#Fully Threaded Bar

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

👍 Wedge anchor All production processes are inside our factory

[natjennie]

god clocktower is so GOOD. when the social deduction puzzle puzzles.

[savingthrcw]

honestly my happy ending for Lucy (said as someone who only finished fallout 3 and her lone wanderer died) is that they get to reclaim their 3 vaults and use their resources while leaving the doors open, and she keeps going on quests until she retires and has a bunch of animals, the marriage she wanted, and friends who keep visiting her, after they truly started unraveling what is left of Vault Tec, and you can pry that from my cold dead hands

[unopenablebox]

i was so brave and i went to sewing time today and i made two terrible bags

[jeanboulet]

Not feeling great.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ playing dangerous ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ player 177. your assigned number. the three digits stitched in stark white thread on the coarse forest-green tracksuit now clinging to your body. you didn’t remember putting it on. you didn’t remember anything between falling asleep in your cramped apartment and waking up in this sterile, alabaster void. the tracksuit was loose in some places, tight in others, the fabric rough against your skin, a similar sensation for the discomfort that had settled deep into your bones.

˚ ༘♡ the air here was heavy, oppressive. tension hung over the room like a storm cloud, pressing down on everyone in its path. you sat on the thin mattress of your cot, the iron bars of the bedframe biting into your back as you leaned against them. your throat was dry, your lips chapped, and a faint crust of dried blood clung to the edge of your mouth, an unpleasant reminder of the chaos you’d barely survived. in your lap rested a cold metal bento box, unopened. the thought of eating its contents of rubbery eggs and starchy rice, made your stomach churn. it wasn’t hunger gnawing at you but dread. eating felt like acknowledging the possibility of another day here, in this place where death lingered so close you could almost taste it.

˚ ༘♡ death. it wasn’t something you’d ever had to think about seriously before. you were young, healthy enough, aside from the occasional winter flu. life’s struggles had been mundane, bills, work, nothing quite noteworthy. you’d thought financial trouble was the worst of your problems. how naive that seemed now. the sharp crack of gunfire still rang in your ears, and the memory of bodies crumpling mid-run played in an endless loop in your mind. every scream, every desperate gasp for air as life left someone’s body, was etched into your mind.

˚ ༘♡ this wasn’t life. it was survival, twisted into something grotesque. children’s games weaponized against desperate people for the amusement of others, with the promise of money as bait. one hundred million won for every life taken. your own life, reduced to a figure on a balance sheet. you’d survived the first game, the horrifying version of red light, green light, but at what cost? surely, after witnessing such carnage, the others would have voted to leave. you’d been certain of it. but the desperation was stronger. greed was stronger. most players had chosen to stay, ignoring the horrors of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ “the next game,” player 456 had said, “will be cutting shapes out of dalgona candy. pick the triangle. it’s the easiest.” his voice had carried a strange conviction, and he claimed to know these games intimately, even to have won before. but how could you trust him? maybe he was lying, or maybe it didn’t matter. maybe none of you were meant to leave this place alive.

˚ ༘♡ “hey, 177!” the crude voice shattered your thoughts, dragging you back to the present.

˚ ༘♡ you glanced up to see player 230, “thanos,” as he called himself, sauntering toward you. his garish purple hair stood out like a bruise against the sterile backdrop, and his brightly colored nails flashed as he gestured. he’d painted them to match the infinity stones, leaning fully into the nickname he’d given himself. behind him, player 124 followed, all sharp angles and slicked-back hair, his grin as eager and sly as ever.

˚ ༘♡ “why didn’t you vote for one more game, huh?” thanos sneered, his voice laced with mockery. “you had no problem playing foul last round.”

˚ ༘♡ you frowned, rising slowly to your feet. “you and i both know it was an accident,” you replied steadily. “everyone was running for their lives. i didn’t block your way on purpose. we both finished in time, didn’t we? no harm done.”

˚ ༘♡ he rolled his eyes, his expression exaggerated and spontaneous. “yeah, sure, whatever. typical cold-hearted bitch behavior.”

˚ ༘♡ player 124 cackled at the insult, his laughter harsh and grating. “that’s right. cold, stuck-up bitch,” he echoed, his voice dripping with scorn.

˚ ༘♡ their taunts were designed to provoke you, but you refused to give them the satisfaction. your hands curled into fists, but you forced yourself to relax them, forced yourself to breathe. these two thrived on conflict, and the best thing you could do was walk away. you turned on your heel, ignoring their shouts, and started to move toward the far corner of the room.

˚ ༘♡ “hey! i’m talking to you!” thanos barked, stumbling after you with heavy, uncoordinated steps. he didn’t get far. player 001 stepped into his path, his expression stoic and unyielding.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t you boys have any respect?” player 001 asked, his voice quiet but firm. there was something about him, an emanation of authority that made everyone within earshot pause.

˚ ༘♡ thanos bristled, his arrogance faltering for just a moment. “mind your own damn business, old man,” he snapped, jerking forward.

˚ ༘♡ player 001 didn’t flinch. when thanos lunged at him, the older man moved with startling precision, sidestepping the punch with ease. he grabbed thanos by the wrist mid-swing and twisted sharply, forcing a guttural yelp from the younger man as his knees buckled. with a swift motion, player 001 yanked him forward and drove an elbow into his chest, the dull, cracking impact echoing in the room. thanos collapsed onto the floor, clutching his ribs and coughing violently.

˚ ༘♡ player 124 scrambled forward, his face twisted in fury. “bastard!” he yelled, charging with reckless abandon. player 001 turned just in time, catching the younger man by the collar and using his momentum against him. a sharp twist and a well-placed shove sent player 124 sprawling into the edge of a nearby cot, the metal frame rattling as he hit it with a thud.

˚ ༘♡ the fight wasn’t over. thanos struggled to his feet, his face contorted in pain and rage. “you’re gonna regret that, old man,” he spat, lunging again. this time, player 001’s response was more deliberate. he ducked under thanos’s wild swing, stepped inside his reach, and delivered a devastating blow to his lower torso. the younger man doubled over, gasping, before player 001 swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor once more.

˚ ༘♡ not finished, player 124 staggered up again, charging at player 001 with fists raised. the older man sidestepped and grabbed player 124 by the arm, wrenching it behind his back and forcing him to the ground with a hoarse cry of pain. he planted a knee firmly against player 124’s spine, holding him there as the younger man squirmed and cursed.

˚ ༘♡ thanos, blood now trickling from his nose, crawled toward his friend, wheezing apologies and swearing obscenities all at once. player 001 released player 124 with a shove, stepping back as the two younger men lay crumpled together on the floor.

˚ ༘♡ the room was silent, every player watching in stunned awe. then, slowly, the silence broke into cheers and clapping. player 001 straightened his posture, his expression as calm and inscrutable as ever. without a word, he turned and walked back to where player 456 and a few others were gathered, leaving the two troublemakers to nurse their wounds.

˚ ༘♡ you hesitated, then followed him. when you reached his side, you spoke softly. “i wanted to thank you, sir. if you hadn’t stepped in, they wouldn’t have stopped harassing me and disturbing the peace. you’ve done us all a favor.”

˚ ༘♡ player 001 turned to look at you, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly before he nodded. he said nothing, his expression unreadable. there was something deeply weary about him, a weight that seemed to press down on his shoulders. his posture was rigid, his face lined with exhaustion, and though he was relatively handsome, it was the kind of masculine appeal eroded by time and hardship.

˚ ༘♡ you wondered what had brought him here, what had led him to the point where he’d chosen, or been pushed into, to enter this place. you didn’t ask. prying into his past would be an impolite gesture and an indignity for what he had done for you.

a/n: my first squid game fanfiction! i definitely want to write more for hwang in-ho in the future so let me know if you have any requests! 🤍

[nochepsicodelica]

You and Toji are sitting at a table at a bar, talking about different things that went on throughout your days over some drinks. Toji tells you about how Shiu's been a real asshole lately, because his marriage is hanging on by a thread and he hasn't gotten laid in almost a month. He gives you a look that you interpret as him saying 'thank fuck that's not us' to which you respond with a little smirk.

When it's your turn, you tell him about how the new hire broke the copy machine, knocked over and broke the water gallon for the water dispenser, and crashed into someone, spilling hot coffee all over their shirt, all in the course of one day.

"That poor fucker's cursed," Toji says, amusement riddling his expression as he brings his glass of whiskey to his lips.

"He looked like he really needed a hug by the end of the day," you add, biting back a smile, before you take a sip of your own drink.

"Tell me you didn't," Toji says, taking in the seemingly telling look on your face. "Ma."

"I'm kidding. It's jokes, baby. I have no interest in hugging someone I haven't spoken a single word to."

Toji flicks your forehead, watching with a grin as you bring a hand up to rub the sting away. "Gotta piss, be right back, doll. Want another drink before I come back?"

"I'll wait for you to finish yours," you say, to which he nods before standing up from his seat.

"Be right back," Toji repeats, affectionately setting a heavy hand on your head, before he heads off in the direction of the restrooms.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your socials while you wait. Altogether, Toji was gone for no longer than four minutes, and yet somehow, that was enough time for a rando to pull a chair up to your little table and start a conversation with you.

"Hey," he starts. "Why are you sitting here looking all lonely?"

You turn your head to face the person with the unfamiliar voice, slightly widening your eyes as if to question if he's talking to you. He looks at you with raised eyebrows, awaiting your response. "Oh, i'm not here alone. My boyfriend is in the bathroom," you respond, with a polite smile, before returning your attention to your phone.

"Ah. What kind of man leaves a pretty thing like you by herself in a place like this?" The stranger says, in a tone that almost seems pitiful towards you.

You look at him again and attempt to keep your expression neutral. "He'll be back any second now. He's just taking a piss, i'll be fine. Unless you're here to make things troubling for me."

The man chuckles, entertained by your quick shift in tone. "With a feisty attitude like that and a pretty mouth to keep up, it seems like you want me to get you in trouble."

You furrow your eyebrows, blatantly offended by his inappropriate insinuation. It's disturbing to see how he turned your warning into something sexual.

"I already told you, I have a boyfriend. Try someone else," you respond, no longer hiding your irritation.

Toji scans the room for the table you're sitting at, locating you and who-the-fuck in three seconds. This man looks awfully cozy with you, leaning in close every time he speaks to you, so he doesn't stand around any longer and quickly makes his way back to you and this new "friend".

"You sure you don't want another drink, doll?" Toji asks, sitting down in front of you, again, his gaze darting between you and this pocket square looking man. There's a difference between your demeanor from before he left and now. You clearly aren't comfortable, anymore.

"That's it? That is your supposed boyfriend?" The man asks, attempting to minimize Toji by referring to him as if he's nothing in comparison to himself. "Oh, princess. You see this watch?" He asks, raising the cuff of his sleeve to fully reveal his golden watch. "Four thousand dollars, and that's chump change."

You look at Toji and pull his hand into your shaky one, giving him a forced smile. Toji keeps his eyes on yours as the stranger continues spewing arrogant sludge about how much money he makes a year and how even the luxury car he has parked outside didn't put the smallest dent in his wallet.

"You would have it so good with me, baby," he continues blabbering. His hand goes to your wrist, a gesture that Toji quickly puts an end to by aggressively shoving the man's hand away, your empty glass clattering on the table from the force. Toji would have snapped the man's wrist and twisted his hand off, but he didn't want to scare you with the bloodshed. He feels like he's buzzing from the anger bubbling inside, and surely it won't be long before he acts out.

"Don't fucking touch her," Toji spits, glaring at the man with an expression that would have put him six feet under, if looks could kill.

Your heartbeat is in your ears and your blood is boiling. This man is disgusting for being persistent towards someone who doesn't want him. It's masochism, at this point, with the amount of times that you've made it clear that you're not interested.

The man snorts, snobbishly. "He brought you here, of all places. Even just glancing at him, you can tell this cheap ass place is all he can afford. He'll never be able to give you everything you want, so just come with me, doll face."

You rip your hand out of Toji's grasp and stand from your chair, delivering a resounding blow to the man's already hideous face. Tables and chairs wobble as he tries to keep his balance, but when you quickly strike him again, hard enough to increase the pain you felt in your knuckles with that first hit, you manage to knock him onto the ground.

"Fuck you, you fucking asshole. You don't know shit!" You grit out, dropping down to try and land another hit to the man's bleeding face. By now, Toji is behind you, restraining your arms and pulling you back as a small crowd begins to form to observe the commotion.

"Ma, come on. Let's just go."

"Let me dent his fucking face in, Toji," you mutter, writhing in his grip.

The vile man manages to sit up, dabbing his fingertips against his busted lip. Though there is red blossoming on his face, his lips still form an amused, twisted smile. He laughs as he watches you get reeled back by Toji, seething as you are dragged away like a child having a meltdown in the middle of a store.

"Hey-- Hey, I said let's go," Toji says, his tone sharper when you continue to try to break out of his hold to fight the idiotic sociopath.

You take a deep breath and stop, willingly letting Toji take you away from this chaos you created in his defense. His hand rests on the nape of your neck, as he guides you through the stuffy bar and leads you outside to the car.

"Stop pacing," Toji says, watching as you threaten to make the asphalt beneath your feet waste away with every step you take in your heated state.

"Fucking asshole, dickhead, motherfucker." You groan, loudly, furiously, before covering your face with your hands. "It's fine, it's fine," you mumble to yourself.

"Then, stop pacing," he repeats, watching on as you walk the same steps, over and over, as if you're on autopilot. "Ma, eyes. Eyes." His hands go to your shoulders, manually forcing you to halt your movement. "Listen to me. I said eyes."

"I'm so... I can't stand still," you say, weakly.

"Stop looking around. Right here," Toji instructs, lifting one hand from your shoulder and pointing two fingers at his eyes. You release a shaky puff of air and hold his gaze as best as you can.

"Talk when you're ready," he says, following your eyes whenever they derail from his.

You aren't ready soon enough. You feel like your heart is trying to burst out of your chest and the adrenaline coursing through you isn't helping at all. Your hand hurts. Your knuckles feel bruised and they're bloody. The night might be ruined, but you felt your reaction was the only way to release the pain you felt when that nothing started talking the way he did about Toji. All you can think to do is hug Toji to prevent yourself from crying about your cause for attacking the gross man. It's all so much. You've never felt so strongly for someone, to the point where you hit a stranger for insulting them. It's scary how Toji brings that defensive, yet, offensive side out of you.

Strong, heavy arms reciprocate your embrace, keeping your tense body close. You feel warm and safe, his scent and the pressure of his hold managing to slowly calm your unsteady heartbeat. After a few seconds of quietness, you turn your head and rest the side of your face on him, finally prepared to speak.

"I didn't like how he was talking about you, Toji. He was talking shit even before you came back, and I hated it. I hated it so much, that I felt nauseous and if I hadn't done something, I would have been sick."

Toji sighs, not out of disappointment or feelings of that sort, but because you seeking out danger for his sake, was not something he ever wanted to see.

"Doll, you know how much I love you."

This sounds like a layer of sugar preceding a talking to. You're trying not to be nervous before the scolding even begins, but you feel the need to brace yourself, as well.

"I love you, too," you mumble.

Toji knows it. He's known it all along, and the events that transpired tonight were just another way of you proving your love and showing how much he matters to you.

"Want you to look at me," he says, lowering his arms on your back, allowing you to make the space necessary to give him your attention. He offers you a soft smile. "Don't get all fidgety on me after you just ripped a stranger's face open."

"I feel like you're about to yell at me," you say, lowly.

That makes him want to laugh, but he keeps his amusement to a minimum, since you're clearly anticipating something terrible.

"Nah. When have I ever raised my voice at you?"

"Never."

"Exactly. Never, and I won't start now, but I want you to get this through your pretty head... It's not your job to beat people up for me."

"I know, but-"

Toji shakes his head. "Hold on, mama. Let me finish talking, then it'll be your turn."

Your heart feels like it's in the depths of your stomach, but you nod, and allow him to continue talking.

"I'm not mad at you, i'm not gonna yell at you. Just wanna keep you safe, is all. That guy was already a fuckin' weirdo, harassing you like that and trying to get you to go with him while I was right there. I wouldn't be surprised if he was into hitting women, too, if he's so comfortable with making them uncomfortable."

It's quiet while you think of what to say. You don't want this to escalate into something that turns you against each other, when it started out as an act of love. You could argue about how you did this to defend him, but in the end, you know his own need to protect you, will stomp all over your arguments.

"I'm sorry we had to leave, but i'm not sorry for the reason behind it. I don't regret what I did."

"Ma..."

"No, Toji. He didn't even know you and yet he still said things that aren't fair." Your voice quiets down, the beginnings of stronger emotions threatening to outwardly reveal themselves. "He insulted you. He questioned your abilities as my boyfriend when he saw me alone— even after I told him you just went to the bathroom. He judged you superficially, he said you can't give me everything I want and--" you pause, interrupted by a shaky inhale and the painful lump in your throat. "Sorry," you mumble, when the first set of tears roll down your cheeks.

"No, you're alright," Toji says, in response, his warm hands coming up to cup your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your fleeing tears. There's a small pinch in his brows. Why are you crying? It's something he can't ask you, because he knows that if he makes a big spectacle out of it, you'll end up drowning in your tears and shutting down everything you have to say. He resorts to keeping your cheeks dry and encouraging you to keep talking.

"Go on, mama."

You sniff, before picking up where you left off. "I don't care about all that, Toji. I don't care where we go to spend time together, because we're together. I need you, not for you to buy me things or take me to fancy places. That's not what I'm with you for."

Your heart is beating fast, again, its rhythm no longer controlled by fear or nerves, but instead the focus that Toji has on you. He's good at holding eye contact with you, something that occasionally gets distracting if you become too aware of it. You notice that his expression is softer. Maybe it's your brief flash of tears or the way you are always subconsciously finding a way to indirectly recite some of the reasons for why you love him.

"I love you, Toji. That means I won't just sit around and let someone talk about you like you're worthless. And I know, I know you can handle things like this on your own and you don't need me, but it was hard to listen to that."

You pause, as if to give him a break from your bulldozing heart. Silence takes over the moment, both of you just looking at each other. Toji's speechlessness has you wondering if you spilled too much of your heart out to him. You know some things are better left to be figured out, such as the range of a person's love, and yet you just poured without measure. "You can call me crazy if you want to."

Toji's shit-eating grin is unexpected, but it's definitely a sight that lifts some of the heaviness you feel in your chest.

"You love me," Toji says, still smiling like a doofus. He knows your serious facade will crack if he looks at you like this for long enough. He can already see a shift in the expression of your eyes and the way your lips are pressing together just a little more. He tilts his head slightly, a gesture that pushes you even further towards that pretty smile he wants to see. When you finally crack and give into his charm, you do so with a mutter of 'you're so dumb.'

"I'm glad that's what you got out of my rambling," you say, wholeheartedly and in better spirits. Toji pulls you in, this time, his soothing warmth and familiar scent tangling around you, again. His chin rests on top of your head and his arms secure themselves around you, tightly.

"I'm not gonna call you crazy, ma. It's not what I think. Also, don't go saying things that aren't true. I do need you," Toji says, his voice level kept at an intimate volume, as if there are other people there in the parking lot with you. His words are solely meant for you to hear anyway and getting them to you in this manner ensures that you won't go home with your heart feeling heavy, after a talk that was meant to comfort you.

"You know, I don't care what other people think— and that's not to say I don't appreciate you throwing a few punches for my sake. You're a sweetheart and you care so much, but if it's a stranger saying some unimportant, dumb shit, it takes a lot for it to actually get to me. If it really bothered me, they'd be gone."

"Yeah... I know," you mumble, into his shirt, knowing you would do it again and again— countless times. You loosen your arms around Toji and he does the same, his hands dragging towards your waist after you separate.

"How's that hand?" Toji asks, picking your wrist up before you can even respond. He whistles at the sight of the slight swelling and the dry specks of crimson spotted over your knuckles.

"A little tender," you say, feeling a tinge of fear when his other hand lifts off your waist to feel the damage.

"Looks real good on your pretty hand," he says, dragging his index finger over the protruding bones of your hand.

"Does it?" You ask, your barely there smile falling when you wince at the little bit of pressure Toji applies.

"No," he responds, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the sore area. You wince again when his thumb drags over your skin with slightly more pressure than before. "It doesn't. We'll ice it when we get home, alright?" He lets up on the torturous touching, but keeps your hand in his. The words aren't meant to hurt you. He doesn't mean them and he hopes he communicates that with the way he still opts to hold your hand. Your hands will always be pretty to him, he just can't say that to you, right now. Not if it serves as the smallest bit of encouragement for you to repeat what happened earlier, in the future.

"Okay." You nod.

"Gimme a kiss and we can go home or wherever, if you wanna stay out."

You tilt your head up and wait for his lips to meet yours. It's a gentle brush of lips, but the second Toji's hands start slipping under the back of your sweater and your shirt, you know it's going to be more than a single kiss. You can feel the night's cold wind nipping at your skin, as his hands go higher up, his fingertips reaching just below the hooks of your bra. To your surprise, he unhooks the garment, causing you to quickly press your hands to your chest when the cups loosen, to prevent them from fully sliding down.

"Toji," you manage to utter out during the wave of kisses. You turn your head, receiving a kiss that was meant for your lips, on your cheek.

"Yeah... I think we should go home," he murmurs, against your skin. "Maybe we can rock the car a little bit before we go, hm?" Toji smirks when you let out that flustered giggle he's so familiar with. He presses another kiss to your cheek before you turn to face him, again.

"Okay, but let's not blow it all here. We have a nice and comfortable bed at home. Let's add another good night to it."

You don't miss the way Toji's lustfully lidded, green eyes, keep glancing down at your hands on your chest, or how he's mindlessly caressing your bare waist, under your shirt.

"Alright, ma." He pulls out his car keys and with the press of a button, the car unlocks with a beep and the brief, dull sound of flipping locks. "Get inside."

[readwritealldayallnight]

There are less than ten minutes left until midnight when you realize you can’t find Ghost anywhere

The local bar you and the rest of the 141 are visiting tonight is packed tight, on account of it being only a few minutes before the new year

The Lieutenant had mentioned stepping out for a smoke a while back, but had yet to return to the table you were all occupying

It was silly, but a small part of you had been harbouring some hope that you might get a kiss at midnight this year

It wouldn’t be so silly, if you were hoping to have that kiss with anyone other than Ghost

And yet, that was exactly the man you’d had your eye on all night and all year if we’re being honest-

“I’m going to run to the ladies room really quick.” You murmur quickly, hopping out of your bar stool before anyone can realize you’re slipping away, their attention focused on some story Soap is recounting enthusiastically

You work your way through the densely packed crowd until you make it to the back entrance, finding the door propped open with a brick

Carefully pushing it open and poking your head out, you scan your gaze around the back alley until your eyes land on none other than the tall, dark figure of your Lieutenant, leaning against the brick wall a ways down further away from the light, the smoke from his cigarette wafting from his hand

Wordlessly, you make your way towards him, his attention never straying from the hole he’s currently staring into the wall ahead of him, even as you step up next to him and lean your own shoulders against the bricks

Only when you let out a small sigh does his head instinctually turn towards you, even just the slightest fraction, and he slightly raises his cigarette towards you in offering, bringing it up to his own lips to inhale when you shake your head

You can’t help the way your eyes naturally follow the movement, zeroing in on the pair of lips you’ve spent so much time thinking about and such little time ever seeing with your own two eyes

You’re certain it must be the liquid courage still running through you that prompts you to speak up, otherwise you don’t think you’d ever be brave or foolish enough to look him in the eyes and say, “Hey Ghost, when was the last time you had a midnight kiss?”

You only know he’s heard you because he cuts off his inhale abruptly, eyes snapping towards you, exposing his genuine surprise for only a split second before he’s recovering already, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and letting the smoke out, taking those precious seconds to absorb your words, before carefully choosing to say:

“What are you fuckin’ goin’ on about now?”

“You know,” you quickly reply before you can feel too embarrassed to back down. “A kiss. On New Years Eve. At midnight. People do it all the time. When was the last time you-”

“Never.” He replies bluntly, throwing his cigarette butt onto the ground next to him, stomping it out with his boot before turning to face you fully

“Oh. Really? Because I-”

“Is tha’ what you came all the way out here abou’? A bloody kiss at midnight?” A chill runs down your spine at the sound of Ghost’s rough, Manchester accent just uttering the word kiss. Your eyes are locked on his lips as they form around the word, failing to notice how his own eyes are now glancing down at your own mouth

“Fuckin’ hell- come here then.” He playfully rolls his eyes before pushing off the wall, taking the small step it takes to close the distance between you, his one hand coming to pull his mask up just a little further until it’s resting over the bridge of his nose, while his other hand is slipping behind the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you towards him without hesitation

Your hands land on his shoulders, reaching up on your tip toes when he slots his lips over yours, just as you hear the crowd inside the bar chanting, “…three, two one, happy new year!”

You’re not sure which are louder, the fireworks erupting outside on the streets or the ones going off in your head as you kiss Ghost back

Before you know it, he’s pulling away from you, leaving you breathless where you stand

He allows himself one last glance down at your lips before he’s pulling his balaclava back into place, reaching an arm around your waist to turn you back around towards the propped door

“Come on, pretty. You’ll catch a cold. Ya didn’t take my jacket I left for ya.” He says, paired with a sneaky smack to your ass as he leads you back inside, where there are three men waiting, and though they’d been occasionally entertaining other women throughout the night, they each had realized they couldn’t find you as midnight approached

[geminiwritten]

at first sight ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: the squad challenge hangman to charm any girl in the bar, and phoenix chooses you, but you end up making more of an impression on him than he's is expecting

notes: i asked for some inspo and i got some! i hope this is okay, i wrote it in a day and just had a bit of fun, so let me know what you think! (i also got another request for jake, and honestly if he's who y'all want, i'm so here for it)

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, text screenshots, and it's a little horny but otherwise fine (let me know if i've missed anything!)

word count: 3304

“Any girl in the bar?” Reuben echoes Jake’s words, disbelief saturating his tone.

Jake nods. “Any available girl in this bar.”

Bradley chuckles into the mouth of his beer bottle as he tips it to his lips while Mickey and Bob crane their necks to survey the busy bar.

“What about that one?” Mickey nods toward a high table where a woman is sitting by herself.

Jake rolls his eyes. “I said available. She’s clearly got a date and he’s just gone to get a drink. Do you see the keys on the table?”

As if on cue, a tall man with thick brows and a very square jaw places two drinks on the table before sitting across from the woman.

Javy chuckles as he subtly points toward the main door where two women have just entered the bar. “What about one of those two, Hangman?”

Jake’s green eyes dart toward the door before returning to his friend and narrowing. “Be kind, Coyote. I would prefer under the age of sixty-five.”

Natasha’s brows shoot up. “Prefer, but you’d be open to-”

“No.” Jake scowls across the table at her.

The group share a laugh before they all return to scouring the bar for an acceptable target. Jake Seresin makes big claims about his ability with ‘the ladies’ but the dagger squad are yet to witness such skill in action.

“Her.” Natasha says, brown eyes focused on someone at the bar.

Every single one of them turn to follow her gaze, and Jake’s mouth twists up into that signature smirk.

-

You sigh and slide your phone out of your back pocket, opening the text chain that made you leave the restaurant you’d been waiting at and order an Uber to the nearest bar. Another message pops up as you stare at the screen, asking where you are and if you got a table yet. You roll your eyes and take a screenshot before going to your text thread with your best friend and sending it to her.

You slide your phone back into your pocket just as the bartender places the beer you ordered in front of you. You glance up with a small smile and open your wallet to find your credit card, but someone beside you is quicker to hand the man some cash.

“It’s on me,” the stranger says, wearing an irritatingly gorgeous grin.

Your eyes narrow as you assess the man beside you. He’s wearing a well-fitting pair of jeans and a dark green button-up shirt, untucked. He’s effortlessly handsome, with sparkling green eyes and light brown hair that is perfectly combed into place. It’s almost as if someone cast a spell on a Ken doll to bring him to life. But you can tell by the way this man is grinning at you that he is much more devious than a newly animated children’s toy.

You pick up your drink and turn to face him, silently asking him to explain himself.

“Hangman.” He winks.

You frown. “I prefer Pictionary.”

His pretty smirk falters for a second before he fully processes what you said, and then he chuckles. “No, it’s my callsign. I’m a naval aviator.”

You’d figured as much – duh, you live on North Island – but you’re not in the mood for this guy’s bullshit right now. “That must be so fun for you.” You push off the barstool with your drink in hand. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Wait a minute.” He doesn’t block your path, but his words are enough to stop you out of sheer habit. “I didn’t catch your name.”

You give him a tight smile. “That’s because I didn’t throw it.”

Despite the dim, yellow lighting inside the bar, his eyes still sparkle like freshly tumbled jades. He doesn’t look as smarmy as he had a few moments ago, he looks more intrigued than cocky now. His smile isn’t quite as smirky, and his gaze is less predatory, but his eyes are still raking up and down your body. On any other day, you’d be willing to give this charming man a run for his money. You’d drag him into a booth and see if he could keep up with your verbal warfare before deciding whether or not you wanted to take him home. But not tonight.

“I’d be willing to earn your name if you give me a chance.”

You look down at your beer and sigh quietly before glancing back up at him. “Look, Hangman, I don’t doubt this routine – this charm – works on most girls, but you have really picked the wrong one tonight.”

He raises one challenging brow. “You look like the right one to me.”

“The right one for what?” You cock your hip and hold it with your free hand. “A good one-night stand or something real? Because you don’t strike me as a guy who’s looking for something real, and I’ve just about had it with one-night stands.”

His mouth pops open, but no words come out.

“And while I don’t doubt that it would be a really good one-night stand, because- well, I’m not blind, I’ve just had a really crappy day and would like to drink my beer in peace while I craft a careful and incredibly scathing text to the asshole who put me in this mood.”

You pause, waiting for him to respond or tell you that you’re crazy, but he doesn’t. He just looks at you with that same curious stare, like you’re a fascinating piece of art in a gallery.

“So, thank you for the drink, but could you please let me have my pity-party alone? You can go tell your friends you got my number, and we can just pretend that I reacted to this whole situation like any other normal person would have.”

His brows pinch as you offer him another tight smile before turning and walking toward a spare table. Once you settle in one of the chairs – your back to the room –, you have to resist the urge to turn around, because a tiny part of you wishes that you could have humoured him. He was hot, there’s no denying that, but he also seemed like an actual gentleman – an experienced gentleman, but one, nonetheless. Which is something that your life is sorely lacking.

You pull your phone out again and open up your text conversation with Declan – the guy you thought you’d been dating for the past three months.

You were supposed to have met for dinner at 7PM, and you'd been waiting at the restaurant since 6:45PM because you were so excited for your date. But after those texts, you threw your napkin on the table and walked right out the door. You hailed a cab and told the driver to take you to The Hard Deck, a bar you’ve only heard of from your friend. The same friend who you’d sent the screenshots of your conversation with Declan.

You shake your head and decide to compose a ‘get fucked’ message to Declan later. You're tired and a little upset, so you tip your beer to your lips and scull the rest of it, plonking the glass down harder than necessary as you stand up.

You call an Uber to take you home and when you slide into the back seat, you feel utterly drained and more than a little guilty about blowing off that gorgeous guy. You open your phone and tap on your text messages, pulling up your conversation with your best friend and typing out a few new messages.

Natasha’s ambiguity would usually make you nauseous with curiosity, but after the day you’ve just had, you can’t find the energy to be anxious about whatever it is she wants to talk about. You send her an affirmative text, accepting the boozy brunch, before tucking your phone away and staring out the car window for the rest of the drive home.

-

Jake has been lying awake for over an hour by the time his alarm goes off. It’s Saturday, which means he doesn’t have to be at the base, but he still likes to start his weekends early with a good workout. Normally, he’d jump out of bed at the sound of his alarm and slip straight into his gym gear, but not today. He’s barely slept, and he feels like his consciousness is on a completely different plane of existence.

He can’t stop thinking about you.

You’d caught him completely off-guard last night. When Natasha had pointed you out, he could clearly see that you were gorgeous, which is why he was more than happy to accept the challenge of ‘charming’ you. Then you had the audacity to be witty, and Jake Seresin is nothing if not a sucker for a woman with a sharp tongue. You didn’t fall for his smirk or his cheesy lines, but you weren’t rude about it either. You’d clearly had a bad day, and he felt bad for borderline harassing you, but now he feels even worse for not at least getting your name.

Jake has never believed in love at first sight, but last night is starting to prove him otherwise.

His workout today is half-assed, and he knows it, but he doesn’t bother pushing himself any further by the time his hour in the gym is up. Usually, he wouldn’t leave until his whole body was slick with sweat, but not today. Every time he closes his eyes, he can see your face, and then he doesn’t want to open them again. He’s worried that the details will start to fade, and he never wants to forget the face of the woman who has so thoroughly rocked his foundations. So that’s why when he gets home, he lays on the couch and closes his eyes, trying to burn your image into the back of his eyelids.

A couple of hours and a lot of unsuccessful internet sleuthing later, his phone rings, the screen lighting up with Natasha’s caller ID photo.

“Hello?”

“Bagman, you sound tired.”

“I’m busy. What's up?”

“Well, now you sound depressed.” He can hear the amusement in her voice. “Are you still bummed about striking out last night?”

He doesn’t care about striking out, he cares about the fact that he’s now seemingly obsessed with a mystery girl he might never see again.

“I’m not in the mood, Phoenix.”

“Alright, alright. I just wanted to see if you were coming to the beach barbecue tonight.” He can hear another muffled voice in the background, but he can’t discern who it is. “It was Payback’s idea, and everyone else is in, but you didn’t reply to the group chat. So?”

There’s a beat of silence. Jake is usually always down to hang out with his friends, but he has half a mind to spend his night scouring every bar and restaurant in town to see if he can run into you again.

“Come on, Seresin,” she presses. “One of my friends is coming too, and I really think you’ll like her.”

At that, Jake’s curiosity piques. Natasha has never offered to set him up with any of her friends before. In fact, she has distinctly threatened him should he ever try to go near any of them.

“You want to set me up with your friend?”

She scoffs. “Well, no, but- Look, you’ll understand if you come. Am I counting you in?”

He lets out a long breath as he falls back against the couch cushions. “Yeah, sure.”

- Three Hours Earlier -

You stare at your best friend in disbelief. You’ve barely taken a sip of your first mimosa, and she’s already telling you that not only was she at that bar last night, but she was the one who told the gorgeous man to approach you.

“Are you mad?” she asks, holding her champagne flute in front of her face as if it could protect her.

You take a deep breath before blowing it out through your nose. “Well, no, but I’m kind of hurt that you saw me walk into the bar and didn’t come say hi.”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “That would have ruined all the fun.”

You raise your brows. “The fun of sending one of your friends into a losing battle?”

Her smile is sheepish. “Look, if you knew Hangman like I do, you’d completely understand. And when I saw you sit at the bar, of course I wanted to come and give you a hug, but then I had this beautiful opportunity presented to me. You got to take out a little bit of frustration on the male species, and Hangman got a nice big bruise on his ego. It was a win-win.”

You take a generous sip of your mimosa and point a finger at her. “Win.”

She gives you a wink before taking a big gulp of her own drink. You spend the rest of the morning talking about Declan and crafting a simple but nasty message to send him before you block his number. After three mimosas and a shared croissant, you’re starting to feel a little boozy.

“Okay, I think we should stop.”

She nods. “Probably. I still need to go shopping for tonight. You’re coming, right?”

You roll your lips and avert your eyes, instead deciding to stare at the crumbs on the plate between the two of you.

“Come on, please.” She leans forward, doing her best puppy-dog eyes. “I know you don’t know my navy friends, but you’re never going to if you keep avoiding meeting them. Plus, Hangman should be there.”

Your heart begins to thump heavily against your sternum, which is ridiculous because you barely know the guy.

“I guess I should probably apologise to him.”

She scoffs. “You don’t need to apologise. I was kind of hoping that maybe you’d reject him again.”

You roll your eyes. “Nat, come on. I was rude to the guy, and he was perfectly-”

“Wait.” Her eyes go wide. “You actually think he’s cute, don’t you? Like, not in a flippant ‘that guy is hot’ kind of way, but in the way where you can’t stop thinking about him.”

Your pulse thrums even faster. “Pfft, no.”

“Oh, my God.” She holds a hand up to her lips to stifle her laughter. “You don’t want to apologise to him, you want to fu-”

“Nat!” you exclaim. “We are in public.”

She can’t stop giggling, her brown eyes like saucers above the hand covering her mouth, and it only takes a few more seconds before you dissolve into laughter too. You’ve definitely had enough mimosas for the morning.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually you compose yourselves enough to pay and exit the cafe. Neither of you had driven this morning, thankfully, so you decide to Uber to the nearest grocery store to get supplies for tonight’s beach barbecue.

You’re turning into the cold aisle where all the meat is cut and packaged when Natasha pulls out her phone and calls Hangman. It’s stupid the way your heart races when you hear his muffled voice, but you can’t help it. You’ve been thinking about this man nonstop for the past fourteen hours and now you’re going to see him tonight. You’ve never really believed in love at first sight, but the memory of those sparkling green eyes is starting to convince you otherwise.

Hours later and after trying on every bathing suit you own, you find yourself walking toward the gazebo on the beach where Nat’s location on your phone is pinging. There’s a fold out table with a portable barbecue on it and half a dozen beach chairs scattered across the sand. There’s also a volleyball net set up, where two very fit men are batting a white ball back and forth.

You’re starting to think that maybe you were doing yourself a disservice by not meeting Nat’s navy friends sooner.

“Hey!” Nat exclaims, yanking two beers out of the ice tub before jogging toward you. “I’m very impressed that you didn’t bail.”

You roll your eyes and try to be discreet about surveying the group for a face you’ll recognise. “Of course I didn’t bail.”

“Come meet everyone.” She links her arm with yours and leans in to whisper in your ear. “Hangman isn’t here yet.”

She points at the two men playing volleyball and tells you that they are Rooster and Payback. Then she pulls you into the gazebo’s shade and introduces you to Coyote, who is manning the barbecue, and Fanboy, who is second in charge. Harvard, Fritz, and Halo are occupying a few of the beach chairs, and apparently there are two more naval aviators on their way. One of which you’ve already met.

Everyone is super nice and incredibly fucking fit. It doesn’t take long for you to relax and enjoy the conversation with Fanboy while Nat argues with Coyote about what ‘medium rare’ looks like.

“Oh, and here’s another one,” Fanboy says, glancing over your shoulder with a grin. “This is Hangman.”

Your heart almost leaps out of your chest when you turn around and come face to face with those gorgeous green eyes.

He smiles, and it’s hot enough to melt your bikini bottoms. “Pictionary, right?”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, that’s right. Nat tells me you’re actually Bagman?”

He rolls his eyes and turns to your best friend, who is grinning like a maniac. “Jake Seresin, this is my best friend. Have you two met?”

Jake.

He says something to Natasha along the lines of calling her evil, but you’re not listening anymore. You’re too busy drinking him in, and oh my, is that a big drink.

He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of khaki shorts, and his taut tan skin is making your mouth water. He has to have been sculpted by the gods, that is the only explanation for this man. Your eyes rake across his broad chest, the smattering of hair at his sternum, and down his defined abdominals. You can imagine licking every line, tasting every inch of his skin and following that V with your tongue below the waistband of his shorts.

Natasha nudges your ribs as she walks past, and you only just catch her wink before you look up and find Jake’s eyes on you. He’s smirking, and this time, it’s working. “Phoenix said you wanted to tell me something.”

Oh yeah, he definitely knows you were just checking him out.

You clear your throat. “I- um, I wanted to apologise for being rude last night. I’d had a bad day, but you honestly didn’t do anything wrong. Any other day I’d probably have jumped right into bed with you.”

Your eyes widen and you smack a hand over your mouth, heat crawling into your cheeks as you realise what thoughts you just let slip through your lips. Jake laughs, his smirk morphing into a genuine and breathtaking grin.

“I’m so sorry,” you say quickly. “I have no filter sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He licks his lips and looks you up and down, like a predator sizing up its prey. “You don’t have anything to apologise for, but considering this is any other day, why don’t you start by telling me your name? Then we can see about jumping into bed.”

You can feel yourself melting faster than a popsicle in the sun. It’s not that you want to be immediately smitten by this ridiculously gorgeous and charming man, but you can’t help it. Ever since last night, you’ve had a weird feeling about him. A feeling that makes you think he’s important to your story, one way or another.

All you can do now is hope that it’s in a good way.

END.

[crowsofdarkness]

You've been braty all evening and suggest a fun game to play with Bucky: Hide and fuck.

18+ CW's below the cut( mask kink, protected pinv since she's on the implant, oral with both male and female receiving, fingering, masturbation, choking, degradation, rope play/bondage, making of a sex tape, rough/possessive sex, and slight voyeurism)

a/n: ok I fully understand that Bucky wearing the mask post winter solider is somewhat traumatic but in this little universe/fic, Bucky is trying to get over the trauma by replacing that feeling of fear with something different.

My breath was unsteady and echoed loud in the confined space I found myself in. Surely Bucky had to be returning to our room soon, it had been hours since I left him at the bar with Steve, now almost ten in the evening. As soon as I came back to our room, I went about showering off the long days filth and slipped into a new piece of lingerie I’d bought a while ago just never found the perfect time to wear it. 

Until now. 

All night, I’d been teasing Bucky by whispering all of the filthy things I wanted him to do to me. More so, I wanted him to chase me and fuck me. Unfortunately even with the size of our room, there still wasn’t enough space for Bucky to hunt me down so I had to settle with a simple game of hide and seek. 

Or as I called it in the text I sent him: hide and fuck. 

I managed to fit myself in the large wardrobe dresser that we had in our room, the ones that were tall enough where I could sit inside of it somewhat comfortably. The scent of my peach perfume, Bucky’s favorite,  clouded around me as I sat with my knees pulled to my chest. Just when I was about to give up, tired of waiting, I heard the insert of a key card into the slot and the door clicking open. I had left the light on in the main area of the hotel room so some of it could cast a light into where I was hiding but with a soft click, everything was blanketed in black. 

Bucky’s back. 

Holding a hand over my mouth, I tried so hard to remain quiet even though I was beyond giddy with excitement that he had agreed to this. I knew that this was also supposed to be a therapeutic exercise for him. A way for him to see himself in his old Hydra mask and come to terms he’s not that person anymore. 

Although he was afraid, we both knew that those words that controlled him were long gone. No longer programmed. Even if he wore the mask tonight, Bucky wouldn’t become the soldier. 

His footsteps were so light, almost nonexistent, as he moved around the room. I could feel his presence as it halted in front of the wardrobe and before I could register what was happening, Bucky ripped open the doors and yanked me from it. 

My body fell to the floor with little damage and I quickly scurried away from Bucky only for his fingers to wrap around my ankle, dragging me back to him. His large body loomed over me, lust filled eyes and his lower half of his face was covered by the mask.  His breathing was all I heard as I stared up at him. He wore nothing but the mask and black briefs, hanging low on his hips. The light colored hairs of his happy trail brought a tender smile to my face. 

“Found you,” Bucky growled as his palms traced over the thin white lace of my lingerie, his eyes growing even darker. 

“I-I guess you did,” I stammered while he climbed on top of me. 

WIth his hips locking me in place, Bucky reached over my head towards a bag I hadn’t noticed before and riffled through it. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the rope between his hands, him threading it between his fingers. 

Bounding my hands to my ankles, Bucky went about tying them together with the rope, checking how tight it was before letting the game slip away for a moment. 

“Too tight?” 

I shook my head. “I promise, it’s fine.” 

He took off the hair tie around his wrist and gathered my hair away from my face and into a ponytail. His vibranium finger grazed over my cheek, forcing my eyes to meet his. 

“If you ever want to stop, say red,” he said quietly. 

“Okay,” I breathed, understanding the usage of our new safe word. 

With my hands and feet bound together, I let out a squeal of laughter mixed with shock as Bucky lifted me from the ground, carrying me like a tied animal over towards our bed and roughly tossed me onto it. My ass was up towards the ceiling, barely covered by the lace I wore, and his nostrils flared when he leaned over my lower half, still donning the mask. 

“You smell so good,” he praised while kneeling on the bed. 

“Peaches,” I informed, reminding him of my perfume. 

Bucky hooked a finger into my panties, shifting it to the side so he could brush his nose along my wet folds. 

“Oh,” I murmured when I realized what kind of smell he was referring to. 

Due to how I was tied up, I wasn’t able to look down and see Bucky between my legs, but I could feel the faint brush of his tongue over my clit and I pulled on my bindings. 

“One more thing,” Bucky said before slipping away from me to rummage around in my suitcase. 

I turned my head towards him. “We don’t need a condom. I’m on the implant, remember?” 

He ignored me, still rummaging around in my bag until he spun quickly on his heels towards me holding onto one of my camcorders. 

“Sex tape?” I asked with a teasing edge to my voice. 

Bucky’s lips curled up after he ripped off the mask. “A fucking sex tape.” 

After making sure it was fully charged and set up on the dresser across the bed with the perfect angle, he was quick to be back at the foot of the bed, kneeling on the floor. 

“I want to taste you so fucking bad, doll. Will you let me?” 

My head fell back to the mattress with fluttering eyes. “Please.”

Yanking my panties to the side again, Bucky was quick to devour me, teeth and tongue all over my core. My body writhed against the bed as he took turns between my clit and folds with his tongue before ultimately wrapping his lips around my sensitive bud and forced two vibranium fingers inside of me. 

“Shit,” I panted as the orgasm was quick to build. 

I’d been on edge all night waiting for him and I knew it wouldn’t take me long to reach there. Bucky momentarily removed his fingers from me to press the fullness of his tongue against my folds, licking me up from the bottom to the top.

"Fuck," I moaned when his tongue speared inside of me for a few strokes, before replacing it with his fingers again. 

Bucky’s lips wrapped around my clit to bite and suck at the bundle of nerves. He ate me like a man starved as was offered his final meal before death. The familiar burn at the base of my spine made me call out his name; in a praise and a warning. 

“So close,” I keened. 

Bucky’s arm held up my legs that were still bound and since his mouth was a little preoccupied, he smacked my ass with the hand that was holding my panties to the side. 

Let go, doll. 

I came with a shout, grinding myself against Bucky’s face as he licked and finger fucked me through the aftershocks. 

“Shit,” I choked on a breath when he pulled away only to rise to his feet, yanking down his brieds, now standing in front of me in nothing but the mask. 

I pulled on my bindings, yearning to touch him, but let out an aggravated cry when I realized how tight he tied them. 

“I need to be inside you, doll,” Bucky admitted while grabbing a hold of my ankles with one hand and guiding himself inside of me with the other. 

Both of our groans of pleasure tangled sweetly together and Bucky, who stood at the edge of the bed now, slammed into me with such force, it shook the headboard against the wall. The sound of skin on skin was heaven sent, along with the image of Bucky’s head rolled back, mouth open as he let out pants of air in tangent with each of his thrust. They were brutal, nearly bruising, but I reveled in it. It awoken a fire deep inside of me that from now on needed to be set ablaze. 

“So.” 

Thrust.

“Fucking.” 

Thrust. 

“Tight,” Bucky groaned as his hips stalled for a moment and I watched as the muscles in his stomach constricted. 

He was close but was trying not to tumble over the edge so he slipped out from me. Before I could protest, he was climbing onto the bed towards me. He lifted my head up, wrapping my hair around his hand to force my mouth towards his cock slick with my arousal. 

“Open that pretty little mouth,” he demanded, yanking on my scalp. 

With glittering eyes gazing up at him, I parted my lips so he could force himself inside. He ignored my gagging as he hate fucked my throat with such a bruising grip on my hair, I was sure it would be sore for days. Drool pooled from my mouth and around his cock, dripping down to my chest. 

“Such a good little slut,” Bucky smacked my cheek with the hand that wasn't tangled in my hair. “You love the way you taste, huh?”

My yelp of shock was drowned out by his cock as he repeatedly hit the back of my throat. I could taste myself on it, the tangy arousal lingering on my tongue. But soon I was gasping for breath when Bucky pulled himself from my mouth to grab a hold of my chin, bringing his face mere meters from mine. 

“I asked you a question, doll. I expect you to answer it.”

I did the best I could to nod with his tight grip but it wasn’t enough for him so he tapped my cheek again. 

“Words. You need to use your words.” 

“Yes,” I blurted. “Yes, I love the way I taste on your cock.”

“That’s my good girl,” he praised before forcing his cock deep inside my throat again. 

This time, he didn’t hold himself back as he spilled himself inside of my mouth. 

“Don’t you dare swallow,” he spat through gritted teeth as he held the back of my head, letting my tongue glide him through the aftershocks. 

I held his seed in my mouth, long after he fell to the bed next to me, only to reach into the bag he brough, pulling out a knife. My eyes widened but unable to speak, I held my breath. 

Bucky brushed his lips over mine. “You can swallow now, pretty girl.” 

Obeying him, I let out a breath and motioned towards the shiny blade. “I think this is a step too far.”

He let out a low chuckle before reaching for my bound legs and hands. “Relax, doll. I’m just cutting you free.”

Tattered rope fell to the bed and Bucky quickly brought the red, irritated skin to his lips, peppering it with kisses. 

All I did was hum and as we laid there, Bucky’s fingers grazed up and down the inside of my thigh, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

“I hope you know I’m not finished with you yet,” was all he said before he yanked me off of the bed. 

As we passed by the camcorder, Bucky turned it so it could face out towards the balcony of the hotel room. 

“Bucky!” I nearly screeched when I noticed the somewhat busy street just a few floors beneath us. 

He spun me around so my back was against the railing, the city lights painting us in a luminescent glow, and traced a finger down the front of my lingerie. 

“This is new,” he noted. 

I shivered with not only his touch, but the cool breeze that passed over us. 

“Do-do you like it?” I asked, nervous. 

“I love it so much, doll, that I’m going to fuck you with it on,” Bucky husked before holding out his hand, spitting on it. 

He pumped his already hard cock a few times, dragging the extra skin over the head and let out a spew of curses. Gathering some of my arousal between my legs, he worked me open again with two fingers before replacing them with his cock. The rough metal of the balcony dug into my back as Bucky dragged himself nearly all the way out, slowly fucking me with the head before thrusting all of him inside of me again. It went like this for a few moments, my bottom lip caught between my teeth because the feeling caused my skin to prick. I squeezed against him, swallowing his length in warmth and our hips began to move in sync.

“Shit,” Bucky rasped while leaving dark, bruising teeth marks along my neck and shoulder. “You feel so good, doll.”

His fingers wrapped around my neck while his thumb forced my jaw up towards him. I went to slip a finger between us but Bucky slapped my hand away, a growl of arousal slipped through his lips.

“Mine,” he whispered.

The pad of his thumb pressed against my bundle of nerves and with the fast and relentless pace he had chosen now, I felt the coil deep in my stomach begin to tense, my second orgasm so close.

“Yours,” I breathed. 

Our bodies slammed against each other, skin slapping against skin, and the wet noises that came from the place we were connected were so filthy that I was ready to let my body go, walls tensing around Bucky’s cock. He lifted his forehead from my chest and forced our gazes to lock again, my arm wrapped around his shoulder to bring him closer, thumb rubbing circles on his bicep. His eyes took in every inch of my face, burning with the way I gasped silently when I felt the tip of his cock hit that spot. 

“Bucky,” I pured. “I’m going to-.” 

My orgasm ripped through me, causing the words to falter, and I shook in his tight embrace. The night air did nothing to cool my heated skin. 

Bucky removed his bottom lip from the tight grip between his teeth as he let out a deep but quiet moan as he painted my walls with his cum. Lifting me into his arms, I wrapped my tired legs around him as he carried me back into the bedroom and tossed me onto the bed yet again fixing the camera in a different position. 

“I can’t,” I shook my head when he reached for the buttons of my lingerie. 

Bucky kissed a tender kiss on my shoulder. “I know you’ve got one more in you, doll. Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” 

More than anything. 

I was exhausted from my two orgasms, how was he not? Peering down to his cock, I noticed it was nearly hard yet again, the sight of it alone causing my gut to twinge with anticipation and I licked my lips. 

Damn super soldier serum.

“I thought you can't,” Bucky mocked my voice from earlier, causing me to narrow my eyes at him. 

“Shut up!”

The sound of fabric ripping echoed in the room, my lingerie falling away from my body and I screeched while smacking his chest. 

“This was new, asshole!” 

Bucky shrugged, throwing me down to my stomach and lifting my ass in the air to lay a swift smack against it with his vibranium hand. I scrambled to get away from him which prompted him to force the top half of my body against the mattress with one of his hands while the other smacked my ass yet again. 

“Fuck! Bucky!” I bit back the tears as he laid a third smack. “Pl-please.”

“I’ll stop when you apologize for what you called me,” Bucky’s voice was dark, gone with the lust that consumed him. 

For the briefest of moments, part of me feared the monster I had awoken in him but when the pain soon turned to pleaser, I let out a quiet moan afraid he would hear. His large hand rubbed at the red skin before pressing a kiss. 

“Does the pain turn you on, doll? Hm?” Bucky spoke into the skin of my lower back. 

I grasped at the pillow, pulling it close to my chest so I could muffle my answer into it. Which only seemed to displease him because he sunk his teeth into the extra flesh of my hip, making me cry out my answer. 

“Yes! I need it to hurt!”

Wrapping an arm around my stomach, Bucky lifted me up onto my knees and to face the large mirror in the room that was hung across the bed, right next to the camera; still blinking red. I gasped at my reflection of tattered pieces of lingerie hanging on to me still by a thread, mascara running down my face, purple bite marks littered all over my neck and shoulder, and lips faintly bruised from how hard Bucky fucked my throat earlier. 

He knelt behind me and brushed his nose along the shell of my ear while trailing the pad of his thumb over the pulse point of my throat. 

“You look so pretty like this, doll. Marked up as mine so everyone knows who you belong to,” he dragged his teeth along the crook of my neck, breathing me in. 

“God, I fucking love the way you smell.”

His fingers pinched and pulled at my nipples, making my head falter back onto his shoulder.

“What do you want, baby?” Bucky palmed both of my breasts now before trailing a hand down my stomach to spread my legs wide for the reflection and mostly the camera. 

“You,” I breathed. 

Bucky said nothing, instead he slipped two fingers past my slick folds where the head of his cock was slowly gliding up and down. Gathering up not only my arousal but the little bit of precum that beaded at the slit, he brought those fingers to my lips with one simple order. 

“Lick.”

I took both vibranium fingers into my mouth without objection to lap up the tangy mixture of us and hummed greedily. I took them as far as I could without gagging and Bucky showed me how proud he was of me by sinking himself deep inside my pussy. His strokes this time were languid, taking his time with me as he worked me up with his fingers down my throat and the others spreading me wide. 

“That’s it. Take all of me. I can feel your pussy clenching around me, you’re so wet,” Bucky’s pace began to intensify as his words were urging him on. 

One hand wrapped around my throat while the other strumbed against my swollen nub, bringing me closer and close to the edge of destruction. 

My own words were gone, forever lost in the bliss that overtook my body. My soul succumbed to Bucky, allowing him to drag every part of my essence down with him to the darkness. This was a side of Bucky I’d never expected to see and now that I had a taste of him, I wasn’t letting him go. 

“I love you,” I moaned as I allowed the waves of pleasure to drown me as I soaked Bucky’s cock with my orgasm. 

He stilled his movements and sucked in a breath before forcing my face to look into our reflection of the mirror. 

“What did you just say?” 

I blinked a few times, trying to regain myself after the intensity of each after shock, and when Bucky’s grip on my chin tightened, I winced. 

Oh shit. 

I had just blurted out that I loved Bucky.

For the first time. 

Shit. Fuck. God damn it. 

We’d only been dating for a few months and I was suddenly very afraid of how Bucky would react. It was clearly way too soon to be dropping the I love you bomb. 

“Doll,” Bucky’s voice was firm as he shook my face. 

Staring at his reflection, I let the words fall from my lips again. 

“I love you.”

The hard lines on his face softened as he let the proclamation settle for a few quiet beats and just before I could find myself questioning everything, Bucky let out a guttural groan, wrapping an arm around my stomach to pull my back closer to his chest. We were pulled flush against each other as now Bucky used the new angle to buck up into me, hitting the spot each and every time. 

My body was drained and I could barely keep myself afloat in his embrace as the bed shook beneath us, creaking with every snap of his hips. Skin on skin bounced off the walls, overpowering the sounds of my quiet cries, and Bucky bit down hard on my shoulder. 

“Fuck, doll. I love you too, so fucking much. You’re mine, you hear me? Your heart, your soul, this fucking pussy? All mine,” he snarled as he filled my cunt. 

“Ah! Shit!” I cried out louder this time when I felt the teeniest prick of blood from Bucky’s bite into my neck trail down between my breasts. 

We both fell onto the bed, a heap of sweat and cum, and Bucky immediately wrapped me in his arms. He continued to proclaim his love for me while dragging those vibranium fingers up and down my spine, lulling me to sleep; all while the red light from the camera continued to blink. 

[rodricksreid]

Serial killer! Simon Riley x Writer! Reader

based off of this thread because I think its very romantic

cw : mentions of brief violence, obviously. Reader does NOT know Simon is coocoo. Briefest mention of nsfw

A/N — Brief drabble! I’m trying to get back into the writing game. I might write more if these two, I love them.

Simons calloused fingers tapped against the cool, polished wood of the table. He wasn’t nervous. Of course not. Who’d be nervous of a pretty little bird when he’s got enough bodies under his belt? And of both kinds.

You sat across from him at a simple table at a bar, your nerves a lot more obvious than his own. You shifted in your seat every once in a while, clearing your throat before he finally spoke.

“ So, you’re a writer? ” The Mancunian spoke, his head tilting to the side slightly.

“ Oh, yes. ” You responded with a sheepish smile. You cleared your throat once more, throat suddenly feeling too dry under the intense gaze of the freakishly large man.

“ What kind of stories do you write? ”

“ Uh, thriller, I suppose. Kind of leads to the weird search history, y’know. ” You chuckled softly, bringing the straw of your iced water up to your lips. Simons dark eyes locked on the way your lips settled over the straw. He couldn’t help but think about how—

No. No. Absolutely not.

Simon hummed softly, looking down at the bourbon sitting in his glass. However, he suddenly froze at the next sentence that came from you.

“ And what about you? You’re a writer? ”

Simon thought for a split second, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a proper lie.

“ Uhm. I’m a butcher. Or was. Figured that dealing with humans and animals were similar. ” He lied. Straight through his teeth.

You froze, mulling the sentence over in your head for a moment before smiling.

“ Oh, a butcher? I thought you were a soldier. ”

“ Retired soldier. Needed something to do afterwards, y’know. ” Well, he wasn’t fully lying. He was retired, after all. Just not a butcher. But what was he supposed to say? Oh, yeah. I’m actually a serial killer. He didn’t think so. Not when you’re smiling at him so sweetly, like he was the most interesting thing you’ve seen in a while.

The more you two talked, he was just getting more and more interested. Morbid questions, basic ones. He found himself.. enjoying your company. Giving the subtlest smile, listening intently to whenever you’d ramble on about something that would’ve been considered gross to anyone else.

Looks like he’d have to find a job at a butchers shop. How else was he going to keep the lie with you up?

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

FIXDEX November 2023 poster🔩 are there products you need Consult me quic...

[tefibetancourt]

tefi couldn’t believe it. after ten years of living in los angeles and a childhood in a bustling exurb, she had come to blue harbor and become a small town barfly. the sort of person she used to make fun of: the washed up, dried up, undesirable woman at the bar that didn’t know when it was time to go home and had no one to love her. all she needed was an ill-fitting crop top and dirty cowboy hat to complete the look, then sit at the pour house or o’shea’s all night, perched on the stool like a sad little thrown, and cry about all her lost loves. what a terrifying fucking thought! to avoid fully becoming a horrid barfly, tefi made sure her hair was silky straight and donned her best vintage denim halter jumpsuit before she took the bus to weaver ridge.

it was early in the evening, so she wasn’t surprised to see the bar was practically empty, save for the bartender at the ready. he looked bored. tefi smiled, tossing her hair over her shoulder. sauntering over, she easily slid onto the stool and folded her arms on top of the bar. “a brandy alexander, please.” her order was based less on actually liking the drink, more of emulating an erotic thriller she had once seen called tattoo. she batted her eyelashes sweetly at the bartender. “calahan said i’m not banned, so you’ve gotta serve me.” tefi had paid for the bar stool she broke a few weeks ago, so she figured she had a clean slate now.

WHERE: the pour house. WHO: alec & OPEN. [ @bluestarters ]

Alec didn't love these early evening shifts when the sunlight still filtered in and a tumbleweed was more likely to roll by than a group of people ready to lavish him in tips, but here he was. Alone. He didn't even care so much about the money— he was bored. Alec flourished in social settings and could get downright destructive when left to his own devices. So after the third time he ran the beat up rag over the counter top and still no one came through those doors, his eyes began to rove over the shabby little dive for something to get into.

And then, sweet deliverance. The door swung open on a creaky hinge and Alec spread his arms like a model on The Price is Right. "Ay, welcome. Grab a seat before they're all gone." Every empty stool seemed to wait in anticipation, echoing his desire for company. He leaned against the counter, braced by his elbows, and smiled. "What can I get ya?"

[bussyslayer333]

‘cause you’re so smooth

summary: phoenix invites the boys to her salsa class, big mistake.

pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader

word count: 3k+

warnings: swearing, alcohol mentions, suggestive nature lols, me not knowing anything about salsa

my return to writing with a fic i teased over a year ago!! i hope you all enjoy

ps requests r open :p

“Nix, if you think I want to spend my Sunday evening learning to salsa dance with a bunch of soccer moms then I think your concussion hasn’t healed properly.” Jake sasses in response to Nat’s invitation.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Nat but Sunday is my chill out day, when else am I gonna beat Fitch’s ass on cod?” Fanboy reasons.

Natasha knew it was a stretch asking the boys to join her salsa dancing class, but she thought it was important for them to get out more. At the moment, seemingly all they did was trudge from work to the Hard Deck over and over again.

She sighs, “it would be good for you guys to get out more, y’know?”

“I’ll go, Nat,” Bob smiles, nodding to her from where he is perched on a stool behind her.

“Thank you, Bob.” Nat nods back to him, “the rest of you can suck it.”

“Hey!” Bradley yells as he appears back from the bar, beers in tow, “what did we say about using that type of language?”

“Shut up Dadley,” Nat rolls her eyes as Bradley flicks his tongue out before handing her a beer.

“As much as I’d truly love to attend that class ‘Nix, I’m already a salsa pro and I wouldn’t want you to feel embarrassed about your skills,” Bradley declares, before taking an obnoxious sip of his beer.

“Yeah fuckin’ right, and my dad is prima ballerina,” Jake snorts.

“Let’s not discredit Papa Seresin, I saw him tear Boogie Wonderland up at your sister’s wedding.” Coyote nods.

“Yeah and even that shit was better than what Rooster could pull off,” Jake decides.

Bradley only shrugs at the jibe, a lazy smirk plastered onto his face, which serves only to piss Jake off more.

“Dance off?” Fanboy proposes, standing to head to the jukebox.

“No?” Jake frowns.

Fanboy drops back to his seat with a sigh, “was worth a shot.”

Nat shakes her head with a snort and brings the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“Look it’s fine, I’m just saying I think you guys would enjoy it!” She reasons.

“I’m sure it’ll be fun!” Bob adds happily.

Nat can only sigh at the lack of response.

Bob is already waiting outside the community centre when Nat arrives, looking down and nervously picking at a thread on the bottom of his gym shorts.

“You ready?” Nat questions, trying to alleviate his nerves.

When Bob looks up his brows unfurl and he lets a small smile sip onto his face.

“Yeah, sure, let’s do this!” He pumps his fist a little awkwardly.

Nat can only chuckle in response as she makes her way to the room at the left of the reception where the class is held. You’re stood by the door chatting with one of the older women in your class when Nat comes into your view.

“Natasha! How’s my best student?” You tease, stepping towards her.

“I’m great, thanks!” Nat blushes before gesturing to Bob, “I hope you don’t mind, I brought a friend.”

Bob sucks in a breath as you finally lock eyes with him. Shit. You were beautiful and those leggings were doing you an undoubted amount of favours.

Sadly, Bob had an incredibly annoying habit he was unable to shake. It was known as “embarrassing himself in front of beautiful women” and that seemed to strike him just as you stuck your manicured hand out to shake his own.

The breath that Bob had sucked in caught in his throat which was drying up increasingly as he took you in, leading to an unprecedented coughing fit doubling him over. What seemed to make it worse was your shocked gasp and immediate move to lean over him and pay his back gently. Bob tried not to focus on your cleavage directly next to his face and instead on regulating his breathing. It was proving difficult, especially when he could hear Nat cackling at his misfortune from behind him.

Once almost fully back to normal, you squeeze his bicep and chuckle,

“I don’t think I’ve ever quite literally taken someone’s breath away!” You giggle, voice oh so sweet.

Bob can’t even let himself feel embarrassed with the way your soft hand feels on his arm.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he cringes.

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile reassuringly.

Nat is growing seemingly agitated by Bob’s lingering near the door so she steers him forwards away from you.

“Best get set up!” She announces, dragging him into the room.

The classroom is spacious, a high ceiling and large windows on the left wall. The wall facing the door is covered in mirrors that amplify the light in the area.

Before Bob can speak up again, two men who look to be in their late 40s rush over towards Natasha. They’re the complete opposite of one another, the first who reaches for Natasha is tanned and has dark curling hair with flecks of grey throughout.

“Natasha! Darling it is so great to see you!” He exclaims with a slight accent, holding her hand in his.

The other has embraced the grey in his hair, he’s relatively pale but has clearly kept his physique, he nods towards Bob with a glint of something in his eye, “I thought he wasn’t your type?”

Nat snorts, clueing Bob in finally on what the two men were hinting at.

“My best friend, boys don’t worry,” she teases.

“Thank God, I’ve been trying to set you up with my niece for how long now?” The dark haired man smiles.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m always busy at the moment,” she shrugs apologetically before turning back to Bob, “Bob this is Marco and Luke.”

They both shake his hand and size him up as they do so, the grey haired one (Luke) declares.

“He’s cute, Nat, where have you been hiding him?” He prods.

Bob exhales at the approval and watches as Nat breaks out into laughter. “Away from you!”

Marco and Luke break into laughter alongside Nat and Bob can’t help himself but join. Just as they’re all catching their breath, Bob jumps out of his skin again as he feels his hand on his shoulder.

“Boys, we’re being welcoming to our newcomer aren’t we?” You hum.

Your hip is touching Bob’s and the soft skin of your hand on his shoulder has him malfunctioning, luckily he isn’t forced into replying (or choking) this time.

“Of course we are beautiful, what do you think of us?” Marco gasps in faux shock.

“I think that I know what you two are like,” you roll your eyes before making your way to the front of the room.

You send Bob a sly wink before finally beginning, “It’s so great to see you all again!”

Everyone in the room blurts out greetings at you as you begin, “We’ll continue on from last week,” you strut over to the stereo in the corner and a latin pop track floats out into the room and Bob vaguely recognises the tune.

Marco and Luke are quick to start fluidly moving around the floor space and Bob notices that others in the room are doing the same. You make your way quickly over to him and place your hand on the small of his back, straightening his posture.

“I don’t expect you to get it immediately,” you smile into his ear, “we’ll start off with some basics and turn variations.”

Bob hopes you can’t see the nervous perspiration already forming on the back of his neck and nods a little too eagerly at your words. He looks back to Nat for some encouragement but she’s already dancing and chatting with a group of women next to the tall windows.

“I don’t bite,” You giggle, shocking Bob who looks back to see you holding your hand out for him to grab onto.

“Sorry, I’m not the best dancer-” Bob’s self depreciation is swiftly disrupted by you placing his hand on your waist and the other in your own.

“All the more for me to work with,” you smile, and Bob feels himself smiling back.

Although a tad clunky, Bob manages not to step on your toes and has some surprisingly fluid hip movement which intrigues you ever so slightly.

By the last ten minutes of the class, Bob is twirling Marco around as Luke and Nat chat to you about technique.

“What were you nervous about?” Marco probes Bob, “you’re a natural!”

Bob can only chuckle shyly in response and he glances over at your frame. Marco seems to notice Bob’s longing glances and slowly stops their dance.

“Go for it.”

“What?” Bob splutters.

“She’s been making googoo eyes at you the whole time mister, don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”

Bob reels for a moment at Marcos admission before straightening up. “You think?”

Marco rolls his eyes. “I know.”

Before Bob can reach you you’re already strutting back towards the stereo to lower the volume of the music and gather everyone’s attention.

“Thank you so much everyone! You’ve all been brilliant today and I can’t wait to see you next week!” You beam at everyone.

People begin to gather to chat and start to disperse and you begin to gather your own belongings, stopping to make conversation with others as you do so. Luke and Nat join Bob and Marco with sly smirks on their faces.

“So…” Nat begins, “You’ll be coming back next week I presume?”

Bob flushes at Nat’s knowing look. “Yeah,” he looks to you, “definitely.”

Bob didn’t mean to let it slip. Like seriously, his lips were so sealed. Air tight.

“But HOW hot are we talking?” Mickey slurs over the nth shot he’d done with Bob at the Hard Deck’s happy hour.

So maybe not air tight.

It was Thursday evening and the rest of the daggers had politely declined drinks with Fanboy, but Bob (the ever dutiful friend) had accepted, hoping to be in and out within the hour. But alas, here they were.

“Fuckin’ smoking,” Bob mimes an explosion with his hands as Mickey nods enthusiastically to his answer.

“I choked on air when I saw her and almost popped a boner during a Justin Timberlake song,” Bob continues to ramble, once given the chance to talk about you he clearly wasn’t going to stop.

“And when is this class?” Mickey slumps closer to Bob, tequila breath hot on his neck.

“Ummmm, Sunday evening at 6 I think?” Bob nods, remembering the details Nat had sent him in a text the week previous.

“Good to know,” Mickey hums, reaching his hand forward to signal for another round, knocking someone’s drink over in the process. “Oops.”

Bob is quick to drag Mickey away from the bar top after that, realising they’d probably overdone it a tad for a weekday evening.

As the cool sea breeze hits Bob’s flushed face whilst him and Mickey wait outside the Hard Deck for their uber, he can’t help but let his mind drift to you, what you were potentially up to, do you teach other classes during the week? Do you dance professionally? God, you definitely could, the way your hips moved-

Bob shook his head, as if to get the image of you stuck in his mind out. He looked to Mickey hanging off of his arm, he was looking to the ground and shaking as if to stave off the imminent vomit that was about to leave his mouth any second now.

“Let’s get you home man,” Bob pats Mickey on the head, dragging him towards their Uber pulling up.

“Hey, Bob!” Nat yells across the parking lot, catching the back of her friend’s tall frame leant against a pillar near the front of the community center.

When Bob turns around, Nat notices two people next to him who she was not expecting to see.

“Fitch? Fanboy?” Nat cocks her head to the side. “I thought you guys were too busy to come?”

Nat’s accusatory eyes meet Bob’s sheepish expression as he awkwardly clears his throat.

“We heard the teacher was hot as fuck.” Payback shrugs.

Fanboy giggles next to him in excitement, “I’ve been practicing-”

“Bob I swear-” Natasha begins, finger pointing right into Bob’s chest.

“Sup, biatches!” Jake yells, alerting everyone of his and Javy’s presence. “Who’s ready to get their salsa on?”

Nat spins around on her heel, eyes shooting daggers into Jake and Javy.

“Bob, I’m going to kill you.” She states, eerily calm.

“Oh come on Phe! You wanted us here just last week!” Jake exclaims, walking round to slap Bob on the shoulder and greet Payback and Fanboy behind him.

“Yeah! When I wanted you guys to get out and do something productive! Not fuck my lovely salsa teacher, who by the way, was not socialised by wolves! So will absolutely not be charmed by any of you fools!”

With that, Nat turns and walks into the community center, leaving the boys to sprint in after her.

“At least this can’t get any worse,” Nat mutters to herself, pulling the door to your studio open.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nat stills in the doorway, the rest of the boys behind her peeking their heads in.

“What now?” Bob asks guiltily.

Nat opens the door fully and allows the men behind her to file into the studio, where her fellow classmates are stood in a semi circle whooping and hollering at you dancing in the middle with none other than Bradley Bradshaw.

“Fucking Bradshaw,” Jake scoffs, pushing his way ahead whilst checking himself out in the full length mirrors that line the opposite wall of the room.

“Chicken never told us he could dance!” Jake yells over the latin music filling the room, successfully interrupting your dance with Bradley.

Bradley’s head whips to the side at the sound of that familiar ear grating voice. He gives you an apologetic look as he walks over to begin squabbling with a man you presume he knows. The commotion between the boys alerts you to the presence of Natasha and Bob as well as three other unfamiliar men. When Bradley had introduced himself with a smirk and a drawling voice as a friend of Natasha’s you had to wonder whether all of her colleagues were so handsome and by the looks of it, they were.

Nat is quick to walk over to you with an apologetic smile. “I want to apologise in advance for the next hour. They are insufferable.”

You look behind her to where the gaggle of men she calls her close friends are stood, you can see Marco and Luke itching to get their claws in and you have to giggle. This should be interesting.

After instructing the rest of your class to continue practicing the routine you had been working on, you figure it was only fair to come and personally consult your newest joiners.

As the boys (and Nat) notice you wandering towards them, they all begin to elbow each other like school boys giggling amongst themselves. Bob and Nat can only keep their embarrassment internal for so long.

When you come to a stop in front of them, the man you’ve come to learn as Jake smiles dazzlingly and stretches his arms above his head,

“God it is hot in here!” He begins to reach for the bottom of his shirt, aiming to impress you with his toned stomach.

“The A/C is on full blast dumbass.” Nat swats at the back of Jake’s head, causing him to drop his shirt again and rub at his temple. “Ow!”

Snickers fall from Javy and Mickey, who quickly straighten themselves up when they see you casting your eyes over them.

“As I said to Bob last week, with all my new starters I’ll begin with some basics for you guys and then we can ease into a routine,” you smile, heading towards Bradley and Nat.

“Since you two already have some experience you can help me teach!”

Bradley preens under your praise, already assuming the role of teacher’s pet, whilst Nat looks mildly irritated at having to teach her imbecilic friends how to dance.

“Alright guys! let’s partner up!” you shout at them, giggling as they all rush towards you, you note how Bob lingers back behind his more extroverted friends and grin.

“I should clarify, I meant with each other.” You shoo them backwards and watch as they couple up.

Mickey and Reuben clap each other on the back and Javy and Jake nod at one another leaving Bob, stood on his own. You saunter towards him and grab at arm, dragging him to the front with you.

“Looks like you’re with me,” you tease.

“Uh, who do you want me to partner up with?” Bradley scratches at his head obliviously.

You cock your head to the side with a confused laugh.

“I hate you so much right now,” Nat spews, gripping Bradley’s arm and pulling him into position with her.

“Oh, yeah. Right, sorry Nat.” Bradley chuckles.

Your lessons continues with explaining how someone will have to take the lead and the other will follow, and you wander around positioning their hands and postures correctly.

“Javy, you are like a brother to me, but your hands are too fucking low right now.” Jake grits through this teeth.

“Right! Ha, sorry man,” Javy’s hands shoots back up towards the middle of Jake’s back.

Bob is still apprehensive when he places his hands on your waist, but you’re quick to affirm him in his position. Leaning towards him you whisper, “don’t worry you’re still my favourite.”

A smile graces his face at that and he relaxes in your grip.

“Right guys! We’re gonna start with some turns and variations now!”

You quickly learn that trying to wrangle these men is proving difficult, as Payback almost spins Fanboy into a wall after zoning out stating at how your hips moved.

“I’m good bro, don’t worry,” Mickey is quick to readjust himself, hoping the room stops spinning soon.

You can’t help but laugh when Javy attempts to dip Jake to the floor in a move he thought would impress you, but it seems he forgot to account for how tall and heavy Jake is, as he goes toppling down with him.

“Fuck dude! You’re heavy!” Javy groans, rubbing his knee. Jake clearly didn’t take kindly to his words as he shoves back at Javy childishly.

“Boys! Come on get up!” You snap, trying to sound stern but still fighting off giggles.

Jake and Javy are quick to get back on their feet, but you catch them in your peripheral poking and pinching each other when they think you aren’t looking.

Even Bradley who was so light on his feet when he was showing you his moves earlier, is clearly distracted, constantly stepping on Nat’s feet as they practice variations.

“If you step on my toe one more time, Rooster I swear to God, you will not see daylight again,” Nat threatens.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! She’s just so…” Bradley trails off as he watches you dance slowly with Bob, stopping every now and then to correct him kindly or answer questions from others in your class.

“I know! And you guys are scaring her off by acting crazy.” Nat sighs, moving back as she senses Bradley’s feet heading for her toes again.

“I mean I wouldn’t say crazy…” Bradley scratches the back of his neck.

“Well I walked in to see you spinning her around like you’re a pro on dancing with the stars so maybe you should reevaluate.”

“You think I’m that good?” Bradley smirks to himself.

“Oh shut up,” Nat rolls her eyes and looks back to the rest of her friends around the room.

Payback and Fanboy were continually stumbling around in circles as they each try to catch your eye, pissing off everyone else in the room as they bumped and knocked into others. She caught Marco and Luke’s judgy eyes flicking back and forth between her and her friends and groaned.

Jake and Javy looked either one wrong move away from fucking or fighting, Nat couldn’t really tell.

God this was embarrassing.

Luckily, your voice rings out across the room, interrupting her moping.

“Thank you guys for today! And Thank you to my newcomers!” you gesture to the group of men stumbling over each other and stifle a laugh.

“I’ll see you all next week!”

Your regular attenders start filing out slowly, some coming over to chat and collect their things. You can see Nat trying to drag her friends away out they seem intent on lingering long enough to catch some time alone with you.

“You guys might as well go, she clearly wants me.” Jake shrugs, pulling the front of his shirt up to wipe his face.

Mickey is quick to dispute, “Are you kidding me? I twirled like a ballerina, I’m so in.”

Nat is moments away from body slamming her friends who she once loved when it goes silent around her. She figures you finally made you way over.

“Hey guys, thanks so much for joining today! I’m really sorry I’ve got to get going but um- ”

You pause and sense eyes on you.

“Bob, I was just wondering if I could get your number?” you smile, walking towards him and squeezing his arm. “You know, to talk about how we can improve your technique,” your reasoning clear as day even with your coverup

“Yeah! Yes, of course I mean,” Bob composes himself, taking your phone with shaking hands and typing in his number.

“Great,” you wink, retrieving your phone, “I’ll text you.”

You end with that, sauntering past the group and waving goodbye to Nat with a knowing look.

Everyone seems stunned by your words, but mostly Bob who blinks slowly, seemingly still in shock by your acknowledgement.

Nat finally breaks into laughter, doubling over at the confused faces of her other friends.

“Man!” She shouts through her giggles, “you just cannot make that shit up!”

The grumbles around her don’t even phase her as she goes to pick up her bag and head for the door, a group of downtrodden looking men following her and Bob with a newfound pep in his step.

“By the way Rooster, how come you actually are so good?” Nat asks as they make their way into the parking lot.

Bradley stills, silent as he contemplates answering.

“If I tell you, you have to promise to not go searching for anything.” He looks around at his friends.

Following their nods he continues, “I used to compete professionally, when I was like 13, my mom forced me to.” Bradley cringes at the memory of his tween self in sparkly shirts his mom always hand picked out for him in the most hideous colours.

Bradley looks back up to see Jake grinning mischievously at his phone, and his stomach drops.

“Is this you?” Jake smirks, turning his phone around to show everyone an old video on youtube titled.

SALSA NATIONALS 1999 - BRADSHAW / DONNA SUMMER HOT STUFF

Bob suddenly felt as though his coughing fit over you wasn’t the most embarrassing thing he had to witness anymore.

a/n: it is great to be back gang xx i’ve missed writing and ofc i had to bring back the bob agenda!! it’s what i stand for :) i’m thinking mayhaps a part 2 where i explore the dynamic between sexy salsa teacher and bob bc atm this was just a chance for me to make fun of the daggers 😣

i hope you enjoyed reading and tysm!!

pls reblog, comment or drop me an ask and tell me what you thought!! feedback means sm to me considering i’m a lil rusty

anyways thank u again for reading!!!!

- honey xoxo

[euphoriaslux]

two’s a party.

summary: you recently transferred to stanford, and decide to tutor a tennis player in your class. he has a friend. severe indecency ensues.

word count: 3.3k

warnings : smut, threesomes, f!oral receiving, swearing, smoking, drinking. slight cuck energy if you squint (i’m sorry ((no i’m not))). no challengers spoilers!

a/n: this fic got away from me big time but this movie has rotted my brain and as a result i have written utter debauchery that i will not apologize for. just had to get this out of my head, enjoy!

-

stanford science hall. monday , march 3.

You swear the last thing you’ll hear before your body is lowered into your grave is the process of lactic acid breakdown.

It’s 2:30 PM. Kinesiology 189 with Professor Wilson, a lanky middle-aged man with a PhD in exercise science and a half-grown beard that you don’t think will ever fully grow in, is almost over. He’s teaching Extended Studies of the Human Body in a humid classroom filled with student-athletes, most of whom are trying to stay awake, trying to hide that they’re taking a nap, or making no attempt to hide that they’re on their phones. You don’t really blame any of them, because the professor’s voice is so soft and monotone that it feels like he’s begging everyone to pay attention to anything but him. You’ve managed to stay somewhat on course with the thread of today’s lecture, the notebook in front of you filled with scribbles of incomplete molecular structures and somewhat legible drawings of the muscular anatomy of a hamstring.

This class is required for your biology major since you’re on a pre-medicine track. You don’t know why you’re doing it, the whole doctor thing, but you’ve developed a weird fixation for this class. The functionality of the body, how muscles stretch and tear with each movement, and how amino acids work to build them back even bigger.

And, possibly because of the tennis player who sits four rows ahead of you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

His last name is Donaldson. You know because of the faded label on the massive bag he throws on the floor every time he walks into class, at least ten minutes late with a backward Stanford Tennis cap on his head. His first name remains a mystery, partly because he never talks in class, and mainly because you’ve made no attempt to speak to him. You like to think it’s because you’re so focused on the curriculum.

Professor Wilson knows your name, though, since you’re in his office hours every Thursday at 11 A.M. In part because he gives out most of the answers to his homework, and because you just transferred to Stanford your last year and very desperately need a letter of recommendation for medical school. Hence why you agreed to tutor a student with lower than 60% in the class during one of your meetings. And why everyone in the class was staring at you right now.

“... first come first serve, so reach out to her sooner rather than later.”

You give a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room. Most people have looked away, back to their distraction of choice, but you meet eyes with the fluffy blonde-haired tennis player.

stanford library. wednesday, march fifth.

It’s 11 A.M., and you feel like your brain is about to explode if you look at another practice set.

“Hey”.

Your head whips around to the harsh whisper, only to be met with the blue-eyed mystery from your class. He has that large bag slung over his shoulder, with the end of a tennis racket peeking out of it. His hair is slightly stuck to his face, and his compression tee is slick to his chest like a second skin.

“Hi,” you whisper back. He smiles before tossing his bag on the floor and sitting in the chair across from you, either unaware of or completely ignoring the glares he’s receiving from the other students studying.

“You know,” he pulls out some kind of nutrition bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking an aggressive bite, “for someone advertising their services, you’re pretty hard to find.”

“You’re in Mr. Wilson’s class, right?” you ask, hoping your subdued voice will remind him that he’s in a notoriously quiet place. He hums, pointing at you with his half-eaten snack.

“And I’m trying not to fail, but you didn’t leave your number anywhere in the classroom, and you bolt after every class. So how am I supposed to patronize your tutoring services…” he trails off, his volume the same level as when he walked in. You furrow your brows as he leans back into the chair.

“That’s when you say who you are.”

You feel a burn on the back of your neck as you tell him your name. He glances down towards the problem set you’ve nearly finished.

“How do you turn in any of those, I can’t get halfway through one of them.”

You pause for a moment before leaning slightly across the table to whisper:

“This new weird thing called studying. I think it just got approved by the CDC.”

“Very funny,” he shakes his head as reaches for your binder with your class schedule printed out on the front of it.

“Why are you taking so many bio classes?”

“Because I’m a biology major,” you can’t help the sarcasm dripping from your voice, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, you’re making this too easy for me,” you raise your hands in conceit.

“I have practice every day at five so you can tutor me for like an hour beforehand,” he says before standing up, crunching up the silver wrapper and stuffing it into the front pocket of his blue jeans. You scoff at his sentence.

“Well, thank you for so generously fitting me into your schedule,” you roll your eyes, turning the page in your textbook. He grins.

“Tell the coach you’re there for Art. They’ll let you through.”

stanford tennis courts. friday, march 7th.

It’s 4 PM, and the California sun is sweltering. Your shorts feel like they’ve become a part of your legs, and your bag feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. By the time you make it to the tennis courts Art is already on the green concrete, shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his face and chest. You hear his grunts as he sprints across the court, hitting the ball toward a slightly taller brunette with dangerously short red shorts. You watch them at the entrance for a few minutes, slightly entranced as the two play so seamlessly, as if they know every move the other person is going to make. You force your eyes away as you walk up the bleachers, stepping over leftover water bottles and chip bags to sit down and grab your notes from your backpack. It takes a couple more minutes for Art to notice you, yelling your name after he turns around to grab a ball his partner had hit particularly hard. You wave, and he says something you can’t hear to the brunette before the two of them jog across the courts and up the stands to where you are, blocking the sun as the two stand side by side.

“Who’s your friend?” you ask as you stuff the problem set you were working on in between the pages of your notebook.

“I’m Patrick,” he says, with a toothy smile and his ears poking out from under his hair. He has a bit more of a boyish charm to him than Art does, whose eyes are glued to his brunette counterpart.

“Are you in Mr. Wilson’s class too?”

Patrick opens his mouth to answer but Art speaks first, slightly pushing his friend with his shoulder as he says “He doesn’t go to Stanford, too busy being a tennis pro.”

Patrick rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t leave his face. You notice how different this Art feels from the one in the library, how direct his playfulness is and how close he and Patrick stand together, their sweaty torsos nearly melding together.

Interesting.

“Like, Andre Agassi level pro?” you smile as the two of them laugh. Patrick raises the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, and you can’t help but take a glance at the exposed skin just above his waistband.

“Sorry, he’s like the only tennis player I know.”

“No, no I’m taking that as a compliment that you think I’m on the level of Agassi. No takebacks if you see me play,” Patrick points at you.

“Will do,” you salute, turning over to Art.

“You ready to study?” you ask him as he makes a comically loud groan, his head falling back. Patrick laughs, reaching over to ruffle his friends hair.

“You do remember that’s why I’m here, right? Midterms are in two weeks.”

“I definitely have not forgotten that.” he says. You purse your lips just as Patrick’s eyes seem to light up.

“I’m staying at the Courtyard Hotel for the weekend. You two can come over and study, I need to review my last match anyway. Kill two birds with one stone,” Patrick suggests.

“Just studying?”

“Just studying,” Art says, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. You glance between the two of them, trying to decipher the unspoken communication they seem to be doing. But you can’t crack it, so you shrug.

“Sure.”

“Let us finish this set, and then you’ll have me all to yourself. Sound fair?”

“Wow, what a privilege. Don’t take too long, it’s hell on Earth out here!” you yell the last part as Art jogs down the steps and back down towards the net. You look up once you realize that the sun is still being blocked, and Patrick is still standing in front of you.

“You ever play?” he grins, flipping the tennis racket in his hand.

“Tennis? God, no, that would not be a pretty sight. I’ll stick to what I’m good at,” you gesture to the books and notes in your lap. Patrick nods.

“If you ever want to learn, I could teach you sometime, you know if-” he’s cut off by Art yelling his name, and you both glance to see him with his hands on his hips.

“Go, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” you wave him off, and you swear you can see him blushing. Must have been the glare.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder as he runs toward Art.

courtyard hotel. saturday, march 8.

It’s 11 pm. There’s a cold shiver in the elevator as you wait to get to the fourth floor, your tennis shoes tapping against the floor as one hand plays with the handle of the pack of beer in your hand while the other crumples and re-crumples the piece of paper with the hotel room number Patrick scribbled on it.

what are you doing?

You don’t have time to think about the consequences of your actions as the robotic voice signals that you’re on the fourth floor, the elevator doors fluttering open. It’s like your feet have a mind of their own, as you find yourself almost mindlessly wandering through the hotel halls until you’re planted in front of room 4B. You raise your hand to knock on the door but before you can make contact with the wood it’s thrust open, and Patrick is standing behind it. His dark hair is slightly tousled around his face, his striped shirt unbuttoned and his black boxer briefs low on his waist. He’s smiling, that same big smile as before, but his face is a little flushed, a gentle pink hue touching his cheeks. The two of you don’t say anything for a few seconds, as if you were both testing to see who would concede first to acknowledge the other’s presence. You raise the pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in your right hand.

“I brought studying fuel.”

You were never good at waiting.

Patrick laughs before he moves slightly out of the way to allow you to walk into his room. It’s small, with a queen-sized bed and a tiny desk, and the A/C emits an odd rumbling sound as it smacks against the window. Clothes and scorecards are strewn across the floor, and the scent of cigarettes permeates the room. You place the alcohol on the floor before deciding to sit on the bed, kicking off your shoes as you cross your legs. Patrick seems to stall for a moment, smiling to himself before closing the door behind him. He doesn’t lock the door, but you didn’t notice.

“Art’s not here yet?” you ask, watching as Patrick walks over and tears open the cardboard case, cracking open a can. Taking a sip, he leans against the desk as he smiles.

“Art can be bad with time.”

“As I’ve noticed,” you reach your hand out to motion towards the drink and Patrick hands it to you, staring as you take a large sip.

“Well,” you wipe the side of your mouth, “I told him to bring the topics he wanted to study, so I guess we can’t do anything until he gets here.”

Patrick nods with a slight pout, his fingers playing with the pop tab of the can. “I guess we can’t.”

“How’s tennis… stuff,” you laugh as you finish the question, not sure of exactly what to say.

Patrick seems to tense a little at the mention of the sport, moving over to sit next to you on the bed. His knee grazes your leg and you feel a slight buzz at the contact as he takes the beer from your hand.

“I’m kinda fucking it up right now,” he says, and you furrow your brows.

“How? You were like, really good yesterday.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He hands you the beer and you finish it off, placing the empty can at the bottom of your feet.

“I’m good with Art. It feels so fucking natural and easy with him. But in my other matches, I don’t know. I just … can’t replicate it.”

You nudge him with your leg.

“Sounds like you two were made to play tennis together.”

He makes a noise of agreement, his hands slowly moving to ghost over your thigh.

“You and Art are pretty close?” you ask as he plays with the bottom hem of your shorts, but he doesn’t say anything. You take his silence as a yes.

“Do you ever get jealous?”

“Of Art?” he asks, almost incredulously. You shrug.

“Yeah, or jealous of the girls he’s with. Either or.”

Patrick sits on that for a few moments before smirking.

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s his is mine.”

You laugh at that, a real deep laugh, and Patrick giggles next to you, the both of you tipsy from the can of beer you finished. You reach over and put your hand on his flushed face, rubbing your hand across his cheek.

“What were you doing before I came?” you feel his face warm even more against your skin as you position yourself closer to him.

“Practicing- or, sorry, rereading my scorecards from my last match.”

You tutted as you moved your hand to the back of his neck, gently running your hands through his hair.

“You can tell me the truth, Patrick.”

He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand before looking up at you as if to check if that was too much. Whatever your expression is gives him the confidence to move down to your neck, his tongue licking your skin.

“I think you know.”

You feel a pull in your lower stomach at his words, muffled by his mouth nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he sucks hard enough for you to put your hand around on his face at the pressure. Pulling his face up, the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and his eyes glance toward your lips. You wanted to wait, to make him beg and plead for it, but your body seemingly pulled you forward as your pressed your mouth onto his.

You were really quite bad at waiting.

He tastes like tobacco and faintly of the fruit medley in the dining hall, and you sigh as his lips interlock with yours and his hand grabs the back of your neck, pressing you into him. The kiss gets messy and hard, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip and into your mouth as you lift your leg to straddle Patrick, grinding into him. He whimpers into the kiss as his calloused hands drop down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating for a moment before dropping his hand into your underwear. You grind just a little bit faster as his fingers press circles into your clit, covering your mouth with your hand as you moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he uses his other hand to guide your hips, and your move your hands down to tug firmly on his hair. You can feel your climax building, the pressure in your stomach getting closer and closer to taking you over the edge-

You both jump at the sound of the hotel room dor slamming shut. Art is standing there, in that damn backward cap and a Stanford tee shirt as he crosses his arms over his chest, saying nothing as you and Patrick sit up straight, him adjusting his crotch and you smooth down your shirt, avoiding his gaze. Finally, the silence is broken by Art laughing.

“Christ, I’m not the cops,” he slips out of his slides as he waltzes over and opens a can of beer, drinking about half of it in one go. You look at him, and at Patrick, and then back at him, not knowing what the hell you just got yourself into.

“You want to fuck him right?” Art asks, and you can’t help your small gasp at how easily he said that. You glance at Patrick, hoping he’ll know what to say, but he’s just staring at Art.

“I-um,”

“So, no one’s stopping you,” Art cuts you off, taking a final swig of his beer and moving to stand directly in front of you. You open your mouth to try and explain, but before you can talk Patrick’s mouth is on yours again, his hand roaming your body. His grip is firmer now, his fingertips digging into the side of your stomach. He tugs at the bottom of your shirt and you separate, breathless as you pull your shirt over your head and toss it on the floor. Patrick’s mouth moves down to your neck, then your collarbones, and then your chest as he reaches around to take of your bra, and you feel on fire from Art’s gaze across the room. As Patrick kisses down your stomach and yanks down your shorts, you turn over to meet Art’s eyes.

“Come here.”

Whatever resolve Art was holding onto crumbles as he quickly takes off his shirt and slips out of his Nike shorts, tossing his hat on the dresser. In a flash Art’s hands are on your neck, tilting your head around to kiss you as Patrick lifts up your hips so he can take off your underwear. Art’s lips are softer than Patrick’s but he kisses you a little bit harder, his hand cupping the base of your neck. Somehow, they both taste the same. You moan into Art’s mouth as you feel Patrick’s tongue swirl around your clit, rolling your hips into his mouth as Art’s cock presses into your back. It’s just so much so fast, and that familiar buzz starts to pool in your lower stomach.

“Look at him,” Art turns your head to Patrick and you look into his eyes as you cum, Art’s hands hold your head forward as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Patrick’s hands are digging into your hips as he stares up at you and Art. Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath, leaning against Art as Patrick leans back up, his mouth a few inches from yours.

“Who do you want first?

[emilys-bangs]

unspoken requests | e.p

Tags: shy!reader, fluff, established relationship, use of petnames, soft soft soft emily, severely touch starved reader, YEARN <3

Summary: In which you need affection from your girlfriend and can't find the words to ask.

Word count: 2.1k

The apartment is hush quiet. There’s still warmth to it—the silent TV blinking, the fire throwing an orange glow over the living room, lining the furniture in gilded edges. There’s warmth to it, but it’s still cold. Empty. Too much void, and not enough of your girlfriend.

You hadn’t fully realized how much Emily encompasses the apartment with her physicality, even when she’s silent. She takes up space, flows with warmth.

So even when she takes a short trip to the 7-eleven down the street, you ache.

Sitting on the couch, face tilted to the frosted window and eyes searching the streets for someone who isn’t there, you feel a ridiculous urge to bear the weight of her chin on your shoulder. The softness of her hands wrapping around your middle, her fingers cupping your sides as she’d speak into your cheek.

Your skin tingles with her phantom warmth.

“It’s ridiculous,” you say out loud, so suddenly that Sergio chirps in surprise. His furry head raises up from where it was tucked beneath his paw, the sleepy blink of his eyes making you rub a consolatory path between his ears. “Sorry, buddy.” Your voice lowers. Sergio closes his eyes on the beginnings of a purr, your nails gently scratching through his fur. “It’s stupid to miss her. Right? Totally ridiculous.” You sigh, face between your sweatpant-covered knees. “Doesn’t make sense.” 

She’s only been gone—you look at the clock—12 minutes. And while you know her list of snacks is extensive, you also know the convenience store won’t hold her for long. You only wish she was here to trace herself into your skin, leave you with threads of her perfume that wind their way between the fibers of your clothes.

Sergio purrs up an engine beneath your fingers. Though his eyes are closed you scoop him up, smiling at the bemused protest he meows out.

“Cuddle me,” you demand softly, settling his slight weight on your chest, “until she’s here to do it.”

But even when Emily does come back, your ears perking at the twist of her keys in the lock, your request remains tucked firm under your tongue. Sergio is placed carefully back on the couch before you slide across the hardwood to meet her, your smile stretching as she closes the door with a low sigh.

“Hi.” You greet, hands clasped behind your back—just in case they take over without your permission and aimlessly smooth over her thick coat.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Emily intones softly. Quick as the wind that had ruffled her hair, she leans in and steals a kiss from your cheek, her lips cold. Warmth barely spreads through your skin before she’s leaning back; distance grows between the two of you too fast for your liking, the bag in her hand crinkling as she digs a hand through it. “Got you that chocolate you like.”

“Hershey’s?” Your brows raise, your question answered when Emily holds up said chocolate bar with a grin. A jittery spasm makes your breath stutter, hands unhooking from behind your back to take it. “T-Thank you. You didn’t have to,” you mumble. 

“Sure I did,” she says easily. You take the bag from her hand to let her strip off her coat, though you rather wish it was your hands peeling it off. “It would’ve been mean for me to eat my snacks in front of you if you didn’t have any. Not fun, either.” Her face scrunches in a playful wink that you smile at.

She hangs her coat and turns, the hem of her sweater rising to expose a sliver of her stomach. That, coupled with her rosy, cold-bitten cheeks, coupled with the chocolate you’re still holding, makes you set the snacks on the floor and take her cheeks in hand. Your fingers tremble a little at your boldness; you curl them into the silky threads of Emily’s hair and kiss her. Not hard, but purposeful.

It takes both of you aback for a minute, before Emily’s hand cradles your jaw. She hums—pleased? surprised?—and the feeling of her lips curling up against yours turns your knees to jelly. Her other arm hooks around your waist, slipping home between the downy softness of your sweater. The weight of it brings you flush against her chest.

A blazing fire unfurls across your cheeks, boiling the blood under your skin as you lean back to shove air into your lungs.

“Thank you.” You say again. The hushed timber of your voice is breathless, filled with entirely too much gratitude over a singular Hershey bar.

Emily beams at you, her eyes sparkling. “You’re very welcome, dolcezza,” she says warmly. Her dimple winks at you, the flushed plushness of her lips pulling over her teeth. “If I’d known I’d get this reaction I would have gotten you the whole box.” Her cold knuckle traces over your cheek.

You think the heat emanating from your face could warm it right back up. You clear your throat, your eyes dropping from hers as you take her hand. It’s so icy your brows slip into a frown as you enclose it between both sets of fingers.

“You’re freezing. It must be arctic out,” you tug her to the living room, in front of the fire. You think the bag of snacks is left abandoned at the door.

“Arctic.” Emily echoes, dutifully letting herself be dragged. She kicks off her shoes at the edge of the carpet, and then you’re tugging her down to sit in front of the fireplace. You tuck your legs beneath you; she crosses hers, and when Sergio spots her and the triangle of her legs, he situates himself between them.

It’s odd to be jealous of a cat.

Swallowing it down, you focus on the hand in yours. It’s strangely soft, in spite of the guns she handles every day. Soft with short nails, their edges smooth and her knuckles an angry red. The rest of her skin is pale snow, twice as cold. 

“You should’ve worn gloves,” you kiss her frigid knuckles.

Emily huffs out a laugh. You don’t feel the loving press of her gaze, too preoccupied with kissing warmth back into her skin. It takes a few minutes of massaging circles on her hand before you’re satisfied. When you reach for her other one she lets you, though you’re almost desperate for them to be wrapped around your body, bringing you into her chest.

She’s your girlfriend. It won’t be that hard to ask.

At least, it shouldn’t be.

You finally drag your eyes from the hand in your lap and look at its owner. The red in Emily’s cheeks is hidden beneath the orange glow of the fire. It reflects in her eyes, amber swirling through brown so dark it’s nearly black.

She smiles and the words crumble in your mouth.

But you really, really want a hug.

“Are you…is the rest of you cold?” you ask stiltedly. Emily cocks her head, a crease settling between her brows at your strange wording. “I mean are you still cold, is there anything I can help with? Been inside all day, I’m quite warm.” You shrug jerkily, words tumbling from your mouth with no rhyme or rhythm.

Emily smiles softly. Her lashes cast spidery shadows on her cheeks, the flutter of them enchanting as she leans in. You’re briefly breathless, trapped beneath her gaze as she crowds your space. You inhale and her perfume forms clouds in your lungs.

Your heart kicks.

“Arctic out, isn’t it?” You mumble, dropping your eyes. The warmth of Emily’s hand leaves yours; her finger sidles under your chin, oh so gently tipping it up to meet her eyes.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” you squeak.

Emily grins, honey slow and Cheshire bright. “Can you warm me up?” She asks, her voice low and dulcet. Her thumb skates along your jaw, catching your uncertain pulse. 

“I guess.” You swallow. Her finger is still skimming over your pulse and god, it’s giving you away; your heart almost beats out of your chest. “Yeah, I can do that, if you’re cold.”

“I’m really cold.” She nods.

For a moment you think she’s making fun of you. Then you scan her face, taking in the firm set of her mouth and the twinkling brightness of her eyes. The way she’s looking at you is nothing short of adoring; it’s the warmth of her irises, flowing with more heat than the fire next to you, that makes you relax. She’s your girlfriend. She’s Emily—she would never make fun of you, even if it was just the two of you for miles on end.

“Well, we can’t have that,” you whisper as your arms loop around her neck, finally, finally squishing your chests together, “you’ll get sick.” The tail end of your words trail out in a sigh.

Emily’s hands find their place on your waist. She squeezes, you melt, and Sergio meows in protest and departs from her lap, leaving ample space for you. You don’t climb on top of her thighs, though; you’re more than content with slotting your head into her neck, breathing in the warmth of her.

“We definitely can’t have that.” Emily murmurs. Her voice gets muffled into your hair; she turns her head and finds your temple in a kiss. One of her hands skates up your side, finds the threads of hair at your nape. You almost purr like Sergio. “You’re right, you really are warm. Like a furnace.”

Been saving up warmth for you, you almost say. It’s not true, but sometimes you wish you could flirt with her the way she flirts with you. She constantly charms you, knocks you off your feet though you’re hers already, and from time to time you can’t help but feel the urge to do the same. Can’t help but wonder if she’d stumble over her words like you do, if her eyes would go wide and her cheeks the loveliest pink.

And when she holds you like this, you want her to stay holding on and not let go. Your brain tells you enough, let her go, but your heart yearns to get closer, burrow into her shoulder and maybe sleep there for an eternity or two. She always comes to you for affection. Maybe you could learn to do the same.

Emily’s lips find your temple again. To be fair, it’s the only place she can reach.

“Y’didnt….” You begin then trail off, embarrassment flaming your cheeks. Closing your eyes, you dig them further into Emily’s sweater and snap your mouth shut.

Her fingers comb through your hair. “Didn’t what, babe?”

A grunt-whine gets muffled into her shoulder. 

“It’s stupid.”

“I’ll bet my life it’s not,” she says soothingly, her voice a comforting rumble next to your ear. “Tell me, sweetheart, what didn’t I do?”

By the time you gather the courage to voice your thoughts, your cheeks have cooled. They start heating up again when you press your tongue to the back of your teeth.

“Didn’t kiss me before you left.” You mumble in a mortified whisper. Emily wouldn’t judge you, you know—and she would never let it show if she did—but even to your ears it sounds childish. You were in the bathroom, she was already dressed, it makes sense that she’d leave with a muffled bye through the door.

It makes sense, but you still don’t like it.

Emily’s then nudging your head up again. Coercing your eyes to meet hers, manipulating you into holding her gaze as she holds your cheeks. Your stomach twists in knots, the ones you’ve now come to associate solely with her. Your Emily butterflies.

“I’m really sorry, honey,” she whispers. Distantly, you realize her hands are warm on your cheeks. But the thought dissipates, your brain classifying it as unimportant when her lips hover above yours. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Don’t say sorry,” you manage, almost dizzy with her closeness. 

“But it’s such a terrible mistake.” Emily murmurs. Between each word, a feather-soft kiss is brushed on your lips. “I’d hate to do it again. You wouldn’t forgive me if I did, would you?”

A trapped bird flutters around your chest. You close your eyes, putting more weight behind your kiss when your mouth meets hers again. 

“I don’t think I would.”

Emily hums and takes your lips in a proper kiss. A slow one, gentle, as if she has nothing better to do than this. She takes her time, does it thoroughly and tastes the love you feel but can’t say, her lips finally warmed to the same temperature as yours. She robs you of breath, sweetly, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

When her forehead presses against yours, you spot the smallest blush under the glow of the fire.

“Neither would I.”

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