fairlyang

[fairlyang]

guys I’ve got writers block again💔

Can’t get myself to finish writing a Kate fic (my longest one yet somehow) and i was sooo close to ending a new chap for meant to be…

writing the dates is hard and annoying and it’s long again:(

[fairlyang]

for a good time, call…| jm

pairing: contractor!joel miller x phone sex operator! reader

summary: turns out your favorite client, mr. miller, was also renovating your parents kitchen.

warnings: phone sex, MDNI 18+, needy!joel, sub!reader, masturbation, mutual masturbation, voyeurism (slight), age!gap, pinv, FINGERING, f!reader, bossy!joel, lots of dialogue, SWEATY CONSTRUCTION JOEL, dirty talk, smut with 0 plot

word count: 7,6k

a/n: just thought joel would love phone sex and had to write about it (didn’t proof read ughh!)

Joel wasn’t the kind of man who went looking for things like this. Hell, he’d barely even used his damn cell phone for more than work calls and the occasional “you need anything?” to Tommy. But work had been slow, evenings long, and his bed cold for far longer than he cared to count.

It started the way everything bad always does— by accident. He’d been working late on a kitchen remodel for an older couple across town, staying after to make sure the grout set right. When he finally packed up for the night, he was sore, tired, and just needed something to take his mind off the gnawing quiet of home.

Stopped at a corner store on the way back— needed smokes, a drink, maybe a snack. That’s when he saw it. A little card by the register. Neon pink with black print. “Lonely tonight? Call now.” The girl on the front wasn’t real— he could tell. Too glossy, too airbrushed. But the number was real. He thought. He’d shoved it in his back pocket without thinking.

That night, the house was too still. He sat in his recliner, TV on low, beer sweating on the side table, thumb rubbing over the edges of that card like it was something dangerous, giving himself a little poke at the corners. He wasn’t lonely, he told himself. Just… curious. Which was probably worse.

By the time he dialed, he already felt foolish. A grown man, calling a stranger for God knows what. He almost hung up when the ring clicked over, making him freeze with the phone hovering over his ear.

“Hello,” came a warm, easy voice. Not too high, not too sugary. Like you were smiling without even meaning to.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh… this the number from the—”

“Yes, baby,” you cut in smoothly, like you’d done this a hundred times. “Do you want me to tell you how it works, or do you want to tell me what you need tonight?”

Joel’s mouth went dry. He could hear the smile in your tone. You weren’t rushing him, weren’t fake-giggling. Just… waiting.

“Not sure,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair. “Ain’t never done this before.”

“That’s alright,” you said, and God, your voice was soft. “You can just talk to me. We’ll go slow. You can tell me what you like… or I can help you figure it out.”

Something in him— the part that had been tight and knotted for months— loosened at that. Maybe he can make this work, maybe he’d like this. Maybe he needed this.

“What do I call you?” he asked.

“You don’t have to call me anything, if you don’t want,” you said. “What do you want me to call you?”

He hasn’t done this at all. Fuck. Without even fucking thinking much of it, really, he says, “Mr. Miller.” Like he has nothing to hide. But what kind of rookie mistake was that.

“Mr. Miller,” you repeated in that same soft voice, like velvet. Seductive. Thank you.

That did something to him, the hum that left him gave him away. “Alright then,” he said slowly.

“Now, Mr. Miller… what do you like? What gets you going?”

The bluntness caught him off guard. His ears went hot. “Uh—don’t really… talk about that kinda thing.”

“You’re not used to it,” you said gently, “but you can. There’s no right or wrong answer. You can be as detailed or as vague as you want. Just… tell me something.”

Joel let out a slow breath. “Guess I like… softness.”

“Softness,” you repeated, like you were tasting the word. “You mean… the way someone talks to you? Or their body?”

He thought about it, thumb rubbing the edge of the phone. “Both.”

You hummed. “What about right now, Mr. Miller? If I were in front of you, what’s the first thing you’d notice?”

His mouth went dry. “…Your mouth.”

You let out the faintest little sigh, and Joel felt it low in his gut. “Would you touch me?”

“Yeah,” he said before he could think. He hadn’t even seen you. But fuck.

“How?”

His throat bobbed. “Gentle. At first.”

You smiled in your voice. “At first.”

There was a pause, and Joel swore the silence was heavy with something that wasn’t just talk. You let it stretch before asking, “What are you doing right now?”

Joel shifted in his chair, heat prickling the back of his neck. “…Think you know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

He huffed a laugh, low and self-conscious. “Touchin’ myself.”

“Mm. That’s good. Think about my mouth, then. Think about me on my knees for you.”

Joel’s eyes shut. The sound of your voice in his ear was more than he expected — less like a stranger, more like someone who already knew how to get inside his head. The image of someone he doesn’t quite know, on her knees in front of him. The feeling of soft hands pressed on his thighs, squeezing gently– anchoring themselves to better take his hard cock.

“You can take your time,” you murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he did take his time. You kept him talking— little nudges, gentle questions, painting pictures in his head until his hand was moving without thought, until his breathing had gone heavy into the receiver.

When you finally whispered, “That’s it, Mr. Miller. Just like that. I want you to let go for me,” Joel bit down on a groan and came hard, shuddering in his seat.

For a moment, the line was nothing but his breath in your ear. Joel’s head was tipped back against the recliner, eyes shut, his voice rough with the kind of pleasure he hadn’t felt in years. His thick release dripping down his knuckles, making a mess all over his jeans. Then—“Goodnight, Sir,” you said softly, smirk obviously on your lips. And before he could answer, the line went to the automated payment system you had in place, leaving Joel staring at the phone while he pulled out his card from his wallet, wondering why he already wanted to hear you again.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

Joel had told himself it’d be a while before he called again. Weeks, maybe. Let it cool off. It’d been four days. He’d spent those nights trying not to think about the sound of your voice— the way you’d called him Mr. Miller, not like everyone else did. Just the way you did. Like it actually needed to be pronounced that way always.

So by the fourth night, he caved. Sat on the edge of his bed, card in hand, number already burned into his memory. The ring was shorter this time.

“Hello,” you said, voice warm like you’d been expecting him.

Joel swallowed. “Yeah… it’s me.”

A smile slid into your tone. “I know.”

That shouldn’t have hit him like it did. “That right?”

“Mhm. You sound the same— like you’re not sure if you should be calling me.”

Joel huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to.”

“…Yeah,” he admitted.

“Then let’s not waste time, Mr. Miller. What do you want tonight?”

He shifted on the mattress, rubbing the back of his neck. “You start.”

“Mm,” you hummed, “I want to tell you how wet I am for you.” The breath left him sharp. “I’ve been thinking about your voice. The way you sounded when you came for me the other night. Bet your face gets all soft when you’re close… bet your mouth parts and your eyes close real tight. I think about that while I touch myself.”

Joel groaned low— a deep, unsteady sound— hand already pressing at the front of his jeans. “Tell me what you’re wearing,” he said, voice rough.

“Black panties,” you said immediately. “They’re soaked right now. And nothing on top.”

He inhaled hard through his nose. “…Jesus.”

You smiled in your voice. “Do you want to touch me, Mr. Miller?”

“You know I do.”

“How would you do it?”

Joel shut his eyes, breathing heavier now. “Slide my hand between your thighs… thumb on your clit. Gentle at first, then harder ‘til you start whinin’ for me.”

“I’m already whining for you,” you murmured, and Joel’s head tipped back.

“Good girl,” he rasped.

You let a few beats pass before asking, “What about your cock? Is he hard for me, sir?”

Sir. Holy fuck. He grunted— deep, strained. “Yeah… fuck… he is.”

“I want you to take him out. I want you to stroke him for me. Slow.”

Joel obeyed before he could think, his hand wrapping around himself, shuddering at the contact.

“That’s it,” you coaxed. “I want to hear you. Don’t hold back for me.”

And he didn’t. His breath was rough now, his chest rising and falling faster.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard. “Your mouth… around me.”

“Mhm. I’d suck you slow. Lick you from the base all the way to the tip… take you so deep my eyes water, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s groan cracked in the middle, his hips shifting up into his hand.

And then you fucking say, “Would you fuck my face, Mr. Miller?”

“…Christ, sugar…”

“I’d let you. I’d take every inch of you, choking on your cock while you tell me how good I am for you.”

His breathing was ragged now, the slick sound of his hand unmistakable.

“Mm, I bet you taste so good.”

He grunted. His hand pumping up and down his length faster, squeezing just that bit of precum out. His thumb flicks across his glistening bulb.

“I’d swallow every drop. I wouldn’t waste a thing. I’d be so good for you, sir.” You’re a little breathless– you know they like when you sound spent.

That tore a deep, guttural sound from him— one he didn’t even recognize as his own.

“Come for me,” you breathed. “I want to hear it.”

Joel’s fist tightened, his hips jerking, and he came hard with a broken groan into the phone. For a long moment, the line was nothing but his breath and the faint hum of your satisfaction.

“You sound so good when you let go,” you murmured. The truth. You usually lied at most men. But not this one. Not Mr. Miller.

Joel swiped a hand over his face, trying to steady his breathing. “…You’re somethin’ else.”

You laughed softly. “Goodnight, Mr. Miller.”

After hearing his payment go through , Joel sat there with the phone still to his ear, wondering if he’d make it more than a couple of days before calling again. He’d give you all of his damn money to just hear you breathe.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

By now, Joel didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t going to call. He’d learned your schedule— or maybe you’d learned his— because every time, you picked up on the second ring.

“Hello, Mr. Miller.”

His chest loosened at the sound. “Evenin’, sugar.”

“How’s my favorite caller tonight?”

He smirked faintly. “Don’t know ‘bout favorite… but I’m here.”

“You’re always my favorite,” you said easily, and Joel felt heat curl low in his gut — and not just from the words themselves. There was a pause, then you purred, “You hard for me yet, Mr. Miller?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, already palming himself. “Think you know the answer to that.”

“Mm. Take him out for me.”

He obeyed, boxers shoved down just enough, his hand wrapping around himself with a hiss of breath.

“That’s it,” you coaxed. “Stroke yourself slow. I wanna know what you’re thinking’ about.”

Joel’s head tipped back again. “Your tits,” he said, voice low. “Thinkin’ about havin’ ‘em in my hands.”

“Mmh, yeah? I’d let you squeeze ‘em, play with my nipples… would you suck them for me, sir?”

“Hell yes.” His voice was already fraying at the edges.

“I’d put your mouth to work,” you teased. “Make you suck ‘til they’re aching. Make you beg me to let you fuck me.”

Joel groaned, hips twitching. “You’re filthy.”

“That’s why you keep calling.”

“Yeah…” His breathing deepened, the slick sound of his strokes faint but steady. Then, almost casually, he asks, “What’s your name?”

You laughed softly. “You know I can’t tell you that, Sir.”

“First name. Just a first name.”

“Mm-mm. We’re not doing that,” you murmured, voice still smooth but laced with a smile. “You’ll just have to keep calling if you want to know me.”

Joel grunted. “Already do.”

You let a beat pass, then shifted the tone right back to filth. “Bet your cock’s leaking for me, isn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply. “…Yeah.”

“I’d lick it up. Run my tongue over your slit, suck you into my mouth… make you watch me swallow him.”

Joel’s groan was deep, almost a growl. “Jesus Christ.”

“Would you pull my hair while I do it?”

“Hard,” he rasped. “Hold your head still while I fuck your mouth.” His breathing heavy. He’s close.

“That’s it. Just like that, Mr. Miller. I want you to come for me.”

His strokes sped up without thought, his breath ragged in your ear until he spilled over his hand with a long, low groan. You waited until his breathing slowed before saying, softer this time, “One day, I’ll tell you my name.”

Joel blinked at the ceiling, pulse still thundering. “…Promise?”

“Mhm. But not yet. Goodnight, Mr. Miller.”

Joel sat there with a knot in his chest that wasn’t entirely about what just happened. He hadn’t meant to ask that. But god, he wanted to know so badly. Wanted to moan your name off his lips when he came. Wanted to feel how easy it would be to say it.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

Your parents’ kitchen had smelled like coffee and fresh paint, the air thick with the noise of men working. You’d barely set your bag down before you heard it— deep, gravel-warm, wrapping around your ribs like a hand you knew too well.

“Yeah, hand me that drill, would ya?”

Your breath caught. It couldn’t be. But it was. Even muffled through walls, even casual, even directed at someone else— it was him. Your favorite client. Mr. Miller. You didn’t see him. Didn’t dare peek around that corner. You just stood frozen, heart pounding, before excusing yourself early with some flimsy reason.

That night, your phone rang. Joel was sitting at his kitchen table, jeans loose around his hips, the card with your number worn soft at the edges.

You answered with a steady, “Hello, you.”

“Evenin’, sugar,” he drawled, always the same, and your stomach flipped because God, it was definitely the same voice you’d heard by daylight in your parents’ kitchen.

You forced a smile into your voice. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight.”

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you,” he said, and you could hear him shifting— the faint scrape of a chair, the creak of wood under his weight. “Been a long day.”

“I bet it has,” you murmured. “What were you doing?”

“Workin’ on a house. Old place. Lotta repairs.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears. “Did you finish?”

“Not yet. Gotta go back in the mornin’.”

You swallowed. “Bet you’re tired.”

“Tired,” he agreed, “but not too tired for this.” His breathing deepened, slow and steady. “You touchin’ yourself yet?”

Your thighs pressed together. “…Not yet.”

“Start,” he ordered, voice dropping into that tone that always made you melt.

You slid your hand down, fingers parting your folds. “Mmh… wet.”

Joel’s exhale was sharp. “Good girl. Wish I could see her. Put my fingers in you, feel how warm you are.”

Your breath hitched. “You’d like that?”

“Hell yes,” he groaned. “Push two fingers in, slow. Stretch that little pussy for me.”

You obeyed, biting back a sound that still slipped into the line.

“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Fuck yourself nice and slow. I wanna hear every bit of it.”

You let the wet sounds carry through the phone, and Joel’s groan cracked in the middle. “Think about me,” he said, voice rough. “Think about me right there, thumb on your clit while I fuck you with my fingers.”

Your body clenched hard around your hand. “…Fuck—.”

“Come for me, sugar.”

You did, shuddering into the receiver, and Joel let out a deep, broken moan, chasing his own, that made your head spin all over again When it was over, you were breathless, heart still racing from more than just the orgasm.

“Sleep good, sweet girl,” he murmured.

And when the line went dead, you just lay there in the dark, your body still humming, knowing you’d see him tomorrow— for real, this time.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

You smelled the coffee before you smelled the sawdust. The low hum of men’s voices drifted in from the kitchen— your father talking to someone, laughing about something. You froze in the hallway because there it was again… that voice.

“Yeah, we’ll get the backsplash up today. Should be done by the end of the week.”

Your stomach tightened. You knew that tone. Knew that slow, easy cadence and the grit in it. Last night, you’d heard it thick with need, telling you to spread your legs wider. Now it was broad daylight, grounded, businesslike— and still warm enough to slide right down your spine. You smoothed your hair, took a breath, and stepped into the kitchen.

Your father looked up first. “Morning, sweetheart. Mr. Miller and his crew are here renovating our kitchen.”

And there he was. The man whose name you don’t know. The man who’s been paying you to get him off over the phone. The man you begged to come for you a few nights ago. Joel– Mr. Miller.

Broad shoulders under a faded flannel, work jeans worn white at the knees, a rag in one big hand. You’re mesmerized. Nothing at all what you envisioned. Handsome. Dear fucking god, so handsome. He straightened when he saw you — not because he recognized you (he didn’t, not yet) but because… damn. You were pretty. More than pretty. Something in his chest gave a little pull he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Joel,” your father said, “this is my daughter.”

Joel’s hand twitched before he set the rag down and stepped forward. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice a touch lower, his posture straighter, like he needed to square up in front of you.

You slid your hand into his— warm, calloused, strong— and looked him right in the eye. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Miller.”

Something flickered in his gaze at the way you said it — maybe pride, maybe something darker. Every hair on his arms stood on end. He knew that voice.

Knew the way you let Mister slide like a tease. Knew the lilt at the end, the hint of a smile curling around the words. It was you. The girl who’d made him groan into the phone six times in the last month. The girl who’d told him, in that same sweet tone, that she’d take his cock down her throat until her eyes watered. And you were… young. You couldn’t be more than twenty-five. Jesus Christ.

His hands were big and warm around yours, mind scrambled. Images he’d only ever built in his head flashing in real life— except you were smaller, prettier, softer than he’d imagined. But you knew. Oh, you knew. The faint squeeze of his palm, the way his eyes darted over your face like he was matching the sound of you to the sight of you.

“I’m sorry,” he’s watching you intently, “didn’t catch your name.” There it was. Fuck, this guys good. He watches your lips curl into a small smile, cheeks blushing. You tell him. He repeats it, nodding almost as if he’s confirming the thoughts he had– yes, it sounds like he’s supposed to say your name. Sounds like it belongs to him. And it’s true, you hearing your name fall from his lips, it’s perfect. And you begin to wonder why the hell you hadn’t told him sooner. To make him tell you who exactly he’s cumming for.

Joel released your hand slower than he should have, rubbing his palm against his thigh, like maybe he could wipe away the memory of how you’d sounded moaning his title into the phone.

“Joel’s the best in town,” your father went on. “We’re lucky to have him.”

Joel shrugged, but his eyes kept finding yours, like he couldn’t quite help it. “Just doin’ my job.”

Your father kept talking, but Joel barely heard him. His first clear thought in that haze was dangerous and heavy: Christ, she’s even prettier than I pictured. His second was worse: I’m in trouble. And you? You smiled sweetly, Oh yeah. You need him.

Your father moved toward the coffeepot, talking about tile colors, but Joel barely heard him. He had a pencil in one hand, a clipboard in the other, and his brain was still back on the moment you’d said Mr. Miller in that sweet little voice— the exact same voice that had purred Yes, Sir into his ear more times than he could count.

He bent to check the edge of the countertop, mostly so he wouldn’t have to look at you, but his eyes found you anyway— leaning against the doorframe, watching him with a polite smile that he could already tell was trouble. You didn’t speak, but your eyes said everything– I know you know.

He shifted his weight, straightening up, rolling his shoulders like he needed to remind himself to breathe. “We’ll have the backsplash prepped by this afternoon,” he said to your dad, voice even, hands steady. But the second he glanced your way again, that steadiness frayed.

You tilted your head, eyes dropping briefly– deliberately, on his work belt sling around his waist, then back up at him with that little smirk he’s heard behind the phone more often than not. Joel’s grip on the pencil tightened.

Your father handed him a mug of coffee, oblivious. “You take sugar?”

Joel shook his head. “Black’s fine.” He took a sip, burning his tongue, and set it down harder than necessary.

You stayed quiet, almost prim, as you walked to the counter where he stood marking measurements. “Need help with anything?” you asked lightly.

Joel’s jaw ticked. “Nah. We got it handled.”

But your father piped up behind you. “You can hand him those brackets, sweetheart— top of the box over there.”

You crossed in front of Joel, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your shampoo, and bent slightly to grab the hardware. He looked away, but his ears burned.

“Here you go, Mr. Miller.” You handed him the brackets, your fingers brushing his just a little too long.

He swallowed. “Thanks.”

Your smile was polite for your dad’s sake, but Joel saw the glint underneath— the same glint he’d heard in your voice when you told him you’d lick him clean. He turned back to his work before anyone could notice the way his breathing had gone deeper. His mind betraying him, putting a face to all those words you’ve told him. He’s dying. Dying to fucking talk to you. Touch you. And he will, even if it kills him.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

You were waiting for it. You’d been waiting since the moment you walked out of that kitchen and left Joel standing there with a handful of brackets like he didn’t know which way was up. The phone rang late— later than usual. Almost as if he was fighting with himself if he should call you or not. Or maybe it was embarrassment. That maybe you thought he was too old for you and maybe you thought it was digusting and you’d probably not answer. But the way you looked at him? He couldn’t deny that.

You answered slow. “Hi, Joel.”

Silence for a beat. Then, that low voice, he says your name, “fits you.”

You smiled against the receiver. “Told you I’d tell you my name someday.”

You could hear him breathing, heavier than usual, and imagined him sitting in the dark, elbows on his knees, phone tight in his hand. T-shirt tight around his biceps. That scruff on his face, jaw tight. Those brown eyes dark with lust.

“You didn’t tell me you were…” He trailed off, exhaling hard. “…younger than I thought.”

“How young did you think I was?” you teased.

“Old enough I didn’t feel like a fuckin’ pervert.”

“Mmh.” You shifted on the bed, letting your voice go silkier. “So now you do?”

“Don’t start,” he warned, but his tone was already slipping.

“You stood up straighter for me today,” you said. “Shook my hand like you wanted me to think you were impressive or something.. I noticed.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was a faint groan in it. He dragged his palm down his face.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, Mr. Miller,” you whispered. “About how big your hands looked holding those tools. About how they’d feel between my thighs.”

Joel inhaled sharply. “Jesus Christ…”

“Do you want to know what I did when you left?”

“Yeah.”

“I got in the shower… and I touched myself. Thought about you behind me, work jeans still on, pulling my hips back onto you. That handsome face watching me come undone for you.”

He let out a sound that was more growl than groan. “Fuck… keep talkin’.”

“I pictured you telling me to keep quiet so my dad wouldn’t hear. One hand over my mouth, the other on my clit while you fuck me.”

Joel’s breathing had gone ragged now, his faint grunts carrying through the phone. “You dirty little thing.”

“You’d like that though, wouldn’t you? Getting me all messy while we’re just a room away from my parents.”

His groan cracked. “Goddamn it—” The thought of that getting him even harder than he’d thought.

“Are you touching yourself for me, Joel?”

“…Yeah.” His voice came out breathless. The way you say his name wrecks him.

“Faster. I want you to come for me thinking about bending me over your workbench in the garage.”

That did it. His moan came deep and rough, drawn out until his breathing slowed, the silence stretching between you.

“You’re trouble,” he said finally, voice low.

“You like trouble, Mr. Miller.” He didn’t deny it.

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

It was late again when your phone lit up with Mr. Miller in your mind.

You smiled as you answered, stretching out in bed. “Joel.”

“Didn’t see you today.”

The way he said it— low, almost accusing— made your smile widen. “Oh? Were you looking for me?”

Joel grunted softly. “Maybe.”

“Maybe you missed me.”

“…Maybe,” he admitted after a beat, voice rasping like he didn’t like being caught.

You rolled onto your stomach, twirling the cord of your phone charger between your fingers. Little butterflies. “Well, that’s sweet.”

“You around tomorrow?”

“Nope,” you said lightly. “I’m already home.”

“…Home?”

“Mhm. I don’t live there. Out of state, actually.”

There was a pause, a low sound in his throat that almost sounded like a frown. “So when’s the next time I’ll see you?”

Your grin turned wicked. “Oh, you wanna see me, Mr. Miller?”

His inhale was sharp. “…Yeah. I do.”

“What do you wanna see me do?” you asked, voice soft and dangerous.

“Christ…” He let the word drag, like he was chewing on the thought. “Wanna see you smile like you did yesterday. Wanna see those pretty eyes lookin’ right at me while you—”

“While I what?”

Joel’s breath came heavier now. “While you’re sittin’ on my lap, skirt pushed up, no panties on.”

You bit your lip, letting a beat pass before murmuring, “You’d like that?”

“More than like it,” he said, voice dropping, “I’d fuckin’ need it.” Then a pause. “How old are you?”

You smiled into the receiver. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Just… curious.”

“Old enough, Mr. Miller.”

“Yeah, but how old?”

“Twenty-four.”

There was a quiet grunt on the other end, followed by a long breath. Then you say,“Is that a problem?”

“Problem?” His voice dipped lower. “No. Just means I should be careful with you.”

You laughed softly. “Careful? Who says I like careful?”

He shifted, you could hear the faint creak of a chair. “Do your folks know what you’re up to?”

“Mmm… no.”

Joel exhaled slowly, the sound thick. “I wanna see you.”

Your pulse skipped. “And do what, handsome?”

“Things I can’t do over the phone,” he said, voice gone rough. “Things I’ve been thinkin’ about since I saw you in that kitchen.”

You let the silence stretch, your tone almost playful when you answered, “I don’t usually sleep with my callers.”

He made a low sound— something between a groan and a chuckle. “Yeah?”

“But…” you went on, softer now, “I might make an exception for you.”

Joel’s breath caught, his voice dropping to a rasp. “…Careful, sugar. You keep talkin’ like that and I’ll be in my truck before the night’s over.”

And you felt it. That familiar ache. You have a crush. And when he called you again, it confirmed it. It was only two nights later when your phone buzzed with that familiar number.

“Joel,” you said sweetly.

“Been thinking about that exception you said you’d make.”

You smiled. “Oh? Losing sleep over it?”

“Maybe.” His voice was heavy. “Figure if I’m gonna do this… I oughta know the rules.”

“The rules,” you repeated, leaning back against your pillows. “Alright, Mr. Miller. Let’s talk terms.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Terms.”

“Mhm. First one— you do exactly what I say when we’re together.”

Joel grunted. “You think you can boss me around?”

“I don’t think, sir,” you teased. “I know.”

A beat of silence, then: “…Alright. What else?”

“If you do it right…” You let your voice slow, silk over steel, “I’ll pay you.”

Joel actually laughed — that deep, warm rumble you’d never heard from him before. You heart fluttered. “Pay me?”

“Mhm. Contractor rates, even. You are the best in town, after all.”

“You’re trouble,” he said, but you could hear the grin in it. “And what if I don’t want your money?”

“Then I guess you’ll have to make sure I can’t stop thinking about you,” you murmured.

There was a pause, then his voice dropped. “You put me on a job like that, I’ll work you over ‘til you can’t walk straight.”

“That’s the idea,” you whispered.

Joel exhaled like he was picturing it right then. “When?”

You hummed, letting him hang for a moment. “Soon. If you’re good.”

“Baby…” his voice was low, almost dangerous now, “you have no idea how good I can be.”

. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧

You spotted him before he spotted you.

Joel was out by the back porch, leaning against the railing, talking easy with your dad — one hand curled around a bottle, the other resting in his pocket. The golden evening light hit him just right, making the silver in his hair gleam, his flannel stretched across his shoulders. You stepped outside, all smiles. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to you, just for a second, but in that second there was the tiniest smirk, the barest flicker of memory from every call. “Evenin’,” he said, voice even.

You lingered just close enough to be part of the conversation, tossing in little remarks, laughing when Joel said something— leaning forward when you laughed so his eyes had somewhere to go.

Your dad, oblivious, clapped Joel on the shoulder. “You oughta stay for another drink or two. Long week like yours, you’ve earned it.” Oh, he definitely has, you wanna scream.

Joel almost glanced at you— almost— but kept his eyes on your dad. “Yeah, I could do that.”

And so he stayed. Beer after beer, the sun sinking low until the porch light was the only glow outside. Your dad was a stickler about no drinking and driving, and you knew exactly how to nudge the evening toward that inevitability.

“Another one?” you offered from the kitchen doorway, bottle dangling between your fingers. Joel’s gaze met yours — a silent, I know what you’re doing. But he took it.

By the time the night had stretched well past sensible, your dad was leaning back in his chair, satisfied with the evening, and saying exactly what you’d been waiting for: “You’ve had a few, Joel. Stay here tonight. Sofa’s free.”

Joel didn’t argue. “Appreciate it.”

You smiled, leaning against the wall like it was just another Friday night. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

The house went quiet after that. Joel lay on the sofa for maybe twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sound of you moving around upstairs. Every shift of the sheets, every creak of the floorboards, tightened something in his chest.

Eventually, he sat up. Stood. His boots were off, footsteps soft as he made his way down the hall and up the stairs. He didn’t knock. Just eased your bedroom door open, the dark spilling around him. You were sitting up in bed, like you’d been waiting.

“Mr. Miller,” you whispered, a smile curling slow and knowing.

Joel shut the door behind him, the dim light from your bedside lamp painting everything in soft amber. He looked bigger in here, the space making his shoulders seem broader, his presence heavier. “You gonna invite me in proper,” he murmured, “or you just plan on starin’ at me like that?”

You tilted your head, your lip tugged between your teeth. This man was so beautiful. “I was just wondering… how many times you’ve pictured me in here.”

His jaw flexed. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, come on.” You slid out from under the covers, padding toward him barefoot. “You’ve pictured it, haven’t you? Me in bed, hand between my thighs…”

Joel’s throat worked as he swallowed, his voice low. “Yeah.”

“I bet you’ve imagined me finger-fucking myself for you every night.”

His breath hitched, his eyes darkening. You stepped around him and pointed to the chair in the corner— the one angled just enough toward the bed. “Sit.”

Joel didn’t move right away, his gaze fixed on yours like he was deciding if he’d let you have this. But then he obeyed, lowering himself into the chair, elbows on his knees, watching you like he could eat you alive.

You dragged yourself to the edge of the bed— right in front of him — and sat with your knees parted just enough to make his breath deepen.

“I bet you like to watch,” you teased, fingers skimming up your thighs. “Don’t you, Mr. Miller?”

His eyes tracked your hand like it was prey. “You’re pushin’ it, sugar.”

“You’re the one who called me every night to hear me touch myself,” you said sweetly. “Now you get the real thing. Lucky you.”

Joel’s hands flexed on his knees, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Your little voice ringing in his ears. “You like this, don’t you?” You slid your fingers beneath your panties, dragging a slow circle over your clit. “Pervert.”

Joel let out a sound— low, almost a growl— leaning forward but not quite reaching for you, like he was giving you the chance to keep going.

“Keep talkin’,” he rasped. “Wanna hear you ruin me.” Joel was already leaning forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees like he couldn’t stand the distance. His eyes were locked between your thighs, tracking every slow, lazy drag of your fingers. Watching you slide off your panties and toss them aside.

You let your knees fall open wider, silk camisole slipping over your hips as you tilted back on one hand. The thin straps barely covered you, your nipples pressing against the fabric, tight and aching under his stare.

“Look at you,” you murmured, rubbing slow circles over your clit. “Just sitting there, watching me make myself feel so fucking good.”

Joel’s chest rose and fell heavy, his jaw tight. His eyes flicked from your hand to your breasts, back to the wet heat between your thighs, and he swallowed hard.

“I imagined you watching me. How hard I’d get you just from touching myself.”

“Jesus Christ, sugar…” His voice was already breaking.

You slid two fingers lower, parting yourself so he could see everything — the slick stretch, the way your folds glistened. “Pretty, isn’t she?”

Joel’s hands fisted on his thighs. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

“I’m so wet for you, Mr. Miller,” you whispered, your hips lifting to meet your own touch. “And you’re just sitting there. Bet your cock’s so hard right now.”

His gaze dragged up to your mouth, back down again, and the bulge in his jeans twitched under your words.

You bit your lip, moaning softly. “Mmh… I’m so close. My pussy’s so fucking needy for you. You like watching me work her open?”

Joel’s breath shuddered out. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

“Maybe I want to,” you teased, curling your fingers inside yourself, your free hand coming up to squeeze your breast through the camisole. The thin fabric darkened where your nipple rubbed against it, peaked and hard.

Joel made a low, guttural sound, like it had been ripped out of him. His knees spread wider, one hand shifting to the bulge in his jeans without even meaning to.

You watched him touch himself and smiled wickedly. “You gonna come just from watching me, sir?”

His head tipped back, eyes shut tight for a second before finding you again. “Keep talkin’, pretty girl.”

“I’m so fucking wet,” you breathed. “My fingers are dripping… wish it was your cock instead. Wish I could ride you until I can’t take anymore.”

Joel’s hand flexed on himself, his breathing gone ragged, and you could see the restraint starting to slip from his face.

“You can’t touch me yet,” you warned, curling your toes as your orgasm started to crest. “Not until I make myself come for you. Not until you watch me do it right.”

“Goddamn…” Joel’s voice was hoarse, his eyes wide, glued to you. “You’re… fuck, you’re perfect.”

It hit you hard. A soft, quiet moan escaping your lips. Your back arched, your knees trembled, and your fingers worked you through it, hips jerking as the heat rolled over you in thick, pulsing waves. You were still catching your breath, still trembling, when Joel moved.

One second he was in the chair, the next he was between your knees, his big hand wrapping around your wrist to yank your own fingers out of your pussy— replacing them with his.

Two thick, calloused fingers drove deep, knuckles pressing against your swollen entrance. You gasped, chin dropping to your chest, propped up on your elbows, your mouth hanging open. “J-Joel—”

“Sound so fucking sweet moanin’ my name like that,” he growled, eyes locked on where you stretched around him. “Feel how you’re flutterin’ on me? How you’re suckin’ me in?”

You whimpered, nails digging into the sheets, eyes blown wide and fixed on his. “Goddamn, sugar,” he rasped, curling his fingers until you moaned, your slick running down his hand. “All this for me? All that drippin’ just from showin’ me what’s mine?”

Your breath hitched, your hips rolling into his palm without thinking.

“That’s it,” Joel murmured, his thumb pressing against your clit now, his fingers fucking into you deep and filthy. “Milk my fingers, baby girl… fuckin’ wring ‘em dry.”

You were half-gone, body clenching around him in desperate pulses, and Joel’s eyes burned into yours, dark and hungry.

“Pretty little mouth hangin’ open… you got no idea what you’re doin’ to me,” he panted, voice gone rough with it. “Gonna fuck you so full you’ll still be leakin’ tomorrow.”

Your head tipped back, a raw moan ripping from your throat as you clenched down hard, his fingers buried to the hilt. He feels around the bed for your discarded panties and stuffs them in your mouth, “shh, sweetheart. Don’t wanna wake your daddy now, do we?”

You knit your brows together, shaking your head. The ache in your core so unbelievably heavy.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he whispers. You moan. Eyes rolling back at how the words innocent as “pretty” can be coming from a man knuckle deep inside your pussy. Your head falls back, chest heaving up and down, feeling that orgasm creeping in.

“Yeah,” he grunted, watching every twitch, every flutter. “There she is. That’s my girl.”

Joel didn’t give you a chance to breathe. The moment your body stopped quaking around his fingers, he pulled them out, slick coating them to the knuckle, and shoved them into his mouth with a low, wrecked groan.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted,” he rasped — and then his belt was hitting the floor.

Your eyes went wide, heartbeat slamming in your ears as he tore his jeans open, the heavy line of him springing free. Thick. Flushed. Veined. Bigger than you could’ve even conjured up in your little head.

You yank the panties from your mouth to say,“Joel—”

“Shh,” he cut you off, his voice low and dark as he pushed you back onto your mattress, head hitting your sheets softly, one big hand sliding up your thigh. “I’ve been dreamin’ about this since the first night I called you, sugar. Since the first time you said sir in that sweet little voice.”

He dragged your hips to the very edge of the bed, his cock slapping hot against your swollen folds, smearing you open with every slow grind.

“Look at that,” he muttered, eyes locked where he was lining himself up. “Pussy so wet for me she’s beggin’.”

And then he pushed in. The stretch burned in the best way, forcing your mouth open on a gasp as he bottomed out, thick and deep and there.

“Fuuuck,” Joel groaned, head tipping back for a second before his gaze snapped to yours. “Tighter than I imagined. You’re squeezin’ me like you don’t wanna let go.”

Your nails clawed at the sheets, your eyes locked to his. “Y-you feel—”

“I know,” he rasped, hips pulling back only to drive in harder, deeper. “Been thinkin’ about this every goddamn night, baby girl. Every moan, every little gasp I heard through that phone—” He punctuated each couple words with a thrust that shoved you up the bed. “—I pictured this.”

His hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face so he could watch your expression as he fucked into you. “That’s it. Let me see how good I make you feel.”

You bit your lip, but a moan still slipped out, high and helpless. Joel’s eyes went darker. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m not gonna last, baby girl.”

He slammed in again, groaning low, his other hand sliding down to your clit, rubbing tight circles as he fucked you deeper. “You’re gonna come for me,” he growled. “Gonna make this cock all messy while I’m still inside you. Do it, sugar. Give it to me.”

Your back arched, the tight coil in your belly snapping hard, and you came with a strangled cry, clenching him so tight he cursed into your neck and buried himself to the hilt.

“God—fuck—”

Joel held you there, hips pressed flush, filling you in thick, pulsing ropes until his jaw went slack and all that was left was the sound of your panting in the dark. He stayed inside you a moment longer, his hand still cupping your jaw, his eyes still drinking you in like he couldn’t believe you were real. Joel stayed buried, his hips pressed flush, one hand heavy and warm at your hip, the other still cupping your jaw like he didn’t want you to turn away.

His breathing was slowing, but his eyes… his eyes were still roaming every inch of your face like he was memorizing it.

Your cheeks were hot and pink, your lips swollen from biting back moans, hair a little messy against the pillow. You looked wrecked — and dreamy, and soft, and younger than you’d let on with your words over the phone. Innocent, almost.

Joel’s thumb brushed over your cheekbone, rough against the softness of your skin. “Pretty little thing,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Look at you… all fucked out for me.”

You swallowed, your voice small, almost too shy for the room you were in together. “I’ve… never done that before.”

His brows pulled together slightly. “What d’you mean?”

Your gaze flicked from his eyes to his chest, then down to where you were still joined. “Never… had sex with a client.” A pause, your breath catching. “Never had sex with an older man, either.”

Joel went still, his hand at your jaw tightening just slightly. “You tellin’ me I’m the first for both?”

You nodded, your blush deepening. “Mm-hm.”

Something shifted in his eyes — softer, heavier, like the words were settling somewhere deep in his chest. “Christ, sugar…”

You let your lashes lower, voice barely a whisper. “Was I… any good?”

Joel’s head tipped, like he couldn’t believe you’d even ask. “What?”

You bit your lip. “Did I… live up to the person I was on the phone for you?”

For a beat, he didn’t speak — just looked at you like he wanted to burn this exact moment into his memory. Then his hand slid from your jaw into your hair, tugging gently so you’d look right at him.

“You were better,” he said, slow and certain. “Nothin’ I pictured even comes close to the way you feel… the way you look right now.”

Your chest tightened, the sincerity in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. Joel leaned in, brushing his lips over your temple. “You were more than good, sugar. You ruined me.”

Joel still hadn’t pulled out, his weight heavy and grounding between your thighs, his hand threaded through your hair like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go. He still felt hard, somehow. You could feel his heartbeat in the press of his chest against yours, the way his breath was still warm on your cheek.

“This ain’t gonna be a one-time thing,” he said low, almost like it was a decision he’d just made aloud.

You blinked up at him, eyes still hazy. “…No?”

He shook his head, lips curving just faintly. “Not a chance in hell. You think I’m lettin’ you go after this? After the way you just milked me and looked that pretty doin’ it?”

A little rush of heat rolled through you, your blush deepening again.

He studied your face for a long moment, his thumb stroking lazy along your jaw. “Gonna see you again before you leave.”

You hesitated — and then your voice came soft, testing the waters. “Joel… did you ever imagine kissing me?”

His eyes sharpened, the line of his mouth tightening like you’d just pulled something from deep inside him.

“More than I should’ve,” he admitted, voice rough. “Had to stop myself plenty of times, even just over the phone. Always figured if I got the chance, I wouldn’t stop.”

You swallowed. “So what’s stopping you now?”

Joel’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his hips pressing forward just slightly, like he could remind you exactly where you were still joined.

“Nothin’, sugar,” he murmured— and then his lips were on yours, slow but deep, tasting you like he’d been starving for it since the first call Joel’s mouth was warm, sure, and slow at first — the kind of kiss that sank straight into your bones. He kissed you like he was claiming something, his thumb brushing your jaw while his other hand stayed heavy at your hip, keeping you anchored beneath him.

You sighed into it, lips parting, and the second his tongue slid against yours, his hips shifted— a deep, unhurried roll that reminded you he was still inside you, thick and hot, filling you in a way you could feel in your ribs. A quiet, broken sound slipped from your throat. Joel swallowed it, groaning low into your mouth like he’d been waiting weeks to hear it up close.

You shifted under him, your thighs widening just a little more, and his grip on your hip tightened. “Mm, baby,” he murmured against your lips, “you keep movin’ like that and I’m gonna make you cum again.”

“Maybe I want you to,” you breathed, kissing him again, slower this time, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck.

His chest rumbled with a half-laugh, half-growl. “Goddamn insatiable.”

Another roll of his hips had you gasping into his mouth, your nails curling into his hair. You could feel the way he shuddered when you clenched around him, his cock twitching to life, his kiss turning hotter, filthier— his tongue sliding deeper, his teeth catching your bottom lip before he soothed it with a soft suck.

You pulled back just far enough to whisper, breathless, “Do you like kissing me, Joel?”

His eyes were dark and locked on yours, his mouth slick and swollen from you. “Sweetheart… I fuckin’ love it. Might love it too much.”

And then he kissed you again, harder this time, hips starting to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had your toes curling and your mind going hazy all over again. “Gonna gimme another one?”

“However many you want, Mr. Miller.”

“That’s my girl.”

[fairlyang]

Just watched Superman and I getttttt ittttttt- he was such a fucking cutie and so so sweet :(

[fairlyang]

Clark knew about your fear of heights.

He just didn’t expect you to be standing on the roof of the Daily Planet, right on the edge, with determination in your eyes. You wanted to conquer your fear. Clark thought it was okay to be afraid of high places, but you argued that you’re dating a superhero who can fly. It wasn’t an option.

If only you came up with a different way to face your fears.

“You know,” Clark starts, looking down at the street beside you, dressed in his suit, “we can always start with something small. Like a tree. There are some pretty tall trees out there.”

You side-eye him, “What tree do you know that has the height of a skyscraper?”

“None, but I’m not comfortable with you jumping off of a building.”

“Me neither, but this is the quickest way to get over it.”

Get over it? He's not a psychologist, but he knows facing your fears isn't resolved in a night.

Clark sees your legs wobbling with each minor step you take. Your shirt practically wrinkled due to the amount of times you gripped it out of stability. He wants to hold you close and calm the shakes, but you’d get mad at him for stopping your plans. So he’d have to suck it up and hug you later.

“Okay, eyes on me.” You watch as he steps off of the ledge, beginning to float. His cape flowing along the nightly breeze when he reaches for you. His hand out, ready for you to take. “No rush. I’m ready whenever you are.”

You exhale, wiping your palms. Clark hides a smile as he knew how sweaty they can get when you’re nervous.

“You’ll catch me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Like I’m serious, Clark, don’t drop me.”

“You know I won’t.”

“Okay…” You take his hand, and he pulls you to him. You shriek before burying your face against the symbol on his chest. The same position you always take whenever he flies you anywhere. His arms are tight around you, his number one priority being to make sure you don’t fall.

“I got you.”

Those three words lessens the tension in your shoulders. You slowly look up at his eyes and his breath hitches. The moonlight makes you glow despite being scared out of your mind. You’re so beautiful. It’s attractive how brave you are at this moment. But he needs to focus and not think about kissing your perfect lips.

“You okay?”

You glance over his shoulder before shutting your eyes, “Uh-huh. I don’t know how you do this everyday.”

“It helps that I don’t die if I fall.” He smiles at your snort, glad that he’s making you feel better.

You try to look down, the grip on his suit getting tighter as you see how high up you are. Practically over 300 feet in the air. The cars below are small in your eyes, the people walking past even smaller. Clark doesn’t speak, watching you get used to the height. The way the corner of your lips slowly curl up at the sight. How your grip doesn’t become as tight as each minute passes.

Slowly, he drifts further away from the ledge, doing a small spin to get you more comfortable. His cape helps block out anything that appears too far in case you start panicking. You don’t. Instead, you pull back a bit, getting bolder.

“Be careful.”

“I’m fine. I have you.” Clark affectionately squeezes your sides. He hears your fast heart beat slow down the longer you stay up here with him. “God, what was I so afraid of?”

He hums for a moment, “Falling and dying.”

“That, yeah. But I should’ve done something like this sooner…”

Clark’s brows scrunch, “Like not jumping off a building, right? Please tell me you mean something else.”

“Yes.” You reassure him by leaning forward, rubbing his nose against yours, “Thank you for doing this with me. You didn’t need to.”

Clark’s hold turns into a hug, his thick arms embodying your entire frame, “I wanted to. Even if your methods are…extreme.” You give him a shy smile when he continues, “But you didn’t need to do this. I don’t want my identity to force you into doing things you didn’t want to do.”

“Oh no.” Your face drops, “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”

“A little...”

You exclaim, hiding your face out of embarrassment, “I’m sorry! I just thought that I should be better at being Superman’s girlfriend and not just Clark’s.”

“You’re a good girlfriend to Superman and Clark.” He puts your chin up to look at him, “They-I-like you for who you are. I wasn’t bothered at all by your fear of heights. You’re already amazing to me.”

Your arms find their way around his neck, wide eyes pulling him in. “You’re sweet.”

The kiss he shares with you is long overdue. Clark still keeps a firm hold on your body to make sure you’re stable while he’s immersed with your lips. The soft touch ending the night off on a high note.

When he places you safely back on the roof, you fall to your knees, happy to be back on something solid.

“No more practicing off of buildings anymore, right?”

“I didn’t say that.” You turn, pointing at him. “This was just the first night. I have to do it more than once to get comfortable.”

Clark grimaces. While he absolutely agrees you should practice more often, next time he’s going to find a tall enough tree for you to start with.

A/N: This is for all the girlies who love Superman but can't deal with heights <3 Me included

[fairlyang]

The Villa — A. Skywalker

Paring: Islander Anakin x Bombshell F!Reader

Synopsis: Entering the Villa is a hot new bombshell, where you will find yourself falling hopelessly hard for the islander Anakin, making different connections, and will be on national television. Where it’s not just you wanting to catch his eye.

Tags: Love Island AU, being the bombshell, Anakin x Reader, kissing/making out, drama, etc.

Series Masterlist

Welcome back to love island! Now if you remember from where we left off, our islanders have officially coupled up with each other. Ahsoka and Rex, Obi-Wan and Venessa, Anakin and Miraji, Satine and Gideon, and finally Dione is coupled with Cohen.

The first day in Fiji was more stressful than Anakin had originally thought. The day passed way too quickly and before he knew it, he was sleeping in a bed with a woman he had hardly known.

Physical attraction was there, yes, but everything had felt so surreal to him. One moment he was at home and now he was in Fiji. Never did he expect to spend a summer here let alone to find someone to find love with.

When he got that scouting call from love island, a million thoughts ran in his head, but one voice stuck out. His mothers. 'I'm not getting any younger Anakin.'

It was that voice that kept him up that very first night. And when he did find sleep, he was soon woken up in the early hours of the morning by the producers and everyone else.

“So, how was your first night sleeping with Miraji?” Obi-Wan had asked. Anakin enjoyed his company, he was a person to laugh easily with but most of all admirable from what he saw.

“She’s -“ He replayed his night, remembering how she clung to him throughout it. “- touchy.”

“Touchy bad, or touchy good?” What was bad and good? She had kept her hands respectful, they never wandered. That's considered good, but cuddling was never Anakin’s forte.

“Touchy as in just touchy.” A safe answer, one that Obi-Wan had immediately noticed.

“Well, it is the first night.” Anakin felt his hand lightly patting his back before he heard the girls.

Making their way down to the stairs each one by one, dressed and their makeup done pretty. Ahsoka was the first to wander into the kitchen where the boys were making food.

“Good morning gentlemen!” Anakin smiled and came full force when he noticed how her eyes lit up at the toast Rex handed her.

The sun was beaming down onto the villa, Fiji hot weather more blazing than ever it felt like. Anakin had grown up in scorching heat, and hated it more than ever.

Slowly more girls ventured into the kitchen, each excited to start the first official full day at the Villa.

“Goodmorning,” Anakin mumbled to Miraji, handing her the plate with eggs and avocado toast. “How’d you sleep?”

Anakin had to admit that Miraji was beautiful. Even through her makeup freckles scattered across her face making her look sun kissed. She was the kind of beautiful that men would stop in the street to look at, and here she was looking at him like he was her perfect match.

“It was good, a little hot.” And her voice wasn’t soft or kind, it was seduction wrapped in a sweet guise, like caramel. “I was a little nervous sharing a bed with you, I’ll admit.”

“Well, I hope it wasn’t all too bad.” It was pretty words, and as cameras zoomed in on the two it was clear that she liked pretty words.

“Well you didn’t snore, so points for you.” She was right, Anakin thought. He remembered his mom telling him in early mornings before school how loud he snored while he explained his dream. It was a subconscious habit to only snore in his dreams.

“I’m glad to hear.” The conversation between them was cut short when Gideon walked over to the two of them. By the smile on his face the couple both knew he wasn’t here for Anakin.

“Miraji, can I pull you for a chat?”

“Of course.” Her answer was immediate, but as she walked away with Gideon, she turned her head back to the Skywalker. Anakin watched the two walk up to the docs, not in jealously, not in possessiveness, not even with plain pettiness. It was something much more simpler than that, it was an understanding, an okay. 

It was okay she was talking to someone else, it was okay that he was here in Fiji, and it was a realization that it’s time to actually start playing the game. Because if Anakin Skywalker hated anything it was losing, and sand. 

As Miraji and Gideon walked out of his view he dropped his gaze from them and over to the few girls gathered around Satine. Logical play would to also go after Satine, but Anakin wasn’t the logical kind. Instead he went up to Vanessa and Obi-Wan. 

Just before he reached the two of them, Obi-Wan's eye roll was noticeable to every camera, Anakin, and somehow Vanessa missed it. 

“Mind if I steal him from you for a moment?” Before she could even say, ‘yes’, Obi-Wan was standing. “I’ll be back,” he told the girl - while walking off with Anakin. 

“You looked miserable.” The two boys laughed. “She doesn't seem like the easiest person to talk to.” The older of the two said, thinking back to his conversation just before. 

“What happened?” They were well away from the rest of the group, keeping their voices light. 

“Well in her words ‘That was fast, Satine must not be all that much.’” Anakin’s eyes widened, before asking, “She said that?” 

His nod of affirmation left him in shock. No wonder he looked done with the conversation, the thought flowed through his mind effortlessly. Like putting one and two together. 

“Enough of me, what about you?” His head tilted towards the docs, “How do you feel about her getting pulled?” 

The short answer was he didn’t care. However the longer answer was, “I’m thinking that there isn’t going to be any time getting comfortable in couples here.” Which was true. He never watched the show personally, but knew enough to know that drama is the key element of this whole villa. If there aren't problems now, there will be later. 

“I got a text!” 

Dione’s voice ranged out through the villa, lots of islanders cheering – yet Anakin and Obi-Wan confused at the yelling was obvious. Something the fans find enjoyment in. 

They all gathered around the girl, waiting for her to read it out. “Islanders it’s time to see if you like this or that. Each islander will take a turn to pick between two questions, will you keep it classy, or test the waters. #HardTruths #TurningHeads!” 

Each one of them made their way back inside away from the Fiji heat, letting the production team set up the challenge. 

“First challenge, how is everyone feeling?” Cohen, who was coupled up with Dione, asked the group of men. The gentleman waited in the bedroom area while the girls got ready a floor above them. 

 “I’m feeling excited, after all this is what it’s all about isn’t it?” Rex spoke up next to Anakin who both laid on their beds. Each boy was already dressed, ready for the part they are about to play in the challenge. 

“Is anyone going to play it safe?” Gideon was the one to ask this time, and for a moment Anakin wanted to laugh. Clearly you're not. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Is what he said instead, keeping the peace. “Where here to explore, that's what these challenges are for.” No shame in that. 

“Wondering what the girls are talking about,” Obi-Wan muttered, off-handedly. 

Wondering indeed. Let’s see what our gal’s are up to.

“So who are you guys interested in?” Ahsoka was the first to ask the burning question, while spraying her setting spray generously on her face. 

“Well, Gideon pulled me away from Anakin for a chat.” Many missed Satine’s cressfallen face, all but Ahsoka who squeezed her hand under the table. “How’d that go?” Vanessa's curiosity seemed genuine in the eyes of the girls, and it was clear that Miraji and her would become quick friends. 

“Good, do you think Anakin will be mad?” Her pencil brushed and flowed on her lips, giving them the perfect outline. 

“I’m sure he will be understanding.” Satine finally spoke up, “He doesn't seem like a jealous person.” The blonde’s blue eyes looked enchanting in the mirror, a perfect sapphire. Each woman here looked truly gorgeous, the casting directors did not disappoint this season. 

“How do you think this challenge is going to go?” Much like her partner, Dione was the only one to ask about the challenge. “Anyone feeling confident?” 

“I am.” Ahsoka had spent her life living in confidence. 

“As am I. I’m excited to explore.” Satine followed right behind her, she wouldn’t let herself be blindsided. 

“Obi-Wan seems like a deep character,Venessa.” Dione struck conversation with her who had in return insisted she call her “Essa”. “And yes, he’s good at conversation as well.” 

“When do you think the bombshell will come in?” Silence followed Miraji's abrupt question. “Probably soon right?” She once again asked, putting the finishing touches with her mascara. 

“Probably.” 

The girls are looking beautiful, and the men are looking charming. However will they still look so good after this challenge?

Each girl came walking down the stairs, some hugging their couple, and some simply holding hands. 

Hold onto your boots, each challenger will draw one card from the ‘this’ and ‘that’ bowl.  The islander then must pick the challenge he chooses. A simple game that is sure to not leave simple feelings. 

They all gathered around the set up stand. Each sitting on a bench, that was split between guys and girls, while the first person stands at the podium with two bowls laid in front of them. 

Around here it is always ladies first, and the first up is Dione. 

It was mid day in Fiji, the sun sitting at it’s all high. The light shining down on her skin, that was sheen with a deep warmth. Her lips pulled in a nervous smile, her lips that were deliciously full and easy to bite some men thought. 

Her hands dipped into both of the jars, pulling out one paper from each.

 “Kiss the person you are most excited to get to know. Or, dump water on who you find most attractive.” 

Each islander was on the edge of their seats, waiting for her answer. Eager, because the first answer could very well shape the way this challenge was set. However Dione was hesitant because of that fact. The woman didn’t want to step on toes, but she wasn’t here for anyone but herself. And that was what she chanted in her head, as she made her choice, like a mantra. 

“Rex, I'd like to dump water on you.” gasps surrounded the group as a few guys, namely Obi-Wan and Anakin, cheered him on - pushing him towards the standing girl.

Dione reached for the bucket filled with water, the weight heavier than she initially thought. Noticing this Rex held her hands, bending down a little lower than her, helping her dump the water on him. 

Clapping blared around the area, and Rex had honestly rejoiced in the cool water. Heat wasn’t something he was used to. 

“Satine, your next!” Dione declared stepping down from the stand. 

The blonde raised, handing Rex a towel in passing, and so while the two Islanders found their seats again Satine stepped up. 

Like Dione before her, she reached, pulling two papers from both glasses. A dry swallow scraped its way down her throat.

“Give a lap dance to a person of your choosing, or call out the person you think is the biggest player in the villa.”

A lap dance? Satine questioned silently. As she read it out she already made her choice. She didn’t know these guys for anymore than forty-eight hours. Still, it was like the producers couldn’t wait to get content. 

Her sapphire eyes trailed across the group, giving each person a look of assessment. Before reaching down for the bucket that had been refilled. 

Her long legs, that even had Anakin looking, slowly walked to the boy's side of the bench. She stopped right in front of Gideon. It was an obvious pick, he had already pulled another girl before even having a conversation with her. Many expected it, including the man himself who had closed his eyes waiting. 

The bucket flipped upside down, the water pouring out dangerously quick, but not onto him. 

Instead the water flooded, Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

Many let shocked sounds escape them, few smiling. However Obi-Wan didn’t let a gasp leave him, he didn’t give a smile, nor a laugh, but a cocky grin directed at her solely. Not the cameras, not the girls or guys, but her. 

“No hard feelings.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but the words were heard clearly. “Your next.”

Satine handed him the bucket, and sat down in her previous seat. 

Water dripping down from his hair onto his face was a sight for all, and while he was always good looking - many of the girls noticed him at that moment when he licked his lips slightly before standing. 

Taking his position at the stand he kept quiet, but a teasing look in his eye. “Kiss the islander of your choosing, or dump water on who you think is the most sneaky.” Tossing the papers, he walked with confidence up to the girls. Bucket left behind. 

He slowed himself to a stop right in front of Satine, offering his hand out to her. The blonde raised her brow, surprise clear on her face. Her palm slid against his and for a moment all he could focus on was the warmth of her hand. 

He helped her rise from her seat, and before he took a step closer to her, he instead took her seat. Confusion was evident on her face, before her jaw lightly dropped. 

Obi-Wan reached to Dione, who he now sat next to, wrapping his hands around her neck. Pulling her into a kiss that had felt feverish to her. It wasn’t rushed, instead it was deep and slow – almost as if making a point. 

When he eventually did pull away, Dione felt warmth in her cheeks while Obi-Wan stood right before Satine. They two obviously close to one another. 

“You wet my seat, it's gonna get me wet now.” It was true, Obi-Wan was still wet from her challenge as he opted out from grabbing a towel. 

The man leaned down to her ear, the mics tapping against each other muting any words he spoke to her as static was all the producers heard. But Satine heard him and that's all that mattered. 

“Sure you weren’t already wet before.”

It wasn’t a question, and as he walked away throwing a towel in her direction, she had decided that she was right. He was the biggest player. 

Other challengers went. Miraji opted to kiss Anakin in her round, because he was “who she was most interested in.” Cohen dumping water on Ahsoka, because she was the most intimidating to him. The process went on until two players left.

Anakin and Ahsoka. 

The boy took the same place many others already had. His clothes clung to his body from Rex dumping water on him two rounds before. 

He twisted his neck sideways, popping it, before he himself pulled two papers out. There were only two left in each bowl, now finally at the bottom. 

“Bite your couple, or have a mystery gift.” Many paused, him included. Each time the second option always involved dumping water. 

Anakin’s chest pounded as he thought of the worst things that it could be. Safe option: bite Miraji, which he had no doubt she would be willing, or potentially have sand poured on him. 

Still; “I don’t have much of a choice do I?” It was different, and Anakin liked the excitement in different. “Mystery gift.” 

The sound of heels clicking turned Anakin’s head away from the large group. 

Your hair bounced flowy as you walked, your hips swaying with each step just enough to be subtle. The pink dress you had on showcasing your legs in such a way that could make a man yearn, while your breast filled it out giving the right amount of cleavage. 

However it was your smile that was kind and ever slightly cocky that captured his full attention. His and others.

“Hi guys!” Your voice was like velvet covered in addiction. Some of the girls waved, a ‘hi’ leaving their lips, while others could only stare silently. 

Your eyes drifted away from the ones sitting and to the guy raised. Your heels clicked again, walking onto the stand with him. 

“I’m assuming I’m your gift?” His own blue eyes that look green in the golden light of the sun trailed from your own and for a glimpse of a second they stayed on your lips. 

“Aren’t you a smart cookie.” He wanted to scream, he was failing horribly at flirting. 

The card laid on the podium catching your attention. “I’d hate for you not to have both cards.” 

Before he could speak, let out a word of confusion, you kissed him. Hard. It was rough, and slightly mean. 

Your lips felt on fire like you were a flame he was igniting. His confusion faded and instead Anakin’s grip on you became more demanding. His fingers threading through your hair, slightly pulling, while his other hand traced the fabric of your dress, locking at your lip. 

When you did pull away it was slow, and as promised your teeth lodged themselves in his lip, tugging. 

“Welcome to the villa.” His voice was raspy, eyes lidded.

Welcome for sure.

A/N: Hello! I finally published this, finally. This is just a chapter to kickstart the series. I feel like it was rushed but I just wanted to give a glimpse into the current couple and everyone’s character/dynamics. Also, SLIGHT SPOILER: Anakin and Reader will not be in an immediate couple, I plan to build onto their tension first. And can we talk about Obi-Wan and Satine?! Surprised myself, to be honest.

Usually, I write chapters anywhere between 3K to 5K. This chapter was just very slightly, and I mean slightly less than 3K, so I hope to make them longer.

Taglist: @venomdollz @riordanness @caramelcandescence @honeyyyimhomee @bugsludge

[fairlyang]

Tell me something I don’t know

thinking about ani using his jedi robe as a picnic blanket…

w/c: 965

tags: 18+ smut. free use mention, exhibitionism, oral, praise, teasing, fingering, he’s a menace but not too mean

a/n: first ani fic #nervous sjsjsj I’ve been dying to write for my man for far too long so here we go….

there was nothing in the galaxy anakin loved more than giving you pleasure, your reactions were always amazing and a stroke to his ego because it showed him that the things he was doing to you were making you feel good.

he was always more of a giver but once he met you, it only became worse.

he had to have you whenever and wherever he wanted.

it wasn't his fault that he needed to have you at any given moment, you were just so perfect. he couldn't be blamed for being so obsessed with you, it was expected on his end.

it took some convincing for you to let him have you when he wanted but you quickly came to realize that the free use and exhibitionism that came with it was really thrilling and fun. 

so when he said he wanted to have a date out on the green hills, you knew where it would be going. didn't take too long for him to take his jedi robe off and lay it out on the grass in the middle of the field. 

it all happened so quickly and he had you laying down, legs spread out wide and pretty for him. you tried your best to be quiet but with every passing second, it was only getting harder and harder to do just that. 

you bit your bottom lip and tugged on his curls, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure. This only had him moaning against you, eating you out faster — en route to make an even bigger mess out of you. 

his eyes looking up at you in awe and admiration. he had been going at it for a little while now, taking his time with it because he didn't like to rush. 

most of the time…

his hands were gripping your plush thighs, squeezing lightly while he licked every drop of your slick – knowing he'll forever be obsessed with the taste of you. 

he pulled right hand away and brought it up to grope your tits over your dress only to just pull the fabric down and let them pop out. your eyes fluttered open, making eye contact with fawn-like blue ones, who looked more than happy with your reaction.

"fuck ani-" you moaned and it made him groan.

the hand on your thigh moved and he moved it down to your clit, rubbing circles on it while he pulled away, "feel good angel?"

you nodded and whimpered out, "yes ani!"

his lips curled into a smirk and he sighed, "taste so good baby." 

that sent a shiver down your spine and your body felt hotter, he could sense the change and chuckled, "you're so beautiful angel."

you whimpered out and he suddenly slipped two fingers inside you making you cry out in pleasure. he smirked then chuckled, “I know you need to cum, my love.”

you only nodded, mind already into mush to say anything else which wasn’t good enough for him.

“tell me what you need angel.” he murmured, fingering deeply and slow.

you rolled your eyes and whined, “ani-“

“c’mon, you can do it. be a good girl for me and tell me what you need.” he coos and you pout.

he gives you a look that only made you glare at him, nearly whining — you wanted to be stubborn.

but he always had to have his way.

and for once you didn’t want to fight too much for it.

“I need you ani- please make me cum.” you cried and he grinned, “atta girl.”

“tell me something I don’t know.” he joked quietly instantly earning himself a groan from you.

without saying another word he fingered you faster, even went back in to suck on your clit. your body shook and he used his free hand to hold you down — the coldness of metal cooking your body down.

“fuck ani- just like that fuck!” you moaned and tried to grind your hips up.

he kept you still and fucked you harder, your juices dripping down and making a pure mess as always. your hands tugged on his curls again, this time a little harder just because you were so desperate and had to let him know.

but he knew you so well, of course he knew.

so he continued his pace, watching your pretty face contort with bliss and your gorgeous body twitch from the eagerness.

he smoothly added a third finger and slammed them into you, sucking on the sensitive nub harshly. he fucked you just how you needed, only bringing you that much closer to your release.

you let out a beautiful melody of moans and whimpers for him, knowing he likes hearing them no matter where you were.

as good measure, his name also slipped out — only making him work overtime. he wasn’t slowing down or stopping, not until you came and screamed his name out for everyone in the planet to hear.

it was all he needed and you had to give it to him.

with a few more deep thrusts of his fingers, you did.

he kept whispering dirty praises and teased you to egg you on, feeling your walls squeeze him perfectly because it was the push you needed.

“that’s my good girl.”

“so pretty when you listen to me.”

“should be getting this everyday angel.”

his playful tone did it for you, you screamed his name out while you bucked your hips up and your entire body started to shake. your orgasm hit in one big wave and he slowly started to slow down, still letting you ride your high.

he kissed your thighs gently and murmuring sweet praises, completely stopping his fingers while looking up at you.

a pretty shaking mess.

just for him.

[fairlyang]

idk what horny demon possessed me tonight icl but I felt bad for not feeding the ppl😞

also new character unlocked fucking FINALLY

[fairlyang]

Shameless🕷️

wc: 609

cw: freaky ass frogs, y’all sedate me this was insanity, possessive, jerking him off, mig wants to cum in your panties before you leave, slight choking, matching his freak, inspo

Miguel would be the possessive type where it would nearly cross into psychotic territory. 

He would somehow come up with things no one would think of and you fucking loved it. Like giving head on a ferris wheel or trying an orgy for fun. 

Only one of those was actually good. 

But this one.. might be too much. 

He had you jerking him off, aiming his cock directly to your panties. You were both standing and you had your legs spread apart with a pout on your face. 

You were going to have a girls night at the club when someone had the bright and innovative idea to show all the guys you were taken. 

Your tight fit dress was ridden up to your waist and he was having a grand ole time watching you do it.

Your reactions were a plus.

“Babe don’t you think this a little batshit insane?” You mumbled, now looking at him, and he shrugged.

He looked down at you and you raised an eyebrow as he responded, “maybe but yet here you are doing it anyway.”

You gave him a playful glare, making him smirk. With that you decided to tighten your grip around him, earning yourself a grunt from the man.

You fluttered your lashes at him and he quickly brought a hand up to your neck, making you subconsciously squeeze your thighs together.

“You could complain about this all night for all I care. End of the day we both know you’re fucking dripping right now.” He murmurs matter-of-factly.

The bad, god awful thing was…. he wasn’t wrong.

It was embarrassing how wet it made you.

His possessive side just did something to you that you couldn’t understand but lord did it always turn you on.

You tried to play coy for a single second when his grip tightened a tiny bit, in the way you liked.

“Should I check for you?” He mumbled and you attempt to shake your head.

He just gave you a pout and nodded, using his other hand to bring it between your legs — dipping a single finger between your folds and voila, a waterfall.

“So fucking shameless baby, can’t even hide it.” He teased and pulled his finger away.

“Dirty girl.” He cooed, bringing his finger up to your mouth, “open.”

You did so without a second thought, and he slipped his finger in. You sucked on it and quickly tasted yourself, sweet and extremely wet.

“That’s my good girl.” He moaned and you upped your pace on his cock.

“My perfect fucking girl.” He groaned, shoving his finger deeper in your mouth.

He let go of your neck and his cock was starting to twitch so he also slipped his finger out.

“Only yours baby.” You mumble and lean up, your lips just ghosting against his.

“I’m only yours Miguel, no one else’s.” You murmured and he moaned, loud and desperate.

His cock twitched and he finally came, long spurts shooting out and landing straight into your panties. You didn’t stop, making sure you had every drop so his little plan could work for something.

You looked down and the mess in your panties was indeed psychotic.

Luckily for him, it landed right where your pussy was going to be so that’s a plus for him.

You let him go and carefully pulled your panties up, making sure your pussy was coated in his cum. It wasn’t a weird feeling but now you only prayed it wouldn’t drip down, (it would).

He shamelessly grinned as he pulled your dress down, then giving you a little twirl before smacking your ass and waving you off.

[fairlyang]

Tell me something I don’t know

thinking about ani using his jedi robe as a picnic blanket…

w/c: 965

tags: 18+ smut. free use mention, exhibitionism, oral, praise, teasing, fingering, he’s a menace but not too mean

a/n: first ani fic #nervous sjsjsj I’ve been dying to write for my man for far too long so here we go….

there was nothing in the galaxy anakin loved more than giving you pleasure, your reactions were always amazing and a stroke to his ego because it showed him that the things he was doing to you were making you feel good.

he was always more of a giver but once he met you, it only became worse.

he had to have you whenever and wherever he wanted.

it wasn't his fault that he needed to have you at any given moment, you were just so perfect. he couldn't be blamed for being so obsessed with you, it was expected on his end.

it took some convincing for you to let him have you when he wanted but you quickly came to realize that the free use and exhibitionism that came with it was really thrilling and fun. 

so when he said he wanted to have a date out on the green hills, you knew where it would be going. didn't take too long for him to take his jedi robe off and lay it out on the grass in the middle of the field. 

it all happened so quickly and he had you laying down, legs spread out wide and pretty for him. you tried your best to be quiet but with every passing second, it was only getting harder and harder to do just that. 

you bit your bottom lip and tugged on his curls, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure. This only had him moaning against you, eating you out faster — en route to make an even bigger mess out of you. 

his eyes looking up at you in awe and admiration. he had been going at it for a little while now, taking his time with it because he didn't like to rush. 

most of the time…

his hands were gripping your plush thighs, squeezing lightly while he licked every drop of your slick – knowing he'll forever be obsessed with the taste of you. 

he pulled right hand away and brought it up to grope your tits over your dress only to just pull the fabric down and let them pop out. your eyes fluttered open, making eye contact with fawn-like blue ones, who looked more than happy with your reaction.

"fuck ani-" you moaned and it made him groan.

the hand on your thigh moved and he moved it down to your clit, rubbing circles on it while he pulled away, "feel good angel?"

you nodded and whimpered out, "yes ani!"

his lips curled into a smirk and he sighed, "taste so good baby." 

that sent a shiver down your spine and your body felt hotter, he could sense the change and chuckled, "you're so beautiful angel."

you whimpered out and he suddenly slipped two fingers inside you making you cry out in pleasure. he smirked then chuckled, “I know you need to cum, my love.”

you only nodded, mind already into mush to say anything else which wasn’t good enough for him.

“tell me what you need angel.” he murmured, fingering deeply and slow.

you rolled your eyes and whined, “ani-“

“c’mon, you can do it. be a good girl for me and tell me what you need.” he coos and you pout.

he gives you a look that only made you glare at him, nearly whining — you wanted to be stubborn.

but he always had to have his way.

and for once you didn’t want to fight too much for it.

“I need you ani- please make me cum.” you cried and he grinned, “atta girl.”

“tell me something I don’t know.” he joked quietly instantly earning himself a groan from you.

without saying another word he fingered you faster, even went back in to suck on your clit. your body shook and he used his free hand to hold you down — the coldness of metal cooking your body down.

“fuck ani- just like that fuck!” you moaned and tried to grind your hips up.

he kept you still and fucked you harder, your juices dripping down and making a pure mess as always. your hands tugged on his curls again, this time a little harder just because you were so desperate and had to let him know.

but he knew you so well, of course he knew.

so he continued his pace, watching your pretty face contort with bliss and your gorgeous body twitch from the eagerness.

he smoothly added a third finger and slammed them into you, sucking on the sensitive nub harshly. he fucked you just how you needed, only bringing you that much closer to your release.

you let out a beautiful melody of moans and whimpers for him, knowing he likes hearing them no matter where you were.

as good measure, his name also slipped out — only making him work overtime. he wasn’t slowing down or stopping, not until you came and screamed his name out for everyone in the planet to hear.

it was all he needed and you had to give it to him.

with a few more deep thrusts of his fingers, you did.

he kept whispering dirty praises and teased you to egg you on, feeling your walls squeeze him perfectly because it was the push you needed.

“that’s my good girl.”

“so pretty when you listen to me.”

“should be getting this everyday angel.”

his playful tone did it for you, you screamed his name out while you bucked your hips up and your entire body started to shake. your orgasm hit in one big wave and he slowly started to slow down, still letting you ride your high.

he kissed your thighs gently and murmuring sweet praises, completely stopping his fingers while looking up at you.

a pretty shaking mess.

just for him.

[fairlyang]

eighteen hours.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Weeks apart on separate missions leave you and Bucky Barnes aching, desperate, and one heartbeat away from unraveling. The reunion? Eighteen hours of pure, breathless release.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, multiple rounds, overstimulation, edging, mutual desperation, shower sex, window sex, kitchen counter sex, use of restraints (soft), masturbation mention, lingerie tease, squirting (f), super soldier stamina, mild teasing from tb* members

It started like any other assignment.

A sharp morning. Polished boots. Steel chairs arranged around the Watchtower’s mission table. The kind of day where even the light felt clinical—too white, too bright, too final.

Valentina entered with a clipboard in hand and that usual glint in her eye, the one that said she already knew something you didn’t want to hear.

“Barnes, Yelena, Alexei, Bob—Bucharest first. Bogotá by week three. Rotating safehouses. No crossovers.”

You stiffened.

“Walker, Ava, and…”

She looked straight at you.

“You—Algeria. Then east through Istanbul. Targets on the move. You’re expected to stay mobile and out of range.”

The silence afterward said everything.

That pause before your name wasn’t a slip.

It was surgical.

Across the table, Bucky’s jaw tensed. He didn’t look at you, but his shoulders rolled tight. His metal hand flexed once, resting flat on the table like he was physically grounding himself.

This wasn’t routine.

This was designed.

The room shifted. Teams gathered their gear. Orders confirmed.

But neither of you moved.

Bucky brushed your fingers beneath the table—the kind of small, hidden touch that wasn’t meant to say goodbye. It was a promise.

We’ll find each other.

However we can.

—

Packing was mechanical.

Weapons, suits, coordinates, clearances.

Everyone was buzzing around the hangar level, focused on countdowns and jet fuel. But Bucky caught your wrist with a glance that made your breath hitch—then gently steered you down a side corridor.

He didn’t stop until you ducked into a quiet auxiliary room—once used for archive storage, now mostly forgotten. The lights were dim. A narrow bench ran along the wall. A few old mission files sat boxed in the corner.

He shut the door behind you.

“Just for a minute,” he said, voice low. “Just wanna be where you are.”

You barely nodded before he pulled you into his chest. He held you like he needed it—not tight or desperate, but complete. His warmth poured into you as you buried your face into the space between his neck and shoulder.

You ended up straddling his lap on the bench, both of you half-armored, half-undressed—hands roaming like you were trying to memorize every line, every scar, every breath.

“I hate this,” you muttered into his neck.

“I know.” His voice was steady. Anchoring. “But we’ll be okay.”

His mouth found the slope of your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then lower—teeth grazing before lips closed around your skin and sucked.

You gasped—part surprise, part pure heat.

“Bucky—”

“Gonna leave a few. Let ‘em wonder how many more are where they can’t see.”

He left another. And another. The bruises bloomed warm beneath your skin—high enough that your tactical suit wouldn’t cover all of them.

When he pulled back to look at you, his pupils were blown wide, lips kiss-bitten and breath ragged.

“You’re mine,” he murmured. “Even if they split us across the damn planet.”

You ran your hands up under his shirt, nails scratching lightly across his ribs—grounding yourself in the solidity of him.

“You’ll text me when you can?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if it’s just one word?”

“Even if it’s just a photo.”

You smirked. “Of what?”

He grinned, leaning back like he had all the time in the world—even though you both knew better.

“I’m waiting for boob pics, love. Minimum one per timezone.”

You laughed into his neck and kissed his jaw, soft and smiling.

“You’re such a menace.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

When the comm finally buzzed for final departure prep, you lingered another moment, forehead pressed to his.

“We’re good?”

“Always.”

And then you slipped out—his warmth still clinging to your skin, and his hickeys hidden beneath your collar like the loudest secret in the world.

—

The first few days weren’t unbearable.

Busy hours blurred the worst of it—briefings, drone recon, field scans. The kind of missions that demanded your hands stay full and your focus sharp. You told yourself it helped. That staying in motion kept the ache at bay.

But the nights were something else entirely.

By the third night, sleep wouldn’t come. The cot beneath you was too narrow, too cold. You rolled over instinctively and reached for the other side—empty. Your palm flattened against the mattress like it could summon him there.

It didn’t.

You’d already stripped out of your tactical suit, skin flushed from a lukewarm shower and a restlessness that refused to settle. The mirror over the sink caught your reflection just as the last of the sun dipped beneath the window—warm dusk light casting gold across your damp collarbone, your bare shoulder.

You grabbed your comm. Lifted your phone.

Pulled down your undershirt just enough to let the neckline dip low—sweat clinging to the curve of your breasts, a faint bruise from his mouth peeking out beneath the edge of the fabric.

The angle was deliberate.

Head tilted back. Lips parted. Not a full reveal. But it said everything.

Still thinking about the way your hands fit around my waist.

Bet you’d wreck me if you were here.

You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

—

His reply came six hours later. No text. Just an image.

The lighting was shit—whatever rooftop he was on barely lit by the glow of city spill—but it didn’t matter.

He was shirtless.

Dog tags heavy and low over his chest.

Hair a little messier than usual, as if he’d just run a hand through it before taking the shot.

But the part that made your thighs press together?

His sweatpants.

Slung low. Way too low. Obscene, really—the waistband clinging just above the vee of his hips, and beneath it? A thick, unmistakable bulge pressing upward. Not subtle. Not suggestive.

Hard. Veined. Heavy. Angry.

Like he’d taken the photo mid-thought, right before palming himself. Like maybe he had.

Your name was probably still on his tongue when he snapped it.

You sucked in a breath, cheeks hot, and held the screen to your chest like it could warm the parts of you he was supposed to be touching.

This was manageable, you told yourself.

Just teasing. Just playing.

It would pass.

—

It got worse.

What started as playful—just a little edge, a little fun—turned into something raw. Unbearable. Every picture, every breathy message only twisted the knife deeper.

Bucky cracked first.

The signal finally held long enough for him to send a voice note.

You were mid-gear check when it came through, tucked into a corner of the safehouse with your earbuds in.

“Woke up with my hand around my cock,” he rasped, voice low, wrecked. “Thought it was you at first. Swear to God, I could feel you there. Your breath on my neck, your legs wrapped around me. Then I realized I was alone again.”

A pause. A harsh exhale.

“And fuck, baby… I nearly lost it.”

You played it three times.

Nearly dropped your comm on the third.

—

You didn’t just tease back. You retaliated.

The next photo was a mirror shot—deliberately filthy. You stood in the dim light of your bunk, chest bare, your breasts fully visible this time, no shame. One hand was sunk into your panties, fingers clearly pressing against the soaked fabric. The other held your phone steady, angled to catch the full view: your messy hair, parted lips, heavy-lidded eyes, and the slick glint of sweat on your chest. No caption. Just raw hunger in pixels.

This help you sleep tonight? Or should I take more?

He didn’t respond immediately. But when he did, it was short.

You’re not playing fair.

My cock’s been hard since sunrise. Haven’t touched it. Saving every second of this for you.

You sent a quick clip later—just a few seconds long. You didn’t even speak in it.

Just six seconds. The camera angled low—your hand slipping beneath the blanket between your thighs. No real view, just the movement. The blanket shifted slightly with every circle you traced over your clit. Soft moans escaped—broken, breathy, like you were trying to stay quiet. Then a whimper—his name, trembling from your lips. No skin shown. No climax caught. Just the sound and the hint and the promise of you falling apart.

Bucky watched it on repeat like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

—

Then came Ava.

You’d crashed hard that night—exhausted, sweaty, and stripped down to just your lingerie. The maroon lace set he liked. The same one he’d picked out. It had become a habit—wearing it when you missed him. A reminder. A tether.

Ava had been reviewing footage by the window for perimeter movement when she caught it.

The camera was focused outward. But the mic had picked up your sleep sounds in the background.

She wasn’t trying to be cruel when she played it back.

She just raised an eyebrow and pressed play—a grin tugging at her lips as the soft moans filled the air. You were murmuring his name. Restless. Breathless. Like you were dreaming of him—no, feeling him.

“Mmh… Bucky—please… inside me… deeper—oh god… please—”

Your voice cracked on the last word, a sharp gasp like you were right on the edge.

You could’ve died.

“Jesus,” Ava had laughed, not unkind. “Want me to send it to him? Y’know, for motivation?”

You didn’t answer fast enough. She already hit send.

—

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even text back. Just disappeared for a few hours.

Locked himself in the bathroom of the Bogotá safehouse, palms braced on the sink, sweat dripping from his temple to his jaw. The floor was cold. His cock throbbed painfully in the tight grip of his tactical jeans, already slick with precum from the sound of your voice in his ear—played over and over again like a goddamn drug.

He groaned low, forehead resting against the mirror as he finally undid his fly—reached in and freed himself with a hissed curse.

Hard. Angry. Red at the tip and twitching. His hand flexed uselessly beside him, trembling from restraint.

He closed his eyes and whispered, “Fuck, baby… what are you doing to me…”

But he didn’t stroke.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Not without your hands.

Not without your thighs tight around his hips.

Not without your voice whispering that he could let go.

So he tucked himself away again—biting down hard on the side of his fist until it bruised, his pulse roaring like a storm.

Later, when the signal held again, he finally texted:

This was supposed to help.

All these videos. These fucking pictures.

It’s making everything worse, doll.

I need you so bad, I swear I’m gonna lose my mind.

—

He stopped sleeping properly.

The circles under his eyes were darker now, sharp enough to draw questions if anyone had the nerve. His mouth was constantly pressed into a tight, agitated line. The usual post-mission calm he carried—that calculated, steady presence of command—was cracking.

Every time he sat down to write up route plans, his hands twitched. His left hand—the metal one—wouldn’t stop flexing. Clenching. Releasing. Like he was trying to ground himself in anything that wasn’t your voice moaning his name.

The last time he tried to issue orders midbriefing, he nearly snapped a comm tablet in half.

“Safehouse Delta’s too close to the highway,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll reroute south. Four klicks. We’ll—”

He trailed off.

Everyone stared at the map table, then at Bucky—who was clearly no longer looking at anything but the wall. Or rather, through it.

His jaw clenched again. He tried to redirect.

“We’ll send Bob first to—”

But Bob was already looking sideways at him.

“You gonna pass out?”

“No.”

“You look like your brain’s buffering.”

“I said I’m fine.”

But his voice had cracked. Just slightly.

Yelena leaned back in her seat with a dramatic sigh, chewing on the end of a protein bar like this was better than Netflix.

“Alright,” she announced loudly, “I’m just gonna say what everyone else is thinking.”

Bucky didn’t even turn his head.

She kept going.

“You’re clearly about three days from spontaneously combusting from blue balls. You’ve been staring at walls, misreading maps, and grinding your teeth like it’s a fetish. Which—respectfully—gross.”

Alexei smothered a laugh. Bob coughed loudly into his fist.

“You need to jerk off or jump off a building,” Yelena finished, deadpan. “Pick one.”

Bucky finally looked up.

His eyes were bloodshot. His voice was tight when he replied.

“I’m not jerking off.”

That shut them up.

Yelena blinked. “…Okay. That’s not where I thought that was going.”

“I’m saving it. All of it.” His hand twitched again. “She deserves every goddamn second of it.”

A pause. The silence stretched—not awkward, just charged.

Even Alexei nodded solemnly, as if that was the only acceptable answer.

Yelena rolled her eyes but muttered, “Romantic. Disgusting. Continue suffering, I guess.”

—

Later that night, Bucky paced the rooftop alone. Fingers twitching. Breath uneven.

He pulled up your last photo again.

Your hand between your thighs. Lips parted. That little text below it:

I’d spread for you right here on this cot if you were with me.

He groaned into his palm.

Pressed the heel of his hand against the painful bulge in his pants.

Didn’t move. Didn’t stroke. Just gritted his teeth and endured.

“You better be ready for what I’m gonna do to you,” he muttered into the dark.

—

It was just after 7:00PM when the jet touched down.

The sky above the Watchtower was bruised in golds and fading gray, clouds curling low like dusk had rolled in too early. Your shoulders ached. Muscles stiff from too many hours strapped in gear, too many days sleeping with one eye open.

Your boots hit the floor with more weight than usual—the kind that didn’t come from exhaustion alone. It was something else. Something thick in your chest, pressing behind your ribs.

Inside the compound, it was unusually quiet.

Operatives passed by in pairs. Brief nods. No chatter.

Ava veered off toward medical, threw a wink over her shoulder, and mouthed, “Go get your man.”

You didn’t smile. Not yet.

Not until your fingers brushed the key panel of your shared room, and the door clicked open beneath your touch.

Something shifted the moment you stepped inside.

The air smelled like candle wax, clean linens, and something warmer underneath—musk and sandalwood, with a trace of vanilla. The room glowed gold in low light. Flickering candles burned on the desk, by the bed, and one small one beside the bathroom mirror.

It was quiet. But not empty.

He was there.

And the second he saw you, his face lit up.

“Hey,” Bucky breathed, already halfway to his feet. His voice was low but clear, as if speaking pulled breath right back into his lungs. “You’re home.”

That ache—the one locked in your chest—snapped clean open.

You dropped your duffel just as he reached you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, your cheek pressed against his collarbone. He smelled like soap and steel and something distinctly him—warm skin, freshly showered, a hint of cologne that clung to his shirt.

He didn’t devour you. Didn’t grope, didn’t rush.

He just held you.

One arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head. His lips brushed the top of your hair.

You clung back like it might hold you together.

His hand ran slowly down your spine. You could feel the control in it—the way his chest rose hard against yours, like he was barely keeping the rest of him contained.

“I changed the sheets,” he murmured softly. “Lit a few candles. Put your shampoo out. Thought maybe you’d want a hot shower first.”

Your heart cracked, melted, rebuilt itself.

You nodded against him, cheek brushing the curve of his neck.

“You remembered.”

“Of course I did.” His smile touched his voice, even as his hand lingered low on your back. “You always say you wanna feel clean before we get dirty.”

That earned a small laugh from you—quiet, but real.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, cupping your cheek in one hand. His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, like he was checking you for damage.

“I missed you,” he said. “Like breathing stopped.”

You kissed him, soft and slow—lips barely parting, just enough to feel the warmth of him beneath the quiet.

“Missed you more.”

He didn’t rush you when you stepped out of your gear. Just watched with quiet reverence, helping peel the layers off your shoulders and arms. He kissed your shoulder once—right over the old bruise he left weeks ago—and whispered:

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for 36 days. But I’m not rushing it. Not until you’re ready.”

Then he took your hand, kissed the inside of your wrist, and nodded toward the bathroom.

“Go on. I’ll be right here.”

—

You hadn’t even closed the door behind you.

The steam was already thick, curling from the shower where hot water slammed against tile. You peeled your clothes off slowly, shaking the last of the travel dust from your skin, limbs heavy from the mission—but your chest felt lighter. He was here. You were home.

You stepped into the spray and let it hit you.

Heat flooded your shoulders. Rolled down your spine.

The ache you’d ignored for weeks cracked wide open across your bones.

You arched slightly under the pressure of the water, fingers dragging slowly down your stomach. Your thighs pressed together at the memory of his voice—his lips on your neck, his hands gripping your hips like they belonged there.

You knelt briefly to grab a bottle you knocked over. Bent forward. Stretched.

And then—

“Mmh…”

Just a sound. A breath.

But it came from somewhere deep—unconscious, raw, and aching. It slipped from your throat like his name was caught beneath it.

The floor creaked.

You turned, startled—and everything inside you tightened.

He was there.

Bucky Barnes. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom like something ancient and carved from firelight. His chest rose fast, hard, like he’d sprinted across the room. Hair damp with sweat, not water. Shoulders tight. Fists clenched at his sides.

And he was naked.

Completely.

You hadn’t even heard him undress. But there he stood—broad, solid, his cock achingly hard and already slick with precum, flushed dark and twitching with every strained breath he took.

His eyes drank you in.

Steam wrapped around his body, clinging to every line of him. You watched his jaw twitch, chest heave. His cock twitched again—another thick drop of precum beading at the tip.

“Baby…”

His voice cracked. A breath. A prayer. Hoarse and wrecked.

“Please…”

“Please stop torturing me.”

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

Like he was waiting for your permission—even now, even while unraveling at the seams.

You reached for him.

One hand. Simple. Open. You pressed your palm to the center of his chest—felt the hammering heartbeat beneath it, the way his breath hitched.

He whimpered.

The sound broke from his lips like it had been fighting its way out for days. He stepped forward, cupped your waist, then your jaw, thumb trembling against your cheek.

“You’re real,” he whispered. “Fuck—you’re here.”

You smiled softly. Nodded.

He stepped into the shower with you—no hesitation this time.

The water soaked him instantly, but he didn’t care. He was already soaked in you. The scent. The need.

His hands were everywhere. One warm, the other metal, both reverent. They dragged up your spine, gripped your hips, held your face like it was holy.

“Missed you,” he rasped between frantic kisses.

“Missed your mouth. Your voice. Your thighs. The way you sound when I’m inside you—fuck, baby, I’ve been dying.”

Your back hit the tile with a dull thud. His body pressed into yours, all solid heat and desperation.

His cock bumped against your stomach—hot, heavy, leaking.

He gasped. “Touch me… please, just—let me feel you.”

You did more than touch.

Your hand curled around the base of him, felt him throb in your palm. He swore low against your neck, forehead pressing to yours as his hands skimmed lower, between your thighs.

“Jesus, sweetheart—”

His fingers slid through the slick between your legs.

“You’re soaked…”

He groaned. Slid two fingers inside you.

You gasped, walls clenching hard around the intrusion.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Tight… tighter than I remember. You really waited for me?”

You bit his jaw. “I didn’t even let myself finish, Bucky. You ruined me.”

That was all it took.

He gripped your thighs, lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing, and pinned you to the shower wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck.

“Hold on to me,” he breathed. “That’s it… Good girl.”

He lined himself up. Slick head pressed against your entrance. And then—

He sank in.

One thrust. Deep. Full.

You both cried out—voices echoing in the tile and steam.

The stretch. The heat. The sudden, perfect fullness.

He fucked into you with short, desperate thrusts—buried all the way, hips snapping with precision. You met him every time, nails clawing his back, gasping against his mouth.

Your orgasm ripped through you without warning—sharp, wet, loud.

“James, I—I’m coming!”

“I’ve got you. Let go. Soak me, baby.”

You did. You clenched so hard around him he almost collapsed.

He followed seconds after—buried deep, groaning your name as he came hard inside you, hips jerking, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His body trembled with the force of it. He held you there, still wrapped around him, his cock twitching inside your pulsing heat.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Not letting you out of this room for days.”

You kissed him through the fog, smiling against his lips.

“Good. I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Your legs were still shaking when he carried you out of the bathroom.

No towel. No words. Just the heat of his arms around you, the steady thump of his heart against your ribs, and the way the air between you still crackled like static. You smelled like him. He smelled like you. It wasn’t over. It had only begun.

He laid you on the bed like something sacred.

Candles glowed around the room, casting golden halos over damp sheets and flushed skin. The maroon lace slip sat untouched where he’d left it—delicate, sheer, wicked.

You reached for it with trembling fingers.

But Bucky caught your wrist gently. “Let me,” he said.

His voice was lower now. Hoarse. Reverent.

He lifted the slip over your head slowly, letting the lace fall like a whisper down your body. It hugged your hips, clung to your breasts just enough to tease—translucent and sinful. His lips brushed your spine as he adjusted the straps, hands shaking.

“I thought about this every night,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder.

“Fantasized about it. About you, straddling me in this. Had to lie there with my fists clenched, cock aching, just—breathing through it. Didn’t touch myself. Not once.”

His voice cracked. “Didn’t want to waste a single drop that wasn’t for you.”

You whimpered.

He hovered above you now—fully naked, flushed, his cock already hard again. Veined and glistening, twitching with the pulse of how badly he needed to be inside you.

But he didn’t rush.

Didn’t even move until you cupped his jaw and pulled him down into a kiss.

Mouths met softly, then harder.

Tongues sliding slow.

His body sinking into yours, heat to heat, heartbeat to heartbeat.

You grabbed the back of his neck and whispered against his lips, “Come here. Let me ruin you.”

He groaned, deep in his throat, and you flipped him onto his back, straddling his hips with shaking thighs. The lace slip rode up your thighs, leaving nothing in the way when his cock pressed hot and heavy against your dripping heat.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped. “You’re soaked through.”

You leaned down, your breasts brushing his chest, and ground your hips against his length. “You did this,” you whispered. “With every text. Every picture. Every breath.”

He was gone. Let you take full control.

You gathered the hem of the lace slip, just enough to bare yourself to him, and guided him in—sinking down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

Both of you moaned, raw and open, mouths slack with need.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, head thrown back, fists clenched in the sheets.

“Still so tight, baby. Still fucking perfect.”

You started to move—slow at first, grinding your hips in deep, lazy circles that dragged the tip of his cock right against your most sensitive spot. His hands clamped hard on your thighs, trying to keep his control, but you didn’t make it easy.

“You gonna come again just from riding me?” he asked, breathless.

You nodded. “Already close.”

He groaned, slipping one hand between your bodies to rub firm, precise circles over your clit.

“There you go… let me feel you. Let go for me.”

And you did.

Your second orgasm hit like a goddamn wave—crashing through your spine, stealing your breath, squeezing around his cock so tight he choked on a moan.

He didn’t last much longer.

You kept grinding, whispering filth into his ear—how full he made you feel, how wrecked you were for him, how you still weren’t done.

That tipped him.

He came hard with a strangled moan, cock pulsing deep inside you, hips jerking as he flooded you for the second time. His arms locked around your waist as he gasped into the crook of your neck, trembling from the force of it.

You stayed like that, slumped against his chest, bodies stuck together with sweat and slick and heat.

“You alright?” he asked, voice scratchy.

“I’m feral,” you whispered back. “And I’m not finished.”

He chuckled, still panting. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not tapping out anytime soon.”

—

Later.

The wine sat untouched on the desk.

The lace slip lay discarded in a crumpled pile on the floor.

The candles had burned halfway down, wax pooling thick at the base.

And you?

You were flushed. Sweaty. Trembling.

Knees sinking into the mattress as you straddled his thighs once more, this time with your back to him—hips hovering, your whole body tingling.

He leaned against the headboard, sweat shining on his chest, watching you like a man possessed.

“You sure?” he rasped, voice ragged and frayed.

You didn’t answer.

You just reached back, gripped his cock at the base, and lowered yourself onto him slowly—inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt inside you.

Both of you moaned. Loud.

Deep.

Almost pained.

Your hands braced against his shins behind you for leverage, thighs spread wide as you rode him hard—your ass slapping against his hips, slick and flushed with every bounce.

“Oh, fuck—”

His hands gripped your waist like he was anchoring himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart—you’re still so fuckin’ tight…”

You started to move—slow, heavy grinds, rolling your hips like you needed every inch of him rooted inside you. Bucky gasped behind you, his hands traveling from your hips to your thighs to your breasts, groping, squeezing, completely feral.

“You ride me like it’s the only thing keeping you alive,” he growled.

“Look at that ass—fuck, I can see it bounce every time you fucking slam down.”

You moaned—head tilted back, chest rising and falling—sweat glistening between your breasts.

And then—his fingers slid between your thighs from behind. Two of them, circling your clit with ruthless precision.

“I wanna feel you come again, baby. Let me feel you fucking gush on my cock.”

Your thighs trembled. Muscles locked. Your core started to spasm.

“Bucky, I—I think I—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Do it. Come on, baby. You’re dripping, you’re so fucking close—let it happen.”

You broke with a cry.

Legs shaking. Hands digging into his thighs.

Your pussy clamped down hard, and then it hit—

You squirted.

Hard.

Hot wetness sprayed between your thighs, down over his cock, soaking the sheets. Bucky let out a strangled moan, clutching your waist like he was going to lose his mind.

“Goddamn—fuck, look at you. You’re gonna make a fucking mess, aren’t you, baby?”

He didn’t stop.

He snapped his hips up into you, relentless now—grinding deep as your soaked cunt fluttered around him, so overstimulated your vision blurred.

“Still want more?” he panted, thrusting up again, angling perfectly.

“I can feel how much you need it. So greedy for me—so fucking full of my cum, and still not satisfied.”

You couldn’t answer. You just moaned, nodding wildly, nails dragging down his thighs, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot on your shoulder as he leaned forward, one hand now wrapped tight around your throat.

“You gonna come for me again? Gonna make a mess on my cock one more time?”

“Yes—James, please—”

And you did.

A second wave slammed into you.

You screamed, back arching, body locking as you squirted again—wetter this time, gushing down over his balls, onto the sheets, soaking everything beneath you.

Bucky lost it.

“Shitshitshit— I’m coming—fuck, baby—I’m—”

He grunted, jerking up into you with three final brutal thrusts as his cock pulsed deep inside you, filling you again, so hot you felt it flood your walls.

You collapsed forward onto the mattress, his arms catching you just before you slumped completely. He held you tight from behind, your body still twitching, both of you covered in sweat, slick, and release.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, voice dazed, completely gone.

“You just… soaked me, baby.”

You half-laughed, half-whimpered. “I couldn’t help it. You broke me.”

“Good,” he growled, kissing your neck. “You can break me next.”

—

You should’ve been done.

You should’ve been shaking, satisfied, breathless from three rounds and nothing left to give.

But you weren’t.

The ache still lived in your bones.

The emptiness still throbbed between your legs.

And when Bucky’s lips brushed your temple—slow, tender, trembling—you felt it in him too.

He needed more.

You both did.

The sheets beneath you were damp. Your thighs were slick. Your chest rose with every sharp breath, nipples flushed and sensitive, body still twitching from your last orgasm. And still… the hunger hadn’t dulled.

“You okay?” he whispered against your throat.

“No,” you rasped, voice cracking.

“I need you again. Right fucking now.”

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath. His cock twitched against your thigh—already stiffening again.

“Jesus, doll… you’re insatiable.”

He kissed your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Then he shifted—slow but deliberate—and suddenly, your wrists were gathered above your head. You gasped at the motion, but his grip was careful, tender. He reached for the discarded shirt at the foot of the bed and looped it around your wrists—soft, warm, not tight.

“Just wanna keep you here,” he murmured, kissing your palms one at a time.

“Let me take care of you.”

Your stomach fluttered. Your thighs clenched.

And when he dropped between your legs, your breath hitched so hard your back arched off the bed.

“James—”

“Shhh,” he purred, brushing his stubble along the inside of your thigh.

“Gonna keep you right here, sweetheart. Gonna make you come until your body forgets what rest feels like.”

His tongue dragged through your folds—slow, warm, filthy.

The first flick over your clit sent your hips off the bed—but he was already holding you down, fingers firm, spreading you open like he was fucking home.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled into your cunt, voice rough with disbelief.

“Jesus, baby, you taste like both of us… fuck. You’re perfect.”

He devoured you.

Long, slow licks that lapped up his own cum still leaking from you. Wet, obscene noises filled the room—every slurp, every moan against your pussy like it was the only thing that ever mattered.

You whined. Cried out. Legs trembling.

His mouth worked faster, tongue flicking your clit with maddening precision—soft then hard, gentle then firm, always changing, always knowing exactly how to ruin you.

“Bucky—fuck—baby I—”

Your voice broke.

Your hips bucked.

You were so close again, already, already—

He pulled back.

“Not yet,” he rasped, lips wet and eyes dark.

“Not until you beg for it.”

You sobbed—from the overstimulation, from the ache, from how badly you needed to fall apart.

“Please—please, baby, I can’t—just let me—let me come, please—!”

That broke him.

He groaned, deep and guttural, and latched onto your clit with his mouth wide and relentless—tongue flat, dragging fast and rough, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs.

You exploded.

A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm hit like a strike of lightning—your whole body shook, fists clenched, toes curled, thighs trembling. You gasped so hard your ribs ached. The headboard thudded behind you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice soaked in reverence.

“One more, baby. Just one more for me.”

You didn’t even get to respond.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because his tongue never stopped.

He kept sucking—soft at first, then harder—until another wave curled sharp behind your ribs. You sobbed his name, pulled at the binds, tried to run but couldn’t move.

You came again.

Harder.

Legs seizing, slick gushing between your thighs, soaking his face, your body curling from the sheer force of it.

He kissed your trembling thighs through the aftershocks.

Pressed his forehead to your belly.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“I don’t even know where I am,” you panted.

“And I think I like it.”

—

Later—

Maybe thirty minutes.

Maybe five.

Time had stopped meaning anything.

It warped, curled, bled together beneath the hum of overstimulation and breathless ache.

You lay curled on your side, one leg bent, sheets tangled around your calves. Sweat cooled on your skin in sticky rivulets. Your breathing had started to even out, but your body still pulsed from the inside—too full, too stretched, too tender to be still.

And then—

The mattress dipped behind you.

You felt his warmth before you felt his hands.

He slid in close—chest to your back, thighs pressed to yours, breath curling against your neck.

His lips brushed your shoulder.

“Still want me?” he asked, voice soft as fog.

You answered with a sigh. Reached back without looking, your palm wrapping around the hard length of him, thick and hot and already twitching against your fingers.

“Always.”

You rocked your hips back, slotting yourself perfectly into him.

He kissed your spine.

Tucked his face into the crook of your neck, and whispered like a man undone.

“I’ll never stop wanting you.”

One hand lifted your top leg, just slightly—fingers gliding over your thigh. His other arm wrapped low around your waist. You felt the weight of him, the warm press of his tip teasing at your entrance—slow, so fucking slow—until he finally pushed inside.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, as if the heat of you had burned him.

“You’re still tight. Still fluttering around me.”

You whimpered.

He thrust deep.

Steady. Gentle.

Every movement an unspoken prayer.

No rhythm. No pace. Just a rolling, molten motion—his cock dragging deep and slow, slick with everything you’d already shared, stroking right against the spot that still trembled.

“I could live here,” he breathed. “I want to live here.”

Your hand gripped his forearm where it wrapped across your middle. He pulled you back against him with every gentle thrust, grounding you in the heat of his body, his breath stuttering where it ghosted along your neck.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmured. “So fucking good.”

“Still feels like a dream,” you whispered.

“Then don’t wake up. Just… stay right here. Let me have you like this.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. Tears stung, soft and sudden. It wasn’t pain—it was too much pleasure. Too much love. The way he moved inside you like your body was a temple. Like every inch of you was his.

“Tell me you’re mine again,” he whispered, voice breaking.

You choked on a moan.

“I’m yours, James. Always.”

You came first—slow and quiet. A gentle quake that rippled from your core outward, your body trembling against him as your inner walls clamped down tight. You gasped softly, a sob in your throat, your hands fisting in the sheets.

“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

“Let go, doll. Let me feel you.”

He wasn’t far behind.

He buried himself deep, groaning low into your hair, his whole body taut as his release surged inside you again—slow and warm, his cock pulsing deep as he held still, hips locked to yours.

You lay there, body slack and soft, his cock still inside you.

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

His fingers traced lazy shapes on your belly, his lips pressing soft, almost absent kisses to your damp shoulder, your neck, your cheekbone.

“You okay?” he asked eventually, voice quiet.

You nodded.

“I think I’m in love with you again.”

He smiled against your skin. “Good. I never stopped.”

—

Your body was trembling again.

Not with the sharp, writhing spasms of climax—but the deeper, low-grade tremor of exhaustion.

The kind that came after too many orgasms and too little rest.

Muscles fluttering, breath short, limbs weak. You felt boneless and heavy, like your body had melted halfway into the mattress.

And yet—

Your core still throbbed.

Your nipples still ached.

Your cunt still ached for him.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Bucky sat back on his heels beside you, eyes trailing over your form with something like worship—something like worry.

His hand reached out slowly. Brushed your sweat-slicked hair off your forehead. Pressed a soft kiss there.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice gentling. “You with me, sweetheart?”

You nodded once, eyes glassy. Your throat was too dry to speak right away.

“Breathe for me. C’mon.”

His thumb stroked your cheek.

“You look wrecked.”

“I am…”

Your voice came out hoarse.

“I’m so tired.”

That broke his heart a little—you could see it in the way his brows creased. His jaw clenched like he was trying to talk himself down from his own feral hunger.

“Then let’s stop, okay?” he offered softly. “Let me clean you up, hold you for a bit. You need rest.”

But your hand was already moving.

Shaky, slow—but determined.

You reached between his legs and wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock.

Still hard.

Still thick and flushed and leaking at the tip like he’d never finished.

His breath caught.

“Baby—”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, tears suddenly springing to your lashes.

“Please, don’t stop. I need you.”

He looked stricken.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he murmured. “I don’t wanna take too much.”

“Then be gentle,” you gasped, stroking him slowly.

“But don’t pull away. I need more. I want you again. I want you.”

His restraint cracked like glass.

With a low, ragged sound, Bucky leaned down to kiss you—soft, shaky, like a prayer being answered. He whispered against your lips.

“Tell me when to stop, baby. Or I won’t.”

You nodded.

Wrapped your arms around his neck.

Pulled him into you.

He guided your legs open with reverent hands—watching your face the entire time, watching for any flinch or hesitation. You were sensitive. Sore. Spent.

But not done.

“I love you,” he said quietly, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“So much it hurts.”

You barely had breath left to answer.

“Then have me,” you whispered. “Take what’s already yours.”

His cock slid into you slow—so slow—inch by inch, the stretch deep and aching, but your body welcomed him like he’d never left.

He moaned into your throat.

“Fuck, baby… still so tight. I can feel your pulse around me.”

He moved gently. Just the slow grind of his hips, the full drag of his cock over soaked, sensitive walls. His hand slid under your back, pulling you flush to his chest.

“You tell me when to stop. You hear me?”

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Just keep giving me all of you.”

And so he did.

With every thrust, he kissed you. With every shift of his hips, he whispered your name. His fingers stroked your side, your hip, your waist—every inch of skin he could reach. You shook beneath him, moaning soft and high each time he bottomed out.

“You’re incredible,” he rasped. “You’re still taking me like it’s the first time. My perfect girl.”

Your orgasm crept in like fog, soft and wet and overwhelming.

You came with a shuddered cry, barely able to hold him, but your body squeezed around him tight—fluttering, spasming, claiming him all over again.

“That's my girl,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So fucking good for me.”

And then he followed—hips stuttering, forehead pressed to yours as he groaned your name like a benediction. His cock throbbed deep inside, spilling more warmth into the mess already flooding between your legs.

He collapsed next to you, immediately pulling you into his arms. Your body was trembling. His thumb stroked your cheek.

“No more unless you ask,” he murmured against your hair.

“I’ll only give you what you want.”

—

The sky was beginning to lighten.

A dusky indigo bled into grey, softening the skyline behind the Watchtower’s windows. But inside the room, time was a blur of candlelight, heat, and the thick, dizzying scent of sweat and sex.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d fully caught your breath.

Your whole body felt glass-thin. Shivering. Sensitive. The sheets clung to your skin with sweat, and your legs barely worked. But the ache was still there. Nestled low. Pulsing. It didn’t fade.

Bucky’s palm slid over your thigh—soft, slow, as if testing your response.

His voice came a moment later, raspy and hesitant. “Sweetheart… we can stop. You need rest. I can wait.”

But you turned to him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Your fingers found his, laced through them.

“I want more,” you whispered. “Please… take me there.”

He exhaled like you’d just saved his life.

Guiding you gently toward the windows—your legs shaky, but moving—he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “I’ll be gentle. Just let me see you.”

The whole room swam around you, golden in candlelight and glimmering sweat.

The skyline stretched before you. Towering buildings, distant lights. No eyes. Just your reflection—flushed, ruined, hair damp and tangled across your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Bucky exhaled when he saw you.

“Look at yourself, baby. Look what I’ve done to you.”

You braced your palms against the cool glass, breasts pressing to it as your body arched. The contrast of heat and chill made you gasp. Bucky moved in behind you, spreading your thighs with his knee. One hand on your hip. The other wrapped around his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds.

“Still dripping,” he muttered. “Even now. Jesus, you never stop, do you?”

“I need it,” you whispered. “Still need you.”

He didn’t make you wait.

Not this time.

He slid into you with one deep, brutal thrust—your bodies colliding with a smack so loud it echoed off the glass. Your moan fogged the window instantly, your hands flattening harder against it.

“Bucky—fuck—”

He set a hard rhythm, pulling your hips back to meet every thrust, the wet sound of your bodies filling the room. You could barely stand, legs shaking, forehead pressed to the glass.

“That’s it. Just like that,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect like this. My girl. My pussy.”

His hand slid around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding. His mouth hovered by your ear.

“You were made for me,” he said. “Fucking built for this.”

“Harder,” you begged. “Please—please don’t stop.”

“Look at your reflection,” he rasped. “Look how good you look. Look how you’re taking me.”

You opened your eyes—and the sight of yourself, cock-stuffed, sweat-slick, wild-eyed, flushed and wrecked against the window, nearly sent you over the edge.

He thrust harder. Faster. Your thighs trembled violently.

“Gonna come,” you sobbed. “Can’t—Bucky—I can’t hold it—”

“Then don’t,” he growled. “Come for me, baby. Come with the whole fucking city watching.”

You shattered.

Legs giving out.

A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm slammed through you like lightning. Your vision blurred. Your body buckled. Bucky caught you before you hit the ground—arm locking around your waist as he kept moving, groaning into your neck.

“Fuck—fuck—gonna fill you again—”

His hips snapped hard, once, twice—and then he came with a guttural sound, spilling inside you with a heat that pushed out around the edges. His head dropped to your shoulder, body shuddering as he emptied himself again.

You stood there for a long time—pressed to the glass, panting, twitching. Your hands limp against the windowpane. Bucky held you like you were breakable.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded faintly.

“Good. ‘Cause we’re not done.”

—

The sun was climbing now.

Pale gold spilled across the Watchtower skyline, casting long streaks of light onto the floor like it was forgiving the sins you were still committing.

Your whole body ached—but not in the way that begged for rest.

It was a deep, needy pulse. Faint, but still there. A hunger that wouldn’t let go.

You stumbled barefoot into the kitchenette, still bare, still slick between your thighs, wearing nothing but Bucky’s hickeys. Your hair was tangled. Your lips were swollen. Your legs trembled with every step.

Your hand landed on a protein bar. You peeled it open with shaking fingers and leaned on the counter for support.

“You better be looking for food,” you said over your shoulder, breathless and hoarse.

You heard the footsteps.

But they didn’t head for the fridge.

Bucky’s body pressed into you from behind—solid, burning hot, and still hard. He slid one arm around your waist, the other reaching up to gently move your hair aside so he could press a kiss to your neck.

“I am hungry,” he rasped, his voice low and feral.

“Just not for that.”

“Bucky,” you groaned, half-laughing, half-destroyed. “I can’t even feel my legs—”

“Good,” he whispered. “You don’t need ‘em.”

Before you could blink, he bent you over the kitchen island.

Your palms slapped down on the cold countertop, and you gasped as your bare nipples brushed the smooth marble.

You didn’t even get the chance to speak.

He lined himself up and pushed in fast—no prep, no warning, just the slick glide of his cock stretching you open again, sliding back into your wrecked body like it was home.

“Fuck, Bucky—!”

“Still so wet,” he growled behind you.

“Still squeezing me like you want more.”

His hands slid to your hips, gripping tight, pulling you back against him with every hard thrust.

This wasn’t slow.

This wasn’t tender.

It was filthy, frantic, barely-in-control fucking. Not because he didn’t care—but because he still needed you that badly.

The sound of skin slapping echoed in the tiny space. The sticky squelch of your soaked cunt taking him again and again filled the air. Your moans bounced off stainless steel and tiled walls.

You dropped your head onto your forearm.

“We… already did this—eight times,” you whimpered.

“I know,” he growled, fucking into you deeper.

“And you’re still fuckin’ perfect. Still taking it all.”

“You’re gonna kill me—”

“Then what a fucking way to go, sweetheart.”

He slid a hand around your front, fingers seeking out your clit, stroking with maddening precision. The way he touched you was still worshipful—even in this chaos.

Your whole body clenched.

“You want one more?” he asked, voice thick, rough, hungry.

“You got one more in you for me, doll?”

“Yes—yes—please—just one more—!”

You came hard. Your scream was ragged, echoing through the kitchen, and your knees nearly gave out from the force of it. The overstimulation blurred your vision with white-hot static, but your body still took every inch of him.

Bucky groaned deep and low, hips jerking as he spilled inside you one last time—his cock pulsing, his chest pressed to your back as he moaned your name like a blessing.

He didn’t sag against you. Didn’t drop.

He stayed upright, body still buzzing, cock still twitching inside you. You could feel him—full, ready again. You were the one shaking. Not him.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered. “You’re still hard.”

“Told you,” he murmured, breath warm against your ear.

“I could do this for days.”

“James…”

He slid his arms around your waist from behind and pulled you upright, holding you there with his cock still buried deep.

“I’ll stop if you need me to,” he whispered.

“Just say the word.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, heart thudding weakly.

“…I think my soul already came twice.”

Bucky laughed softly. Kissed the crown of your head.

“Rest, baby. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Hard as a fucking rock.”

—

You didn’t know what time it was when you finally woke.

Only that the light outside was warmer. Honey-gold, slipping through the windows in slow streaks. The world felt distant. Blurry. But the weight behind you wasn’t.

Bucky’s arm was still around your waist, his chest pressed along your back. Warm. Steady. His breath ghosted over the back of your neck in a soft, familiar rhythm.

Your body ached in the best ways—sore thighs, puffy lips, bruised hips—but it was the ache in your chest that hummed the loudest.

You blinked. Shifted slowly.

He stirred.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice still sleep-rough.

“You okay?”

You turned to face him—carefully, slowly—and found his eyes already open, watching you.

“Mhm. Everything hurts,” you whispered. “In a good way.”

Bucky smiled. Just a little. One of those soft, private smiles he saved for no one but you.

“Told you I’d wreck you.”

“You did. Multiple times.”

He chuckled, then leaned forward to kiss you.

No tongue. No hunger. Just warmth. Lips brushing yours with slow reverence, like he was re-learning your taste now that the storm had passed.

You melted into it.

Pressed your forehead to his.

His fingers traced lazy lines across your spine, slow and aimless.

“Missed this,” he whispered. “Missed you.”

You whispered it back. Quiet. Honest.

Then let the silence settle over you both for a while—safe, sacred, slow.

Eventually, after a second nap and a shower where no one tried to fuck anyone against the tiles (God bless you), you both managed to drag yourselves into clothes and make your way toward the common area.

Bucky wore a black tee and gray sweatpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. You were in a loose hoodie and biker shorts—though judging by the soreness between your thighs, sitting might be a challenge.

His arm was around your waist the whole walk.

Your legs still wobbled slightly, and he adjusted his pace to match yours. Not a word about it. Just his warm palm pressing steady against your hipbone like a grounding wire.

—

The squad was already gathered around the Watchtower’s long dining table.

It was pasta night.

Yelena sat at the end, spooning pesto onto her plate with war-like intensity. Ava nursed a glass of wine. Bob looked half-asleep. Alexei was double-fisting garlic bread.

John Walker looked up the moment you stepped into view.

“Oh look,” he said dryly. “It lives.”

You flipped him off without stopping.

“Someone got their back blown out,” Ava added sweetly, raising her glass.

“We heard everything,” Alexei boomed. “Whole floor shook.”

“I had to wear my noise-canceling headphones,” Bob mumbled, half amused, half scarred.

Yelena didn’t even look up from her plate.

“I placed eight rounds in the pool. I win. Pay up, losers.”

You covered your face with your hands.

Bucky didn’t blink.

Just leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear, voice low and smug.

“We could’ve made it nine.”

You choked on your wine, burst out laughing, and slapped his chest as he grinned like the devil himself.

And when his hand slipped onto your thigh under the table—warm, firm, possessive—you didn’t move it.

You just smiled.

And yeah…

You weren’t done.

💜 @iamthatonefangirl @sonja-blayde

[fairlyang]

watching itsv I miss the hype of atsv SOOOO badly

[fairlyang]

Breaking news! Fic author starts writing a fic thinking it will be short and it turns out to be long! It is not the first time nor will it be the last!

[fairlyang]

I’ll be back to writing next week THANK GOD

[fairlyang]

haven’t had the time to write and I’m scared my writing energy will be gone once I can😭

[fairlyang]

nsfw | prone bone 🫩 (chubby! fem! reader coded)

your favs putting you into prone bone 😛

(a/n) : Hi… I’ve been gone for a moment. I had to disappear for a minute because I've been a little depressed, but I'm okay now! School has been challenging (in the financial side of things) along with personal things going on. But I promise, I'm okay!

dedicated to @bluesidez @lazyjellyfish300 @fairlyang @opaloharas 🩷🩷

After partaking in long missions away from home, he loves being inside you 🫩. It is no secret that he awaited his return into your arms and legs. He can feel how greedy your silken walls grip around him. “Don’t move,” Is the only demand that escapes his lips. He can feel you moving with him before he greedily shoves your face against the soft mattress of your bed.

He is big — sometimes, it is too much to take in certain angles and motions. The one that pours all of your noises from your lips is where you lie flat on your tummy, his arms caging you within your will.

Your breath dampens the duvet, a single strand of saliva seeping from the corner of your lips. His thumb firmly wipes the saliva from the corner of your lips before lathering the single droplet against your plush bottom lip. You flick your tongue against the pad of his thumb, coating his tan skin with a thin layer of saliva.

You meekly plead his name, ready to plead your case of missing the man above you. “Shhh,” He quietly eases you, his thumb moving away from your face. “You’re doing so good.” His hushed words vibrate your ear canal, the mere vibrations of his praises spreading through your body and seeping out of your skin.

His movements are sloppy, erratic, and desperate.

Desperate for you, you only.

He rolls his hips, the push of friction sucking the air out of your lungs. His comforting words are muffled, the focus of release blurring them out. You push, he pulls, a practiced dance performed in the twilight of ecstasy.

Carlos Oliveria, Miguel O’Hara, Sylus, Nanami Kento, any fav character that comes to mind asjzkencld

[fairlyang]

need him badddd

imma unlock him and write for him bc I love him sm-

like I had a wip from two years ago that has just collected dust😭💔

[fairlyang]

that’s so long😞😞😞 I WANNA SEE MY MANNNNN

BRING HIM TO ME ALIVE