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ilium-ilia · 3 days ago

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tongue on loving wound

simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader | omegaverse!au | alternate universe to In Limbo | alpha!ghost x omega!fem!reader | masterlist

Chapter Three: leave me panting on the kitchen floor like a dog begging for scraps

tw: smut, scenting, scent intox, intense first time heat, fingering, creampie, breeding kink, scent gland playing

By some miracle, Simon manages to get you to sleep through the first night of your heat.

It doesn’t come easy. You wake often in fits, whimpering and writhing as you try to pry yourself from the nest for no discernable reason other than the fact that you’re uncomfortable. Itching from the inside out. Stuck within your own wretched skin. Sweat glues the two of you together as he holds you back, not that it takes much effort. You’re weak. You give in easily at the mere weight of his forearm across your torso and quiet shushing against the shell of your ear.

The only thing that truly quells this discomfort blossoming in you seems to be his scent. Thick hormones—a near paralytic. For hours he lies next to you with his palm cradling the back of your head as he keeps your face pressed against his neck where the secretions of his scent is most potent. You nap like a baby when he’s got you like this. Quiet, and drooling as if you’re starving for a taste of him.

A few hours in, you almost rouse. Somehow during his own sleep, you’ve managed to turn away from him. Back against his chest, face in the sheets—he wakes at the sound of your groan. Thick and caught in your throat like phlegm, he snaps awake as if it’s an alarm. Panicking, he grabs the first article of his clothing he can find within the nest and shoves it against your nose as if to gag you. It knocks you out cold as if it’s chloroform and not the mere scent of him.

When Simon notices that it’s a pair of his boxers, he thinks he ought to switch it out for something less degrading, but the way you mindlessly nuzzle into it with a sigh warns him he shouldn’t.

Dawn breaks over the house in pale silver. A storm is brewing. Downright angry with thunder humming in the distance and light rain already spitting against the window panes. When he notes that you’re still fast asleep, Simon does his best to slip out of the nest unnoticed. Careful, strong limbs guide him over your body until he’s steady on the floor.

It’s hard to fight his own instincts as he looks down at your curled form, and he can’t pretend as if your scent isn’t intoxicating. All things soft that follows brutality—blood after a laceration, gauze on wound, a shuddering breath from a punctured lung. Your hand begins to stretch in your sleep, fingers unfurling before curling into the mess of blankets and clothes. The sight makes him dizzy; forces all the blood in his body to flow where it knows he needs most.

Swallowing, he strips his shirt off of his torso before placing it on top of his boxers, gifting you his fresh scent before he leaves the room.

If he had known your body was about to spring such a brutal heat upon you, Simon would have prepared better, and a part of him is a bit frustrated that he wasn’t able to pick up on the scent. He stares at the sparse contents of his fridge with pursed lips. For half the night you’ve been sweating, overheating, and damn near combusting. Body thrown into overdrive, forcing your mind to undergo something you’ve never had to experience before. You’re using up too many nutrients. You need food. Water. And, of course, the obvious.

Simon snatches up a half finished packet of bacon before turning the stove on and shoving bread in the toaster. He rummages through his pantry in search for more protein. Nutella, or peanut butter—something with calories, something that’ll fuel the two of you with enough energy for what’s about to take place.

The bacon is halfway done when an inconsiderate clap of thunder shakes the house. Every wall rattles around him, and he wrenches his eyes shut as he holds his breath, hackles raised. It isn’t long before he picks up the faint sound of your feet trudging down the hallway.

“Simon?” He can tell from your voice alone that you’re already dehydrated. Each syllable cracks in your throat as you walk up to him with mist in your eyes. “Come back to bed, please.”

And he wants to. Oh, how he’d sweep you into his arms and lay you back in your nest and shove his cock into your pussy as many times as you need—and he will, in due time. But right now the drive to take care of you is stronger than something as debauched as that.

“Not yet, baby,” Simon murmurs. He stifles your pout with a gentle caress of his thumb against your cheek. “Gotta get some food in ya, first. Grab a seat, I’ll be done soon.”

You don’t wander far despite his prompting. Wobbly, unstable knees give out beneath you and he finds you sitting on the kitchen floor next to him as he continues to cook. Bacon grease pops and sears the bare skin of his chest, but it’s easy to ignore the pain when you’re clinging to his leg. Hands wrapping around his thigh, forehead rolling back and forth over his hip.

It isn’t long before you begin to wander. Nose prodding against his crotch, Simon feels himself harden within an instant. He does his best to push it out of his mind as he sets a plate for you, but the audible sounds of your inhaling leaves his mind spinning. It only worsens when your lips fall apart to press against the band of his joggers in an open mouthed kiss, wanting tongue already darting out to wet the cotton.

“Sweetheart,” Simon sighs. He places his hand on the crown of your head, prompting your neck to crane back to look at him. Everything about you is wet—your cunt, your eyes, glistening tears on your cheeks, sweat coating your throat, all failing to douse the fire churning within you. “You gotta eat.”

“I don’t wanna eat.” You’re getting bratty now. Whining with your brain telling you to devour one thing, and it certainly isn’t food. Trembling fingers curl into his joggers before you yank, sending the band pulling past his hip bone. “I feel worse. I just—everything is so foggy. You said you were gonna—Simon you said—you were gonna take care of me.”

He steadies both your body and attitude with a soft grip on your jaw. The movement silences you immediately, and all you can do is stare up at him as he clicks the stove off and retrieves your breakfast with his free hand.

“Poor little ‘mega thinks she’s got this all figured out, yeah?” He tilts his head to the side as he leans forward; nothing but a curious dog. “But you don’t, do you sweet girl? That’s why you need me. Need your alpha to take care of you, don’tcha?”

Simon slinks low enough until he’s on the ground next to you, plate of food on the floor to his left while his legs sprawl out. When his thighs part, the straining bulge in his pants is glaring. Growing ever rounder, more firm, damn near throbbing through the fabric—it’s hard to tear your eyes away from the sight when he pats his lap.

“C’mere sweet girl. We’re gonna eat.”

He situates you until you’re between his legs, back pressed against his chest and head rolling against his shoulder. Simon feeds you by hand. Slowly. Salted pork, buttered toast—it all presses past your lips until every crumb is in your mouth. Though your whimpering hasn’t stopped, your kvetching has. Jaw too busy chewing, biting through flesh, retaining the energy he knows you’re going to need.

While one hand feeds your mouth, the other feeds your cunt. Shoved past the band of your panties, Simon’s fingers swirl around your clit effortlessly with the wetness that’s accumulated over the countless hours. You’re impossibly firm, tender skin perking up nice and pretty just for him. Every now and then he slips a finger into your hole just to feel the way your hips jump and writhe.

“S-Simon,” you gasp.

“Less talkin’ and more eatin’ baby.” He brings the last half of toast up to your mouth where you gingerly take a bite, incisors hardly stealing more than a nibble.

“B-But I’m—you’re—everything feels weird like… like tight and… fuzzy…”

He knows exactly where this is going. It’s been growing for the last few minutes in the twitching of your legs, nerves misfiring, muscles contracting, a flood of spasms waiting to erupt. Before he lets that happen, he presses the last mouthful of toast into your mouth and waits for you to swallow before his fingers begin to pick up their pace.

“Yeah? What else, baby? S’it feel good?” Simon prods—playing with his food.

All you can do is mumble something hardly coherent as you nod. Back beginning to arch, hips levitating off the floor, heels digging into the hardwood—you shatter with a squeaking groan. Taut thumbs curl into his thighs where you hold purchase to keep yourself steady before you’re panting and gasping as if you’ve already sucked all the air from the world and you’re still hungry for more.

“Atta girl, there she is. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Eatin’ all your food like a good pet.” Once your breathing has calmed down a considerable amount, he raises his hand to your mouth where his fingers are still stained with bacon grease and crumbs. “Be a doll and lick me clean.”

You follow his order with a gusto he didn’t expect you to muster after he dismantled you like this. Taking his fingers into your mouth, you suck each and every one of them clean, all the way down to his thumb. When he raises his other hand away from your sex, your jaw falls slack, waiting for him to ask you to do the same, but he only chuckles.

“Nuh uh, this treat’s for me, sweetheart.”

Tight muscles begin to melt beneath his touch as Simon’s hands wander over your body. Heat still emanates out of you as if you’re a furnace, but he notes how the perspiration isn’t as thick anymore—which could either be a good or bad thing. He hums something about needing to clean up before he slips out from behind you. With all the strength sapped from your body, you do not wander off, but instead lie on the floor with your cheek pressed to the cold ground.

Rain slaps violently against the window as he begins to wash up. The food he had made for himself has gone cold, but he shovels it into his mouth before disposing of the grease and soaping the plates and pan. Thunder purrs overhead and Simon thinks about how perfect everything is. You, here where it’s safe as this storm rages on, hidden deep in his den where not even the elements can lay a hand on you.

Simon’s drying his hands off by the time he turns back around to check on you, and that string that tugs at his navel nearly forces him to pounce on you. Knees digging into the hardwood, rump raised high into the air while your face stays flat on the floor—your hands are between your thighs and he can see everything. How you desperately try to move the soaked gusset of your panties to the side, the way your fingers pitifully press into your hole, palms pressing at your cheeks, spreading yourself wide for him.

“Too empty,” you cry. “Simon, i-it feels wrong; please fix it, fix me, I can’t…”

He’s on his knees behind you in an instant. Hands ghosting over your lower back, kneading into the tense muscle before his fingers slip beneath the band of your underwear. You’re swaying with his movements, unsteady even as you’re nearly laying. Jasmine wafts in the air and his eyes nearly roll into the back of his skull.

“Need your alpha’s cock, is that it sweet girl?” he asks. Simon tugs at the fabric and yanks them past your hips until there’s nothing covering your sex. He can see her in all her quivering glory—glistening and clenching. Waiting. “C’mon, what do you need, baby?”

“You!” Your response leaves in a near shriek, only to die off to a susurrus. Then, your swaying tenses. “My… my alpha?”

“Yeah, your alpha, baby,” he nods.

“My alpha. I want it.”

You’ve waited so long, and been such a good girl about it. Laying pretty for him in a nest strewn in his bed, waiting by his feet as he cooks, came so sweetly on his fingers—he cannot deny you this. Simon shoves the waistband of his joggers down and grunts at the way he springs free, cock bobbing as he tenses before he takes it into his hand. Warm metal greets his palm as he lazily strokes himself, squeezing precum free from his tip so he can wipe it off on your cunt and chuckle at the way you jolt.

A sob escapes your throat when he pushes in. You stretch so well around him, pulling him in and forcing him to stop once you’ve swallowed the head of his cock. You’re panting, fingers curling into your palms, nails digging into the flesh, knuckles tapping against the floor as your feet begin to kick.

“Easy baby,” Simon says through a hiss, grabbing your hips for his own stability.

“More, more please, I can’t- too empty, Si, too empty,” you babble.

He’s impressed at how easy it is to shove the rest of himself in. Not even his frequent lays before this could ever take him as well as you do now, and he has to bite back the murmur that bubbles in his chest. This is proof. Your scent—sweet and tender in the way death always is—how you’ve so easily wrapped him around your finger, consumed every thought—his mate. His omega.

That tender spot on the side of your neck looks tastier by the minute.

Simon’s pace is quick—you won’t accept anything less. Whimpering every time he attempts to give you a break, begging for more, refusing to let him treat you as if you’re delicate; he relents. Fingers curling into your hips, broad thighs slapping against your own, sending sharp claps echoing throughout the empty kitchen; it’s raw. Pure and unadulterated.

It’s frustrating how fast his orgasm approaches, but he can tell by the kicking of your feet that it’s exactly what you’re wanting from him. To be full not only of him, but everything he has to offer. You’re begging now. Incoherent rambling hits the floor as your head lowers as if in prayer. All Simon can do is hold on to the fat of your ass as he watches the way his cock plunges into you, wetness glistening along the back of your thighs as you soak him to the very bone. His jaw clenches, teeth creaking, diaphragm spasming—

A strangled sob leaves your throat when he comes. He’s twitching inside of you, half sheathed but still filling you up properly with all the spend he has to offer. With narrowed eyes, Simon witnesses the way his knot swells just outside the entrance of your pussy and he growls. It hurts. Too much pressure and not enough counterweight to squeeze him tight—the tender skin bulges and reddens. Cursing, his palm slams against the cabinet as he grinds into you, but it’s useless to offer any reprieve for his aching knot.

Once you’ve caught your breath, he finds you finally looking back over your shoulder. Neck craned, hips rolling—it isn’t long before you’re pouting. Dazed, Simon doesn’t realize the way you’re pulling away from him until it’s too late. You rock back into him, body colliding with his knot in a way that makes him growl. Instinctively, he reaches a hand for the nape of your neck before he presses hard, forcing your chest to the floor, leaving you squirming.

“None of that,” Simon warns.

“You didn’t give me your knot,” you whine.

“You’re not ready for that yet, baby.” His weight forces you to collapse until you’re flat on your stomach, legs straightened with his thighs forcing them apart. The fear of being crushed ought to scare you, but all you do instead is moan. “Too much at once for a sweet ‘mega like you.”

Hips still wiggling, you attempt to shake your head as best as you can. “I can take it! I need it, need you so bad Simon, you’re so- you’re so mean.”

“Mean?” He can’t help but chuckle at that. “No baby, I’m takin’ care of ya. Just like I said I would, yeah?” His grip loosens on the back of your neck, but his thumb begins to wander to that quivering gland. You tense, body ready and eager; your head tilts to the side. “I’ll give you this knot nice and proper later, yeah baby?”

You wiggle in defiance. “I can’t wait, Si. I don’t wanna wait.”

“You can do it, sweetheart. I know you can.”

Without warning, his thumb digs into the side of your neck where the skin of your shoulder meets your throat. Your mouth falls open but a sound doesn’t escape you for a long moment until a moan eventually bleeds out between your lips. Soft gland pinched by his nail, every inch of you begins to tremble. Cock still shoved inside of you, he feels the way you come just from that mere touch—that feigned bite that he knows your brain craves primally, but is unsure if it’s what you truly want.

Simon’s eyes close as you squeeze him in rhythm with your orgasm and he doesn’t loosen his grip until you’ve gone truly limp beneath him. Perspiration coats your face but that doesn’t stop him from leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“You’re drinkin’ some water, then you’re gonna nap, yeah?” It’s not a question, but rather a preordained series of events he knows you need.

The fight has been drained out of you—for now—and you nod with a sigh. “Yeah, okay.”

It takes several minutes to get you back into the nest you so meticulously put together on his bed. Pulling out of you, Simon sits on the floor next to you as he rubs your back until the strength returns to your body, but even then your knees are nothing but jelly, and he has to guide you to the room with an arm wrapped around your waist.

You settle into the plush sheets and mess of his clothes so nicely, having already carved out a space for yourself. He lets you rest for only a moment before he’s cupping your chin and pressing a water glass to your lips. Half of it spills out of your mouth. Soft streams dribbling down your chin, wetting your chest—you hum at the way it cools your feverish skin.

Simon hardly has time to settle into the nest next to you before you’re winding up again. Hands pawing at his chest, nose nuzzling against his flank, mouth wandering too far down for his comfort—he has to cradle your face into the side of his neck to even temporarily sedate you, but even then your wiggling persists. He attempts to satiate you by jamming his thigh between your legs to allow you to grind against him, but if anything the stimulation only works you up even more.

“Is it time for more?” Your question is so saccharine his teeth ache at the thought of biting into something so sugary.

“Not yet, baby, you need to rest first,” he gently reminds.

“No, it’s okay, I’m ready.”

He chuckles. “No you’re not.”

You attempt to look up at him but he refuses to let you rip your face free from his neck, so instead your hips begin to rock more violently. Naked clit sliding along the fabric of his joggers, he can smell the wetness. Brine and cum, flowers and blood—his growl emanates low in his chest.

“But I want you. I want- I want everything, Si,” you whine.

“Everything?”

“You, and—oh everything. Your babies, I wanna- I just- it’s too much, I just need it, I know I do.”

Electricity shoots through his brain at that. Your babies. Everything short circuits as your hips continue to rock and grind, stomach dangerously close to the growing desire separated only by the cotton of his trousers. His knot is still angry—frustrated at being ignored—but your talking has him riled up again.

“You don’t want that, baby, that’s just the hormones talkin,” he murmurs.

“Yes I do,�� you huff with a challenge. “I can… smell it. It’s so strong. You. Your scent. Fuck, it’s so good. My alpha. My alpha, and I’m your omega, you said it! You said it! You can smell it too.”

He can’t tell what’s worse—your rambling or the fact it’s making so much sense. Puzzle pieces falling together, intersecting lines pulling taut, dragging him towards this fantasy. Images of you, plump and round with his kids haunts his mind and he finds his heart freezing at the thought because fuck why does that sound so good? So delicious?

“My alpha… my mate… want you to fill me up, wanna have your babies, wanna—oh—be all yours a-and… f-fuck…”

Legs tightening around his thigh, fingers digging into his arms—your orgasm catches him off guard as your hips stutter to a stop. Though your words are now lost, Simon feels them echoing around in his skull, bouncing off the bone and burrowing straight through the grey matter of his brain. It’s a dangerous seed. Quick to germinate and root until all rational thought is snuffed out.

His only saving grace is that you’re riding out your high and melting in his arms, temporarily satiating you. Holding you closer, he takes a deep breath with his nose pressed against the top of your head while he attempts to ignore the sticky parchedness of his canines.

“Try to get some sleep, baby,” he urges before you can regain your energy again.

You grumble against his throat. “I’m not tired.”

“If you get some rest, I’ll knot you properly when you wake up.”

At that, you perk. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

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#ilium writing #sr ilia #tolw #in limbo #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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fifty555 · 6 months ago

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ mimosas? no, marriage!

welcome back lovers to the continuation of your little love with mr. norris 🧡!

content warning; nothing much, just scattered explicit language here and there — used a lot pinterest photos though.

summary; after that fateful dinner post-silverstone ‘23, life went on with you and lando.

here’s part one!

landonorris

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landonorris welp, let’s hope she doesn’t lose the ring in wet clays anytime soon 😇

to think that this all started because of a packet of gummy bears, i love you mrs. norris yourusername 🧡

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yourusername and i love you, mr. norris 💞!

landonorris im her husband guys 🤭

username may this kind of love find me ✋🏻

mclaren congratulations to our power couple 🥂!

jensonbutton and little lando norris isn’t so little anymore, congratulations to the beautiful couple ❤️.

lewishamilton congrats mate! wishing you two all the best, enjoy the ride!

oscarpiastri best hard launch of the season

username yes oscar, we can tell lando probably blurted it out to you first to bcs he was so excited

yourusername precisely ☺️

username HAHAHAH-

danielricciardo and we thought he’d be single for the rest of his life too 😔 congrats though 🥳

username THE FACT THAT YALL WERE AT HIS WEDDING TOO

landonorris tell me abt it 🙄 ungrateful asses 🙃

username con 😭 grat 😭 ula 😭 tions

carlosainz55 he finally found a girl- sorry, wife you guys!!

username our condolences carlos, your wag chose an even cooler person, sorry 😔🙏🏻

yourusername yes, says the man who was shitting tears whilst lando read his vows to ME 😍

alex_albon wait, we thought you’d take her last name??

landonorris … she’s only a few inches taller than me

georgerussell63 what’s your exact excuse really? shes older than you too

landonorris BY A YEAR 😭

username THE WAY HIS OWN FRIENDS R CLOCMIG BBIM ON HIS WEDDING POST CMON 😭😭😭

username EXACTLY 💀

—

September 10th, 2023 — Wedding Day

It was the day that you had dreamed of for as long as you could remember, yet nothing could truly prepare you for the flood of emotions that rushed over you as you stood there, facing Lando at the altar. He was grinning like a giddy schoolboy, as if the world had stopped just for you two. The sunlight poured in through the grand windows of the venue, casting a golden glow around him, making everything feel surreal.

You never imagined your wedding day would look like this, but standing before him, with the life you’d built together in the background, it was perfect.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“I do,” Lando echoed, his voice full of love and certainty, his hand gripping yours as if nothing else mattered.

—

yourusername

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yourusername yes, i got married to a man who drives a papaya coloured car 🥰 i love your mr norris landonorris

i’ll try my best not to lose the ring 😬

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username CONGRATULATIONS TO THE BEST CERAMIST AND HER PAPAYA GUY 🥂

charles_leclerc congrats to lando and démone 🥳

yourusername why thank you chicken 🥰

username NOT HIM CALLJNG HER A DEMON— whats the story here 💀⁉️

username apparently she used to terrorise him on the karting tracks when they were kids 🤠 hence the name demon ✋🏻

yourusername and he used to squabble like a chicken when he lost, so hence the name chicken ❤️

maxverstappen1 congrats!! still cant believe you guys were together and managed to keep it from us of all people 🙏🏻

sebastianvettel congratulations to the happy couple 💐!

yourusername thank you so much for the flowers, seb 🥹💞

kimimattiasraikkonen ❤️

username i absolutely love how the only chaotic comment is from charles while the others r congratulating her

username the stark difference from landos comments r killing me 💀

georgerussell63 you shouldve threatened him into taking your surname 😔 yours sounds way cooler

yourusername yknow what they said, we have to prioritise the little ones ☺️

danielricciardo youre too generous babes

username 💀💀💀✋🏻

landonorris … MY OWN WIFE GANGING UP ON ME

carlossainz55 ill crash your honeymoon ❤️

yourusername alexa, play the other woman by lana del rey 😇

username OH FFIHT FIGBT DIFB

username “there were three of us in this marriage” 💀💀

landonorris GUYS SHES MY WIFE NOW YAAAYY

yourusername 🧡🧡🧡

—

May 5th, 2024 - The Miami Grand Prix.

The moment everyone had been waiting for. Your heart raced as you watched Lando on your phone from your hotel room, feeling that familiar tension in the air as he crossed the finish line.

You weren’t there. And it broke you.

But there was a reason. You had been told to rest, to stay in bed, and most of all, to take it easy during the pregnancy’s more delicate stages. You hated that you couldn’t be there — you hated that you couldn’t be the one to throw your arms around him as he celebrated. But you knew Lando. He would be okay. He had this.

When the podium ceremony came, you were watching it all unfold on the screen, your hands clutched to your chest as you saw the familiar flash of cameras and heard the roar of the crowd. Lando was beaming, trophy in hand.

And then, with a wink, he pulled out his phone. A post.

You gasped, tears welling in your eyes as you took in the words. You were so proud. But more than anything, you were over the moon with joy. The world now knew: the Norris family was growing.

landonorris

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landonorris WWE FUCKIJG DID IT. P1 🏆 also, swipe for a lil’ surprise, thanks to everyone but especially my girls at home ❤️

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username DILF LANDO UNLOCKED????!!

username GIRLDAD LANDO IH MY GOD

f1 p1 and a baby girl on the way 🥳

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username DIBS ON GODPARENT

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username NO YALL BACK OFF 🤺

—

yourusername

September 3rd, 2024

After months of preparation, late-night baby name debates, and countless check-ups, it was finally here. The moment you’d been waiting for. Your baby girl was on her way.

Lando was by your side through it all, his hand never leaving yours. Every contraction, every breath, he was there. His excitement was contagious, his nervousness endearing, and you could see the future unfolding right before your eyes. He was ready for this. You both were.

The room was a whirlwind of movement, but in that chaos, there was peace. There was love. And there were you two, together — now, with a little one in your arms.

When she finally arrived, you felt like you were holding the world in your hands. She was perfect. Small, wriggly, with a little tuft of dark hair and tiny fingers that gripped yours immediately.

You and Lando shared a quiet, overwhelmed smile.

“I love you,” Lando whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “And I love her. Our little girl.”

You nodded, your heart full. “She’s perfect, Lan.”

—

landonorris and yourusername

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landonorris the best parts of us came together in you, and now our hearts are full in ways we didn’t think possible. eden norris, edie, you are the most beautiful blessing to mummy and daddy. welcome to the world, sweet girl ❤️.

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Edie became the center of your universe. Life was a little more chaotic, a little more unpredictable — but it was beautiful. Lando would rush back from the race weekends just to kiss you and hold Edie close. The little girl, just two weeks old, had already captured his heart in a way that made you fall in love with him all over again.

You were a family now.

And although things had changed in ways you couldn’t have imagined, there was one thing that stayed constant: Lando’s love for you, for her, for this new life you were building together.

It wasn’t always easy. There were sleepless nights, endless bottles, and days where you felt like you were running on fumes. But you never once doubted that this, right here, was everything you had always dreamed of.

The world watched as Lando took the podium again, this time at the Singapore Grand Prix, the first race after Edie’s birth. You were there, cheering him on from the pit, Edie sleeping soundly in your arms. It was almost like a full circle moment: from wedding day to fatherhood, from your first win to this.

But this? This was your biggest victory yet. And as you watched Lando embrace his daughter for the first time in front of millions of people, you couldn’t help but think:

This was just the beginning.

soooo, SORRY FOR THE DELAY 😭✋🏻

y’all, i’m still emotionally recovering from the fact that max is going to be a father, so— this one is a bit half assed but i plan on re-editing some things when i get over this ☹️.

anywhos, i hope you all had a wonderful holiday and merry christmas to those who celebrate, hope y’all ate lots of good meals 😋!

i’m lowkey dipping my toes into smau as well so please be nice 😞✨.

anywho, please enjoy this lowkey dumpster fire 😛!!!

#f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #pregnancy #still havent emotionally recovered from max’s post LOL #PLEASE ENJOY THIS DUMPSTER FIRE #fifty’s fics 🐇

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covenofagatha · 8 months ago

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Nicky's mom has got it going on (Part 1)

You are best friends with Nicholas Scratch, and one day he invites you over to his house when his mom is there, and shit, you didn't realize his mom was so hot. Non-magical AU

Word count: 2100+

Warnings: 18+, allusions to smut, actual smut will be in later parts, mommy issues (duh)

“Got any plans tonight?” your best friend Nicky asks you, making easy conversation. You had been organizing books on the A-F fiction shelf at the Barnes & Noble at the mall, where you and Nicholas Scratch worked in your free time. You had met him through Westview University, where you both attended school. But when you both started working at the bookstore in the beginning of the year to make a little extra money, you two became fast friends.

“Not really. My parents are working late so I’m on my own. Probably just going to reheat leftovers and watch tv.” The campus was only twenty minutes away from your parents’ house, and ten away from his, so you both lived at home.

“You finished all the chem homework?” he asks, a teasing grin on his face. You’re both in the same Introduction to Chemistry class, with Ms. Dottie Jones. She was a stickler and gave out a packet of homework almost every day. It was everyone’s least favorite class.

You groan. Somehow you had forgotten, and it was due tomorrow. Looked like you had plans after all for the evening. “Fuck,” is all you say, Nicky laughing.

“I haven’t started it either. Want to come over and do it? I’m sure you could stay for dinner. My mom’s cooking and she can help with the homework.”

You smile, gracious for the offer. You had been over to his house a few times, but you hadn’t met his mom yet. You could use the company, and the help for sure. Chemistry was your worst subject, but Nicky was pretty good at it. Apparently his mom, Agatha Harkness, had a background in it, so she was always helping Nicky.

“That would be lovely, thank you. Do you want to go straight there after we get off?” You quickly check your watch. There’s still 45 minutes left in your shift.

“Yeah, that works. Let me text my mom and tell her that you’re coming over.”

“Will she mind?” The last thing you wanted to do was intrude. Nicky and his mom were incredibly close, as it was just the two of them, and according to Nicky, Agatha treasured the time she got to spend with him around her busy schedule. You hadn’t heard much about Nicky’s father and Agatha’s ex-husband, only that they had gotten divorced when Nicky was fourteen and was out of the picture.

“Not at all. She’s been dying to meet you.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking around to make sure no customers or your manager are nearby, and quickly types out a quick message. You make a mental note to text your parents when you finished your shift to let them know you were getting dinner with friends. They wouldn’t mind, plus you were sure you’d still be home before them.

“Thank you,” you say again, and get back to organizing the books.

***

You pull into the driveway, following Nicky’s car. Their house never fails to take your breath away. It’s a beautiful two story Victorian style house, with a steep roof, wrap-around porch, and large windows with paned glass. It’s almost Halloween, and clearly Nicky and his mom go all out. Inflatable ghosts, fake gravestones, pumpkins, and other decorations fill their giant yard and you can’t help but smile. Halloween is one of your favorite holidays, and this year Nicky’s mom was hosting a party for the neighborhood and you had been invited. Nicky leads you to the front door, unlocks it, and motions for you to go in first. The smell of pumpkin and cinnamon hits your nose and you inhale slowly. You can hear noises coming from the kitchen and you trail behind your friend as he leads you to the source.

In the kitchen, a woman is facing away from you, stirring something in a large pot on the stove. Her long, curly black hair tumbles down to her lower back and she is wearing a flannel with navy pants. On the island, you can see some candles flickering. So that’s where the smell was coming from.

“Mom, this is–” Nicky starts, but his mom whips around and exclaims, announcing your name before he even gets a chance.

Holy shit, is your first thought. Nicky’s mom is hot. Her long hair frames her pale face and her bright blue eyes trace you up and down. The top two buttons of her flannel are undone, so you can see her collarbones and a peek of the smooth skin of her chest.

“Oh, hi,” you stammer. “So nice to finally meet you.”

A wide smile overtakes her face and she sticks out a hand. It takes you a beat, but then you remember what you’re supposed to do. You take her hand and shake it, trying to ignore how soft her palm is.

“Nicky’s told me so much about you,” she gushes. “He clearly forgot to mention what a sight for sore eyes you are.” She playfully winks and you figure all the blood in your body has to have rushed to your cheeks, based on how hot they feel.

“Mom,” Nicky whines, shooting you an apologetic look. You let out an awkward chuckle, eyes darting back and forth between mom and son.

His mom waves a hand at him. “Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m Agatha. Nicky said you guys are going to work on some homework. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need help, and I’ll give you guys a shout when dinner is ready! Hope you like lamb stew.” Right on cue, your stomach rumbles and Agatha shoots you a smile. “Nicky, why don’t you get your friend a snack while I’m cooking?”

Nicky nods and rummages through the pantry. He grabs a box of cookies and you guys walk up to his room. You sit down at his desk and he flops onto his bed.

“Your mom is nice,” you say casually, trying not to give away how flustered you are because of her.

“She’s pretty cool. Alright, let’s get started. Last time I checked, the packet was eight pages and at least half are balancing equations.”

Ugh. That thought is enough to turn your attention from Agatha to the reality of the situation. You have a lot of homework to get done.

You have just gotten to the third page when Agatha pokes her head in. “How’s homework going?” she asks, and you and Nicky simultaneously groan. She walks over to you, stealing your paper and gently perching on the desk, which you’re sitting at. You struggle to remember how to breathe when her thigh brushes against your knee. “This one is wrong,” she says, pointing at number 13. “You have an extra oxygen on the left side.”

Nicky drops his head into the bed with a muffled swear. Agatha meets your eyes and smiles softly. Fuck, her mouth is pretty.

“Why don’t you take a break? Come downstairs and eat dinner and then we’ll work through this together,” she offers. She holds your homework back out to you and you take it, wondering if she slid her fingers across yours on purpose.

At the table, Agatha sits across from you and Nicky is to your right. She asks you all about college, your major, and what you want to do after.

“Have you guys decided what you’re wearing to the party next week?,” she then asks.

“I’m going to be a witch,” you answer, and you swear her eyes light up. “I ordered my costume last week so it should be here soon. Nicky still hasn’t figured out what he’s going as yet.”

Nicky scoffs in protest. “Hey! I’m narrowing it down between a pirate or a superhero. Also, mom loves witches so watch out.”

“Halloween is next week, dude, you better figure it out soon,” you tease and Agatha laughs.

“You tell him,” she says and the two of you share a grin.

“Whatever. I’m going to the bathroom,” Nicky says, standing up and pushing in his chair.

There is a moment of silence as you and Agatha eat some stew. Then she says, “So, y/n, do you have a boyfriend?”

You almost drop your spoon back in the bowl. Is she–no. She is probably trying to get a feel of yours and Nicky’s relationship. “Um, no. I’m actually gay,” you say, finding the stew suddenly incredibly interesting. After Agatha is silent for a few seconds, you look up at her to find a smirk stretched across her face, eyes looking darker than they were.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Her voice is low and you swallow hard, begging the fire in your stomach to die down. This is Nicky’s mom. Nicky’s incredibly attractive mom whose hands, at the moment, you desperately wanted to feel tracing your body. Sliding over your lips, maybe even around your throat. Fuck.

“No,” you say, barely above a whisper. “There’s really no girls in school that I’m interested in.”

Agatha opens her mouth, ready to say something, and you preemptively lean closer, but at that moment, Nicky walks back in and sits down next to you, completely oblivious to your flushed face and his mom’s look of…disappointment?

No. You are clearly just reading into things. Nicky’s mom, who is much older than you are, does not want you.

She’s just being nice, and you are being insane.

You really need to get your mommy issues under control.

Agatha clears her throat. “So, how’s working at the bookstore going?”

“It’s pretty good. Nicky definitely makes the shifts go by faster,” you say, turning to look at him appreciatively. “Except for tomorrow, because someone has to do a group project for their sociology class and can’t work.” The glare you gave Nicky is playful and he snickers.

“So sorry. I’d honestly rather be at work. My group sucks. I honestly wonder how one of the people made it into college,” he says. You agree. You’ve done a fair share of group projects already for some of your classes, and it is often a struggle.

You look back at Agatha, but she doesn’t say anything. The rest of dinner passes quickly, and soon it’s time to get back to homework.

You and Nicky decide to move downstairs so Agatha can help. She’s talking quickly, gesturing down at your paper, but you’re too busy staring at her lips to actually understand what she’s saying. Which is totally fine, until she asks you a question.

“Sorry?” is all you can say, internally cursing for looking like an idiot. She doesn’t look disappointed. Instead, it almost looks like she knows why you’re so distracted. She repeats it slowly, something about if there’s six oxygens on the left side, how many carbon dioxides do we need on the right side. “Three?” you say, sort of guessing.

“Good girl,” she says approvingly, in that raspy voice of hers, and you honest-to-god clench around nothing. You can literally feel yourself getting wetter by the second. And then she moves onto the next question like she didn’t just say that.

It’s almost ten thirty at night by the time you finish your homework and you stand up with a yawn.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Agatha asks. “You can stay in the guest room, I’m sure I can find some clothes for you to wear.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude,” you say, and she immediately shakes her head.

“You won’t be at all. Come on,” she insists, and you glance at Nicky before she pulls you after her up the stairs. She leads you into her bedroom and lets go of you to walk into her closet and you take the opportunity to look around her room.

Her bed is neatly made, with a cream duvet and a dark, wooden headboard. Her nightstand is the same colored wood and there’s a framed picture of her and Nicky from probably ten years ago. A fireplace is tucked into the corner and dark purple curtains cover the windows.

“Here you go. These should fit. There should be extra toothbrushes and toothpaste in the guest bathroom. If you need anything else, just let me know,” Agatha says, handing you a pile of clothes. “Have a good night, sweetheart.”

You’re too flustered to say anything back so you give her a smile and make your way to the guest room. It’s right by Nicky’s room, so you stop in to say good night and then you text your parents that you’re spending the night at a friend’s house.

The pajamas Agatha gave you – if you can even call them that – slide right onto your body. It’s a silky purple nightie with a black robe and it hugs your curves in all the right places. You look hot and for a second, you think about going to see Agatha again. Just to thank her, you tell yourself unconvincingly.

But you make yourself brush your teeth and get into bed, feeling the wetness still between your thighs.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x you #agatha all along #covsfics

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mrs-elsie-barnes · 2 months ago

Text

I've Got to Let You Know (Need You Tonight) | Joaquín Torres x Reader | Oneshot - 3.3k words

There's a guy hanging out at the bar, the most handsome man you've ever seen...and he's watching you back.

Warnings: 18+ for language and adult content, drinking, smoking, almost public/car location, oral (m&f receiving), pet names 'baby', no concept of stranger danger, swapping kisses before swapping names, suggestion of restraint, p in v, discussion around protection...unprotected, creampie & a hint of cumplay. It's embarrassing how bad they want each other. S for smutty

A/N: listend to INXS, had Joaquin thots, bon appatit.

Divider by @saradika-graphics For @avengers-assemble-bingo "oral"

Masterlist | Joaquín Torres | Kink Bingo

He was back.

You'd seen him the last few nights as well, he always ordered a single beer and nursed it for hours which drove your fellow bartender, Louisa, insane.

But then he always left a twenty in the tip jar, so you didn't care.

Tonight he took a seat to the side, near enough to the window to see out but close enough for you to enjoy his side profile while he sipped his beer. He tipped the bottle up high, lengthening his neck, and you caught the glimpse of healed scars between his collar and his ear.

God, even his ears were cute, dark curls bobbing around them. He'd pulled his hair back tonight, into a messy little bun, his aviator glasses perched on top of his head despite the fact it was almost dark. He was wearing a dark green vest under an unbuttoned light linen shirt, light in the hot night air, but paired with a pair of jeans that looked painted onto his thighs. His forearms were bare apart from his watch and, though you hated to admit you'd sunk this far in your fantasies, as sexy as the rest of him.

He leaned back and pulled a tin from his pocket, rolling paper, a packet of tobacco, or maybe weed, you couldn't tell. He sprinkled a little on the paper before angling his head slightly and catching your eye. His calm expression lit up, a twinkle in his eye as he poked his tongue out, licking the paper slowly. He didn't look away as he finished rolling his cigarette, placing it in the corner of his mouth. He lit a match on the rough wooden edge of the table, cupping his hand around his mouth before lighting the end.

Smirk still firmly plastered on his face he inhaled and then exhaled, a perfect smoke ring encircling his beer bottle.

He winked and heat flooded you.

You looked away, embarrassment hot on the back of your neck, it was already sweltering but you were trapped under his gaze.

"You okay?" Louisa gave you a concerned once over.

"Yeah, just hot, that's all." You excused yourself quickly, hoping something needed changing in the cellar so you could cool down.

"Hey, baby."

The man's voice took you by surprise, but you knew who it was even in the darkness, even if you'd only ever heard him order a beer.

You'd managed to survived your shift only to stumble upon the man again in the parking lot. His cigarette was out now, but you could smell the tang of beer as he strolled closer, confident, as if this was his bar and nothing would stop him from talking to you now.

You stepped closer too, allowing your eyes to drag up and down his body. He smirked and raised his eyebrows in return.

Chest to chest you still couldn't find the words, nerves, embarrassment and need had taken over until you could barely think.

But you didn't have to.

Warm hands cupped your face as your back hit the car door and you expected his lips to follow, slightly parted as they were, so you closed your eyes, drinking in the feel of him. But instead his breath ghosted your cheek, his nose tracing the a delicate line around the shell of your ear.

"You want to tell me to stop, baby, just say the word." He whispered, his lips leaving a lingering kiss behind your ear before moving slowly down the column of your neck. You tipped your head back, body on fire at just these simple touches.

"Please - please don't stop," you begged and your voice was far more pathetic than you'd anticipated when you'd aimed for sexy and sultry.

He chuckled, resting his forehead on your shoulder, lips touching the bare skin of your neck. His hands moved from the arguably chaste position over your jacket on your hips, to underneath your shirt and you gasped at the new sensation, body arching into him and mouth opening. He took the opportunity and kissed you, sliding his tongue past your lips and tasting you for the first time.

With a moan that reverberated through his chest he pulled back, "thank fuck for that, been wanting to kiss you for days."

So he really had been watching you back, you weren't imagining those beautiful dark brown eyes following you around the bar.

You slid your hands into his hair mussing up the sweaty curls beneath your fingers, freeing it from the tangle of his hair tie and tugging when he sucked on your bottom lip.

"Fuck - do that again," he groaned, scooping you up into his arms and pressing you more firmly against the side of your truck.

"Let me just —" you fumbled for your keys before he took them and opened the car door, lips still firmly locked together.

You were grateful for the wide bench seat now, although you were usually cursing the beat up truck, now the words fell from your lips in pleasure.

He climbed in after you, shutting the door behind him and settling carefully on top of you. He leaned over, cupping your cheek to hold you steady while you kissed heatedly, angling your chin to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours.

"Been watching you too, so glad you came to find me." You moaned, grasping at his open shirt and shoving it down over his shoulders. Beneath the patterned fabric his arms were strong, the biceps flexing when he moved and you had the urge to put your mouth on them.

He let the shirt drop to the floor and bent his head to kiss you again, but you had your mouth on his neck, kissing down his shoulder, unable to resist you let your teeth dig into the meat of his shoulder, nipping and biting lower until you could sink your teeth into his bicep, soothing the indents of your teeth with a long lick.

"Fuck, that's hot." He groaned, holding the back of your head as you kissed back up to his lips.

Your skin prickled with electricity at the knowledge you'd given in to such a base thought, you felt your temperature rise again, embarrassment still simmering beneath the surface at the way this man made you feel.

"Sorry —"

"No, shit that's really hot — God — you're really hot." He held your face again and kissed you, tongue dancing over your own, he tasted of beer, a hint of the lime wedge you'd pushed into the lip of the bottle.

Hands slid against each other, sweat slick and eager, before you nudged at the growing hardness between his legs.

"Yeah — yeah—" he panted into your mouth, fingers fumbling with the button and zip of his jeans, "if you wanna —"

"Yes, yes I want to — " Your hand found its way inside, grasping at the heavy warmth of his cock. You'd thought about this moment, of course you had, alone in your bedroom with your hand under the waistband of your panties. But you hadn't really expected it to happen. Now this gorgeous man was leaking pre-cum into your palm while he awkwardly shoved his jeans down to his knees.

His cock stood proud against a dark thatch of hair, the tip rubbing onto his green vest and twitching when you ran your finger from base to tip.

You shuffled down the bench until you were level with his hips and licked a slow stripe up and down the length of him.

"Like that, baby—" he pushed forwards and the head of his cock slid along your tongue, leaving the salty taste of him in its wake. You sucked hard, bobbing your head and trying to pull him down until he took over.

Everything he did was firm and purposeful, from the first kiss against your car door to the way he thrust into your mouth, eyes locked with yours, panting hard. You could've stayed like this all night, would've let him fuck you for hours if you got to get your hands and mouth on his delicious cock. But he had other ideas.

With a tug he had you spread beneath him and he set to work kissing down your neck and the swell of your breasts where they peaked over your bra cups. He rucked up your shirt to squeeze your sides, his hands hot against your skin, finger tips a little calloused. You liked that, he must work with his hands.

They left your sides to stroke the bare skin of your thighs, higher and higher towards the edge of your shorts.

You popped the button open quickly, hoping to wriggle out of them, but he stilled your hands.

"Let me enjoy it, baby," he slowly inched his fingers up the leg of your shorts until just the rough fingertips were touching the wet fabric of your panties. "God — you're so fucking wet."

"Don't tease me," you covered your face with your hands, it was too embarrassing how much you wanted him.

"Why would I do that," you felt his lips graze over your belly button, ghosting lower and lower. "Your little pussy so wet from me fucking your face? Baby, that's hot too, pretty sure everything about you is hot — fuck — you're gonna set me on fire." He buried his face between your legs, breath hot where your skin was bared and nose pushing against the thick denim seam of your shorts right against your clit.

Suddenly the pressure was gone and your shorts were round your knees, trapping you awkwardly with your legs together, that didn't seem to deter him though. He sat up, lifting your denim bound legs over one shoulder and then bending down to taste you again.

Trapped as you were, the most handsome man you'd ever met driving you wild with his tongue, it was hard to think about how insane it was to be having sex in your car. You prayed the cameras wouldn't catch you in this quiet corner while at the same time your body was revelling in the feeling of doing something so wildly out of character.

"Fuck, you taste good, baby." He hummed, the vibrations pressing against your swollen clit.

"I'm gonna cum, ohh, goddd — please don't stop, please please please please."

You reached down to his hair again, the curls barely brushing your fingers. He reached up to meet you, squeezing your palm and pressing it back down against the truck seat. It wasn't quite a restraint, but given the position you were in you were helpless to do anything but cum on his tongue, clenching his hand in yours to help expel the overwhelming rush of pleasure.

Your whole body was on fire, hot and sweating, sticking to the leather seat and pulsing with need. He carefully set your legs down and you made quick work of kicking your shorts off.

He looked as lust drunk as you, hair messy and neat facial hair wet with your slick.

"Do you have a condom?" You gasped against his mouth, desperate for another kiss and tasting yourself on his lips.

"Yeah — yeah — let me —" He pulled his wallet out and retrieved a battered looking packet.

You sat back, "how long's that been in there?"

His ears went a little pink, "not long — what do you mean?"

"I didn't mean — god — I just — you shouldn't keep it in there."

Breathless you both looked at each other, half naked, clothes rumpled, and then at the condom packet.

"Sorry —" he mumbled, "is there a machine in the toilets I can go back in." He thumbed at the now empty and locked up bar behind him.

You hesitated, "don't make me fucking regret this okay, I'm on birth control and I'm clean so you'd better be clean too."

He looked confused for a moment, but then you were in his lap, straddling his thighs and he was kissing you back.

You could feel him between your legs, still hard and leaking, a warm, heavy weight when you ground down.

"Fuck me. Please." You could barely tear yourself from him enough to talk, but he nodded anyway.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes — fuck — yes, just please."

He smiled, genuinely happy, almost rakish, and slipped a hand between you both, rubbing your arousal over his length and then pressing the head of his cock between your folds.

With a groan you sank down, he'd been hot and thick in your mouth and he felt just as solid and satisfying stretching you open. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, his throat bobbing as you both adjusted to the sensation.

You took the opportunity to really look at him again, the strength in his shoulders, the bulge of his arms and the toned plane of his stomach. Even in the darkness of the truck you could still make out the deep grooves of his abs when his vest moved up, undulating as he tipped his hips up to press himself deeper.

In response you rolled your own hips, starting a languid, liquid, rhythm that matched the slow kiss he placed on your lips. You clit brushed against him as you moved, building a slow burning fire deep inside of you. It started between your thighs, rippling out until your body was taut, your orgasm taking you almost by surprise in its intensity.

He didn't let up, hands bracing your hips to move you up and down his cock despite the high whine of your moans. The slow pace was a wonderful torture, dragging out your release and rolling it into the next until you were babbling into his ear, lips dragging against his neck, nipping and sucking, anything to help you through the pleasure and pain of your extended orgasm.

"You feel so fucking good like this, baby, s'like you're fucking milking me —" he slurred, his forehead against your shoulder, "I wanna cum so badly but you feel so —" he made a rough noise and tried to pull his hips away, raising you up in an effort to pull out, but the slide and grip of your lips against the pulsing vein on the side of his cock was too much. With a strangled moan he slipped his hands down to cup your ass, hauling you up away from his cock, his hips mindlessly searching for you again, but it was too late.

"Oh god — yes yes — cum in me — give it to me — give it me —" you chanted, pushing back against his grip and grinding your still sensitive clit into his lap.

He bit down on your shoulder and you felt the moment he gave into his pleasure, fucking up into you in two jagged thrusts, his cum deep inside of you.

"Oh shit —" he opened his eyes, shame marring the gorgeous shine you'd come to love. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's okay, it's fine." You murmured kissing his cheek, "your cum feels so perfect in me." You ground against him again, feeling your combined releases running down over his cock.

"Baby, where did you come from — fuck." Then he was kissing you again, messy and hot, manhandling you back onto the bench seat. "You're so dirty, I love it." He grinned, shoving your shirt up over your chest and tangling your arms together, he gripped the fabric and held it high over your head, your breasts pushed together and he kissed them with the same ferocity.

"Never actually done this before, in the car, in public, but you're so hot I couldn't help myself." You admitted, oddly embarrassed even though you could feel his cock getting hard again where it was trapped between you.

"Yeah?" He gave you a cocky smile, eyes shining.

"Yeah." You were breathy in your post orgasmic haze, sensitive and a little scared by how well you both fit together.

He slipped himself between your messy folds, with one hand still keeping you down on the seats he used the others to rub the head of his cock in your escaped arousal before teasing your entrance. You could feel yourself clench, and given the feral look on his face, he'd seen it too.

"You want more?" He teased, nudging himself in and out, barely the tip, barely a centimetre, but enough for you to give a desperate cry.

"Yes, yes, yes."

"I was talking to her," he looked up only briefly and then cupped you gently, massaging your clit with the heel of his palm, you felt yourself flutter again and he pulled away to watch you clench and open at his command. "That's so sexy you have no idea." He said matter of factly, and sheathed himself inside you again with a moan.

You were so sensitive you could barely respond to him anymore, one leg hitched up and squashed between his sweating torso and the sticky leather seat, the other dangling into the footwell. Yet, you could have stayed there forever, pinned beneath him, surrounding him, taking everything he had —

"Wait —" you gasped, and he immediately sat back, kneeling awkwardly.

"Sorry, baby, are you okay?" His eyes filled with concern.

"Yeah, yeah —" you made grabby hands at him, tugging him closer again with your fingers clenched in his shirt. "I just," you giggled, "I don't even know your name."

"Oh, yeah," he laughed too, his eyes lit with mischief, "I guess you don't. Let's finish what we started and I can tell you my full government name over a coffee or something, m'kay." He kissed you quiet, slipping inside you again and you let him, keeping your hand fisted in his shirt.

As wrapped up in each other as you were, you didn't notice the flash of headlights entering the car park and the beep of a horn. A door slammed and you paused, ankle pressing into the small of his back to keep him still.

"Someone's out there," you whispered, hoping no one would see you in the gloom of the truck.

"Joaquín !" A voice shouted.

"Shit." He pulled back, untangling himself. "Shit, shit, shit."

"You know that guy?" You gasped, feeling suddenly empty and vulnerable while he fastened his jeans.

"Yeah, uhm —" he ran a cum slick hand through his hair and then winced, "I'm Joaquín ."

"So that's your name, it's nice, Joaquín ." You rolled the name round and smiled. "I guess you've got to go, huh?"

"Torres, get your ass outta that truck, we've gotta go!" The man outside shouted again and he met your eyes again apologetically.

"I'm so sorry baby," he pressed a kiss to your lips, "I really did have a great time."

You found your shorts and sat up, shimmying them back on before he opened the door.

"There you are, kid, been lookin' everywhere, we've gotta go, we — what were you doing?"

There was a pause where Torres said nothing and you saw the other man get into a black truck. You were sure you recognised him from somewhere.

"Hey, I didn't tell you my name." You called and Joaquín turned to you again, smiling.

"Tell me over coffee," he bent into the cab of the truck and stuck a napkin with a phone number on the dashboard before kissing you one last time.

Torres shut the door with a final slam and made his way over to the other car, the cab lit up and you finally got a good look at the man inside. He looked a lot like the new Captain America, Wilson, that was it, Sam Wilson.

The napkin fluttered in the air as the breeze picked up again, you grabbed it before it blew out of the window. There was his number in neat writing, it was a napkin from the bar with a bottle mark on, and there underneath was a little drawing of a bird. You turned it round, a bird of prey maybe.

"Oh my god."

If that was Sam Wilson, and the man in the truck was Torres.

"Oh my god, I fucked the Falcon."

#aakinky #joaquín torres #Joaquin Torres #joaquin torres smut #joaquín torres x fem!reader #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres fanfiction #joaquin x you #joaquin x reader #joaquin torres/reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres x reader #Joaquin Torres x female reader #Joaquín Torres smut #need you tonight

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amirasainz · 9 months ago

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Hiii I love your blog so much. It always makes me so happy when you post something♥️😘

Can you write like Oscar x reader, where they are both in university and they always meet in the library. It's like the silent love and they slowly fall in love with each other.

Enjoy reading and send some requests

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

The quiet kind of love

The first time Oscar noticed Yn, she was sitting three tables away from him in Oxford’s grand Bodleian Library. He wouldn’t have given her a second glance if it weren’t for the fact that she was always there. Every evening, just after 6 PM, Oscar would settle in at his usual spot by the arched windows, and without fail, she would be somewhere nearby, always engrossed in her books.

It became a quiet routine. They both came to the library at the same time, stayed until it closed, and left without exchanging a word. The first week, it was coincidence. The second, it became an unspoken ritual.

Oscar was the kind of student who liked order. His desk was neatly arranged with color-coded notes, pencils lined up with perfect precision. He had come to Oxford with a scholarship to study history, and he took every second seriously. He told himself that he didn’t have time for distractions, and Yn, sitting quietly at her table, wasn’t one. But still, he noticed her.

Yn had a quiet intensity about her. She studied with the same focus and determination that Oscar did, but there was something different about the way she immersed herself in her work. Where Oscar’s approach was clinical, Yn’s was passionate. Her fingers would glide through pages, her pencil tapping against the desk when she was deep in thought. She studied literature, and every so often, Oscar would glance up and see her smiling slightly at whatever she was reading.

For a long time, they didn’t speak. Neither one seemed inclined to break the silence. It wasn’t awkward, though. The quietness of their shared space felt right, like they both understood the importance of the library and their respective work. It was a kind of peaceful companionship.

Then one evening, as the early chill of October settled into the old stone walls, Oscar glanced up from his notes and saw Yn sitting at her usual spot. But this time, there was something different. She had a takeaway coffee cup in front of her, and without thinking, she stood up and walked over to him.

Oscar blinked in surprise as Yn set the cup down next to his laptop. “I noticed you always look exhausted by the time we leave,” she said, her voice soft and even. “Thought you might need this.”

He didn’t know what to say. His brain stalled for a moment before he managed to mumble, “Thanks.”

Yn nodded, a small, polite smile on her face, and returned to her seat. That was it. A coffee, a thank you, and then back to silence.

The next evening, when Oscar arrived, he brought two packets of biscuits with him. After half an hour, he quietly stood up and walked to her table. Yn looked up, her wide, curious eyes meeting his for a second before she noticed the snacks.

“Here,” he said simply, holding them out. “I figured you might get hungry.”

Yn’s lips curved into a full smile this time, not the reserved one he had seen before. She took the biscuits with a small nod. “Thank you, Oscar.”

He felt a warmth spread through him, hearing her say his name for the first time. How did she know? Then he remembered their IDs had been out on the table one time when the librarian was checking their books, and she must have caught a glimpse. He liked how his name sounded in her voice—like it was meant to be there.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked, more a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” Oscar replied, surprised by how natural it felt.

From then on, every evening they brought small things for each other—Yn’s coffee, Oscar’s snacks, sometimes even a scribbled note with a suggestion for a book they thought the other would enjoy. They still didn’t talk much, but the silence between them felt comfortable, not awkward. There was something more than just the quiet. It was shared, and it was theirs.

Weeks passed, and as November approached, the air grew cooler. Oscar found himself looking forward to the evenings more than ever. It wasn’t just the books or the studying—it was the simple act of seeing Yn, knowing she would be there.

One Friday, the library was quieter than usual. Most students had gone home early for the weekend, but Oscar and Yn remained, tucked into their usual places. After about two hours, Oscar stretched, his back aching from sitting so long, and when he looked over at Yn, she was staring at him.

She blinked, caught off guard for a moment, then smiled. “Want to take a break?” she asked, her voice soft.

Oscar hesitated. They had never taken breaks together before. But he nodded, feeling something stir in his chest. “Yeah. Let’s go for a walk.”

They left the library and wandered through the cobbled streets of Oxford, the night air crisp and cold. Their breath hung in the air like ghosts, and for the first time, they talked.

Yn spoke about her love for literature, her fascination with stories that revealed something hidden about the world. Oscar shared his passion for history, for the way people and events could shape entire civilizations. They walked for hours, moving from topic to topic as if they had always known each other. It wasn’t forced; the conversation flowed easily, like it had been waiting to happen.

“I’ve always thought Oxford was the perfect place to study,” Yn said as they paused by a bridge, watching the river flow beneath them. “The history here, the way the buildings seem to have stories of their own… It feels like the right place to find something, or someone.”

Oscar turned to look at her, the moonlight casting a silver glow on her features. He wanted to ask her what she meant by “someone,” but instead, he just said, “Yeah, it does.”

When they returned to the library, neither of them mentioned the walk. But from that night on, something had changed. They no longer sat in complete silence; sometimes, one would quietly comment on a passage they were reading, and the other would respond. They didn’t need to talk much, but the few words they shared each night felt more meaningful than entire conversations with anyone else.

By December, their routine had deepened. One evening, when Yn arrived, Oscar was already there, waiting with her coffee and a small smile. She sat down, and without thinking, reached across the table, her fingers lightly brushing his hand. She started to pull away, embarrassed, but Oscar’s hand moved to meet hers.

The touch was brief, barely more than a second, but it felt like something had shifted. Neither of them spoke about it, but from that night on, their hands would meet under the table, fingers brushing, lingering longer each time. It wasn’t something they planned or discussed, but it felt natural, like a quiet confession they both understood.

One evening, after the library had emptied, Yn leaned over her desk and whispered, “Do you ever feel like this is the best part of the day?”

Oscar looked up from his notes, surprised by her sudden admission. “Yeah,” he said honestly. “I do.”

She smiled, her eyes soft. “I like this. Us.”

“Me too,” Oscar said quietly. His heart was pounding, and before he could stop himself, he reached across the table and took her hand fully in his. This time, she didn’t pull away.

The weeks leading up to Christmas were filled with more moments like that. They spent their evenings together, sometimes in silence, sometimes whispering small things to each other. They held hands more often now, not hiding it under the table but keeping them interlocked where they could see. It was as if every day, they allowed themselves to fall a little more into the connection they had been building.

Then, one night, just as the library was about to close, Yn looked over at Oscar, her eyes serious. “Oscar,” she said softly.

“Yeah?”

She hesitated, as if searching for the right words, then spoke. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Oscar stared at her, the words settling over him like a blanket. He knew, in that moment, that he felt the same. He had felt it for weeks but hadn’t been able to put it into words.

“I think I’m falling in love with you too,” he said, his voice steady but full of emotion.

Yn smiled, her eyes shining. And for the first time, they both understood that the quiet library, the long nights, the coffee and biscuits—it had all led to this. Their unspoken connection had turned into something real, something they could no longer ignore.

Oscar leaned across the table, and in the soft glow of the library’s lamps, he kissed her, gently, just for a moment. It was a quiet kiss, fitting for the quiet love that had grown between them.

When they pulled away, Yn’s smile widened. “Let’s keep meeting here,” she whispered.

“Always,” Oscar replied, knowing that now, the library was more than just a place to study. It was where they had found each other.

And so, they did.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri #xoxo babygirl 💋#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #fluff #f1 x reader

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supernaturalfreakout · 8 months ago

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— The Morning After (Sam Winchester x fem!reader)

Summary: You wake up after a wild night with Sam. He refuses to let you to forget how good he made you feel ...

Tags: 18+ MDNI 🔞 Fluff and smut, BDSM aftercare.

Notes: This is part of a wider fic. Reader had mental health issues. Newly-established relationship. Sam is very protective over you.

The next morning came like a declaration. The sun was out, reigning high and bright in the crisp winter sky, and for the first time in years, you felt at peace; awoke without a deep, profound longing gnawing at your bones. The absence was noticeable. So noticeable in fact, that at first, it was almost unsettling. As if a piece of yourself had gotten lost in the night, only to be replaced by a feeling so foreign it felt out of place in your body. Where once stood a well, waters dark and stagnant, now existed an ocean—vast, moving, and alive. So instead of reaching for your phone, squeezing your knees to your chest, or holding your breath to fill the void, you rolled to the side, opened your eyes, and welcomed the day with the deepest sigh of relief you could muster.

Beside you, Sam splayed. His rich brown hair fanned like shards of chocolate over your faded floral pillowcase; his lips parted softly in sleep. His body took up most of the bed, and—as you had realized in the night—had a habit of eating the sheets. You now noticed that was probably because he clenched the edges in his fists, so whenever he rolled, they rolled with him. You smiled at that—little quirks only ever revealed in the midst of intimacy. After-hour truths and early-morning peculiarities. You wondered how many more he had; whether he knew them himself; whether you would be lucky enough to discover them all, one day. It was a wistful thought. A dangerous thought. Yet today, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to deny them.

Sweeping your eyes over his features, you admired the mix of sharp masculine strength, and soft delicate beauty. You observed the rise and fall of his chest in time with his peaceful breathing, the subtle flutter of his eyes beneath his lids, and his jaw; strong, but relaxed, framed by stubble that was getting even longer by the day. You knew that Dean would probably tease him for it, but you didn’t mind. In fact, it rather suited him. And the way it felt roughing up your thighs ...

You shuffled up the bed, wincing softly as you drew your eyes from the scene. It took every fiber of your strength, but you managed. It was too early for those kinds of thoughts, wasn’t it? Plus, you were sore, the ache in your glutes and hips reminiscent of a tough session at the gym.

Next to you, on your bedside table, stood a bottle of lotion, a half-sipped glass of water, and an open packet of Advil; the only evidence of last night’s promiscuities in sight.

After your shower, Sam had diligently stripped the bed, chucking the dirty sheets in the wash along with his soiled jeans.

Your face reddened at the thought, memories of the evening before resurfacing. You hadn’t had sex like that in… well … never.

Your eyes drifted back to Sam’s sleeping form. Your body heated. A selfish thought crossed your mind.

How easy it would be, you thought. To roll on top of him and take what I want. He wouldn’t say no. You were sure of it. Hell, he’d practically sworn an oath of servitude. But no. I can’t. I shouldn’t … Poor man needs his rest.

Sam must have felt your shifting as he groaned softly, then rolled away, towards the window where the morning light was waiting behind the backdrop of the curtain. You lingered for a moment, on the brink of hesitation before delicately slipping your legs out of the sheets, careful not to make too much of an impression in the mattress.

After quickly popping your pill, you padded barefoot towards the door. You floated down the stairs and into your kitchen where you went through the motions, swallowing your vitamins before pressing some fresh coffee for the both of you. Sam liked his black—because of course he did—health nut that he is. But your preferred brew was with oat milk, and a generous helping of caramel.

Balancing the two steaming mugs, you ascended the stairs and nudged open the bedroom door. The room was still bathed in the soft light of morning, the hazy transition between sleep and waking making it feel like you were in a dream. But you were not dreaming. This was real. And way more colorful.

Sam’s back was still turned to you, but he stirred as you set the mugs down on your nightstand. He rolled onto his back, blinking his eyes open. When he saw you, a sleepy smile spread across his lips.

“Morning," you said, your voice still hushed as you slipped back under the sheets.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice deep and rough with sleep. “You’re up early.”

“Made you coffee." You nodded towards the mug. “Figured you might need it after last night.”

A low, rumbling chuckle sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “You spoil me.” He kissed your forehead as he reached over to grab the mug from your nightstand. “Mm, perfect,” he said, eyes fluttering shut as he took a sip, savoring the warmth on his tongue. “Just what I needed.”

You smiled, took a sip from your own mug before setting it down and snuggling into his side. Into safety. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you close, and you couldn’t help but sigh in contentment as you laid your head on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

After a moment, Sam asked, “How’re you feeling?” as his hand gently traced circles on your lower back. “Any more aches or pains?”

You chuckled softly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Last night, before bed—but not before a thorough debrief and a comforting dinner—Sam had insisted on inspecting the damage, checking your body for any signs of injury or abrasion, making you lie still as he massaged lotion onto your ass, wrists and knees.

“How bad?” you’d asked, looking over your shoulder as you laid flat on your belly, feeling particularly silly as he slathered another cold dollop on your ass cheeks.

The redness was fading, but the most abused patches had already begun to mottle. “You’re bruised.” He’d said it like an accomplishment. Even so, you could tell he felt a little guilty. Dude seemed to find a reason for self-blame in everything, you’d noticed.

Bruises were acceptable, you’d agreed. Favorable, even. As long as they could stay hidden. A secret for you to enjoy. You weren’t a fan of parading your winnings.

“Jeez, baby," he'd said, "you didn’t even stop me once.”

“Didn’t need to. I’m a tough cookie.”

“You most certainly are.”

Sam had continued his inspection of your butt a bit longer than necessary, watching the emerging patterns bloom before him. And you’d let him. It felt nice to be wanted; to be admired.

Now you felt the residual ache of the night before as you stretched out your limbs. A reminder of how he’d marked you. Claimed you. A brand you were proud to bear. The hickey on his hip paled in comparison.

“A few,” you admitted, casting a shy, sideways smile. “But nothing too bad. Just … you know, the good kind of sore.”

Sam’s eyes darkened as he met your gaze, remembering the intensity of your session; how rough he’d been and how you’d embraced it all. Embraced him. He’d get a proper look at you later; get a better idea of your tolerance. But for now, his hand continued its soothing movements on your back, dipping lower to massage the ache in your hips. “Let me know if you need anything. I might’ve been a little too enthusiastic.”

“I think I can manage … Besides,” you added, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw, feeling the graze of his stubble against your lips. “You more than made up for it.”

His hand moved to your thigh, fingers kneading gently into the tender muscles there, his touch both comforting, and suggestive. “Maybe I should make it up to you again.” His voice dropped lower as his other hand cupped the back of your neck, guiding your lips to his.

The kiss was slow and deep; a languid exploration that sent a wave of heat through your body. You felt yourself melting into him, the soft sheets tangling around your legs as you pressed closer, craving the feel of his skin against yours. Suddenly, the ache in your muscles seemed to subside, replaced by a burning want. It had only been a few hours, book-ended by sleep, but still, you felt the pull, the desire to dive straight back in. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little heavier, the air between you sparkling with a familiar electricity.

“Careful,” you whispered, lips brushing against his as you spoke. “We might not make it out of bed if you keep that up.”

“Maybe that’s the point.” He slid his hand back under the sheets. Skimmed his fingers across your skin. “I’ll be gentle ...”

You swallowed, moistening a suddenly dry mouth. “You’re not ... tired?”

“Are you?”

“Wide awake.”

“Well, then . . .”

You let him guide you to your back, moaning softly as your head hit the pillow, followed by his mouth at the base of your throat. His kisses cascaded down your chest, between your breasts, down your stomach, tumbling over your hips like waves over rocks until they finally crashed in the hollow between your legs. The place that had become their home.

“I’ll never get sick of this…” A smile lit up his eyes, your sheen glistening like gloss on his lips. “You’re delightful ... Delicious.”

“You’re unreal.”

“No, princess…” A slip of a finger. In and up towards your navel. “I’m very … Real.”

----

This is an excerpt from my longer fic on AO3. You'll find more of this—including what they got up to the night before—here. 😏

#fanfic #sam winchester x reader #ao3 fanfic #history on your side #supernatural #sam winchester #x reader #ao3 writer #spn

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kooyabooya · 1 year ago

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SUITS, (STOCKINGS), & TIES

minju x m reader

9k words

For the record, there aren’t any fingerprints seen underwater. Nothing to tie one to a crime. The trial itself is already a rapid current, pulling you and everyone around the bullpen into the endless sea of papers, payment record documents, video recording transcripts, then more fucking papers, and you absolutely hate it.

Files boxed in dating back to even before taking the damn job, the amount of trips to and from the copying machine, getting the materials right. Avoiding any fuck ups; that too, was always the end goal - staring at the blue folder sitting on your desk until–

Your fucking intercom’s ringing again.

It’s always a trip, that’s how it usually flows around here: a turn to the left, round the front desk of the floor, hook right down the insanely long walkway, glass windows giving you this nice view of the city skyline. Pretty, at around one in the morning of another late night of work stacked upon your desk.

Easy enough to also: take a moment to admire the view, since it’s the kind of view that you’d never get over no matter how many times you look at it. You sigh at the playback in your head, something that Chaeyeon talked to you about while hiding away from the pressures of work in her own office, bumping coffee mugs and wishing that the building had sliding windows to let the high breeze through.

They would never allow that. You tell her, keeping the vibe lighthearted with a laugh. I mean seriously, even if we did, it’s all fun and games until someone in one of the conference rooms below us sees a body hurling down towards the ground at a hundred miles per hour. Chaeyeon complains that the air conditioning doesn’t even reach her office sometimes, and tells you that she’s jealous, wanting to switch places with you since the sun hits her back during the work hours.

Sweeping past her office, since she’s gone for the day, the carpet gets pressed down by your loafers, tilting your head to see that the office at the very end of the walkway has the lights on, and you do notice the gap where the door should be; meaning that it’s open or someone stepped inside.

This was the end point of this overbearing yet brief journey. The office that was considered to be base camp, the command center, the brains, one would say. One of the firm’s most well known figures with how she leans back into her chair with a leg across the other, showing that she means business, and knows how to look good while doing it.

Prior, you loop around the pane entering the room-

“You’re saying that I should sit back and do nothing?” Minju asks, finger tapping the peak of her nose, clearly pressed.

“I’m not telling you to,” the woman standing across her with a left hand fastened to the hip with a lean to her right side, “We’re backed into a corner and all I’m saying is that we have to draw back and take this at a new angle.”

“But you said that last time! And look where it’s got us.” Minju shoots back, both feet on the floor now, drawing herself closer to make a point. You’re trying to not make your presence known, seeing where this exchange is headed, fighting the urge to not butt in and make a fool of yourself. “Cutting a deal with the very same person that is trying to come back and rip everything from us was all part of your plan?”

“Minju, I know you’re angry but–”

Minju slaps her hand down on the desk, “We’ve got them right where we wanted, pulled all the stops, and now you want to just back off?”

“I’m not backing off, I’ve managed to buy us more time.” the woman says, pressing on the rim of her glasses, sighing when Minju doesn’t even bother to look back at her in the eye, flipping through a packet with a pen in her hand to check and see if there was anything that was usable to help the situation. You’ve seen the packet on her desk earlier that way, ran that by Hyewon, her secretary, and now she’s finally looking at it.

“Two days. That’s all I got until we fall back with the judge.” she says to Minju, “Unless you have something for me on my desk later today, I’m officially and unofficially grounding you.”

“Dahyun-”

“Zip it.” Dahyun says, mimicking a pulling motion with her right hand to her lip, “You’re already stretched thin as it is, this case is already taking a toll on all of us and this would be the last thing I need on my mind.”

A tap to the glass on the entryway, “Is this a bad time?”

The two women look at you in suspicion, both of them not even realizing that the door was open the entire time, listening to the conversation, “How long have you been standing there?” Dahyun asks, pointing at you while you’re leaned against the glass, foot pointed to the floor all relaxed and everything.

“I’ve been here long enough, but a little over five minutes.” you answer, blue folder in hand. “Didn’t want to interrupt the usual bickering on a casual Thursday evening.” you also add, stepping inside Minju’s office where it opens up.

The great Kim Minju, one of the firm’s best lawyers, and Dahyun’s right hand woman, one of the key people sitting at the high table; also your handler of these different cases and adventures that she usually sends you to do or help her with. Her office was classy, a row shelves off to the right side filled with an assortment of vinyls and picture frames of the people that she holds most dear to her heart. A record player was next to this trolley that had a kettle and a bowl of candies (though she doesn’t like to admit that she’s got a sweet tooth); there’s also her violet couch in velvet that you’ve also passed out on multiple times, drunk on the sweet scent that you still have to figure out which one she uses for that.

“This is the last file for the case I managed to scrounge and put together.” you tell Minju, sliding it over across while her inky eyes dart at you, prompting a questioning eyebrow out of both of you while Dahyun’s gaze falls on top. “Everything in terms of deals within the last year from our target man should be all in there. Though, we had a minor hiccup earlier this week with–”

“Don’t remind me,” Minju vexes, “That was my screwup with the family and now I’m paying for it.”

“After I told you not to jump the gun.” Dahyun jumps in, hand on the corner of the granite. She sounds annoyed; after all, she was technically the ‘fall guy’ in all of this with her hiccup also in mishandling the exchanged information, not her fuck up though, since she was set up from the beginning after a hidden clause she signed a long time ago. She also swoops in to grab the file, opening it to skim through the papers, slightly nodding at what she could read for a few seconds. “Impressive,” Dahyun nods, “this is good leverage.”

“Thank you,” you say, smirking while Dahyun hands you back the file for Minju to look at, pulling it out of your fingers to flip through. “Had some help from Hyewon, but didn’t want to take all of the credit.”

“Well I appreciate you both.” Dahyun adds, “I had my doubts when I got the call to come back and see what all the fuss was about. Now, I can breathe a little more easily knowing that we have this in the bag, I hope.”

“I’m still here, you know.” Minju huffs, rolling her eyes.

“Hush,” Dahyun scrunches funnily, taps your shoulder, causing you to shrug nonchalantly, “Thank you for hanging back to help me take care of this while I’ve been dealing with my moving situation. God, it's been a back breaker for me.”

“How’d that go?”

“We finally settled in, I had a small housewarming party about a few weeks ago or so, but I’ve been keeping in touch with–”

“You said that your friend Sana was living in the area too, right? From college?” Minju suddenly asks, pen flat on the paper and fully invested in the life update. Dahyun nods to this while you’re pursing your lips at the news. You’re not one to lend an ear to these things, but you just can’t help yourself when they’re being talked about in the open. Talk about separating privacy and professionalism.

“Yeah, it’s been good to see her, if it wasn’t for this fucking cas–”

“Dahyun, it’s fine. We got it.” you tell her, slowly nodding to ease the stress, “You’re already doing so much by coming back from leave to deal this along with us. It shows that you do care about this firm and the reputation that it has.”

“Look at you being a kiss ass.” Minju deadpans. You pay no attention to that.

“And not taking this ordeal would've put the firm into crisis mode having the last thing I’d want to happen.” Dahyun scoffs, “Besides, the value is way more than that once all of this is over.” She starts to make her way out of Minju’s office, turning around to face both of you with eye contact, “I assume that you two will close up shop when you’re done?”

“Don’t even need to remind us.” you tell her, Minju looks up with a soft smile across her face, lightly waving at Dahyun before she gives you two a quick goodbye, leaving shortly after. “She seemed a little more dismissive than usual, like she wanted to give us alone time don’t you think?”

“I can’t stand her nosy ass sometimes, trying to veer the way how I want to do things.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m serious,” Minju shoots back, flipping through the packet, not giving an ounce of care through all of the blacked lines or different clauses in the suggested proposal that would settle this whole case. “I love Dahyun - I mean - she has the spare set of keys to my damn apartment since she moved away, that’s how much she means to me.”

“Didn’t think you’d be sappy over your boss, especially after the shit show that we’d–”

“One more word out of your smart mouth and I’ll stop looking through your documents to stall time.”

“You already signed it, though.” you say, pouting with a frown, “Which also means that this should all officially end by tomorrow.”

Minju sweeps through the row of open and unopened files spread across her desk, eyes canvassing between the texts and dried ink of signatures, vying for some sort of leverage that would go against Dahyun’s wishes. It’s natural for her to be extremely nitpicky - highlighted with a small curtain of hair falling in front of her forehead, pulling the side of her index finger back while her pretty eyelashes flutter about. She’s refined and very sophisticated, the kind that makes you stop in your tracks one day when she waltzes in the office on her own time, and not that she’s thirty minutes late in the morning.

Throw the law degree away bucko, maybe that avenue of studying art and architecture would’ve been the better option considering how much you’ve been staring for the past five minutes.

To fill in, here’s the brief rundown of the position.

A lot of people would’ve killed to be Minju’s associate. I mean, the woman seeps in ‘getting what she wants’. You could consider yourself lucky, but Minju already had eyes on you from the first second you stepped into her office for the interview. The interview itself wasn’t all that glamorous: renting one of your best friend’s designer suits that would’ve been more usable for a fucking award show spritzed with a cologne that was way out of your league in terms of scent let alone price, a typo on the fucking resume that she looks with an eyebrow for an explanation, and a lasting impression that whatever happens would deem only to be the best going forward.

Minju wanted someone who excelled both in book and street smarts, be able to get a grasp on the situation faster within the first few seconds of receiving the case or news, and most importantly, to steer Minju’s level of thinking where even the most irrational decisions would be reasonable.

You hit all the marks, and qualified to be associate. End of story.

“Everything that we all have here is solid substantial evidence,” Minju cuts in with a paper flipped back to the top of the page, pen flat on her fingers as if she’s fed up with playing reviewing proctor, “Nothing would change with what we already have on the case.”

“But the conclusion would be different,” you reply, sitting opposite to her, respectfully doing nothing but twiddling a pen between your fingers, considering that you were pretty much done with your bout in the file room earlier today, finding the last bits of documents from the archives that would help into comprising the settlement. “After all, it’ll be you and Dahyun in that conference room tomorrow closing the deal. I’m just passing papers.”

“I suppose that you’re afraid of taking credit where it counts. Because why put in much effort for this case especially when someone else could’ve handled it when I asked?”

“Dahyun insisted on coming back to oversee this. Had it been anyone else, the firm would’ve been up in flames if it wasn’t for her quick thinking pulling up the memos and signing payments from all those years ago.”

Minju closes your blue folder, sliding it off to the side, flipping open her laptop without a flinch before typing away. “You know,” she starts, giving you this quick gaze that has you nicking your head a few millimeters, catching the pen in between your fingers to highlight that she has your attention, “I could’ve done this myself with Hyewon’s help, give you at least some days off after working you down the bone.”

“Now why would you do that?” you ask, four fingertips on the back of Minju’s laptop, closing it slowly while you’re rounding the fine corner of her obsidian desk, thumb wrapping underneath when her chair meets square with your hips. “That’s not very work-efficient for you to do that to me now, is it?”

“You want to lecture me on how I should make you operate?”

“She knows about us…by the way.” you tell Minju straightforward, smirking when you see that high arch of her brow, grimacing at the faulty accusation that she already knows by way of presentation. Doesn’t take long also for the different neurons firing in her brain that’s filled to the brim by the way of the law - only for that to be completely flattened out in one of those lobes replaced with various details of what you’re talking about.

“What are you talking about?” Minju asks, tilting her head upward that makes the sight of the high ground utterly so familiar.

“Dahyun can easily tell that we have something going on,” you remind her, “She can easily read the both of us like a children’s book and–”

“Bullshit,” her face crinkling with a tone more deaf the the simple drone of a dead phone line, “You know damn well that there’s nothing happening between us, so stop with the conviction.”

“I’m not saying that you’re being convicted of my point,” you start, pushing her chair away to leave you space when you’re leaning over, seeing her back hit the cushion of the chair where she wiggles more comfortably with both hands on the armrests, “if anything, you’re just simply denying that there was ever really a thing between you and I.”

“And that should be the end of that, no?” Minju coos, tipping her head a little bit higher, “Can you concur that there is nothing happening between us, especially in the workplace?”

Minju is a professional, on par with the same archetypes like Dahyun. She’s witty, calculated, knows a lot more things from her experience compared to you, and blowhards herself way too much for anyone’s own liking. Every argument with her always starts with her leading the charge, to make you feel smaller right off the bat so that you’d have no way to counter unless your point seems fit to her points of focus.

Okay, it may not be every verbal exchange with her on a day to day basis, considering that it’s also filled with witty banter and small inside jokes that could totally fall within the implications of the term ‘flirting’, but nothing ever really escalated from that.

You also stuck your ears in between conversations during various corporate events and coworker mixers. Hell, even the pool of associates away from the main quarters of partners and senior partners all gave you the necessary praise for the chemistry that you’ve developed with Minju. Some days she wants to have your head on a platter, other days the talks were good, and you two managed to get things done around the office.

Except for one day, and the details are still a bit murky for you to put up in recording: another workday in the office, maybe a little slow for Wednesday transition from morning to an afternoon - but a free flowing circulation of phone calls, fax reports, conference appointments with clients, and a running order of Hyewon’s go-to latte from the coffee shop on the first floor.

Bouncing back and forth between Dahyun’s office and Yuri’s, you make a quick detour towards Minju’s office who happened to slot herself on the left side of you while matching your walking pace. Expecting a quick quip from her like any other morning, you were waiting for it, but she hits you with the ‘file room, now.’ order that has you in-tow right behind her on the way there.

Though your mind was already in overtime mode with the workload that was dropped to your desk roughly about two hours since arriving, it had already been nonstop and maybe Minju’s time could be quick if it was related to saving the firm from being purged by pulling some old papers in the filing room. Somewhere along those lines, your mind gets blanked out from the cramped space of the metal shelves, those dusty boxes, compounded by dim lighting in the room already.

What you do remember:

The small little gasps and hums when you’re sucking along the line of Minju’s neck, gripping the fistfuls of her dress and sliding your hand along her thighs.

(So much for keeping it professional with the woman who’s also technically your primary boss.)

“How do you want to go about this?” you ask, “Do you want me to persuade you into telling Dahyun that we need a little more time?”

Minju hums, pensively, as the question itself is rather a tempting decision that’s also actionable at best. You could see the small lump from the inside of her cheek before she shifts it across her upper lip to the other side, twisting her chair forward to place both elbows on the desk with fingers intertwined like she’s praying for the Lord’s insight from above. “We’ve been on the nose with this thing for too long now, I think it’s about time to cut our losses before things get ugly.”

You don’t say anything, leaning yourself onto the obsidian while your arms bridge themselves together, flexing the wool in the threads when she makes eye contact with you, flicking her eyes back onto the paper where there’s a few blank lines that still need to be written in ink.

With a simple lift of her signature ballpoint pen by you, she takes it, twirling it around like you were doing a few minutes ago to imply that your point finally got through to her, fingers grazing along the fine paper to fill in the gaps.

But the vantage point where your ass is pressed against the edge is proving to be some sense of uncomfortability, so you change course, from left to right, vacant chair adjacent to the desk in your hands in a fraction of a second, scooching closely while Minju scoffs at the prying during the task, “Didn’t think it’d be that easy for you to be cooperative with the demands.”

“Stop,” and Minju sings this with the better facade of her naivete, “Unlike you, I’m willing to actually listen to what's being asked from the first try, and not have it repeated to me through different remarks.”

You get too close, too soon, when the ends of her hair brushes against the front corner of your lips and cheek, she could hear the air close at the bottom of your throat when the tip of your nose barely grazes her cheekbone. A moment like this occurred before, you could say it’s in the sense of deja vu: Minju invites you out for some quality time between partner and associate, a few drinks were on the table, and Minju challenges you to a simple game of pool.

Sounds pretty mangable and straightforward, right?

Wrong.

You get shafted by Minju the first game, pull yourself back the next round. There’s this back and forth like usual banter between colleagues, dishing out trash talk for some good ol’ competition. The count of drinks gets lost along with the perception of time, and this happens on impulse when you’re backed into a corner with the eight ball being the last one for Minju while you’re behind on three solids. She rambled about you being always two steps behind and you can’t blame or deny the fact that she’s also way out of your league, so what do you do? Take the pleasantries of hums to your advantage, molding your hips along with hers, calloused hands lightly clinging onto the denim while your chin nestles into her collarbone, saying carelessly with intent of taunting, don’t you think you should call the last shot if you do make it?

Minju nips her lip triumphantly, turning her head, catching on with what you’re incessantly doing, whispering her call: left corner pocket. The attention to the black ball slips out of your mind when she presses your lips onto your cheek, a fatal blow while the space opens up between you again, tipping her head back also lets you know that you lost the best of three series, which also meant that the loser has to pay the bill.

(You pay your dues, but also add the pay up by making your own call: pocketing yourself into Minju’s cunt on her bed later that would only serve all the wiser.)

A flashback in your mind that took minutes, only to be reeled into the real world by merely seconds, “You missed one more claus–”

That gap could be filled after, because this deal on the agenda was more important to deal with.

Minju grabs you by the tie, leveling your head with hers. Your hands are quick to smooth out her skirt from behind, letting the various files and dossiers rest across the desk or on the floor, depending where her hands land for a proper hold. Some lights stay on long after hours, to serve as a subtle ambience that no matter what time it may be, someone’s still hard at work on a case, or waiting for their personal driver on the ground floor. Though, some other cases include a well-spoken conversation, or even just chatting between colleagues - this chat about work with Minju however, was anything but that.

Right off the bat, you’re reminded of how Minju is so easy to break down, despite her having a front that has every possible contingency of shutting herself away from others because she’s not that kind of character to be soft and open, until where your fingers are dancing alongside the slope of her bottoms at the hips, thumb rounding the hard end with a slow pull of her chair to reel closer until you’re at the edge of your seat.

The move itself is so subtle, setting her on the desk in a similar position that you were in while she was signing through the documents with her ass pressed against the desk, scooching back while dancing with her tongue, lips parted with her head tilted. You’ve also managed to get your hands underneath Minju’s perfect thighs, lifting her up to the tabletop, spreading her long limbs much like to that excerpt of Moses parting the Red Sea, dipping your hand underneath to get a feel of her lace.

Minju’s breaths become slightly erratic, nearly short-circuiting the more your fingertips dance along the line of her skirt; inner thighs pressing along the side of your hips while you cater your mouth and fingers in her hair, her neck, the growing heat rising in the skin when she whimpers through your teeth given how cold it was in the room. How your fingertips graze along the slightly damp fabric with one- maybe two tips, you chuckle softly at how she’s very responsive to the touch, the small clutch around your neck and back from her arms to serve as a safeguard.

This is something that you’ll probably take to the District Attorney, let alone have Dahyun in the loop, in the specific case where you find yourself with no other option, a last resort to drown her into the ground:

“Let me ask you this again,” you prompt with another received kiss to the growing swell of your bottom lip, “Are you sure that there’s nothing happening between us? Especially in the workplace?”

Minju gasps out before you shut her up with your lips, channeling the moan when you increase the intensity of swirling around her clit, putting her hips out forward to sate that ache for at least something, anything.

“You’re certain that you can say with full confidence that you have no kind of interest in me, whatsoever, admit to me right now that I’m correct.”

You could tell from the look on her face and the moan she lets out, vocal cords open and freely flowing with the heavy tone while crumbling at the touch, all hot and wet and losing most of the plot at this point before even getting to the real business. It’s really wicked, how this woman as your boss flaunts around the floor, knowing that she won’t let anything get in her way for getting the case done, doing whatever it takes to see it through to the end and even if the methods aren’t within the boundaries.

Like you could handle the boundaries yourself, playing nice isn’t always the way to go.

While your hand hikes up the smooth skin of her thigh, feeling an unfamiliar ridge, a weave, something that hugs her leg that probably deserves to be there, to help with the appearance and everything- maybe not or maybe so, you’ll assess when the moment gets there. She grips around what she could touch in terms of your blazer, hips pushing forward at the flex of muscle when you’re scratching the surface of her clothed cunt, the ripple effect shown in her body as she arches first, then sighs into your collarbone the next.

“Mmn, pretty–” Minju groans out, letting a small hiss through the porcelain cracks of her teeth, “so well, so, so amazing.”

You’ll seek out the wants, the needs, the odds to break even, testing out the very little restraints in patience left while this cold-hearted woman is melting into your touch, giving you the benefit of having free reign over her body, when she’s murmuring these little hums and broken phrases that switches back to yours with more perversion.

“I need an answer from you.” Playing prosecutor against the defense wasn’t always ideal unless it’s a mock trial, but you’re always one to challenge Minju, getting her to see your points on a day to day basis, proving her wrong when you know it’s impossible to. She can see right through you, always letting you take the loss, never accepting a victory that you rightfully deserved. You’ll be good, go to her when you’re in a rut, she expects it to happen, that’s how loyalty works. Though, there’s nothing wrong with being defiant. “Don’t make me ask again.”

It’s all a tease, the way you let the lace dip underneath the slit with the extra press of fingers, toying with the soaking walls and fighting the urge to tug the strings the more you repeat the same fucking routine–

“Baby,” she croons, it’s pathetic. You’re about to get worked up too if you play the waiting game, dragging your thumb across her clit so delicately that she’s quivering, squirming, feeling the tense in her shoulders through the button up, hanging onto your forearm when the hold gets a little too tight. Those breathy gasps get your mind ahead to what’s coming, the natural instinct of what you’ll do to her in her office, on top of her desk, and maybe even on that stupid velvet couch if need be.

You can hear the huffs more clearly down your ear, the rise and fall of her upper body when you coax her for a few seconds; she’s spiraling out of control, a whine gets suppressed with a press of lips to her throat, and she stumbles back on her arm, spreading wider in mirth.

She’s shaking her head, eyes screwed shut, like wincing, the whine too - holy hell - it’s reminding you after that night at the bar with her, a moment coming full circle.

A hand sweeps through her hair, fingers carding, you kiss that sweet spot just underneath her earlobe, a lick from the tip of your tongue to get her more fitful, bring the desperation and sluttiness out of her lips.

“Do you have- “ she’s sputtering out the letters and consonants, intertwined with hitches and moans, “any idea of what you do?” Minju can’t stay composed while the nips at her jaw and neck close the distance between her mouth–

“Haven’t had the slightest.” you whisper, hiking up the last bit of her skirt to see the new piece to untangle, “God, Minju- lacy stockings? Really?”

The laugh she lets out should set you off in annoyance, almost like a border that’s meant to be there and never to be touched - let alone cross, fingers clasped around the nape of your neck to keep you trapped while she smiles to the small victory, “You sound surprised. I always come to work with these pairs from time to time, but you don’t leer when I want you to.”

Her eyes flutter shut once again when you tend to her pulse point, mouth gaping open when you’re doing two things at once: soothing the warmth on her neck while your fingers work teasing her clit and walls, a punishment of sorts when she’s reeling back onto the desk with a slipping hand, her other limp gripping your forearm to not stop - but keep going.

“How long–” Minju asks while she’s practically sliding off of the polished bark, “have you waited to do this…to me?” Strands of hair falling forward ever-so slightly in front of her forehead, hand tangled to the back of your head while your ear is pressing against the hard line of her collarbone. You don’t pay any attention to her subjective inquiry, replacing it with another strand of moans leaving her lips when you skate her ass across the table again, the bottoms of her thighs meeting yours, melting a bit more when her core rubs against the emerging bulge from between your legs.

She knows what she’s doing, it’s a trade off of pushing buttons. Trying to get you to lose all the sensible urges just to give her what she exactly wants.

You let your hands map out the case: her hips, the flat plane of her waist, where the peak of her hips meet at the hint of her obliques, only for your digits to spread out behind on the curve of her ass, feeling the lacy panties that might go against dress code policy because of how too fucking thin they were. Minju grins against your mouth, the exchange of hot air serving to be this addicting oxygen that you can’t get enough of. “Who knows how long I’ve wanted to have a crack at you. I just put myself off to the side because I knew that I’d never stand a chance.”

She laughs, and you hate to admit how much you like it. The image of her being disheveled in front of you, just inches away from the fingertips; legs spread out wide on her own desk, waiting to be ruined.

“What’s going through your head right now?” Minju asks, tossing her arm on the lower section of your waist, seizing you while failing to meet her glazed eyes. “Have you…fantasized about me? Tell me all about it. I’m intrigued. Want to know what gets you off after work.”

And there it goes again: the banter. She’s always quick for a couple liners, sayings and slang that you’ve shared with her day in day out. Minju isn’t the kind of person to greet you with a ‘good morning’ or ‘want to get a quick drink or bite from the cafe downstairs?’ - but rather: right down to the dirty business of what she needs you to do in the long, extensive hours of the workday, dealing with clients, putting up with her and Hyewon’s bullshit, getting the necessary paperworks, and having some random beef with Yena in the break room. Minju is always quick to give you insight on what needs to happen, you also supply your own opinions and takes where Minju does accept some of them (most of the time).

Except for this, when her cropped blazer is barely hanging off the shoulders, skirt hiked up past the peak of her thighs, displaying that wet spot in between her unbelievable legs, pulling you by the tie because she doesn’t have time for you to fucking daydream saying: “C’mon, pretty boy. You’re basically drooling in front of me and we haven’t even got to the fun parts yet–”

She stops short when you lay the rough palm of your hand against her pussy, hushing through the cuff of her ear, grip tightening and muscles tensing in her body as if something snapped within you - which it did for a slight second - before you draw yourself back, finally looking her in the brown ambers of her eyes.

“I had a dream once,” you finally built up the courage to start, “about being here, in your office.” landing a kiss to the corner of her lip to keep yourself focused. On a night just like this, where you’re sitting nicely on top of your desk. Your legs were spread apart like so. Minju coos when she sees you lightly licking your lips. It would’ve been better if you were already out of your clothes, naked for me. Her head dips forward when she feels the languid circles rubbed across her clit, I fucked you right here, on this desk. And then, I ruined that pretty little couch that you love so much apparently.

“God, you’re insane.” She’s acting innocently like she too hasn’t been teasing you out and around the workplace before this.

Insane? It becomes a little bit more deranged where Minju’s jaw drops to the floor when she hears the sinful sound of her lacy panties being ripped away from her hips.

“Oh, I could do a lot more for you right now, and believe me, I will.” You assess the drainage when your finger plunges into her cunt; the sharp inhale she takes in while saying ‘shit’ is only brief when you’re thrown off by her walls tightening around you, her hands working the buckle of your belt and slithering past the pants.

“And how do you suppose you’ll keep your word?” she asks, fingers coiling your cock, the reaction easily readable judging from the loss of breath through your windpipe.

“Consider this as wet work.”

“Wet work?”

This attractive woman who’s posture could rival classy models, with those perfect lips in both sets, the image now being unraveled like an item being auctioned off to the highest bidder: how her legs open enough for you to fill the space, the way her bra sits across her chest once the blazer is finally discarded onto the floor. (She’s pretty now, she’ll be even prettier when you have your way over her, helplessly letting these soft sounds out, coming undone over or underneath, it won’t matter either way, because that’s always the endgame.)

“You’ve got your skirt on still,” you observe, pulling her closer to the edge of the slab, “I don’t know if-”

“Ignoring the double entendre you made?” she gasps, struggling to keep composure when the ends of your fingers, tightening her grip around your cock while the other arm is thrown around your shoulder, “just-please-like that-fuck-oh fuck-”

Minju sort of hides away from the immense pressure in her cunt and her clit, seeing the usual features on her face show a little more crease to them, slacking with her words, lost, feeling every bit of you, huffs of poor syllables and consonants, octaves going up in keys. You’re loving how needy she’s getting.

What’s the matter? You whisper against her chin. You don’t seem too well. Body burning up? Too hot for you to handle? She’s gone too far off to answer, only by huffs and light nods of her head, the flex in her knees, hands across your broad back, working herself around your fingers, groaning when it gets all too much.

The idea of staying at the firm for the night doesn’t seem that bad of an idea to do.

“Fingers, babe,” she whines, rasping in moans at the ends of them, “fingers are too fucking good, want it- so bad-give me a–fuck-”

Her eyes are screwed shut, clinging onto your body desperately while she starts to work the buttons off your shirt; starting in the middle rather than the top or bottom because she can’t think straight. But she diverts her hands instead to the loops on your sides, wiggling you out of your pants more - keeping herself moving while trying to ignore the throbbing that’s happening between her legs.

“Tell me what you need, boss,” you say, a little tinge of sincerity behind the professional title. “Maybe put some solidity to this little affair?”

Minju gives you this glare, scattered ends of her hair covering the little blush that’s all too apparent across her cheeks, failing fantastically the way she lets out this wail when your two fingers fill up her cunt completely, pulling her over the edge of the desk one last time as you mesh your hips right in the underside of her thighs, body leaning back with the arch bending a whole lot deeper, head back while you lean yourself forward that tips over a few trinkets across the desk; some picture frames fall face flat, that one pendulum set you’d always mess around with in the morning briefings nicks around in disarray, and her nameplate kinda just gets hit in the crossfire by Minju’s stray hand and onto the floor.

“Call this,” she sputters, gasping, heaving most likely, “a hot and steamy affair.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” you retort, “don’t get smart with me now.”

She just looks at you with that same sly smirk she’s been wearing whenever she teases you about anything. You find it annoying at times because of how effortless she does it, this time her breaking smile doesn’t match up with her eyes and how they are dead, sincere with a desire waiting to be fulfilled, a craving that’s been long overdue simply because you know that Minju is not an easy person to break down, though that’s been proven to be the complete opposite now.

There’s this priming for a second, your own hand wrapped around your cock, getting close, until you nudge yourself from the first few inches inside her cunt, feeling the small press to push more, replaced with the easy glide inside the compact, yet addicting heat. It’s also kinda cute how you and Minju share this quick inhale - a hiss would be better to describe it - then you see her blown out irises, that sly smile getting more lazier, lost completely when you drag the half of your length out, slowly, steadily.

“Wait, fuck-” she mumbles out, laying flat across the top. Her chest rises and falls a little more erratically, eyelids fluttering shut when you sink back right in, deeper this time, delicately, a little tease with the pullout before feeling her out completely. You learn for the first time ever since stepping inside that one room that day for the interview: that small thought of how it would be so easy to slot yourself right into Minju would be nothing but a pipe dream, becomes too real to relish in the feeling now.

Then she mumbles again: “holy fucking shit.”

You give one good snap of the hips for good measure, and the ripple effect of Minju’s body sliding across the desk, the wiggle in her perfect tits, her hands hold fast to yours around her thighs as if she’ll do the fucking all by herself while you just stand there in awe.

But you’re good as fucked if you weren’t already, so you snap your hips back into her again, harder. Then again, filling up her perfect cunt each and every time you bottom out. You’ll take this image to your grave, let this be the last piece of evidence submitted to the judge who’ll sentence you do a much safer place in hell: MInju’s pretty body, with stockings around her perfect legs, tits sliding across her chest in every stroke, cock disappearing inside her cunt as her pretty lips fit around them with ease.

“Minju, I - God,”, you try to tell her, the promise buried in your throat, buried underneath the air that flows right above the words, as your hips meet hers, the audible smack of her thighs filling up the office, how amazing she’s massaging your length well deep inside her, all slicked up and smooth for you to keep going. “I’ve been waiting for this- dreaming how to get you all stretched with this tight pussy. Your cunt, baby. Minju–”

“You’ve shown me why - why I chose you, out of everyone else - show me again how good you can-” she breathes. When her mouth trails off again, because of the strokes, the clench in her pussy, hands clinging onto your wrists as you cast your own hands onto her waist.

Eventually, nothing sounds better than the noises she makes against your collarbone, angling deeper where - you find out on the fly, and maybe something to keep in mind for later. It’s all coaxed out when you’re working her to the wall, holding her carefully while she can just keep herself stretched out, working all of the bundle of nerves across the spots inside her cunt.

“More, honey,” and the pet names just seem to escalate as they come, do they? She sets herself up on a wobbly elbow, seeing the flex of muscle across your arms and stomach each time you rip into her, fucking her with a steady pace, but teetering on the subtle rawness, that hidden potential that sets yourself apart from the other talents you have working as one of the top employees. “Love it when you- fuck me to pieces.”

"Anything else you want to say to me?"

“What’s also nice is that,” she continues to ramble (another thing that you’ve heard make rounds through the wings), dizziness shown in her eyes, the continuous clapping of her pulsing cunt, tightening around you, molding her into the perfect shape of - “how you continue to surprise everyone here, including me-”

A string of curses spill out your mouth, Minju can’t help with the mix of laughs and moans at how good you feel inside her, the sight of your cock vanishing between her legs, putting one past the degree where her knee nearly touches her clothed tit, and that gets her wincing for a quick second. You’ll probably put this in a mental file, how you’ll get her to molten cunt more creaming until she cums, cums, cums and cums-

“-you’re like me, but only as a handsome guy who continues to impress-”

Anything else that comes out of her mouth in lieu of praise will only feed that ego in your mind to get one over her, to say that you’ll always be two steps behind her while she’s five ahead. She doesn’t let you off easily, so why would you do the opposite for her? Rocking your hips towards hers makes the legs of the desk mirror the motion of your tempo, thumbs pressed up against the mold of her ribs just underneath her breasts, deep into the skin where you could also bend the bones beneath them while they rebound off of the smacks.

You’ve got your hand over her mouth, to shut her up, eyes squinted tight to where her brows could meet in the middle, grasping onto your wrist while the muffles of your name reach higher in octaves, sobbing in her moans while she’s suffocating against the roughness of your palm.

She can’t keep focus for any moment longer, eliciting shorter gasps when you tease by slapping your cock head on the nub of her clit, gritting her teeth at the shameless tease you’re giving.

“Can-” it’s a little sweltering to notice that she’s reduced to helpless one word blurbs, slipping inside of her once again to make her chest freeze off of the flares in her waist. “harder- i need you to-”

The shiver that erupts through your fibers sends you in limbo, feeling Minju’s ankle anchor behind your back, serving as the reins when you stutter in pace, ass hanging off of the desk to completely bottom her out, and your cock is constantly getting soaked with a new layer of her slick each time you pull back.

That low groan she lets out meshed with the word ‘fuck’ undermines her whole persona. Once known for being straightforward with her words, now lurching you in to keep pounding into her, slaps bouncing off the windows when she tries to perch her head upwards to see the damage, but slowly losing tension in her neck, deprived of focus when she lolls her head back to the original spot, sucking in air, sobbing even more loudly.

“Please, like that, keep doing that, I’ll let you anything to me, just–” You could see her lip wobble a bit slightly, cunt shaped to every minute detail of your cock, “i’m so- so fucking close, you fuck me so good- so well–”

“So tight,” you say, deep of that desired well. Minju is past the point of where the obscene words and demands can’t even be verbally said anymore. She’s whimpering, lazy wrist over her mouth again, the little strands in her hair bouncing along as one of the ripple effects caused by your length. “Gonna have you aching for me long after-”

It’s all royally fucked.

The way that she, oh-

How she clamps well around you, the new coat of her arousal soaking your crotch. When you’ve edged her out past the bar and how her whole body spasms in strain and ease, she’s clutching for something within arms reach - your hands and fingers, or anything that she can grasp - while these sinful sounds unravel her from her vocal cords. Her eyes look like they can’t open at all; with the small stream of stray tears falling from her cheek. You’re also crinkling your own features, jaw hung low with the bellowing moan leaving your mouth along with hers.

You could easily get lost in the reveling of Minju cumming over your cock, but you’re not seeing this through to the end not just yet.

In one swift motion, you flip her over, hook her waist, pull this one party trick of stripping her bra away from her chest, pushing her back down to which she giggles slightly. “Here.” you tell her, mouth well above the lobe of her ear, hanging her ass off the desk again. “I’m just getting started.”

Minju puts this lazy smile on her face, eyelids still closed, using whatever energy left that you haven’t dicked out of her to catch her breath, sliding her palms across the desk downwards to set herself in place. “God,” she says this as a revelation, “you are so fucking good.”

A low chuckle is all she hears while you pull her back up against your stomach, twisting her head up to your lips, pressing them to her cheek, while she traps her bottom lip between her teeth.

You say this as a serving rebuttal: “I’m better than good.”

Minju can be selfish at times, always willing to put her own personal interests over yours or anyone else’s (most of the time). But when you’ve broken her down to this: knees apart, your back flush with hers on her favorite couch, pushing well past the limit, driving your cockhead down the deepest depth to where you could get it, cupping the crease where her leg and hip meet, clasping with the pads of your fingers, dragging and impaling her what could be a punishment for her - or a reward to the limitless amounts of things that she wants and receives on almost every occasion. She’s the kind of woman to play the long game, hard to get, make someone like you grind your way in order to rail her in the most intense-rough fuck that she loves (but won’t admit), or the excruciating delay of feeling every nerve binded inside her walls, where the veins of your length just graze slightly enough to feel the tense in her muscles, her hands; going limp while lazily whining at the slide of your dick inside her cunt, playing with her while she’s whimpering at you to finish the job.

“God fucking dammit,” she manages, laying herself flat while you’re hovering right on top of her, taking your cock while she can only grip the seat covers. It’s all there, bare back and ass, the set of stockings still on her majestic thighs. You’re hitting her hips hard and heavy, the stable and slow strokes while she fills your ears with these strings of babbles that aren’t really conceivable to decipher or understand. She got a little to excited, bouncing her ass back against your cock while you just drop your arms and admired the show, before pushing deep with your balls nicking the clit at the end of every thrust, and that earns you these thick gasps, only taking you whole with every slam of your weight against her nimble body. “God, I- fuck- need you all the time, please.”

“Whatever you want,” you hush against the crook of her neck. That is something that you’ll take to heart under oath. She croons at how you're spilling all of these filthy things in her ear, a guarantee of sorts to the promises that have already bent the both of your minds into obliviion. "If it helps to stop you from fucking those other scumbags you call 'your clients' on a weekend basis, then I'll give it to you, sweetheart."

The self-control went off the rails a while ago, this was just free real estate with the endless cantations of moans coming out of her. "Need me to cum inside this sopping cunt so badly?" you ask, pulling a handful of hair that lifts her by the neck, "love using this pussy to get myself off."

She's giggling at the action because it's necessary. You could imagine the grin on her face for the entire world to see. "Words baby, or I'll cum-"

“Fuck- just, do anything- I want you.” Minju gasps with a whine tinged behind the words. It’ll be in the records, spoken into existence. She could care more less than a fuck of what others think after all of this is over. Pace slowing down, feeling that throb tremor against her walls when you’ve held out for this long, an overdue reward in itself.

It just took one more good hit to bury your cock into that perfect pussy, spilling everything, sending it deeper in the trenches of her cunt, fucking yourself in while she’s putting some effort to say your name, only for it to be overpowered by the gluttal moans you’re letting out while the shackles of tension finally come loose. Her head is pressed enough to leave a visible print on the cushions, crying before the shudder translates to her noises when you drive all the way in for one final time, letting the pulse die out; every heartbeat, every drop.

Your nose is pressed into the side of her head, taking in that sweet scent from her hair, showered in bliss, tangling and untangling until she takes rest in your arms, straddling your lap, chin forming alongside the small dip in your collarbone.

Minju offers this lazy smile, matching your rise and fall of breaths in your chest, blowing this hint of cool air to your neck that makes you twitch slightly from the sudden sensation, lips against the line of your throat:

“A hot and steamy affair, huh? I think I can let that pass by.”

“You really want to call it that?” you inquire, hands sliding down to the plush of her ass.

Minju simply laughs while you shake your head at the rhetorical question. “All honesty though, I thought that you and-”

“We are not going there.” you tell her, leaning back when she sets herself straight in your arms, hands along broad shoulders with the curtain of her hair falling towards one side. Definitely something that you’ve had in a wet dream before - talk about having deja vu. “Absolutely not.”

It’s when she trails her fingertip across the chiseled form of muscle across your chest, elevating her hand higher to cup your face. She gives you this look in her eyes, the kind that would make anyone keel over because as you’re reminded: Minju is someone who always gets what she wants. And when she rubs her thumb across your cheek, your cock jumps a few millimeters underneath her hips to which she notices, and seizes the opportunity presented to her.

Leaning forward with a purring whisper in the act, and you’re suspended in time while she moves. “I think I should repay you for treating me right just now.”

Minju has never owed anything to you. For the most part in your career, it was her that has given you these chances to make a name for yourself, to prove that you could go toe to toe with the best in the court, to prove to her why she chose you out of countless others to be her associate. If anything, you owe pretty much everything to her.

But maybe-

Maybe just this once-

“My little pretty boy needs to have his cock all cared for, right?” she asks when she sinks down to the edge of the disgraced couch, spreads your knees apart, eyes trained on you, lowering her head to swipe her tongue across your balls and the base of your shaft, feeling that same twitch in your cock when she gets a dainty hand across the length, well trained with the languid strokes that she’s giving you; it’s not hard to give in to that searing heat of her mouth while you’re trying to find the right words to respond.

(The options here are very limited: considering the fact that you have your hips forward with your friend / partner / new love interest slobbering all over your length, rubbing the head of your cock across her pretty face until she drains you out completely, painting her cheek white and bathing in the taste of your cum while you’re struggling to stay awake.

After all, you could just spend the night here at the firm bearing in mind how late it is.

Or better yet, have Minju stay at your place to not give Dahyun another headache to deal with the next morning.)

#male reader #male reader smut #izone smut #minju smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kim minju #izone minju smut

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fatkish · 2 months ago

Text

The Avengers x Y/N

——————————————————————————

[(Y/n) is sick and has been throwing up and is in the living room with the others]

Y/n: I want Bobo

Sam: *handing y/n a bottle of water* who’s Bobo?

*Bucky walks in*

Bucky: okay I got you that soda you like to drink when you’re nauseous, I also got some applesauce and some warm blankets

Y/n: *making grabby hands towards Bucky* Bobo!

Bucky: *snuggles next to y/n* Bobo’s here.

Steve: *lays the warm blankets on y/n and Bucky before setting the soda and applesauce packets on the side table and settling next to y/n* c’mere doll. You want to ask Loki to read to you? Would that help?

Y/n: yes please

Steve: hey Friday, can you ask Loki to come down and read to y/n, they’re sick

Friday: of course

Tony: wait a minute, you’re telling me rock of ages reads to y/n?

Thor: of course, lady/sir y/n says that my brother has a soothing voice and he often reads books to them that they are too lazy to read themselves

*a few minutes later*

Loki: *walks in with a thick book under his arm and sits behind y/n* alright now, where did we last leave off…oh yes, here we go. *proceeds to start reading aloud*

Y/n: *snuggles into Steve, Loki and Bucky while holding a large bowl on their lap and closes their eyes*

——————————————————————————

Natasha: If you had too, what would you give up food or sex?

Tony: Sex.

Pepper: Seriously, answer faster.

Tony: I’m sorry honey, when they said sex I wasn’t thinking about sex with you.

Pepper: It’s like a giant hug.

Natasha: Y/n, what about you? What would you give up sex or food?

Y/n: Food.

Natasha: Okay, how about sex or dinosaurs?

Y/n: Oh my God it’s like the movie Sophie’s Choice.

Steve: What about you Thor? What would you give up sex or food?

Thor: Oh... um... I don’t know, it’s too hard.

Steve: No, you gotta pick one.

Thor: Um, food... no, sex... no, food... sex... food. Ugh! I don’t know! I want both! I- I want hot people on bread!

——————————————————————————

Thor: So… I’ve seen you’ve been spending a lot of time with Loki recently.

Y/n: No, Thor, it's not what it looks like, I swear.

Thor: Oh really? So no reason for me to be jealous?

Y/n: No! You’re the only one for me.

Thor: Is that so?

Y/n: I promise! Loki and I are just dating, okay? He’s my partner.

Thor: So there are no best-friends-feelings involved?

Y/n: You are still my one and only best friend! Loki is just the love of my life, nothing more!

Thor: But I’m still the platonic love of your life, right?

Y/n: Of course bro!

Thor: Bro...

Loki: What the-

——————————————————————————

*y/n is playing Amnesia the horror video game in their room*

Y/n: *is humming the jeopardy theme song*

Steve: *in the living room* has anyone seen y/n

Peter: uh yeah, they’re in their room, why

Steve: I’m just curious, haven’t seen them since yesterday

Y/n: *the amnesia monster appears and starts coming after them* OH FUCK! Oh no! No no no no no no stay away! I’m gonna die

Loki: *had snuck into their room and was hiding*

Loki: *cast an illusion to make himself appear as the monster from the game and slowly creeps up behind y/n*

Y/n: *managed to get away in the game* phew, I’m safe. *takes off their headphones*

Loki: *taps y/n’s shoulder*

Y/n: *looks behind them and screams* Ahhhhhhhh!

Y/n: * falls out of their chair and runs out of their room screaming*

The avengers are in the living room watching y/n run away screaming followed by Loki smiling

Tony: I seriously do not understand their relationship

Thor: Loki is simply getting back at y/n for hiding the Poptarts and blaming him for eating them

Thor: *realizes something* this one may be my fault

Steve: how so?

Thor: I may have gotten a bit upset and possibly thrown my brother out the window…

Bruce: *looks at Thor with that bewildered and slightly horrified look on his face*

Clint: remind me never to eat the last poptart

——————————————————————————

*Y/n, Peter, Scott and Thor are in the living room with pictures of the other Avengers on the TV screen*

*Natasha’s picture comes up*

Y/n: pass

Peter: respectfully pass

Scott: well I’m with Hope so pass

Thor: I still don’t get the point of this game

Scott: Thor, if you’d have sex with the person who’s picture is shown then you say smash, if not then you say pass

Thor: ah! Well lady Natasha is indeed quite the warrior! Smash

*the other avengers walk in*

*a picture of Clint comes up*

Y/n: not gonna lie, if he weren’t married, I’d totally smash

Peter: pass

Scott: pass

Thor: I too would smash

*clint looks shocked at the others but also blushes*

*a picture of Tony comes up*

Y/n: meh, pass. He’s like a dad

Peter: pass

Scott: he’s mean to me, pass

Thor: Smash!

*Tony rolls his eyes*

*a Picture of Steve pops up*

Y/n: Smash! Smash that ass

Peter: smash

Scott: I want him to smash me

Thor: I too would like to smash the captain

*steve is shocked*

*Loki walks in as his picture comes up*

y/n: Smashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmash! SMASH!

Peter: pass?

Y/n: *looks at Peter bewildered* you’d pass on this glorious piece of art!? Look at him! Look at that beautiful face! Tell me you wouldn’t want to see this face breathless and lust driven. I don’t care if he’s on top or bottom, he can blow my back out any day.

Scott: *whispers* smash

Thor: y/n, you find my brother attractive?

Y/n: yesssssss!

Loki: *walks up behind y/n with a smug look on his face* is that so darling?

Y/n: *turns around and faints upon seeing Loki*

Loki: oh dear, are they dead?

——————————————————————————

*y/n and Peter are in the living room inside of a inflatable kiddie pool filled halfway with water wearing swimsuits. Both of them are wearing snorkels and goggles and are laying on their stomachs.*

Tony: *enters the room and sees Peter and y/n* what the hell are they doing?

Scott: I have no idea but honestly I feel the same

Steve: it’s -5 degrees Fahrenheit outside and these two are laying on their stomachs in a kiddie pool

Tony: how long have they been like that?

Scott: I don’t know, they were like this when I got here

Steve: and how long have been here?

Scott: thirty minutes give or take?

Tony: alright, that’s it, I’m pulling the plug on whatever this is

Clint: *from the vents* it’s fine! The kids are just trying to pretend it’s summer. They’re trying to pray the snow away and bring back tolerable temperatures

Steve: how long have they been doing this?

Clint: *from the vents* 7 hours

Tony: Jesus, I’m getting them out. *taps on y/n and peter’s shoulders* C’mon you two, out.

Peter: *lifts his head and removes the snorkel* but mister stark

Tony: no, no buts. Get out.

Peter and y/n: awwww *gets out*

Tony: and clean this up

——————————————————————————

*y/n comes running into the living room with a box that’s taped up*

Y/n: it’s here! It’s here! *sets the box on the coffee table and proceeds to open it*

Tony: what’cha got there kiddo?

Y/n: *pulls out an old creepy doll* This is Bella-Ann and she’s supposed to be haunted

Clint: yeah nope, I’m not staying anywhere near that thing

Tony: oh come on Legolas, it’s not real

Y/n: Bella killed her last owner, supposedly…

Steve: why would you want that?

Y/n: cause it only cost me 2 dollars and the seller promised it was haunted

Tony: yeah no, I’m calling the wizard. *calls Strange*

Dr. Strange: *picks up and is clearly annoyed* what is it this time?

Tony: y/n bought a supposedly haunted doll

Dr. Strange: and why are you calling me?

Y/n: uh, Tony?

Tony: not now y/n

Y/n: Tony!

Tony: what?!

Y/n and Steve: *hiding behind the couch*

Y/n: *whispers* the doll has a knife*

The doll: *is standing and holding a knife*

Tony: *to Strange* yeah there’s definitely something wrong with the doll, it’s got a knife and is currently chasing y/n*

Y/n: *running from the doll* help me!

Dr. Strange: *sighs and opens a portal* fine

——————————————————————————

*y/n comes skipping into a meeting*

Y/n: Balls in holes! Who wants to put ball in holes?!

Fury: excuse me?

Steve: language!

Y/n: aww ain’t anyone wanna play skee-ball, I’ve got tickets

Tony: y/n, we’re in a meeting

Sam: I’d love to but we’re kinda busy

Y/n: fine, I’ll go play with myself

Steve: you hear what you’re saying right?

Natasha: don’t bother, they’ve been hanging out with Deadpool

——————————————————————————

#mcu avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #avengers incorrect quotes #thor x reader #Thor x y/n #loki x reader #loki x y/n #scott lang x reader #Scott lang x y/n #steve rodgers x reader #steve x y/n #bucky x reader #Bucky x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n

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dimalink · 19 hours ago

Text

Free Dos and Q4OS soft

So, I continue to learning computers. And I am installing soft already. With my old computer. This is Iru. And Acer Extensa. I start with Iru Combo. It has Windows 2000 and Free Dos.

And I start with Free Dos. I check that it is launching. It is written as unknown system with windows 200 boot loader. By the way, platform like NT, Windows 200 has excellent starting loader. You can edit it as a text file. Once, I, already, make it. It is simple.

I have disk, it is, already, a second disk with Free Dos. Bonus CD. It has a soft. And, it has a command with Free Dos. Which starts something like packet manager. And, it shows, what you have installed. And what you can find with these Cds with Free Dos. Now, I have two Cd with Free Dos. It is Live Cd with install and Bonus Cd with soft.

So, I selected some different soft there. And install it. It looks like Linux. But with interface MS DOS. And it is loading not fast interface. From compact disk. Like with freeze. As a thing, they are zip files. And you can do it manually if you know how. But I use this environment. Like packet manager. Comfortable. I select all I want. And install.

I have selected most different compilers and some else soft. I do it for the very first time. So I do not remember. Packet with name DN or similar. This is Dos Navigator. It is there. I install it. And even launch it. So, it is more comfortable. Graphic interface. But work with Dos it is also some fun. Commands Dir /w. Cd, C:.

So, for now, I used this commands. And, also, it is with packet - popular thing - Free Doom. I launch it. It works. It is with pixels.

And next it is my Linux computer. Acer Extensa. With Q4OS. It is such a cool Linux. It has good interface. Screen welcome. And with it you can do lots of things. It is load as soon as system starts. And next it has packet manager. And categories with soft. Lots of soft. I select for a long time. Well about one hour or hour and a half, thats for sure. So for the first time, I have seen so many packets. First, I read carefully. And next, so so, just to scroll a big list.

I have installed Gambas. Something like Visual Basic. Lazarus 2.2. It is like Delphi and Turbo Pascal. Free Pascal. Some games I install. And different soft. In a menu start - accessories. So, there it is all the soft. I try games. They work. There are shooters. Strategy Warzone 2100. And Wesnoth. And shooter three dimensional Alien Arena. But with my machine it freeze. And other stuff works well, as I get it. Maybe with a shooter to setup graphics lower.

It is funny, when you do not use OS, it is top appear some round clock with line. it is made very funny. And packets, by the way, was long time with loads and installation. But, it is good, that with packet manager it is all automatically process. Also, I think, I wait for an hour.

There are music players there, and midi some tool for make music with beautiful name RosenGarden. Beautiful startup screen for this soft. I remember this a lot. And lots of things, I see for the first time.

So, I try to learn computers. And to make a situation to be in use all the computers. And it will be with something unique and interesting. So, here some game. Here some soft. So, this is office soft, so, and that is programming soft. To have skill to use all this useful stuff.

iron (hardware) and programs. From time to time i restore computers, retro computers. Try retro soft. Check some programs. And write about all of these. Dima Link is making retro videogames, apps, a little of music, write stories, and some retro more.

WEBSITE: http://www.dimalink.tv-games.ru/home_eng.html ITCHIO: https://dimalink.itch.io/

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bellaxgiornata · 10 months ago

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The Devil at Your Window |9: A Hard Problem|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 3.7k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

a/n: Finally some spice has entered the story with our naughty, naughty Devil. Bad, Matt, you shouldn't be doing that! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza @cloudroomblog @babygirlmurdock @writtenbyred @idontevenknow1359 @scriptedmoon @sarraa-26 @barnes21cz @loves0phelia @3sriracha @kmc1989 @midnightramble @marissamejia19

Chewing your nail, you stared down at the screen on your phone. You were currently on your lunch break mindlessly scrolling through The Bulletin's website for news updates in the city while you sat in the break room eating the lunch you'd brought from home. But when you'd almost immediately stumbled on a photo of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen on their website, you'd paused mid-bite of your sandwich.

It had been over a week since he'd last stopped by your apartment. He'd even frequented your Devil’s Pantry far less than usual during that time. You'd thought that maybe he just hadn't been going out as often at night, possibly taking a break or recovering from an injury. Because in the past when you hadn't seen him much over a period of time, he at least still stopped by and grabbed some water and protein bars or packets of trail mix from the container you left out for him. But now sitting here and seeing this article on The Bulletin's website was proof to you that he wasn't sitting at home–wherever that was for him–and that he had in fact been out and active in Hell’s Kitchen this week.

The title of the article had read ‘Masked Man Strikes Again,’ but you had barely managed to read the first few paragraphs before you'd scrolled back up to the poor quality photograph. You'd enlarged it on your phone, setting your sandwich down as the quality of the picture became worse when the image doubled in size. The index finger of your left hand lightly trailed along the line of his mask on his face, your heart sinking in your chest.

You probably shouldn't have pushed your luck with him last week. Trying to further rile him up by talking about the date and the kiss with Dylan had in hindsight been a bad idea. You were certain now that the Devil had been keeping his distance from you because he thought you were seeing someone. Clearly this photograph of him slinking into an alley sometime in the past few days was proof of that since he was still lurking around the city at night. It meant that he was still going out, he just didn't want to see you.

Sighing at the realization, you exited out of the website and locked your phone before tossing the device hopelessly down onto the table. Burying your face into the palm of your hands, you wished you could scream into them. The Devil’s visits had been a welcome distraction from your mundane life ever since he'd fallen onto your fire escape. Wondering when he'd appear at your window next each day had been something to look forward to, as pathetic as that sounded. Now you might not even have that anymore. Would you ever find him standing on your fire escape again? Or was he just permanently done with you?

As you sat there with your face in your hands, you began doing what you'd been doing all week–imagining things had gone differently the last time you’d seen the Devil. You should have openly flirted with him more, or maybe even just flat out confessed your stupid crush to him. On the slight chance that he genuinely liked you–which would explain the jealousy–at least he would have finally known the truth. Maybe he would've returned to your window by now.

It also didn't help that the image of his perfect ass was now permanently ingrained in your mind after that last visit. Shamefully you'd recalled it a few different times this week already when you'd been in your bed missing him. With his absence these past few days, you'd been thinking about him at night more frequently than usual, finding yourself unable to resist touching yourself to thoughts of him when you lay awake in bed.

Shifting awkwardly on your chair as a burst of heat suddenly awoke inside of you at those thoughts, you tried to push them back as they threatened to take over even now. You felt pathetic sitting there knowing that it took hardly anything to get you wound up when it came to him, but now was certainly not the place to be thinking about the Devil. Not like that. Even though each time you got off to your growing fantasies of him, you only wound up feeling worse afterwards. Especially knowing what you now had just discovered–that he was still going out at night and intentionally avoiding you.

All you wanted was for him to just come back to your window.

Matt had tried to avoid your apartment tonight like he'd done every other night that he'd been out this week, but somehow he'd found himself on top of your building anyway.

He knew he should go. You'd made it clear that you were seeing someone. He shouldn't keep showing up and flirting with you just to get a rise out of you. If you were on your way to developing a relationship with someone then he knew he should respect that.

But your absence from his nights out this week had him realizing just how much he'd grown to miss his banter with you. You always managed to make his bleak nights brighter and to say something surprising that kept him on his toes. He even missed the way you reacted just at the sight of him every single time he appeared at your window. Something about the way your heart skipped a beat before hammering in your chest as your pheromones went into overdrive in turn sent him into a frenzy–internally, of course. Because he wasn't going to ever actually act on his attraction to you.

Not that he could now since you were with that guy.

As he paced his way over to the edge of the building so he could drop down onto your fire escape, he told himself that he'd just stop by to see if you were even still leaving food and water out for him. If you were still filling the Devil’s Pantry, it'd be rude of him not to partake.

The only reason he'd even allowed himself to stop by your fire escape tonight was also because he knew it was late. On his way over, he’d overheard a conversation where someone had mentioned that it was just after one in the morning. Considering you had work tomorrow, Matt knew you'd already be asleep. There was no risk of you catching him outside your window tonight.

Landing with a soft thump on your fire escape, Matt remained in a crouch as he threw his senses into your apartment just to confirm what he’d already suspected. Rising to his full height as he picked up on your heart, he'd curiously noticed that it was beating faster than it should have been if you were asleep, which was strange since he'd caught the sound coming from your bedroom along with the faint rustling of your sheets. Which meant you were in bed right now. Had you woken in the middle of the night then? Or were you just struggling to fall asleep tonight?

Carefully he took two quiet steps closer to your window, trying to remain undetected as he attempted to figure out why you were awake so late tonight. But just as the toe of his boot met the side of the Devil’s Pantry that you had in fact left out for him beside your window, he heard a low buzzing sound while simultaneously being hit with the overwhelming and tantalizing scent of your arousal. The smell of it had momentarily struck him dumb as he stood outside on your fire escape, your shallow breaths suddenly loud in his ears.

That's when he realized what he'd stumbled on.

You were indeed in your bed right now–masturbating. He could hear the soft, wet sounds of your fingers methodically pumping in and out of yourself as he placed the faint buzzing noise as your vibrator. Unintentionally focusing closer on you inside, his senses quickly became overwhelmed by the shifting of your sheets as your body writhed along your mattress, the faint sheen of your sweat mingling with the sweet, siren call of your cunt even past the glass.

Stumbling a step back from your window, Matt roughly shook his head as he tried to clear his senses. He should not be listening to this. Especially because you were probably in there thinking about that guy right now. Grinding his teeth in irritation, Matt tried to focus on the sounds of anything else in the city right now–police sirens in the distance, a drunken fight two blocks away, an infomercial on the television two floors down–

Your soft moan tore through all the noise, somehow louder than all the rest. Matt felt his cock stirring further awake in his too tight pants.

“No,” Matt growled, sharply shaking his head again as he spun around on your fire escape. “Not like this.”

Trying to ignore the burning ache now growing between his thighs, he gripped the railing of your fire escape in both of his gloved hands. Shutting his senses off to the sounds of you inside of your apartment behind him, he flung himself over the side of the railing. He dropped down a couple of floors below onto another fire escape, his jaw tensing at the impact. But it didn’t help that the faint jolt when he’d landed had sent a tinge of pleasure through his thighs and straight up his spine.

With a frustrated snarl, he tried to focus on anything else right now. Someone in the building next door was watching what sounded like an action movie, the sounds of screaming and explosions a helpful distraction. Keeping his attention on the movie as he attempted to place what it might’ve been, he once more threw himself over the side of this fire escape as he continued his descent down the building until he reached the pavement. But as he’d tried to catch his balance on that last drop, his concentration broke and your shallow breaths once more filled his ears.

“Mmmph,” he heard you whimper a few floors above. “Fuck.”

The quiet curse had sounded as loud as if you’d whispered it straight into his own ear. Matt’s eyes snapped shut as he tried hard not to imagine the feel of your lips pressed to the shell of it as you’d spoken. Ducking around the corner of your building and into the nearby alley, your heavy breathing continued to plague Matt’s hearing.

Roughly he slammed a gloved fist against the brick wall beside himself, an aggravated roar barreling forth from his chest as he fought to tune you back out. He felt like every other sound of Hell’s Kitchen was slipping through his grasp right now. He couldn’t manage to hold onto anything else for long enough to keep you out of his head, the sounds from your bedroom steadily growing louder and louder in his ears. The strain in his pants was becoming more and more urgent and unbearable with every ragged breath and soft squelch of your fingers.

Part of him was desperate to turn around and climb back up the building to your fire escape and find out if your window was still left unlocked. He wanted to throw it open and let the essence of your desire that was so clearly permeating the air seep into his very skin. He wanted to stalk into your bedroom and tear the sheets off of your partially naked body and hear your startled gasp. Then he wanted to attach his mouth to the places your vibrator was currently touching, desperate to hear the sounds you’d make when he brought you right to the brink. He wanted to feel the tremble in your thighs when they clamped tight around his face just before you came on his mouth.

He wanted his fill of you. He wanted to take you from that asshole. Claim you as the Devil’s and show you how much better he was. How much better he could make you feel. How much louder he could make you scream and how many more orgasms he could give you. You’d never remember another name but the Devil’s when he was through with you.

Teeth clenched together, Matt once more slammed his fist into the brick beside himself and tried to focus on the throbbing in his knuckles instead of in his pants. His other hand rose up, running across his mouth in frustration. He was so ridiculously hard right now. Standing there in the alley, he felt his cock straining miserably against the confines of his already too-tight pants. It was uncomfortable, and the sounds of your breaths coming in even faster and sharper from above were only making things worse.

He should never have stopped by your damn apartment tonight.

He’d already been planning to head back to his apartment after yours to begin with, but now his desire to get back home had reached levels of utter desperation. There was no way he was going to be able to ignore the need for you now. He’d have to jerk himself off once he got home–and fast, because your whimpers were beginning to draw forth beads of pre-cum that were dampening the front of his boxers. If he didn’t make it back home soon, he’d probably lose it in your alley just listening to you fingering yourself.

“This is pathetic,” he snarled to himself.

Attempting to pay attention to his surroundings, Matt began to make his way back towards his apartment. Though no matter how much he kept trying to focus on literally anything else–a couple arguing a block over, the chatter of a group of people having a cigarette outside a nearby bar, even the ear piercing sound of a car alarm–your soft moans kept breaking through every other noise in the city. For some horrible reason his senses just refused to ignore you no matter how much he kept trying.

Each step he took as he awkwardly jogged back towards his apartment building was awful. His cock felt damn near ready to rip open the seams of his pants with how hard it had become, and he was aware of how strange his gait was–he'd never had to manage getting back home with an erection before and it felt absolutely embarrassing. Worse than tearing the ass of his pants. Repeatedly he’d fought the urge to reach down and even brush a hand over the hard bulge in his pants, hungry for any sort of stimulation to relieve the throbbing, painful desire that was taking over his every thought. His own breath had started to come in sharp, staccato pants as he made it over to his block across the street from yours, slinking around to the back of his building.

You were thinking about that guy , Matt tried to remind himself in the hopes of increasing his anger instead of his arousal as he began to climb the side of his building, making his way towards the roof. That’s what you were doing right now. Pleasuring yourself to thoughts of some other asshole who had no idea how amazingly selfless and thoughtful you were. Some asshole who didn't know that you liked to add extra chocolate chips to your boxed brownie mixes or how you stress cleaned when you were upset. He had no damn clue that you liked to burn marshmallow scented candles and watch romantic dramas before bed, or that you liked to curl up on your couch with two blankets instead of one.

And right now your mind was conjuring images of that other guy’s face while you vigorously fingered yourself– not his. And he hated that.

Matt's angry thoughts only backfired as the Devil’s fury and frustration only lead to his increased desire to further prove his sexual prowess to you. He kept imagining climbing in through your window instead of making his way back home and pushing you up against the wall before tearing those sweatpants you often wore right down your legs. He'd stuff his fingers deep inside of you until your knees wanted to give out and your moans broke off on sharp gasps. Then he'd bend you over the back of your sofa, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips as he buried his cock into you over and over while your hands uselessly clawed at the fabric of your couch for something to hold onto.

“Yesyesyesyesyes-”

Matt’s hand briefly lost its grip on the side of the building as the sound of you about to cum slammed into his ears. He’d momentarily slipped, catching himself at the last moment before he could actually fall down two floors and land painfully on his back.

“Shit,” he cursed.

If he didn’t focus, he’d end up not only cumming in his pants on the side of his building, but probably landing unconscious on someone’s fire escape right afterwards. And for obvious reasons, he didn’t need that to happen.

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Matt tried hard to focus on something else. He noticed that someone in a nearby apartment on the fourth floor had burnt chicken in their oven only a couple of hours ago. It smelled so terrible that he could smell it even from outside, the scent practically burning his nostrils. Trying to stay focused on that, Matt finished climbing his way up to the roof. But as he'd pulled himself up and over onto the top of the building, he'd bumped himself against the concrete and let out a sharp groan of pleasure and pain.

In his momentary distraction, he once more could hear you from across the street, your growing whimpers only somewhat muffled by the distance, but they hadn't remotely lost their effect on him. Practically limping towards the roof access door that led back to his apartment, Matt finally caved. One gloved hand landed straight onto the bulge in his pants.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he hissed out.

He was so wound up that the slight pressure over his pants already had him about ready to cum. Hurrying faster towards the door, he sharply flung it open and darted inside his apartment. He'd had his pants unbuckled and his zipper undone before the door had even shut behind himself. Not even taking the time to make his way down the stairs to his living room, Matt's gloved hands shoved his pants and his boxers midway down his thighs, his hard cock springing forth in relief before he began frantically tugging at his gloves.

“Oh fuck-shit-yesyesyes-”

“He'd never fuck you like I could,” Matt caught himself growling at you, tossing his gloves to the floor before wrapping a hand around his freed cock. “Promise you that, angel. I'd–oh fuck– ”

A strangled groan flew out of his throat as he pumped himself into his hand just once, your building high-pitched whimpers already easily dragging him along towards an orgasm with you. He felt perverse for what he was doing right now, aware it was wrong, but he couldn't seem to stop. He’d already tried so hard to ignore you that now he’d just given in, his hand vigorously stroking his aching and overstimulated cock.

“I'd make you feel ten times better than he ever could,” he ground out through teeth, his hips bucking forward into his hand in punctuation with his words. “I'd –ahh shit– make you–feel–sogoddamngood. ”

He heard your sharp gasp which was soon followed by the noise of something like a moan mixed with a broken whimper, the delicious noise sounding as if you'd just finally cum. Anger and need simultaneously mingling together inside of him like an all consuming fire, his toes curling inside of his boots, Matt felt that distinct surge of his own release racing up his spine as he continued to fuck his hand.

“He–can’t–have you !” he roared into the room.

Warm, thick strands of his cum spilled forth, coating Matt's hand as he continued to work himself through his release. His breath was coming in rough, ragged pants now as he leant up against the wall nearby, entirely spent from the release and having tried so hard to block you out. Thankfully now the sound of you in your bedroom was no longer easy for him to hear, but the reason as to why he hadn’t been able to tune that particular private moment of yours out still eluded him.

Throwing his head back against the wall behind himself, Matt let out a frustrated groan. Not only should none of that have just happened, but now he had to face the very real fact of what he'd been denying for awhile. He was attracted to you and he wanted you. Badly. But you weren't available anymore, and even if you were, he highly doubted you were the type to get intimate with a masked man you knew nothing about. You didn't seem like the no-strings-attached-sex type. Though Matt also knew that wasn't a good idea anyway. That would not happen, he wouldn't let it.

Still trying to catch his breath, Matt reached up and tore the mask from off his head with his clean hand. Balling the fabric into his fist, he let out an irritated grunt for a different reason now. He wanted you but he was aware that he'd never be able to have you in any physical way because you could never know who he actually was. There was no way he’d ever reveal his real identity to you, and it wasn’t right for him to act on any of his desires when you knew nothing about him. Besides, he reminded himself bitterly, you were still with that guy .

Matt expelled a long, sharp breath in frustration. He knew after what had just happened that he'd also have to keep avoiding your place. Because he wasn't sure he could just stick to the teasing banter with you after what he’d just done, not with the things he was aching to do to you still running through his mind. He’d just have to keep trying to avoid you.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil

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levvthan · 4 months ago

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dad! heisenberg headcannons - heisenberg x f! reader

♡ I've been thinking recently, which is not a good thing.

I’ve been wondering what Karl would be like in a family dynamic, free from Miranda, with his own wife and some kids.

Prepare yourself for some silly, modern, random ass headcannons!

♡ overly protective of his family

due to his past he carries a heavy weight of trauma on his shoulders, even though he doesn't realise it

so, over protective is actually an understatement

after finding out you were pregnant he'd end up booby trapping the house in order to keep you safe

if anyone was to hurt one of his family members the next thing you'd see was their house on the news, with a car wedged through the window... literally

his kids being bullied? the school will be having a very lengthy conversation with him, through their now broken office door

he's crap at regulating his emotions, but he tries extremely hard to learn how manage them after scaring his family once or twice

after a few years you'd managed to get him to calm down a bit, reassuring him that nothing bad would ever happen to you or his family

eventually, he did replace the boobytraps with a security system

♡ cant cook for shit

anytime him and his s/o would try to cook together, it’d always end up in a kitchen feud

sticking to the recipe? nonsense.

he’d be adamant that he knew what he was doing *cue the rare beef he’d dropped on the floor*

he'd end up stock piling ready meals in the fridge, along side his many cans of stellar

you would have to chide him for leaving empty microwave burger packets scattered around the kitchen

when summer came around, he’d be adamant that he could work the grill, until he manages to somehow charcoal everything to dust

“here you go kids, eat up.” … *insert image of RE7 food*

♡ DIY expert

almost everything in your home would be built by his bare hands

when it came to repairs, there was no need for a handyman, daddy karl’s on the case immediately

instead of buying furniture he’d insist on making it himself

when his first child was born he built them their own crib, with its own built in cot mobile

his baby would absolutely adore the lullabies it played… until the old media player he’d hooked up to it started to turn static

he’d also insist on making his children their own toys

however, they’d always end up being some sort of mechanical uncanny valley trinket

regardless, his kids still loved whatever toys he’d make them… leaving everyone else a bit creeped out

♡ chaotic vacations

he’d end up packing one outfit, his coat, hat, sunglasses and a pair of underwear, maybe two pairs

“What do you mean you only have one change of clothes, Karl?” … “But you packed two boxes of cigars and a wrench?!”

he’d be fully locked in during booking at the airport

however, if the flight had been delayed he’d probably end up getting you all blacklisted

once his family boards the plane, he’d offer his kid the window seat

“Daddy, I’m scared.” … “Don’t worry kiddo, as of last year only 28 planes crashed, and only a few hundred people were killed.”

and no… he wouldn’t clap when the plane landed… only when it’d take off to cheer his now crying child up

at the beach he’d complain about how hot it was, since he’s so used to living in cold climates

you’d have to facepalm yourself out of embarrassment when he pulls up with his hammer, which had somehow passed airport security

"Darling, it's for protection." *smashes open a coconut*

his kids would hound him to play or build sand castles with them

but he'd end up taking it a bit too far, as he shows you around the fully functioning fortress of sand and metal scrap

♡ bedtime stories? more like horror scripts

whenever you're too tired to put your kids to bed Karl would instead

you'd have to hope that you wouldn't end up with your children in your bed, due to a nightmare

"And then, the big bad Lycan jumped out of the bushes, it's fangs bared and blood soaked, as he ate the man alive - screaming for his life!"

needless to say, you ended up having to buy child friendly story books for him to read from

#karl heisenberg #heisenberg #lord heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil village #x reader #headcannons #re village

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nameless-jamie · 4 months ago

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No room for 2

One-Bed-Trope SPECIAL

Jamie Tartt x fem! reader

Masterlist

TW: cursing, kissing, smut, heavy flirting, suggestive talking

There were worse things in life than flying halfway across the world for your best friend’s wedding. Really, there were. Long-haul flights? Uncomfortable, sure, but it wasn’t like Y/N’d be roughing it. Keeley had insisted on booking everyone first-class seats—"No best friend of mine is flying coach to Hawaii, babe!”—so at least Y/N had legroom, champagne, and a window seat.

And yet, as she settled into the plush leather seat and stowed her carry-on beneath the seat in front of her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go horribly wrong. Maybe it was just the pre-wedding chaos still buzzing in her brain—helping Keeley coordinate months of planning, juggling dress fittings, last-minute RSVPs, and the ever-present worry that Roy Kent might actually growl at the officiant.

No stress, she reminded herself. Just a week of sun, cocktails, and watching your best friend marry the love of her life. Roy and Keeley's special day.

The hum of the plane’s engines grew louder as passengers filtered into the cabin. Y/N leaned back, exhaling slowly, eyes closing for a moment and then a distinct voice cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard.

“Oi, this seat taken, love?”

Her eyes snapped open just as Jamie Tartt dropped into the seat beside her with all the grace of a cat landing in someone’s lap uninvited.

“No,” she said flatly. “But it should’ve been.”

“Lucky for me, it weren’t,” Jamie replied, flashing a grin that somehow managed to be both charming and infuriating. His sunglasses were still perched on his head, holding back his messy blond-brown hair, and his stupidly well-defined jawline was freshly shaven—probably so he’d look good in the wedding photos.

Not that he needed to try. Annoyingly enough, Jamie Tartt was attractive in that aggravating, effortless way that made it impossible to ignore him. And God, did he know it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, sinking deeper into her seat as the flight attendant announced the final boarding call. Of course this would happen. She should’ve known the universe wouldn’t let her escape without some form of punishment.

“What? You don’t fancy spendin’ the next ten hours with me, love?” Jamie asked, draping his jacket over the seatback and settling in like he owned the place. He leaned closer, voice dropping to a stage whisper: “Don’t worry—I’ll keep my hands to myself. Unless you don't want me to.”

Y/N shot him a withering look. “You’re impossible.”

“Nah, just irresistible.”

It had always been like this with Jamie—ever since Keeley introduced him to Y/N a few years back. Their first meeting had been at one of Keeley’s parties, and within five minutes, Jamie had somehow managed to insult her favorite band, spill half a drink down her dress, and then—just for good measure—ended the night by flirting with her in the most infuriatingly cocky way possible.

“You’re fit when you’re mad, y’know that?” he’d said that night, smirking as she tried to blot cranberry vodka out of her blouse. “Bet you’re a proper firecracker when you’re—”

She’d dumped what was left of her drink over his head before he could finish the sentence.

In the years since, their interactions had followed the same pattern: annoying banter, relentless flirting, and the unshakable sense that Jamie enjoyed getting under her skin. To be fair, he wasn’t quite as insufferable as he used to be—thanks largely to Ted Lasso and a good dose of humility—but that didn’t mean she wanted to be stuck next to him for an entire flight.

Especially not when he still had that infuriating smile. And those arms. And that stupid, perfect face.

The first hour of their flight went something like this:

Jamie wasted no time making himself comfortable, kicking off his trainers and stretching his legs into the aisle like he owned it. “So,” he said, tossing a packet of peanuts onto his tray table, “you reckon Roy’s gonna cry at the weddin’?”

Y/N snorted despite herself. “Roy Kent? Cry? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Yeah, but Keeley’s got that magic, don’t she? Bet she’s the only person who could get Roy to tear up. Proper romance, that.” Jamie paused, then glanced at her with a smirk. “Bet you’re a sucker for all that soppy love stuff, eh?”

“Yeah, well, some of us have hearts, Tartt,” she shot back.

“Oi, I’ve got a heart!” He thumped his chest dramatically. “Right here. And it’s very sensitive, I’ll have you know.”

“Must be buried under all that ego.”

Jamie clutched his chest like she’d stabbed him. “Ouch, wounded. Absolutely wounded, love.”

Some time after that...

“Fancy a sweet?”

Y/N glanced up from her book just in time to see Jamie holding a bag of gummy worms under her nose.

“Pass.”

“Suit yourself.” He popped one into his mouth with a satisfied hum, then—without warning—leaned closer, holding another gummy worm between his teeth.

“Go on,” he mumbled around the candy, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“For the love of—Jamie, stop.”

“C’mon, Lady and the Tramp it with me. Bit of mid-flight romance.”

“Romance? This is harassment.”

“Only if you’re not enjoyin’ it,” he replied, the gummy worm still dangling between his teeth like the world’s worst peace offering.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

The worst part? She almost laughed. Almost. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she plucked the gummy worm from his mouth with a roll of her eyes.

“Happy now?”

“Depends. You enjoy my spit on that?”

“Jesus Christ, you pig!” she muttered, turning back to her book as Jamie dissolved into laughter beside her.

Somewhere over the Pacific, Y/N’s resolve began to fray. Maybe it was the recycled air. Maybe it was the champagne. Or maybe it was the fact that Jamie Tartt, for all his teasing, was annoyingly good company when he wanted to be.

He’d stolen half her in-flight snacks by now, offered unsolicited commentary on the movie she was watching, and spent a solid twenty minutes trying to convince her that pineapple absolutely belonged on pizza.

“It’s like... tropical and savory all at once,” he insisted, gesturing with half a Kit Kat bar. “Proper culinary masterpiece, that.”

“More like a culinary crime,” she shot back.

“You just ain’t got refined taste.”

“And you think gummy worms are a balanced meal.”

“Well, they’ve got fruit in ‘em, don’t they? Proper health food.”

She snorted despite herself.

Somewhere around hour eight, Jamie finally started to doze off, leaving Y/N with a rare moment of peace. She let her head rest against the window, eyes half-closed as the hum of the plane faded into the background.

But peace, of course, was short-lived.

“Mm... love... warm, innit…”

Y/N’s eyes shot open.

Jamie had shifted in his sleep, head tilting toward her shoulder. His arm—broad, warm, and far too heavy—somehow found its way across her armrest, brushing against her side as he mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

“Jamie,” she hissed.

No response.

“Jamie!”

He snorted awake, blinking blearily. “Wha—?”

“You were drooling on my shoulder.”

“Was not!”

“You were.”

“Must’ve been dreamin’ about somethin’ nice, then,” he replied, grinning through his sleep-mussed hair. “Reckon it was you, babe.”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, shifting as far away as her seat allowed.

By the time the plane began its descent, Y/N was mentally drafting a strongly worded email to the airline, demanding an emotional support cocktail upon landing.

“Cheers for the company, love,” Jamie said as the plane touched down. “Made the flight fly by, that did.”

“Fly by? It was an endurance test.”

“Eh, you loved it.” He winked, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Bet you’ll miss me when we get to the hotel.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

If only she knew how wrong she was.

Because the real nightmare?

That was still waiting at the hotel check-in desk.

“This is a joke, right?” Y/N had asked, clutching her suitcase handle like a lifeline.

Keeley winced, the plumeria flower tucked behind her ear wobbling slightly. “Babe, I’m so sorry. The hotel overbooked, and now we’re short a room. Everyone’s paired off already—Rebecca’s with her new guy, Sassy’s with Ted ironically, even Higgins and his missus are here! It’s literally just you and Jamie left.”

“There must be another option.” Y/N spun on her heel. “Rebecca, you wouldn’t mind—”

“Oh, darling, I would, but...” Rebecca gave an apologetic smile and gestured towards the hallway to her room, from which faint jazz music and the low murmur of her Amsterdam boyfriend’s voice drifted out.

Desperate, Y/N glanced at Sassy. The other woman merely raised her eyebrows, clearly not about to give up her alone time with Ted.

Keeley clasped Y/N’s hands, eyes wide with bridal desperation. “Please? Just one night! And Jamie’s not that bad anymore. He’s grown up loads!”

A snort sounded behind them. “Still right here, Keeley,” Jamie called, sunglasses perched on his head as he leaned casually against the lobby desk. “But she’s right, love. I’m a proper gentleman now. Promise I won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.”

The room smelled like coconut sunscreen and impending disaster.

“C’mon, love. Don’t be shy,” Jamie said with a smirk, flopping onto the king-sized bed like he owned the place. “We’re just two mates sharin’ a bed. Happens all the time in footy.”

“You and your teammates cuddle after matches?” Y/N shot back, dropping her suitcase by the closet with a thump. “Good to know. I’ll make sure to mention it in my wedding speech tomorrow. ‘Roy Kent: world-class footballer and connoisseur of post-game snuggles.’”

“Oi, that’s sacred team bonding, that is.” Jamie propped himself up on his elbows, still grinning like the Cheshire cat. “But I wouldn’t mind a cuddle if it’s you, babe. You’re warmer than Isaac, I bet.”

Y/N glared. “Touch me in my sleep, Tartt, and I’ll kick you so hard you’ll be singing soprano during the ceremony.”

“I can’t believe this is my life,” Y/N muttered, digging through her suitcase for her pajamas. The tropical breeze drifted through the open balcony doors, carrying the faint sound of waves against the shore. It would’ve been paradise—if not for the smug footballer sprawled across her bed.

His eyes followed her movements like a cat tracking a bird. She could feel his gaze lingering on the curve of her hips beneath her sundress, and it made her skin prickle.

“Y’know, you don’t have to be so grumpy, babe,” Jamie said, arms tucked behind his head, the muscles in his biceps flexing obnoxiously. “We’re in bloody Hawaii. Sun, sand, and... me. What more could you want?”

“A room without a cocky footballer who can’t keep his eyes to himself.” She grabbed her toiletries and marched toward the bathroom. “Don’t touch my side of the bed while I’m gone.”

“Want me to draw a line down the middle? Maybe build a pillow wall?” Jamie called after her, laughter in his voice.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Hot water had done little to wash away her irritation—or the lingering heat from Jamie’s constant teasing. Scrubbing shampoo out of her hair, she tried to ignore the memory of his teasing smirk, the way his tanned skin had looked against the white hotel sheets, the playful gleam in his blue eyes...

Focus, Y/N. He’s just being Jamie. Don’t let him get under your skin.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a way too small towel around herself and wiped the condensation from the mirror. Her reflection stared back, eyes slightly too bright, cheeks still warm from more than just the steam.

The doorknob rattled.

“Oi! I need the loo!” Jamie called from the other side.

“Give me a minute!”

“No promises!”

“Jamie, I swear—”

The door swung open.

“Jesus Christ!” Y/N shrieked, clutching her towel tighter as Jamie stumbled back, eyes going comically wide.

“Bloody hell—didn’t think you were still—” His gaze darted downward—then immediately upward as if he’d been burned. “I—uh—sorry! Really, uh... nice towel.”

“Get out!” she shouted, shoving the door closed so hard the frame rattled. Heart pounding, she leaned against the sink, gripping the counter until her pulse slowed.

True to her threat, Y/N had constructed a formidable pillow wall down the middle of the bed. Five fluffy hotel pillows stood stacked in a neat line, forming a barrier between them.

Jamie surveyed her handiwork with an amused smirk. “Impressive craftsmanship, love. You building a fortress to protect your virginity?”

“Exactly.” She switched off the bedside lamp after giving him a sarcastic look and slid beneath the covers, determined to ignore the warmth radiating from Jamie’s side of the mattress.

“Y’know, if you’re that worried, I could sleep on the floor.”

“Good. Go ahead.”

“Nah, too late. Already comfy,” he replied, wiggling his toes beneath the sheets.

“Of course you are,” she muttered.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by the distant sound of waves and the faint hum of the air conditioner. Y/N closed her eyes, willing herself to relax.

Minutes passed. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad—

A hand flopped onto her side of the pillow wall.

“Jamie!”

“Oops. Must’ve slipped,” he murmured innocently.

A moment later, a leg drifted over the barrier, brushing against her thigh.

“Oh my God, keep to your side!”

“Can’t help it, babe. The bed’s got a slope,” Jamie mumbled, sounding suspiciously amused.

“Yeah, the slope of your ego.”

She shoved his leg back and rearranged the pillows with extra force. But even as she huffed in annoyance, a traitorous part of her brain couldn’t ignore the heat of his skin, the solid warmth of muscle beneath soft sheets...

Focus. Just get through the night.

The air felt heavier in the dark, thick with the scent of salt and hibiscus flowers from the open balcony door. Y/N drifted in and out of sleep, half-aware of the faint sound of Jamie’s breathing beside her.

At some point, the pillow wall must have shifted. She wasn’t sure when it happened—only that she woke up to the warmth of an arm draped across her waist, the solid weight of a body pressed against her back.

Heart hammering in her chest, she lay still, torn between waking him up and leaning into the heat of his skin. His breath stirred the hair at the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

This is fine. Just... just scoot over.

Carefully, she shifted forward—

“Mmm... stay still,” Jamie murmured, voice thick with sleep as his arm tightened around her waist.

“Jamie—”

“Feels nice... you’re warm, love...” His hand slid against her stomach, fingers grazing the bare skin where her tank top had ridden up.

Her breath hitched. Heat pooled low in her belly, and suddenly, the air felt stifling.

“This is a terrible idea,” she whispered, though her body betrayed her, leaning back into the curve of his chest.

“Probably,” Jamie agreed softly, lips brushing her shoulder. His hand splayed against her stomach, fingers curling slightly as if testing the boundaries of what she’d allow. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Silence hung heavy between them, charged with unspoken tension. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she closed her eyes and whispered:

“Don’t stop.”

!!!SMUT!!!

The whispered words barely left Y/N’s lips before Jamie moved. His hand, warm and slightly rough from years on the pitch, skimmed beneath her tank top, fingers grazing her ribs as he pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck. His breath was hot against her skin, and she gasped softly, her body arching instinctively toward his touch.

“You sure, love?” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. His voice was low, rough with sleep and something darker—something that made heat coil low in her stomach.

“I’m sure,” she whispered, already breathless.

Jamie’s hand slid higher, fingers ghosting over the swell of her breast, teasing but not quite touching as he pressed his hips against her backside. She could feel him—all of him—and the realization sent a pulse of heat through her veins.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” he breathed, lips trailing down the side of her neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses that made her toes curl. His hand finally closed over her breast, thumb circling her nipple through the thin fabric of her tank top, and she bit her lip to hold back a moan.

The air seemed to thicken around them, humid and heavy with the sound of their breathing. The distant crash of waves outside faded into the background as Jamie shifted, rolling her onto her back so he could hover over her. Moonlight spilled through the sheer curtains, painting silver shadows across his face—sharp cheekbones, parted lips, eyes dark with want as he looked down at her.

“Been wantin’ you for so long,” he murmured, almost to himself. His hand slid beneath her tank top, skin to skin now as he thumbed her nipple, drawing a soft gasp from her throat. “Used to drive me mad, watchin’ you at the matches, always actin’ like I was some prick you couldn’t stand…”

“Because you were a prick,” she shot back, breathless but unable to stop the retort.

Jamie chuckled, low and rough, as his hand slid down her stomach, fingers brushing the waistband of her sleep shorts. “Yeah, maybe… but you still looked at me like you wanted this. Didn’t you?”

“I—” Her words caught in her throat as his fingers slipped beneath her shorts, teasing over her hip bone before sliding lower. His eyes never left hers, watching her with a mix of heat and something almost… reverent.

“Tell me, love,” he whispered. “You want me?”

“God, yes,” she breathed.

Jamie kissed her then—hard and deep, like he’d been holding himself back for years. His hand slid between her thighs, fingers stroking her through her underwear, and she gasped into his mouth, hips bucking against his hand as heat pooled low in her belly.

“So wet for me…” he murmured against her lips, sliding her underwear aside to tease her with slow, deliberate strokes that had her nails digging into his shoulders. His touch was maddening—just enough to tease but not enough to give her what she needed.

“Jamie—” Her voice broke on a gasp as he slid a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, curling just right as his thumb circled her clit. Her back arched, and he took the opportunity to kiss down her neck, tongue tracing the hollow of her throat as he worked her toward the edge.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this…” His voice was rough with want, but there was something tender in the way he touched her, like this moment meant more than just lust. Like she was something precious.

She was already so close, pleasure building with each deliberate stroke of his fingers, each kiss pressed to her skin. Clutching at his shoulders, she pulled him into another kiss, swallowing his groan as she rocked against his hand.

“Let go for me, love… Wanna feel you come,” he whispered against her lips.

The words—soft, raw, and desperate—pushed her over the edge. Her whole body tensed, pleasure crashing through her in waves as she gasped his name against his mouth. Jamie held her through it, fingers moving slower as she trembled beneath him, lips brushing her cheek, her jaw, her lips as if grounding her through the aftershocks.

!!!SMUT OVER!!!

Silence fell heavy between them, save for the sound of their breathing. Y/N lay still, chest rising and falling as the haze of pleasure slowly began to clear. Jamie pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hand sliding from beneath her shorts to rest against her hip.

For the first time that night, the teasing glint in his eyes was gone. In its place was something softer. Almost vulnerable.

“I wasn’t jokin’, y’know,” he said quietly. “When I said I’ve wanted you for ages. It’s not just ‘cause you’re fit—which you are, obviously—but… I dunno. You’re just… different.”

Her heart, still racing from what they’d just done, stumbled in her chest. She searched his face, unsure if she’d imagined the raw honesty in his voice. “Jamie…”

“I know I can be a bit of a prick sometimes,” he added with a crooked smile, like he was trying to lighten the mood, but his eyes stayed serious. “But with you… I don’t wanna be that guy. I just wanna make you smile. Even if I’ve been absolute shit at it so far.”

Y/N stared at him, torn between the memory of all the times he’d flirted and teased her just to get a reaction—and the man lying beside her now, bare and open in a way she’d never seen before.

“I thought you just liked winding me up,” she admitted, her voice soft.

“Yeah… ‘Cause I didn’t know how else to get you to notice me.” Jamie’s thumb traced slow circles against her hip, his gaze searching hers like he was bracing for rejection. “But I swear, love… this—you—mean more to me than just some shag.”

The vulnerability in his voice cracked something open in her chest. Before she could second-guess herself, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him—soft and slow this time, with none of the heat from before but something far more dangerous.

Something real.

Jamie melted into the kiss with a soft sound, his hand sliding up to rest over hers as if holding her in place. When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the space between them.

“Maybe you’re not as much of a prick as I thought,” she murmured, just to see the way his smile broke through the last bit of tension in the air.

“Oi, don’t go gettin’ soft on me now, love,” he teased, but his voice was hoarse, and the way he held her—like she was something fragile he didn’t want to break—spoke volumes more than his words.

They didn’t say anything else after that. They didn’t need to.

When she fell asleep, it was with Jamie’s arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her close as if afraid she’d vanish come morning.

Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Y/N stirred, the faint sound of waves and distant laughter pulling her from sleep. The sheets were tangled around her legs, and the pillow wall was long forgotten—replaced by the solid warmth of Jamie’s body pressed against her back, his arm draped over her waist.

Smiling sleepily, she glanced over her shoulder—only to find Jamie already awake, watching her with a soft, almost shy smile.

“Mornin’, love,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” she replied, her heart flipping at the way his smile widened.

“Y’know… I reckon this whole room mix-up weren’t so bad after all, I could get used to this...” he said, fingers tracing lazy patterns against her hip.

Y/N chuckled softly. “Don’t let Keeley hear you say that. She’ll take credit for matchmaking.”

Jamie laughed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before pulling her closer. “Eh, maybe I’ll let her. Long as I get to keep you.”

And just like that, her heart wasn’t just flipping—it was free-falling.

Maybe Hawaii wasn’t so bad after all.

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