#(so yeah! just do you and enjoy what you love ^^)

[flofaiiry]

Washington's Finest — Bucky Barnes x Reader

SUMMARY: Congressman Barnes has heard the stories from his colleagues on committee, he knows the stereotype that politicians in Washington often hire women to pursue their extracurricular activities- but he never expected to be the one to be in the need of such... services, much less the kind of man who'd actually seek them out

WARNINGS: fem!reader, reader is a sex worker (referred to as a call girl & hooker), age gap (reader is in law school so mid/late twenties), reader's parents are dead, most likely incorrect info about nda's & how they're used, swearing, probably an overuse of italics oopsie, so much kissing, breast&nipple play, oral f!receiving, reader attempts to fake an orgasm (spoiler it does not work), fingering, mentions of masturbation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, bucky is kind of condescending, teeny bit of dacryphilia, big dick!bucky, little bit of manhandling, unprotected p in v sex (don't do that!!!), creampie. not proofread!!!

WC: ~7k

NOTE: sorry to all my Pitt & Shawn Hatosy followers that this isn’t your regularly scheduled content, I just got this idea after watching one too many Bucky edits and had to write it !!!😁😁 also I apologize if I portray sex workers in a negative light at all, that is not my intention at all!! I heavily based reader on Laurie from The West Wing, which is admittedly a pretty old show, but I tried my best & I hope you enjoy!!!

Bucky, the junior congressman from New York, knows the reputation that politicians have cultivated. He knows the stereotype of the dead-beat husband who steps out on his wife with a prostitute when he's in D.C., then acts all lovey dovey back in the home state.

He thought since he was single, he could avoid this dilemma. This career ending adultery and solicitation scandal that so many before him had walked into. He thought that he could find some girl to take home at a bar and get his rocks off that way, but that proved to be a harder task than he thought. Everyone in D.C., knew him. Everyone in Brooklyn knew him. Everyone everywhere knew him.

It was nice at first, but now it was starting to get annoying.

Fucking his fist in the shower quelled off the physical urges- and even that was starting to lose its efficacy. But what getting himself off didn't satisfy were his mental and emotional needs. The need to be seen, to be felt, to be touched, to be loved. Bucky wanted that.

But he wasn't going to get it anywhere in this town- or this country for that matter.

He'd heard enough stories through hushed conversations outside committee rooms & caucuses to know that Washington's Finest was the best, most reliable high end escort service in DC. The preferred choice for most politicians on Capitol Hill who dabbled in the art of the extramarital affair.

So, one afternoon when he was feeling especially in need- he made the call.

"Washington's Finest, you've reached Elena, how may I direct your call? The woman's voice is sweet and almost robotic sounding. Bucky isn't sure if it's actually a real person or one of those automated recordings until it starts speaking unprompted.

"Hello?"

He clears his throat, "Yeah. Hi. Um- booking."

Elena makes a little sound of acknowledgement before speaking again, "Alright sir, your call is being transferred, I'm going to place you on a brief hold, please stay on the line!"

As soon as she finishes talking, a smooth jazz music floods through the phone and into Bucky's ear. It's nice, familiar. Just as he thinks he might recognize the song, he's met with another woman's voice.

"Good evening this is Washington's Finest, you've reached booking! I'm Paulina how may I assist you?" She speaks, that same sort of uncanniness present in her tone.

"Hi. Yeah, uh I'd like to book- I guess."

"Great! Well then you're in the right place, may I just get a name to make the reservation?"

He hesitates, wondering if he should give his real name. Paulina seems to notice this.

"It doesn't have to be your name, sir. Just any name that we can refer to you by for the booking."

He doesn't say anything. Paulina fills the silence again.

"Rest assured sir, we deal with many high profile customers, our privacy policies are top notch to ensure that your proclivities are kept-"

"Steve." He blurts.

"I'm sorry?"

"Steve. My name is Steve."

Why he just offered the name of his best friend? He doesn't know. But at the moment it's the only name coming to mind so it's gonna have to do.

The woman on the other end smiles almost audibly.

"Alright then, Steve. What service would you like to book with us?"

"Shit, I uh- I don't know. What... services do you have?"

There's a ruffling of papers, a click of a mouse, then her voice again. "We offer three main packages: the One Night, the Weekend Getaway and the Week Long All-Inclusive. Many first-time customers choose to start with the One Night, helps them to find a girl they connect with to book longer services with in the future."

Bucky nods, then remembers she can't see him. "Right. Okay, sure, yeah- the One Night sounds good, let's do that."

"Great! Sounds good, let's get you all reserved - when were you thinking to book your service?"

"I, um- whenever?"

"How about tonight?" She asks, tapping away almost violently at the computer.

He nods, once, twice- like he's trying to convince himself to go through with this. To stoop down to a level he swore he'd never reach. "You know what- sure, let's do tonight."

Paulina continues with the booking, going over various policies regarding payment and acceptable conduct with the girl he books. Then, she gets to the names. There are three girls with availability tonight:

Anya.

Peggy.

And you.

Peggy's out immediately- way too much baggage associated with that name. He eliminates Anya next, sounds too harsh to him.

Leaving him with you. A girl with a name that rolls of the tongue, who will be showing up at his brownstone in a little over three hours

You get the call a few minutes after Bucky hangs up, Paulina tells you that someone named Steve has requested your company tonight, and you're to attend an address in Alexandria at 9pm sharp.

You get ready as usual, wondering if this Steve will be another senator or congressman stepping out on his wife- citing the 'stress of the job,' for pushing them apart, or if he'll be some rich old guy with nothing better to do with his money, or maybe- a secret third option. What that is, you're not sure yet- but a girl can dream, can't she?

Either way- the routine never strays. Makeup, hair, lingerie under an unassuming outfit (men love it when they get to feel like they're unwrapping you). You're out the door by 8:30 and catch the bus to the address sitting in your email.

You get there a few minutes early, so you sit on a bench a few doors down until your phone reads 8:59PM. Then you start down the street to your assigned place of business.

You climb the steps then knock on the door a few times. A second later the door's swinging open. You recognize the face from the news, and from the museum, the former World War 2 hero turned Congressman.

Bucky Barnes.

Not Steve.

You weren't surprised. Didn't feel catfished. 90% of the time the name you're given isn't legit, but one given by the customer to maintain certain degrees of separation.

"Congressman Barnes," you say, nodding your head slightly to greet him.

He says your name in the same tone, but different- like it's more foreign to him. "Please, call me Bucky." He half smiles, stepping aside in the doorway though still terribly unsure of himself.

"Bucky," you repeat, stepping into the house through the open space next to him. "This is a nice place," you hum, kicking off your shoes while he shuts the door behind you. "Thanks," he replies.

"You want something to drink?" He asks, beckoning you to follow him into the kitchen. You do. "Oh, just water is fine, thanks. And ice if you've got."

He nods, filing your preference away then walking over to the fridge to pull out a pitcher, then a cupboard for a glass.

"So," you say, walking around to the opposite side of the kitchen island as him, "what got you calling up Washington's Finest?" He shrugs, sliding a glass full of ice water to you. You mouth a thanks before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip.

"What's anyone looking for when they order a hooker." He says, blunt as ever. You almost choke on the drink, setting it down with a thunk before coughing the water from your windpipe.

"Sorry- is that not what you're called?"

You shake your head, "no, I mean- hooker's not wrong it's just, we prefer call girl. Evokes a nicer image."

"Right. Call girl." He repeats, nodding his head.

You take one more sip, washing down any stuck remnants of liquid from your earlier near-asphyxiation. "So sex?"

"I'm sorry?" He asks.

"That's what most people are looking for when they order a hooker." You repeat his words back to him, earning a smile from the man. He nods, "can't argue with that logic."

He still hasn't answered your question.

"So... sex?" You try again

He coughs, like he was caught off guard. "Yeah, sure. I guess."

He says the words like they're true, but the look in his eyes says they're anything but.

"Right, okay." You reach into your purse and pull out a thin stack of folded paper. “Got a pen?” You ask, setting them both down on the counter: one in front of you, the other in front of Bucky. He quirks an eyebrow, “yeah,” then opens a drawer to retrieve one, “what’s this?”

“NDA,” you say plainly. He scoffs, “I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head, “it’s nothing personal, just company policy.” You reach into your bag once more to take out your own pen, “it’s to cover both of our asses.”

He follows your lead, signing his name on the various lines and not bothering to read all the legal jargon. “Both our asses?” He questions, crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s.

You nod, not once looking up from the page. “Mhmm, that way if I get drunk and start blabbing about all the congressmen I’ve slept with and your name comes up, then you can sue or whatever.”

He watches as you flourish the pen along the paper, marking your name and initials down, then meets your eyes when you slide the forms away. His brows are furrowed, “you get drunk and run your mouth a lot?” He asks, tone half joking.

You smile, “I don’t, but some of the other girls aren’t as careful, like to brag about their customers ‘n such.” He hums, sliding his own papers forward to stack on top of yours.

“You good? Ready?” You ask, putting your pen and the papers back in your bag. Bucky replies with a borderline shaky sigh. You squint, not normally the reaction you get from customers. “Everything okay?”

He nods, slow and unsure. “How does this work exactly? Do we just… start?” You shrug. “It can work however you want it to work. We can do whatever you want to do.”

“What if I want to just… talk first.”

His behaviour is a refreshing contrast to the men you normally deal with- their minds are set on getting your clothes off the second you walk through the door.

“That’s fine,” you smile, “we can talk.”

He nods and exhales, like a weight’s just come off his shoulders. “So,” you start, “what do you want to talk about?”

“Right,” he says, like he forgot that having a conversation would require actual talking.

“Um. What got you into…” he trails off, looking for the right words, “this line of work.”

You laugh, “oh this is not my dream job, believe me. I’m just doing this to get through law school, only got one year left. I’m getting out of this business the second I pass the Bar.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, he clearly wasn’t expecting that answer. “Wow, law school. You go to GW?” You shake your head, “Georgetown.”

“Damn. They've got a good program over there.”

“I know,” you nod, “and expensive.”

“Ah,” he mouths, “hence the…” he gestures between the both of you, referring to the situation at hand.

“Exactly.”

“Parents can’t afford to help you out a little?”

You shake your head, “it’s not that they can’t afford it, they-” you stop yourself with a sigh. Any other customer would get a rehearsed answer about why you’re in this business, but any other customer wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place. “My parents died a few years ago, bank gave me a hard time with the inheritance — not that it was a whole lot, and there wasn’t very much left over after I paid off their house & some debts.”

He gives you a sympathetic look, the same one everyone gives after you drop the dead parents bomb. You give him a look that brushes off whatever empathetic sentiment he's conjuring up before he can say it. You shrug, “wanted to go to law school, couldn’t afford it, found a way to afford it. That’s all it is.”

He still doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking into your eyes like they’ve got some answer he’s been looking for all his life.

“I’m not proud of it,” you add, starting to rationalize and he quickly starts to shake his head.

“Oh, I didn't mean to imply that you should be ashamed or anything- I mean, fuck I’m the one who- I don't know, hired you? if anything I should be ashamed.”

You huff, “don’t be, you’re... different.”

Bucky smiles at that. “Different?”

“Yeah, most other customers have one thing and one thing only on their mind when I’m around but,” you shrug, “I don’t know, you don’t? I guess? You care about more than just the sex, I mean. At least I think you do. I hope you do."

You add the last part under your breath- you're not even sure why you add it- you know better than to feel anything more than a tolerance for one of your customers.

“Call me old fashioned, I guess.” He jokes. Some of his nerves appear to slough off when you laugh.

“Yeah, something like that,” you reply.

The room falls into a sort of silence, coming about after your laughter fizzles out. It's not awkward though, just like you're both weighing the options of what to say next.

"How about you?" You fill the air with your voice, the question catches Bucky off guard. "What about me?" he answers.

"Why Congress?" You shrug, "being in the history book once isn't enough for you?" It's teasing, but the question behind it still stands: why politics?

He raises his eye brows, bringing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Okay. Calling me an attention seeker?"

You tilt your head, "most of you are. I don't know why else anyone would chose a job where your employer is the fucking general population."

"First of all," he starts, corner of his lip raising in a challenging smirk, "they're called constituents- I work for the great people of Brooklyn, thank you very much."

You laugh, "right, right, constituents. I ask again, why spend your life doing such... thankless work? I'm telling you, 90% of these congressmen & senators have some small dick insecurity or something and need some big, powerful job title to make up for it."

Bucky scoffs, taking a few steps around the kitchen island to stand beside you now, you turn to face him, leaning your side against the countertop.

"Well, I definitely don't have that problem," he says, leaning in close against your ear. His voice sends a pulse down your spine that's received between your legs- husky and low.

He pulls away from you and spots the way your eyes had fluttered just barely shut in response to his breath against your skin. You blink- once, twice- trying to adjust to his new proximity to you. "I guess I had just spent enough of my life hurting people, and I wanted what life I have left to be spent helping 'em instead." He mutters the words, searching through your eyes like he lost something in them and if he looks hard enough he'll find it.

Then his eyes flick down to your lips, for a split second- like he's wondering if he should kiss you or not. But when he shifts just marginally away from you- it seems like he's decided against it. Your breath catches in your throat when he shifts, a jolt of borderline disappointment passing through you.

"Kiss me."

The words leave you before your better judgement can tell you otherwise. He wasn't expecting that.

"What?"

You swallow. "Kiss me," you repeat- more sure this time.

"Kiss you?" He asks like he's trying to make 100% sure he heard you right.

You nod once. "Kiss me. Please."

Bucky absorbs the words, then brings a hand up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. He drags his fingers down your jaw, before cradling his hand there at the nape of your neck. His calloused fingertips sit just at the back of your head, then he presses them into your skin and draws you towards him. He pulls you in until your lips are just barely brushing against his.

His lips are dry- not chapped, not rough- but dry like they're looking for something to quench their thirst. They're a stark contrast to your own, meticulously glossed over in that perfect shade that brings out your eyes just right.

Then he kisses you- finally, he kisses you. It's painfully soft, and you're immediately craving more. You bring your own hand up to the side of his face, tangling your fingers into his chocolate brown hair as you deepen the kiss.

He hums into your mouth as his eyes fall shut, and brings his other hand- the metal one- to your waist, pulling your body flush against him. You thought it'd feel harsh, mechanical even, but somehow his touch still manages to be soft.

Suddenly all you can think about is what those fingers would feel like inside of you.

You take your other hand up to the other side of his face, pulling him impossibly closer to you, taking a deep inhale when you do. The air you bring in is mix of second hand smoke and vintage cologne, it's undeniably him.

That snaps the last strand of Bucky's control, the last little thread that had him holding on to any chivalrous sense of decency. He's desperate for you. He thought he was in need of connection- of touch, but the second you walked in his door?

He needed you.

More than he'd ever needed anything else before.

He travels both of his hands down to the backs of your thighs, and picks you up in one seamless motion. You're shocked at his strength at first, but them remember who you're dealing with: Bucky Barnes, former Winter Soldier- he could probably throw you around like it was nothing if he wanted to.

And God, you really hope he wants to.

You wrap your legs around his waist once he's lifted you, and he starts to maneuver you through his house. Walking masterfully through the expanse of hallways within the brownstone without breaking away from the kiss for so much as a breath.

He pushes the door open with your back, taking one hand from under you to flick on the lamp just enough so he can see where the bed is. The dark orange light from the fixture floods the room, bouncing off every available surface & enveloping your bodies in an auburn blanket of warmth.

He lowers you down onto the bed with ease and crawls over top of you. He presses one last firm kiss against your lips before pulling away. His breathing is heavy and ragged, and you can't help but notice the faint blush on his cheeks when you open your eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" He asks, his tone serious, "I know it's your job to say yes, but- do you want this?" If you say no he'd stop, of course he would, but right now he is praying to every higher power that you'll say yes.

No customer had ever asked you that before- asked the woman beneath the call girl what she wanted. And even if they did- it always came with the silent expectation that despite whatever you might want to say deep down, the answer would always be yes.

You nod, still breathless from the exchange earlier- but that's not enough for Bucky. "Words," he whispers, ducking his head down to the crook of your neck. "Tell me you want this, want me," he says, words muffled against your skin as he kisses it softly.

"Want this," you say, still nodding furiously, "want you."

He groans against your neck, raw and desperate. The vibrations ricochet down your body, landing with a throb between your thighs.

Bucky roams his hands down your body, and slides them under your shirt, splaying his fingers against your stomach. One hand's warm, inviting, sultry. The other- cool and unnaturally smooth. But both are soft, and the juxtaposing sensations makes you squirm.

"Fuck, you are so beautiful," he mumbles, tugging at the hem of your shirt then pulling it up over your head. You raise your arms to allow him to slide it off of you, leaving your chest covered with just the skimpy black lace bra you picked out before you left.

He travels his kisses along your neck, down to your collarbone, and across to the top of your ribcage. He moves down your chest, following along the geography of your sternum until his face is buried between your breasts.

One of his hands comes up to cup over the material, inner knuckle of his thumb brushing perfectly across your nipple. You gasp at the new contact, desperate to feel more of him- everywhere.

That sound only encourages him, emboldens him, and before you know it he's tucked his fingers underneath the thin material and is ripping the bra in half at the front seam. He pushes it aside and you shrug off the straps.

This bra was in your all star rotation- it was by far the most flattering one you owned. You should be upset, should scold him with something along the lines of making him buy you a new one, but right now you could not care less about that.

You're yanked from your train of thought when you feel Bucky's lips close around your nipple. His tongue swirling around the bud and teeth grazing it ever so gently. You arch your back, heaving your chest against him by consequence

He brings his hand to your unattended breast, squeezing and grasping at the flesh in just the right spots before pinching at that nipple.

“Please, Bucky,” you whimper, rolling your head back into his mattress while your fingers tug at his long dark strands of hair.

You feel him smirk against your chest, before he picks back up his head and slots his lips onto yours again. “Wanna taste you,” he says through kissing you, “can I?”

“You don’t have to, I’m-“

“I want to,” he cuts you off, “please?”

You nod, slow- but incredibly sure.

“O- okay. Yeah. Sure,” you breathe.

He smiles- like really smiles, then kisses you again1 before descending once more down your body. He leaves wet open mouthed kisses down the expanse of your chest and torso, hands working on undoing the clasp of your pants so he can push them off once he reaches the waistband.

He tosses the garment haphazardly somewhere in the room, before hooking his fingers through the band of your panties.

“This okay?” He asks, eyes hooded with lust as he looks up at you for your consent.

You nod- pathetically quick. “Yes. Please.”

The ends of his lips quirk upwards as he pulls the thin lacy material from your legs. It’s too slow- painfully slow. You wish he’d rip them off like he did with the bra.

Once they’re off, Bucky kneels on the floor in front of you, and hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed. He presses his lips to your clit, leaving a tender kiss over it, before licking a long steep stripe up your slit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, hands finding his hair again like there’s some kind of magnet drawing them there. You pull his face against your cunt, forcing his tongue into your hole and knocking his nose against your clit.

“Oh my god,” you moan, arching your hips off the bed and even further into him before he plants you by the hips back into the mattress. He delves his tongue inside you, prodding eagerly through your slick and fucking it in and out of you.

It feels good- feels so good- but it’s not enough.

Your instinct takes over though, months of experience in appeasing men and making them think they’re bringing you to the edge to stroke their ego.

You tone up the moans, raising your volume and repeating Bucky’s name like a mantra. All things to signal that you’re getting close. Your tugs at his hair turn to pulls, thighs pressing around his head, as you lean into the act of an impending orgasm.

It’s not that you didn’t think he could get you there- it’s that you didn’t want him to wait.

“Fuck, Bucky- ‘m gonna cum,” you whine, squirming under him relentlessly. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps lapping at your cunt with his tongue.

“Shit- I- fuck, I'm coming, Bucky I'm-" you cut yourself off with a pornographic moan. One perfected through numerous uses, it's always believable. Always makes the man feel good about himself that he 'made a woman cum.'

Bucky doesn't buy it though. Not for a second.

"No you're not," he says, voice stern and words getting muffled against your pussy. The stubble lining his jaw scrapes at your inner thighs when he speaks.

"Does this not work for you?" He asks, pulling away from you and caressing your thighs. You shake your head, "no- I'm sorry it's not that, I just- it doesn't matter if I feel good or not. You're the customer." You prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at him.

His hair is disheveled from your hands being rooted in it, his chin and lips coated with your slick.

"Who the hell told you that?"

You shrug, "just common sense I thought."

He scoffs, "yeah well fuck that. Tell me what you want me to do. What you need me to do to get you there- for real."

"To be honest- I don't really know," you start.

Bucky cocks an eyebrow, "you don't know?"

You shrug again.

He sits back on his heels, sigh heaving from his chest. "Well, how 'bout this- when you touch yourself, what do you do that makes you cum?" The question's awkward, but for some reason you don't feel opposed to answering.

He traces his vibranium fingers up and down your inner thigh. The cool metal makes your muscles tense. "I want to make you feel good," he says, "but I can't do that if you don't tell me how to go about doing it."

You release a shaky exhale before you speak.

"I need something... inside."

Bucky smirks, "yeah? What's something?"

You shrug, "anything, really. Fingers, toy, dick."

He laughs at that, shaking his head before looking back up at you and leaning back in.

"Well how about," he starts, voice dangerously slow and fingers inching back towards your core, "I give you my fingers now, make you cum on those 'n get you all stretched out for me... Then, I give you the other thing."

You swallow hard, the anticipation building like a knot in your chest.

"Deal?" He asks, tip of his index finger brushing right above your clit. Your breath hitches when you nod. He smiles, "good girl. Now let me make you feel good."

And with that he disappears back between your legs.

Bucky wastes no time and gets right back to business. He wraps his lips around your clit like he never left, and pushes one finger into your tight cunt. He watches eagerly for your body's reaction, indulging in the way your head tilts into the mattress and your eyes roll back in the socket.

"That feel good?" He asks, the vibration against your pussy adds a new layer of pleasure. You nod quickly, "yes- fuck, feels good."

"Good," he smirks, adding a second finger into your hole and curling them inside you, then sucking harder at your clit. The moans slipping from your lips this time are angelic- ethereal, Bucky thinks. They're that beautiful because they're real. The sounds are a tangible demonstration of how good he's making you feel.

You don't notice when he adds a third finger, or when he brings his thumb to rub little circles at your clit, your senses are too bombarded with all the other inputs to register those little changes.

What you do notice, however, is how quickly you come tumbling towards the edge this time- the real edge, the brink of orgasm, not the metaphorical one you created to stroke the egos of your other customers.

Bucky notices too. Notices the way that when you're really close, you don't get louder, but get quieter- your jaw dropped open but no sounds to be heard. The way you clamp your eyes shut and grip onto his hair and the duvet for dear life. The way your hips writhe under him, desperately and subconsciously trying to create more friction for yourself.

He notices it all.

But his favourite thing he's noticed thus far, are the pretty noises you make when you do cum. No showy, perfectly defined moans, but little breathy whimpers that bleed into louder cries of his name as your release gushes out around his tongue.

Music to his ears.

"That's it, just like that, good girl," he coaxes, working you through the high. He gets lost in the way you taste, the noises you make- all of it.

What he doesn't notice that you've already come down from your first high, and so he doesn't stop. Just keeps laving at your slit, sucking at your clit and pumping three thick fingers inside your cunt until he's sending you hurdling towards a second orgasm.

"Oh my- fuckingGodBucky," the last words tumble from your lips in a single syllable as you cum again onto Bucky's tongue. He dips his mouth down, lapping up every last drop of your release like it could grant him eternal life.

When he finally pulls away, hands resting on your thighs to stop them from quaking, he sees the wet marks down your cheeks, and the new crystalline beads forming at the corners of your eyes.

He stands up quickly, a little concerned and hovers himself back over you again. "Hey," he speaks, voice soft, "you okay?" He brushes the hair from your face and the tears from your eyes.

All you can do is nod, breathing too heavy to form any words at the moment. After a second you speak, "felt too good." Bucky laughs, "too good? That sounds like a challenge."

You raise your eyebrows before tracing your eyes down his body, settling on the very evident bulge between his legs. "You did promise me something..." You trail, dragging one finger against him through the jeans. He lets out a strangled sigh at the tiniest bit of friction.

You smirk at your effect on him, before tugging him down to press your lips to his. You taste yourself on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth, you should be a little grossed out- but you could not care less.

The only thing on your mind right now is getting him inside of you.

You pull him to lie next to you, then roll yourself on top of him, straddling over his bulge and grinding your cunt against him. You moan into each others mouths, Bucky's hands find your ass, squeezing and groping at the flesh while yours move to the buttons of his shirt. Undoing them greedily- unapologetically eager to see what he looks like with nothing on.

He moves his arms to let you slide the shirt off of him, leaving him in just a white tank top which he sits up slightly to take off. You can't help but gawk when he's finally topless. Your eyes wander shamelessly over the expanse of his chest and you trace your fingers along the grooves of his muscles, lingering on the little scars and marks like you're trying to commit them to memory.

"Kids these days don't learn it's not polite to stare?" He says, snapping you out of the trance-like state his shirtless figure put you in.

You scoff, "what's not polite is looking like this and expecting me not to look." You lean down and press a kiss against his lips, "I'm just a girl. I see pretty abs & arms and I stare." You sit back up, shuffling down his legs to sit over his knees, then bringing your hands to undo the button and zipper on his pants.

He raises an eyebrow, "I have pretty abs and arms?" He asks, bending his knees to let you slide the slacks down and off of his legs. You stop dead in your tracks, fingers hooked into his boxers but not pulling them down yet- not when he just said that.

"You're joking, right?" He doesn't say anything, just stares at you with an amused look plastered onto his face, "Jesus Christ have you ever looked in a mirror, Bucky?" You shake your head through a laugh and finally pull his boxers down to free his cock.

You sigh at the sight of him. He's big- this you could assume from the way he carried himself. The confidence he exuded. The way he acted like he didn't have any physical detriments to compensate for.

But he's kind of- obscenely big.

You lick your lips and sweep your hair behind your ears and out of the way, before ducking down to take him in your mouth- but Bucky stops you before your lips even meet his tip.

"Not tonight," he says, "another time."

You raise an eyebrow, "another time?" He smirks, then pulls you up for a kiss, "yeah. Another time," he breathes, before pressing his lips to yours. Just from where you're straddling him, you can feel the head of his cock hitting dangerously close to your clit.

"I don't mean to inflate your ego anymore than it already is," you tease, pulling away to look down at him, "but- respectfully- how the fuck am I supposed to fit that inside of me?"

Bucky rolls his eyes playfully, then brings one hand to your hip and the other to wrap around himself, tilting it slightly so it lines up with your entrance. "You can take it. Don't worry." He moves you down by the hip just barely, you gasp when the very first millimeter of his cock prods into your entrance.

"Just take it slow, yeah? Take it slow."

He loosens his grip on your hips, allowing you to take the lead and decide how quickly you want to sink yourself onto him. You nod and plant your hands on his lower abdomen to steady yourself, before slowly- so, so slowly- moving down his length.

The stretch is unlike any you've ever felt before. A string of profanities floods out of your mouth and your head rolls back. Bucky's eyes threaten to close at the feeling of your walls hugging so tight around him, but he keeps them glued on where your bodies meet- watching intently at the way you swallow every inch of him inside of you.

"Just like that," he drawls, sucking in a breath and resisting every urge to buck his hips up and shove himself the rest of the way in.

"Holy shit, Bucky." Your breathing is ragged once you've finally sunk all the way down onto his length. The pads of his fingers are digging into the flesh of your hips, you're sure they'll leave bruises behind but all you can think about right now is how it feels like his cock is about to split you open.

"I know, baby, I know," he stutters, trying to maintain his composure as best he can. "I can't- fuck- too full, I can't," you shake your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes once again.

He pulls you down by the arm, lacing his fingers through yours then kissing you. It's soft, but only for a second. Before you know it he's sliding his tongue in your mouth and rolling you both over so he's on top now. He braces his forearms on either side of your head, and pulls away from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours.

"You want this? Hm?" He pushes a strand of hair from your face, "want me to fuck you?" His tone is cocky, he knows you want him, but he wants to hear you say it.

"Yes, yes- fuck, please," you whimper, still wholly consumed by the feeling of his thick cock inside you. He smirks, "atta girl," he presses one last kiss to your lips- needy and desperate, before drawing his hips back, then slamming them back into you.

You practically scream at his sudden movement, the pleasure and pain of the stretch blending together and making your vision all fuzzy. The pace he sets is slow, but hard. Unrelenting.

Bucky drops his head to the crook of your neck, biting and kissing at your clavicle. Out of the corner of his eye he spots your hand, desperately gripping at the thin linen sheets to ground yourself. He takes it in his, before pulling it to rest on his back. You nails dig in to the musculature almost instantly, summoning a deep groan from within him.

With that same hand, he takes your leg to sit around his waist, pushing himself even deeper inside of you. The new tilt of his cock now knocks perfectly against the spot inside you that has you seeing stars, drilling into it with every thrust.

The room is hot, your bodies sticky with sweat. The only thing you can hear is the sound of Bucky's hips smacking against yours, his breathy grunts in your ear with every rock of his body into yours, and your repetitive cries of his name.

The pleasure is everything. It's all consuming, earth shattering- but somehow it's still not enough.

"Please," you breathe, "need- fuck, go faster."

He picks his head up to look at you, "yeah?"

You nod, desperate- begging. "Need more, please."

Bucky scoffs, "need more?" He repeats- almost mocking you. You just keep nodding. "Well alright then," he grunts, and you can hear the smirk playing across his lips.

His next actions happen in a whirlwind. He pulls himself out of your pussy, coaxing a whine from your throat when you suddenly feel so empty. Then with one strong vibranium arm he's flipping you over, your face smushing into the pillow before you turn your head.

He brings the same hand underneath you, cool metal fingers splaying across your lower belly as he slams all the way back inside you. Your eyes go wide, accompanied by a load moan of his name before they're clamping down shut again.

His new rhythm is cruel. He looks down and watches the ripples of your ass with every thump of his hips into yours. Bucky presses the hand he has under you against your skin, he can literally feel himself sliding in and out of you. Can feel how deep he is inside of you.

"Oh my- God!" You choke out the last word when he pushes on your lower belly, walls immediately clenching around him.

He hisses out a breath, "you wanted this, hm? So take it. Be a good doll and take it."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Bucky 'm gonna cum." Right as the words leave you, all your senses melt into a white hot static as your orgasm rips through your body.

"Yeahhh, atta girl. Just like that- cum on my cock just like that, huh?" His low voice coaches you through it, never once stopping his unrelenting hips against yours.

His hips finally start to stutter, right as his high starts creeping up on him. You can tell from his thrusts getting shallower that he plans on pulling out to finish- while it's the sensible thing to do- it's also the last thing you want him to do.

"Don't," you gasp.

"What?"

"Don't pull out. Wanna feel you, please God, need to feel you."

He wants to ask if you're sure, but before he can form the words he's falling over the edge. He groans your name and shoots his spend deep inside you, marking you- ruining you for anyone else.

Bucky's thrusts into you turn lazy, then coming to a complete halt right before he pulls out of you. One last whimper falls from your lips, your hole feeling both so empty yet so full of him.

"Holy shit," he huffs, sliding his hand from under you and rolling to lie down next to you.

You turn onto your side to look over at him, your eyes still find a way to linger on his chest. Once he cracks his eyes open and sees you ogling him again, he can't help but laugh.

"You've really got quite the staring habit, huh?"

Your lips turn up into a smile, "can't exactly help it."

He shakes his head, letting his eyes fall shut as his breathing finally comes back to a normal pace. The both of you are too tired to say anything, but really- there's nothing that needs to be said.

He wasn't expecting a girl like you to be the one that knocked on his door- nor were you expecting a man like him to answer. Both of you know this was more than just a business exchange. Even though there'd be money deposited in your account after this, it felt different.

This wasn't just a hook up- it was a reckoning.

When Bucky opens his eyes again, there's a different look in them. And when he stares at you, searching through your own eyes for the answer he's been looking for all night- it's like he's finally found it.

He pulls you into him, moving you so that you lay your head on his chest. He presses a kiss into your hair, and traces his hand up and down your shoulder.

Neither of you say anything more, his eyes said it all already- stay.

And you do.

please let me know what you think!!! reblogs & comments mean more than u know!!!

[kxsagi]

hiii can I request the bllk boys reacting to you pregnancy “problems” like weird cravings, hormones going wild and maybe low self esteem?

“𝐡𝐨𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝”

a/n: apologies if this is too short, but i hope it brought some comfort/fluff 🥹

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

the second you cry over a dropped spoon, he’s kneeling on the kitchen floor holding it like he just witnessed a tragedy. 

“it’s okay, love, we’ll get you a new one. a prettier one. a golden one. maybe platinum. do you want it engraved?” 

makes you a snack tray at 3:21 AM after you whispered "i could really go for pickles and whipped cream.” 

tries it with you to make you feel normal. regrets it instantly. “this tastes like ass.” 

when you get emotional over stretch marks, he kisses each one and says, “battle scars from building our tiny legend. you’re beautiful.” 

actually tears up during every OB appointment like “omg that’s our baby. that’s our baby. that’s our baby.” 

itoshi rin

hormonal outbursts? he stands there like a soldier in a war zone. you’re screaming? he's silently offering you water. 

you once yelled "THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” and he nodded and said “you’re right. my bad.” 

he googles every craving. will travel for 40 minutes to get that one specific brand of kiwi yogurt. 

you say, “i feel huge,” and he deadass frowns. “don’t say that. you look good. really good. like ‘pregnancy-glow filter’ good.” 

holds your bump while you sleep. sometimes whispers to it when he thinks you’re not listening. “i’m gonna protect you. and your mom. always.” 

offers his hoodie as a bribe when you cry. “you want my hoodie? it’s soft. i warmed it up for you.” 

itoshi sae

you tell him you’re craving grapes at midnight. he says, “no,” then shows up five minutes later with four different kinds. 

lowkey terrified of your hormones. says the wrong thing once, gets silent treatment, and now triple-checks every sentence. 

“you’re glowing” = safe. 

“you’re big” = instant death. 

he watches your belly move and gasps like he saw god. “that was a kick. i felt a kick. that’s my kid. holy shit.” 

when you cry about your changing body, he gently drapes his jacket over your shoulders and kisses your neck. 

“don’t cry, love. you’re literally growing a whole human. you’re like the final boss of women.” 

kaiser michael

the moment you say you feel unattractive? he does a photo shoot. sets up lighting. poses you. takes 67 pictures. 

“look at this. are you seeing what i’m seeing? mother of my child and also mother of my dreams.” 

goes completely insane over cravings. makes entire menus out of your weird combos. “tonight’s special is hot cheetos dipped in vanilla pudding. chef’s kiss.” 

calls your baby bump “his little heir.” talks to it in german. rubs it like it’s a magic lamp. 

when you start tearing up at a commercial, he climbs into your lap. “if you cry, i cry. we suffer together.” 

kisses every inch of your body while murmuring praises. “you’re perfect. inside, outside, hormonally deranged and all.” 

shidou ryusei

“so what you’re saying is… you want spicy noodles with a side of cookie dough?” 

“yeah.” 

“say no more. i’ll cook it in the kitchen. shirtless. just for you.” 

has zero fear of your mood swings. actually kind of enjoys them. “you gonna cry again, baby? should i grab the tissues or my camera?” 

kisses your swollen ankles and rubs lotion into them while talking to your belly like “you better come out cool, ‘cause your mom’s a goddess.” 

calls your boobs his “pregnancy prize.” you slap him. he says “worth it.” 

says he’s gonna teach your baby how to throw hands if anyone ever makes you cry. 

bachira meguru

you say you’re craving cotton candy and salami? he gets it, but also adds gummy bears and says, “it needed more color.” 

randomly draws cute smiley faces on your belly with eyeliner. “look! it’s our son! happy little guy.” 

emotional? he gets emotional with you. “you’re crying?! then I’M crying!! look at us!!” 

makes up songs about your snatched pregnant body. sings them off-key. 

“she’s glowing, glowing, pregnancy showing, my wife is so fine, she got me goingggg~” 

if you ever say you feel gross or bloated, he gasps like it’s blasphemy. “how dare you insult the QUEEN who made a whole new organ!” 

nagi seishiro

“you want me to get up and go get chips?” 

you pout. 

he’s up in 0.3 seconds. “ugh. fine. for our baby.” 

surprisingly excellent at calming you down when you’re moody. just lays down with you and softly pets your hair like a sleepy cat. 

massages your lower back with one hand and snacks with the other. multitasking king. 

says your pregnancy is “cool” and that your belly makes a good pillow. 

when you start feeling down about how you look, he literally lifts your shirt and plants a kiss on your stomach. 

“you’re perfect. even if you throw a shoe at me later. still perfect.” 

ness alexis

he’s the guy who brings you twelve snacks, three juices, a cooling pad, and a plushie because you sniffled once. 

“she’s growing a whole baby, not just any baby, our baby. she deserves luxury.” 

if your cravings are weird, he tries to “enhance” them with magic. 

“honey, i added a sprinkle of cinnamon on your hot dog. trust the process.” 

draws little stars on your stretch marks and calls them constellations. “you’re the whole galaxy, babe.” 

you get insecure once and he’s writing poetry like “her hips held life. her stomach, strength. her heart, eternal.” 

tells his baby bedtime stories about how their mom is a radiant queen and he’s just her humble jester. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[hoondrop]

Cheetah Hybrid! Jungwon Headcanons

a/n: okay so I may have gotten a tad bit carried away, but I'm not complaining.

1. His heat doesn’t hit hard like wolves or lions, but when it does hit, it’s subtle at first. He grows restless, breathes a little heavier when you're close. And then it spirals.

You're lying on the bed scrolling your phone, and he suddenly crawls over you, pinning your wrists gently.

"Don’t move," he murmurs, voice thick. "Just let me—fuck, I need you right now. Need to feel you wrapped around me, yeah?"

His hips grind against you, fully clothed, but the bulge pressing into your thigh says he's already too far gone. His nose nuzzles against your neck.

"You smell like mine already… but it’s not enough. I want everyone to know. No one gets to have you but me."

2. Cheetah Jungwon has fangs; slight, but sharp. He gets obsessive about leaving his mark, especially where only he gets to see.

He’s got your legs over his shoulders, deep inside you, pace deliberate but rough. His eyes flicker gold when he bites down on the inside of your thigh.

“Mm, look at you. Marked up and dripping for me,” he says, licking over the bite gently. “You like when I leave proof, don’t you?”

You moan, overstimulated, and his tail curls tight around your ankle.

“That’s it. Let them all see you limp tomorrow. Let them ask what happened. Let them know.”

3. He doesn’t like competition. Doesn’t like when someone else thinks they can have what’s his. and neither does he shy away if the moment calls for him to claim you.

Once, after a party where someone flirted too long with you, he didn’t speak all the way home. But as soon as the door closed...

“You let him touch your arm,” he growls, pushing you against the wall. “Should I remind you who you belong to?”

His hand slips between your thighs, already soaked. “Ah… see? Your body remembers. Even if your mind forgets.”

He’ll drag you to the bed, lips on your throat, voice low:

“Let me ruin you tonight. So you won’t even think of anyone else.”

4. He likes control, but not cruelty. He likes seeing you undone again and again, until you’re too wrecked to beg.

You're trembling, already on your third orgasm, and he’s still thrusting; slow, deep, overwhelming.

“Shhh, you're okay. You're taking my cock so well, baby.”

“Feel how good you’re squeezing me? So desperate. So greedy for my babies, hmm?.”

He leans down, licks a tear off your cheek, and kisses your lips softly despite the intensity of the moment.

“Give me one more. You can do that for me, can’t you? my pretty little human... mine to fuck, mine to wreck, mine to love.”

After it’s all over, he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his tail around your waist and purring softly.

“Did I go too hard?”

“No? Good. But I still wanna take care of you. You were perfect.”

He kisses every bruise and bite, runs a damp cloth over your body gently, whispers praises in your ear.

“So sweet. So good for me... I’ll make you feel loved until you forget anyone else ever tried.”

5. Jungwon has a habit of silently slipping into your space; lithe, graceful, predatory in the most affectionate way. You barely notice he’s there until he’s sliding between your arms, nuzzling into your chest like it’s the only place he belongs. His tail twitches behind him as he lets out a low, rumbling purr.

He doesn't even think; he just has to be there. His tongue flicks out to taste the warm skin between your breasts, slow and lazy.

"You smell so good," he mutters, voice hoarse, purr vibrating against your sternum.

6. Licks. So many licks. He's a cheetah-hybrid.. of course he shows affection that way.

You feel his tongue drag slowly across your cleavage, then his lips trail soft, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum.

He hums as if tasting something divine. “You always seem to enjoy this.. is this why you ignore me on purpose?,” he whispers smugly.

7. Once he's nestled between your chest, it’s game over. He refuses to move. He wraps his arms around your waist, tail curling around your thigh, face pressed between your breasts like it’s a pillow.

He purrs like a content kitten, occasionally nipping playfully at the exposed skin. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, possessive but drowsy.

8. What starts as sleepy snuggles quickly turn into slow teasing. Him stroking your back with his tail, his breath warm against your skin, whispering things he knows make you squirm.

His sharp canines graze your collarbone as he murmurs, “You’re so soft... how am I supposed to sleep like this?”

9. His hybrid instincts mean everything is intensified; your scent, your sounds, your touch. Even your breath hitching sends a pulse straight to his lower belly. He can sense when you're ready to be knotted and bred by him.

When you're aroused? He knows before you do. And it drives him absolutely wild.

"You're trying to hide it again," he murmurs, nose brushing your neck. "But your scent gives you away."

10. Jungwon doesn’t play when it comes to what’s his. He’ll leave love bites, claw-like scrapes on your thighs or hips (not enough to hurt. just enough to remind you), and low purring growls as he does it.

“I want you covered in me. No one should look at you without knowing you’re mine.”

11. Between his hybrid nature and his need to taste everything he loves, that tongue is lethal. It’s not just for licking your chest, it’s for slow, torturous drags up your thighs, lazy circles at your pulse points, and teasing flicks behind your ear while he whispers dirty things.

12. When his heat spikes, maybe from your scent, maybe because he’s been away from you too long... he snaps.

His voice drops, his pupils dilate, and everything about him gets more aggressive and primal. He grips your hips tighter, speaks in broken, growled sentences, and doesn’t let up until you’re a breathless mess.

“Need you. Now. Not asking.”

13. Jungwon’s tail isn’t just a cute accessory. It’s alive with nerve endings, sensitive to touch, and very much a part of his mood.

When he’s aroused or possessive? It flicks, coils, and wraps. When you touch it intentionally? He growls.

“Careful. You don’t know what you’re asking for when you grab it like that.

14. When he’s needy or territorial, he loops his tail around your thigh, waist, or wrist — like an instinct to keep you tethered to him.

It’s not just possessive, it’s teasing. His tail caresses your skin, tickling sensitive spots, sometimes slipping beneath the hem of your clothes with a mind of its own.

"It has a mind of its own, you know. But I won’t stop it if you like it…”

15. When cuddling? Innocent. When not cuddling? Very much not innocent. His tail sneaks between your thighs, rubbing softly while he kisses you slow, deep, desperate.

He doesn’t even touch you with his hands, instead sometimes lets his tail do all the teasing while he murmurs filth against your lips.

“Shh… let me see how far you can go with just this…”

[albonoooo]

yeah no.

"that´s called censorship" i am telling people not to act like egregious cunts on the internet (admittedly, in a slightly aggravated tone because at the time i wrote the original post, several fanfic authors i know were being harrassed by people for their writing choices et cetera which is simply rude and now that i recall it, i think my tone actually wasn't aggravated enough). i am urging people to recognise the difference between ao3 and goodreads, a point i will refer to again later, and to realise the direct impact their decision to be mean when they could use their time so much more positively can and probably will have, and to act accordingly. to equate this to, broadly speaking, an active suppression or prohibition of forms of expression shows a concerning misunderstanding of what censorship is on your part because i am in no way infringing upon their ability to do and say whatever the fuck they want. i am simply appealing to them to interact sensibly with fandom and fanfic specifically.

"not 100% of the readers must love the fic" agreed. which is why i wrote "if you come across a fic that you don't enjoy, that's totally fine". however, ao3 and tumblr aren't goodreads (or fable or storygragh, you get the point, i hope). if we were talking about people who's job it is to write stories and be good at it, i would agree that positive and negative feedback alike are valid and should be considered by the author. but we aren't. this is about people who write fanfiction as a hobby, for the love of whatever it is they're writing about and for the joy of sharing it with fellow fans. this does not require a performance review because it is not their job but something they do for fun. i'm baffled by your insistence that shitting all over this, all over people's passions and labour of love, all over their hard work for the sheer delight of it, is appropriate and needed, even.

"there´s nothing wrong with saying you don´t like a fic and leaving a respectful comment saying it" but there is. there is because it is unsolicited. it is completely and utterly unnecessary and unhelpful to tell a fanfic author you didn't like their fic (even more so because people who do this tend to not do it in a "respectful" manner) and in the worst case, it will discourage them from writing and/or sharing their writing again in the future which is always a loss. especially in the context of fandom, there is an important difference between someone sharing their work and asking for criticism and someone sharing their work and just getting criticism they did not ask for. your failure to understand this nuance could be an honest mistake, the way you flaunt this ignorance so loudly and proudly is a conscious decision and an appalling one at that.

"maybe the writer should work on their own self-esteem" be so fucking for real. posting fanfiction takes courage. to brave the blank page and start writing, without formal training, maybe not even in your native language, but out of enjoyment and the urge to exercise your creativity, to craft something and then overcome any insecurities you might have about your work to put it on the internet for all to see and judge is a very vulnerable thing to do. it's a beautiful act of creativity, vulnerability and community. personally, i wish for this practice to be continued and cherished the way it deserves to be. the bare minimum us fanfic readers can do to ensure that is not be rude and adhere to generally accepted etiquette. we can leave kudos and nice comments if we liked a fic or simply not interact and keep any negative opinions to private conversations if we didn't like a fic (note how neither ao3 nor tumblr offer a dislike/downvote button or anything of that nature). i promise you, it's incredibly easy and quite rewarding.

the only instance in which i will not immediately judge and most likely block you for speaking negatively of a fic/a fic writer publically is if they in fact aren't one and have plagiarised or if they have used their fic as a means to perpetrate harmful stereotypes or language.

now frankly, i don't really care if any of this gets through to you specifically. but maybe it'll make it click for someone else. and if not that, at the very least, this might serve as a reminder. i'm not much of a writer myself, but i will not have this kind of ridiculousness being spewed under a post of mine, least of all this one.

decidedly unfriendly reminder that fanfiction is written by real people with real feelings for free in their free time. it's a labour of love and something to cherish. if you come across a fic that you don't enjoy, that's totally fine, but it is your due diligence as a fellow fan and decent human being to click away. leaving mean comments, absurd rating systems or harassing writers in their inbox while hiding behind an anonymous icon is not an acceptable manner to behave in any fandom and online space ever. it's disgustingly entitled, wildly disrespectful and only serves to discourage people from sharing their writing in a community that is meant to be fun and supportive. the next time you read something you don't enjoy, stop reading it and move on with your day. read something you like and leave kudos and a nice comment there instead. have some common sense and don't be a fucking asshole. it's not that fucking difficult.

[cathnospam]

Bakugo loves doing his girlfriend’s hair.

He especially loves it when it’s time to take down your braids/faux locs. He enjoys working with his hands and having you between his legs as a show is on is one of his favorite pastimes.

“Ah…” You groan in relief finally taking out a knot that was in the root of your hair, scratching it like crazy your Blondie notices and takes note for when he takes out a braid as well to scratch the area.

“What are you doing next?” His voice having that same gruffness, but filled with a layer of affection. Genuinely wanting to know so he can prepare to take you to the beauty supply to buy your items.

“I may let my hair rest and do some flexing rod curls.”

“What are ….flexi—-those?” He tried to pronounce it, but failed. You chuckle a little at his error and explain to him, but he still couldn’t quite understand so he went on Pinterest to see. Already imaging the example pictures as you his eyebrows flew up in amusement.

“Oh shit. Fuck yeah do these. You wanna go tomorrow to get the stuff?”

You giggle, “Yes, please. I just need edge control I think.”

Once his dorm floor was filled with synthetic hair you twirl your hands to pick up the remnant and he watches you again.

His curiosity about you always peaked during these times and it was so cute.

“I can just vacuum it y’know.”

“Yes! But not these big pieces of hair, they’ll clump up and ruin your vacuum. Don’t worry I got it.”

After you toss out the hair you look in the mirror at your mini braid out and scratch your hair, when he finishes vacuuming he goes into your drawer to get the detangling brush, shampoo and deep conditioner to wash your hair just like how you showed him.

Scratching and cleaning your scalp, sometimes you feel him brush back your baby hair very gently with just his fingers when he shampoos your hair, your eyes were closed, but you felt his intense stare at you as he does so. You were so beautiful in your natural state. He couldn’t help but sneak in a kiss.

Bakugo loved the intimacy that came with doing your hair. And he loves caring for your hair as well.

[pitchsidestories]

Something so out of the ordinary II Renée Slegers x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1628

summary: Renée and Reader celebrate the UWCL win. requested

author's note: hi, thank you for reading. Your thoughts on the fanfic or even just a quiet “I liked this” mean more than you know. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

It was absolute chaos at the final whistle. You could not believe what you had just witnessed from the sidelines. Arsenal had just won the Women’s Champions League title for the second time, even after such a chaotic season.

You stood there in awe, watching the players celebrate with the fans, hugging each other and holding their family members tight. You blinked away a few tears, moved not only by the success but also by the love this team had for each other. You wiped at your eyes as the team got their medals and lifted the trophy.

Everything still felt like a dream. That was until you were pulled from your position on the sidelines into the celebrating mass of people at once. You let yourself enjoy being part of it for a moment, feeling the wave of exhilaration and excitement crash over you. But then you remembered your job.

You wove your way through the bouncing crowd until you finally reached their coach.

“Renée, the press conference is waiting.”, you called over several heads, pointing at your watch to make sure she understood.

She moved closer to you, so you stood face to face: “Can’t this wait?”

You knew how badly she wanted to stay here with her players, how much effort she had put into this last game. And for a second, it almost tempted you to say yes. But you couldn’t.

“Uhm… no?”, you replied, your voice rising at the end as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“This is a once in a lifetime moment.”, she said, gesturing around herself. There was a quiet weight in her voice when she said it, like she knew just how rare these moments were.

She was so annoyingly charming, you had to fight the urge to kiss her right then and there.

You bit back a smile: “It is. I promise, afterwards you can keep celebrating.”

Renée tilted her head slightly, considering you with a look that always made you feel like she could read you far too well, then nodded and held out her pinky: “Pinky promise?”

“Yes, pinky promise.”, you laughed, linking your finger with hers.

Renée pulled her hand back first and gave you a short nod: “Okay, fine.”

“Thank you,” you replied politely, your gaze lingering on her a moment too long.

“Let’s go.”, Renée said and suddenly grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to react as she cut a path through the mass of players, dragging you along with effortless certainty.

“We don’t have to run!”, you called to her, breathless from jogging and laughing at the same time.

“Yeah, we do.”, Renée replied simply, only starting to slow down once you reached the empty tunnel and casually pulled you into a dark corner.

Her lips were on yours before you could even catch your breath.

“Oh, I see why now.”, you smirked between two kisses.

The moment of togetherness was interrupted by Leah who cleared her throat, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you: “Aren’t you two running late for the press conference?”

“Shh.”, her coach replied, pressing a mischievous finger to her own lips.

A light smile appeared on the defender’s lips: “Just saying.”

“Go mind your own business.”, Renée answered, nodding toward the blonde’s waiting teammates in the background.

The intimate, fleeting moment was gone. The noise returned in full force. Around you, footballers in red jerseys swarmed the room, laughter and movement all around.

An excited Beth shouted: “Yes! Come on, Lee, the party’s in the changing room!”

“Ugh.”, Leah groaned playfully.

Hand in hand, you moved quietly through the bustle toward the press conference room.

Many faces inside there were familiar. Some, you knew, were fans too, their eyes wet, expressions mirroring your own emotions. But you focused on your job, steadying yourself as questions and answers ricocheted across the room.

A relieved sigh escaped your lips as you reached the final line: “Press conference done.”

“Finally.”, Renée stated happily.

You both walked back toward the celebrating players.

“It still feels like a dream.”, you murmured.

Smiling, the Dutch woman nodded: “It does.”

“Y/n, come here!”, Victoria yelled, beaming with joy.

You chuckled, scanning the room for your gear: “Wait, I’ll get my camera.”

“What do you need your camera for?”, Renée asked, holding you gently by the arm, sounding genuinely confused.

Not for the first time, you had to remind her with a soft smile: “To take pictures. It’s my job, in case you forgot.”

From her stories, you knew this world still amazed her, the idea that media work around a women’s football club could be a ‘proper job.’ A decade ago, it hadn’t been. Things had changed quickly: the professionalism, the visibility, the crowds.

Still, you were over ten years younger, and the generational gap had always been something you teased each other about fondly, playfully.

Renée lifted an amused eyebrow: “Oh, is it? I thought your job was to celebrate with me and the team now.”

“I can do it all.”, you reassured her, grinning, your voice full of confidence.

She gave you a challenging look: “Prove it.”

You laughed, heart light, already reaching for your camera, ready to capture the celebrations through your lens, without forgetting to savour the moments with the team who had worked so hard to make this final win against all odds possible.

Victoria wrapped her arms around Renée’s shoulders: “Smoke a cigar with us.”

“No.”, the coach shook her head.

The midfielder persisted: “I mean, not really smoking, just for the picture.”

“Still no.”, she responded, unmoved.

“We can do one.”, Katie offered.

Smirking, you snapped a photo of them as they posed with cigars between their teeth.

“What about you? Why don’t you take a photo with them?”, Renée asked with a grin, handing back the unlit cigar to Katie.

“I will.”, you smirked at her, raising your eyebrows challengingly.

You took the place between the players just as Jess Glynnes voice started to fill the room.

“Give me your camera.”, Renée said.

Reluctantly, you handed it over and posed as she snapped the picture.

Alessia watched from the side and joked: “Are you two switching jobs? Will you be our new coach?”

She grinned brightly at you.

You tilted your head as if considering it, but Kim cut in before you could answer: “Y/n might still be a bit too young for that at 25.”

Then Renée spoke, her voice drawing your attention back to her and you realised that she hadn’t taken her eyes off you.

“She has all the time in the world to decide if she wants to be a coach one day.”, she said, serious but with a warmth in her voice that made your heartbeat faster.

You found yourself wanting to believe every word.

Still, you shrugged casually: “And for now I enjoy the moment. As you all should.”

“Don’t worry, we will.”, Leah assured you with a laugh.

Just as Renée handed the camera back, Beth appeared beside you, taking your hands in hers and bouncing with excitement: “Dance with us!”

You had no choice, you were already being dragged toward the dance floor.

You shot Renée one last apologetic smile.

She just laughed: “Cute.”

Vivianne joined her, eyes fixed on her own girlfriend dancing: “Why don’t you join your girlfriend?”

Renée shook her head: “She’s having fun with the players.”

“That’s true.”, Viv smiled, watching you and Beth bounce around more than dance.

“I don’t want to interrupt.”, Renée added to her previous statement, her eyes soft and a gentle smile playing on her lips.

You returned to her a bit later, breathless and with sweat on your brow but still glowing with excitement.

“Are you leaving? I’m coming with you.”, you said, reaching for any chance to touch her again.

Renée quickly pressed a kiss to your forehead: “You can stay if you want.”

You shook your head, linking arms with her: “No, we agreed to continue tomorrow.”

She smiled and nodded: “That sounds reasonable.”

As you left together, you looked up at her, biting your lip: “But I want to be unreasonable somewhere else.”

 “I’m sure you can also be unreasonable in my hotel room.”, your girlfriend smirked mischievously.

“That’s the plan.”, you replied, grinning.

As the hallway noise faded behind you, both of you drifted into a quieter rhythm.

When Renée opened the door to her room, she glanced at you shyly. ” That’s my favourite part of the night.”, she confessed.

“Mine too.”, you admitted, smiling as she stepped aside to let you in.

You both changed quickly, moving in familiar silence. The linen was cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth you still carried from the evening.

From the window, the lights of Lisbon twinkled like scattered gold, and the soft hush of the waves offered a lullaby only the two of you could hear.

Lying beside you, Renée propped herself up on one elbow, studying you with quiet affection.:“Love?”

“Yes?”, you turned to her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

She closed her eyes briefly, as if to savour the touch: “I’m glad we shared this tonight.”

“Me too.”, you said, your voice low. “It’s a night I’ll remember.”

She let out a slow, contented sigh: “It really is.”

You traced your fingertips along her arm: “We can talk more about it in the morning. But for now...”

Her brow arched in playful suspicion: “For now?”

“Let’s do this instead.”, you whispered, leaning in.

Your lips met in a kiss, slow and certain.

The rest of the night unfolded wordlessly, in quiet touches and shared breath, as the city sparkled outside and the sea whispered just for you.

[kenniesf1]

hi this is so random but i wanted to say love your smaus !! praying you write one for max one day 🙏

omg my first ever request, i'm printing this and putting it on my wall. HERE YOU GO!

the first date | MV1

pairing: max verstappen x pro tennis player!reader

summary: yn has been hinting at going on a first date with a pro athlete for a while and everyone has been speculating on who it is.

cantwithyn

liked by cocogauff, yourbff, and 891,044 others

cantwithyn back to the love of my life!!! so excited for my tennis lineup these upcoming weeks. lots of exciting matches, both to play in and watch 🤗

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user1 omg she's gonna go watch? maybe the french open final?

user2 i PRAY she's there because i'm going 🙈

user1 LUCKYYYYY

simonebiles i love to see talented women 🥰

cantwithyn you must LOVE yourself then 🤩

yourbff your camera roll is 79.6% tennis, 0.4% me and you, and 20% max verstappen

cantwithyn STOP EXPOSING ME WHO LET YOU OUT OF YOUR CAGE

user3 yn is one of us

lindseyvonn i've missed you!!!

cantwithyn come to paris then 😋

user4 omg basically confirming she's going to the french open

benshelton we need to play together

cantwithyn why do you want to lose???

user5 i love that yn's bff just outed her for the max verstappen 💀

user6 lowkey they would be cute together

user7 NAUR im on the yncarlos train

user6 too bad im tagging him maxverstappen1

cantwithyn NO YOU DIDNT

maxverstappen1

liked by yukitsunoda, cantwithyn, and 1,848,902 others

maxverstappen1 Good job in Barcelona this weekend. Team did a good job with the strategy and managing the tires on a difficult circuit. Looking forward to a short break before we hit Canada. Thank you for the support.

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user8 have you heard of yn ln?

user9 bro is matchmaking two people bro doesn't know

georgerussell63 the madrid fans in the comments boutta be mad...

lando beat you next time

maxverstappen1 try me, nowins

lando i have won FIVE times... i think

maxverstappen1 mentally, you're nowins

charles_leclerc so you'll photograph with the barca flag but not the monaco flag

maxverstappen1 you get it

user10 max verstappen is soooo overrated

user11 MAX BEST DRIVER EVER

user12 yall what do you think he's gonna do without a race next weekend

user9 practice lol

pedri great race, amigo

cantwithyn omg

cantwithyn posted a story!

cantwithyn weird to be watching but excited for the french open final!!!! most of you guys knew i'd be here so hats off to you 😉

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user13 honestly what a diva

user14 no one is doing it like yn

user15 like, talk about dream life

user16 y'all, she plays tennis, ofc she's at the french open ?

yourbff im reposting, you take the best photos

deuxmoi posted a story!

deuxmoi Four-time Driver's World Champion and Formula 1's Red Bull Racing driver Max Verstappen spotted going to the final for the French Open.

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user8 THEY'RE BOTH GONNA BE THERE OH MY GOD HOLD ME

user7 but carlos alcaraz will be there tooooooo

user8 stfu maxyn for life (said with love and respect)

user7 yncarlos for life (said with love and respect)

user17 Watch those Yn Ln fans never shut up

user18 yeah. we won't. enjoy !!!!

cantwithyn

liked by maxverstappen1, caitlinclark, and 796,834 others

cantwithyn like we were in paris

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user19 MAX LIKED THIS

user1 OH MY LORD WHATTTTTTTT

yourbff ya yn is geeking out

maxverstappen1 I think I saw you at the French Open

user2 MAX COMMENTED TOO?????

cantwithyn no clue who you are, sorry

user1 okay so she fucked it up

yoursibling bro thinks she can be aesthetic

cantwithyn bro thinks they can be in my comment section, go back to paying for my twitch, loser

paigebeuckers cute! liked by author

deuxmoi posted a story!

deuxmoi Four-time Formula 1 World Champion for Red Bull Racing Max Verstappen photographed kissing a mystery girl.

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user20 yn crashing out somewhere

user21 villain arc, she's winning so many matches this season

user22 the mystery girl is also brunette so it might be yn

user23 did you see how she responded to his comment on her paris post? i doubt it's her

user22 but why would he comment in the first place if he had a girlfriend

user1 i had a dream yn's life would be

user2 not fair

maxverstappen1 posted a story!

maxverstappen1 date night

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user8 WE HAVE TO KNOW WHO IT IS MAX!

user7 the verstappen pamphlets - cantwithyn have you read this

cantwithyn he DID have a torrid affair and he DID write it down right there (no highlights)

user24 max is so romantic 🥰

user25 all the annoying people in the world are commenting about that tennis girl right now

lando ho i told you i wanted to go to dinner :(

user26 this is why he's not ahead in the driver's, he's spending too much time focusing on women

user27 just tell us you hate women without telling us

user8 so sad for yn i would kms

cantwithyn posted a story!

cantwithyn having tortillas right now

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user1 the food in max's story was tortillas...

user2 she's so delusional, it's soooo real

yourbff yn don't play right now

user28 we need this love story 🙏

user29 MAXYN TRUTHERS RISE

user30 guys she's probably joking, she makes these types of jokes all the time

user31 ok yn we get it

user20 get your man!!!!

a few days later...

cantwithyn, maxverstappen1

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, and 934,817 others

cantiwthyn, maxverstappen1 since this topic was dividing the people...

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user1 my manifestation NEEDS to work like yn's

user32 SO CUTE! i knew it was yn

user26 max, i follow you for racing, not this

maxverstappen1 okay, unfollow 👋

user8 WHAT A DIVAAAA

alexandrasaintmleux aww, you guys look so good together

charles_lelcerc not as good as we do though, my love, dont' worry

alexandrasaintmleux i wasn't???

yukitsunoda so happy for you guys!

georgerussell63 me and you next max

nicohulkenberg good food, it seems

carlossainz55 maybe we see less of mad max now

cantwithyn as taylor would say, i'm a mastermind

maxverstappen1 maybe i'm the mastermind, i want tickets to your matches

cantwithyn in exchange for paddock passes?

maxverstappe1 deal

[livingtheparallellife]

Jake Seresin's mom group

You can't convince me Jake would not enjoy the mom group dynamics. He would bask in the attention the moms would inevitably give him.

This is crack treated only semi-seriously. Tbh, I giggled my way through this thing.

***

Jake's heart is overflowing with love as he watches his little girl bounce around the park. Her big brown eyes wide with joy, her smile too bright for this dull world. She’s the most beautiful human being under the sun, parental bias be damned. 

Resting in his palm, like a treasure, is a glittery pink bow, long forgotten by its little owner, traded instead for a little too big, well-loved San Diego Padres baseball cap adorning her long chestnut curls like a crown for the princess she is. 

“She’s the sweetest,” Veronica leans in, bumping into his shoulder. Her eyes follow his line of sight and she smiles, a pleased private thing, only for Jake to see. They stand like this, shoulder to shoulder, watching the scene unfold in front of them. 

The kids play some sort of game only they know the rules of. They're in the middle of an excited outburst when Veronica's little boy, overwhelmed by the noise, new surroundings and too many friends all at once, starts to spin on the spot, screaming his lungs out.

And Jake’s little girl, bless her, joins him in immediately, matching his energy. She spins with her arms outstretched, dress twirling. Leaning her head back, she loses the cap, but she doesn’t care. Jake watches enamored, noticing that with her head thrown back like that, her hair almost reaches under her knees. It’s a miracle, she hasn’t yet pulled half of it out by stepping on it. 

The rest of the kids run to join them too, making it look like a flash mob, rather than a successfully dissolved tantrum. They soon switch to a weird version of tag, chasing each other while still spinning.

That’s when Jake turns back to Veronica, not really keen on seeing the next skinned knee the game will inevitably bring upon them.

“She’s always ready to include him, no matter what,” Veronica says gratefully. “Got a heart of gold, your little one,” she adds, squeezing his shoulder. Her words make Jake’s heart expand in his chest. 

Sometimes, the feeling gets so big. It’s like he’s ready to explode any moment, letting it consume him in a way only love can do. But then he holds it in for a while, cradles it in his aching arms. And lets it loose to the world. Everytime, his heart stays a little bigger than it was before, aching with the intensity in the best possible way.

“Well,” he aims for a joke, because there’s no way he can let her see what’s happening inside of him right now, “She’s got it from her dad,” he says with a smirk. 

Veronica laughs at that. “Sure, ‘cause you’re such a sweetheart yourself.” 

Jake winks at her, enjoying his own secret joke, while maintaining his persona. He was not talking about himself, but she doesn’t know that. Him. Not yet. 

“Yeah, well, I made the raspberry pop tarts she loves so much,” Veronica says, waving her hand at the table their little group is currently occupying. 

Jake nods his thanks while he turns around to take in the rest of the women currently setting up what looks like an entire aisle of snacks of the nearest supermarket spread onto the wooden picnic table. 

They might not look like it, but they're his people. Together, they form one very average mom group - perfectly curated, very typical, a bit bonkers. Just the way he likes it. They’re like pokemons and he has them all. 

There’s Alice, the I-can-and-I-am-doing-it-all single mother, who hit on him HARD the first time they met but backtracked immediately when he flashed her the ring on his left hand, becoming his bestie instead. They’re THE team when it comes to field trips and class meetings. Always ready to jump in and help each other when life and school pick ups get complicated.

Then there’s Tess, the overzealous extroverted stay at home mom, who will plan everyone’s week just so she doesn’t have to stay with her kids at home alone. Play dates and coffee dates organized for the rest of the school year, art supplies always ready.

Veronica, always complaining about anything and everything, but secretly the most tender and loving person, who makes the best and most beautiful cakes. She’ll also drive around half of the town just to come back for you when your car won’t start.

Also Emily, the chaotic mom, always running late, kids in mismatched outfits picked by themselves, her cheeks covered in sparkles from the last time her little boy wanted to try his hand at make up, fake Anna and Elsa tattoos covering her forearms. 

And then there’s Jake, the designated dad of the group. Always cracking jokes, always low-key flirting with all of them at once, basking in the attention naturally given when a group of mothers adopts a fellow parent who also happens to be a man. 

They've been his village for the last five and a half months, since his little girl started school and Bradley left for his latest deployment. 

They follow all the unwritten rules of any mom groups out there:

Do not ask too many questions. Any information must be given freely.

Talk about the kids. Safe territory.

Complain about your partner once in a while. The group’s foundation stone is solidarity. 

Engage in the WhatsApp group chat, for fuck’s sake. We need to hear your opinion. 

Be there for each other. Everyone needs an adult conversation once in a while.

“Oi, darling, careful,” they hear from afar, and that’s Emily. Arms full of backpacks and hats and snacks, finally arriving, only forty minutes late this time. She’s stumbling behind her three kids that are already running wild joining their other friends on the playground. 

Jake runs up to her, taking all the backpacks from her arms. 

“Hi Em, are you moving or something?” he asks jokingly, looking down at the amount of stuff she’s bringing. 

She just laughs. At herself mostly. She may always bring chaos with her, but she’s never in a bad mood. “The camo one is yours, actually,” she says, nodding with her chin to an old worn-out camo backpack that’s got a pink stuffed arm of Jake-doesn’t-know-what peeking out of it.

“Mine?” He asks, eyebrows raising. 

“Yeah, Bee said it was her dad’s?” she says, frowning. “She gave it to Timmy last time he was at yours. Apparently, he had collected too many rocks and needed something to put them in, so he could bring them home,” she clarifies while unloading another snack aisle on the already overflowing table.

At the same time, Jake spots the rooster keychain dangling from the zipper and understands. “Oh, right. Her dad’s,” he mumbles with a little smile.

The thing is, they haven’t met Bradley yet.

The thing is, they haven’t heard of him yet either. At least as far as he knows.

Though their little girl is always talking about her dad, they have no idea there’s two of them. 

He fights the urge to giggle. It’s a little stunt they pull anytime they get the chance. And they move a lot, so there are always new opportunities waiting. 

It doesn’t work out everytime, but when it does, it’s glorious. 

“Jake, did you manage to get that gluten-free cake thingy for Hallie?” Tess asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Of course,” he drawls, “but I’m never going back to that shop ever again. As much as I love Hallie,” he adds quickly. 

Tess frowns but Alice snorts, almost drowning in her Iced Blond Vanilla Latte. “You should have seen him,” she’s laughing now, coffee splashing around as she shakes with it. “He almost fell out the door, basically running to my car,” she heaves with laughter, taking the piss out of Jake, because she knows she can. “He jumped in, go, Alice, go!” She mimics Jake’s drawl, which earns her the group’s full attention and one very intense green-eyed stare.  

“And I’m like… all confused, what the fuck’s going on, is there a zombie going after you?” she’s acting out the whole scene now. “But before I can even start the car, there’s a lady bursting out of the shop, Sir, sir!” And Alice apparently missed her calling because she should have been an actress. Jake can already feel the embarrassed heat reaching his cheeks. “And she’s waving the paper bag with the cake up in the air like it’s a handkerchief and she’s flagging down fucking Titanic.”

She has too much fun with the story. That’s when Jake needs to intervene and try to save some of his own dignity. If that’s even still possible, that is. “Alice,” he cries out, “you saw her! She was insane. She literally wrote her number on the,” he lowers his voice, because there are kids running around and he’s a good parent, for fuck’s sake. “Fucking paper bag.” He says, eyes wide, emphasizing the words quietly. He rummages the table to find said gluten-free cake thingy, and from underneath pulls out a paper bag, which has, indeed, a phone number written on it in big black, desperately looking numbers. 

“And,” he continues pointedly and fishes out the receipt from the bag, “on the fucking receipt, too,” he says, pulling out the thin strap of paper, showing the unmistakable digits to everyone. He holds it high above his head, pinning Alice with his glare. She’s still laughing, nonetheless. “She would have written it on the fucking cake, if she could,” he mumbles, scrunching the receipt and paper bag in one ball and throwing it into the trash can resolutely. 

They’re all laughing now, mostly at his and Alice’s dramatics, rather than Jake’s despair, but he’ll have none of that. “I’m a married man, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath, arms crossed over his chest, lips pouting, willing the blush from his cheeks away. 

“Speaking of which,” Alice sidles up to him, “When’s your significant other coming?” she asks, eyebrows raised, all business like. 

And suddenly, there are four very intense pairs of eyes on him. They circle him like prey. “You promised.” 

Yeah, he did.

Jake thinks back to the day he made that promise and his heart thumps a little faster in his chest. It was the day Bradley finally came back home. After long, long six months of deployment in stupid, far away, across-fucking-too-many-time-zones Japan, he came back. And Jake was so happy, holding their girl and his husband in his arms, after so long. The three of them finally together again. 

He made that promise on a whim, out of pure happiness.

“Should be here any minute,” he says, smirking, confidence back where it belongs. 

“Oh, I can’t wait to finally meet her.” - “Is she even real?” - “She must be a real one, putting up with you.” - “Little Bee must be her mini-me, right? ‘Cause she sure didn’t get those curls from you, blondie.” - …

He doesn’t correct them. 

His eyes go back to his little girl. She’s sitting in the grass, laughing at something Timmy just said. The sun is painting her hair in gold, her skin too. She’s picking daisies the way all the kids do - the cap in her lap full of flower heads with no stems. Jake forgets how to breathe for a while. 

Until…

“God almighty!”

“Holly fucking shit!”

And of course, that gets Jake’s attention. “Come on, there are kids arou…” His scolding fades away as he catches the sight of his friends. They are staring, jaws half way on the ground, hands on chest. 

He follows their line of sight and oh… 

He forgot. He totally forgot. 

Bradley had an official meeting today. Which means he’s now striding towards them, all easy confidence, crossing the park like the whole world belongs to him, in his uniform. 

And Jake stares too. 

Because he’s allowed to. Because he couldn’t for so long. Because it’s Bradley. 

It’s that simple.

He’s … Gorgeous. He’s always been the most handsome man Jake has ever laid his eyes upon. And he still is, after all those years. Even with silver strands in his chestnut curls, even with his midsection getting fuller over the years. All of these things only add a layer of beauty to the man he once was. A layer of life. A shared one. A layer of love. 

The uniform leaves nothing to imagination, hugging him at all the right places, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders, his impossibly long legs, the swell of his strong arms. The sun finishes the picture by painting him in every shade of gold, from his curls, to his skin, to the deep brown of his eyes. The uniform cap is tucked under his arm. The wings, pinned on his chest proudly, glitter with light. 

Eyes and heads turn in his direction. Women stop in their conversations, ducking their heads, trying not to stare too obviously. And failing. Kids stop in their tracks, eyeing him suspiciously - in the intense way only kids are able to. 

But Bradley’s eyes are on his own target. He strides with intent, crossing the grass like it’s tarmac and he’s ready to embark on a mission. Only the mission is Jake. 

He doesn’t slow down until he’s right in front of their group. All eyes on him. He stops then and smiles, eyeing Jake’s friends with amused grin - Jake’s forever favourite expression of his. 

Jake’s always so excited about the big reveal. He can’t wait to see his friends finally connecting the dots. Laugh at their surprised faces. But he always misses it, too busy staring at his perfect husband. 

Alice is the first one to come to her senses. She clears her throat, breaking the moment of silence. 

"You looking for something, Sir?" she squeaks, cheeks pink, all her usual game gone with the wind.

Bradley smiles a bit more, steadfast and confident. “No,” he answers simply. And there’s a whole life hiding behind that one short word. “I’ve got everything I need,” he adds, locking his eyes with Jake. 

And Jake knows what flying feels like, he knows what being the best of the bests feels like, what being completely utterly totally free feels like. But nothing ever compares to this. 

He can’t hold his act any longer, he needs his husband’s arms around his waist, his lips against his lips, the affection currently consuming his whole body and soul out of his system before he explodes with it.

He takes a deep breath. How is it possible that after all those years, he still gets butterflies in his stomach just by looking at the man? He smiles at that thought and makes a move to finally step closer and erase the distance between their bodies, but someone beats him to it. And Jake can’t even be mad about it.

“Daddy!” a happy squeak breaks the silence and Bradley has just about the right amount of time to turn around so he can catch his little girl jumping into his arms. She hugs him with all of her body, koala-style, burying her face into his shoulder, uniform be damned.  

“Hi, sweetheart,” Bradley says with the soft voice he only keeps for his little girl. He hugs her back tightly, but she’s a kid at a park and has no time to waste, so it only takes a second before  she wiggles her way out of his embrace, running back to her friends again.

She makes room for Jake to finally step in. He leans in, planting a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Hello, darling,” Bradley purrs, pulling him closer by the belt loops on his pants.

“Hi, husband,” Jake says, grinning into another kiss, chasing Bradley’s lips. 

Loud gasps slice through the air behind his back. 

[favbum]

Kuroo Tetsuro

🏐ྀི haikyuu headcanons

summary: random heacanons

cw: a lil suggestive

tone: headcanons

character list: kuroo tetsuro

.ᐟ doesn’t allow you to style his hair. very articulate when it comes to this area of his appearance. does enjoy a good scalp massage/scratch though (only on wash days).

.ᐟ doesn’t shave his body unless you ask. ofcourse, he doesn’t go all caveman on you but parts like: armpits, legs, mustache (he thinks he looks italian and finds it funny), he leaves alone

⇧“Babe, you think if I curled the mustaches ends and threw in an Italian accent, I’d slide?”

.ᐟ buys you lots and loads of jewelry. loves to see his s/o decked out in only the top-notch, luxury decor.

.ᐟ makes out with you rough. fast and beastly. that’s how he likes it. whether you can keep up or not doesn’t matter; he likes it sloppy too.♡︎ (picture blair and chuck’s hate sex)

.ᐟ if y’all were to have kids: 2 girls. he believes he has the best understanding over girls, women—females in general. but when he meets his two other angels? truly the most humbling experience. world war III whenever they fuss at him for being too “boyish” while playing dolls.

⇧“Honey—sweethearts! Sorry, lemme try again…” clears throat. Cue the most forced— and worst impression of Dijonay Jones ever.

.ᐟ sometimes gives you funny nicknames when he gets tired of the same-old-same-old. pet names like tiger, crazy pants, wildcat (wild kratts inspired)

⇧“Well lookey here… the tiger’s finally descended from their habitat.” he says, apron tightly tied around his neck, shirtless on purpose. It’s late morning now that you finally wake up; an aroma of crispy bacon and peppered eggs in the air.

.ᐟ big gossiper. many don’t know how he gets his information, but i firmly believe that he’s messy asf. not start-fights-between-girls messy but,

⇧“Hey…” he leans closer. “you heard what ___ and ___ did at the scrimmage last week? Yeah! ___ and ___’s still dating ___ as we speak. Crazy, I know.”

⇧and the gossip never has anything to do with him. shares with the entirely wrong people (bokuto for example: big mouth. couldn’t hold water even to save his life).

.ᐟ loves hamilton (?) [ i personally don’t know much about it but… ] he loves it. the storyline, acting, theme; doesn’t miss a beat. (my guess is because all the characters are so messy in that play💀)

.ᐟ he’s never been a slow kid. calls himself a prodigy, always has—ever since he learned the meaning of the word at the ripe age of 7yrs old. is he? …possibly. does he act like one? fuck no. the cocky bastard just doesn’t know when to put down a book sometimes. specially about science related topics.

#slowestuploaderoftheyear i literally have so many headcanon drafts.. and one unfinished fic. (cooked)🫩

divider cred. to @enchanthings

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

Today, it’s Future Fest. The very first event of the year where any student sixteen and older can ditch their regularly scheduled classes and come down to the gym to talk to different college representatives, explore career choices, and interact with military recruiters. About 75% of those students are there to actually get an idea about what they want to do after high school –that other 25% are there to get out of class. Not that she blames them, of course. She probably would have done the same thing if this had been a thing when she was in school. 

Fair haha

“I haven’t made my way over there yet,” she offers, pulling her arm free from the girl. “Why?” “They’re hot.” “You know, normal teenagers don’t tell their teachers when they find people hot,” she points out, rolling her eyes.

Haha but that's so much more entertaining 😅

She’s suddenly surrounded by teenage girls, and she wishes for a moment that the kids didn’t like her half as much as they did. Boundaries are important, and teenagers have no idea how they work. They tell her things she truly does not want or need to know –though it’s a double edged sword. For all the weird, practically feral comments they make, they tell her things that are important to know. How their lives at home are, if they need help, if they’re struggling. She reminds them that she loves them, but they need to remember they’re not friends.

Totally valid and important! Shows that she's very good at her job

“Yeah but we’re not normal and you’re our mom, so like…it’s fine.”

Iconic answer😂

The girls are insisting she go and talk to the recruiters, or at least look at them, so she throws her hands up and heads over. But she tells the girls they have to talk to three college representatives if she does that –they agree quickly and hurry off, though they’re watching to make sure she actually goes over there.

A deal is a deal🤝🏻

As she approaches, she can hear two of her students talking to the recruiters –one tall, blonde and holding a helmet that’s labelled “Hangman.” He’s confident, and he’s cute (she’ll give him that much), but she doesn’t particularly like how he’s talking to the boys in front of him. Beside him is another pilot, she assumes, since she’s wearing her flight suit and the helmet in front of her says “Phoenix.” She’s trying to cut in, but Hangman seems to be more interested in bragging than anything else. She catches the tail end of their conversation, something about their call signs and what they are.

Very Hangman of him 😒

 Beside Phoenix, however, is someone who looks too sweet to be in the military. He’s talking to a junior, showing him something on a tablet that looks like blueprints. But he’s smiling ear to ear, seemingly enjoying whatever he’s talking about. His glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose, but he’s too caught up talking to the student to notice. He, she thinks, is cute. And he’s nice to the students, which is important to her.

He really is cute 🥰🥹

His colleague Phoenix, extends her hand next, smiling as well. “Lieutenant Natasha Trace. It’s not a problem –we love coming out and doing stuff like this.”

I know Nat's personal mission is to encourage especially girls that they can do anything and she is just one example 👏🏻

“Me and Phoenix are –Bob over there is a Weapons System Officer,” Lieutenant Seresin explains, though he’s smirking some as Natasha –Phoenix –elbows Bob to get his attention. Bob looks up, as if suddenly realizing she’s not a student and she’s an adult, and he turns a bit pink in the ears as he sets down his tablet.

He's so adorable, I can't 😍

She’s a bit distracted, caught up in just how genuinely interested he seems to be in the whole thing. Most people aren’t terribly excited to spend their day talking to high schoolers –but Bob actually seems to mean it. And she appreciates that, because she’s someone who also enjoys working with the students (though it would be a shame if she didn’t, given she’s a teacher). It helps that he’s got the prettiest blue eyes she’s ever seen, and he’s got some sort of accent that she can’t place but it’s nice to hear. 

Ahhh that's so perfect 🥰

Was it weird to flirt at school? She vaguely remembers her mom saying they used to flirt with the firemen when they came to her school, so it can’t be terribly inappropriate. It’s not like she’s doing anything lewd –she’s just talking. And smiling. 

If it's not your student, not weird imo 🤷🏻‍♀️😅

“So what does a Weapons System Officer do, Lieutenant Floyd?” She asks, both because she’s interested and because she wants to keep hearing him talk. “Here we go,” Hangman says, rolling his eyes but Phoenix elbows him as they turn their attention to a student who approaches.

I hope Phoenix hit him hard lol

She waves him off, smiling dreamily as she watches him walk off. He turns and walks backwards for a moment, waving at her before finally disappearing out the hallway doors. When she shuts the door and returns to her classroom, her students are staring at her with wide eyes. And then the chaos ensues.

Ahh that's so perfect 🥰

If you ever feel up to it I would live to read more about these two, maybe a first date or something 👀

Future Fest | b. f.

Bob Floyd x teacher!reader

High school recruitment isn’t usually on the short list of things to do during the day, but it is today.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

Author's Note: I don't even know what possessed me but here I am. Also, the feral things the students say in this are actual quotes from my actual students.

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

She really needs to learn how to say “no” when people ask her to do things at work.

It’s a bad habit –a combination of the incessant need to be liked by everyone and genuinely caring about what the students would want–that she just can’t seem to break. 

Today, it’s Future Fest. The very first event of the year where any student sixteen and older can ditch their regularly scheduled classes and come down to the gym to talk to different college representatives, explore career choices, and interact with military recruiters. About 75% of those students are there to actually get an idea about what they want to do after high school –that other 25% are there to get out of class.

Not that she blames them, of course. She probably would have done the same thing if this had been a thing when she was in school. 

The college and career counselor at the school had asked her to help out, since most of her students had signed up to go anyway (and unfortunately for those who didn’t, they got to go anyway because of her). It’s all hands on deck when it comes to these sorts of events, just to ensure that things go smoothly and none of the kids act like fools. Plus, she’s getting paid for “covering” a class three periods in a row –not a lot, but it’s certainly better than nothing. 

Her task is to just walk the aisles and keep an eye on things. Talk to some of the representatives, thank them for coming to the school, encourage kids to talk to them too. It’s easy enough, and she jokes with many of the representatives that she’s getting her steps in today.

“Miss!” One of her students practically screams, running up to her and grabbing her arm. A gaggle of sophomore girls are trailing behind, carrying pamphlets for the Navy. “Have you seen the military guys?”

She peers over the heads of the students, towards the back of the gym, where the recruiters are. She can sort of make out their faces, but she’s not truly all that interested.

“I haven’t made my way over there yet,” she offers, pulling her arm free from the girl. “Why?”

“They’re hot.”

“You know, normal teenagers don’t tell their teachers when they find people hot,” she points out, rolling her eyes.

She’s suddenly surrounded by teenage girls, and she wishes for a moment that the kids didn’t like her half as much as they did. Boundaries are important, and teenagers have no idea how they work. They tell her things she truly does not want or need to know –though it’s a double edged sword. For all the weird, practically feral comments they make, they tell her things that are important to know. How their lives at home are, if they need help, if they’re struggling. She reminds them that she loves them, but they need to remember they’re not friends.

“Yeah but we’re not normal and you’re our mom, so like…it’s fine.”

They call her the school mom, which is…better than being their friend, she supposes.

The girls are insisting she go and talk to the recruiters, or at least look at them, so she throws her hands up and heads over. But she tells the girls they have to talk to three college representatives if she does that –they agree quickly and hurry off, though they’re watching to make sure she actually goes over there.

Rolling her eyes, she holds her hands behind her back and strolls down the aisle until she sees the banner for the Navy –then below it, a sign advertising the United States Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor Program. She thinks that’s a mouthful, though also knows the program is highly sought after by many of the students at the school. Being the closest high school to the naval air base will do that, though.

As she approaches, she can hear two of her students talking to the recruiters –one tall, blonde and holding a helmet that’s labelled “Hangman.” He’s confident, and he’s cute (she’ll give him that much), but she doesn’t particularly like how he’s talking to the boys in front of him. Beside him is another pilot, she assumes, since she’s wearing her flight suit and the helmet in front of her says “Phoenix.” She’s trying to cut in, but Hangman seems to be more interested in bragging than anything else. She catches the tail end of their conversation, something about their call signs and what they are. 

Beside Phoenix, however, is someone who looks too sweet to be in the military. He’s talking to a junior, showing him something on a tablet that looks like blueprints. But he’s smiling ear to ear, seemingly enjoying whatever he’s talking about. His glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose, but he’s too caught up talking to the student to notice. 

He, she thinks, is cute. And he’s nice to the students, which is important to her.

She steps around the student, standing to the side as she waits for them to finish up. From this angle, she catches the name on his tag –Floyd –and makes a mental note. However, it’s Hangman who finishes up first, and approaches with an award-winning (and cocky) smile.

“Well hello there,” he offers, extending his hand. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin, at your service.”

She takes his hand politely, shaking it, and introducing herself. “Nice to meet you, lieutenant. I was just stopping over to thank you guys for coming out. It means so much to the school.”

His colleague Phoenix, extends her hand next, smiling as well. “Lieutenant Natasha Trace. It’s not a problem –we love coming out and doing stuff like this.”

“So you’re all pilots?” She asks, motioning towards their helmets. 

“Me and Phoenix are –Bob over there is a Weapons System Officer,” Lieutenant Seresin explains, though he’s smirking some as Natasha –Phoenix –elbows Bob to get his attention. 

Bob looks up, as if suddenly realizing she’s not a student and she’s an adult, and he turns a bit pink in the ears as he sets down his tablet.

“I’m sorry about that, ma’am,” he offers, then extends his hand to her. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd, though most people just call me Bob.”

She takes his hand and offers a real smile –not that she wasn’t smiling properly to his colleagues, but Bob seems sweet and it's hard not to offer him a proper one. She reintroduces herself one more time.

“It’s a pleasure –like I was saying, I just wanted to thank you guys for coming out and doing this. Future Fest is our big thing and the kids really love it. Having you guys join us is a big deal.”

“Oh, I love doing stuff like this,” Bob offers, and the smile on his face just hasn’t gone away.

She’s a bit distracted, caught up in just how genuinely interested he seems to be in the whole thing. Most people aren’t terribly excited to spend their day talking to high schoolers –but Bob actually seems to mean it. And she appreciates that, because she’s someone who also enjoys working with the students (though it would be a shame if she didn’t, given she’s a teacher). It helps that he’s got the prettiest blue eyes she’s ever seen, and he’s got some sort of accent that she can’t place but it’s nice to hear. 

Was it weird to flirt at school? She vaguely remembers her mom saying they used to flirt with the firemen when they came to her school, so it can’t be terribly inappropriate. It’s not like she’s doing anything lewd –she’s just talking. And smiling. 

“So what does a Weapons System Officer do, Lieutenant Floyd?” She asks, both because she’s interested and because she wants to keep hearing him talk. 

“Here we go,” Hangman says, rolling his eyes but Phoenix elbows him as they turn their attention to a student who approaches.

Bob beams at the chance to explain, taking up the tablet again and holding it out to her. “So WSO’s –that’s what I do –are responsible for manning the weapon systems of the F/A-18F Super Hornet strike fighter from that jet's aft seat. That’s just the back,” he explains, pointing to where he must be stationed when he’s in the plane. “Depending on the mission, when designated as the mission commander, I’m the one responsible for all phases of the assigned mission, especially if there are multiple aircraft involved.”

“So you’re in charge?” She asks, leaning against the table and zooming in on the inside of the plane. Though truthfully, she has no idea what she’s looking at. It’s just a lot of buttons and numbers she doesn’t quite understand. She’s certain, however, if she asked, he would explain it step by step to her.

“Like I said, it depends on the mission,” he offers, pulling the tablet back in front of him to show her something else. 

She must be staring, because from a few feet away, she hears her name being called, a handful of giggles and then,

“Ooh, miss! Get it!”

She blushes. Bob blushes. Hangman and Phoenix are paying attention suddenly and laughing.

“Savannah Johnson, you absolute menace,” she scolds, standing up straight. She turns to Bob, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry about that, Lieutenant Floyd. You’ll have to excuse me; I need to go remind the kids that they can’t be unhinged in mixed company.”

“Only in mixed company?” He jokes, but the blush has spread from his cheeks down his neck.

“I keep a running list of all the things they say in class all year,” she offers with a laugh, and she’s very aware that she’s being watched now but can’t help it.

“I’d love to see it,” he says and she really can’t help it now as she picks up a business card with his name on it.

“This your cell phone or your work phone?” She asks, holding it up in front of him. 

Bob swallows hard and shakes his head, but takes the card from her and a pen from his shirt pocket. He scribbles his number on the back and hands it back to her, almost timidly.

“I’ll send you a few when I go to lunch; then you can decide if you want the whole list.”

“Sounds great, miss.”

She turns on her heel to walk away, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks, as her students practically scream at her. She shoos them away, telling them they need to act better if they’re in public. 

The bell rings for lunch, and she’s waiting for the students to exit the gym, when he approaches her this time. She turns and smiles when she sees Bob, standing just a few inches taller than her, with a shy grin on his face. 

“Sorry to bother you, miss. I was just…,” He hesitates but she just smiles, waiting. “I was just wondering if you would like to have lunch with me? Phoenix and Hangman went off campus, but I brought my lunch.”

She bites her lip and nods some. “That sounds nice, actually. I usually eat in my classroom, if you want to go up there with me.”

She’d have to tell her velcro kids they need to go elsewhere today, but they would understand. Or they’d sit outside the door –either way. Bob nods and they make easy conversation as she leads him through the hallways of the school. She explains little things that he asks about –murals, artwork on display, awards. Everything he asks is tinged with actual interest and it makes her heart pound. 

There’s four or five kids sitting outside her door when they get upstairs, and they all look up at her in confusion as she opens the door. Bob waves at them politely.

“Sorry guys –I have a guest today,” she explains, though she still motions them inside. “Grab a snack and off you go.”

They huff and puff but grab whatever they need from a drawer at the front of the room, then leave with a flurry of goodbyes and thank you’s. Bob watches them for a moment before taking a seat at a desk. She leaves the door open –if anything because she doesn’t need anyone assuming the worst (and the kids will). Then she grabs her lunch from the mini fridge in the corner, setting it on a desk in front of him and turning it around.

“I haven’t sat in one of these in a long time,” he chuckles, taking out his very neatly organized meal. It makes her thrown together lunch look kind of sad, honestly. “I can’t imagine sitting here every day again.”

“They hate them, but I’m hoping I get some grant money to get something better next year.”

“It’s a shame you have to get grants just to have decent things in the classroom.”

“Well, all that military spending does make a dent in the education fund,” she teases, and she’s grinning at him playfully as she does it.

“Ouch,” he puts his hand over his heart, wincing some at the jab. “I don’t know what to say outside of I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reassures him, taking out her phone and opening her notes app. “Okay, you ready to hear some of the feral things high schoolers say when they’re way too comfortable with you?”

“I don’t know,” he laughs, leaning back in the seat. “It can’t be that bad, right?”

She gives him a look of warning, then scrolls down…and down…and down…

“That is…a long list,” he comments, peering over the top of her phone. He almost sounds concerned.

“Oh, it is,” she promises, then stops to find her favorite so far. “‘Laws are temporary but friends are forever.’”

Bob chuckles through a bite of his sandwich. “That’s not so bad.”

She puts her finger up. “‘His parents are getting divorced. I hope neither of them want him.’”

“Oh my god.”

“‘I’m going to be a legal pot dealer after college.’”

“What does that even mean?”

“He wants to be a pharmacist,” she explains with a laugh. “I’m just happy he isn’t dropping out.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” he concedes, motioning for her to continue.

“‘I learned the other day that my dad looks up goth girl ASMR online.’”

She pauses and looks at Bob, who's trying not to choke on his sandwich. Setting her phone down, she leans back and opens up her bag of grapes with a laugh. For a few minutes, that’s it —they’re eating and laughing. When they stop laughing, she reads another and they laugh again. This goes on for most of the lunch period, up until her alarm goes off to warn her she has three minutes before the bell rings. 

“Oh shit,” she says, quickly packing up her things. “I have to actually teach now. I didn’t realize what time it was —,”

Bob quickly stands and packs his own stuff up, then flips the desk around with ease for her. She stares for a moment, watching how his arms flex as he lifts the desk without issue. Oh dear. 

“I don’t want to be too forward,” he says as students are trying to trickle in. He quickly shuts the door, looking down at her. “But I…I would really like to take you out on a date, if you’d let me.”

Kids are peering through the little window, knocking on the door. She waves them off a bit, looking up at him with a soft smile. 

“I would really like that.”

He nods, opening the door now. Kids are pushing through to get settled in, but he’s awkwardly standing in the doorway with a boyish grin and a blush. She pushes him gently out the door, but follows him out as she waits at the door for stragglers. 

“I’ll text you after school.”

“I look forward to it.”

She waves him off, smiling dreamily as she watches him walk off. He turns and walks backwards for a moment, waving at her before finally disappearing out the hallway doors. 

When she shuts the door and returns to her classroom, her students are staring at her with wide eyes. 

And then the chaos ensues.

—————

Part Two

[headdinthewall]

INTO YOU ── a.frederick ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : a handful of drinks and sexual tension leads to events in the back of a taxi and apartment bedrooms a/n : kinda thought my first smut on here would a george one ngl but it’s an arthur one // inspired by the song ‘into you’ by ariana grande content : extremely flirty friends to lovers ,, drinking&vaping ,, sexual content

─────── THE CLUB WAS hot and sweaty, an atmosphere that would usually make you uncomfortable, but you were multiple shots and drinks in to the point where nothing affected you anymore. Not the stuffy air around you, not the thin layer of perspiration glossing over your skin. However, you certainly wished that the piercing gaze of Arthur Frederick would stop affecting you.

You felt like you could barely breathe anyway with the amount of people surrounding you, but knowing that he was only a few metres away, staring you down, caused a rushing in your blood and a quickened heart rate.

You were drunkenly swaying along with Becky in the middle of the crowd, enjoying the night out with your group of friends. It wasn’t for a video or for any social media stunt, just a group of mid-20 people drinking till their hearts content just because they could.

“He’s starin’ at you!” Becky shouted down your ear over the loud music.

“I can feel it.” You replied, moving your hair over one shoulder to get some air to the back of your neck as you could feel your hair getting damp and sticking to your skin.

“Have you told him yet?” She asked, bringing her alcoholic drink can to the back of your neck to cool you down.

“Told him what?” You asked, continuing to move along with the music.

“That you want to rip off his clothes! I’ve seen the tiktok compilations: ‘reader and Arthur giving each other ‘I love you’ eyes for five fucking minutes’!” Becky exclaimed. “Also, you did tell me last time you were shit-faced, that you proper fancied him.”

“Yeah, I told you I thought he was fit, not that I wanted to shag him!” You blushed, not that she could tell because you were already flushed from the heat.

“Oh, it’s practically the same thing. Honestly girl, make your move! He’s practically salivating over you!” Becky encouraged, pulling her drink away from your neck, “Seriously! You look hot right now, that skirt makes your arse look huge and the shirt?! Tits for days, now go and snog him!”

“… Are you sure?” You bit your lip, looking over at the booth you and your friends had chosen to occupy, just to find Arthur already staring at you.

Becky gave you a deadpanned look and you laughed, nodding, “Okay! Okay!”

You turned to walk over and Becky gave your bottom an encouraging slap.

You smiled, approaching the table and slipping into the booth beside Arthur, “Hey!”

“Hey, you alright?” He asked, shuffling closer so you could hear him talk more.

“Yeah, it’s hot in there!” You placed your hand on his arm, leaning close to talk right down his ear. “What about you? You just sitting tonight?”

Arthur moved his arm so it fell around your waist, holding you close, “Well, I was going to but I was too busy getting your drinks for you!”

You laughed, taking a sip of the beverage you’d requested him to get you (you’d now forgotten what you asked of him).

“Do you want to go outside when I finish this?” You asked, one hand toying with the straw as the other trailed around the back of his neck and shoulder.

“Yeah, sure. To leave or just air?”

“Whatever you want.” You hummed, looking up at him through your eyelashes while sipping — a subconscious action that came across as seductive and sly.

He nodded, hand pushing the back of your shirt up so it rested on your bare skin, fingers slipping under the waistband of your skirt. You were practically cuddled together in the booth, you now leaning into his side, your leg hooked over his knee, but no matter how close you were, it just didn’t feel like enough.

You knew Becky was observing from the dance floor, and you were 99% sure that Bach and George had eyes on you from the bar area. The constant touching was dangerous and a slight giveaway to the feeling you both kept hidden so deeply within you, and were now coming out because you were both slightly intoxicated.

You continued to sip on your cocktail until the empty slurping noise echoed from the inside of the plastic.

“Ready to go?” Arthur asked, fingers dancing along your knee. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough.” You hiccuped, pursing your lips. “I’m not battered, and I don’t want to be.”

“Yeah,” He laughed, “Me too.”

You both scooted out of the booth, saying your goodbyes to your friend and you gave Becky the look — open mouth, eyes wide, silent scream — and she laughed, clapping for you.

You and Arthur walked hand in hand out of the club, you in front of him with him practically breathing down your neck, keeping you as close as possible as you navigated your way to the exit.

The wave of cold air was like a wake up call, and you were no longer bleary eyed. Goosebumps rose on your skin and you lifted a hand to pull up the neck-line of your tube top, and not realising Arthur’s cemented eyes on your chest as the cold perked your nipples.

With your back on the wall, you rummaged through your shoulder bag until your fingers wrapped around the flavoured nicotine stick hidden beneath your phone and makeup.

You took a drag, effortlessly inhaling and breathing out the lemon and lime flavoured air.

You offered it out to Arthur, “Do you want some?”

“Oh, no, I’m okay, thank you.” He held a hand up, shaking his head.

You nodded, smiling at him, “You look good tonight, really good.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, leaning his shoulder against the same wall your back was on.

“Yeah.” You mumbled reaching your free hand up to toy with his hair, running your hands through it. You took another drag of your vape and blew it sideways so that it wouldn’t go flush into his face.

“I like your skirt, it’s shiny.” Arthur stumbled over his words, struggling to find a compliment that wasn’t ‘You’re so hot, I’ve had a crush on you for over a year and I just want to kiss you right now’.

“It’s a bit itchy, I can’t wait to take it off.” Your hand slid down from the back of his head to his shoulder, you both standing practically chest to chest.

He cleared his throat and nodded, “Y-Yeah, I can imagine that’d be relieving.”

You noticed the subtle flickering of his eyes down to the lower half of your face in between blinks, before returning to your eyes but then failing to keep them off of the dark-red-stained lips. You were half expecting him to make a move, both of you subtly inching closer but neither of you yet brave enough to finish what you’d unknowingly started.

You smirked softly, raking your nails up and down his neck before moving to the back of it, fiddling with the hairs at his nape.

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Were you playing chess in the club?”

He snorted and shrugged, “Potentially. I was just getting a bit bored without you.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell. Every time I saw you you were already looking at me.” You teased, biting your bottom lip.

“What can I say?” He chuckled slightly, getting dangerously close, “You’re my entertainment for the night.”

“So you were laughing at me?”

“What?!” He panicked, eyes widened, hands squeezing the fat of your hips, “No! No, never, just … admiring, I guess. Watching. Not in a weird way—“

“Arthur, stop talking.” You whispered, pressing your lips to his.

You didn’t know where this sudden surge of confidence came from, but you weren’t ashamed of it, especially not when he started kissing you back, hands moving to your lower back, pulling you closer. Perhaps the confidence came from the handful of drinks you’d consumed, or maybe it came from the conversation you wish would lessen and the touching you wish would ramp up.

Your shoulders pressed against the brick wall of the alley way, back arched off of it and towards him, like some sort of magnetic pull that kept your hips glued together.

The kiss quickened, becoming more desperate, more raw. The need intensified, your hands moving from the back of his neck to the front of his shirt, scrunching it in your fists as his hands slipped to squeeze at the flesh of your ass.

You panted against his lips, pulling off and blinking at him, admiring the way the pink and purple neon lights of the club sign illuminated his face in all the right ways — not that there was a wrong way, he was perfect.

His lips were now smeared with your red lipstick, and you didn’t doubt that your upper lip and chin were smudged with the stain too, not that you cared. Not that he cared either, in fact, it made him feel warmth in his lower stomach, seeing you look so messy, so vulnerable.

You tugged him closer, moulding your lips together again. You grabbed one of his hands, bringing it to your inner thigh, letting him know that this was okay, that you wanted his hands up your skirt, on your bare skin.

“Wait, wait.” He pulled off, looking at you with a mix of lust and adoration, “You deserve better than a quick fuck against a brick wall.”

You chuckled at his wording, biting your lip to suppress it, “Okay, gentleman.” You said teasingly, “My place or yours?”

“Mine.” He tucking your hair behind your ear.

Oh my God.

Was this really going to happen?

You’d wanted this for months now, not that you’d openly admit it to anybody except him, but it was true. You yearned for his touch, for his presence, for his heartbeat to echo down your ear. And now you were getting it, and your heart was racing at a million miles per hour from anticipation and adrenaline.

You both put a small amount of distance between each other as he pulled out his phone to call for an Uber. Once it was on its way, his hands were back on you, dragging up and down your sides, a soft smile consistent on his face.

“You’re looking very dazed, Mr Frederick.” You giggled, hands reaching his abs and tracing them over his shirt.

“You’re beautiful, that’s all. And I can’t wait to have you to myself.” He answered honestly.

You could’ve moaned just as the way he said that sentence, his voice low, raspy, in a tone that told you only you were meant to hear those words.

When the Uber pulled up, you both got into the back seat, and once Arthur had given the driver his address, his lips were back on yours and you were half-reclined, half-upright as he pressed you into the car door.

This kiss was so much messier than that previous ones. It was full of desperation and the knowledge that once you got to his place, his bedroom floor would be a mess of clothes and underwear.

This time, his hand did slip up the front of your skirt and your breath hitched against his lips, his fingers pressing against you over the thin material of your thong.

“Shit, Arthur.” You murmured, fingers clenching his shirt at the back of his shoulders.

“You okay?”

“So okay.”

─────── YOU FUMBLED AND stumbled into Arthur’s apartment, barely able to keep your hands off of each other, your arms locked tightly around his neck as his were around your waist, hooking your legs up and kicking doors closed with his feet. Your shoes and bag had been left in a heap on the floor in the living room. When you reached his bedroom he had you on his bed in the blink of an eye, pressing his body over yours.

Your ankles locked at his lower back, hips grinding up into his, making you both moan at the friction.

Arthur bunched your skirt up at the waist, hooking his fingers into the hem of your thong and tugging it down.

You could’ve sworn the temperature rose in the room, and electricity crackled between you as he looked down at you with lustful eyes.

Your hands shot to his shirt, tugging it up and he assisted with pulling it over his head. Both of you shifted so you were on your knees in front of each other, you bent forwards, hands on his hips as your lips left red stains on his abs.

Arthur hissed, resting a gentle hand on the back of your head as you made your way up his torso, sucking on his neck before kissing him roughly again.

You fell backwards, dragging him with you and letting his hand slip between your legs.

“Fuck.” You whined, allowing your knees to fall open so he had a better angle and more space to work with.

His fingers rubbed haphazardly over you before circling your clit with learned precision.

“Oh my God—“ You panted, eyes staring up at the ceiling as his lips dived towards your neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin.

He worked two fingers into you and you moaned out, back arching up, your nipples brushing against his hard torso, causing a delicious friction that only added to the pleasure you felt.

His palm made contact with your clit again, wrist moving as he crooked his fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot that made you hiss out a low, “Shit!”

Arthur’s free hand pulled the top of your shirt down, baring your chest to him and his lips wrapped around the hardened peaks, tongue flicking over it with skill — almost like it was muscle memory for him.

Your walls clenched around his fingers, a signal of your impending orgasm, but you whimpered as he pulled them out, thumb replacing his palm on your bundle of nerves.

Your hands desperately tugged at his belt, undoing it and the sound of leather slithering out of belt loops filled the room before the metal clinked to the floor.

Arthur removed his thumb from between your legs and tugged your clothes off fully so that they weren’t just a bunched mess around your waist and stomach.

He wanted you bare, vulnerable. He wanted you to be unapologetically you in this moment of spontaneous intimacy.

He shuffled out of his jeans, taking his boxers down with him and you bit your bottom lip at the sight of him, hard and ready.

“I’m on the pill.” You whispered, watching as he reached for his bedside table — probably looking for a condom.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked, voice husky.

You nodded, hands toying with the hair on the back of his head, “I want to feel you. Just you.”

He lined himself up with your entrance, his hand pumping himself a couple times before pushing forwards and sliding into your warmth.

“Fuckkk.” He groaned, burying his face in your neck as you cried out, eyebrows kissing. “You’re so wet.”

“You okay?” He questioned, coming out of your neck to look down at you.

“Yeah, fuck, Arthur—“ You whimpered, “Move, please, please move.”

“Alright darling.” He laughed like a cocky bastard.

He pulled out halfway before thrusting back in, your nails raking down his back, leaving scratch marks in their wake.

He repeated this, over and over and over again, occasionally hitting your g-spot. He purposefully missed it every now and then, only making the next contact even more intense. A white ring formed at the base of his dick, caused by the wetness that persistently seeped out of you.

His hands found yours on either side of your head, interlocking your fingers while he thrusted into you, now repeatedly hitting your g-spot. Your back arched up, face screwed up with intense pleasure as his lips found contact with your neck.

Once again, your walls tightened, suctioning him in deeper, and you could’ve sworn you heard him whimper into your skin.

“Oh my God— Arthur— I—“

“I know, baby, I know. Me too.” Arthur rasped, not slowing or picking his pace up, just keeping it steady and intimate.

The coil in your stomach tightened until it felt as compressed as possible, before unravelling, tipping you both over the edge at the same time.

The entire world stopped for a second as he spilled into you, body going lax on top of you and your limbs loosening from the previous tension. You laid there in silence, feeling him soften within you until he slowly pulled out, gazing at your face with raw emotion.

“I love you.” He suddenly blurted.

“What?” You panted, still trying to catch your breath as you met his eyes.

“I— I don’t care if it ruins the atmosphere here, but I needed you to know. Especially after that. I love you, reader. And not just because we had sex, but because you’re the most gorgeous, enticing, funny, caring girl I’ve ever met.”

Your eyes softened as he spilled his guts, tone filled with nothing but sincerity and honesty.

“Arthur…” You whispered, reaching up and cupping his face, “I love you too.”

“Y-You do?”

You laughed, nodding, “Yeah.”

“O-Oh.” He smiled, kissing your forehead, “Good, then. Can I be your boyfriend?”

“If you want that, yes.”

“Do you want that?”

“I’d be an idiot to say no.” You said, suppressing your intense grin by pursing your lips.

After your joint confession, Arthur helped you clean up, allowing you to go to the toilet while he ran the hot water, soaking a towel in it to clean you up.

“Thank you.” You muttered as he moved the cloth gently over your warm skin.

“Don’t mention it. This is the bare minimum.” He shrugged, checking the towel into the washing basket and then grabbing you one of his shirts to wear, which you did gladly while he put on some pyjama bottoms.

You lay with your head on his chest, legs tangled together and your fingers tracing his abs while he drew evasion shapes on your back.

This was your future now.

This was your constant.

[shidoglazer]

strawberry cream

rin itoshi fluff-smut enemy 2 lovers

use of aphrodisiacs mdni ＠shidoglazer part 1 here

you were stupidly giggling like a high school girl in love as you sat down on your usual seat in the class, placing your bag in the seat beside you for rin. when the professor walked in, you reached into your bag to grab your half of the project, but weirdly enough, rin wasn’t here yet.

it was only a matter of time that most people have already finished presenting their essay, and he still wasn’t here. well, that was until you heard your professor and rin having a heated conversation for being 40 minutes late to his class. your head lifted and saw rin with that familiar, annoyed look on his face.

“mr. itoshi, mind explaining why you were late to my lecture?” “hah? i was busy.” rin replied vaguely before walking away, only to be stopped by the professor. “you need to fix that attitude.” and before rin can even say something back, you’re pulling him to his seat, apologising to the professor. “sorry .. please don’t fail him, he’s just um, grumpy!..” you give him an apologetic look before walking away, making him sit beside you.

you wanted to scold him, to tell him to die like you usually do, or just tell him to show you his essay — but you couldn’t even muster out a word while remembering what happened yesterday. rin looked bored out of his mind, as if nothing ever happened, don’t fall for that tho. he’s panicking on the inside.

“so.” he looked towards you, and it was evident that you were a complete blushing mess. “the essay?” “oh! right!- let me just, give me your part and i’ll combine them together, yeah.” he hummed, taking out a few slightly crumbled up papers from his bag and sliding them over to you, his hand grazing over yours.

“about yesterday-” “wha?! nothing happened yesterday! um, what yesterday are you talking about? haha..” rin stared at you with a concerned look etched on his face as you organised the papers between your fingertips, clearly avoiding eye contact with him. “i was talking about the money. did you buy anything?” “oh, ah.. bought a strawberry cream sandwich.”

“childish. i’m surprised you don’t have diabetes.” “die.”

the rest of the class went on normally, you both presented and got a decent grade, but after class was a whole different story. “i have a gap between my classes right now.” rin announced blatantly “oh, me too.” the silence was deafening after that part. none of you understood each others hints. “..convenience store?” he blurted out, nothing except that, and god you didn’t need him to say anything else to immediately nod. “yes. you’re paying.” “obviously.”

at the convenience store, you bought the same strawberry cream sandwich and some other “processed trash” as rin calls them, while he bought a “boring ass” microwave lunch, as you call it. you sat down together at the mini bar, striking up random conversations about his football schedule, your interests, what you two saw out of the window in front of you, but something was. off?

even when staring outside of the window, you’d notice his eyes dart to the side to look at you instead of whatever you were talking about. and mid-way through rambling, his hand reached out to your face, cupping it gently before stroking off the strawberry cream left on the corner of your mouth. you were left stunned, confused, flustered— shocked, when you saw him lick it off his thumb. “you eat like a child too.” his face cringes from the overbearing sweet taste, and you can’t help but to smile all giddy, trying to make it at least seem like you’re not enjoying this. “..i hate you so much,” and for the first time in your life, you see rin crack the slightest smile at you.

“hate is a strong word, sweets.”

“and im quite a strong person myself, bitterness.”

it became your daily routine to walk with him to the convenience store each time you had breaks together, sometimes smothering strawberry cream on the corner of your mouth on purpose, just so he could clean it up for you, no matter how much he complained about “you’re just as messy as a toddler.” “you’re gonna make me have diabetes too.” “do you not get tired of this sandwich?” yet you can always see the satisfied look on his face when he realises you finally made a “mess”.

“well, if you hate it so much then stop helping me clean it up.” you said sarcastically. “i need to keep my blood sugar up somehow, sweets. your strawberry cream spikes it perfectly.” and you couldn’t help but to laugh like an idiot, leaning onto his shoulder as you giggled. so he made it his lifes mission to not move an inch as you laid there.

as your laughter died down, his head was leaning onto yours, complete silence except for the air conditioner blowing, so you took this chance to ask the question thats been eating you alive. “hey, rin.” “hm?” “..what are we?”

he didn’t respond instantly. your heart was pounding in your chest, but so was his. both of you don’t know how to communicate well, so you’ve ended up in this situation. “mn.” he hums, as if he was thinking. you were freaking out at this point, why did he have to think? is it because he didn’t really love you like that? that he had to do a double take? what if- “do you want to be official?” the question caught you off guard, you hesitated to reply in fear of making you look too desperate. “i, um. well, do you want to be official?”

you dont even have to look at him to know he rolled his eyes. he grabbed your hand into his, trapping it between both of his hands. “i asked you first.” you grumbled, yet you couldn’t stay mad at him from how gentle his rough hands felt. “you’re annoying.” you paused. “..i do. i really do. i wanna be more then whatever this is. but if you-” “me too. be my girlfriend.” you didn’t have to say anything more for him to blatantly confess just like that. “are you asking or demanding me huh?” “my apologies, your majesty. will her grace so kindly bless me by having a romantic connection between us?”

you scoffed in his face, yet the way you were smiling disregards every negative thought he had. “your grace shall bless you!” you announced proudly, and yet he couldn’t help but to pull you closer, to smile against your head so you could feel it. “you’re still the most annoying, childish girl i know.” “right back at you, clean freak.” you basked in each others warmth for awhile, in a state of disbelief that you both were really in a relationship now. so, why not take it to another step?

the next day was the usual thing, you got your “diabetes sandwich” and rin got his “old man” food, you sat down together at the minibar and purposefully smudged the cream onto the corner of your lips, expecting rin to cup your cheek to rub it away again. this time was different, much different. “you got cream onto the corner your lips again.” “did i? woops.” “mm. let me clean it up for her grace.” still with that stupid nickname.

but instead of his hand reaching out to clean it, he leaned in to kiss you. it was nothing like the kiss you “forced” him to give you, the one that was filled with desire, frustration and hatred. this one was soft, meaningful, the type of kiss that people could write novels about. he sucked onto where the cream was left, pulling away after he got it, smacking his tongue softly a few times to melt it. you were left there like a blushing mess, confused as to what just happened. “wha— hey?? don’t just go silent now !!”

rin cocked an eyebrow, the slightest tint of blush found on his cheeks. “what do you want me to say?” “something! anything!”

“i love you.” ..this was the exact moment you’ve realised you’d never be able to turn back anymore. “…hmph. i hate you.”

you only took a few minutes to immediately get ready, stopping by the convenience store to buy your usual strawberry sandwich and a normal lunchbox for him before heading over to his dorm. you knocked a few times, and you swore you heard a battlefield going on there from how much tripping and banging you heard as he ran over to the door.

he opened the door casually, letting you in and shutting the door before immediately wrapping his arms around you tightly, panting and shaking. you didn’t hesitate to hug him back, but it was still weird, he’s never been so .. clingy. “rinnie, whats wrong?”

“i, uhm.. hah, stupid teammate (shidou) gave me some weird chocolate n’said it boosts performance but, mnngh, i- i feel really hot and uncomfortable, jus need you to be here with me.” without another word, you quickly brought him to the bed and took off his shirt to cool him down, using his shirt to wipe off any sweat. “jeez.. what’d they even give you? you’re sweating like crazy.”

his arm threw over his eyes, crying out a choked noise out of discomfort as his other hand gripped the bedsheets tightly. “can’t..” he shifted onto his side, and thats when you noticed the godly hard boner tenting in his sweatpants. “..rinnie, any chance they gave you an aphrodisiac as a prank?” “m’gonna kill them,”

he sat up and reached out for his phone, immediately going to his soccer teams group chat and starting to type a series of vulgarities that nobody can repeat unless they want to go to hell. you took the phone out of his hands and throw it to the side, smiling softly as his childishness. “…its not like you don’t have someone to help you with it, right?” he shook his head so hard you felt like it was going to fall off. “no, i don’t wanna use you like that, feels so wrong.”

you didn’t wait another second to straddle onto his lap, both hands resting on either side of his shoulders, both of you being a flustered and blushing mess. “y..you sure you don’t want it? even just a little bit?” and it wouldn’t take a genius to know his dick twitched vigorously underneath you. “y’re driving me crazy..”

“more .. more.. need s’much more of you..” rin was blabbering like a little kid while thrusting into you with that vigorous pace, making the bed creak every time he does so. you were completely and utterly exhausted, you don’t know what type of aphrodisiac they even gave him for him to not be tired after 4? 5? 8? orgasms, you lost track after the second one.

truth be told, the aphrodisiac wore off ages ago, yet he knew something like this wasn’t ever going to come so easily in the future again, hell, he’ll milk himself dry if it means doing it like this with you. “rin.. y’re gonna kill me,” you mumbled softly, having no more energy to spare to even lift your hips for him

“won’t. love you t’much to kill you. just one more baby, please, m so close, please.” and shit, how could you say no when he sounded so vulnerable for you? the stoic and cold itoshi rin begging for you in that weak voice, who the hell would be able to restrain themselves? “..yeah.. jus’ one more..” your limbs wrapped around rins body to pull him closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you were letting out a breathy moan each time he hit that godly sweet spot.

“s’close.. inside or out this time mm?” you were too dazed with your orgasm gradually building up inside you, “i, don’t know.. m gonna cum rinnie!” “getting cockdrunk already? y’re so fragile.” nevertheless, just to be safe, he pulled out just as soon as he was on the edge. well, he tried to, but your limbs locked and pushed him closer, “brat- stop, let go, i’m gonna-” “m on the pill..” you cut him off abruptly, and that was more than enough for him.

his hips stuttered a few times before releasing his load into you, fucking it into you continuously as he let out a choked whimper, clinging onto your body as he continued to use his cock to shove his cum deeper and deeper into you. “i love you— i love you, i loveyouiloveyouiloveyou, y’re mine.” you let out a small whine of acknowledgment, falling limp onto the bed as he let go and pull out of you. you were out of breath, eyebrows furrowed and legs trembling. and rin thinks he fucked up.

“i.. i’m so sorry. i didnt mean to- i,” he scooped you into his arms hurriedly and brought you over to his bathroom, setting you into the bathtub as he got the water running. “princess, please tell me you’re okay. did i go too rough? i’m sorry.” and its funny how his face is completely full of frustration and hurt when you just had the best experience in your life. “no baby. it felt good. really good. okay?” and all rin can do is nod unsurely, his hand stroking your hair every now and then.

he briefly cleaned up in the shower while you soaked in the bath tub, changing into his usual hoodie and shorts before looking at the time, it was late. way too late to go home alone. so, he took a random jersey and shorts, set it down beside the tub and waited for you in bed.

you caught on quickly, flashing him a small smile as you got out the tub and dressed into his oversized clothes before immediately pouncing onto him on the bed, nuzzling into his chest.

“my moms gonna be ecstatic when she finds out about us, rinnie.”

“mm. good. she should be. her daughters dating such a handsome guy, whats there not to be happy about?” “you are literally your biggest fan huh?” and it’s probably the first time in your life that you heard rin chuckle. he doesn’t waste time to pull you closer and kiss your head. “go to sleep. i love you.”

“i love you too.”

few minutes later when rin dozed off already ..

masterlist

im craving strawberry sando now

tagging the people who asked for part 2 ★

@cheriiepies @chuurinnie @yoichiglazer @rin-rinmicheal @wettvagina @asphodeloss

[qinche-cvmslvt]

The First Date

A Professor Sylus and MC, “Forbidden”, side story.

Content Warning: SMUT, NSFW, Early relationship, dating. Age gap. Fluff.

A/N: This doesn’t impact our main story and is not an official chapter but yall, I wasn’t kidding when I said I loved that prompt from anon. So enjoy ❤️

The movie was halfway through, dialogue forgotten. You're in one of his t-shirts, it's too big even with the sleeves bunched up at your elbows. Your thighs are bare and your legs are thrown across his lap like it's your rightful throne. The air between you is thick and lazy. A slow make-out session that started with a laugh and has turned into something softer and deeper. Sylus didn't rush, not since the first time you two ever kissed. No, now he takes his time. One hand on your waist, the other cupping the back of your neck as he kisses you like he's studying you and memorizing.

Your fingers graze the hem of his shirt, slowly sliding underneath just to feel him. his skin is warm, tight over muscle and he smirks against your mouth.

“You keep doing that,” he murmurs, voice low and smug, “and this movie’s going to end with you flat on your back, Kitten.”

You hum all innocent. “Wasn’t that the plan?”

His laugh rumbles through his chest. He leans back just enough to look at you. Then his eyes flick to the movie still playing in the background, then back to your kiss-bitten lips.

“We should go out.”

You blink, almost shocked. “Right now?”

He leans in, nips at your bottom lip before answering.

“Yeah. I’m taking you out of Linkon for a few hours.”

You tilt your head, suspicious. “Where?”

Sylus just smirks, that signature curve of mischief and challenge. “Does it matter?”

You roll your eyes but your pulse quickens. Of course it matters, this would be your first date with him. The one thing you couldn't do like regular couples. You look at him and feel a strange mix of calm and anticipation wash over you.

“You’ve got that look again,” You mutter.

“What look?” He smirks, a twinkle in those ruby eyes.

“The one that means I’m about to end up doing something reckless and pretending it was my idea.”

His grin sharpens. “Exactly. Now go grab a hoodie. No one’s recognizing you where we’re going.”

~

The door closes shut behind you as you step outside. The sun is high in the sky and clouds are stretched across blue. You tug one of his hoodies over your frame, it swallows you whole and your cheeks are flushed from the rush. Sylus stands there in a black leather jacket open over a black tee, boots laced over jeans and a helmet already held by opened finger gloves. When you step out onto the curb, he tosses you a second helmet like it’s an invitation and a dare all wrapped in one.

“You ever been on a bike before?” he asks, eyebrow cocked.

You hesitate, "No..." you admit softly, "...But I trust you.".

That little soft admission does something to Sylus. Your voice was low, honest and reckless in the best way. His smirk softens just enough to make it dangerous.

“Then hold on tight, Kitten.”

The engine roars to life, wind tears through the silence and brush against your skin like a thousand whispered promises. You're pressed flush against his back, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and Linkon shrinks behind you along with the chaos, the rules and the expectations. All of it is swallowed by the blur of asphalt and adrenaline.

You don't speak during the drive. Neither does he because every lean of his body, every shift of the gears is the conversation and every time you squeeze him tighter, is your excited and trusting reply.

Sylus pulls up near a tucked-away outlet mall called The Zone. He parks the bike in the shade and climbs off first before offering you his hand. You take it instantly and let him help you off the bike and you stretch your legs while laughing breathlessly.

“I feel like we just robbed a bank.”

He grins. “Nah. We’re just fugitives from reality.”

~

The automatic doors part with a sigh, letting you in like ghosts in plain sight. The buzz of the centre is soft and hums low with life. Couples were strolling hand in hand, groups of kids were laughing and the shop was lit with a warm and inviting gold. Then there was the two of you. Shadows walking side by side, fingers interlaced and walking hand in hand just like every other couple there. He pulled you in with every step and you leaned into him like you've known this forever. You squeeze his hand once and he looks down at you with one brow slightly raised.

“What?” he murmurs, amused.

You shrug, trying to be nonchalant. “Just making sure you’re real.”

He stops walking and pulls you gently to a halt. He presses your linked hands to his chest.

“Feel that?” His heartbeat, steady and deep beneath your fingers.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sweetie.”

Damn. The way he says it, not loud or dramatic. Just a truth bomb dropped like a promise and it makes your knees weak.

You continue to walk without a destination. Blending in with the crowds, going past perfume counters and candle shops. Past glittering phone cases and keychains shaped like cats. Everything is filtered through the low hum of flirtation and that quiet energy that crackles just under the skin. Then Sylus stops at a sunglasses kiosk and picks up a ridiculous oversized pair of glitter heart frames.

You stare blankly at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He puts them on anyways and your laughter bounces of the walls, pure and breathless.

“Oh my god, you look like you just stepped out of an early 2000's rave.”

He lifts your hand and kisses the back of it through his ridiculous disguise. “And yet you’re still holding my hand. What’s that say about you, sweetie?”

You eventually find a little shop that smells like lavender and fake leather. The shelves are crowded with useless adorable things, tiny candles, sequin-covered notebooks, and plushies the size of fists. You're halfway through laughing at a rack of vibrating cat pens when you spot it. A small and soft plushie keychain. It's black with tiny bat wings, vampire teeth stitched into a cartoon snarl and bright red plastic eyes. It was ridiculous but you pluck it off the hook and turn to him, holding it up between two fingers.

“It’s you.”

Sylus raises a brow behind his sunglasses, stepping closer and invading your space, as always. “That’s me?”

You nod, lips twitching with amusement. “Tiny. Grumpy. Bites.”

He takes the plush from you and studies it with faux seriousness. “Do I look like a vampire?”

You don't answer right away. Instead, you take a step closer to him. One hand slides up into his hoodie, fingers brushing through silver hair. Your other hand rises to his face and your thumb gently brushes just beneath his eye, right where the red bleeds brightest.

“Well,” you murmur, voice soft but charged, “you are cold to the touch… and you only come alive at night.”

A slow smirk tugs at his lips and he doesn’t blink or move.

“Pale skin. Red eyes. Very active during the night…” His hand circles your waist without even thinking. “I guess I do sound like a vampire.”

You grin. “Dangerous.”

He leans down, whispering into your ear. “Only if you beg me to be.”

And just like that, a goddamn plushie just turned into foreplay. Your laugh is breathless and teasing but there's a flicker of warmth under your skin now. You tap his chest with the plush keychain still clutched in your hand.

“You bully people too.”

Sylus tilts his head, feigning offense like it’s a slow, elegant undress. “Me? Bully?” His smirk returns, laced with sin. “How does a vampire bully someone, hmm?”

Before you can speak, he moves. One hand anchors low on your back, the other cradles tighter around your waist. Firm and possessive. He pulls you against him like gravity just gave up trying to keep you apart. He leaned in again, slowly, like a threat and his lips brush the line of your neck.

“Like this?” His voice is barely audible before he kisses you just beneath your ear.

Right where your pulse flutters. The kiss is soft at first and lingers. Then a second kiss comes. Firmer and closer to the edge of a bite. Your breath catches and your hands tighten in his hoodie. God, you hate how fast you melt for him.

Your voice is smaller now. “You—mm—you’re impossible.”

He doesn't move away or let you go.

“You like it.”

After a moment Sylus pulled back just enough to see your face. Your lips were parted, your cheeks were flushed and your pupils were blown wide. One more second like this and you two were going to get kicked out for indecency in the keychain aisle.

“I need a minute,” he muttered, catching your hand. “Before I pin you against this display rack.”

“Wh—where are we going?”

He nodded toward the back of the store. “That tiny photobooth? C’mon.”

“What? Sylus—”

But he was already tugging you toward it.

The booth looked comically small next to him. He ducked his head to fit, pulling you onto his lap without hesitation. His legs took up most of the floor, leaving you nowhere else to sit. You landed with a yelp, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself.

“This is not why photobooths were invented,” you hissed.

He adjusted you on his lap, hands deceptively casual as they slid to your waist. “Sure it is. Two people. One camera. No space to lie.”

The first flash went off before you could form a comeback. Your face was still flushed from the vampire flirting and his grin was lazy and cocky, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

In the second photo you covered your face with your hands, laughing, while his mouth was close to your jaw, teeth moving to graze just below your ear again.

The third photo flashed when you were mid-whisper. You leaned in close to say something flirty and he responded with something filthier and the camera caught it in your eyes.

By the fourth photo you were making out. No hesitation, just hands moving and the soft sounds of your sighs against his lips.

When the strip printed you reached for it but Sylus' reflexes were faster. He grabbed them first then held it high, playfully out of your reach while you swatted his chest.

“I hate you,” you said, laughing breathlessly.

“Uh-huh. Sure you do.” He glanced down at the photos, then back at you, expression unreadable for a moment. “This one’s mine.”

You paused. “Oh?”

He folded the strip carefully and slid it into his wallet, right behind his ID. “Just in case I need proof. Of how you really look at me.”

With the strip of photos safely tucked away in his wallet you two had decided to leave the store. Your hands were brushing just slightly until Sylus caught yours with his. No other words were said between you, just long fingers wrapping around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You walked in comfortable silence for a minute. Enjoying the shopping centres warm light. Your fingers squeezed his and he returned the squeeze without missing a beat. Then you tugged him toward a smaller boutique off to the side, it had pastel signs, minimalist decor and everything looked overpriced. As soon as you entered, it smelt like rosewater and vanilla.

“A skincare store?” he said, eyeing the shelves full of glass jars and tiny droppers.

“You’ll survive,” you smirked.

He watched as you flitted from shelf to shelf, reading ingredients like you were decoding spells. He didn't know a damn thing about toner or hyaluronic acid but he liked the way your brow furrowed when you were deep in thought.

You held up two products. “Okay, these are both really good—”

“Get both,” he said, without even glancing at the price tags.

You blinked. “I wasn’t asking you to—”

“I know,” he said smoothly. “But I’m still paying.”

“Sylus…”

He stepped closer, hand on the small of your back. “Don’t make a scene, sweetheart. It’s just skincare. I’m not asking you to name our firstborn.”

You huffed, but your eyes were warm. “Fine. But I’m using it on you, too.”

He smirked. “Can’t wait.”

As you turned to grab one last bottle, he snagged something from the lip balm stand near the counter. It was cherry-flavoured, tinted and a silky red like temptation in a tube. You were too distracted to notice that he added it to the pile and as you stepped up to the counter, Sylus handed the items over before you could argue about payment again. His card was out and tapped before the clerk could even announce the total.

Once they were outside again, he pulled the bag from your hands and fished out the lip balm.

“Here,” he said, holding it up.

You narrowed your eyes. “That wasn’t mine.”

“It is now.”

“What’s the catch?”

His eyes gleamed. “Put it on.”

“Why?”

He leaned down, voice dropping. “So I can see what cherry tastes like when I kiss you.”

Your breath caught again but you reached up and took the lip balm. You uncapped it slowly and swiped it across your lips. He watched every movement, like a man caught under a spell.

You smacked your lips together, glancing up at him through your lashes. “Satisfied?”

“Not even close,” he said, before leaning down and stealing a kiss that tasted like cherries and mischief and everything he hadn’t admitted yet.

~

You stepped back into the flow of shoppers, your hand still nestled in his, but everything felt different now. Your lips were tingling, and not just from the cherry balm.

Sylus was quiet and smirking. Of course he was. The bastard knew exactly what he’d done.

You caught a glimpse of him as you passed a display window, his sharp profile and silver hair catching the overhead light… and a faint red sheen clinging to his mouth.

Your knees nearly gave out.

“You have…” You started, your voice barely above a whisper as you walked, “a bit of the lip balm still on your mouth.”

He turned to you slightly, still walking. “Do I?”

“Yes,” you mumbled, looking down.

He stopped just before the exit of the centre, tugging you aside into a little alcove.

His thumb tilted your chin up and his gaze was intense. “You’re blushing.”

“You’re wearing tinted balm.”

“Your fault.” He leaned in, brushing his mouth beside your ear. “You told me to kiss you.”

“I didn’t—!”

“You didn’t stop me either.”

You shoved his chest and your cheeks were burning. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“And you’re a menace.”

“Yet here you are,” he teased, pulling open the door so you could step outside.

The sun had shifted lower in the sky, painting everything gold. The air was crisper now and the breeze was cooler. You shivered slightly, and his arm slid around your waist like it belonged there.

You walked back to the carpark and you tried not to stare at his lips again but it was no use. The pink-red tint was faint now but it was still there. Every time you looked at him your lips tingled in memory of the kiss, his hands and his mouth. Sylus noticed, of course he did.

“You gonna keep staring at my mouth, sweetheart?” he murmured, not looking at you. “Or are you waiting for another taste?”

You choked on a laugh. “I’m considering fishing that lip balm right out of the bag and tossing it.”

He reached into the bag and pulled the tube out like a weapon. “This one?”

You snatched it from his hand.

“Keep it,” he said, watching you put it back in the bag “That way, when I’m not around, you’ve still got something to make your lips taste like me.”

Your blush came back with a vengeance as you watched him straddle the bike. He handed you the helmet, and smirked. “C’mon, Kitten. Let’s get you home before I find another excuse to kiss you in public.”

You went to sit behind him but he stopped you and scooted back on the bike.

“You’re driving,” he said.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Just the start. I’ll guide you.” He pulled you closer, helmet in one hand, the other now tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“I—” you swallowed. “Of course I do.”

“Good girl.”

He patted the space in front of him and you climbed on, your back pressed flush against his chest. His arms curled around you like steel cables wrapped in velvet, hands settling over yours on the handlebars, heavy and sure.

“Feet up, balance your hips,” he murmured, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

The engine purred to life beneath you and you could feel every vibration ripple up through your thighs. He was behind you like a rock, solid and warm. His breath fanning across your neck. You rolled out of the lot smooth and slow, your hands twitching nervously under his as he guided the motions.

“Little left,” he said, voice low, right against your pulse. “Good… now throttle—not that much, baby, easy…”

“Why does it feel like I’m flying?”

“Because you are,” he said, and he kissed your neck.

You squeaked, nearly losing your balance. He chuckled and his hands tightened just enough to keep you centered.

“You’re doing perfect,” he rasped. “Can’t wait to get you home.”

You slipped through the highway, gold dusk lighting the road in front of you. His arms never left your body, fingers occassionally shifting your grip and steadying you on turns. For the most part, they just rested. A thumb stroking the edge of your palm. His chest rising and falling against your back. His knees snug at either side of your hips. Every part of you felt caged in, guided and claimed.

When you finally pulled up outside of his apartment, you didn't move. You couldn't. Your heart was thundering, your thighs were like jelly and your palms were sweating from more than just nerves. Sylus reached up and popped your helmet strap loose and set it aside. His lips grazed your jaw.

“You alright?” he asked softly.

You turned your head slightly. “You did that on purpose.”

He smirked. “Taught you how to drive. What else did I do?”

“You—you sat there like—like a heat source and a distraction—”

“And you loved every second.”

You then tried to get off the bike but your knees wobbled. Sylus caught you.

“I’ve got you,” he said again, quieter now. “Always.”

Once you were inside Sylus' apartment the mood had shifted from soft to playful. You made him sit on the couch after tugging his shirt off. He relaxed into it, shirtless and smug and stretched out like the couch was a damn throne that was built just for him. You climbed onto his lap, knees on either side of his thighs and pulled out the little jar from the bag. A face mask. It was pale pink and smelled like roses and your smug satisfaction.

“I’m about to make you prettier,” you said, dipping your fingers in.

His brow arched. “I’m insulted you think that’s possible.”

“Mm, it’s not about what you are, it’s about what you could be,” you teased, swirling a generous dollop across one cheek.

He twitched. “Cold.”

“Oh no, Professor, are you going to give me detention?” you cooed, swiping more across his jawline.

“Detention wouldn’t cover it, Kitten. You’d need an entire semester.”

You laughed, working the mask in gentle strokes, deliberately slow as your fingers painted across his face, nose and forehead. You smoothed the last line of cream just under his eyes and gave a proud little hum.

“There. Perfect. Your skin’s gonna be soft enough to sell kisses.”

His grin was wide, amused and dangerous.

“And what if I only want to sell them to you?”

Your body stilled and you blushed hard. You started digging through the bag like you were looking for another product but really, you were hiding the way your thighs wanted to squeeze around him.

“Don’t distract me while I’m doing your skincare.”

“Then don’t straddle me like this unless you want to be distracted.”

“I’m multitasking.”

His hands slid to your hips, and you could see the grin even under the drying mask. “And I’m barely restrained. We’re not the same.”

“I’m trying to help you, Sylus.”

“Oh, you are. But not in the way you think.”

Your fingers stilled as your eyes met. Face mask or not, his face card was still lethal. Still a storm in disguise.

You licked your lips, still tasting the essence of cherry. “You like being pampered?”

He leaned in. The mask cracked a little at his cheek.

“I like when you touch me,” he murmured. “No matter the excuse.”

The mask was nearly dry now, patchy and cracked, especially around Sylus' smirk. You had been fussing over it for a few minutes now, giggling under your breath as you peeled a piece off his chin with maddening precision.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered, eyes tracking every movement of your hands.

You grinned. “You’re lucky I like high-maintenance men.”

“Oh? That what you think I am?”

“Mm-hmm.” You leaned in, tugging gently at the corner of the mask on his nose. “Fussy. Difficult. But hot enough to get away with it.”

He didn't move or blink. Just sat there like a loaded weapon you hadn't finished disarming. That was until you reached for another bit of dried face mask under his eye. Then he struck. A quick whip of his mouth, his teeth caught the tip of your finger, a gentle nip but sharp enough to make you gasp and jolt on his lap.

“Sylus!” you yelped, laughing as you tried to pull your hand back.

He didn’t let go right away. Just held your finger between his teeth, eyes burning red behind the cracks of a rose-colored face mask, and spoke around the grip.

“I told you… don’t touch me unless you want a reaction.”

You wriggled, still laughing and flushed. “That wasn’t even sexy touching!”

“You’re on my lap. You’re playing with my face. You’re straddling me. It’s all sexy.”

You finally freed your finger and he chased it with his tongue. You playfully smacked his chest.

“God, you’re impossible.”

“Mm. But soft now,” he said, tapping his cheek. “You did a good job.”

You scoffed, trying to bite back your smile. “You’re such a brat.”

He leaned in, lips ghosting your jaw. “Then discipline me.”

You didn't back away. In-fact, you accepted his challenge. You slid your fingers into his silver hair and tugged just hard enough to warn him and he froze just for a moment as he processed the shift in your demeanour.

“Oh,” he murmured, smile curling. “Is that how it’s gonna be?”

“You said to discipline you,” you whispered, dragging your nails down the back of his neck. “So shut up and take it.”

His pupils dilated instantly, like a match to gasoline and he stayed still like a good boy.

You leaned forward thumb brushing over his cheek-bone just to taunt him. “Pale skin,” you whispered, “red eyes… And you’re practically begging for my blood.”

Sylus growled low in his throat, hips shifting under you.

You smirked. “What? Vampire got your tongue?”

He reached for your waist but you pinned his wrists against the backrest of the couch. Straddling him tighter and pressing your chest to his. “Uh-uh. You said you were soft now. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

His head tipped back against the cushions, laughter low and ragged. “You are going to ruin me.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Then you leaned in to kiss him slowly and possessively and he let you do it. Your lips were slick, breath ragged and your thighs were squeezing around his hips. The faintest scent of cherry and rose hanging thick in the air between you. Then you started to grind against him, rolling your hips slowly, needy and dangerously. His hands clenched into fists, and his jaw clenched as if he was trying to hold himself together under you but then you rolled your hips just right. A guttural sound slips out of him.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

You grin against his jaw, lips brushing over his skin ever so slightly. Your voice was sugar-sweet and venom-laced. “Then give in. Let go. Let me take control.”

You move your hips again and his twitch in response. His hands break free from your grip, catching your waist and holding you still. His voice drops lower.

“So you want control?” His thumb slides under the hem of your shirt, dragging against bare skin. “Unfortunately, I can’t give it to you…”He leans in, brushing his lips against the corner of yours. His breath hot and aching. “Not yet.” He pauses as he notices your body trembling under his touch. Then he kisses you hard, his tongue claiming and sweeping deep as if to steal your breath and sanity all in one motion. One hand slides up your spine, the other pressing you tighter into his lap and grinding you down against the thick and unmistakable denim-clad erection beneath you. Your hands fist in his silver hair as his mouth moves along your jaw hot and slow. You gasp when his hips buck, reminding you exactly how much power he's still holding back.

“Sylus…” you breathe out, voice trembling with desire.

He groans against your skin, his hands dragging the hoodie up your body until it's over your head and tossed somewhere behind you. Your tank top follows, fingers grazing along your ribs like he's memorising every inch of you. Your bra strap slips off your shoulder as he kisses you there, leaving heat in his wake.

The bag of skincare creams, perched precariously beside you, tumbles to the floor with a thud, forgotten. No more teasing with masks or cherry balm. This was raw, building and inevitable.

“You keep thinking I’ll let you stay in charge,” he murmurs against your collarbone, tugging your bra strap further down with his teeth. “But I like watching you try.”

You shiver, still in your jeans and your thighs still pressed tight around his hips but your whole body was buzzing under his touch. He grips the back of your knees and shifts them, adjusting you just right, so you can really feel him. Trapped beneath denim and painfully hard.

“Feel what you’re doing to me, Kitten?” His voice drops. “This is how much I want you.”

You moan softly and with desperate fingers you reached for your own jeans but he catches your hands.

“No,” he growls. “That’s my job.”

He unbuttons your jeans slowly, locking eyes with you the whole time. There's no rush, just deliberate seduction. His fingers slid down, dragging denim and lace in one smooth motion. You lift your hips to help, your heart pounding like a war drum.

“There she is,” he whispers when your bare skin finally presses against his abdomen. “The girl who thought she could take control…”

Then his hands cup your ass, guiding you back down, pressing you against the bulge still tenting his jeans. Your bare cunt to denim now, nothing between you but self-control that's rapidly fraying. Your hands slide down against his bare chest, your body is flushed and feverish, lips swollen from too many kisses that never last long enough. His jeans dig into your thighs as you rock your hips in slow, tormenting circles. Creating just enough friction to make his breath hitch. His hands tighten on your waist, jaw clenched. The usual sharp control in his gaze fracturing and you see it. So you lean in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear and you speak with a low and sultry voice.

“You talk a lot about control…for a man that’s slowly losing it.”

Just like that his grip falters, his hands twitch sliding down from your waist to the curve of your ass. His hips involuntarily stutter upwards, chasing that rhythm you've been feeding him in maddening doses. His eyes darken a smouldering and dangerous red.

“Huh…” he breathes, a little laugh in his throat. “Is that so?” His fingers flex, grabbing tighter. “Tell me, Sweetie… was that bold little mouth of yours worth what’s coming next?”

He shifts beneath you, slamming his up, just once but hard enough that you gasp and grip his shoulders like a lifeline. “Because if you’re gonna challenge me…” he murmurs against your throat, biting just enough to make you whimper, “you better finish what you start.”

You quickly recover yourself and slip your fingers between you. Tracing the outline of his cock straining beneath his pants. He was hot, thick and aching. You shift your weight a little bit, grinding harder against him. Leaving behind evidence of your arousal on him. He groans, low and guttural, fingers digging into your hips like you're the only thing anchoring him to this goddamn earth. “Fuck, kitten…You’re soaked.”

You smirk as you drag your nails lightly over his stomach, watching as his ab muscles twitch from your touch. “Guess I like the idea of breaking a control freak.”

His eyes snap to yours, they look like they're glowing but before he can speak, you're popping the button on his jeans. Slowly and deliberately you tug down the zipper and slip your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his hard cock. His breath catches. “Thought you were gonna teach me a lesson,” you whisper, stroking him slow. “But you’re the one trembling now, Professor.”

He grabs your wrist. Not to stop you, but to hold your hand in place as his hips buck into your palm.

“Keep talking, and I swear to God, I’ll make you forget your own damn name.”

You lean down, lips brushing his. “Then make me.”

His mouth parted and his breath was shallow. The grip on your wrist loosens, not because he wants to let go but because he's slipping. You feel it in the tremble under his fingertips and the way his hips twitch like he's seconds from losing the plot completely. That's when you strike, still holding his stare, you push yourself up on your knees and guide him out of his jeans. You lined yourself up over his hard, flushed and already leaking cock. Your slick and aching, wet from all the teasing and your thighs tremble from the tension.

“Eyes on me,” You breathe. “Don’t look away.”

Sylus keeps his eyes on you. You sink down on him in one slow and aching glide. Stretching around him, taking every inch while his jaw locks and his hands fly up to your hips, gripping you tightly.

“Jesus Christ…” He barely says it before you roll your hips forward, seating him deep and buried inside you. His head tips back with a guttural groan, muscles in his stomach twitching from the effort it takes not to pin you down and ruin you. But you’re not done. Oh no. You lean in, lips brushing his ear, voice soft and devastating.

“Still in control, Professor?”

A growl rips from his throat as he snaps his head forward, nose brushing yours. His voice is wrecked, dark and shredded by restraint. “Only if you let me be.”

Fuck, that look in your eye nearly takes him out right then and there. It was a look that says ‘try me.' And he fucking loved it.

Sylus lies back, barely breathing. His hands loosely grip your hips, just resting there while you have your moment of control. You were glowing above him, your hair tousled, your skin flushed and your lips were parted in soft breathless moans that echo in the corners of his apartment like some kind of goddamn siren song. Your eyes flick down to him, they were hungry and teasing and all he thought was how fucked he was and utterly wrecked. Because the way you were moving over him, slow, confident and hungry. Like you own him, body and soul and all he could think was that maybe you do.

His voice is hoarse when it finally breaks out of him. “You’re… fuck—you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You pause, only for a second, hips still rolling and dragging your cunt up and down his thick, veiny cock. Your fingers trace over his chest and you lean down, close enough for your breath to tickle his lips.

"Yeah?” You whisper, a smirk ghosting your mouth. “Even like this? When I’m riding you into the fucking couch?

"Especially like this,” he growls, hands tightening again. “You’re perfect. You’re mine.”

Suddenly, the awe turns to fire. The tension in his body snaps. His fingers dig into your hips again but he doesn’t flip you. Not yet. Not when you look so divine above him but he’s close. Too close and you know it but he adores looking up at you like that. Your hair sticking to your flushed cheeks, lips parted, and chest rising with each panting breath as you ride him like you own him. It was art. It was worship and for a moment Sylus let himself drown in it.

But it was too much. He grits his teeth groaning deep in his chest. One more second like this and he was gonna cum hard and fast. Sylus couldn’t have that. No, not yet. He wanted to feel you break first. So he grabs your waist, tightly and with one swift movement flips you onto your back and presses you into the couch cushions.

“You’re too good at this,” he growls, breath ragged as he looks down at you. “You make it impossible to think.”

You barely get a gasp out before he's sliding down your body, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your skin, worshipping every inch of you like you're his altar. When he gets low enough, when your thighs part like they know what's coming, he smirks.

“Guess I’ll just have to return the favour.”

Then he devours you, no teasing, no slow build. Just eats like a man starving, tongue relentless, lips greedy and arms locked around your thighs to keep you right where he wants you. You writhe and claw your fingers at his scalp, you cry out his name with that desperate, high-pitched "Sylus!" and he moans into you like a praise. Your thighs tremble around his shoulders and your fingers grip tightly into his hair, like you're trying to anchor yourself but Sylus is in his element. His tongue moves slow and deliberate now, dragging through your slick cunt like he's tasting something he's been craving for years. He flicks the tip of his tongue just under your clit and hears that little gasp you make, the one you can't hide, the one that you always try to swallow. But not tonight. Tonight he wanted to hear every sound and feel every tremble.

His grip tightens on your hips, dragging you just that inch closer to him, holding you steady when you buck against his mouth.

“Don’t run,” he murmurs against your soaked pussy, voice gravel and honey. “You started this.”

Then he flattens his tongue and devours you all over again, like it's a challenge, like you coming apart is the only goal that matters. You feel him groan into you, the vibrations roll through you cunt like thunder and it wrecks you. You back arches, your eyes flutter and a broken moan slips free as he draws tight circles with his tongue, again and again, just shy of pushing you over. You were close, so fucking close and that's when he stops. He looks up at you, his mouth glistening, his lips swollen and his red eyes locked on yours. Like you're the only goddamn thing in this world.

“Tell me, Sweetie,” he says low and rough, “you want to come on my tongue, or do you want my cock inside you when you do?”

You look him dead in the eyes, cheeks flushed, lips parted and heart pounding. "Inside..." Your breath catches. "I want your cock..."

Sylus growls like a man on edge, like your words just set his fucking blood on fire. He moves up your body and crashes his mouth against yours. It was wet and hungry, you tasted yourself on him as he slid back inside you, slowly and deliberately. Like he wants you to feel every inch of him. You shudder beneath him and he doesn't wait. One strong hand hooks your leg over his shoulder, opening you up to him, and angling you just right. The other hand holds your waist and anchors you in place.

“There we go,” he mutters, voice frayed and filthy. “Look at that. Fucking perfect.”

Then he starts to move. Long and deep thrusts. He was controlled and focused. His hips roll forward driving into your sweet spot and again and again. It was too deep, too good and too much. Your head drops back against the couch cushions a strangled moan ripping from your throat. Your body arches, chest pressing into his as he keeps you folded like a doll, completely at his mercy but Sylus doesn't let up. Not even when your nails dig in his shoulders and not when your voice turns to breathy, desperate cries.

“That’s it. Take it, baby. You wanted this.” Each snap of his hips is brutal and precise, his grip unrelenting.

You're writhing, panting his name and toes curling. He leans in, his forehead pressed to yours and his red eyes were burning.

“Come on, Kitten,” he whispers, cock twitching inside you. “Give it to me. Come while I’m buried deep, just like you begged for.”

You gasp his name like a prayer turned sin, mouth open and body locking around him like you'll never let him go but Sylus doesn't stop. He groans through gritted teeth, hips slowing but still moving, still driving into your pulsing pussy. You're so tight and fluttering around him like your body is trying to keep him inside you forever.

“Fuck, Kitten…” he whispers, almost a whimper. “You’re—god, you’re so tight when you come. You make it so damn hard to hold on…”

He pants against your cheek, forehead damp with sweat and arms trembling as he keeps your leg hooked high over his shoulder. His other hand glued to your waist like he'll lose himself if he lets go. Then he looks at you, your flushed face and heaving chest. Your eyes were half-lidded and still dazed from your intense orgasm. Your lips parted like you were trying to catch your breath, like you could barely believe he was still going and that fucking look... undoes him. Because you're the most beautiful thing in the world, like this, under him, clinging to him and taking him deep. His breath catches and his rhythm stutters and that's when he finally breaks.

“Oh fuck—Sweetie—” He groans your name like it’s sacred, driving himself in one last time, deep as he can and comes, hard and helpless, buried inside you.

His whole body shudders, his fingers dig in and he holds you tight, like you're the only thing anchoring him to earth. Even as the tremors fade, he doesn't move. He just stays there, panting against your throat, letting your warmth swallow every last wave. Then he finally speaks, with a soft and broken grin.

“You… are gonna ruin me.”

~

You're tangled together on the couch, there's a quiet hum in the air like the world had finally decided to hush for you. The soft glow of the lamp paints his skin gold, the rise and fall of his chest steady under your cheek. You trace a slow, long line along his ribs with the tip of your finger, sighing like it's the safest place in the world. Your voice is gentle. Almost like you're speaking a secret out loud for the first time.

“You really are a work of art…”

Sylus blinks, the compliment hitting deeper than he expected. Not in a vain way because you weren't teasing. Your tone held weight and reverence, and even a mix of wonder. He shifts just enough to look at you, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. Then, with a tenderness that tugs time to a crawl, he cups your cheek in his palm. He looks at you the way he had earlier, when you were above him, moving him like a dream and when he couldn't tear his eyes away from you. That same reverent awe and that same quiet ache.

“If you were also an art piece…” His thumb brushes your cheek. “Then whoever created you… must’ve loved you dearly.”

You swallow hard, blinking quickly. Your heart thuds so loud in your chest you're sure he can hear it. He smiles softly and sincere. Then leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. Like it's worship and like you are art that he'll never stop looking at.

[whenstarsundress]

hi! would it be possible for you to do ‘left on read’ piece with xavier please? 🫶🏻 totally understand if you don’t want to, just thought i’d ask :)

i still have a few of your books and a lipstick. can i come over, or do you want to pick it up?

you hadn’t replied.

hello?

not the first text. not the second. and when the third came in, your heart dropped.

don’t leave me on fucking read.

xavier never cursed. not when you were dating. not even during fights. he was the calm in every storm. gentle and composed.

which is why the knock at your door sent ice down your spine. you didn’t even have time to cross the room before it swung open—he must’ve used the spare key. and then—

slam.

he was on you. not yelling. not begging.

just breathing hard, chest heaving under that soft ivory sweater. his silver hair a little messy and those sharp, ocean-dark eyes staring like they could drown you.

“you read it,” he said, dangerously controlled.

you swallowed. “xavi—”

“don’t,” he cut in, stepping close. “you ghost me. after everything. after how i held you. after how i—”

his voice broke. and then his mouth was on yours in a hot, desperate kiss. like he’d been starving without you and hated himself for still needing you. you whimpered against him, hands pressed to his chest, but you didn’t push him away. because your body missed him too.

missed the way his hand slid around your throat but never squeezed. the way his other hand cupped your ass and lifted you, like nothing had changed. like he still owned this body. and maybe he did.

he laid you down onto the couch and pulled his sweater off while you were already unbuttoning your shorts. your breath mingled, hot and wet.

“i missed this,” he growled, tugging them down impatiently. “i missed you.”

“you said we weren’t working—”

“we weren’t,” he snapped. “but i still think about you every fucking night. about how you sound when i’m inside you. about how you fall apart when i kiss that spot right here—”

his mouth was suddenly on your neck, biting just beneath your jaw. you gasped and your back arched.

“xavier…”

“yeah,” he breathed, dragging your panties down. his voice cracked with something that wasn’t quite anger. something closer to heartbreak. “say it again. let me hear you.”

there was no hesitation as he spread your legs wide and looked at your sweet pussy for a moment. there was no hesitation when he plunged his full thick length inside you, like he belonged there

you both gasped.

your nails dug into his arms and your breath hitched as he started to move. he was rutting hard, rough and so deep. his tip kissed your cervix like an ‘i’m back’ with every thrust.

“still so fuckin’ tight,” he groaned. “like your body never forgot me.”

“i didn’t—” you moaned as his hips snapped harder. “i didn’t forget—xavi—”

his hand came to your jaw, holding you in place as he fucked into you. sweat beading at his brow as he watched you intensely.

“then why’d you ignore me?” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “why’d you leave me like i was nothing?”

tears stung your eyes. “i didn’t know how to say goodbye.”

his rhythm faltered. he kissed you again, and this was the xavier you knew. the kiss was sweet, aching even, showing how he hated this pain but loved you too much to stop.

“i’m still yours,” he whispered against your lips. “even if we’re broken. even if we’re not okay. my body still aches for you.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, until nothing could fit between the two of you. his brutal rhythm turned into something softer, as he rocked into you. each stroke of his cock felt like an apology.

you didn’t know what this meant. he probably didn’t either. but in that moment, as he came inside you—as your name spilled from his mouth like poetry—you both knew it wasn’t really over.

not yet.

I hope you enjoyed it 🫶🏼

[moonlight-prose]

SIN TI

a/n: years ago when the falcon and the winter soldier came out, i wrote a one shot that has solidified itself as one of my favorite fic i've written. it's a friends to lovers arc and while i wanted to end it there. i couldn't stop myself from giving them another chapter to their love story. so i hope y'all enjoy. there's plenty more torres fics to come. also a massive thank you to my favorite person @soulores who bounced ideas off me and helped me with some of the spanish (i'm learning to fix up my fluency i promise).

note: this fic in my head is a latine reader, but there's no specifications/descriptions so imagine who you wish!

summary: five years have passed. five years since he boarded a plane and left you behind to wait diligently for the man who would never return. when letters and patchy phone calls failed to keep the spark of your relationship alive, you find each other again. only this time as two entirely different people.

word count: 11.2k+

pairing: joaquín torres x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, epistolary beginning, angst, broken hearts, long distance relationships, epistolary style at first, romance, friends to lovers, arguments, passionate declarations of love, fingering, p in v sex, alcohol consumption, biting, cumplay, rough sex, desperation, yearning + pining, he's got a filthy fucking mouth, more angst, the grief of failed love, second chance romance, forever.

SIEMPRE

December 5, 2023

Mi amor,

It’s hard to believe you left only a few weeks ago and somehow I miss you more than I could say in words. If it were possible I’d have sent a longer letter than this. I’d tell you how I miss our mornings spent hunting for coffee, our nights wandering the streets. I’d tell you I miss your lips. But that seems cliché given the circumstances.

I wanted you to stay. And yet…I know how important it was that you go. You need this. You need to figure out where you exist in this world after living in it alone for five years. So I hope you discover what’s always been meant to find you. And when you do, please know that I’ll be here waiting for you.

Back where it all began.

Siempre te amaré.

-Tu corazón

January 8, 2024

Mi corazón,

God I miss your voice, your handwriting, your fucking smile. I miss every part of you. If I told you what I’ve actually been thinking of you’d probably never forgive me for putting it down somewhere in permanent ink. No te culpo. I wish I had better news, or at least some stories to give you, but they’re kicking my ass even before my eyes open. Bright and early at dawn until my whole body is screaming.

I don’t want you to worry mi vida. Please don’t worry. I’m doing okay. I’m alive at least. Gracias a dios. Well I wouldn’t exactly say no to a candle being lit in my name (maybe to help with the constant wake up calls of how you felt that night). Tell Clara and Michael I miss them. Give mi mamá a kiss and drop some flowers off for pops. But most importantly do me a favor.

Wear them for me yeah corazón? They’re my “lost” pair (got reamed out for “losing” my first fucking pair of dog tags but it was worth it to give you a piece of me.) Keep ‘em on. And know that I’ll be fighting like hell to get my way back to you. Back to our spot, back to morning coffee runs and night walks in the city.

They’re yours. Just like I am.

Siempre te amaré.

-Yours forever Joaquín

January 16, 2024

Mi amor,

Thank you baby for the tags. I cried when I felt your name engraved in the metal. Just the feel of the letters reminded me of the way you’d draw on my papers in high school. They were so bad, but I think I still have a few of them in the back of my closet. Somehow that feels like a lifetime ago. I can tell you that I miss you—that’s true—but it’s not entirely the full truth. I never got a first date, rarely got a chance to see your eyes open when we woke up together, or drink shitty beer on the roof of my apartment.

I wish I could say that it doesn’t hurt to wait for you, but that would be a lie. And I can hear you in the back of my head saying: eres mentirosa bebita. And it makes me laugh.

This letter will probably find its way to you near Valentine’s Day. And I can’t have my brave pilot missing the fun. Don’t show anyone. Keep it in your wallet, and enjoy the late nights mi vida (pretend I’m there with my mouth to keep you company, or my hands, or my pussy).

We’ll find ourselves back in that queen sized bed soon enough—that I’m sure of. I will have to take a week off work just to get my fill of you; although even I have to admit that’ll take a long fucking time.

You and I both know I’ll never have enough.

I’ll be thinking of you, as I always do. Especially in our bed. Come home soon mi amor and I’ll be here when you finally do.

Siempre te amaré.

-Tu corazón

February 16, 2024

Happy Valentine’s Day mi corazón.

You’ve got no idea what those Polaroids did to me. I think I touched myself fucking raw (or at least that’s what it feels like). I’ve got half a mind to frame them, proudly display my girl. But I know you might actually murder me, so I’ve got them where you asked—safe in my wallet. I’ve been thinking about you. Okay let me be honest. I always think about you. Seriously you fucked up my brain bebita before I left. Had me wrapped around your finger long before that night, but after…I’m going crazy without you.

Dios mío, yo también te extraño (probably more given how winded I get just thinking about you). And I wish I could say that I’ll be home eventually, but I don’t know. I wish I did. You’ve got no idea how much I wish I could find my way back to you. The air force is…it’s harder than I thought. Nothing I can’t handle.

Until then imagine me finally taking you out on that date. In fact plan it. Figure out where you wanna go, pick out an outfit that’ll drive me batshit, and I’ll be there. On that dance floor to finally finish what we started. Te amo mi corazón. More than you know.

Siempre te amaré.

-Yours forever Joaquín

February 20, 2024

Mi amor,

The thought of you has driven me insane. I actually sprayed your cologne on the pillow you slept on the last few days we were together, just to remind myself of what you smelled like. I also may have rode it. But that didn’t matter. It did nothing but make me ache. Te extraño mucho Joaquin.

I don’t know what to do with myself but go to work and wait for you to come home. But I’ve done what you said—I planned our date. Dinner at our favorite place, a night of drinks at Siempre, and dessert at the small ice cream parlor on the corner.

I want to believe you when you said you could handle the airforce, and I do, but something isn’t right. Por qué mientes mi amor? You forget, I know every piece of you. I know when you’re upset. I know when you are struggling and don’t want to say it, because you think you can bear the heaviness of the world. Even when you were younger you thought you could carry the weight of everyone’s troubles on your shoulders, but you don’t have to. I’m here. I’ll carry it with you.

You can tell me what’s wrong and I’ll promise to listen, to make it better however I can. What’s our love meant to be if not carrying one another through the harsh times of life?

Tell me everything amor. I’ll listen. I’ll save you this time around.

Have they told you when you’ll be able to visit? I know it’s only been a few months, but I just always wonder. If they haven’t I understand—I just miss you. But you know this. I won’t fill up this letter with misery, because you deserve more than that. Your mamá and I have dinner on Sunday’s now (she’s teaching me how to cook so I’ll promise to make a good meal for you).

Clara and Michael are together at last! And they’re worse than us in terms of PDA. I seriously wish you were here just to help me one up them. Give them a show. But that can wait. All of it can wait. As long as I know you’re coming home to me.

Please take care of yourself mi amor. Stay safe and I’ll be here making my apartment a home for the both of us.

Siempre te amaré.

-Tu corazón

March 30, 2024

Mi amor,

I hope my last letter didn’t get lost on the way to you. I’ve heard it could happen. But I’m getting worried with this constant silence. Estas bien? Are they treating you okay? Is the base nice? I just need something to know you’re okay baby. Send a letter, find a way to call me, but don’t leave me with nothing.

I’m not the only one worried and you know it.

I hope you’re safe.

Siempre te amaré.

-Tu corazón

May 18, 2024

Mi corazón,

I don’t know how to start this. I should have answered you earlier. Or sent something in return to your Valentine’s gift. Or shit I should have at least fought tooth and nail for a visitation day to come see you, but that’s no longer possible mi corazón. I’m being transferred to a base further away and I’m not sure when I’ll make it back. I don’t even know if they plan on giving me an idea on what’s going to happen with me, but that’s why I had to tell you.

Lo siento bebita. I’m…I’m just sorry. I love you, I always have and always will. But I can’t force you to wait for me forever. That’s not fair to you. And you deserve better than a man who could never gather the fucking nerve to tell you the truth. Waiting on a soldier like me shouldn’t be your future. So I’m doing what’s necessary.

I’m sorry.

I will always love you.

Forever.

- Joaquín

June 1, 2024

Fuck you Joaquín Torres. You don’t get to rip my heart out that way. You don’t get to end this without looking me in the eyes. Why? Why would you make me fall in love with you if you knew this would end? Why would you promise me forever when you never meant it to begin with? Tell me. Write a fucking letter and answer me!

I deserve the truth. All of it.

I know you are struggling and won’t tell me. I know you’re fighting for your life to keep up with the demands of the airforce and like to pretend you’re fine. But you’re not fine baby. You can’t lie to me and pretend nothing’s wrong. You just…you can’t do that to me. Please. Let me in amor, let me help.

I love you Joaquín.

I need you.

-Tu corazón

FIVE YEARS LATER

The coffee tasted much more bitter than what you remembered. A biting darkness that burned the back of your throat as you gulped down what you could in the fifteen minutes you had for lunch. Whatever food you packed sat forgotten about in your fridge. Another day rushing to the office, another day wandering the streets of a city you could paint with your eyes closed.

A piece of you echoed with the voices of all who came before you. Friends you made, found family that adopted you as their own. Streets overflowing with scents of arroz con pollo and Jamaica flowers boiling away in kitchens—open windows begging for some fresh air.

July scorched the streets with heat you learned to endure. Yet this year felt worse. A curse bestowed upon the people of New York without rhyme or reason.

You pressed a piece of ice to your neck, dabbing at the sweat sliding down your chest. In the hopes you might find some relief from this torture you were forced to endure. Working in an office that barely payed you enough for the rent of your apartment and was far too cheap to put money towards a working air conditioner. You calculated the numbers for them. They could afford it.

“Fuck the heat,” you moaned, wincing with the heat of your coffee.

“That skirt’s sexy mami.”

The sound of her voice was unmistakable. A soft drawled accent of someone who spent her days speaking Spanish more than she did English. You rolled your eyes, digging out another ice cube from what remained in your plastic cup—dropping it in between your breasts with a hiss.

“Tell me why we’re out here?” you asked, shifting as the ice slid lower, finding a spot beneath your breast.

She dropped onto the bench, yanking off a black blazer that looked like hell to be wearing. “Because if I have to spend another day in a court house I’m going to blow my brains out.”

“You work in a court house Clara.”

“Callate. Don’t fucking remind me.”

Her ebony curls were gathered at the top of her head, pinned in place with a familiar teal butterfly clip you lent her a year prior. At this point asking for it back felt irrelevant. She looked better with it than you ever did—never quite learning how to pin it effortlessly like her.

“We’re going out tonight,” she announced between swipes of lipstick, fixing makeup that was primed to perfection.

With a sigh you dug for another ice cube. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.” Her compact clicked shut. “I rarely see you anymore. Plus Michael got the night off so he’s joining us.”

“And where exactly are you dragging me?”

“Dancing.”

You groaned, sinking into the bench far enough to be drowned by the floor. Swallowed whole into the center of Earth—an escape from being whatever you forced yourself to pretend. An adult with a clear path, someone moved on from a heartbreak that ripped you to pieces, someone whole. Yet asking for that felt as if you were signing a life altering contract with gods who weren’t listening to your cries of anguish.

Clara knew you were suffering—she could see the exhaustion on your face—but her specialty was never empathetic talks. She spoke with actions. Loud, boisterous, displays of affection. Like dragging you around town when all you were concerned about was getting home to feed your cat.

“I don’t-”

“Think so,” she mimicked, clicking her tongue. “Ay Dios how many times are you gonna use that fucking excuse?”

“What excuse?” you exclaimed, fixing her with a glare she brushed off with a sigh.

“You need to resurrect yourself. I know you don’t want to talk about him—and I won’t—but you deserve to move on. He became a superhero-”

“Don’t even get me started.”

“Then why aren’t you letting yourself finally meet a future where you get to thrive?”

She was right. You knew every word out of her mouth echoed with enough truth to stab you in the chest. Five years passed before your very eyes and you barely gave yourself a chance to breathe. He’d been your best friend, your partner in crime all these years, and to live a life without him in it felt like a betrayal. Only you weren’t the one to issue the blade, you weren’t the one to open a wound so large it took everything in you not to bleed before her now.

The trail of red followed you on the bleak path ahead. A future without love, a life half lived.

He existed in the world as a hero—a monolithic piece of history the world clamored for. You were merely a mark on a past he might never mention, a brief lapse of youthful hope diminished by powers you held no control over.

What good was it to forget yourself? He certainly didn’t miss you; he barely even thought of you. Yet somewhere along the way you gave him every ounce of strength you should have reserved for yourself.

With a sigh you tossed the empty cup into the trash beside you. “Fine.”

She laughed with a glee that helped break through your melancholy stupor. “Let’s go mami!”

“Where are we going?” And with one word she sealed your fate.

“Siempre.”

The heels were a bad idea, the short silk mini dress was a bad idea, the whole night reeked with poor decisions you should have caught a mile away. Clara shoved you into a green dress yanked from the back of her closet—a forgotten gift she claimed. Only to leave you alone at the bar, her golden yellow nails burrowed into Michael’s arm to drag him deep into a mass of people you tried to avoid.

Your mezcal was tepid, a rim of lipstick decorating the edge of the glass covered in your fingerprints. The music blared loud enough to leave a high pitched ringing in your left ear—a thumping bass causing the floor to tremble with each new song.

You had half a mind to leave, already a sweaty mess just standing listlessly by the bar in a meager attempt at the fun you once had. The same joy that happened right in this very club. But tonight felt different—an energy you couldn’t name that stuck to your tight chest.

“One more,” you called over the music, tapping your glass with a nail coated in chipped polish.

“I’ll get hers.”

You stiffened, his voice washing over you like a bucket of ice dumped atop your head. For a brief moment you wondered if it finally happened, if you reached the point of hearing him when he was nowhere to be found. A dreadful hope that lingered in your chest—a dream you couldn’t speak aloud for fear of driving yourself mad. Until he filled your peripheral, a familiar leather coat you would recognize a mile away and dark hair now cropped and cut short enough to alarm you.

“Mi corazon,” he murmured, leaning close enough to invade your senses with his cologne.

The bottle he left with you still sat on your dresser. Coated in five years of dust, untouched and frozen in a time you would give anything to go back to. Your teeth clamped onto the inside of your cheek hard enough to spill copper across your tongue—a disgusting mixture with the tequila you downed moments prior.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you croaked, barely able to look at him.

“I got home last week.”

“Good for you.” The words were biting, harsh enough to make him wince. Satisfaction flooded your veins.

“Clara invited me,” he admitted, stuffing his hands into his pockets—another song blasting off speakers you wished to break. “I thought…she didn’t tell you did she?”

“What do you think?”

He sighed, ducking his head to stare at his warm mezcal, a withered lime precariously placed on the rim. “I wanted to see you corazón.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped.

Music rang in your ears, a deafening echo that suffocated you beneath the weight of all you couldn’t carry. He fell silent, waiting for an indication that you wanted him there. But none ever came. The irony tasted bitter at the back of your mouth—five years later and still you walked a tightrope he promised to keep upright.

He offered you forever. You just never realized how quickly he could take it all back.

The alcohol stirred in your stomach, bile clawing up the back of your throat and suddenly Joaquín showing up out of the blue wasn’t your only problem. You couldn’t be there. You didn’t know how to stand beside him, feel the heat of his body packed in with everyone else—shame digging its talons into your skin with a malice you probably deserved. Neither of you fought for the love to last.

He didn’t fight for you.

“I came to talk to you-”

“I can’t do this,” you rasped, pushing off the bar before he could finish his half formed pathetic excuse.

“Wait.”

A hand curled into the satin fabric along your back—your quick movements pulling him into the fray. You itched to twist away, remove any trace of his touch that begged to seep into sticky skin and taint the sporadic beating of your heart.

The wall of people stopped you in your tracks, their bodies moving with fluid grace. They called to you, whispered notes of a siren song you could hear beneath the rush of blood in your ears. A thumping promise that banged against a door you sealed shut. You knew it wouldn’t fix anything—only a guarantee to make matters worse—but there was no ignoring what beckoned you forth.

Joaquín called after you, shoving his way through a drunk crowd that barely noticed he was there. You could feel him at your heels, breath fighting its way into your lungs with each punctured gasp—a ragged need for something other than this heat.

His hand curled around your hip, nose buried at the base of your neck.

“Dance with me?” he mumbled.

You allowed your eyes to slip shut, breath spilling past parted lips as the taste of tequila permeated the tip of your tongue. “I hate you,” you sighed, fingers tangling with his.

“Lo se.”

“Then why did you come back?”

The sway of his body behind yours echoed with comfort—that night burned into the back of your mind. “You.”

He spoke with sincerity. A coveted admission he buried the day he wrote those words—his fate sealed with such a tiny stamp. The years may have dragged by, his head barely above water, but the truth still remained. The mere knowledge that you existed somewhere on this Earth—a piece of him left to drag yourself out of the hell he created—broke him little by little. Until he woke up one day, struggling to breathe.

Dancing with Joaquín felt natural. Years spent bar hopping and sneaking into club back entrances weren’t something you could forget with ease.

“It’s not that easy,” you retorted, voice thick and throat constricted. “You don’t just get to…”

“Mírame corazón.”

“No.” The gasp at his touch twirling you slowly in arms you once longed to feel around your waist said otherwise.

There was no fighting something your heart ached for, a pitiful longing you felt claw at the pit of your stomach. The closeness of it, the heat pouring off his body—his hands guiding your hips into a motion the both of you understood better than words spoken in anger. You wanted to hate him. Some parts of you did.

The razor thin line of hate and love blurred as he fit you against his body. A missing puzzle piece you’d been searching for.

He possessed your soul with each step, fingers tangling into his shirt to keep yourself upright. The awkward playfulness that arose like before was nowhere to be found. This time you knew the stakes. He understood the consequences that came with making his choice and he had to live with it every day of his life. Fixing what might forever remain broken would take more than a dance, but it was somewhere to start.

“I fucking missed you,” he whispered—throat tight, constricting his words. He wanted to say more than this, more than words that rang with a hollow truth you might never believe again.

What was stopping you from walking away and leaving him in your past?

What kept you in his arms, following the swivel of hips he craved to grip through the years?

“Joaquín,” you breathed, eyes half lidded and sweat glistening in the orange glow.

“Etérea.”

You pulled away, the hint of lips curled into a grin flashing in darkness he had to squint through. The memories were falling into place. Forgotten joy, carefree moments scattered across a life spent together. He trailed after you for years, determined to love you up to his final breath; if only you understood how quick he might have fulfilled that promise. The reason he crawled his way back—pain splintering along his spine, purple hued bruises now a soft yellow along paled skin.

Tugging you back with a chuckle, he felt the anger wash off your body as you collided with him. His chest snug against your arched back. This was his home. The one place he never dared tell another soul about—too afraid it might disappear.

The gasp you let out was ragged, marred by all the grief he put you through. “I…”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you too,” you relented, head falling back to his shoulder—the mouth you dreamed about finding purchase on your neck.

This felt like a betrayal of yourself. The past five years spent battling demons you never thought could exist in your life. He tore you to pieces with just a few words. Paragraphs of messy ink forever stained in the back of your mind. You could still feel the fucking paper under your fingers—splotches of tears discoloring the pen he used.

How could you allow him to drag you back? But you were tired of pretending to be okay. Exhausted by piteous smiles and pathetic excuses to bring you back to life.

You were stumbling down a dangerous path; his teeth digging softly into salt coated skin that haunted him in dreams. The prick of his incisors scraping along your vein jolted what little sense remained into place—your heart thundering an erratic beat in your chest. He still moved with you, hands securely placed on your hips, body molded to your back until you felt his jeans dig into you.

Waiting on a soldier like me shouldn’t be your future. So I’m doing what’s necessary.

“Stop-” Abruptly he stopped, his touch falling limp at his sides. “No I can’t… We can’t.”

“Joaquín!” Clara’s voice punctured through the thick atmosphere of lust—the wanton need for him washing away with each wave of pain. “You made it.”

“Excuse me,” you muttered, dragging in breath after breath until you lungs burned with the effort. The sting was good, it kept your head above water.

Ramming through the throngs of people you staggered towards the bathrooms. Everyone was far too preoccupied with dancing to crowd the bathrooms and your luck finally came to fruition when you saw an empty hallway. Half worded apologies spilled out of your mouth, tears burning your already hot cheeks as you moved fast enough to send a searing ache down one ankle.

Joaquín’s stomach lurched, his feet already moving before his body could catch up. Michael’s arm looping around his shoulder kept him where he stood, his eyes tracking your stumbling form until the crowd swallowed you whole. Leaving him to agonizingly swallow the stone now stuck at the top of his esophagus.

You were hurt—fighting five years of pain—and he was the one to cause it.

“How was the flight man?”

He snapped to attention, slapping a fake grin on his face he hoped would be enough to sell the lie. “Flight was good. Cramped with all the people.”

“What you didn’t get first class?” Clara teased. “I thought being an Avenger came with perks.”

“Not an Avenger. Well…not yet.”

“Gettin’ too busy for us New York folk huh,” Michael pressed.

Joaquín didn’t hear a word they said, too focused on where you went, what you were doing, how he could rectify his stupid fucking mistake. “Ya cállate hombre. I’m never too busy for you guys.”

“Could have fooled us.” Clara sipped at her drink, a brown lined mauve smile glinting with a voracious sneer he’d seen before. A look reserved for those who warranted such revenge. “I saw you two dancing.”

“Yeah…we were-”

“Too bad she’s already taken isn’t it?” she sighed, the saccharine pitch of her voice slowing the music as a low pitched buzz blaring in his ears.

“W-What?”

“She’s dating someone. A guy from her office. They met a year ago I think? Bueno, we’re thinking wedding bells soon. Since it’s been so long.”

Joaquín’s heart stuttered, mind blaring with a barrage of anger he shut away—self hatred he’d grown familiar with. Time came to a stop, the thumping music falling away, and suddenly he was back in the air. Falling to his death. Your face, your laugh, your voice, whispering in the back of his head—calling him to stay alive. Beckoning him home with wide eyes and forgiveness coated on your tongue.

You couldn’t be lost to him so soon. You were supposed to wait for him.

Only those were fictitious dreams procured in a fractured mind. You didn’t have to do anything. He let you go. And there was no fixing what he destroyed—a grave he dug for himself now lingering with the scent of your perfume, the ghost of your touch haunting him.

“But…” Struggling for air, he straightened his spine—heart twisting beneath the weight of his fuck up. “Wedding bells?”

Clara nodded. “She didn’t tell you?”

The anger was seething in his chest, scorching each vein, clamping around his lungs. “No. That wasn’t mentioned.”

“Pity,” she muttered. “Michael? Another drink mi amor?”

His feet were moving before she could finish her question, hands pushing past drunk people and sweaty bodies lost to the beat of the music. Somewhere in the club you were running to escape a future he now knew could never be. He knew being calm, level headed enough to push through this haze of red, was the only option at this point. But there was no reasoning in love, no sense to be had when you were so close.

Someone cussed at him in Spanish as he managed to make it to the hallway, pushing open the bathroom door without hesitation. You stood alone by the sink. Wiping at tears that refused to stop—your eyes tinged red with how rough you were on yourself. Only when the click of the lock echoed in the small space did you finally look up, finding his reflection in the mirror—your lips twisted into a frown.

“Occupied,” you spit out, yanking another towel from the dispenser.

“Corazón-”

“I don’t want to hear it Joaquín.”

“Five minutes.”

“No. What do you think I don’t want to hear it means? I’ve had enough of the fucking mind games for one night-”

“Escuchame.” The word bit out from the back of his throat, freezing you in place. “What do you want me to say huh? I’m sorry for being an asshole? I’m sorry for fucking up the best part of my life?”

“You were an asshole,” you retorted.

“I know that.” He took three steps, pinning you to the sink, a look you wanted to recognize but couldn’t painting his features. “I know I’m gonna spend every day of my existence apologizing for the shit that I pulled. But what I didn’t know was the truth.”

“What truth are you-”

“Marriage?” he growled like the word dripped with enough sin to kill him on the spot. “You’re practically engaged and chose to dance with me like that? Like I still had a chance?”

Your jaw hung open, mind reeling as the word hit you. “Marriage?” you exclaimed. “Who the fuck…”

“Clara practically jumped for joy with the news.” The laugh dripped with contempt, fingers curling into the edge of the sink as he moved close enough to smell the tequila on your tongue. “I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid.”

“I’m not getting married.”

“Mentirosa,” he huffed.

“Joaquín you’re being insane-”

“Am I?” he snapped. “You’ve driven me insane. Since I lost you I’ve felt pieces of myself disappear.” He dropped his forehead to yours, the warm wash of his breath brushing along your lips—begging for the oxygen you stole when he let you go. “You gotta tell me corazón. Tell me who he is.”

Believing that Clara wouldn’t get involved somehow was ignorance on your part, but some selfish part of you wanted to watch him suffer. To see him break as you did years ago.

Perhaps it was bad of you, a sinister part of your mind speaking, and yet you couldn’t let go of what Clara started. Marriage to a fictitious man—enough of a reality to prove that you were better. That you could live without Joaquín taking up space in your life.

“So you can confront him? I don’t think so.”

Words that only seemed to rile an unforgiving beast buried in the depths of a gentle man. “Someone has to tell him you’re mine.”

Your breath hitched, an all too familiar siren call dragging you to the bottom of an ocean you traversed long ago. “I’m not…”

“Sí lo eres.”

Yes. You were his.

There was no use denying what you could feel in a heart that would forever be carved with his initials. Sacred with its thorns and roots, it drew you to him, captured you with the vow of all he promised before shit fell apart. You were his. You couldn’t even fathom belonging to anyone else. And he knew it the moment your eyes flicked up to meet his—those brown irises you ached for.

“Yeah…” His hand cupped your chin, thumb pulling at a pliable bottom lip willing to fall open. “You know it don’t you bebita?”

“Joaquín-”

Music thumped with a bass loud enough to rattle the walls of this small bathroom, but you could barely hear it over the sound of his heavy exhale. His lips caught yours, hand tightening at the soft breath you pushed into his open mouth—tongue sliding along teeth and taste buds still coated in mezcal. Sucking in air you dug a hand into curls you tugged years ago; still the same man you loved, yet someone entirely different.

A person you longed to know.

You lost all sense when a hand tugged at the skirt of your dress, pushing it up past your hip with a muffled groan. The kisses burned you inside, curling a fist around an already bleeding heart. He devoured you, swallowed each sound and quick pant as you looped your arms around his neck to extinguish the space between your bodies. Fingers dipped beneath the elastic waistband of panties he’d admire later, too intent on the feel of your damp patch and pooling slick.

“Fuck I missed you,” he sighed, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your throat, palm tipping your head back with a pleased hum. “So wet corazon.”

“I n-need-”

“I know.” Licking a line down your jugular you felt whatever anger still simmered beneath the surface vanish—wanton lust blinding you to the mess this would create. “I’ve been thinking about this. How you feel.”

You moaned, hips pushing into his touch. “Please. Touch me.”

“I am touching you,” he smiled, fingers sliding along your twitching clit with ease—able to rip sounds from you that had gone dormant the day he left. “That what you want? Need that pretty clit played with?”

Nodding frantically wasn’t good enough for a man who dreamed of this moment since departure. He gripped your cheeks, thumb running along a cheek decorated in soft gold glitter courtesy of Clara. A small showing of reverence for the man who toyed with your folds, dipping a finger into your slick and dragging it up slow enough to send shivers up your spine.

“I want words.”

“I-I want you to…”

“To what?” he asked far too smug in the way heat flooded your face, burning the tips of your ears and back of your neck.

Yanking at his curls, you watched in fascination when his head fell back, a groan bubbling past swollen lips. “I want you to make me cum on your fingers,” you breathed, lips pressed to a red flushed ear.

He smiled, dazed by the tight grip in which you held him. “As you wish.”

You should have seen it coming the second you released him, how his lips mashed to yours with a grunt, two fingers plunging into your dripping cunt down to his knuckles. Exactly what you asked for on his terms. You wanted to finish and Joaquín was nothing if not competent in that job. The order falling smooth from your mouth—his mind latching onto it with a desperation you’d never seen in him before.

The heel of his hand ground against your clit, trapping you on the edge of that all too familiar rush of bliss. You were right there. Chasing the edge of something mind numbing. By the hands of a man who ripped you apart, leaving you behind with nothing but blunt words and faded ink.

“That it?” Your body pitched forward, face burying into his shoulder when his fingers struck perfectly. “Yeah that’s it huh.”

“I’m gonna—fuck—g-gonna cum.”

He doubled down, practically ripping the high from you with a voracious need to see you break for him. To burn his name in the walls of your fluttering cunt that coated his palm in your slick. Even through the loud echo of music you could hear the wet squelch of his fingers pounding into you, possessing you in a way that was bound to leave you a shell of yourself.

“Soak my hand,” he breathed against the shell of your ear.

Your thighs trembled, clamping down around his wrist as it tore through you. A muffled shout pressed between teeth you sunk against his neck—marking him with the harsh lines of your canines. The music faded, everything else deafened by the ringing in your ears, the wash of bliss far too much for you to take. It wasn’t until your hand gripped his did he finally cease his movements, pulling away to give you a chance for fresh air not plagued by the scent of his cologne.

“W-Wait.”

“Take your time querida.”

“We shouldn’t…” Reality crashed onto your shores with a harsh sweep that nearly dragged you beneath darkened waves you couldn’t navigate alone.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not in the heat of passion with minds muddled by alcohol and adrenaline, not when he still refused to acknowledge that whatever occurred beforehand wasn’t for the best. You were lost, begging for him to lead you somewhere safe. To protect you against the darkness that ravaged your mind for five years. Instead he allowed jealousy to get the best of him.

You were his without question. But at what cost?

“I need some air,” you gasped, pushing him back until you could stand on shaky legs.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Everything. “I just need air.”

You needed far more than that. Something that would cure the agonizing pain coursing through your veins, the buzz of pleasure and alcohol barely making a dent. You cringed at the slick smearing along the crease of your thighs as you walked—the consistent throbbing where his fingers hooked into you drove your mind to the brink of something worse than madness. He owned you in a matter of minutes; reminded you exactly where you belonged.

“Stop fuckin’ running,” he called after you, pushing past the crowd.

Clara caught your gaze for a brief moment, concern flashing to the surface before you shook her off. Making a beeline for the only exit people practically poured out of. The air felt cold along your skin, drying the sweat along your arms and legs. And he rushed out after you, close on your heels—snapping at a chance to corner you.

To finally hash out what should have been said five years ago.

“Will you look at me?”

Sucking in a breath, you struggled to calm the overbearing rush in your ears. “Just…let me breathe please.”

“Mi vida-”

“No!” you snapped, whirling around to catch his stunned face. Everything unraveled faster than you could gather it in your shaky palms, slipping between spread fingers and raw nails that clung to peace. “You return after five years of silence and what? You expect me to forgive you? Just like that?”

The echo of your voice traveled down the street, attracting attention from whoever was closest, but you’d breached the point of complacent false smiles and sweet words void of feeling. He’d ripped you to shreds in mere sentences. Sliced through a lonely heart with something he knew would destroy what parts of your relationship held on despite the distance.

“I was willing to wait for years Joaquín,” you sobbed. “But you couldn’t even handle a few fucking months. You were too much a goddamn coward to break up with me the night you left.”

“Do you think I wanted to break up with you?” he snarled.

“Yes-”

“Me vuelves loco.” He’d been reduced to muttering under his breath, hands tugging at his hair as you wiped at the tears with sweaty palms. Love wasn’t supposed to be this. A knife neither of your held onto, plunging into wounds that never stopped bleeding. But he couldn’t stay away.

Who was he without you in his life?

“Maybe you just have to let me go-”

“Don’t you finish that fucking sentence,” he spit between clenched teeth. “You think I wanted to be without you for five years? That life was easy without hearing your voice or seeing your face? That you were alone because of the choice I made? I hate myself for destroying us! I can’t let you go because I’m desperately hopelessly in love with you. You can’t fix that corazón.”

Your breath hitched, familiar words spoken a lifetime ago here in this very spot. “It hurts Joaquín. Being near you is strangling me.”

“Then tell me what I can do. You have to tell me so I can fix it.”

“I don’t know if you can,” you whispered.

Taking the final few steps, he finally stood toe to toe with you—a calloused hand reaching for the curve of your cheek glistening with makeup and tears beneath the dim streetlight. “I’m nothing without you. I just existed for five years until I saw you again.”

His touch was warm, enticing in all the familiar ways that transformed the reasons you fell for him. Even as you shattered before him, there was still comfort to be found in his presence. He was the sunlight on a warm summer day. The reason you bloomed in the seasons of friendship and almosts and forgotten saccharine love. You couldn’t remain tied to the ground without him acting as gravity—twining himself around your broken form to keep you safe.

Even if he was the reason you bled along the cracked pavement below.

Perhaps it was a mistake, a memory you’d look back on in another five years. But he’d been your path since you found his eyes in a crowded classroom. His smile painted across cheeks that flushed red when you asked if he’d like to sit with you—if he’d take the first step in a thousand, start the story and watch it unfold before you.

“Okay,” you breathed, lost in the brown hue that still gleamed after all this time.

The apartment was stuffy after hours of relentless summer heat. A broken fan you never bothered to fix sat precariously on a stack of worn books picked up at the local thrift store. Joaquín thumbed through a familiar title he remembered snagging off your bookshelf in your old bedroom. The pages were yellowed, corners folded and re-straightened, but he could recall the story as if he was back in that old house listening to your family through the walls.

“How’d I know you pick that one,” you mused, discarding your purse onto a slightly messy kitchen table.

“Can’t help that I love it.”

You smiled. “Even though I never let you borrow it.”

“Never said I had to give it back,” he retorted, leaving it on the small wooden table by your counter, making a note to stick it in his back pocket when you weren’t looking. “The place looks…the same.”

“And that’s bad?” He snapped to attention, stomach jumping. Only to melt at the shining grin you gifted him in the yellow glow of your lamps. “Eres tan fácil.”

Laughter came easier the closer it got to midnight, the familiar warmth of your apartment echoing with memories he wouldn’t soon forget. “Mala.”

If he closed his eyes that night existed with a clarity that punched the air out of his chest. The quick pace you fell into one another—uncaring of what might come to pass. You were reckless in love, desperate to finally feel the touch held back for so long, the longing that was bound to snap. He could smell the perfume you wore, taste the drink you were nursing before Michael pushed him to dance with you. How you sounded beneath him, looked and tasted and touched after years of pure imagination.

Tonight sparked with a charged past ready to play out before your very eyes. A moment in time neither of you could ignore for much longer.

“Water?” you asked breaking the weighty silence.

He shook his head, eyes dark with a familiar need you’d seen once before. “I wanna talk. Like we used to.”

“Talk…” Sucking in a breath, you wiped at the sweat gathering along your chest. Joaquín followed the slow movement with rapt attention—his mouth dry and chest thundering with a restless heart. “What’s there to say? I already know what you’ve been up. Congrats by the way.”

The words were dry off your tongue. A silver tipped blade pressed to the base of his neck.

How could he blame you? When the reason he left you forged a direct path to who he became. The title he carried across his back as he struggled for air.

He wouldn’t be Falcon if he stayed. But he also might have been happy.

“You’re the first person I wanted to tell,” he said softly, admitting what he harbored in a cracked heart for years.

Your heart twisted, stomach fluttering in that old way it used to when you’d catch sight of him. Frustrating. Even as you relished in emotions you longed for after he left. Hope that this would turn into more—a future you could count on. Rather than a consequence you never asked for. Sleeping with him wasn’t the problem; neither was loving him. Even if he never returned you would regret making those choices, pieces of your life that set your heart on fire.

“You could have. If you stayed.”

Joaquín sighed, fingers curling into fists as he gnashed at his cheek. “I know. You never asked about me.”

“What,” you blurted out.

“Micheal knew where I was. He kept in touch. You could have asked him.”

You scoffed. “And who broke up with who again?”

“I wasn’t going to make you wait on me corazón. Being a ball and chain isn’t who I am and you know that. You had a whole life ahead of you. Things you planned to do before that night-”

“What life?” you exclaimed, voice pitched high enough to scratch an already raw throat. “I was broken for five years! Time I’ll never get back. All for what? So you could feel better about a decision you made on a whim? Without asking if that’s what I wanted.”

Ripping open yet another wound he felt his heart give out at the shine of tears on your face. Makeup smudged along the rim of your wet eyes, lips smeared with the remnants of a lipstick he knew was stained along his shirt. You were everything he wanted in life, the moonlight he basked in at the end of the day. The sirens song he crawled home to hear one last time, even as he drowned beneath a shattered love you might never reciprocate again.

He exhaled long and heavy, wiping at his eyes as he glanced around your darkened apartment. A couch he’d slept on was shoved near the window, a new T.V. mounted on the wall was turned off, and an old record player he helped you find now set on a rickety stand. Records piled on a coffee table he could remember eating off of before you found a kitchen table.

A home you built in the time he was gone. One that was always meant to be entwined with his possessions and memories.

Orange flowers sat in a familiar crystal vase his mother used to keep by the kitchen window. Always a new bouquet brought in from his father at the end of a long work week. Music flowing between the walls of a house he now stayed in as he fought to prove himself to you all over again. A past that you lingered in without knowing.

“Cempasúchil.”

You caught what he was fixed on—a small gathering of flowers from the corner you grabbed without thinking. A routine you’d grown to love even after years of his absence.

“For your pops. You said they were his favorite.”

His heart dropped. “You still bring him flowers?”

“I go every Friday with your mamá.”

Every Friday…

Five years of days spent with his family. Even after things fell apart.

He loved you.

He would love you til his last breath, the final beat of a heart that always belonged to him from the very first page. There was no denying a truth that couldn’t be buried in the depths of guilt and grief. Pain laced with memories that clung to apartment walls and city streets. You were his forever. His soul twisted around a body carved with your name.

“Siempre te amaré,” he whispered.

The gasp sounded sweet off lips he could still taste. “Joaquín-”

“I do,” he confessed. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t loved you mi corazón.”

“You can’t just say that.”

“Why?” he demanded.

Slowly you lowered yourself into a chair that was once stuffed into the corner of his living room. “Because we still have to talk about what this is. What we’re gonna do to figure it out while you’re home.”

“What this is? I know what it is. I’ve known since you asked me to sit next to you. I’m yours. I’ve been yours all along.” He dropped to his knees quicker than either of you expected, his hands grasping the warmth of your thighs through sweat stained satin. “I got hurt mi vida.”

Your body stilled, hands cupping his cheeks as fear threaded between each rib and nerve. “What?”

“I…I was stupid and made a mistake and they had to stitch me back together. But I couldn’t care about any of it. Not the fucking pain, or surgery, or having to recover for months, because when I was falling out of the sky…all I could think about was you.”

How quickly you could have lost him and you never knew. You weren’t there when he was struggling to live. You weren’t there when he woke up. You…weren’t there.

“I-I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I didn’t know. I would have come to you-”

“No, no está bien. Yo estoy bien.”

“You almost died and you’re saying it’s okay?”

He smiled, forehead pressing to your stomach—fingers digging into what flesh he could hold as you clung to him. Some part of you sunk your teeth into the fear of losing him, dragging it close to swallow down that feeling. Every emotion, all the pain it kept you alive. It let you know he was there with you and for the first time in five years you held the choice of forever in your hands once more.

There he was offering you everything he was. All he could be, all you knew he was.

The man you were always destined to fall into.

“It is okay,” he murmured. “Because I’m here with you. And I didn’t think I’d get that again. I’m home.”

This is where belonged. The space that called him forward and you watched his eyes raise to find yours. Love shining in irises that haunted his waking life. Everywhere he went Joaquín saw you. In the midnight sky, in the summer days spent on a stuffy base somewhere, in the people he met and allies he formed. You existed in all that encompassed him—a soul he’d struggle to find and vow to keep.

“Rip me apart mi vida. Destroy me as many times as you want. I’ll do anything you want if it means stayin’ with you.”

“Mi amor,” you said beneath a soft breath and his heart mended itself with a shaky ragged gasp.

He rose to meet your lips as your fingers scrambled to find purchase in his jacket, tugging him close enough to nearly tip the chair back. If it fell he’d be there to catch you. Perhaps that’s what had your legs sliding up around his hips, a soft moan pressed to a tongue that slid along yours. The taste of you drove him off the brink of what kept him sane—all the attempted to stow inside an aching heart.

Licking into your mouth with a broken whimper, he dragged you to the edge of the chair, hands kneading at the top of your ass. You yelped into it with a smile, diving into the kiss with a fervor that had him leaking into his jeans. The heat from earlier pooled along his spine again and Joaquín knew he’d barely survive sinking into you; he could feel his cock twitch with every stroke of your tongue.

“Bedroom,” he gruffly got out, yanking you up onto wobbly legs. “‘M not fucking you in the kitchen. Not tonight.”

You grinned, tugging him down an all too familiar path. “There’s going to be more than one night?”

“If I have any say about it.”

“Eres bien creído.”

Hands ripped at your dress, pulling it up and off your body before he could even reach the bed slightly messy with rumpled covers. A staple he could always remember. It made him smile against your lips as you tugged at his clothes—those same warm hands sliding along bare skin. The jacket was left by the door, shirt tossed to the depths of your room and Joaquín placed you on the mattress before reaching for his belt.

Chills rippled along your back at the sound, heart hammering in your chest. He looked the same. Yet something older was housed in his stance, someone who was sure of himself in the way he pushed away the last of his clothes. A grin bloomed across swollen lips.

You admired him as much as you could. Dragging your eyes down to the red tip of his leaking cock and breathlessly finding his eyes in the dark of your bedroom. Last time neither of you got this chance. A moment of stillness before you collided. Silence thick with an electrifying tension you felt down to your toes.

Lifting a bare leg, you placed your foot on his stomach, dragging it down until his hand wrapped around an ankle—tugging you close with a harsh breath.

“Being a tease huh?” he mumbled, lips finding a home at the top of your thigh.

“Not my fault you’re easy to mess with.”

“Since when?”

You smiled, fingers curling around his mussed hair. “Since always.”

Words slipped to the back of a clouded mind when his hands tugged at the lace of your panties, sliding them off and marveling at the wet spot left behind. He could practically taste you on his tongue. The addicting tang of what he’d been craving since he left you at that airport. With a shuddered breath he slid a thumb along your folds, circling your clit hard as you writhed under his needy touch.

“W-Want you inside me,” you forced out, hips rolling into his hand.

Somehow through the haze of lust he made himself follow through with your plea. Hand positioning himself along the dripping hole he’d drink from later—his tongue swiping along his bottom lip. You were mewling for him, fingers twisting into the sheets and legs dropping open wide enough to accommodate his hips.

He slid along your cunt, grinning with unhinged glee at the loud moan ripped from your throat. You were unable to beg. Mouth barely forming coherent words as he toyed with your pulsing clit. Precum stained the pretty clean skin of your inner thigh, smearing a mess into the hair he was desperate to bury his nose in.

“Say it for me yeah?” he muttered, voice deep with gravel.

A gasping moan hit his ears, your chest heaving. “Please. Fuck me. Come in me. Just p-please do something-”

“Sh, sh. I know mi corazón. You’re empty without my cock huh?”

You nodded, yanking him close enough to feel his chest against yours. “Need it baby. Need you to stuff me full.”

“Mierda-” The near painful twitch of his cock had him burying his face into your neck, teeth scraping against the delicate chain of your necklace. Until he caught sight of silver tucked between your breasts, hidden by the black lace of your bra—a piece of himself he thought he’d never see again.

Only when he was ripping at your final item of clothing did you drag yourself through the thick fog. “W-What’s wrong-”

“You kept them,” he breathed, lips mashing to yours and hand roughly kneading your breast with a grunt. “Wore them the whole fuckin’ time tonight and I didn’t know.”

You wanted to explain that they were all you had left of him, a comfort after all this time. But his mouth closing around your nipple shut down everything but the sparks rushing along veins you didn’t know could exist. He sucked at your skin, teeth indenting into the softness of your breast. That desperate hunger shoving to the forefront—something you could feel wrap around the length of your spine.

He rutted into you, cock brushing where you needed him most, but you couldn’t let go of those words. There was no world where you wouldn’t love him.

No plane of existence you’d be where he wasn’t.

“They’re yours,” you gasped, grinding against him—head tipped back as his teeth scraped your throat. “I’ve always worn them. Since you—fuck baby—sent them to me.”

Whatever he could have said vanished, his mind going white at the thought of you wearing his dog tags from the very beginning. Five years of holding him over your heart. Time he believed to be filled with a cold resentment suddenly colored itself with a flushed pink haze—a dreamlike state he drowned in with a smile painted across his face. You loved him. Even through all this…it would always be him.

He sunk into you in one thrust and you cried out, clinging onto his shoulders at the sudden stretch, his hips meeting yours and head falling to your chest. A muffled fuck pressed between the curve of your breasts—tongue licking the bead of sweat along skin that glistened in the yellow haze of your bedroom. Breath twisted in your lungs, trapping what oxygen remained as he snapped his hips down into you again. Dragging out with slow cruel thrusts.

“So fuckin’ good,” he gasped, hand tangling with yours and pressing it into the plush comforter. “Gonna make me lose my damn mind.”

“Baby.” The word was a desperate whine on your lips, thighs wrapped tight around his hips—chest heaving for resuscitation from the plane of bliss he threw you into.

Without a map you feared you’d be lost to its depths. But his teeth digging into your lip kept you close, satiated the tremble going down your limbs.

There was no mercy in how he fucked you. No time for soft reverence and tender quiet moments. That would find its way to you later—when the moon began its descent along the horizon, time reaching far enough to still what small pleasures you could steal. He’d bring you back to life with a tongue buried in slick folds and fingers pumping deep.

Tonight he ravaged, took his fill of what you both craved as the night went on. Two souls verging together at last. Finally found after years of distance—entire galaxies spanning the years he spent away from your touch.

“Listen,” he breathed hotly into your mouth, lips quirking as the sound graced ears unable to discern his voice from the thundering of your own heart.

But he slowed his movements, plunging into you with a biting grunt you felt burn into your lungs. The loud wet squelch of your cunt bouncing off the walls of an apartment privy to this once before. Sinful in its agonizing beauty. He smiled, grinding his hips hard enough to drag a throaty moan from your chest—his lips there to swallow what you offered with glee. Heat burned beneath your cheeks, the tinge of shame digging between ribs and arteries.

Until he dropped to his elbow, your name encased in a high breath—his brows pulled together and teeth indenting the plush bottom lip you longed to suck on.

“S-Shit baby I’m not—fuck-” The word dragged between a clenched jaw as he rapidly pounded into you, the bed creaking from the force you felt with each stroke.

His cock struck against your walls, a creamy slick pouring out to drip down your ass, coating his balls as they slapped against skin he’d dig his teeth into later. A mess. He’d reduced the both of you to a fucking mess, unable to pick through a hazy mind. Each moan you let out grew higher, thighs shaking from the effort, and he ripped away from your touch before you could drag him close. Looping each limb over arms prominent with veins and familiar tattoos.

Mistakes made back in the youth of being nineteen. Time he spent wrapped in any part of you he could get. Even as something more simmered beneath a friendship always destined to change.

“Joaquín-” you sobbed, clutching at any part of him you could reach, his chest and shoulders red with marks from your nails. “I-I’m not engaged.”

He stilled, eyes wide and mouth parted as he panted for air. “You said-”

“I-I could never marry someone t-that wasn’t you.”

A strand finally snapped, edge reached long before you could ask him what created it in the first place. Brown suddenly bled into black and he now fucked you with everything in him. Lips sealed over yours, hand clenching tight around your hips—his coarse hair dragging along a throbbing clit that begged for more. Your walls fluttered around him, a shattered cry lost to his kiss, but nothing had felt so perfect.

“‘M gonna fuckin’ marry you,” he grunted, forehead resting against yours, bending you up and into his body—cock ramming right up into a spot that left you going blind with pleasure. “Make you mine.”

Everything you longed for—five years of love and grief—crashed at the shore of your body. Ripping the final pieces of your heart from the decay it lived with. You came with his name on your lips, back arching up into him hard enough to draw a flicker of pain down your spine—your eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the fabric beneath you.

He collapsed over you with a choked shout, face buried into your neck as he coated your walls with that soft pool of warmth. A feeling you had forgotten about—bliss wrapped in the taut muscles of his arms, his body a heavy weight on yours. You were lost to it, drowning in his scent and taste, but his lips finding yours tied you back down to Earth. His hands sliding along your skin, tongue licking the pain off the back of your teeth.

Joaquín pieced you back together with a love that altered you entirely, shifted all that you were beneath the tidal waves of his heart. Peace settled in the base of a hammering heart—hope finding a home in the bottom of a fluttering stomach.

You loved him.

Eternally.

And that would forever be enough.

Sunlight danced along the bare skin of your back, face pressed into his chest—ear above a steady beating heart. It lulled you to sleep after hours of rekindling a flame that never went out. His hands a burn along your body, lips reacquainting with the dips and curves of your thighs. He sought you out in the early hours of dawn with a stiff cock and groggy pleas for your sweet essence.

Who were you to deny him?

He smiled pressing a kiss to your temple, fingers toying with your ring finger. If he narrowed his eyes in the afternoon light he could see a flash of yellow gold along skin he savored—a hand he clutched with promise. It wouldn’t be too big; nor small enough to hide from inquiring eyes. A perfect set of jewels adorned on a finger he kissed, the piece of you yet to hold his permanent promise.

Till death.

Till he found you in the next life.

Slipping from the tangle of your limbs, he relished the leap of his heart at the sight of you spread along the bed. Naked and at bliss, exhausted from his hunger. He stole another kiss along your spine, finding his way through the familiar path of the kitchen that still lingered with the laughter of memories that painted the walls. Times spent with friends—now turned family—moments he might one day have again.

A faded picture of two young kids at high school graduation was pinned to the fridge door, another of a night spent dancing at some shitty frat party—high off the freedom of adulthood. Two versions of a love he’d could pick out with his eyes shut tight.

Another would set nicely beside them. Of a wedding in a small backyard, an aisle scattered with orange petals and white daisies adorned to his tux—a veil dragging along the floor where you walked towards him. An image that would be placed on altars in memory, an offering set between the frame and candle as he clutched you tight even in the afterlife.

The coffee machine beeped, two mugs set on the counter as he poured, and that’s where you found him. Fussing with the bottle of cream and sugar packets damp from hot liquid. He wore his jeans low on hips you bit at some point in the night—the indent of your teeth marked into skin that would forever wear your mark. Even if you had to place it night after night.

Your arms looped around his waist, lips finding the warm skin of his back. “I wanted to wake up with you.”

He laughed, turning gently in your hold. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You can still surprise me.”

“Yeah?” he grinned, eyes gleaming with a light that caught your breath in the base of your throat. “Got something in mind?”

Life suddenly held a different glow. Contentment filling veins with a something new. A piece that didn’t exist without him near—his love pressing deep and bright into a chest that burned hot. He left you breathless, begging for reprieve. Yet losing yourself to it all the same.

“So…about everything-” He cut you off with a kiss, hand dragging your left palm to his mouth. “Did you mean what you said last night?”

He smiled, at ease with the nerves he could feel beneath your wrist. “If I did?”

“I’d like that,” you breathed.

“Siempre estaras conmigo mi corazón?”

You nodded, heart singing beneath his love. “Si mi amor. I’ll be with you forever.”

©moonlight-prose do not feed my work into ai, do not steal my work, if you are a minor, spam like my fics, or are a blank blog you will be blocked.

[angelsuecult]

champagne coast | s. crosby

“on my last strength against you

baby, tell me what you need”

warnings: smut w/ plot, explicit sexual content, MDNI, 18+, NSFW, smut

summary: Sidney isn’t yours, and you aren’t his, but in moments like these it’s easier to pretend that there’s something besides the sex.

request: would love a sidney fucking u to tears fic!!! no pressure but wuld be so tasty in ur style !! love ur work :)

word count: 10.2k

song: champagne coast - blood orange

a/n: still working on perfect places, trying to make it better because I hate how I ended up writing it out, have a few more in the drafts waiting to be released but I hope you enjoy this one! original asker don’t hesitate to reach out if you hate/love it! enjoy guys <3

—

Your apartment was quiet when you got home. Golden hour had started to settle over the buildings outside your window—burning up the edges of the skyline in that soft, buttery light. You dropped your keys in the dish by the door, slid your shoes off with your toe, and moved on autopilot toward the couch like your body already knew what it needed.

The cushions sighed under your weight as you flopped back, arm tossed over your eyes. The kind of tired that clung to your skin, that post-work haze where you’re not really thinking, just being. You weren’t even gonna check your phone at first—not until you heard it ding on the coffee table.

Twice.

Pause.

Then once more.

That tone. You knew that text tone. Because you were a stupid girl with your read receipts off and a custom tone setting for his texts. Like a dumb little Pavlovian dog.

You cracked one eye open. Reached over with a lazy arm. Unlocked the screen. And—yep.

Sidney [6:03 PM]: You home?

Just two words. No emoji, no punctuation. But it still did that thing to you. That tight twist low in your stomach, the flutter in your chest that you hated admitting was real.

You stared at it for a second longer than you should have.

He knew he was gonna get a reply. That’s the worst part. That’s the part that made you wanna roll your eyes and smile at the same time. Because he’d been doing this long enough to know that he had you. Not in a bad way. But in the stupid, heady, chemical brain-melt kind of way.

You sat up just enough to type back.

You [6:05 PM]: Unfortunately yeah. Couchbound.

A minute passed. Another buzz.

Sidney [6:06 PM]: That a complaint?

You snorted. Typical smug shit. You shifted back into the corner of the couch, one leg bent under you, phone warm in your hand now.

You [6:06 PM]: Couchbound = no pants. So. I’ll let you decide.

Sidney [6:07 PM]: Jesus christ

Sidney [6:07 PM]: I’m in a team meeting right now

You laughed. Full-on. Head back against the cushion, warmth rushing up the back of your neck like you were nineteen again. It shouldn’t still feel like this. Not when you’ve known him for over a year. Not when he’s flown you out to Pittsburgh more times than you can count. Not when you’ve already had him in your bed and his.

But it did.

He always knew how to hit the gas.

You [6:08 PM]: Mmm. Hope you’re not sitting near the coaches.

Sidney [6:09 PM]: You trying to make me pop a boner during film review?

You [6:09 PM]: I would never

You [6:10 PM]: I just think it’d be really funny if your laptop was in your lap

He didn’t reply right away. You imagined him in that room with his team, the blue light of the projector flickering across his face, jaw tight, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile. One hand on his phone under the table, the other probably running along his thigh.

Probably thinking about your legs, too. How they always look when you’re curled up on your sofa.

And then:

Sidney [6:14 PM]: You have any plans tomorrow?

You sat up straighter. That was quick.

And that... that was the start of it.

Because this was always the rhythm.

Light talk. Dirty joke. And then that switch. The one you both recognized before either of you said anything out loud.

He’d be here tomorrow. You knew that. You’d looked it up weeks ago. Like a fucking idiot. You even marked it on your calendar in a soft little dot—like it was a dentist appointment or some other innocent shit.

You [6:14 PM]: Oh, I dunno. Might wash my hair. Might ride a hockey player. Who’s to say.

It took him no time at all.

Sidney [6:14 PM]: I’ll come see you

Sidney [6:15 PM]: Same place?

You bit the inside of your cheek.

God, he really was a sweet-talking menace. It was in the way he didn’t ask—he knew. You weren’t gonna say no. You never said no. Not to him. Not when he looked at you like he did. Not when his voice dropped just slightly over the phone when he called you late at night, and you knew he was alone in his room, whispering just for you.

You [6:15PM]: You gonna knock like a gentleman or just let yourself in again?

Sidney [6:16 PM]: That depends

Sidney [6:16 PM]: You want me to be a gentleman?

You [6:17 PM]: Not even a little bit.

Your heart was beating faster now. The apartment was still quiet, but your body wasn’t still anymore. You sat forward, legs curled tighter beneath you, your other hand flexing restlessly at your side.

Another buzz.

Sidney [6:18 PM]: I’ve been thinking about you for days

Sidney [6:18 PM]: Thought about you this morning in the shower

Sidney [6:19 PM]: I’d say that’s pretty rude of you

You closed your eyes. Leaned back again. Breathed out slow.

It was always like this before he came to town. This haunting build-up. Like his presence arrived ahead of him. You could already feel him in your space—already smell the fabric softener he used that clung to your sheets. You hadn’t washed the pillowcase from the last time he was here. That stupid, dumb part of you had just left it.

You [6:20 PM]: I’ve been sleeping on your side of the bed.

You [6:20 PM]: I think it misses you.

Another pause. A longer one this time.

You imagined his face again. That unreadable stare he gets sometimes—too much behind his eyes. You’ve seen it after games, after goals, after wins and losses.

And then:

Sidney [6:24 PM]: Do you miss me?

Your stomach flipped.

God, he always did this. Said one little thing that made you feel like you’d been cracked wide open. And it wasn’t even fair, because he’d follow it up with something filthy and ruin it anyway.

But this time you just answered honestly.

Because fuck it.

You did.

You [6:25 PM]: Yeah.

You [6:26 PM]: I do.

No emoji. No jokes.

Just the truth.

And then you waited.

You waited in that too-still room, with the sun still sinking outside and the buzz of the fridge the only sound for a minute. And when your phone lit up again, your chest actually ached.

Sidney [6:30 PM]: Sleep over?

You smiled. God, you were so screwed.

Because Sidney Crosby, face of the fucking league, was texting you like a teenage boyfriend.

And you loved it.

You absolutely loved it.

You [6:31 PM]: You bringin’ pajamas this time? Or just the abs?

Sidney [6:32 PM]: Just the abs. Maybe a toothbrush.

Sidney [6:32 PM]: Gotta keep the tongue clean for you.

You groaned. Actually groaned aloud, dropped your head back and muttered, “This fucking guy.”

But yeah.

You were shaving tomorrow.

You were shaving everything.

[9:56 PM]

The next time you heard from him you were already in bed and he called.

Not texted. Called.

Your phone lit up beside you, and your stomach jumped like it always did. You stared at his name for a second—Sidney—before you thumbed it to your ear.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

His voice was low. Rough like he’d just cleared his throat, or maybe like he’d been talking a lot all day and was winding down. “You’re in bed already?”

You smiled to yourself, turning on your side and tucking the blanket up to your shoulder. “Yeah. You keeping tabs now?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No. Just picturing you. That’s all.”

“Mmm.” You rolled your eyes and let your voice go soft. “Are you picturing pajamas, or are you picturing lingerie I don’t even own?”

“Oh, you own it,” he said. “You’re just pretending you don’t so I’ll come buy it for you.”

You grinned. “Now that’s a good idea.”

There was a pause on his end. Just quiet, heavy breathing. Like he was letting himself imagine it. You knew that sound well. Knew it from nights just like this—when he was on the other end of the phone in a hotel room somewhere and you were in your bed, a city and a timezone away.

“What’re you wearing?” he asked, voice a little softer now. Like he couldn’t help it.

You laughed. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious.”

You pulled the blanket tighter, suddenly aware of how bare your legs were, how thin your tank top felt against your chest. “Okay fine,” you murmured. “T-shirt. No bra. Underwear. Kinda useless ones.”

He groaned. “Fuck.”

You smirked. “What, not the answer you wanted?”

“It’s exactly the answer I wanted. Which is the problem.”

You could hear the smile in his voice now. That slow-building tension. Like he was relaxing into it, settling in for the game you always played.

“You still in your meeting?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “I’m in my room. Lights off. Lying on my back thinking about you.”

Your thighs clenched without you meaning to. That voice—his voice—always did that. Soft and low and a little scratchy like he’d been talking for too long. You could picture him perfectly. His hair messy. One arm behind his head. Shirtless, probably.

And you were what he was thinking about.

Which was insane.

Still. After all this time. That he wanted you like that.

“What part of me, specifically?” you teased. “Because I’ve got a lot of real estate.”

Sid laughed quietly. “You want me to go top-down or bottom-up?”

“Top-down. Let’s be classy.”

He hummed. “Mouth. First. Obviously.”

You smiled, warm now under the covers. “Because of my sweet personality?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what it looks like when you take me deep.”

You covered your mouth and kicked your leg out under the blanket. “You’re disgusting.”

“You asked.”

“I did.”

He let the silence stretch for a beat. Like he could feel you on the other end of the line, warm and squirming, trying not to smile too hard.

“I miss your face,” he added softly. “And your laugh. And your mouth, obviously. And your back.”

“My back?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled, slow. “That curve, just above your ass. Where I rest my hand when I’m behind you.”

You blinked up at the ceiling, breath caught in your throat. There it was again—that thing he did. The way he could go from filthy to fond in a heartbeat. The way he didn’t even try to hide that he paid attention. That he missed you. Even if he didn’t always say it outright.

“You’re too good at this,” you said, voice quieter now.

“I know,” he whispered. “I’ve had a lot of practice with you.”

“You better not have practice with anyone else.”

He chuckled. “Jealous?”

You paused. “Should I be?”

Another pause. His voice dropped.

“No.”

And god. That one-word answer sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t have time for anyone else,” he added. “And if I did… they wouldn’t be you.”

It was quiet for a second. Just your breath in your own ears. His, soft and steady.

“Now I’m really not gonna be able to sleep,” you whispered.

“Why?”

“Because my brain’s gonna loop this conversation until morning.”

“That’s fair,” he murmured. “You want me to help wear you out when I get there?”

Your cheeks burned. “You offering cardio?”

“I’m offering a full-body workout. Legs shaking. Sheets ruined. The usual.”

You covered your face with your arm and let out the softest groan. “Jesus Christ, Sid.”

He smiled against the speaker. “What?”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you love it.”

You did. God, you did.

“You landing tomorrow?”

“Yep,” he said. “I’ll text you when. You want me to pick you up, or you wanna meet at yours first?”

You considered. “Meet at mine, I’ve still got work in the morning.”

“Good,” he said, voice thick with promise. “Because I’m gonna be thinking about you all morning.”

You let the silence sit there, heavy and warm.

And then finally: “Goodnight, Sid.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

Your heart did that dumb flip again.

“Sleep well.”

“You too. Dream of me.”

“I always do.”

[9:48 AM]

You weren’t exactly a stellar employee that next morning.

You spent the entire fucking day trying not to look like you were waiting for a text.

Your phone was face-down on your desk, but that didn’t mean shit. You still checked it every ten minutes like a girl in high school who hadn’t outgrown the crush phase. You were pathetic. And the worst part? You didn’t even care.

It had started as a trickle—just a few messages while you were brushing your teeth this morning. You weren’t even fully dressed, still in the oversized tee you’d slept in, when you saw the first one.

Sidney [8:34 AM]: Just landed.

Then another:

Sidney [8:35 AM]: I haven’t even seen you yet and I’m already hard. Do something about that.

You’d actually dropped your toothbrush into the sink.

You didn’t answer right away because you knew what kind of spiral you’d tumble into if you did, and also because you had twenty minutes to get your ass out the door and into traffic. You were late. And you didn’t care. Because he was here.

By the time you were halfway through your drive, stuck behind some dickhead in a BMW who couldn’t figure out what a blinker was, he’d sent another one.

Sidney [9:12 AM]: Thinking about staying at your place tonight and ruining you in that bed of yours.

Sidney [9:13 AM]: That okay?

You’d answered yes before your brain even processed it.

Of course he was staying at your place. He always did.

And that was the part that ruined you the most.

He had a hotel room booked. You knew he did. Probably a nice one too, paid for by the team or the league or whatever mysterious arm of professional hockey handled those things. But he never used it. At least, not when you were in town.

Because when Sidney Crosby came to California, he stayed with you.

Every. Time.

And you let him. No questions. No boundaries. No illusions that it meant anything deeper than what it was. But still—he always dropped his bag by your door like he belonged there. Like it was second nature. Like home.

And that? That was the shit that wrecked you.

Not the sex. Not the bruises he left on the inside of your thighs. Not even the soft, stupid way he said your name in the dark like he was afraid it would disappear.

No. It was the quiet little normal things. The way he asked where the toothpaste was. The way he brought his own coffee from Pittsburgh but still used your shitty little French press. The way his voice dropped when he got out of the shower and said “C’mere.” like that was just how he said good morning.

You were supposed to be at work focusing on the spreadsheets on your screen. But your brain was soaked in him.

You stared at your screen for what had to be twenty straight minutes, rereading the same goddamn sentence of an email and imagining what his hands were doing right now. If he was already on the team bus. If he was wearing a suit or one of those Polos that made you feel insane.

Your coworker walked by your desk, snapped her fingers in your face.

“Earth to you. You okay? You’ve been zoning out for like—ten minutes. That email gonna write itself?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Just…” You waved vaguely at your laptop. “Just tired.”

Lie. You were wired.

You shot off the email—barely readable, but who gave a fuck—then finally flipped your phone over.

New message. Of course there was.

Sidney [10:33 AM]: Hotel gave me the wrong keycard. Some poor guy walked in on me changing. Pretty sure he saw dick.

You slapped a hand over your mouth to hide your laugh, eyes stinging from trying to keep it in.

You [10:34 AM]: Poor guy? Sounds like he got a show.

Sid [10:37 AM]: He looked horrified. I might’ve scarred him. You should come fix it.

You [10:37 AM]: Fix it how? Kiss it better?

Sidney [10:38]: God yes. I’ll leave skate early.

You blinked. That wasn’t like him. He was usually pretty strict about team shit, at least when it came to meetings and skates.

You [10:40 AM]: You’re not serious.

Sidney [10:41 AM]: I’m hard. I’m restless. I’m thinking about your skin and your sheets and how good you smell. I’ve got half a mind to fake an illness.

You [10:42 AM] Don’t you dare. You could get benched and it’d be my fault.

Sidney [10:43 AM]: If I’m gonna sit on the bench, might as well be because you made me useless.

You shook your head, smiling. He was impossible. Walking around like he didn’t have you completely fucked up from the inside out.

You [10:56 AM]: You better show up at my door with dinner. You’re not getting any without bringing me food first.

Sidney [10:58 AM]: So that’s the price? A taco tax?

You [10:59 AM]: That and a kiss.

Sidney [11:03 AM]: One kiss? You’re underselling yourself.

You [11:04 AM]: Fine. One kiss, a margarita, and you have to let me use you as a body pillow all night.

Sidney [11:07 AM]: You say that like I’m not into it. I wanna be crushed by your thighs and smothered by your hair.

You [11:09 AM]: I wanna ride your face until you can’t remember your own name.

Sidney [11:13 AM]: I love it when you talk romance to me.

Your thighs clenched under your desk.

Pathetic. You were so pathetic.

You dropped your phone into your lap and took a deep breath. A long one. You had at least four hours left in the workday, and you were about as useful as a wet napkin. All you could think about was his voice. His hands. The look on his face the first time he stepped back into your apartment like it was his.

Because that was the part that killed you the most.

He felt like he belonged. Like he fit there, in your space, beside you in your bed with his socks on and his arm tucked under your neck, face buried in your hair like he was hiding.

You weren’t his.

You never would be.

But every time he looked at you like that—like you were oxygen—it made you want things you had no business wanting. And fuck if it didn’t make the hours crawl by. You wanted him now. Needed him like you needed your next breath.

[4:47 PM]

You knew he was there the second you stepped off the elevator.

Your building always smelled faintly of hallway cleaner and burnt coffee, but tonight? It smelled like him. Like his cologne—subtle, clean, something stupidly expensive that always clung to your sheets long after he left. Like him standing behind you with his chin on your shoulder. Like the warm, dense press of his chest to your back in the middle of the night.

You hadn’t even opened your front door and your stomach was already flipping. You hated it. You loved it.

You unlocked it and pushed it open.

There he was.

Sprawled on your sofa. Hair damp from the shower. Wearing a gray Penguins hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his forearms, a pair of black athletic shorts that barely reached mid-thigh sitting down, and bare fucking feet on your coffee table like he lived there. Like he belonged.

His bag was by the door, half-unzipped. His phone was in one hand, and there was an empty glass—probably water—on the side table next to him. You noticed the faint smell of his body wash, like cedar and clean skin, already curling in the air like it missed you.

He looked up.

And holy fuck.

Your breath left your chest before you could stop it. He looked like sin. Warm, flushed, relaxed. That look in his eye—like he’d already been thinking about touching you. Like he knew you were gonna let him.

He stood immediately. Didn’t say anything at first, just came to you in three easy strides like his body was already pulling toward yours. Like he didn’t need a reason.

And maybe you should’ve said something. Maybe you should’ve made a joke or pretended to be unaffected. Maybe you should’ve been stronger. You weren’t. You never were with him.

You dropped your bag on the floor, kicked the door shut with your heel, and then—

His hands were already in your hair, his mouth already on yours.

“Fuck,” he breathed, between kisses, as your arms came up around his neck. “Hi, baby.”

It knocked something loose in you, hearing that. Six months without him and now he was here, mouth dragging along your cheekbone, fingers gripping your waist like he didn’t know how to do this gently.

“Hey,” you whispered back, laughing a little from how winded you already were. “Jesus, you couldn’t even wait five seconds?”

“Nope,” he said, unapologetic, already kissing the corner of your mouth again. “You look so fucking good. You smell good. You feel good. I missed you. So much.”

His voice was lower than usual, a little rough. Almost hoarse. Like he’d been thinking about this all day. Like it wasn’t just about getting off—it was about you.

You let your hands slide under the back of his hoodie, skin to skin. He was warm, solid, all lean muscle and broad shoulders and that ridiculous lower back you hated how well you remembered. “You’re damp,” you murmured against his jaw, biting down just a little. “You showered in my shower?”

“You mad about it?”

“Not yet. You leave the towels on the floor again and I will be.”

He grinned against your skin. “Worth it.”

You kissed him again, slower this time. Deeper. Let it linger. Let him part your lips and take his fucking time. Your body was already humming, vibrating like something electric lived under your skin. You wanted him in your bed. In your space. Inside you. Yesterday.

“You still have my key,” you muttered, half against his mouth.

His hands moved to your ass. He squeezed, shameless. “You never asked for it back.”

“You never gave it back.”

“I didn’t wanna lose it,” he said, smiling like a bastard.

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers were already pushing through his hair. Still damp, still soft, still impossibly familiar.

“Have you seriously just been sitting here all cozy on my couch like you live here?”

“I do live here. When I’m in California. I’ve got a toothbrush and everything.”

“You’re such a piece of shit.”

“You love it,” he said, nuzzling into your neck. “God, I missed this neck. Missed the sounds you make when I—”

You slapped his shoulder lightly, laughing. “Sidney.”

“What?” he grinned. “I’ve been good. I haven’t even tried to get my hand down your pants yet.”

“Yet?”

He stepped back, looking at you. Really looking. The kind of look that made your knees weaker than you cared to admit. That look he gave you the first time he’d seen you walk across that bar like you weren’t about to change his whole fucking life.

“You look so fucking good, baby,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you on the flight. I was hard halfway across the country.��

You snorted. “You’re so gross.”

“And you’re so pretty,” he said, tugging you close again. His hand slid along your waist, thumb brushing under the hem of your shirt. “Seriously. How am I supposed to be normal about this?”

“You’re not normal about this. You’re obsessed.”

He kissed your jaw. “I am.”

Your throat tightened.

He said it so easily. So shamelessly. Like it wasn’t supposed to matter. Like it didn’t already.

You felt a shift when he lifted you then. His grip on your waist was possessive, like he was reminding you that he could take what he wanted. You wanted it, though. Needed it. His lips didn’t leave yours for a second as he carried you, your body pressed tightly to his, your hands tangled in his hair.

You barely noticed when your back hit the doorframe. You were too busy losing yourself in the taste of him, in the feel of him. His mouth was everywhere—your lips, your jaw, the hollow of your throat—his hands sliding under your shirt like they belonged there.

You pulled back, gasping, and looked up at him through your lashes, eyes hazy with want. “Sid...”

“What?” He barely let you get the word out before his mouth found yours again. His kiss was harder this time—rougher, like he was trying to make up for every moment he hadn’t had you.

His body pressed into yours, and you could feel every inch of him—his chest, his hips, the hard press of his dick against you. You moaned softly into the kiss, hands sliding down to his chest, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch.

“You’re killing me,” you murmured, tearing your mouth away to look at him properly. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them. Like he was starved.

“You’re killing me first,” he growled, his hands already pushing your shirt up. You didn’t stop him. You couldn’t. The way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—like everything else faded to black when you were near him.

He tossed your shirt onto the floor, he set you down, his hands moving to toy with the waistband of your work slacks, and he set you down so he could get them off. You let out a little breathless laugh. “This is definitely a ‘fuck first, talk later’ situation, huh?”

“Always, babe,” he said, voice so deep it made your insides tighten. “You don’t get to make the rules anymore.”

He kissed you again, and you melted into it. His tongue found yours, and it was deep, slow, all-consuming. You could feel his heart pounding under your palms as you slid your hands down his chest, reaching the hem of his hoodie and pulling both his hoodie and shirt off of him in one go.

When he stepped back, there was a brief moment where you both paused, taking in the sight of each other. His abs were more defined than you remembered, his skin still that perfect shade of sun-kissed gold. You couldn’t stop your fingers from tracing the lines of him, down his chest, over the deep V of his hips.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” you whispered, admiring the way he was still standing there, half undressed, waiting for you.

“You make me perfect,” he said, his voice rasping with something more than desire.

You grabbed his collar and pulled him back toward you. “Let’s see if you’re really perfect, Crosby.”

You dragged him to your bed, letting him fall into the sheets with you. The second you were both on the mattress, he was on you, kissing you again, moving with a need that made your breath catch in your throat.

He lifted your hips, tugging at your pants, and you were all too eager to help him. “Been thinking about this for months,” he murmured between kisses, pulling your slacks down your legs with impatient hands.

“Me too,” you managed to say, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “You have no idea.”

“Tell me,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck, his mouth soft but insistent. “Tell me everything.”

You gasped as his lips found the curve of your neck. “I—fuck—I missed you,” you said, the words tumbling out like you couldn’t keep them inside anymore. “Missed your touch. Missed your voice, the way you make me feel like I’m the only fucking person that matters.”

He groaned, his lips brushing over the soft skin of your throat. “You are the only fucking person that matters,” he muttered. “I’m not going anywhere, babe. You have me.”

And then his mouth was back on yours. His hands cupped your breasts, fingers brushing over your nipples, and you arched into him with a soft moan. He broke the kiss again, looking down at you with the kind of expression that made you feel like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

He tugged his shorts down, and you shivered at the thought of what was to come. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, voice thick with lust, but still gentle, like he needed your confirmation. “I want you more than anything, but I’m not gonna force you.”

You tugged him back to you, pressing your lips to his neck, your hands tugging at the waistband of his boxers. “Shut up and fuck me, Sid.”

He turned over and sat back on his elbows, hands coming up to rest on your hips, just looking.

“You always stare this long?” you asked, voice soft but teasing.

“When I’m starving, yeah.”

His voice dropped. “And you know how long it’s been.”

You tilted your head. “What like 6 months?”

He looked up, smiling. “You counted?”

“Not that difficult.”

You ran a hand through his hair, tugging gently. “You gonna make up for it or just sit there?”

“Oh, I’m gonna make up for it.”

His hands slid down and around, cupping your ass, squeezing once. “But don’t act like you’re not dying to climb on top of me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I haven’t been thinking about it since breakfast?”

He spread his legs a little wider. “Then show me.”

You didn’t need more than that.

You straddled him slowly, knees bracketing his thighs, your chest brushing his. His hands roamed like he couldn’t decide where to keep them—hips, thighs, up your sides. Everywhere. You rocked your hips once, slow, just to tease.

“Jesus,” he whispered, jaw clenching. “You gonna ride me slow or make me beg?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you said, leaning in to kiss just beneath his ear. “Depends on how sweet you are.”

“I can be sweet,” he murmured, lips catching your shoulder. “I can be so fucking sweet.”

You were already grinding against him through both layers of clothes now, your breath hitching every time he pushed up into you. He kept one hand on your ass and slid the other between your legs, palming you over your underwear. You gasped and pressed harder against him, your head falling to his shoulder.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, nose brushing your jaw. “Fuck, baby.”

“You did this,” you managed. “You’re the reason.”

“I know,” he growled. “That’s why I’m losing my fucking mind.”

You pulled back just enough to tug your underwear to the side and reach for him. He was hard—hot and heavy and already leaking at the tip. And when you looked down between you, you saw the way his stomach jumped when your fingers closed around him.

You leaned in, kissed him slow, deep, and filthy, mouths open and tongues dragging, his breath catching against your cheek when you lined him up and slid down in one slow, brutal motion.

“Fuck, fuck, baby…” he groaned, arms wrapping tight around your waist.

Your head dropped to his chest, lips parted, breathing hard as you adjusted to him. You felt full in a way that was only ever him. You circled your hips once, slow, and his whole body jerked under you.

“You okay?” you whispered, half-laughing.

“Don’t talk to me right now,” he hissed. “I’m trying not to blow it.”

You laughed again—soft and warm—and kissed his jaw. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“You’re always so tight.”

You moved slow at first. Rocking gently, hips rolling. His hands gripped your thighs, then your waist, then slid up your spine. And every time you moved, he said your name like a prayer.

When you leaned forward and braced your hands on his chest, his eyes rolled back.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You were made to fuck me.”

You smiled against his mouth. “Think so?”

“Know so.”

You started riding him harder then. The slap of skin, the wet heat of it, your name in his throat over and over. His fingers dug into your hips.

"Harder, Sid," you panted, feeling the orgasm build like a storm in your core. "Need it harder."

Sidney's eyes lit up, he sat up, flipping you over so that you were now lying on your back, his body hovering over yours. He slammed into you in a way that stole your breath, your legs falling open. "Is that what you want?" he growled, his voice a dark promise.

"Yes," you moaned, arching your back to meet his thrusts. "Oh, fuck yes."

Sidney took a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes traveling down your body to where he was buried deep inside you. He spread your legs open, his hands holding them in place, and began to move in a steady motion, watching himself disappear into your welcoming warmth, only to come out glistening with your arousal before plunging back in again. "Look at me, baby," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Watch how good I fuck you."

You couldn't help but whimper at his words, your eyes drawn to the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing between your thighs. It was almost hypnotic, the way he moved, the way your body responded to his every touch. "Sidney," you breathed, your voice a plea for more.

With a grunt, he lifted your hips up slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, his hands now gripping your ass tightly. The new position had your head spinning with pleasure, the sensation of him filling you up even more intensely than before.

"Oh, fuck yes," you moaned, your nails digging into his back. The angle allowed him to hit that sweet spot deep inside you that had your toes curling and your eyes watering with each stroke. He took this as a cue to go deeper, harder, faster. You could feel him thickening, his cock pulsing with each thrust, and the knowledge that he was so close to the edge had your own orgasm coming down on you like a freight train.

"Touch yourself, baby," Sidney rasped, his eyes never leaving yours.

You swallowed hard. You've done it before, sure, but the way he said it made it feel new, like a delicious secret you were sharing. You brought your hand down between your legs, your fingers gliding over the slickness he'd created. You felt shy for a moment, unsure of what to do, but Sidney's eyes never left yours, encouraging, hungry.

With trembling fingers, you found your clit, the tiny bundle of nerves that had been begging for attention. You began to rub it in slow circles, your movements hesitant at first.

"Just like that," he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

He leaned down, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth before kissing you deeply, his tongue mimicking the motion of his hips as they pounded into you. The room was thick with the scent of sex. His hips never stopped.

You began to move your hand more confidently, your fingers circling and teasing your clit with a precision that had Sidney groaning into your mouth. He liked watching you touch yourself, liked knowing that you were so lost in pleasure that you couldn't help but give in.

"That's it," he murmured against your lips. "You're so fucking perfect."

The tension grew, each stroke of your hand and thrust of his hips bringing you closer to the edge. Sidney's breath was hot and ragged against your neck as he kissed and nibbled the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of heat. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you as if he hadn't had you in years, not just months. They found their way to your breasts again, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks.

You moaned into his ear, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. "Don't stop," you begged, your voice hoarse with passion. "Please don't stop."

Sidney's response was to increase his pace, his cock slamming into you in a way that was almost painful, but oh so good. Your hand moved faster on your clit, the sensation building higher and higher.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted, his eyes darkening with lust. "Gonna make me come."

You felt the first tremor of your orgasm, your body tightening around his cock. The feeling was so intense, you had to bite down on your lower lip to keep from screaming. Your fingers danced over your clit, the pressure building until you couldn't take it anymore. You slammed your hand down, pressing hard as you felt the wave of pleasure crash over you. Your eyes squeezed shut, and you threw your head back, the moan that tore from your throat was raw.

It was fast and sudden and violent. Your whole body clenched, head thrown back, hips grinding down while he hissed through his teeth and held you steady.

But he didn't stop. If anything, his thrusts grew harder, his hips slamming into yours as he watched you come apart in his arms. He liked it when you were like this, vulnerable and lost to the moment, his name a chant on your lips. His length was so hard it ached, and he knew he was close, so fucking close.

He shifted the position without pulling out. He gently closed your legs, his cock still buried deep inside you, and rolled you onto your side. The angle was different now, he moved his hips in a steady, grinding motion. You clutched the bed sheets, your knuckles white with the effort of holding on, as he whispered in your ear.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Say it."

You could only moan in response, your voice lost in the haze of pleasure. He chuckled, the sound low and dark, and rolled you onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. Your ass was in the air, and you could feel the heat of his body as he hovered over you, his cock still buried deep within your pussy. He placed a hand on the small of your back, keeping you in place as he began to move again.

"Say it," he repeated, his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

You whimpered, the sensation of his cock moving inside you from this angle was almost too much for you.

"I'm yours," you finally gasped out, the words barely a whisper.

Sidney chuckled. "Good girl," he praised, his hand moving to grip your hip harder.

He pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the tip of his cock inside you, making you whine with need. Then, with a wicked smile, he slammed back into you, the sound of your flesh colliding with his sending a shiver down his spine.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, the feel of you so tight around him driving him wild.

You dropped down onto your elbows, arching your back even more, giving him the perfect view of your ass as it bounced off of him. He watched as his cock disappeared and reappeared between your cheeks, the sight making him even harder. He liked watching you like this, taking him, begging for more. He liked the way your pussy gripped him like a tight fist, the way you moved your hips back to meet him, fucking him just as hard as he fucked you.

With a grunt, Sidney reached back, his hand smacking your ass with a firm, satisfying sound that echoed through the room. You moaned, the sting mixing with the pleasure, urging him on. He smacked you again, harder this time, his hand coming down with a force that had you seeing stars.

"Uh huh," you breathed.

You felt his cock slide out of you, the sudden emptiness making you whine in protest. Your legs were trembling, your pussy pulsing with the need for release. "No, please," you begged, not caring how desperate you sounded.

"Not yet, baby," Sidney said with a wicked grin, his voice a low purr. He reached down, his thumb brushing over your clit in a way that had you biting back a scream. "Want to feel you come on my tongue."

He flipped you over onto your back. You were trembling with need, your entire body alive with sensation. He slid down your body, kissing and sucking marks into your skin as he went. His breath was hot against your inner thighs, sending shivers through you. He spread your legs wide and took a moment to appreciate the view. Your pussy was swollen and wet, pulsing around nothing, begging for his attention. He leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation had you arching off the bed, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"Mm Sid," you gasped as his tongue swirled around your clit. He chuckled, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. He licked and sucked, his mouth working you like a pro, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you from bucking him off. You could feel yourself getting closer, your orgasm building like a storm in your belly. "M gonna come," you panted, your voice breathless.

Sidney didn't stop, didn't even pause. He pushed two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot, and you almost screamed. Your hands found his hair, fisting it tightly.

You were close, so close. His tongue was relentless, swirling around your clit, flicking it just so, sending bolts of electricity shooting through your body. His fingers moved in and out of you in a steady rhythm, curling just right. You could feel your orgasm building, the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue.

"Shit," you gasped, your voice high and desperate. "Fuck, Sid."

His eyes sparked with mischief as he felt your legs begin to tremble around his head. He knew you were close, and the thought of making you come like this had his cock throbbing against his stomach. He slid another finger inside you, stretching you further, and you moaned, the sound muffled by the back of your hand. You were grinding against his face now, riding his mouth like it was his cock, and the feeling was driving him wild. He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers, squeezing him like a vice.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the pressure build, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Sid, Sid, Sid," you chanted, your voice a high-pitched whine that grew louder with each passing second. He could feel your thighs tense up, and he knew it was coming. He sucked on your clit, his fingers moving in and out of you in a way that had you seeing spots. "Fuck, Sidney, fuck, oh my God," you screamed.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, so intense you thought you might drown in it. Your eyes watered, and your legs shook violently, trying to find stability on anything to keep you grounded. But Sidney didn't stop, didn't even flinch as your nails dug into the back of his neck. He held you down, his mouth working you through the intensity until you were a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him.

As the last of the waves settled, Sidney slowly kissed his way up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Each kiss was like a brand that said you belonged to him in this moment, in this bed. When he reached your mouth, he took your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged gently, teasing you until you opened your mouth to let him in. He kissed you deep and slow, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste the sweetness of your release. You moaned into the kiss, your body still humming with pleasure, your eyes glossed over with tears threatening to spill over.

While Sidney kissed you, his hand found its way between your thighs again, his fingers softly caressing your still-throbbing, still wet pussy. You felt your body respond almost immediately. His thumb slid over your clit, and you shuddered, the sensitivity making you gasp.

Without breaking the kiss, you reached down too, wrapping your hand around his hard cock. He groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking slightly. You stroked him slowly, feeling the veins pulse under your fingertips, the velvety skin hot and slick with pre-cum.

You pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss with a gasp for air. "You're so fucking big," you murmured, a hint of amazement in your voice. Sidney chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You say that every time," he said, his voice teasing.

"Because it's true every time," you replied, your voice a low purr as you continued to rub your finger over the slick head of his cock. You watched as a bead of precum slid down the length of him.

Sidney chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against yours as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple. You could feel his heart pounding, matching the rhythm of your own, and the heat from his body seeped into your skin. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance of passion. You felt his cock twitch in your hand, the muscles in his stomach tightening.

As you continued to stroke him, you wrapped your other arm around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. Your breasts pressed against his chest, your hardened nipples brushing against his skin.

You felt him shift, the head of his cock nudging against your folds, the slickness of your arousal making it easy for him to slide along your entrance. He groaned, his hips rolling in a silent plea for you to let him in, but you had other plans. You took the tip of his cock in your hand, rubbing it along your wetness, teasing yourself, teasing him, watching his reaction with a small smile.

"You're killing me, baby," Sidney groaned, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and lust.

With a smirk, you lifted your legs, wrapping them around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. Sidney groaned, the sudden pressure making his cock throb with need. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to be inside you again. He lined up the head of his cock with your slick entrance, the anticipation almost too much to handle. With a final, almost desperate look into your eyes, he slapped his cock against your pussy, the wet sound echoing in the room.

He pushed into you, the force making you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. You felt so full, so complete with him inside you, like nothing else in the world mattered except the two of you and this moment.

Sidney's eyes never left yours as he began to move, his hips pistoning in a rhythm that had you gasping for air, your body moving in perfect sync with his. The slap of skin on skin filled the room. Each thrust was deep, claiming, and you could feel the head of his cock brush against your cervix, sending a new wave of pleasure crashing over you.

You clung to his biceps, your nails digging into the solid muscle, using them as leverage to meet him thrust for thrust. The sensation was overwhelming, so intense that you had to squeeze your eyes shut, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip to keep from crying out. You could feel your orgasm building again, a pressure that was almost too much to bear.

Sid’s hips moved with a purpose, his cock hitting that spot inside you that had you begging for more, even though you weren't sure you could handle it.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice low and demanding.

You did, your eyes meeting his, and the connection was like a bolt of lightning, setting your entire body on fire. With each thrust, he went deeper, filling you so completely that you weren't sure where he ended and you began. And when he finally reached the peak, his cock pulsing deep inside you, you felt his warmth flood you, his release marking you as his own. He didn't stop moving, though, his hips grinding against yours, his cock still hard and thick, still fucking you through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

The feeling was intense, almost painful, but you didn't want it to end. You felt his come dripping down your thighs, a warm, sticky mess. And as he continued to move, the sensation grew, the pleasure turning into something almost unbearable.

Sidney's hand found its way to one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over the nipple as he fucked you, his strokes deep and slow. You bit down on his shoulder, muffling the sounds of your pleasure, your eyes watering from the overwhelming sensation. You could feel the muscles in his arms flexing, the sweat on his back making your grip slip as you held on for dear life. His other hand moved to your neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin as his fingers threaded into your hair, gently pulling your head back to expose your throat to his hungry mouth.

He kissed and licked your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he continued to pump into you, his cock still thick and hard even after his first release. The feeling of him coming deep inside of you was something you never got used to. You felt his hips grind fully against yours, his pelvis pressing against your clit, the friction making you gasp for air.

Sidney felt your pussy tighten around his cock, the walls clenching in a way that told him you were close. He loved making you come, loved watching you fall apart underneath him. He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you, making you gasp.

Your eyes fluttered, meeting his for a second, and in that moment, you knew. Your throat was raw from screaming his name, and your voice had abandoned you, leaving only the desperate, quiet gasps that escaped your parted lips. You felt it building, the pressure deep in your core, spreading through your body like wildfire. You clung to Sidney, your nails digging into his back, your body arching off the bed.

His eyes narrowed as he watched you, reading your every move, every twitch of your body, every shallow breath. He knew you so well, knew exactly what you needed, and he was going to give it to you until you couldn't take it anymore. He continued to move, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had your eyes rolling back in your head. The only sounds in the room were the slap of skin against skin, the harshness of his breath, and the faint sound of your pussy, clenching and releasing around his cock, begging for more.

Another orgasm washed over you, a silent scream of pleasure that had you trembling beneath him. Your body arched, your back bowed, but no sound escaped your throat. It was as if the intensity had stolen your voice, leaving only the desperate gasps for air that filled the quiet room. Sidney groaned, feeling your walls tighten around him, the sensation pushing him closer to the edge once more. He didn't stop, didn't even slow down, his need for you as insatiable as ever.

You could feel the tension in his muscles as he held back, his jaw clenched with the effort of not coming again too soon. But you were lost in the haze of pleasure, your mind a blur of sensation, and you couldn't help but move your hips against his, urging him on.

Another orgasm washed over you, you felt your body convulse around his cock, your pussy clenching tightly, pulling him in deeper, milking him for every drop of pleasure he had to give. And through the silent cries of ecstasy, the tears that rolled down your cheeks, Sidney watched you. He kissed each one as they fell, tasting the salt of your pleasure on his lips, his movements never faltering, never stopping.

You were so sensitive now, so raw with need, that even the brush of his stubble against your cheek was enough to make you whimper. Your orgasm continued to ripple through you, like aftershocks from a powerful earthquake, leaving you trembling and exposed. Sidney took your cries as encouragement, his own passion spiraling out of control as he felt your body responding to his touch, his cock still buried deep inside you.

"Fuck, baby, you're so goddamn tight," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

His hips moved faster, his strokes growing more erratic as he approached his own peak again. You could feel his balls tighten, his cock pulsing with every thrust.

Your tears continued to fall as Sidney buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. He kissed you there, his tongue tracing the line of your collarbone as his cock slammed into you with a force that shook the bed. And as he chased his release, you felt your own orgasm building again.

Your body was a symphony of feelings, your pussy tightening and releasing around his thick length, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, your legs trembling with the effort of keeping you both upright. You could feel his muscles tense, his entire body coiled like a spring about to snap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tight as he picked up the pace.

Sidney's breath was hot and ragged against your ear, his teeth nipping at your lobe as he whispered sweet nothings. You felt the bed shake beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall in a steady rhythm. Your nails dug into his back, leaving little half-moons on his skin, but he didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he liked it.

With one final, powerful thrust, he kissed you again, groaning into your mouth as he came. The sound was raw. His cock pulsed deep inside you, his come filling you up, mixing with your own release. The feeling was indescribable, a warmth that spread from your core to the very tips of your toes. You could feel him tense against you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He wrapped his arms around you, mouth open against your collarbone, “Fuck, fuck—God, baby—”

As his release calmed, he rested his forehead against yours, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His eyes searched yours, looking for reassurance that you felt the same, that he hadn't just used you as a means to an end. You kissed him softly, a silent promise that you felt everything he did, that you were just as invested in this as he was. He pulled out of you slowly, the loss making you whimper, your body already missing the feeling of fullness.

The bedside clock glowed 8:23 PM in soft red letters.

You turned to lay your stomach, cheek pressed into your pillow, still a little sweaty, still very much naked. Your leg draped over Sidney’s hip like it belonged there—like it always had—and one of his arms curled loosely around your waist, fingers drawing lazy circles just under your ribs, his fingers kept brushing higher, like he was absentmindedly plotting his next move.

You hummed softly, voice low and rough from all the noises you were making. “You’re still awake?”

His fingers paused. “You think I could sleep after that?”

You cracked a grin into your pillow. “Was I that good?”

“You know you were.”

You turned your face toward him, just enough to catch the smug tilt of his mouth. His hair was messy, sticking up in weird angles, and his cheeks were still flushed from earlier. You hated how good he looked like this—soft, tired, yours.

“I do have a gift,” you said with a dramatic little sigh. “My talents are wasted on you.”

He leaned in and kissed your shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Big talk for someone who couldn’t stop shaking a few minutes ago.”

You slapped his arm without even lifting your head.

He laughed, warm and smug and Sidney.

A moment passed.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You hummed again. “What?”

“You coming to the game tomorrow?”

You opened one eye and gave him the flattest stare you could muster. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

He shifted onto his side so he could see you better, resting his head on his hand. “I am seriously asking. I know you work. I didn’t want to assume.”

You groaned. “Don’t be responsible. It’s disgusting.”

Sidney snorted. “Okay, sorry. Let me try again.”

You closed your eyes again and tried to go back to pretending you were tired and content and not giddy as hell just being with him.

“…You coming to the game tomorrow, or am I gonna have to play like shit just to get your attention?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too hard. “Mmm. What’s in it for me?”

He paused. You could feel him grinning without looking. “You want me to bribe you to come see me play?”

“I want you to try.”

Sidney shifted again, leaning over you now, kissing your shoulder, then your back. “Okay,” he murmured against your skin. “You come to the game…”

He trailed his hand down the curve of your side, slow and deliberate.

“…and I’ll take you to dinner after.”

You turned your head just enough to give him a skeptical look. “That’s the best you’ve got? Dinner? That’s what you’re leading with?”

He laughed into your shoulder. “You like food!”

“I also like not being treated like a fucking groupie.”

“You’re not a groupie. You’re—” He hesitated. “You’re you.”

That made your heart do a weird thing. You ignored it.

You rolled onto your back with a dramatic sigh, pulling the sheet up over your chest even though he’d already seen everything several times tonight. “Try harder.”

“Jesus. You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” he admitted easily. “Okay. You come to the game… I’ll take you to dinner, and—” he leaned in, voice low and tempting, “—I’ll leave you the quarter zip again.”

You blinked. “The one I’m obsessed with?”

“Yeah. I’ll even spray it with my cologne so it smells like me when I leave.”

You rolled your eyes, even though your stomach fluttered. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the one who asked for it.”

You mock-gasped. “So you admit I’m pathetic.”

“Baby,” he said, dragging the word out, “I’ve been saying that since the first night we met.”

You reached out and grabbed a pillow, hitting him in the chest with it. “Asshole.”

He laughed and caught your wrist, then kissed the inside of it like he was apologizing for teasing you, which he definitely wasn’t.

“You are pathetic,” he said gently. “But so am I.”

You gave him a look. “You showed up here unannounced and used a key I gave you six months ago.”

“Exactly.”

“You should be in a hotel. With your team. You remember them, Captain?”

“Hotels don’t have you in them.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He leaned down and kissed you again—slow and soft and unhurried. Like he had nowhere else to be. Like you were the only thing he gave a shit about right now.

You sighed into it, letting your fingers curl around the back of his neck. “You’re lucky you’re good in bed.”

He laughed again, cocky. “I am good in bed.”

“God, I hate how smug you are.”

“You love that too.”

You kissed him again. “Yeah,” you murmured, lips brushing his. “Unfortunately.”

Sid pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and soft. “So that’s a yes? I’ll see you there?”

You groaned dramatically. “Ugh, fine. I’ll come watch you do your stupid little hockey.”

He grinned and kissed your hip. “Wear my jersey.”

“Gross.”

“Please.”

You fake-gagged.

He leaned up over you, face hovering close, eyes soft in that way that made you feel like you were nineteen and falling hard for the first time.

“You look hot in it,” he said. “Do it for me.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

He kissed your forehead, then settled back beside you, pulling you into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world.

It was almost annoying how right it felt. Like he belonged in your bed. Like you belonged in his arms.

Like this wasn’t a game you kept playing because you were too scared of what it would mean to stop.

You sighed again and rested your head on his chest. “You’re gonna owe me so much after tomorrow.”

He ran his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you want, baby. Just tell me.”

And god help you—you believed him.

—