#I like playing with lighting and I think it's...somewhere in here.
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mischievousprincess01 · 2 days ago
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Decompressing
18+ MDNI
You and Soap have an arrangement for when you have a particularly stressful day at work.
Tags: sex toys, dumbification, degradation, ass play, power dynamic, dom!soap/sub!reader, p in v sex
You call him on your way home, voice hitting that tone he knew meant a rough one on the job. One too many muttered curses under your breath or a bit of a sharp bite to your words when talking about your clients. You were fully in your head and he smiles on his side of the phone.
“Y’need a night off?” He innocently asks, words casual enough.
You nearly freeze mid step on the sidewalk. Just the thought of what he was implying had a chill coating your skin and a weight settling low in your gut.
“Y-yeah maybe,” you reply, steps growing quicker as you hurry toward your boyfriend’s flat.
“Your call, bonnie. You let me know when you get here,” he grins, and you can hear it on his voice.
Soap is such a considerate man. A real martyr when it comes to helping you unwind from a stressful week. It’s so hard for him to have to fill you up with the new plug he just so happened to find online a few days ago. The ad jus’ popped up, I swear! And when he has to make sure that pretty little head of yours is blissfully empty? What a difficult job indeed.
And he knows as well as you do that your ‘maybe’ on the phone was a yes. It always is. And your throbbing clit is also aware of that as it aches more with each step.
Shifting from foot to foot, you wait at his door, but it doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to tear it open, the impatient bastard. He smiles widely, knowingly, at you and ushers you inside. The lock gets thrown and his hand takes yours. There’s no hello, no time to unwind or unpack more of your shitty day because he is already pulling you into his room.
“Lie back, yeah?” he urges, nodding to the towel he’d already draped on the bed. You comply, because why wouldn’t you? The idea that he’s going to take care of you was already sinking in, helping you shed your stress like wrapping paper.
Before you can even fully shimmy onto the corner of the bed, he’s got a plug in his hand, lube in the other. This time, he doesn’t ask you to get undressed or even take off your shoes, he simply pushes your knees up and gives you a raised eyebrow look.
Hold them there. You know that’s what he wants and you do it, cheeks warming in anticipation.
He covers the bright pink plug, makes sure it’s nice and ready, and then flips your dress up, tugging your partially soaked underwear to the side.
“Oh, you were gettin’ ready for me on the way over. Such a good girl,” he coos, pressing the tip against you.
Your back arches as thoughts pop out of your head one by one. Easing it in slow, making sure not to hurt you, making sure you feel it all go in, he watches you. Praises you. His eyes flick from your rolling eyes to your clenching pussy as the plug sits flush in your ass.
“How’d’ya like that, hm?” He purrs.
You nod quick, the fullness sending little shocks through you. “ ‘s good,” you manage to croak.
“It’s good?” He mocks softly, fingers trailing up to your aching clit. You nod again, a soft whimper falling from your lips. He chuckles as he toys with your sopping pussy’s entrance. “How about you tell me about your day some more, bon?”
You know it’s an order, so you really do give it your best effort, but when he slides two fingers in you after the first syllable, all your words find somewhere else to be. A moan takes their place and as you writhe, the plug shifts and turns, lighting you up with pleasure.
“I thought you had so much to tell me,” he says, fingers pumping into you with more purpose. “You too full to think? Too dumb already?”
“Mhmm!” you whine, body hot and sensitive.
“Shame, that is. Maybe you can cum once you get yer voice back.” And he pulls away, leaving you a panting mess.
You sit up on your elbows, expression more wrecked than you’d like to admit. And Johnny looks unfazed. Wry. He loves pulling you apart like this. Loves seeing his brilliant, smart, confident girlfriend melt and become a puddle of need for him. And you do too.
It’s why you let him order you to go grab him a beer as he settles onto the couch. It’s why you don’t mind the shockwaves of intense stimulation that rock you with every step. And it’s why you never mind when he grabs your chin in his hand and calls you his good girl or slut or you-name-it as he makes you sink onto his lap.
Tonight, his cock gets buried deep inside you as you’re told to warm him. Don’t move, just take what I’m givin’. And you do so good, sit so still as you’re filled all the way. The base of his shaft has the right amount of hair to drive your clit wild, but you bite your lip and try your damndest not to moan until he tells you to.
And when he shifts and relaxes back, he strokes your chest absentmindedly, peaked nipples nothing more than a fidget toy for him. But Soap isn’t mean. He sees the way your eyes gloss over, the way your breaths hitch and catch. His smirk returns and he sets his hands on your hips.
“So, love. You gonna tell me all about that hard day at work yet?”
You swallow thickly as he rolls his hips beneath you. Your ass clenches, pussy throbs, and your head snaps back as you catch a cry in your throat. The last thing on your mind was your shitty day. Whoever had pissed you off was long forgotten and you suddenly can’t remember if the annoying meeting even happened this week or last.
All you can babble out is, “dunno, I dunno, Johnny. Just lemme cum.”
He smiles wide, chuckling that devious laugh of his and his grip on you tightens enough to clue you in on what’s about to come. “Hm, I’m startin’ to think your job cannae be that hard, bonnie. Never have anything to tell me.”
But you don’t even really hear his words as he starts to pound into you from below. He’s not wrong, not that either of you want him to be. As you soak his cock with your cum over and over, the last thing you’re thinking about are your co-workers or boss. As he makes you bounce on him, your tits now pulled out of the top of your dress for him, neither of you are too concerned with the work days either of you had. And you won’t have to be for a while, as he fills your fluttering pussy up, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
What a sweet boyfriend you have, taking away all your worries like that. A real saint Johnny is for you.
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panerasbox · 14 hours ago
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Unfinished Business
pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!reader
fandom: Abbott Elementary
summary: You tried to move on. She let you walk. But when Melissa sees you with someone else, she doesn’t just get jealous, she gets possessive. One heated encounter in a club storage closet forces you both to confront what’s really between you: sex, power, pain… and love.
word count: 1.8k+
🔞 Explicit / Mature Audiences Only
You knew this was a bad idea the second you stepped into the club.
But your friends convinced you. Said you needed to get out, loosen up, let someone else take your mind off her. The drinks were cold. The music was loud. The girl hanging off your arm was cute enough to distract you.
Almost.
Almost enough to forget the way Melissa’s hands used to move under your clothes like they had a right. Almost enough to block out the rasp of her voice when she growled in your ear, “You’re not leaving this bed until I fuckin’ say so.”
But nothing numbed the ache that bloomed ever since you started pulling away. Since the night you told her, “I want something real,” and she just shrugged. Like you hadn’t handed her your heart and watched her drop it at her feet.
So no, you didn’t expect to see her here tonight.
Not like this.
But there she was. Propped against the bar. All black leather and fire. Arms crossed. Jaw clenched. Eyes locked on you like she could burn your little rebound girl to ash.
You pretended not to notice. Even laughed at something your date said, something you barely registered.
But your chest tightened.
Because you felt Melissa before you saw her move.
She was beside you in seconds.
“What the fuck is this?” she asked, voice low like she was playing nice. But her eyes were anything but. They flicked to the girl’s hand resting on your thigh, then back to you. Dark. Dangerous.
“Melissa,” you said stiffly. “We’re not together. Remember?”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Right. We were never anything, huh?”
You glared. “You told me it was just sex.”
“Yeah,” she snapped, stepping closer, “and then you ran off with some wide-eyed baby who can’t even keep her hands to herself.”
“She’s sweet,” you fired back. “And she listens to me.”
“I listened,” she growled. “I listened real good when you were moanin’ into my mouth every goddamn night.”
The girl beside you stiffened, then stood abruptly, mumbling something about a drink. You didn’t stop her. Didn’t even blink.
Because Melissa’s hand was already on your wrist. Warm. Firm. Hers. And she was pulling.
Through the crowd. Away from the lights. Into the dark.
The music faded as she yanked open a side door and shoved you inside. A dim storage closet. Low-lit. Narrow. Smelling like bleach and broken rules. The door slammed shut behind you.
Your back hit the wall with a soft thud.
“What the hell, Melissa?” you spit, though your voice was already breathy. “Where are we—”
“Somewhere I don’t have to watch her touch you like she knows what you need.”
She caged you in. Palms on either side of your head. Close. Too close. Her breath brushed your cheek but she didn’t touch you.
Not yet.
“You think I stopped wanting you?” she murmured. “You think that girl out there sees you the way I do?”
Your pulse jumped. You tried to look away. She tilted your chin right back.
“She doesn’t know how you sound when you break,” she said, her voice tighter now. “Doesn’t know how you beg when you’re right there on the edge. But I do. I remember.”
Her thigh slotted between yours like she never forgot where it belonged. Slow. Sure. Intentional. You flinched. Not in fear, but recognition.
“She ever make you soak through your panties just by looking at you?” she asked, voice mocking, hungry.
You tried to stay silent.
But your hips betrayed you, grinding down just enough to make her smirk.
“Thought so.”
Her hand slipped up your skirt. Teasing. Deliberate. Until her fingers found you. Wet and wanting.
“Still wearing the lace I like?” she purred, eyes flicking down, hunger written all over her face.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you whispered. The lie fell apart the second it left your mouth.
She leaned in, lips grazing your jaw, down to the pulse hammering in your neck. “You prayed I’d be here, didn’t you? Been aching for it. For me.”
Then her fingers were inside your panties. Slick with ease. Sliding through your arousal like it was second nature. Two fingers. Then three. Deep. Possessive.
“Fuck,” she hissed, the word rough and thick. “You’re soaked. That for me, sweetheart? Or is that just your new girlfriend’s leftovers? She even try to get you like this? Did she even know how?”
You whimpered. Hips bucking. Helpless. “She’s not—”
She cut you off with her mouth. Fierce. Consuming. Her tongue mirrored her fingers. Claiming. One hand knotted in your hair. The other worked you open with maddening, expert control. Like she was relearning every inch of you. But she never really forgot.
“You gonna come just from my fingers?” she panted into your mouth, breaking the kiss just enough for you to breathe her in. “You used to. Used to beg me for it. My needy little slut.”
You nodded. Frantic. Moaning. “Yes. Please. Melissa, please.”
“Fuckin’ good girl. That’s what I like to hear.”
She curled her fingers. Just right. Your knees buckled. Your whole body jolted like lightning. You clung to her shoulders, nails digging in, trembling.
She laughed. Low. Possessive. Dark against your throat. It wasn’t just sound. It was a brand.
“No hiding this time,” she breathed, catching your wrist when you tried to muffle your gasps. “I want to hear everything. Every sound you make for me.”
And you gave it to her.
You fell apart in her hands, calling out her name like a prayer and a threat. Your body convulsed around her fingers. Your back arched. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t know if they came from pleasure or the sheer gravity of her.
But she didn’t stop.
Her touch was relentless. Dragging you through wave after wave. Like she was trying to hollow you out and fill you with nothing but her.
“Oh no,” she growled, voice low and certain. “You’re not done until I say you’re done. And I’m not fuckin’ done.”
She dropped to her knees.
Your panties slid down in one slow, reverent drag. And then her mouth was on you. Hot. Filthy. Hungry.
“Still taste like fucking heaven,” she murmured. Half into your skin. Half to herself.
You writhed. Helpless. Her name broke out of you again and again. Hands tangled in her hair. Pulling. Holding on. She dragged climax after climax from you like it was her right. Her body. Her pleasure. Her home.
And when she finally stood, her lips were glossy. Her eyes dark and blown wide. She looked wrecked. Like you. Like this tore her open.
She grabbed your face in both hands. Grounding you. Her thumbs stroked your jaw. Soft. Her forehead pressed to yours. Breath ragged. Shared.
“I don’t want just sex,” she said, low and rough and shaking. “I want you. All of you. Even the parts that scare me. The ones you hide. The ones that only ever belonged to me.”
You met her eyes.
And it was all there.
The truth. The hunger. The fear. The hope. And the raw, relentless love she swore she didn’t want.
You kissed her.
Messy. Desperate. Real.
And for once, there was no armor. No push and pull. Just her. Just you.
Because this wasn’t just possession.
It was coming home.
To the only place you were ever truly free.
And truly hers.
You were still fixing your hair when the door creaked open and let in the thump of bass again. Melissa wiped her mouth with the back of her hand like she hadn’t just ruined you against a wall.
“Pull your dress down,” she muttered, eyes on your thighs. “Unless you want everyone to know I fucked the attitude out of you.”
You blinked. Lips swollen. Pulse still erratic. “I—”
“I said what I said,” she cut in, voice taut. “Now come on.”
She grabbed your hand like it was hers to hold and didn’t even glance back as she led you through the crowd. Past the pulsing lights. Past the cloying perfume and blurred faces. But it wasn’t long before one of them stopped you both cold.
“Seriously?”
You turned your head.
It was her.
The girl from before. Still holding her drink. Still wide-eyed. Except now her gaze was cold and clear.
Melissa’s hand tightened on yours.
“Everything okay?” the girl asked, her voice syrupy-sweet with sarcasm. Her eyes flicked between you and Melissa. “Or did you just need to, what was it, talk in private?”
You opened your mouth. But Melissa stepped in first. Of course she did.
“Look,” she said, her tone flat and unforgiving. “I get it. You had your hands on something that doesn’t belong to you, and you’re feeling a little embarrassed. But I’m gonna make this simple so we don’t have to drag it out.”
The girl blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You were a placeholder,” Melissa said, calm like a blade. “A nice distraction while she figured out what she really wanted.”
You bristled. “Melissa—”
“No. You hush,” she snapped, eyes still on the girl. “You got your closure already.”
The girl scoffed. “Wow. You’re a piece of work.”
“Sweetheart, I’m a fuckin’ masterpiece,” Melissa fired back, tilting her head. “But that’s not your problem anymore, is it?”
There was a beat. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
You stepped forward. Tugged your hand out of Melissa’s grip gently. “I’m sorry,” you said to the girl, softer. “This wasn’t fair to you.”
She nodded. Curt. Wounded. Then walked off without another word.
Melissa watched her go with a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes.
“You done?” you asked.
Melissa finally looked at you. Really looked. Her face cracked just enough to let you see the truth underneath the swagger. Panic. Regret. And something deeper. Something that felt a lot like love.
“I just don’t like sharing,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Never did.”
You let out a breath. “Then maybe stop acting like I’m something you get to keep in a closet until you’re ready.”
That stung. You watched it land.
Melissa swallowed. Looked away. Her jaw flexed.
“I didn’t know how else to… I thought if I kept it just physical, I wouldn’t lose you. But not having you at all?” She finally met your eyes. “That was worse.”
The club swirled around you. The bass thudded. The lights strobed. But all you saw was her. Standing in the middle of it all like she just admitted she bleeds.
You stepped in close. Not kissing. Not touching. Just there.
“Then don’t lose me,” you said. “But you don’t get to burn everything around me just to keep me warm. Got it?”
Melissa nodded slowly. “Yeah. Got it.”
And when she reached for your hand again this time, you let her.
But it was different now.
Not a claim.
A choice.
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risky-witchy · 1 day ago
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CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR DELTARUNE CHAPTERS 3 and 4
Long ass post using the Deltarune OST and motifs as a basis for theories, specifically about Dess, her relationship with Kris, and the implications of what it all means
This might be all over the place but I have to get all of this out somewhere. This is a working theory and includes the theory that Dess is the Knight, however I do not go in depth into that part of the theory
Thinking about the Deltarune OST, specifically Raise Your Bat. This is the song that you play with Susie and Ralsei in the Lightners Live band minigame. In the segment directly before you play this minigame, Tenna brings up December and calls her a ‘musical prodigy’, and even jokes about bringing her back. There are very few times Dess gets name dropped in all of Deltarune, and I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that she gets mentioned right before you play a song called Raise Your Bat, given that elsewhere in the game you can find a picture with December in it, holding a bat and that the Knight has what looks like a bat as a weapon. My theory is that Tenna brings up Dess before this song plays because Dess is the one who wrote the song. There’s a specific lyric ‘and your futures lost its rights’ that could be referencing Dess and her potential role as the Knight, and the whole Prophecy Has Been Foretold, No Escape type thing.
I had to go back and look at the lyrics because every time I play the minigame I get too focused on doing good lol BUT for the most part, Ralsei changes the lyrics after remarking that they might be ‘inappropriate’, which is another reason why I think Dess wrote the song. However, there is a specific set of lyrics that don’t get changed:
‘Come follow me into the dark, with your heart as the ark which shall shine you the way // Because I’m with you in the dark with your heart as my mark which shall guide you the way, through the waves’
We have heard some of these lyrics before, in Don’t Forget, the song that plays in the end credits of chapter one, and the last song on chapter one’s OST. ‘I’m with you in the dark’ is used in both songs and interestingly enough, the melody that is sung with these lyrics are from the melody of Lost Girl, from chapter 2. What’s even MORE interesting is that the specific section of Lost Girl that is sampled is the section that contains Gasters Theme.
If my theory about Dess writing Raise Your Bat is correct, then this would draw a connection from Dess to Don’t Forget, potentially with Dess being the one who sings it. Musical prodigy, after all. I feel like this has basis because Don’t Forget isn’t in the play through of the game, but the end credits. It feels akin to the unused text you can find in the code of the game, there but overlooked. Dess is trying to communicate in whatever way she can, but she’s lost in the game itself. I think further evidence of this is the appearance of Gasters theme in Raise Your Bat, as he is also ‘lost’ in the game, a character who once existed but has disappeared from some tragedy.
Now, here’s where things get very theory heavy, and rely based on my own ideas of how things fit together. Hear me out. The full lyrics of Don’t Forget are as follows:
‘When the light is running low, and the shadows start to grow, and the places that you know seem like fantasy // there’s a light inside your soul that’s still shining in the cold with the truth, the promise in our hearts. Don’t forget, I’m with you in the dark.’
Now, may I call your attention to the end of chapter 4, if you aren’t doing the weird route:
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Based on both of these lines being paralleled beautifully to Don’t Forget, if Dess truly is the singer in Don’t Forget, then this implies that Dess is the Knight. It also implies that Dess and Kris made a promise to each other, and I think it revolves around Noelle and the prophecy. That would also mean that Dess and Kris knew about the Dark World before the events of Deltarune chapter one occur.
We the player do not know the whole prophecy. Ralsei knows it all, Susie knows the end, and we might assume that Kris does not know the end because we the player do not get to see it. However I think Kris knows much more than they are letting on. Chapter 4 implies that Kris could have a preexisting relationship with the Knight and may be actively working with them, based on us overhearing the phone call in the Holiday’s kitchen, as well as the scene when fighting the Knight, if it’s a no hit run, Kris will cough, the Knight turns, and the fight ends. This all falls into place if the Knight really is Dess. Kris and Dess have made some kind of promise, and are working together to do… something.
I have seen a few people talk about the prophecy in light of everything revealed in chapter 4, and how they believe that Susie is not the intended hero of the prophecy but rather Noelle. the silhouette we see of ‘the girl’ the prophecy mentions has been noted to also fit a silhouette of Noelle, and the description we see could easily apply to her. Noelle is clearly very important to the story and it’s highly likely she is the intended lightener, along with Kris, in the prophecy.
I think the promise Dess and Kris made was to protect Noelle from whatever terrible ending Susie saw and Ralsei knows. I think that they are working together to create a different ending, and Kris either can’t or doesn’t want to get anyone else involved, so they keep it to themselves, despite genuinely caring for both other members of their party. I think this is a reason why Kris gets so upset when we the player force them to go through with Snowgrave, because Kris knows what happens at the end, if Noelle is involved.
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sxneie · 2 days ago
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more rory thingsss
a/n: rory x femreader obv, but i just watched fd2 again and realized rory has a wrist tattoo... yeah he needs to destroy me!!
cw: mention of smoking/drugs
he loves having late night drives together. you relax as you feel the cool breeze of the night air against your face and warmth of his hand softly squeezing your thigh. you enjoy the sight of him on top of you so much. he moans directly into your ear, he’s constantly pushing his hair back, cross-chain dangling in you face, his breath mingling with yours.. yeah, something you can never forget.  will kiss you RIGHT after you’ve sucked him off.  (i always think about that elevator scene so) i definitely think he’d wet his own fingers just to shove them in your mouth. loves when you do anything with his hair, run your hands through it, loop your fingers through his curls, gripping it when he fucks you hard. yeah, he loves every bit of it.  got a heart tattoo of your initials. it sits right at the base of his hip so you can see when you ever you want to suck him. and it’s so slutty when he stretches out and you can it peeking just above the waistband of his boxers. 
will let you do makeup on him, for practice or fun. (alot of the time he asks)  SNORES. he’ll literally snore so loudly in your face, and when you’ve both woken up from the problem, he has the nerve to look at you with sleepy eyes and disheveled hair and say— “what’s wrong?”  when your on your period he does every thing to make you feel comfortable, but sometimes he’s a little reckless. like once you asked him to go to the store to bring you more pads and medicines, and he came back with all your favorite chocolates and tampons too light... you were aggravated at him for like 30 minutes. he sat like a kicked puppy. will jump and scream while you watch scary movies, and will cry if you watch sad movies. 
is genuinely the sweetest person ever. you once saw him petting a stranded kitty in an alleyway, talking to it and give it treats. you just silently watched him since it was such a sight. when he caught you looking at him he tried to throw the snacks somewhere like they weren’t his, but he couldn’t even hide it when the kitty ran after the treats and he ran after the kitty.  loves when you two smoke together. he gets severely clingy and horny every time, but you do to so it always works out! does not play with jealousy. say for example a guy tries to flirt with you right in front of his face, even as you were already on your way to rejecting him, rory lifts your shirt up slightly and starts making out with your neck and the side of your jaw, and will say something like-- “come on, i want you sit on my face again like you did before we got here.” 
you and the guy both make an shocked face as rory just told a stranger about one of your sexcapades. as the guy walks away rory stares at him and him hands are still wrapped around your waist. but you yank them off and throw an aggravated look at him.  “wait, no, don’t be mad! you know you sat on my face yesterday, not today!!” he says chasing you as leave out the store and walk back to his car.  but later on he apologized and fucked you till you forgot about it, then made you bowl of your favorite ice cream. god, he’s such mess but you love him.
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toyalove · 2 days ago
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haven posting
(please bear with the note sfx i play at like... everything max lol) he’s especially nasally in this cover but i think that is what makes me love it so much. i may be delusional, or i might be remembering things wrongly but there's something different about the nasally feeling of his voice here. you know those moments when you’re so happy and colorful it feels unreal, there’s that very airy and floaty happiness that makes your throat choke up a bit, and your nose gets little stuffy because you’re on such cloud nine you can't describe it. i imagine the scenery in toya's head, up in the clouds flying and dancing around, singing about all things beautiful, with the sun shining on his face. it gives me the image that toya, who doesn't usually cry, is almost about to because he can't contain the sheer amount of pure joy he feels, because he is surrounded by all the sounds that make him feel. there's a "i'm so happy my nose and throat is a little stuffy and my head is spinning with colors" aspect to the emotions in the voice. i especially love the line 笑い���ばしてくれよメイリー "Let’s laugh away! měi lì" it is a very freeing lyric befitting of toya. to rediscover his joy and love for experiencing even when he's battling with loving himself for who he is. to laugh together with the people you love the most because they are your safe haven. specifically it felt like a reference to mirai when toya sings "i found a place where we can all laugh together", that's what this line means to me. i also love the final seconds of the song where it goes:
ヘイヴンは きっとあるから/ 絵空事でも愛していくよ/ がらんどうな部屋 灯る光/ 君と共に選んだ 確かな今/ ヘイヴンは きっと見つける/ 自分だけの鼓動を "My “Haven” is definitely here somewhere!/ I’ll love you even if you’re just a pipe dream/ In a hollow room, a light shines through/ I chose this moment with you, and now, I’m sure of it/ I’ve definitely found my “Haven”/ One where I’ve found my own heartbeat"
"haven" , at its very core means a safe place where one can retreat to. even at toya's darkest moments, he has always turned to music as an avenue to release those feelings. for some reason, even when he was frustrated with classical music, he instead turned to street music and found his spark there. it is quite a testament to how much he can't bear to let go of music. so at the very end of the song, when toya goes どちらの意味も今は解る, "I know what both of them mean" — he now knows what its like to finally embrace his love for music (internal haven), and to finally have a place with all his friends (exterior haven). the final few lines are all very definite, as if telling us about toya's newfound confidence with the use of きっと (definitely). the transition to the use of adverbs of certainty was important in that aspect, leaving no doubt.
i think, that throughout toya's entire journey, he has come to find out that his "haven" is a place where all his friends are, and most importantly, where his biggest love, music is. despite all the pain he harboured over his guilt, i think he is learning to overcome those chains, which has actually been indicated multiple times through using birds and cages as a metaphor. its a very beautiful one.
no matter how much toya struggled with himself, vbs was his haven where he could express himself freely. the newfound freedom that made his heart soar.
even if none of this was real, or everything was a fantasy chapter in toya's novels, he loved every. single. moment. he now knows what it means to love this world.
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hancfubuki · 2 days ago
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caleb’s joy suddenly falters for a single second at the mention of another woman, the one he guesses, is the same rafayel calls a betrayer. he knew about her, bur hearing from him directly they shared a bath together simply annoys him. as far as he remembers, the lemurian told him he was the one taking his first kiss, his first everything. yet, sharing a bath seems way too intimate to do it with a stranger. he tries to act composed, his gaze softening with a hint of intensity behind it, a possessive glance that it’s almost impossible to ignore. his head tilts slightly, fingers brushing against rafayel’s neck. “i can’t imagine why she thought that was the right temperature for you.” his words are gentle, casual, but carrying an undertone that betrays his calmness. and so, he leans forward, his head resting on his shoulder as his thumb moves to the edge of his jaw. “i mean, not everyone can understand what you need. it takes… attention. effort.” his gaze flickers down for a moment, jaw tightening as usual when he gets jealous at his own thoughts, this time, picturing rafayel in another bath with someone else. “but you don’t need to worry about that anymore.” he leans in, voice dropping to a murmur as his lips curve in a soft, possessive smile. “because i’m here now. and i won’t let anyone else near you to mess with your water again.” he places a kiss to his jaw before letting go. a promise along with words to claim him, thinking that he wants to be the only one to share this kind of intimacy with him from now on.
yeah. it didn’t matter anymore. caleb is the one with rafayel now, and whoever that woman was, she was nothing more than a horrid memory for the lemurian. the constant glances shared in between also reassured him about this. his palm occasionally laying on top of his knee, gently petting him as he speaks to gideon until it’s time to go. “i have good tolerance, yes.” even when his cheeks are slightly red, but mostly it’s because of the gesture. the soft kiss placed on his lips as he hums happily in response, wanting for it to linger for more seconds and stay connected until they are out of breath. he sighs when rafayel pulls away, the needy look on his eyes asking for more, even when he is aware that’s dangerous for both of them. if they kiss, they won’t stop, and the night will fall with no chances to explore the town a bit more.
as they step out of the tavern, the golden glow of the near afternoon basks the streets in warm hues. the sounds of the market are close, vendors calling out their wares, children laughing, and the faint melody of street musicians tuning their instruments somewhere in the distance. caleb walks a step behind rafayel at first, glancing at his profile and how the light played off his features, a flush creeping up his neck. ridiculous. they just had a moment of intimacy, yet he somehow feels shy about holding his hand. but to be fair, there’s something different about the simplicity of this moment. as he steps closer and without a word, his hand brushes against rafayel’s, curling his fingers around his. the hold grows firmer after a few second, thumb tracing small circles against his skin. “i don’t want to lose you in the crowd.” he says. a weak excuse he doesn’t even need yet somehow it helps him to hold back the urge to pin and kiss him again. after all, holding rafayel’s hand feels natural, yet every time he does it, his heart still races. the sound of the musician gets closer, and they finally find themselves in front of a crowd that’s listening and dancing.
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they could see the bard sitting on a wooden stool, cradling a lute with well-worn strings. their fingers move with ease, a soothing sound, like a lullaby, carrying a story without words. he squeezes rafayel's hand for a moment, looking back at him expectantly to see his reaction. "what do you think?" caleb is not well versed in music, so to him it sounds good as long as it's enjoyable, but he wants to listen to the critique of someone like him. "do you make music, seashell?" now he is eager to learn more about the lemurian.
Rafayel gives a little huff through his nose, tilting his head when Caleb teases him again. "I liked our bath. You made it nice and warm, but the last time I was here, that woman made the water so hot I thought she was trying to boil me alive!" He plays up for the dramatics, head tilted back like he's appalled. "I would have believed it if she hadn't stepped into that same water, as if it was nothing." He shakes his head as if in disbelief, wondering just why she had decided it was the perfect temperature when it left his scales feeling weak and nearly falling after the quickest little dip.  An experience he never wants to go through again, if he could help it, seeing as it was incredibly uncomfortable.
Silence falls upon the Lemurian as he listens to Caleb's conversation with Gideon, giving them space to catch up, laughing softly and leaning close to catch every detail. It's a rare chance for him to learn more about the man, so he takes in every story that might give him a hint to his behavior and adventure in Gideon's words, blue and pink eyes taking in every different expression he made from the corner of his eyes. He knows he isn't being as discreet as he could be, only hiding his face with a glass raised to his lips every so often to drink that sweet wine, his gaze sideways as he admires the other's smile and ease as he converses with his friend. Their eyes meet enough times for Rafayel to realize Caleb was keeping an eye out on him as well, which encourages him to drink without worry. The truth is, they had wine like this in Lemuria as well, though the taste was different. Alcohol was also brought from the upper world sometimes when ships were sunk, and he admittedly had had his fair share of messing around with his friends and taking a curious sip. Maybe he had never told Caleb of this, seeing the way he hovers and puts a hand to his lower back as Gideon leaves them, effectively giving him an opening to lean against the Captain without a word after receiving a kiss to his cheek.
"I like music. I wouldn't be opposed to listening to songs created by landlubbers," he jokes softly, giggling airily as his head lolls till it's on his shoulder. "Tipsy... Maybe a little." The admission comes with a dazed sigh, straightening himself and smiling with the softest flush to his cheeks. "Just enough to feel good. You had quite a few as well... Are you alright?" He reaches up, cups his cheek gently to caress-- and as if it's the most natural thing to do, the Lemurian gets on his tiptoes, lips brushing against the other's in a short little kiss. "Let's take a look at the performances, then you can take me to the pier. If there's enough time, we can walk all the way out to enjoy the sunset on the sea's surface."
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niklos-draws · 2 years ago
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averlym · 2 years ago
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" just...come here. just sit here with me" (...that one scene from princess momonoke, click for better resolution)
#tw death mentioned for the tag rambles!! (sorry)#meme redraw gone wrong (high effort). don't ask me how i did this- i don't know either. consider this perhaps an AU of the pyre scene?#or more accurately just my internal wonderings visualised. sometimes the vibes from the implications don't pan out the same way#i also lost the original sketch somewhere in my papers. alas. i vaguely recall thinking this would be haha funny and then somewhere down#the line it turned to angst. other quotes that inspired this from the show were 'ily. i'm sorry' and 'i will always be so proud of you'.#smth smth they met on the roof!! vincent stops quincy from jumping off and then. vincent tries to die + eventually quincy kills him on the#very same roof. anyway the quincent death scene was spinning around for a bit in my head and out of the miscellaneous sketches this won out#wanted to play w the strong blue lighting + bg + silhouette things that you get w stage lighting // replaced the knife w vincent's scalpel#quincy is kneeling bc poses + idk why it's fun staging for him ;-; // also the proximity + intimacy.. // the pyre is also in the bg#but it's silhouetted behind quincy. i think the last quincy post made me associate symbolism (help??) bc as i was painting i was thinking o#angel wings ksdjfh // not to mention the halos. halos are always fun to paint.. shiny stuff...#and from the last vincent art. i guess the star and eye imagery carried over. hm. tried to get the quincy halo to match so its like a#rounder less spiky star? which hehe aligns w the sun vibes (that i??can't explain??) but more importantly here i was thinking about#binary stars for the glowy parts. two in orbit in pull to one another.. tension.. ue. also the glow for vincent goes to stabby eye so like#behind the face shown to viewer. meanwhile for quincy it goes in front of the face#and of course u have the downward linking implied line from quincy's tears +scalpel + glowy eye.#this is supposed to be rotatable.. in landscape form u can have either quincy or vincent upright (pov) + it should work both ways#//bonus stuff is vincent holding the skask w bloody hands + shadow looks like blood spatters. like it would if quincy did the stabby.#hhhh this is the most. confused i have been making a piece lately.. just toss in a lot of fun visual stuff and mix..#if the rambling analysis here seems pointless and confused i think that's why. this is why u should plan out your essays o.O..#oh. stuff i just remembered: the whole impetus for vincent planning his own death was so quincy would be happy / it's already#mentioned before quincy kills vincent that he's severely injured- vincent says it's fine- ig u could intepret it as a finishing blow?#hastened over the phaethon announcement- when they make the second announcement quincy looks up smiling until the admin gives it to#beatrix-he didn't know.. // <- so for this it's possible to infer that vincent wasn't very attached to living anymore.. hence why they look#more accepting above. while quincy is looking very angsty and conflicted. yeah.. // tldr! don't look into it too deeply it's a meme redraw#adamandi#quincy cynthius martin#vincent aurelius lin#tw knife
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sysig · 4 months ago
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Pets have to run around in the middle of the night, it’s very important (Patreon)
Bonus Sims screenshots ♥
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#Doodles#Villainsona#Just Desserts#The Sims 2#WPTS2#WPVG#The Sims#I'd actually made Charm in the Sims 2 a bit back - I always want to make everyone in the Sims at all times haha#But I decided to try really settling in to play recently >:3c See if I could get some new ideas! And - lo and behold haha#Just little things mostly centered around Taffy but I like that quite a lot! I don't integrate Taffy in Charm's life enough honestly#Like when I drew her house I didn't include a pet bed anywhere! She needs somewhere to sleep! So now she has a couple#While playing she'd mostly get in and out of her pet bed downstairs to go chew - she's a dog not actually a sheep haha#I picked her up from ModTheSims actually - she's a Sheepoo lol#A lot of mods are present here actually now that I look at it - that wallpaper and the daybed and Charm's hair :0#I do love modded Sims 2...♥#Ahem but yeah so she'd get up to go chew or eat and then lay back down and be up and down all night#And since Charm's ''room'' isn't closed off from the main room - it's just a loft above - she could definitely hear her move around haha#She didn't bark thankfully because I think that Would have flagged Charm to wake up in-game but in reality Charm can be a light sleeper#Not always! But you do something often enough and it's bound to overlap once or twice#It's fun to draw sleepy Charm hehe#S'been a bit!#I do like the idea of them sleeping near each other :)#Charm's bed is too small for them to cuddle on it together but they have snuggled on the floor! Many sheepy hugs#Charm needs a pillow corner to doze in where she and Taffy can laze around in closer proximity#I haven't worked on floorplans in a bit :3c Might be fun ♪
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pink-spaceturtle5 · 9 months ago
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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH
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brittleskyblue · 8 days ago
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Songs that will likely destroy me if I hear them live:
-Guiding Lights
-Caramel
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giogiobb · 1 month ago
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Tease pt.1
Nerd!Armin x Reader
tags: teasing, drinking, tongue piercing (obviously), semi-public sex, oral fixation, cunnilingus, edging, breath play, overstimulation, gagging, mirror play, biting, mild pain play, smut
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inspired by fanart from: @musapylsa
→ pt.2
You were called by your lecturer to wait along with Armin. “Yes, professor?” you said while impatiently waiting to leave class. “Your last assignment was lacking. So, I’m assigning Armin here to tutor you for a few weeks” he said while looking through some papers. You looked over at Armin who was looking at the lecturer absent-mindedly. “Is that okay with you Armin?” the lecturer asked looking up from the papers. “Yes, all good with me.” he piqued while nodding. You didn't have it in you to ask whether that was really necessary. “Alright, thank you professor. Have a good day” you said wanting to hurriedly leave. You walked out of the class not waiting to hear a response because you didn't have any interest in doing the tutoring lessons.
However, Armin on the other hand took any tutoring requests seriously. “Hey, wait up.” he lightly jogged towards you to catch up with you. “Listen Armin, I know you’re a teacher's pet or whatever but I don’t need tutoring lessons so I have to go now.” You said annoyedly. “Yeah well it’s not convenient for me either but I have to do it or else he will question my capability if he sees that your grades are still bad.” He said bluntly. You stared at him blankly, mouth ajar in shock because you didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. You always considered him to be a pushover because of how he looked. “Okay fine, let’s go to the library now if so. I have somewhere to be tonight.” He nodded and began following you to the library.
You sat across him at the table, legs crossed and bouncing under the table. You were bored out of your mind and your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing but he already gave you an annoyed look because of it so you took it off the table and kept it in your bag. Instead of looking at the words written on his book, you kept glancing towards his hand moving on it. He has really beautiful hands, you wondered and your mind wandered to what he can do with it. He then slammed his hand on the book to get your attention which pulled you out of your trance making you look up at him. “Are you even paying attention?” He said with a hint of sternness which you wouldn’t have caught if he didn’t have your full attention. “Um, yeah of course. Why would you think I’m not paying attention?” You said while giving a half hearted chuckle. He just gave you a light glare and continued on with the tutoring. You sat there intrigued by this side of him which you didn’t know existed. Heck, you even felt a bit attracted and wanted to know him more because of it. While teaching, he stretched his leg towards you brushing past your ankle. He looked up from the book to see you squirm a bit with a soft blush spread across your cheeks. He knew you were staring at his hands and he wanted to mess with you a bit more but thought it would be too mean to do so on the first day itself 
After an hour, Armin decided to wrap up because he didn’t want to overwhelm you with the content by teaching everything on the same day. “I’ll be leaving now. See you tomorrow. Same time, same place.” He said while packing up. You didn’t even realize an hour went by. “Oh, uh sure yeah. See you tomorrow.” When he walked away you kept staring at his back. Though he wasn’t the tallest, you also didn’t realize that he had kind of a lean build under the baggy t-shirts that he wear.
-
Next day you meet him at the same time, same place wearing quite a raunchy outfit you’d say. After all, you were going clubbing after this with some of your girlfriends. He glanced you up and down before pulling out and patting on the chair next to him today. You walked over and sat on it feeling a bit proud that you made a nerd like him check you out since you have never seen him talk to any girls before. You pulled the chair closer towards him and the table to settle in. “Shall we begin?” You asked him innocently with a smile on your lips. He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses further on his nose bridge and nodded.
Almost half an hour into the tutoring, you started to feel bored from just looking at how his hands moved on the book with the pencil and how his adam's apple moved up and down as he kept teaching you the content. On the other hand, Armin also kept stealing glances at your chest that were slightly spilling out from your V neck top. He snapped out from both tutoring and taking looks when he felt your warm thigh press against his from the side. You moved closer towards him, both your arms slightly brushing against each other. Armin didn’t like this teasing as much as you thought he would. Solely for the reason that it wouldn’t be right to lean over to kiss and ruin you for trying to push him over the edge. He gripped the pencil even more, knuckles turning white. He continued teaching while she stared at the book. He moved towards your neck, ever so slightly just to make you feel his hot breath on your neck as he spoke. You felt yourself squirming and becoming breathless with unholy ideas running through your mind. You couldn’t take it anymore and moved your chair a bit away from him. You couldn’t risk ruining your black lace panties before the night even began.
Time passed slower than yesterday and he wrapped up. “Any plans for tonight?” You asked him curiously. “No, you?” He answered a bit surprised that you wondered about his personal life. “Yeah, I’m going to a club with some friends” You answered as you watched him pack up. “Enjoy if so. I’ll text you next week about tutoring. Goodnight.” He answered and walked away not waiting for your reply since you both exchanged numbers yesterday at the beginning of the tutoring session. You watched him walk away but was snapped out of it when you felt your phone buzz. When you moved towards the table to look at your phone screen, Armin stopped walking and turned his head a bit to take one more glance at your bare legs as you wore a mini jean skirt only. He left with a head full of dirty thoughts.
As he walked towards his dorm room, Eren stopped him just to drag him to a club. Armin has said no enough times but lost a bet the last time they hung out so he had no choice but to go with Eren after dropping his bag off in his room. 
-
You entered the club lit in a purple hue of lights with white lights brightly flashing in different spots. You head to the bar and wait while your most confident friend chatted up some guy named Jean and got him to buy you all some drinks. While you were enjoying the drinks and dancing around, at the corner of your eye you spotted a certain blonde in the same green shirt you saw him in earlier. You thought to yourself that you might or might not be mistaken so you decide to follow the blonde you saw. He stood near a round high table with a goth girl and a frat boy clinking drinks. You watched as he downed the shot with ease and felt the burn of it in his throat reflecting on his face. He then turned around and you were right, it was Armin.
You felt quite shocked and a bit betrayed if you were being honest. Because the good boy image of him that you had in your head wasn’t somewhat true, but it also made you want to approach him. Yet for some reason, now that you find him attractive you felt awfully nervous. You turned around towards where your friends were and began walking away, until you felt a hand grab your wrist. You quickly turned around just to see Armin holding your wrist with his cheeks flushed pink.
He led you to the side a bit away from the crowd and leaned towards your ear to say “Can I kiss you?”. He caught you off guard and before you could register what he said, you felt your head nod. He leaned towards your face and began slowly pecking while holding your waist. Your hands roamed on his body and gripped his shirt to pull him closer. He felt the urge to deepen the kiss so he grabbed you by the back of your throat and tilted his head to the side so that his glasses won’t dig into your cheeks too much. You took a deep breath and began kissing him back deeply while your hand planted onto his hair pushing him closer. You felt his tongue swipe on your lips indicating you to open your mouth, and when you did his tongue began roaming your mouth like it was inspecting the inside.
Suddenly, you felt a warm metal in your mouth and you pulled away wondering what it was. Armin felt your body stiffen up as you pulled away and he knew exactly what it was. He knew that you felt his tongue piercing which was a surprise to you. Before he went in for another, he took one of your hands 2 fingers to make you swipe on his tongue to make you feel his piercing after he stuck his tongue out to show it. Your eyes widened because you didn't expect him to have such a provocative piercing. You moved your hand to the side of his face to grab it towards you to go for another kiss. This time you felt confident and he felt impatient to feel your lips again.
Both of you kissed for what felt like hours before you started dragging him to an out of order washroom. It hasn’t been in use for months because of a shattered mirror so it was convenient.
You entered with him and locked the door before heading towards the countertops. You started leaving kisses and hickeys on his neck while your hand roamed on his body under the shirt inching towards his growing bulge. He let out soft whimpers and moans while breathing heavily and gripping the edge of the countertops. You palmed his bulge over his jeans just to tease him, making him buck his hips up towards your palm. You let out a quiet giggle seeing his reaction and he knew you’d be just teasing him for way too long if he let you.
So he moved his hand towards the hem of your skirt and lifted it up revealing your lacy panties. The thought of you wearing it earlier to the tutoring lesson when you both teased each other made him feral. He moved his fingers to your heat over the panties making you bite your lips and breathe towards his neck. He felt himself lean towards your hot breath as he rubbed slow circles on your clit. You wanted to release so bad at this point you couldn’t be bothered to palm his bulge. Instead your hand reached towards his wrist to keep it still as you humped his hand.
To your dismay, he moved his hand away and made you lean on the countertop instead. He reached to your top to pull it down to your waist leaving your matching bra on. He grabbed one of your boobs while he left kisses and nibbles on the other leaving your nipple alone just to edge you. He moved one of his legs in between yours making you straddle it leaving you on your tip toes. Your heat was now on his thigh making you move your hips involuntarily. He kept pushing his leg towards you just to apply pressure. You felt your eyes roll back as you rode his thigh trying to catch your release, but as soon as you got close he moved his leg away making you whine.
He unclipped your bra from the back and circled your nipple with his tongue. The feel of his tongue piercing cold on your nipples made it even harder than before. After doing so for a bit, he began squatting down, leaving soft nibbles and feeling all your curves with the same hands that you were dreaming about since yesterday. His face finally reached your heat and he looked up at you while hiking your skirt up. He then gripped your panties from the sides to pull them down and off your legs just to stuff it in his pocket. You felt a bit shy now that you were bare and more naked than him. However, all that embarrassed thoughts went out the window when he began licking your clit with his tongue and caressing your folds with his fingers. You let out a moan feeling the touch you have been edged for too long. “So wet. Just for me.” He slightly smirked against your folds as he whispered just enough for you to hear. You felt your cheeks heat up more than you thought were possible when you heard. Not a minute later, he began eating you out as if it’s the first meal he’s having today. Your hand gripped his hair pulling his face towards your heat just to ride it. The way his cold tongue piercing kept hitting different areas of your heat made you lose your mind. Not too long after that, you felt yourself reach your first climax which washed over you making you feel so much pent up relief, but as you were catching your breath, Armin had other thoughts than to let you rest.
He felt your folds even wetter than before and plunged a finger deep in you making you pull his hair a bit harder than you wanted to. The thing about him though is that he loves and can handle pain very well. One reason why he has the piercing that he has. He added 1 more finger and began fucking you at a fast pace making you overstimulated. He stood up while still having his fingers in you and began kissing you while resting his other hand on your throat with a light pressure at the right spots. You felt yourself having a hard time to breathe because of it along with the pleasure he was giving you. He moved his lips away from yours and began leaving hickeys on very visible areas but you were seeing stars at this point so you could care less. You felt another climax approach soon and he knew as he felt you clench around his fingers. He helped you ride out your high while fucking you with his fingers leaving your heat pulsating.
He looked deep in your eyes as flashed his tongue just to lick his fingers that were dripping in your wetness. He licked them suggestively enough to make sure your breath hitched as you watched. You instinctively stuck your tongue out wanting him to do the same and worse to you. He took this as a sign to do the same and gripped the back of your throat before putting the same fingers deep in your mouth reaching your throat. It made you gag and have teary eyes but it burned so good as he moved. You swirled your tongue around his fingers tasting you and himself. It felt dirty but in the best way possible. He took his fingers out with a pop before unbuckling his pants to give himself a few pumps.
He held your arm and turned you around to make you face the mirror that was behind you the whole time. You faced the mirror and watched him from the mirror as he began lining his cock towards your entrance. He gave a few teasing nudges with his tip right before he sank fully into you. To your surprise, for a nerdy guy, he sure was packing. You felt yourself stretch around him which hurt so much.
After all, you have never had sex before despite how you presented yourself. You felt your eyes tear up and he noticed it in the mirror. He began hushing you as he slowly moved hoping it would soothe the pain. After taking a hot minute to adjust yourself to his length, you lifted your head up with hands on the countertop holding onto dear life to make eye contact with him from the mirror. His glasses were starting to now fog up ever so slightly making him look even more mysterious than usual. He held your hips and began fucking you fastening the pace. Your head dropped once again, but this time, he held your jaw and forced you to look towards the mirror so you could make eye contact with him. “Watch while I fuck you.” He lowly said into your ear and moved away after licking a stripe on your ear making you shiver. He began fucking you faster while gripping your hips enough to bruise them. Every now and then he would also give your round butt a squeeze making you moan and squirm.
As he kept fucking you, you became louder which could be risky because anybody could hear. He reached into his pocket and fished out your panties that he put in earlier. He grabbed it out and stuffed them into your mouth catching you off guard. He then grabbed both your wrists with one hand and your hair with the other. He pinned your wrists to your back while he pulled you by your hair towards his chest. He then moved it to your jaw holding your face in place while he fucked you deep with hard thrusts making his tip kiss the cervix in a way you didn’t think was possible. Your mouth was salivating so much to the point that there was spit leaking from the sides because of the way your panties were gagging you. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear making you all hot and bothered even more because of his breath as he fucked you.
He pulled out and reached for the panties in your mouth taking it out. It made you cough a bit before you began catching all the breath you lost. He then flipped you towards him and made you sit on the countertop between the two mirrors. When your butt touched the cold marble countertop, you felt so sensitive. You reached towards his shirt and tugged it upwards making him remove it. You admired his flushed body that was glistening in a thin layer of sweat. He threw the shirt next to you and went in for a kiss as he entered in you again.
This time he focused on getting himself off. So he gripped your waist and began grinding into you desperately. His pubic bone kept pleasuring your clit because of the position making you leave scratches on his back shoulders. This had him moaning and whimpering while yearning for release. He kept fucking you for a good while before he finally felt himself spasm indicating climax. You felt his thrusts become sloppier and held him closer wanting him to finish in you, and he gladly did groaning into your ear. While he kept cumming in you, he rubbed circles on your clit pushing you over the edge and making you cum for the third time that night. He had you biting his shoulder blade to mask the loud moan as he hugged you while you rode out your release while shaking.
You stopped biting and looked at him trying to find his eyes, but because of his fogged up glasses you couldn’t. So you reached towards it and pushed it up to his hair before locking eyes giving one final deep kiss for the night. Afterwards only you realised what you both had done and it left you dreading for the next tutoring lesson. While Armin on the other hand knew exactly what you both had done and couldn’t wait for the next tutoring lesson.
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hope you guys enjoyed this.♡ྀི
word count: roughly 3400 words
a/n: lmk if you guys want a 2nd part cause i might have an idea on how to write one more part. :3
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marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago
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Your Ghost Knows Me
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Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader
Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra
Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡
2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist
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There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.
You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.
You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.
Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.
The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.
You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.
And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.
There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.
“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”
He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.
You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.
Bucky slows.
You glance over at him. “What is it?”
He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.
“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”
But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.
The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.
And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.
“Желание. Ржавый.”
You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.
“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”
Bucky stands frozen.
Stone. Steel. Silence.
His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.
He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.
“Печь.”
His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.
“Доброкачественный.”
“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.
“Девять.”
“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.
“Возвращение на родину.“
Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.
“Один.”
Two.
“Грузовой вагон.”
Three.
Four times.
The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.
For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.
You hope it’s over.
But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.
Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.
Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”
You can’t answer right away.
Your voice is lost.
Because Bucky Barnes is gone.
And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.
It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.
You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.
You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.
Does not know you.
And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.
Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.
“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”
You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.
But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.
He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.
Like a threat.
No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.
He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.
Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.
He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.
You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.
“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”
But he doesn’t flinch.
Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.
But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.
“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.
He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.
His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.
“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”
But he doesn’t listen.
Because there is nothing left to listen to.
No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.
So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.
You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.
His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.
Not the soldier.
Not the man.
Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.
You try.
God, you try.
You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.
“Bucky,” you plead.
Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.
But he doesn’t.
And he doesn’t let anyone near you.
Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.
Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.
Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.
You frantically call Bucky’s name.
“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”
He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.
He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.
But all you see is possession.
He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.
No one sees you now.
Because he won’t let them.
He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.
Out of possession.
Out of protection.
Out of a command he gave himself.
You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.
You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”
The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.
Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.
He would kill for you right now.
He would kill them.
All of them.
Within the blink of an eye.
For you.
“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”
You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.
Empty.
Unreachable.
But somehow not cold.
And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.
It’s not affection. It’s assessment.
He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.
You breathe as if forgetting how to.
You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.
But Bucky moves. Fast.
A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.
Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.
You know what it means.
He doesn’t want you to look at them.
He doesn’t want you to speak with them.
He doesn’t want you to think of them.
You are his now.
Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.
You try again.
Whispers, again.
“I have to talk to them-”
He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.
“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.
You flinch and he feels it.
His grip grows stiff.
Your body goes still.
He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.
You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.
They haven’t moved in minutes.
They’re waiting.
They’re watching.
They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.
“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”
You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”
You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.
But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.
And right now, that protection looks like isolation.
You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.
You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.
“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”
His hand twitches on your arm.
“They’re your friends.”
He tightens his grip.
“They’re my friends.”
He releases another deep and gravelly sound.
His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.
“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”
You breathe out shakily.
Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.
Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.
You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.
He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.
But he lets you stay there.
That has to be something.
Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.
You lift your head.
Bucky sees it.
Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.
Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.
He doesn’t like that.
He hates that.
His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.
You are not theirs anymore.
And he will not let you be.
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nanamiskentos · 2 months ago
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SPORTS CAR ✤ jujutsu kaisen
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SYN. ➤ Zero decorum, max horsepower, full send. They don't just want the checkered flag, they want you wrecked and beggin'. This grid certainly doesn't play fair!
𝐉𝐉𝐊 ➤ Getō, Gojō, Tōji, Chōsō, Sukuna, Kashimo, Yuki, Shoko
cw ─ MDNI. afab!reader, FORMULA 1 AU, semi-publíc, praise, cockpit séx (highly inaccurate), possessive séx, chóking, spánking, reader is called 'bunny' in kashimo's, rough hándling, dírty talk, créampié, óral (f), mirror séx, backshóts, under the table, voice kínk, fíngeríng, overstím, squírting, medical pláy, tríbbing, strípping, cervíx kissing
wc. 8k
呪術廻戦 NOTE ( author says ) i've watched every sports car x f1 edit on tiktok i think. any likeness or resemblance to real f1 drivers is only a coincidence, nor is this reflective of the real profession 😭 didn't write this with particular racers or teams in mind.
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☁︎ GOJŌ SATORU ➤ p1 & panting
". . he did it in tokyo, he did in kyoto, satoru gojo wins again, folks! that's his fifth prix win this season! absolutely unbelievable, my god."
the engine's still ticking down, the comms are crackling. you can barely register the deafening cheers before you're being yanked forward, senses overtaken by the scent of peppery armani.
"satoru –, wait," you're gasping, half-tripping into the cockpit as the pit crew's radio voice filters in.
"gojo, repeat, are you still in the car? you need to –"
but the headset cuts off with a click as he tears it from your ears, tossing it somewhere that you can't see. his crimson race gloves have been pulled off, but gojo's skin is still searing hot, slick with sweat and speed. pink lips parted, panting, not just from exhaustion, but from the look he's giving you.
"you're lucky i didn't pull you in mid-lap," gojo grins, and you fight the urge to tell him how impossible that would be, as his sharp white canines peek out from underneath his wolfish grin, flushed with victory, "baby, did you see that finish?"
you know the rational option here would be protesting, knowing that the team is probably workin' themselves up into a flurry in the garage, but it's hard not to feel light-headed and so damn hungry when gojo's gripping your waist, and dragging you just in front of the console, right up against the curve of the cramped cabin. thank god, the team opted for a mildly roomier cockpit this year, or else. . .
his helmet's off, snow-white hair a mess, and his jewel-blue eyes are electric, "i've got 'bout five minutes before they notice i'm not doing interviews." gojo's already pawing at your thighs, fingers desperate to tear down the waistband of your underwear, "i want them to wonder where i am."
gojo's teasing hands slips between your thighs, already playing with your slippery centre, and your boyfriend's leaning in, that rasp echoing against your cheek, "wanna show me how proud you are of your winner, baby?"
the car's still hot, the windows are fogging, and outside. . .the cameras are still flashing. but inside, it's just you and gojo, and the scent of burnt rubber and carbon fibre, and he's clearly not letting you go 'till you've screamed louder than the crowd.
gojo's already shoving his scarlet racing suit down to his shapely hips, movements sloppy with urgency as he settles you in his lap. long leaking cock already smearing a thin line of pre over his chiselled abdomen, "just a few minutes, sweets," he's murmuring against your throat, "we can make it work, yeah?"
you shouldn't, you really shouldn't. the entire paddock must be outside. the media, the team, the telemetry crew. . .everyone is either lookin' for him, or watching the live feed gojo's just abandoned. or they know not to look too closely, it's hard to challenge the king of the track when he's just pulled another podium win.
gojo's hands are rocking your hips back and forth, and he's determined to have as much of your slick coat his base before he truly snags his cock in. tongue laving at your jumping pulse, peppering sharp kisses against your soft flesh.
"t-toru –," you try, shaky breath catching as he continues to grind your folds against his cock, parting them to slot his thick shaft between them. teasing, and so sensitive.
"you looked soo hot standin' there," gojo murmurs, cerulean eyes lidded and starving to feel you drip arousal all over him, making a sticky mess, "lookin' so g-gorgeous, and – heh, this wet all f'me? is that it, baby? can't even think straight."
you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as his thick, bulbous tips snags against the hood of where you're most sensitive, giving your clit that most delicious friction you'd been craving.
"yeahhh," gojo purrs, nosing along your jaw, "i saw ya', crossed the finished line and thought how l-lucky i am that you're mine."
god, you just need to breathe through it, breathe through the incredible aphrodisiac that's called gojo satoru. he's already tweaking his fingers through your sopping cunt, dragging them against your folds to reach up and pinch at your clit.
"we don't have t-time –" but your thighs are shaking, heart already jumping at how close the stimulation has you to knocking on the door of a brilliant orgasm.
"i'll make time," gojo simply says, already lining himself up. the fucker's giggling to himself, heady and drunk from his win, slowly pattering his fingers up your abdomen as though he knows just how deep he's going to be. kneading at your groin, like x marks the spot.
the stretch simply steals the words from your mouth, rendering your language into a soft mush, shaken by how delicious his cock feels in your sticky, gummy walls. your head lolls against his broad, flushed shoulder — the creamy skin mottled strawberry-pink.
gojo's hissing, low and feral, absolutely gone as he holds you down, filling you straight to the hilt, each vein pressing and melding against your pussy.
"hahh, oh, baby," your boyfriend groans, bucking up once to test the clear water, fast and deep, like he wants to feel every tremble of your form above him, "always s-so perfect for me after a win."
the pace is brutal, desperate, made worse by how little space there is in the cockpit. your back slams into the dash, but it's softened by his large hand splayed across the skin. legs hooked haphazardly over his carved waist, bodies tangled in both victory and vice.
plap! plap! smack!
"ya' feel t-that," gojo pants, thrusts growing harsher, cock pressing up against that sweet spot that makes you sob, "that's what champions do, heh."
every low swirl of his shaking hips is hypnotic, and so dizzying, making a filthy mess that you know is going to puddle and seep into over his groin, soak into the curl of white hairs dusting the base of his girthy shaft.
"you gonna' cum for ya' w-winner?" gojo gasps, that priggish, love-struck grin still painted over his gorgeous features, even as his voice begins to shake, "say it, baby. tell me i'm your f-favourite."
"you, s-satoru," you half-sob, half-plead, "you're my favourite. god, it's so deep." wrecked, begging, and he groans like this is the podium he wanted all along.
your orgasm hits like white noise, blotting out the world beyond. you can barely register his stuttering hips, his sharp curses of your name, god, he loves you. his sharp breath hitches as gojo follows you over the edge.
satin-like ropes of cum shooting up to fill you up soo perfectly, and the world champion is sinking his teeth into your neck as he moans your name, low and ruined.
"i can't believe you were that horny n' hard after a race," you scold, body still trembling from the aftershocks. feeling warmth pool between your tacked groins, as your arousal mixes with him seed.
"you love it," gojo replies, not a hint of shame colouring his voice, "besides, this car's seen worse. like the time i got myself off, jus' thinking about you in spain. was only lookin' at you through the windows, that was enough."
"you did it on your own in this car, just from looking at me?"
gojo kisses your jaw, "don't shame me, i'm a sensitive man." he snickers as you smack his, holding you tighter.
outside, the pit crew must be losing their minds. but inside, gojo just won the real prize, and he's buried inside.
☁︎ GETŌ SUGURU ➤ in the devil's seat
the telemetry room is freezing, cold enough to keep everyone sharp and alert, absolutely on edge. but noting could make you more on edge than the hot seat that you're currently sitting in right now. just besides geto suguru, headseat askew, trying to not to moan when his fingers scissor through your folds again.
on the wall, the sector times update in real time, and god. . .the room is packed. screens flickering, engineers perched over the high chairs as they murmur, utterly focused on the little red dot zipping across the map.
see, you'd joined the team for simulations, not stimulations. but you're hardly one to complain, not when you know how much of an effect this has on geto. his sculpture-carved jaw is ticking, a faint flush blooming on the back of his neck that could be easily attributed to the excitement of the race.
"gojo, purple in sector two," geto's flatly leaning into the silver microphone, voice entirely level, "box this lap, copy?"
his other hand is under your waistband. two fingers, long and expert, utterly merciless, circle your slick folds deep and slow. knowing exactly how to make you tremble without a sound, thankfully, with the table in the way.
the rough pads of geto's fingertips are soaking up every beading drop of your arousal, his knuckles glossy with your release. he leans in, cool lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low and determined, "c'mon, stay still. don't want my pretty girl embarrassing herself."
you can only nod, biting your lower lip so hard that you swear iron blooms on your tongue. but it had been hard to resist anything when geto suguru looked at you like that before quali, pulling you aside and asking you to shadow him during the race. violet eyes lidded, the faintest watercolour brush of rose plastered over his cheekbones.
and. . .your headset is still on. one wrong noise, one hasty move, and everyone will probably hear exactly how you shadow the famed geto suguru. you're sure your microphone levels are low enough so they don't pick up on the constant, sloppy squelch! of geto's middle and ring finger plunging into your dripping core.
"my clever girl," geto coos, but his eyes don't shift from watching the golden boy's onboards (gojo satoru, of course). well, aside from the temporary loss in his composure when you clench the sticky walls of your inner muscles against his fingers, his ink-dark lashes briefly fluttering wide in shock. lookin' close enough to spill a thick load in his slacks.
your body must be shaking now, your thighs trembling with the herculean exertion that geto's pulling from you. every new lap, every clean turn from gojo is matched by geto sinking his fingers deeper into you, drawing slack and curling up against that sweet, rough patch until you choke on a whimper.
a wan smile twitches his lips, almost amused. fond, even. he's caught it, he knows just how close you are to spilling over his hands. that release that he's just equally desperate to chase, geto needs you to fall apart on him.
"there it is," geto's purring, and you can barely hear the excitement his tone over the ringing in your ears, "good girl." someone's leaning over from behind, and thank god they can't see exactly what's been going on beneath the table, "suguru, sector 3 delta just spiked."
geto doesn't blink, temporarily halting the wet sloshes that he's composing between your thighs. rather, focusing some much needed attention on the swollen bundle of nerves beneath your mound, "that's expected. wind change near turn fourteen."
his thumb roughly tacks beneath the glistening hood, "you're doing so well," geto breathes against your temple, "think you've earned a reward after this. . .or a punishment, what'd you say?"
it only takes three more tender, pounding hits of his long fingers against the most sensitive spots. your eyes flutter shut, mouth pressed thinly as you're determined to not cry, nor gasp and moan. but each swipe of geto's digits against your clit undos your resolve further and further, your thighs shaking from the extra stimulation.
and when gojo wins the pole, cheers breaking through your headset, the room leaping to its feat, geto doesn't even flinch. he's slowly withdrawing his hand from your waistband. fingertips pruned, sticky and warn as he slips them into your mouth. discreet, hungry.
"clean up, gorgeous," geto gruffly whispers, his mauve eyes drawn to how your lips eagerly part around his index finger, "we should celebrate tonight."
your head must be spinning, legs numb from what geto has wrought from you, that dazzling orgasm that leaves the world awash in shades of silver and white. you can taste yourself, that bittersweet tang on his fingers, and it renders you dazed.
"thaaaat's it, beautiful," geto laughs, licking the last of your moans and release from his finger, "now you're learnin' real strategy."
☁︎ RYŌMEN SUKUNA ➤ crash into me
the door of the driver's trailer slams shut behind you, like a starting light hitting green. your back hits the wall you before you can even speak, before you can even wonder at what exactly has gotten into your fiancé now.
ryomen sukuna's warm hand is wrapped around your throat, a thumb gently soothing at the lower juncture of your jaw. his other hand is still smudged with track rubber and sticky grease, gripping your waist tight enough to deliciously bruise.
"they think i'm reckless," sukuna's voice is a hot, sharp growl in your ear, "then let's give 'em a reason to blacklist me, eh, sweetheart?"
perhaps it would be wiser to interrupt him, to warn sukuna that the media is still swarming outside, and this is the last thing the fia will tolerate from him. but russet eyes are almost. . .tender as they roam over you, his grasp on the base of your neck enough to make your brain melt and your knees forget how to hold you up.
"wanna' be my podium, girl? i should have you on your knees, don't ya' agree?" sukuna's still in his fireproofs, unzipped just enough to expose the broad, tan expanse of his chest. the inky-black tattoos crawling down his skin, some sin-streaked marks that you ache to press your lips to.
maroon eyes gleam, still utterly high off the chaos of the race, from the penalty that cost him his pole for the rest of the weekend. and you? well, you're gonna' have to be his victory lap instead.
you moan, wanton and improper, as sukuna's mouth teases down your neck, pressing to your collarbones before clawed nails tear open your blouse as though it's a paper flag, yanking you forward by a sturdy, yet thin chain. bringing you closer still, eye to eye with the racer that the world calls the king of curses.
and of course, what else would be dangling from the chain but his name? sukuna, the kanji letters encrusted with small precious stones, a gift that he had surprised you with for your most recent anniversary.
"hah, you wear this for me? cute lil' trophy like you're my number one fan, orrr my good luck charm?"
sukuna pushes you against the opposite wall, jostling the numerous trophies that already litter the shelves. you gasp, certain that pools of arousal must already be glistening between your thighs. his hand slides lower, rough and greedy, impatient as he tends to be. slipping past the lace edge of your panties to paw at your sopping folds.
he's groaning, hot and heavy, feeling just how wet you are. sukuna's almost ecstatic at the thought that his girl was walkin' around with such a. . .waterpark between her legs. primed to gush over him, to soak the base of his cock with every nasty thrust that he's daydreaming about.
"you're s-soaked, sweetheart. you're likin' this, aren'tcha?"
your head lolls as you nod, succumbing to the sweet hands of pleasure throbbing below your groan. sukuna smacks your thigh, and the force is hard enough for your eyes to flutter open, his warm hand gently running over the stung skin to soothe the flesh, "eyes on me, girl. remember what i said 'bout being my podium? ya' gotta' earn it."
there's little warning before sukuna scoops you up, lifting you bridal style, only to throw you down onto the little couch in the corner of the trailer, yanking the remainder of his race suit down with a snarl, "s-see, this is what they gotta' know. i can't do. . .slow or soft. i win, heh."
you know full well that sukuna is capable of both slow and soft, and thick, heavy strokes that dig through your cunt as he often holds you down in the most delicious mating press. but you're not eager to quite rain on his ego parade, unless, of course, it's a different sort of rain from between your legs that he can eagerly lap up.
sukuna must be leaving marks on your hips, teeth on your collarbone, handprints on your thighs. each thrust of his thick, wide cock must be some punishment for the stewards, for the world, for the fact that he didn't really get to break someone out there today.
but you, his gorgeous wife-to-be? you can take it, and sukuna has to hide the rapid flush blooming over his face, opting to nip at the back of your neck.
"we're gonna' do this 'till those fuckin' stewards retract that penalty," sukuna pants into your ear, thick cock rummaging sweet patterns right up into you as the tufts of soaked blush-pink hair are pressed right against you. imprinting the thick vein that runs along the underside of his cock in a way that has you seeing stars and gasping oh so prettily, "or 'till the walls fall in, whichever comes first."
☁︎ TŌJI FUSHIGURO ➤ wrenched wide open
it started with a wrench, and no, not a metaphorical tool. a literal wrench, dropped from your armful of gear, clanging far too loudly against the concrete in the empty garage. you're flinching, cursing under your breath. it's past dark, rain still slickin' the floor outside, and most of the team's already gone.
you shouldn't be here, you're just the rookie. you're supposed to be following orders, not fuckin' around with loose bolts and leftover adrenaline. which is exactly when you realise that you're not quite alone.
the metal shutter behind you slams down with a mechanical growl, loud and final. you whip around. . .toji fushiguro. beefy arms folded, sweat clinging to the curve of his neck. verdant eyes darker than engine oil, and just as dangerous.
he doesn't speak right away, just watches as you clench your thighs, almost sub-consciously (or so he thinks, little does he know that you know just how to rile him up).
"you always this sloppy, doll? or just when i'm watching?"
your skin is flushed, heat crawling up your spine as though it's chasing the storm outside. toji's eyes are deliciously dragging down your body, lingering on the curve of your hips, the way your soaked polo clings to your chest.
he knows exactly what you want.
toji's already moving, and he's on you in two steps, rough fingers curling around your wrist, grunting as he tugs you backwards. your spine hitting the warm sidepod of the car, the paint is still slick from rain and truck dust, and it makes you shiver.
"i rebuilt this v6 before breakfast," toji mutters, voice thick with gravel, and the promise of upcoming sin, "let's see if you can last longer than that."
one of toji's veined hands are braced beside your head, the other already on your thighs. teasing, slow as they drag up your soaked coveralls until —
"you ever been fucked like this, doll? no? good, first time for everything."
toji doesn't wait, he doesn't hesitate, for he lifts you as though you're just another part he's decided to torque into place. your legs wrap around his waist out of sheer instinct, and he's grinding deeply into you. a thick and heavy bulge pressed right up against you, his scarred lips grazing your ear, "look at ya', all squirmy for me in your pretty team gear. bet ya' touched yourself thinkin' about this, 'bout me."
hah, he's right. but you're not going to give him the express satisfaction of knowing just how many times you had straddled the edge of your bed back in the hotel, legs spread wide as you softly grazed your swollen clit with rough fingers, imagining it was toji picking you apart.
you stifle a lazy, drawn-out moan when toji finally shoves your coveralls down, when grease-stained fingers slide between your thighs with no patience, just raw want. you can see how toji's jaw slackens, maw wide at how soaked you already are.
"f-fuck," toji grins, pressing his forehead to yours, so his choppy raven bangs gently kiss your skin, "you're wetter than the goddamn track out there, doll."
his fingers are fast, expert and precision-tuned. two knuckles deep and curling just right, while toji's other hand fists in your shirt, dragging you against his muscled chest, "stay quiet f'me." and it's not a suggestion.
you try, but the noise still slip in tiny gasps and stuttering moans, caught against his shoulder as he works you open with practiced ease. your hands claw at his arms, at his rippling biceps as he preps you.
"that's it, gorgeous, let go. you gon' cum for me already?" toji grunts, thumbing at your clit with precise precision, "yeah? who knew you'd like being handled like a busted part? it's okay, girl, i got you."
you're shaking, barely biting back a whimper as he works you right through, feeling his lengthy cock already hard and pressing through his thick, rough pants.
it's an earth shattering orgasm that launches right at you, your back arched against the side of the car, his fingers still dipping through your glossy folds. toji's coaxing you right through the orgasm as if he's fine-tuning a prized engine.
and then, he's pulling right back. unzipping his pants with one hand, the other still planted firmly between your thighs, "hope ya' weren't planning on walking tomorrow, doll."
the wiry, fine hairs at the base of thick cock immediately brush up against your ass, such was the firm precision and speed of toji jackhammering himself into his new delightful home. heavy and deep, so you can feel the smack! of thick, weighted balls against your plush flesh.
the stretch burnin' in the best way possible honestly, and you're crying out, but his palm claps over your mouth immediately, emerald eyes narrowed and sleazy grin crooked, "ah, ah, gotta' be quiet. wouldn't want the interns hearin' what their favourite engineer gets up to after hours, eh?"
you just moan against his palm, and toji groans. hips slamming harder, rougher and relentless. his other hands grabs your jaw, thumb sliding down to press into your throat, not choking. jus' holding, reminding you who's in charge. for now, you blithely wonder, visions of milking toji dry already blooming in your mind.
but it's hard to not fall apart almost immediately, his thick tip swabbing at your most sensitive points. twitching, and pulsing, clenching around toji's cock in a way that makes him follow suit. thick, glossy ropes of heavy, strong cum spurting right out of him, the sheer volume so much that it leaks straight out of you, dribbling down your thighs.
toji's biting hard enough to leave marks, claiming and branding. and you would swear that you hear him whisper sweet nothings that he would sooo deny in the morning, praises about how you're the sweetest thing ever, and he's just gotta' have you.
and then, simply just because he's toji fushiguro, he grabs the nearest shop rag, wiping at the mess from your stomach and thighs without blinking. stuffing it into his pocket as though it's nothing, "gonna' head back and get myself off with this doll, see ya' at the briefing tomorrow." already zipping up, packing that monster-length cock (yeah, seriously) back into his pants.
and. . . did he just steal your panties? you stare dumbly after him, hearing his footsteps recede as your maw slackens, before you quickly pick up the pace, "hey! toji, wait up!"
☁︎ CHŌSŌ KAMO ➤ throttle control
you noticed choso kamo before he ever even spoke to you. everyone else at the pre-season shoot was all swagger and self-tanner, yelling over for each other and muggin' for the cameras like it was monaco already.
choso, though? off to the side in full black and mauve team gear, rain jacket zipped up despite the heat. headphones in, hazel eyes still as he seemed to be gunning for the most not like other girls title ever.
not shy, not awkward. just. . . still. like the calm before the thunder, the silence before the powerful storms that often rolled in with your fellow drivers. like gojo satoru or hajime kashimo, ugh.
he's often quiet, and never resistant. rookie drivers usually have some sorta' ego or walls. choso has neither. he just nods, your name falling from his pale lips in low and reverent symbols. moving aside so you can stand beside him for the sponsor shoot. no plastered, winning smile, just eyes that track you like the managers track the telemetry data.
you ignore the heat curlin' in your stomach, or you try to. and it's just soo much worse when you catch his eyes on you, watching again. and again, as though you're a famous painting with strokes that he wants to memorise and commit to preservation.
so, there's really no other move but to corner him after the barcelona press run, heart pounding like a misfiring clutch, "what?" you're teasing, "you only speak in throttle maps and finish times?"
choso says little and less, but his voice is as quiet as rainfall as he sniffs, cheeks flushed sakura-blossom pink, "i would touch you, if you would have me. and then, i wouldn't know how to stop."
yeah, you remembered that you stopped breathing after that, right when everyone was being rushed into their cars, the respective engineers snappin' in their ears.
but choso crashes out in a stormy qualifying. a rookie mistake, too fast on the apex, rear tires losing grip. he's not hurt, thank god, but the radio teams go dead, and when you tumble back to the garages, he's soaked, still in his fireproofs, fists clenched with eyes dark and hollow, as though he's miles away from here.
"choso –"
he grabs you, not harsh nor urgent. just sudden, desperate. right behind the stacked tire warmers like a man starving for you, and you only.
"don't leave, angel," choso pants, voice ragged against your neck, "not yet, need to feel something good, something. . . that isn't failure. i mean, c-can i –"
you nod once, a thick lump suddenly in your throat presenting an ironic whiplash to the low throb in your groin. it starts soft, it always does with him, and it doesn't surprise you.
choso's hands are wet, shaking, ghosting up underneath your compression top. one glove still one, the rough texture pinching your pert nipple, teasing over your chest. the other glove? he pulls off with his teeth, slow and silent as he tosses it away. touching you like every second of it is a prayer answered.
and then, finally, choso kisses you. not a peck, nor testing. devouring. slick mouth on yours as though it's the last lap, and you're the checkered flag. his tongue drags against your lips, fingers twisted into your waistband as though he's afraid you vanish from his grasp.
"y-you're the only thing that makes me lose control like this, angel," choso whispers, voice raspy and streaked with gravel, barely audible under the storm still hissing off the track. he's got you on the back of the wall now, kisses trailing lines down your throat, soft teeth scraping skin.
you can only arch for him, dizzy with the weight and want of him. knowing exactly what typa' width and length he must be packing in the pretty curve of his blue-veined cock.
his hips grind against yours, slow at first, as though he's restraining himself, but the second your mouth releases a soft whimper, "cho –, please," well. . . the switch flips, and he's gasping. mouth biting at your jaw, your collar, hands suddenly everywhere.
gripping, pinning, claiming. his glove slides under your panties like silk over fire, fingers moving in smooth n' practiced strokes that make your knees buckle.
"so w-wet already," choso murmurs, breath warm against your skin, "you like when i touch you like this, angel?"
you nod, or maybe, you cry out in pleasure. he swallows up the sound with his mouth on yours. fucking you with his fingers 'til you're shaking, overstimulated, clutching at his dark fireproofs with nails and moans, and fevered pleas of more, choso! more!
"been thinkin' about how you'd sound," choso groans, face buried in your neck, "when i make you cry." and you do, from the pressure, the stretch, the relentless way he owns every inch of you.
his other hand quickly pushes the band of his boxers down. revealing the prettiest cock that you'd ever laid eyes upon, glorious and standing tall, and already leaking. your mouth waters, salivating at the idea of laving over each purple vein.
so when he finally pushes into you, raw and thick, buried deep, your whole body arches into his. slotting like the most perfect puzzle pieces, as choso whispers your name as though it's holy.
"mine," choso breathes, fucking you slow and deep, and you feel almost heady on his scent (well, that and the wafting fuel). but he rummages his cock through you as though he's carving you right out, "mine, say it. p-please, say it, angel."
oh, and you do. over and over, 'til it's not even words anymore, just sounds, sobs, tremours between kisses and moans, and skin on skin. after, when your back is sticky with heat, and his mouth is still at your throat, choso doesn't let go, peppering his lips to your waiting mouth, "i'm sorry, didn't mean to be rough."
you have a faint vision of headlines tomorrow, tiktoks being posted blatantly circling the blooming love bites over your neck, and you just can't help but pull him in closer, looping your arms around his thick neck to meld your lips against his, "don't apologise, cho. just don't stop."
his smile is small, tired, but lovestruck. kissin' you again like he's already addicted.
☁︎ HAJIME KASHIMO ➤ disqualified for conduct
so. . . you had been warned. every other pr manager on the team had handed you his file like it was some cursed object. one crossed himself, another just whispered, "he's impossible to manage, good luck."
they were talking about hajime kashimo, the track's golden boy, of course. thunder on the track, a menace in the paddock. the gist of it was pretty simple: he wins, he grins, he fucks.
you figured it couldn't be that bad. you'd handled difficult drivers before, all of their inflated egos, tempers and tantrums, so why would you not be ready?
oh, how wrong you were.
he doesn't even try to pretend to be decent during interviews, flirting and batting his lashes through every question like the camera was his bedroom mirror. you did your best to pretend your breath didn't hitch, and your thighs didn't jump and clench with each 'good girl' bestowed upon you.
"tch', kashimo, zip up those fireproofs. you gotta' be on the big screen in ten."
teal eyes undoing you (truly, undressing you) with lightning-precise intensity, "you can zip 'em up now, bunny. and you can unzip them after podium too."
"go fuck yourself."
"oh, when you say it like that, maybe –"
yeah, that sums up the push and pull relationship between you and hajime kashimo. so it's not a vast surprise when it all pools over one hot afternoon in monza. practice is long over, and the team is distracted by data feedback and tire degradation, somethin' about slamming down the big hotshot, gojo satoru.
but of course, 'round the corner, it's just your luck. kashimo, half-naked, towel slung low, with cyan hair loose and damp over his toned, sculpted shoulders. you try not to trail your eyes past the beads of exertion that slick across his carved abdominals.
"keep looking at me like that, gorgeous," kashimo snickers, towel slipping just an inch in a way that answers the question of whether the carpet matches the drapes, "and i'll put you in my cockpit instead of the car."
you shove him, doing your best to fight the furious flush threatening to sink you to your aching knees, "seriously, that's the best you could come up with?"
"is that a yes, bunny?"
"only if you win tonight."
ah, but you should have known hajime kashimo is never all bark, no bite. he walks the talk, and there's nothin' that man craves more than a challenge, a fight to get his blood roaring.
it slips your mind entirely, that vow of yours, not even when the entire team is leaping up and down, pulling each other into tight embraces as kashimo scores pole position once more. his turquoise, jewel-tone eyes are bright, wild despite the late hour and the physical exertion of over an hour of supersonic speed.
a hand is already pulling you into the back of the motorhome, setting you right down over. . . the champagne crate.
"hah, knew i had to win out there, gorgeous. knew i had to win just for you."
it's hard to know who initiated it, but you're kissing kashimo, and he's kissing you, — pouring the taste of expensive liquor and mint into your mouth as you suck on his tongue, rake your nails through his scalp.
kashimo's whirling you around, sinking his sharp teeth into your neck, "let's do a lap, bunny. face down, ass up? i can show ya' my best handling."
yeah, what hajime kashimo lacks for in hefty girth, he makes up for in sheer length. kashimo's groaning into your ear, hissing as his cock finally sinks into the soft embrace of your glistening pussy, one hand on your hip and the other rattling hard enough against the plush of your ass to leave fingerprints.
smack!
"sound off for me, gorgeous."
smack!
"thaaaat's it, be loud. everyone should know that i'm the one who's got ya' so pretty, just folded over for me."
you're gnawing on your lower lip, tugging at the skin, desperate to not babble out mindless cries of his name, and kashimo notices. and he's no fan of that, elegant hands grabbing your hair and pulling you up so you can both face the truck's back mirror.
"look at yourself," kashimo pants, still thrusting so deep in you that you're certain each vein has been permanently memorised and printed in your guts, "look at how good ya' take me, like you were built for it."
" –jime, hajime, 'm close," you whine, eyes absolutely cross-eyed and hazy as you let yourself get lost in the sweet, sweet sensation. moaning his name broken and breathless, and it's enough to shatter the infallible kashimo.
kashimo's grunting, a thunderclap in your ear, as he tears the remainder of your underwear off with a sodden rrrrrip! whirling you around once more to hike your leg up onto the crate, swung around his waist to draw him closer inwards.
you know when he finishes inside you, as though he's chasing the fastest lap. hard, quick and deep enough to leave your legs boneless and quivering.
"gonna' make you c-cum again," kashimo groans against your ear, kissing your shoulder as he mouths at your tits, "one more. c'mon, bunny, give it to me, i earned that trophy. wanna' fuck you in my racing suit next."
☁︎ TSUKUMO YUKI ➤ manual override
you still remember your first interview with tsukumo yuki. she had flounced into the room with her black race suit peeled halfway down, sports bra damp with seat, sipping champagne from the bottle.
but you had barely finished your first question before the statuesque blonde had leaned forward, gaze hungry, "you wanna' talk about control systems, baby, or do you wanna' know how i make people lose theirs?"
you should have walked away, but instead, you watched her lick frothy champagne off her thumb like it was all you ever wanted. and you were. . . hooked. now yuki seeks you out in the paddock, every time, pressing too close, tugging you closer by your lanyard, murmuring in your ear, "lookin' a lil' stiff, doll. want me to loosen you up after quali?"
so, this time, she had just set p3 in the wet, slippery rain. helmet already peeled off, golden hair flipping over her face as she catches sight of you, recorder in hand.
"yuki, congrats on quali! do you think the wet weather gave you any –"
a quick hand snatches the mic, plucking it right off your collar and shoving it deep into her thick pockets, "baby, we got plenty of time later, hah, for an interview."
that adrenaline-high look in her big, brown eyes is all too recognisable, and you should have foreseen how she'd drag you right behind the trailer. pinning you to the hood of her personal car, no doubt worth millions, skin still searing from the race.
"come onnn, ya' like fast girls, don't you," yuki whispers, voice a low purr, her sun-streaked hair tickling and kissing your cheek. she's laying you flat across the hood, race suit still hanging half-on, grinding her hips down until you're gasping, biting your lip with whimpers of please, please. . . more!
"say it louderrr, sweetheart." her lips pressed to your navel as you whine for her to sweep her tongue even lower.
"c'mon, you interview champions, right? maybe in your interview, you can tell the press how good i fuck." a kiss now dotted over your hips, slowly following the juncture angle down to your throbbing mound.
"y-yuki," you mewl, unable to hold back the hungry, raw cry when she parts your thick, outermost folds to suckle at your clit, "ouuh, so sensitive. . ."
no mercy, no hesitation. she laps at your folds as though she's setting the fastest lap record, grinning as you're shaking, "that's my pretty girl. still breathing?"
if you wrench your head far back enough at an uncomfortable angle, you can see just how filthy the sight is. yuki's entirely on her knees now, golden hair splayed about her as she nips and licks at your dripping cunt, her chin all glossed up as she drags the lower half of her face through your wetness.
through the haze, you realise that yuki's murmuring something. groaning low into your pussy as though she's speaking to her. the biceps in her muscled arms rippling as she slathers a thick kiss to your cute, twitching clit, "three."
her short fingernails trailing through your cunt, teasing at your winking, glossy entrance, "two."
pink lips separating from your pussy with transparent, clear strands of tangy glossy, and yuki's smacking her mouth, clearly some form of pussydrunk that only you unlock within her, "one."
and bulls-eye, the scrape of her finger in a crooked, come-hither moition against that small, rough patch in your pussy makes you squeal, then groan. the sensation building up until it's just too much and you're gushing over her face. thin, liquid arcs splattering against yuki's beautiful, delighted features as she slaps at your sopping pussy.
"think they'll let me keep a strap in the trailer just so ya' can do that alll over again?"
☁︎ IEIRI SHOKO ➤ flatline me
who hadn't heard of shoko ieiri? the doctor for your team, the surgeon, gorgeous with cinnamon brown hair and dark eyes. you had gotten used to seeing her with a lighter in one hand, and your medical file in the other.
stitchin' bodies back together with blinking, and yet, she couldn't care less about your hotshot reputation. and frankly, you only wanted her even more. so when you ended up with your top off, sprawled on the infirmary table after some stupid spin-out, icing your thigh and nursing a bruised shoulder, you had tried to be charming.
"am i finally your favourite patient, doc?"
shoko only glances up from her scrawled notes, the barest twitch of amusement tugging at her glossy, peach lips. she was still striking a match, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease, her gaze settling on you like a blade to skin.
"hah, hardly," she huffs, "but you could scream the loudest, how 'bout that?" elegant fingers already coming to rest on the waistband of her blue slacks, and you can't help but gulp. resisting the urge to blow your cool or let out some obscene looney-tunes ass wolf whistle.
"strip," shoko murmurs, her tone cool, "i can't help you get better unless i can a proper look." she must be confident that no one would dare interrupt her, that none would walk in while you're urgently pulling your sports bra off your head — and she's discarding her pants elsewhere, revealing creamy, pale thighs that you're desperate to sink your teeth into.
you can feel her oak gaze on you, cataloguing every bruise, every scrape as though you were just another anatomy lesson. but you certainly don't miss how her pink tongue briefly laves over her lower lip, her eyes widening as they roam over your bare chest, focus on how you shimmy right out of your racing suit — till you're bare and naked, legs crossed one over the other .
chilled fingers finally touch your thigh, prodding the faint bruise you've acquired with sharp pressure. you're not ashamed to admit it, a moan escapes your trembling lips.
"you're sloppy, sweet thing," shoko mutters, voice as smooth as ill-fated poison that's honey to your ears, "crash dummy with a death wish."
you hiss as she slaps your thigh, just once. . .not gently. her eyes focused on how your flesh ripples under her touch.
"diagnostic," shoko adds, lips quirked faintly as your body tenses under her hungry gaze, "don't whine, 'cause i warned you." her hands are cold, and the soft pads of her fingertips pinch at your hips, pulling the tender flesh up as your thighs clench. you know that there must be some translucent slick seeping into the medical bedding beneath you.
"i don't think you've earned this," shoko concludes, finally pulling away from you, "but i'm tired of standing up." her fingers hook into the elastic band of her sleek, dark underwear, pulling the fine-woven fabric down until she can kick it off.
leaving your mouth slack in awe at the wondrous prospects you've landed with — the soft curl of dark hair between her thighs, and how shoko's pushing your hips down, climbing onto you so you can peek a flash of slippery pink as she settling over your groin. your pussy already pulsing and twitching at the mere brush of contact between the two of you.
shoko straddles you now, her lower half entirely bare as she pins you in place, cool hands running over your bare chest, your wrist, your jaw. she's still got her tight-knitted blue top clinging to your chest, the white coat thrown over her shoulders, and you're desperate to peel them off her.
"keep quiet, sweet thing," shoko orders, her voice a low hum against your throat, "or i'll have to find another way to shut you up." it's obscene, hearing the wet, sloppy slick of your folds kissing hers.
god, she moves like she's dissecting you, studying you. controlled, methodical and merciless. you're already shaking beneath her, every nerve burning, every sound you made swallowed by the pressure of her palm over your tongue. or the bitter taste of dark coffee on her tongue.
your body arches, hips twitching to desperately attach against hers, aching to feel the kiss of her clit against your own. flushed muscles quivering as whines of her name fall from your lips in a begging, pleading tone, but it doesn't seem to move shoko to helping you finish faster.
"don't be pathetic, pretty," shoko pants into your ear, her sleek dark hair falling over her face. and it's some satisfaction to know that she's just as affected, and that the low throb against your groin is her filthy release absolutely drenched over you, "i've barely even started."
everytime you felt as through your climax was in arm's reach, her touch would ice over, only to flood you with heat again, a cruel rhythm that left your head spinning.
"you look good like this, sweet thing," shoko murmurs, tilting her head as she straightens her spine, angling her hips so she can press herself to your sticky folders even more.
you whimper, and she laughs — even as your legs can't stop shaking and you feel too fucked-out in this bed of pleasure to even form a coherent thought. until all you can chase after is the fastening pace of her hips against yours, the sight of shoko dipping her fingers between your folds to sip at your arousal.
you're not even embarrassed at the utterly pornographic moans escaping your kiss-stung lips, sharp cries of shoko's name echoing through the infirmary as she soothes sharp circles over your clit, grinding her pussy against yours with your thighs intertwined.
"god, you taste so s-sweet," shoko bites off, dark eyes peering down at you, almost as though she's embarrassed that you've pulled these reactions from her.
wet cunts tacked to each other as she swipes a hand behind your back, pulling you up so she can hook her legs around your waist. jostling up n' down, over and over, and you catch the doctor's almost wolfish grin, she's guiding your hands beneath the fabric of her top, "c'mon, are you gonna' help me or not, baby?"
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fon-master-ion · 1 year ago
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yay I made good writing progress :) <- wrote ONE word in an already existing sentence
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em1i2a3 · 1 month ago
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Spanish Sahara
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader
Summary: After a rough week at the Thunderbolts Compound, the team goes out for some drinks to wind down and enjoy themselves.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob and other characters from the movie are in here. Fluff, and Smut are the main warnings here, Bob and Reader have an established friendship.
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all), Praise/Worship Kink, Breast Play, …Something involving a mirror, Very light choking, Oral Sex (f! And m! receiving), Fingering, Swallowing, Bob is a frickin softie as usual because that’s hot but he definitely has his moments in this, Overstimulation, Teasing, Aftercare to the max because being taken care of after hot sex is…Wheew lol. I don’t think I missed anything
Author’s Note: I saw a lot of people requesting more smut and I thought as a nice little break from the super long fics that I’m working on (that request box has a lot of them and I’m chipping away at it as much as possible!) I’d write a nice little one-shot for y’all to celebrate a random Friday in May 😂 enjoy!! (Side note, I also had a funny little ask about how I name my posts lol, I literally just picture the songs in what I’m writing, the title changes like three times by the time I post it lol)
Word Count: 13,796
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The bar was loud, crowded, and hazy with cheap smoke and too many conversations happening at once–but Bob was only paying attention to you, and attempting to look normal in his surroundings, which was always a complicated feat for him.
You sat across from him in the booth, your body framed in golden lamplight and neon beer signs like some half-lit portrait in an art museum. You looked too good to be real–flushed with warmth from your second tequila pineapple of the night, bare-legs crossed just enough to make his brain short-circuit, lips glossed a cherry red like you’d done it just to ruin him.
And maybe, somewhere deep down, he thought you had.
The others were scattered across the bar like background noise–Ava and Yelena flanking the bar with their usual chaotic grace, Walker and Alexei pounding back shots and shouting about God-knows-what, and Bucky leaning over the pool table, unknowingly feeding lines to a group of women who didn’t care if he could shoot or not.
But Bob hadn’t looked away from you in nearly half an hour.
Not when you uncrossed and re-crossed your legs beneath the table, the movements slow and fluid, like you wanted to give him something to look at. Bob’s eyes had followed the motion instinctively–drawn to the soft slide of skin, to the way your thighs shifted beneath the hem of your black tailored shorts. They were high-waisted and fitted, hugging the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips, cinched with a single gold button that glinted every time you moved.
You’d paired them with that wicked bodysuit–the one that clung to your body like second skin, high-cut at the hips and daringly low in the front, just enough to frame the soft curve of your cleavage without giving away too much. It was backless, sleeveless, and made of some silky, matte fabric that shimmered faintly in the bar light. You wore it like armor, like a challenge.
Your legs were bare, golden under the dim glow, crossed at the knee with one foot tucked behind the other–long, lean, and deliberate in how they were presented. Every detail about your look tonight felt curated–not in a fake way, but in the kind of way that said I know exactly what I’m doing to you. And Bob? Poor Bob looked like he was under your spell.
He couldn’t stop looking.
Every time your drink got dangerously low and you leaned forward–elbows resting on the table, cleavage pressing softly together–you dragged the last sip from your straw with a slow, teasing pull that made something in him twist. He watched the way your lips curled around it, how a single droplet of condensation slid down the side of the glass and clung to your fingers. He was transfixed.
You laughed at something the waitress said–he didn’t even register what–and it echoed in his chest like a bell. That sound always got to him.
And tonight, he wasn’t hiding it. Not well, anyway.
His eyes kept drifting–over your mouth, the curve of your collarbone, the smooth stretch of your exposed shoulders, down to the shadowed dip between your breasts. Then he’d catch himself and flick his gaze up like he could undo what he just saw. Like he was trying to remind himself that he respected you too much to stare, even though he’d been staring for months.
He was trying so hard to be polite. His hands were clenched in his lap, fingers tangled and twitching like they were holding back something much stronger than impulse. His posture was rigid, like his own body was betraying him one muscle at a time.
He was always like that around you–reserved, yes. But it wasn’t just shyness. It was respect. Fear. Like every thought he had about you was too big to name out loud. Like if he touched you, he’d never forgive himself for crossing that line.
But he’d already crossed it, hadn’t he? Not physically–but emotionally, because Bob Reynolds had been in love with you for a long, long time.
And you knew it.
You saw it in the way he always noticed when you were tired after a mission, the way he made you tea without asking, or stayed behind in training sessions he wasn’t even involved in just so you’d have someone to spot you. You saw it in the way he flinched when someone else made you laugh, or how his voice went into a cracked whisper only when he said your name.
He was putty in your hands. And you loved it. Not because it gave you power–but because he let you have it. Because he trusted you with it.
And as much as the friendship meant to you–deeply, intimately–you’d stopped lying to yourself months ago. Your brain was always a few steps ahead, mapping the timeline of how you’d get from here–from this bar booth and his helpless eyes–to there. To a place where Bob Reynolds was no longer just your best friend, but something closer. Something that meant yours.
So you didn’t say anything. You just watched him.
Watched how his breath caught every time you shifted. How he wet his lips nervously when you leaned forward. How the pulse in his neck jumped like he could feel your eyes on him.
His fingers twitched again, folded too tight in his lap. You followed the motion, noted the way his knuckles went white.
There was a sheen of sweat on his temple now–barely noticeable unless you were looking for it, which you were.
And poor Bob didn’t even realize how obvious he was.
So you decided to make it worse for him.
You slipped off your shoe under the table and slowly–very slowly–ran your foot up the length of his shin. A gentle drag, barely a touch, but intentional. Controlled. The kind of touch that said I see you. And I want you flustered.
Bob jolted like you’d zapped him with a live wire.
His leg knocked the underside of the table with a hollow thunk, and his hand shot out, sloshing his Coke Zero just short of the edge. His knuckles were white around the glass. His jaw dropped slightly like he meant to say something but forgot what language was.
His cheeks–already pink from the warmth of the room and the low buzz that he was getting from just being around you–flushed deeply, the color spreading up his neck and painting his ears red. You swore even his throat blushed. He pushed his light brown hair out of his face nervously, like he was afraid it would cloud his vision of you.
You tilted your head, smirking. “Cold in here?”
He blinked like he’d just come out of a trance. His lashes fluttered rapidly over wide blue eyes–those eyes, impossibly pale and clear, glassy with surprise and something raw beneath it. Want, maybe. Or fear.
“Y-Yeah,” He stammered, voice cracking slightly. “A–A little drafty.”
“Mmm.” You stretched in your seat, arms rising lazily above your head, making sure the movement pulled the neckline of your bodysuit lower. The fabric shifted with you, stretching softly across your chest, exposing a bit more of the delicate skin he’d been trying so hard not to look at.
His gaze dropped like he didn’t even mean to let it.
And then he swallowed–hard–his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat.
But Bob didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His breathing had gone shallow, his tongue caught against the roof of his mouth like he’d forgotten how to form words. He looked like he was choking on air.
You didn’t let up.
Your foot moved again–slow, deliberate, and this time it brushed higher, just right on the inside of his thigh, where the heat of his body was more noticeable. Where he was trembling.
His breath hitched instantly, and a soft, involuntary sound escaped him–a sharp exhale, half-panic, half-arousal. His fingers dug into the wooden edge of the booth like he was bracing for impact.
You leaned forward again, closing some of the distance between you, letting your arms rest on the table and your chest push together ever so slightly in the low light. He couldn’t look away.
“You’ve been looking at me like that all night, Bob,” You said, your voice velvet-soft, the tone curling up his spine.
His head snapped up like you’d struck him–eyes wide and wild with guilt, pupils dilated in the low light. His brows pinched upward with alarm, his mouth parting in a panicked breath.
“I… I didn’t mean to–” He rushed out, but it came out broken.
You reached across the space between you, wrapping your hand around his wrist before gently cutting him off
“I want you to look.”
He froze.
His whole body went still, like he was afraid to breathe. His eyes–so ocean-bright and boyishly soft–flicked over your face with disbelief, feeling your thumb run over the exposed skin of his wrist.
You smiled at him again, slower this time. Not to tease. But to reassure.
“I like that it’s you,” You said, your voice dipping into something quiet and unshakably sincere.
He blinked, slow and stunned. His lashes cast little shadows under the low-hung light, and you saw the exact moment something cracked in his chest.
“You’re the only one,” You continued, “Who’s never looked at me like I’m a game to win. Or a body to take. You look at me like I’m something you’re afraid to break. Like I’m something you cherish.”
His lips parted again–slightly dry, slightly trembling.
And you saw it. The shimmer in his eyes. That wide, overwhelmed expression he wore when you said something that hit too close to the truth. He looked like he might cry. Or faint. Or bolt. But instead…He stayed.
Frozen, but present.
You reached for your drink again with your free hand and took the last sip, dragging the straw into your mouth with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact.
Bob’s eyes tracked every inch of the motion. You could see the subtle twitch in his jaw, the little hitch in his shoulders, like he was physically holding himself back.
Then you licked a drop from your bottom lip.
And that did him in.
His breath faltered again, and his eyes–so blue, so open, so obviously in love with you–looked at you like he’d forgotten where he was. Like the world had narrowed down to just your lips, your voice, your body framed in shadow and gold light.
You tilted your head, gaze gentle now. That look you always gave him when he was spiraling. When he needed to know he was safe. That he was wanted.
He looked like he didn’t deserve it.
But you knew better.
And finally, after a long, shaky breath–his lashes fluttering like he was about to pass out—he leaned forward.
His voice barely rose above the din of the bar, cracked and breathless and close enough to touch.
“I…I think about y–you.”
The words came out like a confession. Like a sin.
He didn’t stop.
“More than I should,” He said, gaze darting to the table, then back up again like it physically hurt him to hold your eyes. “More than…What’s okay.”
You didn’t move. You didn’t interrupt. You let him say it.
“I just…” His throat worked again. “If I ever got to touch you–I don’t think I’d want to stop.”
Your chest ached at how sincerely he meant it. Like it wasn’t just about sex. Like it was everything, like it meant everything.
Your hand on his wrist slid down so your palm was over his, feeling the warmth of him–the quiet trembling, the softness of his skin.
“Bob,” You said softly. “What would you do if I didn’t want you to stop?”
His lashes fluttered at you–confused, hopeful, scared–but he didn’t pull away, not like he would normally. If anything, he leaned in like you had said something that brought him closer.
Your hand stayed where it was, palm against palm, but your fingers began to move–softly tracing the lines in his hand like you were reading him. Like you were studying a map only you had permission to follow. You let your fingertip trail along the length of his lifeline, then up the curve of his thumb, dipping gently between the web of his fingers. He flinched–barely–but you felt it. Saw the way his breath shuddered quietly through his nose, the way his fingers twitched like they wanted so badly to close around yours but didn’t quite dare.
He was holding himself back.
Even now, even here.
Your gaze lifted, meeting his–they were wide and glossy, pupils blown wide now, eating away at the blue, and there was something deeply aching in the way he looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize every second of this moment in case it vanished.
“Don’t look at me like that,” You murmured, your thumb ghosting over the calloused edge of his ring finger. “Like you’re not allowed to want this.” Bob swallowed hard–again. It was the only thing he could do that didn’t give him away. His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched. His mouth opened like he might say something, but no words came.
He looked at you like you were everything he’d ever prayed for and was terrified to touch.
You watched the war inside him–want versus restraint. It played out in the flicker of his lashes, the shake in his hand, the tension braced through his shoulders like he was trying to keep himself from combusting.
So you let go of his hand, and moved your foot away from his inner thigh.
For a heartbeat, his face dropped–just a flicker of devastation in his expression.
Until you stood up, and moved around the table.
Bob’s head turned like he couldn’t believe you were really coming to him, like some part of him had convinced himself this was all a hallucination brought on by too many Coke Zeros–cause he couldn’t drink–and too many nights thinking about your hands, your mouth, and your voice in his ear. But then you slid into the booth beside him, your thigh pressing flush to his. He was still frozen, spine straight, hands in his lap like they might betray him if he moved them. Your perfume radiated off of you, the one that you always modestly sprayed on yourself, the one that he loved sneaking in your room to smell when you weren’t at the compound or out on a mission–the one that smelled like sugar, berries, and ripe oranges, like a succulent dessert…Made just for him.
You leaned in slowly, brushing your arm against him. You didn’t have to look at him, you didn’t have to…You knew he was already looking at you, or trying to look at you.
When he was finally able to feel your hot breath curl over his cheek he could immediately smell the pineapple juice on your tongue. It made him want to lean in right then and there just to get a taste, just to suck the essence off of it, to drink from you, but he needed to hold himself back, to stay in control of himself before he did something prematurely.
Then–with the grace of an angel–you reached up and touched him.
Your fingers found the side of his jaw, the pads of them smoothing against his freshly shaven cheek, tilting his face gently toward you. He followed the motion like a man possessed–like you had pulled him by a leash tied to his soul. He closed his eyes at the sensation, parting his lips slightly to take in a small breath–a quiet plea.
Slowly, you leaned in, your mouth resting just close enough to graze his ear, and you whispered–low, and sultry:
”Every time I touch myself, I imagine it’s you…” Bob shattered. A noise escaped him–broken and breathless. A half-gasp, half-whimper that he couldn’t contain if he tried. His body went tense beside you, his thigh flexing under yours, his fingers twitching like they were about to snap.
But you didn’t stop there.
“I imagine your fingers,” You murmured, your lips brushing his ear, “Big and clumsy and desperate, the way they always look when you’re nervous. I imagine them moving inside me while I ride your hand, while I beg you to kiss me like you mean it.” Bob exhaled–hard. His jaw clenched under your touch, his breath fogging hot against your forearm. You could feel how close he was to breaking–how close he was to falling apart in front of a whole bar full of people he couldn’t even look at in the eyes. Your fingertips moved slowly across his cheek, your nails didn’t scratch–they ghosted, mapped, and worshipped. You traced the slope of his cheekbone, then slid down to the soft dip beside his mouth, like you were learning his face the way others learn scripture.
Bob was unraveling. Every word from your mouth was gasoline on the fire he’d been trying to smother for months. His breath caught in his chest like a prayer that didn’t know how to end, and he stared at you—lips parted, lashes trembling–like he couldn’t tell if this was heaven or the moment before he burned.
And then your other hand came to rest on his shoulder, grounding him–and pushing him closer to the edge all at once.
He was breathing too hard now. Too fast. His chest rising in shallow, shaking swells. And all he could do was sit there, hands fisted in his lap, as you leaned in and whispered into his ear again–closer this time, like you were whispering to his soul.
“I think about tasting you,” You said softly. “So achingly slow, until you lose your mind.”
Bob’s knees went weak beneath the table. He didn’t even know how he was still upright. The only thing keeping him tethered to the earth was the press of your thigh against his, the weight of your palm on his shoulder and face, and the sound of your voice curling into his bloodstream like silk-wrapped sin.
He tried to speak–tried to gather some string of thought that could resemble language–but all he managed was a broken, desperate breath. “I–” He rasped, his voice shredded at the edges.
But you didn’t let him finish.
You shushed him. Gently. Sweetly. Your thumb swept across his cheek.
“Don’t,” You murmured, so close your lips touched his ear, “Don’t talk. Just feel it.”
And God, he felt it.
Every molecule of you.
The heat of your breath melting against his skin. The sweetness of your perfume, dizzying and intimate. The way your hands touched him like he was more than a body. Like he was a secret. A sacred thing you’d been aching to unwrap.
His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to move, to reach for you, but he didn’t dare–not unless you asked for it. He’d give you anything, everything, but he didn’t want to take a single thing you didn’t offer first.
Still, he couldn’t help it–his head tilted toward your touch, his eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted in something so tender it almost hurt to witness. His throat flexed as he swallowed another breath that wouldn’t steady.
You moved even closer–until your mouth nearly brushed his. Until the distance between you was a lie.
“I want to make you lose control,” You whispered. “I want to feel how much you’ve been holding back.”
That did it.
Bob’s whole body trembled under your hands–his restraint hanging by a thread, his jaw clenched like he was trying not to whimper. He turned his head slowly, just enough to look at you, and his eyes–those soft, wrecked, worshipful eyes–were completely undone.
“Y-You don’t know what you’re d-doing to me,” He breathed, but you smiled, soft and knowing.
“Then maybe we should go back to the compound so you could show me.” You whispered back, your thumb stroking the corner of his mouth like you’d been dying to touch him there. Bob’s breath hitched.
The corner of his mouth twitched beneath your thumb like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to shape it into a sentence. His brow knit–tight, anxious–as if he were on the edge of a precipice and could already feel the wind pulling at his shirt.
“I…” His voice cracked. He turned his head slightly, his cheek brushing your palm, but his eyes–those trembling, desperate eyes–held yours like you were the only thing anchoring him to the floor. “I don’t… know w-what happens if I lose control…I h-haven’t had s-sex since before the S-Sentry serum…”
Your chest softened at the vulnerability in his tone–raw, boyish, torn straight from the deepest part of him.
“I’ve felt it before. The…Shift. T-That moment before it gets too much.” His throat worked hard around the next words. “The Sentry, he–he comes through w-when I feel too much. When I want too much. A-And I want you so badly it terrifies me.”
Your thumb stroked over his jaw again, slow and reverent, like you were trying to soothe the trembling just beneath his skin. He didn’t pull away.
“Bob,” You whispered, voice like velvet heat, “I’m not scared of him.”
His breath caught, but you didn’t stop.
“I don’t care if the Sentry shows up. I don’t care if he tries to carry me off into the sky or crack the moon in half because I kissed you too hard.” You smiled gently, your nose brushing his. “Because it’s still you. All of it. The fear, the ache, the power–none of it changes the fact that it’s your heart underneath. And I want all of it. I want all of you.”
His eyes fluttered shut, lashes wet. His chest heaved like he’d just exhaled something he’d been holding in for years. Like you’d opened a dam inside him and now he couldn’t stop it–he didn’t want to anyways.
“Y-You don’t know w–what that means to me,” He whispered, voice trembling like glass on the verge of breaking. “To not be t-the golden boy in your eyes…To just b-be me.”
You leaned in then–so close he could taste your breath, taste the sweetness of pineapple and something far more sacred.
“You were never a monster,” You said, lips brushing his. “You’re the kindest thing I’ve ever touched.”
And that broke something open in him.
His shoulders sagged forward, like a weight had slid off them, and he pressed his forehead to yours, his hands finally–finally–lifting from his lap to ghost up your sides, hesitant and aching. You felt the way they trembled as they settled on your waist, as if touching you too firmly might shatter the moment.
But you didn’t shatter. You melted. Right into him.
“Take me home,” You whispered, your hand curling around the back of his neck. “And let me be yours.”
Bob let out a shaky breath–half-sob, half-surrender–and nodded.
“O–Okay…”
—————————————
The moment the two of you stepped out of the elevator and the doors slid shut behind you, the weight of what was about to happen descended over you like dusk spilling into a quiet room–slow and golden and thick with gravity. It wrapped around your shoulders, soaked into your skin. Each step down the quiet hallway felt amplified, padded in the hush of possibility. The compound, usually so full of voices and footfalls, now felt sacred. Empty in a way that invited something tender to unfold.
You glanced over at Bob beside you–his hands in his pockets, shoulders stiff beneath his shirt like he didn’t know how to hold his own body anymore. His eyes flicked toward you, then away again. You could see it in the twitch of his fingers, in the slow rise and fall of his breath: he was fighting the urge to run and the urge to fall into you all at once.
“Whose room?” You asked softly, your voice barely more than a breath as you stopped just shy of your doors, which were across from one another.
Bob turned to face you, and for a moment he just looked at you. Really looked. As if the question was too big to answer all at once. But then he shook his head and murmured, without hesitation, “Yours.”
Your brows lifted a fraction, surprised by the immediacy of it.
His voice came again, quieter now, barely able to hold its own weight: “I want to be surrounded by everything that’s you.”
And God, he meant it. You could see it all over his face–that quiet, overwhelmed awe. That whisper of longing woven into his breath. Like being near you wasn’t just about want–it was about safety.
You opened your door with a hush of hinges and warmth poured out–soft and golden like it had been waiting for you both. Bob hesitated on the threshold just for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to step into something so intimate. But you reached back and curled your fingers around his, pulling him through gently, and he followed without a sound.
Your room welcomed him like a heartbeat.
The lights were low, softened to a muted amber by the shade of your bedside lamp, and the shadows cast across the walls were familiar, worn-in. The kind of quiet you could only earn by living in a space long enough to leave parts of yourself tucked into the corners.
There were little signs of you everywhere.
A cardigan draped over the back of your chair, still shaped by your shoulders. A couple mismatched mugs on the windowsill, half-full of dried flowers and pens that had long since run out of ink. A battered paperback with your thumb pressed into the spine, abandoned on the edge of the bed. The faintest scent of that sugary sweet skin-warm perfume. He could taste it in the silence.
And then there was the window.
It stretched across nearly half the far wall, a wide mouth of glass looking out over the city, where the skyline pulsed like a living organism–silver and gold lights blinking in lazy succession, cars reflecting off the windows threading down the streets like blood through veins. Bob walked toward it like he was drawn by gravity itself, like it called to the aching part of him that had spent too long looking at the world from above and never this close.
His reflection caught in the tall mirror near the bed–a fractured echo of himself, backlit by the skyline, a man made of longing and light. If he laid down, he realized, he’d be able to see you both in that mirror. Your bodies. Your faces. The way you might look reaching for each other.
He swallowed hard.
Behind him, you closed the door.
The soft click of it sealing shut sent a shiver down his spine–final and quiet and full of promise. He turned toward you, and that’s when he saw you undoing your leather jacket, slow and unhurried. The matte black of it peeled away from your shoulders like a second skin, and the way you moved–fluid, unfazed, and sure–made the air around him feel charged, like static clinging to cotton.
You stood in front of him now, illuminated by citylight and the low lamplight behind you. The bodysuit clung to your frame, catching the warm glow across your collarbones, your throat, the tender curve of your chest. You shrugged the jacket the rest of the way off, and it hit the floor with the softest thud.
Bob was frozen in place. Watching you like a man watching lightning hit the ocean.
He looked around your room again, slower this time. You saw it in his eyes–how he drank in the soft mess of your sheets, the collection of little rings in a porcelain dish, the stack of notes taped to your wall with scribbled to-dos and song lyrics and scraps of thought. It was chaotic and real and you, and he loved every single thing about it.
You were standing so close now that he could feel the warmth radiating off of your skin. The glow of your room wrapped around the two of you like a whispered secret.
You tilted your head slightly and whispered, “You okay?”
And Bob–whose hands were clenched at his sides, whose chest was rising like a tide he couldn’t hold back–nodded, barely. His voice was a whisper scraped raw:
“I-I don’t think I’ve ever been t-this okay.”
Your smile broke like a sunrise, and you reached up for him, touching his face. Just your fingertips at first, featherlight against the edge of his jaw, your thumb brushing along the corner of his mouth like it was something precious to you. Bob’s breath stilled at the contact, lips parting slightly, his chest fluttering with anticipation. He leaned into your palm like a man starved for warmth, even though he was burning up as he stood in front of you.
You pulled him gently toward you.
It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t desperate. It was something softer—something built from all the times you’d brushed hands in passing, or caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. It was built from every whispered laugh, every longing silence, every moment the world made you ache for one another without saying a thing.
And now it was here. Finally.
Bob bent to meet you, slow and hesitant, his breath brushing yours like a question. Your noses bumped slightly, awkward and tender, and he let out the smallest nervous laugh—one you swallowed as you tilted your chin and brought your lips to his.
The first kiss was a hum. A hush. A held breath.
His lips were soft, unsure at first, warm and slightly parted like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to kiss you back–until he did. Until he melted into it. You felt the exact moment the tension in his shoulders unraveled, when he stopped hovering on the edge and let himself fall. His arms came around your waist–slowly, carefully–as if he was still afraid to hold too tightly.
But he did hold you.
God, did he hold you.
One hand splayed wide against the small of your back, the other settling higher, thumb grazing the edge of your exposed skin where your bodysuit dipped low. His palm was hot. Too hot. Like he was burning just from touching you, and yet couldn’t bring himself to pull away. The feel of your skin against his fingertips made his knees go weak.
You kissed him deeper.
Not rushed, not rough–just more. More pressure. More presence. You tilted your head and sighed softly into him, and Bob exhaled like you’d opened a door in his chest he didn’t know had been locked. His mouth was gentle but eager, tasting you in little swells, lips moving with hesitant gentleness as if trying to memorize the shape of you. He breathed you in like you were air after drowning.
You pulled back slightly–not apart, just enough to rest your forehead to his. The two of you stood there in that golden hush, breathing each other’s breath. Bob’s chest rose and fell against yours, and you felt it–every tremble. Every ounce of his restraint.
He looked at you with eyes half-lidded and dazed, lips flushed and glistening from your kiss–and from the remnants of your lip glass–the faintest tremor in his breath like he couldn’t quite believe it had happened.
Your voice was soft, just above a whisper. “Still okay?”
He let out a broken laugh–full of wonder, full of you–and nodded.
You leaned in again–gentler this time, slower–not because you were unsure, but because you wanted to savor the way his breath hitched when your lips brushed his. You wanted to draw it out. To feel every shiver he tried and failed to suppress.
Bob met you halfway with a soft, aching sound–something between a sigh and a whisper of your name. His hands flexed slightly at your waist, his fingers pressing just a little deeper into the curve of you. You felt how he trembled. Not because he didn’t want this. But because he wanted it so much he was afraid he might burst.
You kissed him again–deeper, slower this time, mouth parting just enough to taste him. His lips were warm and sweet with nerves, and he kissed like someone who had thought about this a thousand times but never believed it would happen. There was a reverence to it, a hush in the way he moved his mouth against yours, like he was still halfway convinced he might wake up at any moment.
Your hands left his face, drifting down–slow, steady, and full of quiet intention. You traced the slope of his neck, feeling the rapid flutter of his pulse, then down the broad plane of his chest. You felt every breath he took, shallow and aching, beneath the soft cotton of his sweater.
Bob, always layered like he needed something between himself and the world, was wrapped in a slightly oversized charcoal crewneck, its fabric thinned from wear and faintly scented like detergent and something uniquely him. Beneath it, you could feel the ridges of another layer–a t-shirt, soft and well-worn, probably one he slept in or hid in on quiet mornings when the world was too loud.
You slid your hands beneath the hem of the sweater and pushed upward, your palms skimming the warm skin of his stomach as the fabric lifted. Bob made a quiet, broken sound into your kiss–like the feeling of your hands on his skin short-circuited something vital inside him. He froze for a moment, his breath catching like he wasn’t sure he could survive the sensation.
You pulled back just far enough to speak, your lips brushing his. “Can I?”
His nod was immediate. Frantic. “Y-Yeah. God, yeah.”
So you tugged the sweater up slowly, watching the way his arms lifted, watching the exposed inch of his abdomen rise with it–the pale skin dusted with soft little beauty marks, the gentle definition carved by years of holding tension. As the fabric cleared his chest, he flinched slightly, sucking in a breath like cold air had touched him, though your hands were warm.
He helped you the rest of the way, dragging the sweater and t-shirt off over his head with trembling fingers, slipping away like the last layer of armor. And then he was bare from the waist up, bathed in citylight and lamplight, all golden and blushing and unsure.
He stood there, chest bare and breathless, as if you’d peeled back the sky and found the sun trembling underneath.
Bob’s body wasn’t sculpted in the way of soldiers or statues. It was something softer, something more human. But there was strength in it, undeniable–earned. It was the kind of build that came from holding onto things that were out of his control. Broad shoulders that carried guilt and gentleness in equal measure. A solid chest dusted with faint hair and the occasional mark of time–tiny clusters of faded scars, blemishes, and bruises the world had forgotten but his skin remembered.
His collarbones were sharp under the golden lamplight, framed by muscle that swelled and dipped like lines in a poem you wanted to memorize. His arms, strong and thick, looked like they were made to hold someone through the storm–and right now, they twitched faintly at his sides like he didn’t know how to be held himself. There were scattered freckles on his biceps, a pale crescent scar on one rib that curved like the moon, and small, raised knots near the shoulder from training or trauma–you weren’t sure which. Maybe both.
He looked like a map of ache and effort and quiet resilience.
And you adored every inch of him.
You stepped forward slowly and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest–just over his sternum. His breath stuttered at the contact, sharp and startled, like he’d never been kissed there before. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe no one had thought to.
You trailed your fingers down the plane of his stomach, the muscle there tense and trembling, then lower–toward the waistband of his pants. They were a pair of charcoal slacks, slightly loose around his waist, cinched just right at the hips, but soft and comfortable like he’d chosen them to blend in. Like he’d never expected to be undressed in them.
Your fingers hovered over the button, and you looked up at him. Bob nodded once–barely, but enough–and you slipped the button free. His breath hitched, and his hands flexed at his sides again like he didn’t know what to do with them.
You dragged the zipper down slowly, deliberately, your eyes never leaving his. He looked dazed–like he was being unwrapped for the very first time, and the air itself might sear him.
The fabric fell down his thighs with a soft whisper, pooling at his feet, before he moved out of them, kicking his shoes off in the process.
Bob stood in front of you in nothing but his black boxer-briefs, backlit by the shimmer of the skyline and the amber hum of your bedroom lamp. His chest rose and fell like the sea—steady, but stirred by undercurrent. His eyes hadn’t left you since you touched him. Not once.
And now, it was his turn.
He lifted his hands slowly, reverently, like he was reaching out to something holy. His palms hovered over your hips, not quite touching, until you gave him the smallest nod. That was all he needed.
His fingertips brushed the waistband of your shorts, undoing the golden button in the front of them.
You kicked off your shoes, one at a time, and let the silence stretch between you as he hooked his fingers through the belt loops–slow, hesitant, like he was afraid of doing too much too quickly. He eased them down your legs inch by inch, watching the fabric surrender to gravity. You stepped out of them delicately, and for a beat, he just stood there, looking at you like he didn’t know how to survive the sight of you standing in nothing but that black bodysuit and a pair of simple underwear.
He swallowed hard.
His hands returned to your sides, smoothing over the dip of your waist where the fabric clung tight. You watched his throat flex as his eyes flicked over you—your curves, your bare legs, the way your body caught the light like it had been painted for his gaze alone.
When he moved to the clasp of your bodysuit, his fingers trembled. You could feel it. The concentration in him. The hesitation. Like he was unhooking something precious, something secret.
You reached up and touched his jaw gently. “It’s okay,” You whispered.
And Bob, poor, wrecked Bob, nodded like he needed your permission to breathe.
The clasp gave with a soft snap. The bodysuit loosened instantly, slackening at your shoulders. His eyes met yours again, searching, silent, and then he helped ease the fabric down your arms, over your chest–slowly, like he was undressing a memory he wanted to savor for the rest of his life.
You stood there, bare from the waist up.
Bathed in citylight and lamplight. Breasts soft and exposed, skin flushed and dappled in gold. Your breath was steady, open, trusting.
And Bob… Bob stared like he’d never seen anything so sacred. His lips parted. His chest rose, shallow and quiet, as his eyes drifted over every inch of you—your collarbones, the curve of your sternum, the soft line of your stomach. His hands didn’t touch right away. He just looked. Like the act of looking was too intimate already.
But when he did touch you–finally, gently–his hands moved with such aching care. They rose to cradle your waist, thumbs brushing just below your ribs. You watched his pupils expand, the breath he tried to hold leaking out of him in slow, reverent exhales.
“You’re…” His voice cracked. He didn’t finish the sentence.
Because he didn’t have to.
You stepped into him again, bringing your bodies closer, the warmth of his skin against yours. Your breasts brushed his chest and he nearly gasped, his head dipping low, lips brushing your shoulder like he needed a place to put all this overwhelming wonder.
Bob’s lips were trembling against your skin before you even realized he’d moved. Gentle, searching–he kissed the place where your shoulder curved into your neck, just beneath your collarbone. His mouth was warm and wet, like each kiss was a vow he didn’t know how to speak aloud. He moved slowly, dragging his lips along your skin like he was painting devotion in brushstrokes–across the dip of your clavicle, up the slope of your throat, back to your jaw.
You let out the softest sigh. A sound full of breath and want. It made him shudder.
Your hand slid into his hair, curling at the nape of his neck, guiding him until his lips found yours again. This time the kiss felt hungrier–not in haste, but in depth. In need. Like the space between you could never be close enough. He kissed you with a kind of desperation laced in awe, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. And maybe you felt the same way, because your heart was stammering against your ribs, and the heat blooming between your thighs was dizzying.
You pulled back slowly, just enough to look into his eyes–flushed and wide and soft around the edges, pupils blown so far they nearly swallowed the blue whole.
“Come here,” You whispered, voice like silk unraveling in candlelight.
You took his hand and led him gently around the side of your bed, the sheets still rumpled from a day that no longer mattered. The mirror caught both of your reflections in passing–your bare back, his bare chest, the golden curve of lamplight gilding the two of you like you were something from a dream neither of you dared name.
“Lay down,” You said, and Bob obeyed without a word. He eased himself back across the mattress, exhaling like the air had been caught in his lungs for hours. The sheets crinkled beneath him, warm with your scent, his chest rising in uneven waves as he stared up at the ceiling like it held some sort of answer for how to survive this moment without coming apart entirely.
You climbed onto the mattress after him—slow, certain, fluid like breath moving into lungs. Bob turned his head just in time to see you crawl toward him, and God, the look on his face—pure wonder, trembling with reverence—made your heartbeat skip off rhythm.
You straddled him gently, knees bracketing his hips, your hands finding their way to his chest again, palms splayed flat over the warmth of him. You felt the stutter of his breath beneath your touch, the tight coil of tension building under your thighs.
He looked up at you like you were everything.
You bent down and kissed him again—deeper this time. Your lips claimed him slow and full, your mouth parting just enough to taste his sigh as it melted into yours. One of his hands slid up your thigh, barely daring to grip, while the other cupped your hip like he was anchoring himself.
And that’s when you felt it.
Hard and hot, nestled beneath you. The growing swell of him pressed against the soaked fabric of your underwear, separated from your heat only by the thin stretch of your panties and his boxers. He groaned softly into your mouth, the sound involuntary, and it made your whole body pulse with want.
You rolled your hips forward–just once, a slow grind–and Bob gasped. His head tipped back, throat arched, lips parted as his eyes fluttered shut. His fingers tightened on your waist as if bracing against the force of it.
You did it again–deliberately, letting your clothed center slide against the length of him. The friction was hot, barely enough, almost unbearable in its precision. You could feel the tremor in his thighs, the desperate way his breath stammered in his chest.
“O-Oh m-my,” He whispered, almost like a prayer. “You’re…Oh God–”
You smiled softly against his cheek, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “You feel that?”
He nodded, barely, eyes dazed.
“I’m soaked,” You whispered, dragging your hips once more, pressing down just enough to make him bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut, “And it’s all for you…” You kissed the line of his jaw And then you started to move down.
His hands twitched when you kissed his throat—soft, slow, trailing heat with your mouth as you shifted backward, kissing lower, following the pulse at his neck to the center of his chest. You paused there, pressed your lips to the spot where his heart beat fastest.
He stared down at you, dazed and helpless and holy.
You kept going.
Kissed his sternum. The soft dip beneath it. The slight rise of his stomach where the muscles tightened beneath your breath. Your mouth was tender, open, slow as silk. You licked a soft line down his abdomen and felt him shiver violently. His hands moved into your hair without thinking, not pulling–just holding.
Just needing something to hold.
You reached the waistband of his boxer-briefs, and looked up.
His lips were parted, his cheeks pink with heat, his pupils huge and swallowing. He nodded without needing to be asked, lifting his hips slightly as you hooked your fingers into the band and drew it down—inch by inch, like you were unwrapping a gift meant only for you.
Bob was flushed, hard, and trembling. His cock stood against the plane of his stomach, thick and aching and already leaking from the tip. You watched the way it twitched when the cool air touched it, watched how he tried to stifle a gasp and failed.
“O-Oh god,” He breathed, like it physically hurt. “I don’t–I don’t even k-know what to do with myself–”
“You don’t have to do anything,” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the sharp line of his hip. “Just let me take care of you.” His breath hitched–shallow and wild–and his hands gripped the sheets.
And then you bent your head.
And licked a slow, deliberate stripe up the length of him–base to tip.
Bob choked on a gasp, hips jolting before he stilled himself with sheer force of will. His hands flew to his forehead like he was trying to cover his eyes, but he couldn’t stop watching.
You flattened your tongue along the underside of him again slowly feeling the way he twitched under your touch, the way his breath hitched like it was caught in the delicate space between need and disbelief.
His hand found yours blindly–grasping, desperate for something to hold on to. You laced your fingers with his without hesitation, anchoring him as you opened your mouth and took him in.
The weight of him on your tongue was dizzying, intoxicating. He was warm and already leaking, the taste of him faintly salty as your lips sealed around him and began to move–slow, deliberate strokes of your mouth, your hand curled around the base of him in rhythm.
“Y-you’re…” His voice broke, breath catching, almost like a sob. “You’re really… Oh…”
The sound he made when you took him deeper went straight to your core. It was soft, wrecked–an overwhelmed whimper that made your thighs clench and heat spill low in your belly. You moaned around him, low and throaty, and he gasped your name like it physically stunned him.
You glanced up through your lashes and saw him–his head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in disbelief. His free hand was fisted in the sheets now, his chest rising and falling in frantic waves.
You hollowed your cheeks and twisted your wrist just slightly, dragging your mouth back and then sliding down again, slower this time. You could feel every tremor in his thighs, the way his hips flexed involuntarily and then stilled, fighting the instinct to thrust. He was trying so hard to be good for you. To be still. To savor.
You let your hand drift lower, stroking him in time with your mouth, the slick sounds of your lips meeting his flushed skin only driving you further into the heat building between your own legs. You could feel how wet you were through your panties—soaked from the way he whispered your name, from the way he whimpered when you gave him just a little more.
“Oh,” Bob whispered again, breathless. “You feel so good. I don’t… I didn’t... I…” You moaned softly again, taking him deeper, loving the way his voice cracked, the way his fingers squeezed yours like he was hanging on by a thread.
And you didn’t stop.
You licked and sucked and worshipped him, letting the tension build, letting him teeter right there on the edge. His legs were shaking now. His hips stuttered once, and then again.
“I—I think I’m gonna…” He gasped. “I don’t know if I can…P-Please don’t stop—please—please—”
You didn’t.
You kept going. Swirling your tongue around the tip, easing him deeper again, moaning softly just to feel the way it made his whole body jolt.
He came with a sound like he was breaking—high and soft and breathless. A shattered gasp of your name, followed by a long, trembling whine as he spilled into your mouth.
You swallowed it all. Every last drop.
And even then–you didn’t stop.
You licked him gently, slowly, carefully–savoring him through the aftershocks. His body twitched beneath you, overstimulated and undone, his voice going quiet and airy.
“I-it’s too much,” He breathed, eyes wide and wet with disbelief. “Oh God—it’s so much…”
You finally pulled back, lips glistening, your breath ragged. You kissed the inside of his thigh tenderly, then wiped the corner of your mouth with your fingers and gave him the softest smile.
Bob looked at you like you’d just handed him a piece of the universe he never thought he deserved.
You crawled back up the bed and laid beside him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder, letting your hand fall to the center of his chest. His heart was pounding beneath your palm, like it had forgotten how to slow down.
He turned to face you.
And then he kissed you–without thinking, without pause.
His mouth was hungry, lips moving against yours like he wanted to pour his gratitude and longing into every stroke of your tongue. You let out a soft hum into the kiss, and his hand found your waist, curling around you like he needed you against him. All of you. Bob kissed you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.
His hand tightened at your waist as he deepened the kiss, his mouth warm and earnest, his tongue slow against yours—like he was trying to memorize the taste of your breath and the taste of himself on your tongue. Then he shifted his weight just slightly, moving over you, and your body followed without hesitation.
He rolled smoothly, gently, so that your back met the mattress and his body hovered above yours. His thigh slid between yours, his chest flush to your own, and his face hovered just inches from yours–eyes wide and wild with something more than lust. Something closer to awe.
You let out a surprised giggle, breathless beneath him, one hand slipping up to brush back the messy strands of his light brown hair. It stuck up in every direction from your earlier touch, and now it framed his flushed face like a halo that couldn’t decide if it belonged to a saint or a sinner.
He gave a small, dazed laugh too, his lips curving in wonder as he looked down at you.
And then he murmured, soft as velvet:
“It’s your turn.”
His voice sent a shiver straight through you–because it wasn’t just desire in his tone. It was reverence. Like this was sacred. Like you were sacred.
He dipped his head and kissed your throat, slow and sweet, and you tilted your head to give him more. His hand slid up your side, warm and sure, until it cupped your breast. He paused there, looking at you–asking, even now. Even after everything.
You nodded, breath caught somewhere between your ribs.
And Bob leaned down to worship.
His mouth wrapped around the swell of your breast, lips so soft, tongue teasing the peak until it pulled a soft sound from the back of your throat. He groaned at the noise, like it physically did something to him. He kissed across your chest–open, adoring–then sucked gently at the other nipple, swirling his tongue in slow circles until your fingers curled in his hair. You felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin just around your nipple–just enough to make your breath hitch and your hips twitch slightly beneath him.
You gasped, soft and surprised, and his mouth pulled back with a small, wicked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His breath was warm against your damp skin, and then he exhaled slowly–cool air brushing across the nipple he’d just teased, and your whole body shivered in response.
Bob chuckled under his breath–low and breathless. Not cocky. Amazed. Like your reactions lit up something inside him he never even knew he needed.
Then he kept going.
His lips traced a winding path down your body–each kiss like a benediction pressed into skin. The slope of your ribs. The softness of your belly. The place just beneath your navel where you felt everything coil tight with anticipation.
You shifted slightly, drawing your knees up, thighs falling open to make space for him as he reached the waistband of your underwear. The fabric was soaked with you–already clinging, already begging to be removed. Bob looked up once, eyes wide and full of silent question, fingers brushing your hips.
You nodded. Your breath was caught somewhere behind your teeth, but your legs were already parting further, your spine already arching to help him slide them down.
He pulled the underwear off slowly, taking his time with you, watching the way the fabric peeled away from your slick heat. Your body practically glistened in the amber light, folds swollen and flushed with need. He swallowed thickly, the sound audible even in the hush of your room, and let the underwear fall to the floor like a silk offering.
Bob settled between your thighs like he’d found the center of the universe.
His hands slid up the insides of your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin as he leaned forward, mouth trailing open kisses along the tender flesh–first one thigh, then the other. You twitched at the contact, gasping as his lips dragged up the curve of your leg, warm and wet and wanting. He paused just at the crease where thigh met hip, and then–without warning–bit gently, sucking until the skin flushed pink and bloomed with a bruise.
Bob smiled into your skin. “S–Sorry,” He murmured, clearly not sorry at all, his voice thick with breath and worship. “N–Needed to leave s-something to remember me b-by.”
And then–finally–he kissed your core.
His tongue swiped through your folds in one long, slow motion, and your whole body jolted like he’d reached inside your chest and rung out your soul. You felt the flat press of his tongue against your clit, the deliberate drag upward, the way his lips wrapped around you and sucked–soft, rhythmic, maddening.
Your back arched off the bed.
Your hand flew down and found his wrist–one of the hands bracing you open–and you held onto it like a lifeline, anchoring yourself to the feeling. His other hand splayed across your stomach, warm and grounding, fingers spread wide over trembling muscles.
He licked you again–deeper now. More intentional. His tongue moved like he was mapping you, learning every reaction, every twitch, every soft cry like it was sacred text. He flicked the tip of his tongue in slow, focused circles, then flattened it again, pressure building just right, just there–
“Fuck—Bob,” ¥ou breathed, voice high and frayed. “Jesus Christ…”
He moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your body and sending another jolt through your spine.
And then you tilted your head back.
The mirror caught everything.
Your body sprawled across the bed–glowing, undone, your knees spread wide and your hair wild pointing every which way. Bob’s shoulders bracketed your thighs, his face buried between them, dark hair mussed and damp with sweat and your slick. You saw the way your stomach rose and fell beneath his hand, how your hips bucked slightly with each flick of his tongue.
And then–God–
You looked down at him.
And he was looking up at you.
Eyes glassy and wide, pupils blown with hunger. His mouth was still moving, still lapping at you with slow swirls–but his gaze stayed locked on yours like it anchored him. His brow was pinched in concentration, his cheeks flushed, his lips glistening.
It was intimate in a way that felt deeper than skin. Like he was beholding you, not just touching you. Like the act of pleasuring you was its own kind of worship–and he couldn’t look away from the way your body bloomed beneath him.
You whimpered, your hand tightening around his wrist.
He groaned softly, and the sound reverberated through you.
And then–without breaking eye contact–he slid two thick fingers inside you.
Your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp, spine arching. The stretch was slow, sweet, perfect. He curled them just right, finding that place inside you that made your breath stutter and your thighs twitch.
“Y-Yeah,” he rasped against your core, voice hoarse, lips brushing your clit between licks. “There. T-That’s it, I–I feel you…”
You clenched around them while his tongue kept moving—never stopping. His fingers pumped slow and deep, curling with every pass, and your legs started to shake.
The sight in the mirror was unholy–your head thrown back, his mouth buried between your legs, fingers working you open while your body writhed beneath him.
“Bob—Bob I’m gonna—”
“I–I know,” He whispered. “I’ve got you..Y-Y/N.”
With a sharp cry and a desperate buck of your hips, you came–shattering like glass under floodlight. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, your thighs trembling against his shoulders, your hand crushing his wrist as you pulsed around him.
Bob didn’t stop until you whined, breathless and broken, hips twitching from oversensitivity. Even then, he pulled back slowly, mouth flushed, chin slick with you. He pressed one last kiss to your thigh, and looked up at you again.
Completely wrecked.
Completely in awe.
You let out a laugh of disbelief–shaky, breathless, still caught in the afterglow of everything Bob had just pulled from you. Your body was humming, twitching with sensitivity, your thighs trembling around nothing now as he lifted his head from between them.
Bob looked like he had just witnessed a modern day miracle, a sheepish grin plastered on his face.
Then he started to move slowly, crawling back up your body on his elbows, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses into your skin as he went. The curve of your hip. Your stomach, still fluttering beneath the aftershocks of your orgasm. Each kiss was a brushstroke of heat and devotion, like he wanted to taste every inch of what he’d done to you.
When he reached your chest, he paused, nuzzled into the soft swell of your breast and pressed the gentlest kiss there too. Then higher–your collarbone, your throat, the corner of your jaw. You turned your head slightly and met him as his mouth finally reached yours again.
The kiss was warm, a little messy, but full of affection. Your taste was still on his lips, and he didn’t hide it–he kissed you like he wanted you to know he’d savor every drop.
“Y-You’re unreal,” He mumbled against your cheek. And then he gave a shy, breathless laugh. “I think I–I forgot how to breathe.”
You smiled, brushing your fingers through the soft mess of his hair, and he leaned into the touch like it grounded him.
“I’m already ready again,” He admitted sheepishly, pressing his forehead to yours. You felt it him hard and warm again between your thighs, flush against your soaked center. Your breath hitched.
But then Bob hesitated. You felt it in the shift of his weight, the tremor in his next breath.
“We could leave it at that for tonight,” He said softly. His voice was a whisper of restraint, even though his hips twitched against yours like his body was begging him not to stop. “If you don’t want to have sex—”
You didn’t let him finish.
You kissed him–deep and sure and full of heat.
When you pulled back, your voice was firm and breathless. “I want you.”
Bob’s eyes widened slightly, lips still parted in surprise. “S-Should I run and grab a condom?” You tilted your left arm back slightly, resting it behind your head on the mattress, and with your free hand, pointed to the small, barely visible scar just beneath the skin of your inner arm.
“Implant,” You said softly. “We’re good.” His breath caught audibly and his hand hovered near your arm for a second, then settled gently over it–thumb brushing once over your skin.
“Y-You’re sure?” He asked, voice low and rough, like he couldn’t bear to assume. Like he was terrified of doing the wrong thing when he finally had the chance to do this right. You nodded, soft but certain, caressing his cheek gently.
”I’m sure.” Bob exhaled like it physically knocked the air from his lungs. Then he kissed you again–and this time, it was different.
There was no hesitation. No soft buildup. Just need and wonder colliding all at once.
His mouth crushed against yours, urgent and hungry, and you met him just as fiercely. Tongues brushed and tangled in wet, open kisses, teeth grazing lips, breath caught between mouths like smoke. You could feel the way he breathed you in between every kiss–little shaky exhales pressed into your cheeks, your jaw, your mouth–as if you were the air keeping him alive.
“God, y-you taste like heaven,” He murmured hoarsely into your mouth, and then kissed you again, harder.
You moaned against his lips, your body arching into his, and he groaned right back–his hand sliding from your hip to the side of your neck, fingers splayed out over your pulse point like he needed to feel the rhythm of you.
The head of his cock brushed against your slick entrance–hot and heavy and trembling with anticipation–and he froze just a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were blown wide, lips flushed, chest rising and falling like a wave cresting.
He lined himself up with a breathless stammer of your name, “J-Just tell me i-if I do anything wrong okay?” You nodded–soft, breathless, legs flinching around him slightly as he started to push in–inch by inch. Your mouth dropped open around a gasp.
”Oh–“ You breathed, hips twitching up towards him, “Bob…” He bit his bottom lip hard, trying to hold it together, closing his eyes at the sensation of you slowly taking him in.
“You’re s-so warm,” He choked out, “I can feel all of you, I–”
And then he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, both of you trembling.
You were wrapped around him, stretched and full and gasping through the intensity of it, and Bob just hovered there, buried deep, his forehead resting against yours like he needed the anchor. You cupped his cheek, kissed him once–soft, shaky–and whispered,
“I need you to move…” He nodded at your request, dragging his hips back only to press in again with a quiet groan that vibrated against your chest. His thrusts weren’t rough—but they had weight. Depth. Like he couldn’t help but want to be as far inside you as he could get.
Each time he rocked forward, your bodies met with a soft, slick sound, heat rising like steam between your tangled limbs. He kissed you through it, messy and desperate, lips parting and pressing and dragging over yours like he never wanted to come up for air. You kissed him just as hard–your tongue sliding against his, teeth nipping his bottom lip, your hands gripping his shoulders like you didn’t want him to go anywhere.
Your fingers tangled into the back of his hair, tugging gently–not to pull him closer, but to hold. To ground. The strands were damp with sweat and heat, and he gasped into your mouth when you did it, his hips stuttering in response.
Bob groaned low and soft, the sound caught between reverence and ache. Then his hand slid up, warm and sure, and cupped the side of your throat—not tight, just enough to feel the flutter of your pulse beneath his palm. His thumb tilted your chin up, guiding your gaze back to him.
“L-Look at me,” He breathed, voice ragged with want. “I…I need to see you.”
You did. Eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed and heated. You were so open for him, so undone and radiant in the lamplight–and it broke something in him, seeing you like this, needing him like this.
Then he hooked his arms under your knees and lifted.
The change in angle dragged a gasp from your throat so sharp it bordered on a cry. He slid deeper—so deep it felt like he was in your chest, like he was part of the ache and the breath and the heartbeat of you. Your mouth dropped open around a broken moan, and your eyes went glassy.
“F-Fuck,” You choked, your head falling back. “Bob–oh my God–”
Bob whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the sound of his name on your lips, by the clench of your body around him. His breath was hot and frantic, his face flushed and slack with awe.
“You feel…” He started, then trailed off, swallowing hard. “You feel s-so good–so warm–you’re perfect, I–” He kissed your cheek once. Then again. Then again, softer each time, like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t know how else to worship you.
And then, he saw it.
The mirror.
The two of you–tangled together, sweat-slicked and flushed with heat, your body curled around him like it was built to fit. His eyes snapped to it–and for a moment, he just stared. Breathless. Dazed. He could see the way your hands gripped his shoulders, the way your breasts bounced softly with each deep thrust. The sight of it–the raw, real closeness–wrecked him.
Your gaze flicked over his and followed where he was looking and you caught the reflection too.
“I want to watch us,” You whispered, breath ragged and full of heat. “Please.”
Bob’s breath caught hard. His hips stilled, his eyes wide, his mouth parting with something like awe and disbelief.
“Y-Yeah?” he stammered.
You nodded.
That was all it took.
He pulled out slowly–deliberately, as if the act of leaving your body was a loss he needed to mourn–and helped guide you onto your stomach, careful even through the haze of want. You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes fixed on your reflection, hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten.
He moved behind you, one knee between yours, and dragged his hand down the length of your spine in one long, aching stroke, watching goosebumps rise on your flesh before peppering a few kisses along the bare skin of your back. Then he gripped your hips and lined himself up again.
The first thrust back in was brutal in its beauty.
You let out a ragged groan–half gasp, half cry–as he sank back into you. The angle was different now. Deeper. Fuller. It felt like he was rooted inside you, like he could reach the very center of you.
Bob’s groan was wrecked.
“Oh my god,” he gasped. “You’re so…This is…Y-You’re tight–so deep, I—”
He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, and you felt the press of his mouth against the side of your neck–just beneath your ear. Then his arm slid around your neck from behind, not choking, not tight—just holding. Anchoring. His breath spilled hot across your skin, and he kissed your jaw again, reverently, trembling against you.
Your eyes locked in the mirror.
You. Spread out. Eyes heavy, mouth open, skin flushed and glowing. Bob–bare and trembling behind you, lips parted, face slack with wonder, arm curled protectively around you like he was trying to keep you from slipping away.
The reflection made your breath catch.
He looked just as wrecked as you felt.
“I’ve n-never…” He choked out, hips still rolling slow and deep, “Never seen anything so beautiful—so fuckin’ real–“ Your breath stuttered, your chest dragging in air like your lungs were trying to keep up with the sheer intimacy of his voice in your ear, his body inside you, the way his eyes stayed locked to yours in the mirror.
And then you turned your head.
Just a little.
Enough to find his lips.
Your mouths met in a kiss that shattered the edges of everything soft and safe. It wasn’t delicate this time. It was molten. You sucked gently on his tongue when he pushed into your mouth, and the noise Bob made was nearly inhuman–a muffled, desperate moan swallowed by your kiss.
The arm around your neck tightened just slightly, his palm flattening against your shoulder to hold you a little closer. He kissed you like he needed your breath to survive, and with every stroke of his tongue against yours, he thrust a little deeper, a little harder, losing the last shred of distance between you.
The sounds filled the room now.
Slippery, wet, rhythmic. The soft slap of skin meeting skin. Your gasps–broken, high, open. His moans–low, breathy, whispered things like “fuck” and “please” and your name like it was a prayer he’d never been brave enough to say out loud until now. The creak of the mattress. The rustle of the sheets. The hum of the city just outside the window, as if the whole world had gone quiet to listen.
His hips were moving faster now, not pounding but full of momentum. Urgency laced with awe. You felt every inch of him with every push, your body keening beneath him, his cock dragging against that tender spot inside you again and again.
And still–his mouth kept finding yours.
Messy kisses. Tongue and teeth and hot breath shared like something sacred. You whimpered into him, and he swallowed it, moaning in return, his pace growing more erratic with each roll of his hips.
“G-God,” he gasped into your mouth. “You feel so–so perfect–I c-can’t–” He pressed his forehead against yours, sweat-slick and shivering, his voice unraveling into something raw. “I’m gonna–Y/N–I c-can’t hold back–please come with me–please–”
You nodded, frantic, the pleasure building low in your spine like a storm. Your thighs trembled, your mouth fell open, and you barely managed a whispered, “Yes–yes, I’m close, Bob, I’m right there–”
His arm tightened around you again, holding you together as he watched your reflection–watched your mouth fall open, your eyes flutter shut, your body writhing beneath him.
“I see you,” He whispered. “I see you, I’ve got you, just–just let go, I’m right here–”
You did.
Your orgasm hit you so fast it felt like your entire body was going to give out. It was brilliant, consuming, and it had every nerve ending singing with heat. Your body pulsed around him, clenching and fluttering in frantic waves, and the cry that tore from your throat was almost too much to bear.
Soon after Bob twitched deep inside you, thick and hot, and you felt him spill–pulse after pulse of heat filling you, his hips jerking in short, erratic thrusts as he buried himself as far as he could go. His moan was wrecked–raw and full–and it tumbled from him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. It wasn’t loud. It was low. Shaky. The sound a man makes when he’s completely undone. A whimper edged with disbelief, like he was giving you the very last piece of himself.
And just then–like the world exhaled around you–you heard it.
A faint, hairline crack.
Barely a sound.
Your gaze flicked up, dazed and hazy through the aftermath, and there it was: a thin fracture running across the mirror. A small, pale lightning bolt etched in glass, splitting right where your bodies met in reflection.
You blinked.
And then you tightened your hold on him.
Your hand clutched at the arm that held you–his forearm still locked gently around your chest–and your other reached blindly to touch his shoulder. You turned your head just enough to feel the hot tremble of his breath against your skin, the way it stuttered and hitched through parted lips still struggling to return to earth.
His entire body was shaking against yours. Not violently–just overwhelmed. The way a dam trembles after it’s burst.
“Shh,” you whispered, kissing the edge of his cheek. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He moaned again–quiet this time, muffled against your skin, and full of something so deep it almost hurt. His arm loosened slightly from around your neck and slid lower, wrapping fully around your torso as he exhaled one long, shivering breath. His body collapsed slowly over yours, his chest pressed against your back, both of you trembling, covered in sweat and each other.
He didn’t pull out.
He couldn’t–not yet.
You could still feel him twitching softly inside you, still half-hard, still pulsing faintly from the intensity of it all. His cum was already starting to leak back down between your thighs, warmth slicking your folds, but neither of you moved to clean it up. Not yet.
He kissed your shoulder.
Then your neck.
Then the curve of your spine.
Each one slow and breathless. A vow, a thank you, a grounding touch.
You tilted your head back toward him, catching his lips with your own. The kiss was soft now. Lingering. Your mouths moved lazily together, wet and tender and full of exhaustion.
“Jesus,” He whispered against your mouth. ��I–I didn’t mean to… I think I…”
“I know,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the damp nape of his neck. “I saw it.”
His breath caught. “I–I cracked the mirror, didn’t I?”
You nodded once, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Just a little.”
A silence stretched between you, warm and golden and full of breath.
Then he laughed–quiet and stunned–and buried his face into your shoulder again.
“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I–I didn’t mean to lose control.” You let out a soft sigh.
”It’s okay Bob…You were overwhelmed and feeling good…Let’s just hope Sentry is the one that gets seven years bad luck.” You both laughed–low and loose and breathless, the sound catching in the honey-thick air between your bodies. Bob’s chest vibrated softly against your back as he let out another stifled chuckle, nuzzling his nose into the space just beneath your ear.
“Only you,” He murmured, his voice warm and worn down, “C–Can make light of me literally c-cracking your mirror mid-orgasm.” You tilted your head slightly, grinning despite the ache still thrumming between your thighs.
“I mean… If you’re gonna break something,” You said, glancing back at him with a playful glint in your eyes, “At least it wasn’t my pelvis.”
That made him snort and he buried his face deeper into your shoulder, completely wrecked by laughter now. You felt the full ripple of it through his chest, the way his arms tightened around you just a little as if he could keep this moment stitched to the skin.
You turned your head, kissed him again–slow and sweet. No rush. Just the warm slide of lips and breath. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking your skin as he kissed you back with the kind of quiet that said I never want to stop doing this.
After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his voice rough with affection. “I should, uh… I should pull out.”
You nodded softly. “Okay.”
He moved slowly, gently easing out of you with a quiet gasp at the sensitivity. You both hissed a little–his from overstimulation, yours from the sticky stretch of release leaving your body. He lingered there for a beat, fingers brushing your hip, as if he hated the idea of not being connected to you anymore.
He stayed close even after he pulled out, one hand resting lightly on your lower back, the other brushing your hip like he needed to reassure himself you were still there. The room was warm, quiet, the mirror fractured but the world around you whole.
“W–We should get cleaned up,” He murmured, his voice still dazed but laced with care. “D–Do you wanna…Maybe shower? With me?” His fingers twitched gently where they touched your side. “Only if you want to. I just—I don’t really wanna let you go yet…”
Your heart melted.
You turned slowly beneath him, shifting onto your back so you could face him fully. His hair was damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends, cheeks still flushed, lips swollen. But it was his eyes that undid you. Wide and soft and full of affection. Still a little glassy. Still glowing slightly from the shock of Sentry.
“Of course,” You whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair, a soft blush rose to his cheeks, as you leaned up to kiss the tip of his nose, “I kinda wanna be held under hot water for like…An hour. Minimum.”
Bob gave you the softest grin. “I-I can do that. I’m good at holding.” His tone was still tentative, but there was pride there too. A glimmer of purpose. “You’ll be the cleanest, most held person in the entire compound.”
You sat up slowly, wincing slightly at the soreness blooming in your thighs and core. Bob immediately reached to steady you, his hands finding your waist, his brows pinched in concern.
“I’m okay,” You promised him with a soft smile, “Just a bit sore.”His ears turned red.
“S-Sorry.” He whispered.
“Don’t be,” You said gently, leaning in to press your forehead to his. “I liked being yours.”
His breath caught at that, his hands tightening gently on your sides. Then he kissed you–slow and soft and grateful. And when you pulled back, his hand brushed along your arm as he helped you out of bed.
You led the way to your en suite bathroom, flicking on the light that glowed soft and golden. The room was warm, fogged slightly from earlier use, and your spare towels were already folded neatly on the rack. You reached for two, tossed one onto the nearby counter for later, and handed Bob the other to keep nearby.
He looked at it like it was some sacred token.
You turned the water on and waited for it to warm while he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your waist and nuzzling the back of your neck.
“I could get used to this,” He whispered.
“What, showering?” You teased, smiling as you leaned back into his chest.
“No,” He said, shaking his head slightly. “Just…Being with you. Like this.”
You turned in his arms, heart thudding, and kissed him slow and sure. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
The water turned to steam.
You stepped in first, guiding him in with you. It was small, a bit cramped–but it didn’t matter. You made room for each other. Bob pressed close, arms winding gently around your back as the water poured down over you both. His mouth found your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your lips, peppering you with soft, adoring kisses as the heat melted the soreness from your limbs.
He helped you wash your entire body. His fingers in your hair, gentle and careful as they massaged your scalp with your favorite shampoo. His palms smoothing body wash over your skin like you were something precious and breakable, his lips brushing your shoulder every few seconds just to stay close.
You did the same for him, trailing your hands down his chest, watching the way he shivered beneath your touch even now. You cleaned him carefully, quietly, the lather sliding down both your bodies in pearled rivulets. Every time you looked up at him, he was already looking at you. Eyes soft. Lips parted. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.
At one point, you turned under the spray and leaned your back into his chest. Bob immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush to him beneath the stream of water. His chin came to rest atop your head, his breath steadying.
“I—I feel like I’m gonna cry,” He admitted quietly, after a long silence.
You tilted your head back just enough to look up at him. “Why?”
“Because…” He swallowed. “B-Because I’ve never felt this safe. And that’s… Not something I ever thought I’d get.”
You reached up, touched his jaw, and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “Then I’ll just have to keep giving it to you.”
His arms tightened around you, and he let out a long, trembling breath.
“Promise?” He whispered.
“Always,” You said. And meant it.
In the shower’s warmth, with your bodies tangled and your hearts steadying into one rhythm, nothing else in the world existed.
Just you and Bob. Soft skin. Steam. And the quiet knowledge that everything had changed.
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