Without looking up, Abbot momentarily halted his work to swat your hand away. When your hand settled back by your side, he replied, “Used to be a medic. Liked the chaos so much, I went to med school for emergency medicine.” 

You winced as one of the stitches tugged. “You good?” he asked, glancing up. 

You gave him a wry look. “If I cry, will you hold my hand?” 

“I’m already holding your hand,” he deadpanned. 

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Then, buy me dinner? Or, let me buy you dinner, at Francesca.”

“Francesca?” Whittaker perked up. “Wait – you work there?” You nodded, smiling. “That’s cool. I’ve heard some of the other residents talking about it. They really love the food.” 

You turned back to Abbot with a pointed smile. “See? Good food, good company – what more could you ask for?” 

“Probably some peace and quiet,” he muttered. But, before you could press, he was already tying off the sutures and wrapping your hand with fresh gauze.

“So,” you said eventually, “what’s the damage?”

“You’re a rightie?” he asked; you nodded. “It’s your dominant hand. That, and the fact that restaurants have a high risk of infection – wet, hot, high-contact. It’s gonna take a minute to heal. Probably five days off work to initially heal and reduce strain; another five until you’re back to full-duty – and when you are, make sure you wear some sort of splint or gloves. Come back then and I’ll take ‘em out. Sound good?” 

A week off work. 

You already knew you weren’t waiting that long.

Still, you grinned up at him. “Whatever you say, handsome.”

Two weeks later––four days after you were meant to get your stitches out––you finally found yourself back in the hospital. You couldn’t say you missed the bright fluorescent lights or the constant beeping of machines – you weren’t sure how your sister did it every day.

You did, however, miss Dr. Tall, Dark, and Broody. 

That’s what you’d started calling Dr. Abbot in all your conversations with your sister. She’d blinked at you, been less amused, and professionally corrected you every time you brought him up. 

“You mean ‘Jack’?” She’d say, and you’d grinned at that, ready to use this ammunition against him.

And, even though you had every intention to return earlier so you could see Jack sooner, work at the restaurant had gotten busy. Between a busted oven and two line cooks calling out, you’d been elbow-deep in chaos. You’d barely been convinced by Eleni, your sous, to come back even now. She had to practically push you out the front door. 

Taylor, the charge nurse who brought you in, gave a smile as she informed you, “Dr. Whittaker will be in in just a few minutes.” 

Your spine straightened immediately. “Actually, can you get Dr. Abbot? Tall one with the storm cloud for a personality. You know the one.” 

Taylor nearly dropped her tablet laughing. “Oh, I like you,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Let me see what I can do.”

Luckily, it seemed like a slow night in the ED––well, slower than usual––and in a few minutes, your request had been granted.

“You know,” Abbot said by way of greeting when he entered the room, “you don’t get to request a specific doctor in the ED. That’s not how it works.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah? Then how come you showed up?” 

He ignored that. “Why didn’t you let Whittaker take them out?” He already sounded annoyed, and it brought you much more glee than it should’ve. “You know he’s perfectly capable of removing stitches. And putting them in.” 

“And pass up another moment of your stellar bedside manner? Now, why would I do that… Jack?” You smiled sweetly.

His eyes flicked up fast at the sound of his first name. “I hate your sister,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“She’s the best and you know it.”

Instead of arguing, Jack gently pulled the wrap from your hand. His fingertips were warm through the gloves, deliberate in their movements as he examined the injury. 

“You didn’t wait the five days before going back to work,” he said flatly, frown setting in.

Your brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? Of course I did – In fact I – ” 

You cut yourself off when you saw the look he gave you. All stern disapproval and low-simmering frustration – hot. And in a moment, you crumbled.

“Okay, okay, fine – but I took three days off! That has to count for something! I was going stir-crazy in my apartment, Jack.” You squirmed under his gaze.

He let out a deep sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grumbled, brows pinched slightly as he prepped the suture scissors in that deliberate, quiet way of his.

You couldn’t watch as he moved with steady practiced precision. Instead, your eyes settled back on his dog tags and after a moment of silence, you asked in a soft voice, “How could you tell? That I went back to work early?” 

He met your eyes then, frowning. After a beat, he answered. “The skin around is red, irritated. The inflammation just started going down. You should’ve come in early if you were gonna go back to work. I said day 10.” 

“I know.” 

Dryly, he continued, “This is day fourteen.” 

“I know, Jack.” You frowned now too. “You know, if you keep on like this, you’re not getting your present.” 

That was when he noticed the light pink bag that sat on the chair by the exam table. 

“I brought you something. As a thank you for stitching me up.” 

Jack tilted his head to the side. “Not a bribe to soften the blow because you knew I’d know you went back to work early?”

You smiled up at him, this time in a way that asked for his forgiveness. “Why can’t it be both?” 

Jack rolled his eyes, then began removing your stitches. “It’s healing,” he noted, “but slower than it should be. You pushed it too hard.” 

“I was careful,” you defended. “I let Eleni do all the chopping and lifting heavy pans – I just ran the line… and plated.” 

Jack hummed, observing. “You’re holding tension through your whole arm. That’s not careful.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but just then, he snipped one of the sutures and you flinched with a hiss of discomfort. His hands paused immediately, and his expression shifted – not annoyed this time, but concerned.

“Still hurts?” he asked, quieter.

You tried to play it off, half-laughing. “Hurts less than not being in the kitchen.” 

Jack sighed again, shaking his head. “You think I’m impressed by your stubbornness?” 

You gave a crooked grin. “No, but I think you like it.” 

He didn’t answer, just focused on removing the next stitch. Silence stretched between you, the only sound the soft snip of scissors. When he finally leaned back, he said, “Okay, that’s the last one. Take it easy, okay? I mean it. Just plating for now – carefully.” 

You lifted your head. “And if I don’t? You going to come hold my hand through the dinner rush?” 

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’ll come by the kitchen if I have to.” 

You watched him, smile growing. “Still thinking about saying yes to that dinner I offered?” 

Just as quick, he quipped, “I’m thinking about you not landing in my ER again.” 

Your brow rose. “Keep it up and you’re not getting the tiramisu.” 

As he was wrapping your hand in new gauze, his gaze flickered up to meet yours. “Tiramisu?” 

“My sister said you wouldn’t stop talking about it a few days ago. Got a craving.”

“Yeah, for DiAnoia’s,” Jack corrected. 

When he was done wrapping your hand, you hopped off the exam table and offered him the light pink bag, with a tiramisu boxed inside. 

“It’s better than DiAnoia’s,” you promised, already halfway to the door. 

He snorted at that, not believing you. “But, be careful, it's sweet. Might clash with the whole brooding thing you’ve got going on.” 

“I don’t brood,” he called after you.

You turned at the doorway, walking backward as you smirked. “Yeah? Tell that to your face.” 

Then, you spun on your heel, feeling his gaze on you as you let the door swing closed behind you.

You couldn’t tell if the emergency room was changing or if you were just getting used to it. The fluorescent lights felt ambient now, the loud chatter muffled, and the beep of vital machines now felt distant.

“Miss me?” You grinned up at Jack as he strolled towards the nurse’s station. You leaned casually against the counter, trying not to let your excitement show too much.

Without looking up from the chart in his hands, he replied, “Still haven’t recovered from the last time.”

You glanced over at Taylor, who sat typing behind the station, and dropped her a wink. “That’s not a no,” you stage-whispered, giggling. 

Jack finally looked at you then, eyes tired but alert, like your voice had stirred him awake. “What are you doing here?” he asked, handing off the chart to Taylor.

“What, can’t a girl visit her local cute, broody doctor?”

“I already told you I’m not that,” he frowned. 

You tilted your head. “Cute?” you asked, pretending to be confused. 

He narrowed his eyes on you. “Broody.”

“Right,” you nodded solemnly. “Of course not.” 

The silence between you lingered a second longer than expected – long enough for you to catch the faint circles under his eyes, the crease between his brows. His scrubs looked wrinkled, like he’d been running nonstop since the start of shift. Your smile softened. 

“I’m dropping some food off.”

His brows furrowed now. “For me?”

Your smile only widened, but faltered just a touch as you took in just how off he looked, a little out of rhythm. That bone-deep kind of tired. You wondered if he’d eaten at all tonight.

“For my sister,” you said lightly, though your feet were already carrying you toward the break room. You grabbed a paper plate and plastic fork, and returned just as quickly. You set the plate down and began undoing the takeaway box you’d packed.

“Wait,” Jack started, a note of warning in his voice – he already knew where this was going. You ignored him, and scooped a generous portion of pasta onto the plate before sliding it his way. The steam curled up toward Jack’s face.

“Try some.”

He sighed, saying your name like it was both a complaint and a surrender. 

“Come on,” you coaxed. “Just a bite. And if you hate it, I’ll leave you alone.”

He gave you a long-suffering look – but brought the fork to his mouth anyway. The first bite had his eyes fluttering closed, just for a second. A soft sound escaped him – barely audible, but unmistakable. You caught it.

“That was a compliment,” you accused, pointing at him with a victorious grin. “I heard it! Everyone heard it!” You turned dramatically to Taylor, who watched with a dry amusement before shuffling over to a patient’s room. 

Jack rolled his eyes. “Ok, hotshot, relax. It’s just pasta. Hard to mess it up.”

You scoffed. “You��d be surprised.” He shrugged, and you took it as a challenge. “Okay, then what? What can I make to convince you it’s not just luck – it’s these magic hands.” To make a point, you wiggled your fingers. 

To your surprise, he actually gave it some thought. A flicker of memory seemed to pass through him. His voice was quieter when he spoke.

“There was this dish we used to get when I was in the military – in this little town outside Kabul. Locals made it in the market stalls. It was kind of like a lamb stew, over some flatbread. Spicy. Kinda messy to eat. But damn good.” 

You blinked, surprised he’d offered to share something so personal. You cleared your throat, softly asking, “You were stationed in Afghanistan?” 

Realizing the slip-up, Jack shrugged it off like he regretted saying anything. His eyes drifted to a fixed point behind you.

“Jack,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand over his, which rested on the counter of the nurse’s station. The gentle tone of your voice kept him from pulling his hand out from underneath yours. If anything, that, alongside the glint in your big eyes, made him want to spill everything.

“It was the 68W program – for combat medics,” he revealed, using his free hand to pull the dog tags from under his scrub top. “Standard issue accessory.” 

“I disagree,” you murmured, playful but sincere. “I’ve heard medics are some of the toughest ones in the room.” 

Jack let out a tiny almost-smile. “We were just the ones who didn’t get to shoot back.” 

You paused, then asked, “What was it called? The dish.” 

He thought for a second. “I don’t remember. I think maybe – palau something – or – I don’t know. Doesn't matter.” 

You shook your head, heart melting. “If it stuck with you… it matters.” 

Jack didn’t say anything to that, but his gaze found yours again – direct. You caught him staring. He didn’t look away.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to think you like me,” you teased, tone light.

He didn’t even deny it, just shook his head – either in denial or disbelief, you couldn’t tell. 

“That’s okay. I like you enough for the both of us.”

That brought a pink tinge to his cheeks. 

Instead of bringing attention to it, you simply offered a half-smile. “Okay. Challenge accepted. One mystery lamb dish, coming up.”

At that, Jack raised a skeptical brow. “You’re gonna recreate something I haven’t eaten in ten years, from a place you’ve never been, with no recipe?”

You shrugged. “Maybe it’ll finally convince you to come to the restaurant.” 

And there it was – just for a second. The edge of a smile. Maybe even the beginning of a laugh. You nudged his side with your elbow.

“Admit it. You’re rooting for me.” 

Jack just shook his head, but didn’t speak. Didn’t stop smiling either. Didn’t even say no.

The next time Jack saw you in the hospital, the occasion was less momentous. You didn’t have a light pink box with the Francesca logo on it and a sweet treat––or Afghani dish––inside. You weren’t your happy, bubbly self jumping around the place. Forget jumping, you weren’t even on your feet. 

You were in a hospital bed, fluids pumping steadily through an IV line taped to your arm. Your sister, elbows resting on the edge of the bed, was scrolling through her phone with the ease of someone used to hospitals – until Jack stumbled in.

His eyes immediately found yours, and whatever breath he’d been holding on the way in came out sharp.

“Every day you’re here – you come and find me. Every day,” he said, voice low and urgent. “So, what changed today? Why was Robby the one to tell me you fainted?” 

You and your sister exchanged a glance. She was already putting her phone down, her expression turning serious.

“Because it literally happened an hour ago…?” you offered, wincing a little. “And that’s still day shift.” 

Jack raked a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every sharp movement.

“Robby had it covered,” your sister said, trying to calm Jack.

It didn’t help.

“Did he do an ECG?”  

“Yes.” 

“Echocardiogram?” 

“Yes, Jack,” she sighed.

“What about a head CT?”

You frowned. “Why would he do a CT?” 

“Because you probably hit your head when you fell.” 

You let out a breath, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t hit my head.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because Eleni caught me.” 

Jack’s eyes bounced between you and your sister. “This happened at work?” You nodded, slowly. “Did this happen because of work?” 

Suddenly, you were having a hard time meeting his eye. 

To make matters worse, your sister answered for you. “She was covering for one of the other line chefs, stressed about a critic visit – Eleni said she was barely sleeping – ”

“The critic’s a big deal!” you defended, “and Luca was getting burnt out. He needed a break.” 

“No, babe,” your sister cut in, not unkindly, “You need a break.” 

Jack stepped closer to the bed, scanning the IV bag. His fingers brushed against your arm, checking the line, then pressing gently against your wrist. “Did Robby hook her up to saline?” 

Your sister nodded.

“What about electrolytes? She’s dehydrated.” 

“He – ” Your sister paused, then asked, a little surprised, “How did you know that?” 

“Her lips are dry,” Jack responded, as if it was obvious. “She squints every time she looks up at the lights. And her leg is tense – probably cramping earlier.” 

You and your sister shared another look, then you grinned up at him, pushing his hand away from your arm to grab it in yours, warm and steady. “What?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“You were worried about me,” you grinned, all smiles and no apology.

He exhaled deeply, rubbing his free hand defeatedly over his face. “Oh, my God. You fainted and this is what you’re focused on?” 

You gave him a small shrug. “I’m fine.” 

And, truthfully, you were starting to feel better. Color was returning to your cheeks, and the constant throb behind your eyes had dulled to a whisper. The IVs were helping; the rest, too.

A voice crackled over the intercom, paging your sister to OR 3. She stood, hesitating. 

“Go,” you said, waving her off. “I’ll be fine. Go back to work.” 

“Fine, but tell someone to page me when they discharge you. I’ll get someone to drive you home.”

You rolled your eyes but nevertheless nodded. As she stepped out, Jack moved to sit on the edge of the chair beside your bed, one hand running along the railing.

“How mad do you think she’s gonna be when I tell her you’re not going anywhere? I’m keeping you overnight.” 

Your head whipped toward him. “What? Why?” 

“For observation. I want to make sure it really was stress-related and not some underlying medical condition.”

You groaned, tilting your head back against your pillow. “Jack,” you groaned, frustrated by this decision.

“Oh, I know,” he mocked gently. “How could I do this to you? Keeping you overnight to make sure you’re healthy? I’m the worst.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as dramatically as you could manage while tethered to an IV. 

“Don’t be like that,” he tried, his hand uncrossing yours. Then, the same hand lifted to gently cup your cheek. “You know, you didn’t have to faint just to get my attention. Could’ve just called.”

The blush that crept to your cheeks was immediate, and you cleared your throat, looking away. “Dr. Abbot with the jokes – never thought the day would come.”

“What can I say?” he replied with a shrug. “I’m a complex guy.”

He tugged your blanket higher, gently tucking it around you like it was second nature. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll come check on you in a bit.” 

You nodded, already feeling the weight of exhaustion settle behind your eyes. As Jack slipped out, he left the curtain half-open so he could keep an eye on you from the nurse’s station or while he was passing by to other patient rooms. 

Instead, you found your eyes drifting to him. Even through the haze of sleep, you watched him move through the ED like a controlled current – swift, focused, unshakable. He was in full command, teaching, managing, healing. Something about how intense yet calm he was eventually lulled you to sleep. 

When you woke again, sunlight was peeking through the slats of the blinds, and Jack was beside your bed, carefully unhooking the IV line. 

“Morning,” he greeted, voice soft as it pulled you from your deep slumber. “How are you feeling?” 

You rubbed at the sleep in your eyes and let out a groggy sigh “Wow, thought I died and went to broody heaven.” 

“I’ll take that as ‘fine,’” he said dryly, grabbing a paper cup of water he’d filled for you and maneuvering the straw toward your lips like it was muscle memory.

“Can I go home now?” 

He nodded, his eyes still scanning your vitals, “Soon. Just gotta fill out your discharge paperwork and then shift’s over. I’ll drive you home.” 

“Drive me home? I’m wearing you down, old man,” you grinned sleepily up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, raising a hand to press the back of it to your forehead. “You feel okay? No headache? Dizziness? Nausea?” 

“Good as new,” you promised, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Must be these magic hands.” 

He smiled at that, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles before letting go. 

“So,” you began as he signed off on your chart, “does being injured get me privileges?” 

He arched a brow. “What kind of privileges?” 

“Favors,” you said with a shrug. “Like you finally coming to the restaurant.”

Jack let out a low groan, head shaking. “It’s too early for this – you’re never gonna let that go, are you?” 

“Not till you say yes. And, as you know, I’m very persistent.” 

“Oh, I do know,” he said, then held his hand out. “Let me see your thumb.” 

You blinked. “Why?” 

Still, you offered it up. He examined it gently, brushing his fingers over the healing skin.

“When this heals completely, I’ll come to Francesca.” 

You beamed. “In that case, let’s speed up the process…” You wiggled your thumb closer to his face. “Never did try that technique of kissing it better, huh?” 

He gave you a look – but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb.

When he set it back down in your lap, your stomach fluttered.

“Now, can I take you home or are you going to make me do a blood oath first?” 

“You’ve been burying the lede, Abbot,” you teased, making your presence known as you walked across the hospital rooftop and joined him on the concrete ledge. Your shoes scraped lightly against the gravel as you sat, legs swinging just off the edge. 

He glanced over, brows furrowed in confusion. No one but Robby ever came up here. 

“Taylor told me where you were,” you informed. “How many conversations have we had – and you never mentioned this place? Or the crazy views it has?” 

The city was sprawled out below you, glittering the dark earth. A breeze tugged at your jacket, crisp with late night chill. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, checking his watch. 2:56am glowed dimly in the moonlight.

You shrugged, tucking your hands into your coat pockets. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

His concern was immediate, instinctual. “Is it the stitches? Are you feeling dehydrated?” He was already reaching for you, fingertips brushing your wrist as if searching for a pulse.

“No, Jack,” you laughed, pushing his hands away. “I’m fine. I just… woke up with a thought.” 

He stilled, waiting for you to explain what thought could’ve roused you out of bed in the middle of the night and forced you here.

You reached behind you and retrieved a familiar pink Francesca bag, the paper crinkling softly in your hands. In thick Sharpie ink, you’d scrawled his name with a lopsided heart beside it. His brows lifted in disbelief.

“No fucking way,” he murmured, greedy fingers snatching the food container out of the bag and tossing the lid aside like it might disappear if he wasn’t fast enough.

Inside sat the Afghani dish Jack had told you about that one day at the nurse’s station. The rich, spiced aroma was carried through the night air – saffron, cumin, caramelized carrots.

“It’s called qabili palau,” you offered, watching him tear a piece of naan, scoop up a mouthful, and take a bite. The moment the flavors hit his tongue, his eyes immediately rolled to the back of his head and he exhaled a quiet sound that was half-groan, half-moan.

“If you’re making those kinds of noises at my cooking, just imagine my skill in the bedroom,” you teased, flashing him a grin. 

That earned you a look – but not one you expected. Quiet, intense. His mouth twitched at the corner like he was trying not to smile, and then he went back for another bite. And another. You watched him eat in silence, the wind occasionally rustling his curls, and you couldn’t help but feel the intimacy of the moment, on this quiet rooftop, and this ridiculous hour.

He quietly finished the food, sharing it with you. And, when the food was gone, his eyes drifted out across the skyline. He looked… lighter somehow. And it reminded you why you loved being a chef – because food had the power to take people home, even when they were miles and years away.

You nudged him. “Oh – I almost forgot!” You excitedly held your hand up like a prize, thumb out. The skin had healed cleanly, leaving not even a scar behind. “All better.”

His eyes found yours, amusement dancing in them. “I’m pretty sure I said when it’s healed, not the exact moment it is.” 

You scooted closer to him, shoulders brushing, as you accused, “Oh, no. You’re not gonna get out of this.” 

He shook his head at you, like he had countless times before, but this time… this time the look in his eyes changed. Slowed. Softened. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, sitting here, choosing him.

His smile faded as he lifted a hand to your face, brushing a windblown strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t want to,” he said softly. 

And then he kissed you. 

It wasn’t rushed – not some messy, passionate crush. It was slow, intentional. The kind of kiss that people waited a long, long time for. His lips were warm, and soft, and they fit perfectly against yours. 

You melted into it, one hand curling around the front of his scrubs as the city disappeared beneath your closed eyelids. The hospital lights, the stars, the hum of distant traffic – it all faded until it was just the two of you. Just Jack.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t go far – just rested his forehead against yours, his breath brushing across your skin as he murmured, “You know, you scare the hell out of me. Make it hard to stay behind the lines I drew.” 

You smiled softly at that, brushing your thumb over the edge of his jaw. “Good. Means it’s real.” 

There was a beat of quiet. Then, he gently took your hand again, turning it over to inspect your healed thumb. You rested your head against his shoulder, grinning – you both knew exactly what this meant.

He sighed dramatically, mocking defeat. “What’s the dress code?” 

“No scrubs,” you teased.

“Button-up?”

“Only if it’s black. Very broody.” 

“Deal,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

.

.

.

read part 2 here !!

[bookshelftreasures]

Jealous Shadows

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Light Angst

Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,066

Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.

You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.

"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.

You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.

The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.

You blink in surprise.

He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.

"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.

And then you feel it.

A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.

Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.

Your stomach flips.

You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.

You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.

One in particular, a cocky warrior named Dain, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.

"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."

Azriel stills.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.

Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."

Something cold coils around your ankles.

Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.

Your breath catches.

His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.

You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.

Azriel's shadows have started to shift.

Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.

You shiver, pulse skittering.

Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"

The shadows snap toward him.

Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.

You swear you hear them hiss.

Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"

Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.

And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.

You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"

Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"

"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"

His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."

You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.

Azriel glares at it.

Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."

His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.

Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"

"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.

Silence.

His throat bobs.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.

A name.

Your name.

And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.

Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.

Which is just unacceptable.

You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."

Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.

Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."

A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.

The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.

"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."

Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.

You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."

Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."

"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."

As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.

Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."

You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"

He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.

And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."

Your breath catches.

Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"

Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

You grin. "And you love it."

He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.

"I knew it!" He boasts.

Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.

And you?

You just laugh.

Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?

They don't lie.

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : you are Spencer Reid's roommate, the team finds out about you when a case brings them to the university you study at word count : 2.5k warning : canon-typical violence A/N : the university is a random one I picked in Virginia, bear with me because I don't know how US university systems work, thanks :) I think this is a part one, there may be a part two or even more, idk, but tell me what you think !

part 2, part 3, part 4

"I- I'm sorry, what university did you say?" Spencer's frantic tone was immediately noticed by his colleagues. Suddenly, he seemed hyperaware of everything in the room. The loud AC, Derek's pen-clicking and the overwhelming smell of Emily's coffee. "Mary Washington University," JJ answered swiftly, eyes narrowed as she sent Reid a confused glance. The man in question mumbled a few words under his breath and shot up, grabbing his coat and scarf. "We need to go." His tone, unusually urgent, left no space for debate or questioning. He was out the door within seconds, followed closely by Morgan and the others.

When you'd applied for Mary Washington University, you had known you would have to get an apartment. You lived too far away to even consider taking the numerous trains and buses and subways to get there. So, when you had been accepted into your first choice of universities, you'd started apartment hunting. Or roommate-hunting, to be more precise.

To say you had been unlucky would have been quite the understatement. You'd visited four apartments so far and could not even consider living in one of them for a second. The first had been full of frat boys who made your skin crawl, the second was with an old, far right-wing couple, the third had been two sisters who'd yelled at each other for the whole time you were there and the fourth had been so crowded your were certain it was neither sanitary not legal for another person to live there. With the deadline of university starting and having to move all your things, you were starting to get quite anxious. But call it chance or fate, one day you stumbled upon an advertisement for an apartment in a nice neighbourhood with one person who seemed quite normal. This person was a state-employee (which meant a stable salary and that meant you wouldn't have to compensate for rent) who travelled often for work and liked to keep mostly to themselves. Not one for big parties, they preferred a night-in and rarely had people over.

So you'd put on your big-girl pants and had walked over to what you hoped would be your last apartment visit. You hadn't been expecting such a young person to open the door because of the way the advert had been written and because of what it said. "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." You noticed he didn't hold his hand out and mirrored his behaviour. "Hi! I'm here for a visit!" You introduced yourself somewhat shyly, feeling intimidated. This man was at the most five years older than you and he was already a doctor?

He showed you around the apartment, which you liked very much. The rooms smelled like books and tea and everything was kept very clean. On the whole, it was tidy, even if a few books or articles were stacked in some odd places. The bedroom you'd stay in was large and luminous. After the tour, he made you a cup of tea as you discussed formalities.

"Uh, so, you’re a student, right?" he'd asked politely as he added a worrying amount of sugar in his earl grey. You bit back a teasing jest. You hoped maybe one day you'd get to place where you could comment on his daily sugar intake. "Yeah, um, I'm studying English Literature and Cinema." You stirred your tea, looking around the kitchen. Even though it was painted a dark, forest green, it still seemed luminous in the afternoon sun. "Oh, that's super interesting! I’ve always found texts in Middle English particularly insightful! I- I read the Canterbury Tales when I was about 10 years old. It’s fascinating the way in which issues which were already current then are still very present today, like in the Wife of Bath’s tale, for example-“

He cut himself off, leaning back into the couch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, you probably don’t want me to ramble about what you already know.” “No, I think it’s amazing that you would know that, actually. What else did you like in the Wife of Bath’s tale?” Spencer seemed to brighten up at your words and thus ensued a lengthy discussion of the avant-garde themes evoked by Geoffrey Chaucer. You were fascinated by his knowledge and found his passion especially endearing. Lots of your professors weren’t even that passionate when talking of late 14th century literature.

After discussing rent, which you would afford by waitressing at a local bar, lightly touching upon political subjects (on which you seemed to agree on), he finally told you that he was an FBI agent. "Excuse me?" you spluttered, leaning backwards in shock. "I'm a profiler with the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I can show you my badge if you want." He stood up and reached for his bag, but you stopped him in his tracks. "No, no, that's okay, I believe you. I'm just surprised, that's all, sorry." His expansive knowledge of so many things seemed fitting for an agent of the BAU. After realising you were the first person who didn't demand his badge as proof of his profession, Spencer granted you a small smile. "You don't need to apologise. I- I know it can be a bit... off-putting." He sat back down and looked you in the eye. "Is that a problem for you, living with a federal agent?"

You thought about it for a second. As a general rule, you weren't a big fan of cops. Even more generally, you didn't believe in the structure of today's society. But that was a big topic. Plus, a profiler wasn't really a cop, was he? "No, that's not a problem for me."

You'd moved in a month and a half later. Things had been slightly awkward at first and you'd had to figure out what kind of dynamic Spencer and you had. But eventually, you’d found your rhythm.

When Spencer left for work, you took care of his plants and sent him pictures of Geoffrey. Geoffrey was the cat you’d found on the street and taken in. He was named after Geoffrey Chaucer, author of the Canterbury Tales, your first common point of interest. Spencer had been reluctant at first, but you’d taken him to the vet, where he was tested and vaccinated, and the man had finally accepted him into your shared space. Now, he loved the little creature. Sometimes, you’d call him to ask how he was doing and whether he was safe. He’d always reply that yes, he was doing fine and no, he wasn’t in any danger, don’t you worry. He’d ask how you were doing and if you were staying on top of uni work and if you’d eaten and if Geoffrey wasn't being too annoying. As an orange cat, he had his particular tendencies.

When Spencer was at home, you'd always look forward to getting back from class. There was always that sense of comfort and ease when he was around. You had found a lovely routine quite easily. You'd both work or study, then cook, eat together and afterwards maybe you'd watch a movie or something. You were at a point where you could comment on his daily sugar intake, which he's started correcting since meeting you. He loved the Big Bang Theory and though you weren't such a fan, you loved the little laughs he let out and all the corrections he'd make. In general, you liked when he talked. Even more generally, you liked him. You also liked Friends and though Ross got on Spencer's nerves, he enjoyed being able to discuss it with you afterwards. The two of you got very close without even noticing.

Sometimes, you'd remember he wasn't just your roommate, but also a man. He'd make you a cup of tea and you'd stare at his hands a little too long while he stirred the honey in. Or he'd help you reach for a cup with his impressive height, his front just skimming your back with a shiver. He'd tell you to breathe and sit down when you were upset about something. A few times, he drove you home from a night out with your friends and laid his hand on your knee. He was the only one who remembered how you'd told him you wanted to kiss him.

With you, Spencer discovered many things he had never experienced before. A healthy, comforting and peaceful routine. A supporting, non-judgemental, healthy friendship. Easy laughter in the middle of the night and tired "good morning"s at dawn. Butterflies in his stomach whenever you touched him. A budding romance which kept him awake at night.

So when that was threatened, he just about lost it.

"Oh my God." "I can't believe this." "Is this a prank?" "Did someone call 911?" "What about her parents?" "Oh, that's sick."

Voices swarmed around your head, making you dizzy. Your hand rested over your mouth as you stared at the body strewn on the lawn. Much of the student body stood next to you, just as shocked. Mary Goldman had been her name. You'd crossed her just this morning in the main hall and had exchanged small smiles. You had thought that she looked really pretty today, but hadn't told her. You regretted that now. At the moment, her mascara had run down her cheeks and dried and her lipstick and been smudged. Bruises and cuts decorated her bare arms and legs and a big red stain sat on the side of her stomach. The contrast between her dead body and the green, thriving grass beneath her was haunting.

You turned away, feeling sick. You felt your friend's hand on your shoulder, a small source of comfort anchoring you to reality. Facing the road as you turned, you were surprised to see three big black SUVs speeding towards the crowd. You'd been expecting an ambulance, or cops. Not whoever these guys were. They screeched to a stop, drawing everyone's attention. A small dozen of people stormed out, all dressed differently though they all held the same aura of importance, knowledge and authority. You turned back to your friends. "Who are these-"

You stopped mid-sentence when you heard your name being called out urgently. You'd have recognised his voice amidst a thousand others. He spoke your name like no other. You frantically looked around, pushing your way to the large vehicles. When you finally spotted him, tears started pricking your eyes. "Spencer," you breathed in a half-sob. His eyes ran you over once, twice, assessing any damage. When he saw there was no physical wound, his shoulders sank in relief. He opened his arms and you rushed inside his warm embrace almost reflexively. Neither of you noticed the numerous pair of curious eyes observing your intimate exchange.

"Oh my God, Spence- What- What are you doing here?" you'd cried into his cardigan. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent he always bore. He wrapped an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders, holding the back of your head in a consoling manner. "We're- We're taking this on as a case, sweets. Are you all right?" He knew it was a stupid question but all the emotions and tension were barely wearing off and he didn't know what else to say. You pulled away but he kept you at arm's length, holding your cold, shaking hands in his warm, steady ones. "I- Yeah, it's just- I- I saw her this morning! How could she- Why would someone do this to her? To- to anyone?!" Spencer cooed and pulled you into another tight hug as you continued to ramble through your tears. When you'd eventually calmed down thanks to his words of reassurance, he pulled away softly.

Spencer understood what you meant perhaps more than anyone. The sadness, the shock, the anger, the need to understand. He gently wiped away the mascara under your eyes with his thumb. "I know, I- It's- Even I don't always understand, sweetheart, so don't- Why don't you go home? I'd come with you but-" You nodded, biting your lower lip. He gave you a sad smile. "I promise I'll join you as soon as this is over. You- you can make yourself a cup of tea and process all this and pet Geoffrey, okay? Classes are going to be cancelled either way." "I don't want to-" The look in his eyes kept you from arguing further. You nodded, giving him another hug. Before you left, an older man came over to you.

"I'm sorry to bother you, miss. I'm Agent David Rossi. I just had a question-" "Rossi," interrupted Spencer with a stern tone you'd never heard before. The older Agent raised an eyebrow at him. "Just one question." He turned back to you. "At what time did you say you saw the victim?" You inhaled shakily, running a hand over your face. "Uh, it must have been around quarter to eleven. I think- Yeah, somewhere between ten thirty and eleven." "Thank you, miss." You didn't miss the glance shared between the two men before Rossi retreated.

"Who was that?" asked Emily as soon as you'd left and Spencer had joined them behind the police tape. "No one," Spencer brushed her off as he kneeled next to the victim. Strangely, he hated the idea of someone who knew you dying. It felt too close to home. "C'mon, man, you lost your shit this morning, a girl you clearly know very well runs into your arms, you snap at Rossi and you expect us to believe you?" Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the rest of the team. All were staring at him patiently. He stood up, swallowing.

"That was my roommate." He informed the team of your name and of how you'd been living together for a few years now. "Spencer, you've been living with a woman for years and you've never told us?!" Derek was all but hysteric. Hotch reminded him that everyone was entitled to a private life. "So, are you dating or something?" Emily prodded again. Spencer hesitated a second before answering. "No." Derek scoffed, appalled. "You mean to tell me you've been living with a beautiful woman like that for years and nothing's ever happened?!" "Not everyone is like you, Morgan," Emily reminded with a teasing smirk. Derek sent her an unimpressed look. "Look, let's all grill Spencer later, we have a case to focus on right now." Rossi, ever the voice of reason, directed everyone's attention back to the corpse laying next to them.

Needless to say, the BAU team did not need to interrogate Spencer or attack him with incessant questions to find much out. They'd seen by his behaviour that very morning how much he cared about you. They'd seen how relieved he had been when he'd seen you safe and sound. They'd noticed you'd only started crying when you'd seen him, a big sign of trust. They had never heard him call another by pet names such as "sweets" or "sweetheart". They'd read both of your body languages like a children's book and translated it easily.

Love. Comfort. Peace. Ease.

[feelingdozy]

POURING MY LOVE ONTO YOU - Robert Reynolds

pairing: Bob x assistant!Reader

Summary: Rainy days are when you and Bob find yourselves together the most. But what happens when one of those times is when Bob realizes he's madly in love with you?

Warnings: fluff, heavy yearning, friends to lovers, bob being oblivious to your feelings, makeout sesh, intimate moments, implied smut, bucky being bucky

w/c: 1,5k

The rain pittered gently on the windows of your dimmed room, echoing in the silence of peacefulness that was you sitting in bed, eyes focused on your phone before rubbing them with a slight urgency to stay awake. The calming tip-tap was lulling you ever so gently to a realm between unconsciousness and consciousness, only urged by the loud buzzing that came from the bright shining light in your hands.

Yelena: mission went fine, well, fine enough that we only left with maybe one knife wound

Walker: you sure that was one?

Giggling at the interaction, you found yourself questioning where your other half was- Bob. Only required to gather intel, you and Bob had been partners in not being on the field, but being left alone in the tower with just the two of you. It wasn't unlikely that you came across the days where everyone else had left, as missions called accordingly. You didn't mind it these days. The ones where you had found yourself crawling over to the living room where Bob had taken comfort on the beanbag chair in the corner, or the days he'd find himself stumbling into your room asking what you were up to.

Sometimes it'd be board games, sometimes weird youtube videos that'd have him asking "Why are they doing that though? How much stuff are they buying- my god!" that makes him walk out to the kitchen in a rage induced, snack craving mood. Every time you laugh at his silly antics. Other times organizing each others closets and finding an embarrassing pajama top that definitely doesn't fit anymore.

But sometimes you miss him. The loneliness will creep in when you realize how much he's away, and suddenly your footsteps are the only ones being heard through the huge tower.

When he's called out on a whim for a day of interviews with the crew, rather it be galas or simply sitting in a sad, boring room crowded by people behind the scenes and bombarded with questions about his personal life. Bob would rather be anywhere but there- having you curled up beside him when the tower gets too cold late at night, watching a silly romance or an overdone action movie with hot chocolate in your hand and feeding him whatever chips the two of you had picked out hours before. He wanted to be with you.

So on the calm days the two of you had, you always made the most of your time together.

Looking down at your phone again,

Bucky: would you two let us get through one day without arguing like elementary schoolers?

Walker: don't act like you didn't scream cucumber before yelena sneezed

Ava: didn't you say avocado or some shit?

Walker: I 100% said cucumber

Ava: sure.

Snorting, your head immediately snapped up at the sound of a knock at your door, yelling "Come in!" delightfully. Squinting your eyes to focus them through the shadow at your doorway, Bob closes the door behind him, approaching you on your bed. Snuggled into one of his regular crewnecks, a light blue that's stretched and frayed at the edges from so much use land in your vision, sporting him a smile at his entrance.

"Hey" you mutter softly, looking back up at his eyes to find his glued to yours, ears slightly peaked and red at the top.

"Hi- u-uh just wondering what you were up to y'know- got uh, got bored by myself.." fumbling with his hands, he stands in spot, waiting for your permission to invite him into your space.

"C'mon" patting the other side of your bed, welcoming him into your soft sheets that smell otherworldly- or otherwise like you. His skin tingles as he plops down to your side, almost touching you but not quite, for his sanity and for your comfortability. Not realizing, you move over without a problem, your touch lighting him ablaze as your skin to skin. All of a sudden Bob can sense everything- the way your heart races just a little, the warmth radiating off of you although he's running way hotter. The light, hardly-lasting scent of your shampoo still stuck to your hair after lying in bed all evening.

Bob can't distract himself anymore. You bother him in the best ways, and he can't even explain it to himself. His heart threatening to skip more beats than it can handle, overheating himself to the point he actually has to take off his crewneck- It's overwhelming.

He thinks of Yelena and how she'd nudge him with her elbow whenever you entered the kitchen with your hair lazily brushed, and clothes rushed on, opening the cabinets to find a bag of chocolate hiding deep in there. You wouldn't hide your cravings from the team, but Bob wanted to hide himself at times like these, scared his heart would combust if he eyed your cute, disheveled form down any longer. Yelena whispered in his ear, "you're staring" making him jump.

He thinks of the time he saw Bucky eyeing him in his peripherals as you knelt to retrieve bandages from the med kit you had beside you, pulling it gently over an open wound he had gotten from a mission. Only finding out about it when he first came back, you were furious. Ushering him to the couch, urging him to sit down. You couldn't see it, but Bucky sure could- the hairs on his arm were raised, hair clinging to his forehead yet no sweat was dripping down his face. His ears giving way to the rosy tint that stuck with him whenever you lingered. After you were done, you patted him down for anything else as he froze in place, awestruck from the way you had made him feel so safe, but more so from the way you had cared. Almost too much.

The most recent was Walker- training him on stamina and reflexes. But when you walked in the room, he felt himself light up from the inside. The question was, was that a good thing, or a bad thing?- and sentry had made it obvious. A surge of wanting to show off through quick moves had buzzed through his every muscle, only catching himself to be pinned down afterward by the blonde because he had been distracted for too long.

"Bob",

"Bob!"

"H-huh?" looking over to Walker, only a sly grin plastered across his face. With a little pressure, Walker had put his pointer figure to Bobs chest, making the man look down.

"You like her don't you? 'nd your feeling it righhhhht here." Tapping the spot repeatedly, almost like he was making sure Bob got the message like he didn't know it himself.

He quickly scurried back from Walker, replacing his finger with his own hands as he took deep breaths to distract himself from being found out.

"N-no?" instead of a statement, came out like a question, and Walker only snickered as he went to walk out of the training room.

"You should hear hers, man- gets pretty loud when pretty boy walks in the room"

Leaving Bob alone, absolutely stunned in place, he started to question what exactly had he been missing that Walker had been seeing.

His gaze was on you for too long- he knew that. But at some point he started to stop caring as you scrolled mindlessly through different apps, laughing at stupid cat videos, or pointing out an interest of yours. You had almost forgotten about Bob's presence because he was so comfortable and calming to be around. Yawning, you stretched yourself out, in the process splaying your hands over his waist, intertwining yourself with him. You turned to look up at him, making eye contact.

"Bob-"

"Can I kiss you?"

Only left wide eyed, you stared at him in disbelief, stunned but not unwelcomed.

"yes" fumbling out of your mouth immediately "of course"

Cupping your cheeks ever so lightly with his hands, he leaned in slowly. It wasn't hungry, nor was it filled with the weight of desire- it felt like worship. At first hesitant, it felt like his love was slowly pouring into your soul every time he deepened it, warm, tongue dipping slightly into your mouth as he held you tighter, grounding. Through a flurry of strong emotions and new sensations, you let out a gasp at the intrusion. He let go, looking at you with blown-out eyes that stared into yours like they were the stars hung in the sky.

"was that- you okay?" He muttered, unsure and awkward, a shy smile contrasting his tone of voice.

"More than okay. Amazing- fuck" pulling him in again unexpectedly, he leaned into your touch, hands rounding his neck and pulling him closer towards you. Grazing every open area of his skin with your fingertips, he let the two of you separate naturally from the kiss to lead careful nips down your jaw to your neck, little yelps eliciting from you without meaning to as he bit your earlobe. Staring back at you, Bob gripped your hips with weight, "S-shit- y'gotta do that- please you gotta make that sound again"

Before Bob was able to do anything about it, you feel a buzz from your phone grasping your attention. Pulling away from Bob for the slightest second, your hands still tangled in his hair while seeing if it was important, only to be found with a direct message from Bucky.

Bucky: you don't happen to know what caused the power to go out for a second, do you? Fucked up my toast, thanks

[zulashi-the-writer]

⚠️PSA this is fully consensual, it might seem very dark but I am only trying to be the same level as the song

Underneath Your Skin

Jinu x Reader

Summary: he has you cornered trapped, his body pressed against yours no space left to breathe

2nd person pov

His lips grazed against your neck, his teeth teasing your delicate skin, your heart raced almost beating out of your chest fans screams echoed from outside the changing room but he didn't care, his eyes laid close his hair somewhat tussled and his costume layed down his shoulders barely covering him. His teeth pinched your skin as he sucked slightly leaving trails of red down your neck drawing your blood to the surface.

Your fast breathes just begged for him to take you, his hands tightened their hold on yours bringing them to hang over your head against the wall, he smirked into your skin hearing your little gasps, he was in control over you over your body he owned every single inch, and he was leaving no space unmarked.

His breath was heavy against your skin, his hair tickling your cheek as he moved around your neck, he could feel your fastened pulse through your veins tempting him, his mind was clouded with darkness of all the things he's going to do to you the only difficult thing was where he should start, where should he begin tasting this delectable thing Infront of him.

Pray for me now

One of his hands dropped to hold your body moving to grab whatever he could get his hands on, his hand gripped your hip pressing it firm against his eagerly showing off his need and lust, your cheeks dusts red crying out feeling the tightened nip at your skin, he pulls back a small trail of red moved from his smirking lips but he was quick to catch with his tongue his eyes glowing a dark yellow, it was too late to run.

I'll be your idol

His body caged you in no room for escape, trapped by his hunger and lust, he released your hands, but your body was frozen only your eyes could flicker watching his every move, his hands caught the ends of the fabric keeping your body secret from his gaze. He was quick to tear, your eyes following the sorrowful shreds as they fell to the floor.

Keeping you in check (Uh), keeping you obsessed (Uh)Play me on repeat, 끝없이 in your head Anytime it hurts, play another verse I can be your sanctuary

Your body quivered feeling his hands move along your naked shin leaving a trail of goosebumps wherever his fingertips grazed, his patterns glowed a light shade of purple like a predator's growl it was just the start. His eyes travelled slowly up and down your body and then to meet your gaze as he slowly dropped to his knees his hands dragging across your skin as he went down, his hot breath fanning your thighs as his golden eyes stared up at you filled with lust.

Know I'm the only one right now (Now) I will love you more when it all burns down More than power, more than gold (Yeah) Yeah, you gave me your heart, now I'm here for your soul

His lips parted slightly looking so kissable you longed for them to meet yours, but he had other plans slowly moving his lips to kiss the sensitive skin of your inner thigh leaving a trail of kisses as he made his way up every inch he gets closer sends a ripple of shivers through your body, your breath hitched feeling his hands clasped your thighs his fingers digging into your skin making sure you couldn't move away.

I'm the only one who'll love your sins Feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin Listen 'cause I'm preachin' to the choir Can I get the mic' a little higher? Gimme your desire I can be the star you rely on

His eyes never left yours watching your every movement, every reaction, he wanted to see everything he made you feel, he leaned in close his breathe tickling your delicate skin, you felt as if you were about to faint, your pitiful pleas making him smirk, his lips met your plump folds, his tongue sneaking out to explore the sensitive slit, his tongue worked its way up and down, swirling around your clit, he was enjoying this, watching you try to drown your pleasured moans by covering your mouth and how your body presses against him.

내 황홀의 취해 you can't look away (Hey) Don't you know I'm here to save you Now we runnin' wild Yeah, I'm all you need, I'ma be your idol Uh, 비치나는 fame, 계속 외쳐, I'm your idol

He worked his mouth against your clit, his hands gripping your thighs tighter with each squeak of pleasure, his tongue tingled with your delicious taste he just needed more, his fingers traced across your skin, his rough skin slid up and down your folds, the wetness coating his skin to make it easier as two of his fingers slid into your slick entrance, pumping in and out in slow motions to drive you insane.

Thank you for the pain 'cause it got me going viral Uh, yeah, 나지 않는 fever, makin' you a believer 나를 왜 넌 존재하는 아이돌 Don't let it show, keep it all insideThe pain and the shame, keep it outta sight

Your head laid back against the wall, eyes shut tightly, your teeth slightly digging into your hand muffling your cries, his fingers increased their speed as his tongue circled your clit making your body trembled, he could feel the pleasure radiate off of your skin begging him to make you finish but he didn't want you to finish on his tongue, he wants to feel your pussy clench around him as he pumps you fill of his seed fully claiming you as his.

Your obsession feeds our connection 이 순간 give me all your attention You know I'm the only one who'll love your sins Feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin

His patterns flared at the thought, he pulled back growling at the sounds of your displeasure of the loss of pleasure, he brought his fingers to his lips, his tongue reached out licking up your delicious juices, he caught your gaze watching him intently with flushed cheeks his body shivered at your taste, rolling his shoulders his costume fell leaving him bare infront of you, his cock hardened by pleasure.

Listen 'cause I'm preachin' to the choir Can I get the mic a little higher? Gimme your desire I can be the star you rely on 내 황홀의 취해, you can't look away (Yeah) Don't you know I'm here to save you Now we runnin' wild Yeah, I'm all you need, I'ma be your idol Be your idol

His lips pressed against your in a passionate kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth your faded flavour still present on his lips, one of his hands cradled your face as the other settled on your hip dragging his body closer, his cock pressed up against you throbbing for release, his comments of dominance against your lips made you beg for the same. His hand moved from your hip to hold his dick pressing up against you, slowly entering you inch by inch he stretches you open, your hands reach out to clasp his shoulders for balance.

Living in your mind now Too late 'cause you're mine now I'll make you free When you're all part of me (Listen 'cause I'm) preaching to the choir(Now) Can I get the mic a little higher?

His chest rumbled with a growl how he wished to savour this moment, his hips started to move in slow strokes feeling every shudder and twitch through your sensitive walls, you are his obsession his every desire in one, his teeth nipped at your lips with each thrust, the movements slowly moving faster as your cunt molded around him, his patterns stood vibrant against his pale skin filled by pleasure and passion.

Gimme your desire Watch me set your world on fire 내 황홀의 취해, you can't look away No one is coming to save you Now we runnin' wild

His body pressed you further into the wall with each thrust, his cock pressing further and further into you, your moans filled the room echoing off the walls while his panting breathes fanned your cheeks, he could feel your release nearing the feeling of it driving him insane, his cock throbbed, his seed building up inside him but his thrusts never fultered, your hips red and raw from his hips hitting yours.

You're down on your knees, I'ma be your idol

His breath strung out foul words of excitement, his eyes half lidded in pleasure staring down at your trembling body as you reached the edge of your ecstasy, your walls tightening around him as you squealed out, finger tips digging into his skin, his head fell back groaning out as his dick released inside of you, the warm liquid filling you up, his breath fanned your face, his chest heaving with each breath his voice hoarse as he spoke.

"You are mine"

Taglist

@smiling-laughing-hating

@bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee